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THE ENCYCLOPÆDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME IX SLICE VII
Equation to Ethics
Articles in This Slice
Articles in This Section
EQUATION (from Lat. aequatio, aequare, to equalize), an expression or statement of the equality of two quantities. Mathematical equivalence is denoted by the sign =, a symbol invented by Robert Recorde (1510-1558), who considered that nothing could be more equal than two equal and parallel straight lines. An equation states an equality existing between two classes of quantities, distinguished as known and unknown; these correspond to the data of a problem and the thing sought. It is the purpose of the mathematician to state the unknowns separately in terms of the knowns; this is called solving the equation, and the values of the unknowns so obtained are called the roots or solutions. The unknowns are usually denoted by the terminal letters, ... x, y, z, of the alphabet, and the knowns are either actual numbers or are represented by the literals a, b, c, &c..., i.e. the introductory letters of the alphabet. Any number or literal which expresses what multiple of term occurs in an equation is called the coefficient of that term; and the term which does not contain an unknown is called the absolute term. The degree of an equation is equal to the greatest index of an unknown in the equation, or to the greatest sum of the indices of products of unknowns. If each term has the sum of its indices the same, the equation is said to be homogeneous. These definitions are exemplified in the equations:—
EQUATION (from Latin aequatio, aequare, meaning to equalize), is an expression or statement that shows the equality of two quantities. Mathematical equivalence is represented by the sign =, a symbol created by Robert Recorde (1510-1558), who believed that nothing could be more equal than two equal and parallel straight lines. An equation indicates an equality between two types of quantities, which are classified as known and unknown; these correspond to the information given in a problem and the value we're trying to find. It is the goal of the mathematician to express the unknowns separately in terms of the knowns; this process is known as solving the equation, and the values of the unknowns obtained in this way are called the roots or solutions. The unknowns are typically represented by the last letters of the alphabet, ... x, y, z, while the knowns are either actual numbers or are represented by the letters a, b, c, etc., i.e. the first letters of the alphabet. Any number or variable that indicates how many times a term appears in an equation is called the coefficient of that term; the term that does not include an unknown is referred to as the absolute term. The degree of an equation is the highest exponent of an unknown in the equation or the highest sum of the exponents of products of unknowns. If each term has the same sum of its exponents, the equation is considered homogeneous. These definitions are illustrated in the equations:—
(1) ax² + 2bx + c = 0, (1) ax² + 2bx + c = 0, (2) xy² + 4a²x = 8a³, (2) xy² + 4a²x = 8a³, (3) ax² + 2hxy + by² = 0. (3) ax² + 2hxy + by² = 0. |
In (1) the unknown is x, and the knowns a, b, c; the coefficients of x² and x are a and 2b; the absolute term is c, and the degree is 2. In (2) the unknowns are x and y, and the known a; the degree is 3, i.e. the sum of the indices in the term xy². (3) is a homogeneous equation of the second degree in x and y. Equations of the first degree are called simple or linear; of the second, quadratic; of the third, cubic; of the fourth, biquadratic; of the fifth, quintic, and so on. Of equations containing only one unknown the number of roots equals the degree of the equation; thus a simple equation has one root, a quadratic two, a cubic three, and so on. If one equation be given containing two unknowns, as for example ax + by = c or ax² + by² = c, it is seen that there are an infinite number of roots, for we can give x, say, any value and then determine the corresponding value of y; such an equation is called indeterminate; of the examples chosen the first is a linear and the second a quadratic indeterminate equation. In general, an indeterminate equation results when the number of unknowns exceeds by unity the number of equations. If, on the other hand, we have two equations connecting two unknowns, it is possible to solve the equations separately for one unknown, and then if we equate these values we obtain an equation in one unknown, which is soluble if its degree does not exceed the fourth. By substituting these values the corresponding values of the other unknown are determined. Such equations are called simultaneous; and a simultaneous system is a series of equations equal in number to the number of unknowns. Such a system is not always soluble, for it may happen that one equation is implied by the others; when this occurs the system is called porismatic or poristic. An identity differs from an equation inasmuch as it cannot be solved, the terms mutually cancelling; for example, the expression x² − a² = (x − a)(x + a) is an identity, for on reduction it gives 0 = 0. It is usual to employ the sign ≡ to express this relation.
In (1), the unknown is x, and the knowns are a, b, c; the coefficients of x² and x are a and 2b; the constant term is c, and the degree is 2. In (2), the unknowns are x and y, and the known is a; the degree is 3, i.e. the sum of the indices in the term xy². (3) is a homogeneous equation of the second degree in x and y. Equations of the first degree are called simple or linear; of the second, quadratic; of the third, cubic; of the fourth, biquadratic; of the fifth, quintic, and so on. For equations with only one unknown, the number of roots equals the degree of the equation; thus, a simple equation has one root, a quadratic has two, a cubic has three, and so on. If one equation is given with two unknowns, like ax + by = c or ax² + by² = c, there are infinitely many roots because we can assign x any value and then find the corresponding value of y; such an equation is called indeterminate; of the examples given, the first is a linear indeterminate equation, and the second is a quadratic indeterminate equation. Generally, an indeterminate equation occurs when the number of unknowns exceeds the number of equations by one. Conversely, if we have two equations involving two unknowns, it's possible to solve for one unknown separately, and then equate these values to get an equation in one unknown, which is solvable if its degree does not exceed four. By substituting these values, we determine the corresponding values of the other unknown. Such equations are called simultaneous; a simultaneous system is a series of equations equal in number to the number of unknowns. This system is not always solvable, as it can happen that one equation is implied by the others; when this happens, the system is called porismatic or poristic. An identity differs from an equation because it cannot be solved, with the terms mutually canceling; for example, the expression x² − a² = (x − a)(x + a) is an identity, as it simplifies to 0 = 0. The symbol ≡ is typically used to express this relationship.
An equation admits of description in two ways:—(1) It may be regarded purely as an algebraic expression, or (2) as a geometrical locus. In the first case there is obviously no limit to the number of unknowns and to the degree of the equation; and, consequently, this aspect is the most general. In the second case the number of unknowns is limited to three, corresponding to the three dimensions of space; the degree is unlimited as before. It must be noticed, however, that by the introduction of appropriate hyperspaces, i.e. of degree equal to the number of unknowns, any equation theoretically admits of geometrical visualization, in other words, every equation may be represented by a geometrical figure and every geometrical figure by an equation. Corresponding to these two aspects, there are two typical methods by which equations can be solved, viz. the algebraic and geometric. The former leads to exact results, or, by methods of approximation, to results correct to any required degree of accuracy. The latter can only yield approximate values: when theoretically exact constructions are available there is a source of error in the draughtsmanship, and when the constructions are only approximate, the accuracy of the results is more problematical. The geometric aspect, however, is of considerable value in discussing the theory of equations.
An equation can be described in two ways: (1) as an algebraic expression, or (2) as a geometric location. In the first case, there’s obviously no limit to the number of unknowns or the degree of the equation; thus, this perspective is the most general. In the second case, the number of unknowns is limited to three, reflecting the three dimensions of space, while the degree remains unlimited. However, it's important to note that by introducing appropriate hyperspaces, meaning a degree equal to the number of unknowns, any equation can theoretically be visualized geometrically. In other words, every equation can be represented by a geometric figure, and every geometric figure can be represented by an equation. Corresponding to these two aspects, there are two typical methods for solving equations: the algebraic and the geometric. The algebraic method yields exact results or, through approximation methods, results accurate to any desired degree. The geometric method, on the other hand, can only provide approximate values: when exact constructions are theoretically available, there can still be errors in the drawing, and when the constructions are only approximate, the results’ accuracy becomes more uncertain. Nonetheless, the geometric perspective is quite valuable when discussing the theory of equations.
History.—There is little doubt that the earliest solutions of equations are given, in the Rhind papyrus, a hieratic document written some 2000 years before our era. The problems solved were of an arithmetical nature, assuming such forms as “a mass and its 1⁄7th makes 19.” Calling the unknown mass x, we have given x + 1⁄7 x = 19, which is a simple equation. Arithmetical problems also gave origin to equations involving two unknowns; the early Greeks were familiar with and solved simultaneous linear equations, but indeterminate equations, such, for instance, as the system given in the “cattle problem” of Archimedes, were not seriously studied until Diophantus solved many particular problems. Quadratic equations arose in the Greek investigations in the doctrine of proportion, and 710 although they were presented and solved in a geometrical form, the methods employed have no relation to the generalized conception of algebraic geometry which represents a curve by an equation and vice versa. The simplest quadratic arose in the construction of a mean proportional (x) between two lines (a, b), or in the construction of a square equal to a given rectangle; for we have the proportion a:x = x:b; i.e. x² = ab. A more general equation, viz. x² − ax + a² = 0, is the algebraic equivalent of the problem to divide a line in medial section; this is solved in Euclid, ii. 11. It is possible that Diophantus was in possession of an algebraic solution of quadratics; he recognized, however, only one root, the interpretation of both being first effected by the Hindu Bhaskara. A simple cubic equation was presented in the problem of finding two mean proportionals, x, y, between two lines, one double the other. We have a:x = x:y = y:2a, which gives x² = ay and xy = 2a²; eliminating y we obtain x³ = 2a³, a simple cubic. The Greeks could not solve this equation, which also arose in the problems of duplicating a cube and trisecting an angle, by the ruler and compasses, but only by mechanical curves such as the cissoid, conchoid and quadratrix. Such solutions were much improved by the Arabs, who also solved both cubics and biquadratics by means of intersecting conics; at the same time, they developed methods, originated by Diophantus and improved by the Hindus, for finding approximate roots of numerical equations by algebraic processes. The algebraic solution of the general cubic and biquadratic was effected in the 16th century by S. Ferro, N. Tartaglia, H. Cardan and L. Ferrari (see Algebra: History). Many fruitless attempts were made to solve algebraically the quintic equation until P. Ruffini and N.H. Abel proved the problem to be impossible; a solution involving elliptic functions has been given by C. Hermite and L. Kronecker, while F. Klein has given another solution.
History.—There's no doubt that the earliest solutions for equations can be found in the Rhind papyrus, a document written around 2000 years ago. The problems addressed were primarily arithmetic, taking forms like “a mass and its 1⁄7th equals 19.” By letting the unknown mass be x, we arrive at the equation x + 1⁄7 x = 19, which is a straightforward equation. Arithmetic problems also led to equations with two unknowns; early Greeks understood and solved simultaneous linear equations, but indeterminate equations, such as the system outlined in the “cattle problem” of Archimedes, weren't seriously examined until Diophantus tackled various specific issues. Quadratic equations emerged from Greek studies in the theory of proportion, and 710 while they were presented and resolved geometrically, the techniques used had no connection to the broader concept of algebraic geometry, which represents a curve by an equation and vice versa. The simplest quadratic appeared in the task of finding a mean proportional (x) between two lines (a, b), or in forming a square that is equal to a given rectangle; this leads us to the proportion a:x = x:b; i.e. x² = ab. A more general equation, x² − ax + a² = 0, is algebraically equivalent to the problem of dividing a line in half; this is addressed in Euclid, ii. 11. It's possible that Diophantus had an algebraic way to solve quadratics; however, he only recognized one root, with both roots being first interpreted by the Hindu Bhaskara. A basic cubic equation was posed in finding two mean proportionals, x, y, between two lines, one being double the other. We have a:x = x:y = y:2a, which leads to x² = ay and xy = 2a²; by eliminating y, we derive x³ = 2a³, a simple cubic. The Greeks could not solve this equation, which also appeared in the challenges of duplicating a cube and trisecting an angle, using just a ruler and compasses, but only through mechanical curves like the cissoid, conchoid, and quadratrix. These solutions were further refined by the Arabs, who also tackled both cubics and biquadratics by intersecting conics; meanwhile, they developed methods initiated by Diophantus and enhanced by the Hindus for approximating roots of numerical equations through algebraic methods. The algebraic solutions for the general cubic and biquadratic were achieved in the 16th century by S. Ferro, N. Tartaglia, H. Cardan, and L. Ferrari (see Algebra: History). Numerous unsuccessful attempts were made to algebraically solve the quintic equation until P. Ruffini and N.H. Abel demonstrated that it was impossible; solutions involving elliptic functions have been provided by C. Hermite and L. Kronecker, while F. Klein has offered another solution.
In the geometric treatment of equations the Greeks and Arabs based their constructions upon certain empirically deduced properties of the curves and figures employed. Knowing various metrical relations, generally expressed as proportions, it was found possible to solve particular equations, but a general method was wanting. This lacuna was not filled until the 17th century, when Descartes discovered the general theory which explained the nature of such solutions, in particular those wherein conics were employed, and, in addition, established the most important facts that every equation represents a geometrical locus, and conversely. To represent equations containing two unknowns, x, y, he chose two axes of reference mutually perpendicular, and measured x along the horizontal axis and y along the vertical. Then by the methods described in the article Geometry: Analytical, he showed that—(1) a linear equation represents a straight line, and (2) a quadratic represents a conic. If the equation be homogeneous or break up into factors, it represents a number of straight lines in the first case, and the loci corresponding to the factors in the second. The solution of simultaneous equations is easily seen to be the values of x, y corresponding to the intersections of the loci. It follows that there is only one value of x, y which satisfies two linear equations, since two lines intersect in one point only; two values which satisfy a linear and quadratic, since a line intersects a conic in two points; and four values which satisfy two quadratics, since two conics intersect in four points. It may happen that the curves do not actually intersect in the theoretical maximum number of points; the principle of continuity (see Geometrical Continuity) shows us that in such cases some of the roots are imaginary. To represent equations involving three unknowns x, y, z, a third axis is introduced, the z-axis, perpendicular to the plane xy and passing through the intersection of the lines x, y. In this notation a linear equation represents a plane, and two linear simultaneous equations represent a line, i.e. the intersection of two planes; a quadratic equation represents a surface of the second degree. In order to graphically consider equations containing only one unknown, it is convenient to equate the terms to y; i.e. if the equation be ƒ(x) = 0, we take y = ƒ(x) and construct this curve on rectangular Cartesian co-ordinates by determining the values of y which correspond to chosen values of x, and describing a curve through the points so obtained. The intersections of the curve with the axis of x gives the real roots of the equation; imaginary roots are obviously not represented.
In the geometric approach to equations, the Greeks and Arabs based their constructions on certain observable properties of the curves and figures they used. By understanding various measurement relationships, typically expressed as proportions, they could solve specific equations, but a universal method was missing. This gap wasn't filled until the 17th century when Descartes discovered a general theory that explained the nature of these solutions, especially those involving conics. He also established important facts that every equation represents a geometric location, and vice versa. To represent equations with two unknowns, x and y, he set up two perpendicular axes: measuring x along the horizontal axis and y along the vertical. Then, as described in the article Geometry: Analytical, he demonstrated that—(1) a linear equation represents a straight line, and (2) a quadratic represents a conic. If the equation is homogeneous or can be factored, it represents multiple straight lines in the first case, and the locations corresponding to the factors in the second. The solution of simultaneous equations corresponds to the x and y values at the intersections of the locations. Thus, there is only one pair of x, y that satisfies two linear equations since two lines intersect at just one point; two pairs for a linear and quadratic equation since a line intersects a conic at two points; and four pairs for two quadratic equations since two conics intersect at four points. It's possible that the curves don't actually intersect at the theoretical maximum number of points; the principle of continuity (see Geometrical Continuity) shows that in such cases, some of the roots are imaginary. To represent equations with three unknowns, x, y, and z, a third axis, the z-axis, is added, perpendicular to the xy plane and passing through where the lines x and y intersect. In this notation, a linear equation represents a plane, and two simultaneous linear equations represent a line, i.e. the intersection of two planes; a quadratic equation represents a second-degree surface. To graph equations with only one unknown, it's useful to set the terms equal to y; i.e. if the equation is ƒ(x) = 0, we set y = ƒ(x) and plot this curve on rectangular Cartesian coordinates by calculating the y values for selected x values, drawing a curve through these points. The points where the curve intersects the x-axis give the real roots of the equation; imaginary roots are not represented.
In this article we shall treat of: (1) Simultaneous equations, (2) indeterminate equations, (3) cubic equations, (4) biquadratic equations, (5) theory of equations. Simple, linear simultaneous and quadratic equations are treated in the article Algebra; for differential equations see Differential Equations.
In this article, we'll cover: (1) simultaneous equations, (2) indeterminate equations, (3) cubic equations, (4) biquadratic equations, and (5) the theory of equations. Simple linear simultaneous equations and quadratic equations are discussed in the article Algebra; for differential equations, see Differential Equations.
I. Simultaneous Equations.
I. Systems of Equations.
Simultaneous equations which involve the second and higher powers of the unknown may be impossible of solution. No general rules can be given, and the solution of any particular problem will largely depend upon the student’s ingenuity. Here we shall only give a few typical examples.
Simultaneous equations that include squares and higher powers of the unknown might not have a solution. No universal rules can be provided, and solving any specific problem will mostly rely on the student’s creativity. Here, we will only present a few typical examples.
1. Equations which may be reduced to linear equations.—Ex. To solve x(x − a) = yz, y (y − b) = zx, z (z − c) = xy. Multiply the equations by y, z and x respectively, and divide the sum by xyz; then
1. Equations that can be simplified to linear equations.—Ex. To solve x(x − a) = yz, y(y − b) = zx, z(z − c) = xy. Multiply the equations by y, z, and x respectively, and then divide the total by xyz; then
a | + | b | + | c | = 0 |
z | x | y |
Multiply by z, x and y, and divide the sum by xyz; then
Multiply z by x and y, then divide the total by xyz; then
a | + | b | + | c | = 0 |
y | z | x |
From (1) and (2) by cross multiplication we obtain
From (1) and (2) by cross multiplication we obtain
1 | = | 1 | = | 1 | = | 1 | (suppose) |
y (b² − ac) | z (c² − ab) | x (a² − bc) | λ |
Substituting for x, y and z in x (x − a) = yz we obtain
Substituting x, y, and z into x (x − a) = yz gives us
1 | = | 3abc − (a³ + b³ + c³) | ; |
λ | (a² − bc) (b² − ac) (c² − ab) |
and therefore x, y and z are known from (3). The same artifice solves the equations x² − yz = a, y² − xz = b, z² − xy = c.
and therefore x, y, and z are known from (3). The same technique solves the equations x² − yz = a, y² − xz = b, z² − xy = c.
2. Equations which are homogeneous and of the same degree.—These equations can be solved by substituting y = mx. We proceed to explain the method by an example.
2. Equations that are homogeneous and of the same degree.—These equations can be solved by substituting y = mx. We will illustrate the method with an example.
Ex. To solve 3x² + xy + y² = 15, 31xy − 3x² − 5y² = 45. Substituting y = mx in both these equations, and then dividing, we obtain 31m − 3 − 5m² = 3 (3 + m + m²) or 8m² − 28m + 12 = 0. The roots of this quadratic are m = ½ or 3, and therefore 2y = x, or y = 3x.
Ex. To solve 3x² + xy + y² = 15, 31xy − 3x² − 5y² = 45. By substituting y = mx into both equations and then dividing, we get 31m − 3 − 5m² = 3 (3 + m + m²) or 8m² − 28m + 12 = 0. The solutions to this quadratic are m = ½ or 3, so we have 2y = x, or y = 3x.
Taking 2y = x and substituting in 3x² + xy + y² = 0, we obtain y² (12 + 2 + 1) = 15; ∴ y² = 1, which gives y = ±1, x = ±2. Taking the second value, y = 3x, and substituting for y, we obtain x² (3 + 3 + 9) = 15; ∴ x² = 1, which gives x = ±1, y = ±3. Therefore the solutions are x = ±2, y = ±1 and x = ±1, y = ±3. Other artifices have to be adopted to solve other forms of simultaneous equations, for which the reader is referred to J.J. Milne, Companion to Weekly Problem Papers.
Taking 2y = x and substituting it into 3x² + xy + y² = 0, we get y² (12 + 2 + 1) = 15; therefore, y² = 1, which gives y = ±1, x = ±2. Using the second value, y = 3x, and substituting for y, we find x² (3 + 3 + 9) = 15; thus, x² = 1, which gives x = ±1, y = ±3. Therefore, the solutions are x = ±2, y = ±1 and x = ±1, y = ±3. Other methods will need to be used to solve different forms of simultaneous equations, for which the reader is referred to J.J. Milne, Companion to Weekly Problem Papers.
II. Indeterminate Equations.
II. Indeterminate Equations.
1. When the number of unknown quantities exceeds the number of equations, the equations will admit of innumerable solutions, and are therefore said to be indeterminate. Thus if it be required to find two numbers such that their sum be 10, we have two unknown quantities x and y, and only one equation, viz. x + y = 10, which may evidently be satisfied by innumerable different values of x and y, if fractional solutions be admitted. It is, however, usual, in such questions as this, to restrict values of the numbers sought to positive integers, and therefore, in this case, we can have only these nine solutions,
1. When the number of unknowns is greater than the number of equations, the equations will have countless solutions and are therefore called indeterminate. For example, if we need to find two numbers that add up to 10, we have two unknowns, x and y, and only one equation, x + y = 10. This can obviously be satisfied by countless different values of x and y, especially if we allow fractional solutions. However, in cases like this, it's common to limit the values of the numbers we're looking for to positive integers, so in this case, we can only have these nine solutions.
x = 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9; x = 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9; y = 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1; y = 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1; |
which indeed may be reduced to five; for the first four become the same as the last four, by simply changing x into y, and the contrary. This branch of analysis was extensively studied by Diophantus, and is sometimes termed the Diophantine Analysis.
which can indeed be reduced to five; because the first four are the same as the last four, just by switching x with y, and vice versa. This area of analysis was thoroughly explored by Diophantus, and is sometimes called Diophantine Analysis.
2. Indeterminate problems are of different orders, according to the dimensions of the equation which is obtained after all the unknown quantities but two have been eliminated by means of the given equations. Those of the first order lead always to equations of the form
2. Indeterminate problems come in different types, depending on the dimensions of the equation that results after eliminating all the unknown variables except for two using the given equations. First-order problems always lead to equations of the form
ax ± by = ±c,
ax ± by = ±c,
where a, b, c denote given whole numbers, and x, y two numbers to be found, so that both may be integers. That this condition may be fulfilled, it is necessary that the coefficients a, b have no common divisor which is not also a divisor of c; for if a = md and b = me, then ax + by = mdx + mey = c, and dx + ey = c/m; but d, e, x, y are supposed to be whole numbers, therefore c/m is a whole number; hence m must be a divisor of c.
where a, b, c represent given whole numbers, and x, y are two numbers to be found, so that both can be integers. For this condition to be met, it is necessary that the coefficients a, b have no common divisor that isn't also a divisor of c; because if a = md and b = me, then ax + by = mdx + mey = c, and dx + ey = c/m; but d, e, x, y are assumed to be whole numbers, therefore c/m must be a whole number; thus m must be a divisor of c.
Of the four forms expressed by the equation ax ± by = ±c, it is obvious that ax + by = −c can have no positive integral solutions. Also ax − by = −c is equivalent to by − ax = c, and so we have only to consider the forms ax ± by = c. Before proceeding to the general solution of these equations we will give a numerical example.
Of the four forms shown by the equation ax ± by = ±c, it's clear that ax + by = −c cannot have any positive whole number solutions. Additionally, ax − by = −c is the same as by − ax = c, so we only need to look at the forms ax ± by = c. Before we dive into the general solution for these equations, let's take a look at a numerical example.
To solve 2x + 3y = 25 in positive integers. From the given equation 711 we have x = (25 − 3y) / 2 = 12 − y − (y − 1) / 2. Now, since x must be a whole number, it follows that (y − 1)/2 must be a whole number. Let us assume (y − 1) / 2 = z, then y = 1 + 2z; and x = 11 − 3z, where z might be any whole number whatever, if there were no limitation as to the signs of x and y. But since these quantities are required to be positive, it is evident, from the value of y, that z must be either 0 or positive, and from the value of x, that it must be less than 4; hence z may have these four values, 0, 1, 2, 3.
To solve 2x + 3y = 25 in positive integers. From the given equation 711 we have x = (25 − 3y) / 2 = 12 − y − (y − 1) / 2. Now, since x has to be a whole number, it follows that (y − 1)/2 must also be a whole number. Let’s say (y − 1) / 2 = z, then y = 1 + 2z; and x = 11 − 3z, where z can be any whole number if there were no limitations on the signs of x and y. But since these numbers need to be positive, it’s clear from the value of y that z has to be either 0 or positive, and from the value of x, it has to be less than 4; thus, z can take the values 0, 1, 2, or 3.
If | z = 0, | z = 1, | z = 2, | z = 3; |
Then | x = 11, | x = 8, | x = 5, | x = 2, |
y = 1, | y = 3, | y = 5, | y = 7. |
3. We shall now give the solution of the equation ax − by = c in positive integers.
3. We will now provide the solution to the equation ax − by = c in positive integers.
Convert a/b into a continued fraction, and let p/q be the convergent immediately preceding a/b, then aq − bp = ±1 (see Continued Fraction).
Convert a/b into a continued fraction, and let p/q be the convergent just before a/b, then aq − bp = ±1 (see Continued Fraction).
(α) If aq − bp = 1, the given equation may be written
(α) If aq − bp = 1, the given equation can be written
ax − by = c (aq − bp);
∴ a (x − cq) = b (y − cp).
ax − by = c (aq − bp);
∴ a (x − cq) = b (y − cp).
Since a and b are prime to one another, then x − cq must be divisible by b and y − cp by a; hence
Since a and b are coprime, x − cq must be divisible by b and y − cp by a; therefore
(x − cq) / b = (y − cq) / a = t.
(x − cq) / b = (y − cq) / a = t.
That is, x = bt + cq and y = at + cp.
That is, x = bt + cq and y = at + cp.
Positive integral solutions, unlimited in number, are obtained by giving t any positive integral value, and any negative integral value, so long as it is numerically less than the smaller of the quantities cq/b, cp/a; t may also be zero.
Positive integral solutions, which can be unlimited in number, can be found by assigning any positive integer value to t and any negative integer value, as long as it is numerically less than the smaller of the two quantities cq/b and cp/a; t can also be zero.
(β) If aq − bp = −1, we obtain x = bt − cq, y = at − cp, from which positive integral solutions, again unlimited in number, are obtained by giving t any positive integral value which exceeds the greater of the two quantities cq/b, cp/a.
(β) If aq − bp = −1, we get x = bt − cq, y = at − cp, from which we can find an unlimited number of positive integral solutions by assigning t any positive integral value that is greater than the larger of the two quantities cq/b and cp/a.
If a or b is unity, a/b cannot be converted into a continued fraction with unit numerators, and the above method fails. In this case the solutions can be derived directly, for if b is unity, the equation may be written y = ax − c, and solutions are obtained by giving x positive integral values greater than c/a.
If either a or b is 1, a/b can't be turned into a continued fraction with 1 as the numerator, and the method above doesn't work. In this situation, the solutions can be found directly. If b is 1, the equation can be written as y = ax - c, and solutions are found by giving x positive whole numbers greater than c/a.
4. To solve ax + by = c in positive integers. Converting a b into a continued fraction and proceeding as before, we obtain, in the case of aq − bp = 1,
4. To solve ax + by = c in positive integers. Converting a and b into a continued fraction and following the same steps as before, we find, in the case of aq − bp = 1,
x = cq − bt, y = at − cp.
x = cq − bt, y = at − cp.
Positive integral solutions are obtained by giving t positive integral values not less than cp/a and not greater than cq/b.
Positive integer solutions are found by assigning t positive integer values that are no less than cp/a and no greater than cq/b.
In this case the number of solutions is limited. If aq − bp = −1 we obtain the general solution x = bt − cq, y = cp − at, which is of the same form as in the preceding case. For the determination of the number of solutions the reader is referred to H.S. Hall and S.R. Knight’s Higher Algebra, G. Chrystal’s Algebra, and other text-books.
In this case, the number of solutions is limited. If aq − bp = −1, we get the general solution x = bt − cq, y = cp − at, which is in the same format as the previous case. For figuring out the number of solutions, the reader can check H.S. Hall and S.R. Knight’s Higher Algebra, G. Chrystal’s Algebra, and other textbooks.
5. If an equation were proposed involving three unknown quantities, as ax + by + cz = d, by transposition we have ax + by = d − cz, and, putting d − cz = c′, ax + by = c′. From this last equation we may find values of x and y of this form,
5. If someone suggested an equation with three unknown quantities, like ax + by + cz = d, we can rearrange it to get ax + by = d − cz, and if we let d − cz = c′, then we have ax + by = c′. From this last equation, we can determine values for x and y in this form,
x = mr + nc′, y = mr + n′c′,
or x = mr + n (d − cz), y = m′r + n′ (d − cz);
x = mr + nc′, y = mr + n′c′,
or x = mr + n (d − cz), y = m′r + n′ (d − cz);
where z and r may be taken at pleasure, except in so far as the values of x, y, z may be required to be all positive; for from such restriction the values of z and r may be confined within certain limits to be determined from the given equation. For more advanced treatment of linear indeterminate equations see Combinatorial Analysis.
where z and r can be chosen freely, as long as x, y, and z are all positive; this restriction means that the values of z and r may be limited within certain boundaries defined by the given equation. For a more detailed discussion on linear indeterminate equations, see Combinatorial Analysis.
6. We proceed to indeterminate problems of the second degree: limiting ourselves to the consideration of the formula y² = a + bx + cx², where x is to be found, so that y may be a rational quantity. The possibility of rendering the proposed formula a square depends altogether upon the coefficients a, b, c; and there are four cases of the problem, the solution of each of which is connected with some peculiarity in its nature.
6. We move on to undefined problems of the second degree: focusing on the equation y² = a + bx + cx², where we need to find x so that y is a rational number. Whether we can make the equation a perfect square entirely depends on the coefficients a, b, and c; there are four scenarios for this problem, each with its own unique characteristics.
Case 1. Let a be a square number; then, putting g² for a, we have y² = g² + bx + cx². Suppose √(g² + bx + cx²) = g + mx; then g² + bx + cx² = g² + 2gmx + m²x², or bx + cx² = 2gmx + m²x², that is, b + cx = 2gm + m²x; hence
Case 1. Let a be a perfect square; then, substituting g² for a, we have y² = g² + bx + cx². Suppose √(g² + bx + cx²) = g + mx; then g² + bx + cx² = g² + 2gmx + m²x², or bx + cx² = 2gmx + m²x², meaning b + cx = 2gm + m²x; hence
x = | 2gm − b | , y = √(g² + bx + cx²)= | cg − bm + gm² | . |
c − m² | c − m² |
Case 2. Let c be a square number = g²; then, putting √(a + bx + g²x²) = m + gx, we find a + bx + g²x² = m² + 2mgx + g²x², or a + bx = m² + 2mgx; hence we find
Case 2. Let c be a square number = g²; then, putting √(a + bx + g²x²) = m + gx, we find a + bx + g²x² = m² + 2mgx + g²x², or a + bx = m² + 2mgx; hence we find
x = | m² − a | , y = √(a + bx + g²x²) = | bm − gm² − ag | . |
b − 2mg | b − 2mg |
Case 3. When neither a nor c is a square number, yet if the expression a + bx + cx² can be resolved into two simple factors, as f + gx and h + kx, the irrationality may be taken away as follows:—
Case 3. When neither a nor c is a square number, but the expression a + bx + cx² can be factored into two simple factors, like f + gx and h + kx, we can eliminate the irrationality as follows:—
Assume √(a + bx + cx²) = √{ (f + gx) (h + kx) } = m (f + gx), then (f + gx) (h + kx) = m² (f + gx)², or h + kx = m² (f + gx); hence we find
Assume √(a + bx + cx²) = √{ (f + gx) (h + kx) } = m (f + gx), then (f + gx) (h + kx) = m² (f + gx)², or h + kx = m² (f + gx); hence we find
x = | fm² − h | , y = √{ (f + gx) (h + kx) } = | (fk − gh) m | ; |
k − gm² | k − gm² |
and in all these formulae m may be taken at pleasure.
and in all these formulas, m can be chosen freely.
Case 4. The expression a + bx + cx² may be transformed into a square as often as it can be resolved into two parts, one of which is a complete square, and the other a product of two simple factors; for then it has this form, p² + qr, where p, q and r are quantities which contain no power of x higher than the first. Let us assume √(p² + qr) = p + mq; thus we have p² + qr = p² + 2mpq + m²q² and r = 2mp + m²q, and as this equation involves only the first power of x, we may by proper reduction obtain from it rational values of x and y, as in the three foregoing cases.
Case 4. The expression a + bx + cx² can be turned into a square whenever it can be split into two parts, with one part being a complete square and the other a product of two simple factors; because then it takes the form of p² + qr, where p, q, and r are values that contain no power of x higher than the first. Let’s assume √(p² + qr) = p + mq; thus, we have p² + qr = p² + 2mpq + m²q² and r = 2mp + m²q. Since this equation only involves the first power of x, we can derive from it rational values of x and y, similar to the previous three cases.
The application of the preceding general methods of resolution to any particular case is very easy; we shall therefore conclude with a single example.
The use of the general methods mentioned earlier to solve any specific case is quite straightforward; we will wrap up with one example.
Ex. It is required to find two square numbers whose sum is a given square number.
Ex. You need to find two square numbers that add up to a specific square number.
Let a² be the given square number, and x², y² the numbers required; then, by the question, x² + y² = a², and y = √(a² − x²). This equation is evidently of such a form as to be resolvable by the method employed in case 1. Accordingly, by comparing √(a² − x²) with the general expression √(g² + bx + cx²), we have g = a, b = 0, c = −1, and substituting these values in the formulae, and also −n for +m, we find
Let a² be the given square number, and x², y² be the numbers we need; then, based on the problem, x² + y² = a², and y = √(a² − x²). This equation is clearly in a form that can be solved using the method from case 1. Therefore, by comparing √(a² − x²) with the general expression √(g² + bx + cx²), we find g = a, b = 0, c = −1, and by substituting these values into the formulas, and also using −n instead of +m, we discover
x = | 2an | , y = | a (n² − 1) | . |
n² + 1 | n² + 1 |
If a = n² + 1, there results x = 2n, y = n² − 1, a = n² + 1. Hence if r be an even number, the three sides of a rational right-angled triangle are r, (½ r)² − 1, (½ r)² + 1. If r be an odd number, they become (dividing by 2) r, ½ (r² − 1), ½ (r² + 1).
If a = n² + 1, then x = 2n, y = n² − 1, and a = n² + 1. So, if r is an even number, the three sides of a rational right-angled triangle are r, (½ r)² − 1, and (½ r)² + 1. If r is an odd number, they become (dividing by 2) r, ½ (r² − 1), and ½ (r² + 1).
For example, if r = 4, 4, 4 − 1, 4 + 1, or 4, 3, 5, are the sides of a right-angled triangle; if r = 7, 7, 24, 25 are the sides of a right-angled triangle.
For example, if r = 4, then 4, 4, 4 − 1, 4 + 1, or 4, 3, 5 are the sides of a right-angled triangle; if r = 7, then 7, 7, 24, 25 are the sides of a right-angled triangle.
III. Cubic Equations.
III. Cube Equations.
1. Cubic equations, like all equations above the first degree, are divided into two classes: they are said to be pure when they contain only one power of the unknown quantity; and adfected when they contain two or more powers of that quantity.
1. Cubic equations, like all equations above the first degree, are divided into two classes: they are called pure when they contain only one power of the unknown variable; and adfected when they include two or more powers of that variable.
Pure cubic equations are therefore of the form x³ = r; and hence it appears that a value of the simple power of the unknown quantity may always be found without difficulty, by extracting the cube root of each side of the equation. Let us consider the equation x³ − c³ = 0 more fully. This is decomposable into the factors x − c = 0 and x² + cx + c² = 0. The roots of this quadratic equation are ½ (−1 ± √−3) c, and we see that the equation x³ = c³ has three roots, namely, one real root c, and two imaginary roots ½ (−1 ± √−3) c. By making c equal to unity, we observe that ½ (−1 ± √−3) are the imaginary cube roots of unity, which are generally denoted by ω and ω², for it is easy to show that (½ (−1 − √−3))² = ½ (−1 + √−3).
Pure cubic equations are in the form x³ = r. Therefore, we can always find a value for the unknown quantity by taking the cube root of both sides of the equation. Let's take a closer look at the equation x³ − c³ = 0. This can be factored into x − c = 0 and x² + cx + c² = 0. The roots of this quadratic equation are ½ (−1 ± √−3) c, so we can see that the equation x³ = c³ has three roots: one real root c and two imaginary roots ½ (−1 ± √−3) c. When we set c to one, we find that ½ (−1 ± √−3) are the imaginary cube roots of unity, generally represented as ω and ω², since it's simple to show that (½ (−1 − √−3))² = ½ (−1 + √−3).
2. Let us now consider such cubic equations as have all their terms, and which are therefore of this form,
2. Let’s now look at cubic equations that have all their terms, which takes this form,
x³ + Ax² + Bx + C = 0,
x³ + Ax² + Bx + C = 0,
where A, B and C denote known quantities, either positive or negative.
where A, B, and C represent known values, which can be either positive or negative.
This equation may be transformed into another in which the second term is wanting by the substitution x = y − A/3. This transformation is a particular case of a general theorem. Let xn + Axn−1 + Bxn−2 ... = 0. Substitute x = y + h; then (y + h)n + A (y + h)n−1 ... = 0. Expand each term by the binomial theorem, and let us fix our attention on the coefficient of yn−1. By this process we obtain 0 = yn + yn−1(A + nh) + terms involving lower powers of y.
This equation can be changed into another where the second term is missing by using the substitution x = y − A/3. This transformation is a specific case of a general theorem. Let xⁿ + Axⁿ⁻¹ + Bxⁿ⁻² ... = 0. Substitute x = y + h; then (y + h)ⁿ + A (y + h)ⁿ⁻¹ ... = 0. Expand each term using the binomial theorem, and let's focus on the coefficient of yⁿ⁻¹. Through this process, we get 0 = yⁿ + yⁿ⁻¹(A + nh) + terms involving lower powers of y.
Now h can have any value, and if we choose it so that A + nh = 0, then the second term of our derived equation vanishes.
Now h can be any value, and if we pick it so that A + nh = 0, then the second term of our derived equation disappears.
Resuming, therefore, the equation y³ + qy + r = 0, let us suppose y = v + z; we then have y³ = v³ + z³ + 3vz (v + z) = v³ + z³ + 3vzy, and the original equation becomes v³ + z³ + (3vz + q) y + r = 0. Now v and z are any two quantities subject to the relation y = v + z, and if we suppose 3vz + q = 0, they are completely determined. This leads to v³ + z³ + r = 0 and 3vz + q = 0. Therefore v³ and z³ are the roots of the quadratic t² + rt − q²/27 = 0. Therefore
Resuming, therefore, the equation y³ + qy + r = 0, let's assume y = v + z; we then have y³ = v³ + z³ + 3vz(v + z) = v³ + z³ + 3vzy, and the original equation becomes v³ + z³ + (3vz + q)y + r = 0. Now v and z are any two values satisfying the relationship y = v + z, and if we assume 3vz + q = 0, they are completely defined. This leads to v³ + z³ + r = 0 and 3vz + q = 0. Therefore v³ and z³ are the roots of the quadratic t² + rt - q²/27 = 0. Therefore
v³ = | −½ r + √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼ r²); z³ = −½ r − √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼r²); |
v = | 3√{−½ r + √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼ r²) }; z = 3√{ (−½ r − √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼ r²) }; |
and y = | v + z = 3√{−½ r + √(1⁄27q³ + ¼ r²) } + 3√{−½ r − √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼ r²) }. |
Thus we have obtained a value of the unknown quantity y, in terms of the known quantities q and r; therefore the equation is resolved.
Thus we have found the value of the unknown quantity y in terms of the known quantities q and r; therefore, the equation is solved.
3. But this is only one of three values which y may have. Let us, for the sake of brevity, put
3. But this is only one of three values that y can take. For simplicity, let's put
A = −½ r + √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼ r²), B = −½ r − √(1⁄27 q³ + ¼ r²),
A = -½ r + √(1/27 q³ + ¼ r²), B = -½ r - √(1/27 q³ + ¼ r²),
and put | α = ½ (−1 + √−3), |
β = ½ (−1 − √−3). |
Then, from what has been shown (§ 1), it is evident that v and z have each these three values,
Then, based on what has been shown (§ 1), it’s clear that v and z each have these three values,
v = 3√A, v = α3√A, v = β3√A;
z = 3√B, z = α3√B, z = β3√B.
v = 3√A, v = α3√A, v = β3√A;
z = 3√B, z = α3√B, z = β3√B.
To determine the corresponding values of v and z, we must consider that vz = −1⁄3 q = 3√(AB). Now if we observe that αβ = 1, it will immediately appear that v + z has these three values,
To find the values of v and z, we need to take into account that vz = −1⁄3 q = 3√(AB). Now, if we note that αβ = 1, it will become clear that v + z has these three values,
v + z = 3√A + 3√B,
v + z = α3√A + β3√B,
v + z = β3√A + α3√B,
v + z = 3√A + 3√B,
v + z = α3√A + β3√B,
v + z = β3√A + α3√B,
which are therefore the three values of y.
which are therefore the three values of y.
The first of these formulae is commonly known by the name of Cardan’s rule (see Algebra: History).
The first of these formulas is generally known as Cardan’s rule (see Algebra: History).
The formulae given above for the roots of a cubic equation may be put under a different form, better adapted to the purposes of arithmetical calculation, as follows:—Because vz = −1⁄3 q, therefore z = −1⁄3q × 1/v = −1⁄3 q / 3√A; hence v + z = 3√A − 1⁄3 q / 3√A: thus it appears that the three values of y may also be expressed thus:
The formulas provided above for the roots of a cubic equation can be rewritten in a way that's more suitable for arithmetic calculations, like this: Since vz = −1⁄3 q, it follows that z = −1⁄3q × 1/v = −1⁄3 q / 3√A; therefore v + z = 3√A − 1⁄3 q / 3√A: thus, it shows that the three values of y can also be expressed this way:
y = 3√A − 1⁄3 q / 3√A
y = α3√A − 1⁄3 qβ / 3√A
y = β3√A − 1⁄3 qα / 3√A.
y = 3√A − Below⁄3 q / 3√A
y = α3√A − 1⁄3 qβ / 3√A
y = β3√A − 1⁄3 qα / 3√A.
See below, Theory of Equations, §§ 16 et seq.
See below, Theory of Equations, §§ 16 and following.
IV. Biquadratic Equations.
IV. Biquadratic Equations.
1. When a biquadratic equation contains all its terms, it has this form,
1. When a biquadratic equation has all its terms, it looks like this,
x4 + Ax³ + Bx² + Cx + D = 0,
x4 + Ax³ + Bx² + Cx + D = 0,
where A, B, C, D denote known quantities.
where A, B, C, D represent known values.
We shall first consider pure biquadratics, or such as contain only the first and last terms, and therefore are of this form, x4 = b4. In this case it is evident that x may be readily had by two extractions of the square root; by the first we find x² = b², and by the second x = b. This, however, is only one of the values which x may have; for since x4 = b4, therefore x4 − b4 = 0; but x4 − b4 may be resolved into two factors x² − b² and x² + b², each of which admits of a similar resolution; for x² − b² = (x − b)(x + b) and x² + b² = (x − b√−1)(x + b√−1). Hence it appears that the equation x4 − b4 = 0 may also be expressed thus,
We will first look at pure biquadratics, which only include the first and last terms, and therefore take this form: x4 = b4. In this case, it's clear that we can easily find x by taking the square root twice; first, we get x² = b², and then from there, x = b. However, this is just one of the possible values for x; since x4 = b4, we can also say that x4 − b4 = 0. This equation can be factored into two parts: x² − b² and x² + b², both of which can be further resolved. For x² − b², we have (x − b)(x + b) and for x² + b², we have (x − b√−1)(x + b√−1). Therefore, it shows that the equation x4 − b4 = 0 can also be written this way,
(x − b) (x + b) (x − b√−1) (x + b√−1) = 0;
(x − b) (x + b) (x − b√−1) (x + b√−1) = 0;
so that x may have these four values,
so that x can have these four values,
+b, −b, +b√−1, −b√−1,
+b, −b, +bi, −bi,
two of which are real, and the others imaginary.
two of which are real, and the others are imaginary.
2. Next to pure biquadratic equations, in respect of easiness of resolution, are such as want the second and fourth terms, and therefore have this form,
2. After pure biquadratic equations, the next easiest to solve are those that are missing the second and fourth terms, resulting in this form,
x4 + qx² + s = 0.
x4 + qx² + s = 0.
These may be resolved in the manner of quadratic equations; for if we put y = x², we have
These can be solved like quadratic equations; because if we set y = x², we have
y² + qy + s = 0,
y² + qy + s = 0,
from which we find y = ½ {−q ± √(q² − 4s) }, and therefore
from which we find y = ½ {−q ± √(q² − 4s) }, and therefore
x = ±√½ {−q ± √(q² − 4s) }.
x = ±√(1/2) {−q ± √(q² − 4s)}.
3. When a biquadratic equation has all its terms, its resolution may be always reduced to that of a cubic equation. There are various methods by which such a reduction may be effected. The following was first given by Leonhard Euler in the Petersburg Commentaries, and afterwards explained more fully in his Elements of Algebra.
3. When a biquadratic equation includes all its terms, it can always be simplified to solve a cubic equation. There are several methods to achieve this reduction. The following method was first introduced by Leonhard Euler in the Petersburg Commentaries, and later explained in more detail in his Elements of Algebra.
We have already explained how an equation which is complete in its terms may be transformed into another of the same degree, but which wants the second term; therefore any biquadratic equation may be reduced to this form,
We have already explained how an equation that is complete in its terms can be transformed into another equation of the same degree, but which is missing the second term; therefore any biquadratic equation can be reduced to this form,
y4 + py² + qy + r = 0,
y4 + py² + qy + r = 0,
where the second term is wanting, and where p, q, r denote any known quantities whatever.
where the second term is missing, and where p, q, r represent any known values at all.
That we may form an equation similar to the above, let us assume y = √a + √b + √c, and also suppose that the letters a, b, c denote the roots of the cubic equation
That we can create an equation similar to the one above, let's assume y = √a + √b + √c, and also let’s say that the letters a, b, c represent the roots of the cubic equation
z³ + Pz² + Qz − R = 0;
z³ + Pz² + Qz - R = 0;
then, from the theory of equations we have
then, from the theory of equations we have
a + b + c = −P, ab + ac + bc = Q, abc = R.
a + b + c = −P, ab + ac + bc = Q, abc = R.
We square the assumed formula
We square the assumed formula.
y = √a + √b + √c,
y = √a + √b + √c,
and obtain y² = a + b + c + 2(√ab + √ac + √bc);
and obtain y² = a + b + c + 2(√ab + √ac + √bc);
or, substituting −P for a + b + c, and transposing,
or, substituting −P for a + b + c, and rearranging,
y² + P = 2(√ab + √ac + √bc).
y² + P = 2(√ab + √ac + √bc).
Let this equation be also squared, and we have
Let’s square this equation, and we have
y4 + 2Py² + P² = 4 (ab + ac + bc) + 8 (√a²bc + √ab²c + √abc²);
y4 + 2Py² + P² = 4 (ab + ac + bc) + 8 (√a²bc + √ab²c + √abc²);
and since ab + ac + bc = Q,
and since ab + ac + bc = Q,
and √a²bc + √ab²c + √abc² = √abc (√a + √b + √c) = √R·y,
and √a²bc + √ab²c + √abc² = √abc (√a + √b + √c) = √R·y,
the same equation may be expressed thus:
the same equation can be expressed like this:
y4 + 2Py² + P² = 4Q + 8√R·y.
y4 + 2Py² + P² = 4Q + 8√R·y.
Thus we have the biquadratic equation
Thus we have the quartic equation
y4 + 2Py² − 8√R·y + P² − 4Q = 0,
y4 + 2Py² − 8√R·y + P² − 4Q = 0,
one of the roots of which is y = √a + √b + √c, while a, b, c are the roots of the cubic equation z³ + Pz² + Qz − R = 0.
one of the roots is y = √a + √b + √c, where a, b, c are the roots of the cubic equation z³ + Pz² + Qz − R = 0.
4. In order to apply this resolution to the proposed equation y4 + py² + qy + r = 0, we must express the assumed coefficients P, Q, R by means of p, q, r, the coefficients of that equation. For this purpose let us compare the equations
4. To apply this resolution to the proposed equation y4 + py² + qy + r = 0, we need to express the assumed coefficients P, Q, R in terms of p, q, r, the coefficients of that equation. For this, let's compare the equations.
y4 + py² + qy + r = 0,
y4 + 2Py² − 8√Ry + P² − 4Q = 0,
y4 + py² + qy + r = 0,
y4 + 2Py² − 8√Ry + P² − 4Q = 0,
and it immediately appears that
and it quickly becomes clear that
2P = p, −8√R = q, P² − 4Q = r;
2P = p, −8√R = q, P² − 4Q = r;
and from these equations we find
and from these equations, we find
P = ½ p, Q = 1⁄16 (p² − 4r), R = 1⁄64 q².
P = ½ p, Q = 1⁄16 (p² − 4r), R = 1⁄64 q².
Hence it follows that the roots of the proposed equation are generally expressed by the formula
Hence it follows that the roots of the proposed equation are generally expressed by the formula
y = √a + √b + √c;
y = √a + √b + √c;
where a, b, c denote the roots of this cubic equation,
where a, b, c represent the roots of this cubic equation,
z³ + | p | z² + | p² − 4r | z − | q² | = 0. |
2 | 16 | 64 |
But to find each particular root, we must consider, that as the square root of a number may be either positive or negative, so each of the quantities √a, √b, √c may have either the sign + or − prefixed to it; and hence our formula will give eight different expressions for the root. It is, however, to be observed, that as the product of the three quantities √a, √b, √c must be equal to √R or to −1⁄8 q; when q is positive, their product must be a negative quantity, and this can only be effected by making either one or three of them negative; again, when q is negative, their product must be a positive quantity; so that in this case they must either be all positive, or two of them must be negative. These considerations enable us to determine that four of the eight expressions for the root belong to the case in which q is positive, and the other four to that in which it is negative.
But to find each specific root, we need to remember that just like the square root of a number can be either positive or negative, each of the quantities √a, √b, √c can have either a + or - sign in front of it. Therefore, our formula will produce eight different expressions for the root. However, it's important to note that since the product of the three quantities √a, √b, √c must equal √R or -1⁄8 q; when q is positive, their product has to be a negative quantity, which means either one or three of them must be negative. Conversely, when q is negative, their product has to be a positive quantity; so in this case, they need to either all be positive or two of them need to be negative. These considerations help us figure out that four of the eight expressions for the root pertain to the case where q is positive, and the other four relate to when it’s negative.
5. We shall now give the result of the preceding investigation in the form of a practical rule; and as the coefficients of the cubic equation which has been found involve fractions, we shall transform it into another, in which the coefficients are integers, by supposing z = ¼ v. Thus the equation
5. We will now present the results of the earlier investigation as a practical rule; and since the coefficients of the cubic equation we found contain fractions, we will change it into another form where the coefficients are whole numbers by letting z = ¼ v. So, the equation
z³ + | p | z² + | p² − 4r | z − | q² | = 0 |
2 | 16 | 64 |
becomes, after reduction,
becomes, after cutting down,
v³ + 2pv² + (p² − 4r) v − q² = 0;
v³ + 2pv² + (p² − 4r) v − q² = 0;
it also follows, that if the roots of the latter equation are a, b, c, the roots of the former are ¼ a, ¼ b, ¼ c, so that our rule may now be expressed thus:
it also follows that if the roots of the latter equation are a, b, c, the roots of the former are ¼ a, ¼ b, ¼ c, so our rule can now be expressed as:
Let y4 + py² + qy + r = 0 be any biquadratic equation wanting its second term. Form this cubic equation
Let y4 + py² + qy + r = 0 be any biquadratic equation seeking its second term. Form this cubic equation.
v³ + 2pv² + (p² − 4r) v − q² = 0,
v³ + 2pv² + (p² − 4r)v − q² = 0,
and find its roots, which let us denote by a, b, c.
and find its roots, which we can label as a, b, c.
Then the roots of the proposed biquadratic equation are,
Then the roots of the suggested quadratic equation are,
when q is negative, | when q is positive, |
y = ½ (√a + √b + √c), | y = ½ (−√a − √b − √c), |
y = ½ (√a − √b − √c), | y = ½ (−√a + √b + √c), |
y = ½ (−√a + √b − √c), | y = ½ (√a − √b + √c), |
y = ½ (−√a − √b + √c), | y = ½ (√a + √b − √c). |
See also below, Theory of Equations, § 17 et seq.
See also below, Theory of Equations, § 17 and following.
V. Theory of Equations.
V. Equation Theory.
1. In the subject “Theory of Equations” the term equation is used to denote an equation of the form xn − p1xn−1 ... ± pn = 0, where p1, p2 ... pn are regarded as known, and x as a quantity to be determined; for shortness the equation is written ƒ(x) = 0.
1. In the topic "Theory of Equations," the term equation refers to an equation in the format xn − p1xn−1 ... ± pn = 0, where p1, p2 ... pn are treated as known values, and x represents the variable we need to find; for convenience, the equation is expressed as ƒ(x) = 0.
The equation may be numerical; that is, the coefficients p1, p2n, ... pn are then numbers—understanding by number a quantity of the form α + βi (α and β having any positive or negative real values whatever, or say each of these is regarded as susceptible of continuous variation from an indefinitely large negative to an indefinitely large positive value), and i denoting √−1.
The equation can be numerical; that is, the coefficients p1, p2n, ... pn are numbers—by number, we mean a quantity of the form α + βi (where α and β can be any positive or negative real values, or we can say each of these can continuously vary from a very large negative to a very large positive value), and i represents √−1.
Or the equation may be algebraical; that is, the coefficients are not then restricted to denote, or are not explicitly considered as denoting, numbers.
Or the equation may be algebraic; that is, the coefficients are not restricted to represent, or are not explicitly viewed as representing, numbers.
1. We consider first numerical equations. (Real theory, 2-6; Imaginary theory, 7-10.)
1. Let's first look at numerical equations. (Real theory, 2-6; Imaginary theory, 7-10.)
Real Theory.
Real Theory.
2. Postponing all consideration of imaginaries, we take in the first instance the coefficients to be real, and attend only to the real roots (if any); that is, p1, p2, ... pn are real positive or negative quantities, and a root a, if it exists, is a positive or negative quantity such that an − p1an−1 ... ± pn = 0, or say, ƒ(a) = 0.
2. Ignoring all imaginary numbers for now, we first consider the coefficients as real and focus only on the real roots (if they exist); that is, p1, p2, ... pn are real, either positive or negative. A root a, if it exists, is a positive or negative value such that an − p1an−1 ... ± pn = 0, or simply,ƒ(a) = 0.
It is very useful to consider the curve y = ƒ(x),—or, what would come to the same, the curve Ay = ƒ(x),—but it is better to retain the first-mentioned form of equation, drawing, if need be, the ordinate y on a reduced scale. For instance, if the given equation be x³ − 6x² + 11x − 6.06 = 0,1 then the curve 713 y = x³ − 6x² + 11x − 6.06 is as shown in fig. 1, without any reduction of scale for the ordinate.
It’s really helpful to look at the curve y = ƒ(x)—or, equivalently, the curve Ay = ƒ(x)—but it's better to keep the first version of the equation, adjusting the y-axis scale if necessary. For example, if the equation is x³ − 6x² + 11x − 6.06 = 0,1 then the curve 713 y = x³ − 6x² + 11x − 6.06 appears in fig. 1, with the y-axis scale unchanged.
It is clear that, in general, y is a continuous one-valued function of x, finite for every finite value of x, but becoming infinite when x is infinite; i.e., assuming throughout that the coefficient of xn is +1, then when x = ∞, y = +∞; but when x = −∞, then y = +∞ or −∞, according as n is even or odd; the curve cuts any line whatever, and in particular it cuts the axis (of x) in at most n points; and the value of x, at any point of intersection with the axis, is a root of the equation ƒ(x) = 0.
It’s clear that, overall, y is a continuous one-valued function of x, finite for every finite value of x, but becoming infinite when x is infinite; i.e., assuming throughout that the coefficient of xn is +1, then when x = ∞, y = +∞; but when x = −∞, y can be either +∞ or −∞, depending on whether n is even or odd; the curve intersects any line, and specifically, it intersects the x-axis at most n points; the value of x at any point where it intersects the axis is a root of the equation ƒ(x) = 0.
If β, α are any two values of x (α > β, that is, α nearer +∞), then if ƒ(β), ƒ(α) have opposite signs, the curve cuts the axis an odd number of times, and therefore at least once, between the points x = β, x = α; but if ƒ(β), ƒ(α) have the same sign, then between these points the curve cuts the axis an even number of times, or it may be not at all. That is, ƒ(β), ƒ(α) having opposite signs, there are between the limits β, α an odd number of real roots, and therefore at least one real root; but ƒ(β), ƒ(α) having the same sign, there are between these limits an even number of real roots, or it may be there is no real root. In particular, by giving to β, α the values -∞, +∞ (or, what is the same thing, any two values sufficiently near to these values respectively) it appears that an equation of an odd order has always an odd number of real roots, and therefore at least one real root; but that an equation of an even order has an even number of real roots, or it may be no real root.
If β and α are any two values of x (with α > β, meaning α is closer to +∞), then if ƒ(β) and ƒ(α) have opposite signs, the curve crosses the axis an odd number of times, at least once, between the points x = β and x = α. However, if ƒ(β) and ƒ(α) have the same sign, then between these points the curve crosses the axis an even number of times, or not at all. In other words, if ƒ(β) and ƒ(α) have opposite signs, there are an odd number of real roots between the limits β and α, thus ensuring at least one real root exists; but if ƒ(β) and ƒ(α) have the same sign, there is an even number of real roots between these limits, or there may be no real root at all. Specifically, by assigning the values -∞ and +∞ to β and α (or, equivalently, any two values sufficiently close to these), it becomes clear that an equation of odd order always has an odd number of real roots, hence at least one real root; while an equation of even order has an even number of real roots, or it may have no real root.
If α be such that for x = or > a (that is, x nearer to +∞) ƒ(x) is always +, and β be such that for x = or < β (that is, x nearer to −∞) ƒ(x) is always −, then the real roots (if any) lie between these limits x = β, x = α; and it is easy to find by trial such two limits including between them all the real roots (if any).
If α is such that for x = or ≥ a (meaning x is closer to +∞) ƒ(x) is always positive, and β is such that for x = or ≤ β (meaning x is closer to −∞) ƒ(x) is always negative, then the real roots (if there are any) are located between these limits x = β and x = α; and it's straightforward to find by testing two limits that include all the real roots (if there are any) within them.
3. Suppose that the positive value δ is an inferior limit to the difference between two real roots of the equation; or rather (since the foregoing expression would imply the existence of real roots) suppose that there are not two real roots such that their difference taken positively is = or < δ; then, γ being any value whatever, there is clearly at most one real root between the limits γ and γ + δ; and by what precedes there is such real root or there is not such real root, according as ƒ(γ), ƒ(γ + δ) have opposite signs or have the same sign. And by dividing in this manner the interval β to α into intervals each of which is = or < δ, we should not only ascertain the number of the real roots (if any), but we should also separate the real roots, that is, find for each of them limits γ, γ + δ between which there lies this one, and only this one, real root.
3. Suppose that the positive value δ is a lower limit for the difference between two real roots of the equation; or rather (since the previous statement would suggest the existence of real roots) suppose that there aren't two real roots such that their positive difference is ≤ δ; then, for any value γ, there is clearly at most one real root between the limits γ and γ + δ; and based on what we've discussed, there is either such a real root or there isn't, depending on whether ƒ(γ) and ƒ(γ + δ) have opposite signs or the same sign. By splitting the interval from β to α into segments each of which is ≤ δ, we should not only determine the number of real roots (if any), but we should also separate the real roots, meaning we would find limits γ and γ + δ for each of them, within which lies this one, and only this one, real root.
In particular cases it is frequently possible to ascertain the number of the real roots, and to effect their separation by trial or otherwise, without much difficulty; but the foregoing was the general process as employed by Joseph Louis Lagrange even in the second edition (1808) of the Traité de la résolution des équations numériques;2 the determination of the limit δ had to be effected by means of the “equation of differences” or equation of the order ½ n(n − 1), the roots of which are the squares of the differences of the roots of the given equation, and the process is a cumbrous and unsatisfactory one.
In certain cases, it's often possible to determine the number of real roots and separate them through trial or other methods without too much effort. However, the process described was the general method used by Joseph Louis Lagrange even in the second edition (1808) of the Traité de la résolution des équations numériques;2 determining the limit δ had to be done using the “equation of differences” or the equation of order ½ n(n − 1), whose roots are the squares of the differences of the roots of the given equation, and this method is cumbersome and unsatisfactory.
4. The great step was effected by the theorem of J.C.F. Sturm (1835)—viz. here starting from the function ƒ(x), and its first derived function ƒ′(x), we have (by a process which is a slight modification of that for obtaining the greatest common measure of these two functions) to form a series of functions
4. The significant advancement was made by the theorem of J.C.F. Sturm (1835)—meaning that starting from the function ƒ(x) and its first derivative ƒ′(x), we need to create a series of functions (using a process that is a minor adjustment of the one used to find the greatest common measure of these two functions).
ƒ(x), ƒ′(x), ƒ2(x), ... ƒn(x)
ƒ(x), ƒ'(x), ƒ²(x), ... ƒⁿ(x)
of the degrees n, n − 1, n − 2 ... 0 respectively,—the last term ƒn(x) being thus an absolute constant. These lead to the immediate determination of the number of real roots (if any) between any two given limits β, α; viz. supposing α > β (that is, α nearer to +∞), then substituting successively these two values in the series of functions, and attending only to the signs of the resulting values, the number of the changes of sign lost in passing from β to α is the required number of real roots between the two limits. In particular, taking β, α = −∞, +∞ respectively, the signs of the several functions depend merely on the signs of the terms which contain the highest powers of x, and are seen by inspection, and the theorem thus gives at once the whole number of real roots.
of the degrees n, n − 1, n − 2 ... 0 respectively,—the last term ƒn(x) being an absolute constant. These lead to the immediate determination of the number of real roots (if any) between any two given limits β and α; that is, if α > β (meaning α is closer to +∞), then by substituting these two values in the series of functions one after the other and only considering the signs of the resulting values, the number of sign changes occurring when moving from β to α is the number of real roots within those two limits. In particular, when taking β and α as −∞ and +∞ respectively, the signs of the various functions depend solely on the signs of the terms with the highest powers of x, which can be determined by inspection, and the theorem thus provides the total number of real roots at once.
And although theoretically, in order to complete by a finite number of operations the separation of the real roots, we still need to know the value of the before-mentioned limit δ; yet in any given case the separation may be effected by a limited number of repetitions of the process. The practical difficulty is when two or more roots are very near to each other. Suppose, for instance, that the theorem shows that there are two roots between 0 and 10; by giving to x the values 1, 2, 3, ... successively, it might appear that the two roots were between 5 and 6; then again that they were between 5.3 and 5.4, then between 5.34 and 5.35, and so on until we arrive at a separation; say it appears that between 5.346 and 5.347 there is one root, and between 5.348 and 5.349 the other root. But in the case in question δ would have a very small value, such as .002, and even supposing this value known, the direct application of the first-mentioned process would be still more laborious.
And even though, in theory, to separate the real roots in a finite number of steps we still need to know the value of the mentioned limit δ, in practice, we can often separate them by repeating the process only a limited number of times. The main challenge arises when two or more roots are really close to each other. For example, if the theorem indicates there are two roots between 0 and 10, by testing x with values 1, 2, 3, and so on, it might seem like the two roots are between 5 and 6; then perhaps between 5.3 and 5.4, again between 5.34 and 5.35, and so forth until we identify a separation—let’s say, one root appears to be between 5.346 and 5.347, and the other between 5.348 and 5.349. But in this scenario, δ would be a very small value, such as .002. Even if we know this value, applying the earlier method directly would still be very tedious.
5. Supposing the separation once effected, the determination of the single real root which lies between the two given limits may be effected to any required degree of approximation either by the processes of W.G. Horner and Lagrange (which are in principle a carrying out of the method of Sturm’s theorem), or by the process of Sir Isaac Newton, as perfected by Joseph Fourier (which requires to be separately considered).
5. Once the separation is done, you can find the single real root that lies between the two given limits to any desired level of accuracy using the methods of W.G. Horner and Lagrange (which essentially follow Sturm’s theorem), or by using Sir Isaac Newton's method, as improved by Joseph Fourier (which needs to be looked at separately).
First as to Horner and Lagrange. We know that between the limits β, α there lies one, and only one, real root of the equation; ƒ(β) and ƒ(α) have therefore opposite signs. Suppose any intermediate value is θ; in order to determine by Sturm’s theorem whether the root lies between β, θ, or between θ, α, it would be quite unnecessary to calculate the signs of ƒ(θ),ƒ′(θ), ƒ2(θ) ...; only the sign of ƒ(θ) is required; for, if this has the same sign as ƒ(β), then the root is between β, θ; if the same sign as ƒ(α), then the root is between θ, α. We want to make θ increase from the inferior limit β, at which ƒ(θ) has the sign of ƒ(β), so long as ƒ(θ) retains this sign, and then to a value for which it assumes the opposite sign; we have thus two nearer limits of the required root, and the process may be repeated indefinitely.
First, let's talk about Horner and Lagrange. We know that between the limits β and α, there is exactly one real root of the equation; ƒ(β) and ƒ(α) therefore have opposite signs. Let’s say any intermediate value is θ; to determine by Sturm’s theorem whether the root lies between β and θ or between θ and α, it’s only necessary to calculate the sign of ƒ(θ); we don't need to compute the signs of ƒ(θ), ƒ′(θ), ƒ2(θ), etc. If ƒ(θ) has the same sign as ƒ(β), then the root is between β and θ; if it has the same sign as ƒ(α), then the root is between θ and α. We want to increase θ starting from the lower limit β, where ƒ(θ) has the sign of ƒ(β), as long as ƒ(θ) keeps this sign, and then find a value where it takes on the opposite sign; this gives us two closer limits for the required root, and we can repeat the process indefinitely.
Horner’s method (1819) gives the root as a decimal, figure by figure; thus if the equation be known to have one real root between 0 and 10, it is in effect shown say that 5 is too small (that is, the root is between 5 and 6); next that 5.4 is too small (that is, the root is between 5.4 and 5.5); and so on to any number of decimals. Each figure is obtained, not by the successive trial of all the figures which precede it, but (as in the ordinary process of the extraction of a square root, which is in fact Horner’s process applied to this particular case) it is given presumptively as the first figure of a quotient; such value may be too large, and then the next inferior integer must be tried instead of it, or it may require to be further diminished. And it is to be remarked that the process not only gives the approximate value α of the root, but (as in the extraction of a square root) it includes the calculation of the function ƒ(α), which should be, and approximately is, = 0. The arrangement of the calculations is very elegant, and forms an integral part of the actual method. It is to be observed that after a certain number of decimal places have been obtained, a good many more can be found by a mere division. It is in the progress tacitly assumed that the roots have been first separated.
Horner’s method (1819) provides the root as a decimal, figuring it out one digit at a time. For example, if we know the equation has one real root between 0 and 10, we conclude that 5 is too low (meaning the root is between 5 and 6); then we find that 5.4 is still too low (so the root is between 5.4 and 5.5); and we can keep going to any number of decimals. Each digit isn't found by trying every preceding digit one by one, but rather (similar to the usual method for extracting a square root, which is essentially Horner’s method applied in this specific scenario) it’s suggested as the first digit of a quotient. That value might be too high, requiring us to try the next lower integer, or it might need to be adjusted further down. It's worth noting that this process not only gives the approximate value α of the root, but (as in extracting a square root) it also includes calculating the function ƒ(α), which should be, and is approximately, equal to 0. The arrangement of these calculations is quite elegant and is a key part of the method itself. Additionally, after obtaining a certain number of decimal places, many more can be found simply through division. It’s implicitly assumed throughout the process that the roots have been identified first.
Lagrange’s method (1767) gives the root as a continued fraction a + 1/b + 1/c + ..., where a is a positive or negative integer (which may be = 0), but b, c, ... are positive integers. Suppose the roots have been separated; then (by trial if need be of consecutive integer values) the limits may be made to be consecutive integer numbers: say they are a, a + 1; the value of x is therefore = a + 1/y, where y is positive and greater than 1; from the given equation for x, writing therein x = a + 1/y, we form an equation of the same order for y, and this equation will have one, and only one, positive root greater than 1; hence finding for it the limits b, b + 1 (where b is = or > 1), we have y = b + 1/z, where z is positive and greater than 1; and so on—that is, we thus obtain the successive denominators b, c, d ... of the continued fraction. The method is theoretically very elegant, but the disadvantage is that it gives the result in the form of a continued fraction, which for the most part must ultimately be converted into a decimal. There is one advantage in the method, that a commensurable root (that is, a root equal to a rational fraction) is found accurately, since, when such root exists, the continued fraction terminates.
Lagrange’s method (1767) gives the root as a continued fraction: a + 1/b + 1/c + ..., where a is an integer (it can be positive, negative, or even 0), while b, c, ... are positive integers. If the roots have been separated, we can make the limits consecutive integers through trial and error if necessary: let's say they are a and a + 1. Therefore, the value of x is a + 1/y, where y is a positive integer greater than 1. By substituting x = a + 1/y into the original equation for x, we generate a new equation of the same order for y, which will have exactly one positive root greater than 1. So, by finding the limits b and b + 1 (where b is 1 or greater), we can express y as b + 1/z, where z is also a positive integer greater than 1. This process continues, allowing us to obtain the successive denominators b, c, d ... of the continued fraction. The method is theoretically very elegant, but its drawback is that it presents the result as a continued fraction, which usually needs to be converted to a decimal. One advantage of this method is that it accurately finds a commensurable root (a root that is a rational fraction) because when such a root exists, the continued fraction comes to an end.
6. Newton’s method (1711), as perfected by Fourier(1831), may be 714 roughly stated as follows. If x = γ be an approximate value of any root, and γ + h the correct value, then ƒ(γ + h) = 0, that is,
6. Newton’s method (1711), as refined by Fourier (1831), can be roughly stated like this: If x = γ is an approximate value of any root, and γ + h is the accurate value, then ƒ(γ + h) = 0, that is,
ƒ(γ) + | h | ƒ′(γ) + | h² | ƒ″(γ) + ... = 0; |
1 | 1·2 |
and then, if h be so small that the terms after the second may be neglected, ƒ(γ) + hƒ′(γ) = 0, that is, h = {−ƒ(γ)/ƒ′(γ) }, or the new approximate value is x = γ − {ƒ(γ)/ƒ′(γ) }; and so on, as often as we please. It will be observed that so far nothing has been assumed as to the separation of the roots, or even as to the existence of a real root; γ has been taken as the approximate value of a root, but no precise meaning has been attached to this expression. The question arises, What are the conditions to be satisfied by γ in order that the process may by successive repetitions actually lead to a certain real root of the equation; or that, γ being an approximate value of a certain real root, the new value γ − {ƒ(γ)/ƒ′(γ) } may be a more approximate value.
and then, if h is so small that the terms after the second can be ignored, ƒ(γ) + hƒ′(γ) = 0, meaning h = {−ƒ(γ)/ƒ′(γ)}, or the new approximate value is x = γ − {ƒ(γ)/ƒ′(γ)}; and so on, as often as we want. It should be noted that up to this point, nothing has been assumed about the separation of the roots, or even about the existence of a real root; γ has been considered as the approximate value of a root, but no exact meaning has been given to this term. The question arises, what conditions must be met by γ for the process to actually lead, through repeated steps, to a specific real root of the equation; or that, if γ is an approximate value of a particular real root, the new value γ − {ƒ(γ)/ƒ′(γ)} can be a more accurate approximation.
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Fig. 1. |
Referring to fig. 1, it is easy to see that if OC represent the assumed value γ, then, drawing the ordinate CP to meet the curve in P, and the tangent PC′ to meet the axis in C′, we shall have OC′ as the new approximate value of the root. But observe that there is here a real root OX, and that the curve beyond X is convex to the axis; under these conditions the point C′ is nearer to X than was C; and, starting with C′ instead of C, and proceeding in like manner to draw a new ordinate and tangent, and so on as often as we please, we approximate continually, and that with great rapidity, to the true value OX. But if C had been taken on the other side of X, where the curve is concave to the axis, the new point C′ might or might not be nearer to X than was the point C; and in this case the method, if it succeeds at all, does so by accident only, i.e. it may happen that C′ or some subsequent point comes to be a point C, such that CO is a proper approximate value of the root, and then the subsequent approximations proceed in the same manner as if this value had been assumed in the first instance, all the preceding work being wasted. It thus appears that for the proper application of the method we require more than the mere separation of the roots. In order to be able to approximate to a certain root α, = OX, we require to know that, between OX and some value ON, the curve is always convex to the axis (analytically, between the two values, ƒ(x) and ƒ″(x) must have always the same sign). When this is so, the point C may be taken anywhere on the proper side of X, and within the portion XN of the axis; and the process is then the one already explained. The approximation is in general a very rapid one. If we know for the required root OX the two limits OM, ON such that from M to X the curve is always concave to the axis, while from X to N it is always convex to the axis,—then, taking D anywhere in the portion MX and (as before) C in the portion XN, drawing the ordinates DQ, CP, and joining the points P, Q by a line which meets the axis in D′, also constructing the point C′ by means of the tangent at P as before, we have for the required root the new limits OD′, OC′; and proceeding in like manner with the points D′, C′, and so on as often as we please, we obtain at each step two limits approximating more and more nearly to the required root OX. The process as to the point D′, translated into analysis, is the ordinate process of interpolation. Suppose OD = β, OC = α, we have approximately ƒ(β + h) = ƒ(β) + h{ƒ(α) − ƒ(β) } / (α − β), whence if the root is β + h then h = − (α − β)ƒ(β) / {ƒ(α) − ƒ(β) }.
Referring to fig. 1, it's clear that if OC represents the assumed value γ, then by drawing the line CP to meet the curve at P, and the tangent PC′ to meet the axis at C′, we get OC′ as the new approximate value of the root. However, note that there is a real root OX, and the curve beyond X is convex to the axis; under these conditions, the point C′ is closer to X than C was; and by starting with C′ instead of C and drawing a new ordinate and tangent, and doing this repeatedly, we continually approach the true value OX at a fast pace. But if C had been selected on the other side of X, where the curve is concave to the axis, the new point C′ might or might not be closer to X compared to C; in this case, the method, if it works at all, does so by chance, meaning that C′ or some later point may turn out to be a point C, where CO becomes a proper approximate value of the root, and then the following approximations proceed in the same way as if this value had been assumed from the start, making all the previous work pointless. Thus, it appears that for the method to be applied correctly, we need more than just the simple separation of the roots. To be able to approximate a specific root α, equal to OX, we need to know that, between OX and some value ON, the curve is always convex to the axis (analytically, between the two values, f(x) and f''(x) must always have the same sign). When this condition is met, the point C can be placed anywhere on the suitable side of X, and within the segment XN of the axis; and the process follows as previously explained. The approximation is generally very rapid. If we know for the required root OX the two limits OM, ON such that from M to X the curve is always concave to the axis, while from X to N it is always convex to the axis, then by placing D anywhere in the segment MX and (as before) C in the segment XN, drawing the ordinates DQ and CP, and connecting the points P and Q with a line that meets the axis at D′, and constructing point C′ using the tangent at P as before, the new limits OD′ and OC′ for the required root are created; and by repeating this process with points D′, C′, and so on as often as we like, we obtain two limits that get closer and closer to the desired root OX. The procedure regarding point D′, when translated into analysis, is the ordinate process of interpolation. Suppose OD = β, OC = α, we have approximately f(β + h) = f(β) + h{f(α) − f(β)} / (α − β), which gives us if the root is β + h then h = − (α − β)f(β) / {f(α) − f(β)}.
Returning for a moment to Horner’s method, it may be remarked that the correction h, to an approximate value α, is therein found as a quotient the same or such as the quotient ƒ(α) ÷ ƒ′(α) which presents itself in Newton’s method. The difference is that with Horner the integer part of this quotient is taken as the presumptive value of h, and the figure is verified at each step. With Newton the quotient itself, developed to the proper number of decimal places, is taken as the value of h; if too many decimals are taken, there would be a waste of work; but the error would correct itself at the next step. Of course the calculation should be conducted without any such waste of work.
Returning to Horner’s method for a moment, it’s worth noting that the correction h, to an approximate value α, is found as a quotient similar to ƒ(α) ÷ ƒ′(α), which also appears in Newton’s method. The difference is that with Horner, the integer part of this quotient is taken as the estimated value of h, and the figure is checked at each step. In Newton's method, the entire quotient, developed to the appropriate number of decimal places, is used as the value of h; if too many decimals are used, it results in unnecessary work, but the error will adjust itself in the next step. Naturally, calculations should be carried out without any such wasted effort.
Imaginary Theory.
Imaginary Theory.
7. It will be recollected that the expression number and the correlative epithet numerical were at the outset used in a wide sense, as extending to imaginaries. This extension arises out of the theory of equations by a process analogous to that by which number, in its original most restricted sense of positive integer number, was extended to have the meaning of a real positive or negative magnitude susceptible of continuous variation.
7. It should be remembered that the term number and the related term numerical were initially used in a broad sense, including imaginary numbers. This broadening comes from the theory of equations, similar to how the term number, originally meaning just positive integers, was expanded to refer to real positive or negative values that can change continuously.
If for a moment number is understood in its most restricted sense as meaning positive integer number, the solution of a simple equation leads to an extension; ax − b = 0 gives x = b/a, a positive fraction, and we can in this manner represent, not accurately, but as nearly as we please, any positive magnitude whatever; so an equation ax + b = 0 gives x = −b/a, which (approximately as before) represents any negative magnitude. We thus arrive at the extended signification of number as a continuously varying positive or negative magnitude. Such numbers may be added or subtracted, multiplied or divided one by another, and the result is always a number. Now from a quadric equation we derive, in like manner, the notion of a complex or imaginary number such as is spoken of above. The equation x² + 1 = 0 is not (in the foregoing sense, number = real number) satisfied by any numerical value whatever of x; but we assume that there is a number which we call i, satisfying the equation i² + 1 = 0, and then taking a and b any real numbers, we form an expression such as a + bi, and use the expression number in this extended sense: any two such numbers may be added or subtracted, multiplied or divided one by the other, and the result is always a number. And if we consider first a quadric equation x² + px + q = 0 where p and q are real numbers, and next the like equation, where p and q are any numbers whatever, it can be shown that there exists for x a numerical value which satisfies the equation; or, in other words, it can be shown that the equation has a numerical root. The like theorem, in fact, holds good for an equation of any order whatever; but suppose for a moment that this was not the case; say that there was a cubic equation x³ + px² + qx + r = 0, with numerical coefficients, not satisfied by any numerical value of x, we should have to establish a new imaginary j satisfying some such equation, and should then have to consider numbers of the form a + bj, or perhaps a + bj + cj² (a, b, c numbers α + βi of the kind heretofore considered),—first we should be thrown back on the quadric equation x² + px + q = 0, p and q being now numbers of the last-mentioned extended form—non constat that every such equation has a numerical root—and if not, we might be led to other imaginaries k, l, &c., and so on ad infinitum in inextricable confusion.
If we take the term "number" in its most basic sense, meaning a positive integer, solving a simple equation leads to a broader understanding; ax − b = 0 gives x = b/a, which is a positive fraction, allowing us to represent, not perfectly, but as close as we need, any positive amount. Similarly, an equation like ax + b = 0 results in x = −b/a, which (similarly as before) represents any negative amount. This brings us to a broader meaning of number as a continuously varying positive or negative amount. Such numbers can be added or subtracted, multiplied or divided, and the result is always a number. From a quadratic equation, we can similarly derive the idea of a complex or imaginary number, as mentioned earlier. The equation x² + 1 = 0 does not have any real value for x that satisfies it (if we consider numbers strictly as real numbers); however, we assume there is a number called i, which satisfies the equation i² + 1 = 0. We can then take any real numbers a and b, form an expression like a + bi, and use the term "number" in this extended sense: any two such numbers can be added, subtracted, multiplied, or divided, and the result will always be a number. If we first look at a quadratic equation x² + px + q = 0, where p and q are real numbers, and then consider a similar equation where p and q can be any numbers, we can show that there exists a numerical value for x that satisfies the equation; in other words, the equation has a numerical root. This theorem actually holds true for equations of any order. But let's assume for a moment that this was not the case; for instance, if we had a cubic equation x³ + px² + qx + r = 0 with numerical coefficients, and it was not satisfied by any numerical value of x, we would need to establish a new imaginary number j that satisfies some equation, and then we would have to consider numbers of the form a + bj, or maybe a + bj + cj² (where a, b, c are the numbers of the form α + βi described earlier). First, we would have to revert back to the quadratic equation x² + px + q = 0, but now with p and q being numbers of this extended form—non constat that every such equation has a numerical root—and if not, we might be led to other imaginary numbers k, l, etc., continuing ad infinitum into a tangled mess.
But in fact a numerical equation of any order whatever has always a numerical root, and thus numbers (in the foregoing sense, number = quantity of the form α + βi) form (what real numbers do not) a universe complete in itself, such that starting in it we are never led out of it. There may very well be, and perhaps are, numbers in a more general sense of the term (quaternions are not a case in point, as the ordinary laws of combination are not adhered to), but in order to have to do with such numbers (if any) we must start with them.
But actually, a numerical equation of any order always has a numerical root, and so numbers (in this sense, number = quantity of the form α + βi) create a universe that is self-contained, unlike real numbers. Once we begin in this universe, we never leave it. There may very well be numbers in a broader sense of the term (quaternions don't count here, as they don't follow the usual rules of combination), but to deal with such numbers (if they exist), we need to start with them.
8. The capital theorem as regards numerical equations thus is, every numerical equation has a numerical root; or for shortness (the meaning being as before), every equation has a root. Of course the theorem is the reverse of self-evident, and it requires proof; but provisionally assuming it as true, we derive from it the general theory of numerical equations. As the term root was introduced in the course of an explanation, it will be convenient to give here the formal definition.
8. The capital theorem about numerical equations states that every numerical equation has a numerical root; or for simplicity (with the same meaning as before), every equation has a root. Of course, this theorem isn't self-evident and needs to be proven; but if we assume it to be true for now, we can develop the general theory of numerical equations from it. Since the term root was brought up during an explanation, it will be helpful to provide the formal definition here.
A number a such that substituted for x it makes the function x1n − p1xn−1 ... ± pn to be = 0, or say such that it satisfies the equation ƒ(x) = 0, is said to be a root of the equation; that is, a being a root, we have
A number, a, that when substituted for x makes the function x1n − p1xn−1 ... ± pn equal to 0, or in other words, satisfies the equation ƒ(x) = 0, is called a root of the equation; meaning, a being a root, we have
an − p1an−1 ... ± pn = 0, or say ƒ(a) = 0;
an − p1an−1 ... ± pn = 0, or simply ƒ(a) = 0;
and it is then easily shown that x − a is a factor of the function ƒ(x), viz. that we have ƒ(x) = (x − a)ƒ1(x), where ƒ1(x) is a function xn−1 − q1xn−2 ... ± qn−1 of the order n − 1, with numerical coefficients q1, q2 ... qn−1.
and it can be easily shown that x − a is a factor of the function ƒ(x), meaning that we have ƒ(x) = (x − a)ƒ1(x), where ƒ1(x) is a function xn−1 − q1xn−2 ... ± qn−1 of the order n − 1, with numerical coefficients q1, q2 ... qn−1.
In general a is not a root of the equation ƒ1(x) = 0, but it may be so—i.e. ƒ1(x) may contain the factor x − a; when this is so, ƒ(x) will contain the factor (x − a)²; writing then ƒ(x) = (x − a)²ƒ2(x), and assuming that a is not a root of the equation ƒ2(x) = 0, x = a is then said to 715 be a double root of the equation ƒ(x) = 0; and similarly ƒ(x) may contain the factor (x − a)³ and no higher power, and x = a is then a triple root; and so on.
In general, a is not a root of the equation ƒ1(x) = 0, but it could be—i.e. ƒ1(x) might have the factor x − a; when that’s the case, ƒ(x) will have the factor (x − a)². So, we write ƒ(x) = (x − a)²ƒ2(x), and assuming that a is not a root of the equation ƒ2(x) = 0, x = a is then referred to as a 715 double root of the equation ƒ(x) = 0; similarly, ƒ(x) might include the factor (x − a)³ and no higher power, making x = a a triple root; and this pattern continues.
Supposing in general that ƒ(x) = (x − a)αF(x) (α being a positive integer which may be = 1, (x − a)α the highest power of x − a which divides ƒ(x), and F(x) being of course of the order n − α), then the equation F(x) = 0 will have a root b which will be different from a; x − b will be a factor, in general a simple one, but it may be a multiple one, of F(x), and ƒ(x) will in this case be = (x − a)α (x − b)β Φ(x) (β a positive integer which may be = 1, (x − b)β the highest power of x − b in F(x) or ƒ(x), and Φ(x) being of course of the order n − α − β). The original equation ƒ(x) = 0 is in this case said to have α roots each = a, β roots each = b; and so on for any other factors (x − c)γ, &c.
Assuming in general that ƒ(x) = (x − a)αF(x) (where α is a positive integer that can be 1, and (x − a)α is the highest power of x − a that divides ƒ(x), with F(x) being of order n − α), the equation F(x) = 0 will have a root b that is different from a. In general, x − b will be a factor, usually a simple one, but it could be a multiple one of F(x), and in this case, ƒ(x) will be (x − a)α (x − b)β Φ(x) (where β is a positive integer that can be 1, (x − b)β is the highest power of x − b in F(x) or ƒ(x), and Φ(x) is of order n − α − β). The original equation ƒ(x) = 0 in this case is said to have α roots that are all a, β roots that are all b, and so on for any other factors (x − c)γ, &c.
We have thus the theorem—A numerical equation of the order n has in every case n roots, viz. there exist n numbers, a, b, ... (in general all distinct, but which may arrange themselves in any sets of equal values), such that ƒ(x) = (x − a)(x − b)(x − c) ... identically.
We have the theorem—A numerical equation of order n has n roots. This means there are n numbers, a, b, ... (usually all different, but they can also be grouped into sets of equal values), such that ƒ(x) = (x − a)(x − b)(x − c) ... identically.
If the equation has equal roots, these can in general be determined, and the case is at any rate a special one which may be in the first instance excluded from consideration. It is, therefore, in general assumed that the equation ƒ(x) = 0 has all its roots unequal.
If the equation has the same roots, we can usually figure them out, and this situation is one that can initially be set aside. Therefore, it's generally assumed that the equation ƒ(x) = 0 has all its roots distinct.
If the coefficients p1, p2, ... are all or any one or more of them imaginary, then the equation ƒ(x) = 0, separating the real and imaginary parts thereof, may be written F(x) + iΦ(x) = 0, where F(x), Φ(x) are each of them a function with real coefficients; and it thus appears that the equation ƒ(x) = 0, with imaginary coefficients, has not in general any real root; supposing it to have a real root a, this must be at once a root of each of the equations F(x) = 0 and Φ(x) = 0.
If the coefficients p1, p2, ... are any combination of imaginary numbers, then the equation ƒ(x) = 0 can be separated into its real and imaginary parts as F(x) + iΦ(x) = 0, where F(x) and Φ(x) are both functions with real coefficients. This suggests that the equation ƒ(x) = 0, when it has imaginary coefficients, generally does not have any real roots. If it does have a real root 'a', then 'a' must also be a root of both equations F(x) = 0 and Φ(x) = 0.
But an equation with real coefficients may have as well imaginary as real roots, and we have further the theorem that for any such equation the imaginary roots enter in pairs, viz. α + βi being a root, then α − βi will be also a root. It follows that if the order be odd, there is always an odd number of real roots, and therefore at least one real root.
But an equation with real coefficients can have both imaginary and real roots, and we also have the theorem that for any such equation, the imaginary roots occur in pairs, meaning if α + βi is a root, then α − βi will also be a root. This means that if the order is odd, there will always be an odd number of real roots, and therefore at least one real root.
9. In the case of an equation with real coefficients, the question of the existence of real roots, and of their separation, has been already considered. In the general case of an equation with imaginary (it may be real) coefficients, the like question arises as to the situation of the (real or imaginary) roots; thus, if for facility of conception we regard the constituents α, β of a root α + βi as the co-ordinates of a point in plano, and accordingly represent the root by such point, then drawing in the plane any closed curve or “contour,” the question is how many roots lie within such contour.
9. When it comes to an equation with real coefficients, we’ve already looked at whether real roots exist and how they are separated. In the more general case of an equation that has imaginary (or even real) coefficients, we ask a similar question about where the (real or imaginary) roots are located. To make it easier to understand, let’s think of the components α and β of a root α + βi as the coordinates of a point in plano, and represent the root as that point. Then, if we draw any closed curve or “contour” in the plane, the question becomes how many roots are inside that contour.
This is solved theoretically by means of a theorem of A.L. Cauchy (1837), viz. writing in the original equation x + iy in place of x, the function ƒ(x + iy) becomes = P + iQ, where P and Q are each of them a rational and integral function (with real coefficients) of (x, y). Imagining the point (x, y) to travel along the contour, and considering the number of changes of sign from − to + and from + to − of the fraction corresponding to passages of the fraction through zero (that is, to values for which P becomes = 0, disregarding those for which Q becomes = 0), the difference of these numbers gives the number of roots within the contour.
This is solved theoretically using a theorem by A.L. Cauchy (1837). By substituting x in the original equation with x + iy, the function ƒ(x + iy) becomes P + iQ, where P and Q are both rational integral functions (with real coefficients) of (x, y). If we imagine the point (x, y) moving along the contour and consider how many times the sign changes from − to + and from + to − for the fraction that corresponds to the passage through zero (that is, for values where P equals 0, ignoring those where Q equals 0), the difference between these numbers reveals the number of roots inside the contour.
It is important to remark that the demonstration does not presuppose the existence of any root; the contour may be the infinity of the plane (such infinity regarded as a contour, or closed curve), and in this case it can be shown (and that very easily) that the difference of the numbers of changes of sign is = n; that is, there are within the infinite contour, or (what is the same thing) there are in all n roots; thus Cauchy’s theorem contains really the proof of the fundamental theorem that a numerical equation of the nth order (not only has a numerical root, but) has precisely n roots. It would appear that this proof of the fundamental theorem in its most complete form is in principle identical with the last proof of K.F. Gauss (1849) of the theorem, in the form—A numerical equation of the nth order has always a root.3
It’s important to point out that the demonstration doesn’t assume the existence of any roots; the boundary can be the infinity of the plane (with that infinity seen as a boundary or closed curve), and in this scenario, it can be easily shown that the difference in the number of sign changes equals n; meaning, there are within the infinite boundary, or (which is the same) there are all n roots; thus Cauchy’s theorem actually provides proof of the fundamental theorem that a numerical equation of the nth order (not only has a numerical root, but) has exactly n roots. This proof of the fundamental theorem in its most complete form seems to be fundamentally identical to the final proof by K.F. Gauss (1849) of the theorem, in the form—A numerical equation of the nth order always has a root.3
But in the case of a finite contour, the actual determination of the difference which gives the number of real roots can be effected only in the case of a rectangular contour, by applying to each of its sides separately a method such as that of Sturm’s theorem; and thus the actual determination ultimately depends on a method such as that of Sturm’s theorem.
But when dealing with a finite contour, you can really figure out the difference that determines the number of real roots only if you have a rectangular contour. This is done by applying a method like Sturm’s theorem to each side individually; therefore, the actual determination ultimately relies on a method like Sturm’s theorem.
Very little has been done in regard to the calculation of the imaginary roots of an equation by approximation; and the question is not here considered.
Very little has been done regarding the approximation of imaginary roots of an equation, and this question isn't addressed here.
10. A class of numerical equations which needs to be considered is that of the binomial equations xn − a = 0 (a = α + βi, a complex number).
10. A type of numerical equation that we must consider is the binomial equation xn − a = 0 (where a = α + βi, a complex number).
The foregoing conclusions apply, viz. there are always n roots, which, it may be shown, are all unequal. And these can be found numerically by the extraction of the square root, and of an nth root, of real numbers, and by the aid of a table of natural sines and cosines.4 For writing
The conclusions above still hold: there are always n roots, and it can be shown that all of them are different. You can find these roots numerically by taking the square root and the nth root of real numbers, and with the help of a table of natural sines and cosines.4 For writing
α + βi = √(α² + β²) Please provide the short piece of text you'd like me to modernize. | α | + | β | i }, |
√(α² + β²) | √(α² + β²) |
there is always a real angle λ (positive and less than 2π), such that its cosine and sine are = α / √(α² + β²) and β / √(α² + β²) respectively; that is, writing for shortness √(α² + β²) = ρ, we have α + βi = ρ (cos λ + i sin λ), or the equation is xn = ρ (cos λ + i sin λ); hence observing that (cos λ/n + i sin λ/n )n = cos λ + i sin λ, a value of x is = n√ρ (cos λ/n + i sin λ/n). The formula really gives all the roots, for instead of λ we may write λ + 2sπ, s a positive or negative integer, and then we have
there's always a real angle λ (positive and less than 2π) such that its cosine and sine are α / √(α² + β²) and β / √(α² + β²), respectively. In short, if we let √(α² + β²) = ρ, we get α + βi = ρ (cos λ + i sin λ), or the equation is xn = ρ (cos λ + i sin λ). Hence, noting that (cos λ/n + i sin λ/n)n = cos λ + i sin λ, a value of x is = n√ρ (cos λ/n + i sin λ/n). The formula really gives all the roots, because instead of λ we can use λ + 2sπ, where s is any positive or negative integer, and then we have
x = n√ρ Sure! Please provide the text you would like me to modernize. cos | λ + 2sπ | + i sin | λ + 2sπ | ), |
n | n |
which has the n values obtained by giving to s the values 0, 1, 2 ... n − 1 in succession; the roots are, it is clear, represented by points lying at equal intervals on a circle. But it is more convenient to proceed somewhat differently; taking one of the roots to be θ, so that θn = a, then assuming x = θy, the equation becomes yn − 1 = 0, which equation, like the original equation, has precisely n roots (one of them being of course = 1). And the original equation xn − a = 0 is thus reduced to the more simple equation xn − 1 = 0; and although the theory of this equation is included in the preceding one, yet it is proper to state it separately.
which has the n values obtained by giving s the values 0, 1, 2 ... n − 1 in succession; the roots are clearly represented by points spaced evenly on a circle. However, it’s more convenient to approach this a bit differently; let one of the roots be θ, so that θn = a, then assuming x = θy, the equation becomes yn − 1 = 0, which, like the original equation, has exactly n roots (one of which is, of course, = 1). Thus, the original equation xn − a = 0 is simplified to the easier equation xn − 1 = 0; and even though the theory of this equation is included in the previous one, it is appropriate to state it separately.
The equation xn − 1 = 0 has its several roots expressed in the form 1, ω, ω², ... ωn−1, where ω may be taken = cos 2π/n + i sin 2π/n; in fact, ω having this value, any integer power ωk is = cos 2πk/n + i sin 2πk/n, and we thence have (ωk)n = cos 2πk + i sin 2πk, = 1, that is, ωk is a root of the equation. The theory will be resumed further on.
The equation xn − 1 = 0 has several roots, which can be expressed as 1, ω, ω², ..., ωn−1, where ω can be defined as cos 2π/n + i sin 2π/n. In fact, using this value for ω, any integer power ωk equals cos 2πk/n + i sin 2πk/n, and therefore we have (ωk)n = cos 2πk + i sin 2πk = 1, meaning that ωk is a root of the equation. The theory will be continued later on.
By what precedes, we are led to the notion (a numerical) of the radical a1/n regarded as an n-valued function; any one of these being denoted by n√a, then the series of values is n√a, ωn√a, ... ωn−1 n√a; or we may, if we please, use n√a instead of a1/n as a symbol to denote the n-valued function.
By what has been discussed, we arrive at the idea (a numerical) of the radical a1/n viewed as an n-valued function; any one of these can be represented by n√a, leading to the series of values n√a, ωn√a, ... ωn−1 n√a; or we can, if we choose, use n√a instead of a1 of 1 as a symbol to represent the n-valued function.
As the coefficients of an algebraical equation may be numerical, all which follows in regard to algebraical equations is (with, it may be, some few modifications) applicable to numerical equations; and hence, concluding for the present this subject, it will be convenient to pass on to algebraical equations.
As the coefficients of an algebraic equation can be numbers, everything that follows about algebraic equations is (with maybe a few small changes) relevant to numerical equations. Therefore, to wrap up this topic for now, it makes sense to move on to algebraic equations.
Algebraical Equations.
Algebraic Equations
11. The equation is
11. The formula is
xn − p1xn−1 + ... ± pn = 0,
xn − p1xn−1 + ... ± pn = 0,
and we here assume the existence of roots, viz. we assume that there are n quantities a, b, c ... (in general all of them different, but which in particular cases may become equal in sets in any manner), such that
and we here assume the existence of roots, specifically, we assume that there are n quantities a, b, c ... (generally all different, but in particular cases, they may become equal in sets in any way), such that
xn − p1xn−1 + ... ± pn = 0;
xn − p1xn−1 + ... ± pn = 0;
or looking at the question in a different point of view, and starting with the roots a, b, c ... as given, we express the product of the n factors x − a, x − b, ... in the foregoing form, and thus arrive at an equation of the order n having the n roots a, b, c.... In either case we have
or looking at the question from a different perspective, and starting with the roots a, b, c ... as provided, we express the product of the n factors x − a, x − b, ... in the previous form, and hence arrive at an equation of the order n with the n roots a, b, c.... In either case we have
p1 = Σa, p2 = Σab, ... pn = abc...;
p1 = Σa, p2 = Σab, ... pn = abc...;
i.e. regarding the coefficients p1, p2 ... pn as given, then we assume the existence of roots a, b, c, ... such that p1 = Σa, &c.; or, regarding the roots as given, then we write p1, p2, &c., to denote the functions Σa, Σab, &c.
i.e. when it comes to the coefficients p1, p2, ... pn as provided, we assume that there are roots a, b, c, ... such that p1 = Σa, &c.; or, if we consider the roots to be given, then we express p1, p2, &c. to represent the functions Σa, Σab, &c.
As already explained, the epithet algebraical is not used in opposition to numerical; an algebraical equation is merely an equation wherein the coefficients are not restricted to denote, or are not explicitly considered as denoting, numbers. That the abstraction is legitimate, appears by the simplest example; in saying that the equation x² − px + q = 0 has a root x = ½ {p + √(p² − 4q) }, we mean that writing this value for x the equation becomes an identity, [½ {p + √(p² − 4q) }]² − p[½ {p + √(p² − 4q) }] + q = 0; and the verification of this identity in nowise depends upon p and q meaning numbers. But if it be asked what there is beyond numerical equations included in the term algebraical equation, or, again, what is the full extent of the meaning attributed to the term—the latter question at any 716 rate it would be very difficult to answer; as to the former one, it may be said that the coefficients may, for instance, be symbols of operation. As regards such equations, there is certainly no proof that every equation has a root, or that an equation of the nth order has n roots; nor is it in any wise clear what the precise signification of the statement is. But it is found that the assumption of the existence of the n roots can be made without contradictory results; conclusions derived from it, if they involve the roots, rest on the same ground as the original assumption; but the conclusion may be independent of the roots altogether, and in this case it is undoubtedly valid; the reasoning, although actually conducted by aid of the assumption (and, it may be, most easily and elegantly in this manner), is really independent of the assumption. In illustration, we observe that it is allowable to express a function of p and q as follows,—that is, by means of a rational symmetrical function of a and b, this can, as a fact, be expressed as a rational function of a + b and ab; and if we prescribe that a + b and ab shall then be changed into p and q respectively, we have the required function of p, q. That is, we have F(α, β) as a representation of ƒ(p, q), obtained as if we had p = a + b, q = ab, but without in any wise assuming the existence of the a, b of these equations.
As already mentioned, the term algebraical isn't used in contrast to numerical; an algebraical equation is simply an equation where the coefficients aren't limited to representing numbers. This abstraction is valid, as seen in the example: in saying that the equation x² − px + q = 0 has a root x = ½ {p + √(p² − 4q)}, we mean that if we substitute this value for x, the equation becomes an identity, [½ {p + √(p² − 4q)}]² − p[½ {p + √(p² − 4q)}] + q = 0; verifying this identity does not depend on p and q being numbers. However, if we ask what more than numerical equations are included in the phrase algebraical equation, or what the full meaning of the term is—the latter question would be quite difficult to answer. As for the former question, it can be said that the coefficients might, for example, represent operations. Regarding such equations, there is no clear proof that every equation has a root or that an equation of the nth order has n roots; the precise meaning of this statement is also unclear. But it turns out that we can assume the existence of n roots without encountering contradictions; conclusions drawn from this assumption, if they involve the roots, rest on the same basis as the initial assumption. However, a conclusion might be independent of the roots altogether, and in this case, it is undoubtedly valid; even though the reasoning is typically facilitated by the assumption (often in a simpler and more elegant way), it is genuinely independent of it. For example, it is permissible to express a function of p and q like this—by using a rational symmetrical function of a and b, which can actually be expressed as a rational function of a + b and ab. If we then decide to substitute a + b and ab for p and q respectively, we get the desired function of p and q. That is, we have F(α, β) as a representation of ƒ(p, q), obtained as if we had p = a + b and q = ab, but without assuming the existence of a and b in these equations.
12. Starting from the equation
12. Starting with the equation
xn − p1xn−1 + ... = x − a·x − b. &c.
xn − p1xn−1 + ... = x − a·x − b. &c.
or the equivalent equations p1 = Σa, &c., we find
or the equivalent equations p1 = Σa, &c., we find
an − p1an−1 + ... = 0,
bn − p1bn−1 + ... = 0;
· · ·
· · ·
· · ·
an − p1an−1 + ... = 0,
bn − p1bn−1 + ... = 0;
· · ·
· · ·
· · ·
(it is as satisfying these equations that a, b ... are said to be the roots of xn − p1xn−1 + ... = 0); and conversely from the last-mentioned equations, assuming that a, b ... are all different, we deduce
(it is as satisfying these equations that a, b ... are said to be the roots of xn − p1xn−1 + ... = 0); and conversely from the last-mentioned equations, assuming that a, b ... are all different, we deduce
p1 = Σa, p2 = Σab, &c.
p1 = Σa, p2 = Σab, & c.
and
and
xn − p1xn−1 + ... = x − a·x − b. &c.
xn − p1xn−1 + ... = x − a·x − b. &c.
Observe that if, for instance, a = b, then the equations an − p1an−1 + ... = 0, bn − p1bn−1 + ... = 0 would reduce themselves to a single relation, which would not of itself express that a was a double root,—that is, that (x − a)² was a factor of xn − p1xn−1 +, &c; but by considering b as the limit of a + h, h indefinitely small, we obtain a second equation
Notice that if, for example, a = b, then the equations an − p1an−1 + ... = 0 and bn − p1bn−1 + ... = 0 would simplify to a single relation, which by itself wouldn’t indicate that a was a double root—that is, that (x − a)² was a factor of xn − p1xn−1 +, & etc.; but by considering b as the limit of a + h, where h is indefinitely small, we derive a second equation.
nan−1 − (n − 1) p1an−2 + ... = 0,
nan−1 − (n − 1) p1an−2 + ... = 0,
which, with the first, expresses that a is a double root; and then the whole system of equations leads as before to the equations p1 = Σa, &c. But the existence of a double root implies a certain relation between the coefficients; the general case is when the roots are all unequal.
which, along with the first, shows that a is a double root; and then the entire system of equations leads, as before, to the equations p1 = Σa, &c. However, the presence of a double root suggests a specific relationship between the coefficients; the general scenario is when all the roots are distinct.
We have then the theorem that every rational symmetrical function of the roots is a rational function of the coefficients. This is an easy consequence from the less general theorem, every rational and integral symmetrical function of the roots is a rational and integral function of the coefficients.
We have the theorem that every rational symmetric function of the roots is a rational function of the coefficients. This is an easy consequence of the less general theorem, which states that every rational and integral symmetric function of the roots is a rational and integral function of the coefficients.
In particular, the sums of the powers Σa², Σa³, &c., are rational and integral functions of the coefficients.
In particular, the sums of the powers Σa², Σa³, &c., are rational and whole number functions of the coefficients.
The process originally employed for the expression of other functions Σaαbβ, &c., in terms of the coefficients is to make them depend upon the sums of powers: for instance, Σaαbβ = ΣaαΣaβ − Σaα+β; but this is very objectionable; the true theory consists in showing that we have systems of equations
The method originally used to express other functions Σaαbβ, &c., based on the coefficients is to relate them to the sums of powers. For example, Σaαbβ = ΣaαΣaβ − Σaα+β; however, this approach is quite problematic. The correct theory involves demonstrating that we have systems of equations.
p1 | = Σa, |
p2 | = Σab, |
p1² | = Σa² + 2Σab, |
p3 | = Σabc, |
p1p2 | = Σa²b + 3Σabc, |
p1³ | = Σa³ + 3Σa²b + 6Σabc, |
where in each system there are precisely as many equations as there are root-functions on the right-hand side—e.g. 3 equations and 3 functions Σabc, Σa²b, Σa³. Hence in each system the root-functions can be determined linearly in terms of the powers and products of the coefficients:
where in each system there are exactly as many equations as there are root functions on the right side—e.g. 3 equations and 3 functions Σabc, Σa²b, Σa³. Therefore, in each system, the root functions can be determined linearly based on the powers and products of the coefficients:
Σab | = p2, |
Σa² | = p1² − 2p2, |
Σabc | = p3, |
Σa²b | = p1p2 − 3p3, |
Σa³ | = p1³ − 3p1p2 + 3p3, |
and so on. The other process, if applied consistently, would derive the originally assumed value Σab = p2, from the two equations Σa = p, Σa² = p1² − 2p2; i.e. we have 2Σab = Σa·Σa − Σa²,= p1² − (p1² − 2p2), = 2p2.
and so on. The other process, if applied consistently, would derive the initially assumed value Σab = p², from the two equations Σa = p, Σa² = p₁² − 2p₂; i.e. we have 2Σab = Σa·Σa − Σa², = p₁² − (p₁² − 2p₂), = 2p₂.
13. It is convenient to mention here the theorem that, x being determined as above by an equation of the order n, any rational and integral function whatever of x, or more generally any rational function which does not become infinite in virtue of the equation itself, can be expressed as a rational and integral function of x, of the order n − 1, the coefficients being rational functions of the coefficients of the equation. Thus the equation gives xn a function of the form in question; multiplying each side by x, and on the right-hand side writing for xn its foregoing value, we have xn+1, a function of the form in question; and the like for any higher power of x, and therefore also for any rational and integral function of x. The proof in the case of a rational non-integral function is somewhat more complicated. The final result is of the form φ(x)/ψ(x) = I(x), or say φ(x) − ψ(x)I(x) = 0, where φ, ψ, I are rational and integral functions; in other words, this equation, being true if only ƒ(x) = 0, can only be so by reason that the left-hand side contains ƒ(x) as a factor, or we must have identically φ(x) − ψ(x)I(x) = M(x)ƒ(x). And it is, moreover, clear that the equation φ(x)/ψ(x) = I(x), being satisfied if only ƒ(x) = 0, must be satisfied by each root of the equation.
13. It’s helpful to mention the theorem that if x is determined by an equation of order n, any rational or integral function of x—more broadly, any rational function that isn’t infinite because of the equation itself—can be expressed as a rational and integral function of x, of order n − 1, with coefficients that are rational functions of the equation's coefficients. So, the equation gives xn a function in this form; if we multiply each side by x and replace xn on the right side with its earlier value, we get xn+1, which is also in the form mentioned; this applies to any higher power of x, and thus to any rational or integral function of x. The proof for a rational non-integral function is a bit more complex. The end result looks like φ(x)/ψ(x) = I(x), or φ(x) − ψ(x)I(x) = 0, where φ, ψ, and I are rational and integral functions. In other words, this equation holds true if f(x) = 0, only because the left side contains f(x) as a factor; we must have φ(x) − ψ(x)I(x) = M(x)f(x). Additionally, it’s clear that the equation φ(x)/ψ(x) = I(x), being true when f(x) = 0, must also be true for each root of the equation.
From the theorem that a rational symmetrical function of the roots is expressible in terms of the coefficients, it at once follows that it is possible to determine an equation (of an assignable order) having for its roots the several values of any given (unsymmetrical) function of the roots of the given equation. For example, in the case of a quartic equation, roots (a, b, c, d), it is possible to find an equation having the roots ab, ac, ad, bc, bd, cd (being therefore a sextic equation): viz. in the product
From the theorem that a rational symmetric function of the roots can be expressed in terms of the coefficients, it immediately follows that you can determine an equation (of a defined order) that has as its roots the different values of any given (asymmetric) function of the roots of the original equation. For example, in the case of a quartic equation with roots (a, b, c, d), you can find an equation that has the roots ab, ac, ad, bc, bd, cd (resulting in a sextic equation): specifically in the product
(y − ab) (y − ac) (y − ad) (y − bc) (y − bd) (y − cd)
(y − ab) (y − ac) (y − ad) (y − bc) (y − bd) (y − cd)
the coefficients of the several powers of y will be symmetrical functions of a, b, c, d and therefore rational and integral functions of the coefficients of the quartic equation; hence, supposing the product so expressed, and equating it to zero, we have the required sextic equation. In the same manner can be found the sextic equation having the roots (a − b)², (a − c)², (a − d)², (b − c)², (b − d)², (c − d)², which is the equation of differences previously referred to; and similarly we obtain the equation of differences for a given equation of any order. Again, the equation sought for may be that having for its n roots the given rational functions φ(a), φ(b), ... of the several roots of the given equation. Any such rational function can (as was shown) be expressed as a rational and integral function of the order n − 1; and, retaining x in place of any one of the roots, the problem is to find y from the equations xn − p1xn−1 ... = 0, and y = M0xn−1 + M1xn−2 + ..., or, what is the same thing, from these two equations to eliminate x. This is in fact E.W. Tschirnhausen’s transformation (1683).
The coefficients of the different powers of y will be symmetrical functions of a, b, c, and d, making them rational and whole-number functions of the coefficients of the quartic equation. Therefore, if we assume the product expressed this way and set it to zero, we get the sextic equation we need. Similarly, we can find the sextic equation that has the roots (a − b)², (a − c)², (a − d)², (b − c)², (b − d)², (c − d)², which is the equation of differences mentioned earlier. We can also derive the equation of differences for any given equation of any order. Additionally, the equation we are looking for could be one that, for its n roots, has the given rational functions φ(a), φ(b), ... of the various roots of the original equation. Any such rational function can (as previously shown) be expressed as a rational and whole-number function of order n − 1. By keeping x in place of one of the roots, the task is to find y from the equations xn − p1xn−1 ... = 0, and y = M0xn−1 + M1xn−2 + ..., or, in other words, to eliminate x from these two equations. This is essentially E.W. Tschirnhausen’s transformation (1683).
14. In connexion with what precedes, the question arises as to the number of values (obtained by permutations of the roots) of given unsymmetrical functions of the roots, or say of a given set of letters: for instance, with roots or letters (a, b, c, d) as before, how many values are there of the function ab + cd, or better, how many functions are there of this form? The answer is 3, viz. ab + cd, ac + bd, ad + bc; or again we may ask whether, in the case of a given number of letters, there exist functions with a given number of values, 3-valued, 4-valued functions, &c.
14. Following up on what was discussed earlier, we need to consider how many different values can be derived from permutations of the roots, or a specific set of letters. For example, with the letters (a, b, c, d) mentioned earlier, how many values can the function ab + cd take, or more generally, how many functions can be formed in this way? The answer is 3: namely ab + cd, ac + bd, and ad + bc. Alternatively, we could ask if, for a specific number of letters, there exist functions that yield a specific number of values, such as 3-valued or 4-valued functions, etc.
It is at once seen that for any given number of letters there exist 2-valued functions; the product of the differences of the letters is such a function; however the letters are interchanged, it alters only its sign; or say the two values are Δ and −Δ. And if P, Q are symmetrical functions of the letters, then the general form of such a function is P + QΔ; this has only the two values P + QΔ, P − QΔ.
It is clear that for any specific number of letters, there are 2-valued functions; the product of the differences of the letters is one such function. No matter how the letters are rearranged, it only changes its sign; or we can say the two values are Δ and −Δ. If P and Q are symmetrical functions of the letters, then the general form of such a function is P + QΔ; this has only two values: P + QΔ and P − QΔ.
In the case of 4 letters there exist (as appears above) 3-valued functions: but in the case of 5 letters there does not exist any 3-valued or 4-valued function; and the only 5-valued functions are those which are symmetrical in regard to four of the letters, and can thus be expressed in terms of one letter and of symmetrical functions of all the letters. These last theorems present themselves in the demonstration of the non-existence of a solution of a quintic equation by radicals.
In the case of 4 letters, there are (as mentioned above) 3-valued functions; however, with 5 letters, there are no 3-valued or 4-valued functions at all. The only 5-valued functions are those that are symmetrical concerning four of the letters, meaning they can be expressed in terms of one letter and symmetrical functions of all the letters. These last theorems arise in the proof of the non-existence of a solution to a quintic equation using radicals.
The theory is an extensive and important one, depending on the notions of substitutions and of groups (q.v.).
The theory is a broad and significant one, relying on the concepts of substitutions and groups (q.v.).
15. Returning to equations, we have the very important theorem that, given the value of any unsymmetrical function of the roots, e.g. in the case of a quartic equation, the function ab + cd, it is in general possible to determine rationally the value of any similar function, such as (a + b)³ + (c + d)³.
15. Getting back to equations, we have the important theorem that, given the value of any unsymmetrical function of the roots, for example in the case of a quartic equation, the function ab + cd, it's generally possible to rationally determine the value of any similar function, like (a + b)³ + (c + d)³.
The a priori ground of this theorem may be illustrated by means of a numerical equation. Suppose that the roots of a quartic equation are 1, 2, 3, 4, then if it is given that ab + cd = 14, this in effect determines a, b to be 1, 2 and c, d to be 3, 4 (viz. a = 1, b = 2 or a = 2, b = 1, 717 and c = 3, d = 4 or c = 3, d = 4) or else a, b to be 3, 4 and c, d to be 1, 2; and it therefore in effect determines (a + b)³ + (c + d)³ to be = 370, and not any other value; that is, (a + b)³ + (c + d)³, as having a single value, must be determinable rationally. And we can in the same way account for cases of failure as regards particular equations; thus, the roots being 1, 2, 3, 4 as before, a²b = 2 determines a to be = 1 and b to be = 2, but if the roots had been 1, 2, 4, 16 then a²b = 16 does not uniquely determine a, b but only makes them to be 1, 16 or 2, 4 respectively.
The a priori basis of this theorem can be demonstrated using a numerical equation. Let's say the roots of a quartic equation are 1, 2, 3, and 4. If we know that ab + cd = 14, this essentially fixes a and b to be 1 and 2, and c and d to be 3 and 4 (meaning a = 1, b = 2 or a = 2, b = 1, 717 and c = 3, d = 4 or c = 3, d = 4). Alternatively, a and b could be 3 and 4, and c and d could be 1 and 2. Thus, it effectively determines (a + b)³ + (c + d)³ to equal 370, and not any other value; that is, (a + b)³ + (c + d)³, having a single value, must be determined rationally. We can similarly analyze cases where it doesn’t work for specific equations; for example, with the roots being 1, 2, 3, and 4 as before, a²b = 2 requires a to equal 1 and b to equal 2, but if the roots had been 1, 2, 4, and 16, then a²b = 16 does not uniquely identify a and b but only establishes them as 1, 16 or 2, 4, respectively.
As to the a posteriori proof, assume, for instance,
As for the a posteriori proof, let's assume, for example,
t1 = ab + cd, y1 = (a + b)³ + (c + d)³,
t2 = ac + bd, y2 = (a + c)³ + (b + d)³,
t3 = ad + bc, y3 = (a + d)³ + (b + c)³;
t1 = ab + cd, y1 = (a + b)³ + (c + d)³,
t2 = ac + bd, y2 = (a + c)³ + (b + d)³,
t3 = ad + bc, y3 = (a + d)³ + (b + c)³;
then y1 + y2 + y3, t1y1 + t2y2 + t3y3, t1²y1 + t2²y2 + t3²y3 will be respectively symmetrical functions of the roots of the quartic, and therefore rational and integral functions of the coefficients; that is, they will be known.
then y1 + y2 + y3, t1y1 + t2y2 + t3y3, t1²y1 + t2²y2 + t3²y3 will be the symmetric functions of the roots of the quartic, making them rational and integral functions of the coefficients; that is, they will be identifiable.
Suppose for a moment that t1, t2, t3 are all known; then the equations being linear in y1, y2, y3 these can be expressed rationally in terms of the coefficients and of t1, t2, t3; that is, y1, y2, y3 will be known. But observe further that y1 is obtained as a function of t1, t2, t3 symmetrical as regards t2, t3; it can therefore be expressed as a rational function of t1 and of t2 + t3, t2t3, and thence as a rational function of t1 and of t1 + t2 + t3, t1t2 + t1t3 + t2t3, t1t2t3; but these last are symmetrical functions of the roots, and as such they are expressible rationally in terms of the coefficients; that is, y1 will be expressed as a rational function of t1 and of the coefficients; or t1 (alone, not t2 or t3) being known, y1 will be rationally determined.
Suppose for a moment that t1, t2, t3 are all known; then the equations are linear in y1, y2, y3, so they can be expressed rationally in terms of the coefficients and t1, t2, t3; that is, y1, y2, y3 will be known. But notice further that y1 is derived as a function of t1, t2, t3, which is symmetrical with respect to t2, t3; therefore, it can be expressed as a rational function of t1 and t2 + t3, t2t3, and then as a rational function of t1 and t1. + t2 + t3, t1t2 + t1t3 + t2t3, t1t2t3; but these last are symmetrical functions of the roots, and as such they can be expressed rationally in terms of the coefficients; that is, y1 will be expressed as a rational function of t1 and the coefficients; or if t1 (alone, not t2 or t3) is known, y1 will be rationally determined.
16. We now consider the question of the algebraical solution of equations, or, more accurately, that of the solution of equations by radicals.
16. We now look at the question of solving equations algebraically, or, more specifically, the solution of equations using radicals.
In the case of a quadric equation x² − px + q = 0, we can by the assistance of the sign √( ) or ( )1/2 find an expression for x as a 2-valued function of the coefficients p, q such that substituting this value in the equation, the equation is thereby identically satisfied; it has been found that this expression is
In the case of a quadratic equation x² − px + q = 0, we can use the symbol √( ) or ( )1/2 to find an expression for x as a two-valued function of the coefficients p and q, so that substituting this value back into the equation will satisfy it identically; it has been determined that this expression is
x = ½ {p ± √(p² − 4q) },
x = 1/2 {p ± √(p² − 4q) },
and the equation is on this account said to be algebraically solvable, or more accurately solvable by radicals. Or we may by writing x = −½ p + z reduce the equation to z² = ¼ (p² − 4q), viz. to an equation of the form x² = a; and in virtue of its being thus reducible we say that the original equation is solvable by radicals. And the question for an equation of any higher order, say of the order n, is, can we by means of radicals (that is, by aid of the sign m√( ) or ( )1/m, using as many as we please of such signs and with any values of m) find an n-valued function (or any function) of the coefficients which substituted for x in the equation shall satisfy it identically?
and the equation is therefore considered algebraically solvable, or more precisely, solvable by radicals. We can rewrite it as x = −½ p + z, which reduces the equation to z² = ¼ (p² − 4q), essentially transforming it into an equation of the form x² = a. Because it can be simplified this way, we say that the original equation is solvable by radicals. The question for any higher-order equation, say of order n, is whether we can use radicals (that is, using the sign m√( ) or ( )1/m, employing as many of these signs as we want and with any values of m) to find an n-valued function (or any function) of the coefficients that, when substituted for x in the equation, will satisfy it identically?
It will be observed that the coefficients p, q ... are not explicitly considered as numbers, but even if they do denote numbers, the question whether a numerical equation admits of solution by radicals is wholly unconnected with the before-mentioned theorem of the existence of the n roots of such an equation. It does not even follow that in the case of a numerical equation solvable by radicals the algebraical solution gives the numerical solution, but this requires explanation. Consider first a numerical quadric equation with imaginary coefficients. In the formula x = ½ {p ± √(p² − 4q) }, substituting for p, q their given numerical values, we obtain for x an expression of the form x = α + βi ± √(γ + δi), where α, β, γ, δ are real numbers. This expression substituted for x in the quadric equation would satisfy it identically, and it is thus an algebraical solution; but there is no obvious a priori reason why √(γ + δi) should have a value = c + di, where c and d are real numbers calculable by the extraction of a root or roots of real numbers; however the case is (what there was no a priori right to expect) that √(γ + δi) has such a value calculable by means of the radical expressions √{√(γ² + δ²) ± γ}; and hence the algebraical solution of a numerical quadric equation does in every case give the numerical solution. The case of a numerical cubic equation will be considered presently.
It can be noted that the coefficients p, q, and so on aren’t explicitly viewed as numbers. However, even if they represent numbers, the issue of whether a numerical equation can be solved using radicals isn’t related to the earlier discussed theorem about the existence of n roots for such an equation. It doesn’t necessarily follow that when a numerical equation can be solved by radicals, the algebraic solution will provide the numerical solution, but this needs clarification. Let’s first examine a numerical quadratic equation with imaginary coefficients. In the formula x = ½ {p ± √(p² − 4q)}, when we plug in the given numerical values for p and q, we end up with x expressed as x = α + βi ± √(γ + δi), where α, β, γ, and δ are real numbers. This expression, when substituted back into the quadratic equation, satisfies it identically, making it an algebraic solution. However, there is no clear a priori reason for why √(γ + δi) should equal c + di, where c and d are real numbers that can be calculated by extracting a root or roots of real numbers; yet it turns out (something we weren’t a priori justified in expecting) that √(γ + δi) can be expressed with the radical expressions √{√(γ² + δ²) ± γ}. Thus, the algebraic solution of a numerical quadratic equation does indeed lead to the numerical solution in every instance. The case of a numerical cubic equation will be discussed shortly.
17. A cubic equation can be solved by radicals.
17. You can solve a cubic equation using radicals.
Taking for greater simplicity the cubic in the reduced form x³ + qx − r = 0, and assuming x = a + b, this will be a solution if only 3ab = q and a³ + b³ = r, equations which give (a³ − b³)² = r² − 4⁄27 q³, a quadric equation solvable by radicals, and giving a³ − b³ = √(r² − 4⁄27 q³), a 2-valued function of the coefficients: combining this with a³ + b³ = r, we have a³ = ½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }, a 2-valued function: we then have a by means of a cube root, viz.
Taking for greater simplicity the cubic in its simplified form x³ + qx − r = 0, and assuming x = a + b, this will be a solution if only 3ab = q and a³ + b³ = r, equations which give (a³ − b³)² = r² − 4⁄27 q³, a quadratic equation that can be solved using radicals, giving a³ − b³ = √(r² − 4⁄27 q³), a 2-valued function of the coefficients: combining this with a³ + b³ = r, we have a³ = ½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }, a 2-valued function: we then find a using a cube root, namely:
a = 3√[½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }],
a = 3√[½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }],
a 6-valued function of the coefficients; but then, writing q = b/3a, we have, as may be shown, a + b a 3-valued function of the coefficients; and x = a + b is the required solution by radicals. It would have been wrong to complete the solution by writing
a 6-valued function of the coefficients; but then, writing q = b/3a, we have, as can be shown, a + b as a 3-valued function of the coefficients; and x = a + b is the required solution by radicals. It would have been wrong to complete the solution by writing
b = 3√[½ {r − √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) } ],
b = 3√[½ {r − √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) } ],
for then a + b would have been given as a 9-valued function having only 3 of its values roots, and the other 6 values being irrelevant. Observe that in this last process we make no use of the equation 3ab = q, in its original form, but use only the derived equation 27a³b³ = q³, implied in, but not implying, the original form.
for then a + b would have been given as a 9-valued function having only 3 of its values as roots, and the other 6 values being irrelevant. Notice that in this last process we make no use of the equation 3ab = q, in its original form, but use only the derived equation 27a³b³ = q³, implied in, but not implying, the original form.
An interesting variation of the solution is to write x = ab(a + b), giving a³b³ (a³ + b³) = r and 3a³b³ = q, or say a³ + b³ = 3r/q, a³b³ = 1⁄3 q; and consequently
An interesting variation of the solution is to write x = ab(a + b), which leads to a³b³ (a³ + b³) = r and 3a³b³ = q. In other words, a³ + b³ = 3r/q and a³b³ = 1⁄3 q; and consequently
a³ = | 3⁄2 | {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }, b³ = | 3⁄2 | {r − √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }, |
q | q |
i.e. here a³, b³ are each of them a 2-valued function, but as the only effect of altering the sign of the quadric radical is to interchange a³, b³, they may be regarded as each of them 1-valued; a and b are each of them 3-valued (for observe that here only a³b³, not ab, is given); and ab(a + b) thus is in appearance a 9-valued function; but it can easily be shown that it is (as it ought to be) only 3-valued.
i.e. here a³ and b³ are each a 2-valued function, but since changing the sign of the quadric radical only switches a³ and b³, they can be considered 1-valued. a and b are each 3-valued (note that only a³b³ is given here, not ab); therefore, ab(a + b) seems to be a 9-valued function, but it can be easily demonstrated that it is actually only 3-valued, as it should be.
In the case of a numerical cubic, even when the coefficients are real, substituting their values in the expression
In the case of a numerical cubic, even when the coefficients are real, substituting their values in the expression
x = 3√[½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }] + 1⁄3 q ÷ 3√[½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }],
x = 3√[½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }] + 1⁄3 q ÷ 3√[½ {r + √(r² − 4⁄27 q³) }],
this may depend on an expression of the form 3√(γ + δi) where γ and δ are real numbers (it will do so if r² − 4⁄27 q³ is a negative number), and then we cannot by the extraction of any root or roots of real positive numbers reduce 3√(γ + δi) to the form c + di, c and d real numbers; hence here the algebraical solution does not give the numerical solution, and we have here the so-called “irreducible case” of a cubic equation. By what precedes there is nothing in this that might not have been expected; the algebraical solution makes the solution depend on the extraction of the cube root of a number, and there was no reason for expecting this to be a real number. It is well known that the case in question is that wherein the three roots of the numerical cubic equation are all real; if the roots are two imaginary, one real, then contrariwise the quantity under the cube root is real; and the algebraical solution gives the numerical one.
this may depend on an expression of the form 3√(γ + δi) where γ and δ are real numbers (it will do so if r² − 4⁄27 q³ is negative), and then we cannot reduce 3√(γ + δi) to the form c + di, where c and d are real numbers, by extracting any root or roots of real positive numbers; hence in this case, the algebraic solution does not provide the numerical solution, leading to the so-called “irreducible case” of a cubic equation. Based on what we've discussed, there's nothing unexpected here; the algebraic solution depends on taking the cube root of a number, and there was no reason to expect this to be a real number. It's well-known that in the case in question, the three roots of the numerical cubic equation are all real; if there are two imaginary roots and one real root, then conversely, the quantity under the cube root is real, and the algebraic solution provides the numerical one.
The irreducible case is solvable by a trigonometrical formula, but this is not a solution by radicals: it consists in effect in reducing the given numerical cubic (not to a cubic of the form z³ = a, solvable by the extraction of a cube root, but) to a cubic of the form 4x³ − 3x = a, corresponding to the equation 4 cos³ θ − 3 cos θ = cos 3θ which serves to determine cosθ when cos 3θ is known. The theory is applicable to an algebraical cubic equation; say that such an equation, if it can be reduced to the form 4x³ − 3x = a, is solvable by “trisection”—then the general cubic equation is solvable by trisection.
The simplest case can be solved using a trigonometric formula, but this isn’t a solution using radicals. It essentially involves transforming the given numerical cubic (not into a cubic of the form z³ = a, which can be solved by taking a cube root, but) into a cubic of the format 4x³ − 3x = a. This corresponds to the equation 4 cos³ θ − 3 cos θ = cos 3θ, which helps to find cosθ when cos 3θ is known. The theory can be applied to an algebraic cubic equation; if an equation can be transformed into the form 4x³ − 3x = a, it can be solved through “trisection”—which means the general cubic equation can be solved by trisection.
18. A quartic equation is solvable by radicals, and it is to be remarked that the existence of such a solution depends on the existence of 3-valued functions such as ab + cd of the four roots (a, b, c, d): by what precedes ab + cd is the root of a cubic equation, which equation is solvable by radicals: hence ab + cd can be found by radicals; and since abcd is a given function, ab and cd can then be found by radicals. But by what precedes, if ab be known then any similar function, say a + b, is obtainable rationally; and then from the values of a + b and ab we may by radicals obtain the value of a or b, that is, an expression for the root of the given quartic equation: the expression ultimately obtained is 4-valued, corresponding to the different values of the several radicals which enter therein, and we have thus the expression by radicals of each of the four roots of the quartic equation. But when the quartic is numerical the same thing happens as in the cubic, and the algebraical solution does not in every case give the numerical one.
18. A quartic equation can be solved using radicals, and it’s important to note that the availability of such a solution relies on the existence of 3-variable functions like ab + cd of the four roots (a, b, c, d): as discussed earlier, ab + cd is the root of a cubic equation, which can be solved by radicals. Therefore, ab + cd can also be determined using radicals; since abcd is a known function, ab and cd can subsequently be found using radicals. However, as mentioned earlier, if ab is known, then any similar function, for example, a + b, can be calculated rationally; from the values of a + b and ab, we can use radicals to find the value of a or b, which gives us an expression for the root of the given quartic equation. The final expression obtained is 4-valued, reflecting the different values of the various radicals involved, thereby providing us with the expression by radicals for each of the four roots of the quartic equation. However, when the quartic is numerical, the same issue arises as in the cubic case, and the algebraic solution does not always yield the numerical one.
It will be understood from the foregoing explanation as to the quartic how in the next following case, that of the quintic, the question of the solvability by radicals depends on the existence or non-existence of k-valued functions of the five roots (a, b, c, d, e); the fundamental theorem is the one already stated, a rational function of five letters, if it has less than 5, cannot have more than 2 values, that is, there are no 3-valued or 4-valued functions of 5 letters: and by reasoning depending in part upon this theorem, N.H. Abel (1824) showed that a general quintic equation is not solvable by radicals; and a fortiori the general equation of any order higher than 5 is not solvable by radicals.
It can be understood from the explanation about the quartic that in the next case, the quintic, whether it can be solved using radicals depends on the presence or absence of k-valued functions of the five roots (a, b, c, d, e). The key theorem is the one already mentioned: a rational function of five variables, if it has fewer than 5, cannot have more than 2 values. This means that there cannot be 3-valued or 4-valued functions of 5 variables. Based on this reasoning, N.H. Abel (1824) demonstrated that a general quintic equation cannot be solved using radicals; and by extension, any general equation of a higher order than 5 also cannot be solved by radicals.
19. The general theory of the solvability of an equation by radicals depends fundamentally on A.T. Vandermonde’s remark (1770) that, supposing an equation is solvable by radicals, and that we have therefore an algebraical expression of x in terms of the coefficients, then substituting for the coefficients their values in terms of the roots, the resulting expression must reduce itself to any one at pleasure of the roots a, b, c ...; thus in the case of the quadric equation, in the expression x = ½ {p + √(p² − 4q) }, substituting for p and q their values, and observing that (a + b)² − 4ab = (a − b)², this becomes x = ½ {a + b + √(a − b)²}, the value being a or b according as the radical is taken to be +(a − b) or −(a − b).
19. The general theory of solving equations using radicals is based on A.T. Vandermonde’s observation (1770) that if an equation can be solved with radicals, and we have an algebraic expression for x in terms of the coefficients, then replacing the coefficients with their values based on the roots should simplify to any one of the roots a, b, c, etc. For example, in the case of the quadratic equation, in the expression x = ½ {p + √(p² − 4q)}, if we substitute the values for p and q and note that (a + b)² − 4ab = (a − b)², it simplifies to x = ½ {a + b + √(a − b)²}. The value will be a or b, depending on whether we take the radical to be +(a − b) or −(a − b).
So in the cubic equation x³ − px² + qx − r = 0, if the roots are a, b, c, and if ω is used to denote an imaginary cube root of unity, ω² + ω + 1 = 0, then writing for shortness p = a + b + c, L = a + ωb + ω²c, M = a + ω²b + ωc, it is at once seen that LM, L³ + M³, and therefore also 718 (L³ − M³)² are symmetrical functions of the roots, and consequently rational functions of the coefficients; hence
So in the cubic equation x³ − px² + qx − r = 0, if the roots are a, b, c, and if we use ω to represent an imaginary cube root of unity, where ω² + ω + 1 = 0, then for simplicity we can say p = a + b + c, L = a + ωb + ω²c, M = a + ω²b + ωc. It’s immediately clear that LM, L³ + M³, and therefore also (L³ − M³)² are symmetrical functions of the roots and, as a result, rational functions of the coefficients; so
½ {L³ + M³ + √(L³ − M³)²}
½ {L³ + M³ + √(L³ − M³)²}
is a rational function of the coefficients, which when these are replaced by their values as functions of the roots becomes, according to the sign given to the quadric radical, = L³ or M³; taking it = L³, the cube root of the expression has the three values L, ωL, ω²L; and LM divided by the same cube root has therefore the values M, ω²M, ωM; whence finally the expression
is a rational function of the coefficients, which when these are replaced by their values as functions of the roots becomes, according to the sign given to the quadric radical, = L³ or M³; taking it = L³, the cube root of the expression has the three values L, ωL, ω²L; and LM divided by the same cube root has therefore the values M, ω²M, ωM; whence finally the expression
1⁄3 [p + 3√{½ (L³ + M³ + √(L³ − M³)²) } + LM ÷ 3√{½ L³ + M³ + √(L³ − M³)²) }]
1⁄3 [p + 3√{½ (L³ + M³ + √(L³ − M³)²) } + LM ÷ 3√{½ L³ + M³ + √(L³ − M³)²) }]
has the three values
has three values
1⁄3 (p + L + M), 1⁄3 (p + ωL + ω²M), 1⁄3 (p + ω²L + ωM);
1⁄3 (p + L + M), 1⁄3 (p + ωL + ω²M), 1⁄3 (p + ω²L + ωM);
that is, these are = a, b, c respectively. If the value M³ had been taken instead of L³, then the expression would have had the same three values a, b, c. Comparing the solution given for the cubic x³ + qx − r = 0, it will readily be seen that the two solutions are identical, and that the function r² − 4⁄27 q³ under the radical sign must (by aid of the relation p = 0 which subsists in this case) reduce itself to (L³ − M³)²; it is only by each radical being equal to a rational function of the roots that the final expression can become equal to the roots a, b, c respectively.
that is, these are = a, b, c respectively. If the value M³ had been used instead of L³, then the expression would still have the same three values a, b, c. Comparing the solution given for the cubic x³ + qx − r = 0, it will be obvious that the two solutions are the same, and that the function r² − 4⁄27 q³ under the square root must (using the relation p = 0, which holds in this case) reduce to (L³ − M³)²; it is only by each square root being equal to a rational function of the roots that the final expression can equal the roots a, b, c respectively.
20. The formulae for the cubic were obtained by J.L. Lagrange (1770-1771) from a different point of view. Upon examining and comparing the principal known methods for the solution of algebraical equations, he found that they all ultimately depended upon finding a “resolvent” equation of which the root is a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d + ..., ω being an imaginary root of unity, of the same order as the equation; e.g. for the cubic the root is a + ωb + ω²c, ω an imaginary cube root of unity. Evidently the method gives for L³ a quadric equation, which is the “resolvent” equation in this particular case.
20. The formulas for the cubic were developed by J.L. Lagrange (1770-1771) from a different perspective. By looking at and comparing the main known methods for solving algebraic equations, he discovered that they all ultimately relied on finding a “resolvent” equation whose root is a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d + ..., where ω is an imaginary root of unity that matches the order of the equation; e.g. for the cubic, the root is a + ωb + ω²c, with ω being an imaginary cube root of unity. Clearly, this method produces a quadratic equation for L³, which serves as the “resolvent” equation in this specific case.
For a quartic the formulae present themselves in a somewhat different form, by reason that 4 is not a prime number. Attempting to apply it to a quintic, we seek for the equation of which the root is (a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d + ω4e), ω an imaginary fifth root of unity, or rather the fifth power thereof (a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d + ω4e)5; this is a 24-valued function, but if we consider the four values corresponding to the roots of unity ω, ω², ω³, ω4, viz. the values
For a quartic, the formulas appear in a somewhat different form because 4 is not a prime number. When we try to apply it to a quintic, we look for the equation whose root is (a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d + ω4e), where ω is an imaginary fifth root of unity, or specifically its fifth power (a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d + ω4e)5; this represents a 24-valued function. However, if we consider the four values corresponding to the roots of unity ω, ω², ω³, ω4, namely the values
(a + ω b + ω²c + ω³d + ω4e)5, (a + ω b + ω²c + ω³d + ω4e)5, (a + ω²b + ω4c + ω d + ω³e)5, (a + ω²b + ω4c + ω d + ω³e)5, (a + ω³b + ω c + ω4d + ω²e)5, (a + ω³b + ω c + ω4d + ω²e)5, (a + ω4b + ω³c + ω²d + ω e)5, (a + ω4b + ω³c + ω²d + ω e)5, |
any symmetrical function of these, for instance their sum, is a 6-valued function of the roots, and may therefore be determined by means of a sextic equation, the coefficients whereof are rational functions of the coefficients of the original quintic equation; the conclusion being that the solution of an equation of the fifth order is made to depend upon that of an equation of the sixth order. This is, of course, useless for the solution of the quintic equation, which, as already mentioned, does not admit of solution by radicals; but the equation of the sixth order, Lagrange’s resolvent sextic, is very important, and is intimately connected with all the later investigations in the theory.
Any symmetrical function of these, like their sum, is a 6-valued function of the roots, and can therefore be determined through a sextic equation, the coefficients of which are rational functions of the coefficients of the original quintic equation. This means that solving a fifth-order equation depends on solving a sixth-order equation. While this isn't helpful for solving the quintic equation—since, as mentioned, it can't be solved using radicals—the sixth-order equation, known as Lagrange’s resolvent sextic, is very important and closely related to all later investigations in the theory.
21. It is to be remarked, in regard to the question of solvability by radicals, that not only the coefficients are taken to be arbitrary, but it is assumed that they are represented each by a single letter, or say rather that they are not so expressed in terms of other arbitrary quantities as to make a solution possible. If the coefficients are not all arbitrary, for instance, if some of them are zero, a sextic equation might be of the form x6 + bx4 + cx² + d = 0, and so be solvable as a cubic; or if the coefficients of the sextic are given functions of the six arbitrary quantities a, b, c, d, e, f, such that the sextic is really of the form (x² + ax + b)(x4 + cx³ + dx² + ex + f) = 0, then it breaks up into the equations x² + ax + b = 0, x4 + cx³ + dx² + ex + f = 0, and is consequently solvable by radicals; so also if the form is (x − a) (x − b) (x − c) (x − d) (x − e) (x − f) = 0, then the equation is solvable by radicals,—in this extreme case rationally. Such cases of solvability are self-evident; but they are enough to show that the general theorem of the non-solvability by radicals of an equation of the fifth or any higher order does not in any wise exclude for such orders the existence of particular equations solvable by radicals, and there are, in fact, extensive classes of equations which are thus solvable; the binomial equations xn − 1 = 0 present an instance.
21. It's worth noting, regarding the question of solving by radicals, that not only are the coefficients taken to be arbitrary, but it's also assumed that each coefficient is represented by a single letter, or rather that they aren't expressed in terms of other arbitrary quantities in a way that makes a solution possible. If not all the coefficients are arbitrary—say, if some of them are zero—a sextic equation might look like x6 + bx4 + cx² + d = 0, which can be solved like a cubic; or if the coefficients of the sextic are specific functions of the six arbitrary quantities a, b, c, d, e, f, such that the sextic actually takes the form (x² + ax + b)(x4 + cx³ + dx² + ex + f) = 0, then it breaks down into the equations x² + ax + b = 0 and x4 + cx³ + dx² + ex + f = 0, and is therefore solvable by radicals. Similarly, if the form is (x − a)(x − b)(x − c)(x − d)(x − e)(x − f) = 0, then the equation is solvable by radicals—in this extreme case, rationally. Such cases of solvability are obvious, but they are enough to demonstrate that the general theorem about the impossibility of solving a fifth-order equation or any higher order by radicals doesn't rule out the existence of specific solvable equations for those orders, and in fact, there are many types of equations that can be solved this way; for example, the binomial equations xn − 1 = 0 provide an instance.
22. It has already been shown how the several roots of the equation xn − 1 = 0 can be expressed in the form cos 2sπ/n + i sin 2sπ/n, but the question is now that of the algebraical solution (or solution by radicals) of this equation. There is always a root = 1; if ω be any other root, then obviously ω, ω², ... ωn−1 are all of them roots; xn − 1 contains the factor x − 1, and it thus appears that ω, ω², ... ωn−1 are the n-1 roots of the equation
22. It's already been shown how the different roots of the equation xn − 1 = 0 can be written as cos(2sπ/n) + i sin(2sπ/n), but now we need to address the algebraic solution (or solution using radicals) for this equation. There's always one root equal to 1; if ω is any other root, then clearly ω, ω², ... ωn−1 are all roots too. The expression xn − 1 includes the factor x − 1, which shows that ω, ω², ... ωn−1 are the n-1 roots of the equation.
xn−1 + xn−2 + ... x + 1 = 0;
xn−1 + xn−2 + ... x + 1 = 0;
we have, of course, ωn−1 + ωn−2 + ... + ω + 1 = 0.
we have, of course, ωn−1 + ωn−2 + ... + ω + 1 = 0.
It is proper to distinguish the cases n prime and n composite; and in the latter case there is a distinction according as the prime factors of n are simple or multiple. By way of illustration, suppose successively n = 15 and n = 9; in the former case, if α be an imaginary root of x³ − 1 = 0 (or root of x² + x + 1 = 0), and β an imaginary root of x5 − 1 = 0 (or root of x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0), then ω may be taken = αβ; the successive powers thereof, αβ, α²β², β³, αβ4, α², β, αβ², α²β³, β4, α, α²β, β², αβ³, α²β4, are the roots of x14 + x13 + ... + x + 1 = 0; the solution thus depends on the solution of the equations x³ − 1 = 0 and x5 − 1 = 0. In the latter case, if α be an imaginary root of x³ − 1 = 0 (or root of x² + x + 1 = 0), then the equation x9 − 1 = 0 gives x³ = 1, α, or α²; x³ = 1 gives x = 1, α, or α²; and the solution thus depends on the solution of the equations x³ − 1 = 0, x³ − α = 0, x³ − α² = 0. The first equation has the roots 1, α, α²; if β be a root of either of the others, say if β³ = α, then assuming ω = β, the successive powers are β, β², α, αβ, αβ², α², α²β, α²β², which are the roots of the equation x8 + x7 + ... + x + 1 = 0.
It’s important to distinguish between the cases where n is prime and where n is composite; in the latter situation, there's a further distinction based on whether the prime factors of n are simple or multiple. For example, let's take n = 15 and n = 9. In the first case, if α is an imaginary root of x³ − 1 = 0 (or a root of x² + x + 1 = 0), and β is an imaginary root of x⁵ − 1 = 0 (or a root of x⁴ + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0), we can set ω = αβ. The successive powers would be αβ, α²β², β³, αβ⁴, α², β, αβ², α²β³, β⁴, α, α²β, β², αβ³, α²β⁴, which are the roots of x¹⁴ + x¹³ + ... + x + 1 = 0; the solution thus relies on solving the equations x³ − 1 = 0 and x⁵ − 1 = 0. In the latter case, if α is again an imaginary root of x³ − 1 = 0 (or a root of x² + x + 1 = 0), the equation x⁹ − 1 = 0 gives x³ = 1, α, or α²; x³ = 1 leads to x = 1, α, or α²; therefore, the solution depends on solving the equations x³ − 1 = 0, x³ − α = 0, x³ − α² = 0. The first equation has the roots 1, α, α²; if β is a root of either of the others—let’s say β³ = α—then assuming ω = β, the successive powers are β, β², α, αβ, αβ², α², α²β, α²β², which are the roots of the equation x⁸ + x⁷ + ... + x + 1 = 0.
It thus appears that the only case which need be considered is that of n a prime number, and writing (as is more usual) r in place of ω, we have r, r², r³,...rn−1 as the (n − 1) roots of the reduced equation
It seems that the only case we need to consider is when n is a prime number. Using r instead of ω, we have r, r², r³,...rn−1 as the (n − 1) roots of the reduced equation.
xn−1 + xn−2 + ... + x + 1 = 0;
xn−1 + xn−2 + ... + x + 1 = 0;
then not only rn − 1 = 0, but also rn−1 + rn−2 + ... + r + 1 = 0.
then not only rn - 1 = 0, but also rn-1 + rn-2 + ... + r + 1 = 0.
23. The process of solution due to Karl Friedrich Gauss (1801) depends essentially on the arrangement of the roots in a certain order, viz. not as above, with the indices of r in arithmetical progression, but with their indices in geometrical progression; the prime number n has a certain number of prime roots g, which are such that gn−1 is the lowest power of g, which is ≡ 1 to the modulus n; or, what is the same thing, that the series of powers 1, g, g², ... gn−2, each divided by n, leave (in a different order) the remainders 1, 2, 3, ... n − 1; hence giving to r in succession the indices 1, g, g²,...gn−2, we have, in a different order, the whole series of roots r, r², r³,...rn−1.
23. The solution process introduced by Karl Friedrich Gauss (1801) relies heavily on organizing the roots in a specific way, not as previously done with the indices of r in arithmetic progression, but with their indices in geometric progression; the prime number n has a certain number of prime roots g, such that gn−1 is the lowest power of g that is ≡ 1 modulo n; or, equivalently, the series of powers 1, g, g², ... gn−2, when divided by n, yield (in a different order) the remainders 1, 2, 3, ... n − 1; thus giving to r in succession the indices 1, g, g²,...gn−2, we obtain, in a different order, the complete series of roots r, r², r³,...rn−1.
In the most simple case, n = 5, the equation to be solved is x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0; here 2 is a prime root of 5, and the order of the roots is r, r², r4, r³. The Gaussian process consists in forming an equation for determining the periods P1, P2, = r + r4 and r² + r³ respectively;—these being such that the symmetrical functions P1 + P2, P1P2 are rationally determinable: in fact P1 + P2 = −1, P1P2 = (r + r4) (r² + r³), = r³ + r4 + r6 + r7, = r³ + r4 + r + r², = −1. P1, P2 are thus the roots of u² + u − 1 = 0; and taking them to be known, they are themselves broken up into subperiods, in the present case single terms, r and r4 for P1, r² and r³ for P2; the symmetrical functions of these are then rationally determined in terms of P1 and P2; thus r + r4 = P1, r·r4 = 1, or r, r4 are the roots of u² − P1u + 1 = 0. The mode of division is more clearly seen for a larger value of n; thus, for n = 7 a prime root is = 3, and the arrangement of the roots is r, r³, r², r6, r4, r5. We may form either 3 periods each of 2 terms, P1, P2, P3 = r + r6, r³ + r4, r² + r5 respectively; or else 2 periods each of 3 terms, P1, P2 = r + r² + r4, r³ + r6 + r5 respectively; in each ease the symmetrical functions of the periods are rationally determinable: thus in the case of the two periods P1 + P2 = −1, P1P2 = 3 + r + r² + r³ + r4 + r5 + r6, = 2; and the periods being known the symmetrical functions of the several terms of each period are rationally determined in terms of the periods, thus r + r² + r4 = P1, r·r² + r·r4 + r²·r4 = P2, r·r²·r4 = 1.
In the simplest case, n = 5, the equation to solve is x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0; here 2 is a prime root of 5, and the order of the roots is r, r², r4, r³. The Gaussian process involves creating an equation to determine the periods P1, P2, which are r + r4 and r² + r³ respectively; these are such that the symmetrical functions P1 + P2, P1P2 can be calculated rationally: indeed, P1 + P2 = −1, P1P2 = (r + r4)(r² + r³) = r³ + r4 + r6 + r7 = r³ + r4 + r + r² = −1. P1 and P2 are thus the roots of u² + u − 1 = 0; and assuming they are known, they are further divided into subperiods, which, in this case, are single terms, r and r4 for P1, r² and r³ for P2; the symmetrical functions of these are then calculated in terms of P1 and P2; thus r + r4 = P1, r·r4 = 1, or r, r4 are the roots of u² − P1u + 1 = 0. The method of division is clearer for a larger value of n; thus, for n = 7 a prime root is 3, and the arrangement of the roots is r, r³, r², r6, r4, r5. We can create either 3 periods each with 2 terms, P1, P2, P3 = r + r6, r³ + r4, r² + r5 respectively; or 2 periods each with 3 terms, P1, P2 = r + r² + r4, r³ + r6 + r5 respectively; in each case, the symmetrical functions of the periods can be calculated rationally: thus in the case of the two periods, P1 + P2 = −1, P1P2 = 3 + r + r² + r³ + r4 + r5 + r6 = 2; and knowing the periods, the symmetrical functions of the various terms of each period can be rationally expressed in terms of the periods, thus r + r² + r4 = P1, r·r² + r·r4 + r²·r4 = P2, r·r²·r4 = 1.
The theory was further developed by Lagrange (1808), who, applying his general process to the equation in question, xn−1 + xn−2 + ... + x + 1 = 0 (the roots a, b, c... being the several powers of r, the indices in geometrical progression as above), showed that the function (a + ωb + ω²c + ...)n−1 was in this case a given function of ω with integer coefficients.
The theory was further developed by Lagrange (1808), who, applying his general method to the equation xn−1 + xn−2 + ... + x + 1 = 0 (with roots a, b, c... being the different powers of r, and the indices in geometrical progression as mentioned), demonstrated that the function (a + ωb + ω²c + ...)n−1 was, in this situation, a specific function of ω with integer coefficients.
Reverting to the before-mentioned particular equation x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0, it is very interesting to compare the process of solution with that for the solution of the general quartic the roots whereof are a, b, c, d.
Revisiting the previously mentioned equation x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0, it’s quite interesting to compare the solution process with that of the general quartic, whose roots are a, b, c, and d.
Take ω, a root of the equation ω4 − 1 = 0 (whence ω is = 1, −1, i, or −i, at pleasure), and consider the expression
Take ω, a root of the equation ω4 − 1 = 0 (so ω can be 1, −1, i, or −i, whichever you prefer), and consider the expression
(a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d)4,
(a + ωb + ω²c + ω³d)4,
the developed value of this is
the developed value of this is
= | a4 + b4 + c4 + d4 + 6 (a²c² + b²d²) + 12 (a²bd + b²ca + c²db + d²ac) |
+ω | {4 (a³b + b³c + c³ + d³a) + 12 (a²cd + b²da + c²ab + d²bc) } |
+ω² | {6 (a²b² + b²c² + c²d² + d²a²) + 4 (a³c + b³d + c³a + d³b) + 24abcd} |
+ω³ | {4 (a³d + b³a + c³b + d³c) + 12 (a²bc + b²cd + c²da + d²ab) } |
that is, this is a 6-valued function of a, b, c, d, the root of a sextic (which is, in fact, solvable by radicals; but this is not here material).
that is, this is a 6-valued function of a, b, c, d, the root of a sextic (which is, in fact, solvable by radicals; but this is not relevant here).
If, however, a, b, c, d denote the roots r, r², r4, r³ of the special equation, then the expression becomes
If, however, a, b, c, d represent the roots r, r², r4, r³ of the special equation, then the expression becomes
r4 | + r³ + r + r² + 6 (1 + 1) | + 12 (r² + r4 + r³ + r) |
+ ω {4 (1 + 1 + 1 + 1) | + 12 (r4 + r³ + r + r²) } | |
+ ω²{6 (r + r² + r4 + r³) | + 4 (r² + r4 + r³ + r) } | |
+ ω³{4 (r + r² + r4 + r³) | + 12 (r³ + r + r² + r4) } |
viz. this is
namely this is
= −1 + 4ω + 14ω² − 16ω³,
= −1 + 4ω + 14ω² − 16ω³,
a completely determined value. That is, we have
a completely determined value. That is, we have
(r + ωr² + ω²r4 + ω³r³) = −1 + 4ω + 14ω² − 16ω³,
(r + ωr² + ω²r4 + ω³r³) = −1 + 4ω + 14ω² − 16ω³,
which result contains the solution of the equation. If ω = 1, we have (r + r² + r4 + r³)4 = 1, which is right; if ω = −1, then (r + r4 − r² − r³)4 = 25; if ω = i, then we have {r − r4 + i(r² − r³) }4 = −15 + 20i; and if ω = −i, then {r − r4 − i (r² − r³) }4 = −15 − 20i; the solution may be completed without difficulty.
which result contains the solution of the equation. If ω = 1, we have (r + r² + r4 + r³)4 = 1, which is correct; if ω = −1, then (r + r4 − r² − r³)4 = 25; if ω = i, then we have {r − r4 + i(r² − r³) }4 = −15 + 20i; and if ω = −i, then {r − r4 − i (r² − r³) }4 = −15 − 20i; the solution can be completed without difficulty.
The result is perfectly general, thus:—n being a prime number, r a root of the equation xn−1 + xn−2 + ... + x + 1 = 0, ω a root of ωn−1 − 1 = 0, and g a prime root of gn−1 ≡ 1 (mod. n), then
The result is generally applicable as follows: n is a prime number, r is a root of the equation xn−1 + xn−2 + ... + x + 1 = 0, ω is a root of ωn−1 − 1 = 0, and g is a prime root of gn−1 ≡ 1 (mod. n), then
(r + ωr g + ... + ωn − 2r g n−2) n−1
(r + ωr g + ... + ωn - 2rg n−2) n−1
is a given function M0 + M1ω ... + Mn−2ωn−2 with integer coefficients, and by the extraction of (n − 1)th roots of this and similar expressions we ultimately obtain r in terms of ω, which is taken to be known; the equation xn − 1 = 0, n a prime number, is thus solvable by radicals. In particular, if n − 1 be a power of 2, the solution (by either process) requires the extraction of square roots only; and it was thus that Gauss discovered that it was possible to construct geometrically the regular polygons of 17 sides and 257 sides respectively. Some interesting developments in regard to the theory were obtained by C.G.J. Jacobi (1837); see the memoir “Ueber die Kreistheilung, u.s.w.,” Crelle, t. xxx. (1846).
is a given function M0 + M1ω ... + Mn−2ωn−2 with integer coefficients, and by taking the (n − 1)th roots of this and similar expressions, we ultimately find r in terms of ω, which we assume is known; the equation xn − 1 = 0, with n being a prime number, is therefore solvable by radicals. In particular, if n − 1 is a power of 2, the solution (by either method) only requires taking square roots; this is how Gauss discovered that it was possible to geometrically construct regular polygons with 17 sides and 257 sides, respectively. Some interesting developments regarding the theory were made by C.G.J. Jacobi (1837); see the memoir “Ueber die Kreistheilung, u.s.w.,” Crelle, t. xxx. (1846).
The equation xn−1 + ... + x + 1 = 0 has been considered for its own sake, but it also serves as a specimen of a class of equations solvable by radicals, considered by N.H. Abel (1828), and since called Abelian equations, viz. for the Abelian equation of the order n, if x be any root, the roots are x, θx, θ²x, ... θn−1x (θx being a rational function of x, and θnx = x); the theory is, in fact, very analogous to that of the above particular case.
The equation xn−1 + ... + x + 1 = 0 has been examined for its own merit, but it also acts as an example of a type of equation solvable by radicals, studied by N.H. Abel (1828), and now referred to as Abelian equations. Specifically, for an Abelian equation of order n, if x is any root, then the roots are x, θx, θ²x, ... θn−1x (where θx is a rational function of x, and θnx = x); the theory is, in fact, quite similar to that of the mentioned specific case.
A more general theorem obtained by Abel is as follows:—If the roots of an equation of any order are connected together in such wise that all the roots can be expressed rationally in terms of any one of them, say x; if, moreover, θx, θ1x being any two of the roots, we have θθ1x = θ1θx, the equation will be solvable algebraically. It is proper to refer also to Abel’s definition of an irreducible equation:—an equation φx = 0, the coefficients of which are rational functions of a certain number of known quantities a, b, c ..., is called irreducible when it is impossible to express its roots by an equation of an inferior degree, the coefficients of which are also rational functions of a, b, c ... (or, what is the same thing, when φx does not break up into factors which are rational functions of a, b, c ...). Abel applied his theory to the equations which present themselves in the division of the elliptic functions, but not to the modular equations.
A more general theorem established by Abel is as follows: If the roots of an equation of any order are related in such a way that all the roots can be expressed rationally in terms of any one of them, let’s say x; if, furthermore, θx and θ1x are any two of the roots, and we have θθ1x = θ1θx, then the equation will be solvable algebraically. It is also important to mention Abel’s definition of an irreducible equation: An equation φx = 0, where the coefficients are rational functions of a certain number of known quantities a, b, c ..., is called irreducible when it is impossible to express its roots by an equation of a lower degree, the coefficients of which are also rational functions of a, b, c ... (or, in other words, when φx does not factor into components that are rational functions of a, b, c ...). Abel applied his theory to the equations that arise in the division of elliptic functions but not to modular equations.
24. But the theory of the algebraical solution of equations in its most complete form was established by Evariste Galois (born October 1811, killed in a duel May 1832; see his collected works, Liouville, t. xl., 1846). The definition of an irreducible equation resembles Abel’s,—an equation is reducible when it admits of a rational divisor, irreducible in the contrary case; only the word rational is used in this extended sense that, in connexion with the coefficients of the given equation, or with the irrational quantities (if any) whereof these are composed, he considers any number of other irrational quantities called “adjoint radicals,” and he terms rational any rational function of the coefficients (or the irrationals whereof they are composed) and of these adjoint radicals; the epithet irreducible is thus taken either absolutely or in a relative sense, according to the system of adjoint radicals which are taken into account. For instance, the equation x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0; the left hand side has here no rational divisor, and the equation is irreducible; but this function is = (x² + ½ x + 1)² − 5⁄4 x², and it has thus the irrational divisors x² + ½ (1 + √5)x + 1, x² + ½ (1 − √5)x + 1; and these, if we adjoin the radical √5, are rational, and the equation is no longer irreducible. In the case of a given equation, assumed to be irreducible, the problem to solve the equation is, in fact, that of finding radicals by the adjunction of which the equation becomes reducible; for instance, the general quadric equation x² + px + q = 0 is irreducible, but it becomes reducible, breaking up into rational linear factors, when we adjoin the radical √(¼ p² − q).
24. But the theory of the algebraic solution of equations in its most complete form was established by Évariste Galois (born October 1811, killed in a duel May 1832; see his collected works, Liouville, vol. xl., 1846). The definition of an irreducible equation is similar to Abel’s—an equation is reducible when it has a rational divisor, and irreducible otherwise; the term rational is used in the extended sense that, in connection with the coefficients of the given equation or the irrational quantities (if any) that make them up, he considers any number of other irrational quantities called “adjoint radicals,” and he refers to any rational function of the coefficients (or the irrationals that make them up) and these adjoint radicals as rational; the term irreducible is thus interpreted either absolutely or relatively, depending on the system of adjoint radicals taken into account. For example, the equation x4 + x³ + x² + x + 1 = 0; the left-hand side has no rational divisor here, so the equation is irreducible; however, this function is = (x² + ½ x + 1)² − 5⁄4 x², and it therefore has the irrational divisors x² + ½ (1 + √5)x + 1, x² + ½ (1 − √5)x + 1; and these become rational when we adjoin the radical √5, making the equation no longer irreducible. In the case of a given equation, which is assumed to be irreducible, the challenge of solving the equation is essentially about finding radicals to adjoin that will make the equation reducible; for instance, the general quadratic equation x² + px + q = 0 is irreducible, but it becomes reducible, breaking into rational linear factors, when we adjoin the radical √(¼ p² − q).
The fundamental theorem is the Proposition I. of the “Mémoire sur les conditions de résolubilité des équations par radicaux”; viz. given an equation of which a, b, c ... are the m roots, there is always a group of permutations of the letters a, b, c ... possessed of the following properties:—
The fundamental theorem is Proposition I of the “Memoir on the Conditions for the Solvability of Equations by Radicals”; namely, given an equation with roots a, b, c ..., there is always a group of permutations of the letters a, b, c ... that have the following properties:—
1. Every function of the roots invariable by the substitutions of the group is rationally known.
1. Every function of the roots that doesn't change with the substitutions of the group is understood rationally.
2. Reciprocally every rationally determinable function of the roots is invariable by the substitutions of the group.
2. In turn, every function of the roots that can be determined rationally remains unchanged by the substitutions of the group.
Here by an invariable function is meant not only a function of which the form is invariable by the substitutions of the group, but further, one of which the value is invariable by these substitutions: for instance, if the equation be φ(x) = 0, then φ(x) is a function of the roots invariable by any substitution whatever. And in saying that a function is rationally known, it is meant that its value is expressible rationally in terms of the coefficients and of the adjoint quantities.
Here, an invariable function refers not just to a function whose form doesn’t change with the group’s substitutions, but also one whose value remains constant under these substitutions. For example, if the equation is φ(x) = 0, then φ(x) is a function of the roots that doesn't change regardless of the substitution used. When we say that a function is rationally known, we mean that its value can be expressed in rational terms based on the coefficients and related quantities.
For instance in the case of a general equation, the group is simply the system of the 1.2.3 ... n permutations of all the roots, since, in this case, the only rationally determinable functions are the symmetric functions of the roots.
For example, in the case of a general equation, the group is just the system of the 1.2.3 ... n permutations of all the roots, since, in this case, the only functions that can be determined rationally are the symmetric functions of the roots.
In the case of the equation xn−1 ... + x + 1 = 0, n a prime number, a, b, c ... k = r, r g, r g² ... r g n−2, where g is a prime root of n, then the group is the cyclical group abc ... k, bc ... ka, ... kab ... j, that is, in this particular case the number of the permutations of the group is equal to the order of the equation.
In the equation xn−1 ... + x + 1 = 0, where n is a prime number, we have a, b, c ... k = r, r g, r g² ... r g n−2, with g being a prime root of n. Thus, the group forms a cyclical group abc ... k, bc ... ka, ... kab ... j. In this specific case, the number of permutations of the group is equal to the order of the equation.
This notion of the group of the original equation, or of the group of the equation as varied by the adjunction of a series of radicals, seems to be the fundamental one in Galois’s theory. But the problem of solution by radicals, instead of being the sole object of the theory, appears as the first link of a long chain of questions relating to the transformation and classification of irrationals.
This idea of the group of the original equation, or the group of the equation modified by adding a series of radicals, seems to be the core concept in Galois’s theory. However, the problem of solving by radicals, rather than being the only focus of the theory, becomes the first step in a much longer series of questions about the transformation and classification of irrationals.
Returning to the question of solution by radicals, it will be readily understood that by the adjunction of a radical the group may be diminished; for instance, in the case of the general cubic, where the group is that of the six permutations, by the adjunction of the square root which enters into the solution, the group is reduced to abc, bca, cab; that is, it becomes possible to express rationally, in terms of the coefficients and of the adjoint square root, any function such as a²b + b²c + c²a which is not altered by the cyclical substitution a into b, b into c, c into a. And hence, to determine whether an equation of a given form is solvable by radicals, the course of investigation is to inquire whether, by the successive adjunction of radicals, it is possible to reduce the original group of the equation so as to make it ultimately consist of a single permutation.
Returning to the question of solving equations with radicals, it's easy to see that adding a radical can reduce the group of permutations. For example, with a general cubic equation, where the group consists of all six permutations, adding the square root involved in the solution brings the group down to just abc, bca, cab. This means you can express any function like a²b + b²c + c²a—in terms of the coefficients and the added square root—in a way that doesn't change when you cycle a into b, b into c, and c into a. Therefore, to figure out if an equation of a specific form can be solved by radicals, we investigate whether we can reduce the original group of the equation through successive additions of radicals until it consists of just one permutation.
The condition in order that an equation of a given prime order n may be solvable by radicals was in this way obtained—in the first instance in the form (scarcely intelligible without further explanation) that every function of the roots x1, x2 ... xn, invariable by the substitutions xak + b for xk, must be rationally known; and then in the equivalent form that the resolvent equation of the order 1.2 ... (n − 2) must have a rational root. In particular, the condition in order that a quintic equation may be solvable is that Lagrange’s resolvent of the order 6 may have a rational factor, a result obtained from a direct investigation in a valuable memoir by E. Luther, Crelle, t. xxxiv. (1847).
The condition for an equation of a given prime order n to be solvable by radicals was obtained in this way—initially in a form that is hard to understand without further explanation: every function of the roots x1, x2, ... xn, which remains unchanged by the substitutions xak + b for xk, must be known rationally; and then in the equivalent form that the resolvent equation of the order 1.2 ... (n − 2) must have a rational root. Specifically, the condition for a quintic equation to be solvable is that Lagrange’s resolvent of the order 6 must have a rational factor, a result obtained from a direct investigation in a valuable paper by E. Luther, Crelle, t. xxxiv. (1847).
Among other results demonstrated or announced by Galois may be mentioned those relating to the modular equations in the theory of elliptic functions; for the transformations of the orders 5, 7, 11, the modular equations of the orders 6, 8, 12 are depressible to the orders 5, 7, 11 respectively; but for the transformation, n a prime number greater than 11, the depression is impossible.
Among other results shown or announced by Galois, we can highlight those related to the modular equations in the theory of elliptic functions. For transformations of orders 5, 7, and 11, the modular equations of orders 6, 8, and 12 can be reduced to orders 5, 7, and 11, respectively. However, for transformations where n is a prime number greater than 11, reduction is not possible.
The general theory of Galois in regard to the solution of equations was completed, and some of the demonstrations supplied by E. Betti (1852). See also J.A. Serret’s Cours d’algèbre supérieure, 2nd ed. (1854); 4th ed. (1877-1878).
The general theory of Galois concerning the solution of equations was finished, with some of the proofs provided by E. Betti (1852). See also J.A. Serret’s Cours d’algèbre supérieure, 2nd ed. (1854); 4th ed. (1877-1878).
25. Returning to quintic equations, George Birch Jerrard (1835) established the theorem that the general quintic equation is by the extraction of only square and cubic roots reducible to the form x5 + ax + b = 0, or what is the same thing, to x5 + x + b = 0. The actual reduction by means of Tschirnhausen’s theorem was effected by Charles Hermite in connexion with his elliptic-function solution of the quintic equation (1858) in a very elegant manner. It was shown by Sir James Cockle and Robert Harley (1858-1859) in connexion with the Jerrardian form, and by Arthur Cayley (1861), that Lagrange’s resolvent equation of the sixth order can be replaced by a more simple sextic equation occupying a like place in the theory.
25. Going back to quintic equations, George Birch Jerrard (1835) established the theorem that the general quintic equation can be simplified to the form x5 + ax + b = 0, or equivalently, x5 + x + b = 0, by extracting only square and cubic roots. The actual simplification using Tschirnhausen’s theorem was conducted by Charles Hermite in connection with his elegant elliptic-function solution of the quintic equation (1858). It was demonstrated by Sir James Cockle and Robert Harley (1858-1859) in connection with the Jerrardian form, and by Arthur Cayley (1861), that Lagrange’s sixth-order resolvent equation can be replaced by a simpler sextic equation that serves a similar purpose in the theory.
The theory of the modular equations, more particularly for the case n = 5, has been studied by C. Hermite, L. Kronecker and F. Brioschi. In the case n = 5, the modular equation of the order 6 720 depends, as already mentioned, on an equation of the order 5; and conversely the general quintic equation may be made to depend upon this modular equation of the order 6; that is, assuming the solution of this modular equation, we can solve (not by radicals) the general quintic equation; this is Hermite’s solution of the general quintic equation by elliptic functions (1858); it is analogous to the before-mentioned trigonometrical solution of the cubic equation. The theory is reproduced and developed in Brioschi’s memoir, “Über die Auflösung der Gleichungen vom fünften Grade,” Math. Annalen, t. xiii. (1877-1878).
The theory of modular equations, especially for the case n = 5, has been explored by C. Hermite, L. Kronecker, and F. Brioschi. In the n = 5 case, the modular equation of the sixth order 720 is based, as previously mentioned, on a fifth-order equation; and vice versa, the general quintic equation can be derived from this sixth-order modular equation. This means that, by solving this modular equation, we can solve the general quintic equation (not using radicals); this is Hermite’s solution of the general quintic equation using elliptic functions (1858), which is similar to the earlier trigonometric solution of the cubic equation. The theory is detailed and expanded upon in Brioschi’s paper, “Über die Auflösung der Gleichungen vom fünften Grade,” Math. Annalen, t. xiii. (1877-1878).
26. The modern work, reproducing the theories of Galois, and exhibiting the theory of algebraic equations as a whole, is C. Jordan’s Traité des substitutions et des équations algébriques (Paris, 1870). The work is divided into four books—book i., preliminary, relating to the theory of congruences; book ii. is in two chapters, the first relating to substitutions in general, the second to substitutions defined analytically, and chiefly to linear substitutions; book iii. has four chapters, the first discussing the principles of the general theory, the other three containing applications to algebra, geometry, and the theory of transcendents; lastly, book iv., divided into seven chapters, contains a determination of the general types of equations solvable by radicals, and a complete system of classification of these types. A glance through the index will show the vast extent which the theory has assumed, and the form of general conclusions arrived at; thus, in book iii., the algebraical applications comprise Abelian equations, equations of Galois; the geometrical ones comprise Q. Hesse’s equation, R.F.A. Clebsch’s equations, lines on a quartic surface having a nodal line, singular points of E.E. Kummer’s surface, lines on a cubic surface, problems of contact; the applications to the theory of transcendents comprise circular functions, elliptic functions (including division and the modular equation), hyperelliptic functions, solution of equations by transcendents. And on this last subject, solution of equations by transcendents, we may quote the result—“the solution of the general equation of an order superior to five cannot be made to depend upon that of the equations for the division of the circular or elliptic functions”; and again (but with a reference to a possible case of exception), “the general equation cannot be solved by aid of the equations which give the division of the hyperelliptic functions into an odd number of parts.” (See also Groups, Theory of.)
26. The modern work that reflects Galois' theories and presents the theory of algebraic equations as a whole is C. Jordan’s Traité des substitutions et des équations algébriques (Paris, 1870). The book is divided into four sections—section i is a preliminary section related to the theory of congruences; section ii has two chapters, with the first about general substitutions and the second focused on analytically defined substitutions, mainly linear substitutions; section iii includes four chapters, the first discussing the principles of the general theory, while the other three contain applications to algebra, geometry, and the theory of transcendents; finally, section iv, which is split into seven chapters, determines the general types of equations solvable by radicals and provides a complete classification system for these types. A quick look at the index reveals the extensive reach of the theory and the form of general conclusions drawn; for example, in section iii, the algebraic applications encompass Abelian equations and Galois' equations; the geometric ones include Q. Hesse’s equation, R.F.A. Clebsch’s equations, lines on a quartic surface with a nodal line, singular points of E.E. Kummer’s surface, lines on a cubic surface, and contact problems; the applications to the theory of transcendents involve circular functions, elliptic functions (including division and the modular equation), hyperelliptic functions, and solving equations using transcendents. Regarding the last topic, solving equations using transcendents, we can mention the conclusion—“the solution of the general equation of degree higher than five cannot rely on the solutions of the equations for dividing circular or elliptic functions”; and again (though with a mention of a possible exception), “the general equation cannot be solved using the equations that divide hyperelliptic functions into an odd number of parts.” (See also Groups, Theory of.)
Bibliography.—For the general theory see W.S. Burnside and A.W. Panton, The Theory of Equations (4th ed., 1899-1901); the Galoisian theory is treated in G.B. Matthews, Algebraic Equations (1907). See also the Ency. d. math. Wiss. vol. ii.
References.—For the general theory, see W.S. Burnside and A.W. Panton, The Theory of Equations (4th ed., 1899-1901); the Galois theory is covered in G.B. Matthews, Algebraic Equations (1907). Also, refer to Ency. d. math. Wiss. vol. ii.
1 The coefficients were selected so that the roots might be nearly 1, 2, 3.
1 The coefficients were chosen so that the roots would be close to 1, 2, and 3.
2 The third edition (1826) is a reproduction of that of 1808; the first edition has the date 1798, but a large part of the contents is taken from memoirs of 1767-1768 and 1770-1771.
2 The third edition (1826) is a reprint of the one from 1808; the first edition is dated 1798, but a significant portion of the content comes from memoirs from 1767-1768 and 1770-1771.
3 The earlier demonstrations by Euler, Lagrange, &c, relate to the case of a numerical equation with real coefficients; and they consist in showing that such equation has always a real quadratic divisor, furnishing two roots, which are either real or else conjugate imaginaries α + βi (see Lagrange’s Équations numériques).
3 The earlier work by Euler, Lagrange, etc., pertains to numerical equations with real coefficients. They demonstrate that such equations always have a real quadratic divisor, providing two roots that are either real or complex conjugates of the form α + βi (see Lagrange’s Équations numériques).
EQUATION OF THE CENTRE, in astronomy, the angular distance, measured around the centre of motion, by which a planet moving in an ellipse deviates from the mean position which it would occupy if it moved uniformly. Its amount is the correction which must be applied positively or negatively to the mean anomaly in order to obtain the true anomaly. It arises from the ellipticity of the orbit, is zero at pericentre and apocentre, and reaches its greatest amount nearly midway between these points. (See Anomaly and Orbit.)
EQUATION OF THE CENTER, in astronomy, refers to the angular distance, measured around the center of motion, by which a planet moving in an ellipse differs from the average position it would have if it moved at a constant speed. This value is the adjustment that needs to be added or subtracted from the mean anomaly to find the true anomaly. It is caused by the orbit's elliptical shape, is zero at the closest (pericentre) and farthest (apocentre) points, and is at its maximum roughly halfway between these points. (See Anomaly and Orbit.)
EQUATION OF TIME, the difference between apparent time, determined by the meridian passage of the real sun, and mean time, determined by the passage of the mean sun. It goes through a double period in the course of a year. Its amount varies a fraction of a minute for the same date, from year to year and from one longitude to another, on the same day. The following table shows an average value for any date and for the Greenwich meridian for a number of years, from which the actual value will seldom deviate more than 20 seconds until after 1950. The + sign indicates that the real sun reaches the meridian after mean noon; the − sign before mean noon.
EQUATION OF TIME, is the difference between apparent time, which is based on the actual position of the sun in the sky, and mean time, which is based on the average position of the sun. It goes through a complete cycle twice each year. Its value changes by a fraction of a minute on the same date from year to year and from one location to another. The table below shows the average value for any date at the Greenwich meridian over several years, where the actual value usually won't differ by more than 20 seconds until after 1950. The + sign means the real sun reaches the meridian after mean noon; the − sign means before mean noon.
Table of the Equation of Time.
Table of the Equation of Time.
m. | s. | m. | s. | m. | s. | ||||||
Jan. | 1 | +3 | 26 | Mar. | 1 | +12 | 39 | May | 1 | −2 | 55 |
6 | 5 | 45 | 6 | 11 | 35 | 6 | −3 | 27 | |||
11 | 7 | 51 | 11 | 10 | 20 | 11 | −3 | 46 | |||
16 | 9 | 43 | 16 | 8 | 58 | 16 | −3 | 51 | |||
21 | 11 | 19 | 21 | 7 | 30 | 21 | −3 | 40 | |||
26 | 12 | 36 | 26 | 5 | 59 | 26 | −3 | 16 | |||
Feb. | 1 | +13 | 42 | Apr. | 1 | +4 | 9 | June | 1 | −2 | 32 |
6 | 14 | 14 | 6 | 2 | 40 | 6 | −1 | 44 | |||
11 | 14 | 25 | 11 | +1 | 15 | 11 | −0 | 48 | |||
16 | 14 | 17 | 16 | −0 | 3 | 16 | +0 | 14 | |||
21 | 13 | 52 | 21 | −1 | 12 | 21 | 1 | 19 | |||
26 | 13 | 11 | 26 | −2 | 10 | 26 | 2 | 24 | |||
July | 1 | +3 | 26 | Sept. | 1 | +0 | 9 | Nov. | 1 | −16 | 18 |
6 | 4 | 21 | 6 | −1 | 28 | 6 | −16 | 19 | |||
11 | 5 | 8 | 11 | −3 | 10 | 11 | −15 | 58 | |||
16 | 5 | 44 | 16 | −4 | 55 | 16 | −15 | 15 | |||
21 | 6 | 8 | 21 | −6 | 41 | 21 | −14 | 12 | |||
26 | 6 | 18 | 26 | −8 | 25 | 26 | −12 | 49 | |||
Aug. | 1 | +6 | 10 | Oct. | 1 | −10 | 5 | Dec. | 1 | −11 | 7 |
6 | 5 | 47 | 6 | −11 | 38 | 6 | −9 | 9 | |||
11 | 5 | 9 | 11 | −13 | 2 | 11 | −6 | 57 | |||
16 | 4 | 17 | 16 | −14 | 14 | 16 | −4 | 35 | |||
21 | 3 | 12 | 21 | −15 | 11 | 21 | −2 | 7 | |||
26 | 1 | 55 | 26 | −15 | 52 | 26 | +0 | 23 |
EQUATOR (Late Lat. aequator, from aequare, to make equal), in geography, that great circle of the earth, equidistant from the two poles, which divides the northern from the southern hemisphere and lies in a plane perpendicular to the axis of the earth; this is termed the “geographical” or “terrestrial equator.” In astronomy, the “celestial equator” is the name given to the great circle in which the plane of the terrestrial equator intersects the celestial sphere; it is consequently equidistant from the celestial poles. The “magnetic equator” is an imaginary line encircling the earth, along which the vertical component of the earth’s magnetic force is zero; it nearly coincides with the terrestrial equator.
EQUATOR (Late Lat. aequator, from aequare, to make equal), in geography, refers to the great circle of the earth that is equidistant from the two poles, which separates the northern and southern hemispheres and lies in a plane that is perpendicular to the earth's axis; this is called the “geographical” or “terrestrial equator.” In astronomy, the “celestial equator” describes the great circle formed where the plane of the terrestrial equator intersects the celestial sphere; it is therefore equidistant from the celestial poles. The “magnetic equator” is an imaginary line that wraps around the earth, indicating where the vertical component of the earth’s magnetic force is zero; it closely aligns with the terrestrial equator.
EQUERRY (from the Fr. écurie, a stable, through its older form escurie, from the Med. Lat. scuria, a word of Teutonic origin for a stable or shed, cf. Ger. Scheuer; the modern spelling has confused the word with the Lat. equus, a horse), a contracted form of “gentleman of the equerry,” an officer in charge of the stables of a royal household. At the British court, equerries are officers attached to the department of the master of the horse, the first of whom is called chief equerry (see Household, Royal).
EQUERRY (from the French écurie, meaning a stable, taking its older form escurie, from Medieval Latin scuria, a word of Teutonic origin for a stable or shed, comparable to German Scheuer; the modern spelling has mixed it up with the Latin equus, meaning horse), is a shortened form of “gentleman of the equerry,” an officer responsible for the stables of a royal household. At the British court, equerries are officials associated with the master of the horse’s department, with the top one referred to as the chief equerry (see Household, Royal).
EQUIDAE, the family of perissodactyle ungulate mammals typified by the horse (Equus caballus); see Horse. According to the older classification this family was taken to include only the forms with tall-crowned teeth, more or less closely allied to the typical genus Equus. There is, however, such an almost complete graduation from the former to earlier and more primitive mammals with short-crowned cheek-teeth, at one time included in the family Lophiodontidae (see Perissodactyla), that it has now become a very general practice to include the whole “phylum” in the family Equidae. The Equidae, in this extended sense, together with the extinct Palaeotheriidae, are indeed now regarded as forming one of four main groups into which the Perissodactyla are divided, the other groups being the Tapiroidea, Rhinocerotoidea and Titanotheriide. For the horse-group the name Hippoidea is employed. All four groups were closely connected in the Lower Eocene, so that exact definition is almost impossible.
EQUIDAE, is the family of odd-toed ungulate mammals represented by the horse (Equus caballus); see Horse. According to older classifications, this family was thought to include only those with tall-crowned teeth, closely related to the typical genus Equus. However, there is a nearly complete transition from these forms to earlier and more primitive mammals with short-crowned cheek teeth, which were once included in the family Lophiodontidae (see Perissodactyla), leading to the common practice of including the entire "phylum" in the family Equidae. The Equidae, in this broader sense, along with the extinct Palaeotheriidae, are now considered to make up one of four main groups into which the Perissodactyla are categorized, the other groups being Tapiroidea, Rhinocerotoidea, and Titanotheriidae. The horse-related group is referred to as Hippoidea. All four groups were closely linked in the Lower Eocene, making precise definitions almost impossible.
In the Hippoidea there is generally the full series of 44 teeth, but the first premolar is often deciduous or wanting in the lower or in both jaws. The incisors are chisel-shaped, and the canines tend to become isolated so as in the now specialized forms to occupy nearly the middle of a longer or shorter gap between the incisors and premolars. In the upper molars the two outer columns of the primitive tubercular molar coalesce to form an outer wall, from which proceed two crescentic transverse crests; the connexion between the crests and the wall being imperfect or slight, and the crests themselves sometimes tubercular. Each of the lower molars carries two crescentic ridges. The number of toes ranges from four to one in the fore-foot, and from three to one in the hind-foot. The paroccipital, postglenoid and post-tympanic processes of the skull are large, and the latter always distinct. Normally there are no traces of horn-cores. The calcaneum lacks the facet for the fibula found in the Titanotheroidea.
In the Hippoidea, there are usually a complete set of 44 teeth, but the first premolar is often missing or not fully developed in the lower jaw or in both jaws. The incisors are shaped like chisels, and the canines tend to become separated so that, in the now specialized forms, they end up near the middle of a longer or shorter gap between the incisors and premolars. In the upper molars, the two outer columns of the original tubercular molar fuse to create an outer wall, from which two crescent-shaped transverse crests extend; the connection between the crests and the wall is often weak or slight, and the crests themselves can sometimes be tubercular. Each of the lower molars has two crescent-shaped ridges. The number of toes varies from four to one on the front foot, and from three to one on the hind foot. The paroccipital, postglenoid, and post-tympanic processes of the skull are large, and the latter is always distinct. Typically, there are no signs of horn-cores. The calcaneum does not have the facet for the fibula that is found in the Titanotheroidea.
In the earlier Equidae the teeth were short-crowned, with the premolars simpler than the molars; but there is a gradual tendency to an increase in the height of the crowns of the teeth, accompanied by increasing complexity of structure and the filling up of the hollows with cement. Similarly the gap on each side of the canine tooth in each jaw continues to increase in 721 length; while in all the later forms the orbit is surrounded by a ring of bone. A third modification is the increasing length of limb (as well as in general bodily size), accompanied by a gradual reduction in the number of toes from three or four to one.
In earlier Equidae, the teeth were short-crowned, and the premolars were simpler than the molars. However, there’s a gradual trend toward taller crowns on the teeth, along with more complex structures and the filling of cavities with cement. Similarly, the gap next to the canine tooth in each jaw keeps getting longer. In all the later forms, the eye socket is surrounded by a bony ring. Another change is the increasing length of the limbs and overall body size, along with a gradual decrease in the number of toes from three or four down to one.
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Fig. 1.—a, Side view of second upper molar tooth of Anchitherium (brachyodont form); b, corresponding tooth of horse (hypsidont form). |
All the existing members of the family, such as the domesticated horse (Equus caballus) and its wild or half-wild relatives, the asses and the zebras, are included in the typical genus. In all these the crowns of the cheek-teeth are very tall (fig. 1, b) and only develop roots late in life; while their grinding-surfaces (fig. 2, b and c) are very complicated and have all the hollows filled with cement. The summits of the incisors are infolded, producing, when partially worn, the “mark.” In the skull the orbit is surrounded by bone, and there is no distinct depression in front of the same. Each limb terminates in one large toe; the lateral digits being represented by the splint-bones, corresponding to the lateral metacarpals and metatarsals of Hipparion. Not unfrequently, however, the lower ends of the splint-bones carry a small expansion, representing the phalanges.
All the existing family members, like the domesticated horse (Equus caballus) and its wild or semi-wild relatives, the donkeys and zebras, are included in the typical genus. In all these, the crowns of the cheek teeth are very tall (fig. 1, b) and only develop roots later in life, while their grinding surfaces (fig. 2, b and c) are very complex and have all the hollows filled with cement. The tops of the incisors are indented, creating, when partially worn, the “mark.” In the skull, the eye socket is surrounded by bone, and there is no noticeable dip in front of it. Each limb ends in one large toe, with the side digits represented by the splint bones, corresponding to the side metacarpals and metatarsals of Hipparion. However, the lower ends of the splint bones often have a small extension, representing the phalanges.
Remains of horses indistinguishable from E. caballus occur in the Pleistocene deposits of Europe and Asia; and it is from them that the dun-coloured small horses of northern Europe and Asia are probably derived. The ancestor of these Pleistocene horses is probably E. stenonis, of the Upper Pliocene of Europe, which has a small depression in front of the orbit, while the skull is relatively larger, the feet are rather shorter, and the splint-bones somewhat more developed. In India a nearly allied species (E. sivalensis), occurs in the Lower Pliocene, and may have been the ancestor of the Arab stock, which shows traces of the depression in front of the orbit characteristic of the earlier forms. In North America species of Equus occur in the Pleistocene and from that continent others reached South America during the same epoch. In the latter country occurs Hippidium, in which the cheek-teeth are shorter and simpler, and the nasal bones very long and slender, with elongated slits at the side. The limbs, especially the cannon-bones, are relatively short, and the splint-bones large. The allied Argentine Onohippidium, which is also Pleistocene, has still longer nasal bones and slits, and a deep double cavity in front of the orbit, part of which probably contained a gland. Onohippidium is certainly off the direct line of descent of the modern horses, and, on account of the length of the nasals and their slits, the same probably holds good for Hippidium.
Remains of horses that are indistinguishable from E. caballus have been found in the Pleistocene deposits of Europe and Asia; it's likely that the dun-colored small horses of northern Europe and Asia are derived from them. The ancestor of these Pleistocene horses is probably E. stenonis, from the Upper Pliocene of Europe, which has a small depression in front of the eye socket, while its skull is relatively larger, its feet are shorter, and its splint bones are somewhat more developed. In India, a closely related species (E. sivalensis) is found in the Lower Pliocene and might be the ancestor of the Arab lineage, which shows signs of the depression in front of the eye socket typical of the earlier forms. In North America, species of Equus appear in the Pleistocene, and some from that continent made their way to South America during the same period. In South America, Hippidium is found, characterized by shorter and simpler cheek teeth and very long and slender nasal bones, with elongated slits on the sides. The limbs, especially the cannon bones, are relatively short, and the splint bones are large. The related Argentinean Onohippidium, which is also from the Pleistocene, has even longer nasal bones and slits, and a deep double cavity in front of the eye socket, part of which likely housed a gland. Onohippidium is certainly not on the direct evolutionary path of modern horses, and it’s probable that Hippidium isn't either, due to the length of the nasal bones and their slits.
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Fig. 2.—a, Grinding surface of unworn right upper molar tooth of Anchitherium; b, corresponding surface of unworn molar of young horse; c, the same tooth after it has been some time in use. The uncoloured portions are the dentine or ivory, the shaded parts the cement filling the cavities and surrounding the exterior. The black line separating these two structures is the enamel or hardest constituent of the tooth. |
Species from the Pliocene of Texas and the Upper Miocene (Loup Fork) of Oregon were at one time assigned to Hippidium, but this is incorrect, that genus being exclusively South American. The name Pliohippus has been applied to species from the same two formations on the supposition that the foot-structure was similar to that of Hippidium, but Mr J.W. Gidley is of opinion that the lateral digits may have been fully developed.
Species from the Pliocene of Texas and the Upper Miocene (Loup Fork) of Oregon were once classified as Hippidium, but this is incorrect since that genus is exclusively South American. The name Pliohippus has been used for species from the same two formations based on the assumption that their foot structure was similar to that of Hippidium, but Mr. J.W. Gidley believes that the side digits may have been fully developed.
Apparently there is here some gap in the line of descent of the horse, and it may be suggested that the evolution took place, not as commonly supposed, in North America, but in eastern central Asia, of which the palaeontology is practically unknown; some support is given to this theory by the fact that the earliest species with which we are acquainted occur in northern India.
Apparently, there's a gap in the lineage of the horse, and it can be suggested that evolution occurred, contrary to popular belief, in eastern central Asia instead of North America, which is largely unexplored in terms of paleontology; some backing for this theory comes from the fact that the earliest species we know of have been found in northern India.
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Fig. 3.—Successive stages of modification of the left fore-feet of extinct forms of horse-like animals, showing gradual reduction of the outer and enlargement of the middle toe (III). | |
a, Hyracotherium (Eocene). a, Hyracotherium (Eocene). b, Mesohippus (Oligocene). b, Mesohippus (Oligocene Epoch). c, Anchitherium (Miocene). c, Anchitherium (Miocene). |
d, Hipparion (Pliocene). d, Hipparion (Pliocene period). e, Equus (Pleistocene). e, Equus (Ice Age). |
Be this as it may, the next North American representatives of the family constitute the genera Protohippus and Merychippus of the Miocene, in both of which the lateral digits are fully developed and terminate in small though perfect hoofs. In both the cheek-teeth have moderately tall crowns, and in the first named of the two those of the milk-series are nearly similar to their permanent successors. In Merychippus, on the other hand, the milk-molars have short crowns, without any cement in the hollows, thus resembling the permanent molars of the under-mentioned genus Anchitherium. From the well-known Hipparion, or Hippotherium, typically from the Lower Pliocene of Europe, but also occurring in the corresponding formation in North Africa, Persia, India and China, and represented in the Upper Miocene Loup Fork beds of the United States by species which it has been proposed to separate generically as Neohipparion, we reach small horses which are now generally regarded as a lateral offshoot from the Merychippus type. The cheek-teeth, which have crowns of moderate height, differ from those of all the foregoing in that the postero-internal pillar (the projection on the right-hand top corner of c in fig. 2) is isolated in place of being attached by a narrow neck to the adjacent crescent. The skull, which is relatively short, has a large depression in front of the orbit, commonly supposed to have contained a gland, but this may be doubtful. In the typical, and also in the North American forms these were complete, although small, lateral toes in both feet (fig. 3, d), but it is possible that in H. antilopinum of India the lateral toes had disappeared. If this be so, we have the development of a monodactyle foot in this genus independently of Equus.
Be that as it may, the upcoming North American representatives of the family include the genera Protohippus and Merychippus from the Miocene era, both of which have fully developed lateral digits that end in small yet complete hoofs. In both, the cheek teeth have moderately tall crowns, and in the first of the two, the milk-series teeth are nearly identical to their permanent successors. In Merychippus, however, the milk molars have short crowns and lack cement in the hollows, making them resemble the permanent molars of the below-mentioned genus Anchitherium. From the well-known Hipparion, or Hippotherium, typically found in the Lower Pliocene of Europe but also present in the equivalent formation in North Africa, Persia, India, and China, and represented in the Upper Miocene Loup Fork beds of the United States by species that have been proposed to be classified generically as Neohipparion, we arrive at small horses that are now generally seen as a lateral offshoot from the Merychippus type. The cheek teeth, which have crowns of moderate height, differ from all those previously mentioned in that the postero-internal pillar (the projection on the right-hand top corner of c in fig. 2) is isolated rather than being connected by a narrow neck to the adjacent crescent. The skull, which is relatively short, features a large depression in front of the orbit, commonly thought to have housed a gland, though this may be questionable. In the typical, as well as in the North American forms, there were complete, albeit small, lateral toes on both feet (fig. 3, d), but it’s possible that in H. antilopinum from India, the lateral toes might have vanished. If this is the case, we see the development of a single-toed foot in this genus, separate from Equus.
The foregoing genera constitute the subfamily Equinae, or the Equidae as restricted by the older writers. In all the dentition is of the hypsodont type, with the hollows of the cheek-teeth filled by cement, the premolars molariform, and the first small and generally deciduous. The orbit is surrounded by a bony ring; the ulna and radius in the fore, and the tibia and fibula in the hind-limb are united, and the feet are of the types described above. Between this subfamily and the second subfamily, Hyracotheriinae, a partial connexion is formed by the North American Upper Miocene genera Desmatippus and Anchippus or Parahippus. The characteristics of the group will be gathered from the remarks on the leading genera; but it may be mentioned that the orbit is open behind, the cheek-teeth are short-crowned and without cement (fig. 1, a), the gap between the canine and 722 the outermost incisor is short, the bones of the middle part of the leg are separate, and there are at least three toes to each foot.
The earlier genera make up the subfamily Equinae, or the Equidae as older authors referred to it. All of them have hypsodont teeth, with the hollows of the cheek teeth filled with cement, the premolars resembling molars, and the first tooth being small and typically temporary. The eye socket is surrounded by a bony ring; the ulna and radius in the front limbs, and the tibia and fibula in the hind limbs are fused, and the feet have the types mentioned earlier. There is a partial connection between this subfamily and the second subfamily, Hyracotheriinae, formed by the North American Upper Miocene genera Desmatippus and Anchippus or Parahippus. The characteristics of this group will be discussed in more detail regarding the main genera; however, it's worth noting that the eye socket is open at the back, the cheek teeth are short-crowned and lack cement (fig. 1, a), the space between the canine and the outermost incisor is short, the bones in the middle part of the leg are separate, and there are at least three toes on each foot.
The longest-known genus and the one containing the largest species is Anchitherium, typically from the Middle Miocene of Europe, but also represented by one species from the Upper Miocene of North America. The European A. aurelianense was of the size of an ordinary donkey. The cheek-teeth are of the type shown in a of figs. 1 and 2; the premolars, with the exception of the small first one, being molar-like; and the lateral toes (fig. 3, c) were to some extent functional. The summits of the incisors were infolded to a small extent. Nearly allied is the American Mesohippus, ranging from the Lower Miocene to the Lower Oligocene of the United States, of which the earliest species stood only about 18 in. at the shoulder. The incisors were scarcely, if at all, infolded, and there is a rudiment of the fifth metacarpal (fig. 3, b). By some writers all the species of Mesohippus are included in the genus Miohippus, but others consider that the two genera are distinct.
The longest-known genus and the one with the largest species is Anchitherium, typically from the Middle Miocene of Europe, but also found in one species from the Upper Miocene of North America. The European A. aurelianense was about the size of an ordinary donkey. The cheek teeth are of the type shown in a of figs. 1 and 2; the premolars, except for the small first one, are similar to molars; and the side toes (fig. 3, c) were somewhat functional. The tops of the incisors were slightly infolded. Closely related is the American Mesohippus, which ranges from the Lower Miocene to the Lower Oligocene of the United States, with the earliest species measuring only about 18 inches at the shoulder. The incisors were barely, if at all, infolded, and there is a remnant of the fifth metacarpal (fig. 3, b). Some authors include all species of Mesohippus in the genus Miohippus, while others believe the two genera are separate.
Mesohippus and Miohippus are connected with the earliest and most primitive mammal which it is possible to include in the family Equidae by means of Epihippus of the Uinta or Upper Eocene of North America, and Pachynolophus, or Orohippus, of the Middle and Lower Eocene of both halves of the northern hemisphere. The final stage, or rather the initial stage, in the series is presented by Hyracotherium (Protorohippus), a mammal no larger than a fox, common to the Lower Eocene of Europe and North America. The general characteristics of this progenitor of the horses are those given above as distinctive of the group. The cheek-teeth are, however, much simpler than those of Anchitherium; the transverse crests of the upper molars not being fully connected with the outer wall, while the premolars in the upper jaw are triangular, and thus unlike the molars. The incisors are small and the canines scarcely enlarged; the latter having a gap on each side in the lower, but only one on their hinder aspect in the upper jaw. The fore-feet have four complete toes (fig. 3, a), but there are only three hind-toes, with a rudiment of the fifth metatarsal. The vertebrae are simpler in structure than in Equus. From Hyracotherium, which is closely related to the Eocene representatives of the ancestral stocks of the other three branches of the Perissodactyla, the transition is easy to Phenacodus, the representative of the common ancestor of all the Ungulata.
Mesohippus and Miohippus are linked to the earliest and most primitive mammal that can be classified in the family Equidae through Epihippus from the Uinta or Upper Eocene of North America, and Pachynolophus, or Orohippus, from the Middle and Lower Eocene across both sides of the northern hemisphere. The final stage, or actually the initial stage, in this series is represented by Hyracotherium (Protorohippus), a mammal no larger than a fox, commonly found in the Lower Eocene of Europe and North America. The general traits of this horse ancestor are those mentioned above as distinctive of the group. The cheek teeth, however, are much simpler than those of Anchitherium; the transverse crests of the upper molars do not fully connect with the outer wall, while the premolars in the upper jaw are triangular, making them different from the molars. The incisors are small, and the canines are only slightly enlarged, with a gap on each side in the lower jaw, but just one on the back side in the upper jaw. The front feet have four complete toes (fig. 3, a), but there are only three toes on the back feet, along with a remnant of the fifth metatarsal. The vertebrae are simpler in structure than those in Equus. From Hyracotherium, which is closely related to the Eocene ancestors of the other three branches of the Perissodactyla, the transition to Phenacodus, the representative of the common ancestor of all Ungulata, is straightforward.
See also H.F. Osborn, “New Oligocene Horses,” Bull. Amer. Mus. vol. xx. p. 167 (1904); J.W. Gidley, Proper Generic Names of Miocene Horses, p. 191; and the article Palaeontology.
See also H.F. Osborn, “New Oligocene Horses,” Bull. Amer. Mus. vol. xx. p. 167 (1904); J.W. Gidley, Proper Generic Names of Miocene Horses, p. 191; and the article Palaeontology.
EQUILIBRIUM (from the Lat. aequus, equal, and libra, a balance), a condition of equal balance between opposite or counteracting forces. By the “sense of equilibrium” is meant the sense, or sensations, by which we have a feeling of security in standing, walking, and indeed in all the movements by which the body is carried through space. Such a feeling of security is necessary both for maintaining any posture, such as standing, or for performing any movement. If this feeling is absent or uncertain, or if there are contradictory sensations, then definite muscular movements are inefficiently or irregularly performed, and the body may stagger or fall. When we stand erect on a firm surface, like a floor, there is a feeling of resistance, due to nervous impulses reaching the brain from the soles of the feet and from the muscles of the limbs and trunk. In walking or running, these feelings of resistance seem to precede and guide the muscular movements necessary for the next step. If these are absent or perverted or deficient, as is the case in the disease known as locomotor ataxia, then, although there is no loss of the power of voluntary movement, the patient staggers in walking, especially if he is not allowed to look at his feet, or if he is blind-folded. He misses the guiding sensations that come from the limbs; and with a feeling that he is walking on a soft substance, offering little or no resistance, he staggers, and his muscular movements become irregular. Such a condition maybe artificially brought about by washing the soles of the feet with chloroform or ether. And it has been observed to exist partially after extensive destruction of the skin of the soles of the feet by burns or scalds. This shows that tactile impulses from the skin take a share in generating the guiding sensation. In the disease above mentioned, however, tactile impressions may be nearly normal, but the guiding sensation is weak and inefficient, owing to the absence of impulses from the muscles. The disease is known to depend on morbid changes in the posterior columns of the spinal cord, by which impulses are not freely transmitted upwards to the brain. These facts point to the existence of impulses coming from the muscles and tendons. It is now known that there exist peculiar spindles, in muscle, and rosettes or coils or loops of nerve fibres in close proximity to tendons. These are the end organs of the sense. The transmission of impulses gives rise to the muscular sense, and the guiding sensation which precedes co-ordinated muscular movements depends on these impulses. Thus from the limbs streams of nervous impulses pass to the sensorium from the skin and from muscles and tendons; these may or may not arouse consciousness, but they guide or evoke muscular movements of a co-ordinated character, more especially of the limbs.
EQUILIBRIUM (from the Latin aequus, meaning equal, and libra, meaning balance), is a state of equal balance between opposing or counteracting forces. The “sense of equilibrium” refers to the sensations that give us a feeling of stability when standing, walking, and in all movements that carry the body through space. This feeling of stability is essential for maintaining any posture, such as standing, or for executing any movement. If this feeling is absent, uncertain, or if there are conflicting sensations, then specific muscle movements are performed inefficiently or irregularly, leading the body to stagger or fall. When we stand upright on a solid surface, like a floor, we experience a sensation of resistance due to nerve impulses traveling to the brain from the soles of our feet and from the muscles in our limbs and torso. While walking or running, these sensations of resistance appear to guide the muscle movements required for taking the next step. If these sensations are missing, distorted, or lacking—such as in the condition known as locomotor ataxia—patients may not lose the ability to move voluntarily, but they stagger while walking, especially if they can’t see their feet or are blindfolded. They lack the guiding sensations from their limbs; feeling as if they are walking on a soft surface offering little to no resistance, they stagger, causing their muscle movements to be erratic. This condition can be artificially induced by washing the soles of the feet with chloroform or ether. It has also been observed to occur partially after significant damage to the skin on the soles of the feet from burns or scalds, indicating that tactile sensations from the skin contribute to generating the guiding sensation. However, in the aforementioned disease, tactile sensations may be nearly normal, but the guiding sensation is weak and ineffective due to the lack of impulses from the muscles. This disease is known to result from pathological changes in the posterior columns of the spinal cord, preventing impulses from being transmitted freely to the brain. These observations highlight the presence of impulses originating from the muscles and tendons. It is now understood that there are specific spindles in muscles, as well as rosettes, coils, or loops of nerve fibers located close to tendons. These serve as the end organs of the sense. The transmission of impulses leads to the muscular sense, and the guiding sensation that precedes coordinated muscle movements is reliant on these impulses. Thus, streams of nerve impulses flow from the limbs to the brain from the skin, muscles, and tendons; these may or may not raise awareness, but they guide or trigger coordinated muscle movements, especially in the limbs.
In animals whose limbs are not adapted for delicate touch nor for the performance of complicated movements, such as some mammals and birds and fishes, the guiding sensations depend largely on the sense of vision. This sense in man, instead of assisting, sometimes disturbs the guiding sensation. It is true that in locomotor ataxia visual sensations may take the place of the tactile and muscular sensations that are inefficient, and the man can walk without staggering if he is allowed to look at the floor, and especially if he is guided by transverse straight lines. On the other hand, the acrobat on the wire-rope dare not trust his visual sensations in the maintenance of his equilibrium. He keeps his eyes fixed on one point instead of allowing them to wander to objects below him, and his muscular movements are regulated by the impulses that come from the skin and muscles of his limbs. The feeling of insecurity probably arises from a conception of height, and also from the knowledge that by no muscular movements can a man avoid a catastrophe if he should fall. A bird, on the other hand, depends largely on visual impressions, and it knows by experience that if launched into the air from a height it can fly. Here, probably, is an explanation of the large size of the eyes of birds. Cover the head, as in hooding a falcon, and the bird seems to be deprived of the power of voluntary movement. Little effect will be produced if we attempt to restrain the movements of a cat by covering its eyes. A fish also is deprived of the power of motion if its eyes are covered. But both in the bird and in the fish tactile and muscular impressions, especially the latter, come into play in the mechanism of equilibrium. In flight the large-winged birds, especially in soaring, can feel the most delicate wind-pressures, both as regards direction and force, and they adapt the position of their body so as to catch the pressure at the most efficient angle. The same is true of the fish, especially of the flat-fishes. In mammals the sense of equilibrium depends, then, on streams of tactile, muscular and visual impressions pouring in on the sensorium, and calling forth appropriate muscular movements. It has also been suggested that impulses coming from the abdominal viscera may take part in the mechanism. The presence in the mesentery of felines (cats, &c.) of large numbers of Pacinian corpuscles, which are believed to be modified tactile bodies, favours this supposition. Such animals are remarkable for the delicacy of such muscular movements, as balancing and leaping.
In animals whose limbs aren't designed for delicate touch or complex movements, like some mammals, birds, and fish, guiding sensations mainly rely on sight. In humans, vision can sometimes disrupt these guiding sensations instead of helping. It’s true that in people with locomotor ataxia, visual sensations can replace ineffective tactile and muscle sensations, allowing them to walk steadily if they focus on the floor, especially if they follow straight lines. However, an acrobat on a tightrope can't fully trust their sight to maintain balance. They fix their gaze on one point instead of looking at objects below, relying on feelings from their skin and muscles to guide their movements. The sense of insecurity likely comes from recognizing the height they’re at and knowing that no muscle movement can prevent disaster if they fall. In contrast, a bird largely relies on visual cues and knows from experience that it can fly if it jumps from a height. This might explain why birds have such large eyes. Cover a bird's head, like when hooding a falcon, and it seems unable to move voluntarily. Covering a cat's eyes has little effect on its movement. Similarly, a fish loses the ability to swim if its eyes are covered. However, both birds and fish use tactile and muscular sensations, especially the latter, to help maintain balance. When flying, large-winged birds, especially while soaring, can sense even the faintest wind pressures regarding direction and strength, adjusting their body position to catch the air at the best angle. The same goes for fish, particularly flatfish. In mammals, balance depends on a combination of tactile, muscular, and visual sensations flooding the sensory system to prompt the right muscle movements. It’s also been suggested that signals from the abdominal organs might contribute. The presence of many Pacinian corpuscles in the mesentery of cats, believed to be modified tactile receptors, supports this idea. These animals are known for their finesse in movements like balancing and jumping.
There is another channel by which nervous impulses reach the sensorium and play their part in the sense of equilibrium, namely, from the semicircular canals, a portion of the internal ear. It is pointed out in the article Hearing that the appreciation of sound is in reality an appreciation of variations of pressure. The labyrinth consists of the vestibule, the cochlea and the semicircular canals. The cochlea receives the sound-waves (variations of pressure) that constitute musical tones. This it accomplishes by the structures in the ductus cochlearis. In the vestibule we find two sacs, the saccule next to and communicating with the ductus cochlearis, and the utricle communicating with the semicircular canals. The base of the stapes communicates 723 pressures to the utricle. The membranous portion of the semicircular canals consists of a tube, dilated at one end into a swelling or pouch, termed the ampulla, and each end communicates freely with the utricle. On the posterior wall of both the saccule and of the utricle there is a ridge, termed in each case the macula acustica, bearing a highly specialized epithelium. A similar structure exists in each ampulla. This would suggest that all three structures have to do with hearing; but, on the other hand, there is experimental evidence that the utricle and the canals may transmit impressions that have to do with equilibrium. Pressure of the base of the stapes is exerted on the utricle. This will compress the fluid in that cavity, and tend to drive the fluid into the semicircular canals that communicate with that cavity by five openings. Each canal is surrounded by a thin layer of perilymph, so that it may yield a little to this pressure, and exert a pull or pressure on the nerve-endings in each ampulla. Thus impulses may be generated in the nerves of the ampullae.
There’s another way that nerve signals reach the brain and contribute to our sense of balance, specifically from the semicircular canals, which are part of the inner ear. The article Hearing explains that our perception of sound is essentially about sensing changes in pressure. The inner ear includes the vestibule, cochlea, and semicircular canals. The cochlea picks up sound waves (pressure changes) that create musical tones, thanks to the structures in the cochlear duct. In the vestibule, there are two sacs: the saccule, which is next to and connects to the cochlear duct, and the utricle, which connects to the semicircular canals. The base of the stapes sends pressure to the utricle. The membranous part of the semicircular canals is a tube that expands at one end into a swelling called the ampulla, and both ends connect freely to the utricle. On the back wall of the saccule and utricle, there’s a ridge called the macula acustica, covered in a specialized layer of cells. A similar structure is found in each ampulla. This suggests that all three structures are linked to hearing; however, there’s also experimental evidence that the utricle and the canals might transmit signals related to balance. Pressure from the base of the stapes affects the utricle, compressing the fluid in that space and pushing it into the semicircular canals, which connect through five openings. Each canal has a thin layer of perilymph that can slightly yield to this pressure, creating a pull or pressure on the nerve endings in each ampulla. As a result, impulses can be generated in the nerves of the ampullae.
The three semicircular canals lie in the three directions in space, and it has been suggested that they have to do with our appreciation of the direction of sound. But our appreciation of sound is very inaccurate: we look with the eyes for the source of a sound, and instinctively direct the ears or the head, or both, in the direction from which the sound appears to proceed. But the relationship of the canals on the two sides must have a physiological significance. Thus (1) the six canals are parallel, two and two; or (2) the two horizontal canals are in the same plane, while the superior canal on one side is nearly parallel with the posterior canal of the other. These facts point to the two sets of canals and ampullae acting as one organ, in a manner analogous to the action of two retinae for single vision.
The three semicircular canals are positioned in three different directions in space, and it has been proposed that they relate to how we perceive sound direction. However, our understanding of sound location is quite imprecise: we tend to look with our eyes for where a sound is coming from and instinctively turn our ears, head, or both towards the direction that seems to be the source of the sound. Nonetheless, the alignment of the canals on either side must hold some physiological meaning. Therefore, (1) the six canals are parallel, two by two; or (2) the two horizontal canals lie in the same plane, while the superior canal on one side is almost parallel to the posterior canal on the opposite side. These observations suggest that the two sets of canals and ampullae function together as a single organ, much like how two retinas work together for a unified vision.
We have next to consider how the canals may possibly act in connexion with the sense of equilibrium. In 1820 J. Purkinje studied the vertigo that follows rapid rotation of the body in the erect position on a vertical axis. On stopping the rotation there is a sense of rotation in the opposite direction, and this may occur even when the eyes are closed. Purkinje noticed that the position of the imaginary axis of rotation depends on the axis around which the head revolves. In 1828 M.J.P. Flourens discovered that injury to the canals causes disturbance to the equilibrium and loss of co-ordination, and that sections of the canals produce a rotatory movement of a kind corresponding to the canal that had been divided. Thus division of a membranous canal causes rotatory movements round an axis at right angles to the plane of the divided canal. The body of the animal always moves in the direction of the cut canal. Many other observers have corroborated these experiments. F. Goltz was the first who formulated the conditions necessary for equilibration. He put the matter thus:—(1) A central co-ordinating organ—in the brain; (2) centripetal fibres, with their peripheral terminations—in the ampullae; and (3) centrifugal fibres, with their terminal organs—in the muscular mechanisms. A lesion of any one of these portions of the mechanism causes loss or impairment of balancing. Cyon also investigated the subject, and concluded:—(1) To maintain equilibrium, we must have an accurate notion of the position of the head in space; (2) the function of the semicircular canals is to communicate impressions that give a representation of this position—each canal having a relation to one of the dimensions of space; (3) disturbance of equilibrium follows section; (4) involuntary movements following section are due to abnormal excitations; (5) abnormal movements occurring a few days after the operation are caused by irritation of the cerebellum.
We next need to consider how the canals might affect our sense of balance. In 1820, J. Purkinje studied the dizziness that occurs after quickly rotating the body upright on a vertical axis. When the rotation stops, there is a feeling of spinning in the opposite direction, which can happen even with the eyes closed. Purkinje observed that the imaginary axis of rotation is influenced by the axis around which the head turns. In 1828, M.J.P. Flourens found that damage to the canals disrupts balance and causes a loss of coordination, and cutting the canals results in a rotational movement that corresponds to the canal that was severed. Specifically, cutting a membranous canal leads to rotational movements around an axis that is perpendicular to the plane of the cut canal. The animal's body typically moves in the direction of the severed canal. Many other researchers have confirmed these findings. F. Goltz was the first to identify the conditions needed for maintaining balance. He outlined it as follows: (1) a central coordinating organ—in the brain; (2) centripetal fibers, with their peripheral endings—in the ampullae; and (3) centrifugal fibers, with their terminal organs—in the muscle mechanisms. Damage to any part of this system leads to a loss or impairment of balance. Cyon also studied this topic and concluded: (1) to keep our balance, we need an accurate sense of head position in space; (2) the semicircular canals help convey information that represents this position—each canal relating to a different dimension of space; (3) losing balance follows a cut; (4) involuntary movements after a cut result from abnormal excitations; (5) unusual movements that happen a few days after the operation are due to irritation of the cerebellum.
On theoretical considerations of a physical character, E. Mach, Crum-Brown and Breuer have advanced theories based on the idea of the canals being organs for sensations of acceleration of movement, or for the sense of rotation. Mach first pointed out that Purkinje’s phenomena, already alluded to, were in all probability related to the semicircular canals. “He showed that when the body is moved in space, in a straight line, we are not conscious of the velocity of motion, but of variations in this velocity. Similarly, if a body is rotated round a vertical axis, we perceive only angular acceleration and not angular velocity. The sensations produced by angular acceleration last longer than the acceleration itself, and the position of the head during the movements enables us to determine direction.” Both Mach and Goltz state that varying pressures of the fluid in the canals produced by angular rotation produce sensations of movement (always in a direction opposite to the rotation of the body), and that these, in turn, cause the vertigo of Purkinje and the phenomena of Flourens. Mach, Crum-Brown and Breuer advance hydrodynamical theories in which they assume that the fluids move in the canals. Goltz, on the other hand, supports a hydrostatical theory in which he assumes that the phenomena can be accounted for by varying pressures. Crum-Brown differs from Mach and Breuer as follows:—(1) In attributing movement or variation of pressure not merely to the endolymph, but also to the walls of the membranous canals and to the surrounding perilymph; and (2) in regarding the two labyrinths as one organ, all the six canals being required to form a true conception of the rotating motion of the head. He sums up the matter thus: “We have two ways in which a relative motion can occur between the endolymph and the walls of the cavity containing it—(1) When the head begins to move, here the walls leave the fluid behind; (2) when the head stops, here the fluid flows on. In both cases the sensation of rotation is felt. In the first this sensation corresponds to a real rotation, in the second it does not, but in both it corresponds to a real acceleration (positive or negative) of rotation, using the word acceleration in its technical kinematical sense.”
On theoretical considerations of a physical nature, E. Mach, Crum-Brown, and Breuer have proposed theories based on the idea that the canals function as organs for sensing acceleration of movement or the sense of rotation. Mach was the first to indicate that Purkinje's phenomena, already mentioned, were likely linked to the semicircular canals. "He demonstrated that when the body moves in space in a straight line, we do not perceive the speed of motion, but rather the changes in that speed. Likewise, when a body rotates around a vertical axis, we only notice angular acceleration, not angular velocity. The sensations caused by angular acceleration last longer than the acceleration itself, and the position of the head during these movements helps us determine direction." Both Mach and Goltz argue that the varying pressures of the fluid in the canals caused by angular rotation produce sensations of movement (always in the opposite direction to the body's rotation), which in turn lead to the vertigo experienced by Purkinje and the phenomena observed by Flourens. Mach, Crum-Brown, and Breuer propose hydrodynamical theories where they assume that the fluids move within the canals. On the other hand, Goltz supports a hydrostatical theory, suggesting that the phenomena can be explained by changes in pressure. Crum-Brown differs from Mach and Breuer in two key ways: (1) By attributing movement or changes in pressure not just to the endolymph but also to the walls of the membranous canals and the surrounding perilymph; and (2) by viewing the two labyrinths as one organ, with all six canals necessary to understand the true concept of the head's rotating motion. He summarizes the issue as follows: "There are two ways in which relative motion can occur between the endolymph and the walls of the cavity containing it—(1) When the head starts to move, the walls leave the fluid behind; (2) when the head stops, the fluid continues to flow. In both instances, the sensation of rotation is experienced. In the first case, this sensation aligns with actual rotation, while in the second, it does not; however, in both scenarios, it corresponds to a real acceleration (positive or negative) of rotation, using the term acceleration in its technical kinematical sense."
Cyon states that the semicircular canals only indirectly assist in giving a notion of spatial relations. “He holds that knowledge of the position of bodies in space depends on nervous impulses coming from the contracting ocular muscles; that the oculomotor centres are in intimate physiological relationship with the centres receiving impulses from the nerves of the semicircular canals; and that the oculomotor centres, thus excited, produce the movements of the eyeballs, which then determine our notions of spatial relations.” These views are supported by experiments of Lee on dog-fish. When the fish is rotated round different axes there are compensating movements of the eyes and fins. “It was observed that if the fish were rotated in the plane of one of the canals, exactly the same movements of the eyes and fins occurred as were produced by experimental operation and stimulation of the ampulla of that canal.” Sewall, in 1883, carried out experiments on young sharks and skates with negative results. Lee returned to the subject in 1894, and, after numerous experiments on dog-fish, in which the canals or the auditory nerves were divided, obtained evidence that the ampullae contain sense-organs connected with the sense of equilibrium.
Cyon argues that the semicircular canals only play an indirect role in our sense of spatial relations. “He believes that understanding the placement of objects in space relies on nerve signals from the contracting eye muscles; that the oculomotor centers are closely linked physiologically to the centers that receive signals from the semicircular canal nerves; and that these stimulated oculomotor centers cause eye movements, which then shape our perception of spatial relationships.” These ideas are supported by Lee's experiments on dogfish. When the fish is spun around different axes, its eyes and fins move in a compensatory manner. “It was noted that if the fish was rotated in line with one of the canals, exactly the same eye and fin movements occurred as those produced by experimental stimulation of the ampulla of that canal.” In 1883, Sewall conducted experiments on young sharks and skates that yielded negative results. Lee revisited the topic in 1894, and after conducting many experiments on dogfish, where the canals or auditory nerves were severed, he found evidence that the ampullae contain sense organs related to the sense of balance.
It has been found by physicians and aurists that disease or injury of the canals, occurring rapidly, produces giddiness, staggering, nystagmus (a peculiar twitching movement of the muscles of the eyeballs), vomiting, noises in the ear and more or less deafness. It is said, however, that if pathological changes come on slowly, so that the canals and vestibule are converted into a solid mass, none of these symptoms may occur. On the whole, the evidence is in favour of the view that from the semicircular canals nervous impulses are transmitted, which, co-ordinated with impulses coming from the visual organs, from the muscles and from the skin, form the bases of these guiding sensations on which the sense of equilibrium depends. These impulses may not reach the level of consciousness, but they call into action co-ordinated mechanisms by which complicated muscular movements are effected.
Doctors and ear specialists have discovered that when the canals are rapidly affected by disease or injury, it can lead to dizziness, staggering, nystagmus (a specific twitching of the eye muscles), vomiting, ringing in the ears, and varying degrees of hearing loss. However, it is noted that if there are gradual pathological changes that turn the canals and vestibule into a solid mass, these symptoms may not occur. Overall, the evidence supports the idea that the semicircular canals transmit nerve impulses that, when combined with signals from the visual system, muscles, and skin, create the foundational sensations that our sense of balance relies on. These impulses might not reach our conscious awareness, but they activate coordinated mechanisms that enable complex muscle movements.
Full bibliographical references are given in the article on “The Ear” by J.G. McKendrick, in Schäfer’s Textbook of Physiology, vol. ii. p. 1194.
Full bibliographical references are provided in the article on “The Ear” by J.G. McKendrick, in Schäfer’s Textbook of Physiology, vol. ii. p. 1194.
EQUINOX (from the Lat. aequus, equal, and nox, night), a term used to express either the moment at which, or the point at which, the sun apparently crosses the celestial equator. Since the sun moves in the ecliptic, it is in the last-named sense the point of intersection of the ecliptic and the celestial equator. This is the usual meaning of the term in astronomy. There are 724 two such points, opposite each other, at one of which the sun crosses the equator toward the north and at the other toward the south. They are called vernal and autumnal respectively, from the relation of the corresponding times to the seasons of the northern hemisphere. The line of the equinoxes is the imaginary diameter of the celestial sphere which joins them.
EQUINOX (from the Latin aequus, meaning equal, and nox, meaning night) refers to the moment or point at which the sun appears to cross the celestial equator. Since the sun travels along the ecliptic, in this context, it denotes the intersection of the ecliptic and the celestial equator. This is the standard definition used in astronomy. There are 724 two such points, located directly opposite each other, where one point marks the sun crossing the equator to the north and the other to the south. These are known as the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, named based on their relation to the seasons in the northern hemisphere. The line of the equinoxes is an imaginary line that connects these two points across the celestial sphere.
The vernal equinox is the initial point from which the right ascensions and the longitudes of the heavenly bodies are measured (see Astronomy: Spherical). It is affected by the motions of Precession and Nutation, of which the former has been known since the time of Hipparchus. The actual equinox is defined by first taking the conception of a fictitious point called the Mean Equinox, which moves at a nearly uniform rate, slow varying, however, from century to century. The true equinox then moves around the mean equinox in a period equal to that of the moon’s nodes. These two motions are defined with greater detail in the articles Precession of the Equinoxes and Nutation.
The vernal equinox is the starting point for measuring the right ascensions and longitudes of celestial bodies (see Astronomy: Spherical). It's influenced by the movements of Precession and Nutation, with the latter being recognized since Hipparchus's time. The actual equinox is determined by first conceptualizing a theoretical point known as the Mean Equinox, which moves at a nearly constant rate, though it slowly changes over centuries. The true equinox moves around the mean equinox in a cycle that matches the period of the moon’s nodes. More details about these two motions are provided in the articles Precession of the Equinoxes and Nutation.
Equinoctial Gales.—At the time of the equinox it is commonly believed that strong gales may be expected. This popular idea has no foundation in fact, for continued observations have failed to show any unusual prevalence of gales at this season. In one case observations taken for fifty years show that during the five days from the 21st to the 25th of March and September, there were fewer gales and storms than during the preceding and succeeding five days.
Equinoctial Gales.—During the equinox, people often think that strong winds are likely to occur. However, this common belief isn't backed by facts, as ongoing observations haven't shown any significant increase in winds during this time. In one instance, observations collected over fifty years indicate that from March 21st to 25th and September 21st to 25th, there were actually fewer gales and storms compared to the five days before and after.
EQUITES (“horsemen” or “knights,” from equus, “horse”), in Roman history, originally a division of the army, but subsequently a distinct political order, which under the empire resumed its military character. According to the traditional account, Romulus instituted a cavalry corps, consisting of three centuriae (“hundreds”), called after the three tribes from which they were taken (Ramnes, Tities, Luceres), divided into ten turmae (“squadrons”) of thirty men each. The collective name for the corps was celeres (“the swift,” or possibly from κέλης, “a riding horse”); Livy, however, restricts the term to a special body-guard of Romulus. The statements in ancient authorities as to the changes in the number of the equites during the regal period are very confusing; but it is regarded as certain that Servius Tuillus found six centuries in existence, to which he added twelve, making eighteen in all, a number which remained unchanged throughout the republican period. A proposal by M. Porcius Cato the elder to supplement the deficiency in the cavalry by the creation of four additional centuries was not adopted. The earlier centuries were called sex suffragia (“the six votes”), and at first consisted exclusively of patricians, while those of Servius Tullius were entirely or for the most part plebeian. Until the reform of the comitia centuriata (probably during the censorship of Gaius Flaminius in 220 B.C.; see Comitia), the equites had voted first, but after that time this privilege was transferred to one century selected by lot from the centuries of the equites and the first class. The equites then voted with the first class, the distinction between the sex suffragia and the other centuries being abolished.
EQUITES (“horsemen” or “knights,” from equus, “horse”), in Roman history, originally a part of the army, but later became a separate political class that, under the empire, returned to its military roots. According to traditional accounts, Romulus established a cavalry unit made up of three centuriae (“hundreds”), named after the three tribes they came from (Ramnes, Tities, Luceres), organized into ten turmae (“squadrons”) of thirty men each. The group was collectively called celeres (“the swift,” or possibly from κελός, “a riding horse”); however, Livy limits the term to a specific bodyguard of Romulus. The information from ancient sources about changes in the number of equites during the kingship period is quite confusing; but it is generally accepted that Servius Tullius found six centuries already in place, to which he added twelve, totaling eighteen, a number that remained the same throughout the republic. A suggestion by M. Porcius Cato the elder to increase the cavalry by adding four more centuries was not approved. The earlier centuries were referred to as sex suffragia (“the six votes”) and initially consisted entirely of patricians, while Servius Tullius's were mostly plebeian. Until the reform of the comitia centuriata (probably during Gaius Flaminius's censorship in 220 BCE; see Comitia), the equites voted first; after that, this privilege was given to one century chosen by lot from the equites and the first class. The equites then voted alongside the first class, eliminating the distinction between the sex suffragia and the other centuries.
Although the equites were selected from the wealthiest citizens, service in the cavalry was so expensive that the state gave financial assistance. A sum of money (aes equestre) was given to each eques for the purchase of two horses (one for himself and one for his groom), and a further sum for their keep (aes hordearium); hence the name equites equo publico. In later times, pay was substituted for the aes hordearium, three times as much as that of the infantry. If competent, an eques could retain his horse and vote after the expiration of his ten years’ service, and (till 129 B.C.) even after entry into the senate.
Although the equites were chosen from the richest citizens, serving in the cavalry was so costly that the government provided financial support. Each eques received a sum of money (aes equestre) to buy two horses (one for himself and one for his groom), along with an additional amount for their care (aes hordearium); that’s why they were called equites equo publico. Later on, a salary replaced the aes hordearium, which was three times the pay of the infantry. If qualified, an eques could keep his horse and vote after his ten years of service, and (until 129 BCE) even after joining the senate.
As the demands upon the services of the cavalry increased, it was decided to supplement the regulars by the enrolment of wealthy citizens who kept horses of their own. The origin of these equites equo privato dates back, according to Livy (v. 7), to the siege of Veii, when a number of young men came forward and offered their services. According to Mommsen, although the institution was not intended to be permanent, in later times vacancies in the ranks were filled in this manner, with the result that service in the cavalry, with either a public or a private horse, became obligatory upon all Roman citizens possessed of a certain income. These equites equo privato had no vote in the centuries, received pay in place of the aes equestre, and did not form a distinct corps.
As the demand for cavalry services grew, it was decided to supplement the regular troops by enrolling wealthy citizens who owned their own horses. The origin of these equites equo privato goes back, according to Livy (v. 7), to the siege of Veii, when several young men stepped up to offer their services. According to Mommsen, although this arrangement wasn’t meant to last, in later times, empty spots in the ranks were filled this way, resulting in cavalry service, whether on a public or private horse, becoming mandatory for all Roman citizens with a certain income. These equites equo privato didn’t have a vote in the centuries, received pay instead of the aes equestre, and didn’t form a separate unit.
Thus, at a comparatively early period, three classes of equites may be distinguished: (a) The patrician equites equo publico of the sex suffragia; (b) the plebeian equites in the twelve remaining centuries; (c) the equites equo privato, both patrician and plebeian.
Thus, at a relatively early time, three groups of equites can be identified: (a) The patrician equites equo publico of the sex suffragia; (b) the plebeian equites in the twelve other centuries; (c) the equites equo privato, which include both patricians and plebeians.
The equites were originally chosen by the curiae, then in succession by the kings, the consuls, and (after 443 B.C.) by the censors, by whom they were reviewed every five years in the Forum. Each eques, as his name was called out, passed before the censors, leading his horse. Those whose physique and character were satisfactory, and who had taken care of their horses and equipments, were bidden to lead their horse on (traducere equum), those who failed to pass the scrutiny were ordered to sell it, in token of their expulsion from the corps. This inspection (recognitio) must not be confounded with the full-dress procession (transvectio) on the 15th of July from the temple of Mars or Honos to the Capitol, instituted in 304 B.C. by the censor Q. Fabius Maximus Rullianus to commemorate the miraculous intervention of Castor and Pollux at the battle of Lake Regillus. Both inspection and procession were discontinued before the end of the republic, but revived and in a manner combined by Augustus.
The equites were originally selected by the curiae, then later by the kings, the consuls, and (after 443 B.C.) by the censors, who reviewed them every five years in the Forum. Each eques, when his name was called, would walk in front of the censors, leading his horse. Those whose physical condition and character were acceptable, and who had properly maintained their horses and gear, were allowed to lead their horse on (traducere equum); those who didn't meet the standards were instructed to sell it, as a sign of their removal from the group. This inspection (recognitio) should not be confused with the official procession (transvectio) on July 15th, which went from the temple of Mars or Honos to the Capitol, established in 304 B.C. by the censor Q. Fabius Maximus Rullianus to remember the miraculous help of Castor and Pollux during the battle of Lake Regillus. Both the inspection and the procession were stopped before the end of the republic, but were revived and somewhat merged by Augustus.
In theory, the twelve plebeian centuries were open to all freeborn youths of the age of seventeen, although in practice preference was given to the members of the older families. Other requirements were sound health, high moral character and an honourable calling. At the beginning of the republican period, senators were included in the equestrian centuries. The only definite information as to the amount of fortune necessary refers to later republican and early imperial times, when it is known to have been 400,000 sesterces (about £3500 to £4000). The insignia of the equites were, at first, distinctly military—such as the purple-edged, short military cloak (trabea) and decorations for service in the field.
In theory, the twelve plebeian centuries were open to all freeborn youths aged seventeen, but in practice, preference was given to members of older families. Other requirements included being in good health, having high moral character, and holding an honorable profession. At the beginning of the republic, senators were included in the equestrian centuries. The only clear information about the fortune needed comes from later republican and early imperial times, when it is known to have been 400,000 sesterces (around £3500 to £4000). The insignia of the equites were initially distinctly military—such as the purple-edged short military cloak (trabea) and decorations for field service.
With the extension of the Roman dominions, the equites lost their military character. Prolonged service abroad possessed little attraction for the pick of the Roman youth, and recruiting for the cavalry from the equestrian centuries was discontinued. The equites remained at home, or only went out as members of the general’s staff, their places being taken by the equites equo privato, the cavalry of the allies and the most skilled horsemen of the subject populations. The first gradually disappeared, and Roman citizens were rarely found in the ranks of the effective cavalry. In these circumstances there grew up in Rome a class of wealthy men, whose sole occupation it was to amass large fortunes by speculation, and who found a most lucrative field of enterprise in state contracts and the farming of the public revenues. These tax-farmers (see Publicani) were already in existence at the time of the Second Punic War; and their numbers and influence increased as the various provinces were added to the Roman dominions. The change of the equites into a body of financiers was further materially promoted (a) by the lex Claudia (218 B.C.), which prohibited senators from engaging in commercial pursuits, especially if (as seems probable) it included public contracts (cf. Flaminius, Gaius); (b) by the enactment in the time of Gaius Gracchus excluding members of the senate from the equestrian centuries. These two measures definitely marked off the aristocracy of birth from the aristocracy of wealth—the landed proprietor from the capitalist. The term equites, originally confined to the purely military equestrian centuries of Servius Tullius, now came to be applied to all who possessed the property qualification of 400,000 sesterces.
As the Roman Empire expanded, the equites lost their military role. Long-term service abroad was not appealing to the best of Roman youth, leading to a halt in recruiting cavalry from the equestrian centuries. The equites stayed at home or only served as part of the general’s staff, replaced by the equites equo privato, the cavalry from allied forces and the most skilled horsemen from conquered populations. The first group gradually faded away, and Roman citizens were rarely seen in the effective cavalry. As a result, a wealthy class emerged in Rome, solely focused on accumulating large fortunes through speculation, finding a very profitable opportunity in government contracts and managing public revenues. These tax-farmers (see Publicani) were already present during the Second Punic War, and their numbers and influence grew as more provinces came under Roman control. The transformation of the equites into a class of financiers was significantly enhanced by (a) the lex Claudia (218 BCE), which banned senators from participating in commercial activities, especially regarding public contracts (as seems likely, cf. Flaminius, Gaius); and (b) by legislation during Gaius Gracchus’s time that excluded senators from the equestrian centuries. These two actions clearly distinguished the aristocracy of birth from the aristocracy of wealth—the landowner from the capitalist. The term equites, originally limited to the purely military equestrian centuries of Servius Tullius, now referred to anyone who had a property qualification of 400,000 sesterces.
As the equites practically monopolized the farming of the taxes, they came to be regarded as identical with the publicani, not, as Pliny remarks, because any particular rank was necessary to obtain the farming of the taxes, but because such occupation was beyond the reach of all except those who were possessed of considerable means. Thus, at the time of the Gracchi, these 725 equites-publicani formed a close financial corporation of about 30,000 members, holding an intermediate position between the nobility and the lower classes, keenly alive to their own interests, and ready to stand by one another when attacked. Although to some extent looked down upon by the senate as following a dishonourable occupation, they had as a rule sided with the latter, as being at least less hostile to them than the democratic party. To obtain the support of the capitalists, Gaius Gracchus conceived the plan of creating friction between them and the senate, which he carried out by handing over to them the control (a) of the jury-courts, and (b) of the revenues of Asia.
As the equites basically took over the tax farming, they were seen as the same as the publicani, not because a specific rank was needed to farm taxes, as Pliny points out, but because this kind of work was only accessible to those with significant wealth. So, during the time of the Gracchi, these equites-publicani formed a tight-knit financial group of about 30,000 members, positioned between the nobility and the lower classes, deeply aware of their own interests, and ready to support each other when challenged. Although the senate looked down on them to some degree for having what they considered a dishonorable profession, they generally aligned with the senate, as they were at least less opposed than the democratic party. To gain the support of the capitalists, Gaius Gracchus came up with the idea of creating tension between them and the senate, which he executed by giving them control (a) of the jury courts and (b) of the revenues from Asia.
(a) Hitherto, the list of jurymen for service in the majority of processes, both civil and criminal, had been composed exclusively of senators. The result was that charges of corruption and extortion failed, when brought against members of that order, even in cases where there was little doubt of their guilt. The popular indignation at such scandalous miscarriages of justice rendered a change in the composition of the courts imperative. Apparently Gracchus at first proposed to create new senators from the equites and to select the jurymen from this mixed body, but this moderate proposal was rejected in favour of one more radical (see W.W. Fowler in Classical Review, July 1896). By the lex Sempronia (123 B.C.) the list was to be drawn from persons of free birth over thirty years of age, who must possess the equestrian census, and must not be senators. Although this measure was bound to set senators and equites at variance, it in no way improved the lot of those chiefly concerned. In fact, it increased the burden of the luckless provincials, whose only appeal lay to a body of men whose interests were identical with those of the publicani. Provided he left the tax-gatherer alone, the governor might squeeze what he could out of the people, while on the other hand, if he were humanely disposed, it was dangerous for him to remonstrate.
(a) Until now, the list of jurors for most legal cases, both civil and criminal, had only included senators. This meant that allegations of corruption and extortion against senators often failed, even when there was little doubt of their guilt. The public outrage over such shocking injustices made it clear that a change in the makeup of the courts was necessary. Initially, Gracchus suggested creating new senators from the equites and selecting jurors from this mixed group, but this moderate idea was rejected in favor of a more radical one (see W.W. Fowler in Classical Review, July 1896). According to the lex Sempronia (123 BCE), jurors would be chosen from freeborn individuals over thirty years old, who had to meet the equestrian property requirement and could not be senators. Although this change was sure to create conflict between senators and equites, it didn’t actually improve the situation for those most affected. In fact, it made life harder for the unfortunate provincials, whose only recourse was to a group of men whose interests aligned with those of the publicani. As long as he left the tax collector alone, the governor could exploit the people as much as he wanted, but if he showed any compassion, he risked facing consequences.
(b) The taxes of Asia had formerly been paid by the inhabitants themselves in the shape of a fixed sum. Gracchus ordered that the taxes, direct and indirect, should be increased, and that the farming of them should be put up to auction at Rome. By this arrangement the provincials were ignored, and everything was left in the hands of the capitalists.
(b) In the past, the people of Asia paid their taxes directly as a set amount. Gracchus decided that both direct and indirect taxes should be raised and that the collection of these taxes would be auctioned off in Rome. This arrangement sidelined the locals, leaving everything in the control of wealthy capitalists.
From this time dates the existence of the equestrian order as an officially recognized political instrument. When the control of the courts passed into the hands of the property equites, all who were summoned to undertake the duties of judices were called equites; the ordo judicum (the official title) and the ordo equester were regarded as identical. It is probable that certain privileges of the equites were due to Gracchus; that of wearing the gold ring, hitherto reserved for senators; that of special seats in the theatre, subsequently withdrawn (probably by Sulla) and restored by the lex Othonis (67 B.C.); the narrow band of purple on the tunic as distinguished from the broad band worn by the senators.
From this point forward, the equestrian order existed as an officially recognized political force. When control of the courts shifted to the wealthy equites, everyone called to be judges was referred to as equites; the ordo judicum (the official title) and the ordo equester were seen as the same. It's likely that some privileges of the equites were granted by Gracchus, such as the right to wear the gold ring, which had previously been reserved for senators; the right to special seating in the theater, which was later taken away (probably by Sulla) and restored by the lex Othonis (67 BCE); and the narrow purple stripe on the tunic, which was different from the broad stripe worn by senators.
Various attempts were made by the senate to regain control of the courts, but without success. The lex Livia of M. Livius Drusus (q.v.), passed with that object, but irregularly and by the aid of violence, was annulled by the senate itself. In 82 Sulla restored the right of serving as judices to the senate, to which he elevated 300 of the most influential equites, whose support he thus hoped to secure; at the same time he indirectly dealt a blow at the order generally, by abolishing the office of the censor (immediately revived), in whom was vested the right of bestowing the public horse. To this period Mommsen assigns the regulation, generally attributed to Augustus, that the sons of senators should be knights by right of birth. By the lex Aurelia (70 B.C.) the judices were to be chosen in equal numbers from senators, equites and tribuni aerarii (see Aerarium), (the last-named being closely connected with the equites), who thus practically commanded a majority. About this time the influence of the equestrian order reached its height, and Cicero’s great object was to reconcile it with the senate. In this he was successful at the time of the Catilinarian conspiracy, in the suppression of which he was materially aided by the equites. But the union did not last long; shortly afterwards the majority ranged themselves on the side of Julius Caesar, who did away with the tribuni aerarii as judices, and replaced them by equites.
Various attempts were made by the Senate to regain control of the courts, but they were unsuccessful. The Lex Livia of M. Livius Drusus (q.v.), which aimed to achieve this but was passed irregularly and with the use of force, was annulled by the Senate itself. In 82 BC, Sulla restored the right to serve as judges to the Senate, promoting 300 of the most influential equites to secure their support. At the same time, he indirectly undermined the order by abolishing the office of censor (which was quickly revived), as the censor held the right to award public horses. Mommsen identifies this period as when the regulation, often attributed to Augustus, was established, stating that the sons of senators should automatically become knights. According to the Lex Aurelia (70 BCE), judges were to be selected in equal numbers from senators, equites, and tribuni aerarii (see Aerarium), the last group being closely tied to the equites, which gave them a practical majority. During this time, the influence of the equestrian order peaked, and Cicero’s main goal was to reconcile it with the Senate. He achieved this during the Catilinarian conspiracy, where he received significant support from the equites in its suppression. However, this alliance didn’t last long; shortly after, the majority sided with Julius Caesar, who eliminated the tribuni aerarii as judges and replaced them with equites.
Augustus undertook the thorough reorganization of the equestrian order on a military basis. The equites equo privato were abolished (according to Herzog, not till the reign of Tiberius) and the term equites was officially limited to the equites equo publico, although all who possessed the property qualification were still considered to belong to the “equestrian order.” For the equites equo publico high moral character, good health and the equestrian fortune were necessary. Although free birth was considered indispensable, the right of wearing the gold ring (jus anuli aurei) was frequently bestowed by the emperor upon freedmen, who thereby became ingenui and eligible as equites. Tiberius, however, insisted upon free birth on the father’s side to the third generation. Extreme youth was no bar; the emperor Marcus Aurelius had been an eques at the age of six. The sons of senators were eligible by right of birth, and appear to have been known as equites illustres. The right of bestowing the equus publicus was vested in the emperor; once given, it was for life, and was only forfeitable through degradation for some offence or the loss of the equestrian fortune.
Augustus completely reorganized the equestrian class on a military basis. The equites equo privato were abolished (according to Herzog, not until Tiberius' reign), and the term equites was officially restricted to the equites equo publico, although anyone who met the property requirements was still considered part of the “equestrian order.” For the equites equo publico, having high moral character, good health, and sufficient wealth was essential. While free birth was seen as a requirement, the right to wear the gold ring (jus anuli aurei) was often granted by the emperor to freedmen, allowing them to become ingenui and qualify as equites. However, Tiberius insisted on free birth from the father’s side for three generations. Being very young wasn’t a problem; Emperor Marcus Aurelius had been an eques at just six years old. The sons of senators were automatically eligible by birth and were known as equites illustres. The emperor held the power to grant the equus publicus; once granted, it was for life and could only be revoked due to degradation for an offense or loss of equestrian wealth.
Augustus divided the equites into six turmae (regarded by Hirschfeld as a continuation of the sex suffragia). Each was under the command of a sevir (ἴλαρχος), who was appointed by the emperor and changed every year. During their term of command the seviri had to exhibit games (ludi sevirales). Under these officers the equites formed a kind of corporation, which, although not officially recognized, had the right of passing resolutions, chiefly such as embodied acts of homage to the imperial house. It is not known whether the turmae contained a fixed number of equites; there is no doubt that, in assigning the public horse, Augustus went far beyond the earlier figure of 1800. Thus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus mentions 5000 equites as taking part in a review at which he himself was present.
Augustus divided the cavalry into six turmae (seen by Hirschfeld as a continuation of the sex suffragia). Each was led by a sevir (squad leader), who was appointed by the emperor and changed every year. During their time in command, the seviri had to organize games (ludi sevirales). Under these officers, the cavalry acted like a kind of organization that, although not officially recognized, had the right to make decisions, mainly those that showed respect to the imperial family. It’s not clear if the turmae had a set number of cavalry members; however, it’s certain that when assigning the public horses, Augustus greatly exceeded the previous figure of 1800. For example, Dionysius of Halicarnassus mentions 5000 cavalry members participating in a review that he attended.
As before, the equites wore the narrow, purple-striped tunic, and the gold ring, the latter now being considered the distinctive badge of knighthood. The fourteen rows in the theatre were extended by Augustus to seats in the circus.
As before, the knights wore the narrow, purple-striped tunic and the gold ring, which was now seen as the official symbol of knighthood. Augustus expanded the fourteen rows in the theater to include seats in the circus.
The old recognitio was replaced by the probatio, conducted by the emperor in his censorial capacity, assisted by an advisory board of specially selected senators. The ceremony was combined with a procession, which, like the earlier transvectio, took place on the 15th of July, and at such other times as the emperor pleased. As in earlier times, offenders were punished by expulsion.
The old recognitio was replaced by the probatio, carried out by the emperor in his oversight role, with help from a selected advisory board of senators. The ceremony was combined with a procession, which, similar to the earlier transvectio, occurred on July 15th and at other times as the emperor chose. Just like before, offenders faced punishment through expulsion.
In order to provide a supply of competent officers, each eques was required to fill certain subordinate posts, called militiae equestres. These were (1) the command of an auxiliary cohort; (2) the tribunate of a legion; (3) the command of an auxiliary cavalry squadron, this order being as a rule strictly adhered to. To these Septimius Severus added the centurionship. Nomination to the militiae equestres was in the hands of the emperor. After the completion of their preliminary military service, the equites were eligible for a number of civil posts, chiefly those with which the emperor himself was closely concerned. Such were various procuratorships; the prefectures of the corn supply, of the fleet, of the watch, of the praetorian guards; the governorships of recently acquired provinces (Egypt, Noricum), the others being reserved for senators. At the same time, the abolition of the indirect method of collecting the taxes in the provinces greatly reduced the political influence of the equites. Certain religious functions of minor importance were also reserved for them. In the jury courts, the equites, thanks to Julius Caesar, already formed two-thirds of the judices; Augustus, by excluding the senators altogether, virtually gave them the sole control of the tribunals. One of the chief objects of the emperors being to weaken the influence of the senate by the opposition of the equestrian order, the practice was adopted of elevating those equites who had reached a certain stage in their career to the rank of senator by adlectio. Certain official posts, of which it would have been inadvisable to deprive senators, could thus be bestowed upon the promoted equites.
To ensure a steady supply of skilled officers, each equestrian was required to take on certain subordinate roles, known as militiae equestres. These included (1) the command of an auxiliary cohort; (2) the tribunate of a legion; and (3) the command of an auxiliary cavalry unit, a sequence that was generally followed. To this, Septimius Severus added the position of centurion. The emperor had the authority to appoint individuals to the militiae equestres. Once they completed their initial military service, the equites could qualify for various civil positions, particularly those that directly involved the emperor. These included various procuratorships; prefectures for the corn supply, the fleet, the watch, and the praetorian guards; and governorships for newly acquired provinces like Egypt and Noricum, while other provinces were reserved for senators. At the same time, eliminating the indirect method of tax collection in the provinces significantly reduced the political power of the equites. They were also assigned certain minor religious duties. In the jury courts, equites constituted two-thirds of the judges, thanks to Julius Caesar; Augustus effectively gave them complete control over the tribunals by excluding senators entirely. One of the main goals of the emperors was to diminish the senate's power by promoting opposition from the equestrian order, so the practice of raising equites to the rank of senator through adlectio was introduced. This allowed certain official positions, which would not have been wise to take away from senators, to be granted to the promoted equites.
The control of the imperial correspondence and purse was 726 at first in the hands of freedmen and slaves. The emperor Claudius tentatively entrusted certain posts connected with these to the equites; in the time of Hadrian this became the regular custom. Thus a civil career was open to the equites without the obligation of preliminary military service, and the emperor was freed from the pernicious influence of freedmen. After the reign of Marcus Aurelius (according to Mommsen) the equites were divided into: (a) viri eminentissimi, the prefects of the praetorian guard; (b) viri perfectissimi, the other prefects and the heads of the financial and secretarial departments; (c) viri egregii, first mentioned in the reign of Antoninus Pius, a title by right of the procurators generally.
The management of imperial correspondence and finances was 726 initially controlled by freedmen and slaves. Emperor Claudius gradually assigned certain roles related to these to the equites, and this became standard during Hadrian's time. This opened up a civil career to the equites without requiring prior military service, allowing the emperor to escape the negative influence of freedmen. After Marcus Aurelius’s reign (according to Mommsen), the equites were categorized into: (a) viri eminentissimi, the prefects of the praetorian guard; (b) viri perfectissimi, the other prefects and heads of financial and secretarial departments; (c) viri egregii, a title first noted during Antoninus Pius’s reign, commonly held by procurators.
Under the empire the power of the equites was at its highest in the time of Diocletian; in consequence of the transference of the capital to Constantinople, they sank to the position of a mere city guard, under the control of the prefect of the watch. Their history may be said to end with the reign of Constantine the Great.
Under the empire, the power of the equites peaked during Diocletian’s reign. After the capital was moved to Constantinople, they became just a city guard, managed by the prefect of the watch. Their history can be considered to conclude with the reign of Constantine the Great.
Mention may also be made of the equites singulares Augusti. The body-guard of Augustus, consisting of foreign soldiers (chiefly Germans and Batavians), abolished by Galba, was revived from the time of Trajan or Hadrian under the above title. It was chiefly recruited from the pick of the provincial cavalry, but contained some Roman citizens. It formed the imperial “Swiss guard,” and never left the city except to accompany the emperor. In the time of Severus, these equites were divided into two corps, each of which had its separate quarters, and was commanded by a tribune under the orders of the prefect of the praetorian guard. They were subsequently replaced by the protectores Augusti.
Mention may also be made of the equites singulares Augusti. The bodyguard of Augustus, made up of foreign soldiers (mainly Germans and Batavians), was abolished by Galba but was revived during the reigns of Trajan or Hadrian under the same name. It was primarily recruited from the best provincial cavalry, but it also included some Roman citizens. It acted as the imperial “Swiss guard” and never left the city except to accompany the emperor. During the time of Severus, these equites were split into two units, each with its own quarters and led by a tribune under the commands of the prefect of the praetorian guard. They were later replaced by the protectores Augusti.
See further article Rome: History; also T. Mommsen, Römisches Staatsrecht, iii.; J.N. Madvig, Die Verfassung des römischen Staates, i.; R. Cagnat in Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités, where full references to ancient authorities are given in the footnotes; A.S. Wilkins in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities (3rd ed., 1891); E. Belot, Histoire des chevaliers romains (1866-1873); H.O. Hirschfeld, Untersuchungen auf dem Gebiete der römischen Verwaltungsgeschichte (Berlin, 1877); E. Herzog, Geschichte und System der römischen Staatsverfassung (Leipzig, 1884-1891); A.H. Friedländer, Sittengeschichte Roms, i. (1901); A.H.J. Greenidge, History of Rome, i. (1904); J.B. Bury, The Student’s Roman Empire (1893); T.M. Taylor, Political and Constitutional History of Rome (1899). For a concise summary of different views of the sex suffragia see A. Bouché-Leclercq’s Manuel des antiquités romaines, quoted in Daremberg and Saglio; and on the equites singulares, T. Mommsen in Hermes, xvi. (1881), p. 458.
See further article Rome: History; also T. Mommsen, Roman Constitutional Law, iii.; J.N. Madvig, The Constitution of the Roman State, i.; R. Cagnat in Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités, where complete references to ancient authorities are provided in the footnotes; A.S. Wilkins in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities (3rd ed., 1891); E. Belot, History of Roman Knights (1866-1873); H.O. Hirschfeld, Studies in Roman Administrative History (Berlin, 1877); E. Herzog, History and System of the Roman Constitution (Leipzig, 1884-1891); A.H. Friedländer, Sociocultural History of Rome, i. (1901); A.H.J. Greenidge, History of Rome, i. (1904); J.B. Bury, The Student’s Roman Empire (1893); T.M. Taylor, Political and Constitutional History of Rome (1899). For a brief overview of different perspectives on the sex suffragia, see A. Bouché-Leclercq’s Manual of Roman Antiquities, referenced in Daremberg and Saglio; and regarding the equites singulares, T. Mommsen in Hermes, xvi. (1881), p. 458.
EQUITY (Lat. aequitas), a term which in its most general sense means equality or justice; in its most technical sense it means a system of law or a body of connected legal principles, which have superseded or supplemented the common law on the ground of their intrinsic superiority. Aristotle (Ethics, bk. v. c. 10) defines equity as a better sort of justice, which corrects legal justice where the latter errs through being expressed in a universal form and not taking account of particular cases. When the law speaks universally, and something happens which is not according to the common course of events, it is right that the law should be modified in its application to that particular case, as the lawgiver himself would have done, if the case had been present to his mind. Accordingly the equitable man (ἐπιεικής) is he who does not push the law to its extreme, but, having legal justice on his side, is disposed to make allowances. Equity as thus described would correspond rather to the judicial discretion which modifies the administration of the law than to the antagonistic system which claims to supersede the law.
EQUITY (Lat. aequitas), a term that in its broadest sense means fairness or justice; in its more specific sense, it refers to a system of law or a collection of related legal principles that have taken precedence over or added to common law due to their inherent superiority. Aristotle (Ethics, bk. v. c. 10) defines equity as an improved form of justice that corrects legal justice when it fails because it is expressed in a general way and doesn’t consider individual cases. When the law is applied generally, and something occurs that doesn’t fit the usual circumstances, it’s appropriate for the law to be adjusted for that specific case, as the lawmaker would have done if he had been aware of the situation. Therefore, an equitable person (reasonable) is someone who doesn’t apply the law to its fullest extent but, with legal justice on their side, is willing to make exceptions. Equity, as described here, aligns more with the judicial discretion that modifies the application of the law rather than with a conflicting system that seeks to replace the law.
The part played by equity in the development of law is admirably illustrated in the well-known work of Sir Henry Maine on Ancient Law. Positive law, at least in progressive societies, is constantly tending to fall behind public opinion, and the expedients adopted for bringing it into harmony therewith are three, viz. legal fictions, equity and statutory legislation. Equity here is defined to mean “any body of rules existing by the side of the original civil law, founded on distinct principles, and claiming incidentally to supersede the civil law in virtue of a superior sanctity inherent in those principles.” It is thus different from legal fiction, by which a new rule is introduced surreptitiously, and under the pretence that no change has been made in the law, and from statutory legislation, in which the obligatory force of the rule is not supposed to depend upon its intrinsic fitness. The source of Roman equity was the fertile theory of natural law, or the law common to all nations. Even in the Institutes of Justinian the distinction is carefully drawn in the laws of a country between those which are peculiar to itself and those which natural reason appoints for all mankind. The connexion in Roman law between the ideas of equity, nature, natural law and the law common to all nations, and the influence of the Stoical philosophy on their development, are fully discussed in the third chapter of the work we have referred to. The agency by which these principles were introduced was the edicts of the praetor, an annual proclamation setting forth the manner in which the magistrate intended to administer the law during his year of office. Each successive praetor adopted the edict of his predecessor, and added new equitable rules of his own, until the further growth of the irregular code was stopped by the praetor Salvius Julianus in the reign of Hadrian.
The role of equity in the growth of law is clearly shown in the well-known work of Sir Henry Maine titled Ancient Law. In progressive societies, positive law often lags behind public opinion, and the methods used to align it are three: legal fictions, equity, and statutory legislation. Here, equity is defined as “any set of rules existing alongside the original civil law, based on distinct principles, and claiming to take precedence over civil law due to a greater inherent sanctity in those principles.” This distinguishes it from legal fiction, where a new rule is quietly introduced under the guise that no changes have been made in the law, and from statutory legislation, where the binding nature of a rule does not rely on its inherent suitability. The foundation of Roman equity was the rich theory of natural law, or the law shared by all nations. Even in the Institutes of Justinian, there is a careful distinction made between laws unique to a country and those established by natural reason for all humanity. The relationship in Roman law among the ideas of equity, nature, natural law, and common law for all nations, along with the influence of Stoical philosophy on their development, is discussed in detail in the third chapter of the referenced work. The means by which these principles were introduced were the edicts of the praetor, an annual proclamation outlining how the magistrate intended to apply the law during his year in office. Each new praetor would adopt the edict of his predecessor and add his own new equitable rules until the further development of the irregular code was halted by praetor Salvius Julianus during the reign of Hadrian.
The place of the praetor was occupied in English jurisprudence by the lord high chancellor. The real beginning of English equity is to be found in the custom of handing over to that officer, for adjudication, the complaints which were addressed to the king, praying for remedies beyond the reach of the common law. Over and above the authority delegated to the ordinary councils or courts, a reserve of judicial power was believed to reside in the king, which was invoked as of grace by the suitors who could not obtain relief from any inferior tribunal. To the chancellor, as already the head of the judicial system, these petitions were referred, although he was not at first the only officer through whom the prerogative of grace was administered. In the reign of Edward III. the equitable jurisdiction of the court appears to have been established. Its constitutional origin was analogous to that of the star chamber and the court of requests. The latter, in fact, was a minor court of equity attached to the lord privy seal as the court of chancery was to the chancellor. The successful assumption of extraordinary or equitable jurisdiction by the chancellor caused similar pretensions to be made by other officers and courts. “Not only the court of exchequer, whose functions were in a peculiar manner connected with royal authority, but the counties palatine of Chester, Lancaster and Durham, the court of great session in Wales, the universities, the city of London, the Cinque Ports and other places silently assumed extraordinary jurisdiction similar to that exercised in the court of chancery.” Even private persons, lords and ladies, affected to establish in their honours courts of equity.
The role of the praetor in English law was taken on by the lord high chancellor. The real start of English equity can be traced back to the practice of referring complaints addressed to the king for resolution, seeking remedies beyond what common law provided. Besides the power given to regular councils or courts, it was believed that a reserve of judicial power rested with the king, which was called upon as a favor by those who couldn’t get relief from lower courts. These petitions were directed to the chancellor, who was already the head of the judicial system, although he wasn’t the only official at first through whom this power of grace was exercised. During the reign of Edward III, the equitable authority of the court seems to have been established. Its constitutional beginnings were similar to those of the Star Chamber and the Court of Requests. The latter was, in fact, a minor equity court linked to the lord privy seal, just as the Court of Chancery was linked to the chancellor. The chancellor’s successful claim to extraordinary or equitable jurisdiction led other officials and courts to make similar claims. “Not only the Court of Exchequer, whose functions were uniquely connected to royal authority, but also the counties palatine of Chester, Lancaster, and Durham, the Court of Great Session in Wales, the universities, the City of London, the Cinque Ports, and other places quietly claimed extraordinary jurisdiction similar to that exercised in the Court of Chancery.” Even private individuals, lords and ladies, sought to establish their own courts of equity in their honors.
English equity has one marked historical peculiarity, viz. that it established itself in a set of independent tribunals which remained in standing contrast to the ordinary courts for many hundred years. In Roman law the judge gave the preference to the equitable rule; in English law the equitable rule was enforced by a distinct set of judges. One cause of this separation was the rigid adherence to precedent on the part of the common law courts. Another was the jealousy prevailing in England against the principles of the Roman law on which English equity to a large extent was founded.
English equity has a notable historical peculiarity: it developed within a system of independent tribunals that stood in stark contrast to ordinary courts for many centuries. In Roman law, the judge prioritized the equitable rule; in English law, the equitable rule was enforced by a different group of judges. One reason for this separation was the strict adherence to precedent by the common law courts. Another reason was the prevailing skepticism in England towards the principles of Roman law, which largely influenced English equity.
When a case of prerogative was referred to the chancellor in the reign of Edward III., he was required to grant such remedy as should be consonant to honesty (honestas). And honesty, conscience and equity were said to be the fundamental principles of the court. The early chancellors were ecclesiastics, and under their influence not only moral principles, where these were not regarded by the common law, but also the equitable principles of the Roman law were introduced into English jurisprudence. Between this point and the time when equity became settled as a portion of the legal system, having fixed principles of its own, various views of its nature seem to have prevailed. For a long time it was thought that precedents could have no place in equity, inasmuch as it professed in each case to do that which was just; and we find this view maintained by common lawyers after it had been abandoned by the professors of equity themselves. G. Spence, in his book on the Equitable Jurisdiction of 727 the Court of Chancery, quotes a case in the reign of Charles II., in which chief justice Vaughan said:
When a case involving prerogative was brought to the chancellor during Edward III's reign, he was expected to provide a remedy that aligned with fairness (honestas). Fairness, conscience, and equity were considered the core principles of the court. The early chancellors were church officials, and under their influence, not only were moral principles incorporated when the common law overlooked them, but also the equitable principles from Roman law were integrated into English legal tradition. Between this time and when equity became firmly established as a part of the legal system, with its own set principles, different interpretations of its nature arose. For a long period, it was believed that precedents had no place in equity since it aimed to ensure justice in each individual case; this perspective continued to be held by common lawyers even after equity professionals had moved past it. G. Spence, in his book on the Equitable Jurisdiction of 727 the Court of Chancery, cites a case from the reign of Charles II, where Chief Justice Vaughan stated:
“I wonder to hear of citing of precedents in matter of equity, for if there be equity in a case, that equity is an universal truth, and there can be no precedent in it; so that in any precedent that can be produced, if it be the same with this case, the reason and equity is the same in itself; and if the precedent be not the same case with this it is not to be cited.”
“I’m curious about the use of precedents in equity cases because if there’s equity in a situation, that equity is a universal truth, and there can’t be any precedent for it. So in any precedent that can be mentioned, if it’s the same as this case, the reasoning and equity are the same in essence; and if the precedent isn’t the same as this case, it shouldn’t be cited.”
But the lord keeper Bridgeman answered:
But the Lord Keeper Bridgeman replied:
“Certainly precedents are very necessary and useful to us, for in them we may find the reasons of the equity to guide us, and besides the authority of those who made them is much to be regarded. We shall suppose they did it upon great consideration and weighing of the matter, and it would be very strange and very ill if we should disturb and set aside what has been the course for a long series of times and ages.”
“Certainly, precedents are very necessary and useful to us, as they provide the reasons of equity to guide us. Also, the authority of those who established them is significant. We can assume they made these decisions after careful consideration and weighing of the matter. It would be quite strange and wrong for us to disrupt and disregard what has been the established practice for such a long time.”
Selden’s description is well known: “Equity is a roguish thing. ’Tis all one as if they should make the standard for measure the chancellor’s foot.” Lord Nottingham in 1676 reconciled the ancient theory and the established practice by saying that the conscience which guided the court was not the natural conscience of the man, but the civil and political conscience of the judge. The same tendency of equity to settle into a system of law is seen in the recognition of its limits—in the fact that it did not attempt in all cases to give a remedy when the rule of the common law was contrary to justice. Cases of hardship, which the early chancellors would certainly have relieved, were passed over by later judges, simply because no precedent could be found for their interference. The point at which the introduction of new principles of equity finally stopped is fixed by Sir Henry Maine in the chancellorship of Lord Eldon, who held that the doctrines of the court ought to be as well settled and made as uniform almost as those of the common law. From that time certainly equity, like common law, has professed to take its principles wholly from recorded decisions and statute law. The view (traceable no doubt to the Aristotelian definition) that equity mitigates the hardships of the law where the law errs through being framed in universals, is to be found in some of the earlier writings. Thus in the Doctor and Student it is said:
Selden’s description is well known: “Equity is a tricky thing. It’s just like making the standard for measurement the chancellor’s foot.” Lord Nottingham in 1676 reconciled the old theory and the established practice by saying that the conscience guiding the court was not the natural conscience of a person, but the civil and political conscience of the judge. The same tendency of equity to settle into a system of law is evident in its acknowledgment of limits—in that it did not always try to provide a remedy when the common law contradicted justice. Cases of hardship, which the early chancellors would definitely have addressed, were ignored by later judges simply because there was no precedent for their intervention. The point at which the introduction of new principles of equity finally stopped is marked by Sir Henry Maine during the chancellorship of Lord Eldon, who believed that the doctrines of the court should be as well established and as uniform as those of common law. Since that time, equity, like common law, has claimed to derive its principles entirely from recorded decisions and statute law. The perspective (which can certainly be traced back to the Aristotelian definition) that equity alleviates the hardships of the law when the law mistakes by being framed in general terms, is found in some of the earlier writings. Thus in the Doctor and Student it is stated:
“Law makers take heed to such things as may often come, and not to every particular case, for they could not though they would; therefore, in some cases it is necessary to leave the words of the law and follow that reason and justice requireth, and to that intent equity is ordained, that is to say, to temper and mitigate the rigour of the law.”
“Lawmakers pay attention to issues that frequently arise, rather than every specific case, because it's impossible for them to address each one; therefore, in some situations, it's necessary to set aside the exact wording of the law and follow what reason and justice demand. To this end, equity is established, meaning it exists to soften and ease the strictness of the law.”
And Lord Ellesmere said:
And Lord Ellesmere said:
“The cause why there is a chancery is for that men’s actions are so divers and infinite that it is impossible to make any general law which shall aptly meet with every particular act and not fail in some circumstances.”
“The reason there is a chancery is that people's actions are so varied and endless that it's impossible to create a general law that can perfectly apply to every individual case and not miss the mark in some situations.”
Modern equity, it need hardly be said, does not profess to soften the rigour of the law, or to correct the errors into which it falls by reason of its generality.
Modern equity, it goes without saying, does not claim to lessen the strictness of the law, or to fix the mistakes it makes due to its broad nature.
To give any account, even in outline, of the subject matter of equity within the necessary limits of this article would be impossible. It will be sufficient to say here that the classification generally adopted by text-writers is based upon the relations of equity to the common law, of which some explanation is given above. Thus equitable jurisdiction is said to be exclusive, concurrent or auxiliary. Equity has exclusive jurisdiction where it recognizes rights which are unknown to the common law. The most important example is trusts. Equity has concurrent jurisdiction in cases where the law recognized the right but did not give adequate relief, or did not give relief without circuity of action or some similar inconvenience. And equity has auxiliary jurisdiction when the machinery of the courts of law was unable to procure the necessary evidence.
To outline the subject of equity within the limits of this article would be impossible. It’s enough to say that the classification usually used by legal writers is based on the relationship between equity and common law, which is explained above. Therefore, equitable jurisdiction is described as exclusive, concurrent, or auxiliary. Equity has exclusive jurisdiction when it acknowledges rights that common law does not recognize. The most significant example is trusts. Equity has concurrent jurisdiction in cases where the law recognizes the right but fails to provide adequate relief, or does not offer relief without unnecessary complications. And equity has auxiliary jurisdiction when the courts of law are unable to obtain the necessary evidence.
“The evils of this double system of judicature,” says the report of the judicature commission (1863-1867), “and the confusion and conflict of jurisdiction to which it has led, have been long known and acknowledged.” A partial attempt to meet the difficulty was made by several acts of parliament (passed after the reports of commissions appointed in 1850 and 1851), which enabled courts of law and equity both to exercise certain powers formerly peculiar to one or other of them. A more complete remedy was introduced by the Judicature Act 1873, which consolidated the courts of law and equity, and ordered that law and equity should be administered concurrently according to the rules contained in the 26th section of the act. At the same time many matters of equitable jurisdiction are still left to the chancery division of the High Court in the first instance. (See Chancery.)
“The problems with this dual system of courts,” states the report from the judicature commission (1863-1867), “and the confusion and conflicts of jurisdiction it has caused, have been well known and recognized for a long time.” A partial solution was attempted through several acts of parliament (passed after the reports of commissions set up in 1850 and 1851), which allowed courts of law and equity to both exercise certain powers that used to belong exclusively to one or the other. A more comprehensive solution was implemented with the Judicature Act 1873, which merged the courts of law and equity, directing that law and equity should be administered together based on the rules outlined in section 26 of the act. However, many matters of equitable jurisdiction are still initially handled by the chancery division of the High Court. (See Chancery.)
Authorities.—The principles of equity as set out by the following writers may be consulted: J. Story, J.W. Smith, H.A. Smith and W. Ashburner; and for the history see G. Spence, The Equitable Jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery (2 vols., 1846-1849); D.M. Kerly, Historical Sketch of the Equitable Jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery (1890).
Authorities.—You can refer to the principles of equity as outlined by the following authors: J. Story, J.W. Smith, H.A. Smith, and W. Ashburner. For history, see G. Spence, The Equitable Jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery (2 vols., 1846-1849); D.M. Kerly, Historical Sketch of the Equitable Jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery (1890).
EQUIVALENT, in chemistry, the proportion of an element which will combine with or replace unit weight of hydrogen. When multiplied by the valency it gives the atomic weight. The determination of equivalent weights is treated in the article Stoichiometry. (See also Chemistry.) In a more general sense the term “equivalent” is used to denote quantities of substances which neutralize one another, as for example NaOH, HCl, ½H2SO4, ½Ba(OH)2.
EQUIVALENT, in chemistry, refers to the amount of an element that will combine with or replace a unit weight of hydrogen. When multiplied by the valency, it results in the atomic weight. The calculation of equivalent weights is discussed in the article Stoichiometry. (See also Chemistry.) More generally, the term “equivalent” describes quantities of substances that neutralize each other, such as NaOH, HCl, ½H2SO4, or ½Ba(OH)2.
ÉRARD, SÉBASTIEN (1752-1831), French manufacturer of musical instruments, distinguished especially for the improvements he made upon the harp and the pianoforte, was born at Strassburg on the 5th of April 1752. While a boy he showed great aptitude for practical geometry and architectural drawing, and in the workshop of his father, who was an upholsterer, he found opportunity for the early exercise of his mechanical ingenuity. When he was sixteen his father died, and he removed to Paris where he obtained employment with a harpsichord maker. Here his remarkable constructive skill, though it speedily excited the jealousy of his master and procured his dismissal, almost equally soon attracted the notice of musicians and musical instrument makers of eminence. Before he was twenty-five he set up in business for himself, his first workshop being a room in the hotel of the duchesse de Villeroi, who gave him warm encouragement. Here he constructed in 1780 his first pianoforte, which was also one of the first manufactured in France. It quickly secured for its maker such a reputation that he was soon overwhelmed with commissions, and finding assistance necessary, he sent for his brother, Jean Baptiste, in conjunction with whom he established in the rue de Bourbon, in the Faubourg St Germain, a piano manufactory, which in a few years became one of the most celebrated in Europe. On the outbreak of the Revolution he went to London where he established a factory. Returning to Paris in 1796, he soon afterwards introduced grand pianofortes, made in the English fashion, with improvements of his own. In 1808 he again visited London, where, two years later, he produced his first double-movement harp. He had previously made various improvements in the manufacture of harps, but the new instrument was an immense advance upon anything he had before produced, and obtained such a reputation that for some time he devoted himself exclusively to its manufacture. It has been said that in the year following his invention he made harps to the value of £25,000. In 1812 he returned to Paris, and continued to devote himself to the further perfecting of the two instruments with which his name is associated. In 1823 he crowned his work by producing his model grand pianoforte with the double escapement. Érard died at Passy, on the 5th of August 1831. (See also Harp and Pianoforte.)
ÉRARD, SÉBASTIEN (1752-1831), was a French manufacturer of musical instruments known especially for his innovations in the harp and the pianoforte. He was born in Strassburg on April 5, 1752. As a boy, he showed a strong talent for practical geometry and architectural drawing, and he began honing his mechanical skills in his father's workshop, where he worked as an upholsterer. When he was sixteen, his father passed away, and he moved to Paris to work for a harpsichord maker. His impressive skills attracted the jealousy of his employer, which led to his dismissal, but they also caught the attention of notable musicians and instrument makers. By the time he turned twenty-five, he had started his own business, setting up his first workshop in the hotel of the duchesse de Villeroi, who encouraged him. In 1780, he built his first pianoforte there, which was also one of the first made in France. This quickly earned him a strong reputation, resulting in numerous commissions. Needing help, he invited his brother, Jean Baptiste, to join him in establishing a piano factory on rue de Bourbon in Faubourg St Germain, which soon became one of the most renowned in Europe. When the Revolution began, he moved to London to set up a factory. He returned to Paris in 1796, shortly after introducing grand pianofortes made in the English style, enhanced with his improvements. In 1808, he visited London again, where, two years later, he created his first double-movement harp. He had already made several improvements to harp manufacturing, but this new instrument represented a significant advancement, gaining him a reputation that led him to focus exclusively on its production. It’s said that the year after he invented it, he made harps worth £25,000. He went back to Paris in 1812 and continued improving the two instruments he was known for. In 1823, he finalized his work with the introduction of his model grand pianoforte featuring double escapement. Érard died in Passy on August 5, 1831. (See also Harp and Pianoforte.)
ERASMUS, DESIDERIUS (1466-1536), Dutch scholar and theologian, was born on the night of the 27/28th of October, probably in 1466; but his statements about his age are conflicting, and in view of his own uncertainty (Ep. x. 29: 466) and the weakness of his memory for dates, the year of his birth cannot be definitely fixed. His father’s name seems to have been Rogerius Gerardus. He himself was christened Herasmus; but in 1503, when becoming familiar with Greek, he assimilated the name to a fancied Greek original, which he had a few years before Latinized into Desyderius. A contemporary authority states that he was born at Gouda, his father’s native town; 728 but he adopted the style Rotterdammensis or Roterodamus, in accordance with a story to which he himself gave credence. His first schooling was at Gouda under Peter Winckel, who was afterwards vice-pastor of the church. In the dull round of instruction in “grammar” he did not distinguish himself, and was surpassed by his early friend and companion, William Herman, who was Winckel’s favourite pupil. From Gouda the two boys went to the school attached to St Lebuin’s church at Deventer, which was one of the first in northern Europe to feel the influence of the Renaissance. Erasmus was at Deventer from 1475 to 1484, and when he left, had learnt from Johannes Sinthius (Syntheim) and Alexander Hegius, who had come as headmaster in 1483, the love of letters which was the ruling passion of his life. At some period, perhaps in an interval of his time at Deventer, he was a chorister at Utrecht under the famous organist of the cathedral, Jacob Obrecht.
ERASMUS, DESIDERIUS (1466-1536), a Dutch scholar and theologian, was born on the night of October 27/28, probably in 1466; however, his statements about his age contradict each other, and due to his own uncertainty (Ep. x. 29: 466) and his poor memory for dates, his exact year of birth cannot be determined. His father's name seems to have been Rogerius Gerardus. He was christened Herasmus; but in 1503, after getting familiar with Greek, he adapted the name to a supposed Greek origin, which he had previously Latinized into Desyderius a few years earlier. A contemporary source claims he was born in Gouda, his father's hometown; 728 but he took on the name Rotterdammensis or Roterodamus, in line with a story he believed. His early education was at Gouda with Peter Winckel, who later became the vice-pastor of the church. In the monotonous routine of "grammar" lessons, he did not excel and was outperformed by his childhood friend and companion, William Herman, who was Winckel's favorite student. From Gouda, the two boys went to the school connected to St. Lebuin's church in Deventer, one of the first places in northern Europe to embrace the Renaissance. Erasmus attended Deventer from 1475 to 1484, and when he left, he had developed a love for literature, which became the driving passion of his life, thanks to his teachers Johannes Sinthius (Syntheim) and Alexander Hegius, who became headmaster in 1483. At some point, possibly during his time at Deventer, he was a choirboy in Utrecht under the renowned cathedral organist, Jacob Obrecht.
About 1484 Erasmus’ father died, leaving him and an elder brother Peter, both born out of wedlock, to the care of guardians, their mother having died shortly before. Erasmus was eager to go to a university, but the guardians, acting under a perhaps genuine enthusiasm for the religious life, sent the boys to another school at Hertogenbosch; and when they returned after two or three years, prevailed on them to enter monasteries. Peter went to Sion, near Delft; Erasmus after prolonged reluctance became an Augustinian canon in St Gregory’s at Steyn, a house of the same Chapter near Gouda. There he found little religion and less refinement; but no serious difficulty seems to have been made about his reading the classics and the Fathers with his friends to his heart’s content. The monastery once entered, there was no drawing back; and Erasmus passed through the various stages which culminated in his ordination as priest on the 25th of April 1492.
About 1484, Erasmus’ father passed away, leaving him and his older brother Peter, both born out of wedlock, to the care of guardians, since their mother had died shortly before. Erasmus was eager to attend university, but the guardians, perhaps genuinely enthusiastic about the religious life, sent the boys to another school in Hertogenbosch. When they returned after two or three years, they convinced them to join monasteries. Peter went to Sion, near Delft; after much hesitation, Erasmus became an Augustinian canon at St. Gregory’s in Steyn, a community of the same chapter near Gouda. There, he found little religion and even less refinement, but he was allowed to read the classics and the Church Fathers with his friends to his heart's content. Once he entered the monastery, there was no turning back, and Erasmus went through the various stages that led to his ordination as a priest on April 25, 1492.
But his ardent spirit could not long be content with monastic life. He brought his attainments somehow to the notice of Henry of Bergen, bishop of Cambrai, the leading prelate at the court of Brussels; and about 1494 permission was obtained for him to leave Steyn and become Latin secretary to the bishop, who was then preparing for a visit to Rome. But the journey was abandoned, and after some months Erasmus found that even with occasional chances to read at Groenendael, the life of a court was hardly more favourable to study than that of Steyn. At the suggestion of a friend, James Batt, he applied to his patron for leave to go to Paris University. The bishop consented and promised a small pension; and in August 1495 Erasmus entered the “domus pauperum” of the college of Montaigu, which was then under the somewhat rigid rule of the reformer Jan Standonck. He at once introduced himself to the distinguished French historian and diplomatist Robert Gaguin (1425-1502) and published a small volume of poems; and he became intimate with Johann Mauburnus (Mombaer), the leader of a mission summoned from Windesheim in 1496 to reform the abbey of Château-Landon. But the life at Montaigu was too hard for him. Every Lent he fell ill and had to return to Holland to recover. He continued to read nevertheless for a degree in theology, and at some time completed the requirements for the B.D. After a year or two he left Montaigu and eked out his money from the bishop by taking pupils. One of these, a young Englishman, William Blount, 4th Baron Mountjoy (d. 1534), persuaded him to visit England in the spring of 1499.
But his passionate spirit couldn't stay satisfied with monastic life for long. He managed to get his accomplishments noticed by Henry of Bergen, the bishop of Cambrai, who was a prominent figure at the court in Brussels; and around 1494, he received permission to leave Steyn and become the Latin secretary to the bishop, who was preparing for a trip to Rome. However, the journey was canceled, and after a few months, Erasmus realized that the court life offered hardly more opportunities for study than life at Steyn. At the suggestion of a friend, James Batt, he asked his patron for permission to go to the University of Paris. The bishop agreed and promised a small pension; so in August 1495, Erasmus joined the "domus pauperum" of the college of Montaigu, which was then under the rather strict oversight of reformer Jan Standonck. He quickly introduced himself to the esteemed French historian and diplomat Robert Gaguin (1425-1502) and published a small collection of poems; he also became close with Johann Mauburnus (Mombaer), the leader of a mission that came from Windesheim in 1496 to reform the abbey of Château-Landon. But life at Montaigu was too tough for him. Each Lent, he fell ill and had to go back to Holland to recover. Nevertheless, he continued studying for a degree in theology and eventually completed the requirements for the B.D. After a year or two, he left Montaigu and supplemented his income from the bishop by tutoring students. One of these students, a young Englishman named William Blount, 4th Baron Mountjoy (d. 1534), convinced him to visit England in the spring of 1499.
Being without a benefice, he had no settled income to look to, and apart from the precarious profits of teaching and writing books, could only wait on the generosity of patrons to supply him with the leisure he craved. The faithful Batt had sought a pension for him from his own patroness, Anne of Borsselen, the Lady of Veere, who resided at the castle of Tournehem near Calais, and whose son Batt was now teaching. But as nothing promised at once, Erasmus accepted Mountjoy’s offer, and thus a tie was formed which led Mountjoy then or a few years later to grant him a pension of £20 for life. Otherwise the visit to England gave no hope of preferment; and in the summer Erasmus prepared to leave. He was delayed, and used the interval to spend two or three months at Oxford, where he found John Colet lecturing on the Epistle to the Romans. Discussions between them on theological questions soon convinced Colet of Erasmus’ worth, and he sought to persuade him to stay and teach at Oxford. But Erasmus could not be content with the Bible in Latin. Oxford could teach him no Greek, so away he must go.
Being without a position, he had no stable income to rely on, and aside from the uncertain earnings from teaching and writing books, he could only wait for the generosity of patrons to give him the time he desired. The loyal Batt had requested a pension for him from his own benefactor, Anne of Borsselen, the Lady of Veere, who lived at the castle of Tournehem near Calais, and whose son Batt was now teaching. But since nothing was promised immediately, Erasmus accepted Mountjoy’s offer, which eventually led Mountjoy to grant him a pension of £20 for life a few years later. Otherwise, the visit to England held no promise of advancement; and in the summer, Erasmus prepared to leave. He was delayed and took the opportunity to spend two or three months at Oxford, where he found John Colet lecturing on the Epistle to the Romans. Discussions between them on theological matters soon convinced Colet of Erasmus’ value, and he tried to persuade him to stay and teach at Oxford. But Erasmus couldn’t be satisfied with the Bible in Latin. Oxford couldn’t teach him any Greek, so he had to go.
In January 1500 he returned to Paris, which though it could offer no Greek teacher better than George Hermonymus, was at least a better centre for buying and for printing books. The next few years were spent still in preparation, supported by pupils’ fees and the dedications of books; the Collectanea adagiorum in June 1500 to Mountjoy, and some devotional and moral compositions to Batt’s patroness and her son. When the plague drove him from Paris, he went to Orleans or Tournehem or St Omer, as the way opened. From 1502 to 1504 he was at Louvain, still declining to teach publicly; among his friends being the future Pope Adrian VI. In January 1504 the archduke Philip gave him fifty livres for the Panegyric which “ung religieux de l’ordre de St Augustin” had composed on his Spanish journey; and in October, ten more, for the maintenance of his studies.
In January 1500, he returned to Paris, which, although it couldn't provide a better Greek teacher than George Hermonymus, was still a better place for buying and printing books. The next few years were spent in preparation, supported by student fees and book dedications; the Collectanea adagiorum was dedicated in June 1500 to Mountjoy, and some devotional and moral works were dedicated to Batt’s patroness and her son. When the plague forced him out of Paris, he went to Orleans, Tournehem, or St Omer, depending on where he could go. From 1502 to 1504, he was in Louvain, still refusing to teach publicly; among his friends was the future Pope Adrian VI. In January 1504, Archduke Philip gave him fifty livres for the Panegyric that “ung religieux de l'ordre de St Augustin” had written on his Spanish journey; and in October, he received ten more to support his studies.
He had been working hard at Greek, of which he now felt himself master, at the Fathers (above all at Jerome), and at the Epistles of St Paul, fulfilling the promise made to Colet in Oxford, to give himself to sacred learning. But the bent of his reading is shown by the manuscript with which he returned to Paris at the close of 1504—Valla’s Annotations on the New Testament, which Badius printed for him in 1505.
He had been working hard at Greek, which he now felt he had mastered, at the Church Fathers (especially Jerome), and at the letters of St. Paul, keeping the promise he made to Colet in Oxford to dedicate himself to sacred learning. But the focus of his reading is reflected in the manuscript he brought back to Paris at the end of 1504—Valla’s Annotations on the New Testament, which Badius printed for him in 1505.
Shortly afterwards Lord Mountjoy invited him again to England, and this visit was more successful. He found in London a circle of learned friends through whom he was introduced to William Warham, archbishop of Canterbury, Richard Foxe, bishop of Winchester and other dignitaries. John Fisher (bishop of Rochester), who was then superintending the foundation of Christ’s College for the Lady Margaret, took him down to Cambridge for the king’s visit; and at length the opportunity came to fulfil his dream of seeing Italy. Baptista Boerio, the king’s physician, engaged him to accompany his two sons thither as supervisor of their studies. In September 1506 he set foot on that sacred soil, and took his D.D. at Turin. For a year he remained with his pupils at Bologna, and then, his engagement completed, negotiated with Aldus Manutius for a new edition of his Adagia upon a very different scale. The volume of 1500 had been jejune, written when he knew nothing of Greek; 800 adages put together with scanty elucidations. In 1508 he had conceived a work on lines more to the taste of the learned world, full of apt and recondite learning, and now and again relieved by telling comments or lively anecdotes. Three thousand and more collected justified a new title—Chiliades adagiorum; and the author’s reputation was now established. So secure in public favour did the book in time become, that the council of Trent, unable to suppress it and not daring to overlook it, ordered the preparation of a castrated edition.
Shortly after, Lord Mountjoy invited him back to England, and this visit was more successful. He found a circle of educated friends in London who introduced him to William Warham, the archbishop of Canterbury, Richard Foxe, the bishop of Winchester, and other dignitaries. John Fisher, the bishop of Rochester, who was overseeing the establishment of Christ’s College for the Lady Margaret, took him to Cambridge for the king’s visit. Eventually, he got the chance to fulfill his dream of visiting Italy. Baptista Boerio, the king’s physician, hired him to supervise his two sons' studies during their trip. In September 1506, he arrived in Italy and earned his D.D. in Turin. He spent a year with his students in Bologna, and after his assignment was finished, he negotiated with Aldus Manutius for a new edition of his Adagia on a much larger scale. The 1500 edition had been dry, written when he wasn’t familiar with Greek, containing 800 adages with minimal explanations. By 1508, he had developed a work more in line with what the intellectual community desired, rich with insightful and obscure knowledge, occasionally lightened by amusing comments or lively stories. With over three thousand adages collected, the new title became Chiliades adagiorum; and the author's reputation was now secured. In time, the book gained such public favor that the council of Trent, unable to suppress it but not daring to ignore it, ordered a censored edition to be prepared.
To print the Adagia he had gone to Venice, where he lived with Andrea Torresano of Asola (Asulanus) and did the work of two men, writing and correcting proof at the same time. When it was finished, with an ample re-dedication to Mountjoy, a new pupil presented himself, Alexander Stewart, natural son of James IV. of Scotland—perhaps through a connexion formed in early days at Paris. They went together to Siena and Rome and then on to Campania, thirsty under the summer sun. When they returned to Rome, his pupil departed to Scotland, to fall a few years later by his father’s side at Flodden; Erasmus also found a summons to call him northwards.
To print the Adagia, he traveled to Venice, where he stayed with Andrea Torresano of Asola and worked as though he were two people, writing and correcting proofs at the same time. Once it was finished, with an extensive re-dedication to Mountjoy, a new student appeared, Alexander Stewart, the illegitimate son of James IV of Scotland—possibly due to a connection made in his early days in Paris. They traveled together to Siena, Rome, and then to Campania, feeling thirsty under the summer sun. When they returned to Rome, his student left for Scotland, where he would later fall alongside his father at Flodden; Erasmus also received a call to head north.
On the death of Henry VII. Lord Mountjoy, who had been companion to Prince Henry in his studies, had become a person of influence. He wrote to Erasmus of a land flowing with milk and honey under the “divine” young king, and with Warham sent him £10 for journey money. At first Erasmus hesitated. He had been disappointed in Italy, to find that he had not much to learn from its famed scholarship; but he had made many friends in Aldus’s circle—Marcus Musurus, John Lascaris, 729 Baptista Egnatius, Paul Bombasius, Scipio Carteromachus; and his reception had been flattering, especially in Rome, where cardinals had delighted to honour him. But to remain in Rome was to sell himself. He might have the leisure which was so indispensable, but at price of the freedom to read, think, write what he liked. He decided, therefore, to go, though with regrets; which returned upon him sometimes in after years, when the English hopes had not borne fruit.
Upon the death of Henry VII, Lord Mountjoy, who had been a companion to Prince Henry in his studies, became an influential figure. He wrote to Erasmus about a land flowing with milk and honey under the “divine” young king and, along with Warham, sent him £10 for travel expenses. At first, Erasmus hesitated. He had been let down in Italy, discovering he didn’t have much to learn from its renowned scholarship; however, he had made many friends in Aldus’s circle—Marcus Musurus, John Lascaris, Baptista Egnatius, Paul Bombasius, Scipio Carteromachus—and received flattering attention, especially in Rome, where cardinals were eager to honor him. But staying in Rome would mean compromising himself. He might have the leisure that was so essential, but at the cost of the freedom to read, think, and write as he pleased. He ultimately decided to leave, though he had regrets; these thoughts would sometimes resurface in later years when the English hopes had not come to fruition.
In the autumn he reached London, and in Thomas More’s house in Bucklersbury wrote the witty satire which Milton found “in every one’s hands” at Cambridge in 1628, and which is read to this day. The Moriae encomium was a sign of his decision. In it kings and princes, bishops and popes alike are shown to be in bondage to Folly; and no class of men is spared. Its author was willing to be beholden to any one for leisure; but he would be no man’s slave. For the next eighteen months he is entirely lost to view; when he reappears in April 1511, he is leaving More’s house and taking the Moria to be printed privily in Paris. Wherever they were spent, these must have been months of hard work, as were the years that followed. His time was now come. The long preparation and training, bought by privation and uncongenial toil, was over, and he was ready to apply himself to the scientific study of sacred letters. His English patrons were liberal. Fisher sent him in August 1511 to teach in Cambridge; Warham gave him a benefice, Aldington in Kent, worth £33, 6s. 8d. a year, and in violation of his own rule commuted it for a pension of £20 charged on the living; and the dedications of his books were fruitful. In Cambridge he completed his work on the New Testament, the Letters of Jerome, and Seneca; and then in 1514, when there seemed no prospect of ampler preferment, he determined to transfer himself to Basel and give the results of his labours to the world.
In the fall, he arrived in London and wrote the clever satire in Thomas More’s house on Bucklersbury, which Milton found “in everyone’s hands” at Cambridge in 1628 and that is still read today. The Moriae encomium was a sign of his decision. In it, kings and princes, bishops and popes are shown to be enslaved by Folly, and no group is spared. The author was willing to owe anyone for free time, but he would not be anyone’s slave. For the next eighteen months, he disappears from view; when he reappears in April 1511, he is leaving More’s house to have the Moria privately printed in Paris. Wherever those months were spent, they must have been filled with hard work, as were the years that followed. His time had come. The long preparation and training, paid for with hardship and unfulfilling work, was over, and he was ready to focus on the scientific study of sacred texts. His English patrons were generous. Fisher sent him to teach in Cambridge in August 1511; Warham gave him a position, Aldington in Kent, worth £33, 6s. 8d. a year, and in breaking his own rule, he exchanged it for a pension of £20 from the living; the dedications of his books were successful. In Cambridge, he completed his work on the New Testament, the Letters of Jerome, and Seneca; then in 1514, when there seemed to be no chance for better opportunities, he decided to move to Basel and share the results of his work with the world.
The origin of Erasmus’s connexion with Johann Froben is not clear. In 1511 he was preparing to reprint his Adagia with Jodocus Badius, who in the following year was to have also Seneca and Jerome. But in 1513 Froben, who had just reprinted the Aldine Adagia, acquired through a bookseller-agent Erasmus’ amended copy which had been destined for Badius. That the agent was acting entirely on his own responsibility may be doubted; for within a few months Erasmus had decided to betake himself to Basel, bearing with him Seneca and Jerome, the latter to be incorporated in the great edition which Johannes Amerbach and Froben had had in hand since 1510. In Germany he was widely welcomed. The Strassburg Literary Society fêted him, and Johannes Sapidus, headmaster of the Latin school at Schlettstadt, rode with him into Basel. Froben received him with open arms, and the presses were soon busy with his books. Through the winter of 1514-1515 Erasmus worked with the strength of ten; and after a brief visit to England in the spring, the New Testament was set up. Around him was a circle of students, some young, some already distinguished—the three sons of Froben’s partner, Johannes Amerbach, who was now dead, Beatus Rhenanus, Wilhelm Nesen, Ludwig Ber, Heinrich Glareanus, Nikolaus Gerbell, Johannes Oecolampadius—who looked to him as their head and were proud to do him service.
The origin of Erasmus’s connection with Johann Froben isn’t clear. In 1511, he was preparing to reprint his Adagia with Jodocus Badius, who the following year was also set to publish works by Seneca and Jerome. But in 1513, Froben, who had just reprinted the Aldine Adagia, obtained through a bookseller-agent Erasmus’s revised copy that had been intended for Badius. It’s questionable whether the agent was acting solely on his own; within a few months, Erasmus decided to move to Basel, bringing along Seneca and Jerome, the latter to be included in the major edition that Johannes Amerbach and Froben had been working on since 1510. He received a warm welcome in Germany. The Strassburg Literary Society celebrated him, and Johannes Sapidus, the headmaster of the Latin school at Schlettstadt, rode with him into Basel. Froben welcomed him with open arms, and soon the presses were busy printing his books. Throughout the winter of 1514-1515, Erasmus worked vigorously; after a brief trip to England in the spring, the New Testament was completed. Around him was a group of students—some young, some already well-known—such as the three sons of Froben’s late partner, Johannes Amerbach, Beatus Rhenanus, Wilhelm Nesen, Ludwig Ber, Heinrich Glareanus, Nikolaus Gerbell, and Johannes Oecolampadius—who looked to him as their leader and were proud to serve him.
Though from this time forward Basel became the centre of occupation and interest for Erasmus, yet for the next few years he was mainly in the Netherlands. On the completion of the New Testament in 1516 he returned to his friends in England; but his appointment, then recent, as councillor to the young king Charles, brought him back to Brussels in the autumn. In the spring of 1517 he went for the last time to England, about a dispensation from wearing his canonical dress, obtained originally from Julius II. and recently confirmed by Leo X., and in May 1518 he journeyed to Basel for three months to set the second edition of the New Testament in progress. But with these exceptions he remained in proximity to the court, living much at Louvain, where he took great interest in the foundation of Hieronymus Busleiden’s Collegium Trilingue. His circumstances had improved so much, by pensions, the presents which were showered upon him, and the sale of his books, that he was now in a position to refuse all proposals which would have interfered with his cherished independence. The general ardour for the restoration of the arts and of learning created an aristocratic public, of which Erasmus was supreme pontiff. Luther spoke to the people and the ignorant; Erasmus had the ear of the educated class. His friends and admirers were distributed over all the countries of Europe, and presents were continually arriving from small as well as great, from a donation of 200 florins, made by Pope Clement VII., down to sweetmeats and comfits contributed by the nuns of Cologne (Ep. 666). From England, in particular, he continued to receive supplies of money. In the last year of his life Thomas Cromwell sent him 20 angels, and Archbishop Cranmer 18. Though Erasmus led a very hard-working and far from luxurious life, and had no extravagant habits, yet he could not live upon little. The excessive delicacy of his constitution, not pampered appetite, exacted some unusual indulgences. He could not bear the stoves of Germany, and required an open fireplace in the room in which he worked. He was afflicted with the stone, and obliged to be particular as to what he drank. Beer he could not touch. The white wines of Baden or the Rhine did not suit him; he could only drink those of Burgundy or Franche-Comté. He could neither eat, nor bear the smell of, fish. “His heart,” he said, “was Catholic, but his stomach was Lutheran.” For his constant journeys he required two horses, one for himself and one for his attendant. And though he was almost always found in horse-flesh by his friends, the keep had to be paid for. For his literary labours and his extensive correspondence he required one or more amanuenses. He often had occasion, on his own business, or on that of Froben’s press, to send special couriers to a distance, employing them by the way in collecting the free gifts of his tributaries.
Though from this point on Basel became the center of interest for Erasmus, he spent the next few years mainly in the Netherlands. After finishing the New Testament in 1516, he went back to his friends in England; however, his recent appointment as a counselor to the young King Charles brought him back to Brussels in the autumn. In the spring of 1517, he made his last trip to England to obtain a dispensation from wearing his canonical dress, originally granted by Julius II and recently confirmed by Leo X. In May 1518, he traveled to Basel for three months to work on the second edition of the New Testament. Apart from these exceptions, he stayed close to the court, mostly living in Louvain, where he was very interested in the establishment of Hieronymus Busleiden’s Collegium Trilingue. His situation had improved significantly due to pensions, gifts he received, and book sales, allowing him to turn down any offers that might compromise his cherished independence. The widespread enthusiasm for reviving the arts and learning created an elite public, of which Erasmus was the leading figure. Luther spoke to the masses and the uninformed; Erasmus had the attention of the educated class. His friends and admirers were spread across all of Europe, and he continuously received gifts ranging from a 200 florin donation from Pope Clement VII to sweets and pastries from the nuns of Cologne (Ep. 666). Particularly from England, he kept receiving financial support. In the last year of his life, Thomas Cromwell sent him 20 angels and Archbishop Cranmer sent him 18. Although Erasmus led a very hardworking and not luxurious life without extravagant habits, he couldn't live on little. The extreme sensitivity of his health, not a spoiled appetite, required some unusual comforts. He couldn’t tolerate the stoves in Germany and needed an open fireplace in his workroom. He suffered from kidney stones and had to be careful about what he drank. He couldn’t touch beer. The white wines from Baden or the Rhine didn’t suit him; he could only drink those from Burgundy or Franche-Comté. He couldn’t eat fish or even stand its smell. “His heart,” he said, “was Catholic, but his stomach was Lutheran.” For his frequent travels, he needed two horses, one for himself and one for his attendant. And although his friends often found him with horses, they still had to cover the cost. For his writing and extensive correspondence, he required one or more secretaries. He often needed to send special couriers for his own matters or for Froben’s press, hiring them to collect gifts from his supporters along the way.
Precarious as these means of subsistence seem, he preferred the independence thus obtained to an assured position which would have involved obligations to a patron or professional duties which his weak health would have made onerous. The duke of Bavaria offered to dispense with teaching, if he would only reside, and would have named him on these terms to a chair in his new university of Ingolstadt, with a salary of 200 ducats, and the reversion of one or more prebendal stalls. The archduke Ferdinand offered a pension of 400 florins, if he would only come to reside at Vienna. Adrian VI. offered him a deanery, but the offer seems to have been of a possible and not an actual deanery. Offers, flattering but equally vague, were made from France, on the part of the bishop of Bayeux, and even of Francis I. “Invitor amplissimis conditionibus; offeruntur dignitates et episcopatus; plane rex essem, si juvenis essem” (Ep. xix. 106; 735). Erasmus declined all, and in November 1521 settled permanently at Basel, in the capacity of general editor and literary adviser of Froben’s press. As a subject of the emperor, and attached to his court by a pension, it would have been convenient to him to have fixed his residence in Louvain. But the bigotry of the Flemish clergy, and the monkish atmosphere of the university of Louvain, overrun with Dominicans and Franciscans, united for once in their enmity to the new classical learning, inclined Erasmus to seek a more congenial home in Basel. To Froben his arrival was the advent of the very man whom he had long wanted. Froben’s enterprise, united with Erasmus’s editorial skill, raised the press of Basel, for a time, to be the most important in Europe. The death of Froben in 1527, the final separation of Basel from the Empire, the wreck of learning in the religious disputes, and the cheap paper and scamped work of the Frankfort presses, gradually withdrew the trade from Basel. But during the years of Erasmus’s co-operation the Froben press took the lead of all the presses in Europe, both in the standard value of the works published and in style of typographical execution. Like some other publishers who preferred reputation to returns in money, Froben died poor, and his impressions never reached the splendour afterwards attained by those of the Estiennes, or of Plantin. The series of the Fathers alone contains Jerome (1516), Cyprian (1520), Pseudo-Arnobius (1522), Hilarius (1523), Irenaeus (Latin, 1526), Ambrose (1527), Augustine (1528), Chrysostom 730 (Latin, 1530), Basil (Greek, 1532, the first Greek author printed in Germany), and Origen (Latin, 1536). In these editions, partly texts, partly translations, it is impossible to determine the respective shares of Erasmus and his many helpers. The prefaces and dedications are all written by him, and some of them, as that to the Hilarius, are of importance for the history as well of the times as of Erasmus himself. Of his most important edition, that of the Greek text of the New Testament, something will be said farther on.
As uncertain as these ways of making a living appeared, he preferred the freedom that came with them to a stable position that would have required him to meet the demands of a patron or take on professional responsibilities that his frail health would have found burdensome. The Duke of Bavaria offered to excuse him from teaching, as long as he agreed to live there, and would have appointed him to a chair at his new university in Ingolstadt with a salary of 200 ducats and the possibility of one or more prebendal stalls. Archduke Ferdinand offered him a pension of 400 florins if he would just move to Vienna. Adrian VI. offered him a deanship, though it seems this was more of a prospective than a concrete position. Flattering but vague offers also came from France, from the Bishop of Bayeux, and even from Francis I. "I am invited under the most generous conditions; dignities and bishoprics are offered; I would surely be a king, if I were young" (Ep. xix. 106; 735). Erasmus turned down all these offers, and in November 1521, he settled permanently in Basel as the general editor and literary advisor for Froben’s press. As a subject of the emperor, and with a pension connecting him to the court, it would have been more convenient for him to live in Louvain. However, the narrow-mindedness of the Flemish clergy and the oppressive atmosphere of the Dominican and Franciscan-heavy university of Louvain, united in their hostility toward the new classical learning, led Erasmus to look for a more welcoming home in Basel. For Froben, Erasmus’s arrival was the fulfillment of a long-held desire. Froben’s business, combined with Erasmus’s editorial expertise, elevated the Basel press to the most important in Europe, at least for a time. Following Froben’s death in 1527, Basel's separation from the Empire, the decline of scholarship due to religious conflicts, and the cheap paper and shoddy work from the Frankfurt presses gradually diminished the press's prominence. Yet, during the years of Erasmus's collaboration, the Froben press led all others in Europe, both in the quality of the works published and in typographical style. Like some other publishers who valued prestige over profit, Froben died poor, and his editions never reached the same level of splendor gained later by the Estiennes or Plantin. The series of the Church Fathers includes Jerome (1516), Cyprian (1520), Pseudo-Arnobius (1522), Hilarius (1523), Irenaeus (Latin, 1526), Ambrose (1527), Augustine (1528), Chrysostom (Latin, 1530), Basil (Greek, 1532, the first Greek author printed in Germany), and Origen (Latin, 1536). In these editions, which include both texts and translations, it’s impossible to determine the exact contributions of Erasmus and his many collaborators. He wrote all the prefaces and dedications, some of which, like that to Hilarius, are significant for understanding both the era and Erasmus himself. There will be more discussion later about his most important edition, that of the Greek text of the New Testament.
In this “mill,” as he calls it, Erasmus continued to grind incessantly for eight years. Besides his work as editor, he was always writing himself some book or pamphlet called for by the event of the day, some general fray in which he was compelled to mingle, or some personal assault which it was necessary to repel. But though painfully conscious how much his reputation as a writer was damaged by this extempore production, he was unable to resist the fatal facility of print. He was the object of those solicitations which always beset the author whose name upon the title page assures the sale of a book. He was besieged for dedications, and as every dedication meant a present proportioned to the circumstances of the dedicatee, there was a natural temptation to be lavish of them. Add to this a correspondence so extensive as to require him at times to write forty letters in one day. “I receive daily,” he writes, “letters from remote parts, from kings, princes, prelates and men of learning, and even from persons of whose existence I was ignorant.” His day was thus one of incessant mental activity; but hard work was so far from breeding a distaste for his occupation, that reading and writing grew ever more delightful to him (literarum assiduitas non modo mihi fastidium non parit, sed voluptatem; crescit scribendo scribendi studium).
In this "mill," as he called it, Erasmus kept churning out work nonstop for eight years. In addition to his role as an editor, he was constantly writing some book or pamphlet required by current events, some widespread conflict he had to involve himself in, or some personal attack he needed to fend off. Despite being painfully aware of how much his reputation as a writer was hurt by this on-the-fly production, he couldn't resist the tempting ease of print. He faced demands that always come to authors whose names on the cover guarantee book sales. He was inundated with requests for dedications, and since each dedication meant a gift based on the situation of the person being honored, it was hard to not be generous with them. On top of that, his correspondence was so extensive that at times he had to write forty letters in a single day. "I receive daily," he writes, "letters from faraway places, from kings, princes, bishops, scholars, and even from people I didn't even know existed." His days were filled with constant mental activity; however, hard work only made him appreciate his job more, as reading and writing became increasingly enjoyable to him (literarum assiduitas non modo mihi fastidium non parit, sed voluptatem; crescit scribendo scribendi studium).
Shortly after Froben’s death the disturbances at Basel, occasioned by the zealots for the religious revolution which was in progress throughout Switzerland, began to make Erasmus desirous of changing his residence. He selected Freiburg in the Breisgau, as a city which was still in the dominion of the emperor, and was free from religious dissension. Thither he removed in April 1529. He was received with public marks of respect by the authorities, who granted him the use of an unfinished residence which had been begun to be built for the late emperor Maximilian. Erasmus proposed only to remain at Freiburg for a few months, but found the place so suited to his habits that he bought a house of his own, and remained there six years. A desire for change of air—he fancied Freiburg was damp—rumours of a new war with France, and the necessity of seeing his Ecclesiastes through the press, took him back to Basel in 1535. He lived now a very retired life, and saw only a small circle of intimate friends. A last attempt was made by the papal court to enlist him in some public way against the Reformation. On the election of Paul III. in 1534, he had, as usual, sent the new pope a congratulatory letter. After his arrival in Basel, he received a complimentary answer, together with the nomination to the deanery of Deventer, the income of which was reckoned at 600 ducats. This nomination was accompanied with an intimation that more was in store for him, and that steps would be taken to provide for him the income, viz., 3000 ducats, which was necessary to qualify for the cardinal’s hat. But Erasmus was even less disposed now than he had been before to barter his reputation for honours. His health had been for some years gradually declining, and disease in the shape of gout gaining upon him. In the winter of 1535-1536 he was confined entirely to his chamber, many days to his bed. Though thus afflicted he never ceased his literary activity, dictating his tract On the Purity of the Church, and revising the sheets of a translation of Origen which was passing through the Froben press. His last letter is dated the 28th of June 1536, and subscribed “Eras. Rot. aegra manu.” “I have never been so ill in my life before as I am now,—for many days unable even to read.” Dysentery setting in carried him off on the 12th of July 1536, in his 70th year.
Shortly after Froben's death, the unrest in Basel caused by the supporters of the ongoing religious revolution throughout Switzerland made Erasmus want to move. He chose Freiburg in the Breisgau, a city still under the emperor's rule and free from religious conflict. He moved there in April 1529. The authorities welcomed him with public respect and offered him an unfinished residence that had been started for the late Emperor Maximilian. Erasmus initially planned to stay in Freiburg for just a few months but found the place so suitable for his lifestyle that he bought his own house and stayed there for six years. A desire for drier air—he thought Freiburg was damp—rumors of a new war with France, and the need to oversee his Ecclesiastes through the press brought him back to Basel in 1535. He now lived a very secluded life and only saw a small circle of close friends. The papal court made one last attempt to recruit him publicly against the Reformation. When Paul III was elected in 1534, Erasmus sent the new pope a congratulatory letter, as was his custom. After arriving in Basel, he received a complimentary reply along with a nomination for the deanery of Deventer, which had an income estimated at 600 ducats. This nomination hinted that more was planned for him, including an income of 3000 ducats needed to qualify for a cardinal's hat. However, Erasmus was even less inclined now than before to trade his reputation for titles. His health had been gradually declining for several years, and he was suffering from gout. During the winter of 1535-1536, he was confined to his room, many days even to his bed. Despite his condition, he never stopped his literary work, dictating his tract On the Purity of the Church and revising the pages of a translation of Origen that was being printed by Froben. His last letter is dated June 28, 1536, signed “Eras. Rot. aegra manu.” “I have never been so ill in my life as I am now—unable to even read for many days.” Dysentery set in and took his life on July 12, 1536, at the age of 70.
By his will, made on the 12th of February 1536, he left what he had to leave, with the exception of some legacies, to Bonifazius Amerbach, partly for himself, partly in trust for the benefit of the aged and the infirm, or to be spent in portioning young girls, and in educating young men of promise. He left none of the usual legacies for masses or other clerical purposes, and was not attended by any priest or confessor in his last moments.
By his will, dated February 12, 1536, he left everything he had, except for a few legacies, to Bonifazius Amerbach, partly for himself and partly in trust to support the elderly and the sick, or to be used for providing dowries for young girls and for educating promising young men. He didn’t leave any of the usual legacies for masses or other church-related purposes, and no priest or confessor was present during his final moments.
Erasmus’s features are familiar to all, from Holbein’s many portraits or their copies. Beatus Rhenanus, “summus Erasmi observator,” as he is called by de Thou, describes his person thus: “In stature not tall, but not noticeably short; in figure well built and graceful; of an extremely delicate constitution, sensitive to the slightest changes of climate, food or drink. After middle life he suffered from the stone, not to mention the common plague of studious men, an irritable mucous membrane. His complexion was fair; light blue eyes, and yellowish hair. Though his voice was weak, his enunciation was distinct; the expression of his face cheerful; his manner and conversation polished, affable, even charming.” His highly nervous organization made his feelings acute, and his brain incessantly active. Through his ready sympathy with all forms of life and character, his attention was always alive. The active movement of his spirit spent itself, not in following out its own trains of thought, but in outward observation. No man was ever less introspective, and though he talks much of himself, his egotism is the genial egotism which takes the world into its confidence, not the selfish egotism which feels no interest but in its own woes. He says of himself, and justly, “that he was incapable of dissimulation” (Ep. xxvi. 19; 1152). There is nothing behind, no pose, no scenic effect. It may be said of his letters that in them “tota patet vita senis.” His nature was flexible without being faultily weak. He has many moods and each mood imprints itself in turn on his words. Hence, on a superficial view, Erasmus is set down as the most inconsistent of men. Further acquaintance makes us feel a unity of character underlying this susceptibility to the impressions of the moment. His seeming inconsistencies are reconciled to apprehension, not by a formula of the intellect, but by the many-sidedness of a highly impressible nature. In the words of J. Nisard, Erasmus was one of those “dont la gloire a été de beaucoup comprendre et d’affirmer peu.”
Erasmus's features are well-known to everyone, thanks to Holbein's numerous portraits and their copies. Beatus Rhenanus, referred to as "the greatest observer of Erasmus" by de Thou, describes him this way: "Not tall in stature, but not noticeably short; well-built and graceful; with an extremely delicate constitution, sensitive to even slight changes in climate, food, or drink. After middle age, he suffered from kidney stones, alongside the common ailment of intellectuals—a sensitive mucous membrane. His complexion was fair, with light blue eyes and yellowish hair. Though he had a weak voice, he spoke clearly; his facial expression was cheerful, and his manner and conversation were polished, friendly, and even charming." His highly sensitive nature made his feelings intense, and his mind was constantly active. He had a natural empathy for all forms of life and characters, keeping his attention always engaged. The energy of his spirit was directed not at dwelling on his own thoughts but in keen observation of the world around him. No one was less introspective than he was, and although he often spoke about himself, his self-focus was warm and inviting, taking the world into his confidence rather than being the selfish kind that only cares about its own troubles. He honestly stated that he was "incapable of dissimulation" (Ep. xxvi. 19; 1152). There was no pretense, no façade. It could be said of his letters that they reveal “the entirety of the old man's life.” His character was adaptable without being weak. He experienced many moods, and each one left its mark on his words. Therefore, at first glance, Erasmus might seem like the most inconsistent man. However, a deeper understanding reveals a unity of character beneath this sensitivity to immediate impressions. His apparent inconsistencies can be reconciled not through intellectual reasoning but by the multifaceted nature of his highly impressionable character. In the words of J. Nisard, Erasmus was one of those “whose glory was to understand a great deal and assert little.”
This equal openness to every vibration of his environment is the key to all Erasmus’s acts and words, and among them to the middle attitude which he took up towards the great religious conflict of his time. The reproaches of party assailed him in his lifetime, and have continued to be heaped upon his memory. He was loudly accused by the Catholics of collusion with the enemies of the faith. His powerful friends, the pope, Wolsey, Henry VIII., the emperor, called upon him to declare against Luther. Theological historians from that time forward have perpetuated the indictment that Erasmus sided with neither party in the struggle for religious truth. The most moderate form of the censure presents him in the odious light of a trimmer; the vulgar and venomous assailant is sure that Erasmus was a Protestant at heart, but withheld the avowal that he might not forfeit the worldly advantages he enjoyed as a Catholic. When by study of his writings we come to know Erasmus intimately, there is revealed to us one of those natures to which partisanship is an impossibility. It was not timidity or weakness which kept Erasmus neutral, but the reasonableness of his nature. It was not only that his intellect revolted against the narrowness of party, his whole being repudiated its clamorous and vulgar excesses. As he loathed fish, so he loathed clerical fanaticism. Himself a Catholic priest—“the glory of the priesthood and the shame”—the tone of the orthodox clergy was distasteful to him; the ignorant hostility to classical learning which reigned in their colleges and convents disgusted him. In common with all the learned men of his age, he wished to see the power of the clergy broken, as that of an obscurantist army arrayed against light. He had employed all his resources of wit and satire against the priests and monks, and the superstitions in which they traded, long before Luther’s name was heard of. The motto which was already current in his lifetime, “that Erasmus laid the egg and Luther hatched it,” is so far true, and no more. Erasmus would have suppressed the monasteries, put an end to the domination 731 of the clergy, and swept away scandalous and profitable abuses, but to attack the church or re-mould received theology was far from his thoughts. And when out of Luther’s revolt there arose a new fanaticism—that of evangelism, Erasmus recoiled from the violence of the new preachers. “Is it for this,” he writes to Melanchthon (Ep. xix. 113; 703), “that we have shaken off bishops and popes, that we may come under the yoke of such madmen as Otto and Farel?” Passages have been collected, and it is an easy task, from the writings of Erasmus to prove that he shared the doctrines of the Reformers. Passages equally strong might be culled to show that he repudiated them. The truth is that theological questions in themselves had no attraction for him. And when a theological position was emphasized by party passion it became odious to him. In the words of Drummond: “Erasmus was in his own age the apostle of common sense and of rational religion. He did not care for dogma, and accordingly the dogmas of Rome, which had the consent of the Christian world, were in his eyes preferable to the dogmas of Protestantism.... From the beginning to the end of his career he remained true to the purpose of his life, which was to fight the battle of sound learning and plain common sense against the powers of ignorance and superstition, and amid all the convulsions of that period he never once lost his mental balance.”
This equal openness to every vibe in his surroundings is the key to all of Erasmus's actions and words, especially regarding his moderate stance during the major religious conflict of his time. He faced accusations from both sides during his life, and these criticisms have continued after his death. Catholics loudly accused him of being in league with the faith's enemies. His influential friends, including the pope, Wolsey, Henry VIII, and the emperor, pressured him to take a stand against Luther. Theological historians since then have repeated the claim that Erasmus didn't side with either faction in the fight for religious truth. The mildest form of criticism paints him as a flip-flopper; the more extreme critics insist he was secretly a Protestant but held back on declaring it to keep the benefits that came with being a Catholic. Once we study his writings and get to know Erasmus deeply, we see someone for whom taking sides is impossible. It wasn't fear or weakness that kept him neutral, but rather the rationality of his character. His intellect didn't just reject the narrow-mindedness of partisanship; his entire being rejected its noisy and crude extremes. Just as he hated fish, so he detested clerical fanaticism. As a Catholic priest—being “the glory of the priesthood and the shame”—he found the orthodox clergy's tone distasteful. Their ignorant contempt for classical learning in their schools and convents disgusted him. Like many educated people of his time, he wanted to see the power of the clergy diminished, as if they were an army blocking out the light of knowledge. Long before Luther was known, he had used his wit and satire against priests, monks, and the superstitions they promoted. The saying that “Erasmus laid the egg and Luther hatched it” holds some truth but is only partially accurate. Erasmus wanted to close down monasteries, end the clergy's control, and eliminate scandalous but profitable abuses, but he never considered attacking the church or reshaping accepted theology. When Luther's revolt sparked a new kind of fanaticism—evangelism—Erasmus recoiled from the extreme behavior of the new preachers. “Is this why,” he writes to Melanchthon (Ep. xix. 113; 703), “we've thrown off bishops and popes, to fall under the control of madmen like Otto and Farel?” It's easy to find quotes from Erasmus's writings that suggest he shared the Reformers' beliefs. Equally strong quotes can be selected to show that he rejected them. The fact is, theological issues in themselves didn't interest him. When a theological stance was highlighted by passionate party emotions, it became repugnant to him. As Drummond put it: “Erasmus was in his own time the apostle of common sense and rational religion. He didn't care about dogma, so the dogmas of Rome, accepted by the Christian world, were in his view better than the dogmas of Protestantism.... From the start of his career to the end, he remained committed to his life's purpose: to champion sound learning and plain common sense against ignorance and superstition, and throughout all the upheavals of that period, he never lost his mental balance.”
Erasmus is accused of indifference. But he was far from indifferent to the progress of the revolution. He was keenly alive to its pernicious influence on the cherished interest of his life, the cause of learning. “I abhor the evangelics, because it is through them that literature is everywhere declining, and upon the point of perishing.” He had been born with the hopes of the Renaissance, with its anticipation of a new Augustan age, and had seen this fair promise blighted by the irruption of a new horde of theological polemics, worse than the old scholastics, inasmuch as they were revolutionary instead of conservative. Erasmus never flouted at religion nor even at theology as such, but only at blind and intemperate theologians.
Erasmus is accused of being indifferent. But he was far from indifferent to the progress of the revolution. He was deeply aware of its harmful impact on what he valued most in life: the cause of learning. “I detest the evangelicals because they are causing literature to decline everywhere and on the verge of extinction.” He was born amid the hopes of the Renaissance, with its promise of a new golden age, and had witnessed that bright promise tarnished by the rise of a new wave of theological debates, which were worse than the old scholastics because they were revolutionary instead of conservative. Erasmus never attacked religion or even theology itself, but he did criticize blind and reckless theologians.
In the mind of Erasmus there was no metaphysical inclination; he was a man of letters, with a general tendency to rational views on every subject which came under his pen. His was not the mind to originate, like Calvin, a new scheme of Christian thought. He is at his weakest in defending free will against Luther, and indeed he can hardly be said to enter on the metaphysical question. He treats the dispute entirely from the outside. It is impossible in reading Erasmus not to be reminded of the rationalist of the 18th century. Erasmus has been called the “Voltaire of the Renaissance.” But there is a vast difference in the relations in which they respectively stood to the church and to Christianity. Voltaire, though he did not originate, yet adopted a moral and religious scheme which he sought to substitute for the church tradition. He waged war, not only against the clergy, but against the church and its sovereigns. Erasmus drew the line at the first of these. He was not an anticipation of the 18th century; he was the man of his age, as Voltaire of his; though Erasmus did not intend it, he undoubtedly shook the ecclesiastical edifice in all its parts; and, as Melchior Adam says of him, “pontifici Romano plus nocuit jocando quam Lutherus stomachando.”
In Erasmus's mind, there was no inclination towards metaphysics; he was a scholar with a general trend towards rational views on every subject he wrote about. He wasn’t the type to create, like Calvin, a new framework of Christian thought. His arguments defending free will against Luther are at their weakest, and he barely addresses the metaphysical issue. He approaches the debate entirely from an external perspective. It's hard not to think of the rationalists of the 18th century when reading Erasmus. He has been called the “Voltaire of the Renaissance.” However, there is a significant difference in their relationships with the church and Christianity. Voltaire, although he didn’t create a new system, adopted a moral and religious framework that he tried to replace church traditions with. He fought against not just the clergy, but the church and its rulers. Erasmus drew the line at the clergy. He wasn't a precursor to the 18th century; he was a man of his time, just as Voltaire was of his. Though Erasmus didn’t mean to, he certainly disrupted the ecclesiastical structure in all its aspects; and as Melchior Adam noted about him, “he harmed the Roman Pontiff more by joking than Luther did by being angry.”
But if Erasmus was unlike the 18th century rationalist in that he did not declare war against the church, but remained a Catholic and mourned the disruption, he was yet a true rationalist in principle. The principle that reason is the one only guide of life, the supreme arbiter of all questions, politics and religion included, has its earliest and most complete exemplar in Erasmus. He does not dogmatically denounce the rights of reason, but he practically exercises them. Along with the charm of style, the great attraction of the writings of Erasmus is this unconscious freedom by which they are pervaded.
But while Erasmus was different from the 18th-century rationalists because he didn't declare war on the church, remaining a Catholic and lamenting the disruption, he truly embodied the principles of rationalism. The idea that reason is the sole guide in life, the highest authority on all matters, including politics and religion, is best exemplified in Erasmus. He doesn't strictly denounce the rights of reason; instead, he actively employs them. Coupled with his appealing style, the strong appeal of Erasmus's writings comes from this innate sense of freedom that flows through them.
It must excite our surprise that one who used his pen so freely should have escaped the pains and penalties which invariably overtook minor offenders in the same kind. For it was not only against the clergy and the monks that he kept up a ceaseless stream of satiric raillery; he treated nobles, princes and kings with equal freedom. No 18th century republican has used stronger language than has this pensioner of Charles V. “The people build cities, princes pull them down; the industry of the citizens creates wealth for rapacious lords to plunder; plebeian magistrates pass good laws for kings to violate; the people love peace, and their rulers stir up war.” Such outbursts are frequent in the Adagia. These freedoms are part cause of Erasmus’s popularity. He was here in sympathy with the secret sore of his age, and gave utterance to what all felt but none dared to whisper but he. It marks the difference between 1513 and 1669 that, in a reprint of the Julius Exclusus published in 1669 at Oxford, it was thought necessary to leave out a sentence in which the writer of that dialogue, supposed by the editor to be Erasmus, asserts the right of states to deprive and punish bad kings. It is difficult to say to what we are to ascribe his immunity from painful consequences. We have to remember that he was removed from the scene early in the reaction, before force was fully organized for the suppression of the revolution. And his popular works, the Adagia, and the Colloquia (1524), had established themselves as standard books in the more easy going age, when power, secure in its unchallenged strength, could afford to laugh with the laughers at itself. At the date of his death the Catholic revival, with its fell antipathy to art and letters, was only in its infancy; and when times became dangerous, Erasmus cautiously declined to venture out of the protection of the Empire, refusing repeated invitations to Italy and to France. “I had thought of going to Besançon,” he said, “ne non essem in ditione Caesaris” (Ep. xxx. 74; 1299). In Italy a Bembo and a Sadoleto wrote a purer Latin than Erasmus, but contented themselves with pretty phrases, and were careful to touch no living chord of feeling. In France it was necessary for a Rabelais to hide his free-thinking under a disguise of revolting and unintelligible jargon. It was only in the Empire that such liberty of speech as Erasmus used was practicable, and in the Empire Erasmus passed for a moderate man. Upon the strength of an established character for moderation he enjoyed an exceptional licence for the utterance of unwelcome truths; and in spite of his flings at the rich and powerful, he remained through life a privileged person with them.
It's surprising that someone who wrote so openly managed to avoid the consequences that usually befell lesser offenders. Not only did he constantly mock the clergy and monks, but he also criticized nobles, princes, and kings without holding back. No 18th-century republican used stronger language than this pensioner of Charles V. “The people build cities, while princes destroy them; citizens' hard work creates wealth for greedy lords to steal; common magistrates make good laws for kings to break; the people desire peace, but their rulers incite war.” Such bold statements appear frequently in the Adagia. These bold views contributed to Erasmus’s popularity as he resonated with the hidden frustrations of his time, voicing what many felt but dared not say. The contrast between 1513 and 1669 is evident, as in a reprint of the Julius Exclusus published in 1669 at Oxford, it was deemed necessary to omit a line where the presumed author, thought to be Erasmus, asserts that states have the right to remove and punish bad kings. It's hard to pinpoint why he was immune to negative repercussions. We must keep in mind that he distanced himself early in the backlash, before the forces were fully assembled to suppress the revolution. His well-known works, the Adagia and the Colloquia (1524), became standard texts in a more tolerant era, when those in power, secure in their dominance, could afford to laugh at themselves. At the time of his death, the Catholic revival, with its strong aversion to art and literature, was still emerging; and as conditions grew dangerous, Erasmus wisely chose to stay under the protection of the Empire, repeatedly declining invitations to Italy and France. “I had considered going to Besançon,” he said, “but I wouldn’t be in the jurisdiction of the Emperor” (Ep. xxx. 74; 1299). In Italy, Bembo and Sadoleto wrote purer Latin than Erasmus, yet they stuck to pretty phrases and avoided touching on any real emotions. In France, Rabelais had to disguise his free-thinking behind repulsive and incomprehensible language. Only in the Empire could Erasmus express himself with such freedom, and he was viewed as a moderate there. Thanks to his reputation for moderation, he enjoyed unusual freedom to speak unwelcome truths; despite his jabs at the wealthy and powerful, he remained privileged among them throughout his life.
But though the men of the keys and the sword let him go his way unmolested, it was otherwise with his brethren of the pen. A man who is always launching opinions must expect to be retorted on. And when these judgments were winged by epigram, and weighted by the name of Erasmus, who stood at the head of letters, a widespread exasperation was the consequence. Disraeli has not noticed Erasmus in his Quarrels of Authors, perhaps because Erasmus’s quarrels would require a volume to themselves. “So thin-skinned that a fly would draw blood,” as the prince of Carpi expressed it, he could not himself restrain his pen from sarcasm. He forgot that though it is safe to lash the dunces, he could not with equal impunity sneer at those who, though they might not have the ear of the public as he had, could yet contradict and call names. And when literary jealousy was complicated with theological differences, as in the case of the free-thinkers, or with French vanity, as in that of Budaeus, the cause of the enemy was espoused by a party and a nation. The quarrel with Budaeus was strictly a national one. Cosmopolitan as Erasmus was, to the French literati he was still the Teuton. Étienne Dolet calls him “enemy of Cicero, and jealous detractor of the French name.” The only contemporary name which could approach to a rivalry with his was that of Budaeus (Budé), who was exactly contemporary, having been born in the same year as Erasmus. Rivals in fame, they were unlike in accomplishment, each having the quality which the other wanted. Budaeus, though a Frenchman, knew Greek well; Erasmus, though a Dutchman, very imperfectly. But the Frenchman Budaeus wrote an execrable Latin style, unreadable then as now, while the Teuton Erasmus charmed the reading world with a style which, though far from good Latin, is the most delightful which the Renaissance has left us.
But even though the men of the keys and the sword let him go his way without interference, things were different with his fellow writers. A person who constantly shares opinions should expect to be challenged. And when these critiques were sharp and carried the weight of Erasmus’s name, who was at the forefront of literature, widespread irritation followed. Disraeli didn't mention Erasmus in his Quarrels of Authors, probably because Erasmus’s disputes would need a volume of their own. “So sensitive that a fly would draw blood,” as the prince of Carpi put it, he couldn't help but use sarcasm. He forgot that while it might be safe to criticize the fools, he couldn't sneer at those who, even if they didn’t have the public’s attention like he did, could still contradict and insult him. When literary envy mixed with theological disagreements, as was the case with free-thinkers, or with French pride, like with Budaeus, a faction and a nation would take up the enemy's cause. The conflict with Budaeus was purely national. Cosmopolitan as Erasmus was, to the French literary elite, he was still seen as an outsider. Étienne Dolet called him “an enemy of Cicero and a jealous detractor of the French name.” The only contemporary figure who could rival him was Budaeus (Budé), who was born in the same year as Erasmus. They were rivals in fame, but different in achievements, each lacking what the other possessed. Budaeus, although French, understood Greek well; Erasmus, though Dutch, did not know it very well. However, Budaeus wrote in an awful Latin style, unreadable then and now, while Erasmus, the Teuton, captivated the literary world with a style that, although far from perfect Latin, is one of the most delightful left to us from the Renaissance.
The style of Erasmus is, considered as Latin, incorrect, sometimes even barbarous, and far removed from any classical model. But it has qualities far above purity. The best Italian Latin is but an echo and an imitation; like the painted glass which 732 we put in our churches, it is an anachronism. Bembo, Sadoleto and the rest write purely in a dead language. Erasmus’s Latin was a living and spoken tongue. Though Erasmus had passed nearly all his life in England, France and Germany, his conversation was Latin; and the language in which he talked about common things he wrote. Hence the spontaneity and naturalness of his page, its flavour of life and not of books. He writes from himself, and not out of Cicero. Hence, too, he spoiled nothing by anxious revision in terror lest some phrase not of the golden age should escape from his pen. He confesses apologetically to Christopher Longolius (Ep. iii. 63; 402) that it was his habit to extemporize all he wrote, and that this habit was incorrigible; “effundo verius quam scribo omnia.” He complains that much reading of the works of St Jerome had spoiled his Latin; but, as Scaliger says (Scaliga 2a), “Erasmus’s language is better than St Jerome’s.” The same critic, however, thought Erasmus would have done better “if he had kept more closely to the classical models.”
The style of Erasmus is, when considered in Latin, incorrect, sometimes even clumsy, and quite far from any classical model. But it has qualities that go far beyond just purity. The best Italian Latin is merely an echo and an imitation; like the stained glass that we put in our churches, it’s out of date. Bembo, Sadoleto, and others write purely in a dead language. Erasmus’s Latin was alive and spoken. Although he spent most of his life in England, France, and Germany, his conversations were in Latin; the language he used to talk about everyday matters is the same one he wrote in. This gives his writing a spontaneity and naturalness, a sense of life rather than that of books. He writes from himself, not from Cicero. As a result, he didn’t ruin anything by overthinking and worrying that some phrase not from the golden age might slip from his pen. He admits to Christopher Longolius (Ep. iii. 63; 402) that he had a habit of writing everything off the top of his head, and that this habit was impossible to change; “I pour out everything more than I write.” He complains that reading a lot of St. Jerome’s works had damaged his Latin; but, as Scaliger points out (Scaliga 2a), “Erasmus’s language is better than St. Jerome’s.” However, this same critic believed Erasmus would have done better “if he had stuck more closely to classical models.”
In the annals of classical learning Erasmus may be regarded as constituting an intermediate stage between the humanists of the Latin Renaissance and the learned men of the age of Greek scholarship, between Angelo Poliziano and Joseph Scaliger. Erasmus, though justly styled by Muretus (Varr. Lectt. 7, 15) “eruditus sane vir, ac multae lectionis,” was not a “learned” man in the special sense of the word—not an “érudit.” He was more than this; he was the “man of letters”—the first who had appeared in Europe since the fall of the Roman empire. His acquirements were vast, and they were all brought to bear upon the life of his day. He did not make a study apart of antiquity for its own sake, but used it as an instrument of culture. He did not worship, imitate and reproduce the classics, like the Latin humanists who preceded him; he did not master them and reduce them to a special science, as did the French Hellenists who succeeded him. He edited many authors, it is true, but he had neither the means of forming a text, nor did he attempt to do so. In editing a father, or a classic, he had in view the practical utility of the general reader, not the accuracy required by the gild of scholars. “His Jerome,” says J. Scaliger, “is full of sad blunders” (Scaliga 2a). Even Julien Garnier could discover that Erasmus “falls in his haste into grievous error in his Latin version of St Basil, though his Latinity is superior to that of the other translators” (Pref. in Opp. St. Bas., 1721). It must be remembered that the commercial interests of Froben’s press led to the introduction of Erasmus’s name on many a title page when he had little to do with the book, e.g. the Latin Josephus of 1524 to which Erasmus only contributed one translation of 14 pages; or the Aristotle of 1531, of which Simon Grynaeus was the real editor. Where Erasmus excelled was in prefaces—not philological introductions to each author, but spirited appeals to the interest of the general reader, showing how an ancient book might be made to minister to modern spiritual demands.
In the history of classical learning, Erasmus can be seen as a connecting figure between the humanists of the Latin Renaissance and the scholars of the Greek revival, standing between Angelo Poliziano and Joseph Scaliger. Although Muretus referred to him as “a truly educated man, and of great reading” (Varr. Lectt. 7, 15), Erasmus wasn’t “learned” in the strictest sense—not an “érudit.” He was something more; he was the “man of letters”—the first to emerge in Europe since the fall of the Roman Empire. His knowledge was extensive, and he applied it to the issues of his time. Rather than studying antiquity for its own sake, he used it as a tool for cultural development. Unlike the Latin humanists before him who admired, imitated, and copied the classics, or the French Hellenists after him who mastered and systematized them, Erasmus edited many authors but lacked the means to create a text or even tried to. When he edited a church father or a classic, he focused on the practical use for the general reader rather than the precision valued by scholars. “His Jerome,” noted J. Scaliger, “is full of serious mistakes” (Scaliga 2a). Even Julien Garnier pointed out that Erasmus “falls into significant errors in his Latin version of St. Basil, though his Latin is superior to that of the other translators” (Pref. in Opp. St. Bas., 1721). It’s important to note that the commercial interests of Froben’s press led to the inclusion of Erasmus’s name on many title pages where he had minimal involvement, for example, the Latin Josephus of 1524, to which he only contributed a 14-page translation; or the 1531 edition of Aristotle, which Simon Grynaeus actually edited. Where Erasmus truly excelled was in his prefaces—not detailed philological introductions, but lively calls to engage the general reader, illustrating how an ancient text could address modern spiritual needs.
Of Erasmus’s works the Greek Testament is the most memorable. It has no title to be considered as a work of learning or scholarship, yet its influence upon opinion was profound and durable. It contributed more to the liberation of the human mind from the thraldom of the clergy than all the uproar and rage of Luther’s many pamphlets. As an edition of the Greek Testament it has no critical value. But it was the first, and it revealed the fact that the Vulgate, the Bible of the church, was not only a second-hand document, but in places an erroneous document. A shock was thus given to the credit of the clergy in the province of literature, equal to that which was given in the province of science by the astronomical discoveries of the 17th century. Even if Erasmus had had at his disposal the MSS. subsidia for forming a text, he had not the critical skill required to use them. He had at hand a few late Basel MSS., one of which he sent straight to press, correcting them in places by collations of others which had been sent to him by Colet in England. In four reprints, 1519, 1522, 1527, 1535, Erasmus gradually weeded out many of the typographical errors of his first edition, but the text remained essentially such as he had first printed it. The Greek text indeed was only a part of his scheme. An important feature of the volume was the new Latin version, the original being placed alongside as a guarantee of the translator’s good faith. This translation, with the justificatory notes which accompanied it, though not itself a work of critical scholarship, became the starting-point of modern exegetical science. Erasmus did nothing to solve the problem, but to him belongs the honour of having first propounded it.
Of Erasmus’s works, the Greek Testament is the most notable. It doesn't qualify as a scholarly work, but its impact on public opinion was deep and lasting. It contributed more to freeing the human mind from the control of the clergy than all of Luther’s numerous pamphlets combined. As an edition of the Greek Testament, it lacks critical value. However, it was the first, and it showed that the Vulgate, the church's Bible, was not only a secondary source but also incorrect in certain parts. This revelation dealt a significant blow to the credibility of the clergy in literature, similar to how the astronomical discoveries of the 17th century challenged their authority in science. Even if Erasmus had access to the manuscripts needed to create a text, he lacked the critical skills to utilize them effectively. He had a few late Basel manuscripts, one of which he sent directly to print, making corrections based on others that Colet had sent him from England. In the four reprints in 1519, 1522, 1527, and 1535, Erasmus gradually corrected many typographical errors from his first edition, but the text largely remained as he had originally printed it. The Greek text was only part of his plan. A significant feature of the volume was the new Latin version, which was placed alongside the original as proof of the translator’s integrity. This translation, along with its accompanying notes, though not a critical scholarly work itself, marked the beginning of modern exegetical science. Erasmus didn't solve the problem, but he deserves credit for being the first to raise it.
Besides translating and editing the New Testament, Erasmus paraphrased the whole, except the Apocalypse, between 1517 and 1524. The paraphrases were received with great applause, even by those who had little appreciation for Erasmus. In England a translation of them made in 1548 was ordered to be placed in all parish churches beside the Bible. His correspondence is perhaps the part of his works which has the most permanent value; it comprises about 3000 letters, which form an important source for the history of that period. For the same purpose his Colloquia may be consulted. They are a series of dialogues, written first for pupils in the early Paris days as formulae of polite address, but afterwards expanded into lively conversations, in which many of the topics of the day are discussed. Later in the century they were read in schools, and some of Shakespeare’s lines are direct reminiscences of Erasmus.
Besides translating and editing the New Testament, Erasmus paraphrased the entire text, except for the Apocalypse, between 1517 and 1524. His paraphrases were very well received, even by those who didn't think highly of him. In England, a translation made in 1548 was ordered to be placed in all parish churches alongside the Bible. His correspondence is probably the most valuable part of his works; it includes about 3000 letters, which are an important source for understanding that period of history. For the same purpose, his Colloquia can also be consulted. These are a series of dialogues initially written for students during his early days in Paris as formats for polite conversation, but they were later expanded into engaging discussions covering many contemporary topics. By the end of the century, they were being read in schools, and some lines by Shakespeare are direct references to Erasmus.
His complete works have been printed twice; by the Froben firm under the direction of his literary executors (9 vols., Basel, 1540); and by Leclerc at Leiden (11 vols., 1703-1706). For his life the chief contemporary sources are a Compendium vitae written by himself in 1524, and a sketch prefixed by Beatus Rhenanus to the Basel edition of 1540. Of his writings he gives an account in his Catalogus lucubrationum, composed first in January 1523 and enlarged in September 1524; and also in a letter to Hector Boece of Aberdeen, written in 1530. An elaborate bibliography, entitled Bibliotheca Erasmiana, was undertaken by the officials of the Ghent University Library; it is divided into three sections, for Erasmus’s writings, the books he edited, and the literature about him. Listes sommaires were issued in 1893; and since 1897 the completed volumes have been appearing at intervals. There is an excellent sketch of Erasmus’s life down to 1519 in F. Seebohm’s Oxford Reformers (3rd ed., 1887); and of the many biographies those by S. Knight (1726), J. Jortin (2 vols., 1758-1760) and R.B. Drummond (2 vols., 1873) may be mentioned. There are also two volumes (1901-1904) of translations by F.M. Nichols from Erasmus’s letters down to 1517, with an ample commentary which amounts almost to a biography; and an edition of the letters, in Latin, was begun by the Oxford University Press in 1906 (vol. ii., 1910).
His complete works have been published twice: first by the Froben firm under the guidance of his literary executors (9 vols., Basel, 1540); and then by Leclerc in Leiden (11 vols., 1703-1706). For information about his life, the main contemporary sources are a Compendium vitae he wrote himself in 1524, and a sketch that Beatus Rhenanus included in the Basel edition from 1540. He details his writings in his Catalogus lucubrationum, which he first composed in January 1523 and expanded in September 1524; and also in a letter to Hector Boece of Aberdeen, written in 1530. An extensive bibliography titled Bibliotheca Erasmiana was created by the officials at the Ghent University Library; it is divided into three sections: Erasmus’s writings, the books he edited, and the literature about him. Listes sommaires were published in 1893; and since 1897, the completed volumes have been released at intervals. There's a great overview of Erasmus’s life up to 1519 in F. Seebohm’s Oxford Reformers (3rd ed., 1887); and among the many biographies, those by S. Knight (1726), J. Jortin (2 vols., 1758-1760), and R.B. Drummond (2 vols., 1873) stand out. Additionally, F.M. Nichols published two volumes (1901-1904) of translations from Erasmus’s letters up to 1517, accompanied by a comprehensive commentary that nearly serves as a biography; an edition of the letters in Latin was started by the Oxford University Press in 1906 (vol. ii., 1910).
ERASTUS, THOMAS (1524-1583), German-Swiss theologian, whose surname was Lüber, Lieber, or Liebler, was born of poor parents on the 7th of September 1524, probably at Baden, canton of Aargau, Switzerland. In 1540 he was studying theology at Basel. The plague of 1544 drove him to Bologna and thence to Padua as student of philosophy and medicine. In 1553 he became physician to the count of Henneberg, Saxe-Meiningen, and in 1558 held the same post with the elector-palatine, Otto Heinrich, being at the same time professor of medicine at Heidelberg. His patron’s successor, Frederick III., made him (1559) a privy councillor and member of the church consistory. In theology he followed Zwingli, and at the sacramentarian conferences of Heidelberg (1560) and Maulbronn (1564) he advocated by voice and pen the Zwinglian doctrine of the Lord’s Supper, replying (1565) to the counter arguments of the Lutheran Johann Marbach, of Strassburg. He ineffectually resisted the efforts of the Calvinists, led by Caspar Olevianus, to introduce the Presbyterian polity and discipline, which were established at Heidelberg in 1570, on the Genevan model. One of the first acts of the new church system was to excommunicate Erastus on a charge of Socinianism, founded on his correspondence with Transylvania. The ban was not removed till 1575, Erastus declaring his firm adhesion to the doctrine of the Trinity. His position, however, was uncomfortable, and in 1580 he returned to Basel, where in 1583 he was made professor of ethics. He died on the 31st of December 1583. He published several pieces bearing on medicine, astrology and alchemy, and attacking the system of Paracelsus. His name is permanently associated with a posthumous publication, written in 1568. Its immediate occasion was the disputation at Heidelberg (1568) for the doctorate of theology by George Wither or Withers, an English Puritan (subsequently archdeacon of Colchester), silenced (1565) at Bury St Edmunds 733 by Archbishop Parker. Withers had proposed a disputation against vestments, which the university would not allow; his thesis affirming the excommunicating power of the presbytery was sustained. Hence the treatise of Erastus. It was published (1589) by Giacomo Castelvetri, who had married his widow, with the title Explicatio gravissimae quaestionis utrum excommunicatio, quatenus religionem intelligentes et amplexantes, a sacramentorum usu, propter admissum facinus arcet, mandato nitatur divino, an excogitata sit ab hominibus. The work bears the imprint Pesclavii (i.e. Poschiavo in the Grisons) but was printed by John Wolfe in London, where Castelvetri was staying; the name of the alleged printer is an anagram of Jacobum Castelvetrum. In the Stationers’ Register (June 20, 1589) the printing is said to have been “alowed” by Archbishop Whitgift. It consists of seventy-five Theses, followed by a Confirmatio in six books, and an appendix of letters to Erastus by Bullinger and Gualther, showing that his Theses, written in 1568, had been circulated in manuscript. An English translation of the Theses, with brief life of Erastus (based on Melchior Adam’s account), was issued in 1659, entitled The Nullity of Church Censures; it was reprinted as A Treatise of Excommunication (1682), and, as revised by Robert Lee, D.D., in 1844. The aim of the work is to show, on Scriptural grounds, that sins of professing Christians are to be punished by civil authority, and not by withholding of sacraments on the part of the clergy. In the Westminster Assembly a party holding this view included Selden, Lightfoot, Coleman and Whitelocke, whose speech (1645) is appended to Lee’s version of the Theses; but the opposite view, after much controversy, was carried, Lightfoot alone dissenting. The consequent chapter of the Westminster Confession (“Of Church Censures”) was, however, not ratified by the English parliament. “Erastianism,” as a by-word, is used to denote the doctrine of the supremacy of the state in ecclesiastical causes; but the problem of the relations between church and state is one on which Erastus nowhere enters. What is known as “Erastianism” would be better connected with the name of Grotius. The only direct reply made to the Explicatio was the Tractatus de vera excommunicatione (1590) by Theodore Beza, who found himself rather savagely attacked in the Confirmatio thesium; e.g. “Apostolum et Mosen adeoque Deum ipsum audes corrigere.”
ERASTUS, THOMAS (1524-1583), a German-Swiss theologian, whose last names included Lüber, Lieber, or Liebler, was born to poor parents on September 7, 1524, likely in Baden, canton of Aargau, Switzerland. By 1540, he was studying theology at Basel. The plague in 1544 forced him to Bologna, and then to Padua, where he studied philosophy and medicine. In 1553, he became the physician to the count of Henneberg, Saxe-Meiningen, and in 1558, he held the same position with Elector Palatine Otto Heinrich, while also serving as a professor of medicine at Heidelberg. His patron’s successor, Frederick III, appointed him (1559) as a privy councillor and member of the church consistory. In theology, he followed Zwingli and advocated the Zwinglian doctrine of the Lord’s Supper during the sacramentarian conferences at Heidelberg (1560) and Maulbronn (1564), responding (1565) to the counterarguments from the Lutheran Johann Marbach of Strasbourg. He unsuccessfully resisted the Calvinists, led by Caspar Olevianus, who aimed to implement Presbyterian governance and discipline, which was established at Heidelberg in 1570 based on the Genevan model. One of the first actions of this new church system was to excommunicate Erastus on a charge of Socinianism due to his correspondence with Transylvania. The excommunication wasn't lifted until 1575, with Erastus affirming his strong commitment to the doctrine of the Trinity. However, his position was uncomfortable, and in 1580 he returned to Basel, where he became a professor of ethics in 1583. He died on December 31, 1583. He published several works on medicine, astrology, and alchemy, as well as critiques of Paracelsus. His name is notably linked to a posthumous publication written in 1568. This work was prompted by the disputation at Heidelberg (1568) for the doctorate in theology by George Wither or Withers, an English Puritan (later the archdeacon of Colchester), who had been silenced (1565) at Bury St Edmunds by Archbishop Parker. Withers had proposed a disputation against vestments that the university would not permit; his thesis affirming the presbytery's excommunicating power was accepted. Hence, Erastus wrote his treatise, published (1589) by Giacomo Castelvetri, who had married his widow, titled Explicatio gravissimae quaestionis utrum excommunicatio, quatenus religionem intelligentes et amplexantes, a sacramentorum usu, propter admissum facinus arcet, mandato nitatur divino, an excogitata sit ab hominibus. The work bears the imprint Pesclavii (i.e. Poschiavo in the Grisons) but was printed by John Wolfe in London, where Castelvetri was residing; the name of the supposed printer is an anagram of Jacobum Castelvetrum. In the Stationers’ Register (June 20, 1589), the printing is noted as having been “allowed” by Archbishop Whitgift. It consists of seventy-five Theses, followed by a Confirmatio in six books, and an appendix of letters to Erastus from Bullinger and Gualther, indicating that his Theses, written in 1568, had circulated in manuscript. An English translation of the Theses, along with a brief biography of Erastus (based on Melchior Adam’s account), was published in 1659, named The Nullity of Church Censures; it was reprinted as A Treatise of Excommunication (1682), and later revised by Robert Lee, D.D., in 1844. The purpose of the work is to argue, based on Scripture, that the sins of professing Christians should be punished by civil authorities, rather than through the withholding of sacraments by clergy. In the Westminster Assembly, a faction holding this view included Selden, Lightfoot, Coleman, and Whitelocke, whose speech (1645) is attached to Lee’s version of the Theses; however, after much debate, the opposing view prevailed, with Lightfoot being the sole dissenter. The resulting chapter of the Westminster Confession (“Of Church Censures”) was not ratified by the English parliament. “Erastianism,” as a term, is used to describe the doctrine of the state’s supremacy in church matters; however, the issue of the relationship between church and state is one that Erastus does not address. What is termed “Erastianism” would be more appropriately linked to the name of Grotius. The only direct response to the Explicatio was the Tractatus de vera excommunicatione (1590) by Theodore Beza, who was rather harshly criticized in the Confirmatio thesium; for example, “Apostolum et Mosen adeoque Deum ipsum audes corrigere.”
See A. Bonnard, Thomas Éraste et la discipline ecclésiastique (1894); Gass, in Allgemeine deutsche Biog. (1877); G.V. Lechler and R. Stähelin, in A. Hauck’s Realencyklop. für prot. Theol. u. Kirche (1898).
See A. Bonnard, Thomas Éraste and Ecclesiastical Discipline (1894); Gass, in General German Biography (1877); G.V. Lechler and R. Stähelin, in A. Hauck’s Real Encyclopedia for Protestant Theology and Church (1898).
ERATOSTHENES OF ALEXANDRIA (c. 276-c. 194 B.C.), Greek scientific writer, was born at Cyrene. He studied grammar under Callimachus at Alexandria, and philosophy under the Stoic Ariston and the Academic Arcesilaus at Athens. He returned to Alexandria at the summons of Ptolemy III. Euergetes, by whom he was appointed chief librarian in place of Callimachus. He is said to have died of voluntary starvation, being threatened with total blindness. Eratosthenes was one of the most learned men of antiquity, and wrote on a great number of subjects. He was the first to call himself Philologos (in the sense of the “friend of learning”), and the name Pentathlos was bestowed upon him in honour of his varied accomplishments. He was also called Beta as being second in all branches of learning, though not actually first in any. In mathematics he wrote two books On means (Περὶ μεσοτήτων) which are lost, but appear, from a remark of Pappus, to have dealt with “loci with reference to means.” He devised a mechanical construction for two mean proportionals, reproduced by Pappus and Eutocius (Comm. on Archimedes). His κόσκινον or sieve (cribrum Eratosthenis) was a device for discovering all prime numbers. He laid the foundation of mathematical geography in his Geographica, in three books. His greatest achievement was his measurement of the earth. Being informed that at Syene (Assuan), on the day of the summer solstice at noon, a well was lit up through all its depth, so that Syene lay on the tropic, he measured, at the same hour, the zenith distance of the sun at Alexandria. He thus found the distance between Syene and Alexandria (known to be 5000 stadia) to correspond to 1⁄50th of a great circle, and so arrived at 250,000 stadia (which he seems subsequently to have corrected to 252,000) as the circumference of the earth. He is credited by Ptolemy and his commentator Theon with having found the distance between the tropics to be 11⁄83 rds. of the meridian circle, which gives 23° 51’ 20″ for the obliquity of the ecliptic. His astronomical poem Hermes began apparently with the birth and exploits of Hermes, then passed to the legend of his having ordered the heavens, the zones and the stars, and gave a history of the latter. His Erigone, of which a few fragments are also preserved, is sometimes spoken of as a separate poem, but it may have belonged to the Hermes, which appears also to have been known by other names such as Catalogi. The still extant Catasterismi, containing the story of certain stars in prose, is probably not by Eratosthenes.
ERATOSTHENES OF ALEXANDRIA (c. 276-c. 194 BCE), Greek scientific writer, was born in Cyrene. He studied grammar under Callimachus in Alexandria, and philosophy under the Stoic Ariston and the Academic Arcesilaus in Athens. He returned to Alexandria at the request of Ptolemy III Euergetes, who appointed him chief librarian, taking over from Callimachus. It is said that he died from voluntary starvation because he was threatened with total blindness. Eratosthenes was one of the most knowledgeable people of his time and wrote on a wide range of topics. He was the first to call himself Philologos (meaning “friend of learning”), and the name Pentathlos was given to him in recognition of his diverse skills. He was also referred to as Beta for being second in all areas of knowledge, though he wasn't actually first in any. In mathematics, he wrote two books titled On means (About averages), which are lost but seem to have discussed “loci concerning means,” according to a remark from Pappus. He created a mechanical method for two mean proportionals, which was reproduced by Pappus and Eutocius (in commentary on Archimedes). His sieve or sieve (cribrum Eratosthenis) was a device for identifying all prime numbers. He established the basis of mathematical geography in his work Geographica, consisting of three books. His greatest achievement was measuring the earth. He learned that at Syene (Assuan), on the summer solstice at noon, a well was illuminated throughout its depth, indicating that Syene was on the tropic. At the same time, he measured the zenith distance of the sun at Alexandria. This allowed him to determine that the distance between Syene and Alexandria (known to be 5000 stadia) corresponded to 1⁄50th of a great circle, leading him to calculate the earth's circumference at 250,000 stadia (which he seems to have later updated to 252,000). Ptolemy and his commentator Theon credit him with finding the distance between the tropics to be 11⁄83 rds. of the meridian circle, giving an obliquity of the ecliptic of 23° 51’ 20″. His astronomical poem Hermes apparently started with the birth and deeds of Hermes, then discussed the legend of him organizing the heavens, zones, and stars, and provided a history of those stars. His Erigone, of which a few fragments remain, is sometimes considered a separate poem, but it may have been part of the Hermes, which seems to have been known by other titles such as Catalogi. The surviving Catasterismi, which contains the tales of certain stars in prose, is likely not by Eratosthenes.
Eratosthenes was the founder of scientific chronology in his χρονογραφία in which he endeavoured to fix the dates of the chief literary and political events from the conquest of Troy. An important work was his treatise on the old comedy, dealing with theatres and theatrical apparatus generally, and discussing the works of the principal comic poets themselves. Works on moral philosophy, history, and a number of letters were also attributed to him.
Eratosthenes was the pioneer of scientific chronology in his chronography, where he tried to establish the dates of major literary and political events starting from the conquest of Troy. One significant work was his essay on old comedy, which covered theaters and theatrical equipment in general, and explored the works of the main comic poets. He was also credited with writings on moral philosophy, history, and several letters.
There is a complete edition of the fragments of Eratosthenes by Bernhardy (1822); poetical fragments, Hillier (1872); geographical, Seidel (1799) and Berger (1880); καταστερισμοι, Schaubach (1795) and Robert (1878). See Sandys, Hist. Class. Schol. i. (1906).
There is a complete edition of the fragments of Eratosthenes by Bernhardy (1822); poetic fragments by Hillier (1872); geographical fragments by Seidel (1799) and Berger (1880); constellations, by Schaubach (1795) and Robert (1878). See Sandys, Hist. Class. Schol. i. (1906).
ERBACH, a town of Germany, in the grand-duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt, on the Mümling, 22 m. S.E. of Darmstadt. It has cloth mills and ivory-turning, for which last branch it possesses a technical school. Wool and cattle fairs are held twice a year. Pop. 2800. The castle contains an interesting collection of weapons and pictures, and in the chapel are the coffins of Einhard, the friend and biographer of Charlemagne, and his wife, Emma.
ERBACH, is a town in Germany, located in the grand duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt, on the Mümling River, 22 miles southeast of Darmstadt. It features cloth mills and ivory turning, supported by a technical school for this craft. Wool and cattle fairs take place twice a year. The population is around 2,800. The castle has an interesting collection of weapons and artwork, and in the chapel, you'll find the coffins of Einhard, Charlemagne's friend and biographer, along with his wife, Emma.
Erbach has long been the residence of the counts of Erbach, who trace their descent back to the 12th century, and who held the office of cupbearer to the electors palatine of the Rhine until 1806. In 1532 the emperor Charles V. made the county a direct fief of the Empire, on account of the services rendered by Count Eberhard during the Peasants’ War. Since 1717 the family has been divided into the three lines of Erbach-Fürstenau, Erbach-Erbach and Erbach-Schönberg, who rank for precedence, not according to the age of their descent, but according to the age of the chief of their line. In 1818 the counts of Erbach-Erbach inherited the county of Wartenberg-Roth, and in 1903 the count of Erbach-Schönberg was granted the title of prince. The county was mediatized in 1806, and is now incorporated with the duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt.
Erbach has long been home to the counts of Erbach, who trace their lineage back to the 12th century and served as cupbearers to the electors palatine of the Rhine until 1806. In 1532, Emperor Charles V made the county a direct fief of the Empire due to Count Eberhard's contributions during the Peasants’ War. Since 1717, the family has been split into three branches: Erbach-Fürstenau, Erbach-Erbach, and Erbach-Schönberg, who are ranked for precedence based not on the age of their lineage, but on the age of the head of their branch. In 1818, the counts of Erbach-Erbach inherited the county of Wartenberg-Roth, and in 1903, the count of Erbach-Schönberg was granted the title of prince. The county was mediatized in 1806 and is now part of the duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt.
See Simon, Die Geschichte der Dynasten und Grafen zu Erbach (Frankfort, 1858).
See Simon, The History of the Lords and Counts of Erbach (Frankfurt, 1858).
ERBIUM (symbol, Er; atomic weight, 165-166), one of the metals of the rare earths. The first of the rare earth minerals was discovered in 1794 by J. Gadolin and was named gadolinite from its discoverer. In 1797 Ekeberg showed that gadolinite contained another rare earth, which was given the name yttria. Yttria is an exceedingly complex mixture, which has been decomposed, yielding as an intermediate product terbia. This latter substance in its turn has been split by J.L. Soret, P.T. Cleve, Lecoq de Boisbaudran and others into erbia, holmia, thulia and dysprosia, but it is still doubtful whether any one of these four splitting products is a single substance. The rare earth metals are found in the minerals gadolinite, samarskite, fergusonite, euxenite and cerite. They are separated from the minerals by converting them into oxalates, which by ignition give the corresponding oxides. The oxides are then converted into double sulphates which are separated from each other by repeated fractional crystallization or by fractional precipitation with ammonia or some other base. Erbium forms rose-coloured salts and a rose-coloured oxide. The oxide dissolves slowly in acids; it is not reduced by hydrogen and is infusible. The salts show a characteristic absorption spectrum.
ERBIUM (symbol, Er; atomic weight, 165-166) is one of the rare earth metals. The first rare earth mineral was discovered in 1794 by J. Gadolin and was named gadolinite after him. In 1797, Ekeberg showed that gadolinite contained another rare earth, called yttria. Yttria is a very complex mixture, which has been broken down to yield an intermediate product called terbia. This substance was further divided by J.L. Soret, P.T. Cleve, Lecoq de Boisbaudran, and others into erbia, holmia, thulia, and dysprosia, but it's still uncertain whether any of these four products is a single substance. The rare earth metals are found in minerals like gadolinite, samarskite, fergusonite, euxenite, and cerite. They are separated from these minerals by converting them into oxalates, which, when ignited, produce the corresponding oxides. The oxides are then turned into double sulfates, which are separated from one another through repeated fractional crystallization or fractional precipitation using ammonia or another base. Erbium forms rose-colored salts and a rose-colored oxide. The oxide dissolves slowly in acids, is not reduced by hydrogen, and is infusible. The salts have a distinct absorption spectrum.
See J.F. Bahr and R. Bunsen (Ann., 1866, 137, p. 1); A. v. Welsbach (Monats., 1883, 4, p. 641; 1884, 5, p. 508; 1885, 6, p. 477); P.T. Cleve (Comptes rendus, 1879, 89, p. 478; 1880, 91, pp. 328, 734 381; 1882, 95, p. 1225; Bull. de la soc. chim., 1874, 21, p. 196; 1883, 39, p. 287); C. Marignac (Ann. Chim. phys., 1849 [3] 27, p. 226); B. Brauner (Monats., 1882, 3, p. 13); W. Crookes (Proc. Roy. Soc., 1886, 40, p. 502); Lecoq de Boisbaudran (Comptes rendus, 1886, 102, p. 1005); A. Bettendorf (Ann., 1892, 270, p. 376); M. Muthmann (Ber., 1898, 31, p. 1718; 1900, 33, p. 42); G. Krüss (Zeit. f. anorg. Chem., 1893, 3, p. 108).
See J.F. Bahr and R. Bunsen (Ann., 1866, 137, p. 1); A. v. Welsbach (Monats., 1883, 4, p. 641; 1884, 5, p. 508; 1885, 6, p. 477); P.T. Cleve (Comptes rendus, 1879, 89, p. 478; 1880, 91, pp. 328, 734 381; 1882, 95, p. 1225; Bull. de la soc. chim., 1874, 21, p. 196; 1883, 39, p. 287); C. Marignac (Ann. Chim. phys., 1849 [3] 27, p. 226); B. Brauner (Monats., 1882, 3, p. 13); W. Crookes (Proc. Roy. Soc., 1886, 40, p. 502); Lecoq de Boisbaudran (Comptes rendus, 1886, 102, p. 1005); A. Bettendorf (Ann., 1892, 270, p. 376); M. Muthmann (Ber., 1898, 31, p. 1718; 1900, 33, p. 42); G. Krüss (Zeit. f. anorg. Chem., 1893, 3, p. 108).
ERCILLA Y ZÚNIGA, ALONSO DE (1533-1595), Spanish soldier and poet, was born in Madrid on the 7th of August 1533. In 1548 he was appointed page to the heir-apparent, afterwards Philip II. In this capacity Ercilla visited Italy, Germany and the Netherlands, and was present in 1554 at the marriage of his master to Mary of England. Hearing that an expedition was preparing to subdue the Araucanians of Chile, he joined the adventurers. He distinguished himself in the ensuing campaign; but, having quarrelled with a comrade, he was condemned to death in 1558 by his general, Garcia Hurtado de Mendoza. The sentence was commuted to imprisonment, but Ercilla was speedily released and fought at the battle of Quipeo (14th of December 1558). He returned to Spain in 1562, visited Italy, France, Germany, Bohemia, and in 1570 married Maria de Bazán, a lady distantly connected with the Santa Cruz family; in 1571 he was made knight of the order of Santiago, and in 1578 he was employed by Philip II. on a mission to Saragossa. He complained of living in poverty but left a modest fortune, and was obviously disappointed at not being offered the post of secretary of state. His principal work is La Araucana, a poem based on the events of the wars in which he had been engaged. It consists of three parts, of which the first, composed in Chile and published in 1569, is a versified narrative adhering strictly to historic fact; the second, published in 1578, is encumbered with visions and other romantic machinery; and the third, which appeared in 1589-1590, contains, in addition to the subject proper, a variety of episodes mostly irrelevant. This so-called epic lacks symmetry, and has been over-praised by Cervantes and Voltaire; but it is written in excellent Spanish, and is full of vivid rhetorical passages. An analysis of the poem was given by Hayley in his Essay on Epic Poetry (1782).
ERCILLA Y ZÚNIGA, ALONSO DE (1533-1595), a Spanish soldier and poet, was born in Madrid on August 7, 1533. In 1548, he became a page to the heir-apparent, who later became Philip II. During this time, Ercilla traveled to Italy, Germany, and the Netherlands, and he witnessed the marriage of his master to Mary of England in 1554. When he learned about an expedition to conquer the Araucanians in Chile, he decided to join the adventurers. Ercilla made a name for himself during the campaign; however, after having a dispute with a colleague, he was sentenced to death in 1558 by his general, Garcia Hurtado de Mendoza. The sentence was changed to imprisonment, but he was quickly released and fought at the battle of Quipeo on December 14, 1558. He returned to Spain in 1562, explored Italy, France, Germany, and Bohemia, and married Maria de Bazán in 1570, who was distantly related to the Santa Cruz family. In 1571, he became a knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1578, Philip II assigned him a mission to Saragossa. Although he complained about living in poverty, he left behind a modest fortune and felt disappointed not to be offered the position of secretary of state. His main work is La Araucana, a poem inspired by the events of the wars he participated in. It consists of three parts: the first, written in Chile and published in 1569, is a verse narrative that strictly adheres to historical facts; the second, published in 1578, includes visions and other romantic elements; and the third, released between 1589-1590, contains various episodes that are mostly unrelated to the main subject. This so-called epic lacks balance and has been overly praised by Cervantes and Voltaire; however, it is written in excellent Spanish and is filled with powerful rhetorical passages. Hayley provided an analysis of the poem in his Essay on Epic Poetry (1782).
A good biography precedes the Morceaux choisis (Paris, 1900) by Jean Ducamin.
A good biography comes before the Morceaux choisis (Paris, 1900) by Jean Ducamin.
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN, the joint names of two French writers whose collaboration made their work that of, so to speak, one personality. Émile Erckmann (1822-1899) was born on the 20th of May 1822 at Phalsbourg, and Louis Gratien Charles Alexandre Chatrian (1826-1890) on the 18th of December 1826 at Soldatenthal, Lorraine. In 1847 they began to write together, and continued doing so till 1889. Chatrian died in 1890 at Villemomble near Paris, and Erckmann at Lunéville in 1899. The list of their publications is a long one, ranging from the Histoires et contes fantastiques (1849; reprinted from the Démocrate du Rhin), L’Illustre Docteur Mathéus (1859), Madame Thérèse (1863), L’Ami Fritz (1864), Histoire d’un conscrit de 1813 (1864), Waterloo (1865), Le Blocus (1867), Histoire d’un paysan (4 vols., 1868-1870), L’Histoire du plébiscite (1872), to Le Grand-père Lebigue (1880); besides dramas like Le Juif polonais (1869) and Les Rantzau (1882). Without any special literary claim, their stories are distinguished by simplicity and genuine descriptive power, particularly in the battle scenes and in connexion with Alsatian peasant life. They are marked by a genuine democratic spirit, and by real patriotism, which developed after 1870 into hatred of the Germans. The authors attacked militarism by depicting the horrors of war in the plainest terms.
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN, the combined names of two French writers whose partnership made their work feel like it came from a single voice. Émile Erckmann (1822-1899) was born on May 20, 1822, in Phalsbourg, and Louis Gratien Charles Alexandre Chatrian (1826-1890) was born on December 18, 1826, in Soldatenthal, Lorraine. They started writing together in 1847 and continued until 1889. Chatrian passed away in 1890 in Villemomble near Paris, and Erckmann died in Lunéville in 1899. Their list of publications is extensive, including Histoires et contes fantastiques (1849; reprinted from the Démocrate du Rhin), L’Illustre Docteur Mathéus (1859), Madame Thérèse (1863), L’Ami Fritz (1864), Histoire d’un conscrit de 1813 (1864), Waterloo (1865), Le Blocus (1867), Histoire d’un paysan (4 vols., 1868-1870), L’Histoire du plébiscite (1872), and Le Grand-père Lebigue (1880); in addition to plays like Le Juif polonais (1869) and Les Rantzau (1882). While their works may not have specific literary greatness, their stories stand out for their simplicity and authentic descriptive strength, especially regarding battle scenes and Alsatian peasant life. They are characterized by a genuine democratic spirit and true patriotism, which turned into a strong resentment towards the Germans after 1870. The authors criticized militarism by portraying the horrors of war in straightforward language.
See also J. Claretie, Erckmann-Chatrian (1883), in the series of “Célébrités contemporaines.”
See also J. Claretie, Erckmann-Chatrian (1883), in the series of “Célébrités contemporaines.”
ERDÉLYI, JÁNOS (1814-1868), Hungarian poet and author, was born in 1814 at Kapos, in the county of Ungvár, and educated at the Protestant college of Sárospatak. In 1833 he removed to Pest, where he was, in 1839, elected member of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. His literary fame was made by his collection of Hungarian national poems and folk-tales, Magyar Népköltési Gyüjtemény, Népdalok és Mondák (Pest, 1846-1847). This work, published by the Kisfaludy Society, was supplemented by a dissertation upon Hungarian national poetry, afterwards partially translated into German by Stier (Berlin, 1851). Erdélyi also compiled for the Kisfaludy Society an extensive collection of Hungarian proverbs—Magyar Közmondások könyve (Pest, 1851),—and was for some time editor of the Szépirodalmi Szemle (Review of Polite Literature). In 1848 he was appointed director of the national theatre at Pest; but after 1849 he resided at his native town. He died on the 23rd of January 1868. A collection of folklore was published the year after his death, entitled A Nép Koltészete népdalok, népmesék és közmondások (Pest, 1869). This work contains 300 national songs, 19 folk-tales and 7362 Hungarian proverbs.
ERDÉLYI, JÁNOS (1814-1868), Hungarian poet and author, was born in 1814 in Kapos, Ungvár County, and studied at the Protestant college in Sárospatak. In 1833, he moved to Pest, where he was elected to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in 1839. He gained literary fame with his collection of Hungarian national poems and folk tales, Magyar Népköltési Gyüjtemény, Népdalok és Mondák (Pest, 1846-1847). This work, published by the Kisfaludy Society, was accompanied by a dissertation on Hungarian national poetry, which was later partially translated into German by Stier (Berlin, 1851). Erdélyi also compiled an extensive collection of Hungarian proverbs for the Kisfaludy Society, titled Magyar Közmondások könyve (Pest, 1851), and served for some time as the editor of the Szépirodalmi Szemle (Review of Polite Literature). In 1848, he was appointed director of the national theatre in Pest, but after 1849, he returned to his hometown. He died on January 23, 1868. A collection of folklore was published the year after his death, titled A Nép Koltészete népdalok, népmesék és közmondások (Pest, 1869). This work includes 300 national songs, 19 folk tales, and 7362 Hungarian proverbs.
ERDMANN, JOHANN EDUARD (1805-1892), German philosophical writer, was born at Wolmar in Livonia on the 13th of June 1805. He studied theology at Dorpat and afterwards at Berlin, where he fell under the influence of Hegel. From 1829 to 1832 he was a minister of religion in his native town. Afterwards he devoted himself to philosophy, and qualified in that subject at Berlin in 1834. In 1836 he was professor-extraordinary at Halle, became full professor in 1839, and died there on the 12th of June 1892. He published many philosophical text-books and treatises, and a number of sermons; but his chief claim to remembrance rests on his elaborate Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie (2 vols., 1866), the 3rd edition of which has been translated into English. Erdmann’s special merit is that he does not rest content with being a mere summarizer of opinions, but tries to exhibit the history of human thought as a continuous and ever-developing effort to solve the great speculative problems with which man has been confronted in all ages. His chief other works were: Leib und Seele (1837), Grundriss der Psychologie (1840), Grundriss der Logik und Metaphysik (1841), and Psychologische Briefe (1851).
ERDMANN, JOHANN EDUARD (1805-1892), German philosopher and writer, was born in Wolmar, Livonia, on June 13, 1805. He studied theology in Dorpat and later in Berlin, where he was influenced by Hegel. From 1829 to 1832, he served as a minister in his hometown. Afterwards, he dedicated himself to philosophy, earning his qualifications in that field in Berlin in 1834. By 1836, he was an extraordinary professor at Halle, became a full professor in 1839, and died there on June 12, 1892. He published numerous philosophical textbooks and essays, as well as several sermons; however, he is mainly remembered for his detailed Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie (2 vols., 1866), the third edition of which has been translated into English. Erdmann's notable achievement is that he goes beyond merely summarizing ideas; he seeks to present the history of human thought as a continuous and evolving effort to address the significant philosophical questions that humanity has faced throughout history. His other major works include: Leib und Seele (1837), Grundriss der Psychologie (1840), Grundriss der Logik und Metaphysik (1841), and Psychologische Briefe (1851).
ERDMANN, OTTO LINNÉ (1804-1869), German chemist, son of Karl Gottfried Erdmann (1774-1835), the physician who introduced vaccination into Saxony, was born at Dresden on the 11th of April 1804. In 1820 he began to attend the medico-chirurgical academy of his native place, and in 1822 he entered the university of Leipzig where in 1827 he became extraordinary professor, and in 1830 ordinary professor of chemistry. This office he held until his death, which happened at Leipzig on the 9th of October 1869. He was particularly successful as a teacher, and the laboratory established at Leipzig under his direction in 1843 was long regarded as a model institution. As an investigator he is best known for his work on nickel and indigo and other dye-stuffs. With R.F. Marchand (1813-1850) he also carried out a number of determinations of atomic weights. In 1828, in conjunction with A.F.G. Werther (1815-1869), he founded the Journal für technische und ökonomische Chemie, which became in 1834 the Journal für praktische Chemie. He was also the author of Über das Nickel (1827), Lehrbuch der Chemie (1828), Grundriss der Waarenkunde (1833), and Über das Studium der Chemie (1861).
ERDMANN, OTTO LINNÉ (1804-1869), German chemist, son of Karl Gottfried Erdmann (1774-1835), the doctor who introduced vaccination in Saxony, was born in Dresden on April 11, 1804. In 1820, he started attending the med-chirurgical academy in his hometown, and in 1822 he enrolled at Leipzig University, where he became an extraordinary professor in 1827 and an ordinary professor of chemistry in 1830. He held this position until his death on October 9, 1869, in Leipzig. He was especially successful as a teacher, and the laboratory established in Leipzig under his guidance in 1843 was long considered a model institution. He is most recognized for his research on nickel and indigo and other dyes. With R.F. Marchand (1813-1850), he also conducted several atomic weight determinations. In 1828, along with A.F.G. Werther (1815-1869), he founded the Journal für technische und ökonomische Chemie, which became the Journal für praktische Chemie in 1834. He also authored Über das Nickel (1827), Lehrbuch der Chemie (1828), Grundriss der Waarenkunde (1833), and Über das Studium der Chemie (1861).
EREBUS, in Greek mythology, son (according to Hesiod, Theog. 123) of Chaos, and father of Aether (upper air) and Hemera (day) by his sister Nyx (night). The word, which signifies darkness, is in Homer the gloomy subterranean region through which the departed shades pass into Hades. The entrance to it was in the extreme west, on the borders of Ocean, in the mythical land of the Cimmerians. It is to be distinguished from Tartarus, the place of punishment for the wicked.
EREBUS, in Greek mythology, is the son (as Hesiod states, Theog. 123) of Chaos, and the father of Aether (the upper air) and Hemera (day) by his sister Nyx (night). The term, which means darkness, refers to the dim underground area that Homer describes as the passage for the souls into Hades. Its entrance was located in the far west, on the edge of Ocean, in the legendary land of the Cimmerians. It’s important to differentiate it from Tartarus, which is a place of punishment for the wicked.
ERECH (Uruk in the Babylonian inscriptions; Gr. Orchoë), the Biblical name of an ancient city of Babylonia, situated E. of the present bed of the Euphrates, on the line of the ancient Nil canal, in a region of marshes, about 140 m. S.S.E. from Bagdad. It was one of the oldest and most important cities of Babylonia, and the site of a famous temple, called E-Anna, dedicated to the worship of Nana, or Ishtar. Erech played a very important part in the political history of the country from an early time, exercising hegemony in Babylonia at a period before the time of Sargon. Later it was prominent in the national struggles of the Babylonians against Elam (2000 B.C. and earlier), in which it suffered severely; recollections of these conflicts are embodied in the Gilgamesh epic, as it has come down to us 735 through the library of Assur-bani-pal. Erech enjoyed much distinction in the later times, as a seat of learning and of the worship of Ishtar, and Assur-bani-pal drew largely on its literary stores for his library at Nineveh, from which we derive our principal information concerning ancient Babylonian literature. The inscriptions found here show that it continued in existence through the Persian and Seleucid periods. The ruins of the ancient site, known as Warka, which are among the largest in all Babylonia, forming an irregular circle nearly 6 m. in circumference, bounded by a wall, still standing in some places to the height of 40 ft., were explored and partially excavated by W.K. Loftus in 1850 and 1854. The most conspicuous ruin, now called Abu-Berdi, “Father of Marsh Grass,” or Buwariye, “reed matting,” because of the layers of reeds between each twelve courses of unbaked brick, is the ziggurat (tower) of the ancient temple of E-Anna. It is about 100 ft. in height, and strikingly resembles in general appearance the ruins of the ziggurat of the temple of Enlil at Nippur. Second to this in size was the ruin called Wuswas, a walled quadrangle, including an area of more than seven and a half acres, within which was an edifice 246 ft. long and 174 ft. wide, elevated on an artificial platform 50 ft. in height. The south-west façade, still standing in some places to the height of 23 ft., exhibited an interesting use of half columns, and stepped recesses for purposes of decoration. In another ruin Loftus found a wall, 30 ft. long, composed entirely of small yellow terra-cotta nail-headed cones, such as have been discovered in great numbers, inscribed and uninscribed, used for votive purposes in connexion with walls at Tello and elsewhere in Babylonia. His excavations being superficial, the Babylonian inscriptions found by him, about one hundred in all, exclusive of the ancient Ur-Gur bricks from the temple, belong in general to the neo-Babylonian, Persian and Seleucid periods. The older remains are buried deep beneath the huge mass of later debris. Loftus also discovered at Erech, almost everywhere within and without the walls, great numbers of clay coffins, piled one above another, to the height of over 30 ft., forming a vast and, on the whole, well-ordered cemetery belonging to the Persian, Parthian and later occupations of Babylonia, during which period Erech, like other cities of the south, evidently became a necropolis for a large extent of country. After Loftus’s time the mounds were visited by various travellers, but no further excavations have been conducted. Work on this important part of the site is attended with very great difficulties, owing to the inaccessible position of the ruins, the unsettled character of the country, the frequent sand-storms, and above all, the immense mass of material of later periods which must be removed before a systematic excavation of the more ancient and interesting ruins could be undertaken. A curious feature of the Warka neighbourhood is the existence of conical sand-hills, rising to a considerable height, so compact as to be almost like stone. These hills extend from Warka northward as far as Tel Ede.
ERECH (Uruk in Babylonian inscriptions; Gr. Orchoë), the Biblical name of an ancient city in Babylonia, located east of the current Euphrates riverbed, along the ancient Nil canal, in a marshy area about 140 miles southeast of Baghdad. It was one of the oldest and most significant cities in Babylonia and the site of a famous temple, called E-Anna, dedicated to the worship of Nana, or Ishtar. Erech played a crucial role in the political history of the region from early on, holding power in Babylonia before the time of Sargon. Later, it was significant in the national conflicts of the Babylonians against Elam (2000 BCE and earlier), during which it suffered greatly; memories of these battles are captured in the Gilgamesh epic, which we know from the library of Assur-bani-pal. Erech upheld considerable prestige in later times as a center of learning and worship of Ishtar, and Assur-bani-pal extensively utilized its literary resources for his library at Nineveh, from which we obtain our main information about ancient Babylonian literature. The inscriptions discovered here indicate that it persisted through the Persian and Seleucid periods. The ruins of the ancient site, known as Warka, are among the largest in all of Babylonia, forming an irregular circle nearly 6 miles in circumference, surrounded by a wall that still stands in some places to a height of 40 feet. These ruins were explored and partially excavated by W.K. Loftus in 1850 and 1854. The most notable ruin, now called Abu-Berdi, “Father of Marsh Grass,” or Buwariye, “reed matting,” due to the layers of reeds between each twelve courses of unbaked brick, is the ziggurat (tower) of the ancient temple of E-Anna. It stands about 100 feet tall and strikingly resembles the ruins of the ziggurat of the temple of Enlil at Nippur. The second-largest ruin is called Wuswas, a walled quadrangle covering over seven and a half acres, featuring a building 246 feet long and 174 feet wide, elevated on an artificial platform 50 feet high. The southwest facade, still standing in some areas to a height of 23 feet, displayed an interesting design with half columns and stepped recesses for decoration. In another ruin, Loftus found a wall, 30 feet long, made entirely of small yellow terra-cotta nail-headed cones, which have been discovered in large quantities, both inscribed and uninscribed, used for votive purposes in connection with walls at Tello and other places in Babylonia. His excavations were somewhat superficial; the Babylonian inscriptions he found, about one hundred in total, excluding the ancient Ur-Gur bricks from the temple, generally belong to the neo-Babylonian, Persian, and Seleucid periods. The older remains lie buried deep beneath a massive amount of more recent debris. Loftus also found numerous clay coffins at Erech, stacked over 30 feet high, creating a vast and relatively well-organized cemetery associated with the Persian, Parthian, and later occupations of Babylonia, during which Erech, like other southern cities, apparently became a necropolis for a wide area. After Loftus's time, various travelers visited the mounds, but no further excavations have taken place. Work on this important part of the site is very challenging due to the difficult location of the ruins, the unstable nature of the area, frequent sandstorms, and, above all, the immense quantity of later material that must be cleared away before systematic excavation of the more ancient and fascinating ruins can begin. A notable feature of the Warka area is the presence of conical sand hills, rising to significant heights, so dense they are almost like stone. These hills stretch from Warka northward as far as Tel Ede.
See W.K. Loftus, Chaldaea and Susiana (1857); J.P. Peters, Nippur (1897); E. Sachau, Am Euphrat und Tigris (1900). Cf. also Nippur and authorities there quoted.
See W.K. Loftus, Chaldaea and Susiana (1857); J.P. Peters, Nippur (1897); E. Sachau, Am Euphrat und Tigris (1900). See also Nippur and the sources cited there.
ERECHTHEUM, a temple (commonly called after Erechtheus, to whom a portion of it was dedicated) on the acropolis at Athens, unique in plan, and in its execution the most refined example of the Ionic order. There is no clear evidence as to when the building was begun, some placing it among the temples projected by Pericles, others assigning it to the time after the peace of Nicias in 421 B.C. The work was interrupted by the stress of the Peloponnesian War, but in 409 B.C. a commission was appointed to make a report on the state of the building and to undertake its completion, which was carried out in the following year.
ERECHTHEUM, is a temple (commonly named after Erechtheus, to whom part of it was dedicated) located on the acropolis in Athens. It has a unique design and is the most refined example of the Ionic style. There's no clear evidence about when construction started; some say it was among the temples planned by Pericles, while others think it was built after the Peace of Nicias in 421 BCE Work was paused due to the pressures of the Peloponnesian War, but in 409 BCE, a commission was assigned to assess the condition of the building and to finish its construction, which was completed the following year.
The peculiar plan of the Erechtheum has given rise to much speculation. It may be due partly to the natural conformation of the rock and the differences of level, partly to the necessity of enclosing within a single building several objects of ancient sanctity, such as the mark of Poseidon’s trident and the spring that arose from it, the sacred olive tree of Athena, and the tomb of Cecrops. But there are some features which cannot be so explained, and which have led Professor W. Dörpfeld and others to believe that the plan, as we now have it, is a modification or abridgment of the original design, due to the same conservative influences as led to the curtailment of the plan of the Propylaea (q.v.).
The unusual design of the Erechtheum has sparked a lot of speculation. This may be partly due to the natural shape of the rock and the varying levels, and partly because there was a need to fit several ancient sacred sites into one building, such as the mark left by Poseidon's trident and the spring that came from it, the sacred olive tree of Athena, and the tomb of Cecrops. However, there are some aspects that can't be explained this way, which has led Professor W. Dörpfeld and others to believe that the current design is a modification or simplification of the original plan, influenced by the same conservative factors that resulted in the shortened layout of the Propylaea (q.v.).

The building as completed consisted of a temple of the ordinary type, opening by a door and two windows to the east front, before which stood a portico of six Ionic columns. This part was the temple of Athena Polias. Adjoining it on the west was the central chamber, on a lower level; this chamber was separated by a partition, originally of wood and later of marble, from the western compartment of the temple, which was of peculiar construction. The west end was formed by a wall, on which stood four columns between antae; but the main entrance to this western compartment was through a large and very ornate doorway on the north; and a large Ionic portico, consisting of four columns in the front, and one in the return on each side, was placed in front of this door. At the south end of the western compartment was a smaller door, with steps leading up to the higher level, within a projecting space enclosed by a low wall and covered with a projecting porch carried by six “maidens” or caryatides. The construction of the building at this south-western corner shows that there was some sacred object that had to be bridged over by a huge block of marble; this we know from inscriptions to have been the Cecropeum or tomb of Cecrops. In the north portico a square hole in the floor, with a corresponding hole in the roof above it, must have given access to another sacred object, the mark of Poseidon’s trident in the rock. The sacred olive tree probably stood just outside the temple to the west in the Pandroseion. The Ionic order, as used in this temple, is of the most ornate Attic type. The bases of the columns are either reeded or decorated with a plait-pattern; the capital has the broad channel between the volutes subdivided by a carefully-profiled incision; and the top of the shafts is ornamented by a broad band of palmette or honeysuckle pattern. A similar band of ornament runs round the top of the walls outside, and at their base is a reeded torus. The frieze consisted of white marble figures in relief, affixed to a background of black Eleusinian stone.
The completed building was a typical temple, featuring a door and two windows on the east side, in front of which was a portico with six Ionic columns. This part was dedicated to Athena Polias. Attached to it on the west was the central chamber, which was at a lower level; this chamber was separated by a partition that was originally made of wood and later upgraded to marble, from the western section of the temple, which had a unique design. The west end had a wall with four columns positioned between antae, but the main entrance to this western section was through a large, highly decorative doorway on the north side; in front of this door was a large Ionic portico with four columns in the front and one on each side. At the southern end of the western section was a smaller door, with steps leading up to the higher level, set within a projecting area enclosed by a low wall and topped with a porch supported by six "maidens" or caryatides. The construction at this southwestern corner indicates that there was a sacred object that needed to be covered by a massive block of marble; inscriptions confirm this was the Cecropeum or the tomb of Cecrops. In the north portico, a square hole in the floor, with a matching hole in the roof above, likely provided access to another sacred object, the imprint of Poseidon’s trident in the rock. The sacred olive tree probably stood just outside the temple to the west in the Pandroseion. The Ionic style used in this temple is the most elaborate Attic type. The bases of the columns are either reeded or embellished with a plait pattern; the capitals feature a wide channel between the volutes that is divided by a precisely shaped incision; and the tops of the shafts are decorated with a broad band of palmette or honeysuckle patterns. A similar decorative band encircles the tops of the walls outside, and at their bases is a reeded torus. The frieze was made up of white marble figures in relief, attached to a backdrop of black Eleusinian stone.
The contents of the Erechtheum are described by Pausanias. It contained the ancient image of Athena Polias, and three altars, one to Poseidon and Erechtheus, one to Butes and one to Hephaestus; there were portraits of the family of the Butadae on the walls. Within it was also the gold lamp of Callimachus, which burnt for a year without refilling, and had a chimney in the form of a palm-tree.
The contents of the Erechtheum are described by Pausanias. It housed the ancient statue of Athena Polias and three altars: one for Poseidon and Erechtheus, one for Butes, and one for Hephaestus. There were portraits of the Butadae family on the walls. Inside, there was also the gold lamp of Callimachus, which burned for a year without needing a refill, and had a chimney shaped like a palm tree.
The Erechtheum was damaged by a fire, soon after its completion, in 406 B.C., but was repaired early in the following century. The west end appears to have been damaged in Roman times and to have been replaced by the attached columns with 736 windows between them which appear in old drawings and are still partially extant. It was used as a church in Christian times, and under Turkish rule as the harem of the governor of Athens. Lord Elgin carried off to London, about 1801-1803, one of the columns of the east portico and one of the caryatides; these were replaced later by terra-cotta casts. During the siege of the Acropolis in 1827, the roof of the north portico was thrown down and the building was otherwise much damaged. It was partially rebuilt between 1838 and 1846; the west front was blown down in a storm in 1852. Since 1900 the project of rebuilding the Erechtheum as far as possible with the original blocks has again been undertaken.
The Erechtheum was damaged by a fire shortly after it was completed in 406 BCE, but it was repaired early in the next century. The west end seems to have been damaged in Roman times and was replaced by the attached columns with 736 windows between them that appear in old drawings and still exist partially. It served as a church during Christian times and, under Turkish rule, as the harem of the governor of Athens. Lord Elgin took one of the columns from the east portico and one of the caryatids to London around 1801-1803; these were later replaced with terra-cotta casts. During the siege of the Acropolis in 1827, the roof of the north portico collapsed and the building sustained significant damage. It was partially rebuilt between 1838 and 1846, but the west front was blown down in a storm in 1852. Since 1900, there has been an effort to rebuild the Erechtheum as much as possible using the original blocks.
See Stuart, Antiquities of Athens; Inwood, The Erechtheum; H. Forster in Papers of American School at Athens, i. (1882-1883); J.H. Middleton, Plans and Drawings of Athenian Buildings (1900), pls. xiv.-xxii.; E.A. Gardner, Ancient Athens, chap. viii.; W. Dörpfeld, “Der ursprungliche Plan des Erechtheion” in Mitteil. Athen., 1904, p. 101, taf. 6; G.P. Stevens, “The East Wall of the Erechtheum,” in American Journ. Arch., 1906, pls. vi.-ix.
See Stuart, Antiquities of Athens; Inwood, The Erechtheum; H. Forster in Papers of American School at Athens, i. (1882-1883); J.H. Middleton, Plans and Drawings of Athenian Buildings (1900), pls. xiv.-xxii.; E.A. Gardner, Ancient Athens, chap. viii.; W. Dörpfeld, “Der ursprungliche Plan des Erechtheion” in Mitteil. Athen., 1904, p. 101, taf. 6; G.P. Stevens, “The East Wall of the Erechtheum,” in American Journ. Arch., 1906, pls. vi.-ix.
ERECHTHEUS, in Greek legend, a mythical king of Athens, originally identified with Erichthonius, but in later times distinguished from him. According to Homer, who knows nothing of Erichthonius, he was the son of Aroura (Earth), brought up by Athena, with whom his story is closely connected. In the later story, Erichthonius (son of Hephaestus and Atthis or Athena herself) was handed over by Athena to the three daughters of Cecrops—Aglauros (or Agraulos), Herse and Pandrosos—in a chest, which they were forbidden to open. Aglauros and Herse disobeyed the injunction, and when they saw the child (which had the form of a snake, or round which a snake was coiled) they went mad with fright, and threw themselves from the rock of the Acropolis (or were killed by the snake). Athena herself then undertook the care of Erichthonius, who, when he grew up, drove out Amphictyon and took possession of the kingdom of Athens. Here he established the worship of Athena, instituted the Panathenaea, and built an Erechtheum. The Erechtheus of later times was supposed to be the grandson of Erechtheus-Erichthonius, and was also king of Athens. When Athens was attacked by the Thracian Eumolpus (or by the Eleusinians assisted by Eumolpus) victory was promised Erechtheus if he sacrificed one of his daughters. Eumolpus was slain and Erechtheus was victorious, but was himself killed by Poseidon, the father of Eumolpus, or by a thunderbolt from Zeus. The contest between Erechtheus and Eumolpus formed the subject of a lost tragedy by Euripides; Swinburne has utilized the legend in his Erechtheus. The scene of the opening of the chest is represented on a Greek vase in the British Museum. The name Erichthonius is connected with χθών (“earth”) and the representation of him as half-snake, like Cecrops, indicates that he was regarded as one of the autochthones, the ancestors of the Athenians who sprung from the soil.
ERECHTHEUS, in Greek mythology, was a legendary king of Athens, initially identified as Erichthonius but later distinguished from him. According to Homer, who doesn’t mention Erichthonius, Erechtheus was the son of Aroura (Earth) and was raised by Athena, closely linked to her story. In the later version, Erichthonius (the son of Hephaestus and Atthis or possibly Athena herself) was given to the three daughters of Cecrops—Aglauros (or Agraulos), Herse, and Pandrosos—in a chest they were told not to open. Aglauros and Herse disobeyed, and when they saw the child (who either looked like a snake or was wrapped in one), they went insane with fear and jumped off the Acropolis (or were killed by the snake). Athena then took care of Erichthonius, who, when he grew up, ousted Amphictyon and claimed the throne of Athens. He established the worship of Athena, founded the Panathenaea festival, and built an Erechtheum. The later Erechtheus was thought to be the grandson of Erechtheus-Erichthonius and also ruled Athens. When Athens was attacked by the Thracian Eumolpus (or by the Eleusinians with Eumolpus’s help), Erechtheus was promised victory if he sacrificed one of his daughters. Eumolpus was killed, and Erechtheus won, but he was ultimately killed by Poseidon, Eumolpus’s father, or by a thunderbolt from Zeus. The battle between Erechtheus and Eumolpus was the subject of a lost tragedy by Euripides; Swinburne used the legend in his Erechtheus. The moment of opening the chest is depicted on a Greek vase in the British Museum. The name Erichthonius relates to χθών (“earth”), and his portrayal as half-snake, similar to Cecrops, suggests he was viewed as one of the autochthones, the ancestral Athenians who emerged from the soil.
See Apollodorus iii. 14. 15; Euripides, Ion; Ovid, Metam. ii. 553; Hyginus, Poët. astron. ii. 13; Pausanias i. 2. 5. 8; E. Ermatinger, Die attische Autochthonensage (1897); article by J.A. Hild in Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités; B. Powell in Cornell Studies, xvii. (1906), who identifies Erechtheus, Erichthonius, Poseidon and Cecrops, all denoting the sacred serpent of Athena, whose cult she first contested, but then amalgamated with her own. The birth of Erichthonius (as a corn-spirit) is interpreted by Mannhardt as a mythical way of describing the growth of the corn, and by J.E. Harrison (Myths and Monuments of Ancient Athens, xxvii.-xxxvi.) as a fiction to explain the ceremony performed by the two maidens called Arrephori. See also Farnell, Cults of the Greek States, i. 270; and Frazer’s Pausanias, ii. 169.
See Apollodorus iii. 14. 15; Euripides, Ion; Ovid, Metam. ii. 553; Hyginus, Poët. astron. ii. 13; Pausanias i. 2. 5. 8; E. Ermatinger, Die attische Autochthonensage (1897); article by J.A. Hild in Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités; B. Powell in Cornell Studies, xvii. (1906), who identifies Erechtheus, Erichthonius, Poseidon, and Cecrops, all representing the sacred serpent of Athena, whose cult she initially opposed but then merged with her own. The birth of Erichthonius (as a corn spirit) is interpreted by Mannhardt as a mythical explanation of the growth of the corn, and by J.E. Harrison (Myths and Monuments of Ancient Athens, xxvii.-xxxvi.) as a story to clarify the ceremony performed by the two maidens called Arrephori. See also Farnell, Cults of the Greek States, i. 270; and Frazer’s Pausanias, ii. 169.
ERESHKIGAL, also known as Allatu, the name of the chief Babylonian goddess of the nether-world where the dead are gathered. Her name signifies “lady of the nether-world.” She is known to us chiefly through two myths, both symbolizing the change of seasons, but intended also to illustrate certain doctrines developed in the temple-schools of Babylonia. One of these myths is the famous story of Ishtar’s descent to Irkalla or Arālu, as the lower world was called, and her reception by her sister who presides over it; the other is the story of Nergal’s offence against Ereshkigal, his banishment to the kingdom controlled by the goddess and the reconciliation between Nergal and Ereshkigal through the latter’s offer to have Nergal share the honours of the rule over Irkalla. The story of Ishtar’s descent is told to illustrate the possibility of an escape from Irkalla, while the other myth is intended to reconcile the existence of two rulers of Irkalla—a goddess and a god.
ERESHKIGAL, also known as Allatu, is the main Babylonian goddess of the underworld where the dead are gathered. Her name means "lady of the underworld." We primarily know her through two myths, both representing the change of seasons, but also meant to explain certain teachings developed in the temple schools of Babylonia. One of these myths is the well-known story of Ishtar’s journey to Irkalla (or Arālu, as the underworld was called) and her welcome by her sister who rules there; the other is about Nergal’s offense against Ereshkigal, his expulsion to the realm governed by her, and the reconciliation between Nergal and Ereshkigal when she offers to let him share the honors of ruling Irkalla. The story of Ishtar’s journey illustrates the possibility of escaping Irkalla, while the other myth aims to explain the coexistence of two rulers in Irkalla—a goddess and a god.
It is evident that it was originally a goddess who was supposed to be in control of Irkalla, corresponding to Ishtar in control of fertility and vegetation on earth. Ereshkigal is therefore the sister of Ishtar and from one point of view her counterpart, the symbol of nature during the non-productive season of the year. As the doctrine of two kingdoms, one of this world and one of the world of the dead, becomes crystallized, the dominions of the two sisters are sharply differentiated from one another. The addition of Nergal represents the harmonizing tendency to unite with Ereshkigal as the queen of the nether-world the god who, in his character as god of war and of pestilence, conveys the living to Irkalla and thus becomes the one who presides over the dead.
It’s clear that there was originally a goddess meant to oversee Irkalla, similar to how Ishtar oversees fertility and growth on Earth. Ereshkigal is therefore Ishtar’s sister and can be seen as her counterpart, representing nature during the non-productive seasons. As the idea of two realms—the living world and the realm of the dead—solidifies, the domains of the two sisters become distinctly separate. The introduction of Nergal reflects the tendency to unite with Ereshkigal, as the queen of the underworld, since he embodies both war and disease, bringing the living to Irkalla and thus becoming the ruler of the dead.
ERETRIA (mod. Aletria), an ancient coast town of Euboea about 15 m. S.E. of Chalcis, opposite to Oropus. Eretria, like its neighbour Chalcis (q.v.), early entered upon a commercial and colonizing career. Besides founding townships in the west and north of Greece, it acquired dependencies among the Cyclades and joined the great mercantile alliance of Miletus and Aegina. Since the so-called Lelantine War (7th century B.C.) against the coming league of Chalcis, it began to be overshadowed by its rivals. The interference of Eretria in the Ionian revolt (498) brought upon it the vengeance of the Persians, who captured and destroyed it shortly before the battle of Marathon (490). The city was soon rebuilt, and as a member of both the Delian Leagues attached itself by numerous treaties to the Athenians. The latter, through their general Phocion, rescued it from the tyrants suborned by Philip of Macedon (354 and 341). Under Macedonian and Roman rule Eretria fell into insignificance; for a short period under Mark Antony, the triumvir, it became a possession of Athens. Eretria was the birthplace of the tragedian Achaeus and of the “Megarian” philosopher Menedemus.
ERETRIA (modern Aletria), an ancient coastal town in Euboea about 15 miles southeast of Chalcis, across from Oropus. Eretria, like its neighbor Chalcis (q.v.), quickly became a hub for commerce and colonization. In addition to establishing settlements in the western and northern parts of Greece, it gained control over areas in the Cyclades and joined the major trading alliance of Miletus and Aegina. After the so-called Lelantine War in the 7th century BCE against the emerging league of Chalcis, it started to be overshadowed by its competitors. Eretria's involvement in the Ionian revolt in 498 brought the wrath of the Persians, who captured and destroyed the city just before the battle of Marathon in 490. The city was soon rebuilt, and as a member of both Delian Leagues, it signed multiple treaties with the Athenians. They, led by their general Phocion, saved it from the tyrants supported by Philip of Macedon in 354 and 341. Under Macedonian and Roman rule, Eretria became less significant; for a brief time, it was under Mark Antony, the triumvir, and was part of Athens. Eretria was the birthplace of the tragedian Achaeus and the “Megarian” philosopher Menedemus.
The modern village, which is sometimes called Nea Psará because the inhabitants of Psará were transferred there in 1821, is on unhealthy low-lying ground near the sea. The excavation of the site was carried out by the American School of Athens (1890-1895). At the foot of the Acropolis Hill, where the ground begins to rise, the theatre lies; and though the material of which this was built is rough, and only seven imperfect rows of seats remain, a good part of the scena and of the chambers behind it is preserved, and beneath these there runs a tunnel, which, together with other peculiar features, has raised interesting questions in connexion with the arrangement of the Greek theatre, the orchestra being at present on a level about 12 ft. below that of the rooms in the scena. Near by are the substructions of a temple of Dionysus and a large altar, and also a gymnasium with arrangements for bathing. Besides these, in 1900 the substructions of a temple of Apollo Daphnephoros were unearthed. Both the northern and the southern side of the hill are flanked by walls, which seem to have reached the sea, where there was a mole and a harbour; and the wall of the acropolis itself remains in one part to the height of eight courses.
The modern village, sometimes referred to as Nea Psará because the residents of Psará were moved there in 1821, is situated on unhealthy low-lying ground close to the sea. The site was excavated by the American School of Athens from 1890 to 1895. At the base of Acropolis Hill, where the land starts to rise, there is a theater; although it's made of rough material and only seven incomplete rows of seats remain, a significant part of the stage and the chambers behind it have been preserved. Below these chambers runs a tunnel, which, along with other unique features, has raised interesting questions about the layout of the Greek theater, with the orchestra currently about 12 feet lower than the rooms in the stage area. Nearby are the foundations of a temple dedicated to Dionysus, a large altar, and a gymnasium equipped for bathing. Additionally, in 1900, the foundations of a temple for Apollo Daphnephoros were discovered. Both the northern and southern sides of the hill are bordered by walls that seem to have extended to the sea, where there was a mole and a harbor; part of the acropolis wall still stands to a height of eight rows.
Authorities.—Strabo x. 447 f.; Herodotus v. 99, vi. 101; Corpus Inscr. Atticarum, i. 339, iv. (2), pp. 5, 10, 22; H. Heinze, De rebus Eretriensium (Göttingen, 1869); W.M. Leake, Travels in Northern Greece (London, 1835), ii. 266, 443; B.V. Head, Historia numorum (Oxford, 1887), pp. 305-308; Papers of the American School at Athens, vol. vi.
Authorities.—Strabo x. 447 f.; Herodotus v. 99, vi. 101; Corpus Inscr. Atticarum, i. 339, iv. (2), pp. 5, 10, 22; H. Heinze, De rebus Eretriensium (Göttingen, 1869); W.M. Leake, Travels in Northern Greece (London, 1835), ii. 266, 443; B.V. Head, Historia numorum (Oxford, 1887), pp. 305-308; Papers of the American School at Athens, vol. vi.
ERETRIAN SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY. This Greek school was the continuation of the Elian school, which was transferred to Eretria by Menedemus. It was of small importance, and in the absence of certain knowledge must be supposed to have adhered to the doctrines of Socrates. (See Menedemus.)
ERITREAN SCHOOL OF PHILOSOPHY. This Greek school was a continuation of the Elian school, which Menedemus moved to Eretria. It was not very significant, and without definitive evidence, it's assumed to have followed the teachings of Socrates. (See Menedemus.)
ERFURT, a city of Germany, in Prussian Saxony, on the Gera, and the railway Halle-Bebra, about midway between Gotha and Weimar, which are 14 m. distant. Pop. (1875) 48,025; (1905) 100,065. The city, which is dominated on the 737 west by the two citadels of Petersberg and Cyriaxburg, is irregularly built, the only feature in its plan, or want of plan, being the Friedrich Wilhelmsplatz, a broad open space of irregular shape abutting on the Petersberg. On the south-western side of this square, which contains a monument to the elector Frederick Charles Joseph of Mainz (1719-1802), is the Domberg, an eminence on which stand, side by side, the cathedral and the great church of St Severus with its three spires (14th century). The churches are approached by a flight of forty-eight stone steps, the grouping of the whole mass of buildings being exceedingly impressive. The cathedral (Beatae Mariae Virginis) is one of the finest churches in Germany. It was begun in the 12th century, but the nave was rebuilt in the 13th in the Gothic style. The magnificent chancel (1349-1372), with the 14th-century crypt below, rests on massive substructures, known as the Cavate. The twin towers are set between the chancel and nave. The cathedral contains, besides fine 15th-century glass, some very rich portal sculptures and bronze castings, among others the coronation of the Virgin by Peter Vischer. In one of its towers is the famous bell, called Maria Gloriosa, which bears the date 1497, and weighs 270 cwt. Besides the cathedral and St Severus, which are Roman Catholic, Erfurt possesses several very interesting medieval churches, now Evangelical. Among these may be mentioned the Predigerkirche, dating from the latter half of the 12th century; the Reglerkirche, a Romanesque building (restored in 1859) with a 12th-century tower; and the Barfüsserkirche, a Gothic building containing fine 14th-century monuments. All these were originally monastic churches. Of the former religious houses there survive a Franciscan convent, with a girls’ school attached, and an Ursuline convent. The Augustinian monastery, in which Luther lived as a friar, is now used as an orphanage, under the name of the Martinsstift. The cell of Luther was destroyed by fire in 1872. A bronze statue of the reformer was erected in the Anger, the chief street of the town, in 1890. At one time Erfurt had a university, of which the charter dated from 1392; but it was suppressed in 1816, and its funds devoted to other purposes, among these being the endowment of an institution founded in 1758 and now called the royal academy of sciences, and the support of the royal library, which now contains 60,000 volumes and over 1000 manuscripts. On the W. and S.W. extensive new quarters have grown up within recent years, e.g. Hirschbrühl. The interior of the town hall (1869-1875) is adorned with legendary and historical frescoes by Kämpfer and Peter Janssen. Erfurt possesses also a picture gallery and an antiquarian collection.
ERFURT, is a city in Germany, located in Prussian Saxony along the Gera River and the Halle-Bebra railway, roughly halfway between Gotha and Weimar, which are 14 miles apart. Population: (1875) 48,025; (1905) 100,065. The city is dominated on the 737 west by the two citadels of Petersberg and Cyriaxburg, and its layout is irregular, with the only notable feature being Friedrich Wilhelmsplatz, a large open area of uneven shape next to Petersberg. On the southwest side of this square, which has a monument to elector Frederick Charles Joseph of Mainz (1719-1802), is the Domberg, a hill where the cathedral and the great church of St Severus with its three spires (from the 14th century) stand side by side. These churches can be accessed by a flight of forty-eight stone steps, creating an overall impressive sight. The cathedral (Beatae Mariae Virginis) is one of the finest churches in Germany. It started construction in the 12th century, but the nave was rebuilt in the 13th century in the Gothic style. The magnificent chancel (1349-1372), with a 14th-century crypt beneath it, rests on strong substructures known as the Cavate. The twin towers are positioned between the chancel and nave. The cathedral features not only beautiful 15th-century stained glass but also rich portal sculptures and bronze castings, including the coronation of the Virgin by Peter Vischer. One of its towers houses the famous bell, called Maria Gloriosa, dating back to 1497 and weighing 270 hundredweight. Besides the cathedral and St Severus, which are Roman Catholic, Erfurt has several fascinating medieval churches that are now Evangelical. Notable mentions include the Predigerkirche from the latter half of the 12th century; the Reglerkirche, a Romanesque building (restored in 1859) featuring a 12th-century tower; and the Barfüsserkirche, a Gothic structure with impressive 14th-century monuments. All of these were originally monastic churches. Surviving from the old religious houses are a Franciscan convent with an attached girls’ school and an Ursuline convent. The Augustinian monastery, where Luther lived as a friar, now operates as an orphanage known as the Martinsstift. Luther's cell was destroyed by fire in 1872. A bronze statue of the reformer was placed in Anger, the main street of the town, in 1890. At one time, Erfurt had a university, established by a charter in 1392; however, it was closed in 1816, and its funds were redirected to other uses, including supporting an institution founded in 1758 that is now called the royal academy of sciences, and aiding the royal library, which now holds 60,000 volumes and over 1,000 manuscripts. In the west and southwest, extensive new neighborhoods have developed in recent years, such as Hirschbrühl. The interior of the town hall (1869-1875) features legendary and historical frescoes by Kämpfer and Peter Janssen. Erfurt also has an art gallery and an antiquarian collection.
The educational establishments of the town include a gymnasium, a realgymnasium, a realschule, technical schools for building and handicrafts, a high-class commercial school, a school of agriculture, and an academy of music. The most notable industry of Erfurt is the culture of flowers and of vegetables, which is very extensively carried on. This industry had its origin in the large gardens attached to the monasteries. It has also important and growing manufactures of ladies’ mantles, boots and shoes, machines, furniture, woollen goods, musical instruments, agricultural machinery and implements, leather, tobacco, chemicals, &c. Brewing, bleaching and dyeing are also carried on on a large scale, and there are extensive railway works and a government rifle factory.
The educational institutions in the town include a gym, a real gym, a secondary school, technical schools for construction and crafts, a high-end business school, an agricultural school, and a music academy. The most notable industry in Erfurt is flower and vegetable cultivation, which is done extensively. This industry originated from the large gardens connected to the monasteries. It also has significant and expanding manufacturing of ladies' capes, boots and shoes, machinery, furniture, wool products, musical instruments, agricultural machinery and tools, leather, tobacco, chemicals, etc. Brewing, bleaching, and dyeing are also carried out on a large scale, and there are extensive railway works and a government rifle factory.
Erfurt (Med. Erpesfurt, Erphorde, Lat. Erfordia) is a town of great antiquity. Its origin is obscure, but in 741 it was sufficiently important for St Boniface to found a bishopric here, which was, however, after the martyrdom of the first bishop, Adolar, in 755, reabsorbed in that of Mainz. In 805 the place received certain market rights from the emperor Charlemagne. Later the overlordship was claimed by the archbishops of Mainz, on the strength of charters granted by the emperor Otto I., and their authority in Erfurt was maintained by a burgrave and an advocatus, the office of the latter becoming in the 12th century hereditary in the family of the counts of Gleichen. In spite of many vicissitudes (from 1109 to 1137, for instance, the town was subject to the landgraves of Thuringia), and of a charter granted in 1242 by the emperor Frederick II., the archbishops succeeded in upholding their claims. In 1255, however, Archbishop Gerhard I. had to grant the city municipal rights, the burgraviate disappeared, and Erfurt became practically a free town. Its power was at its height early in the 15th century, when it joined the Hanseatic League. It had acquired by force or purchase various countships and other fiefs in the neighbourhood, and ruled a considerable territory; and its wealth was so great that in 1378 it established a university, the first in Europe that embraced the four faculties. By the end of the century, however, its prosperity had sunk owing to the perpetual feud with Mainz, the internecine war in Saxony, and the consequent dwindling of trade. By the convention of Amorbach in 1483 the overlordship of Erfurt was ultimately transferred by the electors of Mainz to Saxony. The political and religious quarrels of the 16th century still further depressed the city, in which the reformed religion was established in 1521. Then came the Thirty Years’ War, during which Erfurt was for a while occupied by the Swedes. After the peace of Westphalia (1648) the city was assigned by the emperor to the elector of Mainz, and, on its refusal to submit, it was placed under the ban of the Empire (1660). In 1664 it was captured by the troops of the archbishop of Mainz, and remained in the possession of the electorate till 1802, when it came into the possession of Prussia. In 1808 it was the scene of the memorable interview between Napoleon and the emperor Alexander I. of Russia, at which the kings of Bavaria, Saxony, Westphalia and Württemberg also assisted, which is known as the congress of Erfurt. Here in 1850 the parliament of the short-lived Prussian Northern Union (known as the Erfurt parliament) held its sittings. In 1902 the 100th anniversary of the city’s incorporation with Prussia was celebrated.
Erfurt (Med. Erpesfurt, Erphorde, Lat. Erfordia) is an ancient town. Its beginnings are unclear, but in 741 it was important enough for St. Boniface to establish a bishopric there, which, after the martyrdom of the first bishop, Adolar, in 755, was absorbed back into Mainz. In 805, the town received specific market rights from Emperor Charlemagne. Later, the archbishops of Mainz claimed overlordship based on charters granted by Emperor Otto I., and they maintained their authority in Erfurt through a burgrave and an advocatus, the latter's position becoming hereditary in the 12th century within the counts of Gleichen family. Despite many ups and downs (from 1109 to 1137, for example, the town was under the control of the landgraves of Thuringia), and a charter granted in 1242 by Emperor Frederick II., the archbishops were able to uphold their claims. However, in 1255, Archbishop Gerhard I. had to grant the city municipal rights, the burgraviate ceased to exist, and Erfurt effectively became a free town. Its power peaked in the early 15th century when it joined the Hanseatic League. By force or purchase, it had acquired various countships and other fiefs in the surrounding area, ruling over a significant territory; its wealth was so great that in 1378 it established a university, the first in Europe to include all four faculties. By the end of the century, though, its prosperity declined due to ongoing conflicts with Mainz, civil war in Saxony, and a resultant drop in trade. The overlordship of Erfurt was ultimately transferred from the electors of Mainz to Saxony by the convention of Amorbach in 1483. The political and religious disputes of the 16th century further hurt the city, where the Reformed religion was established in 1521. Then came the Thirty Years' War, during which Erfurt was occupied by the Swedes for a time. After the peace of Westphalia (1648), the city was assigned by the emperor to the elector of Mainz, and when it refused to comply, it was placed under the ban of the Empire (1660). In 1664, it was captured by the forces of the archbishop of Mainz and remained under electoral control until 1802 when it was acquired by Prussia. In 1808, it was the site of the famous meeting between Napoleon and Emperor Alexander I. of Russia, attended by the kings of Bavaria, Saxony, Westphalia, and Württemberg, known as the Congress of Erfurt. In 1850, Erfurt hosted the parliament of the short-lived Prussian Northern Union (known as the Erfurt parliament). In 1902, the city celebrated the 100th anniversary of its incorporation into Prussia.
See W.J.A. von Tettau, Erfurt in seiner Vergangenheit und Gegenwart (Erfurt, 1880); C. Beyer, Geschichte der Stadt Erfurt (Erfurt, 1900); and F.W. Kampschulte, Die Universität Erfurt in ihrem Verhältnisse zu dem Humanismus und der Reformation (1856-1858). For a detailed bibliography see U. Chevalier, Répertoire des sources. Topo-bibliographie (Montebéliard, 1894-1899), s.v.
See W.J.A. von Tettau, Erfurt in seiner Vergangenheit und Gegenwart (Erfurt, 1880); C. Beyer, Geschichte der Stadt Erfurt (Erfurt, 1900); and F.W. Kampschulte, Die Universität Erfurt in ihrem Verhältnisse zu dem Humanismus und der Reformation (1856-1858). For a detailed bibliography, see U. Chevalier, Répertoire des sources. Topo-bibliographie (Montebéliard, 1894-1899), s.v.
ERGOT, or Spurred Rye, the drug ergota or Secale cornutum (Ger. Mutterkorn; Fr. seigle ergoté), consisting of the sclerotium (or hard resting condition) of a fungus, Claviceps purpurea, parasitic on the pistils of many members of the Grass family, but obtained almost exclusively from rye, Secale cereale. In the ear of rye that is infected with ergot a species of fermentation takes place, and there exudes from it a sweet yellowish mucus, which after a time disappears. The ear loses its starch, and ceases to grow, and its ovaries become penetrated with the white spongy tissue of the mycelium of the fungus which towards the end of the season forms the sclerotium, in which state the fungus lies dormant through the winter.
ERGOT, or Spiced Rye, the drug ergota or Secale cornutum (Ger. Mutterkorn; Fr. seigle ergoté), consists of the sclerotium (the hard resting stage) of a fungus, Claviceps purpurea, which is parasitic on the pistils of many members of the Grass family, but is mostly obtained from rye, Secale cereale. In the rye ear that is infected with ergot, a type of fermentation occurs, and a sweet yellowish mucus oozes out, which eventually disappears. The ear loses its starch and stops growing, and its ovaries become filled with the white spongy tissue of the fungus's mycelium, which forms the sclerotium by the end of the season, allowing the fungus to remain dormant through the winter.
The drug consists of grains, usually curved (hence the name, from the O. Fr. argot, a cock’s spur), which are violet-black or dark-purple externally, and whitish with a tinge of pink within, are between 1⁄3 and 1½ in. long, and from 1 to 4 lines broad, and have two lateral furrows, a close fracture, a disagreeable rancid taste, and a faint, fishy odour, which last becomes more perceptible when the powder of the drug is mixed with potash solution. Ergot should be kept in stoppered bottles in order to preserve it from the attacks of a species of mite, and to prevent the oxidation of its fatty oil.
The drug is made up of grains that are typically curved (which explains the name, derived from the Old French argot, meaning a cock's spur). They are violet-black or dark purple on the outside and whitish with a hint of pink on the inside. These grains measure between 1⁄3 and 1½ inches long and are 1 to 4 lines wide. They have two side grooves, a brittle fracture, an unpleasant rancid taste, and a faint, fishy smell that becomes stronger when the drug's powder is mixed with a potash solution. Ergot should be stored in sealed bottles to protect it from certain types of mites and to prevent the oxidation of its fatty oil.
The extremely complex composition of this drug has been studied in great detail, and with such important results that instead of giving ergot itself by the mouth in doses of 20 to 60 grains, it is now possible to obtain much more rapid and certain results by giving one three-hundredth of a grain of one of its constituents hypodermically. This constituent is the alkaloid cornutine, which is the valuable ingredient of the drug. Other ingredients are a fixed oil, present to the extent of 30%, ergotinic acid, a glucoside, trimethylamine, which gives the drug its unpleasant odour, and sphacelinic acid, a non-nitrogenous resinoid body. Of the numerous preparations only two need be mentioned—the liquid extract (dose 10 minims to 2 drachms or more), and the hypodermic injection. The latter does not keep well, and the best way of using ergot is to dissolve tablets obtained from a reputable maker, and containing some of the 738 active principles, in pure water, the solution being injected subcutaneously.
The very complex makeup of this drug has been studied in detail, yielding such significant results that instead of taking ergot orally in doses of 20 to 60 grains, it's now possible to achieve much faster and more reliable effects by administering one three-hundredth of a grain of one of its components via injection. This component is the alkaloid cornutine, which is the valuable part of the drug. Other ingredients include a fixed oil, making up about 30%, ergotinic acid, a glucoside, trimethylamine, which gives the drug its unpleasant smell, and sphacelinic acid, a non-nitrogenous resinoid substance. Of the many preparations, only two need to be mentioned—the liquid extract (dose 10 minims to 2 drachms or more) and the hypodermic injection. The latter doesn’t keep well, so the best way to use ergot is to dissolve tablets from a trusted manufacturer that contain some of the active ingredients in pure water, then inject the solution under the skin.
Ergot has no external action. Given internally it stimulates the intestinal muscles and may cause diarrhoea. After absorption it slows the pulse by stimulation of the vagus nerves. It has indeed been asserted that the slow pulse characteristic of the puerperal period is really due to the common administration of ergot at that time. This is probably an exaggeration. The important actions of ergot are on the blood-vessels and the uterus. The drug greatly raises the blood-pressure by causing extreme contraction of the arteries. This is mainly due to a direct action on the muscular coats of the vessels, but is also partly of central origin, since the drug also stimulates the vaso-motor centre in the medulla oblongata. This action on the vessels is so marked as to constitute the drug a haemostatic, not only locally but also remotely. It may arrest bleeding from the nose, for instance, when injected hypodermically. Nearly all the constituents share in causing this action, but the sphacelinic acid is probably the most potent. Ergot is the most powerful known stimulant of the pregnant uterus. The action is a double one. At least four of its constituents act directly on the muscular fibre of the uterus, whilst the cornutine acts through the nerves. Of great practical importance is the fact that the cornutine causes rhythmic contractions such as naturally occur, whilst the sphacelinic acid produces a tonic contraction of the uterus, which is unnatural and highly inimical to the life of the foetus. Ergot is used in therapeutics as a haemostatic, and is very valuable in haemoptysis and sometimes in haematemesis. But its great use is in obstetrics. The drug should regularly be given hypodermically, and it is important to note that if the injection be made immediately under the skin, an abscess, or considerable discomfort, may ensue. The injection should be intra-muscular, the needle being boldly plunged into a muscular mass, such as that of the deltoid or the gluteal region. The indications for the use of ergot in obstetrics are highly complex and demand detailed treatment. It can only be said here that the drug should only in the rarest possible cases be given whilst the child is still in utero. This rule is necessitated by the sphacelinic acid, which causes an unnatural state of the organ. When it is possible to obtain pure cornutine, which is unfortunately very expensive, the precautions necessary in other cases may be abrogated.
Ergot has no external effects. When taken internally, it stimulates the intestinal muscles and can cause diarrhea. After being absorbed, it slows the pulse by stimulating the vagus nerves. It's been claimed that the slow pulse typical of the postpartum period is really due to the common use of ergot at that time, but this is probably an exaggeration. The main effects of ergot are on the blood vessels and the uterus. The drug significantly raises blood pressure by causing extreme contraction of the arteries. This is primarily due to a direct effect on the muscle layers of the vessels, but it also has some central effects, as the drug stimulates the vasomotor center in the medulla oblongata. This impact on the vessels is so significant that the drug acts as a hemostatic, both locally and more broadly. For example, it can stop nosebleeds when injected under the skin. Almost all components contribute to this action, but sphacelinic acid is likely the most effective. Ergot is the strongest known stimulant for the pregnant uterus. Its action is two-fold. At least four of its components act directly on the muscular fibers of the uterus, while cornutine acts through the nerves. Importantly, cornutine causes rhythmic contractions similar to those that happen naturally, whereas sphacelinic acid produces a tonic contraction of the uterus, which is unnatural and very harmful for the fetus. Ergot is used in medicine as a hemostatic and is particularly valuable in treating hemoptysis and, at times, hematemesis. However, its main application is in obstetrics. The drug should be administered regularly by injection, and it’s important to be aware that injecting just under the skin may lead to an abscess or significant discomfort. The injection should be intramuscular, with the needle inserted deeply into a muscle mass, like that of the deltoid or gluteal region. The indications for using ergot in obstetrics are quite complex and require detailed attention. It can only be said here that the drug should be administered only in the rarest cases while the child is still in utero. This guideline is necessary because of the sphacelinic acid, which creates an unnatural condition in the organ. When it's possible to obtain pure cornutine, which is unfortunately very costly, the precautions needed in other cases may be waived.
Chronic poisoning, or ergotism, used frequently to occur amongst the poor fed on rye infected with the Claviceps. As it is practically impossible to reproduce the symptoms of ergotism nowadays, whether experimentally in the lower animals, or when the drug is being administered to a human being for some therapeutic purpose, it is believed that the symptoms of ergotism were rendered possible only by the semi-starvation which must have ensued from the use of such rye-bread; for the grain disappears as the fungus develops. There were two types of ergotism. In the gangrenous form various parts of the body underwent gangrene as a consequence of the arrest of blood-supply produced by the action of sphacelinic acid on the arteries. In the spasmodic form the symptoms were of a nervous character. The initial indications of the disease were cutaneous itching, tingling and formication, which gave place to actual loss of cutaneous sensation, first observed in the extremities. Amblyopia and some loss of hearing also occurred, as well as mental failure. With weakness of the voluntary muscles went intermittent spasms which weakened the patient and ultimately led to death by implication of the respiratory muscles. The last-known “epidemic” of ergotism occurred in Lorraine and Burgundy in the year 1816.
Chronic poisoning, or ergotism, used to be common among the poor who consumed rye contaminated with Claviceps. Since it’s nearly impossible to recreate the symptoms of ergotism today, whether through experiments on animals or when the drug is given to humans for medical reasons, it’s thought that the symptoms of ergotism could only occur due to the semi-starvation resulting from eating such rye bread; as the fungus grows, the grain diminishes. There were two types of ergotism. The gangrenous type caused various body parts to develop gangrene due to the disruption of blood flow caused by sphacelinic acid acting on the arteries. The spasmodic form presented nervous system symptoms. The initial signs of the disease included itching, tingling, and a creepy-crawly sensation on the skin, which eventually led to a real loss of skin sensation, first noted in the extremities. Amblyopia and some hearing loss also occurred, along with mental decline. Accompanied by weakness in voluntary muscles, intermittent spasms weakened the patient and ultimately resulted in death due to involvement of the respiratory muscles. The last recorded “epidemic” of ergotism took place in Lorraine and Burgundy in 1816.
ERIC XIV. (1533-1577), king of Sweden, was the only son of Gustavus Vasa and Catherine of Saxe-Lauenburg. The news of his father’s death reached Eric as he was on the point of embarking for England to press in person his suit for the hand of Queen Elizabeth. He hastened back to Stockholm, after burying his father, summoned a Riksdag, which met at Arboga on the 15th of April 1561, and adopted the royal propositions known as the Arboga articles, considerably curtailing the authority of the royal dukes, John and Charles, in their respective provinces. Two months later Eric was crowned at Upsala, on which occasion he first introduced the titles of baron and count into Sweden, by way of attaching to the crown the higher nobility, these new counts and barons receiving lucrative fiefs adequate to the maintenance of their new dignities.
ERIC XIV. (1533-1577), King of Sweden, was the only son of Gustavus Vasa and Catherine of Saxe-Lauenburg. The news of his father’s death reached Eric just as he was about to leave for England to personally seek the hand of Queen Elizabeth. He quickly returned to Stockholm, after burying his father, called a Riksdag, which convened in Arboga on April 15, 1561, and adopted the royal proposals known as the Arboga articles, significantly reducing the power of the royal dukes, John and Charles, in their respective regions. Two months later, Eric was crowned in Upsala, during which he first introduced the titles of baron and count into Sweden, intending to attach the higher nobility to the crown, with these new counts and barons receiving profitable fiefs sufficient to support their new positions.
From the very beginning of his reign Eric’s morbid fear of the upper classes drove him to give his absolute confidence to a man of base origin and bad character, though, it must be admitted, of superior ability. This was Göran Persson, born about 1530, who had been educated abroad in Lutheran principles, and after narrowly escaping hanging at the hands of Gustavus Vasa for some vile action entered the service of his son. This powerful upstart was the natural enemy of the nobility, who suffered much at his hands, though it is very difficult to determine whether the initiative in these prosecutions proceeded from him or his master. Göran was also a determined opponent of Duke John, with whom Eric in 1563 openly quarrelled, because John, contrary to the royal orders, had married (Oct. 4, 1562) Catherine, daughter of Sigismund I. of Poland, engaging at the same time to assist the Polish king to conquer Livonia. This act was a flagrant breach of that paragraph of the Arboga articles which forbade the royal dukes to contract any political treaty without the royal assent. An army of 10,000 men was immediately sent by Eric to John’s duchy of Finland, and John and his consort were seized, brought over to Sweden and detained as prisoners of state in Gripsholm Castle. But Eric did not stop here. His suspicion suggested to him that, if his own brother failed him, the loyalty of the great nobles, especially the members of the ancient Sture family, who had been notable in Sweden when the Vasas were unknown, could not be depended upon. The head of the Sture family at this time was Count Svante, who had married a sister of Gustavus Vasa’s second wife, and had by her a numerous family, of whom two sons, Nils and Eric, still survived. The dark tragedy, known as the Sture murders, began with Eric XIV.’s strange treatment of young Count Nils. In 1566 he was summoned before a newly erected tribunal and condemned to death for gross neglect of duty, though not one of the frivolous charges brought against him could be substantiated. The death penalty was commuted into a punishment worse because more shameful than death. On the 15th of June 1566 the unfortunate youth, bruised and bleeding from shocking ill-treatment, was placed upon a wretched hack, with a crown of straw on his head, and led in derision through the streets of Stockholm. The following night he was sent a prisoner to the fortress of Örbyhus. A few days later he was appointed ambassador extraordinary, and despatched to Lorraine to resume the negotiations for Eric’s marriage with the princess Renata. Before he returned, however, Eric had resolved to marry Karin, or Kitty Månsdatter, the daughter of a common soldier, who had been his mistress since 1565. In January 1567 Eric extorted a declaration from two of his senators that they would assist him to punish all who should try to prevent his projected marriage; and, in the middle of May, a Riksdag was summoned to Upsala to judge between the king and those of the aristocracy whom he regarded as his personal enemies. Eric himself arrived at Upsala on the 16th in a condition of incipient insanity. On the 19th he opened parliament in a speech which, as he explained, he had to deliver extempore owing to “the treachery” of his secretary. Two days later Nils Sture arrived at Upsala fresh from his embassy to Lorraine, and was at once thrown into prison, where other members of the nobility were already detained. On the following day Eric murdered Nils in his cell with his own hand, and by his order the other prisoners were despatched by the royal provost marshal forthwith. These murders were committed so promptly and secretly that it is doubtful whether the estates, actually in session at the same place, knew what had been done when, on the 26th of May, under violent pressure from Göran Persson, they signed a document declaring that all the accused gentlemen under detention had acted like traitors, and confirming all sentences already passed or that might be passed upon them.
From the very start of his reign, Eric’s intense fear of the upper classes led him to trust a man of low origin and questionable character, though it must be said he was quite capable. This man was Göran Persson, born around 1530, who had been educated abroad in Lutheran teachings and, after narrowly escaping execution at the hands of Gustavus Vasa for some heinous act, entered the service of his son. This ambitious upstart became the natural enemy of the nobility, who suffered greatly due to him, though it’s hard to say whether the initiative for these legal actions came from him or his master. Göran was also a fierce opponent of Duke John, with whom Eric had a public falling out in 1563, because John, contrary to royal orders, had married (Oct. 4, 1562) Catherine, the daughter of Sigismund I of Poland, while also agreeing to help the Polish king conquer Livonia. This act was a blatant violation of the Arboga articles, which prohibited royal dukes from making any political treaties without royal approval. Eric immediately sent an army of 10,000 men to John’s duchy of Finland, capturing John and his wife and bringing them to Sweden as state prisoners in Gripsholm Castle. But Eric didn’t stop there. His suspicions made him believe that if his own brother betrayed him, he couldn’t trust the loyalty of the great nobles, especially the members of the ancient Sture family, who were significant in Sweden before the Vasas came to power. At that time, the head of the Sture family was Count Svante, who had married a sister of Gustavus Vasa’s second wife and had a large family, among whom two sons, Nils and Eric, were still alive. The dark tragedy known as the Sture murders began with Eric XIV’s strange treatment of young Count Nils. In 1566, he was summoned before a newly formed tribunal and sentenced to death for gross neglect of duty, although none of the flimsy charges against him could be proven. The death penalty was changed to a punishment more shameful than death. On June 15, 1566, the unfortunate youth, battered and bleeding from severe mistreatment, was placed on a miserable horse, wearing a crown of straw on his head, and paraded mockingly through the streets of Stockholm. That night he was imprisoned in the fortress of Örbyhus. A few days later, he was appointed an extraordinary ambassador and sent to Lorraine to continue the negotiations for Eric’s marriage to Princess Renata. However, before he returned, Eric had decided to marry Karin, or Kitty Månsdatter, the daughter of a common soldier, who had been his mistress since 1565. In January 1567, Eric forced two of his senators to declare they would help him punish anyone who tried to stop his planned marriage; by mid-May, a Riksdag was summoned in Upsala to judge between the king and those in the aristocracy he considered his personal enemies. Eric arrived in Upsala on the 16th in a state of emerging insanity. On the 19th, he opened parliament with a speech he claimed he had to deliver off the cuff due to “the treachery” of his secretary. Two days later, Nils Sture arrived in Upsala fresh from his mission to Lorraine and was immediately imprisoned, where other noble members were already being held. The following day, Eric personally killed Nils in his cell and ordered that the other prisoners be executed immediately by the royal provost marshal. These murders were carried out so swiftly and quietly that it’s doubtful the estates, who were in session at the same place, knew what had happened when, on May 26, under heavy pressure from Göran Persson, they signed a document declaring that all detained gentlemen had acted like traitors, and confirming all sentences already given or that could be given against them.
During the greater part of 1567 Eric was so deranged that a 739 committee of senators was appointed to govern the kingdom. One of his illusions was that not he was king but his brother John, whom he now set at liberty. When, at the beginning of 1568, Eric recovered his reason, a reconciliation was effected between the king and the duke, on condition that John recognized the legality of his brother’s marriage with Karin Månsdatter, and her children as the successors to the throne. A month later, on the 4th of July, he was solemnly married to Karin at Stockholm by the primate. The next day Karin was crowned queen of Sweden and her infant son Gustavus proclaimed prince-royal. Shortly after his marriage Eric issued a circular ordering a general thanksgiving for his delivery from the assaults of the devil. This document, in every line of which madness is legible, convinced most thinking people that Eric was unfit to reign. The royal dukes, John and Charles, had already taken measures to depose him; and in July the rebellion broke out in Östergötland. Eric at first offered a stout resistance and won two victories; but on the 17th of September the dukes stood before Stockholm, and Eric, after surrendering Göran Persson to the horrible vengeance of his enemies, himself submitted, and resigned the crown. On the 30th of September 1568 John III. was proclaimed king by the army and the nobility; and a Riksdag, summoned to Stockholm, confirmed the choice and formally deposed Eric on the 25th of January 1569. For the next seven years the ex-king was a source of the utmost anxiety to the new government. No fewer than three rebellions, with the object of releasing and reinstating him, had to be suppressed, and his prison was changed half a dozen times. On the 10th of March 1575, an assembly of notables, lay and clerical, at John’s request, pronounced a formal sentence of death upon him. Two years later, on the 24th of February 1577, he died suddenly in his new prison at Örbyhus, poisoned, it is said, by his governor, Johan Henriksen.
During most of 1567, Eric was so out of his mind that a 739 committee of senators was appointed to run the kingdom. One of his delusions was that he wasn’t the king, but his brother John, whom he then freed. At the start of 1568, when Eric regained his sanity, a reconciliation took place between him and the duke, on the condition that John acknowledged the legality of his brother's marriage to Karin Månsdatter and accepted her children as the heirs to the throne. A month later, on July 4th, he was formally married to Karin in Stockholm by the primate. The following day, Karin was crowned queen of Sweden and their infant son Gustavus was declared prince-royal. Shortly after his marriage, Eric issued a circular calling for a general thanksgiving for being freed from the devil's assaults. This document, filled with signs of madness, led most rational people to believe that Eric was unfit to rule. The royal dukes, John and Charles, had already begun plans to depose him; and in July, a rebellion erupted in Östergötland. Eric initially put up strong resistance and achieved two victories, but on September 17th, the dukes arrived at Stockholm, and Eric, after surrendering Göran Persson to the terrible vengeance of his enemies, gave himself up and resigned the crown. On September 30, 1568, John III was declared king by the army and the nobility; and a Riksdag called to Stockholm confirmed this choice and formally deposed Eric on January 25, 1569. For the next seven years, the ex-king was a major source of anxiety for the new government. No fewer than three rebellions aimed at freeing and reinstating him had to be quashed, and his prison was changed multiple times. On March 10, 1575, an assembly of prominent figures, both lay and clerical, at John's request, issued a formal death sentence against him. Two years later, on February 24, 1577, he died suddenly in his new prison at Örbyhus, allegedly poisoned by his governor, Johan Henriksen.
See Sveriges Historia, vol. iii. (Stockholm, 1880); Robert Nisbet Bain, Scandinavia, cap. 4-6 (Cambridge, 1905); Eric Tegel, Konung Eriks den XIV. historia (Stockholm, 1751).
See Sveriges Historia, vol. iii. (Stockholm, 1880); Robert Nisbet Bain, Scandinavia, ch. 4-6 (Cambridge, 1905); Eric Tegel, Konung Eriks den XIV. historia (Stockholm, 1751).
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Fig. 1.—Vaccinium vitis-idaea, with leaf and flower, nat. size. 1, Flower of V. myrtillus, cut lengthwise. 2, Fruit of same. |
ERICACEAE, in botany, a natural order of plants belonging to the higher or gamopetalous division of Dicotyledons. They are woody plants, sometimes with a slender creeping stem as in bilberry, Vaccinium (fig. 1), or Andromeda (fig. 2), or forming low bushes as in the heaths, or larger, sometimes becoming tree-like, as in species of Rhododendron. The leaves are alternate, opposite or whorled in arrangement, and in their form and structure show well-marked adaptation for life in dry or exposed situations. Thus in the true heaths they are needle-like, with the margins often rolled back to form a groove or an almost closed chamber on the under side. In others such as Rhododendron or Arbutus they are often leathery and evergreen, the strongly cuticularized upper surface protecting a water-storing tissue situated above the green layers of the leaf. The flowers are sometimes solitary and axillary or terminal as in Andromeda, but are generally arranged in racemose inflorescences at the end of the branches as in Arbutus and Rhododendron, or on small lateral shoots as in Erica. They are hermaphrodite and generally regular with parts in 4 or 5, thus: sepals 4 or 5, petals 4 or 5, stamens 8 or 10 in two series, the outer of which is opposite the petals, and carpels 4 or 5. The corolla is usually more or less bell-shaped, and in the heaths persists in a dry state in the fruit. The petals with the stamens are situated on the outer edge of a honey-secreting disk. The anthers show a very great variety in shape, the halves are often more or less free and often appendaged; they open to allow the escape of the pollen by a terminal pore or slit. The carpels are united to form a 4- to 5-chambered ovary, which bears a simple elongated style ending in a capitate stigma; each ovary-chamber contains one to many ovules attached to a central placenta. The brightly coloured corolla, the presence of nectar and the scent render the flowers attractive to insects, and the projection of the stigma beyond the anthers favours crossing. The fruit is generally a capsule containing many seeds, as in Erica (fig. 3) or Rhododendron; sometimes a berry as in Arbutus.
ERICACEAE, in botany, is a natural group of plants that are part of the higher or gamopetalous division of Dicotyledons. They are woody plants, sometimes with a slender creeping stem like in bilberry, Vaccinium (fig. 1), or Andromeda (fig. 2), or they form low bushes like the heaths, or grow larger, sometimes resembling trees, as seen in species of Rhododendron. The leaves are arranged alternately, oppositely, or in whorls, and their shape and structure clearly show adaptation for living in dry or exposed environments. For example, in true heaths, the leaves are needle-like, with the edges often rolled back to create a groove or nearly closed chamber underneath. In others, like Rhododendron or Arbutus, the leaves are often leathery and evergreen, with a strongly cuticularized upper surface that protects water-storing tissue located above the green layers of the leaf. The flowers can be solitary and located in the axils or at the ends of branches as in Andromeda, but are usually arranged in racemose inflorescences at the ends of branches as seen in Arbutus and Rhododendron, or on small lateral shoots as in Erica. They are hermaphroditic and generally regular with parts in groups of 4 or 5, like this: sepals 4 or 5, petals 4 or 5, stamens 8 or 10 in two series, with the outer series opposite the petals, and carpels 4 or 5. The corolla is typically more or less bell-shaped, and in the heaths, it persists in a dry state within the fruit. The petals, along with the stamens, are situated on the outer edge of a honey-secreting disk. The anthers show a wide variety of shapes, often the halves are somewhat free and sometimes have appendages; they open to release pollen through a terminal pore or slit. The carpels come together to form a 4- to 5-chambered ovary, which has a simple elongated style that ends in a capitate stigma; each ovary chamber contains one to many ovules attached to a central placenta. The brightly colored corolla, the presence of nectar, and the scent make the flowers appealing to insects, and the stigma extending beyond the anthers promotes cross-pollination. The fruit is usually a capsule filled with many seeds, as in Erica (fig. 3) or Rhododendron; sometimes, it can be a berry like in Arbutus.
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Fig. 2.—Andromeda Hypnoides, nat. size. 1, Flower; 2, Unripe fruit cut across; 3, Stamen—all enlarged. |
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Fig. 3. | |
1, Flowering shoot of Erica cinerea, about 1½ nat. size. 1, Flowering shoot of Erica cinerea, about 1½ natural size. 2, Flower cut lengthwise. 2, Flower sliced lengthwise. 3, Stamen showing appendages and porous dehiscence of anther. 3, Stamen displaying appendages and the open pores of the anther. |
4, Capsule showing the loculicidal dehiscence; a few seeds remain attached to the central axis. 4, Capsule showing the loculicidal dehiscence; a few seeds are still attached to the central axis. 5, Diagram of the flower having four sepals, four divisions of the corolla, eight stamens in two rows, and four divisions of the pistil. 5, Diagram of the flower with four sepals, four parts of the corolla, eight stamens in two rows, and four sections of the pistil. |
The order falls into four distinct tribes, which are characterized by the relative position of the ovary and by the fruit and seed. They are as follows:—
The order is divided into four distinct groups, which are defined by the position of the ovary, as well as by the fruit and seed. They are as follows:—
1. Rhododendron tribe, characterized by capsular fruit, seed with a loose coat, deciduous petals and anthers without appendages. It consists mainly of the great genus Rhododendron (in which Azalea is included by recent botanists), which is chiefly 740 developed in the mountains of eastern Asia, many species occurring on the Himalayas. Dabeocia, St Dabeoc’s heath, occurs in Ireland.
1. Rhododendron tribe, known for its capsule-like fruit, seeds with a loose coating, deciduous petals, and anthers without any appendages. It mainly includes the large genus Rhododendron (in which recent botanists also include Azalea), primarily found in the mountainous regions of eastern Asia, with many species located in the Himalayas. Dabeocia, St Dabeoc’s heath, can be found in Ireland.
2. Arbutus Tribe.—Fruit a berry or capsule, petals deciduous and anthers with bristle-like appendages, chiefly north temperate to arctic in distribution. Arbutus Unedo, the strawberry-tree, so called from its large scarlet berry, is a southern European species which extends into south Ireland. Arctostaphylos (bearberry) and Andromeda are arctic and alpine genera occurring in Britain. Epigaea repens is the trailing arbutus or mayflower of Atlantic America.
2. Arbutus Tribe.—The fruit is either a berry or a capsule, the petals fall off, and the anthers have bristle-like extensions, mostly found in the northern temperate to arctic regions. Arbutus Unedo, known as the strawberry tree due to its large red berries, is a species from southern Europe that also grows in southern Ireland. Arctostaphylos (bearberry) and Andromeda are genera found in arctic and alpine areas in Britain. Epigaea repens is the trailing arbutus or mayflower of Atlantic America.
3. Vaccinium Tribe.—Ovary inferior, fruit a berry. Extends from the north temperate zone to the mountains of the tropics. Vaccinium, the largest genus, has four British species: V. Myrtillus is the bilberry(q.v.), blaeberry or whortleberry, V. Vitis-Idaea the cowberry, and V. Oxycoccos the cranberry (q.v.). This tribe is sometimes regarded as a separate order Vacciniaceae, distinguished by its inferior ovary.
3. Vaccinium Tribe.—The ovary is below the other floral parts, and the fruit is a berry. It ranges from the temperate northern regions to the mountains in the tropics. Vaccinium, the largest genus, includes four British species: V. Myrtillus, known as the bilberry (q.v.), blaeberry, or whortleberry; V. Vitis-Idaea, the cowberry; and V. Oxycoccos, the cranberry (q.v.). This tribe is sometimes treated as a separate order, Vacciniaceae, which is set apart by its inferior ovary.
4. Erica Tribe.—Fruit usually a capsule, seeds round, not winged; corolla persisting round the ripe fruit; anthers often appendaged. The largest genus is Erica, the true heath (q.v.), with over 400 species, the great majority of which are confined to the Cape; others occur on the mountains of tropical Africa and in Europe and North Africa, especially the Mediterranean region. E. cinerea (purple heather) and E. Tetralix (cross-leaved heath) are common British heaths. Calluna is the ling or Scotch heather.
4. Erica Tribe.—The fruit is usually a capsule, with round seeds that aren't winged; the corolla remains around the ripe fruit; anthers are often attached. The largest genus is Erica, the true heath (q.v.), which has over 400 species, most of which are found only in the Cape; others are found in the mountains of tropical Africa, as well as in Europe and North Africa, especially in the Mediterranean region. E. cinerea (purple heather) and E. Tetralix (cross-leaved heath) are common heaths in Britain. Calluna is known as ling or Scotch heather.
ERICHSEN, SIR JOHN ERIC, Bart. (1818-1896), British surgeon, born on the 19th of July 1818 at Copenhagen, was the son of Eric Erichsen, a member of a well-known Danish family. He studied medicine at University College, London, and at Paris, devoting himself in the early years of his career to physiology, and lecturing on general anatomy and physiology at University College hospital. In 1844 he was secretary to the physiological section of the British Association, and in 1845 he was awarded the Fothergillian gold medal of the Royal Humane Society for his essay on asphyxia. In 1848 he was appointed assistant surgeon at University College hospital, and in 1850 became full surgeon and professor of surgery, his lectures and clinical teaching being much admired; and in 1875 he joined the consulting staff. His Science and Art of Surgery (1853) went through many editions. He rose to be president of the College of Surgeons in 1880. From 1879 to 1881 he was president of the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society. He was created a baronet in 1895, having been for some years surgeon-extraordinary to Queen Victoria. As a surgeon his reputation was world-wide, and he counts (says Sir W. MacCormac in his volume on the Centenary of the Royal College of Surgeons) “among the makers of modern surgery.” He was a recognized authority on concussion of the spine, and was often called to give evidence in court on obscure cases caused by railway accidents, &c. He died at Folkestone on the 23rd of September 1896.
ERICHSEN, SIR JOHN ERIC, Bart. (1818-1896), British surgeon, was born on July 19, 1818, in Copenhagen. He was the son of Eric Erichsen, a member of a well-known Danish family. He studied medicine at University College, London, and in Paris, focusing on physiology in the early years of his career and lecturing on general anatomy and physiology at University College hospital. In 1844, he served as the secretary to the physiological section of the British Association, and in 1845, he received the Fothergillian gold medal from the Royal Humane Society for his essay on asphyxia. In 1848, he became an assistant surgeon at University College hospital, and in 1850, he was appointed a full surgeon and professor of surgery, where his lectures and clinical teaching were widely admired. In 1875, he joined the consulting staff. His book Science and Art of Surgery (1853) went through multiple editions. He became president of the College of Surgeons in 1880. From 1879 to 1881, he was the president of the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society. He was made a baronet in 1895 after serving for several years as surgeon-extraordinary to Queen Victoria. His reputation as a surgeon was global, and according to Sir W. MacCormac in his volume on the Centenary of the Royal College of Surgeons, he is “among the makers of modern surgery.” He was a recognized authority on spinal concussion and was frequently called to provide evidence in court for complex cases resulting from railway accidents, etc. He passed away in Folkestone on September 23, 1896.
ERICHT, LOCH, a lake partly in Inverness-shire and partly in Perthshire, Scotland, lying between the districts of Badenoch on the N. and Rannoch on the S. The boundary line is drawn from a point opposite to the mouth of the Alder, and follows the centre of the longitudinal axis north-eastwards to 56° 50′ N., where it strikes eastwards to the shore. All of the lake to the S. and E. of this line belongs to Perthshire, the rest, forming the major portion, to Inverness-shire. It is a lonely lake, situated in extremely wild surroundings at a height of 1153 ft. above the sea, being thus the loftiest lake of large size in the United Kingdom. It is over 14½ m. long, with a mean breadth of half a mile and over 1 m. at its maximum. Its area amounts to some 7¼ sq. m., and it receives the drainage of an area of nearly 50½ sq. m. The mean depth is 189 ft., and the maximum 512 ft. It has a general trend from N.E. to S.W., the head lying 1 m. from Dalwhinnie station on the Highland railway. It receives many streams, and discharges at the south-western extremity by the Ericht. Salmon and trout afford good fishing. The surrounding mountains are lofty and rugged. Ben Alder (3757 ft.) on the west shore is the chief feature of the great Corrour deer forest. The only point of interest on the banks is the cavern, near the mouth of the Alder, in which Prince Charles Edward concealed himself for a time after the battle of Culloden.
ERICHT, LOCH, is a lake that straddles both Inverness-shire and Perthshire in Scotland. It sits between the Badenoch district to the north and Rannoch to the south. The boundary line starts opposite the mouth of the Alder and runs along the center of the lake's longitudinal axis northeast to 56° 50′ N., then heads east to the shore. All the lake to the south and east of this line belongs to Perthshire, while the majority, which makes up the larger portion, belongs to Inverness-shire. It’s an isolated lake, set in very wild surroundings at an elevation of 1153 feet above sea level, making it the highest large lake in the United Kingdom. The lake stretches over 14½ miles in length, averaging half a mile in width, and over 1 mile at its widest point. Its area covers about 7¼ square miles, and it drains an area of nearly 50½ square miles. The average depth is 189 feet, with a maximum depth of 512 feet. The lake generally trends from northeast to southwest, with its head located 1 mile from Dalwhinnie station on the Highland railway. It is fed by many streams and drains at its southwestern end via the Ericht. Salmon and trout provide excellent fishing opportunities. The surrounding mountains are tall and rugged. Ben Alder (3757 feet) on the west shore is a prominent feature of the expansive Corrour deer forest. The only notable site along the banks is the cave near the mouth of the Alder, where Prince Charles Edward hid for a time after the battle of Culloden.
ERICSSON, JOHN (1803-1889), Swedish-American naval engineer, was born at Langbanshyttan, Wermland, Sweden, on the 31st of July 1803. He was the second son of Olaf Ericsson, an inspector of mines, who died in 1818. Showing from his earliest years a strong mechanical bent, young Ericsson, at the age of twelve, was employed as a draughtsman by the Swedish Canal Company. From 1820 to 1827 he served in the army, where his drawing and military maps attracted the attention of the king, and he soon attained the rank of captain. In 1826 he went to London, at first on leave of absence from his regiment, and in partnership with John Braithwaite constructed the “Novelty,” a locomotive engine for the Liverpool & Manchester railway competition at Rainhill in 1829, when the prize, however, was won by Stephenson’s “Rocket.” The number of Ericsson’s inventions at this period was very great. Among other things he worked out a plan for marine engines placed entirely below the water-line. Such engines were made for the “Victory,” for Captain (afterwards Sir) John Ross’s voyage to the Arctic regions in 1829, but they did not prove satisfactory. In 1833 his caloric engine was made public. In 1836 he took out a patent for a screw-propeller, and though the priority of his invention could not be maintained, he was afterwards awarded a one-fifth share of the £20,000 given by the Admiralty for it. At this time Captain Stockton, of the United States navy, gave an order for a small iron vessel to be built by Laird of Birkenhead, and to be fitted by Ericsson with engines and screw. This vessel reached New York in May 1839. A few months later Ericsson followed his steamer to New York, and there he resided for the rest of his life, establishing himself as an engineer and a builder of iron ships. In 1848 he was naturalized as a citizen of the United States. He had many difficulties to contend with, and it was only by slow degrees that he established his fame and won his way to competence. At his death he seems to have been worth about £50,000. The provision of defensive armour for ships of war had long occupied his attention, and he had constructed plans and a model of a vessel lying low in the water, carrying one heavy gun in a circular turret mounted on a turntable. In 1854 he sent his plans to the emperor of the French. Louis Napoleon, however, acting probably on the advice of Dupuy de Lôme, declined to use them. The American Civil War, and the report that the Confederates were converting the “Merrimac” into an ironclad, caused the navy department to invite proposals for the construction of armoured ships. Among others, Ericsson replied, and as it was thought that his design might be serviceable in inland waters, the first armoured turret ship, the “Monitor,” was ordered; she was launched on the 30th of January 1862, and on the 9th of March she fought the celebrated action with the Confederate ram “Merrimac.” The peculiar circumstances in which she was built, the great importance of the battle, and the decisive nature of the result gave the “Monitor” an exaggerated reputation, which further experience did not confirm. In later years Ericsson devoted himself to the study of torpedoes and sun motors. He published Solar Investigations (New York, 1875) and Contributions to the Centennial Exhibition (New York, 1877). He died in New York on the 8th of March 1889, and in the following year, on the request of the Swedish government, his body was sent to Stockholm and thence into Wermland, where, at Filipstad, it was buried on the 15th of September.
ERICSSON, JOHN (1803-1889), Swedish-American naval engineer, was born in Langbanshyttan, Wermland, Sweden, on July 31, 1803. He was the second son of Olaf Ericsson, an inspector of mines, who passed away in 1818. From a young age, Ericsson showed a strong aptitude for mechanics; by age twelve, he was working as a draughtsman for the Swedish Canal Company. From 1820 to 1827, he served in the army, where his drawings and military maps caught the king's attention, leading him to quickly rise to the rank of captain. In 1826, he traveled to London, initially on leave from his regiment, and partnered with John Braithwaite to build the “Novelty,” a locomotive engine for the 1829 Liverpool & Manchester railway competition, although the prize was ultimately won by Stephenson’s “Rocket.” During this period, Ericsson came up with many inventions, including a plan for marine engines that were fully submerged below the waterline. Engines based on this design were made for the “Victory” for Captain (later Sir) John Ross’s Arctic voyage in 1829, but they didn't work as planned. His caloric engine was introduced to the public in 1833, and in 1836, he patented a screw-propeller. Although he couldn't claim full priority for the invention, he later received a one-fifth share of the £20,000 award from the Admiralty for it. At this time, Captain Stockton of the U.S. Navy commissioned a small iron vessel to be built by Laird of Birkenhead, equipped with engines and a screw designed by Ericsson. This vessel arrived in New York in May 1839. A few months later, Ericsson moved to New York, where he lived for the rest of his life, working as an engineer and iron shipbuilder. He was naturalized as a U.S. citizen in 1848. Despite facing numerous challenges, he gradually built his reputation and achieved financial stability, accumulating around £50,000 by the time of his death. He had long been focused on developing defensive armor for warships and had created plans and a model for a low-waterline vessel equipped with a heavy gun in a circular turret on a turntable. In 1854, he submitted his plans to the French emperor. However, Louis Napoleon, likely following the advice of Dupuy de Lôme, chose not to implement them. The American Civil War and reports that the Confederates were converting the “Merrimac” into an ironclad prompted the navy department to seek proposals for armored ships. Among the responses was Ericsson's, and given that his design was believed to be suitable for inland waters, the first armored turret ship, the “Monitor,” was commissioned; it was launched on January 30, 1862, and fought the famous battle against the Confederate ram “Merrimac” on March 9. The unique circumstances surrounding its construction, the significance of the battle, and the conclusive outcome gave the “Monitor” a somewhat inflated reputation, which was not upheld by subsequent experience. In later years, Ericsson focused on studying torpedoes and solar motors. He published Solar Investigations (New York, 1875) and Contributions to the Centennial Exhibition (New York, 1877). He died in New York on March 8, 1889, and in the following year, at the request of the Swedish government, his remains were sent to Stockholm and then to Wermland, where he was buried in Filipstad on September 15.
A Life of Ericsson by William Conant Church was published in New York in 1890 and in London in 1893.
A Life of Ericsson by William Conant Church was published in New York in 1890 and in London in 1893.
ERIDANUS, or Fluvius (“the river”), in astronomy, a constellation of the southern hemisphere, mentioned by Eudoxus (4th century B.C.) and Aratus (3rd century B.C.); Ptolemy catalogued 34 stars in it. θ Eridani, a fine double star of magnitudes 3.5 and 5.5, is now of the third magnitude. It is supposed to be identical with the Achernar of Al-Sufi, who described it as of the first magnitude; this star has therefore decreased in brilliancy in historic times. The star ο2 Eridani (numbered 40 741 by Flamsteed) was discovered to be a ternary star group by Herschel in 1783; it consists of a close pair, of magnitudes 9.2 and 10.9, revolving in a period of 180 years, associated with a star of magnitude 4.5, which is distant from the pair by 82″; these stars have an exceptionally swift proper motion, about 4″ per annum. Eridanus was the ancient name of the river Po.
ERIDANUS, or Flu (“the river”), is a constellation in the southern hemisphere. It was mentioned by Eudoxus in the 4th century BCE and Aratus in the 3rd century BCE; Ptolemy listed 34 stars in it. The star θ Eridani, a beautiful double star with magnitudes of 3.5 and 5.5, is now classified as third magnitude. It's believed to be the same as the Achernar described by Al-Sufi, who noted it as being of first magnitude; thus, this star has actually become less bright over time. The star ο2 Eridani (numbered 40 741 by Flamsteed) was found to be a ternary star group by Herschel in 1783; it consists of a close pair with magnitudes 9.2 and 10.9, orbiting each other over 180 years, along with a star of magnitude 4.5 that is located 82″ away from the pair; these stars have an unusually fast proper motion of about 4″ per year. Eridanus was the ancient name for the river Po.
ERIDU, one of the oldest religious centres of the Sumerians, described in the ancient Babylonian records as the “city of the deep.” The special god of this city was Ea (q.v.), god of the sea and of wisdom, and the prominence given to this god in the incantation literature of Babylonia and Assyria suggests not only that many of our magical texts are to be traced ultimately to the temple of Ea at Eridu, but that this side of the Babylonian religion had its origin in that place. Certain of the most ancient Babylonian myths, especially that of Adapa, may also be traced back to the shrine of Ea at Eridu. But while of the first importance in matters of religion, there is no evidence in Babylonian literature of any special political importance attaching to Eridu, and certainly at no time within our knowledge did it exercise hegemony in Babylonia. The site of Eridu was discovered by J.E. Taylor in 1854, in a ruin then called by the natives Abu-Shahrein, a few miles south-south-west of Moghair, ancient Ur, nearly in the centre of the dry bed of an inland sea, a deep valley, 15 m. at its broadest, covered for the most part with a nitrous incrustation, separated from the alluvial plain about Moghair by a low, pebbly, sandstone range, called the Hazem, but open toward the north to the Euphrates and stretching southward to the Khanega wadi below Suk-esh-Sheiukh. In the rainy season this valley becomes a sea, flooded by the discharge of the Khanega; in summer the Arabs dig holes here which supply them with brackish water. The ruins, in which Taylor conducted brief excavations, consist of a platform of fine sand enclosed by a sandstone wall, 20 ft. high, the corners toward the cardinal points, on the N.W. part of which was a pyramidal tower of two stages, constructed of sun-dried brick, cased with a wall of kiln-burned brick, the whole still standing to a height of about 70 ft. above the platform. The summit of the first stage was reached by a staircase on the S.E. side, 15 ft. wide and 70 ft. long, constructed of polished marble slabs, fastened with copper bolts, flanked at the foot by two curious columns. An inclined road led up to the second stage on the N.W. side. Pieces of polished alabaster and marble, with small pieces of pure gold and gold-headed copper nails, found on and about the top of the second stage, indicated that a small but richly adorned sacred chamber, apparently plated within or without in gold, formerly crowned the top of this structure. Around the whole tower was a pavement of inscribed baked bricks, resting on a layer of clay 2 ft. thick. On the S.E. part of the terrace were the remains of several edifices, containing suites of rooms. Inscriptions on the bricks identified the site as that of Eridu. Since Taylor’s time the place has not been visited by any explorer, owing to the unsafe condition of the neighbourhood; but T.K. Loftus (1854) and J.P. Peters (1890) both report having seen it from the summit of Moghair. The latter states that the Arabs at that time called the ruin Nowawis, and apparently no longer knew the name Abu-Shahrein. Through an error, in many recent maps and Assyriological publications Eridu is described as located in the alluvial plain, between the Tigris and the Euphrates. It was, in fact, an island city in an estuary of the Persian Gulf, stretching up into the Arabian plateau. Originally “on the shore of the sea,” as the old records aver, it is now about 120 m. from the head of the Persian Gulf. Calculating from the present rate of deposit of alluvium at the head of that gulf, Eridu should have been founded as early as the seventh millennium B.C. It is mentioned in historical inscriptions from the earliest times onward, as late as the 6th century B.C. From the evidence of Taylor’s excavations, it would seem that the site was abandoned about the close of the Babylonian period.
ERIDU, is one of the oldest religious centers of the Sumerians, noted in ancient Babylonian records as the “city of the deep.” The primary god of this city was Ea (q.v.), the god of the sea and wisdom. The emphasis on this god in the incantation literature of Babylonia and Assyria suggests that many of our magical texts can ultimately be traced back to the temple of Ea at Eridu, indicating that this aspect of Babylonian religion originated there. Some of the earliest Babylonian myths, particularly that of Adapa, can also be traced to the shrine of Ea at Eridu. However, while it was significant in terms of religion, there is no evidence in Babylonian literature that Eridu held any special political importance, and certainly, at no time within our knowledge did it dominate Babylonia. The site of Eridu was discovered by J.E. Taylor in 1854, in a ruin known by locals as Abu-Shahrein, located a few miles south-southwest of Moghair, the ancient Ur, nearly in the center of the dry bed of an inland sea—a deep valley, 15 m at its widest, mostly covered with a nitrous crust, and separated from the alluvial plain near Moghair by a low, pebbly sandstone range known as the Hazem. This valley is open to the north toward the Euphrates and stretches southward to the Khanega wadi below Suk-esh-Sheiukh. During the rainy season, this valley becomes a sea, flooded by the runoff from the Khanega; in summer, locals dig holes here that provide them with brackish water. The ruins, where Taylor conducted brief excavations, consist of a platform of fine sand enclosed by a 20 ft high sandstone wall, aligned with the cardinal points. On the northwest part of the site stood a pyramidal tower with two stages, built of sun-dried bricks and covered with a wall of kiln-fired bricks, still standing to a height of about 70 ft above the platform. The top of the first stage was reached by a staircase on the southeast side, 15 ft wide and 70 ft long, made of polished marble slabs secured with copper bolts and flanked by two unique columns at the base. A sloped path led up to the second stage on the northwest side. Pieces of polished alabaster and marble, along with small pieces of pure gold and gold-headed copper nails found at the top of the second stage, indicated that a small but richly adorned sacred chamber, likely gold-plated inside or out, once crowned this structure. Surrounding the entire tower was a pavement of inscribed baked bricks, resting on a 2 ft thick layer of clay. On the southeast part of the terrace were the remains of several buildings, featuring suites of rooms. Inscriptions on the bricks identified the site as Eridu. Since Taylor's time, no explorers have visited the site due to the unsafe conditions in the area; however, T.K. Loftus (1854) and J.P. Peters (1890) both reported seeing it from the summit of Moghair. Peters noted that, at that time, Arabs referred to the ruin as Nowawis and seemingly no longer recognized the name Abu-Shahrein. Due to an error, many recent maps and Assyriological publications inaccurately place Eridu in the alluvial plain between the Tigris and the Euphrates. In reality, it was an island city in an estuary of the Persian Gulf, extending up into the Arabian plateau. Originally “on the shore of the sea,” as stated in ancient records, it is currently about 120 m from the head of the Persian Gulf. Based on the present rate of sediment deposition at the head of that gulf, Eridu should have been established as early as the seventh millennium BCE. It is mentioned in historical inscriptions from the earliest times up to the 6th century BCE. The evidence from Taylor's excavations suggests that the site was abandoned around the end of the Babylonian period.
See J.E. Taylor, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. xv. (1855); F. Delitzsch, Wo lag das Paradies? (1881); J.P. Peters, Nippur (1897); M. Jastrow, The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria (1898); H.V. Hilprecht, Excavations in Assyria and Babylonia (1904); L.W. King, A History of Sumer and Akkad (1910).
See J.E. Taylor, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. xv. (1855); F. Delitzsch, Where Was Paradise? (1881); J.P. Peters, Nippur (1897); M. Jastrow, The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria (1898); H.V. Hilprecht, Excavations in Assyria and Babylonia (1904); L.W. King, A History of Sumer and Akkad (1910).
ERIE, the most southerly of the Great Lakes of North America, between 41° 23′ and 42° 53′ N., and 78° 51′ and 83° 28′ W., bounded W. by the state of Michigan, S. and S.E. by Ohio, Pennsylvania and New York, and N. by the province of Ontario. It is nearly elliptical, the major axis, 250 m. long, lying east and west; its greatest breadth is 60 m.; its area about 10,000 sq. m.; and the total area of its basin 34,412 sq. m. Its elevation above mean sea-level is 573 ft.; and its surface is nearly 9 ft. below that of Lake Huron, which discharges into it through St Clair river, Lake St Clair and Detroit river, and is 327 ft. above that of Lake Ontario, this great difference being absorbed by the rapids and falls in the Niagara river, which joins the two lakes. Lake Erie is very shallow, and may be divided into three basins, the western extending to Point Pelee and including all the islands, containing about 1200 sq. m., with a comparatively flat bottom at 5 to 6 fathoms; the main basin, between Point Pelee and the narrows at Long Point, containing about 6700 sq. m., and having a marked shelving bottom deepening gradually to 14 fathoms; and the portion east of the narrows, containing about 2100 sq. m., having a depression 30 fathoms deep just east from Long Point, with an extensive flat of 11 fathoms depth between it and the main basin. The Canadian shore is low and flat throughout, the United States shore is low but bordered by an elevated plateau through which the rivers have cut deep channels. The lake basin is relatively so small that the rivers are without importance; Grand river, on the north shore, is the largest tributary. The flat alluvial soil bordering on the lake is very fertile, and the climate is well adapted for fruit cultivation. Large quantities of peaches, grapes and small fruits are grown; the islands in the west end have a climate much warmer and more equable than the adjoining mainland, and are practically covered with vineyards. The low clayey or sandy shores are subject to erosion by waves. In severe storms the water near shore is filled with sand, which is deposited where the currents are checked around the ends of jetties in such a way as to form bars out into the lake across improved channels. This shoaling has rendered continuous dredging necessary at every harbour on the lake west of Erie, Pa. In consequence of the shallowness of the lake its waters are easily disturbed, making navigation very rough and dangerous, and causing large fluctuations of surface. Strong winds are frequent, as nearly every cyclonic depression traversing North America, either from the westward or the Gulf of Mexico, passes near enough to Lake Erie to be felt. Westerly gales are more frequent, and have more effect on the water surface than easterly ones, lowering the water as much as 7 to 8 ft. at the west end and raising it 5 to 8 ft. at the east end. The worst storms occur in autumn, when the immense quantity of shipping on the lake makes them specially destructive. There are no tides, and usually only a slight current towards the outlet, though powerful currents are temporarily produced by the rapid return of waters after a storm, and during the height of a westerly gale there is invariably a reflex current into the west end of the lake. There is an annual fluctuation in the level of the lake, varying from a minimum of 9 in. to a maximum of 2 ft., the normal low level occurring in February and the high level in midsummer. Standard high water (of 1838) is 575.11 ft. above mean sea-level, and the lowest record was 570.8 in November 1895. The harbours and exits of the lake freeze over, but the body of the lake never freezes completely.
ERIE, the southernmost of the Great Lakes in North America, located between 41° 23′ and 42° 53′ N and 78° 51′ and 83° 28′ W, is bordered to the west by Michigan, to the south and southeast by Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York, and to the north by Ontario. It's almost elliptical in shape, with a major axis of 250 miles lying east to west; the widest point is 60 miles across; it covers an area of about 10,000 square miles, and its total basin area is 34,412 square miles. Its elevation above sea level is 573 feet, and its surface is nearly 9 feet below that of Lake Huron, which drains into it via the St. Clair River, Lake St. Clair, and the Detroit River. Lake Huron is 327 feet higher than Lake Ontario, with this significant difference due to the rapids and falls in the Niagara River that connects the two lakes. Lake Erie is quite shallow and can be divided into three basins: the western basin, extending to Point Pelee and containing all the islands, which has about 1,200 square miles and a relatively flat bottom at 5 to 6 fathoms deep; the main basin, between Point Pelee and the narrows at Long Point, which encompasses about 6,700 square miles and has a pronounced slope deepening gradually to 14 fathoms; and the eastern portion past the narrows, containing about 2,100 square miles, which has a area 30 fathoms deep just east of Long Point, with a broad flat area of 11 fathoms between it and the main basin. The Canadian shoreline is generally low and flat, while the U.S. side is also low but features a high plateau that the rivers have cut deeply into. The basin is small enough that the rivers aren’t very significant; the Grand River, on the north shore, is the largest tributary. The flat, fertile alluvial soil near the lake is ideal for growing fruit, producing large amounts of peaches, grapes, and other small fruits. The islands at the west end have a climate that’s significantly warmer and more stable than the adjacent mainland, almost entirely covered with vineyards. The low, clayey, or sandy shores are prone to erosion from waves. During strong storms, the water near the shore gets sandy, which is deposited where currents slow down at the ends of jetties, creating sandbars extending into the lake across the channels. This buildup has made ongoing dredging necessary at every harbor on the lake west of Erie, PA. Because of the lake’s shallow depth, its waters can be easily stirred up, making navigation quite rough and dangerous, and causing significant variations in surface levels. Strong winds are common since nearly every cyclonic depression passing through North America, whether from the west or the Gulf of Mexico, comes close enough to Lake Erie to be felt. Westerly winds are more common and have a greater impact on the water surface than easterly winds, lowering it by as much as 7 to 8 feet at the west end while raising it by 5 to 8 feet at the east end. The most severe storms happen in autumn, causing significant destruction due to the heavy shipping on the lake. There are no tides, and usually only a slight current towards the outlet, though strong currents can temporarily form from the quick return of water after a storm. During the peak of a westerly gale, there’s typically a backward current into the west end of the lake. Each year, the lake level fluctuates from a minimum of 9 inches to a maximum of 2 feet, with the normal low occurring in February and the high in midsummer. The standard high water mark from 1838 is 575.11 feet above sea level, and the lowest recorded level was 570.8 feet in November 1895. The harbors and outlets of the lake freeze, but the main body of water never completely freezes over.
Ice-breaking car ferries run across the lake all winter. General navigation opens as a rule in the middle of April and closes in the middle of December. The volume of traffic is immense, because practically all freight from the more westerly lakes finds terminal harbours in Lake Erie. Official statistics of commerce passing through the Detroit river into the lake during the season of 1906 show that 35,128 vessels, having a net register of 50,673,897 tons, carried 63,805,571 (short) tons of freight, valued at $662,971,053. The 1175 vessels engaged in this business were valued at $106,223,000. Over 90% of the whole traffic is in United States ships to United States ports. Fine passenger steamers run nightly between Buffalo and Cleveland and Detroit, and there are many shorter passenger routes.
Ice-breaking car ferries operate across the lake throughout the winter. General navigation typically starts in mid-April and ends in mid-December. The volume of traffic is huge because almost all freight from the more western lakes arrives at terminal harbors in Lake Erie. Official statistics for commerce passing through the Detroit River into the lake during the 1906 season show that 35,128 vessels, with a total net register of 50,673,897 tons, transported 63,805,571 short tons of freight valued at $662,971,053. The 1,175 vessels involved in this trade were valued at $106,223,000. Over 90% of all traffic consists of U.S. ships heading to U.S. ports. Elegant passenger steamers operate nightly between Buffalo and Cleveland and Detroit, along with many shorter passenger routes.
The large traffic on Lake Erie has brought into existence a number of important harbours on the south shore, nearly all artificially made and deepened, with entrances between two breakwaters running into the lake at right angles to the coast line. The principal of these are Toledo, Sandusky, Huron, Vermilion, Lorain, Cleveland, Fairport, Ashtabula, Conneaut, Erie (a natural harbour), Dunkirk and Buffalo, Rondeau, Port Stanley, Port Burwell, Port Dover, Port Maitland and Port Colborne. The Miami and Erie canal, leading from Maumee river to Cincinnati, 244½ m., with a branch to Port Jefferson, 14 m., with locks 90 by 15 by 4 ft., connects with Lake Erie through Toledo. The Erie canal leading from Buffalo to the Hudson river at Troy, and connecting with Lake Ontario at Oswego, had a capacity for boats 98 ft. long, 17 ft. 10 in. beam, with 6 ft. draught, until in 1907 the State of New York undertook its deepening to accommodate boats of 1000 tons capacity. Buffalo from its position at the eastern limit of deep draught lake navigation is a city of first rate commercial importance. Its harbour is formed by an artificial breakwater, built parallel with the shore about half a mile distant from it. It receives practically all the Lake Erie grain shipments besides large quantities of iron ore, lumber and copper, and is a large shipping port for coal, principally anthracite. It has over 600 m. of railway tracks to accommodate lake freights. The Welland canal, 26¾ m. long, connecting Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, with locks 270 by 45 by 14 ft., leaves Lake Erie at Port Colborne, where the Canadian government have constructed an artificial harbour and elevators for transhipment of grain from upper lake freighters to lighters of canal capacity.
The heavy traffic on Lake Erie has led to the creation of several important harbors along the southern shore, most of which are artificially built and deepened, featuring entrances between two breakwaters that extend into the lake at a right angle to the coastline. The main ones include Toledo, Sandusky, Huron, Vermilion, Lorain, Cleveland, Fairport, Ashtabula, Conneaut, Erie (a natural harbor), Dunkirk, and Buffalo, along with Rondeau, Port Stanley, Port Burwell, Port Dover, Port Maitland, and Port Colborne. The Miami and Erie Canal, which runs from the Maumee River to Cincinnati, covering 244½ miles, has a branch to Port Jefferson, which is 14 miles long, with locks measuring 90 by 15 by 4 feet, and connects with Lake Erie through Toledo. The Erie Canal, stretching from Buffalo to the Hudson River at Troy and linking with Lake Ontario at Oswego, was initially designed for boats up to 98 feet long, with a beam of 17 feet 10 inches and a draft of 6 feet, until the State of New York began deepening it in 1907 to accommodate 1,000-ton capacity boats. Buffalo, because of its location at the eastern edge of deep water lake navigation, is a city of significant commercial importance. Its harbor features an artificial breakwater built parallel to the shore, about half a mile from it. It handles almost all grain shipments from Lake Erie, as well as large amounts of iron ore, lumber, and copper, and is a major shipping port for coal, primarily anthracite. The city has over 600 miles of railway tracks to support lake freights. The Welland Canal, which is 26¾ miles long and connects Lake Ontario to Lake Erie, has locks that measure 270 by 45 by 14 feet, starting from Lake Erie at Port Colborne, where the Canadian government has built an artificial harbor and elevators for the transshipment of grain from larger lake freighters to lighter vessels capable of navigating the canal.
Fishing operations are carried on extensively in Lake Erie, the fish being taken with gill nets, seines and pound nets. Each state touching the lake has its own fishery regulations, which differ amongst themselves as well as from those of the Dominion. Both nations maintain a Fishery Protection Service, and the fisheries are replenished from artificial hatcheries. The most numerous and valuable fish are the lesser white fish (Coregonus artedi, Le Sueur), pickerel (Stizostedion vitreum, Walb.), pike (Lucius lucius, L.), and white fish (Coregonus clupeiformis, Mitchill), in the order named. The fish caught are estimated to be worth annually $1,000,000. They are collected in fishing tugs and distributed by rail throughout the United States and Canada.
Fishing operations are carried out extensively in Lake Erie, with fish being caught using gill nets, seines, and pound nets. Each state bordering the lake has its own fishing regulations, which vary from one another as well as from those of the Dominion. Both countries have a Fishery Protection Service, and the fisheries are replenished from artificial hatcheries. The most numerous and valuable fish include the lesser whitefish (Coregonus artedi, Le Sueur), pickerel (Stizostedion vitreum, Walb.), pike (Lucius lucius, L.), and whitefish (Coregonus clupeiformis, Mitchill), listed in that order. The fish caught are estimated to be worth around $1,000,000 annually. They are collected in fishing tugs and distributed by rail across the United States and Canada.
Bibliography.—Bulletin No. 17, Survey of Northern and North-western Lakes, U.S. Lake Survey Office, War Dept. (Detroit, 1907); U.S. Hydrographic Office, Publication No. 108D, Sailing Directions for Lake Erie, &c. (Washington, 1902); Sailing Directions for the Canadian Shore of Lake Erie, Department of Marine and Fisheries (Ottawa, 1897); J.O. Curwood, The Great Lakes (New York, 1909); E. Channing and M.F. Lansing, The Great Lakes (New York, 1909).
Bibliography.—Bulletin No. 17, Survey of Northern and Northwestern Lakes, U.S. Lake Survey Office, War Dept. (Detroit, 1907); U.S. Hydrographic Office, Publication No. 108D, Sailing Directions for Lake Erie, &c. (Washington, 1902); Sailing Directions for the Canadian Shore of Lake Erie, Department of Marine and Fisheries (Ottawa, 1897); J.O. Curwood, The Great Lakes (New York, 1909); E. Channing and M.F. Lansing, The Great Lakes (New York, 1909).
ERIE, a city, a port of entry, and the county-seat of Erie county, Pennsylvania, U.S.A., on Lake Erie, 148 m. by rail N. of Pittsburg and near the N.W. corner of the state. Pop. (1890) 40,634; (1900) 52,733, of whom 11,957 were foreign-born, including 5226 from Germany and 1468 from Ireland, and 26,797 were of foreign parentage (both parents foreign-born), including 13,316 of German parentage and 4203 of Irish parentage; (1910 census) 66,525. Erie is served by the New York, Chicago & St Louis, the Lake Shore & Michigan Southern, the Erie & Pittsburg (Pennsylvania Company), the Philadelphia & Erie (Pennsylvania railway), and the Bessemer & Lake Erie railways, and by steamboat lines to many important lake ports. The city extends over an area of about 7 sq. m., which for the most part is quite level and is from 50 to 175 ft. above the lake. Erie has a fine harbour about 4 m. in length, more than 1 m. in width, and with an average depth of about 20 ft.; it is nearly enclosed by Presque Isle, a long narrow strip of land of about 3000 acres from 300 ft. to 1 m. in width, and the national government has protected its entrance and deepened its channel by constructing two long breakwaters. Most of the streets of the city are 60 ft. wide—a few are 100 ft.—and nearly all intersect at right angles; they are paved with brick and asphalt, and many in the residential quarters are shaded with fine elms and maples. The city has four parks, in one of which is a soldiers’ and sailors’ monument of granite and bronze, and not far away, along the shore of lake and bay, are several attractive summer resorts. Among Erie’s more prominent buildings are the United States government building, the city hall, the public library, and the county court house. The city’s charitable institutions consist of two general hospitals, each of which has a training school for nurses; a municipal hospital, an orphan asylum, a home for the friendless, two old folks’ homes, and a bureau of charities; here, also, on a bluff, within a large enclosure and overlooking both lake and city, is the state soldiers’ and sailors’ home, and near by is a monument erected to the memory of General Anthony Wayne, who died here on the 15th of December 1796.
ERIE, is a city, a port of entry, and the county seat of Erie County, Pennsylvania, U.S.A., located on Lake Erie, 148 miles by rail north of Pittsburgh and near the northwestern corner of the state. Population: (1890) 40,634; (1900) 52,733, including 11,957 foreign-born residents, with 5,226 from Germany and 1,468 from Ireland. Additionally, 26,797 were of foreign parentage (both parents foreign-born), including 13,316 of German parentage and 4,203 of Irish parentage; (1910 census) 66,525. Erie is served by the New York, Chicago & St. Louis, Lake Shore & Michigan Southern, Erie & Pittsburgh (Pennsylvania Company), Philadelphia & Erie (Pennsylvania Railway), and Bessemer & Lake Erie railways, as well as steamboat lines to many key lake ports. The city covers about 7 square miles, mostly flat, rising from 50 to 175 feet above the lake. Erie has a beautiful harbor that is about 4 miles long, over 1 mile wide, and an average depth of about 20 feet; it is almost entirely enclosed by Presque Isle, a long narrow strip of land approximately 3,000 acres, ranging from 300 feet to 1 mile wide. The federal government has protected its entrance and deepened its channel by building two long breakwaters. Most city streets are 60 feet wide (some are 100 feet), and nearly all intersect at right angles; they are paved with brick and asphalt, and many residential streets are lined with beautiful elm and maple trees. The city features four parks, one of which hosts a granite and bronze soldiers’ and sailors’ monument. Not far away, along the lake and bay shore, are several popular summer resorts. Among Erie’s notable buildings are the U.S. government building, city hall, public library, and county courthouse. The city’s charitable institutions include two general hospitals, each with a nursing training school; a municipal hospital, an orphanage, a home for the friendless, two nursing homes, and a charity bureau. Also, on a bluff within a large enclosure overlooking both the lake and the city is the state soldiers’ and sailors’ home, and nearby stands a monument commemorating General Anthony Wayne, who died here on December 15, 1796.
Erie is the commercial centre of a large and rich grape-growing and agricultural district, has an extensive trade with the lake ports and by rail (chiefly in coal, iron ore, lumber and grain), and is an important manufacturing centre, among its products being iron, engines, boilers, brass castings, stoves, car heaters, flour, malt liquors, lumber, planing mill products, cooperage products, paper and wood pulp, cigars and other tobacco goods, gas meters, rubber goods, pipe organs, pianos and chemicals. In 1905 the city’s factory products were valued at $19,911,567, the value of foundry and machine-shop products being $6,723,819, of flour and grist-mill products $1,444,450, and of malt liquors $882,493. The municipality owns and operates its water-works.
Erie is the commercial center of a large and prosperous grape-growing and agricultural area, has a significant trade with the lake ports and by rail (primarily in coal, iron ore, lumber, and grain), and is a key manufacturing hub. Among its products are iron, engines, boilers, brass castings, stoves, car heaters, flour, malt beverages, lumber, planing mill products, cooperage products, paper and wood pulp, cigars, and other tobacco goods, gas meters, rubber goods, pipe organs, pianos, and chemicals. In 1905, the city’s factory products were valued at $19,911,567, with foundry and machine-shop products at $6,723,819, flour and grist-mill products at $1,444,450, and malt beverages at $882,493. The city owns and operates its water system.
On the site of Erie the French erected Fort Presque Isle in 1753, and about it founded a village of a few hundred inhabitants. George Washington, on behalf of the governor of Virginia, came in the same year to Fort Le Bœuf (on the site of the present Waterford), 20 m. distant, to protest against the French fortifying this section of country. The protest, however, was unheeded. The village was abandoned in or before 1758, owing probably to an epidemic of smallpox, and the fort was abandoned in 1759. It was occupied by the British in 1760, but on the 22nd of June 1763 this was one of the several forts captured by the Indians during the Conspiracy of Pontiac. In 1764 the British regained nominal control and retained it until 1785, when it passed into the possession of the United States. The place was laid out as a town in 1795; in 1800 it became the county-seat of the newly-erected county of Erie; it was incorporated as a borough in 1805, the charter of that year being revised in 1833; and in 1851 it was incorporated as a city. At Erie were built within less than six months most of the vessels with which Commodore Oliver H. Perry won his naval victory over the British off Put-in-Bay on the 10th of September 1813.
On the site of Erie, the French built Fort Presque Isle in 1753 and established a village with a few hundred residents around it. In the same year, George Washington, representing the governor of Virginia, traveled to Fort Le Bœuf (where present-day Waterford is located), about 20 miles away, to object to the French fortifying this area. However, his protest was ignored. The village was abandoned in or before 1758, likely due to a smallpox outbreak, and the fort was abandoned in 1759. The British occupied it in 1760, but on June 22, 1763, it was one of several forts taken by the Indians during Pontiac's Rebellion. In 1764, the British regained nominal control and held it until 1785, when it became part of the United States. The area was planned as a town in 1795; by 1800, it was designated the county seat of the newly formed Erie County; it was incorporated as a borough in 1805, with the 1805 charter revised in 1833; and in 1851, it was incorporated as a city. Most of the vessels that Commodore Oliver H. Perry used to secure his naval victory over the British off Put-in-Bay on September 10, 1813, were built at Erie in under six months.
ERIGENA, JOHANNES SCOTUS (c. 800-c. 877), medieval philosopher and theologian. His real name was Johannes Scotus (Scottus) or John the Scot. The combination Johannes Scotus Erigena has not been traced earlier than Ussher and Gale; even Gale uses it only in the heading of the version of St Maximus. The date of Erigena’s birth is very uncertain, and there is no evidence to show definitely where he was born. The name Scotus, which has often been taken to imply Scottish origin, really favours the theory that he was an Irishman according to the then usage of Scotus or Scotigena. Prudentius, bishop of Troyes, definitely states that he was of Irish extraction. The pseudonym commonly read Erigena, used by himself in the titles of his versions of Dionysius the Areopagite, is Ierugena (in later MSS. Erugena and Eriugena), formed apparently on the analogy of Graiugena (“Greek-born”), which he applies to St Maximus. There seems no reason to doubt that Eriugena is connected with Erin, the name for Ireland, and Ierugena suggests the Greek ἱερός, ἱερὸς, νῆσος being a common name for Ireland. On the other hand, William of Malmesbury prefers to read Heruligena, which would make Scotus a Pannonian, while Bale says he was born at St David’s, Dempster connects him with Ayr, and Gale with Eriuven in Hereford. Some early writers thought there were two persons, John Scotus and John Erigena.
ERIGENA, JOHANNES SCOTUS (c. 800-c. 877), medieval philosopher and theologian. His real name was Johannes Scotus (Scottus) or John the Scot. The name Johannes Scotus Erigena doesn’t appear in records before Ussher and Gale; even Gale uses it only in the title of the version of St Maximus. The exact date of Erigena’s birth is quite uncertain, and there’s no concrete evidence to determine where he was born. The name Scotus, often thought to suggest Scottish origins, actually supports the theory that he was Irish, as per the usage of Scotus or Scotigena at that time. Prudentius, bishop of Troyes, clearly states that he was of Irish descent. The pseudonym commonly read as Erigena, which he used in the titles of his versions of Dionysius the Areopagite, is Ierugena (in later manuscripts, Erugena and Eriugena), seemingly formed on the model of Graiugena (“Greek-born”), which he applies to St Maximus. There’s no reason to doubt that Eriugena is linked to Erin, the name for Ireland, and Ierugena suggests the Greek sacred, holy, island, a common name for Ireland. Conversely, William of Malmesbury prefers the reading Heruligena, which would imply Scotus was from Pannonia, while Bale claims he was born in St David’s, Dempster connects him to Ayr, and Gale links him to Eriuven in Hereford. Some early writers believed there were two individuals: John Scotus and John Erigena.
Of Erigena’s early life nothing is known. Bale quotes the story that he travelled in Greece, Italy and Gaul, and studied 743 not only Greek, but also Arabic and Chaldaean. Since, however, Bale describes him as “ex patricio genitore natus,” it is a reasonable inference (so R.L. Poole) that Bale confused him with one John, the son of Patricius, a Spaniard, who tells much the same story of his own travels. The knowledge of Greek displayed in Erigena’s works is not such as to compel us to conclude that he had actually visited Greece. That he had a competent acquaintance with Greek is manifest from his translations of Dionysius the Areopagite and of Maximus, from the manner in which he refers to Aristotle, and from his evident familiarity with Neoplatonist writers and the fathers of the early church. Roger Bacon, in his severe criticism on the ignorance of Greek displayed by the most eminent scholastic writers, expressly exempts Erigena, and ascribes to him a knowledge of Aristotle in the original.
Of Erigena’s early life, nothing is known. Bale mentions the story that he traveled in Greece, Italy, and Gaul, and studied not only Greek but also Arabic and Chaldaean. Since Bale describes him as “born of a patrician father,” R.L. Poole suggests it’s reasonable to think that Bale confused him with a certain John, the son of Patricius, a Spaniard, who shares a similar travel story. The knowledge of Greek shown in Erigena’s works isn’t enough for us to conclude that he actually visited Greece. However, it’s clear that he had a solid understanding of Greek from his translations of Dionysius the Areopagite and Maximus, the way he refers to Aristotle, and his evident familiarity with Neoplatonist writers and the early church fathers. Roger Bacon, in his sharp critique of the lack of Greek knowledge among the most renowned scholastic writers, specifically exempts Erigena and attributes to him a knowledge of Aristotle in the original.
Among other legends which have at various times been attached to Erigena are that he was invited to France by Charlemagne, and that he was one of the founders of the university of Paris. The only portion of Erigena’s life as to which we possess accurate information was that spent at the court of Charles the Bald. Charles invited him to France soon after his accession to the throne, probably in the year 843, and placed him at the head of the court school (schola palatina). The reputation of this school seems to have increased greatly under Erigena’s leadership, and the philosopher himself was treated with indulgence by the king. William of Malmesbury’s amusing story illustrates both the character of Scotus and the position he occupied at the French court. The king having asked, “Quid distat inter sottum et Scottum?” Erigena replied, “Mensa tantum.”
Among other stories that have been linked to Erigena over time are that he was invited to France by Charlemagne and that he was one of the founders of the University of Paris. The only part of Erigena’s life for which we have accurate information is his time at the court of Charles the Bald. Charles invited him to France shortly after he became king, probably in the year 843, and appointed him head of the court school (schola palatina). The reputation of this school seems to have greatly increased under Erigena’s leadership, and the philosopher himself was treated leniently by the king. An entertaining story from William of Malmesbury highlights both the character of Scotus and his role at the French court. When the king asked, “What’s the difference between a sot and a Scott?” Erigena replied, “Only the table.”
The first of the works known to have been written by Erigena during this period was a treatise on the eucharist, which has not come down to us (by some it has been identified with a treatise by Ratramnus, De corpore et sanguine Domini). In it he seems to have advanced the doctrine that the eucharist was merely symbolical or commemorative, an opinion for which Berengarius was at a later date censured and condemned. As a part of his penance Berengarius is said to have been compelled to burn publicly Erigena’s treatise. So far as we can learn, however, Erigena’s orthodoxy was not at the time suspected, and a few years later he was selected by Hincmar, archbishop of Reims, to defend the doctrine of liberty of will against the extreme predestinarianism of the monk Gottschalk (Gotteschalchus). The treatise De divina praedestinatione, composed on this occasion, has been preserved, and from its general tenor one cannot be surprised that the author’s orthodoxy was at once and vehemently suspected. Erigena argues the question entirely on speculative grounds, and starts with the bold affirmation that philosophy and religion are fundamentally one and the same—“Conficitur inde veram esse philosophiam veram religionem, conversimque veram religionem esse veram philosophiam.” Even more significant is his handling of authority and reason, to which we shall presently refer. The work was warmly assailed by Drepanius Florus, canon of Lyons, and Prudentius, and was condemned by two councils—that of Valence in 855, and that of Langres in 859. By the former council his arguments were described as Pultes Scotorum (“Scots porridge”) and commentum diaboli (“an invention of the devil”).
The first known work by Erigena from this time was a treatise on the Eucharist, which has unfortunately not survived (some have linked it to a treatise by Ratramnus, De corpore et sanguine Domini). In it, he seems to have proposed that the Eucharist was merely symbolic or commemorative, a view for which Berengarius would later face censure and condemnation. As part of his penance, it's said that Berengarius was forced to publicly burn Erigena’s treatise. However, it appears that Erigena’s orthodoxy was not questioned at the time, and a few years later, Hincmar, the archbishop of Reims, chose him to defend the doctrine of free will against the extreme predestinarianism of the monk Gottschalk (Gotteschalchus). The resulting treatise De divina praedestinatione, created during this defense, has survived, and given its overall tone, it's no wonder that the author’s orthodoxy was immediately and vigorously doubted. Erigena approaches the issue purely from a speculative standpoint, boldly asserting that philosophy and religion are fundamentally the same—“Conficitur inde veram esse philosophiam veram religionem, conversimque veram religionem esse veram philosophiam.” Even more notable is his treatment of authority and reason, which we will discuss shortly. The work faced strong criticism from Drepanius Florus, a canon from Lyons, and Prudentius, and was condemned by two councils—Valence in 855 and Langres in 859. In the former council, his arguments were labeled Pultes Scotorum (“Scots porridge”) and commentum diaboli (“an invention of the devil”).
Erigena’s next work was a Latin translation of Dionysius the Areopagite (see Dionysius Areopagiticus) undertaken at the request of Charles the Bald. This also has been preserved, and fragments of a commentary by Erigena on Dionysius have been discovered in MS. A translation of the Areopagite’s pantheistical writings was not likely to alter the opinion already formed as to Erigena’s orthodoxy. Pope Nicholas I. was offended that the work had not been submitted for approval before being given to the world, and ordered Charles to send Erigena to Rome, or at least to dismiss him from his court. There is no evidence, however, that this order was attended to.
Erigena’s next work was a Latin translation of Dionysius the Areopagite (see Dionysius Areopagiticus), done at the request of Charles the Bald. This translation has been preserved, and fragments of a commentary by Erigena on Dionysius have been found in a manuscript. A translation of the Areopagite’s pantheistic writings was unlikely to change the existing views about Erigena’s orthodoxy. Pope Nicholas I was upset that the work hadn’t been submitted for approval before it was made public and ordered Charles to send Erigena to Rome or at least dismiss him from his court. However, there’s no evidence that this order was followed.
The latter part of his life is involved in total obscurity. The story that in 882 he was invited to Oxford by Alfred the Great, that he laboured there for many years, became abbot at Malmesbury, and was stabbed to death by his pupils with their “styles,” is apparently without any satisfactory foundation, and doubtless refers to some other Johannes. Erigena in all probability never left France, and Hauréau has advanced some reasons for fixing the date of his death about 877.
The later part of his life is completely unclear. The story that he was invited to Oxford by Alfred the Great in 882, that he worked there for many years, became abbot at Malmesbury, and was killed by his students with their writing tools, is likely not based on solid evidence and probably refers to a different Johannes. Erigena probably never left France, and Hauréau has suggested some reasons for estimating his death around 877.
Erigena is the most interesting figure among the middle-age writers. The freedom of his speculation, and the boldness with which he works out his logical or dialectical system of the universe, altogether prevent us from classing him along with the scholastics properly so called. He marks, indeed, a stage of transition from the older Platonizing philosophy to the later and more rigid scholasticism. In no sense whatever can it be affirmed that with Erigena philosophy is in the service of theology. The above-quoted assertion as to the substantial identity between philosophy and religion is indeed repeated almost totidem verbis by many of the later scholastic writers, but its significance altogether depends upon the selection of one or other term of the identity as fundamental or primary. Now there is no possibility of mistaking Erigena’s position: to him philosophy or reason is first, is primitive; authority or religion is secondary, derived. “Auctoritas siquidem ex vera ratione processit, ratio vero nequaquam ex auctoritate. Omnis enim auctoritas, quae vera ratione non approbatur, infirma videtur esse. Vera autem ratio, quum virtutibus suis rata atque immutabilis munitur, nullius auctoritatis adstipulatione roborari indiget” (De divisione naturae, i. 71). F.D. Maurice, the only historian of note who declines to ascribe a rationalizing tendency to Erigena, obscures the question by the manner in which he states it. He asks his readers, after weighing the evidence advanced, to determine “whether he (Erigena) used his philosophy to explain away his theology, or to bring out what he conceived to be the fullest meaning of it.” These alternatives seem to be wrongly put. “Explaining away theology” is something wholly foreign to the philosophy of that age; and even if we accept the alternative that Erigena endeavours speculatively to bring out the full meaning of theology, we are by no means driven to the conclusion that he was primarily or principally a theologian. He does not start with the datum of theology as the completed body of truth, requiring only elucidation and interpretation; his fundamental thought is that of the universe, nature, τὸ πᾶν, or God, as the ultimate unity which works itself out into the rational system of the world. Man and all that concerns man are but parts of this system, and are to be explained by reference to it; for explanation or understanding of a thing is determination of its place in the universal or all. Religion or revelation is one element or factor in the divine process, a stage or phase of the ultimate rational life. The highest faculty of man, reason, intellectus, intellectualis visio, is that which is not content with the individual or partial, but grasps the whole and thereby comprehends the parts. In this highest effort of reason, which is indeed God thinking in man, thought and being are at one, the opposition of being and thought is overcome. When Erigena starts with such propositions, it is clearly impossible to understand his position and work if we insist on regarding him as a scholastic, accepting the dogmas of the church as ultimate data, and endeavouring only to present them in due order and defend them by argument.
Erigena is the most fascinating figure among medieval writers. His free thinking and the bold way he develops his logical or dialectical system of the universe make it impossible to categorize him with the traditional scholastics. He represents a shift from the older Platonizing philosophy to the later, more rigid scholasticism. It's inaccurate to say that for Erigena, philosophy serves theology. The claim that philosophy and religion are fundamentally the same is echoed almost exactly by many later scholastic writers, but its meaning really depends on which term is chosen as primary. There’s no confusion about Erigena’s stance: for him, philosophy or reason is primary; authority or religion is secondary and derived. “Authority indeed comes from true reason, whereas reason does not arise from authority. Any authority that isn’t validated by true reason appears weak. True reason, strengthened by its own principles that are stable and unchanging, doesn’t need the support of any authority” (De divisione naturae, i. 71). F.D. Maurice, the only notable historian who doesn’t attribute a rationalizing tendency to Erigena, complicates the issue with his wording. He asks his readers to decide “whether he (Erigena) used his philosophy to undermine his theology, or to reveal what he thought was its fullest meaning.” These options seem to be poorly framed. “Undermining theology” isn’t a concept relevant to the philosophy of that time; and even if we accept the idea that Erigena aims to explore the full meaning of theology, it doesn’t mean he was primarily a theologian. He doesn't begin with theology as a settled body of truth that only needs clarification; his main thought focuses on the universe, nature, the whole, or God, as the ultimate unity that unfolds into the rational system of the world. Humanity and everything related to people are merely parts of this system and should be understood in relation to it; understanding something means determining its place within the whole. Religion or revelation is just one element in the divine process, a phase of the ultimate rational life. The highest faculty of man, reason, intellectus, intellectualis visio, strives not to be satisfied with the individual or partial but to grasp the whole and thus understand the parts. In this highest expression of reason, which is truly God thinking in humanity, thought and being come together, resolving the conflict between existence and thought. When Erigena begins with these premises, it becomes clear that we cannot grasp his position and work if we view him strictly as a scholastic, accepting church dogmas as ultimate truths and simply trying to arrange and defend them through argument.
Erigena’s great work, De divisione naturae, which was condemned by a council at Sens, by Honorius III. (1225), who described it as “swarming with worms of heretical perversity,” and by Gregory XIII. in 1585, is arranged in five books. The form of exposition is that of dialogue; the method of reasoning is the syllogistic. The leading thoughts are the following. Natura is the name for the universal, the totality of all things, containing in itself being and non-being. It is the unity of which all special phenomena are manifestations. But of this nature there are four distinct classes:—(1) that which creates and is not created; (2) that which is created and creates; (3) that which is created and does not create; (4) that which neither is created nor creates. The first is God as the ground or origin of all things, the last is God as the final end or goal of all things, that into which the world of created things ultimately returns. The second and third together compose the created universe, which is the manifestation of God, God in processu, Theophania. Thus we distinguish in the divine system beginning, middle and end; but these three are in essence one—the difference is only the consequence of our finite comprehension. We are compelled to envisage this eternal process under the form of time, to apply temporal distinctions to that which is extra- or supra-temporal. 744 The universe of created things, as we have seen, is twofold:—first, that which is created and creates—the primordial ideas, archetypes, immutable relations, divine acts of will, according to which individual things are formed; second, that which is created and does not create, the world of individuals, the effects of the primordial causes, without which the causes have no true being. Created things have no individual or self-independent existence; they are only in God; and each thing is a manifestation of the divine, theophania, divina apparitio.
Erigena’s major work, De divisione naturae, was condemned by a council at Sens, by Honorius III. (1225), who described it as “full of heretical nonsense,” and by Gregory XIII. in 1585. It is organized into five books. The format is a dialogue, and the reasoning method is syllogistic. The main ideas are as follows. Natura refers to the universal, the totality of everything, which includes both being and non-being. It represents the unity from which all specific phenomena emerge. There are four distinct categories of this nature: (1) that which creates and is uncreated; (2) that which is created and creates; (3) that which is created and does not create; (4) that which neither is created nor creates. The first category is God as the source of all things, while the last represents God as the ultimate purpose or goal of all things, into which the world of created things ultimately returns. The second and third categories together make up the created universe, which is a manifestation of God, God in processu, Theophania. Thus, within the divine system, we distinguish beginning, middle, and end; but these three are essentially one—the difference is merely a result of our limited understanding. We are compelled to see this eternal process in terms of time and to apply temporal distinctions to what is extra- or supra-temporal. 744 The universe of created things is twofold: first, that which is created and creates—the primordial ideas, archetypes, unchanging relations, divine acts of will that shape individual things; second, that which is created and does not create, the world of individuals, the results of the primordial causes, without which the causes have no true existence. Created things do not have an independent existence; they exist only in God, and each thing is a manifestation of the divine, theophania, divina apparitio.
God alone, the uncreated creator of all, has true being. He is the true universal, all-containing and incomprehensible. The lower cannot comprehend the higher, and therefore we must say that the existence of God is above being, above essence; God is above goodness, above wisdom, above truth. No finite predicates can be applied to him; his mode of being cannot be determined by any category. True theology is negative. Nevertheless the world, as the theophania, the revelation of God, enables us so far to understand the divine essence. We recognize his being in the being of all things, his wisdom in their orderly arrangement, his life in their constant motion. Thus God is for us a Trinity—the Father as substance or being (οὐσία), the Son as wisdom (δύναμις), the Spirit as life (ἐνέργια). These three are realized in the universe—the Father as the system of things, the Son as the word, i.e. the realm of ideas, the Spirit as the life or moving force which introduces individuality and which ultimately draws back all things into the divine unity. In man, as the noblest of created things, the Trinity is seen most perfectly reflected; intellectus (νοῦς), ratio (λογος) and sensus (διάνοια) make up the threefold thread of his being. Not in man alone, however, but in all things, God is to be regarded as realizing himself, as becoming incarnate.
God alone, the uncreated creator of everything, has true existence. He is the ultimate universal, all-encompassing and beyond comprehension. The lower cannot understand the higher, so we must say that God's existence is beyond being and essence; God transcends goodness, wisdom, and truth. No limited descriptions can apply to Him; His way of existing cannot be defined by any category. True theology is negative. Yet, the world, as the theophania, or revelation of God, allows us to grasp the divine essence to some extent. We see His existence in the existence of everything, His wisdom in their orderly arrangement, and His life in their constant motion. Thus, God is understood as a Trinity—the Father as substance or being (substance), the Son as wisdom (power), and the Spirit as life (energy). These three are manifested in the universe—the Father as the system of all things, the Son as the word, i.e. the realm of ideas, and the Spirit as the life or driving force that introduces individuality and ultimately brings everything back into divine unity. In humans, the highest of created beings, the Trinity is most perfectly reflected; intellectus (mind), ratio (λόγος), and sensus (intellect) form the threefold thread of their being. Not only in humans, but in all things, God is to be seen as realizing Himself and becoming incarnate.
The infinite essence of God, which may indeed be described as nihilum (nothing) is that from which all is created, from which all proceeds or emanates. The first procession or emanation, as above indicated, is the realm of ideas in the Platonic sense, the word or wisdom of God. These ideas compose a whole or inseparable unity, but we are able in a dim way to think of them as a system logically arranged. Thus the highest idea is that of goodness; things are, only if they are good; being without well-being is naught. Essence participates in goodness—that which is good has being, and is therefore to be regarded as a species of good. Life, again, is a species of essence, wisdom a species of life, and so on, always descending from genus to species in a rigorous logical fashion.
The infinite nature of God, which can be described as nihilum (nothing), is the source from which everything is created and from which everything flows. The first emergence, as mentioned earlier, is the realm of ideas in the Platonic sense, the word or wisdom of God. These ideas form a whole or inseparable unity, but we can dimly think of them as a logically arranged system. Thus, the highest idea is that of goodness; things exist only if they are good; being without well-being is nothing. Essence has a share in goodness—what is good has being and should be seen as a type of good. Life, in turn, is a type of essence, wisdom a type of life, and so on, always moving from genus to species in a strict logical manner.
The ideas are the eternal causes, which, under the moving influence of the spirit, manifest themselves in their effects, the individual created things. Manifestation, however, is part of the being or essence of the causes, that is to say, if we interpret the expression, God of necessity manifests himself in the world and is not without the world. Further, as the causes are eternal, timeless, so creation is eternal, timeless. The Mosaic account, then, is to be looked upon merely as a mode in which is faintly shadowed forth what is above finite comprehension. It is altogether allegorical, and requires to be interpreted. Paradise and the Fall have no local or temporal being. Man was originally sinless and without distinction of sex. Only after the introduction of sin did man lose his spiritual body, and acquire the animal nature with its distinction of sex. Woman is the impersonation of man’s sensuous and fallen nature; on the final return to the divine unity, distinction of sex will vanish, and the spiritual body will be regained.
The ideas are the eternal causes that, influenced by the spirit, show themselves through their effects, which are the individual created things. However, manifestation is part of the essence of these causes; in other words, God necessarily reveals Himself in the world and is not separate from it. Furthermore, just as the causes are eternal and timeless, so is creation. The Mosaic account should be seen simply as a way of hinting at what is beyond human understanding. It is entirely allegorical and needs interpretation. Paradise and the Fall do not exist in a specific place or time. Originally, humans were sinless and had no distinction of sex. Only after sin entered did humans lose their spiritual body and adopt an animal nature with sex differences. Woman represents man’s sensual and fallen nature; during the ultimate return to divine unity, sexual distinction will disappear, and the spiritual body will be restored.
The most remarkable and at the same time the most obscure portion of the work is that in which the final return to God is handled. Naturally sin is a necessary preliminary to this redemption, and Erigena has the greatest difficulty in accounting for the fact of sin. If God is true being, then sin can have no substantive existence; it cannot be said that God knows of sin, for to God knowing and being are one. In the universe of things, as a universe, there can be no sin; there must be perfect harmony. Sin, in fact, results from the will of the individual who falsely represents something as good which is not so. This misdirected will is punished by finding that the objects after which it thirsts are in truth vanity and emptiness. Hell is not to be regarded as having local existence; it is the inner state of the sinful will. As the object of punishment is not the will or the individual himself, but the misdirection of the will, so the result of punishment is the final purification and redemption of all. Even the devils shall be saved. All, however, are not saved at once; the stages of the return to the final unity, corresponding to the stages in the creative process, are numerous, and are passed through slowly. The ultimate goal is deificatio, theosis or resumption into the divine being, when the individual soul is raised to a full knowledge of God, and where knowing and being are one. After all have been restored to the divine unity, there is no further creation. The ultimate unity is that which neither is created nor creates.
The most remarkable yet also the most obscure part of the work discusses the final return to God. Naturally, sin is a necessary first step to this redemption, and Erigena struggles to explain the existence of sin. If God is true being, then sin cannot exist in any real way; it can't be said that God is aware of sin, since for God, knowing and being are the same. In the universe of things, as a universe, there can be no sin; there must be perfect harmony. Sin actually arises from an individual's will, which mistakenly identifies something as good when it isn't. This misdirected will is punished by discovering that the objects it craves are ultimately meaningless and empty. Hell shouldn't be seen as a physical place; it is the inner condition of the sinful will. Since the object of punishment is not the will or the person themselves, but rather the misdirection of the will, the outcome of punishment is the eventual purification and redemption of all. Even the devils will be saved. However, not everyone is saved at the same time; the stages of returning to the final unity, corresponding to the stages in the creative process, are many and are experienced gradually. The ultimate goal is deificatio, theosis, or rejoining with the divine being, when the individual soul gains complete knowledge of God, where knowing and being are one. Once all have returned to divine unity, there is no further creation. The ultimate unity is what neither is created nor creates.
Editions.—There is a complete edition of Erigena’s works in J.P. Migne’s Patrologiae cursus completus (vol. cxxii.), edited by H.J. Floss (Paris, 1853). The De divina praedestinatione was published in Gilbert Mauguin’s Veterum auctorum qui nono saeculo de praedestinatione et gratia scripserunt opera et fragmenta (Paris, 1650). The commentary (“Expositiones”) on Dionysius’ Hierarchiae caelestes appeared in the Appendix ad opera edita ab A. Maio (ed. J. Cozza, Rome, 1871). Of the De divisione naturae, editions have been published by Thomas Gale (Oxford, 1681); C.B. Schlüter (Münster, 1838); and in Floss’s Opera omnia; there is a German translation by Ludwig Noack, Johannes Scotus Erigena über die Eintheilung der Natur (3 vols., 1874-1876). Erigena was also the author of some poems edited by L. Traube in Monumenta Germaniae historica. Poëtae Latini aevi Carolini, iii. (1896). A commentary on the Opuscula sacra of Boëtius is attributed to him and edited by E.K. Rand (1906). Monographs on Erigena’s life and works are numerous; see St René Taillandier, Scot Érigène et la philosophie scholastique (1843); T. Christlieb, Leben u. Lehre des Johannes Scotus Erigena (Gotha, 1860); J.N. Huber, Johannes Scotus Erigena (Munich, 1861); W. Kaulich, Das speculative System des Johannes Scotus Erigena (Prague, 1860); A. Stöckl, De Joh. Scoto Erigena (1867); L. Noack, Über Leben und Schriften des Joh. Scotus Erigena: die Wissenschaft und Bildung seiner Zeit (Leipzig, 1876); R.L. Poole, Medieval Thought (1884), and article in Dictionary of National Biography; T. Wotschke, Fichte und Erigena (Halle, 1896); M. Baumgartner in Wetzer and Welte’s Kirchenlexikon, x. (1897); Alice Gardner’s Studies in John the Scot (1900); J. Dräseke, Joh. Scotus Erigena und seine Gewährsmänner (Leipzig, 1902); S.M. Deutsch in Herzog-Hauck’s Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie, xviii. (1906); J.E. Sandys, Hist. of Classical Scholarship (1906), pp. 491-495. See also the general works on scholastic philosophy, especially Hauréau, Stöckl and Kaulich. An admirable résumé is given by F.D. Maurice, Medieval Phil. pp. 45-79.
Editions.—There is a complete edition of Erigena’s works in J.P. Migne’s Patrologiae cursus completus (vol. cxxii), edited by H.J. Floss (Paris, 1853). The De divina praedestinatione was published in Gilbert Mauguin’s Veterum auctorum qui nono saeculo de praedestinatione et gratia scripserunt opera et fragmenta (Paris, 1650). The commentary (“Expositiones”) on Dionysius’ Hierarchiae caelestes appeared in the Appendix ad opera edita ab A. Maio (ed. J. Cozza, Rome, 1871). Editions of the De divisione naturae have been published by Thomas Gale (Oxford, 1681); C.B. Schlüter (Münster, 1838); and in Floss’s Opera omnia; there is a German translation by Ludwig Noack, Johannes Scotus Erigena über die Eintheilung der Natur (3 vols., 1874-1876). Erigena was also the author of some poems edited by L. Traube in Monumenta Germaniae historica. Poëtae Latini aevi Carolini, iii. (1896). A commentary on the Opuscula sacra of Boëtius is attributed to him and edited by E.K. Rand (1906). There are numerous monographs on Erigena’s life and works; see St René Taillandier, Scot Érigène et la philosophie scholastique (1843); T. Christlieb, Leben u. Lehre des Johannes Scotus Erigena (Gotha, 1860); J.N. Huber, Johannes Scotus Erigena (Munich, 1861); W. Kaulich, Das speculative System des Johannes Scotus Erigena (Prague, 1860); A. Stöckl, De Joh. Scoto Erigena (1867); L. Noack, Über Leben und Schriften des Joh. Scotus Erigena: die Wissenschaft und Bildung seiner Zeit (Leipzig, 1876); R.L. Poole, Medieval Thought (1884), and article in Dictionary of National Biography; T. Wotschke, Fichte und Erigena (Halle, 1896); M. Baumgartner in Wetzer and Welte’s Kirchenlexikon, x. (1897); Alice Gardner’s Studies in John the Scot (1900); J. Dräseke, Joh. Scotus Erigena und seine Gewährsmänner (Leipzig, 1902); S.M. Deutsch in Herzog-Hauck’s Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie, xviii. (1906); J.E. Sandys, Hist. of Classical Scholarship (1906), pp. 491-495. See also the general works on scholastic philosophy, especially Hauréau, Stöckl, and Kaulich. An excellent summary is provided by F.D. Maurice, Medieval Phil. pp. 45-79.
ERIGONE, in Greek mythology, daughter of Icarius, the hero of the Attic deme Icaria. Her father, who had been taught by Dionysus to make wine, gave some to some shepherds, who became intoxicated. Their companions, thinking they had been poisoned, killed Icarius and buried him under a tree on Mount Hymettus (or threw his body into a well). Erigone, guided by her faithful dog Maera, found his grave, and hanged herself on the tree. Dionysus sent a plague on the land, and all the maidens of Athens, in a fit of madness, hanged themselves like Erigone. Icarius, Erigone and Maera were set among the stars as Boötes (or Arcturus), Virgo and Procyon. The festival called Aeora (the “swing”) was subsequently instituted to propitiate Icarius and Erigone. Various small images (in Lat. oscilla) were suspended on trees and swung backwards and forwards, and offerings of fruit were made (Hyginus, Fab. 130, Poët. astron. ii. 4; Apollodorus iii. 14). The story was probably intended to explain the origin of these oscilla, by which Dionysus, as god of trees (Dendrites), was propitiated, and the baneful influence of the dog-star averted (see also Oscilla).
ERIGONE, in Greek mythology, is the daughter of Icarius, the hero from the Attic deme of Icaria. Her father, who learned how to make wine from Dionysus, shared some with shepherds who then got drunk. Their companions, suspecting they had been poisoned, killed Icarius and buried him under a tree on Mount Hymettus (or tossed his body into a well). Erigone, guided by her loyal dog Maera, discovered his grave and hanged herself from the tree. In response, Dionysus unleashed a plague on the land, causing all the maidens of Athens to go mad and hang themselves like Erigone. Icarius, Erigone, and Maera were placed among the stars as Boötes (or Arcturus), Virgo, and Procyon. The festival known as Aeora (the “swing”) was later established to honor Icarius and Erigone. Various small figures (in Latin oscilla) were hung on trees and swung back and forth, and fruit offerings were made (Hyginus, Fab. 130, Poët. astron. ii. 4; Apollodorus iii. 14). The story likely aimed to explain the origin of these oscilla, by which Dionysus, as the god of trees (Dendrites), was appeased, and the harmful influence of the dog star was avoided (see also Oscilla).
ERIN, an ancient name for Ireland. The oldest form of the word is Ériu, of which Érinn is the dative case. Ériu was itself almost certainly a contraction from a still more primitive form Iberiu or Iveriu; for when the name of the island was written in ancient Greek it appeared as Ἰουερνιά (Ivernia), and in Latin as Iberio, Hiberio or Hibernia, the first syllable of the word Ériu being thus represented in the classical languages by two distinct vowel sounds separated by b or v. Of the Latin variants, Iberio is the form found in the most ancient Irish MSS., such as the Confession of St Patrick, and the same saint’s Epistle to Coroticus. Further evidence to the same effect is found in the fact that the ancient Breton and Welsh names for Ireland were Ywerddon or Iverdon. In later Gaelic literature the primitive form Ériu became the dissyllable Éire; hence the Norsemen called the island the land of Éire, i.e. Ireland, the latter word being originally pronounced in three syllables. (See Ireland: Notices of Ireland in Greek and Roman writers.) Nothing is known as to the meaning of the word in any of its forms, and Whitley Stokes’s suggestion that it may have been connected with the Sanskrit avara, meaning “western,” is admittedly no more than conjecture. There was, indeed, a native Irish legend, worthless from the standpoint of etymology, to account for the origin of the name. According to this myth there were three kings of the Dedannans reigning in Ireland at the coming of the Milesians, named MacColl, MacKecht and MacGrena. The wife of the first was Eire, and from her the name of the country was derived. Curiously, Ireland in ancient Erse poetry was often called “Fodla” or “Bauba,” and these were the wives of the other two kings in the legend.
ERIN, an old name for Ireland. The earliest form of the word is Ériu, with Érinn being the dative case. Ériu was likely a shortened version of an even more primitive form Iberiu or Iveriu; when the name of the island was recorded in ancient Greek, it showed up as Ἰουερνιά (Ivernia), and in Latin as Iberio, Hiberio, or Hibernia, where the first syllable of Ériu is represented in classical languages by two different vowel sounds separated by b or v. Among the Latin forms, Iberio is the version found in the oldest Irish manuscripts, like the Confession of St. Patrick and his Epistle to Coroticus. More evidence supporting this comes from the ancient Breton and Welsh names for Ireland, which were Ywerddon or Iverdon. In later Gaelic literature, the original form Ériu evolved into the two-syllable form Éire; hence the Norse referred to the island as the land of Éire, i.e. Ireland, a word that was originally pronounced with three syllables. (See Ireland: Notices of Ireland in Greek and Roman writers.) The meaning of the word in any of its forms is unknown, and Whitley Stokes’s suggestion that it might be related to the Sanskrit avara, meaning “western,” is merely a guess. There was indeed an Irish legend, which is not valid from an etymological perspective, explaining the origin of the name. According to this myth, three kings of the Dedannans ruled in Ireland when the Milesians arrived, named MacColl, MacKecht, and MacGrena. The wife of the first was Eire, and from her the country's name came. Interestingly, Ireland in ancient Erse poetry was often referred to as “Fodla” or “Bauba,” which were the names of the wives of the other two kings in the legend.
ERINNA, Greek poet, contemporary and friend of Sappho, a native of Rhodes or the adjacent island of Telos, flourished about 600 (according to Eusebius, 350 B.C.). Although she died at the early age of nineteen, her poems were among the most 745 famous of her time and considered to rank with those of Homer. Of her best-known poem, Ἠλακάτη (the Distaff), written in a mixture of Aeolic and Doric, which contained 300 hexameter lines, only 4 lines are now extant. Three epigrams in the Palatine anthology, also ascribed to her, probably belong to a later date.
ERINNA, Greek poet, a contemporary and friend of Sappho, from Rhodes or the nearby island of Telos, was active around 600 (according to Eusebius, 350 BCE). Even though she passed away at just nineteen, her poems were among the most renowned of her era and considered on par with those of Homer. Of her most famous work, Elakate (the Distaff), which was written in a mix of Aeolic and Doric and contained 300 hexameter lines, only 4 lines have survived. Three epigrams in the Palatine anthology attributed to her likely belong to a later period.
The fragments have been edited (with those of Alcaeus) by J. Pellegrino (1894).
The fragments have been edited (along with those of Alcaeus) by J. Pellegrino (1894).
ERINYES (Lat. Furiae), in Greek mythology, the avenging deities, properly the angry goddesses or goddesses of the curse pronounced upon evil-doers. According to Hesiod (Theog. 185) they were the daughters of Earth, and sprang from the blood of the mutilated Uranus; in Aeschylus (Eum. 321) they are the daughters of Night, in Sophocles (O.C. 40) of Darkness and Earth. Sometimes one Erinys is mentioned, sometimes several; Euripides first spoke of them as three in number, to whom later Alexandrian writers gave the names Alecto (unceasing in anger), Tisiphone (avenger of murder), Megaera (jealous). Their home is the world below, whence they ascend to earth to pursue the wicked. They punish all offences against the laws of human society, such as perjury, violation of the rites of hospitality, and, above all, the murder of relations. But they are not without benevolent and beneficent attributes. When the sinner has expiated his crime they are ready to forgive. Thus, their persecution of Orestes ceases after his acquittal by the Areopagus. It is said that on this occasion they were first called Eumenides (“the kindly”), a euphemistic variant of their real name. At Athens, however, where they had a sanctuary at the foot of the Areopagus hill and a sacred grove at Colonus, their regular name was Semnae (venerable). Black sheep were sacrificed to them during the night by the light of torches. A festival was held in their honour every year, superintended by a special priesthood, at which the offerings consisted of milk and honey mixed with water, but no wine. In Aeschylus, the Erinyes are represented as awful, Gorgon-like women, wearing long black robes, with snaky locks, bloodshot eyes and claw-like nails. Later, they are winged maidens of serious aspect, in the garb of huntresses, with snakes or torches in their hair, carrying scourges, torches or sickles. The identification of Erinyes with Sanskrit Saranyu, the swift-speeding storm cloud, is rejected by modern etymologists; according to M. Bréal, the Erinyes are the personification of the formula of imprecation (ἀρά), while E. Rohde sees in them the spirits of the dead, the angry souls of murdered men.
ERINYES (Lat. Furiae), in Greek mythology, are the avenging deities, specifically the angry goddesses or goddesses of the curse placed on those who do wrong. According to Hesiod (Theog. 185), they were the daughters of Earth, born from the blood of the mutilated Uranus; in Aeschylus (Eum. 321), they are the daughters of Night, and in Sophocles (O.C. 40), of Darkness and Earth. Sometimes one Erinys is mentioned, and sometimes several; Euripides was the first to refer to them as a group of three, later named by Alexandrian writers as Alecto (the one who is always angry), Tisiphone (the avenger of murder), and Megaera (the jealous one). Their home is the underworld, from where they rise to earth to chase down the wicked. They punish all offenses against human social laws, such as lying under oath, breaking hospitality rules, and, most importantly, murdering family members. However, they also have benevolent and kind aspects. When a sinner atones for their wrongs, they are willing to forgive. Thus, their pursuit of Orestes ends after his acquittal by the Areopagus. On that occasion, they were first called Eumenides (“the kindly”), a euphemistic version of their actual name. In Athens, where they had a sanctuary at the foot of the Areopagus hill and a sacred grove at Colonus, they were primarily known as Semnae (venerable). Black sheep were sacrificed to them at night by torchlight. An annual festival in their honor was overseen by a special priesthood, featuring offerings of milk and honey mixed with water, but no wine. In Aeschylus, the Erinyes are depicted as terrifying, Gorgon-like women, dressed in long black robes, with snake-like hair, bloodshot eyes, and claw-like hands. Later depictions show them as winged maidens with a serious demeanor, dressed like huntresses, wearing snakes or torches in their hair, and carrying whips, torches, or sickles. Modern etymologists reject the identification of the Erinyes with the Sanskrit Saranyu, the fast-moving storm cloud; according to M. Bréal, the Erinyes represent the concept of cursing (No change needed.), while E. Rohde sees them as spirits of the dead, the wrathful souls of murdered individuals.
See C.O. Müller, Dissertations on the Eumenides of Aeschylus, (Eng. tr., 1835); A. Rosenberg, Die Erinyen (1874); J.E. Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion (1903); and Journal of Hellenic Studies, xix. p. 205, according to whom the Erinyes were primarily local ancestral ghosts, potent for good or evil after death, earth genii, originally conceived as embodied in the form of snakes, whose primitive haunt and sanctuary was the omphalos at Delphi; E. Rohde, Psyche (1903); A. Rapp in Roscher’s Lexikon der Mythologie, and J.A. Hild in Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités, s.v. Furiae.
See C.O. Müller, Dissertations on the Eumenides of Aeschylus, (Eng. tr., 1835); A. Rosenberg, Die Erinyen (1874); J.E. Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion (1903); and Journal of Hellenic Studies, xix. p. 205, according to whom the Erinyes were primarily local ancestral ghosts, capable of good or evil after death, earth spirits, originally thought to be embodied in the form of snakes, whose main haunt and sanctuary was the omphalos at Delphi; E. Rohde, Psyche (1903); A. Rapp in Roscher’s Lexikon der Mythologie, and J.A. Hild in Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités, s.v. Furiae.
ERIPHYLE, in Greek mythology, sister of Adrastus and wife of Amphiaraus. Having been bribed by Polyneices with the necklace of Harmonia, she persuaded her husband to take part in the expedition of the Seven against Thebes, although he knew it would prove fatal to him. Before setting out, the seer charged his sons to slay their mother as soon as they heard of his death. The attack on Thebes was repulsed, and during the flight the earth opened and swallowed up Amphiaraus together with his chariot. His son Alcmaeon, as he had been bidden, slew his mother, and was driven from place to place by the Erinyes, seeking purification and a new home (Apollodorus iii. 6. 7).
ERIPHYLE, is a character in Greek mythology, the sister of Adrastus and the wife of Amphiaraus. Bribed by Polyneices with the necklace of Harmonia, she convinced her husband to join the expedition of the Seven against Thebes, even though he knew it would likely lead to his death. Before they left, the seer instructed his sons to kill their mother as soon as they learned of his demise. The attack on Thebes was unsuccessful, and during the escape, the earth opened up and swallowed Amphiaraus along with his chariot. Following his father's orders, his son Alcmaeon killed his mother and was relentlessly pursued by the Erinyes, searching for purification and a new home (Apollodorus iii. 6. 7).
ERIS, in Greek mythology, a sister of the war-god Ares (Homer, Iliad, iv. 440), and in the Hesiodic theogony (225) a daughter of Night. In the later legends of the Trojan War, Eris, not having been invited to the marriage festival of Peleus and Thetis, flings a golden apple (the “apple of discord”) among the guests, to be given to the most beautiful. The claims of the three deities Hera, Aphrodite and Athena are decided by Paris in favour of Aphrodite, who as a reward assists him to gain possession of Helen (Hyginus, Fab. 92; Lucian, Charidemus, 17). Hesiod also mentions (W. and D. 24) a beneficent Eris, the personification of honourable rivalry. In Virgil (Aeneid, viii. 702) and other Roman poets Eris is represented by Discordia.
ERIS, in Greek mythology, is the sister of the war god Ares (Homer, Iliad, iv. 440) and a daughter of Night in Hesiod's theogony (225). In later tales of the Trojan War, Eris, not being invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, throws a golden apple (the “apple of discord”) among the guests, meant for the most beautiful. The claims of the three goddesses Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena are settled by Paris in favor of Aphrodite, who rewards him by helping him win Helen (Hyginus, Fab. 92; Lucian, Charidemus, 17). Hesiod also refers to a beneficent Eris, representing honorable competition (W. and D. 24). In Virgil (Aeneid, viii. 702) and other Roman poets, Eris is depicted as Discordia.
ERITH, an urban district in the north-western parliamentary division of Kent, England, 14 m. E. by S. of London, on the South Eastern & Chatham railway. Pop. (1891) 13,414; (1901) 25,296. It lies on the south bank of the Thames and extends up the hills above the shore, many villas having been erected on the higher ground. The park of a former seat, Belvedere, was thus built over (c. 1860), and the mansion became a home for disabled seamen. The church of St John the Baptist, though largely altered by modern restoration, retains Early English to Perpendicular portions, and some early monuments and brasses. Erith has large engineering and gun factories, and in the neighbourhood are gunpowder, oil, glue and manure works. The southern outfall works of the London main drainage system are at Crossness in the neighbouring lowland called Plumstead Marshes. Erith is the headquarters of several yacht clubs. Erith, the name of which is commonly derived from A.S. Ærra-hythe (old haven), was anciently a borough, and was granted a market and fairs in 1313. Down to the close of the 17th century it was of some importance as a naval station.
ERITH, is an urban district in the north-western part of Kent, England, located 14 miles east-southeast of London, on the South Eastern & Chatham railway. Population: (1891) 13,414; (1901) 25,296. It sits on the south bank of the Thames and climbs up the hills above the shore, with many villas built on the higher ground. The park of a former estate, Belvedere, was developed around 1860, and the mansion has become a home for disabled seamen. The church of St John the Baptist, although largely renovated, still has parts from the Early English to Perpendicular periods, along with some early monuments and brasses. Erith has significant engineering and armaments manufacturing, and nearby are facilities for making gunpowder, oil, glue, and fertilizer. The southern outfall works of London's main drainage system are located at Crossness in the neighboring lowland known as Plumstead Marshes. Erith is the headquarters for several yacht clubs. The name Erith is commonly believed to come from the Old English Ærra-hythe (old haven). It was historically a borough and was granted a market and fairs in 1313. Until the end of the 17th century, it was relatively important as a naval station.
ERITREA, an Italian colony on the African coast of the Red Sea. It extends from Ras Kasar, a cape 110 m. S. of Suakin, in 18° 2′ N., as far as Ras Dumeira (12° 42′ N.), in the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, a coast-line of about 650 m. The colony is bounded inland by the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, Abyssinia and French Somaliland. It consists of the coast lands lying between the capes named and of part of the northern portion of the Abyssinian plateau. The total area is about 60,000 sq. m. The population is approximately 450,000, of which, exclusive of soldiers, not more than 3000 are whites.
ERITREA, an Italian colony on the African coast of the Red Sea. It stretches from Ras Kasar, a cape 110 miles south of Suakin, at 18° 2′ N., to Ras Dumeira (12° 42′ N.), in the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, covering a coastline of about 650 miles. The colony is bordered inland by the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, Abyssinia, and French Somaliland. It includes the coastal areas between these capes and part of the northern section of the Abyssinian plateau. The total area is around 60,000 square miles. The population is about 450,000, of which, excluding soldiers, no more than 3,000 are white.
The land frontier starting from Ras Kasar runs in a south-westerly direction until in about 14° 15′ N., 36° 35′ E. it reaches the river Setit, some distance above the junction of that stream with the Atbara. This, the farthest point inland, is 198 m. S.W. of Massawa. The frontier now turns east, following for a short distance the course of the river Setit; thence it strikes north-easterly to the Mareb, and from 38° E. follows that river and its tributaries the Belesa and Muna, until within 42 m. of the sea directly south of Annesley Bay. At this point the frontier turns south and east, crossing the Afar or Danakil country at a distance of 60 kilometres (37.28 m.) from the coast-line. About 12° 20′ N. the French possessions in Somaliland are reached. Here the frontier turns N.E. and so continues until the coast of the Red Sea is again reached at a point south of the town of Raheita. In the southern part of the colony are small sultanates, such as those of Aussa and Raheita, which are under Italian protection. The Dahlak archipelago and other groups of islands along the coast belong to Eritrea.
The land border starting at Ras Kasar goes southwest until it reaches the Setit River at about 14° 15′ N., 36° 35′ E., a little upstream from where it joins the Atbara. This is the farthest point inland, located 198 miles southwest of Massawa. The border then shifts east, briefly following the Setit River, and then heads northeast towards the Mareb River. From 38° E., it follows that river and its tributaries, the Belesa and Muna, until it’s about 42 miles from the sea directly south of Annesley Bay. At this point, the border turns south and east, crossing the Afar or Danakil region about 60 kilometers (37.28 miles) from the coastline. Around 12° 20′ N., the French territories in Somaliland are reached. Here, the border turns northeast and continues until it reaches the Red Sea coast again, just south of Raheita. In the southern part of the colony, there are small sultanates like Aussa and Raheita, which are under Italian protection. The Dahlak archipelago and other island groups along the coast belong to Eritrea.
Physical Features.—The coast-line is of coral formation and is, in the neighbourhood of Massawa, thickly studded with small islands. The chief indentations are Annesley Bay, immediately south of Massawa, and Assab Bay in the south. The colony consists of two widely differing regions. The northern division is part of the Abyssinian highlands. The southern division, part of the Afar or Danakil country, includes all the territory of the colony south of Annesley Bay. These two regions are connected by a narrow strip of land behind Annesley Bay, where the Abyssinian hills approach close to the sea. From this bay the coast-line trends S.E. so that at Tajura Bay the distance between the Abyssinian hills and the sea is over 200 m. The Afar country is part of the East African rift-valley, and in the southern parts of the valley its surface is diversified by ranges of hills, frequently volcanic, and by lakes. The plains, however, extend over large areas, they are generally arid and are often covered with mimosa trees which form a kind of jungle called by the natives khala. The torrents which descend from the Abyssinian plateau usually fail to reach the sea. They are mostly bordered by dense vegetation; in the dry season water is found in pools in the river beds or can be obtained by digging. The principal rivers enter and are lost in one or other of two salt plains or basins, that of Asali in the north and that of Aussa in the south. The Hawash flows through the Aussa country in a N.E. direction, but is lost in lakes Abbebad and Aussa (see Abyssinia). The Raguali and other rivers drain into the Asali basin. This basin, like that of Aussa, is in places 200 ft. below sea-level. On the west the Asali basin reaches to the Abyssinian foot-hills; in its southern part is the small lake Alelbad. The eastern edge of the basin is formed by a 746 ridge of gypsum and on its margin grow palms. In parts the salt lies thick on the plain, which then has the appearance of a lake frozen over. South of Lake Alelbad is a volcano called Artali or Erta-alé (“the smoky”), and farther to the S.E., in about 13° 15′ N., is the peak of Afdera, which was in eruption in June 1907. The hills, 1000 to 4000 ft. in height, which run more or less parallel to and a few miles from the coast, include the volcano of Dubbi (reported active in 1861), some 30 m. S. of the port of Edd (Eddi). In 14° 52′ N., 39° 53′ E. and near the northern end of the zone of depression the volcano of Alid (2985 ft.) rises from the trough. Its chief crest forms an elongated ring and encloses a crater over half a mile in diameter and with walls 350 ft. high. North and south of Alid extends a vast lava field. Dubbi and Alid are in Italian territory; the greater part of Afar belongs to Abyssinia.
Physical Features.—The coastline is made of coral and is, near Massawa, dotted with small islands. The main indentations are Annesley Bay, just south of Massawa, and Assab Bay in the south. The colony has two very different regions. The northern part is part of the Abyssinian highlands, while the southern part is within the Afar or Danakil region, which encompasses all the territory south of Annesley Bay. These two regions are connected by a narrow strip of land behind Annesley Bay, where the Abyssinian hills come close to the sea. From this bay, the coastline stretches southeast, so at Tajura Bay, the distance between the Abyssinian hills and the sea is over 200 meters. The Afar region is part of the East African rift valley, and the southern areas of the valley have hills that are often volcanic and dotted with lakes. However, the plains cover large areas, are generally dry, and are frequently lined with mimosa trees that create a kind of jungle known as khala by the locals. The fast streams flowing from the Abyssinian plateau usually don't make it to the sea. They are mostly surrounded by thick vegetation; during the dry season, water can be found in pools in the riverbeds or dug up from the ground. The main rivers flow into and disappear in one of two salt plains or basins: the Asali basin in the north and the Aussa basin in the south. The Hawash River flows through the Aussa region in a northeast direction but gets lost in lakes Abbebad and Aussa (see Abyssinia). The Raguali and other rivers drain into the Asali basin. This basin, like Aussa, lies in places 200 feet below sea level. To the west, the Asali basin extends to the Abyssinian foothills; in its southern part is the small lake Alelbad. The eastern edge of the basin is marked by a ridge of gypsum, and palm trees grow along its edges. In some areas, the salt builds up thick on the plain, creating a surface that looks like a frozen lake. South of Lake Alelbad is a volcano called Artali or Erta-alé (“the smoky”), and further southeast, around 13° 15′ N., is the peak of Afdera, which erupted in June 1907. The hills, rising between 1,000 and 4,000 feet, run roughly parallel to the coast a few miles inland and include the volcano Dubbi (reported to be active in 1861), located about 30 miles south of the port of Edd (Eddi). At 14° 52′ N., 39° 53′ E., near the northern end of the depressed area, the volcano Alid (2,985 ft.) rises from the trough. Its main crest forms a long ring enclosing a crater over half a mile wide with walls 350 feet high. Vast lava fields extend north and south of Alid. Dubbi and Alid are in Italian territory; most of the Afar region belongs to Abyssinia.
At Annesley Bay the narrow coast plain is succeeded by foothills separated by small valleys through which flow innumerable streams. From these hills the ascent to the plateau which constitutes northern Eritrea is very steep. This tableland, which has a general elevation of about 6500 ft., is fairly fertile despite a desert region—Sheb—to the S.E. of Keren. It is characterized by rich, well-watered valleys, verdant plains and flat-topped hills with steep sides, running in ranges or isolated. The highest hills in Eritrean territory rise to about 10,000 ft. The plateau is known by various names, the region directly west of Massawa being called Hamasen. To the west and north the plateau sinks in terraces to the plains of the Sudan, and eastward falls more abruptly to the Red Sea, the coast plain, known as the Samhar, consisting of sandy country covered with mimosa and, along the khors, with a somewhat richer vegetation.
At Annesley Bay, the narrow coastal plain is followed by foothills divided by small valleys filled with countless streams. The climb from these hills to the plateau that makes up northern Eritrea is quite steep. This tableland, which generally sits at about 6,500 feet, is relatively fertile despite the desert area—Sheb—to the southeast of Keren. It's marked by lush, well-watered valleys, green plains, and flat-topped hills with steep sides, either in ranges or standing alone. The tallest hills in Eritrean territory reach about 10,000 feet. The plateau goes by several names, with the area directly west of Massawa called Hamasen. To the west and north, the plateau descends in terraces to the plains of Sudan, while to the east, it drops more sharply to the Red Sea. The coastal plain, known as the Samhar, features sandy terrain dotted with mimosa and, near the khors, a slightly richer vegetation.
The colony contains no navigable streams. For a short distance the Setit (known in its upper course as the Takazze), a tributary of the Atbara, forms the frontier, as does also in its upper course the Gash or Mareb (see Abyssinia). The Mareb, often dry in summer, in the floods is a large and impassable river. Both the Setit and Mareb have a general westerly course across the Abyssinian plateau. The Baraka (otherwise Barka) and Anseba rise in the Hamasen plateau near Asmara within a short distance of each other. The Baraka flows west and then north; the Anseba, which has a more easterly course, also flows northward and joins the Baraka a little N. of 17° N. A few miles below the confluence the Baraka leaves Italian territory. It is (as is the Anseba) an intermittent stream. After heavy rain it discharges some of its water into the Red Sea north of Tokar. The whole of the hill country north of Asmara belongs to the drainage area of the Baraka or Anseba. Of the numerous streams which, north of the Danakil country, run direct from the hills to the Red Sea, the Hadas may be mentioned, as along the valley of that stream is one of the most frequented routes to the tableland. The Hadas, in time of flood, reaches the ocean near Adulis in Annesley Bay.
The colony doesn't have any navigable rivers. For a short stretch, the Setit (known upstream as the Takazze), a tributary of the Atbara, marks the border, as does the Gash or Mareb in its upper section (see Abyssinia). The Mareb often runs dry in summer, but during floods, it becomes a large and impassable river. Both the Setit and Mareb generally flow westward across the Abyssinian plateau. The Baraka (also called Barka) and Anseba originate in the Hamasen plateau near Asmara, close to each other. The Baraka flows west and then north, while the Anseba, which has a more easterly direction, also flows north and meets the Baraka just north of 17° N. A few miles downstream from their confluence, the Baraka exits Italian territory. Both it and the Anseba are intermittent streams. After heavy rain, the Baraka channels some water into the Red Sea north of Tokar. The entire hilly region north of Asmara is part of the Baraka or Anseba drainage area. Among the many streams that run directly from the hills to the Red Sea north of the Danakil region, the Hadas stands out, as the valley of this stream is one of the most traveled routes to the plateau. When it floods, the Hadas reaches the ocean near Adulis in Annesley Bay.
Climate.—The climate in different parts of the colony varies greatly. Three distinct climatic zones are found:—(1) that of the coastlands, including altitudes up to 1650 ft., (2) that of the escarpments and valleys, and (3) that of the high plateau and alpine summits. In the coast zone the heat and humidity are excessive during most of the year, June, September and October being the hottest months. Rains occur between November and April, during which time the temperature is lower. In this zone malarial fevers prevail in winter. The heat is greatest at Massawa, where the mean temperature averages 88° F., but where, in summer, the thermometer often rises to 120° F. in the shade. In the second zone the climate is more temperate and there is considerable variation in temperature owing to nocturnal radiation. This zone falls within the régime of the summer monsoon rains, while those districts adjoining the coast zone enjoy also winter rains. August is the most rainy and May the hottest month. On the high plateau, i.e. the third zone, the climate is generally moderately cool. Slight rain falls in the spring and abundant monsoon rains from June to September. The heat is greatest in the dry season, November to April. Above 8500 ft. the climate becomes sub-alpine in character.
Climate.—The climate in different parts of the colony varies greatly. There are three distinct climatic zones: (1) the coastal region, which includes altitudes up to 1650 ft., (2) the escarpments and valleys, and (3) the high plateau and alpine summits. In the coastal zone, heat and humidity are high for most of the year, with June, September, and October being the hottest months. Rain falls between November and April, when temperatures are cooler. Malarial fevers are common during winter in this area. The heat is most intense at Massawa, where the average temperature is 88° F., but can reach up to 120° F. in the shade during summer. In the second zone, the climate is more temperate with significant temperature variations due to nighttime cooling. This zone experiences summer monsoon rains, while areas close to the coast also receive winter rains. August has the most rainfall, and May is the hottest month. In the high plateau, or the third zone, the climate is generally cooler. There is light rain in the spring and heavy monsoon rains from June to September. The hottest temperatures occur during the dry season from November to April. Above 8500 ft., the climate becomes sub-alpine.
Flora and Fauna.—In the low country the flora differs little from that of tropical Africa generally, whilst on the plateau the vegetation is characteristic of the temperate zone. The olive tree grows on the high plateau and covers the flanks of the hills to within 3000 ft. of sea-level. The sycamore-fig tree grows to enormous proportions in parts of the plateau. Lower down durra, maize and bultuc grow in profusion. In the northern part of the colony, especially along the Khor Baraka, the dom palm flourishes. The fauna includes, in the low country, the lion, panther, elephant, camel, and antelope of numerous species. On the plateau the fauna is that of Abyssinia (q.v.).
Flora and Fauna.—In the lowlands, the plant life is quite similar to that of tropical Africa in general, while the plateau features vegetation typical of the temperate zone. The olive tree thrives on the high plateau and spreads across the hills up to 3,000 feet above sea level. The sycamore-fig tree grows to massive sizes in certain areas of the plateau. Lower down, you’ll find plenty of durra, maize, and bultuc. In the northern part of the colony, especially along the Khor Baraka, the doum palm prospers. The wildlife in the lowlands includes lions, leopards, elephants, camels, and various species of antelope. On the plateau, the wildlife is characteristic of Abyssinia (q.v.).
Inhabitants.—The inhabitants of the plains and foothills are for the most part semi-nomad shepherds, living on durra and milk. In the north these people are largely of Arab or Hamitic stock, such as the Beni-Amer, but include various negro tribes. Afar and Somali form the population of the southern regions. The inhabitants of the plateau are Abyssinians. The nomads are Mussulmans and are, as a rule, docile and pacific, though the Danakils are given to occasional raiding. The Abyssinians are more warlike, but they have settled down under Italian rule. Among the native industries are mat-weaving, cotton-weaving, silver-working and rudimentary iron and leather working. (See Afars; Somaliland and Abyssinia.)
Inhabitants.—The people living in the plains and foothills are mostly semi-nomadic shepherds who rely on millets and milk for their sustenance. In the north, these individuals are primarily of Arab or Hamitic descent, like the Beni-Amer, but also include various African tribal groups. The southern regions are populated by the Afar and Somali. The inhabitants of the plateau are Abyssinians. The nomads practice Islam and are generally peaceful and gentle, although the Danakils do engage in occasional raids. The Abyssinians are more aggressive, yet they have largely settled under Italian rule. Local industries include mat weaving, cotton weaving, silver crafting, and basic iron and leather work. (See Afars; Somaliland and Abyssinia.)
Towns.—The principal places on the coast are Massawa (q.v.), pop. about 10,000, the chief seaport of the colony, Assab, chief town of the Danakil region, to which converges the trade from Abyssinia across the Aussa country, and Zula (q.v.), identified with the ancient Adulis. The chief town in the interior is Asmara (q.v.), the capital of the colony and under the Abyssinians capital of the province of Hamasen, and favourite headquarters of Ras Alula (see below and also Abyssinia). It is situated 7800 ft. above the sea, and has something of the aspect of a European town. Keren, 50 m. N.W. of Asmara, is the centre for a district (Bogos) fertilized by the upper course of the Anseba; Agordat, on the river Baraka, on the road from Keren to Kassala, is the centre of the Beni-Amer, Algheden and Sabderat tribes; Mogolo, on the lower Mareb, is the rendezvous of the Baria and Baza tribes. Towards Abyssinia the chief towns are Saganeiti (capital of the Okulé-Kusai province), Godofelassi and Adi-Ugri, the two latter situated in the fertile plain of the Seraé; Adiquala, on the edge of the Mareb gorge; and Arrasa, the centre of the districts constituting the province of Deki-Tesfa.
Towns.—The main coastal towns are Massawa (q.v.), with a population of about 10,000, the primary seaport of the colony, Assab, the main town in the Danakil region, through which trade from Abyssinia passes across the Aussa country, and Zula (q.v.), identified with the ancient Adulis. The key town in the interior is Asmara (q.v.), the capital of the colony and, under the Abyssinians, the capital of the Hamasen province, and a favorite base for Ras Alula (see below and also Abyssinia). It is located 7,800 ft. above sea level and looks somewhat like a European town. Keren, 50 miles northwest of Asmara, is the center for the Bogos district, which is nourished by the upper Anseba River; Agordat, on the Baraka River, along the route from Keren to Kassala, serves as the hub for the Beni-Amer, Algheden, and Sabderat tribes; Mogolo, on the lower Mareb, is where the Baria and Baza tribes gather. Toward Abyssinia, the main towns are Saganeiti (the capital of the Okulé-Kusai province), Godofelassi, and Adi-Ugri, with the latter two located in the fertile Seraé plain; Adiquala, at the edge of the Mareb gorge; and Arrasa, the center of the regions that make up the Deki-Tesfa province.
Agriculture and Trade.—The nomads of the plains possess large herds of cattle and camels. The low country is almost entirely pastoral and unsuited for the cultivation of crops. On the other hand almost all European cereals flourish in the intermediate zone and on the high plateau, and the Abyssinian is a good agriculturist and understands irrigation. Numbers of emigrants from Italy possess farms on the plateau. Experiments in the cultivation of coffee, tobacco and cotton have given good results in the intermediate zone. Besides camels and oxen, sheep and goats are numerous, and meat, hides and butter are articles of local trade. Hides are the principal export (about £50,000 a year). Wax, gum, coffee and ivory are also exported. Pearl fishing is carried on at Massawa and the Dahlak islands. The annual value of the fisheries is about £40,000 (pearls £10,000, mother of pearl £30,000). Gold mines are worked near Asmara. Salt, obtained from the salt lakes in the Aussa and Danakil countries, is a valuable article of commerce. Cotton goods are the chief imports. There is a little trade with northern Abyssinia, but it is undeveloped. For the five years 1901-1905 the average value of the external trade was £456,000 per annum. The imports more than doubled the exports.
Agriculture and Trade.—The nomads of the plains have large herds of cattle and camels. The lowland areas are mostly used for grazing and aren't suitable for growing crops. In contrast, nearly all European grains thrive in the middle region and on the high plateau, where the Abyssinians are skilled farmers and know how to irrigate. Many Italian emigrants have farms on the plateau. Experiments with growing coffee, tobacco, and cotton have shown positive results in the middle region. In addition to camels and oxen, there are plenty of sheep and goats, and meat, hides, and butter are commonly traded locally. Hides are the main export (about £50,000 a year). Other exports include wax, gum, coffee, and ivory. Pearl fishing takes place at Massawa and the Dahlak islands, with the annual value of the fisheries around £40,000 (pearls £10,000, mother of pearl £30,000). Gold mines operate near Asmara. Salt, sourced from the salt lakes in the Aussa and Danakil areas, is an important trade item. Cotton goods are the primary imports. There is some trade with northern Abyssinia, but it remains underdeveloped. For the five years from 1901 to 1905, the average value of external trade was £456,000 per year, with imports more than doubling exports.
Communications.—A railway, 65 m. long, connects Massawa with Asmara. An extension of the line is planned from Asmara to Sabderat and Kassala. The whole territory is crossed by camel and mule paths between the sea and the high plateau, and between the various centres of population. Every valley that brings water to the Red Sea has a route leading to the high plateau. The great arteries, however, number three, which, starting from Massawa by way of Asmara, run, two to Abyssinia, and one to Kassala and Khartum. They are all more or less practicable for carts, and are flanked by a good telegraph line as long as they lie in Italian territory. There are also two caravan routes from Assab Bay, across the Danakil country to southern Abyssinia. The northern leads by a comparatively easy ascent to Yejju, the more southern follows the valley of the Hawash. A telegraph line 500 m. long connects Massawa with Adis Ababa via Asmara. Massawa is also telegraphically connected with the outside world by a cable to Perim via Assab. There is regular steamship communication with Italy.
Communications.—A railway, 65 miles long, connects Massawa with Asmara. An extension of the line is planned from Asmara to Sabderat and Kassala. The entire region is traversed by camel and mule paths between the sea and the high plateau, as well as between the various population centers. Every valley that carries water to the Red Sea has a route leading to the high plateau. However, there are three main routes that start from Massawa via Asmara—two heading toward Abyssinia and one toward Kassala and Khartum. All of these routes are mostly suitable for carts and are accompanied by a good telegraph line as long as they are within Italian territory. There are also two caravan routes from Assab Bay, crossing the Danakil area to southern Abyssinia. The northern route has a relatively easy ascent to Yejju, while the southern one follows the valley of the Hawash. A telegraph line 500 miles long connects Massawa with Adis Ababa via Asmara. Massawa is also connected to the outside world by telegraph through a cable to Perim via Assab. There is regular steamship service to Italy.
Administration.—Eritrea is administered by a civil governor responsible to the ministry of foreign affairs at Rome. It is divided into six provinces, each governed by a regional commissioner. Some tracts of frontier territory are detached from the various regions and entrusted to political residents, as, for instance, on the Sudan frontier and also on the Abyssinian boundary, where strict surveillance is necessary to repress raiding incursions from Tigré, and where the chief intelligence department is established. The six regions or principal provinces are:—Asmara, which includes Hamasen and other small districts; Keren, which comprises the high territories to the north of Asmara, i.e. the Bogos country; Massawa, extending over all the tribes between the high plateau and the sea from the Hababs to the Danakil; Assab, which extends from Edd to Raheita; Okulé-Kusai, the plateau country S.E. of Asmara; Seraé, including Deki-Tesfa, the country S.W. of Asmara. The regional commissioners and the political residents act either by means of the village headmen (Shum or Chicca), by the chiefs of districts in the few localities where villages are still organized in districts, or by the headmen of tribes, and by the councils of the elders wherever these remain.
Administration.—Eritrea is managed by a civil governor who reports to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Rome. It’s divided into six provinces, each overseen by a regional commissioner. Some sections of border territory are separated from the various regions and assigned to political residents, such as those on the Sudan border and along the Abyssinian boundary, where strict monitoring is needed to prevent raiding incursions from Tigré, and where the main intelligence department is located. The six regions or main provinces are:—Asmara, which includes Hamasen and other smaller areas; Keren, which covers the highlands north of Asmara, i.e. the Bogos region; Massawa, which spans all the tribes between the high plateau and the sea from the Hababs to the Danakil; Assab, extending from Edd to Raheita; Okulé-Kusai, the plateau area southeast of Asmara; Seraé, which includes Deki-Tesfa, the area southwest of Asmara. The regional commissioners and political residents operate either through village headmen (Shum or Chicca), the leaders of districts in the few places where villages are still organized into districts, or tribal chiefs, as well as the councils of elders where they still exist.
Revenue is derived from customs duties, direct taxation and tribute paid by the nomad tribes. The local revenue, which for the period 1897-1907 was about £100,000 a year, is supplemented by grants from Italy, the total cost of the administration being about £400,000 yearly. Nearly half the expenditure is on the military force maintained.
Revenue comes from customs duties, direct taxes, and payments made by nomadic tribes. The local revenue for the period from 1897 to 1907 was around £100,000 a year, which is supported by grants from Italy, bringing the total administration costs to about £400,000 annually. Almost half of the spending goes toward the military force that is maintained.
Justice.—Civil justice for natives is administered, in the first instance, by the headmen of villages, provinces, tribes, or by councils of notables (Shumagalle); in appeal, by the residents and regional tribunals, and, in the last instance, by the colonial court of appeal. Europeans are entirely under Italian jurisdiction. Penal justice is administered by Italian judges only. An administrative tribunal settles, without appeal, questions of tribute, disputes concerning family, village or tribal landmarks, as well as suits involving the colonial government. The civil laws for the natives are those 747 established by local usage. Europeans are answerable to the Italian civil code. Penal laws are the same as in Italy, except where modified by local usages. Appeal to the Rome court of cassation is admitted against all penal and civil sentences.
Justice.—Civil justice for natives is first handled by the village, province, or tribal headmen, or by councils of elders (Shumagalle); appeals go to the residents and regional tribunals, and ultimately to the colonial court of appeal. Europeans are fully under Italian jurisdiction. Penal justice is managed solely by Italian judges. An administrative tribunal resolves, with no appeal, issues related to tribute, disputes about family, village, or tribal boundaries, as well as cases involving the colonial government. The civil laws applicable to the natives are those established by local customs. Europeans follow the Italian civil code. Penal laws are the same as in Italy, unless modified by local customs. Appeals to the Rome court of cassation are allowed against all penal and civil sentences.
Defence.—Defence is entrusted to a corps of colonial troops, partly Italian and partly native; to a militia (milizia mobile) formed by natives who have already served in the colonial corps; and to the chitet or general levy which, in time of war, places all male able-bodied inhabitants under arms. The regional commissioners and political residents have at their disposal some hundreds of irregular paid soldiers under native chiefs. In war time these irregulars form part of the colonial corps, but in time of peace serve as frontier police. The colonial corps, about 5000 strong, garrisons the chief places of strategic importance, such as Asmara, Keren and Saganeiti. The irregular troops, on foot, or mounted on camels, number about 1000 men. The militia consists of 3500 men of all arms, and is intended in time of war to reinforce the various divisions of the colonial corps. The chitet yields between 3000 and 4000 men, to be employed on the lines of communication or in caravan service. All these troops are intended to ward off a first attack, so as to allow time for the arrival of reinforcements from Italy. The customs and political surveillance along the coast is entrusted, afloat, to the Massawa naval station, and, ashore, to a coastguard company 400 strong stationed at Meder, with detachments at Assab, Massawa, Raheita, Edd and Taclai.
Defense.—The defense is managed by a group of colonial troops, made up of both Italian and local soldiers; a militia (milizia mobile) composed of locals who have previously served in the colonial forces; and the chitet, or general levy, which puts all able-bodied male residents into service during wartime. The regional commissioners and political representatives have access to hundreds of irregular paid soldiers led by local chiefs. During wartime, these irregulars become part of the colonial troops, but during peacetime, they function as frontier police. The colonial force, approximately 5000 strong, is stationed at key strategic locations such as Asmara, Keren, and Saganeiti. The irregular troops, whether on foot or mounted on camels, number around 1000 men. The militia consists of 3500 men from various branches and is designed to support the different divisions of the colonial troops during wartime. The chitet provides between 3000 and 4000 men for use along communication lines or in caravan duties. All these forces are intended to fend off an initial attack, allowing time for reinforcements to arrive from Italy. Customs and political oversight along the coast is handled at sea by the Massawa naval station and on land by a coastguard company of 400 stationed at Meder, with additional detachments at Assab, Massawa, Raheita, Edd, and Taclai.
History.—Traces of the ancient Eritrean civilization are scarce. During the prosperous periods of ancient Egypt, Egyptian squadrons asserted their rule over the west Red Sea coast, and under the Ptolemies the port of Golden Berenice (Adulis?) was an Egyptian fortress, afterwards abandoned. During the early years of the Roman empire, Eritrea formed part of an important independent state—that of the Axumites (Assamites). At the end of the reign of Nero, and perhaps even earlier, the king of the Axumites ruled over the Red Sea coast from Suakin to the strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, and traded constantly with Egypt. This potentate called himself “king of kings,” commanded an army and a fleet, coined money, adopted Greek as the official language, and lived on good terms with the Roman empire. The Axumites belonged originally to the Hamitic race, but the immigration of the Himyaritic tribes of southern Arabia speedily imposed a new language and civilization. Therefore the ancient Abyssinian language, Geez, and its living dialects, Amharic and Tigrina, are Semitic, although modified by the influence of the old Hamitic Agau or Agao. Adulis (Adovlis), slightly to the north of Zula (q.v.), was the chief Axumite port. From Adulis started the main road, which led across the high plateau to the capital Axomis (Axum). Along the road are still to be seen vestiges of cities and inscribed monuments, such as the Himyaritic inscriptions on the high plateau of Kohait, the six obelisks with a Saban inscription at Toconda, and an obelisk with an inscription at Amba Sait. Other monuments exist elsewhere, as well as coins of the Axumite period with Greek and Ethiopian inscriptions. After the rise of the Ethiopian empire the history of Eritrea is bound up with that of Ethiopia, but not so entirely as to be completely fused. The documents of the Portuguese expedition of the 16th century and other Ethiopian records show that all the country north of the Mareb enjoyed relative autonomy under a vassal of the Ethiopian emperor.
History.—There are few traces of the ancient Eritrean civilization. During the prosperous times of ancient Egypt, Egyptian forces claimed control over the western Red Sea coast, and under the Ptolemies, the port of Golden Berenice (possibly Adulis?) served as an Egyptian fortress before it was later abandoned. In the early years of the Roman Empire, Eritrea was part of a significant independent state—the Axumites (Assamites). By the end of Nero's reign, and possibly even earlier, the king of the Axumites governed the Red Sea coast from Suakin to the Bab-el-Mandeb strait and engaged in regular trade with Egypt. This ruler referred to himself as the “king of kings,” commanded both an army and a navy, minted currency, chose Greek as the official language, and maintained friendly relations with the Roman Empire. Originally, the Axumites were part of the Hamitic race, but the influx of Himyaritic tribes from southern Arabia soon introduced a new language and civilization. As a result, the ancient Abyssinian language, Geez, along with its living dialects, Amharic and Tigrina, are classified as Semitic, although they were influenced by the old Hamitic Agau or Agao. Adulis (Adovlis), located slightly north of Zula (q.v.), was the main port of the Axumites. From Adulis, the main road began, leading across the high plateau to the capital Axomis (Axum). Along this road, one can still see remnants of cities and inscribed monuments, such as the Himyaritic inscriptions on the high plateau of Kohait, the six obelisks with a Saban inscription at Toconda, and an obelisk with an inscription at Amba Sait. There are also other monuments in various locations, as well as coins from the Axumite period featuring Greek and Ethiopian inscriptions. Following the emergence of the Ethiopian empire, Eritrea's history became intertwined with that of Ethiopia but was not entirely merged. Documents from the Portuguese expedition in the 16th century and other Ethiopian records indicate that all the territory north of the Mareb enjoyed a degree of autonomy under a vassal of the Ethiopian emperor.
Michael, counsellor of Solomon, who was king of the country north of the Mareb, usurped the throne of Solomon during the reign of the Emperor Atzié Jasu II. (1729-1753), and, after proclaiming himself ras of Tigré and “protector of the empire,” ceded the North Mareb country to an enemy of the rightful dynasty. Hence a long struggle between the dispossessed family and the occupants of the North Mareb throne. The coast regions had meantime passed from the control of the Abyssinians. In the 16th century the Turks made themselves masters of Zula, Massawa, &c., and these places were never recovered by the Abyssinians. In 1865 Massawa and the neighbouring coast was acquired by Egypt, the khedive Ismail entertaining projects for connecting the port by railway with the Nile. The Egyptians took advantage of civil war in Abyssinia to seize Keren and the Bogos country in 18721, an action against which the negus Johannes (King John), newly come to the throne, did not at the time protest. In 1875 and 1876 the Egyptians, who sought to increase their conquests, were defeated by the Abyssinians at Gundet and Gura. Walad Michael, the hereditary ruler of Bogos, fought as ally of King John at Gundet and of the Egyptians at Gura. For two years Walad Michael continued to harass the border, but in December 1878 he submitted to King John, by whose orders he was (Sept. 1879) imprisoned upon an amba, or flat-topped mountain, whence he only succeeded in escaping in 1890. In 1879 his territory was given by King John to Ras Alula, who retained it until, in August 1889, the Italians occupied Asmara (see Abyssinia: History).
Michael, a counselor to Solomon, who was king of the region north of the Mareb, took over the throne of Solomon during the reign of Emperor Atzié Jasu II (1729-1753). He declared himself the ruler of Tigré and “protector of the empire,” and handed over the North Mareb region to an opponent of the rightful dynasty. This led to a long conflict between the displaced royal family and those who occupied the North Mareb throne. Meanwhile, the coastal areas had changed hands from Abyssinian control. In the 16th century, the Turks took over Zula, Massawa, and others, and these locations were never reclaimed by the Abyssinians. In 1865, Egypt acquired Massawa and the nearby coast, with Khedive Ismail planning to connect the port to the Nile by railway. Taking advantage of the civil war in Abyssinia, the Egyptians seized Keren and the Bogos region in 1872, an action that King John, the newly crowned negus, did not protest at the time. In 1875 and 1876, the Egyptians, seeking to expand their territory, were defeated by the Abyssinians at Gundet and Gura. Walad Michael, the hereditary ruler of Bogos, fought alongside King John at Gundet and with the Egyptians at Gura. For two years, Walad Michael continued to challenge the border, but in December 1878, he submitted to King John, who ordered his imprisonment on an amba, or flat-topped mountain, from where he only managed to escape in 1890. In 1879, King John gave his territory to Ras Alula, who held it until the Italians occupied Asmara in August 1889 (see Abyssinia: History).
An Egyptian garrison remained at Keren in the Bogos country until 1884, when in consequence of the revolt of the Mahdi it was withdrawn, Bogos being occupied by Abyssinia on the 12th of September of that year. On the 5th of February 1885 an Italian force, with the approval of Great Britain, occupied Massawa, the Egyptian garrison returning to Egypt. This occupation led to wars with Abyssinia and finally to the establishment of the colony in its present limits. The history of the Italian-Abyssinian relations is fully told in the articles Italy and Abyssinia (history sections).
An Egyptian garrison stayed at Keren in the Bogos region until 1884, when it was pulled out due to the Mahdi's uprising, with Abyssinia taking control of Bogos on September 12 of that year. On February 5, 1885, an Italian force, with Great Britain's approval, took over Massawa, while the Egyptian garrison returned to Egypt. This occupation resulted in conflicts with Abyssinia and eventually led to the establishment of the colony within its current borders. The history of Italian-Abyssinian relations is thoroughly explained in the articles Italy and Abyssinia (history sections).
It was not, however, at Massawa that Italy first obtained a foothold in eastern Africa. The completion of the Suez Canal led Italy as well as Great Britain and France to seek territorial rights on the Red Sea coasts. The purchase of Assab and the neighbouring region for £1880, from the sultan Berehan of Raheita for use as a coaling station by the Italian Rubattino Steamship Company, in March 1870, formed the nucleus of Italy’s colonial possessions. This purchase was protested against by Egypt, Turkey and Great Britain; the last named power being willing to recognize an Italian commercial settlement, but nothing more. (The Indian government viewed the establishment of the Italians on the new highway to the East with a good deal of ill-humour.) Eventually, the British opposition being overcome and that of Egypt and Turkey disregarded, Assab, by a decree of the 5th of July 1882, was declared an Italian colony. Between 1883 and 1888 various treaties were concluded with the sultan of Aussa ceding the Danakil coast to Italy and recognizing an Italian protectorate over the whole of his country—through which passes the trade route from Assab Bay to Shoa.
It wasn’t at Massawa that Italy first established a presence in East Africa. The completion of the Suez Canal prompted Italy, along with Great Britain and France, to pursue territorial rights along the Red Sea coasts. In March 1870, Italy purchased Assab and the nearby area for £1880 from Sultan Berehan of Raheita to use as a coaling station for the Italian Rubattino Steamship Company. This acquisition marked the beginning of Italy's colonial holdings. Egypt, Turkey, and Great Britain protested this purchase, with Britain willing to accept an Italian commercial settlement but nothing more. (The Indian government was quite displeased by the Italians' presence on the new trade route to the East.) Eventually, after overcoming British opposition and ignoring the objections from Egypt and Turkey, Assab was declared an Italian colony by a decree on July 5, 1882. Between 1883 and 1888, Italy signed various treaties with the Sultan of Aussa, conceding the Danakil coast and recognizing Italian protectorate status over his entire territory, which included the trade route from Assab Bay to Shoa.
On the 1st of January 1890 the various Italian possessions on the coast of the Red Sea were united by royal decree into one province under the title of the Colony of Eritrea—so named after the Erythraeum Mare of the Romans. At first the government of the colony was purely military, but after the defeat of the Italians by the Abyssinians at Adowa, the administration was placed upon a civil basis (1898-1900). The frontiers were further defined by a French-Italian convention (24th of January 1900) fixing the frontier between French Somaliland and the Italian possessions at Raheita, and also by various agreements with Great Britain and Abyssinia. A tripartite agreement between Italy, Abyssinia and Great Britain, dated the 15th of May 1902, placed the territory of the Kanama tribe, on the north bank of the Setit, within Eritrea. A convention of the 16th of May 1908 settled the Abyssinian-Eritrean frontier in the Afar country, the boundary being fixed at 60 kilometres from the coast. The task of reconstructing the administration on a civil basis and of developing the commerce of the colony was entrusted to Signor F. Martini, who was governor for nine years (1898-1906). Under civil rule the colony made steady though somewhat slow progress.
On January 1, 1890, the various Italian territories along the Red Sea coast were combined by royal decree into one province called the Colony of Eritrea, named after the Erythraeum Mare of the Romans. Initially, the colony was governed purely by military authority, but after the Italians were defeated by the Abyssinians at Adowa, the administration was transitioned to a civil structure (1898-1900). The borders were further clarified by a French-Italian agreement on January 24, 1900, which established the boundary between French Somaliland and the Italian territories at Raheita, as well as by various treaties with Great Britain and Abyssinia. A tripartite agreement between Italy, Abyssinia, and Great Britain, dated May 15, 1902, included the territory of the Kanama tribe, located on the northern bank of the Setit, within Eritrea. An agreement on May 16, 1908, defined the Abyssinian-Eritrean border in the Afar region, setting the boundary 60 kilometers from the coast. The responsibility of restructuring the administration on a civil basis and developing the colony's commerce was assigned to Signor F. Martini, who served as governor for nine years (1898-1906). Under civil administration, the colony experienced steady, though somewhat slow, progress.
Authorities.—See B. Melli, La Colonia Eritrea dalle sue origini al anno 1901 (Parma, 1901); G.B. Penne, Per l’Italia Africana. Studio critico (Rome, 1906); R. Perini, Di qua dal Marèb (Florence, 1905), a monograph on the Asmara zone; F. Martini, Nell’ Africa Italiana (3rd ed., Milan, 1891); A.B. Wylde, Modern Abyssinia, chaps. v.-ix. (London, 1901); E.D. Schoenfeld, Erythräa und der ägyptische Sudân, chaps. i.-xii. (Berlin, 1904); Luigi Chiala, La Spedizione di Massana (Turin, 1888); Abyssinian Green Books published at intervals in 1895 and 1896, covering the period from 1870 to the end of the Italo-Abyssinian War; Vico Mantegazza, La Guerra in Africa (Florence, 1896); General Baratieri, Memorie d’Africa (Rome, 1898); C. de la Jonquière, Les Italiens en Érythrée (Paris, 1897); G.F.H. Berkeley, The Campaign of Adowa (London, 1902). For orography and geology see an article by P. Verri in Boll. Soc. geog. italiana, 748 1909, and for climate an article in Rivista coloniale (1906), by A. Tancredi. A. Allori compiled a Piccolo Dizionario eritreo, italiano-arabo-amarico (Milan, 1895).
Authorities.—See B. Melli, The Eritrean Colony from Its Origins to the Year 1901 (Parma, 1901); G.B. Penne, For Italian Africa: A Critical Study (Rome, 1906); R. Perini, This Side of the Marèb (Florence, 1905), a monograph on the Asmara area; F. Martini, In Italian Africa (3rd ed., Milan, 1891); A.B. Wylde, Modern Abyssinia, chapters v.-ix. (London, 1901); E.D. Schoenfeld, Erythræa and the Egyptian Sudan, chapters i.-xii. (Berlin, 1904); Luigi Chiala, The Massana Expedition (Turin, 1888); Abyssinian Green Books published intermittently in 1895 and 1896, covering the period from 1870 to the end of the Italo-Abyssinian War; Vico Mantegazza, The War in Africa (Florence, 1896); General Baratieri, Memories of Africa (Rome, 1898); C. de la Jonquière, The Italians in Eritrea (Paris, 1897); G.F.H. Berkeley, The Campaign of Adowa (London, 1902). For orography and geology, see an article by P. Verri in Boll. Soc. geog. italiana, 748 1909, and for climate, an article in Rivista coloniale (1906) by A. Tancredi. A. Allori compiled a Small Eritrean Dictionary: Italian-Arabic-Amharic (Milan, 1895).
For Afar consult W. Munzinger, “A Journey through the Afar Country” in Journ. Royal Geog. Soc. for 1869; V. Bottego, “Nella Terra dei Danakil,” in Boll. Soc. Geog. Italiana, 1892; Count C. Rossini, “Al Rágali” in L’Espl. Comm. of Milan, 1903-1904; and articles by G. Dainelli and O. Marinelli in the Riv. Geog. Italiana of Florence for 1906-1908, dealing with the volcanic regions.
For information about Afar, check out W. Munzinger's “A Journey through the Afar Country” in Journ. Royal Geog. Soc. from 1869; V. Bottego's “Nella Terra dei Danakil” in Boll. Soc. Geog. Italiana, 1892; Count C. Rossini's “Al Rágali” in L’Espl. Comm. from Milan, 1903-1904; and articles by G. Dainelli and O. Marinelli in the Riv. Geog. Italiana of Florence from 1906-1908, which focus on the volcanic regions.
Bibliographies will be found in G. Fumagalli’s Bibliografia Etiopica (Milan, 1893) and in the Riv. Geog. Italiana for 1907.
Bibliographies can be found in G. Fumagalli’s Bibliografia Etiopica (Milan, 1893) and in the Riv. Geog. Italiana for 1907.
1 During the Second Empire unsuccessful efforts were made by France to obtain a Red Sea port and a foothold in northern Abyssinia. (See Somaliland: French.)
1 During the Second Empire, France made unsuccessful attempts to secure a port on the Red Sea and establish a presence in northern Abyssinia. (See Somaliland: French.)
ERIVAN, a government of Russia, Transcaucasia, having the province of Kars on the W., the government of Tiflis on the N., that of Elisavetpol on the N. and E., and Persia and Turkish Armenia on the S. It occupies the top of an immense plateau (6000-8000 ft.). Continuous chains of mountains are met with only on its borders, and in the E., but the whole surface is thickly set with short ridges and isolated mountains of volcanic origin, of which Alagöz (14,440 ft.) and Ararat (16,925 ft.) are the most conspicuous and the most important. Both must have been active in Tertiary times. Lake Gok-cha (540 sq. m.) is encircled by such volcanoes, and the neighbourhood of Alexandropol is a “volcanic amphitheatre,” being entirely buried under volcanic deposits. The same is true of the slopes leading down to the river Aras; and the valley of the upper Aras is a stony desert, watered only by irrigation, which is carried on with great difficulty owing to the character of the soil. The government is drained by the Aras, which forms the boundary with Persia and flows with great velocity down its stony bed, the fall being 17-22 ft. per mile in its upper course, and 9 ft. at Ordubad, where it quits the government, while lower down it again increases to 23 ft. Many of the small lakes, filling volcanic craters, are of great depth. Timber is very scarce. A variety of useful minerals exists, but only rock-salt is obtained, at Nakhichevan and Kulp. The climate is extremely varied, the following being the average temperatures and mean annual rainfall at Alexandropol (alt. 5078 ft.) and Aralykh (2755 ft.) respectively: year 42°, January 12°, July 65°, mean rainfall 16.2 in.; and year 53°, January 20.5°, July 79°, rainfall 6.3 in. The population numbered 829,578 in 1897 (only 375,086 women), of whom 82,278 lived in the towns. An estimate in 1906 gave a total of 909,100. They consist chiefly of Armenians (441,000), Tatars (40%), Kurds (49,389), with Russians, Greeks and Tates. Most of the Armenians belong to the Gregorian (Christian) Church, and only 4020 to the Armenian Catholic Church. The Tatars are mostly Shiite Mussulmans, only 27,596 being Sunnites; 7772 belong to the peculiar faith of the Yezids. While barley only can be grown on the high parts of the plateau, cotton, mulberry, vines and all sorts of fruit are cultivated in the valley of the Aras. Cattle-breeding is extensively carried on; camels also are bred, and leeches are collected out of the swamps and exported to Persia. Industry is in its infancy, but cottons, carpets, and felt goods are made in the villages. A considerable trade is carried on with Persia, but trade with Asia Minor is declining. The government is divided into seven districts—Erivan, Alexandropol, Echmiadzin (chief town, Vagarshapat), Nakhichevan, Novobayazet, Surmali (chief town, Igdyr), and Sharur-daralagöz (chief town, Norashen). The principal towns are Erivan (see below), Alexandropol (32,018 inhabitants in 1897), Novobayazet (8507), Nakhichevan (8845), and Vagarshapat (3400).
ERIVAN, is a government in Russia, Transcaucasia, bordered by the Kars province to the west, the Tiflis government to the north, the Elisavetpol government to the north and east, and Persia and Turkish Armenia to the south. It sits atop a vast plateau (6,000-8,000 ft.). Continuous mountain ranges are only found along its borders and in the east, but the entire area is dotted with short ridges and isolated volcanic mountains, with Alagöz (14,440 ft.) and Ararat (16,925 ft.) being the most prominent and significant. Both mountains were likely active during the Tertiary period. Lake Gok-cha (540 sq. mi.) is surrounded by these volcanoes, and the area around Alexandropol is a “volcanic amphitheater,” completely buried under volcanic materials. The same applies to the slopes leading down to the Aras River, where the upper Aras Valley resembles a stony desert, irrigated with great difficulty due to the soil type. The Aras River drains the region, forming the border with Persia, flowing quickly down its rocky bed, with a fall of 17-22 ft. per mile in its upper section, and 9 ft. at Ordubad, where it exits the government, before increasing again to 23 ft. further downstream. Many small lakes, formed within volcanic craters, are quite deep. Timber is very rare. Various useful minerals are present, but only rock-salt is mined, found at Nakhichevan and Kulp. The climate varies greatly, with average temperatures and annual rainfall recorded at Alexandropol (alt. 5,078 ft.) and Aralykh (2,755 ft.) as follows: year 42°, January 12°, July 65°, mean rainfall 16.2 in.; and year 53°, January 20.5°, July 79°, rainfall 6.3 in. The population was 829,578 in 1897 (only 375,086 women), with 82,278 residing in towns. An estimate in 1906 indicated a total of 909,100. The population mainly consists of Armenians (441,000), Tatars (40%), Kurds (49,389), along with Russians, Greeks, and Tates. Most Armenians belong to the Gregorian (Christian) Church, with only 4,020 being part of the Armenian Catholic Church. The Tatars are mostly Shiite Muslims, with only 27,596 being Sunnis; 7,772 follow the unique belief system of the Yezidis. While only barley can be cultivated on the high plateau areas, cotton, mulberry, vines, and various fruits are grown in the Aras Valley. Cattle breeding is widespread; camels are also raised, and leeches are harvested from swamps and exported to Persia. Industry is still developing, but cotton, carpets, and felt goods are produced in villages. There is significant trade with Persia, although trade with Asia Minor is declining. The government is divided into seven districts: Erivan, Alexandropol, Echmiadzin (chief town, Vagarshapat), Nakhichevan, Novobayazet, Surmali (chief town, Igdyr), and Sharur-daralagöz (chief town, Norashen). The main towns include Erivan (see below), Alexandropol (32,018 residents in 1897), Novobayazet (8,507), Nakhichevan (8,845), and Vagarshapat (3,400).
ERIVAN, or Irwan, in Persian, Rewan, a town of Russia, capital of the government of the same name, situated in 40° 14′ N., 44° 38′ E., 234 m. by rail S.S.W. of Tiflis, on the Zanga river, from which a great number of irrigation canals are drawn. Altitude, 3170 ft. Pop. (1873) 11,938; (1897) 29,033. The old Persian portion of the town consists mainly of narrow crooked lanes enclosed by mud walls, which effectually conceal the houses, and the modern Russian portion is laid out in long ill-paved streets. On a steep rock, rising about 600 ft. above the river, stand the ruins of the 16th-century Turkish fortress, containing part of the palace of the former Persian governors, a handsome but greatly dilapidated mosque, a modern Greek church and a cannon foundry. One chamber, called the Hall of the Sardar, bears witness to former splendour in its decorations. The finest building in the city is the mosque of Hussein Ali Khan, familiarly known as the Blue Mosque from the colour of the enamelled tiles with which it is richly encased. At the mosque of Zal Khan a passion play is performed yearly illustrative of the assassination of Hussein, the son of Ali. Erivan is an Armenian episcopal see, and has a theological seminary. The only manufactures are a little cotton cloth, leather, earthenware and blacksmiths’ work. The fruits of the district are noted for their excellence—especially the grapes, apples, apricots and melons. Armenians, Persians and Tatars are the principal elements in the population, besides some Russians and Greeks. The town fell into the power of the Turks in 1582, was taken by the Persians under Shah Abbas in 1604, besieged by the Turks for four months in 1615, and reconquered by the Persians under Nadir Shah in the 18th century. In 1780 it was successfully defended against Heraclius, prince of Georgia; and in 1804 it resisted the Russians. At length in 1827 Paskevich took the fortress by storm, and in the following year the town and government were ceded to Russia by the peace of Turkman-chai. A Tatar poem in celebration of the event has been preserved by the Austrian poet, Bodenstedt, in his Tausend und ein Tage im Orient (1850).
ERIVAN, or Irwan, in Persian, Rewan, is a town in Russia, the capital of the government of the same name. It’s located at 40° 14′ N., 44° 38′ E., 234 km by rail S.S.W. of Tiflis, along the Zanga river, which supplies numerous irrigation canals. The altitude is 3170 ft. Population: (1873) 11,938; (1897) 29,033. The older Persian part of the town mostly features narrow, winding lanes lined with mud walls that effectively hide the houses, while the modern Russian section has long, poorly paved streets. On a steep rock about 600 ft. above the river stand the ruins of a 16th-century Turkish fortress, which includes part of the palace of former Persian governors, an attractive but badly deteriorated mosque, a modern Greek church, and a cannon foundry. One room, known as the Hall of the Sardar, showcases the town's former splendor through its decorations. The most impressive building in the city is the mosque of Hussein Ali Khan, commonly referred to as the Blue Mosque because of the beautiful enamelled tiles that adorn it. The mosque of Zal Khan hosts a passion play every year depicting the assassination of Hussein, the son of Ali. Erivan is an Armenian episcopal see and has a theological seminary. The only industries are a small amount of cotton cloth, leather goods, pottery, and blacksmithing. The region is famous for its high-quality fruits, especially grapes, apples, apricots, and melons. The main groups in the population include Armenians, Persians, and Tatars, along with some Russians and Greeks. The town came under Turkish control in 1582, was taken by Persians under Shah Abbas in 1604, besieged by the Turks for four months in 1615, and reconquered by Persians under Nadir Shah in the 18th century. In 1780, it successfully resisted Heraclius, the prince of Georgia; and in 1804 it defended itself against the Russians. Finally, in 1827, Paskevich captured the fortress, and in the following year the town and the government were ceded to Russia by the Treaty of Turkman-chai. A Tatar poem celebrating this event has been preserved by the Austrian poet, Bodenstedt, in his Tausend und ein Tage im Orient (1850).
ERLANGEN, a town of Germany, in the kingdom of Bavaria, on a fertile plain, at the confluence of the Schwabach and the Regnitz, 11 m. N.W. of Nuremberg, on the railway from Munich to Bamberg. Pop. (1905) 23,720. It is divided into an old and a new town, the latter consisting of wide, straight and well-built streets. The market place is a fine square. Upon it stand the town-hall and the former palace of the margraves of Bayreuth, now the main building of the university. The latter was founded by the margrave Frederick (d. 1763), who, in 1742, established a university at Bayreuth, but in 1743 removed it to Erlangen. A statue of the founder, erected in 1843 by King Louis I. of Bavaria, stands in the centre of the square and faces the university buildings. The university has faculties of philosophy, law, medicine and Protestant theology. Connected with it are a library of over 200,000 volumes, geological, anatomical and mineralogical institutions, a hospital, several clinical establishments, laboratories and a botanical garden. Among the churches of the town (six Protestant and one Roman Catholic), only the new town church, with a spire 220 ft. high, is remarkable. The chief industries of Erlangen are spinning and weaving, and the manufacture of glass, paper, brushes and gloves. The brewing industry is also important, the beer of Erlangen being famous throughout Germany and large quantities being exported.
ERLANGEN, a town in Germany, located in the kingdom of Bavaria, sits on a fertile plain at the junction of the Schwabach and Regnitz rivers, 11 miles northwest of Nuremberg, and along the railway from Munich to Bamberg. Population (1905) was 23,720. The town is split into an old and a new area, with the new town featuring wide, straight, and well-constructed streets. The marketplace is a lovely square. Here, you’ll find the town hall and the former palace of the margraves of Bayreuth, which is now the main building of the university. The university was founded by Margrave Frederick (d. 1763), who established a university in Bayreuth in 1742 but relocated it to Erlangen in 1743. In the center of the square stands a statue of the founder, erected in 1843 by King Louis I of Bavaria, facing the university buildings. The university offers faculties in philosophy, law, medicine, and Protestant theology. It includes a library with over 200,000 volumes, geological, anatomical, and mineralogical institutes, a hospital, several clinical facilities, laboratories, and a botanical garden. Among the churches in the town (six Protestant and one Roman Catholic), the new town church, featuring a 220-foot spire, is the most notable. The primary industries in Erlangen are spinning and weaving, along with the production of glass, paper, brushes, and gloves. The brewing industry is also significant, with Erlangen's beer being well-known throughout Germany and substantial quantities being exported.
Erlangen owes the foundation of its prosperity chiefly to the French Protestant refugees who settled here on the revocation of the edict of Nantes and introduced various manufactures. In 1017 the place was transferred from the bishopric of Würzburg to that of Bamberg; in 1361 it was sold to the king of Bohemia. It became a town in 1398 and passed into the hands of the Hohenzollerns, burgraves of Nuremberg, in 1416. There for nearly three centuries it was the property of the margraves of Bayreuth, being ceded with the rest of Bayreuth to Prussia in 1791. In 1810 it came into the possession of Bavaria. Erlangen was for many years the residence of the poet Friedrich Rückert, and of the philosophers Johann Gottlieb Fichte and Friedrich Wilhelm von Schnelling.
Erlangen's prosperity mainly comes from the French Protestant refugees who settled here after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes and brought various industries with them. In 1017, it was transferred from the bishopric of Würzburg to Bamberg; in 1361, it was sold to the king of Bohemia. It became a town in 1398 and came under the control of the Hohenzollerns, burgraves of Nuremberg, in 1416. For nearly three centuries, it was owned by the margraves of Bayreuth until it was ceded to Prussia along with the rest of Bayreuth in 1791. In 1810, it became part of Bavaria. Erlangen was the home of the poet Friedrich Rückert and the philosophers Johann Gottlieb Fichte and Friedrich Wilhelm von Schelling for many years.
See Stein and Müller, Die Geschichte von Erlangen (1898).
See Stein and Müller, Die Geschichte von Erlangen (1898).
ERLE, SIR WILLIAM (1793-1880), English lawyer and judge, was born at Fifehead-Magdalen, Dorset, on the 1st of October 1793, and was educated at Winchester and at New College, Oxford. Having been called to the bar at the Middle Temple in 1819 he went the western circuit, became counsel to the Bank of England, sat in parliament from 1837 to 1841 for the city of Oxford, and, although of opposite politics to Lord Lyndhurst, was made by him a judge of the common pleas in 1845. He was transferred to the queen’s bench in the following year, and in 1859 came back to the common pleas as chief justice upon the promotion of Sir Alexander Cockburn. He retired in 1866, receiving the highest eulogiums for the ability and impartiality with which he had discharged the judicial office. He died at his estate at Bramshott, Hampshire, on the 28th of January 749 1880, and a monument without his name but in his memory (sometimes erroneously supposed to mark the place where an old gibbet was) stands on the top of Hindhead.
ERLE, SIR WILLIAM (1793-1880), was an English lawyer and judge, born in Fifehead-Magdalen, Dorset, on October 1, 1793. He was educated at Winchester and New College, Oxford. After being called to the bar at the Middle Temple in 1819, he joined the western circuit, became counsel to the Bank of England, and served in parliament for the city of Oxford from 1837 to 1841. Despite having different political views from Lord Lyndhurst, he was appointed a judge of the common pleas by him in 1845. The following year, he was moved to the queen’s bench, and in 1859, he returned to the common pleas as chief justice after Sir Alexander Cockburn’s promotion. He retired in 1866, receiving high praise for his ability and fairness in his judicial role. He passed away at his estate in Bramshott, Hampshire, on January 28, 1880, and a monument, without his name but in his memory (sometimes mistakenly thought to indicate the site of an old gibbet), stands at the top of Hindhead. 749
See E. Manson, Builders of our Law (1904).
See E. Manson, Builders of Our Law (1904).
ERLKÖNIG, or Erl-King, a mythical character in modern German literature, represented as a gigantic bearded man with a golden crown and trailing garments, who carries children away to that undiscovered country where he himself abides. There is no such personage in ancient German mythology, and the name is linguistically nothing more than the perpetuation of a blunder. It first appeared in Herder’s Stimmen der Völker (1778), where it is used in the translation of the Danish song of the Elf-King’s Daughter as equivalent to the Danish ellerkonge, or ellekonge, that is, elverkonge, the king of the elves; and the true German word would have been Elbkönig or Elbenkönig, afterwards used under the modified form of Elfenkönig by Wieland in his Oberon (1780). Herder was probably misled by the fact that the Danish word elle signifies not only elf, but also alder tree (Ger. Erle). His mistake at any rate has been perpetuated by both English and French translators, who speak of a “king of the alders,” “un roi des aunes,” and find an explanation of the myth in the tree-worship of early times, or in the vapoury emanations that hang like weird phantoms round the alder trees at night. The legend was adopted by Goethe as the subject of one of his finest ballads, rendered familiar to English readers by the translations of Lewis and Sir Walter Scott; and since then it has been treated as a musical theme by Reichardt and Schubert.
ERLKÖNIG or Erl-King, is a mythical character in modern German literature, depicted as a huge bearded man wearing a golden crown and flowing garments, who takes children away to the unknown land where he lives. There’s no such figure in ancient German mythology, and the name is basically a result of a mistake. It first appeared in Herder’s Stimmen der Völker (1778), used in the translation of the Danish song “Elf-King’s Daughter” as equivalent to the Danish ellerkonge or ellekonge, meaning elverkonge, the king of the elves; the correct German term would have been Elbkönig or Elbenkönig, later adapted to Elfenkönig by Wieland in his Oberon (1780). Herder was likely misled by the fact that the Danish word elle means both elf and alder tree (Ger. Erle). His mistake has been continued by English and French translators, who refer to a “king of the alders,” “un roi des aunes,” and connect the myth to ancient tree worship or the ghostly mists that hover like strange phantoms around alder trees at night. The legend was embraced by Goethe as the basis for one of his finest ballads, made well-known to English readers through the translations by Lewis and Sir Walter Scott; since then, it has been adapted as a musical theme by Reichardt and Schubert.
ERMAN, PAUL (1764-1851), German physicist, was born in Berlin on the 29th of February 1764. He was the son of the historian Jean Pierre Erman (1735-1814), author of Histoire des réfugiés. He became teacher of science successively at the French gymnasium in Berlin, and at the military academy, and on the foundation of the university of Berlin in 1810 he was chosen professor of physics. He died at Berlin on the 11th of October 1851. His work was mainly concerned with electricity and magnetism, though he also made some contributions to optics and physiology. His son, Georg Adolf Erman (1806-1877), was born in Berlin on the 12th of May 1806, and after studying natural science at Berlin and Königsberg, spent from 1828 to 1830 in a journey round the world, an account of which he published in Reise um die Erde durch Nordasien und die beiden Ozeane (1833-1848). The magnetic observations he made during his travels were utilized by C.F. Gauss in his theory of terrestrial magnetism. He was appointed professor of physics at Berlin in 1839, and died there on the 12th of July 1877. From 1841 to 1865 he edited the Archiv für wissenschaftliche Kunde von Russland, and in 1874 he published, with H.J.R. Petersen, Die Grundlagen der Gauss’schen Theorie und die Erscheinungen des Erdmagnetismus im Jahre 1829.
ERMAN, PAUL (1764-1851), a German physicist, was born in Berlin on February 29, 1764. He was the son of historian Jean Pierre Erman (1735-1814), who wrote Histoire des réfugiés. He taught science at the French gymnasium in Berlin and at the military academy, and when the University of Berlin was established in 1810, he was appointed professor of physics. He passed away in Berlin on October 11, 1851. His main focus was on electricity and magnetism, but he also contributed to optics and physiology. His son, Georg Adolf Erman (1806-1877), was born in Berlin on May 12, 1806. After studying natural science in Berlin and Königsberg, he spent from 1828 to 1830 traveling around the world, documenting his journey in Reise um die Erde durch Nordasien und die beiden Ozeane (1833-1848). The magnetic observations he made during his travels were used by C.F. Gauss in his theory of terrestrial magnetism. He was appointed professor of physics at Berlin in 1839 and died there on July 12, 1877. From 1841 to 1865, he edited the Archiv für wissenschaftliche Kunde von Russland, and in 1874 he published, alongside H.J.R. Petersen, Die Grundlagen der Gauss’schen Theorie und die Erscheinungen des Erdmagnetismus im Jahre 1829.
His son Johann Peter Adolf Erman (1854- ), a famous Egyptologist, was born in Berlin on the 31st of October 1854. Educated at Leipzig and Berlin, he became extraordinary professor in 1883 and ordinary professor in 1892 of Egyptology in the university of Berlin, and in 1885 he was appointed director of the Egyptian department of the royal museum. For an account of the Egyptological work of Erman and his school, see Egypt: Language.
His son Johann Peter Adolf Erman (1854- ), a well-known Egyptologist, was born in Berlin on October 31, 1854. He studied at Leipzig and Berlin, becoming an extraordinary professor in 1883 and a regular professor in 1892 of Egyptology at the University of Berlin. In 1885, he was appointed director of the Egyptian department at the royal museum. For an overview of Erman’s Egyptological work and that of his school, see Egypt: Language.
ERMANARIC (fl. 350-376), king of the East Goths, belonged to the Amali family, and was the son of Achiulf. His name occurs as Ermanaricus (Jordanes), Aírmanareiks (Gothic), Eormenríc (A. Sax.), Jörmunrek (Norse), Ermenrîch (M.H. German). Ermanaric built up for himself a vast kingdom, which eventually extended from the Danube to the Baltic and from the Don to the Theiss. He drove the Vandals out of Dacia, compelled the allegiance of the neighbouring tribes of West Goths, procured the submission of the Herules, of many Slav and Finnish tribes, and even of the Esthonians on the shores of the Gulf of Bothnia. In his later days the west Goths threw off his yoke, and, on the invasion of the Huns, rather than witness the downfall of his kingdom he is said by Ammianus Marcellinus to have committed suicide. His fate early became the centre of popular tradition, which found its way into the narrative of Jordanes or Jornandes (De rebus geticis, chap. 24), who compared him to Alexander the Great and certainly exaggerated the extent of his kingdom. He is there said to have caused a certain Sunilda or Sanielh to be torn asunder by wild horses on account of her husband’s traitorous conduct. Her brothers Sarus and Ammius sought to avenge her. They succeeded in wounding, not in killing the Gothic king, whose death supervened in his one hundred and tenth year from the joint effects of his wound and fear of the Hunnish invasion. This is evidently a paraphrase of popular story which sought to supply plausible reasons for Ermanaric’s end. In German legend Ermanaric became the typical cruel tyrant, and references to his crimes abound in German epic and in Anglo-Saxon poetry. He is made to replace Odoacer as the enemy of Dietrich of Bern, his nephew, and his history is related in the Norse Vilkina or Thidrekssagà, which chiefly embodies German tradition. His evil genius, Sifka, Sibicho or Bicci, brings about the death of his three sons. The Harlungs, Imbrecke and Fritile,1 are his nephews, whom he has strangled for the sake of their treasure, the Brîsingo meni. Sonhild or Svanhild becomes the wife of Ermanaric, and the motive for her murder is replaced by an accusation of adultery between Svanhild and her stepson. The story was already connected with the Nibelungen when it found its way to the Scandinavian north by way of Germany. In the Völsunga Saga Svanhild is the daughter of Sigurd and Gudrun. She is given in marriage to the Gothic king Jörmunrek (Ermanaric), who sends his son Randver as proxy wooer in company of Bicci, the evil counsellor. Randver is persuaded by Bicci to take his father’s bride for himself. Randver is hanged and Svanhild trampled to death by horses in the gate of the castle. Gudrun eggs on Sörli and Hamdir or Hamtheow, her two sons by her third husband, Jonakr the Hun, to avenge their sister. On the way they slay their half-brother Erp, whom they suspect of lukewarmness in the cause; arrived in the hall of Ermanaric they make a great slaughter of the Goths, and hew off the hands and feet of Ermanaric, but they themselves are slain with stones. The tale is told with variations by Saxo Grammaticus (Historia Danica, ed. Müller, p. 408, &c.), and in the Icelandic poems, the Lay of Hamtheow, Gudrun’s Chain of Woe, and in the prose Edda.
ERMANARIC (fl. 350-376), king of the East Goths, was part of the Amali family and the son of Achiulf. His name appears as Ermanaricus (Jordanes), Aírmanareiks (Gothic), Eormenríc (A. Sax.), Jörmunrek (Norse), and Ermenrîch (M.H. German). Ermanaric established a vast kingdom that eventually stretched from the Danube to the Baltic and from the Don to the Theiss. He expelled the Vandals from Dacia, secured the loyalty of the neighboring tribes of West Goths, forced the Herules to submit, and even gained the allegiance of many Slavic and Finnish tribes, as well as the Estonians along the Gulf of Bothnia. In his later years, the West Goths rebelled against him, and during the Huns' invasion, rather than witness his kingdom's collapse, he reportedly committed suicide, according to Ammianus Marcellinus. His demise soon became a popular legend, which found its way into the writings of Jordanes or Jornandes (De rebus geticis, chap. 24), who compared him to Alexander the Great and likely exaggerated the size of his realm. He is said to have had a certain Sunilda or Sanielh torn apart by wild horses because of her husband's betrayal. Her brothers, Sarus and Ammius, sought revenge, managing to wound the Gothic king but not kill him. He died at the age of one hundred and ten, due to his wound and fear of the Hunnish invasion. This clearly reflects a popular narrative trying to explain Ermanaric's end. In German legend, Ermanaric became the typical cruel tyrant, with numerous references to his crimes found in German epics and Anglo-Saxon poetry. He replaced Odoacer as Dietrich of Bern's enemy, and his story is recounted in the Norse Vilkina or Thidrekssaga, which mainly reflects German tradition. His evil advisor, Sifka, Sibicho, or Bicci, is responsible for the deaths of his three sons. The Harlungs, Imbrecke, and Fritile, are his nephews, whom he has killed for their treasure, the Brîsingo meni. Sonhild or Svanhild becomes Ermanaric's wife, but the reason for her murder shifts to an accusation of infidelity between Svanhild and her stepson. The tale was already linked to the Nibelungen when it made its way to Scandinavia via Germany. In the Völsunga Saga, Svanhild is the daughter of Sigurd and Gudrun. She’s married to the Gothic king Jörmunrek (Ermanaric), who sends his son Randver as a proxy suitor alongside Bicci, the conniving advisor. Bicci persuades Randver to take his father's bride for himself. Randver is hanged, and Svanhild is trampled to death by horses at the castle gates. Gudrun incites her two sons by her third husband, Jonakr the Hun, Sörli and Hamdir or Hamtheow, to avenge their sister. Along the way, they kill their half-brother Erp, whom they suspect of being disloyal. When they arrive at Ermanaric’s hall, they inflict heavy casualties on the Goths and chop off Ermanaric’s hands and feet, but they are ultimately killed by stones. The story is recounted with variations by Saxo Grammaticus (Historia Danica, ed. Müller, p. 408, &c.), and in Icelandic poems, including the Lay of Hamtheow, Gudrun’s Chain of Woe, and the prose Edda.
Bibliography.—W. Grimm, in Die deutsche Heldensage (2nd ed., Berlin, 1867), quotes the account given by Jordanes, references in Beowulf, in the Wanderer’s Song, Exeter Book, in Parcival, in Dietrichs Flucht, the account given in the Quedlinburg Chronicle, by Ekkehard in the Chronicon Urspergense, by Saxo Grammaticus, &c. See also Vigfússon and Powell, Corpus poëticum boreale, vol. i. (Oxford, 1883), and H. Symons, “Die deutsche Heldensage” in Paul’s Grundriss d. german. Phil. vol. iii. (Strassburg, 1900).
References.—W. Grimm, in Die deutsche Heldensage (2nd ed., Berlin, 1867), cites the account given by Jordanes, mentions references in Beowulf, in the Wanderer’s Song, Exeter Book, in Parcival, in Dietrichs Flucht, and the account provided in the Quedlinburg Chronicle, by Ekkehard in the Chronicon Urspergense, by Saxo Grammaticus, etc. Also see Vigfússon and Powell, Corpus poëticum boreale, vol. i. (Oxford, 1883), and H. Symons, “Die deutsche Heldensage” in Paul’s Grundriss d. german. Phil. vol. iii. (Strassburg, 1900).
1 Emerka and Fridla (Beowulf, Quedlingburg Chron.), Aki and Etgard (Vilkina Saga). In the original myth the Harlungs, who are not to be confused with the Hartung brothers, were sent to bring home Sūryā, the bride of the sky-god, Irmintiu.
1 Emerka and Fridla (Beowulf, Quedlingburg Chron.), Aki and Etgard (Vilkina Saga). In the original myth, the Harlungs, who should not be mixed up with the Hartung brothers, were sent to fetch Sūryā, the bride of the sky-god, Irmintiu.
ERMELAND, or Ermland (Varmia), a district of Germany, in East Prussia, extending from the Frisches Haff, a bay in the Baltic, inland towards the Polish frontier. It is a well-wooded sandy tract of country, has an area of about 1650 sq. m., a population of 240,000, and is divided into the districts of Braunsberg, Heilsberg, Rössel and Allenstein.
ERMELAND, or Ermland (Varmia), is a region in Germany, located in East Prussia. It stretches from the Frisches Haff, a bay in the Baltic Sea, inland toward the Polish border. This area is characterized by its abundant forests and sandy landscapes, covering about 1,650 square miles, with a population of 240,000. It is divided into the districts of Braunsberg, Heilsberg, Rössel, and Allenstein.
Ermeland was originally one of the eleven districts of old Prussia and was occupied by the Teutonic Knights (Deutscher Orden), being made in 1250 one of the four bishoprics of the country under their sway. The bishop of Ermeland shortly afterwards declared himself independent of the order, and became a prince of the Empire. In 1466 Ermeland, together with West Prussia, was by the peace of Thorn attached to the crown of Poland, and the bishop had a seat in the Polish senate. In 1772 it was again incorporated with Prussia. Among the bishops of the see, which still exists, with its seat in Frauenberg, may be mentioned Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini, afterwards Pope Pius II., and Cardinal Stanislaus Hosius (1504-1579), the founder of the Jesuit college in Braunsberg.
Ermeland was originally one of the eleven districts of old Prussia and was occupied by the Teutonic Knights (Deutscher Orden). In 1250, it became one of the four bishoprics of the country under their control. Soon after, the bishop of Ermeland declared independence from the order and became a prince of the Empire. In 1466, Ermeland, along with West Prussia, was attached to the crown of Poland by the peace of Thorn, and the bishop had a seat in the Polish senate. In 1772, it was once again incorporated into Prussia. Among the bishops of the see, which still exists with its seat in Frauenberg, notable figures include Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini, who later became Pope Pius II., and Cardinal Stanislaus Hosius (1504-1579), the founder of the Jesuit college in Braunsberg.
See Hipler, Literaturgeschichte des Bisthums Ermeland (Braunsberg, 1873); the Monumenta historiae Warmiensis (Mainz, 1860-1864, and Braunsberg, 1866-1872, 4 vols.); and Buchholz, Abriss einer Geschichte des Ermlands (Braunsberg, 1903.)
See Hipler, Literaturgeschichte des Bisthums Ermeland (Braunsberg, 1873); the Monumenta historiae Warmiensis (Mainz, 1860-1864, and Braunsberg, 1866-1872, 4 vols.); and Buchholz, Abriss einer Geschichte des Ermlands (Braunsberg, 1903.)
ERMELO, a district and town of the Transvaal. The district lies in the south-east of the province and is traversed by the Drakensberg. In it are Lake Chrissie, the only true lake in the country, and the sources of the Vaal, Olifants, Komati, and Usuto rivers, which rise within 30 m. of one another. The region has a general elevation of about 5500 ft. and is fine agricultural and pastoral country, besides containing valuable minerals, including coal and gold. Ermelo town, pop. (1904) 1451, is by rail 175 m. S.E. of Johannesburg, and 74 m. S.S.W. of Machadodorp on the Pretoria-Delagoa Bay railway. A government experimental farm, with some 1000 acres of plantations, is maintained here.
ERMELO, a district and town in the Transvaal. The district is located in the southeastern part of the province and is crossed by the Drakensberg mountains. It includes Lake Chrissie, the only true lake in the country, as well as the sources of the Vaal, Olifants, Komati, and Usutu rivers, which originate within 30 meters of each other. The area has an average elevation of about 5,500 feet and is great agricultural and pastoral land, also containing valuable minerals like coal and gold. The town of Ermelo, with a population of 1,451 (1904), is located 175 miles southeast of Johannesburg and 74 miles south-southwest of Machadodorp on the Pretoria-Delagoa Bay railway. There is also a government experimental farm here, with around 1,000 acres of plantations.
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Ermine or Stoat (Putorius ermineus). |
ERMINE, an alternative name for the stoat (Putorius ermineus), apparently applicable in its proper sense only when the animal is in its white winter coat. This animal measures 10 in. in length exclusive of the tail, which is about 4 in. long, and becomes bushy towards the point. The fur in summer is reddish brown above and white beneath, changing in the winter of northern latitudes to snowy whiteness, except at the tip of the tail, which at all seasons is black. In Scottish specimens this change in winter is complete, but in those found in the southern districts of England it is usually only partial, the ermine presenting during winter a piebald appearance. The white colour is evidently protective, enabling the animals to elude the observations of their enemies, and to steal unobserved on their prey. It also retains heat better than a dark covering, and may thus serve to maintain an equable temperature at all seasons within the body. The colour change seems to be due to phagocytes devouring the pigment-bodies of the hair, and not to a moult.
ERMINE, is another name for the stoat (Putorius ermineus), and it’s usually only used when the animal has its white winter coat. This animal is about 10 inches long, not including the tail, which is around 4 inches long and gets bushy at the end. In the summer, its fur is reddish-brown on top and white underneath, but in winter, especially in northern areas, it turns completely white, except for the tip of the tail, which is always black. In Scottish specimens, this winter change is total, but in those from southern England, the change is usually incomplete, giving the ermine a patchy appearance in winter. The white color helps protect them, allowing them to avoid detection by predators and sneak up on their prey. It also retains heat better than a darker coat, which may help maintain a constant body temperature throughout the seasons. The color change seems to happen because phagocytes are consuming the pigment in the hair, rather than through molting.
The species is a native of the temperate and subarctic zones of the Old World, and is represented in America by a form which can scarcely be regarded as specifically distinct. It inhabits thickets and stony places, and frequently makes use of the deserted burrows of moles and other underground mammals. Exceedingly sanguinary in disposition, and agile in its movements, it feeds principally on rats, water-rats and rabbits, which it pursues with pertinacity and boldness, hence the name stoat, signifying bold, by which it is commonly known. It takes readily to water, and will even climb trees in pursuit of prey. It is particularly destructive to poultry and game, and has often been known to attack hares, fixing itself to the throat of its victim, and defying all the efforts of the latter to disengage it. The female brings forth five young ones about the beginning of summer. The winter coat of the ermine forms one of the most valuable of commercial furs, and is imported in enormous quantities from Norway, Sweden, Russia and Siberia. It is largely used for muffs and tippets, and as a trimming for state robes, the jet black points of the tails being inserted at regular intervals as an ornament. In the reign of Edward III. the wearing of ermine was restricted to members of the royal family; but it now enters into almost all state robes, the rank and position of the wearer being in many cases indicated by the presence or absence, and the disposition, of the black spots. (See also Fur.)
The species is native to the temperate and subarctic regions of the Old World and is represented in America by a form that is hardly considered a separate species. It lives in thickets and rocky areas, often using the abandoned burrows of moles and other underground mammals. Highly aggressive and quick, it mainly feeds on rats, water rats, and rabbits, which it chases with determination and courage—hence the name stoat, meaning bold, by which it is commonly known. It is comfortable in water and will even climb trees to catch its prey. It's particularly harmful to poultry and game, and it's well-known for attacking hares, gripping the victim's throat and resisting all attempts to escape. The female gives birth to five young ones around the start of summer. The winter coat of the ermine is one of the most valuable commercial furs, imported in large quantities from Norway, Sweden, Russia, and Siberia. It's primarily used for muffs and tippets and as a trim for ceremonial robes, with the jet-black tips of the tails added at regular intervals as decoration. During the reign of Edward III, wearing ermine was limited to royal family members; now, it is part of nearly all ceremonial robes, with the rank and status of the wearer often indicated by the presence or absence of the black spots and their arrangement. (See also Fur.)
ERMINE STREET. Documents and writers of the 11th and succeeding centuries occasionally mention four “royal roads” in Britain—Icknield Street, Erning or Ermine Street, Watling Street and Foss Way—as standing apart from all other existing roads and enjoying the special protection of the king. Unfortunately these authorities are not at all agreed as to their precise course; the roads themselves do not occur as specially privileged in actual legal or other practice, and it is likely that the category of Four Roads is the invention of a lawyer or an antiquary. The names are, however, attested to some extent by early charters which name them among other roads, as boundaries. From these charters we know that Icknield Street ran along the Berkshire downs and the Chilterns, that Ermine Street ran more or less due north through Huntingdonshire, that Watling Street ran north-west across the midlands from London to Shrewsbury, and Foss diagonally to it from Lincoln or Leicester to Bath and mid-Somerset. This evidence only proves the existence of these roads in Saxon and Norman days. But they all seem to be much older. Icknield Street is probably a prehistoric ridgeway along the downs, utilized perhaps by the Romans near its eastern end, but in general not Roman. Ermine Street coincides with part of a line of Roman roads leading north from London through Huntingdon to Lincoln. This line is followed by the Old North Road through Cheshunt, Buntingford, Royston, and Huntingdon to Castor near Peterborough; and thence it can be traced through lanes and byways past Ancaster to Lincoln. Watling Street is the Roman highway from London by St Alban’s (Verulamium) to Wroxeter near Shrewsbury (Viroconium). Foss is the Roman highway from Lincoln to Bath and Exeter. Hence it has been supposed, and is still frequently alleged, that the Four Roads were the principal highways of Roman Britain. This, however, is not the case. Icknield Street is not Roman and the three roads which follow Roman lines, Ermine Street, Watling Street, and Foss, held no peculiar position in the Romano-British road system (see Britain: Roman). In later times, the names Ermine Street, Icknield Street and Watling Street have been applied to other roads of Roman or supposed Roman origin. This, however, is wholly the work of Elizabethan or subsequent antiquaries and deserves no credence.
ERMINE STREET. Documents and writers from the 11th century and later occasionally mention four “royal roads” in Britain—Icknield Street, Erming or Ermine Street, Watling Street, and Foss Way—as being distinct from other roads and receiving special protection from the king. Unfortunately, these sources don’t agree on their exact routes; the roads themselves aren’t recognized as special privileges in legal or practical terms, and it’s likely that the idea of the Four Roads was invented by a lawyer or an historian. However, the names are supported to some extent by early charters that list them as boundaries alongside other roads. From these charters, we know that Icknield Street ran along the Berkshire downs and the Chilterns, Ermine Street ran more or less straight north through Huntingdonshire, Watling Street ran northwest across the Midlands from London to Shrewsbury, and Foss ran diagonally from Lincoln or Leicester to Bath in mid-Somerset. This evidence only confirms the existence of these roads during Saxon and Norman times. But they all seem to be much older. Icknield Street is probably a prehistoric trackway along the downs, possibly used by the Romans near its eastern end, but in general not Roman. Ermine Street aligns with part of a network of Roman roads leading north from London through Huntingdon to Lincoln. This route is followed by the Old North Road through Cheshunt, Buntingford, Royston, and Huntingdon to Castor near Peterborough; from there, it can be traced through lanes and backroads to Lincoln. Watling Street is the Roman road from London by St Alban’s (Verulamium) to Wroxeter near Shrewsbury (Viroconium). Foss is the Roman road from Lincoln to Bath and Exeter. Thus, it has been assumed, and is still often claimed, that the Four Roads were the main highways of Roman Britain. However, this isn’t accurate. Icknield Street isn’t Roman, and the three roads that follow Roman routes—Ermine Street, Watling Street, and Foss—didn’t hold any special status in the Romano-British road system (see Britain: Roman). In later times, the names Ermine Street, Icknield Street, and Watling Street have been assigned to other roads of Roman or presumed Roman origin. This is entirely the work of Elizabethan or later historians and should not be trusted.
The derivations of the four names are unknown. Icknield, Ermine and Watling may be from English personal names; Foss, originally Fos, seems to be the Lat. fossa in its occasional medieval sense of a bank of upcast earth or stones, such as the agger of a road.
The origins of the four names are unclear. Icknield, Ermine, and Watling might come from English personal names; Foss, which was originally Fos, appears to be derived from the Latin fossa in its rare medieval meaning of a mound of displaced earth or stones, similar to the agger of a road.
ERMOLDUS NIGELLUS, or Ermold the Black, was a monk of Aquitaine, who accompanied King Pippin, son of the emperor Louis I., on a campaign into Brittany in 824. Subsequently he was banished from Pippin’s court on a charge of inciting the king against his father, and retired to Strassburg, where he sought to regain the emperor’s favour by writing a poem on his life and deeds. About 830 he obtained his recall, and has been identified with Hermoldus, who appears as Pippin’s chancellor in 838. Ermoldus was a cultured man with a knowledge of the Latin poets, and this poem, In honorem Hludovici imperatoris, has some historical value. It consists of four books and deals with the life and exploits of Louis from 781 to 826. He also wrote two poems in imitation of Ovid, which were addressed to Pippin.
ERMOLDUS NIGELLUS, or Ermold the Black, was a monk from Aquitaine who joined King Pippin, the son of Emperor Louis I., on a campaign into Brittany in 824. Later, he was exiled from Pippin’s court for allegedly inciting the king against his father and moved to Strassburg, where he tried to win back the emperor’s favor by writing a poem about his life and achievements. Around 830, he was recalled and is believed to be the same Hermoldus who served as Pippin’s chancellor in 838. Ermoldus was an educated man familiar with Latin poetry, and his poem, In honorem Hludovici imperatoris, holds some historical significance. It consists of four books and covers the life and accomplishments of Louis from 781 to 826. He also wrote two poems in the style of Ovid, which were directed at Pippin.
His writings are published in the Monumenta Germaniae historica, Scriptores, Band 2 (Hanover, 1826 fol.); by J.P. Migne in the Patrologia Latina, tome 105 (Paris, 1844); and by E. Dümmler in the Poëtae Latini aevi Carolini, Band 2 (Berlin, 1881-1884). See W.O. Henkel, Über den historischen Werth der Gedichte des Ermoldus Nigellus (Eilenburg, 1876); W. Wattenbach, Deutschlands Geschichtsquellen, Band 1 (Berlin, 1904); and A. Potthast, Bibliotheca historica, pp. 430-431 (Berlin, 1896).
His writings are published in the Monumenta Germaniae historica, Scriptores, Volume 2 (Hanover, 1826); by J.P. Migne in the Patrologia Latina, Volume 105 (Paris, 1844); and by E. Dümmler in the Poëtae Latini aevi Carolini, Volume 2 (Berlin, 1881-1884). See W.O. Henkel, Über den historischen Werth der Gedichte des Ermoldus Nigellus (Eilenburg, 1876); W. Wattenbach, Deutschlands Geschichtsquellen, Volume 1 (Berlin, 1904); and A. Potthast, Bibliotheca historica, pp. 430-431 (Berlin, 1896).
ERNE, the name of a river and two lakes in the north-west of Ireland. The river rises in Lough Gowna, county Longford, 214 ft. above sea-level, flows north through Lough Oughter with a serpentine course and a direction generally northward, and then broadens into the Upper Lough Erne, a shallow irregular sheet of water 13 m. long, so beset with islands as to present the appearance of a number of water-channels ramifying through the land. The river then winds past the town of Enniskillen on its island, and enters Lough Erne, a beautiful lake nearly 18 m. long and 5 m. in extreme width, containing many islands, but less closely covered with them than the upper lough. One of them, Devenish, is celebrated for its antiquarian remains (see Enniskillen). The river then runs westward to Donegal Bay, forming a fine fall at Ballyshannon (q.v.). Lough Erne contains trout and pike. These waters admit of navigation by small steamers, but little trade is carried on. The area of 751 the Erne basin, which includes a vast number of small loughs, is about 1600 sq. m., and it covers part of the counties Cavan, Longford, Leitrim, Fermanagh and Donegal. The length of the Erne valley is about 70 m.
ERNE, is the name of a river and two lakes in north-western Ireland. The river starts in Lough Gowna, county Longford, at an elevation of 214 ft. above sea level, flows north through Lough Oughter in a winding path, and then expands into Upper Lough Erne, a shallow, irregular body of water 13 m. long, filled with islands that make it look like a network of waterways cutting through the land. The river then curves past the town of Enniskillen on its island and enters Lough Erne, a beautiful lake nearly 18 m. long and 5 m. wide at its widest point, which also has many islands, though fewer in number compared to the upper lough. One notable island, Devenish, is known for its historical remains (see Enniskillen). The river continues west to Donegal Bay, creating a stunning waterfall at Ballyshannon (q.v.). Lough Erne is home to trout and pike. These waters are navigable by small steamers, but there is little commercial activity. The area of the Erne basin, which includes numerous small loughs, spans about 1600 sq. m. and covers parts of the counties Cavan, Longford, Leitrim, Fermanagh, and Donegal. The length of the Erne valley is about 70 m.
ERNEST I. [Ernst Anton Karl Ludwig], duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha (1784-1844), was the son of Francis, duke of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, and was born on the 2nd of January 1784. At the time of his father’s death (9th of December 1806) the duchy of Coburg was occupied by Napoleon as conquered territory, and Ernest did not come into his inheritance till after the peace of Tilsit (July 1807). Owing to the part he had played in assisting the Prussians at the battle of Auerstädt he continued out of favour with Napoleon, and he threw himself with vigour into the war of liberation against the French. After the battle of Leipzig he was given the command of the V. army corps and reduced Mainz by blockade; he also commanded the Saxon troops during the campaign of 1815. By the congress of Vienna he was rewarded with the principality of Lichtenberg on the left bank of the Rhine, which received a slight augmentation after the second peace of Paris. These territories he sold to Prussia in 1834. In 1826, in the division of the territories of the duchy of Saxe-Gotha which followed the death of its last duke (February 1825), he received the duchy of Gotha, ceding that of Saalfeld to the duke of Meiningen; and he now exchanged his style of Ernest III. of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld for that of Ernest I. of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. In 1821 he had given a constitution to Coburg, but he did not interfere with the traditional system of estates at Gotha. He died on the 29th of January 1844.
ERNEST I. [Ernst Anton Karl Ludwig], Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha (1784-1844), was the son of Francis, Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, and was born on January 2, 1784. When his father passed away on December 9, 1806, the Duchy of Coburg was occupied by Napoleon as conquered territory, and Ernest didn't receive his inheritance until after the Peace of Tilsit in July 1807. Due to his involvement in helping the Prussians at the Battle of Auerstädt, he remained out of favor with Napoleon and actively participated in the war of liberation against the French. After the Battle of Leipzig, he was given command of the V. Army Corps and blockaded Mainz; he also led the Saxon troops during the 1815 campaign. At the Congress of Vienna, he was rewarded with the Principality of Lichtenberg on the left bank of the Rhine, which was slightly expanded after the Second Peace of Paris. He sold these territories to Prussia in 1834. In 1826, following the death of the last Duke of Saxe-Gotha in February 1825, he received the Duchy of Gotha, giving up Saalfeld to the Duke of Meiningen; he then changed his title from Ernest III of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld to Ernest I of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. In 1821, he had established a constitution for Coburg, but he did not alter the traditional system of estates in Gotha. He passed away on January 29, 1844.
Duke Ernest, who was not only a good soldier and keen sportsman, but an enlightened patron of the arts and sciences, did much for the economic, educational and constitutional development of his territories; and his advice always carried great weight in the councils of the other German sovereigns. It was, however, for the splendid international position attained by the house of Coburg under him that his reign is chiefly distinguished. His younger brother Leopold (q.v.) became king of the Belgians; his brother Ferdinand (b. 1785) married the wealthy princess Antoinette von Kohary (1816) and was the father of the duchess of Nemours and of the future King Ferdinand of Portugal. Of his sisters, Antoinette (1779-1824) married Duke Alexander of Württemberg; Juliane [Alexandra Feodorovna] (1781-1860) married the Russian cesarevich Constantine, from whom she was, however, divorced in 1820; and Victoria (1786-1861), wife of Edward Augustus, duke of Kent, became the mother of Queen Victoria. Duke Ernest was twice married: (1) in 1817 to Louise, daughter of Duke Augustus of Saxe-Gotha, whom he finally divorced in 1826; (2) in 1831 to Maria, daughter of Duke Alexander of Württemberg. Of his sons, by his first wife, Ernest succeeded him in the duchy, and Albert married Queen Victoria.
Duke Ernest was not only a skilled soldier and enthusiastic sportsman, but also a forward-thinking supporter of the arts and sciences. He did a lot for the economic, educational, and constitutional progress of his territories, and his opinions were highly regarded in the councils of the other German rulers. However, his reign is mostly noted for the impressive international standing achieved by the house of Coburg during his time. His younger brother Leopold (q.v.) became king of the Belgians; his brother Ferdinand (b. 1785) married the wealthy princess Antoinette von Kohary (1816) and was the father of the duchess of Nemours and the future King Ferdinand of Portugal. Among his sisters, Antoinette (1779-1824) married Duke Alexander of Württemberg; Juliane [Alexandra Feodorovna] (1781-1860) married the Russian cesarevich Constantine, but they divorced in 1820; and Victoria (1786-1861), who was married to Edward Augustus, duke of Kent, became the mother of Queen Victoria. Duke Ernest was married twice: (1) in 1817 to Louise, the daughter of Duke Augustus of Saxe-Gotha, whom he eventually divorced in 1826; (2) in 1831 to Maria, the daughter of Duke Alexander of Württemberg. Of his sons with his first wife, Ernest succeeded him as duke, and Albert married Queen Victoria.
ERNEST II., duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha (1818-1893), was born at Coburg on the 21st of June 1818, being the eldest son of Duke Ernest I. He enjoyed a varied education; he studied at the university of Bonn with his brother Albert; his military training he received in the Saxon army. The widespread connexions of his family opened to him many courts of Europe, and after he became of age he travelled much. The position of his uncle Leopold, who was king of the Belgians, and especially the marriage of his brother Albert to the queen of England, his cousin, gave him peculiar opportunities for becoming acquainted with the political problems of Europe. In 1840-1841 he undertook a journey to Spain and Portugal; in the latter country another cousin, Ferdinand, was king-consort. In 1844 he succeeded his father. His own character and the influence of the king of the Belgians made him one of the most Liberal princes in Germany. He was able to bring to a satisfactory conclusion disputes with the Coburg estates. He passed through the ordeal of the revolution of 1848 with little trouble, for he anticipated the demands of the people of Gotha for a reform, and in 1852 introduced a new constitution by which the administration of his two duchies was assimilated in many points. The government of his small dominions did not afford sufficient scope for his restless and versatile ambition; his desire to play a great part in German affairs was probably increased by the feeling that, though he was the head of his house, he was to some extent overshadowed by the younger branches of the family which ruled in Belgium, England and Portugal. He was one of the foremost supporters of every attempt made to reform the German constitution and bring about the unity of Germany. He took a warm interest in the proceedings of the Frankfort parliament, and it was often said, probably without reason, that he hoped to be chosen emperor himself. However that may be, he strongly urged the king of Prussia to accept that position when it was offered him in 1849; he took a very prominent part in the complicated negotiations of the following year, and it was at his suggestion that a congress of princes met at Berlin in 1850. He highly valued the opportunities which this and similar meetings gave him for exercising political influence, and he would have felt most at home as a member of a permanent council of the German princes.
ERNEST II., Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha (1818-1893), was born in Coburg on June 21, 1818, as the eldest son of Duke Ernest I. He received a diverse education; he studied at the University of Bonn with his brother Albert and completed his military training in the Saxon army. His family's extensive connections opened many European courts to him, and after reaching adulthood, he traveled extensively. The position of his uncle Leopold, who was King of the Belgians, and especially his brother Albert's marriage to the Queen of England, his cousin, provided him unique opportunities to understand Europe's political challenges. In 1840-1841, he traveled to Spain and Portugal, where another cousin, Ferdinand, was king-consort. In 1844, he succeeded his father. His character and the influence of the King of the Belgians made him one of the most Liberal princes in Germany. He successfully resolved disputes with the Coburg estates. He navigated the revolution of 1848 with ease, as he anticipated the demands for reform from the people of Gotha, and in 1852, he introduced a new constitution that harmonized the administration of his two duchies in many ways. The governance of his small territories did not provide enough room for his restless and diverse ambitions; his aspiration to play a significant role in German affairs was likely fueled by the feeling that, despite being head of his house, he was somewhat overshadowed by the younger branches of the family ruling in Belgium, England, and Portugal. He was a leading supporter of efforts to reform the German constitution and achieve German unity. He took a keen interest in the proceedings of the Frankfort parliament, and it was often speculated, probably without basis, that he hoped to be elected emperor himself. Regardless, he strongly urged the King of Prussia to accept that role when it was offered in 1849; he played a significant role in the complicated negotiations the following year, and it was at his suggestion that a congress of princes convened in Berlin in 1850. He greatly valued the opportunities that this and similar meetings provided for exerting political influence, and he would have felt most comfortable as a member of a permanent council of the German princes.
Ambitious also of military distinction, and sympathizing with the rising of the people of Schleswig-Holstein against the Danes in 1849, Ernest accepted a command in the federal army. In the engagement of Eckernförde in April 1849 the troops under his orders succeeded in capturing two Danish frigates, a remarkable feat of which he was justly proud. His greatest services to Germany were performed during the years of reaction which followed; almost alone among the German princes he remained faithful to the Liberal and National ideals, and he allowed his dominions to be used as an asylum by the writers and politicians who had to leave Prussia and Saxony. The reactionary parties looked on him with great suspicion, and it was at this time that he formed a friendship with Gustav Freytag, the celebrated novelist, whom he protected when the Prussian government demanded his arrest. His connexion with the English court gave him a position of much influence, but no one was more purely German in his feelings and opinions. The marriage of his niece Victoria with Frederick, the heir to the Prussian throne, strengthened his connexion with Prussia, but caused the Conservative party to look with increased suspicion on the Coburg influence. He was the first German prince to visit Napoleon III., and was present when Orsini made his celebrated attempt on the emperor’s life. After 1860 he became the chief patron and protector of the National Verein; he encouraged the newly-formed rifle clubs, and notwithstanding the strong disapproval of his fellow-monarchs, allowed his court to become the centre of the rising national agitation. Still a warm adherent of Prussia, in 1862 he set an example to the other princes by voluntarily making an agreement by which his troops were placed in war under the command of the king of Prussia. Like all the other Nationalists, he was much embarrassed by the policy of Bismarck, and the democratic opinions of the Coburg court, which were shared by the crown prince Frederick, were a serious embarrassment to that minister. The opposition became more accentuated when the duke allowed his dominions to be used as the headquarters of the agitation in favour of Frederick, duke of Augustenburg, who claimed the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein, and it was at this time that Bismarck is reported to have said that if Frederick the Great had been alive the duke would have been in the fortress of Spandau. In 1863 he was present at the Fürstentag in Frankfort, and from this time was in more frequent communication with the Austrian court, where his cousin Alexander, Count Mensdorff, was minister. However, when war broke out in 1866, he at once placed his troops at the disposition of Prussia; Bismarck had in an important letter explained to him his policy and tactics. He was personally concerned in one of the most interesting events of the war; for the Hanoverian army, in its attempt to march south and join the Bavarians, had to pass through Thuringia, and the battle of Langensalza was fought in the immediate neighbourhood of Gotha. His troops took part in the battle, which ended in the rout of the Prussians, the duke, who was not present during the fight, in vain attempting to stop it. He bore an important share in the negotiations before and after the battle, and his action at this time has been 752 the subject of much controversy, for it was suggested that while he offered to mediate he really acted as a partisan of Prussia. For his services to Prussia he received as a present the forest of Schmalkalden. He was with the Prussian headquarters in Bohemia during the latter part of the war.
Ambitious for military recognition and supportive of the people of Schleswig-Holstein during their uprising against the Danes in 1849, Ernest accepted a role in the federal army. In the battle of Eckernförde in April 1849, the troops under his command managed to capture two Danish frigates, a notable achievement he was rightly proud of. His most significant contributions to Germany happened during the reactionary years that followed; almost alone among the German princes, he remained committed to Liberal and National ideals, allowing his territories to serve as a refuge for writers and politicians forced to flee from Prussia and Saxony. The reactionary factions viewed him with deep suspicion, and during this time he developed a friendship with the famous novelist Gustav Freytag, whom he protected when the Prussian government sought his arrest. His connection with the English court gave him considerable influence, yet he was genuinely German in his beliefs and sentiments. The marriage of his niece Victoria to Frederick, the heir to the Prussian throne, solidified his ties with Prussia but increased the Conservative party's wariness of the Coburg influence. He was the first German prince to meet Napoleon III. and was present when Orsini made his well-known assassination attempt on the emperor. After 1860, he became the main supporter and protector of the National Verein; he encouraged the newly established rifle clubs and, despite the strong disapproval of his fellow monarchs, allowed his court to become the hub of the growing national movement. Still a strong supporter of Prussia, in 1862 he set an example for other princes by voluntarily agreeing to put his troops under the command of the King of Prussia during wartime. Like the other Nationalists, he found Bismarck's policies quite challenging, and the democratic views held by the Coburg court, shared by Crown Prince Frederick, posed a significant challenge for that minister. Tensions heightened when the duke permitted his territories to be the base for supporting Frederick, Duke of Augustenburg, who was claiming the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein; it was then that Bismarck reportedly remarked that if Frederick the Great had been alive, the duke would have been in Spandau Fortress. In 1863, he attended the Fürstentag in Frankfurt, and from then on, he communicated more frequently with the Austrian court, where his cousin Alexander, Count Mensdorff, served as minister. However, when war broke out in 1866, he immediately made his troops available to Prussia; in an important letter, Bismarck had outlined his policy and strategies to him. He was personally involved in one of the war's most notable events; the Hanoverian army, trying to march south to join the Bavarians, had to move through Thuringia, and the battle of Langensalza occurred near Gotha. His troops participated in the battle, which resulted in a rout of the Prussians, with the duke, who was not present during the skirmish, unsuccessfully trying to intervene. He played a key role in the negotiations before and after the battle, which has been highly disputed, as it was suggested that while he offered to mediate, he was actually acting as a supporter of Prussia. For his services to Prussia, he received the forest of Schmalkalden as a gift. He was with the Prussian headquarters in Bohemia during the latter phase of the war.
With the year 1866 the political rôle which Ernest had played ended. The result was perhaps not quite equal to his expectations, but it must be remembered how difficult was the position of the minor German princes; and he quoted with great satisfaction the words used in 1871 by the emperor William at Versailles, that “to him in no small degree was due the establishment of the empire.” He was a man of varied tastes, a good musician—he composed several operas and songs—and a keen sportsman, a quality in which he differed from his brother. Notwithstanding his Liberalism, he had a great regard for the dignity of his rank and family, and in his support of constitutional government would never have sacrificed the essential prerogatives of sovereignty. He died at Reinhardsbrunn on the 22nd of August 1893. In 1842 the duke married Alexandrine, daughter of the grandduke of Baden; there were no children by this marriage and the succession to Saxe-Coburg-Gotha passed therefore to the children of his younger brother Albert. By Albert’s marriage contract the duchy could not be held together with the English crown; thus his eldest son, afterwards Edward VII., was passed over and it came to his second son, Alfred, duke of Edinburgh (1844-1900). When Alfred died without sons in July 1900 the succession to the duchy passed to a younger brother Arthur, duke of Connaught; but the duke and his son, Arthur, passed on their claim to Charles Edward, duke of Albany (b. 1884), who became duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha in succession to his uncle Alfred. In 1905 Charles Edward married Victoria Adelaide (b. 1885), princess of Schleswig-Holstein, by whom he has a son John Leopold (b. 1906).
With the year 1866, Ernest's political role came to an end. The outcome might not have matched his expectations, but it's important to consider the challenging position of the minor German princes. He took great pride in the words spoken by Emperor William at Versailles in 1871, where he stated that "the establishment of the empire was due in no small part to him." Ernest had a wide range of interests; he was a talented musician who composed several operas and songs, and he was also an avid sportsman, which set him apart from his brother. Despite his Liberal views, he valued the dignity of his rank and family, and he would never have compromised the essential powers of sovereignty in his support for constitutional government. He passed away at Reinhardsbrunn on August 22, 1893. In 1842, he married Alexandrine, the daughter of the Grand Duke of Baden; this marriage did not produce any children, so the succession to Saxe-Coburg-Gotha went to his younger brother Albert's children. Due to Albert’s marriage contract, the duchy couldn't be held together with the English crown; therefore, his eldest son, who later became Edward VII, was passed over, and it went to his second son, Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh (1844-1900). When Alfred died without a male heir in July 1900, the dukedom passed to his younger brother Arthur, Duke of Connaught. However, both the duke and his son Arthur assigned their claim to Charles Edward, Duke of Albany (b. 1884), who succeeded to the title of Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha after his uncle Alfred. In 1905, Charles Edward married Victoria Adelaide (b. 1885), a princess of Schleswig-Holstein, and they had a son named John Leopold (b. 1906).
Duke Ernest was something of a writer. He brought out an account of the travels in Egypt and Abyssinia which he undertook in 1862 as Reise des Herzogs Ernst von Sachsen-Koburg-Gotha nach Ägypten (Leipzig, 1864); and he published his memoirs, Aus meinem Leben und aus meiner Zeit (Berlin, 1887-1889). This work is in three volumes and contains much valuable information on a most critical period of German history; there is an English translation by P. Andreae (1888-1890).
Duke Ernest was somewhat of a writer. He published an account of his travels in Egypt and Abyssinia that he undertook in 1862 titled Reise des Herzogs Ernst von Sachsen-Koburg-Gotha nach Ägypten (Leipzig, 1864); he also released his memoirs, Aus meinem Leben und aus meiner Zeit (Berlin, 1887-1889). This work is in three volumes and contains a lot of valuable information about a very important period in German history; there is an English translation by P. Andreae (1888-1890).
See also Sir T. Martin, Life of H.R.H. the Prince Consort (1875-1880); Hon. C. Grey, Early Years of the Prince Consort (1867); A. Ohorn, Herzog Ernst II., ein Lebensbild (Leipzig, 1894); and E. Tempeltey, Herzog Ernst von Koburg und das Jahr 1866 (Berlin, 1898).
See also Sir T. Martin, Life of H.R.H. the Prince Consort (1875-1880); Hon. C. Grey, Early Years of the Prince Consort (1867); A. Ohorn, Herzog Ernst II., ein Lebensbild (Leipzig, 1894); and E. Tempeltey, Herzog Ernst von Koburg und das Jahr 1866 (Berlin, 1898).
ERNEST AUGUSTUS (1771-1851), king of Hanover and duke of Cumberland, fifth son of the English king George III., was born at Kew on the 5th of June 1771. Having studied at the university of Göttingen, he entered the Hanoverian army, serving as a leader of cavalry when war broke out between Great Britain and France in 1793, and winning a reputation for bravery. He lost the sight of one eye at the battle of Tournai in May 1794, and when Hanover withdrew from the war in 1795 he returned to England, being made lieutenant-general in the British army in 1799. In the same year he was created duke of Cumberland and Teviotdale and granted an allowance of £12,000 a year, after which he held several lucrative military positions in England, and began to attend the sittings of the House of Lords and to take part in political life. A stanch Tory, the duke objected to all proposals of reform, especially to the granting of any relief to the Roman Catholics, and had great influence with his brother the prince regent, afterwards King George IV., in addition to being often consulted by the Tory leaders. In 1810 he was severely injured by an assassin, probably his valet Sellis, who was found dead; and subsequently two men were imprisoned for asserting that the duke had murdered his valet. Recovering from his wounds, Cumberland again proceeded to the seat of war; and having been made a British field-marshal, was in command of the Hanoverian army during the campaigns of 1813 and 1814, being present, although not in action, at the battle of Leipzig. In May 1815 Ernest married his cousin, Frederica (1778-1841), daughter of Charles II. duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz and widow of Frederick, prince of Solms-Braunfels, a union which was very repugnant to his mother Queen Charlotte, and was disliked in England, where the duke’s strong Toryism had made him unpopular. Parliament refused to increase his allowance from £18,000, to which it had been raised in 1804, to £24,000 a year, and indignant at the treatment he received the duke spent some years in Berlin. Returning to England after the accession of George IV. in 1820, his political power was again considerable, while deaths in the royal family made it likely that he would succeed to the throne. Although his personal influence with the sovereign ceased upon the death of George IV. in 1830, the duke continued to oppose all measures for the extension of civil and religious liberty, including the Reform Bill of 1832; and his unpopularity was augmented by suspicions that he had favoured the formation of Orange lodges in the army. When William IV. died in June 1837, the crowns of Great Britain and Hanover were separated; and Ernest, as the nearest male heir of the late king, became king of Hanover. At once cancelling the constitution which William had given to his kingdom in 1833, he acted as an absolute monarch, and the constitution which he sanctioned in 1840 was permeated with his own illiberal ideas. In German politics he was vigilant and active, and mindful of the material interests of his country. His reign, however, was a stormy one, and serious trouble between king and people had arisen when he died at Herrenhausen on the 18th of November 1851 (see Hanover: History). In spite of his arbitrary rule and his reactionary ideas the king was popular among his subjects, and his statue in Hanover bears the words “Dem Landes Vater sein treues Volk.” Ernest, who is generally regarded as the ablest of the sons of George III., left an only child, George, who succeeded him as king of Hanover.
ERNEST AUGUSTUS (1771-1851), king of Hanover and duke of Cumberland, was the fifth son of King George III of England, born at Kew on June 5, 1771. After studying at the University of Göttingen, he joined the Hanoverian army, leading cavalry when war broke out between Great Britain and France in 1793, gaining a reputation for bravery. He lost sight in one eye at the Battle of Tournai in May 1794, and when Hanover withdrew from the war in 1795, he returned to England, becoming a lieutenant-general in the British army in 1799. That same year, he was made duke of Cumberland and Teviotdale and was given an annual allowance of £12,000, after which he held several well-paying military posts in England, began attending sessions of the House of Lords, and participated in political life. A staunch Tory, the duke opposed all reform proposals, especially any relief for Roman Catholics, and had significant influence with his brother, the prince regent, later King George IV, as well as being frequently consulted by Tory leaders. In 1810, he was seriously injured by an assassin, possibly his valet Sellis, who was later found dead; subsequently, two men were imprisoned for claiming the duke had murdered his valet. After recovering from his injuries, Cumberland returned to the battlefield; having been made a British field marshal, he commanded the Hanoverian army during the campaigns of 1813 and 1814, being present at the Battle of Leipzig, though not engaged in direct action. In May 1815, Ernest married his cousin, Frederica (1778-1841), daughter of Charles II, Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, and widow of Frederick, Prince of Solms-Braunfels—a marriage that greatly displeased his mother, Queen Charlotte, and was unpopular in England, where the duke’s strong Tory beliefs had made him a target of criticism. Parliament refused to raise his allowance from £18,000, which it had increased to that amount in 1804, to £24,000 a year, and angered by this treatment, the duke spent several years in Berlin. After returning to England following George IV's accession in 1820, he regained considerable political power, especially as deaths in the royal family made it likely he would ascend to the throne. Although he lost personal influence with the sovereign after George IV's death in 1830, the duke continued to oppose all efforts to extend civil and religious liberties, including the Reform Bill of 1832; his unpopularity grew amid suspicions he supported the creation of Orange lodges in the army. When William IV died in June 1837, the crowns of Great Britain and Hanover were separated, and Ernest, as the closest male heir of the late king, became king of Hanover. Immediately cancelling the constitution that William had implemented in 1833, he ruled as an absolute monarch, and the constitution he approved in 1840 reflected his own conservative views. He was vigilant and active in German politics, focused on the material interests of his country; however, his reign was tumultuous, and serious conflicts between the king and his people emerged before his death at Herrenhausen on November 18, 1851 (see Hanover: History). Despite his authoritarian rule and reactionary views, the king was popular with his subjects, and his statue in Hanover bears the inscription “Dem Landes Vater sein treues Volk.” Ernest, generally regarded as the most capable of King George III’s sons, left behind only one child, George, who succeeded him as king of Hanover.
See C.A. Wilkinson, Reminiscences of the Court and Times of King Ernest of Hanover (London, 1886); von Malortie, König Ernst August (Hanover, 1861); and the various histories of Great Britain and Hanover for the period.
See C.A. Wilkinson, Reminiscences of the Court and Times of King Ernest of Hanover (London, 1886); von Malortie, König Ernst August (Hanover, 1861); and the various histories of Great Britain and Hanover for the period.
ERNESTI, JOHANN AUGUST (1707-1781), German theologian and philologist, was born on the 4th of August 1707, at Tennstädt in Thuringia, of which place his father was pastor, besides being superintendent of the electoral dioceses of Thuringia, Salz and Sangerhausen. At the age of sixteen he was sent to the celebrated Saxon cloister school of Pforta (Schulpforta). At twenty he entered the university of Wittenberg, and studied afterwards at the university of Leipzig. In 1730 he was made master in the faculty of philosophy. In the following year he accepted the office of conrector in the Thomas school of Leipzig, of which J.M. Gesner was then rector, an office to which Ernesti succeeded in 1734. He was, in 1742, named professor extraordinarius of ancient literature in the university of Leipzig, and in 1756 professor ordinarius of rhetoric. In the same year he received the degree of doctor of theology, and in 1759 was appointed professor ordinarius in the faculty of theology. Through his learning and his manner of discussion, he co-operated with S.J. Baumgarten of Halle (1706-1757) in disengaging the current dogmatic theology from its many scholastic and mystical excrescences, and thus paved a way for a revolution in theology. He died, after a short illness, in his seventy-sixth year, on the 11th of September 1781.
ERNESTI, JOHANN AUGUST (1707-1781), a German theologian and philologist, was born on August 4, 1707, in Tennstädt, Thuringia, where his father was the pastor and also the superintendent of the electoral dioceses of Thuringia, Salz, and Sangerhausen. At sixteen, he was sent to the famous Saxon cloister school of Pforta (Schulpforta). By twenty, he entered the University of Wittenberg and later studied at the University of Leipzig. In 1730, he became a master in the faculty of philosophy. The following year, he took the role of conrector at the Thomas School of Leipzig, which was then headed by J.M. Gesner, and Ernesti succeeded him as rector in 1734. In 1742, he was appointed an extraordinary professor of ancient literature at the University of Leipzig, and in 1756, he became an ordinary professor of rhetoric. That same year, he earned his doctorate in theology, and in 1759, he was appointed an ordinary professor in the faculty of theology. Through his knowledge and discussion style, he collaborated with S.J. Baumgarten of Halle (1706-1757) to help clear the existing dogmatic theology of its many scholastic and mystical excesses, paving the way for a revolution in theology. He passed away after a brief illness at the age of seventy-six on September 11, 1781.
It is perhaps as much from the impulse which Ernesti gave to sacred and profane criticism in Germany, as from the intrinsic excellence of his own works in either department, that he must derive his reputation as a philologist or theologian. With J.S. Semler he co-operated in the revolution of Lutheran theology, and in conjunction with Gesner he instituted a new school in ancient literature. He detected grammatical niceties in Latin, in regard to the consecution of tenses which had escaped preceding critics. His canons are, however, not without exceptions. As an editor of the Greek classics, Ernesti hardly deserves to be named beside his Dutch contemporaries, Tiberius Hemsterhuis (1685-1766), L.C. Valckenaer (1715-1785), David Ruhnken (1723-1798), or his colleague J.J. Reiske (1716-1774). The higher criticism was not even attempted by Ernesti. But to him and to Gesner is due the credit of having formed, by discipline 753 and by example, philologists greater than themselves, and of having kindled the national enthusiasm for ancient learning. It is chiefly in hermeneutics that Ernesti has any claim to eminence as a theologian. But here his merits are distinguished, and, at the period when his Institutio Interpretis N. T. was published (1761), almost peculiar to himself. In it we find the principles of a general interpretation, formed without the assistance of any particular philosophy, but consisting of observations and rules which, though already enunciated, and applied in the criticism of the profane writers, had never rigorously been employed in biblical exegesis. He was, in fact, the founder of the grammatico-historical school. He admits in the sacred writings as in the classics only one acceptation, and that the grammatical, convertible into and the same with the logical and historical. Consequently he censures the opinion of those who in the illustration of the Scriptures refer everything to the illumination of the Holy Spirit, as well as that of others who, disregarding all knowledge of the languages, would explain words by things. The “analogy of faith,” as a rule of interpretation, he greatly limits, and teaches that it can never afford of itself the explanation of words, but only determine the choice among their possible meanings. At the same time he seems unconscious of any inconsistency between the doctrine of the inspiration of the Bible as usually received and his principles of hermeneutics.
It’s likely that Ernesti’s impact on both sacred and secular criticism in Germany, along with the inherent quality of his own works in these areas, contributes to his reputation as a philologist and theologian. He collaborated with J.S. Semler on revolutionizing Lutheran theology, and alongside Gesner, he established a new school in ancient literature. He identified subtle grammatical details in Latin regarding the sequence of tenses that earlier critics missed. However, his canons do have exceptions. As an editor of Greek classics, Ernesti doesn’t quite measure up to his Dutch contemporaries, such as Tiberius Hemsterhuis (1685-1766), L.C. Valckenaer (1715-1785), David Ruhnken (1723-1798), or his colleague J.J. Reiske (1716-1774). Ernesti didn’t even attempt higher criticism. However, along with Gesner, he deserves credit for educating philologists who surpassed him and for sparking a national enthusiasm for ancient studies. Ernesti’s main claim to fame as a theologian lies in hermeneutics. Here, his contributions are noteworthy, especially around the time his Institutio Interpretis N. T. was published (1761), making them almost unique to him. In this work, he lays out principles for general interpretation without relying on any specific philosophy, instead offering observations and rules that, while previously stated and utilized in the critique of secular authors, had never been rigorously applied to biblical exegesis. He essentially founded the grammatico-historical school. He accepts only one interpretation of sacred texts as he does with classics, and that is the grammatical one, which is interchangeable with the logical and historical. Thus, he criticizes those who interpret Scripture solely through the Holy Spirit’s illumination, as well as those who ignore language knowledge and try to explain words through concepts. He significantly restricts the “analogy of faith” as an interpretative rule, teaching that it can never alone explain words but can only help choose among their possible meanings. At the same time, he seems unaware of any inconsistency between the generally accepted doctrine of biblical inspiration and his hermeneutical principles.
Among his works the more important are:—I. In classical literature: Initia doctrinae Solidioris (1736), many subsequent editions; Initia rhetorica (1730); editions, mostly annotated, of Xenophon’s Memorabilia (1737), Cicero (1737-1739), Suetonius (1748), Tacitus (1752), the Clouds of Aristophanes (1754), Homer (1759-1764), Callimachus (1761), Polybius (1764), as well as of the Quaestura of Corradus, the Greek lexicon of Hedericus, and the Bibliotheca Latina of Fabricius (unfinished); Archaeologia litteraria (1768), new and improved edition by Martini (1790); Horatius Tursellinus De particulis (1769). II. In sacred literature: Antimuratorius sive confutatio disputationis Muratorianae de rebus liturgicis (1755-1758); Neue theologische Bibliothek, vols. i. to x. (1760-1769); Institutio interpretis Nov. Test. (3rd ed., 1775); Neueste theologische Bibliothek, vols. i. to x. (1771-1775). Besides these, he published more than a hundred smaller works, many of which have been collected in the three following publications:—Opuscula oratoria (1762, 2nd ed., 1767); Opuscula philologica et critica (1764, 2nd ed., 1776); Opuscula theologica (1773). See Herzog-Hauck, Realencyklopädie; J.E. Sandys, Hist. of Class. Schol. iii. (1908).
Among his works, the most important are:—I. In classical literature: Initia doctrinae Solidioris (1736), with many later editions; Initia rhetorica (1730); annotated editions of Xenophon’s Memorabilia (1737), Cicero (1737-1739), Suetonius (1748), Tacitus (1752), the Clouds of Aristophanes (1754), Homer (1759-1764), Callimachus (1761), Polybius (1764), as well as of the Quaestura of Corradus, the Greek lexicon of Hedericus, and the unfinished Bibliotheca Latina of Fabricius; Archaeologia litteraria (1768), new and improved edition by Martini (1790); Horatius Tursellinus De particulis (1769). II. In sacred literature: Antimuratorius sive confutatio disputationis Muratorianae de rebus liturgicis (1755-1758); Neue theologische Bibliothek, vols. i. to x. (1760-1769); Institutio interpretis Nov. Test. (3rd ed., 1775); Neueste theologische Bibliothek, vols. i. to x. (1771-1775). In addition to these, he published over a hundred smaller works, many of which have been compiled in the following three publications:—Opuscula oratoria (1762, 2nd ed., 1767); Opuscula philologica et critica (1764, 2nd ed., 1776); Opuscula theologica (1773). See Herzog-Hauck, Realencyklopädie; J.E. Sandys, Hist. of Class. Schol. iii. (1908).
ERNESTI, JOHANN CHRISTIAN GOTTLIEB (1756-1802), German classical scholar, was born at Arnstadt, Thuringia, and studied under his uncle, J.A. Ernesti, at the university of Leipzig. On the 5th of June, 1782, he was made supplementary professor of philosophy at his own university; and on the death of his cousin August Wilhelm in 1801 he was for five months professor of rhetoric. He died on the 5th of June of the following year.
ERNESTI, JOHANN CHRISTIAN GOTTLIEB (1756-1802), German classical scholar, was born in Arnstadt, Thuringia, and studied under his uncle, J.A. Ernesti, at the University of Leipzig. On June 5, 1782, he became a supplementary professor of philosophy at his university; and after the death of his cousin August Wilhelm in 1801, he served as professor of rhetoric for five months. He passed away on June 5 of the following year.
His principal works are:—Editions of Aesop’s Fabulae (1781); of the Glossae sacrae of Hesychius (1785) and Suidas and Phavorinus (1786); and of Silius Italicus Punica (1791-1792); Lexicon Technologiae Graecorum rhetoricae (1795); Lexicon technologiae Latinorum rhetoricae (1797), and Cicero’s Geist und Kunst (1799-1802).
His main works include: Editions of Aesop’s Fables (1781); of the Glosses of Hesychius (1785) and Suidas and Phavorinus (1786); and of Silius Italicus' Punica (1791-1792); Lexicon of Greek Rhetorical Technology (1795); Lexicon of Latin Rhetorical Technology (1797), and Cicero’s Spirit and Art (1799-1802).
ERNST, HEINRICH WILHELM (1814-1865), German violinist and composer, was born at Brünn, in Moravia, in 1814. He was educated at the Conservatorium of Vienna, studying the violin under Joseph Böhm and Joseph Mayseder, and composition under Ignaz von Seyfried. At the age of sixteen he made a concert tour in south Germany, which established his reputation as a violinist of the highest promise. In 1832 he went to Paris, where he lived for several years. During this period he formed an intimacy with Stephen Heller, which resulted in their charming joint compositions—the Pensées fugitives for piano and violin. In 1843 he paid his first visit to London. The impression which he then made as a violinist was more than confirmed in the following year, when his rare powers were recognized by the musical public. Thenceforward he visited England nearly every year, until his health broke down owing to long-continued neuralgia of a most severe kind. The last seven years of his life were spent in retirement, chiefly at Nice, where he died on the 8th of October 1865. As a violinist Ernst was distinguished by his almost unrivalled executive power, loftiness of conception, and intensely passionate expression. As a composer he wrote chiefly for his own instrument, and his Elegie and Otello Fantasia rank among the most treasured works for the violin.
ERNST, HEINRICH WILHELM (1814-1865), was a German violinist and composer born in Brünn, Moravia, in 1814. He studied at the Conservatory of Vienna, where he learned the violin from Joseph Böhm and Joseph Mayseder, and composition from Ignaz von Seyfried. At sixteen, he embarked on a concert tour in southern Germany, which established his reputation as a highly promising violinist. In 1832, he moved to Paris, where he lived for several years. During this time, he became close friends with Stephen Heller, leading to their delightful joint compositions—the Pensées fugitives for piano and violin. In 1843, he made his first visit to London. The impression he made as a violinist was further solidified the following year when the musical community recognized his exceptional talents. After that, he traveled to England nearly every year until his health declined due to severe, chronic neuralgia. The last seven years of his life were spent in retirement, primarily in Nice, where he passed away on October 8, 1865. As a violinist, Ernst was known for his almost unmatched technical skill, lofty artistic vision, and deeply passionate expression. As a composer, he primarily wrote for his own instrument, with his Elegie and Otello Fantasia being among the most cherished works for the violin.
ERODE, a town of British India, in the Coimbatore district of Madras, situated on the right bank of the river Cauvery, which is here crossed by an iron railway girder bridge of 22 spans. Pop. (1901) 15,529. Here the South Indian railway joins the South-Western line of the Madras railway, 243 m. from Madras. There are exports of cotton and saltpetre; and the town has a steam cotton press.
ERODE, a town in British India, located in the Coimbatore district of Madras, is on the right bank of the Cauvery River. An iron railway bridge with 22 spans crosses the river here. The population in 1901 was 15,529. The South Indian railway connects with the South-Western line of the Madras railway, which is 243 miles from Madras. The town exports cotton and saltpeter and has a steam cotton press.
EROS, in Greek mythology, the god of love. He is not mentioned in Homer; in Hesiod (Theog. 120) he is one of the oldest and the most beautiful of the gods, whose power neither gods nor men can resist. He also evolves order and harmony out of Chaos by uniting the separated elements. This cosmic Eros, who in Orphic cosmogony sprang from the world-egg which Chronos, or Time, laid in the bosom of Chaos, and which is the origin of all created beings, degenerated in later mythology into the capricious god of sexual passion, the son of Aphrodite and Zeus, Ares or Hermes. He is commonly represented as a mischievous boy, the tormentor of gods and men, even his own mother not being proof against his attacks. His brother is Anteros, the god of mutual love, who punishes those who do not return the love of others, without which Eros could not thrive; he is sometimes described as the opponent of Eros. The chief associates of Eros are Pothos and Himeros (Longing and Desire), Peitho (Persuasion), the Muses and the Graces; he himself is in constant attendance on Aphrodite. Later writers (Euripides being the first) assumed the existence of a number of Erotes (like the Roman Amores and Cupidines) with similar attributes. According to the philosophers, Eros was not only the god of sexual love, but also of the loyal and devoted friendship of men; hence the Theban “Sacred Band” was devoted to him, and the Cretans and Spartans offered sacrifice to him before going into battle (Athenaeus xiii. p. 561). In Alexandrian poetry Eros is at one time the powerful god who conquers all, at another the elfish god of love. For the Roman adaptation of Eros see Cupid, and for the later legend of Cupid and Psyche see Psyche.
EROS, in Greek mythology, is the god of love. He’s not mentioned in Homer, but in Hesiod (Theog. 120), he’s described as one of the oldest and most beautiful gods, whose power no gods or humans can resist. He creates order and harmony from Chaos by bringing together the separated elements. This cosmic Eros, who in Orphic cosmogony emerged from the world-egg that Chronos, or Time, laid in the heart of Chaos and is the source of all created beings, later became a capricious god of sexual passion, the son of Aphrodite and either Ares or Hermes. He’s often depicted as a playful boy, tormenting both gods and humans, including his own mother. His brother is Anteros, the god of mutual love, who punishes those who don’t return others' love, which is necessary for Eros to flourish; he’s sometimes seen as Eros’s rival. Eros's main companions are Pothos and Himeros (Longing and Desire), Peitho (Persuasion), the Muses, and the Graces; he’s always by Aphrodite’s side. Later writers, starting with Euripides, suggested there were multiple Erotes (similar to the Roman Amores and Cupidines) with related traits. According to philosophers, Eros was not just the god of sexual love but also of loyal and devoted friendships among men; thus, the Theban “Sacred Band” was dedicated to him, and the Cretans and Spartans made sacrifices to him before going into battle (Athenaeus xiii. p. 561). In Alexandrian poetry, Eros is sometimes the powerful god who conquers all and at other times the whimsical god of love. For the Roman version of Eros, see Cupid, and for the later tale of Cupid and Psyche, see Psyche.
In art Eros is represented as a beautiful youth or a winged child. His attributes are the bow and arrows and a burning torch. The rose, the hare, the cock and the goat are frequently associated with him. The most celebrated statue of him was at Thespiae, the work of Praxiteles. Other famous representations are the Vatican torso and Eros trying his bow (in the Capitoline museum).
In art, Eros is depicted as a handsome young man or a winged child. He is known for his bow and arrows and a lit torch. Common symbols associated with him include the rose, the hare, the rooster, and the goat. The most famous statue of him was located in Thespiae, created by Praxiteles. Other well-known depictions are the Vatican torso and Eros drawing his bow (in the Capitoline museum).
See J.E. Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion (1903); G.F. Schömann, De Cupidine Cosmogonico (1852); E. Gerhard, Über den Gott Eros (1850); articles in Roscher’s Lexikon der Mythologie, Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités, and Pauly-Wissowa’s Realencyclopädie.
See J.E. Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion (1903); G.F. Schömann, De Cupidine Cosmogonico (1852); E. Gerhard, Über den Gott Eros (1850); articles in Roscher’s Lexikon der Mythologie, Daremberg and Saglio’s Dictionnaire des antiquités, and Pauly-Wissowa’s Realencyclopädie.
ERPENIUS (original name van Erpe), THOMAS (1584-1624), Dutch Orientalist, was born at Gorcum, in Holland, on the 11th of September 1584. After completing his early education at Leiden, he entered the university of that city, and in 1608 took the degree of master of arts. By the advice of Scaliger he studied Oriental languages whilst taking his course of theology. He afterwards travelled in England, France, Italy and Germany, forming connexions with learned men, and availing himself of the information which they communicated. During his stay at Paris he contracted a friendship with Casaubon, which lasted during his life, and also took lessons in Arabic from an Egyptian, Joseph Barbatus, otherwise called Abu-dakni. At Venice he perfected himself in the Turkish, Persic and Ethiopic languages. After a long absence, Erpenius returned to his own country in 1612, and on the 10th of February 1613 he was appointed professor of Arabic and other Oriental languages, Hebrew excepted, in the university of Leiden. Soon after his settlement at Leiden, animated by the example of Savary de Brèves, who had established an Arabic press at Paris at his own charge, he caused new Arabic characters to be cut at a great expense, and erected a press in his own house. In 1619 the curators of the university of Leiden 754 instituted a second chair of Hebrew in his favour. In 1620 he was sent by the States of Holland to induce Pierre Dumoulin or André Rivet to settle in that country; and after a second journey he was successful in inducing Rivet to comply with their request. Some time after the return of Erpenius, the states appointed him their interpreter; and in this capacity he had the duty imposed upon him of translating and replying to the different letters of the Moslem princes of Asia and Africa. His reputation had now spread throughout all Europe, and several princes, the kings of England and Spain, and the archbishop of Seville made him the most flattering offers; but he constantly refused to leave his native country. He was preparing an edition of the Koran with a Latin translation and notes, and was projecting an Oriental library, when he died prematurely on the 13th of November 1624.
ERPENIUS (original name van Erpe), THOMAS (1584-1624), Dutch Orientalist, was born in Gorcum, Holland, on September 11, 1584. After finishing his early education in Leiden, he enrolled at the university there and earned his master of arts degree in 1608. Following Scaliger's advice, he studied Oriental languages while pursuing his theology studies. He later traveled through England, France, Italy, and Germany, forming connections with scholars and benefiting from the knowledge they shared. During his time in Paris, he befriended Casaubon, a relationship that lasted his entire life, and studied Arabic with an Egyptian named Joseph Barbatus, also known as Abu-dakni. In Venice, he enhanced his skills in Turkish, Persian, and Ethiopic languages. After being away for a while, Erpenius returned to his homeland in 1612 and on February 10, 1613, he was appointed professor of Arabic and other Oriental languages (excluding Hebrew) at the university of Leiden. Shortly after settling in Leiden, inspired by Savary de Brèves, who had established an Arabic press in Paris at his own expense, Erpenius invested heavily in creating new Arabic typefaces and set up a press in his own home. In 1619, the curators of the university of Leiden established a second Hebrew chair in his honor. In 1620, he was sent by the States of Holland to persuade Pierre Dumoulin or André Rivet to come to their country, and after a second trip, he successfully convinced Rivet to accept their offer. Soon after Erpenius returned, the states appointed him as their interpreter, which involved translating and responding to various letters from Muslim princes in Asia and Africa. His reputation had now spread throughout Europe, and several rulers, including the kings of England and Spain and the archbishop of Seville, made him very flattering offers; however, he consistently refused to leave his home country. He was in the process of preparing an edition of the Koran with a Latin translation and notes and was planning an Oriental library when he died unexpectedly on November 13, 1624.
Among his works may be mentioned his Grammatica Arabica, published originally in 1613 and often reprinted; Rudimenta linguae Arabicae (1620); Grammatica Ebraea generalis (1621); Grammatica Chaldaica et Syria (1628); and an edition of Elmacin’s History of the Saracens.
Among his works are his Grammatica Arabica, first published in 1613 and frequently reprinted; Rudimenta linguae Arabicae (1620); Grammatica Ebraea generalis (1621); Grammatica Chaldaica et Syria (1628); and an edition of Elmacin’s History of the Saracens.
ERROLL (or Errol), FRANCIS HAY, 9th Earl of (d. 1631), Scottish nobleman, was the son of Andrew, 8th earl, and of Lady Jean Hay, daughter of William, 6th earl. The date of his birth is unrecorded, but he succeeded to the earldom (cr. 1453) in 1585, was early converted to Roman Catholicism, and as the associate of Huntly joined in the Spanish conspiracies against the throne of Elizabeth. A letter written by him, declaring his allegiance to the king of Spain, having been intercepted and sent by Elizabeth to James in February 1589, he was declared a rebel by the council. He engaged with Huntly and Crawford in a rebellion in the north of Scotland, but their forces surrendered at Aberdeen on the arrival of the king in April; and in July Erroll gave himself up to James, who leniently refrained from exacting any penalty. In September of the same year he entered into a personal bond with Huntly for mutual assistance; and in 1590 displeased the king by marrying, in spite of his prohibition, Lady Elizabeth Douglas, daughter of the earl of Morton. He was imprisoned on suspicion of complicity in the attempt made by Gray and Bothwell to surprise the king at Falkland in June 1592; and though he obtained his release, he was again proclaimed a rebel on account of the discovery of his signature to two of the “Spanish Blanks,” unwritten sheets subscribed with the names of the chief conspirators in a plot for a Spanish invasion of Scotland, to be filled up later with the terms of the projected treaty. After a failure to apprehend him in March 1593, Erroll and his companions were sentenced to abjure Romanism or leave the kingdom; and on their non-compliance were in 1594 declared traitors. On the 3rd of October they defeated at Glenlivet a force sent against them under Argyll; though Erroll himself was severely wounded, and Slains Castle, his seat, razed to the ground. The rebel lords left Scotland in 1595, and Erroll, on report of his further conspiracies abroad, was arrested by the states of Zealand, but was afterwards allowed to escape. He returned to Scotland secretly in 1596, and on the 20th of June 1597 abjured Romanism and made his peace with the Kirk. He enjoyed the favour of the king, and in 1602 was appointed a commissioner to negotiate the union with England. His relations with the Kirk, however, were not so amicable. The reality of his conversion was disputed, and on the 21st of May 1608 he was confined to the city of Perth “for the better resolution of his doubts,” being subsequently declared an obstinate “papist,” excommunicated, deprived of his estate, and imprisoned at Dumbarton; and after some further vacillation was finally released in May 1611. Lord Erroll died on the 16th of July 1631, and was buried in the church of Slains. He married (1) Anne, daughter of John, 4th earl of Atholl; (2) Margaret, daughter of the regent Murray; and (3) Elizabeth, daughter of William, 6th earl of Morton. By his third wife he had several children, of whom his eldest son, William, succeeded him. The dispute which began in his lifetime concerning the hereditary office of lord high constable between the families of Erroll and of the Earl Marischal was settled finally in favour of the former; thus establishing the precedence enjoyed by the earls of Erroll next after the royal family over all other subjects in Scotland.
ERROLL (or Errol), FRANCIS HAY, 9th Earl of (d. 1631), was a Scottish nobleman, the son of Andrew, the 8th earl, and Lady Jean Hay, the daughter of William, the 6th earl. His birth date isn't recorded, but he became the earl (created in 1453) in 1585. He converted early to Roman Catholicism and allied with Huntly in Spanish conspiracies against Queen Elizabeth's throne. A letter he wrote, declaring his loyalty to the king of Spain, was intercepted and sent by Elizabeth to James in February 1589, leading to his being declared a rebel by the council. He joined Huntly and Crawford in a rebellion in northern Scotland, but their forces surrendered at Aberdeen when the king arrived in April. In July, Erroll surrendered to James, who leniently chose not to impose any penalties. In September that year, he entered a personal bond with Huntly for mutual support; however, in 1590, he angered the king by marrying Lady Elizabeth Douglas, daughter of the earl of Morton, against the king's orders. He was imprisoned due to suspicions of involvement in an attempt by Gray and Bothwell to surprise the king at Falkland in June 1592. Although he was released, he was again proclaimed a rebel when his signature was discovered on two of the “Spanish Blanks,” unwritten sheets that were to be filled out later with terms of a planned Spanish invasion of Scotland. After efforts to capture him in March 1593 failed, Erroll and his companions were ordered to renounce Roman Catholicism or leave the kingdom and, upon non-compliance, were declared traitors in 1594. On October 3rd, they defeated a force sent against them by Argyll at Glenlivet; although Erroll was severely injured, and Slains Castle, his residence, was destroyed. The rebel lords left Scotland in 1595, and Erroll was arrested in Zealand due to further conspiracy reports but later allowed to escape. He secretly returned to Scotland in 1596 and on June 20, 1597, renounced Romanism, reconciling with the Kirk. He had the king's favor and was appointed a commissioner in 1602 to negotiate the union with England. However, his relationship with the Kirk was contentious. His conversion was questioned, and on May 21, 1608, he was confined to the city of Perth “for the better resolution of his doubts.” He was subsequently declared an obstinate “papist,” excommunicated, stripped of his estate, and imprisoned in Dumbarton. After some further indecision, he was finally released in May 1611. Lord Erroll died on July 16, 1631, and was buried in the church of Slains. He married (1) Anne, daughter of John, the 4th earl of Atholl; (2) Margaret, daughter of the regent Murray; and (3) Elizabeth, daughter of William, the 6th earl of Morton. With his third wife, he had several children, the eldest of whom, William, succeeded him. The dispute that started during his lifetime regarding the hereditary office of lord high constable between the families of Erroll and the Earl Marischal was ultimately resolved in favor of Erroll, securing the precedence of the earls of Erroll after the royal family over all other subjects in Scotland.
See The Erroll Papers (Spalding Club Miscellany, vol. ii. 211); Andrew Lang, Hist. of Scotland, vol. ii.; Hist. MSS. Comm. MSS. of Earl of Mar and Kellie; D. Calderwood’s Hist. of the Church of Scotland; John Spalding’s Memorials (Spalding Club, 1850); Collected Essays of T.G. Law, ed. by P.H. Brown (1904); Treason and Plot, by M.A.S. Hume (1901).
See The Erroll Papers (Spalding Club Miscellany, vol. ii. 211); Andrew Lang, Hist. of Scotland, vol. ii.; Hist. MSS. Comm. MSS. of Earl of Mar and Kellie; D. Calderwood’s Hist. of the Church of Scotland; John Spalding’s Memorials (Spalding Club, 1850); Collected Essays of T.G. Law, ed. by P.H. Brown (1904); Treason and Plot, by M.A.S. Hume (1901).
ERROR (Lat. error, from errare, to wander, to err), a mistake, a departure or deviation from what is true, exact or right. For the legal process by which a judgment could be reversed on the ground of error, known as a “writ of error,” see Writ and Appeal. The words “error excepted” or “errors and omissions excepted” (contracted to “E.E.” “E. & O.E.”), are frequently placed at the end of a statement of account or an invoice, so that the accounting party may reserve the right to correct any errors or omissions which may be subsequently discovered, or make further claims in respect of them. In mathematics, “error” is the deviation of an observed or calculated quantity from its true value. The calculus of errors leads to the formulation of the “law of error,” which is an analytical expression of the most probably true value of a series of discordant values (see Probability).
ERROR (Latin error, from errare, meaning to wander or to make a mistake), refers to a mistake, a departure, or deviation from what is true, precise, or correct. For the legal process that allows a judgment to be overturned due to an error, known as a “writ of error,” see Writ and Appeal. The phrases “error excepted” or “errors and omissions excepted” (abbreviated as “E.E.” or “E. & O.E.”) are commonly included at the end of an account statement or invoice, allowing the accounting party to retain the right to correct any mistakes or omissions that may be found later or to make additional claims regarding them. In mathematics, “error” refers to the difference between an observed or calculated value and its true value. The calculus of errors leads to the development of the “law of error,” which is an analytical formula that expresses the most likely true value of a set of inconsistent values (see Probability).
ERSCH, JOHANN SAMUEL (1766-1828), the founder of German bibliography, was born at Grossglogau, in Silesia, on the 23rd of June 1766. In 1785 he entered the university of Halle with the view of studying theology; but soon his whole attention became engrossed by history, bibliography and geography. At Halle he made the acquaintance of J.E. Fabri, professor of geography; and when the latter was made professor of history and statistics at Jena, Ersch accompanied him thither, and aided him in the preparation of several works. In 1788 he published the Verzeichnis aller anonymischen Schriften, as a supplement to the 4th edition of Meusel’s Gelehrtes Deutschland. The researches required for this work suggested to him the preparation of a Repertorium über die allgemeinen deutschen Journale und andere periodische Sammlungen für Erdbeschreibung, Geschichte, und die damit verwandten Wissenschaften (Lemgo, 1790-1792). The fame which this publication acquired him led to his being engaged by Schütz and Hufeland to prepare an Allgemeines Repertorium der Literatur, published in 8 vols. (Jena and Weimar, 1793-1809), which condensed the literary productions of 15 years (1785-1800), and included an account not merely of the books published during that period, but also of articles in periodicals and magazines, and even of the criticisms to which each book had been subjected. While engaged in this great work he also projected La France littéraire, which was published at Hamburg in 5 vols., from 1797 to 1806. In 1795 he went to Hamburg to edit the Neue Hamburger Zeitung, founded by Victor Klopstock, brother of the poet, but returned in 1800 to Jena to take active part in the Allgemeine Literaturzeitung. He also obtained in the same year the office of librarian in the university, and in 1802 was made professor of philosophy. In 1803 he accepted the chair of geography and statistics at Halle, and in 1808 was made principal librarian. He here projected a Handbuch der deutschen Literatur seit der Mitte des 18. Jahrh. bis auf die neueste Zeit (Leipzig, 1812-1814) and, along with Johann Gottfried Gruber (q.v.), the Allgemeine Encyklopädie der Wissenschaften und Künste (Leipzig, 1818 ffg.) which he continued as far as the 21st volume. The accuracy and thoroughness of this monumental encyclopaedia make it still an indispensable book of reference. Ersch died at Halle on the 16th of January 1828.
ERSCH, JOHANN SAMUEL (1766-1828), the founder of German bibliography, was born in Grossglogau, Silesia, on June 23, 1766. In 1785, he enrolled at the University of Halle to study theology; however, he quickly became focused on history, bibliography, and geography. While at Halle, he met J.E. Fabri, a geography professor, and when Fabri became a professor of history and statistics at Jena, Ersch went with him and helped prepare several works. In 1788, he published the Verzeichnis aller anonymischen Schriften as a supplement to the fourth edition of Meusel’s Gelehrtes Deutschland. The research for this work inspired him to create a Repertorium über die allgemeinen deutschen Journale und andere periodische Sammlungen für Erdbeschreibung, Geschichte, und die damit verwandten Wissenschaften (Lemgo, 1790-1792). The fame from this publication led to his collaboration with Schütz and Hufeland on an Allgemeines Repertorium der Literatur, published in eight volumes (Jena and Weimar, 1793-1809), which summarized literary works from 15 years (1785-1800) and included not just the books published during that time but also articles from periodicals and magazines, as well as the criticisms of each book. While working on this major project, he also planned La France littéraire, published in Hamburg in five volumes from 1797 to 1806. In 1795, he moved to Hamburg to edit the Neue Hamburger Zeitung, founded by Victor Klopstock, brother of the poet, but returned to Jena in 1800 to actively participate in the Allgemeine Literaturzeitung. That same year, he became the librarian at the university and in 1802 was appointed professor of philosophy. In 1803, he took the chair of geography and statistics at Halle, and by 1808 he was made principal librarian. He initiated a Handbuch der deutschen Literatur seit der Mitte des 18. Jahrh. bis auf die neueste Zeit (Leipzig, 1812-1814) and, together with Johann Gottfried Gruber (q.v.), the Allgemeine Encyklopädie der Wissenschaften und Künste (Leipzig, 1818 ffg.), which he continued up to the 21st volume. The precision and depth of this monumental encyclopedia ensure it remains an essential reference work. Ersch passed away in Halle on January 16, 1828.
ERSKINE, EBENEZER (1680-1754), Scottish divine, the chief founder of the Secession Church (formed of dissenters from the Church of Scotland), was born on the 22nd of June 1680, most probably at Dryburgh, Berwickshire. His father, Henry Erskine, who was at one time minister at Cornhill, Durham, was ejected in 1662 by the Act of Uniformity, and, after suffering some years’ imprisonment, was after the Revolution appointed to the parish of Chirnside, Berwickshire. After studying at the university of Edinburgh, Ebenezer became minister of Portmoak, Kinross-shire. There he remained for twenty-eight 755 years, after which, in the autumn of 1731, he was translated to the West Church, Stirling. Some time before this, he, along with some other ministers, was “rebuked and admonished,” by the general assembly, for defending the doctrines contained in the Marrow of Modern Divinity (see Boston, Thomas). A sermon which he preached on lay patronage before the synod of Perth in 1733 furnished new grounds of accusation, and he was compelled to shield himself from rebuke by appealing to the general assembly. Here, however, the sentence of the synod was confirmed, and after many fruitless attempts to obtain a hearing, he, along with William Wilson of Perth, Alexander Moncrieff of Abernethy and James Fisher of Kinclaven, was suspended from the ministry by the commission in November of that year. Against this sentence they protested, and constituted themselves into a separate church court, under the name of the associate presbytery. In 1739 they were again summoned before the assembly, and in their corporate capacity declined to acknowledge the authority of the church, and were deposed in the following year. They received numerous accessions to their communion, and remained in harmony with each other till 1747, when a division took place in regard to the nature of the oath administered to burgesses. Erskine joined with the “burgher” section, and became their professor of theology. He continued also to preach to a numerous congregation in Stirling till his death, which took place on the 2nd of June 1754. Erskine was a very popular preacher, and a man of considerable force of character; he acted throughout on principle with honesty and courage. The burgher and anti-burgher sections of the Secession Church were reunited in 1820, and in 1847 they united with the relief synod in forming the United Presbyterian Church.
ERSKINE, EBENEZER (1680-1754), Scottish minister, the main founder of the Secession Church (made up of dissenters from the Church of Scotland), was born on June 22, 1680, likely in Dryburgh, Berwickshire. His father, Henry Erskine, who was once the minister at Cornhill, Durham, was removed from his position in 1662 by the Act of Uniformity, and after enduring several years in prison, was appointed to the parish of Chirnside, Berwickshire after the Revolution. After studying at the University of Edinburgh, Ebenezer became the minister of Portmoak, Kinross-shire. He stayed there for twenty-eight 755 years, until he was moved in the autumn of 1731 to the West Church in Stirling. Before this transfer, he was “rebuked and admonished” by the general assembly along with several other ministers for defending the doctrines in the Marrow of Modern Divinity (see Boston, Thomas). A sermon he delivered on lay patronage before the synod of Perth in 1733 led to further accusations against him, forcing him to seek protection from criticism by appealing to the general assembly. However, the assembly confirmed the synod's ruling, and after many unsuccessful attempts to be heard, he, along with William Wilson of Perth, Alexander Moncrieff of Abernethy, and James Fisher of Kinclaven, was suspended from ministry by the commission in November of that year. They protested this ruling and established themselves as a separate church court known as the associate presbytery. In 1739, they were summoned again before the assembly, and in their collective capacity, they refused to acknowledge the church's authority and were deposed the following year. They gained many new members and remained united until 1747 when they split over the nature of the oath required from burgesses. Erskine aligned with the “burgher” faction and became their theology professor. He continued to preach to a large congregation in Stirling until his death on June 2, 1754. Erskine was a very popular preacher and a person of significant character; he operated consistently on principle with honesty and courage. The burgher and anti-burgher factions of the Secession Church were reunited in 1820, and in 1847 they joined with the relief synod to form the United Presbyterian Church.
Erskine’s published works consist chiefly of sermons. His Life and Diary, edited by the Rev. Donald Fraser, was published in 1840. His Works were published in 1785.
Erskine’s published works mainly include sermons. His Life and Diary, edited by Rev. Donald Fraser, was released in 1840. His Works came out in 1785.
ERSKINE, HENRY (1746-1817), lord advocate of Scotland, the second son of Henry David, 10th earl of Buchan and brother of the lord chancellor Erskine, was born in Edinburgh on the 1st of November 1746. He was educated at the universities of St Andrews, Glasgow and Edinburgh, and was admitted a member of the faculty of advocates in 1768. His reputation as a clever and fluent speaker was first made in the debates of the general assembly, of which he had been early elected an elder. In 1783 he was appointed to the office of lord advocate, which he held during the brief coalition ministry of Fox and North. In 1785 he was elected dean of the faculty of advocates, and was re-elected annually till 1796, when his conduct in moving a series of resolutions at a public meeting, condemning the government’s sedition and treason bills, brought on him the opposition of the ministerial party, and he was deposed in favour of Robert Dundas. On the formation of the Grenville ministry in 1806 he again became lord advocate and was returned to parliament for the Haddington burghs, which he exchanged at the general election of the same year for the Dumfries burghs. His tenure of the lord advocateship ended in March 1807 on the downfall of the ministry. In 1811 he gave up his practice at the bar and retired to his country residence of Almondel, in Linlithgowshire, where he died on the 8th of October 1817.
ERSKINE, HENRY (1746-1817), Lord Advocate of Scotland, the second son of Henry David, 10th Earl of Buchan and brother of Lord Chancellor Erskine, was born in Edinburgh on November 1, 1746. He was educated at the universities of St Andrews, Glasgow, and Edinburgh, and joined the Faculty of Advocates in 1768. He gained a reputation as a smart and articulate speaker during debates in the General Assembly, to which he was elected as an elder early on. In 1783, he was appointed Lord Advocate, serving during the short-lived coalition ministry of Fox and North. In 1785, he was elected Dean of the Faculty of Advocates and was re-elected annually until 1796, when his actions in proposing a series of resolutions at a public meeting, condemning the government's sedition and treason bills, led to opposition from the ministerial party, resulting in his replacement by Robert Dundas. When the Grenville ministry formed in 1806, he became Lord Advocate again and was elected to Parliament for the Haddington Burghs, which he swapped for the Dumfries Burghs in the general election of that same year. His time as Lord Advocate ended in March 1807 with the fall of the ministry. In 1811, he retired from practicing at the bar and moved to his country home in Almondel, Linlithgowshire, where he died on October 8, 1817.
His eldest son, Henry David (1783-1857), succeeded as 12th earl of Buchan on his uncle’s death in 1829.
His oldest son, Henry David (1783-1857), became the 12th earl of Buchan after his uncle passed away in 1829.
Erskine’s reputation will survive as the finest and most eloquent orator of his day at the Scottish bar; added to a charming forensic style was a most captivating wit, which, as Lord Jeffrey said, was “all argument, and each of his delightful illustrations a material step in his reasoning.” Erskine was also the author of some poems, of which the best known is “The Emigrant” (1783).
Erskine’s reputation will endure as the best and most articulate speaker of his time at the Scottish bar; along with a charming style of argument, he had a captivating wit that, as Lord Jeffrey put it, was “all argument, and each of his delightful illustrations a material step in his reasoning.” Erskine also wrote some poems, with the most well-known being “The Emigrant” (1783).
See Lieut.-Col. A. Fergusson’s Henry Erskine (1882).
See Lt. Col. A. Fergusson’s Henry Erskine (1882).
ERSKINE, JOHN (1721-1803), Scottish divine, son of John Erskine of Carnock, was born on the 2nd of June 1721. He studied law for a time after completing his course in arts at the university of Edinburgh, but was eventually licensed to preach in 1743; and was successively parish minister of Kirkintilloch, near Glasgow, Culross, in Fifeshire (1753), New Greyfriars church in Edinburgh (1758), and Old Greyfriars church in 1768, where he became the colleague of Principal Robertson, the historian. Here he remained until his death, which took place on the 19th of January 1803. Dr Erskine’s writings consist chiefly of controversial pamphlets on theological subjects. His sermons are clear, vigorous expositions of a moderate Calvinism, in which metaphysical argument and practical morality are happily blended. In church politics he was the leader of the evangelical party; and was much beloved for his high character and amiability.
ERSKINE, JOHN (1721-1803), Scottish preacher, son of John Erskine of Carnock, was born on June 2, 1721. He studied law for a while after finishing his arts degree at the University of Edinburgh, but he was eventually licensed to preach in 1743. He served as the parish minister of Kirkintilloch, near Glasgow, then Culross in Fife (1753), New Greyfriars Church in Edinburgh (1758), and Old Greyfriars Church in 1768, where he became colleagues with Principal Robertson, the historian. He stayed there until his death on January 19, 1803. Dr. Erskine’s writings mainly consist of controversial pamphlets on theological topics. His sermons are clear, powerful interpretations of moderate Calvinism, skillfully combining metaphysical arguments and practical morality. In church politics, he led the evangelical party and was greatly admired for his strong character and friendliness.
For his life and works see Sir H. Moncreiff Wellwood, Life and Writings of J. Erskine, D.D. (Edinburgh, 1818).
For his life and works, see Sir H. Moncreiff Wellwood, Life and Writings of J. Erskine, D.D. (Edinburgh, 1818).
ERSKINE, JOHN, of Carnock (1695-1768), Scottish jurist, son of Lieut.-Colonel John Erskine, was born in 1695. He was admitted a member of the faculty of advocates in 1719. Although he never enjoyed much practice at the bar, he acquired a high reputation as a sound and learned lawyer, and in 1737 was appointed professor of Scots law in the university of Edinburgh. In 1754 he published his Principles of the Law of Scotland. He retired from his chair in 1765; and during the remainder of his uneventful life he occupied himself with the preparation of his great work, the Institutes of the Law of Scotland, which he did not live to publish. He died at Cardross, Perthshire, on the 1st of March 1768.
ERSKINE, JOHN, of Carnock (1695-1768), was a Scottish legal expert and the son of Lieutenant Colonel John Erskine. He was born in 1695 and joined the faculty of advocates in 1719. Although he didn’t have a lot of practice at the bar, he gained a strong reputation as a knowledgeable and learned lawyer, and in 1737, he became a professor of Scots law at the University of Edinburgh. In 1754, he published his Principles of the Law of Scotland. He stepped down from his position in 1765 and spent the rest of his quiet life working on his major project, the Institutes of the Law of Scotland, which he didn’t get to publish before he passed away. He died at Cardross, Perthshire, on March 1, 1768.
Erskine’s Institutes, although not exhibiting the grasp of principle which distinguished his great predecessor Lord Stair, is so conspicuous for learning, accuracy and sound good sense, that it has always been esteemed of the highest authority on the law of Scotland. The first edition appeared in 1773 and it has been many times reprinted. The Principles, although published first, is substantially an abridgment of the larger work, and is in some respects superior to it, being more concise and direct. It retains its place as the text-book on Scots law, and is frequently being re-edited.
Erskine’s Institutes, while not showcasing the same grasp of principle as his notable predecessor Lord Stair, is striking for its scholarship, precision, and common sense, making it consistently regarded as one of the most authoritative texts on the law of Scotland. The first edition came out in 1773 and has been reprinted numerous times. The Principles, though released first, is essentially a shortened version of the larger work and is superior in some ways, being more succinct and straightforward. It continues to hold its position as the textbook on Scots law and is frequently updated.
ERSKINE, JOHN, of Dun (1509-1591), Scottish reformer, the son of Sir John Erskine, laird of Dun, was born in 1509, and was educated at King’s College, Aberdeen. At the age of twenty-one Erskine was the cause—probably by accident—of a priest’s death, and was forced to go abroad, where he came under the influence of the new learning. It was through his agency that Greek was first taught in Scotland by Petrus de Marsiliers at Montrose. This fact counted for much in the progress of the Reformation. Erskine was also drawn towards the new faith, being a close friend of George Wishart, the reformer, from whose fate he was saved by his wealth and influence, and of John Knox, whose advice openly to discountenance the mass was given in the lodgings of the laird of Dun. In the stormy controversies of the time of Mary Stuart and James VI. Erskine was a conspicuous figure and a moderating influence. He was able to soothe the queen when her feelings had been outraged by Knox’s denunciations—being a man “most gentill of nature”—and frequently acted as mediator both between the catholic and reforming parties, and among the reformers themselves. In 1560 he was appointed—though a layman—superintendent of the reformed church of Scotland for Angus and Mearns, and in 1572 he gave his assent to the modified episcopacy proposed by Morton at the Leith convention. Though never himself ordained, he was held in such high esteem by the leaders of the church as to be more than once elected moderator of the general assembly (first in 1564), and he was amongst those who in 1578 drew up the Second Book of Discipline. From 1579 he was a member of the king’s council. He died in 1591. Erskine owed his peculiar influence among the Scottish reformers to the union—rare in those days—of steadfast convictions with a conciliatory manner; Queen Mary described him as “a mild and sweet-natured man, with true honesty and uprightness.”
ERSKINE, JOHN, of Dun (1509-1591), Scottish reformer, the son of Sir John Erskine, laird of Dun, was born in 1509 and was educated at King’s College, Aberdeen. At twenty-one, Erskine accidentally caused a priest’s death and was forced to go abroad, where he was influenced by the new ideas. He played a key role in bringing Greek to be taught in Scotland by Petrus de Marsiliers in Montrose. This was significant in the advancement of the Reformation. Erskine was also drawn to the new faith, being a close friend of George Wishart, the reformer, whose fate he evaded due to his wealth and influence, and of John Knox, who advised openly rejecting the mass in the lodgings of the laird of Dun. During the turbulent times of Mary Stuart and James VI, Erskine was a notable figure and a calming presence. He was able to comfort the queen when Knox’s criticisms upset her—being a man “most gentle by nature”—and often acted as a mediator both between the Catholic and reforming groups and among the reformers themselves. In 1560, he was appointed—although a layman—as superintendent of the reformed church of Scotland for Angus and Mearns, and in 1572, he agreed to the modified episcopacy proposed by Morton at the Leith convention. Though he was never ordained, he was respected highly by church leaders and was elected moderator of the general assembly several times (first in 1564). He was among those who in 1578 drafted the Second Book of Discipline. From 1579, he was a member of the king’s council. He died in 1591. Erskine's unique influence among Scottish reformers stemmed from the rare combination of strong convictions with a conciliatory nature; Queen Mary described him as “a mild and sweet-natured man, with true honesty and uprightness.”
See the “Dun Papers” in the Spalding Club Miscellany, vol. iv. (1849), and the article by T.F. Henderson in the Dict. Nat. Biog.
See the “Dun Papers” in the Spalding Club Miscellany, vol. iv. (1849), and the article by T.F. Henderson in the Dict. Nat. Biog.
ERSKINE, RALPH (1685-1752), Scottish divine, brother of Ebenezer Erskine (q.v.), was born on the 18th of March 1685. After studying at the university of Edinburgh, he was in 1711 756 ordained assistant minister at Dunfermline. He homologated the protests which his brother laid on the table of the assembly after being rebuked for his synod sermon, but he did not formally withdraw from the establishment till 1737. He was also present, though not as a member, at the first meeting of the associate presbytery. When the severance took place on account of the oath administered to burgesses, he adhered, along with his brother, to the burgher section. He died after a short illness on the 6th of November 1752.
ERSKINE, RALPH (1685-1752), Scottish minister, brother of Ebenezer Erskine (q.v.), was born on March 18, 1685. After studying at the University of Edinburgh, he was appointed assistant minister at Dunfermline in 1711. He supported the protests that his brother presented to the assembly after being reprimanded for his synod sermon, but he didn't formally leave the church until 1737. He was also present, though not as a member, at the first meeting of the associate presbytery. When the split occurred over the oath required of burgesses, he, along with his brother, joined the burgher faction. He passed away after a short illness on November 6, 1752.
His works consist of sermons, poetical paraphrases and gospel sonnets. The Gospel Sonnets have frequently appeared separately. His Life and Diary, edited by the Rev. D. Fraser, was published in 1842.
His works include sermons, poetic paraphrases, and gospel sonnets. The Gospel Sonnets have often been published separately. His Life and Diary, edited by Rev. D. Fraser, was released in 1842.
ERSKINE, THOMAS, of Linlathen (1788-1870), Scottish theologian, youngest son of David Erskine, writer to the signet in Edinburgh, and of Anne Graham, of the Grahams of Airth, was born on the 13th of October 1788. He was a descendant of John, 1st or 6th earl of Mar, regent of Scotland in the reign of James VI., a grandson of Colonel John Erskine of Carnock. After being educated at the high school of Edinburgh and at Durham, he attended the literary and law classes at the university of Edinburgh, and becoming in 1810 a member of the Edinburgh faculty of advocates, he for some time enjoyed the intimate acquaintance of Cockburn, Jeffrey, Scott and other distinguished men whose talent then lent lustre to the Scottish bar. In 1816 he succeeded to the family estate of Linlathen, near Dundee, and devoted himself to theology. The writings of Erskine, especially his published letters, are distinguished by a graceful style, and possess originality and interest. His theological views have a considerable similarity to those of Frederick Denison Maurice, who acknowledges having been indebted to him for his first true conception of the meaning of Christ’s sacrifice. Erskine had little interest in the “historical criticism” of Christianity, and regarded as the only proper criterion of its truth its conformity or nonconformity with man’s spiritual nature, and its adaptability or non-adaptability to man’s spiritual needs. He considered the incarnation of Christ as the necessary manifestation to man of an eternal sonship in the divine nature, apart from which those filial qualities which God demands from man could have no sanction; by faith as used in Scripture he understood to be meant a certain moral or spiritual activity or energy which virtually implied salvation, because it implied the existence of a principle of spiritual life possessed of an immortal power. This faith, he believed, could be properly awakened only by the manifestation, through Christ, of love as the law of life, and as identical with an eternal righteousness which it was God’s purpose to bestow on every individual soul. As an interpreter of the mystical side of Calvinism and of the psychological conditions which correspond with the doctrines of grace Erskine is unrivalled. During the last thirty-three years of his life Erskine ceased from literary work. Among his friends were Madame Vernet, the duchess de Broglie, the younger Mdme de Stael, M. Vinet of Lausanne, Edward Irving, Frederick D. Maurice, Dean Stanley, Bishop Ewing, Dr John Brown and Thomas Carlyle. His wide influence was due to his high character and unassuming earnestness. He died at Edinburgh on the 20th of March 1870.
ERSKINE, THOMAS, of Linlathen (1788-1870), Scottish theologian, was the youngest son of David Erskine, a writer in Edinburgh, and Anne Graham from the Grahams of Airth. He was born on October 13, 1788. He was a descendant of John, the 1st or 6th Earl of Mar, who was regent of Scotland during James VI's reign, and a grandson of Colonel John Erskine of Carnock. After attending the high school in Edinburgh and studying in Durham, he took classes in literature and law at the University of Edinburgh. In 1810, he became a member of the Edinburgh Faculty of Advocates and had the opportunity to associate with notable figures such as Cockburn, Jeffrey, Scott, and others whose talents enhanced the Scottish bar at the time. In 1816, he inherited the family estate of Linlathen, near Dundee, and committed himself to theology. Erskine's writings, particularly his published letters, are recognized for their graceful style, originality, and intrigue. His theological views are quite similar to those of Frederick Denison Maurice, who acknowledged that Erskine helped him form his first true understanding of Christ’s sacrifice. Erskine showed little interest in the “historical criticism” of Christianity, believing that the only true measure of its validity was how well it aligned with human spiritual nature and its ability to meet human spiritual needs. He viewed the incarnation of Christ as a necessary manifestation of eternal sonship within the divine nature, arguing that without it, the qualities of sonship that God demands from humanity could not have any authority. He interpreted faith as described in Scripture as a type of moral or spiritual activity or energy that inherently implied salvation, as it suggested the presence of a spiritual life principle with immortal power. He believed this faith could only be properly ignited by the demonstration of love as the law of life through Christ, linking it to an eternal righteousness that God intended to grant to every individual soul. As a commentator on the mystical aspects of Calvinism and the psychological conditions associated with the doctrines of grace, Erskine was unparalleled. During the last thirty-three years of his life, he stepped away from literary pursuits. His friends included Madame Vernet, the Duchess de Broglie, the younger Madame de Stael, M. Vinet of Lausanne, Edward Irving, Frederick D. Maurice, Dean Stanley, Bishop Ewing, Dr. John Brown, and Thomas Carlyle. His significant influence stemmed from his strong character and genuine humility. He passed away in Edinburgh on March 20, 1870.
His principal works are Remarks on the Internal Evidence for the Truth of Revealed Religion (1820), an Essay on Faith (1822), and the Unconditional Freeness of the Gospel (1828). These have all passed through several editions, and have also been translated into French. He is also the author of the Brazen Serpent (1831), the Doctrine of Election (1839), several “Introductory Essays” to editions of Christian Authors, and a posthumous work entitled Spiritual Order and Other Papers (1871). Two vols. of his letters, edited by William Hanna, D.D., with reminiscences by Dean Stanley and Principal Shairp, appeared in 1877.
His main works are Remarks on the Internal Evidence for the Truth of Revealed Religion (1820), an Essay on Faith (1822), and the Unconditional Freeness of the Gospel (1828). All of these have gone through multiple editions and have been translated into French. He also wrote the Brazen Serpent (1831), the Doctrine of Election (1839), several “Introductory Essays” for editions of Christian Authors, and a posthumous work titled Spiritual Order and Other Papers (1871). Two volumes of his letters, edited by William Hanna, D.D., with reflections by Dean Stanley and Principal Shairp, were published in 1877.
ERSKINE, THOMAS ERSKINE, 1st Baron (1750-1823), lord chancellor of England, was the third and youngest son of Henry David, 10th earl of Buchan, and was born in Edinburgh on the 10th of January 1750. From an early age he showed a strong desire to enter one of the learned professions; but his father, owing to his straitened circumstances, was unable to do more than give him a good school education at the high school of Edinburgh and the grammar school of St Andrews. In 1764 he was sent as a midshipman on board the “Tartar,” but on finding, when he returned to this country after four years’ absence in North America and the West Indies, that there was little immediate chance of his rank of acting lieutenant being confirmed, he quitted the service and entered the army, purchasing a commission in the 1st Royals with the meagre patrimony which had been left to him. But promotion here was as slow as in the navy; while in 1770 he had added greatly to his difficulties by marrying the daughter of Daniel Moore, M.P. for Marlow, an excellent wife, but as poor as himself. However, an accidental visit to an assize court in the town in which he was quartered, and an interview with Lord Mansfield, the presiding judge, confirmed his resolve to quit the army for the law. Accordingly on the 26th of April 1775 he was admitted a student of Lincoln’s Inn. He also on the 13th of January following entered himself as a gentleman commoner on the books of Trinity College, Cambridge, but merely that by graduating he might be called two years earlier.
ERSKINE, THOMAS ERSKINE, 1st Baron (1750-1823), lord chancellor of England, was the third and youngest son of Henry David, 10th earl of Buchan, and was born in Edinburgh on January 10, 1750. From a young age, he had a strong desire to enter one of the learned professions; however, his father, due to financial difficulties, could only provide him with a good education at the high school of Edinburgh and the grammar school of St Andrews. In 1764, he was sent as a midshipman on board the “Tartar,” but after returning to this country following four years in North America and the West Indies, he found that there was little chance of his rank of acting lieutenant being confirmed. He left the service and joined the army, purchasing a commission in the 1st Royals with the small inheritance he had received. However, promotion was just as slow in the army. In 1770, he compounded his troubles by marrying the daughter of Daniel Moore, M.P. for Marlow, who was a wonderful wife but as poor as he was. Nevertheless, a chance visit to an assize court in his quarters and a meeting with Lord Mansfield, the presiding judge, strengthened his decision to leave the army for a career in law. Therefore, on April 26, 1775, he was admitted as a student at Lincoln’s Inn. He also enrolled as a gentleman commoner at Trinity College, Cambridge, on January 13, 1776, solely to be able to graduate and be called to the bar two years earlier.
He read in the chambers of Francis Buller (afterwards Mr Justice Buller) and George (afterwards Baron) Wood, and was called to the bar on the 3rd of July 1778. His success was immediate and brilliant. An accident was the means of giving him his first case, Rex v. Baillie, in which he appeared for Captain Thomas Baillie, the lieutenant-governor of Greenwich hospital, who had published a pamphlet animadverting in severe terms upon the abuses which Lord Sandwich, the first lord of the admiralty, had introduced into the management of the hospital, and against whom a rule had been obtained from the court of king’s bench to show cause why a criminal information for libel should not be filed. Erskine was the junior of five counsel; and it was his good fortune that the prolixity of his leaders consumed the whole of the first day, thereby giving the advantage of starting afresh next morning. He made use of this opportunity to deliver a speech of wonderful eloquence, skill and courage, which captivated both the audience and the court. The rule was discharged, and Erskine’s fortune was made. He received, it is said, thirty retainers before he left the court. In 1781 he delivered another remarkable speech, in defence of Lord George Gordon—a speech which gave the death-blow to the doctrine of constructive treason. In 1783, when the Coalition ministry came into power, he was returned to parliament as member for Portsmouth. His first speech in the House of Commons was a failure; and he never in parliamentary debate possessed anything like the influence he had at the bar. He lost his seat at the dissolution in the following year, and remained out of parliament until 1790, when he was again returned for Portsmouth. But his success at the bar continued unimpaired. In 1783 he received a patent of precedence. His first special retainer was in defence of Dr W.D. Shipley, dean of St Asaph, who was tried in 1784 at Shrewsbury for seditious libel—a defence to which was due the passing of the Libel Act 1792, laying down the principle that it is for the jury, and not for the judge to decide the question whether or no a publication is a libel. In 1789 he was counsel for John Stockdale, a bookseller, who was charged with seditious libel in publishing a pamphlet in favour of Warren Hastings, whose trial was then proceeding; and his speech on this occasion, probably his greatest effort, is a consummate specimen of the art of addressing a jury. Three years afterwards he brought down the opposition alike of friends and foes by defending Thomas Paine, author of The Rights of Man—holding that an advocate has no right, by refusing a brief, to convert himself into a judge. As a consequence he lost the office of attorney-general to the prince of Wales, to which he had been appointed in 1786; the prince, however, subsequently made amends by making him his chancellor. Among Erskine’s later speeches may be mentioned those for Horne Tooke and the other advocates of parliamentary reform, and that for James Hadfield, who was accused of shooting at the king. On the accession of the Grenville ministry in 1806 he was made lord chancellor, an office for which his training had in no way prepared him, but which he fortunately held only during the short period his party was in 757 power. Of the remainder of his life it would be well if nothing could be said. Occasionally speaking in parliament, and hoping that he might return to office should the prince become regent, he gradually degenerated into a state of useless idleness. Never conspicuous for prudence, he aggravated his increasing poverty by an unfortunate second marriage.
He studied in the chambers of Francis Buller (later Mr. Justice Buller) and George (later Baron) Wood, and was called to the bar on July 3, 1778. His success was immediate and extraordinary. An accident led to his first case, Rex v. Baillie, where he represented Captain Thomas Baillie, the lieutenant-governor of Greenwich Hospital, who had published a pamphlet harshly criticizing the abuses introduced by Lord Sandwich, the first lord of the admiralty, in managing the hospital. A rule had been obtained from the Court of King’s Bench to compel Lord Sandwich to explain why a criminal information for libel shouldn't be filed against him. Erskine was the junior among five counsel, and fortunately, the lengthy arguments of his senior lawyers consumed the entire first day, allowing him to start fresh the next morning. He seized this opportunity to deliver a speech of remarkable eloquence, skill, and courage, which captivated both the audience and the court. The rule was dismissed, and Erskine’s career took off. It is said he secured thirty retainers before he even left the court. In 1781, he delivered another notable speech in defense of Lord George Gordon, which effectively ended the doctrine of constructive treason. In 1783, when the Coalition ministry came to power, he was elected to parliament as the member for Portsmouth. His first speech in the House of Commons didn't go well, and he never held the same influence in parliamentary debate as he did at the bar. He lost his seat at the dissolution the following year and remained out of parliament until 1790, when he was returned for Portsmouth again. However, his success at the bar remained strong. In 1783, he received a patent of precedence. His first special retainer was to defend Dr. W.D. Shipley, dean of St. Asaph, who was tried in 1784 at Shrewsbury for seditious libel. This defense ultimately contributed to the passing of the Libel Act 1792, which established that it is up to the jury, not the judge, to determine if a publication is libelous. In 1789, he was the counsel for John Stockdale, a bookseller charged with seditious libel for publishing a pamphlet supporting Warren Hastings, whose trial was ongoing. His speech in this case, possibly his greatest performance, is a masterful example of jury advocacy. Three years later, he faced backlash from both allies and adversaries while defending Thomas Paine, author of The Rights of Man, asserting that a lawyer should not refuse a case and act as a judge. Because of this, he lost his position as attorney-general to the prince of Wales, which he had held since 1786; however, the prince later compensated him by appointing him his chancellor. Some of Erskine’s later speeches include those for Horne Tooke and other advocates of parliamentary reform, and for James Hadfield, who was accused of shooting at the king. When the Grenville ministry took power in 1806, he was appointed lord chancellor, a position for which he was unprepared, but luckily he only held it during the brief period his party was in charge. After that time, it would be better if not much were said about the rest of his life. He occasionally spoke in parliament, hoping to return to office if the prince became regent, but he gradually sank into a state of useless idleness. Not known for being cautious, he made his financial struggles worse by entering into an unfortunate second marriage.
His first wife had died in 1805, and he married at Gretna Green a Miss Mary Buck. The date of this marriage is not definitely known. Once only—in his conduct in the case of Queen Caroline—does he recall his former self. He died at Almondell, Linlithgowshire, on the 17th of November 1823, of pneumonia, caught on the voyage to Scotland.
His first wife died in 1805, and he married a Miss Mary Buck at Gretna Green. The exact date of this marriage is not clearly known. He only reflects his former self once—in his actions regarding Queen Caroline. He died at Almondell, Linlithgowshire, on November 17, 1823, from pneumonia he caught on the way to Scotland.
Erskine’s great forensic reputation was, to a certain extent, a concomitant of the numerous political trials of the day, but it was also due to his impassioned eloquence and undaunted courage, which so often carried audience and jury and even the court along with him. As a judge he did not succeed; and it has been questioned whether under any circumstances he could have succeeded. For the office of chancellor he was plainly unfit. As a lawyer he was well read, but by no means profound. His strength lay in the keenness of his reasoning faculty, in his dexterity and the ability with which he disentangled complicated masses of evidence, and above all in his unrivalled power of fixing and commanding the attention of juries. To no department of knowledge but law had he applied himself systematically, with the single exception of English literature, of which he acquired a thorough mastery in early life, at intervals of leisure in college, on board ship, or in the army. Vanity is said to have been his ruling personal characteristic; but those who knew him, while they admit the fault, say that in him it never took an offensive form, even in old age, while the singular grace and attractiveness of his manner endeared him to all with whom he came in contact.
Erskine’s impressive reputation as a lawyer was partly a result of the many political trials of his time, but it also stemmed from his passionate speaking and fearless courage, which often engaged the audience, jury, and even the court. He wasn’t successful as a judge, and there’s been debate about whether he could have ever succeeded in that role. He was clearly unfit for the position of chancellor. As a lawyer, he was well-read but not particularly deep. His strength lay in his sharp reasoning skills, his quickness, and his ability to untangle complex evidence, and above all, his unmatched talent for capturing and holding the attention of juries. He only systematically focused on one field of study: law, with the one exception being English literature, which he mastered early on during his free time in college, on ships, or while serving in the army. It’s said that vanity was his primary personal trait; however, those who knew him acknowledge this flaw but claim it never became off-putting, even in his later years. His unique charm and warmth made him likable to everyone he met.
By his first wife he had four sons and four daughters. His eldest son, David Montagu (1776-1855), was a well-known diplomatist; his second son, Henry David (1786-1859), was dean of Ripon; and his third son, Thomas (1788-1864), became a judge of the court of common pleas. By his second wife he had one son, born in 1821.
By his first wife, he had four sons and four daughters. His oldest son, David Montagu (1776-1855), was a well-known diplomat; his second son, Henry David (1786-1859), was the dean of Ripon; and his third son, Thomas (1788-1864), became a judge in the court of common pleas. With his second wife, he had one son, born in 1821.
In 1772 Erskine published Observations on the Prevailing Abuses in the British Army, a pamphlet which had a large circulation, and in later life, Armata, an imitation of Gulliver’s Travels. His most noted speeches have repeatedly appeared in a collected form. See Campbell’s Lives of the Chancellors; Moore’s Diaries; Fergusson’s Henry Erskine (1882); Dumerit’s Henry Erskine, a Study (Paris, 1883); Lord Brougham’s Memoir, prefixed to Erskine’s Speeches (1847); Romilly’s Memoirs; the Croker Papers; Lord Holland’s Memoirs.
In 1772, Erskine published Observations on the Prevailing Abuses in the British Army, a pamphlet that was widely circulated, and later in life, Armata, which is modeled after Gulliver’s Travels. His most famous speeches have often been published in collected editions. See Campbell’s Lives of the Chancellors; Moore’s Diaries; Fergusson’s Henry Erskine (1882); Dumerit’s Henry Erskine, a Study (Paris, 1883); Lord Brougham’s Memoir prefixed to Erskine’s Speeches (1847); Romilly’s Memoirs; the Croker Papers; Lord Holland’s Memoirs.
ERUBESCITE, a native copper-iron sulphide, Cu5FeS4, of importance as an ore of copper. It crystallizes in the cubic system, the usual form being that of interpenetrating cubes twinned on an octahedral plane. The faces are usually curved and rough, and the crystals confusedly aggregated together. Compact and granular masses are of more frequent occurrence. The colour on a freshly fractured surface is bronzy or coppery, but in moist air this rapidly tarnishes with iridescent blue and red colours; hence the names purple copper ore, variegated copper ore (Ger. Buntkupfererz), horse-flesh ore, and erubescite (from the Lat. erubescere, “to grow red”). The lustre is metallic, and the streak greyish-black; hardness 3; sp. gr. 5.0. Bornite (after Baron Ignaz von Born, b. 1742, d. 1791) is a name in common use for this mineral, and it predates erubescite, the name given by J.D. Dana in 1850, but afterwards rejected by him; French authors use the name phillipsite, after the English mineralogist, R. Phillips, who analysed the mineral; both these earlier names had, however, been previously used for other minerals.
ERUBESCITE, is a natural copper-iron sulfide, Cu5FeS4, that is important as a copper ore. It crystallizes in the cubic system, usually forming interpenetrating cubes that are twinned on an octahedral plane. The surfaces are typically curved and rough, and the crystals are often loosely grouped together. More commonly, it appears in compact and granular masses. The color of a freshly broken surface is bronzy or coppery, but in moist air, this quickly tarnishes into iridescent shades of blue and red; this leads to names like purple copper ore, variegated copper ore (Ger. Buntkupfererz), horse-flesh ore, and erubescite (from the Latin erubescere, meaning “to grow red”). It has a metallic luster and a grayish-black streak; hardness 3; specific gravity 5.0. Bornite (named after Baron Ignaz von Born, b. 1742, d. 1791) is a commonly used name for this mineral, which predates erubescite, a name assigned by J.D. Dana in 1850 but later rejected by him; French authors refer to it as phillipsite, after the English mineralogist R. Phillips, who analyzed the mineral; however, both of these earlier names had been used for different minerals.
Owing to the frequent presence of mechanically admixed chalcopyrite and chalcocite, the published analyses of erubescite show wide variations, the copper, for example, varying from 50 to 70%. Even the best Cornish crystals enclose a nucleus of chalcopyrite (CuFeS2), and an analysis of these made in 1839 led to the long-accepted formula Cu3FeS3. Recently, B.J. Harrington has analysed carefully selected material and obtained the formula Cu5FeS4.
Due to the constant presence of mixed chalcopyrite and chalcocite, the reported analyses of erubescite show significant variations, with copper content ranging from 50 to 70%. Even the best Cornish crystals contain a core of chalcopyrite (CuFeS2), and an analysis conducted in 1839 resulted in the widely accepted formula Cu3FeS3. Recently, B.J. Harrington carefully analyzed selected samples and found the formula Cu5FeS4.
Erubescite occurs in copper-bearing veins, and has been mined as an ore of copper at Redruth in Cornwall, Montecatini in the province of Pisa, Tuscany, Bristol in Connecticut, Acton in Canada, and other localities in North America. The best crystallized specimens are from the Carn Brea mine and other copper mines in the neighbourhood of Redruth, and from Bristol in Connecticut. Recently a few large isolated crystals with the form of icositetrahedra have been found with calcite and albite in a gold-vein on Frossnitz-Alpe in the Gross-Venediger, Tirol.
Erubescite is found in copper-bearing veins and has been mined as a copper ore at Redruth in Cornwall, Montecatini in the province of Pisa, Tuscany, Bristol in Connecticut, Acton in Canada, and other places in North America. The best crystallized specimens come from the Carn Brea mine and other copper mines near Redruth, as well as from Bristol in Connecticut. Recently, a few large isolated crystals shaped like icositetrahedra have been discovered alongside calcite and albite in a gold vein on Frossnitz-Alpe in the Gross-Venediger, Tirol.
ERYSIPELAS (a Greek word, probably derived from ἐρυθρός, red, and πέλλα, skin)—synonyms, the Rose, St Anthony’s Fire—an acute contagious disease, characterized by a special inflammation of the skin, caused by a streptococcus. Erysipelas is endemic in most countries, and epidemic at certain seasons, particularly the spring of the year. The poison is not very virulent, but it certainly can be conveyed by bedding and the clothes of a third person. Two varieties are occasionally described, a traumatic and an idiopathic, but the disease seems to depend in all cases upon the existence of a wound or abrasion. In the so-called idiopathic variety, of which facial erysipelas is the best known, the point of entry is probably an abrasion by the lachrymal duct.
ERYSIPELAS (a Greek word, likely derived from red, red, and πέλλα, skin)—also known as the Rose or St Anthony’s Fire—is an acute contagious disease marked by a specific inflammation of the skin, caused by a streptococcus. Erysipelas is common in most countries and can become epidemic during certain seasons, especially in the spring. The toxin is not very harmful, but it can be transmitted through bedding and clothing of others. Two types are sometimes mentioned: traumatic and idiopathic, but the disease seems to arise in all cases from the presence of a wound or abrasion. In the so-called idiopathic type, with facial erysipelas being the most recognized, the entry point is likely an abrasion near the tear duct.
When the erysipelas is of moderate character there is simply a redness of the integument, which feels somewhat hard and thickened, and upon which there often appear small vesications. This redness, though at first circumscribed, tends to spread and affect the neighbouring sound skin, until an entire limb or a large area of the body may become involved in the inflammatory process. There is usually considerable pain, with heat and tingling in the affected part. As the disease advances the portions of skin first attacked become less inflamed, and exhibit a yellowish appearance, which is followed by slight desquamation of the cuticle. The inflammation in general gradually disappears. Sometimes, however, it breaks out again, and passes over the area originally affected the second time. But besides the skin, the subjacent tissues may become involved in the inflammation, and give rise to the formation of pus. This is termed phlegmonous erysipelas, and is much more apt to occur in connexion with the traumatic variety of the disease. Occasionally the affected parts become gangrenous. Certain complications are apt to arise in erysipelas affecting the surface of the body, particularly inflammation of serous membranes, such as the pericardium or pleura.
When erysipelas is moderate, there’s just redness of the skin that feels a bit hard and thickened, often with small blisters appearing on it. This redness, initially confined, tends to spread and affect the nearby healthy skin, potentially involving an entire limb or a large area of the body in the inflammatory process. There’s usually significant pain along with heat and tingling in the affected area. As the condition progresses, the initially affected skin becomes less inflamed and shows a yellowish tint, followed by slight peeling of the outer layer. Overall, the inflammation gradually fades. However, it can sometimes flare up again, spreading over the originally affected area a second time. In addition to the skin, the underlying tissues may also become inflamed, leading to pus formation. This is called phlegmonous erysipelas, and it’s more likely to occur with the traumatic type of this disease. Occasionally, the affected areas may develop gangrene. Certain complications can arise from erysipelas that affects the surface of the body, particularly inflammation of the serous membranes, like the pericardium or pleura.
Erysipelas of the face usually begins with symptoms of general illness, the patient feeling languid, drowsy and sick, while frequently there is a distinct rigor followed with fever. Sore throat is sometimes felt, but in general the first indication of the local affection is a red and painful spot at the side of the nose or on one of the cheeks or ears. Occasionally it would appear that the inflammation begins in the throat, and reaches the face through the nasal fossae. The redness gradually spreads over the whole surface of the face, and is accompanied with swelling, which in the lax tissues of the cheeks and eyelids is so great that the features soon become obliterated and the countenance wears a hideous expression. Advancing over the scalp, the disease may invade the neck and pass on to the trunk, but in general the inflammation remains confined to the face and head. While the disease progresses, besides the pain, tenderness and heat of the affected parts, the constitutional symptoms are very severe. The temperature rises often to 105° or higher, remains high for four or five days, and then falls by crisis. Delirium is a frequent accompaniment. The attack in general lasts for a week or ten days, during which the inflammation subsides in the parts of the skin first attacked, while it spreads onwards in other directions, and after it has passed away there is, as already observed, some slight desquamation of the cuticle.
Erysipelas of the face typically starts with symptoms of general illness; the patient feels weak, drowsy, and unwell, and often experiences a notable chill followed by a fever. A sore throat may sometimes be felt, but usually, the first sign of the localized infection is a red and painful spot at the side of the nose or on one of the cheeks or ears. Occasionally, it seems that the inflammation starts in the throat and spreads to the face through the nasal passages. The redness gradually expands over the entire surface of the face and is accompanied by swelling, which in the loose tissues of the cheeks and eyelids can be so pronounced that the facial features become indistinguishable, creating a grotesque expression. As the disease progresses over the scalp, it may invade the neck and move on to the trunk, but generally, the inflammation stays limited to the face and head. While the disease progresses, in addition to the pain, tenderness, and heat in the affected areas, the overall symptoms are quite severe. The temperature often rises to 105°F or higher, remains high for four or five days, and then drops suddenly. Delirium is a common occurrence. The episode usually lasts for about a week or ten days, during which the inflammation reduces in the initially affected areas of the skin while spreading to other regions, and after it resolves, there is some minor peeling of the skin, as previously mentioned.
Although in general the termination is favourable, serious and occasionally fatal results follow from inflammation of the membranes of the brain, and in some rare instances sudden death 758 has occurred from suffocation arising from oedema glottidis, the inflammatory action having spread into and extensively involved the throat. One attack of this disease, so far from protecting from, appears rather to predispose to others. It is sometimes a complication in certain forms of exhausting disease, such as phthisis or typhoid fever, and is then to be regarded as of serious import. A very fatal form occasionally attacks new-born infants, particularly in the first four weeks of their lives. In epidemics of puerperal fever this form of erysipelas has been specially found to prevail.
Although the overall outcome is generally positive, severe and occasionally fatal consequences can arise from inflammation of the brain membranes. In some rare cases, sudden death has occurred due to suffocation from glottic edema, as the inflammation spreads extensively into the throat. One episode of this illness does not provide protection; in fact, it seems to make individuals more susceptible to future attacks. It can sometimes complicate other serious conditions, like tuberculosis or typhoid fever, and should be taken very seriously in those situations. A particularly deadly form can occasionally affect newborns, especially within their first four weeks of life. During outbreaks of puerperal fever, this type of erysipelas has been especially prevalent. 758
The treatment of erysipelas is best conducted on the expectant system. The disease in most instances tends to a favourable termination; and beyond attention to the condition of the stomach and bowels, which may require the use of some gentle laxative, little is necessary in the way of medicine. The employment of preparations of iron in large doses is strongly recommended by many physicians. But the chief point is the administration of abundant nourishment in a light and digestible form. Of the many local applications which may be employed, hot fomentations will be found among the most soothing. Dusting the affected part with powdered starch, and wrapping it in cotton wadding, is also of use.
The treatment of erysipelas is best done on an expectant basis. The disease usually resolves favorably; and aside from monitoring the stomach and intestines, which may need some gentle laxative, not much medication is required. Many doctors strongly recommend using large doses of iron preparations. However, the most important aspect is providing plenty of light and easily digestible nourishment. Among the various local treatments that can be used, hot compresses are among the most soothing. Dusting the affected area with powdered starch and wrapping it in cotton padding is also helpful.
In the case of phlegmonous erysipelas complicating wounds, free incisions into the part are necessary.
In the case of phlegmonous erysipelas complicating wounds, free incisions into the area are necessary.
ERYTHRAE [mod. Litri], one of the Ionian cities of Asia Minor, situated on a small peninsula stretching into the Bay of Erythrae, at an equal distance from the mountains Mimas and Corycus, and directly opposite the island of Chios. In the peninsula excellent wine was produced. The town was said to have been founded by Ionians under Knopos, son of Codrus. Never a large city, it sent only eight ships to the battle of Lade. The Erythraeans owned for a considerable time the supremacy of Athens, but towards the close of the Peloponnesian war they threw off their allegiance to that city. After the battle of Cnidus, however, they received Conon, and paid him honours in an inscription, still extant. Erythrae was the birthplace of two prophetesses—one of whom, Sibylla, is mentioned by Strabo as living in the early period of the city; the other, Athenais, lived in the time of Alexander the Great. The ruins include well-preserved Hellenistic walls with towers, of which five are still visible. The acropolis (280 ft.) has the theatre on its N. slope, and eastwards lie many remains of Byzantine buildings. Modern Litri is a considerable place and port, extending from the ancient harbour to the acropolis. The smaller coasting steamers call, and there is an active trade with Chios and Smyrna.
ERYTHRAE [mod. Litri], one of the Ionian cities in Asia Minor, located on a small peninsula that juts into the Bay of Erythrae, equidistant from the Mimas and Corycus mountains, and directly across from the island of Chios. The peninsula was known for producing excellent wine. The town was believed to have been founded by Ionians led by Knopos, the son of Codrus. Although it was never a large city, it sent only eight ships to the battle of Lade. The people of Erythrae held power over Athens for a significant period but broke away from that allegiance towards the end of the Peloponnesian War. After the battle of Cnidus, they welcomed Conon and honored him with an inscription that still exists. Erythrae was the birthplace of two prophetesses—one named Sibylla, mentioned by Strabo as living during the city's early days; the other, Athenais, lived during the time of Alexander the Great. The ruins feature well-preserved Hellenistic walls with towers, of which five are still visible. The acropolis (280 ft.) has the theater on its northern slope, and to the east, there are many remains of Byzantine buildings. Modern Litri is a significant town and port, extending from the ancient harbor to the acropolis. Smaller coastal steamers dock there, and there is active trade with Chios and Smyrna.
ERYTHRITE, the name given to (1) a mineral composed of a hydrated cobalt arsenate, and (2) in chemistry, a tetrahydric alcohol. (1) The mineral erythrite has the formula Co3(AsO4)2·8H2O, and crystallizes in the monoclinic system and is isomorphous with vivianite. It sometimes occurs as beautiful radially-arranged groups of blade-shaped crystals with a bright crimson colour and brilliant lustre. On exposure to light the colour and lustre deteriorate. There is a perfect cleavage parallel to the plane of symmetry, on which the lustre is pearly. Cleavage flakes are soft (H = 2), sectile and flexible; specific gravity 2.95. The mineral is, however, more often found as an earthy encrustation with a peach-blossom colour, and in this form was early (1727) known as cobalt-bloom (Ger. Kobaltblüthe). The name erythrite, from ἐρυθρός, “red,” was given by F.S. Beudant in 1382. Erythrite occurs as a product of alteration of smaltite (CoAs2) and other cobaltiferous arsenides. The finest crystallized specimens are from Schneeberg in Saxony. The earthy variety has been found in Thuringia and Cornwall and some other places. (2) The alcohol erythrite has the constitutional formula HO·H2C·CH(OH)·CH(OH)·CH2OH; it is also known as erythrol, erythroglucin and phycite. It corresponds to tartaric acid, and, like this substance, it occurs in four stereo-isomeric forms. The internally compensated modification, i-erythrite, corresponding to mesotartaric acid, occurs free in the algae Protococcus vulgaris, and as the orsellinate, erythrin, C4H6(OH)2(O·C8H7O3)2, in many lichens and algae, especially Roccella montagnei. It has a sweet taste, melts at 126°, and boils at 330°. Careful oxidation with dilute nitric acid gives erythrose or tetrose, which is probably a mixture of a trioxyaldehyde and trioxyketone. Energetic oxidation gives erythritic acid and mesotartaric acid. i-Erythrite and the racemic mixture of the dextro and laevo varieties were synthesized by Griner in 1893 from divinyl.
ERYTHRITE, is the name given to (1) a mineral made up of a hydrated cobalt arsenate, and (2) in chemistry, a tetrahydric alcohol. (1) The mineral erythrite has the formula Co3(AsO4)2·8H2O, crystallizes in the monoclinic system, and is isomorphous with vivianite. It can be found as beautiful radially-arranged groups of blade-shaped crystals with a bright crimson color and brilliant shine. However, exposure to light causes the color and shine to fade. There is perfect cleavage parallel to the plane of symmetry, which has a pearly lustre. Cleavage flakes are soft (H = 2), sectile, and flexible; specific gravity is 2.95. More commonly, the mineral appears as an earthy coating with a peach-blossom color, which was known early on (1727) as cobalt-bloom (Ger. Kobaltblüthe). The name erythrite, derived from red, meaning “red,” was assigned by F.S. Beudant in 1382. Erythrite forms as a result of the alteration of smaltite (CoAs2) and other cobalt arsenides. The best crystallized specimens come from Schneeberg in Saxony. The earthy variety has been found in Thuringia, Cornwall, and other locations. (2) The alcohol erythrite has the structural formula HO·H2C·CH(OH)·CH(OH)·CH2OH; it is also known as erythrol, erythroglucin, and phycite. It corresponds to tartaric acid and, like this substance, exists in four stereo-isomeric forms. The internally compensated form, i-erythrite, which corresponds to mesotartaric acid, is found free in the algae Protococcus vulgaris and as the orsellinate, erythrin, C4H6(OH)2(O·C8H7O3)2, in many lichens and algae, especially Roccella montagnei. It has a sweet taste, melts at 126°, and boils at 330°. Careful oxidation with dilute nitric acid produces erythrose or tetrose, which is likely a mixture of a trioxyaldehyde and trioxyketone. Intense oxidation yields erythritic acid and mesotartaric acid. i-Erythrite and the racemic mixture of the dextro and laevo varieties were synthesized by Griner in 1893 from divinyl.
ERZERUM, or Arzrum (Arm. Garin), the chief town of an important vilayet of the same name in Asiatic Turkey. It is a military station and a fortress of considerable strategical value, closing the roads from Kars, Olti and other parts of the frontier. Several important routes from Trebizond and various parts of Anatolia converge towards it from the west. It is situated at the eastern end of an open bare plain, 30 m. long and about 12 wide, bordered by steep, rounded mountains and traversed by the Kara Su, or western Euphrates, which has its source in the Dumlu Dagh a few miles north of that town, which lies at an elevation of 6250 ft. above sea-level, while the near hills rise to 10,000 ft. The scenery in the neighbourhood is striking, lofty bare mountains being varied by open plains and long valleys dotted with villages. Just east of the town is the broad ridge of the Deveboyun (“Camel’s Neck”), across which the road passes to Kars. To the south is the Palanduken range, from which emerge numerous streams, supplying the town with excellent water. In the plain to the north the Kara Su traverses extensive marshes which afford good wildfowl-shooting in the spring.
ERZURUM, or Arzrum (Arm. Garin), is the main town of an important province of the same name in Asiatic Turkey. It's a military base and a fortress of significant strategic importance, controlling the roads from Kars, Olti, and other areas along the border. Several key routes from Trebizond and various parts of Anatolia converge towards it from the west. The town is located at the eastern end of a wide, open plain that stretches 30 miles long and about 12 miles wide, surrounded by steep, rounded mountains and crossed by the Kara Su, or western Euphrates, which starts in the Dumlu Dagh just a few miles north of the town. The elevation here is 6250 feet above sea level, while the nearby hills reach 10,000 feet. The landscape in the area is impressive, with tall, bare mountains contrasting with open plains and long valleys filled with villages. Just east of the town is the wide ridge of the Deveboyun (“Camel’s Neck”), through which the road to Kars passes. To the south is the Palanduken range, which has many streams that provide the town with excellent water. In the plain to the north, the Kara Su flows through expansive marshes that offer great opportunities for wildfowl shooting in the spring.
The town is surrounded by an earthen enceinte or rampart with some forts on the hills just above it, and others on the Deveboyun ridge facing east, the whole forming a position of considerable strength. The old walls and the citadel have disappeared. Inside the ramparts the town lies rather cramped, with narrow, crooked streets, badly drained and dirty; the houses are generally built of dark grey volcanic stone with flat roofs, the general aspect, owing to the absence of trees, being somewhat gloomy. The water-supply from Palanduken is distributed by wooden pipes to numerous public fountains. The town has a population of about 43,000, including about 10,000 Armenians, 2000 Persians and a few Jews. It has a garrison in peace of about 5000 men. It is the seat of the British consulate for Kurdistan, and there are other European consulates besides an American mission with schools. The great altitude accounts for very severe winter cold, occasionally 10° to 25° below zero F., accompanied by blizzards (tipi) sometimes fatal to travellers overtaken by them. The summer heat is moderate (59° to 77°).
The town is surrounded by an earthen wall or rampart, with some forts on the hills above and others on the Deveboyun ridge facing east, creating a strong defensive position. The old walls and citadel are gone. Inside the ramparts, the town feels cramped, with narrow, winding streets that are poorly drained and dirty; the houses are generally made of dark grey volcanic stone with flat roofs, and the overall appearance, due to the lack of trees, is somewhat bleak. The water supply from Palanduken is delivered through wooden pipes to various public fountains. The town has a population of about 43,000, which includes around 10,000 Armenians, 2,000 Persians, and a few Jews. It has a peacetime garrison of about 5,000 men. It is the location of the British consulate for Kurdistan, and there are other European consulates as well as an American mission with schools. The high altitude leads to very harsh winter cold, occasionally dropping to 10° to 25° below zero F., accompanied by blizzards (tipi) that can be deadly for travelers caught in them. Summer temperatures are moderate (59° to 77°).
There are several well-built mosques (none older than the 16th century), public baths, and several good khans. There are Armenian and Catholic churches, but the most beautiful building is a medresse erected in the 12th century by the Seljuks, with ornamental doorway and two graceful minarets known as the Chifte Minare.
There are several solid mosques (none older than the 16th century), public baths, and a few good caravanserais. There are Armenian and Catholic churches, but the most stunning building is a medresse built in the 12th century by the Seljuks, featuring an ornate doorway and two elegant minarets known as the Chifte Minare.
Situated on the main road from Trebizond into north-west Persia, the town has always a large caravan traffic, principally of camels, but since the improvement of communications in Russia this has declined. A good carriage-road leads to the coast at Trebizond, the journey being made in five or six days. There are also roads to Kars, Bayazid, Erzingan and Kharput. Blacksmiths’ and coppersmiths’ work is better here than in most Turkish towns; horse-shoes and brasswork are also famous. There are several tanneries, and Turkish boots and saddles are largely made. Jerked beef (pasdirma) is also prepared in large quantities for winter use. The plain produces wheat, barley, millet and vegetables. Wood fuel is scarce, the present supply being from the Tortum district, whence surface coal and lignite are also brought; but the usual fuel is tezek or dried cow-dung. The bazaars are of no great interest. Good Persian carpets and similar goods can be obtained.
Located on the main road from Trebizond to north-west Persia, the town has always had a lot of caravan traffic, mainly camels, but this has decreased since communication improved in Russia. A decent carriage road goes to the coast at Trebizond, with the journey taking five or six days. There are also roads to Kars, Bayazid, Erzingan, and Kharput. The work of blacksmiths and coppersmiths here is better than in most Turkish towns; horse shoes and brasswork are especially notable. There are several tanneries, and Turkish boots and saddles are produced in large quantities. Jerked beef (pasdirma) is also made in significant amounts for winter use. The plain grows wheat, barley, millet, and various vegetables. Wood fuel is limited, currently sourced from the Tortum district, where surface coal and lignite are also collected; however, the usual fuel used is tezek or dried cow dung. The bazaars aren't particularly interesting, but good Persian carpets and similar items can be found.
Erzerum is a town of great antiquity, and has been identified with the Armenian Garin Kalakh, the Arabic Kalikale, and the Byzantine Theodosiopolis of the 5th century, when it was a frontier fortress of the empire—hence its name Erzen-er-Rum. It was captured by the Seljuks in 1201, when it was an important city, and it fell into Turkish possession in 1517. In July 1829 it was captured by the Russian general Paskevich, and the 759 occupation continued until the peace of Adrianople (September 1829). The town was unsuccessfully attacked by the Russians on the 9th of November 1877 after a victory gained by them a short time previously on the Deveboyun heights; it was occupied by them during the armistice (7th of February 1878) and restored to Turkey after the treaty of Berlin. In 1859 a severe earthquake destroyed much of the town, and another in November 1901 caused much damage.
Erzerum is a very old town, known to be the Armenian Garin Kalakh, the Arabic Kalikale, and the Byzantine Theodosiopolis from the 5th century, when it served as a border fortress for the empire—hence its name Erzen-er-Rum. The Seljuks took control in 1201, making it a significant city, and it came under Turkish rule in 1517. In July 1829, Russian General Paskevich captured it, and the 759 occupation lasted until the peace of Adrianople in September 1829. The Russians attempted to seize the town again on November 9, 1877, following a victory they had recently achieved at the Deveboyun heights; they occupied it during the armistice on February 7, 1878, but it was returned to Turkey after the Treaty of Berlin. A severe earthquake in 1859 destroyed much of the town, and another one in November 1901 caused significant damage.
The Erzerum vilayet extends from the Persian frontier at Bayazid, all along the Russian frontier and westward into Anatolia at Baiburt and Erzingan. It is divided into the three sanjaks of Bayazid, Erzerum, and Erzingan. It includes the highest portion of the Armenian plateau, and consists of bare undulating uplands varied by lofty ranges. The deep gorges of the Chorokh and Tortum streams north of the town alone have a different appearance, being well wooded in places. Both arms of the Euphrates have their rise in this country as well as the Aras (Araxes) and the Chorokh (Acampsis). It is an agricultural country with few industries. Besides forests, iron, salt, sulphur and other mineral springs are found. Some of the coal and lignite mines in Tortum have been recently worked to supply fuel for Erzerum. The population is largely Armenian and Kurd with some Turks (Moslems 500,000, Christians 140,000).
The Erzerum province stretches from the Persian border at Bayazid, along the Russian border, and west into Anatolia at Baiburt and Erzingan. It is divided into three districts: Bayazid, Erzerum, and Erzingan. This area features the highest part of the Armenian plateau, characterized by bare, rolling hills and tall mountain ranges. The deep gorges of the Chorokh and Tortum rivers, north of the town, look different, as they are well wooded in places. Both branches of the Euphrates River originate here, along with the Aras (Araxes) and the Chorokh (Acampsis). It is mainly an agricultural area with few industries. In addition to forests, it has iron, salt, sulfur, and various mineral springs. Some coal and lignite mines in Tortum have recently been developed to provide fuel for Erzerum. The population is mainly Armenian and Kurdish, with some Turks (500,000 Muslims, 140,000 Christians).
ERZGEBIRGE, a mountain chain of Germany, extending in a W.S.W. direction from the Elbe to the Elstergebirge along the frontier between Saxony and Bohemia. Its length from E.N.E. to W.S.W. is about 80 m., and its average breadth about 25 m. The southern declivity is generally steep and rugged, forming in some places an almost perpendicular wall of the height of from 2000 to 2500 ft.; while the northern, divided at intervals into valleys, sometimes of great fertility and sometimes wildly romantic, slopes gradually towards the great plain of northern Germany. The central part of the chain forms a plateau of an average height of more than 3000 ft. At the extremities of this plateau are situated the highest summits of the range:—in the south-east the Keilberg (4080 ft.); in the north-east the Fichtelberg (3980 ft.); and in the south-west the Spitzberg (3650 ft.). Between the Keilberg and the Fichtelberg, at the height of about 3300 ft., is situated Gottesgab, the highest town in Bohemia. Geologically, the Erzgebirge range consists mainly of gneiss, mica and phyllite. As its name (Ore Mountains) indicates, it is famous for its mineral ores. These are chiefly silver and lead, the layers of both of which are very extensive, tin, nickel, copper and iron. Gold is found in several places, and some arsenic, antimony, bismuth, manganese, mercury and sulphur. The Erzgebirge is celebrated for its lace manufactures, introduced by Barbara Uttmann in 1541, embroideries, silk-weaving and toys. The climate is in winter inclement in the higher elevations, and, as the snow lies deep until the spring, the range is largely frequented by devotees of winter sport, ski, toboganning, &c. In summer the air is bracing, and many climatic health resorts have sprung into existence, among which may be mentioned Kipsdorf, Bärenfels and Oberwiesenthal. Communication with the Erzgebirge is provided by numerous lines of railway, some, such as that from Freiberg to Brüx, that from Chemnitz to Komotau, and that from Zwickau to Carlsbad, crossing the range, while various local lines serve the higher valleys.
ERZGEBIRGE, is a mountain range in Germany, stretching in a W.S.W. direction from the Elbe to the Elstergebirge along the border between Saxony and Bohemia. It measures about 80 miles in length from E.N.E. to W.S.W. and has an average width of about 25 miles. The southern slope is typically steep and rugged, with some areas forming nearly vertical cliffs that rise between 2000 and 2500 feet. In contrast, the northern slope is interrupted by valleys that can be very fertile or quite wild, gradually sloping towards the large plain of northern Germany. The central part of the range forms a plateau with an average height of over 3000 feet. The highest peaks of the range are located at the edges of this plateau: in the southeast is the Keilberg (4080 feet); in the northeast is the Fichtelberg (3980 feet); and in the southwest is the Spitzberg (3650 feet). Between the Keilberg and the Fichtelberg, at an elevation of about 3300 feet, lies Gottesgab, the highest town in Bohemia. Geologically, the Erzgebirge consists primarily of gneiss, mica, and phyllite. True to its name (Ore Mountains), it is known for its mineral deposits, particularly silver and lead, which are found in extensive layers, along with tin, nickel, copper, and iron. Gold can be found in several locations, along with some arsenic, antimony, bismuth, manganese, mercury, and sulfur. The Erzgebirge is renowned for its lace production, which was introduced by Barbara Uttmann in 1541, as well as for embroideries, silk weaving, and toys. The climate in winter is harsh at the higher elevations, and since snow remains deep until spring, the range attracts many winter sports enthusiasts for skiing, tobogganing, etc. In summer, the air is invigorating, leading to the establishment of various health resorts, including Kipsdorf, Bärenfels, and Oberwiesenthal. Access to the Erzgebirge is facilitated by numerous rail lines, some of which, like the one from Freiberg to Brüx, from Chemnitz to Komotau, and from Zwickau to Carlsbad, pass through the range, while various local lines serve the higher valleys.
The Elstergebirge, a range some 16 m. in length, in which the Weisse Elster has its source, runs S.W. from the Erzgebirge to the Fichtelgebirge and attains a height of 2630 ft.
The Elster Mountains, a range about 16 miles long, where the White Elster originates, stretches southwest from the Ore Mountains to the Fichtel Mountains and reaches a height of 2,630 feet.
See Grohmann, Das Obererzgebirge und seine Städte (1903), and Schurtz, Die Pässe des Erzgebirges (1891); also Daniel, Deutschland, vol. ii., and Gebauer, Länder und Völkerkunde, vol. i.
See Grohmann, Das Obererzgebirge und seine Städte (1903), and Schurtz, Die Pässe des Erzgebirges (1891); also Daniel, Deutschland, vol. ii., and Gebauer, Länder und Völkerkunde, vol. i.
ERZINGAN, or Erzinjan (Arsinga of the middle ages), the chief town of a sanjak in the Erzerum vilayet of Asiatic Turkey. It is the headquarters of the IV. army corps, being a place of some military importance, with large barracks and military factories. It is situated at an altitude of 3900 ft., near the western end of a rich well-watered plain through which runs the Kara Su or western Euphrates. It is surrounded by orchards and gardens, and is about a mile from the right bank of the river, which here runs in two wide channels crossed by bridges. One wide street traverses the town from east to west, but the others are narrow, unpaved and dirty, except near the new government buildings and the large modern mosque of Hajji Izzet Pasha to the north, which are the only buildings of note. The principal barracks, military hospital and clothing factory are at Karateluk on the plain and along the foot-hills to the north 3 m. off, one recent addition to the business buildings having electric power and modern British machinery; some older barracks and a military tannery and boot factory being in the town. The population numbers about 15,000, of whom about half are Armenians living in a separate quarter. The principal industries are the manufacture of silk and cotton and of copper dishes and utensils. The climate is hot in summer but moderate in winter. A carriage-road leads to Trebizond, and other roads to Sivas, Karahissar, Erzerum and Kharput. The plain, almost surrounded by lofty mountains, is highly productive with many villages on it and the border hills. Wheat, fruit, vines and cotton are largely grown, and cattle and sheep are bred. Water is everywhere abundant, and there are iron and hot sulphur springs. The battle in which the sultan of Rum (1243) was defeated by the Mongols took place on the plain, and the celebrated Armenian monastery of St Gregory, “the Illuminator,” lies on the hills 11 m. S.W. of the town.
ERZINGAN, or Erzinjan (Arsinga in the Middle Ages), is the main town of a district in the Erzerum province of Asiatic Turkey. It serves as the headquarters for the IV Army Corps and holds some military significance, featuring large barracks and military factories. The town sits at an elevation of 3,900 feet, near the western edge of a fertile, well-watered plain where the Kara Su, or Western Euphrates, flows. It is surrounded by orchards and gardens and is about a mile from the right bank of the river, which here runs in two wide channels crossed by bridges. A main street runs through the town from east to west, but the other streets are narrow, unpaved, and dirty, except near the new government buildings and the large modern mosque of Hajji Izzet Pasha to the north, which are the only notable structures. The main barracks, military hospital, and clothing factory are located at Karateluk on the plain and along the foothills about three miles away. One recent addition to the business buildings has electric power and modern British machinery; some older barracks and a military tannery and boot factory can be found in the town. The population is around 15,000, with about half being Armenians living in a separate area. The main industries include silk and cotton production, as well as the creation of copper dishes and utensils. The summers are hot, while winters are mild. There’s a carriage road that connects to Trebizond, along with other routes to Sivas, Karahissar, Erzerum, and Kharput. The plain, nearly surrounded by tall mountains, is very productive and hosts many villages both on it and in the surrounding hills. Wheat, fruit, vines, and cotton are commonly grown, and cattle and sheep are raised. Water is plentiful, and there are iron and hot sulphur springs. The battle in which the Sultan of Rum was defeated by the Mongols in 1243 took place on this plain, and the famous Armenian monastery of St. Gregory, “the Illuminator,” is located on the hills 11 miles southwest of the town.
Erzingan occupies the site of an early town in which was a temple of Anaitis. It was an important place in the 4th century when St Gregory lived in it. The district passed from the Byzantines to the Seljuks after the defeat of Romanus, 1071, and from the latter to the Mongols in 1243. After having been held by Mongols, Tatars and Turkomans, it was added to the Osmanli empire by Mahommed II. in 1473. In 1784 the town was almost destroyed by an earthquake.
Erzingan is located on the site of an ancient town that featured a temple dedicated to Anaitis. It was a significant location in the 4th century when St. Gregory lived there. The area shifted from the Byzantines to the Seljuks after Romanus's defeat in 1071, and then from the Seljuks to the Mongols in 1243. After being held by Mongols, Tatars, and Turkomans, it became part of the Ottoman Empire under Mahommed II in 1473. In 1784, the town was nearly destroyed by an earthquake.
ESAR-HADDON [Assur-akhi-iddina, “Assur has given a brother”], Assyrian king, son of Sennacherib; before his accession to the throne he had also borne another name, Assur-etil-ilani-yukin-abla. At the time of his father’s murder (the 20th of Tebet, 681 B.C.) he was commanding the Assyrian army in a war against Ararat. The conspirators, after holding Nineveh for 42 days, had been compelled to fly northward and invoke the aid of the king of Ararat. On the 12th of Iyyar (680 B.C.) a decisive battle was fought near Malatia, in which the veterans of Assyria won the day, and at the close of it saluted Esar-haddon as king. He returned to Nineveh, and on the 8th of Sivan was crowned king. A good general, Esar-haddon was also an able and conciliatory administrator. His first act was to crush a rebellion among the Chaldaeans in the south of Babylonia and then to restore Babylon, the sacred city of the West, which had been destroyed by his father. The walls and temple of Bel were rebuilt, its gods brought back, and after his right to rule had been solemnly acknowledged by the Babylonian priesthood Esar-haddon made Babylon his second capital. A year or two later Media was invaded and Median chiefs came to Nineveh to offer homage to their conqueror. He now turned to Palestine, where the rebellion of Abdi-milkutti of Zidon was suppressed, its leader beheaded, and a new Zidon built out of the ruins of the older city (676-675 B.C.). All Palestine now submitted to Assyria, and 12 Syrian and 10 Cyprian princes (including Manasseh of Judah) came to pay him homage and supply him with materials for his palace at Nineveh. But a more formidable enemy had appeared on the Assyrian frontier (676 B.C.). The Cimmerii (see Scythia) under Teuspa poured into Asia Minor; they were, however, overthrown in Cilicia, and the Cilician mountaineers who had joined them were severely punished. It was next necessary to secure the southern frontier of the empire. Esar-haddon accordingly marched into the heart of Arabia, to a distance of about 900 m., across a burning and waterless desert, and struck terror into the Arabian tribes. At last he was free to complete the policy of his predecessors by conquering Egypt, which alone remained to threaten Assyrian dominion in the West. Baal of Tyre had transferred his allegiance from Esar-haddon to the Egyptian king Tirhaka and opened to the latter the coast 760 road of Palestine; leaving a force, therefore, to invest Tyre, Esar-haddon led the main body of the Assyrian troops into Egypt on the 5th of Adar, 673 B.C. The desert was crossed with the help of the Arabian sheikh. Egypt seems to have submitted to the invader and was divided into twenty satrapies. Another campaign, however, was needed before it could be finally subdued. In 670 B.C. Esar-haddon drove the Egyptian forces before him in 15 days (from the 3rd to the 18th of Tammuz) all the way from the frontier to Memphis, thrice defeating them with heavy loss and wounding Tirhaka himself. Three days after Memphis fell, and this was soon afterwards followed by the surrender of Tyre and its king. In 668 B.C. Egypt again revolted, and while on the march to reduce it Esar-haddon fell ill and died on the 10th of Marchesvan. His empire was divided between his two sons Assur-bani-pal and Samas-sum-yukin, Assur-bani-pal receiving Assyria and his brother Babylonia, an arrangement, however, which did not prove to be a success. Esar-haddon was the builder of a palace at Nineveh as well as of one which he erected at Calah for Assur-bani-pal.
ESAR-HADDON [Assur-akhi-iddina, “Assur has given a brother”], an Assyrian king and son of Sennacherib; before becoming king, he was also known by another name, Assur-etil-ilani-yukin-abla. At the time of his father's assassination (the 20th of Tebet, 681 BCE), he was leading the Assyrian army in a conflict against Ararat. The conspirators, after controlling Nineveh for 42 days, were forced to retreat north and seek help from the king of Ararat. On the 12th of Iyyar (680 BCE), a decisive battle took place near Malatia, where the Assyrian veterans emerged victorious and hailed Esar-haddon as king by the end of the day. He returned to Nineveh, and on the 8th of Sivan, he was crowned king. As a competent general, Esar-haddon was also a skilled and diplomatic administrator. His first action was to suppress a rebellion from the Chaldaeans in southern Babylonia and then to restore Babylon, the sacred city of the West, which had been devastated by his father. The walls and the temple of Bel were rebuilt, its deities were returned, and after his right to rule was formally recognized by the Babylonian priesthood, Esar-haddon established Babylon as his second capital. A year or two later, he invaded Media, and the Median leaders came to Nineveh to pay their respects to their conqueror. He then focused on Palestine, where he crushed the rebellion led by Abdi-milkutti of Zidon, executed its leader, and rebuilt Zidon from the ruins of the old city (676-675 BCE). All of Palestine now submitted to Assyria, and 12 Syrian and 10 Cyprian princes (including Manasseh of Judah) came to show their allegiance and provide him with materials for his palace in Nineveh. However, a more serious threat had emerged on the Assyrian border (676 BCE). The Cimmerii (see Scythia) under Teuspa invaded Asia Minor; they were, however, defeated in Cilicia, and the Cilician hill tribes that allied with them faced severe punishment. It was then essential to secure the southern border of the empire. Esar-haddon marched deep into Arabia, covering approximately 900 miles through a scorching, waterless desert, instilling fear into the Arabian tribes. Finally, he was able to fulfill the long-standing ambition of his predecessors by conquering Egypt, the last remaining threat to Assyrian power in the West. Baal of Tyre had switched his loyalty from Esar-haddon to the Egyptian king Tirhaka and opened the coastal route of Palestine to him; consequently, Esar-haddon left a force to besiege Tyre and led the main body of the Assyrian troops into Egypt on the 5th of Adar, 673 B.C.. They crossed the desert aided by an Arabian sheikh. Egypt appeared to have surrendered to the invaders and was divided into twenty satrapies. However, one more campaign was necessary for complete subjugation. In 670 BCE, Esar-haddon pushed the Egyptian forces back in just 15 days (from the 3rd to the 18th of Tammuz), defeating them three times with heavy losses and even wounding Tirhaka himself. Three days after Memphis fell, Tyre and its king also surrendered shortly thereafter. In 668 BCE, Egypt revolted again, and while on his way to subdue it, Esar-haddon fell ill and died on the 10th of Marchesvan. His empire was divided between his two sons, Assur-bani-pal and Samas-sum-yukin, with Assur-bani-pal receiving Assyria and his brother Babylonia, though this division did not work out well. Esar-haddon was the builder of a palace in Nineveh, as well as one he constructed in Calah for Assur-bani-pal.
Authorities.—E.A.W. Budge, History of Esarhaddon (1880); E. Schrader, Keilinschriftliche Bibliothek, ii. (1889) (Abel and Winckler in ii. pp. 120-153); G. Maspero, Passing of the Empires, pp. 345 sqq.; F. von Luschan, “Ausgrabungen in Sendschirli,” i. (Mitteilungen aus den orientalischen Sammlungen, 1893).
Authorities.—E.A.W. Budge, History of Esarhaddon (1880); E. Schrader, Keilinschriftliche Bibliothek, ii. (1889) (Abel and Winckler in ii. pp. 120-153); G. Maspero, Passing of the Empires, pp. 345 and following; F. von Luschan, “Excavations in Sendschirli,” i. (Reports from the Oriental Collections, 1893).
ESAU, the son of Isaac and Rebecca, in the Bible, and the elder twin brother of Jacob. He was so called because he was red (admōnī) and hairy when he was born, and the name Edom (red) was given to him when he sold his birthright to Jacob for a meal of red lentil pottage (Gen. xxv. 21-34). Another story of the manner in which Jacob obtained the superiority is related in Gen. xxvii. Here the younger brother impersonated the elder, and succeeded in deceiving his blind father by imitating the hairiness of his brother. He thus gained the blessing intended for the first-born, and Esau, on hearing how he had been forestalled, vowed to kill him. Jacob accordingly fled to his mother’s relatives, and on his return, many years later, peace was restored between them (xxxii. sq.). These primitive stories of the relations between the eponymous heads of the Edomites and Israelites are due to the older (Judaean) sources; the late notices of the Priestly school (see Genesis) preserve a different account of the parting of the two (Gen. xxxvi. 6-8), and lay great stress upon Esau’s marriages with the Canaanites of the land, unions which were viewed (from the writer’s standpoint) with great aversion (Gen. xxvi. 34 sq., xxvii. 46). For “Esau” as a designation of the Edomites, cf. Jer. xlix. 8, Obad. vv. 6, 8, and on their history, see Edom.
ESAU, the son of Isaac and Rebecca from the Bible, was the older twin brother of Jacob. He was named Esau because he was red (admōnī) and hairy at birth, and he earned the name Edom (which means red) when he sold his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of red lentil stew (Gen. xxv. 21-34). Another story about how Jacob gained the upper hand is shared in Gen. xxvii. In this account, the younger brother pretended to be the older one and managed to trick his blind father by mimicking his brother's hairiness. As a result, he received the blessing meant for the first-born, and when Esau found out that he had been cheated, he swore to kill Jacob. Jacob then fled to his mother's family, and many years later, when he returned, they made peace again (xxxii. sq.). These early stories about the relationships between the ancestors of the Edomites and the Israelites come from older (Judaean) sources; the later accounts from the Priestly school (see Genesis) present a different version of their separation (Gen. xxxvi. 6-8) and emphasize Esau’s marriages to the Canaanite women in the area, which were seen (from the writer’s perspective) in a very negative light (Gen. xxvi. 34 sq., xxvii. 46). For “Esau” being a label for the Edomites, see Jer. xlix. 8, Obad. vv. 6, 8, and for their history, refer to Edom.
Esau’s characteristic hairiness (Gen. xxv. 25, xxvii. 11) has given rise to the suggestion that his name is properly ‘ēshav, from a root corresponding to the Arab. ‘athiya, to have thick or matted hair. Mt Seir, too, where he resided, etymologically suggests a “shaggy” mountain-land. According to Hommel (Sud-arab. Chrestom. p. 39 sq.) the name Esau has S. Arabian analogies. On the possible identity of the name with Usoos, the Phoenician demi-god (Philo of Byblus, ap. Eusebius, Praep. Evang. i. 10), see Cheyne, Encyc. Bib. col. 1333; Lagrange, Études sur les religions sémitiques, p. 416 (Paris, 1905); Ed. Meyer, Israeliten, 278 sq. (and, on general questions, ib. 128 sq., 329 sqq.).
Esau's distinctive hairiness (Gen. xxv. 25, xxvii. 11) has led to the idea that his name is actually ‘ēshav, from a root linked to the Arabic ‘athiya, meaning to have thick or tangled hair. Mount Seir, where he lived, also etymologically suggests a “shaggy” mountainous area. According to Hommel (Sud-arab. Chrestom. p. 39 sq.), the name Esau has South Arabian parallels. For the possible connection of the name with Usoos, the Phoenician demi-god (Philo of Byblus, ap. Eusebius, Praep. Evang. i. 10), see Cheyne, Encyc. Bib. col. 1333; Lagrange, Études sur les religions sémitiques, p. 416 (Paris, 1905); Ed. Meyer, Israeliten, 278 sq. (and, for general questions, ib. 128 sq., 329 sqq.).
ESBJERG, a seaport of Denmark in the amt (county) of Ribe, 18 m. from the German frontier on the west coast of Jutland. It has railway communication with the east and north of Jutland, and with Germany. It was granted municipal rights in 1900, having grown with astonishing rapidity from 13 inhabitants in 1868 to 13,355 in 1901. This growth it owes to the construction of a large harbour in 1868-1888. It is the principal outlet westward for S. Jutland; exports pork and meat, butter, eggs, fish, cattle and sheep, skins, lard and agricultural seeds, and has regular communication with Harwich and Grimsby in England. Three miles S.E. is Nordby on the island of Fanö, the northernmost of the North Frisian chain. It is an arid bank of heathland and dunes, but both Nordby and Sönderho in the south are frequented as seaside resorts. The former has a school of navigation. The fisheries are valuable.
ESBJERG, is a seaport in Denmark, located in the amt (county) of Ribe, 18 miles from the German border on the west coast of Jutland. It has train connections to the east and north of Jutland, as well as to Germany. It was given municipal rights in 1900, having grown rapidly from 13 residents in 1868 to 13,355 in 1901. This growth is due to the building of a large harbor between 1868 and 1888. It serves as the main outlet westward for South Jutland and exports pork, meat, butter, eggs, fish, cattle, sheep, hides, lard, and agricultural seeds, with regular services to Harwich and Grimsby in England. Three miles southeast is Nordby on the island of Fanö, the northernmost of the North Frisian islands. The area is mostly heathland and dunes, but both Nordby and Sönderho to the south are popular seaside resorts. Nordby also has a navigation school. The fisheries are valuable.
ESCANABA, a city and the county-seat of Delta county, Michigan, U.S.A., on Little Bay de Noquette, an inlet of Green Bay, about 60 m. S. of Marquette. Pop. (1890) 6808; (1900) 9549, of whom 3214 were foreign-born; (1910 census) 13,194. It is served by the Chicago & North-Western and the Escanaba & Lake Superior railways. It is built on a picturesque promontory which separates the waters of Green Bay from Little Bay de Noquette, and its delightful summer climate, wild landscape scenery and facilities for boating and trout fishing make it a popular summer resort. Escanaba has a water front of 8 m., and is an important centre for the shipment of iron-ore, for which eight large and well-equipped docks are provided—there is an ore-crushing plant here; considerable quantities of lumber and fish are also shipped, and furniture, flooring (especially of maple) and wooden ware (butter-dishes and clothes-pins) are manufactured. There is a large tie-preserving plant here. Good water power is supplied by the Escanaba river. Escanaba was settled in 1863, was incorporated as a village in 1883, and was first chartered as a city in the same year.
ESCANABA, is a city and the county seat of Delta County, Michigan, U.S.A., located on Little Bay de Noquette, an inlet of Green Bay, about 60 miles south of Marquette. Population: (1890) 6,808; (1900) 9,549, of which 3,214 were foreign-born; (1910 census) 13,194. It is served by the Chicago & North-Western and Escanaba & Lake Superior railways. The city is situated on a scenic promontory that separates the waters of Green Bay from Little Bay de Noquette, and its pleasant summer climate, beautiful natural scenery, and options for boating and trout fishing make it a popular summer destination. Escanaba has an 8-mile water frontage and is a key hub for shipping iron ore, supported by eight large, well-equipped docks — there’s also an ore-crushing plant here. Significant amounts of lumber and fish are shipped, and products like furniture, flooring (especially maple), and wooden items (such as butter dishes and clothes pins) are manufactured. There is a large tie-preserving plant located here. The Escanaba River provides good water power. Escanaba was settled in 1863, became a village in 1883, and was first chartered as a city in the same year.
ESCAPE (in mid. Eng. eschape or escape, from the O. Fr. eschapper, modern échapper, and escaper, low Lat. escapium, from ex, out of, and cappa, cape, cloak; cf. for the sense development the Gr. ἐκδύεσθαι, literally to put off one’s clothes, hence to slip out of, get away), a verb meaning to get away from, especially from impending danger or harm, to avoid capture, to regain one’s liberty after capture. As a substantive, “escape,” in law, is the regaining of liberty by one in custody contrary to due process of law. Such escape may be by force, if out of prison it is generally known as “prison-breach” or “prison-breaking,” or by the voluntary or negligent act of the custodian. Where the escape is caused by the force or fraud of others it is termed “rescue” (q.v.). “Escape” is used in botany of a cultivated plant found growing wild. The word is also used of a means of escape, e.g. “fire-escape,” and of a loss or leakage of gas, current of electricity or water.
ESCAPE (in Middle English eschape or escape, from Old French eschapper, modern échapper, and escaper, low Latin escapium, from ex, meaning out of, and cappa, meaning cape or cloak; see for the sense development the Greek take off, literally to take off one’s clothes, hence to slip away, to escape), is a verb that means to get away from, especially from imminent danger or harm, to avoid capture, or to regain one’s freedom after being captured. As a noun, “escape” in legal terms refers to the act of regaining liberty by someone in custody in a manner that violates due process of law. This escape might occur through force, and when it's from prison, it’s commonly known as “prison-breach” or “prison-breaking,” or through the voluntary or negligent action of the custodian. When an escape is caused by the force or deception of others, it is called “rescue” (q.v.). “Escape” is also used in botany to refer to a cultivated plant that is found growing wild. The word is additionally used to describe a means of escape, such as a “fire-escape,” and for the loss or leakage of gas, or the flow of electricity or water.
ESCHATOLOGY (Gr. ἔσχατος, last, and λόγος, science; the “doctrine of last things”), a theological term derived from the New Testament phrases “the last day” (ἐν τῇ ἐσχάτῃ ἡμέρᾳ, John vi. 39), “the last times” (ἐπ᾽ ἐσχάτων τῶν χρόνων, 1 Peter i. 20), “the last-state” (τὰ ἔσχατα, Matt. xii. 45), a conception taken over from ancient prophecy (Is. ii. 2; Mal. iv. 1). It was the common belief in the apostolic age that the second advent of Christ was near, and would give the divine completion to the world’s history. The use of the term, however, has been extended so as to include all that is taught in the Scriptures about the future life of the individual as well as the final destiny of the world. The reasons for the belief in a life after death are discussed in the article Immortality. The present article, after a brief glance at the conceptions of the future of the individual or the world found in other religions, will deal with the teaching of the Old and New Testaments, the Jewish and the Christian Church regarding the hereafter.
ESCHATOLOGY (Gr. last, last, and word, science; the “study of last things”), is a theological term that comes from New Testament phrases like “the last day” (on the last day, John vi. 39), “the last times” (at the end times, 1 Peter i. 20), and “the last state” (the last things, Matt. xii. 45), a concept taken from ancient prophecy (Is. ii. 2; Mal. iv. 1). It was widely believed during the apostolic age that Christ's second coming was imminent and would bring the divine conclusion to the world's history. However, the meaning of the term has been broadened to encompass everything taught in the Scriptures about the afterlife for individuals and the ultimate fate of the world. The reasons for believing in life after death are explored in the article Immortality. This article, after briefly examining views on the future held in other religions, will focus on the teachings of the Old and New Testaments, as well as those of the Jewish and Christian Churches regarding the afterlife.
There is a bewildering variety in the views of the future life and world held by different peoples. The future life may be conceived as simply a continuation of the present life in its essential features, although under conditions more or less favourable. It may also be thought of as retributive, as a reversal of present conditions so that the miserable are comforted, and the prosperous laid low, or as a reward or punishment for good or evil desert here. Personal identity may be absorbed, as in the transmigration of souls, or it may even be denied, while the good or bad result of one life is held to determine the weal or woe of another. The scene of the future life may be thought of on earth, in some distant part of it, or above the earth, in the sky, sun, moon or stars, or beneath the earth. The abodes of bliss and the places of torment may be distinguished, or one last dwelling-place may be affirmed for all the dead. Sometimes the good find their abiding home with the gods; sometimes a number of heavens of varying degrees of blessedness is recognized (see F.B. Jevons, An Introduction to the History of Religion, chs. xxi. and xxii., 1902; and J.A. MacCulloch’s Comparative Theology, xiv., 1902).
There is a confusing range of beliefs about the afterlife and the world that different cultures hold. The afterlife might be seen as simply a continuation of this life with similar key aspects, but in more or less favorable circumstances. It could also be perceived as a form of justice, where the downtrodden are uplifted and the fortunate are brought down, or as a way of rewarding or punishing people based on their actions here. Personal identity may be dissolved, like in the idea of soul transmigration, or it might even be rejected altogether, with the outcomes of one life impacting the fate of another. The setting for the afterlife could be imagined on earth, in a remote location, in the sky, sun, moon, or stars, or underground. Blissful realms and places of suffering may be separated, or there could be just one final resting place for all the dead. At times, the righteous find their permanent home with the divine; at other times, various heavens with different levels of happiness are acknowledged (see F.B. Jevons, An Introduction to the History of Religion, chs. xxi. and xxii., 1902; and J.A. MacCulloch’s Comparative Theology, xiv., 1902).
(1) Confucius, though unwilling to discuss any questions concerning the dead, by approving ancestor-worship recognized a future life. (2) Taoism promises immortality as the reward of 761 merit. (3) The Book of the Dead—a guide-book for the departed Eastern Religions. on his long journey in the unseen world to the abode of the blessed—shows the attention the Egyptian religion gave to the state of the dead. (4) Although the Babylonian religion presents a very gloomy view of the world of the dead, it is not without a few faint glimpses of a hope that a few mortals at least may gain deliverance from the dread doom. (5) A characteristic feature of Indian thought is the transmigration of the soul from one mode of life to another, the physical condition of each being determined by the moral and religious character of the preceding. But deliverance from this cycle of existences, which is conceived as misery, is promised by means of speculation and asceticism. Denying the continuance of the soul, Buddhism affirmed a continuity of moral consequences (Karma), each successive life being determined by the total moral result of the preceding life. Its doctrine of salvation was a guide to, if not absolute non-existence, yet cessation of all consciousness of existence (Nirvana). Later Buddhism has, however, a doctrine of many heavens and hells. (6) In Zoroastrianism not only was continuance of life recognized, but a strict retribution was taught. Heaven and hell were very clearly distinguished, and each soul according to its works passed to the one or to the other. But this faith did not concern itself only with the future lot of the individual soul. It was also interested in the close of the world’s history, and taught a decisive, final victory of Ormuzd over Ahriman, of the forces of good over the forces of evil. It is not at all improbable that Jewish eschatology in its later developments was powerfully influenced by the Persian faith. (7) Mahommedanism reproduces and exaggerates the lower features of popular Jewish and Christian eschatology (see the separate articles on these religions).
(1) Confucius, although he didn't want to talk about the dead, acknowledged a future life by endorsing ancestor worship. (2) Taoism offers immortality as a reward for good deeds. 761 (3) The Book of the Dead—a guide for the departed on their long journey in the unseen world to the paradise—illustrates how much attention Egyptian religion paid to the condition of the dead. (4) While Babylonian religion has a rather bleak perspective on the afterlife, it does offer a few faint hopes that some individuals might escape their grim fate. (5) A key aspect of Indian thought is the belief in the soul's rebirth in different forms, with each physical existence shaped by the moral and religious qualities of the previous one. However, liberation from this cycle, viewed as a cycle of suffering, is promised through reflection and ascetic practices. Buddhism, which denies the perpetuity of the soul, upholds a continuity of moral consequences (Karma), where each new life is determined by the moral outcomes of the one before. Its concept of salvation serves as a path to either complete non-existence or the end of all awareness of existence (Nirvana). Nevertheless, later Buddhism introduces a belief in multiple heavens and hells. (6) Zoroastrianism not only recognized the continuance of life, but it also taught strict retribution. Heaven and hell were distinctly defined, with each soul moving to one or the other based on its actions. This belief system wasn't solely focused on the future of individual souls; it also looked at the end of the world and proclaimed a decisive victory of Ormuzd over Ahriman, the forces of good over the forces of evil. It's quite possible that Jewish eschatology, in its later forms, was significantly influenced by Persian beliefs. (7) Islam mirrors and amplifies the less favorable aspects of popular Jewish and Christian eschatology (see the separate articles on these religions).
In the Old Testament we can trace the gradual development of an ever more definite doctrine of “the final condition of man and the world.” This is regarded as the last stage in a moral process, a redemptive purpose of God. The Old Testament. eschatology of the Old Testament is thus closely connected with, but not limited by, Messianic hope, as there are eschatological teachings that are not Messianic. As the Old Testament revelation is concerned primarily with the elect nation, and only secondarily (in the later writings) with the individual persons composing it, we follow the order of importance as well as of time in dealing first with the people. The universalism which marks the promise to the seed of the woman (Gen. iii. 15) appears also in the blessing of Noah (ix. 25). In the promise to Abraham (xii. 3) this universal good is directly related to God’s particular purpose for His chosen people; so also in the blessing of Jacob (xlix.) and of Moses (Deut. xxxiii.). David’s last words (2 Sam. xxiii.) blend together his desire that his family should retain the kingship, and his aspiration for a kingdom of righteousness on earth. The conception of the “Day of the Lord” is frequent and prominent in the prophets, and the sense given to the phrase by the people and by the prophets throws into bold relief the contrast between popular beliefs and the prophetic faith. The people simply expected deliverance from their miseries and burdens by the intervention of Yahweh, because He had chosen Israel for His people. The prophets had an ethical conception of Yahweh; the sin of His own people and of other nations called for His intervention in judgment as the moral ruler of the world. But judgment they conceived as preparing for redemption. The day of the Lord is always an eschatological conception, as the term is applied to the final and universal judgment, and not to any less decisive intervention of God in the course of human history. In the pre-exilic prophets the judgment of God is “primarily on Israel, although it also embraces the nations”; during the Exile and at the Restoration the judgment is represented as falling on the nations while redemption is being wrought for God’s people; after the Restoration the people of God is again threatened, but still the warning of judgment is mainly directed towards the nations and deliverance is promised to Israel. As the manifestation of God in grace as well as judgment, the day of the Lord will bring joy to Israel and even to the world. As a day of judgment it is accompanied by terrible convulsions of nature (not to be taken figuratively, but probably intended literally by the prophets in accordance with their view of the absolute subordination of nature to the divine purpose for man). It ushers in the Messianic age. While the moral issues are finally determined by this day, yet the world of the Messianic age is painted with the colours of the prophet’s own surroundings. Israel is restored to its own land, and to it the other nations are brought into subjugation, by force or persuasion. The contributions of the Old Testament to Christian eschatology embrace these features: “(1) The manifestation or advent of God; (2) the universal judgment; (3) behind the judgment the coming of the perfect kingdom of the Lord, when all Israel shall be saved and when the nations shall be partakers of their salvation; and (4) the finality and eternity of this condition, that which constitutes the blessedness of the saved people being the Presence of God in the midst of them—this last point corresponding to the Christian idea of heaven” (A.B. Davidson, in Hastings’s Bible Dictionary, i. p. 738). This hope is for the people on this earth though transfigured.
In the Old Testament, we can see how the idea of "the final state of man and the world" developed over time. This is viewed as the last stage in a moral process, a redemptive plan from God. The Hebrew Bible. eschatology of the Old Testament is closely linked to, but not restricted by, Messianic hope, since there are eschatological teachings that aren’t Messianic. Because the Old Testament focus is mostly on the chosen nation and only later (in the later writings) on the individual members of that nation, we'll address the group first based on importance and chronological order. The universal promise made to the seed of the woman (Gen. iii. 15) also appears in Noah's blessing (ix. 25). In God's promise to Abraham (xii. 3), this universal benefit is directly tied to His specific plan for His chosen people; this connection also appears in Jacob's blessing (xlix.) and Moses' blessing (Deut. xxxiii.). David's final words (2 Sam. xxiii.) express both his hope that his family will maintain the kingship and his wish for a kingdom of righteousness on earth. The concept of the "Day of the Lord" is common and significant in the prophets, and the interpretation given to this phrase by the people and the prophets highlights the difference between popular beliefs and prophetic faith. The people merely expected relief from their suffering through Yahweh’s intervention, believing He had chosen Israel as His people. The prophets, however, held a moral understanding of Yahweh; they saw the sins of His own people and other nations as reasons for His intervention in judgment as the moral ruler of the world. Yet, they understood judgment as a pathway to redemption. The Day of the Lord is always viewed eschatologically, referring to the final and universal judgment, not to less significant interventions by God throughout human history. In the pre-exilic prophets, God’s judgment primarily focuses on Israel but also includes the nations; during the Exile and Restoration, judgment is depicted as falling on the nations while redemption occurs for God’s people; after the Restoration, God’s people face threats again, but warnings of judgment are mainly directed at the nations, with deliverance promised to Israel. The Day of the Lord represents both God's grace and judgment, bringing joy to Israel and the world. As a day of judgment, it is accompanied by severe natural upheavals (understood literally by the prophets, reflecting their belief in nature’s complete subordination to God’s purpose for humanity). It marks the beginning of the Messianic age. While moral issues are ultimately resolved on this day, the world of the Messianic age reflects the conditions of the prophet's own time. Israel returns to its land, and other nations come under its control, whether by force or persuasion. The contributions of the Old Testament to Christian eschatology include: “(1) The manifestation or coming of God; (2) the universal judgment; (3) after judgment, the arrival of the perfect kingdom of the Lord, where all Israel will be saved and the nations will share in that salvation; and (4) the permanence and eternity of this state, which constitutes the blessing of the saved people being God’s Presence among them—this last point resonates with the Christian concept of heaven” (A.B. Davidson, in Hastings’s Bible Dictionary, i. p. 738). This hope is for the people on this earth, though transformed.
To the individual it would seem at first only old age is promised (Is. lxv. 20; Zech. viii. 4), but the abolition of death itself is also declared (Is. xxv. 8). The resurrection, which appears at first as a revival of the dead nation (Hos. vi. 2; Ez. xxxvii. 12-14), is afterwards promised for the pious individuals (Is. xxvi. 19), so that they too may share in the national restoration. Only in Daniel xii. 2 is taught a resurrection of the wicked “to shame and everlasting contempt” as well as of the righteous to “everlasting life.” It was only at the Exile, when the nation ceased to be, that the worth of the individual came to be recognized, and the hopes given to the nation were claimed for the individual. In dealing with the individual eschatology we must carefully distinguish the popular ideas regarding death and the hereafter which Israel shared with the other Semitic peoples, from the intuitions, inferences, aspirations evoked in the pious by the divine revelation itself. The former have not the moral significance or the religious value of the latter. The starting-point of the development was the common belief that the dead continued to exist in an unsubstantial mode of life, but cut off from fellowship with God and man; but faith left this far behind. Sheol is the common abode of the righteous and the ungodly: life there is shadowy and feeble, but seems to continue in a wavering and dim reflection features of this life. As the present life is, however, determined by moral issues, and as death does not change man’s relation to God, moral considerations could not be absolutely excluded from the future life. A forward step had to be taken. Pious men, in fellowship with God, when they faced the fact of death, were led either to challenge its right, or to give a new meaning to it. Either there was a protest against death itself, and a demand for immortality (Ps. xvi. 9-11), or death was conceived as something different for the saint and for the sinner; fellowship with God would not and could not be interrupted (Ps. xlix. 14, 15, lxxiii. 17-28). The vision of God is anticipated after death’s sleep (Ps. xvii. 15; Job xix. 25-27). This belief in individual immortality is expressed poetically and obscurely: it is later than the eschatology of the people. It assumes the moral distinction of the righteous and the ungodly, and seeks a solution for the problem of the lack of harmony of present character and condition. Its deepest motive, however, is religious. The soul once in fellowship with God cannot even by death be separated from God. The individual hoped that he would live to share the nation’s good, and thus the two streams of Old Testament eschatology at last flow together.
To individuals, it might initially seem that only old age is guaranteed (Is. lxv. 20; Zech. viii. 4), but it's also stated that death itself will be abolished (Is. xxv. 8). The resurrection, which initially appears as a revival of the dead nation (Hos. vi. 2; Ez. xxxvii. 12-14), is later promised for the faithful individuals (Is. xxvi. 19), so they too can partake in the national restoration. Only in Daniel xii. 2 is there a mention of the resurrection of the wicked "to shame and everlasting contempt" alongside the righteous to "everlasting life." It was only during the Exile, when the nation was no longer, that the value of the individual was acknowledged, and the hopes promised to the nation were claimed by individuals. In discussing individual eschatology, we must carefully distinguish between the popular beliefs about death and the afterlife that Israel shared with other Semitic peoples and the insights, deduced hopes, and aspirations inspired in the faithful by divine revelation itself. The former do not have the moral importance or religious value of the latter. The foundation of this development was the shared belief that the dead continued to exist in a shadowy form of life, yet were cut off from communion with God and other people; however, faith moved beyond this. Sheol is the common resting place for both the righteous and the wicked: life there is vague and weak, but it appears to continue as a faint and distorted reflection of this life. Since present life is shaped by moral choices and death does not alter one's relationship with God, moral considerations could not be completely disregarded in the afterlife. A new direction had to be taken. Faithful individuals, in connection with God, when confronted with the reality of death, were either moved to contest its power or to reinterpret its meaning. They either protested against death itself and sought immortality (Ps. xvi. 9-11) or regarded death as different for the saint versus the sinner; communion with God would not and could not be interrupted (Ps. xlix. 14, 15, lxxiii. 17-28). A vision of God is expected after the sleep of death (Ps. xvii. 15; Job xix. 25-27). This belief in individual immortality is expressed poetically and somewhat vaguely: it comes later than the collective eschatology of the people. It assumes a moral distinction between the righteous and the wicked, attempting to resolve the lack of alignment between one's current character and circumstances. Its deepest motivation, however, is religious. The soul that has once been in communion with God cannot be separated from Him, not even by death. The individual hopes to live to share in the nation's prosperity, and so the two strands of Old Testament eschatology ultimately merge.
It is in the apocryphal and apocalyptic literature of Judaism that the fullest development of eschatology can be traced. Four words may serve to express the difference of the doctrine of these writings and the teaching of the Old Apocryphal and Apocalyptic books. Testament. Eschatology was universalized (God was recognized as the creator and moral governor of all the world), individualized (God’s judgment was directed, not to nations in a future age, but to individuals in a future life), 762 transcendentalized (the future age was more and more contrasted with the present, and the transition from the one to the other was not expected as the result of historical movements, but of miraculous divine acts), and dogmatized (the attempt was made to systematize in some measure the vague and varied prophetic anticipations). Only a very brief summary of the conceptions current in these writings can be given. The coming of the Messiah will be preceded by the Last Woes. The Messiah is very variously conceived: (1) “a passive, though supreme member of the Messianic Kingdom”; (2) “an active warrior who slays his enemies with his own hand”; (3) “one who slays his enemies by the word of his mouth, and rules by virtue of his justice, faith and holiness”; (4) a supernatural person, “eternal Ruler and Judge of Mankind” (R.H. Charles in Hastings’s Bible Dictionary, i. p. 748). In some of the writings no Messianic kingdom is looked for; in others only a temporal duration on earth is assigned to it; in others still it abides for ever either on earth as it is, or on earth transformed. The dispersion among the nations is to return home. Sometimes the Resurrection is narrowed down to the resurrection of the righteous, at others widened out to the resurrection of all mankind for the last judgment. A blessed immortality after judgment, or even after death itself, is sometimes taught without reference to any resurrection. Retribution in human history is recognized, but attention is specially concentrated on the final judgment, which is usually conceived as taking place in two stages. (1) The Messianic is executed by the Messiah or the saints by victory in war, or by judicial sentence. (2) The final remains in God’s hands; but in one writing (the Ethiopic Enoch) is represented as Messiah’s function. This judgment either closes the Messianic age, if thought of as temporal, or ushers it in, if conceived as eternal, or closes the world’s history, if no Messianic age is expected. The place of torment for the wicked was called Gehenna (the valley of Hinnom or the Sons of Hinnom, where the bodies of criminals were cast out, is described in Is. lxvi. 24). Here corporal as well as spiritual punishment was endured; it was inflicted on apostate Jews or the wicked generally; the righteous witnessed its initial stages but not its final form. In later Judaism it was the purgatory of faithless Jews, who at last reached Paradise, but it remained the place of eternal torment for the Gentiles. Paradise was sometimes regarded as the division of Sheol to which the righteous passed after death, but at others it was conceived as the heavenly abode of Moses, Enoch and Elijah, to which other saints would pass after the last judgment.
It is in the apocryphal and apocalyptic writings of Judaism that the full development of eschatology can be seen. Four key terms can express the differences between the teachings of these texts and the Old Testament. Eschatology was universalized (God was seen as the creator and moral authority of the entire world), individualized (God’s judgment was focused on individuals in the afterlife rather than nations in a future age), transcendentalized (the future age was increasingly contrasted with the present, and the transition between the two was expected to result from miraculous divine acts rather than historical events), and dogmatized (there was an effort to systematize the vague and varied prophetic visions). Here’s a very brief overview of the ideas found in these texts. Before the arrival of the Messiah, there will be the Last Woes. The Messiah is understood in several ways: (1) “a passive, though supreme member of the Messianic Kingdom”; (2) “an active warrior who defeats his enemies directly”; (3) “one who defeats his enemies by his words and rules through justice, faith, and holiness”; (4) a supernatural being, “eternal Ruler and Judge of Humanity” (R.H. Charles in Hastings’s Bible Dictionary, i. p. 748). In some writings, there is no expectation of a Messianic kingdom; in others, it is seen as having only a temporary existence on earth; and in others, it is viewed as existing forever, either on earth as it is or on earth transformed. The dispersion among the nations is expected to return home. Sometimes the Resurrection is limited to the righteous alone; at other times, it is expanded to include all humanity for the final judgment. A blessed immortality after judgment, or even after death itself, is occasionally mentioned without any reference to resurrection. Retribution in human history is acknowledged, but the focus is primarily on the final judgment, typically thought of as occurring in two stages: (1) The Messianic judgment is carried out by the Messiah or the saints, either through victory in battle or through judicial action. (2) The final judgment remains in God’s hands, but one text (the Ethiopic Enoch) presents it as a function of the Messiah. This judgment either concludes the Messianic age if it’s seen as temporary or ushers it in if viewed as eternal, or it ends the world’s history if no Messianic age is anticipated. The place of punishment for the wicked is called Gehenna (the valley of Hinnom, where the bodies of criminals were discarded, is described in Is. lxvi. 24). Here, both physical and spiritual punishment are experienced; it is inflicted on apostate Jews or generally on the wicked; the righteous witness its initial stages but not its final form. In later Judaism, it was viewed as a purgatory for faithless Jews who eventually reached Paradise, while it remained a place of eternal torment for Gentiles. Paradise was sometimes seen as the part of Sheol that the righteous entered after death, but at other times it was thought of as the heavenly realm of Moses, Enoch, and Elijah, where other saints would go after the final judgment.
The eschatology of the New Testament attaches itself not only to that of the Old Testament but also to that of contemporary Judaism, but it avoids the extravagances of the latter. Not at all systematic, it is occasional, practical, New Testament. poetical and dominantly evangelical, laying stress on the hope of the righteous rather than the doom of the wicked. The teaching of Jesus centres, according to the Synoptists, in the great idea of the “Kingdom of God,” which is already present in the teacher Himself, but also future as regards its completion. In some parables a gradual realization of the kingdom is indicated (Matt. xiii.); in other utterances its consummation is connected with Christ’s own return, His Parousia (Matt. xxiv. 3, 37, 39), the time of which, however, is unknown even to Himself (Mark xiii. 32). In this eschatological discourse (Matt. xxiv., xxv.) He speaks of the destruction of Jerusalem and of the end of the world as near, and seemingly as one. This is in accordance with the characteristic of prophecy, which sees in “timeless sequence” events which are historically separated from one another. While the Return is represented in the Synoptists as an external event, it is conceived in the fourth gospel as an internal experience in the operation of the Spirit on the believer (John xiv. 16-21); nevertheless here also the Parousia in the synoptic sense is looked for (John xxi. 22; cf. 1 John ii. 28). The object of the Second Coming is the execution of judgment by Christ (Matt. xxv. 31), both individual (xxii. 1-14) and universal (xiii. 36-42). The present subjective judgment, in which men determine their destiny by their attitude to Christ, on which the fourth gospel lays stress (John iii. 17-21, ix. 39), is not inconsistent with the anticipation of a final judgment (John xii. 48, v. 27). This judgment presupposes the resurrection, Pharisees and Sadducees. belief in which was rejected by the Sadducees, but accepted by the Pharisees and the majority of the Jewish people, and confirmed by Christ, not only as an individual spiritual renovation (John v. 25, 26), but as a universal physical resuscitation (28 and 29; Matt. xxii. 30). This resurrection is of the unjust as well as the just (Matt. v. 29, 30, x. 28; Luke xiv. 14). On the Intermediate State Jesus does not speak clearly. He uses the term Hades twice metaphorically (Matt. xi. 23, xvi. 18), and once in a parable, the “Rich Man and Lazarus” (Luke xvi. 23), in which he employs the current phrases such as “Abraham’s bosom” (verse 22), without any definite doctrinal intention, to unveil the secrets of the hereafter by confirming with His authority the common beliefs of His time. The term Paradise (Luke xxiii. 43) seems to be used “in a large and general sense as a word of hope and comfort,” and we need not attach to it any of the more definite associations which it had in Jewish eschatology. When he speaks of death as “sleep” (Luke viii. 52; John xi. 11) it is to give men gentler and sweeter thoughts of it, not to inculcate the doctrine of an intermediate state as an unconscious condition. There are words which suggest rather the hope of an immediate entrance of the just into the Father’s house and glory (John xiv. 2, 3, xvii. 24). He spoke frequently and distinctly both of final reward for the righteous and final penalty for the wicked. “The recompense of the righteous is described as an inheritance, entrance into the kingdom, treasure in heaven, an existence like the angelic, a place prepared, the Father’s house, the joy of the Lord, life, eternal life and the like; and there is no intimation that the reward is capable of change, that the condition is a terminable one. The retribution of the wicked is described as death, outer darkness, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, the undying worm, the quenchless fire, exclusion from the kingdom, eternal punishment and the like” (S.D.J. Salmond in Hastings’s Bible Dictionary, p. 752). Degrees of award are recognized (Luke xii. 47, 48). Gehenna is applied to the condition of the lost (Matt. xviii. 9). Two sayings are held to point to a terminable penalty (Matt. v. 25, 26, xii. 31, 32), but the one is so figurative and the other so obscure, that we are not warranted in drawing any such definite conclusion from either of them. The finality of destiny seems to be unmistakably expressed (Matt. vii. 23, x. 33, xiii. 30, xxv. 46, xxvi. 24; Mark ix. 43-48, viii. 36; Luke ix. 26; John iii. 16, viii. 21, 24). No second opportunity for deciding the issue of life or death is recognized by Jesus.
The eschatology of the New Testament connects not only to that of the Old Testament but also to contemporary Judaism, while steering clear of its excesses. It's not systematic at all; instead, it's occasional, practical, poetic, and primarily evangelical, focusing more on the hope of the righteous than on the fate of the wicked. According to the Synoptists, Jesus’ teachings center around the significant idea of the “Kingdom of God,” which is already present in Him but also points to a future completion. Some parables suggest a gradual realization of the kingdom (Matt. xiii.), while in other statements, its fulfillment is tied to Christ’s return, His Parousia (Matt. xxiv. 3, 37, 39), the timing of which is unknown even to Him (Mark xiii. 32). In this eschatological discourse (Matt. xxiv., xxv.), He refers to the destruction of Jerusalem and the end of the world as imminent and seemingly identical. This aligns with the nature of prophecy, which perceives “timeless” events that are historically distinct from one another. While the Return is portrayed in the Synoptists as an external event, the fourth gospel presents it as an internal experience influenced by the Spirit on the believer (John xiv. 16-21); nonetheless, it also looks forward to the Parousia in the synoptic sense (John xxi. 22; cf. 1 John ii. 28). The purpose of the Second Coming is Christ’s execution of judgment (Matt. xxv. 31), both on an individual (xxii. 1-14) and a universal scale (xiii. 36-42). This current personal judgment, where individuals shape their destiny through their attitude towards Christ, emphasized by the fourth gospel (John iii. 17-21, ix. 39), does not contradict the expectation of a final judgment (John xii. 48, v. 27). This judgment assumes resurrection, a belief rejected by the Sadducees but accepted by the Pharisees and most of the Jewish people, and confirmed by Christ as both a personal spiritual renewal (John v. 25, 26) and as a universal physical resurrection (28 and 29; Matt. xxii. 30). This resurrection includes both the unjust and the just (Matt. v. 29, 30, x. 28; Luke xiv. 14). On the Intermediate State, Jesus does not speak clearly. He uses the term Hades metaphorically twice (Matt. xi. 23, xvi. 18) and once in a parable, the “Rich Man and Lazarus” (Luke xvi. 23), where He uses familiar phrases like “Abraham’s bosom” (verse 22), without any clear doctrinal purpose, to affirm the common beliefs of His time about the afterlife with His authority. The term Paradise (Luke xxiii. 43) appears to be used “broadly and generally as a term of hope and comfort,” and we shouldn't attach any of the more specific associations it had in Jewish eschatology. When He refers to death as “sleep” (Luke viii. 52; John xi. 11), it's meant to offer people gentler and more comforting thoughts about it, not to promote the concept of an intermediate state as an unconscious state. There are words that rather suggest the hope for the immediate entry of the righteous into the Father’s house and glory (John xiv. 2, 3, xvii. 24). He spoke frequently and clearly about both the final reward for the righteous and the final punishment for the wicked. “The reward for the righteous is described as an inheritance, entry into the kingdom, treasure in heaven, a life like the angels, a place prepared, the Father’s house, the joy of the Lord, life, eternal life, and similar terms; and there is no indication that this reward is subject to change, or that the conditions could end. The punishment of the wicked is described as death, outer darkness, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, the undying worm, the unquenchable fire, exclusion from the kingdom, eternal punishment, and similar terms” (S.D.J. Salmond in Hastings’s Bible Dictionary, p. 752). Degrees of reward are acknowledged (Luke xii. 47, 48). Gehenna refers to the state of the lost (Matt. xviii. 9). Two statements are thought to imply a temporary penalty (Matt. v. 25, 26, xii. 31, 32), but since one is highly figurative and the other quite vague, we are not justified in drawing any definite conclusions from either. The finality of destiny seems to be clearly expressed (Matt. vii. 23, x. 33, xiii. 30, xxv. 46, xxvi. 24; Mark ix. 43-48, viii. 36; Luke ix. 26; John iii. 16, viii. 21, 24). Jesus does not acknowledge a second chance for deciding the outcomes of life or death.
The apostolic eschatology presents resemblance amid difference. Jude (v. 6), as well as 2 Peter (ii. 4), refers to the judgment of the fallen angels. 2 Peter describes the place of their detention as Tartarus, and teaches that Christ’s Parousia is to bring the whole present system of things to its conclusion, and the world itself to an end (iii. 10, 13). After the destruction of the existing order by fire, “a new heaven and a new earth” will appear as the abode of righteousness. The question of greatest interest in 1 Peter is the relation of two passages in it, the preaching to the spirits in prison (iii. 18-22) and the preaching of the Gospel to the dead (iv. 6) to the “larger hope.” Peter’s discourse also contains a phrase which suggests the belief of a descent of Christ into Hades in the interval between His death and His resurrection (Acts ii. 31). No certainty has been reached in the interpretation of these passages, but they may suggest to the Christian mind the expectation that the final destiny of no soul can be fixed until in some way or other, in this life or the next, the opportunity of decision for or against Christ has been given. The phrase “the times of restoration of all things” (iii. 21) is too vague in itself, and is too isolated in its context to warrant the dogmatic teaching of universalism, although there are other passages which seem to point towards the same goal. While John’s Apocalypse is distinctly eschatological, the Epistles and the Gospels often give these conceptions an ethical and spiritual import, without, however, excluding the eschatological. Life is 763 present while eternal (1 John v. 12, 13), but it is also future (ii. 25). There is expected a future manifestation of Christ as He is, and what the believer himself will be does not yet appear (iii. 2). The writer speaks of the last hour (ii. 18), the Antichrist that cometh (ii. 22, iv. 3), and the Christian’s full reward (2 John v. 8) as well as the Parousia (1 John ii. 28). The Apocalypse reproduces much of the current Jewish eschatology. A millennial reign of Christ on earth is interposed between the first resurrection, confined to the saints and especially the martyrs, and the second resurrection for the rest of the dead. A final outburst of Satan’s power is followed by his overthrow and the Last Judgment.
The apostolic view of the end times shows similarities despite differences. Jude (v. 6) and 2 Peter (ii. 4) mention the judgment of the fallen angels. 2 Peter describes their confinement as Tartarus and teaches that Christ’s Parousia will bring the entire current system to a close and the world itself to an end (iii. 10, 13). After the destruction of the existing order by fire, “a new heaven and a new earth” will emerge as the home of righteousness. The most intriguing question in 1 Peter is about the connection between two passages: the preaching to the spirits in prison (iii. 18-22) and the preaching of the Gospel to the dead (iv. 6) in relation to the “larger hope.” Peter’s message includes a phrase suggesting the belief that Christ descended into Hades during the time between His death and resurrection (Acts ii. 31). No definitive interpretation of these passages has been reached, but they can imply to Christians that no soul's final fate can be determined until, in some way, whether in this life or the next, they are given the chance to decide for or against Christ. The phrase “the times of restoration of all things” (iii. 21) is too ambiguous on its own and is too secluded in its context to support a strict teaching of universalism, even though other passages seem to hint at the same outcome. While John’s Apocalypse is clearly focused on end times, the Epistles and the Gospels often give these ideas an ethical and spiritual meaning, without leaving out the eschatological aspect. Life is 763 present yet eternal (1 John v. 12, 13), but it is also future (ii. 25). A future appearance of Christ as He is expected, and what believers will be has not yet been revealed (iii. 2). The author talks about the last hour (ii. 18), the coming Antichrist (ii. 22, iv. 3), and the Christian’s complete reward (2 John v. 8) as well as the Parousia (1 John ii. 28). The Apocalypse reflects a lot of the prevailing Jewish thoughts on the end times. A millennial reign of Christ on earth is positioned between the first resurrection, which is limited to the saints and especially the martyrs, and the second resurrection for the rest of the dead. A final surge of Satan’s power is followed by his defeat and the Last Judgment.
Although Paul sometimes describes the Kingdom of God as present (Rom. xiv. 17; 1 Cor. iv. 20; Col. i. 13), it is usually represented as future. The Parousia fills a large place in his thought, and, if more prominent in his earlier writings, is not altogether absent from his later, although the expectation of personal survival does seem to grow less confident (cf. 1 Cor. xv. 51 and Phil. i. 20-24). The doctrines of the Resurrection, the Last Judgment, the Reward of the Righteous and the Punishment of the Wicked are not less distinctly expressed than in the other apostolic writings. Peculiar elements in Paul’s eschatology are the doctrines of the Rapture of the Saints (1 Thess. iv. 17) and the Man of Sin (2 Thess. ii. 3-6), but these have affinities elsewhere. A reference to the millennial reign of Christ in the period between the two resurrections is sometimes sought in 1 Cor. xv. 22-24; but it is not a chronology of the last things Paul is here giving. So also a justification for the doctrine of purgatory is sought in iii. 12-15; but the day and the fire are of the last judgment. A descent of Christ into Hades, implying an extension of the opportunity of grace such as is supposed to be taught in 1 Peter, is also discovered in the obscure statements in Rom. x. 7 (where Paul is freely quoting Deut. xxx. 11-14), and Eph. iv. 10 (where he is commenting on Ps. lxviii. 18). Universal restoration is inferred from 1 Cor. xv. 24-28, “God all in all,” Phil. ii. 10-11, every knee bowing to, and every tongue confessing Jesus Christ, Eph. i. 9, 10, the summing up of all things in Christ, Col. i. 20, God reconciling all things unto Himself in Christ. These passages inspire a hope, but do not sustain a certainty. Paul’s shrinking from the disembodied state and longing to be clothed upon at death in 2 Cor. v. 1-8, cannot be regarded as a proof of an interim body prior to and preparatory for the resurrection body. Paul links the human resurrection with a universal renovation (Rom. viii. 19-23). Paul’s eschatology is not free of obscurities and ambiguities; and in the New Testament eschatology generally we are forced to recognize a mixture of inherited Jewish and original Christian elements (see Antichrist).
Although Paul sometimes refers to the Kingdom of God as being present (Rom. xiv. 17; 1 Cor. iv. 20; Col. i. 13), he usually depicts it as future. The Parousia is a significant aspect of his thinking, and while it's more prominent in his earlier writings, it's not entirely absent from his later work, though his expectation of personal survival appears to become less certain (cf. 1 Cor. xv. 51 and Phil. i. 20-24). The teachings about the Resurrection, the Last Judgment, the Reward for the Righteous, and the Punishment of the Wicked are expressed as clearly as in other apostolic writings. Unique to Paul’s eschatology are the ideas of the Rapture of the Saints (1 Thess. iv. 17) and the Man of Sin (2 Thess. ii. 3-6), although these concepts also appear elsewhere. A reference to Christ's millennial reign between the two resurrections is sometimes found in 1 Cor. xv. 22-24; however, Paul isn't presenting a timeline of the end times here. Likewise, arguments for the doctrine of purgatory are drawn from iii. 12-15; but the day and fire mentioned refer to the last judgment. A mention of Christ’s descent into Hades, suggesting an extended opportunity for grace as found in 1 Peter, can also be interpreted from the vague references in Rom. x. 7 (where Paul quotes freely from Deut. xxx. 11-14) and Eph. iv. 10 (where he comments on Ps. lxviii. 18). Universal restoration is hinted at in 1 Cor. xv. 24-28, “God all in all,” Phil. ii. 10-11, where every knee bows and every tongue confesses Jesus Christ, Eph. i. 9, 10, with all things summed up in Christ, and Col. i. 20, where God reconciles all things to Himself in Christ. These passages evoke hope but don’t provide certainty. Paul’s reluctance towards a disembodied state and his desire to be clothed at death in 2 Cor. v. 1-8 shouldn’t be seen as evidence of an interim body before the resurrection body. Paul connects human resurrection with a universal renewal (Rom. viii. 19-23). His eschatology includes ambiguities and uncertainties; and within New Testament eschatology overall, we see a blend of inherited Jewish and original Christian elements (see Antichrist).
During the first century of the existence of the Gentile Christian Church, “the hope of the approaching end of the world and the glorious kingdom of Christ” was dominant, although warnings had to be given against doubt and indifference. Redemption was thought of as still future, as the power of the devil had not been broken but rather increased by the First Advent, and the Second Advent was necessary to his complete overthrow. The expectations were often grossly materialistic, as is evidenced by Papias’s quotation as the words of the Lord of a group of sayings from the Apocalypse of Baruch, setting forth the amazing fruitfulness of the earth in the Messianic time.
During the first century of the Gentile Christian Church, “the hope of the imminent end of the world and the glorious kingdom of Christ” was dominant, although there were warnings against doubt and apathy. Redemption was seen as still in the future, as the power of the devil had not yet been broken but seemed to have increased since the First Advent, and the Second Advent was essential for his complete defeat. Many of the expectations were quite materialistic, as shown by Papias’s quote of the Lord’s sayings from the Apocalypse of Baruch, which described the astonishing abundance of the earth during the Messianic era.
The Gnostics rejected this eschatology as in their view the
enlightened spirit already possessed immortality. Marcion
expected that the Church would be assailed by Antichrist;
a visible return of Christ he did not teach, but
Gnostics.
Montanism.
he recognized that human history would issue in a separation
of the good from the bad. Montanism sought to form a new
Christian commonwealth which, separated from the
world, should prepare itself for the descent of the
Jerusalem from above, and its establishment in the spot
which by the direction of the Spirit had been chosen in Phrygia.
While Irenaeus held fast the traditional eschatological beliefs, yet
his conception of the Christian salvation as a deification of man
tended to weaken their hold on Christian thought. The Alogi
in the 2nd century rejected the Apocalypse on account of its
chiliasm, its teaching of a visible reign of Christ on earth for
a thousand years. Montanism also brought these apocalyptic
expectations into discredit in orthodox ecclesiastical circles.
The Alexandrian theology strengthened this movement against
chiliasm. Clement of Alexandria taught that justice is not
merely retributive, that punishment is remedial, that probation
continues after death till the final judgment, that Christ and the
apostles preached the Gospel in Hades to those who lacked
knowledge, but whose heart was right, that a spiritual body
will be raised. Origen taught that a germ of the spiritual body
is in the present body, and its development depends on the
character, that perfect bliss is reached only by stages, that the
evil are purified by pain, conscience being symbolized by fire,
and that all, even the devil himself, will at last be saved. Both
regarded chiliasm with aversion. But in the 5th century there
were rejected as heretical (1) “the doctrine of universalism, and
the possibility of the redemption of the devil; (2) the doctrine
of the complete annihilation of evil; (3) the conception of the
penalties of hell as tortures of conscience; (4) the spiritualizing
version of the resurrection of the body; (5) the idea of the continued
creation of new worlds” (A. Harnack, History of Dogma,
iii. p. 186).
The Gnostics turned down this belief about the end times because they thought the enlightened spirit already had immortality. Marcion believed the Church would be attacked by the Antichrist; he didn't teach about a visible return of Christ, but Gnostics. Montanism. he acknowledged that human history would lead to a division between good and evil. Montanism aimed to create a new Christian community that, cut off from the world, should get ready for the descent of the New Jerusalem and its establishment in the location chosen by the Spirit in Phrygia. While Irenaeus clung to traditional end-time beliefs, his view of Christian salvation as deification of humanity weakened their influence on Christian thought. The Alogi in the 2nd century rejected the Apocalypse due to its ideas of chiliasm, which promoted a visible reign of Christ on earth for a thousand years. Montanism also discredited these apocalyptic beliefs in mainstream ecclesiastical circles. Alexandrian theology bolstered this movement against chiliasm. Clement of Alexandria taught that justice isn’t just about punishment, that punishment is meant to be corrective, that probation continues after death until the final judgment, and that Christ and the apostles preached the Gospel in Hades to those who were unaware but had good hearts, and that a spiritual body will be resurrected. Origen taught that a seed of the spiritual body exists in the current body, and its growth depends on character, that perfect happiness is achieved only in stages, that the wicked are cleansed through suffering, with conscience represented by fire, and that ultimately, all, even the devil, will be saved. Both looked down on chiliasm. However, in the 5th century, the following were condemned as heretical: (1) “the doctrine of universalism, and the possibility of the redemption of the devil; (2) the doctrine of the complete annihilation of evil; (3) the idea of hell's punishments as merely torments of conscience; (4) the spiritual interpretation of the resurrection of the body; (5) the notion of the ongoing creation of new worlds” (A. Harnack, History of Dogma, iii. p. 186).
Epiphanius, following Methodius, insisted on the most perfect identity between the resurrection body and the material body; and this belief, enforced in the West by Jerome, soon established itself as alone orthodox. Augustine made experiments on the flesh of a peacock in order to find physical evidence for the doctrine. He held fast to eternal punishment, but allowed the possibility of mitigations. Some believers, he taught, may pass through purgatorial fires; and this middle class may be helped by the sacraments and the alms of the living. “There are many souls not good enough to dispense with this provision, and not bad enough to be benefited by it” (op. cit. v. 233). This doctrine was sanctioned and developed by Gregory the Great. “After God has changed eternal punishments into temporary, the justified must expiate these temporary penalties for sin in purgatory” (p. 268). This view was inferred indirectly from Matt. xii. 31, and directly from 1 Cor. iii. 12-15. Afterwards purgatory took more and more the place of hell, and was subject to the control of the church. As regards the saints, different degrees of blessedness were recognized; they were supposed to wait in Hades for the return of Christ, but gradually the belief gained ground, especially in regard to the martyrs, that their souls at once entered Paradise. The primitive Christian eschatology was preserved in the West as it was not in the East, and in times of exceptional distress the expectation of Antichrist emerged again and again. In the middle ages there was an extravagance of speculation on this subject, which may be seen in the last division of Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae. He proposes thirty questions on these matters, among which are the following: “whether souls are conducted to heaven or hell immediately after death”; “whether the limbus of hell is the same as Abraham’s bosom”; “whether the sun and moon will be really obscured at the day of judgment”; “whether all the members of the human body will rise with it”; “whether the hair and nails will reappear”; could thought become “more lawless and uncertain”?
Epiphanius, following Methodius, emphasized that the resurrection body is exactly like the physical body; this belief, supported in the West by Jerome, quickly became the only accepted view. Augustine conducted experiments on a peacock’s flesh to find physical proof for the doctrine. He firmly believed in eternal punishment but allowed for the possibility of some relief. He taught that certain believers might go through purgatorial fires, and this middle group could be aided by the sacraments and the charity of the living. “There are many souls not good enough to do without this support, and not bad enough to benefit from it” (op. cit. v. 233). This doctrine was endorsed and expanded by Gregory the Great. “After God has turned eternal punishments into temporary ones, the justified must make up for these temporary penalties for sin in purgatory” (p. 268). This belief was indirectly drawn from Matt. xii. 31 and directly from 1 Cor. iii. 12-15. Over time, purgatory increasingly took the place of hell and was managed by the church. Regarding the saints, different levels of blessedness were acknowledged; they were thought to wait in Hades for Christ's return, but gradually the belief, especially concerning martyrs, emerged that their souls immediately entered Paradise. The early Christian eschatology was maintained in the West, unlike in the East, and during times of significant distress, the expectation of Antichrist surfaced repeatedly. In the Middle Ages, there was an explosion of speculation on this subject, as seen in the last section of Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae. He poses thirty questions on these topics, including: “Do souls go to heaven or hell right after death?”; “Is the limbus of hell the same as Abraham’s bosom?”; “Will the sun and moon actually be darkened on Judgment Day?”; “Will all the parts of the human body rise with it?”; “Will hair and nails reappear?”; could thought become “more lawless and uncertain”?
While rejecting purgatory, Protestantism took over this eschatology. Souls passed at once to heaven or to hell; a doctrine even less adequate to the complex quality of human life. Luther himself looked for the passing In Protestant Theology. away of the present evil world. Socinianism taught a new spiritual body, an intermediate state in which the soul is near non-existence, an annihilation of the wicked, as immortality is the gift of God. Swedenborg discards a physical resurrection, as at death the eyes of men are opened to the spiritual world in which we exist now, and they continue to live essentially as they lived here, until by their affinities they are drawn to heaven or hell. The doctrine of eternal punishment has been opposed on many grounds, such as the disproportion between the offence and the penalty, the moral 764 and religious immaturity of the majority of men at death, the diminution of the happiness of heaven involved in the knowledge of the endless suffering of others (Schleiermacher), the defeat of the divine purpose of righteousness and grace that the continued antagonism of any of God’s creatures would imply, the dissatisfaction God as Father must feel until His whole family is restored. It has been argued that the term “eternal” has reference not to duration of time but quality of being (Maurice); but it does seem certain that the writers in the Holy Scriptures who used it did not foresee an end either to the life or to the death to which they applied the term. The contention should not be based on the meaning of a single word, but on such broader considerations as have been indicated above. The doctrine of conditional immortality taught by Socinianism was accepted by Archbishop Whately, and has been most persistently advocated by Edward White, who “maintains that immortality is a truth, not of reason, but of revelation, a gift of God” bestowed only on believers in Christ; but he admits a continued probation after death for such as have not hardened their hearts by a rejection of Christ. According to Albrecht Ritschl “the wrath of God means the resolve of God to annihilate those men who finally oppose themselves to redemption, and the final purpose of the kingdom of God.” He thus makes immortality conditional on inclusion in the kingdom of God. The doctrine of universal restoration was maintained by Thomas Erskine of Linlathen on the ground of the Fatherhood of God, and Archdeacon Wilson anticipates such discipline after death as will restore all souls to God. C.I. Nitzsch argues against the doctrine of the annihilation of the wicked, regards the teaching of Scripture about eternal damnation as hypothetical, and thinks it possible that Paul reached the hope of universal restoration. I.A. Dorner maintains that hopeless perdition can be the penalty only of the deliberate rejection of the Gospel, that those who have not had the opportunity of choice fairly and fully in this life will get it hereafter, but that the right choice will in all cases be made we cannot be confident. The attitude of theologians generally regarding individual destiny is well expressed by Dr James Orr, “The conclusion I arrive at is that we have not the elements of a complete solution, and we ought not to attempt it. What visions beyond there may be, what larger hopes, what ultimate harmonies, if such there are in store, will come in God’s good time; it is not for us to anticipate them, or lift the veil where God has left it down” (The Christian View of God and the World, 1893, p. 397).
While rejecting purgatory, Protestantism adopted this belief about the afterlife. Souls immediately go to heaven or hell; a doctrine that fails to capture the complexity of human life. Luther himself awaited the end of the current evil world. Socinianism introduced the idea of a new spiritual body, an intermediate state where the soul is nearly non-existent, and the annihilation of the wicked, since immortality is a gift from God. Swedenborg dismisses a physical resurrection, suggesting that at death, people's eyes are opened to the spiritual world in which we already exist, and they continue to live essentially as they did here, until they are drawn to heaven or hell based on their affinities. The idea of eternal punishment has been challenged on various grounds, including the disproportion between the crime and the punishment, the moral and religious immaturity of most people at death, the reduced happiness of heaven caused by knowing about the endless suffering of others (Schleiermacher), the thwarting of the divine purpose of righteousness and grace that the ongoing opposition of any of God’s creatures would imply, and the dissatisfaction God as a Father must feel until His entire family is restored. Some argue that “eternal” refers not to time duration but to the quality of existence (Maurice); however, it seems clear that the biblical authors who used it did not envision an end to the life or death to which they applied the term. The debate shouldn't hinge on the meaning of a single word but on the broader concepts mentioned above. The doctrine of conditional immortality taught by Socinianism was embraced by Archbishop Whately and has been strongly advocated by Edward White, who asserts that immortality is a truth, not of logic, but of revelation, a gift from God” given only to believers in Christ; he also acknowledges the possibility of continued probation after death for those who haven’t hardened their hearts by rejecting Christ. According to Albrecht Ritschl, “the wrath of God signifies God's resolve to annihilate those who ultimately resist redemption and the final goal of the kingdom of God.” He thus makes immortality conditional upon being part of the kingdom of God. The doctrine of universal restoration was supported by Thomas Erskine of Linlathen based on the Fatherhood of God, and Archdeacon Wilson predicts that such discipline after death will restore all souls to God. C.I. Nitzsch opposes the notion of annihilating the wicked, considers the scriptural teachings about eternal damnation to be hypothetical, and believes it’s possible that Paul envisioned the hope of universal restoration. I.A. Dorner argues that hopeless perdition can only be the penalty for the deliberate rejection of the Gospel, that those who haven't had a fair and full opportunity to choose in this life will receive it in the next, but we cannot be certain that the right choice will always be made. The general view of theologians regarding individual fate is well summarized by Dr. James Orr: “The conclusion I reach is that we lack the elements for a complete solution, and we shouldn’t attempt it. What visions may await us, what greater hopes, what ultimate harmonies, if any, will come in God’s good time; it is not our place to anticipate them or to lift the veil that God has left down” (The Christian View of God and the World, 1893, p. 397).
Although in recent theological thought attention has been mainly directed to individual destiny, yet the other elements of Christian eschatology must not be altogether passed over. History has offered the authoritative commentary on the prophecy of the Parousia of Christ. The presence and power of His Spirit, the spread of His Gospel, the progress of His kingdom have been as much a fulfilment of the eschatological teaching of the New Testament as His life and work on earth were a fulfilment of Messianic prophecy, for fulfilment always transcends prophecy. Even if the common beliefs of the apostolic age have not modified the evangelist’s reports of Jesus’ teaching, it must be remembered that He used the common prophetic phraseology, the literal fulfilment of which is not to be looked for. Some parables (the leaven, the mustard seed) suggest a gradual progressive realization of His kingdom. The Fourth Gospel interprets both judgment and resurrection spiritually. Accordingly the general resurrection and the last judgment may be regarded as the temporal and local forms of thought to express the universal permanent truths that life survives death in the completeness of its necessary organs and essential functions, and that the character of that continued life is determined by personal choice of submission or antagonism to God’s purpose of grace in Christ, the perfect realization of which is the Christian’s hope for himself, mankind and the world.
Although recent theological discussions have primarily focused on individual destiny, the other aspects of Christian eschatology shouldn't be entirely overlooked. History has provided an authoritative commentary on the prophecy of Christ's return. The presence and power of His Spirit, the spread of His Gospel, and the growth of His kingdom have been just as much a fulfillment of the eschatological teachings of the New Testament as His life and work on earth were a fulfillment of Messianic prophecy, because fulfillment always goes beyond prophecy. Even if the common beliefs of the apostolic age haven't changed the evangelist’s accounts of Jesus’ teachings, it's important to remember that He used the common prophetic language, the literal fulfillment of which isn’t necessarily expected. Some parables (like the leaven and the mustard seed) suggest a gradual realization of His kingdom. The Fourth Gospel interprets both judgment and resurrection in a spiritual sense. Therefore, the general resurrection and the last judgment can be seen as temporal and local forms of thought to express universal and enduring truths: that life continues after death with all its essential aspects intact, and that the nature of that continued life is shaped by a person’s choice to either submit to or resist God’s plan of grace in Christ, the ultimate realization of which is the Christian’s hope for themselves, humanity, and the world.
Bibliography.—In addition to the works referred to above the following will be found useful: S.D.F. Salmond, The Christian Doctrine of Immortality (4th ed., 1901); R.H. Charles, A Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life in Israel, in Judaism, and in Christianity (1899); L.N. Dahle, Life after Death and the Future of the Kingdom of God (Eng. tr. by J. Beveridge, 1895); J.A. Beet, The Last Things (new ed., 1905); W.G.T. Shedd, Doctrine of Endless Punishment (New York, 1886); F.W. Farrar, The Eternal Hope (1892); E. Pétavel, The Problem of Immortality (Eng. tr. by F.A. Freer, 1892); E. White, Life in Christ (3rd ed., 1878); also the relevant sections in books on biblical and systematic theology.
References.—Along with the works mentioned above, the following will also be helpful: S.D.F. Salmond, The Christian Doctrine of Immortality (4th ed., 1901); R.H. Charles, A Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life in Israel, in Judaism, and in Christianity (1899); L.N. Dahle, Life after Death and the Future of the Kingdom of God (Eng. tr. by J. Beveridge, 1895); J.A. Beet, The Last Things (new ed., 1905); W.G.T. Shedd, Doctrine of Endless Punishment (New York, 1886); F.W. Farrar, The Eternal Hope (1892); E. Pétavel, The Problem of Immortality (Eng. tr. by F.A. Freer, 1892); E. White, Life in Christ (3rd ed., 1878); and also the relevant sections in books on biblical and systematic theology.
ESCHEAT (O. Fr. eschete, from escheoir, to fall to one’s share; Lat. excidere, to fall out), in English law, the reversion of lands to the next lord on the failure of heirs of the tenant. “When the tenant of an estate in fee simple dies without having alienated his estate in his lifetime or by his will, and without leaving any heirs either lineal or collateral, the lands in which he held his estate escheat, as it is called, to the lord of whom he held them” (Williams on the Law of Real Property). This rule is explained by the conception of a freehold estate as an interest in lands held by the freeholder from some lord, the king being lord paramount. (See Estate.) The granter retains an interest in the land similar to that of the donor of an estate for life, to whom the land reverts after the life estate is ended. As there are now few freehold estates traceable to any mesne or intermediate lord, escheats, when they do occur, fall to the king as lord paramount. Besides escheat for defect of heirs, there was formerly also escheat propter delictum tenentis, or by the corruption of the blood of the tenant through attainder consequent on conviction and sentence for treason or felony. The blood of the tenant becoming corrupt by attainder was decreed no longer inheritable, and the effect was the same as if the tenant had died without heirs. The land, therefore, escheated to the next heir, subject to the superior right of the crown to the forfeiture of the lands,—in the case of treason for ever, in the case of felony for a year and a day. All this was abolished by the Felony Act 1870, which provided for the appointment of an administrator to the property of the convict. Escheat is also an incident of copyhold tenure. Trust estates were not subject to escheat until the Intestates’ Estates Act 1884, but now by that act the law of escheat applies in the same manner as if the estate or interest were a legal estate in corporeal hereditaments.
ESCHEAT (O. Fr. eschete, from escheoir, to fall to one’s share; Lat. excidere, to fall out), in English law, refers to the return of lands to the next lord when a tenant's heirs fail. “When the tenant of an estate in fee simple dies without having transferred their estate during their lifetime or through their will, and without leaving any heirs, whether direct or collateral, the lands held by the tenant escheat, as it is called, to the lord from whom they held them” (Williams on the Law of Real Property). This principle is based on the idea that a freehold estate represents an interest in lands held by the freeholder from some lord, with the king being the ultimate lord. (See Estate.) The grantor keeps an interest in the land similar to that of the donor of a life estate, to whom the land returns after the life estate ends. Since there are now very few freehold estates traceable to any intermediate lord, when escheats happen, the lands typically revert to the king as the ultimate lord. In addition to escheat due to lack of heirs, there used to be escheat propter delictum tenentis, or due to the corruption of the tenant's blood through attainder following a conviction for treason or felony. The tenant's blood was considered corrupt due to attainder, rendering it non-inheritable, resulting in the same effect as if the tenant had died without heirs. Therefore, the land would escheat to the next heir, subject to the crown's superior right to the forfeiture of the lands—perpetually in the case of treason and for a year and a day in the case of felony. All of this was abolished by the Felony Act 1870, which allowed for the appointment of an administrator for the convict's property. Escheat is also a part of copyhold tenure. Trust estates were not originally subject to escheat until the Intestates’ Estates Act 1884, which now allows the law of escheat to apply as if the estate or interest were a legal estate in corporeal hereditaments.
ESCHENBURG, JOHANN JOACHIM (1743-1820), German critic and literary historian, was born at Hamburg on the 7th of December 1743. After receiving his early education in his native town, he studied at Leipzig and Göttingen. In 1767 he was appointed tutor, and subsequently professor, at the Collegium Carolinum in Brunswick. The title of “Hofrat” was conferred on him in 1786, and in 1814 he was made one of the directors of the Carolinum. He is best known by his efforts to familiarize his countrymen with English literature. He published a series of German translations of the principal English writers on aesthetics, such as J. Brown, D. Webb, Charles Burney, Joseph Priestley and R. Hurd; and Germany owes also to him the first complete translation (in prose) of Shakespeare’s plays (William Shakespear’s Schauspiele, 13 vols., Zürich, 1775-1782). This is virtually a revised edition of the incomplete translation published by Wieland between 1762 and 1766. Eschenburg died at Brunswick on the 29th of February 1820.
ESCHENBURG, JOHANN JOACHIM (1743-1820), a German critic and literary historian, was born in Hamburg on December 7, 1743. After starting his education in his hometown, he continued his studies at Leipzig and Göttingen. In 1767, he was appointed as a tutor and later became a professor at the Collegium Carolinum in Brunswick. He was granted the title of “Hofrat” in 1786, and in 1814, he became one of the directors of the Carolinum. He is most known for his efforts to introduce English literature to his fellow countrymen. He published a series of German translations of key English writers on aesthetics, including J. Brown, D. Webb, Charles Burney, Joseph Priestley, and R. Hurd. Germany also credits him with the first complete prose translation of Shakespeare’s plays (William Shakespear’s Schauspiele, 13 vols., Zürich, 1775-1782). This is essentially a revised edition of the incomplete translation published by Wieland between 1762 and 1766. Eschenburg passed away in Brunswick on February 29, 1820.
Besides editing, with memoirs, the works of Hagedorn, Zachariä and other German poets, he was the author of a Handbuch der klassischen Literatur (1783); Entwurf einer Theorie und Literatur der schönen Wissenschaften (1783); Beispielsammlung zur Theorie und Literatur der schönen Wissenschaften (8 vols., 1788-1795); Lehrbuch der Wissenschaftskunde (1792); and Denkmäler altdeutscher Dichtkunst (1799). Most of these works have passed through several editions. Eschenburg was also a poet of some pretensions, and some of his religious hymns, e.g. Ich will dich noch im Tod erheben and Dir trau’ ich, Gott, und wanke nicht, are contained in many hymnals to this day.
Besides editing memoirs, the works of Hagedorn, Zachariä, and other German poets, he authored a Handbuch der klassischen Literatur (1783); Entwurf einer Theorie und Literatur der schönen Wissenschaften (1783); Beispielsammlung zur Theorie und Literatur der schönen Wissenschaften (8 vols., 1788-1795); Lehrbuch der Wissenschaftskunde (1792); and Denkmäler altdeutscher Dichtkunst (1799). Most of these works have gone through several editions. Eschenburg was also a poet of some ambition, and some of his religious hymns, e.g. Ich will dich noch im Tod erheben and Dir trau’ ich, Gott, und wanke nicht, are included in many hymnals to this day.
ESCHENMAYER, ADAM KARL AUGUST VON (1768-1852), German philosopher and physicist, was born at Neuenburg in Württemberg in July 1768. After receiving his early education at the Caroline academy of Stuttgart, he entered the university of Tübingen, where he received the degree of doctor of medicine. He practised for some time as a physician at Sulz, and then at Kirchheim, and in 1811 he was chosen extraordinary professor of philosophy and medicine at Tübingen. In 1818 he became 765 ordinary professor of practical philosophy, but in 1836 he resigned and took up his residence at Kirchheim, where he devoted his whole attention to philosophical studies. Eschenmayer’s views are largely identical with those of Schelling, but he differed from him in regard to the knowledge of the absolute. He believed that in order to complete the arc of truth philosophy must be supplemented by what he called “non-philosophy,” a kind of mystical illumination by which was obtained a belief in God that could not be reached by mere intellectual effort (see Höffding, Hist. of Mod. Phil., Eng. trans. vol. 2, p. 170). He carried this tendency to mysticism into his physical researches, and was led by it to take a deep interest in the phenomena of animal magnetism. He ultimately became a devout believer in demoniacal and spiritual possession; and his later writings are all strongly impregnated with the lower supernaturalism.
ESCHENMAYER, ADAM KARL AUGUST VON (1768-1852), a German philosopher and physicist, was born in Neuenburg, Württemberg, in July 1768. After receiving his early education at the Caroline Academy of Stuttgart, he enrolled at the University of Tübingen, where he earned a doctorate in medicine. He worked for a time as a doctor in Sulz and then in Kirchheim, and in 1811 he was appointed an extraordinary professor of philosophy and medicine at Tübingen. In 1818, he became an 765 ordinary professor of practical philosophy, but he resigned in 1836 and moved to Kirchheim, where he focused entirely on philosophical studies. Eschenmayer’s ideas closely aligned with those of Schelling, but he disagreed with him regarding the understanding of the absolute. He believed that to fully grasp the truth, philosophy needed to be enriched by what he referred to as “non-philosophy,” a type of mystical insight that fostered a belief in God that couldn't be achieved through mere intellectual effort (see Höffding, Hist. of Mod. Phil., Eng. trans. vol. 2, p. 170). He extended this mystical tendency into his scientific inquiries and developed a keen interest in animal magnetism. Eventually, he became a staunch believer in demonic and spiritual possession, and his later writings are heavily influenced by a lower form of supernaturalism.
His principal works are—Die Philosophie in ihrem Übergange zur Nichtphilosophie (1803); Versuch die scheinbare Magie des thierischen Magnetismus aus physiol. und psychischen Gesetzen zu erklären (1816); System der Moralphilosophie (1818); Psychologie in drei Theilen, als empirische, reine, angewandte (1817, 2nd ed. 1822); Religionsphilosophie (3 vols., 1818-1824); Die Hegel’sche Religionsphilosophie verglichen mit dem christl. Princip (1834); Der Ischariotismus unserer Tage (1835) (directed against Strauss’s Life of Jesus); Konflikt zwischen Himmel und Hölle, an dem Dämon eines besessenen Mädchens beobachtet (1837); Grundriss der Naturphilosophie (1832); Grundzüge der christl. Philosophie (1840); and Betrachtungen über den physischen Weltbau (1852).
His main works are—Die Philosophie in ihrem Übergange zur Nichtphilosophie (1803); Versuch die scheinbare Magie des thierischen Magnetismus aus physiol. und psychischen Gesetzen zu erklären (1816); System der Moralphilosophie (1818); Psychologie in drei Theilen, als empirische, reine, angewandte (1817, 2nd ed. 1822); Religionsphilosophie (3 vols., 1818-1824); Die Hegel’sche Religionsphilosophie verglichen mit dem christl. Princip (1834); Der Ischariotismus unserer Tage (1835) (directed against Strauss’s Life of Jesus); Konflikt zwischen Himmel und Hölle, an dem Dämon eines besessenen Mädchens beobachtet (1837); Grundriss der Naturphilosophie (1832); Grundzüge der christl. Philosophie (1840); and Betrachtungen über den physischen Weltbau (1852).
ESCHER VON DER LINTH, ARNOLD (1807-1872), Swiss geologist, the son of Hans Conrad Escher (1767-1823), was born at Zürich on the 8th of June 1807. In 1856 he became professor of geology at the École Polytechnique at Zürich. His researches led him to be regarded as one of the founders of Swiss geology. With B. Studer he produced (1852-1853) the first elaborate geological map of Switzerland. He was the author also of Geologische Bemerkungen über das nördliche Vorarlberg und einige angrenzenden Gegenden, published at Zürich in 1853. He died on the 12th of July 1872.
ESCHER FROM THE LINTH, ARNOLD (1807-1872), Swiss geologist, was born in Zürich on June 8, 1807, to Hans Conrad Escher (1767-1823). In 1856, he became a professor of geology at the École Polytechnique in Zürich. His research established him as one of the founders of Swiss geology. Alongside B. Studer, he created the first detailed geological map of Switzerland between 1852 and 1853. He also authored Geologische Bemerkungen über das nördliche Vorarlberg und einige angrenzenden Gegenden, published in Zürich in 1853. He passed away on July 12, 1872.
ESCHSCHOLTZ, JOHANN FRIEDRICH (1793-1831), Russian traveller and naturalist, was born in November 1793, at Dorpat, where he died in May 1831. He was naturalist and physician to Otto von Kotzebue’s exploring expedition during 1815-1818. On his return he was appointed extraordinary professor of anatomy (1819) and director of the zoological museum of the university at Dorpat (1822), and in 1823-1826 he accompanied Kotzebue on his second voyage of discovery. He became ordinary professor of anatomy at Dorpat in 1828. Among his publications were the System der Akalephen (1829), and the Zoologischer Atlas (1829-1833). The botanical genus Eschscholtzia was named by Adelbert von Chamisso in his honour.
ESCHSCHOLTZ, JOHANN FRIEDRICH (1793-1831), Russian traveler and naturalist, was born in November 1793 in Dorpat, where he died in May 1831. He served as the naturalist and physician on Otto von Kotzebue’s exploration expedition from 1815 to 1818. After his return, he was appointed as an extraordinary professor of anatomy in 1819 and became the director of the zoological museum at the university in Dorpat in 1822. From 1823 to 1826, he accompanied Kotzebue on his second voyage of discovery. He became a regular professor of anatomy at Dorpat in 1828. His publications included the System der Akalephen (1829) and the Zoologischer Atlas (1829-1833). The botanical genus Eschscholtzia was named in his honor by Adelbert von Chamisso.
ESCHWEGE, a town of Germany, in the Prussian province of Hesse-Nassau, on the Werra, and the railway Treysa-Leinefelde, 28 m. S.E. of Cassel. Pop. (1905) 11,113. It consists of the old town on the left, the new town on the right, bank of the Werra, and Brückenhausen on a small island connected with the old and new town by bridges. It is a thriving manufacturing town, its chief industries being leather-making, yarn-spinning, cotton- and linen-weaving, the manufactures of cigars, brushes, liquors and oil, and glue- and soap-boiling. It has two ancient buildings, the Nikolai-turm, built in 1455, and the old castle. After being part of Thuringia, Eschwege passed to Hesse in 1263. It was recovered by the landgrave of Thuringia in 1388, but soon reverted to Hesse, and it became the residence of one of the branches of the Hessian royal house, a branch which died out in 1655.
ESCHWEGE, is a town in Germany, located in the Prussian province of Hesse-Nassau, along the Werra River and the Treysa-Leinefelde railway, 28 miles southeast of Cassel. Its population was 11,113 in 1905. The town is divided into the old section on the left and the new section on the right bank of the Werra, as well as Brückenhausen, which sits on a small island connected to both the old and new towns by bridges. Eschwege is a thriving manufacturing hub, with its main industries including leather production, yarn spinning, cotton and linen weaving, and the production of cigars, brushes, liquor, oil, glue, and soap. The town features two historic buildings: the Nikolai Tower, built in 1455, and the old castle. After originally being part of Thuringia, Eschwege became part of Hesse in 1263. It was reclaimed by the landgrave of Thuringia in 1388 but soon returned to Hesse, eventually becoming the residence of a branch of the Hessian royal family, which became extinct in 1655.
ESCHWEILER, a town of Germany, in the Prussian Rhine province, on the Inde, and the railways Cologne-Herbesthal and Munich-Gladbach-Stolberg, about 8 m. E.N.E. from Aix-la-Chapelle. Pop. (1905) 20,643. The town has an Evangelical and four Roman Catholic churches, a gymnasium and an orphanage. The manufacture of iron and steel goods is carried on; other industries include the manufacture of zinc wares, tanning, distilling and brewing. In the neighbourhood there are valuable coal mines.
ESCHWEILER, is a town in Germany, located in the Prussian Rhine province on the Inde River, along the railways Cologne-Herbesthal and Munich-Gladbach-Stolberg, about 8 miles E.N.E. from Aix-la-Chapelle. The population was 20,643 in 1905. The town features an Evangelical church and four Roman Catholic churches, a gymnasium, and an orphanage. It has a thriving iron and steel goods industry, as well as other sectors like zinc manufacturing, tanning, distilling, and brewing. There are also valuable coal mines in the surrounding area.
See Koch, Geschichte der Stadt Eschweiler (Frankfort, 1890).
See Koch, History of the City of Eschweiler (Frankfurt, 1890).
ESCOBAR Y MENDOZA, ANTONIO (1589-1669), Spanish churchman of illustrious descent, was born at Valladolid in 1589. He was educated by the Jesuits, and at the age of fifteen took the habit of that order. He soon became a famous preacher, and his facility was so great that for fifty years he preached daily, and sometimes twice a day. In addition he was a voluminous writer, and his works fill eighty-three volumes. His first literary efforts were Latin verses in praise of Ignatius Loyola (1613) and the Virgin Mary (1618); but he is best known as a writer on casuistry. His principal works belong to the fields of exegesis and moral theology. Of the latter the best known are Summula casuum conscientiae (1627); Liber theologiae moralis (1644), and Universae theologiae moralis problemata (1652-1666). The first mentioned of these was severely criticised by Pascal in the fifth and sixth of his Provincial Letters, as tending to inculcate a loose system of morality. It contains the famous maxim that purity of intention may be a justification of actions which are contrary to the moral code and to human laws; and its general tendency is to find excuses for the majority of human frailties. His doctrines were disapproved of by many Catholics, and were mildly condemned by Rome. They were also ridiculed in witty verses by Molière, Boileau and La Fontaine, and gradually the name Escobar came to be used in France as a synonym for a person who is adroit in making the rules of morality harmonize with his own interests. Escobar himself is said to have been simple in his habits, a strict observer of the rules of his order, and unweariedly zealous in his efforts to reform the lives of those with whom he had to deal. It has been said of him that “he purchased heaven dearly for himself, but gave it away cheap to others.” He died on the 4th of July 1669.
ESCOBAR Y MENDOZA, ANTONIO (1589-1669), a Spanish churchman from a distinguished background, was born in Valladolid in 1589. He was educated by the Jesuits, and at the age of fifteen, he joined their order. He quickly became a renowned preacher, so much so that for fifty years he preached daily, sometimes even twice a day. Additionally, he was a prolific writer, with his works filling eighty-three volumes. His first literary efforts were Latin poems praising Ignatius Loyola (1613) and the Virgin Mary (1618), but he is best known for his writings on casuistry. His main works are primarily in the areas of exegesis and moral theology. Among the latter, the most notable are Summula casuum conscientiae (1627); Liber theologiae moralis (1644), and Universae theologiae moralis problemata (1652-1666). The first mentioned was harshly criticized by Pascal in the fifth and sixth of his Provincial Letters for promoting a lax approach to morality. It includes the well-known maxim that purity of intention may justify actions that go against moral and human laws, and its overall tendency is to excuse many human weaknesses. His views were rejected by many Catholics and were lightly condemned by Rome. They were also parodied in clever verses by Molière, Boileau, and La Fontaine, and gradually, the name Escobar became synonymous in France with someone skilled at bending moral rules to suit their own interests. Escobar himself is said to have lived simply, strictly adhered to his order's rules, and tirelessly worked to reform the lives of those he encountered. It was said of him that “he purchased heaven dearly for himself but gave it away cheaply to others.” He died on July 4, 1669.
ESCOIQUIZ, JUAN (1762-1820), Spanish ecclesiastic, politician and writer, was born in Navarre in 1762. His father was a general officer and he began life as a page in the court of King Charles III. He entered the church and was provided for by a prebend at Saragossa. Godoy in his memoirs asserts that Escoiquiz sought to gain his favour by flattery. There is every reason to believe that this is an accurate statement of the case. The mere fact that he was selected to be the tutor of the heir-apparent, Ferdinand, afterwards King Ferdinand VII., is of itself a proof that he exerted himself to gain the goodwill of the reigning favourite. In 1797 he published a translation of Young’s Night Thoughts, which does not of itself show that he was well acquainted with English, for the version may have been made with the help of the French. In 1798 he published a long and worthless so-called epic on the conquest of Mexico. Escoiquiz was in fact a busy and pushing member of the literary clique which looked up to Godoy as its patron. But his position as tutor to the heir to the throne excited his ambition. He began to hope that he might play the part of those court ecclesiastics who had often had an active share in the government of Spain. As Ferdinand grew up, and after his marriage with a Neapolitan princess, he became the centre of a court opposition to Godoy and to his policy of alliance with France. Escoiquiz was the brains, as far as there were any brains, of the intrigue. His activity was so notorious that he was exiled from court, but was consoled by a canonry at Toledo. This half measure was as ineffective as was to have been expected. Escoiquiz continued to be in constant communication with the prince. Toledo is close to Madrid, and the correspondence was easily maintained. He had a large share in the conspiracy of the Escorial which was detected on the 28th of October 1807. He was imprisoned and sent for trial with other conspirators. But as they had appealed to Napoleon, who would not suffer his name to be mentioned, the government had to allow the matter to be hushed up, and the prisoners were acquitted. After the outbreak at Aranjuez on the 17th of March 1808, in which he had a share, he became one of the most trusted advisers of Ferdinand. The new king’s decision to go to meet Napoleon at Bayonne was largely inspired by him. In 1814 Escoiquiz published at Madrid his Idea Sencilla de las razones que motivaron el viage del Rey Fernando VII. à Bayona (Honest representation of the causes which inspired the journey of King Ferdinand VII. to Bayonne). 766 It is a valuable historical document, and contains a singularly vivid account of an interview with Napoleon. Escoiquiz was far too firmly convinced of his ingenuity and merits to conceal the delusions and follies of himself and his associates. He displays his own vanity, frivolity and futile cleverness with much unconscious humour, but, it is only fair to allow, with some literary dexterity. When the Spanish royal family was imprisoned by Napoleon, Escoiquiz remained with Ferdinand at Valençay. In 1813 he published at Bourges a translation of Milton’s Paradise Lost. When Ferdinand was released in 1814 he came back to Madrid in the hope that his ambition would now be satisfied, but the king was tired of him, and was moreover resolved never to be subjected by any favourite. After a very brief period of office in 1815 he was sent as a prisoner to Murcia. Though he was afterwards recalled, he was again exiled to Ronda, where he died on the 27th of November 1820.
ESCOIQUIZ, JUAN (1762-1820), a Spanish priest, politician, and writer, was born in Navarre in 1762. His father was a general officer, and he started his career as a page in the court of King Charles III. He entered the clergy and received a prebend at Saragossa. Godoy, in his memoirs, claims that Escoiquiz tried to win his favor through flattery. There’s good reason to believe this is true. The fact that he was chosen to be the tutor of the heir-apparent, Ferdinand, who later became King Ferdinand VII, suggests he made efforts to earn the goodwill of the reigning favorite. In 1797, he published a translation of Young’s Night Thoughts, which doesn’t necessarily indicate that he was well-versed in English, as the translation may have been aided by the French. In 1798, he published a lengthy and unremarkable so-called epic about the conquest of Mexico. Escoiquiz was indeed an active and ambitious member of the literary circle that looked to Godoy as its patron. However, his position as tutor to the heir to the throne fueled his ambition. He began to hope he might take on the role of those court clerics who often had a hand in the administration of Spain. As Ferdinand matured and after marrying a Neapolitan princess, he became the focus of a court opposition to Godoy and his policies of alignment with France. Escoiquiz was the mastermind, as far as there was one, of the intrigue. His involvement was so evident that he was exiled from court, but he found solace in a canonry at Toledo. This half-hearted measure proved as ineffective as expected. Escoiquiz continued to maintain regular communication with the prince. Toledo is near Madrid, and they could easily keep in touch. He played a significant role in the Escorial conspiracy, which was uncovered on October 28, 1807. He was imprisoned and brought to trial along with other conspirators. However, as they had involved Napoleon, who refused to have his name mentioned, the government had to cover it up, and the prisoners were acquitted. After the uprising at Aranjuez on March 17, 1808, in which he played a part, he became one of Ferdinand’s most trusted advisers. The new king’s decision to meet Napoleon at Bayonne was largely influenced by him. In 1814, Escoiquiz published in Madrid his Idea Sencilla de las razones que motivaron el viage del Rey Fernando VII. à Bayona (An Honest Representation of the Causes that Inspired the Journey of King Ferdinand VII to Bayonne). 766 It is a valuable historical document and includes a remarkably vivid account of an interview with Napoleon. Escoiquiz was far too confident in his cleverness and abilities to hide the delusions and follies of himself and his colleagues. He showcases his own vanity, superficiality, and useless cleverness with much unintentional humor, but to be fair, with some literary skill. When the Spanish royal family was imprisoned by Napoleon, Escoiquiz stayed with Ferdinand at Valençay. In 1813, he published a translation of Milton’s Paradise Lost in Bourges. When Ferdinand was freed in 1814, he returned to Madrid hoping his ambitions would finally be fulfilled, but the king had grown tired of him and was determined not to be dominated by any favorite. After a very brief term in office in 1815, he was imprisoned again in Murcia. Although he was later recalled, he was exiled to Ronda, where he died on November 27, 1820.
ESCOMBE, HARRY (1838-1899), South African statesman, a member of a Somersetshire family, was born at Notting Hill, London, on the 25th of July 1838, and was educated at St Paul’s school. After four years in a stockbroker’s office, he emigrated, in 1859, to the Cape. The following year he moved to Natal, and, after trying other occupations, qualified as an attorney. He became recognized as the ablest pleader in the colony, and, in 1872, was elected for Durban as a member of the legislative council, and subsequently was also placed on the executive council. In 1880 he secured the appointment of a harbour board for Natal, and was himself made chairman. The transformation of the port of Durban into a harbour available for ocean liners was due entirely to his energy. In 1888-1889 he defended Dinizulu and other Zulu chiefs against a charge of high treason. For several years he opposed the grant of responsible government to Natal, but by 1890 had become convinced of its desirability, and on its conferment in 1893 he joined the first ministry formed, serving under Sir John Robinson as attorney-general. In February 1897, on Sir John’s retirement, Escombe became premier, remaining attorney-general and also holding the office of minister of education and minister of defence. In the summer of that year he was in London with the other colonial premiers at the celebration of the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria, and was made a member of the privy council. Cambridge University conferred upon him the honorary degree of LL.D. The election that followed his return to Natal proved unfavourable to his policy, and he resigned office (October 1897). Throughout his life he took an active interest in national defence. He had served in the Zulu War of 1879, was commander of the Natal Naval Volunteers and received the volunteer long service decoration. In October 1899 he went to the northern confines of the colony to take part in preparing measures of defence against the invasion by the Boers. He died on the 27th of December 1899.
ESCOMBE, HARRY (1838-1899), South African politician, from a Somersetshire family, was born in Notting Hill, London, on July 25, 1838, and attended St Paul’s school. After spending four years in a stockbroker’s office, he emigrated to the Cape in 1859. The following year, he moved to Natal, and after trying various jobs, he qualified as a lawyer. He became known as the most skilled lawyer in the colony, and in 1872, he was elected to the legislative council for Durban and later appointed to the executive council. In 1880, he successfully advocated for a harbour board for Natal and was appointed its chairman. The transformation of Durban's port into a harbour for ocean liners was entirely due to his efforts. In 1888-1889, he defended Dinizulu and other Zulu chiefs against high treason charges. He opposed responsible government for Natal for several years but by 1890 had changed his mind about its necessity, and when it was implemented in 1893, he joined the first ministry under Sir John Robinson as attorney-general. In February 1897, after Sir John retired, Escombe became premier while still serving as attorney-general and also held the positions of minister of education and minister of defense. That summer, he was in London with other colonial premiers for the celebration of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee and was appointed to the privy council. Cambridge University awarded him an honorary LL.D. degree. The election following his return to Natal was unfavorable to his policies, leading to his resignation in October 1897. Throughout his life, he was actively involved in national defense. He served in the Zulu War of 1879, was the commander of the Natal Naval Volunteers, and received the long service decoration for volunteers. In October 1899, he went to the northern part of the colony to help prepare defense measures against the Boer invasion. He passed away on December 27, 1899.
The Speeches of the late Right Hon. Harry Escombe (Maritzburg, 1903), edited by J.T. Henderson, contains brief biographical notes by Sir John Robinson and the editor.
The Speeches of the late Right Hon. Harry Escombe (Maritzburg, 1903), edited by J.T. Henderson, includes short biographical notes by Sir John Robinson and the editor.
ESCORIAL, or Escurial, in Spain, one of the most remarkable buildings in Europe, comprising at once a convent, a church, a palace and a mausoleum. The Escorial is situated 3432 ft. above the sea, on the south-western slopes of the Sierra de Guadarrama, and thus within the borders of the province of Madrid and the kingdom of New Castile. By the Madrid-Ávila railway it is 31 m. N.W. of Madrid. The surrounding country is a sterile and gloomy wilderness exposed to the cold and blighting blasts of the Sierra.
ESCORIAL, or Escorial, in Spain, is one of the most impressive buildings in Europe, serving as a convent, a church, a palace, and a mausoleum all at once. The Escorial is located 3,432 feet above sea level, on the southwestern slopes of the Sierra de Guadarrama, thus within the province of Madrid and the kingdom of New Castile. It is 31 miles northwest of Madrid by the Madrid-Ávila railway. The surrounding area is a barren and dreary wilderness, exposed to the cold and harsh winds of the Sierra.
According to the usual tradition, which there seems no sufficient reason to reject, the Escorial owes its existence to a vow made by Philip II. of Spain (1556-1598), shortly after the battle of St Quentin, in which his forces succeeded in routing the army of France. The day of the victory, the 10th of August 1557, was sacred to St Laurence; and accordingly the building was dedicated to that saint, and received the title of El real monasterio de San Lorenzo del Escorial. The last distinctive epithet was derived from the little hamlet in the vicinity which furnished shelter, not only to the workmen, but to the monks of St Jerome who were afterwards to be in possession of the monastery; and the hamlet itself is generally but perhaps erroneously supposed to be indebted for its name to the scoriae or dross of certain old iron mines. The preparation of the plans and the superintendence of the work were entrusted by the king to Juan Bautista de Toledo, a Spanish architect who had received most of his professional education in Italy. The first stone was laid in April 1563; and under the king’s personal inspection the work rapidly advanced. Abundant supplies of berroqueña, a granite-like stone, were obtained in the neighbourhood, and for rarer materials the resources of both the Old and the New World were put under contribution. The death of Toledo in 1567 threatened a fatal blow at the satisfactory completion of the enterprise, but a worthy successor was found in Juan Herrera, Toledo’s favourite pupil, who adhered in the main to his master’s designs. On the 13th of September 1584 the last stone of the masonry was laid, and the works were brought to a termination in 1593. Each successive occupant of the Spanish throne has done something, however slight, to the restoration or adornment of Philip’s convent-palace, and Ferdinand VII. (1808-1833) did so much in this way that he has been called a second founder. In all its principal features, however, the Escorial remains what it was made by the genius of Toledo and Herrera working out the grand, if abnormal, desires of their master.
According to the usual tradition, which seems reasonable to accept, the Escorial was built due to a vow made by Philip II of Spain (1556-1598), soon after the battle of St. Quentin, where his forces successfully defeated the French army. The day of the victory, August 10, 1557, is dedicated to St. Laurence; thus, the building was named after that saint and is officially called El real monasterio de San Lorenzo del Escorial. The last part of the name comes from a small village nearby that provided shelter not only for the workers but also for the monks of St. Jerome, who would later inhabit the monastery. The village is generally, though perhaps incorrectly, thought to get its name from the scoriae or waste from some old iron mines. The plans for the project and its oversight were entrusted to Juan Bautista de Toledo, a Spanish architect who mostly trained in Italy. The foundation stone was laid in April 1563, and under the king’s direct supervision, construction progressed quickly. Ample supplies of berroqueña, a type of granite-like stone, were sourced locally, and for more unique materials, resources from both the Old and New Worlds were utilized. The death of Toledo in 1567 posed a serious threat to the project's completion, but a capable successor was found in Juan Herrera, Toledo’s favorite pupil, who largely followed his mentor's designs. On September 13, 1584, the final stone of the masonry was placed, and the project was completed in 1593. Since then, each Spanish monarch has contributed, even if just a little, to the restoration or decoration of Philip’s convent-palace, and Ferdinand VII (1808-1833) did so much in this regard that he earned the title of a second founder. Nonetheless, in all its major aspects, the Escorial still reflects the vision of Toledo and Herrera, who brought to life their master’s grand, albeit unusual, ambitions.
The ground plan of the building is estimated to occupy an area of 396,782 sq. ft., and the total area of all the storeys would form a causeway 1 metre in breadth and 95 m. in length. There are seven towers, fifteen gateways and, according to Los Santos, no fewer than 12,000 windows and doors. The general arrangement is shown by the accompanying plan. Entering by the main entrance the visitor finds himself in an atrium, called the Court of the Kings (Patio de los reyes), from the 16th-century statues of the kings of Judah, by Juan Bautista Monegro, which adorn the façade of the church. The sides of the atrium are unfortunately occupied by plain ungainly buildings five storeys in height, awkwardly accommodating themselves to the upward slope of the ground. Of the grandeur of the church itself, however, there can be no question: it is the finest portion of the whole Escorial, and, according to Fergusson, deserves to rank as one of the great Renaissance churches of Europe. It is about 340 ft. from east to west by 200 from north to south, and thus occupies an area of about 70,000 sq. ft. The dome is 60 ft. in diameter, and its height at the centre is about 320 ft. In glaring contrast to the bold and simple forms of the architecture, which belongs to the Doric style, were the bronze and marbles and pictures of the high altar, the masterpiece of the Milanese Giacomo Trezzo, almost ruined by the French in 1808. Directly under the altar is situated the pantheon or royal mausoleum, a richly decorated octagonal chamber with upwards of twenty niches, occupied by black marble urnas or sarcophagi, kept sacred for the dust of kings or mothers of kings. There are the remains of Charles V. (1516-1556), of Philip II., and of all their successors on the Spanish throne down to Ferdinand VII., with the exception of Philip V. (1700-1746) and Ferdinand VI. (1746-1759). Several of the sarcophagi are still empty. For the other members of the royal family there is a separate vault, known as the Panteon de los Infantes, or more familiarly by the dreadfully suggestive name of El Pudridero. The most interesting room in the palace is Philip II.’s cell, from which through an opening in the wall he could see the celebration of mass while too ill to leave his bed.
The floor plan of the building is estimated to cover an area of 396,782 sq. ft., and the total area of all the stories would form a pathway 1 meter wide and 95 m long. There are seven towers, fifteen gateways, and, according to Los Santos, at least 12,000 windows and doors. The overall layout is shown in the accompanying plan. Upon entering the main entrance, visitors find themselves in an atrium known as the Court of the Kings (Patio de los Reyes), named after the 16th-century statues of the kings of Judah by Juan Bautista Monegro that decorate the church's facade. Unfortunately, the sides of the atrium are taken up by plain, bulky buildings that are five stories tall, awkwardly adjusted to the upward slope of the ground. However, there is no question about the grandeur of the church itself: it is the most remarkable part of the entire Escorial and, according to Fergusson, should be considered one of the great Renaissance churches in Europe. It measures about 340 ft. from east to west and 200 ft. from north to south, covering an area of roughly 70,000 sq. ft. The dome is 60 ft. in diameter, with its peak reaching about 320 ft. High in contrast to the bold and simple forms of the Doric-style architecture are the bronze, marble, and artwork of the high altar, a masterpiece by the Milanese Giacomo Trezzo, which was nearly destroyed by the French in 1808. Directly beneath the altar is the pantheon or royal mausoleum, an ornate octagonal room with over twenty niches, filled with black marble urnas or sarcophagi, reserved for the remains of kings or queens. The remains of Charles V (1516-1556), Philip II, and all their successors on the Spanish throne up to Ferdinand VII are here, except for Philip V (1700-1746) and Ferdinand VI (1746-1759). Several of the sarcophagi are still empty. For other members of the royal family, there is a separate vault known as the Panteon de los Infantes, more commonly referred to by the ominous name El Pudridero. The most fascinating room in the palace is Philip II’s cell, which has an opening in the wall so he could watch the mass being celebrated while he was too ill to get out of bed.
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Views and Plan of the Escorial.1 | ||
Church Church 1. Principal entrance and portico. Main entrance and porch. 2. Court of the kings (Patio de los reyes). 2. Court of the Kings (Patio de los Reyes). 3. Vestibule of the church. 3. Church entryway. 4. Choir of the seminarists. Seminarian choir. 5. Centre of the church and projection of the dome. 5. Center of the church and extension of the dome. 6. Greater chapel. Larger chapel. 7. High altar. 7. Main altar. 8. Chapel of St John. St. John’s Chapel. 9. Chapel of St Michael. Chapel of St. Michael. 10. Chapel of St Maurice. Chapel of St. Maurice. 11. Chapel of the Rosary. Chapel of the Rosary. 12. Tomb of Louisa Carlota. 12. Grave of Louisa Carlota. 13. Chapel of the Patrocinio. 13. Chapel of the Patrocinio. 14. Chapel of the Cristo de la buena muerte. 14. Chapel of the Christ of the Good Death. |
15. Chapel of the Eleven Thousand Virgins. 15. Chapel of the Eleven Thousand Virgins. 16. Former Chapel of the Patrocinio. 16. Former Chapel of the Patrocinio. 17. Sacristy. 17. Sacristy. Palace Palace 18. Principal court of the palace. 18. Main court of the palace. 19. Ladies’ tower. Women’s tower. 20. Court of the masks. Court of Masks. 21. Apartments of the royal children. 21. Apartments for the royal kids. 22. Royal oratory. Royal speech. 23. Oratory where Philip II. died. 23. The chapel where Philip II died. Seminary Theological School 24. Entrance to seminary. Seminary entrance. 25. Classrooms. Classrooms. 26. Old philosophical hall. 26. Vintage philosophy hall. |
27. Old theological hall. 27. Historic theology building. 28. Chamber of secrets. 28. Chamber of secrets. 29. Old refectory. 29. Old cafeteria. 30. Entrance to the college. College entrance. 31. College yard. College campus. Convent Convent 32. Clock tower. Clock tower. 33. Principal cloister. Main courtyard. 34. Court of the evangelists. Evangelists' court. 35. Prior’s cell. Prior's room. 36. Archives. 36. Archives. 37. Old church. Historic church. 38. Visitors’ hall. Visitor center. 39. Manuscript library. Manuscript collection. 40. Convent refectory. Convent dining hall. |
The library, situated above the principal portico, was at one time one of the richest in Europe, comprising the king’s own collection, the extensive bequest of Diego de Mendoza, Philip’s ambassador to Rome, the spoils of the emperor of Morocco, Muley Zidan (1603-1628) and various contributions from convents, churches and cities. It suffered greatly in the fire of 1671, and has since been impoverished by plunder and neglect. Among its curiosities still extant are two New Testament Codices of the 10th century and two of the 11th; various works by Alphonso the Wise (1252-1284), a Virgil of the 14th century, a Koran of the 15th, &c. Of the Arabic manuscripts which it contained in the 17th century a catalogue was given in J.H. Hottinger’s Promptuarium sive bibliotheca orientalis, published at Heidelberg in 1658, and another in the 18th, in M. Casiri’s Bibliotheca Arabico-Hispanica (2 vols., Madrid, 1760-1770). Of the artistic treasures with which the Escorial was gradually enriched, it is sufficient to mention the frescoes of Peregrin or Pellagrino Tibaldi, Luis de Carbajal, Bartolommeo Carducci or Carducho, and Luca Giordano, and the pictures of Titian, Tintoretto and Velasquez. These paintings all date from the 15th or the 17th century. Many of those that are movable have been transferred to Madrid, and many others have perished by fire or sack. The conflagration of 1671, already mentioned, raged for fifteen days, and only the church, a part of the palace, and two towers escaped uninjured. In 1808 the whole building was exposed to the ravages of the French soldiers under General La Houssaye. On the night of the 1st of October 1872, the college and seminary, a part of the palace and the upper library were devastated by fire; but the damage was subsequently repaired. In 1885 the conventual buildings were occupied by Augustinian monks.
The library, located above the main entrance, was once one of the richest in Europe, including the king’s own collection, the extensive donation from Diego de Mendoza, Philip’s ambassador to Rome, the treasures taken from the emperor of Morocco, Muley Zidan (1603-1628), and various contributions from monasteries, churches, and cities. It suffered greatly in the fire of 1671 and has since been weakened by theft and neglect. Among the rare items still remaining are two New Testament Codices from the 10th century and two from the 11th, various works by Alphonso the Wise (1252-1284), a 14th-century Virgil, a 15th-century Koran, etc. A catalogue of the Arabic manuscripts it contained in the 17th century was provided in J.H. Hottinger’s Promptuarium sive bibliotheca orientalis, published in Heidelberg in 1658, and another in the 18th century in M. Casiri’s Bibliotheca Arabico-Hispanica (2 vols., Madrid, 1760-1770). Among the artistic treasures that gradually enriched the Escorial, it’s enough to mention the frescoes by Peregrin or Pellagrino Tibaldi, Luis de Carbajal, Bartolommeo Carducci or Carducho, and Luca Giordano, along with paintings by Titian, Tintoretto, and Velásquez. These artworks all date from the 15th or 17th centuries. Many of the movable ones have been transferred to Madrid, and many others have been lost to fire or destruction. The fire of 1671, mentioned earlier, burned for fifteen days, and only the church, part of the palace, and two towers remained unharmed. In 1808, the entire building faced destruction at the hands of French soldiers under General La Houssaye. On the night of October 1, 1872, the college and seminary, part of the palace, and the upper library were devastated by fire; however, the damage was later repaired. In 1885, the conventual buildings were occupied by Augustinian monks.
The reader will find a remarkable description of the emotional influence of the Escorial in E. Quinet’s Vacances en Espagne (Paris, 1846), and for historical and architectural details he may consult the following works:—Fray Juan de San Geronimo, Memorias sobre la fundacion del Escorial y su fabrica, in the Coleccion de documentos ineditos para la historia de España, vol. vii.; Y. de Herrera, Sumario y breve declaracion de los diseños y estampas de la fab. de S. Lorencio el Real del Escurial (Madrid, 1589); José de Siguenza, Historia de la orden de San Geronyno, &c. (Madrid, 1590). 768 L. de Cabrera de Cordova, Felipe Segundo (Madrid, 1619); James Wadsworth, Further Observations of the English Spanish Pilgrime (London, 1629, 1630); Ilario Mazzorali de Cremona, Le Reali Grandezze del Escuriale (Bologna, 1648); De los Santos, Descripcion del real monasterio, &c. (Madrid, 1657); Andres Ximenes, Descripcion, &c. (Madrid, 1764); Y. Quevedo, Historia del Real Monasterio, &c. (Madrid, 1849); A. Rotondo, Hist. artistica, ... del monasterio de San Lorenzo (Madrid, 1856-1861); W.H. Prescott, Life of Philip II. (London, 1887); J. Fergusson, History of the Modern Styles of Architecture (London, 1891-1893); Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell, Annals of the Artists of Spain (London, 1891).
The reader will find an incredible description of the emotional impact of the Escorial in E. Quinet’s Vacances en Espagne (Paris, 1846), and for historical and architectural details, they can refer to the following works:—Fray Juan de San Geronimo, Memorias sobre la fundacion del Escorial y su fabrica, in the Coleccion de documentos ineditos para la historia de España, vol. vii.; Y. de Herrera, Sumario y breve declaracion de los diseños y estampas de la fab. de S. Lorencio el Real del Escurial (Madrid, 1589); José de Siguenza, Historia de la orden de San Geronyno, & c. (Madrid, 1590). 768 L. de Cabrera de Cordova, Felipe Segundo (Madrid, 1619); James Wadsworth, Further Observations of the English Spanish Pilgrime (London, 1629, 1630); Ilario Mazzorali de Cremona, Le Reali Grandezze del Escuriale (Bologna, 1648); De los Santos, Descripcion del real monasterio, & c. (Madrid, 1657); Andres Ximenes, Descripcion, & c. (Madrid, 1764); Y. Quevedo, Historia del Real Monasterio, & c. (Madrid, 1849); A. Rotondo, Hist. artistica, ... del monasterio de San Lorenzo (Madrid, 1856-1861); W.H. Prescott, Life of Philip II. (London, 1887); J. Fergusson, History of the Modern Styles of Architecture (London, 1891-1893); Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell, Annals of the Artists of Spain (London, 1891).
ESCOVEDO, JUAN DE (d. 1578), Spanish politician, secretary of Don John of Austria, and chiefly notable as having been the victim of one of the mysteries of the 16th century, began life in the household of Ruy Gomez de Silva, prince of Eboli, the most trusted minister of the early years of the reign of Philip II. By the will of the prince he was endowed for life with the post of Regidor, or legal representative of the king in the municipality of Madrid. He was also associated with Antonio Perez as one of the secretaries who acted as the agents of the king in all dealings with the various governing boards which formed the Spanish administration. When Don John of Austria, after the battle of Lepanto in 1571, began to launch on a policy of self-seeking adventure, Escovedo was appointed as his secretary with the intention that he should act as a check on these follies. Unhappily for himself and for Don John he went heart and soul into all the prince’s schemes. He began to disobey orders from Madrid and became entangled in intrigues to manage or even to coerce the king. In July 1577, and contrary to the king’s orders, he came to Spain from Flanders, where Don John was then governor. It is said that he discovered the love intrigue between Antonio Perez and the widowed princess of Eboli, Ana Mendoza de la Cerda. This is, however, mere gossip and supposition. There can be no doubt that he was a busy intriguer, or that the king, acting on the then very generally accepted doctrine that the sovereign has a right to act for the public interest without regard to forms of law, gave orders to Antonio Perez that he was to be put out of the way. After two clumsy attempts had been made to poison him at Perez’s table, he was killed by bravos on the night of Easter Monday, the 31st of March 1578. According to an old tradition the murder took place outside the church of St Maria in Madrid, which was pulled down in 1868.
ESCOVEDO, JUAN DE (d. 1578), a Spanish politician and secretary to Don John of Austria, is mostly known for being the victim of one of the 16th century's mysteries. He started his life in the household of Ruy Gomez de Silva, the prince of Eboli, who was the most trusted minister during the early years of Philip II's reign. By the prince's will, he was granted a lifetime position as Regidor, or legal representative of the king in Madrid. He was also involved with Antonio Perez as one of the secretaries who acted on behalf of the king in dealings with various governing boards that made up the Spanish administration. After the Battle of Lepanto in 1571, when Don John of Austria began pursuing a policy of self-serving adventures, Escovedo was appointed as his secretary to help keep these excesses in check. Unfortunately for both him and Don John, he fully embraced all of the prince’s schemes. He started ignoring orders from Madrid and became caught up in intrigues aimed at managing or even manipulating the king. In July 1577, against the king’s orders, he left Flanders, where Don John was then governor, to come to Spain. It's said that he uncovered the love affair between Antonio Perez and the widowed princess of Eboli, Ana Mendoza de la Cerda. However, this is just rumor and speculation. There's no doubt he was actively involved in intrigues, and the king, following the widely accepted belief that the sovereign could act in the public's interest without worrying about legal formalities, ordered Antonio Perez to eliminate him. After two failed attempts to poison him at Perez’s table, he was killed by hired thugs on the night of Easter Monday, March 31, 1578. According to an old tradition, the murder happened outside the church of St. Maria in Madrid, which was demolished in 1868.
See Gaspar Muro, La Princesse d’Eboli (Paris, 1878); and W.H. Prescott, Reign of Philip II. (1855-59).
See Gaspar Muro, La Princesse d’Eboli (Paris, 1878); and W.H. Prescott, Reign of Philip II. (1855-59).
ESCUINTLA, the capital of the department of Escuintla, Guatemala; on the southern slope of the Sierra Madre, 45 m. S.W. of Guatemala city. Pop. (1905) about 12,000. Escuintla is locally celebrated for its hot mineral springs. It is the commercial centre of a fertile district, which produces coffee, cane-sugar and cocoa; it has also a brisk transit trade in most of the products of Guatemala, owing to its position on the interoceanic railway between Puerto Barrios on the Atlantic and San José (30 m. S.) on the Pacific. A branch railway which goes westward to San Augustin meets this line at Escuintla.
ESCUINTLA, is the capital of the Escuintla department in Guatemala, located on the southern slope of the Sierra Madre, 45 miles southwest of Guatemala City. As of 1905, its population was around 12,000. Escuintla is known locally for its hot mineral springs. It serves as the commercial hub of a fertile region that produces coffee, cane sugar, and cocoa. Due to its strategic location on the interoceanic railway connecting Puerto Barrios on the Atlantic and San José (30 miles south) on the Pacific, it also has a lively transit trade in most of Guatemala's products. A branch railway extends westward to San Augustin, connecting with this main line at Escuintla.
ESCUTCHEON (O. Fr. escucheon, escusson, modern écusson, through a Late Lat. form from Lat. scutum, shield), an heraldic term for a shield with armorial bearings displayed (see Heraldry). The word is also applied to the shields used on tombs, in the spandrils of doors or in string-courses, and to the ornamented plates from the centre of which door-rings, knockers, &c., are suspended, or which protect the wood of the key-hole from the wear of the key. In medieval times these were often worked in a very beautiful manner.
ESCUTCHEON (O. Fr. escucheon, escusson, modern écusson, through a Late Lat. form from Lat. scutum, shield), a heraldic term for a shield displaying armorial bearings (see Heraldry). The term is also used for the shields found on tombs, in the spandrils of doors or along string-courses, and for the decorative plates from which door rings, knockers, etc., hang, or that protect the wood around the keyhole from wear caused by the key. In medieval times, these were often crafted in a very beautiful way.
ESHER, WILLIAM BALIOL BRETT, 1st Viscount (1817-1899), English lawyer and master of the rolls, was a son of the Rev. Joseph G. Brett, of Chelsea, and was born on the 13th of August 1817. He was educated at Westminster and at Caius College, Cambridge. Called to the bar in 1840, he went the northern circuit, and became a Q.C. in 1861. On the death of Richard Cobden he unsuccessfully contested Rochdale as a Conservative, but in 1866 was returned for Helston in unique circumstances. He and his opponent polled exactly the same number of votes, whereupon the mayor, as returning officer, gave his casting vote for the Liberal candidate. As this vote was given after four o’clock, however, an appeal was lodged, and the House of Commons allowed both members to take their seats. Brett rapidly made his mark in the House, and in 1868 he was appointed solicitor-general. On behalf of the crown he prosecuted the Fenians charged with having caused the Clerkenwell explosion. In parliament he took a leading part in the promotion of bills connected with the administration of law and justice. He was (August 1868) appointed a justice in the court of common pleas. Some of his sentences in this capacity excited much criticism, notably so in the case of the gas stokers’ strike, when he sentenced the defendants to imprisonment for twelve months, with hard labour, which was afterwards reduced by the home secretary to four months. On the reconstitution of the court of appeal in 1876, Brett was elevated to the rank of a lord justice. After holding this position for seven years, he succeeded Sir George Jessel as master of the rolls in 1883. In 1885 he was raised to the House of Lords as Baron Esher. He opposed the bill proposing that an accused person or his wife might give evidence in their own case, and supported the bill which empowered lords of appeal to sit and vote after their retirement. The Solicitors Act of 1888, which increased the powers of the Incorporated Law Society, owed much to his influence. In 1880 he delivered a remarkable speech in the House of Lords, deprecating the delay and expense of trials, which he regarded as having been increased by the Judicature Acts. Lord Esher suffered, perhaps, as master of the rolls from succeeding a lawyer of such eminence as Jessel. He had a caustic tongue, but also a fund of shrewd common sense, and one of his favourite considerations was whether a certain course was “business” or not. He retired from the bench at the close of 1897, and a viscounty was conferred upon him on his retirement, a dignity never given to any judge, lord chancellors excepted, “for mere legal conduct since the time of Lord Coke.” He died in London on the 24th of May 1899.
ESHER, WILLIAM BALIOL BRETT, 1st Viscount (1817-1899), English lawyer and Master of the Rolls, was the son of Rev. Joseph G. Brett from Chelsea, born on August 13, 1817. He was educated at Westminster and Caius College, Cambridge. He was called to the bar in 1840, practiced on the northern circuit, and became a Q.C. in 1861. After Richard Cobden's death, he unsuccessfully ran for Rochdale as a Conservative, but in 1866, he was elected for Helston under unique circumstances. He and his opponent received exactly the same number of votes, leading the mayor, acting as returning officer, to cast his vote for the Liberal candidate. However, since this vote was cast after four o’clock, an appeal was made, and the House of Commons allowed both members to take their seats. Brett quickly made a name for himself in the House, and in 1868, he was appointed Solicitor-General. Representing the Crown, he prosecuted the Fenians accused of causing the Clerkenwell explosion. In parliament, he played a major role in promoting bills related to law and justice administration. In August 1868, he was appointed a justice in the Court of Common Pleas. Some of his sentences in this role received significant criticism, especially during the gas stokers’ strike, when he sentenced the defendants to twelve months in prison with hard labor, which was later reduced to four months by the Home Secretary. With the reconstitution of the Court of Appeal in 1876, Brett was elevated to the rank of Lord Justice. After serving in this position for seven years, he succeeded Sir George Jessel as Master of the Rolls in 1883. In 1885, he became a member of the House of Lords as Baron Esher. He opposed a bill that would allow an accused person or their spouse to give evidence in their own case and supported a bill enabling Lords of Appeal to sit and vote after retirement. The Solicitors Act of 1888, which expanded the powers of the Incorporated Law Society, was greatly influenced by him. In 1880, he delivered a notable speech in the House of Lords criticizing the delays and expenses of trials, which he believed had increased due to the Judicature Acts. Lord Esher possibly faced challenges as Master of the Rolls succeeding such a prominent lawyer as Jessel. He had a sharp tongue but also possessed practical common sense, often considering whether a particular action was “business” or not. He retired from the bench at the end of 1897, and upon retirement, he was granted a viscounty, a honor not awarded to any judge, except Lord Chancellors, “for mere legal conduct since the time of Lord Coke.” He passed away in London on May 24, 1899.
Lord Esher was succeeded in the title by his only surviving son, Reginald Baliol Brett (b. 1852), who was secretary to the office of works from 1895 to 1902, but subsequently came into far greater public prominence in 1904 as Chairman of the war office reconstitution committee after the South African War.
Lord Esher passed the title to his only surviving son, Reginald Baliol Brett (b. 1852), who served as secretary to the office of works from 1895 to 1902. He gained much more public attention in 1904 when he became Chairman of the war office reconstitution committee following the South African War.
ESHER, a township in the Epsom parliamentary division of Surrey, England, 14½ m. S.W. of London by the London & South Western railway (Esher and Claremont station). It is pleasantly situated on rising ground above the river Mole, 3 m. from its junction with the Thames. To the north-west lie the grounds of Esher Place. Of the mansion-house founded by William of Waynflete, bishop of Winchester (c. 1450), in which Cardinal Wolsey resided for three or four weeks after his sudden fall from power in 1529, only the gatehouse remains. It is known as Wolsey’s Tower, but is apparently part of Waynflete’s foundation. A new mansion was erected in 1803. To the south is Claremont Palace, built by the great Lord Clive (1769) on the site of a mansion of Sir John Vanbrugh. In 1816 it was the residence of Princess Charlotte, wife of Prince (afterwards King) Leopold. She died here in 1817, and on the death of her husband in 1865 the property passed to the crown. Louis Philippe, ex-king of the French, resided here from 1848 until his death in 1850. In 1882 Claremont became the private property of Queen Victoria. Christ Church, Esher, contains fine memorials of King Leopold and others, and one of its three bells is said to have been brought from San Domingo by Sir Francis Drake. To the north near the railway station is Sandown Park, where important race meetings are held. Esher is included in the urban district of Esher and The Dittons, of which Thames Ditton is a favourite riverside resort. The whole district is largely residential. Pop. (1901) 9489.
ESHER, is a town in the Epsom parliamentary area of Surrey, England, located 14.5 miles southwest of London by the London & South Western railway (Esher and Claremont station). It’s nicely positioned on elevated ground above the river Mole, about 3 miles from its meeting point with the Thames. To the northwest are the grounds of Esher Place. The mansion built by William of Waynflete, the bishop of Winchester (around 1450), where Cardinal Wolsey stayed for three or four weeks after his abrupt loss of power in 1529, still has the gatehouse remaining. This structure is known as Wolsey’s Tower, but it seems to be part of Waynflete’s original building. A new mansion was constructed in 1803. To the south is Claremont Palace, built by the famous Lord Clive in 1769 on the site of a mansion belonging to Sir John Vanbrugh. In 1816, it was home to Princess Charlotte, the wife of Prince (later King) Leopold. She passed away there in 1817, and upon her husband’s death in 1865, the property was transferred to the crown. Louis Philippe, the former king of France, lived there from 1848 until his death in 1850. In 1882, Claremont became the private property of Queen Victoria. Christ Church, Esher, features beautiful memorials for King Leopold and others, and one of its three bells is believed to have been brought from San Domingo by Sir Francis Drake. To the north, near the railway station, is Sandown Park, where significant horse races take place. Esher is part of the urban district of Esher and The Dittons, with Thames Ditton being a popular riverside getaway. The entire area is primarily residential. Pop. (1901) 9489.
ESKER (O. Irish eiscir), a local name for long mounds of glacial gravel frequently met with in Ireland. Eskers (the Swedish åsar) are among the occasionally puzzling relics of the British glacial period. They wind from side to side across glaciated country and have evidently been formed by channels upon or under the ice. “Where streams of considerable size form tunnels under or in the ice these may become more or less filled 769 with wash, and when the ice melts the aggraded channels appear as long ridges of gravel and sand known as eskers. It has been thought that similar ridges are sometimes formed in valleys cut in the ice from top to bottom, and even that they rise from gravel and sand lodged in super-glacial channels. The latter at least is probably rare, as the surface streams have usually high gradients, swift currents and smooth bottoms, and hence give little opportunity for lodgment. In the case of ice-sheets, too, in which eskers are chiefly developed, there is usually no surface material except at the immediate edge, where the ice is thin and its layers upturned” (T.C. Chamberlin and R.D. Salisbury, Geology, Processes and their Results). Eskers are to be distinguished from kames (q.v.).
ESKER (O. Irish eiscir), a local term for long mounds of glacial gravel commonly found in Ireland. Eskers (the Swedish åsar) are some of the intriguing remnants from the British glacial period. They meander back and forth across glaciated landscapes and have clearly been formed by channels on or below the ice. “Where sizable streams create tunnels under or within the ice, these may become partially filled with sediment, and when the ice melts, the accumulated channels appear as long ridges of gravel and sand called eskers. It's believed that similar ridges can sometimes form in valleys carved into the ice from top to bottom, and even that they originate from gravel and sand trapped in super-glacial channels. The latter is likely rare, as surface streams usually have steep gradients, fast flows, and smooth beds, providing little chance for sediment to settle. In the case of ice sheets, where eskers are predominantly formed, there is typically no surface material except along the immediate edge, where the ice is thin and its layers are turned over” (T.C. Chamberlin and R.D. Salisbury, Geology, Processes and their Results). Eskers should be distinguished from kames (q.v.).
ESKILSTUNA, a town of Sweden in the district (län) of Södermanland, on the Hjelmar river, which unites lakes Hjelmar and Mälar, 65 m. W. of Stockholm by rail. Pop. (1900) 13,663. The place is mentioned in the 13th century, and is said to derive its name from Eskil, an English missionary who suffered martyrdom on the spot. It rose into importance in the reign of Charles X., who bestowed on it considerable privileges, and gave the first impulse to its manufacturing activity. It is the chief seat in Sweden of the iron and steel industries, its cutlery being especially noted, while damascened work is a specialty. There is a technical school for the metal industries. There are, in the town or its neighbourhood, great engineering, gun-making, and rolling and polishing works and breweries. The largest mechanical works are those of Munktell and Tunafors. The Karl Gustaf Stads rifle factory was established in 1814.
ESKILSTUNA, is a town in Sweden located in the Södermanland district, along the Hjelmar River, which connects Lake Hjelmar and Lake Mälar. It is 65 miles west of Stockholm by train. The population in 1900 was 13,663. The town was mentioned in the 13th century and is believed to be named after Eskil, an English missionary who was martyred there. It gained significance during the reign of Charles X, who granted it considerable privileges and kickstarted its manufacturing activities. Eskilstuna is the main center for the iron and steel industries in Sweden, known especially for its cutlery, while damascened work is a specialty. There is a technical school focused on the metal industries. In and around the town, there are large engineering, gun-making, rolling and polishing facilities, as well as breweries. The biggest mechanical works are those of Munktell and Tunafors. The Karl Gustaf Stads rifle factory was founded in 1814.
ESKIMO, Eskimos or Esquimaux (a corruption of the Abnaki Indian Eskimantsic or the Ojibway Ashkimeq, both terms meaning “those who eat raw flesh”: they call themselves “Innuit,” “the people”), a North American Indian people, inhabiting the arctic coast of America from Greenland to Alaska, and a small portion of the Asiatic shore of Bering Strait. On the American shores they are found, in broken tribes, from East Greenland to the western shores of Alaska—never far inland, or south of the region where the winter ice allows seals to congregate. Even on hunting expeditions they never travel more than 30 m. from the coast. Save a slight admixture of European settlers, they are the only inhabitants of both sides of Davis Strait and Baffin Bay. They extend as far south as about 50° N. lat. on the eastern side of America, and in the west to 60° on the eastern shore of Bering Strait, while 55° to 60° are their southern limits on the shore of Hudson Bay. Throughout all this range there are no other tribes save where the Kennayan and Ugalenze Indians (of western America) come down to the shore to fish. The Aleutians are closely allied to the Eskimo in habits and language. H.J. Rink divides the Eskimo into the following groups, the most eastern of which would have to travel nearly 5000 m. to reach the most western: (1) The East Greenland Eskimo, few in number, every year advancing farther south, and coming into contact with the next section. (2) The West Greenlanders, civilized, living under the Danish crown, and extending from Cape Farewell to 74° N. lat. (3) The Northern-most Greenlanders—the Arctic Highlanders of Sir John Ross—confined to Smith, Whale, Murchison and Wolstenholme Sounds, north of the Melville Bay glaciers. These—the most isolated and uncivilized of all the Eskimo—had no boats or bows and arrows until about 1868. (4) The Labrador Eskimo, mostly civilized. (5) The Eskimo of the middle regions, occupying the coasts from Hudson Bay to Barter Island, beyond Mackenzie river, inhabiting a stretch of country 2000 m. in length and 800 in breadth. (6) The Western Eskimo, from Barter Island to the western limits in America. (7) The Asiatic Eskimo.
ESKIMO, Inuit or Inuit (a variation of the Abnaki Indian Eskimantsic or the Ojibway Ashkimeq, both meaning “those who eat raw flesh”; they refer to themselves as “Innuit,” meaning “the people”), are a group of Native Americans living along the Arctic coast from Greenland to Alaska, as well as a small area on the Asian side of the Bering Strait. In the Americas, they are found in scattered tribes from East Greenland to the west coast of Alaska—generally not venturing far inland or south of the areas where winter ice attracts seals. Even on hunting trips, they usually don’t go more than 30 miles from the coast. With only a slight mix of European settlers, they are the sole inhabitants along both sides of Davis Strait and Baffin Bay. They live as far south as approximately 50° N latitude on the eastern side of America and reach up to 60° on the eastern coast of the Bering Strait, while their southern boundaries on the shore of Hudson Bay are between 55° to 60°. Throughout this area, there are no other tribes except where the Kennayan and Ugalenze Indians (from western America) come to the shore to fish. The Aleutians share similar habits and language with the Eskimo. H.J. Rink categorizes the Eskimo into the following groups, with the easternmost group needing to travel nearly 5000 miles to reach the westernmost: (1) The East Greenland Eskimo, few in number, each year moving southward and interacting with the next group. (2) The West Greenlanders, who are civilized and live under Danish rule, extending from Cape Farewell to 74° N latitude. (3) The northernmost Greenlanders—the Arctic Highlanders described by Sir John Ross—limited to Smith, Whale, Murchison, and Wolstenholme Sounds, north of the glaciers in Melville Bay. These are the most isolated and least civilized of the Eskimo, lacking boats or bows and arrows until around 1868. (4) The Labrador Eskimo, mostly integrated into modern society. (5) The Eskimo from the central regions, living along the coasts from Hudson Bay to Barter Island, beyond the Mackenzie River, occupying an area 2000 miles long and 800 miles wide. (6) The Western Eskimo, from Barter Island to the western edge of America. (7) The Asiatic Eskimo.
The Eskimo are not a tall race, their height varying from 5 ft. 4 in. to 5 ft. 10 in., but men of 6 ft. are met. Both men and women are muscular and active, the former often inclining to fat. The faces of both have a pleasing, good-humoured expression, and not infrequently are even handsome. The typical face is broadly oval, flat, with fat cheeks; forehead not high, and rather retreating; teeth good, though, owing to the character of the food, worn down to the gums in old age; nose very flat; eyes rather obliquely set, small, black and bright; head largish, and covered with coarse black hair, which the women fasten up into a knot on the top, and the men clip in front and allow to hang loose and unkempt behind. Their skulls are of the mesocephalic type, the height being greater than the breadth; according to Davis, 75 is the index of the latter and 77 of the former. Some of the tribes slightly compress the skulls of their new-born children laterally (Hall), but this practice is a very local one. The men have usually a slight moustache, but no whiskers, and rarely any beard. The skin has generally a “bacony” feel, and when cleaned of the smoke, grease and other dirt—the accumulation of which varies according to the age of the individual—is only so slightly brown that red shows in the cheeks of the children and young women. The hands and feet are small and well formed. The Eskimo dress entirely in skins of the seal, reindeer, bear, dog, or even fox, the first two being, however, the most common. The men’s and women’s dress is much the same, a jacket suit, the trousers tucked into seal-skin boots. The jacket has a hood, which in cold weather is used to cover the head, leaving only the face exposed. The women’s jacket has a large hood for carrying a child and an absurd-looking tail behind, which is, however, usually tucked up. The women’s trousers are usually ornamented with eider-duck neck feathers or embroidery of native dyed leather; their boots, which are of white leather, or (in Greenland) dyed of various colours, reach over the knees, and in some tribes are very wide at the top, thus giving them an awkward appearance and a clumsy waddling walk. In winter two suits are worn, one with the hair inside, the other with it outside. They also sometimes wear shirts of bird-skins, and stockings of dog or young reindeer skins. Their clothes are very neatly made, fit beautifully, and are sewn with “sinew-thread,” with a bone needle if a steel one cannot be had. In person the Eskimo are usually filthy, and never wash. Infants are, however, sometimes cleaned by being licked by their mother before being put into the bag of feathers which serves as their bed, cradle and blankets.
The Eskimo are not a tall people, with heights ranging from 5 ft. 4 in. to 5 ft. 10 in., though some men do reach 6 ft. Both men and women are muscular and active, although men often tend to be overweight. Their faces have a pleasant, cheerful expression and are often quite good-looking. The typical face is broadly oval, flat, with chubby cheeks; the forehead is low and somewhat receding; their teeth are in good condition, but due to their diet, older individuals often have worn-down teeth. They have very flat noses, and their eyes are small, black, and bright, set at a slight angle. Their heads are larger and covered with coarse black hair, which women style into a knot on top, while men clip their hair in front and leave it loose and messy in the back. Their skulls are of a mesocephalic shape, meaning the height exceeds the width; according to Davis, the width index is 75 and the height index is 77. Some tribes slightly flatten the skulls of newborns laterally (Hall), but this is uncommon. Men typically have a light mustache but no sideburns or beard. Their skin generally has a smooth, “bacony” texture, and when cleaned of smoke, grease, and other dirt—conditions that vary with age—it appears only slightly brown, allowing a reddish color to show in the cheeks of children and young women. Their hands and feet are small and well-formed. The Eskimo wear clothing made entirely from the skins of seals, reindeer, bears, dogs, or even foxes, with the first two being the most common. Men’s and women’s outfits are quite similar, consisting of a jacket suit, with trousers tucked into seal-skin boots. The jackets have hoods that are used to cover their heads in cold weather, leaving only their faces exposed. Women’s jackets have large hoods for carrying children and a somewhat ridiculous-looking tail, which is usually tucked up. Women’s trousers are often decorated with eider-duck neck feathers or native dyed leather embroidery; their boots, made from white leather or dyed in various colors (especially in Greenland), reach over their knees, and in some tribes, they are quite wide at the top, giving them a clumsy appearance and waddling gait. In winter, they wear two suits: one with the hair facing in and the other with it facing out. They sometimes wear shirts made from bird skins and stockings crafted from dog or young reindeer skins. Their clothing is well-made, fits beautifully, and is stitched with “sinew-thread” using a bone needle if a steel one isn't available. Generally, the Eskimo are quite dirty and do not wash. However, infants are occasionally cleaned by being licked by their mother before being placed in a bag of feathers that serves as their bed, cradle, and blanket.
In summer the Eskimo live in conical skin tents, and in winter usually in half-underground huts of stone, turf, earth and bones, entered by a long tunnel-like passage, which can only be traversed on all fours. Sometimes, if residing temporarily at a place, they will erect neat round huts of blocks of snow with a sheet of ice for a window. In the roof are deposited their spare harpoons, &c; and from it is suspended the steatite basin-like lamp, the flame of which, the wick being of moss, serves as fire and light. On one side of the hut is the bench which is used as sofa, seats and common sleeping place. The floor is usually very filthy, a pool of blood or a dead seal being often to be seen there. Ventilation is almost non-existent; and after the lamp has blazed for some time, the heat is all but unbearable. In the summer the wolfish-looking dogs lie outside on the roof of the huts, in the winter in the tunnel-like passage just outside the family apartment. The Western Eskimo build their houses chiefly of planks, merely covered on the outside with green turf. The same Eskimo have, in the more populous places, a public room for meetings. “Council chambers” are also said to exist in Labrador, but are only known in Greenland by tradition. Sometimes in south Greenland and in the Western Eskimo country the houses are made to accommodate several families, but as a rule each family has a house to itself.
In summer, the Eskimo live in cone-shaped skin tents, and in winter, usually in half-underground huts made of stone, turf, earth, and bones, accessed by a long, tunnel-like passage that can only be crawled through. Sometimes, if they are staying somewhere temporarily, they will build neat round huts made of snow blocks with an ice sheet for a window. They store their extra harpoons, etc., on the roof, where a steatite, basin-like lamp hangs down; the flame, fueled by a moss wick, provides both heat and light. On one side of the hut is a bench that serves as a sofa, seating, and a common sleeping area. The floor is typically very dirty, with pools of blood or a dead seal often found there. Ventilation is nearly nonexistent, and after the lamp has been burning for a while, the heat becomes almost unbearable. In summer, the wolf-like dogs lie outside on the roofs of the huts, while in winter, they rest in the tunnel-like passage just outside the family living area. The Western Eskimo primarily build their houses from planks, which are only covered on the outside with green turf. In more populated areas, these Eskimo have a public room for gatherings. “Council chambers” are also said to exist in Labrador, but are only known in Greenland by tradition. Sometimes, in southern Greenland and in the Western Eskimo region, houses are built to accommodate multiple families, but generally, each family has its own house.
The Eskimo are solely hunters and fishers, and derive most of their food from the sea. Their country allows of no cultivation; and beyond a few berries, roots, &c., they use no vegetable food. The seal, the reindeer and the whale supply the bulk of their food, as well as their clothing, light, fuel, and frequently also, when driftwood is scarce or unavailable, the material for various articles of domestic economy. Thus the Eskimo canoe is made of seal-skin stretched on a wooden or whalebone frame, with a hole in the centre for the paddler. It is driven by a bone-tipped double-bladed paddle. A waterproof skin or entrail dress is tightly fastened round the mouth of the hole so that, should the canoe overturn, no water can enter. A skilful paddler can turn a complete somersault, boat and all, through the water. 770 The Eskimo women use a flat-bottomed skin luggage-boat. The Eskimo sledge is made of two runners of wood or bone—even, in one case on record, of frozen salmon (Maclure)—united by cross bars tied to the runners by hide thongs, and drawn by from 4 to 8 dogs harnessed abreast. Some of their weapons are ingenious—in particular, the harpoon, with its detachable point to which an inflated sealskin is fastened. When the quarry is struck, the floating skin serves to tire it out, marks its course, and buoys it up when dead. The bird-spears, too, have a bladder attached, and points at the sides which strike the creature should the spear-head fail to wound. An effective bow is made out of whale’s rib. Altogether, with meagre material the Eskimo show great skill in the manufacture of their weapons. Meat is sometimes boiled, but, when it is frozen, it is often eaten raw. Blood, and the half-digested contents of the reindeer’s paunch, are also eaten; and sometimes, but not habitually, blubber. As a rule this latter is too precious: it must be kept for winter fuel and light. The Eskimo are enormous eaters; two will easily dispose of a seal at a sitting; and in Greenland, for instance, each individual has for his daily consumption, on an average, 2½ ℔ of flesh with blubber, and 1 ℔ of fish, besides mussels, berries, sea-weed, &c., to which in the Danish settlements may be added 2 oz. of imported food. Ten pounds of flesh, in addition to other food, is not uncommonly consumed in a day in time of plenty. A man will lie on his back and allow his wife to feed him with tit-bits of blubber and flesh until he is unable to move.
The Eskimo are primarily hunters and fishers, getting most of their food from the sea. Their environment doesn’t allow for farming, and aside from a few berries and roots, they don’t consume many vegetables. The bulk of their diet comes from seals, reindeer, and whales, which also provide their clothing, lighting, fuel, and often materials for various household items. For example, the Eskimo canoe is crafted from seal skin stretched over a wooden or whalebone frame, with a hole in the center for the paddler. It’s propelled by a double-bladed paddle with a bone tip. A waterproof skin or entrail dress is tightly secured around the hole to prevent water from entering if the canoe tips over. A skilled paddler can perform a complete somersault, canoe and all, underwater. 770 Eskimo women use flat-bottomed skin boats for transporting luggage. Their sledges are made of two runners made of wood or bone—even, in one recorded case, frozen salmon (Maclure)—joined together by crossbars tied to the runners with hide thongs, and pulled by 4 to 8 dogs harnessed side by side. Some of their weapons are quite clever, especially the harpoon, which has a detachable point attached to an inflated sealskin. When they hit their target, the floating skin helps tire it out, marks its path, and keeps it afloat when it dies. The bird spears also have a bladder attached, with side points designed to strike the animal if the spearhead misses. They fashion effective bows from whale ribs. Overall, even with limited materials, the Eskimo demonstrate impressive skill in making their weapons. Meat is sometimes boiled, but frozen meat is often eaten raw. They also consume blood and the partly digested contents of a reindeer's stomach, and occasionally blubber, though the last is generally too valuable to be consumed frequently; it needs to be reserved for fuel and light during winter. The Eskimo are known for their large appetites; two people can easily finish off a seal in one sitting. For instance, in Greenland, each person averages about 2.5 pounds of meat with blubber and 1 pound of fish daily, along with mussels, berries, seaweed, etc., with an additional 2 ounces of imported food in Danish settlements. It’s not uncommon for someone to eat ten pounds of meat, plus other foods, in a day when there is plenty available. A man might lie on his back and let his wife feed him pieces of blubber and meat until he can hardly move.
The Eskimo cannot be strictly called a wandering race. They are nomadic only in so far that they have to move about from place to place during the fishing and shooting season, following the game in its migrations. They have, however, no regular property. They possess only the most necessary utensils and furniture, with a stock of provisions for less than one year; and these possessions never exceed certain limits fixed upon by tradition or custom. Long habit and the necessities of their life have also compelled those having food to share with those having none—a custom which, with others, has conduced to the stagnant conditions of Eskimo society and to their utter improvidence.
The Eskimo can't be strictly labeled as a wandering people. They are nomadic only in that they move around from place to place during the fishing and hunting seasons, following the game as it migrates. However, they don’t have regular property. They possess only the essential tools and furniture, along with enough supplies to last less than a year; and these belongings never go beyond certain limits established by tradition or custom. Long-standing habits and the demands of their lifestyle have also led those with food to share with those without—a practice that, among others, has contributed to the stagnant nature of Eskimo society and their complete lack of foresight.
Their intelligence is considerable, as their implements and folk-tales abundantly prove. They display a taste for music, cartography and drawing, display no small amount of humour, are quick at picking up peculiar traits in strangers, and are painfully acute in detecting the weak points or ludicrous sides of their character. They are excellent mimics and easily learn the dances and songs of the Europeans, as well as their games, such as chess and draughts. They gamble a little—but in moderation, for the Eskimo, though keen traders, have a deep-rooted antipathy to speculation. When they offer anything for sale—say at a Danish settlement in Greenland—they always leave it to the buyer to settle the price. They have also a dislike to bind themselves by contract. Hence it was long before the Eskimo in Greenland could be induced to enter into European service, though when they do they pass to almost the opposite extreme—they have no will of their own. Public licentiousness or indecency is rare among them. In their private life their morality is, however, not high. The women are especially erring; and in Greenland, at places where strangers visit, their extreme laxity of morals, and their utter want of shame, are not more remarkable than the entire absence of jealousy or self-respect on the part of their countrymen and relatives. Theft in Greenland is almost unknown; but the wild Eskimo make very free with strangers’ goods—though it must be allowed that the value they attach to the articles stolen is some excuse for the thieves. Among themselves, on the other hand, they are very honest—a result of their being so much under the control of public opinion. Lying is said to be as common a trait of the Eskimo as of other savages in their dealings with Europeans. They have naturally not made any figure in literature. Their folk-lore is, however, extensive, and that collected by Dr Rink shows considerable imagination and no mean talent on the part of the story-tellers. In Greenland and Labrador most of the natives have been taught by the missionaries to read and write in their own language. Altogether, the literature published in the Eskimo tongue is considerable. Most of it has been printed in Denmark, but some has been “set up” in a small printing-office in Greenland, from which about 280 sheets have issued, beside many lithographic prints. A journal (Atuagagldliutit nalinginarmik tusaruminásassumik univkat, i.e. “something for reading, accounts of all entertaining subjects”) has been published since 1861.
Their intelligence is remarkable, as their tools and stories clearly show. They have a love for music, map-making, and drawing, a good sense of humor, and they quickly pick up on unique traits in strangers. They're very good at spotting weaknesses or funny traits in others. They're excellent at mimicking and can easily learn the dances and songs of Europeans, as well as their games like chess and checkers. They gamble a bit—but only in moderation, as the Eskimos, despite being sharp traders, have a strong aversion to speculation. When they sell something—let's say at a Danish settlement in Greenland—they always let the buyer decide the price. They also dislike being bound by contracts. Because of this, it took a long time for the Eskimos in Greenland to agree to enter European service, but once they do, they often have no will of their own. Public indecency is rare among them. However, their private morals are not very high. The women, in particular, tend to stray; in Greenland, where strangers often visit, their extreme lack of morals and complete absence of shame are matched only by the total lack of jealousy or self-respect among their men and relatives. Theft is almost unheard of in Greenland; however, the wild Eskimos are quite free with strangers' property—though it's worth noting that the value they place on the stolen items somewhat excuses the thieves. Among themselves, though, they are very honest, largely due to the influence of public opinion. Lying is said to be as common among the Eskimos as among other indigenous peoples in their interactions with Europeans. They haven't made much of a mark in literature. However, their folklore is extensive, and Dr. Rink's collection shows notable imagination and talent from the storytellers. In Greenland and Labrador, most of the natives have been taught by missionaries to read and write in their own language. Overall, there's a significant amount of literature published in the Eskimo language. Most of it has been printed in Denmark, but some has been produced in a small printing office in Greenland, which has released about 280 sheets, along with many lithographic prints. A journal (Atuagagldliutit nalinginarmik tusaruminásassumik univkat, i.e. “something for reading, accounts of all entertaining subjects”) has been published since 1861.
The Eskimo in Greenland and Labrador are, with few exceptions, nominally at least, Christians. The native religion is a vague animism, and consists of a belief in good and evil spirits, limited each to its own sphere; in a Heaven and Hell; and a childish faith is placed in the native wizards, who are regarded as intermediaries between mankind and the spirit-powers. The worship of the whale-spirit, so important a factor in their daily economy, is prevalent.
The Inuit people in Greenland and Labrador are, with a few exceptions, at least nominally Christians. Their traditional belief system is a loose form of animism, which includes a belief in good and evil spirits, each limited to its own domain; in Heaven and Hell; and a naive faith in local shamans, who are seen as intermediaries between humanity and the spirit world. The worship of the whale spirit, which plays a significant role in their daily life, is common.
As regards language, the idiom spoken from Greenland to north-eastern Siberia is, with a few exceptions, the same; any difference is only that of dialect. It differs from the whole group of European languages, not merely in the sound of the words, but more especially, according to Rink, in the construction. Its most remarkable feature is that a sentence of a European language is expressed in Eskimo by a single word constructed out of certain elements, each of which corresponds in some degree to one of our words. One specimen commonly given to visitors to Greenland may suffice: Savigiksiniariartokasuaromaryotittogog, which is equivalent to “He says that you also will go away quickly in like manner and buy a pretty knife.” Here is one word serving in the place of 17. It is made up as follows: Savig a knife, ik pretty, sini buy, ariartok go away, asuar hasten, omar wilt, y in like manner, otit thou, tog also, og he says.
In terms of language, the dialect spoken from Greenland to northeastern Siberia is, with a few exceptions, the same; any differences are just dialectal. It varies from the entire group of European languages, not just in pronunciation, but especially, according to Rink, in its structure. Its most notable feature is that a sentence in a European language is expressed in Eskimo as a single word made from specific elements, each of which corresponds somewhat to one of our words. One common example shown to visitors in Greenland is Savigiksiniariartokasuaromaryotittogog, which translates to “He says that you also will go away quickly and buy a nice knife.” Here, one word replaces 17. It breaks down as follows: Savig a knife, ik pretty, sini buy, ariartok go away, asuar hasten, omar will, y in the same way, otit you, tog also, og he says.
The Eskimo have no chiefs or political and military rulers. Fabricius concisely described them in his day: “Sine Deo, domino, reguntur consuetudine.” The government is mainly a family one, though a man distinguished for skill in the chase, and for strength and shrewdness, often has considerable power in the village. No political or social tie is recognized between the villages, though general good-fellowship seems to mark their relations. They never go to war with each other; and though revengeful and apt to injure an enemy secretly, they rarely come to blows, and are morbidly anxious not to give offence. Indeed, in their intercourse with each other, all Eskimo indulge in much hyperbolical compliment. But they are not without courage. On the Coppermine and Mackenzie rivers, where they sometimes come into collision with their American-Indian kinsmen, they fight fiercely. Polygamy is rare, but the rights of divorce and re-marriage are unrestricted. The Eskimo have intricate rules governing the ownership of property and the rights of the hunter. As a race they are singularly undemonstrative. When they met each other they used to rub noses together, but this, though a common custom still among the wild Eskimo, is entirely abandoned in Greenland except for the petting of children. There is, in Greenland at least, no national mode of salutation, either on meeting or parting. When a guest enters a house, commonly not the least sign is made either by him or his host. On leaving a place they sometimes say “inûvdluaritse,” i.e. live well, and to a European “aporniakinatit,” i.e. do not hurt thy head, viz. against the upper part of the doorway. The Eskimo, excluding the few on the Asiatic coast, are estimated at about 29,000.
The Eskimo have no chiefs or political or military leaders. Fabricius summed them up in his time: “Sine Deo, domino, reguntur consuetudine.” The government is mostly family-based, although a man known for his hunting skills, strength, and cleverness often holds significant power in the village. There are no political or social ties between the villages, but they seem to get along well. They never go to war with each other; even though they can be vengeful and tend to harm enemies secretly, they rarely fight openly and are overly concerned about not offending anyone. In their interactions, all Eskimo tend to give each other exaggerated compliments. However, they are not lacking in bravery. Along the Coppermine and Mackenzie rivers, where they sometimes clash with their American Indian relatives, they fight fiercely. Polygamy is uncommon, but divorce and remarriage rights are unrestricted. The Eskimo have complex rules about property ownership and hunting rights. As a group, they are particularly reserved. When they greet each other, they used to rub noses, but while this custom is still common among the wild Eskimo, it's completely dropped in Greenland except for when playing with children. In Greenland, at least, there’s no national way to greet each other when meeting or parting. When a guest enters a home, often there’s no sign made by either the guest or the host. When leaving, they sometimes say “inûvdluaritse,” i.e. live well, and to Europeans “aporniakinatit,” i.e. don’t bump your head, referring to the top of the doorway. The Eskimo, excluding the few on the Asian coast, are estimated to number about 29,000.
Bibliography.—Dr H.J. Rink, Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo (1875); Danish Greenland; its People and its Products (1877); Eskimo Tribes (1887); J. Richardson, Polar Regions (1861), pp. 298-331; Sir Clements Markham, Arctic Papers of the R. G. S. (1875), pp. 163-232; Simpson, ibid. pp. 233-275; “Hans Hendriks the Eskimo’s Memoirs,” Geographical Magazine (Feb. 1878, et seq.); Fridtjof Nansen, Eskimo Life (1894); R.E. Peary, Northward over the Great Ice, vol. i. appendix ii.; F. Boas, “The Central Eskimo,” Sixth Annual Report of Bureau of Ethnology (1884-1885); J. Murdoch, “The Point Barrow Eskimo,” Ninth Annual Report (1887-1888); E.W. Nelson, “The Eskimo about Bering Strait,” Eighteenth Annual Report, part 1 (1896-1897).
References.—Dr. H.J. Rink, Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo (1875); Danish Greenland: Its People and Its Products (1877); Eskimo Tribes (1887); J. Richardson, Polar Regions (1861), pp. 298-331; Sir Clements Markham, Arctic Papers of the R. G. S. (1875), pp. 163-232; Simpson, ibid. pp. 233-275; “Hans Hendriks the Eskimo’s Memoirs,” Geographical Magazine (Feb. 1878, et seq.); Fridtjof Nansen, Eskimo Life (1894); R.E. Peary, Northward Over the Great Ice, vol. i, appendix ii.; F. Boas, “The Central Eskimo,” Sixth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology (1884-1885); J. Murdoch, “The Point Barrow Eskimo,” Ninth Annual Report (1887-1888); E.W. Nelson, “The Eskimo About Bering Strait,” Eighteenth Annual Report, part 1 (1896-1897).
ESKI-SHEHR, a town of Asia Minor, in the Kutaiah sanjak of the Brusa (Khudavendikiar) vilayet. It is a station on the Haidar Pasha-Angora railway, 194½ m. from the former and 164 m. from Angora, and the junction for Konia; and is situated on the right bank of the Pursak Su (Tembris), a tributary of the Sakaria, at the foot of the hills that border the broad treeless valley. Pop. 20,000 (Moslems 15,000, Christians 5000). Eski-Shehr, i.e. “the old town,” lies about a mile from the ruins of the ancient Phrygian Dorylaeum. The latter is mentioned in connexion with the wars of Lysimachus and Antigonus (about 302 B.C.), and frequently figures in Byzantine history as an imperial residence and military rendezvous. It was the scene of the defeat of the Turks under Kilij-Arslan by the crusaders in 1097, and fell finally to the Turks of Konia in 1176. The town is divided by a small stream into a commercial quarter on low ground, in which are the bazaars, khans and the hot sulphur springs (122° F.) which are mentioned as early as the 3rd century by Athenaeus; and a residential quarter on the higher ground. The town is noted for its good climate, the Pursak Su for the abundance of its fish, and the plain for its fertility. About 18 m. to the E. are extensive deposits of meerschaum. The clay is partly manufactured into pipes in the town, but the greater proportion finds its way to Europe and especially to Germany. The annual output is valued at £272,000.
ESKI-SHEHR, is a town in Asia Minor, located in the Kutaiah district of the Brusa (Khudavendikiar) province. It's a stop on the Haidar Pasha-Angora railway, 194½ miles from Haidar Pasha and 164 miles from Angora, and serves as the junction for Konia. The town is situated on the right bank of the Pursak Su (Tembris), a tributary of the Sakaria, at the base of the hills that line the wide, treeless valley. The population is around 20,000 (15,000 Muslims and 5,000 Christians). Eski-Shehr, which means “the old town,” is about a mile from the ruins of the ancient Phrygian city of Dorylaeum. This site is noted in connection with the wars of Lysimachus and Antigonus (around 302 BCE), and it frequently appears in Byzantine history as a royal residence and military gathering place. It was also the location where the Turks under Kilij-Arslan were defeated by the Crusaders in 1097 and ultimately came under the control of the Turks from Konia in 1176. The town is split by a small stream into a commercial area on lower ground, which features bazaars, inns, and hot sulfur springs (122° F.), mentioned as early as the 3rd century by Athenaeus, and a residential area on higher ground. The town is known for its pleasant climate, the Pursak Su for its plentiful fish, and the surrounding plain for its fertility. Approximately 18 miles to the east, there are large deposits of meerschaum. Some of the clay is made into pipes in the town, but most is exported to Europe, especially Germany. The annual production is valued at £272,000.
See Murray’s Hdbk. to Asia Minor (1893); V. Cuinet, Turquie d’Asie (Paris, 1894).
See Murray’s Hdbk. to Asia Minor (1893); V. Cuinet, Turquie d’Asie (Paris, 1894).
ESMARCH, JOHANNES FRIEDRICH AUGUST VON (1823-1908), German surgeon, was born at Tönning, in Schleswig-Holstein, on the 9th of January 1823. He studied at Kiel and Göttingen, and in 1846 became B.R.K. von Langenbeck’s assistant at the Kiel surgical hospital. He served in the Schleswig-Holstein War of 1848 as junior surgeon, and this directed his attention to the subject of military surgery. He was taken prisoner, but afterwards exchanged, and was then appointed as surgeon to a field hospital. During the truce of 1849 he qualified as Privatdocent at Kiel, but on the fresh outbreak of war he returned to the troops and was promoted to the rank of senior surgeon. In 1854 he became director of the surgical clinic at Kiel, and in 1857 head of the general hospital and professor at the university. During the Schleswig-Holstein War of 1864 Esmarch rendered good service to the field hospitals of Flensburg, Sundewitt and Kiel. In 1866 he was called to Berlin as member of the hospital commission, and also to take the superintendence of the surgical work in the hospitals there. When the Franco-German War broke out in 1870 he was appointed surgeon-general to the army, and afterwards consulting surgeon at the great military hospital near Berlin. In 1872 he married Princess Henrietta of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg, aunt of the Empress Auguste Victoria. In 1887 a patent of nobility was conferred on him. He died at Kiel on the 23rd of February 1908. Esmarch was one of the greatest authorities on hospital management and military surgery. His Handbuch der kriegschirurgischen Technik was written for a prize offered by the empress Augusta, on the occasion of the Vienna Exhibition of 1877, for the best handbook for the battlefield of surgical appliances and operations. This book is illustrated by admirable diagrams, showing the different methods of bandaging and dressing, as well as the surgical operations as they occur on the battlefield. Esmarch himself invented an apparatus, which bears his name, for keeping a limb nearly bloodless during amputation. No part of Esmarch’s work is more widely known than that which deals with “First Aid,” his First Aid on the Battlefield and First Aid to the Injured being popular manuals on the subject. The latter is the substance of a course of lectures delivered by him in 1881 to a “Samaritan School,” the first of the kind in Germany, founded by Esmarch in 1881, in imitation of the St John’s Ambulance classes which had been organized in England in 1878. These lectures were very generally adopted as a manual for first aid students, edition after edition having been called for, and they have been translated into numerous languages, the English version being the work of H.R.H. Princess Christian. No ambulance course would be complete without a demonstration of the Esmarch bandage. It is a three-sided piece of linen or cotton, of which the base measures 4 ft. and the sides 2 ft. 10 in. It can be used folded or open, and applied in thirty-two different ways. It answers every purpose for temporary dressing and field-work, while its great recommendation is that the means for making it are always at hand.
ESMARCH, JOHANNES FRIEDRICH AUGUST VON (1823-1908), German surgeon, was born in Tönning, Schleswig-Holstein, on January 9, 1823. He studied at Kiel and Göttingen, and in 1846 became B.R.K. von Langenbeck’s assistant at the Kiel surgical hospital. He served as a junior surgeon in the Schleswig-Holstein War of 1848, which sparked his interest in military surgery. He was captured but later exchanged and appointed as a surgeon to a field hospital. During the truce of 1849, he qualified as Privatdocent at Kiel, but when war broke out again, he returned to the troops and was promoted to senior surgeon. In 1854, he became the director of the surgical clinic at Kiel and in 1857, the head of the general hospital and a professor at the university. During the Schleswig-Holstein War of 1864, Esmarch significantly contributed to the field hospitals in Flensburg, Sundewitt, and Kiel. In 1866, he was called to Berlin as a member of the hospital commission and took charge of the surgical work in the hospitals there. When the Franco-German War started in 1870, he was appointed surgeon-general to the army and later became the consulting surgeon at the large military hospital near Berlin. In 1872, he married Princess Henrietta of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg, the aunt of Empress Auguste Victoria. He was granted a patent of nobility in 1887. He died in Kiel on February 23, 1908. Esmarch was one of the leading authorities on hospital management and military surgery. His Handbuch der kriegschirurgischen Technik was written to compete for a prize offered by Empress Augusta during the Vienna Exhibition of 1877 for the best handbook on battlefield surgical tools and procedures. This book includes excellent diagrams showing various methods of bandaging and dressing, as well as surgical operations performed on the battlefield. Esmarch invented a device named after him that helps keep a limb almost bloodless during amputation. His work on “First Aid” is especially well-known, with his books First Aid on the Battlefield and First Aid to the Injured being widely used manuals on the topic. The latter is based on a series of lectures he delivered in 1881 to a “Samaritan School,” the first of its kind in Germany, founded by Esmarch in 1881, modeled after the St John’s Ambulance classes established in England in 1878. These lectures were adopted as a standard manual for first aid students, leading to multiple editions and translations into several languages, with the English version translated by H.R.H. Princess Christian. No ambulance course is complete without demonstrating the Esmarch bandage. It is a three-sided piece of linen or cotton, with a base measuring 4 ft. and sides measuring 2 ft. 10 in. It can be used folded or unfolded and applied in thirty-two different ways. It fulfills all needs for temporary dressing and fieldwork, with the added benefit of being made from readily available materials.
ESNA, or Esneh, a town of Upper Egypt on the W. bank of the Nile, 454 m. S.S.E. of Cairo by rail, the railway station being on the opposite side of the river. Pop. (1897) 16,000, mostly Copts. Esna, one of the healthiest towns in Egypt, is noted for its manufactures of pottery and its large grain and live stock markets. It formerly had a large trade with the Sudan. A caravan road to the south goes through the oasis of Kurkur. The trade, almost stopped by the Mahdist Wars, is now largely diverted by railway and steamboat routes. There is, however, considerable traffic with the oasis of Kharga, which lies almost due west of the town. Nearly in the centre of the town is the Ptolemaic and Roman temple of the ram-headed Khnūm, almost buried in rubbish and houses. The interior of the pronaos is accessible to tourists, and contains the latest known hieroglyphic inscription, dating from the reign of Decius (A.D. 249-251). With Khnūm are associated the goddesses Sati and Neith. In the neighbourhood are remains of Coptic buildings, including a subterranean church (discovered 1895) in the desert half a mile beyond the limits of cultivation. The name Esna is from the Coptic Sne. By the Greeks the place was called Latopolis, from the worship here of the latus fish. In the persecutions under Diocletian A.D. 303, the Christians of Esna, a numerous body, suffered severely. In later times the town frequently served as a place of refuge for political exiles. The so-called Esna barrage across the Nile (built 1906-1908) is 30 m. higher up stream at Edfu.
ESNA, or Esneh, is a town in Upper Egypt located on the west bank of the Nile, 454 miles southeast of Cairo by rail, with the railway station on the opposite side of the river. Population (1897) was 16,000, mostly Copts. Esna is one of the healthiest towns in Egypt and is known for its pottery production as well as its large grain and livestock markets. It once had a significant trade relationship with Sudan. A caravan route to the south passes through the oasis of Kurkur. The trade, which was almost halted due to the Mahdist Wars, is now mostly redirected through railways and steamboats. However, there is still considerable traffic with the oasis of Kharga, located almost directly west of the town. Nearly at the center of the town is the Ptolemaic and Roman temple of the ram-headed Khnūm, which is almost buried under debris and housing. The interior of the pronaos is accessible to tourists and features the latest known hieroglyphic inscription, dating back to the reign of Decius (A.D. 249-251). Khnūm is associated with the goddesses Sati and Neith. Nearby, there are remains of Coptic buildings, including a subterranean church (discovered in 1895) located in the desert half a mile beyond the cultivated area. The name Esna comes from the Coptic Sne. The Greeks referred to the place as Latopolis, due to the worship of the latus fish here. During the persecutions under Diocletian in CE 303, the Christians of Esna, a large community, suffered greatly. Later, the town often served as a refuge for political exiles. The so-called Esna barrage across the Nile, built between 1906 and 1908, is located 30 miles upstream at Edfu.
ESOTERIC, having an inner or secret meaning. This term, and its correlative “exoteric,” were first applied in the ancient Greek mysteries to those who were initiated (ἔσω, within) and to those who were not (ἔξω, outside), respectively. It was then transferred to a supposed distinction drawn by certain philosophers between the teaching given to the whole circle of their pupils and that containing a higher and secret philosophy which was reserved for a select number of specially advanced or privileged disciples. This distinction was ascribed by Lucian (Vit. Auct. 26) to Aristotle (q.v.), who, however, uses ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι (Nic. Ethics) merely of “popular treatises.” It was probably adopted by the Pythagoreans and was also attributed to Plato. In the sense of mystic it is used of a secret doctrine of theosophy, supposed to have been traditional among certain disciples of Buddhism.
ESOTERIC,having an inner or hidden meaning. This term, along with its counterpart “exoteric,” was initially used in the ancient Greek mysteries to refer to those who were initiated (inside, inside) and those who were not (out, outside). It later came to describe the distinction some philosophers made between the teachings provided to all their students and those that included a deeper, secret philosophy reserved for a select group of particularly advanced or privileged disciples. This distinction was attributed by Lucian (Vit. Auct. 26) to Aristotle (q.v.), who, however, uses external reasons (Nic. Ethics) simply to mean “popular treatises.” It was likely adopted by the Pythagoreans and was also associated with Plato. In its mystical sense, it refers to a secret doctrine of theosophy, believed to have been passed down among certain followers of Buddhism.
ESPAGNOLS SUR MER, LES, the name given to the naval victory gained by King Edward III. of England over a Spanish fleet off Winchelsea, on the 29th of August 1350. Spanish ships had fought against England as the allies or mercenaries of France, and there had been instances of piratical violence between the trading ships of both nations. A Spanish merchant fleet was loading cargoes in the Flemish ports to be carried to the Basque coast. The ships were armed and had warships with them. They were all under the command of Don Carlos de la Cerda, a soldier of fortune who belonged to a branch of the Castilian royal family. On its way to Flanders the Spanish fleet had captured a number of English trading ships, and had thrown the crews overboard. Piratical violence and massacre of this kind was then universal on the sea. On the 10th of August, when the king was at Rotherhithe, he announced his intention of attacking the Spaniards on their way home. The rendezvous of his fleet was at Winchelsea, and thither the king went by land, accompanied by his wife and her ladies, by his sons, the Black Prince and John of Gaunt, as well as by many nobles. The ladies were placed in a convent and the king embarked on his flagship, the “Cog Thomas,” on the 28th of August. The English fleet did not put to sea but remained at anchor, waiting for the appearance of the Spaniards. Its strength is not known with certainty, but Stow puts it at 50 ships and pinnaces. Carlos de la Cerda was obviously well disposed to give the king a meeting. 772 He might easily have avoided the English if he had kept well out in the Channel. But he relied on the size and strength of his 40 large ships, and in expectation of an encounter had recruited a body of mercenaries—mostly crossbowmen—in the Flemish ports. In the afternoon of the 29th of August he bore down boldly on King Edward’s ships at anchor at Winchelsea. When the Spaniards hove in sight, the king was sitting on the deck of his ship, with his knights and nobles, listening to his minstrels who played German airs, and to the singing of Sir John Chandos. When the look-out in the tops reported the enemy in sight, the king and his company drank to one another’s health, the trumpet was sounded, and the whole line stood out. All battles at that time, whether on land or sea, were finally settled by stroke of sword. The English steered to board the Spaniards. The king’s own ship was run into by one of the enemy with such violence that both were damaged, and she began to sink. The Spaniard stood on, and the “Cog Thomas” was laid alongside another, which was carried by boarding. It was high time, for the king and his following had barely reached the deck of the Spaniard before the “Cog Thomas” went to the bottom. Other Spaniards were taken, but the fight was hot. La Cerda’s crossbowmen did much execution, and the higher-built Spaniards were able to drop bars of iron or other weights on the lighter English vessels, by which they were damaged. The conflict was continued till twilight. At the close the large English vessel called “La Salle du Roi,” which carried the king’s household, and was commanded by the Fleming, Robert of Namur, afterwards a knight of the Garter, was grappled by a big Spaniard, and was being dragged off by him. The crew called loudly for a rescue, but were either not heard or, if heard, could not be helped. The “Salle du Roi” would have been taken if a Flemish squire of Robert of Namur, named Hannequin, had not performed a great feat of arms. He boarded the Spaniard and cut the halyards of her mainsail with his sword. The Spanish ship was taken. King Edward is said to have captured 14 of the enemy. What his own loss was is not stated, but as his own vessel, and also the vessel carrying the Black Prince, were sunk, and from the peril of “La Salle du Roi,” we may conclude that the English fleet suffered heavily. There was no pursuit, and a truce was made with the Basque towns the next year.
ESPAGNOLS SUR MER, LES, is the name given to the naval victory won by King Edward III of England over a Spanish fleet off Winchelsea on August 29, 1350. Spanish ships had joined forces with France against England, leading to instances of piracy between the trading vessels of both nations. A Spanish merchant fleet was loading goods in the Flemish ports to be transported to the Basque coast. The ships were armed and accompanied by warships. They were all under the command of Don Carlos de la Cerda, a mercenary who belonged to a branch of the Castilian royal family. On its way to Flanders, the Spanish fleet had captured several English trading ships and thrown their crews overboard. Piracy and violence like this were common at sea at that time. On August 10, when the king was in Rotherhithe, he announced his plan to attack the Spaniards on their return. The meeting point for his fleet was at Winchelsea, and the king traveled there by land with his wife, her ladies, his sons—the Black Prince and John of Gaunt—and many nobles. The ladies were placed in a convent, and the king boarded his flagship, the “Cog Thomas,” on August 28. The English fleet did not set sail but remained anchored, waiting for the Spaniards. The exact size of the fleet is uncertain, but Stow estimates it had 50 ships and smaller vessels. Carlos de la Cerda was clearly willing to confront the king. He could have easily evaded the English by staying further out in the Channel, but he relied on the size and strength of his 40 large ships and had recruited a group of mercenaries—mostly crossbowmen—in the Flemish ports in anticipation of a battle. In the afternoon of August 29, he boldly approached King Edward’s anchored ships at Winchelsea. When the Spaniards appeared, the king was on the deck of his ship, with his knights and nobles, enjoying music from his minstrels playing German tunes, and listening to Sir John Chandos sing. When the lookout in the crow's nest reported the enemy was in sight, the king and his party toasted each other, the trumpet sounded, and the entire line moved forward. All battles at that time, whether on land or sea, were ultimately decided by the sword. The English aimed to board the Spanish ships. The king’s ship was struck by one of the enemy with such force that both vessels were damaged, and his ship began to sink. The Spanish vessel continued on, and the “Cog Thomas” was laid alongside another, which was taken by boarding. It was urgently needed, as the king and his followers barely made it onto the Spanish ship before the “Cog Thomas” sank. Other Spanish ships were captured, but the fighting was intense. La Cerda’s crossbowmen inflicted significant damage, and the taller Spanish vessels were able to drop iron bars or other weights on the lighter English ships, causing further harm. The conflict continued until twilight. At the end, a large English vessel called “La Salle du Roi,” which carried the king’s household and was commanded by the Fleming, Robert of Namur—who later became a knight of the Garter—was engaged by a large Spanish ship and was being pulled away. The crew shouted loudly for help, but either no one heard them, or they couldn’t be aided. The “Salle du Roi” would have been captured if a Flemish squire of Robert of Namur, named Hannequin, hadn’t performed a brave act. He boarded the Spanish ship and cut the halyards of her mainsail with his sword. The Spanish vessel was taken. It is said that King Edward captured 14 of the enemy’s ships. His own losses are not documented, but since both his ship and the vessel carrying the Black Prince sank, and considering the danger faced by “La Salle du Roi,” we can infer that the English fleet suffered heavily. There was no pursuit, and a truce was agreed upon with the Basque towns the following year. 772
The battle with “the Spaniards on the sea” is a very typical example of a medieval sea-fight, when the ships were of the size of a small coaster or a fishing smack, were crowded with men, and when the personal prowess of a single knight or squire was an important element of strength.
The battle with “the Spaniards on the sea” is a classic example of a medieval naval battle, where the ships were the size of a small cargo vessel or a fishing boat, packed with crew members, and the individual skill of a knight or squire played a crucial role in their strength.
The only real authority for the battle is Froissart, who was at different times in the service of King Edward or of his wife, Philippa of Hainaut, and of the counts of Namur. He repeated what was told him by men who had been present, and dwells as usual on the “chivalry” of his patrons. See his Chroniques, iv. 91.
The only true account of the battle comes from Froissart, who served at various times under King Edward, his wife Philippa of Hainaut, and the counts of Namur. He shared what he learned from those who were there and, as always, focuses on the “chivalry” of his sponsors. See his Chroniques, iv. 91.
ESPALIER (a French word, derived from the Ital. spalliera, something to rest the spalla or shoulder against; the word is ultimately the same as épaulière, a shoulder-piece), a lattice-work or row of stakes, originally shoulder high, on which fruit trees, shrubs and flowers, particularly roses and creepers, are trained. Espaliers are usually made of larch or other wood, iron and metal rails being too great conductors of heat and cold. The advantage of this method of training is that the fruit, &c, is more easily got at, and while protected from wind, is freely exposed to sun and air, and not so open to extreme changes of temperature as when trained on a wall. (See Horticulture.)
ESPALIER (a French word, derived from the Ital. spalliera, which means something to lean the spalla or shoulder against; the word is ultimately the same as épaulière, a shoulder-piece), is a lattice-work or row of stakes, originally shoulder high, where fruit trees, shrubs, and flowers, especially roses and climbing plants, are trained. Espaliers are usually made of larch or other types of wood, as iron and metal rails conduct heat and cold too effectively. The benefit of this training method is that the fruit, etc., is easier to reach, and while being protected from the wind, it enjoys plenty of sunshine and air, and is less exposed to extreme temperature changes compared to being trained against a wall. (See Horticulture.)
ESPARTERO, BALDOMERO (1792-1879), duke of Vitoria, duke of Morella, prince of Vergara, Count Luchana, knight of the Toison d’Or, &c. &c., Spanish soldier and statesman, was born at Granatulu, a town of the province of Ciudad Real, on the 27th of February 1792. He was the ninth child of a carter, who wanted to make him a priest, but the lad at fifteen enlisted in a battalion of students to fight against the armies of Napoleon I. In 1811 Espartero was appointed a lieutenant of Engineers in Cadiz, but having failed to pass his examination he entered a line regiment. In 1815 he went to America as a captain under General Morillo, who had been made commander-in-chief to quell the risings of the colonies on the Spanish Main. For eight years Espartero distinguished himself in the struggle against the colonists. He was several times wounded, and was made major and colonel on the battlefields of Cochabamba and Sapachni. He had to surrender to Sucre at the final battle of Ayacucho, which put an end to Castilian rule. He returned to Spain, and, like most of his companions in arms, remained under a cloud for some time. He was sent to the garrison town of Logroño, where he married the daughter of a rich landowner, Doña Jacinta Santa Cruz, who eventually survived him. Henceforth Logroño became the home of the most prominent of the Spanish political generals of the 19th century. Espartero became in 1832, on the death of King Ferdinand VII., one of the most ardent defenders of the rights of his daughter, Isabella II. The government sent him to the front, directly the Carlist War broke out, as commandant of the province of Biscay, where he severely defeated the Carlists in many encounters. He was quickly promoted to a divisional command, and then made a lieutenant-general. At times he showed qualities as a guerillero quite equal to those of the Carlists, like Zumalacarregui and Cabrera, by his daring marches and surprises. When he had to move large forces he was greatly superior to them as an organizer and strategist, and he never disgraced his successes by cruelty or needless severity. Twice he obliged the Carlists to raise the siege of Bilbao before he was appointed commander-in-chief of the northern army on the 17th of September 1836, when the tide of war seemed to be setting in favour of the pretender in the Basque provinces and Navarre, though Don Carlos had lost his ablest lieutenant, the Basque Zumalacarregui. His military duties at the head of the principal national army did not prevent Espartero from showing for the first time his political ambition. He displayed such radical and reforming inclinations that he laid the foundations of his popularity among the lower and middle classes, which lasted more than a quarter of a century, during which time the Progressists, Democrats and advanced Liberals ever looked to him as a leader and adviser. In November 1836 he again forced the Carlists to raise the siege of Bilbao. His troops included the British legion under Sir de Lacy Evans. This success turned the tide of war against Don Carlos, who vainly attempted a raid towards Madrid. Espartero was soon at his heels, and obliged him to hurry northwards, after several defeats. In 1839 Espartero carefully opened up negotiations with Maroto and the principal Carlist chiefs of the Basque provinces. These ended in their accepting his terms under the famous convention of Vergara, which secured the recognition of their ranks and titles for nearly 1000 Carlist officers. Twenty thousand Carlist volunteers laid down their arms at Vergara; only the irreconcilables led by Cabrera held out for a while in the central provinces of Spain. Espartero soon, however, in 1840, stamped out the last embers of the rising, which had lasted seven years. He was styled “El pacificador de España,” was made a grandee of the first class, and received two dukedoms.
ESPARTERO, BALDOMERO (1792-1879), Duke of Vitoria, Duke of Morella, Prince of Vergara, Count Luchana, Knight of the Toison d’Or, etc., was a Spanish soldier and statesman born in Granatulu, a town in Ciudad Real, on February 27, 1792. He was the ninth child of a carter who wanted him to become a priest, but at fifteen, he enlisted in a battalion of students to fight against Napoleon I's armies. In 1811, Espartero was appointed a lieutenant of Engineers in Cadiz; however, after failing his exam, he joined a line regiment. In 1815, he went to America as a captain under General Morillo, who was tasked with quelling the uprisings of the colonies on the Spanish Main. For eight years, Espartero distinguished himself in the fight against the colonists, sustaining several injuries and attaining the ranks of major and colonel on the battlefields of Cochabamba and Sapachni. He had to surrender to Sucre at the final battle of Ayacucho, which ended Spanish rule. After returning to Spain, he, like many of his fellow soldiers, faced a period of obscurity. He was assigned to the garrison town of Logroño, where he married Doña Jacinta Santa Cruz, the daughter of a wealthy landowner, who outlived him. From this point on, Logroño became the base for one of the most notable Spanish political generals of the 19th century. After the death of King Ferdinand VII in 1832, Espartero became one of the most passionate advocates for the rights of his daughter, Isabella II. When the Carlist War erupted, the government sent him to the front as the commander of the province of Biscay, where he dealt the Carlists several significant defeats. He was quickly promoted to divisional command and later made a lieutenant-general. He often demonstrated guerrilla skills comparable to the Carlists, such as Zumalacarregui and Cabrera, through his bold maneuvers and surprise tactics. When he mobilized large forces, he outperformed them as an organizer and strategist, always maintaining a standard of conduct that shunned unnecessary cruelty. Twice, he forced the Carlists to end their siege of Bilbao before he was appointed commander-in-chief of the northern army on September 17, 1836, at a time when the war seemed to be favoring the pretender in the Basque provinces and Navarre, despite Don Carlos losing his most capable lieutenant, the Basque Zumalacarregui. His military role at the head of the main national army did not deter Espartero from revealing his political ambitions. He exhibited such progressive and reformist attitudes that he built a solid base of support among the lower and middle classes, which lasted over a quarter of a century. During this time, Progressists, Democrats, and advanced Liberals regarded him as a leader and advisor. In November 1836, he again compelled the Carlists to lift the siege of Bilbao, with his troops including the British legion under Sir de Lacy Evans. This victory shifted the momentum of the war against Don Carlos, who attempted a failed raid toward Madrid. Espartero pursued him, forcing his retreat north after several defeats. In 1839, Espartero carefully initiated negotiations with Maroto and the main Carlist leaders of the Basque provinces, which resulted in their acceptance of his terms under the renowned convention of Vergara. This agreement secured recognition for nearly 1000 Carlist officers’ ranks and titles, leading to twenty thousand Carlist volunteers laying down their arms at Vergara; only the irreconcilables led by Cabrera continued to resist for a while in central Spain. However, by 1840, Espartero effectively extinguished the last traces of the seven-year uprising. He was hailed as “El pacificador de España,” granted the title of grandee of the first class, and awarded two dukedoms.
During the last three years of the war Espartero, who had been elected a deputy, exercised from his distant headquarters such influence over Madrid politics that he twice hastened the fall of the cabinet, and obtained office for his own friends. At the close of the war the queen regent and her ministers attempted to elbow out Espartero and his followers, but a pronunciamiento ensued in Madrid and other large towns which culminated in the marshal’s accepting the post of prime minister. He soon became virtually a dictator, as Queen Christina took offence at his popularity and resigned, leaving the kingdom very soon afterwards. Directly the Cortes met they elected Espartero regent by 179 votes to 103 in favour of Arguelles, who was appointed guardian of the young queen. For two years Espartero ruled Spain in accordance with his Radical and conciliatory dispositions, giving special attention to the reorganization of the administration, taxation and finances, declaring all the estates of the church, congregations and religious orders to be national property, and suppressing the diezma, or tenths. He suppressed the Republican risings with as much severity as he did the military pronunciamientos of 773 Generals Concha and Diego de Leon. The latter was shot in Madrid. Espartero crushed with much energy a revolutionary rising in Barcelona, but on his return to Madrid was so coldly welcomed that he perceived that his prestige was on the wane. The advanced Progressists coalesced with the partisans of the ex-regent Christina to promote pronunciamientos in Barcelona and many cities. The rebels declared Queen Isabel of age, and, led by General Narvaez, marched upon Madrid. Espartero, deeming resistance useless, embarked at Cadiz on the 30th of July 1843 for England, and lived quietly apart from politics until 1848, when a royal decree restored to him all his honours and his seat in the senate. He retired to his house in Logroño, which he left six years later, in 1854, when called upon by the queen to take the lead of the powerful Liberal and Progressist movement which prevailed for two years. The old marshal vainly endeavoured to keep his own Progressists within bounds in the Cortes of 1854-1856, and in the great towns, but their excessive demands for reforms and liberties played into the hands of a clerical and reactionary court and of the equally retrograde governing classes. The growing ambition of General O’Donnell constantly clashed with the views of Espartero, until the latter, in sheer disgust, resigned his premiership and left for Logroño, after warning the queen that a conflict was imminent between O’Donnell and the Cortes, backed by the Progressist militia. O’Donnell’s pronunciamiento in 1856 put an end to the Cortes, and the militia was disarmed, after a sharp struggle in the streets of the capital. After 1856 Espartero resolutely declined to identify himself with active politics, though at every stage in the onward march of Spain towards more liberal and democratic institutions he was asked to take a leading part. He refused to allow his name to be brought forward as a candidate when the Cortes of 1868, after the Revolution, sought for a ruler. Espartero, strangely enough, adopted a laconic phrase when successive governments on their advent to power invariably addressed themselves to the venerable champion of liberal ideas. To all—to the Revolution of 1868, the Constituent Cortes of 1869, King Amadeus, the Federal Republic of 1873, the nameless government of Marshal Serrano in 1874, the Bourbon restoration in 1875—he simply said: “Cumplase la voluntad nacional” (“Let the national will be accomplished”). King Amadeus made him prince of Vergara. The Restoration raised a statue to him near the gate of the Retiro Park in Madrid. Spaniards of all shades, except Carlists and Ultramontanes, paid homage to his memory when he passed away at his Logroño residence on the 8th of January 1879. His tastes were singularly modest, his manners rather reserved, but always kind and considerate for humble folk. He was a typical Spanish soldier-politician, though he had more of the better traits of the soldier born and bred than of the arts of the statesman. His military instincts did not always make it easy for him to accommodate himself to courtiers and professional politicians.
During the last three years of the war, Espartero, who had been elected as a deputy, had such influence over Madrid politics from his distant headquarters that he twice accelerated the fall of the cabinet and secured positions for his friends. At the end of the war, the queen regent and her ministers tried to push Espartero and his supporters out, but a pronunciamiento broke out in Madrid and other major cities, leading to the marshal accepting the role of prime minister. He quickly became almost a dictator, as Queen Christina, offended by his popularity, resigned and soon left the kingdom. When the Cortes convened, they elected Espartero as regent with 179 votes to 103 for Arguelles, who was appointed as guardian of the young queen. For two years, Espartero governed Spain according to his Radical and conciliatory principles, focusing on reorganizing the administration, taxes, and finances, declaring all church properties and religious orders as national assets, and abolishing the diezma, or tenths. He suppressed Republican uprisings as forcefully as he dealt with the military pronunciamientos of Generals Concha and Diego de Leon. The latter was executed in Madrid. Espartero energetically quelled a revolutionary uprising in Barcelona, but upon returning to Madrid, he received such a cold welcome that he realized his influence was declining. The progressive faction allied with supporters of the former regent Christina to initiate pronunciamientos in Barcelona and other cities. The rebels declared Queen Isabel of age and, led by General Narvaez, advanced towards Madrid. Espartero, seeing resistance as futile, boarded a ship in Cadiz on July 30, 1843, bound for England, where he lived out of politics until 1848, when a royal decree restored all his honors and his seat in the senate. He returned to his home in Logroño, only to leave six years later, in 1854, when the queen called him to lead a powerful Liberal and Progressive movement that lasted for two years. The old marshal struggled to keep his own Progressists in check in the Cortes of 1854-1856 and in major cities, but their extreme demands for reforms and liberties worked against him, benefiting a clerical and reactionary court and the equally conservative ruling classes. General O’Donnell’s growing ambitions frequently clashed with Espartero’s views, leading Espartero to resign in frustration and return to Logroño after warning the queen that a conflict was imminent between O’Donnell and the Cortes, supported by the Progressive militia. O’Donnell’s pronunciamiento in 1856 ended the Cortes, and the militia was disarmed after a fierce struggle in the streets of the capital. After 1856, Espartero firmly refused to engage in active politics, even when asked to play a leading role at key moments in Spain's transition toward more liberal and democratic institutions. He declined to have his name put forward as a candidate when the post-Revolution Cortes of 1868 looked for a ruler. Interestingly, he adopted a terse response to successive governments that sought him out for guidance each time they came to power. To everyone—from the Revolution of 1868 to the Constituent Cortes of 1869, King Amadeus, the Federal Republic of 1873, the unnamed government of Marshal Serrano in 1874, and the Bourbon restoration in 1875—he simply said: “Cumplase la voluntad nacional” (“Let the national will be accomplished”). King Amadeus made him prince of Vergara, and the Restoration erected a statue in his honor near the Retiro Park gate in Madrid. Spaniards of all political beliefs, except Carlists and Ultramontanes, paid tribute to his memory when he passed away at his Logroño residence on January 8, 1879. His tastes were notably modest, and his demeanor was somewhat reserved but always kind and considerate toward ordinary people. He was a typical Spanish soldier-politician, though he exhibited more of the noble qualities of a soldier than the skills of a statesman. His military instincts sometimes made it challenging for him to get along with courtiers and professional politicians.
ESPARTO, or Spanish Grass, Stipa tenacissima, a grass resembling the ornamental feather-grass of gardens. It is indigenous to the south of Spain and the north of Africa (where it is known as Halfa or Alfa), and is especially abundant in the sterile and rugged parts of Murcia and Valencia, and in Algeria, flourishing best in sandy, ferruginous soils, in dry, sunny situations on the sea coast. Pliny (N.H. xix. 2) described what appears to have been the same plant under the name of spartum, whence the designation campus spartarius for the region surrounding New Carthage. It attains a height of 3 or 4 ft. The stems are cylindrical, and clothed with short hair, and grow in clusters of from 2 to 10 ft. in circumference; when young they serve as food for cattle, but after a few years’ growth acquire great toughness of texture. The leaves vary from 6 in. to 3 ft. in length, and are grey-green in colour; on account of their tenacity of fibre and flexibility they have for centuries been employed for the making of ropes, sandals, baskets, mats and other articles. Ships’ cables of esparto, being light, have the quality of floating on water, and have long been in use in the Spanish navy.
ESPARTO, or Spanish Grass, Stipa tenacissima, is a grass that looks like the decorative feather grass found in gardens. It naturally grows in the southern part of Spain and northern Africa (where it's called Halfa or Alfa), and is particularly plentiful in the barren and rough areas of Murcia and Valencia, as well as in Algeria. It thrives best in sandy, iron-rich soils, in dry, sunny locations along the coast. Pliny (N.H. xix. 2) referred to what seems to be the same plant as spartum, which is where the name campus spartarius for the region around New Carthage comes from. It can grow to about 3 or 4 feet tall. The stems are cylindrical and covered with short hairs, growing in clusters that can be 2 to 10 feet in circumference; when they are young, they are eaten by cattle, but after a few years, they become very tough. The leaves range from 6 inches to 3 feet long and are grey-green in color; due to their strong fibers and flexibility, they have been used for centuries to make ropes, sandals, baskets, mats, and other items. Esparto cables for ships, being lightweight, have the advantage of floating on water and have long been used in the Spanish navy.
Esparto leaves contain 56% by weight of fibre, or about 10% more than straw, and hence have come into requisition as a substitute for linen rags in the manufacture of paper. For this purpose they were first utilized by the French, and in 1857 were introduced into Great Britain. When required for paper-making the leaves should be gathered before they are quite matured; if, however, they are obtained too young, they furnish a paper having an objectionable semi-transparent appearance. The leaves are gathered by hand, and from 2 to 3 cwt. may be collected in a day by a single labourer. They are generally obtained during the dry summer months, as at other times their adherence to the stems is so firm as often to cause the uprooting of the plants in the attempt to remove them. Esparto may be raised from seed, but cannot be harvested for twelve or fifteen years after sowing.
Esparto leaves contain 56% fiber by weight, which is about 10% more than straw, making them an alternative to linen rags in paper production. The French were the first to use them for this purpose, and they were introduced to Great Britain in 1857. For paper-making, the leaves should be collected before they are fully mature; if they are picked when too young, they create paper with an undesirable semi-transparent look. The leaves are harvested by hand, and a single worker can gather between 2 to 3 hundredweight in a day. They are usually collected during the dry summer months because at other times, their strong attachment to the stems can make it difficult to remove them without uprooting the plants. Esparto can be grown from seed, but it takes twelve to fifteen years after planting before it can be harvested.
Another grass, Lygeum Spartum, with stiff rush-like leaves, growing in rocky soil on the high plains of countries bordering on the Mediterranean, especially of Spain and Algeria, is also a source of esparto.
Another grass, Lygeum Spartum, with stiff, rush-like leaves, grows in rocky soil on the high plains of countries surrounding the Mediterranean, particularly Spain and Algeria, and is also a source of esparto.
For the processes of the paper manufacturer esparto is used in the dry state, and without cutting; roots and flowers and stray weeds are first removed, and the material is then boiled with caustic soda, washed, and bleached with chlorine solution. Sundry experiments have been made to adapt esparto for use in the coarser textile fabrics. Messrs A. Edger and B. Proctor in 1877 directed attention to the composition of the slag resulting from the burning of esparto, which they found to be strikingly similar to that of average medical bottle glass, the latter yielding on analysis 66.3% of silica and 25.1% of alkalies and alkaline earths, and the slag 64.6 and 27.45% of the same respectively.
For the processes of paper manufacturing, esparto is used in its dry state and without being cut. First, roots, flowers, and stray weeds are removed, and then the material is boiled with caustic soda, washed, and bleached with a chlorine solution. Various experiments have been conducted to adapt esparto for use in coarser textile fabrics. In 1877, Messrs A. Edger and B. Proctor highlighted the composition of the slag produced from burning esparto, which they found to be remarkably similar to that of typical medical bottle glass. The analysis showed that the glass contained 66.3% silica and 25.1% alkalies and alkaline earths, while the slag contained 64.6% and 27.45% of the same, respectively.
ESPERANCE, a small seaport on a fine natural harbour on the south coast of West Australia, 275 m. north-east from Albany. It is a summer resort, and in the neighbourhood are interesting caves. Its importance as a seaport is due to its being on the high road between the eastern states and the gold-fields, and the nearest place for the shipment of gold from the Coolgardie fields.
ESPERANCE, a small port with a beautiful natural harbor on the south coast of Western Australia, 275 miles northeast of Albany. It’s a popular summer destination, and nearby, there are intriguing caves. Its significance as a port comes from its location on the main route between the eastern states and the goldfields, making it the closest point for shipping gold from the Coolgardie mines.
ESPERANTO, an artificial international auxiliary language (see Universal Languages), first published in 1887, seven years after the appearance of its predecessor Volapük (q.v.), which it has now completely supplanted. Its author was a Russian physician, Dr L. Zamenhof, born in 1859 at Bielostok, where the spectacle of the feuds of the four races—each speaking different languages—which inhabit it (Russians, Poles, Germans and Jews) at an early date suggested to him the idea of remedying the evil by the introduction of a neutral language, standing apart from the existing national languages. His first idea was to resuscitate some dead language. Then he tried to construct a new language on an a priori basis. At the same time he made what he appears to have considered the great discovery that the bulk of the vocabulary of a language consists not of independent roots, but of compounds and derivatives formed from a comparatively small number of roots.
ESPERANTO, an artificial international auxiliary language (see Universal Languages), was first published in 1887, seven years after the introduction of its predecessor Volapük (q.v.), which it has now completely replaced. Its creator was a Russian doctor, Dr. L. Zamenhof, born in 1859 in Bielostok, where the sight of the conflicts among the four ethnic groups—each speaking different languages (Russians, Poles, Germans, and Jews)—early on inspired him to think of a solution through a neutral language that would be separate from the existing national languages. His initial idea was to revive some dead language. Then he attempted to create a new language from scratch. At the same time, he made what he seems to have regarded as a major discovery: that most of the vocabulary of a language consists not of independent roots, but of compounds and derivatives formed from a relatively small number of roots.
At first he tried to construct his roots a priori by arbitrary combinations of letters. Then he fell back on the plan of taking his roots ready-made from existing languages, as the inventor of Volapük had done before him. But instead of taking them mainly from one language, he has selected them from the chief European languages, but not impartially. Like all inventors of artificial languages, he is more ready to experiment with foreign languages than with his own; and hence the Slavonic roots in Esperanto are much less numerous than those taken from the other European languages. Here his choice has been to some extent guided by considerations of internationality, although he has not fully grasped the importance of the principle of maximum internationality, so well worked out in the latest rival of Esperanto—Idiom Neutral (see Universal Languages). Thus he adopts a large number of international words—generally unaltered except in spelling—such as teatr, tabak, even when it would be easy to form equivalent terms from the roots already existing in the language. Where there is no one international word, he selects practically at random, keeping, however, a certain balance between the Romance words, taken chiefly from Latin (tamen) and French (trotuar), on the one hand, and the Germanic on the other hand, the latter being taken sometimes 774 from German (nur, “only”), sometimes from English, the words being generally written more or less phonetically (rajt = right). Most of the Germanic words are badly chosen from the international point of view. Thus the German word quoted above would not be intelligible to any one ignorant of German. Indeed, from the international point of view all specially German words ought to be excluded, or else reduced to the common Germanic form; thus trink ought to be made into drink, the t being a specially German modification of the d, preserved not only in English but in all the remaining Germanic languages. This incongruous mixture of languages is not only jarring and repulsive, but adds greatly to the difficulty of mastering the vocabulary for the polyglot as well as the monolingual learner.
At first, he tried to create his roots from scratch by randomly combining letters. Then he relied on using ready-made roots from existing languages, like the creator of Volapük did before him. However, instead of choosing mainly from one language, he picked roots from major European languages, but not in a balanced way. Like all artificial language inventors, he is more willing to experiment with foreign languages than with his own; as a result, there are far fewer Slavonic roots in Esperanto than those from the other European languages. His choices have been somewhat influenced by international appeal, although he hasn't completely understood the significance of the maximum internationality principle, which is well developed in Esperanto's latest competitor—Idiom Neutral (see Universal Languages). Consequently, he includes many international words—mostly unchanged apart from spelling—like teatr, tabak, even when it would be simple to create equivalent terms from the existing roots in the language. When there isn't one international word, he chooses almost randomly, while maintaining a certain balance between Romance words, primarily from Latin (tamen) and French (trotuar), and the Germanic words, which are sometimes taken from German (nur, “only”) and other times from English, with the words generally written more or less phonetically (rajt = right). Most of the Germanic words are poorly chosen from an international standpoint. For instance, the German word mentioned earlier wouldn’t be understood by someone unfamiliar with German. In fact, from an international perspective, all distinctly German words should be eliminated or reduced to the common Germanic form; for example, trink should be changed to drink, since the t is a specific German alteration of the d, maintained not only in English but in all other Germanic languages. This awkward blend of languages is not only jarring and off-putting, but it also significantly increases the difficulty of learning the vocabulary for both polyglots and monolingual learners.
The inventor has taken great pains to reduce the number of his roots to a minimum; there are 2642 of them in his dictionary, the Universala Vortaro (from Ger. Wort, “word”), which does not include such international words as poezio, telefono; these the learner is supposed to recognize and form without help. The most eccentric feature of the vocabulary, and the one to which it owes much of its brevity, is the extensive use of the prefix mal- to reverse the meaning of a word, as in malamiko, “enemy,” and even malbona, “bad.”
The inventor has worked hard to keep the number of his root words to a minimum; there are 2,642 of them in his dictionary, the Universala Vortaro (from Ger. Wort, “word”), which doesn’t include international words like poezio and telefono; the learner is expected to recognize and form these on their own. The most unusual aspect of the vocabulary, and the reason for much of its simplicity, is the heavy use of the prefix mal- to change the meaning of a word, as in malamiko, “enemy,” and even malbona, “bad.”
The phonology of the language is very simple. The vowels are only five in number, a, e, i, o, u, used without any distinction of quantity, as in Russian. There are six diphthongs, expressed by an unnecessarily complicated notation. The consonant-system is simple enough in itself, but is greatly complicated in writing by the excessive and mostly unnecessary use made of diacritical letters not only for simple sounds but also for consonant-groups. c is used for ts, as in Polish.
The phonology of the language is very straightforward. There are only five vowels: a, e, i, o, u, used without any distinction in length, like in Russian. There are six diphthongs, represented by an unnecessarily complex notation. The consonant system is simple by itself, but the writing is made much more complicated by the excessive and mostly unnecessary use of diacritical marks, not only for single sounds but also for consonant groups. c is used for ts, similar to Polish.
The grammar is, like that of Volapük, partly borrowed from existing languages, partly a priori and arbitrary. The use of the final vowels belongs to the latter category. The use of -a to indicate adjectives and of -o to indicate nouns as in kara amiko, “dear (male) friend,” is a source of confusion to those familiar with the Romance languages, and has proved a bar to the diffusion of Esperanto among the speakers of these languages. On the other hand, the following paradigm will show how faithfully Esperanto can reproduce the defects of conventional European grammar:—
The grammar is, similar to Volapük, partly borrowed from existing languages and partly a priori and arbitrary. The use of final vowels falls into the latter category. Using -a to signify adjectives and -o to signify nouns, as in kara amiko, “dear (male) friend,” often confuses those who are familiar with the Romance languages, and has hindered the spread of Esperanto among speakers of those languages. On the other hand, the following paradigm will demonstrate how accurately Esperanto can replicate the flaws of traditional European grammar:—
Singular. | Plural. | |
Nominative | la bona patro | la bonaj patroj |
Accusative | la bonan patron | la bonajn patrojn. |
It is difficult to see why the accusative should be kept when all the other cases are replaced by prepositions.
It’s hard to understand why the accusative should be maintained when all the other cases are replaced by prepositions.
The verb is better than the noun. Its inflections are -as present, -is preterite, -os future, -us conditional, -u imperative and subjunctive, -i infinitive, together with the following participles:—
The verb is better than the noun. Its inflections are -as present, -is past, -os future, -us conditional, -u imperative and subjunctive, -i infinitive, along with the following participles:—
Active. | Passive. | |
Present | -anta | -ata |
Preterite | -inta | -ita |
Future | -onta | -ota |
The inventor has followed the good example of his native language in using esti, “to be,” as the auxiliary verb both in the passive, where it is combined with passive participles, and in the secondary tenses of the active (perfect, pluperfect, &c.), where it is of course combined with the active participles. The participles can be made into nouns and adverbs by changing the final -a into -o and -e respectively: thus tenonto, “the future holder,” perdinte, “through having lost.”
The inventor has taken inspiration from his native language by using esti, “to be,” as the auxiliary verb in the passive voice, where it's paired with passive participles, and in the secondary tenses of the active voice (like perfect and pluperfect), where it's paired with active participles. The participles can be turned into nouns and adverbs by changing the final -a to -o and -e respectively: so you have tenonto, “the future holder,” and perdinte, “through having lost.”
The table of the forty-five correlative pronouns, adjectives and adverbs is also elaborate and ingenious.
The table of the forty-five correlative pronouns, adjectives, and adverbs is also detailed and clever.
Much ingenuity is displayed in the syntax, as well as some happy simplifications. But, on the other hand, there is much in it that is fanciful, arbitrary and vague, as in the use of the definite article—where the author has unfortunately followed French rather than English usage—and in the moods of the verb.
Much creativity is shown in the syntax, along with some effective simplifications. However, there is also a lot in it that is fanciful, arbitrary, and vague, like the use of the definite article—where the author has unfortunately followed French rather than English conventions—and in the verb tenses.
The following specimens will show the general character of this easy-flowing but somewhat heavy and monotonous language—“bad Italian,” as it is called by its detractors:—
The following examples will illustrate the overall nature of this smooth but a bit heavy and repetitive language—“bad Italian,” as its critics label it:—
Patro nia, kiu estas en la ĉielo, sankta estu via nomo; venu regeco via; estu volo via, kiel en la ĉielo, tiel ankaŭ sur la tero. Panon nian ĉiutagan donu al ni hodiaŭ; kaj pardonu al ni ŝuldojn niajn, kiel ni ankaŭ pardonas al niaj ŝuldantoj; kaj ne konduku nin en tenton, sed liberigu nin de la malbono.
Patrino nia, kiu estas en la ĉielo, sankta estu via nomo; venu via regno; estu via volo, kiel en la ĉielo, tiel ankaŭ sur la tero. Donu al ni hodiaŭ nian ĉiutagan panon; kaj pardonu al ni niajn ŝuldojn, kiel ni ankaŭ pardonas al niaj ŝuldantoj; kaj ne konduku nin en tenton, sed liberigu nin de la malbono.
Estimata Sinjoro. Per tiu ĉi libreto mi havas la honoron prezenti al vi la lingvon internacian Esperanto. Esperanto tute ne havas la intencon malfortigi la lingvon naturan de ia popolo. Ĝi devas nur servi por la rilatoj internaciaj kaj por tiuj verkoj aŭ produktoj, kiuj interesas egale la tutan mondon.
Estimada Señor. Con este folleto tengo el honor de presentarles el idioma internacional Esperanto. Esperanto no tiene la intención de debilitar el idioma natural de ninguna nación. Solo debe servir para las relaciones internacionales y para aquellas obras o productos que interesan por igual a todo el mundo.
In summing up the merits and defects of Esperanto we must begin by admitting that it is the most reasonable and practical artificial language that has yet appeared. Its inventor has had the double advantage of being able to profit by the mistakes of his predecessors, and of being himself, by force of circumstances, a better linguist. It must further be admitted that he has made as good a use of these advantages as was perhaps possible without systematic training in scientific philology in its widest sense. This last defect explains why the enthusiasm which his work has excited in the great world of linguistic dilettantes has not been shared by the philologists: in spite of its superiority to Volapük, they see in it the same radical defects. Whether they are rash or not in predicting for it a similar fate, remains to be seen. The Esperantists, warned by the fate of Volapük, have adopted the wise policy of suppressing all internal disunion by submitting to the dictatorship of the inventor, and so presenting a united front to the enemy. One thing is clear: either Esperanto must be taken as it is without change, or else it must crumble to pieces; its failure to work out consistently the principle of the maximum of internationality for its root-words is alone enough to condemn it as hopelessly antiquated even from the narrow point of view which regards “international” as synonymous with “European”—a view which political development in the Far East has made equally obsolete.
When summing up the strengths and weaknesses of Esperanto, we have to acknowledge that it's the most reasonable and practical artificial language to date. Its creator has had the advantage of learning from the mistakes of earlier attempts and, due to circumstances, is a better linguist himself. It should also be noted that he has made the best use of these advantages, even without formal training in scientific linguistics. This last shortcoming explains why the excitement around his work hasn't been shared by professional linguists: despite being better than Volapük, they recognize it has the same fundamental flaws. Whether they are being overly cautious in predicting a similar downfall for Esperanto remains to be seen. The Esperantists, having learned from the fate of Volapük, have wisely chosen to eliminate any internal divisions by following the lead of the inventor, thereby presenting a united front against opposition. One thing is clear: either Esperanto must be accepted as it is, without changes, or it will fall apart; its failure to consistently apply the principle of maximum internationality for its root words is enough to label it as hopelessly outdated, even from the narrow perspective that equates “international” with “European”—a viewpoint that's become just as outdated due to political changes in the Far East.
ESPINAY, TIMOLÉON D’ (1580-1644), French soldier, was the eldest of the four sons of François d’Espinay, seigneur de Saint Luc (1554-1597), and was himself marquis de Saint Luc. In 1603 he accompanied Sully in his embassy to London. In 1622, in his capacity as vice-admiral of France, he gained some advantages over the defenders of La Rochelle, obliging the Huguenot commander, Benjamin de Rohan, seigneur de Soubise, to evacuate the islands of Ré and Oléron. In 1627 he was named lieutenant-general of Guienne and marshal of France.
ESPINAY, TIMOLÉON D’ (1580-1644), a French soldier, was the oldest of four sons of François d’Espinay, lord of Saint Luc (1554-1597), and he was also the marquis of Saint Luc. In 1603, he joined Sully on his diplomatic mission to London. In 1622, as vice-admiral of France, he achieved some victories against the defenders of La Rochelle, forcing the Huguenot leader, Benjamin de Rohan, lord of Soubise, to leave the islands of Ré and Oléron. In 1627, he was appointed lieutenant-general of Guienne and marshal of France.
ESPINEL, VICENTE MARTINEZ (1551-1624), Spanish poet and novelist, was baptized on the 28th of December 1551, and educated at Salamanca. He was expelled from the university in 1572, and served as a soldier in Flanders, returning to Spain in 1584 or thereabouts. He took orders in 1587, and four years later became chaplain at Ronda, absented himself from his living, and was deprived of his cure; but his musical skill obtained for him the post of choirmaster at Plasencia. His Diversas Rìmas (1591) are undeniably good examples of technical accomplishment and caustic wit. Espinel, however, survives as the author of a clever picaresque novel entitled Relaciones de la vida del Escudero Marcos de Obregón (1618). It is, in many passages, an autobiography of Espinel with picturesque embellishments. Marcos is not a chivalresque “esquire,” but an adventurer who seeks his fortune by attaching himself to great men; and the object of the author is to warn young men against such a life. Apart from the unedifying confessions of the hero, the book contains curious anecdotes concerning prominent contemporaries, and the episodical stories are told with great spirit; the style is extremely correct, though somewhat diffuse. Le Sage has not scrupled to borrow from Marcos de Obregón many of the incidents and characters in Gil Blas—a circumstance which induced Isla to give to his Spanish translation of Le Sage’s work the jesting title, Gil Blas restored to his Country and his Native Tongue. In the 1775 edition of the Siècle de Louis XIV. Voltaire grossly exaggerates in saying that Gil Blas is taken entirely from Marcos de Obregón. Espinel was a clever musician and added a fifth string to the guitar. He revived the measure known as décimas or espinelas, consisting of a stanza of ten octosyllabic lines. Most of the poems which he left in manuscript remain unpublished owing to their licentious character.
ESPINEL, VICENTE MARTINEZ (1551-1624), a Spanish poet and novelist, was baptized on December 28, 1551, and educated at Salamanca. He was expelled from the university in 1572, then served as a soldier in Flanders, returning to Spain around 1584. He became a priest in 1587 and, four years later, was appointed chaplain in Ronda. However, he left his post and lost his position, but his musical talent earned him the role of choirmaster in Plasencia. His Diversas Rìmas (1591) are undeniably excellent examples of technical skill and sharp wit. Espinel is best remembered as the author of a clever picaresque novel titled Relaciones de la vida del Escudero Marcos de Obregón (1618). In many parts, it serves as an autobiographical account of Espinel with colorful embellishments. Marcos is not a traditional knightly “esquire,” but rather an adventurer looking to make his fortune by associating with powerful individuals; the author's aim is to caution young men against this lifestyle. Aside from the less than admirable confessions of the main character, the book includes intriguing anecdotes about notable contemporaries, and the episodic stories are told with great energy; the style is very correct, though somewhat wordy. Le Sage has openly borrowed many of the incidents and characters from Marcos de Obregón for Gil Blas, which led Isla to humorously title his Spanish translation of Le Sage’s work Gil Blas restored to his Country and his Native Tongue. In the 1775 edition of the Siècle de Louis XIV., Voltaire greatly exaggerates in claiming that Gil Blas is completely based on Marcos de Obregón. Espinel was also a talented musician who added a fifth string to the guitar. He revived the measure known as décimas or espinelas, which consists of a stanza of ten octosyllabic lines. Most of the poems he left in manuscript remain unpublished due to their risqué nature.
Bibliography.—J. Perez de Guzmán’s edition of Marcos de Obregón (Barcelona, 1881) includes a valuable introduction; Léo Claretie, Le Sage romancier (Paris, 1890), discusses exhaustively the question of Le Sage’s indebtedness to Espinel. For some previously unpublished poems see Pedro Salvá y Mallén, Catálogo de la biblioteca de Salvá (Valencia, 1872).
References.—J. Perez de Guzmán’s edition of Marcos de Obregón (Barcelona, 1881) includes a valuable introduction; Léo Claretie, Le Sage romancier (Paris, 1890), thoroughly discusses Le Sage’s debts to Espinel. For some previously unpublished poems, see Pedro Salvá y Mallén, Catálogo de la biblioteca de Salvá (Valencia, 1872).
ESPIRITO SANTO, a maritime state of Brazil, bounded N. by Bahia, E. by the Atlantic Ocean, S. by Rio de Janeiro, and W. by Minas Geraes. Pop. (1890) 135,997; (1900) 209,783; area, 17,316 sq. m. With the exception of Sergipe it is the smallest of the Brazilian states. The western border of the state is traversed by low ranges of mountains forming a northward continuation of the Serra do Mar. The longest and most prominent of these ranges, which are for the most part the eastern escarpments of the great Brazilian plateau, is the Serra dos Aymores, which extends along fully two-thirds of the western frontier. Farther S. the ranges are much broken and extend partly across the state toward the seaboard; the more prominent are known as the Serra do Espigão, Serra da Chibata, Serra dos Pilões and Serra dos Purys. The eastern and larger part of the state belongs to the coastal plain, in great part low and swampy, with large areas of sand barrens, and broken by isolated groups and ranges of hills. With the exception of these sandy plains the country is heavily forested, even the mountain sides being covered with vegetation to their summits. The northern and southern parts are fertile, but the central districts are comparatively poor. The coastal plain comprises a sandy, unproductive belt immediately on the coast, back of which is a more fertile tertiary plain, well suited, near the higher country, to the production of sugar and cotton. The inland valleys and slopes are very fertile and heavily forested, and much of the Brazilian export of rosewood and other cabinet woods is drawn from this state. There is only one good bay on the coast, that of Espirito Santo, on which the port of Victoria is situated. The river-mouths are obstructed by sand bars and admit small vessels only. The principal rivers of the state are the Mucury, which rises in Minas Geraes and forms the boundary line with Bahia, the Itaunas, São Domingos, São Matheus, Doce, Timbuhy, Santa Maria, Jucú, Benevente, Itapemirim, and Itabapoana, the last forming the boundary line with Rio de Janeiro. The Doce, São Matheus, and Itapemirim rise in Minas Geraes and flow entirely across the state. The lower courses of these rivers are generally navigable, that of the Rio Doce for a distance of 90 m. The climate of the coastal zone and deeper valleys is hot, humid and unhealthy, malarial fevers being prevalent. In the higher country the temperature is lower and the climate is healthy. Espirito Santo is almost exclusively agricultural, sugar-cane, coffee, rice, cotton, tobacco, mandioca and tropical fruits being the principal products. Agriculture is in a very backward condition, however, and the state is classed as one of the poorest and most unprogressive in the republic. The rivers and shallow coast waters are well stocked with fish, but there are no fishing industries worthy of mention. There are three railway lines in operation in the state—one running from Victoria to Cachoeira do Itapemirim (50 m.), and thence, by another line, to Santo Eduardo in Rio de Janeiro (58 m.), where connexion is made with the Leopoldina system running into the national capital, and a third running north-westerly from Victoria to Diamantina, Minas Geraes, about 450 m. The chief cities and towns of the state, with their populations in 1890, are Victoria, São Matheus (municipality, 7761) on a river of the same name 16 m. from the sea, Serra (municipality, 6274), Guarapary (municipality, 5310), a small port S. by W. of the capital, Conceicão da Barra (municipality, 5628), the port of São Matheus and Cachoeira do Itapemirim (4049), an important commercial centre in the south.
ESPIRITO SANTO is a coastal state in Brazil, bordered to the north by Bahia, to the east by the Atlantic Ocean, to the south by Rio de Janeiro, and to the west by Minas Gerais. Population: (1890) 135,997; (1900) 209,783; area 17,316 sq. m. It is the second smallest of the Brazilian states, after Sergipe. The western border of the state is lined with low mountain ranges that continue northward from the Serra do Mar. The longest and most prominent of these is the Serra dos Aymores, which runs along about two-thirds of the western boundary. Further south, the mountain ranges become fragmented and extend partially across the state toward the coast, with the main ranges being known as the Serra do Espigão, Serra da Chibata, Serra dos Pilões, and Serra dos Purys. The eastern, larger part of the state consists of a coastal plain that is mostly low and swampy, with large sand-covered areas and scattered hills and ranges. Besides these sandy plains, the land is heavily forested, with vegetation covering the mountain slopes all the way to their peaks. The northern and southern regions are fertile, while the central areas are relatively poor. The coastal plain includes a sandy, unproductive stretch right along the coast, behind which lies a more fertile tertiary plain suitable for sugar and cotton production, especially near the higher ground. The inland valleys and slopes are very fertile and heavily wooded, contributing significantly to Brazil's exports of rosewood and other fine woods. The only good bay along the coast is Espirito Santo, which houses the port of Victoria. River mouths are blocked by sand bars, allowing only small vessels to enter. The main rivers in the state include the Mucury, which starts in Minas Gerais and marks the boundary with Bahia, as well as the Itaunas, São Domingos, São Matheus, Doce, Timbuhy, Santa Maria, Jucú, Benevente, Itapemirim, and Itabapoana, the last of which forms the border with Rio de Janeiro. The Doce, São Matheus, and Itapemirim rivers originate in Minas Gerais and flow entirely through the state. The lower sections of these rivers are generally navigable, with the Rio Doce being navigable for about 90 miles. The coastal zone and deeper valleys have a hot, humid climate that is unhealthy, with malaria being common. In the higher regions, the temperature is cooler, and the climate is healthier. Espirito Santo is almost entirely agricultural, producing mainly sugar cane, coffee, rice, cotton, tobacco, manioc, and tropical fruits. However, agriculture is quite underdeveloped, and the state is considered one of the poorest and least progressive in the republic. The rivers and shallow coastal waters are rich in fish, but there are no notable fishing industries. The state has three railway lines in operation—one from Victoria to Cachoeira do Itapemirim (50 miles), and then another line to Santo Eduardo in Rio de Janeiro (58 miles), which connects to the Leopoldina system leading to the national capital, and a third line running northwest from Victoria to Diamantina, Minas Gerais, about 450 miles. The main cities and towns in the state, with their populations in 1890, include Victoria, São Matheus (municipality, 7,761), located on a river of the same name 16 miles from the sea, Serra (municipality, 6,274), Guarapary (municipality, 5,310), a small port southwest of the capital, Conceicão da Barra (municipality, 5,628), the port of São Matheus, and Cachoeira do Itapemirim (4,049), an important commercial hub in the south.
Espirito Santo formed part of one of the original captaincies which were given to Vasco Fernandes Coutinho by the Portuguese crown. The first settlement (1535) was at the entrance to the bay of Espirito Santo, and its name was afterwards given to the bay and captaincy. It once included the municipality of Campos, now belonging to the state of Rio de Janeiro.
Espirito Santo was part of one of the original captaincies granted to Vasco Fernandes Coutinho by the Portuguese crown. The first settlement (1535) was at the entrance of the bay of Espirito Santo, and the name was later given to both the bay and the captaincy. It once included the municipality of Campos, which now belongs to the state of Rio de Janeiro.
The islands of Trinidade and Martim Vaz, which lie about 715 m. E. of Victoria, belong politically to this state. They are uninhabited, but considerable importance is attached to the former because Great Britain has twice attempted to take possession of it. It rises 1200 ft. above sea-level and is about 6 m. in circumference, but it has no value other than that of an ocean cable station. An excellent description of this singular island is to be found in E.F. Knight’s Cruise of the “Alerte” (London, 1895).
The islands of Trinidade and Martim Vaz, located about 715 miles east of Victoria, are politically part of this state. They are uninhabited, but the former is considered quite important because Great Britain has tried to claim it twice. It rises 1,200 feet above sea level and has a circumference of about 6 miles, but its only value is as an ocean cable station. A great description of this unique island can be found in E.F. Knight’s Cruise of the “Alerte” (London, 1895).
ESPRONCEDA, JOSÉ IGNACIO JAVIER ORIOL ENCARNACIÓN DE (1808-1842), Spanish poet, son of an officer in the Bourbon regiment, was born at or near Almendralejo de los Barros on the 25th of March 1808. On the close of the war he was sent to the preparatory school of artillery at Segovia, and later became a pupil of the poet Lista, then professor of literature at St Matthew’s College in Madrid. In his fourteenth year he had attracted his master’s attention by his verses, and had joined a secret society. Sentenced to five years’ seclusion in the Franciscan convent at Guadalajara, he began an epic poem entitled Pelayo, of which fragments survive. He escaped to Portugal and thence to England, where he found the famous Teresa whom he had met at Lisbon; here, too, he became a student of Shakespeare, Milton and Byron. In 1830 he eloped with Teresa to Paris, took part in the July revolution, and soon after joined the raid of Chapalangarra on Navarre. In 1833 he returned to Spain and obtained a commission in the queen’s guards. This, however, he soon forfeited by a political song, and he was banished to Cuéllar, where he wrote a poor novel entitled Sancho Saldaña ó el Castellano de Cuéllar (1834). He took an active part in the revolutionary risings of 1835 and 1836, and, on the accession to power of the Liberal party in 1840, was appointed secretary of legation at the Hague; in 1842 he was elected deputy for Almería, and seemed likely to play a great part in parliamentary life. But his constitution was undermined, and, after a short illness, he died at Madrid on the 23rd of May 1842. His poems, first published in 1840, at once gained for him a reputation which still continues undiminished. The influence of Byron pervades Espronceda’s life and work. It is present in an ambitious variant on the Don Juan legend, El Estudiante de Salamanca, Elvira’s letter being obviously modelled on Julia’s letter in Don Juan; the Canción del Pirata is suggested by The Corsair; and the Byronic inspiration is not wanting even in the noble fragment entitled El Diablo Mundo, based on the story of Faust. But in El Mendigo, in El Reo de Muerte, in El Verdugo, and in the sombre vehement lines, A Jarifa en una orgía, Espronceda approves himself the most potent and original lyrical poet produced by Spain during the 19th century.
ESPRONCEDA, JOSÉ IGNACIO JAVIER ORIOL ENCARNACIÓN DE (1808-1842), Spanish poet, son of an officer in the Bourbon regiment, was born around Almendralejo de los Barros on March 25, 1808. After the war, he was sent to the artillery preparatory school in Segovia and later became a student of the poet Lista, who was a literature professor at St Matthew’s College in Madrid. By the time he was fourteen, he had caught his teacher's attention with his poetry and had joined a secret society. He was sentenced to five years of confinement in the Franciscan convent in Guadalajara, where he began an epic poem called Pelayo, of which some fragments still exist. He escaped to Portugal and then to England, where he reunited with the famous Teresa whom he had met in Lisbon; here, he also studied Shakespeare, Milton, and Byron. In 1830, he eloped with Teresa to Paris, participated in the July Revolution, and soon after joined the raid on Navarre led by Chapalangarra. In 1833, he returned to Spain and received a commission in the queen’s guards. However, he soon lost this position due to a political song, which led to his banishment to Cuéllar, where he wrote a poorly received novel titled Sancho Saldaña ó el Castellano de Cuéllar (1834). He actively participated in the revolutionary uprisings of 1835 and 1836, and with the rise of the Liberal party in 1840, he was appointed secretary of legation in The Hague; in 1842, he was elected deputy for Almería and seemed poised to play a significant role in parliamentary life. But his health deteriorated, and after a brief illness, he died in Madrid on May 23, 1842. His poems, first published in 1840, quickly earned him a reputation that remains strong. The influence of Byron is evident throughout Espronceda's life and work. You can see it in his ambitious take on the Don Juan legend, El Estudiante de Salamanca, with Elvira’s letter clearly inspired by Julia’s letter in Don Juan; Canción del Pirata is influenced by The Corsair; and there are traces of Byronic inspiration even in the noble fragment El Diablo Mundo, which is based on the Faust story. But in El Mendigo, El Reo de Muerte, El Verdugo, and the intense, dark lines of A Jarifa en una orgía, Espronceda proves himself to be the most powerful and original lyrical poet produced by Spain during the 19th century.
Bibliography.—Obras poéticas y escritos en prosa (Madrid, 1884), edited by Blanca Espronceda de Escosura, the poet’s daughter (the second volume has not been published); E. Rodriguez Solís, Espronceda; su tiempo, su vida, y sus obras (Madrid, 1883); E. Piñeyro, El Romanticismo en España (Paris, 1904).
References.—Collected Poems and Prose Writings (Madrid, 1884), edited by Blanca Espronceda de Escosura, the poet’s daughter (the second volume has not been published); E. Rodriguez Solís, Espronceda; His Time, His Life, and His Works (Madrid, 1883); E. Piñeyro, Romanticism in Spain (Paris, 1904).
ESQUIRE (O. Fr. escuyer, Mod. Fr. écuyer, derived through the form escudier from Med. Lat. scutarius, “shield-bearer”), originally the attendant on a knight, whose helm, shield and lance he carried at the tournament or in the field of battle. The esquire ranked immediately below the knight bachelor, and his office was regarded as the apprentice stage of knighthood. The title was regarded as one of function, not of birth, and was not hereditary. In time, however, its original significance was lost sight of, and it came to be a title of honour, implying a rank between that of knight and valet or gentleman, as it technically still remains. Thus in the later middle ages esquire (armiger) was the customary description of holders of knight’s fees who had not taken up their knighthood, whence the surviving custom of entitling the principal landowner in a parish “the squire” (see Squire). Camden, at the close of the 16th century, distinguished four classes entitled to bear the style: (1) The eldest sons of knights, and their eldest sons, in perpetual succession; (2) the eldest sons of the younger sons of peers, and their eldest sons, in like perpetual succession; (3) esquires created by royal letters patent or other investiture, and their eldest sons; (4) esquires by office, e.g. justices of the peace and others who 776 bear any office of trust under the crown. To these the writer in the 3rd edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica (1797) added Irish peers and the eldest sons of British peers, who, though they bear courtesy titles, have in law only the right to be styled esquires. Officers of the king’s courts, and of the royal household, counsellors at law and justices of the peace he described as esquires only “by reputation”; and justices of the peace have the title only as long as they are in commission; while certain heads of great landed families are styled “esquires” by prescription. “But the meaner ranks of people,” he adds indignantly, “who know no better, do often basely prostitute this title; and, to the great confusion of all rank and precedence, every man who makes a decent appearance, far from thinking himself in any way ridiculed by finding the superscription of his letters thus decorated, is fully gratified by such an address.”
ESQUIRE (O. Fr. escuyer, Mod. Fr. écuyer, derived through the form escudier from Med. Lat. scutarius, “shield-bearer”), originally referred to the attendant of a knight, who carried his helmet, shield, and lance during tournaments or battles. The esquire was ranked just below the knight bachelor, and this role was seen as an apprenticeship to knighthood. The title was considered a functional one, not one of birth, and was not passed down through generations. Over time, however, its original meaning faded, and it became a title of honor, indicating a status between that of knight and servant or gentleman, as it technically still denotes. Thus, in the later Middle Ages, esquire (armiger) commonly described those who held knight's fees but had not yet been knighted, leading to the continuing tradition of referring to the primary landowner in a parish as “the squire” (see Squire). By the end of the 16th century, Camden identified four groups entitled to use the title: (1) The eldest sons of knights, and their eldest sons, in a perpetual line; (2) the eldest sons of younger sons of peers, and their eldest sons, similarly in a perpetual line; (3) esquires created by royal letters patent or other formal appointment, along with their eldest sons; (4) esquires by office, such as justices of the peace and others who hold positions of trust under the crown. In the 3rd edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica (1797), the writer added Irish peers and the eldest sons of British peers, who, while holding courtesy titles, only have the legal right to be called esquires. Officers of the king’s courts and royal household, legal advisors, and justices of the peace were described as esquires merely “by reputation”; justices of the peace held the title only while in office, and certain heads of prominent landed families were called “esquires” by tradition. “But the lower ranks of people,” he adds indignantly, “who know no better, often misuse this title; and, to the great confusion of all ranks and orders, every man who appears respectable, instead of feeling mocked by seeing this title on his letters, feels completely pleased by such an address.”
It is clear, however, that the title of esquire was very loosely used at a much earlier date. On this point Selden is somewhat scornfully explicit. “To whomsoever, either by blood, place in the State or other eminency, we conceive some higher attribute should be given, than that sole Title of Gentleman, knowing yet that he hath no other honorary title legally fixed upon him, we usually style him an Esquire, in such passages as require legally that his degree or state be mentioned; as especially in Indictments and Actions whereupon he may be outlawed. Those of other nations who are Barons or great Lords in their own Countries, and no knights, are in legal proceedings stiled with us, Esquires only. Some of our greatest Heralds have their divisions of Esquires applied to this day. I leave them as I see them, where they may easily be found.” Coke, too, says that every one is entitled to be termed esquire who has the legal right to call himself a gentleman (2. Institutes, 688).
It’s clear, though, that the title of esquire was used very loosely at a much earlier time. Selden is somewhat scornfully explicit about this. “To whoever, either by blood, position in the State, or other prominence, we think some higher status should be given than that simple title of Gentleman, knowing that he has no other honorary title legally attached to him, we usually refer to him as an Esquire in situations where his rank or status needs to be mentioned; especially in Indictments and Actions where he may be declared an outlaw. Those from other countries who are Barons or great Lords in their own lands, and not knights, are in legal matters referred to as Esquires only. Some of our top Heralds still apply their classifications of Esquires to this day. I leave them as I see them, where they can easily be found.” Coke also states that anyone who has the legal right to call himself a gentleman is entitled to be referred to as an esquire (2. Institutes, 688).
At the present time the following classes are recognized as esquires on occasions of ceremony or for legal purposes:—(1) All sons of peers and lords of parliament during their fathers’ lives, and the younger sons of such peers, &c., after their fathers’ deaths; the eldest sons of peers’ younger sons, and their eldest sons for ever. (2) Noblemen of all other nations. (3) The eldest sons of baronets and knights. (4) Persons bearing arms and the title of esquire by letters patent. (5) Esquires of the Bath and their eldest sons. (6) Barristers-at-law. (7) Justices of the peace and mayors while in commission or office. (8) The holders of any superior office under the crown. (9) Persons styled esquires by the sovereign in their patents, commissions or appointments.1 (10) Attorneys in colonies where the functions of counsel and attorney are united (in England solicitors are “gentlemen,” not “esquires”).
Currently, the following classes are recognized as esquires for ceremonial or legal reasons:—(1) All sons of peers and lords of parliament while their fathers are alive, and the younger sons of these peers, etc., after their fathers pass away; the eldest sons of the younger sons of peers, and their eldest sons forever. (2) Noblemen from all other countries. (3) The eldest sons of baronets and knights. (4) Individuals with arms and the title of esquire by letters patent. (5) Esquires of the Bath and their eldest sons. (6) Barristers-at-law. (7) Justices of the peace and mayors while in office. (8) Holders of any higher office under the crown. (9) Individuals designated as esquires by the sovereign in their patents, commissions, or appointments.1 (10) Attorneys in colonies where the roles of counsel and attorney are combined (in England, solicitors are “gentlemen,” not “esquires”).
In practice, however, the title of esquire, now to all intents and purposes meaningless, is given to any one who “can bear the port, charge and countenance of a gentleman.” The word has followed the same course as that of “gentleman” (q.v.), and for very similar reasons. It is still not customary in Great Britain to address e.g. a well-to-do person engaged in trade as esquire at his shop; it would be offensive not to do so at his private residence. In America, on the other hand, the use of the word “esquire” is practically obsolete, “Mr” (“Mister” or “Master,” at one time the title special to a “gentleman”) being the general form of address.
In practice, though, the title of esquire, which is now basically meaningless, is given to anyone who can "carry the appearance, responsibilities, and demeanor of a gentleman." The word has followed the same path as "gentleman" (q.v.) for very similar reasons. It's still not common in Great Britain to address, for example, a wealthy person involved in trade as esquire at their shop; it would be rude not to do so at their home. In contrast, in America, the use of the word "esquire" is nearly obsolete, with "Mr" ("Mister" or "Master," which was once the title reserved for a gentleman) being the standard form of address.
See Selden, Titles of Honor (1672); Camden, Britannia (ed. London, 1594); Coke, Institutes; Enc. of the Laws of England, s. “Esquire”; Du Cange, Glossarium (ed. 1886), s. “Scutarius,” “Scutifer” and “Armiger”; New English Dictionary, s. “Esquire.”
See Selden, Titles of Honor (1672); Camden, Britannia (ed. London, 1594); Coke, Institutes; Enc. of the Laws of England, s. “Esquire”; Du Cange, Glossarium (ed. 1886), s. “Scutarius,” “Scutifer” and “Armiger”; New English Dictionary, s. “Esquire.”
ESQUIROL, JEAN ÉTIENNE DOMINIQUE (1772-1840), French alienist, was born at Toulouse on the 3rd of February 1772. In 1794 he became a pupil of the military hospital of Narbonne, and subsequently studied in Paris at the Salpêtrière under P. Pinel, whose assistant he became. In 1811 he was chosen physician to the Salpêtrière, and in 1817 he began a course of lectures on the treatment of the insane, in which he made such revelations of the abuses existing in the lunatic asylums of France that the government appointed a commission to inquire into the subject. Esquirol in this and other ways greatly assisted Pinel’s efforts for the introduction of humaner methods. The asylums of Rouen, Nantes and Montpellier were built in accordance with his plans. In 1823 he became inspector-general of the university of Paris for the faculties of medicine, and in 1826 chief physician of the asylum at Charenton. He died at Paris on the 13th of December 1840. Besides contributing to the Dictionnaire des sciences médicales and the Encyclopédie des gens du monde, Esquirol wrote Des maladies mentales, considérées sous les rapports médical, hygiénique, et médico-légal (2 vols., Paris, 1838).
ESQUIROL, JEAN ÉTIENNE DOMINIQUE (1772-1840), French psychiatrist, was born in Toulouse on February 3, 1772. In 1794, he became a student at the military hospital in Narbonne, and later studied in Paris at the Salpêtrière under P. Pinel, becoming his assistant. In 1811, he was appointed physician at the Salpêtrière, and in 1817, he began a series of lectures on the treatment of the mentally ill, revealing the abuses present in France's mental asylums, which prompted the government to establish a commission to investigate. Esquirol played a significant role in supporting Pinel’s efforts to introduce more humane methods. The asylums in Rouen, Nantes, and Montpellier were constructed based on his designs. In 1823, he became the inspector-general of the University of Paris for the medical faculties, and in 1826, he was appointed chief physician of the asylum at Charenton. He passed away in Paris on December 13, 1840. In addition to his contributions to the Dictionnaire des sciences médicales and the Encyclopédie des gens du monde, Esquirol authored Des maladies mentales, considérées sous les rapports médical, hygiénique, et médico-légal (2 vols., Paris, 1838).
ESQUIROS, HENRI FRANÇOIS ALPHONSE (1812-1876), French writer, was born in Paris on the 23rd of May 1812. After some minor publications he produced L’Évangile du peuple (1840), an exposition of the life and character of Jesus as a social reformer. This work was considered an offence against religion and decency, and Esquiros was fined and imprisoned. He was elected in 1850 as a social democrat to the Legislative Assembly, but was exiled in 1851 for his opposition to the Empire. Returning to France in 1869 he was again a member of the Legislative Assembly, and in 1876 was elected to the senate. He died at Versailles on the 12th of May 1876. He turned to account his residence in England in L’Angleterre et la vie anglaise (5 vols., 1859-1869). Among his numerous works on social subjects may be noted:—Histoire des Montagnards (2 vols., 1847); Paris, ou les sciences, les institutions et les mœurs au XIXe siècle (2 vols., 1847); and Histoire des martyrs de la liberté (1851).
ESQUIROS, HENRI FRANÇOIS ALPHONSE (1812-1876), French writer, was born in Paris on May 23, 1812. After some minor publications, he produced L’Évangile du peuple (1840), an exploration of the life and character of Jesus as a social reformer. This work was seen as an insult to religion and decency, resulting in Esquiros being fined and imprisoned. He was elected in 1850 as a social democrat to the Legislative Assembly, but he was exiled in 1851 for opposing the Empire. Upon returning to France in 1869, he became a member of the Legislative Assembly again and was elected to the senate in 1876. He died in Versailles on May 12, 1876. He reflected on his time in England in L’Angleterre et la vie anglaise (5 vols., 1859-1869). Some of his notable works on social topics include: Histoire des Montagnards (2 vols., 1847); Paris, ou les sciences, les institutions et les mœurs au XIXe siècle (2 vols., 1847); and Histoire des martyrs de la liberté (1851).
ESS, JOHANN HEINRICH VAN (1772-1847), German Catholic theologian, was born at Warburg, Westphalia, on the 15th of February 1772. He was educated at the Dominican gymnasium of his native town, and in 1790 entered, as a novice, the Benedictine abbey of Marienmünster, in the bishopric of Paderborn. His Benedictine name was Leander. He was priest at Schwalenberg from 1799 to 1812, after which he became extraordinary professor of theology and joint-director of the teachers’ seminary at Marburg. In 1818 he received the doctorate of theology and of canonical law. In 1807, in conjunction with his cousin Karl van Ess, he had published a German translation of the New Testament, and, as its circulation was discountenanced by his superiors, he published in 1808 a defence of his views, entitled Auszüge aus den heiligen Vätern und anderen Lehrern der katholischen Kirche über das nothwendige und nützliche Bibellesen. An improved edition of this tractate was published in 1816, under the title Gedanken über Bibel und Bibellehre, and in the same year appeared Was war die Bibel den ersten Christen? In 1822 he published the first part of a German translation of the Old Testament, which was completed in 1836. In 1822 he resigned his offices at Marburg in order to devote his whole time to the defence of his views regarding Bible reading by the people, and to endeavour to promote the circulation of the scriptures. He was associated first with the Catholic Bible Society of Regensburg, and then with the British and Foreign Bible Society. He died at Affolderbach in the Odenwald on the 13th of October 1847.
ESS, JOHANN HEINRICH VAN (1772-1847), a German Catholic theologian, was born in Warburg, Westphalia, on February 15, 1772. He studied at the Dominican gymnasium in his hometown and entered the Benedictine abbey of Marienmünster, in the Paderborn bishopric, as a novice in 1790. His Benedictine name was Leander. He served as a priest in Schwalenberg from 1799 to 1812, after which he became an extraordinary professor of theology and co-director of the teacher’s seminary in Marburg. In 1818, he earned his doctorate in theology and canon law. In 1807, along with his cousin Karl van Ess, he published a German translation of the New Testament. When his superiors disapproved of its circulation, he wrote a defense of his position in 1808, titled Auszüge aus den heiligen Vätern und anderen Lehrern der katholischen Kirche über das nothwendige und nützliche Bibellesen. An improved edition of this work was released in 1816 under the title Gedanken über Bibel und Bibellehre, and the same year saw the publication of Was war die Bibel den ersten Christen? In 1822, he released the first part of a German translation of the Old Testament, which he completed in 1836. That same year, he resigned from his positions in Marburg to fully dedicate himself to advocating for Bible reading among the people and promoting the distribution of the scriptures. He first collaborated with the Catholic Bible Society of Regensburg and later with the British and Foreign Bible Society. He passed away in Affolderbach in the Odenwald on October 13, 1847.
ESSAY, ESSAYIST (Fr. essai, Late Lat. exagium, a weighing or balance; exigere, to examine; the term in general meaning any trial or effort). As a form of literature, the essay is a composition of moderate length, usually in prose, which deals in an easy, cursory way with the external conditions of a subject, and, in strictness, with that subject, only as it affects the writer. Dr Johnson, himself an eminent essayist, defines an essay as “an irregular, undigested piece”; the irregularity may perhaps be admitted, but want of thought, that is to say lack of proper mental digestion, is certainly not characteristic of a fine example. It should, on the contrary, always be the brief and light result of experience and profound meditation, while “undigested” is the last epithet to be applied to the essays of Montaigne, Addison or Lamb. Bacon said that the Epistles of Seneca were “essays,” but this can hardly be allowed. Bacon himself goes on to admit that “the word is late, though the thing is ancient.” The word, in fact, was invented for this species of writing by Montaigne, who merely meant that these were experiments in 777 a new kind of literature. This original meaning, namely that these pieces were attempts or endeavours, feeling their way towards the expression of what would need a far wider space to exhaust, was lost in England in the course of the eighteenth century. This is seen by the various attempts made in the nineteenth century to coin a word which should express a still smaller work, as distinctive in comparison with the essay as the essay is by the side of the monograph; none of these linguistic experiments, such as essayette, essaykin (Thackeray) and essaylet (Helps) have taken hold of the language. As a matter of fact, the journalistic word article covers the lesser form of essay, although not exhaustively, since the essays in the monthly and quarterly reviews, which are fully as extended as an essay should ever be, are frequently termed “articles,” while many “articles” in newspapers, dictionaries and encyclopaedias are in no sense essays. It may be said that the idea of a detached work is combined with the word “essay,” which should be neither a section of a disquisition nor a chapter in a book which aims at the systematic development of a story. Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding is not an essay at all, or cluster of essays, in this technical sense, but refers to the experimental and tentative nature of the inquiry which the philosopher was undertaking. Of the curious use of the word so repeatedly made by Pope mention will be made below.
ESSAY, WRITER (Fr. essai, Late Lat. exagium, a weighing or balance; exigere, to examine; the term generally means any trial or effort). As a literary form, the essay is a moderately long piece, usually in prose, that discusses the external conditions of a subject in a casual and summary manner, and, specifically, that subject only as it relates to the writer. Dr. Johnson, who was a prominent essayist, defines an essay as “an irregular, undigested piece”; while we might agree there's irregularity, a lack of thought—meaning insufficient intellectual processing—is not typical of a high-quality example. Instead, it should always be a brief and light result of experience and deep reflection, while “undigested” is the last term that should describe the essays of Montaigne, Addison, or Lamb. Bacon claimed that the Epistles of Seneca were “essays,” but that’s hard to accept. Bacon himself later acknowledged that “the word is late, though the thing is ancient.” In fact, the term was created for this type of writing by Montaigne, who simply suggested that these were experiments in a new kind of literature. This original meaning, that these pieces were attempts or efforts exploring what would require a much larger space to fully articulate, was lost in England during the eighteenth century. This is evident in the various attempts made in the nineteenth century to create a word that would denote a smaller work, similar to how the essay relates to the monograph; none of these linguistic attempts, such as essayette, essaykin (Thackeray), and essaylet (Helps), have gained traction in the language. In fact, the journalistic term article covers the smaller form of essay, but not completely, since the essays in monthly and quarterly reviews, which can be just as detailed as an essay should be, are often called “articles,” while many “articles” in newspapers, dictionaries, and encyclopedias are not essays at all. It could be said that the concept of a standalone work is tied to the word “essay,” which should not be a part of a dissertation or a chapter in a book aimed at systematically developing a narrative. Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding is not an essay, or a collection of essays, in this specific sense but refers to the experimental and tentative nature of the inquiry he was undertaking. There will be further discussion on the unique usage of the word by Pope below.
The essay, as a species of literature, was invented by Montaigne, who had probably little suspicion of the far-reaching importance of what he had created. In his dejected moments, he turned to rail at what he had written, and to call his essays “inepties” and “sottises.” But in his own heart he must have been well satisfied with the new and beautiful form which he had added to literary tradition. He was perfectly aware that he had devised a new thing; that he had invented a way of communicating himself to the world as a type of human nature. He designed it to carry out his peculiar object, which was to produce an accurate portrait of his own soul, not as it was yesterday or will be to-morrow, but as it is to-day. It is not often that we can date with any approach to accuracy the arrival of a new class of literature into the world, but it was in the month of March 1571 that the essay was invented. It was started in the second story of the old tower of the castle of Montaigne, in a study to which the philosopher withdrew for that purpose, surrounded by his books, close to his chapel, sheltered from the excesses of a fatiguing world. He wrote slowly, not systematically; it took nine years to finish the two first books of the essays. In 1574 the manuscript of the work, so far as it was then completed, was nearly lost, for it was confiscated by the pontifical police in Rome, where Montaigne was residing, and was not returned to the author for four months. The earliest imprint saw the light in 1580, at Bordeaux, and the Paris edition of 1588, which is the fifth, contains the final text of the great author. These dates are not negligible in the briefest history of the essay, for they are those of its revelation to the world of readers. It was in the delightful chapters of his new, strange book that Montaigne introduced the fashion of writing briefly, irregularly, with constant digressions and interruptions, about the world as it appears to the individual who writes. The Essais were instantly welcomed, and few writers of the Renaissance had so instant and so vast a popularity as Montaigne. But while the philosophy, and above all the graceful stoicism, of the great master were admired and copied in France, the exact shape in which he had put down his thoughts, in the exquisite negligence of a series of essays, was too delicate to tempt an imitator. It is to be noted that neither Charron, nor Mlle de Gournay, his most immediate disciples, tried to write essays. But Montaigne, who liked to fancy that the Eyquem family was of English extraction, had spoken affably of the English people as his “cousins,” and it has always been admitted that his genius has an affinity with the English. He was early read in England, and certainly by Bacon, whose is the second great name connected with this form of literature. It was in 1597, only five years after the death of Montaigne, that Bacon published in a small octavo the first ten of his essays. These he increased to 38 in 1612 and to 58 in 1625. In their first form, the essays of Bacon had nothing of the fulness or grace of Montaigne’s; they are meagre notes, scarcely more than the headings for discourses. It is possible that when he wrote them he was not yet familiar with the style of his predecessor, which was first made popular in England, in 1603, when Florio published that translation of the Essais which Shakespeare unquestionably read. In the later editions Bacon greatly expanded his theme, but he never reached, or but seldom, the freedom and ease, the seeming formlessness held in by an invisible chain, which are the glory of Montaigne, and distinguish the typical essayist. It would seem that at first, in England, as in France, no lesser writer was willing to adopt a title which belonged to so great a presence as that of Bacon or Montaigne. The one exception was Sir William Cornwallis (d. 1631), who published essays in 1600 and 1617, of slight merit, but popular in their day. No other English essayist of any importance appeared until the Restoration, when Abraham Cowley wrote eleven “Several Discourses by way of Essays,” which did not see the light until 1668. He interspersed with his prose, translations and original pieces in verse, but in other respects Cowley keeps much nearer than Bacon to the form of Montaigne. Cowley’s essay “Of Myself” is a model of what these little compositions should be. The name of Bacon inspires awe, but it is really not he, but Cowley, who is the father of the English essay; and it is remarkable that he has had no warmer panegyrists than his great successors, Charles Lamb and Macaulay. Towards the end of the century, Sir George Mackenzie (1636-1691) wrote witty moral discourses, which were, however, essays rather in name than form. Whenever, however, we reach the eighteenth century, we find the essay suddenly became a dominant force in English literature. It made its appearance almost as a new thing, and in combination with the earliest developments of journalism. On the 12th of April 1709 appeared the first number of a penny newspaper, entitled the Tatler, a main feature of which was to amuse and instruct fashionable readers by a series of short papers dealing with the manifold occurrences of life, quicquid agunt homines. But it was not until Steele, the founder of the Tatler, was joined by Addison that the eighteenth-century essay really started upon its course. It displayed at first, and indeed it long retained, a mixture of the manner of Montaigne with that of La Bruyère, combining the form of the pure essay with that of the character-study, as modelled on Theophrastus, which had been so popular in England throughout the seventeenth century. Addison’s early Tatler portraits, in particular such as those of “Tom Folio” and “Ned Softly,” are hardly essays. But Steele’s “Recollections of Childhood” is, and here we may observe the type on which Goldsmith, Lamb and R.L. Stevenson afterwards worked. In January 1711 the Tatler came to an end, and was almost immediately followed by the Spectator, and in 1713 by the Guardian. These three newspapers are storehouses of admirable and typical essays, the majority of them written by Steele and Addison, who are the most celebrated eighteenth-century essayists in England. Later in the century, after the publication of other less successful experiments, appeared Fielding’s essays in the Covent Garden Journal (1752) and Johnson’s in the Rambler (1750), the Adventurer (1752) and the Idler (1759). There followed a great number of polite journals, in which the essay was treated as “the bow of Ulysses in which it was the fashion for men of rank and genius to try their strength.” Goldsmith reached a higher level than the Chesterfields and Bonnel Thorntons had dreamed of, in the delicious sections of his Citizen of the World (1760). After Goldsmith, the eighteenth-century essay declined into tamer hands, and passed into final feebleness with the pedantic Richard Cumberland and the sentimental Henry Mackenzie. The corpus of eighteenth-century essayists is extremely voluminous, and their reprinted works fill some fifty volumes. There is, however, a great sameness about all but the very best of them, and in no case do they surpass Addison in freshness, or have they ventured to modify the form he adopted for his lucubrations. What has survived of them all is the lightest portion, but it should not be forgotten 778 that a very large section of the essays of that age were deliberately didactic and “moral.” A great revival of the essay took place during the first quarter of the nineteenth century, and foremost in the history of this movement must always be placed the name of Charles Lamb. He perceived that the real business of the essay, as Montaigne had conceived it, was to be largely personal. The famous Essays of Elia began to appear in the London Magazine for August 1820, and proceeded at fairly regular intervals until December 1822; early in 1823 the first series of them were collected in a volume. The peculiarity of Lamb’s style as an essayist was that he threw off the Addisonian and still more the Johnsonian tradition, which had become a burden that crushed the life out of each conventional essay, and that he boldly went back to the rich verbiage and brilliant imagery of the seventeenth century for his inspiration. It is true that Lamb had great ductility of style, and that, when he pleases, he can write so like Steele that Steele himself might scarcely know the difference, yet in his freer flights we are conscious of more exalted masters, of Milton, Thomas Browne and Jeremy Taylor. He succeeded, moreover, in reaching a poignant note of personal feeling, such as none of his predecessors had ever aimed at; the essays called “Dream Children” and “Blakesmoor” are examples of this, and they display a degree of harmony and perfection in the writing of the pure essay such as had never been attempted before, and has never since been reached. Leigh Hunt, clearing away all the didactic and pompous elements which had overgrown the essay, restored it to its old Spectator grace, and was the most easy nondescript writer of his generation in periodicals such as the Indicator (1819) and the Companion (1828). The sermons, letters and pamphlets of Sydney Smith were really essays of an extended order. In Hazlitt and Francis Jeffrey we see the form and method of the essay beginning to be applied to literary criticism. The writings of De Quincey are almost exclusively essays, although many of the most notable of them, under his vehement pen, have far outgrown the limits of the length laid down by the most indulgent formalist. His biographical and critical essays are interesting, but they are far from being trustworthy models in form or substance. In a sketch, however rapid, of the essay in the nineteenth century, prominence must be given to the name of Macaulay. His earliest essay, that on Milton, appeared in the Edinburgh Review in 1825, very shortly after the revelation of Lamb’s genius in “Elia.” No two products cast in the same mould could, however, be more unlike in substance. In the hands of Macaulay the essay ceases to be a confession or an autobiography; it is strictly impersonal, it is literary, historical or controversial, vigorous, trenchant and full of party prejudice. The periodical publication of Macaulay’s Essays in the Edinburgh Review went on until 1844; when we cast our eyes over this mass of brilliant writing we observe with surprise that it is almost wholly contentious. Nothing can be more remarkable than the difference in this respect between Lamb and Macaulay, the former for ever demanding, even cajoling, the sympathy of the reader, the latter scanning the horizon for an enemy to controvert. In later times the essay in England has been cultivated in each of these ways, by a thousand journalists and authors. The “leaders” of a daily newspaper are examples of the popularization of the essay, and they point to the danger which now attacks it, that of producing a purely ephemeral or even momentary species of effect. The essay, in its best days, was intended to be as lasting as a poem or a historical monograph; it aimed at being one of the most durable and precious departments of literature. We still occasionally see the production of essays which have this more ambitious aim; within the last quarter of the nineteenth century the essays of R.L. Stevenson achieved it. His Familiar Studies are of the same class as those of Montaigne and Lamb, and he approached far more closely than any other contemporary to their high level of excellence. We have seen that the tone of the essay should be personal and confidential; in Stevenson’s case it was characteristically so. But the voices which please the public in a strain of pure self-study are few at all times, and with the cultivation of the analytic habit they tend to become less original and attractive. It is possible that the essay may die of exhaustion of interest, or may survive only in the modified form of accidental journalism.
The essay, as a form of literature, was created by Montaigne, who likely had no idea of the significant impact of his work. During his low moments, he criticized what he had written, calling his essays “nonsense” and “foolishness.” But deep down, he must have felt pleased with this new and beautiful addition to literary tradition. He knew he had created something new; he had invented a way to express himself to the world as a representation of human nature. He intended it to fulfill his unique goal, which was to capture an accurate portrait of his own soul, not as it was yesterday or would be tomorrow, but as it is today. It’s rare that we can pinpoint the exact arrival of a new literary genre, but the essay was born in March 1571. It started on the second floor of the old tower of the Montaigne castle, in a study where the philosopher retreated for this purpose, surrounded by his books, near his chapel, sheltered from the stresses of the world. He wrote slowly, without a strict plan; it took him nine years to complete the first two books of his essays. In 1574, the manuscript, as far as it was finished, was nearly lost when it was seized by the papal police in Rome, where Montaigne lived, and wasn’t returned to him for four months. The first printed edition was published in 1580 in Bordeaux, and the Paris edition of 1588, which is the fifth, contains the final text of this great author. These dates matter in the brief history of the essay, as they mark its introduction to the world of readers. In the charming chapters of his new and unusual book, Montaigne introduced the style of writing briefly, irregularly, with constant digressions and interruptions, about the world as seen by the individual writer. The Essais were welcomed immediately, and few writers of the Renaissance enjoyed such instant and widespread popularity as Montaigne. But while the philosophy, especially the graceful stoicism, of this great master was admired and imitated in France, the specific way he expressed his thoughts, with the exquisite casualness of a series of essays, was too delicate to inspire imitators. Notably, neither Charron nor Mlle de Gournay, his closest followers, attempted to write essays. However, Montaigne, who liked to think that the Eyquem family had English roots, spoke kindly of the English as his “cousins,” and it’s always been acknowledged that his genius shares an affinity with English literature. He was read early in England, including by Bacon, whose name is the second major one associated with this literary form. In 1597, just five years after Montaigne's death, Bacon published the first ten of his essays in a small octavo. He expanded this number to 38 in 1612 and to 58 in 1625. In their initial form, Bacon's essays lacked the depth or grace of Montaigne’s; they were minimal notes, barely more than titles for discussions. It’s possible that when he wrote them, he wasn’t yet familiar with his predecessor's style, which became popular in England in 1603 when Florio published his translation of the Essais that Shakespeare certainly read. In later editions, Bacon greatly expanded his themes, but he rarely achieved, if ever, the freedom and ease of Montaigne, whose essays have a unique quality that set the standard for essayists. Initially, in England, as in France, no lesser writer dared adopt the title of essayist that belonged to such giants as Bacon or Montaigne. The one exception was Sir William Cornwallis (d. 1631), who published essays in 1600 and 1617, which had little merit but were popular in their time. No other important English essayist emerged until the Restoration, when Abraham Cowley wrote eleven “Several Discourses by way of Essays,” which were published in 1668. He mixed prose with translations and original poetry but kept much closer to Montaigne's style than Bacon did. Cowley’s essay “Of Myself” is a prime example of what these shorter pieces should be. While Bacon commands respect, it’s really Cowley who is considered the father of the English essay, and it’s notable that he has had no greater admirers than his distinguished successors, Charles Lamb and Macaulay. Towards the end of the century, Sir George Mackenzie (1636-1691) wrote witty moral essays, which were more essays in name than in form. However, by the eighteenth century, the essay suddenly became a major force in English literature. It emerged almost like something new, combined with the early developments of journalism. On April 12, 1709, the first number of a penny newspaper, called the Tatler, was published, featuring short articles intended to amuse and inform fashionable readers about various life events, quicquid agunt homines. But it wasn’t until Steele, the founder of the Tatler, partnered with Addison that the eighteenth-century essay truly began its journey. Initially, and indeed for a long time, it blended Montaigne’s style with that of La Bruyère, combining the pure essay form with character analysis, modeled after Theophrastus, which had been so popular in England throughout the seventeenth century. Addison’s early portraits in the Tatler, particularly those of “Tom Folio” and “Ned Softly,” are not really essays. But Steele’s “Recollections of Childhood” is, and here we can see the template that Goldsmith, Lamb, and R.L. Stevenson later built upon. In January 1711, the Tatler ended and was almost immediately succeeded by the Spectator, and then in 1713 by the Guardian. These three newspapers are rich with excellent and typical essays, most written by Steele and Addison, who are the most celebrated essayists of the eighteenth century in England. Later in the century, after several less successful attempts, Fielding published essays in the Covent Garden Journal (1752) and Johnson in the Rambler (1750), the Adventurer (1752), and the Idler (1759). A plethora of polite journals emerged, treating the essay as “the bow of Ulysses where it was fashionable for men of rank and genius to test their strength.” Goldsmith reached heights that Chesterfields and Bonnel Thorntons had only dreamed of in the delightful sections of his Citizen of the World (1760). After Goldsmith, the eighteenth-century essay fell into more restrained hands, becoming weak with the pedantic Richard Cumberland and the sentimental Henry Mackenzie. The body of eighteenth-century essayists is extensive, their collected works filling about fifty volumes. However, there’s a great uniformity among all but the very best, and none surpasses Addison in freshness, nor did they dare alter the form he established for his writings. What has endured is mainly the lightest portion, yet it shouldn’t be forgotten that a significant portion of the essays from this era was deliberately instructional and “moral.” A significant revival of the essay occurred in the early nineteenth century, with Charles Lamb at the forefront of this movement. He recognized that the essence of the essay, as Montaigne saw it, was to be deeply personal. His famous Essays of Elia began appearing in the London Magazine in August 1820 and continued at fairly regular intervals until December 1822; early in 1823, the first series was collected in a volume. Lamb’s style as an essayist was notable for breaking away from the Addisonian and, even more so, the Johnsonian traditions, which had become stifling for conventional essays. He boldly returned to the rich vocabulary and vivid imagery of the seventeenth century for inspiration. While Lamb had a great adaptability of style, capable of mimicking Steele so closely that even Steele might struggle to notice the difference, in his more liberated expressions we sense influences from greater masters like Milton, Thomas Browne, and Jeremy Taylor. Additionally, he managed to convey a deep personal emotion, something none of his predecessors had reached; essays like “Dream Children” and “Blakesmoor” exemplify this, showcasing a level of harmony and perfection in the pure essay that had never been attempted before and has never since been matched. Leigh Hunt, by clearing away the didactic and grandiose elements that had encumbered the essay, restored it to its old Spectator charm, becoming the most effortlessly unique writer of his generation in periodicals like the Indicator (1819) and the Companion (1828). The sermons, letters, and pamphlets of Sydney Smith were essentially extended essays. In Hazlitt and Francis Jeffrey, we notice the essay form and method beginning to apply to literary criticism. De Quincey’s writings are almost exclusively essays, although many of the most notable, under his intense writing style, exceed the typical length expected of formal essays. In a brief overview of the nineteenth-century essay, we must highlight Macaulay’s name. His first essay, on Milton, was published in the Edinburgh Review in 1825, shortly after Lamb’s talents were revealed in “Elia.” However, the two could not be more different in substance. In Macaulay’s hands, the essay transforms from a personal confession or autobiography into something strictly impersonal; it becomes literary, historical, or controversial, forceful, sharp, and filled with partisan bias. Macaulay’s essays appeared regularly in the Edinburgh Review until 1844; as we review this body of remarkable writing, we’re struck by its largely contentious nature. The contrast between Lamb and Macaulay is striking—Lamb constantly seeks, even entices, the reader's sympathy, while Macaulay looks for an opponent to debate. In recent times, English essay writing has evolved in various ways, driven by countless journalists and authors. The “leaders” in a daily newspaper exemplify the popularization of the essay, highlighting the risk it now faces of becoming a purely ephemeral or even momentary form of expression. The essay, at its best, aimed for durability equal to that of a poem or a historical study; it aspired to be one of the most enduring and precious forms of literature. Nowadays, we still occasionally encounter essays with such lofty ambitions; in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, R.L. Stevenson’s essays achieved this. His Familiar Studies belong to the same category as those of Montaigne and Lamb, and he came closer than any other contemporary to their high standards of excellence. The tone of the essay should have a personal and intimate resonance; in Stevenson’s case, it was decidedly so. However, the number of voices that resonate with the public through pure self-reflection is limited at all times, and as the analytical habit becomes more prevalent, they often lose their originality and charm. It’s possible that the essay may fade due to a lack of interest, or survive only in a diluted form through fleeting journalism.
The essay, although invented by a great French writer, was very late in making itself at home in France. The so-called Essais of Leibnitz, Nicole, Yves Marie André and so many others were really treatises. Voltaire’s famous Essai sur les mœurs des nations is an elaborate historical disquisition in nearly two hundred chapters. Later, the voluminous essays of Joseph de Maistre and of Lamennais were not essays at all in the literary sense. On the other hand, the admirable Causeries du lundi of Sainte-Beuve (1804-1869) are literary essays in the fulness of the term, and have been the forerunners of a great army of brilliant essay-writing in France. Among those who have specially distinguished themselves as French essayists may be mentioned Théophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Anatole France, Jules Lemaître, Ferdinand Brunetière and Émile Faguet. All these are literary critics, and it is in the form of the analysis of manifestations of intellectual energy that the essay has been most successfully illustrated in France. All the countries of Europe, since the middle of the 19th century, have adopted this form of writing; such monographs or reviews, however, are not perfectly identical with the essay as it was conceived by Addison and Lamb. This last, it may be supposed, is a definitely English thing, and this view is confirmed by the fact that in several European languages the word “essayist” has been adopted without modification.
The essay, originally created by a great French writer, took a long time to settle in France. The so-called Essais by Leibnitz, Nicole, Yves Marie André, and many others were actually treatises. Voltaire’s famous Essai sur les mœurs des nations is a detailed historical study in nearly two hundred chapters. Later, the lengthy essays of Joseph de Maistre and Lamennais were not essays in the literary sense at all. On the other hand, the remarkable Causeries du lundi by Sainte-Beuve (1804-1869) are literary essays in the fullest sense and have paved the way for a huge wave of brilliant essay-writing in France. Notable French essayists include Théophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Anatole France, Jules Lemaître, Ferdinand Brunetière, and Émile Faguet. All of these are literary critics, and the essay has been most successfully showcased in France through the analysis of expressions of intellectual creativity. Since the mid-19th century, all of Europe has embraced this form of writing; however, such monographs or reviews aren't exactly the same as the essay as conceived by Addison and Lamb. This last notion is likely a distinctly English concept, supported by the fact that in several European languages, the term "essayist" has been used without change.
In the above remarks it has been taken for granted that the essay is always in prose. Pope, however, conceived an essay in heroic verse. Of this his Essay on Criticism (1711) and his Essay on Man (1732-1734) are not good examples, for they are really treatises. The so-called Moral Essays (1720-1735), on the contrary, might have been contributed, if in prose, either to the Spectator or the Guardian. The idea of pure essays, in verse, however, did not take any root in English literature.
In the previous comments, it was assumed that essays are always written in prose. However, Pope had the idea of an essay in heroic verse. His Essay on Criticism (1711) and Essay on Man (1732-1734) aren’t great examples because they are more like treatises. On the other hand, the so-called Moral Essays (1720-1735) could have been published, if written in prose, in either the Spectator or the Guardian. Still, the concept of pure essays in verse never really took hold in English literature.
ESSEG, Essegg or Essek (Hung. Esszék; Croatian Osjek), a royal free town, municipality, and capital of the county of Virovitica (Veröcze), in Croatia-Slavonia, on the right bank of the Drave, 9 m. W. of its confluence with the Danube, and 185 m. S. of Buda-Pest by rail. Pop. (1900) 24,930; chiefly Magyars and Croats, with a few Germans and Jews. At Esseg the Drave is crossed by two bridges, and below these it is navigable by small steamers. The upper town, with the fortress, is under military authority; the new town and the lower town, which is the headquarters of commerce, are under civil authority. The only buildings of note are the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches, Franciscan and Capuchin monasteries, synagogue, gymnasium, modern school, hospital, chamber of commerce, and law-courts. Esseg has a thriving trade in grain, fruit, live-stock, plum-brandy and timber. Tanning, silk-weaving and glass-blowing are also carried on.
ESSEG, Essegg or Essek (Hung. Esszék; Croatian Osjek), is a royal free town, municipality, and the capital of the county of Virovitica (Veröcze) in Croatia-Slavonia. It's located on the right bank of the Drave, 9 miles west of where it meets the Danube, and 185 miles south of Buda-Pest by rail. In 1900, the population was 24,930, primarily Magyars and Croats, with a few Germans and Jews. The Drave is crossed by two bridges at Esseg, and downstream from these, it's navigable by small steamers. The upper town, which includes the fortress, is under military control, while the new town and lower town, which is the center of commerce, operate under civil authority. The main notable buildings include the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches, Franciscan and Capuchin monasteries, a synagogue, gymnasium, modern school, hospital, chamber of commerce, and law courts. Esseg has a bustling trade in grain, fruit, livestock, plum-brandy, and timber. Tanning, silk-weaving, and glass-blowing are also practiced here.
Esseg owes its origin to its fortress, which existed as early as the time of the Romans under the name of Mursia; though the present structure dates only from 1720. At the beginning of the Hungarian revolution of 1848 the town was held by the Hungarians, but on the 4th of February 1849 it was taken by the Austrians under General Baron Trebersberg.
Esseg originated from its fortress, which dates back to Roman times when it was called Mursia; however, the current building was constructed only in 1720. At the start of the Hungarian revolution in 1848, the town was controlled by the Hungarians, but on February 4, 1849, it was captured by the Austrians led by General Baron Trebersberg.
ESSEN, a manufacturing town of Germany, in the Prussian Rhine province, 22 m. N.E. from Düsseldorf, on the main line of railway to Berlin, in an undulating and densely populated district. Pop. (1849) 8813; (1875) 54,790; (1905) 229,270. It lies at the centre of a network of railways giving it access to all the principal towns of the Westphalian iron and coal fields. Its general aspect is gloomy; it possesses few streets of any pretensions, though those in the old part, which are mostly narrow, present, with their grey slate roofs and green shutters, a picturesque appearance. Of its religious edifices (twelve Roman Catholic, one Old Catholic, six Protestant churches, and a synagogue) the minster, dating from the 10th century, with fine pictures, relics and wall frescoes, is alone especially remarkable. This building is very similar to the Pfalz-Kapelle (capella 779 in palatio) at Aix-la-Chapelle. Among the town’s principal secular buildings are the new Gothic town-hall, the post office and the railway station. There are several high-grade (classical and modern) schools, technical, mining and commercial schools, a theatre, a permanent art exhibition, and hospitals. Essen also has a beautiful public park in the immediate vicinity. The town originally owed its prosperity to the large iron and coal fields underlying the basin in which it is situated. Chief among its industrial establishments are the famous iron and steel works of Krupp (q.v.), and the whole of Essen may be said to depend for its livelihood upon this firm, which annually expends vast sums in building and supporting churches, schools, clubs, hospitals and philanthropic institutions, and in other ways providing for the welfare of its employees. There are also manufactories of woollen goods and cigars, dyeworks and breweries.
ESSEN is a manufacturing town in Germany, located in the Prussian Rhine province, 22 miles northeast of Düsseldorf, on the main railway line to Berlin, in a hilly and densely populated area. Population: (1849) 8,813; (1875) 54,790; (1905) 229,270. It sits at the center of a railway network that connects it to all the major towns in the Westphalian iron and coal fields. The overall look of the town is rather dreary; it has few noteworthy streets, although those in the older part are mostly narrow and present a charming view with their grey slate roofs and green shutters. Among its religious buildings—twelve Roman Catholic, one Old Catholic, six Protestant churches, and a synagogue—the most remarkable is the minster, which dates back to the 10th century and features fine paintings, relics, and wall frescoes. This building closely resembles the Pfalz-Kapelle (capella 779 in palatio) in Aix-la-Chapelle. Some of the town's main secular structures include the new Gothic town hall, the post office, and the railway station. There are several high-quality (classical and modern) schools, as well as technical, mining, and commercial schools, a theater, a permanent art exhibition, and hospitals. Essen also boasts a beautiful public park nearby. The town's early prosperity came from the large iron and coal fields beneath it. The most prominent industrial establishment is the famous iron and steelworks of Krupp (q.v.), and Essen’s economy largely depends on this company, which spends significant amounts annually on building and supporting churches, schools, clubs, hospitals, and philanthropic institutions, as well as ensuring the well-being of its employees. Additionally, there are factories producing woolen goods and cigars, dye works, and breweries.
Essen was originally the seat of a Benedictine nunnery, and was formed into a town about the middle of the 10th century by the abbess Hedwig. The abbess of the nunnery, who held from 1275 the rank of a princess of the Empire, was assisted by a chapter of ten princesses and countesses; she governed the town until 1803, when it was secularized and incorporated with Prussia. In 1807 it came into the possession of the grand dukes of Berg, but was transferred to Prussia in 1814.
Essen was originally the site of a Benedictine nunnery, and it became a town around the middle of the 10th century under the leadership of Abbess Hedwig. The abbess, who held the title of a princess of the Empire from 1275, was supported by a group of ten princesses and countesses; she governed the town until 1803, when it was secularized and merged with Prussia. In 1807, it came under the control of the grand dukes of Berg, but was handed over to Prussia in 1814.
See Funcke, Geschichte des Fürstenthums und der Stadt Essen (Elberfeld, 1851); Kellen, Die Industriestadt Essen in Wort und Bild (Essen, 1902); and A. Shadwell, Industrial Efficiency (London, 1906).
See Funcke, Geschichte des Fürstenthums und der Stadt Essen (Elberfeld, 1851); Kellen, Die Industriestadt Essen in Wort und Bild (Essen, 1902); and A. Shadwell, Industrial Efficiency (London, 1906).
ESSENES, a monastic order among the Jews prior to Christianity. Their first appearance in history is in the time of Jonathan the Maccabee (161-144 B.C.). How much older they may have been we have no means of determining, but our authorities agree in assigning to them a dateless antiquity. The name occurs in Greek, in the two forms Ἐσσηνοί and Ἐσσαῖοι. Ἐσσηνοί is used by Josephus fourteen times, Ἐσσαῖοι six, but the latter is the only form used by Philo (ii. 457, 471, 632). Ἐσσηνοί is also used by Synesius and Hippolytus, and its Latin equivalent by Pliny and Solinus; Ἐσσαῖοι by Hegesippus and Porphyry. In Epiphanius we find the forms Ὀσσαῖοι, Ὀσσηνοί, and Ἰεσσαῖοι. There is a place named Essa mentioned by Josephus (Ant. xiii. 15, § 3), from which the name may have been formed, just as the Christians were originally called Ναζαρηνοί or Ναζωραῖοι, from Nazara. This etymology, however, is not much in favour now. Lightfoot explains the name as meaning “the silent ones,” others as meaning “physicians.” Perhaps there is most authority in favour of deriving it from the Syriac חסיך, which in the emphatic state becomes חסיא, so that we have a Semitic correspondence to both the Greek forms Ἐσσηνοί and Ἐσσαῖοι. This etymology makes the word mean “pious.” It has also been urged in excuse for Philo’s absurd derivation from ὅσιος.
ESSENES were a monastic group among the Jews before Christianity. They first appear in history during the time of Jonathan the Maccabee (161-144 BCE). We can't determine how much older they might have been, but experts agree that they have an undated ancient origin. The name is found in Greek in two forms: Essene and Essenes. The term Essene is used by Josephus fourteen times, while Essenes appears six times, but Philo only uses the latter (ii. 457, 471, 632). The name Essene is also referenced by Synesius and Hippolytus, and its Latin equivalent by Pliny and Solinus; Essenes is cited by Hegesippus and Porphyry. In Epiphanius, we find the forms Ossians, Osseni, and Jesseites. There is a location called Essa mentioned by Josephus (Ant. xiii. 15, § 3), which could be the source of the name, similar to how Christians were originally referred to as Nazarenes or Nazarenes from Nazara. However, this explanation is not widely accepted today. Lightfoot suggests the name means “the silent ones,” while others interpret it as meaning “physicians.” There is stronger support for deriving it from the Syriac חסיך, which in its emphatic form becomes חסיא, thereby providing a Semitic connection to both Greek forms Essenes and Essenes. This derivation suggests the word means “pious.” It has also been suggested as a justification for Philo’s unfounded derivation from holy.
The original accounts we have of them are confined to three authors—Philo, Pliny the Elder, and Josephus. Philo describes them in his treatise known as Quod omnis probus liber (§§ 12, 13; ii. 457-460), and also in his “Apology for the Jews,” a fragment of which has been preserved by Eusebius (Praep. Ev. viii. 11, 12). Pliny (N.H. v. 17) has a short but striking sketch of them, derived in all probability from Alexander Polyhistor, who is mentioned among the authorities for the fifth book of his Natural History. This historian, of whom Eusebius had a very high opinion (Praep. Ev. ix. 17, § 1), lived in the time of Sulla. Josephus treats of them at length in his Jewish War (ii. 8), and more briefly in two passages of his Antiquities (xiii. 5, § 9; xviii. 1, § 5). He has also interesting accounts of the prophetic powers possessed by three individual members of the sect—Judas (B.J. i. 3, § 5; Ant. xiii. 11, § 2), Menahem (Ant. xv. 10, § 5), and Simon (B.J. ii. 7, § 3; Ant. xvii. 13, § 3). Besides this he mentions an Essene Gate in Jerusalem (B.J. v. 4, § 2) and a person called John the Essene, one of the bravest and most capable leaders in the war against the Romans (B.J. ii. 20, § 4; iii. 2, § 1). Josephus himself made trial of the sect of Essenes in his youth; but from his own statement it appears that he must have been a very short time with them, and therefore could not have been initiated into the inner mysteries of the society (De vita sua, 2). After this the notices that we have of the Essenes from antiquity are mere reproductions, except in the case of Epiphanius (died A.D. 402), who, however, is so confused a writer as to be of little value. Solinus, who was known as “Pliny’s Ape,” echoed the words of his master about a century after that writer’s death, which took place in A.D. 79. Similarly Hippolytus, who lived in the reign of Commodus (A.D. 180-192), reproduced the account of Josephus, adding a few touches of his own. Porphyry (A.D. 233-306) afterwards did the same, but had the grace to mention Josephus in the context. Eusebius quoted the account as from Porphyry, though he must have known that he had derived it from Josephus (Praep. Ev. ix. 3, §§ 1, 13). But Porphyry’s name would impress pagan readers. There is also a mention of the Essenes by Hegesippus (Eus. H.E. iv. 22) and by Synesius in his life of Dio Chrysostom. It has been conjectured that the Clementine literature emanated from Essenes who had turned Christian. (See Ebionites.)
The original accounts we have of them come from three authors—Philo, Pliny the Elder, and Josephus. Philo describes them in his work titled Quod omnis probus liber (§§ 12, 13; ii. 457-460), and also in his “Apology for the Jews,” a fragment of which has been preserved by Eusebius (Praep. Ev. viii. 11, 12). Pliny (N.H. v. 17) provides a brief but striking overview of them, likely sourced from Alexander Polyhistor, who is noted among the references for the fifth book of his Natural History. This historian, whom Eusebius held in high regard (Praep. Ev. ix. 17, § 1), lived during Sulla's time. Josephus discusses them in detail in his Jewish War (ii. 8), and more briefly in two sections of his Antiquities (xiii. 5, § 9; xviii. 1, § 5). He also shares intriguing accounts of the prophetic abilities of three individual members of the sect—Judas (B.J. i. 3, § 5; Ant. xiii. 11, § 2), Menahem (Ant. xv. 10, § 5), and Simon (B.J. ii. 7, § 3; Ant. xvii. 13, § 3). Additionally, he mentions an Essene Gate in Jerusalem (B.J. v. 4, § 2) and a figure named John the Essene, recognized as one of the bravest and most capable leaders in the war against the Romans (B.J. ii. 20, § 4; iii. 2, § 1). Josephus himself explored the sect of Essenes in his youth; however, according to his own account, he must have spent only a short time with them, making it unlikely that he was initiated into the inner workings of the community (De vita sua, 2). Following this, the references to the Essenes in ancient times are mostly repetitions, except for Epiphanius (who died in CE 402), who, however, is such a muddled writer that his contributions are of little value. Solinus, known as “Pliny’s Ape,” repeated his master’s words about a century after Pliny's death in A.D. 79. Likewise, Hippolytus, who lived during Commodus’ reign (CE 180-192), reproduced Josephus’ account, adding a few of his own interpretations. Porphyry (A.D. 233-306) later did the same but graciously acknowledged Josephus in the process. Eusebius quoted the account from Porphyry, although he must have been aware that he got it from Josephus (Praep. Ev. ix. 3, §§ 1, 13). However, Porphyry’s name would resonate with pagan readers. Hegesippus also mentions the Essenes (Eus. H.E. iv. 22), as does Synesius in his biography of Dio Chrysostom. It has been speculated that the Clementine literature originated from Essenes who had converted to Christianity. (See Ebionites.)
The Essenes were an exclusive society, distinguished from the rest of the Jewish nation in Palestine by an organization peculiar to themselves, and by a theory of life in which a severe asceticism and a rare benevolence to one another and to mankind in general were the most striking characteristics. They had fixed rules for initiation, a succession of strictly separate grades within the limits of the society, and regulations for the conduct of their daily life even in its minutest details. Their membership could be recruited only from the outside world, as marriage and all intercourse with women were absolutely renounced. They were the first society in the world to condemn slavery both in theory and practice; they enforced and practised the most complete community of goods. They chose their own priests and public office-bearers, and even their own judges. Though their prevailing tendency was practical, and the tenets of the society were kept a profound secret, it is perfectly clear from the concurrent testimony of Philo and Josephus that they cultivated a kind of speculation, which not only accounts for their spiritual asceticism, but indicates a great deviation from the normal development of Judaism, and a profound sympathy with Greek philosophy, and probably also with Oriental ideas. At the same time we do our Jewish authorities no injustice in imputing to them the patriotic tendency to idealize the society, and thus offer to their readers something in Jewish life that would bear comparison at least with similar manifestations of Gentile life.
The Essenes were a close-knit community, set apart from the rest of the Jewish people in Palestine by their unique structure and a way of life characterized by strict asceticism and an exceptional kindness toward each other and humanity as a whole. They had established rules for joining, a series of clearly defined ranks within the group, and guidelines for how to conduct their daily lives down to the smallest details. New members could only join from outside the community, as they completely rejected marriage and all interactions with women. They were the first group in the world to denounce slavery both in theory and in practice; they fully embraced a shared ownership of goods. They selected their own priests, leaders, and judges. While they were primarily practical in their approach and kept their beliefs highly secret, the writings of Philo and Josephus show that they also engaged in some speculative thinking, which not only explains their spiritual asceticism but also reveals a significant departure from mainstream Judaism, with a deep connection to Greek philosophy and possibly some Eastern ideas. At the same time, it's fair to say that our Jewish historians may have had a bias to present the community in an idealized light, providing their audience with something in Jewish life that could at least be compared to similar aspects of Gentile life.
There is some difficulty in determining how far the Essenes separated themselves locally from their fellow-countrymen. Josephus informs us that they had no single city of their own, but that many of them dwelt in every city. While in his treatise Quod omnis, &c., Philo speaks of their avoiding towns and preferring to live in villages, in his “Apology for the Jews” we find them living in many cities, villages, and in great and prosperous towns. In Pliny they are a perennial colony settled on the western shore of the Dead Sea. On the whole, as Philo and Josephus agree in estimating their number at 4000 (Philo, Q.O.P.L. § 12; Jos. Ant. xviii. 1, § 5), we are justified in suspecting some exaggeration as to the many cities, towns and villages where they were said to be found. As agriculture was their favourite occupation, and as their tendency was to withdraw from the haunts and ordinary interests of mankind, we may assume that with the growing confusion and corruption of Jewish society they felt themselves attracted from the mass of the population to the sparsely peopled districts, till they found a congenial settlement and free scope for their peculiar view of life by the shore of the Dead Sea. While their principles were consistent with the neighbourhood of men, they were better adapted to a state of seclusion.
There is some difficulty in determining how far the Essenes distanced themselves from their fellow countrymen. Josephus informs us that they didn’t have a single city of their own, but many of them lived in various cities. While in his treatise Quod omnis, Philo mentions that they avoided towns and preferred living in villages, in his “Apology for the Jews,” we find them living in many cities, villages, and large, prosperous towns. According to Pliny, they are a permanent community settled on the western shore of the Dead Sea. Overall, since Philo and Josephus both estimate their number at 4,000 (Philo, Q.O.P.L. § 12; Jos. Ant. xviii. 1, § 5), we have reason to suspect some exaggeration regarding the many cities, towns, and villages where they were said to be found. Since agriculture was their preferred occupation, and they tended to withdraw from the usual activities and interests of society, we can assume that with the growing chaos and corruption in Jewish society, they felt drawn away from the larger population to the less populated areas until they found a suitable settlement and the freedom to pursue their unique lifestyle by the shore of the Dead Sea. While their principles could coexist with the presence of others, they were better suited for a life of seclusion.
The Essenes did not renounce marriage because they denied the validity of the institution or the necessity of it as providing for the continuance of the human race, but because they had a low opinion of the character of women (Jos. B.J. ii. 8, § 2; Philo, “Apol. for the Jews” in Eus. Praep. Ev. viii. 11, § 8). They adopted children when very young, and brought them up on 780 their own principles. Pleasure generally they rejected as evil. They despised riches not less than pleasure; neither poverty nor wealth was observable among them; at initiation every one gave his property into the common stock; every member in receipt of wages handed them over to the funds of the society. In matters of dress the asceticism of the society was very pronounced. They regarded oil as a defilement, even washing it off if anointed with it against their will. They did not change their clothes or their shoes till they were torn in pieces or worn completely away. The colour of their garments was always white. Their daily routine was prescribed for them in the strictest manner. Before the rising of the sun they were to speak of nothing profane, but offered to it certain traditional forms of prayer as if beseeching it to rise. Thereafter they went about their daily tasks, working continuously at whatever trade they knew till the fifth hour, when they assembled, and, girding on a garment of linen, bathed in cold water. They next seated themselves quietly in the dining hall, where the baker set bread in order, and the cook brought each a single dish of one kind of food. Before meat and after it grace was said by a priest. After dinner they resumed work till sunset. In the evening they had supper, at which guests of the order joined them, if there happened to be any such present. Withal there was no noise or confusion to mar the tranquillity of their intercourse; no one usurped more than his share of the conversation; the stillness of the place oppressed a stranger with a feeling of mysterious awe. This composure of spirit was owing to their perfect temperance in eating and drinking. Not only in the daily routine of the society, but generally, the activity of the members was controlled by their presidents. In only two things could they take the initiative, helpfulness and mercy; the deserving poor and the destitute were to receive instant relief; but no member could give anything to his relatives without consulting the heads of the society. Their office-bearers were elected. They had also their special courts of justice, which were composed of not less than a hundred members, and their decisions, which were arrived at with extreme care, were irreversible. Oaths were strictly forbidden; their word was stronger than an oath. They were just and temperate in anger, the guardians of good faith, and the ministers of peace, obedient to their elders and to the majority. But the moral characteristics which they most earnestly cultivated and enjoined will best appear in their rules of initiation. There was a novitiate of three years, during which the intending member was tested as to his fitness for entering the society. If the result was satisfactory, he was admitted, but before partaking of the common meal he was required to swear awful oaths, that he would reverence the deity, do justice to men, hurt no man voluntarily or at the command of another, hate the unjust and assist the just, and that he would render fidelity to all men, but especially to the rulers, seeing that no one rules but of God. He also vowed, if he should bear rule himself, to make no violent use of his power, nor outshine those set under him by superior display, to make it his aim to cherish the truth and unmask liars, to be pure from theft and unjust gain, to conceal nothing from his fellow-members, nor to divulge any of their affairs to other men, even at the risk of death, to transmit their doctrines unchanged, and to keep secret the books of the society and the names of the angels.
The Essenes didn’t reject marriage because they doubted its importance for maintaining the human race, but because they held a low opinion of women (Jos. B.J. ii. 8, § 2; Philo, “Apol. for the Jews” in Eus. Praep. Ev. viii. 11, § 8). They adopted young children and raised them according to their own principles. They rejected pleasure as evil and looked down on wealth just as much as they did on pleasure; neither poverty nor riches were common among them. At initiation, everyone contributed their property to a communal fund, and every member who received wages handed them over to the society's funds. Their dress code reflected their ascetic lifestyle. They considered oil to be a source of contamination and would wash it off if they were anointed with it against their will. They didn’t change their clothes or shoes until they were completely worn out. Their garments were always white. Their daily routine was very strict. Before sunrise, they did not engage in any profane conversation but offered certain traditional prayers, as if begging the sun to rise. After that, they went about their daily tasks, working hard at whatever trade they knew until the fifth hour. At that point, they gathered together, put on linen garments, and bathed in cold water. Then they quietly seated themselves in the dining hall, where the baker arranged the bread and the cook served each person a single dish of one type of food. A priest would offer grace before and after the meal. After eating, they went back to work until sunset. In the evening, they had supper, which included guests from their order, when present. Throughout, there was no noise or chaos to disrupt the peace of their interactions; no one dominated the conversation, and the stillness created a feeling of mysterious awe for any outsider. This calmness was due to their complete moderation in food and drink. The members’ activities were generally overseen by their leaders. They could only take the initiative in two areas: being helpful and showing mercy; the deserving and needy were to receive immediate assistance, but no member could give anything to relatives without consulting the society’s leaders. Their officials were elected, and they had their own courts of justice, composed of no fewer than a hundred members, whose carefully reached decisions were irreversible. Oaths were strictly prohibited; their word was considered stronger than an oath. They were just and measured in anger, guardians of integrity, and promoters of peace, obedient to their elders and to the majority. The moral qualities they emphasized are best seen in their initiation rules. There was a three-year probation period during which the prospective member was evaluated for suitability to join the society. If successful, they were admitted, but before participating in the communal meal, they had to swear serious oaths to honor the deity, act justly toward others, never intentionally harm anyone or follow orders to do so, despise the unjust and aid the just, and remain loyal to everyone, particularly the leaders, recognizing that no one rules without God’s approval. They also vowed that if they were to lead, they would not abuse their power, never exceed their subordinates in display, aim to uphold the truth and expose liars, remain free from theft and unjust gain, keep nothing hidden from their fellow members, never disclose their affairs to outsiders, even at the risk of death, maintain their teachings unchanged, and keep the society’s texts and the names of the angels secret.
Within the limits of the society there were four grades so distinct that if any one touched a member of an inferior grade he required to cleanse himself by bathing in water; members who had been found guilty of serious crimes were expelled from the society, and could not be received again till reduced to the very last extremity of want or sickness. As the result of the ascetic training of the Essenes, and of their temperate diet, it is said that they lived to a great age, and were superior to pain and fear. During the Roman war they cheerfully underwent the most grievous tortures rather than break any of the principles of their faith. In fact, they had in many respects reached the very highest moral elevation attained by the ancient world; they were just, humane, benevolent, and spiritually-minded; the sick and aged were the objects of a special affectionate regard; and they condemned slavery, not only as an injustice, but as an impious violation of the natural brotherhood of men (Philo ii. 457). There were some of the Essenes who permitted marriage, but strictly with a view to the preservation of the race; in other respects they agreed with the main body of the society.
Within the society, there were four distinct classes, so separate that if someone touched a member of a lower class, they had to purify themselves by bathing in water. Members who were found guilty of serious crimes were expelled from the society and could not be welcomed back until they were in extreme need or sickness. Thanks to their ascetic training and moderate diet, the Essenes were said to live long lives and were resilient to pain and fear. During the Roman war, they willingly endured severe torture rather than violate any principles of their faith. In many ways, they achieved some of the highest moral standards of the ancient world; they were just, compassionate, generous, and spiritually aware. The sick and elderly were given special care and respect; they condemned slavery not only as an injustice but also as a sinful breach of the natural brotherhood of humanity (Philo ii. 457). Some Essenes allowed marriage, but only to ensure the continuation of the race; otherwise, they shared the beliefs of the main group.
It will be apparent that the predominant tendency of the society was practical. Philo tells us expressly that they rejected logic as unnecessary to the acquisition of virtue, and speculation on nature as too lofty for the human intellect. Yet they had views of their own as to God, Providence, the soul, and a future state, which, while they had a practical use, were yet essentially speculative. On the one hand, indeed, they held tenaciously by the traditional Judaism: blasphemy against their lawgiver was punished with death, the sacred books were preserved and read with great reverence, though not without an allegorical interpretation, and the Sabbath was most scrupulously observed. But in many important points their deviation from the strait path of Judaic development was complete. They rejected animal sacrifice as well as marriage; the oil with which priests and kings were anointed they accounted unclean; and the condemnation of oaths and the community of goods were unmistakable innovations for which they found no hint or warrant in the old Hebrew writings. Their most singular feature, perhaps, was their reverence for the sun. In their speculative hints respecting the soul and a future state, we find another important deviation from Judaism, and the explanation of their asceticism. They held that the body is mortal, and its substance transitory; that the soul is immortal, but, coming from the subtlest ether, is lured as by a sorcery of nature into the prison-house of the body. At death it is released from its bonds, as from long slavery, and joyously soars aloft. To the souls of the good there is reserved a life beyond the ocean, and a country oppressed by neither rain, nor snow, nor heat, but refreshed by a gentle west wind blowing continually from the sea (cf. Hom. Od. iv. 566-568), but to the wicked a region of wintry darkness and of unceasing torment. Josephus tells us too that the Essenes believed in fate; but in what sense, and what relation it bore to Divine Providence, does not appear.
It’s clear that the main trend of society was practical. Philo specifically tells us that they dismissed logic as unnecessary for gaining virtue, and speculation about nature as too advanced for the human mind. However, they had their own beliefs about God, Providence, the soul, and an afterlife, which, while they served a practical purpose, were still fundamentally theoretical. On one hand, they clung tightly to traditional Judaism: blasphemy against their lawgiver was punishable by death, the sacred texts were preserved and read with great respect, albeit with allegorical interpretations, and the Sabbath was observed very carefully. Yet in many significant ways, they strayed completely from the strict path of Jewish development. They rejected animal sacrifice and marriage; they considered the oil used for anointing priests and kings to be unclean; and the condemnation of oaths and the practice of communal goods were clear innovations for which they found no reference or support in the old Hebrew scriptures. One of their most distinctive features, perhaps, was their reverence for the sun. In their theoretical ideas about the soul and the afterlife, we see another significant departure from Judaism, as well as an explanation for their asceticism. They believed that the body is mortal and its substance transient; that the soul is immortal, but, arising from the finest ether, is drawn like by a kind of nature’s sorcery into the prison of the body. Upon death, it is freed from its restraints, as if from prolonged slavery, and joyfully ascends. For the souls of the good, there is a life beyond the ocean, in a land not plagued by rain, snow, or heat, but instead refreshed by a gentle west wind blowing continuously from the sea (cf. Hom. Od. iv. 566-568); while for the wicked, there is a place of eternal cold dark and unending torment. Josephus also mentions that the Essenes believed in fate; however, it’s unclear in what sense and how it related to Divine Providence.
The above evidence has left students in doubt as to whether Essenism is to be regarded as a pure product of the Jewish mind or as due in part to some foreign influence. On the one hand it might be maintained that the Essenes out-Pharisee’d the Pharisees. They had in common with that sect their veneration for Moses and the Law, their Sabbatarianism, their striving after ceremonial purity, and their tendency towards fatalism. But if the Pharisees abstained from good works on the Sabbath, the Essenes abstained even from natural necessities (Jos. B.J. ii. 8, § 9); if the Pharisees washed, the Essenes bathed before dinner; if the Pharisees ascribed some things to Fate, the Essenes ascribed all (Jos. Ant. xiii. 5, § 9). But on the other hand the Essenes avoided marriage, which the Pharisees held in honour; they offered no animal-sacrifices in the Temple; they refrained from the use of oil, which was customary among the Pharisees (Luke vii. 46); above all, they offered prayers to the sun, after the manner denounced in Ezekiel (viii. 16). These and other points of divergences are not explained by Ritschl’s interesting theory that Essenism was an organized attempt to carry out the idea of “a kingdom of priests and an holy nation” (Ex. xix. 6).
The evidence above has left students uncertain about whether Essenism is purely a product of the Jewish mind or influenced in part by foreign ideas. On one hand, it can be argued that the Essenes were more strict than the Pharisees. They shared with that group their respect for Moses and the Law, their observance of the Sabbath, their pursuit of ceremonial purity, and their inclination towards fatalism. However, while the Pharisees refrained from good deeds on the Sabbath, the Essenes avoided even basic necessities (Jos. B.J. ii. 8, § 9); where the Pharisees washed, the Essenes bathed before meals; and while the Pharisees attributed some matters to Fate, the Essenes attributed everything to it (Jos. Ant. xiii. 5, § 9). On the other hand, the Essenes avoided marriage, which the Pharisees valued; they made no animal sacrifices in the Temple; they abstained from using oil, which was customary for the Pharisees (Luke vii. 46); and most importantly, they prayed to the sun, as criticized in Ezekiel (viii. 16). These and other differences are not explained by Ritschl’s intriguing theory that Essenism was an organized effort to realize the idea of “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Ex. xix. 6).
Granting then that some foreign influence was at work in Essenism, we have four theories offered to us—that this influence was Persian, Buddhist, Pythagorean, or lastly, as maintained by Lipsius, that of the surrounding Syrian heathenism. Each of these views has had able advocates, but it must not be supposed that they are mutually exclusive. If we consider how Philo, while remaining a devout Jew in religion, yet managed to assimilate the whole Stoic philosophy, we can well believe that the Essenes might have been influenced, as Zeller maintained that they were, by Neo-Pythagoreanism. But as Pythagoras himself came from Samos, and his doctrines have a decidedly Oriental tinge, it may very well be that both he and the Essenes drew from a common source; for there is no need to reject, as 781 is so commonly done, the statements of our authorities as to the antiquity of the Essenes. This common source we may believe with Lightfoot to have been the Persian religion, which we know to have profoundly influenced that of Israel, independently of the Essenes.
Given that there may have been some foreign influence at play in Essenism, we have four theories to consider—that this influence was Persian, Buddhist, Pythagorean, or lastly, as Lipsius argued, that of the surrounding Syrian paganism. Each of these perspectives has knowledgeable supporters, but it should not be assumed that they are entirely separate. If we think about how Philo, while still being a devout Jew, managed to incorporate the entire Stoic philosophy, we can certainly believe that the Essenes might have been influenced, as Zeller suggested, by Neo-Pythagoreanism. However, since Pythagoras himself came from Samos and his teachings have a distinctly Eastern flavor, it’s also possible that both he and the Essenes drew from a shared origin; there’s no reason to dismiss, as 781 is often done, the claims of our sources regarding the ancient roots of the Essenes. We might agree with Lightfoot that this common origin was the Persian religion, which we know significantly impacted that of Israel, independently of the Essenes.
The fact that the Pharisees and Sadducees so often figure in the pages of the New Testament, while the Essenes are never mentioned, might plausibly be interpreted to show that the New Testament emanated from the side of the Essenes. So far as concerns the Epistle of St James this interpretation would probably be correct. That work contains the doctrine common to the Essenes with Plato, and suggestive of Persian Dualism, that God is the author of good only. There are also certain obvious points of resemblance between the Essenes and the early Christians. Both held property in common; both had scattered communities which received guests one from the other; both avoided a light use of oaths; both taught passive obedience to political authority. The list might be enlarged, but it would not necessarily prove more than that the early Christians shared in the ideas of their age. Christianity was to some extent a popularization of Essenism, but there is little reason for believing that Jesus himself was an Essene. De Quincey’s contention that there were no Essenes but the early Christians is now a literary curiosity.
The fact that the Pharisees and Sadducees appear frequently in the New Testament, while the Essenes are not mentioned at all, could be interpreted to suggest that the New Testament came from the perspective of the Essenes. This interpretation would likely hold true for the Epistle of St. James. That letter includes teachings similar to those of the Essenes along with ideas from Plato, and hints at Persian Dualism, asserting that God is solely the creator of good. There are also clear similarities between the Essenes and early Christians. Both groups shared property; both had communities that welcomed guests from one another; both were careful with oaths; both advocated passive obedience to political authority. The list could go on, but it wouldn't necessarily show more than that early Christians were influenced by the ideas of their time. Christianity somewhat popularized Essenism, but there's little reason to believe that Jesus himself was an Essene. De Quincey’s claim that the only Essenes were the early Christians is now considered an interesting literary note.
The original sources of our knowledge of the Essenes have been mentioned at the beginning of this paper; the best modern discussions of them are to be found in such works as Zeller’s Philosophie der Griechen, vol. iii.; Ewald, Geschichte d. V. Israël, iii. 419-428; Reuss, La Théologie chrétienne au siècle apostolique, i. 122-131; Keim, Life of Jesus of Nazara, vol. i.; Lightfoot on the Colossians; Lucius, Der Essenismus in seinem Verhältniss zum Judenthum; Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte; Ed. Schürer, The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ, div. ii. vol. ii. § 30. The copious bibliography in Conybeare’s edition of Philo’s De vita contemplativa bears upon the Essenes as well as upon the Therapeutes. For a specially Jewish view of the Essenes see Kohler’s article in the Jewish Encyclopaedia. They are there regarded as being “simply the rigorists among the Pharisees.” But we are also told that “the Pharisees characterized the Essene as ‘a fool who destroyed the world.’”
The original sources of our knowledge about the Essenes were mentioned at the beginning of this paper; the best modern discussions about them can be found in works like Zeller’s Philosophie der Griechen, vol. iii.; Ewald, Geschichte d. V. Israël, iii. 419-428; Reuss, La Théologie chrétienne au siècle apostolique, i. 122-131; Keim, Life of Jesus of Nazara, vol. i.; Lightfoot on the Colossians; Lucius, Der Essenismus in seinem Verhältniss zum Judenthum; Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte; Ed. Schürer, The Jewish People in the Time of Jesus Christ, div. ii. vol. ii. § 30. The extensive bibliography in Conybeare’s edition of Philo’s De vita contemplativa covers the Essenes as well as the Therapeutes. For a specifically Jewish perspective on the Essenes, see Kohler’s article in the Jewish Encyclopaedia. They are considered to be “simply the rigorists among the Pharisees.” However, we are also informed that “the Pharisees characterized the Essene as ‘a fool who destroyed the world.’”
ESSENTUKI, a watering-place of south Russia, in the government of Terek, 11 m. by rail W. from Pyatigorsk; altitude, 2096 ft. Its alkaline and sulphur-alkaline mineral waters, similar to those of Ems, Selters and Vichy, are much visited in summer. The climate shows great variations in temperature. Pop. (1897) 9974.
ESSENTUKI, is a spa town in southern Russia, located in the Terek region, 11 miles by rail west of Pyatigorsk; its elevation is 2,096 feet. The alkaline and sulfur-alkaline mineral waters here, which are similar to those found in Ems, Selters, and Vichy, attract many visitors during the summer. The climate experiences significant temperature variations. Population (1897) 9,974.
ESSEQUIBO, or Essequebo, one of the three settlements of British Guiana, taking its name from the river Essequibo. (See Guiana.)
ESSEQUIBO, or Essequibo, one of the three communities in British Guiana, named after the Essequibo River. (See Guiana.)
ESSEX, EARLS OF. The first earl of Essex was probably Geoffrey de Mandeville (q.v.), who became earl about 1139, the earldom being subsequently held by his two sons, Geoffrey and William, until the death of the latter in 1189. In 1199 Geoffrey Fitzpeter or Fitzpiers (d. 1213), who was related to the Mandevilles through his wife Beatrice, became earl of Essex, and on the death of Geoffrey’s son William in 1227 the earldom reverted for the second time to the crown. Then the title to the earldom passed by marriage to the Bohuns, earls of Hereford, and before 1239 Humphrey de Bohun (d. 1275) had been recognized as earl of Essex. With the earldom of Hereford the earldom of Essex became extinct in 1373; afterwards it was held by Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloucester, a son of Edward III. and the husband of Eleanor de Bohun; and from Gloucester it passed to the Bourchiers, Henry Bourchier (d. 1483), who secured the earldom in 1461, being one of Gloucester’s grandsons. The second and last Bourchier earl was Henry’s grandson Henry, who died early in 1540. A few weeks before his execution in 1540 Thomas Cromwell (q.v.) was created earl of Essex; then in 1543 William Parr, afterwards marquess of Northampton, obtained the earldom by right of his wife Anne, a daughter of the last Bourchier earl. Northampton lost the earldom when he was attainted in 1553; and afterwards it passed to the famous family of Devereux, Walter Devereux, who was created earl of Essex in 1572, being related to the Bourchiers. Robert, the 3rd and last Devereux earl, died in 1646. In 1661 Arthur Capel was created earl of Essex, and the earldom is still held by his descendants.
ESSEX, EARLS OF. The first earl of Essex was likely Geoffrey de Mandeville (q.v.), who became earl around 1139. The earldom was later held by his two sons, Geoffrey and William, until William's death in 1189. In 1199, Geoffrey Fitzpeter or Fitzpiers (d. 1213), who was connected to the Mandevilles through his wife Beatrice, became earl of Essex. When Geoffrey’s son William died in 1227, the title reverted to the crown for the second time. The earldom then passed to the Bohuns, earls of Hereford, and by 1239, Humphrey de Bohun (d. 1275) was recognized as earl of Essex. The earldom of Essex became extinct in 1373 along with the earldom of Hereford; it later was held by Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloucester, a son of Edward III, and the husband of Eleanor de Bohun. From Gloucester, it passed to the Bourchiers, with Henry Bourchier (d. 1483) securing the title in 1461, being one of Gloucester’s grandsons. The second and last Bourchier earl was Henry's grandson Henry, who died early in 1540. A few weeks before his execution in 1540, Thomas Cromwell (q.v.) was made earl of Essex; then in 1543, William Parr, later marquess of Northampton, obtained the earldom through his wife Anne, a daughter of the last Bourchier earl. Northampton lost the earldom when he was attainted in 1553; it then passed to the well-known Devereux family, with Walter Devereux created earl of Essex in 1572, being related to the Bourchiers. Robert, the third and last Devereux earl, died in 1646. In 1661, Arthur Capel was created earl of Essex, and the title is still held by his descendants.
ESSEX, ARTHUR CAPEL, 1st1 Earl of (1632-1683), English statesman, son of Arthur, 1st Baron Capel of Hadham (c. 1641), executed in 1649, and of Elizabeth, daughter and heir of Sir Charles Morrison of Cashiobury in Hertfordshire, was baptized on the 28th of January 1632. In June 1648, then a sickly boy of sixteen, he was taken by Fairfax’s soldiers from Hadham to Colchester, which his father was defending, and carried every day round the works with the hope of inducing Lord Capel to surrender the place. At the restoration he was created Viscount Malden and earl of Essex (20th of April 1661), with special remainder to the male issue of his father, and was made lord-lieutenant of Hertfordshire and a few years later of Wiltshire.2
ESSEX, ARTHUR CAPEL, 1st Earl (1632-1683), English statesman, son of Arthur, 1st Baron Capel of Hadham (c. 1641), who was executed in 1649, and of Elizabeth, daughter and heir of Sir Charles Morrison of Cashiobury in Hertfordshire, was baptized on January 28, 1632. In June 1648, as a sickly sixteen-year-old, he was taken by Fairfax’s soldiers from Hadham to Colchester, which his father was defending, and was carried around the fortifications daily in hopes of persuading Lord Capel to surrender. When the monarchy was restored, he was made Viscount Malden and Earl of Essex (April 20, 1661), with a special provision for his father's male descendants, and was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Hertfordshire and a few years later of Wiltshire.2
He early showed himself antagonistic to the court, to Roman Catholicism, and to the extension of the royal prerogative, and was coupled by Charles II. with Holles as “stiff and sullen men,” who would not yield against their convictions to his solicitations. In 1669 he was sent as ambassador to King Christian V. of Denmark, in which capacity he gained credit by refusing to strike his flag to the governor of Kronborg. In 1672 he was made a privy councillor and lord-lieutenant of Ireland. He remained in office till 1677, and his administration was greatly commended by Burnet and Ormonde,3 the former describing it “as a pattern to all that come after him.” He identified himself with Irish interests, and took immense pains to understand the constitution and the political necessities of the country, appointing men of real merit to office, and maintaining an exceptional independence from solicitation and influence. He held a just balance between the Roman Catholics, the English Church and the Presbyterians, protecting the former as far as public opinion in England would permit, and governing the native Irish with firmness and moderation. The purity and patriotism of his administration were in strong contrast to the hopeless corruption prevalent in that at home and naturally aroused bitter opposition, as an obstacle to the unscrupulous employment of Irish revenues for the satisfaction of the court and the king’s expenses. In particular he came into conflict with Lord Ranelagh, to whom had been assigned the Irish revenues on condition of his supplying the requirements of the crown, and whose accounts Essex refused to pass. He opposed strongly the lavish gifts of forfeited estates to court favourites and mistresses, prevented the grant of Phoenix Park to the duchess of Cleveland, and refused to encumber the administration by granting reversions. Finally the intrigues of his enemies at home, and Charles’s continual demands for money, which Ranelagh undertook to satisfy, brought about his recall in April 1677. He immediately joined the country party and the opposition to Danby’s government, and on the latter’s fall in 1679 was appointed a commissioner of the treasury, and the same year a member of Sir William Temple’s new-modelled council. He followed the lead of Halifax, who advocated not the exclusion of James, but the limitation of his sovereign powers, and looked to the prince of Orange rather than to Monmouth as the leader of Protestantism, incurring thereby the hostility of Shaftesbury, but at the same time gaining the confidence of Charles. He was appointed by Charles together with Halifax to hear the charges against Lauderdale. In July he wrote a wise and statesmanlike letter to the king, advising him to renounce his project of raising a new company of guards. Together with Halifax he urged Charles to summon the parliament, and after his refusal resigned the treasury in November, the real cause being, according to one account,4 a demand upon the treasury by the duchess of Cleveland for £25,000, according to another “the niceness of touching French money,” “that makes my Lord Essex’s squeasy stomach that it can no longer digest his employment.”5
He quickly showed he was against the court, Roman Catholicism, and the expansion of the royal powers, and was paired by Charles II with Holles as “stiff and sullen men,” who wouldn’t give in to his requests. In 1669, he was sent as ambassador to King Christian V of Denmark, where he earned respect for refusing to lower his flag to the governor of Kronborg. In 1672, he became a privy councillor and lord-lieutenant of Ireland. He stayed in office until 1677, and his administration received high praise from Burnet and Ormonde, the former describing it “as a pattern to all that come after him.” He aligned himself with Irish interests and worked hard to understand the constitution and political needs of the country, appointing competent individuals to positions and maintaining a remarkable independence from pressure and influence. He balanced the interests of Roman Catholics, the English Church, and Presbyterians, protecting the former as much as public opinion in England would allow, and governing the native Irish with firmness and moderation. The integrity and patriotism of his administration sharply contrasted with the rampant corruption seen back home and naturally sparked bitter opposition, as it stood in the way of the unscrupulous use of Irish revenues to satisfy the court and the king’s expenses. He particularly clashed with Lord Ranelagh, who was assigned the Irish revenues on the condition of supplying the crown’s needs and whose accounts Essex refused to approve. He strongly opposed the extravagant gifts of confiscated estates to court favorites and mistresses, blocked the grant of Phoenix Park to the duchess of Cleveland, and refused to burden the administration by granting reversions. Ultimately, the schemes of his rivals at home, along with Charles’s constant demands for funds, which Ranelagh agreed to fulfill, led to his recall in April 1677. He immediately joined the country party and the opposition to Danby’s government, and when the latter fell in 1679, he was appointed a commissioner of the treasury, and that same year became a member of Sir William Temple’s newly-formed council. He followed Halifax’s lead, who pushed not for the exclusion of James but for limiting his powers, and looked to the prince of Orange rather than Monmouth as the leader of Protestantism, which earned him the enmity of Shaftesbury but also the trust of Charles. He was appointed by Charles, along with Halifax, to hear the charges against Lauderdale. In July, he sent a wise and statesmanlike letter to the king, advising him to drop his plan to raise a new company of guards. Along with Halifax, he urged Charles to call parliament, and after the king refused, he resigned from the treasury in November, with one report claiming the real reason was a demand on the treasury by the duchess of Cleveland for £25,000, and another suggesting “the discomfort of handling French money,” which “makes my Lord Essex’s squeamish stomach that it can no longer digest his job.”
Subsequently his political attitude underwent a change, the exact cause of which is not clear—probably a growing conviction of the dangers threatened by a Roman Catholic sovereign of the character of James. He now, in 1680, joined Shaftesbury’s party and supported the Exclusion Bill, and on its rejection by the Lords carried a motion for an association to execute the scheme of expedients promoted by Halifax. On the 25th of January 1681 at the head of fifteen peers he presented a petition to the king, couched in exaggerated language, requesting the abandonment of the session of parliament at Oxford. He was a jealous prosecutor of the Roman Catholics in the popish plot, and voted for Stafford’s attainder, on the other hand interceding for Archbishop Plunket, implicated in the pretended Irish plot. He, however, refused to follow Shaftesbury in his extreme courses, declined participation in the latter’s design to seize the Tower in 1682, and on Shaftesbury’s consequent departure from England became the leader of Monmouth’s faction, in which were now included Lord Russell, Algernon Sidney, and Lord Howard of Escrick. Essex took no part in the wilder schemes of the party, but after the discovery of the Rye House Plot in June 1683, and the capture of the leaders, he was arrested at Cashiobury and imprisoned in the Tower. His spirits and fortitude appear immediately to have abandoned him, and on the 13th of July he was discovered in his chamber with his throat cut. His death was attributed, quite groundlessly, to Charles and James, and the evidence points clearly if not conclusively to suicide, his motive being possibly to prevent an attainder and preserve his estate for his family. He was, however, undoubtedly a victim of the Stuart administration, and the antagonism and tragic end of men like Essex, deserving men, naturally devoted to the throne, constitutes a severe indictment of the Stuart rule.
Afterward, his political views changed, though the exact reason is unclear—likely a growing belief in the dangers posed by a Roman Catholic ruler like James. By 1680, he joined Shaftesbury’s group and backed the Exclusion Bill. When it was rejected by the Lords, he proposed a motion to support the alternative measures suggested by Halifax. On January 25, 1681, leading fifteen peers, he presented a petition to the king, written in exaggerated terms, asking for the cancellation of the parliament session in Oxford. He was a zealous prosecutor of the Roman Catholics during the popish plot and voted for Stafford’s attainder, but also defended Archbishop Plunket, who was implicated in the false Irish plot. However, he refused to follow Shaftesbury in his more extreme actions, turned down Shaftesbury’s plan to seize the Tower in 1682, and after Shaftesbury left England, he became the leader of Monmouth’s faction, which included Lord Russell, Algernon Sidney, and Lord Howard of Escrick. Essex did not participate in the more reckless schemes of the group, but after the discovery of the Rye House Plot in June 1683 and the arrest of its leaders, he was captured at Cashiobury and imprisoned in the Tower. His spirits seem to have quickly faltered, and on July 13, he was found in his room with his throat cut. His death was unjustly blamed on Charles and James, though the evidence strongly suggests suicide, possibly motivated by a desire to avoid an attainder and protect his family’s estate. Nonetheless, he was undoubtedly a victim of the Stuart administration, and the tragic fates of deserving men like Essex, who were loyal to the crown, highlight a serious criticism of Stuart rule.
He was a statesman of strong and sincere patriotism, just and unselfish, conscientious and laborious in the fulfilment of public duties, blameless in his official and private life. Evelyn describes him as “a sober, wise, judicious and pondering person, not illiterate beyond the rule of most noblemen in this age, very well versed in English history and affairs, industrious, frugal, methodical and every way accomplished”; and declares he was much deplored, few believing he had ever harboured any seditious designs.6 He married Lady Elizabeth Percy, daughter of Algernon, 10th earl of Northumberland, by whom, besides a daughter, he had an only son Algernon (1670-1710), who succeeded him as 2nd earl of Essex.
He was a politician with a strong and genuine love for his country, fair and selfless, diligent and hardworking in his public duties, and without faults in his official and personal life. Evelyn describes him as "a sober, wise, thoughtful, and reflective person, not less educated than most noblemen of his time, well-informed about English history and current events, industrious, frugal, organized, and skilled in every way"; and says he was greatly mourned, with few believing he ever had any traitorous intentions. He married Lady Elizabeth Percy, the daughter of Algernon, the 10th Earl of Northumberland, and together they had a daughter and an only son, Algernon (1670-1710), who became the 2nd Earl of Essex after him.
Bibliography.—See the Lives in the Dict. of Nat. Biography and in Biographia Britannica (Kippis), with authorities there collected; Essex’s Irish correspondence is in the Stow Collection in the British Museum, Nos. 200-217, and selections have been published in Letters written by Arthur Capel, Earl of Essex (1770) and in the Essex Papers (Camden Society, 1890), to which can now be added the Calendars of State Papers, Domestic, which contain a large number of his letters and which strongly support the opinion of his contemporaries concerning his unselfish patriotism and industry; see also Somers Tracts (1813), x., and for other pamphlets relating to his death the catalogue of the British Museum.
References.—See the Lives in the Dictionary of National Biography and in Biographia Britannica (Kippis), with sources collected there; Essex’s Irish correspondence is in the Stow Collection at the British Museum, Nos. 200-217, and selections have been published in Letters written by Arthur Capel, Earl of Essex (1770) and in the Essex Papers (Camden Society, 1890), to which can now be added the Calendars of State Papers, Domestic, which contain many of his letters and strongly support the views of his contemporaries regarding his selfless patriotism and hard work; see also Somers Tracts (1813), x., and for other pamphlets related to his death, refer to the catalogue of the British Museum.
1 i.e. in the Capel line.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ i.e. in the Capel line.
2 Hist. MSS. Comm. ser.; Duke of Beaufort’s MSS. 45.
2 Hist. MSS. Comm. ser.; Duke of Beaufort’s MSS. 45.
3 Life of Ormonde, by T. Carte, viii. 468 (1851), vol. iv. p. 529.
3 Life of Ormonde, by T. Carte, viii. 468 (1851), vol. iv. p. 529.
5 Ib. 6th Rep. app. 741b.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ib. 6th Rep. app. 741b.
ESSEX, ROBERT DEVEREUX, 2nd1 Earl of (1566-1601), son of the 1st Devereux earl, was born at Netherwood, Herefordshire, on the 19th of November 1566. He entered the university of Cambridge and graduated in 1581. In 1585 he accompanied his stepfather, the earl of Leicester, on an expedition to Holland, and greatly distinguished himself at the battle of Zutphen. He now took his place at court, where so handsome a youth soon found favour with Queen Elizabeth, and in consequence was on bad terms with Raleigh. In 1587 he was appointed master of the horse, and in the following year was made general of the horse and installed knight of the Garter. On the death of Leicester he succeeded him as chief favourite of the queen, a position which injuriously affected his whole subsequent life, and ultimately resulted in his ruin. While Elizabeth was approaching the mature age of sixty, Essex was scarcely twenty-one. Though well aware of the advantages of his position, and somewhat vain of the queen’s favour, his constant attendance on her at court was irksome to him beyond all endurance; and when he could not make his escape to the scenes of foreign adventure after which he longed, he varied the monotony of his life at court by intrigues with the maids of honour. He fought a duel with Sir Charles Blount, a rival favourite of the queen, in which the earl was disarmed and slightly wounded in the thigh.
ESSEX, ROBERT DEVEREUX 2nd Earl of __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ (1566-1601), son of the 1st Devereux earl, was born at Netherwood, Herefordshire, on November 19, 1566. He enrolled at the University of Cambridge and graduated in 1581. In 1585, he joined his stepfather, the Earl of Leicester, on an expedition to Holland and distinguished himself greatly at the Battle of Zutphen. He then became part of the court, where his good looks quickly won him the favor of Queen Elizabeth, which put him at odds with Raleigh. In 1587, he was appointed Master of the Horse, and the next year, he became General of the Horse and was knighted as a member of the Order of the Garter. After Leicester's death, he became the queen's chief favorite, a role that negatively impacted his life and ultimately led to his downfall. While Elizabeth was nearing her sixties, Essex was just over twenty. Despite knowing the benefits of his status and being somewhat proud of the queen’s attention, he found the constant presence at court unbearable. When he couldn't escape to pursue foreign adventures he craved, he sought to break the monotony of court life with affairs with the maids of honor. He got into a duel with Sir Charles Blount, another favorite of the queen, where Essex was disarmed and suffered a minor thigh wound.
In 1589, without the queen’s consent, he joined the expedition of Drake and Sir John Norris against Spain, but in June he was compelled to obey a letter enjoining him at his “uttermost peril” to return immediately. In 1590 Essex married the widow of Sir Philip Sidney, but in dread of the queen’s anger he kept the marriage secret as long as possible. When it was necessary to avow it, her rage at first knew no bounds, but as the earl did “use it with good temper,” and “for her majesty’s better satisfaction was pleased that my lady should live retired in her mother’s house,” he soon came to be “in very good favour.” In 1591 he was appointed to the command of a force auxiliary to one formerly sent to assist Henry IV. of France against the Spaniards; but after a fruitless campaign he was finally recalled from the command in January 1592. For some years after this most of his time was spent at court, where he held a position of unexampled influence, both on account of the favour of the queen and from his own personal popularity. In 1596 he was, after a great many “changes of humour” on the queen’s part, appointed along with Lord Howard of Effingham, Raleigh and Lord Thomas Howard, to the command of an expedition, which was successful in defeating the Spanish fleet, capturing and pillaging Cadiz, and destroying 53 merchant vessels. It would seem to have been shortly after this exploit that the beginnings of a change in the feelings of the queen towards him came into existence. On his return she chided him that he had not followed up his successes, and though she professed great pleasure at again seeing him in safety, and was ultimately satisfied that the abrupt termination of the expedition was contrary to his advice and remonstrances, she forbade him to publish anything in justification of his conduct. She doubtless was offended at his growing tendency to assert his independence, and jealous of his increasing popularity with the people; but it is also probable that her strange infatuation regarding her own charms, great as it was, scarcely prevented her from suspecting either that his professed attachment had all along been somewhat alloyed with considerations of personal interest, or that at least it was now beginning to cool. Francis Bacon, at that time his most intimate friend, endeavoured to prevent the threatened rupture by writing him a long letter of advice; and although perseverance in a long course of feigned action was for Essex impossible, he for some time attended pretty closely to the hints of his mentor, so that the queen “used him most graciously.” In 1597 he was appointed master of the ordnance, and in the following year he obtained command of an expedition against Spain, known as the Islands or Azores Voyage. He gained some trifling successes, but as the Plate fleet escaped him he failed of his main purpose; and when on his return the queen met him with the usual reproaches, he retired to his home at Wanstead. This was not what Elizabeth desired, and although she conferred on Lord Howard of Effingham the earldom of Nottingham for services at Cadiz, the main merit of which was justly claimed by Essex, she ultimately held out to the latter the olive branch of peace, and condescended to soothe his wounded honour by creating him earl marshal of England. That, nevertheless, the irritated feelings neither of Essex nor of the queen were completely healed was manifested shortly afterwards in a manner which set propriety completely at defiance. In a discussion on the appointment of a lord deputy to Ireland, Essex, on account of some taunting words of Elizabeth, turned his back upon her with a gesture indicative not only of anger but of contempt, and when she, unable to control her indignation, slapped him on the face, he left her presence swearing that such an insult he would not have endured even from Henry VIII.
In 1589, without the queen’s permission, he joined Drake and Sir John Norris on an expedition against Spain, but by June he had to follow a letter demanding that he return immediately at his “absolute peril.” In 1590, Essex married the widow of Sir Philip Sidney, but out of fear of the queen’s anger, he kept the marriage secret for as long as he could. When it became necessary to admit it, her fury was initially extreme, but because the earl handled it “with good temper” and “to her majesty’s greater satisfaction was happy for my lady to live quietly in her mother’s house,” he quickly regained “very good favor.” In 1591, he was appointed to command an auxiliary force that had been sent to assist Henry IV. of France against the Spaniards; after a fruitless campaign, he was finally recalled in January 1592. For several years after that, he spent most of his time at court, where he held an unparalleled amount of influence, thanks not only to the queen’s favor but also his personal popularity. In 1596, after many “mood swings” from the queen, he was appointed along with Lord Howard of Effingham, Raleigh, and Lord Thomas Howard to lead an expedition that successfully defeated the Spanish fleet, captured and plundered Cadiz, and destroyed 53 merchant vessels. It seems that shortly after this achievement, the queen's feelings toward him began to change. Upon his return, she scolded him for not following up on his victories, and although she claimed to be very pleased to see him safe again and ultimately accepted that the abrupt end of the expedition was against his advice and protests, she forbade him from publishing anything to justify his actions. She was likely offended by his growing independence and jealous of his rising popularity with the public; however, it’s also likely that her strange obsession with her own beauty, as strong as it was, didn’t stop her from suspecting that his claimed devotion had always been partly mixed with self-interest or that at least it was beginning to fade. Francis Bacon, his closest friend at the time, tried to prevent the looming rift by writing him a long letter of advice; although Essex found it impossible to maintain a long act, he followed his mentor’s hints for a while, which led the queen to “treat him most graciously.” In 1597, he was appointed master of the ordnance, and the following year he took command of an expedition against Spain, known as the Islands or Azores Voyage. He achieved some minor successes, but since the Plate fleet got away, he missed his main objective; when he returned to face the queen’s usual reproaches, he withdrew to his home in Wanstead. This was not what Elizabeth wanted, and even though she gave Lord Howard of Effingham the earldom of Nottingham for his services at Cadiz, which were largely credited to Essex, she eventually extended an olive branch to Essex and condescended to mend his wounded pride by making him earl marshal of England. Still, the hurt feelings of both Essex and the queen were not completely healed, as was evident shortly after in a way that completely disregarded propriety. In a discussion about appointing a lord deputy to Ireland, Essex, reacting to some taunting remarks from Elizabeth, turned his back to her in a gesture that expressed both anger and disdain. When she, unable to control her outrage, slapped him in the face, he left her presence swearing that he wouldn’t have tolerated such an insult even from Henry VIII.
In 1599, while Ulster was in rebellion under the earl of Tyrone, the office of lieutenant and governor-general of Ireland was conferred on Essex, and a large force put at his command. 783 His campaign was an unsuccessful one, and by acting in various ways in opposition to the commands of the queen and the council, agreeing with Tyrone on a truce in September, and suddenly leaving the post of duty with the object of privately vindicating himself before the queen, he laid himself open to charges more serious than that of mere incompetency. For these misdemeanours he was brought in June 1600 before a specially constituted court, deprived of all his high offices, and ordered to live a prisoner in his own house during the queen’s pleasure. Chiefly through the intercession of Bacon his liberty was shortly afterwards restored to him, but he was ordered not to return to court. For some time he hoped for an improvement in his prospects, but when he was refused the renewal of his patent for sweet wines, hope was succeeded by despair, and half maddened by wounded vanity, he made an attempt (Feb. 7, 1601) to incite a revolution in his behalf, by parading the streets of London with 300 retainers, and shouting, “For the queen! a plot is laid for my life!” These proceedings awakened, however, scarcely any other feelings than mild perplexity and wonder; and finding that hope of assistance from the citizens was vain, he returned to Essex House, where after defending himself for a short time he surrendered. After a trial—in which Bacon, who prosecuted, delivered a speech against his quondam friend and benefactor, the bitterness of which was quite unnecessary to secure a conviction entailing at least very severe punishment—he was condemned to death, and notwithstanding many alterations in Elizabeth’s mood, the sentence was carried out on the 25th of February 1601.
In 1599, while Ulster was in rebellion led by the Earl of Tyrone, Essex was appointed as the lieutenant and governor-general of Ireland, with a large force at his disposal. 783 His campaign was unsuccessful, and by acting in various ways against the queen's and the council's orders, agreeing to a truce with Tyrone in September, and abruptly leaving his post to privately defend himself to the queen, he exposed himself to charges that were more serious than just incompetence. For these actions, he was brought in June 1600 before a specially convened court, stripped of all his high positions, and ordered to be confined in his own house for as long as the queen deemed necessary. Thanks to Bacon's intercession, his freedom was soon restored, but he was instructed not to return to court. For a time, he hoped his situation would improve, but when he was denied the renewal of his sweet wine patent, despair replaced hope, and driven by wounded pride, he attempted to incite a rebellion on February 7, 1601, by marching through the streets of London with 300 followers, shouting, “For the queen! A plot is laid for my life!” However, this action stirred little more than mild confusion and curiosity, and realizing that he wouldn’t get help from the citizens, he returned to Essex House, where, after a brief defense, he surrendered. After a trial—in which Bacon, who was the prosecutor, gave a speech against his former friend and benefactor, which was needlessly harsh for securing a conviction that resulted in severe punishment—he was sentenced to death, and despite many changes in Elizabeth’s mood, the sentence was carried out on February 25, 1601.
Essex was in person tall and well proportioned, with a countenance which, though not strictly handsome, possessed, on account of its bold, cheerful and amiable expression, a wonderful power of fascination. He was a patron of literature, and himself a poet. His carriage was not very graceful, but his manners are said to have been “courtly, grave and exceedingly comely.” He was brave, chivalrous, impulsive, imperious sometimes with his equals, but generous to all his dependants and incapable of secret malice; and these virtues, which were innate and which remained with him to the last, must be regarded as somewhat counterbalancing, in our estimation of him, the follies and vices created by temptations which were exceptionally strong.
Essex was tall and well-built, and while his face wasn’t traditionally handsome, it had a captivating charm due to its bold, cheerful, and friendly expression. He supported literature and was a poet himself. His posture wasn't particularly graceful, but his manners were described as “courtly, serious, and very pleasing.” He was brave, chivalrous, and sometimes impulsive and authoritative with his peers, yet he was generous to all his subordinates and incapable of harboring secret resentment. These natural virtues, which he retained throughout his life, should be seen as somewhat balancing out the foolishness and vices brought on by exceptionally strong temptations.
See Hon. W.B. Devereux, Lives of the Earls of Essex (1853); and Bacon and Essex, by E.A. Abbott (1877). Also the article Bacon, Francis, and authorities there.
See Hon. W.B. Devereux, Lives of the Earls of Essex (1853); and Bacon and Essex, by E.A. Abbott (1877). Also the article Bacon, Francis, and sources mentioned there.
1 i.e. in the Devereux line.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ i.e. in the Devereux family.
ESSEX, ROBERT DEVEREUX, 3rd1 Earl of (1591-1646), son of the preceding, was born in 1591. He was educated at Eton and at Merton College, Oxford. Shortly after the arrival of James I. in London, Essex (whose title was restored, and the attainder on his father removed, in 1604) was placed about the prince of Wales, as a sharer both in his studies and amusements. At the early age of fifteen he was married to Frances Howard, daughter of the earl of Suffolk, but she was his wife only in name; during his absence abroad (1607-1609) she fell in love with Sir Robert Carr (afterwards earl of Somerset), and on her charging her husband with physical incapacity, the marriage was annulled in 1613. A second marriage which he contracted in 1631 with Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Paulet, also ended unhappily. From 1620 to 1623 he served in the wars of the Palatinate, and in 1625 he was vice-admiral of a fleet which made an unsuccessful attempt to capture Cadiz. In 1639 he was lieutenant-general of the army sent by Charles against the Scottish Covenanters; but on account of the irresolution of the king no battle occurred, and the army was disbanded at the end of the year. Essex was discharged “without ordinary ceremony,” and refused an office which at that time fell vacant, “all which,” says Clarendon, “wrought very much upon his rough, proud nature, and made him susceptible of some impressions afterwards which otherwise would not have found such easy admission.” Having taken the side of the parliament against Charles, he was, on the outbreak of the civil war in 1642, appointed to the command of the parliamentary army. At the battle of Edgehill he remained master of the field, and in 1643 he captured Reading, and relieved Gloucester; but in the campaign of the following year, on account of his hesitation to fight against the king in person, nearly his whole army fell into the hands of Charles. In 1645, on the passing of the self-denying ordinance, providing that no member of parliament should hold a public office, he resigned his commission; but on account of his past services his annuity of £10,000 was continued to him for life. He died on the 14th of September 1646, of a fever brought on by over-exertion in a stag-hunt in Windsor Forest; his line becoming extinct.
ESSEX, ROBERT DEVEREUX, 3rd __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Earl of (1591-1646), son of the previous earl, was born in 1591. He was educated at Eton and Merton College, Oxford. Shortly after James I. arrived in London, Essex (whose title was restored and his father's attainder lifted in 1604) became involved with the prince of Wales, sharing in his studies and leisure activities. At the young age of fifteen, he married Frances Howard, daughter of the Earl of Suffolk, but the marriage was essentially a formality; during his absence abroad (1607-1609), she fell for Sir Robert Carr (who later became the Earl of Somerset), and after she accused her husband of being physically incapable, the marriage was annulled in 1613. His second marriage in 1631 to Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Paulet, also ended poorly. From 1620 to 1623, he fought in the wars of the Palatinate, and in 1625, he was vice-admiral of a fleet that unsuccessfully tried to capture Cadiz. In 1639, he was lieutenant-general of the army sent by Charles against the Scottish Covenanters; however, because of the king's indecisiveness, no battle took place, and the army was disbanded by the end of the year. Essex was let go “without any formalities,” and he turned down an office that became vacant at that time, “all of which,” says Clarendon, “deeply affected his tough, proud nature and made him more open to influences that he otherwise wouldn't have been.” Taking the side of Parliament against Charles, he was appointed commander of the parliamentary army when the civil war broke out in 1642. At the battle of Edgehill, he maintained control of the field, and in 1643 he captured Reading and relieved Gloucester; but during the next year's campaign, due to his reluctance to confront the king directly, most of his army was taken by Charles. In 1645, following the self-denying ordinance that stated no member of Parliament could hold a public office, he resigned his commission; however, because of his past contributions, his annuity of £10,000 was secured for him for life. He died on September 14, 1646, from a fever caused by overexertion during a stag hunt in Windsor Forest, marking the end of his lineage.
See the “Life of Robert Earl of Essex,” by Robert Codrington, M.A., printed in Hart. Misc.; Clarendon’s History of the Rebellion, and Hon. W.B. Devereux, Lives of the Earls of Essex (1853).
See the “Life of Robert Earl of Essex,” by Robert Codrington, M.A., printed in Hart. Misc.; Clarendon’s History of the Rebellion, and Hon. W.B. Devereux, Lives of the Earls of Essex (1853).
1 i.e. in the Devereux line.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ e.g. in the Devereux line.
ESSEX, WALTER DEVEREUX, 1st1 Earl of (1541-1576), the eldest son of Sir Richard Devereux, was born in 1541. His grandfather was the 2nd Baron Ferrers, who was created Viscount Hereford in 1550 and by his mother was a nephew of Henry Bourchier, a former earl of Essex. Walter Devereux succeeded as 2nd Viscount Hereford in 1558, and in 1561 or 1562 married Lettice, daughter of Sir Francis Knollys. In 1569 he served as high marshal of the field under the earl of Warwick and Lord Clinton, and materially assisted them in suppressing the northern insurrection. For his zeal in the service of Queen Elizabeth on this and other occasions, he in 1572 received the Garter and was created earl of Essex, the title which formerly belonged to the Bourchier family. Eager to give proof of “his good devotion to employ himself in the service of her majesty,” he offered on certain conditions to subdue and colonize, at his own expense, a portion of the Irish province of Ulster, at that time completely under the dominion of the rebel O’Neills, under Sir Brian MacPhelim and Tirlogh Luineach, with the Scots under their leader Sorley Boy MacDonnell. His offer, with certain modifications, was accepted, and he set sail for Ireland in July 1573, accompanied by a number of earls, knights and gentlemen, and with a force of about 1200 men. The beginning of his enterprise was inauspicious, for on account of a storm which dispersed his fleet and drove some of his vessels as far as Cork and the Isle of Man, his forces did not all reach the place of rendezvous till late in the autumn, and he was compelled to entrench himself at Belfast for the winter. Here, by sickness, famine and desertions, his troops were diminished to little more than 200 men. Intrigues of various sorts, and fighting of a guerilla type, followed with disappointing results, and Essex had difficulties both with the deputy Fitzwilliam and with the queen. Essex was in straits himself, and his offensive movements in Ulster took the form of raids and brutal massacres among the O’Neills; in October 1574 he treacherously captured MacPhelim at a conference in Belfast, and after slaughtering his attendants had him and his wife and brother executed at Dublin. Elizabeth, instigated apparently by Leicester, after encouraging Essex to prepare to attack the Irish chief Tirlogh Luineach, suddenly commanded him to “break off his enterprise”; but, as she left him a certain discretionary power, he took advantage of it to defeat Tirlogh Luineach, chastise Antrim, and massacre several hundreds of Sorley Boy’s following, chiefly women and children, discovered hiding in the caves of Rathlin. He returned to England in the end of 1575, resolved “to live henceforth an untroubled life”; but he was ultimately persuaded to accept the offer of the queen to make him earl marshal of Ireland. He arrived in Dublin in September 1576, and three weeks afterwards died of dysentery. There were suspicions that he had been poisoned by Leicester, who shortly after his death married his widow, but these were not confirmed by the post-mortem examination. The endeavours of Essex to better the condition of Ireland were a dismal failure; and the massacres of the O’Neills and of the Scots of Rathlin leave a dark stain on his reputation.
ESSEX, WALTER DEVEREUX, 1st __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Earl of (1541-1576), the eldest son of Sir Richard Devereux, was born in 1541. His grandfather was the 2nd Baron Ferrers, who became Viscount Hereford in 1550 and was by his mother a nephew of Henry Bourchier, a former earl of Essex. Walter Devereux became the 2nd Viscount Hereford in 1558, and in 1561 or 1562 he married Lettice, the daughter of Sir Francis Knollys. In 1569, he served as high marshal of the field under the earl of Warwick and Lord Clinton, significantly helping them suppress the northern rebellion. For his dedication to Queen Elizabeth in this and other matters, he received the Garter in 1572 and was made earl of Essex, a title that had previously belonged to the Bourchier family. Eager to demonstrate his loyalty by serving Her Majesty, he offered to conquer and settle part of the Irish province of Ulster at his own cost, which was then entirely under the control of the rebel O’Neills, led by Sir Brian MacPhelim and Tirlogh Luineach, along with the Scots under Sorley Boy MacDonnell. His proposal, with some adjustments, was accepted, and he set sail for Ireland in July 1573, accompanied by several earls, knights, and gentlemen, along with about 1200 men. His expedition started poorly because a storm scattered his fleet, causing some vessels to end up as far away as Cork and the Isle of Man, so not all his forces reached the meeting point until late in the fall, forcing him to set up defenses in Belfast for the winter. There, sickness, famine, and desertions reduced his troops to barely over 200 men. Various intrigues and guerilla fighting followed with disappointing outcomes, and Essex faced challenges both with Deputy Fitzwilliam and the queen. Essex found himself in a tough position, and his military actions in Ulster primarily consisted of raids and brutal massacres against the O’Neills; in October 1574, he deceitfully captured MacPhelim during a meeting in Belfast and, after killing his followers, had him, along with his wife and brother, executed in Dublin. Elizabeth, seemingly influenced by Leicester, who had encouraged Essex to prepare for an attack on the Irish chief Tirlogh Luineach, abruptly ordered him to “terminate his mission”; however, as she left him with some discretionary authority, he took that opportunity to defeat Tirlogh Luineach, punish Antrim, and kill several hundred of Sorley Boy’s group, mostly women and children, who were found hiding in the caves of Rathlin. He returned to England at the end of 1575, determined “to live peacefully from then on”; yet he was eventually convinced to accept the queen’s offer to make him earl marshal of Ireland. He arrived in Dublin in September 1576, and three weeks later, he died of dysentery. There were suspicions he had been poisoned by Leicester, who married his widow shortly after his death, but these were not substantiated by the autopsy. Essex's efforts to improve conditions in Ireland were a dismal failure, and the massacres of the O’Neills and the Scots of Rathlin left a dark mark on his legacy.
See Sidney Lee’s article in the Dict. Nat. Biog.; Lives of the Devereux Earls of Essex, by Hon. Walter B. Devereux (1853); Froude’s History of England, vol. x.; J.S. Brewer, Athenaeum (1870), part i. pp. 261, 326.
See Sidney Lee’s article in the Dict. Nat. Biog.; Lives of the Devereux Earls of Essex, by Hon. Walter B. Devereux (1853); Froude’s History of England, vol. x.; J.S. Brewer, Athenaeum (1870), part i. pp. 261, 326.
1 i.e. in the Devereux line.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ e.g. in the Devereux line.
ESSEX, an eastern county of England, bounded N. by Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, E. by the North Sea, S. by the Thames, 784 dividing it from Kent, W. by the administrative county of London and by Hertfordshire. Its area is 1542 sq. m. Its configuration is sufficiently indicated by the direction of its rivers. Except that in the N.W. the county includes the heads of a few valleys draining northward to the Cam and so to the Great Ouse, all the streams, which are never of great size, run southward and eastward, either into the Thames, or into the North Sea by way of the broad, shallow estuaries which ramify through the flat coast lands. The highest ground lies consequently in the north-west, between the Cam basin and the rivers of the county. Its principal southward extension is that between the Lea (which with its tributary the Stort forms a great part of the western boundary) and the Roding, and east of the Roding valley. The other chief rivers may be specified according to their estuaries, following the coast northward from Shoeburyness at the Thames mouth. That of the Roach ramifies among several islands of which Foulness is the largest, but its main branch joins the Crouch estuary. Next follows the Blackwater, which receives the Chelmer, the Brain and other streams. Following a coast of numerous creeks and islets, with the large island of Mersea, the Colne estuary is reached. The Colne and Blackwater may be said to form one large estuary, as they enter the sea by a well-marked common mouth, 5 m. in width, between Sales Point and Colne Point. There is a great irregular inlet (Hamford Water) receiving no large stream, W. of the Naze promontory, and then the Stour, bounding the county on the north, joins its estuary to that of the Orwell near the sea. There are several seaside watering-places in favour owing to their proximity to London, of which Southend-on-Sea above the mouth of the Thames, Clacton-on-Sea, Walton-on-the-Naze, and Dovercourt adjoining Harwich are the chief. These and other stations on the estuaries are also in favour with yachtsmen. The sea has at some points seriously encroached upon the land within historic times. The low soft cliffs at various points are liable to give way against the waves; in other parts dykes and embankments are necessary to prevent inundation. Inland, that is apart from the flat coast-district, the country is pleasantly undulating and for the most part well wooded. It was formerly, indeed, almost wholly forested, the great Waltham Forest stretching from Colchester to the confines of London. Of this a fragment is preserved in Epping Forest (see Epping) between the Lea and the Roding. On the other side of the Roding Hainault Forest is traceable, but was disafforested in 1851. The oak is the principal tree; a noteworthy example was that of Fairlop in Hainault, which measured 45 ft. in girth, but was blown down in 1820.
ESSEX, an eastern county of England, is bordered to the north by Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, to the east by the North Sea, to the south by the Thames, which separates it from Kent, and to the west by the administrative county of London and Hertfordshire. It covers an area of 1,542 square miles. Its shape is largely defined by the direction of its rivers. Except for a few valleys in the northwest that drain northward to the Cam and eventually to the Great Ouse, most streams, which are generally small, flow southward and eastward into either the Thames or the North Sea through broad, shallow estuaries that wind through the flat coastal lands. Therefore, the highest ground is in the northwest, situated between the Cam basin and the county's rivers. The county's primary southern area extends between the Lea (which, along with its tributary the Stort, makes up a significant portion of the western border) and the Roding valley, east of the Roding. Other main rivers can be identified by their estuaries, moving north along the coast from Shoeburyness at the Thames mouth. The Roach estuary branches out among several islands, the largest being Foulness, but its main channel connects with the Crouch estuary. Following this is the Blackwater, which collects the Chelmer, the Brain, and other streams. Continuing along a coastline dotted with creeks and small islands, including the large island of Mersea, you reach the Colne estuary. The Colne and Blackwater form a substantial estuary, merging into a distinct common mouth, 5 miles wide, between Sales Point and Colne Point. There is a significant irregular inlet (Hamford Water) that doesn’t receive any large river, located west of the Naze promontory, where the Stour, which forms the northern boundary of the county, connects its estuary with that of the Orwell near the sea. Several seaside resorts are popular due to their closeness to London, with Southend-on-Sea above the Thames mouth, Clacton-on-Sea, Walton-on-the-Naze, and Dovercourt next to Harwich being the most notable. These and other locations along the estuaries are also favored among yacht enthusiasts. Over the years, the sea has encroached upon the land in several areas. The low, soft cliffs are susceptible to erosion from the waves, and in other locations, dykes and embankments are needed to prevent flooding. Inland, away from the flat coastal area, the terrain is gently rolling and predominantly wooded. It was once almost completely forested, with the expansive Waltham Forest stretching from Colchester to the edges of London. A portion of this forest is preserved in Epping Forest (see Epping) located between the Lea and the Roding. On the opposite side of the Roding, Hainault Forest can still be traced, although it was disafforested in 1851. The oak is the main tree species; a notable example was the Fairlop oak in Hainault, which had a girth of 45 feet but was uprooted in 1820.
Geology.—The geological structure of the county is very simple: the greater part is occupied by the London clay with underlying Reading beds and Thanet sands, with here and there small patches of Bagshot gravels on elevated tracts, as at High Beech, Langdon Hill, Brentwood and Rayleigh; and occasionally the same beds are represented by the large boulder-like Sarsen stones on the lower ground. In the north, the chalk, which underlies the Tertiary strata over the whole county, appears at the surface and forms the downs about Saffron Walden, Birdbrook and Great Yeldham; it is brought up again by a small disturbance at Grays Thurrock where it is quarried on a large scale for lime, cement and whiting. Small patches of Pleistocene Red Crag rest upon the Eocene strata at Beaumont and Oakley, and are very well exposed at Walton-on-the-Naze where they are very fossiliferous. Most of the county is covered by a superficial deposit of glacial drifts, sands, gravel and in places boulder clay, as at Epping, Dunmow and Hornchurch where the drift lies beneath the Thames gravel. An interesting feature in relation to the glacial drift is a deep trough in the Cam valley revealed by borings to be no less than 340 ft. deep at Newport; this ancient valley is filled with drift. In the southern part of the county are broad spreads of gravel and brick earth, formed by the Thames; these have been excavated for brick-making and building purposes about Ilford, Romford and Grays, and have yielded the remains of hippopotamus, rhinoceros and mammoth. More recent alluvial deposits are found in the valley at Walthamstow and Tilbury, in which the remains of the beaver have been discovered.
Geology.—The geological makeup of the county is quite straightforward: most of it is covered by London clay, with Reading beds and Thanet sands underneath. There are also a few small patches of Bagshot gravels on higher land, like at High Beech, Langdon Hill, Brentwood, and Rayleigh; sometimes these layers are represented by large boulder-like Sarsen stones found on the lower land. In the northern part, chalk is exposed at the surface, forming the downs around Saffron Walden, Birdbrook, and Great Yeldham; there's also a small uplift at Grays Thurrock where it's quarried on a large scale for lime, cement, and whiting. Small patches of Pleistocene Red Crag sit on top of the Eocene layers at Beaumont and Oakley, and these are clearly visible at Walton-on-the-Naze, which is rich in fossils. Much of the county is covered by a layer of glacial deposits, sands, gravel, and occasionally boulder clay, as seen in Epping, Dunmow, and Hornchurch where the drift is underneath the Thames gravel. An interesting aspect of the glacial drift is a deep trough in the Cam valley, which has been measured at a depth of 340 ft. at Newport; this ancient valley is filled with drift. In the southern part of the county, there are extensive areas of gravel and brick earth, formed by the Thames, which have been excavated for brick-making and construction around Ilford, Romford, and Grays, revealing the remains of hippopotamus, rhinoceros, and mammoth. More recent alluvial deposits are present in the valley at Walthamstow and Tilbury, where remains of the beaver have been found.
The roads of this county with a clay soil foundation were for generations repaired with flints picked by women and children from the surface of the fields. Gravel is difficult of access. With the exception of chalk for lime (mainly obtained at Ballingdon in the north and Grays in the south), septaria for making cement, and clay for bricks, the underground riches of the county are meagre.
The roads in this county, built on clay soil, have been fixed for generations using flints that women and children gathered from the fields. Gravel is hard to come by. Apart from chalk for lime (mostly sourced from Ballingdon in the north and Grays in the south), septaria for making cement, and clay for bricks, the county doesn't have much in the way of underground resources.
Agriculture.—As an agricultural county Essex ranks high. Some four-fifths of the total area is under cultivation, and about one-third of that area is in permanent pasture. Wheat, barley and oats, in that relative order, are the principal grain crops, Essex being one of the chief grain-producing counties. The wheat and barley are in particularly high favour, the wheat of various standard species being exported for seed purposes, while the barley is especially useful in malting. Beans and peas are largely grown, as are vegetables for the London market. Hop-growing was once important. From the comparative dryness of the climate Essex does not excel in pasturage, and winter grazing receives the more attention. The numbers of cattle increase steadily, and store bullocks are introduced in large numbers from Norfolk, Lincolnshire, Ireland and Wales. Of sheep there are but few distinct flocks, and the numbers decrease. Pigs are generally of a high-class Berkshire type.
Agriculture.—Essex is a top agricultural county. About four-fifths of the total area is used for farming, and roughly one-third of that is permanent pasture. Wheat, barley, and oats are the main grain crops, with Essex being one of the leading grain-producing counties. Wheat and barley are particularly popular, with various high-quality wheat being exported for seed, and barley being especially valuable for malting. Beans and peas are widely cultivated, along with vegetables for the London market. Hop-growing used to be significant. Due to the relatively dry climate, Essex doesn't excel in pasture land, and winter grazing is a bigger focus. The number of cattle is steadily increasing, with many store bullocks coming from Norfolk, Lincolnshire, Ireland, and Wales. There are only a few distinct flocks of sheep, and their numbers are decreasing. Pigs are generally of a high-quality Berkshire breed.
Other Industries.—The south-west of the county, being contiguous to London, is very densely populated, and is the seat of large and varied industries. For example, there are numbers of chemical works, the extensive engine shops and works of the Great Eastern railway at Stratford, government powder works in the vicinity of Waltham Abbey, and powder stores at Purfleet on the Thames. The extensive water-works for east London, by the Lea near Walthamstow, may also be mentioned. The docks at Plaistow and Tilbury on the Thames employ many hands. Apart from this industrial district, there are considerable engineering works, especially for agricultural implements, at Chelmsford, Colchester and elsewhere; several silk works, as at Braintree and Halstead; large breweries, as at Brentwood, Chelmsford and Romford; and lime and cement works at Grays Thurrock. The oyster-beds of the Colne produce the famous Colchester natives, and there are similar beds in the Crouch and Roach, for which Burnham-on-Crouch is the centre; and in the Blackwater (Maldon).
Other Industries.—The south-west of the county, being close to London, is very densely populated and hosts a range of large and diverse industries. For instance, there are numerous chemical plants, the extensive engine shops and facilities of the Great Eastern Railway at Stratford, government munitions factories near Waltham Abbey, and storage facilities for explosives at Purfleet on the Thames. The large waterworks for East London, situated by the River Lea near Walthamstow, are also noteworthy. The docks at Plaistow and Tilbury on the Thames provide many jobs. In addition to this industrial area, there are significant engineering firms, particularly for agricultural equipment, in Chelmsford, Colchester, and elsewhere; several silk factories, such as in Braintree and Halstead; major breweries in Brentwood, Chelmsford, and Romford; and lime and cement production facilities in Grays Thurrock. The oyster beds of the Colne produce the famous Colchester natives, and similar beds are found in the Crouch and Roach rivers, with Burnham-on-Crouch as the hub, as well as in the Blackwater (Maldon).
Communications.—Railway communications are supplied principally by the Great Eastern railway, of which the main line runs by Stratford, Ilford, Romford, Brentwood, Chelmsford, Witham, Colchester, and Manningtree. The Cambridge and northern line of this company, following the Lea valley, does not touch the county until it diverges along the valley of the Stort. The chief branches are those to Southend and Burnham, Witham to Maldon, Colchester to Brightlingsea, to Clacton and to Walton, and Manningtree to Harwich, on the coast; and Witham to Braintree and Bishop’s Stortford, and Mark’s Tey to Sudbury and beyond, inland; while there are several branch lines among the manufacturing and residential suburbs in the south-west, to Walthamstow and Buckhurst Hill, Chigwell, Loughton, Epping, Ongar, &c. The London, Tilbury & Southend railway, following the Thames, serves the places named, and the Colne Valley railway runs from Chappel junction near Mark’s Tey by Halstead to Haverhill.
Communications.—Railway communications are mainly provided by the Great Eastern Railway, whose main line goes through Stratford, Ilford, Romford, Brentwood, Chelmsford, Witham, Colchester, and Manningtree. The Cambridge and northern line of this company, which follows the Lea Valley, doesn't reach the county until it branches off along the Stort Valley. The main branches are those to Southend and Burnham, Witham to Maldon, Colchester to Brightlingsea, to Clacton and to Walton, and Manningtree to Harwich on the coast; and Witham to Braintree and Bishop's Stortford, and Mark's Tey to Sudbury and beyond, inland; while there are several branch lines among the manufacturing and residential suburbs in the southwest, to Walthamstow and Buckhurst Hill, Chigwell, Loughton, Epping, Ongar, etc. The London, Tilbury & Southend Railway, following the Thames, serves the mentioned places, and the Colne Valley Railway runs from Chappel Junction near Mark's Tey by Halstead to Haverhill.
On the Thames, besides the great docks at Plaistow (Victoria and Albert) and the deep-water docks at Tilbury, the principal calling places for vessels are Grays, Purfleet and Southend, while Barking on the Roding has also shipping trade, and the Lea affords important water-connexions. Elsewhere, the principal port is Harwich, at the mouth of the Stour, one of the chief ports of England for European passenger traffic. Other towns ranking as lesser estuarine ports are: Brightlingsea and Wivenhoe on the Colne, forming a member of the Cinque Port of Sandwich; Colchester, Maldon on the Blackwater, and Burnham-on-Crouch. The Stour, Chelmer, and Lea and Stort are the principal navigable inland waterways.
On the Thames, in addition to the major docks at Plaistow (Victoria and Albert) and the deep-water docks at Tilbury, the main stops for ships are Grays, Purfleet, and Southend. Barking on the Roding also has shipping activity, and the Lea provides important water connections. In other areas, the main port is Harwich, located at the mouth of the Stour, which is one of the main ports in England for European passenger traffic. Other towns recognized as smaller estuarine ports include Brightlingsea and Wivenhoe on the Colne, which are part of the Cinque Port of Sandwich; Colchester, Maldon on the Blackwater, and Burnham-on-Crouch. The Stour, Chelmer, and Lea and Stort are the main navigable inland waterways.
Population and Administration.—The area of the ancient county is 986,975 acres, with a population in 1891 of 785,445 and in 1901 of 1,085,771. The area of the administrative county is 979,532 acres. The county contains nineteen hundreds. It is divided into eight parliamentary divisions, and it also includes the parliamentary boroughs of Colchester and West Ham, the latter consisting of two divisions. Each of these returns one member. The county divisions are—Northern or Saffron Walden, North-eastern or Harwich, Eastern or Maldon, Western 785 or Epping, Mid or Chelmsford, South-eastern, Southern or Romford, South-western or Walthamstow, returning one member each. The municipal boroughs are—Chelmsford (12,580), Colchester (38,373), East Ham (96,018), Harwich (10,070), Maldon(5565), Saffron Walden (5896), Southend-on-Sea (28,857), and one county borough, West Ham (267,358). The following are the other urban districts—Barking Town (21,547), Braintree (5330), Brentwood (4932), Brightlingsea (4501), Buckhurst Hill (4786), Burnham-on-Crouch (2919), Chingford (4373), Clacton (7456), Epping (3789), Frinton-on-Sea (644), Grays Thurrock (13,834), Halstead (6073), Ilford (41,234), Leigh-on-Sea (3667), Leyton (98,912), Loughton (4730), Romford (13,656), Shoeburyness (4081), Waltham Holy Cross (6549), Walthamstow (95,131), Walton-on-the-Naze (2014), Wanstead (9179), Witham (3454), Wivenhoe (2560), Woodford (13,798). Essex is in the South-eastern circuit, and assizes are held at Chelmsford. The boroughs of Harwich and Southend-on-Sea have separate commissions of the peace, and the boroughs of Colchester, Maldon, Saffron Walden and West Ham have, in addition, separate courts of quarter sessions. The county is ecclesiastically within the diocese of St Albans (with a small portion within that of Ely) and is divided into two archdeaconries; containing 452 parishes or districts wholly or in part. There are 399 civil parishes.
Population and Administration.—The area of the ancient county is 986,975 acres, with a population of 785,445 in 1891 and 1,085,771 in 1901. The area of the administrative county is 979,532 acres. The county has nineteen hundreds and is divided into eight parliamentary divisions, including the parliamentary boroughs of Colchester and West Ham, the latter having two divisions. Each of these returns one member. The county divisions are—Northern or Saffron Walden, North-eastern or Harwich, Eastern or Maldon, Western or Epping, Mid or Chelmsford, South-eastern, Southern or Romford, South-western or Walthamstow, each returning one member. The municipal boroughs are—Chelmsford (12,580), Colchester (38,373), East Ham (96,018), Harwich (10,070), Maldon (5,565), Saffron Walden (5,896), Southend-on-Sea (28,857), and one county borough, West Ham (267,358). The other urban districts include—Barking Town (21,547), Braintree (5,330), Brentwood (4,932), Brightlingsea (4,501), Buckhurst Hill (4,786), Burnham-on-Crouch (2,919), Chingford (4,373), Clacton (7,456), Epping (3,789), Frinton-on-Sea (644), Grays Thurrock (13,834), Halstead (6,073), Ilford (41,234), Leigh-on-Sea (3,667), Leyton (98,912), Loughton (4,730), Romford (13,656), Shoeburyness (4,081), Waltham Holy Cross (6,549), Walthamstow (95,131), Walton-on-the-Naze (2,014), Wanstead (9,179), Witham (3,454), Wivenhoe (2,560), Woodford (13,798). Essex is in the South-eastern circuit, with assizes held at Chelmsford. The boroughs of Harwich and Southend-on-Sea have separate commissions of the peace, while the boroughs of Colchester, Maldon, Saffron Walden, and West Ham also have separate courts of quarter sessions. The county is ecclesiastically within the diocese of St Albans (with a small portion in the diocese of Ely) and is divided into two archdeaconries, containing 452 parishes or districts wholly or partially. There are 399 civil parishes.
There is a military station and depot for recruits at Warley, and a garrison at Tilbury. At Shoeburyness there are a school of gunnery and an extensive ground for testing government artillery of the largest calibre.
There’s a military station and recruitment depot at Warley, and a garrison in Tilbury. At Shoeburyness, there’s a gunnery school and a large area for testing the government’s heavy artillery.
History (see also below under Essex, Kingdom of).—Essex probably originated as a shire in the time of Æthelstan. According to the Domesday Survey it comprised nineteen hundreds, corresponding very closely in extent and in name with those of the present day. The additional half-hundred of Thunreslan on the Suffolk border has disappeared; Witbrictesherna is now Dengie; and the liberty of Havering-atte-Bower appears to have been taken out of Becontree. Essex and Hertfordshire were under one sheriff until the time of Elizabeth. At the time of the Survey Count Eustace held a vast fief in Essex, and the court of the Honour of Boulogne was held at Witham. Bentry Heath in Dagenham, Hundred Heath in Tendring and Castle Hedingham in Hinckford were the meeting-places of their respective hundreds. The stewardship of the forest of Essex was held by the earls of Oxford until deprived of it for adherence to the Lancastrian cause. In 1421 certain parts of Essex inherited by Henry V. from his mother were brought under the jurisdiction of the duchy of Lancaster.
History (see also below under Essex, Kingdom of).—Essex probably started as a county during Æthelstan's reign. According to the Domesday Survey, it had nineteen hundreds, which closely match both in size and name with those today. The additional half-hundred of Thunreslan on the Suffolk border has vanished; Witbrictesherna is now known as Dengie; and the liberty of Havering-atte-Bower seems to have been separated from Becontree. Essex and Hertfordshire shared one sheriff until Elizabeth's time. At the time of the Survey, Count Eustace owned a large fief in Essex, and the court of the Honour of Boulogne was held at Witham. Bentry Heath in Dagenham, Hundred Heath in Tendring, and Castle Hedingham in Hinckford served as meeting places for their respective hundreds. The stewardship of the forest of Essex was held by the earls of Oxford until they lost it for supporting the Lancastrian cause. In 1421, certain parts of Essex that Henry V inherited from his mother were placed under the jurisdiction of the duchy of Lancaster.
Essex was part of the see of London from the time of the foundation of the bishopric in the 7th century. The archdeaconries are first mentioned in 1108; that of Essex extended over the south of the county and in 1291 included eight deaneries; the north of the county was divided between the archdeaconries of Middlesex and Colchester, comprising three and six deaneries respectively. Colchester was constituted a suffragan bishopric by Henry VIII. In 1836 Essex was transferred to the diocese of Rochester, with the exception of nine parishes which remained in London. In 1845 the archdeacon of Middlesex ceased to exercise control in Essex, and the deaneries were readjusted. In 1875 Essex was transferred to the newly created diocese of St Albans, and in 1877 the archdeaconry of Essex was subdivided into eighteen deaneries and that of Colchester into sixteen.
Essex has been part of the London diocese since the bishopric was established in the 7th century. The archdeaconries were first mentioned in 1108; the Essex archdeaconry covered the southern part of the county and included eight deaneries in 1291. The northern part of the county was split between the Middlesex and Colchester archdeaconries, which had three and six deaneries, respectively. Henry VIII established Colchester as a suffragan bishopric. In 1836, Essex was moved to the Rochester diocese, except for nine parishes that stayed in London. In 1845, the Middlesex archdeacon stopped overseeing Essex, and the deaneries were reorganized. In 1875, Essex was assigned to the newly created St Albans diocese, and in 1877, the Essex archdeaconry was divided into eighteen deaneries, while the Colchester archdeaconry became sixteen.
Owing to its proximity to the capital Essex was intimately associated with all the great historical struggles. The nobility of Essex took a leading part in the struggle for the charter, and of the twenty-four guardians of the charter, four were Essex barons. The castles of Pleshey, Colchester, and Hedingham were held against the king in the Barons’ War of the reign of Henry III., and 5000 Essex men joined the peasant rising of 1381. During the Wars of the Roses the Lancastrian cause was supported by the de Veres, while the Bourchiers and Lord Fitz-Walter were among the Yorkist leaders. Several Essex men were concerned in the Gunpowder Plot, and in the Civil War of the 17th century the county rendered valuable aid to the parliament.
Because of its closeness to the capital, Essex was closely linked to all the major historical conflicts. The nobility of Essex played a key role in the fight for the charter, and out of the twenty-four guardians of the charter, four were barons from Essex. The castles of Pleshey, Colchester, and Hedingham were held against the king during the Barons’ War in the reign of Henry III, and 5,000 men from Essex took part in the peasant uprising of 1381. During the Wars of the Roses, the de Veres backed the Lancastrian cause, while the Bourchiers and Lord Fitz-Walter were among the Yorkist leaders. Several men from Essex were involved in the Gunpowder Plot, and during the Civil War of the 17th century, the county provided significant support to Parliament.
After the Conquest no Englishman retained estates in Essex of any importance, and the chief lay barons at the time of the Survey were Geoffrey de Mandeville and Aubrey de Vere. The de Veres, earls of Oxford, were continuously connected with the county until the extinction of the title two centuries ago. Pleshey was the stronghold of the Mandevilles, and, although the house became extinct in 1189, its descendants in the female line retained the title of earls of Essex. The Honour of Hatfield Peverel held by Ranulf Peverel after the Conquest escheated to the crown in the reign of Henry I., and in the same reign the fief of Robert Gernon passed to the house of Mountfichet.
After the Conquest, no Englishman kept any significant estates in Essex, and the main lay barons at the time of the Survey were Geoffrey de Mandeville and Aubrey de Vere. The de Veres, earls of Oxford, were linked to the county until the title was extinguished two centuries ago. Pleshey was the stronghold of the Mandevilles, and even though the family became extinct in 1189, their female descendants still held the title of earls of Essex. The Honour of Hatfield Peverel held by Ranulf Peverel after the Conquest returned to the crown during Henry I's reign, and during the same reign, Robert Gernon's fief passed to the house of Mountfichet.
Essex has always been mainly an agricultural county, and the ordinary agricultural pursuits were carried on at the time of the Domesday Survey, which also mentions salt-making, wine-making, bee-culture and cheese-making, while the oyster fisheries have been famous from the earliest historic times. The woollen industry dates back to Saxon times, and for many centuries ranked as the most important industry. Cloth-weaving was introduced in the 14th century, and in the 16th century Colchester was noted for its “bays and says.” Colchester also possessed a valuable leather industry in the 16th century, at which period Essex was considered an exceptionally wealthy and prosperous county; Norden, writing in 1594, describes it as “moste fatt, frutefull, and full of all profitable things.” The decline of the cloth industry in the 17th century caused great distress, but a number of smaller industries began to take its place. Saffron-culture and silk-weaving were extensively carried on in the 17th century, and the 18th century saw the introduction of the straw-plait industry, potash-making, calico-printing, malting and brewing, and the manufacture of Roman cement.
Essex has always been primarily an agricultural county, and typical farming activities were ongoing during the time of the Domesday Survey, which also noted salt-making, wine-making, beekeeping, and cheese-making, while the oyster fisheries have been well-known since ancient times. The wool industry dates back to Saxon times, and for many centuries, it was considered the most important industry. Cloth-weaving was introduced in the 14th century, and by the 16th century, Colchester was recognized for its “bays and says.” Colchester also had a valuable leather industry in the 16th century, at which point Essex was seen as an exceptionally wealthy and prosperous county; Norden, writing in 1594, describes it as “moste fatt, frutefull, and full of all profitable things.” The decline of the cloth industry in the 17th century led to significant hardship, but several smaller industries began to emerge. Saffron cultivation and silk-weaving were widely practiced in the 17th century, and the 18th century introduced industries like straw-plaiting, potash-making, calico-printing, malting and brewing, along with the production of Roman cement.
The county returned four members to parliament in 1290. From 1295 it returned two members for the county and two for Colchester. Maldon acquired representation in 1331 and Harwich in 1604. Under the Reform Act of 1832 the county returned four members in four divisions. Under the Representation of the People Act of 1868 Maldon and Harwich each lost one member, and the county returned six members in three divisions.
The county sent four representatives to parliament in 1290. Starting in 1295, it sent two representatives for the county and two for Colchester. Maldon got representation in 1331 and Harwich in 1604. Under the Reform Act of 1832, the county sent four representatives in four divisions. Under the Representation of the People Act of 1868, Maldon and Harwich each lost one representative, and the county sent six representatives in three divisions.
Antiquities.—It is supposed by many antiquaries that Saxon masonry can be detected in the foundations of several of the Essex churches, but, with the exception of Ashingdon church tower, believed to have been erected by Canute after his victory over Edmund Ironside, there is no obviously recognizable building belonging to that period. This is probably to be in part ascribed to the fact that the comparative scarcity of stone and the unusual abundance of timber led to the extensive employment of the latter material. Several of the Essex churches, as Blackmore, Mountnessing, Margaretting, and South Benfleet, have massive porches and towers of timber; and St Andrew’s church, Greenstead, with its walls of solid oak, continues an almost unique example of its kind. Of the four round churches in England one is in Essex at Little Maplestead; it is both the smallest and the latest. The churches of South Weald, Hadleigh, Blackmore, Heybridge and Hadstock may be mentioned as containing Norman work; with the church of Castle Hedingham for its fine Transitional work; Southchurch, Danbury and Boreham as being partly Early English; Ingatestone, Stebbing and Tilty for specimens of Decorated architecture; and Messing, Thaxted, Saffron Walden, and the church of St Peter ad Vincula at the small town of Coggeshall, near Colchester, as specimens of Perpendicular. Stained glass windows have left their traces in several of the churches, the finest remains being those of Margaretting, which represent a tree of Jesse and the daisy or herb Margaret. Paintings have evidently been largely used for internal decoration: a remarkable series, probably of the 12th century, but much restored in the 14th, exists in the chancel of Copford church; and in the church at Ingatestone there was discovered in 1868 an almost unique fresco representation of the seven deadly sins. The oldest brasses preserved in the county are those of Sir William Fitz-Ralph at Pebmarsh, about 1323; Richard of Beltown, at Corringham, 1340; Sir John Gifford, at Bowers 786 Gifford, 1348; Ralph de Kneyton, at Aveley, 1370; Robert de Swynbourne, at Little Horkesley, 1391; and Sir Ingelram de Bruyn, at South Ockendon, 1400. The brass of Thomas Heron, aged 14, at Little Ilford, though dating only from 1517, is of interest as a picture of a schoolboy of the period. Ancient wooden effigies are preserved at Danbury, Little Leighs and Little Horkesley.
Antiquities.—Many historians believe that Saxon masonry can be identified in the foundations of several Essex churches, but aside from the church tower at Ashingdon, thought to have been built by Canute after defeating Edmund Ironside, there’s no clearly identifiable structure from that time. This is likely partly due to the limited availability of stone and the abundant supply of timber, which led to the heavy use of wood. Several Essex churches, such as Blackmore, Mountnessing, Margaretting, and South Benfleet, feature impressive timber porches and towers; St Andrew’s church in Greenstead, with its solid oak walls, remains a nearly unique example. Of the four round churches in England, one is located in Essex at Little Maplestead; it is both the smallest and the most recent. The churches at South Weald, Hadleigh, Blackmore, Heybridge, and Hadstock include Norman elements, while Castle Hedingham is noted for its fine Transitional work. Southchurch, Danbury, and Boreham contain some Early English features; Ingatestone, Stebbing, and Tilty showcase Decorated architecture; and Messing, Thaxted, Saffron Walden, and St Peter ad Vincula church in the small town of Coggeshall, near Colchester, demonstrate Perpendicular style. Stained glass windows can be found in several churches, with the finest remaining examples located in Margaretting, depicting a tree of Jesse and the daisy or herb Margaret. Paintings were evidently widely used for interior decoration: a remarkable series, likely from the 12th century but mostly restored in the 14th, can be seen in the chancel of Copford church; and in the church at Ingatestone, a nearly unique fresco representation of the seven deadly sins was discovered in 1868. The oldest brasses still preserved in the county belong to Sir William Fitz-Ralph at Pebmarsh, around 1323; Richard of Beltown at Corringham, 1340; Sir John Gifford at Bowers Gifford, 1348; Ralph de Kneyton at Aveley, 1370; Robert de Swynbourne at Little Horkesley, 1391; and Sir Ingelram de Bruyn at South Ockendon, 1400. The brass of Thomas Heron, aged 14, at Little Ilford, although dating only from 1517, is significant as a depiction of a schoolboy from that period. Ancient wooden effigies are preserved at Danbury, Little Leighs, and Little Horkesley.
Essex was rich in monastic foundations, though the greater number have left but meagre ruins behind. The Benedictines had an abbey at Saffron Walden, nunneries at Barking and Wickes, and priories at Earl’s or Monk’s Colne and Castle Hedingham; the Augustinian canons had an abbey at Waltham (see Waltham Abbey; the portion remaining shows Norman work of the finest character), priories at Thoby, Blackmore, Bicknacre, Little Leighs, Little Dunmow and St Osyth (see Brightlingsea); there were Cistercian abbeys at Coggeshall, Stratford and Tilty; the Cluniac monks were settled at Prittlewell, the Premonstratensians at Beleigh Abbey, and the Knights Hospitallers at Little Maplestead. Barking Abbey is said to date its first origin from the 7th century; most of the others arose in the 12th and 13th centuries. Besides the keep at Colchester there is a fine Norman castle at Castle Hedingham, and two dilapidated round towers still stand at Hadleigh near Southend. Ongar, the house of the de Lacys, and Pleshey, the seat of the earls of Essex, have left only mounds. Havering-atte-Bower, the palace that was occupied by many queens, is replaced by a modern house; Wickham, the mansion of the bishops of London, no longer stands. New Hall, which was successively occupied by Henry VIII., Elizabeth, the earl of Essex, George Villiers, duke of Buckingham, and Cromwell, is now a nunnery of the order of the Holy Sepulchre. Audley End, the mansion of Lord Braybrooke, is a noble example of the domestic architecture of the Jacobean period; Layer Marney is an interesting proof of the Italian influences that were at work in the time of Wolsey. Horeham Hall was built by Sir John Cutt in the reign of Henry VII., and Gosfield Hall is of about the same date.
Essex was rich in monastic foundations, but most have left behind only scanty ruins. The Benedictines had an abbey at Saffron Walden, nunneries at Barking and Wickes, and priories at Earl’s or Monk’s Colne and Castle Hedingham; the Augustinian canons had an abbey at Waltham (see Waltham Abbey; the remaining portion shows some of the finest Norman work), priories at Thoby, Blackmore, Bicknacre, Little Leighs, Little Dunmow, and St Osyth (see Brightlingsea); there were Cistercian abbeys at Coggeshall, Stratford, and Tilty; the Cluniac monks settled at Prittlewell, the Premonstratensians at Beleigh Abbey, and the Knights Hospitallers at Little Maplestead. Barking Abbey is said to trace its origins to the 7th century; most of the others were established in the 12th and 13th centuries. Apart from the keep at Colchester, there is a fine Norman castle at Castle Hedingham, and two crumbling round towers still stand at Hadleigh near Southend. Ongar, the residence of the de Lacys, and Pleshey, the seat of the earls of Essex, have left only mounds. Havering-atte-Bower, the palace that housed many queens, has been replaced by a modern house; Wickham, the mansion of the bishops of London, no longer exists. New Hall, which was occupied at various times by Henry VIII., Elizabeth, the earl of Essex, George Villiers, duke of Buckingham, and Cromwell, is now a nunnery of the order of the Holy Sepulchre. Audley End, the mansion of Lord Braybrooke, is a stunning example of domestic architecture from the Jacobean period; Layer Marney showcases the interesting Italian influences that were present during Wolsey's time. Horeham Hall was built by Sir John Cutt in the reign of Henry VII., and Gosfield Hall dates from around the same period.
See Norden, Speculi Britanniae Pars: an Hist. and Geogr. Descrip. of the County of Essex (1594) (edited for the Camden Society by Sir Henry Ellis, 1840, from the original MS. in the Marquis of Salisbury’s library at Hatfield); Nicholas Tindal, Hist. of Essex (1720); N. Salmon, The Hist. and Antiq. of Essex (London, 1740)—based on the collections of James Strangman of Hadleigh (v. Trans. of Essex Arch. Soc. vol. ii.); P. Morant, Hist. and Antiq. of the County of Essex (London, 1768); P. Muilman, New and Complete Hist. of Essex from a late Survey, by a Gentleman (Chelmsford, 6 vols., 1770-1772, London, 1779); Elizabeth Ogbourne, Hist. of Essex (London, part i., 1814); Excursions through Essex, illustrated with one hundred engravings (2 vols., London, 1818); T. Wright, Hist. and Topography of Essex (1831); W. Berry, Pedigrees of Families in Essex (1841); A. Suckling, Memorials of the Antiquities, &c., of the County of Essex (London, 1845); W. Andrews (ed.), Bygone Essex (London, 1892); J.T. Page (ed.), Essex in the Days of Old (London, 1898); Victoria County History, Essex; Transactions of the Essex Arch. Soc. from 1858. An account of various MS. collections connected with the county is given by H.W. King in vol. ii. of the Transactions (1863).
See Norden, Speculi Britanniae Pars: an Hist. and Geogr. Descrip. of the County of Essex (1594) (edited for the Camden Society by Sir Henry Ellis, 1840, from the original MS. in the Marquis of Salisbury’s library at Hatfield); Nicholas Tindal, Hist. of Essex (1720); N. Salmon, The Hist. and Antiq. of Essex (London, 1740)—based on the collections of James Strangman of Hadleigh (v. Trans. of Essex Arch. Soc. vol. ii.); P. Morant, Hist. and Antiq. of the County of Essex (London, 1768); P. Muilman, New and Complete Hist. of Essex from a late Survey, by a Gentleman (Chelmsford, 6 vols., 1770-1772, London, 1779); Elizabeth Ogbourne, Hist. of Essex (London, part i., 1814); Excursions through Essex, illustrated with one hundred engravings (2 vols., London, 1818); T. Wright, Hist. and Topography of Essex (1831); W. Berry, Pedigrees of Families in Essex (1841); A. Suckling, Memorials of the Antiquities, &c., of the County of Essex (London, 1845); W. Andrews (ed.), Bygone Essex (London, 1892); J.T. Page (ed.), Essex in the Days of Old (London, 1898); Victoria County History, Essex; Transactions of the Essex Arch. Soc. from 1858. An account of various MS. collections connected with the county is given by H.W. King in vol. ii. of the Transactions (1863).
ESSEX, KINGDOM OF, one of the kingdoms into which Anglo-Saxon Britain was divided, properly the land of the East Saxons. Of its origin and early history we have no record except the bare statement of Bede that its settlers were of the Old Saxon race. In connexion with this it is interesting to notice that the East Saxon dynasty claimed descent from Seaxneat, not Woden. The form Seaxneat is identical with Saxnot, one of three gods mentioned in a short continental document probably of Old Saxon origin. Bede does not mention this kingdom in his narrative until 604, the year of the consecration of Mellitus to the see of London. The boundaries of Essex were in later times the rivers Stour and Thames, but the original limits of the kingdom are quite uncertain; towards the west it probably included most if not the whole of Hertfordshire, and in the 7th century the whole of Middlesex. In 604 we find Essex in close dependence upon Kent, being ruled by Saberht, sister’s son of Æthelberht, under whom the East Saxons received Christianity. The three sons of Saberht, however, expelled Mellitus from his see, and even after their death in battle against the West Saxons, Eadbald of Kent was unable to restore him. In the year 653 we find North-umbrian influence paramount in Essex, for King Sigeberht at the instance of Oswio became a Christian and received Cedd, the brother of St Chad, in his kingdom as bishop, Tilbury and Ythanceastere (on the Blackwater) being the chief scenes of his work. Swithhelm, the successor of Sigeberht, was on terms of friendship with the East Anglian royal house, King Æthelwald being his sponsor at his baptism by Cedd. It was probably about this time that Erconwald, afterwards bishop of London, founded the monastery of Barking. Swithhelm’s successors Sigehere and Sebbe were dependent on Wulfhere, the powerful king of Mercia, who on the apostasy of Sigehere sent Bishop Jaruman to restore the faith. There are grounds for believing that an East Saxon conquest of Kent took place in this reign. A forged grant of Ceadwalla speaks of the fall of Kent before Sigehere as a well-known event; and in a Kentish charter dated 676 a king of Kent called Swebhard grants land with the consent of his father King Sebbe. In 692 or 694 Sebbe abdicated and received the monastic vows from Waldhere, the successor of Erconwald at London. His sons Sigeheard and Swefred succeeded him as kings of Essex, Sigehere being apparently dead. As the laws of Ine of Wessex speak of Erconwald as “my bishop,” it is possible that the influence of Wessex for a short time prevailed in Essex; but a subsequent charter of Swefred is approved by Coenred of Mercia, and Offa, the son of Sigehere, accompanied the same king to Rome in 709. From this time onwards the history of Essex is almost a blank. In 743 or 745 Æthelbald of Mercia is found granting privileges at the port of London, and perhaps the western portion of the kingdom had already been annexed, for henceforward London is frequently the meeting-place of the Mercian council. The violent death of Selred, king of Essex, is mentioned in the Saxon Chronicle under the year 746; but we have no more information of historical importance until the defeat of the Mercian king Beornwulf in 825, when Essex, together with Kent, Sussex and Surrey, passed into the hands of Ecgbert, king of Wessex. After 825 we hear of no more kings of Essex, but occasionally of earls. About the year 870 Essex passed into the hands of the Danes and was left to them by the treaty between Alfred and Guthrum. It was reconquered by Edward the Elder. The earldom in the 10th century apparently included several other counties, and its most famous holder was the ealdorman Brihtnoth, who fell at the battle of Maldon in 991.
ESSEX, KINGDOM OF, was one of the kingdoms that made up Anglo-Saxon Britain, specifically the land of the East Saxons. We have no records of its origins and early history, except for Bede’s brief note that its settlers were of the Old Saxon race. Interestingly, the East Saxon dynasty claimed descent from Seaxneat, not Woden. The name Seaxneat is the same as Saxnot, one of three gods mentioned in a short document that likely came from Old Saxon culture. Bede didn’t mention this kingdom in his writings until 604, the year Mellitus was consecrated as the bishop of London. The later boundaries of Essex were defined by the rivers Stour and Thames, but the kingdom's original limits are uncertain; to the west, it likely included most or all of Hertfordshire, and in the 7th century, it encompassed all of Middlesex. In 604, Essex was closely tied to Kent, ruled by Saberht, the nephew of Æthelberht, under whom the East Saxons converted to Christianity. However, Saberht’s three sons expelled Mellitus from his bishopric, and even after they died in battle against the West Saxons, Eadbald of Kent could not reinstate him. In 653, Northumbrian influence became dominant in Essex when King Sigeberht, prompted by Oswio, became a Christian and welcomed Cedd, the brother of St Chad, as bishop in his realm, with Tilbury and Ythanceastere (on the Blackwater) being the main areas of his ministry. Swithhelm, Sigeberht's successor, maintained a friendly relationship with the East Anglian royal family, with King Æthelwald as his sponsor at his baptism by Cedd. Around this time, Erconwald, who later became the bishop of London, founded Barking monastery. Swithhelm’s successors, Sigehere and Sebbe, were under the influence of Wulfhere, the powerful king of Mercia, who sent Bishop Jaruman to restore the faith after Sigehere’s apostasy. There are indications that East Saxons conquered Kent during this period. A forged grant from Ceadwalla mentions Sigehere’s conquest of Kent as a well-known occurrence, and a Kentish charter from 676 indicates that a king named Swebhard granted land with the consent of his father, King Sebbe. By 692 or 694, Sebbe abdicated and took monastic vows from Waldhere, who succeeded Erconwald in London. His sons, Sigeheard and Swefred, succeeded him as kings of Essex, with Sigehere apparently deceased. The laws of Ine of Wessex refer to Erconwald as “my bishop,” suggesting Wessex had some influence in Essex for a time; however, a later charter from Swefred was approved by Coenred of Mercia, and Offa, the son of Sigehere, accompanied Coenred to Rome in 709. After this, Essex’s history becomes mostly unknown. In 743 or 745, Æthelbald of Mercia is recorded as granting privileges at the port of London, and it's possible that the western part of the kingdom had already been annexed, as London often became the site of the Mercian council meetings. The violent death of Selred, king of Essex, is noted in the Saxon Chronicle for the year 746, but we lack significant historical information until the defeat of the Mercian king Beornwulf in 825, when Essex, along with Kent, Sussex, and Surrey, fell under the control of Ecgbert, king of Wessex. After 825, we hear of no further kings of Essex, only earls. Around 870, Essex was taken over by the Danes and was left to them by the treaty between Alfred and Guthrum. It was later reconquered by Edward the Elder. By the 10th century, the earldom included several other counties, and its most notable holder was the ealdorman Brihtnoth, who died at the battle of Maldon in 991.
The following is a list of kings of Essex of whom there is record: Saberht (d. c. 617); three sons of Saberht, including probably Saweard and Seaxred; Sigeberht (Parvus); Sigeberht II.; Swithhelm (d. c. 664); Sigehere (reigned perhaps 664-689); Sebbe, son of Seaxred (664-694); Sigeheard (reigning in 693-694); Swefred (reigning in 693-694 and in 704); the two last being sons of Sebbe; Swebriht (d. 738); Selred (d. 746); Swithred, grandson of Sigeheard (succ. 746); Sigeric, son of Selered (abd. 798); Sigered, son of Sigeric (reigning in 823).
The following is a list of kings of Essex that have been recorded: Saberht (d. c. 617); three sons of Saberht, likely including Saweard and Seaxred; Sigeberht (Parvus); Sigeberht II.; Swithhelm (d. c. 664); Sigehere (reigned perhaps 664-689); Sebbe, son of Seaxred (664-694); Sigeheard (reigning in 693-694); Swefred (reigning in 693-694 and in 704); the last two being sons of Sebbe; Swebriht (d. 738); Selred (d. 746); Swithred, grandson of Sigeheard (succeeded 746); Sigeric, son of Selred (abd. 798); Sigered, son of Sigeric (reigning in 823).
See Bede, Hist. Eccl., edited by C. Plummer (Oxford, 1896), ii. 3, 5; Saxon Chronicle (Earle and Plummer, Oxford, 1899), s.a. 823, 894, 904, 913, 921, 994; William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum, Rolls Series (ed. Stubbs, 1887-1889); Simeon of Durham, s.a. 746 (ed. T. Arnold, 1882) and appendix, s.a. 738; Florence of Worcester (ed. B. Thorpe, London, 1848-1849); H. Sweet, Oldest English Texts, p. 179 (London, 1885).
See Bede, Hist. Eccl., edited by C. Plummer (Oxford, 1896), ii. 3, 5; Saxon Chronicle (Earle and Plummer, Oxford, 1899), s.a. 823, 894, 904, 913, 921, 994; William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum, Rolls Series (ed. Stubbs, 1887-1889); Simeon of Durham, s.a. 746 (ed. T. Arnold, 1882) and appendix, s.a. 738; Florence of Worcester (ed. B. Thorpe, London, 1848-1849); H. Sweet, Oldest English Texts, p. 179 (London, 1885).
ESSLINGEN, a town of Germany, in the kingdom of Württemberg, in a fertile district on the Neckar, 9 m. S.E. from Stuttgart, on the railway to Ulm. Pop. (1905) 29,750. It is surrounded by medieval walls with towers and bastions, and has thirteen suburbs, one lying on an island in the river. On a commanding height above the town lies the old citadel. The inner town has an old (1430) and a new Rathaus, the latter, formerly a palace, an exceedingly handsome edifice. The church of Our Lady (Frauenkirche) is a fine Gothic building of the 15th century, and has a beautifully sculptured doorway and a lattice spire 240 ft. high. The church of St Dionysius dated from the 13th century, and possesses a fine screen and a ciborium of 1486. Esslingen possesses several schools, a theatre and a richly endowed hospital, while its municipal archives contain much valuable literature bearing especially on the period of the Reformation. The town 787 has railway, machine and electrical works; cloth, gloves and buttons are also manufactured here, and there are spinning-mills. There is a large lithographic establishment, and a considerable trade is done in wine and fruit, the wines of Esslingen being very famous.
ESSLINGEN, is a town in Germany, in the kingdom of Württemberg, situated in a fertile area along the Neckar River, 9 miles southeast of Stuttgart, on the railway to Ulm. Population (1905) was 29,750. The town is surrounded by medieval walls featuring towers and bastions, and has thirteen suburbs, one of which is located on an island in the river. An old citadel sits on a prominent hill above the town. The inner town hosts both an old Rathaus (1430) and a new Rathaus, the latter having once been a palace and is a very beautiful building. The Church of Our Lady (Frauenkirche) is an impressive Gothic structure from the 15th century, boasting a beautifully carved entrance and a lattice spire that rises 240 feet high. The Church of St. Dionysius, dating back to the 13th century, features a striking screen and a ciborium from 1486. Esslingen is home to several schools, a theater, and a well-funded hospital, while its municipal archives contain valuable literature, particularly related to the Reformation. The town 787 has railway, machinery, and electrical manufacturing; clothing, gloves, and buttons are also produced here, in addition to spinning mills. There is a large lithography business, and significant trade happens in wine and fruit, with Esslingen's wines being particularly renowned.
Esslingen, which dates from the 8th century, became a town in 886. It was soon a place of importance; it became a free imperial city in 1209 and was surrounded with walls by order of the emperor Frederick II. Its liberty was frequently threatened by the rulers of Württemberg, but it did not become part of that country until 1802.
Esslingen, which originated in the 8th century, became a town in 886. It quickly grew in importance; it became a free imperial city in 1209 and was enclosed by walls under the orders of Emperor Frederick II. Its independence was often under threat from the rulers of Württemberg, but it didn’t become part of that region until 1802.
See K.H.S. Pfaff, Geschichte der Reichsstadt Esslingen (Esslingen, 1852); and Ströhmfeld, Esslingen in Wort und Bild (Esslingen, 1902).
See K.H.S. Pfaff, History of the Imperial City of Esslingen (Esslingen, 1852); and Ströhmfeld, Esslingen in Words and Images (Esslingen, 1902).
ESTABLISHMENT (O. Fr. establissement, Fr. établissement, late Norm. Fr. establishement, from O. Fr. establir, Fr. établir, Lat. stabilire, to make stable), generally the act of establishing or fact of being established, and so by transference a thing established. Thus we may speak of the establishment (i.e. setting up) of a business, the “long establishment” of a business, and of the manager of “the establishment.” In a special sense the word is applied, with something of all the three above-mentioned connotations, to certain religious bodies in their relation to the state. It is with this latter that the present article is concerned.
ESTABLISHMENT (O. Fr. establissement, Fr. établissement, late Norm. Fr. establishement, from O. Fr. establir, Fr. établir, Lat. stabilire, to make stable), generally refers to the act of establishing or the state of being established, and by extension, a thing that is established. Thus, we may refer to the establishment (i.e. setting up) of a business, the “long establishment” of a business, and the manager of “the establishment.” In a specific sense, the word is used, encompassing all three of the above meanings, to describe certain religious bodies in their relationship with the state. This article focuses on that latter context.
Perhaps the best definition which can be given, and which will cover all cases, is that establishment implies the existence of some definite and distinctive relation between the state and a religious society (or conceivably more than one) other than that which is shared in by other societies of the same general character. Of course, a certain relationship must needs exist between the state and every society, religious or secular, by virtue of the sovereignty of the state over each and all of its members. Every society must possess certain principles or perform certain acts, and the state may make the profession of such principles unlawful, or impose a penalty upon the performance of such acts; and, moreover, every society is liable before the law as to the fulfilment of its obligations towards its members and the due administration of its property should it possess any. With all this establishment has nothing to do. It is not concerned with what pertains to the religious society qua society, or with what is common to all religious societies, but with what is exceptional. It denotes any special connexion with the state, or privileges and responsibilities before the law, possessed by one religious society to the exclusion of others; in a word, establishment is of the nature of a monopoly. But it does not imply merely privilege. The state and the Church have mutual obligations towards one another: each is, to some extent, tied by the existence of this relationship, and each accepts the limitations for the sake of the advantages which accrue to itself. The state does so in view of what it believes to be the good of all its members; for “the true end for which religion is established is not to provide for the true faith, but for civil utility” (Warburton), even if the latter be held to be implied in the former. On the other hand, the Church accepts these relations for the facilities which they involve, i.e. for its own benefit. It will be seen that this definition excludes, and rightly, many current presuppositions. Establishment affirms the fact, but does not determine the precise nature, of the connexion between the state and the religious society. It does not tell us, for example, when or how it began, whether it is the result of an unconscious growth (as with the Gallican Church previous to the French Revolution), or of a determinate legislative act (as with the same Church re-established by the Concordat of 1801). It does not tell us whether an endowment of the religious society by the state is included; what particular privileges are enjoyed by the religious society; and what limitations are placed upon the free exercise of its life. These things can only be ascertained by actual inquiry; for the conditions are precisely similar in no two cases.
Perhaps the best definition we can use, which covers all scenarios, is that establishment means having a specific and unique relationship between the state and a religious group (or possibly more than one) that is different from what is shared with other groups of a similar nature. Naturally, there must be some relationship between the state and every group, religious or secular, due to the state’s authority over all its members. Every group must adhere to certain principles or take certain actions, and the state can make the expression of such principles illegal or impose consequences for such actions. Additionally, every group is accountable under the law for fulfilling its responsibilities to its members and properly managing its assets if it has any. Establishment, however, is unrelated to this. It doesn't deal with what applies to the religious group as a group or with what is common to all religious groups, but rather with what is unique. It indicates any special connection with the state, or privileges and responsibilities before the law, held by one religious group to the exclusion of others; in simple terms, establishment is like a monopoly. But it’s not just about privilege. The state and the Church have mutual responsibilities to one another: each is somewhat bound by this relationship, and both accept limitations for the benefits that come with it. The state does this for what it sees as the good of all its members, because “the true end for which religion is established is not to provide for the true faith, but for civil utility” (Warburton), even if the latter is assumed to be included in the former. On the other hand, the Church accepts these relationships for the benefits they offer, meaning it’s for its own gain. This definition rightly dismisses many common assumptions. Establishment confirms the fact but doesn’t define the exact nature of the connection between the state and the religious group. It doesn’t tell us, for instance, when or how it started, whether it arose from an unconscious development (like the Gallican Church before the French Revolution) or from a specific legislative act (like the same Church re-established by the Concordat of 1801). It doesn’t specify whether a state endowment to the religious group is included, what specific privileges the religious group has, or what limitations are placed on its freedom to operate. These details can only be determined through actual investigation, as the circumstances differ in every case.
To proceed to details. At the present day there is no established religion in the United States, the German empire as a whole, Holland, Belgium, France and Austria-Hungary (saving, indeed, “the rights of the sovereign arising from ecclesiastical dignity”1); whereas there are religious establishments in Russia, Greece, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Prussia,2 Spain, Portugal and even in Italy, as well as in England and Scotland. These, however, differ greatly amongst themselves. In Russia the “Orthodox Catholic Eastern” is the state religion. The emperor is, by the fundamental laws of the empire, “the sovereign defender and protector of the dogmas of the dominant faith, who maintains orthodoxy and holy discipline within the Church,” although, of course, he cannot modify either its dogmas or its outward order. Further, “the autocratic (i.e. imperial) power acts in the ecclesiastical administration by means of the Most Holy Ruling Synod, created by it”; and all the officers of the Church are appointed by it. The enactments of the Synod do not become law till they have received the emperor’s sanction, and are then published, not in its name but in his; and a large part of the revenues of the Church is derived from state subsidies. In Greece “the dominant religion (Ἡ ἐπικρατοῦσα θρησκεία) is that of the Eastern Orthodox Church of Christ”; and although toleration is otherwise complete, no proselytism from the Church of Greece is allowed. The king swears to protect it, but no powers pertain to him with regard to it such as those which the tsar enjoys; the present king is not a member of it, but his successors must be. In Sweden, Lutheranism was adopted as the state religion by the synod of Upsala (Upsala möte) in 1593, and the king must profess it. The “Lutheran Protestant Church” retains an episcopal order, and is supported out of its own revenues. Archbishops and bishops are chosen by the king out of those names submitted to him, and he also nominates to royal peculiars. The ecclesiastical law (Kyrkolag), first constituted in 1686, is part of the law of the state, but may not be modified or abrogated without consent of a General Synod; and although ad interim interpretations of that law may be given by the king on the advice of the Supreme Court, since 1866 these have been subject to review and rejection by the next General Synod. In Norway the “Evangelical-Lutheran” is the “official religion,” but the Church is supported by the state, its property having been secularized. It is also more subject to the king, who by the constitution is to “regulate all that concerns divine service and the clergy,” and to see that the prescribed order is carried out. It is much the same in Denmark, where, however, the “Evangelical-Lutheran Church” has since the fundamental constitutional law of the 5th of June 1849 been officially described as the National Church (Folkekirche) instead of the State Church (Statskirche) as formerly, and the constitution provides for its regulation by further legislation, which has not yet been passed. For Prussia, see under that heading; it need only be added that self-government still tends to increase, but that the emperor William II. has exercised his office as summus episcopus more freely than most of his predecessors. In Spain the “Catholic, Apostolic and Roman” religion is that of the state, “the nation binds itself to maintain its worship and its ministers,” and the rites of any other religion are only permitted in private. The patriarch of the Indies and the archbishops are senators by right, and the king may nominate others from amongst the bishops; only laymen may sit in the chamber of deputies. Convents were suppressed, and their property confiscated, in 1835 and 1836; in 1859 the remaining ecclesiastical property was exchanged for untransferable government securities and the support of the clergy of the State Church is assured by an unrepealed law previous to the present constitution. In Portugal it is much the same, but all the home bishops 788 sit in the upper chamber as peers (Pares do Reino) by right, and there is no restriction on membership of the chamber of deputies. A more important point is that the king confers all ecclesiastical benefices and nominates the bishops, instead of their being chosen, as in Spain, by agreement between the civil power and the papacy. In Italy, in spite of the feud between the papacy and the civil power, the fact remains that, by the Statuto fondamentale, “the Catholic, Apostolic and Roman religion is the sole religion of the state,” and the king may nominate “archbishops and bishops of the state” to be senators. The Legge sulle prerogative del Summo Pontifice, &c., or “Law of Guarantees,” by which the papal prerogatives are secured, has been declared by the Council of State to be a fundamental law; and while many civil restrictions upon the activities of the Church are removed by it, outside Rome and the suburbicarian dioceses the royal exequatur is still required before a bishop is installed. Moreover, the bulk of Church property having been secularized, the Italian clergy receive a stipend from the state.
To move on to specifics. Today, there is no official religion in the United States, the German Empire as a whole, the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and Austria-Hungary (except for “the rights of the sovereign arising from ecclesiastical dignity”1); whereas there are state religions in Russia, Greece, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Prussia,2 Spain, Portugal, and even in Italy, as well as in England and Scotland. These, however, vary greatly among themselves. In Russia, the state religion is the “Orthodox Catholic Eastern” Church. The emperor, according to the fundamental laws of the empire, is “the sovereign defender and protector of the dogmas of the dominant faith, who maintains orthodoxy and holy discipline within the Church,” although, of course, he cannot change its dogmas or its external order. Furthermore, “the autocratic (i.e. imperial) power administers ecclesiastical matters through the Most Holy Ruling Synod, which it established”; and all Church officials are appointed by it. The Synod’s decrees do not become law until they have the emperor’s approval and are then published not in its name but in his name; a significant portion of the Church’s income comes from state funds. In Greece, “the dominant religion (The prevailing religion) is that of the Eastern Orthodox Church of Christ”; and while there is general tolerance, conversions from the Church of Greece are not allowed. The king vows to protect it, but does not have the same powers over it that the tsar has; the current king is not a member, but his successors must be. In Sweden, Lutheranism was established as the state religion by the synod of Upsala (Upsala möte) in 1593, and the king must adhere to it. The “Lutheran Protestant Church” maintains an episcopal structure and is funded by its own resources. Archbishops and bishops are chosen by the king from a list submitted to him, and he also nominates for royal peculiar roles. The ecclesiastical law (Kyrkolag), first established in 1686, forms part of the state law but cannot be changed or repealed without the consent of a General Synod; although ad interim interpretations of that law can be made by the king on the advice of the Supreme Court, since 1866, these have been subject to review and rejection by the next General Synod. In Norway, the “Evangelical-Lutheran” is the “official religion,” but the Church is funded by the state, having had its property secularized. It is also more under the king’s authority, who, according to the constitution, is to “regulate all that involves divine service and the clergy,” ensuring that the prescribed order is followed. It is quite similar in Denmark, where, however, since the fundamental constitutional law of June 5, 1849, the “Evangelical-Lutheran Church” has been officially referred to as the National Church (Folkekirche) instead of the State Church (Statskirche) as it was before, and the constitution allows for its regulation through further legislation, which has not yet been enacted. For Prussia, see that heading; it should only be added that self-governance is still on the rise, but Emperor William II has exercised his role as summus episcopus more freely than most of his predecessors. In Spain, the “Catholic, Apostolic and Roman” religion is the state religion, “the nation binds itself to maintain its worship and its ministers,” and the practices of any other religion are only allowed in private. The patriarch of the Indies and the archbishops are senators by right, and the king may nominate others from among the bishops; only laypeople are permitted to sit in the chamber of deputies. Convents were dissolved, and their properties seized, in 1835 and 1836; in 1859, the remaining ecclesiastical properties were exchanged for non-transferable government securities, and the support of the clergy of the State Church is guaranteed by a law that has not been repealed since prior to the current constitution. In Portugal, it is quite similar, but all local bishops 788 sit in the upper chamber as peers (Pares do Reino) by right, and there are no restrictions on membership in the chamber of deputies. A more crucial point is that the king grants all ecclesiastical benefices and nominates the bishops, unlike in Spain, where they are chosen through agreement between the civil authority and the papacy. In Italy, despite the conflict between the papacy and the civil authority, it remains true that, according to the Statuto fondamentale, “the Catholic, Apostolic and Roman religion is the sole religion of the state,” and the king may nominate “archbishops and bishops of the state” to serve as senators. The Legge sulle prerogative del Summo Pontifice, etc., or “Law of Guarantees,” which secures papal prerogatives, has been recognized by the Council of State as a fundamental law; and while many civil restrictions on the Church’s activities are lifted by it, outside Rome and the suburbicarian dioceses, the royal exequatur is still needed before a bishop can be installed. Moreover, much of the Church’s property has been secularized, and the Italian clergy receive a stipend from the state.
Establishment is, of course, a distinctively English term, but it implies precisely the same thing as “Staatsreligion” or “église dominante” does elsewhere, neither more nor less. It denotes the existence of a special relationship between Church and State in Britain. Church and state without defining its precise nature. The statement that the Church of England or the Scottish Kirk is “established by law” denotes that it has a peculiar status before the law; but that is all. (a) There is no basis whatever for the once popular assumption that the word “established” as applied to the Church means “created,” or the like; on the contrary, the modern use of the word in this sense is a misleading perversion. To establish is to make firm or stable; and a thing cannot be established unless it is already in existence. A few examples will make it clear that this is the true sense of the word, and that in which it is used here. “Stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us” (Ps. lxviii. 28, P.B.; A.V. and R.V. “strengthen”) implies that the thing is already wrought; it could not be “stablished” else. “Stablish your hearts” (Jas v. 8) implies that the hearts are already in existence. “Until he had her settled in her raine With safe assuraunce and establishment” (Faerie Queene, v. xi. 35) would have been impossible unless the reign had already begun. This is the meaning of the words in many Tudor acts of parliament, “be it enacted, ordained and established,” or the like (21 Hen. VIII. c. 1; 27 Hen. VIII. c. 28, s. 9; 28 Hen. VIII. c. 13 [Ireland]; 28 Hen. VIII. c. 18 [Ireland]; 33 Hen. VIII. c. 27; 1 Eliz. c. 1, ss. 15, 17; 1 Eliz. c. 4, s. 4); that which is then and there enacted is to be valid for the future. (b) Nor is it necessarily implied that establishment is a process completed once for all. Every law touching the Church slightly alters its conditions; everything that affects the relations of Church and state may be regarded as a measure of establishment or the reverse. When the two Houses of Parliament, in an address to William III. after his coronation, spoke of their proposed measures of toleration, the king said in his reply, “I do hope that the ease which you design to Dissenters will contribute very much to the establishment of the Church” (Cobbett, Parl. Hist. v. 218). And Defoe (in 1702) published an ironical tract with the title, The Shortest Way with the Dissenters, or Proposals for the Establishment of the Church. (c) Nor is it necessarily implied that there was any specific time at which establishment took place. Such may indeed be the case, as with the Kirk in Scotland; but it certainly cannot be said that the English Church was established at any particular time, or by any particular legislative act. There were, no doubt, periods when the existing relations between Church and state were modified or re-defined, notably in the 16th and 17th centuries; but the relations themselves are far older. In fact, they existed from the very first: the English Church and state grew up side by side, and from the beginning they were in close relations with one another. But although the state of things which it represented was there from the first, the term “established” or “established by law” only came into use at a later date. Until there was some other religious society to be compared with it such a distinctive epithet would have had no point. As, however, there arose religious societies which had no status before the law, it became more natural; and yet more so when the formularies of the Church came to be “established” by civil sanctions (the Books of Common Prayer by 5 and 6 Edw. VI. c. 1, s. 4, &c; the Articles by 13 Eliz. c. 12; the new Ordinal by 13 and 14 Car. II. c. 4, title). Accordingly the Church itself came to be spoken of as established by law; first, it would seem, in the Canons of 1604, and subsequently in many statutes (Act of Settlement, 6 Anne, c. 8 and c. 11, &c). In all such cases the Church is described as already established, not as being established by the particular canon or statute. In other words, the constitutional status of the Church is affirmed, but nothing is said as to how it arose.
Establishment is, of course, a distinctly English term, but it means exactly the same thing as “Staatsreligion” or “église dominante” does in other places, no more and no less. It indicates the existence of a special relationship between Church and State in the UK. Church and state without specifying its exact nature. The claim that the Church of England or the Scottish Kirk is “established by law” means that it has a unique status before the law; but that’s all. (a) There’s no support for the once common belief that the word “established” as it relates to the Church means “created” or something similar; on the contrary, using the word this way today is a misleading distortion. To establish is to make firm or stable; and something can't be established unless it already exists. A few examples will clarify that this is the true meaning of the word, and how it’s used here. “Stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us” (Ps. lxviii. 28, P.B.; A.V. and R.V. “strengthen”) indicates that the thing is already accomplished; it couldn’t be “stablished” otherwise. “Stablish your hearts” (Jas v. 8) suggests that the hearts already exist. “Until he had her settled in her reign with safe assurance and establishment” (Faerie Queene, v. xi. 35) would have been impossible unless the reign had already begun. This is the meaning of the words in many Tudor acts of parliament, “be it enacted, ordained and established,” or similar (21 Hen. VIII. c. 1; 27 Hen. VIII. c. 28, s. 9; 28 Hen. VIII. c. 13 [Ireland]; 28 Hen. VIII. c. 18 [Ireland]; 33 Hen. VIII. c. 27; 1 Eliz. c. 1, ss. 15, 17; 1 Eliz. c. 4, s. 4); that which is enacted at that time is to be valid for the future. (b) Nor does it necessarily imply that establishment is a process that’s completed once and for all. Every law affecting the Church slightly changes its conditions; everything that impacts the relationship between Church and state can be seen as a measure of establishment or the opposite. When the two Houses of Parliament, in a message to William III. after his coronation, discussed their intended measures of tolerance, the king replied, “I do hope that the ease which you design to Dissenters will contribute very much to the establishment of the Church” (Cobbett, Parl. Hist. v. 218). And Defoe (in 1702) published an ironic pamphlet titled The Shortest Way with the Dissenters, or Proposals for the Establishment of the Church. (c) Nor does it imply that there was any specific moment when establishment occurred. This might be true for the Kirk in Scotland; however, it can't be said that the English Church was established at any particular time, or through any specific legislative act. There were certainly times when the existing relationships between Church and state were altered or redefined, especially in the 16th and 17th centuries; but those relationships themselves are much older. In fact, they existed from the very beginning: the English Church and state developed alongside each other, and from the start, they had a close relationship. But even though the state of affairs it represented was there from the beginning, the term “established” or “established by law” only started to be used later. Until there was some other religious society to compare it with, such a distinctive term wouldn’t have made sense. As, however, there arose religious societies without legal status, it became more natural; and even more so when the Church's formularies were “established” by civil sanctions (the Books of Common Prayer by 5 and 6 Edw. VI. c. 1, s. 4, etc.; the Articles by 13 Eliz. c. 12; the new Ordinal by 13 and 14 Car. II. c. 4, title). Consequently, the Church itself came to be referred to as established by law; first, it seems, in the Canons of 1604, and later in many statutes (Act of Settlement, 6 Anne, c. 8 and c. 11, etc.). In all such cases, the Church is described as already established, not as being established by the specific canon or statute. In other words, the Church's constitutional status is affirmed, but nothing is said about how it came to be.
The legislative changes of the 16th and 17th centuries brought “establishment” into greater prominence and greatly modified its conditions, but a moment’s thought will show that it did not begin then. If, e.g., all post-Reformation ecclesiastical statutes were non-existent, the relations between Church and state would be very different, but there would still be an “establishment.” The bishops would sit in the House of Lords, the clergy would tax themselves in convocation, the Church courts would possess coercive jurisdiction, and so on. The present relations of Church and state in England may be briefly summed up as follows:—(1) The personal relation of the crown to the Church, including (a) restraints upon the action of convocation (formulated by 25 Hen. VIII. c. 19); (b) nomination of bishops, &c. (25 Hen. VIII. c. 20); (c) power of supervision as visitor, long disused (26 Hen. VIII. c. 1; 1 Eliz. c. 1, s. 17); (d) power of receiving appeals as the fount of civil justice (25 Hen. VIII. c. 19, &c). In connexion with these, it must be borne in mind that (a) the holder of the crown receives coronation from the church and takes an oath having reference to it (1 Will. III. c. 6), and (b) the crown is held on the condition of communion with the Church of England (Act of Settlement; the conditions of communion are laid down in the Prayer Book, which itself is sanctioned by law). (2) The relation of the Church to the crown in parliament. No change has been permitted in its doctrine or formularies without the sanction of an act of parliament. (3) Privileges of the Church and clergy. Of these may be mentioned (a) the coercive jurisdiction of the Church courts; (b) the right of bishops to sit in the House of Lords. It need hardly be said that establishment in England does not include an endowment of the Church by the state. Nothing of the kind ever took place on any large scale, and the grants for Church purposes in the 18th century are comparable with the regium donum to Nonconformists.
The legislative changes in the 16th and 17th centuries brought "establishment" into sharper focus and significantly altered its circumstances, but a moment's reflection will reveal that it didn't start then. For example, if all post-Reformation ecclesiastical statutes were null and void, the relationship between Church and state would be very different, yet there would still be an "establishment." Bishops would still sit in the House of Lords, the clergy would still tax themselves in convocation, Church courts would still have coercive authority, and so forth. The current relationship between Church and state in England can be summarized as follows:—(1) The personal relationship of the crown to the Church, which includes (a) limitations on the actions of convocation (established by 25 Hen. VIII. c. 19); (b) the appointment of bishops, etc. (25 Hen. VIII. c. 20); (c) the long-unused power of supervision as visitor (26 Hen. VIII. c. 1; 1 Eliz. c. 1, s. 17); (d) the authority to hear appeals as the source of civil justice (25 Hen. VIII. c. 19, etc.). It should be noted that (a) the holder of the crown receives coronation from the Church and takes an oath related to it (1 Will. III. c. 6), and (b) the crown is held on the condition of communion with the Church of England (Act of Settlement; the conditions for communion are defined in the Prayer Book, which is itself legally endorsed). (2) The relationship of the Church to the crown in parliament. No changes to its doctrine or formularies have been allowed without the approval of an act of parliament. (3) Privileges of the Church and clergy. These include (a) the coercive authority of the Church courts; (b) the right of bishops to sit in the House of Lords. It should hardly need mentioning that the establishment in England does not entail the state funding the Church. Nothing like that ever occurred on any significant scale, and the grants for Church purposes in the 18th century are comparable to the regium donum for Nonconformists.
The position of the Church of Ireland until its disestablishment (see below) was not dissimilar. With Scotland the case is different. The establishment of the Kirk was an entirely new process, carried out by a more or less definite series of legislative and administrative acts. The Convention of Estates which met at Edinburgh in 1560 ordered the drawing up of a new Confession of Faith, which was done in four days by a committee of preachers, and on the 24th of August it passed three acts, one abolishing the pope’s authority and all jurisdiction of Catholic prelates, another repealing the old statutes in favour of the Old Church, the third forbidding the celebrating and hearing of mass under penalty of imprisonment, exile and death. The intention was to make a clean sweep of the Old Church, which was denounced as “the Kirk Malignant.”3 The new model thus set up was confirmed by the Scottish act of 1567, c. 6, which declared it to be “the onely true and halie kirk of Jesus Christ within this realme.” Again, after the revolution of 1688 had put an end to the attempts of the Stuart kings to impose the episcopal model on Scotland, by the act of 1690, c. 5, the crown and estates “ratifie and establish the Confession of Faith, ... as also they do establish, ratifie and confirm the Presbyterian government and 789 discipline.” The “Act of Security” of 1705, as incorporated in the Act of Union 1706, speaking of it “as now by law established,” says that “Her Majesty ... doth hereby establish and confirm” it, and finally declares this act, “with the Establishment therein contained,” to be “a fundamental and essential condition of the Union.” Nevertheless, the conditions of establishment in the Scottish Kirk are much easier than those of the Church of England. It is bound by the statutes sanctioning its doctrine and order, but within these limits its legislative and judicial freedom is unimpaired. A royal commissioner is present at the meetings of the general assembly, but he need not be a member of the Kirk; and there is no constitutional tie between the crown and the Kirk such as there is in England. There is what may accurately be described as a state endowment, the bulk of the property of the Old Church having been conferred upon the Scottish Kirk.
The Church of Ireland's situation before it was disestablished (see below) was somewhat similar. However, the situation in Scotland is different. The establishment of the Kirk was a completely new process, carried out through a clear series of legislative and administrative actions. The Convention of Estates that met in Edinburgh in 1560 ordered the creation of a new Confession of Faith, which a committee of preachers completed in just four days. On August 24th, they passed three acts: one that abolished the pope’s authority and all jurisdiction of Catholic bishops, another that repealed the old laws supporting the Old Church, and the third that prohibited the celebration and attendance of mass under the threat of imprisonment, exile, or death. The goal was to completely eliminate the Old Church, which was labeled as “the Kirk Malignant.” The new structure established was confirmed by the Scottish act of 1567, c. 6, which declared it to be “the only true and holy kirk of Jesus Christ within this realm.” Then, after the 1688 revolution ended the Stuart kings' attempts to impose the episcopal model on Scotland, the act of 1690, c. 5, ratified and established the Confession of Faith, as well as the Presbyterian government and discipline. The “Act of Security” of 1705, included in the Act of Union 1706, refers to it “as now by law established,” stating that “Her Majesty ... does hereby establish and confirm” it, ultimately declaring this act, “with the Establishment therein contained,” to be “a fundamental and essential condition of the Union.” Nevertheless, the conditions for establishment in the Scottish Kirk are much less stringent than those of the Church of England. It is governed by statutes that sanction its doctrine and order, but its legislative and judicial freedom remains intact within those limits. A royal commissioner attends the meetings of the general assembly, but they don't need to be a member of the Kirk; and there is no constitutional connection between the crown and the Kirk, unlike in England. There is what can be accurately described as a state endowment, as most of the property from the Old Church was transferred to the Scottish Kirk.
Not unnaturally the organization of Anglican Churches in the colonies was followed in some cases by their establishment, which included endowment. It was so, for example, in the East and West Indies; and the disestablishment The Colonies. of the West Indian Church in 1868 was followed, in 1873, by a re-establishment of the Church in Barbados by the colonial legislature. India is the only other part of the empire (outside Great Britain) in which there is to-day a religious establishment.
Not surprisingly, the organization of Anglican Churches in the colonies was sometimes followed by their establishment, which included funding. This was the case, for instance, in the East and West Indies; the disestablishment of the West Indian Church in 1868 was followed, in 1873, by a re-establishment of the Church in Barbados by the colonial legislature. India is the only other part of the empire (outside Great Britain) where there is currently a religious establishment.
Disestablishment is in theory the annulling of establishment; but since an established Church is usually rich, disestablishment generally includes disendowment, even where there is no state endowment of religion. It is, in short, the Disestablishment. abrogation of establishment, coupled with such a confiscation of Church property as the state thinks good in the interests of the community. The disestablishment of the West Indian Church in 1868 has already been referred to; in 1869 the Irish Church Disestablishment Bill was passed. Private bills relating to Scotland have more than once been brought forward. In 1895 the Liberal government introduced a suspensory bill, intended as the preliminary step towards disestablishing and disendowing the Church in Wales; it was withdrawn, however, in the same session, and the question of Welsh disestablishment slumbered until in 1906 a royal commission was appointed by the Liberal government to inquire into the subject, and in 1909 a bill was introduced on much the same lines as in 1895.
Disestablishment is basically the cancellation of an established Church; however, since an established Church typically has significant wealth, disestablishment usually involves taking away its funding, even when there’s no state funding for religion. In short, it’s the Disbandment. cancellation of establishment, combined with the confiscation of Church property as the state sees fit for the community's benefit. The disestablishment of the West Indian Church in 1868 has already been mentioned; in 1869, the Irish Church Disestablishment Bill was passed. Private bills related to Scotland have been proposed multiple times. In 1895, the Liberal government introduced a suspension bill meant to be the first step towards disestablishing and disendowing the Church in Wales; however, it was withdrawn in the same session, and the issue of Welsh disestablishment faded until 1906, when a royal commission was set up by the Liberal government to investigate the matter, and in 1909, a bill was introduced that followed a similar approach as in 1895.
The case of the Irish Church will illustrate the process of disestablishment, although, of course, the precise details would vary in other cases. The Irish Church Act was passed in 1869 by Gladstone’s first government, after considerable opposition, and provided that from January 1, 1871, the union created by statute between the Churches of England and Ireland should be dissolved, and the Church of Ireland should “cease to be established by law.” Existing ecclesiastical corporations were dissolved, and their rights ceased, compensation being given to all individuals and their personal precedence being secured for life. All rights of patronage, including those of the crown, were abolished, with compensation in the case of private patrons; and the archbishops and bishops ceased to have the right of summons to the House of Lords. All laws restraining the freedom of action of the Church were repealed; the ecclesiastical law, however, to subsist by way of contract amongst the members of the Church (until altered by a representative body). Provision was made for the incorporation by charter of the representative body of the Church, should such a body be found, with power to hold landed property. All existing ecclesiastical property was vested in a commission, which was to give compensation for life interests, to transfer to the new representative body the churches, glebe houses, and £500,000 in compensation for endowments by private persons since 1660, and to hold the rest for such purposes as parliament might thereafter determine.
The situation with the Irish Church will show how disestablishment works, though the specific details would change in other situations. The Irish Church Act was passed in 1869 by Gladstone’s first government after significant opposition and stated that from January 1, 1871, the union established by law between the Churches of England and Ireland would be ended, and the Church of Ireland would "no longer be established by law." Existing church organizations were dissolved, and their rights came to an end, with compensation provided to all individuals and their lifetime precedence secured. All rights of patronage, including those of the crown, were eliminated, with compensation provided for private patrons; and the archbishops and bishops lost the right to summon the House of Lords. All laws that restricted the Church's freedom of action were repealed; however, ecclesiastical law would continue to exist as a contract among the Church members (until changed by a representative body). Provisions were made for incorporating a representative body of the Church by charter, if such a body emerged, with the authority to own property. All existing ecclesiastical property was assigned to a commission, which would compensate for life interests, transfer churches, glebe houses, and £500,000 in compensation for endowments made by private individuals since 1660 to the new representative body, and hold the rest for purposes determined by parliament in the future.
Authorities.—F.R. Dareste, Les Constitutions modernes (Paris, 1891); H. Geffcken, Church and State, trans. by E.F. Taylor (London, 1877); P. Schaff, Church and State in the United States (Papers of the American Hist. Association, vol. ii. No. 4), (New York, 1888); L. Minghetti, Stato e Chiesa (Milan, 1878), French translation, with Introd. by E. de Laveleye (Paris, 1882); C. Cadorna, Religione, diritto, libertà (Milan, 1893); F. Nippold, Die Theorie der Trennung von Kirche und Staat (Bern, 1881); W. Warburton, Alliance between Church and State (London, 1741) (Works, vol. iv., ed. Hurd, London, 1788); Church Problems (ed. by H.H. Henson) (London, 1900); Essays on “Establishment” and “Disendowment”; W.R. Anson, Law and Custom of the Constitution, vol. ii. chap. ix. (Oxford, 1892); Phillimore, Ecclesiastical Law (London, 1895); J.S. Brewer, Endowments and Establishment of the Church of England (ed. by L.T. Dibdin, London, 1885); A.T. Innes, Law of Creeds in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1867); E.A. Freeman, Disestablishment and Disendowment (London, 1883); G. Harwood, Disestablishment (London, 1876); Annales de l’école libre des Sciences politiques, tom. i. (Paris, 1885), art. “La Séparation de l’Église et de l’État en Angleterre,” by L. Ayral.
Authorities.—F.R. Dareste, Modern Constitutions (Paris, 1891); H. Geffcken, Church and State, translated by E.F. Taylor (London, 1877); P. Schaff, Church and State in the United States (Papers of the American Hist. Association, vol. ii. No. 4), (New York, 1888); L. Minghetti, State and Church (Milan, 1878), French translation, with Introduction by E. de Laveleye (Paris, 1882); C. Cadorna, Religion, Law, Freedom (Milan, 1893); F. Nippold, The Theory of the Separation of Church and State (Bern, 1881); W. Warburton, Alliance between Church and State (London, 1741) (Works, vol. iv., edited by Hurd, London, 1788); Church Problems (edited by H.H. Henson) (London, 1900); Essays on “Establishment” and “Disendowment”; W.R. Anson, Law and Custom of the Constitution, vol. ii. chap. ix. (Oxford, 1892); Phillimore, Ecclesiastical Law (London, 1895); J.S. Brewer, Endowments and Establishment of the Church of England (edited by L.T. Dibdin, London, 1885); A.T. Innes, Law of Creeds in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1867); E.A. Freeman, Disestablishment and Disendowment (London, 1883); G. Harwood, Disestablishment (London, 1876); Annales de l’école libre des Sciences politiques, tom. i. (Paris, 1885), article “The Separation of Church and State in England,” by L. Ayral.
1 In effect this involves the establishment of all religious denominations, for none can exist without the express authorization of the state, and all are subject to more or less interference on its part. Thus the emperor-king is, in his capacity of head of the state, technically “bishop” of the Evangelical Church, the constitution of which was fixed by an imperial patent in 1866 and modified by. another in 1891 (see Herzog-Hauck, Realencykl. ed. 1904, s. “Österreich”).—[Ed.]
1 This essentially means that all religious denominations are established because none can exist without the official approval of the state, and all are subject to varying levels of interference from it. Therefore, the emperor-king, in his role as head of the state, is technically the “bishop” of the Evangelical Church, which was officially established by an imperial patent in 1866 and altered by another one in 1891 (see Herzog-Hauck, Realencykl. ed. 1904, s. “Österreich”).—[Ed.]
3 Andrew Lang, Hist. of Scotland, ii. p. 75 ff. Compare with this the position of the reformers generally in England, where even so stout a Puritan as William Harrison (Description of England, 1570) does not dream of separating the organic life of the Church of England from that of the pre-Reformation Church. (Ed).
3 Andrew Lang, Hist. of Scotland, ii. p. 75 ff. Compare this with the situation of the reformers in England, where even a strong Puritan like William Harrison (Description of England, 1570) doesn’t even consider separating the Church of England’s organic life from that of the pre-Reformation Church. (Ed).
ESTABLISHMENT OF A PORT, the technical expression for the time that elapses between the moon’s transit across the meridian at new or full moon at a given place and the time of high water at that place. The interval (constant at any one place) may vary from 6 mins. (Harwich) to 11 hrs. 45 mins. (North Foreland). At London Bridge it is 1 hr. 58 mins. (See also Tide.)
SETTING UP A PORT, the technical term for the time that passes between the moon crossing the meridian at new or full moon at a specific location and the moment of high water at that location. The interval (which is consistent at any one spot) can range from 6 minutes (Harwich) to 11 hours and 45 minutes (North Foreland). At London Bridge, it is 1 hour and 58 minutes. (See also Tide.)
ESTAING, CHARLES HECTOR, Comte d’ (1729-1794), French admiral, was born at the château of Ruvel, Auvergne, in 1729. He entered the army as a colonel of infantry, and in 1757 he accompanied count de Lally to the East Indies, with the rank of brigadier-general. In 1759 he was made prisoner at the siege of Madras, but was released on parole. Before the ratification of his exchange he obtained command of some vessels, and conducted various naval attacks against the English; and having, on his return to France in 1760, fallen accidentally into their hands, he was, on the ground of having broken his parole, thrown into prison at Portsmouth, but as the charge could not be properly substantiated he was soon afterwards released. In 1763 he was named lieutenant-general in the navy, and in 1777 vice-admiral; and in 1778 he obtained the command of a fleet intended to assist the United States against Great Britain. He sailed on the 13th of April, and between the 11th and the 22nd of July, blockaded Howe at Sandy Hook, but did not venture to attack him, though greatly superior in force. In concert with the American generals, he planned an attack on Newport, preparatory to which he compelled the British to destroy some war vessels that were in the harbour; but before the concerted attack could take place, he put to sea against the English fleet, under Lord Howe, when owing to a violent storm, which arose suddenly and compelled the two fleets to separate before engaging in battle, many of his vessels were so shattered that he found it necessary to put into Boston for repairs. He then sailed for the West Indies on the 4th of November. After a feeble attempt to retake Santa Lucia from Admiral Barrington, he captured St Vincent and Grenada. On the 6th of July 1779 he fought a drawn battle with Admiral John Byron, who retired to St Christopher. Though superior in force, D’Estaing would not attack the English in the roadstead, but set sail to attack Savannah. All his attempts, as well as those of the Americans, against the town were repulsed with heavy loss, and he was finally compelled to retire. He returned to France in 1780. He was in command of the combined fleet before Cadiz when the peace was signed in 1783; but from that time his chief attention was devoted to politics. In 1787 he was elected to the assembly of the notables; in 1789 he was appointed commandant of the national guard; and in 1792 he was chosen admiral by the National Assembly. Though in favour of national reform he continued to cherish a strong feeling of loyalty to the royal family, and on the trial of Marie Antoinette in 1793 bore testimony in her favour. On this account, and because of certain friendly letters which had passed between him and the queen, he was himself brought to trial, and was executed on the 28th of April 1794.
ESTAING, CHARLES HECTOR, Count of (1729-1794), French admiral, was born at the château of Ruvel, Auvergne, in 1729. He joined the army as a colonel of infantry, and in 1757 he went with Count de Lally to the East Indies as a brigadier-general. In 1759, he was captured during the siege of Madras but was released on parole. Before his exchange was finalized, he took command of several ships and conducted various naval operations against the British. Upon returning to France in 1760, he was captured by the British, and due to breaking his parole, was imprisoned in Portsmouth. However, since the accusation couldn't be proven, he was released shortly after. In 1763, he was appointed lieutenant-general in the navy and became vice-admiral in 1777. In 1778, he took command of a fleet tasked with aiding the United States in their fight against Great Britain. He set sail on April 13 and blockaded Howe at Sandy Hook between July 11 and 22, but despite being significantly stronger, he didn't attack. Alongside American generals, he planned an assault on Newport, which forced the British to destroy some warships in the harbor. However, before the attack could happen, he had to face the English fleet under Lord Howe. A sudden and violent storm caused both fleets to separate before a battle could take place, leaving many of his ships damaged and requiring him to retreat to Boston for repairs. He then headed to the West Indies on November 4. After a weak attempt to reclaim Santa Lucia from Admiral Barrington, he captured St Vincent and Grenada. On July 6, 1779, he had a standoff with Admiral John Byron, who withdrew to St Christopher. Despite having superior forces, D’Estaing chose not to engage the British in the harbor and instead set sail for an attack on Savannah. All efforts, including those by American forces, to capture the town were met with heavy losses, forcing him to retreat. He returned to France in 1780. He was in charge of the combined fleet off Cadiz when the peace treaty was signed in 1783; after this, he focused more on politics. In 1787, he was elected to the assembly of the notables; in 1789, he became commander of the national guard; and in 1792, he was chosen admiral by the National Assembly. Although he supported national reform, he remained loyal to the royal family, and during Marie Antoinette's trial in 1793, he testified in her favor. Because of this, along with personal letters exchanged with the queen, he was put on trial himself and was executed on April 28, 1794.
See Marins et soldats français en Amérique, by the Viscomte de Noailles (1903); Beatson, Naval and Military Memoirs of Great Britain, vol. v.
See Marins et soldats français en Amérique, by the Viscount de Noailles (1903); Beatson, Naval and Military Memoirs of Great Britain, vol. v.
ESTATE (through O. Fr. estat, mod. état, from Lat. status, state, condition, position, stare, to stand), the state or condition in which a man lives, now chiefly used poetically and in such phrases as “man’s estate,” or “of high estate”; “state” has superseded most of the uses of the word except (1) in property and (2) in constitutional law.
ESTATE (from Old French estat, modern état, from Latin status, meaning state, condition, position, from stare, to stand), refers to the state or condition in which a person lives. Nowadays, it's mainly used in a poetic sense and in phrases like “man’s estate” or “of high estate.” The word “state” has replaced most of its uses, except in (1) property and (2) constitutional law.
1. In the law of property the word is employed in several senses. In the widest sense a man’s estate comprises his entire belongings; so much of it as consists of land and certain other interests associated therewith is his “real estate”; the rest is his “personal estate.” The word is more particularly applied to interests in land, and in popular and general use “an estate” means the land itself. The strict technical meaning of “an estate” is an interest in lands, and this conception lies at the root of the English theory of property in land. “The first thing that the student has to do,” says Joshua Williams (Law of Real Property), “is to get rid of the idea of absolute ownership. Such an idea is quite unknown to the English law. No man is in law the absolute owner of lands. He can only hold an estate in them.” That is, the notion of tenure, of holding by a tenant from a lord, prevails. The last lord of all from whom all land was ultimately held was the king. Persons holding directly from the king and granting to others were the king’s tenants in capite, and were the mesne lords of their tenants.
1. In property law, the term is used in several ways. In the broadest sense, a person's estate includes all their belongings; the portion that consists of land and related interests is called "real estate," while the remainder is "personal estate." More specifically, the term refers to interests in land, and in common usage, "an estate" typically means the land itself. The strict legal definition of "an estate" is an interest in land, which forms the basis of the English theory of property in land. "The first thing that the student has to do," says Joshua Williams (Law of Real Property), "is to let go of the idea of absolute ownership. Such a concept is completely foreign to English law. No one is considered the absolute owner of land under the law. They can only hold an estate in it." This means that the idea of tenure, of holding as a tenant from a lord, is the prevailing concept. The ultimate lord of all land, from whom it is ultimately held, is the king. Individuals who hold directly from the king and grant to others are the king’s tenants in capite, and they are the mesne lords of their tenants.
Estates in land may be classified according to (1) the quantity of their interest or duration, (2) the time of enjoyment, and (3) the number and connexion of the tenants. According to (1), an estate may be either a freehold of inheritance or a freehold not of inheritance. A freehold of inheritance may be (a) an estate in fee simple, which is the largest estate a man can hold in English law, and comes close to the idea of absolute ownership, repudiated by Williams; an estate in fee simple is inheritable by a man’s heirs generally, he has full powers of disposition over it, and may alienate the whole or part. (b) It may also be in limited fees, which are again subdivided into (i.) qualified or base fee, (ii.) fee conditional, so called at the common law, afterwards, on the passing of the statute De Donis Conditionalibus, fee tail, which may be general as to the heirs of a man’s body, or special, as to the heirs male (or female) of his body. A freehold not of inheritance may be either (1) conventional, as an estate for life, which may be either an estate for one’s own life or for the life of another (pur autre vie); (2) legal, or created by operation of law, as tenancy in tail after possibility of issue extinct (i.e. where an estate is given to a man and the heirs of his body by his present wife, and the wife dies without issue, the husband becomes tenant in tail after possibility of issue extinct); tenancy by curtesy (see Curtesy); tenancy in dower (see Dower).
Estates in land can be classified based on (1) the extent of their interest or duration, (2) the timing of enjoyment, and (3) the number and connection of the tenants. According to (1), an estate can either be a freehold of inheritance or a freehold not of inheritance. A freehold of inheritance can be (a) an estate in fee simple, which is the largest estate a person can hold under English law and comes closest to the idea of absolute ownership, which Williams rejected; a fee simple estate is inheritable by a person’s heirs generally, gives them complete disposal rights, and allows them to sell or transfer the whole or part. (b) It can also be in limited fees, which are further divided into (i.) qualified or base fee, (ii.) fee conditional, known at common law, and later, with the passing of the statute De Donis Conditionalibus, fee tail, which can be general for the heirs of a person’s body, or special for the male (or female) heirs of their body. A freehold not of inheritance can be either (1) conventional, like an estate for life, which can be for one's own life or for someone else's life (pur autre vie); (2) legal, or created by law, such as tenancy in tail after the possibility of issue extinct (i.e. where an estate is granted to a person and the heirs of their body by his current wife, and the wife dies without any children, the husband becomes tenant in tail after the possibility of issue extinct); tenancy by curtesy (see Curtesy); tenancy in dower (see Dower).
Estates not of freehold or less than freehold are subdivided into (i.) estates for years (often called estates for a term of years, the instrument creating it being termed a lease or demise, and the estate itself a leasehold interest); (ii.) estates at will, that is, where lands or tenements are let by one man to another to have and to hold at the will of the lessor; (iii.) estates at sufferance, where one comes into possession of land under a lawful title, and continues in possession after his title has determined.
Estates that aren't freehold or are less than freehold are divided into (i.) estates for years (often called estates for a term of years, with the document creating it referred to as a lease or demise, and the estate itself as a leasehold interest); (ii.) estates at will, which is when someone rents land or property from another person to keep and use at the will of the landlord; (iii.) estates at sufferance, where someone takes possession of land under a valid title and remains in possession after their title has expired.
According to (3), estates may be either (i.) in severalty, that is, the holding of an estate by a person in his own right only, without any other person being joined or connected with him in point of interest therein; (ii.) estates in joint tenancy (see Joint); (iii.) coparcenary (q.v.); and (iv.) tenancy in common, where two or more hold the same land, by several and distinct titles, but with unity of possession. (See also Real Property.)
According to (3), estates can be (i.) in severalty, which means an estate is owned by one person alone, without anyone else having any interest in it; (ii.) estates in joint tenancy (see Joint); (iii.) coparcenary (q.v.); and (iv.) tenancy in common, where two or more people own the same land with separate and distinct titles, but share possession of it. (See also Real Property.)
2. In constitutional law an estate is an order or class having a definite share as such in the body politic, and participating either directly or by its representatives in the government. The system of representation by estates took its rise in western Europe during the 13th century, at a time when the feudal system was being broken up through various causes, notably the growing wealth and power of the towns. In the feudal council the clergy and the territorial nobles had alone had a voice; but the 13th century, to quote Stubbs (Const. Hist. ii. 168, ed. 1875), “turns the feudal council into an assembly of estates, and draws the constitution of the third estate from the ancient local machinery which it concentrates.” This is, allowing for differences of detail, true of other countries as well as England. To the two estates already existing, clergy and nobles, is added a third, that of the commons (burgesses and knights of the shire) in England, that of the roturiers in France (known as the tiers état). This division into three estates became the norm, but it was not universal, nor inevitable.1 Even in England there was a tendency to create other estates, the king for instance treating with the merchants separately for grants of money to be raised by taxing the general body of merchants in the country; and there was a similar tendency on the part of the lawyers. But for the accident of their sitting and voting together, the burgesses and knights of the shire would also have formed separate estates. In Aragon the cortes contained four estates (brazos or arms), the clergy, the great barons (ricos hombres), the minor barons (knights or infanzones), and the towns. The Swedish diet had also four—clergy, barons, burghers and peasants.
2. In constitutional law, an estate is a group or class that has a specific share in the political system and participates either directly or through its representatives in the government. The system of representation by estates began in Western Europe during the 13th century, when the feudal system was breaking down due to various factors, especially the increasing wealth and power of the towns. In the feudal council, only the clergy and the landowning nobles had a say, but in the 13th century, as quoted by Stubbs (Const. Hist. ii. 168, ed. 1875), this period transformed the feudal council into an assembly of estates and shaped the constitution of the third estate from ancient local structures that it consolidated. This applies, with some variations in detail, to other countries beyond England. Alongside the existing two estates, the clergy and the nobles, a third estate was added in England— the commons (burghers and knights of the shire)— and in France, it was known as the roturiers (referred to as the tiers état). This division into three estates became standard, but it wasn’t universal or inevitable. Even in England, there was a tendency to establish other estates, with the king, for example, negotiating separately with merchants for money to be raised through taxation on the broader merchant population; similar inclinations existed among lawyers as well. If not for the fact that they sat and voted together, the burgesses and knights of the shire would have formed distinct estates as well. In Aragon, the cortes included four estates (brazos or arms): the clergy, the major barons (ricos hombres), the minor barons (knights or infanzones), and the towns. The Swedish diet similarly featured four estates— clergy, barons, burghers, and peasants.
The system of estates, based on the medieval conception of society as divided into definite orders, formed the basis of whatever constitutional forms survived in Europe till the French Revolution. In England, of course, it had early become obscured, the House of Commons representing the whole nation outside the narrow order of the peers. The creation of an estate of lesser nobles or landowners had been prevented by the fusion of the knights of the shire with the burgesses; the spiritual estate was ruled out by the determination of the clergy to deliberate and tax themselves in their own convocation, leaving the bishops, as spiritual peers, to represent their interests in parliament.
The system of estates, which was based on the medieval view of society divided into specific classes, underpinned whatever constitutional structures lasted in Europe until the French Revolution. In England, it had gradually become less clear, with the House of Commons representing the entire nation rather than just the small circle of peers. The formation of a class of lesser nobles or landowners was blocked by the merging of the knights of the shire with the burgesses; the clergy excluded themselves from the estate by insisting on discussing and taxing themselves in their own assembly, leaving the bishops, as spiritual peers, to advocate for their interests in parliament.
The phrase “the three estates of the realm” still survives, but to most men it conveys no clear meaning. The erroneous conception early arose—Hallam says it was current among the popular lawyers of the 17th century—that the “three estates” were king, lords and commons, as representing the three great divisions of legislative authority. Such a conception might be possible in Hungary, where the crown of St. Stephen symbolizes not so much the royal power as the co-ordination of the powers of all the organs of the state, including the king; but in England the king represents the whole nation and in no sense a separate interest within it, which is the essence of an estate. The phrase “three estates” as applied to the English constitution at present is, in fact, misleading. It is now usually understood of the lords spiritual, the lords temporal, and the commons.
The phrase “the three estates of the realm” still exists, but to most people, it has no clear meaning. The mistaken idea arose early on—Hallam notes it was common among popular lawyers in the 17th century—that the “three estates” referred to the king, lords, and commons as representing three main divisions of legislative authority. This idea might work in Hungary, where the crown of St. Stephen symbolizes more the coordination of all the branches of government, including the king; but in England, the king represents the entire nation and not a separate interest within it, which is what an estate essentially is. The term “three estates” as it relates to the English constitution today is actually misleading. It is now generally understood to mean the lords spiritual, the lords temporal, and the commons.
The conception of the “three estates of the realm” as the great divisions of legislative authority led in England to the coining of the phrase “fourth estate,” to indicate some power of corresponding magnitude in the state distinct from them. Fielding thus spoke of “the mob,” and Hazlitt of Cobbett; but the phrase is now usually applied to the press, a usage originating in a speech by Burke (Carlyle, Hero-worship, Lect. v.).
The idea of the “three estates of the realm” as the main divisions of legislative power led to the creation of the term “fourth estate” in England, to represent a separate but significant power in the state. Fielding referred to “the mob,” and Hazlitt mentioned Cobbett; however, the term is now typically associated with the press, a usage that started from a speech by Burke (Carlyle, Hero-worship, Lect. v.).
In the constitutional struggles of the European continent, from the Revolution onward, the rival theories of representation by estates and of popular representation have played a great part. The crucial moment of the French Revolution was when the vote according to “order” was rejected and the estates of the clergy and nobles were merged with the tiers état, the states-general thus becoming the National Assembly. This was the precedent followed, generally speaking, during the 19th century in the other countries in which constitutional government 791 was established. In most of them the medieval estates lingered on in provincial diets (Landtage),2 and the famous Article XIII. of the Federal Act (Bundesakte) of Vienna decreed that “assemblies of estates” should be set up, wherever not already existing, in the German states. The efforts of Metternich and the statesmen of his school were directed, not so much to abolishing the constitutional model, as to establishing it, if need were, on traditional and conservative lines. This is what was meant by the famous reply of the emperor Francis I. to the Magyar deputation; “All the world is playing the fool and demanding fanciful constitutions.” When the need for making constitutional concessions became urgent, the attempt was accordingly made to base them on the system of estates. But the central diet convoked in 1847 by Frederick William IV. to Berlin, technically a concentration of provincial estates, quickly converted itself as Metternich had prophesied—into a national assembly; and precisely the same thing happened in the case of the first Austrian parliament in 1848. In Hungary the revolution was in some respects more conservative in character. The March Laws of 1848 preserved the general character of the House of Magnates, comparable to the British House of Lords, but converted the Lower House from what was practically representative of the estate of the lesser nobles into a national representative assembly. Of all the sovereign states of Europe only the grand-duchies of Mecklenburg still (1909) retain the ancient system of estates untouched. The diet, which is common to the two duchies, consists of the Ritterschaft, in which all tenants in chivalry (Rittergutsbesitzer), whether noble or non-noble, have a voice, and the Landschaft, which consists of the chief magistrates of the towns. The former is taken as representative of the peasant proprietors and copy-holders (Hintersassen), the latter of the burghers.
In the constitutional struggles of Europe, starting from the Revolution, the competing ideas of representation by estates and popular representation have played a significant role. A key moment in the French Revolution was when the vote by “order” was rejected and the estates of the clergy and nobles were combined with the tiers état, leading to the states-general becoming the National Assembly. This set a precedent that was generally followed in other countries during the 19th century when constitutional government was established. In most of these countries, the medieval estates continued to exist in provincial diets (Landtage), and the famous Article XIII of the Federal Act (Bundesakte) of Vienna mandated that “assemblies of estates” should be created, where they did not already exist, in the German states. Metternich and his contemporaries aimed not so much to abolish the constitutional model but to establish it, if necessary, along traditional and conservative lines. This was reflected in the well-known response of Emperor Francis I to the Hungarian delegation: “All the world is playing the fool and demanding fanciful constitutions.” When the need for constitutional concessions became pressing, efforts were made to base them on the system of estates. However, the central diet called by Frederick William IV. in 1847 in Berlin, which was technically a gathering of provincial estates, quickly transformed, as Metternich had predicted, into a national assembly; the same transformation occurred with the first Austrian parliament in 1848. In Hungary, the revolution was somewhat more conservative in nature. The March Laws of 1848 maintained the general structure of the House of Magnates, similar to the British House of Lords, but converted the Lower House from what was essentially a representative of the lesser nobles into a national representative assembly. Of all the sovereign states in Europe, only the grand-duchies of Mecklenburg still (in 1909) retain the ancient system of estates unchanged. The diet, common to both duchies, consists of the Ritterschaft, where all tenants in chivalry (Rittergutsbesitzer), noble or not, have a voice, and the Landschaft, which is made up of the chief magistrates of the towns. The former is seen as representing the peasant proprietors and copy-holders (Hintersassen), while the latter represents the burghers.
The plural form Estates or States (Fr. états, Ger. Stände) is the name commonly given to an assembly of estates (assemblée des états, Ständeversammlung). When such an assembly is not merely local or provincial it is called the estates-general or states-general (états généraux), e.g. in France the assembly of the deputies of the three estates of the realm as distinct from the provincial estates which met periodically in the so-called pays d’états.
The plural form Properties or States (Fr. états, Ger. Stände) refers to a group known as an assembly of estates (assemblée des états, Ständeversammlung). When this assembly is not just local or provincial, it's called the estates-general or states-general (états généraux), for example, in France, the assembly of representatives from the three estates of the realm, as opposed to the provincial estates that gathered from time to time in the regions known as pays d’états.
For further details about the estates in England and elsewhere see W. Stubbs, Constitutional History, vol. ii. (1896); H. Hallam, The Middle Ages (1855); F.W. Maitland, Constitutional History of England (1908); A. Luchaire, Histoire des institutions monarchiques de la France (1883-1885); G. Waitz, Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte (Kiel, 1865-1878); and A.S. Rait, The Scottish Parliament (1901). See also Representation.
For more information about the estates in England and other places, check out W. Stubbs, Constitutional History, vol. ii. (1896); H. Hallam, The Middle Ages (1855); F.W. Maitland, Constitutional History of England (1908); A. Luchaire, Histoire des institutions monarchiques de la France (1883-1885); G. Waitz, Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte (Kiel, 1865-1878); and A.S. Rait, The Scottish Parliament (1901). Also, see Representation.
1 In Scotland the three estates were the prelates, the tenants-in-chief and the burgesses, the third estate joining the others for the first time about the beginning of the 14th century. In 1428 commissioners of shires, men elected by the minor tenants-in-chief, were ordered to appear in parliament; the greater tenants-in-chief then coalesced with the prelates and the three estates were the lords, clerical and lay, the commissioners of shires and the burgesses. From 1640 to 1660 parliament was reorganized, the prelates being excluded, but at the Restoration the old order was re-established. The Scottish parliament was accustomed to depute much of its work to a committee, composed of members from each of the three orders, and the committee of the estates was very prominent during the struggle between Charles I. and his people.
1 In Scotland, the three estates were the church leaders, the chief landowners, and the town representatives. The third estate joined the other two for the first time around the early 14th century. In 1428, elected representatives from the minor landowners were ordered to attend parliament; then the major landowners aligned with the church leaders, creating the three estates: the lords, both clerical and lay, the representatives from the shires, and the town representatives. From 1640 to 1660, parliament was reorganized, excluding the church leaders, but the old structure was restored at the Restoration. The Scottish parliament often delegated much of its work to a committee made up of members from each of the three estates, and this committee was very active during the conflict between Charles I and his subjects.
ESTATE AND HOUSE AGENTS. A person exercising the calling of a house agent in England is required, under a penalty of £20, to take out yearly a licence upon which £2 is charged as a duty of excise, unless he is licensed as an auctioneer or appraiser, or is an agent employed in the management of landed estates, or a solicitor or conveyancer who has taken out his annual certificate as such. In this connexion a person is deemed to be a house agent if he advertises for sale or for letting, or in any way negotiates for the selling or letting of any furnished house or part of any furnished house (any storey or flat rated and let as a separate tenement being for this purpose a house); subject, however, to the qualification that no one is to be deemed to be a house agent by reason of his letting, or offering to let, or in any way negotiating for the letting of, any house the annual rent or value of which does not exceed £25.
REAL ESTATE AND PROPERTY AGENTS. In England, anyone working as a house agent must obtain a yearly license for which there is a £2 excise duty, or face a £20 penalty, unless they are already licensed as an auctioneer or appraiser, work in managing landed estates, or are a solicitor or conveyancer with their annual certificate. A person is considered a house agent if they advertise for sale or rent, or negotiate for the sale or rental of any furnished house or part of a furnished house (for this purpose, any storey or flat rated and rented as a separate unit counts as a house); however, this excludes anyone letting or negotiating to let a house with an annual rent or value that does not exceed £25.
A house agent who is merely instructed to act in the usual way of his calling has no authority to bind his employer by a contract. His business is to endeavour to find a person willing to become a purchaser or tenant and then to communicate his offer to the owner. Unless express authority is given to the agent to sell or let, and for that purpose to enter into a binding contract, the principal reserves his right to accept or refuse the offer. As a rule, a house or estate agent has no authority to receive payment on behalf of the principal. Where he is employed to procure a tenant, he must use reasonable diligence to ascertain that the person to whom the property is let through his agency is fit to be a tenant. He does not, however, in any way guarantee the payment of the rent. A house agent may not, for or in expectation of payment, prepare any deed relating to the sale or letting of real or personal estate. There is, however, no similar prohibition as to agreements not under seal, and it is a common practice for house agents to charge for the preparation of them.
A real estate agent who is simply asked to operate in the usual manner of their profession has no authority to legally bind their client with a contract. Their role is to try to find someone willing to buy or rent and then to relay that offer to the owner. Unless the agent is given explicit authority to sell or lease and to enter into a binding agreement for that purpose, the client retains the right to accept or reject the offer. Generally, a real estate agent does not have the authority to receive payment on behalf of the client. When hired to find a tenant, the agent must make reasonable efforts to verify that the person renting the property through their services is suitable as a tenant. However, they do not guarantee that the rent will be paid. A real estate agent may not, for payment or in anticipation of payment, create any document related to the sale or leasing of real or personal property. There is, however, no similar restriction on agreements that are not formalized with a seal, and it’s a common practice for real estate agents to charge for preparing those agreements.
House agents are usually remunerated by way of commission. The scale adopted by the Institute of Estate and House Agents embodies the rates usually charged. In the absence of express provision upon the subject between the principal and the agent, commission is payable only when the latter has found a purchaser or tenant. If, however, he had found a person willing to buy or take property upon the terms upon which the principal intimated to him his willingness to sell or let it, the principal will be liable to pay the amount of the commission, even though in fact he refuses or is unable to sell or let it. Where the agent can show that he has brought about a sale or tenancy he will be entitled to the commission notwithstanding the fact that another agent has been paid, or has recovered in an action, commission in respect of the same sale or tenancy. The agent’s authority may be revoked at any time; but, where he has already performed the service for which he was employed, the principal cannot defeat his right to be paid the amount of the commission by subsequently revoking his authority. If the agent is unsuccessful in finding a purchaser or tenant, as the case may be, he will not, as a rule, have any right to remuneration for his efforts in the matter.
House agents typically get paid through commission. The rates set by the Institute of Estate and House Agents reflect the usual charges. Unless there's a specific agreement between the client and the agent, commission is only due when the agent has found a buyer or tenant. However, if the agent finds someone willing to buy or rent the property on the terms the client indicated they were open to, the client must pay the commission, even if they later refuse or can't complete the sale or lease. If the agent can demonstrate that they facilitated a sale or tenancy, they are entitled to the commission, regardless of whether another agent has also been compensated or has received commission for the same transaction. The agent's authority can be canceled at any time; however, if they have already completed the service for which they were hired, the client cannot avoid paying the commission simply by revoking that authority afterward. If the agent does not succeed in finding a buyer or tenant, they usually do not have the right to payment for their efforts.
Most auctioneers, in addition to holding auctions, carry on the business of house and estate agency. The number of licences issued to house agents and appraisers in England for the year ended 31st March 1899 was 4429, and for the year ended 31st March 1909, 4618. The number of licences issued to auctioneers in England for the corresponding periods was 6389 and 6543 respectively.
Most auctioneers, besides running auctions, also work in house and estate agency. The number of licenses given to house agents and appraisers in England for the year ending March 31, 1899, was 4,429, and for the year ending March 31, 1909, it was 4,618. The number of licenses issued to auctioneers in England for the same periods was 6,389 and 6,543, respectively.
ESTATE DUTY. For purposes of the national revenue in the United Kingdom, the Finance Act 1894 imposed on all property passing by death after the 1st of August 1894 a duty called estate duty, in lieu of certain other duties previously payable. The objects of the act were—(1) simplification of the death duties and equalization as between real and personal property, and (2) aggregation of all the property passing on a death, and taxation at rates graduated according to the value of the whole. Before the act a duty (probate duty) was taken on the free personal property of deceased persons in the hands of the executor or administrator, without regard to the subsequent distribution. The legacy and succession duties were levied on distribution of the property passing on the death, from the persons taking any property under the will or intestacy of the deceased, or under settlement, or by devolution of title on his death. These two latter duties were mutually exclusive, and together covered practically all property passing by death. They were levied at rates graduated according to consanguinity. In 1888 an attempt was made to equalize the rates of the death duties as between property which paid the probate and legacy duties, and property which paid succession duty only. But the Finance Act 1894 replaced the probate duty by a duty extending to all property real or personal passing on or by reference to death, whether by disposition of the deceased or not, without regard to its tenure or destination. The Finance Acts of 1907 and 1909-1910 increased the scale of duties laid down in 1894.
ESTATE TAX. To generate national revenue in the United Kingdom, the Finance Act of 1894 introduced a duty known as estate duty on all property that transfers upon death after August 1, 1894, in place of several other duties that were previously charged. The goals of the act were—(1) to simplify death duties and create parity between real and personal property, and (2) to aggregate all property transferred upon death and tax it at rates that increase based on the total value. Before this act, a duty (probate duty) was applied to the free personal property of deceased individuals held by the executor or administrator, without considering how it would be subsequently distributed. Legacy and succession duties were charged at the time the property was distributed to those inheriting under the deceased's will, intestacy, settlement, or by the laws of inheritance upon their death. These two duties were mutually exclusive and almost entirely encompassed all property that transferred upon death. They were applied at rates that varied based on the relationship to the deceased. In 1888, an effort was made to standardize the rates of death duties for property subject to both probate and legacy duties versus those subject only to succession duty. However, the Finance Act of 1894 replaced probate duty with a duty that applied to all real and personal property transferring upon death or via reference to death, regardless of how it was disposed of by the deceased or its ownership type. The Finance Acts of 1907 and 1909-1910 raised the rates established in 1894.
For this purpose all property passing on a death is aggregated to form one estate, on the capital value of which the duty is charged, at rates graduated from 1 to 15% according to the aggregate value. Besides the property of which the deceased was competent to dispose at his death, the aggregated estate includes property in which he had an interest ceasing on his death, from the cesser of which a benefit accrues, or which was disposed of by him within twelve months of death, or at any time, with reservation of an interest to himself. The extent to 792 which property is deemed to pass on the cesser of a limited interest is measured by the proportion of the income to which the interest extended, without regard to the tenure of the deceased or his successor. Property may therefore be included in the aggregate estate at its capital value owing to the passing of a life-interest only, the property being settled so that the absolute ownership does not pass at all. But when the duty has once been paid on property passing under a settlement, the property does not again become chargeable until it passes on the death of a person who is or has been competent to dispose of it. To compensate for this advantage, when property passing under a settlement made after the act pays the estate duty, a further duty of 2% (settlement estate duty) is taken, except where the only subsequent life-interest is that of the wife or husband of the deceased.
For this purpose, all property transferred upon death is combined to create one estate, which is taxed at rates ranging from 1% to 15% based on the total value. In addition to the assets that the deceased could legally give away at the time of death, the combined estate also includes any property in which they had an interest that ended at death, from which a benefit arises, or property they disposed of within twelve months of death, or at any time while retaining an interest for themselves. The extent to which property is considered to pass upon the end of a limited interest is determined by the proportion of the income related to that interest, regardless of the ownership status of the deceased or their successor. Therefore, property may be included in the total estate at its capital value even if it only involves the passing of a life interest, as the absolute ownership may not transfer at all. However, once estate duty is paid on property that has passed under a settlement, it does not incur another charge until it is transferred upon the death of someone who has the capacity to give it away. To offset this benefit, when property transferred under a settlement made after the act is subject to estate duty, an additional 2% (settlement estate duty) is charged, except when the only subsequent life interest belongs to the spouse of the deceased.
The rate of duty being fixed according to the aggregate capital value of the whole estate, the charge is distributed according to the different modes of disposition of the property comprised in the estate. The duty on the personalty which passes to the executor as such is paid by him, as the probate duty was, and comes out of the general estate. For the other property passing, trustees, or any person to whom it passes for a beneficial interest in possession, are made accountable, and are required to bring in an account of the property and pay the duty. The duty is a first charge on such property, and, when it is paid by a person having a life-interest only, he may charge the corpus of the property with it. The duty on real property included in an account is payable by eight yearly or sixteen half-yearly instalments, becoming due twelve months after the death, and bearing interest at 3% from that date. On other property, except in a few special cases, the duty bears interest at 3% from the date of the death. When the estate duty has been paid no further duty is chargeable on property comprised in the estate which passes to lineal relations of the deceased. But on property passing to collaterals or strangers legacy or succession duty, as the case may be, is payable by the devisees or successors, at a rate (which is the same whichever duty be payable) fixed according to consanguinity.
The duty is set based on the total capital value of the entire estate, and the charge is allocated according to the various ways the property within the estate is distributed. The duty on personal property that goes to the executor is paid by him, just like the probate duty was, and comes from the overall estate. For other property that transfers, trustees or anyone receiving it for a beneficial interest are held responsible and must submit an account of the property and pay the duty. The duty is prioritized on such property, and if it’s paid by someone with only a life interest, they can charge the principal of the property for it. The duty on real estate included in an account is payable in eight annual or sixteen semi-annual installments, starting twelve months after the death and accruing interest at 3% from that date. For other property, except in a few special cases, the duty also accrues interest at 3% from the date of death. Once the estate duty is paid, no additional duty applies to property in the estate that passes to direct descendants of the deceased. However, for property going to collateral relatives or strangers, legacy or succession duty is due, as applicable, to be paid by the beneficiaries or successors, at a rate (which is the same regardless of which duty applies) determined by how closely related they are.
For a detailed account of the provisions of the act of 1894 and subsequent amending acts, and of the practical working of the duty, reference is made to Austen-Cartmell, Finance Acts (1894-1907); Hanson, Death Duties (London, 1904); Soward, Handbook to the Estate Duty (4th ed., London, 1900); and to the reports of the commissioners of Inland Revenue for 1894-1895 and subsequent years.
For a detailed account of the provisions of the 1894 act and the subsequent amendments, as well as how the duty actually works, please refer to Austen-Cartmell, Finance Acts (1894-1907); Hanson, Death Duties (London, 1904); Soward, Handbook to the Estate Duty (4th ed., London, 1900); and the reports from the commissioners of Inland Revenue for 1894-1895 and the following years.
ESTCOURT, RICHARD (1668-1712), English actor, began by playing comedy parts in Dublin. His first London appearance was in 1704 as Dominick, in Dryden’s Spanish Friar, and he continued to take important parts at Drury Lane, being the original Pounce in Steele’s Tender Husband (1705), Sergeant Kite in Farquhar’s Recruiting Officer, and Sir Francis Gripe in Mrs Centlivre’s Busybody. He was an excellent mimic and a great favourite socially. Estcourt wrote a comedy, The Fair Example, or the Modish Citizen (1703), and Prunella (1704), an interlude.
ESTCOURT, RICHARD (1668-1712), an English actor, started out performing comedy roles in Dublin. He made his first appearance in London in 1704 as Dominick in Dryden’s Spanish Friar, and he went on to take significant roles at Drury Lane, being the original Pounce in Steele’s Tender Husband (1705), Sergeant Kite in Farquhar’s Recruiting Officer, and Sir Francis Gripe in Mrs Centlivre’s Busybody. He was an outstanding mimic and a popular figure socially. Estcourt wrote a comedy, The Fair Example, or the Modish Citizen (1703), and Prunella (1704), an interlude.
ESTE, one of the oldest of the former reigning houses of Italy. It is in all probability of Lombard origin, and descended, according to Muratori, from the princes who governed in Tuscany in Carolingian times. The lordship of the town of Este was first acquired by Alberto Azzo II., who also bore the title of marquis of Italy1 (d. c. 1097); he married Kunitza or Kunegonda, sister of Welf or Guelph III., duke of Carinthia. Welf died without issue, and was succeeded by Welf IV., son of Kunitza, who married a daughter of Otto II., duke of Bavaria, and who obtained the duchy of Bavaria in 1070. Through him the house of Este became connected with the princely houses of Brunswick and Hanover, from which the sovereigns of England are descended. The Italian titles and estates were inherited by Folco I. (1060-1135), son of Alberto Azzo by his second wife Gersende, daughter of Herbert I., count of Maine.2 The house of Este played a great part in the history of medieval and Renaissance Italy, and it first comes to the front in the wars between the Guelphs and Ghibellines; as leaders of the former party its princes received at different times Ferrara, Modena, Reggio and other fiefs and territories.
ESTE, is one of the oldest former ruling families in Italy. It's likely of Lombard origin and, according to Muratori, descended from the princes who ruled Tuscany during the Carolingian era. The lordship of the town of Este was initially taken by Alberto Azzo II., who also held the title of marquis of Italy (d. c. 1097); he married Kunitza or Kunegonda, the sister of Welf or Guelph III., duke of Carinthia. Welf died without children, and Welf IV., the son of Kunitza, took over. Welf IV married a daughter of Otto II., duke of Bavaria, and gained control of the duchy of Bavaria in 1070. Through him, the house of Este became linked to the noble houses of Brunswick and Hanover, which are ancestral to the English sovereigns. The Italian titles and lands were passed down to Folco I. (1060-1135), the son of Alberto Azzo and his second wife Gersende, daughter of Herbert I., count of Maine. 2 The house of Este played a significant role in the history of medieval and Renaissance Italy, first emerging prominently during the wars between the Guelphs and Ghibellines; as leaders of the Guelph faction, its princes received various fiefs and territories, including Ferrara, Modena, and Reggio.
Obizzo I., son of Folco, was the first to bear the title of marquis of Este. He entered into the Guelphic league against the emperor Frederick I., and was comprehended in the treaty of Venice of 1177 by which municipal podestàs (foreigners chosen as heads of cities to administer justice impartially) were instituted. He was elected podestà of Padua in 1178, and in 1184 he was reconciled with Frederick, who created him marquis of Genoa and Milan, a dignity somewhat similar to that of imperial vicar. By the marriage of his son Azzo to the heiress of the Marchesella family (the story that she was carried off to prevent her marrying an enemy of the Este is a pure legend), he came to acquire great influence in Ferrara, although he was opposed by the hardly less powerful house of Torelli.
Obizzo I, son of Folco, was the first to hold the title of marquis of Este. He joined the Guelph league against Emperor Frederick I and was included in the treaty of Venice in 1177, which established municipal podestàs (foreigners selected as city leaders to administer justice fairly). He was elected podestà of Padua in 1178, and in 1184 he reconciled with Frederick, who named him marquis of Genoa and Milan, a role somewhat like that of an imperial vicar. Through the marriage of his son Azzo to the heiress of the Marchesella family (the tale that she was abducted to stop her from marrying an enemy of the Este is just a legend), he gained significant influence in Ferrara, although he faced opposition from the equally powerful house of Torelli.
Obizzo died in 1194 and Azzo V. having predeceased him, the marquisate devolved on his grandson Azzo VI. (1170-1212), who became head of the Guelph party, and to him the people of Ferrara sacrificed their liberty by making him their first lord (1208). But during his lifetime civil war raged in the city, between the Este and the Torelli, each party being driven out again and again. Azzo (also called Azzolino) died in 1212 and was succeeded by Aldobrandino I., who in 1213 concluded a treaty with Salinguerra Torelli, the head of that house, to divide the government of the city between them. On his death in 1215 he was succeeded by his brother Azzo VII. (1205-1264), surnamed Novello, but Salinguerra Torelli usurped all power in Ferrara and expelled Azzo (1222). In 1240 Pope Gregory IX. determined on another war against the emperor Frederick II., but deemed it wise to begin by crushing the chief Ghibelline houses. Thus Azzo found himself in league with the pope and various Guelph cities in his attempt to regain Ferrara. That town underwent a four months’ siege, and was at last compelled to surrender; Salinguerra was sent to Venice as a prisoner, and Azzo ruled in Ferrara once more. The Ghibelline party was annihilated, but the city enjoyed peace and happiness within, although her citizens took part in the wars raging outside. The Guelph cause triumphed, Frederick being defeated several times, and after his death Azzo helped in crushing the terrible Eccelino da Romano (q.v.) who upheld the imperial cause, at the battle of Cassano (1259). He died in 1264 and was succeeded by Obizzo II. (1240-1293) his grandson, who in 1288 received the lordship of Modena, and that of Reggio in 1289. He was a capable but cruel ruler, and while professing devotion to the Guelph cause, did homage to the German king Rudolph I. when he descended into Italy.
Obizzo died in 1194, and since Azzo V had already passed away, the marquisate passed to his grandson Azzo VI (1170-1212), who became the leader of the Guelph party. The people of Ferrara gave up their freedom by making him their first lord in 1208. However, during his time, civil war erupted in the city between the Este and the Torelli, with each side being driven out repeatedly. Azzo (also known as Azzolino) died in 1212 and was succeeded by his brother Aldobrandino I, who in 1213 made an agreement with Salinguerra Torelli, the leader of that family, to share control of the city. When he died in 1215, he was succeeded by his brother Azzo VII (1205-1264), nicknamed Novello, but Salinguerra Torelli took all power in Ferrara and forced Azzo to leave in 1222. In 1240, Pope Gregory IX decided to go to war against Emperor Frederick II but thought it best to start by crushing the main Ghibelline families. So, Azzo allied himself with the pope and various Guelph cities in his effort to reclaim Ferrara. The city was under siege for four months and eventually had to surrender; Salinguerra was sent to Venice as a prisoner, and Azzo took control of Ferrara again. The Ghibelline party was wiped out, but the city found peace and happiness within, even as its citizens participated in the ongoing wars outside. The Guelph cause prevailed, with Frederick being defeated multiple times, and after his death, Azzo helped defeat the fierce Eccelino da Romano (see entry) who supported the imperial cause at the battle of Cassano in 1259. He died in 1264 and was succeeded by his grandson Obizzo II (1240-1293), who received the lordship of Modena in 1288 and Reggio in 1289. He was an effective yet cruel ruler, and while he claimed loyalty to the Guelph cause, he pledged allegiance to the German king Rudolph I when he came to Italy.
Obizzo II. died in 1293 and was succeeded by his son Azzo VIII., but the latter’s brothers, Aldobrandino and Francesco, who were to have shared in the government, were expelled and became his bitter enemies. The misgovernment of Azzo led to the revolt of Reggio and Modena, which shook off his yoke. Enemies arose on all sides, and he spent his last years in perpetual fighting. He died in 1308, and having no legitimate children, his brothers, his natural son Fresco, and others disputed the succession. A papal legate was appointed, and though the Este returned they were placed under pontifical tutelage.
Obizzo II died in 1293 and was succeeded by his son Azzo VIII. However, Azzo's brothers, Aldobrandino and Francesco, who were supposed to help govern, were expelled and became his fierce enemies. Azzo's poor leadership led to revolts in Reggio and Modena, which broke free from his control. Enemies surrounded him, and he spent his final years in constant conflict. He died in 1308, and since he had no legitimate children, his brothers, his illegitimate son Fresco, and others argued over the succession. A papal legate was appointed, and although the Este family returned, they were placed under papal supervision.
The history of the house now becomes involved and of little interest until we come to Nicholas III. (1384-1441), who exercised sway over Ferrara, Modena, Parma and Reggio, waged many wars, was made general of the army of the Church, and in his later years governor of Milan, where he died, not without suspicion of poison. To him succeeded Lionello (1407-1450), a wise and virtuous ruler and a patron of literature and art; then Borso (1413-1471), his brother, who was created duke of Modena and Reggio by the emperor Frederick III., and duke of Ferrara by the pope. In spite of the wars by which all Italy was torn, Ferrara enjoyed a period of peace and prosperity under Borso; he patronized literature, established a printing-press at Ferrara, surrounded himself with learned men, and his court was of 793 unparalleled splendour. He also protected industry and commerce, and ruled with great wisdom. His brother Ercole I. (1431-1505), who succeeded him in 1471, was less fortunate, and had to engage in a war with Venice, owing to a dispute about the salt monopoly, with the result that by the peace of 1484 he was forced to cede the district of Polesine to the republic. But the last years of his life were peaceful and prosperous, so that afterwards men looked back to the days of Ercole I. as to a golden age; his capital was noted both for its luxury and as the resort of men eminent in literature and art. Boiardo the poet was his minister, and Ariosto obtained his patronage.
The history of the house now becomes complicated and less interesting until we reach Nicholas III. (1384-1441), who ruled over Ferrara, Modena, Parma, and Reggio, fought in many wars, was appointed general of the Church's army, and later became governor of Milan, where he died, with suspicions of poisoning. He was succeeded by Lionello (1407-1450), a wise and virtuous ruler and a supporter of literature and art; then Borso (1413-1471), his brother, who was made duke of Modena and Reggio by Emperor Frederick III., and duke of Ferrara by the pope. Despite the wars that ravaged all of Italy, Ferrara experienced a time of peace and prosperity under Borso; he supported literature, set up a printing press in Ferrara, surrounded himself with learned people, and his court was of unparalleled splendor. He also promoted industry and commerce and ruled wisely. His brother Ercole I. (1431-1505), who took over in 1471, wasn't as fortunate and had to fight a war with Venice over a salt monopoly, resulting in the peace treaty of 1484 where he was forced to give up the Polesine area to the republic. However, the last years of his life were peaceful and prosperous, so that later people looked back at Ercole I.'s time as a golden age; his capital was renowned for its luxury and as a gathering place for notable figures in literature and art. Boiardo the poet served as his minister, and Ariosto gained his patronage.
Ercole’s daughter Beatrice d’Este (1475-1497), duchess of Milan, one of the most beautiful and accomplished princesses of the Italian Renaissance, was bethrothed at the age of five to Lodovico Sforza (known as il Moro), duke of Bari, regent and afterwards duke of Milan, and was married to him in January 1491. She had been carefully educated, and availed herself of her position as mistress of one of the most splendid courts of Italy to surround herself with learned men, poets and artists, such as Niccolò da Correggio, Bernardo Castiglione, Bramante, Leonardo da Vinci and many others. In 1492 she visited Venice as ambassador for her husband in his political schemes, which consisted chiefly in a desire to be recognized as duke of Milan. On the death of Gian Galeazzo Sforza, Lodovico’s usurpation was legalized, and after the battle of Fornovo (1495) both he and his wife took part in the peace congress of Vercelli between Charles VIII. of France and the Italian princes, at which Beatrice showed great political ability. But her brilliant career was cut short by death through childbirth, on the 3rd of January 1497. She belongs to the best class of Renaissance women, and was one of the culture influences of the age; to her patronage and good taste are due to a great extent the splendour of the Castello of Milan, of the Certosa of Pavia and of many other famous buildings in Lombardy.
Ercole’s daughter Beatrice d’Este (1475-1497), duchess of Milan, was one of the most beautiful and talented princesses of the Italian Renaissance. She was engaged at the age of five to Lodovico Sforza (known as il Moro), duke of Bari, regent, and later duke of Milan, and married him in January 1491. She received a careful education and took advantage of her role as the mistress of one of Italy's most magnificent courts to surround herself with educated individuals, poets, and artists like Niccolò da Correggio, Bernardo Castiglione, Bramante, Leonardo da Vinci, and many others. In 1492, she visited Venice as her husband's ambassador for his political schemes, which mainly focused on gaining recognition as duke of Milan. Following the death of Gian Galeazzo Sforza, Lodovico's seizure of power was legitimized, and after the battle of Fornovo (1495), both he and his wife participated in the peace congress of Vercelli between Charles VIII of France and the Italian princes, where Beatrice demonstrated significant political skill. However, her brilliant career was tragically cut short by death during childbirth on January 3, 1497. She represents the best of Renaissance women and was one of the cultural influences of the era; much of the grandeur of the Castello of Milan, the Certosa of Pavia, and numerous other famous buildings in Lombardy can be attributed to her patronage and refined taste.
Her sister Isabella d’Este (1474-1539), marchioness of Mantua, was carefully educated both in letters and in the arts like Beatrice, and was married when barely sixteen to Francesco Gonzaga, marquis of Mantua (1490). She showed great diplomatic and political skill, especially in her negotiations with Cesare Borgia (q.v.), who had dispossessed Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, duke of Urbino, the husband of her sister-in-law and intimate friend Elisabetta Gonzaga (1502). She received the deposed duke and duchess, as well as other princes in the same condition, at her court of Mantua, which was one of the most brilliant in Italy, and like her sister she gathered together many eminent men of letters and artists, Raphael, Andrea Mantegna and Giulio Romano being among those whom she employed. Both she and her husband were greatly influenced by Baldassare Castiglione (1478-1529), author of Il Cortigiano, and it was at his suggestion that Giulio Romano was summoned to Mantua to enlarge the Castello and other buildings. Isabella was “undoubtedly, among all the princesses of the 15th and 16th centuries, the one who most strikingly and perfectly personified the aspirations of the Renaissance” (Eugène Müntz); but her character was less attractive than that of her sister, and in her love of collecting works of art she showed a somewhat grasping nature, being ever anxious to cut down the prices of the artists who worked for her.
Her sister Isabella d’Este (1474-1539), marchioness of Mantua, received a thorough education in both literature and the arts, similar to Beatrice, and got married at just sixteen to Francesco Gonzaga, marquis of Mantua (1490). She demonstrated significant diplomatic and political skills, particularly in her dealings with Cesare Borgia (q.v.), who had ousted Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, duke of Urbino, the husband of her sister-in-law and close friend Elisabetta Gonzaga (1502). She welcomed the deposed duke and duchess, along with other displaced royals, at her court in Mantua, which was one of the most vibrant in Italy. Like her sister, she brought together many notable writers and artists, including Raphael, Andrea Mantegna, and Giulio Romano, whom she employed. Both Isabella and her husband were greatly influenced by Baldassare Castiglione (1478-1529), author of Il Cortigiano, and it was at his suggestion that Giulio Romano was invited to Mantua to expand the Castello and other buildings. Isabella was “undoubtedly, among all the princesses of the 15th and 16th centuries, the one who most strikingly and perfectly personified the aspirations of the Renaissance” (Eugène Müntz); however, her personality was less appealing than her sister's, and in her passion for collecting art, she displayed a somewhat greedy nature, always looking to negotiate lower prices from the artists who worked for her.
To Ercole I. succeeded his son Alphonso I. (1486-1534), the husband of Lucrezia Borgia (q.v.), daughter of Pope Alexander VI. During nearly the whole of his reign he was engaged in the Italian wars, but by his diplomatic skill and his military ability he was for many years almost always successful. He was gifted with great mechanical skill, and his artillery was of world-wide reputation. On the formation of the league of Cambrai against Venice in 1508, he was appointed to the supreme command of the papal troops by Julius II.; but after the Venetians had sustained a number of reverses they made peace with the pope and joined him against the French. Alphonso was invited to co-operate in the new combination, and on his refusal war was declared against him; but although he began by losing Modena and Reggio, he subsequently inflicted several defeats on the papal troops. He fought on the side of the French at the battle of Ravenna (1512), from which, although victorious, they derived no advantage. Soon afterwards they retired from Italy, and Alphonso, finding himself abandoned, tried to make his peace with the pope, through the mediation of Fabrizio Colonna. He went to Rome for the purpose and received absolution, but on discovering that Julius meant to detain him a prisoner, he escaped in disguise, and the pope’s death in 1513 gave him a brief respite. But Leo X. proved equally bent on the destruction of the house of Este, when he too was cut off by death. Alphonso availed himself of the troubles of the papacy during the reign of the equally hostile Clement VII. to recapture Reggio (1523) and Modena (1527), and was confirmed in his possession of them by the emperor Charles V., in spite of Clement’s opposition.
To Ercole I succeeded his son Alphonso I (1486-1534), the husband of Lucrezia Borgia (q.v.), daughter of Pope Alexander VI. Throughout most of his reign, he was involved in the Italian wars, but thanks to his diplomatic skills and military talent, he was mostly successful for many years. He had exceptional mechanical skills, and his artillery was renowned worldwide. When the league of Cambrai was formed against Venice in 1508, he was put in charge of the papal troops by Julius II. However, after the Venetians experienced several defeats, they made peace with the pope and joined forces with him against the French. Alphonso was invited to participate in this new alliance, and when he refused, a war was declared against him. Although he initially lost Modena and Reggio, he later dealt the papal troops several defeats. He fought alongside the French at the battle of Ravenna (1512), which they won but gained no real advantage. Shortly after, they withdrew from Italy, and Alphonso, feeling abandoned, sought to reconcile with the pope through the help of Fabrizio Colonna. He went to Rome for this purpose and was granted absolution, but upon learning that Julius intended to keep him imprisoned, he escaped in disguise. Julius's death in 1513 provided him a brief respite, but Leo X was just as determined to destroy the House of Este, and he too died. Alphonso took advantage of the chaos in the papacy during the reign of the equally hostile Clement VII to retake Reggio (1523) and Modena (1527). He was confirmed in his control of these territories by Emperor Charles V, despite Clement's objections.
He died in 1534, and was succeeded by his son Ercole II. (1508-1559), who married Renée, daughter of Louis XII. of France, a princess of Protestant proclivities and a friend of Calvin. On joining the league of France and the papacy against Spain, Ercole was appointed lieutenant-general of the French army in Italy. The war was prosecuted, however, with little vigour, and peace was made with Spain in 1558. The duke and his brother, Cardinal Ippolito the Younger, were patrons of literature and art, and the latter built the magnificent Villa d’ Este at Tivoli. He was succeeded by Alphonso II. (1533-1597), remembered for his patronage of Tasso, whom he afterwards imprisoned. He reorganized the army, enriched the public library, encouraged agriculture, but was extravagant and dissipated. With him the main branch of the family came to an end, and although at his death he bequeathed the duchy to his cousin Cesare (1533-1628), Pope Clement VIII., renewing the Church’s hostility to the house of Este, declared that prince to be of illegitimate birth (a doubtful contention), and by a treaty with Lucrezia, Alphonso’s sister, Ferrara was made over to the Holy See. Cesare held Modena and Reggio, but with him the Estensi cease to play an important part in Italian politics. For two centuries this dynasty had been one of the greatest powers in Italy, and its court was perhaps the most splendid in Europe, both as regards pomp and luxury and on account of the eminent artists, poets and scholars which it attracted.
He died in 1534, and his son Ercole II (1508-1559) took over. Ercole married Renée, the daughter of Louis XII of France, who was a Protestant supporter and a friend of Calvin. When he joined the alliance of France and the papacy against Spain, Ercole was named lieutenant-general of the French army in Italy. However, the war was fought with little enthusiasm, and peace was reached with Spain in 1558. The duke and his brother, Cardinal Ippolito the Younger, supported literature and art, with Ippolito building the magnificent Villa d’Este at Tivoli. He was succeeded by Alphonso II (1533-1597), who is remembered for supporting Tasso, whom he later imprisoned. He reorganized the army, improved the public library, and promoted agriculture, but he was also extravagant and wasteful. With his death, the main branch of the family came to an end, and even though he left the duchy to his cousin Cesare (1533-1628), Pope Clement VIII renewed the Church’s opposition to the house of Este by declaring Cesare illegitimate (a questionable claim), and along with a treaty with Lucrezia, Alphonso’s sister, Ferrara was given to the Holy See. Cesare held Modena and Reggio, but with him, the Estensi stopped being significant in Italian politics. For two centuries, this dynasty had been one of the greatest powers in Italy, and its court was probably the most splendid in Europe, both for its extravagance and luxury and for the distinguished artists, poets, and scholars it attracted.
The subsequent heads of the family were: Alphonso III., who retired to a monastery in 1629 and died in 1644; Francis I. (1610-1658), who commanded the French army in Italy in 1647; Alphonso IV. (1634-1662), the father of Mary Beatrice, the queen of James II. of England, who fought in the French army during the Spanish War, and founded the picture gallery of Modena; Francis II. (1660-1694), who originated the Este library, also at Modena, and founded the university; Rinaldo (1655-1737), through whose marriage with Charlotte Felicitas of Brunswick-Lüneburg the long-separated branches of the house of Este were reunited; Francis III. (1698-1780), who married the daughter of the regent Philip of Orleans. Francis III. wished to remain neutral during the war between Spain and Austria (1740), but the imperialists having occupied and devastated his duchy, he took the Spanish side and was appointed generalissimo of the Spanish army in Italy. He was re-established in his possessions by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (1748), and on being reconciled with the empress Maria Theresa, he received from her the title of governor of Lombardy in 1754. With his son Ercole III. Rinaldo (1727-1803), who at the peace of Campoformio lost his duchy, the male line of the Estensi came to an end. His only daughter, Marie Beatrice (d. 1829), was married to the archduke Ferdinand, third son of the emperor Francis I. Ferdinand was created duke of Breisgau in 1803, and at his death in 1806 he was succeeded by his son Francis IV. (q.v.), to whom the duchy of Modena was given at the treaty of Vienna in 1814. He died in 1846 and was succeeded by Francis V. (q.v.), who lost his possessions by the events of 1859. With his death in 1875 the title and estates passed to the archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. The children of Lady Augusta Murray, daughter of the earl of Dunmore, by her marriage with Augustus Frederick, duke of Sussex, sixth son of George III. of Great Britain, assumed the old name of 794 d’ Este, and claimed recognition as members of the royal family; but as the marriage was in violation of the royal marriages act of 1773, it was declared invalid, and their claims were set aside.
The following heads of the family were: Alphonso III, who retired to a monastery in 1629 and died in 1644; Francis I (1610-1658), who led the French army in Italy in 1647; Alphonso IV (1634-1662), the father of Mary Beatrice, the queen of James II of England, who fought in the French army during the Spanish War and established the picture gallery in Modena; Francis II (1660-1694), who started the Este library in Modena and founded the university; Rinaldo (1655-1737), who married Charlotte Felicitas of Brunswick-Lüneburg, reuniting the long-separated branches of the house of Este; Francis III (1698-1780), who married the daughter of the regent Philip of Orleans. Francis III wanted to stay neutral during the war between Spain and Austria (1740), but as the imperialists occupied and devastated his duchy, he sided with Spain and was named generalissimo of the Spanish army in Italy. He was reinstated in his possessions by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (1748), and after reconciling with Empress Maria Theresa, he received the title of governor of Lombardy in 1754. With his son Ercole III Rinaldo (1727-1803), who lost his duchy at the peace of Campoformio, the male line of the Estensi came to an end. His only daughter, Marie Beatrice (d. 1829), married Archduke Ferdinand, the third son of Emperor Francis I. Ferdinand was made Duke of Breisgau in 1803, and upon his death in 1806, his son Francis IV (q.v.) succeeded him, receiving the duchy of Modena at the treaty of Vienna in 1814. He died in 1846 and was succeeded by Francis V (q.v.), who lost his possessions due to events in 1859. After his death in 1875, the title and estates passed to Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. The children of Lady Augusta Murray, daughter of the Earl of Dunmore, from her marriage to Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex, the sixth son of George III of Great Britain, took on the old name of d’Este and sought recognition as members of the royal family; however, since the marriage violated the Royal Marriages Act of 1773, it was declared invalid, and their claims were dismissed.
Bibliography.—G. Antonelli, Saggio di una bibliografia storica ferrarese (Ferrara, 1851); L.A. Muratori, Delle antichità estensi ed italiane (3 vols., 1717, &c.), the chief and most reliable authority on the subject, containing a quantity of documents; A. Frizzi, Memorie per la storia di Ferrara (2nd ed., Ferrara, 1847); A. Solerti, Ferrara e la corte estense nella seconda metà del sec. XVI. (Città di Castello, 1900); C. Antolini, Il dominio estense in Ferrara (Ferrara, 1896), which deals with the siege of 1240 and other special points; E.G. Gardner, Princes and Poets of Ferrara (London, 1904), a bulky volume dealing only with the Renaissance period, full of interesting and unpublished matter, especially about the literary and artistic associations of the house, but not well put together (contains good bibliography); G. Bertoni, La Biblioteca estense e la coltura ferrarese ai tempi del duca Ercole I. (Turin, 1903), useful for the literary aspect of the subject; P. Litta, Le Celebri Famiglie italiane, vol. iii. (Milan, 1831), still a valuable work; E. Noyes, The Story of Ferrara (London, 1904); Julia Cartwright’s Isabella d’Este (London, 1903), and Beatrice d’Este (1899), pleasantly written but amateurish volumes based on A. Luzio’s Mantova e Urbino (Turin, 1893); A. Luzio and R. Renier, “Delle relazioni di Isabella d’Este Gonzaga con Lodovico e Beatrice Sforza” (Milan, 1890, Archivio Storico Lombardo, xvii.).
References.—G. Antonelli, Essay on a Historical Bibliography of Ferrara (Ferrara, 1851); L.A. Muratori, On the Antiquities of Este and Italy (3 vols., 1717, etc.), the main and most trustworthy authority on the subject, containing numerous documents; A. Frizzi, Memoirs for the History of Ferrara (2nd ed., Ferrara, 1847); A. Solerti, Ferrara and the Este Court in the Second Half of the 16th Century (Città di Castello, 1900); C. Antolini, The Este Rule in Ferrara (Ferrara, 1896), which covers the siege of 1240 and other specific points; E.G. Gardner, Princes and Poets of Ferrara (London, 1904), a large volume focused solely on the Renaissance period, filled with interesting and unpublished material, especially regarding the literary and artistic connections of the house, though not very well organized (contains a good bibliography); G. Bertoni, The Este Library and Ferrarese Culture in the Time of Duke Ercole I (Turin, 1903), useful for the literary side of the topic; P. Litta, The Famous Italian Families, vol. iii. (Milan, 1831), still a valuable work; E. Noyes, The Story of Ferrara (London, 1904); Julia Cartwright’s Isabella d’Este (London, 1903), and Beatrice d’Este (1899), well-written but amateurish volumes based on A. Luzio’s Mantova and Urbino (Turin, 1893); A. Luzio and R. Renier, “On the Relationships of Isabella d’Este Gonzaga with Lodovico and Beatrice Sforza” (Milan, 1890, Historical Archive of Lombardy, xvii.).
ESTE (anc. Ateste, q.v.), a town and episcopal see of Venetia, Italy, in the province of Padua, 20 m. S.S.W. of it by rail. Pop. (1901) 8671 (town); 10,779 (commune). It lies 49 ft. above sea-level below the southern slopes of the Euganean Hills. The external walls of the castle still rise above the town on the N., but the interior is now occupied by the cattle-market. A fragment of the once enormous Palazzo Mocenigo, of the 16th century, is now occupied by the important archaeological museum (see Ateste). The cathedral was erected in 1690-1720, on the site of an older building destroyed by an earthquake in 1688. S. Martino is a church in the Lombard Romanesque style. The archives in the Palazzo Comunale are important.
ESTE (formerly Ateste, q.v.), a town and episcopal see of Venetia, Italy, located in the province of Padua, 20 miles S.S.W. of it by rail. Population (1901) 8,671 (town); 10,779 (commune). It sits 49 feet above sea level at the base of the southern slopes of the Euganean Hills. The outer walls of the castle still stand above the town to the north, but the inside is now used for the cattle-market. A remnant of the once grand Palazzo Mocenigo from the 16th century now houses the significant archaeological museum (see Ateste). The cathedral was built between 1690 and 1720 on the site of an earlier structure that was destroyed by an earthquake in 1688. S. Martino is a church in the Lombard Romanesque style. The archives in the Palazzo Comunale are notable.
After the Roman period the history of Este is a blank until the Lombard period, in which it was dependent on Monselice. In the 10th century the family of Este (see above) established itself in the castle above the town. At the end of the 13th century Padua, which had already captured Este more than once, became definitely mistress of it. When the Carrara family succumbed in 1405, Este voluntarily surrendered to Venice and was allowed its independence, under a podestà; and thenceforth it followed the fortunes of Venetia.
After the Roman period, the history of Este is a blank until the Lombard period, when it was under the authority of Monselice. In the 10th century, the Este family (see above) established themselves in the castle above the town. By the end of the 13th century, Padua, which had captured Este multiple times, finally became its ruler. When the Carrara family fell in 1405, Este willingly surrendered to Venice and was granted independence under a podestà; from then on, it followed the fate of Venetia.
ESTÉBANEZ CALDERÓN, SERAFÍN (1799-1867), a Spanish author, best known by the pseudonym of “El Solitario,” was born at Málaga on the 27th of December 1799. His first literary effort was El Listón verde, a poem signed “Safinio” and written to celebrate the revolution of 1820. He was called to the bar, and settled for some time at Madrid, where he published a volume of verses in 1831 under the assumed name of “El Solitario.” He obtained an exaggerated reputation as an Arabic scholar, and played a minor part in the political movements of his time. He died at Madrid on the 5th of February 1867. His most interesting work, Escenas andaluzas (1847), is in a curiously affected style, the vocabulary being partly archaic and partly provincial; but, despite its eccentric mannerisms, it is a vivid record of picturesque scenes and local customs. Estébanez Calderón is also the author of an unfinished history, De la conquista y pérdida de Portugal (1883), issued posthumously under the editorship of his nephew, Antonio Cánovas del Castillo.
ESTÉBANEZ CALDERÓN, SERAFÍN (1799-1867), a Spanish author better known by the pseudonym “El Solitario,” was born in Málaga on December 27, 1799. His first literary work was El Listón verde, a poem signed “Safinio” that celebrated the revolution of 1820. He trained as a lawyer and lived for a while in Madrid, where he published a collection of poems in 1831 under the name “El Solitario.” He gained an inflated reputation as an Arabic scholar and played a minor role in the political movements of his time. He passed away in Madrid on February 5, 1867. His most notable work, Escenas andaluzas (1847), features a Curiously, "On the Conquest and Loss of Portugal" (1883) was published posthumously under the editorship of his nephew, Antonio Cánovas del Castillo.
ESTELLA, a town of northern Spain, in the province of Navarre, on the left bank of the river Ega, 15 m. W.S.W. of Pamplona. Pop. (1900) 5736. Estella, which occupies the site of a Roman town of uncertain name, contains several monasteries and churches, a medieval citadel, and a college which was formerly a university. Its principal industries are the manufacture of woollen and linen fabrics and brandy-making; and it has a considerable trade in fruit, wine and cattle. Estella commands several defiles on the roads from Castile and Aragon, and on that account occupies a position of considerable strategic importance. It was long the headquarters of Don Carlos, who was proclaimed king here in 1833. In 1873 it was the chief stronghold of the Carlists, and in 1874, when driven from other places, they succeeded in retiring to Estella. On the 16th of February 1876 the Carlists in the town surrendered unconditionally. For an account of the Carlist rising see Spain: History.
ESTELLA, a town in northern Spain, located in the province of Navarre on the left bank of the Ega River, is 15 miles W.S.W. of Pamplona. Population (1900) was 5,736. Estella is built on the site of an ancient Roman town with an uncertain name and features several monasteries and churches, a medieval fortress, and a college that used to be a university. Its main industries include the production of wool and linen fabrics and brandy-making, along with significant trade in fruit, wine, and cattle. Estella oversees several passes along the routes from Castile and Aragon, giving it considerable strategic importance. It served as the main base for Don Carlos, who was proclaimed king here in 1833. In 1873, it was the key stronghold of the Carlists, and in 1874, when pushed out of other locations, they managed to retreat to Estella. On February 16, 1876, the Carlists in the town surrendered without conditions. For more on the Carlist rising, see Spain: History.
ESTERHÁZY OF GALÁNTHA, a noble Magyar family. Its origin has been traced, not without some uncertainty, to Salamon of Estoras, whose sons Péter and Illyés divided their patrimony in 1238. Péter founded the family of Zerházy, and Illyés that of Illyesházy, which became extinct in the male line in 1838. The first member of the family to emerge definitely into history was Ferencz Zerházy (1563-1594), vice lord-lieutenant of the county of Pressburg, who took the name of Esterházy when he was created Freiherr of Galántha, an estate acquired by the family in 1421. His eldest son, Dániel (d. 1654), founded the house of Czesznek, the third, Pál (d. 1641), the line of Zólyom (Altsohl), and the fourth, Miklós, that branch of the family which occupies the most considerable place in Hungarian history, that of Fraknó or Forchtenstein.
ESTERHÁZY OF GALÁNTHA, is a noble Hungarian family. Its origin, though somewhat uncertain, is linked to Salamon of Estoras, whose sons Péter and Illyés split their inheritance in 1238. Péter started the family of Zerházy, while Illyés founded the line of Illyesházy, which died out in 1838. The first well-documented member of the family was Ferencz Zerházy (1563-1594), vice lord-lieutenant of Pressburg County, who adopted the name Esterházy when he was made Freiherr of Galántha, an estate the family acquired in 1421. His eldest son, Dániel (d. 1654), established the house of Czesznek, the third son, Pál (d. 1641), founded the line of Zólyom (Altsohl), and the fourth son, Miklós, became the branch of the family that holds the most significant role in Hungarian history, that of Fraknó or Forchtenstein.
This Miklós [Nicholas] Esterházy of Galántha (1582-1645) was born at Galántha on the 8th of April 1582. His parents were Protestants, and he himself, at first, followed the Protestant persuasion; but he subsequently went over to Catholicism and, along with Cardinal Pázmány, his most serious rival at court, became a pillar of Catholicism, both religiously and politically, and a worthy opponent of the two great Protestant champions of the period, Gabriel Bethlen and George I. Rákóczy. In 1611 he married Orsolyá, the widow of the wealthy Ferencz Mágocsy, thus coming into possession of her gigantic estates, and in 1622 he acquired Fraknó. Matthias II. made him a baron (1613), count of Beregh (1617), and lord-lieutenant of the county of Zólyom and magister curiae regiae (1618). At the coronation of Ferdinand II., when he officiated as grand-standard-bearer, he received the order of the Golden Fleece and fresh donations. At the diet of Sopron, 1625, he was elected palatine of Hungary. As a diplomatist he powerfully contributed to bring about the peace of Nikolsburg (1622) and the peace of Linz (1645) (see Hungary: History). His political ideal was the consolidation of the Habsburg dynasty as a means towards freeing Hungary from the Turkish yoke. He himself, on one occasion (1623), defeated the Turks on the banks of the Nyitra; but anything like sustained operations against them was then impossible. He was also one of the most eminent writers of his day. He died at Nagy-Heflán on the 11th of September 1645, leaving five sons.
This Miklós [Nicholas] Esterházy of Galántha (1582-1645) was born in Galántha on April 8, 1582. His parents were Protestants, and he initially followed that faith. However, he later converted to Catholicism and, alongside Cardinal Pázmány, his main rival at court, became a key supporter of Catholicism, both religiously and politically, and a formidable opponent of the two major Protestant leaders of the time, Gabriel Bethlen and George I. Rákóczy. In 1611, he married Orsolyá, the widow of the wealthy Ferencz Mágocsy, gaining control of her vast estates, and in 1622 he acquired Fraknó. Matthias II made him a baron in 1613, count of Beregh in 1617, and lord-lieutenant of the county of Zólyom and magister curiae regiae in 1618. At the coronation of Ferdinand II, when he served as grand-standard-bearer, he received the Order of the Golden Fleece and additional gifts. At the diet of Sopron in 1625, he was elected palatine of Hungary. As a diplomat, he played a significant role in achieving the peace of Nikolsburg (1622) and the peace of Linz (1645) (see Hungary: History). His political goal was to strengthen the Habsburg dynasty as a way to liberate Hungary from Turkish rule. He once defeated the Turks on the banks of the Nyitra in 1623, but large-scale military operations against them were not feasible at the time. He was also one of the most prominent writers of his era. He died in Nagy-Heflán on September 11, 1645, leaving behind five sons.
See Works of Nicholas Esterházy, with a biography by Ferencz Toldi (Hung.) (Pest, 1852); Nicholas Count Esterházy, Palatine of Hungary (a biography, Hung.) (Pest, 1863-1870).
See Works of Nicholas Esterházy, with a biography by Ferencz Toldi (Hung.) (Pest, 1852); Nicholas Count Esterházy, Palatine of Hungary (a biography, Hung.) (Pest, 1863-1870).
His third son Pál [Paul] (1635-1713), prince palatine, founded the princely branch of the family of Esterházy. He was born at Kis Marton (Eisenstadt) on the 7th of September 1635. In 1663 he fought, along with Miklós Zrinyi, against the Turks, and distinguished himself under Montecuculi. In 1667 he was appointed commander-in-chief in south Hungary, where he defeated the malcontents at Leutschau and Györk. In 1681 he was elected palatine. In 1683 he participated in the deliverance of Vienna from the Turks, and entered Buda in 1686 at the head of 20,000 men. Thoroughly reactionary, and absolutely devoted to the Habsburgs, he contributed more than any one else to the curtailing of the privileges of the Magyar gentry in 1687, when he was created a prince of the Empire, with (in 1712) succession to the first-born of his house. His “aulic tendencies” made him so unpopular that his offer of mediation between the Rákóczy insurgents and the government was rejected by the Hungarian diet, and the negotiations, which led to the peace of Szatmár (see Hungary: History), were entrusted to János Pállfy. He died on the 26th of March 1713. He loved the arts and sciences, wrote several religious works, and was one of the chief compilers of the Trophaeum Domus Inclytae Estoratianae.
His third son Pál [Paul] (1635-1713), prince palatine, established the princely branch of the Esterházy family. He was born in Kis Marton (Eisenstadt) on September 7, 1635. In 1663, he fought alongside Miklós Zrinyi against the Turks and distinguished himself under Montecuculi. In 1667, he was appointed commander-in-chief in southern Hungary, where he defeated the rebels at Leutschau and Györk. In 1681, he was elected palatine. In 1683, he took part in the liberation of Vienna from the Turks and led 20,000 men into Buda in 1686. Strongly conservative and completely loyal to the Habsburgs, he played a bigger role than anyone else in limiting the privileges of the Magyar gentry in 1687. That same year, he was named a prince of the Empire, with (in 1712) succession rights for the first-born of his line. His “courtly tendencies” made him so unpopular that the Hungarian diet rejected his offer to mediate between the Rákóczy insurgents and the government, and the negotiations that led to the peace of Szatmár (see Hungary: History) were assigned to János Pállfy. He died on March 26, 1713. He appreciated the arts and sciences, wrote several religious works, and was one of the main contributors to the Trophaeum Domus Inclytae Estoratianae.
See Lajos Merényi, Prince Paul Esterházy (Hung.) (Budapest, 1895).
See Lajos Merényi, Prince Paul Esterházy (Hung.) (Budapest, 1895).
Prince Pál Antal, grandson of the prince palatine Pál, was a distinguished soldier, who rose to the rank of field-marshal in 1758. On his death in 1762 he was succeeded by his brother.
Prince Pál Antal, grandson of the prince palatine Pál, was a notable soldier who achieved the rank of field marshal in 1758. After he passed away in 1762, his brother took over his position.
Prince Miklós József [Nicholas Joseph] (1714-1790), also a brilliant soldier, is perhaps best remembered as a patron of the fine arts. For his services in command of an infantry brigade at Kolin (1757) he was specially mentioned by Count Daun, and became one of the original members of the order of Maria Theresa. In 1762 he was appointed captain of Maria Theresa’s Hungarian body-guard, in 1764 Feldzeugmeister, and in 1768 field marshal. His other honours included the Golden Fleece and the grade of commander in the order of Maria Theresa. Joseph II. conferred the princely title, which had previously been limited to the eldest-born of the house, on all his descendants, male and female. Esterházy died in Vienna on the 28th of September 1790. He rebuilt in the Renaissance style Schloss Esterházy, the splendour of which won for it the name of the Hungarian Versailles. Haydn was for thirty years conductor of his private orchestra and general musical director, and many of his compositions were written for the private theatre and the concerts of this prince.
Prince Miklós József [Nicholas Joseph] (1714-1790), also a remarkable soldier, is perhaps best known as a supporter of the fine arts. For his leadership of an infantry brigade at Kolin (1757), he received special mention from Count Daun and became one of the original members of the order of Maria Theresa. In 1762, he was appointed captain of Maria Theresa’s Hungarian bodyguard, in 1764 Feldzeugmeister, and in 1768 field marshal. His other honors included the Golden Fleece and the rank of commander in the order of Maria Theresa. Joseph II granted the princely title, which had previously been reserved for the eldest born of the house, to all his descendants, both male and female. Esterházy died in Vienna on September 28, 1790. He renovated Schloss Esterházy in the Renaissance style, which became known as the Hungarian Versailles due to its grandeur. Haydn served as the conductor of his private orchestra and general musical director for thirty years, and many of his compositions were created for the private theater and concerts of this prince.
His grandson, Prince Miklós [Nicholas] (1765-1833) was born on the 12th of December 1765. He began life as an officer in the guards, subsequently making the grand tour, which first awakened his deep interest in art. He quitted the army for diplomacy after reaching the rank of Feldzeugmeister, and was employed as extraordinary ambassador, on special occasions, when he displayed a magnificence extraordinary even for the Esterházys. He made at Vienna an important collection of paintings and engravings, which came into the possession of the Hungarian Academy at Budapest in 1865. At his summer palace of Kis Marton (Eisenstadt) he erected a monument to Haydn. His immense expenditure on building and the arts involved the family in financial difficulties for two generations. When the French invaded Austria in 1797, he raised a regiment of 1000 men at his own expense. In 1809, when Napoleon invited the Magyars to elect a new king to replace the Habsburgs, overtures were made to Prince Nicholas, who refused the honour and, further, raised a regiment of volunteers in defence of Austrian interests. He died at Como on the 24th of November 1833.
His grandson, Prince Miklós [Nicholas] (1765-1833) was born on December 12, 1765. He started his career as an officer in the guards and later went on the grand tour, which sparked his passion for art. He left the army for a career in diplomacy after reaching the rank of Feldzeugmeister and served as an extraordinary ambassador on special occasions, showcasing a level of extravagance that was remarkable even for the Esterházys. In Vienna, he amassed an important collection of paintings and engravings, which became part of the Hungarian Academy in Budapest in 1865. At his summer palace in Kis Marton (Eisenstadt), he built a monument to Haydn. His large spending on construction and the arts put the family in financial trouble for two generations. When the French invaded Austria in 1797, he raised a regiment of 1,000 men at his own cost. In 1809, when Napoleon urged the Magyars to elect a new king to take the place of the Habsburgs, Prince Nicholas was approached but turned down the offer, and instead, he raised a volunteer regiment to defend Austrian interests. He passed away in Como on November 24, 1833.
His son, Prince Pál Antal [Paul Anthony] (1786-1866), entered the diplomatic service. In 1806 he was secretary of the embassy in London, and in 1807 worked with Prince Metternich in the same capacity in Paris. In 1810 he was accredited to the court of Dresden, where he tried in vain to detach Saxony from Napoleon, and in 1814 he accompanied his father on a secret mission to Rome. He took a leading part in all the diplomatic negotiations consequent upon the wars of 1813-1815, especially at the congress of Châtillon, and on the conclusion of peace was, at the express desire of the prince regent, sent as ambassador to London. In 1824 he represented Austria as ambassador extraordinary at the coronation of Charles X., and was the premier Austrian commissioner at the London conferences of 1830-1836. In 1842 he quitted diplomacy for politics and attached himself to “the free-principles party.” He was minister for foreign affairs in the first responsible Hungarian ministry (1848), but resigned his post in September because he could see no way of reconciling the court with the nation. The last years of his life were spent in comparative poverty and isolation, as even the Esterházy-Forchtenstein estates were unequal to the burden of supporting his fabulous extravagance and had to be placed in the hands of curators.
His son, Prince Pál Antal [Paul Anthony] (1786-1866), joined the diplomatic service. In 1806, he served as the secretary of the embassy in London, and in 1807, he worked alongside Prince Metternich in the same role in Paris. In 1810, he was assigned to the court of Dresden, where he unsuccessfully tried to persuade Saxony to distance itself from Napoleon. In 1814, he accompanied his father on a secret mission to Rome. He played a major role in all the diplomatic negotiations following the wars of 1813-1815, especially at the Congress of Châtillon, and after the peace was concluded, he was sent as the ambassador to London at the specific request of the prince regent. In 1824, he represented Austria as an extraordinary ambassador at Charles X's coronation, and he was the leading Austrian commissioner at the London conferences of 1830-1836. In 1842, he left diplomacy for politics and joined the “free-principles party.” He was the minister for foreign affairs in the first responsible Hungarian ministry (1848) but resigned in September because he saw no way to reconcile the court with the nation. The last years of his life were spent in relative poverty and isolation, as even the Esterházy-Forchtenstein estates could no longer support his extravagant lifestyle and had to be entrusted to curators.
The cadet branch of the house of Fraknó, the members of which bear the title of count, was divided into three lines by the sons of Ferencz Esterházy (1641-1683).
The cadet branch of the house of Fraknó, whose members hold the title of count, was divided into three lines by the sons of Ferencz Esterházy (1641-1683).
The eldest of these, Count Antal (1676-1722), distinguished himself in the war against Rákóczy in 1703, but changed sides in 1704 and commanded the left wing of the Kuruczis at the engagements of Nagyszombat (1704) and Vereskö (1705). In 1706 he defeated the imperialist general Guido Stahremberg and penetrated to the walls of Vienna. Still more successful were his operations in the campaign of 1708, when he ravaged Styria, twice invaded Austria, and again threatened Vienna, on which occasion the emperor Joseph narrowly escaped falling into his hands. In 1709 he was routed by the superior forces of General Sigbert Heister at Palota, but brought off the remainder of his arms very skilfully. In 1710 he joined Rákóczy in Poland and accompanied him to France and Turkey. He died in exile at Rodosto on the shores of the Black Sea. His son Bálint József [Valentine Joseph], by Anna Maria Nigrelli, entered the French army, and was the founder of the Hallewyll, or French, branch of the family, which became extinct in the male line in 1876 with Count Ladislas.
The oldest of them, Count Count (1676-1722), made a name for himself during the war against Rákóczy in 1703 but switched sides in 1704 and led the left wing of the Kuruczis in the battles of Nagyszombat (1704) and Vereskö (1705). In 1706, he defeated the imperial general Guido Stahremberg and reached the walls of Vienna. His actions in the campaign of 1708 were even more impressive, as he devastated Styria, invaded Austria twice, and once again posed a threat to Vienna, where Emperor Joseph narrowly escaped capture. In 1709, he was defeated by the larger forces of General Sigbert Heister at Palota, but he skillfully managed to salvage the rest of his troops. In 1710, he joined Rákóczy in Poland and traveled with him to France and Turkey. He died in exile at Rodosto on the Black Sea coast. His son Bálint József [Valentine Joseph], with Anna Maria Nigrelli, joined the French army and became the founder of the Hallewyll, or French, branch of the family, which went extinct in the male line in 1876 with Count Ladislas.
See Count Esterházy’s Campaign Diary (Hung.), ed. by K. Thaly (Pest, 1901).
See Count Esterházy’s Campaign Diary (Hung.), ed. by K. Thaly (Pest, 1901).
Count Bálint Miklós (1740-1805), son of Bálint József, was an enthusiastic partisan of the duc de Choiseul, on whose dismissal, in 1764, he resigned the command of the French regiment of which he was the colonel. It was Esterházy who conveyed to Marie Antoinette the portrait of Louis XVI. on the occasion of their betrothal, and the close relations he maintained with her after her marriage were more than once the occasion of remonstrance on the part of Maria Theresa, who never seems to have forgotten that he was the grandson of a rebel. At the French court he stood in high favour with the comte d’Artois. He was raised to the rank of maréchal de camp, and made inspector of troops in the French service in 1780. At the outbreak of the French Revolution, he was stationed at Valenciennes, where he contrived for a time to keep order, and facilitated the escape of the French emigrés by way of Namur; but, in 1790, he hastened back to Paris to assist the king. At the urgent entreaty of the comte d’Artois in 1791 he quitted Paris for Coblenz, accompanied Artois to Vienna, and was sent to the court of St Petersburg the same year to enlist the sympathies of Catherine II. for the Bourbons. He received an estate from Catherine II., and although the gift was rescinded by Paul I., another was eventually granted him. He died at Grodek in Volhynia on the 23rd of July 1805.
Count Bálint Miklós (1740-1805), son of Bálint József, was a passionate supporter of duc de Choiseul. When Choiseul was dismissed in 1764, he stepped down from his position as colonel of the French regiment. It was Esterházy who delivered the portrait of Louis XVI to Marie Antoinette on the occasion of their engagement, and the close ties he maintained with her after her marriage led to several complaints from Maria Theresa, who never seemed to forget that he was the grandson of a rebel. At the French court, he was well-liked by comte d’Artois. He was promoted to the rank of maréchal de camp and became inspector of troops in the French service in 1780. When the French Revolution broke out, he was stationed in Valenciennes, where he managed to maintain order for a time and helped French emigrés escape through Namur. However, in 1790, he rushed back to Paris to support the king. At the urgent request of comte d’Artois in 1791, he left Paris for Coblenz, accompanied Artois to Vienna, and was sent to the court of St. Petersburg that same year to gain Catherine II’s support for the Bourbons. He was granted an estate by Catherine II, and although Paul I later revoked it, he eventually received another one. He died at Grodek in Volhynia on July 23, 1805.
See Mémoires, ed. by E. Daudet (Fr.) (Paris, 1905), and Lettres (Paris, 1906).
See Mémoires, edited by E. Daudet (Fr.) (Paris, 1905), and Lettres (Paris, 1906).
Two other sons of Count Ferencz (d. 1685), Ferencz and József, founded the houses of Dotis and Cseklész (Landschütz) respectively. Of their descendants, Count Móricz (1807-1890) of Dotis, Austrian ambassador in Rome until 1856, became in 1861 a member of the ministry formed by Anton Schmerling and in 1865 joined the clerical cabinet of Richard Belcredi. His bitter hostility to Prussia helped to force the government of Vienna into the war of 1866. His official career closed in 1866, but he remained one of the leaders of the clerical party.
Two other sons of Count Ferencz (d. 1685), Ferencz and József, started the families of Dotis and Cseklész (Landschütz) respectively. Among their descendants, Count Móricz (1807-1890) of Dotis, who served as the Austrian ambassador in Rome until 1856, became a member of the ministry formed by Anton Schmerling in 1861 and joined Richard Belcredi's clerical cabinet in 1865. His strong opposition to Prussia pressured the Vienna government into the war of 1866. His official career ended in 1866, but he remained a leader of the clerical party.
See also Count János Esterházy, Description of the Esterházy Family (Hung., Budapest, 1901).
See also Count János Esterházy, Description of the Esterházy Family (Hung., Budapest, 1901).
ESTERS, in organic chemistry, compounds formed by the condensation of an alcohol and an acid, with elimination of water; they may also be considered as derivatives of alcohols, in which the hydroxylic hydrogen has been replaced by an acid radical, or as acids in which the hydrogen of the carboxyl group has been replaced by an alkyl or aryl group. In the case of the polybasic acids, all the hydrogen atoms can be replaced in this way, and the compounds formed are known as “neutral esters.” If, however, some of the hydrogen of the acid remain undisplaced, then “acid esters” result. These acid esters retain some of the characteristic properties of the acids, forming, for example, salts, with basic oxides. Esters may be prepared by heating the silver salt of an acid with an alkyl iodide; by heating the alcohols or alcoholates with an acid chloride; by distilling the anhydrous sodium salt of an acid with a mixture of the alcohol and concentrated sulphuric acid; or by heating for some hours on the water bath, a mixture of an acid and an alcohol, with a small quantity of hydrochloric or sulphuric acids (E. Fischer and A. Speier, Ber., 1896, 28, p. 3252).
ESTERS, are compounds in organic chemistry created by combining an alcohol and an acid, resulting in the removal of water. They can also be seen as modifications of alcohols where the hydroxyl hydrogen is replaced by an acid group, or as acids where the hydrogen in the carboxyl group is substituted with an alkyl or aryl group. For polybasic acids, all hydrogen atoms can be replaced, resulting in “neutral esters.” If some of the hydrogen in the acid remains, the result is “acid esters.” These acid esters keep some of the typical properties of the acids, such as forming salts with basic oxides. Esters can be made by heating the silver salt of an acid with an alkyl iodide; by heating alcohols or alcoholates with an acid chloride; by distilling the anhydrous sodium salt of an acid mixed with alcohol and concentrated sulfuric acid; or by gently heating a mixture of an acid and an alcohol with a small amount of hydrochloric or sulfuric acids for several hours on a water bath (E. Fischer and A. Speier, Ber., 1896, 28, p. 3252).
The esters of the aliphatic and aromatic acids are colourless neutral liquids, which are generally insoluble in water, but readily dissolve in alcohol and ether. Many possess a fragrant odour and are prepared in large quantities for use as artificial fruit essences. They hydrolyse readily when boiled with solutions of caustic alkalies or mineral acids, yielding the constituent acid and alcohol. When heated with ammonia, they yield acid amides (q.v.). They form unstable addition products with sodium ethylate or methylate. With the Grignard reagent, they 796 form addition compounds which on the addition of water yield tertiary alcohols, except in the case of ethyl formate, where a secondary alcohol is obtained.
The esters of both aliphatic and aromatic acids are colorless, neutral liquids that are usually insoluble in water but easily dissolve in alcohol and ether. Many have a pleasant fragrance and are made in large amounts for use as artificial fruit flavors. They break down easily when boiled with solutions of strong bases or mineral acids, producing the original acid and alcohol. When heated with ammonia, they create acid amides (q.v.). They form unstable addition compounds with sodium ethylate or methylate. With the Grignard reagent, they 796 create addition compounds that, when water is added, yield tertiary alcohols, except in the case of ethyl formate, which produces a secondary alcohol.

N. Menschutkin (Ber., 1882, 15, p. 1445; Ann., 1879, 195, p. 334) examined the rate of esterification of many acids with alcohols. It was found that the normal primary alcohols were all esterified at about the same rate, the secondary alcohols more slowly than the primary, and the tertiary alcohols still more slowly. The investigation also showed that the nature of the acid used affected the result, for in an homologous series of acids it was found that as the molecule of the acid became more complex, the rate of esterification became less. The formation of an ester by the interaction of an acid with an alcohol is a “reversible” or “balanced” action, for as M. Berthelot and L. Péan de St Gilles (Ann. Chim. Phys., 1862 (3), 65, p. 385 et seq.) have shown in the case of the formation of ethyl acetate from ethyl alcohol and acetic acid, a point of equilibrium is reached, beyond which the reacting system cannot pass, unless the system be disturbed in some way by the removal of one of the products of the reaction. V. Meyer (Ber., 1894, 27, p. 510 et seq.) showed that in benzenoid compounds ortho-substituents exert a great hindering effect on the esterification of alcohols by acids in the presence of hydrochloric acid, this hindering being particularly marked when two substituents are present in the ortho positions to the carboxyl group. In such a case the ester is best prepared by the action of an alkyl halide on the silver salt of the acid, and when once prepared, can only be hydrolysed with great difficulty.
N. Menschutkin (Ber., 1882, 15, p. 1445; Ann., 1879, 195, p. 334) studied the esterification rates of various acids with alcohols. It was observed that normal primary alcohols were all esterified at similar rates, secondary alcohols more slowly than primaries, and tertiary alcohols even more slowly. The study also revealed that the type of acid used influenced the results; in a homologous series of acids, as the acid molecule became more complex, the rate of esterification decreased. The creation of an ester through the reaction of an acid and an alcohol is a “reversible” or “balanced” process, as M. Berthelot and L. Péan de St Gilles (Ann. Chim. Phys., 1862 (3), 65, p. 385 et seq.) demonstrated in the formation of ethyl acetate from ethyl alcohol and acetic acid. An equilibrium point is reached, beyond which the reacting system can't progress unless it is disturbed in some way, such as by removing one of the reaction products. V. Meyer (Ber., 1894, 27, p. 510 et seq.) showed that in benzenoid compounds, ortho-substituents significantly impede the esterification of alcohols by acids in the presence of hydrochloric acid, with this hindrance being especially pronounced when two substituents are located in the ortho positions relative to the carboxyl group. In such instances, it's best to prepare the ester by reacting an alkyl halide with the silver salt of the acid, and once formed, it can only be hydrolyzed with considerable difficulty.
Ethyl formate, H·CO2C2H5, boils at 55° C. and has been used in the artificial preparation of rum. Ethyl acetate (acetic ether), CH3·CO2C2H5, boils at 75° C. Isoamylisovalerate, C4H9·CO2C5H11, boils at 196° C. and has an odour of apples. Ethyl butyrate, C3H7·CO2C2H5, boils at 121° C. and has an odour of pineapple. The fats (q.v.) and waxes (q.v.) are the esters of the higher fatty acids and alcohols. The esters of the higher fatty acids, when distilled under atmospheric pressure, are decomposed, and yield an olefine and a fatty acid.
Ethyl formate, H·CO2C2H5, boils at 55° C and has been used to artificially create rum. Ethyl acetate (acetic ether), CH3·CO2C2H5, boils at 75° C. Isoamylisovalerate, C4H9·CO2C5H11, boils at 196° C and smells like apples. Ethyl butyrate, C3H7·CO2C2H5, boils at 121° C and smells like pineapple. Fats (q.v.) and waxes (q.v.) are esters of higher fatty acids and alcohols. When the esters of higher fatty acids are distilled under atmospheric pressure, they break down to produce an olefine and a fatty acid.
Esters of the mineral acids are also known and may be prepared by the ordinary methods as given above. The neutral esters are as a rule insoluble in water and distil unchanged; on the other hand, the acid esters are generally soluble in water, are non-volatile, and form salts with bases. Ethyl hydrogen sulphate (sulphovinic acid), C2H5·HSO4, is obtained by the action of concentrated sulphuric acid on alcohol. The ester is separated from the solution by means of its barium salt, and the salt decomposed by the addition of the calculated amount of sulphuric acid. It is a colourless oily liquid of strongly acid reaction; its aqueous solution decomposes on standing and on heating it forms diethyl sulphate and sulphuric acid. Dimethyl sulphate, (CH3)2SO4, is a colourless liquid which boils at 187°-188° C., with partial decomposition. It is used as a methylating agent (F. Ullmann). Great care should be taken in using dimethyl and diethyl sulphates, as the respiratory organs are affected by the vapours, leading to severe attacks of pneumonia. Ethyl nitrate, C2H5·ONO2, is a colourless liquid which boils at 86.3° C. It is prepared by the action of nitric acid on ethyl alcohol (some urea being added to the nitric acid, in order to destroy any nitrous acid that might be produced in secondary reactions and which, if not removed, would cause explosive decomposition of the ethyl nitrate). It burns with a white flame and is soluble in water. When heated with ammonia it yields ethylamine nitrate, and when reduced with tin and hydrochloric acid it forms hydroxylamine (q.v.) (W.C. Lossen). Ethyl nitrite, C2H5·ONO, is a liquid which boils at 18° C.; the crude product obtained by distilling a mixture of alcohol, sulphuric and nitric acids and copper turnings is used in medicine under the name of “sweet spirits of nitre.” Amyl nitrite, C5H11·ONO, boils at 96° C. and is used in the preparation of the anhydrous diazonium salts (E. Knoevenagel, Ber., 1890, 23, p. 2094). It is also used in medicine.
Esters of mineral acids are also known and can be prepared using the standard methods mentioned earlier. Neutral esters are usually insoluble in water and distill unchanged, while acid esters are typically soluble in water, non-volatile, and form salts with bases. Ethyl hydrogen sulfate (sulphovinic acid), C2H5·HSO4, is produced by reacting concentrated sulfuric acid with alcohol. The ester is separated from the solution using its barium salt, which is then decomposed by adding a calculated amount of sulfuric acid. It appears as a colorless oily liquid with a strongly acidic reaction; its aqueous solution breaks down over time and, when heated, it produces diethyl sulfate and sulfuric acid. Dimethyl sulfate, (CH3)2SO4, is a colorless liquid that boils at 187°-188° C, with some decomposition. It is used as a methylating agent (F. Ullmann). Extreme caution is needed when handling dimethyl and diethyl sulfates, as their vapors can harm the respiratory system, potentially leading to severe pneumonia. Ethyl nitrate, C2H5·ONO2, is a colorless liquid that boils at 86.3° C. It is made by reacting nitric acid with ethyl alcohol, with some urea added to the nitric acid to eliminate any nitrous acid that could form in secondary reactions and potentially cause explosive decomposition of the ethyl nitrate. It burns with a white flame and is soluble in water. When heated with ammonia, it produces ethylamine nitrate, and when reduced with tin and hydrochloric acid, it yields hydroxylamine (q.v.) (W.C. Lossen). Ethyl nitrite, C2H5·ONO, is a liquid that boils at 18° C.; the crude product obtained by distilling a mix of alcohol, sulfuric and nitric acids, and copper turnings is used in medicine as “sweet spirits of nitre.” Amyl nitrite, C5H11·ONO, boils at 96° C and is used to prepare anhydrous diazonium salts (E. Knoevenagel, Ber., 1890, 23, p. 2094). It is also used in medicine.
ESTHER. The Book of Esther, in the Bible, relates how a Jewish maiden, Esther, cousin and foster-daughter of Mordecai, was made his queen by the Persian king Ahasuerus (Xerxes) after he had divorced Vashti; next, how Esther and Mordecai frustrated Haman’s endeavour to extirpate the Jews; how Haman, the grand-vizier, fell, and Mordecai succeeded him; how Esther obtained the king’s permission for the Jews to destroy all who might attack them on the day which Haman had appointed by lot for their destruction; and lastly, how the feast of Purim (Lots?) was instituted to commemorate their deliverance. Frequent incidental references are made to Persian court-usages (explanations are given in i. 13, viii. 8), while on the other hand the religious rites of the Jews (except fasting), and even Jerusalem and the temple, and the name of Israel, are studiously ignored. Even the name of God is not once mentioned, perhaps from a dread of its profanation during the Saturnalia of Purim. The early popularity of the book is shown by the interpolated passages in the Septuagint and the Old Latin versions.
ESTHER. The Book of Esther, in the Bible, tells the story of a Jewish girl, Esther, who was the cousin and foster-daughter of Mordecai, and became the queen of the Persian king Ahasuerus (Xerxes) after he divorced Vashti. It explains how Esther and Mordecai thwarted Haman's plan to wipe out the Jews, how Haman, the high-ranking official, fell from power and Mordecai took his place, and how Esther got the king's approval for the Jews to defend themselves against anyone who might attack them on the day Haman had chosen by lot for their destruction. Finally, it describes how the feast of Purim was established to celebrate their rescue. There are many references to Persian court customs (more details are found in i. 13, viii. 8), while the religious practices of the Jews (except fasting) and even Jerusalem, the temple, and the name of Israel are notably left out. Even the name of God is not mentioned at all, possibly out of a fear of disrespect during the festivities of Purim. The book’s early popularity is evident from the added passages in the Septuagint and the Old Latin translations.
The criticism of Esther began in the 18th century. As soon as the questioning spirit arose, the strangeness of many statements in the book leaped into view. A moderate scholar of our day can find no historical nucleus, and calls it a sort of historical romance.1 The very first verses in the book startle the reader by their exaggerations, e.g. a banquet lasting 180 days, “127 provinces.” Farther on, the improbabilities of the plot are noticeable. Esther, on her elevation, keeps her Jewish origin secret (ii. 10; cf. vii. 3 ff.), although she has been taken from the house of her uncle, who is known to be a Jew (iii. 4; cf. vi. 13), and has remained in constant intercourse with him (ii. 11, 19, 20, 22; cf. iv. 4-17). We are further told that the grand-vizier was an Agagite or Amalekite (iii. 1, &c.); would the nobility of Persia have tolerated this? Or did Haman too keep his non-Persian origin secret? Also that Mordecai offered a gross affront to Haman, for which no slighter punishment would satisfy Haman than the destruction of the whole Jewish race (iii. 2-6). Of this savage design eleven months’ notice is given (iii. 12-14); and when the danger has been averted by the cleverness of Esther, the provincial Jews are allowed to butcher 75,000, and those in the capital 800 of their Persian fellow-subjects (ix. 6-16).
The criticism of Esther started in the 18th century. As soon as people began to question it, the oddities of many statements in the book became apparent. A modern scholar today cannot find any historical basis and describes it as a kind of historical romance.1 The very first verses in the book shock the reader with their exaggerations, like a banquet lasting 180 days and “127 provinces.” Further along, the implausibilities of the plot stand out. Esther, when she rises to power, keeps her Jewish background a secret (ii. 10; cf. vii. 3 ff.), even though she has been taken from her uncle's house, who is known to be a Jew (iii. 4; cf. vi. 13), and has maintained regular contact with him (ii. 11, 19, 20, 22; cf. iv. 4-17). We are also told that the grand vizier was an Agagite or Amalekite (iii. 1, &c.); would the Persian nobility have accepted this? Or did Haman also hide his non-Persian heritage? Additionally, Mordecai insulted Haman so deeply that Haman could only be satisfied with the total destruction of the Jewish race (iii. 2-6). This brutal plan is announced with eleven months' notice (iii. 12-14); and when the threat is averted thanks to Esther's cleverness, the provincial Jews are allowed to kill 75,000 of their Persian neighbors, and those in the capital 800 (ix. 6-16).
It is urged, on the other hand, that the assembly mentioned in i. 3 may be that referred to by Herodotus (vii. 8) as having preceded the expedition against Greece. This hypothesis, however, requires us to suppose that Xerxes had returned from Sardis to Susa by the tenth month of the seventh year of his reign, which is barely credible. In the reckoning of 127 provinces (cf. Dan. vi. 1; 1 Esd. iii. 2) satrapies and sub-satrapies may be confounded. It is at any rate correct to include India among the provinces; this is justified, not only by Herodotus (iii. 94), but by the inscriptions of Darius at Persepolis and Naksh-i-Rustam. Herodotus again (vii. 8) confirms the custom referred to in Esth. ii. 12. But what authority can make the conduct of Mordecai credible? To-day the harem is impenetrable, while “any one declining to stand as the grand-vizier passes is almost beaten to death.”2 This, surely, is what a real Mordecai would have suffered from a real Haman. Even the capricious Xerxes would never have permitted the entire destruction of one of the races of the empire, nor would a vizier have proposed it.
It is suggested, on the other hand, that the gathering mentioned in i. 3 might be the one referred to by Herodotus (vii. 8) that took place before the campaign against Greece. However, this theory requires us to assume that Xerxes had returned from Sardis to Susa by the tenth month of the seventh year of his reign, which is hard to believe. In the count of 127 provinces (cf. Dan. vi. 1; 1 Esd. iii. 2), satrapies and sub-satrapies might be mixed up. It is correct, at any rate, to include India among the provinces; this is supported not only by Herodotus (iii. 94) but also by the inscriptions of Darius at Persepolis and Naksh-i-Rustam. Herodotus again (vii. 8) confirms the practice mentioned in Esth. ii. 12. But what authority can make Mordecai's actions believable? Today the harem is off-limits, while “anyone who refuses to stand as the grand-vizier is almost beaten to death.”2 This, surely, is what a true Mordecai would have faced from a real Haman. Even the unpredictable Xerxes would never have allowed the complete destruction of one of the races in the empire, nor would a vizier have suggested it.
Serious difficulties of another kind remain. Mordecai is represented as a fellow-captive of Jeconiah (597 B.C.), and grand-vizier in Xerxes’s twelfth year (474 B.C.)! This is parallel to the strange statement in Tobit xiv. 15. And how can we find room for Esther as queen by the side of Amestris (Herod. vii. 14, ix. 112)? How, too, can a Jewess have been a legal queen (see Herod. iii. 84)? Then take the supposed Persian proper names. “Ahasuerus” may no doubt stand, but very few of the rest (see Nöldeke, Ency. Bib. col. 1402). As to the style, the general verdict is that it points to a late date (see Driver, Introd.6, p. 484). Altogether, critics decline to date the book earlier than the 3rd or even 2nd century B.C.
Serious difficulties of another kind still exist. Mordecai is depicted as a fellow prisoner of Jeconiah (597 B.C.), and grand vizier in Xerxes’s twelfth year (474 B.C.)! This is similar to the odd statement in Tobit xiv. 15. And how can we fit Esther in as queen next to Amestris (Herod. vii. 14, ix. 112)? How could a Jewish woman have legally been a queen (see Herod. iii. 84)? Then there are the supposed Persian names. “Ahasuerus” might work, but very few of the others do (see Nöldeke, Ency. Bib. col. 1402). Regarding the style, the general consensus is that it suggests a later date (see Driver, Introd.6, p. 484). Overall, critics are reluctant to date the book earlier than the 3rd or even 2nd century B.C.
So far we have only been carrying on 18th-century criticism. In more recent years, however, new lines of inquiry have been opened up. First of all by the great Semitic scholar Lagarde. His thesis (seldom defended now) was that Purim corresponds to Fūrdigan, the name of the old Persian New Year’s and All Souls’ festival held in spring, on which the Persians were wont to exchange presents (cf. Esth. ix. 19). In 1891 came a new explanation of Esther from Zimmern. It is true that in its earlier form his theory was very incomplete. But in justice to this scholar we may notice that from the first he looked for light to Babylonia, and that many other critics now take up the same 797 position. There is also another new point which has to be mentioned, viz. that, judging from our experience elsewhere, the Book of Esther has probably passed through various stages of development. Here, then, are two points which call for investigation, viz. (1) a possible mythological element in Esther, and (2) possible stages of development prior to that represented by the Hebrew text.
So far, we've only been discussing 18th-century criticism. In recent years, though, new areas of exploration have emerged. This started with the renowned Semitic scholar Lagarde. His thesis (which isn't often supported today) suggested that Purim is linked to Fūrdigan, the name of the ancient Persian New Year’s and All Souls' festival celebrated in spring, during which the Persians exchanged gifts (see Esth. ix. 19). In 1891, Zimmern provided a fresh take on Esther. Admittedly, in its early form, his theory was quite incomplete. However, it's fair to note that from the beginning, he sought insights from Babylonia, and many other critics are now adopting the same view. There’s also another new point worth mentioning: based on our experiences elsewhere, it’s likely that the Book of Esther has gone through several stages of development. So, we have two areas that require further exploration: (1) a potential mythological aspect in Esther, and (2) the possible stages of development before what is represented in the Hebrew text.
As to the first point. The Second Targum (on Esth. ii. 7) long ago declared that Esther was so called “because she was like the planet Venus.” Recent scholars have expressed the same idea more critically. Esther is a modification of Ishtar, the name of the Babylonian goddess of fertility and of the planet Venus, whose myth must have been partially known to the Israelites even in pre-exilic times,3 and after the fall of the state must have acquired a still stronger hold on Jewish exiles. A general knowledge of the myth of Marduk among the Israelites cannot indeed be proved. Singularly enough, the Babylonian colonists in the cities of Samaria are said to have made idols, not of Marduk, but of a deity called Succoth-benoth4 (2 Kings xvii. 30). Nor does the Second Targum help us here; it gives a wild explanation of Mordecai as “pure myrrh.” Still it is plain that the name of the god Marduk (Merodach) was known to the Jews, and the Cosmogony in Gen. i. is considered by critics to have ultimately arisen out of the myth of Marduk’s conflict with the dragon (see Cosmogony). At any rate the name Mordecai (the vocalization is uncertain) looks very much like Marduk, which, with terminations added, often occurs in cuneiform documents as a personal name.5 Add to this, that, according to Jensen, Ishtar in mythology was the cousin of Marduk, just as the legend represents Esther as the cousin of Mordecai.6 The same scholar also accounts for Esther’s other name Hadassah (Esth. ii. 7); hadasshatu in Babylonian means “bride,” which may have been a title of Ishtar.
As for the first point, the Second Targum (on Esth. ii. 7) stated long ago that Esther was named “because she was like the planet Venus.” Recent scholars have expressed a similar idea with more analysis. Esther is a variation of Ishtar, the name of the Babylonian goddess of fertility and the planet Venus, whose myth must have been somewhat known to the Israelites even before the exile, and after the fall of the state, it likely had an even greater influence on Jewish exiles. While we cannot definitively prove that the Israelites had a broad understanding of the Marduk myth, it's interesting that the Babylonian settlers in the cities of Samaria are said to have made idols, not of Marduk, but of a goddess called Succoth-benoth (2 Kings xvii. 30). The Second Targum doesn’t clarify this either; it offers a strange interpretation of Mordecai as “pure myrrh.” Still, it's clear that the name of the god Marduk (Merodach) was known to the Jews, and critics believe the Cosmogony in Gen. i. ultimately stems from the myth of Marduk’s battle with the dragon (see Cosmogony). In any case, the name Mordecai (though the pronunciation is uncertain) closely resembles Marduk, which, with added terminations, often appears in cuneiform records as a personal name. Add to this, according to Jensen, Ishtar in mythology was a cousin of Marduk, just as the legend portrays Esther as a cousin of Mordecai. This scholar also explains Esther’s other name Hadassah (Esth. ii. 7); hadasshatu in Babylonian means “bride,” which might have been a title of Ishtar.
But we cannot stop short here. Unless the mythological key can also explain Haman and Vashti, it is of no use. Jensen, now followed by Zimmern, is equal to the occasion. Haman, he says, is a corruption of Hamman or Humman or Uman, the name of the chief deity of the Elamites, in whose capital (Susa) the scene of the narrative is laid, while Vashti is Mashti (or Vashti), probably the name of an Elamite goddess.
But we can’t stop here. If the mythological key can’t also explain Haman and Vashti, then it’s not useful. Jensen, now followed by Zimmern, rises to the challenge. Haman, he says, is a version of Hamman or Humman or Uman, the name of the main deity of the Elamites, in whose capital (Susa) the story takes place, while Vashti is Mashti (or Vashti), likely the name of an Elamite goddess.
Following the real or fancied light of these names, Prof. Jensen holds that the Esther-legend is based on a mythological account of the victory of the Babylonian deities over those of Elam, which in plain prose means the deliverance of ancient Babylonia from its Elamite oppressors, and that such an account was closely connected with the Babylonian New Year’s festival, called Zagmuk, just as the Esther-legend is connected with the festival of Purim.
Following the real or imagined significance of these names, Prof. Jensen argues that the Esther legend is based on a mythological story about the Babylonian gods triumphing over those of Elam, which simply means the liberation of ancient Babylonia from its Elamite rulers. He believes that this story was closely linked to the Babylonian New Year’s festival, known as Zagmuk, just as the Esther legend is tied to the Purim festival.
We are bound, however, to mention some critical objections. (1) The Babylonian festival corresponding to Purim was not the spring festival of Zagmuk, but the summer festival of Ishtar, which is probably the Sacaea of Berossus, an orgiastic festival analogous to Purim. (2) According to Jensen’s theory, Mordecai, and not Esther, ought to be the direct cause of Haman’s ruin. (3) No such Babylonian account as Jensen postulates can be indicated. (4) The identifications of names are hazardous. Fancy a descendant of Kish called Marduk, and an “Agagite” called Hamman! Elsewhere Mordecai (Ezra ii. 2; Neh. vii. 7) occurs among names which are certainly not Persian (Bigvai is no exception), and Haman (Tobit xiv. 10) appears as a nephew of Achiachar, which is not a Persian name. Esther, moreover, ought to be parallel to Judith; fancy likening the representative of Israel to the goddess Ishtar!
We have to point out some important objections. (1) The Babylonian festival that corresponds to Purim wasn’t the spring festival of Zagmuk, but the summer festival of Ishtar, which is likely the Sacaea mentioned by Berossus, a wild celebration similar to Purim. (2) According to Jensen’s theory, it should be Mordecai, not Esther, who is the main reason for Haman’s downfall. (3) No Babylonian account that Jensen suggests can be found. (4) The connections between names are risky. Imagine a descendant of Kish named Marduk and an "Agagite" named Hamman! Additionally, Mordecai (Ezra ii. 2; Neh. vii. 7) appears among names that definitely aren’t Persian (Bigvai is no exception), and Haman (Tobit xiv. 10) shows up as a nephew of Achiachar, which isn’t a Persian name. Also, Esther should be compared to Judith; can you imagine comparing the representative of Israel to the goddess Ishtar!
Next, as to the preliminary literary phases of Esther. Such phases are probable, considering the later phases represented in the Septuagint. There may have once existed in Hebrew a story of the deadly feud between Mordecai (if that be the original name) and Haman, with elements suggested by the story of the battle between the Supreme God and the dragon (see Cosmogony). As the legend stands, Mordecai and Esther seem to be in each other’s way. In a passage (i. 5 in LXX.) only found in the Septuagint, but which may have belonged to the original Esther, reference is made to a dream of Mordecai respecting two great dragons, i.e. Mordecai and Haman (x. 7). This seems to confirm the view here mentioned. If so, however, there must also have been an Esther-legend, which was afterwards worked up with that of Mordecai. This is, in fact, the view of Erbt. Winckler takes a different line. Linguistic facts and certain points in the contents seem to him to show that our Esther is a work of the age of the Seleucidae; more precisely he thinks of the time of the revolt of Molon under Antiochus III. Of course there was a Book of Esther before this, and even in its redacted form our Esther reflects the period of three Persian kings, viz. Cyrus, Cambyses and Darius. Lastly, Cheyne (Ency. Bib. “Purim,” § 7), while agreeing with Winckler that the book is based on an earlier narrative, holds that that earlier text differed more widely from the present in its geographical and historical setting than Winckler seems to suppose. The problem of the origin of the name Purim, however, can hardly be said to have received a final solution.
Next, let's discuss the early literary phases of Esther. These phases are likely, considering the later versions found in the Septuagint. There might have once been a Hebrew story about the intense rivalry between Mordecai (if that's indeed the original name) and Haman, with elements inspired by the story of the battle between the Supreme God and the dragon (see Cosmogony). In the current legend, Mordecai and Esther appear to be in each other's way. In a passage (i. 5 in LXX.) that only appears in the Septuagint, which may have belonged to the original Esther, there’s a reference to a dream of Mordecai about two great dragons, meaning Mordecai and Haman (x. 7). This seems to support the idea mentioned earlier. If this is the case, there must have also been an Esther-legend that was later combined with that of Mordecai. This aligns with Erbt's perspective. Winckler, however, has a different approach. He believes linguistic evidence and certain content details indicate that our Esther is a product of the Seleucid era, specifically during the time of Molon's revolt under Antiochus III. Certainly, there was a Book of Esther before this, and even in its edited form, our Esther reflects the time of three Persian kings: Cyrus, Cambyses, and Darius. Finally, Cheyne (Ency. Bib. “Purim,” § 7), while agreeing with Winckler that the book is based on an earlier narrative, argues that that earlier text differed significantly from the current version in its geographical and historical context, more than Winckler suggests. However, the issue regarding the origin of the name Purim has not yet been definitively resolved.
Bibliography.—Kuenen, History of Israel, iii. (1875), 148-153; Lagarde, Purim (1887); Zimmern in Stade’s Zeitschrift, xi. (1891), pp. 157-169, and Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament(3), 485, 515-520, Jensen in Wildeboer’s Esther (in Marti’s series, 1898), pp. 173-175; Winckler, Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament(3), p. 288, Altorientalische Forschungen, 3rd ser. i. 1-64; Erbt, Die Purimsage (1900); Ency. Biblica, articles “Esther” and “Purim” (a composite article).
References.—Kuenen, History of Israel, iii. (1875), 148-153; Lagarde, Purim (1887); Zimmern in Stade’s Zeitschrift, xi. (1891), pp. 157-169, and Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament(3), 485, 515-520, Jensen in Wildeboer’s Esther (in Marti’s series, 1898), pp. 173-175; Winckler, Keilinschriften und das Alte Testament(3), p. 288, Altorientalische Forschungen, 3rd ser. i. 1-64; Erbt, Die Purimsage (1900); Ency. Biblica, articles “Esther” and “Purim” (a composite article).
Additions to Book of Esther. These “additions” were written originally in Greek and subsequently interpolated in the Greek translation of the Book of Esther. Here the principle of interpolation has reached its maximum. Of 270 verses, 107 are not to be found in the Hebrew text. These additions are distributed throughout the book in the Greek, but in the Latin Bible they were relegated to the end of the canonical book by Jerome—an action that has rendered them meaningless. In the Greek the additions form with the canonical text a consecutive history. They were made probably in the time of the Maccabees, and their aim was to supply the religious element which is so completely lacking in the canonical work. The first, which gives the dream of Mordecai and the events which led to his advancement at the court of Artaxerxes, precedes chap. i. of the canonical text: the second and fifth, which follow iii. 13 and viii. 12, furnish copies of the letters of Artaxerxes referred to in these verses; the third and fourth, which are inserted after chap. iv., consist of the prayers of Mordecai and Esther, with an account of Esther’s approach to the king. The last, which closes the book, tells of the institution of the feast of Purim. The Greek text appears in two widely-differing recensions. The one is supported by ABא, and the other—a revision of the first—by codices 19, 93a, 108b. The latter is believed to have been the work of Lucian. Swete, Old Test. in Greek, ii. 755, has given the former, while Lagarde has published both texts with critical annotations in his Librorum Veteris Testamenti Canonicorum, i. 504-541 (1883), and Scholz in his Kommentar über das Buch Esther (1892).
Additions to the Book of Esther. These “additions” were originally written in Greek and later added to the Greek translation of the Book of Esther. Here, the principle of addition has reached its peak. Out of 270 verses, 107 are not found in the Hebrew text. These additions are spread throughout the book in Greek, but in the Latin Bible, they were moved to the end of the canonical book by Jerome—an action that has made them lose their significance. In Greek, the additions create a continuous narrative with the canonical text. They were likely made during the time of the Maccabees, and their purpose was to add the religious element that is completely missing in the canonical work. The first addition, which presents Mordecai's dream and the events leading to his rise at the court of Artaxerxes, comes before chapter 1 of the canonical text. The second and fifth additions, which follow verses 3:13 and 8:12, provide copies of the letters from Artaxerxes mentioned in those verses; the third and fourth, inserted after chapter 4, include the prayers of Mordecai and Esther, along with an account of Esther’s approach to the king. The last addition, which concludes the book, describes the establishment of the feast of Purim. The Greek text exists in two significantly different versions. One is supported by ABא, and the other—a revised version of the first—is supported by codices 19, 93a, 108b. The latter is believed to have been created by Lucian. Swete, Old Test. in Greek, ii. 755, provides the former, while Lagarde has published both texts with critical notes in his Librorum Veteris Testamenti Canonicorum, i. 504-541 (1883), and Scholz in his Kommentar über das Buch Esther (1892).
For an account of the Latin and Syriac versions, the Targums, and the later Rabbinic literature connected with this subject, and other questions relating to these additions, see Fritzsche, Exeget. Handbuch zu den Apok. (1851), i. 67-108; Schürer(3), iii. 330-332; Fuller in Speaker’s Apocr. i. 360-402; Ryssel in Kautzsch’s Apok. u. Pseud. i. 193-212; Siegfried in Jewish Encyc. v. 237 sqq.; Swete, Introd. to the Old Test. in Greek, 257 seq.; L.B. Paton, “A Text-Critical Apparatus to the Book of Esther” in O.T. and Semitic Studies in Memory of W.R. Harper (Chicago, 1908).
For information about the Latin and Syriac versions, the Targums, and the later Rabbinic literature related to this topic, along with other questions concerning these additions, see Fritzsche, Exeget. Handbuch zu den Apok. (1851), i. 67-108; Schürer(3), iii. 330-332; Fuller in Speaker’s Apocr. i. 360-402; Ryssel in Kautzsch’s Apok. u. Pseud. i. 193-212; Siegfried in Jewish Encyc. v. 237 sqq.; Swete, Introd. to the Old Test. in Greek, 257 seq.; L.B. Paton, “A Text-Critical Apparatus to the Book of Esther” in O.T. and Semitic Studies in Memory of W.R. Harper (Chicago, 1908).
1 Kautzsch, Old Testament Literature (1898), p. 130.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Kautzsch, *Old Testament Literature* (1898), p. 130.
2 So Morier, the English minister to the Persian court, quoted by Dean Stanley.
2 So Morier, the English ambassador to the Persian court, cited by Dean Stanley.
3 See Zimmern, Die Keilinschriften und das Alte Test.(3), p. 438.
3 See Zimmern, Die Keilinschriften und das Alte Test.(3), p. 438.
4 Ibid. p. 396.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Same source. p. 396.
ESTHONIA (Ger. Ehstland and Esthland, Esthonian Eestimaa and Meie-maa, also Viroma and Rahvama; Lettish Iggaun Senna), a Baltic province of Russia, stretching along the south coast of the Gulf of Finland, and having Lake Peipus and Livonia on the S. and the government of St Petersburg on the E. An archipelago of islands, of which Dagö is the largest, belongs to this government (Oesel belongs to Livonia). The area is 7818 sq. m., 503 sq. m. of this being insular. The surface is low, 798 not exceeding 100 ft. in altitude along the coast and alongside Lake Peipus, while in the interior the average elevation ranges from 200 to 300 ft., and nowhere exceeds 450 ft. It was entirely covered with the bottom moraine of the great ice-sheet of the Glacial Epoch, resting upon Silurian sandstones and limestones. In places sands and clays overlie the glacial deposits. The principal stream is the Narova, which issues from Lake Peipus, flows along the eastern border, and empties into the Gulf of Finland. The other drainage arteries are all small, but many in number; while lakes and marshes aggregate fully 22½% of the total surface. The climate is severe, great cold being experienced in winter, though moist west winds exercise a moderating influence. Nevertheless the annual mean temperature ranges between 39° and 43° Fahr. In 1878 the nobility, mostly of German descent, owned and farmed 52% of the land; 42% was farmed, but not owned, by the peasants, mostly Esths or Ehsts, and only 3% was owned by persons outside the ranks of the nobility. Since then one-fourth of the peasantry have been enabled to purchase their holdings, more than half a million acres having passed into their possession. Agriculture is the chief occupation, and it is, on all the larger holdings, carried on with greater scientific knowledge than in any other part of Russia. Of the total area about 16.6% is under cultivation; meadows and grass-lands amount to 41.7%; and forests cover 19%. The principal crops are rye, oats, barley and potatoes, with large quantities of vegetables. Cattle-breeding flourishes, and meat and butter are constantly increasing items of export. The manufactories consist chiefly of distilleries (over 13,500,000 gallons annually), cotton (at Kränholm falls on the Narova), woollen, flour, paper and saw mills, iron and machinery works, and match factories. Fishing is active along the coast, especially for anchovies. The province is intersected by a railway running from St Petersburg to Reval, with branches from the latter city westwards to Baltic Port and southwards into Livonia, and from Taps south to Yuryev (Dorpat). The chief seaports are Reval, Baltic Port, Hapsal, Kunda and Dagö. Esthonia is divided into four districts, the chief towns of which are Reval (pop. in 1897, 66,292), the capital of the province; Hapsal, a lively watering-place (3238); Weissenstein (2509); and Wesenberg (5560). The population, which consists chiefly of Ehstes (365,959 in 1897), Russians (18,000), Germans (16,000), Swedes (5800), and some Jews, is growing fairly fast: in 1870 it numbered 323,960, and in 1897 413,747, of whom 210,199 were women and 76,315 lived in towns; in 1906 it was estimated at 451,700. Ninety-six per cent. of the whole belong to the Lutheran Church. Education is, for Russia, relatively high.
ESTONIA (Ger. Ehstland and Esthland, Estonian Eestimaa and Meie-maa, also Viroma and Rahvama; Lettish Iggaun Senna), a Baltic province of Russia, stretches along the southern coast of the Gulf of Finland, bordered by Lake Peipus and Livonia to the south and the St Petersburg region to the east. An archipelago of islands, with Dagö as the largest, is part of this area (Oesel belongs to Livonia). The total area is 7,818 square miles, with 503 square miles being insular. The landscape is mostly flat, not exceeding 100 feet in elevation along the coast and beside Lake Peipus, while the interior averages between 200 and 300 feet, reaching no more than 450 feet at its highest point. The region was covered by the moraine left by the great ice sheet of the Glacial Epoch, resting on Silurian sandstones and limestones. In some areas, sands and clays cover the glacial materials. The main river is the Narova, which flows out of Lake Peipus, runs along the eastern border, and drains into the Gulf of Finland. Other waterways are minor in size but numerous; lakes and marshes make up about 22.5% of the total land area. The climate is harsh, with severe winters, although moist west winds provide some moderation. Still, the annual average temperature ranges from 39° to 43° Fahrenheit. In 1878, the nobility, mainly of German descent, owned and cultivated 52% of the land; 42% was farmed by peasants, mostly Esths or Ehsts, who did not own it, with just 3% owned by individuals outside the nobility. Since then, a quarter of the peasantry have been able to purchase their land, with over half a million acres transferred into their ownership. Agriculture is the primary occupation, conducted with more scientific knowledge on the larger farms than in other regions of Russia. About 16.6% of the total area is farmed; meadows and pastures account for 41.7%; and forests cover 19%. The main crops include rye, oats, barley, and potatoes, alongside large quantities of vegetables. Cattle breeding is thriving, with meat and butter becoming increasingly significant exports. The industries mainly consist of distilleries (over 13.5 million gallons annually), cotton (at Kränholm on the Narova), wool, flour, paper and sawmills, iron and machinery factories, and match production. Fishing is active along the coast, particularly for anchovies. The province is served by a railway connecting St Petersburg to Reval, with branches extending west to Baltic Port and south into Livonia, and another from Taps south to Yuryev (Dorpat). The main seaports are Reval, Baltic Port, Hapsal, Kunda, and Dagö. Estonia is divided into four districts, with major towns including Reval (pop. in 1897, 66,292), the provincial capital; Hapsal, a popular resort (3,238); Weissenstein (2,509); and Wesenberg (5,560). The population, primarily Ehstes (365,959 in 1897), along with Russians (18,000), Germans (16,000), Swedes (5,800), and some Jews, is growing steadily: it increased from 323,960 in 1870 to 413,747 in 1897, of which 210,199 were women and 76,315 lived in urban areas; by 1906, it was estimated at 451,700. Ninety-six percent of the population are Lutherans. Education levels are relatively high for Russia.
The Esths, Ehsts or Esthonians, who call themselves Tallopoeg and Maamees, are known to the Russians as Chukhni or Chukhontsi, to the Letts as Iggauni, and to the Finns as Virolaiset. They belong to the Finnish family, and consequently to the Ural-Altaic division of the human race. Altogether they number close upon one million, and are thus distributed: 365,959 in Esthonia (in 1897), 518,594 in Livonia, 64,116 in the government of St Petersburg, 25,458 in that of Pskov, and 12,855 in other parts of Russia. As a race they exhibit manifest evidences of their Ural-Altaic or Mongolic descent in their short stature, absence of beard, oblique eyes, broad face, low forehead and small mouth. In addition to that they are an under-sized, ill-thriven people, with long arms and thin, short legs. They cling tenaciously to their native language, which is closely allied to the Finnish, and divisible into two, or according to some authorities into three, principal dialects—Dorpat Esthonian and Reval Esthonian, with Pernau Esthonian. Reval Esthonian, which preserves more carefully the full inflectional forms and pays greater attention to the laws of euphony, is recognized as the literary language. Since 1873 the cultivation of their mother-tongue has been sedulously promoted by an Esthonian Literary Society (Eesti Korjameeste Selts), which publishes Toimetused, or “Instructions” in all sorts of subjects. They have a decided love of poetry, and exhibit great facility in improvising verses and poems on all occasions, and they sing, everywhere, from morning to night. Like the Finns they possess rich stores of national songs. These, which bear an unmistakable family likeness to those of the great Finnish epic of the Kalevala, were collected as the Kalevi Poëg, and edited by Kreutswald (1857), and translated into German by Reinthal (1857-1859) and Bertram (1861) and by Löwe (1900). Other collections of Esthnische Volkslieder have been published by Neuss (1850-1852) and Kreutzwald and Neuss (1854); while Kreutzwald (1866) and Jannsen (1888) have published collections of legends and national tales. The earliest publication in Esthonian was a Lutheran catechism in the 16th century. An Esthonian translation of the New Testament was printed at Reval in 1715. Between 1813 and 1832 there appeared at Pernau twenty volumes of Beiträge zur genauern Kenntniss der esthnischen Sprache, by Rosenplänter, and from 1840 onwards many valuable papers on Esthonian subjects were contributed to the Verhandlungen der gelehrten esthnischen Gesellschaft zu Dorpat. F.J. Wiedemann, who laboured indefatigably in the registration and preservation of matters connected with Esthonian language and lore, published an Esthnisch-deutsches Wörterbuch (1865; 2nd ed. by Hurt, 1891, &c.), and in 1903 there appeared at Reval a Deutsch-esthnisches Wörterbuch, by Ploompun and Kann.
The Esths, Ehsts, or Estonians, who refer to themselves as Tallopoeg and Maamees, are known by the Russians as Chukhni or Chukhontsi, by the Letts as Iggauni, and by the Finns as Virolaiset. They belong to the Finnish family and, therefore, to the Ural-Altaic division of humanity. Their population is nearly one million, distributed as follows: 365,959 in Estonia (as of 1897), 518,594 in Livonia, 64,116 in the St Petersburg region, 25,458 in Pskov, and 12,855 in other areas of Russia. As a race, they clearly show signs of their Ural-Altaic or Mongolic heritage in their short stature, lack of facial hair, slanted eyes, broad faces, low foreheads, and small mouths. Additionally, they are a small, frail people with long arms and thin, short legs. They hold on tightly to their native language, which is closely related to Finnish and can be divided into two, or in some views, three main dialects—Dorpat Esthonian and Reval Esthonian, along with Pernau Esthonian. Reval Esthonian, which maintains the full inflectional forms more accurately and pays greater attention to euphony, is recognized as the literary language. Since 1873, the promotion of their mother tongue has been actively supported by an Estonian Literary Society (Eesti Korjameeste Selts), which publishes Toimetused, or "Instructions," on various subjects. They have a strong love for poetry and are skilled at improvising verses and poems on any occasion, singing from morning to night. Like the Finns, they have a wealth of national songs, which bear a clear resemblance to those from the great Finnish epic, the Kalevala. These songs were compiled as the Kalevi Poëg and edited by Kreutswald (1857), then translated into German by Reinthal (1857-1859), Bertram (1861), and Löwe (1900). Other collections of Esthnische Volkslieder have been published by Neuss (1850-1852) and by Kreutzwald and Neuss (1854), while Kreutzwald (1866) and Jannsen (1888) published collections of legends and national tales. The earliest publication in Estonian was a Lutheran catechism from the 16th century. An Estonian translation of the New Testament was printed in Reval in 1715. Between 1813 and 1832, twenty volumes of Beiträge zur genauern Kenntniss der esthnischen Sprache were published in Pernau by Rosenplänter, and starting from 1840, numerous valuable papers on Estonian topics were contributed to the Verhandlungen der gelehrten esthnischen Gesellschaft zu Dorpat. F.J. Wiedemann, who worked tirelessly to document and preserve matters related to Estonian language and folklore, published an Esthnisch-deutsches Wörterbuch (1865; 2nd ed. by Hurt, 1891, etc.), and in 1903, a Deutsch-esthnisches Wörterbuch by Ploompun and Kann was published in Reval.
The Esthonians first appear in history as a warlike and predatory race, the terror of the Baltic seamen in consequence of their piracies. More than one of the Danish kings made serious attempts to subdue them. Canute VI. invaded their country (1194-1196) and forced baptism upon many of them, but no sooner did his war-ships disappear than they reverted to their former heathenism. In 1219 Waldemar II. undertook a more formidable crusade against them, in the course of which he founded the town and episcopal see of Reval. By his efforts the northern portion of the race were made submissive to the Danish crown; but, though conquered, they were by no means subdued, and were incessantly in revolt, until, after a great rebellion in 1343, Waldemar IV. Atterdag sold for 19,000 marks his portion of Esthonia in 1346, to the order of the Knights of the Sword. These German crusaders had already, after a quarter of a century’s fighting, in 1224 gained possession of the regions inhabited by the southern portion of the race, that is those now included in Livonia. From that time for nearly six hundred years or more the Esthonians were practically reduced to a state of serfdom to the German landowners. In 1521 the nobles and cities of Esthonia voluntarily placed themselves under the protection of the crown of Sweden; but after the wars of Charles XII., Esthonia was formally ceded to his victorious rival, Peter the Great, by the peace of Nystad (1721). Serfdom was abolished in 1817 by Tsar Alexander I.; but the condition of the peasants was so little improved that they rose in open revolt in 1859. Since 1878, however, a vast change for the better has been effected in their economic position (see above). The determining feature of their recent history has been the attempt made by the Russian government (since 1881) and the Orthodox Greek Church (since 1883) to russify and convert the inhabitants of the province, Germans and Esths alike, by enforcing the use of Russian in the schools and by harsh and repressive measures aimed at their native language.
The Estonians first show up in history as a fierce and predatory people, instilling fear in Baltic sailors due to their piracy. Several Danish kings made serious attempts to conquer them. Canute VI invaded their land (1194-1196) and forced many to convert to Christianity, but as soon as his ships left, they returned to their old pagan beliefs. In 1219, Waldemar II launched a more significant crusade against them, during which he founded the town and episcopal see of Reval. Thanks to his efforts, the northern part of the Estonians came under the Danish crown's control; however, even though they were conquered, they remained restless and frequently revolted until, after a major uprising in 1343, Waldemar IV Atterdag sold his share of Estonia for 19,000 marks in 1346 to the Knights of the Sword. These German crusaders had already taken control of the southern regions inhabited by the Estonian people, which are now part of Livonia, after 25 years of fighting in 1224. For nearly six hundred years or more after that, the Estonians were effectively reduced to serfdom under German landowners. In 1521, the nobles and cities of Estonia willingly sought the protection of the Swedish crown; however, after the wars of Charles XII, Estonia was formally ceded to his victorious rival, Peter the Great, by the Treaty of Nystad (1721). Serfdom was abolished in 1817 by Tsar Alexander I; however, the situation of the peasants did not improve much, leading to an open revolt in 1859. Since 1878, though, significant improvements have been made in their economic status (see above). A key aspect of their recent history has been the Russian government's efforts (since 1881) and the Orthodox Greek Church (since 1883) to russify and convert the people of the province, both Germans and Estonians, by enforcing Russian language use in schools and implementing harsh measures against their native language.
See Merkel, Die freien Letten und Esthen (1820); Parrot, Versuch einer Entwickelung der Sprache, Abstammung, &c., der Liwen, Lätten, Eesten (1839); F. Kruse, Urgeschichte des esthnischen Volksstammes (1846); Wiedemann, Grammatik der esthnischen Sprache (1875), and Aus dem innern und äussern Leben der Esthen (1876); Köppen, Die Bewohner Esthlands (1847); F. Müller, Beiträge zur Orographie und Hydrographie von Esthland (1869-1871); Bunge, Das Herzogthum Esthland unter den Königen von Dänemark (1877); and Seraphim, Geschichte Liv-, Est-, und Kurlands (2nd ed., 1897) and various papers in the Finnisch-Ugrische Forschungen.
See Merkel, The Free Latvians and Estonians (1820); Parrot, Essay on the Development of the Language, Descent, etc., of the Livonians, Latvians, Estonians (1839); F. Kruse, Prehistory of the Estonian Ethnic Group (1846); Wiedemann, Grammar of the Estonian Language (1875), and From the Inner and Outer Life of the Estonians (1876); Köppen, The Inhabitants of Estonia (1847); F. Müller, Contributions to the Orography and Hydrography of Estonia (1869-1871); Bunge, The Duchy of Estonia under the Kings of Denmark (1877); and Seraphim, History of Livonia, Estonia, and Courland (2nd ed., 1897) and various papers in the Finnish-Ugric Research.
The founder of the race was Henri Estienne (d. 1520), the scion of a noble family of Provence, who came to Paris in 1502, and soon afterwards set up a printing establishment at the top of the rue Saint-Jean de Beauvais, on the hill of Saint-Geneviève opposite the law school. He died in 1520, and, his three sons 799 being minors, the business was carried on by his foreman Simon de Colines, who in 1521 married his widow.
The founder of the race was Henri Estienne (d. 1520), a member of a noble family from Provence, who moved to Paris in 1502. Shortly after, he opened a printing business at the top of rue Saint-Jean de Beauvais, on Saint-Geneviève Hill, across from the law school. He passed away in 1520, and since his three sons were still young, the business was run by his foreman Simon de Colines, who married his widow in 1521.
Robert Estienne (1503-1559) was Henri’s second son. After his father’s death he acted as assistant to his stepfather, and in this capacity superintended the printing of a Latin edition of the New Testament in 16mo (1523). Some slight alterations which he had introduced into the text brought upon him the censures of the faculty of theology. It was the first of a long series of disputes between him and that body. It appears that he had intimate relations with the new Evangelical preachers almost from the beginning of the movement, and that soon after this time he definitely joined the Reformed Church. In 1526 he entered into possession of his father’s printing establishment, and adopted as his device the celebrated olive-tree (a reminiscence doubtless of his grandmother’s family of Montolivet), with the motto from the epistle to the Romans (xi. 20), Noli altum sapere, sometimes with the addition sed time. In 1528 he married Perrette, a daughter of the scholar and printer Josse Bade (Jodocus Badius), and in the same year he published his first Latin Bible, an edition in folio, upon which he had been at work for the last four years. In 1532 appeared his Thesaurus linguae Latinae, a dictionary of Latin words and phrases, upon which for two years he had toiled incessantly, with no other assistance than that of Thierry of Beauvais. A second edition, greatly enlarged and improved, appeared in 1536, and a third, still further improved, in 3 vols. folio, in 1543. Though the Thesaurus is now superseded, its merits must not be forgotten. It was vastly superior to anything of the kind that had appeared before; it formed the basis of future labours, and even as late as 1734 was considered worthy of being re-edited. In 1539 Robert was appointed king’s printer for Hebrew and Latin, an office to which, after the death of Conrad Neobar in 1540, he united that of king’s printer for Greek. In 1541 he was entrusted by Francis I. with the task of procuring from Claude Garamond, the engraver and type-founder, three sets of Greek type for the royal press. The middle size were the first ready, and with these Robert printed the editio princeps of the Ecclesiasticae Historiae of Eusebius and others (1544). The smallest size were first used for the 16mo edition of the New Testament known as the O mirificam (1546), while with the largest size was printed the magnificent folio of 1550. This edition involved the printer in fresh disputes with the faculty of theology, and towards the end of the following year he left his native town for ever, and took refuge at Geneva, where he published in 1552 a caustic and effective answer to his persecutors under the title Ad censuras theologorum Parisiensium, quibus Biblia a R. Stephano, Typographo Regio, ex usa calumniose notarunt, eiusdem R. S. responsio. A French translation, which is remarkable for the excellence of its style, was published by him in the same year (printed in Rénouard’s Annales de l’imprimerie des Estienne). At Geneva Robert proved himself an ardent partisan of Calvin, several of whose works he published. He died there on the 7th of September 1559.
Robert Estienne (1503-1559) was Henri’s second son. After his father died, he worked as an assistant to his stepfather and oversaw the printing of a Latin edition of the New Testament in 16mo (1523). Some minor changes he made to the text drew criticism from the theology faculty, marking the beginning of a long series of disputes between them. He seemed to have close ties with the new Evangelical preachers almost from the start of the movement and soon after joined the Reformed Church. In 1526, he took over his father’s printing business and chose the famous olive tree as his emblem (likely a nod to his grandmother’s Montolivet family), along with the motto from the epistle to the Romans (xi. 20), Noli altum sapere, sometimes adding sed time. In 1528, he married Perrette, the daughter of the scholar and printer Josse Bade (Jodocus Badius). That same year, he published his first Latin Bible, a folio edition he had been working on for four years. In 1532, he released his Thesaurus linguae Latinae, a dictionary of Latin words and phrases that he had tirelessly developed for two years, with only Thierry of Beauvais assisting him. A significantly expanded and improved second edition came out in 1536, followed by a third, further enhanced version in three folio volumes in 1543. While the Thesaurus is now outdated, its value shouldn’t be overlooked. It was far superior to anything that came before it, laid the groundwork for future works, and was even deemed worthy of a re-edit as late as 1734. In 1539, Robert was appointed the king’s printer for Hebrew and Latin, and after Conrad Neobar's death in 1540, he also became the king’s printer for Greek. In 1541, Francis I tasked him with obtaining three sets of Greek type from Claude Garamond, the engraver and type-founder, for the royal press. The medium size was ready first, and with it, Robert printed the editio princeps of Eusebius's Ecclesiasticae Historiae and others (1544). The smallest type was first used for the 16mo edition of the New Testament known as the O mirificam (1546), while the largest was used for the magnificent folio published in 1550. This edition led to more disputes with the theology faculty, and towards the end of the following year, he left his hometown for good, seeking refuge in Geneva, where he published a sharp and effective response to his critics in 1552 under the title Ad censuras theologorum Parisiensium, quibus Biblia a R. Stephano, Typographo Regio, ex usa calumniose notarunt, eiusdem R. S. responsio. A French translation, notable for its excellent style, was published by him that same year (printed in Rénouard’s Annales de l’imprimerie des Estienne). In Geneva, Robert became a passionate supporter of Calvin, publishing several of his works. He died there on September 7, 1559.
It is by his work in connexion with the Bible, and especially as an editor of the New Testament, that he is on the whole best known. The text of his New Testament of 1550, either in its original form or in such slightly modified form as it assumed in the Elzevir text of 1634, remains to this day the traditional text. But this is due rather to its typographical beauty than to any critical merit. The readings of the fifteen MSS. which Robert’s son Henri had collated for the purpose were merely introduced into the margin. The text was still almost exactly that of Erasmus. It was, however, the first edition ever published with a critical apparatus of any sort. Of the whole Bible Robert printed eleven editions—eight in Latin, two in Hebrew and one in French; while of the New Testament alone he printed twelve—five in Greek, five in Latin and two in French. In the Greek New Testament of 1551 (printed at Geneva) the present division into verses was introduced for the first time. The editiones principes which issued from Robert’s press were eight in number, viz. Eusebius, including the Praeparatio evangelica and the Demonstratio evangelica as well as the Historia ecclesiastica already mentioned (1544-1546), Moschopulus (1545), Dionysius of Halicarnassus (February 1547), Alexander Trallianus (January 1548), Dio Cassius (January 1548), Justin Martyr (1551), Xiphilinus (1551), Appian (1551), the last being completed, after Robert’s departure from Paris, by his brother Charles, and appearing under his name. These editions, all in folio, except the Moschopulus, which is in 4to, are unrivalled for beauty. Robert also printed numerous editions of Latin classics, of which perhaps the folio Virgil of 1532 is the most noteworthy, and a large quantity of Latin grammars and other educational works, many of which were written by Maturin Cordier, his friend and co-worker in the cause of humanism.
It is through his work related to the Bible, particularly as the editor of the New Testament, that he is most widely recognized. The text of his New Testament from 1550, whether in its original form or in the slightly altered version found in the Elzevir text of 1634, still serves as the traditional text today. However, this popularity is more because of its visual appeal than any critical value. The readings from the fifteen manuscripts that Robert’s son Henri had compiled for this purpose were only added in the margins. The text was largely based on Erasmus’s work. Nevertheless, it was the first edition ever published with any kind of critical apparatus. In total, Robert printed eleven editions of the entire Bible—eight in Latin, two in Hebrew, and one in French; for the New Testament alone, he published twelve editions—five in Greek, five in Latin, and two in French. The Greek New Testament of 1551 (printed in Geneva) introduced the current chapter and verse division for the first time. The editiones principes that came from Robert’s printing press numbered eight: Eusebius, which included the Praeparatio evangelica and the Demonstratio evangelica, as well as the Historia ecclesiastica mentioned earlier (1544-1546), Moschopulus (1545), Dionysius of Halicarnassus (February 1547), Alexander Trallianus (January 1548), Dio Cassius (January 1548), Justin Martyr (1551), Xiphilinus (1551), and Appian (1551); the last one was completed after Robert left Paris by his brother Charles, and published under his name. All these editions were folios, except for Moschopulus, which was a quarto, and they are unmatched in beauty. Robert also printed many editions of Latin classics, with the folio Virgil from 1532 being perhaps the most significant, along with a large number of Latin grammars and other educational works, many authored by his friend Maturin Cordier, who was a fellow advocate of humanism.
Charles Estienne (1504 or 1505-1564), the third son of Henri, was, like his brother Robert, a man of considerable learning. After the usual humanistic training he studied medicine, and took his doctor’s degree at Paris. He was for a time tutor to Jean Antoine de Baïf, the future poet. In 1551, when Robert Estienne left Paris for Geneva, Charles, who had remained a Catholic, took charge of his printing establishment, and in the same year was appointed king’s printer. In 1561 he became bankrupt, and he is said to have died in a debtors’ prison.
Charles Estienne (1504 or 1505-1564), the third son of Henri, was, like his brother Robert, a highly educated man. After receiving a typical humanistic education, he studied medicine and earned his medical degree in Paris. He served for a time as a tutor to Jean Antoine de Baïf, who would become a poet. In 1551, when Robert Estienne moved from Paris to Geneva, Charles, who remained a Catholic, took over his printing business and was appointed the king’s printer that same year. In 1561, he went bankrupt and is said to have died in a debtors' prison.
His principal works are Praedium Rusticum (1554), a collection of tracts which he had compiled from ancient writers on various branches of agriculture, and which continued to be a favourite book down to the end of the 17th century; Dictionarium historicum ac poëticum (1553), the first French encyclopaedia; Thesaurus Ciceronianus (1557), and De dissectione partium corporis humani libri tres, with well-drawn woodcuts (1548). He also published a translation of an Italian comedy, Gli Ingannati, under the title of Le Sacrifice (1543; republished as Les Abusez, 1549), which had some influence on the development of French comedy; and Paradoxes (1553), an imitation of the Paradossi of Ortensio Landi.
His main works are Praedium Rusticum (1554), a collection of writings he compiled from ancient authors on various aspects of agriculture, which remained a popular book until the end of the 17th century; Dictionarium historicum ac poëticum (1553), the first French encyclopedia; Thesaurus Ciceronianus (1557), and De dissectione partium corporis humani libri tres, featuring well-drawn woodcuts (1548). He also published a translation of an Italian comedy, Gli Ingannati, titled Le Sacrifice (1543; republished as Les Abusez, 1549), which had some impact on the evolution of French comedy; and Paradoxes (1553), a version of the Paradossi by Ortensio Landi.
Henri Estienne (1531-1598), sometimes called Henri II., was the eldest son of Robert. In the preface to his edition of Aulus Gellius (1585), addressed to his son Paul, he gives an interesting account of his father’s household, in which, owing to the various nationalities of those who were employed on the press, Latin was used as a common language. Henri thus picked up Latin as a child, but by his own request he was allowed to learn Greek as a serious study before Latin. At the age of fifteen he become a pupil of Pierre Danès, at that time the first Greek scholar in France. Two years later he began to attend the lectures of Jacques Toussain, one of the royal professors of Greek, and in the same year (1545) was employed by his father to collate a MS. of Dionysius of Halicarnassus. In 1547 he went to Italy, where he spent three years in hunting for and collating MSS. and in intercourse with learned men. In 1550 he visited England, where he was favourably received by Edward VI., and then Flanders, where he learnt Spanish. In 1551 he joined his father at Geneva, which henceforth became his home. In 1554 he gave to the world, as the first fruits of his researches, two first editions, viz. a tract of Dionysius of Halicarnassus and the so-called “Anacreon.” In 1556 he discovered at Rome ten new books (xi.-xx.) of Diodorus Siculus. In 1557 he issued from the press which in the previous year he had set up at Geneva three first editions, viz. Athenagoras, Maximus Tyrius, and some fragments of Greek historians, including Appian’s Ἀννιβαλική, and Ἰβηρική and an edition of Aeschylus, in which for the first time the Agamemnon was printed in entirety and as a separate play. In 1559 he printed a Latin translation from his own pen of Sextus Empiricus, and an edition of Diodorus Siculus with the new books. His father dying in the same year, he became under his will owner of his press, subject, however, to the condition of keeping it at Geneva. In 1566 he published his best-known French work, the Apologie pour Hérodote, or, as he himself called it, L’Introduction au traité de la conformité des merveilles anciennes avec les modernes ou Traité préparatif à l’Apologie pour Hérodote. Some passages being considered objectionable by the Geneva consistory, he was compelled to cancel the pages containing them. The book became highly popular, and within sixteen years twelve editions were printed. In 1572 he published the great work upon which he had been labouring for many years, the Thesaurus Graecae linguae, in 5 vols. fol. The publication in 1578 of his Deux Dialogues du nouveau françois ilalianizé brought him into a fresh dispute with the consistory. To avoid their censure he went to Paris, and resided at the French court for a year. On his return to Geneva he was summoned before the consistory, and, proving contumacious, was imprisoned for a week. From this time his life became more and more of a nomad one. He is to be found 800 at Basel, Heidelberg, Vienna, Pest, everywhere but at Geneva, these journeys being undertaken partly in the hope of procuring patrons and purchasers, for the large sums which he had spent on such publications as the Thesaurus and the Plato of 1578 had almost ruined him. His press stood nearly at a standstill. A few editions of classical authors were brought out, but each successive one showed a falling off. Such value as the later ones had was chiefly due to the notes furnished by Casaubon, who in 1586 had married his daughter Florence. His last years were marked by ever-increasing infirmity of mind and temper. In 1597 he left Geneva for the last time. After visiting Montpellier, where Casaubon was now professor, he started for Paris, but was seized with sudden illness at Lyons, and died there at the end of January 1598.
Henri Estienne (1531-1598), often referred to as Henri II., was the oldest son of Robert. In the preface to his edition of Aulus Gellius (1585), addressed to his son Paul, he shares an interesting account of his father's household, where Latin was used as a common language due to the diverse nationalities of those working at the press. Henri picked up Latin as a child, but requested to study Greek seriously before focusing on Latin. At fifteen, he became a student of Pierre Danès, who was the foremost Greek scholar in France at that time. Two years later, he started attending lectures by Jacques Toussain, one of the royal professors of Greek, and in the same year (1545), his father employed him to collate a manuscript of Dionysius of Halicarnassus. In 1547, he traveled to Italy, where he spent three years seeking out and collating manuscripts and engaging with learned individuals. In 1550, he visited England, where he received a warm welcome from Edward VI., and then went to Flanders, where he learned Spanish. In 1551, he joined his father in Geneva, which then became his home. In 1554, he published two first editions as the initial results of his research, namely a tract of Dionysius of Halicarnassus and the so-called “Anacreon.” In 1556, he discovered ten new books (xi.-xx.) of Diodorus Siculus in Rome. In 1557, he released three first editions from the press he had set up in Geneva the previous year, including Athenagoras, Maximus Tyrius, and some fragments of Greek historians, including Appian’s Hannibalic, and Ibérica, along with an edition of Aeschylus, where for the first time Agamemnon was printed in full as a standalone play. In 1559, he printed a Latin translation he authored of Sextus Empiricus, along with an edition of Diodorus Siculus that included the new books. When his father passed away that same year, he inherited the press under the condition of keeping it in Geneva. In 1566, he released his best-known French work, Apologie pour Hérodote, or as he called it, L’Introduction au traité de la conformité des merveilles anciennes avec les modernes ou Traité préparatif à l’Apologie pour Hérodote. Some parts of the book were deemed objectionable by the Geneva consistory, forcing him to remove the relevant pages. The book became very popular, leading to twelve editions being printed within sixteen years. In 1572, he published the major work he had been working on for many years, the Thesaurus Graecae linguae, in 5 volumes. The publication of his Deux Dialogues du nouveau françois italienizé in 1578 caused him to have another dispute with the consistory. To avoid their criticism, he went to Paris, where he stayed at the French court for a year. Upon returning to Geneva, he was called before the consistory and, after defying them, was imprisoned for a week. From that point on, his life became increasingly nomadic. He was found 800 in Basel, Heidelberg, Vienna, Pest, everywhere except Geneva. His travels were partly motivated by the hope of securing patrons and buyers, as the large sums he had invested in publications like the Thesaurus and the Plato of 1578 had nearly bankrupted him. His press was nearly at a standstill, with a few editions of classical authors being released, but each new one showed a decline in quality. The later editions' value mainly came from the notes provided by Casaubon, who had married his daughter Florence in 1586. His final years were marked by a growing decline in both mental and emotional health. In 1597, he left Geneva for the last time. After visiting Montpellier, where Casaubon was a professor, he set off for Paris but suddenly fell ill in Lyons and died there at the end of January 1598.
Few men have ever served the cause of learning more devotedly. For over thirty years the amount which he produced, whether as printer, editor or original writer, was enormous. The productions of his press, though printed with the same beautiful type as his father’s books, are, owing to the poorness of the paper and ink, inferior to them in general beauty. The best, perhaps, from a typographical point of view, are the Poëtae Graeci principes (folio, 1566), the Plutarch (13 vols. 8vo, 1572), and the Plato (3 vols. folio, 1578). It was rather his scholarship which gave value to his editions. He was not only his own press-corrector but his own editor. Though by the latter half of the 16th century nearly all the important Greek and Latin authors that we now possess had been published, his untiring activity still found some gleanings. Eighteen first editions of Greek authors and one of a Latin author are due to his press. The most important have been already mentioned. Henri’s reputation as a scholar and editor has increased of late years. His familiarity with the Greek language has always been admitted to have been quite exceptional; but he has been accused of want of taste and judgment, of carelessness and rashness. Special censure has been passed on his Plutarch, in which he is said to have introduced conjectures of his own into the text, while pretending to have derived them from MS. authority. But a late editor, Sintenis, has shown that, though like all the other editors of his day he did not give references to his authorities, every one of his supposed conjectures can be traced to some MS. Whatever may be said as to his taste or his judgment, it seems that he was both careful and scrupulous, and that he only resorted to conjecture when authority failed him. And, whatever the merit of his conjectures, he was at any rate the first to show what conjecture could do towards restoring a hopelessly corrupt passage. The work, however, on which his fame as a scholar is most surely based is the Thesaurus Graecae linguae. After making due allowance for the fact that considerable materials for the work had been already collected by his father, and that he received considerable assistance from the German scholar Sylburg, he is still entitled to the very highest praise as the producer of a work which was of the greatest service to scholarship and which in those early days of Greek learning could have been produced by no one but a giant. Two editions of the Thesaurus were published in the 19th century—at London by Valpy (1815-1825) and at Paris by Didot (1831-1863).
Few men have ever dedicated themselves to the pursuit of knowledge more passionately. For over thirty years, the amount he produced, whether as a printer, editor, or original writer, was huge. Although the works from his press were printed in the same beautiful type as his father’s books, they fell short in overall beauty due to the poor quality of the paper and ink. The best, perhaps from a printing perspective, are the Poëtae Graeci principes (folio, 1566), the Plutarch (13 vols. 8vo, 1572), and the Plato (3 vols. folio, 1578). It was really his scholarship that gave value to his editions. He was not just his own proofreader; he was also his own editor. By the later half of the 16th century, nearly all the significant Greek and Latin authors we have today had already been published, yet his relentless activity still uncovered some additional works. Eighteen first editions of Greek authors and one of a Latin author came from his press. The most significant ones have already been mentioned. Henri’s reputation as a scholar and editor has grown in recent years. His familiarity with the Greek language has always been recognized as exceptional; however, he has faced criticism for lacking taste and judgment, as well as for carelessness and recklessness. Special criticism has been directed at his Plutarch, where he is said to have added his own conjectures into the text while claiming they were derived from manuscript authority. Yet a recent editor, Sintenis, has demonstrated that, like all the other editors of his time, he did not provide references to his sources, but every one of his alleged conjectures can be traced back to some manuscript. Regardless of what can be said about his taste or judgment, it seems he was both careful and meticulous, resorting to conjecture only when he had no authority to rely on. And, whatever the quality of his conjectures, he was certainly the first to show what conjecture could do to restore a hopelessly corrupt passage. However, the work that most firmly establishes his reputation as a scholar is the Thesaurus Graecae linguae. While it's important to note that significant materials for the work had already been gathered by his father and that he received substantial help from the German scholar Sylburg, he still deserves the highest praise as the creator of a work that greatly benefited scholarship and which, in those early days of Greek learning, could only have been produced by a giant. Two editions of the Thesaurus were published in the 19th century—one in London by Valpy (1815-1825) and another in Paris by Didot (1831-1863).
It was one of Henri Estienne’s great merits that, unlike nearly all the French scholars who preceded him, he did not neglect his own language. In the Traité de la conformité du langage françois avec le Grec (published in 1565, but without date; ed. L. Feugère, 1850), French is asserted to have, among modern languages, the most affinity with Greek, the first of all languages. Deux Dialogues du nouveau françois italianizé (Geneva, 1578; ed. P. Ristelhuber, 2 vols., 1885) was directed against the fashion prevailing in the court of Catherine de’ Medici of using Italian words and forms. The Project du livre intitulé de la Précellence du langage françois (Paris, 1579; ed. E. Huguet, 1896) treats of the superiority of French to Italian. An interesting feature of the Précellence is the account of French proverbs, and, Henry III. having expressed some doubts as to the genuineness of some of them, Henri Estienne published, in 1594, Les Premices ou le I. livre des Proverbes epigrammatizez (never reprinted and very rare).
One of Henri Estienne’s main achievements was that he, unlike almost all the French scholars before him, paid attention to his own language. In the Traité de la conformité du langage françois avec le Grec (published in 1565, but without a date; ed. L. Feugère, 1850), it is claimed that French has the closest resemblance to Greek among modern languages, which is considered the first of all languages. Deux Dialogues du nouveau françois italianizé (Geneva, 1578; ed. P. Ristelhuber, 2 vols., 1885) opposed the trend at the court of Catherine de’ Medici of using Italian words and styles. The Project du livre intitulé de la Précellence du langage françois (Paris, 1579; ed. E. Huguet, 1896) discusses the superiority of French over Italian. An interesting aspect of the Précellence is its account of French proverbs. After Henry III expressed some doubts about the authenticity of certain proverbs, Henri Estienne published, in 1594, Les Premices ou le I. livre des Proverbes epigrammatizez (never reprinted and extremely rare).
Finally, there remains the Apologie pour Hérodote, his most famous work. The ostensible object of the book is to show that the strange stories in Herodotus may be paralleled by equally strange ones of modern times. Virtually it is a bitter satire on the writer’s age, especially on the Roman Church. Put together without any method, its extreme desultoriness makes it difficult to read continuously, but the numerous stories, collected partly from various literary sources, notably from the preachers Menot and Maillard, partly from the writer’s own multifarious experience, with which it is packed, make it an interesting commentary on the manners and fashions of the time. But satire, to be effective, should be either humorous or righteously indignant, and, while such humour as there is in the Apologie is decidedly heavy, the writer’s indignation is generally forgotten in his evident relish for scandal. The style is, after all, its chief merit. Though it bears evident traces of hurry, it is, like that of all Henri Estienne’s French writings, clear, easy and vigorous, uniting the directness and sensuousness of the older writers with a suppleness and logical precision which at this time were almost new elements in French prose. An edition of the Apologie has recently been published by Liseux (ed. Ristelhuber, 2 vols., 1879), after one of the only two copies of the original uncancelled edition that are known to exist. The very remarkable political pamphlet entitled Dìscours merveilleux de la vie et actions et déportemens de Catherine de Medicis, which appeared in 1574, has been ascribed to Henri Estienne, but the evidence both internal and external is conclusive against his being the author of it. Of his Latin writings the most worthy of notice are the De Latinitate falso suspecta (1576), the Pseudo-Cicero (1577) and the Nizoliodidascalus (1578), all three written against the Ciceronians, and the Francofordiense Emporium (1574), a panegyric on the Frankfort fair (reprinted with a French translation by Liseux, 1875). He also wrote a large quantity of indifferent Latin verses, including a long poem entitled Musa monitrix Principum (Basel, 1590).
Finally, there’s the Apologie pour Hérodote, his most famous work. The main purpose of the book is to show that the strange stories in Herodotus can be matched by equally bizarre ones from modern times. Essentially, it’s a scathing satire on the writer’s era, particularly targeting the Roman Church. It is assembled without any clear structure, making it quite difficult to read in one go, but the many stories, gathered from various literary sources—especially from preachers Menot and Maillard—and the writer’s own diverse experiences, fill it with interesting commentary on the customs and trends of the time. However, for satire to work, it needs to be either humorous or justifiably outraged, and while there is some humor in the Apologie, it's pretty heavy-handed, with the writer's indignation often overshadowed by his obvious enjoyment of scandal. The style is ultimately its greatest strength. Although it shows signs of being rushed, like all of Henri Estienne's French writing, it’s clear, straightforward, and lively, combining the bluntness and vividness of older writers with a flexibility and logical precision that were nearly new features in French prose at that time. A new edition of the Apologie was recently published by Liseux (ed. Ristelhuber, 2 vols., 1879), based on one of the only two known copies of the original uncensored edition. The remarkable political pamphlet titled Dìscours merveilleux de la vie et actions et déportemens de Catherine de Medicis, which was released in 1574, has been attributed to Henri Estienne, but the evidence both within and outside the text strongly suggests he is not the author. Among his Latin works, the ones worth noting include De Latinitate falso suspecta (1576), Pseudo-Cicero (1577), and Nizoliodidascalus (1578), all three written against the Ciceronians, and the Francofordiense Emporium (1574), a praise piece about the Frankfort fair (reprinted with a French translation by Liseux, 1875). He also produced a significant number of mediocre Latin verses, including a long poem titled Musa monitrix Principum (Basel, 1590).
The primary authorities for an account of the Estiennes are their own works. In the garrulous and egotistical prefaces which Henri was in the habit of prefixing to his editions will be found many scattered biographical details. Twenty-seven letters from Henri to John Crato of Crafftheim (ed. F. Passow, 1830) have been printed, and there is one of Robert’s in Herminjard’s Correspondence des Réformateurs dans de pays de langue française (9 vols. published 1866-1897), while a few other contemporary references to him will be found in the same work. The secondary authorities are Janssen van Almeloveen, De vitis Stephanorum (Amsterdam, 1683); Maittaire, Stephanorum historia (London, 1709); A.A. Rénouard, Annales de l’imprimerie des Estienne (2nd ed., Paris, 1843); the article on Estienne by A.F. Didot in the Nouv. Biog. gén.; Mark Pattison, Essays, i. 67 ff. (1889); L. Clément, Henri Estienne et son œuvre française (Paris, 1899). There is a good account of Henri’s Thesaurus in the Quart. Rev. for January 1820, written by Bishop Bromfield.
The main sources for the story of the Estiennes are their own works. In the chatty and self-centered prefaces that Henri used to include with his editions, you'll find many bits of biographical information. Twenty-seven letters from Henri to John Crato of Crafftheim (ed. F. Passow, 1830) have been published, and there’s a letter from Robert in Herminjard’s Correspondence des Réformateurs dans de pays de langue française (9 volumes published 1866-1897), with a few other contemporary mentions of him in the same publication. The secondary sources include Janssen van Almeloveen, De vitis Stephanorum (Amsterdam, 1683); Maittaire, Stephanorum historia (London, 1709); A.A. Rénouard, Annales de l’imprimerie des Estienne (2nd ed., Paris, 1843); the article on Estienne by A.F. Didot in the Nouv. Biog. gén.; Mark Pattison, Essays, i. 67 ff. (1889); L. Clément, Henri Estienne et son œuvre française (Paris, 1899). There’s a detailed discussion of Henri’s Thesaurus in the Quart. Rev. for January 1820, written by Bishop Bromfield.
ESTON, an urban district in the Cleveland parliamentary division of the North Riding of Yorkshire, England, 4 m. S.E. of Middlesbrough, on a branch of the North Eastern railway. Pop. (1901) 11,199. This is one of the principal centres from which the great ironstone deposits of the Cleveland Hills are worked, and there are extensive blast-furnaces, iron-foundries and steam sawing-mills in the district. Immediately W. of Eston lies the urban district of Ormesby (pop. 9482), and the whole district is densely populated (see Middlesbrough). Marton, west of Ormesby, was the birthplace of Captain Cook (1728). Numerous early earthworks fringe the hills to the south.
ESTON an urban area in the Cleveland parliamentary division of North Yorkshire, England, is located 4 miles southeast of Middlesbrough, along a branch of the North Eastern railway. Population (1901) was 11,199. This is one of the main hubs for the significant ironstone deposits of the Cleveland Hills, featuring large blast furnaces, iron foundries, and steam sawmills in the area. Directly west of Eston is the urban district of Ormesby (population 9,482), and the entire area is heavily populated (see Middlesbrough). Marton, located west of Ormesby, is the birthplace of Captain Cook (1728). Numerous ancient earthworks surround the hills to the south.
ESTOPPEL (from O. Fr. estopper, to stop, bar; estoupe, mod. étoupe, a plug of tow; Lat. stuppa), a rule in the law of evidence by which a party in litigation is prohibited from asserting or denying something, when such assertion or denial would be inconsistent with his own previous statements or conduct. Estoppel is said to arise in three ways—(1) by record or judgment, (2) by deed, and (3) by matter in pais or conduct. (1) Where a cause of action has been tried and final judgment has been pronounced, the judgment is conclusive—either party attempting to renew the litigation by a new action would be estopped by the judgment. “Every judgment is conclusive proof as against parties and privies, of facts directly in issue in the case, actually decided by the court, and appearing from the judgment itself to be the ground on which it was based.”—Stephen’s Digest of the Law of Evidence, Art. 41. (2) It is one of the privileges of deeds as distinguished from simple contracts that they operate by way of estoppel. “A man shall always be estopped by his own deed, or not permitted to aver or prove anything in contradiction to what he has once so solemnly and deliberately avowed” (Blackstone, 2 Com. 295); e.g. where a bond recited that the defendants were authorized by acts of parliament to borrow money, and that under such authority they had borrowed money from a certain person, they were estopped from setting up as a defence that they did not in fact so borrow money, as stated by their deed. (3) Estoppel by conduct, or, as it is still sometimes called, estoppel by matter in pais, is the most important head. The rule practically comes to this that, when a person in his dealings with others has acted so as to induce them to believe a thing to be true and to act on such belief, he may not in any proceeding between himself and them deny the thing to be true: e.g. a partner retiring from a firm without giving notice to the customers, cannot, as against a customer having no knowledge of his retirement, deny that he is a partner. 801 As between landlord and tenant the principle operates to prevent the denial by the tenant of the landlord’s title. So if a person comes upon land by the licence of the person in possession, he cannot deny that the licenser had a title to the possession at the time the licence was given. Again, if a man accepts a bill of exchange he may not deny the signature or the capacity of the drawer. So a person receiving goods as baillee from another cannot deny the title of that other to the goods at the time they were entrusted to him.
ESTOPPEL (from O. Fr. estopper, to stop, bar; estoupe, mod. étoupe, a plug of tow; Lat. stuppa), is a rule in evidence law that stops a party involved in a legal case from claiming or denying something when that claim or denial goes against their previous statements or actions. Estoppel happens in three ways—(1) by record or judgment, (2) by deed, and (3) by matter in pais or conduct. (1) When a cause of action has been tried and a final judgment has been made, that judgment is definitive—either party trying to reopen the case with a new action would be stopped by the judgment. “Every judgment is conclusive proof against parties and privies, of facts directly in issue in the case, actually decided by the court, and appearing from the judgment itself to be the basis on which it was made.”—Stephen’s Digest of the Law of Evidence, Art. 41. (2) One of the privileges of deeds, as opposed to simple contracts, is that they function by means of estoppel. “A person is always estopped by his own deed, or not allowed to claim or prove anything that contradicts what he has once solemnly and deliberately stated” (Blackstone, 2 Com. 295); e.g. if a bond states that the defendants were authorized by acts of parliament to borrow money, and that they borrowed money from a specific person under that authority, they cannot defend themselves by saying that they didn’t actually borrow the money, as stated in their deed. (3) Estoppel by conduct, or sometimes called estoppel by matter in pais, is the most significant type. The basic rule is that when someone conducts themselves in a way that leads others to believe something is true and to act on that belief, they cannot deny that thing to be true in any legal matter between them and those others: e.g. a partner leaving a firm without notifying the customers cannot deny being a partner in relation to a customer who is unaware of their departure. 801 Between landlord and tenant, this principle prevents the tenant from denying the landlord’s title. Similarly, if someone goes onto land with the permission of the person in possession, they cannot deny that the person giving permission had title to the property at the time the permission was granted. Again, if a person accepts a bill of exchange, they cannot deny the signature or the capacity of the person who issued it. Likewise, a person receiving goods as a bailee from another cannot deny the title of that other person to the goods at the time they were given to him.
Estoppel of whatever kind is subject to one general rule, that it cannot override the law of the land; for example, a corporation would not be estopped as to acts which are ultra vires.
Estoppel of any kind follows one main rule: it can't go against the law. For instance, a corporation wouldn't be estopped from actions that are ultra vires.
See L.F. Everest and E. Strode, The Law of Estoppel; M. Cababé, Principles of Estoppel.
See L.F. Everest and E. Strode, The Law of Estoppel; M. Cababé, Principles of Estoppel.
ESTOUTEVILLE, GUILLAUME D’ (1403-1483), French ecclesiastic, was bishop of Angers, of Digne, of Porto and Santa Rufina, of Ostia and Velletri, archbishop of Rouen, prior of Saint Martin des Champs, abbot of Mont St Michel, of St Ouen at Rouen, and of Montebourg. He was sent to France as legate by Pope Nicholas V. to make peace between Charles VII. and England (1451), and undertook, ex officio, the revision of the trial of Joan of Arc; he afterwards reformed the statutes of the university of Paris. He then went to preside over the assembly of clergy which met at Bourges to discuss the observation of the Pragmatic Sanction (see Basel, Council of), finally returning to Rome, where he passed almost all the rest of his life. He was a great builder, Rouen, Mont St Michel, Pontoise and Gaillon owing many noble buildings to his initiative.
ESTOUTEVILLE, GUILLAUME D’ (1403-1483), a French church leader, served as the bishop of Angers, Digne, Porto and Santa Rufina, Ostia and Velletri, and was also the archbishop of Rouen, prior of Saint Martin des Champs, and abbot of Mont St Michel, St Ouen in Rouen, and Montebourg. He was sent to France as a legate by Pope Nicholas V to help make peace between Charles VII and England (1451), and took on the role of overseeing the review of Joan of Arc's trial; later, he reformed the statutes of the university of Paris. He then presided over a clergy assembly in Bourges that discussed the implementation of the Pragmatic Sanction (see Basel, Council of), before finally returning to Rome, where he spent nearly the rest of his life. He was a significant builder, with many impressive structures in Rouen, Mont St Michel, Pontoise, and Gaillon resulting from his efforts.
ESTOVERS (from the O. Fr. estover, estovoir, a verb used as a substantive in the sense of that which is necessary; the word is of disputed origin; it has been referred to the Lat. stare, to stand, or studere, to desire), a term, in English law, for the wood which a tenant for life or years may take from the land he holds for repair of his house, the implements of husbandry, and the hedges and fences, and for firewood. The O. Eng. word for estover was bote or boot (literally meaning “good,” “profit,” the same word as seen in “better”). The various kinds of estovers were thus known as house-bote, cart or plough-bote, hedge or hay-bote, and fire-bote respectively. These rights may, of course, be restricted by express covenants. Copyholders have similar rights over the land they occupy and over the waste of the manor, in which case the rights are known as “Commons of estovers.” (See Commons.)
ESTOVERS (from the Old French estover, estovoir, a verb used as a noun meaning what is necessary; the word's origin is debated; it has been linked to the Latin stare, to stand, or studere, to desire), is a term in English law for the wood that a tenant for life or a fixed term can take from the land they occupy for the repair of their house, agricultural tools, hedges and fences, and for firewood. The Old English word for estover was bote or boot (literally meaning “good,” “profit,” the same term seen in “better”). The various types of estovers were known as house-bote, cart or plough-bote, hedge or hay-bote, and fire-bote, respectively. These rights can be limited by explicit agreements. Copyholders have similar rights over the land they occupy and over the waste of the manor, in which case these rights are referred to as “Commons of estovers.” (See Commons.)
ESTRADA, LA, a town of north-western Spain, in the province of Pontevedra, 15 m. S. by E. of Santiago de Compostela. Pop. (1900) 23,916. La Estrada is the chief town of a densely-populated mountainous district; its industries are agriculture, stock-breeding, and the manufacture of linen and woollen cloth. Timber from the mountain forests is conveyed from La Estrada to the river Ulla, 4 m. N., and thence floated down to the seaports on Arosa Bay. The nearest railway-station is Requeijo, 7 m. W., on the Pontevedra-Santiago railway. There are mineral springs at La Estrada and at Caldas de Reyes, 11 m. W.S.W.
ESTRADA, LA, a town in north-western Spain, in the province of Pontevedra, 15 miles south-east of Santiago de Compostela. Population (1900) 23,916. La Estrada is the main town of a densely populated mountainous area; its industries include agriculture, livestock farming, and the production of linen and woolen cloth. Timber from the mountain forests is transported from La Estrada to the Ulla River, 4 miles north, and then floated down to the ports on Arosa Bay. The nearest railway station is Requeijo, 7 miles west, on the Pontevedra-Santiago railway. There are mineral springs in La Estrada and at Caldas de Reyes, 11 miles west-southwest.
ESTRADE, a French architectural term for a raised platform (see Dais). In the Levant the estrade of a divan is called Sopha (Blondel), from which comes our “sofa.”
ESTRADE, a French architectural term for a raised platform (see Dais). In the Levant, the estrade of a divan is called Sopha (Blondel), which is the origin of our word “sofa.”
ESTRADES, GODEFROI, Comte d’ (1607-1686), French diplomatist and marshal, was born at Agen. He was the son of François d’Estrades (d. 1653), a partisan of Henry IV., and brother of Jean d’Estrades, bishop of Condom. He became a page to Louis XIII., and at the age of nineteen was sent on a mission to Maurice of Holland. In 1646 he was named ambassador extraordinary to Holland, and took part in the conferences at Münster. Sent in 1661 to England, he obtained in 1662 the restitution of Dunkirk. In 1667 he negotiated the treaty of Breda with the king of Denmark, and in 1678 the treaty of Nijmwegen, which ended the war with Holland. Independently of these diplomatic missions, he took part in the principal campaigns of Louis XIV., in Italy (1648), in Catalonia (1655), in Holland (1672); and was created marshal of France in 1675. He left Lettres, mémoires et négociations en qualité d’ambassadeur en Hollande depuis 1663 jusqu’ en 1668, of which the first edition in 1700 was followed by a nine-volume edition (London (the Hague), 1743).
ESTRADES, GODEFROI, Count of (1607-1686), a French diplomat and marshal, was born in Agen. He was the son of François d’Estrades (d. 1653), a supporter of Henry IV, and the brother of Jean d’Estrades, bishop of Condom. He became a page to Louis XIII and, at nineteen, was sent on a mission to Maurice of Holland. In 1646, he was appointed ambassador extraordinary to Holland and participated in the conferences at Münster. Sent to England in 1661, he secured the return of Dunkirk in 1662. In 1667, he negotiated the treaty of Breda with the king of Denmark, and in 1678, he finalized the treaty of Nijmwegen, which ended the war with Holland. Apart from these diplomatic efforts, he was involved in the main campaigns of Louis XIV, in Italy (1648), Catalonia (1655), and Holland (1672), and was made a marshal of France in 1675. He left Lettres, mémoires et négociations en qualité d’ambassadeur en Hollande depuis 1663 jusqu’ en 1668, with the first edition published in 1700, followed by a nine-volume edition (London (the Hague), 1743).
Of the sons of Godefroi d’Estrades, Jean François d’Estrades was ambassador to Venice and Piedmont; Louis, marquis d’Estrades (d. 1711), succeeded his father as governor of Dunkirk, and was the father of Godefroi Louis, comte d’Estrades, lieutenant-general, who was killed at the siege of Belgrade, 1717.
Of the sons of Godefroi d’Estrades, Jean François d’Estrades was the ambassador to Venice and Piedmont; Louis, marquis d’Estrades (d. 1711), took over as governor of Dunkirk from his father and was the father of Godefroi Louis, comte d’Estrades, a lieutenant-general who was killed at the siege of Belgrade in 1717.
See Felix Salomon, Frankreichs Beziehungen zu dem Scottischen Aufstand (1637-1640), containing an excursus on the falsification of the letters of the comte d’Estrades; Philippe Lauzun, Le Maréchal d’Estrades (Agen, 1896).
See Felix Salomon, Frankreichs Beziehungen zu dem Scottischen Aufstand (1637-1640), which includes a section on the tampering of the letters from comte d’Estrades; Philippe Lauzun, Le Maréchal d’Estrades (Agen, 1896).
ESTREAT (O. Fr. estrait, Lat. extracta), originally, a true copy or duplicate of some original writing or record; now used only with reference to the enforcement of a forfeited recognizance. At one time it was the practice to extract and certify into the exchequer copies of entries in court roils which contained provisions or orders in favour of the treasury, hence the estreating of a recognizance was the taking out from among the other records of the court in which it was filed and sending it to the exchequer to be enforced, or sending it to the sheriff to be levied by him, and then returned by the clerk of the peace to the lords of the treasury. (See Recognizance.)
ESTREAT (from Old French estrait, Latin extracta), originally meant a true copy or duplicate of an original document or record; it is now used specifically in relation to enforcing a forfeited recognizance. There was a time when it was standard practice to extract and certify copies of entries in court rolls that contained provisions or orders benefiting the treasury, which is why estreating a recognizance involved pulling it from the other records in the court where it was filed and sending it to the exchequer for enforcement, or sending it to the sheriff to be collected by him, and then returned by the clerk of the peace to the treasury officials. (See Recognizance.)
ESTRÉES, GABRIELLE D’ (1573-1599), mistress of Henry IV. of France, was the daughter of Antoine d’Estrées, marquis of Cœuvres, and Françoise Babou de la Bourdaisière. Henry IV., who in November 1590 stayed at the castle of Cœuvres, became violently enamoured of her. Her father, anxious to save his daughter from so perilous an entanglement, married her to Nicholas d’Amerval, seigneur de Liancourt, but the union proved unhappy, and in December 1592, Gabrielle, whose affection for the king was sincere, became his mistress. She lived with him from December 1592 onwards, and bore him several children, who were recognized and legitimized by him. She possessed the king’s entire confidence; he willingly listened to her advice, and created her marchioness of Monceaux, duchess of Beaufort (1597) and Étampes (1598), a peeress of France. The king even proposed to marry her in the event of the success of his suit for the nullification by the Holy See of his marriage with Margaret of Valois; but before the question was settled Gabrielle died, on the 10th of April 1599. Poison was of course suspected; but her death was really caused by puerperal convulsions (eclampsia).
ESTRÉES, GABRIELLE D’ (1573-1599), mistress of Henry IV of France, was the daughter of Antoine d’Estrées, marquis of Cœuvres, and Françoise Babou de la Bourdaisière. Henry IV, who stayed at the castle of Cœuvres in November 1590, became infatuated with her. Her father, eager to protect his daughter from such a risky situation, married her to Nicholas d’Amerval, seigneur de Liancourt, but the marriage was unhappy. In December 1592, Gabrielle, who truly loved the king, became his mistress. She lived with him from December 1592 onward and bore him several children, who he acknowledged and legitimized. She held the king's complete trust; he listened to her advice and made her marchioness of Monceaux, duchess of Beaufort (1597), and Étampes (1598), a peeress of France. The king even suggested marrying her if he succeeded in getting his marriage to Margaret of Valois annulled by the Holy See; however, before this could be resolved, Gabrielle died on April 10, 1599. Poisoning was suspected, but her death was actually due to puerperal convulsions (eclampsia).
See Adrien Desclozeaux, Gabrielle d’Estrées, Marquise de Monceaux, &c. (Paris, 1889).
See Adrien Desclozeaux, Gabrielle d’Estrées, Marquise de Monceaux, &c. (Paris, 1889).
ESTREMADURA, or Extremadura, an ancient territorial division of central and western Portugal, and of western Spain; comprising the modern districts of Leiria, Santarem and Lisbon, in Portugal, and the modern provinces of Badajoz and Cáceres in Spain. Pop. (1900) 2,095,818; area, 23,055 sq. m. The name of Estremadura appears to be of early Romance or Late Latin origin, and probably was applied to all the far western lands (extrema ora) bordering upon the lower Tagus, as far as the Atlantic Ocean. It is thus equivalent to Land’s End, or Finistère. In popular speech it is more commonly used than the names of the modern divisions mentioned above, which were created in the 19th century. As, however, there are many racial, economic and historic differences between Portuguese and Spanish Estremadura, the two provinces are separately described below.
ESTREMADURA, or Extremadura, is an ancient region in central and western Portugal, and western Spain; it includes the current districts of Leiria, Santarem, and Lisbon in Portugal, and the provinces of Badajoz and Cáceres in Spain. The population as of 1900 was 2,095,818, covering an area of 23,055 square miles. The name Estremadura likely comes from early Romance or Late Latin origins and was probably used to refer to all the far western lands (extrema ora) along the lower Tagus River to the Atlantic Ocean. It's similar to the concept of Land’s End or Finistère. In everyday conversation, it’s used more often than the names of the modern districts mentioned earlier, which were established in the 19th century. However, due to significant racial, economic, and historical differences between Portuguese and Spanish Estremadura, the two provinces are described separately below.
1. Portuguese Estremadura is bounded on the N. by Beira, E. and S. by Alemtejo, and W. by the Atlantic Ocean. Pop. (1900) 1,221,418; area, 6937 sq. m. The greatest length of the province, from N. to S., is 165 m.; its greatest breadth, from E. to W., is 72 m. The general uniformity of the coast-line is broken by the broad and deep estuaries of the Tagus and the Sado, and by the four conspicuous promontories of Cape Carvoeiro, Cape da Roca, Cape Espichel and Cape de Sines. The Tagus is the great navigable waterway of Portuguese Estremadura, flowing from north-east to south-west, and fed by many minor tributaries, notably the Zezere on the right and the Zatas on the left. It divides the country into two nearly equal portions, wholly dissimilar in surface and character. South of the Tagus the land is almost everywhere low, flat and monotonous, while in several places it is rendered unhealthy by undrained marshes. The 802 Sado, which issues into Setubal Bay, is the only important river of this region. North of the Tagus, and parallel with its right bank, extends the mountain chain which is known at its northern extremity as the Serra do Aire and, where it terminates above Cape da Roca, as the Serra da Cintra. This ridge, which is buttressed on all sides by lesser groups of hills, and includes part of the famous lines of Torres Vedras (q.v.), exceeds 2200 ft. in height, and constitutes the watershed between the right-hand tributaries of the Tagus and the Liz, Sizandro and other small rivers which flow into the Atlantic. On its seaward side, except for the line of sheer and lofty cliffs between Cape Carvoeiro and Cape da Roca, the country is mostly flat and sandy, with extensive heaths and pine forests; but along the fertile and well-cultivated right bank of the Tagus the river scenery, with its terraced hills of vines, olives and fruit trees, often resembles that of the Rhine in Germany. The natural resources of Portuguese Estremadura, with its inhabitants, industries, commerce, communications, &c., are described under Portugal; for on such matters there is little to be said of this central and most characteristic province which does not apply to the whole kingdom. Separate articles are also devoted to Lisbon, the capital, and Abrantes, Cintra, Leiria, Mafra, Santarem, Setubal, Thomar, Torres Novas and Torres Vedras, the other chief towns. The women of Peniche, a small fishing village on the promontory of Cape Carvoeiro, have long been celebrated throughout Portugal for their skill in the manufacture of fine laces.
1. Portuguese Estremadura is bordered to the north by Beira, to the east and south by Alemtejo, and to the west by the Atlantic Ocean. Population (1900) 1,221,418; area, 6,937 sq. miles. The longest part of the province, from north to south, is 165 miles; its widest part, from east to west, is 72 miles. The generally consistent coastline is interrupted by the wide and deep estuaries of the Tagus and the Sado, as well as by the four notable capes of Cape Carvoeiro, Cape da Roca, Cape Espichel, and Cape de Sines. The Tagus is the main navigable river in Portuguese Estremadura, flowing from the northeast to the southwest and fed by several smaller tributaries, particularly the Zezere on the right and the Zatas on the left. It divides the region into two nearly equal parts that are entirely different in terrain and characteristics. South of the Tagus, the land is mostly low, flat, and dull, with some areas made unhealthy due to undrained marshes. The Sado, which flows into Setubal Bay, is the only significant river in this area. North of the Tagus, along its right bank, stretches the mountain range known at its northern end as the Serra do Aire and, where it ends above Cape da Roca, as the Serra da Cintra. This ridge, supported by smaller hills on all sides and including part of the famous lines of Torres Vedras (q.v.), rises over 2,200 feet and serves as the watershed between the right-hand tributaries of the Tagus and the Liz, Sizandro, and other small rivers flowing into the Atlantic. On the seaward side, aside from the steep and tall cliffs between Cape Carvoeiro and Cape da Roca, the land is mostly flat and sandy, featuring extensive heaths and pine forests. However, along the fertile and well-cultivated right bank of the Tagus, the river landscape, with its terraced hills of vines, olive trees, and fruit trees, often resembles that of the Rhine in Germany. The natural resources of Portuguese Estremadura, along with its people, industries, trade, communications, etc., are detailed under Portugal; in these areas, there’s little to discuss about this central and most characteristic province that doesn’t apply to the whole kingdom. Separate articles are also focused on Lisbon, the capital, as well as Abrantes, Cintra, Leiria, Mafra, Santarem, Setubal, Thomar, Torres Novas, and Torres Vedras, the other major towns. The women of Peniche, a small fishing village on the Cape Carvoeiro promontory, have long been renowned throughout Portugal for their expertise in making fine lace.
2. Spanish Estremadura is bounded on the N. by Leon and Old Castile, E. by New Castile, S. by Andalusia, and W. by the Portuguese province of Beira and Alemtejo, which separate it from Portuguese Estremadura. Pop. (1900) 882,410; area, 16,118 sq. m. Spanish Estremadura consists of a tableland separated from Leon and Old Castile by the lofty Sierra de Gredos, the plateau of Béjar and the Sierra de Gata, which form an almost continuous barrier along the northern frontier, with its summits ranging from 6000 to more than 8500 ft. in altitude. On the south the comparatively low range of the Sierra Morena constitutes the frontier of Andalusia; on the east and west there is a still more gradual transition to the plateau of New Castile and the central plains of Portugal. The tableland of Spanish Estremadura is itself bisected from east to west by a line of mountains, the Sierras of San Pedro, Montanchez and Guadalupe (4000-6000 ft.), which separate its northern half, drained by the river Tagus, from its southern half, drained by the Guadiana. These two halves are respectively known as Alta or Upper Estremadura (the modern Cáceres), and Baja or Lower Estremadura (the modern Badajoz). The Tagus and Guadiana flow from east to west through a monotonous country, level or slightly undulating, often almost uninhabited, and covered with a thin growth of shrubs and grass. Perhaps the most characteristic feature of this tableland is the vast heaths of gum-cistus, which in spring colour the whole landscape with leagues of yellow blossom, and in summer change to a brown and arid wilderness.
2. Spanish Estremadura is bordered on the north by Leon and Old Castile, on the east by New Castile, on the south by Andalusia, and on the west by the Portuguese provinces of Beira and Alemtejo, which separate it from Portuguese Estremadura. Population (1900) was 882,410; area, 16,118 sq. miles. Spanish Estremadura consists of a plateau separated from Leon and Old Castile by the high Sierra de Gredos, the plateau of Béjar, and the Sierra de Gata, which form an almost continuous barrier along the northern border, with heights ranging from 6,000 to over 8,500 feet. To the south, the relatively low Sierra Morena defines the border with Andalusia; on the east and west, there is a more gradual transition to the plateau of New Castile and the central plains of Portugal. The tableland of Spanish Estremadura is itself divided from east to west by a range of mountains, the Sierras of San Pedro, Montanchez, and Guadalupe (4,000-6,000 ft.), which separate its northern half, drained by the Tagus River, from its southern half, drained by the Guadiana. These two sections are known as Alta or Upper Estremadura (modern Cáceres) and Baja or Lower Estremadura (modern Badajoz). The Tagus and Guadiana flow from east to west through a flat or slightly rolling landscape that is often nearly uninhabited and covered with sparse shrubs and grass. Perhaps the most distinctive feature of this plateau is the vast fields of gum-cistus, which in spring fill the entire landscape with miles of yellow flowers, and in summer turn into a dry and brown wilderness.
The climate in summer is hot but not unhealthy, except in the swamps which occur along the Guadiana. The rainfall is scanty; dew, however, is abundant and the nights are cool. Although the high mountains are covered with snow in November, the winters are not usually severe. The soil is naturally fertile, but drought, floods and locusts render agriculture difficult, and sheep-farming is the most important of Estremaduran industries. (See Spain: Agriculture.) In the 19th century, however, this industry lost much of its former importance owing to foreign competition.
The summer climate is hot but not unhealthy, except in the swamps along the Guadiana. Rainfall is limited; however, there is plenty of dew, and the nights are cool. Although the high mountains are covered in snow by November, winters are usually mild. The soil is naturally fertile, but droughts, floods, and locusts make farming challenging, with sheep farming being the most important industry in Estremadura. (See Spain: Agriculture.) In the 19th century, though, this industry lost a lot of its former significance due to foreign competition.
Immense herds of swine are bred and constitute a great source of support to the inhabitants, not only supplying them with food, but also forming a great article of export to other provinces—the pork, bacon and hams being in high esteem. The beech, oak and chestnut woods afford an abundance of food for swine, and there are numerous plantations of olive, cork and fruit trees, but a far greater area of forest has been destroyed. For an account of commerce, mining, communications, &c., in Spanish Estremadura, with a list of the chief towns, see Cáceres and Badajoz. In character and physical type, the people of this region are less easily classified than those of other Spanish provinces. They lack the endurance and energy of the Galicians, the independent and enterprising spirit of the Asturians, Basques and Catalans, the culture of the Castilians and Andalusians. Their failure to develop a distinctive local type of character and civilization is perhaps due to the adverse economic history of their country. The two great waterways which form the natural outlet for Estremaduran commerce flow to the Atlantic through a foreign and, for centuries, a hostile territory. Like other parts of Spain, Estremadura suffered severely from the expulsion of the Jews and Moors (1492-1610), while the compensating treasure, derived during the same period from Spanish America, never reached a province so remote at once from the sea and from the chief centres of national life. Although Cortes (1485-1547), the conqueror of Mexico and Pizarro (c. 1471-1541), the conqueror of Peru, were both born in Estremadura, their exploits, far from bringing prosperity to their native province, only encouraged the emigration of its best inhabitants. Heavy taxation and harsh land-laws prevented any recovery, while the felling of the forests reduced many fertile areas to waste land, and rendered worse a climate already unfavourable to agriculture. Few countries leave upon the mind of the traveller a deeper impression of hopeless poverty.
Large herds of pigs are raised and provide significant support to the locals, offering not just food but also serving as a major export to other regions—pork, bacon, and ham are highly valued. The beech, oak, and chestnut forests supply plenty of food for the pigs, and there are many plantations of olive, cork, and fruit trees, but a much larger area of forest has been lost. For information on trade, mining, transportation, etc., in Spanish Estremadura, along with a list of the main towns, see Cáceres and Badajoz. The people in this area are harder to categorize in terms of character and physical type compared to those from other Spanish provinces. They lack the resilience and drive of the Galicians, the independence and entrepreneurial spirit of the Asturians, Basques, and Catalans, and the culture of the Castilians and Andalusians. Their inability to form a distinct local character and civilization is likely due to the challenging economic history of their region. The two major waterways that serve as natural outlets for Estremaduran trade flow to the Atlantic through foreign and historically hostile territory. Like other areas in Spain, Estremadura was severely affected by the expulsion of Jews and Moors (1492-1610), while the compensating wealth from Spanish America during that time never reached a province so far from the sea and the main centers of national life. Although Cortes (1485-1547), the conqueror of Mexico, and Pizarro (c. 1471-1541), the conqueror of Peru, were both born in Estremadura, their achievements did not bring prosperity to their home province; instead, they led to the emigration of its best residents. Heavy taxes and strict land laws stifled any recovery, while deforestation turned many fertile areas into wasteland and worsened a climate already unfavorable for agriculture. Few places leave such a strong impression of hopeless poverty on travelers.
ESTREMOZ, a town of Portugal, in the district of Evora, formerly included in the province of Alemtejo; 104 m. by rail E. of Lisbon, on the Casa Branca-Evora-Elvas railway. Pop. (1900) 7920. Estremoz is built at the base of a hill crowned by a large dismantled citadel; its fortifications, which in the 17th century accommodated 20,000 troops and rendered the town one of the principal defences of the frontier, are now obsolete. There are marble quarries in the neighbourhood, and the Estremoz bilhas, red earthenware jars, are used throughout Portugal as water-holders and exported to Spain. At Ameixial (1188) and Monies Claros, near Estremoz, the Spanish were severely defeated by the Portuguese in 1663 and 1665. Villa Viçosa (3841), 10 m. S.E., is a town of pre-Roman origin, containing a royal palace. The altars with Latin inscriptions to the Iberian god Endovellicus, found at Villa Viçosa, are preserved in the museum of the Royal Academy of Sciences, Lisbon.
ESTREMOZ is a town in Portugal, located in the Evora district, previously part of the Alemtejo province. It is 104 km by rail east of Lisbon, on the Casa Branca-Evora-Elvas railway. The population in 1900 was 7,920. Estremoz sits at the foot of a hill topped by a large abandoned citadel; its fortifications, which housed 20,000 troops in the 17th century and made the town a key defense along the border, are now out of use. There are marble quarries nearby, and the Estremoz bilhas, which are red earthenware jars, are widely used across Portugal for holding water and are also exported to Spain. At Ameixial (1188) and Monies Claros, close to Estremoz, the Spanish faced significant defeats by the Portuguese in 1663 and 1665. Villa Viçosa (3841), 10 km southeast, is a town with pre-Roman origins that features a royal palace. The altars with Latin inscriptions dedicated to the Iberian god Endovellicus, discovered in Villa Viçosa, are kept in the museum of the Royal Academy of Sciences in Lisbon.
ESTUARY (from the Lat. aestuarium, a place reached by aestus, the tide), an arm of the sea narrowing inwards at the mouth of a river where sea and fresh water meet and are mixed, i.e. the tidal portion of a river’s mouth. Structurally the estuary may represent the long-continued action of river erosion and tidal erosion confined to a narrow channel, most effective where most concentrated, or an estuary may be the drowned portion of the lower part of a river-valley. In a map of Britain showing sea-depths it will be observed that under the Severn estuary the sea deepens in a number of steps descending by concentric V’s that become blunter towards deep water until the last is a mere indentation pointing towards the long narrow termination of the present estuary. In this and in similar cases the progress of the estuary is indicated upon what is now the continental shelf. The chief interest in estuarine conditions is the mingling of sea and fresh water. Where, as in the Severn and the Thames, the fresh water meets the sea gradually the water is mixed, and there is very little change in salinity at high tide. The fresh water flows over the salt water and there is a continuous rapid change, in salinity towards the sea, for the currents sweeping in and out mix the water constantly. Where the river brings down a great quantity of fresh water in a narrow channel, the change of salinity at high and low water is very marked. “When, however, the inlet is very large compared with the river, and there is no bar at the opening, the estuarine character is only shown at the upper end. In the Firth of Forth, for example, the landward half is an estuary, but in the seaward half the water has become more thoroughly mixed, the salinity is almost uniform from surface to bottom, and increases very gradually towards the sea. The river-water meets the sea diffused uniformly through a deep mass of water scarcely fresher than the sea itself, so that the two mix uniformly, and the sea becomes slightly freshened 803 throughout its whole depth for many miles from land” (H.R. Mill, Realm of Nature, 1897).
ESTUARY (from the Latin aestuarium, a place reached by aestus, the tide), is an arm of the sea that narrows inward at the mouth of a river where saltwater and freshwater meet and mix, specifically the tidal part of a river's mouth. The structure of an estuary may illustrate the long-term effects of river erosion and tidal erosion confined within a narrow channel, most effective where they are most concentrated, or it may be the submerged portion of the lower part of a river valley. In maps of Britain showing sea depths, it can be seen that beneath the Severn estuary, the sea deepens in several steps that descend in concentric V-shapes, becoming less sharp as it approaches deeper water until the last is just a slight indentation pointing towards the long, narrow end of the current estuary. In this case and similar instances, the progress of the estuary is marked on what is now the continental shelf. The main interest in estuarine environments is the mixing of saltwater and freshwater. In places like the Severn and the Thames, where freshwater gradually meets the sea, the water is mixed, and there's very little change in salinity at high tide. The freshwater flows over the saltwater, creating a continuous rapid change in salinity towards the sea, as the incoming and outgoing currents constantly mix the waters. Where a river carries a large amount of freshwater through a narrow channel, the change in salinity at high and low tide is quite distinct. "However, when the inlet is significantly larger compared to the river, and there is no barrier at the entrance, the estuarine nature is only evident at the upper end. For instance, in the Firth of Forth, the landward half is an estuary, but in the seaward half the water is more thoroughly mixed, salinity becomes nearly uniform from top to bottom, and gradually increases towards the sea. The river water meets the sea uniformly dispersed throughout a deep mass of water that is hardly fresher than the sea itself, allowing the two to mix evenly, resulting in the sea being slightly freshened throughout its entire depth for many miles from the land." (H.R. Mill, Realm of Nature, 1897). 803
ESZTERGOM (Ger. Gran; Lat. Strigonium), a town of Hungary, capital of the county of the same name, 36 m. N.W. of Budapest by rail. Pop. (1900) 16,948, mostly Magyars and Roman Catholics. It is situated on the right bank of the Danube, nearly opposite the confluence of the Gran, and is divided into the town proper and three suburbs. The town is the residence of the primate of Hungary, and its cathedral, built in 1821-1870, after the model of St Peter’s at Rome, is one of the finest and largest in the country. It is picturesquely built on an elevated and commanding position, 215 ft. above the Danube, and its dome, visible from a long distance, is 260 ft. high, and has a diameter of 52 ft. The interior is very richly decorated, notably with fine frescoes, and its treasury and fine library of over 60,000 volumes are famous. Besides several other churches and two monastic houses, the principal buildings include the handsome palace of the primate, erected in 1883; the archiepiscopal library, with valuable incunabula and old MSS.; the seminary for the education of Roman Catholic priests; the residences of the chapter; and the town-hall. The population is chiefly employed in cloth-weaving, wine-making and agricultural pursuits. An iron bridge, 1664 ft. long, connects Esztergom with the market town of Párkány (pop. 2836) on the opposite bank of the Danube.
ESZTERGOM (Ger. Gran; Lat. Strigonium), a town in Hungary and the capital of the same-named county, is located 36 miles northwest of Budapest by rail. Population (1900) was 16,948, mostly Magyars and Roman Catholics. The town sits on the right bank of the Danube, almost opposite the confluence with the Gran River, and is divided into the main town and three suburbs. Esztergom is the residence of the primate of Hungary, and its cathedral, constructed between 1821 and 1870 in the style of St. Peter’s in Rome, is one of the finest and largest in the country. It is beautifully situated on a high, commanding spot, 215 feet above the Danube, and its dome, which is visible from afar, reaches 260 feet high with a diameter of 52 feet. The interior is richly decorated, especially with exquisite frescoes, and its treasury and impressive library housing over 60,000 volumes are well-known. In addition to several other churches and two monastic houses, the main buildings include the elegant palace of the primate, built in 1883; the archiepiscopal library, which contains valuable early printed books and ancient manuscripts; the seminary for training Roman Catholic priests; the residences of the chapter; and the town hall. The local population mainly works in cloth weaving, wine production, and agriculture. An iron bridge, 1664 feet long, connects Esztergom with the market town of Párkány (pop. 2836) on the opposite side of the Danube.
Esztergom is one of the oldest towns of Hungary, and is famous as the birthplace of St Stephen, the first prince crowned “apostolic king” of Hungary. During the early times of the Hungarian monarchy it was the most important mercantile centre in the country, and it was the meeting-place of the diets of 1016, 1111, 1114 and 1256. It was almost completely destroyed by Tatar hordes in 1241, but was rebuilt and fortified by King Béla IV. In 1543 it fell into the hands of the Turks, from whom it was recovered, in 1595, by Carl von Mansfeld. In 1604 it reverted to the Turks, who held it till 1683, when it was regained by the united forces of John Sobieski, king of Poland, and Prince Charles of Lorraine. It was created an archbishopric in 1001. During the Turkish occupation of the town the archbishopric was removed to Tyrnau, while the archbishop himself had his residence in Pressburg. Both returned to Esztergom in 1820. In 1708 it was declared a free city by Joseph I. On the 13th of April 1818 it was partly destroyed by fire.
Esztergom is one of the oldest towns in Hungary and is known as the birthplace of St. Stephen, the first prince crowned as the "apostolic king" of Hungary. In the early days of the Hungarian monarchy, it was the most important trading center in the country and was the gathering place for the diets of 1016, 1111, 1114, and 1256. It was nearly completely destroyed by Tatar hordes in 1241 but was rebuilt and fortified by King Béla IV. In 1543, it was taken by the Turks, who held it until it was reclaimed in 1595 by Carl von Mansfeld. In 1604, it fell back into Turkish hands, remaining that way until 1683 when it was regained by the combined forces of John Sobieski, king of Poland, and Prince Charles of Lorraine. It became an archbishopric in 1001. During the Turkish occupation, the archbishopric moved to Tyrnau, while the archbishop himself lived in Pressburg. Both returned to Esztergom in 1820. In 1708, it was declared a free city by Joseph I. On April 13, 1818, a fire partially destroyed it.
For numerous authorities on the see and cathedral of Esztergom see V. Chevalier, Répertoire des sources. Topo-bibliogr. s.v. “Gran.” Of these may be mentioned especially F. Knauz, Monumenta Ecclesiae Strigoniensis (3 vols., Eszterg, 1874); Joseph Dankó, Geschichtliches ... aus dem Graner Domschatz (Gran, 1880).
For many experts on the see and cathedral of Esztergom, see V. Chevalier, Répertoire des sources. Topo-bibliogr. s.v. “Gran.” Notable mentions include F. Knauz, Monumenta Ecclesiae Strigoniensis (3 vols., Eszterg, 1874); Joseph Dankó, Geschichtliches ... aus dem Graner Domschatz (Gran, 1880).
ÉTAGÈRE, a piece of light furniture very similar to the English what-not, which was extensively made in France during the latter part of the 18th century. As the name implies, it consists of a series of stages or shelves for the reception of ornaments or other small articles. Like the what-not it was very often cornerwise in shape, and the best Louis XVI. examples in exotic woods are exceedingly graceful and elegant.
ÉTAGÈRE, is a type of lightweight furniture that's quite similar to the English what-not, which was widely produced in France during the late 18th century. As the name suggests, it features a series of levels or shelves meant for displaying ornaments or other small items. Like the what-not, it was often designed to fit into corners, and the finest Louis XVI examples made from exotic woods are incredibly graceful and elegant.
ETAH, a town and district of British India, in the Agra division of the United Provinces. The town is situated on the Grand Trunk road. Pop. (1901) 8796. The district has an area of 1737 sq. m. The district consists for the most part of an elevated alluvial plateau, dipping down on its eastern slope into the valley of the Ganges. The uplands are irrigated by the Ganges canal. Between the modern bed of the Ganges and its ancient channel lies a belt of fertile land, covered with a rich deposit of silt, and abundantly supplied with natural moisture. A long line of swamps and hollows still marks the former course of the river; and above it rises abruptly the original cliff which now forms the terrace of the upland plain. The Kali Nadi, a small stream flowing in a deep and narrow gorge, passes through the centre of the district, and affords an outlet for the surface drainage. Etah was at an early date the seat of a primitive Aryan civilization, and the surrounding country is mentioned by Hsüan Tsang, the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim of the 7th century A.D., as rich in temples and monasteries. But after the bloody repression of Buddhism before the 8th century, the district seems to have fallen once more into the hands of aboriginal tribes, from whom it was wrested a second time by Rajputs during the course of their great migration eastward. With the rest of upper India it passed under the sway of Mahmud of Ghazni in 1017, and thenceforth followed the fortunes of the Mahommedan empire. At the end of the 18th century it formed part of the territory over which the wazir of Oudh had made himself ruler, and it came into the possession of the British government in 1801, under the treaty of Lucknow. During the mutiny of 1857 it was the scene of serious disturbances, coupled with the usual anarchic quarrels among the native princes. In 1901 the population was 863,948, showing an increase of 23% in the decade due to the extension of canal irrigation. It is traversed by a branch of the Rajputana railway from Agra to Cawnpore, with stations at Kasganj and Soron, which are the two largest towns. It has several printing presses, indigo factories, and factories for pressing cotton, and there is a considerable agricultural export trade.
ETAH, is a town and district in British India, located in the Agra division of the United Provinces. The town sits along the Grand Trunk road. Population (1901) was 8,796. The district covers an area of 1,737 square miles. It mostly consists of an elevated alluvial plateau that slopes down to the eastern edge into the Ganges valley. The uplands receive irrigation from the Ganges canal. Between the current path of the Ganges and its ancient channel, there's a strip of fertile land enriched with silt and plenty of natural moisture. A long stretch of swamps and depressions still shows the river's former route; above this, the original cliff rises sharply, forming the terrace of the upland plain. The Kali Nadi, a small stream flowing through a deep, narrow gorge, runs through the center of the district and provides a drainage outlet. Etah was an early center of primitive Aryan civilization, and the area is noted by Hsüan Tsang, the Chinese Buddhist traveler of the 7th century CE, as being rich in temples and monasteries. However, after the violent repression of Buddhism before the 8th century, the area appeared to return to aboriginal tribes, before being reclaimed by Rajputs during their significant migration eastward. Like much of upper India, it came under the control of Mahmud of Ghazni in 1017, and thereafter became part of the Muslim empire. By the end of the 18th century, it was part of the territory ruled by the wazir of Oudh, and it came under British control in 1801 through the Treaty of Lucknow. During the mutiny of 1857, it experienced serious unrest, along with the usual chaotic disputes among the local princes. In 1901, the population was 863,948, a 23% increase over the previous decade due to expanded canal irrigation. The area is served by a branch of the Rajputana railway running from Agra to Cawnpore, with stations at Kasganj and Soron, which are the two largest towns. It also has several printing presses, indigo factories, and cotton pressing factories, and engages in a significant agricultural export trade.
ÉTAMPES, ANNE DE PISSELEU D’HEILLY, Duchesse d’ (1508-c. 1580), mistress of Francis I. of France, daughter of Guillaume de Pisseleu, sieur d’Heilly, a nobleman of Picardy. She came to court before 1522, and was one of the maids of honour of Louise of Savoy. Francis I. made her his mistress, probably on his return from his captivity at Madrid (1526), and soon gave up Madame de Châteaubriant for her. Anne was sprightly, pretty, witty and cultured, and succeeded in keeping the favour of the king till the end of the reign (1547). The liaison received some official recognition; when Queen Eleanor entered Paris (1530), the king and Anne occupied the same window. In 1533 Francis gave her in marriage to Jean de Brosse, whom he created duc d’Étampes. The influence of the duchesse d’Étampes, especially in the last years of the reign, was considerable. She upheld Admiral Chabot against the constable de Montmorency, who was supported by her rival, Diane de Poitiers, the dauphin’s mistress. She was a friend to new ideas, and co-operated with the king’s sister, Marguerite d’Angoulême. She used her influence to elevate and enrich her family, her uncle, Antoine Sanguin (d. 1559), being made bishop of Orleans in 1535 and a cardinal in 1539.1 The accusations made against her of having allowed herself to be won over by the emperor Charles V. and of playing the traitor in 1544 rest on no serious proof. After the death of Francis I. (1547) she was dismissed from the court by Diane de Poitiers, humiliated in every way, and died in obscurity much later, probably in the reign of Henry III.
ÉTAMPES, ANNE DE PISSELEU D’HEILLY, Duchess of (1508-c. 1580), mistress of Francis I of France, daughter of Guillaume de Pisseleu, sieur d’Heilly, a nobleman from Picardy. She came to the court before 1522 and was one of the maids of honor for Louise of Savoy. Francis I made her his mistress, likely upon returning from his captivity in Madrid (1526), and soon left Madame de Châteaubriant for her. Anne was lively, attractive, witty, and educated, managing to maintain the king's favor until the end of his reign (1547). Their relationship received some official acknowledgment; when Queen Eleanor entered Paris (1530), the king and Anne shared the same window. In 1533, Francis married her off to Jean de Brosse, whom he made duc d'Étampes. The influence of Duchess d'Étampes, especially in the later years of the reign, was significant. She supported Admiral Chabot against Constable de Montmorency, who had the backing of her rival, Diane de Poitiers, the dauphin’s mistress. She was a supporter of new ideas and worked with the king's sister, Marguerite d’Angoulême. She used her influence to promote and enrich her family, with her uncle, Antoine Sanguin (d. 1559), becoming bishop of Orleans in 1535 and a cardinal in 1539.1 The allegations against her of having been swayed by Emperor Charles V and acting as a traitor in 1544 lack credible evidence. After the death of Francis I (1547), she was expelled from court by Diane de Poitiers, humiliated in every way, and later died in obscurity, most likely during the reign of Henry III.
See Paulin Paris, Études sur François Ier (Paris, 1885).
See Paulin Paris, Études sur François Ier (Paris, 1885).
1 The château of Meudon, belonging to the Sanguin family, was handed over to the duchesse d’Étampes in 1539. Sanguin was translated to Limoges in 1546, and became archbishop of Toulouse in 1550.
1 The château of Meudon, owned by the Sanguin family, was given to the duchesse d’Étampes in 1539. Sanguin was moved to Limoges in 1546, and became the archbishop of Toulouse in 1550.
ÉTAMPES, a town of northern France, capital of an arrondissement in the department of Seine-et-Oise, on the Orléans railway, 35 m. S. by W. of Paris. Pop. (1906) 8720. Étampes is a long straggling town hemmed in between the railway on the north and the Chalouette on the south; the latter is a tributary of the Juine which waters the eastern outskirts of the town. A fine view of Étampes is obtained from the Tour Guinette, a ruined keep built by Louis VI. in the 12th century on an eminence on the other side of the railway. Notre-Dame du Fort, the chief church, dates from the 11th and 12th centuries; irregular in plan, it is remarkable for a fine Romanesque tower and spire, and for the crenellated wall which partly surrounds it. The interior contains ancient paintings and other artistic works. St Basile (12th and 16th centuries), which preserves a Romanesque doorway, and St Martin (12th and 13th centuries), with a leaning tower of the 16th century, are of less importance. The civil buildings offer little interest, but two houses named after Anne de Pisseleu (see above), mistress of Francis I., and Diane de Poitiers, mistress of Henry II., are graceful examples of Renaissance architecture. In the square there is a statue of the naturalist, Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, who was born in Étampes. The subprefecture, a tribunal of first instance, and a communal college are among the public institutions of Étampes. Flour-milling, 804 metal-founding, leather-dressing, printing and the manufacture of boots and shoes and hosiery are carried on; there are quarries of paving-stone, nurseries and market gardens in the vicinity, and the town has important markets for cereals and sheep.
ÉTAMPES, is a town in northern France, serving as the capital of an arrondissement in the Seine-et-Oise department, located 35 miles southwest of Paris. As of 1906, it had a population of 8,720. Étampes is a long, sprawling town nestled between the railway to the north and the Chalouette river to the south; the latter is a tributary of the Juine, which flows through the town's eastern outskirts. A great view of Étampes can be enjoyed from the Tour Guinette, a ruined keep built by Louis VI in the 12th century on a hill across from the railway. The main church, Notre-Dame du Fort, dates back to the 11th and 12th centuries and features an irregular layout along with a beautiful Romanesque tower and spire, as well as crenellated walls that partly surround it. The interior houses ancient paintings and other artistic works. St. Basile (from the 12th and 16th centuries) has a preserved Romanesque doorway, and St. Martin (from the 12th and 13th centuries) includes a leaning tower built in the 16th century, both of lesser significance. The civil buildings lack interest, but two houses named after Anne de Pisseleu (noted above), mistress of Francis I, and Diane de Poitiers, mistress of Henry II, are elegant examples of Renaissance architecture. In the square, there is a statue of the naturalist Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, who was born in Étampes. The town has various public institutions, including a subprefecture, a first-instance tribunal, and a communal college. Industries in Étampes include flour milling, metal founding, leather dressing, printing, and the production of boots, shoes, and hosiery; there are also stone quarries, nurseries, and market gardens in the area, with significant markets for cereals and sheep.
Étampes (Lat. Stampae) existed at the beginning of the 7th century and in the early middle ages belonged to the crown domain. During the middle ages it was the scene of several councils, the most notable of which took place in 1130 and resulted in the recognition of Innocent II. as the legitimate pope. In 1652, during the war of the Fronde it suffered severely at the hands of the royal troops under Turenne.
Étampes (Lat. Stampae) existed at the start of the 7th century and in the early Middle Ages was part of the royal domain. During the Middle Ages, it hosted several councils, the most notable being in 1130, which led to the recognition of Innocent II as the legitimate pope. In 1652, during the Fronde war, it was severely impacted by royal troops under Turenne.
Lords, Counts and Dukes of Étampes.—The lordship of Étampes, in what is now the department of Seine et Oise in France, belonged to the royal domain, but was detached from it on several occasions in favour of princes, or kings’ favourites. St Louis gave it to his mother Blanche of Castile, and then to his wife Marguerite of Provence. Louis, the brother of Philip the Fair, became lord of Étampes in 1317 and count in 1327; he was succeeded by his son and his grandson. Francis I. raised the countship of Étampes to the rank of a duchy for his mistress Anne de Pisseleu D’Heilly. The new duchy passed to Diane de Poitiers (1553), to Catherine of Lorraine, duchess of Montpensier (1578), to Marguerite of Valois (1582) and to Gabrielle d’Estrées (1598). The latter transmitted it to her son, César of Vendôme, and his descendants held it till 1712. It then passed by inheritance to the families of Bourbon-Conti and of Orleans.
Lords, Counts and Dukes of Étampes.—The lordship of Étampes, located in what is now the Seine et Oise department in France, originally belonged to the royal domain but was occasionally granted to princes or favorites of the kings. St. Louis gave it to his mother, Blanche of Castile, and then to his wife, Marguerite of Provence. Louis, the brother of Philip the Fair, became lord of Étampes in 1317 and was made count in 1327; he was succeeded by his son and then his grandson. Francis I elevated the countship of Étampes to a duchy for his mistress, Anne de Pisseleu D’Heilly. This new duchy later passed to Diane de Poitiers (1553), Catherine of Lorraine, duchess of Montpensier (1578), Marguerite of Valois (1582), and Gabrielle d’Estrées (1598). Gabrielle transferred it to her son, César of Vendôme, and his descendants held it until 1712. After that, it was inherited by the Bourbon-Conti and Orleans families.
ÉTAPLES, a town of northern France, in the department of Pas-de-Calais, on the right bank of the estuary of the Canche, 3 m. from the Straits of Dover, 17 m. S. of Boulogne by rail. Pop. (1906) 5136. Étaples has a small fishing and commercial port which enjoyed a certain importance during the middle ages. Boat-building is carried on. There is an old church with a statue of the Virgin much revered by the sailors. The Canche is crossed by a bridge over 1600 ft. in length. Le Touquet, in the midst of pine woods, and the neighbouring watering-place of Paris-Plage, 3½ m. W. of Étaples at the mouth of the estuary, are much frequented by English and French visitors for golf, tennis and bathing, and Étaples itself is a centre for artists. Antiquarian discoveries in the vicinity of Étaples have led to the conjecture that it occupies the site of the Gallo-Roman port of Quentovicus. In 1492 a treaty was signed here between Henry VII., king of England, and Charles VIII., king of France.
ÉTAPLES, is a town in northern France, in the Pas-de-Calais department, located on the right bank of the Canche estuary, 3 miles from the Straits of Dover and 17 miles south of Boulogne by train. The population was 5,136 in 1906. Étaples has a small fishing and commercial port that was quite significant during the Middle Ages. Boat-building is active here. There is an old church featuring a statue of the Virgin, which is highly revered by sailors. The Canche River is spanned by a bridge that is over 1,600 feet long. Le Touquet, surrounded by pine woods, and the nearby seaside resort of Paris-Plage, 3½ miles west of Étaples at the estuary's mouth, are popular destinations for English and French visitors for golf, tennis, and swimming, and Étaples itself is a hub for artists. Archaeological finds near Étaples suggest that it may be located on the site of the Gallo-Roman port of Quentovicus. In 1492, a treaty was signed here between Henry VII, the king of England, and Charles VIII, the king of France.
ETAWAH, a town and district of British India, in the Agra division of the United Provinces. The town is situated on the left bank of the Jumna, and has a station on the East Indian railway, 206 m. from Allahabad. Pop. (1901) 42,570. Deep fissures intersect the various quarters of the town, over which broad roads connect the higher portions by bridges and embankments. The Jama Masjid (Great Mosque) is the chief architectural ornament of Etawah. It was originally a Hindu temple, and was adapted to its present use by the Mahommedan conquerors. Several fine Hindu temples also stand about the mound on which are the ruins of the ancient fort. Etawah is now only the civil headquarters of the district, the military cantonment having been abandoned in 1861. Considerable trade is carried on by rail and river. The manufactures include cotton cloth, skin-bottles, combs and horn-ware and sweetmeats.
ETAWAH, is a town and district in British India, located in the Agra division of the United Provinces. The town sits on the left bank of the Jumna River and has a station on the East Indian railway, 206 miles from Allahabad. The population in 1901 was 42,570. Deep cracks cut through the different areas of the town, with wide roads connecting the elevated sections via bridges and embankments. The Jama Masjid (Great Mosque) is the main architectural feature of Etawah. It was originally a Hindu temple and was converted for its current use by the Muslim conquerors. Several impressive Hindu temples also stand on the mound where the ruins of the ancient fort are located. Etawah is currently just the civil headquarters of the district, with the military cantonment abandoned since 1861. There is a significant amount of trade conducted by rail and river. The local products include cotton cloth, skin-bottles, combs, horn-ware, and sweets.
The District of Etawah has an area of 1691 sq. m. It forms a purely artificial administrative division, stretching across the level plain of the Doab, and beyond the valley of the Jumna, to the gorges of the Chambal, and the last rocky outliers of the Vindhyan range. The district exhibits a striking variety of surface and scenery. The greater portion lies within the Doab or level alluvial plain between the Ganges and the Jumna. This part falls naturally into two sections, divided by the deep and fissured valley of the river Sengar. The tract to the north-east of that stream is rich and fertile, being watered by the Cawnpore and Etawah branches of the Ganges canal, and other important works. The south-western region has the same natural advantages, but possesses no great irrigation system, and is consequently less fruitful than the opposite slopes. Near the banks of the Jumna, the plain descends into the river valley by a series of wild ravines and terraces, inhabited only by a scattered race of hereditary herdsmen. Beyond the Jumna again a strip of British territory extends along the tangled gorges of the Chambal and the Kuari Nadi, far into the borders of the Gwalior state. This outlying tract embraces a series of rocky glens and mountain torrents, crowned by the ruins of native strongholds, and interspersed with narrow ledges of cultivable alluvium. The climate, once hot and sultry, has now become comparatively moist and equable under the influence of irrigation and the planting of trees.
The Etawah District covers an area of 1,691 sq. m. It is essentially an artificial administrative division, stretching across the flat plains of the Doab and extending beyond the valley of the Jumna to the gorges of the Chambal and the last rocky foothills of the Vindhyan range. The district showcases a remarkable variety of landscapes and scenery. Most of it lies within the Doab, which is the flat alluvial plain between the Ganges and the Jumna. This area naturally divides into two parts, separated by the deep and uneven valley of the river Sengar. The region to the northeast of that river is rich and fertile, benefiting from the Cawnpore and Etawah branches of the Ganges canal and other significant irrigation projects. The southwestern area has similar natural advantages but lacks a major irrigation system, making it less productive than the opposite slopes. Along the banks of the Jumna, the plain slopes down into the river valley through a series of rugged ravines and terraces, which are only home to a sparse population of hereditary herdsmen. On the other side of the Jumna, a stretch of British territory runs along the complex gorges of the Chambal and the Kuari Nadi, extending deep into Gwalior state. This outlying area features rocky valleys and mountain streams, dotted with the ruins of local forts and narrow strips of cultivable alluvium. The climate, once hot and humid, has now become relatively moist and temperate thanks to irrigation and tree planting.
Etawah was marked out by its physical features as a secure retreat for the turbulent tribes of the Upper Doab, and it was not till the 12th century that any of the existing castes settled on the soil. After the Mussulman conquests of Delhi and the surrounding country, the Hindus of Etawah appear to have held their own for many generations against the Mahommedan power; but in the 16th century Baber conquered the district, with the rest of the Doab, and it remained in the hands of the Moguls until the decay of their empire. After passing through the usual vicissitudes of Mahratta and Jat conquests during the long anarchy which preceded the British rule, Etawah was annexed by the wazir of Oudh in 1773. The wazir ceded it to the East India Company in 1801, but it still remained so largely in the hands of lawless native chiefs that some difficulty was experienced in reducing it to orderly government. During the mutiny of 1857 serious disturbances occurred in Etawah, and the district was occupied by the rebels from June to December; order was not completely restored till the end of 1858. In 1901 the population was 806,798, showing an increase of 11% in the decade. The district is partly watered by branches of the Ganges canal, and is traversed throughout by the main line of the East Indian railway from Cawnpore to Agra. Cotton, oilseeds and other agricultural produce are exported, and some indigo is made, but manufacturing industry is slight.
Etawah was distinguished by its physical features, making it a safe haven for the restless tribes of the Upper Doab, and it wasn't until the 12th century that any of the current castes settled there. After the Muslim conquests of Delhi and the surrounding areas, the Hindus of Etawah seemed to have maintained their position against Muslim power for many generations. However, in the 16th century, Babur conquered the district along with the rest of the Doab, and it stayed under Mughal control until their empire began to weaken. After going through the typical ups and downs of Mahratta and Jat conquests during the extended chaos that preceded British rule, Etawah was annexed by the wazir of Oudh in 1773. The wazir transferred it to the East India Company in 1801, but it still remained largely under the control of unruly local leaders, making it difficult to establish proper governance. During the mutiny of 1857, serious unrest broke out in Etawah, and the district was occupied by rebels from June to December; order wasn’t fully restored until the end of 1858. In 1901, the population was 806,798, reflecting an 11% increase over the previous decade. The district is partially irrigated by branches of the Ganges canal and is connected throughout by the main line of the East Indian railway from Cawnpore to Agra. Cotton, oilseeds, and other agricultural products are exported, and some indigo is produced, but manufacturing activity is minimal.
To prepare a plate for etching it is first covered with etching-ground, a composition which resists acid. The qualities of a ground are to be so adhesive that it will not quit the copper when a small quantity is left isolated between lines, yet not so adhesive that the etching point cannot easily and entirely remove it; at the same time a good ground will be hard enough to bear the hand upon it, or a sheet of paper, yet not so hard as to be brittle. The ground used by Abraham Bosse, the French painter and engraver (1602-1676) was composed as follows:—Melt 2 oz. of white wax; then add to it 1 oz. of gum-mastic in powder, a little at a time, stirring till the wax and the mastic are well mingled; then add, in the same manner, 1 oz. of bitumen in powder. There are three different ways of applying an etching-ground to a plate. The old-fashioned way was to wrap a ball of the ground in silk, heat the plate, and then rub the ball upon the surface, enough of the ground to cover the plate melting through the silk. To equalize the ground a dabber was used, which was made of cotton-wool under horsehair, the whole inclosed in silk. This method is still used by many artists, from tradition and habit, but it is far inferior in perfection and convenience to that which we will now describe. When the etching-ground is melted, add to it half its volume of essential oil of lavender, mix well, and allow the mixture to cool. You have now a paste which can be spread upon a cold plate with a roller; these rollers are covered with leather and made (very carefully) for the purpose. You first spread a little paste on a sheet of glass (if too thick, add more oil of lavender and mix with a palette knife), and roll it till the roller is quite equally charged all over, when the paste is easily transferred to the copper, which is afterwards gently heated to expel the oil of lavender. In both these methods of grounding a plate, the work is not completed until the ground has been smoked, which is effected as follows. The plate is held by a hand-vice if a small one, or if large, is fixed at some height, with the covered side downwards. A smoking torch, composed of many thin bees-wax dips twisted 805 together, is then lighted and passed repeatedly under the plate in every direction, till the ground has incorporated enough lampblack to blacken it. The third way of covering a plate for etching is to apply the ground in solution as collodion is applied by photographers. The ground may be dissolved in chloroform, or in oil of lavender. The plate being grounded, its back and edges are protected from the acid by Japan varnish, which soon dries, and then the drawing is traced upon it. The best way of tracing a drawing is to use sheet gelatine, which is employed as follows. The gelatine is laid upon the drawing, which its transparence allows you to see perfectly, and you trace the lines by scratching the smooth surface with a sharp point. You then fill these scratches with fine black-lead, in powder, rubbing it in with the finger, turn the tracing with its face to the plate, and rub the back of it with a burnisher. The black-lead from the scratches adheres to the etching ground and shows upon it as pale grey, much more visible than anything else you can use for tracing. Then comes the work of the etching-needle, which is merely a piece of steel sharpened more or less. J.M.W. Turner used a prong of an old steel fork which did as well as anything, but neater etching-needles are sold by artists’ colour-makers. The needle removes the ground or cover and lays the copper bare. Some artists sharpen their needles so as to present a cutting edge which, when used sideways, scrapes away a broad line; and many etchers use needles of various degrees of sharpness to get thicker or thinner lines. It may be well to observe, in connexion with this part of the subject, that whilst thick lines agree perfectly well with the nature of woodcut, they are very apt to give an unpleasant heaviness to plate engraving of all kinds, whilst thin lines have generally a clear and agreeable appearance in plate engraving. Nevertheless, lines of moderate thickness are used effectively in etching when covered with finer shading, and very thick lines indeed were employed with good results by Turner when he intended to cover them with mezzotint (q.v.), and to print in brown ink, because their thickness was essential to prevent them from being overwhelmed by the mezzotint, and the brown ink made them print less heavily than black. Etchers differ in opinion as to whether the needle ought to scratch the copper or simply to glide upon its surface. A gliding needle is much more free, and therefore communicates a greater appearance of freedom to the etching, but it has the inconvenience that the etching-ground may not always be entirely removed, and then the lines may be defective from insufficient biting. A scratching needle, on the other hand, is free from this serious inconvenience, but it must not scratch irregularly so as to engrave lines of various depth. The biting in former times was generally done with a mixture of nitric acid and water, in equal proportions; but in the present day a Dutch mordant is a good deal used, which is composed as follows: Hydrochloric acid, 100 grammes; chlorate of potash, 20 grammes; water, 880 grammes. To make it, heat the water, add the chlorate of potash, wait till it is entirely dissolved, and then add the acid. The nitrous mordant acts rapidly and causes ebullition; the Dutch mordant acts slowly and causes no ebullition. The nitrous mordant widens the lines; the Dutch mordant bites in depth, and does not widen the lines to any perceptible degree. The time required for both depends upon temperature. A mordant bites slowly when cold, and more and more rapidly when heated. To obviate irregularity caused by difference of temperature, it is a good plan to heat the Dutch mordant artificially to 95° Fahr. by lamps under the bath (for which a photographer’s porcelain tray is most convenient), and keep it steadily to that temperature; the results may then be counted upon; but whatever the temperature fixed upon, the results will be regular if it is regular. To get different degrees of biting on the same plate the lines which are to be pale are “stopped out” by being painted over with Japan varnish or with etching ground dissolved in oil of lavender, the darkest lines being reserved to the last, as they have to bite longest. When the acid has done its work properly the lines are bitten in such various degrees of depth that they will print with the degree of blackness required; but if some parts of the subject require to be made paler, they can be lowered by rubbing them with charcoal and olive oil, and if they have to be made deeper they can be rebitten, or covered with added shading. Rebiting is done with the roller above mentioned, which is now charged very lightly with paste and rolled over the copper with no pressure but its own weight, so as to cover the smooth surface but not fill up any of the lines. The oil of lavender is then expelled as before by gently heating the plate, but it is not smoked. The lines which require rebiting may now be rebitten, and the others preserved against the action of the acid by stopping out. These are a few of the most essential technical points in etching, but there are many matters of detail for which the reader is referred to the special works on the subject.
To prepare a plate for etching, you first cover it with etching ground, a mixture that resists acid. The qualities of a good ground are that it should be sticky enough not to come off the copper when a small amount is left between lines, but not so sticky that the etching tool can’t easily remove it. Additionally, a good ground should be tough enough to handle being touched or covered with paper, but not so tough that it's brittle. The ground used by Abraham Bosse, the French painter and engraver (1602-1676), was made by melting 2 oz. of white wax, then gradually adding 1 oz. of powdered gum mastic while stirring until well mixed, followed by 1 oz. of powdered bitumen in the same way. There are three primary methods for applying etching ground to a plate. The traditional method involves wrapping a ball of ground in silk, heating the plate, and then rubbing the ball on the surface so the ground melts through the silk. A dabber made of cotton wool under horsehair, all enclosed in silk, is used to even out the ground. This old method is still favored by many artists due to tradition, but it’s less effective and convenient than the next method I will describe. When the etching ground is melted, add half its volume in essential oil of lavender, mix it well, and let it cool. You will now have a paste that can be applied to a cold plate with a roller specifically made for this purpose, covered in leather. First, spread a little paste on a sheet of glass (if too thick, add more oil of lavender and mix with a palette knife), and roll it until the roller is evenly coated. The paste can then be transferred easily to the copper plate, which is subsequently gently heated to remove the oil of lavender. In both methods of preparing a plate, the process isn’t complete until the ground has been smoked, which is done by holding the plate in a hand vice (if small) or securing it at some height with the covered side facing down. A smoking torch made of many thin twisted beeswax dips is lit and passed beneath the plate in all directions until the ground has absorbed enough lampblack to turn black. The third method of applying etching ground is by using a solution, similar to how photographers use collodion. The ground can be dissolved in chloroform or oil of lavender. Once the plate is coated, its back and edges are protected from the acid using Japan varnish, which dries quickly, allowing the drawing to be traced on it. The best way to trace a drawing is to use sheet gelatin placed over the drawing, allowing you to see perfectly. You then trace the lines by scratching the smooth surface with a sharp point. After that, fill the scratches with fine powdered black lead, rubbing it in with your finger, then turn the tracing over onto the plate and rub the back with a burnisher. The black lead from the scratches adheres to the etching ground, appearing as pale grey, which is much clearer than anything else for tracing. Next comes the work with the etching needle, which is simply a sharpened piece of steel. J.M.W. Turner used a prong from an old steel fork, which worked just as well, but neater etching needles are available from artists’ supply stores. The needle removes the ground covering and exposes the copper. Some artists sharpen their needles to create a cutting edge, which can scrape away a broader line when used sideways; many etchers use needles of varying sharpness to achieve thicker or thinner lines. It’s important to note that while thick lines work well for woodcuts, they can make plate engravings feel heavy. In contrast, thin lines generally have a cleaner, more pleasing look in plate engraving. Still, medium-thick lines can be effectively used in etching, especially when paired with finer shading. Turner also used very thick lines effectively when he planned to cover them with mezzotint, printing in brown ink because their thickness was essential to prevent them from being lost in the mezzotint, and brown ink allowed for a softer print than black. Etchers have different opinions on whether the needle should scratch the copper or glide over its surface. A gliding needle offers more freedom, giving the etching a sense of spontaneity, but it might not always completely remove the etching ground, leading to imperfect lines due to insufficient biting. A scratching needle avoids this problem but must not create inconsistencies in line depth. Historically, biting was usually done with a mix of equal parts nitric acid and water, but nowadays, a Dutch mordant is commonly used, made as follows: 100 grams of hydrochloric acid, 20 grams of potassium chlorate, and 880 grams of water. To prepare it, heat the water, add the potassium chlorate, wait for it to dissolve completely, and then add the acid. The nitrous mordant works quickly and causes bubbling; the Dutch mordant acts slowly and doesn’t produce bubbles. The nitrous mordant widens lines, while the Dutch mordant bites deeper without noticeably widening them. The required time for either depends on the temperature: a mordant bites slowly when cold and accelerates when heated. To avoid irregularity due to temperature differences, it’s best to artificially heat the Dutch mordant to around 95°F using lamps under the bath (a photographer's porcelain tray works well for this) and maintain that temperature for consistent results; if the temperature remains steady, the outcomes will also be regular. To achieve varying degrees of biting on the same plate, the lighter lines are "stopped out" by painting them with Japan varnish or etching ground dissolved in oil of lavender. The darkest lines should be saved for last, as they require the longest biting time. When the acid works properly, the lines will be bitten to different depths for desired blackness; if some areas need to be lighter, they can be reduced by rubbing with charcoal and olive oil. If they need to be darkened, they can be rebitten or shaded further. Rebiting is done with the previously mentioned roller, now lightly charged with paste and rolled over the copper without pressure, just its own weight, to cover the smooth surface without filling the lines. The oil of lavender is then removed by gently heating the plate, but without smoking it. The lines needing rebiting can now be processed while protecting the others from the acid by stopping out. These are some of the essential technical points in etching, but for additional details, readers should refer to specialized works on the subject.
There are many varieties in the processes of etching, and it is only necessary here to indicate the essential facts. A brief analysis of different styles may be given.
There are many different ways to etch, and it's only necessary to highlight the key points here. A quick breakdown of various styles can be provided.
(1) Pure Line. As there is line engraving, so there is line etching; but as the etching-needle is a freer instrument than the burin, the line has qualities which differ widely from those of the burin line. Each of the two has its own charm and beauty; the liberty of the one is charming, and the restraint of the other is admirable also in its right place. In line etching, as in line engraving, the great masters purposely exhibit the line and do not hide it under too much shading. (2) Line and Shade. This answers exactly in etching to Mantegna’s work in engraving. The most important lines are drawn first throughout, and the shade thrown over them like a wash with the brush over a pen sketch in indelible ink. (3) Shade and Texture. This is used chiefly to imitate oil-painting. Here the line (properly so called) is entirely abandoned, and the attention of the etcher is given to texture and chiaroscuro. He uses lines, of course, to express these, but does not exhibit them for their own beauty; on the contrary, he conceals them.
(1) Pure Line. Just like there is line engraving, there's also line etching; but since the etching needle is a more flexible tool than the burin, the lines created have qualities that are quite distinct from burin lines. Each technique has its own unique charm and appeal; the freedom of one is delightful, while the discipline of the other is also admirable in its own context. In line etching, just like in line engraving, the great masters intentionally showcase the lines rather than hiding them under excessive shading. (2) Line and Shade. This corresponds perfectly in etching to Mantegna’s work in engraving. The most essential lines are laid down first, with shading applied over them much like a wash over a pen sketch done in permanent ink. (3) Shade and Texture. This technique is mainly used to mimic oil painting. Here, traditional lines are completely set aside, and the etcher focuses on texture and chiaroscuro. They do use lines to convey these effects, but they do not highlight them for their own beauty; rather, they keep them hidden.
Of these three styles of etching the first is technically the easiest, and being also the most rapid, is adopted for sketching on the copper from nature; the second is the next in difficulty; and the third the most difficult, on account of the biting, which is never easy to manage when it becomes elaborate. The etcher has, however, many resources; he can make passages paler by burnishing them, or by using charcoal, or he can efface them entirely with the scraper and charcoal; he can darken them by rebiting or by regrounding the plate and adding fresh work; and he need not run the risk of biting the very palest passages of all, because these can be easily done with the dry point, which is simply a well-sharpened stylus used directly on the copper without the help of acid. It is often asserted that any one can etch who can draw, but this is a mistaken assertion likely to mislead. Without requiring so long an apprenticeship as the burin, etching is a very difficult art indeed, the two main causes of its difficulty being that the artist does not see his work properly as he proceeds, and that mistakes or misfortunes in the biting, which are of frequent occurrence to the inexperienced, may destroy all the relations of tone.
Of these three styles of etching, the first is technically the easiest and, being the quickest, is used for sketching on copper from nature. The second is next in difficulty, and the third is the most challenging due to the biting process, which is hard to control when it gets complicated. The etcher has many tools at their disposal; they can lighten areas by burnishing them or using charcoal, or they can completely remove them with a scraper and charcoal. They can darken sections by rebiting or by regrinding the plate and adding new work. They also don’t have to worry about biting the lightest areas, as these can be easily created with the dry point, which is just a well-sharpened stylus used directly on the copper without acid. People often say that anyone who can draw can etch, but that's a misleading claim. While etching doesn't require as long an apprenticeship as working with a burin, it is indeed a very difficult art. The two main reasons for this difficulty are that the artist can’t properly see their work as they go along, and that mistakes or accidents in the biting process, which are common for beginners, can ruin the tonal relationships.
Etching, like line engraving, owed much to the old masters, but whereas, with the exception of Albert Dürer, the painters were seldom practical line engravers, they advanced etching not only by advice given to others but by the work of their own hands. Rembrandt did as much for etching as either Raphael or Rubens for line engraving; and in landscape the etchings of Claude had an influence which still continues, both Rembrandt and Claude being practical workmen in etching, and very skilful workmen. Ostade, Ruysdael, Berghem, Paul Potter, Karl Dujardin, etched as they painted, and so did a greater than any of them, Vandyck. In the earlier part of the 19th century etching was almost a defunct art, except as it was employed by engravers as a help to get faster through their work, of which “engraving” got all the credit, the public being unable to distinguish between etched lines and lines cut with the burin. But from the middle of the century dates a great revival of etching as an independent art, a revival which has extended all over Europe.
Etching, like line engraving, benefitted greatly from the old masters. However, while painters rarely engaged in practical line engraving—except for Albert Dürer—they significantly advanced etching not only through their advice to others but also through their own artistry. Rembrandt contributed as much to etching as Raphael or Rubens did to line engraving, and in the realm of landscapes, Claude's etchings have had a lasting influence. Both Rembrandt and Claude were skilled etchers. Ostade, Ruysdael, Berghem, Paul Potter, and Karl Dujardin etched just as they painted, and even greater than any of them was Vandyck. In the early 19th century, etching was nearly a forgotten art, mostly used by engravers to speed up their work, with “engraving” receiving all the credit. The public struggled to tell the difference between etched lines and those cut with a burin. However, from the middle of the century, there was a significant revival of etching as an independent art form, a revival that spread across Europe.
Apart from the copying of pictures by etching—which was found commercially preferable to the use of line engraving—a 806 number of artists and amateurs gradually practised original etching with increasing success, notably Sir Seymour Haden, J.M. Whistler, Samuel Palmer and others in England, Felix Bracquemond, C.F. Daubigny, Charles Jacque, Adolphe Appian, Maxime Lalanne, Jules Jacquemart and others on the continent, besides that singular and remarkable genius, Charles Méryon. Etching clubs, or associations of artists for the publication of original etchings, were gradually founded in England, France, Germany and Belgium. Méryon and Whistler are two of the greatest modern etchers. Among earlier names mention may be made of Andrew Geddes (1783-1844) and of Sir David Wilkie (1785-1841). Geddes was the finer artist with the needle; he it was whom Rembrandt best inspired; his work was in the grand manner. Of the rich and rare dry-points “At Peckham Rye” and “At Halliford-on-Thames,” the deepest and most brilliant master of landscape would have no need to be ashamed. David Wilkie’s prints were, naturally, not less dramatic than his pictures, but the etcher’s particular gift was possessed by him more intermittently: it is shown best in “The Receipt,” a strong and vivid, dexterous sketch, quite full of character. J.S. Cotman’s (1782-1842) etchings are also historically interesting though they were “soft ground” for the most part. They show all his qualities of elegance and freedom as a draughtsman, and much of his large dignity in the distribution of light and shade. T. Girtin (1775-1802), in the preparations for his views of Paris, was notably happy. The work of Sir Francis Seymour Haden (b. 1818) had a powerful influence on the art in England. Between 1858 and 1879 Seymour Haden—the first president of the Royal Society of Painter Etchers—produced the vast majority of his plates, which have always good draughtsmanship, unity of effect and a personal impression. They show a strong feeling for nature. If, amongst some two hundred subjects, it were necessary to select one or two for peculiar praise, they might be the “Breaking up of the Agamemnon,” the almost perfect “Water Meadow,” the masterly presentment of “Erith Marshes,” and the later dry-point of “Windmill Hill.” Another great etcher—Frenchman by birth, but English by long residence—is Alphonse Legros (q.v.). Great in expression and suggestive draughtsmanship, austere and economical in line, Legros’s work is the grave record of the observation and the fancy of an imaginative mind. In poetic portraiture nothing can well exceed his etched vision of G.F. Watts; “La Mort du Vagabond” is noticeable for terror and homely pathos; “Communion dans l’Église St Médard” is perhaps the best instance of the dignity, vigour and grave sympathy with which he addresses himself to ecclesiastical themes. Something of these latter qualities, in dealing with similar themes, Legros passed on to his pupil, Sir Charles Holroyd (b. 1861)—an etcher in the true vein; whilst an earlier pupil, prolific as himself, as imaginative, and sometimes more deliberately uncouth—William Strang, A.R.A. (b. 1859)—carried on in his own way the tradition of that part of Legros’s practice, the preoccupation with the humble, for which Legros himself found certain warrant in a portion of the great œuvre of Rembrandt. Frank Short, A.R.A. (b. 1857), as with the very touch of Turner, carried to completion great designs that Turner left unfinished for the Liber studiorum. The delicacy of “Sleeping till the Flood,” the curiously suggestive realism of “Wrought Nails”—a scene in the Black Country—entitle him to a lasting place in the list of the fine wielders of the etching-needle. D.Y. Cameron (b. 1865) betrays the influence of Rembrandt in a noble etching, “Border Towers,” and the influence of Méryon in such a print as that of “The Palace, Stirling.” His “London Set” is particularly fine. The individuality of C.J. Watson is less marked, but his skill, chiefly in architectural work, is noticeable. Admirers of the studiously accurate portraiture of a great monument may be able to set Watson’s print of “St Étienne du Mont” by the side of Méryon’s august and mysterious and ever-memorable vision. Paul Helleu (b. 1859) in his brilliant sketches, particularly of women, has used the art of etching in a peculiarly individual and delightful way. Among the numerous other modern etchers only a bare mention can be made of Oliver Hall, Minna Bolingbroke and Elizabeth Armstrong (Mrs Watson and Mrs Stanhope Forbes), Alfred East, Robert Macbeth, Walter Sickert, Robert Goff, Mortimer Menpes, Percy Thomas, Raven Hill, and Prof. H. von Herkomer, in England; in France, Roussel, J.F. Raffaëlli (b. 1850), Besnard and J.J.J. Tissot (1836-1902).
Aside from copying images through etching, which was favored over line engraving for commercial reasons, a number of artists and hobbyists slowly started practicing original etching with growing success. Notable figures in England included Sir Seymour Haden, J.M. Whistler, Samuel Palmer, and others, while in France and the continent, artists like Felix Bracquemond, C.F. Daubigny, Charles Jacque, Adolphe Appian, Maxime Lalanne, Jules Jacquemart, and the remarkable talent, Charles Méryon, emerged. Etching clubs were gradually established in England, France, Germany, and Belgium for artists to publish their original etchings. Méryon and Whistler are recognized as two of the greatest modern etchers. Earlier names to note include Andrew Geddes (1783-1844) and Sir David Wilkie (1785-1841). Geddes excelled as a needle artist, heavily inspired by Rembrandt, with a style that was grand. His dry-points, “At Peckham Rye” and “At Halliford-on-Thames,” would impress even the most skilled landscapist. Wilkie's prints were just as dramatic as his paintings, but his unique etching talent was more sporadic, showcased best in “The Receipt,” a strong, vivid sketch full of character. J.S. Cotman’s (1782-1842) etchings, mostly working in “soft ground,” are historically interesting; they display his elegance and freedom as a draftsman, along with his ability to manage light and shadow. T. Girtin (1775-1802) was especially effective in preparing views of Paris. Sir Francis Seymour Haden (b. 1818) significantly influenced English etching. Between 1858 and 1879, he—who served as the first president of the Royal Society of Painter Etchers—created the majority of his plates, known for their excellent craftsmanship, cohesive effect, and personal touch, depicting a strong appreciation for nature. Among about two hundred subjects, standout pieces could include “Breaking up of the Agamemnon,” the nearly perfect “Water Meadow,” the expertly rendered “Erith Marshes,” and the later dry-point “Windmill Hill.” Another noteworthy etcher is Alphonse Legros, a Frenchman who lived in England for many years. His expressive and suggestive drafting style is marked by austere and economical lines, capturing the insight and imagination of a creative mind. In poetic portrayal, his etched image of G.F. Watts stands out; “La Mort du Vagabond” is notable for its blend of terror and simple pathos, while “Communion dans l’Église St Médard” perhaps best showcases the dignity, energy, and serious compassion he brings to ecclesiastical subjects. Legros passed on some of these qualities in exploring similar themes to his student, Sir Charles Holroyd (b. 1861)—an etcher in the true style; while an earlier student, William Strang, A.R.A. (b. 1859)—imaginative and sometimes intentionally rough—continued Legros’s focus on humble subjects, which Legros found echoed in part of Rembrandt's great work. Frank Short, A.R.A. (b. 1857), reminiscent of Turner, completed grand designs that Turner left unfinished for the Liber studiorum. The delicate piece “Sleeping till the Flood” and the intriguingly realistic “Wrought Nails”—a scene set in the Black Country—secure his lasting reputation among skilled etchers. D.Y. Cameron (b. 1865) shows Rembrandt’s influence in his impressive etching “Border Towers” and the influence of Méryon in “The Palace, Stirling.” His “London Set” is particularly remarkable. The individual style of C.J. Watson is less distinct, but he is skilled, especially in architectural work. Fans of meticulous portrayal of notable monuments might compare Watson’s print of “St Étienne du Mont” to Méryon’s powerful, mysterious vision. Paul Helleu (b. 1859) uses etching in a uniquely engaging manner, particularly in his lively sketches of women. Among other modern etchers, some that warrant mention are Oliver Hall, Minna Bolingbroke, Elizabeth Armstrong (Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Stanhope Forbes), Alfred East, Robert Macbeth, Walter Sickert, Robert Goff, Mortimer Menpes, Percy Thomas, Raven Hill, and Prof. H. von Herkomer in England; and in France, Roussel, J.F. Raffaëlli (b. 1850), Besnard, and J.J.J. Tissot (1836-1902).
The oldest treatise on etching is that of Abraham Bosse (1645). See also P.G. Hamerton, Etching and Etchers (1868), and Etchers’ Handbook (1881); F. Wedmore, Etching in England (1895); Singer and Strang, Etching, Engraving, &c. (1897).
The oldest writing on etching is by Abraham Bosse (1645). Check out P.G. Hamerton, Etching and Etchers (1868), and Etchers’ Handbook (1881); F. Wedmore, Etching in England (1895); Singer and Strang, Etching, Engraving, &c. (1897).
ETEOCLES, in Greek legend, king of Thebes, son of Oedipus and Jocasta (Iocaste). After their father had been driven out of the country, he and his brother Polyneices agreed to reign alternately for a year. Eteocles, however, refused to keep the agreement, and Polyneices fled to Adrastus, king of Argos, whom he persuaded to undertake the famous expedition against Thebes on his behalf. The two brothers met in single combat, and both were slain. The Theban rulers decreed that only Eteocles should receive the honour of burial, but the decree was set at naught by Antigone (q.v.), the sister of Polyneices. The fate of Eteocles and Polyneices forms the subject of the Seven against Thebes of Aeschylus and the Phoenissae of Euripides.
ETEOCLES, in Greek mythology, was the king of Thebes and the son of Oedipus and Jocasta. After their father was exiled from the land, he and his brother Polyneices agreed to take turns ruling for a year. However, Eteocles didn’t stick to the agreement, which caused Polyneices to escape to Adrastus, the king of Argos. Polyneices convinced Adrastus to lead the famous expedition against Thebes in support of him. The two brothers faced each other in a duel, and both ended up dying. The leaders of Thebes decided that only Eteocles would receive a burial honor, but this decree was ignored by Antigone (q.v.), Polyneices’ sister. The story of Eteocles and Polyneices is the basis for Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes and Euripides’ Phoenissae.
ETESIAN WIND (Lat. etesius, annual; Gr. ἔτος, year), a Mediterranean wind blowing from the north and west in summer for about six weeks annually.
ETESIAN WIND (Lat. etesius, annual; Gr. year, year), a Mediterranean wind that blows from the north and west during the summer for about six weeks each year.
ÉTEX, ANTOINE (1808-1888), French sculptor, painter and architect, was born in Paris on the 20th of March 1808. He first exhibited in the salon of 1833, his work including a reproduction in marble of his “Death of Hyacinthus,” and the plaster cast of his “Cain and his race cursed by God.” Thiers, who was at this time minister of public works, now commissioned him to execute the two groups of “Peace” and “War,” placed at each side of the Arc de Triomphe. This last, which established his reputation, he reproduced in marble in the salon of 1839. The French capital contains numerous examples of the sculptural works of Étex, which included mythological and religious subjects besides a great number of portraits. His paintings include the subjects of Eurydice and the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, and among the best known of his architectural productions are the tomb of Napoleon I. in the Invalides and a monument of the revolution of 1848. Étex wrote a number of essays on subjects connected with the arts. The last year of his life was spent at Nice, and he died at Chaville (Seine-et-Oise) on the 14th of July 1888.
ÉTEX, ANTOINE (1808-1888), French sculptor, painter, and architect, was born in Paris on March 20, 1808. He first exhibited at the salon in 1833, showcasing his work including a marble reproduction of “Death of Hyacinthus” and a plaster cast of “Cain and his race cursed by God.” Thiers, who was the minister of public works at the time, commissioned him to create the two groups “Peace” and “War,” which are placed on either side of the Arc de Triomphe. The latter, which solidified his reputation, he reproduced in marble for the salon in 1839. The French capital features many examples of Étex's sculptural works, which include mythological and religious themes as well as numerous portraits. His paintings depict subjects like Eurydice and the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, and among his most notable architectural works are the tomb of Napoleon I in the Invalides and a monument commemorating the revolution of 1848. Étex also wrote several essays on art-related topics. He spent his final year in Nice and passed away in Chaville (Seine-et-Oise) on July 14, 1888.
See P.E. Mangeant, Antoine Étex, peintre, sculpteur et architecte, 1808-1888 (Paris, 1894).
See P.E. Mangeant, Antoine Étex, painter, sculptor, and architect, 1808-1888 (Paris, 1894).
ETHER, (C2H5)2O, the Aether of pharmacy, a colourless, volatile, highly inflammable liquid, of specific gravity 0.736 at 0°, boiling-point 35° C., and freezing-point −117°.4 C. (K. Olszewski). It has a strong and characteristic odour, and a hot sweetish taste, is soluble in ten parts of water, and in all proportions in alcohol, and dissolves bromine, iodine, and, in small quantities, sulphur and phosphorus, also the volatile oils, most fatty and resinous substances, guncotton, caoutchouc and certain of the vegetable alkaloids. The vapour mixed with oxygen or air is violently explosive. The making of ether by the action of sulphuric acid on alcohol was known in about the 13th century; and later Basil Valentine and Valerius Cordus described its preparation and properties. The name ether appears to have been applied to the drug only since the times of Frobenius, who in 1730 termed it spiritus aethereus or vini vitriolatus. It was considered to be a sulphur compound, hence its name sulphur ether; this idea was proved to be erroneous by Valentine Rose in about 1800. Ether is manufactured by the distillation of 5 parts of 90% alcohol with 9 parts of concentrated sulphuric acid at a temperature of 140°-145° C., a constant stream of alcohol being caused to flow into the mixture during the operation. The distillate is purified by treatment with lime and calcium chloride, and subsequent distillation. The mechanism of this reaction was explained by A. Williamson in 1850. For other methods of preparation see Ethers.1
ETHER, (C2H5)2O, the Aether of pharmacy, is a colorless, volatile, highly flammable liquid with a specific gravity of 0.736 at 0°, a boiling point of 35° C., and a freezing point of −117.4° C. (K. Olszewski). It has a strong, distinctive smell and a warm, sweet taste, is soluble in ten parts of water, and is fully soluble in alcohol. It also dissolves bromine, iodine, and in small amounts, sulfur and phosphorus, as well as volatile oils, most fatty and resinous substances, guncotton, caoutchouc, and certain plant alkaloids. The vapor mixed with oxygen or air is explosively dangerous. The process of making ether through the reaction of sulfuric acid and alcohol was known as early as the 13th century; later, Basil Valentine and Valerius Cordus described its preparation and properties. The term ether seems to have been applied to this substance only since the time of Frobenius, who in 1730 called it spiritus aethereus or vini vitriolatus. It was thought to be a sulfur compound, which led to the name sulfur ether; this misunderstanding was corrected by Valentine Rose around 1800. Ether is produced by distilling 5 parts of 90% alcohol with 9 parts of concentrated sulfuric acid at a temperature of 140°-145° C., with a continuous flow of alcohol added to the mixture during the process. The distillate is purified by treatment with lime and calcium chloride, followed by further distillation. A. Williamson explained the mechanism of this reaction in 1850. For other methods of preparation, see Ethers.1
The presence of so small a quantity as 1% of alcohol may be detected in ether by the colour imparted to it by aniline violet; if water or acetic acid be present, the ether must be shaken with anhydrous potassium carbonate before the application of the test. When heated with zinc dust, it yields ethylene and water. Chromic acid oxidizes it to acetic acid and ozone oxidizes it to ethyl peroxide. In contact with hydriodic acid gas at 0° C., it forms ethyl iodide (R.D. Silva, Ber., 1875, 8, p. 903), and with water and a little sulphuric acid at 180° C., it yields alcohol (E. Erlenmeyer, Zeit. f. chemie, 1868, p. 343). It forms crystalline compounds with bromine and with many metallic salts.
The presence of a small amount, like 1% alcohol, can be detected in ether by the color it turns when mixed with aniline violet. If water or acetic acid is present, the ether needs to be shaken with anhydrous potassium carbonate before doing the test. When heated with zinc dust, it produces ethylene and water. Chromic acid oxidizes it into acetic acid, and ozone oxidizes it into ethyl peroxide. When in contact with hydriodic acid gas at 0° C., it creates ethyl iodide (R.D. Silva, Ber., 1875, 8, p. 903), and when combined with water and a bit of sulfuric acid at 180° C., it generates alcohol (E. Erlenmeyer, Zeit. f. chemie, 1868, p. 343). It also forms crystalline compounds with bromine and many metallic salts.
Medicine.—For the anaesthetic properties of ether see Anaesthesia. Applied externally, ether evaporates very rapidly, producing such intense cold as to cause marked local anaesthesia. For this purpose it is best applied as a fine spray, but ethyl chloride is generally found more efficient and produces less subsequent discomfort. It aids the absorption of fats and may be used with cod liver oil when the latter is administered by the skin. If it be rubbed in or evaporation be prevented, it acts, like alcohol and chloroform, as an irritant. Ten to twenty minims of ether, subcutaneously injected, constitute perhaps the most rapid and powerful cardiac stimulant known, and are often employed for this purpose in cases of syncope under anaesthesia. Taken internally, ether acts in many respects similarly to alcohol and chloroform, but its stimulant action on the heart is much more marked, being exerted both reflexly from the stomach and directly after its rapid absorption. Ether is thus the type of a rapidly diffusible stimulant. It is also useful in relieving the paroxysms of asthma. The dose for repeated administration is from 10 to 30 minims and for a single administration up to a drachm.
Medicine.—For the anesthetic properties of ether see Anaesthesia. When used externally, ether evaporates very quickly, creating intense cold that leads to marked local anesthesia. It's best used as a fine spray for this purpose, but ethyl chloride is usually more effective and causes less discomfort afterward. Ether helps absorb fats and can be used with cod liver oil when applied topically. If rubbed in or if evaporation is prevented, it acts as an irritant like alcohol and chloroform. Ten to twenty minims of ether injected subcutaneously can be one of the most rapid and powerful cardiac stimulants available, often used for this purpose in cases of fainting during anesthesia. Taken internally, ether behaves similarly to alcohol and chloroform, but it has a much more pronounced stimulating effect on the heart, acting both reflexively from the stomach and directly after being quickly absorbed. Ether is a classic example of a rapidly diffusible stimulant. It's also helpful in alleviating asthma attacks. The dose for repeated use is between 10 to 30 minims, and for a single use, it can go up to a drachm.
Chronic Poisoning.—A dose of a little more than a drachm (a teaspoonful) will produce a condition of inebriation lasting for one-half to one hour, but the dose must soon be greatly increased. The after-effects are, if anything, rather pleasant, and the habit of ether drinking is certainly not so injurious as alcoholism. The principal symptoms symptons of chronic ether-drinking are a weakening of the activity of the special senses, and notably sight and hearing, a lowering of the intelligence and a degree of general paresis (partial paralysis) of motion.
Chronic Poisoning.—A dose of just over a drachm (about a teaspoon) will cause a state of intoxication that lasts for half an hour to an hour, but the dose will need to be significantly increased soon after. The after-effects are, if anything, quite pleasant, and the habit of drinking ether is certainly not as harmful as alcoholism. The main symptoms symptoms of chronic ether consumption include a weakening of the special senses, particularly sight and hearing, a decline in intelligence, and some degree of general paresis (partial paralysis) affecting movement.
1 See also J. v. Liebig, Ann. Chem. Pharm., 1837, 23, p. 39; 1839, 30, p. 129; E. Mitscherlich, Pogg. Ann., 1836, 31, p. 273; 1841, 53, p. 95; A.W. Williamson, Phil. Mag., 1850 (3), 37, p. 350.
1 See also J. v. Liebig, Ann. Chem. Pharm., 1837, 23, p. 39; 1839, 30, p. 129; E. Mitscherlich, Pogg. Ann., 1836, 31, p. 273; 1841, 53, p. 95; A.W. Williamson, Phil. Mag., 1850 (3), 37, p. 350.
ETHEREDGE [or Etherege], SIR GEORGE (c. 1635-1691), English dramatist, was born about the year 1635, and belonged to an Oxfordshire family. He is said to have been educated at Cambridge, but Dennis assures us that “to his certain knowledge he understood neither Greek nor Latin.” He travelled abroad early, and seems to have resided in France. It is possible that he witnessed in Paris the performances of some of Molière’s earliest comedies; and he seems, from an allusion in one of his plays, to have been personally acquainted with Bussy Rabutin. On his return to London he studied the law at one of the Inns of Court. His tastes were those of a fine gentleman, and he indulged freely in pleasure.
ETHEREDGE [or Etherege], SIR GEORGE (c. 1635-1691), English playwright, was born around 1635, into a family from Oxfordshire. It’s said he was educated at Cambridge, but Dennis claims that “to his certain knowledge he understood neither Greek nor Latin.” He traveled abroad early on and seems to have lived in France. It’s possible he saw some of Molière’s earliest comedies performed in Paris; he also seems, from a reference in one of his plays, to have known Bussy Rabutin personally. Upon returning to London, he studied law at one of the Inns of Court. He had the tastes of a refined gentleman and enjoyed indulging in leisure activities.
Sometime soon after the Restoration he composed his comedy of The Comical Revenge or Love in a Tub, which introduced him to Lord Buckhurst, afterwards the earl of Dorset. This was brought out at the Duke’s theatre in 1664, and a few copies were printed in the same year. It is partly in rhymed heroic verse, like the stilted tragedies of the Howards and Killigrews, but it contains comic scenes that are exceedingly bright and fresh. The sparring between Sir Frederick and the Widow introduced a style of wit hitherto unknown upon the English stage. The success of this play was very great, but Etheredge waited four years before he repeated his experiment. Meanwhile he gained the highest reputation as a poetical beau, and moved in the circle of Sir Charles Sedley, Lord Rochester and the other noble wits of the day. In 1668 he brought out She would if she could, a comedy in many respects admirable, full of action, wit and spirit, although to the last degree frivolous and immoral. But in this play Etheredge first shows himself a new power in literature; he has nothing of the rudeness of his predecessors or the grossness of his contemporaries. We move in an airy and fantastic world, where flirtation is the only serious business of life. At this time Etheredge was living a life no less frivolous and unprincipled than those of his Courtals and Freemans. He formed an alliance with the famous actress Mrs Elizabeth Barry; she bore him a daughter, on whom he settled £6000, but who, unhappily, died in her youth. His wealth and wit, the distinction and charm of his manners, won Etheredge the general worship of society, and his temperament is best known by the names his contemporaries gave him, of “gentle George” and “easy Etheredge.” Rochester upbraided him for inattention to literature; and at last, after a silence of eight years, he came forward with one more play, unfortunately his last. The Man of Mode or Sir Fopling Flutter, indisputably the best comedy of intrigue written in England before the days of Congreve, was acted and printed in 1676, and enjoyed an unbounded success. Besides the merit of its plot and wit, it had the personal charm of being supposed to satirize, or at least to paint, persons well known in London. Sir Fopling Flutter was a portrait of Beau Hewit, the reigning exquisite of the hour; in Dorimant the poet drew the earl of Rochester, and in Medley a portrait of himself; while even the drunken shoemaker was a real character, who made his fortune from being thus brought into public notice. After this brilliant success Etheredge retired from literature; his gallantries and his gambling in a few years deprived him of his fortune, and he looked about for a rich match. He was knighted before 1680, and gained the hand and the money of a rich widow. He was sent by Charles II. on a mission to the Hague, and in March 1685 was appointed resident minister in the imperial German court at Regensburg. He was very uncomfortable in Germany, and after three and a half years’ residence left for Paris. He had collected a library at Regensburg, some volumes of which are in the theological college there. His MS. despatches are preserved in the British Museum, where they were discovered and described by Mr Gosse in 1881; they add very largely to our knowledge of Etheredge’s career. He died in Paris, probably in 1691, for Narcissus Luttrell notes in February 1692 that “Sir George Etherege, the late King James’ ambassador to Vienna, died lately in Paris.”
Sometime soon after the Restoration, he wrote his comedy The Comical Revenge or Love in a Tub, which introduced him to Lord Buckhurst, who later became the Earl of Dorset. This play was performed at the Duke’s Theatre in 1664, and a few copies were printed that same year. It is partly in rhymed heroic verse, similar to the overdone tragedies of the Howards and Killigrews, but it features comic scenes that are incredibly bright and fresh. The banter between Sir Frederick and the Widow introduced a style of wit that was previously unknown on the English stage. The success of this play was tremendous, but Etheredge waited four years before trying again. Meanwhile, he gained a stellar reputation as a poetic gentleman and mingled with the circle of Sir Charles Sedley, Lord Rochester, and other prominent wits of the time. In 1668, he released She Would If She Could, a comedy that was remarkable in many ways, full of action, wit, and energy, despite being extremely frivolous and immoral. In this play, Etheredge first established himself as a fresh voice in literature; he lacked the rudeness of his predecessors and the vulgarity of his contemporaries. We enter an airy and whimsical world where flirtation is the only serious matter of life. During this time, Etheredge led a life every bit as frivolous and unscrupulous as those of his Courtals and Freemans. He formed a relationship with the famous actress Mrs. Elizabeth Barry; she had a daughter with him, to whom he left £6000, but tragically, she died young. His wealth, wit, elegance, and charming manners earned Etheredge widespread admiration, and his character is best illustrated by the nicknames his contemporaries gave him, such as “gentle George” and “easy Etheredge.” Rochester criticized him for neglecting literature; eventually, after an eight-year silence, he returned with one more play, unfortunately his last. The Man of Mode or Sir Fopling Flutter, undeniably the best comedy of intrigue written in England before Congreve, was staged and printed in 1676 and enjoyed immense success. Besides its impressive plot and humor, it had the added charm of being thought to satirize, or at least depict, well-known figures in London. Sir Fopling Flutter was modeled after Beau Hewit, the reigning dandy of the time; in Dorimant, the poet portrayed the Earl of Rochester, and in Medley, a version of himself; even the drunken shoemaker was based on a real person who gained fortune from being showcased in this way. After this remarkable success, Etheredge withdrew from literature; his romances and gambling soon lost him his fortune, and he began seeking a wealthy bride. He was knighted before 1680 and secured both the hand and the wealth of a rich widow. He was sent by Charles II on a mission to The Hague and in March 1685 was appointed resident minister at the Imperial German court in Regensburg. He felt quite uncomfortable in Germany and, after three and a half years, left for Paris. He had gathered a library in Regensburg, with some volumes still at the theological college there. His manuscript dispatches are preserved in the British Museum, where they were discovered and cataloged by Mr. Gosse in 1881; they significantly enhance our understanding of Etheredge’s career. He died in Paris, likely in 1691, as Narcissus Luttrell noted in February 1692 that “Sir George Etherege, the late King James’ ambassador to Vienna, died recently in Paris.”
Etheredge deserves to hold a more distinguished place in English literature than has generally been allotted to him. In a dull and heavy age, he inaugurated a period of genuine wit and sprightliness. He invented the comedy of intrigue, and led the way for the masterpieces of Congreve and Sheridan. Before his time the manner of Ben Jonson had prevailed in comedy, and traditional “humours” and typical eccentricities, instead of real characters, had crowded the comic stage. Etheredge paints with a light, faint hand, but it is from nature, and his portraits of fops and beaux are simply unexcelled. No one knows better than he how to present a gay young gentleman, a Dorimant, “an unconfinable rover after amorous adventures.” His genius is as light as thistle-down; he is frivolous, without force of conviction, without principle; but his wit is very sparkling, and his style pure and singularly picturesque. No one approaches Etheredge in delicate touches of dress, furniture and scene; he makes the fine airs of London gentlemen and ladies live before our eyes even more vividly than Congreve does; but he has less insight and less energy than Congreve. Had he been poor or ambitious, he might have been to England almost what Molière was to France, but he was a rich man living at his ease, and he disdained to excel in literature. Etheredge was “a fair, slender, genteel man, but spoiled his countenance with drinking.” His contemporaries all agree in acknowledging that he was the soul of affability and sprightly good-nature.
Etheredge deserves a more prestigious spot in English literature than what he's typically given. In a dull and heavy era, he started a time of true wit and liveliness. He created the comedy of intrigue, paving the way for the masterpieces of Congreve and Sheridan. Before him, Ben Jonson's style dominated comedy, with traditional “humours” and typical quirks crowding the stage instead of real characters. Etheredge paints with a light touch, but it's rooted in reality, and his portrayals of fops and dandy guys are simply unmatched. No one understands better than he does how to depict a charming young man, a Dorimant, “an unconfinable rover after amorous adventures.” His genius is as light as thistle-down; he's frivolous, lacking deep conviction and principle; but his wit is sparkling, and his style is pure and uniquely vivid. No one can match Etheredge in the delicate details of fashion, decor, and setting; he brings the refined manners of London’s gentlemen and ladies to life even more vividly than Congreve does; however, he has less insight and energy than Congreve. If he had been poor or ambitious, he could have been to England what Molière was to France, but he was a wealthy man living comfortably and chose not to strive for literary excellence. Etheredge was “a fair, slender, genteel man, but spoiled his appearance with drinking.” His contemporaries all agree that he embodied friendliness and lively charm.
The life of Etheredge was first given in detail by Edmund Gosse in Seventeenth Century Studies (1883). His works were edited by A.W. Verity, in 1888.
The life of Etheredge was first detailed by Edmund Gosse in Seventeenth Century Studies (1883). His works were edited by A.W. Verity in 1888.
ETHERIDGE, JOHN WESLEY (1804-1866), English nonconformist divine, was born near Newport, Isle of Wight, on the 24th of February 1804. He received most of his early education from his father. Though he never attended any university he acquired ultimately a thorough knowledge of Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Syriac, French and German. In 1824 he was placed on the Wesleyan Methodist plan as a local preacher. In 1826 his offer to enter the ministry was accepted, and after the usual 808 probationary trial he was received into full connexion at the conference of 1831. For two years after this he remained at Brighton, and in 1833 he removed to Cornwall, being stationed successively at the Truro and Falmouth circuits. From Falmouth he removed to Darlaston, where in 1838 his health gave way. For a good many years he was a supernumerary, and lived for a while at Caen and Paris, where in the public libraries he found great facilities for prosecuting his favourite Oriental studies. His health having considerably improved, he became, in 1843, pastor of the Methodist church at Boulogne. He returned to England in 1847, and was appointed successively to the circuits of Islington, Bristol, Leeds, Penzance, Penryn, Truro and St Austell in east Cornwall. Shortly after his return to England he received the degree of Ph.D. from the university of Heidelberg. He was a patient, modest, hard-working and accurate scholar. He died at Camborne on the 24th of May 1866.
ETHERIDGE, JOHN WESLEY (1804-1866), English nonconformist minister, was born near Newport, Isle of Wight, on February 24, 1804. He received most of his early education from his father. Although he never attended university, he eventually gained a solid understanding of Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Syriac, French, and German. In 1824, he was designated a local preacher in the Wesleyan Methodist tradition. In 1826, his application to enter the ministry was accepted, and after the usual 808 probationary period, he was fully welcomed into the ministry at the conference of 1831. For two years after that, he stayed in Brighton, and in 1833, he moved to Cornwall, serving at the Truro and Falmouth circuits. From Falmouth, he relocated to Darlaston, where his health declined in 1838. For several years he was a supernumerary and lived for a time in Caen and Paris, where he took advantage of the public libraries to further his interest in Oriental studies. His health improved significantly, and in 1843, he became the pastor of the Methodist church in Boulogne. He returned to England in 1847 and was assigned to various circuits including Islington, Bristol, Leeds, Penzance, Penryn, Truro, and St Austell in east Cornwall. Shortly after his return to England, he received a Ph.D. from the University of Heidelberg. He was a patient, modest, diligent, and precise scholar. He passed away in Camborne on May 24, 1866.
His principal works are Horae Aramaicae (1843); History, Liturgies and Literature of the Syrian Churches (1847); The Apostolic Acts and Epistles, from the Peshito or Ancient Syriac (1849); Jerusalem and Tiberias, a Survey of the Religious and Scholastic Learning of the Jews (1856); The Targums of Onkelos and Jonathan ben Uzziel (1st vol. in 1862, 2nd in 1865). See Memoir, by Rev. Thornley Smith (1871).
His main works are Horae Aramaicae (1843); History, Liturgies and Literature of the Syrian Churches (1847); The Apostolic Acts and Epistles, from the Peshito or Ancient Syriac (1849); Jerusalem and Tiberias, a Survey of the Religious and Scholastic Learning of the Jews (1856); The Targums of Onkelos and Jonathan ben Uzziel (1st vol. in 1862, 2nd in 1865). See Memoir, by Rev. Thornley Smith (1871).
ETHERIDGE, ROBERT (1819-1903), English geologist and palaeontologist, was born at Ross, in Herefordshire, on the 3rd of December 1819. After an ordinary school education in his native town, he obtained employment in a business house in Bristol. There he devoted his spare time to natural history pursuits, and in 1850 was appointed curator of the museum attached to the Bristol Philosophical Institution. He also became lecturer on botany in the Bristol medical school. In 1857, through the influence of Sir Roderick I. Murchison, he was appointed to a post in the Museum of Practical Geology in London, and eventually became palaeontologist to the Geological Survey. In 1865 he assisted Prof. Huxley in the preparation of a Catalogue of Fossils in the Museum of Practical Geology. His chief work for many years was in naming the fossils collected during the progress of the Geological Survey, and in supplying the lists that were appended to numerous official memoirs. In this way he acquired an exceptional knowledge of British fossils, and he ultimately prepared an elaborate work entitled Fossils of the British Islands, Stratigraphically and Zoologically arranged. Only the first volume dealing with the Palaeozoic species was published (1888). Etheridge also was author of several papers on the Rhaetic Beds, and of an important essay on the Physical Structure of North Devon, and on the Palaeontological Value of the Devonian Fossils (1867). He edited, and in the main rewrote, the second part of a new edition of John Phillips’ Manual of Geology—entitled Stratigraphical Geology and Palaeontology (1885). He was elected F.R.S. in 1871, and was president of the Geological Society in 1881-1882. In 1881 Etheridge was transferred from the Geological Survey to the geological department of the British Museum, where he served as assistant keeper until 1891. He died at Chelsea, London, on the 18th of December 1903.
ETHERIDGE, ROBERT (1819-1903), an English geologist and paleontologist, was born in Ross, Herefordshire, on December 3, 1819. After completing an average school education in his hometown, he began working in a business in Bristol. There, he spent his free time pursuing his interest in natural history and was appointed curator of the museum at the Bristol Philosophical Institution in 1850. He also became a lecturer on botany at the Bristol medical school. In 1857, thanks to Sir Roderick I. Murchison's influence, he secured a position at the Museum of Practical Geology in London and eventually became the paleontologist for the Geological Survey. In 1865, he helped Professor Huxley prepare a Catalogue of Fossils in the Museum of Practical Geology. For many years, his main focus was naming the fossils collected during the Geological Survey and compiling the lists attached to numerous official reports. Through this work, he developed an exceptional understanding of British fossils and ultimately authored a detailed work titled Fossils of the British Islands, Stratigraphically and Zoologically arranged. Only the first volume, covering the Paleozoic species, was published in 1888. Etheridge also wrote several papers on the Rhaetic Beds and an important essay on the Physical Structure of North Devon and the Paleontological Significance of the Devonian Fossils (1867). He edited and mostly rewrote the second part of a new edition of John Phillips’ Manual of Geology, called Stratigraphical Geology and Palaeontology (1885). He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1871 and served as president of the Geological Society from 1881 to 1882. In 1881, Etheridge transitioned from the Geological Survey to the geological department of the British Museum, where he worked as an assistant keeper until 1891. He passed away in Chelsea, London, on December 18, 1903.
Memoir by Dr Henry Woodward (with list of works and portrait) in Geological Magazine, January 1904; also Memoir by H.B. Woodward (with portrait) in Proc. Bristol Nat. Soc. x. 175.
Memoir by Dr. Henry Woodward (with a list of works and portrait) in Geological Magazine, January 1904; also Memoir by H.B. Woodward (with portrait) in Proc. Bristol Nat. Soc. x. 175.
ETHERS, in organic chemistry, compounds of the general formula R·O·R′, where R, R′ = alkyl or aryl groups. They may be regarded as the anhydrides of the alcohols, being formed by elimination of one molecule of water from two molecules of the alcohols; those in which the two hydrocarbon radicals are similar are known as simple ethers, and those in which they are dissimilar as mixed ethers. They may be prepared by the action of concentrated sulphuric acid on the alcohols, alkyl sulphuric acids being first formed, which yield ethers on heating with alcohols. The process may be made a continuous one by running a thin stream of alcohol continually into the heated reaction mixture of alcohol and sulphuric acid. Benzene sulphonic acid has been used in place of sulphuric acid (F. Krafft, Ber., 1893, 26, p. 2829). A.W. Williamson (Ann., 1851, 77, p. 38; 1852, 81, p. 77) prepared ether by the action of sodium ethylate on ethyl iodide, and showed that all ethers must possess the structural formula given above (see also Brit. Assoc. Reports, 1850, p. 65). They may also be prepared by heating the alkyl halides with silver oxide.
ETHERS, in organic chemistry are compounds with the general formula R·O·R′, where R and R′ are alkyl or aryl groups. They can be seen as the anhydrides of alcohols, created by removing one molecule of water from two alcohol molecules. When the two hydrocarbon groups are the same, they are called simple ethers, and when they are different, they are referred to as mixed ethers. They can be made by reacting concentrated sulfuric acid with alcohols, where alkyl sulfuric acids form first and then yield ethers when heated with alcohols. This process can be made continuous by continuously adding a thin stream of alcohol into the heated reaction mixture of alcohol and sulfuric acid. Benzene sulfonic acid has also been used instead of sulfuric acid (F. Krafft, Ber., 1893, 26, p. 2829). A.W. Williamson (Ann., 1851, 77, p. 38; 1852, 81, p. 77) produced ether by reacting sodium ethylate with ethyl iodide and demonstrated that all ethers must have the structural formula mentioned above (see also Brit. Assoc. Reports, 1850, p. 65). Ethers can also be produced by heating alkyl halides with silver oxide.
The ethers are neutral volatile liquids (the first member, methyl ether, is a gas at ordinary temperature). Phosphorus pentachloride converts them into alkyl chlorides, a similar decomposition taking place when they are heated with the haloid acids. Nitric acid and chromic acid oxidize them in such a mariner that they yield the same products as the alcohols from which they are derived. With chlorine they yield substitution products.
The ethers are neutral, volatile liquids (the first member, methyl ether, is a gas at room temperature). Phosphorus pentachloride turns them into alkyl chlorides, and a similar breakdown happens when they’re heated with haloid acids. Nitric acid and chromic acid oxidize them in a way that produces the same results as the alcohols they come from. With chlorine, they produce substitution products.
Methyl ether, (CH3)2O, was first prepared by J. B. Dumas and E. Péligot (Ann. chim. phys., 1835, [2] 58, p. 19) by heating methyl alcohol with sulphuric acid. It is best prepared by heating methyl alcohol and sulphuric acid to 140° C. and leading the evolved gas into sulphuric acid. The sulphuric acid solution is then allowed to drop slowly into an equal volume of water, when the methyl ether is liberated (E. Erlenmeyer and A. Kriechbaumer, Ber., 1874, 7, p. 699). It is a pleasant-smelling gas, which burns when ignited, and may be condensed to a liquid which boils at 23.6º C. It is somewhat soluble in water and readily soluble in alcohol, and concentrated sulphuric acid. It combines with hydrochloric acid gas to form a compound (CH3)2O·HCl (C. Friedel, Comptes rendus, 1875, 81, p. 152). Methyl ethyl ether, CH3·O·C2H5, is prepared from methyl iodide and sodium ethylate, or from ethyl iodide and sodium methylate (A. W. Williamson, Ann., 1852, 81, p. 77). It is a liquid which boils at 10.8º C.
Methyl ether, (CH3)2O, was first made by J. B. Dumas and E. Péligot (Ann. chim. phys., 1835, [2] 58, p. 19) by heating methyl alcohol with sulfuric acid. It's best produced by heating methyl alcohol and sulfuric acid to 140° C and directing the gas that forms into sulfuric acid. The sulfuric acid solution is then allowed to slowly drip into an equal volume of water, which releases the methyl ether (E. Erlenmeyer and A. Kriechbaumer, Ber., 1874, 7, p. 699). It has a pleasant smell, burns when ignited, and can be condensed into a liquid that boils at 23.6º C. It is slightly soluble in water and easily soluble in alcohol and concentrated sulfuric acid. It reacts with hydrochloric acid gas to form a compound (CH3)2O·HCl (C. Friedel, Comptes rendus, 1875, 81, p. 152). Methyl ethyl ether, CH3·O·C2H5, is made from methyl iodide and sodium ethylate, or from ethyl iodide and sodium methylate (A. W. Williamson, Ann., 1852, 81, p. 77). It is a liquid that boils at 10.8º C.
For diethyl ether see Ether, and for methyl phenyl ether (anisole) and ethyl phenyl ether (phenetole) see Carbolic Acid.
For diethyl ether, check Ether, and for methyl phenyl ether (anisole) and ethyl phenyl ether (phenetole), refer to Carbolic Acid.
For convenience in reference, the arrangement followed in this article may be explained at the outset:—
For easy reference, the structure of this article will be explained upfront:—
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I. | Definition and Scope | 809 |
II. | History Overview | 810 |
A. Greek and Graeco-Roman Ethics | 810 | |
The Age of the Sophists | 811 | |
Socrates and his Disciples | 811 | |
Plato | 812 | |
Plato and Aristotle | 814 | |
Aristotle | 815 | |
Stoicism | 816 | |
Hedonism (Epicurus) | 818 | |
Later Greek and Roman Ethics | 818 | |
Neoplatonism | 819 | |
B. Christianity and Medieval Ethics | 820 | |
Christian and Jewish “Law of God” | 820 | |
Christian and Pagan Inwardness | 820 | |
(Knowledge, Faith, Love, Purity) | ||
Distinctive Particulars of Christian Morality | 821 | |
Development of Opinion in Early Christianity, Augustine, Ambrose | 823 | |
Medieval Morality and Moral Philosophy | 824 | |
Thomas Aquinas | 824 | |
Casuistry and Jesuitry | 826 | |
The Reformation; and birth of Modern Thought | 826 | |
C. Modern Ethics | 827 | |
Grotius | 827 | |
Hobbes | 827 | |
The Cambridge Moralists | 828 | |
(Cudworth, More) | ||
Cumberland | 829 | |
Locke | 829 | |
Clarke | 829 | |
Shaftesbury | 830 | |
Mandeville | 830 | |
Butler | 831 | |
Wollaston | 831 | |
Hutcheson | 831 | |
Hume | 832 | |
Adam Smith | 833 | |
The Intuitional School | 833 | |
(Price, Reid, Stewart, Whewell) | ||
The Utilitarian School | 835 | |
(Paley, Bentham, Mill)809 | ||
Association and Evolution | 837 | |
Free-will | 837 | |
French Influence on English Ethics | 838 | |
(Helvetius, Comte) | ||
German Influence on English Ethics | 839 | |
(Kant, Hegel) | ||
D. Ethics since 1879 | 840 | |
III. | References | 845 |
Section I. contains a general survey of the subject; it shows in what sense ethics is to be regarded as a special field of philosophical investigation—its relations to other departments of thought, especially to psychology, religion and modern physical science. The article makes no attempt to give a detailed, casuistical examination of the matter of ethical theory. For this, reference must be made to special articles on philosophic schools, writers and terms.
Section I. contains a general overview of the topic; it explains how ethics should be seen as a distinct area of philosophical study—its connections to other fields of thought, particularly psychology, religion, and contemporary physical science. The article does not aim to provide a detailed, case-by-case analysis of ethical theory. For that, one must refer to specific articles on philosophical schools, authors, and terminology.
Section II. is a historical sketch in four parts tracing the main lines of development in ethical speculation from its birth to the present day. Here again it has been possible to notice only the salient points or landmarks, leaving all detail to special articles as above. All important writers whose names occur in this sketch are treated in special biographical articles, and references are given as often as possible to supplementary articles which illustrate and explain points which cannot be fully treated here. This is especially the case in connexion with technical terms (whose history and meaning are inevitably taken for granted) and biographical information about minor ethical writers.
Section II. is a historical overview in four parts outlining the main developments in ethical thought from its origins to today. Once again, we've focused on the key points or milestones, leaving all the details to the specific articles mentioned earlier. All major authors mentioned in this overview have dedicated biographical articles, and we provide references to supplementary articles whenever possible to clarify and elaborate on points that can't be fully covered here. This is particularly true for technical terms (whose histories and meanings are assumed) and biographical details about lesser-known ethical writers.
I. Definition and Subject-Matter of Ethics
I. Definition and Subject-Matter of Ethics
In its widest sense, the term “ethics” would imply an examination into the general character or habits of mankind, and would even involve a description or history of the habits of men in particular societies living at different periods of time. Such a field of study would obviously be too wide for any particular science or philosophy to investigate, and moreover portions of the field are already occupied by history, by anthropology and by the particular sciences (e.g. physiology, anatomy, biology), in so far as the habits and character of men depend upon the material processes which these sciences examine. Even philosophies such as logic and aesthetic would be necessary for such an investigation, if thought and artistic production are normal human habits and elements in character. Ethics then is usually confined to the particular field of human character and conduct so far as they depend upon or exhibit certain general principles commonly known as moral principles. Men in general characterize their own conduct and character and that of other men by such general adjectives as good, bad, right and wrong, and it is the meaning and scope of these adjectives, primarily in relation to human conduct, and ultimately in their final and absolute sense, that ethics investigates.
In its broadest sense, the term “ethics” refers to an exploration of the overall nature or behaviors of humanity, and it might even include a description or history of the behaviors of individuals in specific societies throughout different time periods. This area of study would clearly be too expansive for any one science or philosophy to fully explore, and parts of it are already covered by history, anthropology, and various sciences (e.g., physiology, anatomy, biology), since human behavior and character are influenced by the material processes these sciences investigate. Disciplines like logic and aesthetics are also necessary for such an exploration, as thought and artistic creation are typical human behaviors and aspects of character. Therefore, ethics is generally limited to the specific area of human character and behavior as they relate to or demonstrate certain universal principles commonly referred to as moral principles. People typically describe their own actions and the actions of others using broad terms like good, bad, right, and wrong, and it is the meaning and range of these terms, primarily concerning human behavior, and ultimately in their ultimate and absolute sense, that ethics seeks to explore.
A not uncommon definition of ethics as the “science of conduct” is inexact for various reasons. (1) The sciences are descriptive or experimental. But a description of what acts or what ends of action men in the present or the past call, or have called, “good” or “bad” is clearly beyond human powers. And experiments in morality (apart from the inconvenient practical consequences likely to ensue) are useless for purposes of ethics, because the moral consciousness would itself at one and the same time be required to make the experiment and to provide the subject upon which the experiment is performed. (2) Ethics is a philosophy and not a science. Philosophy is a process of reflection upon the presuppositions involved in unreflective thought. In logic and metaphysics it investigates either the process of apprehension itself, or conceptions such as cause, substance, space, time, which the ordinary scientific consciousness never criticizes. In moral philosophy the place of the body of sciences, which philosophy as the theory of knowledge investigates, is taken by the developed moral consciousness, which already pronounces moral judgment without hesitation, and claims authority to subject to continual criticism the institutions and forms of social life which it has itself helped to create.
A common definition of ethics as the “science of conduct” is not quite accurate for several reasons. (1) The sciences are descriptive or experimental. However, describing what actions or outcomes people in the present or past have considered “good” or “bad” is clearly beyond human capability. Also, experiments in morality (aside from the inconvenient practical consequences that may arise) are ineffective for ethical purposes because the moral consciousness would need to both conduct the experiment and provide the subject for it. (2) Ethics is a philosophy, not a science. Philosophy involves reflecting on the assumptions underlying unreflective thought. In logic and metaphysics, it examines either the process of understanding itself or concepts like cause, substance, space, and time, which ordinary scientific thought does not question. In moral philosophy, the role of the body of sciences that philosophy investigates as the theory of knowledge is taken by the developed moral consciousness, which already makes moral judgments confidently and claims the authority to continually critique the institutions and forms of social life it has helped create.
When ethical speculation first begins, conceptions such as those of duty, responsibility, the will as the ultimate subject of moral approbation and disapprobation, are already in existence and already operative. Moral philosophy in a certain sense adds nothing to these conceptions, though it sets them in a clearer light. The problems of the moral consciousness at the time at which it first becomes reflective are not strictly speaking philosophical problems at all. It is occupied with just such questions as each individual man who wishes to act rightly is constantly called upon to answer, e.g. questions such as “What particular action will meet the claims of justice under such and such circumstances?” or “What degree of ignorance will excuse this particular person in this particular case from his responsibility?” It tries to attain a knowledge as complete as possible of the circumstances under which the act contemplated must be performed, the personalities of the persons whom it may affect, and the consequences (so far as they can be foreseen) which it will produce, and then by virtue of its own power of moral discrimination pronounces judgment. And the ever-recurring problem of the moral consciousness, “What ought to be done?” is one which receives a clearer and more definite answer as men become more able in the course of moral experience to apply those principles of the moral consciousness which are yet employed in that experience from the outset. Nevertheless there is a sense in which moral philosophy may be said to originate out of difficulties inherent in the nature of morality itself, although it remains true that the questions which ethics attempts to answer are never questions with which the moral consciousness as such is confronted. The fact that men give different answers to moral problems which seem similar in character, or even the mere fact that men disregard, when they act immorally, the dictates and implicit principles of the moral consciousness is certain sooner or later to produce the desire either, on the one hand, to justify immoral action by casting doubt upon the authority of the moral consciousness and the validity of its principles, or, on the other hand, to justify particular moral judgments either by (the only valid method) an analysis of the moral principle involved in the judgment and a demonstration of its universal acceptation, or by some attempted proof that the particular moral judgment is arrived at by a process of inference from some universal conception of the Supreme Good or the Final End from which all particular duties or virtues may be deduced. It may be that criticism of morality first originates with a criticism of existing moral institutions or codes of ethics; such a criticism may be due to the spontaneous activity of the moral consciousness itself. But when such criticism passes into the attempt to find a universal criterion of morality—such an attempt being in effect an effort to make morality scientific—and especially when the attempt is seen, as it must in the end be seen, to fail (the moral consciousness being superior to all standards of morality and realizing itself wholly in particular judgments), then ethics as a process of reflection upon the nature of the moral consciousness may be said to begin. If this be true it follows that one of the chief function of ethics must be criticism of mistaken attempts to find a criterion of morality superior to the pronouncements of the moral consciousness itself. The ultimate superiority of the moral consciousness over all other standards is recognized, even by those who impugn its authority, whenever they claim that all men ought to recognize the superior value of the standards which they themselves wish to substitute. Similarly, their opponents refute their arguments by showing that they are based ultimately upon a recognition of certain distinctions which are moral distinctions (i.e. imply a moral consciousness capable of discriminating between right and wrong in particular cases), and that these moral distinctions conflict with the conclusions which they reach.
When ethical thinking first starts, concepts like duty, responsibility, and the will as the main focus of moral praise and criticism already exist and are in action. Moral philosophy doesn’t really add anything to these concepts; instead, it clarifies them. The challenges faced by moral awareness when it first becomes reflective aren’t strictly philosophical problems. It deals with the same kinds of questions that anyone trying to do the right thing must regularly answer, such as, “What specific action will fulfill the demands of justice in this situation?” or “What level of ignorance will excuse this person from responsibility in this case?” It seeks to understand as thoroughly as possible the circumstances in which the intended action must occur, the personalities of those affected, and the consequences (as far as they can be anticipated) that will result, and then, using its own moral judgment, it makes a decision. The recurring question of moral awareness, “What should be done?” gets clearer and more precise answers as people become more skilled at applying the moral principles that they have already been using in their experiences. However, in a way, moral philosophy can be understood to arise from the difficulties inherent in morality itself, even though it’s true that the questions ethics tries to address are not the ones the moral consciousness directly faces. The fact that people arrive at different answers to moral questions that seem alike, or even the simple reality that people ignore the guidance and implicit principles of moral awareness when they act immorally, will inevitably spark the desire to either justify immoral actions by questioning the authority and validity of moral consciousness and its principles, or to validate particular moral judgments through a proper analysis of the moral principle involved and demonstrating its universal acceptance, or by attempting to prove that a particular moral judgment comes from a broader concept of the Supreme Good or Final End from which all specific duties or virtues can be derived. It’s possible that critiques of morality start with criticisms of current moral systems or ethical codes; this critique might arise from the natural activity of moral awareness itself. However, when such criticism shifts to the pursuit of a universal standard of morality—an endeavor that aims to make morality scientific—and especially when it becomes evident, as it ultimately must, that this attempt fails (with moral consciousness being superior to all moral standards and fully realized in specific judgments), then ethics, as a process of reflection on the nature of moral consciousness, can be said to begin. If this is the case, one of the main roles of ethics must be to critique flawed attempts to find a moral standard that surpasses the judgments of moral consciousness itself. The ultimate superiority of moral consciousness over all other standards is acknowledged, even by those who challenge its authority, whenever they claim that everyone should recognize the greater value of the standards they wish to replace it with. Likewise, their opponents counter their arguments by demonstrating that these arguments are ultimately based on acknowledging certain moral distinctions (meaning they involve a moral consciousness capable of distinguishing right from wrong in particular instances), and that these moral distinctions contradict the conclusions they draw.
This may briefly be illustrated by reference to some of the great fundamental controversies of ethics. None of these originates out of conflicting statements of the moral consciousness, i.e. there is no fundamental contradiction in morality itself. No one (if unsophisticated) ever confused the conception of pleasure with the conception of the Good, or thought that the claims of selfish interest were identical with those of duty. But the controversy between hedonists and anti-hedonists originates as soon as men reflect that a good which is not in some sense “my” good is not good at all, or that no act can be said to be moral which does not satisfy “me.” Or, again, the 810 reflection that the mark or sign of the perfect performance of a particular virtuous act or function is the presence of a characteristic pleasure which always accompanies it, is opposed to the reflection that it is a mark of the highest morality never to rest satisfied, and out of these seemingly contradictory statements of the reflective consciousness might arise a multitude of controversies either concerning pleasure and duty, or the even more difficult and complex conceptions of merit, progress, and the nature of the Supreme Good or Final End.
This can be briefly illustrated by looking at some of the major fundamental debates in ethics. None of these arise from conflicting statements of moral awareness; in other words, there’s no fundamental contradiction within morality itself. No one (if they're straightforward) ever confuses the idea of pleasure with the idea of the Good, or thinks that the demands of self-interest are the same as those of duty. However, the debate between hedonists and anti-hedonists arises when people realize that a good which isn’t in some way “my” good isn’t really good at all, or that no action can be considered moral unless it satisfies “me.” Alternatively, the idea that the perfect execution of a specific virtuous act or function is marked by a particular pleasure that always accompanies it contrasts with the idea that true morality means never being fully satisfied. These seemingly contradictory statements of reflective thought could lead to many disputes about pleasure and duty, or even more challenging and complex ideas about merit, progress, and the nature of the Supreme Good or Final End.
When and how fresh controversies in ethics will begin it would be impossible for any one to foretell. Sometimes the dominance of a particular science or branch of study is the occasion of an attempt to apply to ethics ideas borrowed from The Sciences. or analogous to the conceptions of that science. False analogies drawn between ethics and mathematics or between morality and the perception of beauty have wrought much mischief in modern and to some degree even in ancient ethics. The influence of ideas borrowed from biology is everywhere manifest in the ethical speculations of modern times. Sometimes, again, whole theories of ethics have been formulated which can be seen in the end to be efforts to subordinate moral conceptions to conceptions belonging properly to institutions or departments of human thought and activity which the moral consciousness has itself originated. Law, for instance, depends, or at least ought to depend, upon men’s need for and consciousness of justice. And such institutions as the family and the state are created by the social consciousness, which is the moral consciousness from another aspect. Yet morality has been subordinated to legal and social sanctions, and moral advance has been held to be conditioned by political and social necessities which are not moral needs. Similarly no one since civilization emerged from barbarism has ever really been willing to yield allegiance to a deity who is not moral in the fullest and highest sense of the word. God is not superior to moral law. Yet there have been Theology. whole systems of theological ethics which have attempted to base human morality upon the arbitrary will of God or upon the supreme authority of a divinely inspired book or code of laws. One of the greatest of all ethical controversies, that concerning the freedom of the will, arose directly out of what was in reality a theological problem—the necessity, namely, of reconciling God’s foreknowledge with human freedom. The unreflective moral consciousness never finds it difficult to distinguish between a man’s power of willing and all the forces of circumstance, heredity and the like, which combine to form the temptations to which he may yield or bid defiance; and such facts as “remorse” and “penitence” are a continual testimony to man’s sense of freedom. But so soon as men perceive upon reflection an apparent discrepancy between the utterances of their moral consciousness and certain conclusions to which theological speculation (or at a later period metaphysical and scientific inquiries) seems inevitably to lead them, they will not rest satisfied until the belief in the will’s freedom (hitherto unquestioned) is upon further reflection justified or condemned. It is clear then that the complexity of the subject-matter of ethics is such that no sharply defined boundary lines can be drawn between it and other branches of inquiry. Just in so far as it presupposes the apprehension of moral facts, it must presuppose a knowledge of the system of social relationships upon which some at least of those facts depend. No one, for instance, could inquire into the nature of justice without being further compelled to undertake an examination of the nature of the state.
It's impossible to predict when and how new controversies in ethics will arise. Sometimes, the dominance of a specific science or area of study leads to attempts to apply borrowed ideas to ethics that resemble the concepts from that science. Misleading comparisons drawn between ethics and mathematics, or between morality and the appreciation of beauty, have caused significant confusion in both modern and, to some extent, ancient ethics. The influence of concepts from biology can be seen everywhere in today's ethical discussions. Moreover, entire ethical theories have been created that ultimately try to subordinate moral ideas to the concepts that come from institutions or areas of human thought and activity that the moral awareness itself has developed. For example, law should depend on people's need for and awareness of justice. Institutions like family and state arise from social consciousness, which is another facet of moral consciousness. Yet, morality has often been placed beneath legal and social standards, with moral progress viewed as reliant on political and social needs that don’t necessarily reflect moral requirements. Similarly, since civilization moved beyond barbarism, no one has genuinely been willing to pledge loyalty to a deity who isn’t moral in the truest sense. God is not above moral law. However, there have been entire systems of theological ethics that tried to ground human morality in God's arbitrary will or the ultimate authority of a divinely inspired text or set of laws. One of the most significant ethical debates—the question of free will—stemmed directly from a theological issue: reconciling God's foreknowledge with human freedom. The unexamined moral consciousness finds it easy to differentiate between a person's capacity to choose and the various external factors, heredity, and such that shape the temptations they face. Concepts like "remorse" and "penitence" continually affirm our sense of freedom. Yet, once individuals reflect on the apparent contradictions between their moral instincts and the conclusions that theological speculation (or later metaphysical and scientific inquiries) seem to lead to, they feel compelled to either justify or condemn their previously unquestioned belief in free will. Therefore, it's evident that the intricacy of ethics means that no clear boundaries can be established between it and other fields of study. Since it relies on understanding moral facts, it must also consider the framework of social relationships from which some of those facts emerge. No one, for instance, could investigate the nature of justice without also needing to examine the nature of the state.
It would be difficult to decide how much of the dispute between the advocates of pleasure theories and their opponents turns upon vexed questions of psychology, and how much is strictly relevant to ethics. If, as has already been Psychology. said, one of the chief tasks of ethics is to prevent the intrusion into its own sphere of inquiry of ideas borrowed from other and alien sources, then obviously these sources must be investigated. One example of this necessity may be given. It is sometimes maintained that the proper method of ethics is the psychological method; ethics, we are told, should examine as its subject-matter moral sentiments wherever found, without raising ultimate questions as to the nature of obligation or moral authority in general. Now if in opposition to such arguments the ultimate character of moral obligation be defended, it will be necessary to point out that no one feels moral sentiments except in connexion with particular objects of moral approbation or disapprobation (e.g. gratitude is inexplicable apart from a particular relationship existing between two or more persons), and that these objects are objects of the moral consciousness alone. But such a line of argument is certain to make necessary an inquiry into the nature of the objects of psychological study which may produce quite unforeseen results for psychology.
It would be challenging to determine how much of the disagreement between the supporters of pleasure theories and their critics is based on complicated psychological questions, and how much is directly linked to ethics. If, as has already been mentioned, one of the main goals of ethics is to keep ideas from other fields out of its own area of study, then clearly these sources need to be examined. One example of this necessity can be provided. Some argue that the right approach to ethics is the psychological approach; we are told that ethics should look at moral feelings wherever they appear, without addressing fundamental questions about the nature of obligation or moral authority in general. Now, if we are to defend the ultimate nature of moral obligation against such arguments, we need to point out that no one experiences moral feelings except in connection with specific objects of moral approval or disapproval (for instance, gratitude cannot be understood without a particular relationship between two or more people), and that these objects are known only to moral consciousness. However, this form of reasoning will certainly require an investigation into the nature of the objects of psychological study that may lead to totally unexpected findings for psychology.
Nothing therefore is to be gained by confining ethics within limits which must from the nature of the case be arbitrary. The defender at all events of the supremacy of moral intuitions must be prepared to follow whither the argument leads, into whatever strange quarters it may direct him. But this much may be said by way of delimitation of the scope of ethics: however complicated and involved its arguments and processes of inference may become, the facts from which they start and the conclusions to which they point are such as the moral consciousness alone can understand or warrant.
Nothing is gained by restricting ethics to arbitrary limits. Anyone defending the primacy of moral intuitions must be ready to follow the argument wherever it leads, no matter how strange the journey may be. However, we can outline the scope of ethics: no matter how complex and intricate the arguments and reasoning become, the facts they begin with and the conclusions they reach are only understandable or justifiable by moral consciousness alone.
II. Historical Sketch
II. History Overview
A. Greek and Graeco-Roman Ethics.—The ethical speculation of Greece, and therefore of Europe, had no abrupt and absolute beginning. The naive and fragmentary precepts of conduct, which are everywhere the earliest manifestation of nascent moral reflection, are a noteworthy element in the gnomic poetry of the 7th and 6th centuries B.C. Their importance is shown by the traditional enumeration of the Seven Sages of the 6th century, and their influence on ethical thought is attested by the references of Plato and Aristotle. But from these unscientific utterances to a philosophy of morals was a long process. In the practical wisdom of Thales (q.v.), one of the seven, we cannot discern any systematic theory of morality. In the case of Pythagoras, conspicuous among pre-Socratic philosophers as the founder not merely of a school, but of a sect or order bound by a common rule of life, there is a closer connexion between moral and metaphysical speculation. The doctrine of the Pythagoreans that the essence of justice (conceived as equal retribution) was a square number, indicates a serious attempt to extend to the region of conduct their mathematical view of the universe; and the same may be said of their classification of good with unity, straightness and the like, and of evil with the opposite qualities. Still, the enunciation of the moral precepts of Pythagoras appears to have been dogmatic, or even prophetic, rather than philosophic, and to have been accepted by his disciples with an unphilosophic reverence as the ipse dixit1 of the master. Hence, whatever influence the Pythagorean blending of ethical and mathematical notions may have had on Plato, and, through him, on later thought, we cannot regard the school as having really forestalled the Socratic inquiry after a completely reasoned theory of conduct. The ethical element in the “dark” philosophizing of Heraclitus (c. 530-470 B.C.), though it anticipates Stoicism in its conceptions of a law of the universe, to which the wise man will carefully conform, and a divine harmony, in the recognition of which he will find his truest satisfaction, is more profound, but even less systematic. It is only when we come to Democritus, a contemporary of Socrates, the last of the original thinkers whom we distinguish as pre-Socratic, that we find anything which we can call an ethical system. The fragments that remain of the moral treatises of Democritus are sufficient, perhaps, to convince us that the turn of Greek philosophy in the direction of conduct, which was actually due to Socrates, would have taken place without him, though in a less decided manner; but when we compare the Democritean ethics with the post-Socratic system to which it has most affinity, Epicureanism, we find that it exhibits a very rudimentary apprehension of the formal conditions which moral teaching must fulfil before it can lay claim to be treated as scientific.
A. Greek and Graeco-Roman Ethics.—The ethical thinking of Greece, and thus of Europe, didn’t have a sudden and clear beginning. The simple and scattered rules of behavior, which are everywhere the earliest signs of developing moral thought, are an important part of the gnomic poetry from the 7th and 6th centuries BCE Their significance is highlighted by the traditional listing of the Seven Sages from the 6th century, and their impact on ethical thinking is supported by references from Plato and Aristotle. However, moving from these unscientific statements to a philosophy of morals was a lengthy process. In the practical wisdom of Thales (q.v.), one of the seven, we can't identify any organized theory of morality. In the case of Pythagoras, who stands out among pre-Socratic philosophers as not just the founder of a school, but of a sect or order united by a common way of life, there’s a closer connection between moral and metaphysical thinking. The Pythagorean belief that the essence of justice (seen as equal retribution) was a square number shows a serious effort to apply their mathematical understanding of the universe to ethics; the same can be said for their classification of good with unity, straightness, and similar properties, and of evil with opposing qualities. Nevertheless, Pythagoras’s moral teachings seem to have been more dogmatic, or even prophetic, rather than philosophical, and were taken by his followers with an uncritical reverence as the ipse dixit1 of the master. Therefore, whatever influence the Pythagorean mix of ethical and mathematical ideas may have had on Plato, and through him, on later thought, we can’t view the school as having truly anticipated the Socratic search for a fully reasoned theory of conduct. The ethical aspect in the "dark" thinking of Heraclitus (c. 530-470 BCE), although it prefigures Stoicism in its ideas of a universal law that the wise person will carefully follow, and a divine harmony that will provide true satisfaction, is deeper but even less systematic. It’s only when we reach Democritus, a contemporary of Socrates, the last of the original thinkers we classify as pre-Socratic, that we encounter something we can call an ethical system. The fragments that remain from Democritus's moral writings are enough, perhaps, to persuade us that the shift in Greek philosophy toward ethics, which actually stemmed from Socrates, would have occurred without him, though in a less pronounced way; but when we compare Democritean ethics with the post-Socratic system it is most similar to, Epicureanism, we see that it shows a very basic understanding of the formal requirements that moral teaching must meet to be considered scientific.
The truth is that no system of ethics could be constructed until attention had been directed to the vagueness and inconsistency of the common moral opinions of mankind. For this purpose was needed the concentration of a philosophic intellect of the first order on the problems of practice. In Socrates first we find the required combination of a paramount interest in conduct and an ardent desire for knowledge. The pre-Socratic thinkers were all primarily devoted to ontological research; but by the middle of the 5th century B.C. the conflict of their dogmatic systems had led some of the keenest minds to doubt the possibility of penetrating the secret of the physical universe. This doubt found expression in the reasoned scepticism of Gorgias, and produced the famous proposition of Protagoras, that human apprehension is the only standard of existence. The same feeling led Socrates to abandon the old physico-metaphysical inquiries. In his ease, moreover, it was strengthened by a naive piety that forbade him to search into things of which the gods seemed to have reserved the knowledge to themselves. The regulation of human action, on the other hand (except on occasions of special difficulty, for which omens and oracles might be vouchsafed), they had left to human reason. On this accordingly Socrates concentrated his efforts.
The truth is that no ethical system could be developed until we focused on the ambiguity and inconsistency of common moral beliefs. This required a sharp philosophical mind dedicated to practical problems. In Socrates, we first find the perfect mix of a deep concern for behavior and a strong craving for knowledge. The pre-Socratic thinkers were mostly focused on exploring existence, but by the middle of the 5th century B.C., the clash of their dogmatic systems had led some of the brightest minds to question the possibility of understanding the physical universe. This skepticism was voiced by Gorgias, leading to Protagoras's famous claim that human perception is the only measure of reality. This same sentiment pushed Socrates to move away from older physical and metaphysical investigations. His views were also reinforced by a simple piety that kept him from probing into matters that the gods seemed to have kept to themselves. However, they left the regulation of human actions—except in special cases where omens and oracles might be provided—to human reason. Socrates focused his efforts on this.
Though, however, Socrates was the first to arrive at a proper conception of the problems of conduct, the general idea did not originate with him. The natural reaction against the metaphysical and ethical dogmatism of the early The Sophists. thinkers had reached its climax in the Sophists (q.v.). Gorgias and Protagoras are only representatives of what was really a universal tendency to abandon dogmatic theory and take refuge in practical matters, and especially, as was natural in the Greek city-state, in the civic relations of the citizen. The education given by the Sophists aimed at no general theory of life, but professed to expound the art of getting on in the world and of managing public affairs. In their eulogy of the virtues of the citizen, they pointed out the prudential character of justice and the like as a means of obtaining pleasure and avoiding pain. The Greek conception of society was such that the life of the free-born citizen consisted mainly of his public function, and, therefore, the pseudo-ethical disquisitions of the Sophists satisfied the requirements of the age. None thought of ἀρετή (virtue or excellence) as a unique quality possessed of an intrinsic value, but as the virtue of the citizen, just as good flute-playing was the virtue of the flute-player. We see here, as in other activities of the age, a determination to acquire technical knowledge, and to apply it directly to the practical issue; just as music was being enriched by new technical knowledge, architecture by modern theories of plans and T-squares (sc. Hippodamus), the handling of soldiers by the new technique of “tactics” and “hoplitics,” so citizenship must be analysed afresh, systematized and adapted in relation to modern requirements. The Sophists had studied these matters superficially indeed but with thoroughness as far as they went, and it is not remarkable that they should have taken the methods which were successful in rhetoric, and applied them to the “science and art” of civic virtues. Plato’s Protagoras claims, not unjustly, that in teaching virtue they simply did systematically what every one else was doing at haphazard. But in the true sense of the word, they had no ethical system at all, nor did they contribute save by contrast to ethical speculation. They merely analysed conventional formulae, much in the manner of certain modern so-called “scientific” moralists. Into this arena of hazy popular common Socrates. sense Socrates brought a new critical spirit, showing that these popular lecturers, in spite of their fertile eloquence, could not defend their fundamental assumptions, nor even give rational definitions of what they professed to explain. Not only were they thus “ignorant,” but they were also perpetually inconsistent with themselves in dealing with particular instances. Thus, by the aid of his famous “dialectic,” Socrates arrived first at the negative result that the professed teachers of the people were as ignorant as he himself claimed to be, and in a measure justified the eulogy of Aristotle that he rendered to philosophy the service of “introducing induction and definitions.” This description of his work is, however, both too technical and too positive, if we may judge from those earlier dialogues of Plato in which the real Socrates is found least modified. The pre-eminent wisdom which the Delphic oracle attributed to him was held by himself to consist in a unique consciousness of ignorance. Yet it is equally clear from Plato that there was a most important positive element in the teaching of Socrates in virtue of which it is just to say with Alexander Bain, “the first important name in ancient ethical philosophy is Socrates.” The union of the negative and the positive elements in his work has caused historians no little perplexity, and we cannot quite save the philosopher’s consistency unless we regard some of the doctrines attributed to him by Xenophon as merely tentative and provisional. Still the positions of Socrates that are most important in the history of ethical thought not only are easy to harmonize with his conviction of ignorance, but even render it easier to understand his unwearied cross-examination of common opinion. While he showed clearly the difficulty of acquiring knowledge, he was convinced that knowledge alone could be the source of a coherent system of virtue, as error of evil. Socrates, therefore, first in the history of thought, propounds a positive scientific law of conduct. Virtue is knowledge. This principle involved the paradox that no man, knowing good, would do evil. But it was a paradox derived from his unanswerable truisms, “Every one wishes for his own good, and would get it if he could,” and “No one would deny that justice and virtue generally are goods, and of all goods the best.” All virtues are, therefore, summed up in knowledge of the good. But this good is not, for Socrates, duty as distinct from interest. The force of the paradox depends upon a blending of duty and interest in the single notion of good, a blending which was dominant in the common thought of the age. This it is which forms the kernel of the positive thought of Socrates according to Xenophon. He could give no satisfactory account of Good in the abstract, and evaded all questions on this point by saying that he knew “no good that was not good for something in particular,” but that good is consistent with itself. For himself he prized above all things the wisdom that is virtue, and in the task of producing it he endured the hardest penury, maintaining that such life was richer in enjoyment than a life of luxury. This many-sidedness of view is illustrated by the curious blending of noble and merely utilitarian sentiment in his account of friendship: a friend who can be of no service is valueless; yet the highest service that a friend can render is moral improvement.
Though Socrates was the first to arrive at a proper understanding of moral issues, he didn’t originate the general idea. The pushback against the rigid metaphysical and ethical beliefs of earlier thinkers peaked with the Sophists (The Sophists. q.v.). Gorgias and Protagoras were just representatives of a broader tendency to move away from dogmatic theories and focus on practical matters, especially in the context of citizen relationships within the Greek city-state. The education provided by the Sophists didn’t aim for a comprehensive theory of life; instead, it focused on the skills needed to succeed in the world and manage public affairs. In praising civic virtues, they highlighted the practical aspects of justice and similar qualities as ways to gain pleasure and avoid pain. Greek society viewed the life of a free-born citizen as largely defined by public duties, so the superficial ethical discussions of the Sophists met the demands of that time. Virtue (or excellence) wasn’t seen as a unique quality with intrinsic value, but rather the virtue of the citizen, just as good flute-playing was the virtue of a flute-player. This reflects a broader trend in that era to acquire technical knowledge and directly apply it to practical issues; as music was improving with new technical knowledge, architecture was evolving with modern planning methods, and military strategies were advancing with new tactics, citizenship also needed to be reanalyzed, systematized, and adapted to contemporary needs. The Sophists may have explored these topics superficially, but they did so thoroughly for what they covered, and it’s not surprising they used successful rhetorical methods to tackle the “science and art” of civic virtues. Plato’s Protagoras argues, not without merit, that when they taught virtue, they were simply doing systematically what everyone else was doing haphazardly. However, in the truest sense, they had no ethical system to speak of, nor did they contribute to ethical speculation beyond offering a contrasting viewpoint. They merely examined conventional formulas, similar to some modern so-called “scientific” moralists. In this murky realm of popular opinion, Socrates introduced a new critical approach, demonstrating that these popular speakers, despite their impressive eloquence, couldn’t defend their basic assumptions or even provide rational definitions of what they claimed to explain. They were not only “ignorant” but also inconsistently handled specific cases. Thus, through his renowned “dialectic,” Socrates first concluded negatively that the supposed teachers of the people were just as ignorant as he claimed to be, partially justifying Aristotle’s compliment that he improved philosophy by “introducing induction and definitions.” However, this characterization of his work is both too technical and too optimistic if we look at those earlier dialogues of Plato where the real Socrates is least altered. The exceptional wisdom attributed to him by the Delphic oracle was understood by him to be an acute awareness of his own ignorance. Nonetheless, it is clear from Plato that there was a significant positive aspect to Socratic teaching, making it fair to say, as Alexander Bain did, “the first important name in ancient ethical philosophy is Socrates.” The blend of negative and positive elements in his work has led to considerable confusion among historians, and we can only uphold the philosopher’s consistency by considering some doctrines attributed to him by Xenophon as merely tentative and provisional. Still, the most significant aspects of Socrates’ thought in the history of ethics are not only manageable in light of his belief in ignorance but actually clarify his tireless examination of common opinions. While he displayed the difficulty in gaining knowledge, he was convinced that only knowledge could form a coherent system of virtue, with ignorance being the source of evil. Therefore, Socrates is the first in history to propose a positive scientific law of conduct: virtue is knowledge. This principle brought about the paradox that no one, knowing what is good, would choose to do evil. Yet this paradox stemmed from his undeniable truths: “Everyone wants their own good and will achieve it if they can,” and “No one would dispute that justice and virtue are goods, and the best of all goods.” Thus, all virtues come down to an understanding of the good. However, for Socrates, good is not seen as duty separate from self-interest. The core of the paradox relies on a fusion of duty and interest into the single concept of good, a combination prevalent in the prevailing thought of the time. This forms the essence of Socratic positive thought according to Xenophon. He couldn’t provide a satisfactory explanation of Good in the abstract and avoided questions on this by asserting that he knew “no good that wasn’t good for something in particular,” maintaining that good is self-consistent. Above all, he valued the wisdom that is virtue, and he faced great hardships in pursuit of it, claiming that such a life was richer in enjoyment than one of luxury. This multifaceted perspective is highlighted in his view of friendship: a friend who offers no help is worthless; yet the greatest service a friend can provide is moral betterment.
The historically important characteristics of his moral philosophy, if we take (as we must) his teaching and character together, may be summarized as follows:—(1) an ardent inquiry for knowledge nowhere to be found, but which, if found, would perfect human conduct; (2) a demand meanwhile that men should act as far as possible on some consistent theory; (3) a provisional adhesion to the commonly received view of good, in all its incoherent complexity, and a perpetual readiness to maintain the harmony of its different elements, and demonstrate the superiority of virtue by an appeal to the standard of self-interest; (4) personal firmness, as apparently easy as it was actually invincible, in carrying out consistently such practical convictions as he had attained. It is only when we keep all these points in view that we can understand how from the spring of Socratic conversation flowed the divergent streams of Greek ethical thought.
The key aspects of his moral philosophy, when we consider both his teachings and character together, can be summarized as follows:—(1) a passionate search for knowledge that doesn’t currently exist but, if discovered, would perfect human behavior; (2) a request for people to act as consistently as possible according to a clear theory; (3) a temporary acceptance of the commonly held view of good, despite its confusing complexity, along with a continuous effort to connect its various elements and show the superiority of virtue by appealing to self-interest; (4) personal determination that was seemingly effortless yet truly unshakeable in consistently applying the practical convictions he had developed. Only by keeping all these points in mind can we understand how Socratic dialogue led to the diverse branches of Greek ethical thought.
Four distinct philosophical schools trace their immediate origin to the circle that gathered round Socrates—the Megarian, the Platonic, the Cynic and the Cyrenaic. The impress of the master is manifest on all, in spite of the The Socratic Schools. wide differences that divide them; they all agree in holding the most important possession of man to be wisdom or knowledge, and the most important knowledge to be knowledge of Good. Here, however, the agreement ends. The more philosophic part of the circle, forming a group in which Euclid of Megara (see Megarian School) seems at first to have taken the lead, regarded this Good as the object of a still unfulfilled quest, and were led to identify it with the hidden secret 812 of the universe, and thus to pass from ethics to metaphysics. Others again, whose demand for knowledge was more easily satisfied, and who were more impressed with the positive and practical side of the master’s teaching, made the quest a much simpler affair. They took the Good as already known, and held philosophy to consist in the steady application of this knowledge to conduct. Among these were Antisthenes the Cynic and Aristippus of Cyrene. It is by their recognition of the duty of living consistently by theory instead of mere impulse or custom, their sense of the new value given to life through this rationalization, and their effort to maintain the easy, calm, unwavering firmness of the Socratic temper, that we recognize both Antisthenes and Aristippus as “Socratic men,” in spite of the completeness with which they divided their master’s positive doctrine into systems diametrically opposed. Of their contrasted principles we may perhaps say that, while Aristippus took the most obvious logical step for reducing the teaching of Socrates to clear dogmatic unity, Antisthenes certainly drew the most natural inference from the Socratic life.
Four distinct philosophical schools can trace their roots back to the circle around Socrates—the Megarian, the Platonic, the Cynic, and the Cyrenaic. The influence of the master is evident in all, despite the significant differences that separate them; they all agree that the most valuable possession of a person is wisdom or knowledge, and the most crucial knowledge is understanding what is good. However, that's where their agreement ends. The more philosophical segment of the circle, which seems to have been led by Euclid of Megara (see Megarian School), viewed this Good as something still being sought after, associating it with the universe's hidden secret and transitioning from ethics to metaphysics. Others, whose thirst for knowledge was more easily quenched and who were focused on the practical aspects of the master’s teachings, saw the quest for Good as much simpler. They accepted the Good as already known and believed philosophy was about consistently applying this knowledge to action. Among these individuals were Antisthenes the Cynic and Aristippus of Cyrene. It is through their acknowledgment of the importance of living consistently according to theory rather than mere impulses or traditions, their appreciation for the new value added to life through this rational approach, and their efforts to maintain the easygoing, steady firmness of the Socratic spirit that we identify both Antisthenes and Aristippus as “Socratic men,” despite how completely they took their master’s teachings and developed contrasting systems. In terms of their differing principles, we might say that while Aristippus took the most straightforward logical step to unify Socrates' teachings into clear dogmas, Antisthenes clearly drew the most natural conclusion from the Socratic way of life.
Aristippus (see Cyrenaics) argued that, if all that is beautiful or admirable in conduct has this quality as being useful, i.e. productive of some further good; if virtuous action is essentially action done with insight, or rational Aristippus. apprehension of the act as a means to this good, this good must be pleasure. Bodily pleasures and pains Aristippus held to be the keenest, though he does not seem to have maintained this on any materialistic theory, as he admitted the existence of purely mental pleasures, such as joy in the prosperity of one’s native land. He fully recognized that his good was capable of being realized only in successive parts, and gave even exaggerated emphasis to the rule of seeking the pleasure of the moment, and not troubling oneself about a dubious future. It was in the calm, resolute, skilful culling of such pleasures as circumstances afforded from moment to moment, undisturbed by passion, prejudices or superstition, that he conceived the quality of wisdom to be exhibited; and tradition represents him as realizing this ideal to an impressive degree. Among the prejudices from which the wise man was free he included all regard to customary morality beyond what was due to the actual penalties attached to its violation; though he held, with Socrates, that these penalties actually render conformity reasonable. Thus early in the history of ethical theory appeared the most thorough-going exposition of hedonism.
Aristippus (see Cyrenaics) believed that if everything beautiful or admirable in behavior is valuable because it leads to something better—like virtuous actions being driven by understanding or a rational awareness of how to achieve this good—then that good must be pleasure. He thought physical pleasures and pains were the strongest, though he didn't base this on a materialistic idea, as he acknowledged the existence of purely mental pleasures, like joy from the prosperity of one’s home country. He recognized that his version of good could only be experienced in moments, emphasizing the importance of enjoying the pleasures available right now and not worrying too much about an uncertain future. He believed wisdom was shown in the calm, careful, and skillful enjoyment of these momentary pleasures, unbothered by emotions, biases, or superstitions, and tradition portrays him as achieving this ideal impressively. Among the biases the wise person was free from were concerns about societal morals, except for the actual penalties that came with breaking them; however, he agreed with Socrates that these penalties make following the rules reasonable. Thus, early in ethical theory, the most comprehensive explanation of hedonism emerged.
Far otherwise was the Socratic spirit understood by Antisthenes and the Cynics (q.v.). They equally held that no speculative research was needed for the discovery of good and virtue, and maintained that the Socratic wisdom was The Cynics. exhibited, not in the skilful pursuit, but in the rational disregard of pleasure,—in the clear apprehension of the intrinsic worthlessness of this and most other objects of men’s ordinary desires and aims. Pleasure, indeed, Antisthenes declared roundly to be an evil; “Better madness than a surrender to pleasure.” He did not overlook the need of supplementing merely intellectual insight by “Socratic force of soul”; but it seemed to him that, by insight and self-mastery combined, an absolute spiritual independence might be attained which left nothing wanting for perfect well-being (see also Diogenes). For as for poverty, painful toil, disrepute, and such evils as men dread most, these, he argued, were positively useful as means of progress in spiritual freedom and virtue. There is, however, in the Cynic notion of wisdom, no positive criterion beyond the mere negation of irrational desires and prejudices. We saw that Socrates, while not claiming to have found the abstract theory of good or wise conduct, practically understood by it the faithful performance of customary duties, maintaining always that his own happiness was therewith bound up. The Cynics more boldly discarded both pleasure and mere custom as alike irrational; but in so doing they left the freed reason with no definite aim but its own freedom. It is absurd, as Plato urged, to say that knowledge is the good, and then when asked “knowledge of what?” to have no positive reply but “of the good”; but the Cynics do not seem to have made any serious effort to escape from this absurdity.
The way the Socratic spirit was understood by Antisthenes and the Cynics was quite different. They both believed that no deep research was necessary to discover what is good and virtuous and maintained that Socratic wisdom was shown not in the skillful pursuit of pleasure but in rationally disregarding it—in clearly understanding the intrinsic worthlessness of this and most of the things that people usually desire and aim for. Antisthenes boldly stated that pleasure was an evil, saying, “Better madness than a surrender to pleasure.” He recognized the necessity of combining intellectual insight with “Socratic soul strength,” but he thought that through this combination of insight and self-control, one could achieve total spiritual independence, lacking nothing for complete well-being (see also Diogenes). As for poverty, painful work, bad reputation, and other things that people fear the most, he argued that these were actually useful for advancing spiritual freedom and virtue. However, in the Cynic idea of wisdom, there’s no positive standard beyond simply rejecting irrational desires and biases. We saw that Socrates, while he didn’t claim to have found the abstract theory of good or wise behavior, understood it in terms of faithfully performing everyday duties, insisting that his own happiness was tied to this. The Cynics more boldly rejected both pleasure and custom as irrational, but in doing so, they left reason free without any specific aim other than its own freedom. It’s absurd, as Plato pointed out, to claim that knowledge is good, and then when asked “knowledge of what?” to only respond with “of the good,” yet the Cynics don’t seem to have made a serious effort to break free from this absurdity.
The ultimate views of these two Socratic schools we shall have to notice presently when we come to the post-Aristotelian schools. We must now proceed to trace the fuller development of the Socratic theory in the hands of Plato and Aristotle.
The final perspectives of these two Socratic schools will be addressed shortly when we discuss the post-Aristotelian schools. For now, we need to explore the more comprehensive development of the Socratic theory as it was shaped by Plato and Aristotle.
The ethics of Plato cannot properly be treated as a finished result, but rather as a continual movement from the position of Socrates towards the more complete, articulate system of Aristotle; except that there are ascetic and Plato. mystical suggestions in some parts of Plato’s teaching which find no counterpart in Aristotle, and in fact disappear from Greek philosophy soon after Plato’s death until they are revived and fantastically developed in Neopythagoreanism and Neoplatonism. The first stage at which we can distinguish Plato’s ethical view from that of Socrates is presented in the Protagoras, where he makes a serious, though clearly tentative effort to define the object of that knowledge which he with his master regards as the essence of all virtue. Such knowledge, he here maintains, is really mensuration of pleasures and pains, whereby the wise man avoids those mistaken under-estimates of future feelings in comparison with present which we commonly call “yielding to fear or desire.” This hedonism has perplexed Plato’s readers needlessly (as we have said in speaking of the Cyrenaics), inasmuch as hedonism is the most obvious corollary of the Socratic doctrine that the different common notions of good—the beautiful, the pleasant and the useful—were to be somehow interpreted by each other. By Plato, however, this conclusion could have been held only before he had accomplished the movement of thought by which he carried the Socratic method beyond the range of human conduct and developed it into a metaphysical system.
The ethics of Plato shouldn't be seen as a final product, but rather as an ongoing journey from Socrates' ideas towards the more complete and organized system of Aristotle. However, there are ascetic and mystical elements in some parts of Plato's teachings that don't have a counterpart in Aristotle, and they actually fade from Greek philosophy shortly after Plato's death until they are revived and elaborated upon in Neopythagoreanism and Neoplatonism. The first time we can differentiate Plato's ethical view from Socrates' is in the Protagoras, where he makes a serious, though still tentative, attempt to define the knowledge that he and his teacher see as the essence of all virtue. He argues that this knowledge is actually the measurement of pleasures and pains, allowing the wise person to avoid incorrectly underestimating future feelings compared to present ones, which we usually refer to as "yielding to fear or desire." This hedonism has unnecessarily confused Plato's readers (as we've mentioned when discussing the Cyrenaics), since hedonism is a clear outcome of the Socratic principle that the various common notions of good—the beautiful, the pleasant, and the useful—should be somehow interpreted in relation to one another. For Plato, however, this conclusion could only have been valid before he fully developed the Socratic method into a metaphysical system that went beyond human behavior.
This movement may be expressed thus. “If we know,” said Socrates, “what justice is, we can give an account or definition of it”; true knowledge must be knowledge of the general fact, common to all the individual cases to which we apply our general notion. But this must be no less true of other objects of thought and discourse; the same relation of general notions to particular examples extends through the whole physical universe; we can think and talk of it only by means of such notions. True or scientific knowledge then must be general knowledge, relating, not to individuals primarily, but to the general facts or qualities which individuals exemplify; in fact, our notion of an individual, when examined, is found to be an aggregate of such general qualities. But, again, the object of true knowledge must be what really exists; hence the reality of the universe must lie in general facts or relations, and not in the individuals that exemplify them.
This idea can be put this way: “If we understand what justice is,” Socrates said, “we can define it.” True knowledge has to be about the general principle that applies to all the individual cases related to that principle. This idea applies to other topics of thought and discussion as well; the connection between general concepts and specific examples runs through the entire physical universe. We can only think and talk about it through these concepts. Therefore, true or scientific knowledge must be general knowledge that relates not primarily to individuals, but to the general facts or qualities that individuals show. In fact, when we look closely at what we consider an individual, we realize it is a collection of those general qualities. Furthermore, the subject of true knowledge must be what actually exists; therefore, the reality of the universe must be based on general facts or relationships, rather than on the individuals that represent them.
So far the steps are plain enough; but we do not yet see how this logical Realism (as it was afterwards called) comes to have the essentially ethical character that especially interests us in Platonism. Plato’s philosophy is now concerned with the whole universe of being; yet the ultimate object of his philosophic contemplation is still “the good,” now conceived as the ultimate ground of all being and knowledge. That is, the essence of the universe is identified with its end,—the “formal” with the “final” cause of things, to use the later Aristotelian phraseology. How comes this about?
So far, the steps are pretty straightforward; however, we still don't understand how this logical Realism (as it was later called) gains the ethical character that particularly interests us in Platonism. Plato's philosophy now addresses the entire universe of existence; yet the ultimate focus of his philosophical contemplation is still "the good," now seen as the fundamental basis of all existence and knowledge. In other words, the essence of the universe is linked to its purpose—the "formal" aspect is connected to the "final" cause of things, to use the terminology that came later from Aristotle. How does this happen?
Perhaps we may best explain this by recurring to the original application of the Socratic method to human affairs. Since all rational activity is for some end, the different arts or functions of human industry are naturally defined by a statement of their ends or uses; and similarly, in giving an account of the different artists and functionaries, we necessarily state their end, “what they are good for.” In a society well ordered on Socratic principles, every human being would be put to some use; the essence of his life would consist in doing what he was good for (his proper ἔργον). But again, it is easy to extend this view throughout the whole region of organized life; an eye that does not attain its end by seeing is without the essence of an eye. In short, we may say of all organs and instruments that they are what we think them in proportion as they fulfil their function and attain their end. If, then, we conceive the whole universe organically, as a complex arrangement of means to ends, we shall 813 understand how Plato might hold that all things really were, or (as we say) “realized their idea,” in proportion as they accomplished the special end or good for which they were adapted. Even Socrates, in spite of his aversion to physics, was led by pious reflection to expound a teleological view of the physical world, as ordered in all its parts by divine wisdom for the realization of some divine end; and, in the metaphysical turn which Plato gave to this view, he was probably anticipated by Euclid of Megara, who held that the one real being is “that which we call by many names, Good, Wisdom, Reason or God,” to which Plato, raising to a loftier significance the Socratic identification of the beautiful with the useful, added the further name of Absolute Beauty, explaining how man’s love of the beautiful finally reveals itself as the yearning for the end and essence of being.
Maybe we can best explain this by looking back at how the Socratic method was originally applied to human matters. Since all rational actions aim for a purpose, the various skills or roles in human activity are naturally defined by their goals or uses; similarly, when we discuss different artists and workers, we inevitably talk about their purpose, “what they are good for.” In a society structured according to Socratic principles, every individual would be useful; the essence of their life would consist of doing what they excel at (their proper work). It’s also easy to extend this idea throughout the entire realm of organized life; an eye that fails to see does not fulfill its role as an eye. In short, we can say about all organs and tools that they are defined by how well they perform their function and achieve their purpose. If we view the entire universe as a complex arrangement of means to ends, we’ll understand how Plato might argue that all things truly were, or as we say, “realized their idea,” to the extent that they achieved the specific purpose or good for which they were designed. Even Socrates, despite his dislike for physics, was led by thoughtful reflection to explain a teleological perspective of the physical world, showing how all its parts are organized by divine wisdom to achieve some divine purpose; and in the metaphysical shift that Plato applied to this view, he was probably influenced by Euclid of Megara, who believed that the one true being is “what we call by many names, Good, Wisdom, Reason, or God.” To this, Plato further elevated the Socratic connection of beauty with usefulness by introducing the concept of Absolute Beauty, explaining that humanity's love for beauty ultimately reveals itself as a longing for the essence and purpose of existence.
Plato, therefore, took this vast stride of thought, and identified the ultimate notions of ethics and ontology. We have now to see what attitude he will adopt towards the practical inquiries from which he started. What will now be his view of wisdom, virtue, pleasure and their relation to human well-being?
Plato, therefore, made this significant leap in thinking and connected the ultimate ideas of ethics and being. Now we need to look at what stance he will take regarding the practical questions he began with. What will his perspective be on wisdom, virtue, pleasure, and how they relate to human well-being?
The answer to this question is inevitably somewhat complicated. In the first place we have to observe that philosophy has now passed definitely from the market-place into the lecture-room. The quest of Socrates was for the true art of conduct for a man living a practical life among his fellows. But if the objects of abstract thought constitute the real world, of which this world of individual things is but a shadow, it is plain that the highest, most real life must lie in the former region and not in the latter. It is in contemplating the abstract reality which concrete things obscurely exhibit, the type or ideal which they imperfectly imitate, that the true life of the mind in man must consist; and as man is most truly man in proportion as he is mind, the desire of one’s own good, which Plato, following Socrates, held to be permanent and essential in every living thing, becomes in its highest form the philosophic yearning for knowledge. This yearning, he held, springs—like more sensual impulses—from a sense of want of something formerly possessed, of which there remains a latent memory in the soul, strong in proportion to its philosophic capacity; hence it is that in learning any abstract truth by scientific demonstration we merely make explicit what we already implicitly know; we bring into clear consciousness hidden memories of a state in which the soul looked upon Reality and Good face to face, before the lapse that imprisoned her in an alien body and mingled her true nature with fleshly feelings and impulses. We thus reach the paradox that the true art of living is really an “art of dying” as far as possible to mere sense, in order more fully to exist in intimate union with absolute goodness and beauty. On the other hand, since the philosopher must still live and act in the concrete sensible world, the Socratic identification of wisdom and virtue is fully maintained by Plato. Only he who apprehends good in the abstract can imitate it in such transient and imperfect good as may be realized in human life, and it is impossible that, having this knowledge, he should not act on it, whether in private or public affairs. Thus, in the true philosopher, we shall necessarily find the practically good man, who being “likest of men to the gods is best loved by them”; and also the perfect statesman, if only the conditions of his society allow him a sphere for exercising his statesmanship.
The answer to this question is inevitably a bit complicated. First, we need to note that philosophy has definitely moved from the marketplace to the classroom. Socrates was on a quest for the true art of living a practical life among others. But if abstract thoughts represent the real world, while this world of individual things is just a shadow, it’s clear that the highest and most genuine life must exist in the former and not the latter. By contemplating the abstract reality that concrete things dimly reflect—the ideal they imperfectly imitate—we find the true life of the mind. Since a person is most truly themselves to the extent that they engage with their mind, the pursuit of individual well-being, which Plato took from Socrates as being essential in all living things, transforms into the philosophical desire for knowledge at its highest level. He believed this yearning arises—similar to more basic impulses—from a feeling of missing something once possessed, leaving a latent memory within the soul that is stronger the more philosophically developed it is. Therefore, when we learn any abstract truth through scientific explanation, we are merely bringing to light what we already knew implicitly; we’re making clear the hidden memories of a time when the soul directly experienced Reality and Good before it got trapped in a physical body, blending its true nature with bodily feelings and urges. This leads to the paradox that the true art of living is essentially an “art of dying,” as much as possible, to mere sensory experiences to exist more fully in close connection with absolute goodness and beauty. On the other hand, since philosophers must still live and act in the physical world, Plato fully supports the Socratic link between wisdom and virtue. Only someone who understands goodness in the abstract can recreate it in the fleeting and imperfect good found in human life, and it’s impossible for them to act on that knowledge, whether in personal or public matters. Therefore, in a true philosopher, we inevitably find a practically good person, who, being “most like the gods, is best loved by them”; and also the ideal statesman, as long as the conditions of their society provide a space for them to practice their leadership.
The characteristics of this practical goodness in Plato’s matured thought correspond to the fundamental conceptions in his view of the universe. The soul of man, in its good or normal condition, must be ordered and harmonized Virtue a harmony. under the guidance of reason. The question then arises, “Wherein does this order or harmony precisely consist?” In explaining how Plato was led to answer this question, it will be well to notice that, while faithfully maintaining the Socratic doctrine that the highest virtue was inseparable from knowledge of the good, he had come to recognize an inferior kind of virtue, possessed by men who were not philosophers. It is plain that if the good that is to be known is the ultimate ground of the whole of things, it is attainable only by a select and carefully trained few. Yet we can hardly restrict all virtue to these alone. What account, then, was to be given of ordinary “civic” bravery, temperance and justice? It seemed clear that men who did their duty, resisting the seductions of fear and desire, must have right opinions, if not knowledge, as to the good and evil in human life; but whence comes this right “opinion”? Partly, Plato said, it comes by nature and “divine allotment,” but for its adequate development “custom and practice” are required. Hence the paramount importance of education and discipline for civic virtue; and even for future philosophers such moral culture, in which physical and aesthetic training must co-operate, is indispensable; no merely intellectual preparation will suffice. His point is that perfect knowledge cannot be implanted in a soul that has not gone through a course of preparation including much more than physical training. What, then, is this preparation? A distinct step in psychological analysis was taken when Plato recognized that its effect was to produce the “harmony” above mentioned among different parts of the soul, by subordinating the impulsive elements to reason. These non-rational elements he further distinguished as appetitive (τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν) and spirited (τὸ θυμοειδές or θυμός)—the practical separateness of which from each other and from reason he held to be established by our inner experience.
The traits of practical goodness in Plato’s later thinking align with the core ideas in his view of the universe. The human soul, when in a good or normal state, needs to be organized and balanced Virtue is harmony. under the direction of reason. This raises the question, “What does this order or harmony actually consist of?” To explain how Plato came to answer this, it’s important to note that, while he faithfully upheld the Socratic belief that the highest virtue is tied to knowledge of the good, he also recognized a lower type of virtue found in people who aren't philosophers. It’s clear that if the good to be known is the ultimate basis of all things, it can only be grasped by a select few who are carefully trained. However, we can’t limit all virtue to just this group. So, what then do we say about ordinary “civic” bravery, temperance, and justice? It seemed evident that those who fulfill their duties, resisting the temptations of fear and desire, must have correct opinions, if not knowledge, about good and evil in human life; but where does this correct “opinion” come from? Plato suggested that it arises partly from nature and “divine allotment,” but for it to develop fully, “custom and practice” are needed. This highlights the crucial importance of education and discipline for civic virtue; even for future philosophers, this moral upbringing, which must include physical and aesthetic training, is essential; pure intellectual training will not be enough. His argument is that perfect knowledge can’t be instilled in a soul that hasn’t undergone a preparatory process, which includes much more than just physical training. So, what is this preparation? A significant step in psychological analysis emerged when Plato acknowledged that its effect was to create the “harmony” mentioned earlier among different parts of the soul by putting the impulsive elements under the control of reason. He further identified these non-rational elements as appetitive (the desire) and spirited (the spirited part or anger)—he believed that their practical distinctiveness from each other and from reason was established by our inner experience.
On this triple division of the soul he founded a systematic view of the four kinds of goodness recognized by the common moral consciousness of Greece, and in later times known as the Cardinal Virtues (q.v.). Of these the two most fundamental were (as has been already indicated) wisdom—in its highest form philosophy—and that harmonious and regulated activity of all the elements of the soul which Plato regards as the essence of uprightness in social relations (δικαιοσύνη). The import of this term is essentially social; and we can explain Plato’s use of it only by reference to the analogy which he drew between the individual man and the community. In a rightly ordered polity social and individual well-being alike would depend on that harmonious action of diverse elements, each performing its proper function, which in its social application is more naturally termed δικαιοσύνη. We see, moreover, how in Plato’s view the fundamental virtues, Wisdom and Justice in their highest forms, are mutually involved. Wisdom will necessarily maintain orderly activity, and this latter consists in regulation by wisdom, while the two more special virtues of Courage (ἀνδρεία) and Temperance (σωφροσύνη) are only different sides or aspects of this wisely regulated action of the complex soul.
On this triple division of the soul, he established a systematic view of the four types of goodness recognized by the common moral consciousness of Greece, later known as the Cardinal Virtues (q.v.). Among these, the two most fundamental were (as previously mentioned) wisdom—in its highest form, philosophy—and the balanced and regulated activity of all the elements of the soul, which Plato considers the essence of righteousness in social relations (justice). The meaning of this term is largely social; we can only understand Plato's use of it by referring to the analogy he drew between the individual and the community. In a well-ordered society, both social and individual well-being would rely on the harmonious functioning of various elements, each fulfilling its appropriate role, which in its social context is more naturally referred to as justice. Furthermore, we see how, in Plato's view, the fundamental virtues, Wisdom and Justice in their highest forms, are interconnected. Wisdom will necessarily maintain ordered activity, which consists of regulation by wisdom, while the two more specific virtues of Courage (bravery) and Temperance (self-control) are simply different facets of this wisely regulated action of the complex soul.
Such, then, are the forms in which essential good seemed to manifest itself in human life. It remains to ask whether the statement of these gives a complete account of human well-being, or whether pleasure also is to be included. On this point Plato’s view seems to have gone through several oscillations. After apparently maintaining (Protagoras) that pleasure is the good, he passes first to the opposite extreme, and denies it (Phaedo, Gorgias) to be a good at all. For (1), as concrete and transient, it is obviously not the real essential good that the philosopher seeks; (2) the feelings most prominently recognized as pleasures are bound up with pain, as good can never be with evil; in so far, then, as common sense rightly recognizes some pleasures as good, it can only be from their tendency to produce some further good. This view, however, was too violent a divergence from Socratism for Plato to remain in it. That pleasure is not the real absolute good, was no ground for not including it in the good of concrete human life; and after all only coarse and vulgar pleasures were indissolubly linked to the pains of want. Accordingly, in the Republic he has no objection to trying the question of the intrinsic superiority of philosophic or virtuous2 life by the standard of pleasure, and argues that the philosophic (or good) man alone enjoys real pleasure, while the sensualist spends his life in oscillating between painful want and the merely neutral state of painlessness, which he mistakes for positive pleasure. Still more 814 emphatically is it declared in the Laws that when we are “discoursing to men, not to gods,” we must show that the life which we praise as best and noblest is also that in which there is the greatest excess of pleasure over pain. But though Plato holds this inseparable connexion of best and pleasantest to be true and important, it is only for the sake of the vulgar that he lays this stress on pleasure. For in the most philosophical comparison in the Philebus between the claims of pleasure and wisdom the former is altogether worsted; and though a place is allowed to the pure pleasures of colour, form and sound, and of intellectual exercise, and even to the “necessary” satisfaction of appetite, it is only a subordinate one. At the same time, in his later view, Plato avoids the exaggeration of denying all positive quality of pleasure even to the coarser sensual gratifications; they are undoubtedly cases of that “replenishment” or “restoration” to its “natural state” of a bodily organ, in which he defines pleasure to consist (see Timaeus, pp. 64, 65); he merely maintains that the common estimate of them is to a large extent illusory, or a false appearance of pleasure is produced by contrast with the antecedent or concomitant painful condition of the organ. It is not surprising that this somewhat complicated and delicately balanced view of the relations of “good” and “pleasure” was not long maintained within the Platonic school, and that under Speusippus, Plato’s successor, the main body of Platonists took up a simply anti-hedonistic position, as we learn from the polemic of Aristotle. In the Philebus, however, though a more careful psychological analysis leads him to soften down the exaggerations of this attack on sensual pleasure, the antithesis of knowledge and pleasure is again sharpened, and a desire to depreciate even good pleasures is more strongly shown; still even here pleasure is recognized as a constituent of that philosophic life which is the highest human good, while in the Laws, where the subject is more popularly treated, it is admitted that we cannot convince man that the just life is the best unless we can also prove it to be the pleasantest.
Such are the ways essential good seemed to show itself in human life. Now we need to ask whether this description fully captures human well-being, or if pleasure should also be included. Plato’s perspective on this has shifted several times. After apparently arguing in Protagoras that pleasure is the good, he then shifts to the other extreme and claims in Phaedo and Gorgias that pleasure isn’t good at all. First, because pleasure is concrete and temporary, it clearly doesn't represent the true essential good that philosophers seek; second, the feelings we usually recognize as pleasures are linked to pain, while true good cannot coexist with evil. Therefore, as common sense rightly acknowledges some pleasures as good, it can only be because they tend to lead to further good. However, this view was too far removed from Socratism for Plato to stick with it. Just because pleasure isn’t the ultimate good doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be part of the good in concrete human life; besides, only crass and vulgar pleasures are permanently tied to the pains of desire. So, in the Republic, he has no problem assessing the intrinsic superiority of a philosophical or virtuous life based on pleasure, arguing that the philosophical (or good) person is the only one who experiences true pleasure, while the sensualist just swings between painful desire and a neutral state of painlessness that he confuses for real pleasure. Even more strongly, the Laws state that when we “speak to humans, not to gods,” we must show that the life we praise as the best and noblest is also the one that has the greatest excess of pleasure over pain. But although Plato believes that the connection between what is best and what is most pleasant is true and significant, he emphasizes pleasure mainly for the sake of the ordinary people. In the most philosophical comparison in the Philebus, when weighing the importance of pleasure against wisdom, pleasure loses out entirely; and while some pure pleasures—like those from color, form, sound, and intellectual engagement, as well as the “necessary” satisfaction of needs—are acknowledged, they occupy a secondary role. At the same time, in his later perspective, Plato avoids overemphasizing the lack of positive qualities in pleasure, even in coarser sensual gratifications; they are certainly instances of that “replenishment” or “restoration” to a bodily organ’s “natural state,” which he defines as pleasure (see Timaeus, pp. 64, 65); he just insists that the general perception of them is largely misleading, or that what we perceive as pleasure is often an illusion created by contrast with the preceding or accompanying painful state of the organ. It’s not surprising that this somewhat complicated and finely balanced view of the relationship between “good” and “pleasure” was not maintained for long within the Platonic school, and that under Speusippus, Plato's successor, most Platonists adopted a straightforward anti-hedonistic stance, as noted in Aristotle’s arguments. However, in the Philebus, while a more careful psychological analysis leads him to soften the extremes of this attack on sensual pleasure, the contrast between knowledge and pleasure becomes sharper, and there’s a stronger desire to undermine even good pleasures; still, even here, pleasure is recognized as part of that philosophical life which represents the highest human good, while in the Laws, where the topic is discussed more generally, it’s acknowledged that we can’t convince people that living justly is the best unless we can also prove it to be the most pleasurable.
When a student passes from Plato to Aristotle, he is so forcibly impressed by the contrast between the habits of mind of the two authors, and the literary manners of the two philosophers, that it is easy to understand Plato and Aristotle. how their systems have come to be popularly conceived as diametrically opposed to each other; and the uncompromising polemic which Aristotle, both in his ethical and in his metaphysical treatises, directs against Plato and the platonists, has tended strongly to confirm this view. Yet a closer inspection shows us that when a later president of the Academy (Antiochus of Ascalon) repudiated the scepticism which for two hundred years had been accepted as the traditional Platonic doctrine, he had good grounds for claiming Plato and Aristotle as consentient authorities for the ethical position which he took up. For though Aristotle’s divergence from Plato is very conspicuous when we consider either his general conception of the subject of ethics, or the details of his system of virtues, still his agreement with his master is almost complete as regards the main outline of his theory of human good; the difference between the two practically vanishes when we view them in relation to the later controversy between Stoics and Epicureans. Even on the cardinal point on which Aristotle entered into direct controversy with Plato, the definite disagreement between the two is less than at first appears; the objections of the disciple hit that part of the master’s system that was rather imagined than thought; the main positive result of Platonic speculation only gains in distinctness by the application of Aristotelian analysis.
When a student moves from studying Plato to Aristotle, they are strongly struck by the differences in the way the two thinkers approach ideas and the styles of writing they each have. It’s easy to see why many people view their philosophies as completely opposing. Aristotle’s strong criticisms of Plato, found in both his ethical and metaphysical writings, have done much to reinforce this perspective. However, a closer look reveals that when Antiochus of Ascalon, a later head of the Academy, rejected the skepticism that had been seen as traditional Platonic thought for two centuries, he had solid reasons for considering both Plato and Aristotle as agreeing authorities on the ethical stance he adopted. While Aristotle clearly diverges from Plato, especially regarding his overall view of ethics and the specifics of his virtue system, they nearly align when it comes to the main aspects of their theories on human good. The differences nearly disappear when we look at how they relate to the later debate between Stoics and Epicureans. Even on the key issue where Aristotle directly challenged Plato, the disagreement is not as significant as it initially seems; Aristotle’s critiques address areas of Plato’s philosophy that were more imagined than fully developed. The core insights of Platonic thought become clearer through Aristotelian analysis.
Plato, we saw, held that there is one supreme science or wisdom, of which the ultimate object is absolute good; in the knowledge of this, the knowledge of all particular goods—that is, of all that we rationally desire to know—is implicitly contained; and also all practical virtue, as no one who truly knows what is good can fail to realize it. But in spite of the intense conviction with which he thus identified metaphysical speculation and practical wisdom, we find in his writings no serious attempt to deduce the particulars of human well-being from his knowledge of absolute good, still less to unfold from it the particular cognitions of the special arts and sciences. Indeed, we may say that the distinction which Aristotle explicitly draws between speculative science or wisdom and practical wisdom (on its political side statesmanship) is really indicated in Plato’s actual treatment of the subjects, although the express recognition of it is contrary to his principles. The discussion of good (e.g.) in his Philebus relates entirely to human good, and the respective claims of Thought and Pleasure to constitute this; he only refers in passing to the Divine Thought that is the good of the ordered world, as something clearly beyond the limits of the present discussion. So again, in his last great ethico-political treatise (the Laws) there is hardly a trace of his peculiar metaphysics. On the other hand, the relation between human and divine good, as presented by Aristotle, is so close that we can hardly conceive Plato as having definitely thought it closer. The substantial good of the universe, in Aristotle’s view, is the pure activity of universal abstract thought, at once subject and object, which, itself changeless and eternal, is the final cause and first source of the whole process of change in the concrete world. And both he and Plato hold that a similar activity of pure speculative intellect is that in which the philosopher will seek to exist, though he must, being a man, concern himself with the affairs of ordinary human life, a region in which his highest good will be attained by realizing perfect moral excellence. No doubt Aristotle’s demonstration of the inappropriateness of attributing moral excellence to the Deity seems to contradict Plato’s doctrine that the just man as such is “likest the gods,” but here again the discrepancy is reduced when we remember that the essence of Plato’s justice (δικαιοσύνη) is harmonious activity. No doubt, too, Aristotle’s attribution of pleasure to the Divine Existence shows a profound metaphysical divergence from Plato; but it is a divergence which has no practical importance. Nor, again, is Aristotle’s divergence from the Socratic principle that all “virtue is knowledge” substantially greater than Plato’s, though it is more plainly expressed. Both accept the paradox in the qualified sense that no one can deliberately act contrary to what appears to him good, and that perfect virtue is inseparably bound up with perfect wisdom or moral insight. Both, however, recognize that this actuality of moral insight is not a function of the intellect only, but depends rather on careful training in good habits applied to minds of good natural dispositions, though the doctrine has no doubt a more definite and prominent place in Aristotle’s system. The disciple certainly takes a step in advance by stating definitely, as an essential characteristic of virtuous action, that it is chosen for its own sake, for the beauty of virtue alone; but herein he merely formulates the conviction that his master inspires. Nor, finally, does Aristotle’s account of the relation of pleasure to human well-being (although he has to combat the extreme anti-hedonism to which the Platonic school under Speusippus had been led) differ materially from the outcome of Plato’s thought on this point, as the later dialogues present it to us. Pleasure, in Aristotle’s view, is not the primary constituent of well-being, but rather an inseparable accident of it; human well-being is essentially well-doing, excellent activity of some kind, whether its aim and end be abstract truth or noble conduct; knowledge and virtue are objects of rational choice apart from the pleasure attending them; still all activities are attended and in a manner perfected by pleasure, which is better and more desirable in proportion to the excellence of the activity. He no doubt criticizes Plato’s account of the nature of pleasure, arguing that we cannot properly conceive pleasure either as a “process” or as “replenishment”—the last term, he truly says, denotes a material rather than a psychical fact. But this does not interfere with the general ethical agreement between the two thinkers; and the doctrine that vicious pleasures are not true or real pleasures is so characteristically Platonic that we are almost surprised to find it in Aristotle.
Plato believed that there is a single supreme science or wisdom, with the ultimate goal being absolute good. Understanding this encompasses all specific goods—that is, everything we rationally want to know—and all practical virtue, since anyone who truly grasps what is good cannot help but recognize it. However, despite his strong conviction linking metaphysical speculation to practical wisdom, his writings show no serious effort to derive the specifics of human well-being from his knowledge of absolute good, much less to derive the specific insights of particular arts and sciences. In fact, the distinction that Aristotle makes between speculative wisdom and practical wisdom (specifically in the realm of statesmanship) is hinted at in Plato’s actual discussions, even though acknowledging it directly contradicts his principles. The discussion of good (e.g.) in his *Philebus* focuses entirely on human good and the respective roles of Thought and Pleasure in constituting it; he only briefly mentions the Divine Thought that represents the good of the ordered world as something beyond the scope of the current discussion. Similarly, in his final major ethical-political work (*Laws*), there is hardly any evidence of his unique metaphysics. On the other hand, the relationship between human and divine good, as portrayed by Aristotle, is so intertwined that it’s hard to imagine Plato considering it any closer. Aristotle views the substantial good of the universe as the pure activity of universal abstract thought, existing as both subject and object, which, being changeless and eternal, serves as the ultimate cause and primary source of all changes in the concrete world. Both he and Plato agree that a similar activity of pure speculative intellect is where the philosopher will strive to exist, even though being human compels him to engage with the realities of everyday life, where his highest good will be achieved by attaining perfect moral excellence. Certainly, Aristotle’s argument showing that moral excellence cannot be attributed to the Deity seems to contradict Plato’s idea that a just man is “most like the gods,” but this discrepancy diminishes when we recall that Plato’s essence of justice (δικαιοσύνη) is harmonious activity. Likewise, Aristotle’s link of pleasure to Divine Existence indicates a significant metaphysical difference from Plato, but this distinction lacks practical significance. Furthermore, Aristotle’s departure from the Socratic idea that all "virtue is knowledge" is not substantially greater than Plato's, although he articulates it more clearly. Both accept the idea that no one can consciously act against what they see as good, and that perfect virtue is closely tied to perfect wisdom or moral insight. However, both recognize that this realization of moral insight isn’t solely an intellectual function; it also relies heavily on careful training in good habits applied to naturally capable minds, although this idea is more explicitly emphasized in Aristotle’s system. The disciple makes progress by clearly stating that a key feature of virtuous action is that it is chosen for its own sake, for the beauty of virtue alone; however, he merely formalizes the conviction inspired by his mentor. Lastly, Aristotle’s explanation of the connection between pleasure and human well-being (even as he challenges the extreme anti-hedonism that the Platonic school under Speusippus reached) does not significantly differ from Plato’s perspectives on this issue as conveyed in his later dialogues. In Aristotle’s view, pleasure is not the fundamental component of well-being but rather an inseparable byproduct of it; human well-being fundamentally consists of well-doing, which is the excellent activity of some sort, whether its goal is abstract truth or noble conduct. Knowledge and virtue are chosen rationally, independent of the pleasure that comes with them; yet all activities are accompanied and somewhat enhanced by pleasure, which becomes more significant and desirable in relation to the excellence of the activity. He certainly critiques Plato’s understanding of pleasure, arguing that we cannot accurately view pleasure as either a “process” or as “replenishment”—the latter term, he rightly points out, refers to a material rather than a psychological fact. But this does not hinder the general ethical agreement between the two thinkers; the idea that immoral pleasures are not real or true pleasures is so distinctly Platonic that it surprises us to find it in Aristotle.
In so far as there is any important difference between the Platonic and the Aristotelian views of human good, we may observe that the latter has substantially a closer correspondence to the positive element in the ethical teaching of Socrates, 815 Aristotle’s ethics. though it is presented in a far more technical and scholastic form, and involves a more distinct rejection of the fundamental Socratic paradox. The same result appears when we compare the methods of the three philosophers. Although the Socratic induction forms a striking feature of Plato’s dialogues, his ideal method of ethics is purely deductive; he admits common sense only as supplying provisional steps and starting-points from which the mind is to ascend to knowledge of absolute good, through which knowledge alone, as he conceives, the lower notions of particular goods are to be truly conceived. Aristotle, discarding the transcendentalism of Plato, naturally retained from Plato’s teaching the original Socratic method of induction from and verification by common opinion. Indeed, the windings of his exposition are best understood if we consider his literary manner as a kind of Socratic dialogue formalized and reduced to a monologue. He first leads us by an induction to the fundamental notion of ultimate end or good for man. All men, in acting, aim at some result, either for its own sake or as a means to some further end; but obviously not everything can be sought merely as a means; there must be some ultimate end. In fact men commonly recognize such an end, and agree to call it well-being3 (εὐδαιμονία). But they take very different views of its nature; how shall we find the true view? We observe that men are classified according to their functions; all kinds of man, and indeed all organs of man, have their special functions, and are judged as functionaries and organs according as they perform their functions well or ill. May we not then infer that man, as man, has his proper function, and that the well-being or “doing well” that all seek really lies in fulfilling well the proper function of man,—that is, in living well that life of the rational soul which we recognize as man’s distinctive attribute?
As far as there’s any significant difference between the Platonic and Aristotelian views on what it means to be good, we can see that Aristotle's perspective aligns more closely with the positive aspects of Socrates' ethical teachings, 815 Aristotle's ethics. even though it’s laid out in a more technical and academic way, and it clearly rejects the core Socratic paradox. The same conclusion arises when we look at how the three philosophers approach their work. While Socratic induction is a notable feature in Plato’s dialogues, his ideal ethical method is entirely deductive; he views common sense as a source of temporary steps and starting points that help the mind rise to a true understanding of absolute good, which he believes is the only way to truly grasp the lower ideas of particular goods. Aristotle, on the other hand, moves away from Plato's transcendentalism, yet retains the original Socratic method of induction and verification based on common opinion. In fact, to understand his explanations better, we can think of his writing style as a formalized version of Socratic dialogue turned into a monologue. He first guides us through induction to the central idea of ultimate end or good for humanity. Everyone aims for some result when they act, whether it’s for its own sake or as a means to achieve something else; however, not everything can just be a means; there must be some ultimate goal. People typically acknowledge such an end and agree to label it well-being 3 (happiness). But opinions on its nature vary widely; how do we find the true understanding? We notice that people are categorized based on their roles; all types of people and even all parts of the human body have specific functions, and they are evaluated based on how well they perform those functions. Shouldn’t we then conclude that humans, as humans, have their own proper function, and that well-being or "doing well" that everyone strives for lies in successfully fulfilling the unique function of humanity—living well the life of the rational soul, which we identify as humanity’s distinguishing feature?
Again, this Socratic deference to common opinion is not shown merely in the way by which Aristotle reaches his fundamental conception; it equally appears in his treatment of the conception itself. In the first place, though in Aristotle’s view the most perfect well-being consists in the exercise of man’s “divinest part,” pure speculative reason, he keeps far from the paradox of putting forward this and nothing else as human good; so far, indeed, that the greater part of his treatise is occupied with an exposition of the inferior good which is realized in practical life when the appetitive or impulsive (semi-rational) element of the soul operates under the due regulation of reason. Even when the notion of “good performance of function” was thus widened, and when it had further taken in the pleasure that is inseparably connected with such functioning, it did not yet correspond to the whole of what a Greek commonly understood as “human well-being.” We may grant, indeed, that a moderate provision of material wealth is indirectly included, as an indispensable pre-requisite of a due performance of many functions as Aristotle conceives it—his system admits of no beatitudes for the poor; still there remain other goods, such as beauty, good birth, welfare of progeny, the presence or absence of which influenced the common view of a man’s well-being, though they could hardly be shown to be even indirectly important to his “well-acting.” These Aristotle attempts neither to exclude from the philosophic conception of well-being nor to include in his formal definition of it. The deliberate looseness which is thus given to his fundamental doctrine characterizes more or less his whole discussion of ethics. He plainly says that the subject does not admit of completely scientific treatment; his aim is to give not a definite theory of human good, but a practically adequate account of its most important constituents.
Again, this Socratic respect for common opinion isn't just shown in the way Aristotle forms his key ideas; it also appears in how he discusses those ideas. First of all, while Aristotle believes that the highest form of well-being comes from using man's "divinest part," which is pure speculative reason, he avoids the paradox of claiming that this is the only human good. In fact, a significant portion of his work focuses on describing the lesser goods found in practical life, where the appetitive or impulsive (semi-rational) aspects of the soul operate under the proper guidance of reason. Even when the idea of "good performance of function" is broadened to include the pleasure that comes with such functioning, it still doesn't fully capture what most Greeks understood as "human well-being." It’s fair to say that a modest amount of material wealth is indirectly included, as it is an essential requirement for effectively fulfilling many functions in Aristotle's view—his system allows for no happiness for the poor. However, there are still other goods, like beauty, good lineage, and the welfare of descendants, whose presence or absence affects the common perception of a person's well-being, even if they could hardly be shown to be indirectly relevant to his "well-acting." Aristotle neither tries to exclude these from the philosophical concept of well-being nor does he include them in his formal definition. This deliberate flexibility in his core doctrine reflects his entire discussion of ethics. He clearly states that the subject doesn’t allow for a completely scientific approach; his goal is to provide not a strict theory of human good, but a practically sufficient overview of its most essential components.
The most important element, then, of well-being or good life for ordinary men Aristotle holds to consist in well-doing as determined by the notions of the different moral excellences. In expounding these, he gives throughout the pure result of analytical observation of the common moral consciousness of his age. Ethical truth, in his view, is to be attained by careful comparison of particular moral opinions, just as physical truth is to be obtained by induction from particular physical observations. On account of the conflict of opinion in ethics we cannot hope to obtain certainty upon all questions; still reflection will lead us to discard some of the conflicting views and find a reconciliation for others, and will furnish, on the whole, a practically sufficient residuum of moral truth. This adhesion to common sense, though it involves a sacrifice of both depth and completeness in Aristotle’s system, gives at the same time an historical interest which renders it deserving of special attention as an analysis of the current Greek ideal of “fair and good life” (καλοκἀγαθία). His virtues are not arranged on any clear philosophic plan; the list shows no serious attempt to consider human life exhaustively, and exhibit the standard of excellence appropriate to its different departments or aspects. He seems to have taken as a starting-point Plato’s four cardinal virtues. The two comprehensive notions of Wisdom and Justice (δικαιοσύνη) he treats separately. As regards both his analysis leads him to diverge considerably from Plato. As we saw, his distinction between practical and speculative Wisdom belongs to the deepest of his disagreements with his master; and in the case of δικαιοσύνη again he distinguishes the wider use of the term to express Law-observance, which (he says) coincides with the social side of virtue generally, and its narrower use for the virtue that “aims at a kind of equality,” whether (1) in the distribution of wealth, honour, &c., or (2) in commercial exchange, or (3) in the reparation of wrong done. Then, in arranging the other special virtues, he begins with courage and temperance, which (after Plato) he considers as the excellences of the “irrational element” of the soul. Next follow two pairs of excellences, concerned respectively with wealth and honour: (1) liberality and magnificence, of which the latter is exhibited in greater matters of expenditure, and (2) laudable ambition and highmindedness similarly related to honour. Then comes gentleness—the virtue regulative of anger; and the list is concluded by the excellences of social intercourse, friendliness (as a mean between obsequiousness and surliness), truthfulness and decorous wit.
The most important factor for well-being or a good life for ordinary people, according to Aristotle, is well-doing, defined by different moral virtues. In explaining these, he presents a clear result from careful observation of the common moral beliefs of his time. He believes that ethical truth can be achieved by closely comparing specific moral views, just as physical truth is obtained through observations in the physical world. Due to the disagreements in ethics, we can’t expect to find certainty on every issue; however, reflection will help us reject some conflicting opinions and reconcile others, ultimately providing a practically sufficient amount of moral truth. This reliance on common sense, while sacrificing some depth and completeness in Aristotle’s system, also gives it historical significance, making it worthy of attention as an analysis of the current Greek ideal of “fair and good life” (noble goodness). His virtues aren’t organized according to a clear philosophical plan; the list doesn’t make a serious attempt to fully cover human life or show the standards of excellence for its various aspects. He seems to have started from Plato’s four cardinal virtues. He discusses the two overarching concepts of Wisdom and Justice (justice) separately. In both cases, his analysis takes him quite far from Plato. As we noted, his distinction between practical and theoretical Wisdom is one of his key disagreements with his teacher; and regarding justice, he again differentiates between its broader meaning, which he associates with law-observance and the social aspect of virtue in general, and its narrower meaning related to the virtue that “aims for a kind of equality,” whether that’s (1) in the distribution of wealth, honor, etc., (2) in commercial transactions, or (3) in making amends for wrongs. Then, when listing the other specific virtues, he starts with courage and temperance, which (following Plato) he sees as the virtues of the “irrational part” of the soul. Next, he examines two pairs of virtues related to wealth and honor: (1) liberality and magnificence, with the latter involving larger expenditures, and (2) commendable ambition and high-mindedness, both linked to honor. Then he includes gentleness, which controls anger; and the list concludes with the virtues of social interactions: friendliness (as a balance between flattery and rudeness), truthfulness, and tasteful wit.
The abundant store of just and close analytical observation contained in Aristotle’s account of these notions give it a permanent interest, even beyond its historical value as a delineation of the Greek ideal of “fair and good” life.4 But its looseness of arrangement and almost grotesque co-ordination of qualities widely differing in importance are obvious. Thus his famous general formula for virtue, that it is a mean or middle state, always to be found somewhere between the vices which stand to it in the relation of excess and defect, scarcely avails to render his treatment more systematic. It was important, no doubt, to express the need of observing due measure and proportion, in order to attain good results in human life no less than in artistic products; but the observation of this need was no new thing in Greek literature; indeed, it had already led the Pythagoreans and Plato to find the ultimate essence of the ordered universe in number. But Aristotle’s purely quantitative statement of the relation of virtue and vice is misleading, even where it is not obviously inappropriate; and sometimes leads him to such eccentricities as that of making simple veracity a mean between boastfulness and mock-modesty.5
The rich insights from Aristotle's analysis of these concepts keep it relevant, even beyond its historical significance in outlining the Greek ideal of a "fair and good" life.4 However, its disorganized structure and almost absurd coordination of qualities that vary greatly in significance are clear. For example, his famous general definition of virtue, which he describes as a mean or middle state typically found between vices that relate to it as excess and deficiency, barely makes his approach more systematic. It was certainly important to emphasize the necessity of maintaining proper measure and balance to achieve good outcomes in both human life and artistic creations; but recognizing this need wasn't new in Greek literature; in fact, it had previously prompted the Pythagoreans and Plato to identify the ultimate essence of an ordered universe in numbers. Yet, Aristotle’s purely quantitative perspective on the relationship between virtue and vice can be misleading, and even when it’s not clearly inappropriate, it sometimes leads him to odd conclusions, like defining simple truthfulness as a mean between arrogance and false modesty.5
It ought to be said that Aristotle does not present the formula just discussed as supplying a criterion of good conduct in any particular case; he expressly leaves this to be determined by “correct reasoning, and the judgment of the practically-wise man (ὁ φρόνιμος).” We cannot, however, find that he has furnished any substantial principles for its determination; indeed, he hardly seems to have formed a distinct general idea of the practical syllogism by which he conceives it to be effected.6 The kind of reasoning which his view of virtuous conduct requires is one in which the ultimate major premise states a distinctive characteristic of some virtue, and one or more minor premises show that such characteristic belongs to a certain mode of conduct under given circumstances; since it is essential to good conduct that it should contain its end in itself, and be chosen for its own sake. But he has not failed to observe that practical reasonings are not commonly of this kind, but are rather concerned with actions as means to ulterior ends; indeed, he lays stress on this as a characteristic of the “political” life, when he wishes to prove its inferiority to the life of pure speculation. Though common sense will admit that virtues are the best of goods, it still undoubtedly conceives practical wisdom as chiefly exercised in providing those inferior goods which Aristotle, after recognizing the need or use of them for the realization of human well-being, has dropped out of sight; and the result is that, in trying to make clear his conception of practical wisdom, we find ourselves fluctuating continually between the common notion, which he does not distinctly reject, and the notion required as the keystone of his ethical system.
It should be noted that Aristotle does not present the formula we just discussed as a way to judge good behavior in any specific case; he makes it clear that this should be determined by “correct reasoning and the judgment of the practically wise person (the wise).” However, it seems he hasn’t provided any solid principles for how to make that judgment; in fact, he hardly seems to have developed a clear general idea of the practical syllogism that he believes is necessary for this. The type of reasoning his view on virtuous behavior requires is one where the main premise highlights a distinctive feature of some virtue, and one or more supporting premises show that this feature applies to a specific type of behavior under certain conditions; because it’s essential that good conduct includes its purpose inherently and is chosen for its own value. Yet, he does point out that practical reasoning doesn't usually work this way; instead, it often involves actions as means to other ends. He emphasizes this as a characteristic of "political" life when he tries to argue that it’s inferior to the life of pure contemplation. While common sense allows that virtues are the greatest goods, it still generally views practical wisdom as mainly concerned with obtaining those lesser goods, which Aristotle acknowledges as necessary for achieving human well-being but then seems to ignore. As a result, when we try to clarify his idea of practical wisdom, we often find ourselves swinging back and forth between the common understanding that he doesn’t explicitly reject and the idea that’s fundamental to his ethical system.
On the whole, there is probably no treatise so masterly as Aristotle’s Ethics, and containing so much close and valid thought, that yet leaves on the reader’s mind so strong an impression of dispersive and incomplete work. Transition to Stoicism. It is only by dwelling on these defects that we can understand the small amount of influence that his system exercised during the five centuries after his death, as compared with the effect which it has had, directly or indirectly, in shaping the thought of modern Europe. Partly, no doubt, the limited influence of his disciples, the Peripatetics (q.v.), is to be attributed to that exaltation of the purely speculative life which distinguished the Aristotelian ethics from other later systems, and which was too alien from the common moral consciousness to find much acceptance in an age in which the ethical aims of philosophy had again become paramount. Partly, again, the analytical distinctness of Aristotle’s manner brings into special prominence the difficulties that attend the Socratic effort to reconcile the ideal aspirations of men with the principles on which their practical reasonings are commonly conducted. The conflict between these two elements of Common Sense was too profound to be compromised; and the moral consciousness of mankind demanded a more trenchant partisanship than Aristotle’s. Its demands were met by the Stoic school which separated the moral from the worldly view of life, with an absoluteness and definiteness that caught the imagination; which regarded practical goodness as the highest manifestation of its ideal of wisdom; and which bound the common notions of duty into an apparently coherent system, by a formula that comprehended the whole of human life, and exhibited its relation to the ordered process of the universe. The intellectual descent of its ethical doctrines is principally to be traced to Socrates through the Cynics, though an important element in them seems attributable to the school that inherited the “Academy” of Plato. Both Stoic and Cynic maintained, in its sharpest form, the fundamental tenet that the practical knowledge which is virtue, with the condition of soul that is inseparable from it, is alone to be accounted good. He who exercises this wisdom or knowledge has complete well-being; all else is indifferent to him. It is true that the Cynics were more concerned to emphasize the negative side of the sage’s well-being, while the Stoics brought into more prominence its positive side. This difference, however, did not amount to disagreement. The Stoics, in fact, seem generally to have regarded the eccentricities of Cynicism as an emphatic manner of expressing the essential antithesis between philosophy and the world; a manner which, though not necessary or even normal, might yet be advantageously adopted by the sage under certain circumstances.7
Overall, there probably isn't a work as skillful as Aristotle’s Ethics, packed with insightful and valid thoughts, yet it leaves the reader with a strong impression of being scattered and unfinished. Embrace Stoicism. By focusing on these shortcomings, we can grasp the limited influence his system had during the five centuries after his death, especially compared to its impact—directly or indirectly—in shaping modern European thought. Partly, this can be attributed to the limited reach of his followers, the Peripatetics (q.v.), which stemmed from the emphasis on a purely speculative life that set Aristotelian ethics apart from later systems. This approach felt too distant from the common moral understanding of an era when the ethical goals of philosophy had regained prominence. Additionally, Aristotle’s clear analytical style highlights the challenges in balancing men’s ideal aspirations with the principles that guide their everyday reasoning. The clash between these two aspects of common sense was too deep to reconcile, and humanity's moral consciousness called for a stronger stance than what Aristotle offered. The Stoic school responded to this need by clearly separating moral views from worldly ones. Their approach had a clarity and decisiveness that captivated people's imagination, treating practical goodness as the highest expression of wisdom, and unifying common concepts of duty into a seemingly coherent system that encompassed all human life and its connection to the universe's organized process. The origins of its ethical teachings can mainly be traced back to Socrates through the Cynics, although a significant part also seems to come from the philosophical inheritance of Plato’s “Academy.” Both Stoics and Cynics maintained the critical belief that only the practical knowledge that defines virtue, along with the unwavering state of being that comes with it, can be considered good. Someone who possesses this wisdom enjoys complete well-being; everything else is inconsequential to them. While it’s true that the Cynics emphasized the negative aspects of a sage's well-being more, and the Stoics highlighted its positive side, this difference didn’t equate to disagreement. In fact, the Stoics seemed to view the quirks of Cynicism as a striking way of illustrating the essential opposition between philosophy and the world; a style that, while not required or typical, could be effectively adopted by the sage in certain situations.7
Wherein, then, consists this knowledge or wisdom that makes free and perfect? Both Cynics and Stoics (q.v.) agreed that the most important part of it was the knowledge that the sole good of man lay in this knowledge or wisdom Stoicism. itself. It must be understood that by wisdom they meant wisdom realized in act; indeed, they did not conceive the existence of wisdom as separable from such realization. We may observe, too, that the Stoics rejected the divergence which we have seen gradually taking place in Platonic-Aristotelian thought from the position of Socrates, “that no one aims at what he knows to be bad.” The stress that their psychology laid on the essential unity of the rational self that is the source of voluntary action prevented them from accepting Plato’s analysis of the soul into a regulative element and elements needing regulation. They held that what we call passion is a morbid condition of the rational soul, involving erroneous judgment as to what is to be sought or shunned. From such passionate errors the truly wise man will of course be free. He will be conscious indeed of physical appetite; but he will not be misled into supposing that its object is really a good; he cannot, therefore, hope for the attainment of this object or fear to miss it, as these states involve the conception of it as a good. Similarly, though like other men he will be subject to bodily pain, this will not cause him mental grief or disquiet, as his worst agonies will not disturb his clear conviction that it is really indifferent to his true reasonable self.
Where does this knowledge or wisdom that leads to freedom and perfection come from? Both Cynics and Stoics agreed that the most crucial part of it is understanding that the only true good for people lies in this knowledge or wisdom itself. It’s important to note that by wisdom, they meant wisdom that is put into action; in fact, they believed that wisdom cannot exist separately from such actions. We can also see that the Stoics dismissed the division that emerged in Platonic-Aristotelian thought from Socrates’ view that “no one aims at what they know to be bad.” Their psychological perspective emphasized the essential unity of the rational self as the source of voluntary action, which led them to reject Plato’s breakdown of the soul into a guiding element and elements that require guidance. They believed that what we refer to as passion is an unhealthy state of the rational soul, tied to incorrect judgments about what should be pursued or avoided. The truly wise person, of course, is free from such passionate mistakes. They will recognize physical desires, but they won’t be misled into thinking that their object is genuinely good; therefore, they can’t hope to achieve it or fear missing out on it, since these feelings imply a belief in its goodness. Likewise, although like everyone else they will experience physical pain, it won’t lead to mental distress or turmoil, as their most profound suffering won't shake their clear understanding that it is ultimately indifferent to their true rational self.
That this impassive sage was a being not to be found among living men the later Stoics at least were fully aware. They faintly suggested that one or two moral heroes of old time might have realized the ideal, but they admitted that all other philosophers (even) were merely in a state of progress towards it. This admission did not in the least diminish the rigour of their demand for absolute loyalty to the exclusive claims of wisdom. The assurance of its own unique value that such wisdom involved they held to be an abiding possession for those who had attained it;8 and without this assurance no act could be truly wise or virtuous. Whatever was not of knowledge was of sin; and the distinction between right and wrong being absolute and not admitting of degrees all sins were equally sinful; whoever broke the least commandment was guilty of the whole law. Similarly, all wisdom was somehow involved in any one of the manifestations of wisdom, commonly distinguished as particular virtues; though whether these virtues were specifically distinct, or only the same knowledge in different relations, was a subtle question on which the Stoics do not seem to have been agreed.
That this unflappable sage was someone not found among the living, the later Stoics were well aware. They hinted that a few moral heroes from the past might have reached this ideal, but they acknowledged that all other philosophers were simply progressing toward it. This acknowledgment didn’t lessen their strict demand for absolute loyalty to the exclusive claims of wisdom. They believed that the assurance of its unique value was a lasting possession for those who achieved it; and without this assurance, no action could truly be wise or virtuous. Anything not grounded in knowledge was considered a sin; and since the distinction between right and wrong was absolute and did not allow for degrees, all sins were equally sinful; anyone who broke even the smallest commandment was guilty of breaking the entire law. Likewise, all wisdom was somehow involved in any single expression of wisdom, typically identified as particular virtues; however, whether these virtues were distinct or merely the same knowledge in different contexts was a nuanced question on which the Stoics seemed to be divided.
Aristotle had already been led to attempt a refutation of the Socratic identification of virtue with knowledge; but his attempt had only shown the profound difficulty of attacking the paradox, so long as it was admitted that no one could of deliberate purpose act contrary to what seemed to him best. Now, Aristotle’s divergence from Socrates had not led him so far as to deny this; while for the Stoics who had receded to the original Socratic position, the difficulty was still more patent. This theory of virtue led them into two dilemmas. Firstly, if virtue is knowledge, does it follow that vice is involuntary? If not, it must be that ignorance is voluntary. This alternative is the less dangerous to morality, and as such the Stoics chose it. But they were 817 not yet at the end of their perplexities; for while they were thus driven to an extreme extension of the range of human volition, their view of the physical universe involved an equally thorough-going determinism. How could the vicious man be responsible if his vice were strictly pre-determined? The Stoics answered that the error which was the essence of vice was so far voluntary that it could be avoided if men chose to exercise their reason. No doubt it depended on the innate force and firmness9 of a man’s soul whether his reason was effectually exercised; but moral responsibility was saved if the vicious act proceeded from the man himself and not from any external cause.
Aristotle had already tried to refute Socrates' idea that virtue is the same as knowledge, but his efforts only highlighted how difficult it is to challenge this paradox, especially since it was accepted that no one would intentionally act against what they believed was best. While Aristotle didn't completely reject this idea, the Stoics, who returned to Socratic thought, faced an even greater challenge. Their theory of virtue put them in two tough spots. First, if virtue is knowledge, does that mean that vice is involuntary? If that’s not the case, then it implies that ignorance is a choice. The Stoics found the latter option less harmful to morality, so they went with it. However, they still had more confusion to deal with; while expanding the scope of human choice, their perspective on the physical world indicated a strict determinism. How could a person with vices be held responsible if their actions were completely predetermined? The Stoics claimed that the mistake at the heart of vice was voluntary enough that it could be avoided if people chose to use their reason. It was true that a person's ability to effectively use their reason depended on the inner strength and resolve of their soul, but moral responsibility remained intact as long as the wrongful act originated from the individual and not from an outside force.
With all this we have not ascertained the positive practical content of this wisdom. How are we to emerge from the barren circle of affirming (1) that wisdom is the sole good and unwisdom the sole evil, and (2) that wisdom is the knowledge of good and evil; and attain some method for determining the particulars of good conduct? The Cynics made no attempt to solve this difficulty; they were content to mean by virtue what any plain man meant by it, except in so far as their sense of independence led them to reject certain received precepts and prejudices. The Stoics, on the other hand, not only worked out a detailed system of duties—or, as they termed them, “things meet and fit” (καθήκοντα) for all occasions of life; they were further especially concerned to comprehend them under a general formula. They found this by bringing out the positive significance of the notion of Nature, which the Cynic had used chiefly in a negative way, as an antithesis to the “consentions” (νόμος), from which his knowledge had made him free. Even in this negative use of the notion it is necessarily implied that whatever active tendencies in man are found to be “natural”—that is, independent of and uncorrupted by social customs and conventions—will properly take effect in outward acts, but the adoption of “conformity to nature” as a general positive rule for outward conduct seems to have been due to the influence on Zeno of Academic teaching. Whence, however, can this authority belong to the natural, unless nature be itself an expression or embodiment of divine law and wisdom? The conception of the world, as organized and filled by divine thought, was common, in some form, to all the philosophies that looked back to Socrates as their founder,—some even maintaining that this thought was the sole reality. This pantheistic doctrine harmonized thoroughly with the Stoic view of human good; but being unable to conceive substance idealistically, they (with considerable aid from the system of Heraclitus) supplied a materialistic side to their pantheism,—conceiving divine thought as an attribute of the purest and most primary of material substances, a subtle fiery aether. This theological view of the physical universe had a double effect on the ethics of the Stoic. In the first place it gave to his cardinal conviction of the all-sufficiency of wisdom for human well-being a root of cosmical fact, and an atmosphere of religious and social emotion. The exercise of wisdom was now viewed as the pure life of that particle of divine substance which was in very truth the “god within him”; the reason whose supremacy he maintained was the reason of Zeus, and of all gods and reasonable men, no less than his own; its realization in any one individual was thus the common good of all rational beings as such; “the sage could not stretch out a finger rightly without thereby benefiting all other sages,”—nay, it might even be said that he was “as useful to Zeus as Zeus to him.”10 But again, the same conception served to harmonize the higher and the lower elements of human life. For even in the physical or non-rational man, as originally constituted, we may see clear indications of the divine design, which it belongs to his rational will to carry into conscious execution; indeed, in the first stage of human life, before reason is fully developed, uncorrupted natural impulse effects what is afterwards the work of reason. Thus the formula of “living according to nature,” in its application to man as the “rational animal,” may be understood both as directing that reason is to govern, and as indicating how that government is to be practically exercised. In man, as in every other animal, from the moment of birth natural impulse prompts to the maintenance of his physical frame; then, when reason has been developed and has recognized itself as its own sole good, these “primary ends of nature” and whatever promotes these still constitute the outward objects at which reason is to aim; there is a certain value (ἀξία) in them, in proportion to which they are “preferred” (προηγμένα) and their opposites “rejected” (ἀποπροηγμένα); indeed it is only in the due and consistent exercise of such choice that wisdom can find its practical manifestation. In this way all or most of the things commonly judged to be “goods”—health, strength, wealth, fame,11 &c.,—are brought within the sphere of the sage’s choice, though his real good is solely in the wisdom of the choice, and not in the thing chosen.
With all this, we still haven’t figured out the real practical content of this wisdom. How do we break free from the empty loop of saying (1) that wisdom is the only good and unwisdom is the only evil, and (2) that wisdom is the understanding of good and evil; and develop some method for identifying what good conduct looks like? The Cynics didn’t try to address this challenge; they were satisfied to define virtue as any ordinary person would, except where their sense of independence led them to dismiss certain established rules and biases. The Stoics, on the other hand, not only created a detailed system of duties—or what they called “things meet and fit” (tasks) for every situation in life; they also sought to understand them under a universal principle. They achieved this by emphasizing the positive significance of the concept of Nature, which the Cynics had primarily used in a negative sense as a contrast to the “consentions” (law), from which their knowledge had liberated them. Even in this negative application of the concept, it is inherently suggested that any active tendencies in humans that are “natural”—that is, free from and untainted by social customs and norms—should appropriately manifest in outward actions. However, the adoption of “conformity to nature” as a general positive rule for outward behavior seems to have stemmed from Zeno's exposure to Academic teachings. Where does this authority of the natural come from, unless nature itself is an expression or manifestation of divine law and wisdom? The idea of the world as organized and filled with divine thought was, in some form, common to all philosophies that traced their roots back to Socrates as their founder—some even claiming that this thought was the only reality. This pantheistic belief aligned perfectly with the Stoic perspective on human good; however, being unable to conceptualize substance idealistically, they (with considerable help from Heraclitus' philosophy) gave a materialistic aspect to their pantheism—viewing divine thought as a characteristic of the purest and most fundamental form of material substance, a subtle fiery aether. This theological perspective of the physical universe had a dual impact on Stoic ethics. Firstly, it provided a cosmological basis for his belief in the all-sufficiency of wisdom for human well-being, along with an atmosphere of religious and social sentiment. The practice of wisdom was now seen as the pure life of that piece of divine substance residing in him; the reason he upheld was the reason of Zeus and all gods and rational beings, just like his own; its realization in any individual person was thus the collective good of all rational beings as such; “the sage could not even stretch out a finger correctly without benefiting all other sages,”—in fact, it could be said that he was “as valuable to Zeus as Zeus is to him.”10 But again, this same idea helped reconcile the higher and lower aspects of human life. Because even in the physical or non-rational person, as originally formed, we can find clear signs of divine intention, which his rational will is meant to consciously fulfill; in fact, in the early stages of human life, before reason is fully developed, uncorrupted natural impulses accomplish what later becomes reason’s responsibility. Thus, the concept of “living according to nature,” in its application to humans as the “rational animal,” can be understood both as guiding reason to take charge and as indicating how that governance should be practically applied. In humans, just like in every other animal, from the moment of birth, natural impulses drive the maintenance of their physical form; when reason has matured and recognized itself as its own true good, these “primary aims of nature” and anything that promotes them still serve as the external goals for reason to pursue; they have a certain value (value), based on which they are “preferred” (advanced) while their opposites are “rejected” (Not modernizable.); in fact, it is only through the proper and consistent exercise of such choices that wisdom can express itself practically. In this way, nearly all things that are commonly regarded as “goods”—health, strength, wealth, fame,11 &c.,—are included in the sage’s decision-making process, even though his true good lies solely in the wisdom of that choice, not in the chosen object itself.
The doctrine of conformity to Nature as the rule of conduct was not peculiar to Stoicism. It is found in the theories of Speusippus, Xenocrates, and also to some extent in those of the Peripatetics. The peculiarity of the Stoics lay in their refusing to use the terms “good and evil” in connexion with “things indifferent,” and in pointing out that philosophers, though independent of these things, must yet deal with them in practical life.
The idea of living in accordance with Nature as a guiding principle wasn't exclusive to Stoicism. It's present in the theories of Speusippus, Xenocrates, and to some degree in those of the Peripatetics. What set the Stoics apart was their choice not to link the terms “good and evil” with “things indifferent,” and their emphasis that philosophers, while independent of these things, still need to engage with them in everyday life.
So far we have considered the “nature” of the individual man as apart from his social relations; but the sphere of virtue, as commonly conceived, lies chiefly in these, and this was fully recognized in the Stoic account of duties (καθήκοντα); indeed, in their exposition of the “natural” basis of justice, the evidence that man was born not for himself but for mankind is the most important part of their work in the region of practical morality. Here, however, we especially notice the double significance of “natural,” as applied to (1) what actually exists everywhere or for the most part, and (2) what would exist if the original plan of man’s life were fully carried out; and we find that the Stoics have not clearly harmonized the two elements of the notion. That man was “naturally” a social animal Aristotle had already taught; that all rational beings, in the unity of the reason that is common to all, form naturally one community with a common law was (as we saw) an immediate inference from the Stoic conception of the universe as a whole. That the members of this “city of Zeus” should observe their contracts, abstain from mutual harm, combine to protect each other from injury, were obvious points of natural law; while again, it was clearly necessary to the preservation of human society that its members should form sexual unions, produce children, and bestow care on their rearing and training. But beyond this nature did not seem to go in determining the relations of the sexes; accordingly, we find that community of wives was a feature of Zeno’s ideal commonwealth, just as it was of Plato’s; while, again, the strict theory of the school recognized no government or laws as true or binding except those of the sage; he alone is the true ruler, the true king. So far, the Stoic “nature” seems in danger of being as revolutionary as Rousseau’s. Practically, however, this revolutionary aspect of the notion was kept for the most part in the background; the rational law of an ideal community was not distinguished from the positive ordinances and customs of actual society; and the “natural” ties that actually bound each man to family, kinsmen, fatherland, and to unwise humanity generally, supplied the outline on which the external manifestation of justice was delineated. It was a fundamental maxim that the sage was to take part in public life; and it does not appear that his political action was to be regulated by any other principles than those commonly accepted in his community. Similarly, in the view taken by the Stoics of the duties of social decorum, and in their attitude to the popular religion, we find a fluctuating compromise between the disposition to repudiate what is conventional, and the disposition to revere what is 818 established, each tendency expressing in its own way the principle of “conforming to nature.”
So far, we've looked at the "nature" of an individual man separate from his social relationships, but the concept of virtue, as it's commonly understood, mainly exists within those relationships. This was fully acknowledged in the Stoic explanation of duties (tasks); in fact, their discussion of the "natural" basis of justice emphasizes that humans are not here just for themselves but for the benefit of everyone. Here, we especially note the dual meaning of "natural," applied to (1) what actually exists everywhere or mostly, and (2) what would exist if the original plan for human life were completely realized. We find that the Stoics didn't clearly reconcile these two aspects of the idea. Aristotle already taught that man is "naturally" a social animal; that all rational beings, unified by a common reason, naturally form one community with a shared law was, as we saw, a direct conclusion from the Stoic view of the universe as a whole. It was obvious that the members of this "city of Zeus" should honor their agreements, avoid causing harm to one another, and work together to defend each other from injury, which were clear points of natural law. Furthermore, it was clearly essential for maintaining human society that its members should form sexual partnerships, have children, and care for their upbringing and education. However, beyond this, nature didn't seem to dictate the relationships between the sexes. Thus, we find that shared wives were part of Zeno's ideal community, just like in Plato's. Additionally, the strict philosophy of the school recognized no governance or laws as valid or binding except those set by the wise; he alone is the genuine ruler and king. Up to this point, the Stoic notion of "nature" risks being as revolutionary as Rousseau's. In practice, however, this revolutionary aspect was mostly held back; the rational law of an ideal community wasn't separated from the actual laws and customs of society. The "natural" connections that actually tied each person to their family, relatives, homeland, and to humanity in general formed the basis for the external expression of justice. It was a fundamental principle that the wise would participate in public life, and it seems that their political actions weren't to be guided by anything other than the generally accepted principles in their community. Similarly, the Stoics' views on social decorum and their attitude towards popular religion show a fluctuating compromise between the tendency to reject what's conventional and the tendency to respect what's established, each reflecting the principle of "conforming to nature."
Among the primary ends of nature, in which wisdom recognized a certain preferability, the Stoics included freedom from bodily pain; but they refused, even in this outer court of wisdom, to find a place for pleasure. They Stoics and hedonists. held that the latter was not an object of uncorrupted natural impulse, but an “aftergrowth” (ἐπιγέννημα). They thus endeavoured to resist Epicureanism even on the ground where the latter seems prima facie strongest; in its appeal, namely, to the natural pleasure-seeking of all living things. Nor did they merely mean by pleasure (ἡδονή) the gratification of bodily appetite; we find (e.g.) Chrysippus urging, as a decisive argument against Aristotle, that pure speculation was “a kind of amusement; that is, pleasure.” Even the “joy and gladness” (χαρά, εὐφροσύνη) that accompany the exercise of virtue seem to have been regarded by them as merely an inseparable accident, not the essential constituent of well-being. It is only by a later modification of Stoicism that cheerfulness or peace of mind is taken as the real ultimate end, to which the exercise of virtue is merely a means. At the same time it is probable that the serene joys of virtue and the grieflessness which the sage was conceived to maintain amid the worst tortures, formed the main attractions of Stoicism for ordinary minds. In this sense it may be fairly said that Stoics and Epicureans made rival offers to mankind of the same kind of happiness; and the philosophical peculiarities of either system may be traced to the desire of being undisturbed by the changes and chances of life. The Stoic claims on this head were the loftiest; as the well-being of their sage was independent, not only of external things and bodily conditions, but of time itself; it was fully realized in a single exercise of wisdom and could not be increased by duration. This paradox is violent, but it is quite in harmony with the spirit of Stoicism; and we are more startled to find that the Epicurean sage, no less than the Stoic, is to be happy even on the rack; that his happiness, too, is unimpaired by being restricted in duration, when his mind has apprehended the natural limits of life; that, in short, Epicurus makes no less strenuous efforts than Zeno to eliminate imperfection from the conditions of human existence. This characteristic, however, is the key to the chief differences between Epicureanism and the more naïve hedonism of Aristippus. The latter system gave the simplest and most obvious answer to the inquiry after ultimate good for man; but besides being liable, when developed consistently, to offend the common moral consciousness, it conspicuously failed to provide the “completeness” and “security” which, as Aristotle says, “one divines to belong to man’s true Good.” Philosophy, in the Greek view, should be the art as well as the science of good life; and hedonistic philosophy would seem a bungling and uncertain art of pleasure, as pleasure is ordinarily conceived. Nay, it would even be found that the habit of philosophical reflection often operated adversely to the attainment of this end, by developing the thinker’s self-consciousness, so as to disturb that normal relation to external objects on which the zest of ordinary enjoyment depends. Hence we find that later thinkers of the Cyrenaic school felt themselves compelled to change their fundamental notion; thus Theodorus defined the good as “gladness” (χαρά) depending on wisdom, as distinct from mere pleasure, while Hegesias proclaimed that happiness was unattainable, and that the chief function of wisdom was to render life painless by producing indifference to all things that give pleasure. But by such changes their system lost the support that it had had in the pleasure-seeking tendencies of ordinary men. It was clear that if philosophic hedonism was to be established on a broad and firm basis, it must in its notion of good combine what the plain man naturally sought with what philosophy could plausibly offer. Such a combination was effected, with some little violence, by Epicurus; whose system with all its defects showed a remarkable power of standing the test of time, as it attracted the unqualified adhesion of generation after generation of disciples for a period of some six centuries.
Among the main goals of nature that wisdom recognized as preferable, the Stoics included freedom from physical pain; however, they refused to include pleasure, even in this basic realm of wisdom. They believed that pleasure was not a genuine natural impulse but rather an "aftergrowth" (offshoot). They aimed to resist Epicureanism, even in its strongest appeal, which was its claim to the natural pleasure-seeking of all living beings. They did not limit their definition of pleasure (pleasure) to just satisfying physical desires; for instance, Chrysippus argued against Aristotle, asserting that pure speculation was "a kind of amusement, that is, pleasure." Even the "joy and gladness" (joy, happiness) accompanying the practice of virtue seemed to them merely an inseparable byproduct, not a vital part of well-being. It was only later that Stoicism evolved to consider cheerfulness or peace of mind as the ultimate goal, with the practice of virtue being just a means to that end. However, it is likely that the calm joys of virtue and the ability of the wise person to remain unfazed even in great suffering were major draws of Stoicism for the average person. In this way, it could be said that Stoics and Epicureans presented competing paths to a similar kind of happiness; and the philosophical differences between the two systems can be traced back to a desire for stability amid the ups and downs of life. The Stoics claimed to provide something greater than any of their counterparts; the well-being of their wise person was independent not just of external circumstances and physical conditions, but of time itself; their well-being could be fully realized in a single act of wisdom and couldn’t be enhanced by lasting longer. This idea is extreme, yet it aligns with the Stoic philosophy; we are also surprised to see that the Epicurean wise person, just like the Stoic, could find happiness even in torture; happiness for them also remained untouched by time restrictions, once they understood the natural limits of life; in short, Epicurus made just as strong efforts as Zeno to rid human conditions of imperfection. However, this attribute highlights the main differences between Epicureanism and the simpler hedonism of Aristippus. The latter provided the most straightforward answer to the search for man's ultimate good; but it was not only prone to offending common moral sensibilities when taken too far, but it also failed to deliver the "completeness" and "security" that Aristotle noted as essential to a person’s true Good. According to the Greeks, philosophy should encompass both the art and science of living well; thus, hedonistic philosophy seemed like a clumsy and uncertain approach to pleasure, as it is generally understood. Moreover, the habit of philosophical thinking often worked against achieving this goal by increasing the thinker’s self-awareness, which could disrupt the normal relationship with external objects that typically enhances ordinary enjoyment. As a result, later philosophers from the Cyrenaic school felt the need to adapt their core ideas; for instance, Theodorus defined the good as "gladness" (joy) based on wisdom, distinguishing it from mere pleasure, while Hegesias asserted that happiness was unattainable, and the main role of wisdom was to make life painless by fostering indifference to all pleasurable things. However, through these changes, their system lost the appeal it once had for those seeking pleasure. It became clear that if philosophical hedonism were to be firmly established on a solid foundation, it must synthesize what ordinary people naturally desired with what philosophy could reasonably offer. Such a synthesis was achieved, albeit somewhat forcibly, by Epicurus; whose system, despite its flaws, demonstrated remarkable durability, as it garnered the unwavering commitment of countless generations of followers over about six centuries.
In the fundamental principle of his philosophy Epicurus is not original. Aristippus (cf. also Plato in the Protagoras and Eudoxus) had already maintained that pleasure is the sole ultimate good, and pain the sole evil; that Epicurus. no pleasure is to be rejected except for its painful consequences, and no pain to be chosen except as a means to greater pleasure; that the stringency of all laws and customs depends solely on the legal and social penalties attached to their violation; that, in short, all virtuous conduct and all speculative activity are empty and useless, except as contributing to the pleasantness of the agent’s life. And Epicurus assures us that he means by pleasure what plain men mean by it; and that if the gratifications of appetite and sense are discarded, the notion is emptied of its significance. So far the system would seem to suit the inclinations of the most thorough-going voluptuary. The originality of Epicurus lay in his theory that the highest point of pleasure, whether in body or mind, is to be attained by the mere removal of pain or disturbance, after which pleasure admits of variation only and not of augmentation; that therefore the utmost gratification of which the body is capable may be provided by the simplest means, and that “natural wealth” is no more than any man can earn. When further he teaches that the attainment of happiness depends almost entirely upon insight and right calculation, fortune having very little to do with it; that the pleasures and pains of the mind are far more important than those of the body, owing to the accumulation of feeling caused by memory and anticipation; and that an indispensable condition of mental happiness lies in relieving the mind of all superstitions, which can be effected only by a thorough knowledge of the physical universe—he introduces an ample area for the exercise of the philosophic intellect. So again, in the stress that he lays on the misery which the most secret wrong-doing must necessarily cause from the perpetual fear of discovery, and in his exuberant exaltation of the value of disinterested friendship, he shows a sincere, though not completely successful, effort to avoid the offence that consistent egoistic hedonism is apt to give to ordinary human feeling. As regards friendship, Epicurus was a man of peculiarly unexclusive sympathies.12 The genial fellowship of the philosophic community that he collected in his garden remained a striking feature in the traditions of his school; and certainly the ideal which Stoics and Epicureans equally cherished of a brotherhood of sages was most easily realized on the Epicurean plan of withdrawing from political and dialectical conflict to simple living and serene leisure, in imitation of the gods apart from the fortuitous concourse of atoms that we call a world. No doubt it was rather the practical than the theoretical side of Epicureanism which gave it so strong a hold on succeeding generations.
In the core of his philosophy, Epicurus isn't original. Aristippus (see also Plato in the Protagoras and Eudoxus) had already argued that pleasure is the only ultimate good and pain is the only evil; that no pleasure should be rejected except for its painful consequences, and no pain should be chosen unless it leads to greater pleasure; that the strictness of all laws and customs depends entirely on the legal and social penalties for violating them; that in short, all virtuous behavior and all intellectual pursuits are pointless unless they contribute to the happiness of the person. Epicurus asserts that he means by pleasure what ordinary people mean, and that if the satisfaction of desires and the senses are ignored, the concept loses its meaning. So far, this system seems to cater to the most hedonistic individuals. The originality of Epicurus lies in his theory that the highest pleasure, whether physical or mental, comes from simply removing pain or turmoil, after which pleasure can only vary, not increase; that therefore, the greatest pleasure that the body can experience can be achieved through the simplest means, and that “natural wealth” is just what anyone can earn. He further explains that achieving happiness relies mostly on understanding and accurate judgment, with luck playing a minor role; that the pleasures and pains of the mind are far more significant than those of the body, due to the feelings accumulated from memory and anticipation; and that a key condition for mental happiness is freeing the mind from all superstitions, which can only be accomplished through a thorough understanding of the physical universe—thereby creating ample opportunity for philosophical thought. Additionally, by emphasizing the misery that comes from hidden wrongdoing and the constant fear of being discovered, along with his enthusiastic celebration of the value of selfless friendship, he demonstrates a genuine, though not entirely successful, attempt to mitigate the offense that strict egoistic hedonism can cause to regular human emotions. Regarding friendship, Epicurus had notably inclusive sympathies. The warm camaraderie of the philosophical community he fostered in his garden was a prominent aspect of his school’s legacy; and undoubtedly, the ideal of a brotherhood of wise individuals cherished by both Stoics and Epicureans was most easily realized through the Epicurean approach of stepping back from political and argumentative struggles to embrace simple living and peaceful leisure, emulating the gods apart from the random interactions of atoms that we call a world. It was likely the practical rather than the theoretical aspects of Epicureanism that made it so appealing to future generations.
The two systems that have just been described were those that most prominently attracted the attention of the ancient world, so far as it was directed to ethics, from their almost simultaneous origin to the end of the 2nd Later Greek philosophy. Stoicism in Rome. century A.D., when Stoicism almost vanishes from our view. But side by side with them the schools of Plato and Aristotle still maintained a continuity of tradition, and a more or less vigorous life; and philosophy, as a recognized element of Graeco-Roman culture, was understood to be divided among these four branches. The internal history, however, of the four schools was very different. We find no development worthy of notice in Aristotelian ethics (see Peripatetics). The Epicureans, again, from their unquestioning acceptance of the “dogmas”13 of their founder, almost deserve to be called a sect rather than a school. On the other hand, the changes in Stoicism are very noteworthy; and it is the more easy to trace them, as the only original writings of this school which we possess are those of the later Roman Stoics. These changes may be attributed partly to the natural inner development of the system, partly to the reaction of the Roman mind 819 on the essentially Greek doctrine which it received,—a reaction all the more inevitable from the very affinity between the Stoic sage and the ancient Roman ideal of manliness. It was natural that the earlier Stoics should be chiefly occupied with delineating the inner and outer characteristics of ideal wisdom and virtue, and that the gap between the ideal sage and the actual philosopher, though never ignored, should yet be somewhat overlooked. But when the question “What is man’s good?” had been answered by an exposition of perfect wisdom, the practical question “How may a man emerge from the folly of the world, and get on the way towards wisdom?” naturally attracted attention; and the preponderance of moral over scientific interest, which was characteristic of the Roman mind, gave this question especial prominence. The sense of the gap between theory and fact gives to the religious element of Stoicism a new force; the soul, conscious of its weakness, leans on the thought of God, and in the philosopher’s attitude towards external events, pious resignation preponderates over self-poised indifference; the old self-reliance of the reason, looking down on man’s natural life as a mere field for its exercise, makes room for a positive aversion to the flesh as an alien element imprisoning the spirit; the body has come to be a “corpse which the soul sustains,”14 and life a “sojourn in a strange land”;15 in short, the ethical idealism of Zeno has begun to borrow from the metaphysical idealism of Plato.
The two systems just described were the ones that most caught the ancient world’s attention regarding ethics, from their nearly simultaneous origins until the end of the 2nd century A.D., when Stoicism nearly disappears from view. Meanwhile, the schools of Plato and Aristotle continued to have a lasting tradition and a relatively vigorous presence; philosophy was recognized as a key part of Graeco-Roman culture, divided among these four branches. However, the internal history of these four schools was quite different. There was no significant development in Aristotelian ethics (see Peripatetics). The Epicureans, due to their unquestioning acceptance of the “dogmas”13 of their founder, might almost be called a sect rather than a school. On the other hand, the changes in Stoicism are noteworthy; it's easier to trace these changes since the only original writings we have from this school are from the later Roman Stoics. These changes can be partly attributed to the natural growth of the system and partly to the reaction of the Roman mindset to the Greek doctrines it adopted—this reaction was inevitable given the closeness between the Stoic sage and the ancient Roman ideal of manliness. It makes sense that earlier Stoics focused on outlining the inner and outer traits of ideal wisdom and virtue, and while the gap between the ideal sage and the actual philosopher was acknowledged, it was somewhat overlooked. But once the question "What is man's good?" was answered by a description of perfect wisdom, the practical question "How can someone escape the folly of the world and start on the path to wisdom?" naturally gained attention; the Roman mindset's focus on moral over scientific interests made this question particularly significant. The awareness of the gap between theory and reality enhanced the religious aspect of Stoicism; the soul, aware of its weaknesses, leans on the notion of God. In the philosopher's response to external events, pious resignation takes precedence over detached indifference; the former self-reliance of reasoning, which viewed human life merely as an arena for its application, gives way to a noticeable aversion to the body as an oppressive element trapping the spirit. The body has come to be seen as a “corpse which the soul sustains,”14 and life as a “sojourn in a strange land”;15 in short, the ethical idealism of Zeno has started to draw from the metaphysical idealism of Plato.
In no one of these schools was the outward coherence of tradition so much strained by inner changes as it was in Plato’s. The alterations, however, in the metaphysical position of the Academics had little effect on their ethical teaching, History of Plato’s school. as, even during the period of Scepticism, they appear to have presented as probable the same general view of human good which Antiochus afterwards dogmatically announced as a revival of the common doctrine of Plato and Aristotle. And during the period of a century and a half between Antiochus and Plutarch, we may suppose the school to have maintained the old controversy with Stoicism on much the same ground, accepting the formula of “life according to nature,” but demanding that the “good” of man should refer to his nature as a whole, the good of his rational part being the chief element, and always preferable in case of conflict, but yet not absolutely his sole good. In Plutarch, however, we see the same tendencies of change that we have noticed in later Stoicism. The conception of a normal harmony between the higher and lower elements of human life has begun to be disturbed, and the side of Plato’s teaching that deals with the inevitable imperfections of the world of concrete experience becomes again prominent. For example, we find Plutarch amplifying the suggestion in Plato’s latest treatise (the Laws) that this imperfection is due to a bad world-soul that strives against the good,—a suggestion which is alien to the general tenor of Plato’s doctrine, and had consequently been unnoticed during the intervening centuries. We observe, again, the value that Plutarch attaches, not merely to the sustainment and consolation of rational religion, but to the supernatural communications vouchsafed by the divinity to certain human beings in dreams, through oracles, or by special warnings, like those of the genius of Socrates. For these flashes of intuition, he holds, the soul should be prepared by tranquil repose and the subjugation of sensuality through abstinence. The same ascetic effort to attain by aloofness from the body a pure receptivity for supernatural influences, is exhibited in Neo-Pythagoreanism. But the general tendency that we are noting did not find its full expression in a reasoned system until we come to the Egyptian Plotinus.
In none of these schools was the outward consistency of tradition as challenged by internal changes as it was in Plato’s. However, the shifts in the metaphysical stance of the Academics had little impact on their ethical teachings, Plato's school history. Even during the time of Scepticism, they seemed to present the same general view of human good that Antiochus later asserted as a revival of the common beliefs of Plato and Aristotle. Over the century and a half between Antiochus and Plutarch, we can assume the school continued its old debate with Stoicism on much the same basis, accepting the idea of “living according to nature,” but insisting that man’s “good” should be understood in relation to his entire nature, with the good of his rational part being the most important and always preferred in case of conflict, yet not his only good. In Plutarch, however, we see similar changes that we’ve noticed in later Stoicism. The idea of a normal balance between the higher and lower aspects of human life starts to be unsettled, and the part of Plato’s teaching that addresses the unavoidable imperfections of the world of concrete experience becomes prominent again. For instance, we find Plutarch expanding on the idea in Plato’s last work (the Laws) that this imperfection stems from a flawed world-soul that resists the good—a notion that is contrary to the overall message of Plato’s doctrine and had, therefore, gone unnoticed for centuries. We also notice the importance Plutarch places not only on supporting and comforting rational religion but also on the supernatural messages delivered by the divine to specific individuals through dreams, oracles, or special warnings, like those from Socrates' genius. He believes that for these moments of insight, the soul should be prepared through calmness and the control of sensuality via abstinence. The same disciplined effort to achieve pure receptivity for supernatural influences by distancing oneself from the body is evident in Neo-Pythagoreanism. However, the general trend we are observing did not find its complete expression in a well-reasoned system until we arrive at the Egyptian Plotinus.
The system of Plotinus (205-270 A.D.) is a striking development of that element of Platonism which has had most fascination for the medieval and even for the modern mind, but which had almost vanished out of sight in the Neoplatonism. controversies of the post-Aristotelian schools. At the same time the differences are the more noteworthy from the reverent adhesion which the Neoplatonists always maintain to Plato. Plato identified good with the real essence of things; with that in them which is definitely conceivable and knowable. It belongs to this view to regard the imperfection of things as devoid of real being, and so incapable of being definitely thought or known; accordingly, we find that Plato has no technical term for that in the concrete sensible world which hinders it from perfectly expressing the abstract ideal world, and which in Aristotle’s system is distinguished as absolutely formless matter (ὕλη). And so, when we pass from the ontology to the ethics of Platonism, we find that, though the highest life is only to be realized by turning away from concrete human affairs and their material environment, still the sensible world is not yet an object of positive moral aversion; it is rather something which the philosopher is seriously concerned to make as harmonious, good and beautiful as possible. But in Neoplatonism the inferiority of the condition in which the embodied human soul finds itself is more intensely and painfully felt; hence an express recognition of formless matter (ὕλη) as the “first evil,” from which is derived the “second evil,” body (σῶμα), to whose influence all the evil in the soul’s existence is due. Accordingly the ethics of Plotinus represent, we may say, the moral idealism of the Stoics cut loose from nature. The only good of man is the pure existence of the soul, which in itself, apart from the contagion of the body, is perfectly free from error or defect; if only it can be restored to the untrammelled activity of its original being, nothing external, nothing bodily, can positively impair its perfect welfare. It is only the lowest form of virtue—the “civic” virtue of Plato’s Republic—that is employed in regulating those animal impulses whose presence in the soul is due to its mixture with the body; higher or philosophic wisdom, temperance, courage and justice are essentially purifications from this contagion; until finally the highest mode of goodness is reached, in which the soul has no community with the body, and is entirely turned towards reason. It should be observed that Plotinus himself is still too Platonic to hold that the absolute mortification of natural bodily appetites is required for purifying the soul; but this ascetic inference was drawn to the fullest extent by his disciple Porphyry.
The system of Plotinus (205-270 CE) is a significant evolution of the aspect of Platonism that has intrigued both medieval and modern thinkers, yet it had nearly disappeared from view in the Neoplatonism. debates of the post-Aristotelian schools. The differences become even more striking due to the deep respect Neoplatonists consistently show for Plato. Plato equated the good with the true essence of things; that which is clearly understandable and knowable. This perspective views the imperfections of things as lacking true existence, making them impossible to think or know definitively; thus, Plato doesn’t have a specific term for what in the tangible world prevents it from fully expressing the abstract ideal world, which Aristotle describes as completely formless matter (material). When we shift from the ontology to the ethics of Platonism, we see that while the highest life can only be achieved by distancing oneself from worldly matters and their material surroundings, the sensible world isn’t something that is outright morally repulsive; rather, it’s an area where philosophers strive to create harmony, goodness, and beauty. However, in Neoplatonism, the inadequacy of the state in which the embodied human soul exists is felt more intensely and painfully; this leads to a clear acknowledgment of formless matter (matter) as the “first evil,” which gives rise to the “second evil,” the body (body), responsible for all the evil in the soul’s existence. Therefore, the ethics of Plotinus can be seen as the moral idealism of the Stoics unmoored from nature. The only good for humans is the pure existence of the soul, which is perfectly free from error or flaw, apart from the body’s influence; if it can return to the unrestricted activity of its original state, nothing external or bodily can negatively affect its complete well-being. Only the most basic form of virtue—the “civic” virtue from Plato’s Republic—is used to manage those animal instincts that arise in the soul due to its connection with the body; higher or philosophical wisdom, temperance, courage, and justice are fundamentally cleansings from this disconnection; ultimately, this leads to the highest form of goodness, where the soul is entirely disengaged from the body and solely directed towards reason. It’s important to note that Plotinus himself remains too Platonic to assert that completely suppressing natural bodily desires is necessary for purifying the soul; however, this ascetic conclusion was fully drawn by his disciple Porphyry.
There is, however, a yet higher point to be reached in the upward ascent of the Neoplatonist from matter; and here the divergence of Plotinus from Platonic idealism is none the less striking, because it is a bona fide result of reverent reflection on Plato’s teaching. The cardinal assumption of Plato’s metaphysic is, that the real is definitely thinkable and knowable in proportion as it is real; so that the further the mind advances in abstraction from sensible particulars and apprehension of real being, the more definite and clear its thought becomes. Plotinus, however, urges that, as all thought involves difference or duality of some kind, it cannot be the primary fact in the universe, what we call God. He must be an essential unity prior to this duality, a Being wholly without difference or determination; and, accordingly, the highest mode of human existence, in which the soul apprehends this absolute, must be one in which all definite thought is transcended, and all consciousness of self lost in the absorbing ecstasy. Porphyry tells us that his master Plotinus attained the highest state four times during the six years which he spent with him.
There is, however, an even higher level to be achieved in the Neoplatonist's journey away from matter; and here, the divergence of Plotinus from Platonic idealism is equally striking, as it genuinely results from a respectful contemplation of Plato’s teachings. The main assumption of Plato’s metaphysics is that what is real is definitely thinkable and knowable to the extent that it is real; therefore, the more the mind moves away from physical specifics and grasps real existence, the clearer and more defined its thinking becomes. Plotinus, however, argues that since all thought implies some kind of difference or duality, it cannot be the ultimate reality we refer to as God. He must be an essential unity that exists before this duality, a Being completely free of difference or definition; thus, the highest state of human existence, where the soul comprehends this absolute, must be one in which all definite thought is surpassed, and all self-awareness is lost in ecstatic absorption. Porphyry tells us that his teacher Plotinus reached this highest state four times during the six years he spent with him.
Neoplatonism, originally Alexandrine, is often regarded as Hellenistic rather than Hellenic, a product of the mingling of Greek with Oriental civilization. But however Oriental may have been the cast of mind that welcomed this theosophic asceticism, the forms of thought by which these views were philosophically reached are essentially Greek; and it is by a thoroughly intelligible process of natural development, in which the intensification of the moral consciousness represented by Stoicism plays an important part, that the Hellenic pursuit of knowledge culminates in a preparation for ecstasy, and the Hellenic idealization of man’s natural life ends in a settled antipathy to the body and its works. At the same time we ought not to overlook the affinities between the doctrine of Plotinus and that remarkable combination of Greek and Hebrew thought which Philo Judaeus had expounded two centuries before; nor the fact that Neoplatonism was developed in 820 conscious antagonism to the new religion which had spread from Judea, and was already threatening the conquest of the Graeco-Roman world, and also to the Gnostic systems (see Gnosticism); nor, finally, that it furnished the chief theoretical support in the last desperate struggle that was made under Julian to retain the old polytheistic worship.
Neoplatonism, which originated in Alexandria, is often seen as Hellenistic rather than Hellenic, emerging from the blend of Greek and Eastern civilizations. However, no matter how Easternized the mindset that embraced this theosophical asceticism may have been, the frameworks of thought through which these ideas were developed are fundamentally Greek. It is through a natural process of development—significantly influenced by the heightened moral awareness of Stoicism—that the Hellenic quest for knowledge leads to a preparation for ecstasy, while the Hellenic idealization of human life ultimately results in a deep-seated aversion to the body and its activities. At the same time, we shouldn't ignore the similarities between Plotinus's doctrine and that notable fusion of Greek and Hebrew thought that Philo Judaeus articulated two centuries earlier; nor the fact that Neoplatonism emerged in direct opposition to the new religion that had spread from Judea and was already threatening to dominate the Greco-Roman world, as well as to the Gnostic systems (see Gnosticism); lastly, we should note that it provided the primary theoretical support during the final desperate efforts made under Julian to preserve the old polytheistic worship.
B. Christianity and Medieval Ethics.—In the present article we are not concerned with the origin of the Christian religion, nor with its outward history. Nor have we to consider the special doctrines that have formed the bond of union of the Christian communities except in their ethical aspect, their bearing on the systematization of human aims and activities. This aspect, however, must necessarily be prominent in discussing Christianity, which cannot be adequately treated merely as a system of theological beliefs divinely revealed, and special observances divinely sanctioned; for it claims to regulate the whole man, in all departments of his existence. It was not till the 4th century A.D. that the first attempt was made to offer a systematic exposition of Christian morality; and nine centuries more had passed away before a genuinely philosophic intellect, trained by a full study of Aristotle, undertook to give complete scientific form to the ethical doctrine of the Catholic church. Before, however, we take a brief survey of the progress of systematic ethics from Ambrose to Thomas Aquinas, it may be well to examine the chief features of the new moral consciousness that had spread through Graeco-Roman civilization, and was awaiting philosophic synthesis. It will be convenient to consider first the new form or universal characteristics of Christian morality, and afterwards to note the chief points in the matter or particulars of duty and virtue which received development or emphasis from the new religion.
B. Christianity and Medieval Ethics.—In this article, we won't focus on the origins of Christianity or its historical timeline. We also won't dive deep into the specific doctrines that have united Christian communities, except in terms of their ethical implications and how they influence human goals and activities. However, this ethical aspect must be central when discussing Christianity, which can't be adequately understood just as a set of revealed beliefs and sanctioned practices; it aims to guide every aspect of human life. It wasn't until the 4th century CE that an initial attempt was made to systematically explain Christian morality, and another nine centuries passed before a truly philosophical mind, one well-versed in Aristotle, sought to fully articulate the ethical teachings of the Catholic Church. Before we take a quick look at the development of systematic ethics from Ambrose to Thomas Aquinas, it’s useful to explore the main features of the new moral awareness that emerged in Graeco-Roman civilization, which was waiting for a philosophical framework. We'll first discuss the new form or universal traits of Christian morality, and then highlight the key points in the matter or specifics of duty and virtue that the new religion emphasized or developed.
The first point to be noticed is the new conception of morality as the positive law of a theocratic community possessing a written code imposed by divine revelation, and sanctioned by divine promises and threatenings. It Christian and Jewish “law of God.” is true that we find in ancient thought, from Socrates downwards, the notion of a law of God, eternal and immutable, partly expressed and partly obscured by the shifting codes and customs of actual human societies. But the sanctions of this law were vaguely and, for the most part, feebly imagined; its principles were essentially unwritten, and thus referred not to the external will of an Almighty Being who claimed unquestioning submission, but rather to the reason that gods and men shared, by the exercise of which alone they could be adequately known and defined. Hence, even if the notion of law had been more prominent than it was in ancient ethical thought, it could never have led to a juridical, as distinct from a philosophical, treatment of morality. In Christianity, on the other hand, we early find that the method of moralists determining right conduct is to a great extent analogous to that of juris-consults interpreting a code. It is assumed that divine commands have been implicitly given for all occasions of life, and that they are to be ascertained in particular cases by interpretation of the general rules obtained from texts of scripture, and by inference from scriptural examples. This juridical method descended naturally from the Jewish theocracy, of which Christendom was a universalization. Moral insight, in the view of the most thoughtful Jews of the age immediately preceding Christianity, was conceived as knowledge of a divine code, emanating from an authority external to human reason which had only the function of interpreting and applying its rules. This law was derived partly from Moses, partly from the utterances of the later prophets, partly from oral tradition and from the commentaries and supplementary maxims of generations of students. Christianity inherited the notion of a written divine code acknowledged as such by the “true Israel”—now potentially including the whole of mankind, or at least the chosen of all nations,—on the sincere acceptance of which the Christian’s share of the divine promises to Israel depended. And though the ceremonial part of the old Hebrew code was altogether rejected, and with it all the supplementary jurisprudence resting on tradition and erudite commentary, still God’s law was believed to be contained in the sacred books of the Jews, supplemented by the teaching of Christ and his apostles. By the recognition of this law the church was constituted as an ordered community, essentially distinct from the State; the distinction between the two was emphasized by the withdrawal of the early Christians from civic life, to avoid the performance of idolatrous ceremonies imposed as official expressions of loyalty, and by the persecutions which they had to endure, when the spread of an association apparently so hostile to the framework of ancient society had at length alarmed the imperial government. Nor was the distinction obliterated by the recognition of Christianity as the state religion under Constantine.
The first point to notice is the new understanding of morality as the positive law of a theocratic community that has a written code imposed by divine revelation, sanctioned by divine promises and threats. It is true that we see in ancient thought, from Socrates onward, the idea of a law of God, eternal and unchanging, partly expressed and partly obscured by the changing codes and customs of human societies. However, the enforcement of this law was vague and mostly weakly imagined; its principles were essentially unwritten. Thus, it didn’t rely on the external will of an Almighty Being who demanded unquestioning submission but rather on the shared reason of gods and humans, which was the only way to truly understand and define it. Therefore, even if the concept of law had been more prominent than it was in ancient ethical thought, it could never have led to a legal, as opposed to a philosophical, approach to morality. In Christianity, we find early on that the way moralists determine right conduct is largely similar to how legal experts interpret a code. It is assumed that divine commands have been implicitly given for all aspects of life, and that these commands should be understood in specific cases by interpreting general rules derived from scripture and by drawing conclusions from scriptural examples. This legal approach naturally descended from the Jewish theocracy, of which Christianity was a universalization. Moral understanding, in the view of the most reflective Jews just before Christianity, was seen as knowledge of a divine code coming from an authority outside human reason, which had only the role of interpreting and applying its rules. This law came partly from Moses, partly from the later prophets, and partly from oral tradition as well as the commentaries and supplementary principles from generations of scholars. Christianity inherited the idea of a written divine code recognized by the “true Israel”—now potentially including all of humanity, or at least the chosen people from all nations—on the genuine acceptance of which a Christian’s share of divine promises to Israel depended. Although the ceremonial aspects of the old Hebrew code were entirely rejected, along with all the supplementary legal traditions based on commentaries and learned interpretations, God's law was still believed to be found in the sacred texts of the Jews, complemented by the teachings of Christ and his apostles. By acknowledging this law, the church was formed as an organized community, fundamentally different from the State; the separation between the two was highlighted by the early Christians’ withdrawal from civic life to avoid participating in idolatrous ceremonies imposed as official signs of loyalty, and by the persecutions they faced when the growth of a group seen as so opposed to the structure of ancient society eventually alarmed the imperial government. The distinction was not erased even when Christianity was recognized as the state religion under Constantine.
Thus the jural form in which morality was conceived only emphasized the fundamental difference between it and the laws of the state. The ultimate sanctions of the moral code were the infinite rewards and punishments awaiting the immortal soul hereafter; but the church early felt the necessity of withdrawing the privileges of membership from apostates and allowing them to be gradually regained only by a solemn ceremonial expressive of repentance, protracted through several years. This formal and regulated “penitence” was extended from apostasy to other grave—or, as they were subsequently called, “deadly”—sins; while for minor offences all Christians were called upon to express contrition by fasting and abstinence from ordinarily permitted pleasures, as well as verbally in public and private devotions. “Excommunication” and “penance” thus came to be temporal ecclesiastical sanctions of the moral law. As the graduation of these sanctions naturally became more minute, a correspondingly detailed classification of offences was rendered necessary, and thus a system of ecclesiastical jurisprudence was gradually produced, somewhat analogous to that of Judaism. At the same time this tendency to make prominent a scheme of external duties has always been counteracted in Christianity by the remembrance of its original antithesis to Jewish legalism. We find that this antithesis, as exaggerated by some of the Gnostic sects of the 2nd and 3rd centuries A.D., led, not merely to theoretical antinomianism, but even (if the charges of their orthodox opponents are not entirely to be discredited) to gross immorality of conduct. A similar tendency has shown itself at other periods of church history. And though such antinomianism has always been sternly repudiated by the moral consciousness of Christendom, it has never been forgotten that “inwardness,” rightness of heart or spirit, is the pre-eminent characteristic of Christian goodness. It must not, of course, be supposed that the need of something more than mere fulfilment of external duty was ignored even by the later Judaism. Rabbinic erudition could not forget the repression of vicious desires in the tenth commandment, the stress laid in Deuteronomy on the necessity of service to God, or the inculcation by later prophets of humility and faith. “The real and only Pharisee,” says the Talmud, “is he who does the will of his Father because he loves Him.” But it remains true that the contrast with the “righteousness of the scribes and pharisees” has always served to mark the requirement of “inwardness” as a distinctive feature of the Christian code—an inwardness not merely negative, tending to the repression of vicious desires as well as vicious acts, but also involving a positive rectitude of the inner state of the soul.
Thus, the legal framework in which morality was understood only highlighted the basic difference between it and the laws of the state. The ultimate consequences of the moral code were the endless rewards and punishments awaiting the immortal soul in the afterlife; however, the church quickly recognized the need to revoke the privileges of membership from those who strayed and allowed them to be gradually regained only through a solemn ceremony expressing repentance, which could take several years. This formal and structured “penitence” was extended from apostasy to other serious—or what were later termed “deadly”—sins; meanwhile, for minor offenses, all Christians were expected to show remorse through fasting and abstaining from normally allowed pleasures, as well as verbally in public and private prayers. “Excommunication” and “penance” thus became temporary ecclesiastical consequences of the moral law. As these consequences naturally became more detailed, a correspondingly refined classification of offenses became necessary, leading to a gradually developed system of ecclesiastical law, somewhat similar to that of Judaism. At the same time, the push to emphasize a scheme of external duties has always been counterbalanced in Christianity by the memory of its original opposition to Jewish legalism. We see that this opposition, as exaggerated by some Gnostic sects of the 2nd and 3rd centuries CE, led, not only to theoretical antinomianism but even (if the accusations of their orthodox opponents are not entirely dismissed) to outright immorality in behavior. A similar tendency has emerged at other times in church history. And although such antinomianism has always been firmly rejected by the moral consciousness of Christendom, it has never been forgotten that “inwardness,” or the rightness of heart or spirit, is the primary characteristic of Christian goodness. It must not be assumed that the need for something more than just fulfilling external duties was overlooked even by later Judaism. Rabbinic scholarship could not forget the suppression of wrongful desires in the tenth commandment, the emphasis in Deuteronomy on the necessity of serving God, or the teachings of later prophets on humility and faith. “The true and only Pharisee,” says the Talmud, “is one who does the will of his Father because he loves Him.” However, it remains true that the contrast with the “righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees” has always highlighted the necessity of “inwardness” as a distinctive feature of the Christian code—an inwardness that is not merely negative, suppressing wrongful desires as well as wrongful actions, but also involves a positive rectitude of the inner state of the soul.
In this aspect Christianity invites comparison with Stoicism, and indeed with pagan ethical philosophy generally, if we except the hedonistic schools. Rightness of purpose, preference of virtue for its own sake, suppression of Christian and Pagan inwardness. vicious desires, were made essential points by the Aristotelians, who attached the most importance to outward circumstances in their view of virtue, no less than by the Stoics, to whom all outward things were indifferent. The fundamental differences between pagan and Christian ethics depend not on any difference in the value set on rightness of heart, but on different views of the essential form or conditions of this inward rightness. In neither case is it presented purely and simply as moral rectitude. By the pagan philosophers it was always conceived under the form of Knowledge or Wisdom, 821 it being inconceivable to all the schools sprung from Socrates that a man could truly know his own good and yet deliberately choose anything else. This knowledge, as Aristotle held, might be permanently precluded by vicious habits, or temporarily obliterated by passion, but if present in the mind it must produce rightness of purpose. Or even if it were held with some of the Stoics that true wisdom was out of the reach of the best men actually living, it none the less remained the ideal condition of perfect human life. By Christian teachers, on the other hand, the inner springs of good conduct were generally conceived as Faith. Faith and Love. Of these notions the former has a somewhat complex ethical import; it seems to blend several elements differently prominent in different minds. Its simplest and commonest meaning is that emphasized in the contrast of “faith” with “sight”; where it signifies belief in the invisible divine order represented by the church, in the actuality of the law, the threats, the promises of God, in spite of all the influences in man’s natural life that tend to obscure this belief. Out of this contrast there ultimately grew an essentially different opposition between faith and knowledge or reason, according to which the theological basis of ethics was contrasted with the philosophical; the theologians maintaining sometimes that the divine law is essentially arbitrary, the expression of will, not reason; more frequently that its reasonableness is inscrutable, and that actual human reason should confine itself to examining the credentials of God’s messengers, and not the message itself. But in early Christianity this latter antithesis was as yet undeveloped; faith means simply force in clinging to moral and religious conviction, whatever their rational grounds may be; this force, in the Christian consciousness, being inseparably bound up with personal loyalty and trust towards Christ, the leader in the battle with evil, the ruler of the kingdom to be realized. So far, however, there is no ethical difference between Christian faith and that of Judaism, or its later imitation, Mahommedanism; except that the personal affection of loyal trust is peculiarly stirred by the blending of human and divine natures in Christ, and the rule of duty impressively taught by the manifestation of his perfect life. A more distinctively Christian, and a more deeply moral, significance is given to the notion in the antithesis of “faith” and “works.” Here faith means more than loyal acceptance of the divine law and reverent trust in the lawgiver; it implies a consciousness, at once continually present and continually transcended, of the radical imperfection of all human obedience to the law, and at the same time of the irremissible condemnation which this imperfection entails. The Stoic doctrine of the worthlessness of ordinary human virtue, and the stern paradox that all offenders are equally, in so far as all are absolutely, guilty, find their counterparts in Christianity; but the latter (maintaining this ideal severity in the moral standard, with an emotional consciousness of what is involved in it quite unlike that of the Stoic) overcomes its practical exclusiveness through faith. This faith, again, may be conceived in two modes, essentially distinct though usually combined. In one view it gives the believer strength to attain, by God’s supernatural aid or “grace,” a goodness of which he is naturally incapable; in the other view it gives him an assurance that, though he knows himself a sinner deserving of utter condemnation, a perfectly just God still regards him with favour on account of the perfect services and suffering of Christ. Of these views the former is the more catholic, more universally present in the Christian consciousness; the latter more deeply penetrates the mystery of the Atonement, as expounded in the Pauline epistles.
In this regard, Christianity can be compared to Stoicism and, more broadly, to pagan ethical philosophy, except for the hedonistic schools. The importance of having a right intention, prioritizing virtue for its own sake, and controlling harmful desires were key points emphasized by the Aristotelians, who placed significant weight on external circumstances in their understanding of virtue, just like the Stoics, who believed that external matters were irrelevant. The main differences between pagan and Christian ethics do not come from differing views on the value of having a good heart, but rather from different perspectives on the essential nature or conditions of this inner goodness. In both cases, it's not simply presented as moral righteousness. Pagan philosophers always viewed it through the lens of Knowledge or Wisdom; they found it unimaginable that a person could truly understand their own good and still choose something different. According to Aristotle, this knowledge could be permanently blocked by bad habits or temporarily clouded by passion, yet if it existed in the mind, it would lead to a right intention. Even if some Stoics believed that true wisdom was beyond the grasp of the best people alive, it remained an ideal condition for perfect human life. In contrast, Christian educators typically viewed the inner motivations for good behavior as rooted in Faith and Love. The former has a somewhat layered ethical meaning; it seems to mix several components that hold varying significance for different people. Its simplest and most common interpretation is found in the distinction between “faith” and “sight,” where it denotes belief in the unseen divine order represented by the church, the reality of the law, as well as God’s warnings and promises, despite the many influences in human life that might obscure this faith. From this contrast eventually arose a fundamentally different opposition between faith and knowledge or reason, where the theological basis for ethics was set against the philosophical one; theologians sometimes argued that divine law is fundamentally arbitrary, a reflection of will rather than reason; more often, they claimed that its rationale is beyond comprehension, insisting that human reason should focus on evaluating the credibility of God’s messengers rather than questioning the message. However, in the early days of Christianity, this latter contrast was still evolving; faith simply meant the strength to hold onto moral and religious beliefs, regardless of their rational foundations; this strength, in the Christian mindset, was tightly linked to personal loyalty and trust in Christ, who led the fight against evil and ruled over the kingdom yet to be fully realized. Up to this point, there's no ethical difference between Christian faith and that of Judaism or its later counterpart, Islam, except that loyal trust is uniquely stirred by the combination of human and divine natures in Christ, along with the powerful lesson of duty taught by his perfect life. A more distinctively Christian and morally profound meaning emerges from the contrast between “faith” and “works.” Here, faith involves more than just accepting divine law and trusting in the lawgiver; it includes a continuous awareness—both present and cautiously transcended—of the fundamental imperfection of all human obedience to the law, alongside the unavoidable judgment that imperfection brings. The Stoic notion that ordinary human virtue holds little value, along with the strict paradox that all wrongdoers are equally, in a fundamental sense, guilty, finds counterparts in Christianity. However, Christianity (upholding this strict moral standard, but with an emotional awareness about what it entails that differs significantly from the Stoic perspective) transcends its practical exclusivity through faith. This faith can be understood in two distinct ways, though they are often intertwined. In one perspective, it empowers the believer to achieve a goodness that is beyond their natural ability, through God’s supernatural aid or “grace”; in another, it assures them that, even while recognizing themselves as sinners deserving full condemnation, a perfectly just God still looks upon them favorably because of Christ’s perfect service and suffering. Of these perspectives, the former is more universal and widely present in Christian thought; the latter delves more deeply into the mystery of the Atonement, as outlined in the letters of Paul.
But faith, however understood, is rather an indispensable pre-requisite than the essential motive principle of Christian good conduct. This motive is supplied by the other central notion, love. On love depends the “fulfilling Love. of the law,” and the sole moral value of Christian duty—that is, on love to God, in the first place, which in its fullest development must spring from Christian faith; and, secondly, love to all mankind, as the objects of divine love and sharers in the humanity ennobled by the incarnation. This derivative philanthropy characterizes the spirit in which all Christian performance of social duty is to be done; loving devotion to God being the fundamental attitude of mind that is to be maintained throughout the whole of the Christian’s life. But further, as regards abstinence from unlawful acts and desires Purity. prompting to them, we have to notice another form in which the inwardness of Christian morality manifests itself, which, though less distinctive, should yet receive attention in any comparison of Christian ethics with the view of Graeco-Roman philosophy. The profound horror with which the Christian’s conception of a suffering as well as an avenging divinity tended to make him regard all condemnable acts was tinged with a sentiment which we may perhaps describe as a ceremonial aversion moralized—the aversion, that is, to foulness or impurity. In Judaism, as in other, especially Oriental, religions, the natural dislike of material defilement has been elevated into a religious sentiment, and made to support a complicated system of quasi-sanitary abstinences and ceremonial purifications; then, as the ethical element predominated in the Jewish religion, a moral symbolism was felt to reside in the ceremonial code, and thus aversion to impurity came to be a common form of the ethico-religious sentiment. Then, when Christianity threw off the Mosaic ritual, this religious sense of purity was left with no other sphere besides morality; while, from its highly idealized character, it was peculiarly well adapted for that repression of vicious desires which Christianity claimed as its special function.
But faith, however you interpret it, is more of a necessary foundation than the main driving force behind Christian good behavior. This driving force comes from another key idea: love. The “fulfilling of the law” depends on love, as does the true moral value of Christian duty. First, this love is directed toward God, which should, at its core, come from Christian faith; and second, it includes love for all humanity, as we are all objects of God’s love and share in the humanity uplifted by the incarnation. This derived love for humanity defines the spirit in which all Christians should perform their social duties; a loving devotion to God is the fundamental mindset that should be maintained throughout a Christian’s life. Furthermore, when it comes to avoiding wrongful acts and the desires that lead to them, we should recognize another way the inner nature of Christian morality shows itself. Although it might be less distinctive, it deserves attention when comparing Christian ethics to Graeco-Roman philosophy. The deep horror that a Christian feels towards wrongdoing is tied to their understanding of a suffering and avenging deity, which gives rise to a sentiment we might call a moralized aversion to impurity. In Judaism, similar to other religions, especially those from the East, the natural dislike for physical defilement has been transformed into a religious sentiment, reinforcing a complex system of almost sanitary abstinences and ceremonial purifications. As the ethical aspect became more dominant in Judaism, a moral significance became associated with the ceremonial laws, making the aversion to impurity a common expression of ethical-religious sentiment. Then, when Christianity moved beyond the Mosaic rituals, this religious sense of purity had no realm other than morality; due to its highly idealized nature, it was particularly suited to suppressing immoral desires, which Christianity claimed as its special role.
The distinctive features of Christian ethics are obedience, unworldliness, benevolence, purity and humility. They are naturally connected with the more general Distinctive particulars of Christian morality. characteristics just stated; though many of them may also be referred directly to the example and precepts of Christ, and in several cases they are clearly due to both causes, inseparably combined.
The key aspects of Christian ethics are obedience, being unworldly, kindness, purity, and humility. These qualities are naturally linked to the broader characteristics mentioned earlier; many of them can also be directly traced back to the example and teachings of Christ, and in several instances, they clearly arise from both sources, which are inseparably intertwined.
1. We may notice, in the first place, that the conception of morality as a code which, if not in itself arbitrary, is yet to be accepted by men with unquestioning submission, tends naturally to bring into prominence the virtue of obedience to authority; just as the philosophic view of goodness as the realization of reason gives a special value to self-determination and independence (as we see more clearly in the post-Aristotelian schools where ethics is distinctly separated from politics).
1. First, we can see that the idea of morality as a set of rules, which, while not completely arbitrary, is meant to be accepted by people without question, highlights the importance of obedience to authority; similar to how the philosophical perspective on goodness as the fulfillment of reason emphasizes self-determination and independence (as we understand more clearly in the post-Aristotelian schools where ethics is clearly distinct from politics).
2. Again, the opposition between the natural world and the spiritual order into which the Christian has been born anew led not merely to a contempt equal to that of the Stoic for wealth, fame, power, and other objects of worldly pursuit, but also, for some time at least, to a comparative depreciation of the domestic and civic relations of the natural man. This tendency was exhibited most simply and generally in the earliest period of the church’s history. In the view of primitive Christians, ordinary human society was a world temporarily surrendered to Satanic rule, over which a swift and sudden destruction was impending; in such a world the little band who were gathered in the ark of the church could have no part or lot,—the only attitude they could maintain was that of passive alienation. On the other hand, it was difficult practically to realize this alienation, and a keen sense of this difficulty induced the same hostility to the body as a clog and hindrance, that we find to some extent in Plato, but more fully developed in Neoplatonism, Neopythagoreanism, and other products of the mingling of Greek with Oriental thought. This feeling is exhibited in the value set on fasting in the Christian church from the earliest times, and in an extreme form in the self-torments of later monasticism; while both tendencies, anti-worldliness and anti-sensualism, seem to have combined in causing the preference of celibacy over marriage which is common to most early Christian writers.16 Patriotism, again, and the sense of civic duty, the most elevated of all social sentiments in the Graeco-Roman civilization, tended, under the influence of Christianity, either to expand itself into universal philanthropy, or to concentrate 822 itself on the ecclesiastical community. “We recognize one commonwealth, the world,” says Tertullian; “we know,” says Origen, “that we have a fatherland founded by the word of God.” We might further derive from the general spirit of Christian unworldliness that repudiation of the secular modes of conflict, even in a righteous cause, which substituted a passive patience and endurance for the old pagan virtue of courage, in which the active element was prominent. Here, however, we clearly trace the influence of Christ’s express prohibition of violent resistance to violence, and his inculcation, by example and precept, of a love that was to conquer even natural resentment. An extreme result of this influence is shown in Tertullian’s view, that no Christian could properly hold the office of a secular magistrate in which he would have to doom to death, chains, imprisonment; but even more sober writers, such as Ambrose, extend Christian passivity so far as to preclude self-defence even against a murderous assault. The common sense of Christendom gradually shook off these extravagances; but the reluctance to shed blood lingered long, and was hardly extinguished even by the growing horror of heresy. We have a curious relic of this in the later times of ecclesiastical persecution, when the heretic was doomed to the stake that he might be punished in some manner “short of bloodshed.”17
2. Once again, the contrast between the natural world and the spiritual realm that Christians have been reborn into not only led to a disdain similar to that of the Stoics towards wealth, fame, power, and other worldly pursuits but also, for a time at least, to a relative undervaluation of the domestic and civic relationships of the natural person. This tendency was most clearly displayed in the early days of the church. Primitive Christians believed that typical human society was a world momentarily given over to Satanic control, with imminent destruction awaiting it; in such a world, the small group gathered in the church's "ark" could have no part— their only stance could be one of passive separation. However, it was practically hard to realize this separation, and a strong awareness of this challenge led to a hostility towards the body as a burden and obstacle, similar to what we see in Plato, but more fully developed in Neoplatonism, Neopythagoreanism, and other outcomes of the blending of Greek and Eastern thought. This sentiment is reflected in the importance placed on fasting within the Christian church from its earliest days, reaching an extreme in the self-inflicted torments of later monasticism; while both tendencies, anti-worldliness and anti-sensuality, appear to have merged to foster the preference for celibacy over marriage, which is common among most early Christian writers.16 Patriotism and the sense of civic duty, the highest of all social sentiments in Graeco-Roman civilization, tended, under Christianity's influence, either to broaden into universal charity or to focus on the ecclesiastical community. “We recognize one commonwealth, the world,” says Tertullian; “we know,” states Origen, “that we have a fatherland established by the word of God.” We might also infer from the general spirit of Christian otherworldliness a rejection of secular ways of conflict, even for just causes, which replaced the old pagan virtue of courage, characterized by active engagement, with a patient endurance. Here, we can clearly identify Christ’s explicit condemnation of violent resistance to violence and his teaching, through both example and instruction, of a love that was meant to overcome even natural resentment. A radical outcome of this influence is seen in Tertullian’s belief that no Christian could properly hold a secular magistrate's position if it required condemning others to death, chains, or imprisonment; but even more rational writers like Ambrose carried Christian passivity to the point of forbidding self-defense, even against a life-threatening attack. The general consensus of Christendom gradually moved past these extremes; however, the hesitance to shed blood persisted for a long time, hardly diminished even by the increasing horror of heresy. A fascinating remnant of this can be seen in later times of ecclesiastical persecution when heretics were condemned to the stake, to be punished in some way “short of bloodshed.”17
3. It is, however, in the impulse given to practical beneficence in all its forms, by the exaltation of love as the root of all virtues, that the most important influence of Christianity on the particulars of civilized morality is to be found; Benevolence. although the exact amount of this influence is here somewhat difficult to ascertain, since it merely carries further a development traceable in the history of pagan morality. This development appears when we compare the different post-Socratic systems of ethics. In Plato’s exposition of the different virtues there is no mention whatever of benevolence, although his writings show a keen sense of the importance of friendship as an element of philosophic life, especially of the intense personal affection naturally arising between master and disciple. Aristotle goes somewhat further in recognizing the moral value of friendship φιλία; and though he considers that in its highest form it can be realized only by the fellowship of the wise and good, he yet extends the notion so as to include the domestic affections, and takes notice of the importance of mutual kindness in binding together all human societies. Still in his formal statement of the different virtues, positive beneficence is discernible only under the notion of “liberality,” in which form its excellence is hardly distinguished from that of graceful profusion in self-regarding expenditure (Nic. Eth. iv. 1). Cicero, on the other hand, in his paraphrase of a Stoic treatise on external duties (De officiis), ranks the rendering of positive services to other men as a chief department of social duty; and the Stoics generally recognized the universal fellowship and natural mutual claims of human beings as such. Indeed, this recognition in later Stoicism is sometimes expressed with so much warmth of feeling as to be hardly distinguishable from Christian philanthropy. Nor was this regard for humanity merely a doctrine of the school. Partly through the influence of Stoic and other Greek philosophy, partly from the natural expansion of human sympathies, the legislation of the Empire, during the first three centuries, shows a steady development in the direction of natural justice and humanity; and some similar progress may be traced in the general tone of moral opinion. Still the utmost point that this development reached fell considerably short of the standard of Christian charity. Without dwelling on the immense impetus given to the practice of social duty generally by the religion that made beneficence a form of divine service, and identified “piety” with “pity,” we have to put down as definite changes introduced by Christianity—(1) the severe condemnation and final suppression of the practice of exposing infants; (2) effective abhorrence of the barbarism of gladiatorial combats; (3) immediate moral mitigation of slavery, and a strong encouragement of emancipation; (4) great extension of the eleemosynary provision made for the sick and the poor. As regards almsgiving, however—the importance of which has caused it to usurp, in modern languages, the general name of “charity”—it ought to be observed that Christianity merely universalized a duty which has always been inculcated by Judaism, within the limits of the chosen people.
3. However, the biggest impact of Christianity on the specifics of civilized morality lies in its promotion of practical kindness in all its forms, fueled by the elevation of love as the foundation of all virtues; Kindness. Although it's somewhat challenging to measure this influence here, it basically enhances a development that can be traced in the history of pagan morality. This development becomes evident when we compare the various ethical systems that emerged after Socrates. In Plato's discussions of different virtues, there’s no mention of kindness at all, even though his works reflect a strong awareness of the significance of friendship as part of philosophical life, especially the deep personal affection that naturally arises between teacher and student. Aristotle acknowledges the moral value of friendship friendship to a greater extent; while he believes that in its highest form it can only be realized through the camaraderie of the wise and good, he also broadens the concept to include family relationships and recognizes the importance of mutual kindness in uniting all human societies. Yet, in his formal description of different virtues, true kindness is only seen under the term “liberality,” where its value is barely distinguished from that of lavish spending for one's own benefit (Nic. Eth. iv. 1). Cicero, on the other hand, in his summary of a Stoic text on external duties (De officiis), places a strong emphasis on providing positive services to others as a central aspect of social responsibility; and the Stoics generally acknowledged the universal connection and natural mutual rights among all human beings. In fact, later Stoicism often expressed this understanding with such passion that it’s hard to tell it apart from Christian compassion. This concern for humanity wasn’t just a teaching of the school. Due in part to the influence of Stoic and other Greek philosophies, and partly from the natural growth of human compassion, the laws of the Empire during the first three centuries displayed a consistent progression towards natural justice and humanity; a similar development can also be observed in the prevailing moral attitudes. Nonetheless, the highest point this development reached was still far below the standard of Christian love. Without elaborating on the tremendous motivation that Christianity provided for the practice of social responsibility generally by making kindness a type of divine service and equating “piety” with “compassion,” it’s essential to note the specific changes Christianity introduced: (1) the strict condemnation and ultimate abolishment of the practice of abandoning infants; (2) strong opposition to the barbarism of gladiatorial games; (3) immediate moral improvement in the institution of slavery, along with a strong encouragement of freedom; (4) significant expansion of the charity available for the sick and the poor. Regarding almsgiving, which has become so significant that it has taken over the general term “charity” in modern languages, it should be noted that Christianity simply made a universal duty of what had always been taught by Judaism within the confines of the chosen people.
4. The same may be said of the stricter regulation which Christianity enforced on the relations of the sexes; except so far as the prohibition of divorce is concerned, and the stress laid on “purity of heart” as contrasted with merely outward chastity.
4. The same can be said about the stricter rules that Christianity imposed on the relationships between men and women; except when it comes to the ban on divorce and the emphasis on “purity of heart” compared to just outward chastity.
5. Even the peculiarly Christian virtue of humility, which presents so striking a contrast to the Greek “highmindedness,” was to some extent anticipated in the Rabbinic teaching. Its far greater prominence under the new dispensation may be partly referred to the express teaching and example of Christ; partly, in so far as the virtue is manifested in the renunciation of external rank and dignity, or the glory of merely secular gifts and acquirements, it is one aspect of the unworldliness which we have already noticed; while the deeper humility that represses the claim of personal merit even in the saint belongs to the strict self-examination, the continual sense of imperfection, the utter reliance on strength not his own, which characterize the inner moral life of the Christian. Humility in this latter sense, “before God,” is an essential condition of all truly Christian goodness.
5. Even the uniquely Christian virtue of humility, which contrasts sharply with the Greek idea of “high-mindedness,” was somewhat anticipated in Rabbinic teaching. Its much greater importance in the new era may be partly due to Christ’s explicit teachings and examples; partly, as this virtue is shown in the rejection of external rank and status, or the glory of purely worldly gifts and achievements, it reflects the naïveté we’ve already discussed; while the deeper humility that downplays personal merit even in the saint is linked to strict self-reflection, a constant awareness of imperfection, and total reliance on strength beyond himself, which define the inner moral life of a Christian. Humility in this sense, “before God,” is a crucial aspect of all genuine Christian goodness.
We have, however, yet to notice the enlargement of the sphere of ethics due to its close connexion with theology; for while this added religious force and sanction to ordinary moral obligations, it equally tended to impart a moral aspect to religious belief and worship. “Duty to God”—as distinct from duty to man—had not been altogether unrecognized by pagan moralists; but the rather dubious relations of even the more orthodox philosophy to the established polytheism had generally prevented them from laying much stress upon it. Again,—just as the Stoics held wisdom to be indispensable to real rectitude of conduct, while at the same time they included under the notion of wisdom a grasp of physical as well as ethical truth,—so the similar emphasis laid on inwardness in Christian ethics caused orthodoxy or correctness of religious belief to be regarded as essential to goodness, and heresy as the most fatal of vices, corrupting as it did the very springs of Christian life. To the philosophers (with the single exception of Plato), however, convinced as they were that the multitude must necessarily miss true well-being through their folly and ignorance, it could never occur to guard against these evils by any other method than that of providing philosophic instruction for the few; whereas the Christian clergy, whose function it was to offer truth and eternal life to all mankind, naturally regarded theological misbelief as insidious preventible contagion. Indeed, their sense of its deadliness was so keen that, when they were at length able to control the secular administration, they rapidly overcame their aversion to bloodshed, and initiated that long series of religious persecutions to which we find no parallel in the pre-Christian civilization of Europe. It was not that Christian writers did not feel the difficulty of attributing criminality to sincere ignorance or error. But the difficulty is not really peculiar to theology; and the theologians usually got over it (as some philosophers had surmounted a similar perplexity in the region of ethics proper) by supposing some latent or antecedent voluntary sin, of which the apparently involuntary heresy was the fearful fruit.
We have yet to notice the expansion of ethics due to its close connection with theology. While this added religious strength and support to everyday moral obligations, it also tended to give a moral dimension to religious belief and worship. "Duty to God"—as distinct from duty to man—had not been entirely overlooked by pagan moralists; however, the somewhat questionable relationship of even the more conventional philosophies with established polytheism generally prevented them from emphasizing it much. Similarly, just as the Stoics believed that wisdom was essential for true moral conduct and included both physical and ethical truths under wisdom, the emphasis on inwardness in Christian ethics made orthodoxy or correctness in religious belief seen as crucial to goodness, while heresy was viewed as the worst vice, as it corrupted the very sources of Christian life. For philosophers (with the single exception of Plato), who were convinced that the masses would inevitably miss true well-being due to their folly and ignorance, it seemed logical to protect against these problems only by providing philosophical education for the few. In contrast, the Christian clergy, whose role was to share truth and eternal life with all humanity, naturally saw theological misunderstanding as a dangerous, preventable contagion. Their awareness of its destructiveness was so acute that when they eventually gained control over secular governance, they quickly overcame their aversion to violence and began a long series of religious persecutions that we do not see in the pre-Christian history of Europe. It wasn't that Christian writers didn't recognize the challenge of attributing wrongdoing to genuine ignorance or error. However, this challenge isn’t unique to theology; theologians typically resolved it (much like some philosophers addressed a similar dilemma in ethics) by suggesting some hidden or prior willful sin of which the seemingly involuntary heresy was the terrible outcome.
Lastly, we must observe that, in proportion as the legal conception of morality as a code of which the violation deserves supernatural punishment predominated over the philosophic view of ethics as the method for attaining natural felicity, the question of man’s freedom of will to obey the law necessarily became prominent. At the same time it cannot be broadly said that Christianity took a decisive side in the metaphysical controversy on free-will and necessity; since, just as in Greek philosophy the need of maintaining freedom as the ground of responsibility clashes with the conviction that no one deliberately chooses his own harm, so in Christian ethics it clashes with the 823 attribution of all true human virtue to supernatural grace, as well as with the belief in divine foreknowledge. All we can say is that in the development of Christian thought the conflict of conceptions was far more profoundly felt, and far more serious efforts were made to evade or transcend it.
Lastly, we need to note that as the legal view of morality as a code that deserves supernatural punishment became more dominant than the philosophical view of ethics as a way to achieve natural happiness, the issue of whether people have the free will to follow the law became more significant. At the same time, we can't simply say that Christianity took a clear stand in the debate over free will and necessity. Just like in Greek philosophy, where the need to uphold freedom as the basis of responsibility conflicts with the idea that no one intentionally chooses their own suffering, in Christian ethics, this conflict arises with the belief that all true human virtue comes from supernatural grace, as well as with the belief in divine foreknowledge. All we can conclude is that in the evolution of Christian thought, the struggle between these ideas was felt much more deeply, and much more serious efforts were made to avoid or move beyond it.
In the preceding account of Christian morality, it has been already indicated that the characteristics delineated did not all exhibit themselves simultaneously to the same extent, or with perfect uniformity throughout the church. Development of opinion in early Christianity. Changes in the external condition of Christianity, the different degrees of civilization in the societies of which it was the dominant religion, and the natural process of internal development, continually brought different features into prominence; while again, the important antagonisms of opinion within Christendom frequently involved ethical issues—even in the Eastern Church—until in the 4th century it began to be absorbed in the labour of a dogmatic construction. Thus, for example, the anti-secular tendencies of the new creed, to which Tertullian (160-220) gave violent and rigid expression, were exaggerated in the Montanist heresy which he ultimately joined; on the other hand, Clement of Alexandria, in opposition to the general tone of his age, maintained the value of pagan philosophy for the development of Christian faith into true knowledge (Gnosis), and the value of the natural development of man through marriage for the normal perfecting of the Christian life. So again, there is a marked difference between the writers before Augustine and those that succeeded him in all that concerns the internal conditions of Christian morality. By Justin and other apologists the need of redemption, faith, grace is indeed recognized, but the theological system depending on these notions is not sufficiently developed18 to come into even apparent antagonism with the freedom of the will. Christianity is for the most part conceived as essentially a proclamation through the Divine Word, to immortal beings gifted with free choice, of the true code of conduct sanctioned by eternal rewards and punishments. This legalism contrasts strikingly with the efforts of pagan philosophy to exhibit virtue as its own reward; and the contrast is triumphantly pointed out by more than one early Christian writer. Lactantius (circa 300 A.D.), for example, roundly declares that Plato and Aristotle, referring everything to this earthly life, “made virtue mere folly”; though himself maintaining, with pardonable inconsistency, that man’s highest good did not consist in mere pleasure, but in the consciousness of the filial relation of the soul to God. It is plain, however, that on this external legalistic view of duty it was impossible to maintain a difference in kind between Christian and pagan morality; the philosopher’s conformity to the rules of chastity and beneficence, so far as it went, was indistinguishable from the saint’s. But when this inference was developed in the teaching of Pelagius, it was repudiated as heretical by the church, under the powerful leadership of Augustine (354-430); and the doctrine of man’s Augustine. incapacity to obey God’s law by his unaided moral energy was pressed to a point at which it was difficult to reconcile it with the freedom of the will. Augustine is fully aware of the theoretical indispensability of maintaining Free Will, from its logical connexion with human responsibility and divine justice; but he considers that these latter points are sufficiently secured if actual freedom of choice between good and evil is allowed in the single case of our progenitor Adam.19 For since the natura seminalis from which all men were to arise already existed in Adam, in his voluntary preference of self to God, humanity chose evil once for all; for which ante-natal guilt all men are justly condemned to perpetual absolute sinfulness and consequent punishment, unless they are elected by God’s unmerited grace to share the benefits of Christ’s redemption. Without this grace it is impossible for man to obey the “first greatest commandment” of love to God; and, this unfulfilled, he is guilty of the whole law, and is only free to choose between degrees of sin; his apparent external virtues have no moral value, since inner rightness of intention is wanting. “All that is not of faith is of sin”; and faith and love are mutually involved and inseparable; faith springs from the divinely imparted germ of love, which in its turn is developed by faith to its full strength, while from both united springs hope, joyful yearning towards ultimate perfect fruition of the object of love. These three Augustine (after St Paul) regards as the three essential elements of Christian virtue; along with these he recognizes the fourfold division of virtue into prudence, temperance, courage and justice according to their traditional interpretation; but he explains these virtues to be in their true natures only the same love to God in different aspects or exercises. The uncompromising mysticism of this view may be at once compared and contrasted with the philosophical severity of Stoicism. Love of God in the former holds the same absolute and unique position as the sole element of moral worth in human action, which, as we have seen, was occupied by knowledge of Good in the latter; and we may carry the parallel further by observing that in neither case is this severity in the abstract estimate of goodness necessarily connected with extreme rigidity in practical precepts. Indeed, an important part of Augustine’s work as a moralist lies in the reconciliation which he laboured to effect between the anti-worldly spirit of Christianity and the necessities of secular civilization. For example, we find him arguing for the legitimacy of judicial punishments and military service against an over-literal interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount; and he took an important part in giving currency to the distinction between evangelical “counsels” and “commands,” and so defending the life of marriage and temperate enjoyment of natural good against the attacks of the more extravagant advocate of celibacy and self-abnegation; although he fully admitted the superiority of the latter method of avoiding the contamination of sin.
In the earlier discussion of Christian morality, it has already been mentioned that the traits described did not all appear at the same time or with perfect consistency throughout the church. The evolution of beliefs in early Christianity. Changes in the external circumstances of Christianity, the varying levels of civilization in the societies where it was the main religion, and the natural process of internal growth continuously highlighted different aspects; meanwhile, significant conflicts of opinion within Christendom often involved ethical issues—even in the Eastern Church—until the 4th century when it began to focus on dogmatic development. For instance, the anti-secular tendencies of the new faith, which Tertullian (160-220) expressed forcefully and rigidly, were taken to extremes in the Montanist heresy that he ultimately joined. On the other hand, Clement of Alexandria, opposing the common views of his time, upheld the importance of pagan philosophy for the evolution of Christian faith into true knowledge (Gnosis) and the significance of natural human development through marriage for fully realizing the Christian life. Similarly, there is a clear distinction between the writings before Augustine and those that came after regarding the internal aspects of Christian morality. Justin and other apologists recognized the need for redemption, faith, and grace, but the theological framework based on these concepts was not sufficiently developed18 to create even an apparent conflict with the freedom of the will. Christianity was primarily understood as a proclamation through the Divine Word, to immortal beings with free will, of the true moral code supported by eternal rewards and punishments. This legalistic approach stands in stark contrast to the efforts of pagan philosophy to present virtue as its own reward, a contrast highlighted by several early Christian writers. Lactantius (circa 300 C.E.), for example, emphatically stated that Plato and Aristotle, who linked everything to this earthly life, “made virtue mere folly”; although he himself argued, with understandable inconsistency, that man’s highest good lies not in mere pleasure, but in recognizing the relationship of the soul to God. It is clear, however, that given this external legalistic perspective on duty, it was challenging to distinguish between Christian and pagan morality; the philosopher’s compliance with the rules of chastity and benevolence, as far as it went, was indistinguishable from that of a saint. But when this idea was further developed in the teachings of Pelagius, it was rejected as heretical by the church, led strongly by Augustine (354-430); and the doctrine of man’s inability to follow God’s law through his own moral strength was pressed to a point that made it hard to align with the concept of free will. Augustine is acutely aware of the theoretical necessity of maintaining Free Will due to its logical connection to human responsibility and divine justice; however, he believes these latter points are sufficiently covered if actual freedom of choice between good and evil is granted solely in the case of our ancestor Adam.19 Because the natura seminalis from which all humanity was to arise already existed in Adam, in his voluntary choice of self over God, humanity chose evil once and for all; for this pre-birth guilt, all people are justly condemned to perpetual sinfulness and consequent punishment unless they are chosen by God’s unmerited grace to receive the benefits of Christ’s redemption. Without this grace, man cannot follow the “first greatest commandment” to love God; and, failing to do this, he is guilty of breaking the entire law, only free to choose between varying degrees of sin; his apparent external virtues lack moral value since genuine intention is missing. “All that is not of faith is of sin”; and faith and love are inherently connected and inseparable; faith arises from the divine spark of love, which in turn is nurtured by faith to its full strength, while from both combined emerges hope, a joyful longing towards the ultimate realization of the object of love. Augustine (after St. Paul) considers these three as the essential elements of Christian virtue; along with these, he acknowledges the traditional four categories of virtue: prudence, temperance, courage, and justice; but he interprets these virtues as merely different expressions of the same love for God. The uncompromising mysticism of this viewpoint can be directly compared and contrasted with the philosophical rigor of Stoicism. In the former, love of God occupies the sole position of moral worth in human actions, just as knowledge of the Good did in the latter; and the parallel can be extended by noting that in both cases, this rigid approach to assessing goodness isn't necessarily linked to extreme strictness in practical guidelines. Indeed, a significant part of Augustine’s work as a moral philosopher is found in his attempt to reconcile the anti-worldly essence of Christianity with the necessities of secular society. For example, he makes a case for the legitimacy of judicial punishments and military service as a response to an overly literal interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount; and he played a key role in popularizing the distinction between evangelical “counsels” and “commands,” thus defending the legitimacy of marriage and moderate enjoyment of natural goods against those advocating absolute celibacy and self-denial; although he fully acknowledged the superiority of the latter method for avoiding the taint of sin.
The attempt to Christianize the old Platonic list of virtues, which we have noticed in Augustine’s system, was probably due to the influence of his master Ambrose, in whose treatise De officiis ministrorum we find for the first Ambrose. time an exposition of Christian duty systematized on a plan borrowed from a pre-Christian moralist. It is interesting to compare Ambrose’s account of what subsequently came to be known as the “four cardinal virtues” with the corresponding delineations in Cicero’s20 De officiis which served the bishop as a model. Christian Wisdom, so far as it is speculative, is of course primarily theological; it has God, as the highest truth, for its chief object, and is therefore necessarily grounded on faith. Christian Fortitude is essentially firmness in withstanding the seductions of good and evil fortune, resoluteness in the conflict perpetually waged against wickedness without carnal weapons—though Ambrose, with the Old Testament in his hand, will not quite relinquish the ordinary martial application of the term. “Temperantia” retains the meaning of “observance of due measure” in all conduct, which it had in Cicero’s treatise; though its notion is partly modified by being blended with the newer virtue of humility. Finally in the exposition of Christian Justice the Stoic doctrine of the natural union of all human interests is elevated to the full height and intensity of evangelical philanthropy; the brethren are reminded that the earth was made by God a common possession of all, and are bidden to administer their means for the common benefit; Ambrose, we should observe, is thoroughly aware of the fundamental union of these different virtues in Christianity, though he does 824 not, like Augustine, resolve them all into the one central affection of love of God.
The effort to adapt the old Platonic list of virtues into a Christian framework, which we see in Augustine’s teachings, was likely influenced by his mentor Ambrose. In Ambrose’s treatise De officiis ministrorum, we find for the first time a structured presentation of Christian duty based on a model from a pre-Christian moralist. It’s interesting to compare Ambrose’s description of what later became known as the “four cardinal virtues” with the similar explanations in Cicero’s 20 De officiis, which served as a reference for the bishop. Christian Wisdom, in its speculative sense, is primarily theological; it centers on God as the ultimate truth and is therefore grounded in faith. Christian Fortitude is fundamentally about being strong against the temptations of both good and bad fortune, showing determination in the ongoing struggle against wickedness without using physical weapons—though Ambrose, referencing the Old Testament, does not completely abandon the conventional military meaning of the term. “Temperantia” retains its original meaning of “observance of due measure” in all actions, just as Cicero described; however, its concept is slightly altered by blending it with the newer virtue of humility. Lastly, in his discussion of Christian Justice, the Stoic idea of the natural connection of all human interests is raised to the level of evangelical philanthropy; the faithful are reminded that God made the earth a common home for everyone and are encouraged to use their resources for the collective good. It's important to note that Ambrose fully understands the fundamental connection of these distinct virtues within Christianity, although he does not, like Augustine, unify them all into the single core passion of love for God.
Under the influence of Ambrose and Augustine, the four cardinal virtues furnished a basis on which the systematic ethical theories of subsequent theologians were built. With them the triad of Christian graces, Faith, Hope and Ecclesiastical morality in the “Dark Ages.” Love, and the seven gifts of the Spirit (Isaiah xi. 2) were often combined. In antithesis to this list, an enumeration of the “deadly sins” obtained currency. These were at first commonly reckoned as eight; but a preference for mystical numbers characteristic of medieval theologians finally reduced them to seven. The statement of them is variously given,—Pride, Avarice, Anger, Gluttony, Unchastity, are found in all the lists; the remaining two (or three) are variously selected from among Envy, Vainglory, and the rather singular sins Gloominess (tristitia) and Languid Indifference (acidia or acedia, from Gr. ἀκηδία). These latter notions show plainly, what indeed might be inferred from a study of the list as a whole, that it represents the moral experience of the monastic life, which for some centuries was more and more unquestioningly regarded as in a peculiar sense “religious.” It should be observed that the (also Augustinian) distinction between “deadly” and “venial” sins had a technical reference to the quasi-jural administration of ecclesiastical discipline, which grew gradually more organized as the spiritual power of the church established itself amid the ruins of the Western empire, and slowly developed into the theocracy that almost dominated Europe during the latter part of the middle ages. “Deadly” sins were those for which formal ecclesiastical penance was held to be necessary, in order to save the sinner from eternal damnation; for “venial” sins he might obtain forgiveness, through prayer, almsgiving, and the observance of the regular fasts. We find that “penitential books” for the use of the confessional, founded partly on traditional practice and partly on the express decrees of synods, come into general use in the 7th century. At first they are little more than mere inventories of sins, with their appropriate ecclesiastical punishments; gradually cases of conscience come to be discussed and decided, and the basis is laid for that system of casuistry which reached its full development in the 14th and 15th centuries. This ecclesiastical jurisprudence, and indeed the general relation of the church to the ruder races with which it had to deal during this period, necessarily tended to encourage a somewhat external view of morality. But a powerful counterpoise to this tendency was continually maintained by the fervid inwardness of Augustine, transmitted through Gregory the Great, Isidore of Seville, Alcuin, Hrabanus Maurus, and other writers of the philosophically barren period between the destruction of the Western empire and the rise of Scholasticism.
Under the influence of Ambrose and Augustine, the four cardinal virtues provided a foundation for the systematic ethical theories developed by later theologians. These virtues were often paired with the three Christian graces—Faith, Hope, and Love—and the seven gifts of the Spirit (Isaiah xi. 2). In contrast to this list, there was a popular enumeration of the "deadly sins." Initially, these were often counted as eight, but the preference for mystical numbers typical of medieval theologians eventually reduced them to seven. They are typically listed as Pride, Avarice, Anger, Gluttony, and Unchastity; the last two (or three) are chosen from Envy, Vainglory, and the rather unique sins of Gloominess (tristitia) and Languid Indifference (acidia or acedia, from Gr. apathy). These concepts clearly indicate that the list reflects the moral experience of monastic life, which, for several centuries, was increasingly viewed as particularly "religious." It's important to note that the Augustinian distinction between "deadly" and "venial" sins had a technical significance related to the quasi-legal administration of ecclesiastical discipline. This system gradually became more organized as the church's spiritual authority solidified amidst the ruins of the Western empire, eventually evolving into the theocracy that largely dominated Europe in the latter part of the medieval period. "Deadly" sins were those for which formal ecclesiastical penance was deemed necessary to save the sinner from eternal damnation; for "venial" sins, forgiveness could be obtained through prayer, almsgiving, and regular fasting. We see that "penitential books" for confessional use, based partly on traditional practices and partly on specific synod decrees, began to be widely used in the 7th century. Initially, these books were little more than inventories of sins along with their assigned ecclesiastical punishments; gradually, they started to address and resolve cases of conscience, laying the groundwork for the system of casuistry that fully developed in the 14th and 15th centuries. This ecclesiastical law, and the church's general relationship with the more primitive societies it encountered during this time, tended to promote a somewhat external view of morality. However, a strong counterbalance to this trend was consistently upheld by Augustine's passionate inwardness, passed down through thinkers like Gregory the Great, Isidore of Seville, Alcuin, Hrabanus Maurus, and other writers of the philosophically barren era between the fall of the Western empire and the rise of Scholasticism.
Scholastic ethics, like scholastic philosophy, attained its completest result in the teaching of Thomas Aquinas. But before giving a brief account of the ethical part of his system, it will be well to notice the salient points in Medieval moral philosophy. the long and active discussion that led up to it. In the pantheistic system of Erigena (q.v.) (circa 810-877) the chief philosophic element is supplied by the influence of Plato and Plotinus, transmitted through an unknown author of the 5th century, who assumed the name of Dionysius the Areopagite. Accordingly the ethical side of this doctrine has the same negative and ascetic character that we have observed in Neoplatonism. God is the only real Being; evil is essentially unreal and incognizable; the true aim of man’s life is to return to perfect union with God out of the degraded material existence into which he has fallen. This doctrine found little acceptance among Erigena’s contemporaries, and was certainly unorthodox enough to justify the condemnation which it subsequently received from Honorius III.; but its influence, together with that of the Pseudo-Dionysius, had a considerable share in developing the more emotional orthodox mysticism of the 12th and 13th centuries; and Neoplatonism (or Platonism received through a Neoplatonic tradition) remained a distinct element in medieval thought, though obscured in the period of mature scholasticism by the predominant influence of Aristotle. Passing on to Anselm (1033-1109), we observe that the Augustinian doctrine of original sin and man’s absolute need of unmerited grace is retained in his theory of salvation; he also follows Augustine in defining freedom as the “power not to sin”; though in saying that Adam fell “spontaneously” and “by his free choice,” though not “through its freedom,” he has implicitly made the distinction that Peter the Lombard afterwards expressly draws between the freedom that is opposed to necessity and freedom from the slavery to sin. Anselm further softens the statement of Augustinian predestinationism by explaining that the freedom to will is not strictly lost even by fallen man; it is inherent in a rational nature, though since Adam’s sin it only exists potentially in humanity, except where it is made actual by grace.
Scholastic ethics, like scholastic philosophy, reached its fullest expression in the teachings of Thomas Aquinas. Before providing a brief overview of the ethical aspects of his system, it’s important to highlight key points in the long and active discussion that led up to it. In the pantheistic system of Erigena (q.v.) (circa 810-877), the main philosophical influence comes from Plato and Plotinus, passed down through an unknown 5th-century author who called himself Dionysius the Areopagite. As a result, the ethical dimension of this doctrine shares the same negative and ascetic qualities seen in Neoplatonism. God is the only true Being; evil is fundamentally unreal and unknowable; the ultimate goal of human life is to return to perfect union with God, escaping the degraded material existence into which humanity has fallen. This doctrine was not widely accepted among Erigena’s contemporaries and was deemed unconventional enough to justify the condemnation it later received from Honorius III. However, its influence, along with that of the Pseudo-Dionysius, played a significant role in shaping the more emotionally-driven orthodox mysticism of the 12th and 13th centuries; Neoplatonism (or Platonism interpreted through a Neoplatonic tradition) remained a notable element in medieval thought, although it was overshadowed during the era of mature scholasticism by the dominant influence of Aristotle. Moving on to Anselm (1033-1109), we see that he retains the Augustinian doctrine of original sin and humanity's absolute need for unearned grace in his theory of salvation. He also follows Augustine in defining freedom as the “ability not to sin”; however, when he states that Adam fell “spontaneously” and “by his free choice,” although not “through its freedom,” he implicitly draws the distinction that Peter the Lombard later makes explicitly between the freedom that opposes necessity and freedom from the bondage of sin. Anselm further moderates the Augustinian view of predestination by explaining that the ability to choose is not completely lost even for fallen man; it is inherent in rational nature, although since Adam's sin, it only exists potentially in humanity, except where it is activated by grace.
In a more real sense Abelard (1079-1142) tries to establish the connexion between man’s ill desert and his free consent. He asserts that the inherited propensity to evil is not strictly a sin, which is only committed when the conscious self yields to vicious inclination. With a similar stress on the self-conscious side of moral action, he argues that rightness of conduct depends solely on the intention, at one time pushing this doctrine to the paradoxical assertion that all outward acts as such are indifferent.21 In the same spirit, under the reviving influence of ancient philosophy (with which, however, he was imperfectly acquainted and the relation of which to Christianity he extravagantly misunderstood), he argues that the old Greek moralists, as inculcating a disinterested love of good—and so implicitly love of God as the highest good—were really nearer to Christianity than Judaic legalism was. Nay, further, he required that the Christian “love to God” should be regarded as pure only if purged from the self-regarding desire of the happiness which God gives. The general tendency of Abelard’s thought was suspiciously regarded by contemporary orthodoxy;22 and the over-subtlety of the last-mentioned distinction provoked vehement replies from orthodox mystics of the age. Thus, Hugo of St Victor (1077-1141) argues that all love is necessarily so far “interested” that it involves a desire for union with the beloved; and since eternal happiness consists in this union, it cannot truly be desired apart from God; while Bernard of Clairvaux (1091-1153) more elaborately distinguishes four stages by which the soul is gradually led from (1) merely self-regarding desire for God’s aid in distress, to (2) love him for his loving-kindness to it, then also (3) for his absolute goodness, until (4) in rare moments this love for himself alone becomes the sole all-absorbing affection. This controversy Peter the Lombard endeavoured to compose by the scholastic art of taking distinctions, of which he was a master. In his treatise, Libri sententiarum, mainly based on Augustinian doctrine, we find a distinct softening of the antithesis between nature and grace and an anticipation of the union of Aristotelian and Christian thought, which was initiated by Albert the Great and completed by Thomas Aquinas.
In a more practical sense, Abelard (1079-1142) tries to establish the connection between a person's bad behavior and their free choice. He argues that the inherited tendency to do wrong isn't technically a sin until the conscious person gives in to malicious impulses. Emphasizing the importance of self-awareness in moral actions, he claims that the morality of an action depends only on the intention, even going so far as to say that all outward actions are essentially neutral. 21 In the same vein, influenced by ancient philosophy (which he didn't fully understand and misinterpreted in relation to Christianity), he argues that the ancient Greek moralists, who taught a selfless love of good—and thus an implicit love of God as the highest good—were actually closer to Christianity than Judaic legalism. Moreover, he insisted that Christian "love for God" should be considered pure only if it is free of any self-centered desire for the happiness that God provides. Abelard’s ideas were viewed with suspicion by contemporary orthodoxy; 22 and the overly intricate nature of the last distinction sparked heated responses from the orthodox mystics of his time. For instance, Hugo of St Victor (1077-1141) argued that all love is necessarily “interested” to some extent, involving a desire for closeness with the beloved; and since eternal happiness lies in this connection, it cannot truly be sought apart from God. Meanwhile, Bernard of Clairvaux (1091-1153) further broke this down into four stages by which the soul gradually evolves from (1) merely seeking God's help in times of trouble, to (2) loving Him for His kindness, then (3) for His absolute goodness, until (4) in rare moments, this love becomes the sole, all-consuming affection for Him alone. Peter the Lombard attempted to resolve this debate using the scholastic method of distinctions, of which he was a master. In his work, Libri sententiarum, mainly based on Augustinian doctrine, he presents a clear softening of the opposition between nature and grace and anticipates the merging of Aristotelian and Christian thought, which began with Albert the Great and was completed by Thomas Aquinas.
The moral philosophy of Aquinas is Aristotelianism with a Neoplatonic tinge, interpreted and supplemented by a view of Christian dogma derived chiefly from Augustine. All action or movement of all things irrational as well as Thomas Aquinas. rational is directed towards some end or good,—that is, really and ultimately towards God himself, the ground and first cause of all being, and unmoved principle of all movement. This universal though unconscious striving after God, since he is essentially intelligible, exhibits itself in its highest form in rational beings as a desire for knowledge of him; such knowledge, however, is beyond all ordinary exercise of reason, and may be only partially revealed to man here below. Thus the summum bonum for man is objectively God, subjectively the happiness to be derived from loving vision of his perfections; although there is a lower kind of happiness to be realized here 825 below in a normal human existence of virtue and friendship, with mind and body sound and whole and properly trained for the needs of life. The higher happiness is given to man by free grace of God; but it is given to those only whose heart is right, and as a reward of virtuous actions. Passing to consider what actions are virtuous, we first observe generally that the morality of an act is in part, but only in part, determined by its particular motive; it partly depends on its external object and circumstances, which render it either objectively in harmony with the “order of reason” or the reverse. In the classification of particular virtues and vices we can distinguish very clearly the elements supplied by the different teachings which Aquinas has imbibed. He follows Aristotle closely in dividing the “natural” virtues into intellectual and moral, giving his preference to the former class, and the intellectual again into speculative and practical; in distinguishing within the speculative class the “intellect” that is conversant with principles, the “science” that deduces conclusions, and the “wisdom” to which belongs the whole process of knowing the sublimest objects of knowledge; and in treating practical wisdom as inseparably connected with moral virtues, and therefore in a sense moral. His distinction among moral virtues of the justice that renders others their due from the virtues that control the appetites and passions of the agent himself, represents his interpretation of the Nicomachean Ethics; while his account of these latter virtues is a simple transcript of Aristotle’s, just as his division of the non-rational element of the soul into “concupiscible” and “irascible” is the old Platonic one. In arranging his list, however, he defers to the established doctrine of the four cardinal virtues (derived from Plato and the Stoics through Cicero); accordingly, the Aristotelian ten have to stand under the higher genera of (1) the prudence which gives reasoned rules of conduct, (2) the temperance which restrains misleading desire, and (3) the fortitude that resists misleading fear of dangers or toils. But before these virtues are ranked the three “theologic” virtues, faith, love and hope, supernaturally “instilled” by God, and directly relating to him as their object. By faith we obtain that part of our knowledge of God which is beyond the range of mere natural wisdom or philosophy; naturally (e.g.), we can know God’s existence, but not his trinity in unity, though philosophy is useful to defend this and other revealed verities; and it is essential for the soul’s welfare that all articles of the Christian creed, however little they can be known by natural reason, should be apprehended through faith; the Christian who rejects a single article loses hold altogether of faith and of God. Faith is the substantial basis of all Christian morality, but without love—the essential form of all the Christian virtues—it is “formless” (informis). Christian love is conceived (after Augustine) as primarily love to God (beyond the natural yearning of the creature after its ultimate good), which expands into love towards all God’s creatures as created by him, and so ultimately includes even self-love. But creatures are only to be loved in their purity as created by God; all that is bad in them must be an object of hatred till it is destroyed. In the classification of sins the Christian element predominates; still we find the Aristotelian vices of excess and defect, along with the modern divisions into “sins against God, neighbour and self,” “mortal and venial sins,” and so forth.
The moral philosophy of Aquinas is based on Aristotelianism with a Neoplatonic influence, interpreted and expanded by a perspective on Christian doctrine primarily drawn from Augustine. Every action or movement of all things, whether irrational or rational, is directed towards some goal or good—ultimately directed towards God himself, the foundation and first cause of all existence, and the unmoved principle of all movement. This universal yet unconscious striving towards God, since he is fundamentally understandable, manifests itself most fully in rational beings as a desire to know him; however, such knowledge is beyond the usual capacity of reason and can only be partially revealed to humanity here on Earth. Thus, the ultimate good (summum bonum) for humans is objectively God, and subjectively, the happiness that comes from the loving understanding of his perfection; although there is a lower form of happiness to be found in a normal human life of virtue and friendship, with a sound mind and body, properly prepared for the needs of life. The higher happiness is given to people by God's free grace; but it is granted only to those whose hearts are aligned in the right way, as a reward for virtuous actions. When considering what actions are virtuous, we first notice that the morality of an act is determined in part, but only in part, by its specific motive; it also depends on its external object and circumstances, which make it either objectively in agreement with the “order of reason” or contrary to it. In classifying specific virtues and vices, we can clearly identify the elements contributed by the various teachings that Aquinas has absorbed. He closely follows Aristotle in splitting the “natural” virtues into intellectual and moral, favoring the former, and further dividing the intellectual virtues into speculative and practical; within the speculative category, he distinguishes between the “intellect” that deals with principles, the “science” that derives conclusions, and the “wisdom” that encompasses the whole process of grasping the highest objects of knowledge; and he treats practical wisdom as inseparably linked with moral virtues, making it in a sense moral. His distinction among moral virtues includes justice, which gives others their due, and the virtues that regulate the appetites and passions of the agent, reflecting his interpretation of the Nicomachean Ethics; while his description of these latter virtues directly mirrors Aristotle’s, just as his division of the non-rational aspect of the soul into “concupiscible” and “irascible” is based on the old Platonic model. However, in organizing his list, he adheres to the established doctrine of the four cardinal virtues (derived from Plato and the Stoics through Cicero); consequently, the Aristotelian ten are categorized under the higher headings of (1) prudence, which provides reasoned guidelines for conduct, (2) temperance, which restrains deceptive desires, and (3) fortitude, which combats misleading fears of dangers or hardships. Yet before these virtues are prioritized, he lists the three theological virtues—faith, love, and hope—that are supernaturally “instilled” by God and directly relate to him as their object. Through faith, we gain knowledge of God that goes beyond the limits of mere natural wisdom or philosophy; naturally (for example), we can understand God’s existence, but not his trinity in unity, although philosophy aids in defending this and other revealed truths; and it is crucial for the soul’s well-being that all articles of the Christian creed, no matter how little they can be understood through natural reason, should be grasped through faith; a Christian who denies a single article loses grasp of faith and God entirely. Faith is the fundamental basis of all Christian morality, but without love—the essential essence of all Christian virtues—it is “formless” (informis). Christian love is viewed (after Augustine) as primarily love for God (beyond the natural longing of the creature for its ultimate good), which expands into love for all of God’s creatures as they are created by him, ultimately including even self-love. However, creatures are only to be loved in their purity as created by God; all that is wrong in them must be an object of hatred until it is eliminated. In classifying sins, the Christian element is predominant; nonetheless, we also find Aristotelian vices of excess and deficiency, along with modern divisions into “sins against God, neighbor, and self,” “mortal and venial sins,” and so forth.
From the notion of sin—treated in its jural aspect—Aquinas passes naturally to the discussion of Law. The exposition of this conception presents to a great extent the same matter that was dealt with by the exposition of moral virtues, but in a different form; the prominence of which may perhaps be attributed to the growing influence of Roman jurisprudence, which attained in the 12th century so rapid and brilliant a revival in Italy. This side of Thomas’s system is specially important, since it is just this blending of theological conceptions with the abstract theory of the later Roman law that gave the starting-point for independent ethical thought in the modern world. Under the general idea of law, defined as an “ordinance of reason for the common good, promulgated by him who has charge of the community,” Thomas distinguishes (1) the eternal law or regulative reason of God which embraces all his creatures, rational and irrational; (2) “natural law,” being that part of the eternal law that relates to rational creatures as such; (3) human law, which properly consists of more particular deductions from natural law particularized and adapted to the varying circumstances of actual communities; (4) divine law specially revealed to man. As regards natural law, he teaches that God has implanted in the human mind a knowledge of its immutable general principles; and not only knowledge, but a disposition, to which he applies the peculiar scholastic name synderesis,23 that unerringly prompts to the realization of these principles in conduct, and protests against their violation. All acts of natural virtue are implicitly included within the scope of this law of nature; but in the application of its principles to particular cases—to which the term “conscience” should be restricted—man’s judgment is liable to err, the light of nature being obscured and perverted by bad education and custom. Human law is required, not merely to determine the details for which natural law gives no intuitive guidance, but also to supply the force necessary for practically securing, among imperfect men, the observance of the most necessary rules of mutual behaviour. The rules of this law must be either deductions from principles of natural law, or determinations of particulars which it leaves indeterminate; a rule contrary to nature could not be valid as law at all. Human law, however, can deal with outward conduct alone, and natural law, as we have seen, is liable to be vague and obscure in particular applications. Neither natural nor human law, moreover, takes into account that supernatural happiness which is man’s highest end. Hence they need to be supplemented by a special revelation of divine law. This revelation is distinguished into the law of the old covenant and the law of the gospel; the latter of these is productive as well as imperative since it carries with it the divine grace that makes its fulfilment possible. We have, however, to distinguish in the case of the gospel between (1) absolute commands and (2) “counsels,” which latter recommend, without positively ordering the monastic life of poverty, celibacy and obedience as the best method of effectively turning the will from earthly to heavenly things.
From the concept of sin—viewed in its legal aspect—Aquinas smoothly transitions to discussing Law. This explanation covers much of the same content as his exploration of moral virtues, but in a different way; this emphasis might be due to the increasing influence of Roman law, which experienced a rapid and remarkable revival in Italy during the 12th century. This aspect of Thomas's system is especially significant because it’s this combination of theological ideas with the abstract theory of later Roman law that provided the basis for independent ethical thought in the modern world. Under the general concept of law, defined as an "ordinance of reason for the common good, promulgated by the one in charge of the community," Thomas distinguishes (1) the eternal law or God's regulatory reason that encompasses all his creatures, both rational and irrational; (2) "natural law," which is that part of the eternal law that pertains to rational beings; (3) human law, which consists of more specific deductions from natural law adapted to the diverse circumstances of real communities; (4) divine law specifically revealed to humanity. Regarding natural law, he teaches that God has instilled in the human mind an understanding of its unchanging general principles; not only understanding but also an inclination, referred to by the unique scholastic term synderesis,23 that reliably nudges individuals toward realizing these principles in their actions and warns against violating them. All acts of natural virtue fall within the scope of this law of nature; however, when applying its principles to specific situations—referred to as "conscience"—human judgment can be mistaken, as the light of nature can be obscured and distorted by poor education and customs. Human law is necessary not just to clarify the details for which natural law doesn’t provide clear guidance, but also to ensure compliance with essential rules of mutual behavior among imperfect individuals. The rules of this law must either derive from the principles of natural law or clarify particulars that it leaves vague; a rule that contradicts nature could not be considered valid as law at all. However, human law can only address outward behavior, and as we've noted, natural law may be unclear and ambiguous in specific applications. Neither natural nor human law considers the supernatural happiness that is humanity's ultimate goal. Therefore, they need to be complemented by a special revelation of divine law. This revelation is divided into the law of the old covenant and the law of the gospel; the latter is both productive and imperative since it brings divine grace that enables its fulfillment. We also need to differentiate in the case of the gospel between (1) absolute commands and (2) "counsels," which suggest rather than command the monastic life of poverty, celibacy, and obedience as the best way to effectively shift one’s focus from earthly to heavenly matters.
But how far is man able to attain either natural or Christian perfection? This is the part of Thomas’s system in which the cohesion of the different elements seems weakest. He is scarcely aware that his Aristotelianized Christianity inevitably combines two different difficulties in dealing with this question: first, the old pagan difficulty of reconciling the proposition that will is a rational desire always directed towards apparent good, with the freedom of choice between good and evil that the jural view of morality seems to require; and, secondly, the Christian difficulty of harmonizing this latter notion with the absolute dependence on divine grace which the religious consciousness affirms. The latter difficulty Thomas, like many of his predecessors, avoids by supposing a “co-operation” of free-will and grace, but the former he does not fully meet. It is against this part of his doctrines that the most important criticism, in ethics, of his Duns Scotus. rival Duns Scotus (c. 1266-1308) was directed. He urged that will could not be really free if it were bound to reason, as Thomas (after Aristotle) conceives it; a really free choice must be perfectly indeterminate between reason and unreason. Scotus consistently maintained that the divine will is similarly independent of reason, and that the divine ordering of the world is to be conceived as absolutely arbitrary. On this point he was followed by the acute intellect of William of Occam (d. c. 1347). This doctrine is William of Occam. obviously hostile to all reasoned morality; and in fact, notwithstanding the dialectical ability of Scotus and Occam, the work of Thomas remained indubitably the crowning result of the great constructive effort of medieval philosophy. The effort was, indeed, foredoomed to failure, since it attempted the impossible task of framing a coherent 826 system out of the heterogeneous data furnished by Scripture, the fathers, the church and Aristotle—equally unquestioned, if not equally venerated, authorities. Whatever philosophic quality is to be found in the work of Thomas belongs to it in spite of, not in consequence of, its method. Still, its influence has been great and long-enduring,—in the Catholic Church primarily, but indirectly among Protestants, especially in England, since the famous first book of Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity is to a great extent taken from the Summa theologiae.
But how far can a person achieve either natural or Christian perfection? This part of Thomas’s system seems to lack cohesion among the different elements. He hardly realizes that his blend of Aristotelianism and Christianity mixes two distinct challenges in tackling this question: first, the old pagan challenge of reconciling the idea that will is a rational desire aimed at perceived good with the freedom to choose between good and evil, which the legal perspective on morality seems to require; and second, the Christian challenge of aligning this idea with the total reliance on divine grace that religious belief supports. Thomas, like many before him, sidesteps the latter issue by proposing a “co-operation” between free will and grace, but he doesn’t fully address the former. This aspect of his teachings faced the most significant ethical criticism from his rival Duns Scotus (c. 1266-1308). Scotus argued that the will can't truly be free if it's constrained by reason, as Thomas (following Aristotle) suggests; a truly free choice must be completely independent of rationality. Scotus consistently asserted that divine will is similarly free from the bounds of reason, and that God's arrangement of the world should be seen as entirely arbitrary. This viewpoint was echoed by the sharp mind of William of Occam (d. c. 1347). This doctrine is clearly opposed to any logical conception of morality; and in fact, despite the debate skills of Scotus and Occam, Thomas’s work undeniably stands as the pinnacle of the significant constructive effort of medieval philosophy. That effort was, in reality, destined to fail, as it attempted the impossible task of creating a coherent system from the diverse materials provided by Scripture, the church fathers, the church itself, and Aristotle—each an unquestioned if not equally revered authority. Any philosophical merit found in Thomas’s work exists despite its method, not because of it. Yet, its impact has been vast and enduring—mainly in the Catholic Church, but also indirectly among Protestants, particularly in England, since the famous first book of Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity is largely derived from the Summa Theologiae.
Partly in conscious antagonism to the schoolmen, yet with close affinity to the central ethico-theological doctrine which they read out of or into Aristotle, the mystical manner of thought continued to maintain itself in the church. Medieval mysticism. Philosophically it rested upon Neoplatonism, but its development in strict connexion with Christian orthodoxy begins in the 12th century with Bernard of Clairvaux and Hugo of St Victor. It blended the Christian element of love with the ecstatic vision of Plotinus, sometimes giving the former a decided predominance. In its more moderate form, keeping wholly within the limits of ecclesiastical orthodoxy, this mysticism is represented by Bonaventura and Gerson; while it appears more independent and daringly constructive in the German Eckhart, advancing in some of his followers to open breach with the church, and even to practical immorality.
Partly in opposition to the schoolmen, yet closely related to the central ethical and theological ideas they derived from or interpreted in Aristotle, mystical thought continued to thrive in the church. Mystical practices of the Middle Ages. Philosophically, it was based on Neoplatonism, but its development in strict connection with Christian orthodoxy began in the 12th century with Bernard of Clairvaux and Hugo of St. Victor. It combined the Christian idea of love with the ecstatic visions of Plotinus, sometimes giving more emphasis to the former. In its more moderate form, staying completely within the boundaries of church orthodoxy, this mysticism is represented by Bonaventura and Gerson; however, it appears more independent and boldly innovative in the German Eckhart, with some of his followers even breaking away from the church and engaging in practical immorality.
In the brief account above given of the general ethical view of Thomas Aquinas no mention has been made of the detailed discussion of particular duties included in the Summa theologiae; in which, for the most part, an excellent Casuistry. combination of moral elevation with sobriety of judgment is shown, though on certain points the scholastic pedantry of definition and distinction is unfavourable to due delicacy of treatment. As the properly philosophic interest of scholasticism faded in the 14th and 15th centuries, the quasi-legal treatment of morality came again into prominence, borrowing a good deal of matter from Thomas and other schoolmen. One result of this was a marked development and systematization of casuistry. The best known Summae casuum conscientiae, compiled for the conduct of auricular confession, belong to the 14th and 15th centuries. The oldest, the Astesana, from Asti in Piedmont, is arranged as a kind of text-book of morality on a scholastic basis; later manuals are merely lists of questions and answers. It was inevitable that, in proportion as this casuistry assumed the character of a systematic penal jurisprudence, its precise determination of the limits between the prohibited and the allowable, with all doubtful points closely scrutinized and illustrated by fictitious cases, would have a tendency to weaken the moral sensibilities of ordinary minds; the greater the industry spent in deducing conclusions from the diverse authorities, the greater necessarily became the number of points on which doctors disagreed; and the central authority that might have repressed serious divergences was wanting in the period of moral weakness24 that the church went through after the death of Boniface VIII. A plain man perplexed by such disagreements might naturally hold that any opinion maintained by a pious and orthodox writer must be a safe one to follow; and thus weak consciences were subtly tempted to seek the support of authority for some desired relaxation of a moral rule. It does not, however, appear that this danger assumed formidable proportions until after the Reformation; when, in the struggle made by the Catholic church to recover its hold on the world, the principle of authority was, as it were, forced into keen, balanced and prolonged conflict with that of reliance on private judgment. To the Jesuits, the The Jesuits. foremost champions in this struggle, it seemed indispensable that the confessional should be made attractive; for this purpose ecclesiastico-moral law must be somehow “accommodated” to worldly needs; and the theory of “Probabilism” supplied a plausible method for effecting this accommodation. The theory proceeded thus: A layman could not be expected to examine minutely into a point on which the learned differed; therefore he could not fairly be blamed for following any opinion that rested on the authority of even a single doctor; therefore his confessor must be authorized to hold him guiltless if any such “probable” opinion could be produced in his favour; nay, it was his duty to suggest such an opinion, even though opposed to his own, if it would relieve the conscience under his charge from a depressing burden. The results to which this Probabilism, applied with an earnest desire to avoid dangerous rigour, led in the 17th century were revealed to the world in the immortal Lettres provinciales of Pascal.
In the brief summary above about the general ethical perspective of Thomas Aquinas, there's no mention of the detailed discussion of specific duties found in the Summa theologiae; in which, for the most part, an excellentCasuistry. combination of moral depth with clear judgment is displayed, although in certain areas, the scholastic obsession with definitions and distinctions can be detrimental to the sensitivity of the treatment. As the philosophical interest of scholasticism declined in the 14th and 15th centuries, the legalistic approach to morality gained prominence again, borrowing heavily from Thomas and other scholastic thinkers. One outcome of this was a significant development and organization of casuistry. The most well-known Summae casuum conscientiae, compiled for the practice of auricular confession, belong to the 14th and 15th centuries. The oldest, the Astesana, from Asti in Piedmont, is structured as a sort of textbook of morality based on scholastic principles; later manuals are just lists of questions and answers. It was inevitable that as this casuistry began to take on the characteristics of a systematic penal legal system, its precise determination of the boundaries between what is prohibited and what is allowed— with all ambiguous points closely examined and illustrated by hypothetical cases— would tend to weaken the moral sensitivities of average people; the more effort spent in drawing conclusions from various sources, the greater the number of disagreements among experts; and the central authority that might have addressed serious differences was absent during the period of moral decline that the church experienced after the death of Boniface VIII. A regular person confused by such disagreements might naturally believe that any opinion supported by a pious and orthodox writer must be a safe one to adopt; thus, vulnerable consciences were subtly tempted to seek the backing of authority for some desired easing of a moral rule. However, it doesn't seem that this danger became significant until after the Reformation; when, in the effort made by the Catholic church to regain its influence, the principle of authority was increasingly placed in intense, balanced, and prolonged conflict with that of relying on private judgment. For the Jesuits, the main proponents in this struggle, it was essential that the confessional be made appealing; for this purpose, ecclesiastical moral law had to be “adjusted” to worldly needs; and the theory of “Probabilism” provided a reasonable method for achieving this adjustment. The theory worked like this: A layperson couldn't be expected to thoroughly analyze a point where the learned disagreed; therefore, they couldn't justifiably be blamed for following any opinion backed by even a single expert; thus, their confessor should be allowed to absolve them if any such “probable” opinion was presented in their favor; in fact, it became the confessor's duty to suggest such an opinion, even if it contradicted their own, if it would lighten the burden of conscience for the person they were guiding. The outcomes of this Probabilism, when applied with a genuine desire to avoid harshness, were revealed to the world in Pascal's timeless Lettres provinciales.
In tracing the development of casuistry we have been carried beyond the great crisis through which Western Christianity passed in the 16th century. The Reformation which Luther initiated may be viewed on several sides, The Reformation. Transition to modern ethical philosophy. even if we consider only its ethical principles and effects. It maintained the simplicity of Apostolic Christianity against the elaborate system of a corrupt hierarchy, the teaching of Scripture alone against the commentaries of the fathers and the traditions of the church, the right of private judgment against the dictation of ecclesiastical authority, the individual responsibility of every human soul before God in opposition to the papal control over purgatorial punishments, which had led to the revolting degradation of venal indulgences. Reviving the original antithesis between Christianity and Jewish legalism, it maintained the inwardness of faith to be the sole way to eternal life, in contrast to the outwardness of works; returning to Augustine, and expressing his spirit in a new formula, to resist the Neo-Pelagianism that had gradually developed itself within the apparent Augustinianism of the church, it maintained the total corruption of human nature, as contrasted with that “congruity” by which, according to the schoolmen, divine grace was to be earned; renewing the fervent humility of St Paul, it enforced the universal and absolute imperativeness of all Christian duties, and the inevitable unworthiness of all Christian obedience, in opposition to the theory that “condign” merit might be gained by “supererogatory” conformity to evangelical “counsels.” It will be seen that these changes, however profoundly important, were, ethically considered, either negative or quite general, relating to the tone and attitude of mind in which all duty should be done. As regards all positive matter of duty and virtue, and most of the prohibitive code for ordinary men, the tradition of Christian teaching was carried on substantially unchanged by the Reformed churches. Even the old method of casuistry was maintained25 during the 16th and 17th centuries; though Scriptural texts, interpreted and supplemented by the light of natural reason, now furnished the sole principles on which cases of conscience were decided.
In tracing the development of casuistry, we have moved past the significant crisis that Western Christianity faced in the 16th century. The Reformation initiated by Luther can be viewed from several perspectives, The Reformation. Shift to contemporary ethical philosophy. especially when considering its ethical principles and impacts. It upheld the simplicity of Apostolic Christianity against the complex system of a corrupt hierarchy, the teaching of Scripture alone against the commentaries of the church fathers and established traditions, the right to personal judgment against the imposition of ecclesiastical authority, and the individual responsibility of each person before God, countering the papal control over purgatorial punishments that led to the disgraceful abuse of indulgences. By reviving the original contrast between Christianity and Jewish legalism, it maintained that personal faith was the only path to eternal life, as opposed to mere works; drawing from Augustine and expressing his spirit in a new way to challenge the Neo-Pelagianism that had gradually developed within the seemingly Augustinian teachings of the church, it affirmed the total corruption of human nature, contrasting with the “congruity” by which, according to the scholastics, divine grace could be earned. Renewing the passionate humility of St. Paul, it emphasized the universal and absolute necessity of all Christian duties and the inevitable unworthiness of all Christian obedience, opposing the idea that “condign” merit could be achieved through “supererogatory” compliance with evangelical “counsels.” It is evident that these changes, while profoundly significant, were, ethically speaking, either negative or quite general, connecting to the tone and mindset in which all duties should be performed. Regarding all positive aspects of duty and virtue, as well as most of the prohibitions for ordinary people, the tradition of Christian teaching continued substantially unchanged by the Reformed churches. Even the old method of casuistry was maintained during the 16th and 17th centuries; however, Scriptural texts, interpreted and supplemented by the insights of natural reason, now provided the only principles on which issues of conscience were resolved.
In the 17th century, however, the interest of this quasi-legal treatment of morality gradually faded; and the ethical studies of educated minds were occupied with the attempt, renewed after so many centuries, to find an independent Humanism. philosophical basis for the moral code. The renewal of this attempt was only indirectly due to the Reformation; it is rather to be connected with the more extreme reaction from the medieval religion which was partly caused by, partly expressed in, that enthusiastic study of the remains of old pagan culture that spread from Italy over Europe in the 15th and 16th centuries. To this “humanism” the Reformation seemed at first more hostile than the Roman hierarchy; indeed, the extent to which this latter had allowed itself to become paganized by the Renaissance was one of the points that especially roused the Reformers’ indignation. Not the less important is the indirect stimulus given by the Reformation towards the development of a moral philosophy independent alike of Catholic and Protestant assumptions. Scholasticism, while reviving philosophy as a handmaid to theology, had metamorphosed its method into one resembling that of its mistress; thus shackling the renascent intellectual 827 activity which it stimulated by the double bondage to Aristotle and to the church. When the Reformation shook the traditional authority in one department, the blow was necessarily felt in the other. Not twenty years after Luther’s defiance of the pope, the startling thesis “that all that Aristotle taught was false” was prosperously maintained by the youthful Ramus before the university of Paris; and almost contemporaneously the group of remarkable thinkers in Italy who heralded the dawn of modern physical science—Cardanus, Telesio, Patrizzi, Campanella, Bruno—began to propound their Aristotelian theories of the constitution of the physical universe. It was to be foreseen that a similar assertion of independence would make itself heard in ethics also; and, indeed, amid the clash of dogmatic convictions, and the variations of private judgment, it was natural to seek for an ethical method that might claim universal acceptance from all sects.
In the 17th century, however, the interest in this quasi-legal treatment of morality gradually declined, and educated minds focused on the attempt, renewed after so many centuries, to find an independent Humanism. philosophical basis for the moral code. This renewal was only indirectly linked to the Reformation; instead, it was more connected to the stronger reaction against medieval religion, partly triggered by and expressed in the enthusiastic study of ancient pagan culture that spread from Italy across Europe in the 15th and 16th centuries. Initially, the Reformation seemed more opposed to this “humanism” than the Roman hierarchy; in fact, how much the latter had become influenced by the Renaissance was one of the issues that particularly fueled the Reformers' anger. Equally important was the indirect influence the Reformation had on the development of a moral philosophy that was independent of both Catholic and Protestant beliefs. Scholasticism revived philosophy as a support for theology but transformed its method to resemble that of theology itself, thereby restricting the reborn intellectual 827 activity it stimulated due to its dual dependence on Aristotle and the church. When the Reformation challenged traditional authority in one area, the impact was inevitably felt in the other. Not twenty years after Luther defied the pope, the shocking claim that “everything Aristotle taught was false” was successfully argued by the young Ramus at the University of Paris; and almost simultaneously, a group of remarkable thinkers in Italy who signaled the beginning of modern physical science—Cardanus, Telesio, Patrizzi, Campanella, Bruno—began to present their non-Aristotelian theories about the structure of the physical universe. It was expected that a similar assertion of independence would emerge in ethics as well; and indeed, amidst the clash of dogmatic beliefs and the variations in personal judgment, it was natural to seek an ethical method that could gain universal acceptance among all sects.
C. Modern Ethics.—The need of such independent principles was most strongly felt in the region of man’s civil and political relations, especially the mutual relations of communities. Accordingly we find that modern ethical Grotius. controversy began in a discussion of the law of nature. Albericus Gentilis (1557-1611) and Hugo Grotius (1583-1645) were the first to give a systematic account. Natural law, according to Grotius and other writers of the age, is that part of divine law which follows from the essential nature of man, who is distinguished from animals by his “appetite” for tranquil association with his fellows, and his tendency to act on general principles. It is therefore as unalterable, even by God himself, as the truths of mathematics, although its effect may be overruled in any particular case by an express command of God; hence it is cognizable a priori, from the abstract consideration of human nature, though its existence may be known a posteriori also from its universal acceptance in human societies. The conception, as we have seen, was taken from the later Roman jurists; by them, however, the law of nature was conceived as something that underlay existing law, and was to be looked for through it, though it might ultimately supersede it, and in the meanwhile represented an ideal standard, by which improvements in legislation were to be guided. Still the language of the jurists in some passages (cf. Inst. of Justinian, ii. 1, 2) clearly implied a period of human history in which men were governed by natural law alone, prior to the institution of civil society. Posidonius had identified this period with the mythical “golden age”; and such ideas easily coalesced with the narrative in Genesis. Thus there had become current the conception of a “state of nature” in which individuals or single families lived side by side—under none other than those “natural” laws which prohibited mutual injury and interference in the free use of the goods of the earth common to all, and upheld parental authority, fidelity of wives, and the observance of compacts freely made. This conception Grotius took, and gave it additional force and solidity by using the principles of this natural law for the determination of international rights and duties, it being obvious that independent nations, in their corporate capacities, were still in that “state of nature” in their mutual relations. It was not, of course, assumed that these laws were universally obeyed; indeed, one point with which Grotius is especially concerned is the natural right of private war, arising out of the violation of more primary rights. Still a general observance was involved in the idea of a natural law as a “dictate of right reason indicating the agreement or disagreement of an act with man’s rational and social nature”; and we may observe that it was especially necessary to assume such a general observance in the case of contracts, since it was by an “express or tacit pact” that the right of property (as distinct from the mere right to non-interference during use) was held by him to have been instituted. A similar “fundamental pact” had long been generally regarded as the normal origin of legitimate sovereignty.
C. Modern Ethics.—The need for independent principles was strongly felt in the area of civil and political relations, particularly among communities. As a result, modern ethical debate began with a discussion of natural law. Albericus Gentilis (1557-1611) and Hugo Grotius (1583-1645) were the first to provide a systematic explanation. According to Grotius and other writers of the time, natural law is the part of divine law that arises from the essential nature of humanity, which is set apart from animals by the desire for peaceful relationships with others and the tendency to act based on general principles. Therefore, it is as unchangeable, even by God, as mathematical truths, although in specific cases, an explicit command from God can override it; thus, it can be recognized a priori, through abstract reasoning about human nature, while its existence can also be known a posteriori through its widespread acceptance in human societies. This idea was influenced by later Roman jurists; however, they viewed natural law as something underlying existing law, which could be discovered through it, even though it might ultimately replace it and, in the meantime, serve as an ideal standard for guiding improvements in legislation. Nevertheless, the wording of the jurists in some instances (cf. Inst. of Justinian, ii. 1, 2) clearly suggested a time in human history when people were governed solely by natural law, before the establishment of civil society. Posidonius connected this period to the mythical “golden age,” and such notions easily merged with the story in Genesis. Thus, the idea of a “state of nature” emerged, where individuals or families lived alongside each other—governed only by those “natural” laws that prohibited harm and interference in the free use of common resources while supporting parental authority, the fidelity of wives, and the honoring of freely made agreements. Grotius adopted this idea, strengthening it by using the principles of natural law to determine international rights and obligations, given that independent nations, in their collective forms, were still in that “state of nature” concerning their mutual relations. It was not assumed that these laws were universally followed; indeed, one of Grotius's main concerns is the natural right to private war, which arises from the violation of more fundamental rights. Still, a general observance was inherent in the concept of natural law as a “dictate of right reason indicating the compatibility or incompatibility of an act with human rational and social nature”; and it is important to note that such general observance was especially necessary regarding contracts, since it was by an “express or tacit pact” that Grotius believed the right to property (as distinct from simply the right to non-interference during use) was established. A similar “fundamental pact” had long been viewed as the typical origin of legitimate sovereignty.
The ideas above expressed were not peculiar to Grotius; in particular the doctrine of the “fundamental pact” as the jural basis of government had long been maintained, especially in England, where the constitution historically established readily suggested such a compact. At the same time the rapid and remarkable success of Grotius’s treatise (De jure belli et pacis) brought his view of Natural Right into prominence, and suggested such questions as—“What is man’s ultimate reason for obeying these laws? Wherein exactly does this their agreement with his rational and social nature consist? How far, and in what sense, is his nature really social?”
The ideas mentioned earlier weren't unique to Grotius; specifically, the concept of the “fundamental pact” as the legal foundation of government had been upheld for a long time, particularly in England, where the constitution historically indicated such an agreement. At the same time, the quick and impressive success of Grotius’s treatise (De jure belli et pacis) brought his perspective on Natural Right to the forefront and raised questions like—“What is a person’s ultimate reason for following these laws? How exactly does this align with their rational and social nature? To what extent, and in what way, is their nature truly social?”
It was the answer which Hobbes (1588-1679) gave to these fundamental questions that supplied the starting-point for independent ethical philosophy in England. The nature of this answer was determined by the psychological Hobbes. views to which Hobbes had been led, possibly to some extent under the influence of Bacon,26 partly perhaps through association with his younger contemporary Gassendi, who, in two treatises, published between the appearance of Hobbes’s De cive (1642) and that of the Leviathan (1651), endeavoured to revive interest in Epicurus. Hobbes’s psychology is in the first place materialistic; he holds, that is, that in any of the psycho-physical phenomena of human nature the reality is a material process of which the mental feeling is a mere “appearance.” Accordingly he regards pleasure as essentially motion “helping vital action,” and pain as motion “hindering” it. There is no logical connexion between this theory and the doctrine that appetite of desire has always pleasure (or the absence of pain) for its object; but a materialist, framing a system of psychology, will naturally direct his attention to the impulses arising out of bodily wants, whose obvious end is the preservation of the agent’s organism; and this, together with a philosophic wish to simplify, may lead him to the conclusion that all human impulses are similarly self-regarding. This, at any rate, is Hobbes’s cardinal doctrine in moral psychology, that each man’s appetites or desires are naturally directed either to the preservation of his life, or to that heightening of it which he feels as pleasure.27 Hobbes does not distinguish instinctive from deliberate pleasure-seeking; and he confidently resolves the most apparently unselfish emotions into phases of self-regard. Pity he finds to be grief for the calamity of others, arising from imagination of the like calamity befalling oneself; what we admire with seeming disinterestedness as beautiful (pulchrum) is really “pleasure in promise”; when men are not immediately seeking present pleasure, they desire power as a means to future pleasure, and thus have a derivative delight in the exercise of power that prompts to what we call benevolent action. Since, then, all the voluntary actions of men tend to their own preservation or pleasure, it cannot be reasonable to aim at anything else; in fact, nature rather than reason fixes this as the end of human action; it is reason’s function to show the means. Hence if we ask why it is reasonable for any individual to observe the rules of social behaviour that are commonly called moral, the answer is obvious that this is only indirectly reasonable, as a means to his own preservation or pleasure. It is not, however, in this, which is only the old Cyrenaic or Epicurean answer, that the distinctive point of Hobbism lies. It is rather in the doctrine that even this indirect reasonableness of the most fundamental moral rules is entirely conditional on their general observance, which cannot be secured apart from government. For example, it is not reasonable for me to perform my share of a contract, unless I have reason for believing that the other party will perform his; and this I cannot have, except in a society in which he will be punished for non-performance. Thus the ordinary rules of social behaviour are only hypothetically obligatory; they are actualized by the establishment of a “common power” 828 that may “use the strength and means of all” to enforce on all the observance of rules tending to the common benefit. On the other hand Hobbes yields to no one in maintaining the paramount importance of moral regulations. The precepts of good faith, equity, requital of benefits, forgiveness of wrong so far as security allows, the prohibition of contumely, pride, arrogance,—which may all be summed up in the formula, “Do not that to another which thou wouldest not have done to thyself” (i.e. the negative of the “golden rule”)—he still calls “immutable and eternal laws of nature”—meaning that, though a man is not unconditionally bound to realize them, he is, as a reasonable being, bound to desire that they should be realized. The pre-social state of man, in his view, is also pre-moral; but it is therefore utterly miserable. It is a state in which every one has a right to everything that may conduce to his preservation;28 but it is therefore also a state of war—a state so wretched that it is the first dictate of rational self-love to emerge from it into social peace and order. Hence Hobbes’s ideal constitution naturally comes to be an unquestioned and unlimited—though not necessarily monarchical—despotism. Whatever the government declares to be just or unjust must be accepted as such, since to dispute its dictates would be the first step towards anarchy, the one paramount peril outweighing all particular defects in legislation and administration. It is perhaps easy to understand how, in the crisis of 1640, when the ethico-political system of Hobbes first took written shape, a peace-loving philosopher should regard the claims of individual conscience as essentially anarchical, and dangerous to social well-being; but however strong might be men’s yearning for order, a view of social duty, in which the only fixed positions were selfishness everywhere and unlimited power somewhere, could not but appear offensively paradoxical.
It was the answer that Hobbes (1588-1679) provided to these fundamental questions that served as the starting point for independent ethical philosophy in England. The nature of this answer was shaped by the psychological views that Hobbes had developed, possibly influenced to some extent by Bacon, and partly perhaps through his association with his younger contemporary Gassendi, who, in two treatises published between Hobbes's De cive (1642) and Leviathan (1651), tried to rekindle interest in Epicurus. Hobbes’s psychology is primarily materialistic; he believes that in any psycho-physical phenomenon of human nature, the reality is a material process, with the mental feeling being merely an “appearance.” Accordingly, he sees pleasure as essentially motion that “helps vital action,” and pain as motion that “hinders” it. There is no logical connection between this theory and the notion that desire always aims for pleasure (or the absence of pain); however, a materialist creating a psychological system will naturally focus on the impulses arising from bodily needs, which obviously seek to preserve the agent’s organism; this, combined with a philosophical inclination to simplify, might lead him to conclude that all human impulses are similarly self-regarding. This is, at any rate, Hobbes's key principle in moral psychology: each person’s appetites or desires are naturally directed either toward preserving their life or enhancing it, which they experience as pleasure. Hobbes does not differentiate between instinctive and deliberate pleasure-seeking; he confidently interprets the most seemingly selfless emotions as forms of self-interest. He sees pity as grief for the misfortunes of others, arising from imagining similar misfortunes happening to oneself; what we admire as beautiful is actually “pleasure in promise”; when people are not actively seeking present pleasure, they desire power as a means to future pleasure, thus experiencing a secondary enjoyment in the exercise of power that drives what we call benevolent actions. Therefore, since all voluntary actions of people tend to their own preservation or pleasure, it isn't reasonable to aim at anything else; in fact, nature, rather than reason, establishes this as the goal of human action; it is reason’s role to identify the means. Hence, if we ask why it is rational for an individual to follow the commonly accepted rules of social behavior known as moral, the obvious answer is that this is only indirectly reasonable, as a means to his own preservation or pleasure. However, this old Cyrenaic or Epicurean reasoning isn't the distinctive aspect of Hobbes’s philosophy. It's rather in the notion that even this indirect reasonableness of the fundamental moral rules entirely depends on their general observance, which can't be guaranteed without government. For instance, it isn't reasonable for me to fulfill my part of a contract unless I have reason to believe that the other party will do the same; and I can't have this assurance except in a society where he will face punishment for not complying. Thus, the usual rules of social conduct are only conditionally obligatory; they are enacted by the establishment of a "common power" that can “use the strength and resources of all” to enforce the adherence to rules that promote the common good. On the other hand, Hobbes strongly upholds the critical importance of moral regulations. The principles of good faith, fairness, reciprocating benefits, forgiveness of wrongs as far as safety allows, and the prohibition of disdain, pride, arrogance—all of which can be summed up in the formula, “Do not do to another what you wouldn't want done to yourself” (i.e., the negative of the “golden rule”)—he still refers to as “immutable and eternal laws of nature”—meaning that, though a person is not unconditionally obligated to realize them, he is, as a rational being, obliged to want them to be realized. In his view, the pre-social state of humanity is also pre-moral; but it is therefore utterly miserable. It's a state where everyone has a right to anything that may help their preservation; but this also means it is a state of war—a condition so miserable that it is the first dictate of rational self-love to escape from it into social peace and order. Hence, Hobbes’s ideal government naturally becomes an unquestioned and unlimited—though not necessarily monarchical—despotism. Whatever the government declares to be just or unjust must be accepted as such since disputing its decisions would be the first step toward anarchy, which is the one overriding danger that outweighs all specific shortcomings in legislation and administration. It is perhaps easy to understand how, during the crisis of 1640, when Hobbes's ethical-political system first took written form, a peace-loving philosopher should view the claims of individual conscience as fundamentally anarchic and a threat to social well-being; but however strong people's desire for order might be, a perspective on social duty, where the only constants were selfishness everywhere and unlimited power somewhere, could only seem offensively paradoxical.
There was, however, in his theory an originality, a force, an apparent coherence which rendered it undeniably impressive; in fact, we find that for two generations the efforts to construct morality on a philosophical basis take more or less the form of answers to Hobbes. From an ethical point of view Hobbism divides itself naturally into two parts, which by Hobbes’s peculiar political doctrines are combined into a coherent whole, but are not otherwise necessarily connected. Its theoretical basis is the principle of egoism; while, for practically determining the particulars of duty it makes morality entirely dependent on positive law and institution. It thus affirmed the relativity of good and evil in a double sense; good and evil, for any individual citizen, may from one point of view be defined as the objects respectively of his desire and his aversion; from another, they may be said to be determined for him by his sovereign. It is this latter aspect of the system which is primarily attacked by the first generation of writers that replied to Hobbes. This attack, or rather the counter-exposition of orthodox doctrine, is conducted on different methods by the Cambridge moralists and by Cumberland respectively. Cumberland is content with the legal view of morality, but endeavours to establish the validity of the laws of nature by taxing them on the single supreme principle of rational regard for the “common good of all,” and showing them, as so based, to be adequately supported by the divine sanction. The Cambridge school, regarding morality primarily as a body of truth rather than a code of rules, insist on its absolute character and intuitive certainty.
There was, however, in his theory an originality, a strength, and an apparent coherence that made it undeniably impressive; in fact, we find that for two generations, attempts to build morality on a philosophical foundation take more or less the form of responses to Hobbes. From an ethical standpoint, Hobbes's ideas naturally break down into two parts, which, due to his unique political theories, are combined into a cohesive whole but aren't necessarily connected otherwise. Its theoretical foundation is based on the principle of egoism; while, to practically determine the specifics of duty, it makes morality completely dependent on positive law and institutions. This position thus affirmed the relativity of good and evil in two ways: for any individual citizen, good and evil can be defined as the objects of their desire and aversion respectively; from another perspective, they can be said to be defined for them by their sovereign. It is this latter aspect of the system that is primarily challenged by the first generation of writers who responded to Hobbes. This challenge, or rather the counter-explanation of traditional doctrine, is approached differently by the Cambridge moralists and by Cumberland, respectively. Cumberland is satisfied with the legal perspective on morality but tries to establish the validity of the laws of nature by tying them to the single supreme principle of rational concern for the "common good of all," demonstrating that they are sufficiently supported by divine approval. The Cambridge school, viewing morality mainly as a body of truth rather than a set of rules, emphasizes its absolute nature and intuitive certainty.
Cudworth was the most distinguished of the little group of thinkers at Cambridge in the 17th century, commonly known as the Cambridge Platonists (q.v.). In his treatise on Eternal and Immutable Morality his main aim is to maintain the The Cambridge moralists, Cudworth. “essential and eternal distinctions of good and evil” as independent of mere will, whether human or divine. These distinctions, he insists, have an objective reality, cognizable by reason no less than the relations of space or number; and he endeavours to refute Hobbism—which he treats as a “novantique philosophy,” a mere revival of the relativism of Protagoras—chiefly by the following argumentum ad hominem. He argues that Hobbes’s atomic materialism involves the conception of an objective physical world, the object not of passive sense that varies from man to man, but of the active intellect that is the same in all; there is therefore, he urges, an inconsistency in refusing to admit a similar exercise of intellect in morals, and an objective world of right and wrong, which the mind by its normal activity clearly apprehends as such.
Cudworth was the most notable member of a small group of thinkers at Cambridge in the 17th century, commonly referred to as the Cambridge Platonists (q.v.). In his work on Eternal and Immutable Morality, his main goal is to uphold the “essential and eternal distinctions of good and evil” as independent of simple will, whether human or divine. He insists that these distinctions have an objective reality, understandable through reason just like the relationships of space or numbers; and he attempts to refute Hobbism—which he describes as a “novantique philosophy,” simply a revival of Protagoras's relativism—mainly through the following argumentum ad hominem. He argues that Hobbes’s atomic materialism implies a conception of an objective physical world, which is not subject to passive perception that differs from person to person, but rather to the active intellect that is the same in everyone; therefore, he contends, there is a contradiction in denying a similar application of intellect to morals, and an objective world of right and wrong, which the mind, through its normal functioning, clearly recognizes as such.
Cudworth, in the work above mentioned, gives no systematic exposition of the ethical principles which he holds to be thus intuitively apprehended. But we may supply this deficiency from the Enchiridion Ethicum of Henry More. More, another thinker of the same school. More gives a list of 23 Noemata Moralia, the truth of which will, he says, be immediately manifest. Some of these admit of a purely egoistic application, and appear to be so understood by the author—as (e.g.) that goods differ in quality as well as in duration, and that the superior good or the lesser evil is always to be preferred; that absence of a given amount of good is preferable to the presence of equivalent evil; that future good or evil is to be regarded as much as present, if equally certain, and nearly as much if very probable. Objections, both general and special, might be urged by a Hobbist against these modes of formulating man’s natural pursuit of self-interest; but the serious controversy between Hobbism and modern Platonism related not to such principles as these, but to others which demand from the individual a (real or apparent) sacrifice for his fellows. Such are the evangelical principle of “doing as you would be done by”; the principle of justice, or “giving every man his own, and letting him enjoy it without interference”; and especially what More states as the abstract formula of benevolence, that “if it be good that one man should be supplied with the means of living well and happily, it is mathematically certain that it is doubly good that two should be so supplied, and so on.” The question, however, still remains, what motive any individual has to conform to these social principles when they conflict with his natural desires. To this Cudworth gives no explicit reply, and the answer of More is hardly clear. On the one hand he maintains that these principles express an absolute good, which is to be called intellectual because its essence and truth are apprehended by the intellect. We might infer from this that the intellect, so judging, is itself the proper and complete determinant of the will, and that man, as a rational being, ought to aim at the realization of absolute good for its own sake. In spite, however, of possible inferences from his definition of virtue, this does not seem to be really More’s view. He explains that though absolute good is discerned by the intellect, the “sweetness and flavour” of it is apprehended, not by the intellect proper, but by what he calls a “boniform faculty”; and it is in this sweetness and flavour that the motive to virtuous conduct lies; ethics is the “art of living well and happily,” and true happiness lies in “the pleasure which the soul derives from the sense of virtue.” In short, More’s Platonism appears to be really as hedonistic as Hobbism; only the feeling to which it appeals as ultimate motive is of a kind that only a mind of exceptional moral refinement can habitually feel with the decisive intensity required.
Cudworth, in the previously mentioned work, does not provide a systematic explanation of the ethical principles that he believes are understood intuitively. However, we can fill this gap with insights from Henry More's Enchiridion Ethicum. More, another thinker from the same philosophical school, offers a list of 23 Noemata Moralia, which he claims will be self-evident. Some of these can be applied purely from an egoistic perspective, and the author seems to understand them as such—like the idea that goods vary not just in quantity but also in quality, and that the greater good or lesser evil should always be chosen; that having less of a particular good is preferable to having an equivalent amount of evil; that future good or evil should be considered as much as present circumstances, if equally certain, and nearly as much if significantly probable. A Hobbist could raise both general and specific objections to these formulations of human self-interest; however, the key disagreement between Hobbism and modern Platonism revolves around principles that require individuals to make (real or apparent) sacrifices for others. These include the evangelical principle of “treating others as you would like to be treated”; the principle of justice, “giving everyone their due and allowing them to enjoy it without interference”; and especially what More describes as the abstract basis of benevolence, which states that “if it is good for one person to have the means to live well and happily, it is more than doubly good for two to have the same, and so on.” The question still arises about what incentive any individual has to follow these social principles when they clash with personal desires. Cudworth does not provide a clear answer, and More's response is not entirely straightforward. On one hand, he argues that these principles represent an absolute good, which should be identified as intellectual because its essence and truth are understood by the intellect. This might suggest that the intellect, in making such judgments, should be the ultimate guide for will, and that a rational individual should aim to achieve absolute good for its own sake. However, despite potential implications from his definition of virtue, this does not seem to truly represent More’s belief. He clarifies that while absolute good is recognized by the intellect, its “sweetness and flavor” is perceived not by the intellect itself, but by what he calls a “boniform faculty”; and it is this sweetness and flavor that provide the motivation for virtuous behavior. Ethics, he states, is “the art of living well and happily,” with true happiness arising from “the pleasure the soul derives from the sense of virtue.” In short, More’s form of Platonism seems to be just as hedonistic as Hobbism; the only difference is that the feeling it appeals to as the ultimate motive is one that only a person with exceptional moral sensitivity can consistently experience with the necessary intensity.
It is to be observed that though More lays down the abstract principle of regarding one’s neighbour’s good as much as one’s own with the full breadth with which Christianity inculcates it, yet when he afterwards comes to classify virtues he is too much under the influence of Platonic-Aristotelian thought to Cumberland. give a distinct place to benevolence, except under the old form of liberality. In this respect his system presents a striking contrast to Cumberland’s, whose treatise De Legibus Naturae 829 (1672), though written like More’s in Latin, is yet in its ethical matter thoroughly modern. Cumberland is a thinker both original and comprehensive, and, in spite of defects in style and clearness, he is noteworthy as having been the first to lay down that “regard for the common good of all” is the supreme rule of morality or law of nature. So far he may be fairly called the precursor of later utilitarianism. His fundamental principle and supreme “Law of Nature” is thus stated: “The greatest possible benevolence of every rational agent towards all the rest constitutes the happiest state of each and all, so far as depends on their own power, and is necessarily required for their happiness; accordingly Common Good will be the Supreme Good.” It is, however, important to notice that in his “good” is included not merely happiness but “perfection”; and he does not even define perfection so as to exclude from it the notion of absolute moral perfection and save his theory from an obvious logical circle. A notion so vague could not possibly be used with any precision for determining the subordinate rules of morality; but in fact Cumberland does not attempt this; his supreme principle is designed not to rectify, but merely to support and systematize, common morality. This principle, as was said, is conceived as strictly a law, and therefore referred to a lawgiver, God, and provided with a sanction in its effects on the agent’s happiness. That the divine will is expressed by it, Cumberland, “not being so fortunate as to possess innate ideas,” tries to prove by a long inductive examination of the evidences of man’s essential sociality exhibited in his physical and mental constitution. His account of the sanction, again, is sufficiently comprehensive, including both the internal and the external rewards of virtue and punishments of vice; and he, like later utilitarians, explains moral obligation to lie in the force exercised on the will by these sanctions; but as to the precise manner in which individual is implicated with universal good, and the operation of either or both in determining volition, his view is indistinct if not actually inconsistent.
It’s important to note that while More outlines the fundamental principle of valuing one’s neighbor’s well-being as much as one’s own—just as Christianity teaches—it becomes evident that when he later categorizes virtues, he is too influenced by Platonic-Aristotelian thought to give benevolence a distinct place, instead categorizing it under the traditional concept of liberality. In this regard, his system starkly contrasts with Cumberland’s, whose work De Legibus Naturae 829 (1672), although written in Latin like More’s, is thoroughly modern in its ethical content. Cumberland is an original and comprehensive thinker, and despite some issues with style and clarity, he is notable for being the first to assert that “consideration for the common good of all” is the highest moral principle or law of nature. Thus, he can fairly be seen as a precursor to later utilitarianism. His core principle and ultimate “Law of Nature” is expressed as follows: “The greatest possible benevolence of every rational agent toward all others creates the happiest state for each and everyone, as far as it depends on their own power, and is necessary for their happiness; therefore, the Common Good is the Supreme Good.” However, it’s crucial to recognize that in his definition of “good,” he includes not just happiness but also “perfection”; and he does not define perfection in a way that avoids the notion of absolute moral perfection, which could lead to a logical circle in his theory. Such a vague concept cannot be used precisely to determine the specific rules of morality; yet, Cumberland does not make this attempt; his supreme principle is meant not to refine but merely to support and organize common morality. This principle is framed as strictly a law, directly linked to a lawgiver, God, and is associated with consequences for the agent’s happiness. Cumberland, “not being so fortunate as to have innate ideas,” seeks to prove that divine will is expressed through this principle by conducting a lengthy inductive examination of the evidence of human social nature found in his physical and mental makeup. His discussion of the sanction is also quite broad, encompassing both the internal and external rewards of virtue and punishments for vice; similar to later utilitarians, he describes moral obligation as stemming from the force these sanctions exert on the will; but regarding the exact way the individual is connected to the universal good and how both influence decision-making, his perspective is unclear if not outright inconsistent.
The clearness which we seek in vain from Cumberland is found to the fullest extent in Locke, whose Essay on the Human Understanding (1690) was already planned when Cumberland’s treatise appeared. Yet Locke’s ethical Locke. opinions have been widely misunderstood; since from a confusion between “innate ideas” and “intuitions,” which has been common in recent ethical discussion, it has been supposed that the founder of English empiricism must necessarily have been hostile to “intuitional” ethics. The truth is that, while Locke agrees entirely with Hobbes as to the egoistic basis of rational conduct, and the interpretation of “good” and “evil” as “pleasure” and “pain,” or that which is productive of pleasure and pain, he yet agrees entirely with Hobbes’s opponents in holding ethical rules to be actually obligatory independently of political society, and capable of being scientifically constructed on principles intuitively known,—though he does not regard these principles as implanted in the mind at birth. The aggregate of such rules he conceives as the law of God, carefully distinguishing it, not only from civil law, but from the law of opinion or reputation, the varying moral standard by which men actually distribute praise and blame; as being divine it is necessarily sanctioned by adequate rewards and punishments. He does not, indeed, speak of the scientific construction of this code as having been actually effected, but he affirms its possibility in language remarkably strong and decisive. “The idea,” he says, “of a Supreme Being, infinite in power, goodness, and wisdom, whose workmanship we are, and upon whom we depend, and the idea of ourselves, as understanding rational beings, being such as are clear in us, would, I suppose, if duly considered and pursued, afford such foundations of our duty and rules of action, as might place morality among the sciences capable of demonstration; wherein, I doubt not, but from self-evident propositions, by necessary consequences as incontestable as those in mathematics, the measure of right and wrong might be made out.” As Locke cannot consistently mean by God’s “goodness” anything but the disposition to give pleasure, it might be inferred that the ultimate standard of right rules of action ought to be the common happiness of the beings affected by the action; but Locke does not explicitly adopt this standard. The only instances which he gives of intuitive moral truths are the purely formal propositions, “No government allows absolute liberty,” and “Where there is no property there is no injustice,”—neither of which has any evident connexion with the general happiness. As regards his conception of the Law of Nature, he takes it in the main immediately from Grotius and Pufendorf, more remotely from the Stoics and the Roman jurists.
The clarity that we’re searching for in vain from Cumberland is fully found in Locke, whose Essay on the Human Understanding (1690) was already planned when Cumberland’s work came out. However, Locke’s ethical views have often been misinterpreted. Due to a confusion between “innate ideas” and “intuitions” that has been common in recent ethical discussions, some have assumed that the founder of English empiricism must have been opposed to “intuitional” ethics. The truth is that while Locke completely agrees with Hobbes regarding the self-centered basis of rational behavior and the interpretation of “good” and “evil” as “pleasure” and “pain,” or that which leads to pleasure and pain, he also fully aligns with Hobbes’s critics in believing that ethical rules are actually binding regardless of political society and can be scientifically constructed based on principles that are intuitively understood, though he does not see these principles as being ingrained in the mind from birth. He views the collection of such rules as the law of God, making a careful distinction not only from civil law but also from societal norms or reputation, which is the changing moral standard by which people assign praise and blame; as divine, it must be backed by appropriate rewards and punishments. He doesn’t actually claim that this code has been scientifically constructed, but he strongly affirms its possibility. “The idea,” he states, “of a Supreme Being, infinite in power, goodness, and wisdom, whose creation we are and upon whom we rely, alongside the idea of ourselves as understanding rational beings, is clear to us; I propose that if properly examined and pursued, it could provide the foundations for our duties and rules of action, placing morality among the sciences that can be demonstrated; I have no doubt that self-evident propositions, leading to necessary consequences just as undeniable as those in mathematics, could outline the measure of right and wrong.” Since Locke sees God’s “goodness” as nothing more than the inclination to provide pleasure, one might conclude that the ultimate standard for right actions should be the collective happiness of those affected by the action; however, Locke does not explicitly adopt this standard. The only examples he gives of intuitive moral truths are the purely formal statements, “No government allows absolute liberty,” and “Where there is no property, there is no injustice,”—neither of which evidently connects to general happiness. In terms of his view of the Law of Nature, he primarily takes it from Grotius and Pufendorf, and more distantly from the Stoics and Roman jurists.
We might give, as a fair illustration of Locke’s general conception of ethics, a system which is frequently represented as diametrically opposed to Lockism; namely, that expounded in Clarke’s Boyle lectures on the Being and Attributes of God (1704). It is true that Locke is not particularly Clarke. concerned with the ethico-theological proposition which Clarke is most anxious to maintain,—that the fundamental rules of morality are independent of arbitrary will, whether divine or human. But in his general view of ethical principles as being, like mathematical principles,29 essentially truths of relation, Clarke is quite in accordance with Locke; while of the four fundamental rules that he expounds, Piety towards God, Equity, Benevolence and Sobriety (which includes self-preservation), the first is obtained, just as Locke suggests, by “comparing the idea” of man with the idea of an infinitely good and wise being on whom he depends; and the second and third are axioms self-evident on the consideration of the equality or similarity of human individuals as such. The principle of equity—that “whatever I judge reasonable or unreasonable for another to do for me, that by the same I declare reasonable or unreasonable that I in the like case should do for him,” is merely a formal statement of the golden rule of the gospel. We may observe that, in stating the principle of benevolence, “since the greater good is always most fit and reasonable to be done, every rational creature ought to do all the good it can to its fellow-creatures,” Clarke avowedly follows Cumberland, from whom he quotes the further sentence that “universal love and benevolence is as plainly the most direct, certain and effectual means to this good as the flowing of a point is to produce a line.” The quotation may remind us that the analogy between ethics and mathematics ought to be traced further back than Locke; in fact, it results from the influence exercised by Cartesianism over English thought generally, in the latter half of the 17th century. It must be allowed that Clarke is misled by the analogy to use general ethical terms (“fitness,” “agreement” of things, &c.), which overlook the essential distinction between what is and what ought to be; and even in one or two expressions to overleap this distinction extravagantly, as (e.g.) in saying that the man who “wilfully acts contrary to justice wills things to be what they are not and cannot be.” What he really means is less paradoxically stated in the general proposition that “originally and in reality it is natural and (morally speaking) necessary that the will should be determined in every action by the reason of the thing and the right of the case, as it is natural and (absolutely speaking) necessary that the understanding should submit to a demonstrated truth.” But though it is an essential point in Clarke’s view that what is right is to be done as such, apart from any consideration of pleasure or pain, it is to be inferred that he is not prepared to apply this doctrine in its unqualified form to such a creature as man, who is partly under the influence of irrational impulses. At least when he comes to argue the need of future rewards and punishments we find that his claim on behalf of morality is startlingly reduced. He now only contends that “virtue deserves to be chosen for its own sake, and vice to be avoided, though a man was sure for his own particular neither to gain nor lose anything by the practice of either.” He fully admits that the question is altered when vice is attended by pleasure and profit to the vicious man, virtue by loss and calamity; and even that it is “not truly reasonable that men by adhering to virtue should part with their lives, 830 if thereby they deprived themselves of all possibility of receiving any advantage from their adherence.”
We could provide a good example of Locke’s overall view of ethics with a system that's often seen as completely opposed to Lockean thought; specifically, the one presented in Clarke’s Boyle lectures on the Being and Attributes of God (1704). While it's true that Locke isn't particularly focused on the ethical-theological claim that Clarke is eager to support—that the basic rules of morality are independent of arbitrary will, whether divine or human—there are key similarities in their views. Clarke aligns with Locke’s general perspective on ethical principles as being, like mathematical principles, essentially truths of relation. Among the four fundamental rules he discusses—Piety towards God, Equity, Benevolence, and Sobriety (which includes self-preservation)—the first aligns with Locke’s idea of “comparing the idea” of humans with the idea of an infinitely good and wise being they rely on. The second and third rules are self-evident axioms based on the equality or similarity of human beings in general. The principle of equity—that “whatever I judge reasonable or unreasonable for another to do for me, I likewise declare reasonable or unreasonable for myself to do for him”—is simply a formal restatement of the Golden Rule from the gospel. Interestingly, when Clarke states the principle of benevolence—“since the greater good is always the most suitable and reasonable to pursue, every rational being should do as much good as possible to others”—he explicitly follows Cumberland, quoting him to add that “universal love and benevolence is clearly the most direct, certain, and effective means to achieve this good, just as extending a point produces a line.” This quote reminds us that the comparison between ethics and mathematics goes back further than Locke; it stems from the influence of Cartesianism on English thought in the latter half of the 17th century. However, it must be acknowledged that Clarke gets sidetracked by this analogy and uses broad ethical terms like “fitness” and “agreement,” which overlook the critical difference between what is and what ought to be. In fact, he sometimes crosses this distinction in a rather extreme way, like when he claims that a person who “willfully acts against justice wants things to be what they are not and cannot be.” What he means is more clearly expressed by stating that “originally and in reality, it is natural and (morally speaking) necessary for the will to be guided in every action by the reason of the situation and the right of the matter, just as it is natural and (absolutely speaking) necessary for understanding to yield to a demonstrated truth.” While it’s critical in Clarke’s view that what is right should be done for its own sake, without considering pleasure or pain, it seems he isn't willing to apply this idea absolutely to humans, who are partly driven by irrational urges. At least when he argues the necessity of future rewards and punishments, his stance on morality appears significantly diminished. He ultimately asserts that “virtue is worth choosing for its own sake, and vice should be avoided, even if a person were certain they wouldn't gain or lose anything from either choice.” He fully recognizes that the situation changes when vice is accompanied by pleasure and profit for the immoral individual, while virtue is linked with loss and misfortune. He even acknowledges that it is “not truly reasonable for people to adhere to virtue if it means relinquishing their lives, especially if doing so cuts off any chance of gaining benefits from their adherence.”
Thus, on the whole, the impressive earnestness with which Clarke enforces the doctrine of rational morality only rendered more manifest the difficulty of establishing ethics on an independent philosophical basis; so long at least as the psychological egoism of Hobbes is not definitely assailed and overthrown. Until this is done, the utmost demonstration of the abstract reasonableness of social duty only leaves us with an irreconcilable antagonism between the view of abstract reason and the self-love which is allowed to be the root of man’s appetitive nature. Let us grant that there is as much intellectual absurdity in acting unjustly as in denying that two and two make four; still, if a man has to choose between absurdity and unhappiness, he will naturally prefer the former; and Clarke, as we have already seen, is not really prepared to maintain that such preference is irrational.30
Thus, overall, the strong seriousness with which Clarke emphasizes the idea of rational morality only highlights the challenge of establishing ethics on an independent philosophical foundation, at least as long as Hobbes' psychological egoism is not directly challenged and defeated. Until this is accomplished, the best demonstration of the logical reasonableness of social duty only leaves us with an unresolvable conflict between the perspective of abstract reason and the self-interest that is accepted as the core of human desire. Let’s acknowledge that there’s as much intellectual absurdity in acting unjustly as in denying that two plus two equals four; still, if someone has to choose between absurdity and unhappiness, they will naturally prefer the former. And as we’ve seen, Clarke is not truly prepared to argue that such a preference is irrational.30
It remains to try another psychological basis for ethical construction; instead of presenting the principle of social duty as abstract reason, liable to conflict to any extent with natural self-love, we may try to exhibit the Shaftesbury. naturalness of man’s social affections, and demonstrate a normal harmony between these and his self-regarding impulses. This is the line of thought which Shaftesbury (1671-1713) may be said to have initiated. This theory had already been advanced by Cumberland and others, but Shaftesbury was the first to make it the cardinal point in his system; no one had yet definitely transferred the centre of ethical interest from the Reason, conceived as apprehending either abstract moral distinctions or laws of divine legislation, for the emotional impulses that prompt to social duty; no one had undertaken to distinguish clearly, by analysis of experience, the disinterested and self-regarding elements of our appetitive nature, or to prove inductively their perfect harmony. In his Inquiry concerning Virtue and Merit he begins by attacking the egoism of Hobbes, which, as we have seen, was not necessarily excluded by the doctrine of rational intuitions of duty. This interpretation, he says, would be true only if we considered man as a wholly unrelated individual. Such a being we might doubtless call “good,” if his impulses were adapted to the attainment of his own felicity. But man we must and do consider in relation to a larger system of which he forms a part, and so we call him “good” only when his impulses and dispositions are so balanced as to tend towards the good of this whole. And again we do not attribute goodness to him merely because his outward acts have beneficial results. When we speak of a man as good, we mean that his dispositions or affections are such as tend of themselves to promote the good or happiness of human society. Hobbes’s moral man, who, if let loose from governmental constraint, would straightway spread ruin among his fellows, is not what we commonly agree to call good. Moral goodness, then, in a “sensible creature” implies primarily disinterested affections, whose direct object is the good of others; but Shaftesbury does not mean (as he has been misunderstood to mean) that only such benevolent social impulses are good, and that these are always good. On the contrary, he is careful to point out, first, that immoderate social affections defeat themselves, miss their proper end, and are therefore bad; secondly, that as an individual’s good is part of the good of the whole, “self-affections” existing in a duly limited degree are morally good. Goodness, in short, consists in due combination, in just proportion, of both sorts of “affections,” tendency to promote general good being taken as the criterion of the right degrees and proportions. This being established, the main aim of Shaftesbury’s argument is to prove that the same balance of private and social affections, which tends naturally to public good, is also conducive to the happiness of the individual in whom it exists. Taking the different impulses in detail, he first shows how the individual’s happiness is promoted by developing his social affections, mental pleasures being superior to bodily, and the pleasures of benevolence the richest of all. In discussing this he distinguishes, with well-applied subtlety, between the pleasurableness of the benevolent emotions themselves, the sympathetic enjoyment of the happiness of others, and the pleasure arising from a consciousness of their love and esteem. He then exhibits the unhappiness that results from any excess of the self-regarding impulses, bodily appetite, desire of wealth, emulation, resentment, even love of life itself; and ends by dwelling on the intrinsic painfulness of all malevolence.31
It’s worth exploring a different psychological foundation for ethical development; rather than presenting the principle of social duty as an abstract reason that could conflict with natural self-love, we can try to show the naturalness of human social feelings and highlight a normal harmony between these and self-regarding impulses. This line of thought was first initiated by Shaftesbury (1671-1713). While this theory had already been proposed by Cumberland and others, Shaftesbury was the first to make it a key element of his system. No one had previously shifted the focus of ethical interest from Reason, which was viewed as understanding abstract moral distinctions or divine laws, to the emotional impulses that drive social duty. No one had taken the time to clearly analyze the disinterested and self-regarding elements of our appetitive nature or to inductively demonstrate their perfect harmony. In his Inquiry concerning Virtue and Merit, he starts by challenging Hobbes' egoism, which, as previously noted, wasn’t necessarily eliminated by the idea of rational intuitions of duty. This interpretation, he argues, would only hold true if we viewed man as a completely isolated individual. While we might label such a being as “good” if his impulses lead him to achieve personal happiness, we must consider man in relation to a larger system of which he is a part. Therefore, we designate him as “good” only when his impulses and dispositions are balanced to promote the good of the whole. Additionally, we don’t consider someone good merely because their actions have beneficial outcomes. When we say that a person is good, we mean that their dispositions or affections genuinely aim to enhance the well-being of society. Hobbes's moral individual, who, if free from governmental restrictions, would wreak havoc among others, is not what we typically define as good. Therefore, moral goodness in a “sensible creature” primarily involves unselfish affections aimed at the good of others. However, Shaftesbury does not suggest (despite misunderstandings) that only such benevolent social impulses are good or that they are always good. On the contrary, he emphasizes that excessive social affections can backfire, miss their intended goal, and hence, be bad. He also argues that because an individual’s good contributes to the greater good, “self-affections,” when properly moderated, are morally acceptable. In short, goodness comprises an appropriate balance and proportion of both types of “affections,” with the tendency to enhance the general good serving as a guideline for the right degrees and proportions. Once this is established, Shaftesbury’s main goal is to demonstrate that the same balance of private and social affections that naturally leads to public good also supports the happiness of the individual possessing it. Examining the different impulses in detail, he first illustrates how an individual’s happiness increases by cultivating social affections, as mental pleasures outweigh physical ones, and the pleasures of benevolence are the most fulfilling. In this discussion, he skillfully distinguishes between the pleasure derived from benevolent emotions themselves, the sympathetic joy from others’ happiness, and the pleasure that comes from being aware of their affection and respect. He then highlights the unhappiness stemming from excessive self-regarding impulses, including bodily desires, wealth acquisition, envy, resentment, and even the love of life itself; and concludes by emphasizing the inherent discomfort of all malevolence.31
One more special impulse remains to be noticed. We have seen that goodness of character consists in a certain harmony of self-regarding and social affections. But virtue, in Shaftesbury’s view, is something more; it implies a recognition of moral goodness and immediate preference of it for its own sake. This immediate pleasure that we take in goodness (and displeasure in its opposite) is due to a susceptibility which he calls the “reflex” or “moral” sense, and compares with our susceptibility to beauty and deformity in external things; it furnishes both an additional direct impulse to good conduct, and an additional gratification to be taken into account in the reckoning which proves the coincidence of virtue and happiness. This doctrine of the moral sense is sometimes represented as Shaftesbury’s cardinal tenet; but though characteristic and important, it is not really necessary to his main argument; it is the crown rather than the keystone of his ethical structure.
One more important idea should be highlighted. We’ve established that good character involves a balance between self-focused and social feelings. However, in Shaftesbury’s opinion, virtue goes beyond that; it means recognizing moral goodness and valuing it for its own sake. This immediate enjoyment we get from goodness (and the discomfort we feel towards its opposite) comes from a sensitivity he refers to as the “reflex” or “moral” sense, which he compares to our sensitivity to beauty and ugliness in external things. This sense provides both an extra motivation for good behavior and additional satisfaction that factors into the relationship between virtue and happiness. This concept of the moral sense is sometimes seen as Shaftesbury’s key principle; but while it’s significant and characteristic, it isn’t essential to his main argument; it serves as the finishing touch rather than the foundation of his ethical framework.
The appearance of Shaftesbury’s Characteristics (1713) marks a turning-point in the history of English ethical thought. With the generation of moralists that followed, the consideration of abstract rational principles falls into the background, and its place is taken by introspective study of the human mind, observation of the actual play of its various impulses and sentiments. This empirical psychology had not indeed been neglected by previous writers. More, among others, had imitated Descartes in a discussion of the passions, and Locke’s essay had given a still stronger impulse in the same direction; still, Shaftesbury is the first moralist who distinctly takes psychological experience as the basis of ethics. His suggestions were developed by Hutcheson into one of the most elaborate systems of moral philosophy which we possess; through Hutcheson, if not directly, they influenced Hume’s speculations, and are thus connected with later utilitarianism. Moreover, the substance of Shaftesbury’s main argument was adopted by Butler, though it could not pass the scrutiny of that powerful and cautious intellect without receiving important modifications and additions. On the other hand, the ethical optimism of Shaftesbury, rather broadly impressive than exactly reasoned, and connected as it was with a natural theology that implied the Christian scheme to be superfluous, challenged attack equally from orthodox Mandeville. divines and from cynical freethinkers. Of these latter Mandeville, the author of The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices Public Benefits (1723), was a conspicuous if not a typical specimen. He can hardly be called a “moralist”; and though it is impossible to deny him a considerable share of philosophic penetration, his anti-moral paradoxes have not even apparent coherence. He is convinced that virtue (where it is more than a mere pretence) is purely artificial; but not quite certain whether it is a useless trammel of appetites and passions that are advantageous to society, or a device creditable to the politicians who introduced it by playing upon the “pride and vanity” of the “silly creature man.” The view, however, to which he gave audacious expression, that moral regulation is something alien to the natural man, and imposed on him from without, seems to have been very current in the polite society of his time, as we learn both from Berkeley’s Alciphron and from Butler’s more famous sermons.
The release of Shaftesbury’s Characteristics (1713) marks a key moment in the evolution of English ethical thinking. With the next generation of moralists, the focus shifts away from abstract rational principles and towards an introspective analysis of the human mind, examining the actual interaction of its different drives and feelings. This empirical psychology wasn’t entirely overlooked by earlier writers. More, among others, had followed Descartes in discussing passions, and Locke’s essay further pushed in that direction. Still, Shaftesbury is the first moralist who clearly bases ethics on psychological experience. His ideas were expanded by Hutcheson into one of the most detailed systems of moral philosophy we have; through Hutcheson, if not directly, they influenced Hume’s thoughts, linking them to later utilitarianism. Additionally, the core of Shaftesbury’s main argument was taken up by Butler, although that powerful and careful mind modified and added important elements to it. On the other hand, Shaftesbury’s broad ethical optimism, which was more impressive than precisely argued and tied to a natural theology that suggested Christianity was unnecessary, drew criticism from both orthodox divines and cynical freethinkers. One notable example of the latter was Mandeville, the author of The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vices Public Benefits (1723). He can hardly be labeled a “moralist”; and although he undeniably shows considerable philosophical insight, his anti-moral paradoxes lack even apparent coherence. He believes that true virtue is entirely artificial but is uncertain whether it is a useless constraint on appetites and passions that benefit society, or a clever tactic employed by politicians to play on the “pride and vanity” of the “silly creature man.” However, his bold claim that moral regulation is something foreign to human nature and imposed externally seems to have been quite common in the polite society of his time, as shown by both Berkeley’s Alciphron and Butler’s more well-known sermons.
The view of “human nature” against which Butler preached was not exactly Mandeville’s, nor was it properly to be called 831 Hobbist, although Butler fairly treats it as having a philosophical basis in Hobbes’s psychology. It was, so to say, Butler. Hobbism turned inside out,—rendered licentious and anarchical instead of constructive. Hobbes had said “the natural state of man is non-moral, unregulated; moral rules are means to the end of peace, which is a means to the end of self-preservation.” On this view morality, though dependent for its actuality on the social compact which establishes government, is actually binding on man as a reasonable being. But the quasi-theistic assumption that what is natural must be reasonable remained in the minds of Hobbes’s most docile readers, and in combination with his thesis that egoism is natural, tended to produce results which were dangerous to social well-being. To meet this view Butler does not content himself, as is sometimes carelessly supposed, with insisting on the natural claim to authority of the conscience which his opponent repudiated as artificial; he adds a subtle and effective argument ad hominem. He first follows Shaftesbury in exhibiting the social affections as no less natural than the appetites and desires which tend directly to self-preservation; then reviving the Stoic view of the prima naturae, the first objects of natural appetites, he argues that pleasure is not the primary aim even of the impulses which Shaftesbury allowed to be “self-affections”; but rather a result which follows upon their attaining their natural ends. We have, in fact, to distinguish self-love, the “general desire that every man hath of his own happiness” or pleasure, from the particular affections, passions, and appetites directed towards objects other than pleasure, in the satisfaction of which pleasure consists. The latter are “necessarily presupposed” as distinct impulses in “the very idea of an interested pursuit”; since, if there were no such pre-existing desires, there would be no pleasure for self-love to aim at. Thus the object of hunger is not the pleasure of eating but food; hunger is therefore, strictly speaking, no more “interested” than benevolence; granting that the pleasures of the table are an important element in the happiness at which self-love aims, the same at least may be said for the pleasures of love and sympathy. Further, so far from bodily appetites (or other particular desires) being forms of self-love, there is no one of them which under certain circumstances may not come into conflict with it. Indeed, it is common for men to sacrifice to passion what they know to be their true interests; at the same time we do not consider such conduct “natural” in man as a rational being; we rather regard it as natural for him to govern his transient impulses. Thus the notion of natural unregulated egoism turns out to be a psychological chimera. Indeed, we may say that an egoist must be doubly self-regulative, since rational self-love ought to restrain not only other impulses, but itself also; for as happiness is made up of feelings that result from the satisfaction of impulses other than self-love, any over-development of the latter, enfeebling these other impulses, must proportionally diminish the happiness at which self-love aims. If, then, it be admitted that human impulses are naturally under government, the natural claim of conscience or the moral faculty to be the supreme governor will hardly be denied.
The view of "human nature" that Butler criticized wasn't exactly Mandeville’s, nor was it strictly Hobbesian, although Butler acknowledges its philosophical roots in Hobbes’s psychology. It was, in a way, Hobbes’s ideas flipped upside down—turned into something reckless and chaotic instead of constructive. Hobbes had stated that "the natural state of man is non-moral and unregulated; moral rules are tools for achieving peace, which serves the purpose of self-preservation." From this perspective, morality, while reliant on the social agreement that forms governance, is still binding on humans as rational beings. However, the almost theistic belief that what is natural must be reasonable lingered in the minds of Hobbes’s most compliant readers, and combined with his belief that egoism is natural, it tended to create outcomes that were harmful to society. To counter this viewpoint, Butler goes beyond simply asserting the natural validity of conscience as authority—which his opponent dismissed as artificial; he also employs a clever and effective argument ad hominem. He first aligns with Shaftesbury in showing that social feelings are just as natural as the impulses and desires that drive self-preservation; then, by reviving the Stoic view of the **prima naturae**, the basic objects of natural desires, he argues that pleasure isn't the primary goal even of the urges that Shaftesbury referred to as "self-affections"; rather, it's a result that comes after achieving their natural objectives. In fact, we need to differentiate self-love, the "general desire that everyone has for their own happiness" or pleasure, from specific feelings, passions, and desires aimed at things beyond pleasure, in which pleasure actually resides. The latter are "necessarily presupposed" as separate impulses in "the very idea of an interested pursuit"; because if there weren't such pre-existing desires, there would be no pleasure for self-love to strive for. Thus, the goal of hunger isn't the pleasure of eating but food; hunger is therefore not, strictly speaking, any more "interested" than benevolence. While the pleasures of food are a significant part of the happiness sought by self-love, the same can be said for the pleasures of love and empathy. Moreover, rather than bodily impulses (or any specific desires) being forms of self-love, none of them can universally conflict with it under certain circumstances. It's common for people to sacrifice their true interests to passion; yet, we don’t consider such behavior “natural” in a rational being; we see it as more natural for someone to manage their fleeting impulses. Consequently, the idea of natural, unregulated egoism proves to be a psychological illusion. In fact, we can argue that an egoist needs to self-regulate even more, since rational self-love should not only control other impulses but itself as well; because happiness consists of feelings arising from the fulfillment of desires beyond self-love, any excessive focus on self-love, which weakens these other impulses, must proportionally decrease the happiness that self-love seeks. If it’s accepted that human impulses are naturally governed, then the inherent authority of conscience or the moral faculty as the highest authority is unlikely to be disputed.
But has not self-love also, by Butler’s own account, a similar authority, which may come into conflict with that of conscience? Butler fully admits this, and, in fact, grounds on it an important criticism of Shaftesbury. We have seen that in the latter’s system the “moral sense” is not absolutely required, or at least is necessary only as a substitute for enlightened self-regard; since if the harmony between prudence and virtue, self-regarding and social impulses, is complete, mere self-interest will prompt a duly enlightened mind to maintain precisely that “balance” of affections in which goodness consists. But to Butler’s more cautious mind the completeness of this harmony did not seem sufficiently demonstrable to be taken as a basis of moral teaching; he has at least to contemplate the possibility of a man being convinced of the opposite; and he argues that unless we regard conscience as essentially authoritative—which is not implied in the term “moral sense”—such a man is really bound to be vicious; “since interest, one’s own happiness, is a manifest obligation.” Still on this view, even if the authority of conscience be asserted, we seem reduced to an ultimate dualism of our rational nature. Butler’s ordered polity of impulses turns out to be a polity with two independent governments. Butler does not deny this, so far as mere claim to authority is concerned;32 but he maintains that, the dictates of conscience being clear and certain, while the calculations of self-interest lead to merely probable conclusions, it can never be practically reasonable to disobey the former, even apart from any proof which religion may furnish of the absolute coincidence of the two in a future life.
But doesn't self-love, as Butler himself points out, also hold a similar authority that might clash with that of conscience? Butler acknowledges this and actually uses it to critique Shaftesbury. We've noted that in Shaftesbury's system, the "moral sense" isn't strictly necessary, or at least is only needed as a stand-in for enlightened self-interest; because if there is perfect harmony between prudence and virtue, between self-directed and social impulses, self-interest alone will drive a well-informed person to maintain the exact "balance" of feelings that defines goodness. However, for Butler, this complete harmony doesn’t seem adequately proven to serve as a foundation for moral teaching; he must at least consider the chance that someone could think otherwise; and he argues that unless we see conscience as fundamentally authoritative—which isn't implied by the term "moral sense"—that person is truly destined to be immoral; “since interest, one’s own happiness, is a clear obligation.” Even with this perspective, even if we assert the authority of conscience, we appear to end up with a fundamental dualism in our rational nature. Butler’s structured system of impulses turns out to be a system with two independent authorities. He doesn't deny this, at least regarding claims to authority; but he insists that, since the commands of conscience are clear and definite, while the calculations of self-interest only lead to likely conclusions, it can never be practically reasonable to ignore the former, even without any evidence that religion may provide regarding their absolute alignment in an afterlife.
This dualism of governing principles, conscience and self-love, in Butler’s system, and perhaps, too, his revival of the Platonic conception of human nature as an ordered and governed community of impulses, is perhaps most nearly anticipated Wollaston. in Wollaston’s Religion of Nature Delineated (1722). Here, for the first time, we find “moral good” and “natural good” or “happiness” treated separately as two essentially distinct objects of rational pursuit and investigation; the harmony between them being regarded as matter of religious faith, not moral knowledge. Wollaston’s theory of moral evil as consisting in the practical contradiction of a true proposition, closely resembles the most paradoxical part of Clarke’s doctrine, and was not likely to approve itself to the strong common sense of Butler; but his statement of happiness or pleasure as a “justly desirable” end at which every rational being “ought” to aim corresponds exactly to Butler’s conception of self-love as a naturally governing impulse; while the “moral arithmetic” with which he compares pleasures and pains, and endeavours to make the notion of happiness quantitatively precise, is an anticipation of Benthamism.
This duality of guiding principles, conscience and self-love, in Butler's framework, and possibly his revival of the Platonic idea of human nature as an organized and governed set of impulses, is most closely foreshadowed in Wollaston’s Religion of Nature Delineated (1722). Here, for the first time, we see "moral good" and "natural good" or "happiness" addressed separately as two fundamentally distinct goals of rational pursuit and inquiry; their harmony is viewed as a matter of religious belief rather than moral understanding. Wollaston’s idea of moral evil as a practical contradiction of a true statement closely resembles the most paradoxical part of Clarke’s doctrine and probably wouldn’t sit well with Butler's strong common sense; however, his description of happiness or pleasure as a “justly desirable” goal that every rational being “ought” to pursue aligns perfectly with Butler’s view of self-love as a naturally governing desire. Meanwhile, the "moral arithmetic" he uses to weigh pleasures and pains and aims to quantify the concept of happiness is a precursor to Benthamism.
There is another side of Shaftesbury’s harmony which Butler was ultimately led to oppose in a more decided manner,—the opposition, namely, between conscience or the moral sense and the social affections. In the Sermons, indeed (1729), Butler seems to treat conscience and calm benevolence as permanently allied though distinct principles, but in the Dissertation on Virtue, appended to the Analogy (1739), he maintains that the conduct dictated by conscience will often differ widely from that to which mere regard for the production of happiness would prompt. We may take this latter treatise as representing the first in the development of English ethics, at which what were afterwards called “utilitarian” and “intuitional” morality were first formally opposed; in earlier systems the antithesis is quite latent, as we have incidentally noticed in the case of Cumberland and Clarke. The argument in Butler’s dissertation was probably Hutcheson. directed chiefly against Hutcheson, who in his Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue had definitely identified virtue with benevolence. The identification is slightly qualified in Hutcheson’s posthumously published System of Moral Philosophy (1755), in which the general view of Shaftesbury is more fully developed, with several new psychological distinctions, including Butler’s separation of “calm” benevolence—as well as, after Butler, “calm self-love”—from the “turbulent” passions, selfish or social. Hutcheson follows Butler again in laying stress on the regulating and controlling function of the moral sense; but he still regards “kind affections” as the principal objects of moral approbation—the “calm” and “extensive” affections being preferred to the turbulent and narrow—together with the desire and love of moral excellence which is ranked with universal benevolence, the two being equally worthy and necessarily harmonious. Only in a secondary sense is approval due to certain “abilities and dispositions immediately connected with virtuous affections,” as candour, veracity, fortitude, sense of honour; while in a lower grade still are placed sciences and arts, along with even bodily skills and gifts; indeed, the approbation we give to these is not strictly moral, but is referred to the “sense of decency or dignity,” which (as well as the sense of honour) is to be distinguished from 832 the moral sense. Calm self-love Hutcheson regards as morally indifferent; though he enters into a careful analysis of the elements of happiness,33 in order to show that a true regard for private interest always coincides with the moral sense and with benevolence. While thus maintaining Shaftesbury’s “harmony” between public and private good, Hutcheson is still more careful to establish the strict disinterestedness of benevolent affections. Shaftesbury had conclusively shown that these were not in the vulgar sense selfish; but the very stress which he lays on the pleasure inseparable from their exercise suggests a subtle egoistic theory which he does not expressly exclude, since it may be said that this “intrinsic reward” constitutes the real motive of the benevolent man. To this Hutcheson replies that no doubt the exquisite delight of the emotion of love is a motive to sustain and develop it; but this pleasure cannot be directly obtained, any more than other pleasures, by merely desiring it; it can be sought only by the indirect method of cultivating and indulging the disinterested desire for others’ good, which is thus obviously distinct from the desire for the pleasure of benevolence. He points to the fact that the imminence of death often intensifies instead of diminishing a man’s desire for the welfare of those he loves, as a crucial experiment proving the disinterestedness of love; adding, as confirmatory evidence, that the sympathy and admiration commonly felt for self-sacrifice depends on the belief that it is something different from refined self-seeking.
There’s another aspect of Shaftesbury’s harmony that Butler ended up opposing more decisively—the conflict between conscience or the moral sense and social affections. In the Sermons (1729), Butler seems to treat conscience and calm benevolence as two distinct but permanently allied principles. However, in the Dissertation on Virtue, which is included in the Analogy (1739), he argues that the actions guided by conscience often differ significantly from those prompted by a mere focus on creating happiness. We can view this latter work as a key moment in the evolution of English ethics, where what later came to be known as “utilitarian” and “intuitional” morality were formally opposed for the first time; earlier systems hid this contrast, as we’ve noticed in the cases of Cumberland and Clarke. The discussion in Butler’s dissertation was likely aimed primarily at Hutcheson, who in his Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue had clearly linked virtue with benevolence. This connection is somewhat modified in Hutcheson’s posthumously published System of Moral Philosophy (1755), where Shaftesbury's general ideas are further elaborated, introducing several new psychological distinctions, including Butler’s separation of “calm” benevolence—and, after Butler, “calm self-love”—from the “turbulent” passions, whether selfish or social. Hutcheson again follows Butler in emphasizing the regulating and controlling role of the moral sense, but he still views “kind affections” as the main targets of moral approval—the “calm” and “extensive” affections being favored over the turbulent and narrow ones—along with the desire and love for moral excellence, which are considered on par with universal benevolence, with both seen as equally valuable and inherently harmonious. Approval is only secondarily awarded to certain “abilities and dispositions immediately linked with virtuous affections,” like candor, honesty, courage, and a sense of honor; in an even lower category are placed the sciences and arts, along with physical skills and talents; indeed, the approval given to these is not strictly moral but relates to a “sense of decency or dignity,” which (along with the sense of honor) should be distinguished from the moral sense. Hutcheson sees calm self-love as morally neutral, though he thoroughly analyzes the components of happiness to demonstrate that a true concern for personal interest always aligns with the moral sense and benevolence. While he supports Shaftesbury’s “harmony” between the public good and private interests, Hutcheson is also careful to emphasize the strict selflessness of benevolent affections. Shaftesbury convincingly showed that these are not selfish in a common sense; however, the emphasis he places on the enjoyment that comes from practicing them hints at a subtle egoistic theory that he doesn’t outright reject, as one could argue that this “intrinsic reward” serves as the actual motivation for a benevolent person. In response, Hutcheson agrees that the deep joy from the feeling of love motivates sustaining and growing that love; nevertheless, this pleasure cannot be directly accessed, just like other pleasures, merely by wanting it; it can only be pursued through the indirect approach of nurturing and indulging the selfless desire for others' well-being, which is clearly different from the desire for the pleasure that comes from being benevolent. He points out that the nearness of death often heightens, rather than diminishes, a person's desire for the welfare of those they care about, as a critical test proving the selflessness of love; he adds that the sympathy and admiration typically felt for self-sacrifice rest on the belief that it is something distinct from refined self-interest.
It remains to consider how, from the doctrine that affection is the proper object of approbation, we are to deduce moral rules or “natural laws” prescribing or prohibiting outward acts. It is obvious that all actions conducive to the general good will deserve our highest approbation if done from disinterested benevolence; but how if they are not so done? In answering this question, Hutcheson avails himself of the scholastic distinction between “material” and “formal” goodness. “An action,” he says, “is materially good when in fact it tends to the interest of the system, so far as we can judge of its tendency, or to the good of some part consistent with that of the system, whatever were the affections of the agent. An action is formally good when it flowed from good affection in a just proportion.” On the pivot of this distinction Hutcheson turns round from the point of view of Shaftesbury to that of later utilitarianism. As regards “material” goodness of actions, he adopts explicitly and unreservedly the formula afterwards taken as fundamental by Bentham; holding that “that action is best which procures the greatest happiness for the greatest numbers, and the worst which in a like manner occasions misery.” Accordingly his treatment of external rights and duties, though decidedly inferior in methodical clearness and precision, does not differ in principle from that of Paley or Bentham, except that he lays greater stress on the immediate conduciveness of actions to the happiness of individuals, and more often refers in a merely supplementary or restrictive way to their tendencies in respect of general happiness. It may be noticed, too, that he still accepts the “social compact” as the natural mode of constituting government, and regards the obligations of subjects to civil obedience as normally dependent on a tacit contract; though he is careful to state that consent is not absolutely necessary to the just establishment of beneficent government, nor the source of irrevocable obligation to a pernicious one.
It’s necessary to think about how, from the idea that affection is the appropriate object of approval, we can derive moral rules or "natural laws" that dictate what actions to take or avoid. It's clear that all actions that contribute to the greater good should earn our highest praise if they come from selfless goodwill; but what if they don't? In addressing this question, Hutcheson uses the philosophical distinction between "material" and "formal" goodness. "An action," he states, "is materially good when it actually benefits the system, based on our understanding of its effects, or the good of a part that aligns with the system, regardless of the agent's feelings. An action is formally good when it stems from a good intention in the right proportion." With this distinction, Hutcheson shifts from the perspective of Shaftesbury to that of later utilitarianism. Regarding the "material" goodness of actions, he fully embraces the principle later adopted by Bentham; he believes that "the best action is the one that produces the greatest happiness for the largest number of people, and the worst is the one that similarly causes suffering." Therefore, his analysis of external rights and duties, although notably lacking in systematic clarity and precision, does not fundamentally differ from that of Paley or Bentham, except that he places more emphasis on how actions directly contribute to individual happiness and less frequently refers to their impact on overall happiness in a supplementary or restrictive manner. It’s also worth noting that he still accepts the "social compact" as the natural way to form a government and views the obligations of citizens to follow the law as typically based on an unspoken agreement; however, he carefully points out that consent is not absolutely required for the rightful establishment of a beneficial government, nor is it the source of an unbreakable obligation to a harmful one.
An important step further in political utilitarianism was taken by Hume in his Treatise on Human Nature (1739). Hume concedes that a compact is the natural means of peacefully instituting a new government, and may therefore be properly regarded as the ground of allegiance to it at the Hume. outset; but he urges that, when once it is firmly established the duty of obeying it rests on precisely the same combination of private and general interests as the duty of keeping promises; it is therefore absurd to base the former on the latter. Justice, veracity, fidelity to compacts and to governments, are all co-ordinate; they are all “artificial” virtues, due to civilization, and not belonging to man in his “ruder and more natural” condition; our approbation of all alike is founded on our perception of their useful consequences. It is this last position that constitutes the fundamental difference between Hutcheson’s ethical doctrine and Hume’s.34 The former, while accepting utility as the criterion of “material goodness,” had adhered to Shaftesbury’s view that dispositions, not results of action, were the proper object of moral approval; at the same time, while giving to benevolence the first place in his account of personal merit, he had shrunk from the paradox of treating it as the sole virtue, and had added a rather undefined and unexplained train of qualities,—veracity, fortitude, activity, industry, sagacity,—immediately approved in various degrees by the “moral sense” or the “sense of dignity.” This naturally suggested to a mind like Hume’s, anxious to apply the experimental method to psychology, the problem of reducing these different elements of personal merit—or rather our approval of them—to some common principle. The old theory that referred this approval entirely to self-love, is, he holds, easy to disprove by “crucial experiments” on the play of our moral sentiments; rejecting this, he finds the required explanation in the sympathetic pleasure that attends our perception of the conduciveness of virtue to the interests of human beings other than ourselves. He endeavours to establish this inductively by a survey of the qualities, commonly praised as virtues, which he finds to be always either useful or immediately agreeable, either (1) to the virtuous agent himself or (2) to others. In class (2) he includes, besides the Benevolence of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, the useful virtues, Justice, Veracity and Fidelity to compacts; as well as such immediately agreeable qualities as politeness, wit, modesty and even cleanliness. The most original part of his discussion, however, is concerned with qualities immediately useful to their possessor. The most cynical man of the world, he says, with whatever “sullen incredulity” he may repudiate virtue as a hollow pretence, cannot really refuse his approbation to “discretion, caution, enterprise, industry, frugality, economy, good sense, prudence, discernment”; nor again, to “temperance, sobriety, patience, perseverance, considerateness, secrecy, order, insinuation, address, presence of mind, quickness of conception, facility of expression.” It is evident that the merit of these qualities in our eyes is chiefly due to our perception of their tendency to serve the person possessed of them; so that the cynic in praising them is really exhibiting the unselfish sympathy of which he doubts the existence. Hume admits the difficulty that arises, especially in the case of the “artificial” virtues, such as justice, &c., from the undeniable fact that we praise them and blame their opposites without consciously reflecting on useful or pernicious consequences; but considers that this may be explained as an effect of “education and acquired habits.”35
An important advance in political utilitarianism was made by Hume in his Treatise on Human Nature (1739). Hume acknowledges that a compact is the natural way to peacefully establish a new government and can be rightfully seen as the basis for loyalty to it at the start; however, he argues that, once a government is firmly established, the obligation to obey it relies on the same mix of private and general interests as the duty to keep promises; thus, it is unreasonable to base the former on the latter. Justice, truthfulness, and fidelity to agreements and governments are all on the same level; they are all "artificial" virtues that arise from civilization and do not belong to humans in their "rougher and more natural" state; our approval of all these virtues is based on our understanding of their beneficial outcomes. This last point highlights the fundamental difference between Hutcheson’s ethical views and Hume’s. Hutcheson, while accepting utility as the measure of "material goodness," held on to Shaftesbury’s belief that dispositions, rather than the outcomes of actions, should be the focus of moral approval; at the same time, although he positioned benevolence at the top of his list of personal merits, he hesitated to treat it as the only virtue and added a somewhat vague and unexplained list of qualities—truthfulness, courage, activity, diligence, wisdom—that are approved to varying extents by the "moral sense" or the "sense of dignity." This naturally led a mind like Hume’s, eager to apply the experimental method to psychology, to the challenge of identifying a common principle underlying these various aspects of personal merit—or rather, our approval of them. The old theory that attributed this approval entirely to self-interest, he believes, is easy to disprove through "crucial experiments" on our moral sentiments; rejecting this, he finds the necessary explanation in the sympathetic pleasure that comes from recognizing how virtue benefits people other than ourselves. He tries to establish this through an examination of the qualities commonly praised as virtues, which he finds are always either useful or immediately pleasing, either (1) to the virtuous person themselves or (2) to others. In class (2), he includes, alongside the benevolence of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, useful virtues like justice, truthfulness, and fidelity to agreements, as well as immediately agreeable traits like politeness, humor, modesty, and even cleanliness. However, the most original part of his discussion focuses on qualities that are immediately useful to their possessor. The most cynical person, he states, no matter how much “sullen incredulity” they may show toward virtue as a hollow pretense, cannot genuinely deny their approval of "discretion, caution, initiative, hard work, thrift, common sense, prudence, insight"; nor can they deny it regarding "self-control, sobriety, patience, persistence, thoughtfulness, confidentiality, organization, subtlety, quick thinking, and eloquence." It is clear that we primarily appreciate the merit of these qualities because we recognize their tendency to benefit the person who possesses them; thus, when the cynic praises them, they are actually demonstrating the unselfish empathy they doubt exists. Hume acknowledges the difficulty that arises, especially with "artificial" virtues like justice, from the undeniable reality that we praise them and criticize their opposites without consciously considering beneficial or harmful effects; however, he suggests that this can be explained as a result of "education and acquired habits."
So far the moral faculty has been considered as contemplative rather than active; and this, indeed, is the point of view from which Hume mainly regards it. If we ask what actual motive we have for virtuous conduct, Hume’s answer is not quite clear. On the one hand, he speaks of moral approbation as derived from “humanity and benevolence,” while expressly recognizing, after Butler, that there is a strictly disinterested element in our benevolent impulses (as also in hunger, thirst, love of fame and other passions). On the other hand, he does not seem to think that moral sentiment or “taste” can “become a motive to action,” except as it “gives pleasure or pain, and thereby constitutes happiness or misery.” It is difficult to make these views quite consistent; but at any rate Hume emphatically maintains that “reason is no motive to action,” except so far as it “directs the impulse received from appetite or inclination”; 833 and recognizes—in his later treatise at least—no “obligation” to virtue, except that of the agent’s interest or happiness. He attempts, however, to show, in a summary way, that all the duties which his moral theory recommends are also “the true interest of the individual,”—taking into account the importance to his happiness of “peaceful reflection on one’s own conduct.”
So far, the moral faculty has been seen as more about thinking than doing; and this is mainly how Hume views it. If we ask what motivates us to act virtuously, Hume's answer isn’t very clear. On one side, he talks about moral approval coming from "humanity and benevolence," while also acknowledging, like Butler, that there’s a completely selfless part to our benevolent impulses (much like hunger, thirst, the desire for fame, and other passions). On the other side, he doesn’t seem to believe that moral feelings or "taste" can "become a motive to action," unless they "bring pleasure or pain, and hence create happiness or misery." It’s tricky to make these views totally consistent; but in any case, Hume strongly argues that “reason is no motive to action,” except in the way it “guides the impulse we get from appetite or inclination”; 833 and acknowledges—in his later work at least—no "obligation" to virtue, beyond the agent’s own interest or happiness. He does, however, try to show, in a brief way, that all the duties his moral theory supports are also “the true interest of the individual,” considering how important “peaceful reflection on one’s own conduct” is for their happiness.
But even if we consider the moral consciousness merely as a particular kind of pleasurable emotion, there is an obvious question suggested by Hume’s theory, to which he gives no adequate answer. If the essence of “moral taste” is sympathy with the pleasure of others, why is not this specific feeling excited by other things beside virtue that tend to cause such pleasure? On this point Hume contents himself with the vague remark that “there are a numerous set of passions and sentiments, of which thinking rational beings are by the original constitution of nature the only proper objects.” The truth is, that Hume’s notion of moral approbation was very loose, as is sufficiently shown by the list of “useful and agreeable” qualities which he considers worthy of approbation.36 It is therefore hardly surprising that his theory should leave the specific quality of the moral sentiments a fact still needing to be explained. An original and ingenious solution of this problem was offered by his contemporary Adam Smith, in his Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759). Adam Smith. Without denying the actuality or importance of that sympathetic pleasure in the perceived or inferred effects of virtues and vices he yet holds that the essential part of common moral sentiment is constituted rather by a more direct sympathy with the impulses that prompt to action or expression. The spontaneous play of this sympathy he treats as an original and inexplicable fact of human nature, but he considers that its action is powerfully sustained by the pleasure that each man finds in the accord of his feelings with another’s. By means of this primary element, compounded in various ways, Adam Smith explains all the phenomena of the moral consciousness. He takes first the semi-moral notion of “propriety” or “decorum,” and endeavours to show inductively that our application of this notion to the social behaviour of another is determined by our degree of sympathy with the feeling expressed in such behaviour. Thus the prescriptions of good taste in the expression of feeling may be summed up in the principle, “reduce or raise the expression to that with which spectators will sympathize.” When the effort to restrain feeling is exhibited in a degree which surprises as well as pleases, it excites admiration as a virtue or excellence; such excellences Adam Smith quaintly calls the “awful and respectable,” contrasting them with the “amiable virtues” which consist in the opposite effort to sympathize, when exhibited in a remarkable degree. From the sentiments of propriety and admiration we proceed to the sense of merit and demerit. Here a more complex phenomenon presents itself for analysis; we have to distinguish in the sense of merit—(1) a direct sympathy with the sentiments of the agent, and (2) an indirect sympathy with the gratitude of those who receive the benefit of his actions. In the case of demerit there is a direct antipathy to the feelings of the misdoer, but the chief sentiment excited is sympathy with those injured by the misdeed. The object of this sympathetic resentment, impelling us to punish, is what we call injustice; and thus the remarkable stringency of the obligation to act justly is explained since the recognition of any action as unjust involves the admission that it may be forcibly obstructed or punished. Moral judgments, then, are expressions of the complex normal sympathy of an impartial spectator with the active impulses that prompt to and result from actions. In the case of our own conduct what we call conscience is really sympathy with the feelings of an imaginary impartial spectator.
But even if we think of moral awareness just as a particular type of pleasurable emotion, there's a clear question raised by Hume’s theory that he doesn’t adequately answer. If the essence of “moral taste” is empathy for the happiness of others, why isn’t this specific feeling triggered by other things besides virtue that can also create such pleasure? On this issue, Hume settles for the vague statement that “there are a numerous set of passions and sentiments, of which thinking rational beings are by the original constitution of nature the only proper objects.” The truth is, Hume’s idea of moral approval was quite loose, as shown by the list of “useful and agreeable” traits he considers deserving of approval. It’s therefore not surprising that his theory leaves the specific quality of moral sentiments still needing explanation. An original and clever solution to this problem was proposed by his contemporary Adam Smith in his Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759). Adam Smith. Without denying the reality or importance of that sympathetic pleasure in observing or inferring the effects of virtues and vices, he argues that the core of common moral sentiment is actually formed by a more direct empathy with the impulses that lead to actions or expressions. He views this natural response of empathy as an original and inexplicable aspect of human nature but believes its operation is strongly supported by the pleasure each person finds in their feelings aligning with someone else’s. Through this fundamental element, combined in different ways, Adam Smith explains all the phenomena of moral consciousness. He starts with the semi-moral idea of “propriety” or “decorum” and tries to demonstrate inductively that our application of this concept to someone else's social behavior is influenced by how much we empathize with the feelings expressed in that behavior. Therefore, the guidelines for good taste in expressing feelings can be summed up with the principle, “adjust the expression to whatever resonates with observers.” When the effort to control feelings is shown in a way that surprises and pleases, it inspires admiration as a virtue or excellence; these excellences are what Adam Smith charmingly calls the “awful and respectable,” in contrast to the “amiable virtues” that arise from the opposite effort to empathize, especially when displayed in an extraordinary way. From the feelings of propriety and admiration, we move on to the sense of merit and demerit. Here, a more complex phenomenon needs analysis; we have to distinguish in the sense of merit—(1) a direct empathy with the agent’s emotions, and (2) an indirect empathy with the gratitude of those who benefit from his actions. In the case of demerit, there is a direct aversion to the feelings of the wrongdoer, but the primary feeling triggered is empathy with those harmed by the wrongdoing. The focus of this empathetic resentment, which drives us to punish, is what we call injustice; thus, the strong obligation to act justly is explained since recognizing any action as unjust implies acknowledging that it can be forcibly prevented or punished. Moral judgments, then, are expressions of the complex normal empathy of an impartial observer with the active impulses that lead to and result from actions. In terms of our own behavior, what we call conscience is really empathy with the feelings of an imaginary impartial observer.
Adam Smith gives authority to his moral system by saying that “moral principles are justly to be regarded as the laws of the Deity”; but this he never proves. So Hume insists emphatically on the “reality of moral obligation”; but is found to mean no more by this than the real existence of the likes and dislikes that human beings feel for each other’s qualities. The fact is that amid the analysis of feelings aroused by the sentimentalism of Shaftesbury’s school, the fundamental questions “What is right?” and “Why?” had been allowed to drop into the background, and the consequent danger to morality was manifest. The binding force of moral rules becomes evanescent if we admit, with Hutcheson, that the “sense” of them may properly vary from man to man as the palate does; and it seems only another way of putting Hume’s doctrine, that reason is not concerned with the ends of action, to say that the mere existence of a moral sentiment is in itself no reason for obeying it. A reaction, in one form or another, against the tendency to dissolve ethics into psychology was inevitable; since mankind generally could not be so far absorbed by the interest of psychological hypothesis as to forget their need of establishing practical principles. It was obvious, too, that this reaction might take place in either of the two lines of thought, which, having been peacefully allied in Clarke and Cumberland, had become distinctly opposed to each other in Butler and Hutcheson. It might either fall back on the moral principles commonly accepted, and, affirming their objective validity, endeavour to exhibit them as a coherent and complete set of ultimate ethical truths; or it might take the utility or conduciveness to pleasure, to which Hume had referred for the origin of most sentiments, as an ultimate end and standard by which these sentiments might be judged and corrected. The former is the line adopted with substantial agreement by Price, Reid, Stewart and other members of the still existing Intuitional school; the latter method, with considerably more divergence of view and treatment, was employed independently and almost simultaneously by Paley and Bentham in both ethics and politics, and is at the present time widely maintained under the name of Utilitarianism.
Adam Smith gives authority to his moral system by saying that “moral principles should be seen as the laws of God,” but he never provides proof for this. Similarly, Hume strongly emphasizes the “reality of moral obligation,” but he only means the genuine feelings of likes and dislikes that people have for each other’s traits. The truth is that in the analysis of emotions sparked by the sentimentalism of Shaftesbury’s school, the essential questions “What is right?” and “Why?” had been pushed to the background, leading to clear risks for morality. The force of moral rules becomes weak if we accept, like Hutcheson, that the “sense” of them can reasonably vary from person to person, just as taste does; and it seems like another way of stating Hume’s idea that reason has no role in the goals of action, to say that the simple existence of a moral sentiment offers no justification for following it. A reaction against the trend to break down ethics into psychology was unavoidable; people generally could not be so absorbed in psychological theories that they forgot their need to establish practical principles. It was also clear that this reaction could occur in either of the two lines of thought, which, having been peacefully united in Clarke and Cumberland, had become clearly opposed in Butler and Hutcheson. It could either revert to the commonly accepted moral principles, affirming their objective validity, and attempt to present them as a coherent and complete set of fundamental ethical truths; or it could take the utility or pleasure, which Hume referenced as the source of most sentiments, as an ultimate goal and standard by which these sentiments could be evaluated and adjusted. The former path is the one taken with considerable consensus by Price, Reid, Stewart, and other members of the still-existing Intuitional school; the latter approach, with significantly more disagreement in perspective and treatment, was independently and nearly simultaneously used by Paley and Bentham in both ethics and politics, and is currently widely upheld under the name of Utilitarianism.
Price’s Review of the Chief Questions and Difficulties of Morals was published in 1757, two years before Adam Smith’s treatise. In regarding moral ideas as derived from the “intuition of truth or immediate discernment of the nature of Price. things by the understanding,” Price revives the general view of Cudworth and Clarke; but with several specific differences. Firstly, his conception of “right” and “wrong” as “single ideas” incapable of definition or analysis—the notions “right,” “fit,” “ought,” “duty,” “obligation,” being coincident or identical—at least avoids the confusions into which Clarke and Wollaston had been led by pressing the analogy between ethical and physical truth. Secondly, the emotional element of the moral consciousness, on which attention had been concentrated by Shaftesbury and his followers, though distinctly recognized as accompanying the intellectual intuition, is carefully subordinated to it. While right and wrong, in Price’s view, are “real objective qualities” of actions, moral “beauty and deformity” are subjective ideas; representing feelings which are partly the necessary effects of the perceptions of right and wrong in rational beings as such, partly due to an “implanted sense” or varying emotional susceptibility. Thus, both reason and sense of instinct co-operate in the impulse to virtuous conduct, though the rational element is primary and paramount. Price further follows Butler in distinguishing the perception of merit and demerit in agents as another accompaniment of the perception of right and wrong in actions; the former being, however, only a peculiar species of the latter, since, to perceive merit in any one is to perceive that it is right to reward him. It is to be observed that both Price and Reid are careful to state that the merit of the agent depends entirely on the intention or “formal rightness” of his act; a man is not blameworthy for unintended evil, though he may of course be blamed for any wilful neglect (cf. Arist., Eth. Nic., iii. 1), which has caused him to be ignorant of his real duty. When we turn to the subject matter of virtue, we find that Price, in comparison with More or Clarke is decidedly 834 laxer in accepting and stating his ethical first principles; chiefly owing to the new antithesis to the view of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson by which his controversial position is complicated. What Price is specially concerned to show is the existence of ultimate principles beside the principle of universal benevolence. Not that he repudiates the obligation either of rational benevolence or self-love; on the contrary, he takes more pains than Butler to demonstrate the reasonableness of either principle. “There is not anything,” he says, “of which we have more undeniably an intuitive perception, than that it is ‘right to pursue and promote happiness,’ whether for ourselves or for others.” Finally, Price, writing after the demonstration by Shaftesbury and Butler of the actuality of disinterested impulses in human nature, is bolder and clearer than Cudworth or Clarke in insisting that right actions are to be chosen because they are right by virtuous agents as such, even going so far as to lay down that an act loses its moral worth in proportion as it is done from natural inclination.
Price’s Review of the Chief Questions and Difficulties of Morals was published in 1757, two years before Adam Smith’s treatise. He views moral ideas as stemming from the “intuition of truth or immediate understanding of the nature of things,” reviving the general perspective of Cudworth and Clarke, but with several key differences. First, he sees “right” and “wrong” as “single ideas” that can’t be defined or analyzed, with concepts like “right,” “fit,” “ought,” “duty,” and “obligation” being the same—avoiding the confusions that Clarke and Wollaston encountered by drawing parallels between ethical and physical truths. Second, while he acknowledges the emotional aspect of moral awareness emphasized by Shaftesbury and his followers, he carefully places it subordinate to intellectual intuition. According to Price, right and wrong are “real objective qualities” of actions, while moral “beauty and deformity” are subjective ideas tied to feelings that stem partly from the recognition of right and wrong by rational beings and partly from an “implanted sense” or differing emotional sensitivity. Thus, both reason and instinct work together in motivating virtuous behavior, although reason is the primary factor. Price also follows Butler in distinguishing the recognition of merit and demerit in individuals as accompanying the perception of right and wrong in actions; however, merit is only a specific form of the latter, as recognizing someone’s merit means seeing that it’s right to reward them. Notably, both Price and Reid emphasize that an agent’s merit relies entirely on the intention or “formal rightness” of their actions; a person isn’t blameworthy for unintended harm, although they can be held responsible for any deliberate neglect (cf. Arist., Eth. Nic., iii. 1) that leads to ignorance of their true duty. When we examine the topic of virtue, it’s clear that Price is more lenient in accepting and articulating his ethical first principles compared to More or Clarke, largely due to the new opposition to the views of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson that complicate his stance. Price aims to demonstrate the existence of fundamental principles in addition to the principle of universal benevolence. He doesn’t reject the obligation of rational benevolence or self-love; rather, he goes to greater lengths than Butler to prove the reasonableness of both principles. “There is nothing,” he states, “of which we have more undeniable intuitive perception than that it is ‘right to pursue and promote happiness,’ whether for ourselves or for others.” Finally, following the work of Shaftesbury and Butler, who showed the reality of selfless impulses in human nature, Price is more assertive and clear than Cudworth or Clarke in declaring that right actions should be chosen simply because they are right by virtuous agents, even asserting that an act loses its moral worth the more it is done out of natural inclination.
On this latter point Reid, in his Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind (1788), states a conclusion more in harmony with common sense, only maintaining that “no act can be morally good in which regard for what is right Reid. has not some influence.” This is partly due to the fact that Reid builds more distinctly than Price on the foundation laid by Butler; especially in his acceptance of that duality of governing principles which we have noticed as a cardinal point in the latter’s doctrine. Reid considers “regard for one’s good on the whole” (Butler’s self-love) and “sense of duty” (Butler’s conscience) as two essentially distinct and co-ordinate rational principles, though naturally often comprehended under the one term, Reason. The rationality of the former principle he takes pains to explain and establish; in opposition to Hume’s doctrine that it is no part of the function of reason to determine the ends which we ought to pursue, or the preference due to one end over another. He urges that the notion of “good37 on the whole” is one which only a reasoning being can form, involving as it does abstraction from the objects of all particular desires, and comparison of past and future with present feelings; and maintains that it is a contradiction to suppose a rational being to have the notion of its Good on the Whole without a desire for it, and that such a desire must naturally regulate all particular appetites and passions. It cannot reasonably be subordinated even to the moral faculty; in fact, a man who doubts the coincidence of the two—which on religious grounds we must believe to be complete in a morally governed world—is reduced to the “miserable dilemma whether it is better to be a fool or a knave.” As regards the moral faculty itself, Reid’s statement coincides in the main with Price’s; it is both intellectual and active, not merely perceiving the “rightness” or “moral obligation” of actions (which Reid conceives as a simple unanalysable relation between act and agent), but also impelling the will to the performance of what is seen to be right. Both thinkers hold that this perception of right and wrong in actions is accompanied by a perception of merit and demerit in agents, and also by a specific emotion; but whereas Price conceives this emotion chiefly as pleasure or pain, analogous to that produced in the mind by physical beauty or deformity, Reid regards it chiefly as benevolent affection, esteem and sympathy (or their opposites), for the virtuous (or vicious) agent. This “pleasurable good-will,” when the moral judgment relates to a man’s own actions, becomes “the testimony of a good conscience—the purest and most valuable of all human enjoyments.” Reid is careful to observe that this moral faculty is not “innate” except in germ; it stands in need of “education, training, exercise (for which society is indispensable), and habit,” in order to the attainment of moral truth. He does not with Price object to its being called the “moral sense,” provided we understand by this a source not merely of feelings or notions, but of “ultimate truths.” Here he omits to notice the important question whether the premises of moral reasoning are universal or individual judgments; as to which the use of the term “sense” seems rather to suggest the second alternative. Indeed, he seems himself quite undecided on this question; since, though he generally represents ethical method as deductive, he also speaks of the “original judgment that this action is right and that wrong.”
On this latter point, Reid, in his Essays on the Active Powers of the Human Mind (1788), concludes in a way that aligns more with common sense, asserting that “no act can be morally good if regard for what is right has not some influence.” This is partly because Reid builds more explicitly than Price on the foundation laid by Butler, especially in his acceptance of the duality of governing principles that we’ve identified as a key aspect of Butler’s doctrine. Reid views “regard for one’s good overall” (Butler’s self-love) and “sense of duty” (Butler’s conscience) as two fundamentally distinct and co-equal rational principles, though they are often understood under the one term, Reason. He takes care to explain and justify the rationality of the former principle as opposed to Hume’s assertion that it is not the job of reason to determine the ends we should pursue or the preference given to one end over another. He argues that the concept of “good on the whole” is one that only a reasoning being can conceptualize, since it involves abstracting from the objects of all specific desires and comparing past and future with present feelings; he maintains that it’s contradictory to suppose that a rational being can have the notion of its Good on the Whole without a desire for it, and that such a desire must naturally guide all specific appetites and passions. It cannot reasonably be subordinated even to the moral faculty; indeed, a person who doubts the alignment of the two—which, on religious grounds, we must believe to be entirely compatible in a morally governed world—finds themselves in the “miserable dilemma of whether it is better to be a fool or a knave.” Regarding the moral faculty itself, Reid’s statement largely aligns with Price’s; it is both intellectual and active, not just recognizing the “rightness” or “moral obligation” of actions (which Reid views as a simple, unanalysable relation between act and agent), but also motivating the will to do what is seen as right. Both thinkers agree that this perception of right and wrong in actions is accompanied by a perception of merit and demerit in agents, as well as by a specific emotion; however, while Price sees this emotion primarily as pleasure or pain, similar to that evoked by physical beauty or deformity, Reid sees it mainly as benevolent affection, esteem, and sympathy (or their opposites) for the virtuous (or vicious) agent. This “pleasurable goodwill,” when the moral judgment pertains to one’s own actions, becomes “the testimony of a good conscience—the purest and most valuable of all human enjoyments.” Reid emphasizes that this moral faculty is not “innate” except in its potential; it requires “education, training, exercise (which society is essential for), and habit” to achieve moral truth. He does not, like Price, object to calling it the “moral sense,” as long as we understand it to be a source of not just feelings or notions, but of “ultimate truths.” Here, he fails to address the significant question of whether the premises of moral reasoning are universal or individual judgments; the use of the term “sense” seems to imply the latter. In fact, he appears quite uncertain on this matter; although he generally presents ethical method as deductive, he also refers to the “original judgment that this action is right and that one is wrong.”
The truth is that the construction of a scientific method of ethics is a matter of little practical moment to Reid. Thus, though he offers a list of first principles, by deduction from which these common opinions may be confirmed, he does not present it with any claim to completeness. Besides maxims relating to virtue in general,—such as (1) that there is a right and wrong in conduct, but (2) only in voluntary conduct, and that we ought (3) to take pains to learn our duty, and (4) fortify ourselves against temptations to deviate from it—Reid states five fundamental axioms. The first of these is merely the principle of rational self-love, “that we ought to prefer a greater to a lesser good, though more distinct, and a less evil to a greater,”—the mention of which seems rather inconsistent with Reid’s distinct separation of the “moral faculty” from “self-love.” The third is merely the general rule of benevolence stated in the somewhat vague Stoical formula, that “no one is born for himself only.” The fourth, again, is the merely formal principle that “right and wrong must be the same to all in all circumstances,” which belongs equally to all systems of objective morality; while the fifth prescribes the religious duty of “veneration or submission to God.” Thus, the only principle which ever appears to offer definite guidance as to social duty is the second, “that so far as the intention of nature appears in the constitution of man, we ought to act according to that intention,” the vagueness38 of which is obvious. (For Reid’s views on moral freedom see A. Bain, Mental Science, pp. 422, seq.)
The truth is that creating a scientific method of ethics isn’t a big deal for Reid. He provides a list of first principles that can help confirm common beliefs, but he doesn’t claim it’s complete. In addition to general maxims about virtue—like (1) that there is right and wrong in actions, but (2) only in voluntary actions, and that we should (3) strive to understand our duties, and (4) strengthen ourselves against temptations to stray from them—Reid lays out five basic axioms. The first is simply the principle of rational self-love: “we should prefer a greater good to a lesser one, even if the lesser is clearer, and to avoid a greater evil rather than a smaller one”—which seems a bit inconsistent with Reid’s clear distinction between the “moral faculty” and “self-love.” The third is just a general rule of kindness expressed in the somewhat vague Stoic saying, “no one is born for themselves alone.” The fourth is the straightforward principle that “right and wrong must be the same for everyone in all situations,” which applies to all systems of objective morality; while the fifth emphasizes the religious duty of “respecting or submitting to God.” Thus, the only principle that seems to provide clear guidance on social responsibility is the second: “as far as nature’s intention is evident in human constitution, we should act according to that intention,” which is obviously vague. (For Reid’s views on moral freedom see A. Bain, Mental Science, pp. 422, seq.)
A similar incompleteness in the statement of moral principles is found if we turn to Reid’s disciple, Dugald Stewart, whose Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man (1828) contains the general view of Butler and Reid, Dugald Stewart. and to some extent that of Price,—expounded with more fulness and precision, but without important original additions or modifications. Stewart lays stress on the obligation of justice as distinct from benevolence; but his definition of justice represents it as essentially impartiality,—a virtue which (as was just now said of Reid’s fourth principle) must equally find a place in the utilitarian or any other system that lays down universally applicable rules of morality. Afterwards, however, Stewart distinguishes “integrity or honesty” as a branch of justice concerned with the rights of other men, which form the subject of “natural jurisprudence.” In this department he lays down the moral axiom “that the labourer is entitled to the fruit of his own labour” as the principle on which complete rights of property are founded; maintaining that occupancy alone would only confer a transient right of possession during use. The only other principles which he discusses are veracity and fidelity to promises, gratitude being treated as a natural instinct prompting to a particular kind of just actions.
A similar lack of completeness in the statement of moral principles can be seen when we look at Reid’s student, Dugald Stewart, whose Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man (1828) presents the general ideas of Butler and Reid, Dugald Stewart. and somewhat those of Price—explained in greater detail and clarity, but without any significant original additions or changes. Stewart emphasizes the obligation of justice as separate from benevolence; however, his definition of justice essentially describes it as impartiality—a virtue that, as previously mentioned regarding Reid’s fourth principle, must also be present in utilitarian or any other system that establishes rules of morality applicable to everyone. Later on, Stewart distinguishes “integrity or honesty” as a part of justice that deals with the rights of others, which falls under “natural jurisprudence.” In this area, he states the moral principle “that the laborer deserves the fruits of his own labor” as the foundation for complete property rights, arguing that simply occupying something only grants a temporary right of possession while it's in use. The only other principles he discusses are truthfulness and keeping promises, while gratitude is seen as a natural instinct that encourages certain kinds of just actions.
It will be seen that neither Reid nor Stewart offers more than a very meagre and tentative contribution to that ethical science by which, as they maintain, the received rules of morality may be rationally deduced from self-evident Whewell. first principles. A more ambitious attempt in the same direction was made by Whewell in his Elements of Morality (1846). Whewell’s general moral view differs from that of his Scottish predecessors chiefly in a point where we may trace the influence of Kant—viz. in his rejection of self-love as an independent rational and governing principle, and his consequent refusal to admit happiness, apart from duty, as a reasonable end for 835 the individual. The moral reason, thus left in sole supremacy, is represented as enunciating five ultimate principles,—those of benevolence, justice, truth, purity and order. With a little straining these are made to correspond to five chief divisions of Jus,—personal security (benevolence being opposed to the ill-will that commonly causes personal injuries), property, contract, marriage and government; while the first, second and fourth, again, regulate respectively the three chief classes of human motives,—affections, mental desires and appetites. Thus the list, with the addition of two general principles, “earnestness” and “moral purpose,” has a certain air of systematic completeness. When, however, we look closer, we find that the principle of order, or obedience to government, is not seriously intended to imply the political absolutism which it seems to express, and which English common sense emphatically repudiates; while the formula of justice is given in the tautological or perfectly indefinite proposition “that every man ought to have his own.” Whewell, indeed, explains that this latter formula must be practically interpreted by positive law, though he inconsistently speaks as if it supplied a standard for judging laws to be right or wrong. The principle of purity, again, “that the lower parts of our nature ought to be subject to the higher,” merely particularizes that supremacy of reason over non-rational impulses which is involved in the very notion of reasoned morality. Thus, in short, if we ask for a clear and definite fundamental intuition, distinct from regard for happiness, we find really nothing in Whewell’s doctrine except the single rule of veracity (including fidelity to promises); and even of this the axiomatic character becomes evanescent on closer inspection, since it is not maintained that the rule is practically unqualified, but only that it is practically undesirable to formulate its qualifications.
It will be seen that neither Reid nor Stewart offers more than a very limited and tentative contribution to the ethical science from which, as they argue, the accepted rules of morality can be rationally derived from self-evident Whewell. first principles. A more ambitious attempt in the same direction was made by Whewell in his Elements of Morality (1846). Whewell’s overall moral perspective differs from that of his Scottish predecessors primarily in a way that shows Kant’s influence—specifically, his rejection of self-love as an independent rational guiding principle, and his subsequent refusal to consider happiness, apart from duty, as a valid goal for 835 the individual. The moral reason, thus left as the supreme authority, is described as stating five ultimate principles: benevolence, justice, truth, purity, and order. With a bit of interpretation, these are made to align with the five main areas of law: personal security (with benevolence contrasting against the hostility that usually leads to personal injuries), property, contract, marriage, and government; while the first, second, and fourth principles, in turn, regulate the three main categories of human motivations: affections, mental desires, and appetites. So, this list, along with two general principles—“earnestness” and “moral purpose”—gives off an impression of systematic completeness. However, when we examine it more closely, we find that the principle of order, or obedience to government, does not genuinely imply the political absolutism that it appears to convey, which English common sense strongly rejects; while the definition of justice is offered in the tautological or completely vague statement “that every man ought to have his own.” Indeed, Whewell explains that this latter statement must be understood practically in light of positive law, although he inconsistently suggests that it serves as a standard for evaluating laws as right or wrong. The principle of purity, again, “that the lower parts of our nature ought to be subject to the higher,” merely specifies the supremacy of reason over non-rational impulses that is inherent in the concept of reasoned morality. Thus, in summary, if we seek a clear and distinct foundational intuition, separate from the pursuit of happiness, we find that Whewell’s doctrine offers essentially only the single rule of veracity (which includes keeping promises); and even this rule’s axiomatic status fades upon closer examination, as it is not asserted that the rule is practically unqualified, but rather that it is practically undesirable to articulate its qualifications.
On the whole, it must be admitted that the doctrine of the intuitional school of the 18th and 19th centuries has been developed with less care and consistency than might have been expected, in its statement of the fundamental axioms Intuitional and utilitarian schools. or intuitively known premises of moral reasoning. And if the controversy which this school has conducted with utilitarianism had turned principally on the determination of the matter of duty, there can be little doubt that it would have been forced into more serious and systematic effort to define precisely and completely the principles and method on which we are to reason deductively to particular rules of conduct.39 But in fact the difference between intuitionists and utilitarians as to the method of determining the particulars of the moral code was complicated with a more fundamental disagreement as to the very meaning of “moral obligation.” This Paley and Bentham (after Locke) interpreted as merely the effect on the will of the pleasures or pains attached to the observance or violation of moral rules, combining with this the doctrine of Hutcheson that “general good” or “happiness” is the final end and standard of these rules; while they eliminated all vagueness from the notion of general happiness by defining it to consist in “excess of pleasure over pain”—pleasures and pains being regarded as “differing in nothing but continuance or intensity.” The utilitarian system gained an attractive air of simplicity by thus using a single perfectly clear notion—pleasure and its negative quantity pain—to answer both the fundamental questions of mortals, “What is right?” and “Why should I do it?” But since there is no logical connexion between the answers that have thus come to be considered as one doctrine, this apparent unity and simplicity has really hidden fundamental disagreements, and caused no little confusion in ethical debate.
Overall, it must be acknowledged that the teachings of the intuitional school from the 18th and 19th centuries have been developed with less care and consistency than one might expect, especially in articulating the basic principles or intuitively known premises of moral reasoning. If the debate this school has had with utilitarianism had focused primarily on defining the concept of duty, it’s likely that they would have been pushed into a more rigorous and systematic effort to clearly and completely define the principles and methods we should use to reason deductively to specific rules of conduct. However, the real difference between intuitionists and utilitarians regarding how to determine the specifics of the moral code was complicated by a deeper disagreement about what “moral obligation” actually means. Paley and Bentham (following Locke) interpreted it simply as the impact on the will of the pleasures or pains associated with either following or breaking moral rules, combining this with Hutcheson’s idea that “general good” or “happiness” is the ultimate aim and standard of these rules. They clarified the concept of general happiness by defining it as “the excess of pleasure over pain,” viewing pleasures and pains as differing only in duration or intensity. The utilitarian system gained an appealing simplicity by using a single, clear idea—pleasure, along with its opposite, pain—to address both fundamental questions of human existence: “What is right?” and “Why should I do it?” However, since there is no logical connection between the answers that have come to be viewed as a single doctrine, this apparent unity and simplicity has actually obscured fundamental disagreements and caused considerable confusion in ethical discussions.
In Paley’s Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy40 (1785), the link between general pleasure (the standard) and private pleasure or pain (the motive) is supplied by the conception of divine legislation. To be “obliged” Paley. is to be “urged by a violent motive resulting from the command of another”; in the case of moral obligation, the command proceeds from God, and the motive lies in the expectation of being rewarded and punished after this life. The commands of God are to be ascertained “from scripture and the light of nature combined.” Paley, however, holds that scripture is given less to teach morality than to illustrate it by example and enforce it by new sanctions and greater certainty, and that the light of nature makes it clear that God wills the happiness of his creatures. Hence, his method in deciding moral questions is chiefly that of estimating the tendency of actions to promote or diminish the general happiness. To meet the obvious objections to this method, based on the immediate happiness caused by admitted crimes (such as “knocking a rich villain on the head”), he lays stress on the necessity of general rules in any kind of legislation;41 while, by urging the importance of forming and maintaining good habits, he partly evades the difficulty of calculating the consequences of particular actions. In this way the utilitarian method is freed from the subversive tendencies which Butler and others had discerned in it; as used by Paley, it merely explains the current moral and jural distinctions, exhibits the obvious basis of expediency which supports most of the received rules of law and morality and furnishes a simple solution, in harmony with common sense, of some perplexing casuistical questions. Thus (e.g.) “natural rights” become rights of which the general observance would be useful apart from the institution of civil government; as distinguished from the no less binding “adventitious rights,” the utility of which depends upon this institution. Private property is in this sense “natural” from its obvious advantages in encouraging 836 labour, skill, preservative care; though actual rights of property depend on the general utility of conforming to the law of the land by which they are determined. We observe, however, that Paley’s method is often mixed with reasonings that belong to an alien and older manner of thought; as when he supports the claim of the poor to charity by referring to the intention of mankind “when they agreed to a separation of the common fund,” or when he infers that monogamy is a part of the divine design from the equal numbers of males and females born. In other cases his statement of utilitarian considerations is fragmentary and unmethodical, and tends to degenerate into loose exhortation on rather trite topics.
In Paley’s Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy40 (1785), the connection between general pleasure (the standard) and personal pleasure or pain (the motive) is established through the idea of divine legislation. To be “obliged” Paley. means to be “driven by a strong motive resulting from someone else's command”; in the case of moral obligation, the command comes from God, and the motive is based on the expectation of being rewarded or punished after this life. The commands of God should be understood “from scripture and the light of nature combined.” However, Paley believes that scripture is more for illustrating morality through examples and enforcing it with new sanctions and greater certainty, and that the light of nature makes it clear that God desires the happiness of his creations. Thus, his method for addressing moral questions primarily involves assessing how actions promote or reduce overall happiness. To counter the obvious objections to this method, based on the immediate happiness from acknowledged crimes (like “knocking a rich villain on the head”), he emphasizes the need for general rules in any type of legislation; 41 while stressing the importance of developing and maintaining good habits, he partially sidesteps the challenge of calculating the consequences of specific actions. This way, the utilitarian approach is cleared of the disruptive tendencies that Butler and others identified; as used by Paley, it simply explains the existing moral and legal distinctions, reveals the clear foundation of expediency that supports most of the established laws and moral principles, and provides a straightforward solution, aligned with common sense, to some confusing ethical questions. Therefore (e.g.) “natural rights” become rights whose general observance would be beneficial regardless of the establishment of civil government; as opposed to the equally binding “adventitious rights,” which rely on this institution. Private property is, in this sense, “natural” due to its clear benefits in encouraging 836 labor, skill, and careful preservation; though actual property rights depend on the general benefit of adhering to the laws of the land that define them. We note, however, that Paley’s method is often mixed with reasoning from an older and different way of thinking; for instance, when he supports the claim of the poor to charity by referring to the intentions of humanity “when they agreed to separate the common fund,” or when he infers that monogamy is part of divine design based on the equal numbers of males and females born. In other instances, his presentation of utilitarian thoughts is fragmented and disorganized, leading to vague encouragement on rather clichéd topics.
In unity, consistency and thoroughness of method, Bentham’s utilitarianism has a decided superiority over Paley’s. He considers actions solely in respect of their pleasurable and painful consequences, expected or actual; and he Bentham and his school. recognizes the need of making a systematic register of these consequences, free from the influences of common moral opinion, as expressed in the “eulogistic” and “dyslogistic” terms in ordinary use. Further, the effects that he estimates are all of a definite, palpable, empirically ascertainable quality; they are such pleasures and pains as most men feel and all can observe, so that all his political or moral inferences lie open at every point to the test of practical experience. Every one, it would seem, can tell what value he sets on the pleasures of alimentation, sex, the senses generally, wealth, power, curiosity, sympathy, antipathy (malevolence), the goodwill of individuals or of society at large, and on the corresponding pains, as well as the pains of labour and organic disorders;42 and can guess the rate at which they are valued by others; therefore if it be once granted that all actions are determined by pleasures and pains, and are to be tried by the same standard, the art of legislation and private conduct is apparently placed on an empirical, basis. Bentham, no doubt, seems to go beyond the limits of experience proper in recognizing “religious” pains and pleasures in his fourfold division of sanctions, side by side with the “physical,” “political,” and “moral” or “social”; but the truth is that he does not seriously take account of them, except in so far as religious hopes and fears are motives actually operating, which therefore admit of being observed and measured as much as any other motives. He does not himself use the will of an omnipotent and benevolent being as a means of logically connecting individual and general happiness. He thus undoubtedly simplifies his system, and avoids the doubtful inferences from nature and Scripture in which Paley’s position is involved; but this gain is dearly purchased. For in answer to the question that immediately arises, How then are the sanctions of the moral rules which it will most conduce to the general happiness for men to observe, shown to be always adequate in the case of all the individuals whose observance is required? he is obliged to admit that “the only interests which a man is at all times sure to find adequate motives for consulting are his own.” Indeed, in many parts of his work, in the department of legislative and constitutional theory, it is rather assumed that the interests of some men will continually conflict with those of their fellows, unless we alter the balance of prudential calculation by a readjustment of penalties. But on this assumption a system of private conduct on utilitarian principles cannot be constructed until legislative and constitutional reform has been perfected. And, in fact, “private ethics,” as conceived by Bentham, does not exactly expound such a system; but rather exhibits the coincidence, so far as it extends, between private and general happiness, in that part of each man’s conduct that lies beyond the range of useful legislation. It was not his place, as a practical philanthropist, to dwell on the defects in this coincidence;43 and since what men generally expect from a moralist is a completely reasoned account of what they ought to do, it is not surprising that some of Bentham’s disciples should have either ignored or endeavoured to supply the gap in his system. One section of the school even maintained it to be a cardinal doctrine of utilitarianism that a man always gains his own greatest happiness by promoting that of others; another section, represented by John Austin, apparently returned to Paley’s position, and treated utilitarian morality44 as a code of divine legislation; others, with Grote, are content to abate the severity of the claims made by “general happiness” on the individual, and to consider utilitarian duty as practically limited by reciprocity; while on the opposite side an unqualified subordination of private to general happiness was advocated by J.S. Mill, who did more than any other member of the school to spread and popularize utilitarianism in ethics and politics.
In terms of unity, consistency, and thoroughness of method, Bentham’s utilitarianism is clearly superior to Paley’s. He evaluates actions solely based on their pleasurable and painful consequences, whether expected or actual; and he Bentham and his followers. emphasizes the importance of systematically recording these consequences, free from typical moral biases reflected in common “good” and “bad” terms. Moreover, the effects he considers are all definite, tangible, and can be empirically verified; they involve pleasures and pains that most people experience and can observe, making his political or moral conclusions consistently open to practical scrutiny. Anyone can assess what they value regarding the pleasures of food, sex, sensory experiences, wealth, power, curiosity, empathy, hatred (malevolence), the goodwill of others or society as a whole, as well as the corresponding pains, including those from work and physical ailments;42 and can estimate how others value them as well. Therefore, if it is accepted that all actions are motivated by pleasures and pains and should be evaluated by the same criteria, the pursuit of laws and personal behavior appears to be firmly based on empirical standards. Although Bentham seems to go beyond the bounds of proper experience by acknowledging “religious” pains and pleasures in his fourfold categorization of sanctions alongside “physical,” “political,” and “moral” or “social,” he actually doesn't take them seriously except to the extent that religious hopes and fears function as real motivators that can be observed and measured like any other motives. He does not rely on the will of an all-powerful and benevolent being to logically connect individual and general happiness. This certainly simplifies his framework and helps him avoid the uncertain conclusions drawn from nature and scripture that complicate Paley’s position; however, this simplification comes at a cost. In response to the question that follows, “How are the incentives for adhering to the moral rules that best promote general happiness always adequate for every individual whose compliance is needed?” he must concede that “the only interests a person can reliably consider adequate motives are their own.” Indeed, in many parts of his work on legislative and constitutional theory, it is largely assumed that the interests of some individuals will frequently clash with those of others unless we adjust the balance of risk and reward through alterations to penalties. However, on this basis, a system of individual behavior grounded in utilitarian principles cannot be established until legislative and constitutional reforms are fully realized. In fact, Bentham’s concept of “private ethics” does not precisely outline such a system; rather, it illustrates the overlap, to the extent that it exists, between private and common happiness in areas of each person’s behavior that fall outside useful legislation. As a practical philanthropist, it wasn’t his role to focus on the imperfections in this overlap;43 and since people generally expect a moral philosopher to provide a thoroughly reasoned account of what they should do, it’s not surprising that some of Bentham’s followers either overlooked or tried to fill the gaps in his framework. One faction within the school even argued that a core principle of utilitarianism is that a person maximizes their own happiness by promoting the happiness of others; another group, represented by John Austin, seemingly returned to Paley’s stance, treating utilitarian morality44 as a system of divine laws; while others, like Grote, were satisfied to soften the demands of “general happiness” on the individual and regarded utilitarian duties as practically limited by mutuality; on the other hand, J.S. Mill advocated for the absolute subordination of private happiness to the general good, doing more than anyone else in the group to spread and popularize utilitarianism in ethics and politics.
The fact is that there are several different ways in which a utilitarian system of morality may be used, without deciding whether the sanctions attached to it are always adequate. (1) It may be presented as practical Varieties of utilitarian doctrine. guidance to all who choose “general good” as their ultimate end, whether they do so on religious grounds, or through the predominance in their minds of impartial sympathy, or because their conscience acts in harmony with utilitarian principles, or for any combination of these or any other reasons; or (2) it may be offered as a code to be obeyed not absolutely, but only so far as the coincidence of private and general interest may in any case be judged to extend; or again (3) it may be proposed as a standard by which men may reasonably agree to praise and blame the conduct of others, even though they may not always think fit to act on it. We may regard morality as a kind of supplementary legislation, supported by public opinion, which we may expect the public, when duly enlightened, to frame in accordance with the public interest. Still, even from this point of view, which is that of the legislator or social reformer rather than the moral philosopher, our code of duty must be greatly influenced by our estimate of the degrees in which men are normally influenced by self-regard (in its ordinary sense of regard for interests not sympathetic) and by sympathy or benevolence, and of the range within which sympathy may be expected to be generally effective. Thus, for example, the moral standard for which a utilitarian will reasonably endeavour to gain the support of public opinion must be essentially different in quality, according as he holds with Bentham that nothing but self-regard will “serve for diet,” though “for a dessert benevolence is a very J.S. Mill. valuable addition”; or with J.S. Mill that disinterested public spirit should be the prominent motive in the performance of all socially useful work, and that even hygienic precepts should be inculcated, not chiefly on grounds of prudence, but because “by squandering our health we disable ourselves from rendering services to our fellow-creatures.”
The reality is that there are several different ways a utilitarian moral system can be applied, without determining if the consequences that come with it are always sufficient. (1) It can be offered as practical guidance for anyone who chooses "the greater good" as their ultimate goal, whether they do this for religious reasons, because they feel a strong sense of impartial compassion, or because their conscience aligns with utilitarian principles, or for any combination of these or other reasons; or (2) it can serve as a set of rules to follow not absolutely, but only as far as private and general interests can be reasonably seen to align; or again (3) it can be suggested as a benchmark by which people can reasonably agree to praise or criticize the actions of others, even if they don’t always choose to follow it themselves. We can view morality as a sort of supplementary law, supported by public opinion, which we can expect the public, when properly informed, to shape in line with the public interest. Still, even from this perspective, which aligns more with legislators or social reformers than moral philosophers, our sense of duty must be heavily influenced by how we perceive the extent to which people are typically motivated by self-interest (in the usual sense of looking out for one's own interests) and by compassion or kindness, as well as by the scope in which we can expect compassion to be effective. For instance, the moral standard that a utilitarian strives to gain the backing of public opinion must be fundamentally different depending on whether they agree with Bentham that only self-interest will be sufficient for basic needs, while “benevolence is a very valuable extra for dessert”; or with J.S. Mill that selfless public spirit should be the main driving force behind all socially beneficial work, and that even health guidelines should be taught, not mainly for practical reasons, but because “by neglecting our health we prevent ourselves from being able to help our fellow beings.”
Not less important is the interval that separates Bentham’s polemical attitude towards the moral sense from Mill’s conciliatory position, that “the mind is not in a state conformable to utility unless it loves virtue as a thing desirable in itself.” Such love of virtue Mill holds to be in a sense natural, though not an ultimate and inexplicable fact of human nature; it is to be explained by the “Law of Association” of feelings and ideas, through which objects originally desired as a means to some further end come to be directly pleasant or desirable. Thus, the miser first sought money as a means to comfort, but ends by sacrificing comfort to money; and similarly though the first promptings to justice (or any other virtue) spring from the non-moral pleasures gained or pains avoided by it, through the link formed by repeated virtuous acts the performance of them ultimately comes to have that immediate satisfaction attached to it which we distinguished as moral. Indeed, the acquired tendency to virtuous conduct may become so strong that the habit of willing it may continue, “even when the reward which 837 the virtuous man receives from the consciousness of well-doing is anything but an equivalent for the sufferings he undergoes or the wishes he may have to renounce.” It is thus that the before-mentioned self-sacrifice of the moral hero is conceived by Mill to be possible and actual. The moral sentiments, on this view, are not phases of self-love as Hobbes held; nor can they be directly identified with sympathy, either in Hume’s way or in Adam Smith’s; in fact, though apparently simple they are really derived in a complex manner from self-love and sympathy combined with more primitive impulses. Justice (e.g.) is regarded by Mill as essentially resentment moralized by enlarged sympathy and intelligent self-interest; what we mean by injustice is harm done to an assignable individual by a breach of some rule for which we desire the violator to be punished, for the sake both of the person injured and of society at large, including ourselves. As regards moral sentiments generally, the view suggested by Mill is more definitely given by the chief living representative of the associationist school, Alexander Bain; by whom the distinctive characteristics of conscience are traced to “education under government or authority,” though prudence, disinterested sympathy and other emotions combine to swell the mass of feeling vaguely denoted by the term moral. The combination of antecedents is somewhat differently given by different writers; but all agree in representing the conscience of any individual as naturally correlated to the interests of the community of which he is a member, and thus a natural ally in enforcing utilitarian rules, or even a valuable guide when utilitarian calculations are difficult and uncertain.
Not less important is the gap between Bentham’s critical stance on moral sense and Mill’s accommodating view that “the mind is not in a state that aligns with utility unless it loves virtue as something desirable in itself.” Mill sees this love for virtue as somewhat natural, although not a final and inexplicable aspect of human nature; it can be explained by the “Law of Association” of feelings and ideas, where things initially desired as a means to an end become directly enjoyable or desirable. For example, a miser first seeks money as a way to gain comfort but ends up sacrificing comfort for money. Similarly, although the initial motivations for justice (or any other virtue) come from the non-moral pleasures it brings or pains it helps avoid, through the repeated practice of virtuous actions, those actions eventually acquire an immediate satisfaction we recognize as moral. Indeed, the learned inclination towards virtuous behavior can grow strong enough that the habit of wanting to act virtuously may persist “even when the reward that the virtuous person gets from the awareness of doing good is hardly equivalent to the hardships they face or the desires they must give up.” This is how Mill sees the self-sacrifice of the moral hero as possible and real. From this perspective, moral sentiments are not just forms of self-love as Hobbes suggested; nor can they be simply linked to sympathy as Hume or Adam Smith proposed; in fact, while they might seem straightforward, they are actually formed in a complex way from a mix of self-love and sympathy, along with more basic instincts. Justice (for example) is viewed by Mill as fundamentally resentment that has been refined by expanded sympathy and rational self-interest; when we talk about injustice, we mean harm inflicted on a specific person due to a violation of a rule that we want the violator to be punished for, both for the injured party and for society as a whole, including ourselves. Regarding moral sentiments in general, the perspective proposed by Mill is more clearly articulated by the leading current representative of the associationist school, Alexander Bain, who attributes the unique features of conscience to “education under government or authority,” even though prudence, unselfish sympathy, and other emotions blend to enhance the feelings loosely referred to as moral. Different authors present the mix of influences slightly differently; however, they all agree in portraying an individual’s conscience as naturally linked to the interests of the community they belong to, thereby serving as a natural ally in enforcing utilitarian principles, or even a valuable guide when utilitarian assessments are challenging and uncertain.
This substitution of hypothetical history for direct analysis of the moral sense is really older than the utilitarianism of Paley and Bentham, which it has so profoundly modified. The effects of association in modifying mental phenomena Association and evolution. were noticed by Locke, and made a cardinal point in the metaphysic of Hume; who also referred to the principle slightly in his account of justice and other “artificial” virtues. Some years earlier, Gay,45 admitting Hutcheson’s proof of the actual disinterestedness of moral and benevolent impulses, had maintained that these (like the desires of knowledge or fame, the delight of reading, hunting and planting, &c.) were derived from self-love by “the power of association.” But a thorough and systematic application of the principle to ethical psychology is first found in Hartley’s Observations on Man (1748). Hartley, too, was the first to conceive association as producing, instead of mere cohesion of mental phenomena, a quasi-chemical combination of these into a compound apparently different from its elements. He shows elaborately how the pleasures and pains of “imagination, ambition, self-interest, sympathy, theopathy, and the moral sense” are developed out of the elementary pleasures and pains of sensation; by the coalescence into really complex but apparently single ideas of the “miniatures” or faint feelings which the repetition of sensations contemporaneously or in immediate succession tends to produce in cohering groups. His theory assumes the correspondence of mind and body, and is applied pari passu to the formation of ideas from sensations, and of “compound vibratiuncules in the medullary substance” from the original vibrations that arise in the organ of sense.46 The same general view was afterwards developed with much vigour and clearness on the psychical side alone by James Mill in his Analysis of the Human Mind. The whole theory has been persistently controverted by writers of the intuitional school, who (unlike Hartley) have usually thought that this derivation of moral sentiments from more primitive feelings would be detrimental to the authority of the former. The chief argument against this theory has been based on the early period at which these sentiments are manifested by children, which hardly allows time for association to produce the effects ascribed to it. This argument has been met in recent times by the application to mind of the physiological theory of heredity, according to which changes produced in the mind (brain) of a parent, by association of ideas or otherwise, tend to be inherited by his offspring; so that the development of the moral sense or any other faculty or susceptibility of existing man may be hypothetically carried back into the prehistoric life of the human race, without any change in the manner of derivation supposed. At present, however, the theory of heredity is usually held in conjunction with Darwin’s theory of natural selection; according to which different kinds of living things in the course of a series of generations come gradually to be endowed with organs, faculties and habits tending to the preservation of the individual or species under the conditions of life in which it is placed. Thus we have a new zoological factor in the history of the moral sentiments; which, though in no way opposed to the older psychological theory of their formation through coalescence of more primitive feelings, must yet be conceived as controlling and modifying the effects of the law of association by preventing the formation of sentiments other than those tending to the preservation of human life. The influence of the Darwinian theory, moreover, has extended from historical psychology to ethics, tending to substitute “preservation of the race under its conditions of existence” for “happiness” as the ultimate end and standard of virtue.
This replacement of imagined history for direct analysis of moral sense actually predates the utilitarianism of Paley and Bentham, which it has significantly altered. The effects of association on altering mental phenomenaConnection and development. were noted by Locke and became a key point in Hume's metaphysics; he also briefly mentioned the principle in his discussion of justice and other “artificial” virtues. A few years earlier, Gay, 45 recognizing Hutcheson’s proof of the genuine selflessness of moral and benevolent impulses, argued that these (like the desires for knowledge or fame, the joy of reading, hunting, and gardening, etc.) stemmed from self-love through “the power of association.” However, the thorough and systematic use of this principle in ethical psychology first appeared in Hartley’s Observations on Man (1748). Hartley was also the first to view association as creating, rather than merely linking mental phenomena, a sort of chemical combination of these into something that appears different from the individual components. He carefully illustrates how the pleasures and pains of “imagination, ambition, self-interest, sympathy, theopathy, and the moral sense” emerge from the basic pleasures and pains of sensation; through the blending into truly complex but seemingly singular ideas of the “miniatures” or faint feelings that repeated sensations produce when they occur together or in quick succession. His theory assumes a connection between mind and body and is applied pari passu to the formation of ideas from sensations, as well as to the creation of “compound vibratiuncules in the medullary substance” from the original vibrations that arise in the sensory organ.46 This same general perspective was later expanded with great energy and clarity on the psychological side only by James Mill in his Analysis of the Human Mind. This entire theory has faced ongoing criticism from proponents of the intuitionist school, who (unlike Hartley) typically argue that deriving moral sentiments from more basic feelings would undermine the authority of the former. The main argument against this theory has focused on the early age at which children display these sentiments, which doesn't allow adequate time for association to create the expected effects. Recently, this argument has been addressed by applying the physiological theory of heredity to the mind, which suggests that changes made in a parent's mind (brain) through the association of ideas or other means are likely to be passed on to their offspring; thus, the development of the moral sense or any other faculty in contemporary humans can be hypothetically traced back to the prehistoric life of humankind, without altering the assumed method of derivation. However, at this time, the theory of heredity is typically linked with Darwin’s theory of natural selection; which posits that different types of living beings gradually develop organs, faculties, and habits through generations that help them survive under their living conditions. Therefore, we discover a new zoological factor in the history of moral sentiments, which, while not contradicting the older psychological theory about their formation through the merging of more primitive feelings, must be understood as controlling and shaping the effects of the law of association by preventing the emergence of sentiments not aligned with preserving human life. Furthermore, the influence of the Darwinian theory has broadened from historical psychology to ethics, moving toward replacing “preservation of the race under its conditions of existence” for “happiness” as the ultimate goal and standard of virtue.
Before concluding this sketch of the development of English ethical thought from Hobbes to the thinkers of the 19th century, it will be well to notice briefly the views held by different moralists on the question of free-will,—so far, that is, as Free-will. they have been put forward as ethically important. We must first distinguish three meanings in which “freedom” is attributed to the will or “inner self” of a human being, viz. (1) the general power of choosing among different alternatives of action without a motive, or against the resultant force of conflicting motives; (2) the power of choice between the promptings of reason and those of appetites (or other non-rational impulses) when the latter conflict with reason; (3) merely the quality of acting rationally in spite of conflicting impulses, however strong, the non posse peccare of the medieval theologians.47 It is obvious that “freedom” in this third sense is in no way incompatible with complete determination; and, indeed, is rather an ideal state after which the moral agent ought to aspire than a property which the human will can be said to possess. In the first sense, again, as distinct from the second, the assertion of “freedom” has no ethical significance, except in so far as it introduces a general uncertainty into all our inferences respecting human conduct. Even in the second sense it hardly seems that the freedom of a man’s will can be an element to be considered in examining what it is right or best for him to do (though of course the clearest convictions of duty will be fruitless if a man has not sufficient self-control to enable him to act on them); it is rather when we ask whether it is just to punish him for wrong-doing that it seems important to know whether he could have done otherwise. But in spite of the strong interest taken in the theological aspect of this question by the Protestant divines of the 17th century, it does not appear that English moralists from Hobbes to Hume laid any stress on the relation of free-will either to duty generally or to justice in particular. Neither the doctrine of Hobbes, that deliberation is a mere alternation of competing desires, voluntary action immediately following the “last appetite,” nor the hardly less decided Determinism of Locke, who held that the will is always moved by the greatest present uneasiness, appeared to either author to require any reconciliation with the belief in human responsibility. Even in Clarke’s system, where Indeterminism is no doubt a cardinal notion, its importance is metaphysical 838 rather than ethical; Clarke’s view being that the apparently arbitrary particularity in the constitution of the cosmos is really only explicable by reference to creative free-will. In the ethical discussion of Shaftesbury and sentimental moralists generally this question drops naturally out of sight; and the cautious Butler tries to exclude its perplexities as far as possible from the philosophy of practice. But since the reaction, led by Price and Reid, against the manner of philosophizing that had culminated in Hume, free-will has been generally maintained by the intuitional school to be an essential point of ethics; and, in fact, it is naturally connected with the judgment of good and ill desert which these writers give as an essential element in their analysis of the moral consciousness. An irresistible motive, it is forcibly said, palliates or takes away guilt; no one can blame himself for yielding to necessity, and no one can properly be punished for what he could not have prevented. In answer to this argument some necessarians have admitted that punishment can be legitimate only if it be beneficial to the person punished; others, again, have held that the lawful use of force is to restrain lawless force; but most of those who reject free-will defend punishment on the ground of its utility in deterring others from crime, as well as in correcting or restraining the criminal on whom it falls.
Before wrapping up this overview of the evolution of English ethical thought from Hobbes to the 19th-century thinkers, it's important to briefly mention the perspectives different moralists have on the issue of free will—specifically as they relate to ethics. We first need to clarify three meanings of “freedom” attributed to the will or “inner self” of a person: (1) the general ability to choose among different actions without any motive or against the conflicting motives at play; (2) the ability to choose between the guidance of reason and that of desires (or other non-rational urges) when they conflict with reason; (3) simply the capacity to act rationally despite strong conflicting impulses, the non posse peccare concept from medieval theologians. It’s clear that “freedom” in this third sense does not contradict complete determination; in fact, it is more of an ideal state that a moral agent should strive for rather than a quality that the human will possesses. In the first sense, separate from the second, claiming “freedom” holds no ethical significance, other than introducing a general uncertainty into our interpretations of human behavior. Even in the second sense, the freedom of a person's will doesn't seem to be a factor in determining what is right or best for them to do (though it’s true that having clear convictions of duty is pointless if a person lacks the self-control to act on them); it becomes relevant when asking whether it’s fair to punish someone for wrongdoing, making it important to know if they could have acted differently. Despite the keen interest that 17th-century Protestant theologians took in the theological dimension of this issue, English moralists from Hobbes to Hume did not emphasize the connection between free will and duty in general or justice in particular. Hobbes' idea that decision-making is simply an alternation of competing desires, with voluntary action following the “last appetite,” and Locke's equally strong Determinism, believing that the will is always driven by the greatest current discomfort, did not lead either thinker to feel the need to reconcile these views with the belief in human responsibility. Even in Clarke’s system, where Indeterminism is certainly a key concept, its significance is more metaphysical than ethical; Clarke suggested that the seemingly arbitrary details in the universe can only be understood through the lens of creative free will. In the ethical discussions of Shaftesbury and sentimental moralists more broadly, this topic tends to be overlooked, while the cautious Butler seeks to minimize its complexities in practical philosophy. However, since the response led by Price and Reid against the kind of philosophy that peaked with Hume, free will has generally been supported by the intuitionist school as a crucial aspect of ethics; in fact, it is closely tied to the judgment of good and bad consequences, which these writers see as essential to analyzing moral awareness. It is asserted that a compelling motive lessens or eliminates guilt; no one can be held accountable for giving in to necessity, and no one should be punished for what they couldn't control. In response to this argument, some necessitarians have conceded that punishment is only legitimate if it benefits the person being punished; others argue that the rightful use of force is to restrain lawless behavior; yet, most who reject free will defend punishment based on its usefulness in deterring others from committing crimes, as well as in correcting or restraining the offender being punished.
In the preceding sketch we have traced the course of English ethical speculation without bringing it into relation with contemporary European thought on the same subject. And in fact almost all the systems described, from French influence on English ethics. Hobbes downward, have been of essentially native growth, showing hardly any traces of foreign influence. We may observe that ethics is the only department in which this result appears. The physics and psychology of Descartes were much studied in England, and his metaphysical system was certainly the most important antecedent of Locke’s; but Descartes hardly touched ethics proper. So again the controversy that Clarke conducted with Spinoza, and afterwards with Leibnitz, was entirely confined to the metaphysical region. Catholic France was a school for Englishmen in many subjects, but not in morality; the great struggle between Jansenists and Jesuits had a very remote interest for them. It was not till near the close of the 18th century that the impress of the French revolutionary philosophy began to manifest itself in England; and even then its influence was mostly political rather than ethical. It is striking to observe how even in the case of writers such as Godwin, who were most powerfully affected by the French political movement, the moral basis, on which the new social order of rational and equal freedom is constructed, is almost entirely of native origin; even when the tone and spirit are French, the forms of thought and manner of reasoning are still purely English. In the derivation of Benthamism alone—which, it may be observed, first becomes widely known in the French paraphrase of Dumont—an important element is supplied Helvetius. by the works of a French writer, Helvetius; as Bentham himself was fully conscious. It was from Helvetius that he learnt that, men being universally and solely governed by self-love, the so-called moral judgments are really the common judgments of any society as to its common interests; that it is therefore futile on the one hand to propose any standard of virtue, except that of conduciveness to general happiness, and on the other hand useless merely to lecture men on duty and scold them for vice; that the moralist’s proper function is rather to exhibit the coincidence of virtue with private happiness; that, accordingly, though nature has bound men’s interests together in many ways, and education by developing sympathy and the habit of mutual help may much extend the connexion, still the most effective moralist is the legislator, who by acting on self-love through legal sanctions may mould human conduct as he chooses. These few simple doctrines give the ground plan of Bentham’s indefatigable and lifelong labours.
In the previous overview, we've highlighted the trajectory of English ethical thinking without connecting it to the current European discussions on the same topic. In fact, nearly all the systems we've mentioned, from Hobbes onward, have largely developed from within, showing minimal foreign influence. It's worth noting that ethics is the only area where this is the case. The physics and psychology of Descartes were extensively studied in England, and his metaphysical framework was undoubtedly a significant precursor to Locke's ideas; however, Descartes barely addressed ethics directly. Similarly, the debates that Clarke had with Spinoza and later with Leibnitz were solely in the metaphysical realm. Catholic France served as a learning ground for English thinkers on many subjects, but not in ethics; the major conflict between Jansenists and Jesuits had little relevance for them. It wasn't until the late 18th century that the influence of French revolutionary thought started to appear in England, and even then, its impact was primarily political rather than ethical. It's interesting to note that even for writers like Godwin, who were heavily influenced by the French political movement, the moral foundation for the new social order of rational and equal freedom is almost entirely of local origin; even when the tone and spirit are French, the thought processes and reasoning styles remain distinctly English. In the case of Benthamism—which, it should be noted, first gained wide recognition through the French paraphrase by Dumont—an important contribution comes from French writer Helvetius, something Bentham himself acknowledged. From Helvetius, he learned that since people are universally and exclusively driven by self-interest, so-called moral judgments are actually just the shared opinions of society on its common interests; therefore, it is pointless to propose any standard of virtue apart from what promotes overall happiness, and merely lecturing people on duty or criticizing them for wrongdoing is not effective. The moralist's real role is to show how virtue aligns with personal happiness; thus, while nature has connected people's interests in various ways, and education can foster sympathy and a habit of mutual support, the most effective moralist is the legislator, who can shape human behavior by appealing to self-interest through legal consequences. These straightforward ideas form the foundation of Bentham's relentless and lifelong efforts.
So again, in the modified Benthamism which the persuasive exposition of J.S. Mill afterwards made popular in England, the influence of Auguste Comte (Philosophie positive, 1829-1842, and Système de politique positive, 1851-1854) appears as the chief Comte. modifying element. This influence, so far as it has affected moral as distinct from political speculation, has been exercised primarily through the general conception of human progress; which, in Comte’s view, consists in the ever-growing preponderance of the distinctively human attributes over the purely animal, social feelings being ranked highest among human attributes, and highest of all the most universalized phase of human affection, the devotion to humanity as a whole. Accordingly, it is the development of benevolence in man, and of the habit of “living for others,” which Comte takes as the ultimate aim and standard of practice, rather than the mere increase of happiness. He holds, indeed, that the two are inseparable, and that the more altruistic any man’s sentiments and habits of action can be made, the greater will be the happiness enjoyed by himself as well as by others. But he does not seriously trouble himself to argue with egoism, or to weigh carefully the amount of happiness that might be generally attained by the satisfaction of egoistic propensities duly regulated; a supreme unquestioning self-devotion, in which all personal calculations are suppressed, is an essential feature of his moral ideal. Such a view is almost diametrically opposed to Bentham’s conception of normal human existence; the newer utilitarianism of Mill represents an endeavour to find the right middle path between the two extremes.
So again, in the revised Benthamism that J.S. Mill later popularized in England, the influence of Auguste Comte (Philosophie positive, 1829-1842, and Système de politique positive, 1851-1854) stands out as the main modifying factor. This influence, especially in terms of moral rather than political thought, has mainly been felt through the overall idea of human progress; which, according to Comte, is defined by the increasing dominance of uniquely human qualities over purely animal instincts, with social feelings placed at the top among these human traits, and the most universal form of human love being the commitment to humanity as a whole. Therefore, Comte views the growth of kindness in people and the practice of "living for others" as the ultimate goal and standard of behavior, rather than just the simple pursuit of happiness. He indeed believes that the two are interconnected, and that the more altruistic a person's feelings and actions are, the greater the happiness they will experience, along with others. However, he doesn't spend much time debating egoism or carefully measuring the happiness that might be generally achieved by properly managing egoistic desires; a profound, unquestioning selflessness, where all personal interests are set aside, is a fundamental aspect of his moral ideal. This perspective is almost completely opposite to Bentham’s view of normal human life; Mill’s newer utilitarianism attempts to strike a balance between the two extremes.
It is to be observed that, in Comte’s view, devotion to humanity is the principle not merely of morality, but of religion; i.e. it should not merely be practically predominant, but should be manifested and sustained by regular and partly symbolical forms of expression, private and public. This side of Comte’s system, however, and the details of his ideal reconstruction of society, in which this religion plays an important part, have had but little influence either in England or elsewhere. It is more important to notice the general effect of his philosophy on the method of determining the particulars of morality as well as of law (as it ought to be). In the utilitarianism of Paley and Bentham the proper rules of conduct, moral and legal, are determined by comparing the imaginary consequences of different modes of regulation on men and women, conceived as specimens of a substantially uniform and unchanging type. It is true that Bentham expressly recognizes the varying influences of climate, race, religion, government, as considerations which it is important for the legislator to take into account; but his own work of social construction was almost entirely independent of such considerations, and his school generally appear to have been convinced of their competence to solve all important ethical and political questions for human beings of all ages and countries, without regard to their specific differences. But in the Comtian conception of social science, of which ethics and politics are the practical application, the knowledge of the laws of the evolution of society is of fundamental and continually increasing importance; humanity is regarded as having passed through a series of stages, in each of which a somewhat different set of laws and institutions, customs and habits, is normal and appropriate. Thus present man is a being that can only be understood through a knowledge of his past history; and any effort to construct for him a moral and political ideal, by a purely abstract and unhistorical method, must necessarily be futile; whatever modifications may at any time be desirable in positive law and morality can only be determined by the aid of “social dynamics.” This view extends far beyond the limits of Comte’s special school or sect, and has been widely accepted.
It’s important to note that, according to Comte, devotion to humanity is the foundation not just of morality, but also of religion; that is, it shouldn’t just be a practical focus, but should be expressed and supported through regular and partly symbolic forms, both private and public. However, this aspect of Comte’s system, along with the details of his ideal vision for society where this religion plays a significant role, has had little impact in England or elsewhere. What’s more important is to recognize the overall effect of his philosophy on how we determine the specifics of morality and law (as it should be). In the utilitarianism of Paley and Bentham, the appropriate rules for moral and legal conduct are figured out by comparing the imagined consequences of different regulations on individuals seen as largely uniform and unchanging. It’s true that Bentham acknowledges the varying influences of climate, race, religion, and government, which are important for lawmakers to consider; however, his work on social structure was mostly independent of those factors, and his followers seemed convinced they could address all major ethical and political issues for people everywhere without considering those specific differences. In contrast, Comte’s idea of social science, which applies to ethics and politics, emphasizes that understanding the laws of societal evolution is crucial and increasingly important. Humanity is seen as having gone through different stages, each with its own set of suitable laws, institutions, customs, and habits. Therefore, contemporary individuals can only be understood through their historical context; any attempt to create a moral and political ideal for them through a purely abstract and non-historical approach is bound to fail. Any changes that are desirable in positive law and morality can only be figured out with the help of “social dynamics.” This perspective goes far beyond Comte’s specific school or group and has gained widespread acceptance.
When we turn from French philosophy to German, we find the influence of the latter on English ethical thought almost insignificant until a very recent period. In the 17th century, indeed, the treatise of Pufendorf on the Law of Nature, in which the general view of Grotius was restated German influence on English ethics. with modifications, partly designed to effect a compromise with the doctrine of Hobbes, seems to have been a good deal read at Oxford and elsewhere. Locke includes it among the books necessary to the complete education of a gentleman. But the subsequent development of the theory of conduct in Germany dropped almost entirely out of the cognizance of 839 Englishmen; even the long dominant system of Wolff (d. 1754) was hardly known. Nor had Kant any serious influence in England until the second quarter of the 19th century. We find, however, distinct traces of Kantian influence in Whewell and other writers of the intuitional school, and at a later date it became so strong that its importance on subsequent ethical thought can scarcely be over-estimated.
When we shift from French philosophy to German, we notice that the impact of the latter on English ethical thought has been nearly negligible until very recently. In the 17th century, Pufendorf's treatise on the Law of Nature, which restated Grotius's general view with adjustments aimed at reconciling it with Hobbes's doctrine, seems to have been widely read at Oxford and elsewhere. Locke includes it among the essential readings for a gentleman's education. However, the later development of conduct theory in Germany was almost completely off the radar for English people; even Wolff's dominant system (d. 1754) was not widely recognized. Kant also had little influence in England until the mid-19th century. Nonetheless, we do see clear signs of Kantian influence in Whewell and other writers from the intuitional school, and later, it became so significant that its impact on subsequent ethical thought can hardly be overstated.
The English moralist with whom Kant has most affinity is Price; in fact, Kantism, in the ethical thought of modern Europe, holds a place somewhat analogous to that formerly occupied by the teaching of Price and Reid Kant. among English moralists. Kant, like Price and Reid, holds that man as a rational being is unconditionally bound to conform to a certain rule of right, or “categorical imperative” of reason. Like Price he holds that an action is not good unless done from a good motive, and that this motive must be essentially different from natural inclination of any kind; duty, to be duty, must be done for duty’s sake; and he argues, with more subtlety than Price or Reid, that though a virtuous act is no doubt pleasant to the virtuous agent, and any violation of duty painful, this moral pleasure (or pain) cannot strictly be the motive to the act, because it follows instead of preceding the recognition of our obligation to do it.48 With Price, again, he holds that rightness of intention and motive is not only an indispensable condition or element of the rightness of an action, but actually the sole determinant of its moral worth; but with more philosophical consistency he draws the inference—of which the English moralist does not seem to have dreamt—that there can be no separate rational principles for determining the “material” rightness of conduct, as distinct from its “formal” rightness; and therefore that all rules of duty, so far as universally binding, must admit of being exhibited as applications of the one general principle that duty ought to be done for duty’s sake. This Categorical Imperative. deduction is the most original part of Kant’s doctrine. The dictates of reason, he points out, must necessarily be addressed to all rational beings as such; hence, my intention cannot be right unless I am prepared to will the principle on which I act to be a universal law. He considers that this fundamental rule or imperative “act on a maxim which thou canst will to be law universal” supplies a sufficient criterion for determining particular duties in all cases. The rule excludes wrong conduct with two degrees of stringency. Some offences, such as making promises with the intention of breaking them, we cannot even conceive universalized; as soon as every one broke promises no one would care to have promises made to him. Other maxims, such as that of leaving persons in distress to shift for themselves, we can easily conceive to be universal laws, but we cannot without contradiction will them to be such; for when we are ourselves in distress we cannot help desiring that others should help us.
The English moralist who shares the closest connection with Kant is Price; in fact, Kantism in the ethical discussions of modern Europe plays a role similar to that once held by the teachings of Price and Reid among English moralists. Kant, like Price and Reid, believes that as rational beings, people are unconditionally required to follow a certain rule of right, or the “categorical imperative” of reason. He agrees with Price that an action isn't good unless it's done for a good reason, and that this reason must be fundamentally different from any natural inclination; for duty to be duty, it must be done for its own sake. He argues, with more subtlety than Price or Reid, that while a virtuous act is certainly enjoyable for the virtuous person, and any breach of duty is painful, this moral pleasure (or pain) cannot strictly be the motivation for the act, because it comes after, not before, the recognition of our obligation to perform it. Again, like Price, he believes that the rightness of intention and motivation is not only a necessary condition or element of an action's moral correctness, but actually the only determinant of its moral value; however, he consistently concludes—something the English moralist does not seem to have considered—that there cannot be separate rational principles for determining the “material” rightness of behavior, distinct from its “formal” rightness; therefore, all rules of duty, as far as they are universally binding, must be able to be seen as applications of the one general principle that duty should be performed for duty's sake. This deduction is the most original aspect of Kant’s theory. He points out that the commands of reason must be directed at all rational beings as such; therefore, my intention cannot be right unless I am willing to consider the principle I act on as a universal law. He believes that this fundamental rule or imperative “act on a maxim which you can will to be a universal law” provides a sufficient standard for determining specific duties in all situations. This rule excludes wrongful behavior with two levels of rigor. Some offenses, like making promises with the intention of breaking them, we can't even imagine being universalized; as soon as everyone broke promises, no one would want promises made to them. Other maxims, like leaving people in distress to fend for themselves, we can easily imagine as universal laws, but we cannot will them to be so without contradiction; for when we find ourselves in distress, we naturally wish for others to help us.
Another important peculiarity of Kant’s doctrine is his development of the connexion between duty and free-will. He holds that it is through our moral consciousness that we know that we are free; in the cognition that I ought to do what is right because it is right and not because I like it, it is implied that this purely rational volition is possible; that my action can be determined, not “mechanically,” through the necessary operation of the natural stimuli of pleasurable and painful feelings, but in accordance with the laws of my true, reasonable self. The realization of reason, or of human wills so far as rational, thus presents itself as the absolute end of duty; and we get, as a new form of the fundamental practical rule, “act so as to treat humanity, in thyself or any other, as an end always, and never as a means only.” We may observe, too, that the notion of freedom connects ethics with jurisprudence in a simple and striking manner. The fundamental aim of jurisprudence is to realize external freedom by removing the hindrances imposed on each one’s free action through the interferences of other wills. Ethics shows how to realize internal freedom by resolutely pursuing rational ends in opposition to those of natural inclination. If we ask what precisely are the ends of reason, Kant’s proposition that “all rational beings as such are ends in themselves for every rational being” hardly gives a clear answer. It might be interpreted to mean that the result to be practically sought is simply the development of the rationality of all rational beings—such as men—whom we find to be as yet imperfectly rational. But this is not Kant’s view. He holds, indeed, that each man should aim at making himself the most perfect possible instrument of reason; but he expressly denies that the perfection of others can be similarly prescribed as an end to each. It is, he says, “a contradiction to regard myself as in duty bound to promote the perfection of another, ... a contradiction to make it a duty for me to do something for another which no other but himself can do.” In what practical sense, then, am I to make other rational beings my ends? Kant’s answer is that what each is to aim at in the case of others is not Perfection, but Happiness, i.e. to help them to attain those purely subjective ends that are determined for each not by reason, but by natural inclination. He explains also that to seek one’s own happiness cannot be prescribed as a duty, because it is an end to which every man is inevitably impelled by natural inclination: but that just because each inevitably desires his own happiness, and therefore desires that others should assist him in time of need, he is bound to make the happiness of others his ethical end, since he cannot morally demand aid from others, without accepting the obligation of aiding them in like case. The exclusion of private happiness from the ends at which it is a duty to aim contrasts strikingly with the view of Butler and Reid, that man, as a rational being, is under a “manifest obligation” to seek his own interest. The difference, however, is not really so great as it seems; since in another part of his system Kant fully recognizes the reasonableness of the individual’s regard for his own happiness. Though duty, in his view, excludes regard for private happiness, the summum bonum is not duty alone, but happiness combined with moral worth; the demand for happiness as the reward of duty is so essentially reasonable that we must postulate a universal connexion between the two as the order of the universe; indeed, the practical necessity of this postulate is the only adequate rational ground that we have for believing in the existence of God.
Another important aspect of Kant’s philosophy is how he connects duty with free will. He argues that we recognize our freedom through our moral awareness; when I know I should do what is right simply because it is right, not because I enjoy it, I imply that this purely rational choice is possible. My actions can be guided, not “mechanically,” by natural urges for pleasure or pain, but according to the principles of my true, rational self. The realization of reason, or rational human wills, becomes the ultimate goal of duty, leading us to a new form of the essential practical rule: “act in a way that treats humanity, whether in yourself or others, as an end in itself and never merely as a means.” We can also see how the idea of freedom links ethics and law in a straightforward and impactful way. The main objective of law is to achieve external freedom by removing the barriers other people's actions impose on individual free will. Ethics teaches us how to achieve internal freedom by pursuing rational goals against our natural inclinations. If we question what exactly the goals of reason are, Kant’s claim that “all rational beings as such are ends in themselves for every rational being” doesn’t provide a clear answer. It could suggest that the practical aim is simply to develop the rationality of all rational beings—like humans—who are still not fully rational. But this isn't Kant's perspective. He believes that each person should strive to become the best possible version of reason; however, he explicitly states that we cannot prescribe the perfection of others as a goal for ourselves. He argues it is “a contradiction to think I must promote another's perfection, ... a contradiction to make it my duty to do something that only they can do.” So in what practical way should I treat other rational beings as my goals? Kant’s response is that what we should focus on for others is not their perfection, but their happiness—meaning to support them in achieving their purely subjective goals determined not by reason, but by natural desires. He also clarifies that pursuing one’s own happiness can't be prescribed as a duty since it’s something every person is naturally driven to seek; however, because everyone naturally wants their own happiness and expects others to help them in times of need, they are ethically obligated to consider the happiness of others as their goal. This contrasts sharply with the views of Butler and Reid, who argue that humans, as rational beings, have a “clear obligation” to pursue their own interests. Yet, the difference isn’t as significant as it may seem; Kant acknowledges that it’s reasonable for individuals to care about their own happiness elsewhere in his philosophy. Although he believes duty excludes the pursuit of personal happiness, the ultimate good is not just duty alone, but happiness combined with moral value. The expectation of happiness as a reward for duty is so fundamentally reasonable that we must assume there is a universal connection between the two in the order of the universe; in fact, the practical necessity of this assumption is our only solid rational basis for believing in the existence of God.
Before the ethics of Kant had begun to be seriously studied in England, the rapid and remarkable development of metaphysical view and method of which the three chief stages are represented by Fichte, Schelling and Hegel Hegel. respectively had already taken place; and the system of the latter was occupying the most prominent position in the philosophical thought of Germany.49 Hegel’s ethical doctrine (expounded chiefly in his Philosophie des Rechts, 1821) shows a close affinity, and also a striking contrast, to Kant’s. He holds, 840 with Kant, that duty or good conduct consists in the conscious realization of the free reasonable will, which is essentially the same in all rational beings. But in Kant’s view the universal content of this will is only given in the formal condition of “only acting as one can desire all to act,” to be subjectively applied by each rational agent to his own volition; whereas Hegel conceives the universal will as objectively presented to each man in the laws, institutions and customary morality of the community of which he is a member. Thus, in his view, not merely natural inclinations towards pleasures, or the desires for selfish happiness, require to be morally resisted; but even the prompting of the individual’s conscience, the impulse to do what seems to him right, if it comes into conflict with the common sense of his community. It is true that Hegel regards the conscious effort to realize one’s own conception of good as a higher stage of moral development than the mere conformity to the jural rules establishing property, maintaining contract and allotting punishment to crime, in which the universal will is first expressed; since in such conformity this will is only accomplished accidentally by the outward concurrence of individual wills, and is not essentially realized in any of them. He holds, however, that this conscientious effort is self-deceived and futile, is even the very root of moral evil, except it attains its realization in harmony with the objective social relations in which the individual finds himself placed. Of these relations the first grade is constituted by the family, the second by civil society, and the third by the state, the organization of which is the highest manifestation of universal reason in the sphere of practice.
Before Kant's ethics started to be seriously studied in England, there had already been a rapid and remarkable development in metaphysical views and methods, with the three main stages represented by Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. The latter's system was holding the most prominent position in Germany's philosophical thought. Hegel’s ethical doctrine, mainly outlined in his *Philosophie des Rechts* (1821), shows both a close connection and a striking contrast to Kant’s ideas. Like Kant, he believes that duty or good conduct involves the conscious realization of a free, reasonable will, which is essentially the same for all rational beings. However, Kant thinks the universal aspect of this will is defined only by the formal condition of "acting only in ways that everyone can accept," which each rational agent applies subjectively to their own decisions. On the other hand, Hegel sees the universal will as being presented objectively to each person through the laws, institutions, and customary morality of their community. He argues that not only do natural desires for pleasure or selfish happiness need to be morally resisted, but so does the individual's conscience, especially if its impulses conflict with the collective understanding of their community. While Hegel agrees that striving to realize one's own idea of good is a more advanced form of moral development compared to simply following legal rules that define property, uphold contracts, and punish crimes—where the universal will is only accidentally achieved through the alignment of individual wills—he believes this conscientious effort can be misguided and pointless. It's even the root of moral evil unless it harmonizes with the objective social relations of the individual's environment. These relations are categorized into three levels: the family as the first, civil society as the second, and the state as the highest organization of universal reason within practical life.
Hegelianism appears as a distinct element in modern English ethical thought; but the direct influence of Hegel’s system is perhaps less important than that indirectly exercised through the powerful stimulus which it has given to the study of the historical development of human thought and human society. According to Hegel, the essence of the universe is a process of thought from the abstract to the concrete; and a right understanding of this process gives the key for interpreting the evolution in time of European philosophy. So again, in his view, the history of mankind is a history of the necessary development of the free spirit through the different forms of political organization: the first being that of the Oriental monarchy, in which freedom belongs to the monarch only; the second, that of the Graeco-Roman republics, in which a select body of free citizens is sustained on a basis of slavery; while finally in the modern societies, sprung from the Teutonic invasion of the decaying Roman empire, freedom is recognized as the natural right of all members of the community. The effect of the lectures (posthumously edited) in which Hegel’s “Philosophy of History” and “History of Philosophy” were expounded, has extended far beyond the limits of his special school; indeed, the predominance of the historical method in all departments of the theory of practice is not a little due to their influence.
Hegelianism stands out as a distinct part of modern English ethical thought; however, the direct impact of Hegel’s system may be less significant than the indirect influence it has had by inspiring a strong focus on the historical development of human thought and society. According to Hegel, the essence of the universe is a process of thought moving from the abstract to the concrete; understanding this process is key to interpreting the evolution of European philosophy over time. In his perspective, the history of humanity is a history of the necessary development of free spirit through different forms of political organization: the first being the Oriental monarchy, where freedom is exclusive to the monarch; the second is the Graeco-Roman republics, where a select group of free citizens exists alongside a system of slavery; and lastly, in modern societies emerging from the Teutonic invasion of the declining Roman Empire, freedom is recognized as a natural right for all community members. The impact of the lectures (published posthumously) where Hegel's "Philosophy of History" and "History of Philosophy" were explained has reached far beyond the confines of his specific school; in fact, the dominance of the historical method in various fields of practical theory owes much to their influence.
D. Ethics since 1879.—Ethical controversies, like most other speculative disputes, have, during the latter part of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century, centred round Darwinian theories. The chief characteristic of English moral philosophy in its previous history has been its comparative isolation from great movements, sometimes contemporary movements, of philosophical or scientific thought. Ethics in England no less than on the continent of Europe suffered until the time of Bacon from the excessive domination of theological dogma and the traditional scholastic and Aristotelian philosophy. But the moral philosophy of the 18th century, freed from scholastic trammels, was a genuine native product, arising out of the real problem of conduct and reaching its conclusions, at least ostensibly, by an analysis of, and an appeal to, the facts of conduct and the nature of morality. Even at the beginning of the 19th century, when the main interest of writers who belonged to the Utilitarian school was mainly political, the influence of political theories upon contemporary moral philosophy was upon the whole an influence of which the moral philosophers themselves were unconscious; and from the nature of things moral and political philosophy have a tendency to become one and the same inquiry. Mill, it is true, and Comte both encouraged the idea that society and conduct alike were susceptible of strictly scientific investigation. But the attempt not only to treat ethics scientifically, but actually to subordinate the principles of conduct to the principles of existing biological science or group of sciences biological in character, was reserved for post-Darwinian moral philosophers. That attempt has not, in the opinion of the majority of critics, been successful, and perhaps what is most permanent in the contribution of modern times to ethical theory will ultimately be attributed to philosophers antagonistic to evolutionary ethics. Nevertheless the application of the historical method to inquiries concerning the facts of morality and the moral life—itself part of the great movement of thought to which Darwin gave the chief impetus—has caused moral problems to be presented in a novel aspect; while the influence of Darwinism upon studies which have considerable bearing upon ethics, e.g. anthropology or the study of comparative religion, has been incalculable.
D. Ethics since 1879.—Ethical debates, like many other theoretical disagreements, during the latter part of the 19th century and the early part of the 20th century, focused on Darwinian theories. A key feature of English moral philosophy in its earlier history has been its relative isolation from significant movements, even those occurring at the same time, in philosophical or scientific thought. Ethics in England, just like on the European continent, was heavily influenced until Bacon's time by strict theological beliefs and traditional scholastic and Aristotelian philosophy. However, the moral philosophy of the 18th century, liberated from scholastic constraints, was a truly homegrown product, emerging from real issues of conduct and arriving at its conclusions, at least on the surface, through an analysis of the facts of behavior and the essence of morality. Even at the dawn of the 19th century, when the primary concerns of writers from the Utilitarian school were mainly political, the impact of political theories on contemporary moral philosophy was largely unconscious by the moral philosophers themselves; and naturally, moral and political philosophy tend to merge into a single inquiry. It's true that Mill and Comte both supported the view that society and behavior could be thoroughly investigated through science. But the effort to not just address ethics scientifically but to actually align the principles of conduct with the principles of current biological sciences was reserved for post-Darwinian moral philosophers. Most critics believe that this effort has not been successful, and perhaps the most lasting contributions of modern times to ethical theory will ultimately be credited to philosophers opposed to evolutionary ethics. Nevertheless, applying the historical method to examine the facts of morality and moral life—part of the larger intellectual movement catalyzed by Darwin—has led to a fresh perspective on moral issues; while Darwinism's influence on fields significantly related to ethics, such as anthropology and comparative religion, has been immense.
The other great movement in modern moral philosophy due to the influence of German, and especially Hegelian, idealism followed naturally for the most part from the revival of interest in metaphysics noticeable in the latter half of the 19th century.
The other significant movement in modern moral philosophy, influenced largely by German, particularly Hegelian, idealism, largely emerged from the renewed interest in metaphysics that became apparent in the second half of the 19th century.
But metaphysical systems of ethics are no novelty even in England, and, while the increased interest in ultimate issues of philosophy has enormously deepened and widened men’s appreciation of moral problems and the issues involved in conduct, the actual advance in ethical theory produced by such speculations has been comparatively slight. What is of lasting importance is the re-affirmation upon metaphysical grounds of the right of the moral consciousness to state and solve its own difficulties, and the successful repulsion of the claims of particular sciences such as biology to include the sphere of conduct within their scope and methods. And both evolutionary and idealistic ethics agree in repudiating the standpoint of narrow individualism, alike insist upon the necessity of regarding the self as social in character, and regard the end of moral progress as only realizable in a perfect society.
But metaphysical systems of ethics aren’t new even in England. While the growing interest in fundamental philosophical issues has greatly expanded people’s understanding of moral problems and the complexities of conduct, the actual progress in ethical theory resulting from these speculations has been relatively minor. What really matters is the reaffirmation, based on metaphysical grounds, of the moral consciousness’s right to articulate and resolve its own challenges, along with successfully pushing back against the claims of specific sciences like biology to incorporate the realm of conduct into their scope and methods. Both evolutionary and idealistic ethics reject the view of narrow individualism, insist on the importance of seeing the self as inherently social, and view the goal of moral progress as something that can only be achieved in a perfect society.
It is perhaps too much to hope that the long-continued controversy between hedonists and anti-hedonists has been finally settled. But certainly few modern moral philosophers would be found in the present day ready to defend the crudities of hedonistic psychology as they appear in Bentham and Mill. A certain common agreement has been reached concerning the impossibility of regarding pleasure as the sole motive criterion and end of moral action, though different opinions still prevail as to the place occupied by pleasure in the summum bonum, and the possibility of a hedonistic calculus.
It might be unrealistic to think that the long-standing debate between hedonists and anti-hedonists has been completely resolved. However, it’s clear that few modern moral philosophers today would defend the simplistic views of hedonistic psychology found in Bentham and Mill. There is some common agreement that pleasure cannot be seen as the only motive or goal of moral action, although there are still varying opinions on the role of pleasure in the highest good and the feasibility of a hedonistic calculus.
The failure of “laissez-faire” individualism in politics to produce that common prosperity and happiness which its advocates hoped for caused men to question the egoistic basis upon which its ethical counterpart was constructed. Similarly the comparative failure of science to satisfy men’s aspirations alike in knowledge and, so far as the happiness of the masses is concerned, in practice has been largely instrumental in producing that revolt against material prosperity as the end of conduct which is characteristic of idealist moral philosophy. To this revolt, and to the general tendency to find the principle of morality in an ideal good present to the consciousness of all persons capable of acting morally, the widespread recognition of reason as the ultimate court of appeal alike in religion or politics, and latterly in economics also, has no doubt contributed largely. In the main the appeal to reason has followed the traditional course of such movements in ethics, and has reaffirmed in the light of fuller reflection the moral principles implicit in the ordinary moral consciousness. It is only in the present day that there are noticeable signs of dissatisfaction with current morality itself, and a tendency to substitute or advocate a new morality based ostensibly upon conclusions derived from the facts of scientific observation.
The failure of "laissez-faire" individualism in politics to create the common prosperity and happiness that its supporters hoped for led people to question the self-centered foundations on which its ethical counterpart was built. Similarly, the relative shortcomings of science in fulfilling people's aspirations for knowledge and, in terms of the happiness of the masses, in practice have played a significant role in sparking a rebellion against the idea of material prosperity being the ultimate goal of conduct, which is a hallmark of idealist moral philosophy. This rebellion, along with the overall trend of finding the principle of morality in an ideal good that is present in the consciousness of all individuals capable of moral action, has undoubtedly been influenced by the widespread acknowledgment of reason as the final authority in both religion and politics, and more recently in economics as well. Generally, the appeal to reason has followed the usual trajectory of such movements in ethics, reaffirming, with deeper reflection, the moral principles that are naturally present in common moral awareness. Only today do we see noticeable signs of dissatisfaction with current morality itself, along with a tendency to propose or advocate for a new morality that is supposedly based on conclusions drawn from scientific observation.
Darwin himself seems never to have questioned, in the sceptical direction in which his followers have applied his principles, the absolute character of moral obligation. What interested 841 him chiefly, in so far as he made a study of morality, was Darwin. the development of moral conduct in its preliminary stages. He was principally concerned to show that in morality, as in other departments of human life, it was not necessary to postulate a complete and abrupt gap between human and merely animal existence, but that the instincts and habits which contribute to survival in the struggle for existence among animals develop into moral qualities which have a similar value for the preservation of human and social life. Regarding the social tendency as originally itself an instinct developed out of parental or filial affection, he seems to suggest that natural selection, which was the chief cause of its development in the earlier stages, may very probably influence the transition from purely tribal and social morality into morality in its later and more complex forms. But he admits that natural selection is not necessarily the only cause, and he refrains from identifying the fully developed morality of civilized nations with the “social instinct.” Moreover, he recognizes that qualities, e.g. loyalty and sympathy, which may have been of great service to the tribe in its primitive struggle for existence, may become a positive hindrance to physical efficiency (leading as they do to the preservation of the unfit) at a later stage. Nevertheless to check our sympathy would lead to the “deterioration of the noblest part of our nature,” and the question, which is obviously of vital importance, whether we should obey the dictates of reason, which would urge us only to such conduct as is conducive to natural selection, or remain faithful to the noblest part of our nature at the expense of reason, he leaves unsolved.
Darwin himself never seemed to doubt, in the skeptical way his followers have applied his principles, the absolute nature of moral obligation. What he was mainly focused on, when studying morality, was the development of moral behavior in its early stages. He primarily aimed to demonstrate that in morality, as in other areas of human life, it wasn’t necessary to assume a complete and sudden divide between human and merely animal existence. Instead, the instincts and habits that aid survival in the struggle for existence among animals evolve into moral qualities that hold similar value for the survival of human and social life. He viewed the social tendency as originally an instinct shaped by parental or filial love, suggesting that natural selection, which was the key reason for its development in earlier stages, might very well influence the shift from purely tribal and social morality to morality in its later and more complex forms. However, he acknowledged that natural selection isn’t necessarily the only cause and refrained from equating the fully developed morality of civilized societies with the “social instinct.” Furthermore, he recognized that traits, like loyalty and sympathy, which may have been very beneficial to the tribe in its primitive struggle for existence, could actually become a hindrance to physical efficiency (as they lead to the preservation of the unfit) at a later stage. Nevertheless, suppressing our sympathy could lead to the “deterioration of the noblest part of our nature.” He leaves unresolved the crucial question of whether we should follow the dictates of reason, which would push us toward behavior that benefits natural selection, or remain loyal to the noblest part of our nature at the cost of reason.
It was in Herbert Spencer, the triumphant “buccinator novi temporis,” that the advocates of evolutionary ethics found their protagonist. Spencer looked to ideas derived from the biological sciences to provide a solution of all Spencer. the enigmas of morality, as of most other departments of life; and he conceived it “to be the business of moral science to deduce from the laws of life and the conditions of existence what kinds of action necessarily tend to produce happiness and what kinds to produce unhappiness.” It is clear, therefore, that any moral science which is to be of value must wait until the “laws of life” and “conditions of existence” have been satisfactorily determined, presumably by biology and the allied sciences; and there are few more melancholy instances of failure in philosophy than the paucity of the actual results attained by Spencer in his lifetime in his application of the so-called laws of evolution to human conduct—a failure recognized by Spencer himself. His own contribution to ethics was vitiated at the outset by the fact that he never shook himself free from the trammels of the philosophy which his own system was intended to supersede. He began by disclaiming any affinity to Utilitarianism on the part of his own philosophy. He pointed out that the principle of the greatest happiness of the greatest number is a principle without any definite meaning, since men are nowhere unanimous in their standard of happiness, but regard the conception of happiness rather as a problem to be solved than a test to be applied. Universal happiness would require omniscience to legislate for it and the “normal” or, as some would say, “perfect” man to desire it; neither of these conditions of its realization is at present in existence. Further, the principle that “everybody is to count for one, nobody for more than one,” is equally unsatisfactory. It may be taken to imply that the useless and the criminal should be entitled to as much happiness as the useful and the virtuous. While it gives no rule for private as distinct from public conduct, it provides no real guidance for the legislator. For neither happiness, nor the concrete means to happiness, nor finally the conditions of its realization can be distributed; and in the end “not general happiness becomes the ethical standard by which legislative action is to be guided, but universal justice.” Yet the implications of this latter conclusion Spencer never fully thought out. He accepted bodily without farther questioning the hedonistic psychology by which the Utilitarians sought to justify their theory while he rejected the theory itself. Good, e.g. defined by him “as conduct conducive to life,” is also further defined as that which is “conducive to a surplus of pleasures over pains.” Happiness, again, is always regarded as consisting in feeling, ultimately in pleasant feeling, and there is no attempt to apply the same principles of criticism which he had successfully applied to the Utilitarians’ “happiness” to the conception of “pleasure.” And, though he maintains as against the Utilitarians the existence of certain fundamental moral intuitions which have come to be quite independent of any present conscious experience of their utility, he yet holds that they are the results of accumulated racial experiences gradually organized and inherited. Finally, side by side with a theory of the nature of moral obligation thus fundamentally empirical and a posteriori in its outlook, he maintains in his account of justice the existence of the idea of justice as distinct from a mere sentiment, carrying with it an a priori belief in its existence and identical in its a priori and intuitive character with the ultimate criterion of Utilitarianism itself. The fact is that any close philosophical analysis of Spencer’s system of ethics can only result in the discovery of a multitude of mutually conflicting and for the most part logically untenable theories. It is frequently impossible to discover whether he wishes by an appeal to evolutionary principles to reinforce the sanctions and emphasize the absolute character of the traditional morality which in the main he accepts without question from the current opinions about conduct of his age, or whether he wishes to discredit and disprove the validity of that morality in order to substitute by the aid of the biological sciences a new ethical code. The argument, for instance, that intuitive and a priori beliefs gain their absolute character from the fact that they are the result of continued transmission and accumulation of past nervous modifications in the history of the race would, if taken seriously, lead us to the belief that ultimate ethical sanctions are to be sought, not by an appeal to the moral consciousness, but by the investigation of brain tissue and the relation of man’s bodily organism to its environment. Yet such a view would be totally at variance with much that Spencer says (especially in his treatment of justice) concerning the trustworthiness and inevitable character of men’s constant appeal to the intuitions of their moral consciousness. Moreover, the very fact itself of the possibility of inheriting acquired moral characteristics is still hotly debated by those biologists with whom should rest the ultimate verdict. Again, the argument that “conduct is good or bad according as its total effects are pleasurable or painful,” and that ultimately “pleasure-giving acts are life-sustaining acts,” seems to involve Spencer in a multitude of unverified assumptions and contradictory theories. In the first place it is never clear whether Spencer regards the fact that a particular course of conduct is accompanied by a feeling of pleasure as a test of its life-preserving and life-sustaining character, or whether he wishes us to use as our criterion of what is pleasant in conduct the fact that the conduct in question seems conducive to the continued existence of man’s organic life. He apparently passes from one criterion to the other as best suits the purpose of the moment. He does not prove the coincidence of life-sustaining and pleasant activities. He assumes throughout that the pleasant is the opposite of what is painful, and seems unaware of the difficulty of determining by means of terms so highly abstract the specific character of moral action. We find in his theory no satisfactory attempt to discriminate between the pleasure aimed at by the altruist and the immediate pleasure of egoistic action. Similarly he disregards the distinction between pleasant feeling as an immediate motive of conduct and the idea of the attainment of future pleasure whether by the race or by the individual. Spencer is involved in effect in most of the confusions and contradictions of hedonistic psychology.
It was Herbert Spencer, the triumphant "trailblazer of modern times," who became the figurehead for those supporting evolutionary ethics. Spencer turned to concepts from biological sciences to solve all the mysteries of morality, as well as most other areas of life; he believed that "the role of moral science is to derive from the laws of life and the conditions of existence which types of actions lead to happiness and which lead to unhappiness." Therefore, it’s clear that any moral science with real value must wait until the "laws of life" and "conditions of existence" have been satisfactorily determined, likely by biology and related sciences; and there are few sadder examples of failure in philosophy than the limited accomplishments Spencer achieved in his lifetime in applying the so-called laws of evolution to human behavior—a shortcoming he acknowledged himself. His contribution to ethics was flawed from the start by the fact that he never freed himself from the constraints of the philosophy that his own system aimed to replace. He began by disavowing any connection between his philosophy and Utilitarianism. He pointed out that the principle of the greatest happiness for the greatest number is essentially a principle without clear meaning since people don’t agree on what happiness consists of, seeing it more as a problem to be solved than as a standard to apply. Achieving universal happiness would require complete knowledge to legislate for it and a "normal" or "perfect" human to desire it; neither of these conditions is currently met. Moreover, the principle that "everyone counts as one, no one more than one" is equally inadequate. This might suggest that the useless and criminal should receive as much happiness as the useful and virtuous. While it gives no rule for private versus public behavior, it offers no real guidance for lawmakers. For neither happiness, nor the specific means to happiness, nor ultimately the conditions for its realization can be distributed; in the end, "it is not general happiness that should guide legislative actions, but universal justice." Yet, Spencer never fully explored the implications of this conclusion. He accepted without further questioning the hedonistic psychology that Utilitarians used to justify their theory while rejecting the theory itself. Good, as he defined it, "is conduct that promotes life," and is also further defined as that which leads to "more pleasures than pains." Happiness, in turn, is always seen as consisting of feeling, ultimately pleasant feeling, and he doesn’t attempt to apply the same critical principles he successfully used against the Utilitarians' concept of "happiness" to the idea of "pleasure." And, while he maintains against the Utilitarians that certain fundamental moral intuitions exist independently of any present conscious awareness of their usefulness, he still argues that these intuitions arise from accumulated racial experiences gradually organized and inherited. Finally, alongside a theory of moral obligation that is fundamentally empirical and derived from experience, he asserts in his account of justice the existence of the concept of justice as distinct from a mere feeling, carrying an inherent belief in its existence that is identical in its nature with the ultimate standard of Utilitarianism itself. The truth is that any detailed philosophical analysis of Spencer’s ethical system reveals a multitude of conflicting and mostly logically untenable theories. It’s often impossible to determine whether he uses evolutionary principles to reinforce the authority and emphasize the absolute nature of the traditional morality he primarily accepts without question from his era's views on conduct, or whether he aims to discredit and disprove that morality to replace it with a new ethical code informed by biological sciences. The argument, for example, that intuitive and a priori beliefs acquire their absolute nature from being the outcome of continuous transmission and accumulation of past nervous changes throughout human history would, if taken seriously, lead us to believe that ultimate ethical validations should be pursued not through appeal to moral understanding, but through investigation of brain structure and the relationship between human physiology and its environment. Yet such a perspective would be completely contradictory to much of what Spencer claims (especially in his discussion of justice) about the reliability and inevitable nature of people's continuous reliance on the intuitions of their moral consciousness. Furthermore, the very fact that it's possible to inherit acquired moral traits is still widely debated among biologists who should hold the final judgment. Again, the argument that "conduct is good or bad depending on whether its overall effects are pleasurable or painful," and that ultimately "pleasure-producing actions are life-sustaining actions," seems to trap Spencer in numerous unproven assumptions and contradictory theories. Initially, it is never clear whether Spencer views the fact that a specific action is associated with pleasure as a test of its life-supporting and life-sustaining nature, or whether he wants us to use the fact that the action seems beneficial to human survival as our measure of what is pleasant in behavior. He appears to shift from one criterion to another as it suits the context. He doesn't prove that life-sustaining and pleasurable activities are the same. He consistently assumes that pleasure is the opposite of pain, seemingly oblivious to the challenge of defining the particular nature of moral action with such highly abstract terms. His theory lacks a clear distinction between the pleasure sought by altruists and the immediate pleasure from self-serving actions. Similarly, he overlooks the difference between pleasant feelings as immediate motivations for action and the aspiration for future pleasure, whether for the collective or the individual. Essentially, Spencer gets caught up in many of the confusions and contradictions inherent in hedonistic psychology.
Nor is his attempt to construct a scientific criterion out of data derived from the biological sciences productive of satisfactory results. He is hampered by a distinction between “absolute” and “relative” ethics definitely formulated in the last two chapters of The Data of Ethics. Absolute ethics would deal with such laws as would regulate the conduct of ideal man in an ideal 842 society, i.e. a society where conduct has reached the stage of complete adjustment to the needs of social life. Relative ethics, on the other hand, is concerned only with such conduct as is advantageous for that society which has not yet reached the end of complete adaptation to its environment, i.e. which is at present imperfect. It is hardly necessary to say that Spencer does not tell us how to bring the two ethical systems into correlation. And the actual criteria of conduct derived from biological considerations are almost ludicrously inadequate. Conduct, e.g., is said to be more moral in proportion as it exhibits a tendency on the part of the individual or society to become more “definite,” “coherent” and “heterogeneous.” Or, again, we should recognize as a test of the “authoritative” character of moral ideas or feelings the fact that they are complex and representative, referring to a remote rather than to a proximate good, remembering the while that “the sense of duty is transitory, and will diminish as fast as moralization increases.” In fact, no acceptable scientific criterion emerges, and the outcome of Spencer’s attempt to ascertain the laws of life and the conditions of existence is either a restatement of the dictates of the moral consciousness in vague and cumbrous quasi-scientific phraseology, or the substitution of the meaningless test of “survivability” as a standard of perfection for the usual and intelligible standards of “good” and “right.”
His attempt to create a scientific standard from data in the biological sciences doesn't result in satisfactory outcomes. He's held back by a distinction between "absolute" and "relative" ethics that is clearly outlined in the last two chapters of The Data of Ethics. Absolute ethics would address laws that guide the behavior of an ideal person in an ideal 842 society, meaning a society that has achieved complete alignment with the needs of social life. Relative ethics, on the other hand, focuses only on behaviors that benefit a society that hasn't yet fully adapted to its environment, meaning one that is currently imperfect. It's unnecessary to point out that Spencer doesn't explain how to reconcile these two ethical systems. And the actual standards of behavior derived from biological perspectives are almost laughably inadequate. Behavior, for example, is deemed more moral when it shows a tendency for the individual or society to become more “definite,” “coherent,” and “heterogeneous.” Alternatively, we should view the complexity and representativeness of moral ideas or feelings—those that refer to a distant rather than immediate good—as a measure of their “authoritative” nature, keeping in mind that “the sense of duty is temporary and will decrease as moral awareness grows.” In reality, no viable scientific standard surfaces, and Spencer's efforts to identify the laws of life and the conditions for existence either rephrase the demands of moral awareness in vague and cumbersome quasi-scientific language or replace the meaningful standards of “good” and “right” with the nonsensical measure of “survivability” as a benchmark for perfection.
A similar criticism might fairly be passed upon the majority of philosophers who approach ethics from the standpoint of evolution. Sir Leslie Stephen, for instance, wishes to substitute the conception of “social health” for that Leslie Stephen. of universal happiness, and considers that the conditions of social health are to be discovered by an examination of the “social organism” or of “social tissue,” the laws of which can be studied apart from those laws by which the individuals composing society regulate their conduct. “The social evolution means the evolution of a strong social tissue; the best type is the type implied by the strongest tissue.” But on the important question as to what constitutes the strongest social tissue, or to what extent the analogy between society as at present constituted and organic life is really applicable, we are left without certain guidance. The fact is that with few exceptions evolutionary moral philosophers evade the choice between alternatives which is always presented to them. They begin, for the most part, with a belief that in ethics as in other departments of human knowledge “the more developed must be interpreted by the less developed”—though frequently in the sequel complexity or posteriority of development is erected as a standard by means of which to judge the process of development itself. They are not content to write a history of moral development, applying to it the principles by which Darwinians seek to explain the development of animal life. But the search of origins frequently leads them into theories of the nature of that moral conduct whose origin they are anxious to find quite at variance with current and accepted beliefs concerning its nature. The discovery of the so-called evolution of morality out of non-moral conditions is very frequently an unconscious subterfuge by which the evolutionist hides the fact that he is making a priori judgments upon the value of the moral concepts held to be evolved. To accept such theories of the origin of morality would carry with it the conviction that what we took for “moral” conduct was in reality something very different, and has been so throughout its history. The legitimate inference which should follow would be the denial of the validity of those moral laws which have hitherto been regarded as absolute in character, and the substitution for all customary moral terms of an entirely new set based upon biological considerations. But it is precisely this, the only logical inference, which most evolutionary philosophers are unwilling to draw. They cannot give up their belief in customary morality. Professor Huxley maintained, for example, in a famous lecture that “the ethical progress of society depends not on imitating the cosmic process, still less in running away from it, but in combating it” (Romanes Lecture, ad fin.). And very frequently arguments are adduced by evolutionists to prove that men’s belief in the absolute character of moral precepts is one of the necessary means adopted by nature to carry out her designs for the social welfare of mankind. Yet the other alternative, to which such reasoning points, they are reluctant to accept. For the belief that moral obligation is absolute in character, that it is alike impossible to explain its origin and transcend its laws, would make the search for a scientific criterion of conduct to be deduced from the laws of life and conditions of existence meaningless, if not absurd.
A similar criticism could reasonably be aimed at most philosophers who view ethics through an evolutionary lens. Sir Leslie Stephen, for example, wants to replace the idea of “universal happiness” with the concept of “social health” and believes that the conditions for social health can be understood by examining the “social organism” or “social tissue,” whose laws can be studied independently of the laws that govern individual behavior in society. “Social evolution means the evolution of a strong social tissue; the best type is the one implied by the strongest tissue.” However, when it comes to identifying what makes social tissue strong, or how applicable the analogy between current society and organic life really is, we find ourselves lacking clear direction. The truth is that, with few exceptions, evolutionary moral philosophers tend to avoid making a clear choice between the alternatives they face. Generally, they start with the idea that, just like in other areas of human knowledge, “the more developed must be interpreted by the less developed”—although often later on, they use complexity or the order of development as a standard to evaluate the development process itself. They don’t settle for simply writing a history of moral development using the principles that Darwinists apply to explain animal evolution. Yet, the search for origins often leads them to propose theories about the nature of moral conduct that conflict with widely accepted beliefs about its nature. The discovery of morality emerging from non-moral conditions is often an unconscious trick used by evolutionists to conceal the fact that they are making a priori judgments about the value of the moral concepts they believe have evolved. Accepting such theories would imply that what we consider “moral” conduct has always been something very different throughout history. The logical conclusion would then be to reject the validity of the moral laws that have been viewed as absolute and replace familiar moral terms with a completely new set based on biological considerations. But this, which is the only logical conclusion, is one that most evolutionary philosophers are unwilling to accept. They struggle to give up their belief in conventional morality. Professor Huxley argued, for instance, in a well-known lecture that “the ethical progress of society depends not on imitating the cosmic process, nor on running away from it, but in combating it” (Romanes Lecture, ad fin.). Frequently, evolutionists provide arguments suggesting that humanity’s belief in the absolute nature of moral precepts is a necessary means devised by nature to fulfill her plans for the social welfare of mankind. Still, they are hesitant to accept the opposing view that this reasoning leads to. For the belief that moral obligation is absolute—that it cannot be explained or transcended—renders any search for a scientific basis for conduct derived from the laws of life and existence completely meaningless, if not absurd.
Perhaps the one European thinker who has carried evolutionary principles in ethics to their logical conclusion is Friedrich Nietzsche. Almost any system of morality or immorality might find some justification in Nietzsche’s Nietzsche. writings, which are extraordinarily chaotic and full of the wildest exaggerations. Yet it has been a true instinct which has led popular opinion as testified to by current literature to find in Nietzsche the most orthodox exponent of Darwinian ideas in their application to ethics. For he saw clearly that to be successful evolutionary ethics must involve the “transvaluation of all values,” the “demoralization” of all ordinary current morality. He accepted frankly the glorification of brute strength, superior cunning and all the qualities necessary for success in the struggle for existence, to which the ethics of evolution necessarily tend. He proclaimed himself, before everything else, a physiologist, and looked to physiology to provide the ultimate standard for everything that has value; and though his own ethical code necessarily involves the disappearance of sympathy, love, toleration and all existing altruistic emotions, he yet in a sense finds room for them in such altruistic self-sacrifice as prepares the way for the higher man of the future. Thus, after a fashion, he is able to reconcile the conflicting claims of egoism and altruism and succeed where most apostles of evolution fail. The Christian virtues, sympathy for the weak, the suffering, &c., represent a necessary stage to be passed through in the evolution of the Übermensch, i.e. the stage when the weak and suffering combine in revolt against the strong. They are to be superseded, not so much because all social virtues are to be scorned and rejected, as because in their effects, i.e. in their tendency to perpetuate and prolong the existence of the weak and those who are least well equipped and endowed by nature, they are anti-social in character and inimical to the survival of the strongest and most vigorous type of humanity. Consequently Nietzsche in effect maintains the following paradoxical position: he explains the existence of altruism upon egoistical principles; he advocates the total abolition of all altruism by carrying these same egoistical principles to their logical conclusion; he nevertheless appeals to that moral instinct which makes men ready to sacrifice their own narrow personal interests to the higher good of society—an instinct profoundly altruistic in character—as the ultimate justification of the ethics he enunciates. Such a position is a reductio ad absurdum of the attempt to transcend the ultimate character of those intuitions and feelings which prompt men to benevolence. Thus, though incidentally there is much to be learned from Nietzsche, especially from his criticism of the ethics of pessimism, or from the strictures he passes upon the negative morality of extreme asceticism or quietism, his system inevitably provides its own refutation. For no philosophy which travesties the real course of history and distorts the moral facts is likely to commend itself to the sober judgment of mankind however brilliant be its exposition or ingenious its arguments. Finally, the conceptions of strength, power and masterfulness by which Nietzsche attempts to determine his own moral ideal, become, when examined, as relative and unsatisfactory as other criteria of moral action said to be deduced from evolutionary principles. Men desire strength or power not as ends but as means to ends beyond them; Nietzsche is most convincing when the Übermensch is left undefined. Imagined as ideal man, i.e. as morality depicts him, he becomes intelligible; imagined as Nietzsche describes him he reels back into the beast, and that distinction which chiefly separates man from the animal world out of which he has emerged, viz. his unique power of self-consciousness and self-criticism, is obliterated.
Perhaps the one European thinker who has taken evolutionary principles in ethics to their logical conclusion is Friedrich Nietzsche. Almost any system of morality or immorality could find some justification in Nietzsche’s writings, which are incredibly chaotic and full of wild exaggerations. Still, there’s been a true instinct that has led popular opinion, as shown by current literature, to see Nietzsche as the most orthodox proponent of Darwinian ideas applied to ethics. He recognized that for evolutionary ethics to be successful, it must involve the “transvaluation of all values” and the “demoralization” of all regular current morality. He openly embraced the celebration of brute strength, superior cunning, and all the traits necessary for success in the struggle for existence that evolutionary ethics naturally leads to. He declared himself primarily a physiologist and looked to physiology as the ultimate standard for everything valuable; and although his own ethical framework involves the elimination of sympathy, love, tolerance, and all existing altruistic emotions, in a sense he still makes room for these feelings in the kind of altruistic self-sacrifice that paves the way for the higher man of the future. Thus, in a way, he manages to reconcile the conflicting demands of egoism and altruism and succeeds where most advocates of evolution fail. The Christian virtues, such as compassion for the weak and suffering, represent a necessary phase to be passed through in the evolution of the Übermensch, meaning the stage when the weak and suffering unite in revolt against the strong. They are meant to be surpassed, not so much because all social virtues should be scorned and rejected, but because in their effects, meaning in their tendency to maintain and prolong the existence of the weak and those who are least equipped and endowed by nature, they are anti-social and detrimental to the survival of the strongest and most vigorous type of humanity. Consequently, Nietzsche effectively maintains the following paradoxical stance: he explains the existence of altruism through egoistical principles; he advocates for the complete abolition of all altruism by taking these same egoistical principles to their logical conclusion; he still appeals to that moral instinct which makes people willing to sacrifice their own narrow personal interests for the greater good of society—an instinct profoundly altruistic in nature—as the ultimate justification for the ethics he describes. This position serves as a reductio ad absurdum of the attempt to transcend the ultimate nature of those intuitions and feelings that drive people to benevolence. Thus, while there is much to learn from Nietzsche, especially from his criticism of pessimistic ethics and his criticisms of the negative morality of extreme asceticism or quietism, his system ultimately refutes itself. For no philosophy that misrepresents the true course of history and distorts moral facts is likely to earn the rational acceptance of humanity, no matter how brilliant its presentation or how clever its arguments. Finally, the concepts of strength, power, and mastery that Nietzsche tries to use to define his moral ideal become, when examined, as relative and inadequate as other criteria of moral action claimed to be based on evolutionary principles. People desire strength or power not as ends in themselves but as means to achieve goals beyond them; Nietzsche is most compelling when the Übermensch is left undefined. When imagined as the ideal man, as morality portrays him, he becomes understandable; when imagined as Nietzsche describes him, he devolves into a beast, and that distinction which primarily separates man from the animal world from which he has emerged—his unique ability for self-consciousness and self-criticism—is erased.
It was upon this crucial difficulty, i.e. the transition in the 843 evolution of morality from the stage of purely animal and unconscious action to specifically human action,—i.e. action T.H. Green. directed by self-conscious and purposive intelligence to an end conceived as good,—that the polemic of T.H. Green and his idealistic followers fastened. And it is perhaps unfortunate that metaphysical doctrines enunciated chiefly for the purposes of criticism not in themselves vitally necessary to the theory of morality propounded should have been regarded as the main contribution to ethical theory of idealist writers, and as such treated severely by hostile critics. Green’s principal objection to evolutionary moral philosophy is contained in the argument that no merely “natural” explanation of the facts of morality is conceivable. The knowing consciousness,—i.e. so far as conduct is concerned the moral consciousness,—can never become an object of knowledge in the sense in which natural phenomena are objects of scientific knowledge. For such knowledge implies the existence of a knowing consciousness as a relating and uniting intelligence capable of distinguishing itself from the objects to which it relates. And more particularly the existence of the moral consciousness implies “the transition from mere want to consciousness of wanted object, from impulse to satisfy the want to effort for the realization of the wanted objects, implies the presence of the want to a subject which distinguishes itself from it.” Consequently the facts of moral development imply with the emergence of human consciousness the appearance of something qualitatively different from the facts with which physiology for instance deals, imply a stratum as it were in development which no examination of animal tissues, no calculation of consequences with regard to the preservation of the species can ever satisfactorily explain. However far back we go in the history of humanity, if the presence of consciousness be admitted at all, it will be necessary to admit also the presence to consciousness of an ideal which can be accepted or rejected, of a power of looking before and after, and aiming at a future which is not yet fully realized. But unfortunately the temporary exigencies of criticism made it necessary for Green to emphasize the metaphysic of the self, i.e. to insist upon the necessity of a critical examination of the pre-requisites of any form of self-consciousness and especially of the knowing consciousness, to such an extent that critics have lost sight of the real dependence of his metaphysic upon the direct evidence of the moral consciousness. The philosophic value, the sincerity, the breadth and depth of his treatment of moral facts and institutions have been fully recognized. What has not been adequately realized is that the metaphysical basis of his system of ethics—the argument, for example, contained in the introduction to the Prolegomena—is unfairly treated if divorced from his treatment of morals as a whole, and that it can be justly estimated only if interpreted as much as the conclusion as the starting-point of moral theory. The doctrine of the eternity of the self, for instance, against which much criticism (e.g. Taylor, The Problem of Conduct, chap. ii.) has been directed, though it is chiefly expressed in the language of epistemology, has its roots nevertheless in the direct testimony of moral experience. For morality implies a power in the individual of rising above the interests of his own narrower self and identifying himself in the pursuit of a universal good with the true interests of all other selves. Similarly the conception of the self as a moral unity arises naturally out of the impossibility of finding the summum bonum in a succession of transient states of consciousness such as hedonism for example postulates. Good as a true universal can only be realized by a true self, and both imply a principle of unity not wholly expressible in terms of the particulars which it unifies. But whether the idealistic interpretation of the nature of universal good be the true one, i.e. whether we are justified in identifying that self-consciousness which is capable of grasping the principle of unity with the principle of unity which it grasps is a metaphysical and theistic problem comparatively irrelevant to Green’s moral theory. It would be quite possible to accept his criticisms of naturalism and hedonism while rejecting many of the metaphysical inferences which he draws. A somewhat similar answer might be returned to those critics who find Green’s use of the term “self-realization” or “self-development” as characteristic of the moral ideal unsatisfactory. It is quite easy to exhibit the futility of such a conception if understood formally for the practical purposes of moral philosophy. If the phrase be understood to mean the realization of some capacities of the self it does not appear to discriminate sufficiently between the good and bad capacities; while the realization under present conditions of all the capacities of a self is impossible. And to aim so far as is possible at all-round development would again ignore the distinction between vice and virtue. But used in the sense in which Green habitually uses it self-realization implies, as he puts it, the fulfilment by the good man of his rational capacity or the idea of a best that is in time, i.e. the distinction between the good and the bad self is never ignored, but is the fundamental assumption of his theory. And if it be urged that the expression is in any case tautological, i.e. that the good is defined in terms of self-realization and self-realization in terms of the good, it may be doubted whether any rational system of ethics can avoid a similar imputation. Green would admit that in a certain sense the conception of “good” is indefinable, i.e. that it can only be recognized in the particulars of conduct of which it is the universal form. Only, therefore, to those philosophers who believe in the existence of a criterion of morality, i.e. a universal test such as that of pleasure, happiness and the like, by which we can judge of the worth of actions, will Green’s position seem absurd; since, on the contrary, such conceptions as those of “self-development” or “self-realization” seem to have a definite and positive value if they call attention to the metaphysical implications of morality and accurately characterize the moral facts. What ambiguity they possess arises from the ambiguity of morality itself. For moral progress consists in the actualization of what is already potentially in existence. The striking merit of Green’s moral philosophy is that the idealism which he advocates is rooted and grounded in moral habits and institutions: and the metaphysic in which it culminates is based upon principles already implicitly recognized by the moral consciousness of the ordinary man. Nothing could be farther from Green’s teaching than the belief that constructive metaphysics could, unaided by the intuitions of the moral consciousness, discover laws for the regulation of conduct.
It was on this critical issue, i.e. the shift in the 843 development of morality from purely animal and unconscious actions to specifically human actions—i.e. actions T.H. Green. guided by self-aware and intentional intelligence aimed at a perceived good—that T.H. Green and his idealistic followers focused their debate. It’s perhaps unfortunate that the metaphysical ideas primarily put forward for critical evaluation, which aren’t essential to the moral theory proposed, have been seen as the main contributions to ethical theory by idealist authors and have been harshly critiqued by opponents. Green’s main critique of evolutionary moral philosophy lies in the argument that no purely “natural” explanation of moral facts is conceivable. The cognitive consciousness—i.e. regarding conduct, the moral consciousness—can never be an object of knowledge in the same way that natural phenomena are objects of scientific study. Such knowledge requires an aware consciousness that serves as a relating and unifying intelligence capable of setting itself apart from the objects it relates to. Specifically, the existence of moral consciousness suggests “the transition from mere desires to awareness of the desired object, from the impulse to satisfy the desire to the effort to realize the desired objects, indicating the presence of that desire to a subject that differentiates itself from it.” Consequently, the facts of moral development suggest that with the growth of human consciousness comes something qualitatively distinct from the facts dealt with by physiology, indicative of a developmental layer that no examination of animal tissues or calculations regarding species survival can adequately explain. Regardless of how far back we trace humanity’s history, if we accept the presence of consciousness at all, we must also acknowledge the awareness of an ideal that can be accepted or rejected, a capacity to look forward and backward, and to aim for a future that isn't yet fully achieved. Unfortunately, the immediate demands of criticism compelled Green to stress the metaphysics of the self, i.e. to highlight the need for a critical analysis of the preconditions for any form of self-consciousness, particularly knowing consciousness, to such an extent that critics overlooked the genuine connection of his metaphysics to the direct evidence of moral consciousness. The philosophical value, sincerity, and the depth of his engagement with moral facts and institutions have been thoroughly recognized. What hasn’t been adequately acknowledged is that the metaphysical foundation of his ethical system—the argument found in the introduction to the Prolegomena—is unfairly assessed when separated from his comprehensive treatment of morals, and can only be correctly evaluated as both a conclusion and a starting point in moral theory. For example, the theory of the eternity of the self, which has faced much criticism (e.g. Taylor, The Problem of Conduct, chap. ii.), although primarily articulated in epistemological terms, nonetheless originates from the direct insights of moral experience. Morality involves an individual's ability to rise above their own narrower interests and align with the true common good, recognizing the genuine interests of all other selves. Similarly, the idea of the self as a moral unity naturally stems from the impossibility of finding the ultimate good in a series of temporary states of consciousness, as hedonism suggests. True goodness, as a universal concept, can only be realized by a true self, with both requiring a principle of unity that isn’t entirely expressible in the particulars it unifies. However, whether the idealistic view of the nature of universal good is the correct one—i.e. whether we can rightfully equate that self-awareness capable of grasping the unity principle with the unity principle it comprehends—is a metaphysical and theological question that is relatively irrelevant to Green’s moral theory. It’s entirely feasible to accept his critiques of naturalism and hedonism while rejecting many of the metaphysical conclusions he draws. A similar response can be given to those critics who find Green’s usage of the terms “self-realization” or “self-development” in characterizing the moral ideal unsatisfactory. It’s quite straightforward to showcase the emptiness of such a notion when understood formally for practical moral philosophy purposes. If the term is interpreted as the realization of some self-capacities, it doesn’t seem to sufficiently differentiate between good and bad capacities; furthermore, realizing all capacities of a self under current circumstances is impossible. And aiming, as much as possible, for overall development would ignore the distinction between vice and virtue. However, when used in the sense that Green typically employs it, self-realization reflects, as he states, the fulfillment by the good person of their rational capacity or the concept of a best that exists in time, i.e. the difference between the good and the bad self is never overlooked, but is the fundamental premise of his theory. If it’s claimed that the expression is tautological, i.e. that the good is defined via self-realization and self-realization via the good, it can be questioned whether any rational ethical framework can escape a similar critique. Green would agree that, in a certain sense, the notion of “good” is indefinable, i.e. that it can only be recognized in the specific actions of which it is the universal form. Hence, only to those philosophers who believe in a existing moral criterion, i.e. a universal measure like pleasure, happiness, and so on, by which we can assess the value of actions, will Green’s stance seem absurd. Conversely, concepts like “self-development” or “self-realization” appear to hold significant and positive value if they highlight the metaphysical consequences of morality and accurately represent moral facts. Any ambiguity they possess arises from the inherent ambiguity of morality itself. For moral progress involves bringing into existence what is already potentially there. The notable strength of Green’s moral philosophy is that the idealism he supports is firmly grounded in moral habits and social practices: and the metaphysics where it culminates is founded on principles already implicitly recognized by the average person’s moral consciousness. Nothing could be further from Green’s teachings than the belief that constructive metaphysics could, without the insights of moral consciousness, uncover laws that govern conduct.
But although Green’s loyalty to the primary facts of the moral consciousness prevented him from constructing a rationalistic system of morals based solely upon the conclusions of metaphysics, it was perhaps inevitable that the revival of interest in metaphysics so prominent in his own speculations should lead to a more daring criticism of ethical first principles in other writers. Bradley’s Ethical Studies had presented with great brilliancy an idealist theory of morality not very far removed from that of Green’s Prolegomena. But the publication of Appearance and Reality by the same author marked a great advance in philosophical criticism of ethical postulates, and a growing dissatisfaction with current reconciliations between moral first principles and the conclusions of metaphysics. Appearance and Reality was not primarily concerned with morals, yet it inevitably led to certain conclusions affecting conduct, and it was no very long time before these conclusions were elaborated Taylor. in detail. Professor A.E. Taylor’s Problem of Conduct (1901) is one of the most noteworthy and independent contributions to Moral Philosophy published in recent years. But it nevertheless follows in the main Bradley’s line of criticism and may therefore be regarded as representative of his school. There are two principal positions in Professor Taylor’s work:—(1) a refusal to base ethics upon metaphysics, and (2) the discovery of an irreconcilable dualism in the nature of morality which takes many shapes, but may be summarized roughly as consisting in an ultimate opposition between egoism and altruism. With regard to the first of these Taylor says (op. cit. p. 4) that his object is to show that “ethics is as independent of metaphysical speculation for its principles and methods as any of the so-called ‘natural sciences’; that its real basis must be sought not in philosophical theories about the nature of the Absolute or the ultimate constitution of the Universe, 844 but in the empirical facts of human life as they are revealed to us in our concrete everyday experience of the world and mankind, and sifted and systematized by the sciences of psychology and sociology.... Ethics should be regarded as a purely ‘positive’ or ‘experimental’ and not as a ‘speculative’ science.” With regard to the second position one quotation will suffice (op. cit. p. 183). “Altruism and egoism are divergent developments from the common psychological root of primitive ethical sentiment. Both developments are alike unavoidable, and each is ultimately irreconcilable with the other. Neither egoism nor altruism can be made the sole basis of moral theory without mutilation of the facts, nor can any higher category be discovered by the aid of which their rival claims may be finally adjusted.”
But even though Green's commitment to the basic facts of moral consciousness stopped him from building a rationalistic moral system solely based on metaphysical conclusions, it was probably inevitable that the renewed interest in metaphysics evident in his own thoughts would lead to bolder critiques of ethical first principles from other authors. Bradley’s Ethical Studies brilliantly introduced an idealist theory of morality that was not far off from Green’s Prolegomena. However, the release of Appearance and Reality by the same author represented a significant step forward in the philosophical critique of ethical assumptions, as well as a growing dissatisfaction with the existing reconciliations between moral first principles and metaphysical conclusions. Appearance and Reality didn’t focus primarily on morality, but it inevitably led to certain conclusions affecting behavior, and it wasn't long before these conclusions were explored in detail. Taylor. Professor A.E. Taylor’s Problem of Conduct (1901) is one of the most significant and independent contributions to Moral Philosophy published in recent years. However, it mainly follows Bradley’s line of critique and can therefore be seen as representative of his school. There are two key points in Professor Taylor’s work: (1) a refusal to base ethics on metaphysics, and (2) the recognition of an irreconcilable dualism in the nature of morality that takes various forms but can roughly be summarized as a fundamental opposition between egoism and altruism. Regarding the first point, Taylor states (op. cit. p. 4) that his goal is to show that “ethics is as independent of metaphysical speculation for its principles and methods as any of the so-called ‘natural sciences’; that its real basis must be sought not in philosophical theories about the nature of the Absolute or the ultimate constitution of the Universe, 844 but in the empirical facts of human life as they are revealed to us in our concrete everyday experience of the world and humanity, and sorted and organized by the sciences of psychology and sociology.... Ethics should be considered a purely ‘positive’ or ‘experimental’ science, not a ‘speculative’ one.” As for the second point, one quote suffices (op. cit. p. 183): “Altruism and egoism are divergent developments from the common psychological root of primitive ethical sentiment. Both developments are unavoidable and each is ultimately irreconcilable with the other. Neither egoism nor altruism can be the sole foundation of moral theory without distorting the facts, nor can any higher category be found that would allow their opposing claims to be finally reconciled.”
Professor Taylor expounds these two theories with great brilliance of argument and much ingenuity, yet neither of them will perhaps carry complete conviction to the minds of the majority of his critics. It is curious, in the first place, to find the independence of moral philosophy upon metaphysics supported by metaphysical arguments. For whatever may be the real character of the interrelation of moral and metaphysical first principles it is obvious that Taylor’s own dissatisfaction with current moral principles arises from an inability to believe in their ultimate rationality, i.e. a belief that they are untenable from the standpoint of ultimate metaphysics; and perhaps the most interesting portion of his book is the chapter entitled “Beyond Good and Bad,” in which the highest and final form of the ethical consciousness of mankind is subjected to searching criticism. But further, it is becoming increasingly apparent that psychology (upon which Taylor would base morality) itself involves metaphysical assumptions; its position in fact cannot be stated except as a metaphysical position, whether that of subjective idealism or any other. And the need which most philosophers have felt for some philosophical foundation for morality arises, not from any desire to subordinate moral insight to speculative theory, but because the moral facts themselves are inexplicable except in the light of first principles which metaphysics alone can criticize.
Professor Taylor discusses these two theories with incredible insight and creativity, yet neither will likely convince most of his critics completely. It’s interesting, first of all, to see the independence of moral philosophy from metaphysics being supported by metaphysical arguments. No matter the actual relationship between moral and metaphysical first principles, it’s clear that Taylor’s own dissatisfaction with current moral principles comes from his inability to believe in their ultimate rationality, meaning he thinks they are not sustainable from the standpoint of ultimate metaphysics. Perhaps the most intriguing part of his book is the chapter titled “Beyond Good and Bad,” where he rigorously critiques the highest and final form of human ethical consciousness. Additionally, it’s becoming more evident that psychology, which Taylor wants to use as the basis for morality, has its own metaphysical assumptions; its stance can only be articulated as a metaphysical position, whether that be subjective idealism or another view. The need that most philosophers feel for a philosophical foundation for morality does not stem from a desire to prioritize moral insight over speculative theory but arises because the moral facts themselves are not understandable without first principles that only metaphysics can evaluate.
Taylor himself attempts to find the roots of ethics in the moral sentiments of mankind, the moral sentiments being primarily feelings or emotions, though they imply and result in judgments of approval and disapproval upon conduct. But it may be doubted whether he succeeds in clearly distinguishing ethical feelings from ethical judgments, and if they are to be treated as synonymous it seems difficult to avoid the conclusion that the implications of moral “judgment” must involve a reference to metaphysics.
Taylor himself tries to trace the origins of ethics back to the moral feelings of people, which are mainly emotions, but also lead to judgments of approval and disapproval about actions. However, it’s questionable whether he effectively separates ethical feelings from ethical judgments. If these two are treated as the same, it becomes hard to escape the idea that the implications of moral “judgment” must refer to metaphysics.
Moreover, it is obvious that a great part of Taylor’s quarrel with current moral ideals arises from the fact that they do not commend themselves to the moral judgment, i.e. from the standpoint of real goodness they are unsatisfactory, being tainted with evil. Hence it appears difficult to reconcile what is in effect a belief in the validity of the judgments of the moral consciousness with a belief that the real source and justification of that consciousness are to be found in the very sentiments and vague mass of floating feelings upon which it pronounces. Scepticism seems to be the only possible result of such a position. Taylor’s polemic against metaphysical systems of ethics is based throughout upon an alleged discrepancy and separation between the facts of moral “experience,” the judgments of the moral consciousness, and theories as to the nature of these which the philosophers whom he attacks would by no means accept. There is no doubt a distinction between morality as a form of consciousness and reflection upon that morality. But such a distinction neither corresponds to, nor testifies to, the existence of a distinction between morality as “experience” and morality as “theory” or “idea.”
Moreover, it's clear that a significant part of Taylor’s disagreement with current moral ideals comes from the fact that they don't resonate with moral judgment; in other words, from the standpoint of true goodness, they are unsatisfactory and mixed with evil. Consequently, it seems challenging to reconcile the belief in the validity of moral judgments with the belief that the true source and justification of that consciousness lie in the very sentiments and vague collection of feelings on which it bases its assessments. Skepticism appears to be the only possible outcome of such a perspective. Taylor's critique of metaphysical ethical systems is consistently founded on an alleged gap and separation between the facts of moral "experience," the judgments of moral consciousness, and the theories about these that the philosophers he criticizes would never accept. There is undoubtedly a distinction between morality as a form of consciousness and reflection on that morality. However, this distinction neither corresponds to nor demonstrates the existence of a distinction between morality as "experience" and morality as "theory" or "idea."
Taylor is more persuasive when he is developing his second main thesis—that of the alleged existence of an ultimate dualism in the nature of morality. His accounts of the genesis of the conceptions of obligation and responsibility as of most of the ultimate conceptions with which moral philosophy deals will be accepted or rejected to the extent to which the main contention concerning the psychological basis of ethics commends itself to the reader. But in his exposition of the fundamental contradiction involved in morality elaborated with much care and illustrative argument he appeals for the most part to facts familiar to the unphilosophical moral consciousness. He begins by finding an ultimate opposition between the instincts of self-assertion and instincts which secure the production and protection of the coming generation even in the infra-ethical world with which biology deals. He traces this opposition into the forms in which it appears in the social life of mankind (as, e.g., in the difficulty of reconciling the conflicting claims of individual self-development and self-culture and social service), and finds “a hidden root of insincerity and hypocrisy beneath all morality” (p. 243), inasmuch as it is not possible to pursue any one type of ideal without some departure from singleness of purpose. And he finds all the conceptions by which men have hoped to reconcile admitted antagonisms and divergencies between moral ideals claiming to be ultimate and authoritative alike unsatisfactory (p. 285). Progress is illusory; there is no satisfactory goal to which moral development inevitably tends; religion in which some take refuge when distressed by the inexplicable contradictions of moral conduct itself “contains and rests upon an element of make believe” (p. 489).
Taylor is more convincing as he develops his second main argument—the supposed existence of a fundamental dualism in the nature of morality. His explanations of how concepts like obligation and responsibility originated, as well as most of the core ideas related to moral philosophy, will be accepted or rejected based on how well the central idea concerning the psychological foundations of ethics resonates with the reader. However, in his detailed discussion of the basic contradiction involved in morality, he mostly references facts that are familiar to those without a philosophical background. He begins by identifying a fundamental conflict between the instincts of self-assertion and those that promote the production and protection of future generations, even in the biological realm. He explores this conflict as it manifests in human social life (for example, the challenges of balancing personal self-development and social service) and discovers "a hidden root of insincerity and hypocrisy beneath all morality" (p. 243), because pursuing any single ideal requires some deviation from a unified purpose. He finds the various ideas that people have hoped would reconcile acknowledged conflicts and differences between moral ideals—each claiming to be ultimate and authoritative—equally unsatisfactory (p. 285). Progress is an illusion; there is no satisfactory end point toward which moral development necessarily leads; religion, which some rely on when troubled by the confusing contradictions of moral behavior, "contains and rests upon an element of make believe" (p. 489).
With Taylor’s presentation of the difficulties with which morality is expected to grapple probably few would be found seriously to disagree, though they might consider it unduly pessimistic. But when he turns what is in effect a statement of certain forms of moral difficulty into an attack upon the logical and coherent character of morality itself, he is not so likely to command assent. For the difficulty all men meet with in realizing goodness, or in being moral, is not in itself evidence of an inherent contradiction in the nature of goodness as such. And what perhaps would first strike an unprejudiced critic in Taylor’s examples of conflicting ideals or antagonistic yet ultimate moral judgments would be the perception that they are not necessarily moral ideas or judgments at all, and hence necessarily not ultimate.
With Taylor’s discussion of the challenges that morality faces, it’s likely most people would agree, although some might find it overly negative. However, when he shifts from describing certain types of moral difficulties to questioning the logical and consistent nature of morality itself, he might not gain as much agreement. The struggle everyone has with achieving goodness or being moral doesn’t, by itself, prove that there’s a fundamental contradiction in the nature of goodness. An unbiased critic might first notice that Taylor’s examples of conflicting ideals or opposing yet ultimate moral judgments aren’t necessarily moral ideas or judgments at all, and therefore aren’t necessarily ultimate.
The claims of self-culture and of social service may when considered in the abstract or in some hypothetical case appear antagonistic and irreconcilable. But when they present themselves to the individual moral consciousness it may be safely asserted (1) that there can be only one moral choice possible, i.e. that their opposition (where they are opposed) involves no conflict of duties; and (2) that whichever ideal is in the end preferred, opportunities will nevertheless be provided within its realization for the concurrent realization of activities and capacities ordinarily associated with the ideal alleged to be contradictory. For just as there is no self-realization which does not involve self-sacrifice, so there is no room for that species of egoism within the confines of morality which is incompatible with social service.
The ideas of personal growth and helping others might seem to conflict in theory or in a hypothetical situation. However, when they come to an individual's moral awareness, we can confidently say (1) that there can only be one moral choice available, meaning that any opposition (when it exists) doesn’t create a conflict of duties; and (2) that no matter which ideal is ultimately chosen, there will still be chances to pursue activities and skills typically linked to the ideal thought to be contradictory. Just as there is no personal fulfillment without some degree of selflessness, there is also no place for a type of selfishness in morality that clashes with the idea of helping others.
It will be clear from the foregoing account of Taylor’s work that the tendency of his thought, as of that of Bradley, is by no means directed to the confirmation or re-establishment of those principles of conduct recognized by the ordinary moral consciousness. Psychology or metaphysics tend in their systems to usurp the place of authority formerly assigned to ethics proper.
It will be clear from the previous discussion of Taylor’s work that the direction of his thinking, like Bradley's, is certainly not focused on reaffirming or restoring the principles of behavior accepted by common moral understanding. In their systems, psychology or metaphysics tend to take over the role of authority that was previously given to proper ethics.
It would be true on the whole to assert that evolutionary systems of ethics such as those of Herbert Spencer, Sir Leslie Stephen or Professor S. Alexander (Moral Order and Progress, 1899), together with the metaphysical Martineau. theories of morals of which T.H. Green and Bradley and Taylor are the chief representatives, have dominated the field of ethical speculation since 1870. Nevertheless it is only necessary to mention such a work as Martineau’s Types of Ethical Theory to dispel the notion that the type of moral philosophy most characteristically English, i.e. consisting in the patient analysis of the form and nature of the moral consciousness itself, has given way or is likely to give way to more ambitious and constructive efforts. Martineau’s chief endeavour was, as he himself says, to interpret, to vindicate, and to systematize the moral sentiments, and if the actual exhibition of what is involved, e.g., in 845 moral choice is the vindication of morality Martineau may be said to have been successful. It is with his interpretation and systematization of the moral sentiments that most of Martineau’s critics have found fault. It is impossible, e.g., to accept his ordered hierarchy of “springs of action” without perceiving that the real principle upon which they can be arranged in order at all must depend upon considerations of circumstances and consequences, of stations and duties, with which a strict intuitionalism such as that of Martineau would have no dealing.50 Similarly the notion of Conscience as a special faculty giving its pronouncements immediately and without reflection cannot be maintained in the face of modern psychological analysis and is untrue to the nature of moral judgment itself. And Martineau is curiously unsympathetic to the universal and social aspect of morality with which evolutionary and idealist moral philosophers are so largely occupied. Nevertheless there have been few moral philosophers who have, apart from the idiosyncrasies of their special prepossessions, set forth with clearer insight or with greater nobility of language the essential nature of the moral consciousness.
It would generally be accurate to say that evolutionary systems of ethics, like those of Herbert Spencer, Sir Leslie Stephen, or Professor S. Alexander (Moral Order and Progress, 1899), along with the metaphysical theories of morality represented mainly by T.H. Green, Bradley, and Taylor, have influenced ethical thought since 1870. However, mentioning a work like Martineau’s Types of Ethical Theory helps to challenge the idea that the distinctly English type of moral philosophy—which involves carefully analyzing the form and nature of moral consciousness—has been replaced or is likely to be replaced by more ambitious and comprehensive approaches. Martineau’s main goal was, as he states, to explain, defend, and organize moral feelings, and if the real demonstration of what is involved in moral choice is the defense of morality, Martineau can be considered successful. Most of Martineau's critics have taken issue with his interpretation and organization of moral sentiments. For instance, it's hard to accept his structured hierarchy of “springs of action” without recognizing that the underlying principle allowing them to be ordered at all must be based on the circumstances and consequences, as well as roles and responsibilities, which a strict intuitionism like Martineau's wouldn't address. Similarly, the idea of Conscience as a special faculty that gives immediate judgments without reflection can't hold up against modern psychological analysis and doesn’t accurately reflect moral judgment itself. Martineau also seems somewhat indifferent to the universal and social dimensions of morality that evolutionary and idealist moral philosophers focus on. Nevertheless, few moral philosophers, aside from their individual biases, have expressed the essential nature of moral consciousness with such clarity and eloquence.
Equal in importance to Martineau’s work is Professor Sidgwick’s Methods of Ethics which appeared in 1874. The two works are alike in loftiness of outlook and in the fact that they are devoted to the re-examination of the nature Sidgwick. of the moral consciousness to the exclusion of alien branches of inquiry. In most other respects they differ. Martineau is much more in sympathy with idealism than Sidgwick, whose work consists in a restatement from a novel and independent standpoint of the Utilitarian position. And Sidgwick has been far more successful than any other moral philosopher with the exception of T.H. Green and Bradley in founding a school of thought. Many of his most acute critics would be the first to admit how much they owe to his teaching. Chief among the more recent of these is G.E. Moore, whose book Principia Ethica is an important original contribution to ethical thought. And although Dr Hastings Rashdall (The Theory of Good and Evil Oxford, 1907) is not in agreement with Sidgwick’s own particular type of hedonistic theory in his own philosophical position, he occupies a point of view somewhat similar to that of Sidgwick’s main attitude of Rational Utilitarianism. Rashdall’s two volumes exhibit also a welcome return on the part of English thought to the proper business of the moral philosopher—the examination of the nature of moral conduct. Other works, such as Professor L.T. Hobhouse’s Morals in Evolution or Professor E.A. Westermarck’s Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, testify to a continued interest in the history of morality and in the anthropological inquiries with which moral philosophy is closely connected.
Equal in importance to Martineau’s work is Professor Sidgwick’s Methods of Ethics, which was published in 1874. The two works share a lofty perspective and focus on re-examining the nature Sidgwick. of moral consciousness while excluding unrelated fields of study. They differ in many other ways. Martineau is far more aligned with idealism than Sidgwick, whose work presents a restatement of the Utilitarian position from a fresh and independent viewpoint. Sidgwick has also been more successful than any other moral philosopher, except for T.H. Green and Bradley, in establishing a school of thought. Many of his sharpest critics would readily acknowledge how much they owe to his teachings. Prominent among the more recent ones is G.E. Moore, whose book Principia Ethica makes a significant original contribution to ethical thought. Even though Dr. Hastings Rashdall (The Theory of Good and Evil, Oxford, 1907) does not fully agree with Sidgwick’s specific hedonistic theory, his philosophical stance shares a similar outlook to Sidgwick’s main approach of Rational Utilitarianism. Rashdall’s two volumes also represent a welcome return of English thought to the core focus of moral philosophy—the examination of moral conduct. Other works, like Professor L.T. Hobhouse’s Morals in Evolution or Professor E.A. Westermarck’s Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, reflect a persistent interest in the history of morality and the anthropological inquiries closely connected to moral philosophy.
Much that is of importance for moral philosophy has recently been written upon problems that more properly belong to the philosophy of religion and the theory of knowledge. J.F. M‘Taggart’s Studies in Hegelian Cosmology, and his later work, Some Dogmas of Religion, contain interesting contributions to the theory of pleasure and of the problem of free will and determinism. A notable instance of this tendency is seen in the developments of the theory of pragmatism (q.v.), for which F.C.S. Schiller has proposed the general term “humanism.” Such aspects as concern ethics include, for example, the limited indeterminism involved in the theory, the attitude of the religious consciousness expressed by William James (Will to Believe and Pragmatism), and the pragmatic conception of the good. And the widespread interest in social problems has produced a revival of speculation concerning questions partly political and party ethical in character, e.g. the nature of justice. Finally it has become apparent that many problems hitherto left for political economy to solve belong more properly to the moralist, if not to the moral philosopher, and it may be confidently expected that with the increased complexity of social life and the disappearance of many sanctions of morality hitherto regarded as inviolable, the future will bring a renewed and practical interest in the theory of conduct likely to lead to fresh developments in ethical speculation.
A lot of important writing for moral philosophy has recently focused on issues that actually fit better within the philosophy of religion and knowledge theory. J.F. M'Taggart's Studies in Hegelian Cosmology and his later work, Some Dogmas of Religion, offer interesting insights into pleasure theory, as well as the free will and determinism debate. A clear example of this trend is the evolution of pragmatism (q.v.), for which F.C.S. Schiller has introduced the broad term “humanism.” Aspects related to ethics include, for instance, the limited indeterminism found in the theory, the perspective on religious consciousness expressed by William James in Will to Believe and Pragmatism, and the pragmatic understanding of the good. Additionally, the growing concern over social issues has sparked renewed speculation on questions that are partly political and partly ethical, such as the nature of justice. Lastly, it has become clear that many problems previously left for political economy to address are better suited for moralists, if not moral philosophers, and we can expect that as social life becomes more complex and many previously unwavering moral sanctions fade, there will be a revitalized and practical interest in conduct theory, likely leading to new developments in ethical thinking.
Bibliography.—The literature of the subject is so large in all languages that only a small selection can be given here. For further works reference may be made to subsidiary articles. See also Baldwin’s Dict. of Philos. and Psychol. vol. iii. (1905), pp. 812 foll. (bibliography).
References.—The literature on this topic is extensive in every language, so only a small selection is provided here. For additional works, please refer to related articles. See also Baldwin’s Dict. of Philos. and Psychol. vol. iii. (1905), pp. 812 and following (bibliography).
I. Historical.—Sir L. Stephen, History of English Thought in the 18th Century (1876, 3rd ed. 1892); W.E.H. Lecky, History of European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne (1869, many editions); works of Ed. Zeller (q.v.); G.H. Lewes, History of Philosophy (1880); W. Gass, Geschichte der christlichen Ethik (1881); A.W. Benn, The Greek Philosophers (1882); F. Jödl, Geschichte der Ethik in der neueren Philos. (2 vols., 1882-1889); L. Schmidt, Ethik der alten Griechen (1882); E. Howley, The Old Morality traced Historically (1885); J. Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory (Oxford, 1885, 3rd ed. 1891); Th. Ziegler, Gesch. d. christl. Ethik (1886); Ch. Letourneaux, L’Évolution de la morale (1887); K. Köstlin, Gesch. der Ethik (1887); C.E. Luthardt, Die antike Ethik in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung (1887), and Hist. of Christian Ethics (1888); C.M. Williams, A Review of the Systems of Ethics founded on the Theory of Evolution (1893); J. Watson, Hedonistic Theories from Aristippus to Spencer (1895); L.A. Selby-Bigge, British Moralists (1897); R. Mackintosh, From Comte to Benjamin Kidd (1899); S. Patten, The Development of English Thought (1899); A.B. Bruce, The Moral Order of the World in Ancient and Modern Thought (1899); Sir L. Stephen, The English Utilitarians (1901); Henry Sidgwick, Outlines of the History of Ethics (5th ed., 1902); Paul Janet, History of the Problems of Philosophy (1902-1903), Eng. trans. Ada Monahan, vol. ii. “Ethics”; W.R. Sorley, Recent Tendencies in Ethics (1904).
I. Historical.—Sir L. Stephen, History of English Thought in the 18th Century (1876, 3rd ed. 1892); W.E.H. Lecky, History of European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne (1869, many editions); works of Ed. Zeller (q.v.); G.H. Lewes, History of Philosophy (1880); W. Gass, Geschichte der christlichen Ethik (1881); A.W. Benn, The Greek Philosophers (1882); F. Jödl, Geschichte der Ethik in der neueren Philos. (2 vols., 1882-1889); L. Schmidt, Ethik der alten Griechen (1882); E. Howley, The Old Morality traced Historically (1885); J. Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory (Oxford, 1885, 3rd ed. 1891); Th. Ziegler, Gesch. d. christl. Ethik (1886); Ch. Letourneaux, L’Évolution de la morale (1887); K. Köstlin, Gesch. der Ethik (1887); C.E. Luthardt, Die antike Ethik in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung (1887), and Hist. of Christian Ethics (1888); C.M. Williams, A Review of the Systems of Ethics founded on the Theory of Evolution (1893); J. Watson, Hedonistic Theories from Aristippus to Spencer (1895); L.A. Selby-Bigge, British Moralists (1897); R. Mackintosh, From Comte to Benjamin Kidd (1899); S. Patten, The Development of English Thought (1899); A.B. Bruce, The Moral Order of the World in Ancient and Modern Thought (1899); Sir L. Stephen, The English Utilitarians (1901); Henry Sidgwick, Outlines of the History of Ethics (5th ed., 1902); Paul Janet, History of the Problems of Philosophy (1902-1903), Eng. trans. Ada Monahan, vol. ii. “Ethics”; W.R. Sorley, Recent Tendencies in Ethics (1904).
II. Constructive and Critical.—Besides the works mentioned above the following may be mentioned:—J.M. Guyau, La Morale anglaise (1879), Éducation et hérédité (1889; Eng. trans. Greenstreet, with introd. by G.F. Stout, 1891), Esquisse d’une morale sans obligation ni sanction (Eng. trans., 1898); G.H. Lewes, Problems of Life and Mind (1879); Sir L. Stephen, Science of Ethics (1882); P. Janet, The Theory of Morals (Eng. trans., 1884); W.R. Sorley, On the Ethics of Naturalism (1885); W.L. Courtney, Constructive Ethics (1886); Wilson and Fowler, Principles of Morals (1886); H. Höffding, Ethik (1888), Psychologie (1882, 1892; trans. Lowndes, 1892); W. Wundt, Ethik (1886; trans. Titchener and others, 1897); F. Paulsen, Ethik (1889, 1893; trans. Thilly, 1899); H. Sidgwick, Method of Ethics (1890); J.T. Bixby, The Crisis in Morals: An Examination of Rational Ethics (1891); J. Seth, Freedom an Ethical Postulate (1891); J.H. Muirhead, Elements of Ethics (1892); G. Simnel, Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft (1892, 1893); T. Ziegler, Social Ethics (1892); T.H. Huxley, Evolution and Ethics (1893); W. Knight, The Christian Ethic (1893); J.S. Mackenzie, Manual of Ethics (1893); F. Ryland, Ethics (1893); J. Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles (1894, 6th ed. 1902); C.F. D’Arcy, Short Study of Ethics (1895); J.H. Hyslop, The Elements of Ethics (1895); J. Kidd, Morality and Religion (1895); Sir L. Stephen, Social Rights and Duties (1896); J.M. Baldwin, Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental Development (1897); Th. Ribot, Psychology of Emotions (1897); A. Seth Pringle-Pattison, Man’s Place in the Cosmos (1897); H.R. Marshall, Instinct and Reason (1898); W. Wallace, Natural Theology and Ethics (1898); F. Paulsen, Partei-politik und Moral (1900); A.E. Taylor, Problem of Conduct (1901); G.T. Ladd, Philosophy of Conduct (1902); H. Sidgwick, Ethics of Green, Spencer, Martineau (1902); D. Irons, Study in Psychology of Ethics (1903); G.E. Moore, Principia Ethica (1903); R. Eucken, Geistige Strömungen der Gegenwart (1904), and other works (see Eucken, Rudolf); works of A. Fouillée (q.v.); G. Santayana, Life of Reason (1905); E.A. Westermarck, Origin and Development of Moral Ideas (1906); George Gore, Scientific Basis of Morality (1899), and New Scientific Basis of Morality (1906), containing an interesting if unconvincing attempt to explain ethics on purely physical principles.
II. Constructive and Critical.—In addition to the works mentioned above, the following can be listed:—J.M. Guyau, La Morale anglaise (1879), Éducation et hérédité (1889; Eng. trans. Greenstreet, with intro. by G.F. Stout, 1891), Esquisse d’une morale sans obligation ni sanction (Eng. trans., 1898); G.H. Lewes, Problems of Life and Mind (1879); Sir L. Stephen, Science of Ethics (1882); P. Janet, The Theory of Morals (Eng. trans., 1884); W.R. Sorley, On the Ethics of Naturalism (1885); W.L. Courtney, Constructive Ethics (1886); Wilson and Fowler, Principles of Morals (1886); H. Höffding, Ethik (1888), Psychologie (1882, 1892; trans. Lowndes, 1892); W. Wundt, Ethik (1886; trans. Titchener and others, 1897); F. Paulsen, Ethik (1889, 1893; trans. Thilly, 1899); H. Sidgwick, Method of Ethics (1890); J.T. Bixby, The Crisis in Morals: An Examination of Rational Ethics (1891); J. Seth, Freedom an Ethical Postulate (1891); J.H. Muirhead, Elements of Ethics (1892); G. Simnel, Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft (1892, 1893); T. Ziegler, Social Ethics (1892); T.H. Huxley, Evolution and Ethics (1893); W. Knight, The Christian Ethic (1893); J.S. Mackenzie, Manual of Ethics (1893); F. Ryland, Ethics (1893); J. Seth, A Study of Ethical Principles (1894, 6th ed. 1902); C.F. D’Arcy, Short Study of Ethics (1895); J.H. Hyslop, The Elements of Ethics (1895); J. Kidd, Morality and Religion (1895); Sir L. Stephen, Social Rights and Duties (1896); J.M. Baldwin, Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental Development (1897); Th. Ribot, Psychology of Emotions (1897); A. Seth Pringle-Pattison, Man’s Place in the Cosmos (1897); H.R. Marshall, Instinct and Reason (1898); W. Wallace, Natural Theology and Ethics (1898); F. Paulsen, Partei-politik und Moral (1900); A.E. Taylor, Problem of Conduct (1901); G.T. Ladd, Philosophy of Conduct (1902); H. Sidgwick, Ethics of Green, Spencer, Martineau (1902); D. Irons, Study in Psychology of Ethics (1903); G.E. Moore, Principia Ethica (1903); R. Eucken, Geistige Strömungen der Gegenwart (1904), and other works (see Eucken, Rudolf); works of A. Fouillée (q.v.); G. Santayana, Life of Reason (1905); E.A. Westermarck, Origin and Development of Moral Ideas (1906); George Gore, Scientific Basis of Morality (1899), and New Scientific Basis of Morality (1906), which contains an interesting although unconvincing attempt to explain ethics purely on physical principles.
1 This well-known phrase was originally attributed to the Pythagoreans.
1 This famous phrase was originally credited to the Pythagoreans.
2 It is highly characteristic of Platonism that the issue in this dialogue, as originally stated, is between virtue and vice, whereas, without any avowed change of ground, the issue ultimately discussed is between the philosophic life and the life of vulgar ambition or sensual enjoyment.
2 A key feature of Platonism is that the topic in this dialogue, as it was initially presented, is about virtue versus vice. However, without any acknowledged shift in focus, the actual discussion ends up being about the philosophical life compared to a life driven by common ambition or sensual pleasure.
3 This cardinal term is commonly translated “happiness”; and it must be allowed that it is the most natural term for what we (in English) agree to call “our being’s end and aim.” But happiness so definitely signifies a state of feeling that it will not admit the interpretation that Aristotle (as well as Plato and the Stoics) expressly gives to εὐδαιμονία; the confusion is best avoided by rendering the word by the less familiar “well-being.”
3 This key term is usually translated as “happiness,” and it’s true that this is the most natural word for what we (in English) refer to as “the purpose of our existence.” However, happiness specifically indicates a state of feeling, which doesn’t capture the interpretation that Aristotle (along with Plato and the Stoics) explicitly gives to happiness; it’s better to avoid the confusion by using the less common term “well-being.”
4 Aristotle follows Plato and Socrates in identifying the notions of καλός (“fair,” “beautiful”) and ἀγαθός (“good”) in their application to conduct. We may observe, however, that while the latter term is used to denote the virtuous man, and (in the neuter) equivalent to End generally, the former is rather chosen to express the quality of virtuous acts which in any particular case is the end of the virtuous agent. Aristotle no doubt faithfully represents the common sense of Greece in considering that, in so far as virtue is in itself good to the virtuous agent, it belongs to that species of good which we distinguish as beautiful. In later Greek philosophy the term καλόν (“honestum”) became still more technical in the signification of “morally good.”
4 Aristotle follows Plato and Socrates in linking the concepts of good (“fair,” “beautiful”) and good (“good”) to behavior. However, we can see that while the latter term is used to describe the virtuous person, and (in a neutral sense) is equivalent to the general idea of the End, the former is more often used to express the quality of virtuous actions that, in any specific case, represent the goal of the virtuous agent. Aristotle certainly reflects the common understanding in Greece that, to the extent that virtue is inherently good for the virtuous agent, it falls into the category of good we recognize as beautiful. In later Greek philosophy, the term good (“honestum”) became even more specialized in meaning “morally good.”
5 The above account is considerably expanded in H. Sidgwick’s Hist. of Ethics (5th ed., 1902), pp. 59-70.
5 The above account is significantly expanded in H. Sidgwick’s Hist. of Ethics (5th ed., 1902), pp. 59-70.
6 There is a certain difficulty in discussing Aristotle’s views on the subject of practical wisdom, and the relation of the intellect to moral action, since it is most probable that the only accounts that we have of these views are not part of the genuine writings of Aristotle. Still books vi. and vii. of the Nicomachean Ethics contain no doubt as pure Aristotelian doctrine as a disciple could give, and appear to supply a sufficient foundation for the general criticism expressed in the text.
6 It’s challenging to talk about Aristotle’s views on practical wisdom and how the mind relates to moral action, mainly because the accounts we have likely aren’t from Aristotle's authentic writings. However, books vi and vii of the Nicomachean Ethics definitely reflect insights that an ardent follower could offer, and they seem to provide a solid base for the broader criticism mentioned in the text.
7 It has been suggestively said that Cynicism was to Stoicism what monasticism was to early Christianity. The analogy, however, must not be pressed too far, since orthodox Stoics do not ever seem to have regarded Cynicism as the more perfect way.
7 It's been said that Cynicism was to Stoicism what monasticism was to early Christianity. However, this analogy shouldn't be overextended, as orthodox Stoics never seemed to view Cynicism as the superior path.
8 The Stoics were not quite agreed as to the immutability of virtue, but they were agreed that, when once possessed, it could only be lost through the loss of reason itself.
8 The Stoics didn't entirely agree on whether virtue is unchangeable, but they all agreed that once you have it, you can only lose it if you lose your reason.
9 Hence some members of the school, without rejecting the definition of virtue = knowledge, also defined it as “strength and force.”
9 So, some members of the school, while not dismissing the idea that virtue equals knowledge, also described it as “strength and force.”
10 It is apparently in view of this union in reason of rational beings that friends are allowed to be “external goods” to the sage, and that the possession of good children is also counted a good.
10 It seems that because of this connection among rational beings, friends are considered "external goods" for the wise person, and having good children is also seen as a blessing.
11 The Stoics seem to have varied in their view of “good repute,” εὐδοξία; at first, when the school was more under the influence of Cynicism, they professed an outward as well as an inward indifference to it; ultimately they conceded the point to common sense, and included it among προηγμένα.
11 The Stoics seem to have had different opinions about “good reputation,” good reputation; at first, when the school was more influenced by Cynicism, they expressed both outward and inward indifference to it; ultimately, they acknowledged common sense and included it among advanced.
12 It is noted of him that he did not disdain the co-operation either of women or of slaves in his philosophical labours.
12 It is noted that he did not reject the collaboration of either women or slaves in his philosophical work.
13 The last charge of Epicurus to his disciples is said to have been, τῶν δογμάτων μεμνῆσθαι.
13 Epicurus's final instruction to his students is believed to be, με θυμάμαι τα δόγματα.
14 Epictetus.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Epictetus.
15 Marcus Aurelius.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Marcus Aurelius.
16 E.g. Justin Martyr, Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ E.g. Justin Martyr, Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian.
17 Citra sanguinis effusionem.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Bloodshed.
18 To show the crudity of the notion of redemption in early Christianity, it is sufficient to mention that many fathers represent Christ’s ransom as having been paid to the devil; sometimes adding that by the concealment of Christ’s divinity under the veil of humanity a certain deceit was (fairly) practised on the great deceiver.
18 To illustrate the simplicity of the idea of redemption in early Christianity, it’s enough to note that many early church fathers depicted Christ's ransom as being paid to the devil; sometimes adding that by hiding Christ’s divinity behind his humanity, a certain trick was (justifiably) played on the ultimate deceiver.
19 It is to be observed that Augustine prefers to use “freedom” not for the power of willing either good or evil, but the power of willing good. The highest freedom, in his view, excludes the possibility of willing evil.
19 Augustine chooses to use “freedom” not to mean the ability to choose between good and evil, but rather the ability to choose what is good. In his opinion, true freedom means that one cannot wish for evil.
20 Cicero’s works are unimportant in the history of ancient ethics, as their philosophical matter was entirely borrowed from Greek treatises now lost; but the influence exercised by them (especially by the De officiis) over medieval and even modern readers was very considerable.
20 Cicero’s works aren’t significant in the history of ancient ethics because their philosophical ideas were completely taken from Greek texts that are now lost. However, the impact they had (especially from the De officiis) on medieval and even modern readers was quite substantial.
21 Abelard afterwards retracted this view, at least in its extreme form; and in fact does not seem to have been fully conscious of the difference between (1) unfulfilled intention to do an act objectively right, and (2) intention to do what is merely believed by the agent to be right.
21 Abelard later took back this perspective, at least in its most extreme version; and he really doesn't seem to have completely understood the difference between (1) having an unfulfilled intention to do something that is objectively right, and (2) intending to do something the agent just thinks is right.
22 He was condemned by two synods, in 1121 and 1140.
22 He was condemned by two synods, one in 1121 and another in 1140.
23 Synderesis (Gr. συντήρησις, from συντηρεῖν, to watch closely, observe) is used in this sense in Jerome (Com. in Ezek. i. 4-10).
23 Synderesis (Gr. maintenance, from sustain, to closely watch, observe) is used in this way in Jerome (Com. in Ezek. i. 4-10).
24 The refusal of the council of Constance to condemn Jean Petit’s advocacy of assassination is a striking example of this weakness. Cf. Milman, Lat. Christ. book xiii. c. 9.
24 The council of Constance's decision not to condemn Jean Petit's support for assassination is a clear example of this weakness. Cf. Milman, Lat. Christ. book xiii. c. 9.
25 As the chief English casuists we may mention Perkins, Hall, Sanderson, as well as the more eminent Jeremy Taylor, whose Ductor dubitantium appeared in 1660.
25 The main English casuists include Perkins, Hall, Sanderson, and the more renowned Jeremy Taylor, whose Ductor dubitantium was published in 1660.
26 This influence was not exercised in the region of ethics. Bacon’s brief outline of moral philosophy (in the Advancement of Learning, ii. 20-22) is highly pregnant and suggestive. But Bacon’s great task of reforming scientific method was one which, as he conceived it, left morals on one side; he never made any serious effort to reduce his ethical views to a coherent system, methodically reasoned on an independent basis. The outline given in the Advancement was never filled in, and does not seem to have had any effect on the subsequent course of ethical speculation.
26 This influence didn't extend to ethics. Bacon's brief overview of moral philosophy (in the Advancement of Learning, ii. 20-22) is very thought-provoking and full of ideas. However, Bacon's main goal of reforming scientific method, as he saw it, set morals aside; he never really tried to turn his ethical ideas into a clear, reasoned system based on its own foundations. The outline provided in the Advancement was never developed further and seems to have had no impact on later ethical discussions.
27 He even identifies the desire with the pleasure, apparently regarding the stir of appetite and that of fruition as two parts of the same “motion.”
27 He even connects desire with pleasure, seemingly considering the excitement of wanting and the satisfaction of getting as two parts of the same "motion."
28 In spite of Hobbes’s uncompromising egoism, there is a noticeable discrepancy between his theory of the ends that men naturally seek and his standard for determining their natural rights. This latter is never Pleasure simply, but always Preservation—though on occasion he enlarges the notion of “preservation” into “preservation of life so as not to be weary of it.” His view seems to be that in a state of nature most men will fight, rob, &c., “for delectation merely” or “for glory,” and that hence all men must be allowed an indefinite right to fight, rob, &c., “for preservation.”
28 Despite Hobbes's rigid egoism, there's a clear gap between his theory of the goals that people naturally pursue and his criteria for determining their natural rights. The latter is never just about Pleasure, but always about Preservation—although at times he expands the idea of "preservation" to mean "preservation of life so as not to be tired of it." His perspective seems to be that in a natural state, most people will engage in fighting, robbing, etc., “just for enjoyment” or “for glory,” and therefore, everyone must have an unlimited right to fight, rob, etc., “for preservation.”
29 It should be noticed, however, that it is only in his treatment of Equity and Benevolence that he really follows out the mathematical analogy (cf. Sidgwick’s History of Ethics, 5th ed., pp. 180-181).
29 It's important to note, though, that he truly explores the mathematical analogy only in his discussions of Equity and Benevolence (see Sidgwick’s History of Ethics, 5th ed., pp. 180-181).
30 It should be observed that, while Clarke is sincerely anxious to prove that most principles are binding independently of Divine appointment, he is no less concerned to show that morality requires the practical support of revealed religion.
30 It's important to note that, although Clarke genuinely wants to demonstrate that most principles are binding on their own without needing God's endorsement, he is equally focused on showing that morality needs the tangible backing of revealed religion.
31 Three classes of impulses are thus distinguished by Shaftesbury:—(1) “Natural Affections,” (2) “Self-affections,” and (3) “Un-natural Affections.” Their characteristics are further considered in the History of Ethics, p. 186 seq.
31 Shaftesbury identifies three types of impulses: (1) “Natural Affections,” (2) “Self-affections,” and (3) “Un-natural Affections.” Their features are further explored in the History of Ethics, p. 186 seq.
32 In a remarkable passage near the close of his eleventh sermon Butler seems even to allow that conscience would have to give way to self-love, if it were possible (which it is not) that the two should come into ultimate and irreconcilable conflict.
32 In a striking section toward the end of his eleventh sermon, Butler appears to suggest that conscience would have to take a back seat to self-love, if it were possible (which it isn’t) for the two to come into a final and irreconcilable conflict.
33 It is worth noticing that Hutcheson’s express definition of the object of self-love includes “perfection” as well as “happiness”; but in the working out of his system he considers private good exclusively as happiness or pleasure.
33 It's important to point out that Hutcheson specifically defines the object of self-love to include both “perfection” and “happiness”; however, in developing his system, he only sees private good as happiness or pleasure.
34 Hume’s ethical view was finally stated in his Inquiry into the Principles of Morals (1751), which is at once more popular and more purely utilitarian than his earlier work.
34 Hume's ethical perspective was ultimately expressed in his Inquiry into the Principles of Morals (1751), which is both more accessible and more purely utilitarian than his earlier writings.
35 Hume remarks that in some cases, by “association of ideas,” the rule by which we praise and blame is extended beyond the principle of utility from which it arises; but he allows much less scope to this explanation in his second treatise than in his first.
35 Hume notes that in some instances, through the “association of ideas,” the way we praise and blame goes beyond the principle of utility that it comes from; however, he gives this explanation much less emphasis in his second treatise compared to his first.
36 In earlier editions of the Inquiry Hume expressly included all approved qualities under the general notion of “virtue.” In later editions he avoided this strain on usage by substituting or adding “merit” in several passages—allowing that some of the laudable qualities which he mentions would be more commonly called “talents,” but still maintaining that “there is little distinction made in our internal estimation” of “virtues” and “talents.”
36 In earlier editions of the Inquiry, Hume specifically included all recognized qualities under the broad term “virtue.” In later editions, he addressed this tension in language by replacing or adding “merit” in several sections—acknowledging that some of the admirable qualities he discusses would be more often referred to as “talents,” but still insisting that “there is little distinction made in our internal judgment” of “virtues” and “talents.”
37 It is to be observed that whereas Price and Stewart (after Butler) identify the object of self-love with happiness or pleasure, Reid conceives this “good” more vaguely as including perfection and happiness; though he sometimes uses “good” and happiness as convertible terms, and seems practically to have the latter in view in all that he says of self-love.
37 It’s worth noting that while Price and Stewart (following Butler) equate self-love with happiness or pleasure, Reid views this “good” more broadly to encompass both perfection and happiness. However, he sometimes treats “good” and happiness as interchangeable and appears to focus primarily on the latter in his discussions about self-love.
38 E.g. Reid proposes to apply this principle in favour of monogamy, arguing from the proportion of males and females born; without explaining why, if the intention of nature hence inferred excludes occasional polygamy, it does not also exclude occasional celibacy.
38 E.g. Reid suggests applying this principle to support monogamy, reasoning based on the ratio of males and females born; however, he doesn’t clarify why, if we assume nature's intention rules out occasional polygamy, it doesn’t also rule out occasional celibacy.
39 We may observe that some recent writers, who would generally be included in this school, avoid in various ways the difficulty of constructing a code of external conduct. Sometimes they consider moral intuition as determining the comparative excellence of conflicting motives (James Martineau), or the comparative quality of pleasures chosen (Laurie), which seems to be the same view in a hedonistic garb; others hold that what is intuitively perceived is the rightness or wrongness of individual acts—a view which obviously renders ethical reasoning practically superfluous.
39 We can see that some recent writers, who would usually fall under this category, find different ways to sidestep the challenge of creating a code of behavior. Sometimes they think of moral intuition as deciding the relative value of conflicting motives (James Martineau), or the relative quality of chosen pleasures (Laurie), which seems to be the same idea dressed up in a hedonistic style; others believe that what we intuitively recognize is the right or wrong of specific actions—a perspective that clearly makes ethical reasoning almost unnecessary.
40 The originality—such as it is—of Paley’s system (as of Bentham’s) lies in its method of working out details rather than in its principles of construction. Paley expressly acknowledges his obligations to the original and suggestive, though diffuse and whimsical, work of Abraham Tucker (Light of Nature Pursued, 1768-1774). In this treatise, as in Paley’s, we find “every man’s own satisfaction, the spring that actuates all his motives,” connected with “general good, the root whereout all our rules of conduct and sentiments of honour are to branch,” by means of natural theology demonstrating the “unniggardly goodness of the author of nature.” Tucker is also careful to explain that satisfaction or pleasure is “one and the same in kind, however much it may vary in degree, ... whether a man is pleased with hearing music, seeing prospects, tasting dainties, performing laudable actions, or making agreeable reflections,” and again that by “general good” he means “quantity of happiness,” to which “every pleasure that we do to our neighbour is an addition.” There is, however, in Tucker’s theological link between private and general happiness a peculiar ingenuity which Paley’s common sense has avoided. He argues that men having no free will have really no desert; therefore the divine equity must ultimately distribute happiness in equal shares to all; therefore I must ultimately increase my own happiness most by conduct that adds most to the general fund which Providence administers.
40 The originality—if there is any—in Paley’s system (similar to Bentham’s) comes from how it works out details rather than from its foundational ideas. Paley explicitly recognizes his debt to the original and insightful, albeit scattered and quirky, work of Abraham Tucker (Light of Nature Pursued, 1768-1774). In Tucker's treatise, as in Paley’s, we see “every man’s own satisfaction, the driving force behind all his motives,” linked to “general good, the source from which all our rules of conduct and sentiments of honor branch out,” through natural theology showcasing the “generous goodness of the creator of nature.” Tucker also carefully points out that satisfaction or pleasure is “one and the same in kind, no matter how much it varies in degree, ... whether a person enjoys listening to music, taking in beautiful sights, savoring delicious food, doing admirable actions, or having pleasant thoughts,” and he clarifies that by “general good,” he means “quantity of happiness,” to which “every pleasure we provide for our neighbor is an addition.” However, in Tucker’s theological connection between individual and collective happiness, there is a unique insight that Paley’s common sense avoids. He argues that since humans have no free will, they truly have no merit; thus, divine fairness must ultimately distribute happiness equally to everyone; therefore, I must ultimately boost my own happiness most by acting in ways that contribute most to the general pool that Providence oversees.
But in fact the outline of Paley’s utilitarianism is to be found a generation earlier—in Gay’s dissertation prefixed to Law’s edition of King’s Origin of Evil—as the following extracts will show:—“The idea of virtue is the conformity to a rule of life, directing the actions of all rational creatures with respect to each other’s happiness; to which every one is always obliged.... Obligation is the necessity of doing or omitting something in order to be happy.... Full and complete obligation which will extend to all cases can only be that arising from the authority of God.... The will of God [so far as it directs behaviour to others] is the immediate rule or criterion of virtue ... but it is evident from the nature of God that he could have no other design in creating mankind than their happiness; and therefore he wills their happiness; therefore that my behaviour so far as it may be a means to the happiness of mankind should be such; so this happiness of mankind may be said to be the criterion of virtue once removed.”
But actually, the outline of Paley’s utilitarianism can be found a generation earlier—in Gay’s dissertation that introduces Law’s edition of King’s Origin of Evil—as the following excerpts will demonstrate:—“The concept of virtue is the adherence to a rule of life that guides the actions of all rational beings concerning each other’s happiness, to which everyone is always obligated.... Obligation is the necessity of doing or not doing something in order to achieve happiness.... The full and complete obligation that extends to all situations can only come from the authority of God.... The will of God [insofar as it guides behavior towards others] is the immediate rule or standard of virtue ... but it is clear from the nature of God that he could have no other purpose in creating humanity than their happiness; and thus he wishes for their happiness; therefore, my conduct, as far as it may contribute to the happiness of humanity, should align with that; hence this happiness of humanity can be said to be the criterion of virtue, albeit indirectly.”
The same dissertation also contains the germ of Hartley’s system, as we shall presently notice.
The same dissertation also contains the foundation of Hartley’s system, as we will soon point out.
41 It must be allowed that Paley’s application of this argument is somewhat loosely reasoned, and does not sufficiently distinguish the consequence of a single act of beneficent manslaughter from the consequences of a general permission to commit such acts.
41 It has to be acknowledged that Paley’s use of this argument is somewhat loosely reasoned and doesn't clearly differentiate the outcome of a single act of beneficial manslaughter from the outcomes of allowing such acts in general.
42 This list gives twelve out of the fourteen classes in which Bentham arranges the springs of action, omitting the religious sanction (mentioned afterwards), and the pleasures and pains of self-interest, which include all the other classes except sympathy and antipathy.
42 This list shows twelve out of the fourteen categories in which Bentham organizes the motivations for behavior, leaving out the religious sanction (discussed later), as well as the pleasures and pains of self-interest, which encompass all the other categories except for sympathy and antipathy.
43 In the Deontology published by Bowring from MSS. left after Bentham’s death, the coincidence is asserted to be complete.
43 In the Deontology published by Bowring from the manuscripts left after Bentham’s death, it's claimed that the coincidence is total.
44 It should be observed that Austin, after Bentham, more frequently uses the term “moral” to connote what he more distinctly calls “positive morality,” the code of rules supported by common opinion in any society.
44 It's worth noting that Austin, following Bentham, often uses the term "moral" to refer to what he more clearly defines as "positive morality," the set of rules upheld by the general consensus in any society.
45 In the before-mentioned dissertation. Cf. note 2 to p. 835. Hartley refers to this treatise as having supplied the starting-point for his own system.
45 In the previously mentioned dissertation. See note 2 on p. 835. Hartley claims that this treatise provided the foundation for his own system.
46 It should be noticed that Hartley’s sensationalism is far from leading him to exalt the corporeal pleasures. On the contrary, he tries to prove elaborately that they (as well as the pleasures of imagination, ambition, self-interest) cannot be made an object of primary pursuit without a loss of happiness on the whole—one of his arguments being that these pleasures occur earlier in time, and “that which is prior in the order of nature is always less perfect than that which is posterior.”
46 It should be noted that Hartley’s sensationalism does not lead him to glorify physical pleasures. Instead, he extensively argues that these (along with the pleasures of imagination, ambition, and self-interest) cannot be the main focus of pursuit without resulting in a decrease in overall happiness—one of his points being that these pleasures come earlier in time, and “what comes first in the order of nature is always less perfect than what comes later.”
47 It may be observed that in the view of Kant and others (2) and (3) are somewhat confusingly blended.
47 It can be seen that according to Kant and others, (2) and (3) are somewhat confusingly mixed together.
48 Singularly enough, the English writer who approaches most nearly to Kant on this point is the utilitarian Godwin, in his Political Justice. In Godwin’s view, reason is the proper motive to acts conducive to general happiness: reason shows me that the happiness of a number of other men is of more value than my own; and the perception of this truth affords me at least some inducement to prefer the former to the latter. And supposing it to be replied that the motive is really the moral uneasiness involved in choosing the selfish alternative, Godwin answers that this uneasiness, though a “constant step” in the process of volition, is a merely “accidental” step—“I feel pain in the neglect of an act of benevolence, because benevolence is judged by me to be conduct which it becomes me to adopt.”
48 Interestingly, the English writer who comes closest to Kant on this issue is the utilitarian Godwin, in his Political Justice. Godwin believes that reason should motivate actions that promote overall happiness: reason tells me that the happiness of many other people is more important than my own; and understanding this truth gives me at least some reason to prioritize the former over the latter. If someone argues that the motivation is really the moral discomfort that comes from choosing the selfish option, Godwin responds that this discomfort, while a “constant step” in the decision-making process, is just an “accidental” step—“I feel pain in ignoring a benevolent act because I believe that benevolence is a behavior I should adopt.”
49 In Kantism, as we have partly seen, the most important ontological beliefs—in God, freedom and immortality of the soul—are based on necessities of ethical thought. In Fichte’s system the connexion of ethics and metaphysics is still more intimate; indeed, we may compare it in this respect to Platonism; as Plato blends the most fundamental notions of each of these studies in the one idea of good, so Fichte blends them in the one idea free-will. “Freedom,” in his view, is at once the foundation of all being and the end of all moral action. In the systems of Schelling and Hegel ethics falls again into a subordinate place; indeed, the ethical view of the former is rather suggested than completely developed. Neither Fichte nor Schelling has exercised more than the faintest and most indirect influence on ethical philosophy in England; it therefore seems best to leave the ethical doctrines of each to be explained in connexion with the rest of his system.
49 In Kantism, as we have partly seen, the most important beliefs about existence—in God, freedom, and the immortality of the soul—are rooted in the needs of ethical reasoning. In Fichte’s system, the connection between ethics and metaphysics is even closer; in fact, we can compare it to Platonism. Just as Plato combines the core concepts of each discipline in the single idea of the good, Fichte combines them in the idea of free will. To him, “freedom” is both the foundation of all existence and the purpose of all moral actions. In the systems of Schelling and Hegel, ethics again takes a back seat; indeed, the ethical perspective of the former is more implied than fully developed. Neither Fichte nor Schelling has had much more than a subtle and indirect influence on ethical philosophy in England; therefore, it seems best to address the ethical doctrines of each in relation to the rest of their system.
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