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What an uncivilised, kindless man. Does he even deserve the title of a man? Perhaps one does not require a warm heart for good science, but one requires a heart at least. I can hardly assure myself Armstrong has at least that. What kind of man thinks it appropriate to do such a thing? Surely not a gentleman. Has he no moral qualms about any such thing? Certainly, in our line of work, perhaps we are not so emotional as we should be, not so caring, but to be so entirely unfeeling that one finds it “innocent” to manipulate and abuse the emotions of the fairer sex and lower class merely because they are aware they are able to come away from it hands clean? That is pure insanity.
Is it truly scientific if one speaks of it the way he does, with such animalistic desires that should be reserved merely for lower men, deranged lovers and dogs? To think that I ever stood in the presence of such a man and thought decently of him! To think that I listened to a word the man let fall from his blabbering mouth, even worse, respected and relayed his opinions, allowed him to infect my own…the devil! No, surely Armstrong is no man, he is a beast, a monstrous thing, a brute, a savage— he is a devil, a soulless barbarian!
It fears me to think that my past respect for his statements may have indicated that I, myself, am no better than the bastard. I found truth in his words, an understanding that though I may behave as if I am highly superior to him and Farleigh…my profession may not allow for one to remain a good man. I once told Dr. Fenwick that I took no ethical position, that I reserved judgement …and yet I have truly done nothing but judge since that very moment. Farleigh and his corpses , Armstrong and his circle of physicians seeking out a cadaver not yet dead …this utterly obscene revelation of his plans with Isobel .
I am a scientist to understand the world about me, it intrigues me and enraptures me — the desire for knowledge, to know and find reason in all that I see and hear, for each and every thing, living or dead, there is reason to be discovered, and I…quite usually care not for the means in which such things are discovered. However, as of late, I have thought upon the two men I have surrounded myself with, and realised that between both— I cannot bring myself to agree with either morally. Armstrong may have been right in some things, perhaps I shall never be remembered as a great physician as he may be for his daring to step outside the confines of morality. Perhaps Fenwick spoke true when he spoke of science as a heroic feat, some great pilgrimage of knowledge that will better the world about us. Though I may be neither so heroic as Fenwick, nor as amoral and vile as Armstrong, I am a scientist nonetheless.
Can one truly pursue science and maintain his morality? If I have lost my morality to such an extent I care not to better the world, but rather follow in the pursuit of knowledge for a selfish gain, yet have not fallen to the depths of depravity that Armstrong has, where do I lie? Perhaps once can pursue science and keep some level of morality, but not great science. If I cannot be great, do I truly care? Does that affect me that I shall not be remembered if I learn as much as I possibly can? If I write my lists and find a semblance of joy doing so? Even so, if science is but a lust and a religion to these men, I am a heretic and a eunuch, but what other altar but that of science can take me now? I have followed what has merely intrigued me, and judgement has spat me out lukewarm.
After all this consideration, even now, I don’t believe I can bring myself to consider Armstrong’s actions and believe them to be great, nor justified. I have found myself to be more understanding of each person’s troubles than those about me. I do not wish to intrude into the business of others, do not mean to judge those about me for their busying of themselves with…well, themselves. Yes, I pursue science for selfish reasons, and yet I seem to care more for Isobel and Susanna than Armstrong and Fenwick.
There is a level of neutrality I find within me, a perfectly balanced selfishness alongside a care for those about me…perhaps not care, but understanding. I care for science, yes, pursue it, but I also adore lists, and words, and numbers, unlike Fenwick and Armstrong, who care only for science, and Susanna, who cares only for her words. This is a fellowship I find with Isobel, and perchance; this is the root of my fury with Thomas Armstrong. The bastard doesn’t see beyond the bones and body, and into the mind of the woman he feigns affection for. There is a strange intelligence within her that one does not often see in a serving girl, one that I admire.
I dare not interfere with Armstrong’s foolishness, and yet, for all my considerations, I remain steadfast in one thing. That man is a complete and utter—