Selections from Previous Works: With Remarks on Romanes' Mental Evolution in Animals, and a Psalm of Montreal

In Short

This volume serves as a bridge between the author’s earlier, more controversial writings on evolutionary theory and his later, more ruminative travel reflections. It is a polemic against the scientific establishment of the Victorian era, specifically targeting those who claimed to "discover" ideas the author had already articulated. By blending technical disputes with sharp, satirical observations on religion, art, and the nature of memory, the book captures a restless, independent mind fighting to be heard against the rigid gatekeepers of his time.

The Story

The narrative begins with a pointed, defensive preface. The author is locked in an intellectual feud with G.J. Romanes, a prominent scientist who, in the author's estimation, has both misrepresented the history of evolutionary thought and failed to acknowledge the author’s own contributions regarding "unconscious memory." The author presents himself as a wronged pioneer, forced to correct the record against those who wield the authority of the Royal Society to silence dissent. He argues that science has become a club for the elite, where scrupulous accuracy is sacrificed for the sake of professional status.

From this cold start in the lecture hall, the text shifts to the more imaginative realm of the "Musical Banks," a satirical exploration of religious and economic systems found in his earlier fiction. This serves as a pivot, moving from the critique of modern science to a broader critique of human systems of belief. He then delves into the dark, existential absurdity of being born, framing birth as a "capital crime" that forces individuals into a life of unwanted memory and inherited traits. He posits that our very existence is a form of inherited habit—a memory of past lives that dictates our current form, much like a chicken "remembers" how to be a chicken because it has done so countless times before.

The middle arc of the book is a sustained, often aggressive philosophical argument against Charles Darwin’s brand of evolutionary theory. The author positions himself as an ally to the older, "teleological" school of thinkers—like Erasmus Darwin and Lamarck—who believed that life evolves through purpose and design, rather than the "blind chance" advocated by the modern Darwinists. He sees the contemporary scientific focus on "heredity" as a hollow term that explains nothing, demanding instead a focus on memory as the keystone of biology.

Finally, the tone softens as the author moves into his later reflections on Italy and art. He describes his interactions with Italian priests, contrasting their relaxed, sometimes wry approach to theology with the rigid, self-conscious earnestness of his English peers. He finds in the chapels of Varallo and the conversations in Piedmont a human depth that he feels is missing from the cold, professionalized world of London science. The book concludes with the author finding peace in the simple, "unconscious" act of feeding a bird, a metaphor for his own evolution—moving away from the heat of intellectual combat toward a more observational, tolerant understanding of the world.

How It Unfolds

The grievance is aired The author opens with a stinging rebuke of G.J. Romanes, highlighting the inaccuracy of his citations and the general decline of scholarly integrity among the scientific elite. He exposes the petty politics of the Royal Society, revealing how position is used to obscure truth rather than advance it.

The anatomy of belief He shifts to the satirical description of "Musical Banks" to mock how societies construct elaborate, incoherent systems of value. This illustrates his fundamental distrust of any institution that demands blind faith or adherence to complex, illogical rules.

The burden of memory The argument deepens into biology, proposing that evolution is not a series of accidents but a continuous, inherited memory. He argues that we are all, in a sense, living out the habits of our ancestors, a process that becomes more efficient the less we consciously think about it.

The attack on Darwinism He wages war against the "non-teleological" view of the universe, arguing that the modern obsession with blind chance robs life of its inherent purpose. He calls for a return to the older, more intuitive understanding of design in the natural world.

A softer perspective The final movement finds the author in the Italian countryside, where he trades scientific polemics for the study of local art and religion. He concludes that the greatest wisdom lies not in intense, self-conscious intellectualism, but in the ability to exist gracefully within one's own habits and surroundings.

The People

The author acts as the central consciousness, a prickly, brilliant contrarian who views himself as a victim of a scientific conspiracy. He is motivated by a deep-seated need to reclaim his intellectual territory and expose the hypocrisy of those who have co-opted his theories.

His antagonist is G.J. Romanes, whom the author paints as a sycophant of the scientific establishment. Romanes represents everything the author despises: the arrogance of the professional scientist who treats the work of predecessors with casual disregard.

Erasmus Darwin and Lamarck serve as the author’s intellectual heroes; he treats them as the true masters of evolutionary thought, whose work provided a logical, design-based foundation that the current generation has foolishly abandoned.

Finally, the Italian priests he meets—specifically the "jolly" priest with the red nose—function as foils to his English reality. They are not caricatures of faith but are presented as practical, surprisingly tolerant men who possess a sense of irony that the author finds sadly absent in his own scientific peers. They represent a way of existing that is unencumbered by the frantic, "earnest" need to prove oneself right at every turn.

In Its Own Voice

"The course of true science, like that of true love, never did run smooth."

The author uses this opening epigraph to signal that the conflicts within the pages are as inevitable as they are painful.

"To be born is a felony--it is a capital crime, for which sentence may be executed at any moment after the commission of the offence."

Reflecting on the absurdity of human existence, he uses this dark, ironic framing to explore the loss of identity involved in coming into the world.

"The more deep our feeling is about any matter, the more occasion have we to be on our guard against zele in this particular respect."

This insight concludes his travel observations, arguing that excessive fervor—or "zeal"—is the enemy of true understanding and civility.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is a protest against the "professionalization" of knowledge. The author is deeply concerned with the loss of the individual’s ability to "know without knowing"—the idea that true mastery is unconscious and intuitive. He argues that modern science, by focusing on cold, mechanical explanations, has stripped the world of its inherent purpose and wonder. He asks whether we are the authors of our own lives or simply the vessels for the inherited habits of our ancestors. Ultimately, it is a plea for a more holistic, less rigid approach to understanding the natural world, one that balances the intellect with the quiet, often unacknowledged patterns of memory and habit.

Why Read It Today

This book is a fascinating, if sometimes prickly, relic of the 19th-century intellectual wars. Readers who enjoy the history of ideas or the darker side of Victorian literature will find the author’s sharp tongue and unconventional theories on memory and evolution genuinely gripping. It feels like eavesdropping on a brilliant but deeply resentful mind, and the transition from academic vitriol to the gentle, sun-drenched observations of the Italian countryside provides a unique, jarring emotional arc.

However, the book is not for the faint of heart. It requires the reader to navigate dense, period-specific scientific disputes and a confrontational tone that can be exhausting. The author is obsessed with being "right," and he spends many pages dwelling on perceived slights that may feel obscure to a modern audience. Yet, for those who persevere, the rewards are significant. The author’s writing possesses a rhythmic, biting wit that makes even his most technical arguments readable. What stays with you long after closing the book is not the scientific debate, but the author’s profound skepticism of "earnestness." In an age where we are constantly told to be intense about our beliefs, his call to maintain a light touch, to live with a bit of irony, and to accept the "unconscious" nature of our own lives feels surprisingly modern and deeply necessary.