. ....... IJ : .. ) ^ j \ ') b tt.. VVto,,-\-k. tl \"'114 V\" 1\'61") 1 l r 1!1) nmt @ ffi.c.c, bi1.chalL .m 1L. J-/l:::;. · A-.ð H:z-, ,; / _ . h- I- t.J. n f(A.' 't' h . ( . -_ J , · # f?n ( ::t- ; Jf h:-. IL-I- cu - _ ' ú f". -' vra..L) ('f' IL4 · 1-1- vt..:d. tA-, t.: uVI--'7 LI . GL .. Ã- h jA J . ha. _ t w-:lL. fL....., - '2dj I Ù t-4- Ii.- I Í;;:"..., 1 J. rh .... h- - JL _ t..:. IL í M- WI t.:.. L JÚ-f Ie '" I f.:'úLJ J {- "d t.f--.. L .t.-I 1 & . . kL-, '-'w 1..1 f J L tl ,'" I:c.., . i f t"." & Ie.. t.-. } '- Iv " J' .I4.- ,;. L-I P:z..-4. 4 .. k n.... / vf-' c.f.. . VI J..t- << .., '- . J- c.,.... 1 1c..1...."' d:-.., h .... t 41 ,.. .. .... 'f \ /L' --. 1f t...: ') / rI ? Jl 1p--'J "; :.I - " t L:Ä. 4 4 ....k,/ -. "'t.--7 n __ f-d-ñ..' 1 " L4 'l Æ , h. 1L........ .,û . ... J:' L J.. _ fj' L..A- &I, L'J< He 7 '- /..:! . '-U 1 n.... L-;, ..è:. f'f. . "'. 1 . I. t.:. f?) I "'-.. "' -. "':.. tk. J::.. ..... ... {'r. fiCl4t-t 'l t.J . / .., t.-:-- .- t..-....., , , \. fí1. / <-h ': k ., r J 1: .k .I , 1 , t f _ w I l. á.-; _ L... t.:. tuz 1 .. t..fl-. J...:_ ' 1 t:.,--,, L t.t......:.vr 1 . ;. t,,,.' ...!.-;...: t..; / pi. ",:" c:;- /L' I -J- J " ............... THE FOUNDATIONS OI: BELIEF BEING NOTES INTRODUCTORY TO 'THE STUDY OF THEOLOGY rrHE FOUNDATIONS OF BELIEF BEI G .lVOTES I-,VTRODUCTOR Y TO THE STUD Y OF TJIEOLOG Y BY THE l{IGHT HON. .A.RTHUR JAMES BALFOUR AUTHOR OF · A DEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHIC DOUBT' ETC. LONDON LON G 1\1 A N S, G R E E N, AND CO. AND NE\V YORK : 15 EAST 16 th STREET 18 95 A II rights reser",'ed Errata Page 33, line 10, for perfection read preservation " 44,,, 4, delete each " 61,,, 5 from bottom, insert a before table " 76,,, 3 from bottom, omit the words other and more powerful " 84, " I, for are concerned nad can tell " 108,,, 9 from bottom, for them read these " 204, last line, for unimportant read important " 2 17, line 5, ofter to insert some of " 225, " 8, delete and " 292, line,; 6 and 7, omit the words on this account " 335, line I, delete æsthetic Halfour's 'Naturalism" CONTENTS PAGF PRELDlINAR\ . l).j.\RT J SO IE COKSEQUENCES OF BELIEF CHAPTER I. l\.\TL"R.\LIS:\I AXD ETHIC:-; II. NATCR.\LISl\I Ai'>. U ÆSTHETIC III. XATURALIS:\1 AXn RL\SON 1\-. SlT DL\RY AXD COXCLrSIOX OF PART I I I 33 6ï ïï P \RT II SO:\IE RF.\SOXS FOR ÐELIlT I. THE PHILOSOPHIC It\:,IS OF X ATUR.\LlS l . 89 I I. InL\Lh l; AFTER SO:\IE RECFNT ENGLI H \YRITIXGS 13ï III. PHILOSOPHY A1'\D R.\TIOX.\LIS:\I. 15 6 1\'. R.\TIO!'\.\LIST URTHOI'OXY Ii; VI CO TENTS PART III SOME CACSES OF BELIEF <'IIAPTEI 1. C_\USES OF EXPERIEKCE I I. AUTHORITY AXD RK-\SO PA.RI' 1\'" SUGGESTIONS TOWARDS \ PRO\TISIONAL PHILOSOPHY 1. THE GROUNDWORK I I. BELIEFS _\ND FOR:\lULAS. I I I. BELIEFS, FOR:\IULAS, Al\"D RE.\LITIES IV. 'ULTDrATE SCIENTIFIC IDE.\S' V. SCIE CE AND THEOLOG\ VI. SUGGESTIO S TO\VARDS A PROYISION_-\L UNIFICATION J'AGE IS; 194 .,,,,, -.).) ;I :263 :280 29 0 3 [ NOTE PART I I., Chapter I I., of the follo\ving Essay ap- peared in 1893 in the October nUl11ber of ' l\Iind.' Part I., Chapter I., ,vas delivered as a Lecture to the Ethical Society of Cambridge in the spring of ] 893, and subsequently appeared in the July nUlnber of the 'International Journal of Ethics' in the present year. Though published separately, both these chapters were originally \vritten for the pre- sent volume. The references to 'Philosoph ic l)oubt' which occur from tilne to tÎl11e in the Notes, especially at the beginning of Part I I., are to the only edition of that book \vhich has as yet been published. I t is now out of print, and copies are not easy to procure; but if I have time to prepare a ne\v edition. care \yill be taken to prevent any confusion \vhich might arise from a different num- beri ng of the chapters. I desire to ackno\vledge the kindness of those who have read through the proof-sheets of these Notes and lnade suggestions upon them. This son1e\yhat ungrateful labour \vas undertaken by Iny friends the Rev. E. S. Talbot, Professor Andre\\- VIII NOTE Seth, the !{ev. J ames Robertson, and last, but very far fro 111 least, 111Y brother, rvlr. G. \\T. Balfour, l\'I.P., and tHY brother-in-lavV', I)rofessor Henry Sidg\\yick. Kone of these gentlenlen are, of course, in any \var responsible for the vie\vs herein advocated, \vith \vhich SOlne of th nI, indeed, by no Ineans agree. I anI the nlore beholden to thenI for the assistance they ha\re been good enough to render 11le. A. J. B. \VHITTl:\'"( EHA:\IF, Seþlember 1894- PRELIJ\IINARY As its title imports, the following Essay is intended to serve as an Introduction to the Study of Theology. The ,vord 'Introduction,' however, is ambiguous; and in order that the reader may be as little disap- pointed as possible with the contents of the book, the sense in which I here use it must be first explained. Sometimes, by an I ntroduction to a subject is meant a brief survey of its leading prin- ciples-a first initiation, as it were, into its methods and results. F or such a task, however, in the case of Theology I have no qualifications. \Vith the growth of knowledge Theology has enlarged its borders until it has included subjects about which even the most accomplished theologian of past ages did not greatly concern himself. To the Patristic, Dogmatic, and Controversial learning ,vhich has always been required, the theologian of to-day must add kno\vledge at first hand of the complex his- torical, antiquarian, and critical problems presented by the Old and New Testaments, and of the vast and daily increasing literature which has grown up around them. He n1ust have a sufficient acquaintance ,yith B PRELI IINARY the comparative history of religions; and in addi- tion to all this, he must be competent to deal with those scientific and philosophical questions which have a more profound and permanent bearing on Theology even than the results of critical and historical scholarship. \Vhether any single individual is fully compe- tent either to acquire or successfully to manipulate so formidable an apparatus of learning, I do not kno\v. But in any case I am very far indeed from being even among that not inconsiderable number who are qualified to put the reader in the way of profitably cultivating some portion of this vast and always increasing field of research. The following pages, therefore, scarcely claim to deal with the sub- stance of Theology at all. They are in the narrowest sense of the word an 'introduction' to it. They deal for the most part with preliminaries; and it is only towards the end of the volume, where the Introduction begins insensibly to merge into that which it is designed to introduce, that purely theo- logical doctrines are mentioned, except by way of illustration. Although what follows might thus be fitly de- scribed as ' Considerations preliminary to a study of Theology,' I do not think the subjects dealt with are less inlportant on that account. For, in truth, the decisive battles of Theology are fought beyond its frontiers. I t is not over purely religious contro- versies that the cause of Religion is lost or won. PRELIl\IIN AR Y 3 The judgments we shall form upon its special problen1s are commonly settled for us by our general mode of looking at the U ni verse; and this again, in so far as it is determined by arguments at all, is determined by arguments of so \vide a scope that they can seldom be claimed as more nearly con- cerned \vith Theology than with the philosophy of Science or of Ethics. 1\1 y object, then, is to recommend a particular way of looking at the \V orld-problems which, whether \ve like it or not, we are compelled to face. I wish, if I can, to lead the reader up to a point of view whence the small frag ents of the Infinite \Vhole, of \vhich \ve are able to obtain a glimpse, may appear to us in their true relative proportions. This is, therefore, no ,york of 'Apologetics' in the ordinary sense of that word. Theological doctrines are not taken up in turn and defended from current objections; nor is there any endeavour here made specifically to solve the' doubts' or allay the' diffi- culties' \vhich in this, as in every other, age perplex the minds of a certain nUll1ber of religious persons. Yet, as I think that perhaps the greater number of these doubts and difficulties would never even present themselves in that character \vere it not for a certain superficiality and one-sidedness in our habitual manner of considering the wider problems of belief, I cannot help entertaining the hope that by \vhat is here said the \vork of the Apologist proper may indirectly be furthered. B2 4 PRELI:\fIN AR Y It is a natural, if not an absolutely necessary consequence of this plan, that the subjects alluded to in the following pages are, as a rule, more secular than the title of the book might perhaps at first suggest, and also that the treatment of son1e of them has been brief even to meagreness. If the reader is tempted to complain of the extreme con- ciseness with which some topics of the greatest im- portance are touched on, and the apparent irrele- vance with which others have been introduced, I hope he will reserve his judgn1ent until he has read to the end, should his patience hold out so long. If he then thinks that -the' particular way of looking at the World-problems' \vhich this book is intended to recommend is not rendered clearer by any por- tion of what has been written, I shall be open to his criticism; but not otherwise. \Vhat I have tried to do is not to write a monograph, or a series of monographs, upon Theology, but to delineate, and, if possible, to recommend, a certain attitude of mind; and I hope that in carrying out this less ambitious scheme I have put in few touches that were super- f1uous and Jeft out none that were necessary. If it be asked, ' For whom is this book intended?' I answer, that it is intended for the general body of readers interested in such subjects rather than for the specialist in Philosophy. I do not, of course, mean that I have either desired or been able to avoid questions which in essence are strictly philosophical. Such an attempt would have been wholly absurd. PRELL\fIN AR Y 5 But no knowledge either of the history or the tech- nicalities of Philosophy is assumed in the reader, nor do I believe that there is any train of thought here suggested which, if he thinks it worth his while, he will have the least difficulty in following. He may, and very likely will, find objection both to the sub- stance of l11Y arguments and their form. But I shall be disappointed if, in addition to their other deficiencies, he finds them unintelligible or even obscure. l There is one more point to be eXplained before these prefatory remarks are brought to a conclusion. In order that the views here advocated may be seen in the highest relief, it is convenient to exhibit them against the background of some other and contrasted system of thought. \Vhat system shall that be? In Gern1any the philosophies of }{ant and his suc- cessors may be (I kno\v not ,vhether they are) matters of such common kno\vledge that they fit- tingly supply a standard of reference, by the aid of which the relative positions of other and more or less differing systems may be conveniently deter- mined. As to whether this state of things, if it anywhere exists, is desirable or not, 1 offer no opinion. But I an1 very sure that it does not at present exist in any English-speaking con1munity, and probably never will, until the ideas of these speculative giants are throughout rethought by Englishmen, and 1 These observations n1ust not be taken as applying to Part I I., Chapter I I., which the general reader is recommended to omit. 6 PRELIMINARY reproduced in a shape which ordinary Englishmen ,vill consent to assimilate. Until this occurs T ran- scendental Idealism must continue to be ,vhat it is now-the intellectual possession of a small minority of philosophical specialists. Philosophy cannot, under existing conditions, become, like Science, absolutely international. There is in matters speculative, as in matters poetical, a certain amount of natural pro- tection for the home-producer, which commentators and translators seen1 unable altogether to over- come. Though, therefore, I have devoted a chapter to the consideration of Transcendental Idealism as represented in some recent English writings, it is not ,vith overt or tacit reference to that system that I have arranged the material of the foIIo\ving Essay.. I have, on the contrary, selected a system with which I am in much less sympathy, but which under I11any nan1es numbers a formidable following, and is in reality the only system which ultimately profits by any defeats which 1"'heology may sustain, or which may be counted on to flood the spaces from \yhich the tide of Religion has reèeded. Agnosticism, J}ositivism, Empiricism, have all been used more or less correctly to describe this scheme of thought; though in the following pages, for reasons with which it is not necessary to trouble the reader, the term which I shall commonly employ is Naturalism. . But whatever the name selected, the thing itself is sufficiently easy to describe. For its leading doctrines PRELI1\IIN AR Y 7 are that \ve may know' phenomena' 1 and the la\vs by which they are connected, but nothing more. , 1\10re t there mayor may not be; but if it exists we can never apprehend it: and whatever the \\T orld may be 'in its reality' (supposing such an expression to be otherwise than meaningless), the \\T orId for us, the \V orld \vith which alone we are concerned, or of which alone we can have any cognisance, is that \V orld which is revealed to us through perception, and which is the subject-matter of the Natural Sciences. Here, and here only, are ,ve on firm ground. Here, and here only, can \ve discover anything which deserves to be described as 1 I feel that explanation, and perhaps apology, is due for this use of the word' phenomena.' In its proper sense the tenn Ï1nplies, I suppose, that which aþþears, as distinguished from something, pre- sumably more real, which does not aþþear. I neither use it as carrying this metaphysical implication, nor do I restrict it to things which appear, or even to things which could appear to beings endowed with- senses like ours. The ether, for instance, though it is impossible that we should ever know it except by its effects, I should call a pheno- menon. The coagulation of nebular meteors into suns and planets I should call a phenomenon, though nobody may have existed to whom it could appear. Roughly speaking, things and events, the general subject-matter of Natural Science, is what I endeavour to indicate by a tenn for which, as thus used, there is, unfortunately, no substitute, however little the Ineaning which I give to it can be etymologically justified. \Vhile I am on the subject of definitions, it may be as well to say that, generally speaking, I distinguish between Philosophy and l\Ieta- physics. To Philosophy I give an eþiste7Jzological significance. I regard it as the systematic exposition of our grounds of knowledge. Thus, the philosophy of Religion or the philosophy of Science would mean the theoretic justification of our theological or scientific beliefs. By 1\letaphysics, on the other hand, I usually mean the knowledge that we have, or suppose ourselves to have, respecting realities which are not phenonlenal, e.g. God, and the Soul. 8 PRELI IIN AR Y Knowledge. Here, and here only, may we profit- ably exercise our reason or gather the fruits of \Visdom. Such, in rough outline, is Naturalism. 1\1 y first task will be the preparatory one of examining certain of its consequences in various departments of human thought and emotion; and to this in the next four chapters I proceed to devote myself. PART I SOME CONSEQUEKCES OF BELIEF CHAPTER I N A TURALISl\l A1\"D ETHICS I THE t\VÙ subjects on which the professors of every creed, theological and anti-theological, seen1 least anxious to differ, are the general substance of the l\loral Law, and the character of the sentiments with \vhich it should be regarded. That it is worth y of all reverence; that it demands our ungrudging submission; and that \ve owe it not merely obedience, but love--these are comn10n- places \vhich the preachers of all schools vie \vith each other in proclaiming. And they are certainly right. l\lorality is n10re than a bare code of laws, than a catalogue 'raiso1l1lé of things to be done or left undone. \Vere it other\vise, \ve n1ust change something more important than the n1ere custon1ary language of exhortation. The old ideals of the world \vould have to be uprooted, and no new ones could spring up and flourish in their stead; the very soil on \vhich they grew \vould be sterilised, and the phrases in which all that has hitherto been regarded 12 NATURALISIVI AND ETHICS as best and noblest in human life has been ex- pressed, nay, the words 'best' and 'noblest' them- selves, would become as foolish and unmeaning as the incantation of a forgotten superstition. This unanimity, familiar though it be, is surely very remarkable. And it is the more remarkable because the unanimity prevails only as to con- clusions, and is accompanied by the widest diver- gence of opinion with regard to the premises on which these conclusions are supposed to be founded. Nothing but habit could blind us to the strangeness of the fact that the man who believes that morality is based on a þr'ior'i principles, and the man \vho believes it to be based on the commands of God, the transcendentalist, the theologian, the mystic, and the evolutionist, should be pretty well at one both as to what morality teaches, and as to the sentin1ents with which its teaching should be regarded. I t is not my business in this place to examine the Philosophy of Morals, or to find an answer to the charge which this suspicious harmony of opinion among various schools of n10ralists appears to suggest, namely, that in their speculations they have taken current morality for granted, and have squared their proofs to their conclusions, and not their con- el usions to their proofs. I desire now rather to direct the reader's attention to certain questions relati ng to the origin of ethical systems, not to their justification; to the natural history of morals, not to NA.TURALIS:\I AND ETHICS 13 its philosophy; to the place \vhich the moral law occupies in the general chain of causes and effects, not to the nature of its claim on the unquestioning obedience of mankind. I am aware, of course, that n1any persons have been, and are, of opinion that these two sets of questions are not merely related, but identical; that the validity of a command depends only on the source from which it springs; and that in the investigation into the character and authority of this source consists the principal busi- ness of the moral philosopher. I am not concerned here to controvert this theory, though, as thus stated, I do not agree with it. I t will be sufficient if I lay down t\VO propositions of a much less dubious character :-( I) That, practically, human beings being what they are, no moral code can be effective which does not inspire, in those who are asked to obey it, emotions of reverence; and (2) that, . practically, the capacity of any code to excite this or any other elevated emotion cannot be wholly inde- pendent of the origin from which those who accept that code suppose it to emanate.! N ow what, according to the naturalistic creed, is the origin of the generally accepted, or, indeed, of any other possible, moral la\v? \"1:Jhat position does it occupy in the great web of interdependent pheno- 1 These are statements, it will be noted, not relating to ethics proper. They have nothing to do either with the contents of the moral law or with its validity; and if we are to class them as be- longing to any special deparhnent of knowledge at all, it is to psy- chology or anthropology that they should in strictness be assigned. 14 N.ATURALIS I AND ETHICS n1ena by which the knowable '\Vhole' is on this hypothesis constituted? The answer is plain: as life is but a petty episode in the history of the universe; as feeling is an attribute of only a frac- tion of things that live, so moral sentiments and the apprehension of moral rules are found in but an insignificant minority of things that feel. They are not, so to speak, an10ng the necessities of Nature; no great spaces are marked out for their accommodation; were they to vanish to-morrow, the great machine would move on with no noticeable variation; the sum of realities \vould not suffer sensible diminution; the organic world itself would scarcely mark the change. A few highly developed mammals, and chiefest among these uzan, would lose instincts and beliefs which have proved of considerable value in the struggle for existence, if not between individuals, at least between tribes and species. But put it at the highest, we can say no more than that there would be a great diminution of hun1an happiness, that civilisation would become difficult or impossible, and that the 'higher' races might even succumb and disappear. These are considerations which to the 'higher' races themselves n1ay seem not unin1portant, how- ever trifling to the universe at large. But let it be noted that everyone of these propositions can be asserted \vith equal or greater assurance of all the bodily appetites, and of n1any of the vulgarest forms of desire and an1bition. On most of the processes, NATURALISl\I AND ETHICS 15 indeed, by which consciousness and life are maintained in the individual and perpetuated in the race we are never consulted; of their intimate character we are for the most part totally ignorant, and no one is in any case asked to consider them with any other emotion than that of enlightened curiosity. But in the few and simple instances in which our co-opera- tion is required, it is obtained through the stimulus supplied by appetite and disgust, pleasure and pain, instinct, reason, and morality; and it is hard to see, on the naturalistic hypothesis, whence anyone of these various natural agents is to derive a dignity or a consideration not shared by all the others, why morality should be put above appetite, or reason above pleasure. I t may, perhaps, be replied that the sentiments \vith which we choose to regard any set of actions or motives do not require special justification, that there is no disputing about this any more than about other questions of 'taste,' and that, as a matter of fact, the persons who take a strictly naturalistic view of man and of the universe are often the loudest and not the least sincere in the homage they pay to the 'majesty of the moral la\v.' This is, no doubt, perfectly true; but it does not meet the real diffi- culty. I anl not contending that sentiments of the kind referred to may not be, and are not, frequently entertained by persons of all shades of philosophical or theological opinion. 1\1 y point is, that in the case of those holding the naturalistic creed the sentiments 16 NATURALISM AND ETHICS and the creed are antagonistic; and that the more clearly the creed is grasped, the more thoroughly the intellect is saturated with its essential teaching, the more certain are the sentiments thus violently and unnaturally associated with it to languish or to die. For not only does there seem to be no ground, from the point of view of biology, for drawing a distinction in favour of any of the processes, physio- logical or psychological, by which the individual or the race is benefited; not only are we bound to consider the coarsest appetites, the most calculating selfishness, and the most devoted heroism, as all sprung from analogous causes and all evolved for similar objects, but we can hardly doubt that the august sentiments which cling to the ideas of duty and sacrifice are nothing better than a device of Nature to trick us into the performance of altruistic actions. 1 The working ant expends its life in labour- ing, with more than maternal devotion, for a progeny not its own, and, so far as the race of ants is con- cerned, doubtless it does well. Instinct, the in- herited impulse to follow a certain course with no developed consciousness of its final goal, is here the instrumen t selected by Nature to attain her ends. But in the case of man, more flexible if less certain methods have to be employed. Does conscience in bidding us to do or to refrain, speak with an 1 It is scarcely necessary to state that in following the precedent set by Darwin I do not wish to suggest that Biology necessarily is teleological. Naturalism of course cannot be. NATURALIS:\I AND ETHICS 17 authority from \,.hich there seen1S no appeal? Does our blood tingle at the narrative of some great deeLl ? Do courage and self-surrender extort our passionate syn1pathy, and invite, however vainly, our halting imitation? Does that which is noble attract even the least noble, and that which is base repel even the basest? Nay, have the ,yords C noble' and 'base' a n1eaning for us at all ? I f so, it is fron1 no essential and in1n1utable quality in the deeds then1selves. I t is because, in the struggle for existence, the altruistic virtues are an advantage to the fan1ily, the tribe, or the nation, but not always an advantage to the individual; it is because man comes into the ,vorld richly endowed \vith the inheritance of self-regarding instincts and appetites required by his animal progenitors, but poor indeed in any inbred inclination to the unselfishness neces- sary to the \vell-being of the society in ,vhich he lives; it is because in no other "vay can the original impulses be displaced by those of late growth to the degree required by public utility, that Nature, in- different to our happiness, indifferent to our morals, but sedulous of our survival, commends disinterested virtue to our practice by decking it out in all the splendour which the specifically ethical sentiments alone are capable of supplying. Could we imagine the chronological order of the e\"olutionarý process reversed: if courage and abnegation had been the qualities first needed, earliest developed, and there- fore mest deeply rooted in the ancestral organisn1; c 18 NATURALISM AND ETHICS while selfishness, co\vardice, greediness, and lust represented impulses required only at a later stage of physical and intellectual development, doubtless ,ve should find the 'elevated' enlotions which now crystallise round the first set of attributes transferred without alteration or amendment to the second; the preacher ,vould expend his eloquence in warning us against excessive indulgence in deeds of self- immolation, to which, like the 'worker' ant, we should be driven by inherited instinct, and in ex- horting us to the performance of actions and the cultivation of habits from \vhich \ve now, unfortu- nately, find it only too difficult to abstain. Kant, as we all know, compared the Moral Law to the starry heavens, and found them both sublime. It ,vould, on the naturalistic hypothesis, be more appropriate to compare it to the þrotective blotches on the beetle's back, and to find them both ingenious. But how on this view is the' beauty of holiness' to retain its lustre in the nlinds of those who know so much of its pedigree? In despite of theories, man- kind-even instructed mankind-may, indeed, long preserve uninjured sentiments which they have learned in their most impressionable years from those they love best; but if, while they are being taught the supremacy of conscience and the austere majesty of duty, they are also to be taught that these sentiments and beliefs are merely samples of the complicated contrivances, many of them mean and many of them disgusting, wrought into the N.ATURALIS1\I AND ETHICS 19 ph ysical or in to the social organisn1 by the shaping forces of selection and elimination, assuredly much of the efficacy of these moral lessons will be des- troyed, and the contradiction between ethical senti- ment and naturalistic theory will remain intrusive and perplexing, a constant stumbling-block to those who endeavour to combine in one harmonious creed the bare explanations of Biology and the lofty claims of Ethics. 1 II Unfortunately for my reader, it IS not possible wholly to omit from this section SOll1e references to the questionings \vhich cluster round the time-worn debate on Determinism and Free \Vill; but my remarks \vill be brief, and as little tedious as may be. I have nothing here to do \vith the truth or un- truth of either of the contending theories. I t is 1 It may perhaps be thought that in this section I have too con- fidently assumed that morality, or, more strictly, the moral sentiments (including among these the feeling of authority which attaches to ethical imperatives), are due to the working of natural selection. I have no desire to dogmatise on a subject on which it is the business of the biologist and anthropologist to pronounce. But it seems difficult to believe that natural selection should not have had the most important share in producing and making permanent things so obviously useful. If the reader prefers to take the opposite view, and to regard moral sentiments as 'accidental,' he may do so, without on that account being obliged to differ from my general argument. He will then, of course, class moral sentiments with the æsthetic emotions dealt with in the next chapter. Of course I make no attempt to trace the causes of the variations on which selective action has worked, nor to distinguish between the moral sentilnents, an inclination to or an aptitude for which has been bred into the þhysical organism of man or some races of men, and those which have been wrought only into the social organism of the family, the tribe, or the State. C2 20 NATURALISM AND ETHICS sufficient to remind the reader that on the naturalistic view, at least, free will is an absurdity, and that those who hold that view are bound to believe that every decision at which mankind have arrived, and every consequent action which they have performed, was implicitly determined by the quantity and dis- tribution of the various forms of matter and energy which preceded the birth of the solar system. The fact, no doubt, remains 1 that every individual, while balancing between two courses, is under the inevit- able impression that he is at liberty to pursue either, and that it depends upon 'himself ,. and himself alone, 'himself' as distinguished from his character, his desires, his surroundings, and his antecedents, which of the offered alternatives he will elect to pursue. I do not kno\v that any explanation has been proposed of what, on the naturalistic hypothesis, we must regard as a singular illusion. I venture with some diffidence to suggest, as a theory pro- visionally adequate, perhaps, for scientific purposes, that the phenomenon is due to the same cause as so many other beneficent oddities in the organic world, namely, to natural selection. 1"0 an animal \vith no self-consciousness a sense of freedom would evidently be unnecessary, if not, indeed, absolutely unmeaning. But as soon as self-consciousness is developed, as soon as man begins to reflect, however crudely and imperfectly, upon himself and the world in which he 1 At least, so it seems to me. There are, however, eminent psychologists who differ. NATURALIS1\I AND ETHICS 21 lives, then deliberation, volition, and the sense of re- sponsibility becon1e wheels in the ordinary machinery by \vhich species-preserving actions are produced; and as these pyschological states would be ,veakened or neutralised if they ,vere accompanied by the imme- diate consciousness that they were as rigidly deter- mined by their antecedents as any other effects by an yother causes, benevolent Nature steps in. and by a process of selective slaughter makes the conscious- ness in such circumstances practically in1possible. The spectacle of all mankind suffering under the delusion that in their decision they are free, ,vhen, as a matter of fact, they are nothing of the kind, must certainly appear extremely ludicrous to any superior observer, \vere it possible to conceive, on the naturalistic hypothesis, that such observers should exist; and the comedy could not be other- wise than greatly relieved and heightened by the perforn1ances of the small sect of philosophers who, knowing perfectly as an abstract truth that freedom is an absurdity, yet in moments of balance and deliberation fall into the vulgar error, as if they ".ere savages or idealists. The roots of a superstition so ineradicable n1ust lie deep in the groundwork of our inherited organism, and n1ust, if not no\v, at least in the first beginning of self-consciousness, have been essential to the \velfare of the race which entertained it. Yet it may, perhaps, be thought that this requires us to attribute to the da\vn of intelligence ideas which are 22 NATURALISl\1: AND ETHICS notoriously of late development; and that as the primitive man knew nothing of ' invariable sequences' or 'universal causation,' he could in nowise be em- barrassed in the struggle for existence by recognising that he and his proceedings \vere as absolutely deter- mined by their antecedents as sticks and stones. It is, of course, true that in any formal or philosophical shape such ideas would be as remote from the intel- ligence of the savage as the differential calculus. But it can, nevertheless, hardly be denied that, in some shape or other, there must be implicitly present to his consciousness the sense of freedom, since his fetichism largely consists in attributing to inanimate objects the spontaneity which he finds in himself; and it seems equally certain that the sense, I will not say of constraint, but of -inevitableness, would be as embarrassing to a savage in the act of choice as it would to his more cultivated descendant, and would be not less productive of that moral im- poverishment which, as I proceed briefly to point out, Determinism is calculated to produce. 1 1 It seems to be regarded as quite simJ?Ie and natural that this attribution of hmnan spontaneity to inanip1ate objects should be the first stage in the interpretation of the external world, and that it should be only after the unifornlity of Inaterial Nature had been con- clusively established by long and laborious experience that the same principles were applied to the inner experience of man himself. But, in truth, unless man in the very earliest stages of his development had believed hiu1self to be free, precisely the opposite order of discovery might have been anticipated. Even now our means of external investigation are so imperfect that it is rather a stretch of lan- guage to say that the theory of unifonnity is in accordance with experience, much less that it is established by it. On the contrary, the more refined are our experiments, the more elaborate are our NATURALIS1\I AND ETHICS 23 And here I anl anxious to avoid any appearance of the exaggeration \vhich, as I think, has sometimes characterised discussions upon this subject. I admit that there is nothing in the theory of determinism \vhich need modify the substance of the moral law. That \vhich duty prescribes, or the 'Practical Reason' reconlnlends, IS equally prescribed and recomIl1ended \vhether our actual decisions are or are not irrevocably bound by a causal chain which reaches back in unbroken retrogression through a limitless past. It nlay also be admitted that no argument against good resolutions or virtuous endeavours can fair! y be founded upon necessitarian doctrines. No doubt he ,vho makes either good resolutions or' - virtuous endeavours does so (on the determinist theory) because he could not do other\vise; but precautions, the nlore difficult it is to obtain results absolutely identi:- cal with each other, qualitatively as wen as quantitatively. So far, therefore, as 111ere observation goes, X ature seems to be always aiming at a uniformity which she never quite succeeds in attaining; and though it is no doubt true that the differences are due to errors in the obsen.ations and not to errors in Nature, this manifestly cannot be proved by the observations thenlselves, but only by a theory established independently of the observations, and by which these may be corrected and interpreted. But a man's own motives for acting in a particular way at a particular tÏIne are simple cOlnpared with the complexities of the material world, and to himself at least might be known (one would suppo e) with reasonable certainty. Here, then (were it not for the inveterate illusion, old as self- consciousness itself, that at the moment of choice no unifonnity of antecedents need insure a uniformity of consequences) would have been the natural starting-point and suggestIOn of a theory of causation which, as experience ripened and knowledge grew, might have gradually extended itself to the universe at large. Ian would, in fact, have had nothing more to do than to apply to the chaotic com- plex of the n1acrocosnl the principles of rigid and unchanging law by which he had discovered the microcosm to be governed. 24 NA TURALISI\I ..:\.ND ETHICS none the less ll1ay these play an in1portant part an10ng the antecedents by \vhich 1110ral actions are ultin1ately produced. An even stronger admission may, I think, be properly ll1ade. There is a fatalistic ternper of ll1ind found in S0111e of the greatest n1en of action, religious and irreligious, in \vhich the sense that all that happens is fore-ordained does in no \vay weaken the energy of volition, but only adds a finer ten1per to the courage. I t nevertheless remains the fact that the persistent realisation of the doctrine that voluntary decisions are as com- pletely deterll1ined by external and (if you go far enough back) by material conditions as involuntary ones, does really conflict ,vith the sense of personal responsibility, and that with the sense of personal responsibility is bound up the moral will. Nor is this all. I t may be a small 111atter that deter- minism should render it thoroughly irrational to feel righteous indignation at the misconduct of other people. I t cannot be wholly without in1portance that it should render it equally irrational to feel righteous indignation at our own. Self-condemna- tion, repentance, ren10rse, and the ,,,hole train of cognate ell10tions, are really so useful for the proll1otion of virtue, that it is a pity to find then1 at a stroke thus deprived of all reasonable foundation, and reduced, if they are to survive at all, to the position of amiable but unintelligent ,\yeaknesses. I t is clear, moreover, that these ell10tions, if they are to fall, will not fall alone. \ Vhat is to become of NATURALISl\I AND ETHICS 2S n10ral adn1iration ? The virtuous n1an will, indeed, continue to deserve and to recei\7e adn1iration of a certain kind--the adn1iration, nan1ely, which \ve justly accord to a \vell-111ade Inachine; but this is a yery different sentiment fron1 that at present evoked by the heroic or the saintly; and it is, therefore, n1uch to be feared that, at least in the region of the higher feelings, the world \vill be no great gainer by the effective spread of sound naturalistic doctrine. No doubt this conflict between a creed which claims intellectual assent and emotions which have their root and justification in beliefs \vhich are deliberately rejected, is greatly n1itigated by the precious faculty which the hUll1an race enjoys of quietly ignoring the logical consequences of its own accepted theories. If the abstract reason by which such theories are contrived ahvays ended in producing a practice corresponding to them, natural selection \vould long ago have killed off all those who possessed abstract reason. I f a complete accord between practice and speculation were required of us, philosophers \vould long ago have been eliminated. Nevertheless, the persistent con- flict between that which is thought to be true, and that which is felt to be noble and of good report, not only produces a sense of n10ral unrest in the individual, but n1akes it in1possible for us to avoid the conclusion that the creed \vhich leads to such results is, somehow, unsuited for' such beings as \ve are in such a \vorld as ours.' 26 N...L\.rrURALISM AND ETHICS III There is thus an incongruity between the senti- ments subservient to morality, and the naturalistic account of their origin. I t remains to inquire whether any better harmony prevails between the demands of the ethical imagination and what Naturalism tells us concerning the final goal of all human endeavour. This is pl inly not a question of small or sub- sidiary importance, though it is one which I shall make no attempt to treat with anything like com- pleteness. Two only of these ethical demands is it necessary, indeed, that I should here refer to: that which requires the ends prescribed by morality to be consistent; and that which requires them to be adequate. Can we say that either one or the other are of a kind which the naturalistic theory is able to satisfy? The first of these questions-that relating to consistency-will no doubt be dealt \vith in different \vays by various schools of moralists; but by what- ever path they travel, all should arrive at a negative conclusion. Those who hold, as I do, that ' reason- able self-love' has a legitimate position among ethical ends; that as a matter of fact it is a virtue wholly incompatible \vith what is commonly called selfishness; and that society suffers not from having too much of it, but from having too little, will probably take the view that, until the ,vorld under- NATURALISl\I AND ETHICS 27 goes a very remarkable transformation, a complete harn10ny bet\veen 'egoism' and ' altruism,' between the pursuit of the highest happiness for one's self and the highest happiness for other people, can never be provided by a creed w-hich refuses to admit that the deeds done and the character formed in this life can flow over into another, and there permit a reconciliation and an adjust- ment between the conflicting principles which are not al\vays possible here. To those, again, who hold (as I think, erroneously), both that the 'greatest happiness of the greatest number' is the right end of action, and also that, as a matter of fact, every agent invariably pursues his own, a heaven and a hell, which should make it certain that principle and interest were ahvays in agreement, would seem almost a necessity. Not otherwise, neither by education, public opinion, nor positive" law, can there be any assured harmony produced bet\veen that which man must do by the constitution of his \vill, and that \yhich he ought to do according to the promptings of his conscience. On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that those moralists who are of opinion that 'altruistic' ends alone are worthy of being described as moral, and that n1an is not incapable of pursuing them without any self- regarding motives, require no future life to eke out their practical system. But even they \vould pro- bably not be unwilling to admit, with the rest of the \vorld, that there is something jarring to the moral 28 NATURALIS I AND ETHICS sense In a con1parison bet\veen the distribution of happiness and the distribution of virtue, and that no better n1itigation of the difficulty has yet been suggested than that which is provided by a system of ' rewards and punishn1ents,' impossible in any uni- verse constructed on stricti y naturalistic principles. With this bare indication of son1e of the points which naturally suggest then1selves in connection with the first question suggested above, I pass on to the more interesting problem raised by the second: that which is concerned vvith the eJ7zotio1Zal adequacy of the ends prescribed by Naturalistic Ethics. And in order to consider this to the best advantage I win assun1e that we are dealing with an ethical system which puts these ends at their highest; which charges them, as it were, to the full with all that, on the naturalistic theory, they are capable of containing. Taking, then, as n1Y text no narro,v or egoistic scheme, I \vill suppose that in the perfection and felicity of the sentient creation ,ve may find the all-inclusive object prescribed by morality for human endeavour. Does this, then, or does it not, supply us with all that is needed to satisfy our ethical imagination? Does it, or does it not, pro- vide us with an ideal end, not merely big enough to exhaust our energies, but great enough to satisfy our aspirations? At first sight the question n1ay seem absurd. The object is admittedly worthy; it is admittedly beyond OUf reach. The unwearied efforts of count- NATURALIS:\I AND ETHICS 29 Jess generations, the slow accumulation of inherited experience, may, to those ,vho find themselves able to read optimism into evolution, promise some faint approximation to the n1illennium at some far distant epoch. Ho\v, then, can we, whose own con- tribution to the great result n1ust be at the best insignificant, at the \vorst nothing or worse than nothing, presume to think that the prescribed object is less than adequate to our highest emotional requirements? The reason is plain: our ideals are framed, not according to the measure of our per- formances, but according to the measure of our thoughts; and our thoughts about the world in which ,ye live tend, under the influence of increasing knowledge, constantly to d\varf our estimate of the importance of man, if man be indeed, as Naturalism w0uld have us believe, no more than a phenomenon among phenomena, a natural object among other natural objects. For \vhat is man looked at from this point of vie\v? Tin1e ,vas \yhen his tribe and its fortune were enough to exhaust the energies and to bound the imagination of the primitive sage. 1 The gods' peculiar care, the central object of an attendant universe, that for \yhich the sun shone and the de" feU, to which the stars in their courses ministered, it dre\v its origin in the past from divine ancestors, I The line of thought here is identical with that which I pursuec' in an already published essay on the Religion of Humallity. ] have not hesitated to borrow the phraseology of that essay wherever it seemed convenient. 3 0 NATURALISl\I AND ETHICS and might by divine favour be destined to an in- definite existence of success and triumph in the future. These ideas represent no early or rudimentary stage in the human thought, yet have \ve left them far behind. The family, the tribe, the nation, are no longer enough to absorb our interests. l\1an- past, present, and future-lays claim to our de- votion. \Vhat, then, can we say of him? Man, so far as natural science by itself is able to teach us, is no longer the final cause of the universe, the Heaven- descended heir of all the ages. H is very existence is an accident, his story a brief and transitory episode in the life of one of the meanest of the planets. Of the combination of causes which first converted a dead organic compound into the living progenitors of humanity, science, indeed, as yet nows nothing. I t is enough that from such beginnings famine, disease, and mutual slaughter, fit nurses of the future lords of creation, have gradually evolved, after infinite travail, a race with conscience enòugh to feel that it is vile, Çlnd intelligence enough to know that it is insignificant. We survey the past, and see that its history is ot blood and tears, of helpless blundering, of wild revolt, of stupid acquiescence, of empty aspirations. We sound the future, and learn that after a period, long compared with the individual life, but short indeed compared with the divisions of time open to our investigation, the energies of our system \vill decay, the glory of the sun will be din1med, and the NATURALISf\I AND ETHICS 3 1 earth, tideless and inert, \vill no longer tolerate the race \vhich has for a InOlnent disturbed its solitude. l\lan will go do\vn into the pit, and all his thoughts will perish. The uneasy consciousness, \vhich in this obscure corner has for a brief space broken the contented silence of the universe, \\yill be at rest. 1\1atter ,vill kno\v itself no longer. (I mperishable monuments' and 'in1mortal deeds,' death itself, and loye stronger than death, ,vill be as though they had never been. Nor \vill anything that is be better or be \vorse for all that the labour, genius, devotion, and suffering of n1an haye striven through countless generations to effect. I t is no reply to say that the substance of the l\loral La,v need suffer no change through any modification of our vie,vs of man's place in the Unl\-erse. This may be true, but it is irrelevant. 'Ve desire, and desire most passionately when we. are most ourselves, to give our service to that \\-hich is Universal, and to that which is Abiding. Of ,vhat moment is it, then (from this point of view), to be assured of the fixity of the moral law when it and the sentient world, where alone it has any significance, are alike destined to vanish utterly a\vay ,vithin periods trifling beside those ,vith \vhich the geologist and the astronomer lightly deal in the course of their habitual speculations? No doubt to us ordinary men in our ordinary n10ments considerations like these may seem far off and of little n1eaning. I n the hurry and bustle of every- 3 2 NATURALISl\f AND ETHICS day life death itself-the death of the individual- seen1S shadowy and unreal; ho\v much more shado\vy, ho,v much less real, that remoter but not less certain death which must some day over- take the race ! Yet, after aU, it is in moments of reflection that the ,yorth of creeds n1ay best be tested; it is through n10n1ents of reflection that they come into living and effectual contact with our active life. I t cannot, therefore, be a matter to us of small 111001ent that, as we learn to survey the n1aterial \vodd \vith a wider vision, as \ve more clearly measure the true proportions which man and his perforn1ances bear to the ordered \ \Thole, our practical ideal gets relatively dwarfed and beggared, till \ve Inay ,veIl feel inclined to ask whether so transitory and so unimportant an accident in the general scheme of things as the fortunes of the human race can any longer satisfy aspirations and emotions nourished upon beliefs in the Everlasting and the Divine. 33 CHAPTER II NATURALIS:\I A D ÆSTHETIC I I N the last chapter I considered the effects \vhich Naturalism must tend to produce upon the senti- ments associated with l\Iorality. I now proceed to consider the same question in connection ,vith the sentiments known as æsthetic ; and as I assumed that the former class were, like other evolutionary utilities, in the n1ain produced. by the norn1al operation of selection, so I no\v assume that the latter, being (at least in any developed stage) quite useless for the perfection of the individual or species, n1ust be re- garded, upon the naturalistic hypothesis, as mere by- products of the great machinery by which organic life is varied and sustained. I t will not, I hope, be supposed that I propose to offer this distinction as a material contribution to\vards the definition either of ethic or of æsthetic sentiments. This is a question in which I am in no way interested; and I am quite prepared to admit that some motions which in ordinary language would be described as 'moral,) are useless enough to be included in the class of natural accidents; and also that this class may, D 34 NATURALISl\I AND ÆSTHETIC indeed does, include many emotions \vhich no one following common usage \\rould characterise as æsthetic. The fact remains, however, that the capacity for eyery forn1 of feeling must in the main ei ther be, or not be, the direct result of selection and elimination; and whereas in the first section of the last chapter I considered the former class, taking moral emotion as their type, so now I propose to offer son1e observations on the second class, taking as their type the en10tions excited by the Beautiful. Whatever ",alue these Notes may haye will not necessarily be affected by any error that I may have made in the apportionn1ent between the two divisions, and the reader may make what redistri- bution he thinks fit, without thereby necessarily in- validating the substance of the conclusions \vhich I offer for his acceptance. I do not, however, anticipate that there will be any serious objection raised from the scientific side to the description of developed æsthetic emotion as 'accidental,' in the sense in which that word is here employed. The obstacle I have to deal with in conducting the argument of th s chapter is of a different kind. My object is to indicate the con- sequences which flow from a purely naturalistic treat- ment of the theory of the Beautiful; and I an1 at once met with the difficulty that, so far as I am aware, no such treatment has ever been attempted on a large scale, and that the fragmentary contributions which have been made to the subject do not meet NATURALISM AND ÆSTHETIC 35 with general acceptance on the part of scientific investigators themselves. To say that certain capacities for highly complex feeling are not the direct result of natural selection, and \vere not eyol ved to aid the race in the struggle for existence, may be a true, but is a purely negative account of the matter, and gives but little help in dealing with the two questions to which an answer is especially required: namely, \Vhat are the causes, historical, psychological, and physiological, \vhich enable us to derive æsthetic gratification from some objects, and forbid us to derive it fron1 others? and, Is there any fixed and permanent element in Beauty, any unchanging reality which we perceive in or through beautiful objects, and to which normal æsthetic feelings correspond? N ow, it is clear that on the naturalistic hypothesis the second question cannot be properly dealt \vith- till some sort of answer has been given to the first; and the answers given to the first seem so un- satisfactory that they can hardly be regarded as even provisionally adequate. In order to realise the difficulties and, as I think, the shortcomings of existing theories on the subject, let us take the case of l\lusic-by far the n10st con- venient of the Fine Arts for our purpose, partly because, unlike Architecture, it serves no yery obvious purpose,l and \ve are thus absolved from 1 I may be permitted to ignore Mr. Spencer's suggestion that the function of music is to promote sympathy by improving our modulation in speech. D2 36 NATURALISl\1 AND ÆSTHETIC giving any opinion on the relation between beauty and utility; partly because, unlike Painting and Poetry, it has no external reference, and we are thus absolved from giving any opinion on the rela- tion between beauty and truth. Of the inestimable blessings which these peculiarities carry with them, anyone may judge who has ever got bogged in the barren controversies concerning the Beautiful and the Useful, the Real and the Ideal, which fill so large a space in certain classes of æsthetic literature. Great indeed will he feel the advantages to be of dealing with an Art whose most characteristic utterances have so little to do directly, either with utility or truth. What, then, is the cause of our delight in Music? I t is sometimes hastily said to have originated in the ancestors of man through the action of sexual selection. This is of course impossible. Sexual selection can only work on materials already in existence. Like other forms of selection, it can improve, but it cannot create; and the capacity for enjoying music (or noise) on the part of the female, and the capacity for making it on the part of the male, must both have existed in a rudimentary state before matrimonial preferences can have improved either one gift or the other. I do not in any case quite understand how sexual selection is supposed even to improve the capacity for e1Z}"oJ I 11Ze1lt. I f the taste exist, it can no doubt develop the means required for its gratification; but how can it improve NATURALISßI AND ÆSTHETIC 37 the taste itself? The fenlales of certain species of spiders. I believe, like to see good dancing. Sexual selection, therefore, no doubt may gradually ilnprove the dancing of the male. The females of many animals are, it seems, fond of particular kinds of nOIse. Sexual selection nlay therefore gradually furnish the male \vith the apparatus by \vhich appropriate noises may be produced. In both cases, hO\\Tever, a pre-existing taste is the cause of the variation, not the variation of the taste; nor, except in the case of the advanced arts, \,-hich do not flourish at a period when those ",-ho successfully practise them have any advantage in the matri- monial struggle. does taste appear to be one of the necessary qualifications of the successful artist. Of course, if violin-playing were an important aid to courtship, sexual selection ,vould tend to develop that musical feeling and discrimination, ",-ithout which good violin-playing is impos ble. But a grasshopper requires no artistic sensibility before it can successfully rub its \ving-cases together; so that. Nature is only concerned to provide the anatomical machinery by which such rubbing may result in a sibilation gratifying to the existing æsth tic sensibilities of the female, but cannot in any ,yay be concerned in deyeloping the artistic side of those sensibilities themselves. Sexual selection, therefore, however \vell it may be fitted to give an explanation of a large number of animal noises and of the growth of the organs by 38 NATURALISl\I AND ÆSTHETIC which they are produced, throws but little light on the origin and development of musical feeling, either in animals or men. And the other explanations I have seen do not seem to me much better. Take, for instance, Mr. Spencer's modification of Rousseau's theory. According to Mr. Spencer, strong emotions are naturally accompanied by muscular exertion, and, among other muscular exertions, by contractions and extensions of ' the muscles of the chest, abdomen, and vocal cords.' The resultant noises recall by association the emotions which gave them birth, and from this primordial coincidence sprang, as we are asked to believe, first cadenced speech, and then music. Now I do not desire to quarrel with the 'primordial coincidence.' IVI y point is, that even if it ever took place, it affords no explanation of any modern feeling for music. Grant that a particular emotion produced a 'contraction of the abdomen,' that the 'contraction of the abdomen' produced a sound or series of sounds, and that, through this association with the originating emotion, the sound ultimately came to have independent æsthetic value, how are we advanced towards any explanation of the fact that quite different sound-effects now please us, and that the nearer we get to the original noises, the more hideous they appear? How does the 'primordial coincidence' account for our ancestors liking the tom-tom? And how does the fact that our ancestors liked the tom-tom account for our liking the Ninth Symphony? N.\TURALIS:ðI .AND .LESTHETIC 39 The truth is that l\Ir. Spencer's theory, like an others which endeavour to trace back the pleasure- giving qualities of art to some simple and original association slurs over the real difficulties of the problem. If it is the primitive association which produces the pleasure-giving quality, the further this is left behind by the developing art, the less plea- sure should be produced. Of course, if the art is <:ontinually fed from other associations and different experiences, if fresh emotional elements are con- stantly added to it capable of being worn and weathered into the fitting soil for an æsthetic har- vest, in that case, no doubt, we may suppose that \vith each new development its pleasure-giving qualities may be enriched and multiplied. But then, it is to these new elen1ents and to these new experi- ences, not to the 'primordial coincidence,' that \ve should mainly look for the causal explanation of our æsthetic feeling. In the case of n1usic, where are these ne\v elen1ents and experiences to be found? N one can tell us; few theorists even try. Indeed, the procedure of those \vho account for music by searching for the prin1itive association which first in the history of man or of his ancestors conferred æsthetic value upon noise, is as if one should explain the Amazon in its flood by point- ing to the rivulet in the far Andes \vhich, as the tributary most distant from its n10uth, has the honour of being called its source. This may be allowed to stand as a geographical description, but it is very 40 NATURALISl\1 AND ÆSTHETIC inadequate as a physical explanation. Dry up the rivulet, and the huge river would still flow on, without abatement or diminution. Only its titular origin has been touched; and if we would know the An1azon in its beginnings, and trace back the history of the vast result through all the complex ramifica- tions of its contributory causes, each great confluent n1ust be explored, each of the countless streams enumerated \vhose gathered \vaters s\veep into the sea four thousand miles across the plain. The in1perfection of this mode of procedure will become clear if we compare it with that adopted by the san1e school of theorists when they endeavour to explain the beauty of landscape. I do not mean to express any assent to their account of the causes of our feelings for scenery; on the contrary, these accounts seem to me untenable. But though unten- able, they are not on the face of them inadequate Natural objects-the sky and hills, woods and waters -are spread out before us as they were spread out before our remotest ancestors, and there is no ob- vious absurdity (if the hereditary transmission of acquired qualities be granted) in conceiving. them, through the secular experience of mankind, to be- come charged \vith associations which reappear for us in the vague and massive forin of æsthetic plea- sure. But according to all association theories of music, that \vhich is charged with the ra\v material of æsthetic pleasure is not the music we wish to have explained, but some primeval howl, or at best the NATURALISM AND ÆSTHETIC 41 unmusical variations of ordinary speech, and no solution whatever is offered of the paradox that the sounds ,vhich give n1usical delight have no associa- , tions, and that the sounds which had associations give no n1usical delight. I t is, perhaps, partly in consequence of these or analogous difficulties, but mainly in consequence of his views on heredity, which preclude hin1 from accepting any theory which involves the transmis- sion of acquired qualities, that Weismann gives an account of the n1usical sense which is practically equivalent to the denial that any explanation of the pleasure we derive from music is possible at all. For hin1, the faculties which enable us to appreciate and enjoy n1usic were evolved for entirely differ- ent purposes, and it is a n1ere accident that, when they come into relation with certain combinations of sound, we obtain through their means æsthetic gratification. lVlankind, no doubt, are continually inventing ne"v ll1usical devices, as they are con- tinually inventing new dishes. But as the second process in1plies an ad vance in the art of cookery, but no transl11itted modification in the human palate, so the former in1plies n1usical progress, but no change in the innate capacitIes of successive genera- tions of listeners. 1 1 I have made no allusion to Hebnholtz's classic inyestigations, for these deal chiefly with the physical character of the sounds, or com- binations of sound, which give us pleasure, but do not pretend fully to answer the question 'wIry they give pleasure. 42 NATUR.L\LISM AND ÆSTHETIC II This is, perhaps, a sufficien.tly striking example of the unsatisfactory condition of scientific æsthetics, and may serve to show how difficult it is to find in the opinions of different authorities a common body of doctrine on which to rest the argument of this chapter. I should imagine, however, both from the speculations to which I have just briefly ad- verted, and from any others with which I am ac- quainted, that no person who is at all in sympathy with the naturalistic view of things would maintain that there anywhere exists an intrinsic and essential quality of beauty, independent of the feelings and the taste of the observer. The very nature, indeed, of the senses principally engaged indicates that on the naturalistic hypothesis they cannot, in most cases, refer to any external and permanent object of beauty. For Naturalism (as commonly held) is deeply com- mitted to the distinction between the þri1Jlary and the seC01lda1JI qualities of matter; the former (exten- sion, solidity, and so forth) being supposed to exist as they are perceived, while the latter (such as sound and colour) are due to the action of the prin1ary qualities upon the sentient organism, and apart from the sen- tient organism have no independent being. Every scene in Nature, therefore, and every work of art, whose beauty consists either directly or indirectly, either presentativelyor representatively, in colour or in sound, has, and can have, no more permanent exist- N..A.TURALISM AND ÆSTHETIC 43 ence than is possessed by that relation between the senses and our material environment which gave them birth, and in the absence of \vhich they perish. If we could perceive the succession of events which constitute a sunset exactly as they occur, as they are (physically, not metaphysically speaking) ,in then/selves, they would, so far as \ve can guess, have no æsthetic merit, or even meaning. I f we could perform the same operation on a symphony, it would end in a like result. The first would be no 1110re than a special agitation of the ether; the second \vould be no more than a special agitation of the air. However ll1uch they might excite the curiosity of the physicist or the mathematician, for the artist they could no longer possess either interest or significance. It ll1ight, however, be said that the Beautiful, although it cannot be called permanent as compared with the general framework of the external \;vorld, is, nevertheless, sufficiently permanent for all human purposes, in so far as it depends upon the fixed rela- tions bet\veen our senses and their material sur- roundings. \Vithout at present stopping to dispute this, let us consider \vhether we have any right to suppose that even this degree of 'objectivity' can be claimed for the quality of beauty. In order to settle the question we can, on the naturalistic hypothesis, appeal, it \vould seem, to only one authority, namely, the experience of mankind. Does this, then, provide us with any evidence that 44 NATURALISl\I AND fESTHETIC beauty is more than the nan1e for a n1iscellaneous flux of endlessly varying causes, possessing no property in comn10n, except that at son1e place, at some time, and in son1e person, they have each shown themselres able to evoke the kind of feeling which we choose to describe as æsthetic ? Put thus there seems room for but one ans\ver. The variations of opinion on the subject of beauty are notorious. Discordant pronouncements are made by different races, different ages, different individuals, the same individual at different tin1es. N or does it SeelTI possible to devise any scheme by which an authoritative verdict can be extracted fron1 this chaos of contradiction. An appeal, indeed, is son1etin1es n1ade from the opinion of the vulgar to the decision of persons of 'trained sensibility'; and there is no doubt that, as a matter of fact, through the action of those \vho profess to belong to this class, an orthodox tradition has gro\".n up \vhich may seen1 at first sight aln10st to provide some faint approximation to the · objective' standard of \,-hich we are in search. Yet it ,vill be evident on consideration that it is not simply on their 'trained sensibility' that experts rely in forIning their opinion. The ordinary critical estin1ate of a work of art is the result of a highly complicated set of antecedents, and by no means consists in a simple and naked valuation of the 'æsthetic thrill' ,vhich the aforesaid ,york produces in the critic, nov{ and here. If it \,.ere so, clearly it could not be of any NATURALIS I AND .LESTHETIC 45 importance to the art critic \vhen and by whom any particular \vork of art was produced. Problems of age and questions of authorship would be left entirely to the historian, and the student of the beautiful would, as such, ask himself no question but this: Ho\v and why are my æsthetic sensibilities affected by this statue, poem, picture, as it is in itself? or (to put the same thing in a form less open to metaphysical disputation), \Vhat would my feelings to\vards it be if I \vere totally ignorant of its date, its author, and the circumstances of its production? As we all know, these are considerations never in practice ignored by the critic. He is pre- occupied, and rightly preoccupied, by a multitude of questions beyond the mere valuation of the out- standing amount of æsthetic enjoyn1ent which, in the year 1892, any artistic or literary work, taken sillzþliciter, is, as a matter of fact, capable of pro clucing. He is much concerned with its technical peculiarities. He is anxious to do justice to its author, to assign him his true rank among the productive geniuses of his age and country, to make due aIlo\vance for his 'environment,' for the traditions in \vhich he was nurtured, for the causes which make his creative genius embody itself in one form rather than in another. N ever for one instant does the critic forget, or aIlo\v his reader to forget, that the real magnitude of the foreshortened object under observation must be estin1ated by the rules of historical perspective. N ever does he on1it, in 46 NATURALIS 1 AND ÆSTHETIC dealing with the artistic legacies of bygone times, to take account of any long-accepted opinion ,vhich may exist concerning them. He endeavours to make himself the-exponent of the 'correct view.' His judgn1ent is, consciously or unconsciously, but not, I think, wrongly, a sort of con1promise between that which he would form if he drew solely from his own inner experience, and that which has been formed for him by the accun1ulated wisdom of his prede- cessors on the bench. He expounds case-made law. He is partly the creature and partly the creator of a critical tradition; and we can easily conjecture how devious his course would be, were his orbit not largely controlled by the attraction of received views, if we watch the disastrous fate which so often overtakes him when he pronounces judgment on new works, or on works of which there is no estimate embodied in any literary creed which he thinks it necessary to respect. Voltaire's opinion of Shake- speare does not make one think less of Voltaire, but it throws an interesting light on the genesis of average critical decisions and the normal growth of taste. F rom these considerations, which might easily be supplemented, it seems plain that the opinions of critical experts represent, not an objective standard, if such a thing there be, but an historical com- promise. The agreement among them, so far as such a thing is to be found, is not due solely to the fact that with their own eyes they all see the same things, and therefore say the same things; it is not NATURALIS:\I AND ÆSTHETIC 47 \vholly the result of a con1n10n experience: it arises in no small measure fron1 their syn1pathetic endeavours to see as others have seen, to feel as others have felt, to judge as others have judged. This n1ay be, and I suppose is, the fairest way of comparing the merits of deceased artists. But, at the same time, it n1akes it impossible for us to attach much \veight to the assun1ed consensus of the ages, or to suppose that this, so fdr as it exists, implies the reality of a standard independent of the varying \yhims and fancies of individual critics. In truth, however, the consensus of the ages, even about the greatest works of creative genius, is not only in part due to the process of critical n1anufacture indicated above, but its whole scope and magnitude is absurdly exaggerated in the phrases which pass current on the subject. This is not a question, be it observed, of æsthetic right and wrong, of good taste or bad taste; it is a question of statistics. \\1 e are not here concerned \vith what the mass of mankind, even of educated mankind, ought to feel, but \vith \vhat as a matter of fact they do feel, about the works of literature and art which they have inherited from the past. And I believe that every in1partial ob- server will admit that, of the æsthetic emotion actually experienced by any generation, the merest fraction is due to the ' immortal' productions of the generations \vhich haye long preceded it. Their immortality is largely an immortality of libraries and museums; they supply material to critics and 48 N..\'TUR.A.LIS:\I .l\.ND ...:ESTHETIC historians, rather than enjoyn1ent to n1ankind ; and if it ere to be maintained that one music halI song gives moré æsthetic pleasure in a night than the most exquisite compositions of Palestrina in a decade, I know not ho\v the proposition could be refu ted. The ancient N orsen1en supposed that besides the soul of the dead, which went to the region of departed spirits, there survived a ghost, haunting, though not for ever, the scenes of his earthly labours. At first vivid and almost lifelike, it slo\vly waned and faded, until at length it vanished, leaving behind it no trace or memory of its spectral presence amidst the throng of living men. So, it seen1S to n1e, is the inlmortality we glibly pre- dicate of departed artists. If they survive at aU, it is but a shadowy life they live, n10ving on through the gradations of slow decay to distant but inevitable death. They can no longer, as hereto- fore, speak directly to the hearts of their fellow-men, evoking their tears or laughter, and aU the pleasures, be they sad or merry, of which imagination holds the secret. Driven from the market-place, they become first the companions of the student, then the victims of the specialist. He \vho would still hold familiar intercourse with them must train himself to penetrate the veil which, in ever-thickening folds, conceals them from the ordinary gaze; he Dlust catch the tone of a vanished society, he nlust nlove in a circle of alien associations, he must think in a NATUR \LISl\1 AND .LESTHETIC 49 language not his own. Need we, then, ,vonder that under such conditions the outfit of a critic is as Inuch intellectual as emotional, or that if from off the complex sentilnents \vith \vhich they regard the 'immortal legacies of the past' \ve strip all that is due to interests connected \vith history, with bio- graphy, with critical analysis, \vith scholarship, and with technique, but a sn1all modicum \vill, as a rule, remain which can with justice be attributed to pure æsthetic sensibility. III I have, however, no intention of implying by the preceding observations that the æsthetic feelings of , the vulgar' are less sophisticated than those of the learned. A very cursory examination of 'public taste' and its revolutions n1av suffice to convince anyone of the contrary. And, in the first place, let us ask \vhy every' public' has a taste? And \vhy, at least in \Vestern con1111unities, that taste is so apt to alter? \Vhy, in other ,vords, do comn1unities or sectiuns of con1munities so often feel the same thing at the same time, and so often feel differen t things at different times? \\Thy is there so much uniformity, and \vhy is there so much change? These questions are of great interest, although they have not, perhaps, n1et ,yith an the attention they deserve. In these 1\ otes it ,vould not be fitting to attempt to deal ,vith them at length, and I shall only offer observations on t,vo points E 50 NA1-'URA.LIS [ AND ÆSTHETIC which seem relevant to the design of the present chapter. 1'he question of U niforn1ity is best approached at the humbler end of the æsthetic scale, in connection, not with art in its narro\ver and loftier sense, but with (tress. Everybody is acquainted, either by observation or by personal experience, with the coercive force of fashion; but not everybody is a\vare what an instructive and interesting pheno- menon it presents. Consider the case of bonnets. During the same season all persons belonging, or aspiring to belong, to the san1e 'public,' if they wear bonnets at all, ,year bonnets n10deIIed on the same type. Why do they do this? If \ye \vere asking a similar question, not about bonnets, but about stean1- engines, the dnswer \vould be plain. People tend at the same date to use the san1e kind of engine for the same kind of purpose because it is the best available. 'l'hey change their practice ,vhen a better one is invented. But as so used the \vords 'better. and 'best' have no application to n10dern dress. N either efficiency nor econon1Y, it will at once be admitted, supply the grounds of choice or the motives for variation. If, again, we \vere asking the question about some great phase of art, \ye should probably be told that the general acceptance of it by a ,vhole generation was due to some in1portant combination of historic causes, acting alike on artist and on public. Such causes no doubt exist and have existed; but the case K...\.TURALIS:\I Ai\D ÆSTHETIC 51 ()f fashion proves that uniformity is not proùuced by thenl alone, since it \vill hardly be pretended that there is any \videly diffused cause in the social environment, except the coercive operation of fashion itself, \vhich should make the bonnets \vhich \vere thought beconling in 188 I unbecoming in the year 1892. . .L-\gain, \ve might be told that art contains essen- tial principles of self-development, \yhich require one productive phase to succeed another by a kind of inner necessity, and determine not n1erely that there shall be variation, but \vhat that variation shall be. This also may be, and is, in a certain sense, true. But it can hardly be supposed that \ve can explain the fashions \vhich prevail in any year by assuming, not n1erely that the fashions of the previous years \vere foredoomed to change, but also that, in the nature of the case, only one change \vas possible, that, namely, \yhich actually took place. Such a doctrine \vould be equÍ\?alent to saying that if all the bonnet- \vearers \vere for a space deprived of any kno\vledge of each other's proceedings (all other things re- 111aining the san1e), they \vould, on the resun1ption of their ordinary intercourse, find that they had all inclined tov;ards much the same 1110dification of the type of bonnet prevalent before their separation-a conclusion \vhich seen1S to me, I confess, to be some\yhdt improbable. It may perhaps be hazarded, as a further expla- nation, that this uniforn1ity of practice is indeed a fact, E2 52 N.A.TURALISl\i AND ÆSTHETIC ànd is really produced by a complex group of causes which \ve denon1inate 'fashion,' but that it is a uniforn1ity of þractice alone, not of taste or feeli,ltg, and has no real relation to any æsthetic problen1 \\tyhate\Ter. This is a question the ans\ver to which can be supplied, I apprehend, by observation alone; and the answer which observation enables us to give seems to IHe quite unambiguous. If, as is possible, n1Y readers have but small experience in such matters themselves, let them examine the experi- ences of their acquaintance. They will find, if I n1istake not, that by whatever means conformity to a particular pattern may have been brought about, those \vho conform are not, as a rule, conscious of coercion by an external and arbitrary authority. They do not act under penalty; they yield no un- willing obedience. On the contrary, their admiration for a 'well-dressed person,' quâ well-dressed, is at least as genuine an æsthetic approval as any they are in the habit of expressing for other forn1s of beauty; just as their objection to an outworn fashion is based on a perfectly genuine æsthetic dislike. They are repelled by the unaccùstomed sight, as a reader of discrimination is repelled by turgidity or false pathos. It appears to them ugly, even grotesque, and they turn from it \vith an aversion as disinterested, as unperturbed by personal or 'society' considera- tions, as if they \vere critics contemplating the produc- tion of son1e pretender in the region of Great i\.rt. I n truth this tendency in matters æsthetic is only N \TUR.\LIS:\I AND -,ESTHETIC, 53 a particular case of a general tendency to agreenlent \vhich plays an even nlore important part in other departIl1ents of human activity. I ts operation, bene- ficent doubtless on the \vhole, n1ay be traced through an social and political life. \Ve owe to it in part that deep-lying likeness in tastes, in opinions, and in habits, \yithout which cohesion anlong the individual units of cl comnlunity \vould be in1possible, and which con titutes the unn10vcd platfornl on which we fight out our political battles. I t is no contemp- tible factor anlong the forces by which nations are created and religions dissen1inated and maintained. I t is the very breath of life to sects and coteries. Son1etilnes, no doubt, its results are ludicrous. Son1ctimes they are unfortunate. Sometin1es tnerely insignificant. Under which of these heads we should class our ever-changing uniformity in dress I \vill not take upon me to determine. I t is sufficient for my present purpose to point out that the æsthetic likings \yhich fashion originates, ho\vever trivial, are perfectly genuine; and that to an origin sin1ilar in kind, ho\vever different in dignity and perlnanence, should be traced much of the characteristic quality which giyes its special flavour to the higher artistic sentin1ents of each successive generation. IV I t is, of course, true that this 'tendency to agree- n1ent,' 1 this principle of drill, cannot itself determin I Of course the' tendency to agreen1ent' is not presented to the 54 NATURALISl\I AND ÆSTHETIC the objects in respect of which the agreement is to take place. I t can do n1uch to make every melnber of a particular' public' like the saIne bonnet, or tbe same epic, at the san1e tin1e; but it cannot deter- n1ine "\vhat that bonnet or that epic is to be. A fashion, as the phrase goes, has to be ' set,' and the persons who set it manifestly do not follow it. \\That þ then, do they follow? \\T e note the influences that n10ve the flock. What n10ves the bell-wether? Here again Inuch might conveniently be learnt from an exan1ination of fashion and its changes, for these provide us \vith a field of research where ,ve are disturbed by no preconceived theories or incon- venient adlnirations, and ",.here we may dissect our subject with the cold in1partiality which befits scientific in vestigation. 1'he reader, ho\vever, n1ay think that enough has been done already by this 111ethod; and I shall accordingly pursue a n10re general treatn1ent of the subject, prenlising that in the brief observations which follo\v no complete analysis of the complexity of concrete Nature is attempted, or is, indeed, necessary for my purpose. I t will be conyenient, in the first place, to dis- tinguish between the n10de in which the public ,,?hó enjoy, and the artists who produce, respecti\?ely promote æsthetic change. That the public are often reader as a sin1ple, undecomposable social force. It is, doubtless, highly cOlnplex, one of its most ilnportant elements being, I suppose, the instinct of uncritical imitation, which is the very basis of aU effec- tive education. The line of thought hinted at in this paragraph is pursued Inuch further in the Third Part of this Essay. NATURALIS I AND Æ:STHETIC 55 \veary and expectant-\veary of \vhat is provided for thenl, and expectant of son1e good thing to come- \vill hardly be denied. Yet I do not think they can be usually credited \vith the conscious demand for a fresh artistic deyeloPlnent. F or though they often \vant some ne\v thing, they do not often ,vant a 1U"lU kl.1ld of thing; éJnd accordingly it comnlonly, though not in\yariably, happens that, \vhen the ne\v thing appears, it is \velcon1ed at first by the fe\v, and only gradually- by the force of fashion and other\vise-conquers the genuine admiration of the n1any. The artist, on the other hand, is moved in no snlall measure by a desire that his \vork should be his o\vn, no pale reflection of another's methods, but an expression of hin1self in his own language. He \vill vary for the better if he can, yet, rather than be conscious of repetition, he \vill vary for the \vorse ; for vary he n1ust, either in substance or in fornl, unless he is to be in his o\vn eyes, not a creator, but an inlitator; not an artist, but a copyist.! I t will be observed that I anl not obliged to dra\v the dividing-line bet\veen 0- originality and plagiarisn1; to distinguish bet\veen the n1an ,vho is one of a school, and the n1an ,vho has done no more than merely catch the trick of a n1aster. I t is enough that the artist hin1self dra\vs the distinction, 1 No doubt it is an echo of this feeling that Blakes purchasers in- variably prefer a bad original to the best copy of the best original-a preference which in argmnent it would be exceedingly dIfficult to justify. 56 N..L\TURALIS:\I AND 'ESTHETIC and \vill never consciously allo\v hin1self to sink fron1 the first category into the second. \Ve have here, then, a general cause of change, but not a cause of change in any particular direction, or of any particular a1110unt. These I believe to be detern1inecl in part by the relation between the artists and the public for \\yh01l1 they produce, and in part by the condition of the art itself at the time the change occurs. As regards the first, it is commonly said that the artist is the creation of his age, and the discovery of this fact is s0111etin1es thought to be a momeIitous contribution n1ade by science to the theory of æsthetic evolution. The statement, how- ever, is unfortunately worded. '[he action of the age is, no doubt, important, but it would be more accurate, I imagine, to describe it as destructive than as creative; it does not so n1uch produce as select. I t is true, of course, that the influence of ',the environn1ent' in nloulding, developing, and stimulating genius within the lin1its of its original capacity is yery great, and 111ay seenl, especially in the humbler walks of artistic production, to be all- powerful. But innate and original genius is not the creation of any age. I t is a biological accident, the incalculable product of t\\yo sets of ancestral ten- dencies; and what the age does to these biological accidents is not to create then1, but to choose from them, to encourage those which are in harmony with its spirit,. to crush out and to steriIise the rest. Its action is analogous to that \vhich a plot of ground KATUR \LIS I ANI> ..ESTHETIC 57 exercises on the seeds \v hich fall upon it. Sonle thrive, sonle languish, SOBle die; and the resulting yegetation is sharply characterised, not because few kinds of seed haye there so\vn themselves, but because fe\v kinds ha \Te been allo\\-ed to grow up. \\Tithout pushing the paraIIel too far, it nlay yet serve to illustrate the truth that, as a stained \vindo\v derives its character and significance from the absorption of a large portion of the rays which endeavour to pass through it, so an age is what it is, not only by reason of ",-hat it fosters, but as nluch, perhaps, by reason of \\-hat it destroys. \\T e nlay con- ceive, then, that froIH the total but ,,-hoIIy unknown number of nlen of productive capacity born in any generation, those whose gifts are in harmony with the tastes of their contenlporaries will produce their best; those whose gifts are ",-hoIIy out of harmony "'Till be extinguished, or, \\"hich is yery nearly the same thing, will produce only for the benefit of the critics in suc- ceeding generations; ,,'hile those \vho occupy an in- ternlediate position \yill, indeed, produce, but their po""ers ""ill, consciously or unconsciously, be \yarped and th\,'arted, and their creations fall short of \vhat, under happier circul11stances, they nligh t ha \'e been . able to achieve. Here, then, \\-e ha\-c a tendency to change arising out of the artist's insistence on originality, and a linlitation on change imposed by the character of the age in \vhich he lives. 1'he kind of change \yill be largely determined by the con- 58 K.ATURALISJ\I AND .L ESTHETIC clition of the art which he is practising. If it be in an early phase, full as yet of undeveloped possi- bilities, then in all probability he ",'ill content hin1- self with in1proving on his predecessors, without widely deviating froln the lines they have laid down. F or this is the direction of least resistance: here is no public taste to be fonned, here are no great experiments to be tried, here the pioneer's rough work of discovery has already been aCCOll1- plished. But if this particular fashion of art has cuhninated, and be in its decline; if, that is to say, the artist feels n10re and more difficulty in express- ing himself through it, \vithout saying worse what his predecessors have said already, then one of three things happens-either originality is perforce sought for in exaggeration; or a new style is invented; or artistic creation is abandoned and the field is given up to nlere copyists. \\Thich of these events shall happen depends, no doubt, partly on the accident of genius, but it depends, I think, still nlore on the prevailing taste. If, as has frequently happened, that taste be donlinated by the memory of past ideals; if the little public whon1 the big public follow are content \vith nothing that does not confornl to certain ancient nlodels, a period of artistic sterility is inevitable. But if circumstances be more propitious, then art continues to move; the direction and character of its movement being due partly to the special turn of genius possessed by the artist ,yho succeeds in producing a public N.ATURALIS I Al'\D ÆSTHETIC 59 taste in harnlony \vith his powers, and partly to the reaction of the taste thus created, or in process of creation, upon the general artistic talent of the conlnlunity. E ,'-en, ho\yever, In those periods \"hen the nlo,'-ement of art is 1110st striking, it is dangerous to assunle that l1lovelllent ilnplies progress, if b)' þrog'ress be '}Jzeallt increase ill the þower to e_yczie æsthetic e1Jloti01l. It \vould be rash to assunle this even as regards 1\1 usic, \vhere the nl0\yenlent has been nlore renlarkable, nlore continuous, and nlore apparently progressive over a long period of tirne than in any other art \yhatever. In nlusic, the artist's desire for originality of expression has been aided generation after generation by the discovery of new methods, new fornls, new instruments. F rOl1l the bare simplicity of the ecclesiastical chant or th village dance to the ordered complexity of the modern score, the art has passed through successi,ye stages of developnlent, in each of \vhich genius has dis- covered devices of harnlony, devices of instrunlenta- tion, and devices of rhythnl ,vhich \vould have been 111usical paradoxes to preceding generations, and becanle nlusical comnlonplaces to the generations that follo\vecl after. Yet, \vhat has been the net gain? Read through the long catena of critical judgillents, fronl \\Tagner back (if you please) to Plato, \vhich e,yery age has passed on its o\vn per- fornlances, and you \vill find that to each of thenl its nlusic has been as adequate as ours is to us. It 60 X.ATUR '\LIS1f AND ..:-ESTHETIC n10ved then1 not less deeply, nor did it n10ve them differently; and compositions which for us have lost their ll1agic, and which we regard as at best but agreeable curiosities, contained for then1 the secret of all the unpictured beauties \vhich n1USlC sho\vs to her \vorshippers. Surely there is here a great paradox. The history of Literature and Art is tolerably \vell known to us for Inany hundreds of years. During that period Poetry and Sculpture and Painting have been subject to the usual mutations of fashion; there have been seasons of sterility and seasons of plenty; schools have arisen and decayed; new nations and languages have been pressed into the service of Art; old nations have fallen out of line. But it is not con1monly supposed that at the end of it all we are much better off than the Greeks of the age of Pericles in respect of the technical dexterity of the artist, or of the resources which he has at his con1- mand. During the same period, and measured by the san1e external standard, the development of 1\1 usic has been so great that it is not, I think, easy to ex- aggerate it. Yet, through all this vast revolution. the position and importance of the art as compared \vith other arts seems, so far as I can discover, to have suffered no sensible change. I t was as great four hundred years before Christ as it is at the present mOlnent. It \vas as great in the sixteenth, seven- teenth, and eighteenth centuries as it is in the nine- teenth. Ho\v, then, can we resist the conclusion NATURALIS:\l A D ÆSTHETIC 61 that this alnazing 'nlusical development, produced by the expenditure of so much genius, has added little to the felicity of nlankind ; unless, indeed, it so happens that in this particular art a steady le\?el of æsthetic sensation can only be maintained by increasing doses of æsthetic stimulant. y These some\vhat desultory observations do not, it nlust be acknowledged, carry us very far to\vards that of \vhich \ve are in search, namely, a theory of æsthetics in harnlony with naturalisnl. Yet, on recapitulation, negative conclusions of sonle iIl1port- ance will, I think, be seen to follow fronl them. It is clear, for instance, that those \vho, like Goethe, long to d\vell ainong , permanent relations: \vhere\yer else they nlay find thenl, will at least not find thein in or behind the feeling of beauty. Such pernlanent relations do, indeed, exist, binding in their unchang- ing franle\vork the various forms of energy and matter \vhich make up the physical uni\yerse; but it is not the perception of these \vhich, either in Nature or in art, stirs \vithin us æsthetic enlotion -else should \ve find our surest guides to beauty in an astrononlical chart or table of chenlical equivalents, and nothing \\yould seem to us of less æsthetic significance than a synlphony or a loye-song. That \vhich is beautiful is not the object as \ve kno\v it to be-the vibrating nlolecule 62 NATURALIS11 AND ÆSTHETIC and the undulating ether-but the object as we know it not to be-glorious with qualities of colour or of sound. N or can its beauty be supposed to last any longer than the transient reaction between it and our special senses, which are assuredly not permanent or important elelnents in the constitution of the world in which we live. But even \vithin these narrow limits-narrow, I mean, compared with the wide sweep of our scientific vision-there seen1ed to be no ground for supposing that there is in Nature any standard of beauty to which all human tastes tend to conform, any beauti- ful objects which all norn1aIly constituted individuals are n10ved to admire, any æsthetic judgn1ents which can clain1 to be universal. The divergence bet\veen different tastes is, indeed, not only notorious, but is what we should have expected. As our æsthetic feelings are not due to natural selection, natural selection will have no tendency to keep then1 uniform and stable. I n this respect they differ, as I have said, fron1 ethical sentiments and beliefs. Deviations from sound morality are injurious either to the individual or to the community-those who indulge in theln are at a disadvantage in the struggle for existence; hence, on the naturalistic hypothesis, the approximation to identity in the accepted codes of different nations. But there is, fortunately, no natural punishment annexed to bad taste; and accordingly the variation bet\veen tastes has passed into a proverb. NATUR \.LIS:\I .AXD _^ESTHETIC 63 Even in those cases \yhere some slender thread of similarity seelHed to bind together the tastes of different tinles or different persons, further con- sideration sho\ved that this \yas largely due to causes \yhich can by no possibility be connected with any supposed pennanent elenlent in beauty. The agreen1ent. for example, bet\veen critics, in so far as it exists, is to no snlall extent an agreement in statenlent and in analysis, rather than an agree- nlent in feeling; they have the sanle opinion as to the cooking of the dinner, but they by no means all eat it with the san1e relish. In fe\v cases, indeed, do their estinlates of excellence correspond with the living facts of æsthetic enlotion as shown either in thenlselves or in anybody else. Their \vhole pro- cedure, necessary though it may be for the compara- tive estimate of the \vorth of individual artists, unduly conceals the vast and arbitrary 1 changes by \vhich the taste of one generation is divided from that of another. And \vhen \ve turn fronl critical tradition to the æsthetic likes and dislikes of nlen and \VOnlen; \vhen \ve leave the adlnirations \vhich are professed for the en1ot.ions \vhich are fel t, \ve find in vast n1l1ltitucles of cases that these are not con- nected with the object \vhich happens to excite thenl by any perlnanent æsthetic bond at all. 1'heir true àetermining cause is to be sought in fashion, in that · tendency to agreclllent' \vhich plays so large, and 1 'Arbitrary,' i.e. not due to any causes which point to the existence of objective beauty. 64 NATURl\LIS:\! AND ÁESTfIETIC on the vvhole so useful, a part in social eCOn0111Y. N or, in considering the causes which produce the rise and fall of schools, and all the s111aller mutations in the character of æsthetic production, did we perceive more roo 111 for the belief that there is s0111ewhere to be found a perInanent elenlent in the beautiful. There is no e\Tidence that these changes constitute stages in any process of gradual approxi- mation to an unchanging standard; they are not born of any strivings after son1e ideal archetype; they do not, like the 1110velnen ts of science, bring us ever nearer to central and inl111utable truth. On the contrary, though schools are born, mature, and perish, though ancient forIns decay, and new ones are continually devised, this restless movell1ent is, so far as science can pronounce, \vithout meaning or purpose, the casual product of the quest after novelty, determined in its course by incalculable forces, by accidents of genius. by accidents of public hUll10ur, invol\Ting change but not progress, and predestined, perhaps, to end universally, as at n1any times and in many places it has ended already, in a mood of barren acquiescence in the repetition of ancient n1odels, the very Niri)a1Za of artistic imagi- nation, without desire and \\'ithout pain. And yet the persistent and almost pathetic endea ours of æsthetic theory to show that the beautiful is a necessary and unchanging elen1ent in the general scheme of things, if they prove nothing else, may at least convince us that mankind will not XATURALIS:\I ...\ND ÆSTHETIC 65 easily reconcile thelnsehTes to the view \vhich the naturalistic theory of the \vorld \vould seen1ingly compel then1 to accept. \Ve need feel no difficulty, perhaps, in adlnitting the full consequences of that theory at the lower nd of the æsthetic scale, in the region, for instance, of bonnets and \yall-papers. \Ve n1ay tolerate it e'''en \vhen it deals \vith impor- tant elements in the highest art, such as the sense of technical excellence, or synlpathy with the crafts- tnan's skill. But \vhen ""e look back on those too rare nloments \v hen feelings stirred in us by some beautiful object not only seem wholly to absorb us, but to raise us to the vision of things far abo\Te the ken of bodily sense or discursive reason, we cannot acquiesce in any attenlpt at explanation \vhich con- fines itself to the bare enun1eration of psychological and physiological causes and effects. \\T e cannot \villingly assent to a theory \vhich n1akes a good composer only differ from a good cook in that he deals in more con1plicated relations, moves in a wider circle of associations, and arouses our feel- ings through a different sense. However little, therefore, \ve nlay be prepared to accept any par- ticular scheme of metaphysical æsthetics-and most of these appear to me to be very absurd- we must believe that sonle".here and for some Being there shines an unchanging splendour of beauty, of ",-hich in ature and in Art we see, each of us fron1 our o\vn standpoint, only passing glean1s and stray reflec- tions, whose different aspects \ve cannot now co- F 66 NATURALIS I ANI) ...ESTHE1'IC ordinate, whose import we cannot fully conlprehend, but which at least is sonlething other than the chance play of subjective sensibility or the far-off echo of ancestral lusts. No such mystical creed can, how- ever, be squeezed out of observation and experi- ment ; Science cannot give it us ; nor can it be forced into any sort of consistency with the Naturalistic Theory of the Universe. 67 CHAPTER III NATURALIS I AND REASON I A IOXG those who accept \vithout substantial modifi- cation the naturalistic theory of the universe are some who find a cOlnpensation for the general non- rationality of Nature in the fact that, after aU, reason, human reason, is Nature's final product. I f the \vorld is not made by Reason, Reason is at all events nlade by the world; and the unthinking interaction of causes and effects has at least resulted in a con- sciousness \vherein that interaction Il1ay be retiected and understood. This is not Teleology. Indeed, it is a doctrine \vhich leayes no roonl for any belief in Design. But in the nlinds of sonle who have but imperfectly grasped their o\vn doctrines, it appears capable of partially nleeting the sentinlental needs to which teleology gives a fuller satisfaction, inasnluch as reason thus finds an assured place in the scheme of things, and is enabled, after the fashion of the Chinese, in some sort to ennoble its ignoble progenitors. This theory of the non-rational origin of reason, which is a necessary corollary of the naturalistic scheIne, has philosophical consequences of great F :2 68 NA.TURALISl\1 AND REASOX interest, to some of which I have alluded elsewhere,] and which must occupy our attention in a later chapter of these Notes. In the mean\vhile, there are other aspects of the subject which deserve a l110men t' s consideration. Fronl the point of view of organic evolution there is no distinction, I inlagine, to be dra\vn between the developtnent of reason and that of any other faculty, physiological or psychical, by which the interests of the individual or the race are pro- moted. From the hunlblest form of nervous irrita- bility at one end of the scale, to the reasoning capacity of the most advanced races at the other, everything, without exception-sensation, instinct, desire, volition-has been produced, directly or in- directly, by natural causes acting for the most part on strictly utilitarian principles. Convenience, not knowledge, therefore, has been the main end to which this process has tended. ' I t was not for purposes of research that our senses \vere evolved,' nor ,vas it in order to penetrate the secrets of the universe that \ve are endowed with reason. Under these circunlstances it is not surprising that the faculties thus laboriously created are but imperfectly fitted to satisfy that speculative curiosity which is one of the nlost curious by-products of the evolutionary process. The inadequacy of our intellect, indeed, to resolye the questions \vhich it is capable of asking is acknowledged (at least in words) I P ltilosoþltÙ- Doubt, Pt. iii., ch. xiii. NATURALIS I AND REASON 69 both by students of science and by students of theology. But they do not seen1 so much in1pressed \vith the inadequacy of our senses. Yet, if the current doctrine of evolution Le true, \ve have no choice but to adn1it that with the great mass of natura] fact \ve are probably brought into no sensible relation at all. I an1 not referring here n1erely to the 1 inlitations imposed upon such senses as \ve possess, but to the total absence of an indefinite nun1ber of senses \vhich conceivably we might possess, but do not. 1'here are sounds \vhich the ear cannot hear, there are sights \vhich the eye cannot see. But besides all these there nlust be countless aspects of external Nature of which \ve have no knowledge; of which, o\ving to the absence of appropriate organs, \ve can fornl no conception; \vhich in1agination can- not picture nor language express. Had Voltaire been acquainted \vith the theory of evolution, he would not have put for\vard his ..\Iicron1egas so n1uch as an illustration of a paradox \vhich cannot be dis- proved, as of a truth \vhich cannot be doubted. For to suppose that a course of deyelopnlent carried out, not \vith the object of extending kno\vledge or satis- fying curiosity, but solely \vith that of pron10ting life, on an area so insignificant as the surface of the earth, bet\veen lilnits of ten1perature and pressure so narro\Y, and under general conditions so exceptional, should have ended in supplying us \yith senses even approximately adequate to the apprehension of Nature in all her conlplexities, is to believe in a co- 7 0 NATURALISl\I AN]) REASON incidence n10re astounding than the most audacious novelist has eyer en1ployed to cut the knot of some en tangled tale. F or it ll1ust be recollected that the same natura] forces which tend to the evolution of organs which are useful tend also to the suppression of organs that are useless. Not only does Nature take no interest in ùur general education, not only is she quite indif- ferent to the growth of enlightenment, unless the enlightenn1ent ilnprove our chances in the struggle for existence, but she positively objects to the very existence of faculties by \vhich these ends n1ight, perhaps, be attained. She regards then1 as n1ere hindrances in the only race \vhich she desires to see run; and not content \vith refusing directly to create any faculty except for a practical purpose, she immediately proceeds to destroy faculties already created when their practical purpose has ceased; for thus does the eye of the cave-born fish degenerate and the instinct of the domesticated animal decay. Those, then, who are inclined to the opinion that between our organism and its environn1ents there is a correspondence which, fron1 the point of vie\v of general knowledge, is even approxin1ately adequate, must hold, in the first place, that samples or sugges- tions of every sort of natural Inanifestation are to be found in our narrow and lin1ited \vorld; in the second . place, that these san1plcs are of a character \vhich would pern1it of nervous tissue being so modified by selection as to respond specifically to their action; in NA TURALISl\1 r\N"D RE1\SON 7 1 the third place, that such specific n1odifications \vere not only possible, but would have proved useful at the period of eyolution during which our senses in their present shape were developed; and in the fourth place, that these nlodifications \vould have proved useful enough to Inake it \vorth \vhile to use up, for the purpose of producing then1, lnaterial \vhich might have been, and has been, otherwise enlployed. All these propositions seen1 to nle improbable, the first two of thel11 incredible. l I t is in1possible, therefore, to resist the con\Tiction that there must be an indefinite nUIl1ber of aspects of Nature respecting \vhich science never can give us any inforn1ation, 1 It l11ay perhaps be said that it s not necessary that we should be specifically affected by each particular kind of energy in order either to discover its existence or to investigate its character. It is enough that aIllong its effects should be SOll1e which are cognisable by 01;11' actual senses, that it should 1110dify in SOll1e way the world we know, that it should inten-ene perceptibly in that part of the general systen1 to which our organism happens to be il11111ediately connected. This is no doubt true, and our knowledge of electricity and l11agnetism (among other things) is there to prove it. But let it be noted how slender and how accidental was the clue which led us to the first beginnings, frOl11 which all our knowledge of these great phenOl11ena is derived. Directly they can hardly be said to be in relation with our organs of perception at all (notwithstanding the fact thLlÌ light is now regarded as an elcctro-ll1agnetic phenOll1enon) and their indirect relation with theln is so slight that prvbably no an10unt of l11ere obser- vation could, in the absence of experiment, have given us a notion of their n1agnitucle or importance. They were not sought for to fill a gap whose existence had been demonstrated by calculation. Their discovery was no inevitable step in the onward 111arch of scientific knowledge. They were stumbled upon by accident; and few would be bold enough to assert that if, for example, the human race had not happened to possess iron, magnetism would e,-er have presented itself as a subject requiring in,-estigation at all. 7 2 NATURALIS:\I .A.ND REASON even in our dreams. We n1ust conceive ourselves as feeling our way about this din1 corner of the illimit- able world, like children in a darkened roonl, en- con1passed by we know not ,vhat; a little better endo\ved with the machinery of sensation than the protozoon, yet poorly provided indeed as compared with a being, if such a one could be conceived, whose senses were adequate to the infinite variety of material Nature. I t is true, no doubt, that we are possessed of reason, and that protozoa are not. But even reason, on the naturalistic theory, occupies no elevated or pern1anent position in the hierarchy of phenomena. I t is not the final result of a great process, the roof and crown of things. On the con- trary, it is, as I have said, no n10re than one of many experin1ents for increasing our chance of survival, and, an10ng these, by no n1eans the n10st important or the most enduring. II People sometin1es talk, indeed, as if it ,vas the difficult and complex work connected ,vith the n1ain- tenance of life that was perforn1ed by intellect. But there can be no greater delusion. The managenlent of the humblest organ ,,-ould be infinitely beyond our mental capacity, were it possible for us to be entrusted \vith it; and as a n1atter of fact, it is only in the simplest jobs that discursive reason is per- mitted to have a hand at all; our tendency to take a different view being n1erely the self-in1portance of NATURALIs r 4L\. D RE...\. () 73 a child \vho, because it is alIo\ved to stanlp the letters, ilnagines that it conducts the correspondence. The best \vay of looking at mind on the naturalistic hypothesis is, perhaps, to regard it as an instrun1ent for securing a flexibility of adaptation \vhich instinct alone is not able to attain. I nstinct is inco111pdr- ably the better n1achine in eyery respect save one. It \vorks more smoothly, \vith less friction, \yith far greater precision and accuracy. But it is not adapt- able. l\Iany generations and nluch slaughter are required to breed it into a race. Once acquired, it can be lnodified or expelled only by the sanle harsh and tedious methods. 1Iind, on the other hand, fronl the point of vie\v of organic e\-olution. nlay be considered as an inherited faculty for self-adjustnlent ; and though, as I have already had occasion to note, the lin1its within \vhich such adjustInent is pennitted are exceedingly narro\Y, \yithin those lin1its it is doubtless exceedingly valuable. But even here one of the principal functions of nlind is to create habits by \yhich, \yhen they are fuHy forn1ed, it is itself supplanted. If the conscious adaptation of nleans to ends \yas ahyays necessary in order to perfornl e\Ten those fe\v functions for the first perfornlance of \yhich conscious adaptation \\"as originaI1y required, life ,,-ould be frittered a\vay in doing badly, but \yith deliberation, sonle snlall frac- tion of that ,,-hich \ye no\y do \yeH \yithout any deliberation at all. The fonnation of habits is . , therefore, as has often been pointed out, a necessary 74 N..\TUR..\LIS I AX1) RE.L\SOX prelinlinary to the' higher' uses of Inind; for it. and it alone, sets attention and intelligence free to do \vork fronl .w-hich they \youlll other\vise be debarred by their absorption in the petty needs of daily existence. But ,,-hile it is thus plain that the formation of habits is an essential pre-requisite of nlental de\Telop- nlent, it \yould also seen1 that it constitutes the first step in a process \vhich. if thoroughly successful, \vould end in the destructio11. if not of consciousness it- self, at least of the higher nlanifestation of conscious- ness, sLlch as vvill. attention, and discursive reason. 1 All these. as we n1ay suppose, will be gradually superseded in an increasing nun1ber of departl11ents of human actiyity by the gro\vth of instincts or inherited habits, by which eyen such adjustn1ents bet\veen the organis111 and its surroundings as no\v seen1 n10st dependent on self-conscious n1ind n1ay be successfull y effected. These are prophecies. ho\vever, \vhich concern then1sel\ es \ivith a very ren10te future, and for my part I do not ask the reader to regard their fulfil- n1ent as an inexorable necessity. I t is enough if they l11ark \vith sufficient enlphasis the place \vhich l\Iind, in its higher nlanifestations, occupies in the schelne of things. as this is presented to us by the naturalistic hypothesis. :\Ir. Spencer, \yho pierces the fu ture \\Ti th a surer gaze than I can nlake the least 1 Elnpirical psychologists are not agreed as to ,,-hether the appa- rent unconsciousness which accOlnpanies completed habits is real or not. It is unnecessary for the purpose of 111)' argument that this point should be detennined. NJ:\TURALISl\I .\KIJ REASOX 7S pretence to, looks confidently for\\-ard to a tin1e \vhen the relation of n1an to his surroundings ,,-ill be so happily contrived that the reign of absolute right- eousness \vill prevail; conscience, gro\vn unneces- sary, \vill be dispensed ,vith; the path of least resistance will be the path of yirtue; and not the , broad,' but the' narro\v ,yay,' ,\-ill 'lead to destruc... tion.' These excellent consequences seen1 to lHe to flo\v very sn100thly and satisfactorily fron1 his particular doctrine of eyolution, con1bined \vith his particular doctrine of n1orals. But I confess that n1Y own personal gratification at the prospect is son1e:" \vhat dimmed by the reAection that the san1e kind of causes \vhich l11ake conscience superfluous \vill relieve us fron1 the necessity of intellectual effort, and that by the tin1e \\"e are all perfectly good \ve . shall also be all perfectly idiotic. I kno\v not ho\y it n1av strike the reader; but I at least an1 left sensibly poorer by this deposition of Reason fron1 its ancient position as the Ground of all existence, to that of an expedient an10ng other expedients for the n1aintenance of organic life; an expedient, n1oreover, ,vhich is telnporary in its character and insignificant in its effects. An ir- rational U ni,-erse ,,-hich accidentally turns out a fe\v redsoning aniInals at one corner of it, as a rich I11an n1ay experin1ent at one end of his park \\-ith SOIne curious' sport' accidentally produced aInong his Aocks and herds, is a U ni\9crse ,,-hich \ye n1ight \\-ell despise if ,,?e did not oursel'ges share its degradation. But 7 6 N.'\TURALIS I AND REA.SON must we not inevitably share it? Pascal somewhere observes that l\lan, however feeble, is yet in his very feebleness superior to the blind forces of Nature; for he knows himself, and they do not. I confess that on the naturalistic hypothesis I see no such superiority. If, indeed, there were a Rational Author of Nature, and if in any degree, even the most in- significant, \ve shared His attributes, we might well conceive ourselves as of finer essence and more intrinsic worth than the material world which we inhabit, immeasurable though it may be. But if we be the creation of that world; if it made us what we are, and will again unnlake us; how then? The sense of hunlour, not the least precious among the gifts with \vhich the clash of at0111S has endowed us, sho ld surely prevent us assuming any airs of superiority over other and nlore powerful menlbers of the same fanlily of ' phenolllena,' more permanent and more powerful than ourselves. 77 CHAPTEI 1\' SU I:\IAR Y AXD COXCLUSION OF PART I I IlA YE no\v con1pleted n1Y sur,-ey of certain opinions \vhich naturalisnl seen1S to require us to hold respecting in1portant n1atters connected ,yith Righteousness, Beauty, and Reason. The survey has necessarily been concise; but. concise though it has been, it has, perhaps. sufficiently indicated the inner antagonisn1 ,yhich exists bet\veen the N atural- istic system and the feelings \vhich the best among nIankind, including l11any \vho lnay be counted as adherents of that system. have hitherto considered as the most ,.aluable possessions of our race. If naturalisn1 be true, or, rather, if it be the \vhole truth, then is n10rality but a bare catalogue of utilitarian precepts; beauty but the chance occasion of a pass- ing pleasure; reason but the dim passage fronl one set of unthinking habits to another. All that gives dignity to life, all that gives value to effort, shrinks and fades under the pitiless glare of a creed like this; and even curiosity, the hardiest atnong the noble. passions of the souL n1ust languish under the conviction that neither for this generation nor for any that shall con1e after it, neither in this life nor 7 8 SUl\I L\RY .\ D CO CLUSION OF PART I in another, \vill the tie be \vholly loosened by which reason, not less than appetite, is held in hereditary bondage to the service of our n1aterial needs. I an1 anxious, ho\vever, not to overstate my case. I t is of course possible, to take for a monlen t æsthetics as our text, that \vhatever be our views concerning 1.1aturalisI11, \ve shall still like good poetry and good nlusic, and that \ve shall not, perhaps, find if we sun1 up our pleasures at the year's end, that the total satisfaction derived fron1 the conten1plation of Art and Nature is very largely din1inished by the fact that our philosophy. aIlo\vs us to draw no in1portant distinction between the beauties of a sauce and the beauties of a syn1phony. Both lnay continue to afford the tnan \vith a good palate and a good ear a considerable a1l10unt of satisfaction; and if all we desire is to find in literature and in art son1ething that \vill help us either 'to enjoy life or to endure it,' I do not contend that, by any theory of the beautiful, of this we shall \vholly be deprived. Nevertheless there is, even so, a loss not lightly to be underrated, a loss that falls alike on him that produces and on him that enjoys. Poets and artists have been \vont to consider themselves, and to be considered by others, as prophets and seers, the revealers under sensuous forms of hidden mysteries, the syn1bolic preachers of eternal truths. All this is, of course, on the naturalistic theory, very absurd. They 111inister, no doubt, \vith success to some phase, usually a very transitory phase, of public taste; but SU:\L\IARY ...\Nf) COXCL1;SIOX OF P...\ RT I 79 they have no n1ysteries to reyea1. and \vhat they tell us, though it nlay be very agreeable, is seldon1 true, and never iInportant. This is a conclusion \\ hich, ho\vsoever it may accord \yith sound philosophy. is not likely to prove very stilnulating to the artist, nor does it react \vith less unfortunate effect upon those to whonl the artist appeals. Even if their feeling of delight in the beautiful is not Inarred for theIn in in1n1ediate experience, it 111USt suffer in menlory and reflection. F or such a feeling carries ,,-i th it, at its best, an inevitable reference. not less ine,-itable because it is obscure, to a Reality \yhich is eternal and unchanging; and \ve cannot accept ,,-ithout suffering the conviction that in n1aking such a reference. \ve \vere merely the dupes of our enlotions, the victims of a ten1porary hallucinati0n induced, as it were, by some spiritual drug. But if on the naturalistic hypothesis the senti- ments associated \vith beauty seem like a poor jest played on us by Nature for no apparent purpose, those that gather round nlorali ty are, so to speak, a de- liberate fraud perpetrated for a ,,-ell-defined end. The consciousness of freedonl, the sense of responsibility, the authority of conscience, the beauty of holiness, the admiration for self-devotion. the syn1pathy \yith suffering-these and all the train of beliefs and feelings from which spring noble deeds and generous ambitions are seen to be n1ere ùe,-ices for securing to societies, if not to individuals, son1e competitive advantage in the struggle for existence. They are 80 SU1IjL\RY ANI) CONCLUSION OF PART I not \vorse, but neither are they better, than the thousand-and-one appetites and instincts, many of them, as I haye said, cruel, and Inany of then1 dis- gusting, created by sitnilar causes in order to carry out through all organic Nature the like unprofitable ends; and if \ve" think theIl1 better, as in our unre- flecting nlonlents we are apt to do, this, on the Naturalistic hypothesis, is only because son1e delusion of the kind is necessary in order to induce us to per- fornl actions \vhich in thenlselves can contribute nothing to our personal gratification. The inner discord ,vhich finds expression in conclusions like these largely arises, as the reader sees, frotn a \vant of balance or 'proportion between the range of our intellectual vision and the circum- stances of our actual existence. Our capacity for standing outside ourselves and taking stock of the position \vhich we occupy in the universe of things has been enormously and, it \vould seem, unfortu- nately, increased by recent scientific discovery. \\T e have learned too much. \Ve are educated above that position in life in which it has pleased Nature to place us. \Ve can no longer accept it without criticisnl and without exan1ination. We insist on interrogating that material systetn which, according to naturalisnl, is the true author of our being as to whence \ve con1e and whither we go, what are the causes which have tnade us what we are, and what are the purposes which our existence subserves. And it must be confessed that the answers given to this SU:\I:\L\RY ANI) CONCLUSION OF PART I 81 question by our oracle are extren1ely unsatisfactory. \ V e have learned to Ineasure space, and we perceive that our dwelling-place is but a I11Cre point, wander- ing with its companions, apparently at random, through the \vilderness of stars. \Ve have learned to I11eaSUre tin1e, and \ve perceive that the life not n1erely of the individual or of the nation, but of the \vhole race, is brief, and apparently quite unimportant. \Ve have learned to unravel causes, and \ve perceive that en10tions and aspirations whose very being SeeI11S to hang on the existence of realities of \vhich naturalisn1 takes no account, are in their origin contemptible and in their suggestion mendacious. To n1e it appears certain that this clashing between beliefs and feelings I11ust ultimately prove fatal to one or the other. l\lake \vhat allowance you please for the stupidity of mankind, take the fullest account of their really remarkable po\ver of letting their speculative opinions follow one line of development and their practical ideals another, yet the time must come \vhen reciprocal action \vill perforce bring opinions and ideals into some kind of agreement and congruity. I f, then, naturalisn1 is to hold the field, the feelings and opinions inconsistent \vith naturalism must be foredooI11ed to suffer change; and hO\\T, when that change shall con1e about, it can do other,,"ise than eat all nobility out of our conception of conduct and all \vorth out of our conception of life, I am \vholly unable to understand. G 82 SUl\1J\il\.RY AND CONCLUSION OF PART I I am aware that many persons are in the habit of subjecting these views to an experilnental refuta- tion by pointing to a great ll1any excellent people who hold, in more or less purity, the naturalistic creed. but who, nevertheless, offer pron1inent examples of that habit of mind with which, as I have been endeavouring to show, the naturalistic creed is essentially inconsistent. Naturalism-so runs the argument-co-exists in the case of Messrs. A., B., C., &c., with the most admirable exhibition of unselfish virtue. I f this be so in the case of a hundred indi- viduals, why not in the case of ten thousand? If in the case of ten thousand, why not in the case of hUlnanity at large? N ow, to the facts on which this reasoning proceeds I raise no objection. I desire neither to ignore the existence nor to minin1ise the merits of these shining examples of virtue unsup- ported by religion. But though the facts be true, the reasoning based on then1 will not bear close examination. Biologists tell us of parasites which live, and can only live, within the bodies of anin1als more highly organised than they. For then1 their luckless host has to find food, to digest it, and to convert it into nourishment which they can C0l1SU111e without exertion and assimilate without difficulty. Their structure is of the simplest kind. Their host sees for them, so they need no eyes; he hears for them, so they need no ears; he works for then1 and contrives for them, so they need but feeble ll1uscles and an undeveloped nervous systen1. But are we SU r:\L\RY ..\XD CO CLUSIO OF P..\RT I 83 to conclude fro111 this that for the anilnaI kingdoIl1 eyes and ears, po\verfullimbs and complex nerves, are superfluities? They are superfluities for the parasite only because they have first been necessities for the host, and \vhen the host perishes the parasite, in their absence, is not unlikely to perish also. So it is \yith those persons \vho claim to sho\v by their exan1ple that naturalisn1 is practically consistent \vith the n1aintenance of ethical ideals with \vhich naturalism has no natural affinity. Their spiritual life is parasitic: it is sheltered by convictions \vhich elong, not to then1, but to the society of \yhich they forn1 a part; it is nourished by processes in which they take no share. And when those convictions decay, and those prÇ>cesses come to an end) the alien life which they have maintained can scarce be expected to outlast them. I anl not a\vare that anyone has as yet en- deavoured to construct the catechisnl of the future, purged of eyery elelnent dra\vn from any other source than the naturalistic creed. I t is greatly to be desired that this task should be undertaken in an in1partial spirit; and as a sn1all contribution to such an object, I offer the folIo\ving pairs of contrasted propositions, the first nlen1be:-s of each pair repre- senting current teaching, the second representing the teaching \vhich ought to be substituted for it if the naturalistic theory be accepted. A. The universe is the creation of Reason, and all things \\rork together to\vards a reasonable end. G 2 8-1- SUl\I:\L--\.RY _\. D COXCLUSIOX OF P_\RT I B. So far as \ve are concerned, reason is to be found neither in the beginning of things nor in their end; and though everything is predetermined, nothing is fore-ordained. A. Creative reason is interfused \vi th infinite love. B. l\.s reason is absent, so also is love. The universal flux is ordered by blind causation alone. A. There is a n10ral law, in1n1utable, eternal; in its governance all spirits find their true freedom and their most perfect realisation. Though it be adequate to infinite goodness and infinite intelligence, it may be understood, even by n1an, sufficiently for his guidance. B. Among the causes by \vhich the course of organic and social developn1ent has been blindly determined are pains, pleasures, instincts, appetites, disgusts, religions, n1oralities, superstitions; the senti- n1ent of \vhat is noble and instrinsically \vorthy; the sentiment of what is ignoble and intrinsically \vorth- less. From a purely scientific point of vie\v these all stand on an equality; all are action-producing causes developed, not to inlprove, but sin1ply to perpetuate, the species. A. In the possession of reason and in the enjoy- ment of beauty, \ve in son1e ren10te \vay share the nature of that infinite Personality in \\Thon1 we live and move and have our being. B. Reason is but the psychological expression of certain physiological processes in the cere bral SUl\I:\L\RY AXl) COKCLUSION OF PART I 85 hel11ispheres; it is no I110re than an expedient an10ng Hlany expedients by ,yhich the individual and the race are prescr\"cc1; just as Beauty is no more than the name for such ,-arying and accidental attributes of the material or I11ora} ,vorlds as n1ay happen for the n10n1ent to stir our esthetic feelings. .i\. Every hUl11an soul is of infinite value, eternaL free; no hun1an being, therefore, is so placed as not to have ,vithin his reclch, in hin1self and others, objects adequate to infinite endeavour. B. The individual perishes; the race itself does not endure. F e\v can flatter thell1selves that their conduct has any effect -hatever upon its remoter destinies; and of those fe\v, none can say ,vith reasonable assurance that the effect \vhich they are destined to produce is the one \vhich they desire. Even if we \vere free, therefore, our ignorance \vould n1ake us helpless; and it may be almost a consolation to reflect that our conduct .as detern1ined for us by the distribution of unthinking forces in pre-solar æons, and that if ""e are in1potent to foresee its consequences, \ve ,,,ere not less in1potent to arrange its causes. The doctrines en1bodied in the second men1ber of each of these alternatives n1ay be true, or nlay at least represent the nearest approach to truth of ,vhich \ve are at present capable. Into this question I do not yet inquire. But if they are to constitute the dogIl1atic scaffolding by \vhich our educational systen1 is to be supported; if it is to be in harmony 86 SU l L-\RY' \Kl) COKCLUSION OF P -\RT I ,vith principles like these that the child is to be taught at its n1other's knee, and the young n1an is to build up the ideals of his life, then, unless I greatly mistake, it will be found that the inner discord which exists, and \\rhich n1ust gradually declare itself, bet .een th en1otions proper to naturalism and those which have actually grown up under the shadow of traditional convictions, will at no distant date most unpleasantly translate itself into practice. PART II SOME REASONS FOR BELIEF 89 CHAPTEI{ I THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF KATL'R4\LIS)1 I So far ,ye ha\'e been occupied in \veighing certaIn indirect and collateral consequences \yhich seem likely to flo\v fronl å Pdrticular theory of the ,,'orId in \\'hich \ve lh'e. The theory itself \vas taken for granted. K 0 attenlpt \vas nlacle to exanline its foundations or to test their strength; no comparison bet\veen its different parts \vas instituted for the purpose of determining ho\v far they really con- stituted a coherent and intelligible ,, hole. \ \ e accepted it as \ve found it, turning \vith a\'erted eyes e,'en fronl the speculatiye problenls \yhich lay closest to the track of our inunediate in\'estiga- tion. This course is not the I110st logical; and it ll1ight appear a I1l0re fitting procedure to reserye our consideration of the consequences of a systen1 until SOBle conclusion had been arri\recl at concerning its truth. Such. ho\vever. is not the ordinary habit of n1ankind in dealing \vith problelns in ,,'hich questions of abstract theory and daily practice dre closely 9 0 THE PHILOSOPHIC D -\SIS OF X \ TUR \.LIS I intertwined; and even ph ilosophers show a kindly reluctance too closely tu exalnine the clain1s of creeds vvhose consequences dre in strict accord ",-ith contel11- porary sentinlent. [have a better reason, ho\\-ever, to offer for the order here selected than can be de- rived fron1 precedent or cxan1ple, a reason bd ed on the fact that, had I begun these Notes \vith the dis- cussion on which I an1 about to el11bark, their ,,-hole character would probably have been n1isunderstood. They "rould have been regarded as contributions to philosophical discussion uf a kind ' .hich \vould only interest the specialist; and the general reader, to whonl I desire particularly to appeal, \\?ould have abandoned their perusal in disgust. F or I cannot deny, either that I anl about to ask hin1 to accol11pany me in a search after first principles; or (which is, perhaps, worse) that the search is destined to be in- effectual. He will not only have to occupy hin1self with argun1ents of a ren10te and abstract kind, and for a n10n1ent to disturb the placid depths of ordinary thought with unaccustomed soundings, but the argu- ments will be to all appearance barren, and the soundings will not find bOttOll1. The full justification for a procedure seell1ingly so futile can only be found in the chapters which follow, and in the general drift of the discussion taken as a \vhole; but in the meanwhile the reader ",-ill be able to appreciate lHY in1111ediate object if he \vill bear in n1ind the precise point at "'hich ",.e have arrived. I et him ren1ember, then, that the result of the THE PHILUSOPHIC Jt\SIS OF X..\TUR.ALIS I 91 inquiry instituted into the practical tendencies of the natura1istic thcory is to sho\v then1 to Le \ve11- nigh intolerable. '['he theory, no doubt, may for all that be true, since it 111ust candidly be ac1n1ittcd that there is no naturalistic reason for anticipating any pre-estab1ishec1 hannony bet\veen truth and ex- pediency in the higher regions of speculation. But at least \ve are called upon to n1ake a yery searching inquiry before \\'e acltnit that it is true. \\T e are not here concerned ,vith any tnere curiosity of dialectics, \vith the quest for a kind of knowledge which, ho - eyer interesting to the few, yet bears no fruit for ordinary hUll1éU1 use. On the contrary, the issues that have to be decided are practical, if anything is practical. They touch at every point the n10st pern1anent interests uf 111an, individual and social; and any procedure is preferable to a complacent acqui scence in the loss of a11 the fairest provinces in our spiritual inheritance. rhis is a fact \yhich has long been perceived by the defenders of a11 the creeds, philosophical or theological, \YÍth \vhich the pretensions of naturalisnl are in conflict. You \vil1 not open a modern ,york of apologetics, for instance, \vithout finding in it son1e endeavour to sho\v that the naturalistic theory is insufficient. and that it requires to be supple- ll1ented by precisely the \ ery systen1 in \vhose interests that particular \vork ,vas \vritten. This, no doubt. is as it should be; and on this plan a great deal of valuable criticisn1 and interesting speculation 92 rrHE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NA TGR.l\.LISi\I has been produced. I t is not, ho\vever, exactly the plan which can be here pursued, partIy because these Notes contain, not a systenl of theology, but only an introduction to theology; and partly be- cause I have cthvays found it easier to satisfy lny- self of the insufficiency of naturalis111 than of the absolute sufficiency of any of the schelnes by \yhich it has been sought to 1110dify or to conlplete it. I n this chapter, ho\vever, I shall follo\v an easier line of nlarch, the nature of ".hich the reader \vill readily understand if he considers the t\\.o elenlents composing the naturalistic creed: the one þositi'Z'c, consisting. roadly speaking, of the teaching con- tained in the general body of the natural sciences; the other 7legatiz'e, expressed in the doctrine that beyond. these linlits. \vherever they nlay happen to lie, nothing is, and nothing can be, kno,,-n. K O\V, the. usual practice \vith those \vho dissent fron1 this general vie\\" is, as I have said, to choose the second, or negative, half of it for attack. They tell us, for example, that the kno\yledge of phenoll1ena giyen by science carries ,,"ith it by necessary íll1pìication the kno\vledge of that \yhich is above phenoll1ena; or, again, that the 1110ral nature of ll1an points to the reality of ends and principles \yhich Cdnnot be ex- hausted by any inyestigation into a Inerely natural world of causally related objects. \\Tithout the least underrat ng such lines of investigation. I purpose here to consider, not the negative, but the positiyc half of the naturalistic syste111. I shall leave TITE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF A rCR.\LIS I 93 for the I110I11cnt unchaIlenged the statelncnt that beyond the natural sciences kno\vledge is ilnpossible ; but I shall yenture, instead, to ask a fe\v questions as to the character of the kno\vledge \vhich is thought to be obtained \\"ithin those Iinlits. I shall not en- deavour to pro\Te that a schenle of nlerely positive beliefs. adlllirable. no doubt. as far as it goes, is yet inteIlectually insufficient unless it be supplenlented by a l11etaphysical or theological appendix. But I shaIl exalnine the foundations of the schenle itself; and though such criticisnls on it as I sha11 be able to offer can never be a substitute for the real \vork of philosophic construction. they ,vQuld seenl to be its fitting prelilllinary, and one ,vhich the succeeding chapters nlay sho\v to be not \vithout a profit of its o\\"n. One great nletaph ysician has described the system of another as · shot out of a pistol,' meaning thereby. that it \vas presented for acceptance \vithout intro- ductory proof. The criticisnl is true not only of the particular theory of the A bsolute about \vhich it ,vas first used, but about every systenl, or alnlost every systenl. of belief \vhich has e\'.er passed current anlong l11ankind. Sonle subtle analogy \vith accepted doctrines, sonle general harnluny \"ith existing senti- nlents and 1110des of thought, has not unconlmonIy been deenled sufficient to justify the 1110st audacious conjectures; and the history of speculation is littered \\-ith theories \vhose authors seenl ne\'-er to have suffered under any overnlastering need to prove the 94 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF N_\rr"LTR_\LIS:L\I OpIl1IOnS vvhich they advanced. No such over- n1astering need has, at least, been felt in the case of 'positive kno\\-ledge,' and the very circumstance that, alike in its lllethods and in its results, all ll1en re practically ,agreed to accept it \vithout delTIur has blinded thenl to the fact that it, too, has been 'shot out of a pistol,' and that, like S0l11e nlore questionable beliefs, it is still \yaiting for a rational justification. F or our too easy acquiescence in this state of things I do not think science is itself to blan1e. It is no part of its duty to deal with first principles. I ts business is to pro\Tide us with a theory of Nature; and it should not be required, in addition, to provide us V\Tith a theory of itself. This is a task which properly devolves upon the lllasters of specu- lation; though it is one ",-hich, for various reasons, they have not as yet satisfactorily acconlplished. I doubt, indeed, \vhether any llletaphysical philo- sopher before !{ant can be said to have nlade con- tributions to this subject which at the present day need be taken into serious account; and, as I shall endeavour to indicate in the next chapter, I{ant's doctrines, even as Inoclified by his successors, do not, so it see111S to 111e, pro\Tide a sound basis for an 'episten10logy of Nature.' But if in this connection \ye o\ve little to the metaphysical philosophers, we o\ve still less to those in whon1 we had a better right to trust, nalllely the mpirical ones. If the foriner have to sonle extent TIlE PIIILOSOPHIC U \SIS OF \TuR..\LIS:\[ 95 neglected the theory of science for theories of the Absolute, the latter have cthvays sho\yn an inclination to sacrifice the theory of kno\vledge itself to theories as to the genesis or gro\\yth of kno\vledge. l'hey haye contented thenlsel\Tes \vith investigating the prinlitiye elenlents fro111 ,,-hich ha\Te been developed in the rdce and in the individual the conlpleted consciousness of ourselyes and of the \yodel in which ,ye live. They have, therefore, dealt \vith the origins of \vhat \ve belie\Te rather than \vith its justification. They have substituted psychology for philosophy; they have presented us, in short, \vith studies in a particular branch or department of science, rather than \vith an exanlinatiol1 into the grounds of science in general. And \vhen perforce they are brought face to face \vith sonle of the problems connected \vith the philosophy of science \vhich nlost loudly clanlour for solution, there is sonlething half-pathetic and half-humorous in their methods of cutting a knot which they are quite unable to untie. Can anything, for exanlple, be nlore naïve than the undisturbed serenity \vith \\Thich Locke, to\vards the end of his great ,york, assures his readers that he 'suspects that natural philosophy is not capable of being 111ade a science'; or, as I should pr fer to state it, that natural science is not capable of being l11ade a philosophy? Or can anything be nlore characteristic than the Illoral \vhich he dra\vs fronl this rather surprising adlllission, nalllely, that as \ve are so little fitted to franle theories about this present \yorId, \ve 96 THE PHILOSOPfIIC B4-\SIS OF N,ATUR.1LIS:\I had better devote our energies to preparing for the next? This relnarkable display of philosophic resignation in the father of nlodern enlpiricisnl has been ilnitated, \tvith differences, by a long line of dis- tinguished successors. 1-1 unle, for example, though naturally enough he declined to dra\v Locke's edifying conclusion. did nlore than anyone else to establish L,ocke's despairing prenlise; and hi ; inferences fronl it are at least equally singular. Ha\Ting reduced our belief in the fundanlental principles of scientific interpretation to expectatio:ls born of habit; ha\Ting reduced the \tvorld \vhich is to be interpreted to an unrelated series of impres- sions and ideas; having by this double process l11ade experience inlpossible and turned science into foulishness, he quietly informs us, as the issue of the ",-hole nlatter, that outside experience and science knowledge is inlpossible, and that all except 'nlathenlatical denlonstration' and 'experimental reasoning' on · Inatters of fact' is sophistry and illusion! I think too \vell of H unle's speculative genius and too ill of his speculative sincerity to doubt that in Dlaking this statement he spoke, not as a philosopher. but as a 11lan of the \vorld, Dlaking for11lal obeisance to the po\vers that be. But \vhat he said half ironically, his follo\\;ers ha\Te said with an unshaken seriousness. othing in the history of speculation is Inore astonishing, nothing-if I anl to speak IllY \vhole 11lincl-is nlore absurd than the way THE PHILOSOPHIC B.ASIS OF L\TUR \LIS I 97 in \vhich I I lune' s philosophic progeny-a most dis- tinguished race-ha\-c, in spite of all their differences, yet been able to agree, both that experience is essen- tially as H unle described it, and that fronl such an experience can be rationally extracted anything even in the ren10test degree reseinbling the existing systenl of the natural sciences. Like Locke, these gentle- Inen, or SOine of thenl, have, indeed, been assailed by 11101nentary 111isgivings. It seenlS occasionally to ha\'e occurred to thenl that if their theory of kno\v- ledge \yere adequate, 'experimental reasoning,' as H lline called it, \\?as in a very parlous state; and that, on the nlerits, nothing less deserved to be held \vith a positi\?e conviction than \yhqt some of them are \vont to describe as 'positive' kno,,"ledge. But they have soon thrust a\vay such uI1\velcolne thoughts. The self-satisfied dognlatisnl \yhich is so convenient, and, indeed, so necessary a habit in the _ daily routine of life, has resumed its s\vay. They have forgotten that they \vere philosophers, and \vith true practical instincts have reserved their , obstinate qllestionings' exclusively for the benefit of opinions from which they \vere already predis- posed to differ. \\Thether these historic reasons fully account for the conlparative neglect of a philosophy of science I "rill not \"enture to pronounce. But that the neglect has been real I cannot doubt. Adlnirable generalisations of the actual methods of scientific research, usually under sonle such name as 'lnduc- H 98 THE PHILOSOPHIC B.ASIS OF Ni\TUR.ALISl\l tive Logic,' ,ve have no doubt had in abundance. But a full and systel11atic atte111pt, first to enumerate, and then to justify, the presuppositions on \vhich all science finally rests, has, it seenlS to 111e, still to be made, and 111ust forl11 no insignificant or secondary portion of the task ,yhich philosophy has yet to perform. To S0111e, perhaps to 1110st, it 111ay, indeed, appear as if such a task \vere one of perverse futility; not 1110re useful and 111uch less dignified than metaphysical investigations into the nature of the Absolute. However profitless in the opinion of the objector these Inay be, at least it see111S better to strain after the transcendent than to denlonstrate the obvious. And science, it nlay \vell be thought, is quite sure enough of its ground to be justified in politely bo\ving out those \vho thus officiously tender it a perfectly superfluous assistance. This is a contention on the nlerits of which it will only be possible to pronounce after the critical examination into the presuppositions of science which I desiderate has been thoroughly carried out. I t may then appear that nothing stands lnore in need of demonstration than the obvious; that at the very root of our scientific systenl of belief lie problems of which no satisfactory solution has hitherto been devised; and that, so far fro111 its being possible to ignore the difficulties \vhich these involve, no general theory of kno,,-ledge has the least chance of being successful \vhich does not explicitly include within the circuit of its criticisll1, not only the beliefs TIlE PHILOSOPIIIC IL\.SIS OF N.\TUR.\LISi\I 99 \vhich seem to us to be dubiuus, but those also \vhich \ve hold ,vith the 1110st perfect practical assurance. So lnuch, at least, I have endeavoured to esta- blish in another ,york to which reference has been already nlade. 1 .L\nd to this I nlust venture to refer those readers ,,,ho either ,,,ish to see this posItIon elaborately developed, or \\-ho are of opinion that I have in the preceding relnarks treated the philosophy of the elnpirical school with too scant a nleasure of respect. The very technical discussion, ho\vever, \\-hich it contains could not, I think, be nlade interesting, or perhaps intelligiblè, to the 111ajority of those for whol1l this book is intended, and, even \yere it other\\;-ise, they could not appropriately be introduced intu the body of these N otes. Yet, though this is inlpossible, it ought not, I think, to be quite ilnpossible to convey S0111e general notion of the sort of difficulty \\-ith which any enlpirical theory of science \vould seem to be beset, and this \vithout requiring on the part of the reader any special kno",-ledge of philosophic termin- .ology, or, indeed, any kno\yledge at all, except that .of sonlC fe\v very general scientific doctrines. If I could succeed, ho\vever ill1pel fectly, in such a task, it ll1ight be of sonle slight service e\Ten to the reader conversant \vith enlpirical theories in all their ,"arious forn1s. F or though he \vill, of course, recognise in what follo\\Ts the fanliliar faces of 111anv old contro- ,;' 1 Cf. Prefatory X ote. HZ 100 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF N.ATUR_-\LIS11 versies, the circun1stance that they are here ap- proached, not fron1 the accuston1ecl side of the psy- chology of perception, but fron1 that of physics and physiology, lnay perhaps give thein a freshness they would not other\vise possess. II In order to fix our ideas let us recall, in ho\vever rough and incolnplete a forn1, the broad outlines of scientific doctrine as it at present exists, and as it has been deyeloped fron1 that unorganised know- ledge of a \\Torld of objects-anin1als, 111ountains, n1en, planets, trees, vçater, fire, and so forth-\vhich in some degree or other all n1ankind possess. These objects science concei ves as ordered and 111utually related in one unlimited space and one unlin1i ted time; all in their true reality independent of the presence or absence of any observer, all governed in their behaviour by rigid and unvarying la\vs. These are its material; these it is its business to describe. Their appearance, their inner constitution, their environn1ent, the process of their development, the lllodes in which they act and are acted upon-such and such-like subjects of inquiry constitute the problems which science has set itself to investigate. The result of its in\Testigations is now en1bodied in a general, if provisional, vie\v of the (phenomenal) universe \ hich is practically accepted \vithout ques- tion by all instructed persons. According to this view, the \\Torld consists essentially of innun1erable THE PIIILOSOPHIC IL\SIS OF NA\TUR \LIS:\r 101 snlall particles of definite and unchanging l11ass, cndo\ved \vith a ,-ariety of nlechanica1. chenlical, and other qualities, and [ornling Ly their nlutual associa- tion the '9arious bodies \vhich \"e can handle and see, and many others \"hich \ye can neither handle nor see. These ponderable particles have their being in a diffused and all-penetrating mediull1, or cther, of \vhich \ve kno\v little, exccpt that it possesses, or behayes as if it possessed, certain Inechanical properties of a ,-err renlarkable charac- ter; "vhile the ,,-hole of this Inaterial l systenl, ponderable particles and ether alike, is anilnated (if the phrase tl1ay be pennitted tne) by a quantity of energy \yhich, though it varies in the 111anner and place of its l1lanifestatiol1. yet ne,-er varies in its total anlount. I t only relnains to add, as a fact of considerable inlportance to ourselves. though of little apparent inlportance to the uniyerse at large, - that a fe\v of the 111aterial particles above alluded to are arranged into living organisnls, and that anlong these organisnls are a snlall nlinority \'9hich have the rCll1arkable po\ver of extracting froill the changes ,yhich take place in certain of their tissues psychical phenomena of various kinds; sonle of \yhich are 1 This aillbiguity in the use of the word' matter' is apt to be a nuisance in these discussions. The ten11 is sometimes, and quite properly, used only of ponderable 111atter, and in opposition to ether. But when we talk of the' material universe,' it is absurd to exclude frOill our meaning the ether, which is the l110St ilnportant part of that universe, or to deny materiality to a substance which behaves as if it were an elastic solid. The context will, I hope, always show in which sense the word is used. 102 1'HE PHILOSOPHIC B.ASIS OF NATURALISl\I the reflection, or partial reproduction in perception and in though t, of fragll1ents and aspects of that Inaterial 'i\Torld to ,vhich they o\ye their being. Secure in this general vie\v of things, the great co-operative work of scientific in\Testigation nloves swiftly on. The experill1ental psychologist. if we are to begin at that end of the scale, 111easures , time reactions,' and other equally inlportant Inatters illustrating the relations of nlind and body; the physiologist endeavours to surprise the secrets of the living organ; the biologist traces the de\Telop- ment of the indi\Tidual and the 111utations of the species; the chelnist searches out the la\vs ,,,-hich govern the com binatiol1 and reactions of at0111S and molecules; the astron0111er investigates the l11ove- l11ents and the life-histories of suns and planets; ,vhile the physicist explores the inmost nly teries of Inatter and energy. not unprepared to discover behind the invisible particles and the insensible movenlents vvith \vhich he fanliliarly deals, explana- tions of the ll1aterial universe yet nlore relnote fronl the unsophisticated perceptions of ordinary nlaI1- kind. 1'he philosophic reader is of course a\vare that 111any of the ternlS \\rhieh I have used, and been obliged to use, in this outline of the scientific vie,v of the universe ll1ay be, and have been, subjected to philosophic analysis, and often ,vith very curious results. Space, tinle, nlatter, energy, cause, quality, idea, perception-all these, to 111ention no others, are THE PIIILOSOPHIC IL\SIS OF 1\.\TUIL\LIS:\I 103 expressions \\yithùut the aid of \\;hich no account could be given of the circle of the sciences; thuugh e\yery one of then1 suggests a n1ultitude of specula- tive problelns, of \\-hich speculation has not as yet succeeded in giving us the final and decisive solution. These problen1s, for the n10st part, however, I put on one side. I take these tern1S as I find then1; in the sense, that is, \vhich everybody attributes to then1 until he begins to puzzle hil11self \\"ith too curious inquiries into their precise l11eaning. No such en1barrassing investigations do I \yish to il11pose upon n1Y reader. I t shall be agreed bet\veen us that the body of doctrine sU111111arised abo\ye is, so far as it goes, clear and intelligible; and all I shall no\y require of him is to look at it frol11 a ne,," point of yie,,\-, to approach it, as it \vere, fron1 a different side, to study it ,,"ith a ne\\" intention. I nstead, then, of asking \yhat are the beliefs \yhich science inculcates, let us ask why, in the last resort, ""e hold then1 to lJe true. Instead of inquiring ho\\y a thing happens, or \vhat it is, let us inquire ho\v \\ye know that it does thus happen, and \,"hy \ye believe that so in truth it is. Instead of enun1erating causes, let us set ourselves to in- \yestigate reasons. III N O\y it is at once e\"ident that the very saIne general body of doctrines, the yery san1e set of propositions about the · natural' ,,'orId, arranged according to the principles suggested by these ques- r04 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATURALISM tions, \vould fall into a \vholly different order fronl that which \vould be observed if its distribution were governed ll1erely by considerations based upon the convenience of scientific exposition. Indeed, we ll1ay say that there are at least four quite different orders, theoretically distinguishable, though usually mixed up in practice, in "Thich scientific truth 111ay be expounded. There is, first, the orJer of discovery. This is governed by no rational principle, but depends on historic causes, on the accidents of indi- vidual genius and the r0111antic chances of experi- ment and observation. There is, secondly, the rhetorical order, useful enough in its proper place, in which, for example, we proceed frolll the sinlple to the difficult, or from the striking to the important, according to the needs of the hearer. There is, thirdly, the scientific order, in \vhich, could \ve only bring it to perfection, we should proceed fronl the abstract to the concrete, and fronl the general law to the particular instance, until the whole \vorld of phenonlena was gradually presented to our gaze as a closely woven tissue of causes and effects, infinite in its complexity, incessant ip its changes, yet at each nlonlent proclaiming to those \\ ho can hear and understand the certain prophecy of its future and the authentic record of its past. Lastly, there is \vhat, according to the terminology here em- ployed, 111USt be called the philosophic order, in which the various scientific propositions or dognlas are, or rather should be, arranged as a series of premises TIlE PHILOSOPHIC B \SIS OF \TUR..\LIS I 105 and conclusions, starting frolll those \vhich are axio- Inatic, i.e. for \\.hich proof can be neither gi\-en nor required, and Ino\-ing nn through a continuous series of binding inferences, until the \vhole of kno\v- ledge is caught up and ordered in the n1eshes of this all-inclusive dialectical net\yurk. I n its perfected shape it is evident that the philu- sophic series, though it reaches out to the farthest confines of the kno\vn, nlust for each nlan trace its origin to sOIl1ething ,vhich he can regard as axio- nlatic and self-evident truth. There is no theoretical escape for any of us fronl the ultilnate 'I.' \ \That , I' believe as conclusive nlust be dra\\-n, by sonle process ,,-hich ' I ' accept as cogent, froln sonlething \vhich ' I ' aln obliged to regard as intrinsically self- sufficient, beyond the reach of criticisnl or the need for proo( The philosophic order and the scientific order of staten1ent, therefore, cannot fail to be \vholly different. \\Thile the scientific order l11ay start ,yith the dogn1atic enuncicttion of sonle great generalisation valid through the \\"hole unlneasured range of the 111aterial universe, the philosophic order is perforce conlpelled to find its point of departure in the hUIl1ble personality of the inquirer. His grounds of belief, not the things belie\"ed in, are the subject- nlatter of investigation. HlS reason, or, if you like to hayc it so, his share of the U ni\-ersal Reason, but in any case sOl1lething ,,-hich is hi)', ll1ust sit in judg- nlent, and 111ust try the cause. l'he rights of this tribunal are inalienable, its authority incapable of 106 1'HE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF K.\TCR..\LIS:\l delegation; nor is there any superior court by \\-hich the yerdict it pronuunces can be reyersed. If no\v the question \vere asked" 'On \\-hat sort of pren1ises rests ultilnately the scientific theory of the \\-orld?' science and elnpirical philosophy, though they n1ight not agree on the 111eaning of tern1S, \vould - agree in ans\\-ering, 'On pren1ises supplied by experience.' I t is experience \\-hich has given us our first real kno\\-ledge of Nature and her 1a\vs. I t is experience, in the shape of observa- tion and experil11ent, \vhich has giyen us the ra\v n1aterial out of ,,-hich hypothesis and inference have slo\\-ly elaborated that richer conception of the ll1élterial \\'orld \\-hich constitutes perhaps the chief, and certainly the n10st characteristic, glory of the n10dern ll1ind. \''"hat, then, is this experience? or, rather, let us ask (so as to élyoid the appearance of trenching on Kantian ground) ,,-hat are these experiences? These experiences, the experiences on ,,-hich are alike founded the practice of the savage and the theories of the n1an of science. are for the n10st part observa- tions of 111aterial things or objects, and of their be- haviour in the presence of or in relation to each other. These, on the en1pirical theory of kno\\-ledge, supply the direct inforn1ation, the in1n1ediate data fron1 ,,-hich . all our \,-icIer kno\vledge ultin1ately clra\vs its sanction. Behind these it is in1possible to go; il11possible, but also unnecessary. F or as the · eyidence of the senses' does not derive its THE PIlII USOPH IC B_\SIS OF X.\TGR4\LIS-'I ) 07 authority frol11 any higher source, so it is useless to dispute its full and indefeasible title to C01l1n1and our assent. 1 \ccording to this yie\v, ,,-hich is thoroughly in accordance ,,-ith conl1110n-sense, science rests in the nldin upon the inlnlediate juùg- Inents \\-c fonn about natural objects in the act of seeing, hearing, and handling thenl. This is the solid, if son1e\vhat narro\v, platfornl \vhich pro\?ides us ,,,ith a foothold ,,-hence \\?e n1ar reach up\\-ard into regions ,,"here the · senses' COnyer to us I O direct kno\\-ledge. \yhere \,pe ha \?e to do \vith hnvs renlote frol11 our personal obser\-ation, and \vith objects \vhich can neither be seen, heard, nor handled. IY But although such a theory seell1S sinlple and straightfor\yard enough, in perfect hannony ,vith the habitual sentinlents and the uni\-ersal practice of l11ankind, it ,\-ould e\-idently be rash to rest satisfied ,vith it as a philosophy of science until \ye had at least heard ,,-hat science itself has to say upon the subject. \ \That, then, is the account \vhich science gi,-es of these · inl111ediate judgl11ents uf the senses' ? Has it anything to tell us about their nature, or the tnode of their operation? \ \'lthout doubt it has; and its teaching proyides a curious, and at first sight an eyen startling. cOll1n1entar) on the C0l1U110n- sense yersion of that philosophy of experience ,,-hose general character has just been indicated above. IOS 1'HE PHILOSOPHIC B.A.SIS OF NA TUR1\LISl\1 F'or \vhereas C0111111011-Sense tells us that our ex- perience of objects provides us \vith a kl1o\í\.ledge of their nature \í\ìhich, so far as it goes, is i111n1ediate and direct, science inforn1s us that each particular experience is itself but the final link in a long chain of causes and effects, \vhose beginning is lost an1id the con1plexities of the n1aterial \;vorJd, and ,\Those ending is a change of son1e sort in the ' 111ind ' of the percipient. It inforn1s us, further, that an10ng these innun1erable causes, the thing 'inllnediately experienced' is but one; and is, 111oreover, one separated fron1 the ' in1n1ediate experience' ".hich it modestly assists in producing by a very large nun1ber of intern1ediate causes \yhich are neyer experienced at all. Take, f r exan1ple, an ordinary case of ,.ision. v\That are the causes \vhich ultimately produce the apparently i111111ediate experience of (for exan1ple) a green tree standing in the next field? There are, first (to go no further back), the vibrations al110ng the particles of the source of light, say the sun. Conse- quent on then1 are the ethereal undulations bet".een the sun and the object seen, nalnely, the green tree. 1"hen follows the absorption of I110St of these undu- 1,ations by the object; the reflection of the 'green', residue; the incidence of a sl11all fraction of these on the lens of the eye; their arrangelnent on the retina ;. the stimulation of the optic ner\Te; and, finally, the molecular change in a certain tract of the cerebra\ hemispheres by \vhich, In son1e ,yay or other \yhol1y TIlE PI[ILOSOPHIC B.:\SIS OF i'L\TUR \LIS I 109 unkno\vn, through predispositions in part acq uired by the individual, but chietly inherited through coundess generati()n of ancestors, is produced the cUl11plex Il1ental fact \\ hich ,,-e describe by saying that' \\Yc haye an in1111ediate experience of a tree about fifty yards off.' 1\ 0\\'" the experience, the causes and conditions of ,,-hich I ha\-e. thus rudely outlined, is typical of all the experiences, \vithout exception, on \yhich is based our kno\vledge of the n1aterial uni \ycrse. Son1e of these experiences, no doubt. are incorrect. The 'e\yidence of the senses.' as the phrase goes, proves no\" and then to be fallacious. But it is proved to be fallacious by other e\-idence of precisely the san1e kind; and if ,,-e take the trouble to trace back far enough our reasons for belie\ying any scien- titìc truth \\ hate\yer, they ahvays end in son1e 'in1- l11ediate experience' or experiences of the type de- scribed abo\ e. But the con1parison thus inevitably suggested bet\\-een · inllnediate experiences' considered as the ultiIl1ate basis of all scientific belief, and in1l11ediate experience considered as an insignificant and, so to speak, casual product of natural Ia\vs, suggests some curious reflections. I do not allude to the difficulty of understanding ho\v a lnental effect can be pro- duced by a physical cause-ho\v n1atter can act on n1ind. The problen1 I \vish to d\\-ell on is of quite a different kind. I t is concerned, not \vith the nature of the la\ys by \yhich the \vodd is governed, but 110 'THE PI-fILOSOPHIC B.ASIS OF N \TURALISl\1: \vith their proof. I t arises, not out of the diffi- culty of feeling our ,yay slo\vly along the causal chain fronl physical antecedents to nlental conse- quents, but from the difficulty of harnlonising this ll10yenlent \vith the opposite one, \\Thereby \ye junlp by sonle instantaneous effort of inferential activity fronl these nlental consequents to an inlmediatè conviction as to the reality and character of sonle of their renloter physical antecedents. I anl 'expe- riencing' (to revert to our illustration) the tree in the next field. \ \Thile looking at it I begin to reflect upon the double process I have just described. I relnenlber the long -dra ""11 series of causes, physical and physiological, by \vhich tHY percep- tion of the object has been produced. I realise that each one of these causes n1ight have been replaced by SOI1le other cause \\yithout altering the character of the consequent perception; and that if it had been so replaced, 111Y judgnlent about the object, though it ,yould have been as confident and as inlnlediate as at present, ,yould have been \vrong. Anything, for instance, which "\vould distribute similar green rays on the retina of lHY eyes in the saine pattern as that produced by the tree, or any- thing \vhich ,vould produce a like irritation of the optic nerve or a like lllodification of the cerebral tissues, "\vould give tne an experience in itself quite indistinguishable froln lllY experience of the tree, although it has the unfortunate peculiarity of being wholly incorrect. The san1e l11essage \yould be THE II1IILOSOPHI(' IL\SIS OF XA\TUR.\LIS:\I III deli \?ered, in the saIne tenns and on the dIne au- thority, but it \yould be false. ..\ nd though \\"e are quite fanliliar \yith the fact that illusions are possible and that 111istakes \\9il1 occur in the silnplcst observa- tion, yet \\"e can hardly a,.oid being struck by the incongruity of a schenle of belief \\"hose preInises are \\"holly derived from \vitnesses adn1Ïtteclly untrust- \vorthy, yet \vhich is unclble to supply any criterion, other than the evidence of these \".itnesses thenl- sehTes. by \\.hich the character of their e\.idence can in any gi\-en case be detennined. The fact that e\gen the n10st inll11ediate experi- ences carry \vith thenl no inherent guarantee of their \?eracity is, ho\vever, by far the sll1alIest of the diffi- culties ,yhich enlerge fron1 a conlparison of the cdusal 1110venlent froll1 object to perception. \yith the cogni- ti\?e leap through perception to object. F or a ,.ery slight consideration of the teaching of science as to the nature of the first is sufficient to prove. not l11erely the possible. but the habi tual inaccuracy of the second. In other ,yards, \ve need only to consider carefully our perceptions regarded as psychological results, in order to see that, regarded as sources of infofInation, they are not merely occasionally inaccurate, but habitually ll1endacious. \ \T e are dealing. recollect, \vith a theory of science according to ,vhich the ultilnate stress of scientific proof is thro\\"n \yholly upon our Ín1111eJidte experience of objects. But nine-tenths of our in1111edÍate experiences of objects are yic;uaI; and all visual experiences, \vithout excep- 112 THE PHILOSOPHIC B \SIS OF N.ATUR \.LIS:\I tion, are, according to science, erroneous. As every- body kno\\ s, colour is not a property of the thing seen: it is a sensation produced in us by that thing. The thing itself consists of uncoloured particles, yhich beconle \Tisible solely in consequence of their po\ver of either producing or reflecting ethereal undulations. The degrees of brightness and the qualities of colour perceiyed in the thing, and in yirtue of \vhich alone any visual perception of the thing is possible, are, therefore, according to optics, no part of its reality, but are 111ere feelings produced in the mind of the percipient by the conlplex nl0yements of nlaterial nl01ecules, possessing nlass and extension, but to \\"hich it is not only incorrect but unmeaning to attribute either brightness or colour. F rOll1 the side of science these are truisnls. Froll1 the side of a theory or philosophy of science, ho\vever, they are paradoxes. I t was sufficiently embarrassing to discover that the message conyeyed to us by sensible experiences \vhich the observer treats as so direct and so certain are, \"hen con- sidered in transit, at one 1110n1ent nothing but vibrations of inlperceptible particles, at another nothing but periodic changes in an unin1aginable ether, at a third nothing but unkno\vn, and perhaps unkno able, nlodifications of nervous tissue; and that none of these various nlessengers carry \vi th them any \varrant that the judgment in -hich they finally issue -ill proye to be true. But what are we to say about these sanle experiences when \ve dis- THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF N.ATUR \LIS:\[ 113 cover, not only that they may be \\?holly false, but that they are never \vholly true? \Vhat sort of a system is that \vhich Inakes haste to discredit its o\vn premises? I n what entanglelnents of contra- diction do \ve not find ourselves involved by the attempt to rest science upon observations \\?hich science itself asserts to be erroneous? By \vhat possible title do \ve proclainl the same inlmediate experience to be right when it testifies to the inde- pendent reality of something solid and extended, and to be wrong when it testifies to the independent reality of s0111ething illuminated and coloured ? v There is, of course, an ans\ver to all this, simple enough if only it be true. The \vhole theory, it may be said, on \vhich \\re ha\"e been proceeding is un- tenable, the undigested product of crude common- sense. The bugbear \vhich frightens us is of our o\vn creation. \ \T e have no ill1111ediate expe- rience of independent things such as has been gratuitously supposed. \\That science tells us of the colour element in our visual perceptions, namely, that it is merely a feeling or sensation, is true of every element in every perception. \ \T e are directly cognisant of nothing but the mental results of cere- bral changes: all else is a matter of inference; a hypothesis, n10re or less \vell established, to account for the existence of the only realities of \vhich \ve I 114 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATUR.ALISM have first-hand experience-nalnely, the mental results themselves. N ow this theory does at first sight undoubtedly appear to harIllonise with the general teaching of science on the subject of mental physiology. This teaching, as ordinarily expounded, assumes through- out a Illaterial world of objects and a psychical world of feelings and ideas. The latter is in all cases the product of the forIller. In some cases it may be a copy or partial reflection of the fornler. I n no case is it identified with the former. \ Vhen, therefore, I am in the act of experiencing a tree in the next field, what on this theory I am really doing is inferring from the fact of my having certain feelings the existence of a cause having qualities adequate to produce them. I t is true that the process of inference is so rapid and habitual that we are unconscious of performing it. I t is also true that the inference is quite differently perforIlled by the natural Illan in his natural l110ments and the scientific man in his scientific moments. For, whereas the natural Illan infers the existence .of a Illaterial object which in all respects resembles his idea of it, the scientific man l no\vs very well that the material object only reseIllbles his ideas of it in .certain particulars-extension, solidity, and so forth -and that in respect of such attrIbutes as colour and illumination there is no reseIllblculce at all. N ever- theless, in all cases, whether there be resemblance between them or not, the l11aterial fact is a conclusion from the mental fact, with which last alone we can THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATURALIS I lIS be said to be, so to spedk, in any immediate empirical relation. As this theory regarding the sources of our kno\vledge of the material world fits in with the habitual language of mental physiology, so also it fits in \vith the first instincts of speculative analysis. I t is, I suppose, one of the earliest discoveries of the nletaphysically minded youth that he can, if he so \viIls it, change his point of view, and thereby suddenly convert what in ordinary moments seen1 the solid realities of this material universe, into an unending pageant of feelings and ideas, n10ving in long procession across his mental stage, and having fron1 the nature of the case no independent being before they appear, nor retaining any after they vanish. But ho\vever plausible be this correction of C0I111110n-sense, it has its difficulties. In the first place, it involves a complete divorce bet\\yeen the practice of science and its theory. I t is all very well to say that the scientific account of mental physiology in general, and of sense-perception in particular, requires us to hold that \vhat is in1nlediately ex- perienced are lnental facts, and that our knowledge of physical facts is but mediate nd inferential. Such a conclusion is quite out of harn10ny \vith its o\vn prenlises, since the propositions on \vhich, as a matter of historical verity, science is ultilnately founded are not propositions about states of n1ind, but about nlaterial things. The observations on \vhich are I 2 116 THE PHILOSOPHIC BA.SIS OF NATURALISl\f built, for example, our knowledge of anatonlY or our knowledge of chemistry were not, in the opinion of those who originally made them or have since con- firlned them, observations of their o\vn feelings, but of objects thought of as wholly independent of the observer. They may have been mistaken. Such observations may be inlpossible. B t, possible or ilnpossible, they were believed to have occurred, and on that belief depends the \vhole empirical evidence of science as scientific discoverers thenl- selves conceive it. The reader will, I hope, nderstand that I anl not here arguing that the theory of experience no\v under consideration, the theory, that is, which con- fines the field of immediate experience to our own states of mind, is inconsistent with science, or even that it supplies an inadequate empirical basis for SCIence. On these points I may have a word to say presently.. 1\1 y present contention simply is, that it is not experience thus It'Jldf'rstood \yhich has supplied men of science with their knowledge of the physical universe. They have never suspected that, while they supposed thenlselves to be perceiving independent material objects, their qualities and their behaviour, they were in reality perceiving quite another set of things, namely, feelings and sensations of a particular kind, grouped in particular ways, and succeeding each other in a particular order. Nor, if this idea had ever occurred to them, would they have rldmitted that these t\VO classes of things could by TI IE PIIILOSOPIIIC BASIS OF N_\TUR.\LIS I I I 7 any 111crely verbal manipulation be made the same. So that if this particular account of the nature of experience be accurate, the systen1 of thought repre- sented by science presents the singular spectacle of a creed ,yhich is believed in practice for one set of reasons, though in theory it can only be justified by another; and \vhich, through some beneficent acci- dent, turns out to be true, though its origin and each subsequent stage in its gradual development are the product of error and illusion. This is perplexing enough. Yet an even stronger statement \vould seen1 to be justified. \\T e must not only say that the experiences on \vhich science is founded have been invariably misinterpreted by those ,vho under\vent them, but that, if they had not been so n1isinterpreted, science as ,ve know it would never ha,ye existed. \Ve have not merely stumbled on the truth in spite of error and illusion, \vhich is odd, but because of error and illusion, which is even odder. F or if the scientific observers of Nature had realised from the beginning that all they \vere observ- ing \vas their o\vn feelings and ideas, as empirical idealisn1 and mental physiology alike require us to hold, they surely \vould never have taken the trouble to invent a Nature (i.e. an independently existing systen1 of material things) for no other purpose than to provide a machinery by ,vhich the occurrence of feelings and ideas might be adequately accounted for. To go through so n1uch to get so little, to be\vilder then1selves in the ever-increasing intricacies of this hypothetical \vheel-\vork, to pile ,,,"orld on lIS 1'HE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF :t\ATURALISI\1 world and add infinity to infinity, and all for no more important object than to find an explanation for a few fleeting impressions, say of colour or resist- ance, ,,-ould, indeed, have seemed to them a nlost superfluous labour. Nor is it possible to doubt that this task has been undertaken and partially accom- plished only because humanity has been, as for the most part it still is, under the belief not only that there exists a universe possessing the independ- ence which science and comn1on-sense alike postulate, but that it is a universe imnlediately, if imperfectly, revealed to us in the deliverances of sense-perception. YI \\T e can scarcely deny, then, though the paradox be hard of digestion, that, historically speaking, if the theory \ve are discussing be true, science owes its being to an erroneous view as to what kind of information it is that our experiences directly convey to us. But a much more in1portant question than the merely historical one remains behind, namely, whether, from the kind of information which our ex- periences do thus directly convey to us, anything at all resen1bling the scientific theory of Nature can be reasonably extracted. Can our revised conception of the material world really be inferred from our revised conception of the in1port and limits of experience? Can we by any possible treatment of sensations and feelings legitimately squeeze out of I I I THE PHILOSOPHIC B.\SIS OF N.ATURALIS I 119 them trust\vorthy kno\vledge of the pernlanent and independent material uni\Terse of \vhich, according to science, sensations and feelings are but transient and evanescent effects? I cannot imagine the process by which such a result may be attained, nor has it been satisfactorily eXplained to us by any apologist of the empirical theory of kno\vledge. \\T e may, no doubt, argue that sensations and feelings, like everything else, must have a cause; that the hypothesis of a material \vorld suggests such a cause in a form \vhich is agreeable to our natural beliefs; and that it is a hypothesis we are justified in adopting when ,,-e find that it enables us to anticipate the order and character of that stream of perceptions \vhich it is called into existence to ex- plain. But this is a line of argument vvhich real1y \vill not bear exatnination. E ",ery one of the three propositions of \vhich it consists is, if \ve are to go back to fundamental principles, either disputable or erroneous. The principle of causation cannot be extracted out of a succession of individual experiences, as is implied by the first. The \vorld described by science is not congruous \vith our natural beliefs, as is alleged by the second. N or can \\-e legitimately reason back from effect to cause in the manner required by the third. A very brief comment \viII, I think, be sufficient to make this clear, and I proceed to offer it on each of the three propositions, taking them, for convenience, in the reverse order, and beginning, therefore, \vith 120 THE PHILOSOPHIC B.ASIS OF K..\.TURALISM the third. This in effect declares that as the material world described by science would, if it existed, produce sensations and impressions in the very manner in which our experiences assure us that they actually occur, we Inay assume that such a world exists. But Ina)"" \\ye? Even supposing that there was this conlplete correspondence between theory and fact, which is far, unfortunately, from being at present the case, are we justified in 11laking so bold a logical leap frolll the known to the unknown? I doubt it. Recollect that by hypothesis we are strictly imprisoned, so far as direct experiences are concerned, within the circle 'of sensations or im- pressions. I t is in this self-centred universe alone, therefore, that we can collect the premises of further knowledge. How can it possibly supply us with any principles of selection by which to decide between the various kinds of cause that may, for anything we know to the contrary, have had a hand in its production? N one of these kinds of cause are open to observation. All must, from the nature of the case, be purely conjectural. Because, therefore, we happen to have thought of one which, with a little goodwill, can be forced into a rude correspon- dence \vith the observed facts, shall we, oblivious of the million possible explanations which a superior intelligence might be able to devise, proceed to decorate our particular fancy ,vith the title of the , Real '.IV orld '? If we do so, it is not, as the candid reader will be prepared to admit, because such a FfRE PI-IILOSOPl[IC BASIS OF I\ \TUR.\LIS I 121 conclusion is justified by such pren1ises, but because we are predisl )osed to a conclusion of this kind by those instinctive beliefs \vhich, in unreflective mon1ents, the philosopher shares \vith the savage. In such n10ments all n1en conceive themselves (by hypothesis erroneously) as having direct experiences of an independent n1aterial universe. \Vhen, there- fore, science, or philosophers on behalf of science, proceed to infer such a universe fronl inlpressions of extension, resistance, and so forth, they find them- selves, so far, in an unnatural and quite illegitimate alliance \vith COlnn10n-sense. By procedures which are different, and essentially inconsistent, the t\VO parties have found it possible to reach results \vhich dt first sight look very n1uch the same. I nlmediate intuitions \\?rongly interpreted come to the did of mediate inferences illegitin1ately constructed; \ve find ourselves quite prepared to accept the con- . elusions of bad reasoning, because they have a partial though, as I shall no\v proceed to sho\y, an illusory resenlblance to the deliverances of uncriti- cised experience. This, it \vill be observed, is the subject dealt \vith in the second of the three propositions on \vhich I an1 engaged in conlmenting. I t alleges that the world described by science is congruous \vith our natural beliefs; a thesis not ,.ery in1portant in itself, which I only dwell on now because it affords a .con,.enient text fron1 \yhich to preach the great oddity of the creed \yhich science requires us to 122 THE PHILOSOPHIC B.ASIS OF N".i\.TUR1\LIS 1 adopt respecting the world in which we live. This creed is evidently in its origin an anlendment or modification of the natural or instinctive view of things, a compromise to \vhich we are no doubt compelled by considerations of conclusive force, but a compromise, nevertheless, which, if we dill not know it to be true, we should certainly find it difficult not to abandon as absurd. F or, consider what kind of a world it is in which we are asked to belie\ye-a world \vhich, so far as most people are concerned, can only be at all adequately conceived in ternlS of the visual sense, but which in its true reality possesses neither of the qualities characteristically associated with the visual sense, namely, illumination and col.our. A \vorld "\vhich is half like our ideas of it and half unlike them. Like our ideas of it, that is to say, so far as the so- called prinlary qualities of matter, such as extension and solidity, are concerned; unlike our ideas of it so far as the so-called secondary qualities, such as warmth and colour, are concerned. A hybrid world, a world of inconsistencies and strange anonlalies. A world one-half of \vhich may commend itself to the empirical philosopher, and the other half of which may commend itself to the plain man, but which as a whole can comnlend itself to neither. A world which is rejected by the first because it arbitrarily selects what he regards as modes of sensation, and hypostatises them into permanent realities; while it is scarcely intelligible to the THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF X.ATURALIS I 123 second, because it takes \vhat he regards as per- manent realities, and c\"aporates then1 into modes of sensation. A world, in short, \vhich seen1S to harmonise neither with the conclusions of critical empiricism nor \vith the' unmistakable evidence of the senses' ; \vhich outrages the \vhole psychology of the one, and is in direct contradiction \vith the other. So far as the leading philosophic empiricists are concerned-and it is only \vith them that \ve need deal-the result of these difficulties has been extra- ordinary. Thèy ha''"e found it impossible to s\vallow this strange universe, consisting partly of lnicrocosms furnished with impressions and ideas \vhich, as such, are of course transient and essentiaI1y 111ental, partly of a macrocosm furnished \vith n1ateriaI objects whose qualities exactly resen1ble impressions and ideas, with the embarrassing excep tion that they are neither transient nor mental. They have, therefore, been con1pelled by one c1e,"ice or another to sweep the n1acrocosnl as cOllcez.zJed by science altogether out of existence. In the nan1e of experience itself they have destroyed that which professes to be experience systematised. And \ve are presented \vith the singu!:lr spectacle of thinkers \vhose claim to our consideration largely consists in their uncompronlising empiricism playing unconscious havoc with the most solid results \vhich empirical ll1ethods have hitherto attained. I say ( unconscious' havoc, because, no doubt, the 124 'fI--IE PHILOSOPHIC B \SIS OF N \.'rUR \.LIS l truth of this indictn1ent \\.ould not be adlnitted by the ll1ajority of those against wholl1 it is directed. Yet there can, I think, be no real question as to its truth. In the case of H ume it will hardly be denied; and Hume, perhaps, would hin1self have been the last to deny it. But in the case of John l\lill, of Mr. Herbert Spencer,! and of Professor Huxley, it is an allegation which \vould certainly be repudiated, though the evidence for it seems to me to lie upon the surface of their speculations. The allegation, be it observed, is this-that while each of these thinkers has recognised the necessity for some independent reality in relation to the ever-moving stream of sensations \vhich constitute our imn1ediate experi- ences, each of then1 has rejected the independent reality which is postulated and eXplained by science, and each of them has substituted for it a private reality of his own. Where the physicist, for example, assumes actual atoms and 1110tions and forces, l\lill saw nothing but permanent pos- sibilities of sensation, and IVlr. Spencer knows nothing but 'the unknowable.' \Vithout discussing the place which such entities may properly occupy in the general scheme of things, I content ll1yself with observing, what I have elsewhere endeavoured 1 It is probably accurate to describe :\lr. Spencer as an empiricist; though he has added to the accustomed first principles of en1piricisn1 certain doctrines of his own which, while they do not strengthen his systeln, Inake it son1ewhat difficult to classify. The reader interested in such matters will find most of the releyant points discussed in Philo- soþhic Doubt, chaps. viii., ix., x. TI-IE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF N".:\TURALIS r 125 to dcrnonstrate c:lt length, that they cannot occupy the place no\v fillcd by rnaterial Nature as cunceived by science. That \vhich is a 'pern1anent possibility,' but is nothing 1110re, is pern1anent only in nan1e. It represents no enduring reality, nothing \vhich persists, nothing which has any being save during the brief inter\Tals ,,,hen, ceasing to be a n1ere 'possibility,' it blossoms into the actuality of sensation. Before sen- tient beings were, it was not. \Vhen they cease to exist, it will vanish a\vay. If they change the cha- racter of their sensibility, it \vill syn1pathetically vary its nature. Ho\v unfit is this unsubstantial shado\v of a phrase to take the place no\v occupied by that material universe, of \vhich \ve are but fleeting acci dents, \vhose attributes are for the most part absolutely independent of us, \vhose duration is incalculable! A different but not a less conclusive criticism may be passed on l\lr. Spencer's 'unknowable.' F or anything I am here prepared to allege to the contrary, this may be real enough; but, unfortu- nately, it has not the kind of reality irnperatively required by science. I t is not in space. I t is not in tin1e. I t possesses neither mass nor extension; nor is it capable of motion. I ts very i1dn1e in1plies that it eludes the grasp of thought, and cannot be caught UlJ into formulæ. \\Thatever purpose, there- fore, such an 'object' may subser\"e in the uni\Terse of things, it is as useless as a ' pern1anent possibility' itself to provide subject-Inatter for scientific treat- n1ent. If these be all that truly exist outside the 126 rrHE PHILOSOPHIC Bl\SIS OF N.A.'rURALISl\I circle of impressions and ideas, then is all science turned to foolishness, and evolution stands confessed as a n1ere figment of the imagination. l\lan, or rather 'I,' become not merely the centre of the world, but aNt the world. Beyond me and my ideas there is either nothing, or nothing that can be kno\vn. The problems about which we disquiet ourselves in vain, the origin of things and the modes of their development, the inner constitution of matter and its relations to mind, are questionings about nothing, interrogatories shouted into the void. The baseless fabric of the sciences, like the great globe itself, dissolves at the touch of theories like these, leaving not a wrack behind. N or does there seem to be any course open to the consistent agnostic, were such a being possible, than to contemplate in patience the long procession of his sensations, \vithout dis- turbing himself with futile inquiries into what, if anything, n1ay lie beyond. VII There remains but one problem further with which I need trouble the readers of this chapter. It is that raised by the only remaining proposition of the three \vith which I promised just now to deal. This asserts, it may be recollected, that the principle of causation and, by parity of reasoning, any other universal principle of sense-interpretation, may by some process of logical alchemy be extracted, not "THE PIIILOSOPI-IIC B.\SIS OF X..\TUR..\LIS I 127 nlerely froIn experience in general, 1 but even froln the experience of Ll singlc individual. But \vho, it n1ay be asked, is unreasonable enough to denland that it should be extracted fronl the ex- perience of a single individual? \ Vhat is there in the enlpirical theory v'''hich requires us to Ï1npose so arbitrary a lin1itation upon the sourCes of our kno\v- ledge? I lave \ve not behind us the whole experience of the race? Is it to count for nothing that for numberless generations lllankind has been scrutinis- ing the face of N" ature, and storing up for our guidance i nnunlcrable observations of the la\vs ,vhich she obeys? Yes, I reply, it is to count for nothing; and for a nlost sill1ple reason. In nlaking this appeal to the testimony of n1ankind \vith regard to the \vorld in \vhich they live, we take for granted that there is such a ,vorld, that nlankind has had experiences of it, and that, so far as is necessary for our purpose, \ve kno\y \vhat those experiences have been. But by what right do \\le take those things for granted? They are not axioll1atic or intuitive truths; they ll1ust be proved by something; and that sOl1lething Blust, on the empirical theory, be in the last resort experience, and experience alone. But \vhose eÀperience? Plainly it cannot be general eÀperience, for that is the yery thing \vhose reality has to be established, dnd ".hose character is in question. It 111ust, therefore, in every case and for each individual nlan be his o\vn personal experience. 1 See PhilosoþhÙ- Doubt ch. i. 128 THE PHILOSOPHIC B...\SIS OF N.ATURALIS1f This, and only this, can supply him with evidence for those fundan1ental beliefs, \vithout \vhose guidance it is impossible for him either to reconstruct the past or to anticipate the future. Consider, for exam pIe, the law of causation; one, but by no n1eans the only one, of those general principles of interpretation which, as I am con- tending, are presupposed in any appeal to general experience, and cannot, therefore, be proved by it. If we endeavour to analyse the reasoning by which we arrive at the conviction that any particular eyent or any number of particular events have occurred outside the narro\v ring of our o\vn immediate per- ceptions, \ve shall find that not a step of this process can we take without assun1ing that the course of Nature is uniform 1; or, if not absolutely uniforn1, at least sufficiently unifornl to allow us to argue \vith tolerable security fron1 effects to causes, or, if need be, from causes to effects, over great intervals of time and space. The \vhole of what is called historical evidence is, in its n10st essential parts, nothing n10re than an argulnent or series of arguments of this kind. The fact that n1ankind have given their testinlony to the general uniformity of Nature, or, indeed, to anything else, can be established by the aid of that principle itself, and by it alone; so 1 The reader will find some observations on the n1eaning of the phrase, 'U niforn1ity of Nature,' in the last chapter of this Essay. In this chapter I have assun1ed (following empirical usage) that the Uniformity of Nature and the Law of Causation are different expres- sions for the saIne thing. THE PI-IILOSOPIIIC 114\SI8 OF NATURALIS I 129 that if \ve abandon it, \ve are in a n10111ent deprived of all logicdl dccess to the outer world, of all cogni- sance of other n1inds, of aII usufruct of their accumulated kno\vledge, of al1 share in the in- tellectual heritage of the race. \ Vhile if we cling to it (as, to be sure, we n1USt. \vhether we like it or not), we can do so only on condition that we forego every endeavour to prove it by the aid of general experience; for such a procedure would be nothing less than to compel what is intended to be the con- clusion of Ollr argun1ent to figure also alTIOng the lTIOst important of its pren1ises. The problem, therefore. is reduced to this: Can we find in our personal experience ddequate evidence of a law ,vhich, like the law of Causation, does, by the very terms in which it is stated, claiI11 universal jurisdiction, as of right, to the utmost verge both of time and space. And surely, to enunciate such a_ question is to suggest the inevitable answer. The sequences fdmiliar to us in the petty round of daily life, the accuston1ed recurrence of something re- sembling a former consequent, fol1o\,-ing on the heels of something resembling a forn1er antecedent, are sufficient to generate the expectations and the habits by \vhich we endeavour, \vith \vhat success \ve may, to accomn10date our beha,-iour to the unyielding require- ments of the world around us. But to throw upon experiences such as these 1 the whole burden of 1 At least in the absence of any transcendental interpretation of thern. See next chapter. K 13 0 THE PHILOSOPHIC B.A.SIS OF NATURALISl\I fixing our opinions as to the constitution of the uni verse is quite absurd. I t would be absurd in any case. It \vould be absurd even if all the phenomena of which \ve have immediate knowledge succeeded each other according to some obvious and undeviating order; for the contrast between this Inicroscopic range of observation and the gigantic induction which it is sought to rest thereon, would rob the argument of all plausibility. But it is doubly and trebly absurd when we reflect on what our experiences really are. So far are they from indicating, when taken strictly by themselves, the existence of a world where all things small and great follow with the most exquisite regularity and the most minute obedience the bidding of unchanging la\v, that they indicate precisely the reverse. In certain regions of experience, no doubt, orderly sequence appears to be the rule: day alternates with night, and summer follows upon spring; the sun moves through the zodiac, and unsupported bodies fall usually, though, to be sure, not always, to the ground. Even of such elementary astronomical and physical facts, however, it could hardly be main- tdined that any man would have a right, on the strength of his personal observation alone, confidently to assert their undeviating regularity. But when we come to the more cOlnplex phenomena with which we have to deal, the plain lesson taught by personal observation is not the regularity, but the irregularity, of Nature. A kind of ineffectual attempt at THE PHILOSOPIIIC BASIS OF Ni\TURALIS:\[ 13 1 unifonnity, no doubt, is conul1on]y apparent, as of an ill-constructed machine that \vill run smoothly for él tin1e, and then for no appclrent reclson begin to jerk and quiver; or of a drunken man who, though he succeeds in keeping to the high-road, yet pursues along it a most \vavering and devious course. But of that perfect adjustment, that clIl-penetrating go\.ernance by la\v, which lies at the root of scientific inference \ve find not a trace. In ll1any cases sensa- tion follows sensation, and event hurries after event, to all appearances absolutely at randoll1 : no observed order of succession is ever repeated, nor is it pretended that there is any direct causal connection bet\veen the men1bers of the series as they appear one after the other in the consciousness of the individual. But even \vhen these conditions are re\.ersed, perfect uniformity is ne\Ter observed. 'fhe n10st careful series of experin1ents carried out by the most accomplished investigators neyer show identical results; and as for the general mass of Indnkind, so far are they from finding, either in their personal experiences or elsewhere, any sufficient reason for accepting in its perfected form the principle of Universal Causation, that, as a matter of fact, this doctrine has been s!èadily ignored by them up to the present hour. This apparent irregularity of Nature, obvious enough \vhen \ve turn our attention to it, escapes our habitual notice, of course, because \ve invariably attribute the \vant of observed uniformity to the K2 132 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATURALISM errors of the observer. And without doubt we do well. But what does this imply? I t implies that we bring to the interpretation of our sense-percep- tion the principle of causation ready made. It implies that we do not believe the world to be governed by immutable law because our experiences appear to be regular; but that we believe that our experiences, in spite of their apparent irregularity, follow some (perhaps) unknown rule because we first believe the world to be governed by immutable law. But this is as much as to say that the principle is not proved by experience, but that experience is understood in the light of the principle. Here, again, empiricism fails us. As in the case of our judgments about particular matters of fact, so also in the case of these other judgments, whose scope is co-extensive with the whole realm of Nature, we find that any endeavour to formulate a rational justification for them based on experience alone breaks down, and, to alJ appearance, breaks down hopelessly. VIII But even if this reasoning be sound, may the reader exclaim, What is it that we gain by it? What harvest are we likely to reap from such broadcast sowing of scepticism as this? What does it profit us to show that a great many truths which every- body believes, and which no abstract speculations will induce us to doubt, are still waiting for a philo- TI-IE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATUR \LIS I 133 sophic proof? Fair que tions, it must be admitted; questions, nevertheless, to \vhich I 01ust reserve my full ans\\-er until a later stage of our inquiry. Yet even no\\" soolething Inay be said, by \vay of con- clusion to this chapter, on the relation which these criticisI11s bear to the scheme of thought whose practical consequences we traced out in the first part of these Notes. I begin by admitting that the criticisms thenl- selves are, frool the nature of the case, incomplete. They contain but the concise and even meagre outline of an argunlent \\-hich is itself but a portion only of the ,,-hòle case. F or "'ant of space, or to avoid unsuitable technicalities, much ha..1:) been omitted \vhich \vould ha"e been releyant to the issues raised, and have still further strengthened the position \vhich has been taken up. Yet, though more might have been said, ",-hat has been said is, in my opinion, sufficient; and I shall, therefore, not " scruple henceforth to aSSUIne that a purely eOlpirical theory of things, a philosophy \\-hich depends for its preI1lises in the last resort upon the particulars revealed to us in perceptive experience alone, is one that cannot rationally be accepted. Is this conclusion, then, ad\'erse to Naturalism? And, if so, nlust it not tell \vith equdl force against Science, seeing that it is solely against that part of the naturalistic teclching \,'hich is taken o\'"er bodily from Science that it appears to be directed? Of these t\VO questions, I ans\ver the first in the affirm- 134 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATUR.ALISl'vI ative, the second in the negative. Doubtless, if empiricisnl be shattered, it must drag down natural- ism in its fall; for, after all, naturalism is nothing more than the assertion that empirical methods are valid, and that no others are so. But because any effectual criticism of empiricism is the destruction of naturalism, is it therefore the destruction of science also? Surely not. The adherent of naturalisnl is an empiricist from necessity; the man of science, if he be an empiricist, is so only from choice. The latter may, if he please, have no philosophy at all, or he may have a different one. He is not obliged, any more than other men, to justify his conclusions by an appeal to first principles; still less is he obliged to take his first principles from so poor a creed as the one we have been discussing. Science preceded the theory of science, and is independent of it. Science preceded naturalism, and will survive it. Though the convictions involved in our practical conceptio of the universe are not beyond the reach of theoretic doubts, though we habitually stake our all upon assumptions which we never attempt to justify, and which we could not justify if we would, yet is our scientific certitude unshaken; and if we stiJl strive after some solution of our sceptical difficulties, it is because this is necessary for the satisfaction of an intellectual ideal, not because it is required to fortify our confidence either in the familiar teachings of experience or in their utmost scientific expansion. And hence arises nlY principal complaint against TtlE PHILOSOPHIC B \SJS ùF NATUR \LIS I 135 naturaIisn1. \Vith Elnpirical philosophy, considered tS a tentative contribution to the theory of cience, I have no desire to pick a quarrel. That it should fail is nothing. Other philosophies have failed. Such is, after all. the common lot. That it should have been contri\'ed to justify conclusions already accepted is, if a fault åt aII-\vhich I doubt- .at least a most venial one, and one, n10reover, which it has committed in the best of philosophic company. That it should derive S0l11e moùerate degree of imputed credit from the universal dcceptance of the scientific beliefs which it couIltersigns, may be borne \vith, though for the real interests of speculative inquiry this has been, I think, a misfortune. But that it should develop into naturalislTI, and then, on the strength of labours \vhich it has not endured, of victories ,vhich it has not ,von, and of scientific triulnphs in \vhich it has no right to share, presume, in despite of its speculative insufficiency, to dictate terms of surrender to every other system of belief. is altogether intolerable. \\Tho ,vould pay the slightest attention to naturalisn1 if it did not force itself into the retinue of science, assun1e her livery. and claim, as a kind of poor relation, in some sort to represent her authority and to speak \\'ith her voice? Of itself it is nothing. I t neither n1inisters to the needs of n1ankind, nor dues it satisfy their reason. And if, in spite of this. its influence has increased, is increasing. and as yet sho\vs no signs of din1inution ; if more and more the educated and the half-educated 136 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OF NATURALISl\I are acquiescing in its pretensions and, however reluctantly, subnlitting to its domination, this is, at least in part, because they have not learned to distinguish between the practical and inevitable claims which experience has on their. allegiance, and the speculative but quite illusory title by which the empirical school have endeavoured to associate naturalism and science in a kind of joint supremacy over the thoughts and consciences of mankind. I"" JI CHAPTER I I IDEALIS I; AFTER SO:\JE REl'EXT EKGLISII \YRITINGS t I THE difficulties in the \vay of an empirical philosophy of science, ,,,ith \vhich \ye dealt in the last chapter, largcly arise from the conflict \\Thich exists behveen hvo parts of a systeln, the scientific half of \vhich requires us to I The reader who has no familiarity with philosophic literature is ad, ised to on1Ït this chapter. The philosophic reader will, I hope, regard it as provisional. Transcendental Idealisn1 is, if I mistake not, at this moment in rather a singular position in this country. In the land of its birth (as I am infon11ed) it is but little considered. In English-speaking countries it is, within the narrow circle of professed philosophers, perhaps the don1inant 11100d of thought; while without that circle it is not so much objected to as totally ignored. This anomalous state of things is no doubt due in part to the inherent difficulty of the subject; but even n10re, I think, to the fact that the energy of English Idealists has been consmned rather in the production of con1mentaries on other people's systems than in expositions of their own. The result of this is that we do not quite know where we are, that we are ITIOre or less in a condition of expectancy, and that both learners and critics are placed at a disadvantage. Pending the appearance of some original work which shall represent the con- structive views of the younger school oi thinkers, I ha,-e written the following chapter, with reference chiefly to the writings of the late l\lr. T. H. Green, which at present contain the most in1portant ex- position, so far as I kno\\, of this phase of English thought. l\Ir. Bradley's noteworthy work. Aþþcarallce 11lld Realit)', published some time after this chapter was finished, is written with characteristic independence; but I know not whether it has yet con1manded any large measure of assent fr0111 the few who are competent to pronounce a '-erdict upon its merits. 13 8 IDE...\LIS1\I regard experience as an effect of an external and in- dependent \vorld, \yhile the philosophic or epistemological half offers this same experience to us as the sole ground- work and logical foundation on \vhich any kno\vledge whatever of an external and independent \vorld may be rationally based. These difficulties and the argu- ments founded on them require to be urged, in the first instance, in opposition to those who explicitly hold \vhat I have called the' naturalistic' creed; and then to that general body of educated opinion \vhich, though reluctant to con- tract its beliefs \vithin the narro\v circuit of' naturalism,' yet habitually assumes that there is presented to us in science a body of opinion, certified by reason, solid, certain, and impregnable, to \vhich theology adds, as an edifying supplement, a certain number of dogmas, of \vhich the well-disposed assimilate as many, but only as many, as their superior allegiance to ' positive' knowledge will permit them to digest. These t\VO classes, ho\vever, by no means exhaust the kinds of opinion \ lÎth \vhich it is necessary to deal. And in particular there is a metaphysical school, fe\v indeed in numbers, but none the less important in matters specula- tive, whose general position is \vholly distinct and indepen- dent; who \vould. indeed, not perhaps very \videly, dissent from the negative conclusions already reached, but \vho have their o\vn positive solution of the problem of the universe. In their opinion, all the embarrassments which may be shown to attend on the empirical philosophy are due to the fact that empirical philosophers \vholly mis- understand the essential nature of that experience on \vhich they profess to found their beliefs. The theory of perception evolyed out of Locke, by Berkeley and H ume, which may be traced without radical modification through their modern successors, is, according to the school of which I speak, at the root of all the mischief. Of this theory they make short \vork. They press to the utmost the sceptical consequences to which it inevitably leads. II)E..\LIS 1 139 They sho\v, or profess to sho\v, that it renders not only cientific kno\\'ledge, but any kno\vledge \vhatever, impos- sible; and they offer as a substitute a theory of experience, very remote indeed from ordinary modes of expression, by \vhich these consequences may, in their judgment, be entirely avoided. The dimensions and character of these otes render it impossible, even were I adequately equipped for the task, to deal fully \vith so formidable a subject as TRAKSCEN- DENTAL IlJEALISI\I, either in its historical or its meta- physical aspect. Remote though it be from ordinary modes of thought, some brief discussion of the theory ,,-ith \vhich, in some recent English \vorks, it supplies us con- cerning N" ature and God is, ho\vever, absolutely necessary; and I therefore here present the follo\ving observations to the philosophic reader \vith apologies for their brevity, and to the unphilosophic reader \vith apologies for their length. From \vhat I have already said it is clear that the theory to \vhich Transcendental Idealism may be, from our point of vie\v, considered as a reply, is not the theory of experience \vhich is taken for granted in ordinary scientific statement, but the closely allied 'psychological theory of perception' evolved by thinkers usually classed rather as philosophers than as Inen of science. The differ- ence is not \vholly immaterial, as \vill appear in the sequel. \Vhat, then) is this' psychological theory of perception' ? Or, rather, \\There is the \veak point in it at \\'hich it is open to attack by the transcendental idealists? It lies in the account given by that theory of the real According to this account the' real' in exterJ1al experience, that \vhich, because it is not due to any mental manipulation by the percipient, such as abstraction or comparison, may be considered as the experienced fact, is, in ultimate analysis, either a sensation or a group of sensations. These sen- sations and groups of sensations are subjected in the rnind to a process of analysis and comparison. Discrimination is Inade between those \\Thich are unlike. Those \vhich have 14 0 If)EALIS I points of resemblance are called by a common name. The sequences and co-existences \vhich obtain among them are noted; the la\vs by \vhich they are bound together are discovered; and the order in \\Thich they may be expected to recur is foreseen and understood. N O\V, say the idealists, if everything of which external reality can be predicated is thus either a sensation or the idea of a sensation, if these and these only are' given' in experience, everything else, including relations, being mere fictions of the mind, \ve are reduced to the absurd position of holding that the real is not only unknown, but is also unknowable. For a brief examination of the nature of experience is sufficient to prove that an unrelated' thing' (be that' thing' a sensation or a group of sensations), \vhich is not qualified by its resemblance to other things, its differ- ence from other things, and its connection with other things, is really, so far as \ve are concerned, no' thing' at all. It is not an object of possible experience; its true character nlust be for ever hid from us; or, rather, as character consists simply in relations, it has no character, nor can it form part of that intelligible world \vith \vhich alone we haye to deal. Ideas of relation are, therefore, required to convert the supposed 'real' of external experience into something of which experience can take note. But such ideas them- selves arc unintelligible, except as the results of the intel- lectual activity of some 'Self J or 'I.' They must be somebody's thought, somebody' ideas; if only for the purpose of mutual cOlnparison, there must be some bond of union between them other than themselves. Here again, therefore, the psychological analysis of experience breaks do\vn, and it becol11es plain that just as the real in external experience is real only in virtue of an intellectual element. namely, ideas of relation (categories), through \'Thich it \vas apprehended, so in internal experience ideas and sensations presuppose the existence of an 'I,' or self- conscious unity, \vhich is neither sensation nor idea, which I I) EAT .JS I LfI ought not, therefore, on the psychological theory to be con- sidered as having any claim to reality at all, but \vhich, nevertheless, is presupposed in the very possibility of phenomena appearing as clements in a single experience. \Ve are thus apparently left by the idealist theory face to face ,,,ith a mind (thinking subject) \vhich is the source of relations (categories), and a \\"orId \vhich is constituted by relations: ,vith a mind \vhich is conscious of itself, and a \vorId of \vhich that mind may \vithout metaphor be described as the creator. \Ve have, in short, reached the central posi- tion of transcendental idealism. But before \ve proceed to subject the system to any critical observations, let us ask \\That it is \ve are supposed to gain by endeavouring thus to retllÙzk the universe froITI so unaccustomed a point of view. In the first place, then, it is claimed for this theory that it frees us from the scepticism \\"hich, in matters scientific as \vell as in matters theological, folIo\vs inevitably upon the psychological doctrine of perception a:-; just eXplained: a scepticism which not only leaves no room for God and the soul, but destroys the very possibility of framing any general proposition about the' external' \vorld, by destroy- ing the possibility of there being any \vorId, , external J or other\vise, in \vhich permanent relation shall exist. In the second place, it makes Reason no mere accidental excrescence on a universe of material objects; an element to be added to, or subtracted from, the sum of' things' as the blind shock of unthinking causes may decide. Rather does it make Reason the very essence of all that is or can be : the (immanent) cause of the ,,'orId-process; its origin and its goal. I n the third place, it professes to establish on a firm foundation the moral freedom of self-conscious agents. That' Self' \vhich is the prior condition of there being a natural \vorId cannot be the creature of that \vorId. It stands above and beyond the sphere of causes and effects; it is no mere object among other objects, driven along its 14 2 1 DE1\LIS:ðI predestined course by external forces in obedience to alien laws. On the contrary. it is a free, autonomous Spirit, not only bound, but able, to fulfil the moral cOlnmands \vhich are but the expression of its o\vn most essential being. II I am reluctant to suggest objections to any theory \vhich promises results so admirable. Yet I cannot think that all the difficulties \vith \vhich it is surrounded have been fairly faced, or, at any rate, fully explained, by those who accept its main principles. Consider, for exam pIe, the crucial question of the analysis which reduces all experience to an experience of relations, or, in Inore technical language, \\rhich constitutes the universe out of categories. \Ve may grant \vithout difficulty that the contrasted theory, \vhich proposes to reduce the universe to an unrelated chaos of impressions or sensations, is quite untenable. But must \ve not also grant that in all ex- perience there is a refractory element which, though it cannot be presented in isolation, nevertheless refuses wholly to Inerge its being in a network of relations, necessary as these may be to give it 'significance for us as thinking beings' ? If so, whence does this irreducible elelnent arise? The mind, \ve are told, is the source of relation. \ \That is the source of that which is related? A 'thing-in-itself' \vhich, by impressing the percipient mind, shall furnish the' matter' for which categories provide the 'form,' is a \va y out of the difficulty (if difficulty there be) which raises more doubts than it solves. The follo\vers of Kant themselves make haste to point out that this hypo- thetical cause of that \vhich is ' given' in experience cannot, since ex ll)potlzesi it lies beyond experience, be kno\vn as a cause, or even as existing. Nay, it is not so much unknown and unkno\\Table as indescribable and unintelli- gible; not so much a riddle \vhose meaning is obscure as mere absence and vacuity of any meaning \vhatever. Accordingly, frol11 the speculations with which \ve are I DEAl .JS1\I 143 here concerned it has been dismissed \vith ignominy, and it need not, therefore, detain us further. But \ve do not get rid of the difficulty by getting rid of Kant's solution of it. I lis dictum still seems to me to remain true, that '\vithout lnatter categories are empty.' And, indeed, it is hard to see ho\\' it is possible to conceive a universe in \vhich relations shall be all in all, but in \vhich nothing is to be permitted for the relations to subsist bet\veen. Relations surely imply a something which is related, and if that something is, in the absence of relations, 'nothing for us as thinking beings,' so relations in the absence of that something are mere symbols emptied of their signification; they are, in short, an 'illegitimate abstraction.' Those, moreover, \"ho hold that these all-constituting relations are the 'work of the mind' \vould seeln bound also to hold that this concrete ,,"orld of ours, do\vn to its minutest detail, must evolve itself a priori out of the movement of' pure thought.: There is no room in it for the' contingent' ; there is no room in it for the' given' ; experience itself \vould seem to be a superfluity. And \ve are at a loss, therefore, to understand ,,"h y that dialectical process ".hich moves, I "'ill not say so convincingly, but at least so smoothly, through the abstract categories of 'being,' 'not-being,' 'becoming,' and so forth, should stumble and hesitate \",hen it comes to deal \vith that ,vorld of N" ature \vhich is, after all, one of the principal subjects about \vhich \ve desire informa- tion. No explanation \vhich I remember to have seen tnakes it other\vise than strange that \ve should, as the idealists claim, be able so thoroubhly to identify ourselves \\rith those thoughts of God ,,"hich are the necessary pre- liminary to creation, but should so little understand creation itself; that we should out of our unaided mental resources be competent to reproduce the ,,-hole ground- plan of the universe, and should yet lose ourselves so hopelessly in the humblest of its ante-rooms. 144 IDE..:\LIS1i This difficulty at once requires us to ask on what ground it is alleged that these constitutive relations are the' \vork of the mind.' It is true, no doubt, that ordinary usage would describe as mental products the more abstract thoughts (categories), such, for example, as ' being,' , not- being,' 'causation,' 'reciprocity,' &c. But it must be recollected, in the first place, that transcendental idealism does not, as a rule, derive its inspiration from ordinary usage; and in the second place, that even ordinary usage alters its procedure \vhen it comes to such more con- crete cases of relation as, for instance, 'shape' and position,' \vhich, rightly or \vrongly, are always considered as belonging to the 'external' \vorId, and presented by the external \vorId to thought, not created by thought for i tsel f. Are the transcendental idealists, then, bound by their o\vn most essential principles, in opposition both to their arguments against Kant's 'thing-in-itself' and to the ordinary beliefs of mankind, .to invest the thinking 'self' with this attribute of causal or quasi-causal activity? It certainly appears to me that they are not. Starting, it will be recollected, froln the analysis (criticism) of experience, they arrived at the conclusion that the \vorId of objects exists and has a lneaning only for the self-conscious ' I ' (subject), and that the self-conscious' I ' only kno\vs itself in contrast and in opposition to the worId of objects. Each is necessary to the other; in the absence of the other neither has any significance. How, then, can \ve venture to say of one that the other is its product? and if we say it of either, must \ve not in consistency insist on saying it of both? Thus, though the presence of a self-conscious prin- ciple may be necessary to constitute the universe, it cannot be considered as the creator of that universe; or if it be, then must \ve ackno\vledge that precisely in the same way and precisely to the same extent is the universe the creator of the self-conscious principle. All, therefore, that the transcendental argument requires InE \LIS r 145 or even allo\vs us to accept, is a 'manifold' of relations on the one side, and a bare self-conscious principle of unity on the other, by \vhich that manifold becomes inter- connected in the' field of a single experience.' \ Ve are not pennitted, except by a process of abstraction \vhich is purely telnporary and provisional, to consider the ( mani- fold' apart from the (unity,' nor the ( unity' apart from the 'manifold.' The thoughts do not make the thinker, nor the thinker the thoughts; but together they constitute that \Vhole or Absolute \vhose elements, as they are Inere no-sense apart from one another, cannot in strictness be c\"en said to contribute separately to\\rards the total result. III o\v let us consider \vhat bearing this conclusion has upon (I) Theology, (2) Ethics, and (3) Science. I. As regards Theology, it might be supposed that at least idealism provided us \vith a universe \vhich, if not created or controlled by Reason (creation and control imply- ing causal action), may yet properly be said to be through- out infused by Reason and to be in necessary hannony \vith it. But on a closer examination difficulties arise \vhich some\\-hat mar this satisfactory conclusion. In the first place, if theology is to provide us \\'ith a ground\\rork for religion, the God of \\ horn it speaks must be something more than the bare 'principle of unity' required to give coherence to the multiplicity of N aturc. Apart from K ature lIe is, on the theory \\re are considering) a mere mcta- physical abstraction, the geometrical point through \\'hich pass all the threads \\"hich make up the \veb of possible experience: no fitting object, surely, of either love, rever- ence, or devotion. I n combination \\'ith '\ ature I Ie is no doubt c the principle of unity,' and all the fulness of concrete reality besides; but every quality with \\'hich I Ie is thuq associated belongs to that portion of the Absolute \Vhole from \yhich, by hypothesis, I Ie distinguishes I I imself; and, ,,-ere it otherwise, we cannot find in these qualities, com- L 14 6 IDEALIS:\I pacted, as they are, of good and bad, of noble a nd 'base, the Perfect Goodness without \vhich religious feelings can never find an adequate object. Thus, neither the combining principle alone, nor the combining principle considered in its union \vith the multiplicity which it combines, can satisfy the requirements of an effectual theology. Not the first, because it is a barren abstraction; not the second, because in its all-inclusive universality it holds in suspension, \vith- out preference and without repulsion, every element alike of the kno\vable \vorld. Of these none, \vhatever be its nature, be it good or bad, base or noble, can be considered as alien to the Absolute: all are necessary, and all are characteristic. Of these two alternatives, I understand that it is the first \vhich is usually adopted by the school of thought with \vhich \ve are at present concerned. I t may therefore be desirable to reiterate that a 'unifying principle' can, as such, have no qualities, moral or other\vise. Lovingkindness, for example, and Equity are attributes which, like all attri- butes, belong not to the unifying principle, but to the \vorld of objects \vhich it constitutes. They are conceptions \vhich belong to the realm of empirical psychology. N or can I see any method by \vhich they are to be hitched on to the 'pure spiritual subject,' as elements making up its essential character. 2. But if this be so, \vhat is the ethical value of that freedom \vhich is attributed by the idealistic theory to the self-conscious' I '? It is true that this' I ' as conceived by idealism is above all the' categories,' including, of course, the category of causation. It is not in space nor in time. It is subject neither to mutation nor decay. The stress of material forces touches it not, nor is it in any servitude to chance or circumstance, to inherited tendencies or acquired habits. But all these immunities and privileges it possesses in virtue of its being, 110t an agent in a \vorld of concrete fact, but a thinking' subject,' for \vhom alone, as it is alleged, such a \vorld exists. Its freedom is metaphysical, not moral; for moral freedom can only have a meaning at all in refer- IDE4\LIS I 147 cncc to a being \vho acts and \vho \vills, and is only of real in1portance for us in relation to a being who not only acts, but is acted on, \vho not only \vills, but \vho \viIls against the opposing influences of temptation. Such freedoIn can- not, it is plain, be predicated of a mere' subject,' nor is the freedom proper to a 'subject' of any \,.orth to man as " object,' to Inan as kno\vn in experience, to man fighting his \vay ,vith varying fortunes against the stream of adverse <:irCU1TIstances, in a \vorld Inade up of causes and effects. l These observations bring into sufficiently clear relief the I This proposition would, probably, not be widely dissented fronl by some of the ethical writers of the idealist school. The freedOln which they postulate is not the freedom merely of the pure self-con- scious subject. On the contrary, it is the individual, with all his qualities, passions, and emotions, who in their view possesses free will. But the ethical value of the freedom thus attributed to self- conscious agents seems on further exanlination to disappear. l\lan- kind, it seems, are on this theory free, but their freedonl does not exclude determinism, but only that form of delenJlÍ1zism which consists in external COllstrllÍ1rt. Their actions are upon this view strictly pre- scribed by their antecedents, but these antecedents are nothing other than the characters of the agents themselves. N ow it Inay seem at first sight plausible to describe that man as free whose behaviour is due to 'himself' alone. But without quar- relling over words, it is, I think, plain that, whether it be proper to call him free or not, he at least lacks freedom in the sense in which free- dom is necessary in order to constitute responsibility. It is ilnpossible to say of him that he 'ought,' and therefore he 'can.' For at any hiven Inoment of his life his next action is by hypothesis strictly detennined. This is also true of every previous moment, until we get back to that point in his life's history at which he cannot, in any in- telligible sense of the ternl, be said to have a character at all. Ante- cedently to this, the causes which have produced him an in no special sense connected with his individuality, but form part of the general complex of phenomena which make up tr. ø world. I t is evident, there- fore, that every act which he performs may be traced to pre-natal, and possibly to purely material, antecedents, and that, even if it be true that what he does is the outcome of his character, his character itself is the outcome of causes o,-er which he has not, and cannot by any possibility ha,-e, the smallest control. Such a theory destroys re- sponsibility, and lea,.es our actions the inevitable outcome of external conditions not less completely than any doctrine of controlling fate, whether materialistic or theological. I :! 14 8 InEALIS I difficulty \vhich exists, on the idealistic theory, in bringing together into any sort of intelligible association the' I ' as supreme principle of unity, and the' I ' of empirical psych- ology, \vhich has desires and fears, pleasures and pains, facul- tics and sensibilities; \vhich 'lvas not a little time since, and \\-hich a little time hence \"ill be no more. The' I ' as prin- ciple of unity is outside time; it can have, therefore, no history. The' I' of experience, \vhich learns and forgets, \vhich suffers and \vhich enjoys, unquestionably has a history. What is the relation behveen the hvo? We seem equally precluded from saying that they are the same, and from saying that they are differ nt. We cannot say that they are the same, because they are, after all, divided by the \vhole chasm \vhich distinguishes 'subject' from 'object.' vVe cannot say they are different, because our feelings and our desires seem a not less interesting and important part of ourselves than a mere unifying principle \vhose functions, after all, are of a purely metaphysical character. \Ve can- not say they are' two aspects of the same thing,' because there is no virtue in this useful phrase \vhich shall em power it on the one hand to ear-mark a fragment of the \vorld of objects, and say of it, 'this is I,' or, on the other, to take the ( pure subject' by \vhich the \vorld of objects is constituted, and say of it that it shall be itself an object in that \vorld from \vhich its essential nature requires it to be self-dis- tinguished. But as it thus seems difficult or impossible intelligibly to unite into a personal \vhole the' pure' and the 'empirical' Self, so it is difficult or impossible to conceive the relations between the pure, though limited, self-consciousness which is , I ' and the universal and eternal Self-consciousness \vhich is God. The first has been described as a ' mode' or 'mani- festation' of the second. But are \ve not, in using such lan- guage, falling into the kind of error against \vhich, in other connections, the idealists are most careful to \\Tarn us? Are \ve not importing a category which has its Ineaning and its use in the \vorld of objects into a transcendental region IDE.. \LIS:\I 1.1-9 \vhcre it reaUy has neither Ineaning nor use at all? Grant, ho\,'ever, for the sakc of argument, that it has a meaning; grant that \ve may legitimatcly dcscribe one' pure subject' as a ' mode' or 'manifestation' of another-ho\v is this partial identity to bc established? IIo\v can \VC, \vho start from the basis of our o\,'n limited self-consciousness, rise to the knowledge of that completed and divine self-conscious- ness of ".hich, according to the theory, \\"e share the essential nature? The difficulty is evaded but not solved in those state- ments of thc idealist theory \vhich ahvays speak of Thought \\-ithout specifying 'i.tJHose Thought. It seems to be thus assumed that the thought is God's, and that in rethinking it "'C share I lis being. But no such assumption ,vould scem to be justifiable. For the basis, \\"e know', of the \vhole theory is a ' criticism' or analysis of the essential clements of experience. But the criticism must, for each of us, be neccssarily of Ids O,C'1l experience, for of no other experience can he kno\v anything, except indirectly and by ,,'ay of inference from his o\\"n. \Vhat, then, is this criticism supposed to establish (say) for me? Is it that experience depends upon thc unification by a self-conscious' I ' of a \,'orld constituted by relations? In strictness, X o. I t can only establish that 111)' experience depends upon a unifica- tion by 1Jl)' self-conscious' I ' of a \vorld of relations present to l/le, and to me alone. To this ' I,' to this particular 'self-conscious subject,' all other 'I's,' including God, must be objects, constituted like all objects by relations, rendered possible or significant only by th{'ir unification in the 'content of a singlc experience "-namely, my o\\'n. In other \vords, that which (if it exists at all) is essentially' subject' can only be kno,,"n, or thought of, or spoken about, as 'object.' Surely a very paradoxical con- cl usion. I t may perhaps be said by ,,'ay of reply, that in talking of particular' I's' and particular experiences \"C are using language properly applicable only to the' self' dcalt ,,-ith 15 0 IDEALISM by the empirical psychologist, the ( self' \vhich is not the , subject,' but the' object,' of experience. I \vill not dispute about terms; and the relations \vhich exist between the 'pure ego' and the (empirical ego' are, as I have already said, so obscure that it is not ahvays easy to employ a perfectly accurate terminology in endeavouring to deal with them. Yet this much would seem to be certain. If the words ( self,' , ego,' ( I,' are to be used intelligibly at all, they must mean, \vhatever else they do or do not mean, a 'some\vhat' \vhich is self-distinguished, not only from every other kno\vable object, but also from every other possible 'self.' What \ve are 'in ourselves,' apart from the flux of thoughts and feelings which move in never-ending pageant through the chambers of consciousne s, metaphysicians have, indeed, found it hard to say. Some of them have said \ve are nothing. But if this conclusion be, as I think it is, conformable neither to our instinctive beliefs nor to a sound psychology; if \\Te are, as I believe, more than a mere series of occurrences, yet it seems equally certain that the very notion of Personality excludes the idea of anyone person being a 'mode' of any other, and forces us to reject from philosophy a supposition \vhich, if it be tolerable at all, can find a place only in mysticism. But the idealistic theory pressed to its furthest conclu- sions requires of us to reject, as it appears to me, even more than this. We are not only precluded by it from identifying ourselves, even partially, \vith the Eternal Con- sciousness: we are also precluded from supposing that either the Eternal Consciousness or any other consciousness exists, save only our o\vn. For, as I have already said, the :Eternal Consciousness, if it is to be kno\vn, can only be kno"yn on the same conditions as any other object of kno\vledge. It must be constituted by relations; it must form part of the 'content of experience' of the kno\,'er; it must exist as part of the' multiplicity' reduced to ' unity' by his self- consciousness. But to say that it can only be kno\vn on these terms, is to say that it cannot be kno\vn as it exists; IDEAl IS l IS I for if it exists at al1, it exists by hypothesis as l ternal Subject, and as such it clearly is not constituted by rela- tions, nor is it either a 'possible object of expcrience,' or , anything for us as thinking beings.' No consciousness, then, is a possiblc object of kno\v- lcdge for any other consciousness: a statement \vhich, on thc idealistic theory of knowledgc, is cquivalent to saying that for anyone consciousness all other consciousnesses are less than non-existcnt. For as that ,,'hich is 'critically' sho\vn to be an incyitable element in experience has thereby conferred on it the highest possible degrec of reality, so that \\'hich cannot on any terms become an element in experience falls in thc scale of reality far belo\v mcre not-being, and is reduced, as "'C have seen, to mere meaningless no-sense. By this kind of reasoning the idealists themseh-es demonstrate the ( I ' to be necessary; the unrelated object and the thing-in-itself to be impossible. N at less, by this kind of reasoning, must each one of us severally be driven to the conclusion that in the infinite variety of the universe there is room for but one kno\ving subject, and that this subject is ( himself.' I 1 Prof. Caird, in his most interesting and suggestive lecture on the Evolution of Religion, puts forward a thcory essentially different from the one I ha,.e just been dealing with. In his view, a multiplicity of objects apprehended by a single self-conscious subject docs not suffice to constitute an intelligible universe. The world of objects and the perceiving nlind are th emselvcs opposites which require a higher unity to hold them together. This higher unity is God; so that by the siInplest of nletaphysical dp1110nstrations Prof. Caird lays deep the foundations of his theology, and proves not only that God e ists, but that His Being is philosophically invoh-cd in the very simplest of our e)..penences. I confess, with regret, that this reasoning appears to Ole inconclu- sive. Surely we must think of God as, on the transcendental theory, we think of ourselves; that is, as a Subject distinguishing itself from, but giving unity to, a world of phenoolena. But if such a Subject and such a world cannot be conceived without also postulating some higher unity in which thcir differences shall vanish and be dissolved. then God Himself would require some yet higher deity to explain His existence. If, in short, a I11ultiplicity of phenomena presented to 15 2 IDE.A.LIS I IV 3. That the transcendental' solipsism' \,yhich is the natu- ral outcome of such speculations is not less inconsistent "yith science, morality, and common-sense than the psycho- logical, or Berkeleian I form of the same creed, is obvious. But \vithout attempting further to press idealism to results \vhich, \vhether legitimate or not, all idealists ,vould agree in repudiating, let me, in conclusion, point out ho\v little assistance this theory is able under any circumstances to afford us in solving important problems connected \yith the Philosophy of Science. The psychology of H ume, as \\Te have seen, thre\v doubt upon the very possibility of legitimately framing general propositions about the \\Torld of objects. The observation of isolated and unrelated impressions of sense, which is in effect "'hat experience became reduced to under his process of analysis, may generate habits of expectation, but never can justify rational beliefs. The la\v of universal causa- tion, for example, can never be proved by a mere repeti- tion, ho\vever prolonged, of similar sequences, though the repetition may, through the association of ideas, gradually compel us to expect the second term of the sequence \vhenever the first term comes \vithin the field of our obser- vation. So far Hume as interpreted by the transcendental idealists. and apprehended by a conscious' I ' form together an intelligible and self-sufficient whole, then it is hard to see 0Y what logic we are to get beyond the solipsislll which, as I have urged in the text, seems to be the necessary outcome of one fonn, at least, of the transcendental argument. If, on the other hand, subject and object cannot form such an intelligible and self-sufficient whole, then it seems impossible to imagine what is the nature of that Infinite One in which the Inul- tiplicity of things and persons find their ultimate unity. Of such a God we can have no knowledge, nor can we say that we are fonned in His image, or share His essence. 1 Of course I do not mean to suggest that Berkeley 'was a 'solip- sist.' On the scientific bearing of psychological idealisn1, see Phz"lo- .sophie Doubt, chap. ix. . IDEALIS I 153 x O\Y, ho\v is this difficulty met on the idealistic theory? Somewhat in this \vay. These categories or general prin- ciples of relation have not, say the idealists, to be collected (so to speak) from individual and separate experiences (as the empirical philosophers believe, but as !-I ume, the chief among empiricists, showed to be impossible); neither are they, as the tl priori philosophers supposed, part of the original furniture of the observing mind, intended by Provi- dence to be applied as occasion arises to the \vorld of experience \vith \vhich by a beneficent, if unexplained, adaptation they find themselves in a pre-established har- mony. On the contrary, they are the ( necessary prÙts,' the antecedent condition, of there being any experience at all ; so that the difficulty of subsequently extracting them from experience does not arise. The \yorId of phenomena is in truth their creation; so that the conformity beh,.een the t"TO need not be any subject of surprise. Thus, at one and the same time does idealism vindicate experience and set the scepticism of the empiricist at rest. I doubt, ho,,-ever, \vhether this solution of the problem ".ill really stand the test of examination. Assuming for the sake of -argument that the \vorld is constituted by ( categories,' the old difficulty arises in a ne\v shape \vhen \ye ask on ,,-hat principle those categories are in any given case to be applied, For they are admittedly not of uni- versal application; and, as the idealists thelTIselves are careful to remind us, there is no more fertile source of-error than the importation of them into a sphere \vherein they have no legitimate business. Take, for example, the cate- gory of causation, from a scientific point of vie\v the most important of all. By \"hat right does the existence of this (principle of relation' enable us to assert that throughout the \vhole ,,'orld every event must have a cause, and every cause must be invariably succeeded by the same event? Because \\.C call apply the category, are "Te, therefore, bound to apply it ? Does any absurdity or contradiction ensue from our supposing that the order of K ature is arbitrary 154 IDEALISIVI and casual, and that, repeat the antecedent \\Tith \vhat accuracy \ve may, there is no security that the accustomed consequent \vill follo\v? I must confess that I can perceive none. Of course, \ve should thus be deprived of one of our most useful (principles of unification' ; but this \vould by no means result in the unÎ\Terse resolving itself into that unthinkable chaos of unrelated atoms \vhich is the idealist bugbear. There are plenty of categories left; and if the final aim of philosophy be, indeed, to find the Many in One and the One in Many, this end \vould be as completely, if not as satisfactorily, accomplished by conceiving the vvorld to be presented to the thinking' subject' in the haphazard multiplicity of unordered succession, as by any more elabo- rate method. Its various elements lying side by side in one Space and one Time \vould still be related together in the content of a single experience; they \vould still fonn an inteIligible \\'hole ; their unification \vould thus be effectually accomplished \vithout the aid of the higher categories. But it is evident that a universe so constituted, though it might not be inconsistent \vith Philosophy, could never be inter- preted by Science. As \ve sa\v in the earlier portion of this chapter, it is. not very easy to understand \vhy, if the universe be consti- tuted by relations, and relations are the \vork of the mind, the mind should be dependent on experience for finding out anything about the universe. But granting the neces- sity of experience, it seems as hard to make that experience- answer our questions on the idealist as on the empirical hypothesis. N either on the one theory nor on the other does any method exist for extracting general truths out of particular observations, unless S07lle general truths are first assumed. On the empirical hypothesis there are no such general truths. Pure empiricism has, therefore, no claim to be a philosophy. On the idealist hypothesis there appears to be only one general truth applicable to the \vhole intelligible \vorld-a \vorld \vhich, be it recol- lected, includes everything in respect to \vhich language IDEALIS I 155 can be significantly used; a \vorld \vhich, therefore, includes the negativc as \vell as the positive, the false as ,veIl as the true, the imaginary as ,veIl as the real, the impossible as ,,"ell as the possible. This single all- embracing truth is that the multiplicity of phenomena, whatever be its nature, must ahvays be united, and only exists in virtue of bcing united, in the experience of a single self-conscious Subject. But this general proposition, \vhatever be its value, cannot, I conceive, effectually guide us in the application of subordinate categories. It supplies us \vith no method for applying one principle rather than another \vithin the field of experience. It cannot give us information as to ,,"hat portion of that field, if any, is subject to the law of causation, nor tell us ,,'hich of our perceptions, if any, may be taken as evidence of the existence of a permanent \vorld of objects such as is implied in all scientific doctrine. Though, therefore, the old questions come upon us in a ne\v form, clothed, I ,vill not say shrouded, in a ne\v terminology, they come upon us ,,"ith all the old insistence. They are restated, but they are not solved; and I am unable, therefore, to find in idealism any escape from the difficulties \vhich, in tbe region of theology, ethics, and science, empiricism leaves upon our hands. 1 1 I have made in this chapter no reference to the idealistic theory of æsthetics. Holding the views I have indicated upon the general import of idealism, such a course seemed unnecessary. But I cannot help thinking that even those who find in that theory a more satis- factory basis for their convictions than I mn able to do, must feel that there is something rather forced and arbitrary in the attempts that have been made to exhibit the artistic fancies of an insignificant frac- tion of the human race during a very brief period of its history as essential and in1portant elements in the developtnent and manifestation of the' Idea.' 15 6 CHAPTER III PHILOSOPHY AND RATIONALISl\t I BRIEFLY, if not adequately, I have now endeavoured to indicate the weaknesses which seem to nle to be inseparable from any empirical theory of the uni- verse, and almost equaIIy to beset the idealistic theory in the form given to it by its most systematic exponents in this country. The reader may perhaps feel tenlpted to ask whether I propose, in \vhat purports to be an Introduction to Theology, to pass under similar review all the nletaphysical systems which have from time to time held sway in the schools, or have affected the general course of speculative opinion. He need, however, be under no alarm. 1\1 y object is strictly practical; and I have no concern with theories, ho\vever admirable, \vhich can no longer pretend to any living philo- sophic power-which have no de facto claims to present us with a reasoned scheme of knowledge, and which cannot prove their importance by actuaIIy supplying grounds for the conviction of some PHILOSOPIIY AXn RATIONALIS:\I 157 fraction, at least, of those by ,vhoo1 these pages may concei yabl y be reacl. In saying that this condition is not satisfied by the great historic systen1s \vhich mark with their imperishable ruins the devious course of European thought, I n1ust not be understood as suggesting that on that account these lack either value or interest. All I say is, that their interest is not of a kind which brings them properly within the scope of these Notes. '\Thatever be the nature or amount of our debt to the great metaphysicians of the past, unless here and now \ve go to them not merely for stray arguments on this or that question, but for a reasoned scheme of knowledge which shall include as elen1ents our o\vn actual beliefs, their theories are not, for the pur- poses of the present discussion, any concern of ours. Now, of how many systems, outside the two that have already been touched on, can this even plausi- bly be asserted? Run over in memory son1e of the most important. l\Ien value Plato for his imagina tion, for the genius with \vhich he hazarded solutions of the secular problems \vhich perplex mankind, for the finished art of his dialogue, for the exquisite beauty of his style. But even if it could be said- which it cannot-that he left a system, could it be described as a system which, as such, has any effectual vitality? I t would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to sum up our debts to Aristotle. But assuredl y they do not include a tenable theory of the universe. The Stoic scheme of life may still touch 15 8 PHILOSOPHY AND Rl\.TION.ALIS I our imagination; but who takes any interest in their metaphysics? \Vho cares for their Soul of the world, the periodic conflagrations, and the recurring cycles of n1undane events? The Neo-Platonists \vere mystics; and mysticism is, as I suppose, an undying element in human thought. But \vho is concerned about their hierarchy of beings connecting through infinite gradations the Absolute at one end of the scale with l\latter at the other? These, however, it n1ay be said, were systems belonging to the ancient \\iorld; and mankind haye not busied themselves ,vith speculation for these two thousand years and more without making some advance. I agree; but in the matter of providing us with a philosophy-\vith a reasoned systen1 of knowledge-has this advance been as yet substantial? I f the ancients fail us, do we, indeed, fare much better with the moderns? Are the metaphysics of Des- cartes more living than his physics? Do his two substances or kinds of substancè, or the single sub- stance of Spinoza, or the innun1erable substances of Leibnitz, satisfy the searcher after truth? From the modern English form of the elnpiricism which domi- nated the eighteenth century, and the idealism which disputes its supremacy in the nineteenth, I have already ventured to express a reasoned dissent. Are we, then, to look to such schen1es as Schopenhauer's philosophy of \Vill, and Hartn1ann's philosophy of the Unconscious, to supply us \\iith the philosophical metaphysics of \vhich \ve are in need? They have PHILOSOPHY .\ D R..-\ TIOX.\LIS:\1 159 adI11irers in this country, but hardly convinced ad- herents. Of those \vho are quite prepared to accept their pessimisI11, ho\v n1any are there who take seri- ously its metaphysical foundation? I n truth there are but three points of vie\v from \yhich it seen1S \vorth while to make ourselyes acquainted \vith the gro\vth, culmination, and decay of the various Inetaphysical dynasties which have successively struggled for supremacy in the ,vodd of ideas. The first is purely historical. Thus regarded, metaphysical systen1s are simply significant pheno- n1ena in the general history of man: sympton1s of his spiritual condition, aids, it may be, to his spiritual gro\vth. The historian of philosophy, as such, is therefore quite unconcerned with the truth or falsehood of the opinions whose evolution he is expounding. His business is merely to account for their existence, to exhibit then1 in their proper historical setting, and to explain their character and their consequences. But, so considered, I find it difficult to believe that these opinions have been elen1ents of priI11ary importance to the advancement of mankind. All ages, indeed, ,vhich have exhibited intellectual vigour have cultivated one or D10re characteristic systen1s of metaphysics; but rarely, as it seen1S to me, have these systems been in their turn in1portant elements in detennining the cha- racter of the periods in \vhich they flourished. They have been effects rather than causes; indications of the mood in \vhich, under the special stress of their 160 PHILOSOPHY AND R.ATIONALIS:\I time and circumstance, the most detached intellects have faced the eternal problenls of humanity; proofs of the unresting desire of mankind to bring their beliefs into harnlony ,vith speculative reason. But the beliefs have almost always preceded the speculations; they have frequently survired them; and I cannot convince n1yself that among the just titles to our consideration sometimes put for\vard on behalf of metaphysic we may count her clainl to rank as a powerful instrunlent of progress. No doubt-and here \ve come to the second point of yiew alluded to above-the constant discus- sion of these high problems has not been barren merely because it has not as yet led to their solution. Philosophers have ll1ined for truth in many directions, and the \vhole field of speculation seems cunlbered \vith the dross and lumber of their abandoned \vorkings. But though they have not found the ore they sought for, it does not therefore follow that their labours hare been whoHy vain. It is something to have realised what not to do. I t is something to discorer the causes of failure, even though we do not attain any positive knowledge of the conditions of success. I t is an even more substantial gain to hare done something to,vards disengaging the questions ,vhich require to be dealt with, and to,vards creating and perfecting the terminology ,yithout ,yhich they can scarcely be adequately stated, n1uch less satisfactorily answered. And there is yet a third point of view fronl PHILOSOPH\ \:\I) R.\ rIO ..\LIS l 161 \\yhich past n1etaphysical speculations are seen to retaIll their value, a point of \Tic\v ,,"hich I11ay be called (not, I adnlit, \\-ithout SOIlle little ,"iolence to accustoIl1ed usage) the {{'sf he/ic. Because reason- ing occupies so large a place in 111etaphysicaI treatises \ve are al >t to forget that, as a rule, these are ,,"orks of ilnagination at least as nluch as of reason. Ietaphysicians are poets \\-ho deal \vith the abstract .and the super-sensible instead of the concrete and the sensuous. To be sure they are poe..ts \vith a difference. Thei r appropriate and characteristic gifts are not the \"i\-id realisation of that \vhich is . giycn in experience; their genius does not prolong, as it \\-ere, and echo through the ren10test regions of feeling the shock of son1e definite enlotion; they -create for us no ne\'" \vor1ùs of things and persons; nor can it be often said that the product of their labours is a thing of beauty. '[heir style, it nlUS't be o\yned, has not ahvays been their strong point; and even when it is other\\"ise, n1ere graces of pre- sentation are but unessential accidents of their \\york. Yet, in spite of all this, they can only be justly estin1ated by those \yho are prepared to apply to theln a quasi-æsthetic standard; some other standard, at all e,rents, than that supplied by purely argulllentati\ye conln1ent. It 11lay perhaps be sho\yn that their n1etaphysical constructions are faulty, that their demonstratiuns do not convince, that their n10st pernlanent dialectical triuI11phs ha,-e fallen to theln in the paths of criticisI11 and negatI n. Yet :\1 162 PHILOSl>PH\r l\NI> R..\TIONl\LISl\I even then the last \vord will not ha \re been said. For claims to our admiration \vill still be found in their brilliant intuitions, in the subtlety of their occasional arguIllents, in their passion for the U ni\-ersal and the Abiding, in their steadfast faith in the rationality of the vçorld, in the devotion with \vhich they are content to Ii ve and nl0ye in realtlls of abstract speculation too far relll0yed fronl ordinary interests to excite the slightest genuine sYI11pathy in the breasts even of the cultivated fe,\-. If, therefore, we are for a l1loment telllpted, as surely l1lay sOIlletin1es happen. to contenlplate with re- spectful astonishnlent sunle of the argu111ents \\yhich the illustrious authors of the great historic systenls- have thought good enough to support their case, let it be renlembered that for Blinds in \\l'hich the critical intellect holds undisputed s\\-ay, the creation of any systelll whatever in the present state of our kno\v- ledge is, perhaps, inlJ?ossible. Only those in whonl 1 )o\\"ers of philosophical criticisnl are balanced, or Illore than balanced, by J?owers of nletaph ysical ill1agination can be fitted to undertake the task. '[hough eyen to thenl success may be inlPossible, at least the illusion of success is pernlitted; and but for theIn mankind would fall a\vay in hopeless dis- couragenlent from its highest intellectual ideal, and speculation \vould be strangled at its birth. To some, indeed, it may appear as if the loss vvould not, after all, be great. "That use, they nlay exclaim, can be found for any systeBl \vhich \vill not PHILOSOPHY ANI) RATl() ..\LIS I 16 3 stand critical eXéunination? \'That value has reason- i ng \vhich does not satisfy the reason? H ow can \VC kno\\9 that these abstruse in \gestigations supply e\-en a fragInentary contribution to\varcls a final philosophy, until \ve are able to look back upon thenl froin the perhaps inaccessible \9 u1tage ground to be supplied by this final philusophy itself? 1'0 such questionings I do not profess to find a cOlnpletely satisfactory ansv;er. Yet e\gen those \vho feel in- clined to rate extant speculations at the lo\vest value ,viII perhaps adnlit that 11letaphysics, like art, give us sonlething we could ill afford to spare. Art Inay not haye provided us \vith any reflection of inlIllortal beauty; nor metaphysics haye brought us into conl- .nunion \vith eternal truth. Yet both nlay haye historic value. 111 speculation. as in art, \ve find a yivid expression of the changeful tnind of Inan, and the interest of both, perhaps. is at its highest_ \vhen they 11lost clearly reflect the spirit of the age \vhich ga\ e them birth, \vhen they are 1110st racy of the soil from which they sprung. II To this point I may ha\-e to return. But Iny 1110ré immediate business is 0 bring honlé to the reader's mind the consequences \vhich nlay be dra,vn frotn the adnlission-supposing hinl disposed to make it-that \ve have at the present titne neither a satisfactory systenl of 111etaphysics nor a satisfactory theory of science. l\Iany persons--perhaps it ,,,"ould M2 164 J>HILOSOPHY \XD R \TION -\LIS::\[ not be too 111Uch to say most persons, are prepared contentedly to accept the first of these propositions; but it is on the truth of the second that J desire to lay at least an equal stress. The first n1an one n1eets in the street thinks it quite natural to accept the opinion that sense-experience is the only source ot rational conviction; that everything to \\Thich it does not testify is untrue, or, if true, falls 'Nithin the domain, not of kno\\-ledge, but of faith. Yet the criticism of kno\\-ledge indicated in the t",.o preced- ing chapters shows ho\\" one-sided is such a view. If faith be proyisionally defined as conviction apart from or in excess of proof, then it is upon faith that the n1axims of daily life, not less than the loftiest creeds and the most far-reaching discoveries, n1ust ultimately lean. The ground on \vhich constant habit and inherited predispositions enable us to tread \vith a step so easy and so assured, is seen on exan1ination to be not less bollo". beneath our feet than the din1 and unfalniliar regions which lie beyond. Certitude is found to be the child, not of Reason, but of Cust0111; d.nd if \ve are less perplexed about the beliefs on \vhich \\ e are hourly called upon to act than about those \vhich do not touch so closely our obvious and in1nlediate needs, it is not because the questions suggested by the former are easier to answer, but because as a ll1atter of fact \ve are nluch less inclined to ask thenl. N ow, if this be true, it is plainly a fact of capital importance. I t must revolutionise our whole attitude J)HILOSOPIIY L\KD R.\TIO .ALIS I [65 tu\vards the problenls presented to us b) science, ethics, and theology. It nlust destroy the ordinar} tests and standards \,"hereby ,,-e lneasure essential truth. In pctrticular, it requires us to see \vhat is c0111n1only. if rather absurdly. called the contiict het\\'een religion and science in a ,,"holly ne\v aspect. \\' e can no longer be content \vith the silnple \ ie\v, once uniyersally accepted, that \\-hen- e\-er any discrepancy, real or supposed, occurs Le- t\,-een the t\\"O, science I11ust be rejected as heretical; nor \vith the equally siIllple yie\\-, to \\ hich the fonner has long gi \-en place, that e\-ery theolugical statelnent, if unsupported by science, is doubtful; if inconsistent ,,-ith science, is false. Opinions like these are e\-idently tolerable only on the hypothesis that ""e are in possession of a body of doctrine \vhich is nut unly itself philo- sophically established. but to \vhose canons of prouf all other doctrines are bound to confonl1. But if there is no such body of doctrine. \vhat then? 1. \re ,ve.arbitrarily to erect one departnlent of belief into a law-giyer for all the others? Are \ye to say that though no schenle of kno\\"ledge exists. certain in its first principles. and coherent in its elaborated con- clusions. yet that fro 111 élJnong the pro\"isional scheilles \vhich \ye are inclined practically to accept one is to be selected at randonl. \yithin \vhose linlits, and there alone, the spirit of lHan Jllay range in cun- fident security? Such a position is speculati ,-eh- untenable. It 166 PHILOSOPHY .AND R..:\1'IONALISl\I involves a use of the Canon of Consistency not justified by any philosophy; and as it is indefensible in theory, so it is injurious in practice. F or, in truth, though the contented acquiescence in in- consistency is the abandonment of the philosophic quest, the determination to obtain consistency at alI costs has been the prolific parent of n1any intel- lectual narrownesses and lllany frigid bigotries. It has shown itself in various shapes; it has stifled and stunted the free nlovement of thought in different ages and diverse schools of speculation; its unhappy effects Inay be traced in much theology which professes to be orthodox, in n1uch criticisn1 which delights to be heterodox. I tis, nloreover, the characteristic note of a not inconsiderable class of intelligences \vho conceive themselves to be specially reasonable because they are constantly employed in reasoning, and ",.ho can find no better. Inethod of advancing the cause of knowledge than to press to their extrenle logical conclusions princi- ples of ,vhich, perhaps, the best that can be said is that they contain, as it ",.ere in solution, sonle elenlent of truth which no rl.agents at our conln1and will as yet pernli t us to isolate. III That I anl here attacking no imaginary evil will, I think, be evident to any reader who recalls the general trend of educated opinion during the last three centuries. I t is, of course, true that in PIIILOSOI'H\- .\Xl> R.\TIOX.\LIS)I 167 dealing with so vague anti lousely outlined an object as · educated opinion' ,ve ll1ust he\vare of ctttribut- ing to large n1asses of nlen the acceptance of any carefully-thought-out or definitely articulated systenl. SvsteIns are. and Blust be, for the few. 1""he " Inajority of Inankind are content \vith a mood or teInper of thought. an inlpulse not fully reasoned out. a habit guiding thenl to the acceptance and assinlilation of SOlne opinions and the rejection of others, \vhich acts alnlost as autonlatical1y as the. processes of physical digestion. Behind these half- realised n10tives, and in clusest association \vith thenl. nlay son1etinles. no doubt, be found a · theory of things' \vhich is their logical and explicit ex- pression. But it is certainly not necessary, anti perhaps not usual. that this theory should be clearly forInulated by those \\-ho seenl to obey it. Nor for our present purpose is there any important dis- tinction to be made bet\veen the case of the few \\-ho find a reason for their habitual judgments. and that of the Inany ,,-ho do not. I(eeping this caution in Blind. \ye may consider ,,-ithout risk of InisconceptioB an illustration of the ll1isuse of the Canon of Consistency provided for us by the theory corresponding to that tendency of though t \vhich has pIa yeti so large a part in the de,.elupment of the modern nlind, and which is comnlonly kno\vn as RationalisI11. N O\V, what is Rationalisnl? S0111C Inay be disposed to reply that it i,; the free and unfettered application of human 168 PHILOS()PHY \XI> R4\TIO ..\LISl\I intelligence to the problen1s of life and of the ,,-orId : the unprejudiced exalnination of every question in the dry ligh t of elnanci 1 )élted reason. This Ina y be a yery good account of a particular intellectual ideal; an ideal ",,"hich has been sough t after at TIlany periods of the world's history, although assuredly it has been attained in none. Usage, howeyer, pern1i ts and even encourages us to en1ploy the \\"ord ìn a 111uch rnore restricted sense: as indicating a special ornl of that reaction against dognlatic theology \,, hich TI1ay be said \yith sufficient accuracy to have taken its rise in the Renaissance, to haye increased in force and yolun1e during the se\"en- teenth and eighteenth centuries. and to ha\ e reached its, 11lost con1plete expression in the N aturalisn1 \vhich occupied our attention through the first portion of these l'\ otes. 1 \ reaction of sonle sort \vas no doubt ineyitable. l\Ien found thenl- selves in a world ,,"here Literature. Art, and Science \vere enorInously extending the range of hun1an interests; . in \yhich Religion seen1ed only to be approachable through the languishing contro\Tersies \vhich had burnt \vith so fierce a flanle during the sixteenth and se\"enteenth centuries; in \yhich accepted theological TI1ethods had their roots in a very different period of intellectual growth. and \vere ceasing to be appropriate to the ne,," developl11ents. At such a tiI11e there \vas. undoubtedly, an i111portant, and even a necessary. \vork to be done. The mind of man cannot, any 1110re than the body, vary in one PHILüSOl'H\ ..\:\1> R.\Jl0:\ \LIS:\J 169 direction alone. The \\"hole organisl11 suffers, ()r. uains, fron1 the chan g e. and e"erv facult\- and e\'er ) .- .- lilnb n1ust be SOll1e\\"hat 1110dified in úrder success- fully to n1èct the ne\\' deInands thro\\"n upon it by the altered balance of the relnainder. So is it also in matter,,; intellectual. I t is hopeless to expect t hat ne\v truths and ne\\r Jnethods of inyestigation can be acquired \\'ithout the old truths requiring tù be in S0111e respects reconsidered and restated, surveyed under a ne\v aspect. 111easured, perhaps. by, a different standard. l\I uch had. therefore. to be 111odified, and s0111ething-Iet us adn1it it-had to be. destroyed. 1'he Be\\' systeln could hardly produce its best results until the refuse left by the old systenl had been rell1u\'(xl; until the "9aste products ",-ere elilllinated \\-hich, like those of a Illuscle too long exercised. poisoned and clogged the tissues in \\-hich they had once played the part of li\-ing and effecti ,-e elenlen ts. The \vorld, then. required enlightenn1ent, and the rationalists proceeded after their o\\'n fashion to enlighten it. LT nfortunately. ho\\-eyer. their ,\"hole procedure \vas tainted by an original vice of nlethod ,,-hich 111ade it in1possible to carryon the honourable, if cOlllparati,'ely hUJ11ble, \\-ork of clearance and purification \\-ithout, at the saIne till1e, destroying 111uch that ought properly to have been preser,-cd: They \vere not content ,,-ith protesting against practical abuses. \yith yindicating the freeduln of science froll1 theological bundage. ,,-ith criticising tl é 1'7 0 PHILOSOPHY ..\ l) R..-\TI()NALIS:\J defects and eXplaining the lilnitations of the sonle- what cunlbrous and antiquated apparatus of prevalent theological controversy-apparatus, no doubt, much better contrived for dealing \yith the points on which theologians differ than for defending against a common enelllY the points on \vhich theologians are for the most part agreed. These things, no doubt, to the best of thcir po\ver, they did; and to the doing of them no objection need be raised. The öbjection is to the principle on \vhich the things were done. That principle appeared undcr nlany disguises, and was called by many nanles. Some- tinles describing itself as Conlnlon-sense, sonletimes as Science, sonletinles as Enlightenll1ent, with infinite varieties of application and great diversity of doctrinc,. Rationalisnl consisted essentially in the application j consciously or unconsciously, of one great lnethod to the decision of every controversy, to the 1110ulding of every creed. Did a belief square with a view of the universe based exclusively upon the prevalent rnode of interpreting sense-perception? If so, it might survive. Did it clash \yith such 1110de, or lie beyond it? It \vas superstitious; it was UI1- scientific; it was ridiculous; it was incredible. W a it neither in harnlony ",.ith nor antagonistic to such .l view, but sinlply beside it ? It ll1ight live on until it became atrophied fronl lack of use, a 111ere suri vival of a dead past. These judgments \vere not, as a rule, supporte( by any very profound arguments. Rationalists as PHILOSOPHY .A I> R \TI() .\LIS l 171 such are not philosophers. They are not pan- thei ts nor speculative 111aterialists. They ignore, if they do not despise, 111etaphysics, and in prdctice e chew the search for first principles. But they judge as 111en of the ",.orld, equally reluctant to criticise too closely Inethods \\'hich succeeù so admirably in everyday affairs, or to adlnit that any other Inethods can possibly be required by men of sense. Of course, a principle so loosely conceived has led at different tin1es and in different stages of kno\vledge to very different results. 'rhrough the greater portion of the world' 5 history the 'ordinary 1110de of interpreting sense-perception' has been perfectly consistent \vith so-called · supernatural' phenolnena. It n1ay becolne so again. And if during the rationalising centuries this has nut been the case, it is because the interpretation of sense- perceptions has during that period been Inore and Inore go\Oerned by that Naturalistic theory of the ,vorld to which it has been steadily grél\oitating. It is true that the process of eliIl1inating incongruous beliefs has been gradual. The general body of rationalisers have been slo\v to see and reluctant to accept the full consequences uf their 0\\"11 principles. The assun1ption that the kind of . experience' \vhich gave us natural science ,vas the sole basis of kno\vledge did not at first, or necessarily, carry \\-ith it the further inference that nothing deserved to be calIed kno,vledge \vhich did not C0111C \vithin the I7 PHILOSOPHY ...\Kl> RATIOX...\LIS I circle of the natural sciences. But the inference was practically. if not logically. inevitable. Theisl11. D.eisn1. Design. SouL Conscience, l\Iorality, I n11110r- t lity, F reedo111, J3eauty-these and cognate \,"ords associated \\yith the l11enlory of great contro\?ersies Inark the points at \vhich rationalists who are n.ot also naturalists ha\Te sought to CaIne to ternlS \vith the rationalising spirit. or to ll1ake a stanù against its onward 111ovelnent. I t has been in vain. At SOine places the fortunes of battle hung long in the balance: at others the issues n1a y yet seen1 doubtful. Those \vho have given up God can still n ake a fight for conscience; those \vho haye abandoned n10ral responsibility l11ay still console thcIl1selves \yith artistic beauty. But, to 111Y thinking, at least, the struggle can have but one terlnination. Habit and education Inay delay the inevitable con- clusion; they cannot in the end avert it. Fór these. ideas are no nati \ye gro\vth of a rationalist epoch, strong in their harn10ny \vith conten1porary n100ds of thought. '['hey are the products of a different age, survi\-als ff(>ll1. as sonle think. a decaying systen1. And ho\\-soever stubbornly they 111ay resist the influences of an alien environnlent, if this undergoes no change. in the end they nlllst surely perish. N aturalisI11. then. the naturalisn1 \vhose practical consequences ha\"e already occupied us so long. is nothing l110re than the result of rationaIising I11ethods c:lpplied \\-ith pitiless consistency to the PH I LOSOPI-IY \XI) R.\TIOX \LlS I J73 ,,-hole circuit of belief; it is the c0111pleted product of rationalisln, the final outC0l11C of using the 'current Incthods of interpreting sense-perception' as the uni versal instrunlent for detennining the nature (lnd fixing the linlits of hll111an kno,,-ledge. \ \That \\"eaIth of spiritual possession this cre ù requires us to gi,-e up I ha'"e already explained. \ \That, then, ùoes it prol11ise us in exchange? It pr0l111SeS us Consistency. Religion Inay perish at its touch, it nlay strip \'irtuc and Beauty of their Inost precious attributes: but in exchange it pron1Íses us Consistency. l'rue, the prornise is in any circu111stances but inlperfectly kept. This creed, ,,-hich so arrogantly requires that everything is to be nlade consistent \vith it, is nut, a \ve have seen, consistent \\-ith itsel[ The hU111blest attenlpts to co-ordinate and to justify the assu111ptions on ,,"hich it proceeds \vith such unquestioning confideI ce bring to light speculative perplexities and contra- dictions ,vhuse very existence seenlS unsuspected, \vhose solution is not even attenlpted. But even \vere it other\vise ""e should still be bound to pro- test against the assull1ption that consistency is a necessity of the intellectual life, to Le purchased, if need be, at fanline prices. I t is a ,"aluable C0111Il1uùity, but it Inay be bought too dear. No doubt a principal function of Reason is to SI1100th a""ay contradictions, to knock off corners, and to fit, as far as Inay be, each separate belief into its proper place \\"ithin the franle,york of one hannonious 174 PHILOSOPHY A D R...'\1'IONALISl\1 creed. N () doubt, also, it is in1possible to regard any theory \vhich lacks self-consistency as either satisfactory or final. But principles going far beyond adnlissions like these are required to compel us to acquiesce in rationalising methods and naturalistic resul ts. to the destruction of every forn1 of belief ,yith \vhich they do not happen to agree. Before such tern1S of surrender are accepted. at least the yictorious systen1 n1ust show, not nlerely that its various parts are consistent with each other, but that the whole is authenticated by Reason. Until this task is accon1plished (and how far at present it is froIl1 being accon1plished in the case of naturalis111 the reader knows) it would be an act of mere blundering Unreason to set up as the uni\Tersal standard of belief a theory of things which itself stands in so great need of rational defence, or to make a reckless and unthinking application of the canon of consistency \vhen our knowledge of first principles is so ll1anifestIy defective. liS CH.L\PI'El{ I\T R4\TrOX4\LIST ORTlrODOXY AT this point, ho,,'e\'er, it may perhaps occur to the reader that I haye sOIne",-hat too lightly assuIned that Rationalism is the high-road to N aturalisl1l. \\Thy, it nlay be asked, is there any insuperable difficulty in fraIning another scheo1e of belief \\'hich shall pernlanently satisfy the requirements of con- sistency, and haro1onise in its general procedure \vith the rationalising spirit? \\Thy are \ve to as- sume that the e"\:treo1e type of this mode of thoug t is the only stable type? Such doubts \vould be the Jnore legitin1ate because there is actually in existence a schen1e of great historic in1portance, and S001e present interest, by ,,'hich it has been sought to run 1110dern Science and Theology together into a single coherent and self-sufficient system of thought, by the simple process of Inaking Science supply all the premises on \vhich theological conclusions are after- "rards based. I f this cle\ ice be really adequate, no doubt n1uch of ,,"hat \vas said in the ]ast chapter. and much that \vill have to be said in future chapters, becomes superfluous. If' our ordinary ll1ethod of Ii G R:\TI()X \LIST ORTHODOXY interpreting sense-perception,' \vhich gives us Science, is able also to supply us \vith Theology, then at least, \vhether it be philosophically valid or not, the lnajority of lnankind may very well rest content \vith it until philosophers come to S0111e agreeI11ent about a better. If it does not satisfy the philosophic critic: it \\Till probably satisfy everyone else; and even the philosuphic critic need not quarrel \vith its practical OUtcOIl1C. The systen1 by \vhich these results are thought :to be attained pursues the follo\ving method. It di\Tides Theology into Natural and Revealed. N" atural rrheology expounds the theological beliefs .\vhich 111ay be arrived at by a consideration of the general course of Nature as this is eXplained to us by Science. I t dwells principally upon the num ber- less exan1ples of adaptation in the organic world, \vhich apparently display the n10st mar\Tellous in- dications of ingenious contrivance, and the nicest ad j ustlnen t of means to ends. F r0111 facts like these it is inferred that Nature has an in telligen t and a po\verful Creator. F ron1 the further fact that these adjustments and contrivances are in a large nUI11ber of cases designed for the interests of beings capable .of pleasure and pain, it is inferred that the Creator is not only intelligent and powerful, but also I benevolent; and the inquiring mind is then sup- ,posed to be sufficiently prepared to consider without .prejudice the evidence for there haying been a ;special Revelation by \yhich further truths n1ay have RATIO ALIST ORTHODOXY 177 been imparted, not otherwise accessible to our un- assisted powers of speculation. The evidences of Revealed Religion are not drawn, like those of Natural Religion, from general hnvs and \videly disseminated particulars; but they profess none the less to be solely based upon facts \vhich, according to the classification I have adhered to throughout these Notes, belong to the scientific order. According to this theory, the logical burden of the entire theological structure is thrown upon the evidence for certain e\ ents \vhich took place long ago, and principally in a small district to the east of the l\Iediterranean, the occurrence of \vhich is sought to be proved by the ordinary n1ethods of historical investigation, and by these alone-unless, indeed, we are to regard as an important ally the aforementioned presumption supplied by Natural Theology. I t is true, of course, that the imn1ediate reason for accepting the beliefs of Revealed Religion is that the religion is revealed. But it is thought to be revealed because it was promulgated by teachers \vho were inspired; the teachers are thought to have been inspired because they \vorked n1iracles ; and they are thought to have worked miracles because there is historical evidence of the fact, \vhich it is supposed would be more than sufficient to produce con, iction in any unbiassed mind. 1'\ o\y it must be conceded that if this general train of reasoning be assumed to cover the \vhole ground of 'Christian Evidences,' then, \vhether it N 17 8 R4\.TIO 4-\LIST ORTHODOXY be conclusive or inconclusive, it does at least attain the desideratunl of connecting Science on the one hand, Religion-' Natural' and' Revealed '-on the other, into one single scheme of interconnected pro- positions. But it attains it by nlaking Theology in form a mere annex or appendix to Science; a Inere footnote to history; a series of conclusions inferred from data \vhich have been arrived at by precisely the same methods as those which enable us to pro- nounce upon the probability of any other events in the past history of man, or of the \vorld in \vhich he lives. \Ve are no longer dealing with a creed whose real premises lie deep in the nature of things. I t is no question of metaphysical specula- tion, moral intuition, or mystical ecstasy \vith which we are concerned. \Ve are asked to believe the Universe to have been designed by a Deity for the same sort of reason that we believe Canterbury Cathedral to have been designed by an architect; and to believe in the events narrated in the Gospels for the same sort of reason that we believe in the murder of Thomas à Becket. N ow I anl not concerned to lnaintain that these arguments are bad; on the contrary, nlY personal -opinion is that, as far as they go, they are good. The argument, or perhaps I should sayan argunlent, from design, in some shape or other, will always have value; \vhile the argument from history must always form a part of the evidence for any histori- cal religiol1. The first will, in my opinion, survive R.\TIOX...\LIST ORTHODOXY 179 .any inferences fro111 the doctrine of natural selection; the second will survive the consequences of critical assaults. But more than this is desirable; more than this is. indeed, necessary. F or however good arguments of this sort are, or may be made, they are not equal by themselves to the task of upsetting so massive an obstacle as developed Naturalism. They have not, as it were, sufficient intrinsic energy to .effect so great a change. They may not be ill directed, but they lack momentum. They may not be technically defective, but they are assuredly practically inadequate. To many this may appear self-evident. '[hose \vho doubt it \vill, I think, be convinced of its truth if they put themselves for a moment in the position of a man trained on the strictest principles of N aturalis111; acquainted \vith the general methods and results of Science; cognisant of the general course of secular human history, and of the means by \\ThicI1 the critic and the scholar have endeavoured to extort the truth from the records of the past. To such a man the growth and decay of great religions, the legends of \vonders 'Norked and suffering endured by holy men in many ages and in different countries, .are familiar facts-to be fitted someho\v into his general scheme of kno\vledge. They are phenomena to be eXplained by anthropology and sociology, "instructive examples of the operation of natural la\v .at a particular stage of human development-this, and nothing more. Nz 180 RATIO ALIST ORTHODOXY N ow present to one whose mind has been so prepared and disciplined, first this account of Natural Religion, and then this version of the evidences for Revelation. So far as Natural Religion is cón- cerned he will probably content himself \\"ith saying, that to argue from the universality of causation within the world to the necessity of First Cause outside the world is a process of very doubtful validity: that to argue from the character of the world to the benevolence of its Author is a process more doubtful still: but that, in any case, we need not disturb ourselves about matters we so little understand, inasmuch as the Deity thus inferred, if He really exists, completed the only task which Natural Religion supposes Him to have undertaken when, in a past immeasurably remote, he set going the machinery of causes and effects, which has ever since been in undisturbed operation, and about which alone we have any real sources of information. Supposing, however, you have induced your Naturalistic philosopher to accept, if only for the sake of argument, this version of Natural Religion, \\Vhat will he say to your method of extracting the proofs of Revealed Religion from the Gospel his- tory? Explain to him that there is good historic evidence of the usual sort for believing that for one brief interval during the history of the U ni verse, and in one sn1all corner of this planet, the con- tiTJUOUS chain of universal causation has been broken; that in an insignificant country inhabited by RATIO ALIs'r OH.Tl[ODOXY I8I I I , j I dn unimportant branch of the Semitic peoples events are alleged to have taken place which, if they reaIly occurred, at once turn into foolishness the \v hole theory in the light of which he has been accuston1cd to interpret human experience, dnd convey to us knowledge which no mere contemplation of the general order of Nature could enable us even dimly to anticipate. \Vhat ,vould be his reply? His reply would be, nay, is (for our imaginary interlocutor has unnumbered prototypes in the .,vorld about us), that questions like these can scarcely be settled by the n1ere accun1ulation of historic proofs. Granting all that \vas asked, and more, perhaps, than ought to be conceded; granting that the evidence for these \vonders ,vas far stronger than any that could be produced in favour of the apocryphal miracles \vhich cro\vd the annals of every people; granting even that the evidence seemed far more than sufficient to establish any incident, however strange, which does not run counter to the recognised course of Nature; what then? \\T e \vere face to face \vith a difficulty, no doubt; but the interpretation of the past \vas necessarily full of difficulties. Conflicts of testimony with antecedent probability, conflicts of different testimonies \vith each other, ',uere the fan1iliar perplexi- ties of the historic inquirer. In thousands of cases no absolutely satisfactory solution could be arrived at. Possibly the Gospel histories were among these. N either the theory of myths, nor the theory of con- temporary fraud, nor the theory of late invention, nor 182 RATIONALIST ORTHODOXY any other which the ingenuity of critics could devise,. might provide a perfectly clean-cut explanation of the phenomena. But at least it might be said with confidence that no explånation could be less satis- factory than one which required us, on the strength of three or four ancient documents-at the best written by eye-witnesses of little education and no scientific knowledge, at the worst spurious and of no authority-to remodel and revolutionise every principle which governs us with an unquestioned jurisdiction in our judgments on the Universe at large. Thus, slightly modifying Hume, might the disciple of Naturalism reply. And as against the rationalis- ing theologian, is not his answer conclusive? The former has borrowed the premises, the methods, and all the positive conclusions of Naturalism. He advances on the same strategic principles, and fron1 the same base of operations. And though he professes by these means to have overrun a whole continent of alien conclusions with which Naturalism will have nothing to do, can he permanently retain it ? Is it not certain that the huge expanse of his theology, attached by so slender a tie to the main system of which it is intended to be a dependency, will sooner or later have to be abandoned; and that the weak and artificial connection which has been so ingeniously contrived will snap at the first strain to which it shall be subjected by the forces either of criticism or sentiment? PART III SOME CAUSES OF BELIEF 18 5 CHAPTER I C USES OF EXPERIENCE I So far the results at w-hich \ve haye arrived Inay be not unfairly described as purely negative. I n the first part of these Notes I endeavoured to sho\\- that N aturalisn1 ,vas practically insufficient. I n the first chapter of Part I I. I indicated the vie\v that it \yas speculatively incoherent. The obvious con- clusion ,vas therefore drawn, that under these circumstances it \vas in the highest degree absurd to employ ,vith an unthinking rigour the canon of consistency as if Rationalisn1, \vhich is Naturalism in embryo, or Naturalism, \vhich is Rationalisn1 developed, placed us in the secure possession of some unerring standard of truth to \,"hich all our beliefs ll1ust be ll1ade Oto confonn. A brief criticisn1 of one theological scheme, by \vhich it has been sough t to avoid the narro,vnesses of N aturalisn1 \vithout breaking with Rationalising methods, con- firmed the conclusion that any such procedure is 186 C.AUSES OF EXPERIENCE predestined to be ineffectual, and that no mere inferences of the ordinary pattern, based upon ordinary experience, will enable us to break out of the Naturalistic prison-house. But if Naturalism by itself be practically in- sufficient, if no conclusion based on its affirmations will enable us to escape from the cold grasp of its negations, and if, as I think, the contrasted system of Idealism has not as yet got us out of the difficulty, what remedy remains? One such remedy consists in simply setting up side by side with the creed of natural science another and supple- mentary set of beliefs, \vhich may minister to needs and aspirations which science cannot meet, and may speak amid silences which science is po\ver- less to break. The natural world and the spiritual world, the world which is immediately subject to causation and the ,vorld which is immediately subject to God, are, on this view, each of them real, and each of them the objects of real know- ledge. But the laws of the natural world are revealed to us by the discoveries of science; \vhile the laws of the spiritual world are revealed to us through the authority of spiritual intuitions, inspired witnesses, or divinely guided institutions_. And the two regions of knowledge lie side by side, contiguous but not connected, like empires of dif- ferent race and language, which o\vn no comn1on jurisdiction nor hold any intercourse \vith each other, except along a disputed and wavering frontier where CAUSES OF EXPERIEKCE 18ï no superior power exists to settle their quarrels or dctern1ine their respective limits. To thousands of persons this patch,,'ork scheme of belief, though it may be in a form less sharply defined, has, in substance, commended itself; and if and in so far as it really meets their needs I have nothing to say against it, and can hold out small hope of bettering it. I t is much more satisfactory as regards its content than Naturalism; it is not much less philosophical as regards its method; and it has the practical merit of supplying a rough-and-ready ex- pedient for avoiding the consequences \vhich fo 11 0"" from a premature endeavour to force the general body of belief into the rigid limits of one too narro\\ system. I t has, ho\ve\rer, obvious inconveniences. There are many persons, and they are increasing in num- ber, who find it difficult or impossible to acquiesce in this unconsidered division of the '\Vhole' of kno\vledge into two or more unconnected fragments. Naturalism nlay be practically unsatisfactory. But at least the positive teaching of Naturalism has secured general assent; and it shocks their philo- sophic instinct for unity to be asked to patch and plaster this accepted creed with a number of hetero- geneous propositions drawn from an entirely dif- ferent source, and on behalf of which no such common agreen1ent can be claimed. \\That such persons ask for, and rightly, is a philosophy, a scheme of kno\vledge, \vhich shall give 188 CAUSES OF EXPERIENCE rational unity to an adequate creed. But, as the reader kno"vs, I have it not to give; nor does it even seem to me that we have any right to flatter our- selves that we are on the verge of discovering some all-reconciling theory by which each inevitable claim of our complex nature may be harmonised u.nder the supremacy of Reason. Unity, then, if it is to be attained at all, must be sought for, so to speak, at some lower speculative level. We must either pursue the Rationalising and Naturalistic method already criticised, and compel the desired unification of belief by the summary rejection of everything which does not fit into some convenient niche in the scheme of things developed by empirical methods out of sense-perception; or if, either for the reasons gi ven in the earlier chapters of these Notes. or for others, we reject this method, we must turn for assist- ance towards a new quarter, and apply ourselves to the problem by the aid of son1e more comprehensive, or at least more manageable, principle. II To this end let us ten1porarily divest ourselves of all philosophic preoccupation. Provisionally restricting ourselves to the scientific point of vie\v, let us forbear to consider beliefs from the side of proof, and let us survey them for a season from the side of origin only, and in their relation to the causes which gave them birth. Thus considered they are, CAUSES OF EXPERIEXCE 18 9 I , I I I I I of course. Inere products of natural conditions; psychological gro\vths comparable to the flora and fauna of continents or oceans; objects of which \ve 111ay say that they are useful or harmful, plentiful or rare, but not, except parenthetically and \vith a certain irrelevance, that they are true or untrue. Ho\v, then, ", ould these beliefs appear to an investigator from another planet "'Tho, applying the ordinary methods of science, and in a spirit of detached curiosity, should survey theI11 from the outside, with no other object than to discover the place they occupied in the natural history of the earth and its inhabitants? He would note, I suppose, to begin \vith) that the vast 111ajority of these beliefs were the short-lived offspring of sense-perception, instincti ve judgments on observed matter-of-fact. 'The sun is shining.' 'there is somebody in the roon1,' , I feel tired,' would be examples of this class; \vhose members, from the nature of the case, refer in1n1ediately only to the passing moment, and die as soon as they are born. I f now our investigator turned his attention to the causes of these beliefs of percep- tion, he would. of course, discover, in the first place, that, \vhen normal, they were invariably due to the action of external objects upon the organisn1, and Blore particularly upon the nervous system, of the percipient; and in the second place, that though these beliefs were thus all due to a certain kind of neural change, the converse of the proposition is by no I11eanS true, since, taking the organic \vorld at 19 0 CAUSES OF EXPERIENCE large, it was by no means the case that neural changes of this kind invariably, or even usually, issued in beliefs of perception, or, indeed, in any psychical result whatever. F or consider how the case must present itself to our supposed observer. He \vould see a series of -organisms possessed of nervous systems ranging from the most rudimentary type to the most com- plex. He would observe that the action of the exterior world upon those systems varied, in like manner, from the simple irritation of the nerve- tissue to the multitudinous correspondences and adjustments involved in some act of vision by man or one of the higher mammals. And he would con- clude, and rightly, that between the upper and the lower members of the scale there \vere differences of degree, but not of kind; and that existing gaps might be conceived as so filled in that each type might melt into the one in1n1edia tely below it by insensible gradations. If, however, he endeavoured to draw up a scale of psychical effects whose degrees should correspond with this scale of physiological causes, two results \vould make themselves apparf'nt. The first is, that the lower part of the psychical scale would be a blank, because in the case of the simple organisms nervous changes carried with them no mental consequents. The second is, that even \vhen mental consequents do appear, they form no continuous series like their physiological antecedents; but, on the contrary, C...\.USES OF EXPERIEXCE 19 1 those at the top of the scale are found tu differ in son1ething more than degree from those \vhich clppear lower do\vn. \ V e do not, for example, sup- pose that protozoa can properly be said to feel, nor that every aniI11al \vhich feels can properly be said to fonn judgI11ents or to possess imI11ediate beliefs of perception. One conclusion our obseryer \vould, I suppose, dra\v from facts like these is, that \vhile neural sensibility to external influences is a \videspread benefit to organic Nature, the feelings, and still more the beliefs, to which in certain cases it gives rise are relatiyely insignificant phenomena, useful supple- Inents to the purely physiological apparatus, neces- sary, perhaps, to its highest developments, but still, if operative at all, 1 rather in the nclture of final improvements to the I11achinery than of parts essen- tial to its working. A like result \vould attend his study of the next class of beliefs that I11igh t fall under his notice, those, namely, \\-9hich, though they do not relate to things or events \vithin the field of perception, like those \ve have just been considering, are yet not less imme- diate in their character. l\Iemories of the past are exan1ples of this type: I should be inclined to add, though I do not propose here to justify my opinion, certain illstincti ve and, so to speak, autornatic expec- tations about the future or that pelrt of the present which does not con1e \vithin the reach of direct ex- 1 See Nate on Chapter V'., page 3 0 4. 19 2 CAUSES OF EXPERIENCE perience. Like the beliefs of perception of ,vhich we have been speaking, they would seem to be the psychical side of neural changes which, at least in their simpler forms. need be accompanied by no psychical manifestation. Physiological co-ordina- tion is sufficient by itself to perform services for the lower aninlals similar in kind to those \\Y hich, in the case of nlan, are usefully, or even necessarily, supplemented by their beliefs of memory and of ex- pectatIon. These t\VO classes of belief, relating respectively to the present and the absent, cover the \vhole ground of what is commonly called experience, and something more. They include, therefore. at least in rudimentary fornl, all particulars \vhich, on any theory, are required for scientific induction; and, according to empiricisnl in its older forms, they supply not this only, but also the whole of the raw material, \vithout any exception, out of which reason n1.ust subsequently fashion ,,,hatever stock of additional beliefs it is needful for mankind to entertain. Our Imaginary Observer, however, quite indif- ferent to nlundane theories as to ,vhat ought to produce conviction, and intent only on discovering how convictions are actually produced, \vould soon find out that there were other influences besides reasoning required to supplement the relati,-ely simple physiological and psychological causes which originate the imnlediate beliefs of perception, menlory, C..\USES OF EXPERIENCE 193 and expectation. These immediate bcliefs bclong to ITIan as an individual. They in vol vc no C0I11merCe Lct\veen mind anù 111ind. 1"hey ll1ight equally exist, and \vould equally be necessary, if each man stood face to face \vith 111aterial Nature in friendless isola- tion. But they neither provide, nor by any merely logical extension can bE: made to provide, the appa- ratus of beliefs \yhich \ve find actually connected ,,-ith the higher scientific social and spiritual life of the race. These also are, \vithout doubt, the product of antecedent causes-causes many in nUI11ber. and most diverse in character. They presuppose, to begin \vith, the beliefs of perception, men1ory, and expectation in their elementary shape; and they also imply the existence of an organism fitted for their hospitable reception by ages of ancestral prepa- ration. But these conditions, though necessary, are clearly not enough; the appropriate environment has also to be provided. And though I shall not attempt to analyse with the least approach to cOlnpleteness the elements of which that environn1cnt consists, yet it contains one group of causes so important in their collecti\re operation, and yet in popular dis- course so often misrepresented, that a detailed notice of it seems desirable. o 194 CHAPTER II AUTHORITY AND REASON I THIS group is perhaps best described by the tern1 Authority, a word which by a sharp transition trans- ports us at once into a stormier tract of speculation than we have been traversing in the last few pages, though, as my readers may be disposed to think, for that reason, perhaps, among others, a tract n10re nearly adjacent to theology and the proper subject- matter of these Notes. However this may be, it is, I am afraid, the fact that the discussion on \vhich I am about to enter must bring us face to face with Qne problem, at least, of which, so far as I an1 aware, no entirely satisfactory solution has yet been reached; which certainly I cannot pretend to solve; which can, therefore, for the present only be treated in a man- ner provisional, and therefore unsatisfactory. Nor .are these perennial and inherent difficulties the only obstacles we have to contend with. For the subject is, unfortunately, one familiar to discussion, and, like all topics which have been the occasion of passionate AUTIIORI fV ..\ I> REASO 195 debate, it is one \vhere party \vatch\vords have exer- cised their perturbing and eJnbittering influence. It woulù be, perhaps, an exaggeration to assert that the theory of authority has been for three cen- turies the Inain battlefield \vhereon have met the opposing forces of ne\v thoughts and olJ. But if so, it is only because, at this point at least, victory is comn10nly supposed long ago to have declared itself decisiyely in favour of the new. The very statement that the rival and opponent of authority is reason 1 see111s to 1110St persons equivalent to a declaration that the latter n1ust be in the right, and the former in the \Vro11g; \vhile popular discussion and speculation hdve driven deep the general opinion that authority serves no other purpose in the economy of Nature than to supply a refuge for all that is most bigoted and absurd. The current theory by \vhich these yie\vs are sup- ported appears to be s0111ething of this kind. E very- one has a ' right' to adopt any opinions he pleases. I t is his ' duty,' before exercising this' right,' critically to sift the reasons by \vhich such opinions may be supported, and so to adjust the degree of his convic- tions that they shall accurately correspond \vith the evidences adduced in their favour. ..\uthority, there- fore, has no place an10ng the legitilnate causes of belief. I f it appears an10ng them, it is as an in- 1 It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to note that throughout this chapter I use Reason in its ordinary and popular, not in its transcen- dental, sense. There is no question here of the Logos or Absolute Reason. 02 19 6 AU1'HORITY AI\V REASON truder, to be jealously hunted down and lnercilessly expelled. Reason, and reason only, can be safely permitted to mould the convictions of lnankind. By its inward counsels alone should beings who boast that they are rational submit to be controlled. Sentiments like these are among the COlnmon- places of political and social philosophy. Yet, looked at scientifically, they seeln to me to be, not lnerely erroneous, but absurd. Suppose for a moment a C01l1- munity of which each member should deliberately set himself to the task of throwing off so far as possible all prejudices due to education; where each should consider it his duty critically to examine the grounds whereon rest every positive enactn1ent and every mora] precept which he has been accustolned to obey; to dissect all the great loyalties which make social life possible, and all the lninor conventions which help to make it easy; and to weigh out with scrupulous precision the exact degree of assent which in each particular case the results of this process might seem to justify. To say that such a COlnmu- nity, if it acted upon the opinions thus arrived at, would stand but a poor chance in the struggle for existence is to say far too little. I t could never even begin to be; and if by a miracle it was created, it would without doubt imlnediately resolve itself into its constituent elements. F or consider by way of illustration the case of l\Iorality. If the right and the duty of private judgment be universal, it must be both the privilege l\UTHORITY l\ND RE...\SON 197 and the business of every nlan to subject the maxÎnls uf current morality to a critical examination; and unless the examination is to be a farce, every nlan should bring to it a mind as little \varped as possible by habit and education, or the unconscious bias of foregone conclusions. Picture, then, the condition of d society in \vhich the successive generations \vould thus in turn devote their energies to an impartial criticism of the' traditional J yiew. \Vhat qualifica- tions, natural or acquired, for such a task we are to attribute to the nlenlbers of this emancipated conl- nlunity I know not. But let us put them at the highest. Let us suppose that every man and \VOlnan, or rather eyery boy and girl (for ought Reason to be ousted fronl her rights in persons under t\venty-one years of age? ), is endo,,-ed \vith the apti- tude and training required to deal with problenls like these. Arm thenl \vith the most recent methods of criticism, and set them down to the task ot estimating \vith open nlinds the claims \vhich charity, temperance and honesty, nlurder, theft and adultery respectively have upon the approval or disapproval ()f mankind. \ \That the result of such an experiment would be, \vhat wild chaos of opinions would result fronl this fiat of the U ncreating \\T ord, I kno\v not. But it might \vell happen that even before Our youthful critics got so far as a re-arrangement of the Ten Commandments, they might find themselves entangled in the prelinlinary question whether judg- ments conveying moral approbation and disapproba- 19 8 AUTHORITY AND REASON tion were of a kind which reasonable beings should be asked to entertain at all ; \vhether 'right' and' wrong' were words representing anything more permanent and important than certain likes and dislikes which happen to be rather widely disseminated, and more or less arbitrarily associated with social and legal sanctions. I conceive it to be highly probable that the conclusions at which on this point they \vould arrive would be of a purely negative character. The ethical systems con1peting for acceptance would by their very nUlnbers and variety suggest suspicions as to their character and origin. H ere, would our students explain, is a clear presulnption to be found on the very face of these n10ralisings that they were contrived, not in the interests of truth, but in the interests of traditional dogma. How else explain the fact, that \yhile there is no great difference of opinion as to ,vhat things are right or wrong, there is no semblance of agreen1ent as to why they are right or \vhy they are wrong. All authorities concur, for instance, in holding that it is wrong to comn1Ït mur- der. But one philosopher tells us that it is ,vrong because it is inconsistent \vith the happiness of n1an- kind, and that to do anything inconsistent \vith the happiness of mankind is ,vrong. Another tells us that it is contrary to the dictates of conscience, and that everything which is contrary to the dictates of conscience is \vrong. A third tells us that it is against the comlnandlnents of God, and that every- thing \vhich is against the cOlnmandlnents of God is AUTI[ORITY AKD l EASON 199 ,vrong. A fourth tells nle that it leads to the gallows, and that, inasl1luch as Lcing hanged involves a sen- sible dinlinution of personal happiness, creatures ,vho, like man, are by nature incapable of doing other,vise than seek to increase the sum of their personal pleasures lnd dinlinish the sunl of their personal pains cannot, if they really cOl1lprehend the situation, do anything ,vhich I1lay bring their existence to so distressing a ternlination. Now ,vhence, it ,vould be askeù, this curious nlixture of agreement and disagreement? Ho\v account for the strange yariety exhibited in the pre111ises of these ,rarious systems, and the not less strange unifornlity exhibited in their conclusions? \ \Thy ùoes 110t as great a divergence manifest itself in the results arriyed at as \ve undoubtedly find in the nlethods enlployed? Ho\v comes it that all these explorers reach the same goal, ,yhen th ir points of departure are so \videly dispersed? Plainly but one plausible nlethod of solving the difficulty exists. The conclusions \vere in every case deter- mined before the argunlent began, the goal \vas in every case settled before the travellers set out. There is here no surrender of belief to the in\vard guidance of unfettered re son. Rather is reason coerced to a foreordained issue by the external operation of prejudice and education, or by the rougher nlachinery of social ostracism and legal penalty. The framers of ethical systems are either philosophers \vho are unable to free themselves fr0111 200 AUTHORITY AND RE.ASON the unfelt bondage of customary opinion, or advo- cates who find it safer to exercise their liberty of speculation in respect to premises about which no- body cares, than in respect to conclusions which might bring them into conflict with the police. So Inight \ve iInagine the meInbers of our eman- cipated comn1unity discussing the principles on which morality is founded. But, in truth, it were a vain task to try and \vork out in further detail the results of an experiment which, hUInan nature being what it is, can never be seriously attempted. That it can never be seriously attempted is not, be it observed, because it is of so dangerous a character that the community in its \visdom would refuse to em- bark upon it. This would be a frail protection indeed. Not the danger of the adventure, but its impossibility, is our security. To reject all convic- tions which are not the products of free speculative investigation is, fortunately, an exercise of which humanity is in the strictest sense incapable. Some societies and some individuals n1ay show more incli- nation to indulge in it than others. But in no con- dition of society and in no individual will the incli- nation be more than very partidlly satisfied. Always and everywhere our Imaginary Observer, contem- plating from some external coign of vantage the course of human history, would note the imInense, the inevitable, and on the whole the beneficent, part which Authority plays in the production of belie[ .\UTHORITY 1\:\1> REASON 201 II This truth finds expression, and at first sight we n1ight feel inclined to say recognition also, in such familiar commonplaces as that eyery man is the , product of the society in \\'hich he lives,' and that' it is \?ain to expect hin1 to rise much abo\'e the level of his age.' But aphorisn1s like these, however use- ful as aids to a correct historical perspective, do not, as ordinarily employed, sho\v any real apprehension of the yerity on \vhich I desire to insist. They belong to a theory \vhich regards these social influ- ences as clogs and hindrances, hanlpering the free movements of those \vho might under happier cir- cumstances have struggled successfully to\vards the truth; or as perturbing forces \\'hich drive mankind from the even orbit Inarked out for it by reason. Reason, according to this yie\v, is a kind of Ormuzd doing constant battle against the Ahriman of tradition and authority. I ts gradual triun1ph over the oppos- ing po\vers of darkness is ",hat \ve mean by Progress. Everything \vhich shall hasten the hour of that triun1ph is a gain; and if by some magic stroke \ve could extirpate, as it ,,'ere in a moment, every cause of belief \yhich \vas not also a reason, \ve should, it appears, be the fortunate authors of a reform in the moral \vorId only to be paralleled by the abolition of pain and disease in the physical. I have already in- dicated some of the grounds \vhich induce me to 202 AUTHORITY AND REASON form a very different estinlate of the part \vhich reason plays in human affairs. Our ancestors, whose errors we palliate on account of their environn1ent with a feeling of satisfaction, due partly to our keen appreciation of our o\yn happier position and greater breadth of view, were not to be pitied because they reasoned little and believed n1uch; nor should \ve necessarily have any particular cause for self-gratu- lation if it were true that \ve reasoned n10re and, it may be, believed less. Not thus has the world been fashioned. But, nevertheless, this identification of reason \tvith all that is good among the causes of belief, and authority \tvith all that is bad, is a delusion so gross and yet so prevalent that a n10ment's ex- alnination into the exaggerations and confusions \vhich lie at the root of it may not be thro\vn avvay. The first of these confusions D1ay be dismissed almost in a sentence. It arises out of the tacit assunlption that reason means right reason. Such an assulnption, it need hardly be said, begs half the point at issue. Reason, for purposes of this discus- sion, can no more be n1ade to mean right reason than authority can be n1adè to Inean legitilnate authority. True, we might accept the first of these definitions, and yet deny that all right belief \vas the fruit of reason. But \ve could hardly deny the con- verse proposition, that reason thus defined must al\vays issue in right belief. N or need we be con- cerned to deny a statement at once so obvious and so barren. AUTHORITY ANI) REASON 20 3 The source of error ,,-hich hets next to be noted presents points of much greater interest. Though it be true, as I an1 contending, that the importance of reason an10 g the causes \vhich produce and main- tain the beliefs, custon1S, and ideals \,-hich forn1 the groundw'ork of life has been much exaggerclted, there can yet be no doubt that reason is, or appears to be. the cause oyer which \ve have the 1110St direct control, or rather the one \vhich \ve n10st readily identify ,,-i th our o\vn free and personal action. \ \T e are acted on by authority. I t moulds our \vays of thought in spite of oursel,"es, and usually unkno\vn to ourselves. But ,yhen \ye reason \ve are the authors of the effect produced. \Ve have ourselyes set the machine in motion. For its proper ".orking \ye are ourselves in1mediately responsible; so that it is both natural and desirable that \ve should concen- trate our attention on this particular class of caus s, e,ren though \ve should thus be led unduly to magnify their importance in the general schen1e of things. I have some\yhere seen it stated that the steam- engine in its prin1itiye forn1 required a boy to \york the yalve by which stean1 \'"as adn1itted to the cylinder. I t was his business at the proper period of each stroke to perforn1 this necessary operation by pulling a string; and though the same object has long since been attained by Inechanical 111ethods far simpler and 1110re trust\vorthy, yet I have little doubt that until the adyent of that revolutionary 20 4 AUTHORITY AND REASO youth who so tied the string to one of the moving parts of the engine that his personal supervision was no longer necessary, the boy in office greatly magni- fied his functions, and regarded himself with pardon- able pride as the most important, because the only rational, link in the chain of causes and effects by which the energy developed in the furnace -as ultimately converted into the motion of the flywhec1. So do \ve stand as reasoning beings in the presence of the con1plex processes, physiological and psychical, out of which are lnanufactured the convictions neces- sary to the conduct of life. To the results attained by their co-operation reason lnakes its slender contri- bution; but in order that it may do so effectiyely, it is beneficently decreed that, pending the evolution of some better device, reason should appear to the reasoner the n10st adlnirable and in1portant contri- vance in the whole lnechanism. The n1anner in \vhich attention and interest are thus unduly directed to\,yards the operations, yital and social, which are under our direct control, rather than those which we are unable to modify, or can only modify by a very indirect and circuitous pro- cedure, may be illustrated by countless examples. Take one fron1 physiology. Of all the con1plex causes which co-operate for the healthy nourishment of the body, no doubt the conscious choice of the most ?holesome rather than the less \vholesome forms of ordinary food IS far from being the lnost unimportant. Yet, as it is within our immediate AUTHORITY i\ND RE_\SON 20 5 C0111petence, \ve attend to it, 1110ralise about it, and generally 111ake much of it. But no man can Ly taking thought directly regulate his digestive secretions. \\T e never, therefore, think of then1 at all until they go \vrong, and then, unfortunately, to \"cry little purpose. So it is \vith the body politic. A certain proportion (probably a small one) of the changes and adaptations required by altered surroundings can only be effected through the solvent action of criticism and discussion. Ho\v such discussion shall be conducted, \vhat are the argU111ents on either side, ho\v a decision shall be arrived at, and how it shall be carried out, are matters \vhich \ve seen1 able to regulate by conscious effort and the deliberate adaptation of 111eans to ends. \Ve therefore unduly mdgnify the part they play in the furtherance of our interests. \\T e perceive that they supply business to the practical politician, ra\v material to the political theorist; and \ve forget an1id the buzzing of debate the multitude of incon1parably more important processes, by \,,-hose undesigned co- operation alone the life and gro\vth of the State is rendered possible. III There is, ho\vever, a third source of illusion, \vhich ,yell deser\yes the attentive study of those \vho, like our Imaginary Observer, are interested in the purely external and scientific investigation of the causes ,,-hich produce belief. I have already in this chapter made reference to the.' spirit of the age' as 206 AUTHORITY .A D REASON one form in which authority most potently Inanifests itself; and undoubtedly it is so. Dogmatic educa- tion in early years n1ay do much. 1 'rhe immediate pressure of domestic, socia1, scientific, ecclesiastical surroundings in the direction of specific beliefs may do even more. But the po\ver of authority is never more subtle and effective than \vhen it produces a psychological 'atmosphere' or ' climate' favourable to the life of certain modes of belief, unfa vourable, and even fatal, to the life of others. Such' climates' may be widely diffused, or the reverse. Their range may cover a generation, an epoch, a whole civilisa- tion, or it may be narro\ved down to a sect, a fan1ily, even an individual. And as they n1ay vary infinitely in respect to the extent of their influence, so also they may vary:.in respect to its intensity and quality. But whatever be their limits and whatever their character, their importance to the conduct of life, social and individual, cannot easily be overstated. Consider, for instance, their effect on great classes of belief with which reasoning, were it only on ac- count of their mass, is quite incompetent to deal. If all credible propositions, all propositions which some- body at some tin1e had been able to believe, \vere only to be rejected after their claims had been impartially tested by a strictly logical investigation, the intellectual n1achine \vould be overburdened, and its movements hopelessly choked by mere 1 I may again remind the reader that the word dogmatic as used in these Notes has no special theological reference. AUTHORITY AXD RE_\.SOX 20 7 excess of InateriaI. Even such products as it could turn out \vould, as I conjecture (for the experiment has never been tried), prove but a lTIotley collection, so diverse in design, so incongruous and ill-assorted, that they could scarcely contribute the fitting furni- ture of a \vell-ordered mind. \ Vhat actuall y hdppens in the vast nlajority of cases is something very different. To begin \vith. external circumstances, mere conditions of time and place, limit the number of opinions about \vhich anything is known, and on \vhich, therefore, it is (so to speak) material1y po sible that reason can be called upon to pronounce a judg- nlent. But there are internal limitations not less universal and not less necessary. F e\v indeed are the beliefs, even among those ,vhich conle under his observation, \vhich any indi,.idual for a nloment thinks himself called upon seriously to consider \vith a vie,v to their possible adoption. The residue he sunlnlarily disposes of, rejects ,vithout a hearing, or, rather, treats as if they had not even that þriJlzâ facie claim to be adjudicated on \"hich formal rejection seenlS to imply. N o\V, can this process be described as a rational one? That it is not the inlmediate rpsult of reason- ing is, I think, evident enough. All \yould adnlit, for example, that \vhen the nlind is closed against the reception of any truth by , bigotry' or ( inveterate prejudice,' the effectual cause of the ,.ictory of error is not so nluch bad reasoning as something \\?hich, in its essential nature, is not reasoning at all. But 208 AU'fHORITY AND REASO there IS really no ground for drawing a distinction as regards their n1üde of operation between the 'psychological clilnates' \vhich ,ve happen to like and those of which we happen to disapprove. Ho\v- ever various their character, all, I take it, ,vork out their results very much in the same kind of way. F or good or for evil, in ancient times and in n1odern, among savage folk and an10ng civilised, it is ever by an identic process that they have sifted and selected the candidates for credence, on which reason has been afterwards called upon to pass judgment; and that process is one ,vith which ratiocination has ]ittle or nothing directly to do. But though these' psychological climates' do not work through reasoning, n1ay they not themselves, in many cases, be the products of reasoning? l\iay they not, therefore, becauses of belief which belong, though it be only at the second remove, to the domain of reason rather than that of authority? To the first of these questions the answer must doubtless be in the affirn1ative. Reasoning has unquestionably a great deal to do with the production of psychological climates. As' climates' are among the causes ,vhich produce beliefs, so are bcliefs among the causes which produce' clin1ates,' and all reasoning, therefore, which culminates in belief may be, and indeed n1ust be, at least indirectly concerned in the effects which belief develops. But are these results rational? Do they follow, I n1can, on reason quâ reason; or are they, like a schoolboy's tears over a proposition ..\UTHûRITY ANI) REASON 20 9 of Euclid, consequences of reasoning, but not con- cl usions frol1l it? In order to ans\ver this question it IlldY be \vorth \vhile to consider it in the light of an exanlple \vhich I have already used in another connection and under a different aspect. I t will be recollected that in a preceding chapter I considered Rationalisnl, not as a psychological cliInate, a well-characterised mood of mind, but as an explicit principle of judgment, in which the rationalising temper Inay for purposes of argument find definite expression. To Rationalism in the first of these senses-to RationalisI11, in other \vords, considered as a forol of Authority-I no\v revert; taking it as an instance specially suited to Ollr purpose, not only because its meaning is ""ell understood, but because it is found at our o\\'n le,'el of intellectual ùe,.eloprl1ent, and ".e can therefore study its origin and character v,ith a kind of insight quite impossible when we are dealing \vith the c clirllates' \vhich govern in so singular a fashion the beliefs of prirnitive races. These, too, nlclY be, and I suppose are, to SOBle extent, the products of reason- ing. But the reasoning appears to us as arbitrary as the resulting · clin1cltes' are repugnant; and though \ve can note and classify the facts, we can hardly c0I11prehend theIn \vith sympathetic under- standing. \Vith Rationalism it is different. Ho\v the dis- coveries of science, the growth of criticisnl, and the diffusion of learning should ha ,.e fostered the p 210 AUTHORITY .AND RE...\SON rationalising temper seems intelligible to aU, because all, in their different degrees, have been subject to these very influences. Not everyone is a rationalist; but everyone, educated or uneducated, is prepared to reject without further exanlination certain kinds of statement which, before the rationalising era set in, would have been accepted without difficulty by the wisest among mankind. N ow this modern 11100d, whether in its qualified or unqualified (i.e. naturalistic) form, is plainly no mere product of non-rational conditions, as the enumeration I have just given of its most conspicu- ous causes is sufficient to prove. Natural science and historical criticism have not been built up with- out a vast expenditure of reasoning, and (though for present purposes this is inlmaterial) very good reasoning, too. But are we on that account to say that the results of the rationalising tenlper are the work of reason? Surely not. The rationalist re- jects miracles; and if you force him to a discussion, he may no doubt produce from the anlple stores of past controversy plenty of argument in support of his belie[ But do not therefore assume that his belief is the result of his argument. The odds are strongly in favour of argument and belief having both grown up under the fostering influence of his 4 psychological clinlate.' F or observe that precisely in the way in which he rejects nliracles he also rejects witchcraft. Here there has been no con- troversy worth nlen tioning. The general belief in \UTHORJTY .\XI> RE \SO 211 \vitchcraft has died a natural ùeath, and it has not been \\-orth anybudy's while to devise argulnents against it. Perhaps there clre none. But, \vhether there be or nut, no logical axe \vas required to cut do".n a plant \"hich had not the least chance ûf flourishing in a Inental atll10sphere so rigorous and uncongenial as that üf rationalisI11; and accordingly no logical axe has been provided. The belief in I11eSlnerisI11, ho\ve,-er, supplies in S0l11e \vays a 1110re instructi,-e case than the belief either in I11iracles or \\-itchcraft. Like these, it found in rationaIisnl a hostile influence. But, unlike these, it could call in ahnost at ,,-ill the assistance of ,,-hat \vould now be regarded as ocular ùenlonstration. For t\yO generations, ho\veyer, this ,vas founel insuf- ficient. For t\\90 generations the rationalistic bias pro,-eel sufficiently strong to per,.ert the judgnlent of the Blost distinguished obser,-ers, and to incapacitate thenl froln dccepting \vhat under nlore fa,.ourable circul11stances they ,,,"ould ha'ge called the 'plain eyidence of their senses.' So that \ve are here pre- sented ,,-ith the curious spectacle of an intellectual 11100cl or tenlper, \vho e origin ,,-as largely clue to the gro\vth of the experilllental sciences, 11laking it inlJ>ossible for those affectèLI to dra\v the sinlplest inference, even fronl the nlost conclusi,-e experi- tHen ts. This is an interesting case of the conflict bet,veen authority and reason, because it illustrates the general truth for \vhich I ha,.e been contending, ,vith an P2 212 AUTHORITY .AND REASON enlphasis that would be impossible if we took as our exanlple sOlne worn-out ' esture of thought, thread- bare fronl use, and strange to eyes accustomed to newer fashions. RationalisIn, in its turn, nlay be predestined to suffer a like decay; but in the mean- while it forcibly exeInplifies the part played by authority in the forInation of beliefs. If rationalisnl be regarded as a non-rational effect of reason and a non-rational cause of belief, the same adnlission will readily be made about all other intellectual climates; and that rationalisn1 should be so regarded is now, I trust, plain to the reader. The only results \vhich reason can clainl as hers by an exclusi,re title are of the nature of logical conclusions; and rationalisnl is not a logical conclusion, but an intellectual temper. The only instruments which reason. as such, can en1ploy are arguments; and rationalisnl is not an argument. but an ilnpulse tow-ards belief. or disbelief. So that. though rationalism, like other · psychological clinlates.' is doubtless due, anlong other causes, to reason. it is not on that account a rational product; and though in its turn it produces beliefs, it is not on that account a rational cause. IV The nlost inlportant source of error on this sub- ject remains, howe,"er, to be dealt \vith ; and it arises directly out of that jurisdiction ,,"hich in nlatters of belief ,':e can hardl r do other\yise than recognise as ..\UTl-lORITY .:\NI> RE.ASO 21 3 belonging tu }{eason by a natural and indefeclsible title. Noone finds (if tHY oLservations in this Inatter are correct) any serious difficulty in attribut- ing the urigin of other people's beliefs, especially if he disagree \vith thenl, to causes \vhich are 110t reasons. That interior assent should be produced in countless cases by custonl, education, public opinion, the C(Jn- tagiuus conyictions of countrynlen, family, party. or Church, seenlS natura1. and eyen obvious. That but a snla11 nUI11ber, at least of the 1110St inlportant and fundan1ental belief , are held by persons ,,-ho could gi\Te reasons for them, and that of this small number only cln inconsiderable fraction are held in conse- quence of the reasons by \vhich they are n0111inally supported. nlay perhaps be admitted ",.ith no very great difficulty. But it is harder to recognise that this hl\v is not n1erely, ùn the \\-hole, beneficial, but that \vithout it the business of the \vorld could not possibly be carried un; nor do \ve allo\'v , \\-ithoüt reluctance and a sense of shortconling, that in our o,,-n persons \ve supply ilIustrations of its operation quite as striking as any presented to us by the rest of the \yorId. K 0\"" this reluctance is not the result of vanity, nor of any fancied il11nlunity fron1 \veaknesses C0I11nl0n to the rest of Illankind. I t is, rather, a direct consequence úf the vie"'T \ve find uur- selves conlpelled to take of the essential character of reason and of our relations to it. Looked at frot11 the outside, as one dn10ng the conlplex 21 4 .L\UTHORI'TY .L\XD RE \SON conditions \vhich produce belicf, reason appears relatively insignificant and ineffectual; not only appears so, but 111ztst be so, if hunlan society is to be ll1ade possible. Looked at froll1 the inside, it claims by an inalienable title to be suprell1e. l\lea- sured by its results it may be littJe; ll1easured by its rights it is eyerything. There is no problenl it ll1ay not inyestigate, no belief \vhich it may not assail, no principle \vhich it ll1ay not test. I t cannot, eyen by its own yoluntary act, deprive itself of uni,-ersal jurisdiction, as, according to a once fashionable theory, primitive n1an, on entering the social state, contracted hin1self out of his natural rights and liberties. On the contrary. though its clainls may be ignored, they cannot be repudiated; and even those ",-ho shrink from the criticisI11 of dog111a as a sin. ",-ould probably adn1it that they do so because it is an act forbidden by those they are bound to obey ; do so, that is to say, non1inally at least. for a reason \vhich, at any moment, if it should think fit. reason itself 111ay reverse. \Vhy, under these circunlstances, \ye are n10yed to regard ourselyes as free intelligences, forn1ing our opinions solely in obedience to reason; ","hy we COl1le to regard reason itself, not only as the sole legitinlate source of belief-",-hich, perhaps, it l11ay be-but the sole source of legitin1ate beliefs-\yhich it assuredly is not,111ust now, I hope, be tolerably obyious, and needs not to be further en1phasised. I t is n10re instructi'Te for our present purpose to consider for a monlcnt .AUTHORITY .A T) REASO 21 5 certaIn consequences of this antinomy betw'een the equities of l{eason and the expediencies uf Authority ,vhich rise into prominence whenever, under the changing conditions of society, the forces of the latter are being di,'erted into ne\v and unaccuston1ed channels. I t is true, no doubt, that the full extent and difficulty of the problems involved have not com- Inonly been realised by the advocates either of authority or reason, though each has usually had a sufficient sense of the strength of the other's position to induce hin1 to borrow from it, even at the cost of son1e little inconsistency. The supporter of autho- rity, for instance, may point out some of the more obvious evils by \vhich any decrease in its influence is usually accompanied: the con1minution of sects, the divisions of opinion, the \veakened powers of co-operation, the increase of strife, the \vaste ?f po,"'er. Yet, so far as I am a,"yare, no nation, party, or Church has ever courted controversial disaster by adn1itting that, if its claims \vere itnpartially tried at the bar of Reason, the verdict would go against it. In the sanle \vay, those \vho haye most clamorously upheld the prerogati\yes of individual reason have ah\'ays been forced to recognise by their practice, if not by their theory, that the fight of every man to judge on every question for himself is like the right of e\-ery man \vho possesses a balance at his bankers to require its inlmediate paynlent in soyereigns. The right n1ay be undoubted; but it can only be 216 AUTHORITY AND REASON safely enjoyed on condition that too 111any persons do not take it into their heads to exercise it together. Perhaps, howeyer, the most striking evidence, both of the powers of au thori ty and the rights of reason, may be found in the fact already alluded to, that beliefs which are really the offspring of the first, when challenged, invariably clainl to trace their descent fronl the second, although this improvised pedigree nlay be as imaginary as if it were the work of a college of heralds. To be sure, when this contrivance has served its purpose it is usually laid silently aside, while the belief it ,vas intended to support remains quietly in possession, until, in the course of tinle, some other, and perhaps not less illusory, title has to be devised to meet the pleas of a new clainlan t. If the reader desires an illustration of this pro- cedure, here is one taken at random from English political history. Among the results of the move- ment which culnlinated in the Great Rebellion was of necessity a nlarked diminution in the universality and efficacy of that mixture of feelings and beliefs which constitute loyalty to r:ational governnlent. N ow loyalty, in some shape or other, is necessary for the stability of any form of polity. I t is one of the most valuable products of authority, and, whether in any particular case conformable to reason or not, is essentially unreasoning. I ts theoretical basis therefore excites but little interest, and is of very subordinate inlportance so long as it controls AliTHORITY \XlJ REASO 21 7 the hearts of nlen \vith undisputed S\'hlY. But as soon as its supren1acy is challenged, men begin to cast about anxiously for reasons \vhy it should con- tin ue to be obeyed. Thus, to those .ho lived through the troubles \vhich preceded and acconlpanied the Great Rebel- lion, it becanle suddenly apparent thdt it -as above all things necessary to bolster up by argument the creed \vhich authority had been found ten1po- rarily insufficient to sustain; and of the argu- n1ents thus called into existence t\VO, both of extra- ordinary absurdity, have becoIne historically fanlous -that contained in Hobbes' Leviathan,' and that taught for a period \vith nluch vigour by the .Anglican clergy under the nanle of Divine right. These theories nlay have done their \vork; in any case they had their day. I t ,vas discovered that, as is the \vay of abstract argull1en ts dragged in to meet a concre e difficulty, they led logically to a great many conclu- sions 111uch less con\-enient than the one in \vhose defence they had been originally invoked. The crisis \vhich called then1 forth passed gradually a\vay. They \\1ere repugnant to the taste of a different age; , Leviathan' and 'passive obedience' \vere handed over to the judgn1ent of the historian. This is an exanlple of ho\y an ancient principle, broadly based though it be on the needs and feelings of hun1an nature, may be thought no\v and again to require external support to enable it to meet some special stress of circumstances. But often the stress 218 AUTHORIT\ A D REA.SON is found to be brief; a few internal alterations meet all the necessities of the case; to a new generation the added buttresses seen1 useless and unsightly. They are soon den10lished, to n1ake way in due tin1e, no doubt, for others as temporary as them- selves. Nothing so quickly waxes old as apolo- getics, unless, perhaps, it be cri ticisn1. A precisely analogous process con1monly goes on in the case of new principles struggling into recog- nition. As those of older growth are driven by the instincts of self-preservation to call reasoning to their assistance, so these claim the aid of the same ally for purposes of attack and aggression ; and the incongruity between the real causes by which these new beliefs are sustained, and the official reasons by ,vhich they are from time to tin1e justified, is often not less glaring in the one case than in the other. \Vitness the ostentatious futility of the theories- , rights of man,' and so forth-by the aid of which the modern democratic n10ven1ent ,vas nursed through its infant n1aladies. N ow these things are true, not alone in politics, but in every field of hun1an activity where authority and reason co-operate to serve the needs of mankind at large. And thus may \ve account for the singular fact that in n1any cases conclusions are more per- 111anent than premises, and that the successive growths of dPologetic and cri tical literature do often not n10re seriously affect the enduring outline of the beliefs by which they are occasioned than the suc- AUTHORITY .\XI) REASOX 21l) cessi \"e forests of beech and fir determine the shape of the eyerlasting hills frotn \vhich they spring. y Here, perhaps, I Inight fitly conclude this portion of 111)'" task, ""ere it not that one particular I110de in ,,"hich Authority endeavours tu call in reasoning to its assistance is so i111portdnt in itself, and has led to so much confusion both of thought and of language, that a fe\v paragraphs de\"oted to its con- sideration nlay help the reader to a clearer under- standing of the general subject. Authority, as I ha\ge been using the tern1, is in all cases contrasted ,,-ith Reason, and stands for that group of non-rational causes, I110ra1. social and educational, ,,-hich produces its results by psychic processes other than reasoning. ] ut there is a sin1ple operation, a n1ere turn of phrase, by ,,-hich many of these non-rational causes can, so to speak, be converted into reasons \vithout seetning at first sight thereby to change their function as channels of Authority; and so convenient is this 111ethnd of bringing these t\\90 sources of con \"iction on to the same plane, so perfectly does it minister to Ollr instincti\ge desire to produce a reason for e\?ery challenged belief, that it is constantly re- sorted to, \vithout apparently any clear idea of its real iInport, both by those \\"ho regard themselves as upholders and those \vho regard theI11sel\?es as opponents of Authority in l11atters of opinion. 220 .AUTHORITY .ANi) RE.l\SON To say that I believe a staten1ent because I haye been taught it, or because my father believed it before tne. or because everybody in the village believes it, is to announce what everyday experience inforn1s us is a quite adequate cause of belief-it is not, ho\vever, þer se, to give a 'reason for belief at all. But such staten1ents can be turned at once into reasons by no process n10re elaborate than that of explicitly recognising that tny teachers. t11Y fan1ily, or ll1Y neighbours, are truthful persons, happy in the possession of adequate means of inforlnation-pro- positions \vhich in their turn, of course, require argull1entative support. Such a procedure l11ay, I need hardly say. be quite legitin1ate; and reasons of this kind are probably the principal ground on \yhich in I11ature life \ve accept the great n1ass of our sub- ordinate scientific and historical convictions. I believe, for instance, thdt the moon falls in to\\;ards the earth \vith the exact velocity required by the force ()f gravitation. for no other reason than that I belieye in the con1petence and trust\vorthiness of the persons who ha\-e made the necessdry calculations and ob- servations. I n this Cdse the reason for my belief and the in1n1ediate cause of it are identical; the cause, indeed, is a cause only in virtue of its being first a reason. But in the forn1er case this is not so. iJIere early training, paternal authority, or public opinion, were causes of belief before they were rea- sons; they continued to act as non-rational causes after they becalne reasons; and it is not ilnprobable ..t\UTHORITY _\ D REASO 221 that to the very end they contributed less to the resultant conviction in their capacity as reasons than they did in their capacity as non-rational causes. I'\ 0'''' the temptation thus to con ,pert causes into reasons seelns under certain circulnstances to be altnost irresistible, even when it is illegitin1ate. Authority. as such, is fron1 the nature of the case ./ dll1nb in the presence of argulnent. I t is only by reasoning that reasoning can be ans,vered. I t can be, anJ has often been, thrust silently aside by that instinctive feeling of repulsion \vhich ".e call pre- judice ",,,hen we happen to disagree ,vith it. But it can only be replied to by its o\vn kind. And so it COInes about that Vt 7 henever any systen1 of belief is seriously questioned, a n1ethod of defence \\"hich is altnost certain to find favour is to select one of the causes by which the belief has been produced, and forth,vith to erect it into a reason ,vhy the systery.1 should continue to be accepted. Authority, as I ha\"e been using the tenn, is thus conyerted into 'an authority,' or into 'authorities.' It ceases to be the opposite or correlati ,.e of reason. I t can no longer be contrasted with reason. It becon1es a slJecies of reason, and as a species of reason it Inust be judged. So judged, it appears to IHe that t\VO things pertinent to the present discussion Inay be said of it. I n the first place, it is evidently an argulnent of il11men e utility and of very ,vide application. As I have just noted, it is the proxiInate reason for an 222 AUTHORrrv \XI) RE...i\SO enorn1ous proportion of our beliefs as to matters of fact, past and present, and for that very large body of scientific knowledge which even experts in science can have no opportunity of personally verifying. But, in the second place, it seen1S not less clear that the argument fro111 'an authority' or 'authorities' is aln10st always useless as a fouudation for a systen1 of belief. The deep-lying principles \vhich alone deserve this name n1ay be, and frequently are. the product of authority. But the atten1pt to ground them dialectically upon an authority can scarcely be attel11pted. except at the risk of logical disaster. Take as an exan1ple the general systen1 of our beliefs about the n1aterial universe. The greater nun1ber of these are, as we have seen, quite legiti- 111ately b8.sed upon the argu111ent fron1 'authorities' ; and it is extre111ely probable that if any attack like that contained in the Second Part of these Notes be made upon the foundations of the system, an endeavour will be 111ade to extend to then1 also the support of so useful an ally. The' universal ex- perience,' or the ' general consent of n1ankind,' ,vill be adduced as an authoritati'Te sanction of certain fundamental presuppositions of physical science; and of these, at least, it "'Till be said, sccurus jOudicat orbis terra ru Jll. But a very little consideration is sufficient to show that this procedure is illegitimate, and that, as I have pointed out, \ve can neither know that the verdict of n1ankind has been given, nor, if it has, that anything can properly be inferred AUTHORITY AXn RE6\SO 223 fronl it, unless \ve first aSSUll1e the truth of the very principles \vhich that verdict \vas inyoked to establish. I The state of things is not ll1aterially different in the case of ethics and theology. There also the argunlent fronl 'an authority' or 'authorities' has a legitilnate and most inlportant place; there also there is a constant inclination to extend the use of " the argunlent so as to cover the fundamental portions of the system; and there also this endeayour, when nlade, seems predestined to end in a piece of circular reasoning. I can hardly il1ustrate this statenlent \vithout lnentioning dognla; though, as the reader \vill readily understéJ.nd, I haye not the slightest desire to do anything so little relevant to the purposes of this Introduction in order to argue either for or against it. As to the reality of an infal1ible guide, in \vhatever shape this has bee.I1 accepted by various sections of Christians, I have not a \vord to say. As part of a creed it is quite outside the scope of ll1Y inquiry. I ha\ye to do \vith it only if, and in so far as, it is represented, not as part of the thing to be believed, but as one of the fundanlental reasons for believing it; and in that position I think it inadmissible. l\Ierely as an il1ustration, then, let us consider for a lTIOment the particular case of Papal Infallibility, an example \vhich nlay be regarded \\.ith the greater 1 Cf. for a developmen(of this statement, Philos{)þhic Doubt, chap. Vll. 224 l\UTHORITY ...-\ D REASO impartiality as I an1 not, I suppose, likely to have among the readers of these Notes many by whom it is accepted. I f I rightly understand the teaching of the Ron1an Catholic theologians upon this subject, the following propositions, at least, must be accepted before the doctrine of I nfallibility can be regarded as satisfactorily proyed or adequately held :-( I) 1"'hat the words Thou art Peter, and upon this rock,' &c., and, again. ' Feed my sheep.' were uttered by Christ; and that, being so uttered, were of Divine authorship, and cannot fail. (2) That the meaning of these words is-(a) that St. Peter was endowed with a prin1acy of jurisdiction O\Ter the other Apostles; (b) that he was to have a perpety.al line of successors, sin1i1arly endo\ved with a prinlacy of jurisdiction; (c) that these successors \vere to be Bishops of Ron1e; (d) that the pri1l1acy of jurisdiction carries with it the certainty of Divine' assistance' ; (e) that though this' assistance' does not ensure either the 1110rality, or the wisdon1, or the general accuracy of the Pontiff to whom it is given, it does ensure his absolute inerrancy ,vhenever he shall, ex cathedrâ, define a doctrine of faith or n10rals; (f) that no pronounce- ment can be regarded as éX cathedrâ unless it relates to S01l1e matter already thoroughly sifted and con- sidered by C0111petent divines. Now it is no part of my business to ask how the six sub-heads contained in the second of these propositions can by any legitimate process of exegesis be extracted fron1 the texts Inentioned in \CTHORITY AX!) l{E \SOX 2 "- -,) the first: nor ho\v. if they be accepted tu the full, they can ob\riate the necessity for the conlplicatcd exercise of pri\rate juclgll1ent required to detennine \vhether any particular decision has or has not been n1ade untler the conditions necessary to constitute it a pronouncenlent ex cathedrd. l"'hese are questions to be discussed bet\veen ROlnan Catholic and non- Ronléul Catholic contro,rersialists, and ,vith \vhich I have nothing here to do. 1\1 y point is. that the first proposition alone is so absolutely sub,rersive of any purely naturalistic vie\v of the uni,rerse. in ,'olves so nlany fundanlental elenlents of Christianity (c.g. the supernatural character of Christ and the trust- \\lorthiness of the first and fourth Gospels. \vith all that this carries \\-ith it). that if it does not require the argunlent frol11 an infallible authority for its support. it seen1S hard to understand ,,-here the necessity for that argulnent can COl11e in at any fundalnental stage of apologetic denlonstration. And that this proposition does not require infallible authority for its support seenlS plain frol11 the fact that it cloes itself supply the nlain ground on \\-hich the existence of infallible authority is belieyed. This is not. and is not intended to be, an objection to the doctrine of Papal Infallibility; it is not. and is not intended to be. a criticisnl by nleans of exalnp]e directed against other doctrines invohring the exist- ence of an unerring guide. But if the reader ,\-ill attenti, ely consider the lllatter he ,,-ill, I think, see that \vhate,-er be the truth or the value of such . n '- 226 AUTHORITY AND REASON doctrines, they can never be used to supply any fundanlental support to the systems of \vhich they fornl a part without being open to a reply like that \vbich I have supposed in the case of Papal I nfalli- bility. I ndeed, when we reflect upon the character of the religious books and of the religious organi- sations through vvhich Christianity has been built up ; '"hen we consider the variety in date, in occasion, in authorship, in context, in spiritual developnlent, ,vhich lllark the first; the stormy history and the in- e\'"itable division which mark the second; when \VC, further, reflect on the astonishing nunl ber of the pro- blenls, linguistic, critical, nletaphysical. and historical which nlust be settled, at least in SOBlé prelinlinary fashion, before either the books or the ùrganisations can be supposed entitled by right of rational proof to the position of infaIIible guides, ,ve can hardly sup- pose that we were intended to find in these the logiral foundations of our systenl of religious beliefs, ho\vever inlportant be the part (and can it be exag- gerated ?) \vhich they were destined to play in pro- ducing, fostering, and directing it. VI Enough has no\v, perhaps, been said to indicate the relati\.c positions of Reason and l\uthority in the production of belief. To Reason is largely due the gro\vth of ne\v and the sifting of old kno\vledge ; the . ..\UTf{ORIT\7 ..\ I> J{E..\.SO 227 ordering. and in part the disc()\.ery, of that \Tast body of sy...,teIl1atised conclusions \,"hich constitute so large a portion of scien ti fie, ph ilosoph ical. eth ical. political, and theological lcarning. '[0 :Reason \ve are in Olne J11CaSUre beholden, though not. I )t rhaps, so l1luch as \\We suppose, for hourly aid in l1lanaging so Inuch of the trifling portion of our personal affairs entrusted to our care by Nature as \ve do not happen to have already surrendered to the control uf habit. By Reason also is directed, or nlisdirected. the public policy of COnlJ11Unities \\-ithin the narro\v lill1its of de- \Tiation l'crnlitted by accepted cu,-;tonl and tradition. Of its inlInense inclirect consequences, of the part it has played in the eyolution of hunlan affilirs by the disintegration of ancient creeds. by the a1teration of the external conditions of hunlan life, by the pro- duction of ne\\- nloods of though t, or. as I ha ye tennecl theIn, psychological clinlates, \\-e can in this cunnection say nothing. For these are no rational effects of reason; the causal nexus by \vhich they .are bound to reason has no logical aspect; and if reason produces theIn, as in part it certainly does, it i. in a l11anner indistinguishable frunl that in \yhich ilnilar consequences are blindly produced by the distribution of continent all 1 ocean, the \Tarring fertility of different regions. and the other ll1aterial ;urrouIHlings by \vhich thl' destinies of the race are Inodified. \ \Yhen \\-e turn. ho\\-e\.er. f[()ln the conscious \vork of Reason to that \\-hich is unconsciously per- Q2 228 ACTHORIT\ l\Xn RE...\SQX forI11ed for us by Authority. a yery different spec- tacle arrests our attention. The effects of the first , prolnincnt as they are through the dignity of their origin. are trifling compared \yith the all-pervad- ing influences ".hich flow froln the second. At e,?ery 1110nlen t of our Ii \?es. as indi'Tiduals. as ll1enlbers of a fal11ily, of a party, of a nation. of a Church, of a uni'Tersal brotherhood, the silent, con- tinuous, unnoticed influence of Authority Inoulds our " feelings. our aspirations, and, ".hat \ve are 1110re inl- I11ediately concerned with, our beliefs. I t is froln ..A.uthority that Reason itself dra\vs its l110st il11portant preIl1ises. I t is in unloosing or directing the forces of Authority that its 1110St inlportant conclusions find their principal function. And even in those cases \yhere \ye l11ay nlost truly say that our beliefs are the rational product of strictly intellectual processes, \V ha \.e, in all probability, only got to trace back the thread of our inferences to its beginnings in order to percei,?e that it finally loses itself in S0111e general ] )rinciple \vhich, describe it as \\;e 111ay, is in fact due to nu 1110re defensiblè origin than the influence of Authority. N or is the conlparative pettiness of the râle thus played by reasoning in hunlan affairs a l11atter for regret. K ot nlerely because \ve are ignorant of the clata required for the solution, e\?en of very sinlple problenls in organic dnd socictl life, are \ve called on to acquiesce in al1 arrangel11ent \yhich, to be sure, .\lJTHURITY .\:\D RE.\ O 229 \YC ha\-c nu po\\-er to disturb; nor yet Lecausc these data, did ,\.c possess then1, are tuo con1plex to be dealt \\-ith by any rational calculus \ve possess or are e\rer likely to acquire; but because, in addition to these difficulties, reasoning is a force n10st apt tu dividt; and disintegrate; and though division and dis- integration lnay often be the necessary prelin1inaries of social de\relopn1ent, still Inore necessary are the forces \\-hich bind and stiffen, \\-ithout \vhich there \voult! be no society to develop. I t is true, no doubt. that \\-e can, \vithout any great expenditure of research, accumulate instances in ,,-hich l\uthority has perpetuated errur and retarded prugress; for, unluckily, none of the inrluences, Reason least of all, by ,,-h ich the history of the race has been Inoulded ha\-e been productive of llnn1ixed good. The s} )rings at \yhich ,,-e quench our thirst are ah\-ays turbiù. \7 et, if \ve are to judge \vith equity hct\\-een these ri,-al clainléults, \ve 11lust 110t forget that it is ..\uthority relther than Reason to \vhich, in the 11lain, ""e u\ye, not religion unly, but ethics and politics: that it is l\llthority ,,,hich supplies us \vith essential elenlt;nts in the pre11lises of science; that it is Authority rather than Reason \\-hich lays deer the foundations of social life; that it is ....\uthority rather than Reason \vhich cenlent its superstructure. And though it nla,- seenl to saVCLr of } )aradox, it is yet no exaggeration to say, that if \\-e ,,-oulcl find the quality in \vhich \\-e 111CSt not lb]y 23 0 ii..UTHORITY AXD RE...\SO excel the brute creation, \ye should look for it, not so nluch in our faculty of conyincing and being con\7inced by the exercise of reasoning. as in our capacity for influencing and being influenced through the action of Authority. p ART IV SUGGESTIOKS TO\V ARDS A PROVISIO AL PHILOSOPHY ,) CHAPI'ER I THE G RO U N D\\ro RK I \\TE haye no\\- considered beliefs, or certain inlportant classes of thenl, under three aspects. \ \T e have con- sidered thenl fro11l the point of \-ie\v of their practical necessity; fronl that of their philosophic proof; and froln that of their scientific origin. I nquiries relating to the saIne subject-nlatter nlore distinct in their character it \,"ould be difficult to concei,-e. It renlains for us to consider \\-hether it is possible tÒ extract fronl their conlbined results any general ,-ie\v ,vhich l11ay conl111and at least a pro\Tisional assent. I t is evident. of course, that this general yie\\-, if ,ye are fortundte enough to reach it, \viII not be of the nature of a conlplete ur adequate philosophy. The unification of all belief into an ordered whole, conlpactecl into one coherent structure under the stress of reason, is an ideal \\-hich \\-e can neyer abandon; but it is also one \yhich, in the present condition of our kno\\-ledge, perhaps e,-en of our faculties, \ye seenl incapable of attaining. F or the nlonlent \ve 11lust content oursel,-es \yith sOillething 234 THE GROUNI)'YORI,- less than this. The best systenl we can hope to cunstruct will suffer froln gaps and rents, fronl loose ends and ragged edges. I t does not, ho\\-ever, follow fronl this that it \vill be without a high degree of yalue; and, \yhether valuable or \vorthless, it nlayat least represent the best \\Tithin our redch. I y the best I, of course, nlean best in relation to reflective reason. If \ve have to subnlit, as I think \ye Blust, to an incolnplete rationalisation of belief, this ought not to be because in a fit of intellectual despair we are driyen to treat reason as an illusion; nor yet because \\-e haye deliberately resolyed to transfer our allegiance to irrational or non-rational inclination; but because reason itself assures us that such a course is, at the lo\vest, the least irrational one open to us. If \ye have to find our war oyer difficult seas and under murky skies without compass or chrononleter, \ye need not on that account allow the ship to dri\ye at rand0111. Rather ought \\Te to \veigh \\Tith the nlore anxious care every indication, be it negatiye or positi\Te, and fronl whate\Ter quarter it 111ay conle, which can help us to guess at our position and to layout the course ,,-hich it beho\Tes us to steer. N 0\\., the first and nlost elenlentary principle ,yhich ought to guide us in franling any provisional schen1e of unification, is to decline to draw any dis- tinction bet\\-een different classes of belief where no releyant distinction can as a l11atter of fact be dis- cO\Terec1 To pursue the opposite course "'Tould be THE GROUXI)\\ ORIZ 235 gratuitously to irrationalise (to coin a convenient ,,'ord) our schen1e frol11 the yery start; to destroy, by a quite arbitrary treatlnent, any hope of its syn1- lnetrical and healthy deyeloPlnent. ... \nd yet, if there be any yalue in the criticisn1s contained in the Second Part of these Notes, this is precisely the 1nistake into \" hich the ad \Tocates of naturalism ha YC invariably blundered. '\Tithout any preliminary analysis, nay. ,vithout any apparent suspicion that a 1 )relin1inary analysis ,vas necessary or desirable, the\r J J J J ha\'e chosen to assun1e that scientific beliefs stand not only upon a different. but upon a much 1110re solid. platfon11 than any others; that scientific standards supply the sole test of truth. and scientific 111ethods the sole instrun1ents of discovery. I ,vill not repeat the argull1ents ,,-hich haye led 1ne to the conviction that such pretensions ha\Te n.o foundation in reason. 'rhe reader is already in pos- session of son1e of the argun1ents ,,-hich are, as it seelns to Ine, fatal to such clain1s, and it is not necessary here to repeat theln. "That is n10re to our present purpose is to find out ,vhether. in the absence of philosophic proof. judgll1ents about the phenol11e- nal, and n10re particularly about the Inaterial. ,vorld 1 >ossess any other characteristics ,,-hich. in our attelnpt at a provisional unification of kno\\-ledge, forbid us to place then1 on a leyel \vith other classes of belief. 'rhat there are differences of Olnè sort no one, I itnagine. ,,,ill atteillpt to deny. But are they of a kind \"hich require us either to gi\Te any special pre- 23 6 'rHE GROUKI )\\-ORK cedence to science, or to exclude other beliefs alto- gether froI11 our general schellle ? One peculiarity there is ", hich seenlS at first sight effectually to distinguish certain scientific beliefs fro 111 any \vhich belong, say, to ethics or theology; a peculiarity ",'hich l11ay, perhaps, be best expressed Ly the ,,'orcl 'ine\.itableness.) E \.ery- body has, and everybody is obliged to ha\ e, SOine conyictions about the \vorld in \yhich he liyes-con- victions ,,-hich in their narren\' and particular fornl (as what I have before called beliefs of perception, Illenlory, and expectation) guide us all. children, sayages, and philosophers alike, in the ordinary conduct of day-to-dav existence; \yhich, \yhen Q'ene- '" '-' ralised and extended, suppl) us ,,'ith sonle of the leading presuppositions on \,,'hich the \vholc fabric of science appears logically to depend. No convic- tions quite answering to this description can, I think, be found either in ethics, æsthetics, or theolog). Sonle kind of 1110rality is, no doubt, required for the stabilitv even of the rudest forll1 of social life. Sonle sense of beauty, sonle kind of religion, is, perhap:-ì, to be discovered (though thi is disputed) in every hllIllan conlinunity. But certainly there is nothing in either of these great departlnents of thought quite corresponding to our habitual judgnlents about the things we see and handle; judg111ents \yhich, \yith reason or without it, all ll1ankind are practically cOlllpelled to entertain. Conlpare, for exanlple, the central truth of thco- THE GROUKI)\rORK 237 10gy-'I'here is a Goel'-with one of the fundanlental presuppositions of science (itself a generalised state- l1lcnt of \vhat is given in ordinary judglnents of per- ception)-' There is an independent Inaterial \yorIe1.' lain lnyself Jisposed to doubt ".hether so good a case can be 11lade out for accepting the second of these propositions as can be made out for accepting the first. But \\-hile it has been found by Inany. not only possible. but easy. to doubt the existence of God. doubts as to the independent existence of 111atter ha\-e assuredlv been confined to the rarest 1110nlents .I of subjective reflection. and ha \-e dis ol ,-ed like sunll11er ll1ists at the first touch of ,yhat we are pleased tl) call reality. X 0\\-, \vhat are \\le to nlake of this fact? In the opinion of lnany persons, perhaps of 1110st. it affords a conclusi,-e ground for ele\-ating science to a different plane of certitude fronl that on ",-hich other systenlS of belief nlust Le content to d",-ell. The c,-idence of the senses, as we loosely describe these judgnlents of perception, is for such person the best of all e\-idence: it is ine,-itable. so it is true; seeing, as the pro,-erb has it, is indeed belieying. This sonle\yhat crude yie\v, ho\\"'eyer, i not one \\-hich ,,-e can accept. The coercion exercised in the production of th,esc beliefs is not, as has been already sho\\ln. a rational coercion. E yen ,vhile \ve SUbll1it to it \\-e Inay judge it; and in the ,-ery act of belieying ,,-c lnay be conscious that the strength of our Lelief is 23 8 l'HE (;ROUXJ)\rORK. far in excess of anything \yhich tnere reasoning Cdn justify. I anl tnaking no cOlnplaint of this disparity bet\yeen belief and its reasons. On the contrary, I ha\Te already noted Iny dissent fro 111 the popular vie\v that it is our business to take care that. as far a'.:; possible. these t\VO shall in e\Tery case be nicely adjusted. I t cannot. I contend, be our duty to do that in the nalne of reason \vhich, if it \yere done, \yould bring any kind of rational life to an ilnmediate standstill. i\nd even if \ye could suppose it to be our lluty, it is not one \yhich, as \yas sho\vn in the last chapter, \ve are practically conlpetent to perfornl. I f this be true in the case of those beliefs \vhich o\ve their origin largely to Authority, or the non-rational action of ll1ind on 111ind, not less is it true in the case of those elenlentary judgnlents \\yhich arise out of sense-stilnulation. \\Thether there be an independent n1aterial uniyerse or not nlay be open to philosophic doubt. But that, if it exists. it is expedient that the belief in it should be accepted ,,-ith a credence \\-hich for all practical purposes is inll11ediate and un\\.élyering, adnlits, I think, of 110 doubt ,,-hateyer. If \ye could suppose a c0111nlunity to be called into being \\yho, in their dealings vvith the · external "yorld, I should pernli t action to \vait upon speculation. and require all its 111etaphysical difficulties to be soh.ed before reposing full belief in SOBle such Inaterial surroundings as those ,vhich \ve habitually postulate, its Inelnbers \vould THE GROUND\\ ORK. 239 be o' er\\"helrl1ed by a ruin l1lore rapid and Inore conlplete than that ,vhich, in a preceding chapter. ,vas prophesied for those ,vho should succeed in ousting authority fronl its natural position anlong the causes of belie[ But supposing this be so, it fo11o,ys necessarily, on accepted biological principles,l that -a kind of credulity so essential to the \velfare, not nlerely of the race as a \"hole, but of every single l11enlber of it, \vill be bred b\y elilnination and selection into its .; inlnost organisation. If \ve consider \vhat nlust haye happened at that critical nlonlent in the history of organic de,.eloplllent \vhen first conscious judgnlents of sense-perception nlade thelnseh es felt as important links in the chain connecting ner\yous irritability \\"ith I11uscular action, is it not plain that any indi\.idual in \\"hol11 such judgll1ents ,yere habitually qualified and enfeebled by e\ en the nlost legitilnate scepticisnl ,vould incontinently perish, and that those only \\ ould sur\ i\Ye ".ho possessed, anù could pre- sUll1ably transn1Ít to their descendants, a stubborn assurance \\"hich ,vas beyond the p )\ver of rea"oning either to fortify or to undennine ? X 0 such process \yould corne to the assistance of othl:r faiths, ho,ve,yer true, \vhich ,yere the gro\vth of higher and later stages of ci \ ilised deyelopnlent. 1 .\t the first glance, the reader lnay be disposed to think that to bl ing in science to show \\-hy no peculiar certainty should attaèh to scientific premises is logically inadmissible. But this is not so : though the conyerse procedure. by which scientific conclusions \\ ould be made to L'steib/ish scientific premises, would, no doubt, in\"oh.c an argunl( nt in a circle. 2..}.0 THE GR(JUXI)\rORI F or, in the first place, such faiths are not necessarily, nor perhaps at all. an adyantage in the struggle for existence. In the second place. e\'"en where they are an advantage, it is rather to the conlmunity as a \vhole in its struggles \yith other comnlunities, than to each particular indiyidual in his struggle with other indi viduals. or with the inaninlate forces of Nature. I n the third place, the \\Thole nlachinery of selection and elinlination has been ",yeakened, if not paralysed, by ciyilisation itsel[ And, in the fourth place, ",.ere it still in full operation, it could not, through the nlere absence of tinle and opportunity. have pro- duced any sensible effect in 1110ulding the organisnl for the reception of beliefs \vhich, by hypothesis, are the recent acquisition of a sInall and advanced ll1inori ty. II \Ve are no\v in a position to answer the question put a few pages back. \\ hat, I then asked. if any, is the import, from our present point of view, of the uniyersality and inevitableness which unquestionably attach to certain judgnlents about the world of phenonlena, and to these judgnlents alone? The answer must be, that these peculiarities have no inlport. They exist, but they are irrelevant. Faith or assurance, which, if not in excess of reason, is at least independent of it, seenlS to be a necessity in every great department of knowledge which touches on action; and ",.hat great department is there THE GROUKD\rORK 24 1 ,\"hich does not? 1'he analysis of sense-experience teaches us that \ve require it in our ordinary dealings \vith the Inaterial \vorld. The nlost cursory exalni- nation into the springs of moral action shows that it is an indispensable supplement to ethical speculation. T.heologians are for the most part agreed that without it religion is but the ineffectual profession of a barren creed. 1'he cOlnparative value, ho\vever, of these faiths is not to be nleasured either by their intensity or by the degree of their diffusion. I t is true that all Inen, ".hatever their speculative opinions, enjoy à practical assurctnce with regard to ,,-hat they see and touch. I t is also true that fe\v 111en have an assurdnce equally strong about matters of \yhich their sensés tell them nothing imnlediately; and that nlany men have on such subjects no assurance at all. But as this is precisely \vhat "re shoul l expect if, in the progress of evolution, the need for other faiths had arisen under conditions very different fronl those \vhich produced our innate and long-descended confidence in sense-perception, ho\v can ,ve regard it as a distinction in fa,.our of the \ latter? \Ve can scarcely reckon univt'rsalit) and J necessity as badges of pre-eminence, at the sal11e 111011lent that we recognise thenl as nlarks of the lel11entary and primitive character of the beliefs to \vhich they gi,.e their all-po\verful, but none the Jess irrational, sanction. The tinle has passed for believing that the further \ve go back to\vards the R 24 2 THE GROUND'YORK , state of nature, the nearer we get to \Tirtue and to Truth. \Ve cannot, then, extract out of the coercive character of certain unreasoned beliefs any principle of classification which shall help us to the provi- sional philosophy of which \ve are in search. What such a principle would require us to include in our system of beliefs contents us not. \Vhat it would require us to exclude \ve may not \,rillingly part \vith. And if, dissatisfied \vith this double deficiency, \ve examine more closely into its character and origin, ,ve find, not only that it is ,vithout rational justification-of which at this stage of our inquiry we have no right to con1plain-but that the very account which it gives of itself precludes us fron1 finding in it even a temporary place of intel- lectual repose. I do not, be it observed, make ita Inatter of complaint that those who erect the inevitable judg- ments of sense-perception into a norIn or standard of right belief have thereby substituted (ho".ever unconsciously) psychological compulsion for rational necessi ty; for, as rational necessity does not, so far as I can see, carry us at the best beyond a systen1 of mere 'solipsism,' it 111ust, somehow or other, be supplen1ented if \ve are to force an entrance into any larger and \vorthier inher.itance. 1\1 y complaint rather is, that having asked us to acquiesce in the guidance of non-rational impulse, they should then require us arbitrarily to narrow down the impulses THE GROUX1HYORK 243 ,,-hich \ve 111ay follo\\' to the alnlost aninlal instincts lying at the root of our j udgnlents about ll1aterial phenol11ena. I t is surely better-less repugnant, I mean, to retìectiv"e reason-to franle for ourselves sonle \yider schenle \yhich, though it be founded in the last resort upon our needs, shall at least take account of other needs than those \ve share with our brute progenitors. And here, if not else\\-here, I may claim the support of the most fanlous ll1asters of speculation. Though they have not, it lllay be, succeeded in supplying us \vith a satisfactory explanation of the Universe, at least the Universe \vhich they have sought to explain has been sonlething more than a lTIere collection of hypostatised sense-perceptions, packed side by side in space, and follo\ying each other \,-ith blind uniformity in tinle. All the great architects of systenlS have striven to provide accon1- modation \vithin their schenles for ideas of wider sweep and richer content; and \vhether they desired to support, to lTIoclify, or to oppose the popular theology of their day, they have at least given hospitable \velconle to some of its nlost inlportant .conceptIons. I n the case of such men as Leibnitz, I(ant, I I egel, this is obvious enough. I t is true, I think, even in such a case as that of Spinoza. Philosophers, indeed, nlay find but small satisfaction in his nlethods or conclusions. They may see but little to admire in his elaborate but illusory sho\v of quasi-mathematical R2 244 THE GROUN"T)"-ORK. clen10nstration; in the Nature which is so unlike the Nature of the physicist that we feel no surprise at its, being also called God; in the God \VhQ is so unlike the God of the theologian that "re feel no sur- prise at H is also being called :N ature ; in the a þ1"iorÎ 111 tÇtphysic which evolves the uni,-erse fron1 defini- tions ; in the freedon1 ,,-hich is indistinguishable fro111 necessity; in the volition wbich is indistinguishable from intellect; in the love which is indistinguish- able fro111 reasoned acquiescence; in the uni\"erse from which have been expelled purpose, morality, beauty, and causation, and which contains, therefore, but scant roon1 for theology, ethics, æsthetics, and science. I n the t\VO hundred years and n10re ",rhich have elapsed since the publication of his systen1, it 111ay be doubted whether two hundred persons have been convinc d by his reasoning. Yet he continues to interest the wodd ; and why? Not, surely, as a guid through the mazes of n1etaphysics. N at as a pioneer of · higher' criticisIn. Least of all because he was anything so commonplace as a heretic or an atheist. The true reason appears to lne to be yery different. I t is partly, at lea t, because in despite of his positiye teaching he ,vas endowed with a eligious in1agination ,vhich, in however abstract and metaphysical a fa hion, illunlined the \vhole profitless bulk of inconclusiye demonstration; ,,'hich enabled him to find in notions 1110st ren10te fron sense- experience the only abiding realities; and to convert a purely rational adhesion to the conclusions sup- THE GROUl\ D\\YORI( 2-+5 pnsed tu flo\v fro111 the nature of an inactiye, imper- sonal, and unlnoral substance, into son1ething not quite inaptly tenned the Love of God. It \"ill, perhaps, be objected that \ve have 110 right to clain1 support fron1 the exan1ple of systen1- lnakers \yith \yhose systems \ye do not happen to agree. How, it may be asked, can it concern us that Spinoza extracted son1ething like a religion out of his philosophy, if \ve do not accept his philosophy? Or that Hegel found it possible to hitch large fragn1ents of Christian dogma into the development of the · Idea,' if ,ve are not convinced by his dialectic? It cuncerns us, I reply. inasn1uch as facts like these furnish fresh confirn1ation of a truth reached before by anoth er n1ethod. The natural- istic creed, \vhich merely systematises and expands the ordinary judgn1ents of sense-perception, we found by direct exanlination to be quite inadequate. \Ve no\v note that its inadequacy has been commonly assulned by men \yhose speculatiye genius is ad- lnitted, \vho have seldon1 been content to allow that the \vorld of \vhich they had to give an accotInt could be I1drro\ved do\vn to the naturalistic pattern. III But a Inore serious objection to the point of vie\\" here adupted remains to be considered. Is not, it \vill be asked, the \vhole n1ethod folIo\yed throughout the course of these Notes intrinsicalIy unsound? Is it not substantial1y identical \vith the attempt, not 24 6 THE GROUNf)\YORK ma?e now for the first time, to rest superstition upon scepticism, and to fran1e our creed, not in accord- ance with the rules of logic, but \vith the promptings of desire? I t begins (n1ay it not be said ?) by dis- crediting reason; and having thus guaranteed its results against inconvenient criticisn1, it proceeds to make the needs of man the measure of 'objecti\'e' reality, to erect his con venience iqto the touchstone of Eternal Truth, and to n1ete out the Universe on a plan authenticated only by his wishes. N O\V, on this criticisn1 I hay-e, in the first place,. to obserye that it errs in assun1ing, either that the object ain1ed at in the preceding discussion is to. discredit reason, or that as a n1atter of fact this has been its effect. On the contrary, be the character of our conclusions \yhat it l11ay, they have at least been arrived at by allo,,-ing the fullest play to free, rational in\"estigation. If one consequence of this investigation has been to din1inish the im- portance comn1only attributed to reason an10ng the causes by which belief is produced, it is by the action of reason itself that this result has been brought about. If another consequence has been that doubts have been expressed as to the theoretic validity of certain uni\"ersally accepted beliefs, this is because the right of reason to deal \vith every province of kno\\.ledge, untran1111elled by arbitrary restrictions or cust0111ary inlI11unities, has been assumed and acted upon. If, in addition to all this, we have been incidentally con1pelled to adlnit 1'HE GROUKI>\YORK. 247 that as yet \ve are \\-ithout a satisfactory philosophy. the aclI11ission has not been asked for in the interests eit er of scepticisI11 or of superstition. Reason is not honoured by pretending that she has done ,yhat as a matter of fact is still undone; nor need \ve be driven into a uniyersallicense of credulity by recog- nising that \ye 111ust for the present put up \vith some \vorking hypothesis \\-hich fans far short of specula- tive perfection. But, further, is it true to say that, in the absence , of reason, \\-e ha,-e contentedly accepted mere desire for our guide? o doubt the theory here adyocated requires us to take account, not merely of premises and their conclusions, but of needs and their satisfac- tion. But this is only asking us to do explicitly and on systeI11 ",hat on the naturalistic theory is done unconsciously and at random. By the '"err con- stitution of our being ""e seem practically driyen. to assume a real ,,,"orld in correspondence ,,-ith our ordinary judgn1ents of perception. A harlnony of son1e kind bet\yeen our inner selyes and the uniyerse of \vhich \ye fortn a part is thus the tacit postulate at the root of eyery belief \\re entertain about' phe- n0I11ena ' ; and all that I no"," contend for is, that a like harmony should proyisionally be assumed be- t\\-een that uni,"erse and other elements in our nature \vhich are of a later, of a Inore uncertain, but of no ignobler, gro"-th. \ Y"hether this correspondence is best described as that ,yhich obtains bet,,-een a 'need J and its "248 rrHE GROUNI)'YORI 'satisfaction,' 111ay be open to question. But, at all events, let it be understood that if the relation so described is, on the one side, s0111ething different from that between a premise and its conclusion, so, on the other, it is intended to be equally ren10te fro111 that bet\veen a desire and its fulfil111ent. That it has not the logical validity of the first I have already adn1itted, or rather asserted. That it has not the casual, \vavering, and purely 'subjective' character of the second is not less true. For the correspon- dence postulated is not bet\veen the rleeting fancies of the indi \1idual and the in1n1utable verities of an unseen \yorld, but bet\veen these characteristics of our nature, ",-hich \ve recognise as that in us \vhich, though not necessarily the strongest, is the highest; \vhich, though not always the 1110St universal, is nevertheless the best. But because this theory 111ay seen1 alike remote from fan1iliar forn1s both of dogn1atisn1 and sceptic- ism, and because I an1 on that account the more anxious that no unmerited plausibility should be attributed to it through any obscurity in my \yay of presenting it, let me dra\v out, eyen at the cost of S0111e repetition, a brief catalogue of certain things which 111ay, and of certain other things which may not, be legiti111ately said concerning it. \\T e may say of it, then, that it furnishes us with no adequate philosophy of religion. But \ve ll1ay not say of it that it leaves religion \vorse, or, indeed, other\vise proviùed for in this respect than science. THE { ROL" I)\rORK 249 \ \T e l11ay say uf it that it aSSU111es \vithout proof .él certain consonance bet\\geen the 'subjective' and the 'objecti'9c'; bet\\"een \vhat \\ge are 1110ved to belie,ye and \yhat in fact -is. \\T e nlay not say that the presuppositions of science depend upon any nlore solid, ur, indeed, upon any different, foundation. \\T e nlay say of it, if \ye please, that it gives us a practical, but not a theoretic, assurance of the truths \vith \vhich it is concerned. But, if so, \ve nlust describe in the saIne technical language our assur- ance respecting the truths of the n1aterial \yorId. \Ve n1ay say of it that it accepts proyisionally the theory, based on scientific n1ethods. \vhich traces back the origin of all beliefs to causes \yhich, for the lnost part, are 110n-rational, and \vhich carry \vith theln no \varranty that they \vill issue in right opinion. But \ve nlay not ay of it that the distinction thus dra\vn bet\veen the non-rational causes which produce the ill1nlediate judgnlents of sense-perception, and those \\"hich produce judglnents in the sphere of ethics or theology, Í1nply any superior certitude in the case of the fornler. \\Te Inay say of it that it acltnits judglnents of sense-IJerception to be the 1110St ine,-itable, but . denies thenl to be the 1110st \yorth y. \ \T e lnay say of it generally, that as it assumes the \\Thole, of ,,"hich "re desire a reasoned kno\vledge, to include hUlnan consciousness as an elel11ent, it refuses tu regard any systenl \vhich, like N aturalisnl, leaves large tracts and aspects of that consciousness 1/ 25 0 l'H E (; ROUNI)\YORI unaccounted for and derelict as other than, to that extent. at least. irrational; and that it utterly declines to circulnscribe the I<:nowable by frontiers \\.hosc- delilllitation Reason itself assures us can be justified on no rational principle ,vhatsoeyer. 25 1 CHAP1'ER II BELIEFS .\XD } OR IUL.\S I AFTER these hints to\vards the fornlation of a pro- yisional philosophy, it may perhaps be con,'enient. before proceeding to say ",-hat ren1ains to be said on the character of the beliefs for \vhich it Inay provide a foundation, to interpolate SOBle obseryations on the for111al side of their historical developn1ent, ","hich ,,,,ill not only serve, I hope, to 111ake clearer the general scheme here advocated. but 111ay help to solve certain difficulties \vhich haye sonletinles been felt in the in terpretation of theological and ecclesias- tical history. Assu111ing, as ,ye do, that I no\vledge exists. \ye can hardly do other\vise than Illake the further.as- sumption that it has gro\\ n and Blust yet further gro\v. In ,vhat 111élllner, then, has that gro,vth been aCC0111 plished ? \ \That are the external signs of its successi,'e stages, the marks of its gradual e,"olution? One. at least, ll1ust strike all ,,,,ho ha'"e sur,"eyed, e,-en \vith a careless eye, the course of hUB1an specu- lation- I 111ean the recurring process by \yhich the explanations or explanatory forn1lI1as in terms of ,vhich mankind endea,'our to con1prehend the uni- 25 2 BELIEFS .L\ I) FOR:\IUL \S verse are forn1ed, are shattered, and then in son1C ne\v shape are forn1ed again. I t is not, as \\ye some- tin1es represent it, by the steady addition of tier to tier that the fabric of kno\vledge uprises from its foundation. I t is not bv Inere accun1ulation of n1aterial, nor eyen by a plant-like development, that our belief\) gro\v less inadequate to the truths \vhich they striye to represent. Rather are \ve like o e \vho is perpetually engaged in altering son1e ancient d\velling in order to satisfy new-born needs. The gr:ouncl-plan of it is being perpetually n1oclifiec1. \Ve build here; \ve pull do\yn there. One part is kept in repair, another part is suffered to decay. And even those portions of the structure \vhich l11ay in thel11Sel\yes appear quite unchanged, stand in such . ne\v relations to the rest, and are put to such different uses, that they \vould scarce be recognised by their original designer. Yet even this Inetaphor is inadequate, and per- haps 111isleading. \ \1' e shall 1110re accurately con- ceive the true history of kno\vledge if ""e represent it under the similitude of a plastic body \vhose shape and size are in constant process of alteration through the operation both of external and of internal forces. '[he internal forces are those of reason. The ex- ternal forces correspond to those non-rational causes on \vhose illlportance I have already dwelt. Each of these agencies n1ay be supposed to act Loth by way of destruction and of addition. By their joint operation new n1aterial is deposited at one point, BELIEFS .L\XO FOR:\IULAS 253 old Inaterial is eroded at another; and the \vhole nlass, ". hose balance has been thus disturbed, is constantl} changing its configuration and settling to\vards a new position of equilibriunl, which it may approach, but can neycr quite attain. \\T e nlust not, ho\\'ever, regard this body of beliefs as being equally l1lobile in all its parts. Certain elenlents in it ha,.e the po\yer of conferring on the \vhol sonlething in the nature of a definite struc- ture. These are known as · theories,' · hypotheses,' · generalisations,' and 'explanatory fornlulas' In general. They represent beliefs by \yhich other beliefs are co-ordinated. They supply the fralne\york in ,vhich the rest of kno\yledge is arranged. Theìr right construction is the noblest \vork of reason; and \vithout their aid reason, if it could be exercised at aIL \vould itself be dri,.en fron1 particular to particular in helpless be\\.ildern1ent. N O\V the action and reaction bet,\'een these fonnulas and their contents is tQe nlost alient, and in some respects the 1110st interesting, fact in the histor) of thought. Called into being, for the Inost part, to justify, or at east to organise, pre-existing beliefs, they can selcloIn perfonn their office ,yithout nlodify- ing part, at least, of their malèriaI. \ \ hile they gi,'e precision to \vhat \yould other\\-ise be indeterminate, and a relati ,-e pennanence to ,,"hat ,,-ouJd other,,-ise be in a state of flux, they do so at the cost of sonle occasional ,-iolence to the beliefs \\-ith \\-hich they deal. SOIne of these are distorted to I11ake thenl 254 BELIEFS .AK1) FORl\IUL \S -fit into their predestined niches. Others, n10re refractory, are destroyed or ignored. Even in science, \\yhere the beliefs that have to be ac- -counted for have often a native vigour born of the in1perious needs of sense-perception, we are son1e- 1ilnes clislJosed to see, not so much what is visible, :as ,vhat theory inforn1s us ought to be seen. \ \Thile in the region of æsthetic (to take another eX llnple), where belief is of feebler grovvth, the inclination to .adn1ire what squares with son1e current theory of the beautiful, rather than \\Tith what appeals to any real feeling for beauty, is so cominon that it has ceased even to amuse. But this reaction of forn1ulas on the beliefs which they co-ordinate or explain is but the first stage in the process we are describing. The next is the change, perhaps even the destruction, of the formula itself by the victorious forces that it has pre- viously held in check. The plastic body of belief, iQr son1e portion of it, under the growing stress of external and internal influences, breaks through, it ll1ay be with destructive violence, the barriers by \vhich it was at one tin1e controlled. A ne,v theory has to be formed, a new arrangen1ent of knowledge has to be accepted, and under changed conditions .the saIne cycle of not unfruitful changes begins .again. I do not know that any illustration of this familiar process is required, for in truth such examples .are abundant in every departn1ent of Kno\vledge. BELIEFS AXI) FOR IUL4\S ,,-.. - ../\s chalk consi ts of little else but the renlains of Dead anilnalculæ, so the history of thought consists -of little else but an accunlulation of abandoned ex- planations. I n that vast cenletery every thrust of the shovel turns up sonle bone that once fonned part -of a living theory; and the biography of 1110st of these theories \vould, I think, confinn the general . account \vhich I have given of their birth. maturity, and decay. II N o\y \ve ll1ay well suppose that under eXIstIng circunlstances death is as necessary in the intellectual world as it is in the organic. It nlay not ahvays result in progress, but \vithout it. doubtless. progress \vould be inlpossible; and if, therefore, the constant substitutiòn of one explanation for another could be .effected s111oothly, and as it \vere in silence, \vith0ut disturbing anything beyond the explanations theln- selves, it need cause in general neither anxiety nor regret. But. unfortunately. in the case of Theology. this is not ahvays the way things happen. There, as elsewhere, theories drise, have their day, and fall ; but there. far more than elsewhere, do these theories in their fall endanger other interests than their o\vn. l\Iore than one reason Inay be gi\Ten for this differ- ence. To begin with. in Science the beliefs of sense- perception, which. as I have inlplied, are conl1nonly vigorous enough to resist the \varping effect of theory, even when the latter is in its full strength, are not inl- 25 6 BELIEFS ...\:\1) FOR IUL..\::; . J?erilled by its decay. They pro\yide a solid nucleus- of unalterable conyiction, \yhich sur\Tiyes uninjured through all the 111utations of intellectual fashion. \\T e do not require the assistance of hypotheses to sustain our faith in \\That we see and hear. Speaking broadlr that faith is unalterable and self-sufficient. Theology is less happily situated. There it often hdppcns that ",hen a theory decays, the beliefs to which it refers are infected by a contagious \veak- ness. The explanation and the thing eXplained are ll1utually dependent. 1'hey are anin1ated as it \\Tere with a COln1110n life, and there is ahvays a danger lest they should be oyertaken by a con1n10n destruc- tion. Consider this difference between Science and Theology in the light of the follo\ying ill stration. The \vhole instructed world \vere. quite recently agreed that heat \vas a forn1 of Inatter. \\Tith equal unanin1Íty they no\v hold that it is a n10de of I11otion. These opinions are not only absolutely inconsistent, but the change fron1 one to the other is reyolutionary, and inyolyes the profoundest n10dification of our general vie\\Ts of the ll1aterial world. Yet no one's confidence in the existence of son1e quality in things by which his sensations of warmth are produced is thereby disturbed; and \\Te l11ay hold either of these theories, or both of them in turn, or no theory at alt \vithout endangering the stabilityof our scientific faith. Compare \vith this exan1ple drawn froin physics one of a very different kind drawn from theology. BELIEFS AX1> FOR:\IULA 257 I f there be a spiritual experience to \vhich the history of religion bears \vitness, it is that of Reconcilia- tion \vith God. If there be an 'ubjective' cause to \vhich the feeling is confidently referred, it is to be found in the central facts of the Christian story. :'\" O\V, incol1lIl1ensurable as the subject is \vith that touched on in the last paragraph, they resemble each other at least in this-that both have been the theme of nluch speculation, and that the accounts of then1 \vhich have satisfied one generation, to an- other have seell1ed profitless and en1pty. ß ut there the likeness ends. I n the physical case, the feeling of heat and the in\vard assurance that it is really con- nected \vith son1e quality in the external body fron1 \vhich \ve suppose ourselves to deri,ye it, survi,ye cyery changing speculation as to the nature of that quality and the mode of its operation. In the spiritual case, the sense of Reconciliation connected by the Christian conscience ,vith the life and death of Christ seen1S in many cases to be bound up with the explanations of the mystery \vhich fron1 tin1e to tinle have been hazarded by theological theorists. And as these explanations have fallen out of fayour, the truth to be eXplained has too often been aban- doned also. This is not the place to press the subject further; and I ha\.e neither the right in these 1\ otes to assunle the truth of particular theological doctrines, nor is it my business to attempt to proye them. But this much nlore I l11ay perhaps be allo\ved to say by s 25 8 BELIEFS .L\ D FOR::\IUL...\S way of parenthesis. If the point of view which this Essay is intended to reco111mend be accepted, the precedent set, in the first of the above examples, by science is the one \tyhich ought to be followed by theology. No doubt, when a belief is only accepted as the conclusion of some definite inferential process, with that process it nlust stand or -fall. If, for in- stance, we believe that there is hydrogen in the sun, solely because that conclusion is forced upon us by certain arguments based upon spectroscopic observa- tions, then, if these argun1ents should ever be dis- credited, the belief in solar hydrogen would, as a necessary consequence, be shaken or destroyed. But in cases where the belief is rather the occasion of an hypothesis than a conclusion from it, the destruction of the hypothesis nlay be a reason for devising a new one, but is certainly no reason for abandoning the belie( Nor in science do \ve ever take any other vie\v. \ \T e do not, for exanlple, step over a precipice because \ve are dissatisfied with all the attempts to account for gravitation. In theology, however, experience does sometimes Jean too tilllidly on theory, and when in the course of tilne theory decays, it drags down ex- perience in its falL How many persons are there, for example, who, because they dislike the theories of Atonement propounded, say, by Anselm, or by Grotius, or the versions of these \vhich have inlbedded themselves in the devotional literature of \\T estern Europe, feel bound' in reason' to give up the doc- BELIEFS \XI) FOR rULAS 259 trine it<.;elf? Because they cannot con1pres:; \vithin I the rigidlill1its of sonle senli-Iegal fonnula a I11ystery \vhich, unless it \vere too vast for our full intellectual c0I11prchension, \vould surely be too narro\v for our spiritual needs, the mystery itself is to be rejected! I{ecause they cannot contrive to their satisfaction a " systenl of theological jurisprudence \vhich shall in- .clude l{edenlPtion as a ledding case, Redemption is no longer to be counted an10ng the consolations of l11ankinJ ! III 'rhere is, ho\vever, another reason beyond the natural strength of the j udgn1ents due to sense-per- .ception \vhich tends to n1ake the change or abandon- 111cnt of explanatory forn1ulas a snloother operation in science than it is in theology; and this reason is to be found in the fac.t that Religion \vorks, and, to produce its fuII results, must needs \vork, through the agency of organised societies. I t has, therefore, a social side, and fronl this its speculative side can- not, I believe, be kept \vholly distinct. "'or although feeling is the effectual bond of all societies, these feelings thelllselves, it \youIcl seenl, cannot be pro- perly developed \vithout the aid of sonlething \vhich is, or \vhich does duty as, a reason. They require onle alien 11laterial on \vhich, so to speak, they nlay be precipitated; round \vhich they 111ay crystallise and coalesce. I n the case of political societies this reason is founded on identity of race, of language S 2 260 BELIEFS .(\Xn FOR IUL.AS of country, or eyen of tHere n1aterial interest. But \vhen the religious society and the political are not,. as in prin1itive tin1es, based on a con1nlon ground,. the desired reason can scarcely be looked for else- \vhere, and, in fact, neyer is looked for elsewhere,. than in the acceptance of common religious fornlulas. "Thence it COines about that these forn1ulas have t() fulfil t\\.o functions which are not n1erely distinct but incomparable. They are both a statement of theo- logical conclusions and the syn1bols of a corporate unity. They represent at once the endeavour to systen1atise religious truth and to organise religious associations; and they are therefore subject to two kinds of influence. and in\.olve t\VO kinds of obliga- tion, \vhich, though seldon1 distinguished, are never identical, and may son1etimes e,.en be opposed. The distinction is a sinlple one; but the refusal to recognise it has been prolific in embarrassments, both for those who ha\Te assun1ed the duty of con- triving symbols. and for those on \VhOn1 has fallen the burden of interpreting them. The rage for defining t \yhich seized so large a portion of Christendon1. both Ron1an and non-Roman, during the Reforn1ation troubles, and the fixed determination to turn the definitions, when n1ade, into in1passable barriers be- t\veen hostile ecclesiastical divisions, are an10ng the 1110St obvious, but not. I think, an10ng the n10st satisfactory, facts in n10dern religious history. 1'0 the definitions taken sin1ply as \vell-intentioned 1 Cf. K ote at end of next chapter. BELIEFS .\ D FOR ICL.\S 261 efforts to lllake clear that \\-hich \vas obscure, and systell1atic that which ""as confused, I raise no objec- tions. Of the practical necessity for SOIne foro1aI hasis of Christian co-operation I an1, as I ha\ye said, l1lost finnly convinced. But not e\"ery fonnula \yhich represents e\"en the best theological opinion of its age is therefore fitted to unite Olen fur all tin1e in the furtherclnce of C0I1ln10n religious objects, or in the suplJurt uf C0111nl0n religious institutions; and the error conlI1litted in this connection by the divines of the I efonnation, and the counter-Refonnation, largely consisted in the mistaken supposition that sYInbols and decrees, in \vhosè ,-ery elaboration could be read the sure prophecy of decay, \vere capable of providing a con yenient franlework for a perpetual organisation. I tis, ho\ve\Yer, beyond the scope of these X otes to discuss the dangers \yhich the inevitable use uf theological fornlulas as the grounch\?ork of ecclesias- tical co-operation Inay have upon Christian unity, Ï1nportant and interesting as the subject is. I an1 properly concerned solely ,,"ith the other side of the sanle shIeld, nanlely, the dangers \vith \vhich this ine\"itable conlbination of theory and practice lllay threaten the SI1100th de\?elopll1ent of religious belie[ -dangers \vhich do not follo\\? in the parallel case of science, \vhere no such con1bination is to be found. The doctrines of science ha \ye not got to be discussed anlid the confusion and clan10ur of the nlarket-place ; they stir neither hate nor lu\"e : the fortunes of no 262 BELIEFS i\ND FOR rCLj\S living polity are bound up ,vith them; nor is there any danger lest they beC0111e petrified into party watch,,-ords. Theology is differently situated. There the explanatory forn1ula Illay be so histori- cally intert\\-ined ,vith the sentinlents and tradi- tions of the ecclesiastical organisation; the heat and pressure of ancient conflicts nlay have so \velùed then1 together, that to 111üdify one and leave the other untouched seen1S \vell-nigh il11possible. Yet even in such cases it is interesting to note ho,v unex- pectedly the nlost difficult adjustn1énts are SOl11étinles effected; ho,,-, partly by the conscious, and still I1l0re by the uncon cious, wisdoI11 of nlankind; by a little kindly forgetfulness; by a fe,v happy inconsistencies; by nlethods \vhich nlight not aJ\yays bear the scrutiny of the logician, though they n1ay ,veIl be condoned by the philosopher, the changes required by the general nlovenlent of belief are l11ade ,vith less fric- tion and at a sn1aller cost-e,-en to the enlightened -thcll1 nlight, perhaps, antecedently have been imagined. 26 3 CH \PTER III BELIEFS, FOR \IULAS, AXD REALITIES I TIlE road ,vhich theological thought is thus compelled to tra\-el \vould, ho\veyer, be rougher even than it is ,,,ere it not for the fact that large changes and adaptations of belief are possible \vithin the linlits of the sanlC unchanging fornlulas. This is a fact to \vhich it has not been necessary hitherto to call the reader's attention. I t has been far nlore convenient, and so far not, I think. nlisleading, to follo\v fanliliar usage, and to assunle that identity of statenient involyes identity of belief; that ,,-hen persons nlake the Sdnle assertions in good faith they mean the sanle thing. I ut this on closer examination is seen not to be the case. 111 all branches of knoviledge abundant exanlples clre to be discoyered of state- l1lents \\'hich do not fall into the cycle of change described in the last section, \vhich no lapse of titHe nor gro\\-th of learning \vould appclrentIy require us to revise. But in eyery case it \yiII, I think, be found that, \vith the doubtful exception of purely abstract propositions, these statetnents, thenlSelyes unnloyed, represent a I1lo\-ing body of belief, varying from one 264 BELIEFS, FOR:\IUL.AS, ...\1\1) RE \LITIES period of life to another, fronl individual to indiviùuaI, and [ronl generation to generation. Take an exanlple at random. I suppose that the world, so long as it thinks it \vorth while to have an opinion at all upon the subject, \vill continue tü accept \yithout anlendment the assertion that Julius Cæsar was murdered at ROlne in the first century JLC. But are \ve, therefore, to suppose that this proposition nlust nlean the same thing in the mouths of all who use it ? Surely not? Even if we refuse to take account of the associated sentiments which give a different colour in each nlan's eyes to the same intellectual judgment, \ye cannot ignore the varying positions which the judgnlent itself nlay hold in different systenlS of belief. I t is surely absurd to say that a statenlent about the mode and tinle of Cæsar's death has the same significance for the schoolboy who learns it as a line in a 111C1110ria tcch-llica, and the historian (if such there be) to \\'honl it represents a turning-point in the history of the world. N or is it possible to deny that any alteration in our vie\vs on the nature of Death, or on the nature of l\lan, must necessarily alter the import of a proposition \vhich asserts of a particular man that he suffered a particular kind of death. This nlay perhaps seem to be an unprofitable su btlety; and so, to be sure, in this particular case, it is. But a similar reflection is of obvious im- portance when we conle to consider, for example, such propositions as 'there is a God,' or ' there is BELl EFS, FOR:\I CL.\S, ..\Xl> RE \LITI b.S 265 a ".orld of 111aterial things.' Doth the e statenlents Inight be, and are, accepted Ly the rudest savage and by the nlust advanced philosopher. They 111ay, so far as ".e can teII, continue to be ac- cepted by ll1en in all stages of culture till the last inhabitant of a perishing \vorJd is frozen into un- conSCIousness. Yet plainly the savage and the philosopher lIse these \vords in yery different Ineanings. 1;ron1 the tribal deity uf earl) tinles to the Christian God, or, if you prefer it, the Hegelian Absolute; frOll1 :Jlatter as conceived by prinlitive Inan to Iatter as it is conceiyecl by the n10dern physicist, ho\y vast the interyal! The fonnulas are the saIne, the beliefs are plainly not the sanle. ay, so \vide are they apart, thclt \"hile to those \\.ho hold the earlier yie\y the later ".ould be quite meaning- tess, it l11ay require the highest effort of sYll1pathetic imagination for those ,,'hose nlinds are steeped Ìn the later yie\y to reconstruct, even inl perfectly, the substance of the earlier. The civiIised ll1an cannot fuIIy understand the avage, nor the gro,,'n nlan the child. II l\: O\v a question of sonle interest is suggested by this retlection. Can \ve, in the face of the ,,'ide divergence of Ineaning frequently conveyed by the sanle fonnula at different tin1es, assert thdt \\.hat endures in such cases is anything 1110re than a n1ere husk or sheIl? I s it 1110re than the 1110uld into ,,'hich 266 BELIEFS, FOR I-cL.AS, ...\::\1> RE \LIT1ES any metal, base or precious, nlay be poured at \"ill ? Does identity of expression inlply anything which deserves to be described as c0l111nunity of belief Are \ve here dealing \\?ith things, or only ,vith \vords ? In order to ans\ver this question \ve nlust have some idea, in the first place, of the relation of Language to Belief, and, in the second place, of the relation of Belief to Reality. That the relation bet\veen the first of these pairs is of no \Tery precise or definite kind I haye already indicated. And the fact is so obvious that it \vould hardly be ",-orth while to insist on it were it not that F or111al Logic and conventional usage both proceed on exactly the opposite supposi- tion. They assunle a constan t relation bet\veen the synlbol and the thing sYinbolisec1; and they consider that so long as a ,vord is used (as the phrase is) 'in the sanle sense,' it corresponds, or ought to correspond. to the saine thought. J l1t this is an artificial sinlplification of the facts; a con\?ention, l1lost convenient for certain purposes, but seldonl or ne\?er observed when \ve are expressing opinions about concrete realities. If in the s\yeat of our brow \ve can secure that ineyitable differences of nleaning do not vitiate the particular argument in hand, we have done all that logic requires, and all that lies in us to accomplish. Not only \vould more. be impossible, but nlore ,vould most certainly b undesirable. Incessant variation in the uses to which we put the same expression is absolutely necessary if the complexity of the U niyerse is, even BELIEFS, FÛl{ ICL \ , \XI> RE.ALITIES :67 in the 1110st inlperfcct fashion, to find a response in thought. If tenns ,,"ere counters, each purporting ahvays to represent the ,,,,hole of one unalterable aspect of reality, language ,,,,ould beconle, not the servant of thought, nor eyen its al1y, but its tyrant. The ,yea1th of our ideas ,,"QuId be linlited by the poyerty of our yocabulary. Science could not flourish, nor Literature exist. All play of nlind, all yariety, all devclopnlcnt ".ould perish; and nlankind ,vould spend its energies, not in using ,vords, but in endea \"f)uring to define thenl. I t ,vas this logical nightlllare \vhich oppressed the in tellect of the 1\ I iddle .L \ges. The schooltnen have been attacked for not occupying thenlSeh"es ,,-ith experinlental obseryatiol1, \vhich, after all, \\"as no particular business of theirs; for indulging in excessi,"e subt1eties-sureIr no great crÎll1e in a ll1etaphysician; and for endeavouring to cOll1bine the philosophy and the theology of their day into a coherent ,,"hole-an attenlpt ,,-hich seenlS to IDe to be entirely praise,,"orthy. .L\. better reason for their not ha,-ing accolllplished the full pronlise of their genius is to be found in the assun1ption ,,,hich lies at the root of their intenninable deductions, nall1ely, that language is, or can Oè nlade, ,,,hat logic by a conyenient con,-ention supposes it to be, and that if it ,vere so 111ade, it ,yould be an instrull1ent better fitted on that account to deal \yith the infinite variety of the actual ,,-orId. 268 BELIEFS, FOR:\IüL \S, \XI) RE \Ll'rIES III I f language, fro111 the yery nature of the case, hangs thus loosely to the be1ief \vhich it endeavours to express, ho\v closely does the belief fit to the reality \vith \vhich it is intendec1 to correspond? 'f 0 hear sonle persons talk one ,vould reaUy suppose that the enlightened portion of lnankind, i.e. those who happen to agree ,yith thenl, were blessed \vith a precise kno\vledge respecting large tracts of the U ni verse. They are ready on snlé-lll provocation to enlbody their beliefs, \\.hether scientific or theological, in a series of dogmatic statenlents ,,,-hich, as they will tell you, accurately express their o\vn accurate opinions, and between \vhich and any differing state- ments on the same subject is fixed that great gulf \vhich divides for ever the realms of Truth from those of Error. 1\ ow I ,vould ,?enture to \varn the reader against paying any undue 11leed of reverence to the aXi0111 on which this vie". essentially depends, the axionl, I mean, that' eyery belief nlust be either true or not true.' I t is, of course, indisputable. But it is also uninlportant; and it is uninlportant for this reason, that if we insist on assigning every belief to one or other of these t\VO 111utually exclusive classes, it \\;.iIl be found. that most, if not all, the positive beliefs \vhich deal \vith concrete reality-the very beliefs, in short, about which a reasonable nlan nlay be expected principal1y to interest hinlself-,,'ould in strictness have to be classed among the' not true.' I do not RELIEFS, FOR:\lCL.\S, .\ I> RE.\LITIES 26 9 say, be it obscr\"ed, that all propositions about the concrete \vorId nlust needs be erroneous; for, as ,,-c have seen, e\-ery proposition proyides the fitting yerbal expression for nlany different beliefs, and of these it may be that one expresses the fulI truth. 1\1 y contention tnereIy is, that inastnuch as any frag- nlentary presentation of a concrete \\"hole nlust, be- cause it is frag11lentary, be therefore erroneuus, the full complexity of any true belief about reality \vill necessarily transcend the conlprehension of any finite inteIligence. \\T e kno\v only in part, and ,,-e there- fore kno\v \vrongly. But it nlay perhaps be said that observations like these invol\-e a confusion bet\veen the 'not true' and the' inco111plete.' A belief, as the phrase is, may be 'true so far as it goes,' even though it does. not go far enough. It nl(lY contain the truth and nothing but the truth. but not the ,vhole truth. \\ hy should it under such circunlstances recei\?e so seyere a condemnation? \\Thy is it to be branded, not only as inadequate, but as erroneous ? To this I reply that the diyision of beliefs into the True. the Inconl- plete, and the \\Tholly False nlay be, and for nlany purposes is, a very conyenient one. But in the first place it is not philosophicalIy accurate, since that \vhich is incomplete is touched throughout \vi th S011le element of falsity. l\nd in the second place it does. not happen to be the di \Tision on \vhich ,,-e are engaged. \ \1 e are dealing \,,-ith the logical contra- dictories ' True' and' Not True.' And \vhat makes. 270 BELIEFS, FOR:\IUL..\S, ..\XD Rg..\LITIES it worth \vhile dealing \vith thenl is, that the parti- cular classification of beliefs which they suggest lies at the root of much needless controversy in all branches of knowled g e, and not least in theoloa y . t") J and that every\vhere it has produced sonle confusion of thought and, it may be, SOIne defect of charity. I t is not in human nature that those who start froIll the assulnption that all opinions are either true or not true, should do otherwise than take for granted that their own particular opinions belong to the fornler category; and that therefore all inconsistent opinions held by other people must belong to the latter. N ow this, in the current affairs of life, and in the ordinary comnlerce bet\veen Ulan and nlan, is not nlerelya pardonable but a necessary way of look- ing at things. But it is foolish and even dangerous when we are engaged on the deeper problems of science, metaphysics, or theology; when we are endea- vouring in solitude to take stock of our position in the presence of the Infinite. Hovçe\yer profound 11lay be our ignorance of our ignorance, at least we should realise that to describe (\\7hen using language strictly) any scheme of belief as \Vholly false which has even inlperfectly met the needs of mankind, is the height of arrogance; and that to claim for any beliefs \vhich we happen to approve that they are wholly true, is the height of absurdity. Sonlewhat more, be it observed, is thus required of us than a bare confession of ignorance. The least modest of men \vould admit \vithout difficulty BELIEI.S, FOR lULAS, À\XD RE.\LITIES 27 1 that there are a greett 111any things \vhich he does not undcrstand; but the 1110st modest may perhaps be \villing to suppose that there are S0111e things \vhich he does. Yet outside the relations of abstract propositions (about \vhich I say nothing) this cannot be achnitted. X o\vhere else-neither in our kno\v- ledge of ol1rsel \ycs, nor in our kno\vIedge of each other, nor in our kno\vledge of the Inaterial \vorld, nor in our kno\yIedge of God, is there any belie f \vhich is Il10re than an ctpproxin1ation, any method \"hich is free fr0111 tla\v, anv result not tainted \vith error. The sin1plest intuitions and the reluotest speculations fall under the saIne condemnation. And though the fact is apt to be hidden fron1 us by the unshrinking Jefinitions \vith \vhich alike in science and thc0Iogy it is our practice to register attdined results, it \yould, as \ye have seen, be a scrious 111istake to suppose that any c0111plete corre- spondence bet\\"ècn I3elief anù Reality \vas secured by the linguistic precision and the logical itnpec- cability uf the propositions by \vhich beliefs then1- seI ves arc conlIl1unicated and recorded. 1'0 SOlne persons this train of reflection suggests nothing but sceptical lnisgiving and intellectual despair. r[ 0 n1e it seems, on the other hand, to save us froIH both. \ ''"hat kind of a IT ni\yerse \yould that be \vhich \ve could understand? I f it \vere in- telligible (by us), \vould it be credible? I four reason could comprehend it, \vould it not be too narro\v for our needs? 'I believe because it is 272 BELIEFS, FOR ILL.A.S, .i\.XD RE \LITIES impossible' Inay be a pious paradox. 'I disbelieve because it is sin1ple' _ comn1ends itself to me as an axiom. An axiom doubtless to be used \vith discretion: an axiom \vhich n1ay easily be perverted in the interests of idleness and superstition; but one, nevertheless, \yhich contains a yaIuabIe truth not always ren1embered by those \vho 111ake especial profession of \yorldly \visdon1. IY However this may be, the opInIons here advocated may help us to solve certain difficulties occasionally suggested by current n1ethods of deal- ing with the relation between F orlTIulas and Beliefs. I t has not al\\?ays, for instance, been found easy to reconcile the in1111utabiJity clainled for theological doctrines \vith the n1oven1ent obser\?ed in theo- . logical ideas. 1\ either of them can readily be abandoned. The conviction that there are Christian verities which, once secured for the human race, cannot by any lapse of tin1e be rendered obsolete is one which no Church ,,\Tould \viIlingly abandon. Yet the fact that theological thought follows the laws which govern the evolution of all other thought, that it changes fron1 age to age, largely as regards the relative ell1phasis given to its various elements, not inconsiderably as regards the substance of those elelnents thenlselyes, is a fact \vritten legibly across the pages of ecclesiastical history. H ow is this apparent contradiction to be accol11modated ? BELIEFS, FOR\IULAS, ..\.:Nl) REALITIES 273 Considèr another difficulty-one quite of a different kind. The con1mon sense of n1ankind has been shocked at the value occasional1y attributed to unifonnity of theological profession, ,vhen it is per- haps obvious from many uf the circumstances of the case that this carries vvith it no security for uni- formity of in\vard conviction. There is an unreality, or at least an externality about such professions \vhich. to those \"ho think (rightly enough) that religion, if it is to be of any value, must come fron1 the heart, is apt not unnaturally to be repulsive. \T et. on the other hand. it is but a shaIIo,v forn1 of historical criticisn1 ,vhich shall attribute this desire for confonnity either to lnere impatience of expressed differences of opin ion (no doubt a powerful and \videly distributed. motiye), or to the perversities of Priestcraft. \ \That, then, is the vie\v \vhich we ought to take of it? Is it good or bad? and, if good, what purpose does it serve? N O\y these questions may be ans\yered, I think, at least in part, if \ve keep in n1ind t\\?O distinctions on \vhich in this and the preceding chapter I have ventured to insist-the distinctions, I 111ean, z.ll the first þlace, bet\veen the function of formulas as the systematic expression of religious doctrine, and their function as the basis of religious co-operation ; and the distinction, iu the second Place, bet\veen the accuracy of any forn1ula and the real truth of the various beliefs \vhich it is capable of expressing. U nifonnity of profession. for exan1ple, to take the T . 274 BELIEFS, FORl\IULAS, .AXD REALITIES last difficulty first, can be regarded as unin1portant only by those \vho forget that, while there is no necessary connection whatever between the causes \\9hich conduce to successful co-operation and those ,vhich conduce to the attainment of speculative truth, of these t\VO objects the first may, under certain circumstances, be much more important than the second. A Church is something more than a body of more or less qualified persons engaged more or less successfully in the study of theology. It requires a very different equipment from that ,vhich is sufficient for a learned society. Something more is asked of it than independent research. I t is an organisation charged ,vith a great practical work. For the successful promotion of this work unity, dis- cipline, and self-devotion are the principal requisites; and, as in the case of eyery other such organisation, the most po,yerful source of these qualities is to be found in the feelings aroused by common n1emories, common hopes, common loyalties; by professions in which all agree; by a ceremonial which all share; by custon1S and commands which all obey. He, therefore, ,vho would \vish to expel such influences either from Church or State, on the ground that they Inay alter (as alter they n10st certainly will) the opinions which, in their absence, the Inembers of the community, left to follo\vat will their o\vn specu- lative devices, ,vould other\vise form, may know something of science or philosophy, but assuredly knows very little of human nature. RELIEFS, FOR lULA , .L\XD REALITIES 275 But it \vill perhaps be said that co-operation, if it IS only to be had on these tenns, may easih r be bought too dear. So, indeed, it Inay. The history of the Church is unhappily then:.: to prove the fact. But as this is true of religious organisations, so also is it true of every other organisation-national, political, Inilitary, \vhat you \\"ill-by \vhich the work of the ,vodd is rendered possible. There are circumstances \vhich Inay make schisn1 justifiable, as there are cir- cun1stances ,,,hich n1ake treason justifiable, or ITIutiny justifiable. But \yithúut going into the ethics of revolt, \vithout endeayouring to detern1ine the exact degree of error, oppression, or crime on the part of those \\Tho stay \\ìithin the organisation \vhich may render innocent or necessary the secession of those ,vho leave it, it is, in tny judglnent, perfectly plain that sOIl1ething ,-ery different is, or ought to be, in'90lved in the acceptance or rejection of con1n10n formulas than an announcen1ent to the ,vodd of a purely speculative agreelnent respecting the niceties of doctrinal statplnen t. This vie\v Inay perhaps be n10re readily accepted ,,-hen it is realised that. as I have pointed out, no agreement about theological or any other doctrine insures, or, indeed, is capaLJe of producing, san1eness of belief. \Ve are no nlore ablè to belieye \vhat other people believe than to feel ,,-hat other people fee 1. T \VO friends read together the san1e descrip- tion of a landscape. Does anyone suppose that it stirs \vit in then1 precisely the SdIl1e quality of senti- T2 276 BELIEFS, FOR)IUL.\S, ..\ r) RE.ALrrIES 111ent, or evokes precisely the saU1e subtle associa- tions? l\nd yet, if this be impossible, as it surely is, even in the case of friends attuned, so far as may be, to the same emotional key, how hopeless 111USt it be in the case of an artist and a rustic, an Ancient and a 1Vlodern, an Andaman islander and a European! But if no representation of the splendours of Nature can produce in us any perfect identity of admiration, why expect the definitions of theology or science to produce in us any perfect identity of belief? It 111ay not be. This uniformi ty of con viction, \vhich so n1any have striven to attain for themselves, and to impose upon their fellows, is an unsubstantial phantasm, born of a confusion between language and the thought which language so imperfectly expresses. In this world, at least, we are doomed to differ even in the cases where we most agree. There is, however, consolation to be drawn [ron1 the converse statement, \vhich is, I hope, not less true. I f there are differences where we most agree, surely also there are agreements where we ITIOSt differ. I like to think of the human race, from whatever stock its members may have sprung, in whatever age they may be born, whatever creed they may profess, together in the presence of the One Reality, engaged, not \vholly in vain, in spelling out son1e fragments of its message. All share its being; to none are its oracles \vholly dumb. And if both in the natural world and in the spiritual the advancement we have made on our BELIEFS, FOR IULAS, 6\XD RE.ALI L'IES 2ïï forefathers be so great that our interpretatiol1 seen1S indefinitely renlo\?ed fronl that \vhich prill1itive ll1an could alone c0I11prehend, and \vhere\"ith he had to be content, it nlay be, indeed I think it is, the case that our approxinlate guesses are still closer to his than they are to their conlnlon Object, and that far as \ve seenl to have travelled, yet, ll1easured on tht.. celestial scale, our intellectudl progress is scarcely to be discerncù, so nlinute is the parallax of Infinite '[ruth. These observations, ho\yeyer, seenl only to render Blore distant any satisfactory solution of the first of the difficulties propounded above. If kno,,-- ledge Blust, at the best, be so ilnperfect; if agree- I11ent, real inner agreell1ent, about the object of kno\vledge can thus never be cOB1plete; and if, in addition to this, the history of religious thought is, like all other history, one of change and develop- ll1ent, \vhere and what are those in1n1utable doctrines ,vhich, in the opinion of 1110st theologians, ought to be handed on, a sacred trust, froll1 generation to generation? The ans,ver to this question is, I think, suggested by the parallel cases of science and ethics. F or all these things l11ay be said of thenl as ,veIl as of theology, and they also are the trustees of state- Inellts '. ;hich ought to be preserved unchanged through all revolutions in scientific and ethical theory. Of these statenlents I do not pretend to give either a list or a definition. But \vithout saying ,,,hat they are, it is at least perlnissible, after the discussion in 278 BELIEFS, FOR IUL.AS, .L\Nl) REALITIES the last chapter, to say \v hat, as a rule, they are not. They are not Explanatory. Rare indeed is it to find explanations of the concrete which, if they en- dure at all, do not require perpetual patching to keep them in repair. Not an10ng these, but among the staten1ents of things explained, of things that want ex- planation, yes, and of things that are inexplicable, \ve must search for the propositions about the real ,vorld capable of ministering unchanged for indefinite periods to the uses of ?\Iankind. Such propositions may record a particular · fact,' as that' Cæsar is dead.' They may embody an ethical imperative, as that , Stealing is wrong.' l'hey nlay convey son1e great principle, as that the order of Nature is uniform, or that 'God exists.' All these statements, even if accurate (as I assun1e, for the sake of argument, that they are), will, no doubt, as I have said, have a dif- ferent import for different persons and for different ages. But this is not only consistent with their value as vehicles for the transI11ission of truth-it is essential to it. If their meaning could be exhausted by one generation, they would be false for the next. I t is because they can be charged \vith a richer and richer content as our knowledge slowly grows to a fuller harmony with the Infinite Reality, that they may be counted among the most precious of our inalienable possessIons. KOTE The pern1anent value which the results of the great ecclesias- tical controversies of the first four centuries have had for Christ- BET IEFS, FOR:\IUL...\S, \.xn RE...\LITIES 279 endoln, as c0111pared with that possessed hy the n10re tran itory speculations of later ages, illustrates, I think, the suggestion con- tained in the text. For whatever opinion the reader may enter- tain of the decisions at which the Church arrived on the doctrine of the Trinity, it is at least clear that they were not in the nature of explanation . rrhey were, in fact, precisely the reverse. rfhey were the negation of explanations. rrhe various heresies which it combated were, broadly speaking, all endeavours to bring the l11ystery as far as possible into hannony with conten1porary specu- lations, Gnostic, N eo-platonic, or Rationalising, to relieve it from this or that difficulty: in short, to do something towards' explain- ing' it. The Church held that all such explanations or partial ex- planations inflicted irrcn1ediable in1poverishlnent on the idea of the Godhead which was essentially involved in the Christian reve- lation. They insisted on preserving that idea in all its inexplicable fulness; and so it has C0111e about that while such sin1plifications as those of the .Arians, for exalnple, are so alien and impossible to Inodern modes of thought that if they had been incorporated with Christianity they lnust have destroyed it, the doctrine of Christ's ] }ivinity still gives reality and life to the worship of millions of pious souls, who are wholly ignorant both of the controversy to which they owe its preservation, and of the technicalities which its discussion has involved. 280 CHAprrER 1\' , UL TI L\ TE SCIEXTIFIC IDEA::" I F, as is not unlikely. there are readers who accept unwillingly this profession of all-pervading error in so far as it applies to our scientific kno\v- ledge-who are disposed to represent Science as a Land of Goshen. bright beneath the unclouded splendours of the n1idday sun, while Religion lies beyond, wrapped in the itnpenetrable darkness of the Egyptian plague-I would suggest for their further consideration certain argun1ents, not dra\vn like those in the preceding section from the nature of our knowledge in general, nor like those in an earlier portion of this Essay fron1 the deficiencies which Inay be detected in scientific proof, but based exclu- sively upon an exan1ination of fundan1ental scientific ideas considered in themselves. For these ideas possess a quality, exhibited no doubt equally by ideas in other departments of knowledge, \vhich admirably illustrates our ignorance of what \ve know best, our blindness to what\ve see n10st clearly. This quality, indeed, is not very easy to describe in a sentence; but perhaps it may be pro\Tisionally indicated by saying that, although these ideas seen1 quite sitnple 'ULTIl\L\TE SCIEXTIFIC II>EJ:\S' 281 so long as \YC only ha \.(' to handle thein for the practical purposes of daily life, yet, ,,-hen they are subjected to critical in\"estigation, they appear to crum ble under the process: to lose aU precision of outline; to vanish like the Inagician in the story, leaving only an elusi\"e nlist in the grasp of those \vho \vould arrest thenl. Nothing, for instance, seClllS silllpler than the idea involved in the statelnent that \\"e are, each of us, situ- ated at any gi\yen nl01nent in sonle particular portion of space, surrounded by a lllultitude of nlaterial things, \vhich are constantly acting upon us and upon each other. A proposition of this kind is l11erely a generalised forn1 of the jtidgn1ents \yhich we lllake every minute of our \yaking lives, about lv-hose Ineaning \ve entertain no manner of doubt, \yhich, indeed, provide us \vith our fanliliar exalnples of all that is most lucid and 1110st certain. \' et the purport of the sentence \vhich expresses it is clear only till it is examined, is certain only till it is questioned; ,vhile almost every \yord in it suggests, and has long sug- gested, perplexing problenls to all \vho are prepared to consider thenl. \ \That are '\ye' ? "That is space? Can' \ve ' be in space, or is it only our bodies about ,yhich any such statement can be nlade? '\That is a ' thing' ? and, in particular, ,,,,hat is a ' ll1aterial thing'? \\That is meant by saying that one 'nlaterial thing' acts upon another? '\That is n1eant by saying that 'tnaterial things' act upon 'us'? H ere are six 282 'ULTI:\L\TE SCIENTIFIC IDE -\S' questions all directly and obviously arising out of our most familiar acts of judgn1ent. Yet, direct and obvious as they are, it is hardly too much to say that . they involve all the leading problems of modern philosophy, and that the nlan who has got an answer to thenl is the fortunate possessor of a tolerably complete systenl of nletaphysic. Consider, for exall1ple, the sinlplest of the six questions enun1erated above, nanlely, \\That is a 'lllaterial thing'? r\ othing could be plainer till you consider it. Nothing can be obscurer when you do. A' thing' has qualities-hardness, \veight. shape, and so forth. Is it nlerely the SUln of these qualities, or is it sonlething 11lore? If it is merely the sum of its qualities, have these any independent existence? Nay, is such an independent existence even conceivable? If it is s01l1ething nlore, what is the relation of the 'qualities' to the 'sol1lething 11lore ' ? Again, can \ve on reflection regard a , thing' as an isolated 'some\vhat,' an entity self- sufficient and potentially solitary? Or Inust \ve not rather regard it as being \vhat it is in virtue of its relation to other ' sonlewhats,' \vhich, again, are \vhat they are in virtue of their relation to it, and to each other? And if \ve take, as I think \ve 11lust, the latter alternative, are ,ve not driven by it into a profitless progression through parts which are unin- telligible by thenlselves, but ,vhich yet obstinately refuse to coalesce into any fully intelligible whole? N ow, I do not serve up these cold fragments of 'ULTI I.ATE CIENTIFIC IDE \.S' 283 ancient though unsol,.ed contro\TersÍes for no better purpose than to \veary the reader \"ho is fan1iliar ,vith 111etaphysical discussion, and to puzzle the reader \vho is not. I rather desire to direct atten- tion to the uni\.ersality of a difficulty \yhich nlany persons seem glad enough to ackno\vledge ,vhen they conle across it in Theology, though they adnlit it only \vith reluctance in the case of Ethics and Æsthetics, and for the most part cOl1lpletely ignore it ,vhen they are dealing \\íith our kno\vledge of , phenonlend.' Y et in this respect. at least, all these branches of kno\vledge \yould appear to stand yery llluch upon an equality. In all of them conclusions seen1 l1lore certain than pren1ises, the superstruc- ture more stable than the foundation. In all of then1 ,ve l110ve \yith full assurance and a practical security. only anlong ideas ,vhich are relative and dependent. In all of thenl these ideas, so clear and so sufficient for purposes of everyday thought and action, becolne confused and but dimly intelJigible ,vhen examined in the unsparing light of critical analysis. \\T e need not, therefore, be surprised if ,ve find it hard to isolate the pernlanent elell1ent in Beauty, seeing that it eludes us in n1aterial objects; that the ground of 1\loral La,v should not be ,,-holly clear, seeing that the ground of N atural Law is so obscure; that ,ve do not adequately cOlllprehend God, seeing that \ve can gi ,.e no yery satisfactory account of ,vhat ,ve Inean by 'a thing.' Yet I think 284 'UL1'I Il\TE SCIENTIFIC IDE.AS' a more profitable lesson is to be learnt fronl adn1is- sions like these than the general inadequacy of our existing nletaphysic. And it is the more necessary to consider carefully ,vhat that lesson is, inasn1uch as a very perverted version of it fornls the basis of the only n10dern systenl of English growth \vhich, pro- fessing to provide us with a general philosophy, has received any appreciable amount of popular support. 1\1r. Spencer's theory adnlits, nay, insists, that \vhat it calls' ultin1ate scientific ideas' are inconsistent and, to use his ovvn phrase, 'unthinkable.' Space, time, nlatter, n10tion, force, and so forth, are each in turn shown to involve contradictions which it is beyond our po\ver to solve, and obscurities which it is beyond our po\ver to penetrate; while the once fanlous dialectic of Hamilton and l\1ansel is invoked for the purpose of enforcing the same lesson \vi th regard to the Absolute and the Unconditioned, \vhich those thinkers identified \vith God, but which Mr. Spencer prefers to describe as the Unknowable. So far, so good. Though the details of the denlo11stration 111ay not be altogether to our liking, I, at least, have no particular quarrel with its general tenor, \vhich is in obvious harl110ny \\Oith nluch that I have just been insisting on. But when \ve have to consider the conclusion \vhich 1\lr. Spencer con- trives to extract from these premises, our differences beco111e irreconcilable. He has proved, or supposes hinlself to have proved, that the' ultin1ate ideas' of 'ULTI L\TE SCIENTIFIC II)E..\::;' 285 science and the 'ultiIl1ate ideas' of theology are alike 'unthinkable.' \Vhat is the proper inference to be dra""n fron1 these statcn1ents? \Vhy, clearly, that science and theology are so far on an equality that every proposition \vhich considerations like these oblige us to assert about the one, \\t-e are bound to assert also about the other; and that our general theory of knovçledge n1ust take account of the fact that both these great departn1ents of it are infected by the same \veakness. This, however, is not the inference dra\yn by Ir. Spencer. The idea that the conclusions of science should be profaned by speculati\-e questionings is to hin1 intolerable. He shrinks froln an adn1ission \vhich seen1S to hin1 to carry universal scepticisn1 in its train. And he has, accordingly, hit upon a device for' reconciling' the differences bet,veen science and religion by \vhich so lan1entable a catastrophe l11ay be avoided. His lnethod is a sin1ple one. He divides the ,-erities \vhich have to be believed into those \vhich relate to the I(no\vablc and those \vhich relate to the U nkno\\t"able. \ Vhat is kno\vable he appropriates, \vithout exception, for science. \\That is unkno\vable he abandons, \vithout reserye, to reli- gion. \\Tith the results of this arbitration both contending Pdrties should, in his opinion, be satisfied. I t is true that religion l11ay con1plain that by this arrdngement it is n1ade the residudry legatee of all that is 'unthinkable'; but then, it should ren1ember that it obtains in exchange an indefeasible title to all 286 'UL'fIl\L\.TE SCIENTIFIC IDEAS' that is 'rea1.' Science, again, 111ay c0111plain that its actiyities are confined to the 'relati \"e ' and the ' de- pendent' ; but then, it should rell1en1ber that it has a 1110nopoly of the 'intelligible.' The one possesses all that can be kno\vn; the other, all that seen1S \vorth kno\ving. \\Tith so equal a partition of the spoils both disputants should be content. \Vithout contesting the fairness of this curious arrangement, I an1 con1pelled to question its validity. Science cannot thus transfer the burden of its own obscurities and contradictions to the shoulders of religion; and 1\lr. Spencer is only, perhaps, misled into supposing such a procedure to be possible by his use of the \vord ' ultimate.' , Ultilnate ' scientific ideas ll1ay, in his opinion, be ' unthinkable' without prejudice to the 'thinkableness' of 'proxin1ate' scientific ideas. rrhe one ll1ay d\vell for ever in the penun1bra of what he calls' nascent consciousness,' in the diln twilight \vhere religion and science ar.e in- distinguishable; while the other stands out, definite and certain, in the full light of experience and verifi- cation. Such a view is not, I think, philosophically tenable. As soon as the ' unthinkableness' of , ultill1ate ' scientific ideas is speculatively recognised, the fact ll1ust react upon our speculative dttitudes towards' proxin1ate' scientific ideas. That which in the order of reason is dependent cannot be unaffected by the weaknesses and the obscurities of that on \vhich it depends. I f the one is unintelligible, the other can hardly be rationally established. 'UL TL\L\TE SCIEXTI FIr I I )EA ' 287 In order to pro'''e this-if proof be required-\ve need not trd,.el beyond the all1ple limits of Ir. Spencer's o\\"n philosophy. To be sure he obstinately shuts his ears against speculative doubts respecting the conclusions of science. · To ask ","hether science is substantially true is [he obser\.esJ much like asking ,vhether the sun gi\"es light.' 1 I t is, I adn1it, very l11uch like it. But then, on 1\lr. Spencer's principles, does the sun gi,"e light? .L\fter due consideration \ve shall ha\-e to admit, I think, that it does not. For it is a staten1ent ,yhich, if 111ade intelligently, not only involves the conlprehension of Blatter, space, tin1e, and force, \\-hich are, according to Ir. Spencer, all incomprehensible, but there is the further difficulty that, if his systenl is to be believed, · \vhat \ve are con- scious of as properties of matter, even do\vn to ,,-eight and resistance, are but subjective affections pro- duced by objecti\re agencies, ,vhich are unkno,vn and unkno,vable.' 2 It ,vould seem, therefore, either that the sun is a 'subjective affection,' in ,yhich case it can hardly be said to 'gi\Telight'; or it is 'unkno\vn' and 'unkno\vable,' in \\' hich case no assertion re- specting it can be regarded as supplying us with any very flattering specin1en of scientific certitude. The truth is that 1\1 r. Spencer. like many of his predecessors, has inlpaired the value of his specula- tions by the hesitating tinlidity ,vith \yhich he has pursued them. Nobody is required to investigate first principles; but those \vho voluntarily undertake I First Princiþles, p. 19. 2 PriJ1oplt:s (Jf Ps)'chology, ii. 493. 288 'UL1"I IA1"E SCIENTIFIC II)EAS' the task should not shrink fron1 its results. And if aIl10ng these "eve have to count a theoretical sceptic- isn1 about scientific kno\vledge, we make n1atters, not better, but \vorse, by atten1pting to ignore it. In 1'1 r. Spencer's case this procedure has, an10ng other ill consequences, caused hin1 to n1iss the n10ral which at one mOlnent lay ready to his hand. He has had the acuteness to see that our beliefs cannot be lin1ited to the sequences and the co-existences of phenomena; that the ideas on \vhich science relies, and in tern1S of \vhich all science has to be expressed, break do\vn under the stress of criticisn1; that beyond what we think we know, and in closest relationship with it, lies an infinite field \vhich we do not know, and \vhich with our present faculties "ye can never kno\v, yet which cannot be ignored \vithout l11aking what \ve do know unintelligible and meaningless. But he has failed to see whither such speculations must in- evitably lead hin1. He has failed to see that if the certitudes of science lose then1selves in depths of unfatholnable mystery, it n1ay \vell be that out of these same depths there should en1erge the certitudes of religion; and that if the dependence of the , knowable' upon the 'unkno\vable ' en1 barrasses us not in the one case, no reason can be assigned \vhy it should embarrass us in the other. Mr. Spencer, in short, has avoided the error of di\yiding all reality into a Perceivable which concerns us, and an U nperceivable which, if it exists at all, concerns us not. Agnosticism so understood 'UI:rI:\L\TE SCIENTIFIC IDEAS' 289 he explicitly repudiates Ly his theory, if not by his practice. But he has not seen that, if this simple- 111inded creed be once abandoned, there is no con- vcnient halting-place till \ve have swung round to a theory of things which is its precise opposite: a theory \vhich, though it shrinks on its speculative side frol11 no severity of critical analysis, yet on its practical side finds the source of its constructive energy in the deepest needs of man, and thus recog- nises, alike in cience, in ethics, in beauty, in reli- gion, the halting expression of a reality beyond our reach, the half-seen vision of transcendent Truth. u 29 0 CHAPTER V SCIENCE A D THEOLOGY I THE point of view \ve have thus reached is obviously the precise opposite of that which is adopted by those \yho either accept the naturalistic view of things in its simplicity, or who agree with natural- ism in taking our knowledge of Nature as the core and substance of their creed, while gladly adding to it such supernatural supplelnents as are permitted them by the canons of their rationalising philosophy. Of these last there are two varieties. There are those who refuse to add anything to the teaching of science proper, except such theological doctrines as they persuade then1selves may be deduced from scientific premises. And there are those \vho, being less fastidious in the matter of proof, dre prepared, tentatively and provisionally, to adn1it so much of theology as they think their naturalistic premises do not positively contradict. It Inust, I think, be admitted that the members of these two classes are at some disadvantage compared with the naturalistic philosophers proper. SCIEXCE AX]) THEOLOGY 29 1 To be sure, the schen1c of belief so confidently pro- pounded by the latter is, as we have seen, both incoherent and inadequate. But its incoherence is hid fr0111 then1 by the inevitableness of its positive teaching; \yhile its inadequacy is covered by the, -as yet, unsquandered heritage of sentiments and ideals \vhich has con1e do,, n to us from other ages inspired by other faiths. On the other hand, as a set-off against this, they may justly claim that their principles, such as they are, have been worked out to their legitin1ate conclusion. They have reached their journey's end, and there they may at least rest, if it is not given them to be thankful. Far different is the fate of those \"ho are reluctantly travelling the road to naturalisn1, driven thither by a false philo- sophy honestly entertained. To them each ne\v discovery in geology, morphology, anthropology, or the 'higher criticis111,' arouses as n1uch theological anxiety as it does scientific interest. They are perpetually occupied in the task of 'reconciling,' as the phrase goes, 'religion and science.' This is to then1, not an intellectual luxury, but a pressing and overn1astering necessity. 1-1 or their theology exists -only on sufferance. I t rules over its hereditary territories as a tributary vassal dependent on the forbearance of S0111e encroaching oyerIord. Province after proyince \vhich once ackno\vledged its sove- reignty has been torn from its grasp; and it depends no longer upon its o\vn action, but upon the uncon-- trolled policy of its too po\verful neighbour, how long U 29 2 SCIEKCE A.NI) 'rHEOLOGY it shall preserye a precarious authority over the remainder. Now, n1Y reasons for entirely dissenting fron1 this melancholy view of the relations bet\veen the yarious departments of belief have been one of the chief themes of these Notes. But it 111ust not on this account be supposed that I intend to deny. either that it is our business to 'reconcile' all beliefs, so far as possible, into a self-consistent whole, or that. because a perfectly coherent philosophy cannot as yet be attained, it is, in the meanwhile, a matter of con1plete indifference how many contradictions and obscurities we admit into our provisional system. Some contra- dictions and obscurities there needs must be. That we should not be able completely to harmonise the detached hints and isolated fragments in which alone Reality comes into relation with us ; that we should but imperfectly co-ordinate \vhat we so imperfectly comprehend, is what we might expect, and what for the present we have no choice but to submit to. Yet it will, I think, be found on examination that the discrepancies which exist between different departments of belief are less in number and in1port- ance than those which exist within the various de- part1l1ents themselves; that the difficulties ,,'hich science, ethics, or theology have to solve in con1mon are more formidable by far than any which diyide them fr01l1 each other; and that, in particular, the su pposed 'conflict between science and religion, J ,vhich occupies so large a space in contemporary SCIENCE ...\Xl) TIIEOLO( \ 293 literature, is the theIne of so ll1uch vigorous debate, and see111S to so many earnest souls the one question \vorth resolving, is either concerned for the 1l10st part \vith n1atters in then1selves comparatively trifling, or touches interests lying far beyond the lin1its of pure . theology. Of course, it must be ren1en1bered that I a111 now talking of science, not of naturalis111. The differ- ences between naturalism and theology are, no doubt, irreconcilable, since naturalisn1 is by definition the negation of all theology. But science must not be dragged into everyone of the ll1any quarrels which naturalislll has taken upon its shoulders. Science is in no way concerned, for instance, to deny the ,,reality of a world Ull revealed to us in sense-perception, nor the existence of a God \vho, ho\vever in1perfectly, l11ay be known by those \vho diligentJy seek Him. All it says, or ought to say, is that these are matters beyond its jurisdiction; to be tried, therefore, in other courts, and before judges administering different la\vs. But \ve may go further. The being of God Il1ay be beyond the proyince of science, and yet it may be froll1 a consideration of the general body of scientific knowledge that philosophy draws some inlportant l1lotives for accel-Yting the doctrine. Any cOl11plete survey of the 'proofs of theism' \vould, I need not say, be here quite out of place; yet, in order to Blake clear \vhere I think the real difficulty lies in fran1ing any systenl \vhich shall include both theology dnd science, I n1ay be perlnitted to say 294 SCIENCE AND rrHEOLOGY enough about theism to show where I think the difficulty does not lie. I t does not lie in the doctrine that there is a supernatural or, let us say, a meta- physical ground, on which the whole system of natural phenon1ena depend; nor in the attribution to this ground of the quality of reason, or, it n1ay be, of something higher than reason, in ,vhich reason is, so to speak, included. This belief, with all its inherent obscurities, is, no doubt, necessary to theology, but it is at the same time so far, in my judgmen t, fron1 being repugnant to science that. without it, the scientific view of the natural world would not be less, but more, beset VJith difficulties than it is at present. This fact has been in part obscured by certain infelicities in the popular statements of what is known as the' Argument from Design.' In a famous answer to that argument it has been pointed out that the in- ference from the adaptation of means to ends, .which rightly convinces us in the Cdse of n1anufactured articles that they are not the result of chance, but are produced by intelligent contrivance, can scarcely be legitimately applied to the case of the universe as a whole. An induction which may be perfectly valid within the circle of phenomena, may be quite meaningless when it is employed to account for the circle itself. You cannot infer a God fron1 the existence of the \vorld as you infer an architect [ron1 the existence of a house, or a mechanic froln the existence of a watch. SCIEXCE AND TI-IEOLOGY 295 \\Tithout discussing the merits of this ans\ver at lLngth, so n1uch n1ay, I think, be conceded to it-that it suggests a doubt whether the theologians \vho thus rely upon an inductive proof of the being of God are not in a position son1e\vhat sin1ilar to that of the en1pirical philosophers \vho rely upon an inductive proof of the uniforn1ity of 1\ ature. 1'he uniforn1ity of K ature, as I haye before explained, cannot be proved by experience, for it is \ hat makes proof fron1 experience possible. 1 \ \T e n1ust bring it, or son1ething like it, to the facts in order to infer any- thing frol11 then1 at all. Assun1e it, and \ve shall no doubt find that, broadly speaking and in the rough, \vhat ,ve call the facts conforn1 to it. But this con- formity is not inductive proof, and n1ust not be confounded \yith it. I n the same ,yay, I do not contend that, if \ye start from Nature \vithout God, \ve shall be logically driyen to belieye in Hin1 1?y a mere consideration of the exan1ples of adaptation \vhich it undoubtedly contains. I t is enough that \,"hen \ve bring this belicf \yith us to the study of. phenomena. \ve can say of it, ,,"hat \ye haye just said of the principle of uniformity. nan1ely, that, , broadly speaking and in the rough,' the facts harmoni e \vith it, and that it gives a unity and a coherence to our apprehension of the natural \vodd \vhich it \vould not other\\ ise possess. 1 This phrase has a Kantian ring about it ; bùt I need not say that it is not here used in the Kantian sense. The argmnent is touched on, as the reader may recollect, at the end of Chapter 1., Part 11. See, however, below a further discussion as to "hat the uniformity of 1\ ature 111eans, and as to what may be properly inferred fr0111 it. 29 6 SCIEKCE .A D THEOLOGY II But the argul11ent fron1 design, in vhate\Ter shape it is accepted, is not the only one in favour of theism \vith \vhich scientific kno\vledge furnishes us. 1'\ or is it, to nlY ll1ind, the 1110st inlportant. l"he argulnent from design rests upon the \vorld as kno\vn. But something also ll1ay be inferred froll1 the nlere fact that we kno\v-a fact \\;hich, like every other, has to be accounted for. And how is it to be accounted for? 1. need not repeat again \vhat I have already said about Authority and Reason; for it i.5 e\Tident that, \vhateyer be the part played by reason anlong the proxill1ate causes of belief, an10ng the ultinlate causes it plays, according to science, no pclrt at all. On the naturalistic hypothesis, the \vhole pre111ises of knowledge are clearly due to the blind operation of material causes, and in the last resort to these alone. On that hypothesis we no nlore po sess free reason than \ve possess free will. As all our voli- tions are the inevitable product of forces \vhich are quite alien to nlorality, so all our conclusions are the inevitable product of forces \\Thich are quite alien to reason. As the casual introduction of conscience, or a ' good \vill, , into the chain of causes \yhich ends in a ' virtuous action' ought not to suggest any idea of I11erit, so the casual introduction of a little ratiocina- tion as a stray link in the chain of causes \yhich ends in \yhat we are pleased to describe as a ' den10nstrated conclusion,' ought not to be taken as implying that CIE CE _\ l> THEOLOGY 297 the conclusion is in harInony with fact. :\Iorality .and rea on are dUgust nanles, \vhich give an air of respectability to certain actiuns and certain argu- Inents; but it is quite obvious on eXéunination that, if the naturalistic hypothesis be correct, they are but unconscious tools in the hands of their unn10ral and non-rational antLcedents, and that the real responsi- bility for all they do lies in the distribution of n1atter .and energy \yhich happened to prevail far back in the incalculable past. These conclusions are, no doubt, as \ve sa\v at the beginning of this Essay, eI11barrassing enough to Iorality. But they are absolutely ruinous to I no\vledge. For they require us to accept a systen1 as ,rational, one of \vhose doctrines is that the systcn1 itself is the product of causes "yhich have no tendency to truth rather than falsehood, ur to falsehood rather than truth. Forget, if you please, that reason itself is the result, like nerves or muscles, of physical antecedents. ASSUI11e (a tolerably yiolent assulnption) that in dealing \yith her pren1ises she obeys only her o\\'"n 1 a\\'" s. Of \yhat value is this autonon1Y if those prelnises are . settled for her by purely irrational forces, \yhich she is po" erless to control, or e\yen tu conlprehend? The professor of naturaliSI1l rejoicing in the display · of his dialectical resources, is like a yoyager, pacing at his O\YI1 pleasure up and dO\Yl1 the ship's deck, \vho should suppose that his I110Ven1ents had some ilnportant share in dctcrInining his position on the 29 8 SCIEKCE .L\XI) 'rHEOLOGY illimitable ocean. And the parallel \yould be conl- plete if \\ge can concei \?e such a \?oyager pointing to the alertness of his step and the vigour of his limbs as auguring \vell for the successful prosecution of his journey, while assuring you in the yery Sal1le breath that the yessel, \vithin \vhose narro\y bounds he displays all this nleaningless acti\?ity, is drifting he kno\vs not whence nor \yhither, \vithout pilot or captain, at the bidding of shifting \yinds and incal- culable currents. Consider the follo\ving propositions, selected frol11 the naturalistic creed or deduced fronl it :- (i.) 1.\1 y beliefs, in so far as they are the result of reasoning at all, are founded on premises produced in the last resort by the' collision of atOl1ls.' (ii.) Aton1s. haying no prejudices in fa\?our of truth, are as likely to turn out wrong pren1ises as right ones; nay. 1110re likely, inas111uch as truth is single and error nlanifold. (iii.) 1\1 y pren1ises, therefore, in the first place, and my conclusions in the second. are certainly un- trust\vorthy, and probably false. Their falsity, nlore- over, is of a kind \vhich cannot be renledied ; since any- atte11lpt to correct it 111ust start fro11l preinises not suffering under the same defect. But no such . . prenlises eXIst. (iv.) Therefore, again. n1Y opinion about the' original causes \vhich produced my pren1ises, as it is an inference fronl then1, partakes of their \yeakness ; SCII XCE _\XI) THEOIOGY 299 so that I cannot either securely doubt nlY o\vn certainties or be certain about Iny o\yn doubts. This is scepticisnl indeed; scepticism \vhich is forced by its o\vn inner nature to be sceptical even about itself; \vhich neither kills belief nor lets it live. But it lnay perhaps be suggested in reply to this argun1ent, that \yhateyer force it nlay have against the old-fashioned naturalism, its edge is blunted \vhen turned against the eyolutionary agnosticism of Inore recent gro\"th ; since the latter establishes the existence of a machinery ,yhich, irrational though it be, does really tend gradually, and in the long run, to produce true opinions rather than false. That nlachinery is, I need not say, Selection, and the other forces (if other forces there be) ,vhich bring the' organism' into more and more perfect harn10ny \vith its 'en\?ironment.' Sonle han1lony is neces- sary-so runs the argument-in order that any form of life may be possible; and as life deyelops, the harmony necessarily beconles more and nlore complete. But since there is no more important fornl in \vhich this harnlony can sho\y itself than truth of belief, \vhich is, indeed, only another name for the perfect correspondence bet\yeen belief and fact, Nature, herein acting as a kind of cosnlic I nquisi- tion, \vill repress by judicious persecution any lapses froin the standard of naturalistic orthodoxy. Sound doctrine ,,,ill be fostered ; error ,,,ill be discouraged or destroyed; until at last, by Dlethods \yhich are 3 00 SCIEXCE \XI) T'HEOLOGV neither rational thenlselves nor of rational orIgIn, the cause of reason will be fully vindicated. ...-\rgulnents like these are, however, quite insuffi- cient to justify the conclusion which is drawn from them. I n the first place, they take no account of any causes which were in operation before life appeared upon the planet. Until there occurred the une xplainedleap fronl the I norganic to the Organic, Selection, of course, had no place anlong the evolu- t ionary processes; "\yhile even after that date it was, fron1 the nature of the case, only concerned to foster ,; and perpetuate those chance-borne beliefs which nlinister to the continuance of the species. But what an utterly inadequate basis for speculation is here! \Ve are to suppose that powers which were evolved in prin1itiye man and his aninlal progenitors in order that they might kill \vith success and nlarry in security, are on that account fitted to explore the secrets of the uniyerse. \\T e are to suppose that the fundamental beliefs on which these po\vers of reasoning are to be exercised reflect with sufficient precision reIl10te aspects of reality, though. they \vere produced in the l1lain by physiological pro- cesses \vhich date from a stage of deyelopment \",hen the only curiosities which had to be satisfied \vere those of fear and those of hunger. To say that instru111ents of research constructed solely for uses like these cannot be expected to supply us \vith a nletaphysic or a theology, is to say far too little. They cannot be expected to give us any general SCIEXCE \XD THEOLOC;Y 3 01 view even of the phenonlenal world, or to do 1110re than guide us in conlparative safety from the satis- factiun of one useful appetite to the satisfaction of anuther. On this theory, therefore, \ve are again driycn back to the same sceptical position In \vhich \ve found ourselves left by the older forms of the 'positive,' or naturalistic creed. On this theory, as on the other, reason has to recognise that her rights of independent judgnlent and review are l11erely titular dignities, carrying with thenl no effec- tive po,vers ; and that, \vhatever her pretensions, she is, for the 1110St part, the ll1ere editor and interpreter of the utterances of unreason. I do not believe that any escape from these per- plexities is possible, unless \ve are prepared to bring to the study of the \vorld the presupposition that it ,vas the "york of a rational Being, \vho made it intelligible, and at the same time made itS, in ho\v- ever feeble a fashion, able to understand it. This conception does not solve all difficulties; far fron1 it. 1 But, at least, it is not on the face of it incoherent. I t does not attenlpt the impossible task of extract- ing reason from unreason; nor does it require us 1 According to a once prevalent lr.eory, 'innate ideas' were true because they were implanted in us by God. According to my way of putting it, there must be a God to justify our confidence in (what used to be caUed) innate ideas. I have given the argument in a fonn which avoids aU discussion as to the nature of the relation between lnind and body. 'Yhatever be the mode of describing this which ultimately commends itself to naturalistic psychologists, the reasoning in the text holds good. Cf the purely sceptical presentation of the argument contained in Phi/(Jsoþhic Doubt, chap. xiii. 3 02 SCIEN"CE ANI) 1'HEOLOGY to accept anlong scientific conclusions any \vhich effectually shatter the credibility of scientific pre- II 1 se s. III Theisnl, then, \vhether or not it can In the strict nleaning of the word be described as proved by science, is a principle \vhich science, for a double reason, requires for its o\vn cOlnpletion. The ordered systenl of phenonlena asks for a cause; our kno\v- ledge of that system is inexplicable unless \ve assulne for it a rational Author. Under this head, at least, there should be no 'conflict between science and religion. ' I t is true, of course, that if theis111 smoothes away sonle of the difficulties \vhich atheisnl raises, it is not on that account \vithout difficulties of its O\Vl1. \ ,r e .cannot, for example, fornl, I ,,"ill not say any adequate, but even any tolerable, idea of the nlode in \vhich God is related to, and acts on, the \yorld of phenomena. 1'hat He created it, that He sustains it, \ve are driven to believe. Ho\v He created it, ho\v He sustains it, is i111possible for us to inlagine. But let it be obser\Ted that the difficulties which thus arise are no peculiar heritage of theology, or of a science \vhich accepts anlong its presuppositions the central truth \vhich theology teaches. Naturalism itself has to face the111 in a yet 1110re enlbarrassing fornl. For they nleet us not only in connection \vith the doctrine of God, but in connection with the doctrine of ll1aI1. Not SCIEXCE \XI> THEOLOGY 3 0 3 Divinity alone intervenes in the \\yorIù of things. Each living soul, in its Ineasure and degree, does the saIne. Each li\ying suul ,vhich acts un its surround- ings raises questions analogous to, and in sonle \\yays Inore perplexing than, those suggested by the action of a God inllnanent in a universe of phen0I11ena. Of course I tln a\\yare that, in thus speaking ot the connection bet\yeen nlan and his I11aterial sur- roundings, I anl assulning the truth of a theory \\yhich sonle Inen of science (in this. ho,vever. tra\yelling a little beyond their province) \\yould nlost energetically deny. But their denial really only serves to enlphasise the extreine difficulty of the problem raised by the relation of the Self to phenoI11ena. So hardly pressed are they by these difficulties that, in order to evade thenl, they attenlpt an inlpossible act of suicide ; and because the Self refuses to figure as a phenomenon anlong phenonlena, or cOll1placently to fit in to a purely scientific vie\v of the ,vorId, they set about the hopeless task of suppressing it alto- gether. Enough has already been said on this point to pertnit I11e to pass it by. I \vill, therefore, only obser\ye that those yho ask us to reject the con- viction entertained by each one of us, that he does actually and effectually intcr\yene in the Il1ateriaI ,vodd, nlay have nlany grounds of objection to theology, but should certainly not include anlong thenl the reproach that it asks us to believe the jncredible. But, in truth, \vithout going into the Inetaphysics 3 0 -1- SCIENCE .A.XD THEOLOGY of the Self, our pre\Tious discussions 1 contain an1plc- material for sho\ving ho\v in1penetrable are the n1ists "rhich obscure the relation of n1ind to 111atter, of things to the perception of things. N either can be elin1inated from our systen1. Both Inust perforce fornl elen1ents in every adequate representation of reality. Yet the philosophic artist has still to 3.rise who shall con1bine the t\yO into a single picture, \\-ith- out doing serious violence to essential features, either of the one or the other. I am myself, indeed, dis- posed to doubt whether any concession made by the 1 C( allie, Part I1., Chaps. 1. and I1. It Inay be worth while re- Blinding the reader of one set of difficulties to which J have Inade little reference in the text. Every theory of the relation bet\\'een \Yill, or, Inore strictly, the \Yilling Self and l\Iatter Inust COllle under one of two heads :-(1) Either \Vill acts on lVIatter, or (2) it does not. If it does act on Matter, it Inust be either as Free \Yill or as Deternlined \\Till. If it is as Free \\Till, it upsets the uniformity of Nature, and our most fundalnental scientific conceptions nlust be recast. If it is as Deter- lnined \Vill, that is to say, if volition be interpolated as a necessary link between one set of 111aterial n10velnents and another, then, indeed, it leaves the unifonnity of Nature untouched; but it violates mechanical principles. According to the mechanical ,'iew of the world, the con- dition of any material system at one Inoment is absolutely detennined by its condition at the preceding InOlnent. In a world so conceived there is no room for the interpolation e,'en of Detennined \Vill alnong the causes of Inaterial change. It is lnere surplusage. (2.) If the \Yill does not act on l\latter, then we 111USt suppose either that volition belongs to a psychic serips running in a parallel streall1 to the physiological changes of the brain, though neither influenced by it nor influencing it-which is, of course, the ancient theory of pre-esta- blished hannony; or else we must suppose that it is a kind of superfluous consequence of certain physiological changes, produced presumably without the exhaustion of any fonn of energy, and having no effect whatever, either upon the material world or, I suppose, upon other psychic conditions. This reduces us to autOlnata, and automata of a kind very difficult to find proper accoll1nlodation for in a world scientifically conceived. 1'\" one of these alternatives seen1 very attractive, but one of them would seen1 to ue inevitable. SCIEKCE \:\IJ THEOLOGY 3 0 5 · subjecti\ye ' to the' objective,' or by the ' objectiv ' to the' subjective,' short of the total destruction of one or the other, \vill ét\'aiI to produce a harnlonious scheIl1e. . nd c rtain]r no discord could be so harren, so unsatisfying, so practically il11possible, as a harnlonyattained at such a cost. \ V e nlust acquiesce. then, in the existence of an unsolved difficulty. But it is a difficulty \vhich J11eets us, in an even more in- tractable fornl, \vhen \ve strive to realise the nature of our o\vn relations to the EttIe world in \vhich \ve 1110ve, than \vhen \ve are dealing with a like problenl in respect to the I )ivine Spirit, \\Tho is the Ground of all being clnd the Source of all change. IV But though there should thus be no conflict bet\veen theology and science, either as to the existence of God or as to the possibility of His acting on phenonlena, it by no n1eans follo\vs that the idea of God which is suggested by science is C0111- patible \vith the idea of God \vhich is de\-eloped by theology. Identical, of course, they need not be. 'rheology \vould be unnecessary if all \ve are capable of learning about God could be inferred fronl a study of Nature. Conl patible. ho\vever, they seemingly TIlust be. if science and religion are to be at one. And yet I kno\\- not \\-hether those \vho are most persuaded that the cl inls of these two po\\'ers are irreconcilable rest their case \villingly upon the most x 3 06 SCIENCE \NI) THEOLOGY striking incongruity bet\veen them which can be produced-I mean the existence of misery and the triumphs of wrong. Yet no one is, or, indeed, could be, blind to the difficulty which thence arises. F ronl the worlà as presented to us by science we might conjecture a God of po\ver and a God of reason ; but we never could infer a God who was \vholly loying and wholly just. So that what religion pro- claims aloud to be His nlost essential attributes are precisely those respecting \vhich the oracles of science are doubtful or are dumb. One reason, I suppose, \vhy this insistent thought does not, so far as my observation goes, supply a favourite weapon of controversial attack, is that ethics is obviously as much interested in the moral attributes of God as theology can ever be (a point to \vhich I shall presently return). But another reason, no doubt, nlay be found in the fact that the difficulty is one which has been profoundly realised by religious minds ages before organised science can be said to have existed; ,,-hile, on the other hand t the growth of scientific kno\yledge has neither in- creased nor diminished the burden of it by a feather-" weight. The question, therefore, seems, though not, I think, quite correctly, to be one which is wholly, as it were, within the frontiers of theology, and \\"hich theologians may, therefore, be left to deal \vith as best they may, undisturbed by any arguments sup- plied by science. I f this be not in theory strictly true, it is in practice but little wide of the mark.. SCIEKCE \N]) THEOLOGY 3 0 7 The facts \vhich raise the problen1 in its acutest forn1 helong, inde d, to that portion of the experience of life \vhich is the common property of science and theology; but theology is Il1uch 1110re deeply con- cerned in then1 than science can ever be, and has long faced the unsolved problem which they present. The weight which it has thus borne for all these centuries is not likely now to crush it ; and, para- doxical though it seen1S, it is yet surely true, that what is a theological stumbling-block n1ay also be a religious aid; and that it is in part the thought of , all creation groaning and travailing in pain together, \vaiting for reden1ption,' which creates in Inan the deepest need for faith in the love of God. \ I conceiye, then, that those \vho talk of the' con- flict between science and religion' do not, as a rule, refer to the difficulty presented by the existence of Evil. \ \There, then, in their opinion, is the point of irreconcilable difference to be found? It \viII, I suppose, at once be replied, in lVliracles. But though the aI1s\ver has in it a 111easure of truth, though, \vithout doubt, it is possible to approach the real kernel of the problen1 [(om the side of miracles, I confess this seems to me to be in fact but seldom accomplished; \\ hile the ,.ery tenn is nlore sug- gestive of contro,.ersy, vvearisome, unprofitable, and unending, than any other in the language, Free \ Vill alone being excepted. I nto this Serbonian bog x 3 08 SCIENCE .\1\11 'rHEOJ OGY I scarcely dare ask the reader to follo\v me, though the adventure nlust, I am afraid, be undertaken if the purpose of this chapter is to be accomplished. In the first place, then, it seems to me unfortunate that the principle of the Uniformity of Nature should so often be dragged into a controversy with which its connection is so dubious and obscure. For what do \ve mean by saying that Nature is uniform? We may mean, perhaps we ought to mean, that (leaving Free Will out of account) the condition of the world at one moment is so connected \vith its condition at the next, that if \ve could imagine it brought twice into exactly the same position, its subsequent history would in each case be exactly the same. Now no one, I suppose, imagines that uniformity in this sense has any quarrel with miracles. If a miracle is a wonder \vrought by God to meet the needs arising out of the sp.eciaI circumstances of a particular I110ment, then, supposing the circunl- stances were to recur, as they would if the world \vere twice to pass through the same phase, the miracle, we cannot doubt, would recur also. I t is not possible to suppose that the unifornlity of Nature thus broadly interpreted \vould be marred by Him on Whom Nature depends, and \Vho is inlnlanent in all its changes. But it will be replied that the unifornlity with which miracles are thus said to be consistent carries ,,-ith it no Important consequences whatever. Its truth or untruth is a matter of equal indifference to SCIE CE AX}> THEOlOGY 3 0 9 the practical l11al1, the 111an of science, and the philosopher. It asserts in reality (it nlay be said) no lnore than this, that if history once began repeating itself, it vçould go on doing so, like a recurring decimal. But as history in fact never does exactly repeat itself, as the universe never is t".ice over pre- cisely in the same condition. \\re should no nlore be able to judge the future fron1 the past, cr to detect the operation of particular Ia \\"s of Nature in a \vorld \\i"here only this kind of theoretic unifornlity prevailed, than \ve should under the misru]e of chaos and blind chance. There is force in these observations, \vhich are, ho\vever, much more enlbarrassing to the philosophy of science than to that of theology. \\iithoüt doubt all experilnental inference, as well as the ordinary conduct of life, depends on supplelnentirig this gèneral \ ie\v of the unifonnity of Nature with certain \vorking hypotheses which are not ahvays, though they ought to be, 1110st carefully dis- tinguished from it. One of these is, that Nature is not ll1erely uniforn1 as a \\"hole, but is made up of a bundle of snlaller unifornlities; or, in other \\ ords, that there is a determinate relation, not only bet\\.een the successi\Te phases of the \vhole universe, but bet\veen successive phases of certain fraglnents of it ; \vhich successi ve phases \\-e comll10nly describe as , causes' and 'effects.' Another of these ,,"orking hypotheses is, that though the uni\ erse as a ,,"hole never repeats itself, these isolated fraglllents of it 3 10 SCIENCE l\NI) rrHEOLOGY do. And a third is, that we have means at our dis- posal whereby these fragments can be accurately divided off from the rest of Nature, and confidently recognised when they recur. Now I doubt whether anyone of these three presuppositions-\vhich, be it noted, lie at the very root of the collection of empirical maxims which we dignify with the name of inductive logic-can, fron1 the point of view of philosophy, be regarded as more than an approximation. I t is hard to believe that the concrete \Vhole of things can be thus cut up into independent portions. I t is still harder to believe that any such portion is ever repeated absolutely unaltered; since its character must surely in part depend upon its relation to. all the other portions. which (by hypothesis) are not repeated with it. And it is quite impossible to believe that inductive logic has succeeded by any of its n1ethods in providing a sure criterion for deter- ll1ining, \vhen any such portion is apparently re- peated, \vhether all the elements, and not n10re than all, are again present which on previous occasions did really constitute it a case of ' cause' and' effect. '1 I f this seems paradoxical, it is chiefly because \ve habitually use phraseology which, strictly interpreted, seems to in1ply that a < THEOJ.,()CY 3] J Of course this is not so. I n the world of pheno- J11ena, Reality is exhausted by what is and what happens. Beyond this there is nothing. These , la,vs' are merely abstractions devised by us for our o,,-n guidance through the cOInplexities of fact. They possess neither independent powers nor actual existence. And if ,\ e \vould use language \vith perfect accuracy, \ve ought, it would seenl, either to say that the sanle cause \vould always be followed by precisely the saIne effect, if it recurred- \yhich it never does; or that, in certain regions of Nature, though only in certain regions, \ve can de- tect subordinate unifornlities of repetition which, though not exact, enable us \vithout sensible in- security or error to anticipate the future or recon- struct the past. 'rhis hurried glance \vhich I have asked the reader to take into SOlne obscure corners of inductive theory is by no means intended to suggest that it is as easy to believe in a nliracle as not; or even that on other grounds, presently to be referred to, miracles ought not to be regarded as incredible. But it does sho\v, in lilY judgment, that no profit can yet be ex- tracted from controversies as to the precise relation in \vhich they stand to the Order of the world. Those engaged in these controversies have not un- conunonly comnlitted a double error. They have, in the first place, chosen to assunle that we have a perfectly clear and general]y accepted theory as to \vhat is n1eant by the U niforInity of Nature, as to 3 12 SCIE CE :\NU THEULOGY \vhat is meant by particular La\vs of Nature, as to the relation in \vhich the particular Laws stand to the general U niforn1ity, and as to the kind of proof by which each is to be established. And, having . con1mitted this philosophic error, they proceed to add to it the historical error of crediting prin1itive theology with a knowledge of this theory, and with a desire to inlprove upon it. 1"'hey seen1 to suppose that apostles and prophets \\"ere in the habit of looking at the natural \vorld in its ordinary course, with the eyes of an eighteenth-century deist, as if it were a bundle of unifornlities which, once set going, went on for eyer auton1atically repeating themselves; and that their nlessage to nlankind consisted in announcing the existence of another, or supernatural world, ,,'hích occasionally upset one or two of these natural uniforn1ities by l11eans of a n1iracle. No such theory can be extracted fron1 their writings, and no such theory should be read into them; and this not Inerely because such an attribution is unhistorical, nor yet because there is any ground for doubting the interaction of the , spiritual) and the ' natural' ; but because this ac- count of the 'natural' itself is one which, if inter- preted strictly, seems open to grave philosophical objection, and is certainly deficient in philosophic . prool The real difficulties connected with theological Illiracles lie elsewhere.. T\\'o qualities seem to be of their essence: they 11lust be \\londers, and they 111USt SCIENCß .AX)) THEOL()(;Y 3 1 3 be \vonders due to the special action ùf lJi,-ine po\ver and each of these qualities raises a special problem of its o\vn. That raised by the first is the question of evidence. \\That atll0unt of e,-iclence, if any, is suffi- cient to render a miracle credible? .A. \nd on this \vhich is apart fron1 the nlain track of n1)' argument l , I may perhaps content tnyself ,vith pointing out, that if by evidence is Ineant, as it usually is, historical testimony, this is not a fixed quantity, the same for every reasonable Inan, no nlatter \vhat n1ay be his other opinions. It yaries, and nlust necessarily vary, \vith the general vie,vs, the' psychological clinlate/ \\-hich he brings to its consideration. I t is possible to get t\velve plain Inen to agree on the e,.idence \\-hich requires then1 to bring in a ,-erclict of guilty or not guilty, because they start \vith a con1n10n stocl} of presuppositions, in the light of ,,-hich the evidence submitted to then1 may, ,vithout prelitninary discus. sion, be interpreted. But ,vhen, as in the caSe of theological nliracles, there is no such comn10n stock any agreen1ent on a ,-erclict can scarcely be looked for. One of the jury n1ay hold the naturalistic vie\\r of the world. To hin1, of course, the occurrence of a 111iracle involves the abandoll111ent of the "phole philosophy in tenns of ,yhich he is accustoll1ed tÓ interpret the uni,-erse. Argulnent, cListonl, pre:... judice, authority-e,-er) con,piction-Inaking nlachine, rational and non -rational. by ,vhich his schelne of belief has been fashionecl-c()l1spire to Inake thi ,past intellectual re\-olution difficult. .. \nd ,,-e need 3 1 4 SCIENCE \XI) THEOLOGY ot be surprised that e\?en the most excellent evidence for a fe\v isolated incidents is quite insuffi- cient to effect his conversion; nor that he occa- sionally sho\vs a disposition to go very extraordinary }engths in contriving historical or critical theories for he purpose of eXplaining such evidence away. Another may believe in · verbal inspiration.' 1"'0 him, the discussion of evidence in the ordinary sense is quite superfluous. E very Iniracle, whatever its character, \vhatever the circun1stances in which it p curred, \vhatever its relation, whether essential or accidental, to the general scheme of religion, is to .be accepted \vith equal confidence, provided it be narrated in the works of inspired authors. I t is written: it is therefore true. And in the light of this presupposition alone n1ust the results of any merely .critical or historical discussion be finally judged. A third of our supposed jurY111en 111ay reject both naturalism and verbal inspiration. He may appraise the evidence alleged in favour of ''v\T onders due to the special action of Divine power' by the light of an altogether different theory of the world and of God's action therein. He n1ay consider religion to be as necessary an element in any adequate scheme of belief as science itself: Every event, therefore, whether wonderful or not, a belief in whose occur- rence is involved in that religion, every event by whose disproof the religion \yould be seriously in1- poverished or altogether destroyed, has behind it the whole con1bined strength of the systen1 to \vhich , SCIENCE AND rrHEOLOCY 3 1 5 it belongs. I t is not, indeed, believed independently of external evidence, any more than the Inost ordinary occurrences in history are believed indepen:- Jently of external evidence. But it does not require, as some people appear to suppose, the inlpossible accumulation of proof on proof, of testinlony on testinlony, before the presumption against it can be neutraJised. F or, in truth, no such presunlption nlay exist at all. Strange as the 111iracle nlust seen1, and inharnlonious \vhen considered as an alien elenlent in an other\vise naturalistic setting, it nlay assume a character of inevitableness, it nlay abnost IJroclain1 aloud that thus it has occurred, and not other\vise, to those \vho consider it in its relation, not to the natural ,,,"orid alone, but to the spiritual, and to the needs of Inan as a citizen of both. YI l\Iany other varieties of ' psychological clinlate' nlight be described; but what I have said is, perhaps, enough to show how absurd it is to expect any unanilnityas to the value of historical evidence until some better agreement has been arri,-ed at respecting the presuppositions in the light of \\'hich alone such evidence can be estimated. I pass, therefore, to the difficulty raised by the SCC0 luf, and nluch more fundanlental, attribute of theological Iniracles to \vhich I ha,.e adverted, namely, that they are due to the · special action of God.' But this, be it 3 16 SCIEXCE ...\XD l'HEOL()GY observed, is, froIn a religious point of \'le\V, no peculiarity of n1Ïracles. I--I'ew schenles of thought which have any religious flayour about thenl at all wholly exclude the idea of what I will venture to call the 'preferential exercise of Divine power,' whatever differences of opinion may exist as to the l11anner in \vhich it is ll1anifested. There are those who reject 111iracles but who, at least in those fateful 1110111ents \vhen they inlaginatiyely realise their 0'\'11 helplessness, will adn1it what in a certain literature is called a 'special Providence.' There are those who reject the notion of ' pecicll Providence,' but who adn1it a sort of Divine superintendence over the general course of history. There are those, again, who reject in its ordinary shape the idea of l)ivine superintendence, but \vho conceive that they can escape froIn philosophic reproach by beating out the idea yet a little thinner, and admitting that there does exist SOnle\V here a ' Povver which 111akes for righteousness. ' f""'or my own part, I think all these various opinions are equally open to the only form of attack which it is \yorth while to Lring against anyone of then1. And if ,ye allow', as (supposing religion in any shape to be true) ,ve n1ust allow, that the 'prefer- ential action' of Divine power is possible, nothing is gained by qualifying the admission ,\lith all those fanciful limitations and distinctions with which Jif- ferent schools of thought have seen fit to en- cunlber it. l'he admission itself, ho\,yever, is one SCIEXCE \XI> THEOLU(;\" 3 1 7 ,vhich, in \vhatever shape it 111ay be nléH.le, no doubt suggests questions of great di fficulty. t low can the Di,.ine Being \Vho is the l round and Source of everything that is, \ \ "ho sustains all, directs alI, pro- duces all, be connected nlore closely ,,"ith one part of that \vhich He has created than ,,"ith another? I f every event be \vholly due to II inl, hO\\7 can ,,-c say that any single event, such as a miracle, or any tendency of events, such as 'I11aking for righteous- ness.' is specially His? \\That rOOl11 for difference or Jistinction is there \vithin the circuit of H is universal po\ver? Since the relation bet\yeen H is creation and H inl is throughout and in every particular one of absolute dependence, ",hat I11eaning can "'e attach to the nletaphor \yhich represents H ilTI as takin g part \vith one fragnlent of it, or as hostile to another? N ow it has, in the first place, to be observed that ethics is alnlost as l1luch concerned in dealing \vith this difficulty as theology itself. l.'or if \ve cannot believe in · preferential action.' neither can we believe in the I1loral qualities of \vhich 'preferential action' is the sign; and ,yith the moral qualities of God is bound up the fate of anything \vhich deserves to be called 1110rality at all. I anl not no\v arguing that ethics cannot exist unsupported by theism. On this thenle I have already said sOInething, and shall have to say more. :\1 r present contention is, that though history nlay show plenty of exalnpIes in heathendonl of ethical theory being far in ad,"ance of the recognised religion, it is yet inlpossible to 3 18 SCIEXCE AN"I> rrHEOLOGY suppose that morality \vould not ultimately be destroyed by the clearly realised belief in a God "\Tho v.-as either indifferent to good or inclined to evil. For a universe in which all the power was on the side of the Creator, and all the morality on the side of creation, would be one compared with which the universe of naturalism would shine out a paradise indeed. Even the poet has not dared to represent Jupiter torturing Prometheus without the din1 figure of Avenging Fate waiting silently in the background. But if the idea of an immoral Creator governing a \vorld peopled with moral, or even with sentient, creatures, is a speculative nightmare, the case is not n1aterially n1ended by substituting for an immoral Creator an indifferent one. Once assume a God, and \ve shall be o?liged, sooner or later, to introduce harmony into our system by making obedience to His will coincident \vith the established rules of con- duct. \ \' e cannot frame our advice to mankind on the hypothesis that to defy Omnipotence is the beginning of \visdom. But if this process of adjustment is to be done consistently with the n1ain- tenance of any eternal and absolute distinction between right and wrong, then must His \vill be a 'good \vill,' and \ve must suppose Him to look with favour upon SOlne parts of this mixed \vorld of good and evil, and \\-ith disfavour upon otDers. If, on the other hand, this distinction seen1S to us metaphysi- cally impossible; if we cannot do otherwise than SCIEKCE \XI> THEOLOGY 3 1 9 regard I I in1 as related in precisely the san1e \vay to every portion of 1-1 is creation, looking with in-- different eyes upon tnisery and happiness, truth and error, vice and virtue, then our theulogy 111USt surely drive us, under \vhate'"er disguise, to en1pty ethics of a11 ethical significance, and to reduce ,rirtue to a colourless acquiescence in the Appointed Order. Systems there are ,,'hich do not shrink fro111 these specu]atiye conclusions. But their authors ,yilI, I think, be found rather among those ,yho approach the problen1 of the ,,"orId from the side of a particular n1etaphysic, than those \vho approach it fron1 the side of science. lie who sees in God no more than the Infinite Substance of ,vhich the ,,-arId of phenomena constitutes the accidents, or ,,"ho requires Him for no other purpose than as Infinite Subject, to supply the 'unity' \yithout \vhich the ,yorId of phenon1ena ,vould be an 'unmeaning flux of unconnected particulars,' n1ay naturally suppose H Ìnl to be eq uall y related to everythi ng, good or bad. that has been, is, or can be. But I do not think that the tnan of science is siIl1ilarly situated; for the doctrine of e,"olution has in this respect n1ade a chdnge in his position which, curiously enough, brings it closer to that occupied in this 111atter by theology and ethics than it \yas in the days \yhen ' special creation' \vas the fashionable vie,,". I am not contending, be it observed, that e\"olu- tion strengthens the evidence for theism. l\l r point rather is, that if the existence of God be assumed, 3 2 Q SCIE CE &\ l) T'HEOLOCY evolution does, to a certain extent, harn10nise \rith .. that belief in His ' preferential action' \\Thich religion and mora1ity alike require us to attribute to Hinl. F 0: where s the l11élterial and organic vlorld \vas once supposed to have been created' all of a piece,' and to sho\y contri\Tance on the part of its Author l11erely by the nlachine-like adjustment of its parts, so now science has adopted an idea which has al\vays been an essential part of the Christian vie\v of the Divine econonlY, has given to that idea an un- dreamed-of extension, has applied it to the \vhole universe of phenonlena, organic and inorganic, and has returned it again to theology enriched, strengthened, and developed. Can we, then, think of evolution in a God-created world \vithout attri- buting to its Author the notion of purpose slowly worked out; the striving towards sonlething ,,"hich is not, but \vhich gradually becomes. and in the [ulness of time will be? Surely not. But. if not, c n it be denied that e\Tolution-the evolution, I mean, \vhich takes place in tin1e, the natural evolution of science, as distinguished from the dialectical evolution of metaphysics-does involve something in the nature of that' preferential action' \vhich it is so difficult to understand, yet so impossible to abandon? 3 2 ] CHL\PTE R. \TI SUGGESTIO S TO\VARDS ..\ PRO\YISIOX_\L VXIFIC \TIO I BUT if I confined n1yself to saying that the belief in a God \\Tho is not luerely ( subst nce.' or ' subject,' but is, in Biblical language, (a liying (;od,' affords no ground of quarrel bet\veen theology and science, I should nluch understate my thought. I hold, on the contrary, that some such presupposition is not only tolerated, but is actually required, by science; that if it be accepted in the case of science, it can hardly be refused in the case of ethics, æsthetics, or theology; and that if it be thus accepted as a general principle, applicable to the \\yhole circuit of belief, it \vill be found to provide us \vith a \vorking solution of some, at least, of the difficulties \vith \\yhich naturalisnl is inconlpetent to deal. For \vhat \\tas it that lay at the bottonl of those difficulties? Speaking broadly, it n1ay be described as the perpetual collision, the ineffaceable incon- gruity, bet\veen the origin of our beliefs, in so far as these can be reyealed to us by science, and the beliefs thenlselyes. This it '\"as that, as I sho\\yed in the first part of this Essay, touched \\yith the frost y 322 j\ PRO\TISIO .AL UXIFIC \TIO of scepticisIll our ideals of conduct and our ideals of beauty. This it was that, as I sho\vecl in the Second Part, cut do\vn scientific philosophy to the root. And all the later discussions \vith \vhich I have occupied the attention of the reader serve but to enlphasise afresh the inextricable confusion which the natura- listic hypothesis introduces into every departnlent of practice and of speculation, by refusing to allow us to penetrate beyond the phenonlenal causes by which, in the order of Nature, our beliefs are produced. Review each of these departnlents in turn, and, in the light of the preceding discussion, compare its position in a theological setting \vith that \vhich it necessarily occupies in a naturalistic one. Let the case of science be taken first, for it is a crucial one. Here, if anywhere, we might suppose ourselves independent of theology. Ifere, if anywhere, \ve might expect to be able to acquiesce without em- barrassment in the negations of naturalism. But ,vhen once we have realised the scientific truth that at the root of every rational process lies an irrational one; that reason, fronl a scientific point of view, is itself a natural product; and that the \vhole material ()n which it works is due to causes, physical, physio- logical, and social, which it neither creates nor -controls, we shall (as I showed just no\v) be driven in mere self-defence to hold that, behind these non- rational forces, and above thenl, guiding them by slow degrees, and, as it were, with difficulty, to a \ PROYISIÙN..\L UNIFICATIOX 3 2 3 rational issue, stands that Supren1e Reason in \vhon1 ,ve 111USt thus believe, if \\ e are to believe in any- thing. Here, then, \ve are plunged at once into the n1iddle ()f theology. 1"he belief in God, the attribution to H inl úf reason, and of what I have called' prefer- ential action' in relation to the \vodd ,vhich He has created, all seen1 forced upon us by the single .assun1ption that science is not an illusion, and that, with the rest of its teaching, we must accept \vhat it has to say to us about itself as a natural product. At no smaller cost can we reconcile the origins of science \vith its pretensions, or relieve ourselves of the en1barrass111ents in \vhich we are invol,'ed by a naturalistic theory of K ature. But evidently the admission, if once made, cannot stand alone. I t is in1possible to refuse to ethical beliefs ,,,,,hat ,ve have .already conceded to scientific beliefs. For the .analogy bet\yeen then1 is conlplete. Both are natural products. N either rank among their ren10ter causes any \vhich share their essence. i\nd as it is easy to trace back our scientific beliefs to sources \vhich ha,-e .about thenl nothing ,vhich is rational, so it is easy to trace back our ethical beliefs to sources \yhich have .about th en1 nothing \'" hich IS ethical. I oth reg uire us, therefore, to seek behind these phel1on1enal sources for SOUle ultin1ate ground \,-ith \\'hich they shaH be congruous; and as \\ e have been n10ved to postulate a rational God in the interests of science. \" 2 3 2 + \ PRO- {ISIO \L UXI Fl(, \TI()X so \ve can scarcely decline to postulate a nloral God in the interests of nlorality. But. manifestly, those \vho have gone thus far cannot rest here. If we are to assign a (providential' origin to the long and cOlllplex train of events \\tyhich have resulted in the recognition of a moral law, we must embrclce \vithin the saIne theory those senti- l1lents and influences, without which a Dloral la\v \vould tend to beconle a mere catalogue of command- nlents, possessed, it may be, of an undisputed authority, but obtaining on that account but little obedience. This was the point on which I dwelt at length in the first portion of this Essay. I then sho\ved, that if the pedigrees of conscience, of our ethical ideals, of our capacity for admiration, for sympathy, for repentance, for righteous indignation, \\t'ere finally to lose them- sel ves among the accidental \l'ariations on \vhich Selection does its work, it \vas inconceivable that they should retain their virtue \\'hen once the creed of naturalism had thoroughly penetrated and dis- coloured eyery mood of thought and belief. But if, deserting naturalism, we regard the eyolutionary process issuing in these ethical results as an instru- nlent for carrying out a Divine purpose, the natural history of the higher sentiments is seen under a \vhol1y different light. They nlay be due, doubtless they are in fact due, to the sanle selective mechanisl1l ,vhich produces the most cruel and the most disgust- ing of Nature's contrivances for protecting the species of some loathsome parasite. Between the t\VO cases \ PR()\îSl0X \L U!\lFIC..\TIO 3 2 5 science cannot, and naturalisnl \yill not, draw an \- y Jid distinction. But here theology steps in, and by the conception (}f design revolutionises our point of vic,,,,. 'fhe 1110st unlovely germ of instinct or of appetite to \\-hich "-e trace back the origin of all that is 1110st noble and of gooù report, no longer thro\\"s discredit upon its developed offshoots. Rather is it consecrated by thenl. I;or if, in the region of 'Causation, it is ,,,,holly by the earlier stages that the later are determined, in the region of Design it is only through th later stages that the earlier can be understood. I ut if these be the C0I1Sequences which t10\V froln substituting a theological for a naturalistic interpreta- tion of science, of ethics, and of ethical sentiments, what changes will the saIne process effect in our conception of esthetics ? N aturalisnl, as \ve sa"", destroys the possibility of objective beauty of beauty as a real. persistent quality of objects; and leaves nothing but feelings of beauty on the one side, anù on the other a miscellaneous clssurtnlent of -objects, called beautiful in their m()J11ents of favour, by which, through the chance operation of obscure assuciations, at sul11e period, and in son1e persons, these feelings of beauty arc aroused. A conclusion of this kind no doubt leaves us chil1ed and depressed spectators of our O\VI1 zesthetic enthusiasnls. ..L \ ncl it Inay be that to put the scicntific thcory in a theo- logical setting, instead of in a naturalistic one, ,yill not \\-holly rCI110YC the unsatisfactory cffect ,vhich 326 ...\. PROVISION...\.L UNIFIC.ATION the theory itself nlay leave upon the 111ind. And yet it surely does sonlething. If \ve cannot say that Beauty is in any particular case an 'objective' fact r in the sense in \vhich science requires us to believe that 'mass,' for example, and 'configuration,' are , objective' facts, \ve are not precluded on that account from referring our feeling of it to God, nor fronl supposing that in the thril1 of SaIne deep enlotion \ve have for an instant caught a far-off reflection of I)iyine beauty. This is, indeed, nlY faith; and in it the differences of taste \vhich diyide I11an- kind lose all their harshness. For \ve l11ay liken ourselves to the nlenlbers of SOBle endless proces- sion winding along the borders of a sunlit lake. Towards each individual there will shine along its surface a nloving lane of splendour, where the ripples catch and deflect the light in his direction; while on either hand the waters, \vhich to his neighbour's eyes are brilliant in the sun, for hinl lie dull and undistin- guished. So may all possess a like enjoynlent of love li- ness. So do all owe it to one unchanging Source. And if there be an endless variety in the inlnlediate objects fronl \vhich we severally derive it, I kno\v not, after all, that this should furnish clny nlatter for regret. II And, lastly, \ve COnle to theology, denied by naturalisnl to be a branch of kno\vledge at all, but whose truth \ve have been obliged to aSSUIlle in A PROYISIOX...\L U IFICi\TIO 3 2 7 order to find a basis for the only knowledge \\"hich naturalisn1 allo\vs. 'fhose \\'ho are prepared to adlnit that, in dealing \vith the causes of scientific and ethical belief. the theory \\"hich offers least difficulty is that \\"hich aSSLllnes then1 to haye been · providentially' guided, are not likely to raise objections to a sinlilar theory in the case of religion. F or here, at least, ll1ight \\'e expect preferential Divine intervention, supposing such intervention \"ere anY\\There possible. :\Iuch 1110rc, then. if it be accepted as actual in other regions of belief. And this is, in fact, the ordinary vie\v of Inankind. 'Ihey have altnost al\vays clainled for their Leliefs about Goel that they \vere due to God. 1'he belief in religion has altnost alv\iays carried \vith it, in S0111è shape or other, the belief in Inspiration. '}'o this rule there is, no doubt, to be found an apparent exception in \vhat is knO\YI1 as llallt al religion-natural religion being defined as the religion to \vhich unassisted reason Inay attain, in contrast to that which can Le reached only by the aid of revelation. J ut, for nlY o\vn part. I object aÌtogether to the theory underlying this distinction. I do not belieye that, strictly speaking. there is any such thing as 'unassisted reason.' And I an1 sure that if there be, the conclusions of · natural religion' are not éUl10ng its products. l'he attenti\'e reader does not require to be told that, according to the yie\vs here ad'90catecl, every idea involved in such a proposition as that 'There is a nloral Creator and 328 .1\ PR()YISIO ...\L UNIFIC...\TIO Ruler of the world' (which I may assume, for purposes of illustration, to constitute the substance of natural religion) is due to a con1plex of causes, of ,vhich hun1an reason \vas not the n10st in1portant ; and that this natura] religion ncyer \yould hay"e been heard of, 111uch less haye been received \vith approval. had it not been for that traditional religion of which it vainly supposes iiself to be independent. But if this way of considering the Inatter be ac- cepted; if we are to apply unaltered, in the case of religious beliefs, the procedure already adopted in the case of scientific, ethical, and æsthetic beliefs, and assun1e for then1 a Cause harn10nious ,vith their essential nature, \ve nlust eviùently in so doing trans- cend the COn1n1011 division between 'natural' and 'supernatura1.' \Ve cannot consent to see the' pre- ferential working of Divine power' only in those religious Inanifestatiol1s which refuse to accon1n1odate themselves to our conception (\vhatever that may be) of the strictly 'natural' order of the world; nor can we deny a Divine origin to those aspecrs of religious development which naturalla\vs seem competent to explain. The fan1iliar distinction, indeed, between , natural' and 'supernatural' coincides neither with that between I1dtural and spiritual, nor \vith that between' preferential action' and' non-preferential,' nor with that between' phenon1enal ' and' nounlenal.' I t is, perhaps, less in1portant than is sonletimes sup- posed; and in this particular connection, at all events, .is, as it seenlS to n1e, Inerely irrelevant and A\ PR()\ ISIOXA\L Ci\IFIC.\TIO:\ 3 2 9 confusing-a burden, not an aid, to religious specu- lation. l "or, \vhateyer difference there Inay be bet\\-ecn the gro\\-th of theological kno\vlcc1ge and of other kno\ylcdge, their rescll1blanccs are both nun1erous and instructiye. I n both \ve note that n10\ enlent has been sotnetinles so rapid as to be reyolutionary, SOll1e- till1es so slo\\7 as to be inlperceptible. I n both. that it has been son1etinles an advance, s0111etinles a retro- gression. I n both, that it has been sOlnetill1es on lines pernlittinga long, perhaps an indefinite, cle\-elopment, sonletinles in directions \\.here farther progress Seel11S barred for ever. I n both, that the higher is, frol11 the point of vie"T of science. largely produced by the lo\ycr. In both, that, from tbe point of view of our provi- sional philosophy, the lo\ver is only to be eXplained by the higher. In both, that the final product counts arnong its causes a yast 111ultitude of physiological, psychological, political, and social antecedents \\-ith ,,'hich it has 110 direct rational or spiritual affiliation. I-Io\v, then, can \ve 1110st cOll1pletelyabsorb these facts into our theory of Inspiration? It ,,'ould, no doubt, be inaccurate to say that inspiration is that, seen fronl its I >i\Tine side, \vhich \ve call disco\-ery \vhen seen fron1 the hunld.l1 side. I ut it is not, I think, inaccuratc to say that e\Tery addition to kno\v- ledge, ,,-hether in the individual or the C0111111unity, ,,-hether scientific, ethical, or theological, is clue to a co-operation bct\ycen tht' hutnan soul ,,-hich assirni- Jates and the Diyine po\\"er which inspires, Neither 330 .A PROVISIONl\L UKIFIC.ATIÜX acts, or, as far as \ve can pronounce upon such n1atters, could act, in independent isolation. For . 'unassisted reason' is, a I have alread) said, a fiction; and pure receptivity it is i111possible to conceive. Even the e111ptiest vessel n1ust IiIl1it the quantity and detern1ine the configuration of any liquid \vith \vhich it may be filled. But because this view involves a use of the tern} , inspiration' which, ignoring all 111inor distinctions, extends it to every case in which the production of belief is due to the' preferential action' of Divine po\ver, it does not, of course, follow that ll1inor dis- tinctions do not exist. All I wish here to insist on is, that the sphere of J)ivine influence in l11atters of belief exists as a \vhole, and" n1ay therefore be studied as a whole; and that, not improbably, to study it as a whole would prove no unprofitable preliininary to any examination into the charactèr of its 1110re in1- portant parts. So studied, it becoIl1es evident that I nspiration, if this use of the '\Torel is to be allowed, is lin1i ted to no age, to no country, to no people. I t is required by those who learn not less théd1 by those ,,"ho teach. \Vherever an approach has been nlaele to truth, wherever any individual soul has assilnilated on1e old discovery, or has forced the secret of a ne\v one, there is its co-operation to be discovered. I ts work- ings are to be traced not 111erely in the later develop- ment of beliefs, but far back an10ng their unhonoured beginnings. I ts aid has been granted not merely ..\ J>ROVISIO \ L ex I FIC..\'j'IOK 33 1 along the nlain line of rt.:ligi n us progress, but in the side-alleys to \vhich tht.:re seelns no issue. Are \ve, for e"Xample, to find a full l1lt.:asure of inspiration in the highest utterances of I I ebrc\v prophet or psaltnist, and to suppose that the prinli ti,"e religious concep- tions COOl1110n to the Semitic race had in thenl no touch of the Divine? I -Ianlly, if \\-e also believe that it ,vas these priolitive conceptions \vhich the' Chosen People' "'"ere di,-inely ordained to purify, to elevate, and to expand until they becanle fitting elenlents in a religion adequate to the necessities of a \\"odd. Are \ve, again, to deny any Ineasure of inspiration to the ethico-religious teaching of the great Oriental refortners, because there ,\-as that in their general systenls of doctrine \\"hich pre\-ented, and still pre- vents, these frOOl nlerging as a ,,-hole in the I1lain streanl of religious advance? llardly, unless \\-e are prepared to adnlit that 111en 111ay gather grdpes fronl thorns or figs from thistles. These things assuredly are of God; and \vhate,-er he the tenns in \\"hich we choose to express our faith, let us not gi,-e colour to the opinion that H is assistance to Illankind ha been narro\ved do\vn to the sources, ho\ve,-er unique, frol11 \vhich \ve inlIllediately, and consciously, dra\y our o""n piritual nourishnlent. If a preference is sho\\"n by any for a nlore linlited conception of the Divine inter,-ention in Inatters of belief, it nlust, I suppose, be on one of t\\"O grounds. It Inay, in the first place, arise out of a natural reluctance to force into the saIne category 332 \ PRO\TISIO:\..\L uXIFIC \TIOX the transcendent intuitions of prophet or dPostle and the stamnlcring utterances of earlier faiths, clouded as these are by human ignorance and marred by hunlan sin. Things spiritually so far asunder ought not, it l1lay be thought. by any system of classification, to be brought together. They belong to separate ,vorlds. 'fhey differ not merely infinitely in degree, but absolutely in kind; and a risk of serious error nlust arise if the same ternl is loosely and hastily applied to things ,yhich, in their essential nature, lie so far apart. N O\V, that there nlay be, or, rather, plainly are, many n10des in which belief is assisted by Divine co-operation I have already adn1itted. That the \vord ( inspiration' n1ay, with advantage, be confined to one or more of these I do not desire to deny. I t is a question of theological phraseology, on \vhich I an1 not con1peten t to pronounce; and if I have seized upon the word for the purposes of my argu- ment, it is \vith no desire to confound any distinction \vhich ought to be preserved, but because there is no other tern1 which so pointedly expresses that Divine elenlent in the formation of beliefs on \vhich it was my business to lay stress. This, if n1Y theory be true, does, after all, exist, howsoever it may be described, t9 the full extent \vhich I have indicated; and though the beliefs \\Thich it assists in producing differ infinitely fron1 one another in their nearness to absolute truth, the fact is not disguised, nor the honour due to the nlost spiritually perfect utterances \ PRO' I I{)X \L C:\IFIC..\TIOX J33 in aught il11perilled, Ly recognising in all sonlC Inarks of Divine intcr\-entÌon. l3ut, in the second place. it l11ay be objected that inspiration thus broadly concei,-cd is incapable of providing lnankind \vitl) any satisfactory criterion of religious truth. Since its co-operation can be traced in so l11uch that is in1perfect, the Inere fact of its co- operation cannot in any particular case be a protection eyen against gross error. If, therefore, \ve seek in it not Inerely a Di\Tinelyordered cause of belief, but also a Divinely ordered ground for belie\'ing, there must be some nleans of n1arking off those exan1ples of its operdtion \vhich rightfully cOlnlnand our full intellectual allegiance, froin those ,,-hich are no 1110re than evidences of an influence to\vards the truth \vorking out its purpose slo\vly through the ages. This is beyond dispute. 1\ othing that I ha,re said about inspiration in general as a source of belief affects in any \vay the character of certain instances of inspiration as an authority for belief. X or \vas it intended to do so; for the probleln, or group of problen1s, \vhich \vauld thus haye been raised is altogether beside the main course of l11Y argunlent. They belong. not to an I ntroduction to Theology, but to theology itself. \\Thether there is an authorit) in religious matters of a kind altogether \yithout parallel in scientific oi ethical l11atters; \\ hat. if it exists, is its character, and \vhence conle its clainl<; to our obedience, are questions on \vhich theologians haye differed, and still differ, lnd \vhich it is quite 334 ..1 PRO\TISIOXAL UNIFICATION beyond my province to decide. For the subject of this Essay is the 'foundations of belie ' and, as I have already indicated,1 the kind of authority con- templated by theologians is never 'fundanlental,' in the sense in \vhich that \vord is here used. The deliverances of no organisation, of no individual, of no record, can 1ie at the roots of belief as reason, whatever they may do as cause. I t is always possible to ask \vhence these clainlants to authority deri\Te their credentials, \yhat titles the organisation or the individual possesses to our obedience, \vhether the records are authentic, and \"hat is their precise iln- port. And the mere fact that such questions n1ay be put, and that they can neither be thrust aside as irrelevant nor be ans\vered \vithout elaborate critical and historical discussion, shows clearly enough that we have no business with thenl here. III But although it is e\yidently beyond the scope of this \vork to enter upon even an elenlentary discus- sion of theological nlethod, it seenlS right that I should endeavour, in strict continuation of the argu- ment of this chapter, to say sonlething on the source from \\Thich, according to Christianity, any religious authority \vhatever Blust ultinlately derive its jurisdic- tion. \Vhat I have so far tried to establish is this- that the great body of our beliefs, scientific, ethical, 1 See ante, chapter on .-\uthority and Reason. \ [,RO\-ISIO ..\L UXI FIC..\ TIOX 335 æsthetic, theological, fonn a nlore coherent and satis- factory ,,"hole if \ve consider then1 in a Theistic 01 setting, than if ,ye consider thel11 in a Naturalistic one. The further question, therefore, inevitably suggests itsLlf, \ \Thether ,ye can carry the process a step further, and say that they are 010re coherent and satisfactory if considered in a Christian setting than in a tnereI V" l'heistic one? 01 The ans\\"er often given is in the negative. I t is ah\'ays assuo1ed by those ,vho do not accept the dùctrine of the I ncarnation, and it is not uncooll11only conceded by those \yho do, that it constitutes an additiol1al burden upon faith, a ne\y stuI11bling-LIock to reason. And n1any \yho are prepared to accom- Inodate their beliefs to the requirelnents of (so-called) , Natural Religion,' shrink fro01 the difficulties and perplexities in \\' hich this central mystery of Rc,'ealed Religion threatèns to in valve theln. But ,vhat are these difficulties? Clearly they are not sci ntific. \\T e are here altogether outside the region \vhere scientific ideas possess any worth, or scientific cate- gories clainl any ctuthority. It Inay be å realtn of shado,vs, of e01pty drear11s, and vain speculations. But \vhether it be this, or ,vhether it be the abiding- place of the highest I{eality, it evidently I11ust be explored by 111ethods other than those pro,'ided for us by the accepted canons of experinlcntal research. Even \vhen ,ve are endea,'ouring to conlprehend the relation of Ollr o\vn finite personalities to the n1aterid.1 environn1ent \vith ,vhich they are so intitnately con- 336 A\ PROVISIO _A_L U1\IFlrA_TIO nected, \ve find, as \ye have seen, that all fan1iliar modes of explanation break down and becon1e meaningle;-;s. Yet \YC certainly exist, and presun1ably \ve hélve bodies. I then, \ve cannot devise forn1ulæ vvhich shaH elucidate the falniliar 111ystery of our daily existence, ,ve need neither be surprised nor en1bJ.rrassed if the unique Inystery of the Christian faith refuses to lend itself to inductive treat1nent. But though the very uniqueness of the doctrine places it beyond the ordinary range of scientific criticisn1, the san1e cannot be said for the historical evidence on \yhich, in part at least, it rests. Here. it \yill perhaps be urged. \ve are on solid and fan1iliar ground. \\7" e ha,Te only got to ignore the arbi- trary distinction between 'sacred' and 'secular/ and apply the ,\-ell-understood methods of historic criticisn1 to a particular set of ancient records, in order to extract froln them all that is necessary to satisfy our curiosity. If . they break do\vn under cross-exéllnination, \ve need trouble oursehTes no further about the Inetaphysical dogn1as to \vhich they point. K 0 inl111unity or pri\Tilege clain1ed for the subject-n1éltter of belief can extend to the 1nerely human e\Tidence adduced in its support; and as in the last resort the historical elen1ent in Christianity does eyidently rest on hU111an testi111ony, nothing can be sirnpler than to subject this to the usual scientific tests, and accept with \vhat equanilni ty \ye n1ay any results \vhich they elicit. But, in truth, the question is not so sin1ple as A PROVISIONAL UNIFIC.\TION 337 those ,\tho Inake use of argunlents like these \vould have us suppose. 'H istoric method' has its limita- tions. I t is self-sufficient only \vithin an area \vhich is, indeed, tolerably extensive, but \\"hich does not .elllbrace the universe. For, \\"ithout taking any very .deep plunge into the philosophy of historical criticism, \ve nlay easily perceive that our judglnent as to the truth or falsity of any particular historic statell1ent .depends, partly on our estilllate of the '\Titer's trust- '\vorthiness, partly on our estinlate of his nleans of jnformation, partly on our estinlate of the intrinsic probability of the facts to \\ hich he testifies. But these things are not · independent yariables,' to be l11easured separately before their results are balanced and summed up. On the contrary, it is nlanifest that, in many cases, our opinions on the trust- '\vorthiness and conlpetence of the \vitnesses is modified by our opinion as to the inherent likelÌ- hood of \vhat they tell us; and that our opinion .as to the inherent likelihood of what they tell us nlay depend on considerations \vith respect to ",-hich no historical method is able to gi\'e us any con- .elusive information. In most cases, no doubt, these questions of antecedent probability haye to be thenl- -selves decided solely, or mainly, on historic grounds, and, failing anything nlore scientific, b\T a kind of historic instinct. But other cases there are, though they be rare, to \\"hose consideration \ve must bring larger principles, dra\vn fronl a \vicIer theory of the world; and alnong these should be counted as first, z 338 \. PROYISI()X.\L -CXIFIC L\.TION both in speculative interest and in .ethical ilnportancè,: the early records of C:hristianity: ]'hat this has been done, and, fronl their 0\\"11 point of yie\y, quite rightly done, by various. destructiye sçhools òf 1\ cw Testament criticisIl1, everyone IS a\\-are. Starting fronl a philosophy ,,'hich forbade theln to accept nluch of the substance of the Gospel narrati,ve, they very properly set to \york to devise a ,-ariety of hypotheses which \yould account for the fact that the narrative, "Tith all its. peculiarities, \Yé:lS neyerthcless there. Of these hypotheses there are Inany. and sonle of thenl ha\-e occasioned an adnlirable display of erudite ingenuity, fruitful of instruction fronl e,-ery point of yie,,-, and for all tilne. But it is a great, though COlnn10n,. error to describe these learned efforts as cxan1 pIes of the unbiassed application of historic Inethods to historic docunlents. It \yould be nlore correct to say that they are endeayours, by the unstinted cnlploYlnent of an elaborate critical apparatus, to force the testinlony of existing records into con- fornlity \yith theories on the truth or falsity of \yhich it is for philosophy, not history, to pronounce. \\That vie\v I take of the particu,lar philosophy to \yhich these critics Inake appeal the reader already kno\ys; and our iInnlediate concern is not again to discuss the presuppositions \vith \yhich other people ha \Fe approached the consideration of 1\ e\v T esta- nlent history, but to arrive at SOlne conclusion about our O\Vl1. \ PR()\ïS r O:\". \ L LT:\'î F1 C \ 1'10:\" 33(' llo"v, then, ought the general theory of things at ,,"hich we have arrived to affect our estirnate of the antecedent probability of the Christian yie\vs of Christ? Or, if such a phrase as 'antecedent probability' be thought to suggest a n1uch greater nicety of ccdculation than is at all possible in a case like this, in '\vhat ten1per of 111ind. in 'v hat Blood of expectation, . ought our provisional philosophy to induce us to consider th extant historic e\Tidence for the Christian story? l'he reply 111USt, I think, depend, as I shall sho\\- in a I1l0nlent, upon the vie" \\"e take of the ethical itllport of Christianity; \vhile its ethical irl1port, again, Blust depend on the degree to \\"hich it 111inisters to our ethical needs. I \T N o\v ethical needs, inlportant though they are. occupy no great space, as a rule, in the \yorks of ethical "TIters. I do not sa\T this b,- \Yél\, of '" criticisl11; fdr I grant that any eX l111ination into these needs \\-ould ha\-e only an Indirect bearing on the essential subject-nlatter of ethical philosophy. since no inquiry into their nature, history. or value ,,'ould help either to est1blish the funclanlcntal principles of a 1110ral code or to elaborate its details. But, after all, as I ha\'e said before, an assortlnent of · categorical inl perati \'es,' ho\vc\Ter authori tati \'e and c0111I->lete. supplies but a 111cagre outfit \vhere- ,,-i th to Ineet the stonns and stresses of actual Z .2 34 0 1\ PROVISION1\L UNIFIC.A.TIOX experIence. I f we are to possess a practical system, \vhich shall not merely tell 11len what they ought to do, but assist them to do it; still 11lore, if we are to regard the spiritual quality of the soul as pos- sessing an intrinsic value not to be wholly l1leasurecl by the external actions to \vhich it gives rise, llluch more than this will be required. It \vill not only be necessary to '-lainl the assistance of those ethical aspirations and ideals \vhich are not less effectual for their purpose though nothing corresponding to thenl should exist, but it \vill also be necessary, if it be possible, to nleet those ethical needs \vhich Blust work more harm than good unless we can sustain the belief that there is somewhere to be found a Reality wherein they can find their satisfaction. These are facts of moral psychology ,,,'hich, thus broadly stated, nobody, I think, ",'ill be disposed to dispute, although the widest differences of opinion nlay and do prevail as to the character, number and relative in1portance of the ethical needs thus called into existence by ethical cOll1nlands. I t is, further, certain, though nlore difficulty may be felt in adnlitting it, that these needs can be satisfied in n1any cases but in1perfectly, in some cases not at all, \yithout the aid of theology and of theological sanctions. One conlll10nlY recognised ethical need, for exanlple, is for harnlony bet\veen the interests of the individual and those of the conln1unity. In a rude and linlited fashion, and for a very narro\y circle of ethical conlnlands, this is deliberately provided .\. PROVlSIO:\ ..\'1, U:\ 1 FIr .\.TI() 341 by the prison and the scaffold, the \vhole nlachinery of the crirninal law. I t is provided, \vith less deliberation, but \vith greater delicacy of adjust111ent, and oyer a ",-ider area of duty, by the operation of public opinion. But it can be provided, with any approach to theoreticaì perfection, only by a future life, such as that \v hich is assunled in nlore than one systenl of religious belief. 1\" O\V the question is at once suggested by cases of this kind \vhether, and, if so, under \\- hat linlita- tions, \ve can argue froln the existence of an ethical need to the reality of the conditions under \yhich alone it \yould be satisfied. Can \ve, for exarnple, argue fronl the need for S0111e conlplete correspond- ence bet\veen virtue and felicity, to the reality of another \vorId than this, where such a correspondence \vill be conlpletely effected? A great ethical phi o- sopher has, in substance, asserted that \ye can. I Ie held that the re lity of the :\Ioral La\v inlplied the reality of a sphere \vhere it could for ever be obeyed, under conditions satisfactorv to the Practical '" Reason' ; and it \vas thus that he found a place in his systenl for Freedonl. for Inl111ortality. and for God. 'T'he lnetaphysical nlachinery, indeed. by \yhich !(ant endeavoured to secure these results is of a kind \yhich \\-e cannot elllploy. But \ye may \vell ask "whether some\yhat silllilar inferences are not fitting portions of the provisional philosophy I arn endeavouring to reC0l11rllend; and, in particular, ,,"hether they do not harnlonise- \vith the train of thought we haye been 342 .A PROYISIOX \L UXIFIC.\TIO pursuing in the course of this Chapter. I f the reality of scientific and of ethical kno\yledge forces us to aSSUI11e the existence of a rational and nloral Deity, by \vhose preferential assistance they have gradually come into existence, nlust \ve not suppose that the Po\ver which has thus produced in 111an the. kno,,"- ledge of right and \vrong, and has added to it the faculty of creating ethical ideals, nlust have provided some satisfaction for the ethical needs \vhich the historical developnlent of the spiritual life has gradually called into existence? l\lanifestly the argunlent in this shape is one \vhich ll1uSt be used \vith caution. To reason purely a priori fronl our general notions concerning the \yorking of Divine Providence to the reality of particular historic events in tillle, or to the pre\ya- lence of particular conditions of existence through eternity, \\yould inlplya kno\vledge of Di\Tine nlatters which \ve certainly do not possess. and \vhich, our faculties renlaining \vhat they are, a revelation froll1 Heaven could not, I suppose. conlnlunicate to LIS. 1\1 y contention, at all eyents, is of a nluch hunlbJer kind. I confine nlyself to asking \vhether, in a universe \\yhich, by hypothesis. is under nloral governance, there is not a presull1 ption in favour of facts or events \vhich nlinister, if true, to our highest Inoral denlands? and \vhether such a presu111ption. if it exists, is not sufficient, and lnore than sufficient. to neutralise the counter-presunlption \vhich has uncritically goyerned so ll1uch of the criticism &\ PROYISI()X \L CXlrIC&\TIO:\ 343 directed in recent tilHes against the historic claims of Christianity? l '()r 111 y O\\"t1 part, I cannot dou bt that both these questions should be ans\vered in the affirn1ative; and if the reader ,,-ill consider the \yariety of \vays by \\-hich Christianity is. in fact. fitted effectually to nlinister to Ollr ethical needs, I find it hard to beIie\ye that he \vill arri,'e at any different cùnclu ioI1. y I need not say that no conlplete treatn1ent uf this question is conte111plated here. Any adequate survey of the relation in \\-hich Christianity stands to the l110ral needs of 111an ,,'ould lead us into the yery heart of theology. and ,,'ould require us to consider topics altogether unsuited to these con- troversial pages. \T et it 111ay. perhaps. be found possible to illustrate 111Y I11eaning ,yithout penetratÏng far into territories usually occupied by theologians; \vhile. at the saine tin1e. the exanlples of \\-hich I shall l11ake use I11ay ser,-e to sho\\- that. aillong the needs nlinistered to by Christianity. are sOlne \yhich increase rather than dinlinish \yith the gro"-th of kno\vledge and the progress of science; and that this Religion is therefore no IHere refonn. appropriate only to a vanished epoch in the hi';tory of culture and ci vilisation, but a de,-elopn1en t of t heis111 now Inore necessary to us than e\yer. I anl a\vare, of coursc, that this nlay seen1 in strange discord \vith opInIons yery COnl1110nly held. 344 A PRO\TISION.A.L UNIFIC,-\TION 1'here are n1any persons ,,-ho suppose that, in addition to any n1etaphysical or scientific objections to. Christian doctrines, there has arisen a legiti111ate feeling of intellectual repulsion to the111, directly due- to our 1110re extended perception of the n1agnitude and complexity of the material \yorld. 1'he discover)' of Copernicus, it has been said, is the death-blow to. Christianity: in other \yords, the recognition by the: hun1an race of the insignificant part \yhich they and their planet play in the cos111ic drama renders the Incarnation, as it were, intrinsically incredible. 1'his is not a question of logic, or science, or history. 1\ o. criticisn1 of docul11ents, no haggling oyer' natural ,. or 'supernatural,' either creates the difficulty or is. able to solve iL F or it arises out of what I n1ay aln10st call an a sthetic sense of disproportion. , \''"hat is l11an, that Thou art 111indful of hin1 : and the- son of n1an. that Thou yisitest him?' is a question charged by science with a \veight of 111eaning far beyond ,\That it could have borne for the poet whose lips first uttered it. And those ,,-hose studies bring perpetually to their relnen1brance the ilnmensity of this material \vorld, \yho kno,,- ho\\- brief and ho\v utterly imperceptible is the impress made by organic life in general, and by hUlnan life in particular, upon the Inighty forces ,,-hich surround them, find it hard to believe that on so sn1all an occasion this petty satellite of no very in1 portan t sun has been chosen as the- theatre of an event so solitary and so stupendous. Reflection, indeed, sho\vs that those who thus. ..\ PROVISIOX.\L UNIFIC..\TIOX 345 argue have Inanifestly pennitted their thoughts about God to be controlled by a singular theory of His relations to l1lan and to the ",-odd, bd ed on an unbalanced consideration of the vastness of Nature. They have concei \-ed H in1 as nlú\-ed by the nlass of His o\"n \yorks; as lost in spaces of I f is o\yn creation. Consciously or unconsciously, they ha\?e fallen into the absurdity of supposing that lIe considers Ifis creatures, as it ',"ere, \yith the eyes of a contractor or a politician; that 11e nleasures their ,-alue according to their physical or intellectual iInportance; and that He sets store by the nUInber of square lniles they inhabit or the foot- pounds of energy they are capable of developing. I n truth, the inference they should have dra,,'n is of precisely the opposite kind. 1'he very sense of the place occupied in the n1aterial universe Ly IHan the intelligent dnin1al, creates in IHan the rnoral being a ne\v need for Christianity, ,vhich, before science lneasured out the hea yens for us, can hardly be said to haye existed. Ietaphysically speaking, our opinions on the lnagnitude and conl- plexity of the natural ""orld should, indeed. ha\"e no bearing on our conception of God's relation, either to us or to it. Though ""e supposed the sun to ha \-e been created sonle six thousand years ago, and to be . about the size of the Peloponnesus,' yet the [Lindalllental problenls concerning tinle and space, lnatter and spirit, God and tnan, ,vould not on that accollnt have to be fornlally 346 .A. PRO\TISIOX \.L U:.\IFIC \.TIO restated. 13ut then, we are not creatures of pure reason: and those \vho desire the assurance of an intin1ate and effectual relation \vith the Diyine life, and \vho look to this for strength and conso- lation, find that the progress of scientific kno\v- ledge Inakes it nlore and 11lore difficult to obtain it by the aid of any merely speculati\Te theisln. The feeling of trusting dependence \vhich \vas easy for the prinlitive tribes, \vho regarded the111- selves as their C;od's peculiar charge, and supposed H inl in sorne special sense to d \vell anlong theIn, is not easy for us; nor does it tend to becon1e J eaSier. \ \T e can no longer share their naÏ\?e anthropo111orphisnl. \Ve search out God \\9ith eyes gro\vn old in studying Nature, ".ith rninds fatigued by centuries of nletaphysic: and inlaginations glutted \vith nlaterial infinities. I t is in vain tnat \ve describe Hinl as inlnlanent in creation. and refuse to reduce Hi111 to an abstraction, be it deistic ur be it pantheistic. 1'he over\vhelIning force and regularity of the great natural n10venlents dull the sharp impression of an ever- present Personality deeply concerned in our spiritual well-being. II is hidden, not revealed, in the multitude of phenolnena, and as our kno\vledge of phenon1ena increases, He retreats out of all realised connection \vith us farther and yet farther into the illinlitable unkno\vn. Then it is that,' through the aid of Christian doctrine, \ve are saved fronl the distorting in- fluences of our o\vn discoveries. The Incarnation \ PRO\lSIO:\ \L CXIFI(, \TI()X 347 thro"'s the \"hole schelne of things, as \ve art.. too ea ily apt to represent it to ourselves, into a different and f.1r truer proportion. It abrupdy changes the \vhole scale on ,,'hich \ve 111ight be disposed to l11easure the nlagnitudes of the unIverse. \ \That \ye should other\vise think great, ,,'e no\v percei\ye to be relatively sn1al1. \ \That \ve should other\yise think tritling, \ve no\v kno\v to be in1n1easurably Ïtnportant. ... \nd the change is not only n10rally needed, but is philoso- phical1y justified. Speculation bv itself should be ufficient IO con\-ince us that. in the sight of a righteous God, m1.terial grandeur and 1110ral excel- lencies are incon1111ensurable quantities; and that an infinite acculnulation of the one cannot C0I11pen- sate for the s111allest dilninutioll of the other. \T et I kno\y not \yhether, as a theistic speculation, this truth could effectual]y n1aintain itself against the brÚte pressure of external Nature. I n the ,,'orId looked at by the light of silnple theisl11, the evidences of God's n1aterial po\ver lie about us on every side, daily added to by science, universal, over,,-hehning. 'fhe evidences of His I110ral interest ha\?e to be anxiou ly extracted, grain by grain, through the speculative analysis of our 1110ral nature. Iankind. ho\ve\Ter, are not gi\?en to speculative analysis: and if it be desirable that they should be enabled to obtain an in1aginati\'e grasp of this great truth; if they need to ha\ye brought hon1e to them that, in the sight of God, the stability of the heavens is of less 348 A PROVISION.AL U IFIC-,,-\TION inlportance than the moral growth of a human spirit, I kno\v not how this end could be more completely attained than by the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation. A sOll1e",.hat sinlilar train of thought is suggested by the progress of one particular branch of scientific in\.estigation. l\Iankind can never have been ignorant of the dependence of mind on body. The feebleness of infancy, the decay of age, the effects of sickness, fatigue and pain, are facts too obvious and too insistent ever to have passed unnoticed. But the nl0\.en1ent of discovery has prodigiously eillphasised our sense of dependence on nlatter. \\T e now kno\v that it is no loose or variable connection \vhich ties lnind to body. There nlay, indeed, be neural changes \vhich do not issue in consciousness; but there is no consciousness, so far as accepted observations and experinlents can tell us, \vhich is not associated \vith neural changes. Looked at, therefore, from the outside, fronl the point of vie\v necessarily adopted by the biologist, the spiritual life See111S, as it \vere, but an internlittent phosphor- escence accol1lpanying the cerebral changes in certain highly organised ll1an1mals. And science, through countless channels, with irresistible force dri\Tes home to each one of us the lesson that ",.e are severally bound over in perpetual servitude to a body for whose existence and qualities \ve have no responsibility \yhatever. As the reader is well a \vare, vie\vs like these A PRO.VISIOX \L VNIFIC \TIO 349 \vi11 not stand critical exanlination. Of all creeds, nlaterialisll1 is the one \vhich, looked at frolll the inside-froIH the point of yie\v of kno\\-ledge and the knf)\ving Self-is least capable of being philo- sophically defended, or even coherently stated. N e,'"ertheless, the burden of the bud y is not, in prclctice, to be disposed of by any l11ere process of critical analysis. F r0l11 birth to death, \yith ou t pause or respi te, it encunl bers us on our path. \ \,. e can ne''"er disentangle ourselves fronl its Ineshes, nor di,-ide \vith it the responsibility for our joint perfornlances. Conscience l11ay tell us that \ye Ol fht to control it, and that \ve call. But science, hinting that, after all, \\-e are but its product and its plaything, recei,-es onlinous support frolll our experiences of nlankind. Philosophy l11ay assure us that the account of body and ll1inJ gi,-en by 111aterialislll is neither consistent nor intelligible. \7" t hody relllains the 1110st fundal11cntaI and all-per- yading fact \vith \vhich 111ind has got to dea1. the one fronl \vhich it can least easily shake itself free, the one that nlost cOlllplacently lends itself to e,-ery theory destructive of high endeavour. :'\" o,v, \vhat is ,vanted here is not abstract specu- lation or negative dialectic. 'rhese, indeed, may lend us their aid, but they are not ,-cry po\\-erful allies in this particular species of ,,-arfare. l'hey can assure us, \vith a ,,-ell-grounded confidence, that nlaterialisI11 is '''rong, but they haye (as I think) nothing satisfactory to put in its place, and cannot 350 ..\ PR()YISIOX \L CXIFIC..\TIOX pretend to any theoretic explanation \vhich sha1l cover all the facts. \ \That \ve need, then, is SOl11e- thing that shall appeal to nlen of flesh and blood, struggling with the tenlptations and discouragel11ents \\"hich flesh and blood is heir to: confused and baffied by theories of heredity: sure that the physiological vie\v represents at least one aspect of the truth; not sure how any hirger and nlore con- soling truth can be \velded on to it; yet s\\yaycd to\\?ards the l11aterialist side less, it Jllél Y be, by nlaterialist reasoning than by the inner confirl11ation \vhich a hun1Í i ting experience gi\?es thenl of their o\\-n subjection to the body. \\'hat support does the belief in a Deity ineffably re1110te [roll1 all hUl1lan conditions bring to men thus hesitating 'hether they are to count thelllSel\'cs as beasts that perish, or 31110ng the Sons of God? \ \That bridge can be found to span the ill1111easurable gulf \vhich separates I nfinite Spirit frool creatures \yho seell1 little 1110re than phy iological accidents? \ \That faith is there, other than the Incarnation, \\"hich ,,-ill enable us to rcali;;e that, ho\yever far ap:trt, they are not hopelessly divided? The intel- lectual perplexitíes \\-hich haunt us in that (iinl region \"here mind and 111dtter nleet ll1ay not be thus allayeJ. But they \vho think \vith t11e that, though it is a hard thing for us to believe that \ve are Inade in the likeness of God, it is yet a very necessary thing, \vill not be anxious to deny that dn effectual trust in this great truth, a full satisfaction of this ethical I\ PROVISI()XA\L UXIFIC.\TI() 35[ need, clrc alnong the natural fruits of a Christian theory of thc \vodel. One 1110re topic there is. of the saIne fall1ily as those ,yith \\ hich \\'C ha ,-e just been dealing. to which. before concluding, I ll1USt briefly direct the reader's attention. I helve already said sOl1lething about ,,,,hat is known as the 'proble111 of evil,' and the inl111cnlorial difficulty \vhich it thro\vs in the ,yay of a cOIl1pletely coherent theory of the ,yorkl on a religious or 1110ral basis. I do not suggest no\v that the doctrine of the Incarnation supplies any phiìo- sophie solution of this difficulty. I content Inyself \vith pointing out that the difficulty is much less op- pressiye under the Christian than under any sil11pler forn1 of Theisnl; and that though it ll1ay retain un- dilninished \\-hatever speculative force it possesses, its nloral grip is loosened. and it no longer parches up thc springs of spiritual hope or crushes 1110ral aspiration. For ,,"here precisely does the difficulty lie? It lies in the belief that an alI-po\verful I }eity has chosen out of an infinite, or at lE'ast an unkno,,-n, nlllllber of possibilities tu create a \vorld in ,,-hich pain is a prolninent. and apparently an inerad icable, elelnent. H is action on this ,.ie\v is. so to speak, gratuitous. J-Ie nlight ha,-e done other\vise; He has done thus. fie l1light have created sentient beings capable of nothing but happiness; lie has in fact created them prone to nliscry, and subject by their yery constitution and CirCUl1lstances to extrenlC po sibilities of physical pain and 111cntaI affliction. 352 A PRO'TISIO \L UNIFIC.\TIO Ho\v can One of \\7'hon1 this can be said excite our love? How can He clain1 our obedience? How can He be a fitting ubject of praise, reverence, and worship? So runs the familiar argUl11ent, accepted by son1e as a pennanent elen1ent in their Inelancholy }Jhilosophy; \vrung froIl1 others as a cry of anguish under the sudden stroke of bitter experience. This reasoning is in essence an explication of \vhat is supposed to be in\Tolved in the attribute of 'On1nipotence; and the sting of its conclusion lies in the inferred indifference of God to the sufferings of H is creatures. There are, therefore, t\VO points at which it n1ay be assailed. \\T e n1ay argue, in the first place, that in dealing \yith subjects so far above ,our reach, it is in general the height of philosophic teIl1erity to squeeze out of every predicate the last significant drop it can apparently be forced to yield; or drive all the arguments it suggests to their extren1e logical conclusions. ... \nd. in particular, it nlay be urg d that it is erroneous, perhaps even un- n1eaning, to say that the universality of OInnipotence includes the power to do that \vhich is irrational; .and that, \yithout kno\\Ting the \\Thole, \ve cannot say .of any part \vhether it is rational or not. These are Il1etaphysical considerations \vhich, 'so long as they are used critically. and not dog- n1atically, negatively, not positi\gely, seen1 to nle to have force. But there is a second line of attack, on \yhich it is nlore n1Y business to insist. I have .already pointed out that ethics cannot permanently ...\ PRO'TISIOX \L UXIFIC \TIOX 353 Bourish side by side with a creed \vhich represents God as indifferent to Pdin clnd sin; so that, if our provisional philosophy is to include morality \vithin its circuit (and ",-hat hannony of kno\vledge would that be \vhich did not ?), the conclusions \vhich apparently foIlo\v [ronl the co-existence of Omni- potence and of E vii are not to be accepted. Y et this speculative reply is, after all, but a fair-\veather argument; too abstract easily to move mankind at large, too frail for the support, even of a philo- sopher, in moments of extrenlity. Of \vhat use is it to those who, under the stress of sorro\v, are permitting themselves to doubt the goodness ot God, that such doubts must inevitably tend to \vither virtue at the root? No such conclusion ,viII frighten theine They have already almost reached it. Of \vhat \vorth, they cry, is virtue in a \vorld where sufferings like theirs fall alike on the just and ón the unjust ? For thenlselves, they kno\v only that they are solitary and abandoned; victinls of a Po\ver too strong for thenl to control, too callous for thenl to soften, too far for them to reach, deaf to suppli- cation, blind to pain. 1'ell theine \vith certain theologians, that their 111isfortunes are eXplained and justified by an hereditary taint; tell them, \yith certain philosophers, that, could they understand the \vorlcl in its cOlnpleteness, their agony \voulcl sho\v itself an elenlent necessary to the harmony of the \\Thole, and they \vill think you are 1110cking thenl. \ \Thatever Le the \vorth of specu- ..\ .\ 354 i\ PRO,TISIONAf, UKIFIC1\TION lations like these, it is not in the lllOll1ents \\.hen they are most required that they come effectually to our rescue. \Vhat is needed is such a living faith in God's relation to l\Ian as shall leave no p]ace for that helpless resentnlent against the appointed Order so apt to rise \vithin us at the sight of undeserved pain. And this faith is possessed by those \vho vividly realise the Christian fonn of Theism. For they worship One \Vho is no renlote contriver of a universe to \vhose ills He is indifferent. If they suffer, did He not on their account suffer also? I f suffering falls not ah,'ays on the most guilty, was He not innocent? Shall they cry aloud that the world is ill-designed for their convenience, when He for their sakes sub- jected Himself to its conditions? I t is true that beliefs like these do not in any narro\v sense resolye our doubts nor provide us with explanations. But they give us sOlllething better than many explana- tions. F or they minister, or rather the Reality behind thenl ministers, to one of our deepest ethical needs: to a need which, far from showing signs of diminution, seems to gro\v with the growth of civili- sation, and to' touch us eyer nlore keenly as the hardness of an ea!Jier tinle dissolves a",.ay. Here, then, on the threshold of Christian Theology, I bring illY task to a conclusion. I feel, on looking back over the completed work, even more strongly than I felt during its progress, how hard was the \. PRO' I IOXAL UKIFICi\.TION 355 task I have undertaken, and ho\v far beyond n1Y po\vers successfully to accolnplish. r;or I hayc aimed at nothing less than to sho\v, ".ithin a reasonable compass and in a manner to be under- stood by al1, ho\y, in face of the complex tendencies ,,-hich sway this strange age of ours, ,ye may best dra\v together our beliefs into a comprehensive unity \vhich shall possess at least a relative and pro- yisional stability. In so bold an attempt I may \vell have failed. Yet, \vhatcyer be the particular \veak- nesses and defects ,yhich mar the success of Iny endeavours, three or four broad principles en1erge from the discussion, the essential in1portance of \yhich I find it impossible to doubt, \vhateycr errors I lnay have n1ade in their application. I. It seen1S beyond question that any systen1 \vhich, ,vith our present kno\vledge and, it may c, our existing faculties, \ve are able to construct ll1ust suffer from obscurities, fro111 defects of proof, and from incoherences. 1'\ arro\y it do\vn to bare science -and no one has scriously proposed to reduce it further-you \vill still find all three, and in plenty. 2. No unification of be1ief of the slightest theo- retical valu can take place on a purely scientific basis-on a basis, I Inean, of in?uction fro 111 par- ticular experiences, ,vhethcr ' external' or ' internal.' 3. No philosophy or theory of kno\\' ledge (epis- tClnology) can be satisfactory ,,'hich does not find roon1 \vithin it for the quite obyious, but not suffi- ciently considered fact that, so far as en1pirical science can tell us an) thing about the matter, n10st of the 356 ...-\ PROVISIOX \.L UNIFIC.L\. TIO proximate causes of belief, and all its"\1ltimate causes, ar non-rational in. their character. 4. No unification of beliefs can be practically ade- quate which does not include ethical beliefs as we]] as scientific ones; nor \vhich refuses to count among ethical beliefs, not Inerely those \vhich have in1n1e- didte reference to moral con1mands, but those also \vhich make possible 1110ral sentiments, ideals and aspirations, and \vhich satisfy our ethical needs. Any system which, when \vorked out to its legitin1ate issues, fails to effect this obj ect can afford no per- manent habitation for the spirit of man. To enforce, illustrate, and apply these principles has been the main object of the preceding pages. How far I have succeeded in showing that the least incomplete unification open to us must include the fundamental elements of Theology, and of Christian Theology, I leave it for others to determine; re- peating only the conviction. more than once ex- pressed in the body of this Essay, that it is not explanations which survive, but the things which are eXplained; not theories. but the things about which we theorise; and that, therefore, no failure on my part can ilnperil the great truths, be they religious, ethical. or scientific. whose interdepen- dence I have endeavoured to establish. THE EX!) Sþottiswoode &-0 Co. P1 Ùdcrs, Ycw-stYect Square, L{lJzdOll t . I