Cui Bono?

: The Crack Of Doom

When I arrived at the Society's rooms on the evening for which I had an

invitation, I found them pleasantly lighted. The various scientific

diagrams and instruments had been removed, and comfortable arm-chairs

were arranged so that a free passage was available, not merely to each

row, but to each chair. The place was full when I entered, and soon

afterwards the door was closed and locked. Natalie Brande and Edith

Metfo d were seated beside each other. An empty chair was on Miss

Metford's right. She saw me standing at the door and nodded toward the

empty seat which she had reserved for me. When I reached it she made a

movement as if to forestall me and leave me the middle chair. I

deprecated this by a look which was intentionally so severe that she

described it later as a malignant scowl.



I could not at the moment seat myself voluntarily beside Natalie Brande

with the exact and final knowledge which I had learnt at Scotland Yard

only one week old. I could not do it just then, although I did not mean

to draw back from what I had undertaken--to stand by her, innocent or

guilty. But I must have time to become accustomed to the sensation which

followed this knowledge. Miss Metford's fugitive attempts at

conversation pending the commencement of the lecture were disagreeable

to me.



There was a little stir on the platform. The chairman, in a few words,

announced Herbert Brande. "This is the first public lecture," he said,

"which has been given since the formation of the Society, and in

consequence of the fact that a number of people not scientifically

educated are present, the lecturer will avoid the more esoteric phases

of his subject, which would otherwise present themselves in his

treatment of it, and confine himself to the commonplaces of scientific

insight. The title of the lecture is identical with that of our

Society--Cui Bono?"



Brande came forward unostentatiously and placed a roll of paper on the

reading-desk. I have copied the extracts which follow from this

manuscript. The whole essay, indeed, remains with me intact, but it is

too long--and it would be immaterial--to reproduce it all in this

narrative. I cannot hope either to reproduce the weird impressiveness of

the lecturer's personality, his hold over his audience, or my own

emotions in listening to this man--whom I had proved, not only from his

own confession, but by the strongest collateral evidence, to be a

callous and relentless murderer--to hear him glide with sonorous voice

and graceful gesture from point to point in his logical and terrible

indictment of suffering!--the futility of it, both in itself and that by

which it was administered! No one could know Brande without finding

interest, if not pleasure, in his many chance expressions full of

curious and mysterious thought. I had often listened to his

extemporaneous brain pictures, as the reader knows, but I had never

before heard him deliberately formulate a planned-out system of thought.

And such a system! This is the gospel according to Brande.



"In the verbiage of primitive optimism a misleading limitation is placed

on the significance of the word Nature and its inflections. And the

misconception of the meaning of an important word is as certain to lead

to an inaccurate concept as is the misstatement of a premise to precede

a false conclusion. For instance, in the aphorism, variously rendered,

'what is natural is right,' there is an excellent illustration of the

misapplication of the word 'natural.' If the saying means that what is

natural is just and wise, it might as well run 'what is natural is

wrong,' injustice and unwisdom being as natural, i.e., a part of

Nature, as justice and wisdom. Morbidity and immorality are as natural

as health and purity. Not more so, but not less so. That 'Nature is made

better by no mean but Nature makes that mean,' is true enough. It is

inevitably true. The question remains, in making that mean, has she

really made anything that tends toward the final achievement of

universal happiness? I say she has not.



"The misuse of a word, it may be argued, could not prove a serious

obstacle to the growth of knowledge, and might be even interesting to

the student of etymology. But behind the misuse of the word 'natural'

there is a serious confusion of thought which must be clarified before

the mass of human intelligence can arrive at a just appreciation of the

verities which surround human existence, and explain it. To this end it

is necessary to get rid of the archaic idea of Nature as a paternal,

providential, and beneficent protector, a successor to the 'special

providence,' and to know the true Nature, bond-slave as she is of her

own eternal persistence of force; that sole primary principle of which

all other principles are only correlatives; of which the existence of

matter is but a cognisable evidence.



"The optimist notion, therefore, that Nature is an all-wise designer, in

whose work order, system, wisdom, and beauty are prominent, does not

fare well when placed under the microscope of scientific research.



"Order?



"There is no order in Nature. Her armies are but seething mobs of

rioters, destroying everything they can lay hands on.



"System?



"She has no system, unless it be a reductio ad absurdum, which only

blunders on the right way after fruitlessly trying every other

conceivable path. She is not wise. She never fills a pail but she spills

a hogshead. All her works are not beautiful. She never makes a

masterpiece but she smashes a million 'wasters' without a care. The

theory of evolution--her gospel--reeks with ruffianism, nature-patented

and promoted. The whole scheme of the universe, all material existence

as it is popularly known, is founded upon and begotten of a system of

everlasting suffering as hideous as the fantastic nightmares of

religious maniacs. The Spanish Inquisitors have been regarded as the

most unnatural monsters who ever disgraced the history of mankind. Yet

the atrocities of the Inquisitors, like the battlefields of Napoleon and

other heroes, were not only natural, but they have their prototypes in

every cubic inch of stagnant water, or ounce of diseased tissue. And

stagnant water is as natural as sterilised water; and diseased tissue is

as natural as healthy tissue. Wholesale murder is Nature's first law.

She creates only to kill, and applies the rule as remorselessly to the

units in a star-drift as to the tadpoles in a horse-pond.



"It seems a far cry from a star-drift to a horse-pond. It is so in

distance and magnitude. It is not in the matter of constituents. In

ultimate composition they are identical. The great nebula in Andromeda

is an aggregation of atoms, and so is the river Thames. The only

difference between them is the difference in the arrangement and

incidence of these atoms and in the molecular motion of which they are

the first but not the final cause. In a pint of Thames water, we know

that there is bound up a latent force beside which steam and

electricity are powerless in comparison. To release that force it is

only necessary to apply the sympathetic key; just as the heated point of

a needle will explode a mine of gunpowder and lay a city in ashes. That

force is asleep. The atoms which could give it reality are at rest, or,

at least, in a condition of quasi-rest. But in the stupendous mass of

incandescent gas which constitutes the nebula of Andromeda, every atom

is madly seeking rest and finding none; whirling in raging haste,

battling with every other atom in its field of motion, impinging upon

others and influencing them, being impinged upon and influenced by them.

That awful cauldron exemplifies admirably the method of progress

stimulated by suffering. It is the embryo of a new Sun and his planets.

After many million years of molecular agony, when his season of fission

had come, he will rend huge fragments from his mass and hurl them

helpless into space, there to grow into his satellites. In their turn

they may reproduce themselves in like manner before their true planetary

life begins, in which they shall revolve around their parent as solid

spheres. Follow them further and learn how beneficent Nature deals with

them.



"After the lapse of time-periods which man may calculate in figures, but

of which his finite mind cannot form even a true symbolic conception,

the outer skin of the planet cools--rests. Internal troubles prevail for

longer periods still; and these, in their unsupportable agony, bend and

burst the solid strata overlying; vomit fire through their self-made

blow-holes, rear mountains from the depths of the sea, then dash them in

pieces.



"Time strides on austere.



"The globe still cools. Life appears upon it. Then begins anew the old

strife, but under conditions far more dreadful, for though it be founded

on atomic consciousness, the central consciousness of the heterogeneous

aggregation of atoms becomes immeasurably more sentient and susceptible

with every step it takes from homogenesis. This internecine war must

continue while any creature great or small shall remain alive upon the

world that bore it.



"By slow degrees the mighty milestones in the protoplasmic march are

passed. Plants and animals are now busy, murdering and devouring each

other--the strong everywhere destroying the weak. New types appear. Old

types disappear. Types possessing the greatest capacity for murder

progress most rapidly, and those with the least recede and determine.

The neolithic man succeeds the palaeolithic man, and sharpens the stone

axe. Then to increase their power for destruction, men find it better to

hunt in packs. Communities appear. Soon each community discovers that

its own advantage is furthered by confining its killing, in the main, to

the members of neighbouring communities. Nations early make the same

discovery. And at last, as with ourselves, there is established a race

with conscience enough to know that it is vile, and intelligence enough

to know that it is insignificant.[1] But what profits this? In the

fulness of its time the race shall die. Man will go down into the pit,

and all his thoughts will perish. The uneasy consciousness which, in

this obscure corner, has for a brief space broken the silence of the

Universe, will be at rest. Matter will know itself no longer. Life and

death and love, stronger than death, will be as though they never had

been. Nor will anything that is be better or be worse for all that

the labour, genius, devotion, and suffering of man have striven through

countless generations to effect.



[1] From this sentence to the end of the paragraph Brande draws

freely, for the purpose of his own argument, on Mr. Balfour's

"Naturalism and Ethics."--Ed.



"The roaring loom of Time weaves on. The globe cools out. Life

mercifully ceases from upon its surface. The atmosphere and water

disappear. It rests. It is dead.



"But for its vicarious service in influencing more youthful planets

within its reach, that dead world might as well be loosed at once from

its gravitation cable and be turned adrift into space. Its time has not

yet come. It will not come until the great central sun of the system to

which it belongs has passed laboriously through all his stages of

stellar life and died out also. Then when that dead sun, according to

the impact theory, blunders across the path of another sun, dead and

blind like himself, its time will come. The result of that impact will

be a new star nebula, with all its weary history before it; a history of

suffering, in which a million years will not be long enough to write a

single page.



"Here we have a scientific parallel to the hell of superstition which

may account for the instinctive origin of the smoking flax and the fire

which shall never be quenched. We know that the atoms of which the

human body is built up are atoms of matter. It follows that every atom

in every living body will be present in some form at that final impact

in which the solar system will be ended in a blazing whirlwind which

will melt the earth with its fervent heat. There is not a molecule or

cell in any creature alive this day which will not in its ultimate

constituents endure the long agony, lasting countless aeons of centuries,

wherein the solid mass of this great globe will be represented by a rush

of incandescent gas, stupendous in itself, but trivial in comparison

with the hurricane of flame in which it will be swallowed up and lost.



"And when from that hell a new star emerges, and new planets in their

season are born of him, and he and they repeat, as they must repeat, the

ceaseless, changeless, remorseless story of the universe, every atom in

this earth will take its place, and fill again functions identical with

those which it, or its fellow, fills now. Life will reappear, develop,

determine, to be renewed again as before. And so on for ever.



"Nature has known no rest. From the beginning--which never was--she has

been building up only to tear down again. She has been fabricating

pretty toys and trinkets, that cost her many a thousand years to forge,

only to break them in pieces for her sport. With infinite painstaking

she has manufactured man only to torture him with mean miseries in the

embryonic stages of his race, and in his higher development to madden

him with intellectual puzzles. Thus it will be unto the end--which never

shall be. For there is neither beginning nor end to her unvarying

cycles. Whether the secular optimist be successful or unsuccessful in

realising his paltry span of terrestrial paradise, whether the paeans he

sings about it are prophetic dithyrambs or misleading myths, no

Christian man need fear for his own immortality. That is well assured.

In some form he will surely be raised from the dead. In some shape he

will live again. But, Cui bono?"