The Spiritualist newspaper > No.327, November 29th 1878

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THE SPIRITUALIST.
Nov. 29, 1878.
SOCIETY IN 1878.
BY J. T. MARKLEY, AUTHOBi OF “ STRAY THOUGHTS ON MANY THEMES.”
As I have dispassionately dealt with modern materialism
in its intellectual aspects, the ice has been broken for a brief
analysis of the same conditions of mind as shown in its
grosser developments.
By the lamentation of saints, and the ready confession of
sinners, we have proof that the age is essentially unspiritual.
Never, perhaps, since the days of Henry VIII., or Charles
II., has English society been so free, flexible, and “ fast ” as
at present. The half suppression of Arcadian simplicity of
manners, and the almost universal contempt for the preter¬
natural elements of religion, make most people defiantly
materialistic. Education may induce refinement in the
better sections of society ; but this attractiveness of character
is not even popular in the centres whence it originates.
Hence the imitative tastes of the working population merely
reflect questionable models. Through this vulgar selfishness
civilisation has become an empty boast. With an almost
Shakespearian interpretation of character, Bishop Frazer tells
the nation certain truths, more pertinent than palatable.
With an acute sense of the dangers which beset kingdoms,
when men’s vulgarity debases the best examples of woman¬
hood, the shrewd man of Manchester foresees results which
might damn commonplace thinkers, before they became
alive to the possible situation. Only few men can look
below the surface, or detect the trail of the reptile in the fair
folds of the sweet midsummer grass. Those, thus gifted, are
prophets in advance of current opinion or ensuing events.
Innocent people rave madly against the stage. Against the
stage, indeed! Why, if the theatres were sanctified they
would exhibit an artificial morality altogether out of keep¬
ing with the real spiritual condition of modern society. The
drama is truthful.
We are asked not to patronise the sparkling sensuality of
Pink Dominos, or the piquant adaptation of French comedy.
The mirror only refuses to swear falsely. Hence, Pink
Dominos shows London “ fast life ” as it is, and not as
preachers and country people dream about it. The now
famous Criterion play is only the inward and theatrical
sign of an outward and more disgusting reality to be traced
in its beginnings, nightly, near the Haymarket, or near the
station gates at Charing-cross. Let no one foolishly suppose
that the Venus-like girls of seventeen are the daughters or
relations of the carnal old merchants of seventy, whose
money gives impassioned materialism extra means of re¬
pulsive development. Before people make haste to vote
against the illustrative drama, let them take note of the
radical moral defects of ordinary degenerate social habits in
the great cities of England in 1878 ! Unfortunately, whilst
the press reports, it will not, editorially, recognise the
rottenness which we need not journey to Denmark to find.
It is scarcely to be expected that modern journalism, as a
commercial speculation, can avoid the spirit of gross
materialism which gives current society a tone of moral
defiance that is all the more to be feared because it unites
the wisdom of Athens with the baseness of Babylon. This
explains how it was that the Daily Telegraph recently
apologised for the tendencies of society against the eloquent
impeachment by the Bishop of Peterborough. Evidently
most of the press writers are men of high principle and
humane genius. This makes their position all the more
painful and perplexing when circumstances demand a critical
comment upon the vast, shouting crowd in Vanity Fair. I
am not underrating the boldness and grandeur of the press.
On the contrary, I hold that it is now the greatest in¬
tellectual, as it will some day be the greatest moral force, in
the world. Society may continue to wax corrupt, selfish,
and materialistic; but the press is so impregnated and
inspired by the best gifts and traditions of literary genius—
so humane and broad in its many-sided sympathies, that,
through its example and influence, theology will eventually
loose its sectarian spleen ; men will learn to love and admire
their fellows; art will only be a new form of moral excel¬
lence ; and religion be as sweet on earth as it is in heaven.
As yet the press is in commercial bondage. Perhaps the
most discouraging sign of the times is the moral degeneracy
of boyhood. Lads could be at once reverent and high-
ij spirited, if they combined the restless daring of the athlete
| with the moral discipline of robust but polite citizenship.
| This is rarely the case now. Where shall we look for any
I trace of genuine spirituality among the tens of thousands of
i our young unmarried men ? Vulgar and licentious phraseo-
graphs rush forth as fluently from unbridled lips as fire from
the crater of Etna ! This may seem an unwarranted asser-
| tion. It is not. so. Let any one watch the young English-
| man—or say the young European or Yankee—when the
| ennui of meal-time, evening, or Sunday leisure allows the
| free and easy play of a sensual imagination ! Where two or
I three are gathered together in the name of recreation, there
| a pollution of language is in the midst of them. Caliban
| never cursed more copiously. The fresh-air verbiage of the
! restless moss troopers was what the Anglican liturgy would
I be to Bacchanalian slang—as compared with the extempore
| utterances of our nineteenth century youth. They seem to
I have all the oaths of wicked old grandfathers left them as a
| legacy of language for daily use since the day when the
| Apostle Peter swore at the housekeeper. What is worse,
even the presence of females fails to ensure decency of re¬
mark where half a dozen hobbledehoys are assembled at the
|| | workshop, the factory, or the street corners. Although it is
I | a fact seldom noticed by the regular press, this low form of
j | anti-religious materialism among our youthful population
| | may some time force itself, in an inconvenient form, upon
j | the attention of those to whom the elevation of industrial
| | society is a matter of philosophical concern.
I | Education does not always give refinement to young men.
if ! If so, how are we to account for the unseemly parlance of
! i the billiard-room, the hotel bars, and the fashionable resorts
j j of hot-blooded 44 scions ” at certain recreation saloons in
I | town famous for spectacular display ? Moreover—and it is
| | no use blinking the fact—many of our Oxford and Cambridge
] | undergraduates, and other students, do not often use the
j ! language of flowers in their less academical moments. Has
] | the age of chivalry altogether departed ? Have we no Lord
| | Chesterfields in our midst? Is politeness one of the lost
I | arts ? The dandyism of Beau Nash and the wearing of
I | Byronic collars were preferable to some of the more vulgar
| | phases of modern English society. Our grandfathers might
| | sip freely of the purple draught, and think less of the gods
! j than of cards. They at least cultivated politeness in the
| < | domestic presence of the fair sex. Women were sacred in
j ;| those days. In a measure that sacredness has departed.
| | Instead of quiet Hannah More as a model we now have
I j popular actresses. The piety and quiet of home-life has
| | given way to a spirit of mere flesh-and-blood materialism.
| | Beauty, discarding the restrictions of mellow faiths, has
j I grown impudent in its sensual eloquence, and advertises
| | itself, with a photographic flaunt, in Regent-street. The
11 i unobtrusive grandeur of holy motherhood, in conspicuous
| | cases, is now ruled out of court. Society has become scenic
| | rather than serene. The sight is undoubtedly pleasing;
| | but there may come a long and painful feeling of contagious
| | sighing.
m A high dignitary of the Church tells us that young ladies
| I now allow themselves to be addressed in language only to
j be tolerated by women of the pavement. The charge is a
I | serious one, even if only half true. Once let the purity and
| | sweetness of English domestic life become incorporated with
111 the defiant moral blindness of the vulgar crowd, and our
I I noble traditions as a people must surely enter upon a
I | dangerous departure. We had better retire, with Cowper, to
| j the teachings of singing tea-kettles, and have moral stamina,
I | * than waste a too short life in the mere worship of the non-
| I ideal passions. We want all the prosperity, love, laughter,
| | amusement, and instruction that modern progress can afford,
111 but not that artificial social 44 restlessness ” against which
j (I the intellectual thinkers of the Saturday Review so warmly
|) | and wisely declaim. To be more refined and spiritual
I | society need not be less facetious^ intrepid, original, or
j < | righteously indulgent. Life may still be a magnificent
j) | experience. As one of Tennyson’s heroines sings :—
i) j Yet pull not down my palace towers that are
! (i So lightly, beautifully built:
j rj Perchance I may return with others there,
11 j When I have purged my guilt.