Michael Faraday

One Friday evening there was exhibited an improved Davy lamp, with an eulogistic description. Faraday added the words, "The opinion of the inventor."

"An acquaintance rather given to inflict tedious narratives on his friends was descanting to Faraday on the iniquity of some coachman who had set him down the previous night in the middle of a dark and miry road, – 'in fact,' said the irksome drawler, 'in a perfect morass; and there I was, as you may imagine, half the night, plunging and struggling to get out of this dreadful morass.' 'More ass you!' rapped out the philosopher at the top of his scale of laughter." This was a rare instance, for it was only when much provoked that he would perpetrate a pun, or depart from the kind courtesy of his habitual talk.

That he was quite ready to give up a statement or view when it was proved by others to be incorrect, is shown by the Preface to the volumes in which are reprinted his "Experimental Researches." "In giving advice," says his niece Miss Reid, "he always went back to first principles, to the true right and wrong of questions, never allowing deviations from the simple straightforward path of duty to be justified by custom or precedent; and he judged himself strictly by the same rule which he laid down for others."

These beauties of character were not marred by serious defects or opposing faults. "He could not be too closely approached. There were no shabby places or ugly comers in his mind." Yet he was very far from being one of those passionless men who resemble a cold statue rather than throbbing flesh and blood. He was no "model of all the virtues," dreadfully uninteresting, and discouraging to those who feel such calm perfection out of their reach. His inner life was a battle, with its wounds as well as its victory. Proud by nature, and quick-tempered, he must have found the curb often necessary; but notwithstanding the rapidity of his actions and thoughts, he knew how to keep a tight rein on that fiery spirit.

I have listened attentively to every remark in disparagement of Faraday's character, but the only serious ones have appeared to me to arise from a misunderstanding of the man, a misunderstanding the more easy because his standard of right and wrong, and of his own duty, often differed from the notions current around him. Still, it may be true that his extreme sensitiveness led him sometimes to do scant justice to those who, he imagined, were treading too closely in his own footsteps; as, for instance, when Nobili brought out some beautiful experiments on magnetism, just after the short notice of his own discoveries in 1831 which Faraday had sent to M. Hachette, and which was communicated to the Académie des Sciences. It is true also that, with his great caution and his repugnance to moral evil, he was more disposed to turn away in disgust from an erring companion than to endeavour to reclaim him. It has also been imputed to him as a fault that he founded no school, and took no young man by the hand as Davy had taken him. That this was rather his misfortune than his fault, would appear from words he once wrote to Miss Moore: "I have often endeavoured to discover a genius, but have not been very successful, though many cases seemed promising at first." The world would doubtless have been the gainer if he had stamped his own image on the minds of a group of disciples: but a man cannot do everything; and had Faraday been more of a teacher, he would perhaps have been less of an investigator.

Of course Faraday was subject, like other men, to errors of judgment, and it was impossible, even if desirable, always to avoid giving offence. Thus he was constantly pestered for his autograph; and instead of throwing the applications into his waste-paper basket, he had a formal circular lithographed excusing himself from complying. This offended more than one recipient; and he was roughly made aware of it by once having the circular returned from St. Louis with a scurrilous comment, and the postage from America not prepaid. He never again used the printed form, Miss Barnard undertaking to answer all such requests.

It has been previously remarked that Faraday took little part in social movements, and went little into society, but it must not be supposed that he was by any means unsocial. It seems probable that his freedom in this matter was somewhat hampered by the principles in which he had been brought up: it is certain that he was restrained by the desire to give all the time and energy he could to scientific research. Yet pleasant stories are told of his occasional appearances at social gatherings. Thus he liked to attend the Royal Academy dinners, and in earlier days he enjoyed the artistic and musical conversaziones at Hullmandel's, where Stanfield Turner and Landseer met Garcia and Malibran; and sometimes he joined this pleasant company at supper and charades, at others in their excursions up the river in an eight-oared cutter. Captain Close has described to me how, when the French Lighthouse authorities put up the screw-pile light on the sands near Calais, they invited the Trinity House officers and Faraday to inspect it. A dinner was arranged for them after the inspection, and M. Reynaud proposed the health of the étranger célèbre. A young engineer took exception to Faraday being called a stranger – since he had been at St. Cyr he had known the great Englishman well by his works. The Professor replied to the compliment in the language of his hosts, with a few of his happy and kindly remarks. A gentleman high in the diplomatic service, who was present, remarked that Faraday had said many things which were not French, but not a word which ought not to be so.

More unrestricted was Faraday's sympathy with Nature. He felt the poetry of the changing seasons, but there were two aspects of Nature that especially seemed to claim communion with his spirit: he delighted in a thunderstorm, and he experienced a pleasurable sadness as the orange sunset faded into the evening twilight. There are other minds to which both these sensations are familiar, but they seem to have been felt with great intensity by him. No doubt his electrical knowledge added much to his interest in the grand discharges from the thunder-clouds, but it will hardly account for his standing long at a window watching the vivid flashes, a stranger to fear, with his mind full of lofty thoughts, or perhaps of high communings. Sometimes, too, if the storm was at a little distance, he would summon a cab, and, in spite of the pelting rain, drive to the scene of awful beauty.

On a clear starry night Captain Close quoted to him the words of Lorenzo in the "Merchant of Venice: " —

… "Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."

Faraday, who happened not to be familiar with the passage, made his friend repeat it over and over again as he drank in the whole meaning of the poetry, for there is a true sense in which no other mortal had ever opened his ears so fully to the harmony of the universe.

From the plains of mental mediocrity there occasionally rise the mountains of genius, and from the dead level of selfish respectability there stand out now and then the peaks of moral greatness. Neither kind of excellence is so common as we could wish it, and it is a rare coincidence when, as in Socrates, the two meet in the same individual. In Faraday we have a modern instance. There are persons now living who watched this man of strong will and intense feelings raising himself from the lower ranks of society, yet without losing his balance; rather growing in simplicity, disinterestedness, and humility, as princes became his correspondents and all the learned bodies of the world vied with each other to do him homage; still finding his greatest happiness at home, though reigning in the affections of all his fellows, – loving every honest man, however divergent in opinion, and loved most by those who knew him best.

This is the phenomenon. By what theory is it to be accounted for?

The secret did not lie in the nature of his pursuits. This cannot be better shown than in the following incident furnished me by Mrs. Crosse: – "One morning, a few months after we were married, my husband took me to the Royal Institution to call on Mr. and Mrs. Faraday. I had not seen the laboratory there, and the philosopher very kindly took us over the Institution, explaining for my information many objects of interest. His great vivacity and cheeriness of manner surprised me in a man who devoted his life to such abstruse studies, but I have since learnt to know that the highest philosophical nature is often, indeed generally, united with an almost childlike simplicity.

"After viewing the ample appliances for experimental research, and feeling impressed by the scientific atmosphere of the place, I turned and said, 'Mr. Faraday, you must be very happy in your position and with your pursuits, which elevate you entirely out of the meaner aspects and lower aims of common life.'

"He shook his head, and with that wonderful mobility of countenance which was characteristic, his expression of joyousness changed to one of profound sadness, he replied: 'When I quitted business, and took to science as a career, I thought I had left behind me all the petty meannesses and small jealousies which hinder man in his moral progress; but I found myself raised into another sphere, only to find poor human nature just the same everywhere – subject to the same weaknesses and the same self-seeking, however exalted the intellect.'

"These were his words as well as I can recollect; and, looking at that good and great man, I thought I had never seen a countenance which so impressed me with the characteristic of perfect unworldliness. We know how his life proved that this rare qualification was indeed his."

"Childlike simplicity: " "unworldliness." Where was the tree rooted that bore such beautiful blossoms? Faraday had learnt in the school of Christ to become "a little child," and he loved not the world because the love of the Father was in him.

We have a charming glimpse of this in an extract which Professor Tyndall has given from an old paper in which he wrote his impressions after one of his earliest dinners with the philosopher: – "At two o'clock he came down for me. He, his niece, and myself formed the party. 'I never give dinners,' he said; 'I don't know how to give dinners; and I never dine out. But I should not like my friends to attribute this to a wrong cause. I act thus for the sake of securing time for work, and not through religious motives as some imagine.' He said grace. I am almost ashamed to call his prayer a 'saying' of grace. In the language of Scripture, it might be described as the petition of a son into whose heart God had sent the Spirit of His Son, and who with absolute trust asked a blessing from his father. We dined on roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and potatoes, drank sherry, talked of research and its requirements, and of his habit of keeping himself free from the distractions of society. He was bright and joyful – boylike, in fact, though he is now sixty-two. His work excites admiration, but contact with him warms and elevates the heart. Here, surely, is a strong man. I love strength, but let me not forget the example of its union with modesty, tenderness, and sweetness, in the character of Faraday."

But his religion deserves a closer attention. When an errand-boy, we find him hurrying the delivery of his newspapers on a Sunday morning so as to get home in time to make himself neat to go with his parents to chapel: his letters when abroad indicate the same disposition; yet he did not make any formal profession of his faith till a month after his marriage, when nearly thirty years of age. Of his spiritual history up to that period little is known, but there seem to be good grounds for believing that he did not accept the religion of his fathers without a conscientious inquiry into its truth. It would be difficult to conceive of his acting otherwise. But after he joined the Sandemanian Church, his questionings were probably confined to matters of practical duty; and to those who knew him best nothing could appear stronger than his conviction of the reality of the things he believed. In order to understand the life and character of Faraday, it is necessary to bear in mind not merely that he was a Christian, but that he was a Sandemanian. From his earliest years that religious system stamped its impress deeply on his mind, it surrounded the blacksmith's son with an atmosphere of unusual purity and refinement, it developed the unselfishness of his nature, and in his after career it fenced his life from the worldliness around, as well as from much that is esteemed as good by other Christian bodies. To this small self-contained sect he clung with warm attachment; he was precluded from Christian communion or work outside their circle, but his sympathies at least burst all narrow bounds. Thus the Abbé Moigno tells us that at Faraday's request he one day introduced him to Cardinal Wiseman. The interview was very cordial, and his Eminence did not hesitate frankly and good-naturedly to ask Faraday if, in his deepest conviction, he believed all the Church of Christ, holy, catholic, and apostolical, was shut up in the little sect in which he bore rule. "Oh no!" was the reply; "but I do believe from the bottom of my soul that Christ is with us." There were other points, too, in his character which reflected the colouring of the religious school to which he belonged. Thus, while humility is inseparable from a Christian life, there is a special phase of that virtue bred of those doctrines which teach that all our righteousness must be the unmerited gift of another: these doctrines are strongly insisted upon in the Sandemanian Church, and this humility was acquired in an intense degree by its minister. Again, while all Christians deplore the terrible amount of folly and sin in the world, most recognize also a large amount of good, and believe in progressive improvement; but small communities are apt to take gloomy views, and so did Faraday, notwithstanding his personal happiness, and his firm conviction that "there is One above who worketh in all things, and who governs even in the midst of that misrule to which the tendencies and powers of men are so easily perverted."

In writing to Professor Schönbein and a few other kindred spirits he would turn naturally enough from scientific to religious thoughts, and back again to natural philosophy, but he generally kept these two departments of his mental activity strangely distinct; yet of course it was well known that the Professor at Albemarle Street was one of that long line of scientific men, beginning with the savants of the East, who have brought to the Redeemer the gold, frankincense, and myrrh of their adoration.

But the peculiar features of Faraday's spiritual life are matters of minor importance: the genuineness of his religious character is acknowledged by all. We have admired his faithfulness, his amiability of disposition, and his love of justice and truth; how far these qualities were natural gifts, like his clearness of intellect, we cannot precisely tell; but that he exercised constant self-control without becoming hard, ascended the pathway of fame without ever losing his balance, and shed around himself a peculiar halo of love and joyousness, must be attributed in no small degree to a heart at peace with God, and to the consciousness of a higher life.

SECTION III

FRUITS OF HIS EXPERIENCE

Those who loved Faraday would treasure every word that he wrote, and to them the life and letters which Bence Jones has given to the world will be inestimable; but from the multitude who knew him only at a distance, we can expect no enthusiasm of admiration. Yet all will readily believe that through the writings of such a genius there must be scattered nuggets of intellectual gold, even when he is not treating directly of scientific subjects. Some of these relate to questions of permanent interest, and such nuggets it is my aim to separate and lay before the reader.

When quite a young man he drew the following ideal portrait: – "The philosopher should be a man willing to listen to every suggestion, but determined to judge for himself. He should not be biassed by appearances, have no favourite hypothesis, be of no school, and in doctrine have no master. He should not be a respecter of persons, but of things. Truth should be his primary object. If to these qualities be added industry, he may indeed hope to walk within the veil of the temple of Nature." This ideal he must steadily have kept before him, and not unfrequently in after days he gave utterance to similar thoughts. Here are two instances, the first from a lecture thirty years afterwards, the second from a private letter: – "We may be sure of facts, but our interpretation of facts we should doubt. He is the wisest philosopher who holds his theory with some doubt; who is able to proportion his judgment and confidence to the value of the evidence set before him, taking a fact for a fact, and a supposition for a supposition; as much as possible keeping his mind free from all source of prejudice, or, where he cannot do this (as in the case of a theory), remembering that such a source is there." The letter is to Mr. Frederick Field, and relates to a paper on the existence of silver in the water of the ocean.

    "Royal Institution, 21st October, 1856.

"My dear Sir,

"Your paper looks so well, that though I am of course unable to become security for the facts, I have still thought it my duty to send it to the Royal Society. Whether it will appear there or not I cannot say, – no one can say even for his own papers; but for my part, I think that as facts are the foundation of science, however they may be interpreted, so they are most valuable, and often more so than the interpretations founded upon them. I hope your further researches will confirm those you have obtained: but I would not be too hasty with them, – rather wait a while, and make them quite secure.

    "I am, Sir, your obliged Servant,
    "M. Faraday."

How pleasant it would have been to peep into his mind and watch the process by which he was transformed into the very image of his ideal philosopher! He has partially told us the secret in two remarkable lectures, one of which was delivered before the City Philosophical Society when he was only twenty-seven years of age, while the other formed part of a series on Education at Albemarle Street. Copious extracts from the first are given by Dr. Bence Jones; the second was published at the time. In the early lecture, which is "On the Forms of Matter," he points out the advantages and dangers of systematizing, and winds up his remarks with —

"Nothing is more difficult and requires more care than philosophical deduction, nor is there anything more adverse to its accuracy than fixidity of opinion. The man who is certain he is right is almost sure to be wrong, and he has the additional misfortune of inevitably remaining so. All our theories are fixed upon uncertain data, and all of them want alteration and support. Ever since the world began opinion has changed with the progress of things; and it is something more than absurd to suppose that we have a sure claim to perfection, or that we are in possession of the highest stretch of intellect which has or can result from human thought. Why our successors should not displace us in our opinions, as well as in our persons, it is difficult to say; it ever has been so, and from analogy would be supposed to continue so; and yet, with all this practical evidence of the fallibility of our opinions, all, and none more than philosophers, are ready to assert the real truth of their opinions."

In his discourse entitled "Observations on Mental Education," like a skilful physician he first determines what is the great intellectual disease from which the community suffers – "deficiency of judgment," – and then he lays down rules by which each man may attempt his own cure. For this self-education, "it is necessary that a man examine himself, and that not carelessly… A first result of this habit of mind will be an internal conviction of ignorance in many things respecting which his neighbours are taught, and that his opinions and conclusions on such matters ought to be advanced with reservation. A mind so disciplined will be open to correction upon good grounds in all things, even in those it is best acquainted with; and should familiarize itself with the idea of such being the case… It is right that we should stand by and act on our principles, but not right to hold them in obstinate blindness, or retain them when proved to be erroneous." And then he gives cases from his own mental history: – "I remember the time when I believed a spark was produced between voltaic metals as they approached to contact (and the reasons why it might be possible yet remain); but others doubted the fact and denied the proofs, and on re-examination I found reason to admit their corrections were well founded. Years ago I believed that electrolites could conduct electricity by a conduction proper; that has also been denied by many through long time: though I believed myself right, yet circumstances have induced me to pay that respect to criticism as to re-investigate the subject, and I have the pleasure of thinking that nature confirms my original conclusions. So, though evidence may appear to preponderate extremely in favour of a certain decision, it is wise and proper to hear a counter-statement. You can have no idea how often, and how much, under such an impression, I have desired that the marvellous descriptions which have reached me might prove, in some points, correct; and how frequently I have submitted myself to hot fires, to friction with magnets, to the passes of hands, &c., lest I should be shutting out discovery; – encouraging the strong desire that something might be true, and that I might aid in the development of a new force of nature." He turns then to another evil, and its cure: "The tendency to deceive ourselves regarding all we wish for, and the necessity of resistance to these desires; … the force of the temptation which urges us to seek for such evidence and appearances as are in favour of our desires, and to disregard those which oppose them, is wonderfully great. In this respect we are all, more or less, active promoters of error." He winds up his remarks upon this subject with the italicized sentence: "I will simply express my strong belief that that point of self-education which consists in teaching the mind to resist its desires and inclinations until they are proved to be right, is the most important of all, not only in things of natural philosophy, but in every department of daily life." He turns then to the necessity of a "habit of forming clear and precise ideas," and of expressing them in "clear and definite language: " – "When the different data required are in our possession, and we have succeeded in forming a clear idea of each, the mind should be instructed to balance them one against another, and not suffered carelessly to hasten to a conclusion." "As a result of this wholesome mental condition, we should be able to form a proportionate judgment;" that is, one proportionate to the evidence, ranging through all degrees of probability – while he adds: "Frequently the exercise of the judgment ought to end in absolute reservation."

"The education which I advocate," says Faraday, "will require patience and labour of thought in every exercise tending to improve the judgment. It matters not on what subject a person's mind is occupied; he should engage in it with the conviction that it will require mental labour." "Because the education is internal, it is not the less needful; nor is it more the duty of a man that he should cause his child to be taught, than that he should teach himself. Indolence may tempt him to neglect the self-examination and experience which form his school, and weariness may induce the evasion of the necessary practices; but surely a thought of the prize should suffice to stimulate him to the requisite exertion; and to those who reflect upon the many hours and days devoted by a lover of sweet sounds to gain a moderate facility upon a mere mechanical instrument, it ought to bring a correcting blush of shame if they feel convicted of neglecting the beautiful living instrument wherein play all the powers of the mind."

At the commencement of this discourse the lecturer felt called upon to limit the range of his remarks: – "High as man is placed above the creatures around him, there is a higher and far more exalted position within his view; and the ways are infinite in which he occupies his thoughts about the fears, or hopes, or expectations of a future life. I believe that the truth of that future cannot be brought to his knowledge by any exertion of his mental powers, however exalted they may be; that it is made known to him by other teaching than his own, and is received through simple belief of the testimony given. Let no one suppose for a moment that the self-education I am about to commend in respect of the things of this life extends to any considerations of the hope set before us, as if man by reasoning could find out God. It would be improper here to enter upon this subject further than to claim an absolute distinction between religious and ordinary belief. I shall be reproached with the weakness of refusing to apply those mental operations which I think good in respect of high things to the very highest. I am content to bear the reproach. Yet, even in earthly matters, I believe that 'the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead;' and I have never seen anything incompatible between those things of man which can be known by the spirit of man which is within him, and those higher things concerning his future which he cannot know by that spirit." There is of course a certain truth in this passage; spiritual discernment is a real thing possessed by some, and not by others; yet is there this absolute distinction between religious and ordinary belief? Surely there is the same opportunity and the same necessity for careful judgment, and for resistance to prejudice or preference, when we are weighing the credentials of anything that may come before us purporting to be a revelation from above; surely too, if we have satisfied ourselves that we possess such a revelation, we must seek for the same clearness of ideas, and must exercise the same patience and labour of thought, if we would understand it aright. That mental discipline which fits us to interpret the works of God cannot but be akin to the intellectual training required for interpreting His word.

Since Faraday thought and wrote, the question of public education has taken a far deeper hold on the feelings and the hopes of the nation, and it is not merely the extent of the instruction, but its nature also, that is discussed. It is held to be no longer right that the minds of our youth should be fed almost exclusively on the dry husks of classic or mediæval knowledge, while the rich banquet of modern discovery remains untasted. Yet it is hard for natural science to gain an honoured place in our venerable scholastic institutions. Faraday, however, had long formed his conclusions on this subject. In one of his Friday evening discourses he says: "The development of the applications of physical science in modern times has become so large and so essential to the well-being of man, that it may justly be used as illustrating the true character of pure science as a department of knowledge, and the claims it may have for consideration by Governments, Universities, and all bodies to whom is confided the fostering care and direction of learning. As a branch of learning, men are beginning to recognize the right of science to its own particular place; for, though flowing in channels utterly different in their course and end from those of literature, it conduces not less, as a means of instruction, to the discipline of the mind, whilst it ministers, more or less, to the wants, comforts, and proper pleasure, both mental and bodily, of every individual of every class in life. Until of late years, the education for, and recognition of it by the bodies which may be considered as governing the general course of all education, have been chiefly directed to it only as it could serve professional services, viz. those which are remunerated by society; but now the fitness of university degrees in science is under consideration, and many are taking a high view of it, as distinguished from literature, and think that it may well be studied for its own sake, i. e. as a proper exercise of the human intelligence, able to bring into action and development all the powers of the mind. As a branch of learning, it has (without reference to its applications) become as extensive and varied as literature; and it has this privilege, that it must ever go on increasing."

On the subject of scientific education Faraday was examined by the Public Schools Commission, November 18th, 1862, and his sentiments of course appear in their report. He said to them: "That the natural knowledge which has been given to the world in such abundance during the last fifty years should remain untouched, and that no sufficient attempt should be made to convey it to the young mind growing up and obtaining its first views of those things, is to me a matter so strange that I find it difficult to understand. Though I think I see the opposition breaking away, it is yet a very hard one to overcome. That it ought to be overcome I have not the least doubt in the world." Lord Clarendon asked him: "You think it is now knocking at the door, and there is a prospect of the door being opened?" "Yes," answered Faraday, "and it will make its way, or we shall stay behind other nations in our mode of education." He had been led to the conviction that the exclusive attention to literary studies created a tendency to regard other things as nonsense, or belonging only to the artisan, and so the mind is positively injured for the reception of real knowledge. He says: "It is the highly educated man that we find coming to us again and again, and asking the most simple question in chemistry or mechanics; and when we speak of such things as the conservation of force, the permanency of matter, and the unchangeability of the laws of nature, they are far from comprehending them, though they have relation to us in every action of our lives. Many of these instructed persons are as far from having the power of judging of these things as if their minds had never been trained."

He gives his own opinion as to the precise course to be pursued with great diffidence; but it is evident that he would begin the education in natural science at a pretty early age, and in all cases carry it up to a certain point. One-fifth of a boy's time might be devoted to this purpose at present, though in less than half a century he thinks science will deserve and obtain a far larger share. Supposing a boy of eleven years of age and of ordinary intelligence at one of our public schools: "I would teach him," he says, "all those things that come before classics in the programme of the London University, – mechanics, hydrostatics, hydraulics, pneumatics, acoustics, and optics. They are very simple and easily understood when they are looked at with attention by both man and boy. With a candle, a lamp, and a lens or two, an intelligent instructor might teach optics in a very short time; and so with chemistry. I should desire all these." Much would depend on the competency and earnestness of the teacher. "Good lectures might do a great deal. They would at all events remove the absolute ignorance which sometimes now appears, but would give a very poor knowledge of natural things."

Perhaps these opinions of one whose lips are now silent will yet have their weight in the discussion of this question both in our highest seats of learning and in those educational parliaments which have been lately called into existence in almost every town and district of our country.

From the somewhat disparaging remarks about lectures quoted above, it must not be supposed that this prince of lecturers depreciated his office. "Lectures," he said, "depend entirely for their value upon the manner in which they are given. It is not the matter, it is not the subject, so much as the man; but if he is not competent, and does not feel that there is a need of competency, to convey his ideas gently and quietly and simply to the young mind, he simply throws up obstacles, and will be found using words which they will not comprehend." These were the words of his later days, but fortunately he felt "the need of competency" before his own habits were formed, and in four letters to Abbott we find wonderfully sagacious observations on the matter, which it would be well for any young lecturer to study. He describes the proper arrangement of a lecture-room, dwelling on the necessity of good ventilation; and then, having considered the fittest subjects for popular lectures, he turns to the character of the audience, and shows how that must be studied; for some expect to be entertained by the manner of the lecturer as well as his subject, while others care for something which will instruct. He dwells on the superiority of the eye over the ear as a channel of knowledge, and lays down some rules for this kind of instruction, which he of all men subsequently carried out to perfection. "Apparatus is an essential part of every lecture in which it can be introduced… Diagrams and tables, too, are necessary, or at least add in an eminent degree to the illustration and perfection of a lecture. When an experimental lecture is to be delivered, and apparatus is to be exhibited, some kind of order should be observed in the arrangement of them on the lecture table. Every particular part illustrative of the lecture should be in view; no one thing should hide another from the audience, nor should anything stand in the way of or obstruct the lecturer. They should be so placed, too, as to produce a kind of uniformity in appearance. No one part should appear naked and another crowded, unless some particular reason exists and makes it necessary to be so. At the same time the whole should be so arranged as to keep one operation from interfering with another." A good delivery comes in for its share of praise; "for though to all true philosophers science and nature will have charms innumerable in every dress, yet I am sorry to say that the generality of mankind cannot accompany us one short hour unless the path is strewed with flowers." Then, "a lecturer should appear easy and collected, undaunted and unconcerned, his thoughts about him, and his mind clear and free for the contemplation and description of his subject. His action should not be hasty and violent, but slow, easy, and natural, consisting principally in changes of the posture of the body, in order to avoid the air of stiffness or sameness that would otherwise be unavoidable. His whole behaviour should evince respect for his audience, and he should in no case forget that he is in their presence." He allows a lecturer to prepare his discourse in writing, but not to read it before the audience, and points out how necessary it is "to raise their interest at the commencement of the lecture, and by a series of imperceptible gradations, unnoticed by the company, keep it alive as long as the subject demands it." This of course forbids breaks in the argument, or digressions foreign to the main purpose, and limits the length of the lecture to a period during which the listeners can pay unwearied attention. He castigates those speakers who descend so low as "to angle for claps," or who throw out hints for commendation, and shows that apologies should be made as seldom as possible. Experiments should be to the point, clear, and easily understood: "they should rather approach to simplicity, and explain the established principles of the subject, than be elaborate and apply to minute phenomena only… 'Tis well, too, when the lecturer has the ready wit and the presence of mind to turn any casual circumstance to an illustration of his subject." But experiments should be explained by a satisfactory theory; or if the scientific world is divided in opinion, both sides of the question ought to be stated with the strongest arguments for each, that justice may be done and honour satisfied.

Often in later days was his experience in lecturing made use of for the benefit of others. "If," he once remarked to a young lecturer, "I said to my audience, 'This stone will fall to the ground if I open my hand,' I should open my hand and let it fall. Take nothing for granted as known; inform the eye at the same time as you address the ear." I remember him once giving me hints on the laying of the lecture table at the Institution, and telling me that where possible he was accustomed to arrange the apparatus in such a way as to suggest the order of the experiments. An incident told me by Dr. Carpenter will illustrate some of the foregoing points. The first time he heard Faraday lecture at the Royal Institution, the Professor was explaining the researches of Melloni on radiant heat. During the discourse he touched on the refraction and polarization of heat; and to explain refraction he showed the simple experiment of fixing some coloured wafers at the bottom of a basin, and then pouring in water so as to make them apparently rise. Dr. Carpenter, who had come up from Bristol with grand ideas of the lectures at Albemarle Street, wondered greatly at the introduction of so commonplace an experiment. Of course there were many other illustrations, and beautiful ones too. He went down, however, after the lecture, to the table, and among the crowd chatting there was an old gentleman who remarked, "I think the best experiment to-night was that of the wafers in the basin."

When a young lecturer, Faraday took lessons in elocution from Mr. Smart, and was at great pains to cure himself of any defect of pronunciation or manner; for this purpose he would get a friendly critic to form part of his audience. On the fly-leaves of many of the notes of his lectures are written the reminders – "Stand up" – "Don't talk quick." Indeed, in early days it was so much a matter of anxiety to him that everything in his lectures should be as perfect as possible, that he not only was accustomed to go over everything again and again in his mind, but the difficulty of satisfying himself used to trouble his dreams. I was told this, if I am not mistaken, by himself; and it goes far to explain how his discourses possessed such a fascination.

Some of his feelings in regard to lecturing may be learnt from the following particulars, for which I am indebted to Mr. Charles Tomlinson. They relate to a course of lectures he delivered in 1849 on Statical Electricity. The first lecture began thus: – "Time moves on, and brings changes to ourselves as well as to science. I feel that I must soon resign into the hands of my successors the position which I now occupy at this table. Indeed, I have long felt how much rather I would sit among you and be instructed than stand here and attempt to instruct. I have always felt my position in this Institution as a very strange one. Coming after such a man as Davy, and associated with such a man as Brande, and having had to make a position for myself, I have always felt myself here in a strange position. You will wonder why I make these remarks. It is not from any affectation of modesty that I do so, but I feel that loss of memory may soon incapacitate me altogether for my duties. Without, however, troubling you more about myself, let us proceed to the subject before us, and fall back upon the beginnings of the wonderful science of electricity. I shall have to trouble you with very little of theory. The facts are so wonderful that I shall not attempt to explain them." At the second lecture, "Faraday advanced to the table at three o'clock, and began to apologize for an obstruction of voice, which indeed was painfully evident. He said that, 'in an engagement where the contracting parties were one and many, the one ought not on any slight ground to break his part of the engagement with the many, and therefore, if the audience would excuse his imperfect utterance, he would endeavour – ' Murmurs arose: 'Put off the lecture.' Faraday begged to be allowed to go on. A medical man then rose and said he had given it as his opinion that it would be dangerous to Dr. Faraday to proceed. Faraday again urged his wish to proceed – said it was giving so much trouble to the ladies, who had sent away their carriages, and perhaps put off other engagements. On this the whole audience rose as by a single impulse, and a number of persons surrounded Faraday, who now yielded to the general desire to spare him the pain and inconvenience of lecturing." A fortnight elapsed before he could again make his appearance, but he continued his course later than usual, in order not to deprive his audience of any of the eight lectures he had undertaken to give them. Prince Albert came to one of these extra lectures.

Faraday's opinion as to the honours due to scientific men from society or from Government, may be gathered from the following extract from a letter written me by his private friend Mr. Blaikley: – "On one occasion, when making some remark in reference to a movement on behalf of science, I inadvertently spoke of the proper honour due to science. He at once remarked, 'I am not one who considers that science can be honoured.' I at once saw the point. His views of the grandeur of truth, when once apprehended, raised it far beyond any honour that man could give it; but man might honour himself by respecting and acknowledging it."

Professor George Wilson, of Edinburgh, has thus described his first visit to the philosopher: "Faraday was very kind, showed me his whole laboratory with labours going on, and talked frankly and kindly; but to the usual question of something to do, gave the usual round O answer, and treated me to a just, but not very cheering animadversion on the Government of this country, which, unlike that of every other civilized country, will give no help to scientific inquiry, and will afford no aid or means of study for young chemists."

"Take care of your money," was his advice to Mr. Joule, then another young aspirant to scientific honours, but who has since rendered the highest service to science, without leaning on any hopes of Government help or public support.