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Les diagrammes suivants lllustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 22 1 1 2 3 4 5 6 CO ■\7^ I i^vJ^^^v^ ?, THE TRUTH CONCERNING THE SOUL, BY "V^ls/L. "W. K;OBEK;TSOJSr. TitUe hf'oil th.-tl 'lo iu;tu ' TO TIIK AkoI'MENT "^Scripture, vizP,.« ::'.'!' once to the two ill, 1-4. " Of every tree of tl K«rdf.n«i. " ^•'•' »'»'h Ood «.««i. ye Hhall not eat of n """ d..ol,e''<■ of ho,mp,„„.|y„,,,,,^ impeachment of ,^ "/■ "" ®"P«'. "h-" prof.s'Jchr?sIf.n'"la?,'' mTdeThia ' r ''""' """ ""> ™" '""J-ity of our first p„.ent., the very f„ld° J" ''«■ °""'«' ""y «l>e deeeiv.f „f oaily branding .he Aim'ig ;t r„?r'"'? »"^ '•<'?•. P^.i stond.ng the fact, that fhe evTdence*„f ■""''"' "^ «^. ""'"ithob.ery.tion proves ,ha. God epok, 1 ^ T"™"' «Porionce and • «h.bu true godlinea. and wisdoTtV '"' '"'' "-at they alone -se, the divine penalty aaTptr^ -n'^^r'.'" i^""" «-' obvil' e reronce to tl.o iw„ 1, and Gen. iii, 1.4 comnoandio^ the •tho tree of the know, Mho tlay thou eaton I 'noil Shalt die".) ..^:rr;rc■iir„^r.rrr::•;::■'r^^^^^^^^ and unto duat Hhalt thou return. decl/.'!l? '1 «"^.««fo''ce' mind, that if few would quesJlsehood, for his lo the effeci of > just here, and nents am I be. ye shall swell/ Serpent, when authority and 8t majority of e deceiver of hope, practilies, notwith. aerience and ' it they alone I and obvious PEniTHV-P^Vu. *:T" """ ""•'"•''"'«•«"' not. 18 LIKE THE I.EAHT8 THAT *u;rrr;rr/i;t';?rr^^^^^^ """r/Tr-j" -»''"" ^bereu nohdp. THOUOHT^ PERISH. .-kwlvhi/ '" ' "^ ^"^^ ^*^"^ ^^Y. HIH bef:,i!^ t^ ;r :.^ r n;:;,rnrETii -^^^^^^^^ ftreolA, tVuaoA) sothatamanhaih no nrp.J. °^«««' y«». "'^y have all one ALL 00 UNTO ONE PLACE ALL A^E Sk THE duhV A vn v??'"^?.'."' '" "•"'^'' = AGAIN. "-Eccles. III. iD-ao. "'*^' ^'^^ '^^^' ^URN TO DUST •' Whatsoever thy hand flndeth to do. do It with all thvn.ia-i.. , ... . r^rr To. *"°"''"^'"'^'-^^ -HEt^HA^irWHS'iE^B ^^^^^^^^^^ In prosecuting our inquiry regarding this fundamental article of chr.stmn doctrine, we will now endeavour lo answer the question What Constitutes a Soul? By turning to Gen. ii. 7 we read.— We would respectfully call the readers attention to the three ollow.ng points in the order in which they occur, in the atve descriptionof the creation of man;animite.^'"' ''"' ^'™'^ '^ '^" "^"'^ ^^ '^' ^'■"""^' ^^' «« ^'^'' '"• 2. There was then breathed into his nobtrils, the breath of life. . n ^ ,!^!'u. u^'" *"''°^' ^''^^ ^'^^ •"*" '"'•'"ed «f the dust of the ground, but hitherto inanimate, became alive. "A LIVING SOUL." • Rn«>h is translated spirit In connection with both man and beast In verse 21. •"trntrnmiiiimmm M ri e mnJ!^u\^'' Observed that there in not in thin narrative, the re2T1 I . "" '"'"•"'■'"' soul haying been imparted to n.an in this aet of creation ; any .uch assumption on the part of commentao,s ,. s,mpl^ gratuitous and wholly unwarranted ; but on the conlZuJ^T' T '^"^ "^^''^ '^"^ ^""" ^'''•'"«*^ «f *he dust, which constituted the bouI; inanimate until vitalized by the breath of life when It became AN ANIMATKD OK LIVING SOUL. and 27, we will discover that soub could eat flesh, and that under cerIvl^ntTf^^'T' ''''^. '''''' ^"•'^••^•^"" ''^ ^^ •«• '^"'^ further, in the event ofthe.r disregarding thi. injunction, such souls were to be cut a^efe^eno^'^T "'^r'^'^''^*'""^^ be ascertained bv a.efe,encetoLev.xx. 1 6; which forms a rather remarkable com rrn?^°" , ''°^"'"'' ^^P^'-'^'^'on ^hich assumes the soul of man to be inherently immortal. v* ujon lo ih« oI"i? '"^ ? "f """ ""'• ^ ^' "^^ ^'" '""'^^ ^^'^ ^"'"^her discovery that the children of In. ac 1 began to complain at the absence of flesh to eat o^jting ,ha. the continuous manna diet had the effect of dryin, S 2^ away; quite reasonable from the standpoint of truth and common sense but inexplicable from .he position of those who have assumed te soul of man to be immortal and absolutely indepen en of material influences as to its living existence. penaent iHaiahpiophecying of the death of Jesus (Isa.|(iii. 10-12), says.— In Iho ai-et instance, Isiiiah lelU iis tbut it wiiii " Ms SOUT '• ik., wa, to bo made an offering fo,. ai„ , and i„ the Jeond pffe tut he ..wa, not left there; neither did God ,.«,l hie ho./.net 1 . "l?. urrativo, tho roparted to man in I't of commontabut on the conlust, which conbreatli of life, 3 to Lev. vii. 18 that under Corfu rth or, in tho wore to be cut ascoitainod by marl^able com) 80ul of man to discovery that ' of flesh to eat, of drylnring for sin ; )EATH; and islated hell,) e to see corjption, but raited him up again, whereof— Peter said— wo all uro Mtnehses. (lod in reproving iHraol, by the mouth of Jeremiah, Hays: — " AiKo In thy HklriN lit found the bUml ../ the aOULSof the poor innoeentt." Showing beyond a doubt that kouIs could be muidereil, and »hat »ey contained blood, which on being spilt could stain the garments of leir murderers. I will now furnish a. few ilhiHtiations— out of tho manj^at my i-poiinl— of how tho tinnslatoiH of onr English Bible have tried to iiippress this important truth, via: the identity ot tho human soul with lie physical organism. 1. In Gon. xiv. 21. When the King of Sodom is represented as aying to Abraham, "give mo the PKKSONS," what ho actually did ay was, "give me the SOULS." 2. In Gen. xxxvi. G, where wo are toll, that, " Esau took his vivew, and his sons, and his daughters, and all the PERSONS of his ouse;'' tho sentence in italics should have road. All tho SOULS of lis house. 3. In Ps. XXX. 3, the psalmist says, " O Lord, thou hlenUh the earth, and subdue lt."-Gen. 1. 27-28. " And Abraham took Saral his wUe, and Lot, his brother's son, and all their substance that they had gathered, and the SOULS that they had gotten In Haran. "Gen. 1 : 27-28. " All the S0UL9 that came with Jacob Into Egypt, which came out of his loins, besides Jacob's son's wives. All the SOULS were three score and six. And the sons of Joseph, which were born to him in Egypt, were two SOULS. All the SOUMofthe house of Jacob, which came Into Egypt were three score and ten."-Oen. xlvi.,a»-ai7. It i!< in the light of such indisputable facts and divinely estabrwhed principles as those indicated, that we catch the full meaning of our Saviour's woi-da, when he prayed to God on behalf of his followers, in the words at the head of this paper, " Sanctify them through truth," or can appreciate the scope of the Apostle Paul's Urgent ...I.. ^ti^~, ^r VtAliAnAMo of "Rrnma vrliAn hn aftin !— * ,{ 10 A^v ^ "^ nT*' ^''"' therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present i/owr bodies a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God, which Is your reasonable service, and be not conformed to this world (age); but be ye transformed, bj, ttu renewing Of your mind, that ye may prove what Is that good and acceptable and perfect will of uod. "— Rom. xll. 1-2. Or that we can grasp the spirit of the Apostle's declaration of the immutability of the divine law, when in his epistle to the congregation at Galatia he exclaims as it were in tones of thunder:— " Be not deceived, God Is not mocked, for whatsoevera man soweth, that shall he also reap. "— Gal. vl. 7. How true, bow important, y^thow littte, understood, such principles are, an^ bow disastrous and humiliating the results that follow such ignorance, whether viewed from the standpoint of Patriotism, Humanitarianism or Christianity. Wfe will now consider the nature or composition of " the huttiarSoul;" and try to ascertain by a reference to Scripture the exa^t light in which this important matter was viewed by some of the principle characters in bible hiBtoiy. In Gen. xviii. 2*7, we read : „n.n n;«'l^''H*wS^*T»y^'' *""* "^"^ •■ ^''*'°'** °°^ I *>'^v« taken upon me to speaK unto the r^rd, WHO AM BUT DU.ST AND ASHES" Could Abraham have thus spoken of himself, had he believed he possessed an Immortal Soul; or as some of the more imaginative of our ecclesiastical biethern would put it, "a sparA of the divine nature:' Such a thing is utterly inconceivable, and the patriarch's, words force upon us the conclusion that, as far as be was concerned, he knew nothing about the immortality of the soul. The psalmist David must have been of the same mind with Abraham as to the nature of man, for if we turn Ps. ciii. 13, we find him saying: — "Like as a father pltleth his children, so the Lord pitleth them that fear himFor he knoweth our frame, HE REMEMBEREItH THAT WE ARE DUST." How could David have given expression to Huch a sentiment, had he believed that God bad imparted to dvery human being "a spark of himself,"^^AN IMMOJiTAL SOUZr It was David who said, when speaking of man in death, and his resemblance to the beasts that perish :— pJ'xuTu! '''^^ *"^^ "^ '"*'' '" ^^^ ^"""^^ (Sheol), dealh shalt feed on them. "I A 11 In the face of such au emphatic enunciation of the principle of man's complete subjection to death, on the part of the psalmist, we wonder how men can profess to believe and teach man's inherent immortality, a doctrine which is without the least warrant from Scripture, unless the statement of the Serpent contained in Gen. iii. 4, is to be regarded as such. Isaiah treating of the same subject says :— fadeth" rLISL.k . .^ ^'*'""' "' "''■ ^^^^' 'fhe grass wlthereth, the flower fMdeth , Because the spirit (ruaeh or breath)ot the Lord bloweth upon if Surelv the sTaTj^ro^'e'r-iraT f rer'^'""'' ^'^ «-"^«^«^»'. ''"^ '^^ .^ ^'ouTaT/s^^U Then Peter reasserts the same solemn fact of man's fleeting nature, in almost identical language, thus :— OPOR°I«i'"Th*"^'''^'"fu'^^^^^^'^"^ GLORYOPMAN, AS THE FLOWFR Of th^^ n?H i I "Tr ^"»^«''*'*h. and the flower thereof falleth away ; But the word or the Lord endureth for ever. "— 1 Pet. I. 24. Let the reader mark well the language of Peter in this case; He not only says that all flesh is as grass, but to leave no room for. equivocation on the basis of an assumed distinction as between man's physical organism, designated in the text quoted, "flesh," and the . ['immortal sour of popular tradition, he emphasizes his words by saying "AND ALL THE GLORY OF MAN, AS THE FLOWER OF GRASS." I8 it, possible to believe that Peter could have spoken thus of the nature of man, had he been a believer in man's natural immortality ? We think not, for had he believed that man was possessed of an immortal sou I, he would have recognized that feature as being man's highest glory, which, being immortal, could have born no resemblance to the transient nature of the flower of grass. In the further prosecution of our inquiry as to the, testimony of Scripture, regarding the human Soul, we will now undertake to prove that ^ SOULS CAN BE SLAIN OR DIB, Which we feel sure can be both easily and satisfactorily accomplished, if satisfaction depends upon clear and indisputable evidence as to what the Scriptures teach, r.'lative to the question under discussion, as may Le gathered from the following :— \^\ . 12 «nd"t;?."i.l.l*l'"'^'',°! *""''°°'' Makkedah. and smote It with the eUg. of the sword or Juh «.f to'?' ''V "T '". "'•<1'>«,^ --^ toolc Hazor. and smote the King therewas not any left to breathe, and he burned Haror with are. "-!^* xl. i Jl ' "The SOUL that slnneth, IT SHALL DIE.»-Kzek. xvlll. 4.20. from the error of bia way, swA^r*«l'?rJ?! !°''''*"'**'® ''•"°'> oonverteth a sin. SHALL SAVE A SOUL PROM DEATH. "-Jas. v. 20. The following passages will further illustrate the zeal of the translatoraofonr English Bible for traditionalism, as opposed to the plain and obvious sense of Scripture. Balaam, in bis address to Balak concerning the children of Israel 18 represented as saying :— • ' £«/iJ^dl"?L*^«.H'''f.1. '^'\"'/"*^**'*"**'''^""^ ^he fourth part of Inrael ? Ut MEdi, the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like hls."-Num. xxlH lo: Instead of saying, "Let MR die," etc., what Balaam did sav was "LETMYSOULDIE^A«rf.a/A./,Aer/<7A^«o«V'«^c. ^ ' Job, vindicating his personal inte^M-ity from the suspicion of dishonesty in his transactions with his fellow-men, is made to say:— h»JIY?'^'«! "',°T**'""*'™*'"''*'"»^^''« '""«»'« likewise thereof comolaln • ifT ^nn^l ^TT "■"'•'""'»' "I'""'" ••"•• ''-"i i "»r to« cau«d the auuiiti of the owners to expire." Elihu, in his remonstrances with Job, when speaking of the hypocrites in heart, is represented aa having said :— "They die In yoirth."-Job. xxxvi. 14. vr^rrml^r*!^ ^''''° ''®*'^' ^'"^ ""^ was :— "THEIR SOUL DIETH IN xOUTH," etc. To the honest mind, further comment upon the foregoing facts should be quite unnecessary, while for such as are not honest, further remark would be equally out of place. In conclusion, we will now undertake to show that SOULSarerecognized as nuch, when dead; and at the same ti.cie. further confirm 13 >f the sword. fere tJurein ; King there(A« SOULS HEM ; tbera L at tiU way, ime an the BD. "-tt©v, »1 of the i to the • of Israel, of Israel ? n.xxili. 10. »ay was, n ofdisr:— laJn; If I 0/ to loose lused the ?of the TH IN g facts fui-ther 3 are recon firm the utter dishonesty of the translators of the accepted version of the English Scriptures, and also the equaly unreliability of those who, while professing great zeal for godliness and truth, wink at the most palpable perversions of Scripture, in their willingness to pander to popular ignorance and superstition for an easy living. Turning to Lev. xxi. 11, we read :— Which should have read, "Neither shall he go in to any DEAD SOUL," etc. • '' . In his Instructions to such as were under the obligations of special vows, Moses was instructed to say ;— anm ' * v '**^' !^** ^^ «eparatelh himself unto the Lord, he shall come at no DEAD ouuLi, — Num. vl. 6. But our english translators have deliberately substituted the word body for soul. They have taken the same unwarranted liberty with the sacred text in such Instances as the following, viz: Num. ix. 6. Num. xix. 13, and Hag. 11. 13. Beside which, we could furnish overwhelming evidence of the systematic manner in which the truth concerning the Soul has been mallclouslyfalsifiedin the interests of the selfish few, who for their own base ends are ready to sacrifice every claim of patriotism humanity or truth. Po«ye:irs it has b-jen charged against me, that I twisted the Scriptures to suit my own purposes, by those who are making their hying out of the advocacy of Immortalsoulism and its associate superstitions. It ha^ also been quite common for the same class of persons to stigmatize those who deny the natural immortality of the soul, as being infidels or atheists; while they were well aware of the fact,' that their calumnies were groundless, and only intended to injure those they could no longer use; and at the same time, to detor all they could from making truth a matter of personal inquiry, well knowing tnat such inquiry would prove fatal to their assumed authority. But nevertheless thought Is being quickened, and the old superstition**' of the middle ages, impiously called Christianity, are fast retreating before the steady advance of increasing light and knowledge. l4Jif-^ c^ THE latholic ITS AIMS AND OBJECTS. Famphlet N"o. 1. CONTAININW INTRODUCTION , »y Mr. W. L. Scott. A NEGLECTED FIELD .By Mr. J. A. J. McKenna THE CATHOLIC THDTH SOCIETY— Its Aims and Objbots By Sir John S. D. Thompson, K. C. M. G. The Catholic Truth Society rill T ^ f m\ rrp OFFICERS FOR 1891-92. Patron HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP OF OITAWA. P->. ident rest The Hon. Sir J. S. D. Thompson, K. C. M. G , Q. C. ht. VicePr est leaf.. ' 2n'l. VkrPresident. Rev'd. M. J. VVhet,an. Finn Barr Hayes. Secretary W. IScott, 74 Sparks St. Treasurer J. A. MacCabk, LL. D., 434 Somerset St. Conimittee Rev'd CHDon McCarthy, I'.ev'd. A. Pallier, M. I Rev'd. T. Cole Joseph Pope, J. 13. liYNCH, E.. L. Sandkrb, John Gorman, J. A. J. McKenna, Wm. Kearns, A. Freeland, M. D. Auditors John O'Meara, J A McCann LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. PAMPHLETS AT NOMINAL COST. No. 1 — The Catholic Trdth Society, its aims and objects. No. 2— Traditions — Jos. Pope. 5 Cts. each or $2.50 per 100. The Sooiety's publications and most of those of the Catholic Truth Society of England and of the Catholic Truth Society of America may be had from the secretary or at any of the following dep&ts : — J. DURIE & SON, 31' & 35 Sparks St. W. P. BATTERTON, 82 B«nk St. P. C. GUILLAUME, 495 Sussex St. W. L. SCOTT, 74. Sparks St. SjdCi'etary. ( u^ INTRODUCTION. • The Catholic Truth Society of Ottawa was organized at a meeting called by circular for that purpose in the Catholic Lyceum on November 8th, 1891. The objects of the Society are identical with those of the parent Society in England and are thus summarised in the constitution : — 1. To disseminate among Catholics small and cheap devotional works. 2. To assist the uneducated poor to a better knowledge of their religion. 3. To spread among Protestants information about Catholic Truth. 4* To promote the circulation of good, cheap and popular Catholic Books. These objects will be found amplified in the inaugural address of the President, Sir John Thompson, printed elsewere in this pamphlet. The first step towards the organization of a Branch ot the Catholic Truth Society in Ottawa was the reading of a paper on the subject (printed in this pamphlet) by Mr. J. A. J. McKenna, at the quarterly meeting of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, held on the 12th April, 1891. His Grace the Archbishop of Ottawa, at the conclusion of Mr. McKenna's paper, warmly commended the work of Catholic Truth Societies, and made a very generous offer of finnncial assistance to any effort which might be made towards carrying on such a w^ork in Ottawa. As a result of the reading of the paper and of the Archbishop's words the subject was taken up by the Particular Council of the St. Vincent de Paul Society and a committee, consisting of Messrs. John Gorman, E. L Sanders and W. L. Scotf, appointed with instructions to take whatever steps might be necessary to bring about the organization of the proposed Society. The committee after working up the subject in various ways, called the meeting of November 8th already referred to, at which a constitution was adopted and officers elected. It was subsequently dtcided by the Committee thus elected to hold a series ol free public entertainments at which, in addition to an attractive musical programme, papers bearing on the work of the Society should be read. The first of these meetings was held in the hall of the Catholic Lyceum on December 17th, 1891, and •was very successful, about four hundred persons — all that the hall could accommodate — being present. The programme was made up of the President's address L ready referred to, a paper by Mr. Joseph Pope, which has since been published as Number 2 of the Society's pamphlets, and five excellent musical numbers. At the close of the evening the meeting was addressed by His Grace the Archbishop of Ottawa, who eulogised the work of the Society and exhorted all present to become members. The annual subscription to the society is one dollar and ten dollars entitles to life membership. Forms of application for membership can be had from the Secretary on application, but it is not necessary that applications should be on printed forms. Any lady or gentleman sending her or his name and address and one dollar to the Secretary will be elected a member of the Society. The Society is affiliated with both the Catholic Truth Society of England, and the American Society d of the same name of St. Paul, and members are entitled to all the spiritual advantages enjoyed by members of either of these societies, including indulgences granted by the Holy See. Members are also entitled to one copy each of all publications of the Society, to any special rates on books or other publications that the Society may secure and to such other advantages as it may be able to offer in the future. A price list of publications kept in Stock will be found at the end of this pamphlet. W. L. SCOTT, 74 Sparks St., Secretary. -»' A NEOLECTED FIELD. By Mr. J. A. J. McKenna. Read before the quarterly iiKetiiig ol llie St. N'incent de I'aui .Society on the 1 2th April 1891. That no good work is foreign to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul is one of its axioms. Its founder never contemplated its becoming a mere doler out of alms — an institution for the relief of only corporal necessities. At the very first meeting of the eight young men whom Ozanani gathered together to begin the work of our Society, Mr. Bailly, their mentor, who acted as President, declared that if the work was to be really efficacious, it would have to be made " a medium of moral assistance." And the circulars of the Presidents-General, which embody the spirit of our institute, teem with references to the desirability, nay the necessity, of distributing sound literature among the poor. " Do we do enough," asked President-General Baudon in 1849, " do we do enough for the religious instruction of the poor." 6 " The poor," said he, " are much more in need of truth, of the words that come from God's mouth, than of bread ai I clothing." The men who sowed and watered th 3 seed from which has sprung the great tree of which we are a branch were so impressed with the necessity of putting in the way of the people sound, cheap reading matter that they undertook the publication of a series of llluslraled Short Readings on instructive and amusing secular, as well as religious subjects, which were sold at a very low ligure to those who could buy, and, no doubt, were given gratis to those who could not spare even a penny. Libraries too were established ; and the Brothers were urged to purvey for the minds and the hearts, as well as the stomachs of those whom they visited. Now let me ask, in the words of Mr. Baudon, * Do we do enough for the religious instruction of the poor ? " Looking backward, have we not lapsed in this regard ? For remember, that our charter brethren in addition to making the religious instruction of their proteges a leading feature of their work, devised and successfully carried out a scheme for putting within the reach of the masses an instructive, edifving and low priced literature. Of a surety, the need of liberally supplying wholesome mental food has not vanished with the march of time. Every day the number who can read increases ; every day the taste for reading becomes more general. The products of the press enter the homes of the poorest among us. All sorts and conditions ol men read ; and the printed page has become, especially in our own time and country, the most potent of human agencies for good or evil. Yet our conferences expend their energies almost wholly in catering to the mattM'ial rcquiromoits of the vory poor, seemingly l(.rgottin{j' that " man liveih not by bread alone," and oblivious of the example set by Ozanam and his aMSOciates. ' " But what can we do ? ", you will ask. Undertake, I would suggest, the work of disseminating the pul)lication8 of the 'Jatholic Truth Society. Like our own institute, the Catholic Truth Society, which was organized some years ago, was brought into being by a lew men, " who," one of its honorary Secretaries tells us, " were almost entirely unknown outside of their own small ciicle." They saw the crying necessity of bringing within the reach of the masses popular expositions < f (Catholic faith and other works permeated with a true Catholic tone, they determined to make an effort to supply the want, and they have met with marvellous success. They have brought out a host of penny publications — biographies of the saints and others whose lives are a light to the feet of th^ir fellows ; articles on matters of faith which enable those who read to give a reason for their belief to Protestants and sceptics ; short stories for the young; compilations of selected poetry ; short treatises on devotional subjects, and brochures on scientific topics which show forth the fallacies of some who set themselves up as teachers. Ttiey offer for sale, at prices ranging from a half-penny to a shilling! 'a series of books and booklets on a variety of subjects. An excellent little life of our patron is sold for a penny ; and Cardinal Newman's classical lectures on " The Present Position of Catholics in England " have been reproduced separately and offered to the public at two-pence a piece. In a penny pamphlet of twejity-eight octavo pages is published Mr B. F. C. Costelloe's presentment of the teaching of the 8 "Church truly Catholic, to whom," as he spys, " no thing of humanity is alien " and ' the universal brotherhood has not been an empty name but a world-reforming fact and law." Mr. Costelloe is in touch with the times ; and the wide circulation of this little work, and of his treatise on " the Mass," which also sells for a penny, could not but be productive of much good. A six-penny edition in limp cloth of the New Testament — an edition intended rather for use than for ornament — has been issued hy the Society. Would not the spreading abroad of so handy an edition of the New Testament be a most forcible reply to the charge that the Church forbids her children to read the inspired writings ? For we shall be judged rather by what we do than by what we profess. They have published, too, a great number of leaflets of spiritual reading, nourishing to faith and piety ; and these are sold at six pence, a shilling, two shillings and three shillings a hundred. I might go on talking to you of the admirable publications of the Catholic Truth Society which, it has been my good fortune to have met with, and naming to you others which I have not yet seen, but I have said enough to give you a general idea of the scope of the work which that Society has done and is still doing. There have been two great obstacles to the spread of English Catholic literature : one, the high price generally of the publications ; the other, the difficulty in the way of obtaining them. Of course there is an apathy among Catholics in respect to distinctively Catholic literature. High class books have not the sale they should have ; magazines like the " Catholic World " are not as liberally supported as they ought to be by those who have the means ; and there is not a great demand at public libraries for books which deal with questions from a Catholic stand-point. But this apathy is, to my mind, of the nature of a symptom. Remove the obstacles I have mentioned, administer frequent doses of the cheap publications of the Catholic Truth Society and, I venture to say, the apathy will gradually disappear. The first obstacle has been removed by the Catholic Truth Society. The second, however, remains, as far as w^e are concerned ; and some local effort should be made to remove it. We hear a great deal in regard to the need of a lay a postdate. Bishops and priests have called on the laity to help in the warfare which error wages asrainst truth. The example of the early christians has been recalled, and we have been asked to bear a more valiant part. Here is an opportunity of responding to the call, for there is no way in which laymen of good will can more effectually co-operate in the w^ork of Holy Church than by disseminating w^holesome literature. Speaking on this subject the Bishop of Sal Ford said : " We are in the age of the Apostolate of th'> Press. It can penetrate where no Catholic can enter. It can do its work as surely for Grod as for the devil. It is an instrument in our hands. All should take part in this apostolate ; here at least there is work for every one under the patronage of the Hierarchy and richly indulgenced by the Holy See, the Catholic Truth Society founded by a number of priests and laymen is already doing good w^ork ; but the good work ought to be multiplied through every town and mission, not in England only, but throughout the British Empire. It instructs, edifies, and amuses > it educates and evangelizes Catholics and non-Catholics. It will become an engine of gigantic power 10 ill the service of Grod ; if our men and women have in them only the. hearts and v^ills to become apostles." " Very good," you say, '• but should not such a work be undertaken by a new organization, founded specially for that purpose, and altogether separate and distinct from the Society of St. Vincent de Paul ? " I admit that the establishment in our midst of a Catholic Truth Society — either independent or as a branch of the parent Society in P]ngland — is much to be desired, and I sincerely trust that the day is not distant when we shall have in Ottawa a society of men and v\'omen, the sole object oi which will be the dissemination of Catholic truth ; but I hold that, even if such an organization did exist, our Conferences would not thereby be dispensed from the duty — the duty, mark you — of taking a leading part in the work. Conferences in other places have taken a hand in the work ; and in an article entitled " How to help the Catholic Truth Society " it is stated that for the distribution of the publications " the Society of St Vincent de Paul has exceptional oppor1 unities in the various branches of its work, especially in the ' patronage ' work among boys. Something, I know, has been done already in this line in Ottawa ; but the movement had nothing of permanency in it, and was abandoned after the first step had been taken. A system, I submit, should be devised for making the distribution of wholesome mental food a prominent and permanent feature of our work, as it certainly should be. In a Lenten pastoral on " The Love and Service of Christ in His Poor," the Bishop of Sal ford wrote : " Encourage reading among the young, spread the cheap publications of the Catholic Truth Society , take them in and lend them one by one, and exchange 11 those lent for others. Give cheap pictures of a religious character for the decoration of rooms, discourage the readinsT of anti-Catholic puhlications." Now I will make bold to suggest that, by way of making a beginning, the Particular Council expend, say, $25.00 of its funds in the purchase of a selected lot ot the publications ol the Catholic Truth Society and divide them among the Conferences, some to be sold at cost price to those who can buy, and others distributed gratis to the poor visited by our Brothers. In its very babyhood our Society went so far as to undertake the publication, as well as the sale, of cheap reading matter. In the summer months there is little or nothing to be done in the way of extending material relief to the poor. Why should we stand idle when there is so much to be done in another direction ? Let a plan be devised and the work be begun, so that the excellent publications of the Catholic Truth Society may be put, not only within the reach, but in the way of the people. " Say not," writes Mr. James Britten, one of the Honorary Secretaries of that Society, " Say not that to scatter books, pamphlets, tracts, and leallets is waste and loss, il you have but a grain of faith in the gospel parable of the sower." The soil is ready and much " good ground " awaits the seed. Let us hasten to scatter abroad good books, and they will bring " forth fruit, some a hundred-fold, some sixty-fold and some thirtv-l'old." (S. Matt. XIII— 8) THE CATHOLIC TRUTH SOCIETY ITS AIMS AND OBJECTS. Addrkss hy ruK Hon. Sik J. S. I). TmnirsoN, K. C. M. (!., (^). ('., \A,. I). I'KKSIDKN I fee is fixed at one dollar a year. I beg you will not consider that a subscription. There are many, perhaps, who will join the Society who could give us as an annual subscription many times that amount, but we want your names — your co-operation — your sympathy and patronage. LIST OF PUBLICATIONS KEPT IN STOCK. OTTAWA SEKIES. Sold at Sets, each or f$2f)0 per 100. No. 1. The Catholic Truth Society, its aimn and objoctH. No. 2. Traditions— Jos. Pope. PUBLICATIONS OF THE ENGLISH SOCIETY. Pamphlets. Sets, each or 2 for Sets. The Conversion of England. By the Bishop of Salford. The Blessed Sacrament the Centre of Immutable truth, by Cardinal Manning. What is the Bible ? By the Kev. W. H. Andcrdon, S. J. Confession to a Priest. By the same. Before and after the Reformation. Was Burlow a Bishop? By the late Serjeant Bellasis. 189 : or the Church of Old England protests. By the Kev. J. D. Breen, O. S. B. Henry VIII and the English Monasteries. By Cardinal Manning. Total Abstinence from a Catholic Point of View. By the Eev. W. H. Cologan. The Church Catholic. By B. F. C. Costello. The Mass. By the same. Temperance and Thrift, By the Very Eev. Canon Murnane and the Rev, E. Nolan. The Great Truths. By the Rev. R. F. Clarke, S, J. The Holy Infancy. By the same. The Hidden Life. By the same. The Sacred Passion. By the same. The Precious Blood. By the same. Resurrexit. By the same. Veni Sancte Spiritus. By the same. St. Joseph. By the same. Maria Magnificata. By the same. The Sacred Heart of Jesus. By the same. The Holy Angeis. By the same. Requiescant in Pace. By the same. The Ministry of Jesus. By the same. ii List of Publications kept in Stock. CoiuisoIh ot) Holy Communion. Bj* Mgc do Segui*. Advico on ConfoNHioti. Jiy tlio wnme. Advice on Prayer. By the Hume. The Ceremonies of Holy Week explained. Father Mathew. By Kov. W. H Colo^rjin. Cardinal Newman, By the Rev. Dr. Barry. St. Vincent de Paul. By the Rev. F. Ci<)ld"ie, S. J. Cannot: or which Religion really believes in the Bible? By Rev. fi. Bam|)tield. Mixed Marriages. By the Rev C VV. Wood. Lay Help. By James liritten. A Few reasons for submitting to the Clinreh of our Fathers. Bv H. Morden Bennett, M A. Marks of the Church. By the same. The Scapular explained. By the Bishoj) of Salford. Who is St. Joseph ? By the same. A Profitable way of Hearing Mass. liy the same. The Seal of Confession. By the Rev. J. Mclntyre, D D. octs. each or ti for 25cts. The Love and Passion of Our Lord. By the Bishop of Salford. A Manual of Catholic Politics. By the same. The Veneration of Sacred Relics. By the same. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. By the same. 5cts, each. The Work of the Laity. By James Britten. Leaflets. Ic. each.^ 5cts. per dozen or 20ct8. per 100, 40. Mary the Mother of God. 45. The disappearance of the Papacy. 46. Questions for one whom it concerns. 66. Does an Anglican Forsake the Church of His Baptism by becoming a Roman Catholic ? Ic. each.^ 5cts. per dozen or SOcts. per 100, 3. What does the Bible say ? 4. Come and see. 5. Friendly advico. 7. Why am I a Roman Catholic ? 8. How can I find God's one True Church ? 9. " I'll kneel if the others will." 10. The Confessional 13. Why are you a Protestant ? 1*7. Was the British Church Roman Catholic. List of Publications kej)t in Stork. iii ll>. Plain TrutliH in nnsswor to TranHparoiit FuIhoIiooJ. 21. Shall our Childron ho Christians ? 2;i. Tho Kofoj'rnalion iindof (^iicon Elizaholh. 24. Wock-ilay Mas-s 25. '■ C.itholic — not K-tinaii Catholic." 27. '' fray AlwavH " 28. '• Tako care of tiio little ones." 81. Devotion to tho Blofs.sed Virgin. ;J6. Who in your l*iilron Saint. 37. WoiU out your Salvation, 42 Why do Catlolics heliovo ? 44. A Loafiot on the English Martys. 41) " I Believe i«> tho Holy Catholic Cliurch." 55. Fasting. 71. Tho Divine CommiHsion of tho Church. A Quarlor of an Hour hefore tho Hlossel Sacraniont. 2ct8. each, JOcts. per dozen or HOctn. per 100. 11. Can both Churches be True. 12. Why should we remember the fifth of November, lb". The Engli.sh Church alwa}'^ Roman Catholic. 18. How Henry VUI robbed England of tho Faith. 20. Evoluti(Mi run wild. 80. Popery in the first (Jentury. 32. The Four Doctors. 38. The Real Presence. 39. Piirgatoi'y. 41. Modern Socialists on the History of the Church. 47. St. Joseph Patron of a Happy Death. 50. What are thoy doing at tho Altar ? 52. " Out of the Church there is no Salvation." 53. Does the Catholic Church suppress the Second Commandment. , 54. King Henry VII I and the Royal Supremacy. 63. Tho Scottish Reformation. (J4. Why and how should wo hear Mass every Sunday. 72. The Three Claims. PUBLICATIONS OP THE AMERICAN SOCIETY. No. 3. How Catholics come to be misunderstood — Rev. Thos. O Gorman, D. D. 5cts. each ; $2 50 per 100. No 4. Who can Forgive Sins? — Rev. Patrick Danehy. octs. each ; i$2.50 per 100. iv List of Ptihlications kept in Stock. No. 6. Church or Biblo— Kev. Arnold Damon, S. J. octs. eachf $2 50 per 100. No. 7. SacriHciul VVorrthip KHsontiol to ^Religion — Rov. P. R llottVon, D. J>., -ic/a. mch, ii;^ 1.7 ft per 100. No. 10. AgnosticiHm — lit. Uov. J. L. SpuUlin^, D, D., Bi. '^hop of Peoria. oets, each, $2. ')0 per 100. No. 11. On the Condition of Labour — Encyclical Lottor of Pope Leo XIII. Jc<#. each, $8.7 '> per 100. No. 12. Purgatory— Rov. Heniy A. Brann, D. 1)., octs each, $1.7o per 100. No. 13. MiracloH — What are they and what is their ute ? Rev. John Cimeiner. 5cts. each, '$1.7') per 100. No. 14. The ConHorvative Power of Catholicity — Conde B. Pallen. 6ct8. each^ $1.75 per 100. Any of the above may bo had at the pricen quoted (which are merely nominal) from the Secretary or at any of the following depots. J. DUKIE & SON., :J3 & 35 Sparks St. W. P. BATTERTON, 82 Bank St. P. C. GUILLAUME, 495 Sussex St. W. L. SCOTT, 74 Sparks St. Secretary. PRACTICALL A VIEW OF SOME. X CE P T 10 N s GTOTHE 1 n atechifme : }+ PROM The Cenfures affixt on them by the zflfinijlflerx of London, in a Book ENTITHILED, C14 Te/limony to the truth 0f§‘eft»3 C/art/i, &c.j ~ BY . H.171/I MMo5\@ 13.13. .---up cfivcifiwfiv -—.._.7._ A. %% ‘LQNDoN,i vv f Printed for .RVicl2.~ Ray/‘ifoza at _thcAngcl jg Igi;-_lgnc. A A A View of fome Exceptions tothe Trafiicall Cntecbffme, &c.i Being it again appearsto me by a 6ook,ith'at came to ~*«-" this town on Saterclay1aPt,(entituled, A Teflimanj to the term/9 of jefm C/mff, 8cc. pretending to be {ub; fcribed by 52 Minéflcrs ofC/WM within t'l9elPrazzi>zcc F of London) that it is Gods ‘good pleafureto deliver me up to be evil fpoken of, and nccufed, and to bear a yet deeper part of his bitter cup, then many others of my Brethren have done,.I defire to bleffe and ptaife his name for this his goodneffe and mercy to me, and to embrace all thofe, who have joyn"dthe,'uf hands to be inflruments in this, as thofe whom by Clyrifl: comfmand (particularly belonging to me on this occafion) I am bound to love, to éleflb, to pm] for, and not to think of any other way of return toward them. This, I thank God, I can moi’: cheerfully . doe,and would fatisfie my felf to have done it in private, between God and my own foul, were there not another occafion, which tnakes it a 1itt1e~neceITaryfor meto fay fonnewhat ublitkly; and that islthe vindication ofthe rm:/9 of Clmfl j’e/£5, which theywho are willing to give teflimoz} to it, will, I hope, take from me in good part. 4 X e V Thefe men n png. 4. in the beginning of the fecond branch oftheit teflimony, (whichlit feems by M. 37.tl1’ewho1e‘ number oficlieg 52 ‘Miniflers have fubfcribed) make mention of mtflnmd o})in£pn:,5 ef}2iacinel1}<4éuminnaélei arrow, alamiméle laerefiex, and horrid Wafjzhe-J . A 2 with “ ,4ruie;n affome Exception: u l i mz'ee,-wloiob are broached and maintained /oere in England among an, under the notion ofNew lightgnnd new trntlar 3 mnnjofnvhielo t/Jcjy [mug rmfon era jndge rtdeflirnéfiezze. to t/oeje2e.r)' fnndnmentnll trnt.l7rs,.of' C 197%,; _[H;;niey58ctc. . (1ll—oft/oem nttery. repnngnantw-to tbefezcreodfisjrl-g ptmwlae oconfion of mnelo grief of/oenrtroezll the friend: ofitrntlo Md piety at /oome,l=tloefonndnl and ofienee ofnll the Reformed C lonr— eke: nbroezdg‘/oe ‘nnpozrn/leld reproach of;t/ole C/enrol) Nnte'on3roN mllj inconfiflent Twitlolt/ae Covenant,‘ omdtlae covennnzfed Reforenn— tiny, and in oz word, else, very dreg: inndefinwn of tbofe old nt'e;rrfi=d leerefies which have éeen already condemned, &c. l After this preface and exprellion of their zeale to Gods truth, they conclude the period with a profeflion, thatthey more pertienlnrl} néominnte t/oefe ‘ ‘infamous nnd’”pernz'ez'ozoo err-onrr of late pnéli/bed among wsoznd berenfternrecited in tt/02$: eofioing C nmlogne, viz. Erronrs, 86C. " l _ Inthis Catalogue, three particulars there are recited Fmrn the PrnélicnlCnteclaz_'fmeiof Hammered,’ 2. Edit. London, I (546. in For v\'hich%prer.nil'es, Ifuppofe, any Reader Will concludeythat thofe three particulars are by theft: Miniliers thought guilty of all thofe Charoes which theyhad aflixt to A ll the Lxnlbund opinions, we-e~c‘;. .ln,c>tedl>y them,;w'-'c.l that they are lnfterl} -‘repugnant to tloe firered%%Soriprnre.r,$z c. and in the mndefiefi of their expreliioxisétliat l theyare infamous and pernicious erronrr. V a . Upon this fuppofition‘, I holdoit my duty by letting down the-Fe three particulars pnnifinally, ton referre tot“ all impartiall Chrifiians to ridge Whether it be or Te_/lemon] to I/oerrflt/9 of_}’e_/n.r C/arrfz‘ -to pail: fuch cenfures on them. % A “ A l h ‘I The firfl. is rrecitecl by them, p.9. and it is this,That; Clarifl mo: given to nndergoed/fibnmefnll death rvolxmjmrilj upon the Crajfe, to fnti.-rfiefor the ofAdam, dndfor all at/aie’_/ins of all mnnkjnde. This is thus. plainly let down in:;tehei.‘r" catalogue of infdmom and pernieiom errors, but without the leaf’: note to direét what part of i this P1‘0p0fitlOn. is liable to that charge, any farther then may be colleéted from the title “of the Error: under which ’Eis.pla ced, viz: it Error; tone/oinge%nni7Jerfozll or genernll redemption. From whence I prefutne_ tel difcern their meaning to be, that to: affirm Chrifi to have flztisfied for, or redeemed all man/ginole, is this pornioian: ‘error by them noeminnted. And Iconfelle I lfhould tacknoyvledge A r i it to thePme’z‘:'m[! C ezteehzjhze, eh'c. it to be, if it had any right’ to be. joyn’d with that other by theft men‘ fer. under the fame head [there the ddmrzedfhe/1 hefewed ] but I hope that errour hath received no‘ patronage from ythalt Carteichzfmgnor hire from that aflertion ofC'hrzfi.r redeeming all mdizkéfido Ttliief'e tW0 ptopofitions being very reconc~ilcable,that Chrifl redeemed 4/! men, and yet’ that the whole number of the iinpenitent, um» beleiving, reprobate world {hall never be heed by him. If there were any need ofit , I {let ould eafily fhew the way of reconciling ithelle t”vio,byyadding that the great Benefits of C hrzfl: cleelt/9,V\’l1lCl1 I affirin to he generall, are given upon rendition, not llablhlutely (as God: love to the world, and, the efleéi of it , given hair Son, is not defigned, that all ezhfczletteljgbut that all coe2dz'tz'oha/1» , i.€..whq/hever heleitzeth in him /Zaoezld not perifhfim hdoeleverldfhihg life) 8: that theywhich doe not perform that condition (as Godlknows a great multitude doe not) {hall nevetbefatzed by his death : To which purpofe is that of Profiaer,‘ one farre enough froin all kindnelé to the Peldgidnr, Redemptor emmdzi dedit pro mmzdofdngdiezemfzeum, ed memdm redimfi nolz/zit, 86¢. the Redeemer of the warldgeztze hi: hlood for the world, and the world iaaauld not he redeemed. zed Gal: cnp.9. But, to confine mytdifcourfe (without confide-ration of the ecmfle-~ qmmres) to the affertion it (elf; I‘ defire it may be obfervd, that this was not crudely let down in thatflzreehifm, but with this immediate addition [to raj} deazthfar ever} mm, H eh.2.9.] by that plain re Ptimony of Scripture confirming the truth of what‘ was aflerted, aspunéhually alscould be imagined. For litre [ever] mam] fignifies all mankind, as that notes fihgulo: gfiflefifhflmflfli, in the yylargelt notion of the word,’, and tez_/ring death for them is fatisfying for ' their fins. If this tefiimony fo clear, that it alone hath, ~ to my knowledge, convinc’d one as learned a man as doth in this Church of ours maintainthe doéirines contrary to the Remonffmntr)*be not thouaht fiiflicient tofupport this yallerti-only It lliallirthen ex ahundhznti adde thefe other plain teflirnonies ; Not onely that of God!’ giving hit one!) flmne, mentioned by Chrz:/2? as an effefic or exprellion of his love to the world, (which it would not be, if he did not give him for the "nmrldi whom he is laid toilwve) but toprevent all diftinétions concerning the ntotionof the World, {as if it fi—gnified,' onely the Eleoiz) more particularly thefe two ; Firfl that of 2; Pet.~2.tr.where the Lord, i.e. Chriji‘, i A 3 ‘ is . *3’ V is plainly fiiiihifitifoiwhave bbeugloit Ci.e.pa.id the iprice, t/aemg I who den} bring apart tkemfilvesfwift deflm&ian:t0 ‘Which téoreesiithat of . I C or. 8. I I . Where the we.4z/gérat/aar, ofwhom ’tis fgfid, that by anothermans {caudal he féaz/I perz]155.is defcrihcd to be onefor whéah 'Chrifldied.,A Thcother tefiiimony which I flialladde, ‘(is that of S.P,,m!, 2iCor.§i.14. which I defire“ the intelligent Rea.~ der to.ohfer§e : Where fpeeaeking of°theca;zj}rein-hag ohliging lover ‘ i of Clm:flf,hefaith, wait/am judie, "t/mt om?’ died for all, then were at’! ‘dead, that is,fure1y,All in "E e full latitudemot on1ythe»eilc&‘ but All at/am-; and this conclufioni the Apaffle infers by th'1s'madiz::m, ‘ becaufe me, i.e.C'19r% diedfar ;zl1,wh ich being a probfofithe other, mufi certainly be as true, and as acknowledged (if notmore) as that which -":33 bgjoughgto prove : and pa.rt‘icuIiar1yi thefl.-21!] for Wihornrhe died, he aé unlimited ash the [All that were pr,0v’d from thence to be dead, or elfe the Apoflle could no:..jz¢dge (as he .fai;-h he doth) or conclude the dearly of allein Adam by that medizz; i From this arguingoftiheiiflpoflle I filall make no quefiion to infer, 1:ha: in S.I’..«,m[.c glivini:y,Cl9rz]f died ,a:,'>fi£[Zd.‘¥$37Vk9 are dead in Adam ; eandiion that occafion I {hall adde, yrhe way, that the co:n’cra'ry 1 ehdoflringe. [bf C /9rz:[f:AnoteiCiy;iIJg For all} was bythe zfimtiezztsie a_fHxt<@f1 Pelagiw upczn Athatig1:oe1md,heof his affirming thati ai1’(i..h e.'ithat In-i» ihntsjiwere hocefaln in fld¢m,Aanid foimaeded not to be'redeetn’d bye Chrifi. Thizs isaappeiars by S:.f1«z4g: com‘. 2.Epi/Z‘. Pelag: 1.2, c.:2.. Pelggiani décant «D.W"7?”53&?3:. ejfe omzziflmh eemtfim in /aomixiém nz¢1:2a£;z:arem,flaz1wztm%m, Ziééemrorem, éif. and when the fldafliu _ ..hlim¢.r, to vindieate th eztnthlves from that ch arcre OFS. Axgnflinex, D heqxifeffe that C/9;-rift‘ died for a/Zimzwkgrzde, as it iappeares by Pra-M i fmr: Epzflle) Profjzer expreffes; no manner ofdiflike ofthati.confe{1‘fion,beut;~fo¥m€si0thercharges.iaigainfl Jthem"a' And*:the:truth is,therc is fcarceeanyi antientVVriteigihe€o1:ei:Piel;zgim',i but hath idireétly ail fertedr C }'am‘jZri;r dying For all; The itePcii1nonies.QfIre:2os;¢J, ¢Clemem, Qrigen, 2,1/.fecvzr:£z::,C}ri!l afj’emfaa~Zem, Ex4fle*é£m:,At/aamzfizsx, and he miaggxy hothexts might readily be produced, eifithat were ineedfullg And the;1hi\i1et;.itigue£’c alfo, which ofthe twci pofitionsi,i.the~affirma. tive; O_;':.th€«1’1§gatiV€, heflhdefervesflhe charge rfibeing the pmm of Vii/10./"5’ 04¢.-WI£7'flrdb£1r€/ieiawlvicb iv/a»z¢'ve éizmi ailreaabr cérzdammd, @"cf..‘ Thfi fame I» C0u'1d;' iaddé ffom .m3'f1Y't1'1@iilfiaifflfifiififPi’0££flZi2?¢tLi’,\Nhi‘Chi never were thoiaght to~be.,ta:»in£edi, VV3. 'thga.ny" autism: or modernii ‘ hcrefie to 2:66 Pmréficnll Ctateclaifme, érg. A .........._.._. herefie (thonghlothers I know have elxprefi themfelves otlxerwiniéj but I need not fimh n.mci*Ii2xr'ic..<;‘. To concludethis point_.s,tI fuhppofe in ' afhrrxixng or vlndicating this pofition, I have born zeflimanj to the trm./9 of Clmfl, frbm whom, and Whole A pofiles I profefie to have Iearn’d this truth, and to conceive it ‘(for the fenfe oflitjns fully ‘ ccfhfied‘ by plain Scsriptums, as many Articles of the Creed 5 and for thebexVptefl}on ufed in the Pmfl: Czzteclaflme of[nll 4_m‘¢Z7? 'k§71{IlJ A A Imuifi acknowledge to%have1eam’d it from the Church of England (of which Idoe yet with joy profeffemy {elf an obedient {on and member) in thofe words ofhersCm*eclJifme, eflabliflat by A65 0 sPx27".llfl7?¢6‘flt3 and infertcd in the Book ofL}tmgz'e, where I was t taught, [to lveleitz/2 in G ad the Father, who created me and all the world, I 7‘! Goal the San, who redeemed me and all mankjnde, mm! in God tn/ae holy G laafi‘,wlao fiznfiifled me mad all the elefi‘ people afG0d;. be where manlqjnde as it is ofa;"smzrram2r'extent on one fide then all the world ofcreatures, fo is it tostbse underflood of a larger, then zzlltloe elm‘? people afG’o:2l_. ; and To much for the firft charge. The fecond is fet down 1mg.I 5 . and it is this. That neither Paul nor James exclude nrfepamte faithful! aftiom or mil: offaitbfrom fizitla, or the condition 0fj#fl'lfi6'dti'0n,5t¢t azlafolately require t/aem,cw the only things by 'l37l.7l:C‘l:Ittl7£’ mam £:jz¢fiified.What is thus far down I I acknowledge to be in termini}: in the Pm Eliml Catecki/3%, but cannot eafily gueffe wherein the errour orpernicioufnetfc is conceived to lie, unIefl'e it {hould poifiblv be thorow 3. xnifiake ofthes ph raf: 1' tlymmly thing: la} which the mm is jflfflfied ] as if by that fpeech fhould be undcrfin0d,either that thefaitlafnllaffiomtor ably A g-‘f';f(:¢Z'1‘l9_ witlaazsttfmit/é it félf; W’ex'e‘thc only tiling: lfw/a’z‘:'cla” we mm ju" ifimsl, or elf: that -all the things there lfpokcn of, Faith, andfnitkfull nfiiom, oraéh of faith are the only Cause, and 130 faxm-.% CA l~.1S E be of our jxtflzIfication_..or by Which,as by a C A u s B, Wehret jufiified; ‘:either~of;thefe I eonfeffe might paffe for an :«erraur,: but} A both theft: doétrinest I~htwe~ fuHieient»lIy»di1«Z:1aim’ld ; and’ indeed" in n rhisdvery prcipofiticbh ’ti% dffi-rm3dsfi}iat the faitlafiwlleztflioéz: or zzflxaf A: Fmirhareee mt excluded 'nrfi'pamted_ from tFdz»£th(Which theybmufl be a if they iuflifie without Faith‘) or‘ the comlitilan tsofjrtflifimtibn (£.e.. A from that faitthswhich is cof1fide‘redas,.and a£fitm’d to the‘cM-A difian A juflifiealcion) but 5) thbfi two Jfilpq/l?le: az5fi*lz¢retjma q>nilred,t4§’ thtlafnflb,-tar tIw:‘qmliM'an“;afni1rjuflfficaiiom. ~ ’ \ A Mtbeb n A -view offlmte Exoeptiotis .......~.o--..p._—.————-a... A‘ i do the only things together with it by which as by a condition, and only fo (as ’tis clearly fet down all over that part ofthe Coteohifmo, which handles Faith or jhftificdtioh) the man jztflifiod; This I fuppofe may give theft: men fome light of their mifiake, if it were fueh: but if they underftand the fpeech as then and now I doe, and ‘yet think it error,and pernicious, I rnufl then only prove that what was {aid from Sjtzme: and S. Paul, was not by me falflyimpofed upon them, and then they mufl either rnaiiitain my fpeech, or Fall A-vvith me in the fameicondemnationffhaii 5fame: doth not exclude or fiypdmtefoithfial dc57£iom,or dfi: of F otith, from Fdith, or the 607;’ditiozo of fhflificdtioh, h1it_7‘eqf»ii?’6.’ them, (i.e. Faith, and faithfull a§tions,ot aéis 0f1c3it‘h)‘m t_i:Iy£‘t0}1l)’.t/7i7z‘g'.r h} which, M h] 4 mmciiz‘-i... 1 oh, the mom itjiiftified willvbe ‘clear by the definition of a condition in Logic-lg, and the plain words of S fozmox; Aicfonditioniiis a qualification of the fubjeét required to make him cagable, or a otmflo fine qtoii notz;and fo a condition ofjuflzficdtioh is no more,then that without which a man cannot be jL;fiified;and that is the diYC& affirmation of S.j'tzmer,c.2e.24i.t..Tefeei that h} wor@(i.e.faithfu1a6’tions, or aéts ioffa1:_h)o mom is jflflifiedadfld not hjfdith ohbi .and again, I’ dith if it ham toot works‘, v.17. and Fdith without worlg, v.20. is dead; and fo fureanot fuch as by wch we are juPtified..From whence I fbytm this fjliogifme‘,Thdt._, without which, in S. t]ames’s opinion, we are not jt/£flL1fi£f.£i,, omd hy which joyzfd ‘withfoith we dro jaflified, hot hj faith M21)", is not h} 5'. James exclttded or fltpdrdtedfrom Fotithmr theicotziditioti of omtjttfizficdtiomhtttirequired together with F.oith,d: the only thing: h} which (as i by a condition) thamom is jnjiified. But without at}: offtzith orfozithfttli dftiom, in S.]ames’s i opinioniweiairo not jroffified, and hy the»; weadre jtoji‘_ified,dndnothy faith only, rThere_f:>tefdithfIo.lldéiiom, i0'7‘a6i‘J'io_f,Fi4iiti7_ are not h] .S‘. ]ames excluded or feptzratod ram Faith; or the condition ofottr j2Vfl'.tfi6‘éZti0‘fi, hut required roger» erttvithftzitth, (1/5 the any thing: hy which (as by a condition) the with it juflifiod. i _t y The «fitii propofition is clear from the nature of a C ohditiott; the fecondi frornith€i.words cited out of S . flames’, and then‘ I hope thegjonelufion will neither be arrow nor pernitiom. . I t Then for S.I_’otil fEiS.I1'l_3.dC evident in th_e'I,’mEi_.~ C dtechi/hi that i thefttith by which aeccordingto his doétrine Ahmhdm ‘was jozjiiw fiedi (and not by works‘) Row. 4was not only adepending on God i i V at . A y for to the P7457254/Z C .«z%t'ec/yzfizze, én". t for the performance of his»pro~mife ( which yet was 3 fair/afzllzzétion, or afiaffaitlat but 311}: a refigning hitn.1E:1f up “wholly to him to obeyhis precepts; or more clcatly, was 2l*.F31.t‘/9,, Which,h0\2vfE)— ever it was tried by ptomifes or commands, did anfiwver God in ,«xZI5}.$"0ffoZit_£7-, or fdit/Off!/I .ozEZ'iam ; and fowas accepted by God (without abfolute unfinnfng obedience, much more V‘ri,th0ut.,.“ obs» thence to the Mag/dicall Zmv, i c.'Wit11out worhr) all which is clear in the Gory of Aémlmm, and Iihppofi: need not farther be widen. 1 (red. And then concerning 3. Paul: part in the bttfineffe, my fylw logifiue {hall be this , He that njfirms Abraham to bej.nflz:_fied 5] that Fair/9, tar/sic/9, Imp/Ezetier ’rmt4' triedt, did dzfiaw God in 4&1 affditb orfzzir/9_ful¢Z dfixhxrx, dot}: not mclzade or /épmtzzte faithful! mfliam‘ or gzfiwt offzgit/afrom fdfitk, or the cmdirioxz of our cdticm, [mt d!2falm*el} require: them, (five. But S.Pml aflirms» fllamlmm to ée jitflififld 5] t/ydtwfaitla, 229/oi:/9 /crcmvfloerver ’tmu tried, déd dnfiver God in _fm'r/afztll déhionx, tar 462% affzzit/9,. Therefore S .Pm:[ doth not emlzwde erfipdrdtafditlofnvll az&ia22;r,&: c. The firfi ptopofition I ctmcttive wants little proving, after that whichthath been already ptexnifed in this matter. And for the fecondltfhall dcfite that Aém/mmxfdit/9, as it hath j-ufiificationatttibuted to it by S. Pam! , may be viewed both in the 4}“ to the Ram. and the 1 N‘ to the Hair. In the former hisfditlo was tried by the promifc ofa. numerous” feed, 8641:. and he anfwered that with one 4&1‘ qf ‘faith, orfdithfwlldffion, lvelaizred in hope, écyond laape, V. 18'. was A flrong in fair}: anti ghwe glory z‘~'oGod,_, v.20. wasfu/1} perfrmdcd, that what God had prormfid,lae was £1515’ to p:rform,v.2’:t.a1I which what are they but aft: affair/0, or faithful! mffionx; alhwhich‘ ( when the objcfis ofthe faith is Gods abfolute ptonxife) the matter‘ ismpablc of, and for this it wad counted to laimfar righteoufnqflétdt or he ‘was tiufiificd, mm. and thence fure I may conclude, that rhcfe were: fo xcquired, as the condition by which he was,mnd wichhut which he fl1ou1dtnot.bcjt1{7tified. : :Inthc.t»1‘*»'iothe Hal». many othct tdfiif. hf his _fdit/9‘0Iffl5t’/0_fflfl aéfionk are tmentioned, v,8. fly faith be obeyed roger.’ out 0 lat}: at-am caum;-;:y,. not Qtawinft Wlgighgr I75 mvm-5 :andtv.9. 5] fair fbjoum’d in 4 ffhzngézldn 1,: v;I:0.~6_y fairly L be dexpeficd 4 05951 that lmtbtfo.nnddtiont, 17?. fm’t}1~/aé ofi'eredhz?tSan,. tandv..t19.~ tcoxmthedtt/o. :zt God'ivd&_j'_4H£*"tI#4 mfe may from tlae dmd.,f tv. :2. 9;.éjgflitk/96”.5/£_flft't1.Ifa43Qa‘€b74£‘e? ?~+i wing _ -———Q. A view offlmze Exceptions _ ning thing: to come. V7Vl—1at are all thefe but aéts offaith, or faith-4:‘ full aétions in all kinds of tryals? And therefore I fuppofe allthis being outof S; Paul, as the former out of S. fizmes, A ’twill be not Edit. II”. but p.136. Edit. I/3‘. A7a.1649. . 4 But then iecondly, etrour or pernicious from their very words to have affitnfd this doétrine, and affixt it on them. I fuppofe all?) this may fer ve for the fecond propofition. V A e l A A A t The third is let down p. 18. from Pmfl: Catecb: p. 120.’ and ’tis this, That [T/you f/Bait not take time name of the Lord #9] God in tmiaflis undoubtedly no more than [tlmt fbalt not forfwmr t/9} f:=1f.] To this Charge I anfwet firlh that it is a little flrange, that abate explication of a phrale of Scripture, a part of the third Comw mandement in Exod. though it were acknowledged falfca or»fot<:’d, fhould yet be 170, farm imprtwable by any, as to come undetthe title ofan iwfizmom perniciam erroxr, a fimwn the old acmrfiwl laerefies, five. and be capable of all thofe other aggtavations at firfi mentiqned, which being aflixt to all the ertoutsini the Cafta-~ logue, imufil all-o be affix: tothis which is let down for one of them; “ ‘A i ' ‘J it ifot the truth, mofi undoubted certain truth) lot’ this iexplication, .01.’ interpretation, thus cenfured, I have for» merit of Ggdfigni he to fwmir, and no lmo*.te.,i1andt eheHél6rew‘which Vite tender in ivain,l figaifies fmlflj] and is fotcndted in the ninth Ciommandment, and agreeable to that, ”Pfig1. 15. to lift‘ up the fimlto wznitj, is to fizvear bythe lbulot life fzl/Z)’, as it there folIowcs, atozrg/iavorn to deceive /mix xzeigkéour, and ‘belide myiown judg--» ment in this »matter, back’d4 with the confent of as 1e~amed as this agelhath,AvorAtthetAritientfChurch iliatd any, I.conceivedl thattill had a molt autlieutick ‘Warrant from Clmfz‘ himlblfi Wh0'ren¥d1€f5fi.i£7§it.7 3/7i‘J':lt1.‘S}tt.HJlit:I'!l!$~l;':\tbIl!£1I'_flflll“J1l'. ?1') fiovjfwrar rig filf: Fm‘ lb we tead—»lMnt;;. CK: haver¥aearidtt12atllil‘it*wiaxi_fl;;id tout/agzm qldgt/30;: flgitllmvt and again~it1"'th*ee fame mannet,1ttlJn#fialt‘m_al£ gamma: ‘m’z'ulm7,l' th3t. :iS,;;:"th3t e-of the ten Ctiiiiffn andtriehts delivered -inV'.S:irm£,“ ‘and’ hm%wghtt}dtoxarne lfictiptures "to iithlermhis ~p>1'€{entl;at1(ll 1 r =^ >, 1 ^ -^ 7 " ^ 1 3 GERMAN ''TRUTH ff and European Facts about the War* BY THE RIGHT HON. SIR FREDERICK POLLOCK, Bart., LL.D., D.C.L., F.B.A., Correspondant de 1' Institut dc France, Membre associe de TAcademie Royale de Belgique. PRICE TWO PENCE. THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE, 62, Charing Cross, London, W.C. THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE For National Patriotic Organizations. Hon. President: THE PRIME MINISTER. Vice-Presidents ' '""''* '^'^''* "*"'* "^^^ EARL OF ROSEBERY, K.O. ^ The Rlglit Hon. ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR, M.P. Chairman: Mr. H. C. CUST. Vice-chairman: Mr. O. W. PROTHERO. The Right Hon. VISCOUNT RIDLEY. Mr, WALDORF ASTOR, M.P. Secretary: Sir WILLIAM QREY-WILAON, K.C.M.Q. Hon. Treasurers : | Telegrams: Cencomtee, London. TeJephone : Regent 5103Canadian Pacific Building, 62, Charinq Cross, London, WC Communieatioas should be addressed to the Secretary. ^GERMAN ''TRUTH*' and European Facts about the War* BY THE RIGHT HON. SIR FREDERICK POLLOCK, Bart., LL.D., D.C.L., F.B.A., Correspondant de 1' Institut de France, Membre associc de I'Academie Royale de Belgique. PRICE TWO PENCE. THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE, 62, Charing Cross, London, W.C. GERMAN " TRUTH " AND EUEOPEAN FACTS ABOUT THE WAR Let me have war, say I ; ifc exceeds peace as far as day does night. Corioiamis, Act iv., sc. 5. Measureless liar . . . Pardon, my lords, 'tis the first time that ever I w&s forc'd to scold. Coriolamcs, Act v., bc. 5. Well held out, i' faith . . . Nothing that is so is so. Twelfth Night, Act iv., sc. 1. INTRODUCTORY. A pamphlet entitled " Truth about Germany : Facts about the War" has been largely circulated in the United States in the interest of the German Government. It purports to be vouched for by a committee of persons holding high or very respectable positions in Germany. For some reason it loas kept out of these islands as long as possible (one would have thought tJie " Tnith " luhich was good in America should be good in Britain) and a few copies have only quite lately become accessible. The present ansioer is English and does not pretend to be impartial, but the writer has endeavoured to rely on well-kfioivn facts and verifiable documents. We have thoiight it beneath us to notice mere idle vituperatio7i of England unconnected with any question now at isstce ; but we cannot help xoondering whether the German author is aioare that there are still Southerners as well as Northerners in the United States, and that Virginia, nmo thoroughly loyal to the Union, claims as good a right to her traditions as Massachusetts. His discreet silence about the ivar of 1898 and the European coalition that failed to come off does not shoiv, of course, that he never heard of these fairly recent happenings. If we were at peace with him, we loould try and persuade him gently that offering a gratuitous shoe-stand to American citizens is not the readiest tuay to 7oin their affections, and certainly not if you tell them, with an ominously bulging hip pocket, that no other brand of polish will do at all. The British Blue Book, issued at a nominal price in the autumn of 1914, embodying former White Papers, and entitled " Great Britain and the European Crisis. Correspondence and statements in Parliament, together with an introductory narrative of events," is cited as "European Crisis." THE PEACEFUL PEOPLE. The German spokesmen say, " Not one human being among us dreamed of war." W What, then, was General von Bernhardi dreaming about when he wrote and pubHshed a book on " Germany and the Next War"? Did he regard that war as indefinitely distant ? And why did not the peaceful Germany protest with authority against the common belief of the world that Bernhardi represented the mind, if not of Germany itself, at any rate of a powerful and unscrupulous party within the German ruling classes? Bernhardi is taken only as a recent example of a type which has of late years been more and more conspicuous in German political writing. In Britain we do not pretend that nobody dreamed of war. The fear of European war, as a consequence of the forceable annexation of Alsace and Lorraine by Germany, was before our eyes ever since 1871. Few men, if any, were so sanguine as to think it an idle fear. It could not be disregarded while the war of 1870 was in living memory, unless France and Germany could come to a new agreement. Some of us thought war was certain or highly probable; others thought the tremendous risks involved in modern warfare were so strong a check on aggressive warlike enterprise (besides the really peaceable disposition believed to be increasing among most civilized nations) as to make it improbable though possible. (2) Some isroclaimed danger on the housetops ; others thought it wiser to prepare for it with as Httle talk as possible, insisting meanwhile that peace was the normal and reasonable state of things, and endeavouring, as far as might be, to promote good will all round. But as for not dreaming of war, ignorance of notorious facts has been carried to that pitch of innocence only in Germany — and then only in German fiction since the war has broken out. Then Germany is said to "have given an example of tranquillity and peace." Why an example? The other Great Powers too have been at peace in Europe for many years. It seems to be implied that for Germans, and Germans alone, it is a specially meritorious act of self-denial to abstain from attacking one's neighbours. But how is it, then, that for at least twenty years Germany and not any other Power has set the pace in naval and military expenditure? How is it that all proposals and suggestions for limiting armaments (1) Truth about Germany, p. 1. (2) It was hoped by many, not only in England, that the general sense of fivilized people would revolt against the burden of competing armaments. " Es wird durch Ubertreibung zu Grunde gehen," said a South-German colleague to the writer several years ago. That hope has been baffled. by common understanding have been persistently rejected by the German Government and laughed to scorn by German publicists ? One obvious answer is that people who have worked themselves into a state of hatred and suspicion of all their neighbours are incapable of believing their neighbours' motives to be any better than their own, and see deep-laid plots in every peaceful offer of business — except from those who are willing to subordinate their own interest to Germany's and make themselves mere tools of German ambition. In any case it is known to every one except this super-innocent committee of generals, professors, politicians and men of letters that in 1911 Europe was brought to the verge of war by the wholly unexpected interference of Germany in Morocco. Whatever excuses might be made for this action, it was not an example of tranquilhty. Or did no German gunboat ever go to Agadir, and were all the nations dreaming ? The only mention of this incident in the " Truth " is made in order to drag in the impudent calumny that " England and France were resolved not to respect the neutrality of Belgium." Those of us who are old enough to remember the Second Empire in Prance remember very well how Louis Napoleon insisted on having a finger in every pie and trying to pick something out of it for the glory of his dynasty and the Napoleonic legend. After eighteen years of this policy the world, rather notably including the United States, got tired of it, and when the war of 1870 came the Second Empire had no friend who thought it good enough to fight for. The recent policy of the victors in that war has been conducted on similar lines for about the same time (the date of the famous Kruger telegram was 1895) and apparently with similar results. Germany and Austria have at this day no friend in Western Europe, not even Italy, their nominal ally. Most grotesque of all is a complaint of other nations employing spies. The efficacy of this art in time of peace is probably exaggerated in popular belief ; but the Prussian tradition of it goes back to Frederick the Great. In the earliest pages of this book, and in many others, as well as in letters which have been officiously circulated by private hands, there is talk about the " serious and conscientious " character of the German nation, and the things no serious and conscientious nation could possibly do. All such talk is irrelevant, for the question is not what Germany, or any nation, might be expected to do, but what has in fact been done in the sight of the world. It is no less irrevelant to protest that " Germany cannot be wiped from the face of the earth.'' If this means that the German people, speech and customs cannot be extinguished, it is true but superfluous. Belgium is much smaller than Germany, but the Belgians also cannot be wiped from the face of the earth — and will not. If it means that the German Empire as constituted in 1871 is eternal, and the supremacy of the Hohenzollern dynasty in Central Europe a necessity of European civilization, it is at least a rash assertion. It is just because " America fully appreciates Goethe and Kant " that America will not lightly accept the claim of Prussian militarism to dominate the body and soul of Germany. HOW THE WAR CAME ABOUT. The section of " Truth " thus headed brings out one important fact which perhaps was not well understood before the war. German rulers had been unpleasantly surprised by the quick revival of French prosperity after the war of 1870, and had directed their diplomacy to stir up mistrust between France and her possible allies ; for a certain time they obtained a good deal of the desired effect. Somewhat later, they formed the design of creating a naval power which should rival or excel that of France and be a matter for serious consideration, perhaps even a menace, to England : a plan which was executed with great zeal and pertinacity, and with the result of increasing naval expenditure all round and not producing any corresponding improvement in the relative strength of Germany. But it was another disturbing element that upset the balance. In the last year or two the prevailing motive of German military policy has been an almost panic dread of Eussian expansion, taking form in a determination to uphold Austrian influence against Russian among the Slavonic nations of the Balkans, even at the cost of a general war. No reason is given for the necessity of such extreme measures to protect Germany from "the attacks of Muscovite barbarism." Barbarous or not, it was a vital part of Bismarck's policy to keep on good terms witli the Russian Government ; and Bismarck, of course, knew that Russian population and resources were increasing, and their growth could not be permanently checked. One can well understand, however, that the Prussian military clique is jealous of the young and vigorous Russian spirit which, in spite of long continued governmental repression, has never been silenced, and which has now come to the front with a bound. The German ultimatum united all parties in Russia. We hope that a free Russia will emerge from this war : not all at once, for German formalism and pedantry have bitten deep into Russian administration ; but with such speed that oldish men may live to see it. The German invasion of Belgium, in like manner, united all parties in Great Britain and even in Ireland. Thus wc may give credit to the German War Lord for having already achieved great and beneficent results, but not those which he intended or expected. As for the immediate causes of the war, the Austrian Archduke Francis Ferdinand was murdered in Bosnian territory which Austria had annexed, and by Bosnians. The Austrian Government professed to have proofs (which have never been made public) <^' that the murder was planned in Serbia with the connivance of the Serbian authorities. Many persons in Russia and elsewhere believe that as much was known about it in Vienna as at Belgrade : but let that pass. A month after the event Austria quite suddenly made a series of requisitions to Serbia the like of which have seldom, if ever, been addressed to an independent Power, whether great or small. They amounted to demanding that, for the purpose of tracing out the (1) The so-called doKeier stated to have been published in Vienna (German White Book, not in the English version) is a statement, not of evidence, but of conclusions from evidence of whifh the sonrces and value remain undisclosed. Americans, like Knglishmen, expect to have the means of verifying testimony for themselves, or at least of estimating its weight. alleged Serbian plot, Serbian jurisdiction and police should be put under Austrian control, 'i' Eivalry between Austria and Russia in the Balkan peninsula was of long standing, and Serbia had formerly been under Austrian influence but now looked to Russia as the natural protector of the lesser Slavonic States. If the directors of Austrian foreign affairs did not know that such a demand, being in substance an ultimatum, addressed to Serbia in such fashion, was an almost intolerable provocation to Russia as well as Serbia, their stupidity must have been astounding. The provocation was aggravated by the requirement of an answer within forty-eight hours. Contrary to expectation, the Serbian Government yielded on all material points, with only such reserves as were necessary to prevent Serbia from being treated as an Austrian protectorate. Even this did not suffice. Austria was bent on war, by preference a merely local war to humiliate Serbia ; but if Russia did interfere, there was the fear of Germany to restrain her (in which case Austria would score a diplomatic triumph at Russia's expense, for the second time in a few years) ; and if that failed, there was the assurance of German support in war, and the hope that the Triple Alliance was strong enough to deal not only with Russia but with France. And what did the German Government do? It simply backed up the Austrian attack on Serbia and refused or evaded every proposal for avoiding the horrors of a European war by mediation or conference. ^^^ Let any impartial person consider what would be the probable conduct of two allied Powers intent on using the Serajevo murder as a pretext for humbling Serbia, discrediting Russia, and establishing Austrian and incidentally German predominance in the Balkans, by war with Russia and Russia's allies if necessary ; and then let him look through the published and authentic documents and ask himself in what material respect the conduct of the Austrian and German Governments differed from that which he would expect from deliberate peace-breakers. It is true that they waited for a pretext and did not begin warlike operations on the bare allegation of military necessity. Perhaps Austro-Hungarian diplomacy was not educated quite up to the level of the newest Prussian public morality. Let the impartial reader ask himself, moreover, why, if Russia had wanted war, she could not bring it about by the simple and quite plausible method of advising Serbia to reject the Austrian demands altogether. Events ran their fatal course. There was a rouud of preparation, mobilizing, hurried attempts by the Western Powers to suggest some acceptable formula which might at least gain time. Serbia was already in the background, Russia was arming against Austria, German armies mustering against Russia. There was a moment of relaxation when the Austrian Government was willing to re-open discussion, not with Serbia indeed but with Russia, and Russia to hold her hand if only Austria would admit the existence of a European question. (8) But at that very moment came a German (1) In the German view these demands were " equitable and moderate. "— European Crisis" No. 9. (2) " European Crisis," Nos. 2, 9, 11, 13, 25, 34, 43, 54, 60, 71, 76, 85, 108, 112, 117. Compare the Russian Orange Book, Nos. 34, 53, 55. (3) ''European Crisis," No. 132. 8 ultimatum demanding that Eussia should stop mobiUzing. <^) The time given for a reply was twelve hours. And this is what the German apologists call the attacks of Muscovite barbarism. Germany having thus assumed the offensive, it was not possible for France, as Russia's ally, to stand aloof. The Power that did stand aloof was Italy, whose Government, though bound by a defensive alliance to Germany and Austria, refused to join in such a war. The rulers of Italy were prepared to stand by their allies against aggression ; but now Germany and Austria were, in their clear judgment, the aggressors, and not entitled to call for aid. '2) Of Italy's judgment there is not one word in the German "Truth." The real truth is that it is a crushing refutation of the German pretences. France, we have said, could not be expected to be neutral ; but so anxious was the German General Staff to be foremost, for military reasons, that the German Government, without waiting for any French action, addressed a simultaneous ultimatum to France together with the demand that Russian mobilization should cease. It is best to state this action in the words of unimpeachable German authority : "At the same time the Imperial Ambassador in Paris was instructed to demand from the French Government a declaration within 18 hours, whether it would remain neutral in a RussoGerman war." <3) Since the beginning of the war German stories of French and Russian aggressions on the Frontier have been circulated. In "Truth about Germany" itself there is vague talk of French aeroplanes crossing Belgium into German territory (no date is given). Not a scrap of evidence for any of these stories has ever been produced, and we believe them to be wilful fabrications. It is a curious little fact that Austria did not declare war against Russia until five days after Germany had done so. We do not think it profitable to enter on disputes about the exact dates of moblization or earlier stages of military preparation. Such questions may be proper for minute students of war and diplomacy, but can hardly affect conclusions reached on larger gi'ounds. No two States have exactly similar arrangements for putting their armies in final readiness for war. Preliminary measures may be carried further, before actual mobilization, in one system than in another. The operation of mobilizing may be quicker in one country than in others, and the Power which mobilizes faster can easily claim credit for superior patience, and lose no military advantage, by issuing the final order to mobilize a little later than the adversary. However, much evidence has gradually come to light, since the war began, of oliicial and semi-official hints to look out for trouble being circulated many weeks earlier among German business establishments all over the world. (1) I' European Crisis," Nos. 110, 120, 121, 135. It is extremely difficult to reconcile the promotion of direct discussion between the Austrian and Russian Governments by the German Government, in the last days of July, with the German ultimatum to Russia of July SI. But this is not the only indication of conflicting influences at work, down to the last moment, in the highest places in Berlin. The British Ambassador at Vienna thought the tension was much greater between Russia and Germany than between Russia and Austria (2) " European Crisis, No. 152. (8) Qerman White Book, authorised translation, p. 11. Neutral readers will observe that all this breathless flinging of ultimatums took place just as if neither Germany nor Austria had ever heard of a Peace Conference, or Subscribed any of the Conventions made at The Hague with a view to substitute arbitration for war, or been party to an arbitration treaty. In the professed and undisguised views of the Prussian military school, arbitration treaties, Hague tribunals, and such like toys are amusing diversions, and may sometimes be useful diplomatic instruments, for people who do not want to fight, or who want to gain time before they are ready to fight. But as soon as there appears a good chance of getting anything one wants by fighting, arbitration treaties and conventions are to be wholly disregarded, and indeed other kinds of treaties too, more especially those which purport to guarantee the neutrality of small States lying on the most convenient path for German invasion. The most favourable line for attacking Prance was through Belgium ; Belgium, whose neutrality Prussia herself had guaranteed, as one of the Great Powers, when Belgian independence was established, and had honourably respected in the War of 1870. Since that time the ethics of Prussian militarism had developed. According to the art of war, the German armies oughc to march through Belgium, and if that was contrary to the obligation of treaties, so much the worse for the treaties. The Belgian Government had to be cajoled or intimidated into quiescience ; if not, then at worst Belgian resistance would not be very serious. And the outstanding guarantor of neutrality. Great Britain ? Well, Englishmen, being only shopkeepers, would never plunge into a European war for Belgium ; they could be put oS with some excuse. And had they not a civil war imminent in Ireland? But the fate of Belgium, and consequent conversion of the Triple Entente between Britain, France and Russia into an Alhance, are matter for a separate section. BELGIUM. We must now depart from the order of topics in " Truth about Germany." What is said in the publication about the violation of Belgian neutrality and the German treatment of Belgium is scattered in different places, and the fragments are separated by a thick layer of pompous panegyric on the unanimity of the German public and the excellence of German mobilization. Of these collateral topics we can only say, as we have already said of others, that they are irrelevant. It is very true that the German military machine is a skilfully planned, elaborate, huge and formidable machine. It is also true that the German field artillery is inferior to the French, and the shooting and fire-discipline of the German infantry nowhere in comparison with the British. None of these truths has anything to do with the justice of the war or with the political issues involved. But the German apologists were wise enough, after their kind, when they mixed up the 10 question of Belgian neutrality with idle miscellaneous declamation rather than face it squarely. We turn to the facts. In one sense there was very little ground for surprise. The scene had been, as it were, set long in advance. On the one hand all the Great Powers had pledged themselves to guarantee the neutrality of Belgium, and their pledge was reinforced by the Hague Conference of 1907 (Convention v., ch. i. arts. 1, 2), declaring neutral territory inviolable and forbidding the passage of belligerent troops, etc., across it. On the other hand invasion of Belgium had been quite freely discussed as a military problem by German and other writers, and every one who considered the subject was aware that from the military point of view the temptation was great. (Thus, about ten yeai's ago, an engineer officer worked out the lessons of the South African War, and explained " How armies fight," W for the benefit of civilians, in the imaginary campaign of a British expeditionary force in Belgium. The German commanders were supposed to have yielded to the temptation of invading Belgium after prolonged and indecisive attempts on the French frontier elsewhere.) Charitable publicists might assume that the soldiers of various nations were only constructing technical exercises, as one may hold manoeuvres in one's own country, or that at any rate the plans of campaign in question assumed, as a preliminary condition, some violation of neutrality by the enemy or by the Belgians themselves. For such events, if they should occur, the German General Staff had every right, and were indeed bound to be prepared. Further, it was perfectly well understood that Great Britain had a special interest in not allowing Belgium to be dominated by any Continental military Power, and it was notorious that she had assumed a special duty of guarding Belgian neutrality in 1870, when the Minister in office was, perhaps more averse to war than any British Ministry before or since. In the face of these matters of common knowledge, the professed astonishment of educated Germans, from the Imperial Chancellor downwards, that England should now go to war with Germany for a " scrap of paper " is very hard to explain. Indeed it had been quite a common supposition that, if and whenever the German war party's counsels prevailed, war with England might be not the last but the first step in their execution. Among the reasons or conjectures on which that supposition was grounded there were, certainly, some pretty bad military and some worse naval ones ; nevertheless it was entertained by many publicists and some German military authorities. Then, apart from tlie point of the specific manner in which the coming general war would begin, the hypothesis of British neutrality did not seem to General von Bernhardi, for instance, probable enough to be so much as discussed. When war between France and Germany was seen to be imminent, there were two pressing questions for Great Britain. What should bo our attitude if Belgium were not touched ? We were prepared, in one word, to oppose our fleet to a German attack on the French coast, and at that stage, not to do more ; but it is needless to consider how long that kind of limited neutrality could (1) Re-issued with this title, 1914. 11 have served, or would have been respected. For the second and greater question, whether we could tolerate the march of hostile armies through Belgium, promptly swallowed up the lesser, and as to this only an insignificant minority of Englishmen had any substantial doubt. German historians are very learned persons ; yet they have forgotton that King Edward I. 's motto was " Pactum serva." That may be medieval culture, but it is still ours. As in 1870, Great Britain addressed identical inquiries to France and Germany whether each was prepared to respect the neutrality of Belgium provided it was violated by no other Power. >^ ^^^ !I.O ILL 11.25 S? L£ 12.0 6" Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WEBSTH,N.Y. 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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 22t 1 2 3 4 5 6 ' ■ ' V, . ^ « T tP» 6, ,, THE MYSTERY OF GODLINESS, THE PILLAR AND THE GROUND OP THE TRUTH t A SERMON, PREACHED ON THE CREDIT MISSION, AND AT TWO OR THREE OTHER PLACES, ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS, BY BENJAMIN SLIGHT, WKSLBTAN maaiONART. I. .,,-] l^tiMfstely t9 3^ei|it»0t. "Ceruinly it ii heaven upon earth to have t rnan't -lind more in charity, r«at in Providenit«, and turn upon the polea of uuth. "— Lord Bacom. TORONTO: Gaardian Offiea, No. 9, Wellington Buildings. King Street. JOB. B. LAWRIMCE, PRIMTRR. ttDCCCJL. ; V ^» .< i t ADVERTISEMENT. 4 V ^» The profits of this publication will be appropriated towards the erection of a Chapel at Port Credit. The author can assure the reader that it is with unfeigned diffidence that he has complied with the request of some whom he esteems in sending it to the press. When so many able preachers refrain from this medium of imparting instruction, he felt this attempt might be imputed to arrogance. This caused a serioub scruple in his mind ; and were it not for the object intended to be served by it, he would most probably shrink from the task. He acknowledges himself the servant of the Church, and bound to promote her best interests by every means in his power. If the purchaser, on its perusal, should judge the production not worth the cost, he will still have the consolation to reflect he is serving an important object. The Sermon itself may thus contribute to secure the means for many others being delivered, and the best interests of men be thereby promoted. t WxstETAN Mission Houii, Credit, 1840. « THE MYSTERY OF GODLINESS, THE PILLAR AND THE GROUND OF THE TRUTH. 1 Timothy, iii. 15, 10. "The pillar and iho ground of the truth. And without controvomy great in the mystery of godliness. God was manifest in the flush, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory." "What is Truth ? "» This important question was put to Him who himself was « the truth," and who came into the world for the purpose of bearing witness to the truth. But the proposer of the question showed himself so little interested in the subject, that he went away without waiting for an answer; anl«l on »hi« subject. Dr. Hill and Binhop WaHwrtw* contended for the usefulness of these practices, and Dr. Leiand has «ho»a itaTtlbeJ " THC MTSTeHT OP OODMNBHS. ami deaign of those myslcrics. On tlic one hand, it hm been argued, thai the romainH of tho ancient and pure theology was thereby developed, that error was exposed, the true nature of God and his worship was taught, and morality pronioted. On ;ho other liand, this has been strenuously denied. It is pofsihlc this niigtit be tho foundation of iheir celebration, and tho original design of their cstabliBhmont. But if so, these vestiges of truth were mixed with fables, and disguised by the oncient Egyptian hieroglyphicol mode of representation. It has been asserted that those processes were frequently conducted under the patronage of tho most licentious and sensual deities, and that tho most indecent objects were exhibited and carried in procession. Probably the Apostle refers to this when he says,—" It is a shame even to speak of those things which are done of them in secret." And it is a well known fact that some of tho best and vviHcst philosophers disapproved of the mysteries ; and, at last, they became so infamous in respect both of morality and aood order, that it was found npceepary to suppress them. But, in the Christian religion, the term mystery is not merely an arbitrary designation. It has in reality its mysteries. It has been introduced by the symbolic and allegorical representations of the former institutions, the whole of which were typical of Christianity ; and it has symbolical acts and figurative institutions belonging to itself. Its sacraments are mysterious ; for the term sucrament signifies the hidden meaning of an external symbol j and perhaps they were so termed in allusion to those very mysteries. Although Christianity has its mysteries, they difler essentially from those of the pagan. The reason why they at all retain the character is of quite a different kind. Ist. Mystery sometimes signifies o matter hard or difficult to be understood. Jn the Gospel there are *• pome things hard to be understood 5" yea, pome things which the human faculties will never be able to apprehend* We shall never, even when we see face to face, and « see him as he is," understand the mystery of the Trinity, and the union of the divine and human natures in one person. At these awful subjects were not designed to answer those pure and elevated purposes ; and that if such a design had been entertained, they were not calculated to answer il. See Home's Introo., vol. i. c. 1, 4 k THE MYSTERY OF OOnUNESg. J\l * ' we fihall ever woruler aiul adore, but we »liall never iiiulerntanil U»ein : they will ever reniaiti secret lliing«. But, an to the principal port, and main (lewign of it, the Uosjwl iH not in thin Hense a myntery. It is suited to the plaincHt capacities ; it in milk fur bal)C8 ; ho that runneth may read; a wayfaring man though a fool need not err in tracing the divine paths. 2nd. The term Bometimes hears the signification of « mailer dijficult to be believed l/irough the prejudices of men. Much experience and observation painfully convince us that prejudice blinds the mind.'' From a variety of causes it is prcpo«iie8scd and biassed ; and then no matter howsoever clearly a thing is stated, or by whatsoever arguments it may be supported, it is rejected, and cast aside as worthless, and as utterly false. The Gospel was " to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolishness ;" although containing in itself the highest wisdom, and possessed of the greatest power. " The natural mar« discerneth not the things of the Spirit of God ;" yet they are " spiritually discerned" by the simplest believer. They are " hidden from the wise and prudent," but " revealed unto babe3." 3rd. It sometimes designates a thing long concealed, or kepi secret ; not developed, or manifested to the world. From this consideration it is tli§t the Gospel is called " the mystery which hath been hid from ages." (Col. i. 26.) "The mystery which from the beginning of the world hath been hid in God." {Eph. iii. 9.) The Gospel had been so comparatively kept secret from the Gentiles. We are not to undei'stand that God wished, from want of love to mankind, to keep him so long in ignorance. " In the fulness of time, God sent forth his Son." Mankind needed to be gradually enlightened by the progressive developement of the truth, to prepare them for the reception of it in all its fulness and splendour. It would not have been judicious to have let it burst upon them in the full blaze of Gospel day. This would have been similar to bringing a man, who had long been shut up in a dark cell, suddenly to behold the "Utterios ravR of the sun at noon davs i For the nature and causes of prejudices, and for the preventing or curing them in ourselves, see Watts' Logic, part 2, c. 3. His Improvement of the Mind, part 2, c. 5: also iKKrke's conduct of the Understanding, sect. JO, 14, and 33. 10 THE MYSTERY OF GODLINESS. But now GoJ has revealed, manifested, and gloriously displayed his Gospel. He hag raaile provision, "to give all nien to see what is the fellowship of thu mystery." But (now) we all, (both Jew and Gentile,) behold, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord. Jesus Christ haa commissioned his servants to go into all the world and preach it to every creature. They are directed to seize all occasions and opportunities of making it known ; to sow beside all waters ; to preach it privately and publicly — from house to house, and in the highways and hedges, in the temple, synagogue, and places of public resort. The instruments employed in making it known, in conformity with the spirit of the subject, cry, " O for a trumpet voice, On all the world to call, To hid their hearts rejoice In Him who died for all !" 4.th. The term mystery signi^es what is naturally hidden br secret in itself, which the human faculties could never have found out, but which to be known at all must be revealed. This is the character of a great part of revelation. Divine discovery comes in to the aid of human infirmity, and makes known unto tis those things utterly beyond the faculties of man to discover. " Mysterious these— because too large for eye Of man, too long for human arm to mete." This is the meaning of the term in the text. The particulars in which it consists, could never have entered into the heart of man to conceive ; but are now by being revealed quite intelligible. In like manner, elsewhere, the Apostle uses the term mystery, « For I would iic;t, brethren, that ye should be ignorant of this mystery ; that blindness in part is happened to Israel, until the fulness of the Gentiles be coaie in." « Behold, I show you a mystery ; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump : for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed." These passages answer the character given above. They evidently declare what \v% hidden or unknown, till revealed, but afterwards easily known : and thus the Apostle speaks of a man's understanding all mysteries, i. e., all revealed truths of the Christian Religion. t% / *\ THE MYSTERY OF GODLINESS. 11 ^'K God has revealed to us and made arrangemenls for the universal spread of those glorious truths, formerly unknown to the bulk of mankind: truths which are the wonder of angels, but overlooked by multitudes of men, for whose benefit they are revealed. Such is the nature of the mysteries connected with Christianity; but the text calls us to notice : II. The particulars in which this mystery consists. It is the wonderful and sublime doctrine which is revealed in the Gospel, and specified in the text, in six particulars, which we will now proceed to notice in order. 1st. God manifested in the flesh. A real incarnation of Divinity : a clothing of the Divine nature with human flesh. The Word which was in the jginning with God, and was God, was incarnated.^ Divine names, titles, attributes, works, and wor hip are ascribed and paid to him ; truly a wonderful coincidence of circumstances, which places the truth beyond ambiguity. True, he was in the form of a servant, yet frequently the Godhead was manifested, — the Divinity buret forth through the humanity. This was eminently the case on the Mount of Transfiguration, in the wisdom of his discourses, the power of his miracles, and in the holiness of his spotless life. " Show us the Father," said Philip to the Saviour, " and it sufficeth us." The disciple wanted some visible representation of God, such as was sometimes granted to the prophets. Jesus replied, <* Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip ?" and then added these remarkable words, fully proving that God was manifested in the flesh : " He that hath seen me hath seen the Father ; believest thou that I am in the Father, and the Father in mel" We have a sufficient manifestation of God in the fleshf to claim our assent, and to excite within us wonder, adoration, and love : " Fall prostrate, lost in wonder, fall, Ye sons of men, for God is man !" These sentences at once contradict the hold and awful assertions of those who deny the Godhead of our Lord Jesus Christ, of every shade of distinction — errors which are awfully prevalent, and preached under specious pretences, in the present day ; and the ancient errors of the Docetse, who taught that the body of Christ was a mere appearance or phantom, There is much usefulness in the ancient creeds, and great utility in having them constantly repeated bcfu.o the congregation, as a constant caveat against error, and as a means of perpetuatitig truth. 12 THE MYSTERY OF GODLINESS. But as to any more,— how shall we describe that which is indiscribable, how shall we speak of that which is « unspeakable," how shall we know that which « passeth knowledge !" It is not only a mystery to man^ with his more shallow intellect, but to angelic minds, for these "things the angels desire to look into," and bending down, they keenly pry into these mysterious facts. "'Tis mysteiy all, let earth adore : Let angel minds enquire no raore." 2nd. Justified in the Spirit. Justified in, or by the Spirit. The Holy Spirit justified his claim to Messiahship. Jesus appeared in a lowly form ; in the infirmity and frailty of mortal flesh ; poor, despised, persecuted, and, at last, crucified. Under these circumstances, then, his claim to the high character should be substantiated. This has been done fully and triumphantly by the Holy Spirit. 1. He was predicted by the spirit of prophecy. « For the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." The Holy Spirit moved holy men to testify of him. All these prophecies have been accurately and minutely fulfilled, and in this manner the divine mission of our Lord Jesus Christ has been confirmed to all diligent and attentive enquirers. 2. The Holy Spirit identified him. The Holy Spirit descended upon him in a visible form at his baptism. At the same moment a voice was heard from heaven declaring, " This is my beloved son, hear ye him." Thus accurately designating and identifying the person of whom he spake. 3. The Holy Spirit filled him. He possessed this Spirit without measure in his gifts and graces. This was fully made to appear in his doctrine, life, and miracles. It was so "'"'""'""ous that even the enemies of his divinity were constrained to confess it. " No man can do these miracles (say they) except God be v^th him." Certain officers having been sent to seize him, and returning without having accomplished their object, they alleged as a reason, « Never man spake like this man." / THE MYSTERY Ol M.INESS. 13 4. By the Spirit he was raised from ike dead, ' " Being put to death in tiie flesh, but quickened by the Spirit." (1 Pet. iii. 18.) He had professed to be the Son of God. This was denied by the generality, and he was charged with foul blasphemy. He put it to this test, I will rise again from the dead. If, therefore, God did raise him from the dead, he justified his claim. No man can admit his resurrection, without admitting his Deity, Hence the Apostle says, he was " declared to be the Son of God with power, (powerfully demonstrated to be the Son of God,) according to the Spirit of holiness, by the resurrection from the dead." (Rom. i. 4.) 5, He baptized his disciples with the Holy Spirit. This was the case particularly on the day of Pentecost. This remarkable event was predicted by the Baptist ; and our Lord himself often promised the Holy Spirit to his disciples. His descent upon them is a wellattested facL It was published among those who had the means of proving its falsity, had it not been true. The effects produced proves it to be by supernatural agency. They spake with tongues — they were filled with Divine power — and three thousand prejudiced Jews were converted in one day. Admitting all this, which no one can successfully contradict, how can it be accounted for otherwise than by admitting our Lord's claim to Deity ? The bare promise to send the Holy Spirit indicated his claim to Divinity, and the event showed it was not unfounded. Thus was our Lord fully and satisfactorily "justified by the Spirit." 3rd. Seen of angels. This circumstance being mentioned with the others which constitute this glorious mystery, intimates that there is some special reason for that intent observation which they apply to the Saviour. They are represented as having an intense curiosity and interest in the subject; andas applying diligent research in ascertaining the matter. St. Peter, when speaking of "the sufferings of Christ, and the glory which should follow," adds, " which things the angels desire to look into. (1 Pet, i. 11, 12.) St. Paul gives iis the same idea* He renre«>nti'. the angels as studying these lessons through the medium of the Church. It is there, as on a great theatre, where these astonishing scenes are displayed; there Jesus Ciirist is ;.l, forth as evidently n H THB MVStERy OF GOUUfiESS, crucified amongst us; and there where angels become our fellmv students when the Gospel is thus displayed. « To the intent (says he) that now, unto the principalities and powers in heavenly places, might be known by the church the manifold wisdom of God." (Eph. iii. 10.) They regarded redemption as an astonishing spectacle, far more sublim© and mysterious than the creation of the world, or the administration of Providence. When the world was created, angels, with joy and admiration of mind, were spectators of the whole process, "The morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy. '» They have also been witnesses of the great acts of providential interference. But, above all, reucmption excites their admiration, and elicits their loudest songs of praise. Why do angels so diligently observe the Saviour, and so studiousry contemplate his redeeming acts ? Is it barely on account of the high interest they take in us? Or are they themselves in some way or other interested in it? Some suppose that through Christ some gift unknown to us was conferred lipon them. They are not fallen creatures, and, of course, need not redemption ; but yet, in some way or other, might be benefited by it. Without going into fancifur conjecture, we may assert through these studies they undoubtedly enjoy more light, have brighter views of God, and more accurate and' enlarged knowledge on various subjects connected with sin and holiness. They know more of God; the attributes of God are more clearly illustrated ; consequently their bliss is heightened, and their glory increased. Or, possibly, as some think, they are confirmed and established in bliss, and rendered secure in their blest estate. An angel foretold his birth ; (Luke i. 26,) angela paid him homage at his entrance into the worid; (Heb. i. 16,) announced the event to the shepherds, and joined in rapturous concert on the joyous occasion ; (Luke ii. 8—14,) watched over his tender infancy ; (Matt, ii. 13, 14,) ministered to him in the desert; (Matt. iv. 11,) supported him in his agonies ; (Luke ii. 43,) and attended him at his resurrection and ascension. (Luke xxiv. 4 ; Acts i. 10.) 4th. Preached unto the Gentiles. This is termed a mystery in other places. (Eph. iii. 4—6 ; Col. i. 25.) This is a mystery inasmuch as it is contrary to the prejudices and preconceived notions of the Jews— a thing they could not have imagined THE MYSTERY OP GODLINESS. 16 /li^. Jll I of themselves. Oiir Lord's ministry was confineJ to Judea. But before his ascension into heaven, he commanded Ins didciples to teach the Gentiles, and qualified them for the work by the gift of the Holy Spirit, in consequence of which they spake with tongues. Without these gifts they would not even have attempted to preach to the Gentiles. This excited admiration in the beholders. Also men influenced by merely worldly motives must have viewed the conduct of the Apostles with surprise. The Gentile world was sunk in idolatry: they must testify against it, and for this must expect nothing but vile treatment. All this considered properly, renders it a mystery that he should be ** preached unto the Gentiles," 5th. Believed on the world. This is a mystery. All circumstances considered, it is what never could have been anticipated. There were, no doubt, men enough who would designate the attempt to promulgate the truth as the very height of folly, and the essence of madness, in the same manner as they have the efforts to propagate Christianity among the heathen in pur day.' Consider, — 1 . The lowly State of the Saviour. He was poor and mean, despised and rejected, and Anally crucified as the vilest malefactor. Is it not an astonishing mystery that such a person when preached to a speculating and prying age, should be " believed on," and that men should be Induced to place their hope ^nd trust in lum 1 ■2. The Instruments. If they had been acquainted with philosophy, science, and literature ; if they had been splendid orators, and acute logicians, no wonder if in moments of enthusiasm they had carried away the multitude with them. But they were plain men — men who did not affect these arts. God, indeed, had given them « a mouth and wisdom which all their adversaries v/ere not able to gainsay nor resist." (Luke xxi. 15.) He had endowed them with that natural eloquence which is the power of persuasion ; yet, says St. Paul, Christ sent me to preach the Gospel, not with the enticing or persuasive words of man's wisdom— with the 7 The early and extensive propagation of Christianity is a tiiumphant proof of its truth. See Home's Intiodiiction, vol. I. ch. 2, sec. 4. tj' 16 THE MYSTEKY OP GODLINESS. most elegant idiom, with artificial pcrirjs, anda studied elocution— lest the Cross of Christ should be made of no effect,— lest the success realized should be ascribed to human eloquence, which ought to be attributed to the agency of the Holy Spirit. But it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching, in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, in words which the Holy Ghost teachcth, to save them that believe, that your fai' -, should not stand in the wisdom of man, but in the power of God, that the excellency of the power might be of God, and not of man. Thus God chose the foolish things of this world to confound the wise, and the weak things of the world to confound the mighty ; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen ; yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are. For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent. (1 Cor. 1 ch.^ But is it not a mystery ?— does it not confound all human reasoning., that, by such instruments, such great things should be effected ? 3. The obnoxious nature of ike' truths they preached. If, like Mohammed, they had gone forth to preach a religion which gave a licence to the indulgence of every passion and appetite of our nature, and fostered every licentious desire ; we should not have wondered at their success. But on the contrary, they preached a religion which gave no countenance to their indulgences, but prohibited every sinful pleasure. They taught mankind, that if they would enter the regions of the blessed, they must deny themselves,'and take up their cross ; they must crucify the flesh with all its affectiona and lusts. 4. The oppositions they had to contend with. The sources of these oppositionary efforts were alike in Jew and Gentile. The Gospel was equally unpalatable to both of these grand divisions of the human race ; it was a stumbling-block to the Jews and to the Greeks foolishness. All \he political influence in the worid was opposed to them ; kings, princes, and states. All the learned influence possessed by men was directed against them. Philosophers of all sects and denominations, howsoever divided among themselves, were uniicd in opposition to the publishers of the glorious Gospel. AH the talent possessed by literary and philosophical men was employed against the reception of Jesus Christ. All the superstitious influence u i\f ^ > t THE MYSTEUY OP GODLINESS. n i |r i \ in tlie world was against them. Tlicy were opposed by sysfema of false religion, backed by the learning of age?, and venerable for their antiquity ; systems which had every attractive, grand, and imposing accompaniment ; supported by ihe craft of the priesthood, the prejudice of the people, and the powerful arm of the Roman Empire. If Christianity prevailed, it nuust not barely get established along with other sects, but it must overturn the formidable opponent, crumble into dust or evaporate into air that which had been adored for ages. But why did the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing ? — Why did the kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord, and against his anointed? — saying, let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us. Truly he that sitteth in the heavens did laugh : the Lord had them in derision, ^nd maugre all opposition, and all combination, he has set his king upon the holy hill of Zion. The triumphs of the Gospel have greatly surprised men of infidel minds. They have supposed that it arose only from the superstition of that and succeeding ages; and that if they could but banish this superstition from the human mind, they would then be able to destroy the religion of Jesus Christ. An association of men of this character, with hatred to our holy religion in their hearts, and " crush the wretch" for their motto, attempted to effect this object. They possessed learning, energy, zeal, and influence ; they diligently applied themselves ; they had a fair chance for the experiment ; but notwithstanding all their designs and efforts, in these increasingly enlightened days, " More and more it spreads and grows, Ever mighty to prevail; Sin's strongholds it now o'erthrows, Shakes the trembling gates of hell." Christ has been and still is believed on in the world. 5. The dangers to which they were exposed who professed it. The preachers of the Gospel could not hold out hopes to those who should become their followers, of privileges and immunities of a temporal kind. They had to announce, " Silver and Gold have we none" to bestow ; the « kingdom" of our master « is not of this world ;" but on the contrary, if you embrace our doctrine, you shall 18 THE MYSTERY OP GODLINESS. be brought before kings and rulers ; not to be exalted to dignity, or to be raised to posts of honour and emolument ; but to receive the sentence of bonds, imprisonment, and death, in its most horrid and appalling forms. These things they often realized. The sufferings of the Church have been often narrated, and are well understood. But, notwithstanding all this, Jesus was believed on in the world. « So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed," that, we are assured, Ihe number of disciples increased in Jerusalem greatly, and a great company of the priests were obedient to the faith. It was received by the rich, the honourable, and the noble : it spread into Casar's household. « The Lord added to the Church daily" of all sorts and conditions of men ; and in one day was added three thousand souls, and speedily " multitudes both of men and women." So great was the increase, that simple addition cannot notify the amount, but it is said " believers were multiplied;'*^ and, to complete the climax, we are informed, " the numbers of the disciples were multiplied in Jerusalem greatly." 6th. Received up into glory. We have a well authenticated historic relation of this miraculous fact in the 6ist chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. In this transaction there was an exertion of the Divine energy. By it Jesus Christ was acknowledged as a person whom God sanctioned ; and consequently all his doctrines proved to be divine, his atonement of infinite value, and, in short, it is one of the many striking evidences of the truth of our holy religion. There is no mystery in his divine nature being received up into glory. As a Divine Being, that glory was his before all worlds were in existence ; he left it when he humbled himself, and stooped to our nature. But the mystery is in the human nature being received there and seated at the right hand of God. On the Divine Throne now sits our own nature. What a mystery ! God is ever reminded of man. He sits there as a pledge and security that we shall sit with him, if we believe on him and obey him. « To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my Throne, even as I also overcame, and am sat down with my Father in his Throne." What a matter for gratitude and joy ! I 1 TH^ MTSTERr OF GODLINESS. i9 J f On surveying these six particulars in which the mystery of godliness consists, ought we not to be filled with silent awe and adoration ? — ' ought we not to be filled with gratitude, and to burn with love ? •' Yc everlasting hills— ye angels bow ! Dow yc redeemed of men ! God was made flesh, And dwelt with man on earth I O love divine ! Shout, angels ! Shout aloud, yc sons of men ! And burn, my heart, with the eternal flame !" This will furnish a theme for eternity. Eternally will his saints triumph, and shout, " Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father ; to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen." III. The mystery of godliness is the pillar and the GROUND OF THE TRUTH. A pillar is that on which any projecting, or other unsupported part of a building rests : — the ground supports the whole. Hence the expression refers to the foundation of the truth ; that on which it rests, and the stay by which it is in every part held together. The mystery of godliness sustainsi this relation to the truth ; — all saving truth rests upon it. 1st. The incarnation of Jesus is the foundation and support of all the doctrines of the Gospel — of the whole scheme of salvation. All those glorious doctrines are deducible from it, and they cannot possibly be derived from any other source. Repentance and remission of sins can be preached in his name in consideration of his being a Divine Saviour, and as such having made atonement for the sins of men, but not otherwise. What encouragement would men have to repent and to expect pardon, if Jesus Christ were not God manifest in the flesh. Take away the incarnation of Jesus, and what truth of any distinguishing character remains ? All else in Christianity would be but a shadow ; a mere figment of the imagination ; but lay this as the foundation, and then a beautiful and glorious structure — the fair arid magnificent temple of truth rises to the skies. 2nd. The incarnation of Jesus is the support of each individual sinner. 20 THE MVSTERY OP GODLINESS. If there were no atonemcril, if God were not reconciled to guilty men by a vicarious sacrifice ; whero could the Hinner lean and stay his sinking soul ? He must inevitably sink in utter despair were it not for the tliought that his Redeemer is infinite, and by consequence, the provision boundless. But the persuasion of this tmth induces him to fly to this hope set before hiu), and fills him with strong consolation. He sees God can save to the uttermost whosoever comes unto him through this appointed medium. So strongly impressed is he from such a view of his Saviour, that if he had a thousand souls, he dare venture them all on this foundation, believing it will not give way : or if he were a thousand times more polluted by sin than he actually is, he could with confidence come to the fountain opened for sin and uncleanness. Yes, the incarnation of this divine person, is the pillar and the ground of the truth ;— the atonement rests upon it ;— the promises rest upon it ;— and here he finds he has firm footing and strong confidence. While casting his guilty soul upon it, he sings,— " FixM on this ground will 1 remain, Though my heart fail and flesh decay ; This anchor shall my soul sustain, When earth's foundations melt away, Mercy's full power I then shall prove, Loved with an everlasting love." To conclude the subject, observe, — 1. The importance of salvation. It is not a matter of indifference that we remain unsaved. If it had been a merely trivial matter— if we had been merely in some circumstances bettered by being interested in Christ, he would never have emptied himself of his glory, and left the bosom of his Father. It is our all, our life, our more than being. Therefore seek it : rest not without it : seek it now, and with all your hearts. 2. It is our duty to spread the knowledge of this salvation over the world. If it be so deeply important let all the world know of it ; and let nothing oe left undone which you can do, in order to their obtaining that knowledge. " The bliss for Adam's race designed, When will it reach to all mankind ?" 1 INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS BEFORE THE YOUNG MEN'S ASSOCIATION FOR MUTUAL IMPROVEMENT IN THE CITY OF ALBANY, DEI/IVJGJSED NOV. SO, 1541, BY REV. E. D. ALLEN. AN INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS COURSE OF LECTURES, BEFORE THE YOUNG MEN'S ASSOCIATION FOR MUTUAL IMPROVEMENT IN THE CITY OF ALBANY. DELIVERED NOV, 30 1841. 3 m* BY REV. E; D. ALLEN. ALBANY: PRINTED BY J. MUNSELL, 68 STATE STREET. 1841. Albany, December 2, 1841. REV. E. D. ALLEN, Sir, In behalf of the Young Men's Association, the Executive Committee tender yoa their thanks for the Introductory Lecture delivered by you before the Association on the 30lh ultimo, and solicit a copy for publication. Be assured, sir, that this request is not merely made as a formal compliment, and that when we say it springs unanimously from the audience that listened to you on that occasion, wc utter it in no spirit of flattery, but as a prominent reason that impels us to make the application. By giving publicity to the Lecture, we would also gladly extend to others the privilege of sharing in the pleasure and instruction that your kindness imparled to us. Respectfully, Yours. C. T. SMYTH, GEORGE HUMPHREY, A. M'CLURE, J. H. BADGELEY, GEORGE C. TREADWELL, JOHN A. WARD WELL, S. H. H. PARSONS, ADDISON LOW, WILLIAM NESSLE, JOSEPH BURKE, CHAS. H. STANTON, LYMAN G. WILSON, CHAS. VAN ZANDT, WM. B. EMERSON, WM. WENDELL, JOHN TRACY, WILLIAM H. MOORE, THOMAS R. COURTNEY, W. S. GREGORY, RUEUS H. M'kAY. J. C. GRIMWOOD, Albany, December 7, 1841. Gentlemen Your kind note, in relation to my Introductory Lecture before the Association, on the 30th ultimo, has been received. If the publication of the hurried production of a few hours, in the midst ofpressing professional engagements, can be of any service to the cause of troth, or afford any gratification to those for whom it was specially intended, I cheerfully commit it to your disposal. Yours, truly, E. D. ALLEN. MESSRS. C. T. SMYTH, A. M'CLURE, GEORGE C. TREADWELL, AND OTHERS, Executive Committee of Young Men'' t Association. Pea body Institute Baltimore AUG S 1° LECTURE. Gentlemen : Invited by your partiality, to deliver a lecture this evening, introductory to the course which you expect to have during the ensuing season, I complied with your request, not without a deep sense of the responsibility it would impose upon meThough fully aware that the interests of your association might have been more effectually advanced by the efforts of some one having more experience in such matters than myself, yet I found it not in my heart to decline an invitation so kindly proffered : and I can now only say, " such as I have, give I unto you ;" hoping that the same partiality which selected me for this work, will be extended to an honest, though it should prove an humble effort to perform it. I have wholly mistaken the nature and objects of your organization, and the character of those who compose it, if the grand end in view be not intellectual and moral improvement — the cultivation of the mind and heart — that discipline of natural powers which prepares for the greatest usefulness, and consequently the highest enjoyment, in any and every sphere in which Providence may have placed you. The mind, like the body, requires food for its support. Neither, without proper nutriment, can be either healthy or vigorous. The aliment adapted to strengthen mind is Truth — truth, made the subject of careful study, and labored thought. But what is truth? This, young gentlemen, is a question of vast moment! as difficult as it is important to be answered ; for if there be an equivocal word in the English language, as applied either to human sciences or religion, it is this word truth! It is not my object to enter upon a metaphysical discussion of the different ideas attached to this term by philosophers and metaphysicians who have examined it. Were I fully competent to the task, such a discussion, however ably conducted, would be at least of very doubtful utility ; while it would be far, very far, from contributing to satisfy the desire in my own bosom which has prompted this effort. The inquiry " what is truth?" was suggested to the human mind ages since ; and has returned upon it, as each succeeding generation has arisen and departed. Pagan philosophers have professed to search after truth ; and while some of them supposed they had found it, others contended that it could never be found ; that all was uncertain, and that finite minds could be sure of no one thing, except that they were sure of nothing. Such was the philosophy of even Socrates ! Nor have modern times witnessed a very different result, from such abstract, metaphysical discussions. Locke defines truth to be — a right "joining or separating of signs," i. c. ideas or words. " Truth," he observes, " seems to me, in the proper import of the word, to signify nothing but the joining or separating of signs, as the things signified by them do agree or disagree one with another." " The joining or separating of signs, here meant, is what we call by another name — propositions. So truth belongs only to propositions." This last remark, that " truth belongs only to propositions," discovers the imperfection of his definition. To utter truth, would be indeed to utter, or articulate, such signs as really agreed with the ideas they represented. But this, in strictness of language, is not truth itself. If by truth, we mean the agreement of an object with our idea of it, then truth is one of those abstract terms which can never be precisely defined, without mentioning the object to which it is attributed, or of which it is affirmed. 1 do not affirm that we should regard truth as subsisting in a subject, independently of the reflections of an intelligence that considers it. Yet there may be truth in every object which subsists, whether we attend to it or not. Thus, there is truth in every art and science. That truth may be, nay, is undiscovered by the great mass of unthinking mind. Still it exists ! And it exists in relation to each particular art or science, as it does not in relation to any other. Hence the proper, and the only proper and useful inquiry is, what is truth in relation to this, and that, and the other subject? The answer must be controlled entirely by the nature of the object or theme proposed. Truth, in mathematics is one thing — in mental and 6 moral philosophy, another — in natural science, another. To seek for and acquire truth, therefore, we must do something more than agitate the general and abstract question, "What is truth ?" We may do this forever, and derive no single advantage from it, until we apply the inquiry to definite subjects, and investigate truth under definite aspects and relations. All other efforts will be but a waste of time and energies. Let us refuse to start out in the investigation of truth, until we can determine what truth is, in the abstract, and we might as well at once commirourselves to the gloom and solitude of a dungeon, to pine away and die under the influence of disappointed hope, and mad but unsatisfied ambition. We should be like the blind man, from whose eyes the cataract had been removed, who should nevertheless refuse to open his eyes and see, because he had not yet determined the nature of light, or learned to discriminate colors. Or like the mariner, who should refuse to spread his sails to a favorable breeze, which might waft him to his destined haven, because he had not yet settled the philosophy of winds and storms, or satisfactorily accounted for all the phenomena on these subjects, heretofore unexplained. But you have been more wise than this. Your society for disputation with each other ; your library ; your reading apartments; this course of lectures — all — all tell of a different sentiment, as the one which prevails in your bosom. You have resolved to keep your eye and your ear, your mind and your heart, open to the reception of truth, on any and every subject. Noble resolution ! Object worthy of pursuit ! We cannot but admire and applaud the course you have taken. Nay more, we would not stand as idle spectators, simply to approbate and admire. We would join you in your efforts, and seek by our united energies to attain an object so noble, so good. Permit me then, young gentlemen, while occupying the position with which you have honored me, to direct your attention to the advantages of truth, and the mode of attaining them. By the advantages of truth, I mean not only those benefits which will flow to us, personally, from the actual possession or knowledge of truth; but also, all those advantages which will accrue, both to ourselves, and through our influence to others, from the attainment of that spirit which will most thoroughly fit us for the pursuit or investigation of truth. The first advantage I name is, that when we acquire truth, we acquire something which is permanently our own. Selfishness is a prominent, I may safely say, the most prominent feature of human character. Man is an acquiring being. Such is his constitution, that nature prompts him continually to cry " Give ! give !" but never urges him to say "it is enough." Even childhood and youth manifest this spirit ; and of universal man, it is true, in relation to this passion. As has been well observed of another, " It grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength." It becomes the 8 master passion, and makes every thing else minister to its gratification. Hence man is continually reaching after something which he does not possess. Gain is the goal for which he runs — the prize after which he aims. Would that the records of by-gone ages were not so full of the annals of disappointed hope ! But in the light of a rational, not to say Christian philosophy, how unwise and inconsistent are the pursuits and aims of man. He grasps at the unsubstantial, while the real and permanent are overlooked. Physical substances, in their nature perishable ; animal enjoyments, necessarily restricted to the existence of the body, constitute the main objects of his desire : while thought, ennobling thought, imperishable as the mind itself which originated it, is accounted of little value. It has been a favorite theory with some philosophers, that ideas once acquired, are always retained. In their view, the memory is a tablet or scroll, upon which every idea as it enters the mind, is impressed. These impressions are indelible ; and though we may not at any moment recall them, they are deposited in the mind as an imperishable treasure ; and we need only to be led back, by the law of association, to the spot where they are recorded, to behold them in all their original vividness and strength. If this theory be true, no single truth acquired by the mind, is ever lost. It incorporates itself with the mental constitution. Thus, while the body and its productions are alike perishable, and continually tending to decay ; the mind and its offspring thought, are alike immortal ! spiritual essences, over which the laws of matter exercise no control. " The beings of the mind are not of clay! Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray, And more beloved existence !" Yes ! the elements may combine to wrest from us other possessions we have accumulated ; but the treasures of thought they cannot reach or destroy. Enemies may assail us without, but in the might of their power, they cannot storm and take the castle of truth within. The thief may " break through and steal ;" but the storehouse of the mind is surrounded by walls which cannot be scaled, and protected by bars which cannot be broken. The honest fruits of our industry may be sacrificed to make up deficiencies caused by the dishonesty and bankruptcy of another ; but the results of mental labor are sacredly and inalienably our own. No profane or rapacious hand can wrest them from us. The immortal spirit, in which they are enshrined, must itself perish ere they cease to be ours. Another advantage I name is, Truth will open to the mind a rich and continual source of enjoyment. There is such a thing, though few know it by experience, as intellectual pleasure — enjoyment derived from study ; when that study is constantly bringing to the mind new, varied, interesting thought. I am aware that a taste for such pursuits is acquired only by the long continued habit of mental discipline. But that habit once formed and 2 10 the soul need not go out of itself to borrow enjoyment. Within there is an unwasting fountain, whose streams are ever gushing forth to assuage its thirst. While uttering this sentiment I may appear to some as a barbarian, speaking in an unknown tongue. They sit down to read, and one half hour closes the exercise with weariness. They pause amid business pursuits to meditate, but the work is tiresome and they soon abandon it. They listen to an essay or lecture ; and their eyelids, as if pressed with a leaden weight, are soon closed, and Morpheus sits smiling upon them. Any thing like mental exercise soon fatigues them. They can find enjoyment any where else sooner than in the high walks of intellectual pursuit. To study, think, reason, reflect and learn, are miserable employments ; and he who pursues them, though his soul is sometimes in an ecstacy, while his knowledge rises, and his joy extends, is judged a man of melancholy ; an object well deserving pity. Such is the world's opinion. The mass believe and practice so. But amid this mass of opposing testimony, with the general conduct of mankind (all in the pursuit of happiness) constantly giving the lie to the assertion, do you ask for proof that there is such a thing as intellectual enjoyment ; and that that enjoyment rises higher and higher in proportion, to the discovery and embrace of truth ? Contemplate with me the history of the noble few in every age, who have dared to think ; and the acme of whose am11 bition was to know truth. What biography more interesting than that which contains the record of their lives ? Who more happy than they? They seem almost to have lived in another w T orld from that in which the multitude around them " lived and moved and had their being ;" to have breathed in a purer atmosphere ; and to have held intercourse with beings of a higher order. Their intellectual pursuits were their food, their pastime, their rest, their all. New truth discovered, filled them w T ith rapturous emotions. Witness an illustration ; marked indeed, but not in all respects without a parallel — in the case of Archimedes the celebrated mathematician of Syracuse. What was it that influenced him to leap with joy from the bath in which a hint of discovery broke upon him, and to run naked into the streets crying, " I've found it ! I've found it ?" It was truth ; long sought for, and at last obtained ! Alas ! he fell a martyr to his love of truth. When Marcellus besieged and took the city in which he dwelt, this lover of science was in his museum, with his mind and eyes so fixed upon certain geometrical figures, that he heard not the noise and hurry of the Romans ; and perceived not that the city was in their power. In this depth of contemplation and study, a soldier suddenly approached and bade him follow to Marcellus. Refusing to obey until he had solved his problem, the maddened soldier drew his sword and pierced him to the heart. Thus death alone was able to tear him from his loved employment. Were Kepler, and 12 Bacon, and Newton, and Locke, and a host of like spirits, misanthropes ; plodding their solitary way through earth, saddened and joyless ? Nay, rather, while ignorance and darkness enshrouded those around them, did not the lamp of science shine on their pathway, and the star of hope gleam in their horizon ? They had joys, but they were chastened ; they were refined ; they were elevated ; while the so called pleasures which the vulgar love, were as the dirt beneath their feet. Joy, worthy an immortal being, was theirs. Joy, springing from the discovery and possession of truth. How sublime the contrast between men panting after such happiness, and those thirsting only after sensual pleasures! The one fulfill, in some measure, the end of their existence ; the other thwart and defeat it. God designed that man should think and feel, reason and decide ; then act, deliberately ; and from consistent, virtuous action, find enjoyment. To cultivated and well regulated minds, this is the only true source of happiness. In fact, it is so in the end, to all minds. Pleasures of a lower order, may interest and delight for a season, but " sober second thought" dissipates the illusion. A momentary sensual gratification ended, and there is an aching void within. The wretched solitude of many a votary of pleasure attests the truth of this position. Take one example only — England's most gifted but ill-fated child of song. Like other men, less gifted, he sought for pleasure from earth's polluted fountains ; and having tried in turn, intellectual and 13 sensual enjoyment, he is a competent witness to the power of each to satisfy the soul. Listen to his own confession : " What, from this barren being", do we reap? Our senses narrow, and our reason, frail; Life, short, and truth a gem which loves the deep; And all things weighed in custom's falsest scale — Opinion and Omnipotence — whose veil Mantles the earth with darkness; until right And wrong are accidents; and men grow pale, Lest their own judgments should become too bright; And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much light. Yet, let us ponder boldly ! 'tis a base Abandonment of reason, to resign Our right of thought — our last and only place Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mine, Though from our birth the faculty divine Is chained and tortured: cabined, cribbed, confined, And bred in darkness; lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind." Though in an evil hour he gave way to the exercise of the basest passions, and in them sought enjoyment ; yet sense did not always prevail over reason ; and when it did not, the clear verdict of his judgment was, that mind could be happy, only while it lived on food adapted to the mind. But there is another aspect of this subject, to which I would direct your attention for a moment. Truth, we have said, opens to the mind a rich and continual source of enjoyment. In the discovery and possession of truth, we not only find enjoyment of a high order, but that enjoyment is prolonged — the fountain whence it issues is exhaustless. Not so the pleasures which spring from the embrace of error, or from living in the world of fiction. The 14 maniac has his pleasure; but it is such as we would not envy. His splendid crown, his golden sceptre, his extended empire, returning reason sweeps away in an hour. The debauched drunkard has his pleasure. At night, his wealth can be estimated only by millions ; in the morning, he is poor and wretched, loathed alike in his own eyes and in the eyes of others. The licentious profligate has his pleasure, if worthy the name ; but it can be enjoyed only at the sacrifice of all moral principle, when every virtuous emotion has fled from the soul, and all that is amiable and lovely in natural character has departed. Then it is short lived, and the miserable body, stricken by disease and premature death, once in the grave, enjoyment is ended, and the maddened soul raves in despair through eternity. The theatre may present its evening's attraction. An hour may be spent, as in the dreary visions of the night, which the morning dissipates. The mock tragedy or playful comedy may thrill for a moment, and occupy the tense passions of the soul ; but the curtain drops, the illusion vanishes, reality returns, and the enjoyment is gone. The adventures of romance captivate the imagination, and hold the mind as it were entranced for a season ; but the plot is discovered, the mystery revealed, and the rest is insipid and tasteless. So with error in all its forms. " It lures but to deceive; it flatters but to destroy." Touched by the shaft of truth, it is seen to be powerless, and shrinks away from the light to its loved home, darkness ; to its proper insignificance and 15 nothingness. Not so with truth ! The more it is tested the brighter it shines ; and the brighter it shines, the more it reflects light and peace and hope and joy, upon the soul of him who loves it. The falling apple, as it revealed to the mind of Newton the principle of gravitation, was no doubt the occasion of transporting joy. But who can tell how much higher and purer that joy became, when it was found true, that the same principle pertained to all bodies ; and by it the motion of the worlds above us, as well as many things hitherto deemed mysterious and inexplicable in relation to our own world, could be explained? Each successive new application of the theory thrilled the mind of the discoverer with new joy, and became a theme on which he could dwell with increasing delight. We admit that truth may sometimes be prostrate in the streets. Error may be seen to prevail. The theory founded in fact may be bitterly opposed by those who might have been expected to be its warmest advocates, and its author hotly persecuted by those he had hoped to find his most tried friends. Truth may be wounded ; and for the want of able champions to defend her, left bleeding, and supposed to be half dead. But she can never, never die! The breath of a succeeding generation will reanimate and revive her. Immortality is her inborn right — her God-imparted attribute. The reign of her adversaries is short. For " Truth, crush'd to earth, will rise again ; The eternal years of God are hers! But error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies amid her worshipers." 16 Who then would not love to pursue and arrive at truth ? Who would not improve every facility afforded him to become eminent in this work ? Young men, seize! yea, seize eagerly the opportunities of improvement, which this Association affords you ! Through every medium here presented, seek truth ; and if you search for her as for hid treasure, you shall find her. I name another advantage. Truth will fit you to discharge with profit to yourselves, and usefulness to others, the duties growing out of your relations in life. We live in a world of realities. The conduct of some would seem to indicate that such is not the fact. They live, or at least wish to live, for the most part, in an ideal world. They may, with the followers of Berkeley, theorise and speculate and abstractionize, until, in the retirement of the chamber, they persuade themselves that matter does not exist, and there is no external world around them. They may believe that the very paper on which they write, the pen which they handle, nay the very hand which holds it, and moves in obedience to their mental dictates, exist only in idea. But when they mingle in society, they must move and act like other men. They must regard the bodies and property of those around them as actual existences, or they will soon be put in away to discover their mistake. Of what avail, then, are their fancied schemes, their pleasing errors? They unfit for actual life ; while truth alone can prepare for its realities. And here I cannot but advert, for a moment, 17 to the influence upon character and usefulness, of a taste for fictitious reading, and theatrical amusements. Of the latter it has been said " It is a golden but a fatal circle, Upon whose magic skirts a thousand devils, In chrystal forms, sit, tempting innocence ! And beckon early virtue from its centre." The influence of the former, I deem scarcely less injurious. They are twin sisters. They aid and countenance each other. They feed the same desire. The votaries of each live in the same moral atmosphere ; and that atmosphere is any thing but conducive to the strength and proper developement of the mental or moral powers. They destroy capacity alike for self improvement, and usefulness to others. These hotbed plants — summer house flowers ; creatures of an ideal world, brought out into the wintry blasts of life's adversities, and the stormy conflict of life's trials, cannot endure them; and soon fade, and wither, and droop, and die. They produce effeminate characters, which may do for the too often sickening, disgusting chat of the so called fashionable parlor; but will never hold their place in the circle of educated minds ; nay, among the unsophisticated, common sense, thinking portion of any community. While those who are followers of truth ; whose minds and hearts have been measurably trained under its influence; will occupy any post in society, which Providence may assign them, with honor and usefulness. In the political world ; in mercantile life; in mechanical employments-— 3 18 wherever you find them, you will find them honest, generous, dignified, happy. Truth loved, and the disposition most fitted to attain it, form such characters. Might I add another advantage, it would be this : The spirit which prompts to the investigation, and prepares for the reception of truth — truth on any subject — truth in natural, mental, or moral science — truth pertaining to earth and heaven — to this life and the next — to man's relations to his fellow creatures around him, and to his Creator above him ; would tend to relieve death of its horror, by removing present doubts and fears and darkness, in regard to^ future existence ; and preparing its possessor for hallowed communion and fellowship with the Infinite mind — the Fountain of eternal Truth. But I must hasten to point out the road which leads to truth ; or, to suggest some hints in regard to the best method of pursuing it, and cultivating that disposition which is most favorable to its discovery. The advantages of which we have spoken cannot be realized without sacrifice and toil. They come not unbidden; nor will they come at a nod. Like almost every other good, they are attained only by effort, and that effort must be put forth in a certain direction, and controlled by specific influences. 'Tis not all action that terminates in beneficial results ; but such, and such only, as corresponds with the laws prescribed for the attainment of the object desired. If these laws be violated, however great the 19 wish or the effort to secure any given end, they fail of accomplishing it. In the beautiful language of Cowper, " Man on the dubious waves of error tossed, His ship half foundered, and his compass lost, Sees, far as human optics may command; A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land ; Spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies, Pants for it — aims at it — enters it, and dies ! Then farewell, all self satisfying schemes — His well built systems — philosophic dreamsDeceitful views of future bliss — farewell! Hard lot of man ! to toil for the reward Of virtue, and yet lose it! Wherefore hard? He that would win the race, must guide the horse; Else, though unequalled, to the goal he flies, A meaner than himself shall gain the prize." The first suggestion I would make in regard to the mode in which we are to excel in the pursuit of truth, and which naturally flows out of our previous remarks, is, endeavor to have your mind constantly impressed with its importance. I mean, the importance of gaining truth rather than error, in relation to any particular subject. There are those who advocate the theory, that it is wholly immaterial ichat a man believes, if he is only sincere in his belief. This theory prepares the mind for the reception of error, as readily as truth. The question to be raised is not, do I possess truth in relation to this subject ? do the views I entertain correspond with the facts in the case ? but simply, am I sincere in my belief? In the study of astronomy, it is not at all important to inquire, whether the earth is a sphere, revolving on its own axis, 20 and around the sun, thus producing the alternation of day and night, and the changes of the seasons — but simply, am I honest in believing the earth to be flat and motionless, and that the heavenly bodies revolve around it, as a common centre ? This is no caricature of the tendency of this theory. It is a fair and legitimate application of the doctrine. On this principle, the followers of Berkeley denied the existence of the material world, and persisted in that denial. As they found themselves obliged to open the doors of their study when they would go out ; and to avoid the posts, and the bodies of their fellow men, as they passed through the streets, the fact would strike their mind, as with an electric force — matter has a real existence ! there is an external world ! But the question was not, what is fact, or truth? but, am 1 sincere in the belief into which I have reasoned myself, in my study ? if so, facts, though they are stubborn things, cannot in the least change my opinion. Simple belief, young gentlemen, will never change the nature of objects, or their relations. There is such a thing as truth ! It will remain unchanged and changeless, however human opinion may fluctuate concerning it. Be it your object, then, in the full and influential belief of this statement, evermore to inquire, " What is truth ?" Press the question in relation to this lecture, and every one that shall follow, " What is truth ?" Press it in relation to every statement that meets your eye, or thrills on your ear, " What is truth ?" " what is truth?" 21 Nearly allied to this, and of equal importance, is another direction. Keep your mind in an inquiring, unprejudiced state, ever open to conviction. Of the importance of this suggestion, I am most deeply sensible ; but how to enforce it in proportion to my sense of its importance, I know not. Of particular prejudices, unfavorable to the reception of truth, time would fail me to speak. I must content myself with some general remarks on this topic. The literal meaning of the term prejudice, you are aware, is prejudgment — an opinion or decision of mind, formed without due examination of the facts or arguments which are necessary to a just and impartial determination. Thus, we speak of the mind of a judge or jury being prejudiced, when, before the testimony has been adduced, they say they are prepared to give a decision in the case. Hence the right to challenge a juror, on the ground that having prejudged the case, he is unqualified to give an impartial judgment, when the merits of the cause are spread out before him. Prejudice is one of the most mighty barriers to the progress of truth. Its direct and proper influence on the mind is to fetter the judgment, to narrow down the comprehensiveness of view ; in a word, to belittle every faculty of the immortal soul. A man of prejudice lives in a little world by himself; a world so small, that but few others can live there with him ; so contracted that it will not admit of the carrying out of large views, of liberal plans, and noble efforts. Not being permitted to soar above or beyond the 22 contracted boundaries of his own horizon, he will admit nothing to be true, which has not come within the sphere of his own observation or experience. Like the king of Siam, he cannot believe that ice can be formed of sufficient thickness to constitute a bridge, over which loaded wagons can pass, because he has never seen it. Reasoning on philosophical or chemical principles, or on any principles, cannot be admitted. All effort to convince is of no avail. The decree has gone forth, which, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, cannot be revoked. It is not so — it cannot be so — because 1 have never seen or heard it so. I need not remark, that, this spirit becoming universally prevalent, a total eclipse would come over the arts and sciences ; there would be an end to invention and discovery — to the progress of knowledge of every kind ; nor need I say, that had this spirit prevailed in all past ages, the light we enjoy had been as darkness ; these privileges now richly conferred upon us, had never been our inheritance. Behold a living example of this truth in the present condition of the Celestial Empire ! What has China, with her three hundred millions of minds, achieved in the world of letters, of arts and civilization ? What discoveries or inventions find their authors among her teeming population ? What rays of light, what streams of influence have emanated from her, to bless other lands — to irradiate a darkened world ? Nay, what systems of improvement have been devised and put in operation, to elevate and happify and save her own population ? Truly, 23 the pall of midnight has been thrown over her, and the wretchedness and ignorance and semi-barbarity of her inhabitants are a cutting rebuke to that pride and self-exaltation, and contempt of others, which have made her, intellectually and morally, what she is. The walls of prejudice have been as massive and as difficult to be broken down, as the walls of brick and stone which, on one side, have constituted at once the boundary and the defence of the empire. Well may it be said of this haughty people, " The pride of thine heart hath deceived thee, thou that dwellest in the clefts of the rock ; whose habitation is high ; that saith in his heart, who shall bring me down to the ground ?" All the truth which is to be learned by the human mind has not yet been learned. The arts and sciences have not yet reached perfection. All the discoveries and inventions of which man is capable, have not yet been made. A trackless and boundless ocean of truth still stretches out before you. Newton only reached the sands on its margin ; but his spirit, still hovering around us, seems to beckon you onward. A dwarf upon the shoulders of a giant, may well hope to see farther than the giant himself. With such men as Newton for your companions, your counsellors and guides, fear not to launch upon its surface. Say not, with those who would deter Columbus from his enterprize, " There is no land yet undiscovered. A western continent, if it exist at all, exists only as a vagary of the imagination." Nay, rather, admitting what is unques24 tionably the fact, that the amount of truth now known is as a drop of the bucket compared with what is yet to be learned, press onward in the pursuit, determined to know more and more continually. Break off the shackles which prejudice imposes upon weak minds, and determine to range, free as thought, over the whole field of knowledge, inquiring at every step, " What is truth ? ?.? Be candid, be open to conviction. Admit new light, and suffer not an odious epithet, attached to any branch of truth or its votaries, to prevent a deliberate and fair investigation! Remembering that " to err is human," cling to no dogma, simply because you have once avowed it, when increased light has shown its absurdity, and enlargement of view has convinced you that it is wrong and illiberal still to maintain it. Better relinquish one absurdity which has been advanced without reflection, than to add to it a thousand, which may forever bar the light of truth from your soul. Better acknowledge, " for once, I am wrong," than fall into an hundred errors to support or conceal one. Alas! how many are blockaded in their course, and are unable for years to take a single step forward, because they are ashamed first to take one step backward, and recant a theory, or renounce an error, which has given a false coloring to all their views, and a wrong direction to all their efforts. It is indeed noble ! it is magnanimous to acknowledge and correct a mistake. Be that nobleness yours, whenever truth demands it ; frankly to confess your error, with the resolution deeply 25 iixed in your heart, to consecrate the remnant ol your days to the defense of the very truth you once opposed, merely because you did not understand it. A third suggestion, upon which, did the limits of this exercise allow, I should deem it important to dwell, is, that in pursuing truth you must restrain and guard against the undue influence of the passions. They give a false coloring to every object which is contemplated under their influence. A man w r ill readily believe that is true which he greatly desires to be true, in order to gratify some darling passion. Perhaps truth has encountered no more powerful and determined foe, in its progress through past ages, than it has met in the human passions. Another suggestion somewhat allied to this, a regard to w r hich is very important if you would arrive at truth is, avoid precipitancy of judgment. In relation to all questions involving great principles, be cautious how you become hastily committed in your opinions. We have already spoken of the difficulty which most experience in retracing or recanting error. Pride, and a natural sense of shame, operates to prevent this. In proportion, therefore, to the difficulty of abandoning, should be the caution against adopting erroneous opinions. It has been well observed, " There are but few, who do not consider suspension of judgment as a weakness, although it is one of the noblest efforts of genius and capacity." To say in relation to a question of moment propos26 ed for our consideration, I dare not venture an opinion ; it requires more research than I have been able to give it ; years of study are necessary thoroughly to understand it, is deemed by many evidence of want of acuteness of perception, or maturity of intellect. Hence, to avoid this charge many leap at conclusions without evidence ; and leaping in the dark are quite as likely to leap into error as into truth. But even truth received without evidence, may be a continual source of error ; for so far as we are concerned, it is founded only on false principles ; and if a false principle induces us to receive truth to-day, the same principle may lead us to adopt error to-morrow. So that deciding without intelligence w r e are never safe. The true course to be pursued then, is, where reason does not clearly guide us, to withold our assent ; for w T e should be always free to withold consent from a subject, which we have not carefully and thoroughly examined. These hints will, I trust, have prepared the way for one other, the last I shall offer on the present occasion. With the mind thus guarded against the ingress of error, apply all its energies to the investigation of truth, with undivided attention and unwearied jierseverance. There is very little danger to be apprehended from the over action of the mental powers ; while there is very much to be dreaded from their wrong action. At least in our day we have no fear that the land will be taken and overrun by intellectual 27 giants. There may be now and then, isolated cases, where from over exertion, the intellectual powers have become soon exhausted, or temporarily unbalanced. But such instances are few and far between. The great difficulty is to get the mind excited ; and when at work to give its energies the right direction. In these times of libel suits, I would not say aught which by possibility might be construed into a slander upon my country ; or those who give impress to her intellectual character; but I am sure I expose myself to no such charge, when I venture the opinion, that we are not, so much as we ought to be, an intellectual people, i. e. there are not among us so many great minds as there ought to be ; minds rendered great by intellectual culture ; by vigorous, persevering, mental discipline. Nor among the mass of the people is that disposition honestly, cautiously, yet continually to inquire after truth, prevalent to the extent to which it ought to prevail. We are in no danger, therefore, of inflaming an immoderate zeal for knowledge when we say — Pursue with still greater avidity, and give the undivided and undaunted energies of your minds to the investigation of truth. What object more worthy of pursuit ? Riches ? They may afford the means of temporary gratification of appetite and lust. But these are short lived ; and riches themselves take wings and fly away. Sensual pleasures ? They cloy, and in the end murder the soul ! Honors ? Their wreath is fading. 28 " What is honor but a name? A puff of empty breath; A flashing meteor's fitful flame — Which soon is lost in death ?" No ! Truth — truth alone is substantial food for the soul ; and if the human mind may safely and wisely expend its energies upon any thing, it is truth. Permit me then, in a few observations, to urge the importance of attentive and persevering efforts of mind, if you would gain truth. The human mind is so constituted that it cannot be intently occupied with two different objects at the same moment. It may pass from one to another, with the rapidity of thought ; and the habit of directing the mind to different objects, consecutively, with all its force, may be cultivated to a very great extent ; an extent of which only those who have formed the habit can have any just idea. Yet, limited in our capacities, as we are ; endowed only with a portion of genius ; we may make but very slow and uncertain progress, where the thoughts are constantly divided between different objects. Our own experience confirms this statement ; and thus, what we might infer from the nature of mind, is proved true by our own consciousness. Who has not met with difficulties, when he would direct his whole attention to some given subject ? Who has not encountered dissipation of mind ? found his thoughts wandering and distracted, even after much effort to fasten them ? The senses constitute the avenues through which we gain a knowledge of external objects. These are ever open ; and so near 29 are we to the objects of sense, that they continually obtrude themselves upon us, and are liable to thrust out those of intellectual perception, which are with more difficulty recalled. To gain a correct acquaintance with truth, therefore, when it is brought before the mind, we must seize it as with giant grasp, and hold it there till we can collect and concentrate our thoughts upon it. This is attention, which, while the mind would wander from object to object, and touch upon the thousands scattered over the whole field of mental research, binds and fixes it to one. But constituted as we are, occupying a position where obstacles to the cultivation of this habit are multiplied, w 7 e cannot hope to attain it without much labor and continued effort. We must not be easily discouraged, but persevere in the work. If one trial fails, we must make another, and still another. No habit, be it good or bad, was ever formed in a moment. It has gained its strength by repeated and unwearied exercise. The course, which at first was obstructed, has gradually opened; impediment after impediment has been removed ; and now the full tide of habit flows, with almost resistless force. Perseverance has accomplished the work. What has it not accomplished ? It " Is a Roman virtue, That wins each godlike act — and plucks success, E'en from the spear-proof crest of rugged danger. And he who labors firm, and gains his point, Be what it will, which crowns him with success, He is the son of fortune and of fame.' ' Having acquired the habit of attention, persevere in applying it to the investigation of truth. Many, 30 doubtless, have been just on the point of making discoveries, which have been made by those who succeeded them. They almost triumphed over the obstacles in their way; but wearied and disheartened, they abandoned the pursuit, when within a single step of the realization of their fondest hopes. Such need to be reminded of the words of the poet— " Revolt is recreant, when pursuit is brave ; Never to faint, doth purchase what we crave. Attempt the end — and never stand to doubt! Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out." Yes ! young gentlemen, the mine in which truth is to be found may be deep and difficult to be worked ; but the ore which it yields will more than compensate the labor expended to obtain it. It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire. It is above rubies. The topaz of Ethiopia cannot equal it ; neither can it be valued with pure gold. What, then, if it cost effort — long continued, laborious effort, to obtain it ? " No good, of worth sublime, will heaven permit To light on man, as from the passing air. The lamp of genius — though by nature lit, If not protected, pruned and fed with care, Soon dies — or runs to waste, with fitful glare. Has immortality of name been given To them that idly worship hills and groves, And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven? Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves, To measure worlds, and follow where each moves? Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease, By wanderings wild, that nature's pilgrim loves? Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace, By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece?" 31 To attain an object so noble — to accomplish a result fraught with so much happiness to one's self, and so much good to others— who would not be willing to sacrifice his love of ease, to rise up early and sit up late, and eat the bread of carefulness ? Who would not tax his energies of mind to their utmost, when by so doing he would most effectually satisfy the desire for happiness in his own bosom, and at the same time send forth a stream of happifying influence, to gladden other hearts around him? I address some to-night, whose very occupation seems to forbid the hope that they can accomplish wonders, by way of intellectual improvement. 1 mean the mechanic. Busily employed in manual labor; obliged in a great measure to confine his thoughts to the piece of mechanism with which his hands are engaged ; how can he expect to exel in mental culture ? Where are his advantages for pursuing and acquiring truth? I admit that he has difficulties to encounter which some others do not experience ; but they are not insurmountable. To remove them, a higher degree of effort, a more fixed attention, a more indomitable spirit of perseverance may be required. But it can be done. The avenues to science and mental improvement are not closed to him. No exclusive patent for knowledge has been given to the learned few. The price of truth is not such that he cannot obtain it. The multiplication of books and other issues from the press, the springing up of these associations for mutual improvement, and other influences of a kindred 32 nature, which characterize our day, afford facilities not hitherto enjoyed, so that all are without excuse ; and may I not add, that all are beginning to feel that they are so much without excuse, as to put forth the appropriate efforts to secure for themselves a name and influence among educated minds ? We have our " learned blacksmiths," who with their daily labor, as their only means of support, have mastered, in a few short years, seventeen different lauguages ; and as public lecturers in our largest cities stand forth, the wonder of an intelligent audience, entranced by their eloquence. The indifference and mental indolence of every mechanic is thus rebuked. He is fairly shamed out of his excuses, and compelled to commence intellectual employment. Should there be one here to night, who excuses himself from mental effort on the ground of his position as to manual labor, the voice of Burritt, more shrill than the sound of the hammer upon his anvil, breaking over the hills of Massachusetts, would echo in his ears the strains of one of New England's sweetest bards — " Wake thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers! Lest these lost years should haunt thee, on the night When death is waiting for thy numbered hours, To take their swift and everlasting flight. Wake, e'er the earth-born charm unnerves thee quite! And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed: Do something ! do it soon ! with all thy might ! An angel's wing would droop, if long at rest ; And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest." Permit me, ere I close, young gentlemen, to remind you of what your own reflections must have S3 suggested to you, during the progress of these remarks. If truth in science is important — truth in religion is equally important. If it is proper to inquire " What is truth ?" in relation to the present life, and the objects which move around us, and around which we move, in our present state of being; it is no less proper to institute the same inquiry in regard to the life to come ; the relations we sustain beyond the grave, to other beings and to other worlds. This is the dictate of a rational philosophy. Plato and Aristotle agitated the question " If a man die shall he live again ?" Yet they were heathen, not Christian philosophers. Others have followed in their train, who have panted after future existence, and believed in its reality. " I have always believed" says the author of letters attributed to Ganganelli, " that the honor of possessing an immortal soul was the greatest possible glory." It is a question well worth the highest consideration of all — Do I possess an immortal nature ? A truly noble mind, solicitous to obtain truth on all subjects, would delight to inquire in regard to the reality and nature of future existence ; the relations sustained to other and higher intelligences ; and the best mode of preparing for their companionship. Truth on this subject would be hailed by such a mind, with gladness. Light coming from any source, would be welcomed with joy and gratitude. Need I say that such light beams from the pages of that volume called appropriately " the Book" because of the important truths it reveals ? Every real disci5 34 pie of truth will love to drink from this fountain, where God and angels drink. The cultivation of the intellect is a noble work ; but the cultivation of the intellect and the heart too, is a work far more noble. It is drawing out the different elements of being in their due proportion. It is fitting alike for more extended usefulness and increased happiness. And who would not be useful as well as happy? Who would not by deeds of benevolence, aiming to enlighten, to elevate, to adorn and save his race ; leave behind him a monument in the affections of coming generations, more enduring than marble or brass ? orts Colonel (Iracie assumes were generalKintended to be fair and truthful, except in the instances where lie pillories the oft'enders in his criticisms. One, and not the least of these difficulties in reconciling the conflicting statements into some kind of accord, is the fact that upon nearly every important aft'air the given time dift'ers, often, by hours. "I have found another check upon the accuracy ot my work. I have followed out the movements of each corps; then the movements of each division of each and every corps ; and finally, the movements of every regiment, battalion, and batter\of each brigade mi every division ; and, where the imits of organization have dovetailed perfectly. 1 have obtained, 1 think, a mathema2 Gii'l Publifber tical demonstration in nianr instatiGes of the accuracy of the work. After one has accomplished the chimerical task which I have sug-gested, he may claim to know something about the truth of this most wonderful battle. In consequence of this work of niine, I claim respect for the accuracy of the premises on which my conclusions are based, for the truth of which the Official Reports are responsible, and with which these conclusions square." (page 35.) To those who thoughtlessly ask, "Why should not the story of th: battle, now more or less generally accepted, be permitted to rest, or the whole affair allowed to pass into oblivion? ", it should be explained that to juggle with or to suppress historical facts is a crime that has a much wider influence for evil than is thought to prevail by such weaklings. The first cha])ter of (iracie's book is given to the "Elimination of False History," and here the author undertakes to prove by the Official Reports that Chickamauga was not fought by Rosecrans for the possession or the holding of the City of Chattanooga, but for the destruction of L>ragg's troops and the control of a large region occupied by the Confederates. Such objects were within the rights of an invading army; but as Chattanooga was peacefully taken ten days before September 19th, and was in a favorable position for defense, as was afterwards proved, it was absurd for Rosecrans to assert that the ' attle was fo',i^:ht for its permanent possession, a theory that 'C^dme t'' his mind later ■'.hen. after admitting defeat, he claimed that the object of his campaign was attained, and that Chickamauga was a great Federal Victory. 3 The fact is that Rosocrans by a scries of masterly movements had forced the Confederates to withdraw from Chattanoogia, and that after this was accomplished he lost his skill, and deceived by Bragg's clever stratagems believed that the Confederate forces were flying before him, a disorganized rabble seeking safety in flight. Rosecrans' eyes were opened on September 12th, when he was confident that Bragg's army was concentrated about Lafayette, an easy march from the captured city. Then he hurriedly brought his weary and scattered corps into the unknown recesses of a tangled forest to face a brave and prepared foe. "I doubt if there can be found recorded anywhere in the history of a great battle, an instance where any army was more completely deceived than was the Federal Army by the stratagems employed by General t>ragg during the four davs ending September l'?th." (Gracie page '?<>.) For four days the opportunity was given Bragg of attacking one of Rosecrans' corps with a much superior force, before it could receive aid from either of the others, and the neglect of doing so is one of those mysteries that envelope the story of Chickamauga; another, no less important in its bearing, is Longstreet calling a halt on the evening of September '^Oth, when the retreating forces of Thomas, lying at his mercy, were permitted to withdraw undisturbed. Of course it will be said., in accord with Granger's afterthought, that Bragg's army had suffered great losses in the battle of two days ; but no successful troops would have refused to march a few miles, no matter what losses had been sustained, if they saw a complete victory before them. 4 Upon the 18th of September, Col. Dan McCook was ordered, with his brigade and the G9th Ohio, to make a reconnaissance towards Reed's bridge, on the Chickamauga River, at the northeast corner of what afterwards proved to be the battlefield, and that he should destroy that structure should he be able to do so without bringing on a general engagament. Col. JMcCook'si command arrived at dark within a mile of the bridge, when his skirmishers came upon the rear of McNair's brigade, of Bushrod Johnson's Division, which was passing along a road crossing his front. x\bout twenty stragglers were picked up, without creating any disturbance, and, after a short time of quiet, the 69th Ohio was sent forward and succeeded in firing the bridge, which as it was afterwards proved was only scorched. At daylight on September 19th. the enemy opened with small arms and artillery upon McCooks" men, who had passed the night lying upon their arms, without fires, upon which Colonel McCook, following his previous orders, and, a peremptory order having been received before any great losses on his part, marched his command back towards Rossville. Upon reaching th^' point where the head of his command struck the Lafayette Road, Genera! Brannan was met ( Croxton's brigade in advance), in column without advance guards. McCook called out to Brannan that he had a rebel l^rigade penned up in a bend of the river near Jay's saw mill, with the bridge in its rear destroyed. General Thomas reports tliat McCook gave him the same information at Baird's headquarters. Immediatily upon the receipt of Colonel McCook's report, General Thoiuas sent Brannan, followed by Baird, eastwardly towards Reed's bridge and the neighboring saw-mill with a view 5 to capturing the brigade which was penned up in the bend of the Chickamauga River. This episode is described at some length on account of the very important events which followed it as a matter of course. The fact was that the emcmiy was in great force about the points mentioned and towards Alexander's Bridge. The divisions of Brannan and Baird were soon hotly engaged and the battle of the IDth of September was begun past recall. Besides the divisions of Brannan and Reynolds, General Thomas had those of Johnson, Palmer, Van Cleve and Davis, long before midday. Croxton of Brannan's division and VanDerveer of Baird's, after a number of sharp contests, had pushed their wav to within half a mile of Jay's saw mill. IJaird and Brannan maintained the unequal fight for at least two hours when Johnson, Palmer and Reynolds came to their assistance. All day the battle raged with varying fortunes ; sometimes in long lines, sometimes by small commands, until before night every division in the Army of the Cumberland was represented on the fighting front. At dark Johnson's division alone remained in advance at D. C. Reed's farm where it was fiercely attacked and for a time the line gave w^ay, but rallied and held its ground after great losses, until the firing ceased ; when it, with other divisions took positions in a line west of the ground fought over, and the battle of Se])tenil)er IDtli ceased. As has been stated, in a review of the book in question. we are not concerned about the battles of the IDth of September and the first half of the '30th, further than to give us an understandable perspective of the whole field for both davs. Xor are there many points of imi:)ortance in dispute before the arrival of Granger's Reserve Corps and the withdrawal of the whole of Thomas' command to Rossville. From about noon of Saturday up to eleven o'clock on Sunday Rosecrans' headquarters were at the Widow Glenn's house on the Crawfish Springs Road. Here late on the night of the 19th the Commander of the Army of the Cumberland had a consultation with his Corps Commanders regarding the arrangements of the lines for the next day. With some slight changes the plan was adhered to with the following result : Sheridan's division (20 A. C.) was posted on the extreme right at Widow Glenns. Davis (20 A. C.) was placed on Sheridan's left, his line extending to the south-east corner of Dyer's Field. Wood (21 A. C.) was on Davis' left, and Brannan's (14 A. C.) division on the left of Wood reached the Lafayette Road, north of the Poe house. \'an Cleve's division was in rear of Wood and P>rannan. There was a break in the line, as Reynold's right was in echelon four hundred yards in front of Brannan's left. Reynolds (14 A. C. ) Palmer (21 A. C. ) Johnson (20 A. C. ) and Baird (14 A. C.) had their divisions in that order, around and east of Kelly's Field. The brigade of John Beatty was on Baird's left. Stanley's behind Baird, Sirwell's with the reserve artillery in rear of the left wing, these last named tliree being of Negley's division ; this force being intended to guard the Lafayette Road from Bragg's formidable masses on his right, ("iranger, with Steedman's division and Dan McCook's brigade of the Reserve Corps, was posted at McAfee's Church, about four miles from Thomas' left to watch the road from Ringgold, and to give aid to, or to receive aid from the main army as occasion might demand. The battle of September 20th opened by an attack upon our extreme left against John Beatty's thin line, which was driven 7 back upon Baird's troops, and this attack was repulsed. Stanley and the reserves of Johnson and Palmer drove back two Confcdfratc l^rii^adcs which had passed alonj;the west side of the Lafayette Road in an effort to reach the h^ederal rear. Haird, Johnson. Palmer and Reynolds and Negley's two bri^^ades repulsed many fierce assaults with steadiness and determination. The rigiit wiui^ of a Confederate brigade, its left held in ch.^ck, slipped by to Kelly's field, when it was met and routed by Vru Derveer and W'illich, who always seemed to be on hand when wanted. The Q'reater part of Thomas' l?ft winp: was somewhat protected by a rude barricade of logs and rails which aided the troops in resistinc^ the terrible fire of the enem\'. This slight hue encouragingdefence originated with Hazen, who throughout the whole day exhibited such skill, courage and perseverance as marked him as one of the most efficient officers in the army. Previously to the withdrawal of Wood from the main line Ilrannan was fiercely attacked in Poe's Field, but the enemv was driven from his front by an enfilading fire from the divisions of ]'ie\'no!ds and I 'aimer. We now come to a ver\important phas.^ of the battle, one that threatened the early defeat and dcstriiction of the whole Army of the Cumberland. AlxHit eleven o'clock Wood's division was withdrawing-, under misunderstood orders, to assist Reynolds, who was on I>rannan's left where there was the break in the line as described. I'cfore Wood had wholI_\' passed from his jiosition two divisions of the enem\broke throug^h the gap ; one of these passing north8 wardly, crumpled up Brannan's division and all the troops in its rear ; the other bod\' of the enemy driving the troops of Davis. Sheridan and Wilder in a wild rout that bore with them from the field the Generals Rosecrans, McCook and Crittenden. The gallant Harker having escaped this attack returned with his brigade and for a time faced fearful odds, but very shortly these ready fighters with Brannan's nien and those of Buell and Sam Beatty, a scattered mass, were pursued until a stand could be made by Brannan, Harker and fragments of other commands upon the heights south of the Snodgrass House. General Thomas had nothing to do with posting the first line upon Horseshoe Ridge, as is proved by the official reports and the statements of all concerned. When Brannan, Wood and the commands in their rear were driven north from the vicinity of the Foe House and Dyer's field, Brannan's troops reformed upon the westerly point of the Horseshoe Ridge, while Wood posted Harker's brigade upon the easterly hill, in continuation of that providentially di^^covered s'tronghokr. ; while Stoughton found refuge between Harker and P)rannan, and the oSth Indiana was placed between Connell's 8"3nd Indiana and Croxton. The 21st Ohio, a splendid regiment of Sirwell's brigade with oiJS men armed for the most part with Colt's repeating rifles, afterwards joined the right of Connell. When General Thomas arrived at the Horseshoe Ridge, from one to two o'clock, the line was as follows; 51st Ohio; 8'3nd Indiana; ITth Kentucky; 58th Indiana, Croxton, under Hays; 13th Ohio, Stoughton; i4th Indiana, Harker. We now employ literally Colonel Grade's words "Our standard of truth, from which we quote, plainly indicates that Thomas was the grandest figure of the [-"ederal AriTi\ ; a monument of strength and inspiration to the courage of liis soldiers, who had rallied in the woods and on the heights to which ihey had Med, and where they had l:)een posted under the orders of their commanders, Generals Wood, Brannan and John lU^atty, and Colonels Harker, Stoughton, Hunter and Walker." "Here, from one to one and a half h:)urs, with a force of about 1500 fragments under Brannan and of at least 1"200 (carefullv estimated) of the Iron I'rigade of Harker. including the 12;")th Ohio, "Opdycke's Tigers," and Smith's four guns and eighty-three men of the 4th United States Battery, whilom fugitives most of them, whose courage was restored by the very presence of Thomas, the pursuit was checked and the heights maintained against that most formidable instrument of war, Kershaw's South Carolina l^>rigade. fresh from storming the heights of Gettysburg, and from victories on many hard fought fields, but none, according to their commander, more heavy than this. Kershaw's Brigade about I'^OO in action, with Colonel Oates' loth .Alabama Regiment, were the sole representatives that afternoon of "Long-street's \'irginia Army," in the assaults on Chickamauga ] [eights ; yet these men, on the strength of their reputation, inspired such terror that their numbers v/erj more than quadrupled by the imagination of their opponents. About 2 o'clock P. M., to Kershaw's support on his left came Anderson's strong and brave Mississii)pi IJrigade, of Hindman's Division: but still the heighls were held, the 21st Ohio Regiment, tlustrongest in the b'ederal army, performing yeoiuan service at this juncture with its cfikient use of its five-chainbered Colt's revolving rifii'S. "Ilien followed the l)elated lUishrod Johnson, whosj time and energies had been wasted for l-.ours waiting for orders to advance his much-enduring hardfiT:hting Tennesseeans. ' 10 ■ "This is the crucial moment and the die is cast. The 21st Ohio's thin hne at its middle had been thrown back Hke a gate on its hinges, in a vain attempt to finally resist the Confederate movement on Brannan's tlank. But fifteen minutes more and this rally on the heights would have been of no use, and Thomas' superb courage, famed in story, might never have been a theme of grandeur. Granger's Reserve Corps, without orders, marching an canon, a la Dcsaix a Marengo, had arrived on the field. "After reporting to General Thomas, General Steedman, of this corps, was ordeded to move his division into the three-quarter-mile gap between the two wings of the army. The Preparatory movement had been made, but before the final command of execution was given, the more immediate danger was seen in time. On the command "right face", Steedman marched west in rear of Brannan's line until the latter's right was reached, when first Whitaker's P)rigade and then Alitchell's were moved by the left flank. The division then charged up the heights, General Steedman performing the most conspicuous act of personal courage recorded of any general officer on the Federal side, leading his men, most of them raw recruits, then for the first time in action, and, seizing the flag of the lloth Illinois, gained the crest and drove the Confederates down the southern slope of Missionary Ridge. ".A.bout the time that Steedman's Division was thus put into action, another strong brigade of well-seasoned troops, under the comiuand of a Mexican War Veteran, Colonel Van Derveer, reported to General Thomas at the Snodgrass House, and were immediately placed in the front in one line on the crest, relieving Brannan's troops (then almost exhausted), and posted next to the 21st Ohio's left, which still defended this flank on Horseshoe Ridge. 11 "Ry this acquisition of 4112 fresh troops under Steedman and about 1200 under \'an Derveer, who had already rendered most creditable and opportune service on the h>deral left wing and rear, Thomas was now strong in numbers and his whole command well supplied with ammunition ; for another great service rendered by Steedman was the bringing up of ninety-five thousand extra rounds of ammunition to be distributed among r^rannan's and Harker's men, whose supply was nearly exhausted." The aspect of affairs on the heights was now completely changed, and the exultant Federals, who had been a few minutes before fighting in desperation, were reinforced with strength and courage like men who had won a victory. It was now that General Thomas resolved to hold his pt)sition and the army on the field until nightfall. Me made his preparations for the i)urpose l)v general distributions of ammunition among l)otli wings of his army. The Confederate division commanders on the left wing had received forcible knowledge of the material change in conditions by the arrival of reinforcements in support of the hitherto hard-pressed b^derals on the heights. They now got together for the first time. Ilindman and Johnson joined the brigades of their divisions with Kershaw's l)rigade for two successive assaults in desperate efiforts to gain the heights ; for up to this time distinctly noticeable is the lack of unity of action on the part of these Confederate generals, due to the absence of any orders whatever from their wing conmiander. General Longstreet, and their inability to find him on this part of the field. Nay, more : questions of rank and precedence arose between them, which only General Longstreet's presence could have settled, and from 12 o'clock until now thev had p. died in opposite directions." 12 "Nothing could exceed the intensity and desperation of the successive assaults which now followed, made by these seven Confederate brigades in line. Hindman mentions the fact that on his "extreme left the bayonet was used, and men were also killed and wounded with clubbed muskets," while Kershaw on the right effected a momentary lodgment near the crest, which drove the Federals from the summit ; but the latter, rallying all their available men, charged upon the South Carolinians whose colors were only saved by their bearer, who, after rece-iving a mortal wound, turned and threw the staff backward over the works into the hands of his comrades." "Tt was up to this time that Thomas, by virtue of his rank, used his discretion and held his men on the heights, by the example which he set them and the love which they bore towards him. His antagonist, Longstreet, who for the most part of his time until now had stationed himself in the woods in the rear of his right division, Stewart's, at this juncture, first emerged therefrom in time to witness from Dyer's field the last desperate assault of Kershaw. Preston's Division had at last been "pulled away from its mooring on the river bank" and had lieen advanced, with his leading brigade in line facing north, bisected by the Lafayette Road, n?ar the Poe house, with his other two brigades immediately in rear, also in line. Longstreet now got into the action in Dyer's field with his last division, Preston's, the strongest of all, which he had held in reserve. He still remained blind to the opportunity which had existed at noon and all afternoon, plainly evident to the Federal generals. Wood, Thomas, Hazen, and others. Why was it that he did not order the whole of Preston's Division directly forward along the La13 fayette road, with Buckner's Reserve Artillery and the latter's other divisions, so as to fill the apparent gap of one half to three quarters of a mile between the Federal wings?" "Th-ere were in this same fringe of woods west of the Lafayette road, at this point,, four other Confederate brigades, none of which had moved since noontime. 1 fumphreys' ^Mississippi Hrigade. formerly liarksdale's. which, under orders of the wing conunander. was anchored at the "blacksmith Shop" and made no assault in the battle, the men begging in vain to ji>in their comrades in the charge ; then there were the Texas Brigade of General Robertson, Law's Alabama Brigade under Colonel Sheffield, and the Georgia r>rigade under (General Benning, all three under the command of General Law, comprising a part of Llood's famous division, then located "in line perpendicular to the road, to the left and slightly in advance of Preston, and close to the burned house (Poe's)." P)lin(l to his opportunity and ignorant of the weakest point in his adversary's line which appears to have been a continued source of anxiety to General Thomas that afternoon, General Longstreet ordered only two brigades of Preston's to Dyer's field, leaving the other third of the division, Trigg's P>rig-ade, at Brotherton's, for protection against the enemy's cavalrv, supposed to be crossing the Chickamauga below Lte and Gordon's Mills, whom Trigg with two of his regiments "was sent IV^ miles back to intercept," on a perfectly useless reconnaissance, wasting valuable time and energy only to discover that the alL'ged enemy was "their own" Confederate General Wheeler's men. (iracie's and Kcllx's brigades were then ordered forward to the relief of Kershaw and .Vnderson in a final and successful effort to gain the Heights of Chickamauga, 14 and drive the enemy from his chosen stronghold, which was made the "keypoint" of the battle, first by the division commanders who followed the fugitives into the woods and mountain fastnesses and finally by the action of Longstreet himself. "The assault of Gracie and Kelly had begun, preceded by "a deadly fire on the right and right rear of the forces in front of Stewart." The movement of this artillery, principally composed of the twentyfour guns of the Reserve Corps Artillery, and commanded by Major Samuel C. Williams, was in General Buckner's special charge under General Longstreet's orders, but it was not until Gracie had gained the heights that Longstreet ordered lUickner's advance northward, with a battery of twelve guns with Stewart's Division following, Longstreet's object being not to drive this entering wedge between the two wings, so much as an effort to prevent the Federal left wing from reinforcing that part of their army which was posted on Horseshoe Ridge. Had Longstreet's orders to accomplish his object been given more promptly and more effectually executed, the reinforcement of Hazen's Brigade would not so opportunely have arrived in support of Harker and Brannan, nor General Hazen been rewarded with a major-generalship's commission for his act, which saved both liarker and Brannan from capture or annihilation. But it was long before this that General Thomas' watchful eye and attentive ear, of the trained soldier, forewarned him of the approaching storm and the danger to what he knew to be the weakest point in his army's position. It was also at this juncture, about 4.30 P. AL, not later that he received the withdrawal order from General Rosecrans." "Heretofore, by reason of his being the ranking general on 15 the field of battle, in the absence of any order from the commander-in-chief, Thomas had, in accordance with his resolve, used his power of discretion and maintained Harker's and Brannan's fugitive fragments at their ])osition on the Horseshoe, assisted by the 21st (J)hio, generously loaned Brannan on his urgent request to General Negley, and had saved these men on the heights and the whole army from immediate destruction, until Steedman's and \'an Derveer's arrival. ''Another crisis now ensues. At the actual and relative time of Gracio's advance in magnificent array, as recognized in the Official Reports of Federal ofificers on the Horseshoe and described with much admiration personally to the writer by some of them (General Boynton included among the number), General Thomas now received Rosecrans" first dispatch, directed to himself, ordering withdrawal, and as proven bv thirty of our witnesses against the testimony of only one to the contrary, the evidence in fact being unanimous on the subject. General Thomas did not and could not dela}' one moment his obedience to the order, and forthwith dispatched his aid. Captain llarker, for Reynolds to make a beginning of the movement. ( )rders were also dispatched to the other left wing division commanders for their withdrawal successively. This was a wise move, to begin the withdrawal at this quarter, because of the more precarious situation on his left wing, whicli at tliis juncture was within a few hundred yards of being completelv enveloped b\ the Confederate lines. "Thomas left the Snodgrass house before Gracie took possession of the heights, leaving (icneral Granger the onlv corjjs commander on the battle-field, and by virtue of his rank, in com16 mand of the troops under Harker and Brannan, as well as his own men under Steedman ; but Granger's personal departure seenis to have been timed by the very first indication of Confederate success in driving Harker from the heights. Thus General Thomas "quit when ordered and because he was ordered." Meanwhile the withdrawal of Reynolds had already begun before Barker's arrival with the order. General Reynolds is quoted as saying, in his position at the breastworks that his only alternative was surrender. When his division reached the Lafayette road, General Thomas saw him. Putting himself at the head of Reynold's Division, General Thomas led his army in the movement of withdrawal. "As before mentioned, the Confederates had nearly enveloped the Federal left wing; the front brigade of a division of the right wing had reached the vicinity of the Kellv house, passing in rear of the Federal divisions of Baird and Johnson. Thomas himself ordered the charge and the division cut its way out. At the same time the way was made clear for the escape of the other divisions of the Federal left wing, most of whom were retired in great disorder. "Reynolds, misunderstanding Thomas' order, moved straight along the Lafayette road toward the Rossville Gap, not halting with his section of the division until checked at Cloud Church by Forrest's cavalry, while Thomas, separating E. A. King's Brigade from the rest of the division, wheeled to the left near McDonald's house and reached a point of safety on the Ridge road at the head of McFarland's Gap'. Here he halted and sent his orders for the withdrawal of the rest of the army, which he had left on Chickamauga Heights, and which had been 17 driven therefrom before his order arrived. He thus obeyed to the letter General Rosecran's orders to withdraw. The most direct route of withdrawal to Rossvillc was by way of the Lafayette road and Rossville Gap but, in accordance with the wording of Rosccrans' order, he moved toward McFarland's Gap to "join his army with Crittenden and McCook," whose forces were then known to him to have been in that neij^-hborhood. Finally, the full letter of obedience to Rosecrans' order was followed when he "assumed a threatening attitude" by the formation of his line to resist pursuit and protect the withdrawal. This alignment extended from the head of McFarland's Gap to the Lafayette road and Cloud House, nearly to Rossville Gap. This alignment was completed about 5 : 'M) P. AL, and shortly thereafter (leneral Rosecrans" second dispatch, sent through the medium of General Garfield, again ordered him to retire on Rossville, provided his troo])s were "retiring in good order." General Granger was present with Thomas, and here learned for the first time Rosecrans' command to retreat to Rossville. (Page 1-15, Gracie.) Colonel Gracie adds, 'Tt was also in the vicinity of the Cloud House that (General Sheridan at 5 : -■)() P. M. reported his arrival on Thomas' left. '■■ * * He had received a terril)le beating at noon time on the extreme rit;ht fiank of the army. snfl'ering a loss of over . ".0 per cent, yet he gathered and rallied in thj woods more than half the scattered remnants and brought them into line again at the extreme left liank of the army, ready Iiefore sundown to go into action again. Sheridan's statement is that when he reported to General Thomas for action the latter replied that his lines were too disorganized and withdrriwa! was necessary." lliere is no shadow of doubt that Sheridan marched to Rossville after the debacle of the morning, and obeving an 18 order sent by Rosecrans from Chattanooga at 5 P. M., he followed his original intention of moving out upon the Lafayette road, reaching a point three miles distant, where he halted on finding that it was too late to render assistance. Colonel Gracie states further that General Thomas, directed Sheridan, that ; "instead of advancing further "the 1500 gathered" should be reformed on the Lafayette road at Cloud House and aid in covering the withdrawal to Rossville." (Page 110, Gracie.) General Davis joined Thomas right by way of McFarland's Gap; too late, however, to take part in the engagement. In no part of his history does Colonel Gracie neglect to defend those who he thinks have been unappreciated or unfairly criticised, nor does he permit those whom he believes to have been negligent of their responsibility to escape his reproof. He declares that N'egley's withdrawal of tlie two small regiments left him, in charge of the artillery reserve, was timely and judicious, for the guns might be, and probably would have been employed bv the enemy against our retreating columns ; that whole regiments were lost or imperilled by officers who employed them to cover the retreat of their own commands ; that many of those who were doing their whole duty in a courageous and faithful manner were censured and maligned; and all this without fear or favor. His readers must judge, from the authorities he quotes, how impartial he has been in discussing a vast number of vexed questions, v/hich up to this time have not been solved. About an hour after Granger had left McAfee's church to aid General Thomas with Steedman't brigade. Colonel Dan INIcCook, who was during the two days under the direct command of Granger and Thomas, and whose every movement met with the commendation of both, was ordered to report to Granger via the Lafayette road. As the brigade was about to pass the McDonald house, Colonel McCook ordered Captain Edward L. 19 .Vnderson, his adjutant, to hasten forward to announce the approach of the command. Driven from the road b\' the fire of small arms and artillery Anderson turned to the ri,i;ht into the fields near McDonald's. Here he was met by Major Joseph I'^ullerton, of Grang-er's staff, waiting' for McCook. At this moment the brigade, w hieh had l)een marching by the right fiank without an advance guard, was driven from the road by the artillery of the enemy to the heights behind the McDonald house. Fullerton waited to see where McCook would take position, while Anderson galloped forward and foinid General Thomas under a large tree near the Snodgrass house. General Thomas was perfectly calm, but Grang^er advancing from near by was weeping for the death of his Adjutant Russell, who had been killed but a few moments before in stationing Steedman's troops. This was about 2 p. m. Fullerton then arrived, and reported to Thomas that McCook's brigade, which he had noted from some distance, was posted on the crest of the ridge, apparently in perfect order. General Thomas remarked that "it was a happy chance, for McCook was just where he wanted him to protect our left fiank and rear" and directed Captain Anderson to go to McCook with orders to remain where he was and to hold the position. The wisflom of this decision was shown later in a remarkable manner, for it proved the rescue of the army, as will afterwards appear, and McCook's brigade, by offering a threatening front in a commanding: position and by the use of its battery, performed greater service than it did even in the g-lorious Atlanta campaig'u, when out of a brigade averaging: about two thousand men it lost, at Kenesaw, Peachtree Creek, Jonesboro, and in man\smaller engagements, three commanders and 1089 good soldiers, killed or wounded. No ofificer, staff, or other, placed McCook upon the crest of Cloud I Till, as every member of the command well knew. His troops were simply driven from the road, and under the Colonel's hurried orders soug;ht tho cre^:t of thi hiil 20 which so timely and nuexpectedly offered itself; the movemeni was an unpremeditated unforeseen affair, that was as quickly begun as the report of the first gun sounded, and the men answered as readily, but in an orderly manner. Rosecrans' despatch directing Thomas to withdraw the army, and form a defensive line with Crittenden and McCook whom the Commander in Chief supposed to be somewhere in Thomas' rear, was sent from Chattanooga at 4 : 15 p. m., and was received before five o'clock as we knew from actual and constructive time. General Thomas immediately repaired to Kelly's field to hasten the movement. Rut a singular state of affairs had taken place in the left wing before Thomas' arrival. For some hours previously no word had been received from Thomas, and a consultation had taken place between the four division commanders and other officers of rank regarding the condition of their commands. This is not described in Gracie's book, but it is too important to pass over. "There had been no intimation to the four commanders on the left — Baird, Johnson, Palmer and Reynolds — that everything had not gone well with the right. They could get no message from Thomas for two or three hours. At this juncture, fearing another assault by the Confederates, and supposing that Thomas had been cut off from them. Palmer. Johnson and Reynolds consulted with P>aird and proposed that Palmer, as senior rankingofficer, be placed in command of their four divisions and march them off the field. But Baird refused to join them, preventing this calamitv." (Chattanooga Campaign, Col. M. H. Fitch, I'aird's Inspector General, Page 111). "About this time it was quiet on our front, and quite a number of general officers were congregated discussing the condition of the fight, among them two Major Generals, Reynolds and 21 Palmer ; and it was urged that we ought to have a general commander for our four divisions. Reynolds, the senior declined positively to assume it, remarking that it would be only assuming a disaster which was certainly impending." (A Military Xarrative, by General W. H: Hazen, page 131.) ''The commander of one of the divisions near my own, a])proachcd me and said I was the ranking officer on the field, and that I ought to order a retreat of the' divisions on the left to Chattanooga. At the moment the prospect did appear gloomy, and 1 was inclined to apprehend that matters were as bad as he supposed them to be. I told him, however, that if it was true that the rebels had defeated our right and center of the army, and captured or ki!le.l Rosecrans, Thomas. McCook and Crittenden, so far as I was concerned they might have every man of the four divisions they could take; that we would cut our way to Chattanooga ; that I would rather be killed, and be d d, than to be (1 d by the country for leaving a battle-field under such circumstances." Personal Recollection's of General John AI. Palmer, pp. 18:)-184. Shortly after this consultation, Ilazen was given permission to take his P)rigade to look for the right wing. About o'o'clock he came upon Marker's "Hard pressed brigade," on the open crest about the Snodgrass house, a few hundred yards in rear of his original position on the east hill of bForseshoe Ridge, whence he had Ixen driven about five o'clock by General Archibald Gracie who had gallantly taken possession of the long .sought point of advantage. Ilazen who had skirnn'shed over from Kellv's field with a front of two regiments, together with TIarker and a section of the ISth Ohio P>attery checked the enemy's ])iu-suit. Here ( )p(lycke, "the braves^t of the brave" was conspicuous in his gallantry and his regiment, the 125th Ohio and the section of the 22 18th Ohio Battery, formed the last fighting line. Steedman had fallen back from the main ridge, with Bushrod Johnson between him and the Horseshoe. Brannan exposed on both flanks, was the last to leave the crest, retiring in rear of Snodgrass House ; and by six o'clock the enemy had full possession of the stronghold so faithfully defended. That is to say, the whole of the Horseshoe Ridge was in possession of the brigades of Trigg, Kelly and Gracie, the only Federals remaining being the three captured regiments, 89th Ohio, 21st Ohio, and 22nd Michigan, and a temporary stand of the 9th Indiana, which Gracie alleges had been sent to take possession of the middle hill, and that Brannan did this to distract the attention of the enemy, as was his abandonment of the captured re?-iments. to cover the "stealthy" withdrawal of his troops. When, about 4 : 30 p. m., General Thomas reached the southern edge of Kelly's field he found Reynolds already moving ofif in column of fours, while beyond him a compact body of the enemy was passing south towards the rear of Baird, Johnson and Palmer. General Thomas at once commanded Reynolds to form line, face to the rear, and charge on the advancing foe. Turchin now made the charge which should live in history, as with wild cheers his brigade fell upon the Confederates and drove them more than a mile, uncovering the other three divisions. Barnett's Battery, of Dan McCook's brigade, aided Turchin in this attack and covered his retreat, when Reynolds and his troops found "shelter" behind McCook's brigade. Here were also the brigades of Robinson and Willich, and with these three commands General Thomas formed the nucleus of that front upon the line of hills that permitted the remainder of the army to withdraw by way of the "Ridge Road," to McFarland's Gap and Rossville. 23 Had AlcCook's brigade not been interrupted in its march to the front by an enemy which drove it to "the commanding' position" south of the Cloud House; who can say what would have been the fate of the Army of the Cumberland? Had 'l\irchin failed to return, the Confederates would have crushed tjic left wing in ilank and poured masses in rear of the gallant men who had held the Horseshoe Ridge. Colonel Oracle remarks (p. 114), "It can not be doubted that this position occupied by AlcCook's lirigade and I'arnett's Battery was developed into one of the most important keys to the safety of tlie whole I'ederal army, holding in check cavalry, infantry and artillery forces of the Confederate right. For on the Confederate right, Forrest's Cavalry and troops of IVeckenridge's and Liddell's Divisions overlapped the I'Vderal left under Baird. Steedman's opportune arrival had pushed aside F^orrest's dismounted cavalry, thus preventing the junction via ATcFarland's Gap and the two Confederate wings; and nothing but McCook's Brigade and Barnett's B.atterv remained beh.ind after Stecdman to guard this threatened catastrophe — the surrounding of the Federal armv and blocking its withdrawal through the passes to Rossville." For these services tlie l)rigade was handsomely commended by General Thomas. "They also serve who only stand and wait." A few more words about the withdrawal of the troops from the field. It has been officially reported that no command except the Ijrigade of Col. Cruft had the good fortune to L'ave Kelly's field in perfect order. Johnson was fighting at the time the order came, but his right was exposed and he had to obev. and reports that he owed the safety of his command to Willich's masterly movements ; ]^)air(rs division which had borne much of the burden of the two days, owing to his exposed position on the extreme left of the line, again suffered severelv in killed, 24 wounded and prisoners ; one of Grose's regimental officers on the left reported that his command had been crushed, so that Grose, Palmer and Thomas were forced to recognize that Grose retired in "some confusion," when we know from the reports that the 36th Indiana and 6th Ohio withdrew in line of battle and turned to fight (as many of the men have told the writer) ; but Cruft goes down in history through his various superiors as having withdrawn in perfect order. It is evident from his report that Cruft, seeing Reynolds' retreat, left the line before the last attack, which shattered Grose's left, and he therefore had a mere parade in reaching the shelter of the woods. (O. R. 50, p. 733). There was more or less confusion in all the other divisions, after Reynolds withdrew. After the troops from Kelly's field were on the road to McFarland's Gap, the heroes of the Horseshoe Ridge were safely withdrawn, except three regiments. (21st and 89th Ohio and 23nd Michigan) which were not notified to retreat and were captured, and the 9th Indiana narrowly escaped when it was ordered to make a vain endeavor to regain Hill No. 2, (the middle one) ; and the last shots firxl at Chickamauga were between Lieut. Col Henry V. N. Boynton's 35th Ohio and the 6th Florida. Henry V. N. P.oynton was a gallant and efficient officer, a medal of honor man. one who distinguished himself on many fields. Hazen followed th? troops through McFarland's Gap as rear guard. Col. Dan McCook's Brigade was the last command to leave the field of Chickamauga, sending two six gun discharges from Barnett's Battery, in the spirit of defiance, by the personal orders of Granger, characteristic of that erratic officer, who appeared on foot about 6 p. m. An hour earlier General Baird surprised McCook by the information that the whole army was being withdrawn from the field. At 8 o'clock McCook's Brigade 25 4 retired, unuTolcsted to Rossville, reaching its bivouac about midnight ; or later. (See H. J. Aten's admirable Mistory of the 85th Illinois). In February, 18()5, the author of this review, on his return from the Battle of Nashville, i)aid a visit to General Scott, in company with his uncle, Robert Anderson, a former aide-de-camp to the old Chieftan. General Scott was enthusiastic in his praise of Thomas, and turning to my uncle, said, "Robert, you have alwa\s known my opinion of George Thomas. Xow 1 wish to say that, in my opinion, the Battle of Xashville was the finest piece of grand tactics of the Civil War." Had Scott lived to know all the mysteries, now revealed, of the great IJattle of Chickamauga, such as the defence of the Horseshoe Ridge, of the charge personally demanded of Rexnold's Brigade, of the successful withdrawal of the troops in the face of a victorious enemw of the quickly arranged stand at the head of McFarland's Gaj), in what words could he have expressed his opinion of the strategv and tactics )f his old favorite, who had proved himself one of the greatest Captains of modern times. Thomas' genius seemed to render him prescient, for he was always present at the critical moment, with a coolness that gave him instant, perfect control of his best judgment. Truly, as Colonel Graeie remarks, "As the leader of the Federal Army, in its escape from com])lete annihilation, he received the crown of glory to which lu was entitled. "While Colonel Gracie's book may not give the last word about the battle of Chickamauga. it exhibits a conscientious and laborious effort to harmonize and reconcile the man\' statements regarding this great conflict into a fair and acceptable narrative, in which it must be admitted he has succeeded most creditablv. He has gone to the Official Reports and to reputable witnesses for his facts, and whether or no we accept all his deductions, we have before us Tlic Truth About Chickamaui^a as it is understood by an impartial observer. NOTE — The following named commands and fragments — some of which were mere squads, but which did honor to their regiments — fought on Horseshoe and the connecting Main Ridge from about 2 :30 p. m. to 4 :00 p. m., September 20th, 1863. Beginning on the right (west) ; Steedman's Division, consisting of Colonel John G. Mitchell's and General Walter Whittaker's splendid brigades, 22nd Michigan, 21st Ohio, General Van Derveer's invincible troops, 87th Indiana, 58th Indiana, 17th Kentucky, 9th Kentucky, 19th Ohio, 79th Indiana. 14th Ohio, 4th Kentucky, 10th Kentucky, 13th Ohio, 19th Illinois, 18th Ohio, 11th Michigan, 44th Indiana, Harker's brigade on the extreme left (east). Generals Steedman, Brannon, Wood and John Beatty were with their troops, and the divisions of Negley and Van Cleve were represented. The 18th Ohio battery, Lieut, Frank G. Smith, 4th U. S. Artillery, was on a line with the Snodgrass House. 'THOMAS' LINES" (FEDERAL LEFT WING) FROM ABOUT 4. s;rxo ^^;'••■^''-\^^*.o o^ \\\gR\° ':?^^'^ vXX /^ "^ -. '0'% ^^b^""" ■ A , '-^^'t^fff -'^r^^l^^ ^f;. "'Tf, dir. «>-3^» N (0 1,TO 5 P.M., SEPTEMBER _'0. 1,S0;5. (SEE OFFICIAL REPORTS) LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ii Hill mil mil mil Hill mil mil mil mil iiij nil 013 702 421 4 T HiE CORRUPTION OF ESTABLISHED TIUTfl L I RESPONSIBILITY OF EDUCATED MEN. AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE ALUM1NI OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MICIIIGAN, JUNE 27, 1856. BY REV. N. WEST, JR. Of Cincinnati, Ohio. [PUBLISHED BY REQUEST.) "Scimtia nihil allud est quam veritatis imago." DETROIT: FREE PRESS BOOK AND JOB STEAM PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT. 1 856. AND N/ -' 4 Is $ C I -3 Al t A D D R E S S. GENTLEMEN OF THE ALUMNI: Obedient to a venerated custom, we have turned aside from the various professions and pursuits of life to mingle, for a short time, our mutual congratulations, and renew the familiar intimacies we were wont to cherish in former days. It is well if, notwithstanding the toils of arduous duty, the vicissitudes of prosperous or adverse providence, and all the transitions of our respective histories, we yet entertain for our "Alma.Mater" that devotion and enthusiasm we once felt for her in years gone by. Better still will it be, if, as returning to complete the circle of our wanderings at her door, and receive her cordial welcome, she finds us such as she desired us to be when our feet left her threshold and our hearts carried away her word of parting; sons worthy of her anxious care; stewards diligent in the improvement of her munificent gifts, an honor to her name, a credit to ourselves and a blessing to the world! The great mission upon which we were sent, and for the successful accomplishment of which we were furnished with a thorough, though incipient, intellectual and moral training, was to promote the welfare of our fellow men, by standing forth as the champions of truth against error, in whatever sphere of effort, and seeking by means of the truth to eliminate a life of usefulness and a result of practical good from all with whom we came in contact. This was our mission. To this one end all our running, all our practice, all our discipline, in the curriculum of collegiate instruction, was religiously directed. We studied nothing in the classics, nothing in the mathematics, nothing in ethics, history, logic or rhetoric, mastered nothing in the evidences of Christianity, in philosophy, literature, art or science, heard no voice of prayer, no song of praise, no word of sacred wisdom, received no reproof, partook of no advice, felt no generous impulse, and were urged to no laudable ambition, which had not this one end and aim in views the fitting of us to discharge our duty to our fellow men. The occasion which has called us together, even the hailed recurrence of the time when we issued forth in prosecution of this work, to grapple with the activities of an untried contest, suggests a theme, the consideration of which claims alike the attention of the patriot, the scholar and the christian It is THE PRESENT CORRUPTION OF ESTABLISHED TRUTH. AND THE PRESENT RESPONSIBILITY OF EDUCATEI> MEN. In seeking for a definition of truth, we do not content ourselves simply with an inquiry into the agreement or non-agreement of our verbal expressions, either with our conceptions, convictions, or objects of real existence. This were to terminate the inquiry upon words. But we seek to ascertain what that is which lies behind the expressionrs, as a substance behind a sign, and of which these expressions, in whatever department of learning, aren only the articulate announcements. Is there, in the universe, such a thing as truth, and is it well established? Does it exist out of the mind, as well as in the mind? Is it immutable and eternal, or does it depend upon the ever-changing and capricious intellect of man? These are questions, in reference to which there has been a contest both severe and protracted. Philosophers have undertaken to show that, although there is indeed such a thing as truth in the world, yet in the last analysis of its charactel it is found to be but a representation of the mind to itself; that it is something devoid of objectivity; that, were the mind destroyed, truth would be destroyed also; that the mind sees only what itself originates, nothing more, nothing less; that truth is the subjective intelligence objectified, or the product of reason projected upon the plane of consciousness; in other words, the mind mirrored to itself so that percipient and perceived are identical, just as a man-standing before a mirror beholds only himself. Like I)aphnis, the beautiful shepherd whom Virgil celebrates, and who caught a sight of his own image in the water, as one day he stood by the shore of the sea when the winds were still, "Nuper me in litore vidi, Cum placidum ventis staret mare;" so these philosophers, in their contemplative moous, have looke into the calm unrippled sea of consciousness, and beholding the) the image of themselves, have declared it to be the only truth, i 4 existence. Or, like Narcissus, sung by Ovid, who came to slake his thirst at a silver spring, into which no branch of a tree had ever fallen, and where no shepherd or flock had ever been, and there beheld in the glassy fountain a form of youthfulness and naked beauty, so these philosophers coming to the mirror of consciousness. a mirror discovered by Des Cartes in the last half of the seventeenth century, and into which none before had ever taked the trouble to look intently, became enraptured with the visions of beauty there seen, and publishing to the world the unsubstantial idealities of their own imaginative brain, the "Rem sine corpore," and the " Corpus quod umbra est" of the self-smitten lover, gave out that the " me" and the "not-me," the subject and object, were " all-one," and the only real truth. We are affirmed to be the victims of a complete delusion, according this very delusive theory, if we think we either see or believe anything which we ourselves have not originated, and which we ourselves already are not. To teach that truth, at any time, is other and different from what we imagine, construct, or represent it to be, or that there is any greater mceasure of existence than our own mental capacity, or that the horizon of our knowledge must be less at all times, than the domain of our faith, is a philosophical heresy, and obnoxious to the anger of the higher speculative criticism. In opposition to this, we hold that in the very nature of the case, man can never be other than himself, neither can his capacity to know be the measure of existence, neither is he perfect in his present condition. He cannot, therefore, be all, neither can he be more than he is, neither can his knowledge be commensurate with what he is bound to believe, nor can the image of himself be the standard of truth. Truth has an existence out of the individual mind, as well as in it, pure, absolute, indefectible. It is immutable in its nature, divine in its origin, eternal in its history. Existing in all the forms-of organic life and inorganic nature, being the toute ensemble of facts and relations in the heavens above, earth beneath, and waters under the earth, pervading all departments of knowledge, energizing through all things, human and divine, according to its unchanging principles and laws, it is evermore the teacher and not the child of man. Apprehended by the natural intelligence, as an object is seen by the natural eye, or grasped by the natural hand, it cannot be that which the mind originates, but only that which it seeks. It is the pearl of great price in all the di 0 6 visions of human and divine science, the which, when a man finds, he parts with all his meaner merchandise, to buy. Celestial in its birth and synonymous with light, it yet resides in all the provinces where literature. philosophy, art, science, and religion take their origin, is that after which we are all in pursuit, and without which we are never satisfied. This truth, gentlemen, misapprehended, misconceived, misapplied, by the professed explorers and expounders of it, during the last half century, and even now, has been subjected, in consequence thereof, to an illegitimate expression and false presentation upon the pages of the literature of the age. Speculatively, practically, scientifically, and religiously, it has been corrupted, and to-day lifts up its voice in protest against the metamorphosis. There is not a department of human or divine knowledge that is free from the perversion. The fountains of literature are poisoned, and the streams are pestilential. Society drinks of the turbid waters, sulphurous and brackish, like those of the Dead Sea, only to experience their painful results. That error and almost universal unbelief which have rolled their surging waves across the continents and islands of the old world, dash themselves to-day against the shores, the cities, and towns, of the New. Holding ourselves responsible for what we are about to utter, we say that the cause of this wide-spread corruption of established truth is not so difficult to be ascertained, as many suppose. It is palpable to any one, who, casting his eyes over the fields of literature in our own age, and comparing them with the same fields of a former age, has discernment sufficient to mark the peculiarity of difference between the two, and diligence enough to trace it through all its varied ramifications. There is but one cause for the universal unbelief. in the higher walks of life, during the last half century; one cause for all the perversions of scientific and religious truth; one cause for all the mental restlessness of society; one cause for all the bewitchment and enchantment of the studious intellect; one cause for all the false philosophy, false divinity, and false humanity of the present era. That cause finds its appropriate expression in one word, and that word is " DEVELOPMENT." Like a mighty serpent, or boa-constrictor, it has wormed itself through, coiled itself round, and spread its slime over, all the departments of human investigation. We hazard nothing in attributing so powerful an influence to one idea, for how many times has one idea revolutionized the world and all II 7 learning! With one'idea, Copernicus and Galileo demolished the sys tern of Ptolemy and Eudoxus, and opened a new era in astronomy; with one idea, Newton gave law to the universe; by one idea, the theory of self-consciousness, Des Cartes became the father of modern metaphy sics; by one idea, that of induction, Bacon redeemed philosophy from the bondage of medieval authority; by one idea, the distinction between reason and understanding, Kant agitated all speculative science to the centre; by one idea, that of a three-fold system of existence unfolded by Dialectic Method, Hegel towered above all his predecessors, and drew Germany in captivity to his feet. And so this one idea of development, misconceived, distorted, misapplied and misrepresented by the savants of science, has spread its contagious influence over every acre of intellectual territory hitherto explored by man, poisoned the whole literature of the last half century, and produced as its result the universal skepticism, both scientific and religious, of the present age. Viewed in whatever light, whether as teaching that all things are derived from an infusorial point; or that there is but one primitive germ for all possible variations, and that no variation is impossible; or that all organic germs are identical; or that in the line of organic progress there is a veritable transmutation of the species, a passing over of one thing into something other and different from itself; or that all superior forms of existence, celestial or terrestrial, animate or inanimate, have been pushed out and pushed up into the higher from the lower, by inherent forces; or that whatever is best in the universe, in history, morals, science or religion, is but an organic growth, an "Aufkebung," of what is worst-viewed, we say, in whatever light, it has yielded a luxuriant harvest of noxious weeds in all the departments of learning. The two modes of its pushing, or its two forms of embry. otic hypothesis and transmutation theory, like the two horns of the little Beast in the Apocalypse, betray its terrene origin and its destructive propensities. In adducing the evidence of our theme, that the misapprehended and misapplied idea of development has been the real cause of the wide-spread corruption of religious and scientific truth, we are admonished to be brief because the field is immense. Andfig-st, in the territory of the Natural Sciences, to mention only Botany, Zoology, Astronomy and Geology, this evidence is complete. The student of these departments cannot be ignorant of the names of Goethe, Oken, 8 Meckel, Geoffrey St Hilaire, La Marok, Herschell, La Place, and their cotemporaries, all eminent men and leaving the impress of their genius upon their varied departments of study. To the German poet belongs the credit of propounding the doctrine of the metamorphosis of plants. To Oken, as he stumbled over the Hartz mountains, where ghosts are said to be numerous, the honor of resuscitating the wild and defunct theory of De Maillet, that all vegetation is from the sea, the primordial source of all life, so that the majestic oaks of the forest, the luxuriant fruit-trees of the orchard, and the fragrant flowers of the garden, were developed by a process altogether unique, from kelp-weed, tangle and willows, just as these in turn had come from marine-grass, reeds and flags. To St. Hilaire and La Marck, the former of whom was entrusted with the presidency of the Zoological Museum, in Paris, belongs the merit of disputing the doctrine of Cuvier, and maintaining the hypothesis that there is but one type from which all the variations of the animal kingdom are unfolded, according to organic law; so that the polype, the mollusc, and the man, are reducible to the same primitive form. According to this theory, advocated by the author of the " Vestiges of Creation," man is pre-eminently favored with an exalted position at the apex of the zoological pyramid, because he contains within his own organization the sum total of all the special structures below him. Still more, he is honored with a blood relationship, on this very account, to all that exists beneath him, the ape, the ele. phant, and the mouse alike, so that Cuvier was but the expansion of an Ourang Outang, and St. Hilaire and Lamarck only the cynosures in their own menagerie, organically pushed out and up, by a special inherent conatus, from the lower forms of the tadpole, the frog, and the monkey. These same philosophers, and their coadjutors, turning to the Geological field, applied the same theory to the fossiliferous strata of the earth, contending that existing species sprang from extinct forms, and insisting that the proof of actual transmutation was foiund registered in the stony record of the past. The theory of successive creations was ignored, and superposition of strata held to be evidence of parental relation. True, indeed, it was admitted that the primitive germs or infusorial points were not to be discovered,(!) but then, notwithstanding this, the lowest specimens of extinct forms, buried in the lowest strata, were the real progenitors of all that nrow moves on th6 land, swims in the sea, or floats in the air. In astronomy, the speculations of the elder Herschell led to the Nebular hypothesis of La Place, so that the popular cosmogony was based upon the theory of a primitive fire-mist or vapor, out of which the stars, planets, suns, and worlds of the uni verse, were gradually evolved. In every one of these departments of investigation, a personal God was ruled out of the question, the doc trine of providence denied, and final causes ignored. Thus it was that a complete system of infidelity fastened itself upon the sciences, by the almost simultaneous application of the development theory to all, and that the talent and genius of the age engaged in a scientific crusade against, not only theistic truth, but also against the oracles of revelation. Again, in the region of the higher metaphysics, the same idea has corrupted all the legitimate speculations of philosophy. And here we enter a field which, however much we may affect to despise, and however much regard as beyond the comprehension of the people, is yet more potent and dangerous against the truth, because more subtle and specious. What boots it the philosopher whether the people can follow him in his abstract theorizings and mazy wanderings, provided only the results of his labors are accepted? Newton was satisfied that the world should believe the laws he demonstrated, without being able to read his Principia. La Place was satisfied that his theory of the universe should be regarded as true, without the world's being able to read his Mecanique Celeste. Similarly, Kant, Fichte, Schelling, and Hiegel, would have been gratified that the results of their philosbphy should be accepted by the people, even though their processes were scarcely understood. On this point we need fear. History assures us that no matter how wild the vagary may be, it will always find abundant neophytes to advocate its absurdities. There is a continual longing in unsettled minds for something newer, an Athenian-like thirst for "rie xajvo-ragov," ever ready to study, imbibe, and print the.errors it has not the power or ingenuity to originate; and there is an equal thirst in the multitude to receive whatever is thus provided, whether in the pamphlet, the duodecimo, or the pouplar lecture. In higher metaphysics the absolute idea corresponds to the infusorial point, or primitive germ, in the Natural sciences. It is from this the universe is evolved by necessary organic development. The thought here is stupendous in its erratic grandeur. All other developments, in adl other sciences, when compared with this, are but as tapers to 10 the sun, or drops to the ocean. This one soars above all, embraces all, is the parent of all. Botany, Zoology, Astronomy, Geology, and all other sciences, are but simple modes according to which the absolute proceeds in majesty and living power. Politics, philosophy, religion and revolution, are but the spontaneous breathings, the irrepressible pulsations of this mighty movement, each a special conatus of the monster-ideal-world-germ, or primitive universe-embryo, from which all things come. This embryo is called God! History is his enacted life under the two conditions of Eternity and Infinity. This germ becomes conscious of its own existence, only in the consciousness of man, and the instincts of brutes. Everything that exists is God. From Him all existence is developed-rocks, streams, trees, birds, beasts, fishes and men. He is all things, and all things are Him. Pantheists, in beginning their philosophy, can claim: at least, the merit of Damcotas in beginning his song. "Ab Jove principium, Mlusce; Jovis omnia plena." It is interesting to observe the progress of the corruption of philosophy and its termination in this doctrine of the Absolute. Briefly, Des Cartes had defined a substance to be that which exists independently of all things. Spinoza accepted the definition and built upon it a system of material pantheiom, making God to be the only substance, having the two attributes of thought and extension. Malebranche followed with the declaration that we have an immediate vision of God in all things. Leibnitz constructed his monadology, for the purpose of harmonizing speculative difficulties, and taught that one monad was the parent of all the rest, and that monad was God. Kant separated the thinking " me" from the external world, and left it for his successors to explain the relation between them. Fichte, protesting, against the separation, united both, and reduced everything to the subjective side, to the "me," of which all things were the effect. This was too much, for God, on this scheme, was destroyed. The charge of Atheism forced the philosopher to retract, and reinstate God, making the "me," however, His image. Schelling undertook to explain the relation between the two, which Fichte had abandoned, by finding in the principle of identity the required unity of both. Hegel, stepped in and declared that the objective was nothing by itself, nor the subjective anything by itself, neither both together, but that reality was to be found alone in 11 the relation between them, that this was the only existence. Thus it was that the Absolute, the abstraction of Nothing, became the philoSophical embryo or primitive germ of all things, the source of all the universe. Spinoza had made God to be simply an animated geological conglomerate. This huge specimen is next put into the crucible of the higher criticism, there to seethe, hiss and simmer, until it comes to a double-bubble-bubble,-Fichte looking until he sees the "me" in it, his own image,-Schelling looking until he sees the " me" and the " not-me," all one, himself and the universe just alike, and, last of all, Hegel, the 0o -vu of the grand trio of metaphysical speculators, remaining until the substance is sublimated away into the abstract idea of Nothing, the essence of all existence. and exclaiming with uplifted hands Seyn ist Nichts, the marvelous equation at the threshold of all his philosophy! Thus it was, by a vain attempt to construct the universe, a priori, and to bridge the gulf between the ideal and the real, that all Europe wvas flooded with a spring tide of infidelity, the waves of which have not yet subsided, and the violence of which has propelled it to our own shores! Time forbids me, gentlemen, to dwell long upon the havoc made in the Christian field, by the application of this one idea of development, at one time in one form, at another time in another. Yet a word of illustration may be allowed here also in proof of our theme. In all ages, the effect of philosophy upon revealed religion has been that of subversion and not of edification. Biblical truth has been corrupted by every metaphysical system, that of Sir William Hamilton, so far as it goes, not excepted. Platonism prevailed among the church Fathers and Aristotelianism among the schoolmen. After the reformation, error again began its invasions. First the Wolfian, then the Kantian, then the Schellingian, and last of all the Hegelian metaphysics, were applied to Christianity, in theological chairs, and expounded from sacred pulpits. The result has been the denial of the inspiration of the scriptures in any Biblical sense, and the substitution of a genius-theory, according to which all the religious truths of the Bible are but the result of selfelevation. Of course the divine authority of the Scriptures is ruled out as a superstition. The rationalism of Kant, the intuitionalism of Schelling, the subjectiveism of Fichte, and the dialectic method of Hegel, all find here a common centre of union. Miracles are pronounced 12 to be impossible, by a foregone conclusion, and the Biblical ones are explained as myths, fabulous representations of an uncivilized age and people. The Greeks, Romans, Persians, Egyptians and Scandinavi ans had myths in their early history; why should not the Hebrews 2 Moses, Elias, Abraham and Jesus, are paralleled with Theseus, Her cules, Jupiter, and Bacchus! If Ormusd and Odin are not histori cal, then neither are Adam and Noah. Prophecy, once ridiculed as a post-vaticination, is kindly relieved from this reproach and declared to be a simple reference to events existing at the time of its utterance, and its application to the Messiah but a distorted mode of thinking, on the part of His Jewish followers! The man of Nazareth is held to be only a personified idea! In like manner, Christianity itself is regarded only as a phase of the Absolute religion,-a religion developed, by one set of philosophers, from the Absolute idea, and by another, from the lowest forms of Fetichism. This last hypothesis has for its most gifted advocate the author of the Positive Philosophy. Yet, not content to take HIegel on the one hand, or Auguste Comte on the other, a transit has been made into the field -of Natural Science for the purpose of applying the two-fold form of development, there illustrated, to Christianity and the church. Thus, all the corruptions of the church during the first four centuries, and the middle ages have been, on the embryotic principle, explained as necessary growths from the Apostolic gernm. Or, if it is found that there are many developments in the history of the church, the seminal elements of which cannot be discovered in Apostolic Christianity, then the transmutation theory is introduced to account for the change, and relieve us from further trouble. Somehow or other, there was a wonderful inherent tendency to progressive improvement about the year A. D., 606, and the felt wants of the church gave rise to a special conatus oreffort. True, it was not a growth in grace that was desired., yet still there was a desire for a growth. And just as the special conatus of a globule of jelly produced, for it, hands and mouth, and feet, so that it passed over to be a frog, and just as the special conatus for swimming formed for the frog, fins and tail, so that it passed over to be a shark, just so the special conatus of pure Apostolic Christianity for becoming an ecclesiastico-political despotism formed for it all the attributes of such a system, and thus it passed over to Popery! Such, gentlemen, is the theory as applied to the 13 church. Everything of corruption, by wicked men, in it and about it, is held to be a regular organic development. We are not allowed to step behind. or overleap the boundaries of a mixed historical evo lution of doctrine, practice or worship, no matter how corrupted, to seek for pure truth in the original Scriptures. The stream of devel opment bears us on, and we must keep in the current. Historians tell us there are two factors in history, God and man; but there is a Satanic third of no small potency and will! It would require a volume, many volumes, to set forth in proper order and bearing, the truths which have been corrupted, sacrificed, and denied, by the application of this one idea of development. The imperfect glance we have taken at only three general departments of learning, viz: The Natural Sciences, Metaphysics, and Religion, suffices to show how fearful the havoc has been. The distinction between a personal God and His works is obliterated,-the doctrine of a primitive creation denied-the Creator, by necessity, excluded from the world-providential interposition ruled out as a figment and folly-and final causes rejected as a dream of superstition. The authority of an independent Will and Power, controlling the universe has been exchanged for the' government of Blind Fate, energizing mechanically according to the rules of geometrical action, in every department, and baptized with the name of Eternal Law. The Bible is said to be the work of man, or of God only in so far as God and man are one. Its miracles are declared to be myths, its prophecies metaphors, its histories delusions, its Messiah a fabled incarnation, yea, the tenth avatar of Vishnu! Fetichism, Brahmism, Ssufism, Judaism, Christianity, Popery, Mohammedism, Mormonism, and Infidelity, all are phases of the one same Absolute religion. The modern corruptions of Christianity are only legitimate outgrowths from itself. The doctrine of the original perfection of all things, has been removed to give place to that of original imperfection, and the theory of the permanence of the species ignored for that of its transmutation. Man, once made in the likeness of Jehovah, and announced as the last, the highest effort of creative skill and wisdom, is called upon by modern science to look at his pict'ure, on the one hand, in the wild barbarian, the uncombed (Caffre of the jungle, and on the other, to find his traditional ancestor in an infusorial point, or globule ofjelly, animated by electricity; and tracing his pedigree through the rocky pages of his 14 family register, to discover there among his relations a Megatherium of the later Pliocene, ro an Ichthyosaaurus of the Upper Secondary! Passing into the field of metaphysics, he learns the further lesson that he is God! all that exists being only himself developed, that he is the Eternal Spider,weaving from his own substance the entire tissue of the universe, and by a process of subsumption, gathering it up again; or, to use another figure of the HIindoo system, he is the Sun from which all rays, the Ocean from which all waves, proceed. Thus, he becomes his own father, his own brother, his own son, and all the rest of the family included;-the "me" and the "not me," all one; an independent mighty individual, the sum total of everything, afraid of no one, above, beneath, or around him, but "monarch of all he surveys." " The form and the substance, the what and the why, The when and the where, the low and the high; The inside and outside, the earth and the sky, All souls and all bodies,-I, I, itself I." What to denominate such a system, it is difficult to tell. Yet unquestionably it has a kinsman relationship to that Atheistic philosophy of the ancients so admirably described by the gifter Cudworth,"a monster, big-swoln with a puffy show of wisdom, which, though he struts and talks so gigantically, and marches with such a kind of stately philosophic grandeur, yet is indeed but like the giant Orgoglio in our English poet, a mere empty bladder, blown up with vain conceit, an Empusa, phantasm, or spectre, the offspring of night and darkness, of nonsense and contradiction.!" We shall not stop to prove to you, gentlemen, that this misconceived and misapplied idea of development has resulted in the paganization of human learning. It is a sad fact to know that what is so boastfully and magniloquently held up to be the advance of science, in modern times, proves, upon a patient and toilsome investigation, to be but the retrogression of science. The whole past has been exhumed, and brought forward, by the active spirit of the last fifty years. There is nothing in the essential theories of St. Hiilaire, La March, Oken, La Place, Fichte, Hegel, Comte, or the author of the Vestiges of Creation, which cannot be found in Anaximander, Xenophanes, Epicurus and Democritus, which cannot be read in Plato, Cicero, Lucretius, Persius, and Virgil. To adduce but one instance, for the sake of illustration: Xenophanes asserted that " if oxen and 15 lions had hands and fingers, and could produce works like men, oxen would represent their gods like oxen, and lions their gods like lions, and assign them the sort of form themselves possess. Feuerbach, a German pantheist, published in the year A. D)., 1840, these words:' If God were an object to a bird, he would be a winged being; the bird knows nothing higher, nothing more blissful than the winged condition" Where, gentlemen, is the difference in the mighty principle of error which lies atthe foundation of the philosophy of these two men? One of them teaches, one thousand eight hundred and forty years after Christ, just what the other taught five hundred and thirty years before Christ, and this doctrine has been, in our day, the reigning metaphysics of Europe! Has philosophy advanced, then, during the two thousand three hundred years of her activity? Rather, has not Paganism received a resurrection at the hand of modern scholars? The remark'of Voltaire, ribald and jesting as it was, yet contains a truth which every student can see, as soon as it is announced;-" Philosophy is the inverse reading of the passage'God made man in His own image;' man returns God tke compliment!" But, perhaps, you are ready to ask, gentleman, how it is that this theory of development, so productive of evil, has become so universally received, and so supremely successful? how, notwithstanding the discoveries made by the telescope of Lord Rosse, the argument furnished by the indefatigable Hugh Miller, from the Star-Scale of Stromness, and the merciless criticisms of such a man as Sir William Hamilton it yet prevails, and seems to gather strength in many of the circles of science? Our answer is, just because there are elements, vital germs of undeniable truth in it, giving to it all its power, but without which it would shrink, wither, and die, in a day! There is truth in the doctrine of the "Unity of Organic Composition," propounded by St. Hilaire,-truth in the doctrine of a "Dialectic Method," or progressive rythm of all being, propounded by Hegel,-truth in the doctrine of a " Church-Development," propounded by a Meehler, a Bauer, a Newman, a Nevin,-and truth even in the Positive Philosophy. The properties and criteria of a true development, could be culled very readily, either by special extracts or just inferences, from the writings of all these authors. But, yet, the truth here found, as it lies in their pages, and is connected with their schemes, is so distorted, so misapprehended, so corrupted, and so grossly misapplied to the subject in 16 hand, and to the facts of the case, that positive error is the result. " Corruptio optimipessima,"-the corruption of the best is the worst corruption-finds here its clearest illustration. The truth of God is " changed into a lie," and yet because of the very semblance of truth which the theory puts on, and the elements of truth to which it points, it conciliates success. The man who, like the German idealists, and Cousin their trumpet, fails to give prominence in his system to the distinction between the act of reason apprehending truth, and the truth apprekended, however much he may speak of the distinction, and contemplates only the co-residence of truth and reason in the same mind, will soon transfer to reason the properties of impersonality and eternity which alone belong to truth, and find himself in a pantheistic circle from which he cannot escape. Every thing must come from the " me." Man will be God, and from this point development must proceed. Now, there are elements of truth even here, but so misapplied that error only is the result. And the man who, like St. Hilaire, beholds only organic unity in all things, but beholds not organic diversity, and both as facts of a primitive creation, neither allows in the line of progress the intervention of creative power, but exalts his own partial idea into equivalency with the Supreme Plan, cannot fail to propound a theory which, however plausible it may be, will yet only produce the fruits of error. Truth, indeed, it will contain, and this will give it life, and ensure it success for a time; and the dazzling grandeur of teeming millions of animated beings, deploying into line according to a fixed law of development, and marching onward and upward to higher forms, like the steady movement of an issuing host, will spread such a scene of magnificence before the ardent imagination, as may well bewilder and enchant the profoundest minds. But it would only be an illustration of the ridiculousness of the theory, should any one, thus viewing this host, apply to a regiment of its cavalry the doctrine that superposition proves parental relation, and argue that the horses were the fathers of the riders, the higher a development from the lower, and both organically one, mythological Centaurs, like those who dwelt on the summits of Pelion and Thessaly, or fanciful monsters, like that depicted in the opening of the Ars Poetica â��the compound of a horse, a woman, a bird, and a fish! Theologians make no better showing when they apply this perverted theory to Christianity and the church. 17 And now, gentlemen, what is the responsibility of the educated man in view of the wide-spread corruption of religious and scientific truth? Viewed in the light of its practical bearing upon the indi vidual, the family, the church, the state, and upon all the beneficent institutions of society. can it be a matter of small consequence that such a theory as the one we have alluded to, be encouraged and espoused? Witness its application to all the departments of learning, and its arrogant pretension that nothing is unquestionably established but itself. Consider the historical fruits of that application, as they have matured in the kingdoms of Insular and Continental Europe,how, from the boughs of this mystical Upas, all-blasting in its nature, have proceeded Communism, Socialism, Spiritualism, Materialism, Blasphemy, Revolution, and Unbelief, in their direst forms; how the ties of domestic life have been sundered, the fountains of social happiness poisoned, the elements of political stability dissolved, and the eternal principles of religion and virtue ignored! At work, already in the class-room of the College and University, in the chairs of Theology, in the pulpits of churches, lauded by the press, and supported by infidel coteries throughout the land, it bids fair to take root in the intellectual soil of our own country. Is the responsibility, then, light, is the obligation trivial, that rests upon the shoulders of the hometrained graduates of the nation, to be the conservators of whatever is good and true? None weightier ever fell upon the shoulders of any. No victory more brilliant than that which one day will crown the fortunes of those who battle manfully for the truth, ever perched upon the banners and standards of the past. The foe is not to be despised, for it is one of a Trio of unclean spirits sent forth from the mouth of the Dragon who more than ever appears as an "angel of light!" It is the Mimic and Ape of the Most High in His plans and purposes, and speaks lastingly of a social and political Millennium. Unlike the scepticism of the last century, which was coarse and vulgar, this is fine and attractive. It rallies to its aid all the accomplishments of science and learning, is crested with genius, arrays itself in the garb of truth, and pours in the witchery of eloquence and enchantment of song. The mode, gentlemen, of combatting this enemy, is simple and plain. The strongest weapons of attack and defence, are, as they ever have been, the oracles of divine wisdom, in so far as they bear 18 upon the error to be destroyed. And here we have an abundant equipment, for the truth is ready to our hand. We have only to open our eyes in order to see it. There is indeed a true development theory, built upon a true law of development, an eternal theory pervaded by an eternal law, a mighty plan, a pattern-idea, ever present in all the variations of existence, causing us to wonder at the simplicity of its design, the adaptation of its means, and the magnificence of its execution. Obvious amid all its manifold complications, beautiful in the regularity of its movements, and harmonious with itself throughout the departments of Nature, Revelation, and History, each illustrating, confirming, and interpenetrating the other, it challenges our admiration because of its perfection, and wins our assent because of its truth. It meets the false theory of perverted science, by proclaiming that its introduction into the universe was heralded by the miracle of a primitive creation;-not the creation simply of a common embryo, germ, or infusorial point, in which the characteristics of future organizations were potentially concealed, but the creation in maturity of each distinct kind by itself, from which, as a point of beginning, all things were to proceed. The universal law for all life was clearly announced in the first institution of the organic kingdom. Every living thing was created, each "after its kind," and each having "its seed in itself." Here was the sublime, yet simple plan, the static and dynamic principles of the Cosmos inseparably blended to gether, teaching the impossibility of the last without the presence of the first, and that whatever is developed must be identical with itself throughout the entire line of its progress, the oak producing the acorn, the acorn the oak, the man the child, the child the man, down to the latest generations,-all departments of organic life, constructed on the seminal plan, any deviation from which would only be a resultant monstrosity. The development was to be, not of one thing from another, but each from itself. Parallel with this, another law is plainly discoverable, equally grand as the first, the intervention of creative power, by successive acts, during the progress of the plan. New forms are seen to arise, period after period, not according to a transmutation hypothesis, but according to the direct intervention, of creative power the original and previous principles ever being carried forward in the line of advance; interruptiou also where it pleaed the Creator to make them, ad mys 19 terious combinations to show forth His wisdom and goodness. One general plan, one general order, everywhere seen in the various sec tions of organized existence, modified, indeed, to suit the design of the skillful Architect, yet no confounding of a first with a second creation, nor of a first with a second development. There were, in deed, to be " diversities of operations" in the natural as well as in the spiritual kingdom, but then, in the one as in the other, "the same God who worketh all in all," was to appear conspicuous. Men were not to be sent fig-hunting in thistle-ground, nor grape-gathering in a thorn-brake. The fig-tree was not to bear olive-berries, neither a vine figs. The physiologist and anatomist were to look in vain for an example where any race had unfolded itself into another and a different one. Vegetation was not to assume the aspect of the brute creation, neither was the brute to obtrude itself into the form of humanity. External, and other, causes might, indeed, interfere to warp the development out of its true growth, for a time, but yet so imperative was the original law that the legitimate development mnust recur, as soon as these disturbing influences should be removed. The entire universe was to march forward, under the control of a superintending providence, not according to the formula of the purblind philosopher, but according to the development of a magnificent plan, worthy of God, even to the whole extent of its primitive creations, its established laws, and successive interventions Such is an outline of a true theory. Such is the one for which we are ever to contend. The application of such a theory to all depart ments of learning will be accompanied with the happiest results.Christianity will never be referred to as a form of Fetichism, or regarded as the germ of a rationalistic creed. Biblical truth will ever remain identical with itself while it seeks a higher development in the spiritual life of the soul, and the church. Philosophy, constructing itself upon the primary beliefs of the human mind, will never fabricate a psychology to suit an a priori hypothesis, nor overlook the already recorded facts of consciousness. Natural sciencc will no longer indulge the license of imaginative poets and painters, by coupling serpents with birds, and lambs with tigers, but following the divine 20 law of identity in development, "first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear," will utter its formula in the words of the Roman bard, admirable and true, " Servetur ad imum Qualis ab inccepto processerit, et sibi constet." Gentlemen of the Alumnti: Were it not for the Bible, our argument would be, comparatively speaking, of small moment. But, admitting the Bible to be a divine revelation, the argument assumes proportions of importance it is impossible to measure. That divine Book is "the transcript of the divine will, the portrait of the divine character, the charter of human rights, the guide of human hope, the comforter of the human heart and counsellor of human ignorance." It is for Zts truth, all other truth has value. Every effort in the discovery, illustration, and confirmation of scientific truth is an effort in behalf of a divine revelation. Every perversion and corruption of scientific truth, is a perversion of it, for in it are latent all the seeds of human knowledge. The responsibility, then, of the educated man is the mightiest in its discharge, either for hap)iness or misery. The call for united effort on the part of the lovers of truth, is to-day, the loudest that has ever been made. The battle-field is wide, and embraces the whole territory of human investigation. The remark of Hugh Miller, that "it is in the departments of physics, not metaphysics, that the greater minds of the age are engaged," and that the contest for Bible truth is "to be fought on the field of physical science," is one-sided and partial. This contest cannot be limited, principally or chiefly, to such a sphere. Metaphysical science is yet in the field, and powerfully too. Though Hume, and Kant, and Fichte, and liegel, are dead, still they live in their works, and successors, and speak witha voice potential this very hour. They dogmatize to-day as imperiously as St. Hilaire, La Marck, Oken, Comte, or the author of the Vestiges. It is no small equipment, then, that is needed by the scholar, at the present time, and it is no little labor he is called upon to perform. But in defending the truth, let us not suppose that all, our enemies have written or spoken, is false. We may learn wisdom, even from 21 them. There is much they haive wrought assiduously to furnish, which may be turned to good account in our cause. It is permitted to us, in the providence of God. to appropriate the learning, research, and oftentimes the arguments of the opposers of truth, and employ them for the overthrow of their false systems, as also for the establishment of the divine wisdom, power, and goodness. The foes of truth are made, in fact, the Gibeonites of the Camp of Isreal, sutlers and drudges, hewers of wood and drawers of water. Paul used Aratus, Menander, Epimenides, and Seneca. Solomon levied tribute from the T'yrians and Sidonians, when building the Temp.le. Moses enriched the Tabernacle with Egyptian gold. The "Ruins" and " Travels" of Volney are among the strongest evidence of Christianity. German exegesis and French explorations, furnish weapons of assault and defence to the friends of the Bible. Although the Philistine was struck to the ground by a pebble from the brook. yet his final decapitation was by means of his own sword. Thus it is that the defenders of truth are permitted, and even required, to use the very weapons brought into action by their enemies, and convert them into instruments of victory; and thus it is that laying hold of whatever is valuable in the research and learning of the age, we shall be able to add strength to our own cause, while at the same time we render useless to error the residuum of its unappropriated materials. With such a purpose, then, let us go hopefully into the field of action. Though, for the present, the sky seems stormy and covered with cloudy portents, yet a bright future awaits us, beckoning us onward with joy. It l.es, not far distant beyond us, flashing in its golden beauty, like the glittering sheen of a sun-lit sea. It is a reward, in perspective, reserved for those who are worthy of it. Like the palm-bearing vision revealed to the eye of John, this also is given, to inspire the battlers of to-day with courage and with hope. An illustrious series of years springs anew on the scroll of time.The last age of prophecy has arrived. Another and a regenerated one approaches;-an age to whose immortal nature and advance the grey traditions of the East, the songs of Roman Sibyls, the poetry of Jewish Bards, the promises of Heaven, the earnest expectation of the human race, and the painful struggle of almost two thousand years, conspire to testify,-an age when the colossal empire of False' 22 hood and Distrust shall crumble into ruins before the omnipotence of Truth and Faith,-an age when Truth delivered from the dross, which now obscures its splendor, shall shine with an unwonted radiance and crown the world with an unwonted glory;-an age uprising in the pristine grandeur of a new-born Paradise, decked with ornaments of grace, robed in spotless purity, and fresh again in all the smiles of innocence and charms of youth. Meanwhile, our duty is to battle with the foe. The bugle-note, the note that summons to the charge, already greets our ears, and to-day our common Mother, Spartan-like, speaks to us all, and says, " Your shields, my children, or upon them!" Again she sends us forth, augmented in our numbers, by another band of brothers, issuing from her honored halls. Again her common blessing falls upon our heads. Let us labor to be worthy of her generous care. Let us arm ourselves for the mighty moral and intellectual conflict of the times in which we live. Let us put on the panoply of a true scholarship, the power of a pure purpose, and the courage of an exalted faith. In the words, the final and impressive, of the first oration ever pronounced before the Alumni of the University, let me say and entreat: " Aimi at, and sustain the high dignity of the True Scholar. Proqfane not your talents,-pervert not your priveleges,-disappoint not the expectations that cluster around you! 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PROFESSOR McLAREN, TORONTO. TORONTO: C. BLACKKTT ROBINSON, 5 JORDAN STREET. 1880. Ll ••'■y,r.f'':^ii , 'I I THE RULE OF FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENTWE propose calling attention to the relation which the rule of faith and practice necessarily sustains to private judgment. By the rule of faith and practice is meant whatever God has been pleased to make known to us for our guidance. All theists must acknowledge that every statement, written or unwritten, which has sufficient evidence of its divine origin, demands our faith, or our obedience, as the case may be. "Our rule of faith," says Goode, in his valuable wovk on this theme; " is the whole of that testimony we possess respecting religion we can prove to have a divine source and authority. By that our faith is to be directed and mei sured ; and, therefore, it is properly called the rule of faith." p. 15. There are three theories of the Rule of Faith, viz. : — The Protestant, the Tractarian, and the Romish. According to the Protestant view, it consists of the Holy Scriptures. These are believed to be distinguished by four characteristics which fit them to be a sufficient rule, viz. : — Inspiration, completeness, perspicuity and accessibility. According to the Tractarian idea, it consists of the Bible and ancient tradition. The tradition to which Tractarians appeal is that of the undivided Church, or the Church prior to the division into the East and West. For about six centuries, or while the Church remained undivided, it was infallible, or practically infallible, as a witness to the truth, and its voice may be listened to as the voice of God. But since the division no part i)i the Church may claim that infallibility which is an attribute of the whole. According to the Romish theory, it consists of the Word of God and tradition, as authenticated and explained by the living infallible Church, or, as Dr. Milner expiesses it in his " End of Controversy," p. 1 25 : — " The whole Word of God, written and 3^!r'(1 THE RULE OF FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. unwritten ; in other words, Hcripture and tradition, and these as propounded and explained by the Catholic Church." In comparing these three views of the rule of faith, the Protestant, by its simplicity, naturally commends itself to those who are looking for a practical guide to direct them in the way of life. The Bible alone is certainlv a much leas complex and cumbrous rule than the Bible and the traditions of six centuries — traditions which are held to be both interpretative and supplementary to its contents. And no one can question that it is vastly more simple than the Romish rule, which embraces not only the Bible but the traditions of eighteen centuries, and'all the utterances of a living infallible Church since the apostolic age. There is, however, one objection, which Tractarians and Romanists with united voice urge as absolutely fatal to the Protestant rule of faith. It is said to make our faith rest entirely on the uncertain processes of human reas-on, or on private judgment. We have, by the exercise of our natural powers to discover what is Scripture, and then, when we have discovered it, we have to interpret it for ourselves. And as human reason is notoriously prone to err, what certainty can we have that it has led us right when it is not guided by an unerring teacher 1 We are asked, " Where did you get your Bible from 1 " Are you certain that you have a correct list of the books of the Bible ? How do you know that they have come down to you uncorrupted? How do you assure yourselves that they are inspired, and that they have been correctly translated 1 And amid all the varying interpretations, what assurance have you that the sense which you attach to them is the correct one ? We are given to understand that unleL.c4 we have an infallible Church to teach us what is Scripture, and what Scripture means, we can never reach certainty, or feel that we have a rule which we can follow with confidence. Nothing can be more legitimate than to try any theory by the tests which its chosen champions apply to an opposing system. In this lecture we hope to shew that, while the force of the objection against the Protestant rule of faith has been greatly exaggerated, the same objection lies with increased force against the rules embraced by Tractarians and Romanists. We hope to make it apparent that, if uncertainty necessarily attaches to whatever rests upon the exercise of private judgment, these rules of faith secure no exemption from it. I. For the sake of comparison, we may glance at the mental these |e Prothose je way |x and Ituries supISLtit }B not id'aJI itollG THE RULE OF FAITH AS^ PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 5 process by which the Protestant may determine what is his rule of faith and what it means. 1. By the ordinary laws of historical and literary evidence, he can learn that the books of the New Testament were written by the men whose names they bear, and that they have come down to us with reliable purity. There is no body of ancient writings for whose authorship and purity, one tithe of the evidence can be adduced. These books are remarkable for their freedom from onachrorisms, for their sobriety, candour, moral elevation, and manifest truthfulness. They bear every mark, external and internal, of having been written at the period to which they are usually ascribed, and by men of competent information and thorough honesty. They must, therefore, be accepted by all candid men as historically trustworthy. But, if they are regarded as worthy of the credit due to the best class of merely human writings, they must be accepted also as the record of supernatural revelation, for it lies upon their surface that they profess to be this. This, however, stops short of inspiration. And while such writings, as we have described, would be very valuable as giving, upon the whole, a substantially correct view of that system of truth which God had revealed, they could not be quoted as entirely free from the measure of error which clings even to the best of merely human writings. 2. When we inquire into the evidence of the inspiration of the Holy Scriptures, the Protestant does not find the evidence very complicated. Indeed, we may safely affirm that if a man, whose mind is not warped by prepossessions, reads the books of the !N ew Testament as documents which are historically trustworthy, he will find himself almost insensibly carried forward to the conviction that they are something more. He may not, in every case, be able to state his reasons clearly, but it does not follow that he has no reasons, or that they may difier in substance from those formulated by a man of mental discipline. Were the people of this city asked why they repose confidence in the best known and most trusted of the citizens, probably few of them could give a very distinct statement of their reasons. But it would not follow that they had no reasons, or that their reasons differed materially from those of the man who could place them in the most effective and orderly array ; and still less would it follow that, if they had a right to an opinion at all, it must be because they had placed themselves under the guidande of a II f • THK RULE OF FAITH AVn n» ^. ^ ^ "" ^^^ PRIVATE JUDGMENT who accept the New Teltl^ml . '*''''°* ^^^ questioned bv tho«« forth do not allow 'us to Iny th^t k""^"^^*^^'^' ^« '^^r^'t God whose word must rule our faith V\ ^ ^^^^^^' ««nt from that Christ and his apostles um'fn .' ^"* '^ ^« ^^"aliy evident Peter ui. 2 and 15.16). (T^tf "H*™"**"and authoritwo the ]Sew Testament were iS^ ^r*^*?»>•' of the boots if rctUTnrir'^.iStC^^^^^^ \hem the 7 those ly trustere set t from videnfc Testaide aij pturee e disration onest orifcy not Ube ually find ures, -y (2 \kao{ a the I the the and %r. the lot, ihId, >re « In re e THE KULK OF FAITH AND PKIVATE .JUDGMENT. 7 Scriptures, adds, " Yet notwithstanding our full persuasion and assurance of the infallible truth and divine authority thereof is from the inward work of the Holy Spirit, bearing witness by and with the Word in our hearts." (Ch. i. 5). This statement supposes that there is a self -evidencing power in God's truth, which is recognized by the heart which is made receptive of the truth by the gracious work of the Holy Spirit. It is quite true that this persuasion of the infallible truth and divine authority of the Holy Scriptures, does not admit of being presented in the form of a demonstration of the inspiration of every separate verse of Scripture. In reality, it supersedes the necessity of such a demonstration. When we see the sun, we do not need any proof that it is a luminous body. When we listen to the enrapturing strains of Handel or Haydn, we need no demonstration of their sweetness. We are so constituted that we can, within certain limits, distinguish truth from falsehood, right from wrong, and beauty from deformity. And in like manner, when our fallen nature is renewed by grace, it has power to recognize moral and spiritual truth. And in proportion as the good work goes on within, the heart responds to an ampler range of truth. And as the truth received is practically acted upon, our capacity for tasting and seeing it grows apace. It is not a little remarkable that Cardinal Wiseman is compelled to have recourse to this very idea, in order to prop up the conviction which he endeavours, by an appeal to private judgment, to evoke on behalf of the Church as an infallible teacher. He supposes that the grace of faith is infused in baptism, which regenerates, and then, when the truth is presented to the mind, it is " believed on substantial g ounds, and under the influence of a living and heavenly principle." (Lectures on the Cath. Ch., p. 75). We believe that reg'f -ating grace is not tied to baptism, but is dispensed accoru ig to God's sovereign good pleasure, and the soul, thus renewed, embraces the truth, when it is fairly presented to it, and rests upon its infallible truth and divine authority, with a full assurance which is due to " the inward work of the Holy Spirit, bearing witness by and with the Word in our hearts." II. >Ve must now inquire, whether those who embrace the Tractarian rule of ^aith escape from the uncertainty supposed to be incid' it to t. ^ exercise of private judgment. Can they either disc >ver, or iterpret \ h*'ir rule of faith, except by the exercise o^' their natu il powers ? They evidently labour under the delusion that tlies can. • 8 THB RULB OP FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. But how do they discover that the Church was infallible, or practically infallible, before the division into the East and West 1 If they say that it is from the Bible, then they must by !bhe exercise of reason and their natural powers of investigation have discovered what books constitute the Bible, and that they have come down to us in purity, and have been, unless the inquirer is familiar with the original, correctly translated. He must be able by the exercise of private judgment to interpret them so far, at least, as to ascertain that the Cliurch was constituted by its founder an infallible body. All this he must do by the exercise oi his private judgment. But no house can be more secure than the foundation on which it rests. This house rests on private judgment, or on nothing. But not only does the Tractarian rely upon his reason to discover the Scriptures, and through them to assure himself that Christ established a Church upon earth which was infallible, until it became fallible, but he trusts his private judgment to do still more for him. The limitation of the infallibility of the Church to the first six centuries, necessarily throws him entirely upon Protestant ground, both in reference to the discovery and interpretation of the rule of faith. He has no living infallible guide to point out to him the books which should find a place in his canon, or to determine the tradition ^ which may be regarded as the genuine expression oi: the mind of the undivided Church. He can discover his rule of faith, only by a purely Protestant exercise of his private judgment upon the historical and literary data which have come down from these early ages. Had the traditions of the first six centuries come down so well marked out, and clearly defined that there never was, or could be, any reasonable doubt in reference to them, the appeal to tradition might have been invested with a greater degree of plausibility. But only gross ignorance of the facts could lead anyone to entertain such a notion. It is well known that on many points of great importance, the traditions of the early centuries are exceedingly uncertain. On nearly all controverted points of doctrine, plausible patristic authorities can be quoted on both sides. The Latins and the Greeks are not agreed even as to the books which constitute the Canon of Scripture. The former accept, and the latter reject the Apocrypha. The ancient fathers were not agreed in reference to the procession of the Holy Spirit from the Father and the Son, and the East and the West are divided upon it still, while each professes to hold the genuine tradition of the undivided Church. Fierce contro1 ve B 1 Bt e( 4 w i a b ( r c 1 THE RULE OF FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 9 M^ibie, or '^ast and *®y must 'vestiga*nd tiat ^> unless f'HsJated. to inter1 Was »e must fuse can This *o dispf that tilibJe, 'ent to llity of pni enJovery |ng Indfind J may le unby a ' the 'hese ome 3ver the iter icts wn -Jy ed 3d m e t B ) versies raged in regard to the proper time for celebrating Easter. Both parties, with e^ual ignorance of the Gospel, laid great stress on the observance, and on the time, and both claimed, with equal confidence, the warrant of an unbroken tradition. And while various views, in regard to the second coming of Christ and His millennial reign, appear in the early fathers, there can be no doubt that from 150 to 250 A.D., views prevailed in the Church, which are rejected by the majority of those who now I'egard tradition as an element in their rule of faith. In these circumstances, it is evident that the Tractarian can discover the })Ooks of the Scriptures, and the genuine traditions of the primitive Church only by his private judgment. Cardinal Manning has pointed out with great clearness that the Tractarian ascertains and interprets his rule of faith in the same way as the Protestant, viz., by the use of his individual reason. The Protestant applies it to Scripture, the Tractarian to Scripture and antiquity. " But these are identical processes. The matter differs in its nature and extent, the process is one and the same." "There are some," says the Cardinal, "who appeal from the voice of the living Church to antiquity ; professing to believe that while the Church was united it wa.i infallible ; that when it became divided it ceased to speak infallibly ; and that the only certain rule of faith is to believe that which the ChurcJi held and taught while yet it was united and therefore infallibh •. Such reasoners fail to observe, that since the supposed division, and cessation of the infallible voice, there remains no divine certainty as to what was then infallibly taught. To affirm that this or that doctrine was taught then where it is now disputed, is to beg the question. The infallible Church of the first six centuries — that is, before the division — was infallible to those who lived in those ages, but it is not infallible to us. It spoke to them ; to us it is silent. Its infallibility does not reach to us, for the Church of the last twelve hundred years is by the hypothesis fallible, and may therefore err in delivering to us what was taught before the division. And it is certain that either the East or the West, as it is called, must err in this, for they contradict each other as to the faith before the division." (Temporal Mission of Holy Ghost, page 86). We may see, hereafter, that this reasoning has bearings which the Cardinal scarcely perceived ; but, as against Tractarians, its cogency is undeniable. After all their declamation against private judgment, they have nothing else to guide them ei^er in 10 1 ' f fit iii THE fiulE OF FAfTfi ».,„ "" *'•" ''"'VATE JlrDGMENT. the discovery „. • .. . " ■^»' ^^''^ •'I'^oment. . iiiff mnrio fif,. ® traditions of siy no«+. . ""^^ <^^ Scripture, n,.r ' I'"^" ^'^^ unwritten w! i ''^ ""'^^ expound God's Proves that Tractarians W /L '""^'^ '^^^ ^^^^ ^i'Manidn ' thrown uoon Pr,^^ ? ' -^ *"® necessities of +i,«,, ' ^"^""^ng ^^xamined the subject are 'tl"''' "■"'^ *'"'^'' -»«> h~t some foundation for 7hl "^ ° "nagine that there m„!f k -I he Church, it is .l.,T «ispel the iJlusion Bible and traditio" btt "ho /".f^"*""**'' and \terprets the terprets its utterances' slf'"'""'*'<'^ the Church'^ «„d „ ;? any less an exeSse „f it ■K''° °"^ ''an imagine ?hat V -■;? infallible Cch a^d 't" d ,"' T" »» *-over the mfan.be utterances, th» "to udt 7.?'' ''"? '"'^^P^^t it^ words 4 r °* «"<'• and to^SrmL! ^, '"''™"« ""^t *he words. Andnoonecertainlv^»r A *''* 'mport of their and not . real ait "att" Tt 5' P"""*^ ""'^ » --in. " -'*« own e.atio„.^::':,utrcS?c^:Sti' h^ faitij. Uoient is Ftestant. pee and f" his inpWpture, r^y havPterpret of the JDi brace pstants 'anists every'st dislave a God's > are |o rent it are es a.s9 not St be t of the illit ;he its he ir k THE RULE OF FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 11 f esses to be such an organ is a divine creation, and that God still continues to speak through it. This we can only do by the exercise of our individual reason. Then, having discovered that this organ speaks authoritatively for God, we must judge of the meaning of its declarations. The only difference between Manning and the Protestant is that he substitutes the Church for the Bible, as the proximate ground of faith. In the Cardinal's words, " The matter differs in its nature and extent, the process is one and the same." No doubt many devout persons in the Romish communion, who declaim about the uncertainties of private^udgment, fail to perceive this. They take for granted that the Bible is diviiie, and go to it without reserve to prove that Christ has established an infallible Church, and then they go to the Church to prove that the Bible is inspired. This process has admirable simplicity. The misfortune is that almost anything under the sun can be established by the same kind of logic. This vicious circle is quite satisfactory to multitudes in the Church of Rome. For again, to borrow the felicitous language of Manning, " they who hold it are of two classes: either pious persons, who make a conscience of not reasoning about the grounds of their faith, or such as are still simply entangled in a circle which is never discovered." If, therefore, the Romish rule of faith does not rest on private judgment, it rests on nothing, or on what is equivalent to it, on a vicious circle. In the nature of things it cannot be otherwise. Had we lived in the days of our Lord and His Apostles, and listened to their message, two questions would have demanded an answer, and that answer could have V)een obtained only from the exercise of our private judgment upon the data before us, viz. : — (1) Is the messenger who speaks from God ? and (2) What does his message mean '? There m no conceivable rule of faith which does not, in some form, raise these two questions, the first before it can be reasonably accepted as a rule of faith ; and the second, before it can be of any practical use for our guidance. We have examined somewhat carefully the train of argument by which Cardinal Wiseman endeavours, in his Lectures on the Catholic Church, to establish the rule of faith, and certainly no Protestant ever made it more completely dependent on private judgment. It is simply an appeal throughout to private judgment to establish the infallibility of the Church. And when he has developed this line of argument, he supplements it by a reference to the fact that there is a self-evidencing power in -T /•■ 12 i|: 'I •"h. which 1«»^„ . . "^^-•'UDO-.^T. <'/"»« truth, which J. . ""'^'' '•""""»^*t once fn ^J.1^ ^^ads a hparf « "Ot explain. It 1. "/"''' « « point whir-li *^*"'°''^'™te the . "Pon Private judli,^•'*''^'y ^^--m^ tW*f. ^f''''"" d^: "Pon private i^'^y ^ ^fely affirml?\f **« Ca, than those devoL^ «omish rule of faW "^ *scovery and **e extent t^M^^ . !1?°° '* by the ^it^f «%.foJd g^aW « 'he Protestant Jo^nlh the Eo^anistT^ltnT'^^^^^ »f " 's not difficnlf t *'°" « sand, the «„"? ?«''«' to build ean hare any ran" ,*° P<='-eeive that tf,. d "^^ '"* fog-bant' "naidedpowers *^f,?'""' 'he livine r^f '^'^"'^'•ed the voic! necessar, te e^S 1 *".^. *«™'ntt„"''*'>''''»« "b'oh muetbegonfth" ""f '*« steps of thf ^ Scriptures. «an be an availabi" '?5°"«h, before infa»ih-r! '"^'"^^ Process tered. He sums ,> • '"« difficulties whf ^'^^^. so as to *vine authoritTt^'tff oi; ^^''o words J!«o "«'' ''^ «"<=<">»nty sanctions th! ^ ? ''""-'=h~the CWl, .^"°"'gives "PPlies also tl tmditin"""' °^ Scripture "V"" **'»' ""'ho ...B-t before wo c^ "k^. '*'"' ""^'hod ^:^'^^^^.^!Z *° '^-oice Of where alone L ? * '^"■"^^ "s, at onTlV^r''^''''''^ of His Cardinal reLjnleTtr "*'" '''^ CeSalv t^" ''««'»»'en for the infallifSir ofiLTr'""". andi^^^r"""^'^^ ^^ and settJe seven r,fy Spirit f ^«e mind. IS power of ry of the ff ^"aj does bours laid C^'-y and pa greater ^nd,if cojinec**estant's ^«ess of to buiJd. og-bant. ;fo^e ie he voice ifch iis Rations, 'cii are Ptures. process ^iurch leering ■ourae y to ) the 18 to ounives thoiod of ris t, le t t THE RULE OP FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 18 distinct, but related investigations, before it can, via Romana^ reach infallibility — : 1. By a careful examination of theevidences, external and internal, we must ascertain that the Scriptures, but especially the four Grspels, are historically trustworthy. At the outset of his argument, the Cardinal seems to confine himself to the four Gospels, but in the course of it, he ranges freely over both the Old Testament and the New in search of something which can be construed to favour the infallibility of the Church. This, of course, lays upon him the duty of establishing the credibility of all the books which he quotes. The Cardinal indicates with clearness how this can be done. We recognize, of course, the fundamental importance of the four gospels, with which he specially deals. The writers were largely eye-witnesses of the leading facts they report, and by their lives gave the best assurance of their veracity. They wrote at the period to which tlieir writings are usually ascribed, and their productions have come down to us with reliable purity. We cannot, therefore, refuse to them the credit due to the best class of merely human writings ; they are histo ically trustworthy. The argument in favour of this position is sketched by the Cardinal much in the same way as by Protestant apologists. Up to this point the Romanist, in search of an infallible Church, and the Protestant, ill search of an infallible Bible, walk side by side. And it should be noted that in order to reach the position common to both, viz., that the Scriptures are historically trustworthy, the inquirer has to complete by far the most arduous part of that " long course of protracted and severe inquiry" thi'ough which the Protestant must o.rrive at his rule of faith. This position is gained, as the result of the careful examination of the wide field of the evidences of Christianity. This position fairly established, we have only to examine the facts and phenomena of Scripture, in order to discover that the sacred writers were guided by divine wisdom. If they are regarded as honest and intelligent men, they must be held to have left us an inspired record as our rule of faith and life. The Protestant, therefore, has almost reached his goal and found his rule of faith, when his Romish neighbour is just setting out on his longpilgrimage. If the credibility of the books of the New Testament is acknowledged, the divine mission of Christ must, of course, be recognized. For the record of His birth, life, death, and resurrection admits of no other view. His superhuman career stam]>s divine authority upon His words and acts. 14 THE RULE OP PAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. •2. We must discover that Christ has established a Church upon earth. This lies sufficiently on the surface of the New TeHtament to be easily decided, even before the inspiration of its books is known. Viewing the gospels and epistles simply as reliable historic records, they certainly shew that Christ «HtabliHhed a body which is called the Church. The word ooours Heveral times in the discourses of Christ, and the later books of the New Testament leave no room to question the fact. If the first of these steps can be taken with a sure foot, no one need stumble «eriously at the second. But the seeker for a living infallible Church soon reaches more difficult ground. He must ascertain the nature of the Church. Is the sense in which the word church is used in Scripture one, or manifold? If the word is employed in various senses it may lead to the motit H(5rious error to confound these meanings of the term with t»ach other. Komanists usually take for granted that the word means what the necessities of tneir argument require, and when tliey define the term, their definition is not drawn from the use of the word in Scripture, but from what the Church of Roniv^ Jiow is. Bellarmine defines it thus ;— " The Church is a society of men on earth united together by the profession of one and the se'f-same Christian faith and the communion of the same Hacrainents, under the government of lawful pastors, and especially the Roman Pontiff" (De Eccl. Lib. iii., cap. 2). This definition suits the Church of Rome exactly, l>ut it never could be drawn by any legitimate process from Scripture. It h evidently most essential that the inquirer should know whether this is the true idea of the Church, as brought before lum in Scripture. Is it a visible society marie up indiscriminately of good and bad men, who make a certain profession of faith, enjoy certain sacraments, and live Tinder a defined governinout j or, is it the true body of Christ, composed of the saints and faithful in Christ Jesus, of all who have been, of all who are, and nil who shall be gathered into one in Christ^ Which of these definitions describes the Church to which Christ pronuHod that the gates of hell should not prevail against it? This is a vital (question ; for if we apply to a corrupt visible organization, like the Church of Laodieea, the pi'omises made to th(J mystical body of Christ, we may find ourbelves holding that an apostate society, which our Lord has spewed out of his mcuth, is tlie true spouse of Jesus Christ. There aro several things which should make the Romanist cal THE RULE OP FAITH AND I'HIVATB JUDGMENT. 15 Piration of /es simply M^ Christ The word *ie later fstion the **. no oiif er for a ^^e sen.se aanifojcl ? d to the '^m with 'he Word '^fi when ,*he use J^oniv.^ society o^ie anci 6 same especi'>ut it pture. ^now before 'riinioii of v^ernlints who hich proit? bJe ide ng J is •St feel, to say the least of it, very uncertain that he has reached the true idea of the Church: — (1) He hae neither an iiifallihle (!hurch to guide him nor an infallible Bible to instruct hint, fie is, as yet, only in search of an infallible Church, and until hf3 has found it, and it has informed him that the Bible is inspired, the Scriptures are to him only a valuable collection of human writings. How then can he know, even if his private ijiterpretation of the language is correct, that the words tht»rnseen wont to predicate certain distinguishing marks of the C/hurch, such as unity, sanctity, catholicity, and apostolicity. But it is only by degrading these terms to a low and non'tialuraf nense that they can be predicated of a society made np of all sorts of men, and including, as Bellarmine says, " even rtjprobates." In no sense which has moral or religious signiticancr*, can these predicates be attributed to such an organizR-tion, But these notes all belong in their full and natural significance to the Church, viewed as the body of Christ, as the sacraniental lujst of God's elect. This Church is one, because the Divine Hpirit dwelling in it animates with a common life all its members. It ij^ holy, because the Holy Spirit begins and in due time perfticts a gracious work of renewal in the hearts and lives of its members, by which they are all made holy as God is holy. It ih catholic, because it embraces the entire number of the saved of all lands and ages. And it is apostolic, because all within its fellowship cordially hold the true faith taught by the founders of Christianity, and rest upon Christ alone for salvation. We shall, liowever, Biippose that none of these difficulties stag16 THE KULE OP FAITH AND PRFVATH .M'D(JMKNT. ger the inquirer. We Hhall imaKiiu* thftt to bo granted which certainly can never be proved, vi/. : that thn Romish idea of the Church is the Scriptural one. Tha nfxt «tep which must be taken is to answer the question, 4. Which of ail the existing Chuvolies in the true Church? If the Church which Christ has OHtablishcd is, in its true idea, a visible organization, and Ito lias promised that the gates of hell shall not prevail against it, timii, of course, it survives somewhere. But where is it 1 There aro at least seven ancier* Churches which trace their organization back to the Apostolic age, and each of which claims to bo the very (Jhurch which Christ founded on a rock, The Hyrian Christians claim Peter as the first Bishop of Antioch, and whatever dignity and authority that may impart to them. And, while it is quite uncertain whether Peter ever saw ttoine, the New Testament shews that he resided for a time at Aiitloah. No person, with an ordinary knowledge of history, can ((uestion that the Greek Church can trace back the unbroken oontinuity of its history to the Apostolic age, quite as easily as tho Church of Rome. It is quite true that, while the Greek Church has only some 80,000,000 of adherents, the Church of Ronie 1ms many more. But t' uth can scarcely be determined by a majority vote. And if it could, the vote would be fatal to the Clutrch of Rome ; for the most reliable statistics shew that there are some 30,000,000 more professing Christians outside of the ( !htirch of Rome than are to be found within its pale. It is evident that the claims of all these ancient Churches must bo examined separately by each inquirer, in order that he may disuover the true Church. The man who does this thoroughly will find it no small undertaking. And let it be observed, that th(« inquirer has to examine the claims of all these Churches without the aid of an inspired Bible to guide him. He has as yet only got a collection of human documents by which to test the pretensions of these rivals. It is safe to say that tht» youngest child living will reach the grave, long before, by such an investigation, his private judgment will lead him to any solirl or satisfactory conclusion. And yet this is only one step involved in that method by which Cardinal Wiseman recommends us to seek for the rule of faith. But we shall suppose that, guided by his private judgment and the light of history, the inquirer reaches the conclusion that the Church of Rome is the true Chureli. Has he assured himself of a living infallible teacher to guide* him into the cer{ 5. .... or FAITH K^-^^^^''^ ^"""^'"'• 17 THE KULB OF FAITH A. ^^^^^ this 1«;»8^*8« °° «^°' ^»„ kept cotapletdy t™ ^.^^st vrUl entirely bom /'^T^ti^ately held to teach « ^^^^j ^^o^, language can be ^gw ^^^ ^j,,, ^ Jl not tali ^^^„„g »As have a V^X^^^^^-^^'^^TrfCtJ--'^^^^ *'?"" or deadly sin. ™e Ap . 5 t je, have a _^^^; t,„ • in reference to every _^jj ^^^ge cu ^^^^ ^^^ the Holy One, and ye «« abidcth in you, ana y j^^^j, *'hiSi yehaverec^;*" »^ ,^ ^me anomUng t .^ to^raiX-SirSi^ :nrS^fetoestahlishtheii.a,«^^^^^^ has given the Imng Ch«c^ specially jet apart to ^^^^ ^, 4, her to have a cto o ^j^^ teaching J mj institutions „e require to know « ^ ^^^^ „ her va ^ maintains an order 01 ■ that «'?y *JS „eh deems herot learning, and no ^e im »^ p,,,i,y terian Churcb ^^^^^ they are not intal^e^ ^^^^1,_ and sto h^ j, tj^e self called of God *» J^f^ji to the work, and, a ^^^^ ^en who are Bpe^j^^^ftfbe infallible, ;e^W« ^^^ ^ests teaching is ^^f^^at least, qn^e as ^^^^food-fearing peothather r»^^[, ^^f'^n int^^Wgent. ""^S of teaching God of Rome in trai>'"g , ^^ ty,e only "?". .^iiMe teaching, pi. To take for g^"^^* ™„d His cause is intaUiWe ^^ ^^ '^ould have "^Pr^le question. We fow ^at ^^ ^^^ i3 really hegg-ng *e^ers to their own families, b ^^^^^, ? :rthrr;-^'^"^"^"'^''"^ riT" 18 A! THE RVLE OF PAITR avi. « J-AITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. We cannot get a vote nf fV ■ '»»*™<^tion of mknkinrf Jlfc.de what « tru«,. We latV"'""! "'J^" <" «on,anTste t„ ■nfallibihty 1 On this vital noTI^Mi "'"'' *''" ^'ha" ^e lind -f^n^^ytrSnaTo:;^-^^^^^^^^^ Ch„ch her PO^ed two P:;ete SuTa"S t'° '"-^ ^°p' ''«* he/t ^an to fill the vacant chair it " T^' »•"• "'ectcd a'^new Koma„,sts must have been on.ewha "° T? *™' "">* d«vo.H W.ty was to be found du„'°g ^ * ^r"-'*!" *J -e infall fc "« great schism when, for a f 4. 'I 1 THE RULE OP FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDGMENT. 19 *o the %; for I to civil le that >f that [pvered ^^ivate living >!' the '^ind. Its to Its or tind have 'onie lat it 'erai hile ? to aiJi> to errst )r. !ie r;e 8 period of 37 years, two lines of Popes were reigning, one at Rome, and another at Avignon. So groat was the uncertainty which prevailetl in the C.hurch of Rome upon this vital question, that when the test vote was taken in the Council of Rome on the dogma of the personal infallibility of the Pope, eightyeight bishops voted nay, sixty-two gave only a modified approval, and seventy, who whci-e in Rome at the time, absented themselves from the vote. For more than 1 ,800 years, therefore, the best informed Romish divines were uncertain where the infallibility of the Church resides. And as the Church of Rome may be supposed to have searclied with due diligence, during the past centuries, for what she has proclaimed so urgently necessary, two inferences, looking in one direction, may be safely drawn, viz. : (1) that if the Church of Rome survived for eighteen centuiies without knowing where to find a living infallible teacher, the private inquirer need not be greatly cast down should he also fail to discover the organ of infallibility ; and (2) that if the Church of R'>me, with all her facilities for prosecuting the investigation, required more than 1800 years to discover where infallibility resides, the private inquirer may as well abandon the search at once, unless he has the assurance that he will outlive the years of the antediluvian patriarchs. But we shall suppose that the inquirer is stumbled with none of the difiiculties which lie in his way. We shall suppose that even stubborn historical facts are not obstacles in his path, and that his private judgment, without any guidance from an inspired Bible, reaches the conclusion that the Pope is personally infallible. Are the labours of private judgments now ended 1 Has he found, at last, the unerring voice to which he can listen with confidence? By no means. The inquirer thinks he has learned that the Pope is personally infallible. But is he infallible in everything he says 1 Certainly not. It is only when he speaks ex cathedra. The next step which the inquirer must take is to answer the question, 7. When does the Pope speak ex cathedra ? One would suppose that this is a very simple question. It might be imagined that whenever " the Pope has spoken publicly on &, point of doctrine, either of his own accord, or in answer to questions addressed to him, he has spoken ex cathedra, and so, no doubt it would be held, if it were not thought desirable to except certain inconvenient decisions of Popes from the privilege of infallibility, accorded generally in other cases," It is rather 20 THE RULE OF FAITH AND PRIVATE JUDOMRNT. I'i:: In ; h awkward to assert infallibility of the doctrineH taught by Honorius, Vigilius, and other Popes who have publicly sanctioned heresy. Hence there are no less than four or five distinct theories among Romish divines who hold the personal infallibility of the Pope, as to when he speaks ex cathedra and when he does not. Vide Edgar's Variations, etc., p. 190-191, and Janus, p. 327-329. And as it has never been decided which of those theories is correct, no man living can certainly know when the Pope gives an ex cathedra decision. The Romanist therefore, after all his laborious investigations, has reached a point where everything depends on private judgment. It is difficult to take in the folly of the process by which the Romanist professes to escape from the uncertainties of private judgment, and gain for himself a living infallible teacher to authenticate and explain to him the Bible and tradition. He enters on an inquiry conducted solely by his unaided reason — an inquiry involving at least seven distinct, though related investigations, an error in reference to any one of which will vitiate the conclusion. And when his dreary work is ended, he finds that he has reached a point where everything depends on his private judgment. In the pages of Dante, we have brought before us the mountain of Purgatory. It is vast in size and conical in shape, rising steep and high out of the Southern Ocean, at a point antipodal to Mount Zion. Around this mountain run seven terraces, on which are punished the seven deadly sins. Rough stairways, cut out of the solid rock, lead up from terrace to terrace, until the summit is attained, where stands the terrestrial paradise. Surely Dante spoke in parables ! For here we see the poor Romanist, in order to escape from the infirmities of individual reason and gain something higher and better, toiling up seven terraces, as hard and rough as any which Purgatorial discipline can present, and when he has reached the summit, he discovers that he has gained only the terrestrial paradise of private judgment. The Romish rule of faith is extolled by its advocates, because it saves us from the uncertainties incident to the exercise of the individual reason, by securing for us a living infallible teacher who renders us two services of priceless value : he authenticates to us God's Word, written and unwritten, or Scripture and tradition, and he gives us their true interpretation. W« have seen that so iait as authentication is concerned, I* the a o^^ Bibl^ Chtti and plial ^udj .4,TH A»D i-BIViTK JUDOMWT. tl ,,e KomiBh method *-J^™ .l^r^tUenUoate the "•^u the department ot^»^^l[,«,;,„ted for a to, whUe pr.v»t^ SS. The fact that «-? ;««J»PP:: <=>"'"?f, ^^'S S» tion, o! Soript^o^nd t^^^^ni interprets the OU^ndPa^ StvTFirBt Epistle, ^-ut the^|^f"ifchuroh interpretataons much as other portions o£ the Bibl^ « oh»raot«nst.cs Tdogmatic utterances, are posses^ 01 ;„t^^,eted, and :: So Vure, they r«,»a^. WB-ptuj:; the Church is private the only interpreter ttiat cau ^ ^«tely only when underB^-^^ ^^ ^ ^ one who understands the real natuj^ j' J uncertainties rkm that it offer, any doo^o^e^^^^^^^^ f r ^^ , of private Judgment For^^ H, has not inspired Popes to write infallible buUs^^ o ^^^ u^derBtood, how can „.» to understand them. A* ^ney » tradition 1 Our ZXZ tl^e testing evtW*;,^'^;; e^,. « ^ey «e minds are left either to utter vac , ^^y *? 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Published at the reqved oftJiose vho perceive the Internal Soiseofthe Word, before ivhom IhLi address was delivered. H U N 1' P: R , ROSE & C C) M ? A N Y, TORONTO, ONT., CANADA. 1882. \d V 6^ „.^ yf V fffyvfyfTyyyfVf????ffV? ?fy¥yyfy?yffffyff?ffyf?»fffy»y?fyfffTy y yi r ff f»yf »?»» :v^:-.^. -■. ;s»-a:J AiiiKvino', that //n'l/ /nice (irnni ;/'. ''/ for a Cauddlan KdiHoii of n im/ /■• iniirknhic huol, fnfit/eil THE FACE OF JESUS, uliirh ix iioii: Iiriiuj puUi-ihoA for iJic fir,f the Church on account of the apparent ihcousistencies in tiie rendering the Word from the letter.'' " 'I'o tliose who stand aloof from any and every form of religion, but who iit the same time are in the exercise of rational thought on the subject t)f life and death, this book will largely help them. The book will bo sure to be widely rea 1, both by the cleru'V anil laity of all denominations, and tiie Christian world will reap the benelit of the thoughtful views which the work cannot fail to elicit. " From a Mdhodid Critic. "Such is the order and catholicity of the wonderful unfolding of the Word of God in the pages of the ' Fack ok Jesi^s,' and the bread and water of life are dispensed in such love and cliarity,that to the distracted mind the thoughts seem like the gentle dews of heaven, refreshing and vivifj'ing the tree and vine, the plant and grass. This devout work appeirs at the opportune moment when it is most needed in this peculiar time of the Church. ' "■ The times in which we live are trying the Church of Christ as perhaps she was never tried before. Her ways are oasy, and her lap is full of treasures, Vmt her teachings are distrusted, and her voice falls softly on many deaf ears. According to the best information we can gather, there is a wide alienation from evangelical truth in many lands and among ditierent classes. The tendency to misa[)pi'elieud and depart from the divine ideal is a perpetual tendency, although the Grace and Pi-ovidence of God, will, we trust furnish such increasing light and security as will carry the chui-ch forward to higher and yet higher degrees of perfection. '^.Vrc//iu7i.s/ Mn'tjazine.. " Truly may we not hope that the * Light of the World ' as unfolded in the pages of tlie 'Faok of Jkslts ' may reveal the L )rd in His Divinity, Humanity, and Holiness to many who are without the reach of the intluence of the • pre-valent dootrines of the Ciiurch, and yet long for glimpses of heavenly truth, and that they may see the ' sun of righteousness arise with healing in, his wings.' "' ' .. ,■,.'..' ^ ! '''><''' '"^'d }>i(jii of curcr.] INTRODUCTORY LECTURE CONCERNING THE NATURE OF THE SACRED SCRIPTURES ACCOUDING TO THEIR COHERENT SPIEITUAL INTERPRETATION BY A BELIEVER IN THE WORD OF GOD. "And I saw, and bear record that this Is the Son of God. "— JOHN, 1:34. Published at the request of those ivho ijerceive the Internal Seme oftheWord^ before ivhom this address ivas delivered. k! I* HUNTER, ROSE & COMPANY, TORONTO, ONT.. CANADA. 1882. /OJ^f f ? i t t t 8l d o LECTURE I. -••♦■• THE NATURE OF THE WORD OF GOD. ' THE object of these successive lectures is to awaken an interest in the Word of God, the Fountain of Life, as viewed from its Internal Sense. The Internal Sense is declared to be a Revelation from the Lord alone, of the spiritual contents of the Word of Life, and neither adds to, nor takes away from its spiritual history and prophetic utterances, but reveals the source of its inspiration, and thence its true Divinity, By the Internal Sense is meant the interior spiritual principle, or the Divine Life of the Lord which enters the affections and thoughts of every man who reads the Word, and obeys its precepts of love to the Lord and the neighbor, by which spiritual life is created. This Divine Interior Principle in the Word is personified in the spiritual narrative of the Son of God, who is not to be thought of as a corporeal, physical Person outside of the Word, but as its Living Principle of Spiritual Life in the lives of regenerating men. When we first read the Heavenly Writings of the Internal Sense, we are so delighted with the coherent system of spiritual philosophy which is there presented, arid which opens the door for us to perceive the light which shines from the world beyond, that we sometimes forget the true source of all this illuminating influence, although we see the Word of God mentioned at every step, and when we turn to its time-worn pages, we sometimes fail to recognise the power of its spiritual contents, because our minds become filled with natural and material thoughts derived from its literal sense. * These thoughts were prepared for the minds of those who are somewhat familiar with tlic statements concerning Divine Truth, recorded in the Sacred Works edited by Emmanuel Swcdenborg, which reveal the source of the Divinity of the Word of Qod, independent of sectarian or dogmatic influence. We thus read it in an inverted manner, and the rational mind is led into such confiiction, that there are times when we are tempted to close the sacred pages. To those who obey the simple commandments of life, of love to the Lord and the neighbor, relying upon Him alone, and looking daily to the Word for instruction, the light will in due time shine with all the power that the mind is capable of bearing. The Word of Gcd, as it is given to us in the literal sense, exists entirely from the Internal Sense, which is the Word in the Spiritual World and the Heavens, and it appears to us in its literal form, by pure correspondences of natural things with spiritual principles, from the beginning to the end. Thus the names of persons, places, and things are to be thought of, not as they appear to the natural idea, but according to the spiritual principles represented by these names. In our inverted order of thought, we are apt to think that the Internal Sense of the Word is derived from the literal sense, when the contrary inthe true order, — that the literal sense is derived from the Internal Sense, by the correspondence of natural names with eternal principles. As the life which animates the corporeal frame of flesh and bones in which we live in this world exists from the spiritual body within, so the literal sense of the Word lives only from the Internal Sense. The Lord does not reveal himself elsewhere in spiritual things than in the Word, nor otherwise there than by the Internal Sense, therefore we should give the most eaniest thoughts of our lives to these eternal principles of life in order that we may know the Lord. The most ancient people who lived upon this earth in the incomprehensible ages of the past, and who were called Adam,^ were so imbued with heavenly perceptions, and their lives were in such harmony with heavenl)'^ truths, that they lived as it were in heaven, although they dwelt their allotted days in the corporeal frame until they were translated into the spiritual world. They were so imbued with divine life that instead of being absorbed with the things of this world, each object became representative of heavenly principles, and led them to think of Hie Lord, and thus the hiws of Heaven were inscribed ujion their hearts, and the Word of God was written within tlieir minda. These people lived before the spiritual tiood which obscured heavenly perception, but the correspondences between natural and spiritual things were handed down to the ancient people called Noah, who had a written Word derived from the Internal Sense, and which was purely corresporidential. The books of these ancient people were written in che form of correspondential language, like the book of Job, which was one of their ancient stories, and it was common for them to introduce things as though discoursing together, as wisdom, intelligence, the sciences and the like. In the book of Proverbs we find wisdom personified as uttering truths by means of a voice, and this method of representation was the custom of the ancient people, even in their speech. From this origin were derived the fables and personifications of the gods and demi-gods of the ancient heathen, and also of the persons whom they feigned, in order that they might describe things under an historical form, and thus the ancient spiritual men described sacred things by representatives and significatives, or by figures and signs. The ancient church of Noah was initiated in these principles from the mouth or doctrine of the most ancient people who lived before the spiritual flood. Of the three heavens which exist, and through which all our thought descends from the Lord, the first or lowest heaven is filled with representatives and significatives of the spiritual and celestial principles of the second and third heavens ; and from these representatives and significatives, the Word which we have was written by correspondence in the style of historical and prophetic utterances. The peculiar characteristic of the Word above the writings of the people of old, and above all the books of men, consists in this divine circumstance, that all and each of the things contained in it in a continual series, represent the celestial and spiritual principles of the kingdom of the Lord, and in the highest sense the Lord Himself ; and that the forms of narration are also thus representative ; and also that they are real 6 correspondences of principles which originate in the heavens, and tlierefore tlie literal utterancea do not originate with the mind of man. It is not known who wrote the Word, nor when it was given to mankind. The most learned scholars, who study the literal sense, disagree concerning tlie authorship of every book of the Bible, and every statement concerning the external or natural form of the Word is simply a matter of conjecture, and it will always remain enshrined in the cloud of mystery which now hangs over the human origin of its literal sense. The time has now arrived in the spiritual history of the world, when men will not remain satisfied with the statements of the literal sense alone. Scientific truth, which is also from the Lord, seems to be at variance with the literal statements> and thinking men are tempted to discard the Holy Bible as a book of "cunningly devised fables," used by the priesthood to obtain dominion over the minds of weak-brained men and women. The Internal Sense of the Word affords the strongest proof of its supernatural origin from this important fact, that the literal sense of the Word was written during successive epochs of spiritual history, by men who did not know the internal meaning of what they wrote. They wrote from appearances in the ultimate heavens, and thence their thoughts were expressed in natural language by the correspondence of these appearances with the material things of this physical world. As they only saw the appearances, they were not aware, at the time of writing, of their internal meaning, and many of these literal utterances are incoherent, and seem like the mere sound of words linked together. The revealing of the Internal Sense by means of the science of correspondences, exhibits a coherent and systematic spiritual science, which treats only of the regeneration or re-creation of a man's spirit, and restoring him from a fallen condition of spiritual death to that heavenly state of life which was pos.sessed by the most ancient people, which is described in the Internal Sense of the Fii*st ami Second Chapters of tie Book of OonCHis. This Revelation proves the Divine Ori<,'i.. jf the Word in its literal sense ; for men in various centuries of earthly history, without personal communication with each other, and without a true knowk'd<^o of what was expressed in the writings they indited, could not from their self-intelligence have framed words which the Revelation of the Internal Sense in these latter days would open to the rational mind, and show conclusively that the whole Word was written from those principles of Divine Order upon which hang the entire spiritual and material universe. In these successive lectures it is proposed to illustrate the coherent Internal Sense of the Word from its own pages, abstracting the spiritual meaning from the literal sense, and showing that it treats only of spiri'ual science concerning the regeneration of man, and that it has nothing in common with earthly science or material things excepting by the laws of spiritual coiTCspondence by which the W^ord was written, and the literal sense will be used for the sake of the illustration of the spiritual principles contained within its natural expressions. All the thoughts which will be presented will be based upon the Revelation of the Internal Sense, and not from self-derived opinions, ivith the distinct understanding that the Literal Sense of the Word is not to he discarded, hut held as truly Divine and Holy, because it contains within it the Eternal principles of immortal life, and without the literal sense for the mind of man on earth, there could be no form for the Internal Sense to dwell in, so that man could be led from natural to spiritual life. It is by means of the Literal Sense of the Word that the power of Divine Truth enters the mind by natural thoughts. It is the literal sense of the Word by which man receives illustration from the Lord, and by whicih answers are made when instruction is desired. It is the literal sense ot the Word by which all true religious doctrine on fifirth is to be confirmed. It is the literal sense in which Divine Truth resides in its ful8 ness, for it is the Humanity or the Human principle of the Lord in which " dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily." Divine Truth is not received by any one unless it is accommodated to the comprehension of the human mind, which at first perceives only terrestrial and worldly things, and if the heavenly and spiritual principles of the Internal Sense should be exposed without their natural, earthly covering, they would be rejected by the majority of mankind as if they were nothing. " 7/ / have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things ? " (John iii. 12.) These lectures will be derived from no collateral work tinted with the idiosyncrasy of some peculiar enthusiastic temperament, neither will any " ism " be allowed to enter which will lead the thoughts to a corporeal man, rather than to the Word of God, which is the only Source from which our spiritual life can be derived. They have been prepared with the hope that many will be led to study the Word both in its literal and Internal Sense, to prove its Divinity and its " power unto salvation" f.om sin. As far as possible, all matters of controversy will be avoided, and especially all atta'iis upon religious sects ; but false principles which exist in our own natures will be exposed, as the Internal Sense of the Word reveals them. The application of the truths should be made to ourselves personally, by self-examination, and in no case should we endeavor to look abroad upon some church or sect, or even our neighbor, and smile with complacency as the application seems a fit one for somebody else. When the word " church " is used, it will not mean some religious society, or sect, but it will mean one individual person who is endeavoring to attain a regenerate life ; for a church on earth is a regenerating man, militant, or fighting his own evils in the name of the Lord, but in Heaven he is a regenerated man and has become a church triumphant. With this preliminary introduction, and acknowledging that all Divine Truth is from the Lord by means of the Word, we will take up the first verse of the first chapter of John, and pursue the thoughts that are developed by the Internal Sense of the Word in the consecuti%'e verses and parallel illustrations which will arise, hoping that all may unite in endeavoring to live according to the doctrines of love to the Lord and tiie neighbor in their inmost principles as revealed in the Internal Sense of the Word, independent of sect or dogma. ST. JOHN 1 : I. " In the heg inning was the Word, and the Word ivas with God, and the Word was God." Our first meditations upon the Word of God will be based upon the fact that it does not treat of earthly things, nor of physical science in any form, butpurely of spiritual principles concerning the regeneration of man, or the re-creation of spiritual life. That this is the nature of the Word will in due time be proved from its own pages. Yet it is true that in the creation of all earthly things " in the beginning was the Word" or God, for no finite thing in heaven or earth can be the author of its own existence, and therefore it is literally true that " wi the begining God created the heaven and the earth." In the Internal Sense of the Word, the beginning refers to the beginning or dawn of spiritual life, and the state of life which precedes, in which the mind of man is prepared to receive the seeds of Eternal Life from the Word. All men are born with a hereditary tendency to evil, in which they are ruled by the love of self. As all are created without their own volition, they are not responsible for the inclination to sin, but when the knowledge enters the mind that they are naturally sinful, they are accountable if they yield to temptation, and disobey the simple laws of the Word, which are written on the conscience of every man, even those who have not our written Word, but which soon become obscured by disobedience. 10 In order that we may see the utmost importance of there being a dawn of spiritual life, let us take a hasty glance at the evil nature which we are to be saved from, and which is not pleasant to look squarely in the face. However repulsive it may be, we must look within ourselves, and see the proof of the evil nature of self-love, in order that we may begin to understand the Divine Nature of the Wc-d, and how it is the Saviour from sin, and recognise that Salvation from the state to which our sins lead, is of Eternal importance. The love of self is the origin of all evil, and all men are naturally inclined to believe in themselves and not in the Word, and in this state, before the awakening of our spiritual perceptions, we suppose that what we cannot acquire from without, by means of the senses, or from external things and principles derived therefrom, has no existence. (A. C. 210.) Thus we only believe in what we can physically see, hear, touch, smell or taste, not only in the natural world, but in the literal sense of the Word itself, and this is the natural state of the man who possesses and reads the Word of God before he is awakened to the perception of its Internal Sense. "The love of self and the world are nothing but hatred, since in proportion as anyone loves himself he hates his neighbor ; for he who loves himself in preference to others, not only hates all who are not subservient to him, and shows no favor except to those men or principles, who become his slaves, but also, where he is left unrestrained, exalts himself even above God." (A. C. ] 047.) This is exactly opposite to the state of the regenerating man who is ruled by the heavenly principles of the Word in loving the Lord and the neighbor, for he has no selfish end in view in his interior motives, and does not even desire to be his own property, but to belong to all whom he can spiritually serve, so that he iwilling to give all that seems to bekug to him to those who may be benefited by either his talents or pos.sessions. (A. C. 1419.) All those principles in the nature of man which belong to his individuality, and are proper to himself, in which the love of 11 self and the world hereditarily reign, are expressed in the Latin Revelation of the Internal Sense of the Word of God by the word proprium, which will be used in these lectures to express the unregenerated self-hood of man. In the Epistles, the nature of the proprium is expressed by the " carnal mind," " old man," " natural man," or " sinful flesh." During the progress of regeneration, the evil and false principles of the proprium are removed as rapidly as they are overcome, and this proprium is made divine and holy by the Lord by means of the Living Principles of the Word. Such is the nature of the hereditary proprium of every man, woman and child, of every spirit, and even of the highest angel in the heavens, even though regenerated and redeemed from sin, that if they are permitted to see their own proprium irom which they have been saved, it appears as most vile and filthy, and if the angels should be left to themselves without reliance upon the Lord, they would breathe nothing but hatred, revenge, cruelty, and the most filthy adulteries. This may appear to every person on reflecting that man, when first bom, on account of his tendency to evil, is lower than the wild beasts ; and when he grows up, and is left to his own government, unless he were prevented by external restraints, — such as the penalties of the law, and those obligations which he lays upon himself in order to grow great and rich, — he would rush headlong into all sorts of wickedness, and never rest until he had subdued all in the universe, and had amassed to himself their wealth, not sparing any but those who submitted to become his slaves. Such is the nature of every man, notwithstanding his ignorance of it, by reason of the impossibility of accomplishing his evil purposes, in consequence of his surroundings. But if all restraints should be removed, he would perpetrate all these evils to the utmost of his power. Wild beasts are violent in their self-protection, and kill and devour to appease the cravings of hunger, which, when satisfied, they cease to do harm. But with the proprium of man, it is so utterly evil, that he can never have dominion over evil in his own strength alone ; and 12 none l)ut the Lord can have dominion over the evil nature of man, or the hell which is within him. (A. C. 987.) In order that the influences from this hell, — which every moment are attempting to rush in upon and destroy him eternally, — may be subdued and overcome, — man is regenerated by the Lord by means of the Word, and there is implanted an enlightened conscience, by which the Lord alone operates all that is good and saves a man from his own evils. On this c^round we all stand upon the same level, and we have but to examine our interior motives to see whether we are governed by the love of self and the world, or look to the Lord and sincerely desire the spiritual welfare of others who may even be our enemies. Looking abroad over the daily life of the world, the newspaper gives a glimpse of crime and suffering which corroborates every statement concerning the proprium of man. This is the state of spiritual death from which man is to be resuscitated, from which he is to be made a new creature and filled with the heavenly principle of love to the Lord and the neighbor, and there is no spiritual life or beginning until these two principles of the Word on which hang all the law and the prophets, enter the land of the natural mind and subdue the enemies of spiritual life on their own soil. Let us look to the first utterance of the Word concerning the beginning, at the first verse of first chapter of Genesis. " In the BEGINNING God created the heaven and the earth." The mind of man is divided into two principles, the internal mind, and the external mind. These two divisions of the mind are called in this verse lieaven, or the internal mind, and earth, or the external mind. This is a correspondence between natural things and spiritual principles, according to which the Word is wi'itten from the beginning to the end. Thus, man lives on the external surface of this earth. His first ideas of thought are formed from things which he sees or perceives by means of the external senses of the mind, and in the first years of his ■earthly life, all his thoughts are of earthly things, even when he thinks of spiritual life, and when he reads the Word, his 13 •ereand thoughts rest in the earthly things and ajiparent surrounding physical objects, without any perception that within all these utterances there is a coherent spiritual meaning, from which the literal form of words is derived. Earth also signifies the appearances of truth in the literal sense of the word, which is received by the external mind in its natural thought, and this is the earth into which the Lord wtis born, in the literal sense of the Word. As heaven, or the terrestrial heavens, are above the earth, so spiritual and heavenly principles are higher, or above natural principles. The internal mind of man, or heaven, does not begin to be opened until the work of regeneration is commenced. The earth, or external mind, is the residence of the proprium of man which is to be removed by the process of regeneration, through continual temptations and combats, until the heavenly principles from the internal mind, which is the residence of the Lord in man, have conquered and removed all evil, without destroying man's individuality or freedom. All our suffering and anxiety exists only in the External Mind, or earth. The Internal Mind never suffers, for there is no evil or falsity which can ever enter heaven, but all sin closes the door to the internal mind, so that its light cannot shine upon the earth. In order to confirm this correspondence of the word EARTH, with the external mind in which the propriam of man resides, let us turn to a few verses near at hand to prove this correspondence, bearing in mind that there are always two senses in which the word ' earth," or any other word is used, a good or evil sense, according to the surrounding subject matter. Looking at the second verse of Genesis, it reads, " and the earth VMS without forra and void." Before regeneration, the external mind has no form or mode of operation according to the laws of heavenly order from the internal mind, and it is void or empty of any spiritual principles of truth from the word, from which results a darkness, or obscurity and ignorance, concerning those truths of Eternal Life, which make a man " wise unto salvation." 14 There could not be a physical earth without fonn, for all material substances must have a form, which is self-evident without further argument, to prove that the word earth does not mean this terrestial globe. Before regeneration there exists no spiritual life, and consequently no image of the Divine Man from whom all men exist, although every man is created with the faculty of becoming an image and likeness of God. Bearing in mind that earth means the external mind of man, let u". turn to the sixth chapter of Genesis, at the fifth verse, where we read, " And Ood saw that the luickedness of man ivas great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually," also at the eleventh and twelfth verses, " The earth also was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence. And God looked wpon the earth, and, behold it was corrupt ; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth," which verifies the statement made concerning the nature of man's proprium. The entire work of regeneration takes place in the external mind, which is to be vivified by the holy principles of the Word which flow in from the Lord through heaven, or the internal mind, as evils are removed by resisting and overcoming them with Divine strength. This is not a work of self -righteousness, for the regenerating man constantly acknowledges the Lord, and sees the simplicity of the plain commandments of the Word, freed from the traditions of men, and which are clearly defined in the tenth chapter of Deuteronomy, beginning at the twelfth verse, " And now, O Israel, ivhat doth the Lord thy God require of thee, but to fear the Lord thy God, to walk in all his tvays. and to love him, and to serve the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul. To keep the commandments of the Lord, a^nd his statutes, which I command thee this day for thy good ? Behold, the heaven, and the heaven of heavens, is the Lord's thy God, the earth also, tvith all that therein is," where the earth signifies the regenerated external mind, for then the " earth is full of the goodness of the Lord" " Those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth." " Then shall the earth yield her 15 increase ; and God, even our own God, shall bless us." " The Lord reigneth ; let the earth rejoice." " The earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works." " Lord, the earth is full of thy riches." " For the earth shall he full of the hnoivledge of the Lord, as the 'waters cover the sea." By Heaven is also signified the Internal Sense of the Word, which is first perceived when the internal mind is opened by obedience to the literal sense. In thinking of heaven, the thoughts should not revert to some other material planet in the space and time of the terrestrial universe, but in our meditations we should consider the principles of love to the Lord and the neighbor from the Word, which when truly lived, will open the internal mind or heaven of the regenerating man, and heaven will never be found in any other place than in a life according to these principles of the Word. This is the heaven from which the Lord speaks to man. Turning to the fourth chapter of Deuteronomy, at the thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth verses will be found these words, " Unto thee it vms showed, that thou mightest know that the Lord, he is God ; there is none else beside him. Out of heaven he made thee to hear his voice ^ that he might instruct thee : and upon earth he showed thee his great fire ; and thou heardest his words out of the midst of the fire." Farther along in these lectures, it will be illustrated that the "great fire" is the Divine Love of the Lord which warms the whole spiritual life with affection for the truths of the Word when they are obeyed and become the governing principles of the earth or external mind. The "voice of the Lord out of heaven" is the Internal Sense of the Word by which he communicates His Divine Love and Wisdom to the mind of the regenerating man. No other audible voice is ever heard, or ever will be heard, excepting from the mouths of those who speak its Divine utterances. Those only truly hear the Word who obey its Divine Commands, and the Internal Sense can be revealed to no other persons. The Science of Correspondence in itself is not the Internal Sense, but is simply an earthly key by which the " Gate of I ! II .' IG Heaven," the WoiJ in it, lit„,.„i who have obeyed its .si^ f" "^'J^ ^ "'"-''«■ to those the Neighbor. " ne /dZdonlo/r I ™/° '^' -^'"■'' ''"'1 vau>n: neitUer skull tkyZ, if T^"' "<" -'"' obsc'-«. ^/« Un,aom of Goa '^{JZ^"^' ,t" ' ^"'■' ^"ihose who passively awaif n • , ^ "^^ ^^ • 20.) ^fluence. wilf not t^: ; eJe";: °f r"""»" "^ ^P'"'™' Word It eannot appear to nTlh^, ''™'" ®^"^'' »* 'h^' with all the strength given to „/ " ""' """^tantly strive most insidious inluen^ The ~t "^ '"^^ "^ -1^itl vantage of bis neighbor, or thi ne! \ ^^"^ ""^ '-"^t ad2 -" " another, eanno sel anTli uV"''^'"' '" ^P^^'k" Sense of t„e Word. A n,„n ! !^ ^ ^''' ^'"'n the Internal transactions of worldlylresl ^or^v""* '" ^"^ ^■'•^^^s rejo.ee in the death of anothe pe" H . '•"' """'^ ^''"''' means of increasing his own T ' P™"d,ng it would be a fts in speaking l.^Zl^CZT ^'^ P^^ -'<>« that this wicked principle, or l^tt r'* ""« '"veof self Praved will, and thence Jarrfd K 1'" "'''""^^'^ "^ the de-o"ld, if „„estrained. ki™peLn ' *'"''^''' '»"' ^P^^. kmd words are uttered. ■' wL^T\^^"^*' "^^""^ 'he un"'"^'''9 '» '"-m .■■ (I John i 15 r'" ''"'* ^''*"»«^ Lifa From all the evil and f.i • "^ '■■ance to spiritual ht/:d Xh t^ "'''"'' "-'-^ ""> endeath, the Word is given in rt i, "' constitute a state of «on. The preparatC state ^T"^""" "' " '«« "^ ^egetra a state of reformation^of tumW? '''""^ '" -generation I •■epentance, but the "bJnnL"" • T ''^"' "-"etimes called the Word enter, the liff ^ ' ^'''" ""'^ '''^'™otion C % Reformation is inp«nf +i. j. from evil and selfish pSes wtT"/ ""' °'''^'"^""e's life ■nan compels himselfjn f^m ''' *"'^'^^ P'^ee when a 'Inlrf " '"' """^ natura ■ "■''''' *^ ^"'« which he -J to those J^oi'tl ami ^th ohser/ for, he0.) spiritual 'e of the ly strive elfin its east adi speaknternal lightest J would Id be a ho deof seJf he depeeeh, le un>• 'is a I Life e enteof lera5n is illed roni life n a he at vil 17 apparently in his own strength, but this is only an appearance, so that he will not be forced into a higher lite excepting as he seeks it by putting away evil, although it is the Lord who is moving upon the " face of the waters." Man must make the eflEbrt, by using the strength of will which is given him, and in spiritual things there is nothing obtained without effort on the part of man. His reformation takes place by his exerting himself against the evils which are within him, and as he resists evil it will flee from him, and as fast as he strives against the evil he sees, the Led flows in with Divine Strength, until he is convinced that a good life will lead to heaven, and that an evil life will destroy him. In the first state of reformation a man does not believe that the Lord is reforming him, but that he is doing the work himself, and that whatever he does that is good, and everything true which he thinks and speaks, he originates in himself, for if it should be told him in that state that he was merely acted upon, he would immediately wait for some special influx of spiritual power, and become like a machine without any powe • of self-determination, and he would cease to resist his evils. By striving with his own power he will in due time be led to acknowledge his helplessness and look to the Lord for strength, and thus the law which he is trying to keep in his own strength is the " schoolmaster which will bring him to Christ," or the Word. This state of self-righteousness is clearly indicated in the Epistles by the " works " or " deeds of the law by which no flesh shall be justified." In due time the soul of the self-confident man will be brought into desolation and despair, in which his own thoughts will be reduced to such ignorance, so as not to be able to know what truth is, and in his state of desperation he exclaims, " 0, wretched man that I am ! ivho shall deliver me from the body of this death," for when a man is brought into this condition he feels that he knows nothing, and he is ignorant of the source of instruction as the light of his self -intelligence is being extinguished. This state of reformation is coherently described by 2 18 »K yi5 tho Internal Sonso in the seventh chapter of Isaiah, beginnin< with the eighteenth verse, and any intelligent man may perceive that the literal sense in itself alone, without any deeper meaning, is singularly obscure. "And itslmill come, to pass in that day, that the Lord shall hiss for the fly that is in the uttermost part of the rivers of Egypt, and for the bee that is in the land of Assyria ; and they shall come, and rest all of tliem in the desolate valleys, and in the holes of the rocks, and upon all thorns, and upon all hushes. " In the same day will the Lord shave with a razor that is hired, namely, hy iliem beyond the river, by tJie king of Assyria, the head, and the hair of the feet ; and it shall also consume tJie beard. And it shall come to pass in that day, that a man shall nourish a young cow and two sheep ; and it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give, that he shall eat butter ; for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land. " And it shall come to pass in that day, that every place shall be, where there were a thousand vines at a thousand silverlings it shall even be for briers and thorns. With arrows and ivith bows shall men come thither ; beca/use all the land shall become briers and thorns. And on all hills that shall he digged loith the mattock, tliere shall not come thither the fear of briers and thorns ; but it shall he for the sending forth of oxen, and for the treading of lesser cattle" When the light of self-intelligence flickers and expires, he calls upon the Lord, " Turn Thee unto me, and have mercy upon me ; for I am. desolate and afflicted.^' " send out thy light and thy truth ; let them lead me, and lead me in the way everlasting." " Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily ; and thy righteousness shall go before thee ; the glory of the Lord shall be thy reward," and this afflicted man ib led to see the Lord as the Word, and from this moment his regenerate life begins, for " Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and light unto my path." " Tlie entrance beginnin(r "lay pej-fiy deeper 'Ord dhaU 'hey sJiaU d in the hushes. >r that is Assyria, consume t a man all come , that he eat that ''Ce shall 'erlings id tvith become ^d with ■rs and mdfor res, he ynercy ^ut thy 'G way ■ thine ? shall " and from I is a mnce 19 oj thy words (jiveth li(/ht; it yireth itiulerstandiiKj unto the simple" for " TJie Fear of the Lord is the heginniniily resist tho evil that appears. Wo cannot liinrinj^s its own penalty. Kvi>ry ninn will bo rewarded according to his works. The penalty of sin is spiritual death, for it cIosoh the entrance of heaven into the external mind, or enrth, and fills the whole being with the love of flolf, wllich is the state called hell. It is not piinislunont wV.ich men should fear, but the sin itself which closes the entrance of the Word, which is the Saviour from sin. A man who fears the punishment of sin is in a state of self-love. " But liow is our past sin t« be forgiven i " Suppose that you have a little weak, sickly boy, whom you tenderly love, and one day in his hereditary tendency to evil, for which ho is not to blame until he is old enough to know better, ho asserts his own little will and disobeys you, and as soon as he sees that ho has done wrong, he timidly comes to you and looks up into your face and says pityingly, " Mamma, I was naughty yesterday, and I'm sorry that I did wrong, forgive me, mamma, and I will try to do better." And then the little fellow bursts into tears as his tender throbbing heart overflows with grief. Would you lift up your right hand, and in revengeful wrath dash that piteous little face to the floor ? There have been drunken brutes, who have thus abused their children, and have driven them into lives of misery. No ! you would clasp that dear little one to your bosom, and with a kiss of forgiveness, fold him in your arms, so that he would love to confide in you, and receive strength to battle with his next temptation. The Lord always forgives. " Like as a father pltleth his children, so the Lordpitieth them, that fear Him." "He that cometh unto me I ivill in no luise cast out." " Bless the Lord, my soul, and forget not all His benefits. Who forgiveth all thine iniquities : who healeth all thy diseases." " Let the luicJced forsake his ivay, and the unrighteous man his thoughts : and let him return unto Hie Lord, and he ivill have mercy upon him ; and to our God, for he ivill abundantly pardon." (la Iv. 7.) 21 Tli<^ Fori^ivoiujHs of Sin iiiH)lio.s tlio .u'viii;^ up of sin on tin* part of man, Itnt evory person is responsiblo for, and must boar liis own sins, and cannot lay tliem upon another, for his own individuality alono nuist bear the sear of sin to eternity. These sins miist be remove«l to tlie outermost circumference of his firclo of life by being overcome and thrust out. The past cannot be undone, nor blotted out, and when a man is <"empted, oven in the other life, to think highly of himself, his past ini(piitics will rise before his mental sight.and in humility he will acknowledge the Lord, or the Word, to be his Redeemer, and give Him all the glory and praise. The Beginning of a regenerate life is ettected by the Word which " 11X18 With God" The nature and form of the Word is such thai it enters the internal mind of the man who has 1)0gun to be regenevated by its Divine truths, and as that is tho abode of the Lord Himself in man, the Divine Truth is tho power or Divine Proceeding which enters the external mind and re-creates it with spiritual life. A word between men is a communication of thought, or a manifestation of the life of one man to another, either in speech, writing or gesture. Thus the Word of God is a conununication of Divine Thoughts to the mind of man by means of the natural form of language and natural things which are representative of spiritual principles. No created principle has tho power to impart Eternal Life to a finite creature, and yet tho Word of God will save a man from sin, if he takes its Divine Principles into his daily life, and will raise him from death into Everlasting Life. This is the Scheme of Salvation which the Lord has given to man. On tho occasion of the laying of the corner stone of a public unsectarian edifice, ther'> maj'' sometimes be seen marching through the streets a procession of orderly and dignified men, wearing their regalia of membei'ship. Among them may bo seen their representative spiritual guide bearing before him a velvet cushion upon which rests an Open Book which is treated with reverence, and which in all their rites and cere22 III ' k monies in their place of stated meetin<,'s, — lays upon the altar which stands in the centre of their assemblies. If a meek and earnest man should be permitted to enter the pulpits of various churches, and holding in his hands this Sacred Volume which lies upon the table and shelves of every enlightened family of the Christian world, — and reverently proclaim that it is Jehovah God, or the Lord Jesus Christ descended into this world in such form that the natural thoughts may see Him personified in Living Divine Truths, which ir the minds and lives of obedient men will re-create them in His image and likeness, — would his simple utterances be accepted as real and true, or would they be looked upon as purely metaphorical statements ? Yet the Literal Sense of the Word alone, in the simplest language which can express thought, plainly declares these authoritative words : — " And the Word was God.' May our minds be open to receive what the Lord may lead us to consider concerning this important subject in the next lecture, which ls it follows in the order of the chapter selected, will be : — " The Human Form of the Word of God, or the Personification OF ITS Divinity." 1 the altaj 23 » enter the lands this s of every •everently Christ dethougJits which iv them in :es be acis purely 'Jest lanB authoay lead le next 'lected, E Per. Spiritual Truths derived from the Latin Revelation of the Internal Sense of the Word, ADOPTED BY THE LNTERNATIONAL SOCIETY OF THE INSPIRED WORD OFFICE OF THE TORONTO SOCIETY,* 25 Wbllington Street West. The object of this Society is, First -.—To promulgate the Interior Revealed Truths of the Word of God in a rational and orderly manner. Second : —To protect those Revealed Truths from distortion, by preserving them in their Interior Meaning without perverting them to conform to the "traditions of men," or being made subservient to confirm private opinion or metaphorical interpretation. I. The whole inspired Word of God is written by the correspond' ence of natural things with Spiritual Principles, which are representative and significative from the beginning to the end. II. The historical relations, without exception, are matters f)f true spiritual history in the lives of regenerating men, and the Word of God does not treat of physical earthly history, excepting by the correspondence of things natural with Spiritual Principles. III. The Word of God is of Supernatural origin, and is Divine Truth, treating only of Spiritual Science concerning the Regeneration of man. IV. The Word of God is the Divine Humanity which assumes the Human Principle of the.Word in the world or earth of the external mind, and is the Son of God within the mind and life of the regenerating man. V. The giving of the Literal Sense of the Word to the natural mind in the history of man, was the Advent of the Lord upon the earth, and the Revelation of the Internal Sense is the Second Coming of the Lord to those who thus receive and live according to the Internal Truths of the Word. VI. The Lord Jesus Christ is the One Jehovah God, or the Word, in One Person from Eternity ; and the whole Word in the Internal Sense teaches only of Him in the lives of regenerating men. * Should a sufficient number of subscribers indicate that provision will be made for the expense of publication, it is the itttention of this Society, in due time, to issue a monthly periodical, to beeutitled Living Watrr. 24 :P^^'Z^J:'^;:^:/-^«.e DiWne Love, the Di .Se„se,,, the VV„d ly the m ne "^fe's ""T"'^" '" «I^ on ^ V'l'The birth of ,h, L„„| j„° ,3 c fj: *'? ?^ ""'y Spirit. o love ,.„a „b„ji3„^„ ^^ ^,_^_ I'iocepta of L W 1 ''"'''^' "'™'S" " «" '^o... ,.,„, ;h,„„:-';; :t^: «~ of We ,.„a th„„,ht fvo„ the «Lite™, Truth::; r;: rior"//™,•=™ by „he„ie„ce .„ ;-.»t,„g evil and false p,,,^eMc ! !? "j" ^'"■'' '"'O "■« "eighb" b Chnst alone t„ be the Savi^" . fe ' ""'"><'">»<'. 'in« the Wcl IL„, ...to tho^w, fro-. ', by means of the Word ..eooived -^i. The Life of Reffenerifinn .i u -oj,eso,th„„,i„d, a;;drtt\krin ;:rr '"^ -''-' "-"«"'« »■' ^^::t:r:::r :r:h:'?-f -^^^^^ ^ -^^li. i»o Literal Sen <^P nf +1 it^ '» be ohe,ed, booant con.ls °t '' '" "^ '■«="*<• Sacred and con^^-rnn,, the Wovd, :x:[:t """ "■ '"-"'-' i>'vin: iC'et;:' entitled JLu^rl f"""' °' "'« ^^o'-^ " revealed in ,1 r ■ -;-; -.««. -. *« ./y;r^:r,^:;-,;f ^'•«.-: fro;, the UWoTGJd'tTit''''" '""'"''' ">' "^ '""e a.ay anvth' >;bat al„,, bas been c„'„t i „ Sfis'" "" ^"«™™'»« ™. !. f ove, the Di, 1 the Literal >irit. the inind of trough a hfi. ^'ivo Him iu ht from tlio to tlie Two ^ediencc to -ighbor, by jord Jesus d received "ghts and should be fe, and to d of God. *>f God as the faith'^^g upon 5red, and le, which iiself. 'd alone, velatioii n works tivelata ; ina Sa'intiana ythino nlone, ed by Fnnii <( CoiKji'Cfidtliiiiiilist I'mnl of ]'irir, " A carofnl examinntioji of tlio nnl)o\in'l slioets of tl;o work calh'd '• Tiii", Fack OF J Ksi;s " rev^-'iils a nuukeil feature in placing; the Word of Gud on tli(i higliest nio)jntain of holiness, and yet tlio word chnrcli does not appear once in any of its pa^'eg. It certainly touches the deepest principles of sjiiritnal life in a nianni'r so plain that no rellectiui,' man can say that it is not true. FK^ni the fact that it treats of the searchini,' princii)les of rej,'i'nerate life abstracted from the names of jiersons and places, it will be liable to much misinterpretation, and we hardly dare to recommend its i)erusid to any b-.it thon;^htful peisons of mature aart from scriptural names, no man, or fi/o, appears anywhere from bei^iuninii to end, but the whole aim of its teachings seems to lead the reader to the Word of God for sjiiritual light. There is such a wall of protection built before it in the Introduction, that iiitidelity and atheism cannot enter nor gain a foothold whereby the Divinity of the Word can be attacked. Herein liis its great strength, that it seems to bo from tin; Holy Uible in tin* UK'st humble spirit of reverence, and seems tilled with kindness toward all with a desire for their spiritual welfare. It seems founded on the corner stone of Eternal life, and yet it does not appear like the doctrines on which Congregationalism is built upon, although it honors the connuandments of God. 'is highly iis any book which has ever been published. " it does not indicate a desire to build up a sectarian feeling, and does not advocate any principles which would lead a man to withdraw from religious Worship, but recognizes a sp'ritnal meaning in every form of worship where a man is inwardly sincere. While in the kindest spirit it pulls down many a cherished theory, it does not leave the mind without any foundation, but leads those who are able to bear this devastation of the pictures which the idtals of men have formed, to the Living Reality, in spiritual i)rinciples, of Him who gives Life to the Word, and who causes His face to shine so that the pure in heart may behold. It is a fascinating book for those whose reasoning powers can ctnnprehend its elevating thoughts, for it exalts the Lord desus Ciirist above the highest human conception, and notwithstanding its nndenominational tendency, its positive assertions give no uncertain sound. ' From a Neir Jentsuhm licricir. "The advance sheets of the English editit)n oi the work on the ' Fack ok .J Ksi'ts ' were placed in our hands for perusal and contein|ilation. The reading of its pages was a work of pleasure mingled with the delights of wisdom, with which it is repleti'. We are led to confess, after giving the subject much thought that it is of the Loras doings, and it is marvellous in our eyes. " The truths unfolded are iiidet'd mdrrcllmis, in that there has never been a trurl: like unto it produced from the pages of the sacred ^^criptiires. It will no di'uht create a commotion in the theological world, and awaken many devout and thou<,'htful minds to the realization of the Divine natnre and chaiaeterof the Woidof (Jod. Every page is )eplete with wisdom 'overshadowed from on High,' plainly revealing that 'a man can receive nothing except it be given him troiii heaveji.' '■ The jirinciples wliich are uncovered are so far in advance of the common a! )i)relu'nsion that tliey must be ' spiritually discerned ' by a life in harmony with the Divine laws of love to the Lord and the neighbor, or the life of Jesus within the heart. The work is remarkable from the fact that it is asnonsectarian as the l>il)le itself, and it is nou-cmtroveisial, but it rests solely u[)ou the inteiior Divine pi'nici[)les of the Word of (Joil. it will prove truly useful as a nrs ionary in t .e mental world of religi sion, or tha bacic covar whan appropriata. All othar original copias ara filmad baginning on tha first paga with a printad or illustratad impras* sion, and anding on tha last paga with a printad or Illustratad Imprassion. Tha last racordad frama on aach microficha shall contain tha symbol —^(moaning "CONTINUED"), or tha symbol ▼ (moaning "END"), whiciiavar appiias. Archives of Ontario Toronto Las imagas suivantaa ont AtA raproduitaa avac la plus grand soin. compta tanu da la condition at da la nattat* da l'axampiaira filmi. at en eonf ormitA avac las conditions du contrat da fiimaga. Laa 4xamplairaa originaux dont la couvartura an papior ast imprimAa sont filmAs an commandant par la pramiar plat at an tarminant soit par la damiAra pa9a qui comporta una tmprainta d'impraasion ou d'iilustration. soit par la sacond plat, salon la eas. Tous las autrss sxamplairas originaux sont fllmAs an commanqant par la pramiAra paga qui comporta una amprainta dimpraasion ou d'illuatration at an tarminant par la darniAra paga qui comporta una talla amprainta. Un das symbolas suivants appt«raitra sur la damiira imaga da chaque microficha. salon la cas: la symbols —^ signifia "A SUIVRE". la symbols y signifia "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, ate., may ba filmad at diffarant raduction ratios. Thosa too iarga to ba antiraly ineludad in one exposure are filmed beginning in tha upper left hand comer, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as requirod. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Laa cartas, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmte A das taux da reduction diff Arents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cllchA. il est filmA A partir da Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite. et do haut en bas. an prenant la nombre d'images nAcessaire. Las diagrammes suivants iilustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 i%'-. h'-'?^ Svji ''';„•• 1 1^ ' '^jk »<1. TSSTr ^.^ 'i < 1. ' » ^ £va"" 1 ,i&^i»g-l!c>'.'„.. :^„,,,^i>i. i^ gft|Lf^j55 1': ,^v»itt«t> »*»<»» »™ S XY!■* "• ' * 'in v.»k t i ' -V. 1'" '. iffi s •^ij . f< 11^ A w £ A.^'W. /^OKi&ea 6y ;/*«•»««* ,?f*^ ^*^^*aj u I ' f r V ' *■• r*;2 rllfi— ^ ^iC;;^ • iiVV-.l'^ ^•p4-?S*^.-' ADDRESS DBLIVBRBD BBrOBB TBI ALUMNI OF THE UNIVERSITY or fiituriu €flhp, -^/LATSr 2Snd, 1801, BY PROFESSOR WILSON, A. M. Published by request of the Alumni. PRINTED AT THE ''GUARDIAN" STEAM PRESS. 1861. -.••vi''-, ■-• f, , r ; i ■ I ;. 1^ t .M .A^i*!^"^-'".,!! // ih>*;^t!i'i;'f«|,f|*'! ''fi|." .■«i^'. i-'i" i ■:s1:fi3;,l ■i T-r ''' . i . 1 J ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE ALUMNI OF C|e Inifrersitg of Wukxk College, BY PROFESSOR WILSON, A.M. , ,y^.-(;:'^ii.o.-\T.. Gentlemen,^ — The architect and the engineer must have a peculiar satisfaction in the result c f their respective skill, labour, and enterprise. There it is, tangible and visible, patent to the world, commending itself to every intelligent passer-by. Not so with those who deal with mind ; that subtle, invisible, yet most potent mystery ; that present yet inipalpable something, which defies analysis, whilst itself analyzes all things. What has he to show for his labour who has wrought, or attempted to work, on such material ? What result is there to attest the toil and power of the educator I If there is none, then his oflSce is on a par with the tread-mill — labour for its own sake, than which it is hard to conceive anything more irksome. If result there is, and that of a satisfactory kind, then^ though it may be invisible, impalpable, yet being exhibited in that which is most efficient and masterly, it must be of prime importance. Such indeed seems to be the prevalent opinion. The most enlightened nations are those which attach the most importance to the work of education. Never were so many minds undergoing the process as at the present time. The following quotation from an address delivered by a leading statesman of the 17tb century, I found in T. B. at Oxford. ** The very truth is, that all wise princes respect the welfare of their estates, and consider that schools and universities are (as in the body) the noble and vital parts which, being vigorous and sound, send good blood and active spirits into the veins and arteries, which cause health and strength, or if feeble or ill affected, corrupt all the vital parts, whereupon grow diseases, and in the end death itself." ,. .. ,.. « ti/.fuf • *■ I make these preliminary remarks because I am called upon to address the Alumni of this University ; gentlemen who, as such, are re> garded as having claims to the title of educated men. You never can be, and if you could, you would not be such as j ou were before you had become the subjects of that mental training, that intellectual cultivation, which has now, or at some former period, received the final seal and stamp of ojQScial approval. Unaffectedly I beg to express the wish which rises unbidden, that some fitter representative of your Alma Mater were appointed to address you on the present occasion ; but the responsibility has been devolved upon me, and I must discharge it to the best of my ability. The following remarks have been suggested, more or less, by one word wh'ch often occurs in the conversation of Socrates, namely — KaXoxay A blessing be on the memory of the old Greek for that one i. It contains a volume of meaning, which, with an little dilution as possible, I shall endeavour to translate into modern English. It presents goodness in two aspects, the one moral, the other aesthetic. Now the peculiar value of the word was this, that it recognized a unity as subsisting between two things which are often mistaken as aliens to each other, and reciprocally hostile, namely, good taste and good principle. It embodied a grand idea which may be thus stated : — The highest style of goodness is beautiful, or, the highest kind of beauty is moral goodness. But, says an objector, what has beauty to do with morality ? The province of beauty is under the direction of taste, whilst morality is under the cognizance of conscience. Be it so ; but what if these two powers, the conscience and the taste, have at all times considerable influence upon each other, and can be shown to have intimate relations, unless when some violence is done to either, or, it may be, to both. Now, what we claim for the propounder of this word is simply the discovery of a truth which has seemed for a long time to elude the notice of many otherwise distinguished men. That truth, as already stated, may be expressed thus, — The highest style of goodness is beautiful, or, the highest kind of beauty is moral goodness. Men have acted and spoken as if there was a contrariety, an irreconcilable hostility, or at least an utter incompatibility between the two things, as if indeed the farther an act receded from the one, the more closely it approximated to the othei-. Observe the two great parties into which England was divided during the struggles between the Koyalists and the Commonwealth men of the 17th century. There were men of worth on each side — heroic, admirable men — men who ought to have been friends, but who t w* 4 by their very »incerity and heroism were but impelled to the more violent antagonism. We shall dismiss from consideration the knaves or hypocrites of either si Je, and look at the more reputable and more truly representative men on either side. Doubtless there were schemers, unprincipled adventurers, who assigned themselves to the ranks ot whichever party seemed the more likely to recompense them ; but the two parties consisted in the main of men who were thoroughly in earnest, and who identified all that was good and desirable with the success of their own views, the triumphs of their own principles. What was the leading distinction between these two great parties which threatened at one time to dissolve the very bonds of rational unity in England ? There were good men in both camps, but there was a marked difference in the style of the goodness of their respective worthies. On the one side there was elegance, sprightliriess, gentlemanly bearing, abhorrence of meanness, fastidious disdain of all coarseness. On the other what was there 1 Steeple hats covering hard heads ; buff jerkins casing upright, truth-loving hearts ; conscientious detestation of usurped and tyrannical power ; an unblenching resolve to reform abuises or die. The Cavaliers almost adored their King. Submission to his will was law. Extension of his prerogative was personal aggrandizement. Though at the same time they were sufficiently sensitive on the subject of their personal rights, and resected the slightest infringement on the privileges of their order, yet if the king called for their service, no enterprize was too hazardous, no toil too arduous, no sacrifice too painful. Life, fortune, and fame were risked without a murmur when the safety or honour of the throne demanded the costly offering. The same party revered the church established by law, with her choice diction, and carefully-graduated ministry. She was to every true Cavalier the embodiment of everything graceful ; the patroness of learning, the bulwark of the nation, the pattern of things heavenly. There was a certain beauty in their idea ; there was a something charming in the thought of a centre of unity, which should attract all parts of the social circle to itself, which should remain ever distinct, and yet be always diffusive of its own dignity, geniality, and power: there was beauty in the loyalty of the courtly knight who, seeing the lion-hearted Queen Bess about to step on a muddy place, ffung down his cloak before her feet, and after it had afforded her Majesty a clean pathway, put it on his own shoulder^again in its bedrabbled Ci.nditioD, as if every particle of soil were an t^itional blazonry of his escutcheon. ; ; \*>" . There was beauty in the devotion of the University of Oxford, when it melted down its plate to replenish the rQyal exchequer, — aye, and .' * f.. .6 there was something tidmirahle in the fidelity of many a poor Highlander, who knew the hiding-place of his Prince, when a price was set upon that Prince's head, and when a visit to a neighbouring magistrate and a few words of information would have raised him for the rest of his days above all need for labour ; and who, knowing all this, kept his secret as a sacred deposit, which no human power could wrest from his keeping. Again, there was a sort of fascination in the union of secular power and ecclesiastical authority, of ritualistic observances with courtly usages. The most rigid Republican will, we think, admit that there was an element of beauty, of attractiveness, in the general bearing of that party, and, still more, in the idea which actuated and vivified their conduct. : £ Now let us \< : opinion that neither was permitted to gain a complete victory, bocause neither was entirely in the right 1 Each was in turn in the ascendant to such a degree as sufficed to exhibit its tendencies, and to demonstrate the necessity of some countervailing check — some balancing force to prevent the pernicious effects of one-sided predilections and principles of action. ••' * < ' • Had the Royalists gained the day at Marston Moor and Naseby, England had bidden farewell to liberty ; and not England only, but Europe, and the world, unless, indeed, some now unknown agency had been developed by the unseen hand or an AllWise Ruler. A few men, highly polished in manners, magnificent in style of living, gallant soldiers (and gallant civilians), would have constructed, in the King') name, a despotism not less rigid, but inconceivably more intelligent, more living, more formidable than that of any Eastern monarchy. Every post of honour and every office of authority would have been occupied by themselves, or their nominees ; every avenue to promotion blocked up to all except their own favourites; every outlet of liberty watched and guarded ; and all who were out of the pale of one small circle of exquisites would have been doomed, so far as men could doom them, to ignoranbe, brutality and degradation. r , > , .r. On the other hand, if the Protectorate had survived Oliver Cromwell, and if the principles of the party which had placed that great ' Tv^ami on th«j first seat in the Commonwealth had been left to flourish in unrestricted luxuriance, what would have become of refine^ ment, of the fine arts, of the thousand decencies which give a charm to social life ? I imagine a people drilled to the endurance of twentyheaded lectures, and a rising generation looking forward to the inevitable wearing^f steeple-hats. Think of children answering to such names as are ascribed by historians to two youths of the Barebones family i The first was called Praise God ; the second had a praenomen which embraced a body of divinity. In the latter mstance a great truth was put in a wroae place. Just this is what would have resulted : Great truths would nave been thrust into places intended for little truths ; and thus two bad effects had followed — the crowding out of the little truths, and the misshaping of the great ones. Good principles were so wrenched from t good taste as to acquire abomliness that was at best iroattractiTey and frequently repulsive. It is, to my own mind, interesting to find that the ancestors of the Rev. John Wesley seem to have diverged from side to side, according as either party began to exhibit its natural proclivities to excess. Originally a High-churchman, his grandfather left the Established Church — so far at least as its emoluments were concerned — on Bartholomew's Day, for conscience' sake. In the next generation, when nou-conformity assumed a more pretentious aspect, and proceeded to lay aside its meek and self-defensive attitude, when calves'-head clubs (unless their enemies have misrepresented them) were organized in systematic derision of royalty, his father and mother avowed hearty repugnance to such aberrations, and became again members of a Church which they considered to have been chastened and purified by its sufferings. In both instances these men, bis father and his grandfather, pursued a course exactly opposite to that which would have been selected by time-servers ; and even their enemies could not deny that their intentions were unswayed by considerations of worldly emolument. • But a proneness to divergence has shown itself not only in political parties, but also in nations ; and often those adjacent to each other. In the parent countries from which Upper Canada and Lower Canada respectively have been colonized, what a difference ! what an apparent discord I and yet I cannot but think that there is a grand capacity for concord — a something naturally supplementary ,which will yet produce a magnificent harmony. What can compete with French politesse ? — What but British sincerity ? What can compare with French ardor 1 — What but Biitish firmness ? What can equal French tastefiilness % — What but British good sense and well-prmcipled moderation ? In French history the KaAoy or its semblance, in one form or another, has always swayed more or less the public mind, often, it is to be regretted, with a tremendous renunciation of the ay»6of. A Briton who prides himself on his bluntness does himself a wrong; a Frenchman in aiming at the same quality, (or that frankness, rather, of which the other is the counterfeit), might approximate to the happy medium. I trust it is not by accident that fragments of the two nations are placed in contiguity on the shores of this Canada of theirs and ours, Ce> «Ainly if both sin against God they will be thorns in each ethers sides ; but if both unite in allegiance to ibe same wise and gracious Lord, they will be friends more helpful and closer than brothers. This KuXoxaya&ta is a power all but boundless in elevating, in unit9 A t ing, in stre>igtliening> in perpetuating nations, churches, families, — in a word, all conceivable human organizations. 'Jhere were two German peasants who had a disagreement about a piece of ground which adjoined their farms. Each one thought his own claim tlie stronger, yet neither charged the other with injustice. They saw the danger, however, of gradual corrosion of good feeling, and to prevent this they agreed to refer the matter to the magistrates of the nearest town. On the appointed day one of these honest men called for his neighbour to accompany him to the scene of trial. The other accosted him thus : — ^"My spring work is backward, and every day is valuable. You know both sides of the question ; state tbem both to the judges, and whatever may be the decision, I will abide by it." The man thus retained on both sides went to the court, and did as hi^ neighbour h id desired. In the evening he returned, and found his friend ready to hear the result. "The judges," said he, "lisened to me speaking fir t in my own behalf, and then in yours; and they thought your case the stronger, and accordingly decided in your favour. Now, I wish you joy." They were good neighbours ever after. Neither of thcm^ I venture to say, was poorer in allthat constitutes true wealth, for that diy's trust on the one hand and fidelity on the other. Again, this property cements political parlies. Sallost in comparing the relative strength of the patricians and the popular party, though he evidently sympathizes with the Litter, makes one significant admission. The strength of the Commons was, according to that astute writer, di-^organized — more liable to disruption ; that of the optimates was compact, they undei stood one another better — co-operated more faithfully ; and thus, by their closer union, often proved an over-match for their more numerous adversaries. In Churches this )ix\oK»yxQiat is even more requisite and more effective than in political parties. Two things are absolutely indispensable. Truth is the material — truth embodied in living recipients — and this material must be employed from the foundation to the topstone. Ecclesiastical stiuctures may be constructed partly of truth and pirtly of falsehood — like the baroniil castle the fall of which was chronicled a few months ago by the peri >dical press, ( its walls were found to be merely coated on either side with hewn stone, whilst an artificial appearance of strengtti was ctfected by filling in with clay), or they may sj disproportionately incline to one side as to resemble the once celebrated tower of Pisa, which seemed for generations to bid defiance to the laws of architecture, leaning as it did to one side, yet apparently immoveable. After all, its downfall was a mere question of time. Sooner or later it was certain tu fall, and fall it did. But A-1 10 i whilst truth is essentially necessary as the material, another element is also requisite. The model of the Church is not the pyramid^ which by its shape and the hugeness of its parts might without any cement be considered exempt from liability to collapse or overthrow. Yet after all, what is the pyramid ? A monster tomb — an impc'sing deformity — an enduring monument of human power and of human imbecility. Not such the building which is to be the shrine of the Living One ; the home in which he will delight to dwell and to walk ; the building which is to be the embodiment not of death but of life. Capacious it must be, but comely in its proportions, faultless in its parts, beautiful as a whole. Its foundations are costly, its superstructure is gorgeous, its design was grand, its execution will be found to be perfect. Its parts are muliifaiious, and may bewilder an ignorant eye, but it is one — an unit — to the Master-mind which saw the end from the begmning ; to Him who will yet honour the whole work with Hi^ approval, and dignifiy it with His presence and blessing for evermore. How shall the parts, great and small, of this wonderous pile coalesce 1 How cohere ? What cement shall bind its various materials in one homogeneous whole ? That uniting principle is charity, — the very effluence of the Divine nature itself. A strong Church is that which rests on truth, and whose members are one in the charity which comes from God, ani which gives to each an interest in the well-being of all. Even truth, if maliciously spoken, is disuniting and weakening ; whilst untruthful chatity, or that esprit de corps which sometimes simulates it) is but as hay or stubble, or any crumbling material. '— ' Let us suppose a case of religious controversy. It is a source of strength to be on the right side ; to be conscious of truthfulness ; but it is also a source of strength to have that magnanimity which scorns to take any unfair advantage ; that generosity which would spare an antagonist as much as possible, even whilst it smote his errors with unsparing vigor. It is well known that some of the first scholars of the last century entered the lists against Mr. Wesley. In their ardor they sometimes made hasty quotations, which that accomplished controversalist soon detected to be erroneous! What should he do } Expose them ? Turn the laugh of the literati of the day upon them ? No man ever charged Mr. Wesley with anility. No man knew better than he when and how to answer a fool according to his folly, or to shake a pretentious impostor to pieces. But no man, we think, ever understood more thoroughly the laws of Christian controversy. He saw his advantage, — but he saw another advantage, that of not taking advantage of an unintentional error ; that of sparing the feelings of sincere, w^ll-meaning opponents. Instead, then, of exposing their misII 11 quotations, and seeking to disparage them as literary men, he used to write a private letter to those parties, pointing out the mistake, and requesting them to amend it in the next edition. *^0 ! but," some one may say, <'he made himself amends by publishing his magnanimity." Not so. The publication of this fact was not owing to himself, but to his antagonists, so'-^.e of whom (Bishop Warburton, for example,) were so charmed by bis forbearance that they, with a sense of honor second only to his own, published their indebtedness. Who can tell how far the influence of that catholic charity extended ? how it may have operated in disarming prejudice, and opening the way for the spread of a living Christianity ? Is there not a danger of separating religion from morality ? True religion includes morality — lives or dies as it lives or dies ; but it is certain that men have endeavoured to devise a religion which Would release them from the obligations of morality, — a sort of commutationtax for honesty, justice, and good faith. Let us suppose a body of men to attempt to combine a form of Christianity with a total disregard of Christian law. They might still meet in churches, retain some organization, wish to reach heaven, and even be willing to put up with some inconveniences for the sake of that end ; yet without any moral life, without integrity, or community of spirit, what would be more contemptible, more truly horrible, than such an association ? It is related of Mohammedan dervishes that their moral character is inversely as their devotion. Need we say that the spirit of every real Chri-«tian is a spirit of conformity to law ; the law of truth, of kindness, and of integrity ? This is not to be attained by accident, or by a passive surrender of the mind to the force of circumstances and outward influences. As well might the mariner set out from the eastern continent and expect to reach the opposite coast by leaving his vessel to the operation of every breeze and curient. There must be self-government, — a power to more than counteract external agencies. Again, no one becomes truly good without good instruction. No mind was ever healthily and vigorously developed unaided by external agency. What sun-light is to physical growth, good instruction is to mental development. What a spindling, sapless growtl} is that which takes place in a cellar, in the spring, when there is jy§t vigor enough to grow, but not enough to grow aright ! Could we suppose a vegetable sprouting under such circumstances suddenly endowed with power to think and feel, and to express its thoqghts, it might solilo(juize as follows: — "What a miserable life ; how weak are these shoots ; how miserable this yearning ,.iter something — I know not what — to give me strength and enjoy12 ii , ment of life I But all around me are the same ; all ghastly life— all repulsive ! " Such are, I think, the sentiments of many a man who wants to enj[oy life j whose irind, too, has in it true stamina, but who wills to Htc independently of any Divine light. He avoids it ; courts darkness, and grows to a certain extent ; but the development of his nature exhibits only mildew, decay, and corruption. In a Christian land there is sure to be enough of reflected light to elicit some kind of mental and moral growth ; but it depends on each individual to say whether he shall come to the light — the life-giving, life-developing light of heaven — or despise instruction, and expect to accomplish the end of his being in moral darkness. Let the man who chooses the latter course look at himself, and say if the results of his choice are satisfactory. Let him look around, and, judging of others by himself, let him say whether human life is such as it was designed to be by a wise and good Creator. The fault must be somewhere. To hold the Creator responsible for such abnormal, unhealthy growth, whilst the provision which He has made for healthy, vigorous life and growth i» neglected, would be preposterous and unreasonable. ^ t > . This exceHant endowment is something more than sympathy with what is good and honourable. Most men when they hear of a heroic act will admire. Does it follow that in like circumstances they would pet in a similar way t Not unless there exists in the mind son^ething more than a mere sentimental approbation. There must be some principle ; some fulcrum to sustain the mind ; some prime mover to propel to action. Some young men have thought that they would excel in moral goodness if it were not for some particular difficulties which, in their case, obstruct the way. They are mistaken. If those difficulties were removed their nature would be the same. Those very ditliculties are placed before them as a test of sincerity — as an exercise of Strength — and, if rightly dealt with, facilitate subsequent progress. Unless they become good in the face of difficulties, they will never becpme good. ' * The power of life is vast ; it can resist unhealthy influences — assimlinything Son of God — intelligently, aflectionately, and obediently — hath life. His complaint of men is : *^ Ye will not come unto me that ye may have life. '* But progress is stamped on the moral works of the Most High. Recent explorations reveal the existence of colossal trees, the seeds of which may have been sown before the deluge. Human institutions >\ i ■•it 13 had grown and decayed ; nations ha^ sprung into existence and returned to nothingness; yet these long-lived princes of the vegetable world grew and increased in strength, and lowered ahove all competitors, as if to be a type to roan of his allotted part ; as if to say to him : — "O, tuou chief of th' earthly works of God, wilt thou allow any created visible thing to outgrow thee? Ours is but a vegetable life — thine is spiritual. If we, by imbibing the dews and rains of heaven, by opening every pore to the quickening rays of sun-light, have reached such grandeur — such vitality, such beauty, and such strength — so that we clap our hands for very joy, what mayst thou not attain to, thou image of God, thou heir of life eternal ? In order to the production of this excellence, there is need of sentiment and principle. Without the former, man would be like the regions of ihe fngid-zone in mid-winter. Nothing could grow, nothing live ; or at least nothing but inferior kinds of life. There might be no vice, but there could be no virtue. Without the latternamely, good principle — he would be like the jungle of the torid-zone, oyerwheimed with its own rankness, infested with beasts of prey and noxious reptiles. Yet this very warmth, when it comes under the controlling master hand of good principle, when the jungle is cleared and its noxious inmates are exterminated, will yield the richest odors, the most gorgeous sights', and ring with sounds the most melodious and exhilarating. Let the youth who dreads bis own warmth of nature as the chief source of danger be encouraged. That very warmth, properly regulated, will become his chief accomplishment ; the very power which, under the Divine blessing, will bring forth all excellent things. '-^ But no amount of warmth or elevation of soul will supersede the necessity of cultivation, and cultivation will involve self-denial ; that pelf-control which will forego my gratification that is pernicious, immoral, or likely to be injurious in its influence upon others. Intellectual culture alone will not accomplish this. There must be the training of the heart, the eradication of vicious principles and implanting of virtuous ones, the correction of faults, the strengtheninsr of what is weak, and the elevation of all that is low and grovelling, or else the man, however well versed he may be in the arts and sciences, is but a poor, pitiable waif on the sea of iife. No height of deck or amplitude of canvass would compensate the stately ship for the lack of compasii*, rudder, or for the absence of captain and helmsman. Without these she had better been a log. Her very size and complexity make her the more inevitable prey to the winds and billows ; and whether she breaks upon a rock or goes down head foremobt into the boiling surge makas little difference. Perish she must. And so must the unprinu cipled man of letters — ay, even more madly, more ungovernably, than the unschooled churl. ^ Tbe swine feeding upon the top of the mountain were grovelling, it is true ; but the same swine when actuated by intelligence — and that a demoniac intelligence — became not less Sfvini.«h, but more abominable. The lives and productions of many immoral men of genius illustrate the danger of highly develooed sentiment without a corresponding development of moral principle. It was the deliberate opinion of Dr. Arnold that a distinguishing characteristic of the present day was intellectual wickedness ; wickedness associated with talent and education. For God's sake, who has given you advantages denied to many, do not add to the amount of intellectual wickedness existing in the world. Let the diploma of Victoria College be not only a certificate of mental powei — of patient and successful toil — but also a prima facil evidence of moralitv ; of high honourable principle ; of piety towards God ; loyalty to the throne of the revered monarch whose name it bears ; and charity towards all men. Be assured of the sincerity, the cordiaiitv, the fervor with which your quondam instructors and guardians will hear of your well-being, and rejoice in your progress towards that beautiful goodness whose glories I have dimly endeavoured to portray this evening. If I may but hope that one good thought has been implanted, one virtuous purpose strengthened, one upright aspiration awakened^ I shall not deem my labour misapplied. 1 shall here take the liberty of applying general truths to special casts. It may be safelv assumed that graduates of this or any other Canarliar University will be public men. In the European Universities (as, for instance, those of Great Britain and Ireland), many men pass through a certain course, not to prepare themselves for any profession, but in deference to the will of their guardians, and with the prospect of a life of ease and retirement. But it is not so in our young and stirring Province. You, voung gentlemen, who have just completed the prescribed curriculum of study, in common with those who have preceded you, have had a definite end in view in undertaking and continuing to the end a course of steady, laborious discipline. Now, you enter u})on a new stage. College associations are laid aside ; you face the realities of life ; you become, in one way or another, the servants, and at the same time the leaders, of the community. Allow me, then, to suggest that the three professions, one of which, I shall presume, each one of you has already selected for his future study and practice, are in reality called into existence by the witnts, moral and physical, of your fellow-men. Had not the human mind become darkened, the ministerial profession would not be necessary ; if the human body were ' 15 perfectly exempted from infirmity and suffering, the skill of the physician might be dispensed with ; and if the estate of every holder of property were secure from the hand of fraud and violence, the subtle, keen investigation of the legal adviser, and the glowing appeals of the advocate, would not be put into requisition. Mind, body, and estate, the grand essentials of human life, are committed to your care, as much as they can be committed to the care of any mere mortals. What shall we say to the members of that profession which owes its origin not to Colleges or to any merely human source 1 A profession to which Colleges can add no authority, however they may endeavour — and successfully, by the Divine blessing, endeavour— to contribute to its efficiency. If I venture to offer a few suggestions to the junior members of that order of which the Head is Divine Wisdom and Goodness itself, I beg to say that I do so on broad grounds ; as an elderly man to young men ; and as one who desires to contribute to the elevation of the ministerial office. You who have entered upon thnt sacred calling profess to follow One who illustrated huiLian goodness as well as Divine mercy and condescension. It is your aim to lead men to follow you as you follow Christ. A British officer would feel himself honoured if he were declared to have the very spirit of a Wellington or a Havelock : you claim to have the Spirit of Chrisi. "Cut more deeply," said a wounded French soldier to his surgical attendant, who was operating near his heart for the extraction of a ball ; "probe towards the heart, and you will find the Emperor ! " May it be your happines to know that if your heart were laid open, there, in that shrine, would be found the Chief among Ten Thousand. i Avarice is unlovely and bad in any man. It is not only a sin, but a mean sin, subordinating every higher impulse to the one consideration of accumulating property. Strange to say, it becomes more potent as its victim draws nearer to that world in which the currency of this world is — not below par — but absolutely nothing, i must say I think it is one of the leading deformities which threaten to mar our rapidlyforming national character. I shall be glad, however, if I find my impression to be a mistake. Let me not, however, be misunderstood. The mere acquisition of properly is not sinful or degrading. It would be no sign of moral progress if, as a nation, we were retrograding in material prosperity. But if the possession of lands, or houses, or stock, is considered the one thing needful ; if, for the sake of a dollar, a man will do what his conscience tells him is a shabby or dishonest act, then avarice has its seat in that man. Now, who shall correct this evil ? Who shall elevate the public taste 1 Who shall echo through the high places of the community the note of warning : — '*Take heed. 16 [! and beware of covetousness ! for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he pocsesseth." The Church looks to you ; the Head of the Church, who for our sakes became poor — He who has set you as watchmen upon the walls — has His eye on you ; nay, even the world without looks to you, unwittingly it may be — unwillingly it may be — yet it does look to see how you will act ; and both the Church and the world will be influenced, either for good or for evil, not so much by your pulpit testimony as by your life and conversation. But, methinks, I hear one of you say, — "Do you imagine that we are likely to bo over-paid % Are the services of the ministry so highly estimated that we are in danger ol becoming plethoric from the liberality of our congregations ? " I say at once, — "Mo ! your profession is under-paid, as compared with either of the c ther two professions. Even those persons who highly value your work and yourselves, are not generally disposed to tempt you unduly with gold and silver." There is danger, nevertheless. I do not believe the theory of those who recommend a low stipend for the ministry, as a security against the intrusion of < It may be that these admonitions will fall coldly on the ear of some of our young candidates for the ministry. They may think that the note of warning would come more appropriately from their official superiors in that work. Be it so, nevertheless the voice of the laity may sometimes aid in showing impediments to a good influence. This, together with the relation which has subsisted between you and the Faculty of this University, must furnish my apology. But we pass to the members of another profession. If the mind or soul is paramount, the body is second ojly to it in its influence on human enjoyment. The profession which makes that shrine of the soul its special care, demands the respect of every man. I need hardly exhort you, gentlemen, who are medical men, to the exercise of humanity and mercy. You are accustomed to it already. In times of epidemic, members of your profession have been known to risk, and even in many instances to sacrifice, their lives in endeavouring to arrest the march of the destroyer; and their humanity has sometimes been appreciated and rewarded. I never knew an instance of virtually united prayer, on the part of Roman Catholics and Protestants, for any one beneath the rank of Sovereign or Viceroy, but one, and that was made in behalf of a medical gentlemen. His many acts of disinterested kindness had so endeared him to all sects, that when it became known that his life was in danger, prayer was made in the established church, (this took place in the south of Ireland) the Roman Catholic and the Wesleyan Methodist churches for his recovery. On the followiug Friday evening his medical attendants sought to prepare bis friends for the worst, and told his aged mother and his sorrowing partner that he could not hold out long after midnight. What was to be done 'i This was done. Some of his friends caBed together to one place, the official members of the church to which he belonged, and 18 fn urged them to pray then and there for his life. They did so with a will, one after another pleaded with the hearer of prayer. I pledge my veracity for this statement. That very night he rallied— mended day after day, and in a few weeks was about his business as before. Gentlemen, some of the warmest and most intelligent friends of Christianity have belonged to your noble profession, but in some way or other an impression has gone abroad that a leaven of scepticism has contaminated in some degree, the many amiable and estimable qualities for which the medical profession is distinguished. A late medical man of note is reported to have said that in all his dissections he never saw a soul. What then f If he wanted a reply he might have found it in a heathen moralist of old. But is it so that the constant unremitting study of material things, even of that highest of material things — the human body-has a tendency to produce an inattention to spiritual things t The more need is there oi an enlarged liberal education to suard against this formidable evil. Gentlemen, there was a time when it appeared to me a something almost too severe to let some men have influence over the susceptible minds of youth; but the longer I live the better satisfied I become with the Divine dispensations. Those that I can at all understand I approve with my whole heart, and those which are now mysterious, I am sure will yet be exhibited in all their harmony and ||eautiful proportions. Now, then, let us suppose a great man drops an ungodly remark. Who will adopt it? The servile— because he (the great man) uttered it : the careless and indolent, because it saves them the trouble of thinking for themselves : the sensual, because it removes a restraint irksome to their appetites. Who reject it 1 The true student, the atudiostis veriy the sincere, earnest philosopher. Thus a test of character, both moral and intellectual, is informally applied. Gentlemen, the humanity of your profession will require a new hfe, a lustre, a charm from an incorporation with, and an avowal of, principles drawn from the word of life. You, gentlemen, who are, or are about to become, members of the legal profession, seem to stand at a greater distance from my point of vision. The wants of the body and of the soul have brougtft me from time to time into intimate connection with the medical and ministerial professions ; but my estate has never required the direct interference of a legal practitioner. Yet a few remarks are suggested by the very nature of law itself. Its basis is justice ; its superstructure expediency. A sense of justice is essential to the good and honourable fulfilment of its functions. As a minister who should employ his official position for the treacherous purpose of propagating irreligion — like the notorious Septem contra Christum — or as a physician who-should desi 19 ecrate his profession by poisoning his confiding patient ; so ft lawyer, who should employ his legal lore and cultirated keenness and grasp of mind for the end of making wrong prevail against right, would be guilty of an act subversive of the principles upon which his profession is founded. You would scout the irreligious minister as a hypocrite, and loathe the homicide physician as a monster ; by a parity of reasoning you are bound to regard the unjust lawyer as a living contradiction. He that helps to justify the guilty, or to condemn the innocent, is guilty of an injustice ; and if he does it for the sake of a fee, the injustice becomes sordid. You may quote high names for the practice, and so you can do for any wickedness. No number of perpetrators will lessen the criminality of a bad act ; and I cannot but think that it is a morally wicked and heinous act in any man to seek to make falsehood appear truth, to make the guilty appear innocent, or the innocent appear guilty. But, it may be argued, a legal adviser is bound to do all he can for his client, as a medical practitioner for his patient, and not to stand on ceremony with obstacles. To this I reply, the medical adviser has but one claim upon him ; there is nothing morally conflicting with his efforts to assist nature, to subdue disease, and keep off death; but in the case of the legal adviser, be he chamber-counsel or advocate, there may be claims on the other side, which he knows to be rightful ones ; or, in criminal cases there may be the interests of society which demand the conviction of the guilty as well as the acquittal of the guiltless. But again it is argued that the counsel on the other side will take similar liberties, and counteract any possible danger of evil consequences. There might be some weight in this if you conr fined yourself to the one-sided statement of truth ; but if you admit that you say " the thing that is not" on the one side, and the other counsel says " the thing that is not'' on the other side, then it only shews that evil influences do less harm when reciprocally opposed than if they were all on the one side ; but the morality of the act on either side is not vitally effected. Let us suppose a case,— A man is arraigned and brought to trial for some base, cruel act ; but he is wealthy, and he is advised to employ eminent counsel at a stunning fee. This counsel arrives, is confidentially informed of the facts of the cas^ and reaches a tolerably correct view of its merits in his own mind. But that view is just the one which he is hired to shut out from the minds of the jury. Is there no laceration of moral feeling incurred in the effort to frame some plausible explanation ,of suspicious circumstances, and to cast discredit on testimony which he knows to be truthful 1 If he is gifted with the power of captivating the imagination and enlisting the sympathies of his auditory, he pours out appeals which 20 might Dooye a heart of stone, if they were only true. He makes an impression, and hopes that in this instance fiction is more truth-like than fact But by and by the judge sums up ; he knows the precise value of the arguments employed ; the beautiful but not good roll of sophistry that has been directed against the intellects of the jury, and step by step he goes through the realities of the case, and leaves the matter to their solemn decision. That decision is soon delivered, in accordance with truth. Now, then, how does i,. counsel stand before an impartial tribunal ? If he was right in .d views, then the judge must have been mistaken ; the twelve men on the jury must have been either perjured or grossly stupid. But if they were right, and the secret convictions of a crowded assembly seconded their verdict, then his position is that of a man who, for a consideration, took a view of the whole case different from the highest legal authority then present ; directly opposed to the unanimous verdict of tweire capable men ; a view equally far removed from the honest, unbiassed, unsalaried opinions of hundreds of his fellow-citizens ; nay, I must add, a view shocking to the sensibilities of his conscience, unless, indeed, he has taken refuge in the tenet advocated by a certain eccentric exchancellor, that man is not responsible for his belief Certainly if Lord B. passed through much of this process of perverted reason, he would need some tough covering for his conscience. I wonder if he ever impressed his view on a jury. There is an arousing attempt sometimes made to distinguish between professional character and private character. I swear said a certain person in high life, not as an archbishop, but as a Prince of the Empire. But said a peasant who heard the distinction, if the Prince goes to the devil, what will become of the Archbishop t But there are brilliant testimonies to the compatibility of high standing at the bar with purity of pleading. •♦If," said Sir T. More, "my father, whom I sicerely respect, stood on one side, and the devil, whom I sincerely despise, on the other, I would give the devil his due." "It is a vulgar error," says T. P. Bunting, an English legal practitioner of considerable eminence, ''to think that a lawyer is bound to take up any case that may offer itself, without regard to its character. '* It is well known, we may add, that some illustrious occupants of the bench, and other men of distinction at the bar, have lived and died happy in the favour of God, and enjoying the confidence and esteem of the public. Gentlemen, I hope if the tone of moral principle is lax, that it will be braced ; if sophistry is at all fashionable, that it will lose its prestige, and that truth, justice, equity rights and only rights will receive any support, whether with or without a fee, from the alumni of Vic21 toria College. There is a certain progress in the right direction; help it on, and may you prosper. Sooner or later, the just will prove to be also the expedient. / 1 , But I muse draw rapidly to a close. One thought presses upon my mind — with that I conclude. You may ask, is there any one who possesses that combination of moral beauty and moral goodness of which we hear ? one at once safe as an example and imitable ? Ye^i there is, and he had some connexion with each profession that has passed in review before our mind. He was-a Doctor of laws, a Legislator, and an Advocate. Wherever he found a mind susceptible of equity, he rejoiced to impart clear views on all matters of equity. His legislative enactments were not shitting like quicksands, to be repealed and modified, and amended by intermeddlers, but imperishable in authority, and unfailing in their application to the wants of men. As an advocate he was thoroughly reliable. There was, however, one peculiarity in his advocacy. If his client was really guilty, he always advised him to plead guilty and to trust in him for the rest. Some did not like this advice, but great numbers acted upon it, and in every instance they had good reason to be satisfied with their election. But he was a Physician also, and as such he was distinguished for corapassionateness and skill. There was but one small condition which he demanded in all cases that would admit of it, and to which he attached much importance. But there was something almost awful in his skill. It seemed to be as various as the diseases which were submitted to his notice. Eyes, ears, tongue, the skin, the nerves, the muscles, the blood-vessels, all came under his cognizance; and either by touch, or by word, or by the silent outgoing of bis will, he succeeded in every case. Even death itself, the end of all disease, was but an imbecile in his grasp. I am personally under the deepest obligation to him, and am happy to remain under a load as delightful as it is weighty. x This Doctor of laws, this Physician, had another profession. He was a Preacher of the Gospel. Whilst he appreciated the needs of the body, and gave laws which were to influence and regulate human society to the end of time, he at the same time saw in the soul a need even greater than that of the body. He had seen a state of. society in which law was perfectly observed, and he saw a way by which men could be led to that joyous state. Legal difficulties were in the way. He removed them not at the expense of law, b t by submitting to the pains and penalties of law. He preached truth. He made truth — the central truth on which hangs our every hope, the truth of the cross — namely, that *• God is just and the justifier of him that beW 22 believeth ;'' and when the system of teaching is completed, he organized and spread abroad an agency which has shed light into darkness, health into sickness, law into disorder, hope, joy, peace, and charity, into the heart of every recipient. Yes, there is One who comprises all that is lovely and good in his humanity, in his wisdom, in his kindness, in the miity and variety of bis offires and operations. Receive Him. He comes to you^ meek, and having salvation, riding, it may be, on an ass, yet able to quell all your enemies, to allay all animosities, t.iiA to put an end to all your miseries. He, and he alone, can produce in your inmost soul that which the pious heathen craved, that loveable goodness, that holiness without which no man can see the Lord. Farewell, ye dreamers of the porch and the academy. Stand aside, thou grand old seeker of truth, thou true-hearted old reformer. He Gomes who is tLe Truth. The light of His approach glanced upon thy lofty front, and the reflexion of that light thou didst seek to transmit to thy unappreciated compatriots. We leave tbee, Socrates, with sincere respect and tenderness ; but lo ! here is the substance of all moral teaching ; the Sun of Righteousness has arisen with healing in his wings. Strength and beauty are in His sanctuary, the strength of indomitable principle, the beauty of all holy and tender emotions. No greater good can I wish you, young gentlemen, and all present, than that He who is to fill all the highest oJQSces of which the human mind can conceive ; who, from being Advocate, shall ascend the seat of judgment, and who shall reign as King of kings over a willing, a' united, a loyal people, may recognize in your heart that moral likeness to himself which will make you meet to join in the triumph of his chosen ones, that he may see in your life, services which his bounty will delight to honour. Eighteen hundred years ago the note of warning was given, — ** The coming of the Lord draweth nigh." Let the same note still sound in the recesses of every conscience, — " The coming of the Lord draweth nigh." Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly ! . ^...;■; •1 ] iU i\ \Vf •'■ Vi,'/, 1 ■■ -• ' , r ■ ■■! 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This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film^ au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X 30X y 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X Th« copy filmad h«r« has b««n raproducad thanks to tha ganarosity of: Library of Parliament and the National Library of Canada. L'axamplaira flmi fut raproduit grica i la ginirosit* da: La Bibliothique du Parlement et la Bibliothique nationale du Canada. Tha imagaa appaaring hara ara tha baat quality poaaibia conaidaring tha condition and lagibility of tha original copy and in kaaping with tha filming contract apacifieationa. Laa imagaa suh^antaa ont 4t* raproduitaa avac la plus grand soin, compta tanu da la condition at da la nattati da l'axamplaira filmi. at w eonformiti avac laa conditiona du contrat da filmaga. Original eopiaa in printad papar eovars ara fiimad baginning with tha from covar and anding on tha last paga with a printad or illuatratad impraasion. or tha back covar whan appropriata. All othar original eopiaa ara fiimad baginning on tha first paga with a printad or iliustratad impraa* sion. and ending on tha laat paga with a printad or illustrstad impression. I.aa axampiairaa originaux dont la couvartura an papiar aat imprimte 9ont filmia an commanpant par la premiar plat at an tarminant soit par la damiira paga qui comporta una amprainta d'lmpraaaion ou d'illuatration. soit par la sacond plat, salon la eas. Tous las autraa examplairos originaux sont fllmia an commandant par la pramiAra paga qui comporta una amprainta dimpraaaion ou d'illuatration at an tarminant par la darniAra paga qui comporta una taila amprainta. Tha last racordad frama on aach microficha shall contain tha symbol -ii^ (moaning "CONTINUED"), or tha symbol ▼ : I'^^r^ing "END"), whichavar appiiaa. Un daa symboiaa suivants apparaitra sur la damiAra imaga da chaqua microficha, salon la caa: la symbols — ^ signifia "A SUIVRE". la symboia T signifia "FIN". Mapa. piataa, charts, ate., may ba fiimad at diffarant raduction ratioa. Thoaa too larga to be antiraly includad in ona axpoaura ara fiimad baginning in tha uppar laft hand comar, laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framaa aa raquirad. Tha following diagrams illustrata tha mathod: Las cartaa, pianchaa. tablaaux. ate. pauvant dtra fiimte A daa taux da reduction diffirants. Lorsqua la documant aat trop grand pour itra raproduit an un aaul ciichA. il aat filmA A partir da I'angia supAriaur gaucha. da gaucha i droita. at da haut an baa, an pranant la nombra d'imagaa nicaasaira. Laa diagrammas suivsnts illuatrant la m^thoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 "^ «. '•' f N^ \ ■!-"r-^,^, -. '^'^^wmm TTT h ■ CJ • ItW , .. !f V^ r«*t? '-J V-A * fr ST. HARVS Pifesldent, f%;^ J. Hearn, if^iMft/ :«^Ai^j t|)fe^pr«^*il^r. ,4. T^IWWl *—> ^# ffyc • t-A H^f PuUlcMlotllJib^ -■*»« aa? 'i '^^^lil ^t'.m^titi^^i^'-ii;" ^':^, ^.»5™>-~rtH»'«w. * .•(f ' ' • 4*j >*. w . •v |l^«il!^. »■-«, * < . *r ^ i^'^^'" " I-*§p<^ " B^"' « ■•PfSi^ '* . "-"-. J'S'^ ■ ^^ * ■** ■^•. ta "^>.i ^ « '■ ■*.■■"■ S»^»«A .' f "<« 1 • ^^ <^**-*jt" •« ^''^'^'■'^^^/■^■^■.■'V,,. '* ^fcV i6^^m^mmmm M ' " *'^'* It* ' k'j^..^^ •* ».#«-•*** •^ t ^ .•«^.«WWO«^,ili*' ""^ •'^•■■■ "Sk J. c«o»iii;"Bi^^ . inwllAW^MUiH^ *^ ♦ *i-v ^--M*,! * } •¥*•«« The Catholic Truth Society OF CANADA ST. HARY'S BRANCH, TORONTO — OF THE|\^ President, Hf . E. J. Hearn, Barrister, etc. -WITH ACATALOGUE -OF THE,x Publications For Sale by this Branch Toronto, March, 1898 Gatbodic Rbgibtkr Print Convenere of Stanblna Commltteee 1898 HOSPITAL MISS SHEPHERD MBBCEB BEFOBMATOST MRS. DR. MoKENNA MRS. DR McDONAGH FLOWER MRS. DEVINE ENTEBTAINBENT MISS K. CLARKE . PBE88 REV. L. P. MINEHAN MAGAZINE MR. JOHN DOYLE PRISONS JTC /Innlial /|ddrBas nf tha preaidBiit The annual meeting of the Society was held Monday evening, Feb. 7th. The hall was completely filled by a large and apprecirttive audience. On the platform were seated the Very Kev. Vicar General McCann, Kev. L. P. Minehan, Rev. J. B. Dollard ; Messrs. M. Keilty, President of St. Michael's Branch ; J. J. Murphy, Sec.-Treas. St. Basil's Branch ; P. F. Cronin, Sec. St. Helen's Branch ; Dr. A . J. McDonagh, Past President of the Society ; Ex-Alderman D. M. Defoe. Mr. E. J. Hea;rn,the incoming President, spoke as follows * Very Rev. Vicar General McCann, Rev. Fathers, Ladies and Gentlemen, Members of the Catholic Truth Society (StMary's Branch), Toronto : In entering upon the duties of my office as your President I do so with a great deal of trepidation for several reasons : Firstly, my time is so occupied by the practice of my profession, and in previous engfagements of various kinds, several of which are likely to continue throughout the year, that I will be unable, though willing and anxious as I am, to perform fully and to the letter the great trust you have so kindly placed in my hand. Secondly, because my predecessor, Mr. A. J. MoDonagh, L. D. 8., our first President, who has held the office during the past two years, has, with that ability, untiring zeal and devotion for which he is noted in the performance of everything he undertakes, accomplished so much more than I can, in my humble way, hope to do ; and, thirdly, because I realize that, although the work of spreading the truth as regards the doctrines, teachings and practices of our religion is congenial to me, I feel that I am not sufficiently versed in the groundwork to take charge of so sacred and important an undertaking as this branch of the Society has since its inception so well carried out, and should continue to carry on in the future. Your hearty co-operation, I hope will make up for my deficiencies, bo that we will carry on the good work throughout this year with zeal and energy. I thank you, Very Rev. Vicar General, Rev. Fathers, ladies and gentlemen, heartily for the great honor you have done by electing me to the highest office in your gift, and I promise to do all in my power to prove myself worthy. As many of you are aware, my predecessor, very soon after this branch was formed, in 1896, issued a leaflet, in which he set forth briefly the history, aims and objects of the Society, and copies of which, I understand, were distributed liberally ; but for the information of a great many of you who have since joined the Society and that of many of our visitors to whom doubtless the movement is not understood, I have deemed it advisable to make a retrospect of the origin and work of the Mother Society, and of some of the branches, particularly in Ontario. In or about the year A.D. 1888 a Catholic, whom I believe to be Mr. James Britten, the Secretary of the Mother Society in England, went into one of the numerous book-shops in London in which cheap Anglican publications are sold and invested half a crown in the selection of these. Their number, variety, attractiveness and general excellence much impressed the two or three priests and others to whom they were shown, and the idea arose that we Catholics might do something of the kind ; and, after discussing the matter, it was eventually agreed by the few parties who interested themselves that each should contribute a pound. About £12 formed their first capital, and with this was brought out the first issue of the Little Rosary Book, of which very many thousands have since been printed and distributed. The card of Morning and Night Prayers — Prayers for Those Having ^^^JWP ■PMpm Little Time, which had been originaHy compiled for a bbjrs* club — were also put in circalation, and a similar card of Prayers for Confession of little Children. The late Bishop of Sontbwark at once expressed his sympathy with the work and helped the very few workers by what, in those days, seemed ver; large orders for their pablications. The Bishop of Salford, whose work in connection with popular Catholic literature is well known in England, also approved of the work, and proposed the old name of the Catholic Truth Society, which he had started some years before, and which, after he became Bishop of Salford and removed from London, gradually disbanded. He also suggested that means should be taken to draw the actention of Catholics in general to the work, and that a circular letter should be drawn up and sent to the clergy and others likely to interest themselves in the movement. On the 5th of November, 1884, the first meeting was held at Lady Herbert's, under the presidency of Bishop Vaughan, at which the revival of the Catholic Truth Society was resolved upon, and various schemes for the furthering of its work were debated. The annual subscription v:\i,8 fixed at 10s. and the objects as laid down were : 1. To disseminate among Catholics small and cheap devotional works ; 2 To assist the uneducated poor to a better knowledge of their religion ; 3. To spread among Protestants information about Catholic truth ; 4. To promote the circulation of good, cheap and popular Catholic works. From that small beginning, with economy and the voluntary assistance of many of the clergy and laymen in the writing of articles and otherwise, the Society has gradually progressed in the old land until to-day it publishes an infinite variety of different books, pamphlets and leaflets which are being sold and distributed throughout the 'greater part of the civilized world. To give you an idea of the extent of the work the Mother Society is doing by way of publicatidbs of cheap Catholic literature, I need only say that in the first twelve years of its existence it issued 928,000 copies of 13 of its most popular penny publications, 120,000 oi its halfpenny prayer books for little ones, and of its larger works 236,617 volumes were bound for the Society in that period. In addition to the sale at almost cost of publications, the Mother Society has made a free distribution of a Tery large t ", ^ •number of lea^ets expounding Catholic doctrines, etc. It has also established an annual Catholic conference at Bristol, which is attended by the Catholic dignitaries and clergy of the Church and by large crowds of tlie Catholic lay people. His Eminence Cardinal Vaughan, President of the Society, delivers his inaugural address at the opening of such conference, and it has come to be regarded by the Protestant press and public of Great Britain and Ireland as important in its way as a ministerial speech at the Lord Mayor's dinner, and the press reports it at almost as great length. Many here will remember reading the glowing accounts, even in the Protestant press of this country, of the several days' proceedings of the conference in 1896, beginning with His Eminence's inaugural address, which was followed by an interesting series of papers on Catholic subjects and discussions of same, and endmg with an impressive pilgrimage to Glastonbury. Another very important feature of the work in England is the supplying information to the priests and others engaged in newspaper controversy, and the Hon. Secretary, Mr. Britten, has himself taken part in numerous controversies in the Protestant press. The Mother Society has become also a recognized help in the exposure of the mis-statements and as a bureau of information concerning the various more or less disreputable persons who perambulate the country as Protestant lecturers. Still another important work that is being done by the Mother Society is the " Seaman's Branch," which distri. buted amongst the sailors on the vessels coming into the leading seaports in England prayer books and other religious books and leaflets, as well as various articles of devotion. The Society also takes credit for the establishment of the Association of Catholic Guardians in England. Having learned thus far of the Society's work in England — and a great deal more can be said in regard to it — I might ask, is it any wonder that England is fast returning to its first love, that brought a knowledge of God and our Saviour and civilization and learning to its shores ? There are branches of the Society at Rome, in Banraria, and other places on the Continent of Europe, several in London and other parts of Great Britain and Ireland, and in the United States and Canada. Those that have come to my knowledge are the Catholic Truth Society. of America at St. Paul, Minn., a branch at Grand Bapids, Mich., and at San' Francisco, California ; and in this Dominion of Canada there i N A k are branches at Winnipeg, Man., Montreal, Que., and in Ontario at Ottawa, St. Thomas, Trenton, Seaforth, Eemptville, and last, but by no means least, Toronto, where I might add there is a great field for the variety of work the Society undertakes. Toronto has already four branches, namely, St. Basirs, St. Michael's, St. Helen's, and our own, St. Mary's. With the enthusiasm that characterizes the officers and members of the few branches already established in America, and with the great aid that the Paulist Fathers are giving to the movement, I think I can safely predict that the Catholic Truth Society has come to stay in America, and that in the near future its branches will be spread like a spider's web throughout the settled portions of this continent. The Mother Society in England has been approved by His Holiness Pope Leo XIH., and he has granted certain Indulgences to the members of the Society and of all branches which become affiliated with the Mother Society. Now, in order that by making a retrospect of the work done by the branches in Ontario we may get pointers for our future guidance, I will, as briefly as possible, review the work that has been done in Ontario, even at the I'ik of tiring you ; but the review has so interested me that I feel you also will be. interested in it. The Ottawa branch was established in 1891, under the patronage of His Grace the Archbishop of Ottawa, and the Presidency of that eminent convert, the Bight Honorable Sir John Thompson, whose inaugural address delivered at their first public entertainment on 17th December, 1891, to a large audience is, as we world expect, a masterpiece. The untimely and tragic death of Sir John Thompson whilst he was the honored guest of Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle, and at a time when he had just reached the pinnacle of fame as Prime Minister of this Dominion, as an eminent statesman and constitutional lawyer, has left a blank amongst the Catholic laymen of Canada that may never be filled ; and, as his life was a model for all Catholics to copy from, I know you will pardon me for quoting a few lines from the annual address in 1895 of Mr. Joseph Pope (who by the way is also a convert), who succeeded Sir John in that year as President of the Truth Society. He spoke of him, in part, as follows : — '* Never shall I forget the kindly manner in which he encouraged the establishment of our Society, nor the cordiality with which he presided at its organization and associated pp 8 himself with its development. Sir John Thompson lived in an atmosphere which is not popularly supposed to be conducive to the growth of Christian virtues, yet he was ever a living witness to the power of Catholicity. His great intellect, 80 strong, so luminous, so comprehensive, bowed itself before that supreme creation of omnipotence, the Holy Catholic Church. His conversion was not merely an intellectual process. Not only did he believe, he practised his religion. We have been told how on his last Sunday in Ottawa he approached the Holy Table with his sons. Let me mention a circumstance touching the beginning of his official career not so well known. When Sir John Thompson came to Ottawa in September, 1885, he was quite a stranger. I happened to be one of the two or three persons who knew him. I well remember the afternoon on which he was sworn in as a Minister. His first act on leaving the Council Chamber was to repair to confession. He received Holy Communion next morning, and so fortified approached the duties of his high office. Thus on the threshold of his official career, as well as at its close, he showed how clearly he recognized the reality of things unseen. Quietly and unobtrusively were these acts performed. Little did he. think they would ever be disclosed to the world. Yet his eminence has made them known, and they speak to us trumpet-tongued of the power and the fulness and the beauty of that religion which could so regulate a life absorbed in no ordinary degree with the affairs of this world. He has gone, bat his example remains to the honor and advantage of the cause which he represented." Another gentleman whose work in this branch deserves special mention, and who is a worthy successor to the first President, is the said Mr. Joseph Pope, whose annual reports are articles replete with Catholic meat, and show a depth of Catholic learning that comparatively few laymen possess. This branch at the end of 1896 has circulated 37,440 publications. It had then three depositories, where its publications could be purchased. In 1895, as an experiment, they placed a box in St. Joseph's church containing a selection of books and pamphlets, fit)m which the public could help themselves and deposit the price in a compartment for that purpose. The venture proved successful, no fewer than 1,346 publications having thus been distributed in the remaining portion of that year, with satisfactory receipts; and the Secretary's report for the following year, 1896, says : " This I i ■ •' <^ . \ \\ (» 4 9 box has become an institution. We have adopted this idea here in Toronto, in St. Basil's church, where a large stock of our publications are kept on hand, and also, I believe, in St. Michael's church." The Ottawa Society, at a meeting held in November last, decided to extend its work by organizing parish branches, and since then there have been three parish branches established, with a membership in all of about 280; but nothing beyond organization has yet been done. The membership of their central council consists of all members of the branches. The membership fee is 60 cents a year. The St. Thomas branch, which was established a little over a year ago by the Eev. Dr. Flannery, has done good work, largely through the zeal and energy of the Reverend Father and of the Secretary, Mr. W. B. Waterbury, who by the way is a convert. The membership is as yet small, but they look for a large increase shortly, as the Society has lately been provided with commodious headquarters at the offices of the Catholic Club, where it can display its publications to good advantage, and where it has the free use of a beautiful hall. It has distributed thousands of tracts, pamphlets and books during the past year, and it is now about to throw open its hall occasionally to the Protestant public and start the "question box" plan of campaign. They have lately published their pamphlet entitled " From Anglicanism to Catholicism, or, The Truth Shall Make You Free," written by one of their members, who is a convert. This pamphlet is a history of his conversion, and a very valuable and interesting one it is to the Catholic Truth movement. They also published an able article in the Evening Journal of St. Thomas, on 27th January, ult., entitled "Catholic Worship," in answer to some attacks made upon the Church through ; the press of that place. Several converts have been received into the Church as a direct result of their efforts, and a number of anxious Protestants at a distance are in constant correspondence with the Secretary, and are being supplied with free literature bearing upon their difficulties. While keeping olear of heated and angry controversies they are, as occasion arises, constantly correcting mis-statements and misapprehensions in the press, and by their efforts, in the use of tact and discretion, they keep the newspapers mainly on their side, and, as a consequence, they have ready access • to the columns of the press. They hope ere long to induce one of the Paulist Fathers to come and hold a mission in St. Thomas for non-Catholics. 10 The Trenton branch was organized March 10th, 1896. Its membership has gradually increased, and now the roll numbers about 60 — a very good membership for a small non-Catholic town like Trenton. It carries a small but complete and well-assorted stock of the London and St. Paul's Societies' pamphlets. They also secure, and sell at actual cost prices, religious and devotional works of a cheap nature and distribute the leaflets free. They also sell some religious pamphlets at the church door at High Mass on Sunday, and, generally, they are carrying on the good work in other respects like the other branches. The Secretary, Mr. J. F. Keith, barrister, reports that the branch is in a thriving condition, is free from debt, and has already succeeded to a considerable extent in dissipating anti-Catholic prejudices. St. Basil's branch, Toronto, is the legitimate successor of the Catholic Truth Society of Canada, which was established in Toronto June, 1890. Soon after it was formed it laid in a large and well-assorted stock of publications from the Mother Society in England and the St. Paul's Society, Minnesota, which stock has from time to time been replenished, and forms a storehouse from which the other city branches to some extent purchase their publications. St. Helen's branch has been only about a year in existence, and is in first-class financial condition, and there are still hopes of it doing a grand work in the extreme western part of the city. The St. Michael's Cathedral branch was organized on 26th April, 1896. At its first meeting 40 members were enrolled, and its membership since then has largely increased. By the able assistance of the Eev. Francis Ryan, S. J., and the Rev. J. P. Treacy, D.D., and several active laymen and women, it is doing a good work. It sells cheap Catholic works of de votion and other Catholic literature and articles of devotion at the door of the cathedral, and also distributes leaflets there and elsewhere on various Catholic subjects. A few months ago it took all the public institutions east of Yonge street off our hands, and I understand that its Hospital Committee pay regular visits to such institutions, particularly St. Michael's Hospital and the General Hospital. It has lately done d noble work in answering Mr. S. H. Blake's calumny lately uttered in a public place, that the ** Catholic Church keeps its children in ignorance." That calumny was most effectually and ably answered by the Rev. Francis Ryan, P.P. of St. Michael's cathedral, at the request of this branch at the evening service in the cathedral on Sunday, the 16th ult., ^ (> i U <¥ 11 and I sincerely hope that the Toronto branches will soon see to it that that lecture is publinhed in pamphlet form and widely distributed. That lecture and the late encyclical of i His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. on the Manitoba School Quesn tion, and the able circular of the Archbishop and Bishops of Ontario issued in connection witb the latter, should dispel that charge of ignorance from the mmds of all fair-thinking Protestants. This branch, I understand, has adopted as a scheme of raising funds the plan of getting up entertainments at some of its regular meetings, for which they charge an admission fee of 10 cents, and I believe it is meeting with success. Now, Very Kev. Vicar-General, Rev. Fathers, ladies and gentlemen, I come to deal with the branch in which we are more immediately interested, namely, our own St. Mary's branch, which I am proud to be able to say is second to none in Ontario, and in many parts of its work, I believe, excels all other branches of the Society on the continent of America. This branch was organized on 29th January, 1896, with a total membership of seven. The following officers were elected : — Patron, His Grace Archbishop Walsh. ' I Hon. President, Very Eev. J. J. McCann, V.G. 1_ President, A. J. McDonagh, LD.S. 'I^ Secretary, W. E. Blake, Esq. Treasurer, B. J. Cronin, Esq. Agent, C. J. Creamer, Esq. The membership fees were fixed as follows : Life membership $10, honorary membership, $1 per annum, ordinary membership 50 cents per annum. The first general meeting was held on the evening of 9th February, 1896, in the Sacred Heart Chapel of StMary's Church, at which the President explained the aims and objects of the Society, and 29 new members were elected. At a special meeting held in the same place on the 16th of that month a constitution and laws to govern the branch were adopted, the various committets established and their conveners appointed. The constitution provides among other things that regular meetings of the ^ branch shall be held once in each month, and that the general management of the business and the distribution of the literature shall (unless other provision be made; be in the hands of the Executive Committee, which is composed of the officers iand of the conveners of the Standing Committees, and which is also required to meet at least once in every month. The 12 membership rapidly increased, so that at the end of that year the roll contained 197 names. The average attendance at our regular meeting, since the branch was fully formed, I think I can safely put at 100. There have been 21 meetings of the branch, also two successful picnics which were held in High Park in July, 1896 and 1897, respectively. At these picnics the members and their friends were provided with refreshments, music and other forms of entertainment. There was also a successful concert held in St. Andrew's Hall, in January, 1897, and there have been 26 Executive Committee meetings. Since organization the number of Standing Committees has been increased as our field of work extended, and to-day we have 12 of such committees, namely, Hospital, Book &.nd Magazine, Mercer Eeformatory, Central Prison, Flower, Church door. Entertainment, Press, Organist for the Mercer Reformatory, Auditing, Membership and Hall Committees, and the Constitution has been amended in several respects, but particularly by increasing the number of Secretaries to three. This was done because it was found that there was altogether too much work for one Secretary to perform. Now I will give you some idea of the work this branch has done since its inception. 1. The Hospital Committee, which paid regular visits to all of the city hospitals until about six months ago, when it was relieved of those East of Yonge street by St. Michael's Branch as already stated, and since that time has continued its visits to Grace Hospital, St. John the Divine, the Home for Incurables, the Western and the Sick Children's Hospital, has within one and one half years distributed amongst the CathoHc inmates in those institutions about 900 reHgious works and a number of articles of devotion. This is a grand work, and all of the ladies who have taken part in it deserve the best thanks of this Society, and of the Catholic people generally. It is to be regretted that the Catholic patients in the Protestant hospitals in this city were neglected in regard to their religion until this Society took up the good work. With your permission I will relate just one of several cases that have come to the notice of this Committee. In Grace Hospital the/ ^s a Catholic woman (a patient) who had not been to her lOr 16 years, and through the action of this Committee sne received Holy Communion and was brought back to the practice of her religion. 2. The Book and Magazine Committee has done nobly in collecting literature and articles of devotion and distributing them amongst the other committees. ■•<4 •ii> 4 #■ ^ 13 \ iih I 8. The Mercer Beformatory Committee has paid almost regular weekly visits to that institution, has taught a catechism class there and done other good work among the unfortunate inmates. 4. The Central Prison Committee has done perhaps the best work of all. This committee, comprising two earnest young men, has, with almost phenomenal devotion to its work, gone to private houses, and other places, and has received great aid from the Catholic Register and Catholic Record week in and week out collecting Catholic newspapers and magazines, and almost every Sunday morning presented itself at the prison gate at 7.80 o'clock armed with reading matter for each Catholic prisoner, whose average number has been about 100. From the reports of this committee contained in the minutes and from a conference with the past Secretary I estimate that at least 9,000 Catholic publications have been thus distributed amongst those unfortunates. 5. The Flower Committee have made about thirty visits to the hospital and distributed flowers amongst the Catholic patients therein to help to cheer and comfort them in their affliction. 6. The Church Door Committee has distributed about 1,500 Mass books, pamphlets and leaflets to strangers and non-Catholics at St. Mary's church door. 7. The Press Committee were only called upon three times to act, namely : on the occasion of ex-priest Slattery's visit. On learning that he and wife were advertised lecturers in the Auditorium on 28th and 29th May, 1896, this committee wrote the Secretary of the Ottawa Branch for a sketch of Slattery's life and received it in time for the meeting, but as the newspapers, with the exception of one insignificant sheet, gave the lecturers little or no notice the committee decided, very properly, to do nothing further in the matter. This committee also answered in the Mail and Empire a misstatement made by Mr. D'i Jton McCarthy in his speech early in 1896 in regard to a certain " Papal Bull," and it also refuted in the columns of one of the evening papers a malicious report contnined in a previous issue of that paper that certain nuns had escaped from the Convent of the Good Shepherd. The truth was that two or three of the inmates (Magdalens) had escaped. The committee has on hand now an almost complete record of the history of the ex-priests and ex-nuns of the Slattery. and Maria Monk order, and should any of such u "? characters visit this city again he or she will receive a warm reception iudeed. 8. The organist for the Mercer Reformatory has visited the institution almost regularly on Sundays and played the organ at divine service. From the 16th August, 1896, to Ist May, 1897, this branch published a weekly newspaper called The Impartial Witness f of 5,000 copies per issue, and distributed same free from house to house throughout a certain district of the west end of the city. There were altogether about 185,000 copies distributed. Each issue contained, as well as items of local and general news, one or more articles and short paragraphs on Catholic doctrine or Catholic teachingThe object of this publication was to get Catholic truth into non-Catholic hands in a shape in which they would be most sure to read and digest it, the Society believing that leaflets or tracts containing nothing but Catholic Truth would in most cases be thrown into the fire or waste-paper baskets without being read, whereas the newspaper containing as well the city and other news would act like a sugar-coated pill. The canvassing agent and collector, who were Protestants, reported from time to time instances showing that the paper was doing its work well, and many other Protestants who read the paper from week to week have told members of the branch how surprised and pleased they were to learn the truth about Catholic belief ; but unfortunately the expense of issue, distribution and collecting and the prevailing depression in business out-balanced the receipts, which were solely from advertisements, and the committee in charge were at last very reluctantly compelled to cease publication. This fact is much to be regretted. Our paper was commencing to knock the rough edge off the bigotry and prejudice of many of the business men — who, to do them credit, were advertising in a fairly liberal manner — not to say anything of the great work endeavored to be accomplished by this means. Another good work proposed by this branch and carried out with the assistance of the other city branches was the printing, framing and putting up in twelve of the principal hotels in the city a large card, with a glass covering, advertising the hours of service, etc., of all of the Catholic churches in. the city for the convenience of strangers. His Grace Archbishop Walsh, under the auspices of the Society, but through the instrumentality of this branch, delivered a most able and explicit lecture in St. Patrick's ., . *;,,, IS " I \m ' *%^ '.it. 4'church on the evening of 28th January, 1897, to a large congregation. The lecture was entitled, " Some Things which Catholics Do Not Believe, or Protestant Fiction and Catholic Facts." That lecture was shortly afterwards published in pamphlet form by the Catholic Register Printing and Publishing Company, and about 2200 copies of the pamphlet have already been sold and distributed throughout the United States and Canada by this branch alone. Our past Secretary, who was one of the organizers of this branch, and who iB also a convert, has been kept busy filling orders received for this pamphlet and other literature of the Society and in '\: ^. answering enquiries from far and near in regard to the \'';k'}-'}<,:'' Society. I have gone carefully through such correspondence, y r, " ? and it is indeed refreshing to read with what delight many ,^j^ ;' ' : Catholics living in isolated parts of the country at a distance ■ -: from their Church and in Protestant neighbourhoods received ; V V the publications forwarded to them. ' The following addresses were delivered at the regular meeting of the branch, namely : — •■/■.v'\\,_ ...,,^^ 1896. Feb. 9th, by the President, Dr. A. J. McDonagh, entitled " Aims and Objects of the Society." March 3rd, by Mr. J. J. Murphy, Secretary of St. Basil's branch, on " Catholic Truth Work." x' May 4th, by Rev. F. Walsh, C.S.B., Chaplain of Central Prison, on " Prison Work and How This Society Can Aid the Prison." July 6th, by Rev. T. J. Slevin, S.J., of New Orleans, on " The Catholic Truth Society and Its Work, and What Can Be Accomplished by Efforts of Individual Members." August 31st, by Dr. T. F. McMahon, on " Digestion." September 7th, by Rev. Father Canning, bf St, Paul's church, city, on " The Catholic Truth Society," dealing especially with the Ottawa branch. November 2nd. by Rev. Father O'Malley, on " The Paulists and Their Work." December 7th, by Rev. Father Cline, on •* Catholic Truth Work." 1897. t January 4th, by Very Rev. Joseph McCann, V. G., on " Image Worship." }^^ • February 1st, by Father Canning, on "The Confessional." • _ mmmmm m^mmmm 16 March lat, by Rev. William MoCann, on " The Bible." April 6th, by Rev. Father Carberry, on " The Jesuits in America." June 7th, by E. J. Hearn, Esq., on " A Visit to the Lakes of Killarney." August 21st, by Rev. Francis Ryan, P.P. of St. Michael's * Cathedral, on ** Books, and How to Read Them." October 4th, by Rev. Father DoUard, on " The Church in Ireland." December 6th, by Rev. Father L. P. Minehan, on " The Infallibility of the Pope. ' This branch has been instrumental in placing many of the publications of the Parent Society in the bookstores of this city. I have been informed alao that the Rev. Father William McCann has under special instruction several persons who are desirous of joining the Church, as a result of the work of this Society. I would like very much if the convener of each committee would throughout this year keep a more correct account of the number of publications distributed and other work done, and that the same be inserted in the minutes of each meeting of the Society, so that at the end of the year proper reports of the Society's work can be issued. I need not ask the members of all committees to do their duty well, as I am sure they will do so zealously. As I cannot devote the time to the Society that I should, and that I desire to, I respectfully ask you once more to give me the best assistance in your power, and to attend the meetings regularly. If you do this the St. Mary's branch of the Catholic Truth Society at the end of 1898 will show a record that will be the envy of all other branches of the Society. I think it absolutely necessary, in order to make the work more effectual, that some form of amalgamation should take place between the branches in the city, and I would suggest that a committee be appointed from this branch to confer with the committees of the other branches to this end. I think the scheme that Ottawa has adopted of having a central council is the more workable, with the exception that the central council should, in my opinion, be composed of only delegates from the branches, say one delegate for every branch having fifty members, or under that number, and one delegate for every fifty members or major fraction of fifty above that number. -. „/'■"■ % "' mWWr^^T^ 17 I will at this meeting, with your approval, appoint conveners of the twelve standing committees, and I now respeotfully request all of said conveners to get to work at onoe, seldot the members they desire to work with them, and proceed without delay to continue the very laudable work that han been so ably and enthusiastically carried on. I cannot close this address without making special reference to the splendid active assistance, encouragement and advice given to the branch at all times by His Grace Archbishop Walsh, the Very Rev. Vicar-General McCann and the Rev. Fathers L. Minehan, Wm. McCann and Bollard. I would like very much to make special mention, also, of some of the laymen and women whose names have not been mentioned, and who have been untiring in their zeal and devotion as officers of the branch and conveners and members of the committees, but this address is already too long, and you know how dangerous it is to mention some names out of a large number of workers. However, they have laid up treasures for themselves in Heaven, and I am sure they do not look for wordly praise. I am, your obedient servant (in the faitii), EDW. J. HEARN, President. ivii' , ■ ■ , , ,'" 7 ■:{■■■ :,(■ J '.■ :;(" Catholic Truth Society OF CANADA ST. MARY'S BRANCH, TORONTO i. List ot Publications For Sale by this Branch When remitting kindly use tf possible Express or Money Orders. All Communications to be addressed to the Corresponding Secretary, St. Mary's Catholic Truth Society, 798 King Street West, Toronto. Express or Money Orders to be made out as above. Prices given include postage. ' Biographical Series. Price, 5 Cents Each. St. Patrick. By the Very Kev. Arthur Ryan. St. Bede, Monk and Maas-Priest. By the late Bishop of Hexham and Newcastle. St. Alphonsus Liguori. By a Redemptorist Father. Queen Mary. By G. Ambrose LeeDon Bosco. By Mrs. Raymond Barker. St. Ignatius Loyola. By Rev. W H. Anderdon, S.J. B. Thomas More. By the Hon. Justice O'Hagan. St. Columba. By the Rev. J. Golden. The English Martyrs, By the Rev. J. Morris, S.J. Leo XHL By the Rev. Joseph Rickaby, S.J. St. Teresa. By David Lewis, M.A. St. Alphonsus Rodriguez By RevE. Goldie, S.J. St. John Berchmans. By the same. St. Thomas of Canterbury. By the same. St. Benedict. By the Right Rev. Abbot Snow, O.8.B. St. Francis of Sales. By Very Rev. Canon Mackey. ,. ,L jb 10 St. Augustine. By the Rev A. J. Saxton. St. Philip Neri. By G. Ambrosb Jiee. The Little Sisters. By Rev Jamed Connelly. St. Francis of Assisi. By Rev. J. Pendergast, O.S.F. Mary Queen of Scots. By the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell Scott. Father Damien, the Apostle of the Lepeis. St. Francis Xavier. Mary Howitt. By James Britten. Scriptural Life of the Blessed Virgin. Story of St. Mary Magdalen. St. Thomas Aquinas. St. Dominic. By Rev. Wm. Lescher, O.P. St. Margaret of Scotland. By Mrs. Morgan Morgan. Ellen Golding, the Rescued Nun. • ALSO St. Brigid. By Mrs. Atkinson $0 07 Life of Martin Luther. By Rev. Wm. Stang 16 The People's Pictorial Lives of the Saints. By Rev Alban Butler 16 Doctrinal and Controversial Skries. Prioe, 6 Gents Each. Faith and Reason. By the Rev. B. Vaughan, S.J. The Popes and the English Church. By the Rev. W. Waterworth. 189 ; or, the Church of Old England protestsBy the Rev. J. D. Breen, C.SBThe Faith of the Ancient English Church concerning the Holy Eucharist By the Very Rev Provost Northcote Positivism By the Rev Joseph Rickaby, S J. Henry VIH and the English Monasteries By Cardinal Manning Total Abstinence from a Catholic point of view By the Rev W H Cologan. The Church Catholic By B F. C Costelloe The Passion Play at Ammergau By Lady Herbert. Reasons for submitting to the Church of our Fathers By H. M Bennett, MAThe Blessed Sacrament the Centre of Immutable Truth By Cardinal ManningThe Holy Rosary. By the Very Rev Arthur Ryan The Old Religion in England By Rev. P. Lynch. 20 Science and Scientists : By RevJohn Gerard, S J 1. Mr Grant Allen's Botanioal Fables. 2. Sir John Labbook on Flowers and Insects. 8. Some Wayside Problems 4. •' Behold the Birds of the Air." 6. How Theories are manufaotared 6. Instinct and its Lessons. What is the Bible ? Is yours the right Book By W H. Anderdon, S J St. Bartholomew's Day. By Kev. Wm. Loughnan, S.J. The Cures at Lourdes. By J. B. Gasquet, M.B. The Civil Allegiance of Catholics . By Rev. M. J. Whelan. Refutation of some Calumnies. By Rev. J. C. Byrne. What is the Use of It. By Wm. J. Guernsey, M.D. How Catholics came to be Understood. By Rev. Thos. O'Gorman, D.D. Who can Forgive Sins ? Kev. Patrick Daneby. Church or Bible. Rev. Arnold Damen, S.J. Agnosticism. Bt Rev JL. Spalding, D.D. Purgatory. Rev. Henry A. Braim, D.D, Miracles, what they are, and what is their use ? The Conservative Power of Catholicity. Conde B. Pallen. The Real Presence. Kev, C. F. Smarius, S.J. Jesus Christ is God. Kev. Walter Elliott. Were the Middle Ages Dark. Kt. Kev. T. F. Brennan, D.D. Indulgences. Kt. Rev. John Kain, D.D. Where is Religious Truth. K. G. Kives. The Invocation of Saints. Kev. E*. McSweeney, D.D. Thoughts from Lacordaire. The Mass, the Proper form of Christian Worship. Rev. J. M. Lucey. The Holy Ghost and the Church. Cardinal Manning. The Principle of Authority. By Kev. T. F, Butler. Sacrificial Worship Essential to Religion. By P. R. Hefron, D.D. ■■ ALSO ' ■ ..-'".:. Some Things which Catholics do not Believe. By Archbishop Walsh 5c. each; perdoz. $0 50 Questions and Objections concerning Catholic Doctrine and Practices, answered by Archbishop Lynch 10c. each; per doz. 1 00 The Catholic Church, the only True Church. By Pr. Damen 10c. each; per doz. 1 00 Transubstantiation " " 1 60 The two Chiniquys, Father Chiniqiiy vs. Minister Chiniquy $0 10 Plain Facts for fair minds. By Father Searle 16 Some of the Causes of Modern Religious Skepticism. ByRt. Rev. P. J. Ryan, D.D 15 Catholic Belief. Rev. L. A. Lambert 20 The Threshold of the Catholic Church. By Rev. J B. Bagshawe 40 Short and Familiar Answers to the most common Objections urged against Religion. By Abbe de Segur 15 The Convert, or Leaves from my experience. By 0. A. Brownson 1 00 Faith of Our Fathers. By Cardinal Gibbons. In paper covers 60c. ; incloth 1 00 Adventures of a Protestant in search of Religion. By Iota 76 Our Christian Heritage. By Cardinal Gibbons 1 26 Protestant Converted. By Mrs. Pittar 40 From Anglicanism to Catholicism. By a Convert .6c. each; per hundred 1 60 Devotional Series. Price, 5 Cents Eacfa. ilequiescant in Pace : Meditations. By Rev. R. F, Clarke, S.J. Maria Magnifi'iata. By the same. The Sacred Passion of Jesus Christ. By the same. Visits to Jesus in the Tabernacle. By the same. St. Joseph : Meditations for March. By the same. Gospel According to St. Matthew. Sanctification of Lent. By the Bishop of Salford. Who is St. Joseph ? By the same. Scapular of Mount Carmel. By the same. Love and Passion of Our Lord. By the same. Little Flowers of St. Francis. How to converse with God. From the French of Pere Boutauld, S.J. Resurrexit. By the Rev. R. F. Clarke, SJ. The Sacred Heart. By the same. The Passion of Our Lord. The Blessed Sacrament. The Ceremonies of Holy Week. The Holy Rosary. 22 1 1 1 Prayers for Holy Communion ; from the Sarum MissalCounsels on Holy Communion. By Mgr. de Segur. Advice on Confession. By the same. ' -. ' Advice on Prayer. By the same. '» To Calvary : a new method of making the Stations. From the French of Pere Abt, S.J. The Children's Ballad Rosary. By Mr. Justice O'Hagan. A Little Book of Indulgenced Prayers. A Little Book of Verses for the Sick. The Holy Lifancy. By Rev. R. F. Clarke, SJ. The Hidden Life. By the same. The Holy Angels. By the same. r ; The Precious Blood. By the same. Veni Sancte Spiritus. By the same. The Great Truths. By the sameA Little Book for Holy Week. By the same. The Rosary said before the Blessed Sacrament. Humility. By Rev. R. F. Clarke, S.J. Good Words from the Cure of Ars. The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. Pearls from the Hidden Treasure of Holy Mass. How to Converse with God. Cure de Ars. Words for the Worldly. By Percy Fitzgerald. The Sacred Heart and the Holy Souls. Instruction on the Christian Life. By Pope Leo XIII. A Companion to High Mass, for the use of Non-Catholics. ALSO The Nine Offices in Honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. $0 10 Counsels on Temptation and Sin. De ?egur 10 Advice on Prayer. By the same 10 Method of Meditations according to the plan of St. Ignatius 10 The Little Office of the Blessed Virgin according to the Roman Ritual ; 10 The Our Father, Meditations on the Lord's Praver. By St. Teresa "..... 16 Little Breviary of the Sacred Heo rt 60 Goffines Instructions, Dogmatical and Moral, with the Lives of many Saints, a complete prayer book 1 00 Devotion to the Holy Virgin. By Rev. F. Gallifet, S.J. 15 T\^arls from Father Faber 40 Maxims and Sayings of Rev. F. W. Faber 40 Little Manual of St. Anthony 60 a H:'h 28 -■'''■ :; The Practice of Humility. By Leo XIII $0 20 Miscellaneous. The Virgin Mother of Jesus 6 A Triple Testimony ; Forty years in the Church 5 The Business of Villification, as practised by ex-Priests, Slattery, etc., etc 6 Defender of the Faith. By Rev. T. E. Bridgett, CSS.R. 20 Notes on Indian Missions. By A. H. Atteridge 30 Lourdes and its Miracles. By Rev. E. F. Clarke, S.J... 20 The Pope and the Bible. By the same 20 Socialism. By Rev. Joseph Rickaby, S.J 7 Reminiscences of Bishop Macdonell. of Kingston, Canada. By Chevalier W. J. Macdonell, K.H.S., Toronto 15 The Bible and the Reformation 7 Gradus ad Fidem. By Rene F. R. Conder, B.A 20 Was St. Peter Bishop of Rome ? By C. F. B. Allnatt.. 7 Catholic Popular Literature, By James Britten 5 Peter-Tide, or St. Peter's Month. By the Bishop of Salford 7 The Jesuit Saints of 1888 20 A Few Flowers from St. Francis's Garden 20 Life of Father Louis, pastor of St Mary's Church, Toionto. By H.F. Mcintosh, with introduction by Archbishop Walsh 16 Essays on the Church in Canada. By D. A. O'Sullivan, D.C.L. , 0.C-, with inti eduction by Archbishop Walsh 25 Father Cuthbert's Curiosity Case. By Rev. L. G. Vere. 15 St. Basil's Hymn Book 16, 25, 50 and 1 00 St. Basil's Hymnal ." 75, 1 and 2 00 The Jesuits. By W. H. Anderdon, S.J 15 Lectures on the Present position of Catholics in England. By Cardinal Newman each 7 I. Protestant View of the Catholic Church. II. Tradition the sustaining power of the Protestant view. III. Fable the basis of the Protestant view. IV. True Testimony unequal to the Protestant view. VI Prejudice the Life of the Protestant view. VII. Assumed Principles the Intellectual ground of the Protestant view. Christian Aspects of thp Labor Question. By Rev. : Abbot Snow, O.S.B 5 24 s. Mixed Marriages. By Rev. C. W.Wood $0 05 Catholic and Protestant Countries Compared. By Father Young 1 00 Cobbetts' History of the Reformation. By Dom. Gasquet. 75 Apologia pro Vita Sua. By Cardinal Newman 1 00 Epistles and Gospels 15c. each; per doz15 Singing book for Children. By Rev. J. Furniss 5 Catholic Child's Hymn Book By Frank Pentrill 15 Sunday School Hymn Book By the Sisters of Notre Dame 16 Imitation of Christ. By Thomas A Kempi8,25, 30, 60 and 75 End of Religious Controversy. By Rt. Rev John Milner, DD 90 The Catholic Temperance Library, with preface. By Cardinal Manning 15 A Simple Prayer Book 5 Prayer Book (vest pocket edition) 5 Catholic Testamf nte from 30c. upwards. Catholic Bibles from 75c. up, according to binding. Leaflets for Distribution : Morning and Night Prayers ; Prayers for Confession ; Holy Communion ; Short Indulgenced Prayers, and Prayers for the Sick ; also on controversial subjects, as follows, from 50c. per hundred upwards : What Does the Bible say? What Catholics do not believe. Why I am a Roman Catholic Senators of Sherburn, or a Lawyers Rule of Faith Purgatory. Why I am a Catholic By Rev Walter S Elliott. What my Uncle said about the Pope Is it Honest ? Is it True ? Temperance Tracts Why I am a Total Abstainer By Rev Walter Elliott. And a host of others dealing with different Catholic doctrinesYou will not regret the expenditure of a dollar for a bundle of these leaflets, — **just the thing" for distribution amongst Protestants. . ' (km '"' ' ^m^.&^ : ..j^^i'i^fWM**s»--^*'«^'-'''*" >■*•»•»' ■>w*V»J ..#*a F ■V'-r"t>^rwi>«^w^|»WWpp|» pipDiiir i ir.i II , ,|wi i iiA|>i.(ij;. i ii:r] i i iiiin i ■ w mmm mmm f ^ "1^ Xettere of approbation. FBOM HIS ORAOB THB ABOHBISBOP OF TORONTO. ;■ •" ■■ '■ ■■ ••r''T''.i«*^.tvi*yr^:..."'. ;^'^.v,r ■;..,,-• ,.«^^. '^.•lr.>*!■'■•^•■• ■,■:■.■'/ 1 am exceedingly glad to learn Ihat abranob of ibe Catholic Trntb Society bas been establisbed in Toronto. Tbis Society bas done and is doipg a great deal of good in England and is calculated to do a great and noble work amongst onrselves I tberefore eariieRily wisb your Society tbe greatest measure of success, and I pray Gid^o bless and reward its friends and patrons. FROM HIS OBACE THE LATB ARCHBISHOP OF KINO8T0N. Tbe Catbolic Trutb Society has always worked so beneficially to religion and morality in Great Britain, that it deseryes whatsoever encouragement and support tbe prelates and clergy and faithful laity can give it The cheap books, pamphlets and leaflets which your Society intends to circulate, will supply an antidote to tbe poisonous atmosphere surrounding tis, and will stimulate our people to search out the ^priptural and historical evidences of Catholic Trutb and thus cultivate iu themselves and their families a more intelligent and more lively faith. I shall therefore be happy to help the Catholic Truth Society of Canada to tbe best of my ability. PROM HIS LORDSHIP THB BISHOP OF HAMILTON. 1 'have learned with much pleasure that the Catholic Truth Society bar. been established in Toronto. It is a movement which every good Cktbolic should aid and encourage ^jcheerfally concur with the Archbishops and Bishops of Ontario, in recbmmendiog the Society to the patronage of the clergy and laity. FROM HIS LORDSHIP THB BISHOP OF PBTBRBOROUGH. The establishment of the Catholic Truth Society in Ontario for the diffusion of cbeap Catholic. literature, is an,,iMide|;talupg.tb9>t is much needed Now-a-days Infidel and anti-Catholic publications are scattered broadcast before the public and we require to counteract this poisonous literature that is corrupting society ; and the extensive circulation of Catholic works by the Truth Society will do much to affect this object With great pleasure will I give my assistance to tbe Catholic Truth Society. \tv . '*^%iv ■i^.ied.t.d IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT 3) /. #.^.5^\. >^ li! 1.0 130 ^ 96 I.I u lilii us 1.25 1^ 12.2 ItUU 1.4 11.6 A" C^ '^ ^ Sciences Corporation '3 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTEk.N.Y. 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Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmAs en commenpant par la premiere page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustratlon et en terminant par la derni*re page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparattra sur la dernidre image de cheque micrnfiohb, selon le cas: le symbols — ► signifie "A SUIVRE". le symbols V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planchos, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre film*s A des taux de reduction diff*rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA, il est filmA A partir de Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, »n prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammss suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 HI T^a.x^^dUjt 1?^^7BSJ 'V'.-> DISCOURSE BT THE REV. ALEXANDER M'KAY, M. A., ' « « SALT SPBINGS, CO. OF PICTOU, WITH REFERENCE TO THE PRESENT TIME. Addnned to the lemben of th« Oliareh of Scotlud, and to othor ProtMtuts. HALIFAX, N. S. JAMES BARNES, CORNER SACKVILLE AND GRANVILLE STS. 1867. llitll)0U$ie Cullciic ililivani / ^ / / i: JOHN JAMES STEWART COLLECTION PREFACE. i It is not without serious delil)eration that it was resolved to appear before the public in this form. We had earnestly hoped that circumstances would arise to render it unnecessary. On the contrary, the rapid pace with which error has been countenanced, renders it increasingly imperative to raise a warning voice. It is not without regret that it is found necessary to make special reference to individuals, but, " I fee! that truth is more precious than friendship, and that the purity of our most holy faith is far dearer than even the most unbroken friendship. If the alternative be, whether we shall sacrifice peace or truth, both inestimable in their proper places, we must not have one moment's hesitation in sacrificing peace, rather than let truth go. "* We too often hear the cry on the lips of some, "Ministers have nothing to do with politics." This doctrine has not been learned from the great Founders of our Church, or from the Word of God. Coming from those who countenance and take lessons from the prelates of idolatrous Rome, it assumes the character of a doctrine of devils. And they virtually declare, " the politics in which we take part must be entirely under the control oi Xh^ god of this world:'' Let the ministers of true religion repudiate the teachings of these intruders, and not rest until such politics ire driven from our world. Let God's ministers seek to have our Lord and Christ, King not only in Zion, but Supreme Legislator in all the laws, constitutions, and kingdoms of the world. In this work let us Btrivc to arise to the stature of our christian manhood, and when opportunity offers, declare our Lord's tcstimoHies before kings. To promote' this, His rightful, supreme, universal sway, we niust labour as well as pray. For this discourse I am solely resposible. I sought counsel of no man. I earnestly sought Divine counsel : and I send it forth believing that God approves of this humble effort to hold forth the truth. And whether man shall hear or forbear, God shall display His regard for truth, and vindicate His honour, either in mercy or judgment. A. McKav. Salt Springs, August, 1867. • Dj\ Cumuiing. WP DISCOURSE. '% Prov. XXIII. 37. — •• Btiy the truth and sell it not!' Our text may embrace the entire field of truth, in science, literature, and history. But when we consider what the primary and constant object of the Bible is, we must believe thaithe inspired teacher has special regard to moral and religious truth ; and this comprehends the widest and most important empire of knowledge. Our text manifestly implies that truth is invaluable. The pre-eminent value of sacred truth cannot be over-estimated. Hence our all-wise God holds forth the excellency and dignity of truth in every possible way. He associates truth most intimately with His glorious attributes, and with everything He esteems most. He declares Himself to be the God of Trnik ; His Eternal Son, t/ic Truth ; the third person of the Godhead, the Spirit of Truth ; and the Holy Scriptures, the Word of Truth. In ten thousand ways, in His sacred word, He would have us know and feel, that our supreme and eternal interests are involved in our reception and maintenance of those lessons which He has graciously revealed. And that we may learn to cherish the highest regard for His truth. He declares that He has magnified His zuord above all His name ; and that the grand object for which the Lord of Glory came on a mission to our world, was to bear testimony to the truth ; and the reason why the Holy Spirit came into, and continues in our fallen world, is to reveal truth, guide into all truth, and to bring His offspring under the reign of truth. Truth, like its author, is so precious and vast, that it cannot be defined in few words. The soul of man is its destined store-house. Nothing short of the truth can meet the deep wants of our spirits. The Father of our spirits hath ordained that He alone can prove a sufficient portion to our souls ; and this infinite portion can be realized only by receiving, living, and holding the truth. " In His revelation of truth, He discloses with perfect certainty all that is necessary for iis to know on all the great subjects of knowledge, that is suited lo raise our souls into blessed fellowship with all the bright spirits in God's universe. He has made known His gracious character ; the preciousness of the soul ; the priceless value paid for its redemption ; the glorious heavenly inheritance ; the dreadful retribution of the ungodly ; how to secure the favour of God ; and He has given us those holy, just, and good laws, that are designed and fitted to secure our truest happiness here, and qualify us for the highest blessedness in eternity. The truth is God's instrument to regenerate and sanctify man. Whoever receives the truth grows up in the likeness of the divine nature. No other possession can secure man's happiness in time, and he can bring no other inheritance with him to the world of the blessed. It is the truth of God that renovates and elevates societies, states and kingdoms. Without truth, communities are built and bound together with ropes of sand, — and yet are held together by the iron hand of despotism, — all the while treading on briers and thorns. The history of the past, and the declarations of the word of truth, clearly demonstrate this. The truth to which Christ testified continue those heavenly principles, which are destined to enlighten the world, and to prove the "leaven and salt" of society. And all that is required to raise our lost world from misery and oppression, to happiness and liberty, from earth to heaven, are His words of "grace and truth." And His truth shall continue to work, through the agency of the spirit of truth, in the heart of humanity, until the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Our Confession of Faith,* executed by the Westminster Assembly at the instance of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, contains the most complete summary of truth. This Confession engaged more earnest deliberation, and more time of learned and devout theologians, than any other that has ever been composed. Over one hundred and fifty divines were occupied over five years, zealously labouring * " Amidst the jealousy and rivalship of contending parties, it has been a centre of union, in which the faith and charity of good men have met ; and in seasons of innovation, when a veneration for what is ancient is derided, as the freak of imbecility or prejudice ; when ' the march of intellect' is the pretext for every change, however presumptuous or violent, and when all the foundations of the earth seen^ out of course, this summary of the truth remains uninjured and revered ; and it will continue to be an exhibition and defence of pure religion, and undefiled before God and the Father to the latest age." — Dr. Bel/rage. y to provide a direttory containing? the mind of God as revealed in Ills word, for tiie benefit of succeeding generations. And it has, by the blessing of God, served to guide the faith and the practice of a large proportion of Protestant Christendom, and has wielded a most beneficent influence in disseminating a true knowledge of the word of God. Even those learned and pious men, who differ in one or two articles in their interpretation of the Scriptures, regard this Confession pre-eminent in all the rest. And what should serve to enhance its value in our estimation, and convince us of the great care exercised by the eminent divines that composed it, is the fact, that two of the largest and most influential dissenting churches in Scotland have, during the last four years, been labouring earnestly to 'agree to differ' on one or two points of that Confession, and these eminently learned and conscientious divines have, as yet, barely succeeded. This should certainly teach all not to be too hasty in seek'ng to put forward their crude, ill-digested, and hastily formed notions in opposition to this incomparable digest of truth. Nor can it be too firmly engraven in our mind, that confessions, as the expression of men's religious belief, are valuable and enduring, only as they are framed with the highest regard to truth. And that whatever constitutions are framed, in which there is the suppression of what the Messenger of truth came to publish, can be of no value. To form any compact with man, in which the supremacy of truth is not recognized, is essentially false, impracticable, and unblest. Truth, then, is the most desirable and priceless possession. But although the lessons of the divine oracles are as free to us as the light of heaven, owing to the constitution of our nature, we must labour for its acquisition. We must learn to buy truth, if we would have it ingrafted on our nature, and be blessed in its possession. We must search for it as for hid treasures. Nor can we hope to procure it by wholesale. We shall be happy to procure it by the slow process of diligent and constant search. And it is not acquired without purchase. We must surrender in order to secure it. At the same time we need only yield what is injurious and false. We must learn from Truth itself, in its attainment, to separate the pure from the dross. We must sacrifice false tastes, appetites, prejudices, and whatever truth condemns. And as we thus cherish truth we shall learn its surpassing sweetness and excellency — that it is more precious than the purest gold, and sweeter than the finest honey. But not only are we to make truth the essence of our spiritual ■I"^ 8 being, we must also hold forth the truth. In this we must learn to surrender pleasure, honour, riches, and even peace and friendship, yea, life itself, rather than sell one grain of truth. Our duty is, though at the outset the lesson may seem hard to learn, to buy the truth, whatever it may cost. It is a pearl so necessary to our enduring well-being, that we must be made willing to give up any thing rather than it. Buy tJie truthy and sell it not, is the Divine command No matter what it costs, buy it, hold it, declare it, .should it even cost thee thy life. Life is gained, — even eternal life, — in the purchase of it. Our great Teacher and Examplar, has taught us the lesson by word and deed. And the characteristic of all the members of His Kingdom is, that they " hear Him" and recognize His voice: and by doing the truth they know the truth. " His kingdom does not embrace hypocrites, charlatans, but men of reality, men of open-hearted truth." His kingdom in our world is not measured by the number who bear His name, and profess loyalty to His throne, but by the number of men who follow the truth as He did, even though Calvary were the goal. The man who lias thus learned n) buy the truth is not likely to sell it. He will learn that like the soul, nothing is to be taken in exchange for it. To prize truth very highly is absolutely necessary, not only for our own true happiness, but that we may be prepared at all hazards to shun everything net grounded on the truth, and that we may, at whatever cost, help to transmit it to the latest posterity. The blessings which we estimate highly, we are naturally eager to perpetuate ; and whoever truly realizes the preciousness of truth, and the consequent blessings of freedom, can never be willing to suspend it on the clemency of men who ignore, disregard, or reject the truth. But truth must be bought by societies, churches, and states. There can be no community of men formed with due regard to truth, without incurring sacrifices. Nor can any society long retain the truth wi'-hout sacrifices. Truth, like its author, is exclusive, — pre-eminently exclusive. Hence those churches and communities who have learned best the value of truth, are most chary in receiving into their embraces those whose principles are dangerous or doubtful. And those who have not learned to distinguish truth from error, contemn conscientious scruples with regard to truth, or regard such as useless and meaningless. But every lover of truth well knows, that in our world of sin — ignorance, superstition, and error — men of truth must be very cautious in their embraces, and that truth cannot hold her rightful sway without long continued strugp^lcs. In all ages the hottest contests have been between truth and error. It is not without hot moral and physical efforts that truth gains the sway within and around us, — and can then maintain its rightful supremacy, And the more pure the truth contended for, the keener and sorer shall be the struggle. Pure and unadulterated truth had only ont sympathiser in this fallen world. In all ages too, there have been many professed followers of the truth, who have put darkness for light, and light for darkness ; who would break down the clear lines of distinction between these two opposite kingdoms ; who, at best, prefer little truth and much ern^r, and against whom it is more difficult to contend than against those who make no pretensions to regard truth. And too often, the contest for error is maintained with greater zeal, and embraced by greater numbers. Too often the honourable and wise of this world, combine their strength to sustain and promote error. Not many of the wise, mighty, or noble, after the flesh, are called. Truth, as a rule, is frowned upon in our sinful world. Hence those who contend for the truth, need not be disappointed in having to bear the frown of the many. Christian truth, — and just because it was the truth, — when it made its first appearance in its brightest manifestations, had all the worl J against it. But its own inherent worth, and because it refused the least association with error, and therefore retained its heaven-inspiring power, forcf^'t its way through every dark cloud of error, superstition, priestcraft, and civil pow':r, until at length the nations and governments of the earth were found doing themselves the greatest honour while defending and extending its refulgent influence. Nor is there any contest worth one moments notice but when truth is involved — when error is opposed and truth is maintained. No contest apart from truth, can have any value in the sight of God, and need have no more interest in the estimation of the Church of Christ, than the contests of ephemeral insects. In the contest in which truth is involved, the excellent of the earth in all ages, and the bright spirits throughout the wide universe, have been, and still continue, interested. This noblest cause, patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, have espoused. The true and holy martyrs in our father-land, and in all lands, did not count their lives too dear to bear testimony to the truth. And how could it be otherwise with those who imbibed so largely the spirit of their Divine Teacher, who declares, " To this end was I born, for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth!' And what true lover of the Church of Christ, and of his lO ^ather-land, is not acquainted with the bloody struggles they had to encounter, ere they secured the supremacy of God's word, in school, church and state, — ere they were enabled to establish the Protestant faith over the whole land. Who has not read with blood running cold, and tearful eyes, the sufferings recorded in the Book of Martyrs — sufferings endured in every glen, cave, and mountain side, where there is not a stream but has been consecrated with the blood v)f the Saints of God. And what must that cloud of witnesses who are beholding us from the third Heaven ; what must the Son of God who witnessed in the sorest agonies for the truth, think of us, if we with cold indifference allow the holy lessons to be dishonoured, and to be laid aside to gratify the enemies of God's holy word ! We shculd often reflect with profound gratitude on what their stedfasiness secured to us. Who can conceive what would have been the dark and miserable condition of Britain, Europe and America, during the last centuries, had they not contended earnestly for the foith once delivered to the Saints. Everything that was noble and generous and true in all lands, was acquired from the word of God. All that we possess worth having, as individuals, churcher, nations, or kingdoms, we owe to the word of God. Without this divine charter life were a burden, and scarcely worth contending for. Are we free-born citizens, entitled to a heavenly inheritance } The trutJi has made us free. Do we as Christians live in the unity of the spirit, and in the bonds of peace f The truth has given us this peace of God. Have we become renowned among the nations of the earth 1 Take the testimony of our most Christian Queen: "To the Bible we owe all our greatness:" all our intellectual greatness — all our moral grandeur — all our best successes at home and abroad. Take the testimony of our Supreme Ruler, who assures us for all time, that it is " righteoiiniess that cxaltetJi a nation." " That the nations and kingdoms that shall not serve Him shall perish ; yea, those nations shall be utterly wasted!' Accordingly, when we enquire, where are the nations of the earth that have not the truth } Their history was oppression, misery and ruin. They have passed away, or are fast hastening to decay and extinction. What of the churches that held not the truth } Their history was spiritual oppression and degradation. They have disappeared, or are stiil suppressing light and freedom. All such shall soon, under the approaching storm of Divine wrath, be destroyed. '' Eveiy plant that my Heavenly Father hath not planted shall be rooted up!' And seeing that truth is so precious in itself, that it has '*ip It "y,"* done so much for us, and that we are made custodiers of this priceless treasure, it is doubtless the highest duty devolving upon us, to "buy the truth and sell it not," — to assert the supremacy of God's word in everything, that we may faithfully transmit it to future generations. And surely the signs of the times clearly indicate, that we need not hope to hold forth the truth without incurring danger and trouble. At no time is there greater danger than when the professed friends of truth are becoming indifferent or regardless of its honour. The enemies of a marts house are the worst. Wherever there is a true friend of truth, he does bear witness to the truth. Whatever be his vocation, or situatiov, whether minister, magistrate, or statesman, he is bound by the laws of Christ's kingdom to avail himself of every available position favorable to the diffusion of these heavenly principles. To this he is sweetly constrained by his love of truth. And the higher the position, the greater the responsibility. No one is at liberty to enter into or retain any position, in which he is required to let truth retire into the shade. Every member of this kingdom, whatever his place in society, will maintam the supremacy of truth. Politics, science, literature, must be made its custodiers and disseminators. And it is only when all shall ha . learned to combine their efforts to extend the truth, that we may realize that most blessed time promised in the ancient prophecy, when "Kings shall become nursing fathers, and Queens nursing mothers of this benign empire" That we may hasten on this desirable period, it is surely sound policy and true wisdom to be most watchful against those who have long proved themselves the most inveterate and persistent enemies of the heavenly oracles. Nor do we require to search that we may know what combination of men have done most to subvert the authority of God's word, and deprive the world of this most precious treasure. Our confession of faith, and our ecclesiastical constitrtion, most clearly point out, on the ground of the divine record, that the Church of Rome puts forth the most dangerous tenets to society, and the most destructive of men's best interests. None need ?je ignorant of this. By that Church every essential doctrine has been subverted or counterfeited ; and the absurd and ruinous teachings of corrupt men substituted. For the spirit of the Gospel — for love, mercy, and good works, hatred, revenge, and dead works are substituted. The history of their hatred to the sacred volume is written in the streams of blood of the best lovers of the truth, — written in the ashes of myriads, of copies of the sacred volume they coirmitted to the flames, — 12 written in many folios prohibiting the free use of God's word, — written in darkness, and misery, and oppression, in every land from which they excluded the word, — written in the bitter hatred to the word of truth instilled into the minds of their votaries, — written too in the pastoral issued by the prelates of their church in these provinces, denouncing the Book of books. ■ ;• .".• ' But how have British statesmen of recent years shown their obligations to this book of God ? How have they held forth this charter of all that is good and free, as their guiding sun in the political firmament ? How have they maintained the Protestant constitution — her true conservatism, secured to the British crown for centuries ? Sad to relate, her Protestant conservatism is all but ignored. The first or nearly the first act, granting special favour to that church, was passed in 1774, establishing the Roman Catholic religion in Lower Canada. — But less than 40 years ago, it was imperative, on every member of the British legislature, to subscribe a solemn declaration, that the doctrines of the Romish church was blasphemous and idolatrous. What was true then on oath must be true now. But since then they have been yielding step by step to the enemies of truth. They have not only been emancipating error, but endowing and promoting error to the injury of truth. Helping on idolatrous error as of equal or greater value than truth. They have thus been trying to pacify their avowed enemies, who fear not to say that they shall not 1 est satisfied until they expel the lamp of truth from our firmament. Their colleges have been built and maintained at the public expense, their professors salaried, and their r/cudents fed. While Protestants, for the most part, are left to settle their own quarrels, and to fight for existence, the Romish Church " devotees are fed and flattered, and her priests in Ireland all but forced to accept an endowment from the state, — so that it may safely be said, that the papists are the only favoured sect." And while the privileges of the Endowed Protestant Churches are being wrested from them year by year, the priests of Rome are receiving renewed favours. For all this no higher reason is assigned than expediency. A plea from God's word is never thought of. And most certainly there is nothing there for such things. Nor ire these favours granted on the ground that the teachings f that church is useful for soul or body, for time or eterniiy. The object is entirely political. Politicians would strengthen their hands by bestowing favours, which are not authorized by God, and cannot benefit man. Thus mere political speculators legislate about religion. The J •" 13 least part of their thoughts would not seem exercised to promote the progress of pure spiritual doctrines. But what has all this accomplished ? Has it satisfied that Church ? Does it ever bind them to any political leader ? Never. With all their getting, they are never at rest. The interest of the political friend of to-day will readily be sacri-'; ficed for a good bargain to-morrow. On whatever side they are, it may be taken as a certain proof that said party promise n.ost favour meantime. But have these favours improved their condition.'' Has emancipation — once regarded "the panacea of all her wrongs" — has this, with all that followed, made her blessed .-' In no way. All has left her as low in the scale of beings, and more turbulent than ever. The root of her wretchedness is in her depravity, and the root of her depravity in her ignorance of the sanctifying light of divine truth. Have these favours rendered her more quiet .^ On the contrary, while. political parties are vieing with one another in bestowing favours, they are only becoming more exacting and trou-" blesome. They even boldly declare that nothing short of absolute supremacy in church and state shall satisfy their cravings. ji But how have the British Protestant Churches stood in defence of truth } Most have bcf^n statedly raising a protest. The Church of Scotland, it is believed, has been second to none in this respect — save the noble Covenanters, who have always held the lead in practice and theory. But the Scottish Church has been statedly raising her warning voice, testifying to the state, the guilt and danger involved in endowing and disseminating error. And how could she do otherwise, and prove faithful to her solemn pledges in her confession and constitution i* — in which all her members are bound to labour for the suppression of her manifold errors. Her ministers, elders, and her members are required faithfully to testify against her teachings. In our constitution, too, her ministers are enjoined to warn and admonish against the insidious inropus of this mystery of iniquity. One General Assembly after another have passed acts instructing her ministers to be watchful against the Jesuitical inroads of Rome. The chapter in our Confession, devoted to the guidance of magistrates, points out t/ie man of sin, the Antichrist, and the error against which, above all others, they are to exercise their authority. And the magistrates of the Church of Scotland should not be ignorant that this is the special distinguishing characteristic of our church, that we hold they should exercise their authority in suppressing error and promoting truth. How perilous, 14 then, for magistrates who have been pledged to our Confession, and, notwithstanding, exercise their influence in the opposite direction. But although our church and other churches have been offering a firm and frequent testimony against the favour conferred upon this church, the sad and guilty work of endowing error has been progressing. The command of our text has been inverted. Error is bought and truth is sold. And who can tell where all this shall end .'' Does any sane man suppose that the favours of politicians shall prove the salvation of that church, or a gain to the world } Is it not sadly manifest that the adherents of that church are being fired with the most rabid spirit, creating alarm among all classes throughout Christendom .-' Does not their past history, their turbulent spirit in Britain, in the United States, and in the British Colonies, serve to prove that yielding the truth can never secure peace ? And were it not so, it would prove to the world, contrary to God's word, that the wisdom of human policy discovered a way to purchase peace directly opposed to the counsels of infinite wisdom. But this can nev^er be. God shall prove His word true to the confusion of all who WQuld subvert it. And if there be anything clearly brought out in the history of past legislation, it is, that rulers as well as the ruled should learn io buy truth and sell it not ; and that the teachers of God's word should hold forth the truth at all hazards, to all men, rulers and ruled, high and low, rich and poor. Apart from the guilt incurred in selling the truth, there is a twofold evil of the gravest magnitude. It is an evil to the party selling it ; he parts with what is not his own to give. Truth is God's gift to him ; and He denies him the right to sell it — hence he is guilty of the highest act of dishonesty. It leads him to think lightly of truth, while, were it not sold on any consideration, he might be led in the course of time to prize it. By selling it, it becomes valueless to both parties. That is surrendered, which alone could prove the highest blessing to both. Let Protestant Christendom surrender truth at the will of the Romish Church, and the sale must shortly become the most terrible curse of darkness, degradation, and oppression to both alike. If we would learn to benefit them, we must learn, on their account as well as our own, never to sell the truth. At the same time to form an alliance with any idolatrous system involves in speedy visitations of divine wrath. The word of God is most explicit on this. The alliance of Jehosaphat with the idolatrous kings of Israel, and the compact '\ 15 ^ formed by the most pious king Josiah with another corrupting system, should be enough to warn all .who would respect the admonitions of God. Are not these ivritten for our warning ? And yet those alliances were not endowing error. They do not seem so great an evil as under the clear light of the gospel, and the history of the past, to advance the advocates of the most anti-scriptural system of iniquity. And when we look at the lessons of the New Testament dispensation, do we not find the Great Teacher, and the Founder of our most holy faith, shun the giving of the least shadow of countenance to error in any way whatever. That they only give us to expect the divine blessing, true and lasting success, while we maintain and hold fast truth and nothing but the truth. Consider our Lord's burning and scathing rebukes against those who would . pervert the word of God, and substitute the commandments of men. Consider how His apostles would reject the proffered gifts when the reception of these would seem to countenance error. Hear the chiefest apostle declare. Though zve, or an angel from heaven, preach another gospel unto yon, than that ive have preached nnto yon, let him be accursed. And when we look at the announcements of prophecy regarding the Antichristian system, are we not most solemnly warned against having any complicity with them, — that those who become sharers in her sins shall become sharers in her plagues. * Let no one try to evade the fact, that the haughty Church of Rome is that system destined by God to be overthrown. Would any hope to see any other system appear in our world, more dishonouring to God and His word, and more deeply steeped in the blood of the saints, — and thus more deserving of the wrath of Almighty God .-* During no period of the church's history were men so inexcusable in giving countenance to the man of sin as the present. We have the broad history of the past to warn us. We have the most learned, pious, and earnest students dead and living, of Scripture prophesies point to the present, as big with solemn events, — that we are living in perilous times. We find many thousand ecclesiastics of that church — the largest convocation that had been assembled for three bundled years, convoked to the seat of her central authorit)'^ : we find the kingdom of her most ancient sway, casting oft" her authority as a curse too heavy to be borne ; we find the small circuit still under her entire control, swarmed with the lowest villains of human kind ; and because the spirit of freedom is abroad, there is universal dread felt by her tyrannical lords lest the terrific power with * See Appendix. i6 which she once made the princes and kings of the earth tremble, should be entirely wrested from her. The entire face of the world and the declaration of God's word indicate, that the churches of the Reformation are on the eve of having a terrible and dreadful struggle with this common foe, — that we are on the brink of stirring times, when the contest shall not be for civil or regal power, but a direct and manifest contest of truth against error, of the saints of God against the Anti-christian system. Never had there been a time when one day was more likely to prove fruitful with terrible events. When a summons to arms was so likely to create universal commotion among the nations of the earth. The central authority still sitting on the seven hills, may send forth a summons, in one hour, to the ends of the earth, such as shall create protracted troubles. Trembling as if in his last throes, he is ready to embrace the first favourable opportunity to raise to arms. We would not excite undue alarm. But it were unpardonable remissness did we not study the signs of the times in the light of God's word. * Only eighteen months ago the hearts of many in our colony were almost failing then for fear of raids from the troublous emissaries of that church, (too much countenanced by our American neighbours, to whom they shall yet doubtless prove their sorest scourge.) Then, many were in sober dread, that their husbands, their sons, and their brothers should be summoned to protect ourselves and our Protestant rights. The cause of fear is not over. We are not out of danger. Our enemies are many, and in common league against us and our liberties. We ought not to be deceived with seeming quietness. They are striving to secure all possible influence in state and otherwise, that they may, with one mighty effort, crush us. But our chief danger is from within, from professed friends — that surrendering the truth we incur the righteous displeasure of the Lord of Hosts. Our duty is plain. We are bound by our vows, bound by God's word to give no place to the man of sin. We are clearly taught to have no part in other men's sins. Whatever others may do, there is no back door for those who have adopted our coiifession of faith, and the constitution of our church. Take part in advancing their interests, 5hd their servants, and we trample on our solemn vows. Our duty is manifest whether * " The reformation of three centuries has not yet accomplished the great object of the overthrow of Antichrist. Christendom is far as ever from a condition of sure and prosperous tranquility ; nor do I think we shall arrive at it by a pacific process . . . but whatever days of suffering or of violence may be coming, we do believe of the indestructible Church of Christ. — Dr. Chalmers. if there be immediate danger or not, to btty the truth and sell it not. Adhering to this precept, we are safe ; disregarding it, there is certain danger. Let us cleave to the truth, and those who maintain the truth. Let us give no countenance whatever to any wht dishonour it. Let us not put forward the promoters of the grossest error. This is to hold forth error embodied. If true to the truth, we shall be true to ourselves, and true to our God ; and we shall secure the favour of the Lord God Almighty. And under His protection we shall be safe amid the storms of human passions — safe should the earth be removed and cast hito the midst of the sea. If we honour the truth, should the day of trouble come, when we cry to Him, He shall assuredly prove our defence and our shield. As when He caused the mighty waves of the sea utterly to destroy the Spanish " invincible armada," at the cry of the saints of the British isles, so shall He always hear and be the deliverer of ±e faithful lovers of truth. But we confess to no small amount of dread on account of the encouragement given to the enemies of truth in this past highly favoured colony. Much is said and done fitted to excite alarm in the minds of every one who values the truth, and regards the favour of God more than the favour of all men. For years that church has had endowments to educate her priests. For some time political parties have vied with each other in granting favours to secure the political support of that church. And its wily leaders are ever on the alert to make the best bargain for the aggrandizement of their church. Everything must yield to this. But the parleying of statesmen did not suffice. Ministers of the everlasting gospel voluntarily come forward to commend that church. Verily the earth is going " a wondering after the Beast." The Rev. Dr. of one church declares in a fulsome oration to our provincial citizens, that " certainly no department of the Christian Church has in the person of its ecclesiastics, been more prominent and influential in enlightening the public mind and conciliating public opinion, with regard to the Union, than the Church of Rome." If this be true, it says little for the intelligence of the Protestant elergy, who were said to be so numerous in sustaining the same view : if true, it proves how much our civil rulers have done to frame a measure pleasing to the Romish dignitaries :* and if true, how much it may be designed to promote * Already we find that the Romish church is beginning to count the number of representatives they shall have in the New Dominion, and to conclude that thev shall have a majority. No wonder though their prelates favour the " new nationality." Let it be hoped that their people, having learned the benefit of freedom in Protestant communities, may learn wisdom to retain it, lest they have to fight for it as in the Italian kingdom. I# f the interests of that church. And well may the Protestants in these colonies tremble if the greatest light cast upon the broadest act of legislation in the past century, has been reflected by those who are the avowed enemies of the pure light of God's word, the most earnest patrons of ignorance and superstition, and the constant enemies of liberty. But what should distress us more is the fact of a minister of the Church of Scotland, pastor of one of our most enlightened congregations, appearing the applauder of the priests of that wicked system — saying that they had done so much good for Ireland, &c. Pray, in what dark and unknown cell has he got his information ! And moreover he gives forth to the world the astounding doctrine, that "certainly there was more living faith in the truth of Christianity, during the eighteenth century, at the Vatican, than at any of the head-quarters of Protestantism." What a libel on Protestantism ! "More living faith," he says, where the word of the living God is rejected, than among those who receive, love and embrace His word, as the sole rule of faith and practice. "More living faith" at the Vatican, the central seat of that abomination that maketh desolate, where one copy of the incoriuptible seed of God's word cannot be sold at the cost of life. The statement is so repulsive ^o the best feelings of every sound, enlightened Protestant, that we feel sorely hurt that it should find utterance with a minister of the Church of Scotland — the sworn opponent of that vile system. It would indicate more " consistency" first to go over t-^ Rome, — what a minister of our church had never hitherto done, — ere he uttered such repulsive sentiments. Surely the god of this world must be casting a terrible blight over the minds of men holding the divine oracles. In our own county, too, one. of the most Protestant, the most Presbyterian, containing more members of the Church of Scotland, and more solemnly pledged to the church standard, we find, and we are sad to have to relate it, popery receiving more countenance and promotion during the past three years, than during the past century. We find the priest of that idolatrous and corrupt church appointed commissioner of our Protestant schools, where he had neither teacher nor school. Also a son of the church appointed to the magistracy ; and the key* to our county town given to another, to the rejection of deserving Protestants, — (with more that might be specified.) And when this is done by elders solemnly pledged to •A « * The light-house at the entrance of the harbour. I ^ ' # 19 the confession of our faith, the tale becomes still more saddening. For they must be held responsible for these acts, unless they are to be regarded as mere nothings, submitting to the bidding of their masters. Against this private remonstrance was first given ; then by letter, showing that such could not be done without guilt, especially by any one pledging himself to the standard of our churcli. And when now it became optional with these elders, either to dispense with the popish priest or the minister of your church ; — the minister of the Church of Scotland was set aside, and the representative of the man of sin retained, and is retained. * Surely something dilTerent should be expected were there no principles at stake, by a minister of your church who has laboured unceasingly for fifteen years, spending and being spent, administering ordinances to more, and labouring more extensively, than any living minister of our church in our Province. Surely, as a mark of gratitude, any man, who had regarded the interests of the church rather than political interest, would have done otherwise. But when the honour of truth was involved ; when the true character of our church, when plighted vows, and the word of God was adduced in support of our position, there cannot be one, on knowing these facts, having one spark of the noble spirit of the founders of our church, — one spark of the spirit of the martyrs for the truth, — or one who has a true regard for solemn vows, but must feel his soul burning with righteous indignation at the preference given to the priest of that idolatrous church. And no one who has an enlightened knowledge of God's word, and the danger of embracing the promoters of that system, but must dread the displeasure of the righteous God. Just reflect soberly and earnestly on the matter. Become coadjutors with the promoters of popery in our midst, and how can you look on your confession but in the light of broken vows ! how can you regard your conduct but testifying, that all the fidelity and sufferings of the Protestant martyrs a sad mistake ! and you can no longer esteem yourselves of their most honorable line. Your future linea^^e and companions shall be those on whom the blood of the martyrs cries conti.mally for vengeance. Think of all this in the light of truth, and ask yourselves, for what do you make these most precious sacrifices. Think of the matter in the light of your future accountability, — think of * I have it on what I regard good authority, that an honourable meml)cr, son of a late elder of our church, rather than agree to further concessions to the Romish prelates, retired into private life. This shows a truly magnanimous spirit. r 20 your association with those of whom it may be said, as ot none else, " that they have taken from and added to the word of prophecy." — Rev. xxi. 18, 19. Give your support to what has been done in the past, and all your professed displeasure at the countenance given recently to popery in your town, will turn out sheer hypocrisy ; and the next step that may be anticipated, attempts to place the priests of Rome in your churches and pulpits. And apart from the guilt incurred, think, moreover, of what the effect of this promotion of the emissaries of that church shall have on nominal Protestants, and on the rising generation. If the priest be regarded as a suitable man to superintend our Protestant schools, and you allow yourselves to look at this act with favour, may he not be induced to open a nunnery, and may he not readily think that you regard him quite competent to take the entire control of your families education. Support such glaring acts in the Protestant community, and be warned, you and your posterity shall reap the bitter fruits. Let the members of the Church of Scotland, pledged to oppose popery, submit to all this arrogance heaped upon us in close succession, and no one need hope to escape the righteous judgment of Almighty God With all this in view, we feel constrained solemnly to put it to your consciences, are men, who have so glaringly promoted popery at our very doors, entitled to the suffrages of the elders and members of the Church of Scotland, of any who adhere to the Westminster Confession — of any who revere the word of God .-* Nor does their claim to your support seem any stronger should^ they appear under the shield of the editor of a semipopish paper, who dared to misrepresent and villify, the minister of your church, who came forward to assert her Protestant character, and to warn those who disregarded their solemn obligations. Now, dear Friends, do consider, — if it be right to warn against the encroachments of popery, if it be right to obey the behests of the repeated acts of our highest chiu*ch court : if it be right to warn against violating solemn vows, and slighting the admonitions of God's word, — admitting this, you must admit, that it is our high duty to warn you, lest you become partakers in other men's sins. Be not partakers of the accumulating, and aggravated sins of other men. Give your aid to the promoters of the man of sin, and you shall stand forth to all Christendom as slighting your vows, and you shall have to look back with deep chagrin and regret : do this, and you shall practically Scly that you disregard the character of your ehurch, and you bury her honour in the dust — to reap the bitter fruits. T ai That there is danger in becoming partakers in other men's sins, the word of God and his providential dealings bear united testimony. The scoffer at God's word and ways, may deride these lessons, but they cannot ward off his righteous judgments. Disregard God's providential visitations, and the threatenings and promises of his word become meaningless. Only the student of His word observe and take warning. To adduce one lesson, and one quite in point, standing out as a manifest beacon to us at the present time. About 27 years ago, a Rev. minister of your church, one of the most talented, learned, and kind-hearted, that came to our colony, laid aside the sacred office, which he had been pledged to magnify \ and sought the political suffrages of those to whom he had formerly ministered in holy things. Many good men felt that the step he had taken was very sinful. Not a few, however, amid the unholy fire of political strife, were led contrary to their convictions, to sustain him in this act. They were led to go contrary to the light that was in them, and become partakers in the sin. Mark what followed. Reflect how soon the watch-towers of our Zion were made desolate, and continued in this condition longer than any other large body in Christendom. Many of her once best friends became her keen opponents. We would solemnly warn you lest you bring similar visitations on yourselves, on your posterity and on your country. Think not that these notes of warning to avoid complicity with others while encouraging the mystery of iniquity, arises from any hastily formed opinions. It is far otherwise. * — Trained from youth to dread the Antichrist, and while carefully studying her history being saddened with the long tale of her bloody persecutions, and shocked with the vows of their prelates binding them to the persecution of Protestants, — which is still carried on to the letter (for example Father Chiniquy, Gavazi and a host of others,) where they can exercise their power, and being moreover fully persuaded that the Lord God Almighty with whom the nations of the earth are as nothing, hath declared that he shall visit that church with terrible vengeance, that He shall destroy her, and make all who become sharers in her sins, partakers of her plagues, — surely, in the possession of these facts, it would indicate great cowardice and fearful guilt, not to give forth the clearest possible lessons of warning. And most assuredly it shall one day prove the most glaring madness in any one to attempt to sustain that system, which the Omnipotent God hath sealed for ruin. As well * See our preface to a compendium of Church History written at the close of our college course ; our letters to the Governor of P. E. L, &c. 32 attempt to roll back the ocean from our shores, or drive the sun frou. his orbit, or the I*^ternal Ciod from his lofty throne, as try to defend and uphold that church regarding which Hie Lord Jesus hath declared froi.i heaven : }lcr sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remembered her iniqnities. Re^vard her even as she rewarded yon, and double acconiing to her ivorks. In the cup which she hath filled, fill unto her double. Then shall her plagues come in one day, death and mourning and famine, and she shall be utterly destroyed ivith fire, for strong is the Lord (lod, ivho j?idgest her* Hoiv wise then to give hetd to the divine command. Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues. Nor is it a new thing, to use our humble efforts to resist the arrogant aggressions of that church. It may be allowable to adduce only one instance. Kight years ago, on a neighbouring isle, when the Roimish authorities and their hired accomplices would exclude the liible from our public schools, it was our privilege to lead on hundreds, who advanced twenty or thirty miles to protect these noble political legislators, who stood forth to assert the rightful supremacy of God's Word ; and these, leal-hearted Protestants of Belfast, arrived just in time to prevent blood-shed and death : — arrived when their champions for the right of the Bible, were just about to be cast down by a rabid mob of priestly inspired haters of the divine oracles. — And while they, at the peril of their lives, went nobly to the defence of these legislators, a devout few were engaged, with eyes bathed in tears and with earnest hearts, supplicating the aid of that God, who can save by few as well as by many. — And the Lord heard us, inspiring the few with daring courage, and casting terror into the hearts of four or five times the number, and thus secured peace and success. Should occasion require we would deem it our duty again to stand forth similarly in defence of the defenders of truth. But God forbid, that in like circumstances, we i-hould have to stand surrounded by those who stand forth in support of the promoters of the Romish priests, rather than the ministers of our church, or of any Piotestant church. Were this our unfortunate position, should Noan, Job, and Daniel cry in the hour of distress for deliverance and protection, they could avail nothing in behalf of the betrayers of the interests of truth. Well aware that to advance the most truthful scriptural warnings in the present crisis of excited feelings, when all the old unholy war cries are sedulously trumpeted forth, may seem * " the fall of Antichrist, whose overthrow is represented by inspiration as an event the most splendid and happy." — Robert Hall. 23 somewhat hazardous. But it is not done without the firmest conviction that it is a responsible duty we owe to the God of truth, who is able, and shall one day turn the hearts of nations in a day. Well meaning friends have tendered their counsel to keep quiet, as we would value our interests and safety. And can it be supposed that the condition of our highly favoured colony has come to this most alarming pass, that ministers and elders of our church, may with impunity, — may with favour, laud and promote the emissaries of idolatrous, persecuting Rome ; and a minister of the Church of Scotland cannot, without peril, contend f of th'^ faith once delivered to the saints, and warn those very persons that are solemnly bound to maintain the truth, — without being imperilled. Can this be possible ! Has "the churcn of our fathers;" in her representatives in this colony, arrived at this pitiable condition .' If so, speak no more of "the church of your fathers," but with shame and confusion of face. If so, you may well fear and tremble. And why this desertion of old principles and the old paths } Forbid that any should be so mean hearted, as to sell his birth-right for a mess of pottage ; or betray, Judas like, truth and truth's interest for proffered gold. It is not without counting the cost that we would thus warn every man, woman and child. If I forget thee, O Jerusaleniy let my right hand forget her cunning; If J do not remember thee, let my tangiie cleave to the roof of my mouth ; if I prefer not jFerusalem above my chief Joy. Let us strive above all things to know the value of truth — and with the noble spirits of all times, we shall much rather be driven to foreign shores — much rather be tossed on the blue waves of the ocean, — yea, much rather have our grave with the fishes in the depths of the sea, — than prove recreant to truth, and fail to warn every man when God and duty calls. And should the worst human ills follow, we must console ourselves with the sublime consideration, that the great Captain of salvation stood .^rmly against the errors of rulers in church and state, although He knew all the while that this led to Calvary and to the cross. And seeking to follow Him, though at a remote distance, we may well rejoice, if we can hold out with somewhat of His spirit, and thus in due time receive from Him the great recompense He hath to bestow. Again we would beseech, and in God's own words command you, " Buy the truth and sell it not." Be faithful to the God of truth, and when the day of sore trial eomes, you may confidingly lean lipon His aid, and He will prove your shield and your defence. Amen. pv APPENDIX. "The Emancipation — improperly called, will, I suppose, be the death blow to the Protestant interests in Britain. The fall of Britain, as a Protestant state, will perhaps afford the true explanation of the slaying of the witnesses.' — Dr. Romeyn in 1808. And Dr. Bates says, in 1844, "what would Dr. Ronicyn say, were he now alive, when the Anglo-Catholic doctrines are making such rapid advances toward an absolute ascendency in the prelate establishment and its dependencies, — when English popery shall be prepared to co-operate with other popish powers, in a crusade again&. : true religion, — there is no longer any visible obstacle to prevent an assault upo.i the Church, at once more extensive and more violent than has been made for 300 years, and the slaying of the witnesses may be the result." " The endowment of the Roman Catholics in Ireland would be an act of deliberate and flagrant national iniquity, (writing about 23 years ago). It would be a further testimony of the Anti-Christian cljaracter of British policy — one additional proof that Britain continues to be one of the ten kingdoms that giveth their powei and strength unto the beast. If she will assume the ignpminious office of arraying the mother of harlots in \msx purple and scarlet colours, of decking hei with gold and precious stones, and pearls, and of replenishing the cup of her abominations and filthiness of her fornication, can any sound Protestant longer hesitate in regard to the Anti-Christian character of such a government." — Dr. Bates. " We have clear ground for believing that Babylon's ruin maketh haste, and the day of the Lord upon her is near, and that the instruments of His vengeance are making ready. The late visible growth of papacy in Britain and Ireland, and sc dark an hour upon the Reformed Church abroad, I think is a promisin<; evidence of the near approach of a farther stroke in that party (the church) ; for it is clear from God's word and God's dealings, that a storm is usually previous to some remarkable enlargement of the Church, &c." — R. Fleming. " In the last war of the beast against the witnesses, where shall the blow fall .' In what land are to be found the victims — the last victims to be offered upon the altar of the man of sin .-' There is one nation to which the eye is irresistibly turned. It is not a secret to the Christian world, in what country dwell the witnesses of our Redeemer, at the present time, in the greatest number, with the greatest zeal, intelligence, activity and usefulness . . . heavy are the tidings of the little book . . . shall our fathers, our friends, our brothers, in the faith of God's elect, be opposed and persecuted, and put to death, in the Britisn dominions ? The place is not absolutely pointed out in prophecy. We cannot be certain until the event declares itself. The British empire is within the bounds of the symbolical earth. She is i^t present the principal support of the old Anti-Christian svstem of Europe . . should that woe be permitted in the providence of God, to break over the cliffs of Albion, the war of the beast against the witnesses must be matter of history. What is to prevent such a catastrophe f Britain first in the crime, because sinning against the clearest light and the greatest mercy, deserves the scourge." — Dr. McLeod of New York, 35 yeafs ago : a most valuable little work on the Prophecies of the Revelation. Afeain he says, after showing from prophecy " that the man of sin retains power until 1866," he adds, "Thirty years in addition will bring a'.,out a general improvement among the nations of the world ; and forty-five years more, bringing us to the year 1941, will reveal le happy milleneum in its full light and glory, Satan shall not then have it in his power to disturb the repose of the saints ; to practice his temptations among the churches ; or to influence as the god of this world, the councils of civil rulers. The beneficient principles of Chris^ tianity shall then be universally known and received, and the world shall be made to acknowledge their happy influence over society." Blessed is he that waiteth and Cometh to the thousand three hundred and five-arid-thirty days. i' 932e U8I UC-NRLF $B 157 7ia OF THE UNIVERSITY THE ALLEGED VANDALISM AT lATFORD-ON-AVON By SIDNEY LEE Life Trustee of Shakespeare's Birthplace WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS " The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them " WESTMINSTER :hibald constable & co ltd 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS 1 WILLIS VICKERY THE ALLEGED VANDALISM AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.archive.org/details/allegedvandalismOOIeesrich THE ALLEGED VANDALISM AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON By SIDNEY LEE Life Trustee of Shakespeare's Birthplace WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS The earth hath bubbles, as the water has And these are of them " WESTMINSTER ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO Ltd 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS 1903 Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. TO MY FRIENDS IN AMERICA M551887 L Contents CHAPTER P\GE Preface ii I The Writer's Relations with Stratford . 21 II The Charges brought against the Trustees 23 III Henley Street and its History — the Renovated Birthplace .... IV The Cottages purchased by Mr. Carnegie V The Corporation and the Free Library VI The Choice of a Site . . . VII The History of the China Shop . VIII Conclusion 28 34 42 45 56 64 APPENDIX I The Birthplace Trustees . . . . -67 II The Library Committee's Report adopted by the Town Council on May 12, 1903 . . -74 III Report of Mr. Thackeray Turner, Secretary of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, to the Committee of that Society . . -76 List of Illustrations PAGE Henley Street, looking West . Frontispiece The Buildings in Henley Street involved in THE Discussion 25 Shakespeare's Birthplace with adjoining Building IN 1788 ........ 27 Shakespeare's Birthplace in 1806 . . . -31 Shakespeare's Birthplace in 1840 . . . -33 Shakespeare's. Birthplace as it is now, after the Restoration 35 The Four Cottages purchased by Mr. Carnegie . 37 The Corporation China Shop, the Two Cottages AND the Birthplace . . . . . 49 The Site of the Proposed Free Library . . 51 The Corporation China Shop 53 Design for the Stratford Free Public Library 55 Henley Street, looking East . . -57 IQ Pref^ ace This statement, a small part of which has already appeared in the newspapers, treats of the action that has been officially taken by the Trustees of Shakespeare's birthplace and by the Corporation of Stratford-on-Avon in regard to the disposition of certain buildings in Henley Street, which have been the subject of a long public controversy. It is common knowledge that that controversy was initiated in February by Miss Marie Corelli, who has resided in Stratford for the past three years, and that it has been maintained by her and her friends with spirited persistence up to the present time. It is with regret that I find myself in conflict with Miss Corelh. However mistaken I may deem most of her action in the present matter, I have no reason to disbelieve in her devotion to Stratford and to Shakespeare's memory. Two separate, but adjacent, portions of Henley Street are in question; one portion was lately assigned to the control of the Birthplace Trustees, II PREFACE the other portion has for centuries been the exclusive property of the Corporation. Each body exercises perfectly distinct functions and acts independently of the other. But their recent action has this much in common. Each body with a view to the public advantage, has resolved, on grounds which are sufficiently indicated in the following pages, to devote certain property at its disposal to one or other of two branches of the public service. It should be understood, however, that these two branches — respectively, the better protection of Shakespeare's Birthplace from fire and the provision of the town of Stratford with a free public library— are separate and distinct. At the beginning of this year both the Birthplace Trustees and the Corporation had it in contemplation to demolish some houses in Henley Street, and to devote their sites to public uses. To this course of action Miss Corelli published objections. At the outset no exception could be taken to her strictures, apart from the circumstance that they misapprehended the general wish of the inhabitants of Stratford, and confused together the two objects and the two authorities which were involved in the discussion. Doubt seems to me justifiable as to whether any genuine literary, historical or archaeological interests were imperilled by the procedure contemplated by either of the two Stratford authorities concerned. But both Trustees and Corporation postponed final 12 PREFACE action, in order to give critics of their proposals every opportunity of examining the position of affairs. A prolonged series of protests against the proposals of the two bodies followed Miss Corelli's first interposition. Into many of these a heat was imported which appeared to be out of keeping with the issues at stake, and all misconceived in much the same way the crucial features of the situation, and the respective responsibilities of Trustees and Corporation. But it is not the early criticism of the Stratford authorities that calls at this distance of time for detailed notice. On quite another footing stand the more recent denunciations. These denunciations are subsequent to the time when the authorities had arrived at and had announced the wise and considerate policy which was to govern their final action. The authorities publicly adopted all such views of their advisers as rested on sound and accurate information. Yet that circumstance was ignored, and the campaign was continued with greater bitterness and more obvious inaccuracy than in its early stages. On May 12, at a meeting of the Council of the Corporation — (the proceedings were fully reported) — it was clearly shown that scrupulous care was being taken to respect reasonable literary, historic, and archaeological sentiment. 13 PREFACE The grave misapprehensions which had infected nearly the whole of the irresponsible censures that had appeared in the press, were at this meeting authoritatively exposed. Nevertheless, the original misstatements and misrepresentations were not suffered by their authors to perish. They were quickly repeated with increased vehemence. On May 17, five days after the Council's unanswerable refutation, Miss Corelli, in a speech addressed to a meeting of the O.P. Club in London, sought to give to the old misconceptions a new lease of life. An article in the June number of the New Liberal Review ^eiiiiiledi ''The Beatitudes of Mr. Carnegie," pursued the like path. Such procedure has naturally engendered in that large section of the public which is without opportunity of independent investigation the utmost confusion of thought. That confusion can only be dissipated if the full history of the controversy be brought to public notice. With what recklessness the war has been waged by irresponsible critics during the past few weeks may be inferred from the fact that on May 25 a writ was served upon the Birthplace Trustees. They were vaguely charged with various offences against the Act of Parliament by which they were incorporated in 1891. The Attorney-General, *' at and by the relation of Charles John Williams (Member of the Council of the British Archaeological Association), and 14 PREFACE Allen Sculthorpe Walker (Correspondent of the British Archaeological Association)/' issued against the Trustees as defendants a claim for — *' (i) an injunction to restrain the Defendants from a continuance or repetition of the demolition of buildings under their authority and control and from erecting or permitting the erection of buildings contrary to the provisions of the Shakespeare's Birthplace Trust Act 1891. '' (2) Execution of the trusts under the aforesaid Statute. '' (3) Further and other relief." Of the two *' relators " or '' informers " I only know Mr. Walker as the author of letters in the newspapers which adversely criticized the action of the Stratford authorities. I do not remember to have heard of Mr. Williams before. The hearing was appointed for Mr. Justice Buckley's Court. These gentlemen's allegations, so far as they were specified, were obviously misconceived. But it is impossible to examine them closely, because no statement of claim was ever filed. On June 26, thirty-two days after the writ was served, the ''relators'" solicitors sent to the Trustees' solicitors a notice of discontinuance of the action, at the same time forwarding a cheque for costs. The amount was deemed by the Trustees' solicitors inadequate ; and the costs are to be taxed in the usual way. 15 PREFACE It is difficult to explain the procedure of the *' relators," but it is sufficient for my present purpose to put the episode on record. Numerous illustrations of the more habitual controversial methods of the opponents of the Corporation and the Trustees figure in the notes to my statement ; in an appendix I have printed specimens of the aspersions that have been cast upon the Birthplace Trustees, a list of whose names I supply. I have also added the report of the Library Committee of the Corporation which was adopted by the Town Council on May 12, and the report on the Library site prepared by Mr. Thackeray Turner on behalf of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, dated June 2, 1903. My remarks on the restoration which Shakespeare's Birthplace and the adjoining building underwent after they became the property of the public in 1847, embody facts which are familiar to all acquainted with the history of Stratford. The murky cloud of misunderstanding, which in the popular imagination envelopes Henley Street, renders it desirable that the street's whole story should be precisely told. The slipshod handling of local history which characterizes most of the voluminous attacks on the local authorities seems calculated, unless it be squarely faced, to debase the intellectual currency of all interested in Stratford. The truth about 16 PREFACE Shakespeare's Birthplace does not prejudice the value of its associations. Many may learn with regret that the dormer windows and the porch were removed from the house in 1800 after they had so long resisted time's ravages, and that a brick front was erected in place of the ancient timber fa9ade of the adjoining building in 1840. But all may find comfort in the positive knowledge • that the interior has been wonderfully well preserved, and that the renovation was probably the most successful work of the kind ever accomplished. Care was taken to protect all that it was safe to leave standing, and to follow up accurately in the detail of restoration every surviving relic of the original structure. Although I believe that much weight attaches to the facts that I set forth, it is on the illustrations that I mainly rely for a full and lasting vindication of the action of the Trustees and the Corporation. The four views of the Birthplace in various stages of its history possess, I think, general interest. The earliest known representation of the house, which dates from 1788, and is reproduced at page 27, has the highest value. It seems to have been drawn by Rupert Green, son of Valentine Green, the eminent engraver/ ^ Green's sketch was engraved on copper-plate by Colonel Philip De la Motte. The original copper-plate is preserved in 17 B PREFACE The eight views of Henley Street, with representations of all the buildings involved in the present controversy, as well as of a design for the new Library (after a sketch by Mr. Edgar Flower)^, are extremely pertinent to the immediate issue. Henley Street, as it is, is faithfully portrayed in the frontispiece to this volume. It is this street which we are warned by an enthusiastic supporter of Miss Corelli is about to be profaned for the first time by the '' spirit of uncouth modernity." It is this street which according to another writer of like temper, has, until this agitation began, '*been held sacred and protected from the hand of the restorer and votary of so-called modern improvements." It was '* for the preservation " of this street ''from any modern intrusion" that Miss Corelli herself, at a meeting of the Selborne Society, held in London as recently as May 5, 1903, '* pleaded . . . not only for ourselves but for all the unborn generations, that they might wend their way as we did, down the historic thoroughfare the Birthplace Museum at Stratford-on-Avon. An early impression is in the British Museum. Colonel Philip De la Motte, who was an archaeologist of some repute, and an intimate friend of Captain Grose the antiquary, resided at Batsford, Gloucestershire, which lies about sixteen miles to the south of Stratford. ^ This sketch in its main outUnes agrees with the design prepared for the Library Committee by Mr. E. C. Holtom, architect of Stratford, in the autumn of 1902. Mr. Holtom's design was published as a supplement to the Stratford-onAvon Herald, on August 15, 1902. 18 PREFACE and find it spared from any touch of modernity'' It is charitable to assume that these writers are afflicted with no more serious disorder than defective vision. Descriptions, from fellow-pens, of Mr. Carnegie's cottages and of the Corporation china-shop, which are all frequently depicted in this volume, seem to bear witness to equally distorted eyesight. It is my hope that these pictorial illustrations may serve to restore to normal vigour all visual power that the heat of controversy has impaired. S. L. July 8. *^* The views of the Library site are reproduced here by permission of Mr. E. Anthony Tyler, of Stratford-on-Avon, who is owner of the copyright. 19 The Alleged Vandalism at Stratford-onAvon I The Writer's Relations with Stratford-on-Avon At the beginning of this year I was elected a Trustee of Shakespeare's Birthplace, an honour which I highly appreciated. My interest in Stratford is of old standing. The first book that I published — now near two decades ago — dealt with the town's early history and associations. More recent Shakespearean researches have intensified my regard for the place and its literary traditions. It was in a spirit of loyalty to those traditions that I accepted the office of Trustee, and I hope to fulfil my responsibilities in the like temper. Within a few days of my election as Trustee of the Birthplace, I had to leave England to fulfil a series of long-standing engagements in America, whence I am just returned. Rumours reached me in America that my fellow-Trustees proposed to remove or alter various buildings adjoining Shakespeare's Birthplace, and that public opinion 21 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM was, on literary and artistic grounds, strongly excited by this course of action. As soon as I arrived home, I made careful inquiry into the origin of these rumours. I learned that for some months past the Trustees had been constant objects of denunciation by persons who, from various points of view, claimed interest in the affairs of Stratford. After due investigation of the circumstances, I have now assured myself that the public has been misled on almost all the essential points. Spasmodic endeavours have been made to remove the misconceptions from the public mind. But they persist in many quarters. I believe it to be to the public advantage, and in the interests of truth, to set forth clearly the full facts of the case. The public may then be in a position to form a judgment on the subject which shall be final. But it should be understood that I take this step on my sole personal responsibility. 22 II Charges Brought Against the Trustees Put briefly, the charges alleged against the Trustees were two. Firstly, it was stated that they were wantonly bent on destroying the historic aspect of Henley Street, in which Shakespeare's Birthplace stands, by arranging for the demolition of houses of historic interest, which had lately come into their possession, in the immediate neighbourhood of the Birthplace. Secondly, the Trustees were accused of conspiring with the Corporation of Stratford-on-Avon to apply to the purposes of a Free Public Library another building of ancient date, which was situated in the same street, in close proximity to the Birthplace. The Trustees' action was described as *' iconoclastic " and *' barbarous," as a '' serious piece of vandalisnl " involving '' desecration " and '' spoliation " of historic edifices. It was made a further ground of objection, that the contemplated changes owed their origin to the intervention of Mr. Andrew Carnegie. That gentleman had not only purchased the 23 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM houses adjoining the Birthplace, for presentation to the Trustees, but had also undertaken the expense of providing Stratford with a Public Library. It would bean impertinence to dwell on this part of the theme. No right-minded person can fail to resent the introduction of Mr. Carnegie's name into the controversy in other than appreciative terms. Mr. Carnegie's action was taken in characteristically generous response to applications which reached him from the town. He attached no conditions to his gifts, which were manifestly designed to serve the interests of Stratford and its literary associations. Two separate issues have been raised in the strife, and have not been kept adequately distinct. The Trustees of the Birthplace, as constituted by the Act of Parliament of 1891, form a body that is quite independent of the Corporation of Stratford. The Act gives the Corporation a large representation on the Board of Trustees, but each body has its own statutory functions. Yet the Trustees have been constantly denounced for action, wholly outside their province, which was taken by the Corporation independently of them. In regard to the present issues, the Trustees are solely concerned with the fate of the cottages in immediate proximity to the Birthplace garden, which were purchased by Mr. Carnegie for presentation to them. The second issue touches the 24 u a a = y. .2 2 9. O II > -c 5^ « as Z S a b« THE ALLEGED VANDALISM fate of another building, which, although it adjoins this newly acquired property of the Trustees, belongs to the Corporation and has, in the exercise of that body's exclusive discretion, been appropriated by it to the projected Free Library. But I wish to cover the whole field of the discussion, and therefore am prepared to deal with the Corporation's action in regard to the Library, at the same time as I draw attention to the misunderstanding which lays such action at the Trustees' door. 26 O 3 U 3 a.5 "-a ll o V u a -.52 c« II « o «o Ill Henley Street and its History — The Renovated Birthplace Some knowledge of the past history and present condition of Henley Street, in which stand Shakespeare's Birthplace and all the buildings involved in the dispute, is essential to a just view of the situation. The Trustees are charged by Miss Corelli with neglecting to preserve ** the present irregular beauty of historic Henley Street." As recently as last month she wrote that *' if the proposed alterations are carried out, not a scrap of the original side of Henley Street as thousands of pilgrims have known and seen it will remain. '* One critic described the street as "a thing of peculiar value " which '* once changed . . . will be lost for ever." " Let Shakespeare's Street alone ! " cried another. ** Leave the sacred side of Henley Street uncontaminated by modern bricks and mortar ! " These adjurations may be admirable in sentiment. But the remorseless hand of time robbed them of practical significance or of relevance to 28 HISTORY OF HENLEY STREET the present issue, more than a hundred years ago. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief. Henley Street is undoubtedly one of the oldest in the town. Its records date from the Middle Ages. But no part of Stratford underwent more frequent and more complete renovation between the date of Shakespeare's death and the end of the last century. Few Elizabethan or Jacobean features are discernible in the earliest extant sketch of the street, the water-colour drawing (now hanging in the Birthplace Museum) which Mrs. Edward Fordham Flower executed in 1835. Such few Elizabethan or Jacobean features as are visible there have long since vanished. As the little Elizabethan or Jacobean houses of timber and rough-cast fell in the course of ages into decay, they were from time to time replaced by new structures, usually wholly of brick. More than sixty houses form the street. The owners (of all but two or three) were private persons in humble circumstances, who naturally carried out the needful renovations with a sole regard to economy, and with no consciousness of sentimental considerations. As a result, the street, with the exception of one short strip, has long been lined by low, featureless brick-fronted tenements, ranging in date through all the decades of the nineteenth century. 29 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM One large section, on the side of the street almost directly opposite to Shakespeare's Birthplace, is barely four years old. Its architecture is of obtrusively suburban type. In some instances, when the buildings fell to ruin and reconstruction became inevitable, the interior timber supports were retained in order to save expense, and relics of ancient workmanship of no very romantic character were by economic accident and by no archaeological design incorporated in the reconstructed edifices. But, even here, new flat brick fronts, fashioned entirely of modern material, invariably displaced the old timber facades with their overhanging storeys. It is common knowledge that Shakespeare's Birthplace, with the adjoining house, which was also his father's property, is now distinguished among other things from the rest of Henley Street, by enjoying permanent legal protection from the casual vicissitudes of reparation to which its neighbours have always been and will, except in special conditions, always be liable. But Shakespeare's Birthplace has enjoyed its immunity from structural disturbance only since 1847. The structure had suffered experiences very like those of its neighbours before it was purchased for the public in that year. Some thirty years earlier half of it was furnished with a brand new brick front and the timber facade concealed and damaged. Happily the 30 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM timberwork of the interior was well preserved. But the present exterior of the Birthplace buildings is the outcome of a thorough-going, if scholarly, reconstruction, which conformed to a sketch made in 1788. In order to isoltae the renovated premises, houses on each side of it, despite the fact that they were in part of seventeenth century construction, each with an ascertainable history, were demolished at the date of the restoration. Their sites were designedly left vacant. However necessary such " spoliation '' was, it deliberately added some fifty years ago one more— and a by no means unimportant — element of divergence between the aspect of the Birthplace and street in the sixteenth century and that which it bore in the nineteenth. Consequently " the irregular beauty of historic Henley Street " is, as far as the present condition of the street is concerned, the '^very coinage of the brain." The modest elevation of most of the modern, or comparatively modern, buildings of which the street now consists, is in harmony with the general proportions of the roadway and of the renovated Birthplace. It is desirable that, in any further rebuilding of the thoroughfare, the present elevation should be respected. But whatever happen now, Henley Street can never regain its pristine form or feature. 32 M "1 IV The Cottages Purchased by Mr. Carnegie According to an editorial statement in the Birmingham Gazette of May 9, the true question at issue in this controversy is *' whether our most precious national memorial [i.e., Shakespeare's Birthplace] shall suffer irreparable injury " at the hands of its legal guardians. It would be difficult to misrepresent the question more completely. The present position of affairs, as far as the Birthplace Trustees are concerned, is due to a fire which in 1896 completely destroyed two shops in Henley Street, six doors off the little garden on the east side of the Birthplace. The accident brought home to the Trustees the desirability of isolating the Birthplace more effectually than before from neighbouring premises. To secure this object, it was necessary to acquire the cottages in Henley Street which abutted on the narrow gardens of the Birthplace. It was desirable either to demolish these and to extend the garden over their vacant sites, or to free them 34 y^ r-, o I < o a i THE ALLEGED VANDALISM of danger of fire by withholding them from domestic or mercantile occupation. With the same object it was essential to remove, or at any rate withhold from further domestic occupation, a modern cottage with a modern-antique exterior in the Birthplace garden on the east side which was built for the custodian's residence at the time of the public purchase in 1847/ Other provision for housing the custodian was therefore needful. Some doubt was justifiable as to whether the terms or financial position of the Trust allowed the Trustees to apply their funds to all these purposes. But last year Mr. Carnegie relieved the Trustees of their main difiiculty on this score by purchasing, for presentation to them, a row of four cottages on the east side, where the risk of fire was chiefly imminent.^ The purchase of these cottages was only carried through at the expenditure of much time and money. Mr. Carnegie's intervention was indeed ^ The modern-antique messuage or dwelling-house occupied by the custodian, with an adjoining stable forming part of the dwelling house, is enumerated among the Trustees' properties, which the Act of 1891 directs them to maintain " in fit and proper order." The Trustees consequently finally decided to withhold the custodian's house from domestic occupation rather than remove it. ^ At the same time Mr. Carnegie reserved to the Corporation the right of appropriating to its own purposes a portion of the site of these four cottages, and he left the definition of the precise extent of the site, which was to be thus appropriated, to mutual arrangement between the Trustees and the Corporation. 36 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM j peculiarly opportune on more grounds than were foreseen. The owner of the three cottages farthest from the Birthplace had been a refreshI ment caterer on a modest scale. It now proved that she intended to convert her three tenements into a single restaurant or tea-shop of an orthodox modern pattern. It was only on payment of a very large sum (;^2,ooo) that she relinquished her resolve of establishing a restaurant on what (she argued) was, from its proximity to the Birthplace, with its annual army of visitors, the best site for such a purpose in the town. Thus by a happy coincidence Mr. Carnegie's purchase protected the Birthplace, not only from peril of fire but from peril of proximity to a most incongruous innovation.^ No conspicuous historic nor archaeological interest attached to any of the four houses. The two farthest removed from the Birthplace (on whose site once stood a single timbered and ^ On November 17, 1902, Mr. Carnegie wrote to the late Sir Arthur Hodgson, K.C.M.G., then Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Trustees., stating how fortunate he would esteem himself if the Trustees would accept his purchase from him — " to be added and preserved as part of the Birthplace property." Mr. Carnegie continued : " Deeds satisfactory to you will be duly executed by me. I purchased the houses and ground expressly to make this gift." The Executive Committee of the Trustees at their meeting of December 3, 1902, unanimously passed a resolution of thanks to Mr. Carnegie " for his most generous offer." Deeds making the Trustees absolute and unconditional owners have since been executed. 38 MR. CARNEGIE'S COTTAGES thatched cottage) were Uttle better than hovels ; they had been crudely built of cheap modern brick within living memory, were innocent of all architectural features, and were at the back in. ruinous condition. These two tenements have been recently demolished, and the site is to be converted into a garden. The other two cottages, nearest the Birthplace, boast a more reputable record. In Shakespeare's day they formed one domicile which was occupied by a blacksmith called Richard Hornebye. The premises were early divided into two dwellings. In 1620 one of these was bought by Thomas Nash, who six years later married Shakespeare's granddaughter, Elizabeth Hall. But the Shakespearean connexions of the premises are of the slenderest. Shakespeare's granddaughter is not known to have been associated with the house. Her husband never occupied it, and at his death it passed to a cousin, Edward Nash, whose descendants owned it till 1709. Shakespeare's granddaughter survived her husband, and succeeded to some of his property, but this Henley Street tenement was at no time in her possession.^ After its subdivision into two tenements, the building does not seem to have undergone further radical change until 1760. Thenceforth renovation was frequent. About 1810 the old timber ^ Cf. Nash's will in Halliwell's New Place (1864), pp. 117 seq; 39 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM front with an overhanging storey was removed, and a new flat brick front with projecting windows on the ground floor was set up in its stead. Despite other repairs, of later date, the ancient timber of the side-walls, the timber beams of the roof, and an open fireplace with ingle-nook and chimney-corner seats were suffered to survive/ So long as the houses were tenanted, these features, which may date from the sixteenth century, were largely concealed by modern plaster, whitewash, and wall paper. Their presence was verified by experimental scraping after the residents had left the premises during the past few weeks. A correspondent of the Birmingham Daily Post first described those relics of the original building in his newspaper on May 9, 1903. He seemed somewhat to overestimate their value. But a thorough survey led the Trustees to the conclusion that the old work inside these cottages ^ Mrs. Alice Meynell, who joined in the outcry against the Trustees, described these cottages in a letter to the Academy of March 7, as " two gabled and timbered houses of which the age is disputed, but the proportions and appropriateness are obviously right." Another like misrepresentation, even more typical of the public criticism which has been recently in circulation, figured in the Sunday Sun of April 26, where the writer declared these " two quaint cottages " to be " of ancient though rich Elizabethan design." In view of Mrs. Meynell's misconception of the aspect of the buildings, it is no matter for surprise that she should add: — " Their place is to be taken by a new Free Library, to be built by the munificence of Mr. Carnegie." No such destination of this property was at any time contemplated. 40 MR. CARNEGIE'S COTTAGES rendered their preservation desirable. The expert advice of Mr. J. A. Cossins, the architect, who represents at Birmingham the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, showed that it would be easy to renew the ancient shape of the interior. The harmless nineteenthcentury brick facade has neither architectural nor archaeological value, but I believe that the Trustees propose to leave it standing for the present. Whatever the extent of the renovation, the two cottages will henceforth be employed solely for the purposes of the Birthplace Trust. Neither fire nor artificial light will be permitted in them. The Custodian's house, which stands in their western vicinity, will be vacated and will remain untenanted, while the garden formed of the unoccupied land, whence the two adjacent hovels have been removed, will now bound the cottages on their eastern side. Thus the object of isolating the Birthplace, which the purchase of the cottages was intended by Mr. Carnegie to secure, will be fully attained. At the same time, the Trust and the Public will greatly benefit by the extra room-space which the conservation of the two cottages places at the disposal of the Trustees. The Trust has long been in want of convenient board-room, secretarial offices and muniment room, and to almost all those purposes the new property can readily be adapted. 41 V The Corporation and the Free Library I NOW turn to the action of the Corporation in the matter of the Free Library. Here, too, I find that the censorious clamour rests on everything except accurate knowledge. The need or desire of a Public Library in Stratford has been impugned. We are told that there are enough libraries there already, and that, finally, if a Hbrary is to be '' imposed " on the town at all, it is the height of impropriety to set it up in Henley Street. Undoubtedly there are in the town two good Shakespearean collections of books, each devoted to a particular department of the subject ; one of these special collections, dealing with the biography of the poet, is in the Birthplace Museum ; the other, dealing with his works, is in the Shakespeare Memorial Library. But the existence of these collections — admirable as they are in their own way — has little bearing on the present question. These Shakespearean collections have nothing in common with a library destined to 42 THE FREE LIBRARY serve the general purposes of the Stratford pubhc. At present the numerous readers and students among the rank and file of the Stratford townsfolk are without free access to any general literature apart from Shakespeare — to works of reference, to standard treatises of science or art, to newspapers and periodicals. The Corporation's critics are in error in imagining that the townsfolk cherish doubts as to the advantages that they or their numerous summer-visitors are likely to derive from a Free Library. The Public Library system may be open to abuse in practice, but no sensible native of Stratford has been found to deny that its principle is sound and one capable of useful application to his own town. Mr. Carnegie's gift did not originate the Library movement there. A dozen years ago endeavours to establish a Free Public Library were initiated, and, although those endeavours progressed slowly, they never wholly ceased. Last year, before Mr. Carnegie's gift was in question, it was understood at Stratford that Miss Corelli herself, who now attacks both Trustees and Corporation on the ground that the town '' has never sought a Free Library at all," was generously considering a proposal to provide a site for a Free Library or Reading Room, in furtherance of the townsfolk's wishes. The still vacant plot of land in Henley Street which the fire of 1896 had cleared, was widely discussed as a suitable 43 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM location. Although it was only six doors off the Birthplace, its appropriation to the purposes of a Free Library or Reading Room was, before this controversy arose, believed in Stratford to have the approval of Miss Corelli herself/ This scheme of devoting to the public purpose of a Library the only vacant site in Henley Street is now in course of fulfilment by the joint action of Mr. Carnegie and the Corporation. ^ Mr. Fred Winter, an active citizen of Stratford and a zealous supporter of the Free Library movement, wrote a letter, which was published in the StratfordonAvon Herald on June 12, to the effect that " before any mention was made of the proposed gift of a Free Library to Stratford-on-Avon by Mr. Carnegie," he was asked to obtain for Miss Corelli a price for this piece of land (then belonging to Mr. John Wright) in Henley Street, " for the purpose of a Free Library," and that the negotiation for the purchase fell through because Miss Corelli deemed the price asked by the owner to be " too high." I am informed by Miss CorelH's solicitors that Mr. Winter's statements are untrue, and that she has issued writs for libel against him and the proprietor of the Stratford-on-Avon Herald. Both gentlemen are defending the action. 44 VI The Choice of a Site Irresponsible gossip reiterated throughout the controversy that Mr. Carnegie, with a view to associating his name with Shakespeare's, proposed to erect in proximity to Shakespeare's Birthplace an ostentatious building of palatial splendour. Mr. Carnegie has, indeed, been charged with a fixed resolution to '' overshadow, dwarf and hide " Shakespeare's Birthplace by erecting in its near neighbourhood an '' assertive " edifice, which should commemorate his own name. In an article entitled '' The Body Snatchers," in the April number of the monthly review called King and Country^ Miss Corelli wrote that Mr. Carnegie's Library was likely to '' proudly overshadow Shakespeare's Birthplace as a sign-manual of what the over-officiousness of moneyed men can do to dwarf the abode of genius." '' There is only one Henley Street," wrote Lady CoHn ^. Campbell to the Birmingham Daily Post in ''an ■ admirable letter," according to Miss Corelli, which fc'' puts the case in a nutshell," — '' There is only one THE ALLEGED VANDALISM Henley Street and there is not room in Henley Street for both Shakespeare and Carnegie. Which is to wipe out the other ?" ^ With a moderation, be it said, that is quite praiseworthy in view of the strained language that seems inevitable in Miss Corelli's adherents, the editor of The Sphere lent his support to the like theory on May i6 : '' Something ' magnificent,' suggestive of this generosity of an American millionaire, will arise by the side of Shakespeare's House to the entire dwarfing of the older structure." The whole suggestion is a travesty of the truth. ^ ^ Miss Corelli's " The Body Snatchers " in the April-June number of King and Country, p. 401. To the same categoryshould be assigned a singular telegram " from 200 Shakespearean students," of which the Mayor announced the receipt at the close of the meeting of the Council on May 12. These " students " " viewed," they informed the Mayor, " with the utmost pain and indignation the proposals to erect a Public Free Library in Henley Street, so long sacred to the immortal memory of Shakespeare only. They warmly protested against it, and were resolved if such an act be perpetrated, to hand down to execration the names of those who perpetrated and consented to the same, united with the name of Francis Gastrell, the destroyer of the Shakespeare mulberry tree." These protesters showed moderation in describing Francis Gastrell, who also demolished Shakespeare's house. New Place, as merely " the destroyer of the Shakespeare mulberry tree." * A writer, seeking to explain Miss Corelli's position, in the Sunday Sun of April 26 is responsible for the following : "As I understand it, the local authorities are willing that Mr. Carnegie should present their township with a new and up-to-date palace of literature, with all the latest architectural nicknacks and the finest things in Pittsburg fixings ; the said palace to he 46 THE LIBRARY SITE The only part that Mr. Carnegie has played in the business has been to promise payment for the library building, whatever the form the Corporation allotted to it, and on whatever site they placed it. He has expressed the wish that his name should not be bestowed on the building and that it should be merely called "The Stratford Free Public Library." reared in close proximity to Shakespeare' s Birthplace — adjoining the garden thereof, on a site now held by two quaint cottages of ancient though rich Elizabethan design." The passage needs no comment, but I italicize one clause which unconcernedly assigns a wrong site to the Library, and misconceives the object with which Mr. Carnegie purchased the cottages. Another writer in The New Liberal Review for June goes a step further in a like tirade which, by its references to Mr. Carnegie, constitutes a curious specimen of taste. The writer asserts : ''In this one instance [of his gift of a library to Stratford-on-Avon] Mr. Carnegie has broken his rule of not providing the site. Why does he do so in this instance and in no other, save for the notion which is being held on to by the local authorities with truly pig-headed obstinacy, in the face of the protest of every member of the archaeological society and of every one else with anything like a grain of intelligence, that it would be a neat and good thing to have Carnegie in the same street with Shakespeare. No doubt Mr. Carnegie loves Stratford-on-Avon. So do I — and there are others. But it is overdoing affection if one indulges in the rib-breaking embrace of the bear. Mr. Carnegie has purchased the site of the cottages adjoining the birthplace of Shakespeare. Let him see to it that better use is made of the site than the immodest projection of his own name with that of Shakespeare. Even if the old cottages ought to be pulled down (rather a sudden discovery), there is no argument in this for the erection of a Norman Shaw faked Tudor structure." It will be seen that this writer is as misinformed as most of his fellows in regard to the actual site of the Hbrary. 47 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM The circumstances of the case excluded from the Corporation's consideration an elaborate architectural design. The cost of maintaining the new Library was to fall on the rates,. and the rateable value of a little town like Stratford was quite small. Consequently the authorities were debarred by their legal obligations from ever contemplating the erection of any but a building of modest dimensions which would alone be appropriate to the size' and rateable capacity of the place. ^ The selection of the Henley Street site was induced by like imperative practical considerations, and, despite all the bold assertions to the contrary, no rational archaeological interests are jeopardized thereby. The Corporation already owned, in Henley Street, premises which, though they were long occupied as a china-shop, could be turned to municipal uses with the smallest possible burden to the ratepayers. This arrangement was at once sanctioned by the Local Government Board. On one side, these premises were bounded by the row of cottages which have been transferred by Mr. Carnegie to the Birthplace Trustees. On the other side stood the vacant land of which the ^ The original design prepared by the local architect, Mr. Holtom, and published in the Sir atford-onAvon Herald on August 15, 1902, is the best refutation of the baseless suggestions of " millionaire magnificence." It has been adapted by Mr. Edgar Flower in the sketch reproduced on page 55, and is in its main aspects to be carried out. 48 T \m^^ r "' " \ T i\m^^ Tpl v^-i V \\_ \ " ^m 2 J^iSiu m, THE ALLEGED VANDALISM appropriation to the purpose of a Library was already in contemplation. To unite that, still vacant plot with the adjacent site of the Corporation's premises was eminently desirable on grounds alike economical and archaeological. Firstly, the union secured for the projected Library a modest area of convenient extent. Secondly, it has to be borne in mind that the vacant plot of land adjoined on its further limit the Municipal Technical School, and that, by setting up the Library in proximity to the School, the Corporation would be able to practise the wise economy of placing both institutions under a single administration. Thirdly (and this point is not the least important of the three), it was well known that, were the vacant land not soon secured for public purposes, it was destined for a new shop of unattractive modern type. Mr. Edgar Flower, whose liberality and zeal for the welfare of Stratford are as conspicuous as his artistic skill and knowledge, rendered the town the best of services, from every point of view, by purchasing the vacant land at the price asked by its owner and by handing it over to the Corporation to form part of the site of the new Library. Of all the censure passed on the Corporation or Trustees in the course of the controversy, probably the least justifiable is the adverse criticism levelled at the Corporation on account of the 50 &5 4) < -5 K ft THE ALLEGED VANDALISM policy that it adopted in regard to its Henley Street premises (now used as a china-shop). All manner of erroneous information has been put into circulation on the subject. The present condition and the historical associations of the building have been incessantly misrepresented. It has been christened quite erroneously " the house of Shakespeare's cousin/' and that misnomer has even defaced a resolution passed by the British Archaeological Association. The National Trust for Places of Historic and Natural Beauty offered early in May to purchase the building of the Corporation, in order to preserve it intact, and ^' to make of it a special feature of Stratfordon-Avon." In spite of the obvious signs of modern reparation which it presented, the Secretary of the National Trust described the shop as ''an almost unique dwelling-house of the Shakespearean period , and well worth maintaining in its unmodernized condition,'' The circumstance that the Corporation had for several months been patiently taking the best advice, with a view to preserving in the building whatever was of ancient value, was as completely ignored by the National Trust when offering to buy the building, which was not for sale, as by other antiquarian societies, which at the same time petitioned the Corporation to delay all action on every manner of irrelevant ground. It was stated over and over again that the 52 ^i. 'Y»,-;; ^ THE ALLEGED VANDALISM Corporation had obstinately resolved to destroy the china-shop root and branch, after their adoption of a report to the exactly opposite effect.^ ^ On May 17, five days after the Town Council had publicly adopted the report of the Library Committee recommending the preservation of all sound portions of the house, and the restoration of the rest, Miss Corelli remarked to the O.P. Club : " We ask for this house ; we who love Shakespeare want it cared for and kept intact on behalf of the nation, and this is what we are denied by the Executive Committee of the very Trustees who profess to guard what they are deliberately prepared to destroy." The confusion here is very great. The Executive Committee of the Birthplace Trustees had nothing to do with the fate of the Corporation's china-shop. The Library Committee of the Corporation which recommended the Corporation to keep the shop standing, and the Corporation which adopted that recommendation, are compelled by statute law to " guard " the ratepayers' interests. They are in no position to " profess to guard " anything else. This report is printed in full in Appendix IL 54 m 5 « W 4,73 M 0) in 2 Is VII The History of the China-Shop The authentic history of the premises is extant in the Corporation archives. At the time of Shakespeare's birth they were leased to one Gilbert Bradley, who was soon succeeded by one William Wilson. The Thomas Greene, to whom the lease passed in 1609, ^^^ there described as a yeoman of the neighbouring village of Bishopton. He is, on no showing, identifiable with the better known Thomas Greene, who was the first Town Clerk of Stratford, and is often called, on purely conjectural grounds, Shakespeare's cousin ; in any case the relationship must have been very distant. Miss Corelli and her friends never tire of writing and speaking of the china-shop as " the house of Shakespeare's cousin," in spite of clear evidence to the contrary. ** We are pleading," she told the O.P. Club on May 17, '' for the quaint little half-timbered (sic) dwelling of one Thomas Greene, once Town Clerk of Stratford, and cousin to Shakespeare himself." The Town 56 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM Clerk lived, not in Henley Street, but in the very differently situated thoroughfare of Old Town, sometimes called in the records " Old Stratford." In his official capacity, as his extant autograph notes attest, he negotiated the leasing-out of the Henley Street shop to his namesake '' of Bishopton,"^ and was always careful in his entries in the Corporation minute books to distinguish between himself and the resident in Henley Street, who bore his own appellation, w^henever it was needful to mention either. By 1781 the house had fallen into ruinous condition, and shortly afterwards a new brick front replaced the old timber fagade, which was entirely demolished. But time's ravages were not stayed, and in 1831 the practical re-building of the whole edifice was urgently recommended. That suggestion was imperfectly acted upon, and by 1855 the premises became uninhabitable. For twenty months they were unoccupied ; they were then let to the father of the present occupiers ^ The Henley Street Thomas Greene was sworn a burgess of Stratford on September i, 1615, and the entry to that effect in the minutes of the Town Council or " Common hall " is in the handwriting of the Town Clerk, Thomas Greene, who was careful to interlineate the distinguishing words " of Henley Street " after his namesake's appellation. Again, in the minutes of the Council meeting held on January 30, 1617-8, a statement respecting the payment by Thomas Greene of £10 for a new lease of his house in Henley Street is followed by a reference to "the house that Mr. Thomas Greene dwelled in in Old Stratford. " 58 THE CHINA-SHOP on condition that he put them in '* tenantable repair." This was done as crudely and as cheaply as possible ; but it is difficult to understand how, in presence of the fact that the house had parted with its timber front at the close of the eighteenth century, and had undergone frequent alterations since, the Secretary of the National Trust can justify his description of it seven weeks ago as '' an almost unique dwelling-house of the Shakespearean period in unmodernized condition." Archaeological enthusiasm here seems to have signally overstepped the bounds of accuracy. The house is now in a very bad state. The greater part of the parapet of the modern brick front has fallen down. In the ordinary course of events the Corporation would be legally obliged to provide for the house's entire reconstruction. The assignment of the premises to a public object renders possible renovation which shall be in fuller harmony with archaeological sentiment of the practicable kind. Mr. Cossins, the architect, who was at first of opinion that the building was too dilapidated to make its preservation feasible, subsequently advised the Corporation that the premises might after thorough reparation be adapted to the purposes of a library without detriment to any structural work of really ancient origin that could be safely retained. The Corporation accepted Mr. Cossins' final advice without any demur. At the same time it ^was 59 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM decided that the new modest building to be erected as part of the hbrary on the adjacent vacant land should strictly conform in style and elevation with the renovated premises. Mr. Cossins' advice has now received the full approval of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings. At the invitation of the Library Committee of the Corporation, Mr. Thackeray Turner, the Secretary of the Society, in company with another member, inspected the china-shop premises on May 29. They have since reported that '' the premises are well worthy of preservation from their interest and age," and that *' undoubtedly such buildings would be more likely to be permanently preserved if regularly used and occupied, which seems to have been only partially the case for some years." The report calls attention to the fact that '' the modern brick front ... is not structurally in a sound condition, and it cannot be, because the houses being of timber, and the front of brick, there is no satisfactory bond between them." It is recommended that the whole of the ancient work which remains inside the house should be retained unaltered, but that a new timber front should be constructed. Useful suggestions follow as to the materials that it would be desirable to employ and the general principles of simplicity that should be respected.^ The * For the full report see Appendix III. 60 THE CHINA-SHOP Society's report is in full accord with all that the Stratford authorities have done or sought to do. In view of this report of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, it is interesting to recall the action taken by the British Archaeological Association. On May 20 the Association passed a resolution in which the china-shop was once more called, without qualification, *' the house of Shakespeare's cousin " ; and it was peremptorily declared, in direct conflict with the report of the Society for Protecting Ancient Buildings, that '' the removal of the brick front ought not to be carried out." On June 24 Mr. George Patrick, A.R.I.B.A., the honorary secretary of the Archaeological Association, addressed to his Chairman and Council an official report, made on their instructions, in regard to the whole question. Again the china-shop was *' stated to have been the house of Shakespeare's cousin," and the further intelligence was offered that ^^ at a later date it was believed to have been occupied by Mr. Collins, the lawyer who drew up Shakespeare's will." The second statement finds no more support than the first in the complete set of legal papers affecting the house which are preserved in the Corporation archives. Nevertheless, Mr. Patrick proceeded to give expression to his fear that '' the proposed alterations to the interior of the house " would destroy ** its 61 THE ALLEGED VANDALISM identity as the house occupied by a relative of Shakespeare." ^ ^ The whole of Mr. Patrick's report is curiously inconclusive. He describes the side of the house that is now exposed by the demolitions of the adjoining cottages as " in a very dilapidated condition, requiring very careful reparation, and that without further delay. Some of the timbers are quite decayed, and others show the action of fire at some period. This house appears to have had, originally, an overhanging front, as the recent demolition alluded to has exposed the angle storey post and curved bracket of massive timber. Careful reparation of this side with old sound timber, of which, I am informed, there is plenty available from other demolished houses in the town, and the filling in of the interspaces with good ' rough-cast,' is what I would venture to recommend for its preservation, together with careful pointing of the exposed brickwork." Mr. Patrick repeats the previously expressed view of the Association that " it would be a mistake to remove the red brick front or to carry out the proposed alterations (of Mr. Cossins), as the house does not appear to me to be suitable to the purposes of a library. . . , Carefully repaired, as above suggested, the house will last for many years, and will be available for other public purposes." Here Mr. Patrick appears to labour under the delusion that the Corporation enjoys immunity from the ordinary legal obligation of keeping its corporate property in thorough and permanent repair, and that it is at liberty to devote at will propertv in a dilapidated or semi-repaired state to undefined public purposes which serve no known pubhc requirements. The main effect of the Corporation's retention of the damaged fa9ade, which has neither historic nor archaeological interest, would be, apart from questions affecting the Corporation's obligations in regard to the due maintenance of its property, to bolster up for the few years longer that the front might still survive the spurious claim to real antiquity which has been urged in its behalf. It is right to add that Mr. Patrick, in conclusion, admits " the difficulty of the position in which the Corporation of Stratford-on-Avon, the Birthplace Trustees and the Library Committee are placed." 62 THE CHINA-SHOP Moreover, in a letter addressed to the Birmingham Gazette on July 4 Mr. Patrick said : " As to the communications that have passed between the local authorities, Mr. A. Flower and myself, on behalf of my Council, I can only say we have been treated with the greatest courtesy, and I trust our views have been expressed with like consideration." 03 VIII Conclusion Thus it will be recognized that, so far from destroying '' historic Henley Street/' the Trustees and the Corporation, through the generous aid of Mr. Carnegie, are doing precisely the opposite. They are permanently preserving all structural work in houses under their control there, which has proved on accurate examination to possess any kind of archaeological interest. The process of modernizing Henley Street has in past years progressed very far, and of late, but for Mr. Carnegie's interposition, threatened a conspicuous advance. That process has now, at an interesting point in the thoroughfare, been arrested, and some careful and scholarly restoration has been made practicable. Of the aspersions that have been cast, in the present controversy, on members of the Flower family, which through three generations has devoted itself to the true interests of Stratford and its associations, it need only be said that they injure the repute of no one except that of 64 i CONCLUSION their author. Sane pubHc criticism of the work of the Trustees and of the Corporation is, in view of the national interest attaching to their property, to be welcomed. Advice tendered by responsible persons has never, I believe, failed to receive most respectful attention. Every reasonable facility for inspecting what is done, or is proposed to be done, at Stratford is invariably afforded visitors by those in authority. Differences on aesthetic questions are at times inevitable, and admit of temperate discussion. Loud-mouthed censure, based on imperfect or erroneous information, is always to be deprecated and never deserves anything but reprobation. 65 APPENDIX I The Birthplace Trustees. The Birthplace Trust was created on January i, 1848, for the purpose of preserving, on behalf of the public, the house at Strat ford-onA von known as Shakespeare's Birthplace, with the adjoining building, which had been in the occupation of Shakespeare's father. Other property of Shakespearean interest was subsequently conveyed to, or acquired by, the Trustees in accordance with the terms of the Trust. In order that '* this national Trust " should be established on a more permanent and efficient basis — '' with due and proper provisions for carrying the same into effect" — an Act of Parliament was passed in 1 89 1 ''to incorporate the Trustees and Guardians of Shakespeare's Birthplace, and to vest in them certain lands and other property in Stratfordupon-Avon, including the property known as Shakespeare's Birthplace ; and to provide for the maintenance in connexion therewith of a Library and Museum ; and for other purposes." It is this Act of 1891 which now governs the proceedings of the Birthplace Trustees, In accordance with the provisions of the Act, 67 APPENDIX the following persons now form the duly constituted body of Trustees — EX-OFFICIO TRUSTEES The Lord Lieutenant of the County : The Lord Leigh. The High Steward of the Borough : The Mayor of the Borough : George Martin Bird, Esq. * The Aldermen of the Borough : W. G. Colbourne,* R. Latimer Greene,* R. Hawkes, A. E. Park, W. Pearce, J. Smallwood. The Justices of the Peace for the Borough : R. M. Bird, Esq.,* G. Boyden, Esq., Jas. Cox, Esq.,* R, Latimer Greene, Esq., R. Hawkes, Esq., W. Hutchings, Esq., J.J. Nason, Esq., M.B.,* J. Smallwood, Esq. The Town Clerk of the Borough : Robert Lunn, Esq. The Vicar of the Parish : The Rev. G. Arbuthnot, M.A. * The Head Master of the Grammar School : The Rev. CoRNWELL Robertson, M.A. LIFE TRUSTEES Ernest Edward Baker, Esq., F.S.A. The Rev. Canon Evans, M.A. Edgar Flower, Esq., J. P.* Archibald Dennis Flower, Esq., C.C* The Lord Ronald Sutherland Gower, F.S.A. Frederick Haines, Esq., F.S.A. Sir Henry Irving. Sidney Lee, Esq., Litt.D. * Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., K.C.V.O. The Earl of Warwick, D.L., J. P. In Miss Corelli's article called '* The Body Snatchers," which appeared in the AprilJune * Members of the Executive Committee. 68 THE BIRTHPLACE TRUSTEES number of King and Country^ she printed with various comments the names of these Trustees. The Ex-ofhcio members she described as " all excellent, well meaning and worthy men, but none of them even profess to be deeply skilled in matters literary or artistic. . . . Only three may presumably claim to have received a thorough literary education/' viz., the Lord Lieutenant, the Vicar, and the Schoolmaster. Of the Life Trustees, she declared that all excepting two were inactive, but that these two, viz., *' Edgar Flower, brewer ; and Archibald Dennis Flower, his son, likewise brewer . . . may be plainly said to ' manage ' the whole thing." On May 5, in a speech which was addressed to the Selborne Society at its annual meeting (held in London under the chairmanship of Lord Avebury, president of the Society), and was fully reported in Nature Notes : The Selborne Society's Magazine for June, Miss Corelli said, *'The existing Act of Parliament with respect to the Birthplace was not sufficiently protective; it vested all business in the hands of certain persons acting as Trustees on behalf of the nation." In ignorance of the mode of co-optative election provided by the Act, which imposes no manner of pecuniary qualification. Miss Corelli proceeded to state : '' Every person being the donor of £100 could be a Trustee. "^ After deploring ^ The clause dealing with the election of Life Trustees (Exofficio succeed in virtue of their office) runs thus : — " Whenever, by death, resignation or otherwise, any one or 69 APPENDIX the devotion of any part of Henle}^ Street to the purposes of a Library, and announcing her fear that Mr. Carnegie was unhkely to suggest any change of site, *' as he had said in a letter to her that he had full faith in the local authorities," Miss Corelli remarked, *' The only local authority he [i.e. Mr. Carnegie] knew or whom he had met or conversed with was Mr. Flower, the brewer. He [i.e. Mr. Carnegie] said in a most vague way that the Shakespeare Society at the Birthplace had thanked him for his gift." Mr. Carnegie, by a slip of the pen, evidently wrote *' Shakespeare Society " for '' Shakespeare Trustees." Nevertheless, Miss Corelli continued thus : '' That just showed the muddle the poor man was in, for there was no Shakespeare Society at the Birthplace. Mr. Flower, the brewer, dominated all the rest. Was it right that such a possession should be governed by one or two local men, who were neither students nor lovers of Shakespeare, but merely interested in trade ? " On May 17 Miss Corelli addressed a crowded meeting of the O.P. Club in London on the subject more of the Life Trustees by this Act appointed shall cease to act, then and in every such case the Trustees shall, at a meeting convened, with notice of the object, by a circular in writing, addressed to every Trustee by the Secretary (if any) of the Trustees, or if there shall be no Secretary, then by the Town Clerk of the Borough of Stratford-upon-Avon, not less than two nor more than three weeks before the day of such meeting, and at which meeting not less than five Trustees shall be present, proceed to appoint a Trustee or Trustees to fill the vacancy so created." 70 THE BIRTHPLACE TRUSTEES of '* the demolition of certain portions of Shakespeare's birth street." Of the Birthplace Trust she spoke as follows (I quote a shorthand writer's notes) : '' Ladies and Gentlemen, — We have heard of big Trusts : Trusts that spring up in a night like mushrooms to wither in the morning ; Trusts that are spun like gossamer and are dispersed with the first adverse wind ; Trusts like unsuspected quicksands absorbing men's lives and fortunes into oblivion ; Trusts that may be, for all we know, as solid as the rocks. But the most curious Trust anybody ever heard of is surely the Shakespeare's Birthplace Trust, which by Act of Parliament in 1891 is stated to be on behalf of the nation, but which has now become entirely involved in a Brewery Company. I do not profess to explain how this quick change Trust has been effected, but that it is so can be affirmed beyond a doubt. Nothing can be suggested, resolved or carried out at Shakespeare's Birthplace without the authority of the principals of the Brewery. All the custodians, committees or libraries are under the same government absolutely. The nation is represented there, not in a form of consideration and respect for the poetic term, but for the prosaic beer barrel. The Chairman of the Executive Committee (Edgar Flower) is a brewer ; his son, Archibald Flower, who is alone responsible for forcing Mr. Carnegie into this matter against all the appeals and protests of learned and literary Societies, is likewise a brewer. These are the principals of the Trust on behalf of the nation. 71 APPENDIX There are other Trustees who are not brewers, but learned and distinguished men ; but these seldom, I may almost say never, attend the meetings. The Executive Committee nominate a few ornamental persons whose names are a guarantee of a description, but whose daily-life business makes their attendance well-nigh impossible. The rest are selected among purely local individuals.'' These quotations more especially illustrate the habitual tone of the criticism to which two of the Birthplace Trustees, Mr. Edgar Flower and Mr. A. D. Flower, have been subjected throughout the controversy. The remarks are not in themselves worthy of notice. True lovers of Strat ford-onA von, alike in this country and in America, are familiar with the benefits that the Flower family has continually conferred on the town through fully seventy years. The late Mr. Edward Fordham Flower, Mr. Edgar Flower's father, was one of four local residents whose purchase on their own responsibility in 1847 of Shakespeare's Birthplace enabled the building to be permanently preserved as a national trust. Regard for the welfare of Stratford and for the memory of Shakespeare has always governed the family's public and private life. An anonymous writer in the Birmingham Gazette on June 30, writing over the signature '* Fiat Lux," stated in reply to such portion of my statement as was published in that newspaper the day before : '* Mr. Sidney Lee, among other diffuse matter, speaks of ' aspersions cast on the 72 THE BIRTHPLACE TRUSTEES Flower family/ No one is aware that any aspersions have been cast on any particular 'family.'" The extracts that I print above will scarcely permit ''Fiat Lux" to deny again that aspersions — and aspersions, indeed, of singular unseemliness — have been more than once cast upon the Flower family in this controversy. I happily find myself in full accord with the further observation of "Fiat Lux" that "this'is a matter in which all personalities should be sunk in consideration of a national feeling." 73 APPENDIX II The Library Committee's Report adopted by the Town Council, on May 12, 1903 The Committee, which consisted of the Mayor (Councillor Bird), Alderman Smallwood, Councillors Flower and Greenway, reported as follows — " The Committee has held many meetings since its appointment. Mr. E. G. Holtom was instructed to prepare plans, and Mr. Jethro A. Cossins (who represents the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings) was called in to assist, and particularly to advise as to the treatment of the old house used as a china shop. *' At first Mr. Cossins reported that, owing to the very small remains of the old building, the dilapidated condition of the property, and the difficulty of adapting it, he advised its entire removal ; but since then he has twice very carefully examined the building and gone closely into the matter with Mr. Holtom, and is now of opinion that a part of the old timber framed structure may be preserved. ** The precise form the elevation will assume will depend largely upon what is revealed by puUing down the modern brick front. It is feared that it will be found that all the framing has been destroyed, but the position and propor74 REPORT ADOPTED BY TOWN COUNCIL tions of the old gable will be apparent, and possibly some further small parts may remain. " Mr. Cossins fully approves of the revised design which Mr. Holtom has made. ** The building on the ground between the china shop and the Technical School will be in the same style as the old house, while the modern warehouse at the back will be replaced by a readingroom in character with the other buildings. ** Arrangements having been made for the accommodation elsewhere of Messrs. Birch as from March 25, the work might have been commenced on that date, but as the outside public had shown great interest in this matter, it was thought well to wait until after the Shakespeare Festival in order that visitors to the town might have a good opportunity of seeing the site before it was touched. '' Many persons, who did not know or remember the actual surroundings, had been led to believe that some beautiful old cottages were to be replaced by a huge red-brick modern structure. '' It is satisfactory to note that, after inspection, the general verdict has been favourable to the suggestions of the Committee, and it is particularly gratifying to know that Mr. Sidney Colvin, who wrote a severe letter of condemnation to the Times, and whose opinion is highly esteemed, has now inspected the site and entirely changed his views. '* There is now nothing to prevent the work being carried out." is APPENDIX III Report of Mr. Thackeray Turner, Secretary of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, and another Member of that Society, to the Committee of that Society *' To the Committee of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings. *' We have to report that on Friday, May 29, we visited the buildings in Henley Street, Stratford-on-Avon, as to which there has been considerable controversy in the Press. *' The building to which our attention was directed is one which is occupied as a china shop, on the same side of the street as the Birthplace of Shakespeare. It is for the most part (and originally was wholly) of half-timber and plaster work, without very decided architectural style, buc most probably belonging to the sixteenth century. It appears to have consisted of two distinct houses, built at different times, but with no long interval between, and has suffered some alteration and addition in the course of centuries, the most important of which is a brick face, which completely replaced the street fronts of the two houses, and reduced them to one uniformly flat^surface. 76 MR. TURNER'S REPORT On the west side, however, two modern cottages have lately been removed, and it can be seen that the front of the upper storey of the house on that side hung over the lower by a foot or two, the oak bracket and post supporting it still remaining in position. In the upper room some of the floor boards of the portion that overhung have been taken up, and it can be seen that at the eastern end the beams have been supplemented so as to carry out the floor to meet the wall and make it lineable with the adjoining house, which it was not originally. '' On the other side of the china shop is a blank space a few yards wide (on which stood a modern house burnt down some years ago), and beyond it the new buildings of a Technical School, with an entrance from Henley Street. " It appears to us unfortunate that a new building so large and of such obtrusive architectural character should have been erected in an ancient part of Stratford, but it is there, and we understand that it is desirable that the proposed Public Library should adjoin it so as to be under one administrative staff. We also understand that it is proposed to utilize the old houses above described (known as the china shop) for the purpose of the Library, and to connect them by new work with the Technical School. '* We consider that the old houses (even apart from the great probability of their being a part of the street as it was in Shakespeare's time) were well worthy of careful preservation from their 77 APPENDIX intrinsic interest and age, and that undoubtedly such buildings would be more likely to be permanently preserved if regularly used and occupied, which seems to have been only partially the case for some years. It is certain, however, if the houses can no longer be retained for their original domestic use, that in adapting them to the purposes of a Library, the modern brick front must be so extensively altered that its present character would cease to exist. Moreover, it is not structurally in a sound condition, and it cannot be, because the houses being of timber, and the front of brick, there is no satisfactory bond between them. ^' This brings us to the conclusion that if the buildings are to be used for a Library, a new front must be erected, and we consider that the whole of the ancient work which remains can be, and ought to be, retained unaltered, literally ; and to do this it is desirable, if not essential, that the new front should be constructed of timber. ** In doing this we would urge that the purposes for which the building will have to be used should not be subordinated to any desire to * restore * the old front, that the doors and windows should be of the sizes and in the positions most suitable for convenient access and lighting ; that the aim should be primarily the upholding of the ancient work, and after that has been secured, the character of the new work should be dictated by the uses which it will have to fulfil, no attempt being made to follow the old work in design. " We advise that English oak should be used 78 J MR. TURNER'S REPORT as far as possible in bulk, unworked, that no oil or varnish should be applied to the oak, and that no mouldings, chamfers, or other ornamental features should be introduced. We suggest that the ground floor might be filled in between the structural posts, doors, windows, etc., with brick, and in order to avoid the ugly large modern bricks, old ones might be made use of. '' In order to retain all the old work, the upper storey of one house must necessarily overhang the lower, and its base line cease to coincide with that of the adjoining one. '* We would also suggest that plaster or roughcast might suitably be employed, blue lias lime being used as the cementing material. Cement should be avoided, for its undesirable quality for such purposes is exemplified in Shakespeare's Birthplace. (Signed) '' Oliver Baker. '' Thackeray Turner. ** June 2, 1903." 79 Butler & Tanner, The Sclwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. 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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. ata }iure, a J 2X 1 2 3 4 5 6 LECTUllE ON FREEDOM OF MINT), BY THE REVEREND HENRY WILKES, A.M., AND SPEECH OF HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF ELGIN & KINCARDINE, K.T., eiC, DELIVEKED BEFORE THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION MON AT THE OPENING q/ THE WINTER'S COURfl OF LECTUR^p OF TH.4^ INSTITUTION, NOV. 4 JWontrcal : PRINTED BY JAMES POTTS, HERALD OFFICE. 1848. r i' PREFACE. 1' On tlio occasion of the opening of tlio Winters Course of Lectures of the Mercantile Library Association, tlie Introductory Lecture was delivered by the Rev. Henry Wilkes., A.M., in the Assembly Room of Donegana's Hotel, to an audience of from seven to eight hundred persons. At the upper end of the room, a platform was erected, which was graced by His Excellency the Oovernor-General, Lady Alice Lambton, Hon. Colonel Bruce, Lord Mark Kerr, Major Campbell, John Young, Esq., II. E. Montgomcrie. Esq., and several other gentlemen, including the Directors of the Association. The Reverend Lecturer was supported by the President and Vice-President of the Institution. At the close of the Lecture, Ills Excellency rose, and, in a clear, distinct, and impressive manner, delivered a most eloquent Address. The Board of Directors of the Mercantile Library Association, actuated by a desire to perpetuate and increase the interest created by the delivery of this Lecture and Address, have decided on publishing them in their present form. They are confident that every one who had the pleasure of listening to tliese prelections, will desire to possess them in a form convenient for reference; and they believe that those who had not that privilege, will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity of perusing them. Of the Lecture itself, little needs to be said. The subject is a comprehensive and a \\\ pardon them if they take this opportunity of expressing their sense, not only of the lucid and masterly manner in whicli his subject was handled, but also of the exce(. 'ding delicacy and propriety of the reference to the presence of His Excellency, and the happy results which might be expected from the patronage of so distinguished a personage. His Excellency's Address contains much that is really instructive. The reader cannot fail to admire the elegance of diction, the soundness and poetic beauty of the ideas, and the fervid eloquence which characterize it. Montreal, November, 1848. T t ¥ Gentlemen, — An English classical poet hails the approach of the season upon which wo are entering, and of which your usual Eeries of public exercises gives us due notice, in an apostrophe as truthful as it is beautiful : ** O Winter, ruler of the inverted year, Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes fill'd, Thy breath conj^eal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fring'd with a beard made white with other snows Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urg'd by storms along its slippery way, — I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest. And dreaded as thou art." Is not the bonovolence large that can love anything like this? D(os not this friend of darkness restrict the journey of the great orb of day, and plunge us diurnally into gloom before our work is half done ? The writer replies in vindication : « but kindly stiil Compensating his loss with added hours Of social converse and instructive ease. And gathering, at short notice, in one group The family dispers'd, and fixing thought, Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares." For seven winters has the Mercantile Library Association done its utmost to realize in some good measure the conception of our poet. You have sought to improve these " added hours of social converse," by gathering, from time to time, into " one group " the more general family, in order to " fix the thought, dispersed by daylight and its cares." Having addressed you once or twice annually since your organization as a Society, it has been my privilege to ■ J 6 LECTtRK. mark your steady i)rofi;ress in all that should characterize u literary institution, and to observe that, in conjunction with your Sister Society, the Mechanics' Institute, you have acliievedthe creation, in this community, of a taste for exercises such as the present. Tlie time was, when it would have been imi)ract. 'cable to attract an audience of any extent, to listen to such prelections, uj)on philosophical and scientific subjects, as those which for several years you have provided. Whatever the Theatre mi!j;ht have done, the LectureUoom could not have drawn a nmltitude. Unless 1 mistake, however, the case is now so strikingly otherwise, that you have had to provide once and a<^ain a larger space, which has been speedily tilled. This result is matter of gratulation in every point of view. It induces the healthful exerci.ie of the intellect, and otters such inducement for its culture as greatly detracts from the otherwirsO povent influences that draw i!ito evil. It is fitted to niuke better merchants, better citizens, and better men. It is not for me to repeat now sentiments uttered five years since, on the occasion of your opening new rooms; but subsequent observation and refiectioi. have only seiTed to confirm the estimate then formed of the advantages of well-'Jondu(;ted Mercantile Library Associations. Assui'cdly you deserve well of the community. Therefore, if his Lordship will pardon the allusion, do we rejoice in the distinguished patronage and presence by which your first gathering for the present season is graced. It is truly an epoch in your history, — a point from which we hope you will start into greater success. The Representative of our beloved Queen doubtless regards with complacency your })ersevering eftbrts to promote self-improvement, and the well-being of the connnunity ; and the more so because they are the exertions of a succession of young men, the future merchar.ts of Canada. Delicacv forbids more than the expression of delight that a nobleman of such high character and attainments, and in a position so exalted, should in this truly simple and kind manner cast the weight of his influence into this good cause. You cannot fail to bo greatly encouraged in your laudable efl'orts, by this token of his Excellency's regard. IS'or will the example be without its effect ui)on that community to t I t LECTURE. t, + (I wliich you look for a moasuro of support. Hard as times uro, your I'ljiiuis will not bo di8rou;ardo mind is responsible onli/ to i^3 Maker and Supren; Ruler, it acknowledges no allegiance to merely fello mind — tO man it is not accountable. Responsibility of action extends into a wider sphere. We may b'c rightfully accountable to properly instituted human authority for our doings, but not for our thinking, that is independent. Our fellovvs cannot control it. The mind is beyond their reach, — nor have they the slightest right to interfere with its movements, except in the way of instruction and persuasion, which must necessarily recognise our personal freedom. This inherent liberty unfolds itself in our earliest mental efforts. The child thinks without restraint. He runs hither and thither in search of pleasurable sensations, the sources of which, ybr him, abound in every department of nature. He rapidly perceives, and coniparing his perceptions with one another, forms and treasures up ideas, which, although imperfect, are nevertheless there, for future correction and enlargement. In possession of a little stock constantly enlarging, the young mind, careers and gambols along with the joyousness of a perfect freedom. Many an imaginary paradise does he construct, with sunny skies and wandering rills, with verdant sljpes and rocky eminences, with grass and flowers, trees and fruits. 8 LECTURE. BOinotimcs half fancying thorn real, and at other times placing thorn among the oipwjtations of tho future. Active planning and srhoming suoeoods, aid then follow the (1•ii)p(»intnients of a more sober reality. Experience at lenttth instructs him that castle-building in the air lacks the essential feature of stability, an actual foundation ! liut amid all this wildnoss or sobriety of thinking, tho consciousness of coercion never ibr a moment intrudes itself. What son or daughter of man holds the check rein by which this thinking could be nistrained? Whose voice other than that of the Almighty, may pronounce the fiat " hitherto shalt tliou proceed, but no further ?" It i9 true that by judicious education you may direct these curreius of thought into chann )ls wherei:. profit and reputation may bo obtained, but education consists not in force applied to the mmd ; it rather leads than drives /—controlling what remains perfectly free, >>y the persuasive influence of motive. Should the educator deem punishment requisite, in onlcr to induce diligence in a prescribed course, yet this agency cannot atfect the freedom of tho mind ; it can only suggest a motive whereby it may be induced to exercise its liberty in one department rather than in another. Tho same is true of the full aged man. Tyranny may chain his body, and oppress his interests, and larcerato his feelings, but it cannot lay its iron grasp upon his soul,— she laughs the despot to scorn, and moves as she pleases. Persecution of opinion may force men into hypocrisy ; under its goading they may bo tempted to pretend to think under authoriiy, bat it is only pretence, for thought is not to be thus coerced. Amid the gloom of the latter part of the middle ages, Copernicus with conscious mental freedom examined the several theories of the universe, which had been propounded by ancient astronomers, and astonished at the complication of their systems, as well as at their discordance and want of symmetry, he set himself to frame out of them one tha could be established. He was an Eclectic in respect of the then state of science, and by independent thought and research, taking out of each system whatever was true, and rejecting whatever was false and complicated, he at length composed that admirable whole, which is now called after him, the « Copernican System," and which is, in reality, the true arrangement 1 '\ w mm LECTTTRE. 9 ^ of tho planetary economy, such as it has been established by evidence that can never be shaken. Had he slirunk from tho exercise of liis liberty of thought in deference to the sch oolmen and ecclesiastics of his age, others wouhl have subsequently discovered the truth, but his name would have had no place on the records of fame. Tiiis inherent freedom of mind asserted itself in most unpropitious circumstances in the case of Galileo. That polisiied, comprehei'«iive, large-minded, original Italia , lived in an age of mental oppression ; it being held as a crime to think in anywise ditferently from the ruling powers. But who of ihem could chain that soul ol eagleving ? " Galileo, ' says Professor Playfair, " is, in truth, one of those to wi.om hurian knowledge is u ' ier the greatest obligations. His discoveries in tho theory of motion, in the laws ()f tho descent of heavy bodies, and in tho motion of projectiles, laid tho foundation of all tho improvements which have since been made by tho application of mathematics to natural philosophy. If to this wo add tho invention of the telescope, the discoveries made by that instrument, the confirmations of tho Copernican System which these xiiscoveries atforded, and lastly, the wit and argument with which he combated, and exposed the prejudice j*nd presumption of the Schools, wo must admit that tho history of human knowledge contains few greater names than that of Galileo." But in combating that " prejudice and presumption " to which Professor Playfair alludes, Galileo came into conflict with those who sought to cui'b the freedom of thought, and for ever to stereotype the human mind. Copernicus was dying as tho sheets of his work were presented to him, so that he could not bo brought to trial for heresy. Galileo employed tho press again and again in putting forth his researches and discoveries, only however to draw down upon him tho indignation of the Holy office. The sentence of the Inquisition after the imprisonment and examination of the philosopher was that he must recant " for 1st, (I quote from tho sentence pronounced) The proposition that the sun is in the centre of the world (meaning the planetary system) and immoveable from its place, is absurd, philosophically false, and formally heretical, Docause it is expressly contrary to Holy Scripture. 2nd, The proposition that iho. Earth is not the cenii\" 10 LECTURE. trc of the World, nor immoveable, but that it moves, and also with a diurnal motion, is also absurd, philosophically false, and, theologically considered, at least erroneous in faith." lie was condemned to suffer imprisonment for an indefinite period ; and, as a salutary punishment, ho was ordained to recite once a week, for three years, seven penitential psalms. This latter part wc shall hope was not a heavy burthen, though we had rather do it voluntarily than by force. The aged philosopher having heard his sentence, was made to pronounce the abjuration dictated to him, " I abjure, curse, and detest the error and heresy of the motion of the Earth, &c., &c." Had they, then, enchained his soul ? Had Galileo lost his freedom of mind ? On the contrary, it is said, that after ])ronouncing the abjuration, and rising from his kneeling posture, amid the confusion of the moment, he indignantly stamped his foot and said, in an under tone, "It moves notwithstandinrj ." How incompetent the Inquisition or any other Tribunal to fetter the Imman soul ! They compelled him to utter a lalschocd, but they could not compel him to think one ; his mind they w^vc unable to coerce. * * This statement concerning Galileo has been honoured by a column and a half of strictu s in the "Melanp^es Keli;rieux" of the 21st instant, the purport oi .vhich is to deny the usual averment that tlie philosopher was brought before the Inquisition and subjected to punishment for his astronomical theories, and to maintain that bad theolo<-Y was the offence f(jr which he was tried. In other words, having" "been warned not to attempt to reconcile Scripture with the Copernican svsteni, he persisted contumaciously in such attempts, and was for tiiem brought up, gently dealt with, yet imprisoned and forcer' to recant. It is acknowledged that t'lere was used an upparent rigour for form's sake, and for the sake of example. In reply to this article with its citation of authorities, I have to state:— 1. That when the Lecture was written I ^\as perfectly aware of the attempts which had been made by Bergier and others to vindicate the Court of Home from the charge of prosecuting Galileo on account of his astronomical tlicorics as being contrary to received opinions, and to Holv Scripture. The whole matter is briefly, but satisfactorily discussed in the Encvdopxdia Briiannica, art. GalUfo. 2. That if for the soke of argument we were to admit the hypothesis of the "Melan-'es Religieux " and its cited authorities, the case would still illustrate the jxjsition taken in the Lecture, and come legitimately under the unsparing condenmal ion it contains of all persecution for opinions. To have punished Galileo for liis interpretation of Scripture, or for attempts to reconcile its narrative with his astronomical theories, would have Ijeen an outrage upon his . sential freedom of mind, and a wrong done to his inherent right to tliink for hunself. This is not the place to enter into controversy with the Church of Home \ipon the existence of an earthly tribunal which men's consciences are bound to recognize in matters of religious faitii, to which the article alluded to refers in its closing paragraph. It is enough to say that +he doctrine of this Lecture distinctly refuses to recognize any 4 LECTURE. 11 i^ It may bo asked at this point, "Is this freedom hiwlessncss ?" Is there no control, no rule for mind ? May it run riot and be rampant ? Do we remove it from the region of Law and of Government ? The reply is strongly negative. Such would not be freedom ! Law, properly considered, is the defence and exposition of liberty. This is seen in a well ordered Government ; for under such Government only is sucli tribunul, and that it.s author, whether vieniiiin}^ the principles of the Divine government, or considering the essential nature of the human mind, arrives at the conelusion that no such tribunal can ever be lawfulbj established. 3. That the hj'i)Othesis on this matter of the "Melanges Keligieux" and its cited authorities is not established. The attempts, which have been sufHciently able and ingenious, have proved abortive. " So far was Galileo from persisting in an attempt to reconcile the Bible with Copernicus, that he regarded this as a matter altogether indifferent and indeed beside the real question. 'I am inclined to believe,' says he in his letter to the Grand Duchess of Tuscany, ' that the intention of the Sacred Scriptures is to give mankind the information necessary for their salvation, and which, surpassing all human knf .vledge, can by no other means be accredited than by the mouth of the Holy Spirit. But I do not hold it necessary to believe that the same God who has endowed us with senses, with speech, and with intellect, intendeuslv addon that row proman unine shall ited that le Ruler, f action, me sense " laws of :p in our ice, con\ of asso3 for the 1 as that ;om our3n chancy of doited the ulations, jral code ness and I of the 1 cannot )verning He that ; and he ^" « He ce a city We may ose so to eschew lemands idid. He 1 for his nay realy. It is rer God such arLe mind, exercise dividual a moral under If ho might triumph over all rule, and move uncontrolled by moral influences acting as he liked, no one else could have liberty. So, if a man's fellows, free as they are, were not reduced to obligation and placed under law, they would exercise a license incompatible with his freedom. Let it ever be understood among first principles that the reign of law is not only perfectly compatible withfreedoniy but is in inct essential to its existence. Having asserted the inherent freedom of the mmd, and the absurdity of all attempts by force to interfere with it, wo may be asked, " Is it possible to enslave it ? Can it be brought into bondage ? Is it susceptible of enchainment ? May its liberty be laid prostrate, and be lost ? This inquiry must be answered in the affirmative, but it must be added that SELF is the only agent by whom, the evil can be wrought. It may be enslaved, but self must forge and rivet its chains. Its liberty may be laid prostrate and be lost, but only a suicidal hand can deal that blow, or effect that grievous ruin. And bj what instrumentality do men bring on themselves this catastrophe ? In what manner do they reach at length this fearful issue ? The reply is by vice. But in giving this answer the word is employed in a large and comprehensive sense, including mental viciousncss as well as physical, — a want of rectitude in the soul, as also a yielding to the tyranny of a sensual course. How often is the intellect enslaved by prejudice and bigotry ! The persecutors of Galileo put the fetters on their own souls which they could not rivet upon his. He demonstrated that the Earth moved round the Sun, and not the Sun round the Earth. Had their minds been actively free, the proofs which convinced him could not have failed to have pers> Jided them ; but they yielded to the influence of bigotry and prejudice,— they put a veil upon their intellectual eye, and then they could not sec. The minds of many are brought into bondage by the tyranny of fashion. They will not allow themselves to think except in accordance with the dictates of this fickle and often grotesque goddess. Trifling and foolish as she is, and withal not a whit more steady than the weathercock, she, nev ortheless, holds the many in a depressing slavery. New che throws around her bondmen and bondwomen the chains of caste, which have no regard to intellect, or B 14 LECTURE. culture, or worth, in tho separations they effect, but purely to ancestry or to possessions. The mental crouching, and fawning sycophancy perpetrated under tho despotism of this idol, are sad proofs that men may rob their own minds of the dignity and blessing of freedom. Respect for rank and station is one and a good thing, but a mental serfdom is another and very bad thing. The soul cannot flourish under such an incubus. It is not needful to illustrate the many grievous ways in which sensuality degrades and enslaves the soul. It is painful to reflect how low men may sink who give themselves up *"'to those hurtful lusts which drown them in destruction and perdition." They descend into the most abject and least hopeful state of slavery. And yet, all the while they are responsible for that perverted state of the aftections by which the healthful action of the mind is prevented. In view of all these qualifying considerations, we are entitled to plead for tho freedom of the mind. We may assert its claim to the highest liberty. And this is done for the purpose of earnestly insisting on the practical recognition of those rights which this inherent freedom imparts. Our design is less of a speculative than it is of a practical nature. There has always been a tendency to denounce men for an unpopular opinion. Let the free soul in its independent investigations come athwart the thinking of some old school,— let it propound new views, or new modifications of existing sentiments, or let it see what it deems a better way than that trodden by others, of reaching a common end, — and he will often find the consequences of his temerity the reverso of pleasant. It often happens that the loudest declaimers on the rights of man and on the value of freedom, are the least tolerant of opposing sentiments. The men who assume par excellence the title of " liberals," are often most wrathful with those whose free minds decline subscription to all their doctrines, and refuse to draw in their harness. Some of the Cantons of Switzerland present, at this moment, illustrations of this fact. The party in power, being in tho schools of politics denominated " radical," refuse to tolerate any dissent from the National Church, and persecute, imprison, and banish pastors and people who venture to hold private meetings for r t s f i r . LECTURE. 15 religious services. The contrary party have, perhaps, been the greatest as they have been the oldest sinners against this law of liberty, but it cannot bo doubted that there is a tendency in all parties and in all men « to cast out" those who refuse to think and act with them. Combined opinion and sentiment may mount the throne of tyranny. All despotisms are not in single hands. The multitude may cripple individual freedom. Impatient of contradiction and annoyed at opposition, the earnest crowd sometimes forget personal rights, and put down the man who has the courage and honesty to be singular. He is made the butt of ridicule, the finger of scorn is pointed at him, or he is indignantly denounced. Pilaws in his character are searched for or imagined, and his good name is destroyed. The scourge of unpopularity is laid heavily upon him, while he is literally gibbetted before the public eye for the simple crime of daring to think for himself and to avow his convictions. And all this is done in the sacred name of fre adorn, and professedly at her shrine ! Now we contend that this course is not only in itself an outrage and a wrong, but the event will shew that the sin is rctributively visited on the community in which it has existence. For it cripples and prevents mental progress. If you repress the movements, and put down even the erratic course of individual mind, a grievous mischief is inflicted on your generation. There is original greatness in all master spirits, but it will be found that the age in its circumstances and claims ordinarilydevelopes and brings into exercise their peculiar energy. Then the great mind avails himself of the occasion, and sways these circumstances for the achievement of some noble issue. No generation advances of itself. A tame monotony leaves the many what their fathers were. The army may be largo, \vg\\ appointed, and thoroughly drilled, but it Avill lie in the camp inert, until the genius and energy of the commander call it to action, and lead it on to victory. So it is in the history of truth and morals. Some restless soul denounces an unsound principle, or strikes out a vital truth ; at first it startles and perhaps offends, but ultimately it impresses and moves an entire people. Now, all intolerance of individual sentiment, out of the usual line of theory and in opposition to that of the multitude, is so far 16 LECTURE. to prevent the rising up of such men. Many of the great and good who have stirring and noble thoughts, shrink from the storm of obliquy and abuse, which their avowal would create, where the opinion of the many is a tyrant, and these thoughts are as a consequence utterly lost to their generation. * Besides this loss, it will be found that in these cirucmstances, the spirit of cnterprizo is repressed, and the people, hugging themselves in their superlative wisdom, and enwrapping themselves in a seven-fold robe of bigotry and prejudice, sublimely descend into a state as contemptible as it is inane. Look at those parts of Europe and Asia in which mental slavery is a characteristic of the people. What avails a fine climate, a fertile soil, mineral wealth, noble rivers, good harbours, in short, all natural advantages,— they have not the mind to use them, they have neither self-reliance nor independence of character, their souls are enthralled in a dreary serfdom, and they merely vegetate, where they ought to grow into dignity and importance. Anything, therefore, which tends to repress individual and then combined enterprize, ought to be eschewed by a community. The subject is of more than usual importance in the present day among ourselves, from the fact that we are in a transition state commercially, and our prosperity as a people depends chietly, under the blessing of the Almighty, on the practical wisdom, the spirit of enterprize and industry, and the vigour of self-reliance found in the midst of us. The free-trade policy of the Mother Country, of which we have not the slightest reason to complain, has cut us oflf from that profitable monopoly which heretofore we have enjoyed. Changes are therefore forced upon us, and those minds deserve well of the community that freely exercise their right of thought upon our condition, and looking to the right hand and to the left, devise a course of action. That there will be a difference of opinion on these matters, is not only to be expected, • The sentiments in this paragraph thus far, have already appeared throuffh the press in an address delivered before the Theologica. Society of Dartmouth College in 1847. But, in addition to the consideration that a man is entitled to quote from himselt, as that address was not published in Canada, I have not hesitated to insert them here T may take this opportunity uUn of statinir that the spirited lyrical effusion with which the lecture closes was given in the same address. That, however, is not luy own, for alas ! I am not a poet. ; LECTURE. 17 ; I but IB to be flosired. It is seldom that all the truth on a given point lies with one mind ; others, sometimes opponents, supply the needful supplementary view ; so that both sides are required, in order to bring out and establish v/hat is true and needful. Nor do the happiest suggestions always spring from persons in higher stations. Not unfrequently is there more original and vigorous thinking in the work-shop, than in the counting-house ; or at the desk of the merchant than in the hall of legislation. Let not that freedom of mind be repressed through the influence of an absurd pride of station. Give us healthy thoughts, no matter whence they come! Hail the path of promising enterprize and ettort, whoever shall mark it out ! Listen intelligently, and with befitting deference to wise counsels, by whomsoever uttered! In our circumstances there is speci?.! need of individual thinking, and of vigorous acting. Cities have often been built up by the happy suggestion of an ardent spirit. Those manufactures or branches of trade have been introduced by individual enterprize, which have proved sources of wealth and influence from generation to generation. We earnestly deprecate, therefore, all attempts to put down men who think differently from current trains of thought, and who dare to be singular. We equally deprecate the contemptuous question, " Who is he ? " before a suggestion can obtain a hearing. In discussions upon Navigation Laws and upon Free Trade, upon Protection and upon Tariff, upon the Feudal Tenure, and upon modes of taxation, let all personality be eschewed ; let us hear nothing of the station or the injltience of the man who says this or writes that, but let the simple question be. What is right ? What is truth ? What is the path which a sound, practical wisdom dictates ? We plead for an universal and most determined recognition of the freedom of mind, and of the right of freemen to express their thoughts. Tliis will be for the honour of the community, and its prosperity too ; it will allow scope for its thoughtful spirits, and wide space for its ardent ones to do their best for themselves and for their fellows. If it be inquired whether the control of law ought to regulate the freedom of expression, the reply is, of course, in the affirmative. Time does not now admit of much illustration of this point, but it may ri 11! 18 LECTURE. T be remarked, in general, that not only does the law of God regulate our language, condemning the evil and applauding the good, but there are other laws of which our fellows are the guardians and executive that rightfully regulate the exercise of this freedom. In this department also true liberty is defended and Erotected by law Whether it be well to bring men efore legal tribunals for sentiments which though generally injurious to Society have no personal reference, may admit of question and doubt ; some might think that action rather than e^ccpression were the true point from which punitive consequence should spring. But, however this may bo settled, a healthy public sentiment rightfully denounces and puts down by its inherent moral force those expressions of thought which violate public decency, and would obscenely intrude themselves into the domain of virtue. There is an obvious moral limit to liberty, passing which it loses its character, and becomes licentiousness. If, therefore, men were to rise up among us, or come on a mission to us, propounding " communist " sentiments, for example, whereby the sacred bands of marriage are rudely dissevered, and the domestic hearth is profaned, and the rights of property are trampled upon ; we would not imprison them or coerce them, or invest them with the importance of martyrs to their miseiable theories, but we would have a healthy public sentimcmt rise up in its dignity and calmly frown into banishment doctrines so pestiferous. When freedom of expression passes into licentiousness, and a man abuses his liberty in attacks upon the bulwarks of private and public virtue, it is only reasonable that " men shall clap their hands at him, and shall hiss him out of his place. "* On this matter we may not enlarge. The sentiments which I have sought to place before you may be summed up in a few verses of exquisite sweetness and beauty : " Free is the eagle's wing Cleavir'^ the sun's warm ray ; Free is the mountain spring As it rushes forth to-day. But freer far the mind, — Priceless its liberty ; No hand must dare to bind, God made it to be fkee ! • Job xxvi. 23. i I LECTURE. 19 i " You may chain the eagle's wing No more on clouds to soar : You may seal the mountain spring, That it leap to light no more. But the mind let none dare chain : Better it cease to be ! Born, not to serve, but reign : God made it to be free ! "Free is the mountain breeze, Floating from airy height ; Free are the rushing seas. And free, heaven's golden light. But freer than light or air, Or the ever rolling sea. Is the mind, beyond compare, God made it to be free ! " Then guard the gem divine, Than gems or gold more rare ; Koep watch o'er the sacred shrine, No foe must enter there : Oh, let not error bind. Nor passion reign o'er thee ! Keep the freedom of the mind, God mads it to be free." SENTENCE OF THE INPISITION UPON GALILEO ! "The sentence of the Inquisition upon Galileo," says the writer of an article in the Encyclopcedia Britannica, " one of the most remarkable records of intolerant ignorance and bigoted folly to be found in the history of science, is conceived in the following terms :" — "We the undersigned, by the Grace of God, Cardinals of the Holy Roman Church, Inquisitors General throughout the whole Christian Republic, Special Deputies of the Holy Apostolical Chair against heretical depravity ; Whereas you, Galileo, son of the late Vincengo Galilei of Florence, aged seventy years, were denounced in 1G15 to this Holy Office, for holding as true, a false doctrine taught by many, namely, that the sun is immoveable in the centre of the world, and that the earth moves, and also with a diurnal motion ; also, for having pupils whom you instructed in the same opinions; also, for ma,intaiuing a correspondence on the same with some German Mathematicians; also, for publishing certain letters on the solar spots, in which youd ^ oped the same doctrine as true ; also, for answering the Ol,^ .dons which were continually produced from the Holy Scriptures, by glozing the said Scriptures according to your 20 LECTURE. own meaninf? ; and whereas thereupon was produced the copy of a writing, in fok m of a letter, professedly written by you to a person formerly your pupil, in which, following the hyjiothesia of Coperni'His, you include several propositions contrary to the true sense and authority of the Holy Scriptures : therefore this Holy Tribunal, being desirous of providing aganist the disorder and mischief which was thence proceeding and increasing, to the detriment of the holy faith, by the desire of his Holiness, and of tlie most eminent Lords Cardinals of this supreme and univerpil Inquisition, the two propositions of the stability ot the sun, and motion of the earth, were qualified bv the theological flualifiers as follows : 1st., The proposition that the sun is in the'centre of the loorld, and immoveable from its place, is absurd, philosophically false, and formally heretical, because tt is expressly contrary to the Holy Seripture. 2ndly., The proposition that the earth is not the centre of the world, nor immoveable, but that it moves, and also xoith a diurnal motion, i* also absurd, philosophically false, and theologically considered, at least, erroneous in faith. But whereas being pleased at that time to deal mildly with you, it vas decreed in the Holy Congregation, held before his Holiness on the 2othdayof February, 1016, that his eminence the Lord Cardinal Bellarmine should enjoin you to give up altogether the said false doctrine ; if you should refuse, that you should be ordeved by the commissary of the Holy Office to relinquish it, not to teach it to others, nor to defend it, nor ever to mention it, and in default of acquiescence that you should be imprisoned; and in execution of this decree, on the following day, at the palace, in presence of his eminence the said Lord Cardinal Bellarmine, after you had been mildly admonished by the said Lord Cardinal, you wero commanded by the Acting Commissary of the Holy Office, before a notary and witnesses, to relinquish altogether the said false opinion, and in future neither to defend nor teach it in any manner, neither verbally nor in writing; and upon your promising obedience you were dismissed. And in order that so pernicious a doctrine might be altogether rooted out, nor insinuate itselt farther to the heavy detriment of the Catholic truth, a decree emanated from the Holy Congregation of the Index prohibiting the books which treat of this doctrine ; and it was declared talse, and altogether contrary to the Holy and Divine Scripture. And whereas a book has since appeared, published at l?lorence last year, the title of which showed you were the author, which title is, « The Dialogue of Galileo Galilei on the two principal systems of the world, the Ptolemaic and Copermcan ; and whereas the Holy Congregation has heard, that, in consequence of the printing of the said book, the false opinion of the earth s motion and stability of the sun is daily gaining ground, the said book has been taken into careful consideration, and in it has been detected a glaring violation of the said order ; which had been intimated to you, inasmuch as in this book you have defended the said opinion, already and in your presence condemned ; although in said book you labor with many circumloot -^ns to induce the belief that it is left by you undecided, and ) ress terms probanie ; wnica is cquailj a r^rj g..*-^ — --". opinion can in no way be probable which has already bt. an lei <* LECTURE. 21 i clared and finally determined contrary co the Divine Scripture. Therefore, by our order you have been cited to this Holy Office, where, on your examination upon oath, you have acknowledged the said book as written or printed by you. You also c«tnfes8ed that you began to write the said book ten or twelve years ago, after the order aforcsuid had been given. Also, that you deTuanded license to publish it, but without signifying to those who granted you this permission that you had been commanded not to hold, defend, or teach the said doctrine in any manner. You also confessed that the style of the said book was in many places so composed that the reader might think the arguments adduced on the false siile, so worded as more effectually to entangle the understanding than to be easily solved, alleging in excuse that you have thus run into error, foreign (as you say) to your intention, from writing in the form of a dialogue, and in consequence of the natural conii)lacencv which every one feels with regard to his own subtilties, and m showing himself more skilful than the generality of mankind in contriving, oven in favor of false propositions, ingenious and apparently probable arguments. And, upon a convenient time being given to you for making your defence, you produced a certiticate in the handwriting of his eminence the Lord Cardinal Bellarmine, procured, as you said, by yourself, that you ^night defend yourself against the calumnies of your encnies, who reported that you had abjured your opinions, and hao bee'.j punished by the Holy Office ; in which certificate it is declared that you had not abjured your opinions, nor had been punished, but merely that the declaration made by his Holiness, and promulgated by the Holy Congi-egation of the Index, had been announced to you, which declares that the opinion of the motion of the earth, and stability of the sun, is contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and therefore cannot be held or defended. Wherefore, since no mention is there made of two articles of the order, to wit, the order 'not to teach' and *in any manner,' you argued that we ought to believe that, in the lapse of fourteen or sixteen years they had escaped your memory, and that this was also the reason why you were silent as to the order, when you sought permission to publish your book, and that this is said by you not to excuse your error, "but that it may be attributed to vain-glorious ambition rather than to malice. But this very certiticate, produced on your behalf, has greatly aggravated your offence, since it is therein declared iliat the said opinion is contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and yet you have dared to treat of it, to defend it, and to argue that it is probable ; nor is there any extenuation in the license artfully and cunningly extorted by you, since you did not intimate the command imposed upon you. But whereas it appeared to us that you had not disclosed the whole truth with regard to your intentions, we thought it necessary to proceed to the rigorous examination of you, in which (without any prejudice to what you confessed, and which is above detailed against you with regard to your said intention) you answered like a good Catholic. Therefore, h,iv>n«" sppn nnn mnt.iirftlv oonsidfirfid thfi msrits of vour cause. — . — ^ — — — ^. ...... --^ 5. — ^, with your said confessions and excuses, and everything else which ought to be seen and considered, we have come to the 22 LECTURE. underwritten final senterce against you. Invokinj^, therefore, the most holy naine of our Lord JesuH Christ, anil of his most glorious \'irgin Mother Mary, by this our final sentence, which, sitting in council and judgment for the tribunal of the Rever*>tid Masters ot Sacred Theology, and Doctors of both Laws, our assessors, we i>ut forth in this writing touching the matters and controversies before us, between the magnificent Charles Sincerus, Doctor of both Laws, I'iflcal Proctor of this Holy Otfico, of the one i)art, and you, Galileo (ialilei, an examined and confessed criminal from this present writing now in progross as above of tlie oth^r part, we pronouiu-e, judge, and declare that you, the said Cialilao, by reason of these things which have been detailed in the course of this writing, and which, as above, you have confessed, have rendered yourself vehemently susnected by this Holy Office of heresy ; that is to say, that you believe an'd hold the false doctrine, and contrary to the Holy and Divine Scriptures, namely, that the sun is the centre of the world, and that it does not move from east to west, and that the earth does move, and is not the ctntre of the world ; also that an opinion can be held and support J as possible after it has been declared and finally decreed contrary to the Holy Scripture, and eonsecpiently that you imve incurred all the censures and penalties enjoined and promulgated in the Sacred Canons, andKjther general and particular Constitutions against delinquents of this description. From which it is our pleasure that you should be absolved, provided that, first, with a sincere heart and unfeigned faith, in our presence, you abjure, curse, and detest the said errors and heresies, and every other «^rror and heresy contrary to the Catholic ard Apostolic Church of Rome, in the form now shown to you. But, that your grievous and pernicious error and transgression may not go altogether unpunished, and that you may be made more cautious in future, and may be a warnnig to others to p.bstain from delinquencies of this sort, we decree that the book of the Dialogues of Galileo Galilei be prohibited by a public edict, and we condemn you to the formal jirison of 'this Holy Office, for a period determinable at our pleasure ; and, by way of salutary penance, we order vou, during the next tlr ' p years, to recite once a week the seven Penitential Psalms, resicrvio;; to ourse'ye? the power of moderating, commuting, or juiijn^ off thn wiiole or part of the said punishment and penance. And so we say, pronounce, and by our sentence declare, decree, and reserve, in this and in every other better form and manner, which lawfully we may and can use. So we the subscribing Cardinals pronounce. " Felix, Cardinal di Ascoli; Gumo, Cardinal di Bentivoglis; Desiderio, Cardinal di Cremona; Antonio, Cardinal S. Onofrio; BerLiNOERo, Cardinal Gressi; Frabricio, Cardinal Verospi; Martino, Cardinal Giiietti." 4^ i T s p j: E c H si 4 tlw^ i DELIVERED BEFORE THE MEMBERS OF TT^E MERCANTILK LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, 3IONTREAL, ON THE OPENING OF THE WINTER'S COURSE OF LECTURES, 1848-40, BY HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF ELGIN AND KINCARDINE, K. T., GOVERNOR GENERAL OF BRITISH NORTH AMERICA, &c., PATRON OF THE INSTITUTION. Ladies and Gentlemen, — I feel assured in advance that I shall be pardoned by you if I venture to speaU in your name for a single moment, in order that I may tender our united and most hearty thanks to the Rev. (ientleman for the useful and instructive lecture that he has just delivered. —(Loud cheers.) We have heard from him much that well deserves to be remembered, conveyed to us in language so forcible and eloquent, that it is not likely soon to be forgotton — (Cheers.) As I have risen for this purpose, 1 desire, with your permission, to take advantage of the opportunity to express the very deep interest that I feel in the welfare of this Institution, the Members of which have done me the favour to request that I would become its Patron (Loud cheers.) Prom what has fallen from the Rev. Gentleman, and from what I have heard froin other sources, I gather that this Association was mainly founded by the exertions of some of the leading merchants of the City of Montreal, with a view of affording to the junior Members of the mercantile body opportunities of self-improvement and inducements sufficiently powerful to enable them to resist those temptations to idleness and dissipation which unhappily abound in all large communities.— (Hear, hoar.) I understand, moreover, that those exertions have been by no means unavailing, but that year after year, large and increasing numbers of the class for whos? benefit the Institution was especially designed, have shown their sense of its value by enrolling their names on the books of the Association as Members — (Cheers.) These are most gratifying circumstances, creditable to all who have concurred in x,lAs good vvork ; and, for myself, I can truly say that, whether as an individual sincerely desirous to promote the happiness and well-being o^ my fellow-men, or as the Representative 24 SPEECH. of our {rracious Queen in this Province— (great cheering)— especially interested in whatever contributes to the v/ellaro of the people of Catiada, it gives me sincere gratification to associate my name with an undertaking so benevolent in its design and so promising in its first fruits. Having said thus much, in order that I might assure you of my very sincere sympathy in the objects of this Institution, 1 feel little disposed to detain you with many additional observations ; for in presence of the facts to which I have adverted, which show with how sincere a desire for self-improvement you are animated, and with the knowledge that the advantages and pleasures of learning are set forth in the admirable lectures of which wo have to-night Y jard a specimen, it is vain for me to attempt in a cursory address of this description to fan the fervour of your zeal or throw light on subjects which you are in the habit of hearing so effectively treated. Indeed, I should almost be tempted to affirm that in an age, when education is so generally diffused— when the art of printing has brought the sources of information so near to the lips of all who thirst for understanding— Avhen so many of the secrets of nature have been revealed— when the impalpable and all-pervading electricity, and the infinite elasticity of steam have been made subservient to purposes of human utility,— the advantages of knowledge, m an utilitarian po.iit of view— the utter hopelessness of a successful attempt on the part either of individuals or classes to maintain their position in society if they neglect the means of self-improvement— are truths too obvious to call for elucidation. I must say that it seems to me that there is less risk, therefore, of our declining to avail ourselves of our opportunities than there is of our misusing or abusing them ; that there is less likelihood of our refusing to grasp the treasures spread out before us, than of our laying upon them rash and irreverent hands, and neglecting to cultivate thos habits of patient investigation, humility, and moral self-control, without whicli we have no sufficient security, that even the possession of knowledge itself will be a blessing to us.— (Loud cheers.) I was much struck by a passage I met with the other dav in reading the life of one of the greatest men of his age and countrv— Watt— (Cheers)— which seemed to me to illustrate vGry''forcibly the nature of the danger to which I am now referring as well as its remedy. It is stated in the passage to which I allude, that Watt took great delight in reading over the specifications of inventions for which patent rights were obtained. He observed that ot those inventions a large proportion turned out to be entirely worthless and a source of ruin and disappointment to their authors. And it is further stated that he discovered that, amonsthese abortive inventions, many were but the embodimeiit of idea.s which had suggested themselves to his own SPEECH. mind — which, probably, when they first presented themselves, he had welcomed as great discoveries, likely to contribute to his own fame and to the advantage of mankind, but which, after having subjected them to that rigid and unsparing criticism which he felt it his bounden duty to apply to the offspring of his own brain, he had found to be worthless and rejected. Now, unquestionably, the powerful intellect of Watt went for much in this matter : unquestionably his keen and practised glance enabled him to detect flaws and errors in many cases where an eye equally honest but less acute, would have failed to discover them ; but can we doubt that a moral element was largely involved ia the composition of that quality of mind which enabled Watt to shun the sunken rocks on which so many around him were making shipwreck — that it was his unselfish devotion to truth, his humility, and the practice of selfcontrol, which enabled him to rebuke the suggestions of vanity and self-interest, and, with the sternness of an impartial judge, to condemn to silence and oblivion even the offspring of his own mind, for whicn he doubtless felt a parent's fondness, when it fell shoit of that standard of perfection which he had reared. — (Cheers.) From this incident in the life of that great man, we may draw, I think, a most useful lesson, which we may apply with good effect to fields of inquiry far transcending those to which the anecdote has immediate reference. Take, for instance, the wide region occupied with moral and political, or, as they arc styled, social questions ; observe the wretched half truths, the perilous fallacies, which quacks, greedy of applause or gain, and speculating on the credulity of mankind, more especially in times of perturbation or distress, have the audacity to palm upon the world as sublime discoveries calculated to increase in some vast and untold amount, the sum of human happiness ; and mark the misery and desolation which follows, when the hopes excited by these pi-etenders are dispelled. It is often said in apology for such persons, that they are, after all, sincere ; that they are deceived rather than deceivers; that thty do not ask o.hers to adopt opinions wliich they have not heartily accepted themselves ; but apply to this reasoning the piinciple tha'c I have been endeavouring to illustrate from the life of Watt, and we shall find, 1 think, that the excuse is, in most cases but a sorry one, if, indeed, it be any excuse at all. God has planted within the mind of man, the lights of reason and of conscience, and without it, he has placed those of revelation and experience, and if man wilfully extinguishes those lights, in order that, under cover of the darkness which he has himself made, he may install in the sanctuary of his understanding and heart, where the image of truth alone should dwell, a vain idol, a creature of his 20 SPKECH. own fond imaginings, it will, I tear, but littlo avail him, more especially in tliat day w'u;n the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed, if he shall pU ;id in extenuation of his guilt that he did not invite others to worshii) the idol nntil he had fallen prostrate hiniself beiorc; it.— (Great cheering.) These, gentlemen, are truths which I think it will be well for us to lay to heart. I address myself more particularly to you who are entering upon the useful and honorable career of the British merchant ; for you are now standing on the lower steps of a ladder, whiclC when it is mounted with diligence and circumsj)ection, leads always to resjjectabiUty, not unfreipiently to high honor and distinction. — (Cheers.) Bear in mind", then, that the (pudity which ought chiefly to distinguish those who asi)ire to exercise a controling and directing influence in any department of human action, from those who have only a subordinate part to play, is the knowledge of princiiiles and general laws. A few examples will make the truth of this i)roposition ai)parent to you. Take, for instance, the case of the builder. The mason and carpenter must kntiw how to hew the stone and square the timber, and follow out faithfully the Avorking plan placed in their hands. But the architect must know much more than this ; he must be acquainted with the principles of proportion and form ; he must know the laws which regulate the distribution of heat, light, and air, in order that he may give to each )mrt of ii complicated structure its due share 'of these advantages, and combine the multifarious details into a consistent whole. Take again the case of the seaman. It is enough for the steersman that he Avatch certain symptoms in the sky and on the waves ; that he note the shifting of the wind and conqiass, and attend to certain precise rules which have been given him for his guidance. But the master of the ship, if he be fit for his situation— and I aui sorry to say that many undertake the duties of that responsible office who are not fit for it— must be thoroughly acquainted, not only with the map of the earth and heavens, but he must know also all that science has revealed of some of the most subtle of the operations of nature ; he must und(M'stand, as far as man can yet discover them, what are the laws which regulate the movements of the currents, the direction of the tempest, and the meanderings of the magnetic fluid. Or, to take a case with which you are more familiar, —that of the merchant. The merchant's clerk must understand book-keeping and double-entry, and know how to arrange every item of the account undei' its proper head, and how to balance tht> whole correctly. But the head of the establishment must be acquainted, in addition to this, with the laws which regulate the exchanges, with the principles that aflFect the f)roduction and distribution of national wealth, and therefore with those social and iiolitical causes ,.V I T^. 1 rV SPEECH. 27 wK ^''^f,^^• '^9^ »"«" at^vork to disturb calculations, which would have been accurate enough for quiet times, but which are insurticient for others._(Loud cheers.) I tliink, therefore, that I have established the truth „f the proposition, that men who aspire to exercise a directing and controiininHuence in any pursuit or business, should be distinguished by a knowledge of principh^s and general laws, liut ,t is ir the acquisition of this knowledge, and more especially in Its application to the occurrences of dailv life, that the chief necessity arises for the exercise of those hicrh moral qualities, with the importance of which I h:.ve endJl voured, in these brief remarks, to impress you._(Cheers ) Allow me, therefore, in closing them, to otter vou one word of advice and warning, and accept it as coming from a fnend._(Loiid cheers.) Never forget that as you ascend^ your responsibilities to yourselves and to societv increase ninl-the beauties and delights of which have been set for h with so much effect by the Rev. Gentleman belund ine —the more necessary is it that your principles should be sound, your researches indefatigable, your judgment unclouded, and your affections pure? NoV Led we b-eXmed to borrow m this matter a lesson and example from the i.rori^sl-l'tr'^'i' '"*?= *"^' J"-'^^ in proportion as the tree uses from the earth, as it extends its branches and multiplies Its eaves, as it enters into freer communion with the traitof heaven, and drinks in larger measure the dews of' the morning and the rays of the noon-dav sun ; just in that proportion does it strike its .oots deeper into tlie earth, an chng more tenaciously to the soil from which it derives the principles of life and vigour. For be assured that if it were otherwise Its elevation, how fiiir soever the show that accompanied It, w.)uld but prove the prelude to its fall / "^i^tW^ TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION TO THK illcrranttlc Cibrarj) :2l0sotiatton OF ©ITTIEI^AIL. Life Members, Merchant do. .. Senior Clerk do. 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Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmds en commengant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparattra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Les caites, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film^s d des taux de reduction diffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reprodult en un seui cliche, il est filmd A partir de i'angle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut on bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 A i,' THE PRESENT TRUTH. BY THE EEV. GEORGE PATTERSON. I •T" T '^mim ■Wtf" I % .ijRi'Pi'Mj 'jW, i|n_,. ,mt[^i^'!i' ' '<■•-mit,j?ii^,^ _;«.„|J«!. . ""P'," -» ipip^in^w^ l\) THE PRESENT TRUTH. «i 2_ -A. SE I?,3VEOiT, PREACHED AT THE OPEXING OF THE SYNOD OF THE PKESBYTElilAN CHURCH OF NOVA SCOTIA, JUNE ISth, 1858. PUBUISHEO BY REQUEST, JAMP:S BARNES, 179 IIOLLTS STREET. 1858. w^m^^ma^mmvmm ^ ITW^^^^iP w^^mmm A SERMON. ■ The great truths of the gospel are unchanged anil unchangeable. This must be the case from the manner in which they have been made known to man. They are not the result of human speculation, and therefore cannot share the fate of such enquiries, where the conclusions of one age are jverthrown or are superseded by the more matured investigations of its successor. They are not the result of human discovery, and no subsequent progress of man can render them obsolete, or unfold any other or more advanced system to take their place. On the contrary they come to us by tiie inspiration of the Most High, — and as no new revelation is promised, we are to expect during all this sublunary state of things no substitute for them. Hence in every age and under all circumstances the same doctrines are be proclaimed to men for their salvation and are blessed by God for tliat -nd. Christir lity as a system of religious instruction is adapted^© univeral humanity. In its primal truths it reaches man in the lowest Barbarism .r the highest civilization. The profoundest philosopher and the most iliterate peasant alike find rest and comfort in the Savicur which it prolaims. A. ^ the lapse of time eff.^cts no change in its virtue. The same ruths which the Apostles proclaimed when the throne of the Ciesars sat irm upon the seven-hilled city, were those by the proclamation of which be Reformers of the 10th century awoke the world from the slumber of ges. By the preaching of the same truths the Missionary brings sav.ige nbes to the obedience of faith, and the ministry at home contends with the ■laterialistic spirit of the present age. And the same truths brought lome to the hearts of men by a new Baptism of the spirit will introduce he Millenial glory of the Church. Yet in another sense each age has its peculiar truths to maintain. The nemy does not assault the citadel at every point at the same time, nor at •le same point in every age. And hence the defenders are called upon ccording to the times in which they live, to defend particular portions of le edifice, and to exhibit more energetically those particular truths, which lay be the subject of special assault. In the application too of the great ri-'.SnloB nf nh'Js'J^-iJtv to the changing phases of human life, moral, soI »7ffff 6 cinl, find reli^'iou3, they are ever appearing in new forms ami achieving •new results. Ik'sid's, too, the truth in its duvelopement h pron;ressive. "VVe do not mean by thi;*, that there auj many new truth;* beinjj; discovered, or that any of tlie old become obsohite. liiit tiie princii)les of God's wjrd are only slowly appreciated, and their full boarins only comprehended in t!ie lapse of af^es. And it lias commonly happened tiiat each period in the church's history has had some great truth to maintain. The storms of discussion are made the means of its clearer ehiciihu ion— circumstances in providence excite attention to it — experience teaches its value and importance, and the peculiar vigor of the assaults of the great adversary upon it ez\th-.\v it to t!ie liearts of tire faithful. Principles which may have for a time been dormant in the word of God, or only partially appreciated, become thus established as nart of the faith of the church, and are interwoven with its whole exjierience and practice. Thus one age has had the Arian controversy, in which the doctrines of God's word regarding the i.erson of Christ have been so fully discussed, that, with tritling exceptions, they have since been the undisturbed faith of the church, and another age seemed to have had as its peculiar vocation, the exhibition of the doctrines of sovereign grace in the procuring and bestowing salvation upon the children of men. ■\Vhile therefore we are to " contend earnestly for the faith oneedelivored unto the saints" to preach the whole system of divine truth— to " ke»^p back nothing that is profitable," and "not to shun to declare tlie whole counsel of God," yet if we would not shew ourselves "unskilful in the word of righteousness" we mu>t observe what particular portions of the system of divine truth the times and situations in which we are placed require us to hold forth most prominently. If we do not attend to this, though we may preach no positive error, yet our preaching may have the same" effect as if we did. To preach morality, when men are trusting to their own doings, would be equivalent to preaching justification by the works of the law. But to insist mainly on justification by faith, when nien are already running into Antinomian excesses, would have the same efiiect as preaching our release from the law as a rule of life. In both cases we would be pn^aching no error, but we would show that we had not learned '• rif//d/f' to divide the woi-d of truth." In the one case it would be our duty like Paul to preach tliai " we are justified by faith without the deeds of the luw," and in the other, like James, to proclaim, tliat "faith w'thout works is dead being ah.ne." The same niiglit be illustrated by other instances. If then we shoul.l show ourselves " ukmi of Issacliar who had understanding of the times to know what Israel ought to do," we mustlearii, what are the^errors aaainst which we are jjarticulMrly called to contend in the present day, and what are the truths u|.on whi. h we are particularly called to insist. Will my fathers and brethren in the ministry then sutler an imperfect atiempt to exldbit " the present truth." In attending to this suh)ect one general remark may be made in the outset, viz. : that^a peculiar cllaracteri.•^tic of false teachers in the present day, is t'o assume the language and phrases of ortho.loxy. There is no honest assault upon the truth in our tmn-s. All the operations of the enemy are carried on by sapping and mining. So that it is now impossible to judge merely by the language employed whetlur a preacher or writer be orthodox or not. We wili'have occlusion to shew this more abundantly in the sequel. We only remark at present, that it shows the insidious nature of the opposition we are calleil to encounter, the dishonesfy of which well merila the denunciation of God's word. " Woe unto thera that call evil good and ^ood evil ; that put darkness for lij,'ht and light for darknesa ; that put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter." I. With this general preliminary observation, I would remark, in the first place, that we are especii.lly called in the present day to maintain the inspiration of the scriptuies and the authority of the whole loord of God. Formerly infidelity attempted to prove the Bible a forgery, and the claim of inspiration for its authors an imposition upon human credulity. Now it has entirely changed its tactics. It now professes not only to believe in inspiration, but to maintain it in its fullest sense. But it is only such an inspiration for the writers of the books of scripture, as is possessed by men of genius in every age. According to the advocates of this system, Paul was inspired but so was Shakespeare— Isaiah was inspired and so was Milton — John the apostle of love was divinely inspired and so was Byron, the apostle of misanthropy. This view is openly advocated by the Westminster Review, a publication, conducted with eminent ability and entensively circulated among ourselves. It is the view of a large class of philosophical writers and of the distinguished Litterateurs of tlie day. It is a favourite idea of the Rationalists of Germany, and, worse than all this, it has lately been openly avowed by clergymen of the Church of England, as Maurice, Jowettand McNaught, if not also by some leading members of the Enghsh Dissenters. * This is not a difference about the theory of inspiration such a.3 there has been among the Orthodox. It is in reality a denial of inspiration altogether. It is degrading the apostles and prophets to the level of mere human teachers, and making their works of no bin ling authority upon the consciences of men. All that we feel it necessary to do is to point out the dishonesty of this mode of speech. The advocates of this theory know that by the Bible being inspired we mean that it is a supernatural and infallible expression of The will of God, while they mean in using the same language that its various portions are the natural efforts of the human mind. Surely the very statement of this view conveys its own refutation, _ The inspiration for which they contend is no inspiration at all, and their whole theory is but an attempt to conciliate prejudice by admitting an inspiration in words, which they deny in reality. Far better was the downright ribaldry of Paine himself, than this betrayal of the Son of Man with a kiss. In connexion with this, we may remark that the Old Testament has been made the special subject of assault, and we are particularly called upon to mainttnn the divine authority of the whole revelation of God. In former * That tvo raay not soem to misrepresent the views of such we will give the words of Mr McNaught himself. " Referring Milton's Paradise Lost or Bacon's Novum orgnnnn to the man who wrote each, wc describe each of these books as a book of genius; but the far truer and grander mode of speaking would be to refer thecreative power of thinking to him who alone made Milton or Bacon to differ from ordinary writers, and thus to call their books works of the spirit ot Ood written by divine inspiration. This seoms to be the Bible's oimi teaching, viz. : that every t .ng good in any book, person or thing, is inspired, and that the value of any inspired book must bo decided by the extent of its inspiration, and the importance of tho truth which it well or inspiredly teaches. Milton, and Sliakespeare, and Bacon, and Canticles, and the Apocalypse, and tho Sermon on the Mount, and tho eighth chapter of Romans are in our view inspired. 8 times the Old and New Testament have generally stood together. Rut in the present day we hear the loudest commendations of the New Testament, while the Old ia decried as useless or worse. It is not uncommon to hear the loudest praise of the doctrines of Jesus, with the fiercest denunciations of the Theology of Moses, and the morality of the one is represented as entirely at variance with that of the other book in spirit and letter. This error is far more extensive than the last, as it is held by many who hold most of the distinguishing doctrines of Cliristianity. In particular, the Christian public was not long since shocked by the open avowal on the part of Dr Wayland, a man whose writings on moral science had won him a high reputation, and whose efforts on behalf of the anti-slavery cause, had gained him the esteem of the friends of the oppressed, that he did not regard the Old Testament as any part of the standard of divine truth. Those who have come in contact with the Baptists in this Province must have observed a tendency to the same view, and will not be surprised at the open avowal of it by one of the most eminent men that that body has produced. The same view, however, is maintained by others. It has recently been elaborately defended by Professor Powell of Oxford in a work entitled " Christianity without Judaism," and it seems also to form part of the creed of Dr Davidson, late of the Lancashire Independent College. This is an old heresy, but it is not the less dangerous. It is impossible to pass from the Old Testament to the New without observing a close connexion between them. Not only do the writers of the New Testament manifest a familiarity with the Old — not only do they evince that their thoughts were cast in the same mould, but they constantly appeal to the Old Testament as of binding authority. The scriptures, the word, the word of God, are the expressions by which they designate the Old Testament. So far from our Saviour and his apostles representing themselves as teaching a religion, different from, or opposed to, what had gone before, they everywhere represent them as identical, " Think not that I am come to destroy the law and the piophets ; I am not come to destroy but to fulfil." " All things must be fulfilled which are written in the law, and in the prophe*=, and in the Psalms concerning me. "* It is admitted that the Mosaic Dispensation was temporary, while the other is permanent — that the one w;as preparatory, and imperfect. But it is far from following, that the books of the Old Testament, that contain the record of taat dispensation, are now without authority, and only of interest as so much ancient history. The New Testament, on the contrary, recognizes them as having a claim o respect and confidence from all believers. They are declared to be " given by inspiration of God, and able to make wise unto salvation." They are those which our Lord exhorts the Jews to search, and which this writer, one of the latest of the New Testament, pronounces " a sure word of prophecy" to which Christians woulu "do well to take heed as unto a light that shineth in a dark place" — that is a revelation of the will of God which they cannot safely or lawfully disregard. With this accords the experience of the church in all ages. The influence of Christianity upon the world has been produced not through the New Testament alone, but by the Bible as a whole, and in proportion to the depth of its spirituality has the church clung to the whole Scriptures as the infallible standard of divine truth. 't' » Matt. T. 17. Luke xxW. 44. ^ ir. Rut secondly. I \\:niil\ hriofly remurk, thai we nre nt llie present nioint'iit ciilluil u|)oii to inaiiitiiiii tlio doctriiiu of a Tiinity of persons in thu Godhead, and t-spccially of the Elcrnul Sonship of Christ. We do not say til at tluTo is any gen<;ral revival of IJnitarianisin tlirougliout the world. On the contrary wc think, that in the United States particularly, it ii dyinp;out. Some of its advocates are going forward to Deism, as in the ease of the celchrated i lieodore I'aiker, wliile .od, it is taught that he " became the Son of God when he was begotten in the womb of the Virgin Mary"' — that he is the Son of God because " God only was his father," and "the Sou of Man because he had JIary for his mother." Now it is admitted tliat some otherwi-e sound divines have denied the Kternal Sonship of Christ but ilieir vieihas generally been that he was called the Son of God. in con8e([iun<,'e of his otlicial character, and they have regarded the title as equivalent to the Messiah, IJut wc have never heard anything so gross as that he was the Son of (iod by being begotten in the womb of the Virgin Mary. Such a view must ultimately lead >» the denial of his divinity altogether. Even as maintained by those Divines to whom we have referred, we regard the denial of the Eternal Sonship of Christ as a dangerous doctrine, and contrary to scripture, which represents him as taking the title in u sense which implied equality with the Father — which represents him as Son entitled to the same honor, possessing the same authority, and performing the same works as the Father * — which represents the Eternal logos or word as the only begotten of the Falherf — which contrasts his Sonship with his humanity — and which in the names of the Trinity reckons the Son as second in order with the Father. * But in the gross form in which it is exhibited by JVIorrlson it ifiust lead to a denial of *he divinity of Christ altogether. It maybe a niere pedantic attempt at displaying superior learning which prefers using a difficult word in place of a plain one, and a Latin word for an English one, that leads Morrison to speak of " three subsistents" in the Godhead, instead of three persons, but we confess that to us it sounds suspicious. Experience shows that such tampering with the received ph.rascology of the church is dangerous, and it will not surprise us if we should see his followers in their great zeal for freedom and their eagerness to castofT the trammels of creeds and confessions, abandon the doctrine of the Trinity altogether. Indeed within the last Aw months there has been published in this town a (tatechism, which contains in reality a denial of the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity. The following arc its statements. • John V. 17, ct seq. f John i. 14. i Matt, xxviii. I'J. John X. 30— 3a. 10 " What is the Lord as to his body cailcd ? *" 1 he Sun of God. AVhut is the divine life ailed to wliicli his body is united ? Jl is called tho Father. "VVhat name is given to the life, wisdom and power that proceeds from the Lord ? The Holy Spirit. Are the Father. Son, and Holy Spirit one God. They are one (Jod in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ. Here we have published in our midsi and by an individual belonging to a houy which ptyles itself" Evangelical Union," views wliich are entirely subversive of the orthodox doetrin« of the Trinity. And yet with that peculiar art, which Satan tnanifests in the present day of " transforming himself into an angel of light," and of teaching the grossest errors under the language of orthodoxy, we have an attemj)! to maintain a. Trinity, a three one, but not three persons in one Godhead, as held by the universal church, but throe " subsistents" to use Morrison's phrase, in the one j)erson of desus Christ — the Father denoting, as it is said, (he divine life to which his body is united, the Son denoting his body, and .he Spirit denoting merely the influence that proceeds from him. Here is the " deceivableness of unrighteousness" so characteristic of all assaults upon the truth in the present day. IIL But in the third place T would remark that we are in the present day called on to maintain the doctrines of sovereign grace against some peculiar modes either of den ijing them or of neutralizing them. There have been times in the history of the church, when these were proclaimed in such a manner as to cause other important truths to be neglected, and thus to induce an Antinomian abuse of them. The doctrine of the free grace of God in the salvation of man has been so exclusively exhibited, that the necessity of practical godliness has been overlooked — man's inability for spiritual good, and his entire dependence on the spirit, have been insisted on in such a manner, that the e([ually true doctrines of man's free agency and human responsibility have been kept out of sight. or so feebly pressed, that sinners restcjd in carnal security — as if they were not only helpless but blameless — the sovereignty of God has been so exhibited as to conceal the freeness of the gospel oH'cr and the sinner's warrant to accept the Saviour. But assuredly this is not t!ie characteristic of the i)resent day. The material progress which man is making — his uuvaiicement in the arts and sci* ences, and the improvements making in social lite, have induced a boastfulness of spirit, which has been extended to moral and religious subjects. And hence in the present day those views which exalt man and tend to give him honor and credit in his own salvation are prominent and pul)lic, while Calvinism which lays man prostrate at the feet of his Creator is often regarded as distanced by the progress of the age. It is not, however, so much against the open d.uiial of the doctrines of grace, that we have to contend, as the spirit so prevalent of keeping out of sight the sterner features of the system — to clip off what we regard as its rugged corners, and plane down its roughness, that it may pass smoothly through the world. There is a disposition prevalent in the church, to insist on what is general, and to eondno attention to the principles that ar'* considered commoa to all evangelical bodies. X 11 .A. But moro than tliis tlioro has been a strong dlspnjiition to modify tho .•sy• tern — to seek some middh; i^ronnd — to explain its doctrine-: accordinpj to some prevailing theory of tlw human mind, and thu;^ to harmonize them witli Iniman philo.-ophy. Tiiese attempts have heen closely eoimectfd, and though their efforts have been widely spread, and though the forms of doctrine in which they have issued have heen multifarious, yet they are all more or less connected with the New School Theology of the United States. In some instances they have originated in an attempt to amend the nomenclature of Theology — to exchange what is considered the scholastic form of a past age for a more scientitic terminology suited to the present day. In tliis way some gooil men have lent their names to speculations which have ended in the grossest forms of Pelagianisin. Tliis is the real character of what is tlnve called Finneyism, from the Ilev (■. (i. Finney, and soraetiraes " Oberlin doctrines" from his having founded liis tlieological school at Oberlin. * lie has been followed implicitly by Morrison in Scotland, with the exception that the latter has not decidedly adopted the views of the former r"gar(lh.ir pi'rfection, and hence in Scotland the system has usually borne tlie name of Morrisonianism. We are not, howevi'r, to regai''! the New School Presbyterians, or the ndvotates of what is called New Kngland Theology as opposed to Calvinism. This is supposed to be the case, but it is not correct. The adherents of the latter system speak of it as " Calvinism in an improved form." " It is," said one of its leading advocates, " not mere Calvinism, but it is consistent Calvinism. It is a revised and corrected edition of the Genevan creed."! They in general agree with Calvinists in holding the doctrine.s of the divine decrees, election, and the Perseverance of the Saints. But they differ from the " Old Calvinists" in denying the doctrine of human inability, making man's responsibility commensurate with his ability, also in denying the doctrine of the imputation either of Adam's sin or of Christ's righteousness, and of any covenant relations between Adam and his posterity, or Christ and his people, and of a definite eilicacious atonement. On these and kindred topics they have adopted certain speculations founded principally on certain »)hilosophical theories of the huuiau mind, which have led to every variety of error. An extreme section represented by Finney in America and Morrison in Scotland have adopted a system of tlie grossnst Pelagianism, not only denying the doctrines of the divine decrees and Election, but also adopting the views advoc.ited by Pelagius in the lifth century r.'garuing man's moral nature, regimeration and the work of the Spirit. From the peculiar and insidious form, in which their views on these last points are presented, we feel it due to notice tiiem inoie particularly. In reference to the natural state of man, they deny any corrupt nature descending from Adam to his posterity. They represent sin as consisting in acts of transgression, couunitti'd by those who have come to years to have :i kiv.vledge of the law, and holiness in acts of obedience. They row opposed to the Bible they are. In it we everywhere iind holiness ainrmed of the heart. We read of a brokei heart, a clean heart, an evil heart. It traces our evil actions to their seat in the heart. "Out of the heart proceed evil thouglits," &;c. It lells us that we are " conceived in sin and shapen in iniquity," certainly implying asitiful nature. It represents us as by nature "the children of wrath," and if we are subjects of wrath, by nature, surely we must be sinful by nature. It represents man as created originally " in the image of God," which is elsewhere defined as consisting in knowledge and holiness, but that after he became sinful, that his child was born in that image. It proclaims the great principle that " all that is born of the flesh is flesh," and utters the challenge, " who car. bring a clean thing out of an unclean." We might also remark that this system is as unphilosophical and opposed to common sense as it is unscriptural. Did we see a tree, which in every variety of circumstances always produced evil fruit or the reverse — that amid the heat of Tropics or the cold of an arctic region — that in whatever position, whether on the storm-beaten mountain or the shaded valley — that in every variety of soil — in the sandy desert or the well watered plain — that under every variety of cultivation, whether in the elegant parterre or exposed ni the open wilderness, always and everywhere produced a bitter fruit, would we not consider it an utter absurdity to say that only the fruit of the tree was evil, and that there was nothing in the tiature of the tree causing it to produce fruit of that kind. And this is the example which our Savlou"' adduces to illustrate that our sinful acts proceed from an evil nature. " A good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit ; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit." \Vc might press the inquiry, how do men universally sin as soon as they become capable of moral action. To this we receive the old Pelagian answer, that it is by the contagious exiunple of those around us. lUit how comes it that men universally set such a bad example — and how comes it that the child sins in spite of the best example. There is in fact the same evidence that we have an evil moral nature as there is that we are rational creatures. l«ut JMorrison, who in the lo>\est depths of American TIkoIogy seems always to find some lower depth, gives another explanation. lie represents tiie sinfulness of man as owing to a dispraved bodily constitution resulting from the fall. Tiiis mortality, Ik; says, (that is the universal mortality in consequence of Adam's .sin) must be the result lA n p/iysifa/ depravation, or a corruption of" the flesh," and this corrupted "flesh" ia evidently one of the two great channels in which moral depravity runs 13 to ns from Ailam." "We must here note again tlie Satanic art, by which the liiiipunge of (hthodoxy is used to denote ideas the very op[)0-;ite. Mere is tallv of " corruption of the flesii" and a depraved constitution which, liowever, only denotes a diseased body, and even moral depravity Avhich, however, is explained as denoting actual transgression. But taking the view as it stands, we thougiit that we had at length found sonietliing new in the way of heresy, but really it is so transcendantly absurd, tluit we scarcely know how to treat it otherwise than with ridicule. But the subject is too serious for ridicule. As the friends of truth, we are called to take a determined stand a^.unst such a system of low and debasing materialism— a doctrineakin to the old Heathen doctrine of the malignity of matter— a doctrine which destroys the very foundation of all moral obligation, by referring man's conduct, not to a responsible will, but to his physical oiganizalion, at the same time that we cannot but feel pity for those who have allowed themselves to be misled by such blind guides, and with scarcely pity for those guides who aflbrd so impressive an exhibition of the apostle's language, " Professing themselves to be wise they became fools." '' But this view of depravity leads to a new theory in regard to regeneration. This is admitted by themselves. They acknowledge no radical change of nature. It is merely as Finney expresses it, " a change of the governing purpose of the soul," or as others define it, " of the balance of the susceptibilities," and hence the idea of instantaneous regeneration is scouted by some of them, and it is maintained that it is gradually etlected, and in the catechism already referred to, it is asserted tliat a man is born again by a life in accf)rdance with God's Word. In other words he performs the actions of life before he is born, and becomes born by continuing to do so. Surely absurdity like this needs no refutation. But how imperfect the whole view of regeneration compared with the Scriplure account of the matter — as communicating new life to them that were dead — a being born again — a taking the heart of stone out of our flesh and giving a new heart, iiaving a divine seed implanted in the heart, and being Created new, so that, " If any inan be in Christ he is a new creature. Old things are passed away and all things become new." But the point particularly requiring attention is the agency to which all this is attributed. It is boldly asserted by Finney tliat tliis a man can do himself. " As God requires men to make themselves anew heart, it is the strongest possible evidence that they are able to do it. If the sinner ever lias a new heart he must obey the command of tiie text, and make it himself. Sinner, instead of waiting and praying for God to change your heart, you should at once summon up your powers, put forth the effort, and change the governing purposes of your mind. The siimer that minds the flesh can change his mind, and m-nd (Jlod." Thus "the Ethiopian can change his skin and the leopard his spots." Tliis is pTain enough, but such an entire denial of the work of the Spirit goes too phtinly in tlie face of t! :e Bible, to go down with any portion of tile christian public, and accordingly tliere must be some appearance of acknowledging the hand of God in the vork, but they reduce it all to the influenci' of UKU'al suasion — such as one man exercises over another. " The powtM" wliicli CJod exerts in tlie conversion of a soul is moral power ; it is that kJ!!'.! of nnwer l.-y which a stater-man sways the mind of a senate ; or by which an advocate moves and bows the heart of a jury." And again he says, in spi-aking of this change, " It is perfectly proper to say that the Spi14 rit turned hira, just as you would t!ay of a man who Imd persnadcd another to chanj^e his mind on the suhject of politics that he had converted him and brought him over." According to this all that the Spirit docs is to present truth powert'uliy before the mind, like an advocate arguing a causa before a jury ; or as one man influences and persuades another in the common utf'airs of life, though with greater skill tiian can be eniph)y. d by any liuman agent. Similar to this is the language of Morrison. In reply to the (piestlon, "What more does the Holy Spirit do, besides r(;cording the truth about the propitiation of Jo^us, in order to bring sinners to have i'aith in it ?" " Tiie Holy Spirit, by a holy and wise Providence, preserves the Bible, and spreads it abroad in tlie world ; and he raises up men of God, whom he qualifies to declare and explain tlie truths contained in it ; and by multitu(h^s of ways, many of which may not be known to us, he overrult;s, as far as he wisely can, the circumstances of all men's lots, so as to bring the truth home upon tlieir conscience, and so as to leave them without excuse,, if they continue without faith in it." Now this system entirely makes void the dispensation of the Spirit. ^ It indeed professes to hold it in name, speaking of the inlluence of the Spiiit in the word, but it denies all tliat is commonly understood by it. It recognizes no direct action of tlie Spirit upon the liaart of man. Indee.d, from its denial of a depraved nature, no such thing is needed. All that the Spirit does is to present the word to men, and by means in Providence render it more impressive. As Jenkyn illustrates the idea, at the revival of philosophy much was elFected by the works of Aristotle, and, as he was the author of these, their iniluence may be said to be the influeiioiof Aristotle, so we may speak of the influence whicli the word produces iipt.n men as the iiiHuence of the Spirit, as he was the author of the \so\\{, and in Providence adopts means to imjiress it upon men. We need scarcely say how contra-y these are to the representations of the word of Cicd. Tliere, when a new heart is given to us it is because God has imt his Spirit within us. There, when the multitudes were converted on the day of Tentecost, it was not the force of Peter's arguments that efl'ected the change, but the Holy Ghost fell upon thein that heard. There, when Lydia attended to tlie things sfioken by Paul, it was because the Lord opened her heart. It indeed represents the word as the means, but in itself it has no power.— The gosjiel must come not in word only, but in demonstration ot the Spirit and in power. Kven when preached with the clearness of Paul and enforced with the elocpience of Apollos, all is vain. The jirophet may prophesy to the dry bones in the valley of vision but tiiere shall be no breath in them. — The saincj is evident from the descriptions given of the nature of the work as a rising trom the dead, &c., as well as from those passages which represent the Spirit as dwelling in believers, and its consequent eileets as " the love of God shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Giiust given unto us." V. a we need not multi[)ly proofs. Sulhcient has been saii to show that we liave here under the most insidious form, in the words of orthodoxy, and under the guise of half-truths, a denial of the great doctrines of sovereign grace in the salvation of the sinner. Will my fathers and brethren permit me to say that there is a loud call upon us to make ourselves tatniliar not m<-rely with these errors as the" have been presented in former times, but in the specious disguises which they assume in the pre-^ent day, for we feel fully assured that the doctrines thus assail<. 'd form an important part of'' the present truth." 15 IV. Rut fourthly, the present is an age in which the Roman CathoUe oontr(»versy is revived. " I saw three unclean •^-pirit:^ like frogs come out of the month of the dragon, and out of the mouth ot the beast, and out of the mouth of the False IVopIiet. For they are tlie spirits of I)(ivils working miracles, which go forth unto the Kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gatiier them 1<> tlie battle of that great day of ( iod Almighty. "* The best expounders of {»rophecy refer tiii,prediction to our own era, and when we look abroad upon the world we see every reason to believe the correctness of ihe application. Ev.^rywhere we see liome putting forth extraordinary eftbrts, and tiiat Ml her twofold form of the beast and the false prophet. Taking the beast to denote the I'ope as the heail of tlie ten kingdoms of Europe and of the Church of Rome as a politico-ecclesiastical system, we behold desperate efforts made to re-establish her influence over the fiovernments of the world. Concordats have been entered into not only with Austria, but with some ot the minor Powers of Europe t.y which in their civil administration, they are placed entirely at the disposal of the Churcli of Rome, and the power which she wielded in the dark ages is a^'ain in a large measure restored to her.— Tiie same tiung has been eitlier attempted or actually accomplished in Mexico and South America. We do not say that in these countries the influenco of Popery over the mass of the population is increased. On the contrary, we believe that nothing is more certain than that it is dying out, and nowiiere more thorouprhly than in the very Roman States themselves. IJut such is the effort which, according to divine prediction, she is making to regain her lost ascendanc;, over the Governments of the earth. But she is liei-e represented as going fbrtii to the Kings of the whole world. In those countries of Europe whicii retain representative institutions, she is making a dcjsperate etlort, through the infiueni'e of her i)riests over the jieople. to decide the elections and tlius control the Government. The ruler of France, whatever his own ineliuiitions, is at the mercy of the Jesuits. And what is more sad, Holland, once the home o, freedom, the refuge of the oppressed, and great through heiProtestantism and her liible, has so far yielded to intrigue, that from the 1st January, 1858, tlie P.ible and everything distinctive of her Protestantism has been banished from her schools. h\ England and the United States, and in almost every British Colony, the efforts of the Papacy are directed to securing political power and rendering the civil government subservient to the advancement of her influence. This she commonly manages by holding the balance of power between those parties which arc apt to arise in free states. In her missionary op(,'rations she ndies much upon the civil power, in some instances, as in Taiiiti. emiiloyliig the power of a Papal Goverinnent for the establishment of her influence, in others using intrigues with the native Governments for the same end. This is a very important phase of Popery in the present day. We have indeed some men among us, who proclaim themselves good Protestants, who think we should only oppose the errors in doctrine of Rome, and leave; her to rule our political and social afhiirs as she pleases. We beg huml)ly to tell such, that they are very imperfectly accjiainted with the system either as exhibited on the page of history or as delineated in the ]Vible. There it is exhibited as a beast — a tyrannical political power — having seven heads and ton horns. It is in this char. 'icler that it makes war upon the saints. The (;}nircli of Rome is represented as an harlot, the emblem of a false Church, • Ue<'. xvi. 13, 11. 16 I « I'tit in her power and prcgross tlironjijli the world, slie i.« represented as ridhig upon the beast, or throujih her possession of politi(!al power. The Kings of the eartli are represented as giving tiieir power and strepgtii unto tiie beast, until the times be fultilled, and the, l)easl and tlie false propln't are alike to be d(;stroyed. '' They botli were cast alive into the lake that burns with lire and brimstone. "* "VVe nnist also here notiee as a peeuliar featin'e of the Papal system in the J. resent day, the immense develojjment of ritrnmontanism. The whole power of tiie Church centres more than ever in Rome. The Churches of France, f Jermar.y and Spain were formerly national Churches, enjoying certain rights and a certain measure of self-government. The (jallican liberties, as they were called, v.ere long zealously maintained by the Churcii of France, lint all thi-5 has passed away. Tlie influence of the various Churches and (heir liishops is every day becoming less, all power and nuthority centres in (he Chair of Peter, and the Komi>h rontHf is moi'e than ever a!)>olut(! master, or rather the Jesuits through him wield the entire influence of the Church. liut the passage already quoted indicates that there should bean extension of th(! teaching of the errors of I?ome. " The unclean spirits come out of th<' mouth n^ the False Prophet." And have we not abimdant indication^ oi" this, wherever we turn our eyes? The missions of the Propaganda extend throughout the w1k>1o world. Their agents cr. )-s the path of the Protestant missiouaiy wherever 1 e goes, be it to the inte.ior of China, or. as in the case ot otuown missionaries, among the most savage tribes of the Paciiic. To use the language of another, . " They are to be found among the Islanders of the South Seas, and the Nomails of Tartary — traversing tht; vast forests of North America and the pampas of the Soutii — laboi'ing amid the pestilential jungles of Java and the breezy table lands of the Himalayas — the feverstricken swamps of Senegal and the frost-bound .-bores of Labrador — the arid plains of Seniiaar and the teeming delta of the Niger. They are to be found wherever perils are to be encountered for the glory oi the Church, or souls to be gathered to her fold. Facing a fiery ))ers('cution in Con>a and Siam. lumted like wild beasts from the mountains of Thibet, and ex[)loring with imflinching courage the solitudes through which flows the sounding Brahma])ootra, confronting starvation among the Alleghanies and shipwreck on the coast of ISladagascar, these men exhibit in their .■lingular career every variety of moving peril and romantic incident, and all united with a perseverance, that admits nothing to be impossible, and a devotedness that would ennoble any eause. "t At home every county in Ireland and every populous town in England has its Papnl missionaries. In lfS29 \\\o Propaganda expended nothing on missions in England, but in one year lately they s[ient the sum of Ji.4(»,t)00. In our own I'rovince we cannot but have observed lately a great increase of activity in building chapel-, training priests, and other means for advancing the iYiterests of the Church. , And farther, the system of Tractarianism or I'useyisin. both in the United States and ICngland, has been the means of a vast increase of the teaching of Popish doctrines, and has led a larg(> nui'iber of the aristocracy and clergy of the Church of England into the bosom of the Romish Church. We do not say that with all this activity Popery is really making progress * llfiv. xiii. !-'>, xvii. 8, Ac. t United Presbyterian Mugiiaino, 17 in the world. On the contrary, we believe that she is daily losinj» gi-onnd. This is remarkably the case in Papal countries. The efforts of their missionaries in Heathen countries effect little more than a nominal chanfro. — Amid the free institutions and general education of America, notwithstanding the vast tide of Roman Catholic immigration, the highest authorities admit that her losses are such, that she does not increase with the progress of i)0pulation. And we believe that with all her activity in England, her progress such desperate efforts. And in these efforts no engine that will answer her purpose is left unemployed. There were three agencies, which may almost be said to have be^n brought into existence by the Reformation— the pulpit, the press, and the common school. When the Reformation commenced, there could scarcely be said to have been anything like public preaching. The printing press was only discovered about that time and remained unproductive, until the literary activity of the Reformation gave it employment. And to the same great revolution we owe our common schools. John Knox was the founder of Scotland's parish schools, and this was only a sample of what took place wherever the Reformation was successful. These agencies were long in the hands of Protestantism, while Rome endeavoured to maintain her cause by means of the Inquisition. But that instrument is unsuited to the age, and she has learned to use the machinery of the Reformation. The pulpit has been again re-occupicd. On the Continent, both in the large towns and country villages, there has been a great revival of preaching since 1848. The Jesuits have not a few who cultivate pulpit oratory, and some of them with decided success. Popery is also working the press with no small vigor. It has produced several volumes with a considerable air of letters and philosophy for the better informed, but she has a popular literature filled with imposture and absurdities, letters written by Jesus Christ, discourses written by the Virgin Mary, and she has even adopted the Reformed plan of circulating it by colporteurs. Another feature of her movements almost peculiar to the present day has been Journalism. In leading towns she maintains periodicals conducted with great ability ; and a singular peculiarity of the management of them, is that in many instances, these are independent of the Bishop of the Diocese, and directly in the interest of the Central power, and thus the Pope is enabled by them to exercise a control over his clergy. The school, too, Rome is everywhere turning to her purposes. The school she hates, and had she the power she would close every one, but not being able to do this she employs her skill in making them the instruments of advancing her own ends. If she cannot prevent the peasantry of Frarce and Ireland from being taught to read, she labors to render their education abortive by binding their intelligence in the chains of superstition. In Roman Catholic countries she is getting the whole education under her own control. In free countries, where she cannot do this, her efforts are directed to obtaining schools of her own, supported from the public funds, or at least to thrust the Bible from those established by law. She has her Nunnery Schools for teaching female accomplishments, which serve as so many traps for romantic gu'ls. She has oven her Sabbath Schools wrought dili^ontW for the ^ame great end. We do not feel it necessary to advert at much length to the doctrines of I 18 the Chmvh of Rome, as these are substantially tl c same as i" ^^-^''T oH'^r ace. lJ.it there is one point particularly wortliy of attention. AH who havx' exa.niuo.l closely her present position ccmcar in the ^J^^' Jjl''^^''^;/:'; '^■!"'! ;'• be<:ominj,' more and n^ore a system of ISIanolatry. fhe \ u-m Maij i^, bcconung llu. one great object of all her adorations, and she seems to have tilled up tlKMn..vsuie oi' her aiiostaey by proclaiming the immaculate eonc.pt.on of the moth.-r <.f our Lord. We have devoted our attention to the elhals xvhich she is making to extend her principles, to show that this is hkoly soon to l-e, if it is not already, the great controversy of the age. Preparation is nii.king in this mai....r tor a great, and we believe the final struggle, ui whuh gioat Babvloi. will be cast as a millstone into the depths of thesea.^ Ihey aietlie spirits of Devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the Kings ot the earth and the whole world to gather them to the battle of that great day ot God v! "lt will be seen that all these subjects of controversy are exactly the same as those which have agitated the Church in other ages, and though they may come before us in a different form they are the same in reality.But we liave remarked at the outset that each age has commonly one distinctive subject of controversy-one doctrine which it is privileged to e.stabl.sh as a part of the practical faith of the Churcli, and it may be asked is there any such in our day. We think that there is, and with due submission we would sav. that the one great principle which it seems the mission of the ju-esent a-.rto establish is the spiritual character of Christ s himjdom, particularly as affecting its relation to the kingdoms of the earth and the world at '"our Lord tauglit that his " kingdom was not of this world." When his disciples misundc tood its nature, he instructed them by the dec aration, " The kiii-hn(ncalled it, of an established Church. It has connected *■ Ilov. xvi. U. 19 civil immunities witli the observance of religious oidinfinces ; nnd, cspoeiully, it liiis substitutetl tor the simple spiritual means wliieli the Cliureirs King has a[)pointe(l the carnal weapons of the eivil power. Indeed, whatever be the particular regidations of an established Church, its very tbundation prineipl" is a dcpendanee on carnal weapons tor the promotion of the interests of the Ciiiireh. It has been and still is the work of the age to establish the important truth of till' spiritual character of the Church airl its independ-nce ot all woi'ldly powers. Tiiis v.as the great principle of the Voluntary controversy. This was tiie princii»le at the tbundation of the noble struggle of the Free Church, tiioiigh tliose most deeply interested in that struggle did not understand the fidl bearing ot' the great principle for which they were contending. They had to learn (but they are now learning) the truth that the Church has as mucli to fear from Ca-sar's gold as from Ca-sar's sword, and the great principle tliOu God has given her all the resources requisite for the work which she has to accomplish in the world. * Secessions have also taken place in France, Switzerland and Holland. Indeed the peo[)le of almost every christian country, at least of every one in which a civil establishment ot religion e\ : u'O more or less agitated on the subject. They may not be discussing tiie .• .ual question of the separation ot Church and Sta^e, but questions are constantly arising which involve that issue. Tins is the ease in Papal countries as well as Protestant. I'^ven in Rome, where there is any expression of public sentiment, it is in favor of the separation of the Pope's temporal and spiritual power. The interpretation given by the best interpreters of the statement under the seventh vial, that " the cities of the nations fell," is that it denotes the downfall of eivil establishments of religion, and it reipiires no keen observer of llie signs of the times to i)erceivo, that these institutions are nodding to their fall. In Irclanil the Established Church is only upheld, in consequence of the fear, that if it were to come down, olhers would have to follow. In Scotland, wcM'c the continuance of tbe Established Church de[)endant upon the will of the peojjle of that country, it would not stand a single day, while in England, though more slowly, the tendency is in the same direction. And on llie Continent the indication is that many of such institutions will be overthrown by revolutionary violence. IJut another source in the present day from which we have to contend with opposition to the spiiiinal cliaracter ot Christ's .kingdom, is from the Millenarian theories so [)revalent. This heresy seems to arise at every period of great excitement, and considering the agitated state of society in the ])resent day throughout tiie world, we are not surprised that it should have Inoken out wiili fVe,-h vigor. It is now maintained by a large number of the clergy both of Ibitain and America, and advocated by many of the most popular writers of tlie day. * The author regrets to hear thi\t those sentiments have been considered offensive to liis bretl.rcii ut'tt'! Free Chinoli. iS'othiug cculd be further from his intention than to utter any thiiii; of the kind, lie luis not felt it necessary to alter any thing that he has written. IIo may be, wrini; in his opinion, th.it the (ivineiple of the spiritual independence of the Church, for which the Free Churcli has been contending, must lead to the relinquishment of all depeiidaiice upon the civil power tor support. He may be wrong in his belief that Free Churchmen are changing their opinion regarding the efficaey (jf the Voluntary princi_ 'e, and the value of State support to religion. Ilo believes that he can adduce high authority in the Free Church in support of his view. But whether right or wrong, ho cannot believe tliat intellinont and candid members of tl.at body will object to the free expression ot his sentiments on tliij subject, particularly w!ien in this very paragraph Le has shown every disposition to do justioa to the Free Church, iu what he had there called their " noble struggle." I 20 I We aro not poinp to .Vi.^rus.^ the Millcnariun theory in full, but wc wish to point attention to th.tiu-t. that it obscures, if it .lo not entirely . estn.y, t he ' piritnal eharacter of C'lnist's kin.trn (and lionar .roes even so far as to maintain, that the whole sacrilicnil system o the Levitical law will be restored,) that .Terusalem will be rebuilt, enlarged and magnificently adorned, and that Christ will literally " fight with his enemies as he fought with them in the day of battle," and thus show himselt the greatest warrior of the age. r .i „ t^„.. It will be at once seen, that these are just the carnal notions of the .7ev\> rerrardin^T Christ's kin-dom. All the difference is as to the time of its manife"tationr Millenarians admit this and say that the Jews were on y mistaken in confounding, what was to take place at his second advent, with what was to take place at his first. The apostles were imbued with this notion even after our Lord's resurrection, and until the day of Pentecost, when they were endued with power from on high. That day eradicated all such notions from their minds, and Peter's first discourse is directed to show tjiat^ Jesus was then exalted to the throne of David and made Lord and Christ, or m other words, ^lessiah on his throne, (Acts ii. 29-86). It is certainly amazing that ehri^tians in the light of the 19th century should return to the old notions of the Jews. There must be something gratifying to creatures of sense in this anti-spiritual system, that christians of high attainments and smcere piety should be led to adopt it. The whole history of the system in the past-the absurdities connected with it in the first thn^e centuru^-thc ^vK•kedness^ ot the Anabaptists of ISIunstei— the tragical end of the -Celestial Keiuibbe of John of Leyden-the extravagances of the " Fifth Monarchy men in he days of Cromwell, should be a warning to those who, though they may diselaim all such results, yet embrace a system which has so cc ^monly in the past led to such ruinous consequences. . . /^, , i • In connexion with the spiritual character of the christian Church, as exlubited in the movements and discussions of the present age, may be mentioned its diffusive or aggressive character. The present is the great niissionary a-e. Its symbol is in the words of the seer, '• I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to evtny nation and tongue and jieople. * Uicre have Ijeen other ages in which there have been missionary operations, but none in which they have been carried on so extensively and so systematically, ihe present is the age in which the missionary enterprise is first regarded as belonghwes.mdialhj to the character of the Church~^y\m^ it nas been shown to be lier chief duty, and a principal end for which she has been instituted, to evancrelize the nations. So that now any Church, that is not engaged m one way or another in extending the gospel, is regarded as neglecting an importiint part of her obligations. In connexion: with these discussions, and particularly with the discussion of the Voluntary principle, the duty ot contributing to the support and extension of ordinances, has received greater prominence than before, so that the present day is characterized by a liberality tor reli» Rev. xiv. e.'' it gioiir* objects, 8uch as lias never been exhibited in any former age. It wns only at the clo.se of the hist century that tlie great r.odern niissionary movenu'iit may be t^aid to have conuneneed, and yet noY tiiere is seareelv ji |)ortion of the worhl that has not been refreslied with its influences. The missionaries of the Cross are to be found among tlie ishinds that gem the Soutiiern Pacific, in the sultry air of llindostan and the cinnamon groves of Ceylon, amid the ruins of Athens and the desolations of Jerusalem, in the scorched i)lain3 of Africa and the everlasting snows of Greenland, in the praiiies of America and amid the streets and lanes of the crowded city, and everywheie the gospel is found the power of God unto salvation, until we begin to anticipate tlu era When Christ shall have domiaion O'er river, sea and shore. Far as the eagle's pinion Or dove's light wing can soarBut ti.e progress of the Church is still onward. Its goal in this age is its starting point in the next. Its present attainments form but the stage from which it takes a higher ascent. " Forgetting ibose things that are behind she reaches forth unto those things that are before." What then is to be her next step. It is always hazardous to attempt to predict the future, yet from the examination of causes now in oi)eration we may be able to form some ge-^ neral idea of what may be the distinguishing feature of the next age, and we would express our belief, judging from the preparatory work going on, that the visible union of Christ's followers will be a distinguishing feature of the coming era. For this we see in the present day abundance of preparation — 'We see the subject discussed by the press and from the pulpit — we see the co-operation of christians of various denominations in great schemes of benevolence — we see the formation of the Evangelical Alliance and other intsitutions, especially with the view of giving practical exhibition of the real union between them — we have seen the actual incorporation of bodies nearly allied, and attempts to form other unions of the same kind — we see a tendency to cherish brotherly feeling among those, whose differences are such as to prevent incorporation, and in this way misunderstandings are removed, and evangelical christians find that in heart they agree more nearly than they had supposed ; and above all the strength and imposing attitude of the common foes, gathering their strength and combining iheir efforts, have shown the necessity of greater combination among the friends of Protestant truth. All this however is only preparation. "The ideas men form on the subject are generally crude, and some of the theories adopted involve the most unscriptural latitudinarianism. And it would appear as if God were saying to this generation, as he said to David, Ye shall not build the goodly temple of concord, for ye have been men of war, but thy sons that shall come after thee shall build the temple. These movements however, like the contributions of David, serve to prepare the way for that era, when Zion's " watchmen shall see eye to eye and the Lord bring again Zion," and our Saviour's praver be answered, that his disciples " may be all one, as thou Father art in me and 1 in thee, that the world may believe that thou hast sent me." More combination will be needed for that fearful conflict that is evidently approaching. Every student of prophecy — and every observer of the signs of the times, whatever be the point of view from which he looks upon the future, is anticipating a struggle political and religions. Whether it will be the final struggle, preparatory to the ushering in of the Millennial glory of the Church, we would not positively decide ; but in our view, circumstances in 22 Providence, nn well ny God's word, indirnte 'Imt it will lip. There otdy rcinniii to he fulHlh-d the fiill of Home and the Noilhern Iliiilslorm. The Pupal Kin^ is now totteriiij: upon hrs throne, ilis ln'ud hanjrs from side to side and he iiiiist he i)ropp(d up with jtillows to retain the see[»tre in his gniHp, while the unclean spirits like frogs are fifatherinf^ the Kinj^s of the carlh to hattle to that <;rpat day ot CJod Almij^hty, and "he j;athered them tofri'ther in a place which is called in the Ilehrew tongue Armageddon." — And the Hailstorm seems ready to burst upon the devoted nations. The great contest between despotism and democracy, between superstition and intidelitv, is near at hand. Already we see the impending hosts mustering to the battle — " Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision." AVc may almost hear the summons of the Almighty " to the feathered fowl and to the bea-'t of the ''eld to assemble that they may eat the Hesh of the mighty and drink the blood of the princes of the earth." A time of universal retribution seemajiproacdiing, when the wine cup of God's fnry shall pass fnmi kingdom to kingdom and from nation to nation, and already " men's hearts are failing th'^m for fear and for looking after those things which arc coming upon the earth." Ihit if there is reason for gloom, there is also reason for hope. Even should the skies grow darker around us, the christian has no reason to b(! disheartened. Among the shaking of the nations, the things that cannot he shaken will remain, and he is the subject of a kingdom that cannot be moved. Though the storm gathers round the vessel, and the r'i\ and the waves roar, yet in the fourth watch of the night, wlu . the darkness is deepest and the billows are highest, the great Lord will appear walking upon the waves, and received with joy by his disciples, the wind will cease and there shall be a great calm. Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course Over a sinful world, and what remains (Jf this tempcstous state of things ' Is merely as the working of the sea Before a calm that rocks itself to rest. What, then, though the years coming should travail in the pangs of a new birth and " have sorrow because her hour is come," in a little she will no more remember her sorrow, for joy that a new age is born unto the world. " Zicn shall be redeemed with judgment and her converts with righteousness." These judgments are simultaneous with the dawning of the INIillennial glory of the Church. No sooner did tJie seer hear the voice of much people in heaven, saying " Allelui<\, salvution, glory and honor and power unto the Lord our God, for true and rig!j*''('u-: are thy ju '. '/r .^. 'nts, for he hath judged the great whore, which did ournipt lae earth with her fornication, and hath avenged the blood of his servants at her hand," than he he^irs also as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters and as the voice of mighty thunderings, saying, " Alleluia, for tl.o Lord God omnipotent reigneth." Happy they who are watching for the dawning of that day, and whose hearts are prepared by the Spirit of God for its blissful changes. I ^^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Y s U., ^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 '^IIIIIM IIIIM SlIIIIU i^ 2.0 1.4 1.6 (meaning "CONTINUED "), or the symbol y (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Les imagob ^uivantes ont 6X6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin, co Tipte tenu de la condition et de la nettet^ de :'exemplaire filmd, et en conformity av^^c i. 5V /5. ROMAN Oa Methods of Controversy As exemplified by the " Catholic Truth Society. A Lecture delivered in St. John's Hall, May 15th, 1893, .by William Jeffryes Muckleston, iVI.A., Curate of Christ Church, Ottawa. Ottawa : Printed by Paynter & Abbott, 48 Rideau Street, . 1893. . .< > ■t "■'fV' '■•J^y :' ''Vf ; . K^5 PREFATORY NOTE. This lecture is published by request of many members of the Church of England. It does not profess to be ooginal, but only to have put in a convenient shape many dif. ferent illustrations of its one issue, the unlrustworthiness of Roman controversialists. Thus is accounted for the " discursiveness " which has been charged against it. The author disclaims on the part of the Church of to-day, any responsibility for the unfortunate roughness used in the necessary "'washing of the Church of England's face." Owing to the vaunted discrediting of Dr. Littledale's most valuable book, he has made less use of it than he would otherwise have done. Taunted on his quoting as evidence for an historical fact a statement of a learned Presbyterian, he has failed to see the force of the objection. C-:. ', ?UA^ ^ , 4 > ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY As Exemplified by the Catholic Truth ^ ' . Society, ; •1 . . BY W. J. MUCKLESTON. " Of all the duties which conscience may lay upon a minister of the Gospel of Peace there is none from which he is more inclined to shrink than controversy. Those from whom he differs have a right to their own opinion. He is. not likely to change their view. He may be conscious that his own weakness either in knowledge or in argument may do harm to the cause of truth. He may know that the effect of controversy has often been bitterness, and he may be strongly inclined to refuse a challenge ; to allow it to be thought and probably said that for the side which he ought to advocate there is nothing to say ; and by such refusal to speak at the right time to allow possibly weaker and certainly less instructed brothers and sisters in the same Church to have their confidence shaken in her mission, her divine call and the truth of her testimony. Such a challenge has been given most defiantly to the Church of England in this city by a society formed in the interests of the Church of Rome and self-styled by the proud but altogether misleading title of " Catholic Truth." Her right to her own name, the continuity of her history, her orthodoxy in teaching the truth as it is in Jesus, the faith once delivered to the saints, everything in fact that we Church2 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. men hold dear as our own lives is turned into ridicule, or called into serious tiucstion, in tracts written to catch the popular eye^ exposed for sale in a leading book-store, circulated by ardent young ladies and endorsed by the names of men of standing in the state. * If Churchmen have nothing to say, or if they are afraid to say what is to be said, surely a victory cheaply won by our default is the reward of the exertions of the " Catholic Truth Society," but if we have a word to say in reply, he who comes forward to say it can hardly, under the circumstances, be thought guilty of any breach of charity, if he denies false assertions and false argument directed against the character and the claims of his honoured and loved mother, the Church of England. Such then is my motive in seeking a hearing at this time. The ""Catholic Truth Society " seems to have two objects in the circulation of its tracts : to assist Romanists in obtaining readily devotional works and instruction about their devotions ; and to attack the Church of England. In the first of these the Society is no doubt justified, according to the conscientious views of its members and of those who may thus be religiously aided. With the consciences of those, who have been taught to mix up what we deem the peculiarities of Romanism with the truths of Christianity, we are not concerned, nor are we called upon to doubt that the grace sought is obtained by those who pray for it, nor yet to deny the wonderful effect of Christianity shown in the good lives and good works of those who in so many respects differ from us. But with the second of the apparent objects of this association we are very greatly concerned. Against other societies commonly called Protestant these tracts do not seem to bear any testimony, but against the Catholic Church of England, they are unceasing in their attacks. I have not of course felt '» ROMAN METHODS OF CONTKOVKRSV. a ir called into •opular eye 1 by ardent standing in 'e afraid to ran by our lolic Truth who comes be thought ^rtions and e claims of nd. . t this time. wo objects I obtaining devotions ; ed, accordthose who ight to mix the truths id upon to lo pray for r shown in ny respects lis associar societies m to bear England, :ourse felt bound to read all the series, but the fact (which other nonRoman Christians would do well to remark) is evident that the Church of England i 5 the great object of the dislike and the strong language of these writers, language which sometimes makes us rather wonder at the mild and honeyed accents of the President of the Society declaring that " there is notlling in them to offend." The Church of England claims to be historically and continuously the Catholic Church, as settled in England before the mission of Augustine, not originally subject to the Pope and not losing her identity when, with other novelties unknown (like the Papal supremacy) to the Church of the Apostles and of the primitive centuries, that supremacy was cast off. Accordingly against our church has been and is being directed the main labours of Roman controversy in Englishspeaking lands ever since the Reformation. It matters nothing, as it seems, that all the charges of a broken succession and a lost continuity have been answered clearly and distinctly over and over again ; for these tracts are apparently intended for the misleading of those who are ignorant alike of history and of the true nature of logical argument. If, -n the minds of uninstructed churchmen, a seed of distrust can be sown ; if only doubt of the authority and of the truly apostolic character of the Church of their fathers can be instilled, it is hoped that the descent will be rapid, till he who first asks IVas Barlow a Bishop ? as one of these inoffensive tracts enquires, or was Archbishop Parker's consecration valid ? will be led to turn his back upon Scripture and upon reason ; to believe in the infallibility of the Pope ; to worship his fellowcreatures, called saints, with what seems, to us at least; idolatrous respect ; to bow down to images and the relics of dead men ; to accept half the great Sacrament of the Lord's love, being denied the whole ; to pay money to deliver his friends' souls out of an * ] 4 ROMAN METIICJDS 0\< CONTKOVERSV. imaginary Puri^atory and to declare (contrary to the evidence of his God-given senses) that biead and wine in the Holy Communion are bread and wine no longer. ' " To attempt to cover the whole ground of the Roman controversy in a single lecture would be a manifest absurdity. My main object at this time is to raise, in the minds of churchmen^ a wholesome distrust of the statements of these tracts. We do not hesitate to warn any who may be troubled, that the slippery ways of Roman controversialists have been proverbial ever since the controversy began, and have been exposed over and over again by the great champions of the Church of England. Nothing new is being urged against us and nothing which has not been clearly and fully answered times without number. In these tracts and in all similar writings great use is made of the Fathers of the Primitive Church to show that the supremacy of the Pope and other peculiarities rejected by us were held in early times. Thus a great appearance of learning is seen on their side, but it is only an appearance, and there is always the suspicion that the quotations are not genuine. The texts of many of these ancient writings have been shown to have been deliberately altered and added to. One writer says : ." As the genuine writings of .he Fathers bear constant testimony against the fapal doctrines and usages, a regular system of forgery has gone on in respect of them also : sometimes by the falsifications of whole works, at other times by interpolations in the text of genuine works " The Fathers, thus manipulated, have furnished a vast magazine whence Rom.anists have drawn weapons of argument which would have astonished none so much as those who were supposed to have originally made them. And so they work according to their manner with clouds of talk and assertion, . , "By repeating" (as Dr. Langtry says) "the same misrepresentations and calumnies as though they had never been disproved," although " their perversion of ROMAN METJIODS OK CONTUOVKKSY. 5 -ISC is made facts and Fathers have l)een liroujjht home to them, their charges (lispr<)ve fi J* ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. :s of the \y to be th while le or his that StSt. Mark 65 years t a staten formed. > so coirirgument s favour. >t simply /• easy to s growth books for •le in the op Wcsttioned as ^orth the and the r teaches le on the en, when ,d, if the -e us the :atement. that we shudder at such men being the trusted teachers of others. On the first preparation of this lecture I was unaware of certain matters which form -a wonderful comment on the title " Catholic Trut/t." This pamphlet which first moved my indignation was given in Ottawa in the form of lectures by Father Damen more than twenty years ago. The statement which I am about to expose was then clearly shown to be a pure fiction by Professor McLaren, of Toronto, at that time a Presbyterian Minister here, who published his exposure, and yet the Secretary of the Catholic Truth Society tells me that this proved falsehood has been constantly on sale here ever since. The argument is strong for Rome though it is a lie. They keep it on sale and still talk of " Catholic Truth" thus shown to be something different from ordinary or simple truth. The New Testament, as we have it now, is the same as is declared worthy of trust by St. Athanasius in the end of the fourth century. The general acceptance by the Christian Churches everywhere by that time is our dependence, and the statement on p. 9, as to the settlement of the question by a council called by a Pope for the purpose, is absolutely unfounded. Listen to Father Damen : • " It was not till the fourth century that the Pope of Rome, the head of the Church, the successor of St. Peter assembled together the Bishops of the world in a council and there in that council it was decided that the Bible, as we Catholics have it now, is the Word of (iod." Listen to the facts. At the Council of Nice held in the year 325 there may have been discussion on the Canon of the New Testament (as we call the authoritative list of its books.) There is certainly no record of any decision come to in the matter in the decrees which have come down to us. r 10 ROMAJSf METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. I'here is an absurd legend, which confutes itself, that the MSS. of all books into whose authority it was desired to enquire were laid on a table together and that, after prayer, those which we now acknowledge were found on top of those which then and now are thought to be unworthy of acceptance. " The Bishops of the World," says Father Damen. There were only two General Councils (as is acknowledged by all) held in the fourth century ; this Council of Nice (to which I suppose Father Damen alludes), and the first Council of Constantinople held in the year 381, when no reference to the Canon of Scripture seems to have Leen made. . ., ... At the Council of Nice then let us look, till we learn to estimate at its true value the trustworthiness of Father Damen even on his oath and of the " Catholic jyutJi Society." In the year 3 1 1 persecution by the Heathen Emperors had ceased and the Emperor Constantine, who was a Christian in sentiment, though not (till near his death) by Baptism, raised up the Catholic Church from its oppression to a commanding position in the world. , ; — Soon it became evident that certain quarrels must be settled or the work of the Church would be hindered, and notably the dispute between the Arians and the Catholics about the Divinity of our Lord. -v. ' ' > ' . ,; :i The greatest name among Christian Bishops seems to have been that of Hosius, Bishop of Cordova, in Spain, who is ever spoken of with the deepest respect. After he had been unsuccessfully employed, at Constantine's request, in seeking to mediate between the contending parties at Alexandria, where the strife raged most hotly, the Emperor by the advice, as it is believed, of Hosius, summoned the Council of Nice, so called from its place of meeting about 75 miles south east of Constantinople. It was almost entirely an Eastern Council. Of its 318 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. tl [Bishops (though there is some doubt whether that is the exact [number) only some ten, whose names are all known, came from the west, of whom Hosius represented Spain, Gaul and Britain. Under Constantfne, Hosius was apparently the President of the Council. Sylvester, the aged Bishop of Rome, was not )resent, but was ropresented by two priests. To call Sylvester "the Pope," as is done by careless writers on )ur side, is absurd. To Alexander, Bishop of Alexandria, was 5uch a title commonly given, but as Dean Sl:anley says : "The 'ope of Rome was a phrase which had not yet emerged in listory." Pope is from Pappas, a familiar Greek word with very much its English meaning papa. It is now the title of all Greek and Lussian parish priests. It was the title of all Latin Bishops. But ill that the word now implies, the claim of supremacy, the claim )f infallibility, are of comparatively recent growth, supported by long chain of forgeries and mistakes and stealthy advances in lays of ignorance. Late in the 5th cei'rtury rose the legend, founded on no ;ontemporary evidence whatever, that Sylvester was concerned [n the calling of the council and that Hosius presided only as his lelegate. But when the decrees of the Council were passed and to be signed, Hosius signs first in his own name and with no mention )f the Bishop of Rome, and the delegates from Rome sign lext, as delegates and representatives of Sylvester. Two other legends about the same Syl "ester are taught to Lomanists as true, though they are both transparently false. It Is stated in a lesson read in the Breviary by every Roman priest )n the 31st day of December in each year, that Constantine, being leper, was healed by Sylvester by means of Baptism, adminpstered in Rome, whereas it is a matter of history that Constanitine was not baptized till he was on his deathbed in Nicomedia, ig tSf.=ri i gjBaMtfJea«'.vw 12 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. n III i a city in Asia, when the rite was administered by Eusebius, tlie local bishop. Next, but not, be it noted, till the middle of the 8th century (400 years after the Council of Nice) Sylvester was still further glorified, by the invention cf the fable of the Donation of Con.stantine, whereby in gratitude for his cure (according to the former fable^) that Emperor bestowed upon the Pope the sovereignty of Italy and the western Provinces. So the simple story of Nice and its Council is falsified by our Jesuit author, the canon of scripture being declared to have been settled there fwhich is unfounded* and the Council itself being falsely represented as called by the Pope for the purpose of such settlement. The frauds thus begun have been steadily continued. I do not profess to have either learning or leisure to read up ,| all the miserable story, but this is evident, that every author of repute has brought against Rome and her advocates charges of | bad faith, of forged documents, and of real documents fraudulently | altered to bring the ideas of later years into the writings of the men of an older date, who knew them not and would have scouted them as heresy, t . i^ 77 • ; "< r '.■ One writer says : /;•■ ■^iQ^.^lrv-::-/,:, -■-..■^'■i-. ::^';;'^y_■ "To such an extent has this been canried, (easy enough to accomplish in the days of manuscripts and lack of critical acumen) lliat it is impossible to trust any quotation from Latin fathers or Latin translations of Greek fathers without verifying them from carefully edited originals, because suspicion must attach to all, since from sad experience we know that very many paseages have been more or less corrupted in the interests of the Papacy or have been altered to suit altered doctrine." The same writer gives as a terrible example a short sentence from St. Ambrose (whom one of these tracts glorifies very highly) wherein that Doctor, stating his belief in the P^eal Presence of Christ veiled beneath the outward visible signs of bread and wine, which were preserved entire, is made by the 1 omission of two little words to declare his belief in the novel figment of Transubstantiation of which he could not even have dreamt, ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 13 8th century still further tion of Conding to the e the sovesimple story )r, the canon e fwhich is •resented as It. nued. e to read up | y author of charges of fraudulently | tings of the have scoutcomplish in the le to trust any ithout verifying all, since frcm 2SS corrupted in ort sentence orifies very | I the Real )le signs of ade by the j 1 the novel t even have As we have wandered somewhat from Father Damen and ^is interesting fiction about the Council of Nice, we may as well, rhile we are talking of fictioi., just mention one other most imarkable instance of successful fraud, most disastrous to truth, lost useful to Rome : '* In the middle of the ninth century came the greatest of all the forgeries, the kmous *' False Decretals " that is a collection of about a hundred fermal official Itlers and decrees of a number of early Popes and Councils on points of doctrine and |scipline, all intended to augment the Papal authority, which were fabricated in Western Gaul about 845, and were eagerly seized on by Pope Nicholas I, an ambitious id perfectly unscrupulous pontiff (858-867), to aid in revolutionizing the Church, as in fact largely succeeded in doing. Here are a few specimens of the sort of thing ith which they teem : ' Not even among the Apostles was there equality, but one set over all. ' ' The Head of the Church is the Roman Church. ' • The Church Rome, by a unique privilege, has the right of opening and shutting the gates of [eaven for whom she will."' (Dr. Littledale — " Plain Reasons.") Among these " Catholic Truth " tracts is one with the bold [tie " The False Decretals," which acknowledges the existence these spurious documents. Pointing out and recognizing plainly the evil and the guilt lat would have attached to the Church and the Popes " if the fope had invented these forgeries " or adopted them knowing or ispecting them to be forgeries, but using them to strengthen leir own power, he asserts as follows : " Happily the False Decretals have had no such influence on the legislation of lie Catholic Church. They have introduced no dogma, no law, no custom that did |ot exist before." ^ . Indeed ! But if any man were now charged with and contantly suspected of securing wrongful advantages for himself forged documents, it would go hard with him if more than loo such papers, calculated for such use, were found in his desk, Iven though he exclaimed ever so loudly that he had never got [ny real advantage by them. We mark that this writer also has S. J. after his name, and wanting better assurance than Bardolph, we ask the great French & 14 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. ecclesiastical historian Fleury, what effect had these Forged Decretals on the course of Church history, and we hear his answer : . ' "Of all these false documents,the most pernicious were the Decretals attributed to the Popes of the first four centuries, which have inflicted an incurable wound on the discipline of the Church, by the new maxims which they introduced concerning the judfjments of the Bishops and the authority of the Popes." "No influence on legislation" says the Jesuit. * An incurable wound on the discipline of the Church," says the great Fleury. We look for a moment at two more testimonies. Another Jesuit, DeRenyon, is quoted on the other side : " Yes, the impostor has attained his end. He has changed, as he wished, tht discipline of the Church, but he has not arrested the general decay. God never blesses imposture. The False Decretals have never produced anything but mischief." Pere Gratry, whose story sadly reminds us of Galileo's, silenced also in Rome's own style, was an ardent French opponent of the lying dogma of Infallibility, who showed up fraud and heresy in every direction, till on his death-bed he was (Rome fashion) silenced and brought to recant by the withholding of the last Sacraments. :^ ^.vy jii/ > y;f Pere Gratry shows that in one standard work on the Papal claims, which he studied in his seminary course, out of twenty quotations, eighteen were taken from the False Decretals. We also remember the four letters written by Pere Gratry during the Vatican Council, page after page teeming with instances of corruptions of the Fathers, and of the decrees of Councils and Popes, of false deductions, of garbled passages (chapter and verse given of each) so that he does not hesitate to say, " It is a question utterly gangrened with fraud." Do we not well then in cautioning Church people to beware of the statements of these tracts, to take no alleged fact as true, to follow no argument unless with both eyes open.? Let us now listen a little longer to Father Damen, on the ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. IS ibject of the comparative merits of the authorized version of le English Bible and of the Latin Vulgate : " The Bible is the book of Gorl, the language of inspiration ; at least, when have a true Bible, as we Catholics have, and you Protestants h.ive not." " But, my dearly beloved Protestarii friends, do not be oflFended at me for saying [tat. Your own most learned preachers and bishops tell you that, and some have written lole volumes in order to prove that the English translation, which you have, is a |try faulty and false translation. "Now, therefore, I say that the true Bible is as the Catholics have it, the Latin ilgate, and the most learned among the Proteslants themselves have agreed that Latin Vulgate Bible, which the Catholic Church always makes use of, is the best existence ; and therefore it is, as you may have perceived, that when I preach, I re the text in Latin, because the Latin text of the Vulgate is the best extant." We know that Protestants have sometimes a slip-shod waytalking about the English Bible as if the very English words lemselves were inspired, but of course no one, who thinks* lagines j.nything but the truth, that the version of i6i i, con[dering the state of Greek and Hebrew scholarship in England the time, is a marvel of accuracy. Since then more has been learned and other manuscripts ive been discovered and the greatest Greek and Hebrew fholars of the day are proud to give their talents to the dis)vcry of the true meaning of the original Greek of the New testament and of the Hebrew of the old. . The many mistakes of which he speaks are for the most irt unimportant, while his wholesale condemnation of the Book faulty and false is absolutely unfounded and his statement )out the preference of the most learned Protestants for the itin Vulgate is a deliberate falsehood. Cardinal Newman was never found to speak anything but )rds of loving regard for the Book, whence in his youth he Jarnt the things of God, and one very eccentric pervert, Mr ^aldo Sibthorp, a contemporary, if not a friend of Newman's, was the habit of carrying his English Bible into Roman pulpits. I borrow some account of the Vulgate or Latin Bible from JBi i6 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. I( ! s. a letter on Papal Infallibility by Revd. J. M. Davenport, of St. John, N.B., published in 1885, first explaining that the Vulgate was originally put into shape by revision and fresh translation by S. Jerome, early in the 5th century, but we notice that Jerome made a clear distinction, since obliterated by infallible Rome » between the Old Testament as we now have it and the books called Apocrypha. ■ Mr. Davenport writes : " Pope Sixtus V, 1590 A.D., issued an edition of the Vulgate, declaring as a perpetual A^cx^t, ^ by the fuhuss of Apostolic pmver'''' that henceforth it was to be the '* sole authentic and standard ieyii forever ^ 'since relying on the authority of the Prince of the Apostles,' he had corrected it with his own hand, and that therefore any | departure from it even in private reading, discussions or explanations should incur the greater excominunication. " " This surely, must be then an Ex cathexira \hai is formal and so infallible utterance (though the term was not yet invented). " Yet what was the event ? "This edition, guaranteed by the infallible Pope, so sivarmed with errors that | it was called in almost immediately and Clement VIII published a new Vulgate in I i592,diflFering from that of 1590 in several thousand places and likewise issued under penalty of excommunication for any deviation from it. ** Here was and is surely a puzzle for Roman Catholics. The value of the dogma of infallibility is, we are assured, that it makes one so certain what to do and believe in all matters of faith and practice. " y And further on he concludes, '' r-x:^■:^'■^■^"^■ '^'^\ cannot help thinking that we are infinitely happier here without than with i an in'allible Pope. We can relegate the Apocrypha to its proper position ; can reject both Sixtus' and Clement's editions in favor of better, and can profit by the '| suggestions of Biblical reviiors, none of which things a consistent infalHbilist can ■ do ! Thank you, sir, we will not change our Bibles for yours. " Father Damen's clever picture of representatives of the! different sects contending over the Bible would have been made much more lifelike by the introduction of a puzzled Romanist trying to find the infallibility of the Pope in any shape or form j either in the Vulgate or in the rough English version put into^ Romanists' hands and known p the Douai Bible. As the New Testament* was written by Christians to! ROMAN METHODS OF CONTKOVEKSV. j; )ort, of St. le Vulgate translation lat Jerome ble Rome > the books leclaring as a was to be the ' of the Prince therefore any lould incur the nfallible utterV; 'th errors that jw Vulgate in e issued under ; vaUie of the rhat to do and hout than with position ; can in profit by the ' InfalHbilist can ives of the been made Romanist ,pe or form m put into iristians tol Christians, there arc many matters connected with the already [xisting and working system of the Church Catholic, which arc jferred to but not explained in detail. If the Bible is to be handled by people who superstitiously fnd in isolated texts matter for working out their pet systems, )thing but the present confusion could be expected, but if jverently used in the light of history, with our knowledge of le primitive Church and especially of the age of the Niccne touncil, when for the first time the Catholic Church was able to ft up herself, free from slavery to heathen emperors and >vernors and persecutors, the appeal of the Church of England the Scriptures will be found most reasonable. -f^ At all events, since one lecture cannot contain all necessary Jfeaching and we are not now concerned with the mistakes of [rotestantism, it is enough for our present argument to see that le Roman Church has practically cast the Scriptures behind it, is made new claims and set forth new doctrines which arc not ily unscriptural but are most distinctly opposed both to the ^tter and the Spirit of the New Testament. But it is when our author comes to the Reformation era, lat his power of appropriate and telling invention comes into )ecial play. Let us hear him : *' In the year 1520 — 368 years ago — the first Protestant came into the world. |fore that one there wa.s not a Protestant in the world, not one on the face of the bole earth ; and that one, as all history tells us, was Martin Luther, who was a itholic priest, who fell away from the Church through pride, and married a nun. was excommunicated from the Church, cut off, banished, and made a new religion fhis own. " Before Martin Luther there was not a Protestant in the world ; he was the first Iraise the standard of rebellion and revolt ngainst the Church of GfKl. " The point against Luther might have been made riiorc krcible, if instead of calling him a priest (one bound only by (w as I understand to a celibate life) our author had shown that was a monk or rather a friar and bound by a solemn vow not marry. i8 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. Luther's marriage was certainly, as a matter of policy, a serious mistake as giving handle to such statements as this ever since. , • As to his conscience, we have no means of judging. He is said to have come to regard all such vows as sinful and to have advised others in like cases to break them. Whether Luther were right or wrong in his actions, good or bad in his heart, is not now our concern. We are no followers of Luther, and I am only bringing forward these statements as remarkable specimens of " Catholic Truth." Luther is here definitely declared in almost as many words to have broken with Rome in order to marry. But his breach with Rome over the vile and immoral traffic in indulgences took place in 15 17, and it was not for eight years or in 1525 that his marriage took place with a nun named Catherine Von Bora who was then only twenty-four years of age. And this is historical truth, I beg pardon, Catholic truth, as declared on oath. " • "^ Luther is one of the strong men of the world, an '^poch maker. The result of his influence and his work seemed likely to be the destruction of Popery ifi Europe had the course of the Reformation not been stopped by Charles V, and had not the ''\ Inquisition been called into action. The power of Luther's teaching is still felt in Germany ; his j hymns are sung in every Protestant -German home. Though] his self-will was no doubt 'strong and hurtful, though his hasty ^^ words are to be deplored by all who believe in Christian charity yet Luther (as has been shown by Carlisle) is the strong man. Luther, as painted by Roman controversalists, is a wicked! and self-indulgent and therefore a weak man. If the Luther ofi Rome's painting, could set all Germany in a blaze of hatred ofl Rome and of Rome's doctrines and above all of Rome's morality I ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 19 policy, a this ever g. He is d to have s, good or bringing | " Catholic iny words lis breach [inces took •5 that his Bora who fl ic truth, as , an '^poch med likely Lirse of the ! id not the rmany ; his :. Though ^ ti his hast)' ian charit)-, Dng man. ^' 3 a wicked ; Luther of J f hatred of I's nmoralit}^ ^hat must have been the condition of religion in Germany after :enturies of the absolute sway of that system, which ardent :on verts now deem to be and always to have been so good, so )ure, so Christlike ? But next, as tp the truth of the statement, that before .uther there was not a Protestant in the world. The word thus used has had different applications. For istance in Ireland the name used to be always applied to a lember of the Church of Ireland as distinct not only from Lomanists but from Presbyterians. . In another sense (the truest historically) the only Protestants ^re Lutherans, as following those from whose Protest in 15^9 le name first came into use. But in the common everyday use of the name it is simply [n a par with the other assertions of this tract to state that xUther was the first Protestant, leaving it to be understood that fefore him none ever protested against Rome's new doctrines or ir ever increasing usurpation of authority. Are we to believe that our author neverheard of Wickliffe )r instance, who, though he lived and died a faithful parish friest, raised no sect, set up no school, yet struck for truth and Ight long before Luther did, issuing his English translation of the fible in 1382, 135 years before Luther opposed Tetzel and his lie of indulgences ? From Wickliffe's work rose the people called Lollards, who^ Hth what purity of doctrine we can scarcely estimate, yet were :rtainly Protestants before Luther. It was against them that Je law "de comburendis haereticis," "for the burning of heretics" passed in England, whicn it is said has never been repealed, id which was so terrible a weapon in the hands of Queen Mary, lile the persecution of the Lollards is declared by Green to ive been one of the reasons which made the cause of Henry unpopular when the Yorkists began the wars of the Roses. 20 ROMAN MKTIIODS OK C'ONTUOVKRSY. Wickliffc's work had great influence in Bohemia through John Muss and Jerome of Prague, both of them martyrs and true heroes, put to death by fraud and falsehood at the Council of Constance in the early days of the 1 5th century. Long before that time we read of the revolt from Rome of the Albigenses in the South of France in the I2th century. Their doctrines we cannot know certainly. There seem to have been what we would call heretical ideas mixed with the truth. Through the whole region, civiliy.ed and advanced beyond any other part of the world, the breach with Rome was complete. But the Kingdom of Rome is ever a kingdom of this world. With fire and sword were murder and destruction carried through the lovely land. Listen to Macaulay : " A war, distinguisheil even among wars of religion hy its merciless atrocity, destroyed the Alliigciisian heresy and with that heresy the prosperity, the civilization, the literature, the national existence of what was once the most opulent and enlightened part of the great European family." " A crusade," it was called, " a holy war'" authorized and demanded by Pope Innocent III and conducted by Simon dc Montfort, the father of the great author of the English Parliament. ■ . ''^. . ■ ■ , ' ' " ■ -"■-',. I do not take time now to mention at length the more well known instance of the Walden.«es in Piedmont, who have lived in independence of Rome from very ancient days, nor do I more than mention the most tremendous instance of all, the great unchanging Orthodox Churches of the East which have never acknowledged the Pope. And yet Luther, in Roman phraseology, " was the first to raise the standard of rebellion and revolt against the Church of God." But of course this author is especially vigorous and eloquent j and untrustworthy when he comes to the never failing slander | -Jl^ -^ ROMAN MKTMODS OF CONTROVERSY. 21 that the Church of England was founded by Henry VIII. We jhall let him sj)eak for himself : " Henry VIII was a Catliolic, and defemlcd ihe Catholic religion ; he wrote a look against Martin Luther in defence of the Catholic doctrine. That book I have jyself seen ill the library of the Vatican at Rome a few years ago. Henry VIII defended the religion, and for so doing was titled by the Pope " Defender of the •"aith." It came down with 'lis successors, and Queen Victoria inherits it to-day. le was married to Catharine of Arragon ; but there was at his court a maid of lonor to the Queen, named Ann iioleyn, who was a beautiful woman, and captivating appearance. Henry was deteimined to have her. But he was a married man. le put in a petilijn to the Po[)e to be allowed to marry herand a foolish petition It was, for the l\)i)e had no power lo grant the prayer of it. The Pope and all the jishops in the world cannot go against the will of God. Christ says : ' If a man nitteth away his wife, and marrielh another, he committeth adultery, and he that larrieth her who is put away committeth adultery also,' " As the Pope would not grant the prayer of Henry's petition he took Ann |ioleyn anyhow, and was excommunicated from the Church. " After a while there was another maid of honor, prettier than the first, more jeautiful and charming in the eyes oi' Henry, and he said he must have her, too. He ^ook the third wife, and a fourth, fifth and sixth followed. Now this is the founder )f the Anglican Church, the Church o< England; and, therefore, it is that it goes ->y the name (^f the Church of England." Besides the slanderous attack upon us contained in these Jast words there are in this series of tracts {with ?tothing in them io offend, as the President so kindly explains), a great many ilmost as false and quite as mischievous. We have been, as I feel, honoured by special notice. There ire two small bound volumes of tracts with the misleading title )f " The Church of Old England," to meet what a prefatory note :alls " the endeavours of the Anglican establishment to pass tself off as Catholic." Some of the statements, as to how villainously Henry VIII md his creatures acted when they were seeking excuses to lestroy and rob the monasteries ; as to the persecutions of those ^ho would not join him in his revolt from the usurpation of the lishop of Rome and as to the persecution of Romanists under ilizabeth and James I are, we doubt not, perfectly true. 22 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. i I That great changes were also made in the received faith all agree, Such changes, the tracts declare, have destroyed the continuity of the Church. , . But not so. The appeal was to the ancient constitution of the Primitive Church. ^ . ;^^. j. But what has the Church of England to do with the Primitive Church? it is in effect asked. It was founded, we will be told, in the opening years of the 7th century by Augustine, a Missionary sent by Gregory Bishop of Rome. It therefore in a special manner was subject to Rome. Even if this were true, we know that Gregory, to whose memory all true Churchmen must pay respect, was the very man who said that " the title of Universal Bishop is profane, superstitious, haughty and invented by the first apostate," and who advised Augustine, in manner most unlike a Pope, as to his behaviour towards the remnants of the once flourishing British Church. But in any case wc find that sixty years after the mission of Augustine, the Church as founded by him in Kent was still, after many successes and failures, confined to that County or Kingdom and to a small part of the South of England outside Kent, while the rest of the country had been largely converted by missionaries acting from Scotland and Ireland, who had introduced quite a different rite from the Roman or Latin use of y\ugustinc, especially ir the matter of keeping Easter. So that even in its origin the Church of England was not Roman. But if it were, it would still be Apostolic with a right to appeal beyond Rome and against Rome to the undivided Church and the Canons of the undisputed General Councils. . •. The greatness of the innovations afterwards introduced did not, as Rome and we agree, break the c. ntinuity of the English | Church. We do not even charge that the immense additional innovations made since the Reformation, the creed of Pius IV and all ■n ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY 2.3 '^ed faith all stroyed the stitution of I the Primwill be told, , a Missionn a special 7, to whose s the very is profane, state," and 3e, as to his ing British he mission t was still, County or nd outside ^ converted , who had ^atin use of ■. So that man. a right to led Church educed did he English ional inno5 IV and all he novelties of the Council of Trent, or even the two awlul dditions to the faith made during our own time have broken e continuity of the Roman Church. Why then are we now asked to acknowledge that our connnity was broken by the abolition of innovations ? When we are asked " where was your Church before Henry III or Cranmer?" i^ '^^ay be a slightly vulgar answer but it is a ost effectual one, to enquire " where was your face before it was ashed ?" If one be dressed in borrowed or stolen or unneceslarily cumbrous clothing, the identity of the man within is not Iffccted either by such dress or by its casting off. Certainly the plied and expressly stated objection, that the old Church of ugustine and of Bedc is not the Church of our love and our llegiance and devotion to-day, because of the great and necesry and wholesome changes of the Reformation is without undation in history or in reason, unless in history read as JR-ome reads it, or in reason educated by the arts of Jesuits. « That these changes were in some instances brought about ^y means from which we shrink; that the leaders in the English Revolt from Rome were in many cases evil men, seemingly led by motives of greed and covetousness ; that there was, because of the time, much persecution, all these things are sadly true. But our interest in reading the honest truth about Henry ,and Cranmer, about Somerset and Northumberland, about lizabeth and Burleigh, is only the same as our interest in reading bout the other questionable characters of English history. If everything were true which Romanists assert about these istorical personages, and that is asking a good deal of our edulity, our position to-day would not be altered by a hair'sreadth and our conhdent appeal to Scripture and to the constitution of the Primitive Church would be unshaken. No one alleges the infallibility of the Anglican Church. For instance, in the terrible matter of persecution, let us ill 24, ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 1 • notice how different is our position from that of Rome. She claims to be not only Catholic as we also claim to be, but the whole Catholic Church and infallible, while within the last twenty-five years she has discovered that her head is and always has been infallible also, when he speaks as they say " ex cathedra," that is formally, leaving it for future generations to wrangle over and perhaps burn each other over the question, when does he speakthus ex cathedra. Persecution has been endorsed by. Popes over and over again. The Inquisition has rested upon decrees of Popes beginning with Pope Innocent III in the 13th century and for 500 years it filled Western Europe with torture and terror and groans and tears and blood. Let any one read it for himself. Let him read Dickens' description of the prison of the Inquisition, in his "Pictures from Italy," detailing what is known of the awful scenes enacted under the picture of the Good Shepherd. Motley estimates that not less than 100,000 victims of the Inquisition were burnt, .strangled and buried alive during the reign of Philip II in the Netherlands, while the Duke of Alvathe horrible mojister who urged on the work, received from the infallible Pius V a consecrated hat and sword of honour as a reward. The hideous massacre of St. Bartholomew at Paris was endorsed by Pope Gregory XIII, who, went in procession to the Church of St. Louis to sing Te Deum for the triumph. I do not bring these charges wantonly, but in answer to the statements of the tracts about the persecution of Romanists in England, because for all that can be said against our fathers for copying Rome's tactics, infinitely more is to be said against her, with the teirible addition that modern Rome, the Church which our weaklings are to be tempted to join, is committed to the ■..:''^'M ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSV. 25 omc. She t the whole twenty-five ? has been edra," that le over and s he speak ' and over Dpes begin nd for 500 and groans d Dickens' :turcs from leted under ims of the during the e of Alva' d from the )nour as a Paris was sion to the 1. >wer to the manists in fathers for gainst her, rch which ted to the hole system by the fatal error of the Vatican decree of the fallibility of the Pope. Then pfjain we do not consider it any argument against omc that her Popes have been in many cases men not only lad and vile but hideously and awfully so, but as the immoral aracter of some of our leaders is dragged in as if in argument gainst us we do right to bring forward in answer Alexander I, known as Borgia, one of the vilest of all vile wretches, John XIII — so awful a monster that at the Council of Constance, hich burnt Huss and Jerome and deposed John, it was declared at he ought to be burnt also, and many another Pope and ing exalted and made much of by Pope or Jesuit such as ouis XIV and Louis XV of France and Philip II of Spain mpared with whom the chief actors of the English Reformaon including Henry were as angels of light. Either such arguments are useless, as I maintain, or they ill prove to be most dangerous and suicidal weapons in the ands of Rome. But in looking a little closer at the matters alleged by ather Damen we find that his indignation against Henry for ^king a divorce, on the ground that the Pope could not grant ch a thing, contrasts somewhat absurdly with the fact that enry himself must have well remembered that in 1498 (only years before his own marriage) Louis XII of France had tained from Pope Alexander VI, called Borgia, a divorce from s wife, not only without any such fair seeming reason as was leged by Henry, but as historians agree for a very disreputable ibe. As a matter of fact, however, Henry did not ask for a vorce, strictly speaking, at all. He had married his brother's idow, contrary as we believe, not only to the law of the Church, t also to the law of God. He had done this (mark the fact) dispensation from Pope Julius II. IfS'WMi 'III I ' ti IP '■ • 26 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. iai h 01 n '. er Who is the Pope to dispense with God's law ? He does it yet if you pay for itWhen marriage between a man and his deceased wife's sister was legalized by our Parliament the bill was supported by many Roman Catholic members because, in any case, such marriages with them would require the Pope's dispensation and are a source of revenue and of power. This marriage took place in 1509. In 1527 the question was raised, how we cannot be sure, of the legitimacy of the Princess Mary, the only surviving issue of. the marriage. The ordinary view taken by all Romanists, that Henry only wanted a legal way to commit adultery is directly contradicted !^ by Professor James Anthony Froude. His arguments, how^^^ ever, will never alter the idea of Henry VI H, which has become ||p ^] part of our English nature. But it is quite certain that what Henry asked of Pope Clement VII was not a divorce, but a declaration that his marriage had been null and void from the beginning, a very different thing, as our Jesuit knew well enough, though he was very careful not to say so. In reading his words we would gather that the Pope sent back an immediate and authoritative and very indignant No^ anc thus forced the wicked Henry into an immediate schism in order to commit adultery, but instead of that we find that the case dragged on for five years with no prospect of a decision. Am: the reason is not far to seek. «>f( \ Xfbj . . , tttat The infallible pontifT, the supreme judge, the Vicar of Christ ry , was in mortal terror of the Emperor Charles V, the nephew 0; * t^ the injured Queen Catherine, a dutiful Catholic whose army a: one time invaded Italy and sacked the City of Rome witb enormous robbery and bloodshed. And .so Clement dared not act j ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 27 He does it lan and his I nent the bill because, in the Pope's ^ ^er. At last in 1530 the questions were forced into the minds of nglishmen, Who is this Italian Priest who assumes so much d can do so little ? Whence is his authority and how did it ach its present extent in England ? Such questions were not new. As far back as 1270 we find lat Edward I, perhaps the greatest of all our Kings, was solute (as Green puts it) to force the Church to become oroughly national and to break its growing dependence Rome. As a step in that direction was passed by Parliament, en only beginning its long and glorious course, the statute " Mortmain " to limit the increasing wealth of the Church. In the reign of Edward J II the statute of " Provisors," to put a stop to certain intolerable forms of extortion on the part of the Pope, and in the reign of Richard II that of " Praemunire," to forbid appeals to Rome from the King's courts, were passed By Parliament. ' '■•--«' And yet we are asked to believe that when Parliament passed .an act or acts in 1532 which finally and forever denied lOUgh he was atid destroyed any power which the Pope could have over the subjects of the English crown it was altogether strange. Not t be sure, of| ing issue of t Henry onl}' contradicted ments, howi has become ked of Pope tion that his nning, a very ; M i " Of the Papal usurpation," says quaint old Thomas Fuller, " It went forward jnant IVO, ailC ;^Htil the statute of Mortmain. It went backward slowlv when the statute of Pro^hism in order '^^W^ors was made under Edward III, swiftly when the siaiuie o( /'rae/Hiunre was made. It fell down when the Papacy was abolished in the reign of Henry VIII. " And the Convocation of Canterbury, which was practically n the mouthpiece of the Church of England declared in 1531 t "the King was the chief protector, the only and supreme d and head of the Church and clergy of England, so far as the of Christ will allow." ,,.^ . --^^^^^^ , _ ,,, , that the case Dcision. Audi 'icar of ChristJ le nephew ol| hose army at f Rome witli^ dared not act True, it is said, that neither Parliament nor Convocation ^re free, but that both were terrorized by Henry, and we know i|at some of the best blood of England was shed by him, 28 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. H m r l-l notably that of Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher because they would not disown the Pope. s ^ ^ \; :^ But unfortunately we have seen already why accusations of persecution are no argument, and still more unfortunately we know that both of these great and good men, and such they certainly were, had themselves been guilty of the same sin of the times. Parliament and Convocation, free, or not, did formally act j and declare as I have said, and be it noticed that neither were what are now called Protestant. Henry VIII held all Roman doctrine except that one of the Pope's supremacy which the Pope's miserable weakness had led him to reject. The Reformation had made no head in England, and of Convocation at the time of the breach with Rome and the condemnation of Bishop Fisher we read the following words in the wr'ting of Mr. Pugin, the eminent architect, himself a pervert to Pome : ' " It was done in a solemn convocation, a reverend array of l)ishops, abbnis and dignitaries in orphreyed copes and jewelled mitres. Every great Cathedral, every diocese, every abbey was duly represented in that important synod.... One venerable prelate protests ; his remonstrance is unsupported by his colleagues and he is speedily brought to trial and execution. Ignorar.tly do we charge this on the '< Protestant system, which was not even broached at the time. His accusers, judges, jury, his executioner — all Catholics ; the bells are ringing for Mass as he ascends the scaffold." As a strange commentary on this Romanist's true words, we are told by one of these tracts of More and Fisher and others: " The English martyrs have been beatified, which means that the people of England jyc Jlr.-.ved and encouraged to publicly honour and worship them and pray: t •'\ ■■-'^ is who are already numbered with the blessed in Heaven." J '2 -'■ I'ou : Pray to them. i.ic, . . "colics, as Pugin calls them, killed these men. The; . V iX'. ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 29 ir because usations of anately we such they \e sin of the )rmally act either were t that one e weakness and, and of id the conords in the I pervert to hishops, abhccs e.\t Cathedral, synod .... Om: leagues and he ■ge this on the ccusers, judges, he ascends the true words, Fisher and the people of them and pray :aven." men. The A as they style themselves, intend to pray to them in .^pite of the first commandment. Henry VIII was as much a Roman Catholic as the late ling Victor Emmanuel and -without any scruple after his death mass for his soul was performed with all ceremony at Notre I)ame in Paris by order of Francis I. He is their man all through and not ours and they are Welcome to him. We owe him the beginning of the wholesome breach with llome, but we owe him nothing more, and to say that he or any ther man of his day was the founder of the Anglican Church IS Father Damen does) is to say, whether ignorantly or ma:iously, what is utterly false. The royal supremacy over an established church, though [pressed more definitely and more roughly by Henry VIII, feis no new idea. Several of the Christian Emperors^fter Conlantine showed themselves (as the Church allowed and accepted) Suite as much rulers over all their subjects as Henry claimed to 1^ and especially in the crucial case of summoning the Council C9 Nice and afterwards enforcing its decrees. The supremacy liad practically been always attached to the crown of England ass shown by the appointment of Archbishops and Bishops. Ilary Tudor used the same power (which if wrong once is wrong , r'alv/ays) to re-establish Rome's dominion and did it by means of ^r subservient Parliament, without the consent of the Church's Convocation, so that when it came to Elizabeth's turn it was i|bsolutely essential that she should act at once, with a strong Wind. , . _ _ ^,. ,, , , We cannot find any accurate estimate of the relative l^ength of the parties of reform and reaction at the time of her |§cession. Macaulay thinks that both parties together made up It a small part of the nation, for that if either were really strong persecutions under Edward and Elizabeth of one party and amm 30 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. I i^i ! ' ( under Mary of the other would not both have been possible. The breach with Rome was probably popular. Mary's sullen persecution and her known desire to wrest church property from its new holders, the great families enriched by Henry | and Edward, had for different reasons made her government enormously disliked, so that Elizabeth without a standing army, | with her throne actually depending on the people for support, was almost an absolute ruler. The times demanded a strong hand and it was hers surely. To succeed despots successfully only a strong character is | possible. The most absolute ruler England ever knew was Oliver Cromwell. He was succeeded by his son Richard, a man I against whom no word was ever spoken, and yet Richard ruled but a few months and sank without a struggle, because he was wanting in force of character. But Elizabeth was no such trifler. Will our friends who seek now to turn back the wheels of time, ask us to believe that Elizabeth ought to have submitted her claims to the Pope, who from mere consi.stency must have declared her illegitimate, and handed over her dominions to Mary Stuart ? After the death of Mary Stuart, the infallible Pope, according to the Romanist Lingard, encouraged Philip to invade England and offered a million crowns to aid him. The infallible «] Vicar of Christ had long claimed the right to give away kingdoms. Do these modern believers in his infallibility wish that the Armada had succeeded and that England had been turned, }| like the rich and fertile Netherlands by the same PhMip, into a happy hunting ground for the Inquisition, its fires, its racks, its^ hideous desolation ? Or are they logical enough to wish now our free Province' to be placed under such a yoke as presses on Quebec ? Do. they pine for the time when here also a free man can be ruined | by the stroke of an Archbishop's pen and abused like a pickROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 31 lers surely. character is ' knew was lard, a man chard ruled luse he was such trifler. ; wheels of I submitted must have )minions to 3pe, accord» to invade he infallible away kingty wish that Deen turned, hMip, into a its racks, its •ee Province uebec ? Do in be ruined like a pickcket and threatened with excommunication for appealing for stice to the Queen in her courts of law ? And if Elizabeth as to stay on her throne and be the mother of modern England nd her Colonies and of the United States, so different, because if her course, from modern France, and Spain, and Italy, and outh America, where the religion of the Pope has had its full ay and has not improved things, it was necessary that she ould exercise most care about the undoing what Mary had ne and shew there her strong will and her strong hand. Elizabeth's personal character is not the question. We know how her enemies talked then and how they talk ill. We try to read history with both eyes. Wc are quite are of her gross faults, of her tyranny, of her parsimony, of r falsehood. But what did she do ? By a strange coincidence Cardinal Pole, the Archbishop ho had succeeded Cranmer, died almost at the same time as pis kinswoman Queen Mary. Of the Bishops placed by her in Hic sees of those she had burnt or exiled, no less than 14, besides the Archbishop, had died leaving their sees vacant. Of the 10 remaining all but one or two refused to assist at the coronation of Elizabeth or subsequently to take the oath of supremacy, and were deprived. Hardly any of the Bishops of Edward's time had survived their exile, so that there seemed great danger of the English continuity being lost. / > V The universal custom of Catholic antiquity, never departed ftom unless in cases of gravest necessity, required three Bishops tib unite in the consecration of each new Bishop, so that if anything were afterwards proved against the authority or due Wdination of one of them the consecration would not be -^akened. Barlow, who had been Bishop of Bath and Wells in Henry Hi's time, Scory, who had been Bishop of Chichester, Cover32 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. i I • if: dale, formcHy of Exeter, and Hodgkins, a suffragan, or assistant B'shop of Bedford, consecrated Matthew Parker Archbishop of I Canterbury, and from Parker the succession of Anglican Bishops has come. *'^'Ui itnt^jl,,,^ i,.>«Hf '"'^ But " was Barlow a Bishop ? " asks one of these tracts. It is answered that supposing he was not, the other three were, and that there is no reasonable doubt that he was. True, the record of his consecration is wanting, but so are the records of many others, and notably of Gardiner, one of Mary's trusted Bishops, who had agreed in Henry's time to the breach with Rome, and was therefore, according to the tracts, a Protestant. His consecration no one doubts, though nothing, we are told, can be found out about it. Henry VHI. and Elizabeth were specimens of royalty with whom nobody ever played tricks, and with no conceivable reason we are asked to gratify Roman whims, and to believe that Barlow was a sham Bishop, when he could much more easily have been a real one, took his seat in the House of Lords and carried on a long and bitter dispute about his rights with his Cathedral Chapter, without anyone dreaming that he was amusing himself and risking his head, till the idea was started by men of the same class as invented the still popular fable of the " Nag's Head' consecration. Once more, be it noted that no alleged breach of continuity has ever been urged against our Irish sister Church, and yd that Romanists have never acknowledged her claims, and that a Bishop with the Irish succession laid hands on Laud, from whom as well as from Parker all our Bishops derive their orders The question was carefully investigated by Father Courayer a candid French priest of the last century, who has left a most voluminous book to prove beyond a doubt the validity of our orders. • Dr. Von Dollinger (the German priest who ranked among le is a '•■'X^d ,gng llfiei 3r assistant :hbishop of an Bishops tracts, other three A^as. True, the records | ry's trusted breach with ^1 Protestant, we are told, royalty with vable reason ve that Bareasily have i and carried is Cathedral ising himself ^ Y men of the Nag's Head" of continuity arch, and yet^ 1ms, and that] Laud, fromj ; their orders,| ler Courayer,^ is left a most] alidity of ouil .nked amongl ROMAN METHODS OF CONTKOVICKSY. 33 the very highest of Roman theologians till he refused the figment )f infallibility, and was excommunicated), thus spoke in 1875 '• — "The fact that Parker was consecrated by four rightly consecrated Bishops, file et legitime, with imposition ol hands and the necessary words, is so well attested latifone chooses to doubt this fact one could, with the same right doubt one lundred thousaml facts — the fact is as well established as a fact can be required to And at another lime he says : "The result of my investigation is that I have lo manner of doubt as to the validity of the Episcopal succession in the English Kurch." Our own great theologian Puscy writes thus to his former fiend Newman of our English orders : — " I have exan\ined in turn every ol)jeclion made to them, and it has seemed to that Roman Catholic controversialists took up easily any otjection which might |r the moment serve tht;ir turn," fhich be it noticed is in a new shape the ever recurring charge bad faith. . .. ' : ,,, Lastly, we notice, but will not now quote at length, that ^e late Professor P'reeman speaking, not as a theologian, but an historian, says that legally and historically, "The Church of England after the Reformation is the sume as the Church of jgland before the Reformation," " .j'v^ ^d Bishop Stubbs, who is perhaps the greatest living authority on iglish constitutional history, is most emphatic on the same jes. -• '' ■ •■^; I have no doubt tried to cover too much ground in one ;ture, but it seemed desirable to make one effort to induce Iglish Church people to realize how futile, and for the most [rt how false, are the ways of Roman controversialists, and at same time to warn those who are neither students of history students of logic, how very clever is the bait put round the icealed hook, and how very sharp and quick is the unseen rler with the rod. If you want to go into the whole question, well and good, if not, let these new hashes of very stale and very unwholele food severely alone, for they will surely disagree with ptal stomachs accustomed to honesty and square-dealing in preparation of mental food. I 34 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 'i > i h 1 il i i h\ ii:' 1 ' !i il But, says some hysterical Protestant, are not all English Churchmen going to Rome fast ? Certainly not very fast. Forty-three years ago that guileless soul, Pius IX, made a tremendous noise and a tremendous preparation for the " Conversion of England." But the conversion of England is to-day further' off than ever, and the Church of England to-day is in a very different condition from that of the days when Newman and Manning j deserted, lest it should fall on their heads. It is now probably the strongest institution in the Empire, And the Roman Church in England, the Italian mission, as the Archbishop of Canterbury has well called it, is a laughing stock to her own children. Hear Lord Braye, as he speaks in 1884 : " Is there any religious body in the country where so much fine energy is wasted? Learned priests without anybody to buy their learned l)ooks. A dozens large colleges, where one public school would he amply sufficient. Dioceses withj scarcely a parish priest to a county. What is the use under these foggy circumstances, of building great churches in a place where you can hardly get a server for the; mass ?" The Roman mission in England, apart from Irish immigration, is a ghastly failure. They talk still of Newman and Manning, and well they may, but the supply of such perverts has stopped long ago. A foolish list of " Roman Recruits " was paraded in thi? city last year, a pamphlet torn to shreds by the Quarterly! Review for January, 1888, which showed that it covered the firsts 84 years of this century and that it went to Russ^.h, Germany andi America for names. This article, well wort«i reading, shews howl little has been done by the most elaborate system of rnost showy! machinery, by Eminences, Graces, Lordships and Reverences withj out end, by assertion and assumption, and unheard of impudencc| by pointing out and exaggerating our difficulties, by concealing and falsifying their own. ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. 35 They seek, by such means, to advance what is elsewhere most successful of all human institutions, and it advances ^her not at all or distinctly backwards, as can readily be proved figures. The marvel is that such perverted but such great fenuity is not more successful. • ! . Their big talk in America is much like their big talk in igland. One of the tracts for instance, called " Catholic Conrts, or all roads lead to Rome," is foun« led on the perversion, December, 1891, of the Rev. Dr. J. F. Spalding, and praises and his acquirements very highly indeed, altogether omitkg, however, to mention that " the honest seeker after truth," the tract calls him, with less than three months experience of )me, where he apparently did not find it, returned to his allemce, and was admitted to Communion, at the very altar which had deserted on Palm Sunday of 1892. But once more (we hear^ those dreadful high Churchmen Ritualists are doing Rome's work. Don't you believe it ! A small knot of Romanizers, with weak knees and sickly kins, does (I believe) exist, but the great body of the High iurch clergy and laity are loyal to the core, and are quite as ;ly (as Dr. Arnold puts it) to believe in Jupiter as to believe [the Pope. Here, then, is the issue between the Church of the InfalPe Pope, of the worship of Mary and the Saints (and of evermging fashions even in that), of Indulgences, of Purgatory the purchased escape from it, of a mutilated communion, of msiibstantiation, of the rule of the Jesuit, of Latin prayers on jlish tongues, of the novel worship of the Sacred Heart, and Church of our love, not faultless, God knows and we know, ler in its history or its present discipline, but Catholic, conlous, free, seeking to draw us to Christ, appealing ever to +he riptures and the Primitive Church. Which will you have ? 1 ill; jf ii ... If ■pi:|N i! ii 36 ROMAN METHODS OF CONTROVERSY. The issue only needs to be fairly put before the minds of even our less instructed people, and the choice between their country's Church and the Church which their fathers have always, with good reason, distrusted and disliked, is soon made And lastly, let us take from this survey the resolve that the Church of our allegiance will have all our love, all our energy and all the work and help we can give her, till we do something in the uame of God to enable her to take her true stand as the EngHsh Church in this English country. i| ¥ I la-. II; ii) liil the minds ofl aetween thtifi fathers havei| is soon made, isolvc that thej dl our energy| do something stand as the ,^ :¥ C O R N IL L LIBRARY 3 1924 104 036 102 B Cornell University B) Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 9241 040361 02 ^e Nature and Obligation of Virtue i SERMON PREACHED IN THE I'arifli Church of aS'^^. Cbad, Salop^ AT THE PRIMARY VISITATION or THE Lord Bilhop of L i c hf i e l d. And publifhed at his Lordfhip's Requeft. w I T H A N APPENDIX, CONTAINING N O T E S on the fame Subjea. By WILLIAM ADAMS, M. A. Vicar of St. Chad's, Salop ; Chaplain to the Lord Biftiop of Landaff'; And late Fellow of Pembroke College, Oxford. L O 1^ D O N, Printed by E. S A Y, in Ave -Mary-Lane : And Sold by A. M I L L A B, in the Strand; J. Whiston and B. W h i t e, in Fleet-Street ; And Meflrs. D o d s i e y, in Pall-Mall. ]V1,DCC,LIV. THE NATURE AND OBLIGATION OF VIRTUE. [Price One Shilling.] Juji publijhed, by the fame Author, Printed in the fame Size with Mr. Hume'j Eflays, The Second Edition, with Additions, AN ESSAY in Anfwcr to Mr. HUMEs ESSAYS on MIRACLES. Price One Shilling. Perseverance in Well-doing: A Sermon preached at the Parifli-Church of St. Chad^ Salop, before the Truftees of the Salop Infirmary, and publiflied at their Requeft. Price Six Pence. Sold, for the Benefit of the Charity, by Mr. Longman, in Pater-noJler-Row, London j Mr. Durjlon, Mr. Cotton, and Mr. Eddowes, in Shrew/bury j and Mr. Pie/ley, in Oxford, To the Jl I G H T Reverend FREDERICK, LQRD BISHOP Ot / L ICHFIEL D and CO VE NTR r, M Y L O R D, YOUR Lordflilp's approbation of the following difcourfe does great honour to its author. tHe is not however fo vain, ag to promife himfelf that it will, upon a ftridter fcrutiny, appear in every point approved even to your Lordfhip's candour. In a long train of reafoning upon a fubjeft.as difficult and abffrufe' as any other, many things niay appear, upon a tranfient hearing, to the quickeil difcernment fair anji plaufible, which will not bear a plofer examination. Your Lordfhip's judgment will not therefore, it is hopedj be queftipned, if fome particulars* in it,' which the author himfelf is far from not fufpeding, may be thought liable to doubt or exception. It Vfas enough to recommend it to your J^ § l^prdfhip's iv. DEDICATION. Lardfhip's good opinion, if any new light aj^eared to be brought into a fiibjed^ which has fo much employed and divided the learned and in(^uifitive, or if only a fair attempt was made towards it. As llich only he prdfurties to offer it td your Lordfhip and the publick, glad of the opportunity of profeffing to the world his fincere efteem and honour for your Lordfhip's amiable charaddr. / am, my Lord, Tour LoRDSH IP's Dutiful and obedient Servant. W. Adams^. 1 **,f t#*t******************* l^^O^^f''^^'^ w. '-wi^i:^'^' -« * ^s^)^^?'' "' ■^^-' ''' ^^* Romans ii. 14, 15. TBe/ej having not the law, are a law unto themfehes ; which Jhew the work of the law written in their hearts, their conJcience alfo bearing witnefs, and their thoughts the mean while acctifing, or elfe excufing one another. THE Apoftle here affirms of" the Gentiles, that, though they were ftrangers to the written or revealed will of God, they had yet a law to condud themfelves by, a law written in their hearts ; their confcience with the right of a legiflator didlating their duty, and their" re^fon as a judge acquitting or condemning them. It is a general truth implied in this, that all intelligent beings are a law to themfelves J that reafon implies duty and obligation j and that v»*hoever by this light B can [ 4 r paring the abftraded ideas of the mind, and contemplating the actions and charadters . of men, thefe are the province and peculiar of reafonj which lie open in feme degree to the loweft of rational beings, but are far above the level of inftindt, fenfe, or paffion. Of thefe we may fafely aflert, that they are as fixed and unchangeable as reafon itfelf. While reafon continues what it is, truth and virtue will appear to it the fame. The conflancy and immutability of the former is plainly acknowledged and proved in the whole intercourf& of men with each other : why elfe do we demand the aflent of men to the moft evident and demonftrated truths, if we were not certain that truth muft appear the fame, as far as it is underftood, to all intelligent beings? Objeds themfelves may be changed or deftroyed : but our reafonings concerning them will be equally true, whether they have any real, or only a poffible exiftence. The faculty of perceiving truth may be deftroyed, or reafon may be taken from us: but, while this remains, truth will appear always the fame. We may withQut arrogance affirm, that it is not in the power [ 5 ] power of the fupreme Being to alter Its nature : it is immutable and neceflary, the fame yejierday^ to-day, and for ever. In like manner, in contemplating aftionfi and charafters, right and wrong appear to the mind as certainly and as neceffarily diftindt from each other, as fixed and invariable in their nature. We are as certain that they muft appear the fame to all beings that have reafon and underftanding to receive the ideas, — that they are the fame in all climates, in all ages, in all worlds. As every true propofition is univerfally true, fo every right adion, the fame circumftances fuppofed, is univerfally right. It is not 'in the power of omnipotence itfelf to alter or invert its nature, to tranfmute the charafter of right into wrong, or to make treachery, falfehood, and ingratitude appear in the fame light with honeftyi fidelity, and gratitude. If it be afked, what it is that conftit«tes right, by what rule or ftandard it is to be meafured and tried; the fame may be equally queftioned concerning truth. And, in anfwer to both, we may as well afk, aflf, fejr what crkerixDn does the eye (iiftingilifl^' colouiS!? The objea is prefaitddi> and its properties and qualities appear witB it: the ideas of colour, fhape, and proportion, that belong to it, necelferily aiife ifv t^€ mindi Adions arc as plainly an ^bJ€<9: to the underftandJng ; and, wheii {iirveyed or contemplated, their characters) app«ajwith; them. We neceffiirily kff ^emi under the charader of right, indifferent, or wrong. This right in a£kionS Is not ordinarily difcovercd by any procefe of reafon, but by fimpie perception r the underftafiding fees it: and We may as well afk of the moft obvious quantitieSFy why fome are greater than other, why the fquare,; for inftanee, is greater thaa the root, as why fome aftions are better dian otlier. , In inveftigating truth*, we fet out with fuch as are known and acknowledged, and from thence infer others that are nearly, and then more remotely, connefted with them. In proving the truth 9f any doubted propofitjon, we appeal to thofe that are more known ^ tili we arrive at fuch as are fecn ojr felf-evHeot. Bast'm. xnorals 11^1 -with this firft felf-evidcnce : it is imme4'ialely feen and felt, and wants not -by the -&W deduction's qf reafoji to be proved, s : J' Tksfe are -indeed cafes where diffepeiit |iigh|fe or dtttiis iriterfere, in whidh ifc H0cill of thq cafuift or civilian is wanting -to weigh the moments of each, and -fo judge upon the whole which claim preponderates. But even here the feveral rights that ^re while the latter applies itfelf folely, and owes' all its .authority, to the underilanding. The v^ifrdom and expediency of religious fandions, as motives to virtu?, muft with all reverence and thankflilnefs be acknowledged j ^4 t^at virtue, too little pradifed under E 2 th?fQ [ 28 ] tbefe influences, would be ill-fupported without them. But flill thefe are but fubfidiary to virtue ; the nature and duty > of which muft be firft fuppofed ; and then thefe are added, not to give authority ■ cr obligation, but force and influence, or to procure that attention and obedience v/hich are due to it. A fourth concluCon, which I fhall prefume to offer, from what has been faid, is, that, when virtue is faid to confifl: in a conformity to truth, in acting agreeably to the truth of the cafe, to the' reafon, truth, or fitnefs of things, there is, if not inaccuracy, yet fomething of obfcurity in the exprefllion. It is certain, tlaat, in every virtuous adlion, truth, or a convidion that the aftion is right, is the principle or reafon upon which we Hvt, But the charadter of the adion, and, confequently, the meafure and flandard of it, is not truth, but right: nor docs the virtue of it confifl in a conformity to ^ruth, as fuch, though it may be faid to confift in a conformity to fome particular ^ruth, or rule of duty, prefcribing what 4S right, Truth is a term of wider extent thaq [ 29 1 than right. The charafter of wifdom or prudence, of fkill in any art or profeffion. > are as well founded in a regard to truth, and imply the acting agreeably to the nature and reafon of things: yet are thefe". ideas certainly diftindl from that of good: nefs, or moral redtitude. The man who builds according to the principles of geometry acSts as agreeably to truth, and he who fhbuld tranfgrefs the rules of architefture as much violates truth, as he who afts agreeably to the duty of gratitude, or contrar5r to it : but in the former of thefc inftances the conformity to truth is not virtue, but fkill ; the defledtion from it • is not vice, but ignorance or folly. la every truth, Vv^hich carries moral obligation, right or duty, or fomething fynonimous, muft be expreffed or underftood. If virtue therefore be defined a conformity ' to truth, it is to fuqh moral truth only as points out what is right. It is the conforrrjity to what reafon dictates as right, not what it teaches for true. And this charadter of adtions depends not on any previous truth or reafon of things; hut its connedtion wfth every fpecies of adtion, or contrariety to it, is, as I have' ' ^t)ove C 30 ] fflfcove intimated, immediately fecn by its own light,. There is yet another fenfe, very different from this, in which morality has been refolved into truth ; which fuppofes every ~ adtion to be direftly affirming or denying fome truth, and accordingly, as it exprefles what is true or falfe, to be right or wrong. Thus the man who injures or defigncdly hurts another unprovoked, is therefore guilty of a crime, bccaufe he virtually affirms the man to be his enemy, when he is not. But, befide that this language of a^Sions is often very equivocal and un-r certain, it is plain that in this; and the Jike majr be faid of every oth^r cafe that can be put, the a 1 I am unwilling to difmifs this fubjefi iN'ithout pointing out fome of its ufes in jbmdice. Firft then, let us leartt from htince td f everence virtue wherever we find it ; not only among thofe of our own perfuafion, fedt, or party, but wherever by the forc^ of reafon it breaks thro' the impreffionS of a falfe, or rejoices in the light of trud religion. The feed and prineiple of virtue, the Apoftle has taught us in the text, is fown alike in all ; and he feemsf *s' plainly to intimate that the poorciil Heatheft is born to the hke hopes arid txpe^ations with ourfelves. He here tells tis, that the Genlfiies, which have not thtf few, may do by nature, by natural reafort only, the things contained in, or thef imoral duties of, the law; that, where' thi& is the t2i(c, their lineircumcifion JhaB be counted for eirc^ntcifioni that is, thofe. stmong the Heathen, who live up to th^ fight which God has given them, iff ftilfiUing the moral duties of religion,fliall be acdepted of Gdd, though they^ afe not in covenant with him as member^ of t 30 fef his church. They may even by a lower degree of obedience give equal prOof of virtue vi^ith thofe who are favoured with higher lights and advantages, ai)d fhall accordingly be judged hereafter according to what they have< and not according to what they have not; — thofe who have lived under the law, by the lawj and thofe who have lived without the law,without the law. They fet out behind us, if I may fo exprefs myfelf, in the great race of virtue, happinefs, and perfedlion, which lies for ever and without end before us : but they may by their diligence or our flothfulnefs overtake us in this world, and be placed, for their reward, far before us in the next^ Thus our Saviour has told us, there are firft which fhall be laft, and laft which fhall be firft : Many, faijh he, Jhall come in that day from the Eaji and from the Wejl, and Jhall ft down "with Abraham and Ifaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven j and the children of the kingdom Jhall be cajl outt Inftead therefore of dcfpifing the error and ignorance of others, let their virtue father provoke us to jealoufy and emu-^ lation. Inftead of placing a vain fecurity in ;C 33 ] In our fuperior knowledge, and in the prefent favour of God, let us take heed to ourfelves that we make the beft ufe of the advantages we enjoy, that we lofe not the things which we have gained, and that no man take our crown from us. Secondly, let us ever remember that the defign of religion is to promote the practice of moral righteoufnefs, and to give weight to the eternal duties of morality. This is the one end of all its doftrines and ordinances, as well as of its precepts. In applying its dodtrines to ourfelves, or addrefling them to others, we fljould therefore inquire to what ufes of piety and virtue they are diredted, how the heart may be amended, as well as the mind inftruded, by themj in the inllituted duties of it, what was the end and defign of their appointment, v^^hat leflbn were they intended to teach, us, what motives and incitements to godllnefs to bring to our minds. By thus applying them to their proper ends, and giving them their due force and direction, we fhall find them very powerful inftruments in the fupport and advancement of our F virtue, [ 3 4 1 virtue, of great ufe and efficacy in fpiritualizmg our affeftions, and weaning them from the things of this world. But to reft in the belief of opinions, or the pradice of ceremonies, as an end, is to miftake their nature, and to lofe their ufe and benefit. To fubftitute them in the place of real rightdotifnefs, is to pervert them into grofs fuperftition. Laftly, if we would Increafe in virtue and true piety, let us carefully examine our adiohs by their true ftandard, and ' endeavour to ftrengthen and improve the virtuous' principle within us. Let us remember, that to have kind affections, to be fmit with the beauty and eJ^cellenCe of virtue, is not virtue : but to cherilh and encourage thefe within their prbper limits, to attend to the ends and ufe^ for which ^ey were given us, and to enter into the wifdom and defign of God 4n giving them, this is virtue. Every attention to improvement, every endeavdur after virtue, is virtue itfelf. In like manner, to have the jiifteft fenfe of right and wrong, to have the cleateft convictions of duty in the mind, is not virtue : buf to endeavour [ 35 ] crideayour to improve this fenfe by reafpn and reflection, to keep tji,e vjrt^ous principle eyer.aw^e. and, adlive in our breafts, this, is virtue j and a. duty of the greateft irapojrlance. The icnperfedt^dn of oiir natura Requires it, Iji. 'adive life w^e are expofed. to fo many terhplationjs, that, if we attend not to thisj our virtue will be ever in danger. In retirement temptations will he fewer : but this may be the more neceflary, as it. is then perhaps the only proof we can give, of bur obedience. For what affurance can wq. have in our virtufe, when it is neY.er. called to the trial, ujilef^ we frequently examjne our heartSj and root thf ptinciples of it deep in the mind? A life of adion is the" fchool and theatre of. virtue. But, when we have not the opportunity of forming good difppfitions into habits by exercife and practice, we may do it in a good degree by contemplation, and efpecially by the exercifes of devotion and religion j which, befides that they are duties indifpenfible and neceffary in all, are alfb the direft means to fandify the heart. In this fituation we ought ftudioufly to embrace, and even feek out, all opportunities of doing good, Thofe F 2 who [36] who have no temptations to ill Ihould be active to their power in well-doing, and not fpend their days in indolence and thoughdeflhefs, which will infallibly enervate the mind, rob it of all its virtue, and leave it expofed in the day of trial. Thus, by attending carefully to the improvement of the mind, and by obferving a proper difcipline and oeconomy in the government of ourfelves, we fhall, whether we mix with the world, be armed againft its temptations, or, whether fheltered from thefe in retirement, fhall ftrengthen and increafe the virtuous principle within us. In both we fliall fecure the bleffing of God on our endeavours, (hall proceed from ftrength to ftrength in virtue, fhall attain to the things that are more ex^ cellent, and go on to perfection. APPENDIX. TH E fubjea of the foregoing difcourfe being clofely connedled with many queftions of difEculty and importance, fome of the principal of thefe it is the defign of the following notes to illuftrate. Note to page 9. " We fay not of the 5' divine Being, that he is virtuous. — The " reafon is, that it implies trial and coh" flidt. Virtue in every aftion is meafured y by the difficulty that attends it." But will it not follow from thefe principles, that virtue and moral perfedtion are quite different things, fince the latter may certainly and muft be afcribed to the Deity, though the former, as is here afferted, caanot ? And again, if the meafure of virtue be the difficulty encountered, will it not feem, that, as men increafe in moral [ 3^ 1 morale petfaflioq, they rnay decrcafe in, virtue, fince the difficulty of virtue by ufe and habit becomes lefs ? To remove thefe difficulties, let it be obferved, that virtue is not properly the character of adlions, but reftitude. The virtue of aftions is, properly. Ipeaking, only that degree of virtue in the agept, which is exerted in performing them : and this mui^ be meafured by. the diffi:culty. encountered and fubdued. But the whole or fum of virtue in the agent, is not to be meafured by the difficulties that are furmounted, but by thofe which it is able to furmount, by the power and fufficiency of the agent to overcome difficultiesj trials, and temptations ; and therefore may be fuppofed in any degree, w^here it is not tried by any difficulty at all : for the habit and charader of virtue, or the ftrength of the virtuous principle, may be incrcafed, not only by aftual exercife and trial, but, as before obferved, by refledtion, attention to moral truths, or a right ufe of our reafoning powers. The force of this principle, as it refides in the hidden man of the heart; can be [^3'9 ] he known o'nly'to God, the fearch^r of fearts. To men the virtue of others can te known and eftimated only by their '4ftions; which, though not an accurate 'nieafure of virtue, is the only meafure thfey can a^ppiy : and, the virtue of thefe bding meafured by the' difficulties attending ' them, hence in common language virtue always implies trial arid difficulty, "and is affirmed only "of fuch beings, as are fuppofed liable ' to temptatidn, and capable of fin. But virtue, confiderbd fimply in itfelf, as a moralpower of refifting and conquering difficulties, this is throughout the fame with moral perfcdtion, righteoufnefs, or goodnefs, and may be equally afcribed to the fupreme Being, whofe moral reftitude is m'oi-e than fufficienrto conquer all difficulties. With refpetft to the other difficulty mentioned, it is' certain, that, as the habits of virtue increafe, the difficulty of it in every fingle inftance will decreafe. But it is as certain, that the virtue of thefe habits-'will bear exadt proportion to the difficulties encountered in forming them. ■ And if, in the feveraP repeated afts by which [ 40 ] which any habit of virtue is formed, the laft ad: of virtue be attended with lefs difficulty than the former, this facility is itfelf to be confidered as a diftindt proof of the prevalence of virtue in the agent ; and, in eftimating the force of the virtuous principle, is to be added to the difficulty of the adlion. Thus, if to abilain |iom any unlawful pleafure be twice as eafy, the fame circumftances of temptation and the fame natural advantages or abilities fuppofed, as it was formerly, this is a proof of twice the virtue in the agent ; in like manner as, in trying the natural ftrength of men, he that can lift or remove a given weight with twice the eafe that another can, has twice the ftrength. Thus then the matter feems to ftand : when it is faid, that the virtue of aftions is meafured by the difficulty that attends them, this is as near the truth, as in common fpeaking we do, or need to go : for the facility of performing duty, acquired by ufe and habit, cannot be known or eftimated by us. But it is not accurately true, unlefs all external circumftances, and all the circumftances of the agent likewife, that is, all his acquired as [ 41 1 as Well as natural abilities, be fupp6re(i the fame ; or unlefs to the difficulty of the adtion, limply conlidered, be added the facility with which it is performed. Note II. P. 17. " The pleafdres, which I iidve *' mentioned, of fejf-efteem and joy in our " oWn Worth, are liiotives of the pu'reft " kind, &t:' But, if virtue be always attended witli prefent pleafure, will not our bed adions at laft be founded in felf-Iove ? And hoW fliall we reconcile this with that difin-s tereftedncfs. Which', upon the principle we have laid down, feems almofl necelTary and elTential to it ? In anfwer to tills, it ma'y perKaps bei enough to obferve, that we cannot conceive the moft perfedt reafon, afting Uport the pureft principled, riot to receive pleaf!jre from virtue. To &&. againft reafon or duty muft give pain and regret to every intelligent being ; and, for the fame reaifon, to conform to right or duty muft give pkafure. The enjoyment therefore? G 4 [42 ] of this pleafure, if there be any fuch thing as virtue, muft be conliftent with the higheft perfedlion of it. But, to trace this matter as far as we can, it will be proper to confider the feveral fenfes in which an agent or adion may be faid to be difinterefted. To be abfolutely difinterefted, in the largeft fenfe of the word, or to be indifferent to pleafure and pain, is plainly incompatible with tlie nature of any being whatfoever, and therefore cannot be necelTary to virtue. To prefer mifery, or to love it equally with happinefs, is a contradidlion in terms. An agent is then difinterefted, in the ftridlefl polTible fenfe of the word, when in any particular aftion his own intereft is in no^ degree the motive, end, or objedl of it: and, fecondly, in a loofer fenfe, when the adlion or intention of the agent does not interfere with the intereft of others; or more fo, when their intereft is at leaft in part confulted by it; and ftill in a higher degree, when any part of his own intereft is voluntarily facrificed to it. In the latter of thefe fenfes t'le difinIcrcflednefs of virtue 7,iil be ealily madef out. [ 43 ] s®ut. The pleafures that belong to it can never interfere with the pleafure or happinefs of another ; and to intend injury to any is totally inconfiftent with it. In mod cafes the intereft of others is at leaft in part the immediate objed: of it, and ufually at fome expence of eafe, happinefs, or prefent intereft of our own. There is a chapter in * AriJiotle\ Ethics, in which this fubjedl is profefledly treated, and with the ufual acutenefs of that philofopher : " The mind," fays he, " is our " proper felf : and he that follows this " governing principle may therefore be *' faid to gratify and love himfelf, more *' properly than he who obeys his appe" tites and paffions, which are at beft but " an inferior part of our nature. The •' man who divides his fortune with his *' friend is the greater benefadtor to him" felf: he makes his friend only the *' richer by his bounty, but makes him^ " felf the better man. In like manner, " the man who gives up his life for hi^ ^' friend or his country, prefers the fatis^ " fadtidn of being greatly good to all thq f' pleafures that an inglorious Jife can f Ad Nkomach. lib, 9. cap. 8. Q Z " give [ 44 1 f give him: he chufes to enjoy virtue ^' for a year or for a day, rather than a " whole life that is ufelefs, or fpent in " vicious pleafures." There is then, according to this excellent reafoner, a virtuous as well as a vicious felf-love: and to prefer the pleafures of virtue to every other intereft is all that is necefTary. to the higheft degree of virtue. But we may, I think, go farther, and aflert the difintereftednefs of virtue in the firft and ftridleft fenfe. For, i, the pleafures of felf-approbation and efteem, ■which follow virtue, certainly arife from a confcious fenfe of having made virtue, and not pleafure, our choice ; not from preferring one intereft or pleafure to another, but from adling according to right, without any other confideration whatfoever. It feems eflential to this pleafure, that no motive of intereft have any part in the choice or intention of the agent. And, 2, to make this pleafure an objedl to the mind, the virtue, whofe principle we are feeking after, muft be already foi-med. For let it be obferved, that the pleafures we are ipeaking Qf are theml^lve^ [ 45 ] felves virtuous pleafuresj fueh as none but virtuous minds are capable of propofing to theoifelves, or of enjoying. To the fenfual and voluptuary the pleafures that arife from denying our appetites or paffions have no exiftence, Thefe cannot therefore be the motive to that virtue which is already prefuppofed. On the contrary, they ow^e their rife and exiftence to the fame principle or caufe with virtue itfelE It is the fame love of virtue which makes it firft the objeft of. our purfuit, anqt, when acquired, the fubjedl of our triumph, and joy. fo do a virtuous action for the fake of thefe virtuous pleafures, is to chulb virtue for the fake of being virtuous; whicK is to reft in it as an end, or to purfue it without regard to any other ob»' jedl or intereft. Note III. P. 20. " The fandlions of rewards and ff punifhments, which God has annexed f ' to his laws, have not in any proper fenfe f' the nature of obligationj &c." The belief of a God and a future, ftate, ^hough nQ way neceflary to the nature, or '' 5 pbligatioQ [ 46 ] .^ligation of virtue, is yet, without quCBftion, of abfolute neceflity to fupport it in pradtice. This hath been already fo fully allowed, and is fo univerfally ac-r knowledged, that I need not enlarge upon it. But is not this then a motive of intereft ? And will not an objedt of fuch infinite concern as the profpeft of eternal rewards and punifhments, be apt to engrofs our whole attention, and, by excluding or fuperfeding the virtuous principle, annihilate that virtue which it is faid to fupport ? As this has been thought a queftion of great difficulty, it will dcr ferve a particular attention. Firft then, it is certain, that the force ■of this motive is by no means fo great as is here fuppofed. Were thefe momentous pbjedts prefent to our view, or had we any fenfible experience of them, our lU berty", it might be thought, would be .pverruled : our paffions would be fo ilrongly excited, that there would be no room for reafon or virtue to aft. But, with refpeft to the things of another life, we walk by faith, not by fight. The jiiilance of thefe in profoeft, and the d^knef^ i 47 i ^afknefs in which they are involved, 6i-tninifh th^em to our view, and reduce their influence on the lives of men, m comparifon, to very little. As they cannot be objeiled to our fenfes, fo neither can they be pictured out by the imagination, the only inflrument by which 4iftant objefts excite and move the paflions. Hence our attention is left opea to all the folicitatlons of fenfe and ap* petite, and there is ample room left for the exercife and trial of our virtue. Oa the other hand, we are not only at 11-berty to attend to the purer principles 6$ virtue, but it feems a principal end and, effed: of thefe external motives to awakea and turn our attention to thefe principles^ and to give them their full force on the ttiind: and whoever is by the joint influence of thefe motives reclaimed from vice, and not only entered upon a courfe of virtuous adtion, but confirmed in the fteady pradice and habit of it, will, I doubt not, owe more of his virtue to the latter of thefe principles, than to the former. I am perfuaded, that no one ever repented of the folly of fin, without repenting at the fame time of the guilt. [ 48 ] guilt, and feeling the fliamc of having a P933 To The students whose friendship and fellowship form the inspi ration of a college president's life PREFACE The enormous change which has taken place during the last generation in the atti tude of educated men toward the questions of formal religious authority and tradition is nowhere so evident as in the genera tion now entering manhood. The college student of to-day has not in most cases had the formal religious training which his father received. He lacks the intimate knowledge of the Scriptures which all well-trained boys of the -last generation had; traditional authority means less to him and he has grown up in an intel lectual atmosphere in which the scientific generalizations of the last fifty years form a part of the every-day philosophy of life. He is not less religious than his father was at his age nor less ready to think of service and of noble things ; but there are PREFACE fewer influences in his life to draw his attention to those everlasting questions which have to do with human aspira tions and human destiny. His life is less rich in the things which create a religious sense. His danger is the same as that which confronts the American in all busi ness life : that the pressure of the com monplace and the utilitarian may crowd out the thought of the larger and deeper questions of philosophy, of religion, and of service. However narrow may have been the theology of the last century, the reli gious training which went with it brought continually before men's minds the things which are spiritual and eternal. In the ad justment of men's thoughts to the changes of the last half-century much has been done to impair the influence of the religious leadership which comes from systematic teaching and formal church organization. No one can be brought into close con tact to-day with large bodies of students PREFACE — alert, clear-minded, enthusiastic young men — without a deep sense of the lack in their lives of spiritual and religious influ ences. They are not less quick to respond to such influences than their fathers; but the old traditional voices of authority no longer appeal to them, and in the hurry of modern life the things which are tender and deep and spiritual seem to have less and less opportunity to be considered in comparison with the pressing occupations of the present. Men's souls are over whelmed by the great current of the com monplace, the material, the utilitarian, and the student is in that current. If his attention and his interest are to be drawn to higher things it must be through a lead ership which faces frankly the philosophy of his time and which deals with the facts of science and of religion in a spirit of in tellectual sincerity. No cold and formal rationalism will suffice, but a leadership which shall be tender, hopeful, spiritual, ix PREFACE and fearless ; in a word, a religious leader ship, but one free of dogma. Whence such a leadership is to come is one of the difficult questions which to-day confronts the church and humanity. The addresses here brought together arose out of questions coming to the front in the day by day college life. They were talks to different groups of students at various times and places, sometimes before a whole class, sometimes before smaller bodies. There are throughout expressions of a somewhat personal bearing, sentences addressed ad hominem. These have been left unchanged in the printed form, since they serve to explain, in a measure, the circumstances under which the talks were given. H. S. P. December, 1905. CONTENTS I. What is Truth ? i II. What is Religion? .... 29 III. The Science of Religion . . 49 IV. The Significance of Prayer . 77 V. Ought a Religious Man to join a Church? 95 I WHAT IS TRUTH? WHAT IS TRUTH? " Truth is within ourselves : it takes no rise From outward things, whate'er you may believe. There is an inmost centre in us all Where truth abides." Browning. I welcome these meetings where, as mem bers of a brotherhood, we discuss frankly some of the larger philosophical ideas which interest the whole world. And this not simply for the reason that they bring me into a face-to-face relation with you, but also because these discussions serve to re mind us that college life is a part of the life of the world, and not a life isolated from it. To-day I wish to speak to you concern ing the relations of citizens to each other and concerning the guiding principle which ought to govern men, in order that these relations may be the best, not only for the 3 WHAT IS TRUTH? individual, but for the State as well. And in the outset I remind you again that col lege education, if it be really an education, ought to count in preparation for life, and that the college and the life you lead in it is a part of your life in the world. You will find, both in college and in that later life of which it is the beginning, that with larger opportunity and larger acquaintance you will be called upon to deal in greater and greater measure with questions which concern your social, polit ical, and moral relations with other men. In what way, may I ask, does your edu cation in science help to the adjustment of these relations, and is there in the study of science that which serves to fix a guiding principle of life and of conduct ? I believe that there is such a principle in the studies which you pursue. I go even farther and say frankly that, if your scien tific studies furnish you no suggestions in these matters, if your education here does 4 WHAT IS TRUTH? not connect itself with any philosophy of life and of conduct, if it has not strength ened your moral purpose and helped also to clear your conception of truth and of duty, then you have caught only the husks of science, the grain has slipped through your fingers ; you have acquired, not edu cation, but training. But in what way does scientific educa tion minister to the right interpretation of our duties in the social order in which we find ourselves? Let us consider for a moment how the society which we know has come to exist, and how the characteristics of the individ uals who compose it have been formed. For although, as Marcus Aurelius says, man is a social animal, nevertheless he became such only after a long and pain ful history, and he brought into the so cial order characteristics developed by ages of experience under different condi tions. 5 WHAT IS TRUTH? Our knowledge of man goes back to a period far distant, when he was a solitary animal ; when he fought day by day with other men and with the beasts of the field for life itself. Gradually men became gre garious, the family was merged into the tribe and the tribe into the nation, until, in the fullness of this twentieth century, all civilized mankind are bound together by ties of common interest and of com mon sympathy. Primitive man lived in complete free dom. He concerned himself with no thoughts of others. He recognized no responsibility for others. But, as society was slowly established, the individual ac cepted certain limitations of his freedom for the sake of the common good. He assumed certain responsibilities which the social order entailed. As time went on the relations became more complex, and the lines of influence between man and man were enormously multiplied. Primi6 WHAT IS TRUTH? tive man could be influenced at most by the one or two fellow-savages whom he met in his solitary wandering. The man who influences you or me most strongly may come from the other side of the world. Modern life has become exceedingly com plex. No man lives to himself. In one way or another he may influence the lives of a thousand men. In a society so constituted, made up of human beings who still retain the desire of individual liberty, in whom the long struggle for existence has implanted in each the passion to do the best for himself, how may the social order be maintained and individual freedom and individual efficiency be preserved? And in what way does a study of science minister to the maintenance of these relations? My answer to the question is this: The scientific method of study is charac terized rather by a distinctive attitude of mind toward truth than by any new ma7 WHAT IS TRUTH? chinery for collecting facts. The scientific method insists that the student approach a problem with open mind, that he accept the facts as they really exist, that he be satisfied with no half-way solution, and that, having found the truth, he follow it whithersoever it leads. To my thinking, the course which con serves at once the social order and the freedom of the individual is to be found in a knowledge of the truth by the individ ual citizen. And this knowledge of the truth in our social relations is to be had by use of the same method which we employ in seeking for scientific truth. I believe that the value of the citizen is measured by his ability to know the truth and to use it, and that his freedom is limited by this same ability. I am convinced that the process by which we acquire this abil ity is the same whether the truth we seek refer to questions of science or to questions of morals. Science says to those who love 8 WHAT IS TRUTH? her, Know truth and follow it. In so doing you serve best your fellow-men and yourself. But I can understand the questions which such statements immediately raise in your minds. In science, you say, one can know the truth. In the chemical or in the phy sical laboratory one can compare theory with exact tests, and know whether his results be true or not ; but one has no such criterion for judgment in social and moral questions. How is one to know the truth in such matters in order that he may fol low it? In the days of the Roman emperors the procurator of a certain conquered pro vince in Asia Minor found before him two parties, each of whom claimed to repre sent the truth. On the one side were the religious leaders of the province, earnest, narrow, confident that they were the di vinely appointed guardians of truth. On the other side stood one accused by them 9 WHAT IS TRUTH? of impiety, unbelief, and disregard of the law. But when the accused spoke, his plea for truth was so noble and so earnest that it aroused the attention of even the care less and reckless procurator; and, as he looked in bewilderment from one to the other, he asked, half helplessly, " What is truth ? " I can well imagine that many of you, coming as you do from distant homes to a strange city, taking up as you must new duties amid new surroundings, find your selves constantly in the presence of new conceptions of duty concerning these mat ters of every-day life. Some of the things which you have been taught to look upon as wrong you find done by those in whom you have confidence. Some of the things which you do are not in accord with the views of your companions. And as you observe this difference of opinion concern ing those things which men consider right in their relations with other men, I can well 10 WHAT IS TRUTH? imagine you must now and then ask your self the question, What is truth and where am I to find it ? Now, I do not pretend to be able to tell you where the truth is. Perhaps my posi tion is somewhat like that of the small Swiss whom I met on top of the Gemmi Pass, and of whom I asked the question, " Where is Kandersteg ? " "I don't know," said he, " but there is the road to it." And although each of us finds truth for himself, if he find it at all, nevertheless I may be able to point out some things which will mark the way to it, whether you take one path or another. In order that a man may reach truth, and having reached it make it effective, at least two qualities are necessary. One is what we call moral sense, earnestness of purpose, desire to do that which is true. The other is intellectual clearness, the ability to think. And the result which a man accomplishes is in large measure a n WHAT IS TRUTH? function not of one but of both of these qualities. You have in mechanics a formula for the momentum of a moving body. This momentum depends both upon the mass of the body and upon its velocity, and is equal to the product of the mass by the velocity. The momentum of a man in the social order in respect to truth is re presented by a similar formula. His effi ciency equals the moral purpose multiplied into the ability to think straight. The world's history is full of the story of men who had one of these qualities and who failed by lack of the other. It is difficult to say which has done the greater harm — blind devotion which would not see, or intelligence which saw, but lacked purpose and moral courage. Each has at one time or another filled the world with crime and suffering. The scene to which I have just referred furnishes an illustration of both these 12 WHAT IS TRUTH? cases. The Jewish priests who clamored for the death of the Nazarene were no doubt in earnest in their belief that they represented truth, but they lacked the clearness of vision to recognize what truth was. Pilate, on the other hand, educated as a Roman knight, a man who knew the world, intellectually alert, saw clearly that this man who stood before him was no criminal, that his words had extraordinary depth and significance. In a weak way he sought to turn aside the judgment of the priests, but his lack of moral purpose made this effort fruitless in the face of the earnestness, perverted though it was, of the scribes and the Pharisees. And so, although no man can point out to you the way of truth, although that path is one which each one of you must find by his own effort, to walk in this path you will require not only moral earnest ness, but intellectual clearness. One must not only feel right, he must think straight ; r3 WHAT IS TRUTH? he must have not only sentiment, but sense. But you will say that even those who unite moral purpose with intellectual alert ness, those who appeal both to conscience and to intellect, even those men do not agree in their attitude concerning what is true in moral and in social questions. These differences among honest, highminded, and intelligent seekers after truth are discouraging and puzzling to the be ginner. We have had in the daily press recently an illustration of such difference of view in a discussion concerning what is usually called the drink question. Now, no ear nest and no clear-headed man can fail to recognize the misery and the crime which go with the misuse of alcoholic liquors ; but the discussion to which I refer brought forward at least three distinctive opinions as to the way in which this abuse should be dealt with. 14 WHAT IS TRUTH? One group of men believed that all social drinking is wrong, and that such drinking should be prohibited by law, as other crimes are prohibited. A second group held that, while wine-drinking is in itself harmless, nevertheless the danger of misuse is so great that all good men ought to abstain from wine and discountenance its use by others. A third group took the ground that the question was one for each individual to settle for himself; that truth required the admission that a large num ber of those who drink wine use it in a rational way; that temperance and truth lie along the same path; that the real lesson which mankind has to learn is the lesson of self-control and of rational living. It is not my purpose to discuss any of these views, all of which have been ear nestly and conscientiously maintained. But the point to which I wish to call your attention is this. The question whether you accept one or another of these views 15 WHAT IS TRUTH? is of comparatively small importance ; but it is of infinite importance to you that, in these and in similar questions, you find your own conception of the truth, as con science and mind direct; and, having reached a result, that you have the courage to follow that conception whithersoever it leads. It means little for you to accept my view of truth or any other man's view of truth. It means everything to you to deter mine out of an open heart and an alert mind your own conception of truth, and, having done this, to keep the courage of such conviction. And if your training in science is to have any deeper meaning, if it is to connect itself not only with the problem of making a living, but also with a real philosophy of life, then the habit of open-mindedness which you have been trained to use in science, this scientific method, as it is called, is also the attitude of mind in which you should approach all questions. 16 WHAT IS TRUTH? There is a feeling that too much truth is not a good thing, at least for men be tween the ages of nineteen and twenty-four. And sometimes, when one's conceptions of truth, particularly in social and moral ques tions, lead directly across the conventional and traditional lines, one is tempted to ask whether, after all, it is not better to fall in with the view of other men and travel their road. All men of serious purpose, whether their lives be passed in the public view or not, face this question at one time or an other ; for all men who have earnestness and intelligence become leaders in greater or less degree. In such a moment of hesi tation there is one voice which speaks down the centuries — the voice of one greater than Marcus Aurelius, greater than philo sopher or poet or priest, whose utterance is so clear and so straightforward that it brings courage to doubting souls and shows the way for timid hearts. That voice says, " Know the truth, and the truth shall make i7 WHAT IS TRUTH? you free." My brothers, there is no free dom worth the having other than that free dom which a man enters into when he follows truth as his own heart and his own mind enable him to see it. Know the truth, and, as the Master says, it shall make you free: free from discouragement and free from fear. For the real dragons that de stroy men's souls are not food and drink, but the weakness which allows passion to become the master, not the slave, of the mind; the selfishness which sees only per sonal interest and personal gain ; the men tal lethargy which accepts error rather than seek truth ; the lack of vision which fails to recognize the truth; the lack of moral purpose to follow the truth when it is seen ; and the fear which turns aside or renders powerless the noblest purpose and the finest conception. There is another quality of the mind which ought also to enter into one's atti tude toward truth, and which is character18 WHAT IS TRUTH? istic of the scientific spirit and of the scientific method ? This quality is toler ance. For how strong soever one feels him self to be in purpose, and how sure soever he may consider his conception, other men just as sincere, possibly as able, will discern truth in a different direction and approach it by another path. No man, no party, no sect, and no religion has a divine monopoly either of truth itself or of the ways by which truth may be found. History is full of the story of those who parted, the one from the other, each to follow truth as he saw it, to find that their divergent paths came, in the end, to the same destination. A steamer which sails from San Francisco for Yokohama sets her course when she leaves the Golden Gate to follow the arc of a great circle, and plows her way sturdily, straight on through storm or sunshine to her destination. A sailing vessel setting out from the same port will sail first on one tack and then on another, and her path will be l9 WHAT IS TRUTH? determined by the winds and currents. Yet each sails by the same compass and each comes in the end to the same port. It is in some such way that men with different training and different equipment arrive after all at the same truth by widely different paths, and after different expendi ture of time and labor. The personal equa tion enters into our judgment of truth as it does into all human thinking. It is no part of the scientific teaching to deny to another the same freedom in the search for truth which he himself claims. The scientific man of all others should be tol erant. This does not mean that the scientific method excuses a man for his failure to use all the means in his power to come at the truth. It does not forgive a man when he seeks in a devious way that which he ought to reach by a direct road. It does not hesi tate to criticise a man who embarks on a sailing vessel when he ought to go by 20 WHAT IS TRUTH? steamer. And above all it boldly opposes that which it conceives to be false. The principle that free expression of opinion is conceded to those who differ from the recognized authorities is a lesson which individuals and parties, societies and na tions, have been slow to learn. This right, so far as social, political, and religious questions are concerned, is limited to-day by curious social and geographic lines. It is the boast of our Anglo-Saxon stock that political and religious freedom has found its fairest fruitage in Anglo-Saxon civilization. We who live under a regime which guarantees to each citizen freedom of thought and of speech do well to recall now and then the mistakes and the difficulties through which our fathers came to learn this lesson. It is a story full of the weaknesses and of the strength of humanity; a story of progress step by step, with many halts and back ward steps ; a story of cruelty and of devo tion, of the blindness of the many and of 21 WHAT IS TRUTH? the clear vision of the few; but a story always of human progress toward truth. For the desire to compel other men to accept one's own view of truth has been confined to no class and to no age. It has been a very human characteristic since the days when men lived in caves and dressed in skins. Kings and priests, having had most power in their hands, have had most opportunity to use the argument of force. Mahomet found that the sword was the surest argument to convert a stubborn con vert, and doubtless he was thoroughly honest in his belief. The priests who cru cified Christ felt no doubt of their devotion to truth. A few centuries later those who called themselves followers of Christ found in their hands the power to persecute men for their opinions, and they did not hesi tate to use it. As the Rev. John Cotton, in his controversy with Roger Williams, naively asserted, persecution is not wrong in itself. "It is wicked," said he, "for 22 WHAT IS TRUTH? falsehood to persecute truth, but it is the sacred duty of truth to persecute falsehood," and that teaching bore strange fruit for New England soil. Boston Common, scarce a stone's throw from this room, lies to-day white and fair under last night's snowfall. As we look upon it our memories go back to the days of 1775, and to those later scenes which preceded the Civil War. We think of Boston Common as sacred to liberty and to freedom and to the rights of man ; and I believe there is no spot on earth more truly dedicated to human freedom. Yet it has beheld other scenes than gatherings of indignant colonists or groups of patriot citizens anxious for their country's future. Our thoughts seldom go back to that October morning in 1659, when William Robinson, Marmaduke Stevenson, and Mary Dyer were led out on Boston Com mon, to be hanged for teaching the doc trines of the Quakers. It is not easy for us 23 WHAT IS TRUTH? at this day to realize that men and women could be hanged on that free soil for reject ing the doctrine of original sin and of the resurrection of the body, for denying the efficacy of baptism, and for asserting the absolute right of private judgment. And I remind you of this scene, not to compare our liberality with the narrowness of our fathers, but to call your attention to the fact that by their very earnestness of pur pose and by their examination and discus sion of religious questions the fathers found the path to truth, though long and rough ; persecution gave way to tolerance, and a colony founded to perpetuate a special view of divine truth became a State where any man may follow truth as his own heart and his own mind direct. And this ideal is, after all, that toward which great souls have labored in all ages. For this scientific method is no new invention of the nine teenth century. The men who have led humanity have always been those who 24 WHAT IS TRUTH? went forward with open hearts and with clear minds. For literature and science and politics and religion are not separate and distinct things, but only different parts of the same thing ; different paths by which men have sought after beauty and truth and righteousness — and these are one. Therefore let me hope that your study of science may mean something more to you than the facts of chemistry and of physics, which you learn in the laboratory. And, if I may be remembered by you when you have left these halls, I should choose to be remembered as one who taught you to approach the problems of your duties and relations with men in the same spirit in which you approach a problem in the laboratory — to be content with no lie, to rest in no evasion of the truth ; to work out, with the help of a tender conscience and an alert mind, your own conceptions of truth, and having reached such concep tions, to follow them. And this is the 25 WHAT IS TRUTH? answer to my question. We know truth when we reach it of our own effort and make it our truth. The politics and the religion which a man inherits, without thinking and without effort, count little toward his political and his spiritual de velopment. Men differ, and will always differ, as to what truth is in this or in that matter, but that man finds truth who seeks it ; he serves truth who follows it fearlessly; he serves his fellow-men who does all this with humility and with tol erance. In the Church service of to-day is pre served a short prayer : " Grant us in this world knowledge of thy truth, and in the world to come the life everlasting. " It has come down to us from one of the heroes of the early Church, him whom men called the golden-tongued ; one who, after a life of devotion and of courage and of toler ance, died at the hands of ignorance and jealousy. The words of this prayer, few 26 WHAT IS TRUTH? and simple as they are, seem to me to ask all that a human soul can ask — in this world knowledge of God's truth, in the world to come the life everlasting. The educated man, the courageous man, the tolerant man has no other prayer. II WHAT IS RELIGION? WHAT IS RELIGION? But this I confess unto thee, that after the way which they call heresy, so worship I the God of my fathers. — St. Paul. The most significant thought in all the universe is the idea of God and of our re lation to Him. And yet I suppose there is no other fact of fundamental importance to which we bring so little of our individ ual thinking. Most of us accept our con ceptions of God and of this relation exactly as our fathers handed them down to us; and if we begin to think for ourselves about them our very first feeling is one of unfaith fulness and of disloyalty to the religion of our fathers. You have come from religious homes. Some of you have come for the first time to share the complexities of a city life. You are being trained under a system of 31 WHAT IS RELIGION? thinking whose fundamental condition is intellectual sincerity. In your scientific work you are taught to question any result and to prove and test it. It is impossible that this training should not have its influ ence upon your religious ideals if you think at all about such matters. A man said to me, some time ago, " I send my boy to a scientific school because I feel that here neither his religion nor his politics will be affected." I want to say to you that such a school does not exist, or, if it does exist, it ought not. A school whose intellec tual current is so feeble that it does not set an intelligent man to thinking about his relations to God and to his country is no place to stimulate a man to right think ing in chemistry or in physics or in mathe matics. So surely as you and I live you will go from your work in college with your re ligious conceptions changed by your life here ; it may be quickened and deepened, 32 WHAT IS RELIGION? with new visions of truth and tenderer real ization of your relations to other men, it may be with these conceptions repressed or distorted. As your study here is to give a new orientation with respect to truth, so also will it give you a new orientation with respect to that part of truth which has to do with religion. Now my concern is that in this inevitable search of your conceptions of truth, in this orientation of yourself with respect to all thinking, you should not lose perspective. The mistake which many a student makes is the conclusion that when he begins to do his own thinking he is no longer religious, no longer worshiping the God of his fathers. So closely is our social life interwoven with certain religious forms and customs that to change the one seems like breaking with all the rest. And yet it is true to-day that a vast body, perhaps the great majority, of college men worship the God of their fathers after the way which a generation ago was universally called 33 WHAT IS RELIGION? heresy, and which is to-day considered by many devout men and women, some of them your fathers and your mothers, little better than heresy. Into this company of scientific men you have come. You are to learn their methods of reasoning, which are to become your methods. In the transfor mation which this is sure to make in your intellectual life there is not the slightest danger to your religion or to religious truth. But there is danger that you may mistake for religion something which is not religion at all. There is a strong probability that you may think you no longer worship the God of your fathers when in fact you are worshiping Him more truthfully, more sin cerely, more effectively than ever before. My brothers, there is no fact in all your life which is laden with such momentous consequences to you as the fact of religion ; therefore I have thought we could spend a half-hour in no better way at the begin ning of a school year, and the beginning 34 WHAT IS RELIGION? for many of you of your college life, than to ask ourselves frankly the question, What is religion? For if one has once clearly understood what religion is he has gone far on the path which takes him out of the region of doubts and apprehensions and uncertainties as to his own future and his relation to the religion of his fellow-men. And what is Religion as the man of science apprehends it? Stripped of all forms of conventional language, laying aside the imagery and the traditions which cling about the very word itself, religion presents itself to the man trained in science as nothing other than the divine life in the human soul, a life which manifests itself as all life manifests itself, by the growth which it brings forth, the divine flowers of the human heart, unselfishness, love, fearlessness, serenity, patience, ser vice. I do not know that this brings to your mind any clear notion of what I am trying 35 WHAT IS RELIGION? to describe. Let us see if I can illustrate what I mean by a comparison drawn from one of the most common of scientific con ceptions ; for we men are so close to the relations and laws of matter that we are constantly forced to illustrate our spiritual conceptions by material processes. To us men living on the earth there is only one source of energy: the sun. Darken the sun and all motion would stop, all life would disappear, every engine would cease to turn, for the coal whose burning supplies the energy for the engine is itself only stored energy of the sun. And every mill, every engine, every dy namo, every human body, merely trans forms solar energy and turns it to the work of the world. Now according to the thinking of men of science, behind all nature, behind all life, behind all our visible forms of energy, stands an infinite and eternal energy whom we call God. Just as from the sun the 36 WHAT IS RELIGION? energy of sunlight streams down upon the earth and is transformed into all living things, all forms of beauty, all flowers, all motions and all the life of our planet, so also the infinite and eternal energy radiates into all the universe, the source of all energy, whether of the body, of the mind, or of the spirit. Into every human soul this divine energy falls, just as the sun light falls upon the flowers, and every human soul becomes a transformer of that energy. To receive this divine energy into one's soul and to transform it effectively into those spiritual forms which make for justice, mercy, joy, unselfishness, serenity of mind and of life, this is true religion. If in your heart this divine transformation is not going on day by day and year by year you are not a religious man, no mat ter what your denominational connections or your formal professions may be. And if, on the other hand, in the soil of your heart these flowers are growing it matters 37 WHAT IS RELIGION? very little whether you call yourself Catho lic or Protestant, Episcopalian or Unita rian, Methodist or Christian Scientist, or if you belong to no religious organization whatsoever. It is the life in your own soul which determines whether you are a reli gious man, not the things that you believe or the name that you call yourself. When the man of science who believes himself a religious man expresses this view of religion he finds himself confronted at once by at least three questions which are addressed to him by those who have ap proached religion from the traditional historical pathway, questions which are accompanied oftentimes with uneasiness and apprehensions. For there are few human experiences more unsettling than those which an earnest man is called upon to undergo when he reviews the grounds of his own faith and that of his fathers. The questions are these : Does not such a conception take from religion the 38 WHAT IS RELIGION? idea of a personal God and our relations as men with God our Father? Does it not wipe out the distinction between reli gious and irreligious men, between good and wicked men, for as recipients of the divine energy would not all men be reli gious men ? And if this conception is true what is the practical lesson which it brings concerning the method by which a human soul may become an efficient transformer of the divine energy and therefore truly religious? I shall try to answer these questions as frankly as they can be asked, and in the same spirit in which you are taught to face the conclusions of scientific truth in scientific problems. That this conception of religion and of God is inconsistent with the idea of a di vine omnipotent person interfering directly in the affairs of our lives and of our world seems to me clear. The whole conception of the universe as the man of science sees it leads him to recognize the presence of 39 WHAT IS RELIGION? God in the working of steadfast and un changing laws. So far as his observations go, and so far as his researches into the his tory of mankind throw light upon the question, no instance of such interference has ever been known. On the other hand, it is against his whole conception of the orderly and just development of the uni verse. But this does not mean that God has in any way been changed by the change in our conception. Nor does it follow that, because we no longer think of Him as an omnipotent person, our relations with Him as the author and sustainer of the universe have been changed. Whether we think of God as the infinite and eternal energy which is immanent in the universe, or whether we think of Him as God our Fa ther, it is still true that the way to know Him is the same, and that He is not far from every one of us. The method by which we are to establish and freshen our 40 WHAT IS RELIGION? acquaintance, and even our communion with Him, is a matter in which each human soul must seek its own way, just as each human soul must be its own transformer of the divine energy. Of what this commun ion is I shall hope to speak to you again. What I wish to say now is that the man who finds that his reason leads him to accept the scientific view of God does not truly accept a spiritual relationship less rich, less sincere, less helpful than he who thinks of God as a Father and as governing directly and arbitrarily the affairs of his own life and of his own world. Do not for one mo ment let yourself believe that, if you find the traditional historical conception of re ligion impossible, you have thereby ceased to be a religious man. Millions of devout souls have found Him, some with joy and some with pain, in the older way, and mil lions more are to find Him, it may be with greater joy and less anguish of mind, with a heartier optimism, in the newer way. 4i WHAT IS RELIGION? As to the second objection, that such a conception wipes out the distinction be tween religious men and those who are not religious, my reply is that this distinction ought to be wiped out. There is no such dividing line amongst men. No greater wrong has been done to human kind than that by which a tradition has been gradu ally built up, under which certain men are recognized as religious because of belong ing to an organization, while others are counted as lacking religion because they do not belong to an organization. Into all human souls the divine energy is poured freely and impartially; all men are religious in greater or less degree, and no dividing line separates one from another. We are all God's creatures. As the radiant light of the sun falls upon our earth each plant takes up the waves of vibrant energy after its own ability. In one plant this energy is transformed into the beauty of the rose, in another into the fruit42 WHAT IS RELIGION? fulness of the corn, and in still another this same energy is transmuted into the deadly poison of the nightshade. In some such way the spiritual energy radiated into each human soul is there transformed into hu man character and human action. In one heart it is transmuted into justice and mercy and truth, in another into selfishness and greed and lust. Or, rather, in most human hearts these flowers of love and hate, of ser vice and greed, of mercy and cruelty, grow side by side just as the rose and the strychnos in the same soil are transmuters of the same sunlight. There is no human heart so black but that some flower of religion will grow there. I remember many years ago, in trying to find my way across a wild range of the Rocky Mountains, coming suddenly, near the summit, upon one of those singular and dangerous quagmires which are some times found in that region even at high altitudes. The place seemed dry and safe 43 WHAT IS RELIGION? enough to the eye, and presented the only ready egress from a mass of fallen timber. My horse hesitated to try it, for the mountain horses have good reason to dread those terrible black pits in which a man or an animal is sometimes entirely swallowed in an astonishingly brief time. On my urging, however, he plunged for ward, and at the first step the dangerous nature of the bog was evident. In an instant he had sunk to the shoulders, and the treacherous character of the place could be seen by the shaking of the whole mass for yards around like a huge bowl of ugly black jelly. How he got out I have never quite known, but three minutes later we stood on firm ground, gazing down at the black muck of the pit from which we had just escaped. As I looked I saw grow ing out of the very heart of the ruck a mountain flower, white, innocent, pure. It was a type of the human heart. For there is no human heart so black, so foul, so bar44 WHAT IS RELIGION? ren, that in its soil some divine flower of love or devotion does not grow. There is no human soul which is so poor a trans former that it does not convert into love or service some of the spiritual energy whose vibrations it receives. As we are all God's creatures, so truly are we all religious men. One word, finally, as to the practical in fluence of this conception upon our indi vidual lives. And here those who accept the scientific conception of the universe come back to join hands with those who are seeking God in another way. For whether one thinks of Him according to the one conception or the other, whether we think of Him as the infinite and eter nal energy showing itself in all law, all order, all nature, or whether we think of Him as a Father, the way to Him is the, same. There is no way to become a reli gious man in the truest sense, there is no way to become efficient transformers of the 45 WHAT IS RELIGION? divine energy except to open our hearts to those forces which make for righteousness, just as the flower turns to the sunlight. The scientific conception contains no new formula, it simply strips away many useless and obsolete ones. He who believes reli gion to be the most profound interest for him will seek more and more to transmute the divine energy in which he shares into the things which make for spiritual life, and less of this energy into the things which are material. Back of our race stands the long story of the brute ancestry, from which we sprang, with its inherited tendency to self ishness, to savagery, to greed. Very slowly has the spiritual energy, that which makes for righteousness, overcome in the human heart the ancestral tendencies. The best of human souls are far from being efficient transformers of the divine energy. Those of you who are electrical engineers will re call how imperfect is the transformation of energy which is effected in the electric lamp. 46 WHAT IS RELIGION? We burn coal to make steam, and the en ergy thus generated by the heat is converted into mechanical energy, and this into elec trical energy, and this finally into the energy of the light waves. But less than one per cent, of the original mechanical energy stored in the coal is reproduced in the en ergy of the light rays. The rest has been dissipated or used up in heat which does no work. The transformation in our indi vidual hearts is akin to this process. Each human soul takes up the spiritual energy which comes so generously to it and trans forms the greater part of it into those things which serve self-interest, passion, luxury, the things of to-day. Only the remnant is left for transmutation into those things which are spiritual and eternal. And yet slowly, century by century, the race has risen in spiritual efficiency. And he who knows best the story of this rise will face with renewed courage the problem of his own spiritual life. The practical problem 47 WHAT IS RELIGION? to which you and I will address ourselves is the problem of greater spiritual efficiency, the problem of transforming more of the divine energy into unselfish things, and less into those things which are material. In proportion as we do this we become reli gious men. And in just such proportion as we succeed, in just such proportion do we realize that we are coming into relations with that God whom our fathers worshiped, even though we do this after the way which they called heresy. And the man who has come to a realization of this in his own heart and soul has already ceased to fear that he has lost his religion, or that he ever can lose it. Ill THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION " I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth." — The Apostles' Creed. One of the singular facts in the history of mankind is that the questions which have divided men in religious matters have been in nearly all cases questions about the science of religion, about the formulae of faith, about the authority of religious organization, not questions about religion itself. And even in our day it is contin ually necessary to draw attention to the difference between religion and the efforts which men have made to formulate it. Some time ago I passed through a chemical laboratory where a teacher was explaining to a class a common chemical reaction. The reaction itself was going on in a retort on the table, while on the black board was written the conventional for51 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION mula which in the science of chemistry is used to describe the reaction. It so hap pened that the instructor had made a mis take in writing the formula; instead of CO„ he had written COs. But this made not the slightest difference in the reaction which was going on in the flask. Now the science of religion, which we call theology, has some such relation to religion itself as the chemical formula has to the actual chemical reaction ; some such relation as the science of botany has to the living flowers ; some such relation as the science of astronomy has to the everlasting stars. This science of religion is impor tant. It is of tremendous significance to the race and to the individual that we should formulate clearly and fairly our thinking with respect to God and the life of man with Him, but this science is of very small importance in comparison with the life itself. And it is of the greatest moment that you distinguish between 52 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION religion, which is the divine life in the soul of man, and theology, which is merely the attempt to formulate our thinking with respect to that life. The great reli gious quarrels which have rent the world have come in most cases from the attempt of men to impose upon other men, not their religion, but their science of religion. The student of science who concerns himself with any thoughtful philosophy of life will not only question himself as to the religion in his own heart, but he will desire to know the scientific form of thinking with respect to religion. At the beginning of any serious study of the matter there arises a fundamental question. Has the thinking of scholars so far crys tallized as to give a fair groundwork of scientific truth which expresses the experi ence and observation of men in regard to religion? Is theology a science, in other words, in the sense in which we use that word in speaking of other sciences ? 53 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION As one studies the history of the Chris tian Church he finds that at various epochs in its history and by various bodies of men efforts have been made to reduce to defi nite form the conclusions of men concern ing religion. Amongst the most famous of these are the Nicene and the Apostles' Creeds, both of the fourth century, the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England in 1563, the Westminster Con fession of Faith of 1647, the expression of the belief of the Presbyterian Church, and the Twenty-five Articles of the Methodist Church. These are some of the formulae which have been devised by men to ex plain their religious thinking. They belong to the science of religion. The student of science is early brought to understand that the term science is used in widely different senses. Sometimes it is qualified by the word exact, as indicating a science in which the laws of the pheno mena are so relatively simple and so easy 54 -THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION of mathematical demonstration that the problems of the science may be solved with certainty and exactness. For exam ple, in the science of astronomy the laws and the phenomena of planetary motion are so completely known that they may be made the subject of exact calculation, and two astronomers with the same data will eventually reach the same conclusion. A man's results may be for the moment unlike those of his fellow workers, but in such cases differences of opinion are easily adjusted. A renewed testing of observa tions or of reasoning process will show that somebody was in error. Again we use the word science to indi cate the collection and correlation of facts with regard to a certain set of related phe nomena when knowledge of their funda mental laws is still wanting. Meteorology, for instance, is hardly more than a vast collection of undigested observations, from which a few generalizations have been 55 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION drawn. The difficulty of exact prediction here arises wholly from the extent and complexity of the facts. The day is cer tainly far distant when meteorology will become a science in the same sense as astronomy or chemistry, but in theory there is no reason why that day should not come. Finally, the word science is used to cover certain fields of study where the facts are not only complicated but dependent upon the individual point of view. Thus in the study of politics all the data are affected by the personal relations and prejudices of those who furnish them. Now it requires little consideration to show that the science of religion is not an exact science. The chemist, whether he be English, Italian, or Russian, will describe a chemical reaction by the same formula. The theologians of England, of Italy, and of Russia will use vastly different formulae in their respective sciences of religion. The 56 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION science of religion can scarcely be com pared to meteorology (which is a science in the forming), because in religion the hu man element enters so powerfully. It is more akin to the group of sciences which deal with the relations of men with each other, the social and political sciences. The formulation of thought in religious science has gone on, at least until a very recent day, under a pressure unknown in any other science: that is, the pressure of a belief on the part of nearly every worker in the science that his own soul's salvation was intimately connected with the formula which he devised and advocated. The dis coveries and the formulae of the great scientists like Newton or Pasteur come to us in a form in which any follower who desires to do so may repeat and verify the steps. The work of the great theologians like Athanasius and Augustine has more resemblance to that of the great artists : visions of truth as seen by great souls, but 57 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION subjective, not such as may be tested and proven by those who follow. Let us consider for a moment the oldest of these efforts to which I have referred, the Apostles' Creed, which is to-day the formula of Christendom. The noble sentences of this creed have been in the mouths of most of us from our earliest recollections. It is interwoven with our tenderest memories. And yet it is es sentially a scientific rather than a religious paper, for it undertakes to give in formal specific terms the results of man's thinking with respect to God and the relations of men with Him. Perhaps there are few of us who are equipped to examine this paper as a scientific formula. We may at least note that the fundamental conception con tained in the first words of the creed is not very far away from the scientific conception of to-day. " I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth," is an expression of man's experience and 58 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION conviction which is not so very different from Mr. Herbert Spencer's generalization that " We are ever in the presence of an infinite and eternal energy from which all things proceed." It is true that in the first expression God is referred to as a Father, but the idea of an Almighty Father, the Maker of the Universe, is scarcely less im personal than that of the infinite source of all our thoughts and energies. This gen eralization that God exists and that in Him we live and move and have our being is, I believe, as truly the expression of the scientific thought of to-day as it was of the scientific thought of the fourth century. Does the same statement hold of the other articles of this creed ? Can the man of science accept them as well ? If we agree that religion is a divine life in the human soul, is that life dependent upon the acceptance of these beliefs ? Does our adherence to the doctrine of the Trinity or the remission of sins or the resurrection of 59 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION the body freshen that life and cause it to blossom into the fruits of love and mercy and service ? In a word, is an acceptance of these doctrines of the creed a necessary or important part of religion ? All men who study and read will find these questions at some time or another lying squarely across the path of their in tellectual growth. Some go around them, some rush at them as if to sweep them down, some answer them with searchings of heart. There is the youth who means as yet to evade moral issues. He has some where heard that the doctrines of the church have been entirely disposed of by some body, and he welcomes an attack on the conventional theology. He is ready to dis miss all such questions as obsolete. There is the serious man — he may be a scien tific man, or at least a scientific man in the making — who believes that much of the older theology is out of date, but who feels genuine uneasiness at the fear that there 60 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION may be a practical mistake in the modern criticism or a real loss to the world by re moving restraints which have made for righteousness. And there is the man who accepts more or less firmly the formula of the creed, but who wishes to be fair. He deplores modern unbelief, but recognizes it as an apparently necessary danger of any sort of higher education, and asks only what the higher education has to offer in return for the old faith. To him the scien tific conception of God as the infinite and eternal energy seems vague and shadowy in comparison with his thought of God as a Heavenly Father. The statement that religion is to be lived by opening our hearts to the divine energy seems to him a very indistinct and hesitating voice along side the words, " I believe in the Holy Catholic Church, the forgiveness of sins, and the life everlasting." Are we to throw away, he asks, these definite beliefs of two thousand years and receive in return only 61 , THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION the vague conception of a power behind nature and a still more indistinct direction of the way by which we are to find Him ? To these questionings and anxieties the scientific seeker for truth can perhaps give no answer which will be satisfactory to all. The best he can do is to make clear his own ground and to do this with full respect for the faith of others and due regard to his own limitations. He must recognize, too, that notwithstanding the fact that the creed is essentially a scientific paper prepared by experts after long discussions and many compromises, its significance as a scientific formula was soon overshadowed by the influence which it came to have over the hearts of men. The place which it fills to day has little to do with its scientific origin. As we repeat the words it is not of their scientific value or even of their truthfulness that we concern ourselves. Not one in a thousand of us has spent an hour's thought on the doctrine of the Trinity or the remis62 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION sion of sins or the resurrection of the body. The words are precious to us from their associations with solemn and tender scenes of our lives, from their suggestions of a Saviour of the world and the hope and com fort of a better life. Our hearts turn gladly from the somewhat cold scientific words of the first sentence to the intensely human and sympathetic figure of Christ, and we realize that it is through our emotions that this venerated creed touches us. It is this precious freightage of the traditions, the hopes, the longings of twenty centuries of which one must think if he is to sweep away the dogmas of the church as non essentials. It is this consideration which makes the answers to the questions I have proposed equally difficult for the religious man who wishes to be fair-minded, whether he adhere to the old faith or to the new, whether his science be theology or physics. Men's intellectual differences generally come, not from differences in intellectual 63 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION capacity, but from difference in the point of view ; and nothing is more difficult for any of us than to get a fair perspective from another man's viewpoint. The more sure one is of his own view of truth the less likely is he to estimate fairly the attempt of another who is judging the same set of facts from another point of observation. And perhaps nowhere have good and true men shown such disregard of other men's intellectual and spiritual rights (if one may use that term) as in their discussions con cerning the formulae and philosophy of religion ; for these discussions have rarely been held regarding religion itself. It is generally only by some chance ex pression that we are brought to realize how completely we neglect at times the stand point of our friend in trying to impress upon him our own view of truth. I shall never forget the impression made upon me by the words of a very intelligent oriental in one of the East India islands, himself a 64 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION teacher, concerning an exposition of reli gion which he had just heard from a Euro pean. Speaking without bitterness but with feeling he said, " You gentlemen fromEurope and America invite us to accept your religion, but you preface your invi tation with the extraordinary condition that we must first forget the long religious history of our own race and the virtues which we as a people have cultivated in thousands of years of slow progress." " The position which you assume toward us," said he, " is very like that taken by an aged student of mine, for with us it is not un common to find students who have passed their threescore and ten. This man had labored for many years over a theory of the planetary motions, and had finally brought his theory, as he thought, to perfection, and felt it a duty to give it to the world. To him it stood for truth. He began his ex planation by this preliminary statement: 'Before you can understand my theory 65 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION you must divest yourself of all the con ceptions which your mathematical train ing has given you.' ' Alas,' said I, ' what you ask is impossible, and beside, if I should do this, how can I test the correct ness of your theory ? ' Would it not be possible for you Europeans to invite us into your religious fellowship without ask ing us to throw away all that we have learned from centuries of slow tuition under the same God who rules in Europe and America ? " I never before realized what it implied when one asks a man to aban don the religion of his race to accept that of another. The sincere believer in the formulae of the older Christian faith doubt less feels some such protest rising in his heart, even if unexpressed, when he is asked to think of religion as a simple life of the soul, independent of all formulae and all creeds and all organizations. The two points of view are widely different. Let us try briefly to state them. 66 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION Both the older science of theology and the modern science of evolution recognize back of nature a governing and controlling power which makes for righteousness and which we call God ; but the former repre sented Him to men as a divine person ruling the universe by arbitrary acts and changing the circumstances of our lives at the request or need of his children, while the latter discerns in Him the sustainer of the universe and the giver of all our life, but ever working through steadfast and unchangeable laws. The philosophy of the old theology looked upon man as a creature fallen from a high estate, morally diseased and only to be restored to companionship with God by the fulfillment of a certain plan devised for that purpose. The provisions of this plan are contained in the creeds : the sacrifice of the Saviour, his resurrection, his judg ment, the Church, the remission of sins, the life hereafter. It is true also that the 67 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION science of theology recognized what was called natural religion, but only in a second ary sense. The philosophy of modern science con templates the race from an entirely differ ent point of view. It looks upon man as occupying a place in nature to which he has come by many ages of normal devel opment. Behind him lie a brute ancestry, ages of war for existence, centuries of slow progress which have left their imprint in his physical and moral constitution; but his face is turned toward the light, and his progress is upward. " Man as yet is being made, and ere the crowning Age of ages, Shall not aeon after aeon pass and touch him into shape ? " With this effort to make clear the differ ences in the points of view, I think the attitude of the general body of scientific men toward the formulae of the creed may be expressed in some such words as these, 68 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION so far as one of limited scientific experience may hope to voice them. First of all, the man of science is en gaged in no propaganda to uproot the faith or the convictions of other men, whether young or old. Looking upon religion as a life in the individual soul, he is happy to see that life made fruitful by any means which the individual finds to nourish it. For himself he must regard that life as a very different thing from the formula? which are intended to define it; and, if he examine these formulae at all, he must apply to them the same tests which he would apply in any other study, and he must be satisfied to go only so fast and so far as he can be sure of the truth. Though science has no specifics for man's spiritual salvation, it looks with perfect faith into the future, in the belief that the progress of the race is sure. It does not undertake to answer the questions of the future which are beyond our ken, but it 69 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION points all men joyfully toward a life with God as the normal life. It is perhaps here that the religious man of science parts company with the religious man of creed, — in the different estimate which he puts upon truth for its own sake. The result which he is able to accept may seem less definite, perhaps less comforting to the hope, but his training leads him to believe that nothing is worth while but the truth, and that its pursuit and possession form in the end their own exceeding great reward. He has a faith quite as sincere, quite as earnest, as any other believer, that along this road of truth-seeking, of open-mindedness, of modest study, lie that sincerity, that discipline, that clear vision which in the end lead to justice and mercy and unselfishness ; which lead, in a word, to the growth in the soul of that life which is religion. It is a constructive, not a de structive faith. To such a man there is in finite comfort and steadying power in the 70 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION thought that the new faith, if it does not see so far as the old, at least looks up to God with clear eyes. Unable to read the problems of the future fully, it undertakes to give no doubtful solution, but trusts that solution without fear to the power which has brought us up out of the baser life and set our faces toward the light. The man of science is profoundly hopeful. He be lieves in God, he believes also in man and his destiny. His faith is that voiced by Tennyson in the lines : — "I stretch faint hands of faith and hope And gather dust and chaff and call To what I feel is Lord of All, And faintly trust the larger hope." One cannot overlook the fact that the very definiteness of the formulae of the older creeds of Christendom appeals to something universal in human nature. A clear statement will nearly always pass for a true one. Men instinctively reach out for specifics, and nowhere so eagerly as 71 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION in those things which pertain to health, whether of the body or of the soul. Yet there are few specifics in all nature, either for bodily or spiritual health. The ordi nary human being, to live in health, must depend not upon specific medicines but upon leading a normal life in accordance with the laws of nature. He must open his lungs to the fresh air, take into his stomach wholesome food, and lead a ra tional life. Health follows as a result of the laws of physical being with which the individual has put himself in accord ; and yet the advice to lead wholesome lives, to eat simple food, to breathe fresh air, seems so indefinite that we generally fail to dis cipline ourselves to undertake these things. In the same way the invitation to spiritual health, to open one's heart to the things that make for righteousness, for unselfish ness, for service, seems very indefinite. It is far easier and simpler to discipline our minds to the defense or even to the ac72 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION ceptance of some formula or of some specific dogma. In the case of both the physical and the spiritual health-seeking it is a life to which the man is called: a day by day submission of his body and of his soul to the laws of the universe in which he finds himself, not a spasmodic, isolated effort. It is at this point that we find it hard to overcome the inertia of society, the inbred selfishness of our race, the pleasure of the hour. And it is always so much easier to point the way to such a life than to lead it ; so much easier to try a specific for dis ease than to follow the laws of health ; so much pleasanter to our self-complacency to talk about the religious life than to live it. After all, the practical problem is the same to every man, whatever his philo sophy of life. The difficulties of natural depravity are exactly the same as those of the brute inheritance. The chemical reac73 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION tion in the retort is the same, whichever formula is used. Whether one accept the one hypothesis or the other, the problem of the individual man is to adjust himself to the world in which he lives, to lay hold of the spiritual energy which is poured out upon him, to find his own way to God and to a life with Him. And now in closing let me say one word in the direction in which I began. I have spoken to you in regard to the science of religion, not because I thought you were interested in theology, but because I know from daily experience that you are constantly mistaking theology for religion, constantly confusing the science of reli gion with the divine life in the human soul, which is religion. It is as if a man mistook the chemical formula for the actual chemical reaction, the science of botany for the flowers, the science of as tronomy for the stars. I have spoken in this way, not because I do not think a 74 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION science of religion is important; I believe it is profoundly important, if it be a true science; but because I think the science is infinitely less important than the thing itself. Now to know God in your own soul and to develop from that knowledge the fruits of the spirit is religion. If in doing this you find comfort and strength and joy in a belief in the formulae of any body of Christians, in God's name use these formulae and these beliefs to the ut most. But if, on the other hand, you find yourself stopped by the creeds or the tra ditions of the body of religious men with whom you are associated, do not for one moment allow yourself to think that you have lost your religion. These things be long not to religion, but to the science of religion, a science which was framed in the early history of civilization and which has never yet caught up with other sciences. The one important thing for any human being is to develop in his own soul, 75 THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION heartily, joyfully, sincerely, the life which blossoms into forgetfulness of self and ser vice of men, in courage and mercy and patience and serenity of mind. For these are the fruits of true religion. And when we strive to do this we approximate ever closer to the life of him our elder brother, Jesus Christ. 76 IV THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER " Was die innere Stimme spricht, Das taiischt die hoffende Seele nicht." Schiller. From the earliest history of our race men have prayed. Our oldest records concern themselves with these efforts of men to come in touch consciously with God. Dur ing this last generation, when our concep tions of the order and progress of the universe have undergone great changes, men have still prayed. In these prayers, reaching from the earliest human history until to-day, may be traced the gradual un folding of our conception of God and our relation to Him. The nature of a man's prayer will inevitably depend on his con ception of God. The scientifically trained 79 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER mind of the twentieth century, seeing in the universe of to-day the evidences of a slow and gradual progression in accordance with unchangeable laws, and looking up to God as an infinite and eternal power back of all nature and all law, will have a different conception of what prayer means from that of the man whose spiritual training and ex pression lead him to think of God as a di vine person dealing as an omnipotent father with his children and influenced by their requests. In view of this changed concep tion many devout souls ask anxiously, Is not this scientific conception of God and of nature inconsistent with the idea of per sonal relation with Him? Granting the new form of faith, may a man still pray, and, if so, in what sense ? Like other fundamental questions of hu man experience, this one reaches back to many long-distant causes and influences. To answer it one must first know what prayer is, and what it has meant to men of 80 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER older time as well as to those of our own day. In no way have men shown their ideas of our relation with the Infinite so clearly as in their prayers. Marcus Aurelius An toninus, a Roman Emperor and a Stoic philosopher, and one of the greatest of human souls, gives in these words his con ception of prayer: A prayer of the Athe nians — " Rain, rain, O dear Zeus, down on the plowed fields of the Athenians and on the plains." " In truth," writes Aure lius, " we ought not to pray at all, or we ought to pray in this simple and noble fashion." A prayer of Jesus : " Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me : nevertheless, not what I will, but what thou wilt." A prayer of St. Chrysostom, one of, the Greek fathers of the fourth century : " Grant us in this world knowledge of thy truth, in the world to come life everlasting." 81 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER These three prayers indicate in the form and character of their petitions three great steps which humanity has taken in its ef fort to know and to come in touch with God. The first reflects the life and the intellec tual attitude of the highest philosophy of the ancient civilization, an attitude which was calculated to show not so much the goodness of the gods as the inherent dig nity of man. The Stoic philosopher, noble, dignified, just, appealed to the gods as rulers of the world for that which he felt to be justly due to men, but he endured the things the gods sent with equal calmness, whether they were good or ill. Such a prayer argued a relation with the gods at once personal and impersonal : personal in the sense of the direct action of the gods upon human affairs, impersonal in the ab sence of any definite conviction of their justice and mercy. Such a prayer bespoke a soul which stood fearlessly before God, conscious of its own rectitude and willing 82 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER to submit to the decrees of the divine power, but neither asking nor expecting the support and sustenance of that faith which looks upon God as a kindly and loving father. That which is absent in the prayer of the Stoic is found, as it is found nowhere else, in the prayers of Jesus. Here speaks a soul conscious of a life day by day and hour by hour with a Heavenly Father. Every word and act and hope is permeated by that con scious relationship, and he prays to this Father as one who cannot only sustain and help, but also take upon himself the ad justment of every human circumstance which the complexities of life present. A loving, all-powerful Heavenly Father, not only immanent in the universe and in the lives and acts of men, but ready also at the prayer of His children to change these laws and processes to compass their well-being : these are the relations and the conceptions called up by the prayer of the Son of Man. 83 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER The words of the Greek father suggest a still different conception and a different relation. He lived in a day when the Christian faith had already in great mea sure supplanted Greek and Roman philo sophy in the hearts of men. A Roman emperor had become a Christian and the feeble organization which had started amid such humble surroundings three hundred years before had begun to lay its hands on the government of Europe. But in the very days of power doubts had come. Men had begun to differ in their interpretations of the complicated doctrine of salvation which had been built up under the earlier fathers. To be sure, the great Council of Nice had been called together in order to quiet these differences and to furnish a definite creed of faith which should be uni form and consistent for all Christians. But this creed had been reached only after the most bitter contest, and its very language reflected the stress under which it was 84 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER framed. Learned and devout men held widely divergent views concerning impor tant matters of belief. In a word, the dif ferences which present themselves when different human intellects with varying abil ities and varying prejudices study obscure problems were pressing hard upon the souls of men. A condition of unrest, of questioning, existed approximating that of to-day ; a condition which was not to recur for many centuries, for intellectual differences were quickly crushed into uniformity under the iron hand of authority. Into the prayer of that day comes a questioning note. Not earthly help or the intervention of the Heavenly Father is asked, but knowledge of God's truth. It is in some such way as this that the scientific mind prays to-day : it asks in this world knowledge of God's truth, resting sure that with this knowledge all other problems are resolved. Does this conception of God as the in85 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER finite power in the universe, immanent in all life and all nature but working through law, not under the action of human-like motives and purposes, make such a prayer less possible, less helpful, less needful ? These three prayers and all others which are uttered in the privacy of a man's own soul are efforts to come into conscious re lations with God. He who really prays has crossed the threshold of spiritual conscious ness and come into a higher relation with the Infinite. For, whether we look up to God as a person or whether we regard Him as the infinite source of life working through everlasting laws, our touch with Him must come through our own consciousness : and it is through this higher spiritual conscious ness that we reach Him. The great souls of earth have all come to great spiritual truth through entering into this higher con sciousness of the soul. Socrates speaks of it as the " daemon " (a spirit within one) ; Jesus as " the kingdom within you ; " St. 86 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER Paul as the " inner man." In a word, whether we have the one or the other philosophy about God, whether we accept the one view or the other of His relation to us, we only enter into conscious relations with Him when we cross the threshold of our own spiritual consciousness. Men may be religious, they may be happy, they may be useful, and yet never rise into this spirit ual consciousness, never pray in this sense. Let us try to illustrate. For a long time the world looked upon light as a substance simple in its nature. We know now that light is composite, and that it is the result of vibrations from the source of all our phy sical energy, the sun. These vibrations are brought to us in the form of waves in the ether which fills all space, and their effect on our eyes will vary with the length of the waves and the consequent rapidity with which they reach our eyes. When the ether waves are fifty thousand to the inch they make upon our eyes the impression 87 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER of violet light; when they run about thirty thousand to the inch they produce the im pression of red light ; and all our sensa tions of color lie between these two limits. Waves slower than the red and faster than the violet produce no effect on the eye. And yet we know that there are vibrations which lie below the red and above the vio let which, falling upon the eye, give no vision, and are yet full of energy. Some such analogy holds in our minds. Our con scious every-day relations lie within a lim ited range. That which we see and recog nize with our senses and which forms the bulk of our every-day experiences does not include all the spiritual energy of which the soul is capable. Below the threshold of our ordinary consciousness, as we well know, lies a consciousness of another sort, of which we know little, such as the con sciousness of sleep, for example. Just so, also, above the ordinary every-day con sciousness lies a superlintral region of the 88 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER human soul, like the ultra-violet part of the color spectrum. Into this higher spir itual consciousness we rise only by that supreme effort of the soul by which a man may come to know his own soul's better self and the best to which that soul may aspire. In doing this he draws near to the author and ruler of the universe, whether his philosophy of life teaches him to look upon that author and ruler in the personal or the impersonal way. Whatever our phi losophy of the universe, our way of know ing God is the same : by the development of a spiritual consciousness, by so training our own hearts and minds as to raise up within us a new man ; by fearlessly facing our own souls and so knowing ourselves as to grow into that spiritual power which may bring us into contact with Him. To do this is to pray in the highest sense. This conception of the inner man, or, as Schiller has called it, the inner voice, is almost as old as our thinking. Socrates, 89 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER Jesus, St. Paul, Marcus Aurelius, all great souls who have thought deeply on the problems of religious development have come back to it again and again. It con tains the essence of any religion which is to deal with the mind, the heart, and the moral life. Does the scientific spirit tend to develop this deeper consciousness, this inner voice ? I believe profoundly that it does. More than this, I believe that, amid the rush of our modern life, amid the distractions of incessant occupation, in the confusion of men's minds concerning right and wrong, the spirit of scientific truth-seeking is the very note which the inner voice most needs to sound, and which we men of to-day are prone to neglect. We have become accustomed in these last years to a measure of personal and official dishonesty which is utterly de moralizing. Well-meaning men go wrong morally, in their intellectual judgments, in 90 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER practical matters, and they excuse them selves for a refusal to listen to the inner voice on the ground, " What I have done is as nearly right as was necessary." These moral compromises form the cogs in the machinery which connect good men with worse, and it is astonishing to find how simple is the machinery and how few links are needed to reach from the honest busi ness man to the dishonest promoter, from the high-minded public officer to the polit ical grafter. Into this atmosphere of com promises/ of shiftiness, of uncertainty, the voice of science comes with the word, "Nothing is worth while but the truth; make no compromises with yourself, ac cept no half-truth ; do not delude yourself into thinking you are acting from one motive when you are really prompted by another ; do not lie to yourself; if you are not strong enough to be righteous, at least be intellectually sincere." If, among the distractions of our lives, we are to give 91 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER any opportunity to the inner spirit to be heard, this invariable, uncompromising attitude to truth is an essential. In bringing this message to the individ ual soul the science of our day is sound ing the highest ethical note of which men are capable; and he who disciplines his conscience to heed it is already giving heed to the highest spiritual consciousness into which it is his privilege to enter : he is entering already into communion with Him who is the author of his spiritual life. And, whether communion with Him means a direct communion with a personal spirit or whether it means a communion with our better selves, it comes in either case through the medium of our personal spiritual consciousness. He who will know Him must first know himself, must first face fearlessly and fairly the questions of his own soul, must have so developed his heart and mind to higher things that he may have spiritual consciousness, and a 92 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF PRAYER communion with the spirit which is in every man. It is the knowledge of this inner spirit which shall lead us surely to higher spiritual truth. It seems, therefore, clear to me that, in the sense in which I have used the words, all serious men, whatever their intellectual training, must pray, not, perhaps, for mate rial help, not in expectation that the laws of the universe shall be changed at their request, not even primarily for strength to live rightly and justly, but as the su preme effort of the human soul to know God. And whether that which we call prayer be a direct communion with Him as our Heavenly Father, or whether it be a communion with our higher consciousness which is in touch with Him, in either case the time can never come when a human soul will not rise from such communion purified and strengthened, with new hope and new patience, and with a more serene view of his own duty and his own future. 93 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN TO JOIN A CHURCH? OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN TO JOIN A CHURCH? " One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all." — St. Paul. The history of the Christian Church and of the process by which it has come in our day to be represented by almost countless sects holding widely varying religious be liefs is a part of the story of the rise and progress of our race. Starting with a small group of devoted and religious men who represented no compact administration, the church gradually assumed a complex organization. With the conversion of Con stantine in the fourth century Christianity became the accepted religion of the most powerful nation in the world. Gradually the Christian Church drew into its fingers the reins of civil government, and its 97 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN organization changed character to enable it to deal with these new powers. For a thousand years it ruled the civilized world. Finally came a reaction. Men came back to the idea of earlier Christianity that it was the business of the church to concern itself with religion, not with civil rule. Out of the conflict which this reaction brought were born other forms of religious organization antagonistic to the power and influence of the mother church. This differentiation into sects has gone on until to-day the Christian Church is represented in the world by so many sects that it would be difficult to name them. They vary in creed from a strict and formal ad herence to the authority of the church and its dogma to an association of men and women bound by no formal creed and associated with the purpose of the advance ment of religion by their common efforts. In its most highly organized branches the Christian Church to-day still claims the 98 TO JOIN A CHURCH? right to rule and govern the world. In its youngest and most liberal divisions it does not even ask the acceptance of a creed. From amongst all these churches one may perhaps find none which agrees wholly with his own views, but he may certainly find one which approximates to them, and withal a very large liberty of belief and of action. A religious man — one who be lieves that religion is a life, not a profes sion, one who seeks to nourish in his own heart the things that make for truth and justice and mercy — such a one will nat urally be concerned as to whether he ought to become a member of one of these organizations. Will his spiritual life be quickened thereby? Will it afford him an atmosphere in which the energy of the soul will be developed along true lines? Will it help to bring his life in touch with the religious life of other men so that both they and he may be helped ? Is it his duty to join a church ? 99 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN It is evident to any student of the his tory of the church, or to any observer of the organizations which exist among us to day calling themselves churches, that they have the advantages and the weaknesses of other human organizations. Much of what the churches do commends religion to men; a large part of that which they do has but little effect either for or against religion ; and a considerable part of what the churches do unfortunately discredits religion. If religion is a life, it is a life springing up in the individual soul. It belongs es sentially and primarily to the individual. There is perhaps no other form of human development which lends itself less easily to the purposes and the machinery of an organization than that divine life in the individual human soul which we call reli gion. This life in the soul and its develop ment is essentially individualistic. It may be quickened or refreshed or repressed by IOO TO JOIN A CHURCH? the contact with other individuals, but it dpes not lend itself to organization; it cannot be promoted by administration. And this has always been one of the weak nesses and the dangers of religious organi zations : that the machinery of organiza tions, once provided, has in nearly all cases been turned to the advancement of some thing other than religion. It is very diffi cult to use the power of an organization so as to develop in the hearts of the indi viduals comprising it mercy and love and reverence ; but it is very easy to put the organization back of a dogma which touches the imagination or the interest of those concerned. From the very nature of religion and from the qualities inherent in human nature the organization called the church has lent itself far more easily to dogma than to love, far more readily to theology than to religion, far more suc cessfully to the upbuilding of the power of the organization than to the advanceIOI OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN ment of truth. Individual religious life was what Jesus sought to kindle. He originated no organization; though he criticised the church of his day, he never left it. His mission was to lead men to God so that they might lead their own life with Him. It was inevitable, perhaps, that amongst his followers should be de veloped in course of time a compact, effec tive organization. But this organization could not take the place of the spiritual leadership of a truly religious soul, and it lent itself only too well to human ambi tion and human vanity. To wrest from its hands the power of civil government took centuries of strife and cost countless lives. This battle has been fought and settled in most civilized countries. Where the ques tion still survives it marks the recrudes cence of a mediaeval conflict in the minds of men : a conflict which will in the end terminate only in one way. To-day, to the great benefit of both the state and the 102 TO JOIN A CHURCH? church, our two most complex human organizations, the latter no longer claims the right to interfere in civil government. To-day no man will think of the church, at least in our United States of America, except in its religious purpose. That the church is not indispensable to the perpetuation and progress of religion seems clear. Its inefficiency as a religious agency is the most evident part of its his tory. It does not seem impossible that religion among men may some day be so developed that the church as a formal organization may be transformed ; it may come to occupy toward theology some such attitude as the Chemical Society oc cupies toward chemistry, or some other agency may take its place. Yet the imperfections and limitations to which I have alluded make no an swer to the questions which I have asked. The fact that the church has been in many respects cleared of the superstitions of a 103 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN thousand years, that it no longer claims, in many of its branches at least, the obedience of an absolute authority, that it admits mis takes and weaknesses, is an evidence of increasing sincerity and of a higher fitness. Furthermore, when the man of scientific training considers the organization of the church as it stands to-day, he will, if he fol low the scientific method, be less interested in the historical consistency of the claims of the church than he will in that which the church at present represents. For ex ample : it would be a difficult matter to trace a logical connection between the sim ple teaching of Jesus and the claims of the Roman Pontiff to temporal sovereignty over certain sections of Italy. Such an in quiry is interesting and of value ; but it is in a certain sense academic, and ought not for a moment to blind the eyes of an intel ligent man to the fact that the Roman Catholic Church is to-day one of the great organized moral forces which make for law 104 TO JOIN A CHURCH? and order and righteousness. One cannot disregard, if he would, the place which the church has come to play in our larger social and political life. And this is a considera tion which very young men are inclined to place in altogether too small a perspective. Few of us are commissioned to reorganize society, or to recast its social, religious, or political divisions. For most men the great est usefulness lies, as does the greatest happiness, in doing their work in the world in harmony with the organizations which society has slowly adopted, and in sup porting through these such reforms as commend themselves to their judgment. That which we call Christianity to-day means different things in its organized form in different countries. It no longer means, and has never meant since the church became an organization, a true re flection of the simple life and high spiritual ideals of its founder. Christianity, even in its organized form, is no longer a creed, 105 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN but the visible expression of the gradually growing, gradually advancing conscience of the race; and as such it is the product of the labor of religious men both in and out of the church. Darwin and Spencer and Tyndall have helped to mould the church of to-day no less truly than Luther and Zwingle and Wesley. It is true that the expression of the spiritual ideals of an age through an organization will always fall short of those ideals in the thoughts of the great leaders. This inertia is charac teristic of all organizations and need cause no surprise or resentment. Organizations never lead, men lead. Religious organiza tions will always be slower than religious leaders in their appreciation of truth, but this does not in the least detract from the fact that such organizations offer to us men, with our complex human nature, the way to a better fellowship and a deeper inspira tion. There is one impression which is wide106 TO JOIN A CHURCH? spread among young men, and especially among those who have been brought up in Protestant homes, which has seemed to me to work great harm in dealing with this matter. That is the impression that by remaining outside of formal church connection a man in some way escapes a certain religious and moral responsibility which he incurs as a member of a church. Nothing could be farther from the truth. All men are religious men in the sense that the divine energy flows into all their hearts. All men are under the same obligation to turn this energy to the ends for which it is meant : that is, to the growth in their hearts of love and truth and mercy. All human beings are members of that invisible church which is sustained by Him in whom we live and move and have our being. In other words, all men are under the same obligation to be religious. To excuse one's self for doing certain things because one is not a member of a church is the veriest 107 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN hypocrisy. The obligation to be chaste, fair-minded, unselfish, generous, reverent, helpful, is just the same for each one of you whether you belong to a formal reli gious organization or not. Do not hide be hind any such weak lie as to suppose you absolve yourself from your obligations or your relations to the infinite Maker of the universe, or that you can escape the inev itable working of His laws by declining to join an organization which your fellow-men have set up for the study and development of these relations. The obligations and the opportunities of the religious life are upon you by the very fact of your existence. By joining a church you neither increase nor diminish these obligations; but you may affect profoundly thereby your ability to respond to the obligations, to improve the opportunities and to appreciate the joys. There is, too, one side of religion to which the church organization ministers which the scientific man is inclined to over108 TO JOIN A CHURCH? look, or at least to rate below its true value, and that is the church's ministry to our emotional nature. However highly we may value reason, however indispensable it may be in our guidance through the world, it is after all only a part of our being. The best things of our civilization, religion, literature, art, even philosophy, spring not alone from our reason, but rise in large measure from that deep undercurrent of our being in whose sweep is carried along our loves and our hates, our hopes and our fears, our aspirations and our longings. There are tender memories and associations which cling about the offices and service of the church and minister to the best that is in us. The familiar text, the old hymn, the noble words of Jesus carry with them memories and longings which are tender and true. These emotions are not religion, and we go far astray when we mistake them for it ; but none the less they form a real and true part of religion, and their 109 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN drawings are toward those things which make for the divine life. This is the im mortal office of the Christian Church, that it hands on these traditions, these hopes, these aspirations, from generation to gen eration. To lose this fellowship is to lose much. On the other hand there are, I appre hend, few men of scientific training who can subscribe sincerely to belief in the creed or in the articles of faith of what are called the orthodox Christian churches. Even the fact that this profession of faith is becoming in the church itself less im portant, that it is in fact practically ig nored by a large proportion of the clergy and laity, does not make the matter of membership in the church easier to such men. All their training in science is against that attitude of mind which permits a man or an organization to hold on to a creed or to a formula in which they no longer be lieve. The impression it makes upon their no TO JOIN A CHURCH? minds is very much as if the astronomer should try to fit the modern observations to the Ptolemaic astronomy. Such a posi tion is directly in contravention of that in tellectual sincerity which is the basis of all true scientific progress. To scientific men, by the very nature of their education, belief must go hand in hand with reason and right thinking if belief is to be respected. For this reason they find it clearly impos sible to join a church if that act requires the profession of a creed in which they do not believe. Nor do they feel sufficiently skilled in metaphysics to decide how far the different churches may go in the nom inal support of a creed in which they do not fully believe. The whole idea of a creed as a test of religious fellowship seems to them indefensible and artificial. It is a part of the science of religion — and for them it seems generally a false science — not a part of religion itself. And yet, as one recalls his own life he m OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN realizes that what the church has brought to the world has been largely independent of and apart from these personal tests. As one looks back on the associations of his life, as he reads the noble words of the church service and of the church prayers, he finds that his heart stirs with the mem ory. There are few words in our language so closely interwoven with the best human aspirations, with the sincerest spiritual out goings, as those services of the church which we associate with the solemn acts of life. What other words have brought comfort to so many hearts as the triumph ant passages of the service for the dead ? How it binds all men together to believe in one faith, one baptism, one hope. Shall the man of science deny himself and his children the joy and the comfort of this fellowship because he cannot subscribe to the creed which the church prescribes, a creed which as time goes on sits more and more lightly on the consciences of the 112 TO JOIN A CHURCH? leaders of the church ? It is this question which the religious man of scientific train ing and habits of thought finds it difficult to answer, and the nature of the answer will depend not alone on the intelligence and intellectual honesty of the man, but also on his general philosophy of life and the part which his emotions play in that life. Here is Louis Pasteur's answer: — " There are two men in each one of us : the scientist, he who starts with a clear field and desires to rise to the knowledge of nature through observation, experimen tation, and reasoning, and the man of sen timent, the man of belief, the man who mourns his dead children and who cannot, alas, prove that he will see them again, but who hopes that he will, and lives in that hope, the man who will not die like a vibrio, but who feels that the force that is within him cannot die. The two do mains are distinct, and woe to him who tries to let them trespass on each other in "3 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN the so imperfect state of human know ledge." Science, he said, should not con cern itself with the philosophical conse quences of its discoveries. He calmly went his way in the full liberty of science, and yet living and dying in the comfort of that faith which he had learned in boy hood, and without those conflicts of the soul through which so many of his scien tific brethren had to go. A very different attitude was that of Thomas Huxley. To a mind of his quality there could be no such separation between the thinking of a man as a scientist and as a religious man. The assumptions involved in the dogmas of the church aroused not only his suspicions but all his anger at what seemed to him intellectual dishon esty. "I will," said he, "be satisfied with no half truth, I will believe no lie." And he went out to fight what he believed to be the falsehoods of religious creeds with as dauntless a spirit as ever sent crusader 114 TO JOIN A CHURCH? against a Moslem lance. For him to have accepted Pasteur's attitude would have been treason to the best that was in him. He died, as he had lived, outside a formal church organization, although he always gladly sought for his family and his chil dren the associations which the church offered. The examples of these two men are worth our study, for both were great souls, both thought deeply concerning the prob lems of the universe. Each answered the question of his religious fellowship and his religious faith simply, sincerely, de voutly. Both were, to my thinking, reli gious men. And this brings me back to the word which I said at the beginning. Each man must answer in his own way the question of his religious fellowship. Faith is itself a great spiritual experience. To believe truly and sincerely in a man, in a princi ple, in God, is alone a great inspiration. 115 OUGHT A RELIGIOUS MAN If you find in your religious faith that which brings you comfort and help and serenity of life, rejoice in it, whether you find it in one church or another, whether you be Protestant or Catholic, Episcopalian or Unitarian, Baptist or Christian Scientist. If you find your religious life quickened by association with some body of profess ing Christians, do not let any formal creed stand in the way of your fellowship with them. There are few men whose spiritual senses will not be quickened, whose aspi rations will not be raised, whose religious ideals will not be ripened by the fellow ship with his brethren which the Christian Church offers. There are few men who are not the better for a connection with the church and for service in it. But in as suming such connection do not imagine that such membership constitutes religion ; make it clear to yourself why you seek and remain in such a relation, and be sure that it means a gain in your religious life.. 116 TO JOIN A CHURCH ? And be sure of one thing more : no man is going to gain in his spiritual life by ig noring the great problems of the universe which lie before him, pr by professing to believe that thing which in his own soul he doubts. There are many paths by which a human soul comes to a high reli gious life. Some of them lead through suffering, through service, through faith, through doubt, through patience; but there is none that leads through insincerity and cowardice. 117 dbe tftibetsifle press EUctrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &• Co. Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. Works Dealing with Evolution The Origin of Species By Charles Darwin The Story of Creation By Edward Clodd Man's Place in Nature By T. H. Huxley Evolution of the Idea of God By Grant Allen The Kingdom of Man Sir E. Ray Lankester Last Words on Evolution By Ernst Haeckel A Picture Book of Evolution By Dennis Hird, M.A. The Pioneers of Evolution By Edward Clodd An Easy Outline of Evolution By Dennis Hird, M.A. To be obtained of WATTS & Co., Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.4 ; and of THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY, Forty-nine Vesey Street, New York. THE ANTI-Evo-UTIONIST's 25 ANSWERED CENTS. THE TRIUMPH EVOLUTION By JOSEPH McCABE In this masterly treatise the author proves almost beyond challengethat there is not, and there has not been for more than twenty years, a single authority on the subject in the world who has any doubt about the truth of Evolution. He furnishes a list of the DEAD MEN who are quoted by the Bryanites as witnesses against Evolution, and shows that these men did not reject Evolution, but merely criticized it before the evidence was fully collected and sifted. Finally, Mr. McCabe outlines the distinction between Darwinism and Evolution, and presents in brief the overwhelming case for Evolution. | NEW YORK : THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY | | FORTY-NINE VESEY STREET THE RATIONALIST PRESS ASSOCIATION LTD. Secretary and Registered Offices: CHARLES T. GORHAM, Nos. 4, 5, & 6 Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.4 How to Join and Help the R. P. A. Tite minimum subscription to constitute Membership is 5s., renewable in January of each year. A form of application for Membership, with full particulars, including latest Annual Report and specimen copy of the Literary Guide (the unofficial organ of the Association), can be obtained gratis on application to the Secretary, as above. Copies of new publications are forwarded regularly on account of Members’ subscriptions, or a Member can arrange to make his own selection from the lists of new books which are issued from time to time. To join the Association is to help on its work, but to subscribe liberally is of course to help more effectually. As Subscribers of from 5s. to 10s. and more are entitled to receive back the whole value of their subscriptions in books, on which there is little if any profit made, the Association is dependent, for the capital required to carry out its objects, upon subscriptions of a larger amount and upon donations and bequests. Che Literary Guibe (The unofficial organ of the R. P. A.) is published on the 1st of each month, price 3d., by post 3}d. Annual subscription (including New Year Double Number and the Summer Double Number) 4s. 1d, post paid. The contributors comprise the leading writers in the Rationalist Movement, including the Rt. Hon. J. M. Robertson, Mr. Joseph McCabe, Mr. Adam Gowans Whyte, Mrs. H. Bradlaugh Bonner, Mr. F. J. Gould, Mr. Robert Arch, Mr. Gerald Bullett, Mr. Macleod Yearsley, and Mr. Charles T. Gorham, ... --s =ºr----*-* * ... -&sti TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION THE TRIUMPH OF EWOLUTION BY JOSEPH MCCABE NEW YORK THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY., FORTY-NINE WESEY STREET FIrst published Octobor, 1925 Printed in Great Britain by Watts & Co., Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.4 CONTIENTS *-*mºms THE TRUTH OF EVOLUTION A LIST OF DEAD MEN tºDARWINISM AND EVOLUTION EVOLUTION ONLY A THEORY DIFFICULTIES ABOUT EVOLUTION THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 5 10 17 21 24 27 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION EFORE me are copies of a score of books against Evolution which are at present circulating in England and America. The bolder of them have such titles as The Bankruptcy of Evolution, The Collapse of Evolution, and The Death-Bed of Darwinism. As the notorious “monkey trial” in Tennessee has recently shown us, tens of millions of people in England and America share the ideas which are set out in these books. For it is not only in Tennessee, but in twenty other States of the American Union, that the fierce battle to exclude Evolution from the schools is raging; and newspaper controversies in all parts of England show that the tide is rising even here. TEIE TRUTEI OF EVOLUTION Over against this situation I set at once a statement that will be fully vindicated in the next few pages. It is this :— N There is not, and there has not been for more than twenty years, a single authority on the subject in the world who has any doubt about the truth of Evolution. Take all the branches of science concerned with life and man: geology, biology, zoology, botany, anatomy, physiology, embryology, psychology, and anthropology. There 7 * 8 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION is not a university professor of one of these sciences or head of an important museum in the world who does not regard Evolution as one of the most solidly established truths. Most of them will go further, and say that it is the most important and illuminating truth ever discovered. And the professors of other sciences, of chemistry, and astronomy, of education or ethics or comparative religion or sociology, will add that it is true also in their sciences. It is the greatest discovery we have made about the universe and everything in it. In a word, the whole of modern science is agreed upon the subject; and no one questions that it is a scientific subject. On the other hand, the books and pamphlets against Evolution to which I have referred are written by politicians, clergymen, or journalists; that is to say, by men who have no authority whatever on the matter. Yet tens of millions of men and women accept the assurance of this handful of inexpert writers against the quite unanimous verdict of several thousand university professors who are experts on the subject. It is no longer possible to ignore this situation. A very vigorous and extensive effort is being made to exclude Ivolution from the school; and, if we retort that Evolution is of the very essence of modern science, an effort will be made to exclude science. In any case, the very fact of this wide hostility to science must give concern to every man who is interested in the advance and the future of the race, and I propose to make clear a few principles which may be of assistance to those who would understand the conflict or give practical and THE TRUTH OF EVOLUTION 9 patient answers to those who have been misled by books or pamphlets against Evolution. The first and most important point to understand is that anti-Evolution writers invariably represent to their readers that Evolution is disputed in science. The situation is not that men and women simply affirm their belief in Genesis and profess that they are unconcerned as to what men of science say. The works to which I have referred are attacks on the theory of Evolution on what are alleged to be scientific grounds; and an invariable and most important feature of them is to quote numbers of “professors” and “high scientific authorities” who reject Evolution. Careful study of this literature and its influence convinces me that this is the essential part of it. Most people have sufficient, let us say, sense of humour to feel that the arguments on a point of science of a Jesuit priest or an American politician have not much weight if the whole of the scientific authorities are firm against him. Invariably, therefore, the writers represent that they are giving you the opinions and arguments of a serious body of scientific critics of Evolution. The names quoted are almost always the same, as the writers know little about the subject and merely copy from each other, and I have collected them from the whole series of anti-Evolution books (Mauro, McCann, Gerard, Fairhurst, Morton, Townsend, etc.). And the first thing to impress upon the man who has been influenced by these supposed testimonies against Evolution is that the list of names is 10 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION A LIST OF DEAD MEN These are not men who reject Evolution. They are men of the last scientific generation, or last but one, who criticized IEvolution decades ago, before the evidence was fully collected and sifted. As a rule, no reference is given to their works, and no mention is made of the time at which they wrote. Living and dead, critics of Evolution and critics of Darwinism—a distinction to which I return later—men of science and men of theology, are all jumbled together, and the reader at least gets the impression that there is actually an important difference of opinion on Evolution in the scientific world. The names are now being quoted in the local press all over Britain, and I therefore give the complete list, with a brief statement of the facts in each case. “PROFESSOR” OWEN.—The writers do not even know that they are referring to Sir Richard Owen, Huxley's opponent of nearly seventy years ago. He died in 1892, and his arguments were then already forgotten. “PROFESSOR” voN HARTMANN.—Another pungent illustration of the ignorance of the writers. K. R. E. von Eartmann was neither a professor nor a man of science. He was a philosopher and—a fact which is carefully suppressed—an Atheist. Eſe criticized Darwinism, but he was one of the most convinced IEvolutionists in Europe. His full words were: “The theory of descent is safe, but Darwinism has been weighed and found wanting.” The first part of the sentence is generally omitted. He died A LIST OF DEAD MEN 11 in 1906, but his chief work on Evolution was written in 1875. BROFESSOR WIRCHOW,-Every single writer against Evolution quotes Virchow; and not one of them mentions (1) that he was an Agnostic all his life, (2) that he died in 1902, and (3) that not one of his scientific colleagues agreed with him about Evolution. After his death, in fact, his son-in-law, Professor Rabl, declared that he privately believed in Evolution, but tried to check the teaching of it as it led to Socialism I He was in his time a distinguished German pathologist, and to the end he did not believe in God. PROFESSOR. F. PFAFF.—This is almost too ridiculous for comment. Pfaff, who was a teacher of natural history at Erlangen, died, at an advanced age, in 1886 | PROFESSOR HUXLEY.-Even some of the English writers against Evolution have the effrontery to quote (without reference) Professor Huxley. The words they give seem to be from a garbled German version of something that Huxley said in 1870. He was, until his death, the most powerful and consistent advocate, not merely of Evolution, but of Darwinism. PROFESSOR ST.GEORGE MIVART.—A nominal Roman Catholic, but (as all his works testify) a thorough believer in the evolution of all animals and plants and of the human body. He criticized Darwinism, not Evolution. I knew him personally, and he told me that he would openly abjure his creed before he died; and, as he had begun to do so when he died suddenly, the Catholic 12 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION Church refused to bury him. In any case, he died nearly a quarter of a century ago. “PROFESSOR” DENNERT.-Dennert never was a university professor, and his doctor's degree is in philosophy, not science. His only connection with science is that for a few years, long ago, he taught science in a sectarian college. Since 1908 he has been Director of the German Kepler-Bund (a Christian Evidence Society), and has not taught at all. His Death-Bed of Darwinism is twenty years old, and has not the slightest scientific value. PROFESSOR DANA.—A distinguished American geologist, and a friend and admirer of Darwin. His biographer, D. C. Gilman, shows that he was an Evolutionist, and no words of his can be quoted to the contrary. Died in 1895. “PROFESSOR” TownsBND.—An American clergyman, never a university professor, and never had the slightest connection with science. Born in 1836, and died long ago, but too obscure for date to be ascertained. Eſis Collapse of Evolution is merely a feeble pamphlet compiled from other sources. PROFESSOR L. BEALE.-Quoted by Mauro and others. He never attacked Evolution, but only Materialism, Died in 1906. / LORD KELVIN.—Quoted by the same reckless writers. Not opposed to Evolution, but to Materialism; and not a biologist. Died in 1907. A LIST OF DEAD MEN 13 “PROFESSOR” GERARD.—Quoted by A. W. McCann, the most pretentious of the writers against Evolution. And McCann, being a Roman Catholic, knows quite well that “Professor” Gerard was simply a Jesuit priest, neither a teacher nor a student of science. “PROFESSOR” WASMANN.—Another of McCann's “professors,” and, like the preceding, a Jesuit priest (German). McCann prudently omits the words S.J. after the names of Gerard and Wasmann. The latter is an authority on ants, but his general views on biology are eccentric and much ridiculed in science. $ “DR.” ETHERIDGE.--Every writer against Evolution quotes (as a living authority) “Dr.” Etheridge, a “renowned fossilologist [I] of the British Museum.” Dr. Horton, the latest and most pretentious of the English writers, makes him “the famous Curator of the Natural History Museum.” But Mr. Robert Etheridge was not a "doctor” of anything, and he was “Assistant Keeper” of one section of the British Museum forty years ago / He died (aged 84) in 1903. PROFESSOR HAECKEL-Is quoted (without reference) by nearly all these writers as saying that “most" of the authorities are against Evolution. He says precisely the opposite in all his works, down to his Last Words on Evolution (p. 35). He was an ardent Darwinian as well as an Evolutionist, but he quite admitted that Darwinism was disputed. “PROFESSOR” G. McCREADY PRICE.-Not a university professor, but a teacher of geology in the college of 14 TEIE TRIUMPH OF EVOLUTION the Seventh Day Adventists in Nebraska. Believes in partial Evolution, but he has eccentric ideas on geology which no geologist in the world shares. DR, ROBERT WATTS.—An American preacher who became a professor of theology in Ireland and wrote against Evolution in 1875 ! Never had any connection with, or knowledge of, science. Died in 1895. DR. WARREN.—Said to be “of California University,” but the full list of professors of that university (Minerva, 1925) contains no such name. GEORGE TICKNER CURTIS.—Said by Mauro to have written a “recent book” entitled Creation or Evolution. It was published in 18871 And the author (who died in 1894, at the ripe age of 82) was merely an American lawyer who know as much about science as American lawyers usually do. SIR. J. W. DAWSON.—Much quoted by these writers, and certainly a distinguished geologist and opponent of Evolution. The last of the Mohicans, in fact. The writers omit to state that he died, at a very advanced age, in 1899, and his opinions had been buried long before him l “PROFESSOR” G. F. WRIGHT.-Quoted by Dr. Morton, who, however, omits to state that Wright was a clergyman, a teacher (not of geology) in a religious college, and never a university professor. He was on the United States Geological Survey. Died years ago. 2 There remain two distinguished men of science of the A LIST OF DEAD MEN 15 * present generation whose names are always quoted. I set them apart because (1) they are the only living authorities quoted, and (2) they do not oppose Evolution, but Darwinism, which is a special theory of the machinery of Evolution. PROFESSOR FLEISCHMANN.—Ananatomist of Erlangen University. But the work (Die Darwinsche Theorie) in which he criticizes Darwin was published in 1903, and is now of no value. He represents his own position as isolated,” and says that “most of the professors here and abroad adhere to Darwinism.” He accepts Evolution. PROFESSOR BATESON.—A thorough Evolutionist, whose criticisms of Darwinism are quite falsely represented as criticisms of Evolution. He thus states his position: “With faith in Evolution unshaken—if, indeed, the word faith can be used in application to that which is certain—we look on the manner of causation of adapted differentiations as still wholly mysterious” (Darwin and Modern Science, p. 99). But the moment we begin to name critics of Darwinism the list can be greatly extended. The Jesuit writer, Father Gerard, for instance, has a list of scientific authorities of his own; and it is bodily reproduced by the American Catholic writer McCann in his scurrilous book, God—or Gorilla. The Jesuit (The Old Riddle and the Newest ‘Answer) knows quite well the distinction between Darwinism and Evolution, and merely says that those whom he names are men who “reject Darwinism altogether or admit it only with fatal reservations” (p. 76). 16 THE TRIUMPH OF EVOLUTION It is rather humorous that, even with this restriction, he falls back upon so many scientific men of the last or last but one generation (Quatrefages, Blanchard, Von Baur, Wolff, etc. ), and includes well-known Rationalists like Eartmann, Du Bois-Reymond, Virchow, Plate, Fechner, etc., and men who are not scientists at all. In any case, his imposing list, with the titles of twenty or thirty German books, is perfectly useless. What interests the religious reader is whether Evolution is or is not disputed in science, not whether Darwin's particular conception of Evolution is disputed. So there is no point whatever in quoting distinguished modern Evolutionists (as he does) like Driesch, Eimer, Kölliker, Plate, etc. Indeed, a careful reader will notice that, when Father Gerard goes on to discuss Evolution instead of Darwinism, the only names he can quote are Sir J. W. Dawson (died 1899), Count de Saporta (died 1895), and a “Professor " Williamson and Mr. Carruthers, who both wrote fifty years ago l In other words, this most ingenious of all the anti-Evolutionists cannot find one scientific authority to quote, and he ends by admitting that “the great majority of men of science” hold it to be “established beyond the possibility of doubt” (p. 54). Why “the great majority,” when he cannot name one man belonging even to the last quarter of a century? McCann (God—or Gorilla) reproduces Gerard's learnedlooking list, as I said; and in his case it becomes quite dishonest. The American Catholic throughout his book means by “Darwinism” the general theory of Evolution, or the evolution of man. Not one man on his list who DARWINISM AND EVOLUTION 17 was alive even a quarter of a century ago rejects Darwinism in that sense. Yet the work makes a great parade of learning and circulates by the thousand. There can be no doubt that the thing most urgently needed ât the present time is to let the readers of this anti-Evolution literature know how gravely they are deceived on this point. There are now no “professors,” no “men of science,” no “authorities” of any kind, who reject Evolution. There have been none for twenty years. Russel Wallace, who died in 1913, said that the mind of man was not evolved. That opinion (a consequence of his Spiritualism) died with him. After nearly seventy years of discussion men of science are quite agreed about the truth of Evolution. The man who, in face of that unanimity, can attach any importance to the naive arguments of Father Gerard, the humorous observations of Mr. Bryan, or the bluster of Mr. McCann, must have a singular type of mind. DARWINISM AND EVOLUTION But it is advisable now to go further and make quite clear the distinction between Evolution and Darwinism. . Most of these inexpert writers of books and pamphlets know so little about the subject that they do not themselves understand the distinction. Even when they understand and indicate it, they confuse the minds of their readers by heaping up the names of critics of Darwinism, and conveying the impression that this weakens the case for Evolution. 18 TEIE TRIUMPH OF EVOLUTION I showed this in the case of Father Gerard, and it is much the same in a recent work by H. C. Morton, which finds much favour in English religious circles. It is entitled The Bankruptcy of Evolution, and it, as usual, professes to give the “verdicts of eminent scientists.” They are, of course, the familiar criticisms of Darwinism ; yet the author, who shows that he is quite aware of the distinction, ends by saying: "Thus it is clear that not only the particular Darwinian theory is widely rejected, but also the theory of Evolution itself” (p. 103). Nevertheless, when, in the next chapter, he looks for “verdicts of eminent scientists” against Evolution, he can quote only the venerable old fossil Sir J. W. Dawson (who died twenty-six years ago), the Rev. G. F. Wright (whose clerical character he omits to state), Virchow (died 1902), and “Dr.” Etheridge (quite wrongly described, and died in 1903). The book is almost as rich in blunders as McCann's book. * It is clearly most important to fix the distinction between Evolution and Darwinism; and it is not difficult. The full title of Darwin's great work, which appeared in 1859, is On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection. Well, that is simply Darwinism. It is not the belief in Evolution, but the belief that the cause, or chief cause, of Evolution was natural selection. To make the point quite clear to the inexpert, let us take a simple matter like the giraffe's neck. Long before Darwin, in the eighteenth century, a brilliant French natural philosopher, Lamarck, taught Evolution. The giraffe got its long neck, he said, because individual \, DARWINISM AND EVOLUTION 19 giraffes strained upward after the higher leaves of the trees, and the mother passed on her somewhat lengthened neck to her offspring, which in turn strained upward and handed on the modification. That is one theory of how the different animals developed or evolved their characteristics; and there are still distinguished men of science who call themselves Lamarckians (not Darwinians) or Neo-Lamarckians. Darwin had a different theory. In any herd of giraffes some will have longer necks than others. They will get most food, live longest, and breed most. So in time the neck will become longer and longer. Nature “selects” the fittest (in this case, the longer-necked) by killing off the less fit (the shorter-necked). This principle was so simple, and seemed at first to apply so generally in nature, that after a time nearly the whole of science accepted "evolution by natural selection.” But living nature means half a million species of animals and plants, each of a most intricate character, and it was quite impossible for one man, or one generation, to survey it thoroughly. Difficulties arose. Certain organs were pointed out which could not be imagined as formed by the accumulation of small improvements. Thirty or forty years ago natural selection had serious difficulties to explain away; and Darwin quite acknowledged this, saying that he did not claim it to be the only agency of Evolution. Moreover, in Darwin's time embryology was a most imperfect science, and Darwin wisely left it quite open what the cause was of variations in any litter of young. A theory of this was put forward by Weismann, and 20 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION generally accepted. On this theory a mother could not transmit to the young any modification of organs which she had experienced in her own life, so an important part of Darwin's teaching was generally abandoned, though some (Kölliker, MacBride, etc.) still adhere to it, More recently embryologists have generally adopted a new theory called Mendelism, and most of the modern authorities quoted above conceive Evolution on "Mendelian "instead of “Darwinian" lines. This is no place to enter into the details of the various theories. Not one of them is proved or universally accepted. Science, in other words, is very far from agreed as to the cause or agency or machinery of Evolution. To return to our giraffe's neck, you may, in explaining its origin, follow either Lamarck (modified) or Darwin or Weismann or Mendel. These are special theories of the cause of Evolution. The fact itself is now “established beyond the shadow of a doubt.” Anti-Evolution writers gloat over these differences of theory of men of science, but it is foolish and frivolous. Do they expect men of science to unravel the deepest problem of nature in a single generation when during the previous 5,000 years of civilization learned men had made no progress whatever in explaining it 2 The truth is that their own conduct in confusing Darwinism and Evolution is open to very grave censure. Their object is to assure their readers that they may continue to accept the Biblical story of creation literally because Evolution is not true. It is quite clear that the truth or untruth EVOLUTION ONLY A TEIEORY 21 of Darwinism, as a particular theory of the cause of Evolution, does not affect that issue at all. As I write, I obtain from America an article by Mr. G. B. Shaw in which it is said that “no man under seventy" now accepts natural selection. The statement is grotesque. Darwinism is disputed, but it still has ample defenders; while the action of natural selection in nature is one of the most palpable realities. When Mr. Shaw goes on to say that Evolution is now regarded as “creative Evolution,” or the work of mind, he is talking even wilder nonsense. He could not quote a dozen authorities for it out of five hundred. As long as men and women look for guidance on science to literary men like Mr. Shaw and Mr. Belloc, who have not even a moderate acquaintance with any branch of science, however small, they ought to know what to expect. IEVOLUTION ONIY A TELEORY The next great objection is that Evolution is “only a theory,” and therefore it may change like Darwinism or any other theory. Here again we have to be perfectly clear. What is the difference between a fact and a theory 2 A fact, most people will say, is something that has been actually observed. A theory is an explanation or interpretation of facts. A theory may, of course, be an anticipation of a fact. The existence of the planet Neptune, or of the cancer-germ, was a “theory” until the planet or the germ was actually observed. Generally, 22 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION a theory is an explanation of a body of facts or of the causes of them. Eut there are theories and theories. Many a Welsh or Scottish miner, of narrow religious views, scoffs at Evolution as a “mere theory.” Yet he is daily handling the fossil remains of animals and plants of millions of years ago, and he never reflects that it is a “mere theory” that these were once alive. One need not be a miner. In every city to-day there is a museum containing thousands of “fossil” (which means “dug up”) remains of animals and plants. Eſas anybody ever seen them alive? Yet is there to-day a man or woman in the world who doubts for a moment that they are the remains of animals and plants which once lived ? Stupid as some of the remarks of these anti-Evolution writers are, they have never ventured to question that. But it is a mere theory, an interpretation of facts. Indeed, a perfectly sound point against every one of these writers could be made by reminding him that, if a fact is a thing observed, then the belief in God is a theory, an interpretation of the universe or of one's experience. To most philosophers the existence of the universe itself is a mere theory. IPlainly, a theory may be as certain as a fact. The theory that the coal we burn was once a living forest is as certain as the existence of the coal. The theory that the petrified forms of fishes and reptiles in our museums were once alive is as certain as that they are now dead. Why? Because the alternative is too repugnant for us to ontertain. If we doubted whether these EWOLUTION ONLY A TEIEORY 23 are the remains of animals and plants that once lived, we should have to believe that God created these countless billions of dead fossil forms in the rocks. But the theory of Evolution is on precisely the same footing. We have four sets of facts to explain, and each set contains millions of individual facts. First, we have the millions of dead forms in the rocks, rising consistently, from age to age, from the lowest level of life to the highest. Secondly, we have the half million species of living forms in nature to-day. The fossil forms in the upper strata of the earth's crust lead on to the species of to-day and lead backward to common ancestors. Thirdly, we have the peculiar distribution of animals and plants over the earth, even on isolated volcanic islands, which Evolution alone explains. Fourthly, we have in all the higher animals useless organs or traces of organs which are completely unintelligible unless they are inherited from ancestors of a quite different character in which they were useful. There is a fifth set of facts, the facts of embryology; but a few men of science do not agree to the interpretation here, and I wish to confine myself strictly to what they are all agreed upon. The four sets of facts are studied in geology, botany, zoology, anatomy, and physiology; and, as I said, there is not a university professor of those sciences in the world who does not, like Professor Bateson, say that Evolution is “certain.”” * I am, of course, speaking of free universities, not sectarian universities, which require professors to conform to dogmatic standards. 24 THE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION But this is not all. Astronomers are just as certain of the evolution of worlds. Physicists are just as certain of the evolution of matter (in stars, for instance). And, at the other end of the scale, there is overwhelming evidence of the evolution of States, nations, social and political forms, religions, languages, moral codes—all man's ideas and institutions. The basis of the theory of Evolution is, in fact, enormously greater than the basis of the theory that fossils are the petrified remains of animals and plants. It is the whole universe and everything in it. Not one thing in the universe has been found which is inconsistent with Evolution; and millions of things in it bear witness to Evolution as plainly as smoke bears witness to fire. Scientists who believe in God are just as convinced as those who do not. Not one will admit that there is room for doubt about Evolution. DIFFICULTIES ABOUT EVOLUTION Now that I have made it quite clear that all men of science are agreed, and have been agreed for a quarter of a century, on the fact of Evolution, perhaps even the religious reader will smile when a Jesuit or a journalist, a “Professor” Townsend or a “Professor” Fairhurst, talks to him about the “scientific difficulties” of Evolution. It will be plain how most of this is done. The writers have ransacked the whole literature of forty or fifty DIFFICULTIES ABOUT EVOLUTION 25 gears ago, when Evolution was disputed, for their arguments. Look again at their books, and you find that the references are to Broca, Quatrefages, Dawson, Owen, Lydekker, Max Müller, Fabre, etc. All very dead. You might as well quote George Stephenson on the possibilities of locomotives, or Bell on modern telephony. We respect these men for their early caution and their wish to ascertain the truth. But to quote them to-day, and especially to suppress the date and give ignorant people the impression that they are living authorities, is not evidence of the same moral qualities. Naturally there are difficulties about Evolution : myriads of difficulties. There are so many difficulties that some scientific men urge us to confine ourselves to accumulating facts, and leave it to a later generation— granted, of course, the general truth of Evolution—to speculate about causes and origins. But there is no need to be so heroic. Speculation is both interesting and useful, provided we are ready to abandon a theory when a fact turns up which is inconsistent with it. In seventy years of research, all over the earth, no fact has yet turned up that is inconsistent with Evolution. On the contrary, everything points to it. It is amusing to turn over the pages of these amateur anti-Evolutionists. How, they ask, do we explain the instincts of the ant or the bee? The water-spider? The wings of the bat 2 The marking of the zebra 2 The colours of shells or butterflies 2 The metamorphoses of insects and frogs 2 And so on. Half the things in which they find profound diffi26 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION culties were explained long ago, but the writers do not read modern books, because they find in them no criticisms of Evolution. Not one of these anti-Evolutionists has more than a scanty and superficial smattering of Science. How any grown man comes to take them as guides on scientific matters is not easily understood. They worry about the origin of life, and they have clearly not read a page of the modern literature of that subject. They tell us, learnedly, that Evolution is a process, not a cause: as if anybody were likely to overlook the fact. They even puzzle over the very simple and intelligible fact that higher and lower species exist side by side in nature to-day ! They point out triumphantly that science never observed the transformation of one species into another: a childish argument, seeing that science is but a century old, while the great laboratory of nature is a thousand million years old. I cannot here go into any of these matters. Scores of modern books (never quoted by these writers) will tell you what we know, and what we have still to learn, about them.” But, of course, there are plenty of obscurities. There will be for decades, if not centuries. Perhaps I may, without offence, put it to the religious reader in this way. You say that Scripture is a revelation from God, and you know that fifty generations of Christian scholars have been at work on it. Yet look at the violent dissensions of Christendom to-day over its meaning, the multiplicity of sects, the wide differences of * My A B C of Evolution (Watts; 1s. 6d., paper) will be found useful by beginners. It is quite simple and untechnical. THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 27 theologians even in one sect And you expect Evolutionists to have ready a clear explanation of everything in the universe in a single generation. TEIE EVOLUTION OF MAN The loudest claim of the anti-Evolutionists is that we have found no “missing links,” and we may test this in regard to the most important point of all—the evolution of man. What is a missing link? It would be better to say connecting link, and to understand very clearly what the two terms are which we have to connect. Now, if you are thinking of links between a chimpanzee and modern civilized man, there are plenty of links. We have every degree of savagery on the earth to-day, and the lowest savages take us a long way back. The distance from a pure Veddah or a Bushman to an ape does not look so great. It is, moreover, certain that the whole race was once at the level of the lowest savage. Ten thousand years ago there was not even an elementary civilization anywhere on the earth. That is certain. Twenty thousand years ago there was no race on earth capable of making the simplest pottery, or having the simplest written language. Fifty thousand years ago no race had a bow and arrow or a hafted weapon. So we can go back and back until we come to a time when the whole race was lower than the lowest savage of to-day, and only capable 28 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION of knocking two flints together to make a rough edge on one of them. An international commission of scientific men (including a priest, the Abbé Breuil) came to England two years ago to examine a find (on the east coast) of such flints. They unanimously agreed that the makers of those flints were in Britain more than half a million years ago, and were much lower than anything human that we know. Writers like Gerard and McCann, who skim the pages of a few scientific books in order to “attack Evolution,” have not the least appreciation of the truth about prehistoric man. They tell you that he was a wonderful man, a superb artist, with a great brain. They do not know, apparently, that the prehistoric drawings to which they are referring—and have never seen, or they would know that most of them are extremely crude “art” and very obscene—belong to only twenty or thirty thousand years ago: the last part of the Old Stone Age. Man had already been evolving for millions of years before he could scratch the crudest drawing on stone. Another favourite writer of the school, Mauro, says that “the Engis skull is supposed to be the oldest known up to now.” He says this because it contained a large brain; but, instead of being anything like the oldest, it is one of the very latest skulls of the Old Stone Age | McCann, by the way, whose book is merely a hotchpotch of the differences of opinion of scientific men in the early stages after a new find, tries to create prejudice by referring grossly and repeatedly to “Haeckel's forgories.” I have put on record the facts about this THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 29 disgraceful untruth so often that I may very briefly summarize them here. Haeckel, being a good artist, illustrated his own works, and he often used diagrams instead of photographs, as most scientific writers do. Many scientific men held that Haeckel took too much liberty in this, but when in 1909 a certain Dr. Brass accused him of “falsification” (not “forgery”), and Dr. Brass's society, the Kepler-Bund, appealed to the men of science to condemn him, they, on the contrary, issued a manifesto “condemning in the severest terms” (it says) his accuser | The two manifestoes organized in reply by the Repler-Bund are not signed by a single authority; the manifesto defending Haeckel is signed by forty-six of the most distinguished professors of anatomy, zoology, and embryology in Germany. That is the truth about "Haeckel's forgeries.” On such points one might justly expect these antiEvolution writers to ascertain the truth; but on the larger questions of science, which require long years of study, they are hopelessly ill-instructed. They quarrel about Piltdown man and Java man—never giving the facts correctly—in the language of ten or twenty years ago. The man who expects to learn “science” from totally inexpert and violently partisan writers has strange ideas of truth. There is, moreover, a lack of decency, dignity, and restraint about most of this literature which contrasts painfully with the infinitely painstaking and conscientious character of scientific work. We are filling up very satisfactorily the gaps between man and the ape. Only lately we have found, at Taungs 30 TEIE TRIUMPEI OF EVOLUTION in South Africa, the skull of a being much higher than any known ape. At the human end we have the Java bones (now confidently labelled the Ape-man in every museum), the Mauer jaw, and the Piltdown skull and jaw (now reconstructed, and agreed upon, in a way of which McCann says nothing). All these are real connecting links, and until a few years ago they were "missing links.” Quite apart from these bones, however, the stone implements of early man, of which we have millions, show that the whole race was at the lowest degree of Savagery a million years ago, and they would of themselves prove the evolution of man, body and mind, even if not a single bone had survived. When we add to this the fact that man has just the same shrunken or atrophied organs as the ape (the ears, tail, or male breasts, for instance), there is not room for the shadow of a doubt. But I ask the religious reader to reflect at least on the facts which he knows. On the one side all the authorities in the world are agreed upon Evolution. On the other side the theological authorities are in hopeless disagreement about the story of creation in Genesis. The more learned the theologian, the more certain it is that he regards Genesis as folklore and accepts Evolution. What, in such circumstances, is the value of the crude compilations (mainly from ancient literature) of Mauro, Morton, McCann, Gerard, etc.? Ask yourself. And remember, Evolution is a social gospel as well as a truth. It applies to man and his institutions to-day more than it ever applied to anything before. I have THE EVOLUTION OF MAN 31 just written a book (1825–1925: A Century of Stupendous Progress) in which I survey and measure the progress made in the last hundred years. In that century of Science, and on account of science, man has made more progress than he had ever before made in a thousand years. The pace is faster than ever. Mr. Bryan, who was at least sincere, did not know that. In his ignorance of science he tampered with the mainspring of progress. Dut the world will fight for its new ideals of light and liberty and progress as strenuously as interested folk fight for ignorance and reaction. WORKS BY JOSEPH MCCABE 1825-1925: A Century of Stupendous Progress Is Evolution True 2 Being a Verbatim Report of the Debate held at Queen's Hall, §§§Å; §: §§ § {*s. with Professor GEORGE The Eyolution of Mind The Lourdes Miracles: A Candid Inquiry The Bankruptcy of Religion Modern Rationalism The Growth of Religion The Religion of Sir Oliver Lodge Twelve Years in a Monastery The Twilight of the Gods The Church and the People A Biographical Dictionary of Modern Rationalists Life-Story of George Jacob Holyoake Life-Story of Robert Owen Is Spiritualism Based on Fraud? A New Creed for a New World The Influence of the Church on Marriage and Divorce The Sources of the Morality of the Gospels The War and the Churches The Existence of God The Popes and their Church To be obtained of WATTS & CO., Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.4; and of THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY, Forty-nine Vesey Street, New York. Works Dealing with Evolution The Origin of Species By Charles Darwin The Story of Creation By Edward Clodd Man's Place in Nature By T. H. Huxley Eyolution of the Idea of God By Grant Allen The Kingdom of Man Sir E. Ray Lankester Last Words on Evolution By Ernst Haeckel A Picture Book of Evolution By Dennis Hird, M.A. The Pioneers of Evolution By Edward Clodd An Easy Outline of Evolution By Dennis Hird, M.A. To be obtained of WATTS & CO., Johnson's Court, Fleet r Street, London, E.C.4 ; and of THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY, Forty-nine Vesey Street, New York. THE BISHOP OF Bolsheviks and Atheists The Rt. Rev. William Montgomery Brown, D.D. Member House of Bishops Protestant Episcopal Church, U. S. A. THEODORE SCHROEDER of the New York Bar 14 West 12th St. N. Y. City Republished from the New York Call and The Truth Seeker May 28, 1922 June 24, July 1 NEW YORK CITY 1922 BIBLIOGRAPHIES OF SCHROEDERIANA 1913 Partial bibliography of the writings of Theodore Schroeder dealing largely with problems of religion, of sex, and of freedom of speech. Free speech league. (New York) April 1913, 8p., 84 titles. 1919 Authorship of the book of Mormon. Psychologic tests of W. F. Prince, critically reviewed by Theodore Schroeder * * * to which is now added a bibliography of Schroeder on Mormonism. . Reprint [except bibliography]. American Journal of Psychology. (Worcester, Mass.) XXX pp. 66-72. January, 1919. 18p. Bibliography pp. Io-18, lists 65 titles, some of which duplicate material as by revision, republication or translation. Sankey-Jones, Nancy Eleanor, 1862– Theodore Schroeder on free speech, a bibliography by Nancy E. Sankey-Jones. (New York.) Free speech league. 1919. 24p. Lists 149 titles, some of which duplicate material by republication or translation. 1920-2 Sankey-Jones, Nancy Eleanor, 1862– Theodore Schroeder's use of the psychologic approach to problems of religion, law, criminology and philosophy. A bibliography by Nancy E. SankeyJones. (Cos Cob, Conn.) 1920. 16p. Revised ed., Jan. I922. 18p. Lists 92 titles, some of which duplicate material because of revisions, republications or translations. 1922 Sankey-Jones, Nancy Eleanor, 1862– A unique heathen, to which is now added: Theodore Schroeder on the erotogenesis of religion. a bibliography “. * * republishing in combination two essays from : The Freethinker, London, Eng. Apr. 17, 1921; The Truth-seeker, New York, N. Y. Jan. 7, 1922. Cos Cob, Conn. January 1922. 13+14pp. Lists 50 titles, mostly selected from the last list. 130 Periodicals (in 4 languages) have each published some of Mr. Schroeder's literary product, part of which is listed in the above bibliographies. N.E.S.-J. 3% ºf::::::::::.. GO-Zº-º-º2 2/927. THE BISHOP OF BOLSHEVIKS AND ATHEISTS BY THEODORE ScHROEDER. A heresy trial is about to add to the gayety of nations. The man who is being accused of heresy and blasphemy is the Right Reverend William Montgomery Brown, D.D., the (retired) fifth Bishop of Arkansas of the Episcopal Church in America. The court, it is expected, will be the American House of Bishops. The time will probably be at the general convention of 1922. His of— fense is a book which bears this extraordinary title page: “Communism and Christianism, Analyzed and Contrasted from the Marxian and Darwinian Points of View by William Montgomery Brown. Banish the Gods from the Skies and Capitalists from the Earth and make the World safe for Industrial Communism. Bradford-Brown Educational Company, Inc., Publishers, Galion, Ohio. Seventyºr fifth thousand.” A resolution of the Jubilee Council of the Episcopal Diocese of Arkansas has just demanded that Bishop Brown be deposed and excommunicated for his “most pernicious propaganda against the church and her teachings, and doctrines” (Arkansas Gazette, Little Rock, Ark., Jan. 27, 1922). Several church magazines and an organization of Episcopalian laymen have made similar demands. In a score of important cities the daily newspapers have had sensational feature stories concerning the book, or * Have given equally sensational criticisms from Anglican churchmen. Perhaps the time has come to inquire in more sober fashion what kind of man it is who has been threatened by angry mobs of his home town, and whom some Episcopal bishops, wishing to be charitable, have pronounced insane. 3 How, except through insanity, could such a book ever come from among the very elect, of the most aristocratic church of America? That is the question I put to myself. I propose to give an answer to that question by means of an impressionistic penpicture of this Bishop, portraying a few of the more potent influences of his life—just enough to show the few high-tension experiences which I think determined the career and shaped the destiny of this unusual man. I hope to suggest a moving picture of the main current of his emotional development, Selecting those incidents of his career that best exhibit the controlling impulses of his life. Incidentally, the House of Bishops may learn some lesson as to how it can in the future avoid a repetition of such disillusionment as has been experienced both by Bishop Brown and, in a different way, by his fellow bishops. ENSLAVED AS A BOY. William Montgomery Brown was born at Orrville, Ohio, in 1855. His parents were of the pioneer crew. His father was killed while fighting to end Negro slavery. Under hard economic conditions the mother was compelled to turn the boy over to a German farmer, named Jonas Yoder, who would feed him for what work he could get out of the lad. This man was a super-pious Dunkard, who loved God so much that he had no love left for his young ward, whom he exploited without mercy. The father had died that Negro slavery might end, and had thus enslaved his own son. The Dunkard's shameless exploitation of little Willy Brown became a matter of such great neighborhood scandal that the public authorities took the boy away from the pious Dunkard, apparently intending to place him in the poorhouse. No propaganda for a radical social remedy is ever effective except in those who are prepared to 4 feel the wrongness of things as they are. It was the emotional preparedness, created by the pious, calloused exploitation of this “Pennsylvania-Dutch” farmer, which, I believe, determined all of young Brown's future career. Here in deep and abiding accents was impressed that sympathy for the underdog, that was the driving power which predisposed him for the ministry, determined his “eccentric” conduct (which I will describe) during his activity as a bishop of the Episcopal Church in America, and then in disillusionment drove him to Communism and Atheism. That is the development which I intend to portray. The lesson is that if we would destroy the efficiency of radical propaganda, we must first destroy the evils against which its unpleasant methods are directed. Pending some other disposition to be made of young Brown, he was kept at the home of James Bodine, one of the Wayne County officials. Here the young man was taken sick with typhoid fever. Once, when just recovering consciousness, he heard the doctor and the family discussing the improbability of his recovery. He wanted to live. Life held its high hopes in spite of hard experiences; or was it because of them? In desperate circumstances we grab at straws, and extract solace and hope even from the phantasmal powers of the air. So then, in desperation, even the Dunkard's God might be useful. Young Brown wished to believe in a helpful God, and the “will-to-believe” amounted to conviction. In spite of the pious Dunkard, a young woman Sunday school teacher in the Amish church kept his faith alive. Subsequently he sought to bribe God into giving needed help, as children often do. Secretly, the patient, therefore, promised that he would become a preacher if God permitted him to live. On their way to the poor-farm the officers and J their ward stopped for dinner at Jacob Gardner's. Jacob's wife asked the sturdy youngster his name. “Bill Brown” came the answer. From further questioning it developed that little Willy Brown had been born on that very farm, where his parents had lived before the war as part of “the help.” Jacob's wife knew Bill's mother. Mrs. Gardner had often rocked Willy's cradle when his mother was too busy to look after him. Mrs. Gardner proposed to keep. Bill Brown right there. The officers approved, and Bill Brown was “bound out” until coming of age. Incidentally, she also resolved to make a good Methodist out of him. A DIFFICULT CONVERSION. Having regained his health, young Brown found difficulty in living up to his promise. He attended some revival meetings—went to the mourners’ bench—prayed for the manifestations of the Lord's. ' presence, and for the inspiration for preaching. Nothing happened, and he almost gave up in des– pair. Under the coercive influence of Jacob's wife, and of his own death-bed promise to God, he did get up in meeting and bear a halting and equivocak testimony for God. Long after this, a minister Suggested that perhaps he had been sufficiently converted at the time of his sickness and of his promise: to God. Anyway, Jacob's wife was a good, kind woman and a good Christian. Instead of thinking. of these qualities as both being the effect of her special kind of temperament, he thought that mere Methodist doctrines were the potent cause, and her lovable qualities the inevitable effect. He had seldom seen his own mother since she was obliged to put him away. Later, she married again and, with the coming of more offspring and new responsibilities, she naturally drifted into relative. unconcern for our future Bishop. Under these circumstances, Jacob's wife became Bill's new and idealized mother, and Methodism the means to be— 6 come as fine a person as Mrs. Gardner. If only he could “get religion” in the good, sure enough, orthodox Methodist fashion, then he would fulfill his promise to become a preacher. Also, he had seen in Mrs. Gardner's life that which was a fine way to express sympathy for the unfortunate ones. Since all her lovable qualities were explained in terms of Christianity, he was very, very certain that He must become a parson if ever his passion for helping the underdog was to express itself. William Brown was approaching maturity, the age of his legal emancipation, when he could leave his guardian, and must paddle his own canoe. He Had saved $75. With this he went to Omaha and took a job as coachman with Judge Clinton Briggs. The Judge had seen enough of tragedy to soften His heart. In his generosity he made it possible for young Brown to go to school. His education had been so neglected that, at 21 years of age, he could only enter the fourth grade. Somehow, by hard work, he secured a high-school education, and even went to business college. Always the impetus to the task of studying was the shame of ignorance which prevented him from living up to his promise to God to become a minister. But also there was the halfconscious driving power, unintentionally implanted by Jonas Yoder, the heartless, exploiting farmer, that the unfortunates of the earth must be helped. Since he was evidently temperamentally disqualified from “getting religion” by the Methodist fashion of Mrs. Gardner, I suspect he had a little difficulty in seeing these two ambitions as being really the same. In consequence of this internal conflict, I am sure that he had some secret hope that God would excuse him from becoming a Methodist soul-saver. Later he became a teacher, and attended a Metholist school at Mt. Union, Ohio. He soon left college, lowever, because he could not support himself there. 7 BECOMES AN EPISCOPAL MINISTER. After that we find Bill Brown in Cleveland. Old Jacob Gardner's son, John, had become rich, as riches were then counted, and he lived in Cleveland. They met, of course, and talked over the matter of making a clergyman out of the young man. John Gardner knew a wealthy woman who had already shown her interest in educating young men for the ministry. So John Gardner brought about a meeting between William Brown and Mrs. Mary Scranton Bradford. She took the young man to the Rev. John Wesley Brown, the rector of the Episcopal church and an ex-Methodist. Now John Wesley Brown made it plain to William Brown that a Methodist revival conversion was not at all necessary to enter the only true ministry that could claim an apostolic succession, and the church of which even John Wesley remained a member. This was a matter of great relief to the young man, now about 25 years of age. Mrs. Bradford thereupon agreed to finance young Brown's education for the ministry. He was delighted, for now he could fulfill his promise to God, and so, through the church, realize his hope of helping the unfortunates of the world who might be the victims of tyranny and exploitation such as he had been subjected to by that cruel, “heretical” Dunkard, Jonas Yoder. It had never yet dawned upon young Brown that there was any help for unfortunate humans except through God and his church. Economics and industrial democracy were not yet serious problems in the West of those days. So he naturally spent his years in studying Greek, Latin and Hebrew, rather than sociology or economics. In due time he was ordained a clergyman in the Episcopal church. He entered upon his duties with high hopes of making this world a better place in which to live, and a feeling that THE church was the only sure means to that end. I am certain that 8 the experience with that pious German farmer still precluded him from wholly neglecting the physical life of humans upon this earth, for the sake of their als and of heaven. Dear Mrs. Gardner and Mrs. Bradford had indelibly impressed him with what the Christian spirit might do practically, here and now, to make this life more worth while. That always remained with him as the very essence of practical religion. It is evident that he never knew what mystical religion is like. The church probably stood in his feelings as the cooperation of many Mrs. Gardners and Mrs. Bradfords to promote only very practical ends in this life. Later the young clergyman married Mrs. Bradford's daughter. He put great zeal into his church work. However, I suspect that a searching self-examination would have shown that he was less interested in the preparation of souls for heavenly rest than to make humanity unlike that very pious, very theological and very cruel exploiter, Jonas Yoder, the Dunkard farmer. The Rev. William Brown was doubtless more concerned to make humanity as kind, as loving and generous, as Mrs. Gardner and Mrs. Bradford had been to him. The only way that he then knew of to accomplish this was through the church. At first, this zeal exhibited itself in the forty-nine churches that were newly organized or revived by him, and in the fact that he always gave to his church more money than the salary he received from the church. Later the Bishop's same zeal for humanity produced consternation in those who could not see much of suffering humanity because of the blinding brilliancy of an imaginary celestial glory. Next we come to the “eccentricities” to which his fellow-bishops now point as the premonitory signs of his present “insanity.” BISHOPRIC WON BY A BOOK. Full of the zeal of a young convert, the young archdeacon wrote a missionary book: “The Church 9 for Americans.” It repeated unquestioningly, and defended thoroughly all the stock arguments in favor of the Episcopal church. The popularity of this book was so great that it really made William Montgomery Brown a bishop. This was before he was conscious of doing any independent thinking, and yet a psychologist can see even in that book the influence of Jonas Yoder's exploitation. In one chapter, Archdeacon Brown is answering the charge of Methodists that the Episcopalians “lack vital religion.” Here quite unconsciously he makes it plain that he does not know what the Christian mystics mean by “vital religion.” He sees only the contrast between “pious profession” and “good works.” Mrs. Gardner and Mrs. Bradford had decided this issue for him in favor of “works” as against “fervent piety” such as Jonas Yoder had in abundance. He boasted of Episcopalian philanthropy and never even mentions “spiritual regeneration,” probably because, for his unmystical, matter-of-fact soul, the words had no meaning. In harmony with such a temperamental attitude, he concludes a lengthy exposition of the intellectual hospitality of his church with these unusual words: “It appears, then, that almost any person, no matter what his peculiarity of belief, can find room enough in this church, providing only that he sincerely accepts the cardinal doctrines of the catholic creeds. . . . [These are limited by Bishop Brown to catholicity, the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man.] If a man can make up his mind to live and to let live, he can ride into the Episcopal church on almost any hobby, and remain mounted without fear of molestation during the remainder of his life. Hobbyists are never excluded from a truly comprehensive and catholic church such as ours. They often exclude themselves because they are too narrow, intolerant and self10 willed to remain where others, as well as they, have liberty” (p. 391, 18th edition). Because of such a temperamental attitude, thus expressed for the solicitation of converts; the House of Bishops elevated William Montgomery Brown to their own rank. Now that he is acting as if he honestly believed what he then wrote with their approval, they may depose him. Will the House of Bishops thus convict itself of hypocrisy and false pretenses in the solicitation of members? THE NEGRO PROBLEM ENTERS, Soon the Bishop's missionary zeal brought him into intimate contact with the Negro problem. As a Northern man, but Bishop of Arkansas, his work among Negroes made him many enemies. Soon he discovered that if he would help the Negro he must himself become “Southernized.” This predisposition produced the development of a new internal conflict. On the one hand, the Negro, the “underdog,” must be helped; and this he felt could be done only through religion. On the other hand, he cannot be thus developed without the aid of the whites, and this aid cannot be had in congregations of mixed races. So, for the sake of the Negro, our Bishop had to become a “Southernized Northerner.” His emotional disturbance about his position in this matter shows itself in frequent intensities and extravagances of expression when he is insisting upon the necessity of drawing the color 1ine. (See his: “The Crucial Race Question.”) The intensity of his urge toward helping the Negro is shown by the extent of his compromise and the very intensity of his insistence upon drawing the color line. He quite out-Heroded the Southern Herod of color-line distinction. But evidently he did all this because of the need of compromise as the only way to help the Negro. As is usually the case in such matters, the compromise offended many and pleased none. The 11 Northerners were offended because he insisted upon drawing a more rigid color line than had ever been before drawn in the church. The Southerners were offended because he proposed establishing an “Autonomous Afro-American Episcopate,” in which the Negroes should have their own independent House of Afro-American Bishops of equal independence and recognized rank with that of the existing church. Some Negroes were offended because the Bishop, in seeking to make his plan acceptable to whites, had over-stressed the difference in cultural and moral status between whites and Negroes. Some high-churchmen were doubtless offended by his practical and predominant insistence upon the concerns of this world. “If religion is what it ought to be, it is social and political,” he said, and not metaphysical. The traditionalist grew white-hot because our Bishop said: “I . . . do not regard the General Convention . . . as being of divine institution or as absolutely necessary to the existence of our American brand of the catholic and apostolic church.” Again, he offended all the mystics, who stress “Grace,” “Regeneration” and “Faith” as the important things in religion, by saying: “We are living in an age of Science, and therefore he who advances theories and offers recommendations, in order to secure a respectful consideration for them, must make certain that they have a sufficiently broad and firm scientific foundation.” Some must have felt the menace implied in that statement, and now can say: “I told you so.” Many hissed him at the general convention of his church. Now that he has carried this doctrine and temperament to its natural fruition in “Communism and Christianism,” more are joining this cry for crucifixion. Now, also, some impotent frenzy vents itself by pointing to these facts, as is now being often done, as evidence that his 12 apostasy is due to insanity. Some visions are so cramped that only insanity or satanic possession can explain such conduct. Therefore, it is really an effort to be kind when they call him insane. They cannot conceive of just healthy, human sympathies and growing intelligence producing disagreement with their own little omniscience. In that discussion of the race question, our Bishop made a very exhaustive and efficient special plea. However, when he forgets the necessities of his argument and exhibits the real impulse behind the argument, we can see clearly the work of that sympathy for the “underdog” which was jammed into little Willy Brown by that pious, cruel Dunkard, the exploiting farmer of his childhood. Bishop Brown said of the Negroes: “The present condition and future prospects are so pitiable and pathetic as to excite in me a deeper commiseration than is felt for any other people in the whole history of mankind” (p. 9). The feeling necessity for helping the Negro was so strong in the Bishop that for the sake of realizing his helpful ambition he was compelled to defend all race prejudices, as a means to his benevolent purposes. He defended his new method by insistence upon “the complete and hopeless failure of old methods for his [the Negro's] moralization” and so he seemed to insult those whom he most wished to help. He insisted upon recognizing and defending the white prejudice against Negro aspirations to immediate equality and rivalry. But the dominant sympathy of his life made this a merely obvious means to a different end. This appears, I think, from such statements as the following: The “Anglo-American churchmen should give the Afro-American churchmen an autonomous branch of the catholic church and thereby put them into a position to work out. their own salvation by the only self-government which it is possible for 13 them to exercise under present conditions” (p. 125). Again: “Things being as they are, it is only through such a church that he [the Negro] can learn the all important, indispensable art of self-government, and make progress in the upward way of civilization” (p. 140). Let me quote one more statement to the same effect: “Self-government is necessary to the development of any people. The Afro-American, while he remains with us, can never have a chance at civil government. Therefore, religion is the oply all-inclusive realm in which he can govern himself, and the Episcopal church should give him a chance to do so. . . . One of his [the Negro's] great defects is his lack of race pride. This defect must be corrected. . . . But this cannot be accomplished without self-government” (p. 145-6). Thus, to help the Negro to attain a more efficient humanism, the Bishop was impelled to defend almost any Southern prejudice. I am not now insisting that this was the wisest manner of working out his sympathy for the “underdog.” I am only trying to show how such sympathy as was instilled by that Dunkard farmer supplied the ruling passion of our Bishop's life, and determined all his attitudes, even toward his church. HIS PLAN FOR CHURCH UNION. Our Bishop obviously acted always as though humanity was of more importance than mere doctrines about the superhuman. This was again illustrated in his next book: “The Level Plan for Church Union.” If the churches are of any use to humanity, then why not unite them into a more efficient single organization? In his own church the greatest obstacle came from those who talk of “the pro, phetic office of the Christian priesthood and [who] would close the doors of pulpits against all who have not received ordination to the ministry by a wº. 14 representative of the Historic Episcopate” (p. 4). “According to [this], the sacerdotal theory, a true Christian ministry is dependent upon a devolutionary transmission of authority and power by an unbroken series of ordinations from the Lord Jesus through the original eleven faithful apostles, or from Paul. Sacerdotalists, who regard ordination by apostolic succession as transmitting the commission necessary to a valid Christian ministry are either Episcopalians or Presbyterians. There is a very large and influential school in all the national churches that constitute the Anglican Communion, which holds that the official acts of a Christian minister are invalid unless he has been ordained by a bishop. of the Apostolic Succession” (pp. 11-12). All this he answered without hesitation or equivocation: “I am fully persuaded that they are wrong in limiting the right to preach to the historic or to any official ministry. I have come firmly to believe that there are real prophets, inspired prophets, who are not Christians in the ordinary sense of the word; and that there are real Christian prophets, inspired prophets, in ministries which have never had any connection with the Historic Episcopate, or which have broken off that connection; and that there are real prophets, inspired prophets, among Christian laymen and laywomen who have never occupied a pulpit, and whose congregation is limited to a Sunday-school class.” He wrote a large volume designed to promote interchurch union on that basis. This is an “eccentricity” which is at present accepted as evidence of his impending insanity. Then they called him “Episcopos in partibus infidelium” (Bishop of the Atheists). When he became a Communist they added “Episcopos in partibus Bolshevikium.” Now he accepts both titles: Bishop of alf Bolsheviks and all Atheists. Let us revert once more to Bishop Brown's plan 15 for Interchurch Union. If we look beyond the words of his argument, to discover the impulses of the man, we can readily see that he was saved from the “spiritual pride” of those who say “I am holier than thou” by his sympathy for the “down and outer.” Again he is defending the “underdog”—the spiritual “underdog” this time. Here we see once more the dominating influence of the pious, brutal German farmer who exploited him in his childhood, and that supplementary influence of Mrs. Gardner and Mrs. Bradford. Next came his resignation from the active charge of his office. Now, for the first time in his busy life, he had leisure in which to study sociology, biology and general science. Now he developed the tendencies, so clearly marked for the observing eye, in every important act of his busy career. TEIE WORLD WAR. This brings us to the beginning of the war in 1914. Now let us remember that he himself had suffered as a civil war orphan, and for and through that terrible German farmer. When some were agitating for our participation in the bloody struggle, he implored his fellow-bishops to emphasize the message of brotherly love, which was consecrated by the “Prince of Peace,” and to use their influence to keep us out of the war. Much to his surprise, they were practically all against peace. Between the lines of many letters, it seemed as if some of them wanted the laymen to shed their blood for maintaining the supremacy of the “Spiritual Lords” of the Anglican Communion in Great Britain. This disappointment seemed to thwart all of the very strong impulses which had driven him into the church. Now he coordinated his disappointment to his recent studies in the field of economic and natural science, and all, combined with the sympathy engendered by that same old exploiting farmer, com16 pelled the writing of “Communism and Christianism.” Accordingly, he has bidden farewell to all the old supernaturalistic interpretations of the articles of faith, of the Prayerbook and of Holy Writ. Now they are going to expel him from their holy fraternity—and for what? For having too much sympathy for the “underdog” in our economic wolf hunt. Of course they will shout “heretic” and “blasphemer” at him, but let us always remember that whatever he is called, or whatever he became or is, it is always because of a dominating sympathy for the oppressed of humanity—those who are weary and heavy-laden—that he went into the church, and for that he will be thrust out of the church. The practical lesson which the House of Bishops may learn from their relations with Bishop Brown can be easily formulated. No one must be ordained to the priesthood who has ever been able to give any sympathetic understanding to the victims of things as they aré. Anything more than a disposition to Support professional philanthropists, of the “hardboiled” type, is dangerous, because it leads to efforts, that promote the democratization of welfare. If the radical’s “boring from within” is to be avoided, no person must ever be ordained to the priesthood who is able to understand why phantasmal streets paved with gold are not an adequate compensation for relative poverty here and now. WHY THE BISHOP DOES NOT RESIGN. Here is another “eccentricity.” Bishop Brown refuses to resign, although he knows they can and probably will put him out. I asked him “Why?” “There are many pleasant associations and memories connected with my church career. Church ceremonials and sacraments have become a habit with me, a bad habit, I admit, but one that I cannot easily eliminate. Besides, I don’t see why I 17 should get out of the church. I can accept all their formulations, if they will allow me to give them a naturalistic and humanistic interpretation.” This reminded me of a clipping that I have in my desk, which tells of 400 Methodist preachers who in the New York Conference, March 6, 1899, are reported to have resolved: “That the inerrancy and infallibility of the Bible are no longer possible of belief among reasonable men.” “There are three different points of view from which the articles of Faith, Bible, etc., can be interpreted,” claims the Bishop. “There has never yet been any authoritative decision by the House of Bishops, favoring any one of these modes of interpretation to the exclusion of the others. My case . will give the House of Bishops a chance to make such a precedent, and to put itself on record. I wish to make these issues clearer than before, so that all their implications will be understood, and so that the public can better classify the church's intellectual rating.” I asked him to make clear to me these issues between the three different approaches to the problem of interpretation. The effort produces a lengthy discourse, which I must unduly abbreviate if I am. to remain reasonably brief. But here it is as it filtered through my brain and then condensed. The words are largely mine, but the sentiments expressed will, I hope, do no serious injustice to Bishop Brown's views. I. “The primitive man projected his own mode of thought and behavior into the universe. He therefore believed that the first man was made, even as our children make mud pies and dolls. By reading into nature our childish conception of design and method, primitive humans produced the story of Genesis and much more of “Holy Writ.” One section of the church, sometimes called literalists and 18 traditionalists, still contend that all this miraculous and mythical stuff must be believed to be literally true just as it is written. If the House of Bishops upholds this literal interpretation, as the only condition of membership, then I will be put out. By Such a decision it will, in effect, say that no intelligent man can remain in the church. II. “The second mode of interpretation is the mystic's way. The Christian mystics are an influential section of the Anglican communion. They seldom accept the miraculous s.ories of the Bible in their materialistic literalness. So far, these are quite in harmony with modern science. For them the Articles of Faith and the Bible symbolize or interpret only their own “spiritual' or so-called mystical experiences. Many clergymen of this group frankly declare that the historicity of Jesus is of no consequence. The only thing that counts is ‘the inner Christ of personal experience.’” Recently a group of Anglican clergy at Cambridge solemnly denied the Incarnation as a literal fact. “If I am put out for my theologic heresy in repudiating literalism, then the mystics of the Anglican church must also be put out, for they also deny literalism. On the other hand, if I am put out for my economic views, and my theologic heresies are but used as a false pretense to conceal the real motive, then I shall be put out and the mystic heretic will be allowed to remain and will help to expel me. “On the other hand, if only the mystical interpretation of the Articles of Faith, Bible, etc., are orthodox, then I should be put out because I am not a mystic. Furthermore, then the literalist should also be put out unless, indeed, my economic views are again the real heresy and the church desires to conceal its capitalist creed. The modern psychologists who specialize on these mystical experiences which are the foundation for the mystical interpre19 tation are all but agreed that these mystic ecstasies are symptoms of abnormal psychology. If the church shall decide that none are eligible to membership but the mystics, then they will be in effect saying that none are welcome except certain morbid types and their sympathetic following. III. “I belong to the third class, which adheres to another method of interpretation. The progress of Science has been made effective by the giving of new meanings to old words. Thus the verbalism of Science changes its intellectual content with our enlarging understanding. I will give the House of Bishops a chance to apply the same methods to our theologic formulae. Thus we will read into the Bible all our best understanding of nature and of human relations. I can accept all the church's authoritative creedal declarations if I am allowed to treat the words as symbols which express in figurative language all that I know of modern science and of common sense in human relations. “Of course, I no longer believe in a God who sits upon a literal throne in a firmament above the earth. Now I express my gratitude only to nature and to the working men who in conjunction produce all I consume and by whose grace I live, move and have my being. That is why I am a Communist. If the Anglican creed is not elastic enough to permit one to read into it all that one believes to be the result of modern intellectual progress, then perhaps I ought to be put out. However, I consider that in excommunicating me under such conditions, the Anglican communion is in effect saying that it is incapable of progress and does not want intelligent membership.” So it appears that it is not Bishop Brown alone who is on trial. He is evidently intent upon putting the church on trial at the bar of an intelligent public opinion. What judgment will the Episcopal church pass upon itself? 20 A UNIQUE HEATHEN TO WHICH IS NOW AD DED THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE EROTOGENESIS OF RELIGION A BIBLIOGRAPHY NANCY E. SANKEY-JONES COS COB, CONN. U. S. A. REPUBLISHING IN COMBINATION TWO ESSAYS FROM THE FREE THINKER THE TRUTH SEEKER LONDON, ENG. NEW YORK, N.Y. APRIL 17, 1921 JAN. 7, 1922 COS COB, CONN., U. S. A. A UNIQUE HEATHEN TO WHICH IS NOW AD DED THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE EROTOGENESIS OF RELIGION A BIBLIOGRAPHY NANCY E. SANKEY-JONES COS COB, CONN. U. S. A. REPUBLISHING IN COMBINATION TWO ESSAYS FROM THE FREE THINKER THE TRUTH SEEKER LONDON, ENG. NEW YORK, N.Y. APRIL 17, 1921 JAN. 7, 1922 COS COB, CONN., U. S. A. Jan. 1922 BIBLIOGRAPHIES OF SCHROEDERIANA 1913 Partial bibliography of the writings of Theodore Schroeder dealing largely with problems of religion, of sex, and of freedom of speech. Free speech league. (New York) April 1913, 8p., 84 titles. 1919 Authorship of the book of Mormon. Psychologic tests of W. F. Prince, critically reviewed by Theodore Schroeder * * * to which is now added a bibliography of Schroeder on Mormonism. Reprint [except bibliography]. American Journal of Psychology. (Worcester, Mass.) XXX pp. 66-72. January, 1919. 18p. Bibliography pp. 10-18, lists 65 titles, some of which duplicate material as by revision, republication or translation. Sankey-Jones, Nancy Eleanor, 1862– Theodore Schroeder on free speech, a bibliography by Nancy E. Sankey-Jones. (New York.) Free speech league. 1919. 24p. Lists 149 titles, some of which duplicate material by republication or translation. 1920-2 Sankey-Jones, Nancy Eleanor, 1862– Theodore Schroeder's use of the psychologic approach to problems of religion, law, criminology and philosophy. A bibliography by Nancy E. SankeyJones. (Cos Cob, Conn.) 1920. 16p. Revised ed., Jan. Ig22. I8p. Lists 92 titles, some of which duplicate material because of revisions, republications or translations. 1922 Sankey-Jones, Nancy Eleanor, 1862– A unique heathen, to which is now added: Theodore Schroeder on the erotogenesis of religion. a bibliography “** republishing in combination two essays from : The Freethinker, London, Eng. Apr. 17, 1921; The Truth-seeker, New York, N. Y. Jan. 7, 1922. Cos Cob, Conn. January 1922. 13+14pp. Lists 50 titles, mostly selected from the last list. 130 Periodicals (in 4 languages) have each published some of Mr. Schroeder's literary product, part of which is listed in the above bibliographies. N.E.S.-J. ARE YOU THIS PERSON? SOMEWHERE, SOMEHOW, NOW, there must be some persons who would like to promote such a critical (psychogenetic) study of religion as is herein reported. As in the past, I can give my time without compensation except the joy of doing socially useful work. What is needed to enlarge my usefulness, is the equipment of a modest but suitable office in New York City. There it would be easy to gather an abundance of religious mystics. From among them could be chosen those having the more novel or the more instructive “mystical experience,” for thorough psychoanalytic investigation. Unfortunately I cannot afford the expense of such an office. Can you, will you, finance it in part or in whole? Perhaps the cooperation of several persons can bring this about. If interested, address THEODORE SCHROEDER, Cos Cob, Conn. January, 1922. U. S. A. THEODORE SCHROEDER A UNIQUE HEATHEN By Nancy E. Sankey-Jones In the person of Theodore Schroeder, America has a most unique “heathen,” as he calls himself. Mr. Schroeder is an Agnostic who really thinks he knows; an Atheist who does not deny the existence of God. He is anti-Christ without ever having specifically denied the truth of any Christian doctrine. He is an emissary of Satan without being on speaking terms with his infernal majesty. In short, Mr. Schroeder is the embodiment of a new method for discrediting the Christian's christianity, and all other mystical religions. It is of such a man that I wish to give some account. Soon after Mr. Schroeder entered the University of Wisconsin he was enrolled as a student of mechanical engineering. After much difficulty he graduated from the department of civil engineering. For a few years he worked in that profession with at least as much success, as comes to the average young engineer. During his college career he came under the influence of Robert G. Ingersoll. Then he studied law. After graduation he practiced this profession for ten years among the Mormons of Utah. His earliest literary work was inspired by that experience. First he used the heretical mormonism as a tool with which to discredit the more orthodox christianity. Next he proceeded to make vigorous verbal assaults upon mormonism from the standpoint of a freethinker. Figuratively speaking: “he ate a fricasseed Mormon for his daily breakfast.” Almost everything else written against mormonism was from the standpoint of orthodox christianity. Many of Mr. Schroeder's essays against mormonism incidentally shed a disturbing sidelight upon more orthodox christianity, and that made it unique. In his study of mormonism. Mr. Schroeder thought he found a “sexual determinant for all the peculiarities of the Mormons' theology.” Since then he has extended that “erotogenetic interpretation” over into 5 A UNIQUE HEATHEN the larger field of Christian mysticism in particular, also mysticism in general. Before proceeding far with this propaganda, he set himself the task of discovering his legal rights and obstacles. Some one had told him that he was in danger of arrest as a “blasphemer” and an “obscenist” if he published such erotic interpretations of mystical religion. In Utah one unsuccessful attempt was made to have him indicted for some anti-Mormon pamphlet. Thereupon grew a free speech campaign such as no other man has ever produced either in the quantity of the output or in the extent of the research involved. Through such effort Mr. Schroeder became a “superspecialist on liberty” and the controlling spirit in the Free Speech League, which was incorporated by his friends. A published bibliography of “Theodore Schroeder on Free Speech,” covers all possible subjects, from so called “obscenity” to revolution and “blasphemy.” Where others have achieved eternal fame by defending a little more intellectual liberty than was current in their day, Theodore Schroeder has made himself a suspicious character by boldly defending more of intellectual freedom than most “libertarians” consider “safe and sane.” He seeks to hasten the time when : “no one will be prevented from receiving, even the most odious opinion, about the most obnoxious subject, expressed in the most offensive manner, by the most despised person.” Parallel with this free speech labor, but with minor emphasis, he was doing much studying in preparation for his future work in the field of the psychology of religion. First he made himself fairly expert in the old school of sexual psychology of Krafft von Ebbing, of Schrenck Notzing and of Havelock Ellis. Somewhat tardily Mr. Schroeder became a convert to Freudian psychoanalysis, as a better means of understanding the human mind. With characteristic enthusiasm he made himself something of an expert in that latest field of psychologic investigation. He began by submitting himself for seven months to a personal psycho-analysis by Dr. William A. White, Superintendent of the U. S. Government Hospital for the Insane, Washington, D. C. Along with this work he was making some independent investigation of the religiously insane inmates, and of some freak relig6 * A UNIQUE HEATHEN ionists outside of the asylum. Although he is without a medical degree, by his defenses of psychoanalytic theory and practise his essays now frequently appear in those professional journals which discuss sexual phychology and psychoanalytic therapy. However, he is not interested in psychoanalysis as a means of treating hysteria or inSanity. With him it is merely a new approach, or a new tool for the understanding and revaluation of our religious, legal, moral and political beliefs and institutions, and even our philosophic creeds. In this approach to the Social sciences, he again comes near to having a monopoly. His special point of emphasis, however, is on the use of psychoanalytic theory and technique for the investigation of religion, especially mystical christianity and other mystical experiences. Having now introduced Mr. Schroeder I will proceed to summarize briefly his work as a psychologist of religion. So far as possible, I will do this in his own language. In this field, as with most other fields of endeavor in which he has worked, he stands quite alone. Practically all specialists in the scientific study of religion are essentially religious psychologists. These generally use their psychologic intelligence to uphold religious dogma and to increase the efficiency of the clergy. Mr. Schroeder is a lonely example of the psychologist of religion the tendency of all of whose work is to discredit everything that savors of mysticism and for him the religion of mystical experience is the only thing that can properly be called religious. But Mr. Schroeder is a genetic psychologist, which means that he is dealing only with the problem of the how and why of people's beliefs and conduct. He cares little or nothing about what it is that people believe, nor does he seem to be much concerned, even about the truth of their beliefs. However, with unfailing regularity his explanation of why people adopt this or that creed or ceremonial, in order to give it religious importance or a great moral value, always tends to make it somewhat embarrassing to admit that one is religious, or even an enthusiastic moralist. From the religionist’s standpoint this is so because Mr. Schroeder always reduces mystical religion to a personal sexual origin. It has been said with some color of truth that Ingersoll only made agnosticism respectable, while 7 A UNIQUE HEATHEN Schroeder makes the very psychologic essence of religion to be disgraceful. Of course he would not say this. From his viewpoint the essence of religious experience always has in it a factor of sex ecstacy, and Mr. Schroeder himself does not see anything shameful in sex. For him all sexual manifestations are to be accepted and understood in the same spirit that we deal with lungs or eyes. Early in his researches, Mr. Schroeder saw the necessity of discovering and defining what it was that he would investigate. “Almost everything may be and has been labelled religion.” Therefore, he concluded that one must get behind the labels, creeds and ceremonies to discover and to discuss the differential essence of religion. One must distinguish, not between a “true” and “false religion” but between that which is and that which is not religious at all, even though it be called religious. “We must distinguish between religion, and a more or less crude scientific belief about a religious subject matter.” So he reasoned. Then by a long process of progressive elimination he reached the conclusion that “the differential essence of religion is a more or less ecstatic experience, which is interpreted as certifying to its own transcendental or superhuman origin and to the inerrancy, of some associated social or religious doctrine, ceremonial, or metaphysics.” This then was the thing to be investigated. The end was to be an understanding of this subjective “transcendental” experience, not in terms of something superhuman or super-physical, but in terms of something else, already somewhat better understood. Here mormonism had already furnished him the first clue, as indeed it furnished him also the first stimulus for the whole of this line of research. If the “psychogenetics” of mormonism could be legitimately generalized, then the essence of the religious impulse is the sex impulse, with some of its needs, its ecstacies, its phantasies or all of these, misinterpreted in terms of the super-human. Yet very often these experiences were not understood to be sexual because the physical factors were “emotionally inhibited” from consciousness and disguised in “psychologic symbols” as the Freudian psychologists call it. At first Mr. Schroeder imagined that he had made a new discovery. Accordingly he set out boldly to justify this vanity. But 8 A UNIQUE HEATHEN here he was doomed to be disappointed, for he soon found that many observers had ventured similar opinions. However, these earlier advocates of sexuality in religion seldom, if ever, ventured a broad general statement on the subject. Phallic worship demonstrated the influence of sex in the religion of primitive peoples. The alienist had frequently discovered a sexual factor in the religion of the insane. But these observers commonly assumed that this sexual factor belonged only to the religion of the most primitive people or to some few who were clearly insane. Relying upon his observations of Mormons, Theodore Schroeder ventured the hypothesis that the sexual factor was an equally important determinant in the religious experiences of the relatively normal persons. Thus from the observations of others, combined with his own, he reached the hypothesis that all mystical experience, such as is the “differential essence” of real religion, is merely a psychologic state controlled by sexual causes, but wrongly ascribed to some extraneous and occult, super-natural or divine cause. As a lawyer, and when writing against mormonism, Mr. Schroeder had accustomed himself to justifying his conclusions from the evidence of his opponents. So he Soon began to study the books of religious authors. Somewhat to his surprise, even there he found many frank admissions that the operation of the reproductive machinery was, even by the devout, often mistaken for the operations of the “Holy Spirit.” This material furnished another essay in support of his hypothesis. Having thus established his working hypothesis on a formidable foundation, he prepared himself by further study, to verify, modify, discredit or correct and amplify that hypothesis. Everywhere that he searched, he seemed to find some confirmation. Later he went to the study of psychoanalytic technique and theory. Now it became apparent to him that mere book studies, of religious mystics and religiously abnormal persons, were inadequate. It appeared necessary for him to discover living subjects who would submit to cross-examination, and observation at close range. So he went into the highways of the country and byways of the great cities hunting unique religious persons who would submit to being studied. Little by little he perfected his mental picture of how the 9 A UNIQUE HEATHEN human energy behaves in the process of creating its testimony for God, for the transcendental, or for the experience of universal love or the infinite, or whatever name it may be called. Only a part of this material has yet been published. With the enlightenment thus attained, Mr. Schroeder may be expected to return to the psychoanalytic interpretation of some printed records of the most orthodox religious experiences. Of course, it is always easiest and usually most instructive, to study those persons who are relatively abnormal and very heretical. As a rule these are most willing to talk, and they have left records of their acts, their phantasies and their thoughts. So it happens that Mr. Schroeder's essays thus far are mostly studies of cases that may fairly be classified as abnormal. Very naturally this brought the retort that he was dealing only with the religion of the abnormal and that therefore his work was of no consequence as to the religious experiences of the more normal and relatively healthy Christian. This objection to his work perhaps carries little weight with medical psychologists, but its influence does need to be overcome as to the laity. A large group of psychologists are of the opinion that the best place to study psychology is among the so-called abnormal individuals, because there we can observe normal mental mechanism in exaggerated form, and therefore in bolder relief. In the direction of meeting the objection of the laity, some considerable effort has been made by Mr. Schroeder, but so far without much success. Yet his striving may be of interest, and will be illustrated by the following experience. An able book in explanation and justification of Christian mysticism came to his hands. Its author was a psychologist of considerable attainment and an orthodox clergyman who evidently had enjoyed the mystic thrill. Also he had lectured to theological students at two of the leading religious universities in America. A correspondence was followed by an interview between Mr. Schroeder and this distinguished clergyman. In the course of this correspondence, the clergyman wrote: “I have diligently read your various pamphlets and especially the one called “Heavenly Bridegrooms.’ I think it only just to you and to our further conversations to say that I am afraid we 10 A UNIQUE HEATHEN do not meet in our definition of religion. While my idea of it contains some of the elements of eroticism, I have no interest in the vagaries of the insane, and at any rate, my studies and interests are so much more in the line of Christianity, which I consider to be less a religion than the completion and fulfillment of all the ethnic religions, the answer to the problems which the human mind has tried to solve in so many various ways, that I have little time or inclination to take up the study of the abnormal. I speak frankly because I believe we ought to understand each other, and I hope, if you have had time to read my book, that you will see there more fully explained why I do not go into all the byways of mysticism and the psychological phases of religion.” To this Mr. Schroeder answered as follows: “I have your letter of Oct. 31, 1918, and because I need your help and cooperation I am asking you to reconsider your seeming conclusion that we have too little in common. In the pursuit of my scientific study I must consider that which you have in its best form. I must see religion so far as I can, as that energy is at work in such intelligent mystics as yourself. “Furthermore, all quest for the ultimate of religion, whether approached through the mystical method or the scientific method must, it seems to me, lead to the discovery of the same facts. This preconception of mine was confirmed by reading your book and its many quotations. I thought that the conclusion expressed in my “Differential Essence of Religion’ (beginning at the bottom of p. 26) was only expressing in a different terminology the thought entertained by you. Please re-read that half page. Please forget our differences of method and of word-symbol in an effort to achieve a duplicate of the concept that I am endeavoring to express. Then please tell me wherein I differ from you in my general concept of the differential essence of religion. Of course, your concept will be much richer and fuller of detail. But at some level of vagueness is not my description accurate? “I can sympathize with your disinclination to study the abnormal. I had no choice. You are the first Christian mystic that I have come in contact with who had your quality of intelligence. I was quite willing to study the 11 A UNIQUE HEATHEN abnormal also for another reason. Many psychologists believe the abnormal to be the best way to study the normal, because here one can see in exaggerated form the operation of mental processes which, when not exaggerated, easily escape attention.” “Now then, my kind Sir: Won't you give me a chance for an intimate study of the psychology of a sane Christion mystic at the highest level of intelligence? Will you help me to study the psychogenetics and mental mechanisms in yourself so that I am not compelled to resort exclusively to those in the borderland of insanity? Tell me that you will, and then please begin by silhouetting against the background of the insane, your own conception of the erotic factor in normal mystical experience. “I have the courage to ask this of you, because I now know your own deep interest in the subject, and the exceptionally high degree of intelligent cooperation that you are able to give. Somehow I feel that you share with me the interest to have this mysticism of yours understood to the fullest, even by and through such as myself who perhaps have a minimum of the mystical temperament. Of course, in anything that I may write as the result of our cooperation, I would conceal your identity so far as you desire it. Incidentally, if so inclined, you could also be making a study of the psychology of such a tough minded heathen as I am, and publish something thereon. So far as I am informed no one has ever attempted any discription of the psychology of an Infidel written from the viewpoint of a psychologist who is a highly selfconscious mystic. May be this task would help you and others to see clearer your problem in dealing with such as myself in your parish work. Will not this balance the account?” A similar proposition was made to another mystic, with an international literary reputation, and in these words: “I hope that you will give me as much freedom as others are giving me to write whatever I honestly believe, so long as I conceal the identity of the subject (your identity in this case). I am perfectly willing to be so analyzed even without any such concealment.” These requests were both denied. It is in this spirit that Mr. Schroeder meets the criticism of his most competent critics. His willingness to submit himself for psycho12 A UNIQUE HEATHEN analysis is not based upon any conviction on his part that he is free from the erotic factors which embarrass others. It is rather because he believes himself to have quite outgrown the feeling of any fear or shame over whatever is inevitable, and in this way he “calls the bluff” of his most competent critics. It is in similar manner that he reaches the conclusion that what you believe is of no consequence, except as it is material, by the study of which we may learn the quality of the impulse which determined that belief. For him the truth of various conceptions of the Trinity, for instance, are as nothing. But, from a detailed account of one's conception of the Trinity, Mr. Schroeder believes that he can inform you what kind of sexual impulse (whether normal or what species of perversion) it was that subconsciously determined the concrete details and qualities which go to make up any particular conception of the Trinity. Such topics are often the subject of his personal discussion with scientists. Doubtless some of this material will soon appear in some of his essays. Again, many tell him they need religion. He asks: Why do others need religion when I do not? For him the answer is found in a feeling of inferiority, which impels others to search for something as a “compensation” or a “neutralizer.” If the particular person is unable to get a compensatory feeling of importance through his relations with his actual environment, then it is believed that the victim tends to seek satisfaction by means of something phantasmal and through that impulse the victim achieves “an emotional identification” with something superhuman. So the inferior achieves a compensatory feeling of importance which balances the account. In this way many inferior ones come to feel themselves as much more worthy or much more important, than their neighbor. The former victim of great depression has literally lifted himself, out of the slough of despondency, by his boot straps, and now appears happy in consequence of his delusions of grandeur. This is the comfort of religion. But Mr. Schroeder's next question is why does this other person feel himself so inferior and so unable to overcome that feeling, through activities in the material world of his surroundings? Again, the answer comes: “sex.” Sometimes an organic inferiority exists, but even 13 A UNIQUE HEATHEN this does not necessarily, nor in all the afflicted ones, require religion as a neutralizer. Why is religion a seeming necessity in so many specific cases? Again, his answer is: “sex.” It is of course impracticable to justify this conclusion in a short review. That task requires a long essay summarizing all his work, if not an added volume on Freudian psychoanalysis as applied to the religion of mystics and to hysterics. Theodore Schroeder tried to summarize this for me in a paragraph, and here it is. “Sexual fear and shame based upon irregularities of conduct or upon condemned desire, and the accompanying and resultant moral self-reproaches, create the need for a supermoral compensation. This feeling of inferiority is the essence of the religionist's humility. Over the emotional conflict resulting from sex there ultimately comes a morbid concentration upon sexual matters. This is sometimes manifested by a morbid inhibition against even a consciousness of normal eroticism. As the resultant shame and feeling of inferiority increase, the need for denying sex, for masks and compensatory feelings of exaltation, also increases. With the growing erotic morbidity also comes an increased capacity for psycho-sexual ecstacies, and their accompanying phantasies. As grows the need for a supermoral neutralizer of the morbid fear and shame, the ecstacy and phantasy are more enthusiastically ascribed to something superhuman. By thus identifying themselves with the superphysical, or transcendental, or whatever they may call this ‘higher' stuff, these afflicted ones exalt themselves above their more healthy minded and sexually more normal-living neighbors. The intensity of their zeal and fanaticism is the exact measure of the moral shame and fear which it conceals, and out of which the religious phantasm was created. So comes the need for religion, out of our emotional conflict over sex. While their sexual lives furnish the occasion for self reproach, fear and shame, (humility) it also creates a phantasmal neutralizer for the self reproach, the fear and the shame. Thus it also supplies a mask and an emotional neutralizer for these depressions, by creating that mystical (psycho-erotic) experience, and by compelling its intellectualization in terms of religion or metaphysics.” 14 A UNIQUE HEATHEN So Theodore Schroeder supplies the medical and psychologic Journals with evidence that this “psychologic erotism” is the true essence of all that properly belongs to the very essence of religion. With such an explanation for the acceptability and valuation of the religion of personal experience, “What need is there,” he asks, “for denying or disproving its metaphysical and theological dogmas?” Will Mr. Schroeder’s “erotogenetic interpretation of religion” be more illuminating and effective toward helping people outgrow the emotional need for religion, than the direct attack upon its dogmas? Not until it is popularized. But will it even then? We cannot know until his work is completed and the historian of the future makes up the record. 15 SUPERSPECIALIST ON LIBERTY BY WALTER HURT This is a day of specialties and specialism, and Theodore Schroeder is a specialist. It may be said, even, that he is a superspecialist. Also, he is an exclusive specialist. His specialty is human liberty. He is a liberty specialist, a liberty expert, a liberty enthusiast. There be many other liberty enthusiasts, and not a few liberty experts; but, so far as I know, Mr. Schroeder is the only liberty specialist. Applied liberty being something outside the sphere of our social experience, Mr. Schroeder's consideration of the subject necessarily is academic in character. Although he possesses no more liberty than do the rest of us, he knows much more about it than does any other of us. His lack of knowledge of its practice does not lessen his knowledge of its theory. He is a philosophic libertarian, a scientific libertarian, a technical libertarian. He is the last word on the subject of social liberty. Mr. Schroeder has written more along these lines than any other person that ever lived; and the aggregate volume of his published writings in defense of unabridged freedom of speech exceeds that of the combined similar output of all other writers in the English language. His industry in this direction is nearly incredible. He is an accepted authority on the law of this subject, being himself of the legal profession and profoundly versed in its various intricacies. Among his more important works are “Free Speech for Radicals,” “Obscene Literature and Constitutional Law,” “Free Press Anthology,” and “Constitutional Free Speech Defined and Defended.” [Also: Freejºivºry—From The Paladin, Jan. 16 THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION A Bibliography By NANCY E. SANKEY-JONES 1904 An odd field of inquiry. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 31 (no. 5):70-71; Jan. 30, 1904. Part included in: Developing a working hypothesis on the erotogenesis of religion. Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 34 (no. 4): 444-476; Nov. 1913. And part in: Religion and sensualism as connected by clergymen. American Journal of Religious Psychology, (Worcester, Mass.) 3 (No. 1): 16-28; May, 1908 Mainly quotations asserting a psychic co-relation between religion and sex. 1907 Erotogenesis of religion. Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 28 (no. 3): 330-341; Aug. 1907. Trans: Erotogenese der Religion. Zeitschrift für Religions—psychologie (Leipzig.) I (no. II): 445-455; Mich. Igo3. Answered in: 2 (no. 1): 28; May, 1908. Repub. as: The first religion. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 34 (no. 4I): 641–643; Oct. I2, Igo7. An academic, abstract discussion of the probable racial psychogenetics of religion. First religion. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 34 (no. 41): 641–643; Oct. 12, 1907. Same as last item. 1908 Erotogenese der Religion. Zeitschrift für Religionspsychologie. (Leipzig.) 1 (no. 11): 445-455; Mar. 1908. Trans: The erotogenesis of religion. Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 28 (no. 3): 330-34I; Aug. 1907. See above. 17 THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE Sexual determinant in Mormon theology. Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 29 (no. 2): 208-222; May, 1908. Abstract: Psychoanalytic Review. (New York City.) 3 (no. 2): 223-230; April 1916. Trans: Der sexuelle Anteil an der Theologie der Mormonen. Imago. (Leipzig u. Wein.) 3 (no. 2): 197204; Apr. 1914. Again abstracted in Psychoanalytic Review. 6 (no. 4): 464–467; Oct. 1919. Part repub. in : Truth Seeker. (New York.) 43 (no. 29): 449-450; July 15, 1916. Religion and sensualism as connected by clergymen. American Journal of Religious Psychology. (Worcester, Mass.) 3 (no. 1): 16-28; May, 1908. Religion and sensualism as connected by clergymen. American Journal of Religious Psychology. (Worcester, Mass.) 3 (no. 1): 16–28; May, 1908. Repub. as: Revivals and virtue. (Truth Seeker, New York City.) 35 (no. 26): 401–402; June 27, 1908. Part included in: An odd field of inuiry. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 31 (no. 5): 70-71; Jan. 30, I904. Abridged trans: Zum Thema: Religion un Sdinnlichkeit. Sexual Probleme Io (no. 3) : 192-198; Mch. I9I4. Cited in: Urological and cutaneous review, 24 (no. I2): 730, Dec. 1921; Sexology by Dr James G. Kiernan. A compilation of the opinions of clergymen recording their observation of a connection between sensualism and religious revival experiences. Revivals and virtue. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 35 (no. 26): 401–402; June 27, 1908. Same as last item. 1912 Outline method for a study of the erotogenesis of religion. American Journal of Religious Psychology. (Worcester, Mass.) 5 (no. 4): 394-401; Oct. 1912. Inadequate from present viewpoint. 1913 Mat[t]hias the prophet. Journal of Religious Psychology, including its anthropological and sociologi18 PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION cal aspects. (Worcester, Mass.) 6 (no. 1): 59-65; Jan. 1913. Republished as per next item. Exhibits an erotic motive in the case of a religious fanatic. Story of Mat[t]hias the prophet. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 40 (no. 7): 102-103; Feb. 15, 1913. Same as last item. Adolescence and religion. Journal of Religious Psychology, including its anthropological and sociological aspects. (Worcester, Mass.) 6 (no. 2): 124–148; Apr. 1913. Shows that over a wide range of time and space, religious experience and conversion are peculiarly an adolescent phenomena and applies the doctrine of evolutionary recapitulation. Developing a working hypothesis on the erotogenesis of religion. Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 34 (no. 4): 444-476; Nov. 1913. Partly used in: An odd field of inquiry. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 31 (no. 5): 70-71; Jan. 30, I904. A compilation of opinions by alienists and historians favorable to the erotogenetic interpretation of religion, especially in morbidity. 1914 Erotogenetic interpretation of religion. Its opponents reviewed. Journal of Religious Psychology, including its anthropological and sociological aspects. (Worcester, Mass.) 7 (no. 1): 23-44; Jam. 1914. Quotes and criticises the adverse opinions of: P. Naecke, Andrew Lang; Edwin D. Starbuck, Ernest Crawley, Edward S. Ames, Geo. Cutten, William James. Wildisbuch crucified saint. Psychoanalytic Review. (New York City.) 1 (no. 2): 128-148; Feb. 1914. Trans. as: Die gekreutizigte Heilige von Wildislouch. Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse und Psychotherapie. (Wiesbaden.) 4 (no. 6-7): 467-471; June–July I9I4. Gives account of a case where sado-masochist conflict was worked out in religious frenzy and blood-shed. This 19 THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE interpretation of the sado-masochist conflict now seems inadequate. Zum Thema: Religion und Sinnlichkeit; Áuserungen von Geistlichen über inre Zusamenhang. Sexual Probleme. (Frankfurt, a. M.) 10 (no. 3): 192-198; Mar. 1914. Abr. trans. : Religion and sensualism as connected by clergymen. American Journal of Religious Psychology, (Worcester, Mass.) 3 (no. 1): 16–28; May 1908. A compilation from opinions of clergymen who have observed a connection between sensualism and religious revival experience. Der sexuelle Antheil an der Theologie der Mormonen. Imago (Leipzig u. Wien) 3 (no. 2): 197-204; April 1914. Trans. : Sexual determinant, 1908. See above. Gekreuzigte Heilige von Wildisbuch. Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse und Psychotherapie. (Wiesbaden.) 4 (no. 6-7): 464–471; June–July, 1914. Abridged trans: The wildisbuch crucified saint, Psychoanalytic Review. (New York City.) I (no. 2): 120-148; Feb. 1914. Exhibits a case of sado-massochist conflict evolved to religious frenzy and bloodshed. The psychic mechanisms are inadequately explained from the author's present viewpoint. Differential essence of religion. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 41 (no. 44): 689-691; (no. 45): 706-707; (no. 46): 726-727; Oct. 31, Nov. 7 & 14, 1914. By means of many quotations and a progressive elimination of other factors the differential essence of religion is reduced to a subjective ecstatic experience certifying to the inerrancy of some creed, ceremonial, etc., and interpreted as of superhuman import. 1915 Heavenly bridegrooms. See: 1915-1918. Psychogenetics of androcratic evolution. Psychoanalytic Review. (New York City.) 2 (no. 3): 277285; July 1915. Ascribes male dominance to a feeling of inferiority on the part of women due to organic inferiority and to 20 PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION sexual emotions of dependence. Incidentally gives an account of the supposed erotic origin of religion in racial adolescence somewhat revised from: Erotogenesis of religion: Alienist and Neurologist. Aug. 1907. Incest in Mormonism. American Journal of Urology and Sexology. (New York City.) 11 (no. 10): 409– 416; Oct. 1915. Abstracted in: Psychoanalytic Review. 3 (no. 2): 223-230; Apr. 1916. Exhibits the sex-determinant behind one unusual aspect of Mormon ethics. 1916 Heavenly bridegrooms. See: 1915-1918. Erotogenesis of religion. A bibliography, Bruno Chap Books. (New York City.) 3 (no. 2): 2-59; Feb. 1916. List of books which discuss Phallic worship, and the psychic aspects of religious erotogenetics, also anthropological books from which may be gathered the raw material for a psycho-analytic study of primitive religion. Also pamphlets and magazine articles. Proxies in Mormon polygamy. Forum. (New York City.) 55 (no. 3): 341-351; Mch. 1916. Republished as: Phases of Mormonism, vicarious vice, vicarious atonement and especially proxy husbands for certain wives. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 43 (no. I4): 215-216; Apr. 1, 1916. Republished in : The Crucible (Seattle, Wash.) 5 (no. 4, whole no. 187): 4; April 24, 1921. (No. 188) : I; May 1, 1921. Abstracted in : Psychoanalytic Review. (New York City.) 3 (no. 2): 223-230; Apr. 1918. IExhibits the sex-determinant in the Mormon theory of celestial marriage. Phases of Mormonism, vicarious vice, vicarious atonement, and especially proxy husbands for certain wives. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 43 (no. 14): 215–216; Apr. 1, 1916. This is a part of “Proxies in Mormon polygamy” 1916. Portrait of author, and brief biographical note. Miscellaneous abstracts. Psychoanalytic Review. (New York City.) 3 (no. 2):223–230; Apr. 1916. 21 THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE . Abstracts the following articles: The sexual determinant in Mormon theology. Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 29 (no. 2): 208-222; May 1908. Incest in Mormonism. American Journal of Urology and Sexology. (New York City.) II (no. Io): 409416; Oct. 1915. g Proxies in Mormon polygamy. Forum. (New York City.) 55 (no. 3): 341-351; Mch. 1916. Der sexuelle Anteil an der Theologie der Mormonen. Imago. (Leipzig u. Wien.) 3 (no. 2): 197-204; Apr. 1914. Mormon's heaven. Absurdities dreamed of in its theology. Truth Seeker. (New York City.) 43 (no 29): 449-450; July 15, 1916. Part of: Sexual determinant in Mormon theology, 1908. See that item. 1917 Heavenly bridegrooms. See: 1915–1918. Hours with a revivalist. A report from the psychologic viewpoint. With bibliography of author's essays on the erotogenesis of religion. The Truth Seeker Co., 62 Vesey St., (New York City) 1917. 19p. “This essay, somewhat abridged, first appeared in The Seven Arts, (New York City) Sept. 1917, pp. 646658. In its present and more complete form it was published in the Truth Seeker, Sept. 15, 1917. 44 (no. 37): 577-579 under the title of “Religion wearing away.' The erosive effect of the secular science illustrated.” Describes a revivalist at work and concludes that he was void of the religion of experience. Religion wearing away. See last item. 1915-1918 Heavenly bridegrooms; an unintentional contribution to the erotogenetic interpretation of religion by Ida C. Bibliography. With an introduction by * * New York. 1918. 121 p. Reprint from: Alienist and Neurologist. (St. Louis.) 36 (no. 4): 434-448; Nov. 1915; 37 (no. I-2-3): 52-69, 211-222, 259-267; Feb. May, Aug. 1916; 38 (no. 2-3): I2II46, 288-310. May, Aug. 1917. 22 PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION There was a break in the publication of this serial owing to the death of the former editor. Reviewed by: Tullson, H. Sex in religious origins. The doctrine of heavenly bridegrooms and allied abstractions disclosed by research. Truth Seeker (New York City) 45 (no. 47): 74o; Nov. 23, 1918. Reviewed by: Crowley, Aliester. The Equinox (Detroit, Mich.) 3 (no. I): 280–281; 1919. Reviewed by: Whitty, Michaels. Azoth 3 (no. 5): 300-301 ; Nov. 1918. Ida C. justifies the objective verity of her erotic hallucinations on the authority of a very great number of mystics, Christian and others. The bibliography is that of part of the religious material listed herein. 1918 Spiritual joys. An attempted description by Cadi, Introduction by * * Azoth. (New York City.) 2 (no. 3): 140-142; Mch. 1918. This is a superb description of an orgasmic ecstacy “when God is taken into partnership in marital bliss.” This item will be the subject of further discussion by T. S This author is the same as of: Heavenly bridegrooms. See: 1915-18. Living Gods. Azoth, (New York City) 3 (no. 4): 202205; Oct. 1918. Republished in: Truth Seeker, 45 (no. 43) : 682; Oct. 26, 1918. Gives an account of the crude pantheistic mysticism of a group of negroes who believe themselves to have attained godhood. The erotogenetics will be exhibited in a later essay. 1919 Matricide and maryolatry. Medico-Legal Journal. (New York City.) 36 (no. 1):4-10; Jan.-Feb. 1919. Discredits the popular theory of the psychology of suggesting crime, exhibits mechanism of emotional conflict, the subjective unity of love and hate, and of excessive lasciviousness and purism. Revivals, sex, and holy ghost. Journal of Abnormal Psychology. (Boston, Mass.) 14 (no. 1-2): 34–47; Apr. July, 1919. Abstracted in: Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease (New York City) 52 (no. 6): 545-546; Dec. 1920. 23 THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE Misquoted in: Psychological Bulletin 17(no. 3):96; March 1920. A careful and detailed description of the behaviour of converts at a negro revival, interpreted as due to the compulsion of psychic erotism. Book review. Religion and sex. Studies in the pathology of religion. Chapman Cohen. (London, Eng.) T. N. Foulis, 1919 287p. Journal of Abnormal Psychology. (Boston, Mass.) 14 (no. 5): 366-367; Dec. 1919. Book gives historical account not psychologic. Is criticised for being moralistic and not deterministic, nor psychogenetic. 1920 “Divinity” in semen. Alienist and Neurologist, (St. Louis, Mo.) 41 (no. 2): 93-101; April 1920. Gives an account of a living man's and of ancient historic belief in such a doctrine, and suggests a tendency to felatio as psychogenetic interpretation of the facts. Why priests don't marry. The spirituality of Montanists responsible for the unnatural institution of celibacy. Truth Seeker (New York City.) 47 (no. 32): 509; Aug. 7, 1920. Suggests a physical necessity as basis for glorifying psychic erotism by this heretical sect. Title supplied by editor not author. Bundling and spirituality. Freethinker (London, Eng.) 40 (no. 36); 566–567; Sept. 5, 1920. Republished as: Strange “spiritual” experience. Truth Seeker (New York City) 47 (no. 40): 635; Oct. 2, I920. Historical account of bundling, tending to show that essence of “spirituality” is sex ecstacy. Strange “spiritual” experience. See last title. g p p Swisher, Walter Samuel. Religion and the new psychology. Marshal Jones & Co. Boston XV 261. Psyche & Eros (New York City) 1 (no. 3): 188–189; Nov.-Dec. 1920. “One gets the impression that this book was perhaps produced by some young liberal-minded theologian, in an attempt to reconcile religion with psychoanalytic . *. and without possessing an adequate understanding of either.” 24 PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION 1920-1921 Christian Science and sex. New York Medical Journal (New York City). 112 (no. 22, whole no 2191): 851-852; Nov. 27, 1920. Republished in: Truthseeker (New York City) 48 (no. 1) : Io; Jan. 1, 1921. Also in: The Crucible (Seattle, Wash.) 5 (no. 181): [3] March 13, 1921. Also in: Freethinker (London) 41 (no. 9): 139-140; Feb. 27, 1921. By the use of psychoanalytic theory an attempt is made to explain the predisposition of Mrs. Eddy for certain cardinal doctrines of her faith. The explanation is morbid eroticism. 1921 ‘Secularized mystics. (Open Court, Chicago, Ill.) 35 (no. 3, whole no. 778): 163–171; March, 1921. Mysticism is a symptom of immature desires and mental processes. The mechanism is the same even when accompanied by anti-religious professions, and expressed in secular activities. Such activities are described. Shaker Celibacy and salacity—psychologically interpreted. New York Medical Journal. (New York City). 113:800–5; June 1, 1921. Republished under title of: Shaker celibacy and religion. Freethinker (London, Eng.) 41 (no. 37):582-583; Sept. II; (no 38):597-598; Sept. 18; (no. 39):619–620; Sept. 25; (no. 40): 634–635. Oct. 2, 1921. Explanation is by use of psychoanalytic theory of mental mechanisms. Reviewed in: Truthseeker, Aug. 6, 1921. Psychology of one pantheist. Psychoanalytic Review. (Lancaster, Pa.) 8 (no. 3): 314–328; July 1921. Describes mystical experiences, theories of divine love, and social behavior of this mystic: See also: Anarchism and lord's farm, 1919; Unique blasphemy case Truth Seeker, Mch. 13, 1920; and more to come on S21 ne 1,12111. Religion not a true sublimation. Open Court (Chicago, Ill.) 36 (no. 8): 495-506; August 1921. Briefly reviewed in: Truthseeker, Sept. 24, 1921. 25 THEODORE SCHROEDER ON THE Criticizes an article by Prof. Raymond Wells on: The theory of recapitulation and religious and moral discipline of children; American Journal of Psychology. (Worcester, Mass.) 29: 371-382; Oct. 1918. T. S.’ article closes with a statement of the psychologic essentials of true sublimation. See also: Biological foundations of belief, by Wesley Raymond Wells. Wells' adolescent conflict precluded him from correct application of recapitulation, and from seeing “sublimation” as a problem of psychic evolution. This latter is briefly and dogmatically outlined. Proxies in Morman polygamy. See same title, 1916. AWAITING PUBLICATION Religious Psychologist. Psyche and Eros (New York City. 1922. The chief difficulty is the psychologic imperative of religious psychologists. That and the mystic’s selfinterpretation, both need to be judged by an evolutionary standard of desires and of mental processes. Psychologists with even a mild erotophobia are incompetent for the psychogenetic study of religious experiences. IN PREPARATION French prophets and John Lacey. Religious erotism of Ida C. Prenatal psyche and experience of infinitudes. A priori description of prenatal psychic status is compared with an hysteric's description of her experiencing the infinite. A contribution to psychogenetics of philosophic theory and of mystical pantheism. Psychic-erotism and belief in immortality. This is a penetrating psychoanalytic study of the problem mainly woven around living believers in a personal immortality in the flesh. Sex, modern and biblical revivals. Psychoanalysis, religion and morals. Psychoanalysis and clergymen. 26 PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION Schroeder's work on religion has been reviewed in Archives de Psychologie. February, 1914. Freethinker (London) April 17, 1921. International Journal of Psychoanalysis. I :Io&-109; 1920. Journal of Religious Psychology. November, 1914. Pratt, Jas. B. : Religious Consciousness. p. III-2. Psyche (London) 2:146-154; Oct. '2I. Psychoanalytic Review. January, 1915. Jan. 7, 1922. Truth Seeker. December 12, 1914. Nov. 23, 1918. Zeitschrift fur Angewandte Psychologie. 1915; v. 9, pp. 533-538. 27 BD ill Certttube A STUDY IN PHILOSOPHY BY REV. ALOYSIUS ROTHER, S.J. PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN ST. LOUIS UNIVERSITY ST. LOUIS, MO., i 9 ii Published by B. Herder 17 South Broadway freiburg (baden) i london, w. c. Germany 68, Great Russell Street ^1 NIHIL OBSTAT Sti. Ludovici, die i. Oct. 1910 R. J. Meyer, SJ. Praep. Prov. Missour. NIHIL OBSTAT Sti. Ludovici, die 25. Nov. 1910 F. G. Holweck, Censor Librorum. IMPRIMATUR Sti. Ludovici, die 25. Nov. 1910 *i* Joannes J. Glennon, A?-chiepiscofius Sti. Ludovici. Copyright, 191 1, by Joseph Gummersbach Becktold Printing: and Book Mfe. Co.. St. Louis. Mo. £,C!.A2S0f>5? CONTENTS CHAPTER i. \ PAGE INTRODUCTORY NOTIONS— Ignorance, Complete and Partial, Privative and Negative — X Doubt, Negative and Positive — Opinion — Suspicion — Certitude — Certitude merely Subjective, and Certitude at once Subjective and Objective — Certitude, Metaphysical, Physical and Moral — Certitude, Absolute and Hypothetical — Certitude, Natural and Philosophical I CHAPTER 2. REQUISITES FOR CERTITUDE. Article i. First Requisite for Certitude: Assent to Truth 20 Article 2. Second Requisite for Certitude: Infallible Motives 26 Article 3. Third Requisite for Certitude: Evidence of the Infallibility of the Motives 29 CHAPTER 3. PROPERTIES OF CERTITUDE. Article 1. Metaphysical Certitude Absolute Certitude 35 CONTENTS. PAGE Article 2. Metaphysical Certitude the only Absolute Certitude 37 Article 3. Physical and Moral Certitude, though Hypothetical, still True Certitude. . 40 Article 4. Essential Grades of Certitude 70 Section 1. Metaphysical Certitude Greater than Physical and Moral, and Physical Greater than Moral 70 Section 2. The Three Orders of Certitude not Species Properly so Called 73 Article 5. Accidental Degrees of Certitude. ... 81 Alphabetical Index 93 PREFACE The following pages present an exposition of Certitude according to the teaching of the Scholastics, and their purpose is to secure a greater esteem and love for the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas. CERTITUDE CHAPTER FIRST Introductory Notions Summary: States of mind falling short of certitudeIgnorance, complete and partial, privative and negative — Doubt, negative and positive — Opinion — Suspicion — Certitude — Certitude merely subjective and certitude both subjective and objective — Certitude, metaphysical, physical and moral — Moral certitude in a wider sense — Certitude, absolute and hypothetical— Certitude, natural and philosophical. i. The inquiry into any new branch of knowledge should, according to Cicero's advice (de Officiis, 1. i. c. 2. ), start out with a definition of the subject to be investigated, in order that we may clearly know what we are about to discuss. 2. Definition of certitude. What then is certitude? It is ordinarily described as the firm* assent of the mind to a statement without any] fear of error. 3. States of mind falling short of certitude. Before scrutinizing the above definition a little I 2 Certitude more thoroughly, let us first note the various states of mind falling short of genuine certitude. 4. Ignorance. When man comes into the world, his mind may be compared to a virgin page, or— as philosophers put it — to a "tabula rasa," that is, a smooth wax tablet upon which no inscription has as yet been made. This total absence of knowledge is ignorance. Little by little, impressions are made upon this tablet of the mind, becoming deeper and broader till frequently the knowledge acquired by the mind grows most varied and seemingly unlimited. However, finite intelligences, no matter how comprehensive in their breadth of thought, will always remain in ignorance of incomparably more than they know; for knowledge is infinite, and none but the Infinite can hold it all. Hence, ignorance may either be complete or partial. Again, ignorance is either a mere absence of knowledge, or it is the absence of such knowledge as a person, under given circumstances, is expected to have. The former is technically known as negative and the latter as privative ignorance. Thus if the physician is not acquainted with farming, we have an instance simply of ignorance: there is a mere negation — negative ignorance. But if he is not acquainted with matters the knowledge of which is called for by his profession, his ignorance is privative: there Introductory Notions 3 is a privation of some knowledge that is due — privative ignorance. 5. The mind's activity in the pursuit of its object, truth, may be compared to a journey, of which ignorance is the starting point, and certainty the destination. 6. State of doubt. The first stage in the route of travel is the state of doubt. When we say this, we do not mean to assert that the mind always passes first from a condition of ignorance to that of doubt. No, very often it takes a straight leap from ignorance to certain knowledge. Frequently, however, it is compelled to reach its destination by this roundabout way of doubt. Doubt is a state of intellectual suspense between some statement and its opposite due to lack of evidence. In this state of doubt, the intellect views two or more ideas and compares them, but discovers no signs of their mutual relation or merely such slight ones as justify no positive judgment. Hence it remains undecided. Suppose a boy were to ask you whether the number of fish in the Mississippi River is odd or even, you would perhaps say to him, if you took him seriously at all, that as you had no reasons whatsoever for asserting either the one or the other, you could not tell. This kind of doubt, where there is a total absence of grounds for either side, is called negative. It is really 4 Certitude not doubt at all, but rather ignorance in regard to the relation between two terms. For to doubt means to refuse assent on account of the insufficiency of the motives advanced for a proposition and its opposite ; now in negative doubt, no motives whatever are discernible. If the reasons for both of the opposite statements are very weak, doubt is likewise regarded as negative. It is termed positive, when there are, indeed, grounds for both alternatives worthy of some consideration, but none weighty enough to induce a man of ordinary prudence to give or refuse his assent. 7. Opinion. If, on the other hand, sufficient reasons present themselves to justify the mind in embracing one of the two opposite statements, without, however, precluding the possibility of error on its part, then, should it venture on a judgment, it is said to form an opinion. This is the second stage on the road to certitude. Hence, opinion may be defined as an assent of the mind to one of two opposite views on grounds not altogether incompatible with error. It is wavering assent, synonymous with belief in one of its meanings. Thus Webster says, "Belief is used for persuasion or opinion, when evidence is not so clear as to leave no doubt." The grounds which give rise to an opinion, are Introductory Notions 5 called its probability. For an opinion to be rational, the reasons in its favor must be such as to move a prudent man to yield assent. It is not necessary that the grounds for the side embraced should preponderate. It is sufficient for them to be solid and sound, not light and delusive. 8. Suspicion. There is still another condition of mind on this side of certitude which might be regarded as a sort of bridge or transition between doubt and opinion, namely suspicion. Suspicion, as here understood, is not the same as a rash judgment formed on flimsy grounds ; but as entering into philosophic investigation, it is regarded as a leaning or inclination of the mind to pronounce judgment for reasons insufficient in themselves, but which seem to point in the direction in which the truth lies. Suspicion, as thus taken, is really nothing else than a certain scenting or divining of the truth. It is but the struggling of the "ingenium curiosum" in man, and an evidence of its restlessness and eagerness to soar aloft on the wings of thought. It gives rise to all manner of guesses, conjectures, hypotheses and theories, and thus often proves the fruitful mother of startling inventions. Hence in the purely intellectual region, such surmises are laudable and to be encouraged, provided, of course, they do not run counter to any well established principle or 6 Certitude fact. But in the practical concerns of life, suspicions must be controlled by the dictates of a correct conscience. 9. Certitude. We have now arrived at the destination of our journey, namely certitude. We described it, at the opening of the treatise, as the firm assent of the mind to some statement, without any fear of error. This definition of certitude does not necessarily import that assent is given to truth. As a matter of fact, it is possible for the mind to adhere, without fear of error, not only to what is true but, even at times, to what is false. This seems puzzling and calls for an explanation ; it will be better, however, to defer this question to another place (No. 34) where we shall treat of the requisites for genuine certitude. The above definition of certitude then, is general, and applies to firm assent given to one of two contraries, whether the side adhered to, be true or false. 10. First division of certitude. This leads us at once to the division of certitude into that which is merely subjective, and that which is both subjective and objective. Certitude regarded in itself, is, of course, subjective; for it is a state of mind. But this subjective state may have been caused by objective truth, or it may be wholly due to the action of the intellect, unduly influenced by the Introductory Notions J will and deluded by the mere appearance of truth. If the origin of certitude is traceable to the former, i. e. to objective truth, certitude is called formal: if solely to the latter, i. e. to the subjective operation of the mind, it is styled purely subjective. This purely subjective certitude may be defined as unyielding assent to a proposition on grounds which do not make it evident that the possibility of the opposite is excluded; whilst formal certitude, on the other hand, is described as firm assent to truth on grounds which show its opposite to be plainly absurd. Formal certitude might not unsuitably be called genuine certitude, all the more so, as the ordinary meaning of our word "formal" suggests something quite different from the above technical signification. We shall show further on, why this last kind of assent alone deserves to be dignified with the name of certitude properly so called. Purely subjective and genuine certitude, it will be noticed, agree in this, that both are qualities of the thinking mind, but they differ from each other in that the former has its source in the mind exclusively, whilst the latter is the result of the mind determined by objective truth. Objective certitude. Since we are allowed by metonomy to name the cause of a thing after the effect it produces, objective truth as giving 8 Certitude rise to subjective certitude, has been termed objective certitude. This so called objective certitude may be defined as objective truth manifesting itself to the mind in such a way as to compel assent. In this connection, let it be remarked that objective truth as productive of firm assent should, if we wish to be exact in expression, be simply called "certainty," whilst the word "certitude" ought to be reserved for the subjective condition of the mind. Cardinal Newman in his "Grammar of Assent," p. 331, says: "Certitude is a mental state, certainty is a quality of a proposition." Thus, we often hear people say, that such or such a thing is a certainty ; or that they accept some fact as an inevitable certainty. But we say, "Skeptics will admit no certitude," or, "We have no certitude of the hour of our death." However, this distinction is by no means always observed. Let us illustrate the above definitions by a few examples. " t was the belief of men for ages that the earth was flat. This conviction of theirs was purely subjective certitude, as the reason for it, namely the mere sensible appearance of the earth, was not of a nature to exclude the possibility of the opposite, namely that the earth was not flat, but round. The form of the sun, moon and other heavenly bodies must have often created doubt Introductory Notions 9 in the minds of the beholders, and should have set them to reconsider their hasty inference. And now let us take an instance of genuine certitude. We are firmly convinced that there is a Providence, lovingly caring for us and directing and controlling all that exists. Our belief in this divine guidance is unshakable and moreover rests on grounds, namely the wisdom, goodness and love of God, which are incompatible with the contrary statement that there is no Providence. Here we have a clear exemplification of the firm assent resting on objective truth, that is, of genuine certitude. 11. Second division of certitude. There is still another division of certitude, which by reason of its great importance claims our special attention. We defined (objective) certitude as truth manifesting itself to the mind in such a way as to compel assent. Now this manifestation of the truth takes place through certain objective grounds or reasons, which, however, are not all of the same general character; for there are essential differences amongst them. According to these differences both certainty and certitude are divided into three classes, namely, tneta^ physical, physical and moral. 12. Metaphysical certainty. A statement regarding some objective truth is said to be metaphysically certain, when it rests on grounds io Certitude drawn from the very essence of that truth and involved in its very idea; and since what is essential to a thing is altogether inseparable from it, it follows that the metaphysically certain implies absolute unchangeableness, such as is withdrawn from Almighty power itself. Thus, it is metaphysically certain that two and two are four, and not even God can bring about that they should not be four. The adherence of the mind to such truths constitutes metaphysical (subjective) certitude. It may be defined as assent to a statement on grounds with which its opposite is absolutely incompatible. When we say that a statement is absolutely incompatible with certain motives, we mean that the truth of this statement together with the existence of those motives would imply a contradiction, that is to say, an affirmation and negation of the same thing. 13. Physical certainty. Let us now pass on to physical certainty. A statement is said to be physically certain when its unchangeableness or permanent character, rests on the physical laws of nature. These laws, however, are subject to the controlling action of the Almighty power of God, as v. g. the law that a stone thrown into the air, if unsupported, will fall again to the ground. Hence it follows that physical certainty is hypothetical, Introductory Notions n being conditioned by the proviso, "if God does not interfere with the ordinary course of nature." The adherence of the mind to a physical fact consequent upon the perception of nature's uniform mode of action is physical (subjective) certitude. It is defined as assent to a statement, on grounds with which its opposite is physically incompatible: that is to say, a statement made in opposition to nature's laws cannot become true, as long as these laws, which form the ground of assent, remain in force and are not suspended by the God of nature. These laws of nature, as will have been gathered from the foregoing, are forces residing in nature, in virtue of which physical agents — that is, agents not endowed with freedom — always and of necessity produce the same effect. It is to these forces that the uniformity and constancy of nature are due. Now let us throw a little more light on this subject by a few examples. It is contrary to the laws of nature, as known to us through legitimate induction, for a dead person to come back to life. These same inexorable laws make it impossible for a man to walk on the billows of the ocean without sinking, or to be shut up in a fiery furnace without being consumed. Hence any report that a dead man left the grave, or that some one walked on the water without being 2 12 Certitude submerged, or dwelt in the midst of flames untouched, must be refused credence, unless it appears clearly that it pleased God to suspend the laws of nature in some particular case for wise reasons of his own. 14. Moral certainty. We now come to our last division of certainty, namely, moral certainty. A statement is said to be morally certain, when the so called "moral laws" form the basis of its fixedness and unchangeableness. 15. Meaning of moral laws. But before we go any further, we *must first explain what is meant by moral laws. Moral laws, as here understood, are certain, tendencies or propensities of free beings which prompt them always to act in a certain definite manner. True, they do not deprive the agent of his freedom : they leave it in his power to act counter to them. Yet, as these laws are not only most helpful but even indispensable to the well-being of the individual and the race, they are in such complete harmony with reason that no one can set them aside except by an extreme abuse of his free will and by doing violence to his rational self. They possess then a certain necessitating or compelling force, yet so that they can, absolutely speaking, be overruled by the will of man. But more about this further on. Introductory Notions 13 They are called moral laws because they are impulses, guiding agents capable of moral actions, and strengthening them in the performance of good. The name "law" as referred to these promptings of man's rational nature is somewhat misleading. For by a law in the domain of morality, we generally understand a precept or commandment. But the moral laws as the basis of moral certainty are not precepts as such; they are rather, as explained before, moral forces, tendencies, proclivities, planted by God in man's nature, to help him to perform certain very important operations more readily and securely. In fact, they are called laws only, as bearing an analogy to physical laws. But as the phrase "moral laws" in the signification just given is very rare, and moreover not sanctioned by our standard dictionaries, we shall avoid it, and employ instead expressions in current usage having the same meaning, as "moral or human instincts," "natural bias," "tendency or inclination of free agents," and the like. From the above explanation we infer, that, like physical certainty, moral certainty is hypothetical, being dependent on the condition, that the free agent will not go counter to his rational instincts. We may then define moral (subjective) certitude as assent given to a statement, the opposite 14 Certitude of which is incompatible with man's moral instincts. Let us, as before, illustrate our abstract definitions by a few concrete examples. The love of life, as long as life is a source of enjoyment, is one of these moral instincts. No one who is in good health and held in honor, will take his own life, though he can do so. Again, our correct natural inclinations urge us with irresistible power, not to maim or disfigure ourselves. Could you imagine a young man who is, moreover, rather vain of his appearance to slash himself with a razor? Yet, no one will deny that it is possible for him to do so. This love of keeping our bodies whole and intact, is another moral instinct, such as we described above. "Nemo gratis mendax," that is, no one lies just for the sake of lying, is also an instinct of this sort, governing the rational activity of man. People do tell many lies, no doubt; so many in fact, as to make the Psalmist say in his excess, "Every man is a liar." But they do not lie unless some advantage accrues to them from this perversion of the truth. That the above dictum really embodies a human instinct, is also proven by the fact that every one considers it a great insult to be called a liar, and some resent it so much as to have recourse to violence. Yet there are found rare exceptions of moral depravity Introductory Notions 15 who set at naught this sacred bias of human nature, by lying just for the sake of lying. "Parents love their children," is also accountedan instinct of the moral order. The love of parents for their offspring is planted in their hearts by the Almighty himself. Taking our stand upon this instinct, we consider ourselves justified in forecasting the actions of parents in regard to their children. True, there are unnatural parents ; the very fact, however, that men call them unnatural, proves that they regard their conduct as opposed to nature. Thus the correctness of our assertion stands confirmed by common opinion. 16. It might be added here that not all the human tendencies are common to the entire race ; but some of them are restricted to certain conditions and stages of man's life. We can hardly make our meaning clearer than by citing a passage from both Horace and Shakespeare, in which these great poets delineate the propensities and traits peculiar to certain states of human existence. Not all the characteristics set down by them as marking different periods of man's career, are moral instincts in the strict sense of the word; yet they bear at least a very striking resemblance to them, and thus serve as apt illustrations of the matter under discussion. Thus Horace shows himself the keen observer and searching reader of the human heart that he 1 6 Certitude is, by the portrait which he gives in "Ars Po etica" of the tendencies, likings and habits of the beardless youth. He says : "Imberbis juvenis, tandem custode remoto, Gaudet equis canibusque, et aprici gramine campi ; Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper, Utilium tardus provisor, prodigus aeris, Sublimis, cupidusque, et amata relinquere pernix." Shakespeare sets forth the traits of the Schoolboy, the Soldier and the Justice very tellingly in the following lines : "And then the whining School-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school Then a Soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like a pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances." It will have been seen from the examples above given, that to know the human instincts, (whether properly so called or in a looser sense) is to know human nature. A thorough acquaintance with them makes the good ruler who is to guide men, and the good poet and novelist who describe their manners. To guard against misapprehension, let it be Introductory Notions ij remarked that by human instincts in the looser sense, we understand mere whims or humors common to certain classes of persons, national traits developed by local conditions and the like. Bear also in mind that at present we are simply endeavoring to clear up our notions ; later on, we shall examine whether physical and moral certitude are genuine certitude. 17. Moral certitude in the wider sense. The expression "moral certitude" is sometimes used in a somewhat different sense which we must notice, in order to avoid confusion. It often stands for what is highly probable, and may be denned, as assent to a proposition or. statement on grounds which render its truth highly probable without excluding the possibility of the contrary. Thus, if you send a letter or a parcel through the mail in a civilized country, you feel morally certain that it will reach its destination. You are also morally convinced that in a book of fair proportions, some printing mistakes will be found. This quasi-certitude is called "moral," because actions performed with such mental assurance as it can give us, are justifiable before the tribunal of conscience. Certainty of this kind might not unsuitably be called "prudential," since any measure taken in pursuance of it, must be regarded as prudent, that is to say, befitting a prudent man. 1 8 Certitude 1 8. Third division of certitude into absolute and hypothetical. There is still a further division of certitude to be noted, which is fundamental in the study of philosophy, and especially in this question of certainty, namely, into absolute and hypothetical. Absolute certitude. A statement is said to be absolutely certain, when its truth is independent of any condition whatsoever. Certainty of this description is possessed by such propositions as the following: "God exists"; "Twice three are six"; "All the points of the circumference of a circle are equally distant from a point within called the centre." When we postulate independence "of any condition whatsoever," we, of course, mean conditions which are possible and conceivable ; for an impossible or inconceivable proposition must be regarded as non-existent. It might not be out of place to show by some examples how absolute propositions look, when yoked to an unthinkable condition. Here are two of them : "Three and three make six, provided three times three are not twelve;" or, "God is eternal, provided he did not begin to exist." It is plain that such senseless additions must be altogether set aside. Hypothetical certitude. A statement is hypothetically certain when its truth depends upon the fulfilment of some condition. Under this head fall all statements which are grounded on Introductory Notions 19 the physical laws and the moral instincts, as, "A stone dropped into the water will sink to the bottom," or "This witness, well known for his uprightness will tell the truth, when cited to testify in court." For the first example is conditioned upon God not suspending the ordinary course of nature, and the second, upon man making a proper use of his free will. 19. Fourth division of certitude into natural and philosophical. Another division of certitude is that into natural and philosophical. Natural certitude is the mental assurance which every one of sound mind has in regard to many things, even without full advertence to the reasons why he is sure. The natural light of reason, even when unimproved by study and reflection, guides us safely in many things ; if not interfered with from without, it never leads us astray within its own sphere. Philosophical certitude is natural certitude perfected by an accurate scrutiny of the grounds of assent. These two kinds of certitude do not differ essentially from one another. They are the same mental state in different stages of development; or, to express their dissimilarity in technical language, we might say that in natural certitude, the mind perceives the reasons for its firm conviction indirectly or by implication, whereas when in possession of philosophical certitude, it knows the same reasons directly and explicitly. CHAPTER SECOND REQUISITES FOR CERTITUDE ARTICLE i First Requisite for Certitude, Assent to Truth Summary: Thesis: first requisite for certitude, assent to truth — An objection met — Proof of thesis — Truth the proper object of the intellect — Close connection between skepticism and the denial that assent to truth is required for certitude. 20. After describing certitude and enumerating its divisions, we must now prove what certitude is; and this we shall do by showing that the definition of genuine certitude is not arbitrarily formed, but possessed of objective validity, or, in other words, that it is in agreement with reality. 21. An objection met. An apparently serious difficulty, however, confronts us at the outset of our philosophical investigations. For, according to the statement just made, we intend to prove what certitude is ; but how is this possible without begging the question? For we beg 20 Requisites for Certitude 21 the question whenever we assume in the premises the very thing to be proved. Now the premises to be of any service in reasoning must be recognized as certain: hence to prove what certitude is, you must already know that it exists and what it is. We can meet this objection in two ways. In the first place, we can reply that we do not intend to give a proof or demonstration in the strict sense of the word, that it is our purpose^ merely to analyze certitude, and that in doing so, we adopt the external garb of the syllogism simply for the sake of clearness and convenience. But we have another answer in reserve: it is our aim here to give a philosophical definition of certitude, and we deduce this from what common sense tells us about certitude. In other words, we base our scientific and philosophical knowledge of certitude upon natural certitude, and thus we can demonstrate our definition to be correct without laying ourselves open to the charge especially odious to philosophers, of begging the question. 22. Let us now restate the definition of certitude and point out that the elements involved in it, are based upon accurate observation and correct analysis of the mental processes. True or genuine certitude is unflinching assent to truth from motives which show its opposite to be evidently absurd. 22 Certitude A glance at this definition reveals at once that for certitude strictly so called three conditions must be fulfilled, namely, first, the mind's assent must be given to a statement which is true in itself ; secondly, this statement must be accepted by the mind on grounds with which its opposite is incompatible ; and thirdly, these grounds must manifest themselves to the intellect as evidently infallible. For the sake of clearness, let us embody each of these requirements in a separate thesis. THESIS i In order to have certitude in the strict and highest sense of the word, the mind's assent must, in the first place, be given to a statement which is true in itself. 23. Note that we speak here of certitude in the "strict" and "highest" sense of the word, where, by the former, we mean "genuine" certitude and, by the latter, "metaphysical." For, as we shall see further on, there can be certitude strictly so called, (viz. physical and moral), which, however, is not certitude in the highest sense of the term. 24. We can derive the necessity of this essential condition for perfect intellectual assurance from the fact admitted on all hands, that e'ertiRequisites for Certitude 23 tude constitutes the perfection of the human intellect. It is the culmination, the acme of human cognition. It is the full repose of the mind in the possession of truth. This, in fact, might be called the definition of certitude as given by common sense. For, a man of average intelligence will tell you, that he is certain when he has full assurance of something, and feels perfectly easy in mind in regard to its truth. Now it is impossible that the intellect should experience such complete repose in giving assent to what is in itself false. For, it would then be at rest without being in possession of its own peculiar object, truth; and to say that any faculty can rest altogether satisfied when exercising its activity on an object not its own, is a contradiction in terms. The reason is this : Every faculty tends, of its very nature, towards its own object; as the will towards the good, the appetite towards food; for the object of a faculty is that to which its activity is directed. Now if it were possible for a faculty to find perfect satisfaction in an object not its own, it would thereby show itself indifferent and unconcerned in regard to its own object, since by the very fact of being attracted and engrossed by an object not its own, it ceases to tend towards its own. Hence a faculty of this sort would at once tend towards its own object — for otherwise it 24 Certitude would not be a faculty at all — and it would not tend towards it ; for we assume it to be indifferent towards its own object, because we suppose it capable of finding full repose in something besides its own peculiar object; and this would imply a patent contradiction. Let us corroborate this argument by a few well known facts of every-day experience, which go to show that the cravings of a faculty can never be appeased by an object not its own. The will — one of the faculties of the soul — is ill at ease so long as it clings to what is evil ; it never finds perfect satisfaction except in the good. For evil is not the proper object of the will. Grating sounds and false notes offend the trained ear, because they are out of keeping with it. Dreary surroundings, bleak fields, bare trees act depressingly on a person of fervid imagination: for the fancy has not the object on which it loves to feed. Thus it is also with the intellect, since it, too, is one of man's faculties. It cannot feel at rest unless it possesses truth: for truth is its proper object. Whence it follows that assent to what is false cannot be certain: for certitude is the full repose, the full assurance of the mind. 25. A query answered. But some one might Requisites for Certitude 25 ask, perhaps, how do you know that the true is the proper object of the intellect, and the false is not? The answer to this question is given by self -consciousness, which takes notice of all the internal phenomena of our intellectual life. For our consciousness tells us, that we all love truth, that our reason devotes its energies to discovering it : whilst this same inner witness attests that we abhor falsity as an evil, that we fly from it, that we feel ashamed when caught blundering. Now this love of truth on the one hand, and detestation of falsity on the other, clearly show that the one is, and the other is not the object of the intellect. Moreover, it is evident a priori, that the false, which is a privation of a perfection, and hence an evil, cannot be the object of a faculty. 26. Close connection between universal skepticism and denial that assent to truth is required for perfect certitude. To strengthen our thesis still more, we invite attention to the great importance of allowing no assent to be certain, unless given to what is true; for were we to yield this point, we should place skepticism on a dangerous vantage ground in its attack on the existence of certain knowledge, and thus play into the hands of our enemies. For if we could ever be truly certain of what is really a mistake, then certain and uncertain 26 Certitude assent would not differ from one another, as far as objective truth is concerned, since both the one and the other could stand with falsity. Hence, certain assent would in reality be as uncertain as uncertain assent; and if so, how could we ever be sure of the truth ? We should have to admit that we could not ; we should have to surrender to the skeptics. If then we do not hold steadfastly to this point, that what is certain is likewise true, the \ fabric of knowledge is built on sand, and cannot endure. ARTICLE 2 Second Requisite for Certitude, Infallible Motives Summary: Thesis: infallible motives required for certitude — Twofold character of grounds of assent — Proof of thesis. 27. We cannot then be certain, unless our assent is given to truth. However, this is not enough for certitude. For it often happens that what we mentally acquiesce in, is true as a matter of fact, yet we are not for that reason alone certain. Hence a further condition for the removal of all doubt is needed. Let us state this explicitly in the next thesis. Requisites for Certitude 27 THESIS 2 For the intellect to be certain in the strict and highest sense of the word, it is not enough that the statement adhered to, be true; it must moreover be accepted on grounds with which its opposite is incompatible. A few expressions in this thesis need clearing up, before we can pass on to the proof. The grounds of a statement are, of course, the reasons that can be brought forward to show its * truth. These reasons may be of a twofold character. They may either merely indicate that a statement is so without, however, excluding thepossibility of the opposite; or, they may, in addition, make it appear that this possibility is excluded. It is reasons of the latter kind which we require for genuine certitude ; those of the first description only give rise to assent more or less probable. Let us illustrate our meaning by an example. Suppose you see a rabbit stretched out in the grass ; you raise it up : it neither breathes nor stirs ; you pass your hand over its body : it feels cold to the touch. You say, it is dead. But are you justified in pronouncing this judgment? Are your grounds for your assertion such as to exclude its contradictory? I answer that they are not. For it is possible for an ani3 28 Certitude mal which neither breathes nor stirs, and feels cold to the touch, to be still alive. Perhaps it is merely stunned. But suppose you notice, that the rabbit has been shot through the head or the heart, or that it is beginning to decay, then the grounds for your judgment that the rabbit is dead would be incompatible with its contradictory, namely, that the animal is not dead. In order to have genuine certitude, the reasons for assent must be of this kind. Let us now pass to the proof of the thesis, namely, that a statement in order to be certain, must be accepted by the mind on grounds with which its opposite is incompatible. In other words, the reasons for certain assent to a proposition must exclude the possibility of error. 28. This second condition for certain assent is an immediate inference from the first requisite for perfect certitude, namely, that nothing short of truth can fully satisfy the mind. Now it is only a statement resting on motives incompatible with its contradictory that is necessarily true. Hence no other reasons except such as invalidate the opposite of the proposition for which they are advanced, can fully satisfy the intellect and thus produce certainty. Thus when the view that the earth moved, was first advanced by Copernicus, the reasons given by him were not such as to exclude the opposite opinion, namely, that the earth was at Requisites for Certitude 29 rest. It was a theory then ; and it was by reason of the weakness of the arguments brought forward in its support that it was not generally accepted as at present, when we are furnished with several proofs which shut out altogether the old belief as embodied in the Ptolemaic system. 29. The argument just given may also be very briefly presented in a somewhat different guise thus : In order that I may be certain in any particular case, my assent must be infallible. For to say that an affirmation is certain and to say that it is infallible, comes to the same thing. Now, infallibility is denned as entire exemption from liability to error; hence, assent that is infallible, must be traceable to reasons, which cannot under any circumstances co-exist with error. ARTICLE 3 Third Requisite for Certitude The Infallibility of the Motives for Assent must be Evident Summary: Thesis: the infallibility of the motives of assent must be evident — Brief explanation of the notion of evidence — Proof of the thesis — In what sense the mind can be said to adhere to what is false without fear of error. 30. But there is still a third condition required for perfect certitude. 30 Certitude THESIS 3 • In order to possess certitude in the strict and highest sense of the word, it is not enough for the intellect to assent to a statement true in itself and based on infallible grounds; these grounds must, moreover, manifest themselves to the mind as evidently infallible, that is, as necessarily connected with the truth. We assert then in this third thesis, that the reasons on account of which the mind yields certain assent must be evident to it. Although the discussion of the subject of evidence constitutes a special treatise of its own, the requirements of our thesis call for a brief exposition of the meaning of evidence as used here. Evidence, in general, is anything that renders* truth apparent to the intellect. It is either objective or subjective. Objective evidence, which is evidence properly so called, is nothing else than objective truth revealing itself to the mind so clearly as to compel assent. As we shall see later, whenever an object with the light of evidence shining upon it, is placed before the thinking agent, the mind must yield to this clear manifestation of the truth ; whereas when such evidence is wanting, the surrender of the intelRequisites for Certitude 31 lect by pronouncing judgment on insufficient grounds, is due, in part, to the power of the will exercising its sway over the cognitive faculties. This objective evidence is figuratively called the light through which truth discloses itself to the mind. Subjective evidence is the effect produced by objective evidence. It may be described as the perception of a statement with such clearness and distinctness, that all wavering of the intellect in regard to its certainty vanishes. To have perfect certitude, then, the exclusion of the opposite of a statement must be evident. This in plain English means, that we cannot be sure of a statement, unless we clearly see the force of the reasons given in proof. 31. Our assertion may be established in the following manner. Certain assent is the perfection of the cognitive or knowing faculty. Now unshaken adherence of mind to a truth without the evident or clear perception of the infallibility of the grounds in its favor, is assent which cannot render to itself an account of its firmness ; it is firm assent, the firmness of which does not proceed from knowledge. For if I do not know that the grounds for my unwavering adherence to a truth are infallible, that is, necessarily connected with the truth, I cannot know that I am not mistaken. Hence, such assent, in so far as it is fixed and unyielding, would not 3 2 Certitude be rational ; it would resemble the blind instinct, by which the irrational animals are guided and pushed on. Now, it is plain that blind and unfounded acquiescence in a statement cannot possibly constitute the perfection of a seeing or knowing faculty, such as the intellect is. Suppose some one brings forward the most incontestable arguments to prove to me the geometrical proposition that the square described upon the hypothenuse is equivalent to the sum of the squares described upon the other two sides. As long as I do not see their force, that is, as long as I do not clearly perceive the necessary connection between the arguments advanced and the truth of the proposition in question, I cannot give that firm assent, which rests on insight and is rational. 32. The same argument might also be proposed in a slightly different form thus: In order that the infallible grounds, which according to our second thesis are required for certitude, may produce fixity of assent, they must, of course, act upon the mind. But to this end, they must manifest themselves as infallible. For it is only through the knowledge of their infallibility, that these grounds appeal to the mind and become capable of influencing it in such a manner as to compel assent. Let us add another argument in proof of our thesis. Requisites for Certitude 33 33. An intellectual being by its very nature must know its own thoughts by reflection, and, hence, in attaining to certitude must become conscious of this certitude. To become conscious of this certitude, however, it must clearly see that the reasons for admitting the truth exclude all error. 34. A difficulty answered. This seems to be the most appropriate occasion to redeem our promise (Xo. 9) of showing how it is possible for the mind to adhere, without fear of error, not only to what is true, but sometimes also to what is false. How can this be? Is not this an admission that certitude is, as the skeptics say, impossible of attainment? For if false and genuine certitude resemble each other so closely, how can I tell one from the other? How can I know that what seems most solid, may not after all be only a soap bubble? In unriddling this apparent paradox, we must distinguish between absence of fear in the will and quiet of mind. For although in assent both to what is true and to what is false, the will may experience no fear that the intellect is mistaken, yet the quiet of mind which is the characteristic mark of genuine certitude, is never complete when one adheres stanchly to an erroneous statement. For quiet of mind (which, unlike the absence of the fear of error, resides entirely in the intellect), is consequent upon the 34 Certitude presence of evidence, as explained before; and it is impossible for the false to be evident; for evidence is truth clearly manifesting itself to, and forcing its acceptance upon, the mind. Now the false — that which is not — cannot manifest itself clearly as real and true. Such manifestation is reserved to reality — to that which IS — to the true. Hence we maintain that false assent, no matter how persistent and firm according to all appearances, is always accompanied by a certain lack of evidence, by a certain haziness, by a certain want of lucidity or clearness, which warns the mind to halt and re-examine its grounds for assent. CHAPTER THIRD PROPERTIES OF CERTITUDE ARTICLE i Metaphysical Certitude Absolute Certitude Summary: Thesis : metaphysical certitude absolute certitude — Difference between metaphysical, physical and moral certitude on the one hand, and absolute and hypothetical on the other — Proof of thesis. 35. After thus analyzing the notion of certitude, let us now pass on to the consideration of some of its properties, a disquisition which will often stand us in good stead in our battle against false philosophy. At the outset of this treatise, we divided certitude into three orders, namely metaphysical, physical and moral, and gave their respective definitions. The question now arises, whether the name certitude is rightly applied to each of these three divisions, or whether it is attributed to one alone in the strict sense of the word, and to the others in a wider sense. We answer that the three assents, namely, metaphysical, physical and moral, have all of 35 36 Certitude them a just title to be called certitude, although they differ essentially in the degree of perfection, in which they share the common predicate, the metaphysical being absolute, and the physical and moral being conditional. We shall endeavor to solve the problems involved in this statement in the next four theses. THESIS 4 Metaphysical certitude is rightly named absolute. Before we prove this assertion, take notice of an important difference between metaphysical, physical and moral certitude on the one hand, and absolute and hypothetical on the other. Metaphysical, physical and moral certitude have regard to the grounds of assent, (v. g. the essences of things or the laws of nature) as considered in themselves; whereas absolute and hypothetical certitude view these same grounds as unconditioned or conditioned from without. 36. With these remarks premised, we prove the thesis thus: Metaphysical certitude is grounded on reasons drawn from the inward nature of things, and hence involved in the very idea of the truth affirmed. Thus, when I say, "The whole is greater than any of its parts," the essence of whole and of part, or the ideas representing them, afford me all the data for Properties of Certitude 37 my firm assent to the statement. Now (as will be shown in Ontology), the essences of things are unchangeable and indestructible : whatever goes to constitute them, belongs to them with absolute necessity, and hence independently of any condition possible or thinkable. For, essence in the strict sense of the word, is that without which a thing can neither exist nor be conceived; consequently, it is inseparably bound up with the object of which it is the essence. Since then mental adherence to truth is proportionate to the grounds which determine it, and upon which it rests for its stability, it follows that metaphysical assent, as being the result of motives which are absolute and unconditioned in their nature, is itself absolute and unconditioned. ARTICLE 2 [Metaphysical Certitude the Only Absolute Certitude Summary: Thesis: metaphysical certitude the only absolute certitude — Ambiguous meaning of the expression "absolute and conditional assent" — Proof of the thesis. 37. It still remains for us to show that metaphysical certitude is the only absolute certitude; and this we shall do in the next thesis. 38 Certitude THESIS 5 No other assent except that which is given to a statement on metaphysical grounds possesses absolute firmness. For the better understanding of this thesis, it might be well to direct attention to another way of phrasing the above assertion. We are sometimes told that assent resting on a metaphysical basis is "absolute"; whereas mental adherence for physical and moral considerations is conditional (hypothetical). This manner of stating the case is somewhat ambiguous. For when we say that our assent is absolute or conditional, our meaning may either be that it is absolutely or conditionally given, or that its firmness and unchangeableness is absolute or conditional. We do not intend to convey the former idea. For, assent is always absolutely given, since assent conditionally yielded would be assent withheld until the fulfilment of some condition is realized, and therefore would not be actual assent at all. Hence the words "absolute" and "conditional" have reference to the "firmness" of the mental concurrence in the truth affirmed. Let us explain this by an analogous instance. It would not seem inappropriate to call matrimony an absolute, and betrothal a conditioned engagement; not in the sense that in the one Properties of Certitude 39 case consent is positively given, and in the other, it is not; — for both matrimony and betrothal suppose an actual, present agreement; — but in this sense that the one contract is absolutely unalterable, whereas the other is annullable under certain conditions. 38. Our thesis is really nothing else than an extension of the foregoing one. For, as we said there, assent possessing absolute firmness calls for motives of the same character, that is, motives subject to no implied condition; since assent and its motives stand to each other in the relation of effect and cause, and the effect cannot surpass the cause in perfection — in the present case, in firmness. Now there are no other motives which are altogether unconditional except those styled metaphysical. For the physical laws and the moral instincts are both dependent on certain contingencies, the former on possible Divine interference, and the latter, on the arbitrary use of man's free will. Hence, it follows that physical and moral certitude — if certitude at all, a question to be settled soon — are at best conditional; and consequently, metaphysical certitude alone is absolute. 39. We might note here in passing, what we shall explain explicitly further on in proving the genuineness of physical and moral certitude, that assent based on metaphysical grounds is certitude by excellence. For there can be nothing 40 Certitude more excellent than the absolute and the unconditioned ; and metaphysical certitude is such in its own sphere. In fact, metaphysical truths are the centre, round which all our cognition revolves, they are the fulcrum, on which all our knowledge rests, they are the light within the mind, without which all would be darkness and chaos. ARTICLE 3 Physical and Moral Certitude, though Hypothetical, still True Certitude Summary: Thesis: physical and moral certitude, though hypothetical, still true certitude — The force of hypothetical propositions — First argument of the thesis — Answer to the objection that no propositions can be certain unless the fear of error and the danger of a mistake is absolutely excluded — Second argument of the thesis — Answer to the objection that unless the possibility of a miracle is altogether excluded, assent is merely probable — How physical and moral certitude can become absolute — Chief objection to our doctrine unsound even from standpoint of Dialectics — Confirmation of our view by the verdict of common sense — Meaning of common sense here — Signs by which to recognize judgments of common sense— An objection answered. 40. We now leave the region of metaphysical certitude with these few remarks, and pass Properties of Certitude 41 on to a subject which is not so plain and has given rise to different views even amongst men who sincerely seek the truth and embrace it, as soon as it clearly manifests itself. It regards the nature of physical and moral certitude. Let us express our doctrine on this controverted point thus : THESIS 6 Intellectual assent, based on the physical laws and the moral instincts of men, is truly and genuinely certain,, although, being conditioned, it is imperfect as compared with metaphysical. 41. This then, in brief, is the debated question which we are about to discuss ; and as it would seem that much of the difficulty experienced in understanding the views of either side, is due to a loose use of certain terms, let us first of all clearly and distinctly mark out the boundaries of those most liable to breed confusion. One of the chief sources of vagueness in this matter arises from the peculiar kind of certainty possessed by hypothetical (conditional) propositions. To settle this question with precision, we must bear in mind that a hypothetical proposition consists of two parts, namely the antecedent or 42 Certitude condition, and the consequent or conditioned proposition. What we properly assert in a hypothetical proposition, is the relation between the antecedent and the consequent. Thus, when I say, "If there is a breeze, the leaves of the trees rustle," I do not assert either that there is a breeze, or that the leaves rustle; all I want to point out, is the relation between the two parts of the hypothetical sentence. This connection may be, and often is absolutely certain. But it not unfrequently happens, that the consequent of a conditional sentence has a certain measure of certainty of its own, to which I may direct my attention. Certainty, in this case, is necessarily conditioned, that is, dependent on a certain contingency; yet it is certainty for all that, as we shall see hereafter. Let us illustrate our meaning by an example. Suppose a young man should say to you: "I shall win the prize in the contest I am about to enter, if the judges are not biased by prejudice." In this proposition, we may regard the relation between the antecedent and the consequent; or, we can, if we so choose, restrict ourselves to the consideration of the consequent, taken by itself, viz., "I shall win the prize in the contest," together with the grounds in its support, and see what degree of certainty, if any, it possesses. Perhaps the contestant judges so, because he knows his own powers and the weakness of his Properties of Certitude 43 opponent ; and because he has come off victorious under less favorable circumstances. By reason of this double character of a hypothetical proposition then, we likewise meet with a twofold assent, one relating to the connection between the antecedent and the consequent, and the other regarding the conditioned consequent on its own merits. We must not lose sight of the above distinction in our later researches ; for the proper understanding of our thesis hinges to a large extent upon it. When we say then, that assent based on physical and moral grounds is conditioned and imperfect, yet none the less certain — we speak of the conditioned proposition taken by itself and valued at its own worth, and not of the relation between antecedent and consequent. We might perhaps make this still plainer by choosing two concrete cases, the one founded on a physical law, and the other, on one of the moral instincts. When the king in Schiller's ballad, "The Diver," said to the knights and squires standing about him : "Is amongst ye a knight or squire so bold, As to plunge into this abyss? I cast in the vortex a goblet of gold, The dark waves already surge around it and hiss;" he knew, of course, that the goblet of gold would surely sink. It is the certitude in regard to this 4 44 Certitude statement, 'The goblet of gold will surely sink/' conditioned by the possibility of Divine interference, with which we are concerned now. But we have nothing to do here, at least directly, with the connection which exists between the two propositions, "The goblet of gold will sink" and "God will not interfere with the laws of nature in this case." Now let us add an example drawn from the moral order. Recall the return of the prodigal son to the home of his childhood, how kindly his old father received the young scapegrace in spite of his ungrateful behavior; how he fell upon the neck of his boy and kissed him, and then for joy ordered the fatted calf to be killed, even at the risk of wounding the feelings of his other son who had never wavered in his fidelity. Any one witnessing that scene would have cried out: "How that father loves his son I" Now it is this assertion as regarded in itself, which is the object of intellectual adherence. We might add this condition, "unless he acts a part and shamefully plays the hypocrite." But we are not now investigating the relation between, "This father loves his son," and "He is not acting a part." We must make still another remark, in order to show exactly, just how much we affirm in this thesis. It is this — the conditioned member Properties of Certitude 45 of a hypothetical sentence may be absolutely affirmed, provided the condition to which it is conceived to be subject, has been verified. In this case, the consequent of the conditional proposition may become the conclusion of a sort of hypothetical syllogism, somewhat in this manner: "The goblet of gold flung into the sea, will sink unless God works a miracle. Now, I know that he will not work a miracle in this instance. Therefore I am absolutely certain, that the goblet of gold will sink." Whatever may be said of the propriety of calling this method of setting forth the premises and drawing the conclusion, a legitimate syllogism (of which more elsewhere), let it be borne in mind, that we do not at present suppose the condition to have been realized; yet we nevertheless maintain, that assent given on physical and moral grounds is truly certain. 42. We take this attitude in opposition to some philosophers who hold that unless the condition is known to be fulfilled, the mental adherence can never rise above the level of mere probability. We beg to differ from them in this particular, and, as we think, for good reasons. Let the proofs we are about to give speak for themselves. 43. First argument based on the nature of certitude. It has been stated before (thesis 1) that certain assent is assent necessarily linked 46 Certitude to truth. We also showed there that assent is such whenever the statement adhered to, rests on grounds which exclude the possibility of the opposite, or, in other words, are necessarily connected with the truth. Now the physical laws and the moral instincts are necessarily connected with the truth of the statements made on account of them, because these laws and instincts are themselves necessary, i. e. necessarily productive of their respective effects. No doubt, this necessity is conditioned, yet it is necessity none the less, as we shall show presently. Hence, assent resting on the laws and instincts in question, must likewise be necessary, that is, necessarily connected with the truth, and so far forth certain. The radical reason implied in the above argumentation is, that the physical laws and moral instincts render the assertion which they motive, evident; and evidence always begets certitude. It now remains to show that the physical laws and the inborn propensities grafted by the Creator on our rational constitution are forces which coerce and necessitate in a true sense of the word. And first, that such is the case, is acknowledged by the voice of mankind. For men often speak of the laws of nature as "inexorable," "relentless," and the like, thus implicitly avowing their constraining power, as in the following Properties of Certitude 47 proverb; "Death is deaf and hears no denial." When a certain poet says : "Consumption has no pity For blue eyes and golden hair," he expresses the same truth after his own ideal fashion. The well-known adage, "The mills of the gods grind slow, but grind exceeding fine," is but another way of stating that Nature obtains certain ends unfailingly through her laws. Many of our old sayings, which are in the mouth of everybody and are often nothing else than the concrete embodiment of certain moral instincts, frequently take a categorical and absolute form ; and this shows that they are regarded by men as resting on necessary and unchangeable principles, as, "Deserve success, and you shall have it" ; "Evil communications corrupt good manners"; "Pride shall have a fall" ; and a host of others. The philosophical reason for this necessity is given in the Treatise on "Induction," where it is shown that both the physical laws and the moral instincts have their ultimate root in the inner nature of the agents from which they proceed. 44. It will be seen from the above that for a statement to be really certain, the possibility of the opposite need not be excluded absolutely; all that is required is, that the motives of assent possess some sort of real necessity. In fact, 48 Certitude were it otherwise, almost all the statements founded upon the regularity of the physical forces (to say nothing of those based on moral grounds), would thereby sink to the level of mere probabilities ; since it is very difficult to tell whether there is not some hidden reason locked up in the bosom of God whose "judgments are incomprehensible and whose ways are unsearchable," why it should please him to change the established order of things in any particular case. 45. An objection raised. But some one might ask, is not this assertion (namely, that a proposition may be certain, and yet not exclude the contradictory absolutely) opposed to the very definition of certitude, which requires that all fear of error be barred out and that all danger of going astray be removed? We answer to this, that our doctrine is not at variance with the definition of certitude ; for when we assert that certitude shuts out all doubt and obviates all danger of a mistake, we have reference to well-founded, prudent, rational doubts, and to the danger of error truly such; and not to unfounded, foolish, irrational misgivings, and merely fantastic, imaginary perils. These latter are to be scouted and disregarded, and hence cannot destroy our firm adherence to truth. As regards the danger of error in particular, Properties of Certitude 49 which may need some further explanation, remember that danger signifies exposure to imminent or threatening evil; and I think, it will be conceded by all that no risk is run, no chances are taken, if in reliance on the physical laws and moral instincts, I rest assured, for instance, that the solid oaken boards of my room, on which I am standing, will not be suddenly turned into thin air, but will continue to support me ; or that a gay young student, who whilst boating with some of his friends has fallen overboard, will not refuse to grasp the oar held out to him. 46. Second argument based on the distinction between certain and probable assent. Assent of whatever kind, is either certain or probable. For the other mental states besides certitude and opinion (or probable assent) are ignorance, suspicion and doubt, none of which can lay claim to the name of intellectual assent. Hence, if we can prove that the mental adherence given on the strength of the physical laws and the moral instincts is not probable, it follows that it is certain; and this we can do. For assent which is merely probable is not necessarily true, since it is yielded on debatable and undecisive grounds, on grounds which imply a "may," but not a "must," and which therefore involve no necessity of any sort. Suppose that you see your friend reclining very composedly on his couch with his eyes closed, 50 Certitude and that you form the judgment, "He is asleep": your reasons for arriving at this inference, as is obvious, carry no necessity with them; for they are of such a character, that the statement, "He is not asleep," is quite compatible with them; that is to say, they are merely probable. But quite the contrary happens, when there is question of an enunciation based on the physical laws and the moral instincts of men. Then we are confronted not with a mere "may," but with a "must." We have no longer to do with variable and shifting grounds, but with grounds of an entirely fixed and peremptory description. If I see a quarter of mutton suspended on a spit over a blazing fire, I know that the meat will become roasted. My assent is unhesitating and unwavering. Since then the motives of mental adherence drawn from the physical laws and the moral instincts, are of an essentially different nature from those brought forward for a mere probability, we infer that assent on account of these laws and instincts cannot be probable, and hence must be certain ; for, as we stated above, there is no middle state between certain and probable assent. 47. A difficulty met. But here we are confronted with a difficulty. We said in our last proof, that the motive of assent for a physical fact differs essentially from a mere probability. Properties of Certitude 51 Such, however, our opponents argue, does not seem to be the case. For where the possibility of a miracle is not absolutely excluded — as we hold, it is not in mere physical certitude — the law of nature is thereby brought down to the level of a mere probable ground of assent, as happened, for instance, when our Blessed Lord had arrived at Bethania to summon Lazarus from the tomb. (N. B. We confine ourselves to the consideration of the physical laws for the sake of simplicity; but what holds true of them, applies mutatis mutandis to the moral instincts as well.) We answer, in the first place, that the above objection rests on a false assumption. For it is taken for granted that the motive of assent for physical certitude is twofold, namely the law as well as the assurance that there will be no exception to its due operation. Now, this is a mistake. The motive for physical certitude is one, namely the necessity of the law. This always remains the same, even though there be some likelihood of nature swerving from its ordinary course in a particular instance. True, in order to have genuine physical certitude, we must be sure that no positive reasons of any sort exist for conjecturing a departure from the customary workings of the natural forces; in other words, that no indication whatever of probable Divine intervention appears. But such 52 Certitude knowledge is required, not as a motive of assent, but merely as an indispensable condition for us to perceive that the law — the true motive of assent — is applicable in a given case. The absence of every sign that God will exercise his right as Sovereign Lord of nature, does not move the mind to affirm the statement under consideration; it merely renders it possible for the physical laws duly to influence the intellect. In a similar manner, it is the flame of the match which lights the wick; yet, in order that it may do so, I must apply it: the immediate contact between the flame and the wick is merely required as a condition for the ignition to take place. Bear in mind, however, we must suppose that the conditions for the effectiveness of the physical laws and the moral instincts — namely Divine non-interference and the due concurrence of the will of man — will be realized unless some reason to the contrary can be shown. For, as regards the physical laws, an infinitely wise Being, such as God is, never suspends the established order of things except for considerations of a most weighty character, and therefore extremely seldom. Hence, the fulfilment of the conditions in this case is guaranteed by Infinite Wisdom itself. And as to those propensities, which are called "leges morales" in Latin philosophical works, it must be remembered that they Properties of Certitude 53 have been implanted in man's breast by a loving Providence for the essential welfare of the noblest portion of visible creation, namely, rational beings. They are the safeguards of personal happiness and the secure defence of the stability of one of God's grandest works, human society. Consequently, they too possess such stability and fixity, that unless there are positive grounds for suspecting unnatural conduct, they must be regarded as sure to produce their intended effect. But we readily admit, as a legitimate inference from the principles laid down by us, that in the case of physical and moral certitude a mistake is absolutely possible; for were it not so, then both the one and the other would thereby become metaphysical certitude. But we refuse to grant, that the mere absolute possibility of a statement being erroneous prevents its being certain. To avoid misapprehension, let us add that when we say, we may be mistaken in matters physical and moral, the word mistaken must be understood in a somewhat modified sense. For in order to be mistaken according to the full import of the word, the opposite of what we judged would take place must, in no way, be foreseen and allowed. This, however, cannot be claimed here; since we foresee and hence, after a fashion, allow the possibility of an exception to the physical laws and moral instincts. 54 Certitude Consequently, no mistake properly so called can be laid to our charge, if an assertion of ours, made on the strength of the physical laws and moral instincts, turns out false, since it was conditioned and not absolute. It would perhaps be more appropriate to say that the unexpected happened or the exception to the rule came true for once: just as a man who belongs to a party which he thought would win in a political campaign, will tell you that he was on the wrong side rather than that he was mistaken; for he, too, recognized and therefore admitted the possibility, and (in this case) also the probability of losing in the contest. This is sometimes expressed technically by saying, that such error is merely material and not formal. 48. How physical and moral certitude can become absolute. We hold then that conditional assent, as above described, is truly certain; yet, on the other hand, we readily admit that both physical and moral certitude can become absolute. For though intellectual adherence to a proposition may not be absolutely firm in itself, it may be rendered so by linking it to a metaphysical principle ; and this is what is called reducing physical and moral certitude to metaphysical. Thus, I am metaphysically (or absolutely) certain that the course of nature will be very rarely interfered with by the Almighty. True, God, considering his absolute power alone, Properties of Certitude 55 can change it at any moment; yet knowing that he is both wise and holy, I have perfect assurance that he will not do so except for very momentous reasons, and therefore very seldom. I am also metaphysically certain that my friend, with whom I have associated for years on familiar terms exists and has the general appearance, I think he has. For it is utterly ridiculous to suppose that God would all this time conjure up a phantom before me and permit me to take it for a reality. I am likewise absolutely certain, that Christ the Lord has graced this earth of ours with his presence, that Pius X is now (1910) Sovereign Pontiff and William Taft President of the United States, that Rome exists, that Julius Caesar was a famous Roman general and statesman, etc. For if these and similar statements are false, we would have to admit that there could be an effect without a proportionate cause. 49. Chief objection against our view, unsound even from the standpoint of Dialectics. It might not be out of place here, to give the chief objection of our opponents in another form, under which it is sometimes proposed, and show that even from a purely dialectical standpoint, it is faulty ; and this all the more so, as we have alluded to this manner of argumentation before (No. 41) and cast doubt on its legitimacy. 56 Certitude Let us for the sake of clearness present their counter-proof under the guise of a definite syllogism thus: This old man will die soon unless God suspends the usual course of nature. Now God will not do so. Therefore he will die soon. But, say our antagonists, the minor of this; syllogism, being, as a rule, only probable, the conclusion likewise will possess no more than probability, since, as one of the rules of the syllogism has it, the conclusion always follows the character of the weaker premise. Hence it would seem that physical assent is never certain, unless I am absolutely sure that God will not change the regular course of events. In answer we reply, in the first place, that our objectors suppose the minor of the above argumentation, viz. "God will not suspend the usual course of nature," to be one of the grounds of assent to the conclusion, "This old man will die soon"; which is erroneous. As we have, however, developed this point thoroughly before, we shall waive any further discussion of the difficulty regarded from this view-point. But this is not the only weakness of the foregoing captious fallacy. There is a flaw in the very structure of the syllogism, since for a syllogism to be such in the true sense of the word, the minor must set forth something, not already Properties of* Certitude 57 expressed in the major. This, however, is not so in the present case. To perceive this the more clearly, let us restate the major and the minor more fully with all that they imply, and our contention, I think, will then be readily granted. Our major read thus : "This old man will die soon, unless God suspends the usual course of nature." The subject, "This old man," must, of course, be taken in the concrete, such as it actually is. Suppose then, that our invalid is a nonagenarian, worn out with disease and old age, altogether helpless and useless, weary of life and very anxious to be dissolved. Hence our syllogism fully drawn out will run thus: This old man, over ninety years of age, wasted by disease and enfeebled by the weight of years, a burden to himself and others, and longing to depart this life, will die in the near future, unless God suspends one or more of the laws of nature. Now God will not do so, just because the old man is so wasted and useless, in a word, because his course is run. Therefore he will die soon. A mere inspection of the premises thus spread out, shows that the minor is already fully expressed in the major. The above argumentation has no more claim to the name of a syllogism in the strict sense of the word than the follow58 Certitude ing: "Every pigeon is an animal. Every animal is a living being. Therefore, every pigeon is a living being." 50. We have then demonstrated to conviction that intellectual assent based on the physical laws and the moral instincts, constitutes true certitude. In our thesis we added a qualifying clause to this statement, namely that physical and moral certitude are conditioned, and hence imperfect as compared with metaphysical. This follows so evidently from what goes before, and is again involved in what is about to follow, that there is no need of saying any more about this phase of our subject. 51. Let us now still further strengthen our position by an appeal to common sense. If the proof of the following thesis should not be altogether satisfactory, it will at least confirm our contention and put its reasonableness in a clearer light. THESIS 7 The verdict of common sense confirms the conclusion arrived at, that assent based on physical and moral motives is truly and genuinely certain. But before proceeding to our argument, let us make a few general remarks on the force of Properties of Certitude 59 a demonstration which rests upon the testimony of "Common Sense." 52. Meaning of "Common Sense." What is here meant by common sense? In ordinary parlance, common sense is the same as sound practical judgment. But in philosophy, we may define it with Webster as "that power of the mind which by a kind of instinct or short process of reasoning perceives truth, the relation of things, cause and effect, etc." Common sense, then, in this connection is a certain ease or readiness wrought into the very fabric of our minds to judge correctly regarding matters closely connected with man's intellectual, moral and social welfare. The name sense is given to this supersensible faculty by analogy, because, like the senses in general, it perceives its object immediately (at least in very many cases), and like sight in particular, it acts (for the most part) by intuition. Common sense is a kind of intellectual insight. Here are a few pronouncements which have their source in this common sense of mankind: "Our mental faculties are given us for the attainment of truth"; "What is evident is certain" ; "To doubt about everything, is impossible and absurd" ; "The external universe is not a mere illusion, but exists independently of our thoughts"; "An occurrence testified to by everybody, or at least by very many — for example, 60 Certitude the invasion of Russia by Napoleon Bonapartehas certainly taken place." As will be seen, we have restricted ourselves in the choice of examples to such, as have some immediate bearing on Logic. Nor is it difficult to account for the existence of this natural endowment, called "Common Sense." For it stands to reason that the Author of nature should have laid such tendencies in man's intellectual make-up, as would enable him to recognize, as it were, spontaneously, unbidden and without effort, those things, the knowledge of which is essentially bound up with his happiness. For, "natura non deficit in necessariis," nature never fails in what is necessary. Hence God has given us, what might be called an intellectual instinct, inclining and urging our minds to accept certain truths with readiness and full assurance. But it must not be imagined that these truths are thus received through a "blind" instinct. No, they are each and all of them illumined by their own evidence, since the reasons for their admission, though not perhaps understood scientifically, yet present themselves to the mind with sufficient clearness for rational assent. If then a judgment is prompted by this common sense, we are sure that it is true. The only hindrance which obstructs our path in this matter at times, is the difficulty of knowing whether Properties of Certitude 61 any given conviction is really a dictate of common sense. However, there are certain signs, which will serve us as safe guides to discern the genuine from the spurious in testing those beliefs of ours which seem to spring from this source of common sense. If a judgment really proceeds from an inborn tendency of the human mind, it must be acknowledged as certain by practically everybody; there may be exceptions to this universality; for it is possible to stifle even the voice of nature. Further, enunciations which are, so to speak, the birth-right of mankind, must have been received as true at all times. There can have been no epoch in the history of the race when their compelling and binding force was not recognized. True — as in the previous case — the clearness of some of these truths has been dimmed at certain periods by the unaccountable and eccentric twists of thought on the part of a few singularly constituted intellects ; yet always with the result, that these convictions have not only emerged victorious from the clash of opinions, but have taken still firmer hold on all rational minds, thus gaining strength even through opposition. Besides these marks of common sense truths, namely their universality and continuity, which regard the entire race, there are others of a more 62 Certitude personal character, all of them deducible from the fact that these beliefs are supposed to spring from nature, and therefore to be natural to men. Now what is natural to us (that is, what proceeds spontaneously from our common nature), is born with us, and puts forth its activity, as soon as it is sufficiently developed. Hence these truths of common sense must have been in our possession, ever since we can remember ; they must be so familiar to us, that we cannot even recall how we acquired them. Again, what is natural to us, is an object of our special affection and devotion ; we cling to it most tenaciously. If then a conviction rests on an inborn tendency of our nature, we must hold it so dear that we will not surrender it at any cost. Further, what is truly natural to a person, cannot be set aside or disregarded by him without a sense of shame and guilt. Hence one would expect that even a doubt about a truth of common sense seriously entertained, would be regarded by men as tantamount to a denial of reason and a stultification of the intellect. Lastly, what is natural to us, bears the closest scrutiny : the more critically it is looked into, the more highly it will commend itself. If then there are persuasions which are the offspring of nature, it would seem, that the more accurately and Properties of Certitude 63 quietly they are examined, the more their force and reasonableness should appear. These are some of the signs characteristic of the truths of Common Sense. Where they and similar ones are found, there, we may be sure, we have to deal with convictions that have their source in an inbred tendency of our intellect. True, many objections have been urged against the existence of this criterion of Common Sense ; as the once all but universal belief in the influence of the stars on the birth of men; or the widely diffused opinion that the earth was flat, that the sun moved, and that men could not live at the antipodes. But it might be shown easily enough, that these and similar erroneous notions, though once almost unanimously accepted, do not bear all the requisite hall-marks of judgments originating in an innate impulse of nature. As, however, we are not now explaining this subject of "Common Sense" professedly, we shall postpone its fuller treatment to another place. Let us now apply the above general remarks to the case in hand. We say then that common sense confirms what we have endeavored to prove, namely that assent on physical and moral grounds is true and genuine certitude. 53. For, in the first place, who will dare to question that the physical laws and moral instincts have from time immemorial been thought to possess a certain degree of real necessity; and that 64 Certitude not by a few persons, but by everybody. The very names lazv and instinct bear witness to this. Finally, if we turn to ourselves, we find that we accept, without hesitation, any assertion resting on the necessity inherent in these laws and instincts. We know that we have done so ever since we can remember, and that we do so now with even greater energy and force of intellect. Nor can it be said that we assent inconsiderately and rashly. For we are aware of the irresistible force of these truths, even when thinking most calmly and dispassionately : nay, we often feel constrained to give in to them against our very inclinations. So true is this, that terms and phrases have been borrowed from the realm of physical certitude to express the strength of metaphysical conclusions. Thus, when we say that some statement of ours is palpable or tangible, our meaning is, that it is as evident and certain as the existence of things which can be touched with the hands. We speak of ocular proof in the same sense; we say that something is as clear as day-light. In fact, the word evidence itself is derived from the Latin videre, to see. We regard an appeal to the senses as the strongest weapon of silencing a headstrong opponent. We think that we can put a stop to a quarrel at once by telling a disputant : "Why, I have seen it with my own eyes ; I have heard it with these ears; I have touched it with my own Properties of Certitude 65 hands." It was thus that Christ overcame the incredulity of his disciple Thomas, when he said to him: "Put in thy finger hither, and see my hands ; and bring hither thy hand, and put it into my side ; and be not faithless, but believing." This striking readiness and proneness of the human mind, peculiar to all men and dating back to the very cradle of rational existence, to yield assent to judgments resting on physical and moral grounds, shows conclusively that the Author of nature has, so to speak, attuned our intellects to accept them without the least hesitation, and that therefore they must be true. For the God of Truth himself is the voucher for tnem. There is hardly any need of illustrating our teaching as far as the physical laws are concerned. The case is too plain. You feel perfectly sure that if you take up a red-hot coal, it will burn you, or that if a heavy shower pours down on the parched fields in summer, they will absorb the moisture and become drenched with rain. Who doubts it? But it may be useful to add an instance or two to show the firmness and strength of convictions founded^ on the moral instincts (the "leges morales" of the Scholastics). Take the case of a father and mother who are well known for the deep interest which they have always taken in the welfare of their children. 66 Certitude Suppose that one of their sons becomes seriously ill. Is not everybody acquainted with them perfectly sure that they will at once call in a physician and do all in their power to save their child ? And why ? because we are all well aware that the love of father and mother for their offspring is a sacred instinct implanted in nature. Now follow the father to the physician and hear him plead in a voice choked with emotion : "Dear Sir, please, do come at once to my house ; my son is very sick." Could you deem it possible for the physician to entertain the slightest doubt as to the truthfulness of the afflicted father and to say to himself: "That man is lying." No! For both the love of truth and love of honor, two other heaven-born instincts of human nature, tell him that there is no deception here ; that it would be an insult to that good man to harbor so much as a breath of suspicion. To confirm this by a concrete example, recall the submissive request made by the woman of Canaan to Christ to heal her poor daughter, who was grievously troubled by the devil, and her insistence and importunity even after the humiliating and seemingly stinging rebuff of the great Wonder-worker. What more natural than such a request! For, love for her child, no matter how wretched that child may be, stirs in every mother's heart. But are there not parents who grossly neglect Properties of Certitude 67 their children, expose them to danger and prove the cause of their ruin? Alas, it is but too true. This, however, argues nothing against our position. For we do not deny that the tendencies and promptings of our rational nature are sometimes deadened and even uprooted by the unnatural lives of certain individuals. But whenever this happens, there are always indications showing that in these rare cases the moral instincts of nature have been so blunted as to be unreliable. For just as, in order to be certain in matters physical, there must not be apparent any reason pointing to divine interference, so also, to have moral certitude, there should be no reasonable misgivings that the natural propensities prompting conduct have been impaired or crushed out in any particular case, and therefore cannot assert themselves. Take another example: Here are two men who have loved each other ever since they were boys together. They have always respected and esteemed one another; for their friendship is based on mutual appreciation both of heart and mind. They rejoiced with one another when fortune smiled, and they sorrowed with each other in times of trial. Their conduct attests all this. Suppose now that one of them is cast into prison on a false charge and that he can be rescued by his friend clearing him in court. 68 Certitude Who would hesitate even for a moment as to what his friend's course of action will be? For the love of friends is an instinct planted deep in man's nature, and can be relied upon even in times of dire need. But what about St. Peter? Did he not deny his Master whom he loved so much? Judging of this apparent counter-proof of our doctrine on merely natural grounds and with all the reverence due to the Prince of the Apostles, we would say that his denial does not refute our view in this matter of certitude. For, in the first place, moral certitude is not absolute, and hence there may be rare exceptions to the rule. Again, in order to have true moral certitude, there must be no indications suggesting that the natural promptings upon which we rely in a particular case will be obstructed or repressed. Were there none such in the present case? Christ, of course, foresaw Peter's fall; for he was the omniscient God, and hence his foreknowledge belongs to another, a higher order. But could not others, familiar with the impulsiveness of Peter, well-meaning and honest though he was, have surmised the probability of his defection under very trying circumstances? It would seem that they could. Let us consider yet another of these tendencies inborn in man, and in this instance affecting more directly his intellectual life, namely the Properties of Certitude 69 desire to learn and find out the unknown. This eagerness for knowledge is generally called curiosity or inquisitiveness. Seneca describes this tendency in man very tersely when he says: "Natura curiosum nobis ingenium dedit." We are all perfectly sure that men will be swayed by this propensity, at least, whenever there is question of something which interests them very much, and is of great importance to them. Thus, who entertains the least doubt but that the farmer will go out frequently into his orchard and fields to ascertain with his own eyes what the prospects for a fruitful year are? Or who ever knew a merchant that did not keep himself informed in regard to the state of the market ? It is related that Francis Borgia, the Duke of Gandia, was very fond of hawking, yet he would often close his eyes, just when the falcon was about to pounce upon its prey. Here our theory in regard to the compelling force of the human instincts does not seem to hold. Yet, it does. For what Francis denied himself, was not a matter of any importance to himself or to others. Moreover, any one who knew the sterling, rugged virtue of the man, would not be surprised at this proof of self-control. 54. An objection answered. But, it is urged, you concede there are philosophers who will not allow statements enunciating facts of yo Certitude the physical and moral order to be genuinely certain, as long as the possibility of an exception is not absolutely excluded ; consequently, you have no right to invoke the testimony of common sense in your favor. To this we answer that our argument is not based on what some philosophers may have elaborated as philosophers, but on the plain utterance of the voice of nature. As regards this latter, these philosophers are at one with us ; and as for their speculative opinion, they seem to be mistaken. For their attitude in this question arises from an arbitrary definition of certitude, as a condition of mind excluding absolutely the opposite of the judgment assented to. This is precisely what we challenge: they will find it hard to establish their definition without assuming the very point to be proved. ARTICLE 4 Essential Grades of Certitude Section i Metaphysical Certitude Greater than Physical or Moral ; and Physical Greater than Moral Summary: Thesis and its proof. 55. There is still another question to be settled, which is very closely connected with the Properties of Certitude Ji previous discussion and may, in fact, be regarded as a corollary from it; namely the question touching the specific distinction of the three kinds of certitude. Are metaphysical, physical and moral certitude three different species of intellectual assent or not? We speak here of subjective certitude primarily, since it alone has given rise to divergencies of opinion amongst philosophers. Objective certainty shall, however, be considered indirectly as the basis, upon which the solution of this controverted point chiefly depends. Let us cast our teaching on this subject into the form of a thesis. THESIS 8 Metaphysical, physical and moral certitude differ essentially from one another, and form a descending scale of intellectual assents. Our thesis implies two things ; first, that metaphysical, physical and moral certitude differ in some essential element ; and secondly, that one surpasses another in perfection. In the proof it will be found convenient to take the two parts together. The proposition is shown thus : Certitude takes its character from its grounds of assent. For it is determined by them, and therefore depends upon them for, its 72 Certitude firmness, just as the solidity of a bridge depends on the strength of the piers on which it rests. Such then will be the assent, as are the motives on which it is yielded. Hence if these motives are of three kinds, each differing from the other in something essential, the intellectual adherence produced by them will likewise differ essentially. That the motives of assent are essentially dissimilar, will be readily granted on a mere inspection of them : for metaphysical motives are drawn from the very nature or idea of the truth affirmed. Hence they are of an altogether absolute character and utterly unchangeable. The physical motives, on the other hand, are constituted by the laws of nature, and the moral, by certain tendencies governing free agents. Hence both are conditioned, and therefore essentially weaker than those of the metaphysical order. But there also exists an essential difference between the physical laws and the moral instincts, in so far as the former are controllable only by a power of infinite wisdom and goodness, whereas the latter are subject to the free will of finite beings. Consequently, as the will of God and that of man differ essentially, so do likewise the two kinds of certitude referred to these wills as conditions. Properties of Certitude 73 Section 2 The Three Orders of Certitude not Species Properly so Called Summary: Thesis: certitude is an analogous, not a univocal term, the analogy being that of "intrinsic attribution" — Meaning of univocal, equivocal and analogous terms — Analogy of attribution and proportion — Proof of thesis — Argument of opponents that metaphysical, physical and moral certitude are true species and our comment. 56. There is then an essential difference between metaphysical, physical and moral certitude in such wise, that metaphysical certitude excels the other two, and physical takes precedence of moral. Whence it follows that these three kinds of assent may be called essentially different orders or grades of certitude ; whether they may also be termed species in the strict sense of the word, we shall endeavor to settle in the next thesis. THESIS 9 The name certitude is applied to assent given on metaphysical, physical and moral grounds, not univocally but analogically, the analogy in this case being that known as analogy of 74 Certitude follows that the three orders of certitude are not species in the technical sense of the word. 57. UnivocaJ, equivocal and analogous terms defined. Before we prove our thesis, a regard for clearness obliges us to explain briefly, what is meant by univocal, equivocal and analogous terms, as well as to assign the various divisions of analogy. A univocal term is one which signifies something common to several objects and predicable of all of them in exactly the same way. Thus "animal" is such a term in reference to men and brute beasts. Equivocal terms, on the other hand, are those which are affirmed of various subjects in entirely different meanings. Such a term is the word "mass," as referred to a quantity of matter and to a religious service. Analogous terms hold a middle place between the univocal and the equivocal; they are those which when predicated of divers subjects, express notions that are partly the same and partly different. The adjective "gloomy," as applied to a man's look and to the weather, is of this sort. This capacity possessed by certain terms, of being ascribed to two or more objects with a meaning which is partly the same and partly different, is called analogy. Properties of Certitude 75 Analogy is divided into analogy of attribution and of proportion, according as the ground for attributing the same name to divers things is either a simple relation, or else a resemblance of relations. But as this latter kind of analogy does not concern us here, we shall restrict ourselves to the explanation of the former. Analogy is said to be of attribution, when what is signified by the analogous term, is found in one of the subjects of predication (the principal) primarily and in its fulness, whilst in the others (the secondary) it is found only in so far as they bear some relation to the principal. This kind of analogy we find exemplified in the term "healthy," as applied to animals and food. For "healthy" is predicated primarily of animal organisms ; it is attributed to food only secondarily, because it produces health in animals. Analogy of attribution is again subdivided into extrinsic and intrinsic. It is extrinsic, when what is expressed by the analogous term, is intrinsic to the principal subject of predication only, but extrinsic to the others, to which it is ascribed on account of some relation to the principal. The adjective "healthy," as related to animals and food, will likewise serve to illustrate this definition. Analogy is said to be of intrinsic attribution, when what is signified by the common term is, indeed, intrinsic to all the subjects of predicay6 Certitude tion, but when the manner in which it exists in each of them is essentially different. Thus both God and creatures are truly "being"; but "being" as found in God, is independent, unconditioned and infinitely perfect, whereas, in creatures, it is dependent, conditioned and imperfect. With these remarks premised, let us now proceed to the first of the three parts of our thesis, in which we state that the name certitude is applied to assent given on metaphysical, physical and moral grounds not univocally, but analogously. 580 The argument we give in proof of this part, is based on the nature of univocal and analogous concepts. It proceeds thus : In order that a concept may be univocal in the strict sense of the word, it must be applied to the objects of which predication is made, in entirely the same meaning. Such, however, is not the case in the matter under discussion. For although, what is objectively certain or true, always implies some sort of necessity, yet this necessity is by no means the same in every proposition; for metaphysical necessity is absolute, whereas physical and moral are conditioned, the condition in each case being essentially different. Hence necessity and certainty are not affirmed in altogether the same sense, of propositions enunciating metaphysical, physical and moral truths and therefore one of the elements of genuine Properties of Certitude JJ univocation is wanting. Thus, when I say, "It is certain that two and two are four" — "It is certain that this spark will burn me" and, "It is certain that this man will not tell a lie," the word "certain" varies in signification in each sentence. And since (objective) certainty and (subjective) certitude are correlatives, the latter being determined by the former, it follows that (subjective) certitude is referred to the various orders of intellectual assent, not univocally, but analogically, that is, in a sense partly the same and partly different. 59. We now come to the proof of the second part of the thesis, namely, that the analogy spoken of above, is analogy of "intrinsic attribution." For this kind of analogy, as just stated, we require first, that the analogous term express a concept, intrinsically constitutive of the two (or more) subjects to which it is attributed; and secondly, that the reality represented by this concept as found in one of the subjects, be essentially dependent on the same reality as realized in the other. It is only this second requisite for intrinsic analogy of attribution which calls for a little further explanation here. To see how it applies in the present matter, call to mind that metaphysical certitude, within its own sphere of certitude, is absolute and independent, being altogether unconditioned; whereas physical and f& Certitude moral certitude depend on metaphysical in more than one way. For, in the first place, as fully explained elsewhere, no certain judgment can be formed without the implicit assertion of the three so called fundamental truths, viz., the primary principle of all knowledge or the principle of contradiction, the first fact in all cognition or the existence of the thinking subject, and the primary condition of all knowledge or the capacity of the mind for knowing the truth, all of which belong to the metaphysical order. Again, physical and moral certitude would lose all their meaning without the absolutely certain knowledge of the dependence of the physical and moral order upon a Creator, infinitely wise and holy, whose kind Providence extends even from end to end. Hence it follows that physical and moral certitude, resting essentially upon metaphysical for their firmness, are certitude only by what is known as "analogy of intrinsic attribution," that is to say, in entire subordination to perfect or metaphysical certitude. 60. From what has been said hitherto, the third part of our thesis, viz., that the three orders of certitude cannot be termed species properly so called, follows as an immediate inference. For species properly so called suppose a genus properly so called. Now* a genus in the strict sense is understood to be a univocal concept, Properties of Certitude 79 that is to say, a concept which is applicable to the things of which it is predicated, without any variation of meaning. But the concept certitude falls short of this requirement. Hence it is that we should speak of three orders or grades of certitude rather than of three species without any qualification. There would, however, be no objection to calling certitude a quasi-genus and the three orders included under it gwa^'-species. For this reason we do not mean to quarrel with those who call the three kinds of certitude, species, all the more so, as they seem to use the term chiefly to indicate that there is an essential difference between metaphysical, physical and moral certitude, as against certain philosophers who discard any diversity in certain assents. 61. A difficulty met. It might not be out of place here, just to touch upon the chief argument given for three species of certitude, especially as we have made use of nearly the same process of reasoning for establishing our own position. But before doing so, we must briefly explain an expression, which we often hear used in this connection, and which suggests nothing very definite in English, namely the expression "formal object of a faculty and its act." By this formal object, as here understood, is meant the object to which a faculty and its act are directed and which determines them, thus giving them 80 Certitude their peculiar character and form. It is, as it were, the form-giving object. Thus the formal object of sight is color; of hearing, sound; and of the intellect, the essences of things. Hence the formal object of certitude will be that to which certain assent is directed, and which determines it, namely the motives or grounds of intellectual adherence. Let us now pass to the argument of those who uphold three species of certitude. They tell us, that just as an instrument, say a saw or a hatchet, takes the peculiar form or shape it may happen to have, from the use to which it is to be put ; so, in a similar manner, the faculties and their acts receive their own peculiar and specific form or character, from the formal object for which they are destined. For the faculties and their acts are, so to speak, instruments for apprehending or seizing the object to which they relate. Since, then, the formal objects or grounds of certitude according to these philosophers are of three kinds and differ specifically from each other, it follows that there must be three species of certitude. We admit this argument, with the exceptior that in our opinion, there seems to be an essential difference in the generic element of certitude itself which the other side either overlooks, or does not consider of sufficient importance to emphasize. Properties of Certitude 81 ARTICLE 5 Accidental Degrees of Certitude Summary: Thesis: certitude does not admit degrees as regards its negative element, but admits degrees as regards the positive element — Proof of thesis — The exclusion of error admits degrees in its causes — The firmness of the exclusion of error admits of degrees in itself — A difficulty answered — Summing up. 62. The question now arises; are there any differences or variations of intellectual assent within the boundaries of each of the three orders of certitude? If there are, they will, of course, be merely accidental, just as the differences between two animals of the same kind, say, between two horses, are only accidental. We ask then — to take a definite example — is it possible for the same metaphysical truth, v. g. "Every effect must have a cause," to be more certain to one mind than to another. We answer that it is. Let us first state our doctrine concisely in a thesis. THESIS 10 Certain assent, if viewed negatively, that is, as excluding the fear of error, admits no accidental degrees; but if 82 Certitude regarded on its positive side, namely as the firm adherence to truth, it is subject to variations in each of the three orders of certitude. The wording of this thesis supposes that certain assent can be considered from a twofold standpoint, a negative and a positive. To be convinced of this, it is enough, merely to glance at the definition of certitude as the firm adherence to one of two contradictory statements without any fear of the other being true. The thesis then embraces two parts, in the first of which we shall prove that certitude considered negatively admits of no degrees or variations ; and in the second, that if taken positively, it does. Proof of the first part, that certitude in respect to its negative element admits of no degrees. The negative element of certitude consists in this, that all doubt, hesitancy and dread of being mistaken has been banished. Certitude then, viewed on its negative side, is a negation pure and simple, a total absence of whatever is at variance with the firmness of mental adherence required by the order of certitude of which there is question. Now a negation which is total, and hence the complete and not the merely partial absence of something, does not admit of degrees. Properties of Certitude 83 Thus complete darkness implies the removal of even the slightest trace of light; a perfect vacuum supposes every, even the last, particle of air, to have been exhausted. Complete darkness or a perfect vacuum may be destroyed, but neither can be intensified. The same holds true as regards the exclusion of doubt in true and genuine certitude. It may cease altogether by the mind losing hold on the grounds shutting out doubt ; but it cannot be increased. The negative element of certitude is sometimes likened to an indivisible mathematical point : for such a point cannot be diminished or brought to greater perfection: any attempt to do so even in thought, would involve us in a contradiction. In the Schoolmen's dialect, this idea is often conveyed by saying, "Certitudo stat in (puncto) indivisibili," that is to say, "Certitude is like a mathematical point without extension." Let us now take up the second part of our thesis, in which we inquire into the positive element of certitude, namely the firm adherence to truth. We wish to know then, whether this admits of degrees in each of the three orders of certitude, or whether it, too, like the negative element is comparable to an indivisible mathematical point. Is Shakespeare's dictum, "To make assurance doubly sure," to be taken metaphorically or literally? Is it possible for the certain assent of one man to some truth to be 84 Certitude more intense and firm than that of another to the same truth ? or, can the same person be more certain of a statement at one time than at another, just as he can be more obliging, virtuous, accomplished at one period of his life than at another ? We answer that certitude viewed on its positive side can be intensified in each of its three essential grades. We show it thus : Certitude on its positive side will admit of accidental degrees, if on the one hand, adherence to truth is capable of being intensified, and if on the other, there are causes at work in the acquisition of certitude, which can bring about variations in the intensity of intellectual assent. Now that mental adherence can be intensified or perfected, cannot be doubted, since, on the one hand, it is something positive in its nature, and on the other, its perfectibility does not imply any contradiction in its concept, as does that of other positive notions, which have in themselves a superlative meaning, for instance, right, chief, extreme, universal, equal and the like. For where is there anything impossible in the idea of one thing adhering more or less closely to another? There are, furthermore, causes to produce a variation in the intensity of the intellectual assent : namely the motives of assent and the pressure of the will, brought to bear upon the thinkProperties of Certitude 85 ing agent. For both these motives and the willpressure admit of more and less; hence also the effect, to which they give rise, namely the assent of the mind; since the effect varies as the cause whenever it is capable of gradations. Thus, the greater the conflagration is, the more intense will be the heat which it generates. As to the motives of assent, it can be readily seen, that they may be both increased in number, and intensified from within by being rendered clearer and more distinct. For the same truth can be shown by one, two, three or still more solid and unexceptional proofs. Thus, I can become assured v. g. that my friend has a high fever by what he tells me, or by what I see myself, or from the testimony of the physician, or perhaps in other ways. Again, there may be many gradations and shades in the clearness and definiteness of the ideas which go to constitute the same certain judgment. Thus, my ideas may be clearer today than they were yesterday, because I am more attentive or less fatigued to-day, or because I have looked more closely into the matter since yesterday. I was certain yesterday as I am today; but to-day I cling more vigorously to the truth than I did yesterday. A youthful student may be perfectly certain of all the propositions in Euclid; but it is highly probable that in maturer life, when he is a professor of mathematics, 86 Certitude his knowledge of these same propositions will not only have been broadened, but also clarified. Again, the clearness and precision of our ideas depends upon each one's intellectual caliber. One man may be a genius, another a person of mediocre talent. The latter understands the arguments advanced for some assertion sufficiently to be truly certain; but the other, the eagle-eyed, has a much more lucid and discriminating insight into them, and hence he holds to the truth with a much tighter grasp. As regards the stress of the will brought to bear upon intellectual assent, it is plain that it too can vary not only in different individuals in respect to the same statement; but one and the same person may be differently influenced by the same truth to-day and to-morrow according to the changing affections of the will. That the will can act upon the intellect, there can be no doubt ; it is a fact clearly attested by consciousness. True, the will cannot elicit intellectual assent; for it is a volitional, and hence a non-intellectual faculty. Yet, it can urge on the intellect to a more accurate scrutiny of the motives of assent, as it is likely to do, whenever a statement proposed for approval or rejection, is of great importance or very pleasing to the thinking subject. If the contrary happens, that is, if there is question of an unpalatable truth, the will is liable at times to weaken the intellectual Properties of Certitude 87 assent by inducing the mind to look away from the distasteful facts or arguments and close its eyes to their evidence. Thus suppose that your country is at war with another nation and that well authenticated dispatches announce a victory. You are sure ; but because the news pleases you, you give yourself up to this delightful certainty with much greater intensity of assent, than you would have done, if the report resting on similar grounds had told of defeat. All we have hitherto said, proves that certain assent admits of accidental degrees. Let us now add a few remarks by way of corollaries in further elucidation of the previous thesis. 63. The exclusion of error admits of degrees in its causes. Since the same causes which determine the positive adherence of the mind, likewise exclude the fear of error, it follows, that the foundation to which the exclusion of error is due, is variable; and this is sometimes expressed by saying that the exclusion of error allows of more or less, if not in itself (formally), at least in its causes or fundamentally. Let us illustrate this by a comparison. A bullet may be driven out of the barrel of a gun by a greater or less charge of powder. In either case, the negative result produced by the charge is the same, namely the absence of the bullet 88 Certitude from the barrel; but the cause of this removal, namely the larger or smaller quantity of the explosive, varies. The same example incidentally also shows, that the positive effects obtained in the case, as, the intensity of the report and the velocity of the projected ball, are in exact proportion to the propelling cause. 64. The firmness of the exclusion of doubt admits degrees in itself. If, however, we regard, not precisely the exclusion of doubt as such, but the firmness of this exclusion, then, we may rightly say, that this latter allows of more or less in itself (formally), and not merely in its causes. For, on the one hand, the firmness of the exclusion of doubt is perfectible, being something positive, and on the other, it owes its origin to varying causes, the same that produce the positive assent. Suppose that the firmness of the exclusion of doubt rests in some particular case on three grounds, such that each of them proves the statement in question to evidence. I may forget one of them altogether, and another may become hazy and uncertain; yet as I have still one motive left, my certitude in regard to that statement endures ; whereas with the two reasons on which my mind has now lost its hold, I should again lapse into a state of doubt respecting the truth of which I possessed genuine certitude before. Thus we can see that the firmness of the exclusion of doubt is itself Properties of Certitude 89 capable of degrees ; since an unsettled state of mind is more decidedly excluded by three motives of assent than by two or one. 65. A difficulty cleared up. In conclusion, let us answer an objection which is often brought up against this second part of the thesis. It is claimed that the firmness of assent with which one holds to some statement cannot admit of any degrees, because it is determined by the perceived impossibility of the opposite of the statement under consideration. Now impossibility being negative in its nature, and hence not susceptible of variations, it follows (say our opponents), that the firmness of the assent corresponding to it, does not admit of more or less, and is consequently like an indivisible mathematical point. We reply to this exception taken to our doctrine that the impossibility of the opposite itself rests on the necessity of the perceived connection between the subject and the predicate. For it is only through this latter that the impossibility of the opposite becomes intelligible. Now this necessity, in its turn, is brought home to the mind through one or more grounds or motives of assent. Whence we infer that the firmness of the intellectual adherence to truth is based directly and immediately upon the motives of assent as showing forth the necessary connection between subject and predicate, and only secondarily and indirectly upon the im90 Certitude possibility of the opposite. Since then these motives for the mind's acceptance of a proposition admit of more or less, it follows that the positive assent, directly depending on them, does so in like manner. It will be seen from the above that the impossibility of the opposite is not so much a motive of certain assent as a test of the genuineness of the necessity involved in every certain judgment, and an aid in grasping this necessity. Let us illustrate by a similitude what we have just said, viz., that assent can vary, although the necessity of the truth and the impossibility of its opposite are one and indivisible, and hence incapable of degrees. All creation proclaims the Wisdom of God, a Divine attribute which in itself is simple and indivisible. The more of God's wonderful works we study, the more we admire his Wisdom, because, although entirely simple and indivisible in itself, yet this perfection manifests itself to us through various channels. In a similar manner, the necessity of a proposition and the impossibility of its contradictory, .though likewise one and indivisible, yet can be manifested from various view-points and thus impress themselves more or less upon the mind. But there is another flaw in the above difficulty, namely the unwarranted assumption, that the impossibility of the opposite is insusceptible Properties of Certitude 91 of variations under any aspect. True, reference to this additional weak spot is not needed for the solution of the difficulty just proposed: yet, it is good to call attention to it, on account of the close connection of the principle involved with other kindred questions. As regards this assumption we say, in the first place, that it comes with a very bad grace from our opponents who admit that the objective necessity of the truth is threefold; viz., metaphysical, physical and moral. For if so, the impossibility of the opposite is likewise threefold, since necessity and impossibility, as here understood, are correlatives, and hence imply one another. But, say our antagonists, is not the impossibility of the contrary a negation? How then can it have degrees? To this rejoinder we answer that, when we say a negation allows of no degrees, we mean a negation which is total and complete. If it is not thus entire, it is susceptible of more or less, just as a vacuum — if taken to be space from which the air has been exhausted to a very high degree — can be more or less perfect. Now, the impossibility of the contrary may be considered in a twofold relationship. It may be either referred to each of the orders of certainty in particular, and then it can have no variations ; for the possibility of the opposite 7 92 Certitude corresponding to each of these orders is excluded totally: or it may relate to certainty in general viewed generically ; then, I say, it does not denote complete and absolute negation or exclusion ; but it prescinds from the circumstance whether the possibility excluded be metaphysical, physical or moral, (i. e., absolute or conditional) ; and hence, like certainty itself, it can be subdivided into three essential orders. 66. Summing up. To conclude, the process by which certitude is engendered in the mind, seems to be the following : The mind holds two concepts (subject and predicate) before its intellectual gaze, in order to ascertain their agreement or disagreement, and then casts about for reasons to establish the relation between the two. It finds, let us suppose, one or more appropriate grounds showing forth the necessity or evidence of the looked for connection as well as the impossibility of the opposite. The evidence perceived impels the intellect to yield assent by adhering firmly to the truth, and at the same time expels all doubt or fear of error : thus the thinking being comes finally to rest satisfied in the full enjoyment of truth, and this is to possess perfect certitude. THE END ALPHABETICAL INDEX. NUMBERS REFER TO THE PAGES. Analogous terms defined, 74. Analogy of attribution and proportion, 75; extrinsic and intrinsic analogy of attribution, 75. Certitude defined, 1, 6; how it differs from certainty, 8; certitude purely subjective, and certitude at once subjective and objective, 6; objective certitude, 7; metaphysical certitude, 9; physical certitude, 10; moral certitude, 12; moral certitude in the wider sense, 17; absolute certitude, 18; hypothetical certitude, 18; natural and philosophical certitude, 19; requisites for certitude; first requisite, assent to truth, 20; second requisite, infallible motives, 26; third requisite, evidence of infallible motives, 29; properties of certitude: metaphysical certitude absolute certitude, 35; metaphysical certitude the only absolute certitute, 37; physical and moral certitude though hypothetical, still true certitude, 40; confirmation from common sense, 58; essential grades of certitude, 70; metaphysical, physical and moral certitude essentially different orders of certitude, one surpassing the other, 70; they are certitude not univocally, but analogously, jy, they are not species properly so called, 73; accidental degrees of certitude, 81; certitude viewed negatively does not admit of degrees, 82; certitude viewed positively admits of degrees, 83; exclusion of doubt admits of degrees in its causes, 87; the firmness of the exclusion of doubt admits of degrees in itself. 88. 93 94 Alphabetical Index Common Sense, meaning of, 59; signs of judgments of common sense, 61. Doubt, definition of, 3; negative and positive doubt, 3. Evidence, notion of, 30; objective and subjective, 30. Equivocal terms defined, 74. Formal object of act and faculty; meaning of, 79. Grounds of a statement twofold, 27. Genus, meaning of, 78. Hypothetical propositions, their force, 41. Ignorance, definition of, 2; complete and partial, 2. Laws, physical, 11; moral, 12; in what sense necessary, 46. Metaphysical certitude, 9. Moral certitude, 12; moral certitude in the wider sense, 17; moral laws, 15; their necessity, 46. Object; formal object of a faculty and its act, 79. Opinion defined, 7. Physical certitude, 10; physical laws, 11; their necessity, 46. Propositions hypothetical, their force, 41. Sense, common, meaning of, 59; signs of judgments of common sense, 61. Skepticism the result of denying that certitude is assent to truth, 25. Stare in indivisibili, meaning of phrase, 83. Suspicion described, 5. Univocal terms defined, 74. '#^W«^: -• r^i n L I B RARY OF THE U N I VERS ITY or 1 LLl NOIS GUIDANCE INTO TRUTH-WHAT HINDERS ? THREE SUGGESTIVE DISCOUESES: 1. HINDRANCES FROM ERRORS IN JUDGMENT. 2. HINDRANCES FROM WANT OF LOVE. 3. HINDRANCES FROM THE BREACH OF THE COVENANT OF HOPE. By rev. JAMES SKINNER, M.A., S. ISamabaa', ^(mUco. " We prefer the edification of the Churches to all private respect and favour toward each other ; for by this means, the word of faith being consonant among us, and Christian charity bearing sway over us, we shall cease from speaking after that manner which the Apostle condemns — ' I am of Paul, and I am of Apollos, and I am of Cephas ;' for if we all do appear to be of Christ, Who is not divided amongst us, we shall then, through God's grace, preserve the body of the Church from schism, and present ourselves before the throne of Chbist with boldness." — Letter of the Eastern Bishops to the Western Bishops. Theodoret Ecc. Hist. lib. 5, 9. LONDON : J. T. HAYES, 6, LYALL PLACE, EATON SQUARE. PREFACE. I AM not aware that any of the regular and consistent members of S. Barnabas' congregation are Romanizing. I rejoice to think, that the spirit of our service to God is, throughout the whole body, a spirit of affectionate, hearty, earnest, loyalty to the English Church. I am quite sure our strength lies in such a spirit. Never can weakness for the marring of any good purpose whatever, so prevail amongst us, as when our hearts become shaken in confidence and love, and we begin to talk contemptuously of the Church of England, and partially of the Church of Rome. I think it is a great mistake to talk contemptuously at all — either of Rome, or of any body of Christians whatever. It is an unchristian temper, after all is said. But, it is worse than a mistake to talk contemptuously of the Spiritual Mother who bore us — at whose breasts we have been nourished, and under whose shelter, by the Holy Ghost, we have been made what we are, in holiness of life. IV I know there are many persons who are tempted first to talk undutifully, and then to act unfaithfully. The first generally leads to the second. And when this is so, there is seldom any good account to be given of the course of their perversion. There has been no patient investigation — no years of study and of importunate prayer — no discipline of body and of mind — beforehand. An act of the will — an impulse of the feelings — and all is over. And then comes that change on which the whole destiny of a soul hangs. Perversions to Rome are beginning again. They seem to come by fits and gusts. There is nothing strange in this. So long as there are weaknesses and infirmities among mankind, there will be manifestations of them outwardly in bodies and in minds. And it is a feature incidental to all great movements of the mind to truth, that some persons will go off" in one or other extreme. I have heard of certain letters, and seen one, from Rome, where one or two young men have lately been perverted. These letters have been circulated among persons attending this Church. I have thought it my duty to preach the first of the following sermons in consequence, and to print it. -UIUC And I have added two others, preached formerly, which bear upon the same subject. If any one recognizes forms of expression and arguments which they have heard or seen before, I hope they will bear in mind that one cannot, in every case, remember to whom one is indebted for what one learns in the course of general study. Besides, I must avow that I am not aiming at originality, but at doing good, and asserting my own undying affection for the Church of England, in which God has been pleased to call me to serve. It is my duty to state, that the line of thought pursued in the third sermon, was suggested to me by an earnest and an able Irish Cleryman whom I met in the south of Europe in 1847, who is now in very high office among the body of persons called " Irvingties," — or as they call themselves, " The Church. '* The only difference to my mind, between that " development " and the Roman supremacy, is, that, for one Pope, generally an Italian, we have twelve Popes — all, I believe. Englishmen — claiming to sit upon the apostolic throne, and to rule the Universal Church ! VI The " twelve Apostles " of the present century make no claim to a succession. They simply assert a call by direct inspiration. This is a plain and straightforward issue, at all events. And they may accept it, as proved, who can. S. Barnabas' Parsonage, Wfdtsuntide 1856. SEEMON I. HINDRANCES FROM ERRORS IN JUDGMENT. " Contention ariseth either through error in men's judgment, or else disorder in their affections. When contention doth grow by error in judgment, it ceaseth not till men, by instruction, come to see wherein they err, and what it is that did deceive them. Without this, there is neither policy nor punishment that can establish peace in the Church." — Hooker. {^Preached at S. Barnabas', Pimlico, on the Fourth Sunday after Easter.) " When He the Spirit of Truth is come, He will guide you unto all truth." — S. John xvi. 13. It may seem, at first sight, strange that our Lord's last discourse, before He suffered, should take up the thoughts of the Church, and be marked out for the Gospel, during the whole interval from Easter to the Ascension. We might have rather looked to hear of remission of sin — of reconciliation with God — of life and rest, and peace — the blessed fruits of His Passion ; instead of which, we hear of His own anticipated sufferings, and all the trials and sorrows which await His people. But our first sight is often a short sight, and so it is here. The Church desires to lead us onward and upward. Do not linger on your festal joy, she seems to say ; do not set up for yourselves a perpetual holiday. Remember the image of God has been restored to you, and you must preserve it. Remember the image of the old man has been dead and buried, and you must never renew it more. And how is this to be done ? You must be up and see ; you will never accomplish it by simply reflecting upon His Death and Resurrection: for, the burden of the world — the crosses which it brings — the exercises of patience which it furnishes — are all real, and no mere reflections will sufiice to meet them ; you must find out and acknowledge some course of acfiow; there are some instruments of action necessary, and you must use them : you must energize — you must act. Thus the Church seems to speak ; for, she sets before us Christ's promise of the Holy Spirit — the Spirit of power — the Spirit, not of rest, but of action. If your burden is heavy, the Spirit will help you to bear it; if you are blind to your wants, the Spirit will enlighten and convince you ; if you are guilty and polluted, the Spirit will reprove and rebuke you ; if you are borne down by sorrow, the Spirit will comfort and console you. And so the lesson of the Church to-day is all of the Holy Spirit — not so much of the office of the Holy Spirit, which is a Whit-Sunday subject, as of our need of the Holy Spirit — and the blessed assurance that we have that which we need. Need of the Holy Spirit ! Who does not acknowledge it? You, who are sunk in sin and folly, with hard, unsoftened, indocile hearts, seared by the withering blast of long accustomed self-indulgence, the need of the Holy Spirit — to accuse you, to reprove you, to stir you, to plead with you, to win you. And you who are struggling on, even though you have attained the higher paths of the hill of saintliness, the need of the Holy Spirit — to strengthen you, to build you up, to cheer you, to press you onward and onward still. Need of the Holy Spirit ! Does not the abiding infidelity of the world, underlying all its vicious customs and profane contempt of religion, prove it? Does not divided, weakened, paralyzed Christendom, with its thousand thousand separate souls vying with each other in coldness, and hardness, and in devotion towards God, prove it ? — the penury of divine grace amongst us — the spiritual famine which outstretches its wings over the baptised nations of the earth ! And yet here is the promise of the text — the promise to the Church of Christ for ever — " When the Spirit of Truth is come. He will guide you unto all truth." Has it failed ? Can it fail ? Is not this Presence of the Spirit perpetual ? And is He not as powerful now, as ever of old ? Can He not work now as wrought He ever of old ? This is a large subject, and I cannot go deep into it in one discourse ; but there are times when, though we cannot say all or much on a subject, it is fitting and even necessary to say something. I have reason to think this to be such a time, and therefore I will try to say what I can. I need not tell you that the Presence of the Holy Spirit, ever guiding the Church, is a point of indisb2 4 pensable faith in a Christian. It is of the essence of The Church. That is not The Church of Christ which has not the Presence of the Holy Spirit ever guiding it to the truth. I need not tell you, that this Presence of the Holy Spirit ever guiding The Church— founded on the words of my text — is exclusively claimed by that body of Christians called the Church of Rome. You probably know that a large body of Christians living in different parts of the world, but calling themselves Roman Catholics because they acknowledge a common visible head who lives in the city of Rome, and has episcopal jurisdiction over one see in Italy — that this body of Christians, first of all, assumes that it has the Presence of the Holy Spirit guiding it to what it calls truth ; and then proceeds to deny that any other body of Christians has it too. The process of argument is one which has influenced a number of persons to join the Church of Rome, and will probably influence more. I say the process of argument ; for I do not believe that the argument influences anybody. It is the process — the very boldness of it — which irresistibly wins over men's wills already set in that direction. So far as I understand it, the process is this : — It is taken for granted that the Bishop of Rome is the head and centre — the visible point of unity to the Church of Christ. And then, the Bishop of Rome proceeds to excommunicate all who do not agree to his terms of union. Thus, he brings about a form of oneness which he calls the Unity of the Church. He eliminates everything discordant — gets rid of all who differ from him — puts them out of the pale of ordinary salvation — and the residuum, according to his view, is the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. He makes a form of unity, and then calls it The Church OF Christ. The Bishop of Rome rules and directs and governs this Church according to his own laws ; sometimes by the exercise of his own will and pleasure simply, and sometimes through the media of synods and councils of Bishops nominated by himself. And then he boasts, that by always moving in doctrine, in this way, he is always developing truth, and proving the life of the Church. And then, the words of my text are brought to bear upon this creation. The witness of the Spirit is onCy not various. The Church of Rome is one. Therefore, the Church of Rome has the witness of the Spirit. The witness of the Spirit is a guide to truth. The Church of Rome has a guide. Therefore, the Church of Rome is a guide to truth. The witness of the Spirit must be a living speaking voice. The Church of Rome has a guide to truth which speaks and lives. Therefore, the Church of Rome has the witness of the Spirit. Other bodies of Christians are not one with the Church of Rome, nor with each other. Other bodies of Christians do not claim to have a visible, living, 6 speaking, infallible guide. Therefore, other bodies of Christians have not the witness of the Spirit ! Such is the process, so far as I know, which, by the magnitude of its claim, overawes some minds, and wins others whose wills — that strange, mysterious, unaccountable part of us — whose wills have been won before. I am not going to argue out the case against this monstrous assumption of the Roman Communion : I merely wish to suggest one or two important positions: — 1. The Bishop of Rome is not, and never was, the visible centre of Unity to the whole Christian Church. * • I take the liberty of quoting the late Archdeacon Manning, and of observing here, that I have not yet heard of his ever satisfactorily answering his own masterly book on the " Unity of the Church :"— " In committing the plenitude of their authority to one and only one in each Church, it is evident that the Apostles acted upon the rule which our Lord Himself has sanctioned by His own practice. As a type of unity, He first committed the Apostolic power to S. Peter, but afterwards to all the Apostles. They all were what Peter was : endowed with an equal share in the fellowship of an equal authority. Not that they were dependent one on another, so as to be unable to act, except in an united college. Each severally was absolute. Under God he had no one set over him. Each one was a Vicar and Vicegerent of Christ. Each one in every land wheresoever they wefe scattered abroad, carried with him the whole mystery of the Gospel, all its truths, and sacraments, and powers. As each one had in himself the faith, so he had the polity of the Church in all its 2. The Bishop of Rome has not, and never had, any right to impose terms of Communion on the rest of Christendom, or to create any form of unity of his own, or to depart from that one form taught by Christ and His Apostles. * plenitude; and as Christ their Loud had intrusted His Own commission in full to each one of their body, so did they in like manner. They had represented Him, and now they constituted representatives of Him and of themselves. They, therefore, made over, in like manner, their commission in full to chosen men, who, in their stead, should be to each several Church the Vicars of Christ and of God; and on this is founded the rule which is as old as the Apostolic age — * Wheresoever the Bishop appears, there let the multitude be ; even as wheresoever is Christ, there is the Catholic Church.' (S. Ignatius ad Smyr.)" — Manning's Unity of the Church, pp. 152-3. * " That the Church is capable of such an union (under one singular government or jurisdiction of any kind) is not the controversy. That it is possible I do not question. That when, in a manner, all Christendom did consist of subjects to the Roman Empire, the Church then did arrive near such an unity, I do not at present contest. But that such an union of all Christians is necessary, or that it was ever instituted by Christ, I cannot grant. The Holy Scriptures do nowhere express or intimate such a kind of unity, which is sufficient proof that it has no firm ground. We may say of it as Saint Austin saith of the Church itself: — " I will not that the Holy Church be demonstrated from human reasonings, but the Divine oracles." (S. Aug. de Unitate, c. 3.) S. Paul mentions and urges the unity of spirit, of faith, of charity, of relation to our Lord, of communion in devotions and offices of piety. But concerning any union under one singular visible government or polity he is silent. He saith ' One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all ; ' not one 8 3. The witness of the Spirit has never failed, and never will fail, the Church as a body. It has failed particular Churches, and will fail them again. Possibly, for all her boasting, it has failed the Church of Rome; possibly also, it has failed, or may fail, the Church of England. But as a body — as a whole, it is impossible that the Church of Christ can fail of the witness of the Holy Spirit. 4. The relation of individual souls to this witness of the Holy Spirit — how, amidst the sins of nations and Churches — blinding and darkening and deadening them — truth may be kept alive, by God's Holy Spirit, in separate single hearts. How also the witness of the Holy Spirit is so outraged in other single hearts, which, rising to a large aggregate, make up bodies of men amounting to whole kingdoms — outraged by a perverse and obstinate will — outraged by a temper which leaves Him no room to operate — outraged by an impure and unholy life which utterly banishes Him — how might it not be shewn, that men are divided, and weak and powerless for good, and hardened to the true sense of immortality, by their own separate resistance of all holy inspirations, and all high desires, and all mighty workings of the Eternal Spirit ! monarch, or one senate, or one Sanhedrim; which is a pregnant sign that none such was then instituted. Otherwise he could not have slipped over a point so very material and pertinent to his discourse." — See Buhop Barrow on the Unity of the Church. Vol. I. pp. 280-7. 5. Then — what seems to be wholly overlooked in the Roman theory — the promise of the Holy Spirit is to guide into all truth. And that is one thing, while the promise of the Holy Spirit to compel into truth is another thing, and very distinct, and nowhere vouchsafed in Holy Scripture, -''It were needless to say how plainly one may recognize the work of the Spirit from the very beginning, all through the Church, in every age and in every land, witnessing to one and the same truth, and guiding, leading, directing souls to that one truth ; and how plainly also one may recognize another work — resisting, and thwarting, and gainsaying it. How obvious also, that a whole particular Church, as such, may gainsay and resist such a leading — while multitudes of individual souls in it, may submit themselves, and be led. 6. Again : what was this expediency which Christ urged upon His disciples — when He spake of going and the Comforter coming — but that His visible * See the whole third chapter 'of the Fourth Council of Lateran — Innocent iii. a.d. 1215 — one of the most esteemed and most formal and legitimate of all the atithorities of the Church of Rome. Take but one short passage : " Moneantur autem et inducantur, et si necesse fuerit per censuram ecclesiasticam compellantur sceculares potestates, quiluscunque fungantur oflBciis, ut sicut reputari cupiunt et haberi fideles, ita pro defensione fidei praestent publico juramentum, quod de terris suae jurisdictioni subjectis univeros kcsreticos ah ecclesia denotatos, bona fide pro viribus exterminare studebunt, ita quo a modo quandocunque quis fuerit in potestatem sive spiritualem sive temporalem assumptus, hoc teneatur capitulum juramento firmare." 10 Presence should be removed. That, when His great and immediate work on earth was completed on the Cross and from the Tomb, there should no longer be presented to His Church the snare of His visible Presence — as to the sons of Zebedee, so more or less to all — tempting men to build up for themselves an earthly centre. " We trusted that it had been He which should have redeemed Israel." But the Roman system has set itself to do that very thing which Christ said was inexpedient, when, upon the wreck of an earthly empire, the Bishop of one city has prevailed to raise himself not only above his equals in the same ministry, which collectively represents Christ, but above the Kings of the earth, and every form of secular authority — one man uniting in himself, in visible glory upon the earth, the offices of Priest and King.^'> And the translation of a special representa• Bellarraine De Rom. Pontif. v. 1, says — " Prima sententia est, suramum Pontificem jure divino habere plenissimam potestatem in universum orbem terrarum, tarn in rebus ecclesiasticis quam civilibus — ita decent Aug. Triumphus, Alvarus Pelagius, Panormitanus, Hostiensis, Silvester, et alii non pauci." " The first opinion is, that the Pope has a most full power over the whole world, both in ecclesiastical and civil affairs. This is the doctrine of Aug. Triumphus, &c., and many others." Bellarmine quotes one Augustinus Triumphus— and what does he say ? " Error est non credere Pontificem Rom. Universalis Ecclesiae Pastorem Petri successorem et Christi Vicarium, supra temporalia et spiritualia, universalem non habere primatum ; in quern quandoque multi labuntur, dictse potestatis iguorantia, quae cum sit infinita, eo quod magnus est dominus, et magna virtus ejus et magnitudinis ejus non est finis, omnis creatus intellectus in ejus perscrutatione 11 tive of Christ to Rome — what is it but the lengthening out of that privilege which Christ declared should no longer be confined to place or time — to Jerusalem, or to Judea, or to Galilee, but should henceforth be coextensive with the utmost bounds of the earth. What is it but a direct negation of that primitive distribution of power to all Churches through all Bishops, which proved to be no less the safeguard than the dissemination of Divine truth — that " single episcopate of many Bishops diffused about in a numerous and accordant multitude. '* * And lastly; this notion of a perpetual "living voice," is but a captivating fallacy. There is a life for evil as for good. To speak, therefore, is no certain sign that what is spoken is true. Doubtless it were well, if so it had pleased God, that the visible unity of His Church had never been broken : but what is this but to say, how well it had been for the nations never to have provoked God's wrath and vengeance by their sin. Had we continued true to God, doubtless He would have blessed us all with fuller and more continuous manifestations of His will. But it is sin which has brought division ; and it is mere arrogance in Rome to aflPect to be free, either from division which is the consequence, or from sin which is the cause. invenitur deficere." (De Potest. Ecclesiae ad Pop. Joh. 22.) — See JBp. Barrow. So that this Roman divine blasphemously attributes to the Pope — " Great isj the Lord, and great is His power, and of His greatness there is no end." * S. Cyprian, ep. 52. 12 So long as the Church is divided, her living voice must cease. Rome is not the living voice of " The Church," because a part of the Church is not and cannot be " The Church." The age of division is for The Church — an age of paralysis of speech ; and then she falls back upon what she said, once for all, when Her voice was clear.^''" Till God is pleased to restore His Church to that oneness to which He still destines her, our appeal must be an appeal to a Voice which spoke in apostolic and primitive times, and which surely speaks no less distinctly now, because long ago It spake so well. Nay rather, being the Voice of the Holy Spirit then, It is the Voice of the Holy Spirit still — a Voice which never grows old — a Voice which never waxes feeble — a Voice sent forth by Him Who *' was dead, and is alive for evermore." Such would be the kind of propositions I should * " The sacramentum unitatis was first infringed during the quarrels of the Greeks and Latins : it was shattered in that great schism of the sixteenth century, which issued, in some parts of Europe, in the Reformation, in others, in the Tridentine decrees, our own Church keeping the nearest of any to the complete truth. Since that era, at least. Truth has not dwelt simply and securely in any visible Tabernacle. This view of the subject will illustrate for us the last words of Bishop Ken, contained in his will : — "As for my religion, I die in the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Faith, professed hy the whole Church before the disunion of East and West; more particularly I die in the communion of the Church of England, as it stands distinguished from all Papal and Puritan innovations, and as it adheres to the doctrine of the Cross." — Tracts of the Times, No. Ixxi. p. 29. 13 venture to establish if I were arguing this matter out, and I should sum up with these two most important facts . — first — that the promise of guidance was to the Apostles, no less than to their successors. It must, therefore, follow that no truth could be revealed to after ages which the Apostles did not know. It is improbable that they, who were appointed to declare, and did declare, the "whole counsel of God," were suffered by the Holy Ghost to keep back truth, that it might be reserved for some wondrous developing prerogative of modern Rome. And secondly, that the promise of guidance was into all truth — not dogmatic, theological, doctrinal truth only — but into all truth affecting the soul, and therefore into moral truth as much as any. I suppose it would be easy to draw a fearful picture of the kind of witness to moral truth, set up by the Bishop of Rome and his ecclesiastics, in the middle ages. It would be no part of my argument against Rome as a Church, that some of her Popes and ecclesiastics were profligate. But it would be fatal to her own argument — fatal to her exclusive claim to propound moral truth, through the special Presence of that Pure and Blessed Spirit Who guides into all truth. * So much would, I think, go far to settle the question * It is not my intention to go into the facts of this most important part of the case. The pages of Liguori might alone suffice, altogether apart from history. Yet I will quote Bellarmine's own account of a.d. 912: — ** Quae tunc facies sanctae ecclesiae Romanae ! quam fcedissima cum Romae dominarentur 14 against Rome. And then for divisions, in the rest of Christendom — who would not acknowledge that nothing so much as resistance to the Holy Spirit in morals — I do not mean gross sins only, but pride, self-will, vain-glory, covetousness, party spirit, disobedience, unlove — nothing so much as resistance to the Holy Spirit in morals, marks the character of almost every country — certainly of our own to a fearful extent. So that you have before you, at once, a sufficient account of unbelief and division in religiouy without seeking farther. And you have this comfort, on the other side, that there are thousands of individuals everywhere, in whose hearts God is preserving His Truth, and out of whom He will gather in His One Church, before the " time of the end." Such is an outline, which, if an opportunity offered, I should endeavour to fill up, on this vital subject. Meantime, my brethren, there is for us the blessedyac^ of Christ's kingdom — not His kingdom on this side the grave only, but beyond — His One kingdom transcending all mortal thought of space and time — Saints before the law — Saints under the law — Saints under the Gospel — the One Body of Christ. * potentissimae aeque ac sordidissimae meretrices ! quarum arbitrio mutarentur sedes, darentur episcopi, et quod audita horrendum et infandum est, introducerentur in sedem Petri eorum amasii pseudo pontifices, qui non sint nisi ad consignandum tantum tempora in catalogo Romanorum Pontificum scripti." — N. 14, Vol. x. p. 663. * " Sancti ante legem, sancti sub lege, sancti sub gratia, omnes hi perficientes Corpus Domini in membris sunt ecclesiae constituti." — S. Gregor. Magn. ep. 24. 15 Let us make much of it, and wait patiently for the rest. The inhabitants of the Heavenly Jerusalem are already so many that no mortal tongue can tell by name, their number, or their nation, or their age. This at the least is true. Besides an innumerable company of angels, there is the " general assembly and Church of the first-born," and all the spirits of "just men made perfect." The many thousands of the tribes of Israel — the first-fruits of the gospel, and "a great multitude" besides, "which no man can number, of all nations and kindreds, and people and tongues." There are Moses and Elias, Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, and all the servants of the Most High God, that ever lived and died in His true faith and fear, from the beginning of the world to this very day. They are all now there — in His One kingdom — as really in It there, as we are in It here. And their number is continually increasing, by some one or other of the brotherhood passing onward from the outer corners on earth, to the heart and centre of the Kingdom in Heaven. And the Holy Spirit — Which flows from Christ through the whole Church, into the several members, quickening each, as each is incorporated, uniting all to Christ, and in Christ, — first to the Father, and then to one another — He is the spring and source of all unity and all love in the Body, and He knows no distinctions, except impenitence and wilful sin. Of men of all ranks and conditions — princes and peasants, nobles and artizans, rich and poor, priests and laymen, young men and children— 16 some are still on earth, others — a far larger compaTiy — are departed to be with Christ. And they are as truly members as the others. Death makes no essential change in that spiritual life which, before death, they lived in Him. We are one Body and one Spirit, not only with His people now on earth, but with all the faithful departed. The whole Church, struggling still on earth, serves God in one ministry. The whole Church, now rejoicing with Christ, serves Him in another ministry. But they are the ministries of The One Church. And the greater the measure of union with Christ, the more abundantly is the Holy Spirit poured out upon us one by one. ^'■ Thus, all who have been grafted into Christ, * " The very same one Holy Church is now under one condition, and hereafter shall be under another. It has now a mixtui-e of evil men, and then shall not have any : as it is now mortal, because made up of mortal men, but shall then be immortal because there shall be in it no one who can any more die even in the body ; just as there were not therefore two Christs, because first He died, and afterwards dieth no more." — S. Augustine Brev. Coll. cum Donat. c. x. "The body of this Head is the Church ; not that which is in this place, but both in this place and in all the world ; not that which is at this time, but from Abel to those who shall be born even unto the end, and shall believe in Christ : the whole people of the Saints belong to one city, which city is the Body of Christ, of which Christ is Head. Thus also the angels are our fellow citizens : only as strangers far from home we are toiling ; while they in the city await our comiug. And from that city, from which we are absent far off, letters have come to us, which are the Scriptures." — S. Augustine Enarr. in Ps. xc. ser. 2. 17 and abide where they have been grafted, wheresoever they live upon the face of the whole earth, are free of the same blessed City. And they have the same title to Its gifts, as they whose race is already run, and who rest there for ever. And such are far more in number, thank God, than some are apt to reckon — far more than any narrow scanty bond of man's devising can suffice to compass. In the very worst of times, when the Church of God on earth was so lost in the corrupting slough of idolatry that Elijah deemed of no true heart left besides his own, God knew of seven thousand that had not *' bowed the knee to Baal." And so, in these perilous days of ours — which seem, indeed, in respect of God's love and service, to be the very dregs of time — not only among ourselves, and in spite of the judgments which hang over us, but also among the other nations of the ear,th, overwhelmed, as they are, in unbelief, and ignorance, and superstition, and godlessness — doubtless, within His Church, there are tens of thousands being trained for heaven, secretly and gently in their own place, by the means of grace which there they find — having their eyes opened, being turned from darkness unto light, and from the power of Satan unto God — receiving forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them that are sanctified by faith that is in Christ Jesus. And now, my brethren, what remains but that we bless God for the mercy which still finds us, where His Providence has placed us — in our own English 18 Jirovince of that vast kingdom, wherein Saints are first trained, and then glorified. It were well if we could learn to take what God gives, and be content — to absorb ourselves in the one work of our own salvation, us God is pleased to show the way, and to leave with Him other souls and other ways with which God has not called us to deal. But in times of much perplexity, when each man's scruples are carried to his neighbour, and one imagination is made to work upon another, till all the certain landmarks of truth are shadowed over in the confusion which succeeds — it is needful for us, who have the awful responsibility of watching for souls, to lose no opportunity of stablishing you in the faith wherein ye now stand, and by which, through Christ Jesus, it is the will of God you should be saved. O ! my brethren, in what biotherhood of faith — • unheard of in the Scriptures of truth, or the records of the early Church — are men looking to find Jesus the Saviour of our souls, and the Saints, partakers in our joy — if they are dissatisfied with that bond which could hold S. Peter and S. Paul, and " the disciple whom Jesus loved," and the Apostles and Evangelists, and the first Disciples of the Cross — the blessed martyr S. Stephen, and all who followed him in blood through those fierce persecutions which devastated the infant kingdom of the Gospel — all those to whom the promise of my text was first expressly made — and then the noble Bishops and confessors of after times — the Clements and Polycarps, and Ignatius*, and Ireneus*, 19 and Justins — the Chrysostoms, and Basils and noblest Gregories, and the rest down to the eighth century,* when, for the first time, that one single branch of the Church whii^h shuts us out from salvation, and seeks to rob us of our nearest and dearest, our best and holiest, amid protests from the East and West, violated that law of love and faith, once delivered to the Saints, to whicli we, by God's blessing, still adhere, f ! brethren, if the Christianity which sufficed to perfect the thousands of Saints — first, and best, and greatest in the brightest days of Christendom — be so defective for these latter days, that new developments about S. Mary, the Saints, and Purgatory, and Indulgences, and a mutilated Eucharist, and the Universal Supremacy of one mortal Bishop, have become neces* The Deutero-Nicene Council, a.d. 787 — a General Council falsely so called, and the first of its kind — was the first to " develope " truth on grounds short of the Scriptures. It was the first in a divided stat' 8. Keble's ed. Vol. iii. p. 464. 48 beloved in the Lord ! let us all beg of God to show us the more excellent way of compassion and of love — the true path to unity. We all live, I am afraid, too much outwardly. Religion is carried into our strong animal passions, not to subdue but to feed them ; and so, the wretched warmth of our corrupt nature is often mistaken for life, and zeal, and power. Noise, and bustle, and tumult, and hurry, and much talking, the excitement of temper, and the agitation for influence, and authority, in our own party — are these things uncommon amongst us ? Yet what is there of God's grace in them — what of love — what of " compassion one of another ? " Examine yourselves, brethren. The difference is so great between confusion and peace, strife and gentleness, envy and mercy, every evil work and every good work, you cannot mistake your side. On the one part the tests are these — " adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulation, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like." On the other part — " love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, faith, meekness, temperance." O ! my brethren, you cannot mistake your side. SERMON III. HINDRANCES FROM THE BROKEN COVENANT OF HOPE. " We are one body by our agreement in religion, our unity of discipline, and our being in the same covenant of hope." — Tertullian. * (Preached at S. Barnabas', Pimlieo, on the Seventh Sunday after Trinity.) " There is one body and one spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling ; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all. Who is above all, and through all, and in you all." — Ephesians iv. 4, 5, 6. There is nothing so marked in Holy Scripture and the Creeds of the Church, in all ages, as God's great law of the unity of the Church. And there is nothing so perplexing to earnest souls, as the flagrant breach of that law, to which the divisions of Christendom bear melancholy witness. The Epistle for to-day requires me to address you on this subject. The words of my text are so precise and clear. They stand out over against the fact which contradicts them — the many bodies, and many spirits, and many hopes, and many lords, and many faiths, and many baptisms of modern times, with such a distinct voice of condemnation that I have no choice but * " Corpus sumus de conscientia religionis et disciplinas unitate, et spei fcedere." — Tertullian Apolog. 39. E 60 notice tliem. And yet, I shall avoid both of two courses which you may expect me to take. I shall neither attempt any formal account of the subject of unity, nor shall I discuss the Roman claim to the exclusive possession of that which it has, almost exclusively, served to interrupt for others, and to unspiritualize for itself. Both of those lines of argument are very important and necessary in their proper place ; but they are not so much suggested by my text as the assertion of certain great general considerations which lie much deeper than mere formulae of Church discipline and jurisdiction, at the root of an evil, which is not merely English or merely Roman, but infects the whole state of Christ's Church, in these latter days. Now, first of all, observe, my brethren, two things— God's law on this subject, — and, in spite of his breach of that law, man's instinctive craving after it. The Divine law of unity in God's Church is such an unity as subsists between the Persons in the Godhead — between the Lord upon earth, and His Father in the heavens. * Also, it is an outward unity such as the world shall see, and must acknowledge. And thus, * " Illud potius voluit commendarequod alio loco ait — ego et Pater unum suraus, ubi eamdem Patris et suam significavit esse naturam. Ac per hoc et cum in nobis sunt Pater et Filius, vel etiam Spiritus Sanctus non debemus eos putare naturae unius esse nobiscum. Sic itaque sunt in nobis, vel nos in illis, ut illi unum sint in natura sua, nos unum in nostra." — S. Augustine in Joh, c. 17. Tract, ex. Ben. Ed. Vol. III., 775. 51 the breach of that law is the great catholic sin (so to speak) of the visible Church. It is the great violation of the will of the One Father of the One Family. It is the great reproach to the Name of the One Head of the Church. It is the great denial of the Presence and Power of the Holy Ghost. That which Christ prayed for must be good. The contradiction of it must be evil. I am not now taking to account the distinction between an organic unity and a subjective unity, which is so true, that but for its truth, the want of unity in the Church might be the most direct evidence of her apostacy. But I am taking a broad view of what meets the eye. God has set forth a plain fixed law. That plain law is not kept. It is an evil state of things. It is a necessary consequence of sin — but it is evil in itself. It is not a right state because it is the actual state. When the nations of old combined wickedly, and sought to build up a tower which should be the rallying point of their union, and the monument of their pride, God broke up their combination by dividing their language. He scattered those elements of union which could only consummate wickedness. And so, no doubt, in the Church — when godly union was abandoned by men, ungodly unity was hindered by God. Men who would not unite in God's way, were hindered from uniting in their own way. When the Church began to build up an earthly Babel — a temporal centre — and to gather round that, instead of looking for the City of God from heaven. He conE 2 52 founded their speech, so that they spake to one another a strange language. The same words expressed different meanings to different minds — because the true meaning was, more or less, evaded by all. But God has ways of over-ruling evil. The want of unity has, no doubt, been the means of preserving a measure of truth upon the earth. Hostile bodies have watched each other, and feared each other's censure, and so have been restrained. Their separate efforts at self -justification have tended to preserve the great standards by which all, in common, must be tried. If the Latin, or the Greek, or the Anglican, or the Protestant bodies had striven to destroy the foundations of Christianity, sectarian hatred would have denounced the crime, even if zeal for the truth had been extinct. No doubt, therefore, division is not the worst state of the visible Church. A worse state is coming — but that is not the subject now. Yet while division is not our worst condition, it is very far from the best. The best is the right condition, and the right condition is that for which Christ prayed — the condition of unity. And this brings me to the second point which I called you, first of all, to notice — how an instinct of this truth stirs mightily now in all men's minds. If measures of public good cannot be carried without the public consent, then all things, which militate against that public consent, must be taken out of the way. Such is the determination of men's minds. But nothing so hinders mutual concurrence as religious differences. Therefore, religious differences must be taken out of the 53 way. And so popular systems of education, liberal schools, liberal colleges — are the efforts which are now made, everywhere, to break down distinctions, and to work society into unity. Favour towards a particular Church is yielding to a spirit of impartiality, or rather of indifferentism, towards all. The working elements, in worldly as well as in religious communities, seem tending to the unity of the human family, even if it be by the exaggerations and perversions of true principles. Communism and socialism are caricatures of Christian verities. But, whatever they are, they have become instruments through which men speak their minds. And their one mind is this — that men must unite to do some great work in common — that they must bring their collective intelligence to bear upon all questions of government and social economy, in order that every burden may be relieved, and every abuse corrected — in order that all men may freely help all men to bring about what all men desire — the perfection of man's powers, and the joys of the earth which he inhabits. And it is just the same in what is called the " religious world." The same struggle for unity strikes the observant eye. What is the Evangelical Alliance ? and the Protestant Association ? What are the hundred other societies, composed of good men of " all denominations," for combined religious action, but indications of a feeling that the separation of Christians is a contradiction in terms — that it is an anomaly which must be done away. 54 One common feature marks all those movements of which I have spoken. They seem to fix unity not on the basis of truth expressed, but on the basis of truth suppressed. Nevertheless, they are signs of the times, and I call you to note them, that you may be wiser by them. They are all imitations — or rather, they are all irregular results — of a deeper movement of the Spirit of God, in the midst of His Church. The time will come for the power of God to unite His Church that she may stand forth, and be seen, and recognized, and obeyed in the world. He has long suffered the flesh of man to obstruct His Will. But, in His own time. He will lift up the veil from those promises which have, as yet, been hidden from our eyes, and we shall see the exceeding greatness of His might in those who put their trust in Him. My brethren, that unity of the Church, outward and inward, for which the Head of the Church prayed, must, sooner or later, be accomplished on earth. It is true, bodies, which have corrupted themselves, have never, as bodies, repented. Usually they have gone from bad to worse. But some out of all shall learn God's ways, and shall witness for God's truth, and shall manifest God's power. It were vain to hope that Latins and Greeks and Protestants, retaining their several sinful excesses and defects, shall ever become one Church, in God's appointed way. It were vain also to hope that, as bodies, they will ever, severally, renounce their excesses, and supply their defects. But God shall be glorified by the faith and unity of His 55 Church, through " a remnant," at the close of the Christian dispensation, just as He was glorified through " a remnant " at the close of the Jewish. And thus, the restoration of unity is an interest altogether personal and individual to each baptized soul, just because it is common to so many. And the course of it must lie along no barren tract of controversy on questions of privilege and precedence, but along the line of an unfailing compliance with all the express conditions of our calling in Christ Jesus. The moral habit of the men of our age is not in accord with their high destiny. It has an antipathy to submission. Their will is not at unity with God. And that is the evil along the course of which the remedy must be made to run. They are the tempers of men which break or conserve the unity of the Church. The unity of the Church is not only a creed — it is a life. * And now, as, by God's blessing, we can, let us draw this out. " There is one body and one spirit," says the Apostle, and how ? — " even as ye are called in one hope of your calling.^' The first step, therefore, to Christian unity in the Church, is for Christians to know their common hope. Christians must know unto what they have * "The idea of humbly learning God's truth and passively receiving sacramental mysteries from the hands of a man like ourselves ; of submitting to counsel or reproof, rebuke, correction, at the judgment of a fiellow^-sinnei-, is a test and probation of our moral habit, which by its searching and salutary virtue attests itself to be of God." — Manning's Unity, p. 268. 56 been called. No m^n can take his place until he understands what that place is — what God has purposed him for, and called him to be. And " the hope" of the Gospel, my brethren, what is it? It is not simply that our sins may be pardoned — it is not simply that our souls may go to heaven when we die. The hope to which we have been called, is to inherit all things, as " heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ," — to reign with Christ in the kingdom to come — to sit with Him upon His throne, as now He sitteth with the Father upon His throne. This is our calling — to have our human nature, in its entireness, brought into that condition into which Christ has already brought it in His Own Person. As we now " bear the image of the earthy," we are called to "bear the image of the heavenly." We are to become like That which Jesus Christ became, when He rose from the dead, and ascended up into Heaven. A change, similar to that which passed on His Body, must pass upon our body. And when this shall take place, then we shall enter, with Him, into the inheritance of all things. Mark this well, my brethren, we are called not merely to look at Jesus crucified, but at what Jesus became after He was crucified. He was crucified for our sins, but His crucifixion was not His ultimate condition. After His crucifixion, He rose from the dead, and He rose with that very Body which had been crucified. In that risen Body, He now appears for us at God*s right hand. In that Body He shall come to us again, and when He comes. He will change His people 57 who shall be alive, and raise up those which shall be dead. And that change, my brethren, is our final condition. That change is our introduction into the promised kingdom. And the hope of that kingdom, and the hope of that change, is the common hope of the Christian. You do not see man in his glory, when you behold the unfallen Adam in paradise, fresh from his Maker's hands. You do not see for what man was destined, when you see Jesus Christ suffering upon the Cross. But when you look into the Heaven of Heavens, and see the Son of God sitting, as a Man, at God's right hand, then you understand the calling of man — then you can enter into David's words — " Lord, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that Thou regardest Him ?" Yes, brethren, the glorified Jesus still calls us brethren. He loves us now, as He loved us, when He hung upon the Cross. As He came down into the depths of our humiliation, so will He raise us up unto the heights of His exaltation. Now what the text sets forth is plain — there can never be any restoration to unity but on this foundation. It is belief in this " hope of our calling" which will first bring us together. The Christian world is separate and divided, because men do not understand the oneness of their baptism. And they do not understand their baptism, because they do not believe in this hope of their calling. There are two things set forth in Christian baptism — death with Christ, and resur58 rection with Christ. And all men who earnestly desire that God's pledge to them in baptism shall be absolutely fulfilled in them, all such are in the way of Christian unity. My brethren, in this way is your interest in the unity of the Church a personal interest. You have all been baptized. You are all responsible for that which is signified in baptism. By the sacrament of baptism, Christ sets before you what He has redeemed you for, — what He proposes to do in you, —what He proposes to do with you. Now, if all men understood what their baptism means — if all men were willing to have their baptism a real transaction between God and them — if all men were willing to experience in themselves that which baptism expresses, no longer would they be hindering the unity of the Church. What is the state of the case ? In baptism, God binds Himself to us, so to speak. He makes a covenant with us. He guarantees to us certain blessings. And we, on our part, do solemnly give ourselves up to Him. We are ready that what He proposes to us shall take effect in us. We are baptized into the Name of the Blessed Trinity, in order that we may receive from God all the blessing which the " Father" supplies, — all the glory which the " Son" brought into our nature, and all the instruction, and comfort, and illumination, which the Holy Spirit can impart. All this, and more than language can define, or thought can compass, has God, in our baptism, engaged to do for us. 59 Now God is in earnest, whether we be in earnest or not. What, in baptism. He sets before us in visible signs, He is Himself present to work in us. He does not give us a dry task to perform, but He draws nigh Himself, to aid the performance of it, and to fulfil a work in us. Men seem as if they thought their justification before God a thing done for them by Him, but their sanctification an offering of their own — a work achieved bi/ them in return for the favour received. But it is not so. God accounts us righteous for His Son's sake, when we believe in Him, and then in baptism. He engages to make us, really, that which He accounts us — to make us really righteous. But the cause of complaint which God has againt us all, my brethren, is not that we have fallen in Adam, and are incapable of righteousness, but that we are forgetting the covenant which He has made with us, and we with Him — that we will not give Him the opportunity of fulfilling the promises which He has made to us — that we either turn our baptism into an idle ceremony, or make it a piece of necromancy and magic. God is provoked with us, because we will not remember the holy obligations which burden us. He is waiting upon us every day, — and waiting in vain — to hear us ask Him to give us, in actual and absolute experience, all that which He has already given us in sacramental engagement. This, my brethren, is the sin of the Christian nations, that, being in covenant with God, they wull not stand to that covenant. This is the history of our 60 broken unity. The Lord appointed one baptism for all. And all who partake in that one baptism should be one. Let Christians return to their baptismal engagements, and our lost unity will be restored. Baptism contains all the elements of our perfection. "S* O ! woe be to those who hinder Christian unity, by requiring of man more than is signified in his Christian baptism ; or who, being content with less than is signified in his Christian baptism, do not require all that Christian baptism contains. Be not deceived. There is no right condition of the Church of God recognized in Holy Scripture but the condition of unity. There is no other condition set forth in the Sacraments which God has instituted. " By one spirit, we are all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Greeks, whether we be bond or free ;" and " We being many are one bread, and one body, for we are all partakers of that one bread." Whoever is not mourning over the loss of unity — whoever is not seeking its recovery, with all his heart and all his soul, and with all that breadth and depth of heart which is worthy of the subject, is a stranger to the purpose of God, and a traitor to the success of his baptismal calling. He knows neither what is good for himself, or good for his neighbour. He cannot be perfected. No man can measure the bereavement • " So he that holds that immovable rule of truth which he received at his baptism, will know the words and sayings and parables which were taken out of the Scriptures." — S. Ireneus i. 1. Apud. Barrow. Vol. I. p. 270. 61 which all sustain by divisions in the Catholic Church. * In the primitive definition of the Church of God, there are four terms used, " One," " Holy," " Catholic," and " Apostolic." Unity is the pre-requisite to all the rest. The Church first is one — and therefore, fit to be presented to God, to do His holy work. And then she is separated to Him — " Holiness to the Lord." And then she is Catholic — spreading over all nations, and bringing salvation to all. But her unity is the key-stone of the whole framework. First, there is one body and one spirit. To make room for the manifestation of the one Spirit, there must first exist the one Body. Break the unity of the body, and you quench the spirit. Quench the spirit, and you lose the hope. Lose the hope, and you lose Jesus the Lord. You cease to believe in God's truth as He did. You occupy yourself with speculations, and abstractions, and developments of doctrine about God, in the place of God Himself. You have not the faith of the Lord — you cannot fulfil His baptism, and so you fail in apprehending God the Father, " Who is * " The Lord saith, ' I and the Father are one j' and again, of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, it is written — * and these Three are One :' and does any one think that oneness, thus proceeding from the divine immutability, and cohering in heavenly sacraments, admits of being sundered in the Church, and split by the divorce of antagonist wills ? He who holds not this unity, holds not the law of God, holds not the faith of Father and Son, holds not the truth unto salvation." — S. Cyprian. Unity of the Ch. Treatises, p. 135. Oxford. 62 above all, and through all, and in you all." Break one link of the chain, and you break the chain. Refuse the first object in the series, and you let go all the rest. Mark the order of the text — " There is one body " — one organized society, called into existence by God Himself, with power to every member in it, having one life in the body. It is a "io^y" — a visible thing — a material combination — '* a city set on a hill." And "owe body" — made out of all nations — not an English Church, nor a Roman Church, nor a Greek Church, nor a Protestant Church — not many sects — but one Church — one Body, having its proper form, its peculiar instincts, its distinct mode of subsistence, and its own law of growth and development. And further, there is "one spirit." The "one body" is not a narrow fleshly confederacy,* but a wide living * " The voluntary aggregations of men into communities professing Christianity are no more Churches, than an arbitrary combination of fathers and children under one roof are a family. The one constitutive principle is wanting, which is the will of God, knitting them in one by a revealed or natural sanction. They have not the first element of moral unity. They have no relation to each other ; no fatherly authority no brotherly claims. The very essence of a family is natural order based upon the duties of submission and the rights of equality. God is the author of these relations by the appointment of nature. The lives of parental authority are a silent revelation, as divine as the voice of God at Sinai ; and the polity of a family is as exactly ordained of God as the pattern which was shown to Moses on the Mount. Without this authorship and sanction there could be neither 63 Church, having one spirit — the Spirit of Christ resting upon It, and dwelling in It. That Spirit Which came down upon the Head of the Church when He was baptized, and Which again came down from heaven upon His Church made righteous in Him, is the one Spirit to fill the one Church with one hope. Every society is organized with a distinct hope and end. And the Church of God has a hope and end, of which the possession of the one Spirit now is the antepast and earnest. Where the Spirit is, there the " hope " is kept alive. Where the Spirit is not, there the one hope of the Church dies out, and some other hope fills its place. And further still, there is " one Lord," Who has attained to the hope — Who has brought our whole human nature to its ultimate state of perfection and blessedness — Who is ready to take His kingdom, but waiteth for the many sons Whom He is bringing to glory, that they may be ready also. The Head has entered into the hope, and the Body shall follow. And when the body shall have entered in, then the Head of the Church and the Church shall reign together for ever. And further still — there is " one faith " by which the Lord attained that height in heaven. He came down from heaven to show all creatures how to trust parental authority, nor filial obedience, therefore no moral discipline of the will. For this reason the divinely constituted polity of the Church effects what no other system can." — Manning's Unity, p. 251. 64 in God. He became " a worm and no man," having no strength of His Own, but leaning by faith upon another — " He trusted in God and was delivered/' " In the days of His Flesh He offered up prayers and supplication and was heard in that He feared." He is " the author and finisher of all faith ;" the example of it in Himself, the perfecter of it in others. There is, therefore, but one faith by which Jesus prevailed and became Lord of all — by which we, through Him, shall also prevail and attain His kingdom. And farther still — there is "one baptism." Through faith, the Church enters into Christian baptism — going under the water which drowns the flesh — submitting to the fire which consumes the body of sin, and purges out the dross from the spirit. " Ye shall be baptized with the baptism wherewith I am baptized." " We " suffer with Christ, that we may reign with Him." And lastly — one God and Father of all, Who is above all, and through all, and in you all. Such is the summing up. They who are baptized into Christ and with Christ — God is their God and Father — over them to bear rule — in them continually to dwell — and by them to work out all His holy will and pleasure with the children of men. Bear with me a few minutes more. I have sketched out that sort of unity which Christ prayed for, and S. Paul pressed upon the Ephesian Church. Now do not say that such a unity is impossible. My brethren, God has appointed means by which this unity can be effected, how difiicult soever the work may appear. 65 Christ could not pray for an impossibility. His Apostles, jfilled with the Spirit, could not press an unattainable object. The Spirit of God is able to do it, and He will do it. The kings of the earth cannot do it. The Church, becoming carnal and worldly, cannot do it. * Forced uniformity can be produced, * *' Non est amplius ecclesia, sed respublica quoedam humana, sub Papae monarchia temporali." So the Archbishop of Spalato described the Church of Rome, of which he was himself a Bishop. The history of this prelate is as instructive as it is curious. Marcus Antonius de Dorainis, a learned inquirer into facts of history, and doctrines of the Church, becomes convinced of the innovations of Rome. A persecution threatens him in Dalmatia, where his see of Spalato is situated, and in 1616, he comes for shelter to England. The King receives him gladly, and Archbishop Abbot invites him to assist at the consecration of some English Bishops. Then he is made Master of the Savoy, and Dean of Windsor. While in England, he writes his book against Rome, " De Republica Ecclesiastica," which, he boasts to the last, was never answered. Great oifence is taken at Rome, and violent threats alternate with flattering offers of reconciliation to win him back. Neither is all well with him in England; for, through the intrigue of the Spanish Ambassador, he falls into disfavour with the King and the Clergy. I'hus abandoned by his new friends he accepts the proposals of Rome, an^ requests leave to quit the kingdom. A commission — Abbot and the Bishops of Lincoln, London, Durham, and Winchester — sit upon him, and order him off in twenty days. He departs, but promises that he will never maltreat the Church of England, nor speak reproachingly of her — that her Articles are clear of heresy, and all "serviceable and sound." But he does not keep his word, and all his future is but misery. Gregory XV. gives him a pension which Urban VIII. stops, and then the Archbishop broaches his former convictions, and taunts the F 66 and has been produced by such instruments. But to make many men of one mind, and of one heart, and of one will, and of one outward organization, and of one inward life — to make one Church out of all nations, in which the peculiarities of each nation, according to the different characters given to each by God, should be preserved, and all should be combined into one harmonious whole — intertwined and interwoven by the wisdom and power of God — in which Church should be found Jews, and Greeks, and Romans — English, and French, and Germans — men of the North and the South, of the East and of the West — loving one another out of a pure heart fervently, and holding up together the testimony of Christ over all the earth — that is the work of the Holy Ghost. It is His Own proper work. He came down at Pentecost to do the work. He first descended to make the material Body for the Lord, of the substance of the Blessed Virgin, and to endow that Holy Body with the fulness of heavenly gifts. And when that Body was taken to the Right Hand of God, the same Spirit came down again, from the Ascended Lord, to raise up for Him His mystical Body — to bind that Body to Its Lord, and to endow It with all powers needful for His Roman Church with never answering his book. Whatever were his sentiments of truth, this kind of conduct is damaging to his memory, as showing a time-serving temper. His fate was, as may be supposed, rapid and decisive : — study searched — papers found — prison door opened — then shut — and so an end of Antonius de Dominis in this world for ever. 67 service. The work which the Holy Spirit came to do He can do, and He will do. But, my brethren, this work must be your work too. And only so far as it is yours, shall you be permitted to reap its blessedness. God never works for man's good against his will, but according to his will Will the thing, and work for it, and pray for it, and God will perform it. The raising up of the Church — Its unity — Its perfection — the coming of Its Head — Its entrance into the kingdom prepared before the foundation of the world — this is the only abiding hope of the universe. And if you are not already lost men and women, this hope must fill your minds and move your hearts 0, my brethren, do not put this from you. Do not imagine that you can cultivate individual religion while you forget the Body of Christ. Do not limit your zeal to yourselves, and to people like yourselves. " In the last days, men shall be lovers of their own selves. '* Take care — selfishness begins in religion, and then branches out in all other directions. Men say they can do without their brethren. With their Bibles and their pet religious books, they can shut themselves up with themselves, and deal with God, without Priests, or Sacraments, or Church. The spirit of modern religion is the spirit of isolation. Oh ! how it narrows, and estranges, and desolates ! " It is not good for man to be alone." Do not speak of personal religion as if to separate yourselves from all Christendom were personal religion. 68 How is personal religion to be attained ? * Where is personal religion to be found? Do not all honest men, in all sects, feel that personal religion is well-nigh breathing its last ? And O ! Christian people, what shall revive personal religion ? When we are zealous for the glory of God's Church, only then shall His comforts fill us to overflowing. When God's people of old returned from their captivity, they sought to make themselves individually comfortable and prosperous, and God said " Ye have sown much and bring in little. Ye eat, but ye have not enough : ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink : ye clothe you, but there is none warm ; and he that earneth wages, eameth wages to put into a bag with holes." f And why was * " Besides these joints and bands of the great miracle of charity (the holy Eucharist), the Church silently testified, at all times, by the habitual tenor of ks practice ; for the life of every Christian was a type of the unity of God. The universal love of all, the various sympathy in joy and sorrow, the denial and subjugation of self for the sake of others, the forgiveness of injuries, the quenching of resentment, the love of enemies, were rays emanating from some central brightness. Their unearthliness and their inclination revealed their advent to be from heaven, and their origin to be in God." — Manning's Unity, pp. 224-5. None of us should despair because of pressing evils. Let u^, correct all we can, and bear the rest — praying to God rather than complaining to man. " Pii et placidi misericorditer corripiant quod possunt ; quod non possunt patienter ferant, et cum dilectione gemant atque lugeant donee ant emendet Deus, ant in messe eradicet zizania." — S. Augustine con Parmen. 1. iii. c. 1. t Haggai i. 6. 69 this? They strove to have abundance and ease in their cieled houses, while the House of God "lay waste." And so now, men dream of prosperous individual religion, while the Church, the House of God, is in ruins. " Go up," said the Lord to the selfish ones of old — . " go up to the mountain and bring wood and build the House, and I will take pleasure in it, and I will be glorified, saith the Lord. Ye looked for much, and lo ! it came to little ; and when ye brought it home I did blow upon it. Why ? saith the Lord of Hosts, because of Mine House that is waste, and ye run every one to his own house. Therefore, the heaven over you is stayed from dew, and the earth is stayed from her fruit : and I called for a drought upon the land and upon the mountains, and upon the corn, and upon the new wine, and upon the oil, and upon that which the ground bringeth forth ; and upon men, and upon cattle, and upon all the labour of the hands. "* ! fearful was God's curse upon the narrow-minded Jews of old. And fearfully again will such a curse be spiritually fulfilled in us, and in our children. May God turn us from our selfishness and enlarge our hearts ! " Consider now, saith the Lord, from the day that the foundation of the Lord's Temple was laid — consider it — from this day will I bless you. "f • Haggai i. 8, 9, 10, 11. t Haggai ii. 18, 19. London : J. T. Hatbs 5, Lyalt Place, Eaton Square. A SERMON PREACHED IN C|e |kms st Jatoarkii €\nn\, AFTER ITS PARTIAL DESTRUCTION BY FIRE, ON SUNDAY, NOVEMBER Sth, 1857, REV. WALDEGRAVE BREWSTER, M.A. CURATE. f ttMisIjelj in ailj at its lesto cation. LONDON: .1. MASTERS; OXFORD: J. H. & J. PARKER; CHESTER: HUGH ROBERTS, EASTGATE ROW. SERMON. N E H EM I A H ii. 17. " Ye see the distress that we are in, how Jerusalem lieth waste, and the gates thereof are burned with fire : come, and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we be no more a reproach.'" The Bible, though the word of God, and perhaps chiefly designed to show us the deep things of God, has yet a wonderfully human character about it. God, indeed, speaks there, and that with no doubtful voice; but He speaks, for the most part, in the person of men, and stoops to all the ordinary forms of speech which men employ. And, so far from wearing the somewhat cold and repulsive aspect of a high and abstract theology, or hard and dry morality, the Scriptures abound with the most attractive and pathetic appeals to our understanding and aff'ections, which can be brought to bear upon them. True, as we read, the heavens open, and majestic words of sovereign power, or of solemn warning, fall upon our ears; but mingled with them are the accents of a human love, and we feel in the presence of One like ourselves, at Whose feet we may sit and look upward, if not with perfect and familial' confidence, yet at least with less trembling awe. And this it is which has made God's word, at all times, the hand-book of the lowly, as weU as the learned. Speaking to no particular age or class, but to the whole human race ; and from the depths of man's nature, as well as God's knowledge ; it is no Sybilline mystery, to be opened only in the hour of perplexity : but a bosom friend and associate, whose daily converse improves our mind, as much as it cheers our heart. Thus only could it become to us what it actually is, and satisfy all our nature's wants : hence its touching parables and engaging histories ; hence its universality and human tenderness. Not only do different portions of it fall in with the ever varying moods and tempers of men, according to their different characters and fortunes, at once correcting and elevating, as well as supplying a means of expression to their thoughts and feelings ; but neither can any circumstance or condition of life befall any number of us, I had almost said any individual, which is not there represented to the full, and in such a manner that we may take pattern from it for the regulation of our own conduct and emotions. Accordingly, we find there not parables only, but portraits ; accurate and most striking representations of what we ourselves might become under every phase of life, with all its shifting joys and sorrows. And these are drawn, as if the Spirit of God in drawing them had sympathized with us, and thrown Himself, so to say, into our ways of thinking; had been touched with a feeling of om' affections ; and striven to reach our hearts by their means. « uiuc ' \ f What simple and affecting scenes of domestic life, for instance, are set before us in the histories of the Patriarchal ages and others of a later period. What a muTor for great and public men in the lives of Moses and Samuel, of Daniel and David. How natural yet how picturesque is the chapter from which the text is takeil ; and how easily does the greater part of it accommodate itself to our condition here and present state of mind. We are not merely told that Nehemiah was moved by the desolation of his country to return thither and repair its ruins, which would have been enough to record the bare historical fact; but regard has been evidently had to the interest which any one similarly cu'cumstanced might natm-ally feel in the matter; and we ai^e allowed to observe how the first thought arose in his mind, to accompany him from the moment he determined upon attempting the work, and note all the trials and difficulties he had to encounter in its accomplishment. And this is a part of what I would call the human character of the Bible, that it thus di'aws us "with the cords of a man," entering into our thoughts, satisfying our curiosity, and consulting our aflfections; not merely narrating what was done, but discovering to us all the feelings and difficulties of those who did it, that we may not want for encouragement or instruction under hke circumstances. What, again, can be more admirable in this respect, or considerate to us, than the whole of this story of Nehemiah ? One of the childi-en of the captivity, he had been promoted to be^ the king's cup-bearer, a post of special dignity and favour. On a certain occasion some of the Jews came to him, possibly on a matter of business, or perhaps for the express purpose of interesting him in the matter, and told him how his countrymen that had been left in Judea were in great affliction and reproach ; and that the wall of Jerusalem was broken down, and the gates thereof burned with fire. Moved by this account, he prays that God would enable him to return to Jerusalem, and repair its ruins. Shortly after the king noticing his sadness and abstraction, when on duty at the palace, inquires the cause of it : and now observe his reply, " Why should not my countenance be sad, when the place of my fathers' sepulchres lieth waste, and the gates thereof are burnt with fire ? " Then he asks the king's leave and assisttance for the restoration he proposed. Having obtained these he sets out at once on his expedition and arrives at Jerusalem. Then, again, comes one of those touching pictures which in any other composition would be set down as a most exquisite stroke of art ; "I arose in the night, I and some few men with me; neither told I any man what my God had put into my heart to do at Jerusalem : and I went out by night .... and viewed the walls which were broken down, and the gates which were consumed by fire. So I went up in the night by the brook and viewed the wall, and turned back and entered by the gate of the valley, and returned." And afterwards, he adds, when occasion was given, how he m'ged all the rulers and the people to help him in the good work he had undertaken : " then said I unto them, Ye see the distress that we are in, how Jerusalem lieth waste and the gates thereof arc burnt with fire ; come and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we be no more a reproach." Here, then, is a case as nearly parallel to omown at the present moment, as any well can be : and you see something of the way in which, I should suppose God would have us feel and behave under it. And this is not told us in a hard and unfeeling or merely chdactic way, but in that which fi'om its kindly and human touches might seem calculated beyond all others to move our sympathies and secure our hearts. And here, in a word, is the course we should take. Let us first of all pray honestly and earnestly to God, that He would be with us, and prosper us in our work ; let us seek help and assistance from any who are able to contribute what we can not towards it ; and let us at once encourage one another, and arise, one and all, — for one and all are interested, and none, not the youngest or poorest, should be deprived of his right to share in such a work as this ; — let us, one and all, arise and build up our walls, that the place of our fathers' sepulchres lie no longer waste, and we ourselves be no longer a reproach. Now, it seems but natural to ask why Nehemiah speaks only of " the place of his fathers' sepulchres," when David, we cannot doubt, would have spoken of the house or city of the Lord his God? And one reason might very well be, that the person to whom he spoke differed from him in religious opinions; and, therefore, he urged a motive, not, probably, the strongest to his own mind, but such as he thought the other would recognise and allow. For this, indeed, is an argument which all men admit ; one of those touches of nature, which makes the whole world kin, as we say ; which is understood every where, and might be accepted, when other grounds would prove only so many points of difference. But, beyond a doubt, that which made Nehemiah so anxious about Jerusalem and the Temple, was the persuasion that they were to him the pledge and place of God's presence, and God's promises. In them his fathers had seized God, and found favour with Him. To rebuild them was an act of piety which no consideration of personal ease or enjoyment could induce him to forego ; and their restoration was the surest sign that God still owned His people, and would hold gTacious intercourse with them. That which drew his soul towards Jerusalem, and made all his yearning thoughts tm'n thitherwai'd, was a rehgious rather than a merely natm'al feehng ; yet, hke all religious ties and relations, gathering up the natm^al into itself and sanctifying them, as Christ in taking our nature did not destroy, but rather deified it. With some of us, also, I trust, the most constraining motive to the love of God's house, will ever be the thought that it is His house ; that there our fathers worshipped, and we om*selves ha.ve often found our God in the ordinances of His grace. There He first received us into His family fi'om a fallen world : there sanctified the several relations of home and affection, into which we have since entered: and there, not only do the bodies of our loved ones He ai'ound us, but we know that He watches over their holy and august repose, and will restore them to us in all their perfection when He comes again. 9 To others who, unhappily, are alienated in feehng, or differ in opinion, and so do not worship with us, it may be only the place of their fathers' sepulchres, that is, may have only such hold upon them as the relationships and ties of this life, though the best of them, can give it ; and yet for all that be loved by them with no weak or idle affection. For, short of those which are simply religious, there is, perhaps, no stronger or more sacred feehng than this, even if it is not itself in some sense religious. Certainly it obtains almost universally. Hardly can you find any people, however low or degraded, altogether insensible to it ; while it was the only reason once given by a considerable North American tribe, for refusing a very advantageous offer that had been made them for the lands they occupied: "how shall we remove the bones of our fathers ?" In urging this point, then, Nehemiah was probably not stating all those considerations which would have weight with his own mind, nor, perhaps, that which had the greatest, but only that which he thought most likely to be appreciated by the person with whom he had to do. And thus we, too, may be glad to find any common ground, where those who differ from us in other points, can yet meet us, and join with us in building up our walls, which lie waste, and our gates, which have been consumed by fire. No one, indeed, who witnessed the general zeal and activity which was shown on the occasion of our cruel disaster, can think that all regard for these holy places has died out in the minds, even of those who seem ordinarily but too careless and indifferent about such matters. It may not be all we lu could wish, or take exactly the shape we should deshre ; it may be weak, and require a good deal to call it into action; but there are evidently provocations which it would not tamely endure. From one motive or another, the attachment of the people of this country to the churches in which their fathers worshipped, even where they themselves have ceased for a time to do so, is greater than many would imagine. There is a sense of property and interest in them, which centuries of traditional feeling and possession conspire to keep alive ; and which, if any serious mischief to them were attempted, would exhibit itself in a manner, and with a vivacity, little, perhaps, anticipated by those who would destroy, or divert them from their proper uses. Many, who do not avail themselves of them as they might, have yet their own value and affection for them ; and would be very unwilling to have them seriously interfered with, or to be deprived of their right of access to them. And, in some cases, it might become apparent that to injure them greatly, would be like touching the apple of their eye, even with those who could hardly have been expected to stand forth in their defence. If, however, we have other and, as we deem, higher and holier motives than these to urge us on, then let us show ourselves more energetic and self-denying ; if we have greater interests at stake, as I do not hesitate to say we have, then let us be ready to make greater sacrifices, to show our sense of them. And let every individual of every class and age be invited to help in this great work ; not merely because 11 of the amount of pecuniary assistance they may be able to give ; but because it is a Christian's birthright that he should be allowed to take part in every thing which conduces to the glory of God : and let such arrangements be made for this purpose as the circumstances of every person may render most convenient to him. A further advantage I see in such a measure, is, that a person seldom makes a sacrifice for anything, be it what it may, without feeling that the object for which he made it has become proportionately dearer to him. This is the natural effect of any act of sacrifice or self-denial upon the doer: but in the case of religious objects, a supernatural grace, may be reasonably expected to attend upon the action. And thus our duties are blessed to ourselves, as well as their immediate objects. Consider again, how often what we withhold, or spend upon some object of sensual pleasure or worldly ambition, is utterly lost and dissipated; or remains only to become a snare and a curse to us. On the other hand, whatever we give to God has this blessing in it: that it still remains to us as our own, and our works do follow us, in a sense which cannot be true of that which we spend upon ourselves, or any mere object of this life. Nor does the good we thus do end with our own life, but lives on after we are gone hence, to bring others to Him; and continues to accomplish and augment the work for which we devoted it when we are no longer here to forward or direct its operation. Once more : it may be asked how is it that God can permit the evil mind of one man to do such dishonour to Him, and bring such trouble and distress upon so I -2 many othei-s : and to this we must answer that, though we cauuot pretend to see all the designs wliich God has in permitting such things, yet we can easily conceive how gi'eater houom* may redound (Ps. Ixxvi. 10:) to Him, and we om*selves may be spiritually improved by the exercise of those rehgious priuciples which such an event calls into action ; and that all may uot be so evil as it seems, even in the soitow and vexation which it occasions to those who sufl'er most from it. There me few. I should hope, in whom the destniction of this Chm*ch has uot excited some salutary reflections. Many, perhaps, have found that they really have more interest iu it than they ever thought they had before ; and could not see it desti'oyed without feehugs which they did not know they euteitidned towards it. Some, by such discoveiy of theiiown heaits, may be led to the fiu-ther question, how it comes about that they have hitherto piized its ordinances so little; and determine, by God's gi-ace, to frequent them more for the futm'e. Others again, I would fain hope, who have hitherto stood aloof fi'om us, may be drawn towai-ds us by the conviction that we have, after aU, a depth of common interest ui holy things which it is not worth theii" while to overlook for a few inferior or imimportaut differences of opiniou ; for community in loss and sufleiing has often a wouderful effect in reconciling differences, tind blotting out recollections that hinder unity of sentiment and action. If, then, any such results as these should foUow, and God grant they may, they would materially deti-act from the amount of evil really inflicted by this gi-eat 13 crime. If, indeed, our loss call any of us to a keeneiand more religious apprehension of the blessings of public worship ; if it awaken in us a more earnest desire to honour God in our substance, or lives and actions ; "if it help us, in any way, to realize more distinctly our true relation to Grod and to one another ; if it make us more united, more forbearing, more truthful, more religious; then, so far from wondering that God should permit any one person to have the power of inflicting so much loss and inconvenience on so many, we shall the rather wonder to find how much good He can work out of that which, to our eyes, must seem at first sight an unmitigated evil. And, as such a result is neither impossible nor unnatural, let us endeavour seriously to bring it about. Let us pray God to do it for us, and by us, and in us. Let us entreat Him to draw our hearts more together ; to make us more considerate and kind to one another ; to help us to feel our own faults, and forget each other's offences in our common loss. As the evil brought upon us is unusual in its extent and enormity; so let us pray Him to enable us to distinguish it as remarkably by the way in which we bear and improve it. Let those who point to the one be compelled to notice the other as pointedly, so that we may be no more a reproach. Let us arise and build again our Holy House, in which our fathers worshipped ; and let the common work, and the common interest which we must feel in it, unite and draw us more and more together. Let our earnestness in the matter, too, be so apparent as to be a support and spur to those who undertake the 14 direction of it. In short, let us imitate those who have already given so hberally of theii' substance towards it : for though we may never want opportunities of doing good or promoting the glory of God ; not often does He make so urgent an appeal to any of us ; not often does He bring the question of our readiness to uphold His honom' so pressingly home to us. But, while we thus urge on the restoration of the material fabric, let us not forget that we, also, are described as living stones in a still more glorious structure ; of which apostles and prophets are the foundation, and Christ himself the firm and stable corner stone. In this spuitual temple, then, let us arise and build with redoubled energy, that our earthly shrines, in which we now worship, may be more lovely in His sight ; and we ourselves, at last, be placed among the stones with which the foundations of the walls of the heavenly Jerusalem (Rev. xxi. 19.) are daily being garnished. W. B. PRINTED BY HroH EOBEKTS, EASTGATE ROW, CHESTER. ■^'^■•*/.:w-'•■■. . ■; r M^ ^^.«-' rfif'; ! (^} fe mp^ ,' u y "Ai ■^^ 'Yi^LIE-^MlI^IEIESlIirY" " ILniBI^^IElf » Bought with the income of the Edward Wells South worth Fund, 19lS Swartbmore Xecturc 1915. SWARTHMORE LECTURES. Cloth boards, is. net each. 1908. — Quakerism : A Religion of Life. By R. M. Jones, M.A., D.Litt. (AI«o in paper covers, 6d. net.) Z909. — Spiritual Guidance in the Ex perience of the Society of Friends ' By William C. Braithwaite, LL.B. 1910. — The Communion of Life. By Joan M. Fry. 1911. — Human Progress and the Inward Light. By Thomas Hodgkin, D.C.L. 1912. — The Nature and Purpose of a Christian Society. By T. R. Glover, M.A. 1913. — Social Service : Its Place in the Society of Friends. By Joshua Rowntree. 1914. — The Historic and the Inward Christ. By Edward Grubb, M.A. 1915.— The Quest for Truth. By Silvanus P. Thompson, F.R.S. Swartbmore Xecture The Quest for Truth BY SILVANUS P. THOMPSON, F.R.S. Published for the Woodbrooke Extension Committee BY HEADLEY BROTHERS 140, BISHOPSGATE, E.C. I915 HEADLEY BROTHERS, PRINTERS, BISHOPSGATE, E.C. ; AND ASHFORD, KENT. SwZg Ipreface The Swarthmore Lectureship was established by the Woodbrooke Extension Committee, at a meeting held December 9th, 1907 : the minute of the Committee providing for " an annual lecture on some subject relating to the Message and Work of the Society of Friends." The name " Swarthmore " was chosen in memory of the home of Margaret Fox, which was always open to the earnest seeker after Truth, and from which loving words of sympathy and substantial material help were sent to fellow-workers. The Lectureship has a two-fold purpose : first, to interpret further to the members of the Society of Friends their Message and Mission ; and secondly, to bring before the public the spirit, the aims and the fundamental principles of the Friends. The previous lectures of the series have been as follows : — 1908 : " Quakerism a Religion of Life," by Rufus M. Jones, M.A., D.Litt., of Haverford College, Pa. 6 preface 1909 : " Spiritual Guidance in the Experience of the Society of Friends," by William Charles Braithwaite,' B.A., LL.B. 1910 : " The Communion of Life," by Joan Mary Fry. 1911 : " Human Progress and the Inward Light," by Thomas Hodgkin, D.C.L. 1912 : " The Nature and Purpose of a Christian Society," by T. R. Glover, M,A. 1913 : " Social Service : its Place in the Society of Friends," by Joshua Rowntree. 1914 : " The Historic and the Inward Christ," by Edward Grubb, M.A. The above lectures have been delivered on the evening preceding the assembly of the Friends' Yearly Meeting in each year. Contents. PAQE Introduction. What is Truth ? — Corres pondence between fact and word — Violation of that correspondence is untruth, and is condemned in the court of conscience ii Veracity. The moral obligation of truthspeaking .... 12 EQurvocATioN AND CASUISTRY. Opinions of Lecky, Ruskin and George Tjnrrell 17 Intellectual Integrity. Conventional lies — Truth for its own sake — The habit of truth fulness 19 The Use of Words. How words change their meanings — Disputations over words — The misuse of words 24 Confusions in the Use of Phrases. The difference between categorical and ana logical statements — Error arising from confusion as to the nature of a statement 31 Hindrances to the Quest for Truth. Overrespect for authority — Dislike of suspense — Neglect to use discrimination — Inexactitude of language .... 34 The Quest for Truth in History. The besetments of Historians — Carelessness in selection — Unwarranted guesses — Modern methods of testing history 36 8 Contents PAGE The Quest for Truth in Science. Verification by experiment — Numerical precision — Meaning of a proof — Inviolable correspon dences called natural laws — Danger of determinism— Hypotheses and their verification — Independence of authority 41 The Quest for Truth in Religion and Morals. Danger of casuistry — Influence of education and environment — Avoidance of superstition 54 Pious Frauds. The lapse from truthfulness allowed by some Early Fathers — Pious frauds approved in ecclesiastical literature — Lecky's stern reproof 57 Parables. Their use and abuse 65 Legends of the Saints. Pious legends are folk lore and not history — Not to be condemned as lying— Froude on their origin 67 History and Folklore. The natural growth of adoring legends — The doctrine of the Fall — Accretions gathered round Truth 71 Adventitious Aids to Truth. Miracle-working supposed to demonstrate truth of proposi tions. — The Oriental state of mind — Veneration of relics 76 The Gospel Narratives. Degree of historicity — The conclusions of competent scholarship 82 The Fulfilment of Prophecy. Meaning of " prophecy " and " fulfilment " — Rabbinic mode of thought — Detection of anachromisms .... 84 Certitude and Truth. Mental states that lead to certitude — Discrimination must be Contents 9 PAGE used — Tests of what is true — The appeal to persistence — The test of pragmatism — Postulates of science ; principles that cannot be denied without intellectual confusion — Postulates of ethics and religion — Authority and the imposition of dogma — True authority and the method of intuition 92 Intuition and Truth. Intuition in scientific discovery — A supra-rational faculty — Bergson's philosophy .... 106 The Inner Light. Immediate spiritual experience, " That of God in you " — Experiences of Fox, Penn and Penington — Fox's assumption — The synthesis of internal and external witness — The test of spiritual experience .... 108 Individual Experience and Corporate Control. The unorganized but real control of environment and of spiritual influences of the past and the present 115 Experience and Conviction. The sharing of convictions and confirmation of experi ence by experience — The Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead 118 Reconstruction. Changes of belief — Growth in enlightenment 120 Courage and Truth. Many views of truth — Difficulty of reconciling and correlating isolated convictions — System-mongering the besetment of theologians — Jesus Christ revealed no comprehensive scheme of theology ; He bestowed words of Eternal Life — He propounded no theories — His methods were spiritual and interior — His witness for the Truth 123 " For this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth." — John xviii. 37. " Strive for the truth unto death, and the Lord shall fight for thee." — Ecclesiasticus iv. 28. " Happy is he whom truth teacheth by itself, not by figures and words that pass, but as it is in itself." " De Imitatione Christi," I., iii. " Truth emerges more quickly from error than from confusion." — Francis Bacon. " It makes all the difference in the world whether we put truth in the first place, or in the second." Archbishop Whately. " It is only by virtue of the opposition which it has surmounted that any truth can stand in the human mind." Archbishop Trench. " The longest Sword, the strongest Lungs, the most Voices, are false measures of Truth." Benjamin Whichcote. " Truth is like a torch : the more 'tis shook, the more it shines." — Sir William Hamilton. " The more readily we admit the possibility of our own cherished convictions being mixed with error, the more vital and helpful whatever is right in them will become." John Ruskin. " Am I therefore become your enemy because I tell you the truth?" — Paul (Galatians iv. 16). " Blame not before thou hast examined the truth ; under stand first, and then rebuke." — ^Ecclesiasticus xi. 7. ^be (aueet for ZTrutb INTRODUCTION In the age-long quest after Truth, men have sought far and wide. They have questioned the starry heavens ; they have dug into the bowels of the earth ; they have rifled the treasures of the antique world ; they have consulted the reputed oracles of human wisdom ; they have sought for truth in the depths of their own consciousness ; they have looked for some divine Revelation. Has any one — ^the wisest.the purest, the riiost enlightened of them — found the answer to the age-long enigma : What is Truth ? Yet from the dawn of human history men have known as by some divine instinct the vital difference there is between fact and not-f act, and have despised the man who should say the thing that is not. They have learned to discriminate between the man who unwittingly says that which is not, and they have styled his untruth as error ; and him who wittingly and of deliberate piupose says that which is not, and they have branded his untruth as a lie. Perhaps it has been easier 12 Swartbmore Xecture to define the negative, untruth, than to define the positive, truth. But whether positively defined, or negatively, man has ever possessed a consciousness of the difference between them. At whatever stage of prehistoric development man attained the endowment of speech, he has instinctively expected and required a correspon dence between the fact and the word which expressed it ; and has been conscious that if that correspondence were violated some wrong has been done to him ; and he has resented that violation. Untruth, then, jn its most elementary form consists in a violation of the correspondence between fact and word ; and truth, in its essence, consists in the strict observance of the correspondence between word and fact. Any violation of that correspondence, whether accidental through carelessness or ignorance, or purposed through malevolent intention, leads to confusion. When discovered, it offends against the instinctive sense of right and wrong, and is condemned in the court of fionscience. VERACITY. And here we must distinguish between that which is, and a man's conception of that which tCbe diuest for ZTrutb 13 is. If a man honestly expresses in speech, or in action, that which he conceives to be the fact, we credit him with being veracious, even if what he conceived to be the fact should after wards turn out to be a mistaken or imperfect conception of the real fact. He has not lied ; and yet what he spoke may after all not have been the truth. Veracity, which is always a commendable quality, implies a correspondence between what a man believes and thinks on the one hand, and what he says, and acts upon, and does on the other hand. But Truth is much more than mere veracity. The quest for truth demands much more than following the habit of veracity. It implies the effort — ^the continued, intelligent, honest effort — ^to bring one's conception of things into accurate corres pondence with things as they really are ; so that one's speech shall not merely voice empty or confused or untrue opinions or impressions, but shall express, so far as possible, the thing that is. The ascertainment of truth, and its discrimination from error and falsehood, is therefore a different process and a much more exacting one than mere truth-speaking. Veracity is quite compatible with honest error ; may co-exist with confusion of thought and 14 Swartbmore Xecture ignorance. Yet deliverance from confusion or ignorance cannot be expected to be brought about through anyone of whom veracity is not the habitual practice.The discovery of truth is not for him who is careless of truth in speech, or deed, or in habit of mind. Neither is it for him whose thinking apparatus is in a state of confusion. This is not the place or time to enter upon the abstract question sometimes raised, as to why we ought to speak the truth, or why moralists in all ages' have insisted on truthfulness as the necessary foundation of all the other virtues. ¦ In ancient Egjrpt, we find Truth set forth as amongst the highest titles of God. In the Book of the Dead (ch. xiii. and xliv.) we read : " God is Truth ; he lives through Truth ; he is nourished on Truth ; he is King of Truth ; and Truth he erects over the world." And the verdict prononuced on the soul of the justified person runs : " He lives in Truth, nourishes himself on Truth." Socrates was pre-eminent in Greece for his stern and outspoken love of truth. Blackie, in his Four Phases of Morals (pp. 19-34) lis-s thus written of him : — " Socrates, therefore, was right, not only for Greece in the fifth century B.C., but for England at the present moment, and for all times and places, when he pro claimed on the house-tops that the first and most necessary wisdom for all men is not to measure the stars, or to weigh the dust, or to analyse the air, but, according to the old Delphic sentence to know them selves, and to realize in all tbe breadth and depth of its Ube (Siuest for TTrutb 15 In the dialogues of Plato there is a very remarkable passage in which that sage gives a vision of souls choosing their lives* before significance what it is to be a man, and not a pig or a god. . . . Truth, therefore, unadulterated truth in thought and act, was the pole-star of his navigation." Plato, in the Republic, declares a lie to be a thing naturally hateful both to gods and men. The Zoroastrians also had strong perceptions of Truth. In their conception of the universe there were two great conflicting principles of good and evil, personi fied as Ormuzd and Ahriman. CM Ormuzd they said : " He is the Truth." The power of Ahriman is " in the lie." One of their legends states that Yima, the fallen spirit, fell through a lie : " His glory {i.e., the truth) was seen leaving him in the likeness of a beautiful bird." ' The passage occurs in the Republic, ch. x., 617, and is worthy of being quoted at greater lengfth. " But first of all there came a prophet who arranged them in order ; then he took from the knees of Lachesis lots and samples of lives, and having mounted on a high pulpit, spake as follows : ' Hear the word of Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. Mortal souls, behold a new cycle of life and mortality. Your genius wiU not be allotted to you, but you will choose your genius ; and let him who draws the first lot have the first choice, and the life which he chooses shall be his destiny. Virtue is free, and as a man honours or dishonours her, he will have more or less of her ; the responsibility is with the chooser — God is justified.' . . . ' A man must take with him into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and right, that there too he may be undazded by the desire of wealth or the other allurements of evil, lest, coming upon t)?rannies and similar villainies, he do irremediable wrongs to others and suffer yet worse himself.' ' Even for the last comer, if he chooses wisely, and wiU live diligently, there is appointed a happy and not undesirable existence. Let not him who chooses first be careless, and let not the last despair.' " Jowett's Dialogues 0* Plato, Vol. III., pp. 334-6. i6 Swartbmore Xecture they enter the world of men, and puts as the first qualification for the momentous issue this : — " A man must take with him into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and right." That is, he must cherish truth-speaking and right-doing as cardinal points of conduct in this life. I need not dwell upon this moral obligation to speak the truth, or on the ethical reasons that have been assigned for it by different writers. For us, at least, the obligation may be put on the highest grounds. We have the words of Christ,' " Let your communication be. Yea, yea ; Nay, nay ; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil." But we have also, in the words of Paul,* what seems to be the real reason why, " putting away lying," we should " speak every man truth with his neighbour," namely this : — " for we are members one of another." The solidarity of human life requires of us that we should use our words so that they correspond to the thing that is, and so abuse not the gift of speech. " The great basis," said Babbage.s "of virtue in man, is truth ' Matthew v. ^. » Ephesians iv. 2^5r 3 Passages from the Life of a Philosopher," p. 404. Zbc CJuest for tlrutb 17 — ^that is, the constant application of the same word to the same thing." There is, as Professor Jacks has declared,' " no surer road to a state of alienation from what is best in modem life, and to the forfeiture of good men's confidence, than that of a careless handling of the standard of truth." EQUIVOCATION AND CASUISTRY. The casuists have immemorially raised the question whether one is bound at all times and in all circumstances to speak the truth ; whether under stress of personal danger, or under threat of violence, one is not justified in deliberate untruth ; whether in dealing with madmen or criminals one is debarred from using a lie in the interests of truth ; whether a physician is permitted to conceal the truth from a patient in a critical state of health ; whether an ad vocate may plead for the innocence of a client whom he knows to be really guilty. Little good can come from arguing out casuistical cases* on a priori grounds. Everyone will ' Hibbert fournal, Oct., 1906. ' Lecky, in his History of Rationalism (Vol. I., p. 394), has stated the position as follows : — "Whatever may be the foundation of the moral law, it is certain that in the eyes of the immense majority 1 8 Swartbmore Xecture agree that the less of casuistry there is in the world the better ; that every departure from the standard of truth, however excusable it may seem in the stress of difficult circumstances, is in itself evil and debasing to the moral sense. Still less would one care to defend or justify the perversions of truth that pass current almost unrebuked in many departments of life. No one has denounced more clearly the evils of prevarication, of the false insinuation, than John Ruskin. Hear him as he speaks in the Seven Lamps : — " Do not let us lie at all. Do~not think of one falsity as harmless, and another as slight, and. another as of mankind there are some overwhelming considerations that will justify a breach of its provisions. If some great misfortune were to befall a man who lay on a sick bed, trembling between life and death ; if the physician declared that the knowledge of that misfortune would be certain death to the patient, and if concealment were only possible by a falsehood, there are very few moralists who would condemn that falsehood." . . . " It is not very easy to justify these things by argument, or to draw a clear line between crimii^ and innocent falsehood ; but that there are circumstances which justify untruth has always been admitted by the common sentiment of mankind, and has been distinctly laid down by the most eminent moralists." Lecky quotes Jeremy Taylor and other divines in support of this temporizing view. A careful statement of the Roman doctrine of Equivocation will be found in a letter, dated from Stonyhurst, October 5th, 190 1, by Rev. Father Canning, S. J., printed as Supplementum VI., on p. 287, of H. H. Spink's book, The Gunpowder Plot (1902). XCbe (Stuest for Urutb 19 unintended. Cast them all aside ; they may be light and accidental ; but they are an ugly soot from the smoke of the pit, for all that ; and it is better that our hearts should be swept clean of them, without over care as to which is largest or blackest. Speaking truth is like writing fair, and comes only by practice;, it is less a matter of will than of habit, and I doubt if any occasion can be trivial which permits the practice and formation of such a habit. To speak and act truth with constancy and precision is nearly as difficult, and perhaps as meritorious, as to speak it under intimidation or penalty." " And yet it is not calumny nor treachery that do the largest sum of mischief in the world. But it is the glistening and softly spoken lie ; the amiable fallacy ; the patriotic lie of the historian, the provident lie of the politician, the zealous lie of the partizan, the merciful lie of the friend, and the careless lie of each man to him self, that cast that black mystery over humanity, through which we thank any man who pierces, as we would thank one who dug a well in a desert." " There are some faults slight in the sight of love, some errors slight in the estimate of wisdom ; but truth forgives no insult, and endures no stain." Hear again the late Father George Tyrrell : — ¦ ¦ " There is something worse than deliberate lying, and that is the habit of gratuitous assertion ; of saying, not what we know to be untrue, but what we do not know to be true. Nine-tenths of our untruthfulness is of this sort ; and it is fostered by the credulity or the indifference of our hearers." INTELLECTUAL INTEGRITY. Experience of life brings home to us the desirability of keeping out of deceptions, of 20 Swartbmore Xecture avoiding the disaster that follows on dwelling in the false security of illusions. It seems indeed strange that men willingly live on the lower planes of truthfulness, rather than on the higher. In every rank we find con ventional lies taking the place of truth. Each man, wherever he is placed, has to contend, not only against the outward falsities, but against the temptation to say to others the things that seem pleasant, and things service able for the hour, rather than the things that are. Every class has to fight with its own misleading prepossessions, every age has to meet its own falsehoods. In an environment where men are careless of truth, it is easy to slip into inexactitudes of speech. The habit of looking at things carelessly begets in men the inability to see things truly. They cannot read aright the things that are. And this, the saddest, if not the most wicked, form of lying, eats as a canker into the character ; it is what Francis Bacon called " the lie that sinketh in." There are some who imagine that it is an easy thing for a man to speak the truth ; that even after lapse of exercise the faculty remains unimpaired. But he who supposes that truth-speaking is a casual function, which after XTbe Ciuest for Urutb 21 habitual neglect may be at any time resumed, has never gone to the root of the matter. It seems deplorable, but after many years I have come to the conclusion, that the majority of men do not want to know the truth about things. They will admit that truth is many sided ; but they want to hear one side' only. They do not want the truth, but only that particular aspect of it which suits them. " Am I become your enemy because I tell you the truth ? " was the question directed by the great Apostie of the Gentiles to some of his subverted followers. It was ever thus ; men, even though veracious and honest in speech, are not by nature lovers of truth, anxious to know the thing as it is. Rather they wish to believe the thing as it seems in their imaginations. They are lovers of their fancies, their own cherished prejudices*. To ' How many men make a practice of reading both sides of even passing politics ? They prefer to hear the organs of one party only. In religious matters, how many men read the views of those who differ from them ? How many subscribers to the Christian World read also the Inquirer or the Tablet ? How many readers of the Inquirer read also the Guardian, or the Church Times, or the Dublin Review ? ' " In the same way all those superficial and inadequate, too often also harsh and severe, judgements which we see and read daily amongst men in the common 22 Swartbmore Xecture become lovers of truth for its own sake they need to undergo a moral, and in many cases an intellectual, regeneration ; to be baptized into the truth. And this is truly sad, that some of the best of men think that truth is endangered if that side of it which they call particularly theirs is submitted to scrutiny. As though truth could not endure enquiry, or were unable to stand the test of examination. Nay, it may almost be said that everything that has been established as true has been established by being contested, and having stood the test. No one has spoken of truth in relation to men's preconceived opinions more wisely than Dr. Whately in the second series of his Essays. converse of life, are the result of a habitual carelessness as to truth, of which habit only too efficiently conceals the grossness. And under the bitter inspiration of ecclesiastical and political warfare, men, when speaking of their adversaries, will not only lightly excuse them selves from using any special care in testing the facts which it suits their purpose to parade, but they will even consciously present a garbled statement con structed upon the principle of pushing into prominence everything that is bad, and keeping out of view everything that is good, in the character of the person whom it may suit the use of the moment to vilify. And in this way even the sacred-sounding columns of an evangelical newspaper may become a systematic manufactory of lies." — Blackie, Four Phases of Morals, P44XTbe Ciuest for ZTrutb 23 " Every one must, of course, be convinced of the truth of his own opinion, if it be properly called his opinion ; and yet the variety of men's opinions furnishes a proof how many must be mistaken. If anyone then would guard against mistake as far as his intellectual faculties will allow, he must make it, not the second, but the first question in each case, 'Is this true ? ' It is not enough to believe what you maintain ; you must maintain what you believe ; and maintain it because you believe it ; and that on the most careful and impartial review of the evidence on both sides. For any one may bring him self to believe almost any thing that he is inclined to believe, and thinks it becoming or expedient to maintain. * It makes all the difference, therefore, whether we begin or end with the inquiry as to the truth of our doctrines. To express the same maxim in other words, it is one thing to wish to have Truth on our side, and another thing to wish sincerely to be on the side of Truth. There is no genuine love of truth implied in the former." (p. 31). Harmful as preconceived notions may be, they are perhaps less harmful to ourselves than confusions of thought. Take this as an illus tration. To denounce gout as a sin would be a confusion of thought. Doubtless gout is often the result of bodily excesses, and excess is not merely a vice ; it is a sin against light. But gout is not always the result of excess. To ? Some persons accordingly who describe themselves — in one sense correctly — ^as "following the dictates of conscience," are doing so only in the same sense in which a person who is driving in a carriage may be said to follow his horses, which go in whatever direction he guides them. 24 Swartbmore Xecture denounce it as a sin is, first, to confuse effect with cause, and, secondly, to confuse causes that are sinless with causes that are sinful. The quest for truth, then, in whatever field we are seeking it, implies a frame of mind that shall be fundamentally sincere, and frank. Sincere : that it shall seek the truth for its own sake and without fear ; frank : that it will neither be blinded by prejudice nor let itself be warped by ulterior aims. Truthfulness is a thing of habit even more than of will. In this respect there is a oneness about it which pervades it, whether in the great or the small, whether in things sacred or things secular. He that would be faithful in the great must be faithful in the small. Whether we seek truth in religion, or in history, or in science, sincerity and frankness are equally essential ; while carelessness in what may seem matters of little moment insensibly leads to carelessness in matters of vital and eternal importance. THE USE OF WORDS. Amongst the things which make for sincerity in the quest, one of the most important is the right use of words. " Words," said Jowett, " want constant XCbe duest for tTrutb 25 examination and analysis ; for words tend to outrun facts. They become symbols of ideas. Thus they dominate the mind and prevent it from seeing facts as they are." Every student of the science of language knows full well how words, in passing as the current coin of thought from man to man, slowly change their meaning, so that to one generation they convey a slightly different implication from that which they conveyed to the preceding generation. Yet in one and the same age a word may mean very different things to different minds, even when the word itself is used carefully and in an accepted meaning. That language may change in the course of a century or two, may be seen by very simple examples from our own Authorized Version, in words which have altered their meanings since the time of King James. The " compass " which Paul and his companions " fetched " from Sjnracuse when sailing to Rhegium', was not the useful instrument of navigation that now goes by that name. When Christ " prevented " Peter*, as we read in the account of the payment of the tax, the word, ' Acts xxviii. 13. ' Matthew xvii. 25. 26 Swartbmore Xecture as used in the seventeenth century meant " anticipated," and did not mean " hindered " as it now does. Words are in many instances fossil expressions of thought, which we do not understand until we have examined the signi ficance they bore at the time when they were used. The philosophical Greeks in the period when Greek literature flourished were much more precise in defining and using words than were the later Greeks, including the writers of the New Testament. Yet even they were notalways agreed as to the meanings attached to terms. Men who were careless about settling definitions left legacies of confusion to after ages. Half the theological disputes which raged in the Church from the third to the fifth century really turned upon the meanings of words ; and anathemas were pronounced against men of piety because of misunderstandings of language. The theologians who were responsible for drawing up the three orthodox Creeds sinned greatly against the generations to come, by their morbid word-battlings respecting such words as "person" and "substance," sometimes main taining that their signification was the same, sometimes contending that they were essentially different. XLbc (Siuest for XTrutb 27 Orthodox theologians are most emphatic that it is a heresy either to confound the three "persons" of the Trinity or to divide its "sub stance " into three. Yet the Council of Nicsea decided that " person " and " substance " are the same. Dean Stanley, discussing' that decision quotes J. H. Newman as saying : " its language is so obscure that even theologians differ about its meaning." Dogmas, once the ex pression of ardent and living piety, have largely shrunk to mere formulas. It has dawned upon mankind that they were mostly merely verbal fortifications against the intellectual difficulties of a bygone age. No longer can they preserve their significance when it is seen that their validity rested upon assumptions of historicity that had never been verified, and upon verbal definitions that had never been established. " And thus the child imposes on the man." Now we cannot get rid of this difficulty about the change in meaning of words by merely preserving them in a dead language. There is a body caUing itself the " Catholic Truth Society," which issues controversial pamphlets to prove the rightness of the teachings of the Roman Church, and the wrongness of all the ' Athanasian Creed, p. i8. 28 Swartbmore Xecture other Churches. One of these pamphlets,* issued a few years ago, is headed : " Why in Latin ? " It is in the form of a dialogue, defending the practice of saying the Mass in Latin. From this I take the following passage : " The first duty of the Society which Our Lord founded must be to keep the Truth which our Lord has taught ; exactly the same Truth. Christianity changed is not Christianity ; Christianity added to, or taken from, is not the Christianity of Christ. The care of the Truth is tbe great and first duty of the Society of Christ." With all my heart I agree. But the priest who wrote these words seems to think that it is compatible with them to adopt all the vast accretions with which the Church of Rome has, overlaid the simple truth which qur Lord taught. Then he goes on with the diedogue : " But what has that to do with Latin ? " " This to do with it : — a dead language is far better for this end than a living one." " Why so ? " " Because the meaning of its words is fixed, and cannot alter. Latin, as I said, is dead in one way . . . the meaning of the words cannot change. What Cicero meant when first he spoke the words in the parliament of Rome — ^what SS. Jerome and Augustine meant, and the writers who went before and came after, that same is meant to-day, and will be meant when the world ends." ' Why in Latin? By Rev. G. Bampfylde (The Catholic's Penny Library). Published by the Catholic Truth Society. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 29 The argument is utterly fallacious ; the bad non-Ciceronian Latin written by St. Jerome has been notorious for centuries, and was even the subject of jest between humanist ecclesi astics in the Renaissance. And if there were any importance in preserving the letter of Christ's teaching in a dead language, that language should surely be either Greek, or Aramaic which Christ spoke ; not Latin, which He did not sp^ak. We do not know of one single word of Latin being ever spoken by Christ. In passing, let me remark upon the change of meaning that has in the course of centuries come over the adjective " catholic." Originally signifying "all embracing" or "inclusive," it has come to signify almost the opposite. Perhaps the most glaring and persistent misuse of words that has occurred in our time is to be found in the writings of the late Mrs. Eddy, who throughout her teaching uses words, either ignorantly or wilfully, in senses different from their accepted meaning. I do not condemn that which she calls " Christian Science " so much for its puerile philosophy as for its verbal equivocations and insincerities of language. To use words in misleading significations is to poison the fountain of truth. 30 Swartbmore Xecture The misuse of language with intent to mislead is merely a clever form of lying. The misuse of language through carelessness of expression, though less culpable, not only leads to fruitful error but harms the speaker. " Be assured of this, most excellent Crito," said Socrates, " that to use words in an improper sense is not only a bad thing in itself, but it generates a bad habit in the soul." One other caution is needed. All human language is imperfect, and fails to convey the highest thought, simply because it has grown up to express our own limited experience. When we try to express in words the nature of God Himself, and attribute to Him qualities such as good, or just, or merciful, we are applying to Him phrases derived from human experience, and from our experience of the best we know in man : the highest we can think of. Or perhaps we try to intensify their meaning by putting on a prefix and calling Him aW-good, all-]ust, allmerciful. But if we thus do the best we can, " we may not, therefore," as Professor Percy Gardner (to whom the preceding remark is due) says,' " use these phrases as counters in a game of theological speculation on the divine nature." ' Expioratio Evangelica, p. 51. trbe (Sluest for TTrutb 31 Half the weary disputes of Christology have arisen from failure to understand the limitations of language ; and the combatants who fought so strenuously through long centuries, for what they imagined to be sacred truth, were largely occupied with what the Apostie Paul dismisses as logomachies — " doting about ,questions and strifes of words." CONFUSIONS IN THE USE OF PHRASES. Another point in which the use of words may lead to error is the confusion which exists in many persons between a categorical and an analogical statement. The commonest verb — " is " — is used in more than one way. It sometimes implies identity. If I say " Sir Oliver Lodge is the principal of Birmingham University," no one doubts that this is a statement of identity of the person who is mentioned by name and the person who holds a particular office. It would be equally true if it were turned round, and stated that " TheJ Principal of Birmingham University is Sir Oliver Lodge." The statement is categorical. But if I say " Murder is sin," the statement is not one of an identity, as may be seen at once by transposing it into the different statement 32 Swartbmore Xecture " Sinismurder." Apply this test to the familiar declaration from i John iii. 5: "God is Light." No one doubts its essential truth, but it is not categorically true ; it is not an identity. Turn it roimd and it becomes " Light is God," which means a very different thing. The two concepts connoted by the two words thus joined, cover, as it were, different areas of thought, and cannot be equated or identified with one another. Con sider the statement of Galatians iv. 24, " For this Agar is Mount Sinai in Arabia." In what sense can it be true that Agar, the slave wife of Abraham, is the same as Mount Sinai ? Clearly it is categorically untrue, and is true only by remote analogy ; is only metaphorically true. Or again, Paul says, i Cor. x. 4 : "for they [our fathers] drank of the spiritual rock that followed them ; and that rock was Christ." Obviously the statement is analogical,' not categorical. But more important still in the present consideration is the statement of Jesus » The statement is evidence of a survival in the mind of Paul of that curious Rabbinical tradition that the rock which Moses struck followed the Israelites in their wilderness wanderings, to afford them siipplies of water in the desert. In the complex mentality of Paul, Rabbinical tradition played a much more considerable part than is commonly recognized. His identification of the traditional rock with Christ is not the least significant of the clues we have to his modes of thought. XTbe (Jiuest for XCrutb 33 at the Last Supper, where He took the cup (Matt. xxvi. 28 ; Mark xiv. 24) and said to the disciples, " this is My blood." Was the state ment true categorically or analogically only ? The orthodox theologians of Rome say it was categorically true, and with perfect logic hold the dogma of transubstantiation. Protestant theologians hold that it was only true by analogy. Confusions between the categorical and analogical use of phrases have, alas, led to confusion in many other directions. We all are familiar with the statement that Jesus Christ is the Good Shepherd who gives His life for His sheep. It is a supremely beautiful statement, and supremely true. We are also familiar with the other statement that Jesus is our Passover, the Lamb slain for men's sins. This also is a supreme and beauti ful truth. But put the two statements together and we at once encounter the difficulty that they cannot, except as analogical statements, be both true at once. The man who gives his Ijfe rather than let his sheep be lost cannot in the same breath be the sheep that is slain instead of men, or for the sake of men. If they are put forward as categorical statements they cannot both be true, one or both must 3 34 Swartbmore Xecture be false. They can only both be true if they are (or if one of them is) true as an analogy only. This is not the place to decide whether either of them, or which, is categorically true. I merely point out that they cannot both be so. Much confusion of thought has prevailed through the unwisdom of good men in attributing cate gorical values to things only analogically true. Another example is afforded by setting side by side the two statements of Jesus found in the Fourth Gospel ; " I am the true vine, and My Father is the Husbandman." " I and My Father are one." Since the vine and the vinedresser who prunes it cannot possibly be the same, it is evident that one or both of these statements must be analogical only, and not categorically true. To take an analogical truth and found a dogma upon it, and argue about it as though it were categorically true, is an illicit process which will end in confusion. Yet the dogma which claims supremacy for the see of Rome is based upon an analogical statement. HINDRANCES TO THE QUEST FOR TRUTH. Let us return to the quest for truth, and consider the things that militate against it — the XCbe (Siuest for TTrutb 3S feelings and preoccupations which tend against enquiry. (i) First, there is over-respect for venerated authority ; the excessive deference to those whom we rightly revere, and to the sanctions of long-established custom. (2) Secondly, there is a false humility which blinds men from exercising any independent judgment. (3) Thirdly, there is in many minds an aversion from doubt ; they dislike to have their judge ment kept in suspense. They want to have their minds made up, even if the materials for arriving at a sound judgement are wanting. (4) Fourthly, there is a tendency to temporize ; to accept the expedient, rather than share the toil of investigating the evidence. This is inertia rather than timidity; but if allowed to sway the individual its consequence is in evitable. Habitual neglect of the faculty of discriminating the false from the true, the doubtful from the well-established, will bring atrophy of the power of discrimination. (5) Fifthly, and happily rare, is that opposi tion to truth which arises from the craving for originality. But unfortunately there are men 36 Swartbmore Xecture who will be zealous for truth only so long as it is discovered by themselves. (6) Carelessness of phrase, inexactness in the habitual use of language, want of precision and clarity of thought, all militate against the apprehension of truth. Overstrained meta phors' also cause confusion, even when it is plain that they are intended to be metaphorical only. THE QUEST FOR TRUTH IN HISTORY. Having said this much, let us turn to the consideration of the quest of truth in history. History deals with the events of the past ; with the recorded words of bygone chroniclers, with the remains left by former generations of builders and craftsmen; with the ebb and flow of peoples ; with the rise and fall of civilizations ; with the customs and traditions of times gone by. Out of these materials the historian tries to piece together the past, and to place it in narrative before us in the present. And in his case the question, what is truth ? can » In a recent book of religious verse, containing contributions by the late poet Francis Thompson, and some of the younger Meynells, occurs this phrase : " White as a lamb's blood." Tbe phrase is as untrue to fact as it is puerile. Ube (Sluest for Urutb 37 only be satisfactorily answered if he faithfully observes the canon of truthfulness in all his works. But this involves an integrity of purpose which few historians have been able to preserve unblemished. I speak not of honest historians who have had insufficient access to the data of the times concerning which they wrote, but of those who were not single in their aim, and wrote with some ulterior purpose to serve. If a man writes a history in order to prove some particular doctrine, he becomes a controversialist whose mind is warped by some ulterior aim other than that of pure history. Can such a one write that history with scrupu lous fidelity to fact untinged with a con troversial colouring ? The true historian, if he would tell his story so as to be true to life, must set it out in the words and deeds of those who acted it out ; he must nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. He must conceal nothing and distort nothing if his work is to endure. He must strive against the beset ment of negligence in selecting his material ; he must abstain /from inventing details in order to fill up gaps, or to add to the picturesqueness of the narrative. The father of historians, the Greek Thucydides, himself a model of unbiassed 38 Swartbmore Xecturc accuracy, was fully aware of the first of these temptations ; for he wrote' : — " Irksome to the many is the quest for truth, and they betake themselves rather to the readiest resource." As for the second temptation, it is common to many minds. Froude, in his essay on the Dissolution of the Monasteries, tells us that in perusing modem histories he " has been struck dumb with wonder at the facility with which men will fill in chasms in their information with conjecture ; will guess at the motives which -have prompted actions ; will pass their censures, as if all secrets of the past lay out on an open scroll before them." He adds that wherever in tracing historical difficulties in English history he had been fortunate to dis cover an authentic explanation, he very rarely found that explanation to confirm any conjecture either of his own or of any other modem writer. " The true motive has almost invariably been of a kind which no modem experience would have suggested." The incalculable human element ' AraXalTrapos toU iroWots r; f^Tijirts ttjs dX^fffuij, Kal M t4 h^OL/ui iia\\ov rpiirovTai. Thucydides, Bk. I., 20. Freely translated this is : — " The multitude takes little trouble about getting at tbe truth, and prefers a superficial view of things." XLbc (Stuest for Urutb 39 in all history defies invention. History does not repeat itself ; its phenomena are as unpredictable as earthquakes, not recurrent, like tides or eclipses. The ages of the past are truly, in the words of Faust, a book sealed with seven seals. They can only be reconstmcted by the historian after the most diligent and minute research. At. the best, history is a record pieced together from very imperfect data — " beyond all question honeycombed with false statements which must go for ever uncorrected," says a modern writer, rather bitterly. Even contemporary history is full of statements that are the subject of controversy and denial. How then shall the historian recover the truth and winnow it from the accretion of error ? By what test shall he try the miscellaneous material that comes to hand ? He cannot cross-examine the witnesses, who died long ago. He cannot recover the original manuscripts of centuries past. How shall he discern, in tradition and legend, the germ of truth from which they sprang ? What he can do, and what all practised historians have done, is to apply the test of criticism. He can compare dates to see whether they concur or contradict one another. He can collate 40 Swartbmore Xecture manuscripts to ascertain their various readings. He can train himself to detect interpolations or anachronisms. He can study hand-writings and styles of composition. He may hunt out the origins and sources from which some early writer derived his information. The whole science and apparatus of historical criticism has been marvellously extended during the last hundred years. This seems perhaps like the development of a destructive process ; but the casting-out of error is a very necessary step in the advancement of truth. It at least clears the way for the letting-in of more light. It is of littie use for the historian to make his history a mere collection of bare facts ; he must present them in an intelligible setting. A mere collection of bare facts may be very misleading, though every fact set down may be true'. The historian must select, and ' A curious illustration of this is afforded by some of the plates in James Tissot's Life of Our Saviour. Tissot, who first gained fame as an artist by painting Parisian boulevard scenes, broke, at the age of fifty, from these associations, and spent some years in Palestine, wander ing with true devotion from place to place, carefully observing scenes and characters, and endeavouring with the utmost care to reconstruct by art the picture or panorama of the earthly life of Christ. The expensive volumes which he produced render what he saw with the utmost fidelity of his powers. But this very fidelity to facts results in one remarkable anachronism : for he trbe (Jiuest for Urutb 41 generalize, and make the dry bones live. We must not condemn the innumerable historians who, from Xenophon to Dr. Johnson, have thrown their history into the form of imaginary speeches. That is, or used to be, one of the recognized conventions of the historian's art. He was expected to state the facts in that form. He might adopt this convention, and yet not be guilty of lying, though the modem scientific spirit in history eschews so doubtful a practice. The conventions of historical picture-painting are equally understood, and equally doubtful. They may be shams : but they are frank shams that deceive no one. THE QUEST FOR TRUTH IN SCIENCE. In the physical sciences the quest for truth has, during recent centuries, and particularly in the last, made great advances. And these advances seem to possess a greater intrinsic importance, perhaps, than their real magnitude warrants, because scientific discoveries, unlike discoveries in history or morals, possess the reproduces amongst the plants that flourish in Sj^rian scenery the Opuntias (prickly pears) and Yuccas, Agaves and Aloes, which have been introduced in recent centuries, and are natives of America — ^plants which Jesus never saw. 42 Swartbmore Xecture precious property that they are capable of in dependent verification by experiment. For that very reason a training in scientific methods possesses a special value of its own. In science, far more than in history or philosophy, it is possible to arrive at something like real cer tainty. The scientific fact once discovered requires no citation of authority to pro cure its acceptance : it can be demonstrated over again' by an independent observer. In history, when confronted by an alleged fact, one must ask who or what is the authority for this. In physical science the demonstrated fact is its own authority. The circumstance that many facts in physical science are of a numerical kind-;-as for example the fact that mercury freezes at a temperature of forty degrees below zero — or the fact that gold is nineteen-and-a-third times as heavy as an equal bulk of water — gives a ' As I write the discovery is announced, April, 1915, of a ninth satellite of Jupiter. It is excessively minute, probably not more than ten miles in diameter, travelling along an orbit with a sweep of some fourteen million miles. It is so small as to be invisible not only to the unaided eye, but invisible even to the eye when aided by the most powerful telescopes ; having been detected by the photographic image it left on a sensitive plate after prolonged exposure. Yet there is no reason to distrust the reality of the discovery. At other observa tories the observations will be repeated and tested by independent observers. Ube (Sluest for Urutb 43 precision to scientific thought that is lacking in other departments. Unlike the facts in history,' the facts of science, or most of them, can be verified by repetition, and measured quantitatively. Hence in physical science the seeker acquires a definiteness of grasp, a clear ness of view of the relation between cause and effect not otherwise attainable. He learns in the physical sciences, as he leams in no other department of knowledge, what is meant by a rigid proof. The distinction between a thing definitely proven, and a thing that, though possibly tme, has not been really proved to be so*, is one that impresses itself upon his mind. His thought is cleaner-cut, and the demonstrated facts are to him more sharply demarcated, than would be possible to one who had no acquaintance with science and its methods. ¦ Some numerical statements handed down in history it is now impossible to test ; as for example the number of ships given by Homer as attacking Troy, or the number of fishes stated in John's Gospel to have been taken in the miraculous draught. » Euclid's propositions were true before he found the proofs for them. They were no more true after he had proved them than they were before. But the difference lies here. His demonstration had garnered them into the storehouse of definitely ascertained geometrical facts. Men knew not only that they were true, but that they had been proved to be so. Further, they had learned what sort of demonstration it is that constitutes a rigid proof. 44 Swartbmore Xecture The oldest of the exact sciences were arithmetic, geometry and astronomy. At what age in prehistoric times the multiplication table was discovered is unknown. Probably it was re garded as a divine revelation in its day. Plato wrote over the door of his academy at Athens : " Let no one ignorant of geometry enter here." It was his mode of requiring that his pupils should have at least some training in exact thinking and in the use of abstract ideas. The invention of the calendar, the discoveries of the periodic movements of the planets, the perception that the tides depended on the moon, the discovery that eclipses recurred in definite cycles that could be predicted, are all amongst the early advances in the quest for scientific truth. The definite conquest of the principles of mechanics by Archimedes, Galileo, and Newton came later. It is in the study of the physical sciences that men have learned of the existence of persistent relations, inviolable correspon dences between fact and fact, which go by the name of natural laws. The relations which they express appear to have been imposed by the Creator from the beginning, to be inherent in the very nature of things, and to be in cease less operation. They existed ages before man XTbe (Siuest for Urutb 45 discovered them, and since their discovery by man there is no evidence that they have for one instant ceased to operate or been suspended. Time goes on ; the planets circle round the sun, the moon revolves in her course, the earth spins steadily on her axis. Man did not make these laws, nor can he break them. Neither his virtues nor his crimes have influence on them. Neither his fears nor his prayers have the slightest relation to them. He cannot stop an eclipse by conjuration. He cannot change the multiplication table by prayer or fasting. The great generalizations of science have been discovered by patient observation and experi ment, by classification and inference, by framing and testing hypotheses, by rejection of the inadequate and verification of the valid. They have resulted from the long continued efforts of many minds. In the inorganic world we have amongst the chief discoveries the law of conservation of matter, the law of universal gravitation, the law of the conservation of energy, the law of the absolute velocity of light in space, the laws of chemical combination and equivalence. In the organic world the great laws of heredity and descent, of development and evolution, though not capable of being 46 Swartbmore Xecture formulated in the same quantitative terms as the laws of inorganic matter, have been the result of no less zealous and careful search.' Where the old method of syllogistic reasoning failed as an implement to discover new traths, ' In the descriptive sciences, botany, geology, zoology, and the like, patient industry and intelligent examina tion of facts have jrielded no less remarkable results. Darwin was pre-eminent as a naturalist of transparent honesty, rather than as a philosopher. Yet his wonderful insight into the relations between things led him to a generalization that has profoundly changed the foundations of philosophic thought. Through the middle part of the nineteenth century the advance in geology created burning controversies, because its indisputable conclusions as to the age of the globe clashed with the preconceptions of theologians, much in the same way as the astronomical advances of Copernicus and Galileo had clashed with the dicta of scholastic theology two centuries previously. Men refused in the nineteenth century to acquaint themselves with the testimony of the rocks, and the evidence of the fossil remains, lest they should seem to countenance any doubt of the inspiration of the Old Testament ; just as in the seventeenth century certain ecclesiastics refused to look through the telescope lest they should see the spots on the sun and so discredit the writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas. But geology won acceptance because the plain evidence of the facts could not be burked. Even so recently as a hundred and fifty years ago it was generally believed that fossils were mere accidental concretions of mineral matter imitating animal forms. Voltaire seems to have seen that this was utterly unlikely, yet he continued to hold this explanation. Fearing, however, lest the occurrence of fossil fishes in the rocks of the Alps would lend support to the Biblical account of the Deluge, which he disbelieved, he suggested that they were the remains of fishes^brought there by pilgrims in time past I Ube Ciuest for Urutb 47 the modem method of enquiry by experiment and inference, by inductive generalization and subsequent verification, has been amazingly fruitful in the better understanding of physical nature. But the very precision of its intellectual processes and the inevitableness of the garnered results are sometimes urged against it as tending to cramp or warp the perception of other kinds of trath. It is charged sometimes with leading men to reject or despise other kinds of truth which have not been discovered by the same sort of process, and which cannot be verified by experiment, weighed in the balance, or analysed in the test-tube. Doubtless there is some ground for this reflection. In any depart ment of human activity the too-exclusive exercise of any one faculty or set of faculties tends to bring about a one-sided development ; and the neglect of any faculty tends to its atrophy. Perhaps the worst that can be said against devotion to the discovery of truth in the physical sciences is that it tends to impose a necessitarian or determinist view of existence. When we find in physics that through all there runs an inescapable relation of cause and effect ; that nothing happens except that which follows from antecedent causes ; we are apt to conclude — ^though quite erroneously 48 Swartbmore Xecturc — that the whole world is ruled by fate, by fixed and determinate necessity, affording no scope for free-will or for the operation of moral forces. Such a view' would reduce the universe to a mere mechanism and remove all moral responsibility* from man ; a view to be stemly repelled. It was remarked above that part of the scientific method in ascertainment of truth is the framing and testing of hypotheses. When observation or experience has shown a number of facts, one is desirous of drawing ' In Baron Friedrich von Hiigel's wonderful book on The Mystical Element in Religion, there is a section (Vol. I., pp. 40 seq.) devoted to the meaning of science for the religious temper, in which he sets down three characteristics of the scientific spirit. These he regards as (i) a passion for clearness ; (2) the great concept of law prevailing amongst phenomena, which, however, he regards as leading to determinism ; (3) a vigorous Monism, by which he means that view which conceives that " our sources of information are but one — ^the reasoning, reckoning intellect, backed up by readily repeatable, readily verifiable experiment. The resultant information is but one — the Universe, within and without, a strict unbroken mechanism." Contenting myself with modestly denying that all (or most) scientific men are so iiorn$ in their views, I rejoice to note that in a later passage (Vol. II., p. 373) Baron von Hiigel quotes with approval the sentiment, " For Religion also. Science is a bath of purification." ' A very excellent chapter on the scientific spirit is to be found in Dr. R. F. Horton's essaj^ entitled Grtat Issues (1909). Ube (Sluest for Urutb 49 inferences from them to elicit either some general correlation between them or some additional facts. It may be that some of the observations are incorrectly made ; or they may so diverge from one another that any inference is doubtful. What the scientific enquirer does is to hazard a number of hypo theses, some of them probable, others quite improbable, and to test them one by one to see which is right,' or which of them is nearest to the truth. For every hypothesis that tums out correct he may have to frame a score that prove invalid. Persons who do not under stand this mode of arriving at truth often regard this as a very shaky procedure, and condemn it as trpng to arrive at truth by means of error. But it is really an every-day process of ' Pasteur insisted strongly on the importance of this process. " On ne fait rien sans id6es prficonfues ; il faut avoir seulement la sagesse de ne croire X leurs d^uctions qu'autant que I'experience les confirme. Les id^es prficongues, soumises au controle s6v6re de I'expferimentation, sont la flamme vivante des sciences d'observation : les id6es fixes en sont le danger." Pasteur, Histoire d'un Savant, p. 28. This may be rendered : " One achieves nothing without preconceived ideas ; only one must have the wisdom not to believe in any deductions from them except so far as experience confirms them. Preconceived ideas, submitted to the severe test of experiment, are the Uving flame of the sciences of observation ; fixed ideas are its danger." 50 Swartbmore Xecture thought. If I have mislaid my fountain pen, I guess the likely places where I may have left it, and then go to verify my guess. If I guess wrongly six times before the right guess occurs to me, I am really all the .while seeking after truth. It is better to make wrong guesses than to be in such a muddled state of mind as to be unable to guess at all. It was some thought of this kind that made Francis Bacon say : " Truth emerges more quickly from error than from confusion," and which led Babbage in his Bridgewater Treatise to declare : "It is a condition of our race that we must ever wade through error in our advance towards truth : and it may even be said that in many cases we exhaust almost every variety of error before we attain the desired goal." Another aspect of the same matter is expounded by Lord Acton in his Lectures on Modern History (p. 21). " If men of science owe anything to us, we may learn much from them that is essential. For they can show how to test proof, how to secure fullness and soundness in induction, how to restrain and to employ with safety hypothesis and analogy. It is they who hold the secret of the mysterious property of mind Ube Ciuest for Urutb 51 by which error ministers to truth, and truth slowly but irrevocably prevails. Theirs is the logic of discovery, the demonstration of the advance of knowledge and the develop ment of ideas, which, as the earthly wants and passions of men remain almost unchanged, are the charter of progress and the vital spark in history. Remember Darwin taking note only of those passages that raised difficulties in his way ; the French philosopher complaining that his work stood still, because he found no more contradicting facts ; Baer, who thinks error treated thoroughly nearly as remunera tive as truth, by the discovery of new objecttions ; for, as Sir Robert Ball warns us, it is by considering objections that we often learn. Faraday declares that ' in knowledge, that man only is to be condemned and despised who is not in a state of transition.'" Let us put beside this word of Faraday's another, from his Experimental Researches in Electricity, Art. 3362 : — " It is better to be aware, or even to suspect, we are wrong, than to be unconsciously or easily led to accept an error as right." The circumstance that scientific enquiry proceeds by observation and inference and ex52 Swartbmore Xecturc periment, and admits no argument from meta physics, nor any that appeals to religious authority, was in the outset often misunder stood. It was deemed to be irreligious,' because it did not test its discoveries by any appeal to the Bible or to the dogmas of the Church Councils. ' The following extract from Professor F. Gotch's lecture on Some Aspects of the Scientific Method (Oxford, 1906), shows the nature of such attaclra : — " Tracts were written fulminating against the Royal Society (formed in 1661), which was rightly regarded as the headquarters of the New Philosophy ; attacks and rejoinders were as thick as leaves in June. Sprat found it desirable to write a history of the foundation and work of the Society in order to demonstrate that it did not exist for the purpose of upsetting Church and State, but that when fully understood the New Philo sophy would be found to be a bulwark of Christianity, not its destroyer. In an article upon the Royal Society, included in the Quarrels of Authors, the elder Disraeli gives an interesting account of this literary controversy. From this it appears that the zeal of the opponents often outran their discretion ; for not only the aims, but many of the obvious practical results of scientific inquiry were inveighed against. Crosse, the vicar of Chew Magna in Somersetshire, anathematized the Royal Society as a Jesuiticsd conspiracy against both society and religion ; he regarded the use of the newly invented optick glasses as immoral, since they perverted the natural sight and made all things appear in an unnatural and, therefore, false light. It was easy, he said, to prove the deceitful and pernicious character of spectacles, for take two different pairs of spectacle glasses and use them both at the same time, you will not see so well as with one singly ; therefore your microscopes and telescopes, which have more than one glass, are impostors. Hostility went further than this ; it was declared to be sinful to a-ssist the eyes* which were Ube (Siuest for Urutb 53 But whatever the besetments of the scientific spirit, it seems incontestable that one feature of it is its abhorence of all sophistication. Its one fear is to believe a lie. Writing in An Englishman's Religion, of those who have been brought up in families where a regard for truthfulness was a first consideration, H. G. Wood says : — " There is a real connection between this dislike of the lie and the scientific impulse. I think it will be found that the ranks of scientific investigation have welcomed some of their ablest recruits from men who have been reared in this atmosphere." Any one who has the time, and the requisite training, will find abundant matter dealing with scientific method, and with its bearing on philosophy and ethics, in Dr. J. T. Merz's masterly volumes on The History of European Thought in the Nineteenth Century. The Chapters on the Astronomical view of Nature, the Atomic view of Nature, and the Vitalistic adapted to the capacity of the individual, whether good, bad or indifferent. It was argued that society at large would become demoralized by the use of spectacles ; they would give one man an unfair advantage over his fellow, and every man an unfair advantage over every woman, who could not be expected, on aesthetic and intellectual grounds, to adopt the practice." 54 Swartbmore Xecturc view of Nature, to name no others, will well repay the reader, who cannot but be struck with the author's breadth and impartiality. THE QUEST FOR TRUTH IN RELIGION AND MORALS. I pass from the quest for truth in the do mains of history and science to the quest for truth in the domains of religion and morals. Here, if anywhere, with insistence, resurges the question : What is Truth ? How are we to find it ? How are we to recognize it ? By what authority are we to test it ? First, let us make very sure that what we desire to find is nothing else than the Trath itself : not some one phase of it that would be agreeable to us, but the Truth for its own sake. Let us make very sure that whatever harm may come to us from error in history or in science, from accepting as trae the gar bled history or the sophisticated science, a thousand-fold harm will come to us if in the vital issues of faith and morals' we are any ' " The praise belongs to Socrates, of having taught men, four hundred years before Christ, to be as scrupulously exact in testing by experience their moral ideas, as they are now in proving by experiment their physical theories." — Blackie, Four Phases of Morals, P57. Ube (Jiuest for Urutb 55 the less scrupulous, or palter with the Truth. In each domain there exists its own besetting weakness : in history, the tendency to romance ; in science, to agnosticism ; in religion, to credulity. Is it any greater sin to reject a doubtful thing because it is doubtful, than to accept a doubtful thing on the off-chance that it may hereafter' be found true ? Surely in matters of religious belief we ought to make it our business to be as clear in vision, as pure in heart, as cool in head, as we would be in any other matter. Casuistry is even more deadly in religion than in history or science. The caution is necessary because the habitual ecclesiastical temper is to deprecate all independent enquiry, and to side^with authority rather than face the facts. But, you will say, we are not bound to take ' The acceptance of any revelation or dogma (even if it should afterwards prove true) which is offered to us from without, and which is not supported by evidence that satisfies the reason, is credulity. I deliberately use the words " from without " for reasons which will appear in a later section of this lecture. Flippant unbelief is worse than earnest credulity ; but flippant (that is undiscriminating) belief is worse than earnest incredulity, being, in fact, superstition. " Faith can accept things which are as yet unproved ; but to cling to what in your heart of hearts you suspect of being disproved is not faith, but mere delusion." Canon Streeter, Restatement and Reunion, p. 42. 56 Swartbmore Xecture the ecclesiastical view : we are free to examine evidence and make our choice in matters of belief. No ; we are not free. Not free, because we cannot escape from the inevitable effect of the atmosphere and environment in which we have been reared. Strive as we will, we cannot rid ourselves, even if we would, of that back ground of religious life in which we have been brought up. We are influenced at every end and turn by the tacit assumptions, the pre suppositions, the current modes of thought and expression, the prejudices of education and habit, no less than by the silent weight of tradi tion, which, whether we accept it or not, in fluences our judgement. But if, frankly recog nizing the presence of this tendency to take the colour of our environment, we would desire to regain our healthy freedom from prejudice, there are surely means that we may adopt to prevent the spirit of tmthfulness from being warped by that from which we cannot escape. Of such steps towards the preservation of spiritual sanity of judgement the first is this : The recognition of the principle that it is wrong to accept as wholly true anything whjch is halfdoubtful. Better reject that which you know to be half-doubtful than accept it on the chance Ube diuest for Urutb 57 that it may be partly trae. Better reject the fruit that is obviously half-rotten than swallow it because some of it may be good. The "sin of sophisticating what we can perceive of truth," by hope of reward or dread of consequence, is a very real danger. The shadow, cloaked from head to foot. Who keeps the key of all the creeds, dwells not far from all of us. Her name is superstition : for it is superstition that binds men to the trammels of those dark ages when the living faith was forced into the artificial bonds of human dogma. PIOUS FRAUDS. If we retum to Apostolic times, we see that even before the consolidation of the then prevalent beliefs into set forms as creeds, the spirit of untruth was at work. Or, rather, shall we say, oriental habits of thought, which did not exalt truthfulness for its own sake, had been at work, warping the Apostolic tradition and sophisticating the simphcity of believers. Actually in the period between the death of Christ and the committal into writing of the Gospels, legend had been adding itself to history as part of the tradition : and the centuries s8 Swartbmore Xecture immediately following witnessed accretions around the core of truth. The Fathers of the post-apostolic period had no such single-minded regard for naked truth as would be now required. According to St. Jerome, we must distinguish between what the Early Fathers set down as truth and what they wrote " dialectically," that is argumentatively. They did not hesitate to postulate in argument matters which they were conscious could not be main tained as fact. At a later stage even so eminent a Father as St. John Chrysostom, when defending himself against attack, openly advocated' the lawfulness of lying in a good ' The passage occurs in the work of St. John Chrysostom On the Priesthood. The three paragraphs cited are from the English Translation by B. ,(5)wper Harris, published 1866, p. 19. § 58. But if an act be not always wrong, but becomes bad or good according to the motive of the doer, cease to accuse me for deceiving, and show me that I devised it for evil ; for so long as this is not done, it would only be just that such as desire to be well disposed should not bring rebukes and accusations upon him that has practised deceit, but should even express their approval of him. § 59. For deceit, when well-timed and practised with a right intention, is so profitable that many have often been punished because they have not circumvented. § 63. We may find the use of deceit to be great and needful, not only in war, but also in peace ; and not in affairs of state only, but also at home, — by the husband towards the wife, and by the wife towards her husband, and by the father towards the son, and by friend towards friend, and even by children towards a father. Zbc (Siuest for Urutb 59 cause, and in support quoted from the Old Testament (i Sam. xix. 12 and i Sam. xx. 11) deceits practised as stratagems. In contemplating this lapse from truthful ness, we cannot forget that already in that age the doctrine that there was no salvation outside the pale of the Church had gained acceptance. Suppose a fanatical priest, who ardentiy be lieved in this doctrine of exclusive salvation and who wished to rescue from eternal damna tion some tmbeheving outsider ; what tempta tion then would beset him to resort to stratagems, and pious frauds, and false miracles, in order to allure the wanderer into the Church ? If he could " save " the heretic, whether by downright falsehood or by distortion of the trath, would he not find the pious temptation irresistible ? Chrysostom's doctrine of pardonable deceit for pious ends was not, however, a solitary instance. The loss of a sense of the imperative duty of truthfulness on the part of the theologians of the third and fourth centuries is one of the most significant facts in the degeneration that was creeping over the early Church : and the tendency grew as corruption spread and deepened. We have only to read the historian 6o Swartbmore Xecturc Rufinus (De Adulteratione) to see to what lengths this lying spirit eventually led them. There is a remarkable collection of examples in Hamack's AUchrist. Litt. Geschichten (Vol I., pp. xiii., et seq.). Hamack himself says (History of Dogma, Vol. III., p. 184) :— " Some, however, went much farther in this matter. As they did not hold themselves bound to stick to the truth in dealing with an opponent, and thus had forgotten the command of the gospel, so they went on in theology to impute untrathfulness to the Apostles, citing the dispute between Paul and Peter, and to Christ (who concealed His ommiscience, etc.). They even charged God with falsehood in dealing with His enemy, the devil, as is proved by the views held by Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and most of the later Fathers', conceming re' This astounding version of the doctrine of Atone ment — ^the earliest attempt to frame a logical theory of that matter, and one which lasted till the time of Anselm and Abelard — is itself a development from the teaching of Origen. The following passage from Harnack {op. cit., Vol. III., p. 307) states the case : — " He [IrensBUs] iurther insisted that Christ had delivered us not from a state of infirmity, but from the power of the devil, redeeming those estranged from God; and unnaturally imprisoned, not by force, but with due regard to justice. Origen, however, was the first to explain the passion and death of Christ with logical precision under the points of view of ransom and sacrifice. With regard to the former he was the first Ube (Stuest for Urutb 6i demption from the power of the devil. But if God himself deceived his enemy by stratagem (fna fraus), then so also might man. Under such circumstances it cannot be wondered at that forgeries were the order of the day. And this was the case." Theologians who could calmly teach an act of deceit on the part of God, that they might thus bolster up the then orthodox doctrine of the Atonement, were assuredly no safe guides in their presentation of trath. It is in the writings of the same historian, Rufinus, who recorded the prevalence of the lying spirit amongst the fathers, that we meet with the story that the Apostles had jointly composed the document known to us as the to set up the theory that the devil had acquired a legal claim on men, and therefore to regard the death of Christ (or His soul) as a ransom paid to the devil. This Marcionite doctrine of price and barter was already supplemented by Origen with the assumption of an act Of deceit on the part of God. It was, in spite of an energetic protest, taken up by bis disciples, and after wards carried out still more offensively. It occurs in Gregory of Nyssa, who {Catech, 15-27), in dealing with the notion of God, treats it broadly and repulsively. We find it in Ambrose, who speaks of the pia fraus ; in Augustine, and in Leo I. It assumes its worst form in Gregory I. : the humanity of Christ was the bait ; the fish, the devil, snapped at it, and was left hanging on the invisible hook, Christ's divinity. It proves that the Fathers bad gradually lost any fixed conception of the holiness and righteousness of God." 62 Swartbmore Xecture Apostles' Creed ; each Apostle contributing one of its twelve clauses. Rufinus says that this opinion cannot be traced earlier than the middle of the fourth century. A modem scholar attributes that Creed to the church of Aquileia. It appears to have been developed from the " symbol " or confession required of converts on their baptism, at Rome. It certainly possesses no Apostolic warrant. We have travelled a long way from the hypothetical cases of casuistry discussed on an easlier page (p. 17) as to the stress of excep tional circumstances that might excuse a lie. They involve isolated moral judgments, and are so rare that they can but be exceptions hardly affecting the general veracity of the person betrayed into such a lapse. But between them and the pious frauds sanctioned by the theo logians lies a whole horizon of difference ; for these are elevated into a regular doctrine and systematized, producing a habit of persistent deceitfulness. On this matter the historian Lecky has spoken plainly.' " The Fathers laid down as a distinct proposition that pious frauds were justifiable, and even laudable'; ¦ History of Rationalism, Vol. I., p. 396. ' Lecky here refers to the passage from St. John Chrysostom already quoted, p. 58, above. Ube iSiuest for Urutb 63 and even if they had not laid this down they would have practised them as a necessary consequence of their doctrine of exclusive salvation. Immediately all ecclesiastical literature became tainted with a spirit of the most unblushing mendacity. Heathenism was to be combated, and therefore prophecies of Christ by Orpheus and the Sibyls were forged, lying wonders were multiplied, and ceaseless calumnies poured upon those who, like Julian, opposed the faith. Heretics were to be convinced, and therefore old writings or complete forgeries were habitually opposed to the forged Gospels, The veneration of relics and the monastic system were introduced, and therefore iimumerable miracles were attributed to the bones of saints or to the prayers of hermits, and were solemnly asserted by the most eminent of the Fathers." The tendency was not confined to those Eastem nations which had been always almost destitute of the sense of truth ; it triumphed wherever the supreme importance of dogmas was held. Generation after generation it became more universal ; it continued till the very sense of truth and the very love of truth seemed blotted out from the minds of men. " That this is no exaggerated picture of the conditions at which the Middle Ages arrived, is known to all who have any acquaintance with its literature ; for during that gloomy period the only scholars in Europe were priests and monks, who conscientiously believed that no ' Here Lecky refers to J. H. Newman's Apologia pro vita sua (Appendix, p. 77), where he says : — " The Greek Fathers thought that, when there was a justa causa, an untruth need not be a lie. St. Augustine took another view, though with great misgiving." Obviously a just cause would include that " zeal for God's honour " which lighted the fires of the Inquisition, and issued the Forged Decretals. Well might Augustine exclaim : " God is thought to be truer than He is pronounced to be; He is truer than He is thought to be." 64 Swartbmore Xecture amount of falsehood was reprehensible which conduced to the edification of the people. Not only did they pursue with the grossest calumny every enemy to their faith, not only did they encircle every saint with a halo of palpable fiction, not only did they invent tens of thousands of miracles for the purpose of stimulating devotion — they also very naturally carried into all other subjects the indifference to truth they had acquired in theology. All their writings, and more especially their histories, became tissues of the wildest fables, so grotesque and at the same time so audacious, that they were the wonder of succeeding ages. And the very men who scattered these fictions broadcast over Christendom taught at the same time that credulity was a virtue and scepticism a crime. As long as tbe doctrine of exclusive salvation was believed and realized, it was necessary for the peace of mankind that they should be absolutely certain of the truth of what they believed ; in order to be so certain, it was necessary to suppress adverse arguments ; and in order to effect this object, it was necessary that there should be no critical or sceptical spirit in Europe. A habit of boundless credulity was therefore a natural consequence of the doctrine of exclusive salvation ; and not only did this habit natur ally produce a luxuriant crop of falsehood, it was itself the negation of the spirit of truth. For the man who really loves truth cannot possibly subside into a con dition of contented credulity. He will pause long before accepting any doubtful assertion, he willcaref ully balance opposing arguments, he will probe every anecdote with scrupulous care, he will endeavour to divest himself of every prejudice, he will cautiously abstain from attribut ing to probabilities the authority of certainties. These are the essential characteristics of the spirit of truth, and by their encouragement or suppression we can judge how far a system of doctrine coincides with tliat spirit." Ube diuest for Urutb 65 AU this is conceded even by modem theologians. Dean Milman in his History of Christianity, Vol. iii., p. 358, says : — " That some of the Christian legends were deliberate forgeries can scarcely be questioned ; the principle of pious fraud appeared to justify this mode of working on the popular mind ; it was admitted and avowed. To deceive into Christianity was so valuable a service as to hallow deceit itself." Canon Mozley, in his Bampton Lectures, when discussing ecclesiastical miracles, declares : — " It is but too plain that in later years, as the Church advanced in worldly power and position, besides the mistakes of imagination and impression, a temper of deliberate and audacious fraud rose up within the Christian body and set itself in action for the spread of certain doctrines, as well as for the great object of the concentration of Church power in one absolute monarchy." (p 226.) PARABLES. Far as the poles asunder from any suspicion of untruth are the parables by which all teachers, and in particular the Greatest Teacher of all, have sought to convey spiritual traths to minds unversed in abstract thinking. Similitudes chosen from common events andnatural objects are the surest means of bringing home to the unsophisticated mind lessons of spiritual import. The only objection which the sternest 66 Swartbmore Xecture moralist could urge against the use of parables is the risk lest the half-educated should mistake them for history. That this danger is not imaginary may be illustrated by an anecdote in Mrs. Jameson's History of Our Lord, vol. i., P373" I know that I was not very young when I enter tained no more doubt of the substantial existence of Lazarus and Dives than of John the Baptist and Herod ; when the Good Samaritan was as real a personage as any of the Apostles ; when I was full of sincerest pity for those poor, foolish virgins who had forgotten to trim their lamps, and thought them — in my secret soul — rather hardly treated. This impression of the literal sacred truth of the parables I have since met with in many children, and in the uneducated but devout hearers and readers of the Bible ; and I remember that when I once tried to explain to a good old woman the proper meaning of the word parable, and that the story of the prodigal son was not a fact, she was scandalized — she was quite sure that Jesus would never have told any thing to the disciples that was not true. Thus she settled the matter in her own mind, and I thought it best to leave it there undisturbed." Has it ever occurred to you whence it is that the parables derive their peculiar force ? Why should similitudes drawn from the growth of plants and the events of life, human and animal, take a really profound hold upon us ? Why should they avail to teach us of those inward and spiritual things that constitute the Cbe CJuest for Urutb 67 higher trath ? Simply because all life is one ; and growth and development ran through all. As we are leaming through scientific investi gation to understand more fully the physical world, and to grasp its phenomena, their inter actions and their ordered sequences, so we are coming to learn new meanings in their parallels in the spiritual world. Christ's saj^ing " first the blade, then the ear " ; His dictum that " men do not gather grapes of thoms " ; His likening of the kingdom of Heaven to a ferment working in the lump, are all illustrations taken from the physical world, the full significance of which modem science has greatly deepened. Read in the light of recent advances in science, the parables teach us new lessons in the one ness of trath. Perhaps we shall some day perceive that the story of the curse on the fig tree — ^which is a trae parable of the fate over taking Israel's lack of faith — ^is a parable which has been mistaken for a narrative. As a narrative it rings false and purposeless. As a parable, it is profoundly trae. LEGENDS OF THE SAINTS. Remote, too, from the pious frauds of ecclesiastical schemers are the legends of the 68 Swartbmore Xecture saints, which grew up like beautiful flowers around the memories of men and women who had been venerated when living for their devotion and good works. If we read them to-day with a smile for their naive simplicity, we must also love them for their obvious sincerity. To turn the pages, for example, of the Fioretti of Saint Francis of Assisi, is to breathe the air of that uncritical child-like piety which the self-denying labours of Francis, and his spiritual unity with all creation infused into his unsophisticated followers. They tell how he preached to the fishes, and was brother to the birds; what miracles of goodness and healing he wrought amongst the poor. It is all so lovely that the obvious lack of critical insight and defiance of all the laws of evidence do not offend. But if, in a moment of stemer thought, we put the question, is it trae ? something rises up within us to say, no; it is not historically true ; it belongs to another sphere — ^that of devout imagination. Within that sphere it is no more untrue than the Pilgrim's Progress is untrue. But the Fioretti differs from Pilgrim's Progress in this respect; Pilgrim's Progress is a parable which was deliberately written as such, while the Fioretti is a legend which grew. Ube (Stuest for Urutb 69 Legends grow, they are not made. They are not written as history is written, nor may they take the place of history ; though we find history and legend often inextricably mixed as they have been transcribed by undiscrimi nating pens. But he were a very superficial moralist who would condemn the pious legend as a pack of lies. Only remember that in the interests of trath, we must, in the last resort, be prepared to divide, as with a sharp dissecting knife, between the historic fact and the pious folklore which the unleamed scribe has thus intertwined. In what way such stories arose, what purpose they subserved, and how they took form, has been well told by Froude in words that cannot be bettered. " The lives of the saints are always simple, often childish, seldom beautiful ; yet, as Goethe observed, if without beauty, they are always good. . . . Wher ever the Catholic faith was preached, stories like these sprang out of the heart of the people, and grew and shadowed over the entire believing mind of the Catholic world. Wherever church was founded, or soil was consecrated for the long resting-place of those who had died in the faith ; wherever the sweet bells of convent or of monastery were heard in the evening air, charming tbe unquiet world to rest and remembrance of God, there dwelt the memory of some apostle who had laid tbe first stone, there was the sepulchre of some martyr whose 70 Swartbmore Xecturc relics reposed beneath the altar, of some confessor who had suffered there for his Master's sake, of some holy ascetic who in silent self -chosen austerity had woven a ladder there of prayer and penance, on which the angels of God were believed to have ascended and descended. It is not a phenomenon of an age or of a century ; it is characteristic of the history of Christianity. From the time when the first preachers of the faith passed out from their homes by that quiet Galilean lake, to go to and fro over the earth, and did their mighty work, and at last disappeared and were not any more seen, these sacred legends began to grow. Those who had once known the Apostles, who had drawn from their lips the blessed message of light and life, one and all would gather together what fragments they could find of their stories. Rumours blew in from all the winds. They had been seen here, had been seen there, in the furthest comers of the earth, preaching, contending, suffering, prevailing. Affection did not stay to scrutinize. . . . So, in those first Christian communities, travellers came through from east and west ; legions on the march, or caravans of wandering merchants ; and one had been in Rome, and seen Peter disputing with Simon Magus ; another in India, where he had heard St. Thomas preach ing to the Brahmins, a third brought with him, from the wilds of Britain, a staff which he had cut, as he said, from a thorn tree, the seed of which St. Joseph had sown there, and which had grown to its full size in a single night, making merchandise of the precious relic out of the credulities of the believers. So the legends grew, and were treasured up, and loved, and trusted ; and alas I all which we have been able to do with them is to call them lies, and to point a shallow moral on the impostures and credulities of the early Catholics. . . . For fourteen hundred years these stories held their place, and rang on from age to age, from century to Ube (Siuest for Urutb 71 century ; as the new faith widened its boundaries, and numbered ever more and more great names of men and women who had fought and died for it, so long their histories, living in the hearts of those for whom they laboured, laid hold of them and filled them ; and the devout imagination, possessed with what was often no more than the rumour of a name, bodied it out into life, and form, and reality. And, doubtless, if we try them by any historical canon, we have to say that quite endless untruths grew in this way to be beUeved among men ; and not believed in only, but held sacred passion ately and devoutly ; not filling the history books only, not only serving to amuse and edify the refectory, or to furnish matter for meditation in the cell, but claiming days for themselves of special remembrance, entering into liturgies and inspiring prayers, forming the spiritual nucleus of the hopes and fears of millions of human lives." — Short Studies, First Series, Vol. II., pp. 203-206. HISTORY AND FOLKLORE. All this is well and wisely said. But it must be remembered that human nature, though modified from clime to clime, remains much the same. Pious legends are growing up amongst the simple folk to-day, as they grew around the mediaeval saints, the Fathers, the Apostles. I have myself seen devout Italian peasants kneeling reverently before the tomb of Alessandro Volta, the famous electrician, evidently treating him as one whose bones possessed saintly virtures. Around the memory of Garibajdi a rich crop of legend 73 Swartbmore Xecture has already sprang up. No age has been free from like tendencies ; and particularly in the East there has always been an atmosphere of vivid colouring ready to condense as a nimbus around the heads of the great ones. In an age which treasured up the legendary stories ; which embroidered the robe of history with uncritical fancies ; which valued the adoring legend because it was adoring; there was no wilful untrath in thus decking out fact with fancy. It is the natural and spontaneous way of imaginative children.' The mythical story narrated of the saint or martyr was no more a lie than the golden halo which the painter depicted around his head. Neither was trae as history ; neither existed in fact ; but devoted hearts would have been the poorer had both halo and legend been banished. How naturally such legends arise may be learned from the thirteenth century narrative of the speaking cracifix which is said to have been possessed by Bonaventura, the origin of which is known to be a conversation between him and Saint Thomag Aquinas. ' " Primitive men, like very young children, are hardly capable of formal and conscious lying. They give out, as of equal value, what they have seen and what they have imagined. And in some measure the savage survives in us all." — Father George Tjrrell, Christianity at the Cross Roads, p. 243. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 73 " St. Thomas asked Bonaventura whence he received the force and unction which he displayed in all his works. Bonaventura pointed to a crucifix hanging on the wall of his cell. ' It is that image,' he said, ' which dictates all my words to me. ' What can be more simple, more true, more intelligible ? But the saying of Bonaventura was repeated ; and in spite of all remon strances, they insisted that Bonaventura possessed a speaking crucifix.'' — Max Muller, Lectures on the Science of Language, Series II., p. 555. But while we must freely grant that there was no wilful lying in those legendary narratives, blossoming among a simple-hearted folk who devoutly believed them to be true, it is our duty to say plainly that they are not historic, but are mythical. However beautiful symbolically, and trae for their time and place, for us they are not trae. " To maintain a myth which we know to be only a myth, with a view to edification, is a dishonesty to ourselves and others, which brings with it a heavy retri bution."' The flaming sword of trath shuts us out from that garden of devout fancies ; we in our age may not live therein. The myth may have had its origin, as Pro fessor Percy Gardner suggests,* in the search for truth. In that case there must be ' Dean Inge, in Contentio Veritatis, p. 84. ' Expioratio Evangelica, p. 97. 74 Swartbmore Xecturc amongst those who invent or repeat m5H;hs a notion of trath very different from that of the educated modem world. "But," he adds, "the modem notion of historic truth is very recent." Rabbis and theologians have read into the Bible things that are not there. I have asked, but hitherto in vain, when, and by whom, was the doctrine invented that, by the Fall, man was condemned to eternal death. As I read Genesis iii., the curse pronounced on Adam was labour and sorrow until he should return to dust. Paul's well-known argument " as in Adam all die, &c.," apparently asserting an accepted proposition, does not imply either eternal death or eternal torment. It does not justify the doctrine of total depravity, with its correlative dogma of just damnation, whether in the form held by Augustine or in that preached by John Wesley. When was that black doctrine imposed upon the narrative of the Fall? It has been nothing less than a disaster' for the world that for centuries ecclesiastical ' The position may be summarized thus ; — Organized Christianity, holding a doubtful tradition, offers us doctrines which she declares to be outside the province Ube dtuest for Urutb 75 Christianity entrenched itself against any independent quest for evidence conducted by unbiassed seekers after Truth. Confidence is shaken by any attempts to bolster up the doubtful accretions which the ages of credulity added to the earlier faith. This point was very well put by the late Dean Liddon : — " It will certainly be admitted that round the original deposit of the Faith there had grown up in process of time previous to the sixteenth cenutry, partly from a desire to popularize Christianity, partly from other causes, an accretion of matter, some of it possibly true, much that was beautiful and poetic, some certainly false. Must not the crisp and jealous sense of truth be impaired when the soul accepts with equal facility that which is certain, and such portions of the imaginary as it may conceive to be probable, and when the truths for which the Apostles gave their lives are practically correlated with stories which in an age like ours bring the whole Faith into discredit, and, for too many souls, into danger ? " All this is good and apposite, but it goes further than the good Dean supposed. For such dogmas as the " Procession " of the Holy Ghost, the Nicene theory of the " Three of demonstration by reason, and for which she therefore offers us miracles instead of proof. But at the same time she virtually forbids the enquirer to sift the evidence for the miracles, as an act of impiety. 76 Swartbmore Xecture Persons," and the legend of Peter having been the first Pope, are unquestionably no part of the earliest strata' of the "deposit of Faith" — a. question-begging term — of which "the Church" claims to be the guardian. It remains to be trae that the Councils in their attempts to settle the canon of Holy Scripture exercised on the whole a wise dis cretion in rejecting numerous doubtful Gospels, which were current in early time, disfigured as they were with apocryphal stories about the childhood of Jesus, and other non-historical matter. ADVENTITIOUS AIDS TO TRUTH. In ages not very long past, the minds of men accepted as being true doctrines and narratives which they would otherwise not have accepted, provided the teacher was a miracle-worker, or was believed to be s\Lch. To the modem Nor, indeed, is the dogma of the Virgin Birth. Not only is it contradicted by the ].edigrees, given in Matthew, of tl e descent from David, but it was not believed by Peter (Acts ii. 30), nor by Pail (Rom. i. 3). The author of the Fourth Gospel, who must have known of the legend, ignores it, as it would seem intentionally. Moreover the whole doctrine of the Incarnation as it is presented in the New Testament is independent oi it. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 77 mind there does not appear to be any connexion between the two. That a person is able to do some marvellous thing that we do not under stand — ^which therefore seems imaccountable, miraculous — does not to the modem mind appear to have any bearing whatever on the trath or falsity of propositions which he may lay down. There is no logical connexion between the working of a miracle and the trath of any independent allegation the miracleworker may make. It is exceedingly difficult for us to conceive any such connexion. But undoubtedly in the time of Our Lord that idea prevailed' amongst the people. We have only to read John x. 41, where it is recorded that many resorted to Jesus "and said: John did no miracle, but all things that John spoke of this man were trae." The " but " reveals their attitude of mind. It was an attitude of mind which Jesus Himself repeatedly rebuked. " Except ye see signs and wonders ye will not ' The narratives, preserved to us in the Acts of the Apostles, of Simon Magus (viii. 9), and of the exorcists at Ephesus (xix. 13) prove to us that reputed magical powers were in that age thought to confer some authority on the miracle worker. But they also show that miracle working could afford, even then, no guarantee of true doctrine, Nor did the Jews in Jerusalem suppose so when they gave out that Jesus cast out demons by Beelzebub, the demon-prince. 78 Swartbmore Xecture believe," He said. Yet everywhere, even in the case of false prophets and false teachers, signs and miracles were regarded as somehow proving the trath of the doctrines taught. It was very illogical, no doubt, but it existed as an ingrained habit of mind. It seemed to establish an authority for the trath of the doctrine ; it gave certitude where otherwise there would havd been hesitation or doubt. On the modem mind the effect is just the opposite. If any modem teacher of religion or morals would propose to establish the trath of his teachings by showing some unaccount able marvel — ^by working a miracle in fact — the sincerity of his teaching would be at once discredited. We should rank him straightwayas an impostor. Our belief in the teachings of Jesus Christ ought to be held by us because we are convinced of their inherent truth, not because He is said to have worked miracles.' And, ' Spinoza held that miracles, as contrary to the order of nature, would tend rather to lead us to doubt the reality of God. The artificial distinction between what we call "natural," and what we call "supernatural' amounts to the denial that nature is also divinely ordained. That deplorable dualism which regards God's universe as something inherently undivine and evil is a legacy from the times of ignorance. It prevents us from seeing that the greatest " supernatural " event that ever occurred — the event which we in human Ube (Siuest for Urutb 79 moreover, whatever the disciples and hearers of Christ had before them, we have only narra tives of miracles, not the miracles themselves. It is impossible to dissever the narratives of miracles from the back-ground* of their environ ment. The belief in them was a product of the age in which their occurrence is recorded. It was an age when devotion and vivid imagina tion were creative in their activity. We 'must not conceive these early disciples, like Western leaders, testing the testimony, weighing evidence, calculating the conditions and influences at work, or discriminating between cause and effect, or practising an analysis of thought wholly foreign to their mental constitution. That was not their method. language call the resurrection of Jesus Christ — was only so far above our human comprehension that we fail to understand its true significance. Philosophy, drawn from limited human experience, has no adequate language in which to describe it. Words fail to convey its essential and transcendent truth. ' " It is doubtless the tendency of religious minds to imagine mysteries and wonders where there are none ; and much more, where causes of awe really exist, will they unintentionaUy mis-state, exaggerate and em bellish, when they set themselves to relate what they have witnessed, or have heard ; . . and further, the imagination, as is well known, is a fruitful source of apparent miracles." — J. H. Newman, Two Essays , p. 171. 8o Swartbmore Xecture They were essentially Orientals, though Luke took evident pains to collect and sift the traditit)n, when he composed his Gospel. To see the narratives of miracles in their trae proportions we have got first to appreciate, and enter into, that Oriental state of mind' which with perfect honesty and sincerity, values the adoring legend because it is adoring, more than the naked truth because it is trae. To the Oriental, scientific accuracy stripped of pious trappings ceases to be trae because it is stripped. There is the less need to dwell on this phase of ancient belief, because in the conditions of modem education, we are in little danger of being influenced either one way or the other in our beliefs by any exhibition of thaumaturgic power irrelevant to the matters in question. Our Lord Himself, in the parable of the rich man and the beggar, declared of those who were not convinced by hearing Moses and the Prophets — ^neither would they be persuaded even if one should rise from the dead. We therefore have His authority for discounting the evidential value of miracles. Can it be said that belief in miracles, or in dogmas' reared upon the support of alleged Ube (Siuest for Urutb 81 miracles, avails to strengthen the grasp of trath in the soul of any man whom trath has failed to convince without their adventitious aid ? Do the miracle-working relics of the saints, where such are preserved for the edification of the pious worshipper, increase his love of trath, his accuracy of thought, his hold on the vital facts of the relation between God and the soul ? Are those countries where veneration of relics flourishes superior in honesty and veracity to those where that practice is dis countenanced ? Is scrupulous care taken to ensure that no relics are venerated except such as are well authenticated ? It is notorious that these things are not so. Some fourteen years ago it was discovered that the relics at Bury St. Edmunds, supposed to be those of Saint Edmund, were spurious. Did that make any difference in the practice of offering pious veneration to them ? This is the answer which was given publicly by Cardinal Vaughan in The Times, of September loth, 1901 : — " Some of our friends may now, perhaps, inquire whether the discovery that the relics [of Saint Edmund] are not genuine will be a very awkward matter for the Church. To this I answer at once, " Not at all, . . . if we should venerate a spurious relic in the belief that it were genuine, the veneration, being relative and 82 Swartbmore Xecture personal, would certainly not rest in the inanimate relic or picture, but simply in the person, whose memory we have in our mind." Alas, the ecclesiastical mind seems unable to understand how trath is dishonoured by these adventitious aids to piety. Trath needs not to walk on such cratches. THE GOSPEL NARRATIVES. But if the embroidery of fact with pious fancy is thus found all tlurough the history of the Christian religion backwards, even to the Apostolic times, have we any reason to suppose that it was wholly absent from the narratives which have come down to us of the Apostles themselves, and of their Master ? Have the Gospels, compiled in the very age that was prolific in pious legends, escaped miraculously from sharing in the characteristics of the environment within which they took form ? To avert such an enquiry by the a priori assertion that our New Testament being divinely inspired is miraculously free from all admixture of error is only to shirk the question. Happily very few people take this position now. Are the Gospels history ? If they are, and so far as they are, then like every other history. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 83 they are subject to the tests of historical criti cism. You cannot establish their historicity, en bloc, by saying that the Church at the Council of Ferrara-Florence in the year 1442, or at any other Council or S3mod, voted to include them in the Canon of Holy Scripture. Nor, if you could do this, would that settle the point, because we do not know which of the then existing manuscripts is the authentic one. There are said to be more than 700 separate Greek manuscripts of the Gospels existing; and there are variations between the texts of them that are not unimportant.' Some of these show evidences of certain later additions to the earlier texts from which they themselves were copied. Not one original exists ; all we have are more or less faithful copies from older ones. There were, as we leam from Luke i. i and Acts viii. 4, as well as from other sources, other oral Gospels in existence before our four canonical Gospels were composed. It is a matter of history that numerous other early Gospels were in circulation ; and many of these were rejected by the early Church. The revisions ' On the question of tampering with the text of Scripture, see F. C. Conybeare, in the Hibbert Journal, Vol. I. 84 Swartbmore Xecture which have taken place in our own time attest the facts that enquiry has been necessary, and that criticism of the texts has been justified. The quest for truth compels us to ask that competent scholars shall at least be free to undertake the task of enquiry into the histo ricity of the narratives. It is a question of competence and of scholarship, not of fervency in preaching, nor of frequency in prayer. To determine the historicity of a particular event or the date and authorship of a document no doubt needs devotion and honesty ; but some thing more is needed, for devotion and honesty cannot take the place of scholarship and train ing. Few indeed are those fitted for this particular quest ; and those of us who have no such qualifications must be humbly content to be guided by those who have. Meantime the quest for truth has led to distinct results in several directions. One of these is the question of the fulfilment of prophecy ; another is the detection of glosses or comments that were originally no part of the manuscrif)t. THE FULFILMENT OF PROPHECY. Seeing what stress has been laid upon certain events being regarded as the fulfilment of Ube (Huest for Urutb 85 prophecy, or fulfilment of the Scriptures, it is worth while for a moment to examine what is the significance of thev word fulfil. This at first sight may seem a simple matter that everybody understands ; but a little thought will show that it is not so simple. There is a vast difference between the fulfilment of a prediction, and the mere occurrence of a corres pondence. If an event has been clearly set forth beforehand, and then it subsequently occurs in the way or at the time predicted, we may well say that the prediction has been fulfilled. Our almanacks inform us that on the third day of Febraary, 1916, at 4.21 p.m., there will be an eclipse of the sun, visible at Greenwich. That statement is a clear and definite prediction, the essential trath of which no sane person doubts. Supposing that there are no clouds and the eclipse is seen, should we, or should we not, regard the event as the fulfilment of prophecy ? Is a prediction any the less a prophecy because it expresses the calculable and deifinable result of ascertained laws of recurrence of phenomena ? Our almanacs also tell us that the Royal Academy will be closed on Monday, August 2nd, 191 5. Now, supposing that the Academy does actually close on that date, should 86 Swartbmore Xecture we refer to this event as the fulfilment of pro phecy ? Do we keep the word " prophecy " to mean the prediction of some occurrence that is vague, and indefinite, and unlikely in itself ? Or do we refuse to employ the word " fulfil " except in cases where the event could not be with accuracy foreseen ? Perhaps it is a question of habit of mind, or of intelligence, as to how we use our terms. Some persons will regard as a fulfilment of prophecy some trifling event which to others suggests no such relation. A wellknown member of our Society narrates how a good pious lady on going for the first time in her life to the sea-side, and looking out over the ocean, exclaimed : Oh, the fulfilment of prophecy ! — " There go the ships " (Ps. civ. 26). Now, undoubtedly those words occur in the hundred-and-fourth Psalm; but whether the actual seeing of the vessels sailing on the ocean was the fulfilment of them depends on the question whether in the first place the words in question were uttered as a prediction, and in the second place whether they predicted that those ships would be going over the sea at the place and time when they were ob served. Doubtless you will agree that in the right usage of the words there was Ube (Huest for Urutb 87 neither prophecy nor fulfiliiient. There was "narration," not "prophecy," in the text quoted ; and there was " recurrence," not " fulfilment," in the fact observed. Now it cannot be seriously denied that many of the matters which have been regarded by the piety of past ages as " fulfilments " are essentially of the same character ; being merely the occurrence or recurrence of a correspondence. Instances in plenty might be given. But, it must be remarked, the Hebrews did unquestion ably use the word and idea of " fulfilment " in this wider and looser sense. It was part of the Rabbinical mode of thought. One of the greatest living Hebrew scholars has told me that in the view of the Rabbis the whole scheme of Creation and of the giving of the law, and of the course of Jewish history, was present in the Divine Mind before the creation of the world ; and that therefore every single event in Jewish history was a " fulfilment," and was regarded as a fulfilment of Scripture, even though the particular passage of Scripture may have been in fact written long after the event which is said to establish it. An example occurs in one of the Rabbinical writings known as 'Aboth de Rabbi Nathan, (a second century 88 Swartbmore Xecture treatise or exposition of Mishnah and Midrash writings) i. 5, where the passage rans : — "It is said that Adam sinned in the seventh hour from his creation to fulfil that which is written (Psalm xlix. 12), ' Man cannot live over a single night in honour.' "' If we understand this Rabbinical mode of thought, so strange to us, we shall see how irrelevant from the modem point of view are many of the things regarded in the time of Christ as fulfilments of prophecy. Nor must we forget that in that country and age, the ' In the Authorised Version it runs : — " Man being in honour abideth not." In the Revised Version, "A man abideth not in honour." My friend Professor Israel Abrahams, whose distinction in Hebrew scholar ship is beyond challenge, tells me that the Hebrew verb here translated abide means literally to lodge overnight, or to spend the night. It is the verb used in the Hebrew of Ruthiii. 13, " Tayy)/ this night " ; in Genesis xxxii. 21, " and himself lodged that night " ; also in Exodus 3adii. 18, " neither sh^ the fat of my sacrifice remain until the morning." All these and many other passages, says Professor Abrahams, use the same verb as in Psalm xlix. 12 ; it means to pass the night, and only metaphorically to ahide. The Hebrew homilist used the phrase in Psalm xlix. 12, in its literal sense. It may be remarked in passing that, as under stood by the Rabbinists, the entire occurrences from Genesis ii. 7 to iii. 24 — ^the creation of man, the planting of Eden, tbe creation of Eve, the eating of the forbidden fruit, and the expulsion from Eden — all took place in one day — ^the sixth day of creation. See the Jewish Encyclopaedia, article on 'Aboth de Rabbi Nathan. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 89 people were accustomed to this habit of referring all things thus to ' that which was written," as their mode,' or at least one of their modes, of verifying trath. Hence the determined attempt by Christian teachers of the Apostolic age and of that which succeeded it, to impress this line of argument upon the Jews amongst whom they moved. The whole of the Epistle to the Hebrews and very many passages in the Epistles of Paul, in the Acts of the Apostles, and in the first and fourth Gospels, are instinct with this idea. The Gospel facts must needs be presented as the fulfilment of prophecy or fulfilment of the Scriptures. And, not understanding the Rabbinical usage of the term " fulfilment," the majority of later Christian teachers have accepted as being ful filments events which were in fact only recur rences or occurrences, and have often had to warp the trae meaning of the original text in ' Without doubt the invention of writing threw a glamour upon all written documents in the centuries that foUbwed ; and irom the influence of that glamour the Hebrews were not exempt. Many Eastern people, particularly Mohammedans, still share this influence. We know, even in our own day, with respect to the much more recent invention of printing, what a dispropor tionate regard ignorant people have for anything that is printed in a book. Because they have foimd it printed in a book, it must be true. 90 Swartbmore Xecture order to make out the later events to be fulfilments. It is sometimes said that any one who criticizes a composition thereby puts himself on a superior plane to that of the author whom he criticizes. But that is a mistake. A merely plain man has a perfect right to point out in consistencies in any printed book — even the most sacred. Anachronisms for example, may be detected ' in works of genius by a person of no pretence to literary ability. So, when we find expressions of a later age, such as the baptismal formula in Matt, xxviii. 19, embedded in the Gospel, we know, even without any reference to the witness of the manuscripts, that this was no part * of the original text. So, again, when_ in Matt, xxiii. 35, in the passage supposed to be quoted — like the parallel passage ' If we were to find in a reputed drama of Shakes peare any reference to travelling by railway, or if there were put into our hands a story said to be by Charles Dickens in which one of the characters would be rung up on the telephone, any schoolboy would at once detect the blunder ; he need not pretend to be superior to Shakespeare or Dickens. " Eusebius, quoting this verse in the fourth century, in his earlier writings omits all the words after the first seven, showing that the manuscript before him at that date did not contain the formula. In his later writings he quotes it as we have it. The two readings were then competing for acceptance. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 91 in Luke xi. 49-51 — from the lost book called " The Wisdom of God," we find a reference to Zachariah the son of Barachias, we know that there is some historical blunder, since Zachariah the son of Barachias was murdered in the court of the Temple in or about the year a.d. 68. We have travelled far from the time when an English Dean could declare from the pulpit of St. Paul's : " Every book of it [the Bible], every chapter of it, every verse of it, every word of it, every syllable of it, every letter of it, is the direct utterance of the Most High, fault less, unerring, supreme." Yet our Bible is to us more than ever precious. It stands out more clearly than ever as a unique storehouse of records of God's dealings with an ancient people to whom He made known His ways and His works. It has preserved to us not oiJy the records of their faith, and of their strivings after Him, but also of their failures ; not only of their progress toward righteous ness, but also of their sins ; not only of their inspired poetry, but also of their folklore. Let us frankly admit all this : so has it become to us all the more helpful and inspiring. And it is of infinite worth to us in that it, and it alone, has preserved to us the 92 Swartbmore Xecture manifestation of Him who had the words of etemal life. Him of whom we believe and are sure that He was the Son of the living God. CERTITUDE AND TRUTH. But it will be said by some that if faithful, and patient, and reverent scholarship has shown in the Holy Scriptures, as they have come down to us, the existence of interpolations, anachro nisms, and glosses, we shall not be able to rely upon them in matters of faith and doctrine. Perhaps we formerly did so, believing that their language was infallible. Perhaps we did not ; and yet relied upon some other infalli bility. Perhaps we felt certitude because we rested upon Authority, instead of relying on Divine guidance. The craving for certitude is not in all respects a sign of spiritual health. The very eagemess to be certain tends to vitiate the search by a temper of impatience. With many men, certainty is a matter of custom rather than of conviction. Belief, so far as it exists in any formulated shape in their minds, is not the foundation but rather the product of the creeds they have been taught. Many have never tested their religious views ; they were told it was wrong to do so. But no Ube (Siuest for Urutb 93 thinking man's views are worth much until he has tested them — ^has gone through the process of looking them in the face and question ing their validity, their authority ; until in fact he has gone through the stage of doubting them, and has passed from the stage of doubt to the fuller experience of conviction. "A man may have taken up second-hand, indolently, religious views ; may believe them, defend them vehemently. — Is he a man of truth ? Has he bowed before the majesty of trath with that reverential humbleness which is the mark of those who love her ? " ' Until he has so done he has no right to certitude ; he is a creature of the authority which he follows at second-hand. The quest for trath means going to the very sources of truth* to leam at firsthand,—immediately. Consider what we understand by certitude. How, by what process of thought or soul, do we become certain of anj^thing ? Are we certain that there is an extemal world around us ? ' F. W. Robertson, Sermons, First Series, p. 338. ' Francis Bacon put it in another way : " For Truth is well called the daughter of Time, not of Authority. And so it is not wonderful that these spells of Antiquity, Authority, and Consent, have so bowed down the power of man, that he cannot (being as it were bewitched) hold communication with things themselves." 94 Swartbmore Xecture Are we certain that we have actually seen and heard things ; do we rely on the credibility of our senses ? Are we convinced of the per sistence of natural law ? Are we sure that causes actually do produce effects ? Is not certainty in these things a habit of mind — a reliance upon generalized experience, experience of our own in particular and of mankind in general ? Has authority anything to do with certainty ? We are certain that two and two make four ; should we be any more certain of that fact if we found it to be so declared in the Bible ; or if an Act of Parliament should so proclaim it ? There is no logic in all the schools which can prove to our finite intelligence that anything is absolutely certain. We take past experience as a guide to the present and to the future, as the result of the experience of mankind (including ourselves) that like causes produce like effects.' But experience is always imperfect, limited. We have no logical justification for pronouncing anything " impossible," even if it be wildly improbable and outside our experience, unless it be something that is self¦ Huxley {Essay on Possibilities and Impossibilities, Vol. v., p. 192, of his Collected Works) calls -this " An Act of Faith " ; but it is equally truly a habit of mind. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 95 destractive,' that is to say, something which lands us in confusion of thought. Omnipotence itself cannot make a lie true. The Apostolic advice : — " Prove all things ; hold fast that which is good," should be an incitement to follow the quest. In that pursuit our business is to demand evidence, to evaluate its weight, and to be tenacious of that which has been found to be demonstrably true. Neglect to follow such advice can never advance truth. To adopt without discrimination beliefs that have not been submitted to strict and impartial scrutiny is to sow the garden of the soul with weeds. To refuse to submit Truth to scrutiny, lest it should fail to meet the test, is cowardice, not faith. Upon each of us rests the personal responsibility to exercise a faithful discrimination. But this is the very antithesis to receiving Trath on any extemal authority, whether of the Ssmods, or of the philosophers. Men who are not content that Truth should be its own authority have sought for something ' It is, for example, impossible that two and two should ever make five. For " four " is the name that we give to the result of adding two to two. And if two and two did not make four, the meaning of the word " four " would be destroyed. Similarly, it is impossible for the words "one" and "three" to mean the same without verbal nihilism. 96 Swartbmore Xecture that they might treat as such, and so relieve themselves of the personal responsibility of exercising their discrimination. Some will say that man has no right of private judgement ; that the sole custodian of Divine Truth is " the Church," and then tjiey will use their own personal judgement as to which Church is the rightful and exclusive custodian. Some will tell you Truth is that which prevails, according to the proverb " Magna est Veritas et praevdkbit." Unfortunately, evil sometimes prevails. Others will say : Truth is that which persists. Unfortunately errors also persist ; there is such a thing as survival of the unfittest through long ages. A lie is notoriously hard to kill. The pragmatist holds that Truth is that which works in practice — a utilitarian doctrine which conveniently ignores the categorical imperative and the supreme obligation of doing one's duty even when the doing of duty seems humanly impracticable. The command, " Love your enemies ; do good to them that hate you," is rejected by the pragmatists as an unpractical counsel of perfection. It is a counsel of perfec tion ; but Our Lord's command, which is binding on us was : " Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in Heaven is perfect." Ube (Siuest for Urutb 97 How then, and by what tokens can we attain to certainty ? Even the most exact of sciences, goemetry, cannot demonstrate its propositions without assuming certain axioms or postulates as self-evident traths, such as that the whole is greater than its part, or that two straight lines cannot enclose a space. The negative axioms are mostiy denials of the admissibility of something which if admitted would lead to confusion, or absurdity. Modem science, too, has its postulates, and some of the most effective of these are in negative form. Amongst the most certain of the generalizations of modem science — a generalization to which no exception is known, — is the principle of the conservation of energy. Yet for long no demonstrative basis for it could be found, until the master-mind of Von Helmholtz struck on a negative basis, which has become a postulate of physics, — " perpetual motion is impossible." Id morals, also, there are postulates. Huxley tried to deal with them in his Science and Morals. 'While not denying them, he demanded " How may a man be certain that they are true ? " He dis covered no answer. The real reply, I suppose, is this — a negative one — ^that if they are not trae, then there are no such things as moral 7 98 Swartbmore Xecture laws. Their denial would lead to confusion. It would be a moral absurdity if the ten com mandments were valid only six days out of seven, or if they were binding only in longitudes West of Suez. Suppose God were to hear prayers only when they were addressed to Him in Hebrew, or in Latin, or only when expressed in irreproachable grammar. These would be moral confusions indeed. We may be very sure that God is not the author of confusion. That is indeed one of the necessary postulates of an intelligent faith. By universal consent mankind has an instinct (as well as an interest) to place confidence in those men whose word corresponds to the thing that is ; to trust those teachings which pre-suppose that the govem ment of the universe is not capricious, or disorderly, or self-destructive. Perhaps this was in essence what St. Augustine meant by the famous dictum Securus judicat orbis terrarum, often quoted as though it signified much the same thing as the pagan proposition Vox populi vox Dei. And, assuredly, truth cannot be determined by any majority vote, whether in the House of Commons or in the Council of Nicsea. " The longest Sword, the strongest Lungs, the most Voices, are false measures of Ube (Siuest for Urutb 99 Trath." ' Certainty is not to be attained by conformity to the vote of the majority ; by shouting with the crowd. The philosophy of By-ends is a virtual denial that there is any quest for truth. In matters of ethical motive, where conscience, and duty, and personal devotion are involved, dependence on authority is absurd. A man who should cherish his wife with calculated tenderness because he finds printed in the Bible the advice, " Husbands love your wives and be not bitter against them," would be a poor sort of husband. He has not begun to under stand that emotions cannot be made to order ; that no love is pure that is not passionate. " No one who pretends to make the moral teach ing of Jesus the rale of life merely from dogmatic obligation can have understood that morality at all, or penetrated beyond the mere letter of its precepts. "* Neither can belief be made to order ; a man believes, not what he is ordered to believe, nor what he wilfully chooses to believe, nor yet what he merely desires or hopes to believe. What he really believes he believes because he cannot help believing. He believes ' Benjamin Whichcote. ' Supernatural Religion, 'VdL II., p. 485. loo Swartbmore Xecture that of which he is convinced, whether by the coercive logic of evidence, or by the experience of some inward conviction. The sort of belief which is merely imposed by Authority carries no conviction of the Truth. Milton put this very aptly in the Areopagitica : — " A man may be a heretick in the truth ; and if he beleeve things only because his Pastor says so, or the. Assembly so determines, without knowing other reason, though his belief be true, yet the very truth he holds becomes his heresie." But in contradistinction to this view stands the claim persistently put forward by the Church to be the sole authority and arbiter of trath. This claim is baldly stated in words attributed (perhaps unjustly) to Cardinal Bellarmine : " True things are true and false things are false ; but if the Church has declared true things to be false, and false things to be true.^then false things are true, and true things are false." ' The words sound like a caricature. But the course of the Inquisition in persecuting men for announcing scientific discoveries which were ' Vera sunt vera et falsa sunt falsa ; sed si ecclesia dixit vera esse falsa et falsa esse vera, falsa sunt vera et vera sunt falsa. I have been unable to place or verify the quotation. Ube (Siuest for Urutb loi counter to the dicta and authority of the Church lends ominous support to the pronounce ment. Galileo was tortured, Giordani Bruno martyred, for promulgating views condemned by the tyranny of Authority. Nevertheless, even the defenders of Authority have continually been conscious that Authority needed to be supported by something that should at least seem like intellectual sanction. Accordingly, the schoolmen dragged in the aid of Aristotle and his " method " of applying logic to the discovery or substantiation of Truth ; and so the philosophical writings of S. Thomas Aquinas rale the intellectual training' of the seminarists down to the present time. There is a popular notion abroad that the Fathers discouraged all use of reason and required unquestioning submission to imposed • The rigorous study of scholastic philosophy is doubtless a vast improvement on the crude philosophies of the earlier centuries. Think of the kind of irrelevant argument by which the Fathers sought to justify the accepted views of the Church. According to Irenaaus there could be only four Gospels, because there were only four winds of heaven, and four quarters of the earth, and because the cherubim had only four faces apiece. Saint Jerome, wishing to clinch the doctrine that the resurrection would be a bodily one, asked most naively : If the dead be not raised, how could the damned, after the Judgement, gnash their teeth in hell ? Thejpoint is that need was felt of some argumentative support for the Authority of the Church. I02 Swartbmore Xecture beliefs, however unreasonable. Tertullian is sometimes misrepresented as having said, " I believe because it is impossible." It is perhaps worth while to see what he did say. He is speaking of the paradoxes of faith, which he sums up in these words : — Natus est Dei filius ; non pudet quia pudendum est; et mortuus est Dei filius ; prorsus credibile est quia ineptum est; et sepuUus resurrexit ; certum est quia impossibile. ' (De Came Christi. Cap. v. ; see Migne's Patrologia. Tom. ii. ; Col. 761). It would be difficult to over-estimate the harm done by the claim of any organization to exclusive Authority in matters of faith. For when a claim to infallibility is coupled with the prohibition of all independent enquiry two results * follow — ^bigotry and scepticism : bigotry in those who cannot think, and scepti' After careful thought I conclude the essential meaning of these words may be rendered thus : — " The Son of God was born ; He was not ashamed of it, albeit it is shameful ; and He died [though] Son of God; in brief it is believable, albeit it is absurd ; and, having been buried. He rose again ; it is certain, albeit impossible." " " Let every man who is engaged in persecuting any opinion ponder it ; these two tlungs must follow : you make fanatics, and you make sceptics ; believers you cannot make." — F. W. Robertson, Sermons, First Series, p. 338. Ube (Siuest for Urutb 103 cism in those who can. Trath must not be stifled in the miasma of imposed dogmas. Yet it must not be thought that there is no place for authority, the reasonable authority which men rightly attribute to accumulated experience, and to goodness and wisdom as they see these qualities incarnate in the lives of good and wise men. No one can doubt that it is in the Divine ordering that simple souls look up with a genuine respect to those whose lives and words demonstrate daily a close communion with God, a fidelity to the inner convictions of their souls, a readiness to put Trath before aught else, a character moulded on the pattern of all that is Christ -like. Such men — and there are such to-day — cannot but wield, unconsciously to themselves it may be, a real authority. They are leaders not by virtue of any office they hold, not because of any ordination by the laying on of men's hands, but by virtue of their sincerity and nobility of soul. We revere them but not because they are an authority ; they are an authority to us because we revere them. The opinion and example of such men counts for more than the decisions of Councils and the precedents of antiquity, in shaping the beliefs of the wayI04 Swartbmore Xecture faring man. The child must needs be subject to authority while he lacks experience : but the day comes when he must put away leading strings, and walk on his own feet. And when the day of spiritual enlightenment comes we say, with the men of Samaria : " Now we believe ; not because of thy saying, for we have heard for ourselves, and know." But why should we spend time on further discussing extemal authorities when all the while the key to authority lies in our own bosoms ? " No religion is trae which con tradicts our sense of right and wrong." This is one of the postulates of religious thought. To think otherwise would be confusion indeed, since all and any religion, if it be an ethical religion and not a mere mumbo-jumbo worship, is based on there being a distinction between right and wrong. And if man possesse,s' a ¦ Archbishop Trench stated a kindred postulate in the following terms : — " For all revelation presupposes in man a power of recognizing the truth when it is shown him, — ^that it will find an answer in him, — that he will trace in it the lineaments of a friend, though of a friend from whom he has been long estranged, and whom he has well-nigh forgotten. It is the finding of a treasure, but of a treasure which he himself and no other had lost. The denial of this, that there is in man any organ by which truth may be recognized, opens the door to the giost boundless scepticism, is indeed the denial of all that is godlike in man." — Notes on Miracles, p. 24. Ube duest for Urutb 105 fundamental religious perception such as this, if there be in him an element of the divine to which righteousness appeals, what need should there be of resort to any extemal authority ? " That of God in you " is an interior authority to which things that are divine appeal. Justice, mercy, pity, yes, even truth itself, would be meaningless to man unless he himself were endowed with some element of those divine qualities. So if the question be once more raised, " How or by what means can truth be attained? " we have abundant answer. Logical reasoning (the method of philosophy), and induction from experiment (the method of science), valuable aids as they may be in the sifting of ideas and facts, are after all extemal methods. Neither of them avails to get at the heart of ultimate realities with the same assurance of success as awaits the rnethod of spiritual intuition. We can test by external methods the accuracy of the perceptions thus spiritually apprehended, but the extemal methods neither replace the intemal method nor challenge its validity. The Kingdom of God is within you. There is no authority that can give you the right to be disobedient to the heavenly vision. io6 Swartbmore Xecture INTUITION AND TRUTH. In the preceding section Intuition has been spoken of as a means of discovering divine trath ; we have also spoken of divine trath being revealed inwardly to us. Discovery and revelation are but two names for opposite aspects of the same thing. A discovery is a discovery only to the man who makes it. If he informs us of it we do not discover it, but he discloses or reveals to us what was, until then, his secret. This is also trae of the dis closures which we call divine revelations. They are, in a primary sense, revelations to him only to whom they are inwardly revealed. But if, when announced to us, they are found to evoke a response in our souls, they become in a secondary sense revelations to us also, and are apprehended as true. Here it may be pointed out that, in other departments of knowledge, intuition is more and more being recognized as a legitimate mode of discovering trath. Assuredly this is so in science. In the branch of mathematical science known as the integral calculus there are a number of results which have been arrived at intuitively, and subsequently verified deductively. Many Ube (Siuest for Urutb 107 of the sciences, to say nothing of the arts, bear witness to the efficiency of intuition as a means of extending knowledge. Many scientific discoveries, so-called, have been made by in tuition ; by a sort of inspired guessing which has led to verifiable results. Trath seems suddenly to flash across the enquirer immersed in his research. He becomes aware of some thing of which a moment before he was not awaf e. He has not arrived at it by any process of logical thinking ; but it has dawned upon him. He proceeds to put the intuition and its consequences to the test ; and definite know ledge results. Great scientific discoverers are men who appear to have a genius for the intuitive perception of hitherto unknown facts. It is a supra-rational faculty, neither inductive nor deductive in its form of operation ; it is more akin to imagination than to logic, being creative and spontaneous, independent of the mental processes of analysis and synthesis which constitute the ordinary machinery of thought. Henri Bergson' has definitely admitted the faculty of intuition into his philosophy. He calls intuition " knowledge at a distance," and ' See Bergson's I' Intuition philosophique, published in the Revue de metaphysique et de la morale, November, 1911. io8 Swartbmore Xecture regards the relation between intuition and intellect as analogous to the relation between vision and touch. Many things intuitively discovered have since been found to be demonstrable by reason. But their origin has been forgotten When they became recognized as acquisitions of definite knowledge ; and men have slighted the intuitive method of seeking truth, deeming the intellec tual process of reasoning a higher one. Rightly regarded, the reverse is true ; for logic does not discover the data with which it works ; the premises of the syllogism must be known before the inference can be drawn. Few enquirers have the patience and simplicity to wait for the intuition. THE INNER LIGHT. We are thus led to the central point in the distinctive beliefs of the Society of Friends, the reality of immediate personal revelation ; the postulate that the human soul possesses a faculty of intuitive perception of Divine things ; the belief that God can and does com municate His will, without any go-between and apart from all institutional or human agency, to the individual soul of man. In all Ube (Siuest for Urutb 109 ages the devout men who feared God, who strove to work His will and to do the truth, were broiight by direct spiritual experience into communion with the most High. The doctrine of the Inner Light, distinctive of the early Quakers, is — theological terminology apart — only another form of the doctrine of immediate guidance by the Holy Spirit. " That of God in you," as they expressed it, meant what others would describe as " the Indwelling Christ," or " the Christ of experience." 'What the Apostle Paul indicated when he said " Christ liveth in me," or when he wrote " Christ in you the hope of glory," was for Fox, and for Penington, for Penn, and for Barclay, the same as " the Light which lighteth every man " of the Johannine Gospel. In the midst of a dry and wordy Protestantism, that was the revelation which came to them. To them, as Fox tells us, the Gospel was the power of God,' which was ' The following extract from George Fox's Journal contains an entry of the year 1663 relating to his service in Cornwall. " From thence we returned to Redruth, and the next day to Truro, where we had a meeting. Next morning, some of the chief of the town desired to speak with me, amongst whom was Colonel Rouse. I went, and had a great deal of discourse with them concerning the things of God. In their reasoning they said, ' The gospel was the four books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John ' ; no Swartbmore Xecture preached before Matthew, Mark, Luke and John were written. Apostles of the intuitional view of religion, they rediscovered for them selves the significance of " that inner still ness wherein we discover truth at first-hand." In other words, they set down as of little account any religious profession which was based on intellectual notions only, or which depended on assent to propositions laid down by authority, and was not founded on some deep personal religious experience. Experience of the deep things of God by the faculty of spiritual apprehension was for them more * than all creeds ; and the waiting upon God and they called it natural. I told them, the gospel was the power of God, which was preached before Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John were written ; and it was preached to every creature (of which a great part might never see nor hear of those four books), so that every creature was to obey the power of God ; for Christ, the Spiritual Man, would judge the world according to gospel, that is, according to hisinvisible power. When they heard this, they could not gainsay ; for the truth came over them. I directed them to their teacher, the grace of God, and showed them the sufficiency of it, which would teach them how to live, and what to deny ; and being obeyed would bring them salvation. So to that grace I recommended them, and left them." (Edition, 1765, P346) 2 Compare J. Drummond, " The highest authority is found when truths come straight to the soul and receive that inward response without which religious truth is dead and useless." {Via, Veritas, Vita, p. 119.) Ube (Siuest for Urutb m to hear His still small voice in the soul more than all liturgies. They found the essence of Christianity to consist not in holding intellec tual opinions about the nature and person of Christ, but in the personal experience of the Life of God in the soul, effecting a transforma tion of character into the Christ-like pattern. William Penn stated the negative side most clearly. "It is not opinion or speculation, or notions of what is true ; or assent to, or the subscription of articles or propositions, though never so soundly worded, that makes a man a true believer or a trae Christian." ' Pening ton, still in the same strain, added a more positive note : — " By experience they [the Quakers] know that there is no being saved by a belief of His [Christ's] death for them, and of His resurrection, ascension, intercession, etc., without being brought into a true fellowship with Him in His death, and without feeling His immortal seed of life raised and living in them." * A conformity of mind and practice to the Will of God, " according to the dictates of the ' William Penn, A Key opening the Way to every Capacity. » Isaac Penington, Examination of the Grounds, etc. 112 Swartbmore Xecture divine principle of light and life in the soul " was, according to Penn, that which denoted a a person to be truly a child of God. The early Quakers were not concerned with metaphysical distinctions.' They regarded the theological differentiations as to the " three persons " and the " two natures " as attempts to be wise above that which is written. Christ as a living personal reality working within them was an absorbing conception which lifted them above disputatious notions. 'Whether George Fox ever attempted any explanation of the process by which he identified the indwelling Christ with the historical Jesus of Nazareth, does not appear ; there is nothing in his Journal — a truly wonderful document of living experience — ^to show that any questioning of the identity ever occurred to him. Penn certainly main tained the ever-living Christ to be the same as the Holy Spirit ; while Barclay, though guarding himself against such a definite state ment, passed by Christological discussions for the most part as though not vital, or not nearly so vital as the inward response of " that of God in you " to that which is of God. The Logos ' See on this whole question Edward Grubb's Swarthmore Lecture, The Historic and Inward Christ. (Headley Bros., 1914.) Ube (Siuest for Urutb 113 doctiine of John they frankly did not under stand ; the wisdom of the Alexandrian school of thought did not touch them. And so they bequeathed to us little or no contribution to what some regard as a pressing need, the synthesis of intemal and external witness into an organized body of doctrine. Now it would seem that we, in these days, are in a happier position than the early Friends, happier than the thinkers of the preceding centuries, having the advantage that we live in a time when the conception of truth has been enlarged ; when the search for trath for its own sake has taken newer forms and has extended over wider areas of thought. It was the misforttme of earlier theologians, that they had no independent standards of truth such as are available by the methods of scientific investigation. The whole idea of trath as being verifiable by experiment is relatively modem. In an earlier part of this essay stress was laid on the importance of understanding what constitutes a valid demonstration, and on a clear distinction between statements that are categorically and analogically true. In any synthesis of faith to be hereafter attempted the training in accurate thought which is afforded 114 Swartbmore Xecture by the methods of modern scholarship will be invaluable. But more valuable than all will be that which rises clear from the study of early Quaker thought, the recognition that for any religious doctrine to be of value to any soul it must be the outcome of personal spiritual experience,' and such as will evoke a personal spiritual response. But when we say personal experience we do not necessarily mean the experience of one individual. Collective religious experience is for us just as real as individual experience. We know it ; we have found it to be a reality in our congregations and in our community. We may have passed through a spiritual ex' The late Professor William James, commenting on some of the experiences narrated in George Fox's Journal in the following terms : — " A genuine first-hand religious experience like this is bound to be a heterodoxy to its witnesses, the prophet appearing as a mere lonely madman. If his doctrine prove contagious enough to spread to any others, it becomes a definite and labelled heresy. But if it then still prove contagious enough to triumph over persecution, it becomes itself an orthodoxy ; and when a religion has become an orthodoxy, its day of inwardness is over ; the spring is dry ; the faithful live at second-hand ex clusively and stone the prophets in their turn. The new church, in spite of whatever human goodness it may foster, can be henceforth counted on as a staunch ally in every attempt to stifle the spontaneous religious spirit, and to stop all later bubblings of the fountain from whicli in purer days it drew its own supply of inspiration." {Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 337.) Ube (Siuest for Urutb us perience of which only a portion remains with us. 'Who shall decide the reality, or even the accuracy of that which we retain ? Who or what shall be the faithful custodian and critic of that of which we may have become possessed ? We are told to try the spirits to know whether they be of God ; but how try them except by that measure of the Divine Spirit which has been vouchsafed to us ? There is no final guardian of truth except the spirit of truth fulness itself ; the guidance of the Holy Spirit witnessing in our spirits. Our Lord Himself did not claim that His words should be recog nized because He said them, but because they were true. He appealed to His hearers : "If I say the truth, why do ye not believe Me ? " (John viii. 46.) In the ultimate resort, then, after we have done all we can, as in the light of God, to test and to try our intuitions of truth, that which remains as trath must, for any one of us, be a matter of personal experience, or be confirmed by personal experience. INDIVIDUAL EXPERIENCE AND CORPORATE CONTROL. The question was raised as to how individual experience may be correlated with the collective ii6 Swartbmore Xecture experience of the congregation or community. On that question depends the further enquiry how far collective experience can be used as a corporate conscience to sift and test individual experiences ; how far the corporate conscience is a helpful extemal guide. Let us frankly confess that our Society,, in abstaining from fully organizing any machinery for giving effect to the collective experience of the body for the guidance of the individual, has been defective in means of expression, as well as weak at times in the exercise of control. Nevertheless, there exist very potent ancil lary means, mostly unorganized, by which guidance is afforded to the individual. None of us lives so far detached from his fellows or from his own past experiences as not to be continually subject to many constraining in fluences. It is scarcely needful to enumerate them. The memory of past association with things of the highest spiritual moment is not readily effaced. Written or remembered records of the past experiences of others cannot be ignored. The influence of religious books, of religious exercises, of association in religious communion, is not lightly escaped. The recurring impress Ube (Siuest for Urutb 117 of inspired and inspiring personalities ; the lives of saintly persons whom we have known ; all the essential nobility and devotion which we have witnessed in them, mould our personalities and constrain the workings of our lives. If they stimulate, yet more do they humble us. And behind us lies all the weight that rightly attaches to the past, the historic exercises of religion, the historic devotion, the historic piety, the great historic prayers, and all the ministries of praise and psalm. And surrounding us are the living philanthropies of to-day, the con tagion of holy example, the stimulus of religious association, the great loyalties, the inescapable sense of the presence of suffering, and sorrow, and sin, demanding unity of effort. All these things exercise a control which if informal as to organization is none the less real. It is a control partly intemal and partly extemal. Within the borders of our own community, control takes the form of a spiritual polity embodied in a system of eldership, which for two centuries has continued almost unchanged. If our Society desires to strengthen the hold which this corporate polity exercises over in dividual activities, to secure thereby a surer extemal guidance, it must see well to it that ii8 Swartbmore Xecture the influence of the organized body does not degenerate into a fossilized authority, conceiv ing itself to be the sole custodian of truth. The fountain of truth must be permitted to flow in a perpetual progression, else, as Milton warns us, its waters will sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition. EXPERIENCE AND CONVICTION. Moreover the personal experience of Apostles and disciples and holy men, who passed away ages ago, lives with us still, and their testimony is available to bring conviction. It is not necessary for us to see with our eyes what they witnessed in order that we should be convinced of the reality of their convictions, which become evidential for us, so that in a secondary sense they become our convictions too. Let one example — ^the most vital of all — suffice. It needs no research to discover, what any one who reads the records with honest eyes can see, that the disciples believed intensely and whole-heartedly in the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. It is the one fundamental topic that dominates the Acts of the Apostles, beside which all other beliefs sink into relative insignificance. It was for Ube (Siuest for Urutb 119 them as great a certainty as that Jesus had walked with them in the flesh. The one qualification required in the claim for election to Apostleship was that he should have been an eye-witness of His resurrection. But here we must, for accuracy, pause on the phrase. So far as we know, no mortal eye witnessed the rising of Jesus out of the tomb. Certainly none of the Apostles did. They went early in the morning to the tomb, and found it empty. That of which the Apostles were convinced, that of which they had no doubt whatever, was the fact of their own personal experience of the continuing presence of Christ with them. They did not spin theories about it to account for it ; why should they ? There was the joyful fact before them, within their own knowledge : — " We have seen the Lord." They called that fact the resurrection from the dead. That is simple uncritical language. We may — ^many of us sincerely do — desire to know exactly what did occur ; what explanation of facts there is to account for His continuing personal presence after that Easter dawn. In the wisdom of God no such explanation has ever been given ; and no living soul has any right to invent one to clear up the mystery. The two facts are : I20 Swartbmore Xecture (i) the empty tomb, (2) the subsequent experi ences of His presence as a living and transcen dent personality. More than this, we have no warrant to import into the confession " I believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ." It may be inexplicable — ^but there it is. All specula tions as to what He did with His material body, and where His soul was during those hours when His body lay enshrouded in the tomb, are beside the mark. There is no experience behind them. RECONSTRUCTION. Before I close I tum to the vexed question of changes of opinion and belief. Under what conditions, by what sanctions is it right to admit changes in the religious beliefs and views in which we have been reared ? The question is not an easy one to answer. Certain it is that in no case can we announce any such change without giving pain, or offence, which is worse than pain, to some of those dearest to us, to those to whom we owe in a religious sense a great and unending debt of gratitude, who may be our spiritual fathers or mothers, who so far surpass us in purity of life and nobility of soul that we feel ourselves unworthy even to Ube (Siuest for Urutb lai touch the hem of their garments. And yet — and yet — ^we cannot be false to our own con victions. If there is any doctrine or belief in which we have been nurtured, which yet after serious and heart-searching enquiry we find to be for us no longer trae, what right have we to pretend that we continue to believe it ? To believe without adequate groimds is both weak and dishonest. To feign belief in that of which we are not convinced is a forfeiture of integrity of soul. To simulate belief in that which we no longer believe for fear of paining one of the saints of God is cowardice, if not hypo crisy. Yet there are holy and earnest men who coimsel otherwise. The late Dean Vaughan, the saintly author of The Book and the Life, advised that when a view has once been arrived at as being trae, it should be, as it were, laid on the shelf and never again looked on as an open question. Surely such counsel is false. There are no questions that can be for ever closed. No man, no Church, has any authority to close them so that they shall not be freely examined whenever fresh light arises. Trath is seldom attained at a stride: progress in human enlightenment, particularly in regard to things divine, is only reached gradually by 122 Swartbmore Xecture painful steps, by paths that lead throughj stages of imperfection, illuminated by twilight glimpses, and transient gleams, toward the more perfect vision. " The best and bravest have straggled from error into truth, they listened to their honest doubts, and tore up their old beliefs by the roots." Remember that many of the time-hallowed beliefs which have come down to us from former generations were but the best that our forefathers were able to perceive, formulated in language which in the course of time has inevitably ceased to mean to us what it meant to them. The intellectual verdict of their day is not the intellectual verdict of ours ; truth may compel us to reject it, even though that rejection involves pain and unsettlement. But, remember : while ' ' a man may unsettle the verdict of his intellect, it is at his peril that he tampers with the convictions of his conscience." There are beliefs which, being outworn, must be reverentiy laid aside. New and more spiritual vievre must be substituted for the idea of the supposed fulfilment of prophecy ; new spiritual analogies must be allowed to replace the artificial " ts^pes and anti-types " which, in our childhood, confused our heads and muddled our instincts of right and wrong. Ube (Siuest for Urutb , 123 COURAGE AND TRUTH. Let us then with holy courage have the honesty to confess that truth for us will not include all that our fore-fathers regarded as trath ; and that it may include both less and more. Let us see that it be no whit less earnestly and sincerely held. He who seeks trath does not create it ; he can only bear witness to it when found. Truth is not to be found by refusing to seek it ; nor in the quest must we count the cost. There are many ways of arriving at truth ; many views of trath. There are other windows opening on to Heaven than those of the nursery in which we were brought up ; and some are wider, and some face toward the dawn. In thus regarding the oneness of truth we shall also see the promise of fresh traths hereafter to be discovered. The enquirer into divine trath will henceforth need to be provided with the means that have been effective in every branch of research. If he would know the whole trath of God conceming the ultimate great things, life, death, destiny, the trend of the universe, he must leam the trath of man and of nature, for trath is one. And if he frames a scheme of 124 Swartbmore Xecture things, he must leave room in it for the yet unknown traths that are in store. A discouragement which besets those who have found it thus incumbent upon them to revise any portion of their views of religious trath is the resultant difficulty of fitting the newly acquired truth' to the rest of the old. But why this discouragement ? Half the difficulties of the theologies, obsolete as well as current, have arisen from the supposed necessity of harmonizing all the salient points into a single self-consistent system. 'While a man's faith is in the growing stage — and what thinking man can say that for him all questions are closed questions? — ^there will necessarily be beliefs that stand to some degree isolated, not yet linked up to all his other beliefs; not woven into a consistent body of doctrine. System-mongering has been the besetting sin of all theologians, heterodox as well as ortho dox, in all ages. Men have always been under a temptation to trim some of their convictions to make them square with other beliefs. They have attempted to generalize from data all too few and too particular ; and in the sequel have warped the truth for the sake of supposed consistency. In a world of imperfect percepUbe (Siuest for Urutb 125 tions it is bound to result thus to us, if we act as though there were no gaps in our knowledge. But the incompleteness of our spiritual per ceptions being once admitted, the difficulty is resolved. That admission constrains us to acquiesce in the co-existence of unrelated and apparently incompatible elements in our faith. We are like men who scan a distant panorama of mountains and woodland through a mist which at times rolls apart here and there, revealing to us partial features, apparently unrelated to one another and seemingly dis crepant ; yet assuredly parts of a correlated whole. The more distinctly the individual features of these isolated patches appear, the more difficult does it seem to grasp the unseen portions, or fit together the parts we have seen. Any attempt to organize the whole by conjectur ing the intermediate parts spoils the scene by substituting arbitary guiding lines.' To force the composition mars the truth of the features already seen. That is what theologians have done in straining to fit the various particular traths revealed to or discovered by this or that inspired teacher or prophet, into a logical and ' See J. A. Froude's remarks on patching up gaps in history, p. 38 above. 126 Swartbmore Xecture consistent corpus of belief. No man whose convictions arise really in his own bosom is convinced at a stroke of an entire and complex scheme of doctrine. Schemes of doctrine are things elaborated ; their historical growth is known ; they are, like many of thie particular dogmas, compromises. But we are not bound to manufacture one entire self-consistent theology out of our detached convictions ; our duty' is to act out such trath as has been revealed to us. To hammer out one homogeneous system of theology is a task far beyond us ; the im mensity of our ignorance precludes any such accomplishment. Admitted that to attempt siich a unification were a noble task, yet it is one that would be apt sorely to mislead, and ensnare us into forming a patchwork that could only be in parts a travesty of the yet-unrevealed traths of God. Is it not significant that whereas God has revealed to one and another of His servants, from age to age, a vision of this and that truth, in no age, and to no prophet or teacher, not even through our Greatest Teacher of all, did He reveal a comprehensive and complete ' " Each noble inconsistency results from some one fragment of diseipleship, some accepted task of sonship." (F. J. A. Hort, The Way, the Truth, the Life, p. i68.) Ube (Siuest for Urutb 127 system of theology ? All the theologies, old and new, are patchworks framed by the art and device of man, attempting to unify and reconcile confficting views of truth. Let us then not be afraid of this reproach when we in simplicity hold fast to the particular truths, the vision of which has been vouchsafed to us. The false pride which will not accept a particular truth unless it can be fitted into a whole scheme of things is sister to the false anxiety which is fostered in us to be true to our principles rather than to make sure that our principles are true. Jesus left no scheme of theology to His disciples ; but He bestowed upon them " words of Eternal Life." Consider what Jesus Christ did not say. He propounded no theories about the redeeming efficacy of His death. He laid down no dogma of the Trinity. He did not talk of the enthu siasm of humanity. He did not speak of the enlightenment by science, the softening influence of art, or the elevation of the masses by educa tion. He was no champion of a new social Utopia, or advocate of well-laid plans for the political or social amelioration of the people. He proposed no general redistribution of wealth, or organization of charitable effort. Those 128 Swartbmore Xecture legislative schemes which we propound as noble ambitions to promote the progress of the race He never mentioned. Our methods for up lifting our fellows were not His methods. He worked on men's hearts from within. His methods were spiritual and interior. He trans formed men's lives by renewing a right spirit within them. He lived amongst men as a fellow man, and taught them by His own example the redeeming virtues of self-renunciation and of love unquenchable by death. He bound them by no stronger ties than perfect love to His service. He came into the world that He might bear witness to the trath. He inspired men to search for that trath — ^the trath which makes them free. 3 9002 08844 0988 li. 'ii' i*i BD 161 .G2 Copy 1 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 021 061 384 5 PROCEEDINGS OF THE SEVENTH ANNUAL MEETING OF THE AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL ASSOCIATION HELD AT CORNELL UNIVERSITY DECEMBER 27-28, ioopr TOGETHER WITH THE ADDRESS OF THE PRESIDENT THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH BY PROFESSOR H. N. GARDINER [Reprinted from the Philosophical Review, Vol. XVII, No. 2, March, 1908.] {Reprinted from the Philosophical Review, Vol. XVII., No. 2, March, 1908.] THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH. 1 IN speaking on the same subject as that selected for the Discussion that is to take place to-morrow morning, I do not seek to forestall the results of that discussion. Nor shall I attempt to deal with what to many may seem the more profound and significant aspects of the problem, such as, for example, the relation of our finite knowing to absolute knowing, or the place which our particular truths must have in a final and complete metaphysical system. My aim is rather to set forth simply and clearly some of the more general considerations that ought, in my judgment, to be kept in mind when this subject is under debate. Now the first requisite in this discussion is surely a definite understanding as to what truth the discussion is about. * True ' and ' false' are adjectives like ' red ' and ' sweet' or ' good ' and ' bad,' and, like them, must be taken to qualify some object or objects. But the objects they actually are taken to qualify are various, and hence an ambiguity in the conception of truth. We not only apply the terms to ideas, supposals, judgments, propositions, beliefs, and the like, but we also meet with true and false friends, true courage and beauty, false modesty and honor, and, alas, sometimes false dice, hair, and teeth. In this sense falsity may be itself a character of truth : " his faith unfaithful kept him falsely true." In the Hegelian philosophy we have another use of the term, according to which the higher category is truer than the lower, teleology is the truth of mechanism, spirit the truth of nature. We shall avoid at least one source of confusion if we 1 Delivered as the Presidential Address before the American Philosophical Association at Cornell University, December 27, 1907. lI 3 114 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW. [Vol. XVII. agree, to begin with, that our concern is with the truth of propositions. We assume that propositions are either true or false, or neither true nor false, or, in case a number of propositions are involved, are at once partly true and partly false, and that, in any case, regarding any intelligible proposition the question can be asked whether it is true or false, and in what way. If we agree to this, then certain not inconsiderable consequences would seem to follow. One, and most important, is that we recognize the truth we are talking about as a quality found in quite particular truths. For every proposition, whatever its range or comprehension, expresses and embodies a single, even if complex, truth, and the number of possible truths is as infinite as the number of possible propositions. This is not to say that truths are disconnected, or are, or relate to, ' independent entities,' or are merely externally connected in a series. Propositions hang together ; one truth implies, follows from, leads to another. Hence the possibility is not excluded that many truths may cohere together to form a system, and that all truths may ultimately appear as elements in one comprehensive system or realm of truth. But this last should not be dogmatically assumed at the outset in such a way as to prejudice investigation into the nature and conditions of particular truths. Not even the most resolute defender of an absolute system would maintain that such a system was even remotely attainable by man. 1 Not only have the propositions in common use little or no evident connection, but within the most organized forms of our knowledge, — the sciences, — principles of wide import in one department are totally ignored in others. Moreover, a system of truth is really, from the propositional point of view, a system of truths, and cannot, as such, be expressed or exhibited in any single proposition. Philosophers, as we know too well, often require for the expression of their systems one or several pretty ponderous volumes. A true system would be one, all of whose propositions were true and also connected. Propositions about the system, however, are just as particular as propositions about its parts or about the 1 " It would be impossible that any man should have a world, the various provinces of which were quite rationally connected, or appeared always in a system." Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p. 367. No. 2.] THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH. 115 connections of its parts. At the outset, then, we ought, I think, in this discussion to recognize to the full the particularity of all propositional truths, and that whether they have to do with the more special or the more general aspects of their subject-matter. We ought, as far as possible, to avoid talking of truth ' at large ' ; and we ought equally to be on our guard against any bias in favor of a peculiar type of truth, as, for example, scientific as opposed to philosophical truth, or vice versa, or of either as against the episodical truths of every-day life. For if every propositional truth is particular, there is no prima facie reason for regarding one as more or less true than another, so far, that is, as it is true at all. Truths differ in value and significance ; some are trivial, some perhaps sublime. But, apart from special theory, there is no apparent reason why a proposition about even so trivial a circumstance as the present state of the weather, — which indeed may be important enough on occasion, — should not be as true as the truest propositions about such exalted objects as the existence of God, the constitution of the universe,, and the destiny of the human soul. The next point is, that the truth of any proposition must be judged with reference to its own unique meaning and intent. It means to assert something specific about something in particular, whether the form of the proposition be particular or general. If it means to assert something about 'this,' it must not be condemned because it does not assert something else, or because it tells you nothing about ' that,' or because it does not exhaust: the possibilities or attain the ideal of a fully unified knowledge. It may be quite true, for example, that a certain train is scheduled to leave the station at five o'clock, whatever may be true, in metaphysical reference, as to the nature of space and time or, in economic reference, as to the management of a railway system. But if this is so, then we cannot admit, from the propositional point of view, that doctrine of ' degrees of truth ' which asserts that every proposition is partly false because of the modification it would receive by supplementation and re-arrangement when brought into relation with other elements which, for the time being, have been left out of account. This assertion appears to Il6 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW. [Vol. XVII. rest on a different conception of truth, Judged by its own meaning and intent, a proposition may be true without being all that is true, and a truth that is only true about the whole need not be more wholly true than one that is about the meanest of its parts. Again, a proposition that is complex may contain more truth than another without on that account being any more true. It is plausibly objected to this, that truths are not independent, that they at least tend to systematic union. And this we have admitted. But then, it is said, as elements in a system, each truth must modify and be modified by all the others ; as a member of the system, it cannot remain what it was in isolation, it gets transformed, and the more so in proportion to the width and depth of its connections. And from this it follows, on the argument, regarding ' Reality ' as a system one of whose aspects is a completely unified ' Truth,' that all truths, in the end, are 'error,' and that, for example, mathematics, the most exact of the sciences, is also, as the most abstract, the least ' true ' of all. 1 We escape this consequence, I think, by holding strictly to our principle that the truth of any proposition must be judged with reference to its own unique meaning and intent, and by distinguishing between truth and its evaluation. A given truth does, indeed, suffer modification in being systematically connected with other truths, but such modification need not be at all one of the truth of the proposition, but only of the way the truth is held, understood, and appreciated. Thus the schoolboy may know only the isolated truths that 5 + 2 = 7 and that 5 x 2 = 10 ; but if he later comes to see that these truths are connected, that 5 + 2 = 7 because 5 x 2=10, and vice versa, that neither would be true if the other were false, or if, as a philosophical mathematician, he holds a theory of numbers which throws light on the nature and connection of these propositions, he certainly holds these truths in a different way, they have for him a different value ; but how has the truth of either proposition been itself affected ? That 5 + 2 = 7 is, I suppose, as true, neither more nor less, to the mathematician as to the schoolboy, though the former has so many more connected truths at command that it has for him a richer signification. For truths too, like sensible facts, have an 1 Bradley, Appearance ana' /\ea/i/r, p. 370. No. 2.] THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH. II 7 import beyond their own intrinsic quality. Of course, the proposition in question is quite true only relatively to the general character of its own number system ; but this was implied in its assertion. But in this reference its truth would not be in the least affected by the discovery, or invention, of a different number system, if that were possible, just as a truth in Euclid is not affected by the equally valid, though less serviceable, truths of other geometrical systems. The fact that one truth is not, as such, altered by its connection with other truths, may appear perhaps in a still clearer light, if we take a case where, as things stand, there is no such connection, and then imagine what would happen if such a connection were brought about. " This table is round," and " this table cost $500," are propositions which have no sort of logical connection ; and hence the truth of the one would, in so far, be unaffected by that of the other. But suppose that round tables were exceedingly difficult to make, and that, besides being rare for this reason, they were esteemed peculiarly beautiful. Then they would be objects desired of the rich and coveted by the connoisseur, and a connection between the shape and the price would be so definitely established that we should see at once that a true proposition about the one would involve a corresponding proposition about the other. But would either proposition be more or less true ? Would the table be any more or less round, or its price any dearer or cheaper ? The suggestion is manifestly absurd. The difference would lie not in the truth, but in the truth's evaluation. It being understood, then, that the truth we are talking about is truth of propositions, that every proposition is specific, and that its truth is relative to its intended meaning, we may now state the essential problems in regard to this kind of truth. They may be expressed in two questions : (1) What do we mean by calling any proposition true? and (2) How do we know that it is really true? Or, otherwise stated, (1) What is the nature of the claim we make for it when we call it true ? and (2) How is this claim either established or discredited ? The first question relates to the nature of truth, the second to its evidence. Il8 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW. [Vol. XVII. But before we attempt to deal with these questions, we ought, I think, to enquire more. particularly, first, into the nature of the object to which the predicates 'true' and 'false' are applied, and the possession of which constitutes that object a truth or a falsity. We have agreed that our concern is with the truth of propositions, but the truth of a proposition is clearly not resident in the mere form of the words. What is true, if true, and false, if false, — and also, it may be added, what is doubtful, possible, necessary, etc., — is, primarily, what is asserted. In what is asserted we seem to have the original locus of a propositional truth. If what is asserted is true, then, and only then, is the proposition true, and thereby whatever mental act, content, or attitude it expresses on the part of the individual making or holding the proposition ; and contrariwise, if it is false. Now to apply the adjectives 'true' and 'false' directly to what is asserted, we have, curiously enough, to change the form of the proposition. In the proposition something is asserted of something, something is declared to be or not to be, to happen or not to happen, or, in general, to be so-and-so characterized. If now what is asserted is to be itself characterized, if, for example, it is to be qualified as true or false, it must itself be expressed as the subject of another proposition having such a character as its predicate. And this, as especially pointed out by Meinong, is done by expressing the 'what' that is asserted by a sentence beginning with ' that,' or by some form of words equivalent to such a sentence. Thus in the proposition, " crows are black," what is asserted is that crows are black. The question we must now ask is, What is the logical import of such a //W-sentence ? A proper answer should throw some light on the meaning of truth. In dealing with this question, we may proceed in either of two ways : we may abstract altogether from the thinking process and consider only the logical character of what is asserted, or we may connect the latter with the process out of which the assertion issues and the attitude in which its truth or falsity is recognized, and seek to determine its position and character relatively to that. From either point of view, its most salient feature appears to be that of belonging to an ideal realm of meaning distinct from and, No. 2.] THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH. 119 in a way, opposed to concrete and actually existent fact. That this paper is white, is neither an existing thing, like the paper, nor a real predicate of existence, like the paper's whiteness. The white paper exists, but I cannot in the same way say ' that this paper is white ' exists. I do not mean that this truth can in no sense be said to be. It can be made the object of a reflective thought, it can be examined as such, it can be talked about and become the subject of other true or false propositions. Thus, if it is false that this paper is white, then that this is false, is true. The point is that what is asserted is always ideal, and is never identical in existence with the object that the assertion is about. This is true even in the case when the latter object is itself ideal. 'That 3 is greater than 2,' for example, is neither the number 3, nor the number 2, nor the greater magnitude of the one as compared with the other. This difference gives rise to the problem as to the relation of the two, the relation of the meaning to the fact meant, in which it is usual to find the defining character of truth. Leaving this for the present, I may here point to an important consequence of the distinction. There is high authority for the doctrine that truth (and also error) is a content of predication qualifying reality, a doctrine which is developed in the assertion that perfect truth would be the universe. 1 But if our distinction holds good, either this is impossible, or it relates to another kind of truth than propositional truth. For the truth that so-and-so, for example, that this paper is white, is neither the subject of the proposition, nor the predicate, nor any quality of the object taken as real, but something quite different, namely, a truth about it. How is the case altered if for a particular finite object, like this paper, we substitute ' Reality ' or the universe ? For whether the content by which the subject of a proposition or judgment is qualified, — and you may interpret your proposition so as to make the ' real ' subject anything you please, — whether this content, I say, be conceived as a simple quality, or as a complex of qualifying relations, or, again, be conceived in abstraction as an ' idea ' divorced from 1 "We must unhesitatingly assert that truth ... if for itself it were perfect, would be itself in the fullest sense the entire and absolute universe." Bradley, " On Truth and Copying," Mind, N. S., Vol. XVI, p. 170. 120 THE JFHILOSOPHTCAL REVIEW. [Vol. XVII. existence, or concretely applied as actually qualifying an existent thing, there is, I submit, a clear distinction to be drawn between any finite object, or reality at large, taken as the subject of predication together with whatever it may be said to be or to have, and the truth (or falsity) that it is, or is of such a sort, or has such and such a character. The character of a being is one thing, and may be called an idea or the object of an idea, as we choose to define it ; but that a being has this character is surely not an identity, pure and simple, with the character itself. If, therefore, we assume that Reality is one whole of being with a definite structure, and that this structure, its defining content, is grasped in a single thought, this thought, I suppose, might be said to possess the world in idea. But unless the thought went on to actually predicate of Reality as its structure the content thought, it would not possess the truth that Reality was so defined. But if it should effect this predication, then this truth, that Reality was so defined, would be, as truth and meaning, quite distinct from the content predicated, and this even though it were itself included in it. I am not, of course, maintaining that it is possible to grasp the world's structure without judging, or denying, on the other hand, the possibility of a speculative grasp, or aesthetic experience, of reality beyond judgment. I am only maintaining that the so-called ' truth ' embodied in the content of predication, though the universe were the subject and though its whole content were exhausted in the predicate, would not be identical without difference with the truth of any possible proposition. And I accordingly deny that truth, in the propositional sense, is, properly speaking, a defining quality of any real being at all. It is neither the subject nor the predicate of a judgment ; it is neither substantival nor adjectival. It is a form of ideality, but its own unique form. Viewed in se this form appears, in each instance of it, to be {a) objective, that is, something cognized, or to be cognized, as distinct from the processes of cognizing on the part of any individual mind. Hence it may be treated, for certain purposes, independently, just as physical objects are treated independently in the physical sciences, without reference to the conditions of our No. 2.] THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH. 121 knowledge of them. It appears (ti) as universal, that is, as claiming recognition and acknowledgment on the part of all minds. But whether it is actually acknowledged or not by any particular mind, seems indifferent to it. Failure to acknowledge it may be due to ignorance or to mental incapacity. Hence it may be maintained that truths, as such, are independent of their recognition by any mind at all. Truth, on this view, would consist in an ideal relation between w T hat is theoretically capable of being asserted and the objective fact that the assertion, if made, would be about. So extreme a contention we may not now be prepared to admit ; but the recognition of even the relative independence of truth should serve, I think, as a salutary check on the tendency evident in recent discussion to interpret the problem of truth exclusively in terms of the process by which the claims of our ideas to recognition as true are tested and established. The view referred to would mean, I suppose, at least this, that there are real facts in the world, and hence, ideally, truths about those facts which are unknown and some of which, from the very nature of the case, are incapable of becoming known by any finite mind. And this we seem compelled to admit. For not only is knowledge progressive, so that more facts and objects get known or better known, but an infinity of facts collectively known are unknown to any single mind, and an infinity of facts once collectively known become irrecoverably lost, namely, the personal experiences of the individuals that made up the succession of all the generations past. Moreover, no finite mind knows, or pretends to know, the world's infinite multiplicity in all its details, nor the specific ground or grounds of its differences, nor all the implications of any one of its actual experiences. No one, however relative to our thought and purpose he holds the world to be, seriously believes that it is wholly plastic, that it is wholly made and remade by our volition, and that there is nothing, I will not say merely given, but given in any sense at all to be simply acknowledged, or that fact and truth only are as they are discovered by us. But if this is so, then the distinction between truth and recognized truth, as well as between truth and the process of testing and acknowledging 122 THE PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW. [Vol. XVII. it, would seem to have theoretical importance, even though it should be held that what is truth for us cannot be determined concretely apart from the conditions under which it is known. 1 Relatively to the act and process of knowledge, the meaning that is capable of setting up a claim to recognition as true may be viewed in several ways. Primarily it is of the nature of a supposal. The ideal meaning may be simply entertained. So far, though the supposal be false, there is no error. If, however, it is accepted, there is judgment and belief, and the belief may be erroneous ; but if it is also accepted, so to say, by the object as tested by the criteria suitable to the case in question, there is true opinion and knowledge. Three distinctions, pointed out by Meinong, seem to be essential in the analysis of judgment. We distinguish (i) the act of judging, — a temporal event in the mental history of the individual ; (2) the object or subject-matter that the judgment is about, — this maybe anything you please, but it is at any rate something other than the thinking and the particular thought that aims at the knowledge of it ; and (3) the thought or supposal as an ideal, but immanent, objective content, — what the object is thought as, and what is asserted in the proposition. Here the problem of truth concerns the relation of the 'immanent,' thought-possessed, but objective content of the supposal to the contrasted ' transcendent ' or quasi-transcendent object that the supposal's content means to be true of. Another way of viewing the matter is to consider the supposal, the content of meaning expressed in the that-sentence, as of the nature of an answer to a question, or the solution of a problem. 2 1 Besides objectivity and universality, it is usual to ascribe timelessness and unchangeability also to what is asserted, taken as true ; and these characters, interpreted in a logical and not in a temporal sense, would seem to hold except in cases where the notion of time enters into the predication, and there the relations are peculiar. If the reference is to past time, the truth ( A T I O N mal perception; or as the gradually garnered result of the normal experience of life. I shall consider each of these possibilities in turn. And, first, with regard to the intuition of the exceptional moment. It is, of course, indisputable that such experiences occur, and are conceived by those who receive them to be communications of absolute truth; the familiar phenomenon of "conversion" is a case in point. But, for our present purpose, the important question is whether the belief of the recipient in the evidential value of the experience is justified; and I think that a little consideration will show that it is not, for it is noticeable that the truth supposed to be revealed in the moment of conversion is commonly, if not invariably, the reflection of the doctrine or theory with which the subject, whether or no he has accepted it, has hitherto been most familiar. I have never heard, for example, of a case in which a Mohammedan or a Hindoo, Avithout having ever heard of Christianity, has had a revelation of Christian truth ; or even of a case of the conversion in this way to Roman Catholicism of one who has been brought up an Evangelical, or vice versa. Conversion, in fact, it would .seem, is not the communication of a new truth; it is the presentation of ideas already familiar in such a way that they arc accompanied by an irresistible certainty that they are true. [39] L^ RELIGION But this sense of certainty may attach to any kind of intellectual content. If a man has been brought up a Christian, he will be converted to a belief in Christ; if he has been trained as a Hindoo, he will receive the vision of the Absolute ; if he is optimistic by temperament, he will have a revelation that the worid is good; if pessimistic, it will be borne in upon him that it is bad. All of these revelations cannot be true. One may be true and the others false. But in that case we must find our criterion of truth and falsehood somewhere else than in the subjective certainty of the converted person. And that this must be so will be even more clear when we reflect that, so far as the element of subjective certainty is concerned, a religious revelation cannot be distinguished from what would be admitted to be the hallucinations of disease. There is no idea in a person's mind which may not, under the appropriate conditions, become an idee fixe, and substitute itself, in the consciousness of the patient, for what is commonly taken to be reality. A man may be convinced with equal assurance that he is a poached egg or a saint; that he has a mission to assassinate the King or to redeem the world ; that he is eternally damned or eternally saved ; that he has had a vision of the Virgin Mary or a vision of Nirvana. I do not suggest that there is no distinction in truth and value between the various [40] REVELATION ideas that may thus be imposed by moments of emotional excitement upon different minds — that the visions, say, of St. Francis are not more important than those of Marie Alacoque, or the conversion of St. Paul than that of a dipsomaniac in the Salvation Army. But it is indisputable that the test of validity must be sought somewhere else than in the sense of certainty felt by the person who claims to have had the revelation. In other words, the truth of a doctrine supposed to be thus conveyed, or the goodness of a moral intuition, must be sifted, before they can be accepted, by the ordinary critical processes; and, except as the result of such a sifting, performed deliberately and again and again, in calm and normal moments, no man who is at once religious, honest, and intelligent, will or ought to accept the deliverances of any so-called revelation of this type. But to admit this is to admit that we reject revelation as a basis of religion; if, that is, revelation be conceived as the direct communication of truth in a moment of supernormal, or, as is just as likely to be the case, of infranormal experience. But if revelation be not so conceived, how is it to be conceived ? Many people who have experience of religion would, I think, reply somewhat as follows : " We received originally — on authority, if you like — a certain doctrine which also commended [41] RELIGION itself to our affections — the doctrine, in brief, which we conceive to contain the essence of Christianity: that there is a God who loves us as a Father loves His children; that Jesus Christ is His son; that He lived upon earth and died upon the cross; that His death is the assurance of our redemption; and that that redemption is gradually working itself out under His immediate direction in the course of the history of the world and of individual lives. Further, we believe that souls are immortal, and are destined — those of them, at least, who are saved — to enter into eternal bliss. The doctrines thus received we have carried with us through the experience of life; and, if once we believed it on authority, we believe it now because we have found that it w^orks. At moments of trouble we have had recourse to it, and have not found it to fail us. We have proved it to be progressively capable of interpreting experience. And when we say that it is 'revealed,' what we mean is that, though we could never have arrived at it by the unaided operation of the reason, yet, once it was given us, we tested and found it to be true. We cannot, indeed, prove it by the intelligence, but we have proved it by life; and, though its source be super-rational, in its operation it has shown itself to be reasonable." I do not know whether, in this brief statement, I iave done justice to the position of those whom I [42] REVELATION respect as at once the most religious and most rational of Christians. But I have endeavored to do so; and I must now indicate what I conceive to be the intellectual weakness of the position, without questioning its efficacy as a rule of life. And, first, I must point out that the view I have indicated depends, in part at least, on the assumption that the story of the Gospel is true. But that, I have urged, is a matter that can be determined only by historical criticism, and about which it is hardly to be expected that such criticism will ever attain to certainty. No experience of life can affect the conclusion one way or the other. Either Christ existed, and was as described, or He did not. And the truth on this subject cannot be modified by the fact that it is possible to weave about His recorded history an eminently consolatory and helpful scheme of life. Further, with regard to the other elements of the doctrine — the existence and nature of God and the immortality of the soul — these, though in the Christian scheme they are closely connected with the belief in Christ, are no doubt capable of being held independently. But, even so, in what sense can they be said to be " revealed 'i " The fact that they afford a solution of the riddle of the world which to many minds is satisfactory does not in itself show anything about their truth or falsehood. It shows merely the [43] RELIGION tremendous bias under which criticism has to act. The behef in what is called revelation is, I fear, in such an instance as this, only a reflection of the intense need to believe. But such need can be no guarantee of truth, though it may be the most fruitful impulse in the search for truth. Here, too, the fact that the belief works is no evidence of its validity, but only of its efficacy. Its validity can only be tested by the ordinary processes of criticism. And this is a fact which it will, I cannot but think, become increasingly impossible for the most religious and the most candid minds to deny. There is no general presumption that what is helpful and good is also true. We may desire, and rightly, that it should be so; and that desire may be, as I believe it is, the main stimulus in our search for truth. But it cannot be more; and it is, I feel sure, to the interest of religion, as well as of science, that this should be recognized as soon and as widely as possible. This must conclude what I had to say on the subject of revelation. Revelation, I have suggested, in proportion as men become honest, educated, and intelligent, will cease to be regarded as a satisfactory basis for religion ; for it will be increasingly recognized not to be an avenue to truth. And if, so far, I have carried my readers with me, I will ask them to proceed with me to the further question: Granting [44] REVELATION that revelation must be set aside, does religion disappear with it ? Or does the ordinary experience of life evoke and justify some point of view which may properly be called religious ? In attempting an answer to this question, it will be useful, I think, to call attention to a feature which is common to all the great religions, and which differentiates them, on the one hand, from mere philosophical theories of the universe, and, on the other, from mere ethical systems. The point I have in mind is that they combine in a close and indissoluble union two things which logically are quite distinct — namely, first, propositions about the nature of the world and man's relation to it; secondly, statements of values, of objects which ought to be pursued, and ought to give rise, perhaps do give rise, to passionate aspiration. Thus, on the one hand, in providing a system of the universe, they bring it into close connection with life by associating it with ideals; and, on the other, in recommending ideals, they immensely enhance their attractive force by postulating that they can and will be realized in actual existence. But the elements which are thus closely associated in religion are, as I have said, logically distinct. A sound and true perception in the region of ideals may be accompanied by ignorance and misconception in the region of fact, and vice versa. And this, [45] RELIGION I think, is what has happened in the case of the great reHgions. Take, for instance, Christianity. It is commonly, and, 1 think, rightly, credited with embodying moral values of profound and singular importance, such, for example, as the brotherhood of man ; and, on the other hand, intellectually, its whole system of fact, its cosmology and theology, is, to say the least, inadequate. The story of the Garden of Eden, of the apple and the serpent, of the Fall, of the penalty incurred, not by Adam and Eve merely, but by the whole human race, of the Atonement by a vicarious sacrifice, of the two societies, the World and the Church, pursuing through history, side by side, their diverse destiny, the one to eternal damnation, the other to eternal blessedness — all this is mere mythology, and mj-thology not of the most edifpng kind. But originally, it must always be remembered, this mythology was seriously put forw'ard, not as a metaphor or symbol, but as a matter of fact, by the man who, more than any one else, laid the foundation of Christian theology. It was accepted as matter of fact by the Church. And if now, as I suppose is very largely the case, it is interpreted as mere allegory, that ver}' fact only illustrates the point I wish to make, that a religion which embodies profound moral intuitions may associate them with views about the universe so inadequate and crude that subse[46] REVELATION quent generations have no choice but to interpret them as symbolism. There is thus an inherent instability in the great religions, due to the fact that their prophets, commonly men of unique moral insight, have associated their moral teaching with theories about the world based upon no proper method of inquiry, and unable to meet the first brunt of intelligent criticism. And this brings me to the conclusion at which I am driving. If the whole development of the human mind in the last few centuries is not to be reversed, if we are not to relapse into intellectual barbarism, it will become increasingly impossible for any theory about the constitution of the world and the meaning of human destiny to be accepted, wliich does not rest explicitly upon the basis of science and philosophy, and is not amenable to, and competent to sustain, their criticism. In other words, it is not, and cannot be, the function of religion to proclaim truths about the general structure of the universe, or to affirm that this or that Being does or does not exist. And the frank recognition of this fact implies that, whatever religion may be in the future, it will be, unless all the intellectual heritage of the world is to be lost, something very different from what it has been in the past. Let us turn now to the other aspect of religion, [47] RELIGION that whereby it embodies statements of moral values. These are not necessarily affected by the truth or falsehood of the cosmological ideas with which they have been associated. And, in the future, as in the past, there will be, one may anticipate and hope, men of profound intuition in these matters, who will deliver their message to the world. The main difference that may be anticipated in the attitude of men towards the teacher will be that they will no longer regard him as a person radically different from themselves, as a God or the Son of God, nor conceive his message to have a final, exhaustive, and infallible significance; but, rather, will recognize him to be a man like themselves, only more finely endowed, and will know that it is their duty, as it will be the duty of those who succeed them, not merely passively to accept, but to appropriate, to sift, and to test, the gospel he announces. They will regard him, in brief, as a poet, a saint, a practical reformer, and value and follow him accordingly, up to the measure of his merits and of their lights. Now, granting all this, as I believe it will be granted by the readers whom I have in view, will there or will there not, under these conditions, be any place left for anything that ought properly to be called religion ? I believe that there will, and a very important one. There will still be an interaction, though [48] REVELATION no longer a fusion, between our conception of the world and our ideals. The former, indeed, we shall then take, probably in a very tentative form, from science and philosophy ; the latter we shall hold more loosely, less dogmatically, though not, therefore, with less conviction than before. But, in some form or other, we shall have both ; and religion will consist in the passionate apprehension, not merely by the intellect but by the imagination, of the nature, as we conceive it, of the world as a whole, and of our place in it, regarded from the point of view of our ideals. But the further elaboration of this position I must leave to the next chapter. [49] CHAPTER III RELIGION In the preceding chapter I gave reasons that seem to me to necessitate the rejection of revelation, in any sense of the term which I have been able to imagine, as an avenue to truth, and therefore as a basis for religion. I suggested, however, that religion would remain, even if we rejected revelation, and even, as I am now inclined to add, all the more because we have rejected it. For religion, in the view of it which I now wish to develop, is a reaction of the highest imagination of the best men upon life and the world, so far as we know them by experience and science — a passionate apprehension, from the point of view of ideals, of the general situation in which we find ourselves. That situation, in essentials, has not been changed by all the developments of history; and I will venture briefly to describe it as follows. We find ourselves born without choice of our own into a universe which we do not understand, and which corresponds, as it [50] RELIGION seems, only in the most imperfect and fragmentary way with those of our desires and aspirations which we increasingly believe to be legitimate and good. From this universe we are removed, as we entered it, without notice or warning, and without any reference to our willingness or unwillingness to depart — " Without asking, hither hurried whence f And, ivithout asking, whither hurried hence?" Before departing, we have, commonly and without much reflection, produced others to undergo in their turn the same enigmatic destiny. And so from generation to generation the race is continued, achieving much, yet accomplishing nothing; learning much, yet remaining ignorant of everything; acting, tliinking, feeling, yet haunted by the doubt whether it is not all a dream ; pursuing Good and contending with Evil in a scheme of things which never appears itself to take sides; developing the means to happiness, yet never becoming happier; pressing ever onward to goals that are never reached; and retiring, section after section, bafiled but never acknowledging defeat, to make room for new combatants in the contest that is always old. Such, or .somewhat such, is the situation. And it is in an attitude of the spirit towards this situation that the essence of religion, I would suggest, consists; [51] RELIGION not in opinions held about it, not in the intellectual content of beliefs — these may be of almost any character without thereby becoming or ceasing to be religious — but in the imaginative perception and feeling of the issue, however it be interpreted. It is not, in a word, the doctrine that makes religion, it is the spirit; and the spirit may inspire the most diverse and contradictory doctrines. This is expressed for the modern world better than I have found it expressed elsewhere, in the following passage of Maeterlinck : " Je puis croire d'une maiiieresi religieuse et^infinie qu'il n'y a pas de Dieu, que mon apparition n'a pas de buth ors d'elle-m me, que I'existence de mon ame n'est plus necessaire a I'economie de ce monde sans limites que les nuances ephemeres d'une fleur; vous pouvez croire petitement q'un Dieu unique et tout-puissant vous aime et vous protege; je serai plus heureux et plus calme que vous, si mon incertitude est plus grande, plus grave et plus noble que votre foi, si elle a interroge plus intimement mon ame, si elle a fait le tour d'un horizon plus etendu, si elle a aime plus de choses. Le Dieu auquel je ne crois pas deviendra plus puissant et plus consolateur que celui auquel vous croyez, si j'ai merite que mon doute repose sur des pensees et sur des sentiments plus vastes et plus purs que ceux qui animent votre certitude. Encore une fois, croire, ne pas croire, cela n'a guere d'importance; ce qui en a, c'est la loyaute, I'etendue, le d^sinteressement et la pofondeur des raisons pour lesquelles on croit ou pour lesquelles on ne croit point." Is truth, then, indifferent ? Not at all ! But — and this is what we must learn to accept — religion cannot teach us what is true. Only perception, and infer[52] RELIGION ence, and logic, only, in the broadest sense, science — under which, for the moment, I will asked to be allowed to include philosophy — can teach us anything about the constitution of the universe and our own place in it; can teach us whether or no there be anything corresponding with what we have called God; whether or no the individual soul survives death; whether or no the process of things moves towards a good end. These are, to my mind, questions of supreme importance. But I do not think that the existence or the value of religion depends upon the answer we may be able to give them, although its character must be determined by that answer. Let me illustrate my meaning by examples. Suppose a man to have accepted — as many now have, provisionally at least — the view which seems to be suggested by modern science: that the world as a whole is neither good nor bad, but simply indifferent to moral values; that the life of mankind is but a brief and insignificant episode in its strictly determined but purposeless activity; that it tends to no goal having ethical significance, still less to one corresponding to our conceptions of Good — suppose man to have accepted this, is he therefore debarred from religion ? Surely not. On the contrary, there would seem to be open to him two attitudes at least, either of which he will adopt, according to his char[53] RELIGION acter, if he has the religious instinct at all, and either of which may be fairly called religious. Thus he may, adhering passionately to our standards of value (none the less true because their realization is so imperfect and precarious), pursue, wherever it flees, the perishing image of Good, imprisoning it in a rule or a policy, impressing it on a fugitive act, embalming it in the flux of feeling, reflecting it in the mirror of art, always from the consciousness of frustration drawing new \ngor for the chase, snatching defiance from the sense of defeat, patience from the fire of passion, from the very indifference of the universe gathering the inspiration to contend with it, and, though at last he be broken, perishing unsubdued, weaker yet greater than the blind world which, though it made him and destroyed, was incapable of understanding or valuing its own creation. Such a man, sustained by such a conviction, honestly held, I should call religious. And if to some he should appear rather to be blasphemous, that will be only because they do not share what I have supposed to be his intellectual position. Granting a bad or indifferent world, to defy it would be a form of religion. But not the only possible form, even on that hypothesis. For where one man practises defiance, another may practise renunciation; and the conviction that Good cannot be realized, or can be realized, if at all, [54] RELIGION only in connection with greater Evil, may lead to the creed of the annihilation of desire, instead of the affirmation of will. Escape, not battle, then becomes the goal, as in the Buddhist faith, and the philosophy of Schopenhauer and Hartmann. And this attitude, too, will be religious, if it be greatly and imaginatively conceived — religious, not by virtue of its intellectual content, but by virtue of the sense of a world-issue turning upon the ideas of Good and Evil. But, now, suppose a radically different scientific conception of the world. Suppose it to be believed that our ideas of Good and Evil are also those with which the universe is concerned; that it is moving towards a goal, and a goal of which we approve; that with it moves the human race, and even individual souls, surviving death, and ultimately entering into their perfection. On this view religion assumes a radically different complexion. It is optimistic instead of pessimistic; it has exchanged the horror of night for the midday sun. But it is still religion, for its essence is still the same — an imaginative conception of the universe as a whole in relation to Good and Evil. Or, again, suppose that, to another man, science does not appear to justify any attitude towards the universe as a whole except that of agnosticism; sup[55] RELIGION pose he feels that he does not know, that no one really knows, what is the relation of our ideals to the world ; whether or no they are destined for any complete and permanent realization; whether or no there is any significance in individual lives other than that which appears on the surface. Still, if his imagination and his feeling be profound, he is not debarred from religion — a religion not of sunshine or darkness, but of the starr}' twilight, tremulous with hopes and fears, wistful, adventurous, passionate, divining a horizon more mysterious and vast than day or night can suggest, from uncertainty conjuring possibility, from doubt evoking inspiration, and passing through life as a man may float down an unknown river in the dusk, risking and content to risk his fortune and his life on the chance of a discovery more wonderful even than the most audacious of his dreams. Enough, perhaps, has been said to bring out the point I wdsh to make, one, as I believe, of the very first importance to all who care at once for religion and for truth. Truth is matter of science, religion of imagination and feeling. It is possible to have truth without having religion, and vice versa. But if a man have religion, its character, if he be intelligent and sincere, will necessarily depend on what he beheves to be truth. He will not imagine that religion implies some special organ of knowledge, whether such or[56] RELIGION gan be supposed to be the possession of all men as such, or of specially gifted individuals, or of a particular Church. He will never confuse his desires and his aspirations with his positive knowledge, even though he may think them more important than his knowledge. And he will be the less inclined to do this in proportion as he has come to see that, whatever be the truth, there must always be a place for religion, and a place perhaps the most important of all. But it is a poor religion that needs to rest upon falsehood or upon the deliberate refusal to face what we know of truth ; that takes refuge in excitement, or in sophistry, or in deliberately induced subjective hallucinations, from a truth which it fears may be fatal to itself. Religion is an attitude of the imagination and the will, not of the intellect. But from the intellect it receives its light; and its discipline will be the more arduous, its insight the more profound, the more candidly it accepts all that the intellect can communicate. It is possible, it is common, to believe in God, without having religion; it is less common, but it is not less possible, to have religion without believing in God. Such, then, stated briefly, is what I conceive to be the real relation of religion to truth. I do not know that I could better explain my view by further elaboration ; and I will therefore proceed to another point, [57] RELIGION perhaps not less important. I will endeavor to set forth the relation of religion, in my sense of the term to the other ideal activities of man — to morals, that is, and to art. And, first, with regard to morals. The statement that conduct depends upon religion is very often made, and there may be, in some sense, some truth in it; but in what sense, and what truth, is not so easy to determine. I will, however, endeavor to make certain distinctions which I think are important. A great part of conduct — the whole conduct perhaps, of most people — is purely habitual. It appears to depend neither on religion, nor on any conscious conviction, either of the intellect or of the imagination. ]\Ien act as they do, in this the more common case, because they cannot help it, because they have always done so, because others about them do so. Economic necessities, imitation, public opinion — which itself is the result of these factors — are the determining considerations. It is, however, sometimes maintained that habitual action of this type depends also upon another element ; that really, though indirectly, it is determined by rehgion; for that the fact of a Church in the background, with its organization, its ser\'ices, its sacraments, acts, if in no other way, yet as a kind of screen, shutting out from the horizon of practicability all sorts of anarchic and anti-social conduct which otherwise would naturally [58] RELIGION suggest itself to the imagination, and might then naturally issue in action. This is a contention which I have already discussed in dealing with what I have called ecclesiasticism. It is very hard, I think, to say whether there is any, or how much, truth in it. But if there be any, then, so far, it must be admitted that even habitual and mechanical conduct depends, in the last resort, not, indeed, on personal religious conviction, but on the existence, in the society, if not of rehgion, at least of religious organization. Supposing, however, that such organization is developed on the lines of ecclesiasticism, I have given my reasons for belie\ang that the harm it does outweighs the possible good. The proper way to make and keep men moral is to help them to conditions of life in which morality would be possible, and in which it would be backed and supported by intelhgence. Good conduct based on mere habit supported by the authority of a Church is at the best a pis aller; and the necessity which may be held to justify it is one which also condemns the society that cannot exist without recourse to it. But, further, there is a certain amount of conduct which may be said to be based upon reason; by which I mean that it may depend, in part at least, upon the deliberate and conscious acceptance of a certain end — such, for example, as the greatest [59] RELIGION happiness of the greatest number; and upon the attempt to act in such a way as will tend to bring about that end. Even in such cases the conduct, I think, is really far more habitual than would be admitted by those who adopt the position. They act, in fact, much as other people act; but they believe that the rules to which they are accustomed, and to which they instinctively conform, are such as will contribute, if duly observed, to the goal they have in view. And, no doubt, in the case supposed, they are, partly at least, right ; for customary action has grown up under the stress of felt, if not formulated, purposes, of which one at least has been the survival and the welfare of society. Conduct of this kind I should describe as rational; but it does not necessarily imply religious conviction. A man pursuing it need not have any passion for the good end he has set before liimself; he may have merely an intellectual conviction that it is good; as, indeed, I think is commonly the case with those who profess utilitarianism. Still less need he have any imaginative conception of the universe as a whole, and of the relation to it of our ideals. In such cases, conduct, I think, clearly does not depend in any sense upon religion; and, for aught I know, in some society of the future conduct of this kind may be the general rule. [60] RELIGION I hardly, however, think that this is probable. The religious instinct is, I believe, too deeply rooted ever to disappear; and wherever and whenever it subsists as a genuine impulse, in individuals or in societies, it cannot help reacting profoundly upon morals. Indeed, if we look historically at the develment of conduct, we find that the great moral reformers have been men of religious genius; that Buddha, Jesus Christ, Saint Francis, were, first, rehgious teachers, and, secondly, only^ teachers of morals. Indeed, a profound ethical intuition would seem necessarily to depend on a profound religious insight. For the best man is he who loves good for its own sake, and pursues it in a reasonable way. But to pursue it reasonably is to pursue it with an intelligence of its place in the universe, and not merely an intelligence, but a passionate apprehension. So that moral genius depends upon religious genius, and therefore, since it must be affected by anything that affects religion, will be affected by the deliverances of science about the world. From this analysis, imperfect as it is, it would seem to follow that, though it be true that the great mass of conduct is based rather upon habits than upon conviction, yet even these habits grew up in connection with religion, and perhaps cannot subsist indefinitely without a new religious baptism; and that the [61] RELIGION great reformations in morals have been originated by men of religious genius, upon the stream of which they have, as it were, been floated. Afterwards, no doubt, they are left high and dry, like sea-weed on the rocks; but, then, like it, they are deprived of their proper element. Only the flooding of the tide can restore them to their true and native life, lift and expand and set them to sparkle and gleam with a thousand colors, or, it may be, sweep them away and plant new seeds, to produce in their time a new and radiant foliage. We can and we do, most of us, for the most part, act without religion ; but such action is the action of machines. Rehgion is the spirit and the Ufe; and in that sense, a very profound one, rehgion may be said to be the basis of conduct. Thus, briefly, of the relation of religion to conduct; I turn now to consider its relation to art. And here I may be met, at the outset, by the contention that there is no such relation at all. For artists, or at least modern artists, are urgent in their repudiation of the dependence of their art upon an}i:hing but itself; and I presume that, so far as their own inspiration is concerned, they are right. Art is now very largely a not too sincere hobby of the rich, a matter of drawdngroom decoration, of fashion, of conversation over tea, or, what is really most important, of pecuniary speculation. In the best cases, where the artist at least is [62] RELIGION genuine, it is a creation of beautiful things for the love of beauty, without reference to any view of life as a whole, or any place to be filled by its products in the corporate activities of society. And it is thus, perhaps, that artists at all times have most commonly regarded their art. But there have been exceptions. There have been, it seems, men who have been profoundly inspired by the view of art first formulated, so far as I know, by Aristotle : that beauty is the end set before herself by Nature, an end which she realizes so far as the limitations of matter permit, but which it is reserved for the artist to bring to full perfection, his work being thus the fulfilment of her ideal. And if in this view Nature be conceived as herself the minister of God, art will become a religious activity — as indicated, for example, in the following lines of Michael Angelo: "So, all the lovely things we find on earth Resemble, for the send that rightly sees. That Source of bliss divine which gave us birth: Nor have we first fruits or remembrances Of heaven elsewhere." * I have thought it worth while to refer, in passing, to this conception of art; but I do not wish to lay undue stress upon it. It is, perhaps, exceptional for an artist to pursue art in a religious spirit. What, how* Sonnet 54 in Symonds' translation. [63] RELIGION ever, is true and important is that, in the two greatest periods of European art, the Greek and the ItaUan, art was used and inspired by rehgion. And it would, I think, be unhistorical to deny that the perfection it attained in those periods was connected with the definite purpose, the hmitations, the unity of aim, imposed by the end to which it was made subservient. However that may be, there can be no doubt that, for the votary who is sensitive both to rehgion and art, both gain indefinitely by their association with one another. For him, without art religion is dumb; and without religion art, if it is not insignificant, lacks at least the highest significance of which it is capable. It may be worth while, in illustration of this point, to remind the reader of the various ways in which art has been made, and perhaps might be made again, contributory to religion. First, as architecture, it has raised the material habitation of the Divine, and in doing so has reflected, I think, by a perhaps unconscious symbolism, the forms in which that Divine has been conceived. Surely, at least, one might question whether the difference between a classical temple and a Gothic church is to be attributed only to a difference of climate, or of technical skill and tradition. It would be a curiously happy chance, if it were merely chance, that made the house [64] RELIGION destined for the abode of one of the bright Olympians a palace of gleaming marble set on a hill by the sea, perfect in form, brilliant in color, a jewel to reflect the sun and the sky, a harp for the winds to play upon, an incarnation of the spirit of the open air, of the daylight and of the blue heaven; while, for the mysterious Jehovah and the God Man His Son, there rose into gray and weeping skies huge emblems of the cross, crowned with towers aspiring to a heaven unexplored, and arched over huge spaces where the eye is lost in the gloom, where form is dissolved in vagueness, and the white light of day, rejected in its purity, is permitted to pass only upon condition that it depicts in sombre colors the pageant of the life of the soul. That architecture has, whether by chance or no, a symbolic value, as well as one purely and simply aesthetic, will not, I think, be disputed by those who are sensitive to such impressions; and, so regarded, architecture has been, and might be again, one of the chief expressions of religion. But not the only one ; for, within the temple or the church, art, in its greatest period, was used to illustrate the legends and the ideals of the faith. Such illustration ranged from the crudest story-telling, devoid of all aesthetic significance, to works in which symbolism was amalgamated inseparably with artistic beauty. In the Greek temple was throned the [65] RELIGION statue of the god, the perfection, on the one hand, of form, of handling, of surface, of. all that of which alone the artist professes to take account; and, on the other, what for the layman will always and rightly be more important, a symbol at once of the physical ideal of the human form, and of that particular aspect of the hfe of man of which the deity represented was the type. And so, again, in the Christian Church were expressed, in color and form, not only aesthetic beauty, but those various phases of the spiritual life of which the Christian religion takes account, the ideal of redemption by suffering, of maternity, of asceticism, of charity, expressed in and through the legends of the founder of the religion and of the saints. In tliis way religion became articulate. No longer a mere matter of feeHng, it confronted man as an object, and only so, perhaps, can it reach its full development. Protestantism, in purifying its inner life, has gone far towards destroying its outward form. But ^^^thout expression and expression in choice and deU berate form, reUgious, hke other feehng, tends to become stagnant, sour, and corrupt. It needs the open air, it needs communion and interchange ; and this it can only receive in the finest form through the mediation of art. But it is perhaps in ritual that that mediation reaches its highest power. Ritual is, or should be, a [66] RELIGION product of two of the greatest arts, literature and music, with the assistance, perhaps, of an element of drama. No emotion so poignant and profound can, I think, be produced, no " purgation " so sanctifying be effected, by any other means at our disposal. The effect even of a ritual which we do not understand, or one with the intellectual basis of which we are out of touch, may be immense upon a sensitive spirit. How much more that of one which should really and adequately express our conviction and feeling about life and the world! For those who can accept the Christian view, the Christian ritual must be their most precious possession; but for those who cannot — and they are, as I believe, an increasing number of not the least religious souls — their lack of intellectual assent to the faith weakens or even nullifies the effect of the sjonbol. And if, as I think will be the case, the men in whom the rehgious instinct is strongest move farther and farther from the Christian postulates, a ritual which shall express their new attitude will become, perhaps is already, one of the chief spiritual needs. But a ritual cannot be invented; antiquity appears to be of the essence of its power — though, to be sure, rituals must have had a beginning! — and, as experiment shows, it is difficult to take seriously any new attempt in this direction. Perhaps, therefore, there is a better prospect for the mod[G7] RELIGION cm world in the development of art towards religion than in that of religion towards art. Something of this kind, it is clear, was the idea of Wagner. And without raising here what may be a point of somewhat acrimonious dispute, whether any of his operas can appropriately be called religious, there can be no doubt that there might be a music-drama that would be such, if the man who conceived it were himself religious. The drama of iEschylus is, of course, a convincing historical example ; and so is such a medieval play as " Everyman," which has recently been presented to us almost with the effect of a revelation. Such drama, I cannot but think, is the highest form of aesthetic production. And, while nothing can be further from my purpose than to enter upon the not very fruitful controversy as to the proper function of art, I may perhaps be permitted to record my owm feeling that never have its wonderful resources, especially in the region of music, been more wantonly squandered than in this generation; and that only their deliberate dedication to what, say what men may, is at bottom always their most serious pre-occupation, so soon as they have any spiritual pre-occupations at all — I mean the significance of their life in the whole scheme of the world — nothing but such a dedication will rescue art from triviality, or restore life to the dignity of which it is capable. [68] RELIGION Such, then, in brief are what I conceive to be the relations of rehgion to the other ideal activities of men — to science, conduct, and art. And of these, I have suggested, the most important is the relation to science, because upon science depends logically not the existence, but the character of religion. For religion, in the view I have put forward, is concerned with the place of our ideals in the structure of the universe. And that place it cannot itself determine; it must wait for the determination of the intellect. But on that point the intellect has as yet been unable with certainty to determine anything; and consequently religion tends to assume different characters, according to the way in which different people tend to estimate the situation under the influence of their temperamental or intellectual bias. The advent of positive and conclusive knowledge would put an end to such differences; and, however improbable it may now seem that such knowledge should ever be attainable, it would be a foolish credulity to deny the possibility or to discourage the quest of it. Religion so conceived is, of course, a very different thing from that which purports to offer a special revelation of truth on the very points which I am assuming to be still unknown. Many religious people, caring more for their religion than for the truth, will no doubt continue to believe that there is such a revela[69] RELIGION tion. But, though they will have more assurance, and it may be more peace, they will not necessarily have more religion — and they may easily have less — than those who candidly recognize the claims of intellect. Their road through life will be simpler, but their knowledge of the land will be more limited, and their range of emotion proportionately restricted. Religion is not a creed, it is a growing experience; and the experience is necessarily narrowed by anything that narrows the intellectual horizon. If I may conclude with a parable, we are all travelers through an unknown country. The majority, I think, at all times journey with their eyes on the ground, following the track of necessity and custom in which their feet were set from the beginning, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but at most backward or forward, and learning nothing, nor caring to learn, about the country through which they pass, whether it is mountainous or level, fed with rivers or dry, inhabited or solitary, lit by sun or moon or glimmering stars. These are the men without religion, those who plod in blinkers, as secure and unperplexed as it is possible for men to be when at any moment the ground beneath their feet may open and swallow them up. Others there are — those who believe in some revealed religion — whose eyes are directed not [70] RELIGION down, but straight before them, following a beam of light that springs from a sun still below the horizon, but one, as they believe, which is about to rise. So dazzling is this beam that the land all about it appears to be shrouded in thick darkness. Only in the path of the light is anything to be seen, where it illumines a mountain-top, gleams on a far river, or gilds what perhaps may be the distant sea. Thither the travelers hasten, without fear or doubt, counting as nothing the hardships of the road in their certainty of the consummation. But, again, there are others who seek no such light to follow, but who yet refuse to walk in the beaten track. Desiring, not merely to pass through, but to explore the strange land, they look freely above, beneath, around them, in an uncertain glimmer of starlight often obscured by clouds. All about them are dangers which they note but cannot gauge, formless terrors, inexplicable sounds, stirrings, ambushes, contacts. But also, here and there, are suggestions of unutterable promise — an unexpected clearing in a wood, a footprint or a sign left by some friendly traveler gone before, pale flowers beside a brook, the note of a nightingale, a peak of snow like a cloud in the sky, the rising of a new star, and always the tremulous hope, " In the east is there not a crystal gleam ? does not a violet lustre begin to bum upon [71] RELIGION the gray? does not the planet hanging there throb more passionate and pale ? The sun we saw set, will he not rise again ? " These latter it is who have the religion of agnosticism; by which I mean, not a conviction that knowledge is impossible, but an uncertainty as to what may be its deliverance — an uncertainty, not of indifference, but of sensitive, passionate desire. Only the advent of knowledge can put an end to that uncertainty, can dash or confirm the audacities of hope, dissipate or establish the forebodings of fear. One way or other by knowledge the character of religion will be determined. But, in either case, religion will still be possible, and, for those who possess the instinct, necessary. What depends upon knowledge is not religion; it is approbation or condemnation of the world. That issue we cannot shirk; we can only settle it, if at all, by science; and the attempt to find in revelation a short-cut to the solution does but divert our efforts from the only fruitful method of inquiry. [72] CHAPTER IV FAITH In the preceding chapters I have attempted to state my view as to the relation of rehgion to knowledge. Religion, I have said, does not give us truth. And as this statement to some of my readers ^may have seemed paradoxical, I propose here further so explain what, in my opinion, is the relation of religion, and in particular of what is sometimes called "faith," to knowledge. My point, perhaps, may be put most clearly thus: If a man says " Religion gives me truth," I would reply, " Then why not call it knowledge ? " For truth, though it be truth about God, is still truth; and truth that is known is part of knowledge. But there is only one method of knowledge, viz., experience, and legitimate inference from experience. Theology, therefore, if it is a branch of knowledge, must differ from other branches, not in its method, but in its object. If we know the truth about God, that truth is scientific, in the broad and proper sense of the term. It is arrived [73] RELIGION at by a method which can be explainea and criticised, and it is subject to constant revision as experience develops and intellectual capacity increases. This much, I dare say, would be admitted, perhaps even eagerly asserted, by many theologians. My next point takes me into a more difficult region. What, I would ask, is the kind of experience on which knowledge about God and other objects of religious belief can claim to be based ? There would seem 30 be two possible answers, not incompatible with one another. First, the experience may be historical. It may depend on a record of the past. And such record is, of course, part of the theoretical basis of Christianity. On this point I have nothing to add to what I said in a pre^^ous chapter. Historical truth must be ascertained by historical methods. But it is my own personal opinion that such methods will never give us the kind of certainty which has thitherto attached in practice to religious beliefs; and that men will become increasingly unwilling and unable to base their scheme of life on data and inferences of that kind. I pass, therefore, to a position which seems to me to have more importance for the future. " Whatever," it may be said, " be the deliverance of history, there is, quite apart from that, in the direct experience of men, a perception of the Being we call God." Such a [74] FAITH statement is one of the most interesting and important that could be made, if it be made sincerely. But it is pre-eminently one that ought to be challenged. And that, partly because of its importance; partly because of the indefiniteness that attaches to the word "God"; partly because of the probable complexity of the assertion that is in form so simple. For, if a man says, " I know God by direct experience," what is it he knows, and how "^ Has he had a " vision" ? Possibly! Such visions do occur. But in themselves they prove nothing. Everything depends on whether or no there is any real object corresponding to them. And that is a matter for scientific inquiry. Probably, however, visions of tliis kind are not what is meant. When a man says he has a direct knowledge of God, he will probably mean that he has a sense, somehow, that there does exist a Being who is good, and loving, and powerful, and wise beyond all experience, of ours. Such a sense, I suppose, many people do have, genuinely and constantly. And there is no reason a priori why it should not correspond to a reality. But, once more, whether it does correspond or no is a matter for science. The sense in question, if it is to yield knowledge, must be analyzed and tested by a very complicated and difficult process. And I cannot doubt that, were such an analysis to be made, the original and apparently simple impression would [75] RELIGION be found to include a number of heterogeneous elements — elements of tradition, elements of desire, elements of inference. Thus, the man's idea of God will surely be derived, partly from the religion in which he has been brought up, partly from his own reflections upon life and the world; and, almost certainly, it will have been affected by his needs and desires, by what he profoundly wants to be true. And, as soon as this analysis has been made, it will become clear that the single and apparently simple sense or impression which he calls his direct experience of God has no more vahdity as a deliverance of truth than the elements of which it is composed. If truth is to be ehcited from it, the tradition must be sifted, the inferences tested; and above all, the element of desire ruled out as prima facie irrelevant; unless, indeed, and until it can be shown — as, for example, the new philosophy that calls itself "pragmatism" endeavors to show — that truth is in some way determined by our desires. In other words, any truth that finally emerges from the process will be scientific or philosophic truth, and if it is to be called religious, should be called so only with relation to its objects, not to its method. And that is what I mean when I say that religion does not give us truth, but that truth is only given by science. Now, I do not pretend to judge what may be the [76] FAITH result of the kind of inquiries I have been suggesting above. It is by some such inquiries, in my opinion, that religious truth must be established, if it is to be established at all. But, meantime, it is, I think, true that religious questions are the kind of questions about which many serious and reflecting men do not, in fact, and will not, preserve an attitude merely of suspended judgment. Such men, I think, will prefer to describe their religious position as one of faith rather than of knowledge; and they will, perhaps, feel that it is fooUsh, and even presumptuous, to expect to attain to knowledge on such subjects. I have myself no sympathy with any attitude which limits a priori the possibilities of human endeavor. But, seethat most men, for a long time, in proportion as they are candid, are likely to be intellectually agnostic on the most vital questions of religion, it seems to be important to try to ascertain in what sense faith may be legitimate, and what may be the relation of such faith to knowledge. To avoid, so far as possible, all ambiguity, I wish to make it clear at the outset that, in using the word "faith," I do not wish it to carry all the meanings that attach to it in common usage. The word, for instance, is often used to imply a faculty which has the power to communicate, not only knowledge, but the mo.st certain knowledge to which we can attain. It is [77] RELIGION not, of course, in that sense that I use the term, as will be clear from the preceding pages. When I speak here of faith, I speak of an attitude which is not primarily intellectual at all, and which is quite compatible with — nay, which depends upon — intellectual agnosticism; for it presupposes that, in the region to which it applies, we do not know. The attitude I would describe is one of the emotions and the will — the lajang hold, in the midst of ignorance, of a possibility that may be true, and directing our feeling and our conduct in accordance with it. In its broadest sense, I would say it is an emotional and volitional assumption that, somehow or other, in spite of appearances, things are all right. This general outline, of course, may be, and is, filled in by every and the most varied kind of content, according to the traditions in which men have been brought up, and the course and extent of their knowledge and experience. But very commonly it expresses itself, in the form of w hat is called a " belief in God " ; an attitude, however, which does not imply any very definite nor any very uniform conception of God, but is apt, rather, to manifest itself negatively in a kind of distress if the existence of God is denied. And the root of that distress is, I think, the suggested inference that things are all wrong and not all right ; or, to vary the phrase, one may perhaps say that faith involves [78] FAITH a volitional assumption that things, whatever appearances may suggest, are really "worth while." Now, if we had positive and complete knowledge on this point of " worth-whileness " ; if we knew, instead of merely conjecturing what may be, as we say, the " meaning " of life; if we could see Good and Evil in their true and ultimate proportions, and finally sum up and judge the world ; there would be no room and no possibiHty for any attitude of faith. Instead, we should have knowledge. But, in fact, our position is very different from this. We know that there is Evil, we know that there is Good ; in some moods we may imagine that there is nothing but Evil, or nothing but Good ; but, in sober truth, we cannot reasonably and finally, on grounds of knowledge, form a judgment about the " worth-whileness " of life, because of the many important factors of which we are ignorant. Thus, for example, many men feel, when it is put to them, that the question of the value of life depends very largely on the question whether individuals survive death; and, if they do, on the kind of life into which they pass. It is one kind of universe, they think, if death means annihilation; another kind if it means heaven or hell; another kind if it means a series of progressing lives, and so on. Such possibilities, many people hold, are of vital importance to us; and these people are apt, in the [79] RELIGION absence of knowledge, to adopt towards them an attitude, not merely of agnosticism, but also of what I have called faith, they select, that is, among the possibilities, that one which seems to them to give value to life, and concentrate about it their practical and emotional life. The attitude they thus adopt is different in its origin and effect from an attitude based upon knowledge. It is more precarious, more adventurous, more exciting, more liable to ups and downs. But it may be equally and even more efficacious upon life; and it is not, as I shall try to show, necessarily to be condemned as illegitimate. There are others, again, to whom the fate of individuals after death is either a matter of indifference, or, as they may hold, has been finally settled by science. On this subject, therefore, they will have no faith. But they will almost certainly have faith on some subject. Probably, for example, they may cling to the idea of "progress." And that, although arguments may be adduced in its favor, is a doctrine so far from being established that acceptance of it is, I think, commonly the result rather of what I am calling faith than of intellectual conviction. Or, again, a man may be indifiFerent to the questions both of a survival of individuals after death and of the progress of the race, but may feel that the important point is the existence of God. People [80] FAITH who feel this are, I suppose, commonly attached to one of the Churches. But there may be men not so attached to whom, nevertheless, a faith in God is the foundation of their life. It may be a personal God that they conceive; it may be a " tendency in the universe"; it may be something which they prefer to call "Earth" or "Nature"; it may be an "Absolute"; but, in any case, it is something not themselves and greater than themselves, something which, by its mere existence, makes everything supremely worth while, overrides and subsumes Evil, intensifies and makes omnipresent Good, and concentrates and satisfies in itself those ideal impulses that otherwise would be tortured and broken about an imperfect self. The various attitudes towards life thus briefly indicated, different though they be, are, nevertheless, all examples of what I am calling faith. They all involve a voUtional assumption, not based upon knowledge, as to the " worth-whileness " of the universe; and their differences are differences as to what is it that constitutes "worth-whileness." If men should ever come, by thought and experience, nearer to an agreement on this point, their faiths are likely to approximate more than they do at present. But, meantime, the point I wish to make is, that faith, in some form [81] RELIGION or other, seems to be an almost necessary condition, if not of life, yet of the most fruitful and noble life. Almost necessary, I say. For there is a kind of pessimism which is nobler than most optimism ; which is, so to speak, active in its character, and implies rather a passionate love of Good than an impotent despair at Evil. But that is a rare condition. And most men, I think, are significant, and find and make life significant, in proportion to their faith. Of the practical value of such faith there can, I think, be no doubt. The only question is whether, from the standpoint of knowledge, it is legitimate. For it must be remembered that the pursuit of truth is itself one of our highest practical activities; and that it must always be wrong to hamper or pervert that pursuit by a predetermination that certain beliefs shall not be assailed. Faith, in a word, can only be legitimate so long as it occupies a region not yet conquered by knowledge, and so long as it holds itself ready in a moment to yield its place so soon as knowledge arrives. Faith should stand always with the dagger of science pointed at its breast. It need not fear. It has its resurrections. And it, too, must be ready, if it would save its life, to lose it. On that condition it may rightly and profitably take its place alongside of, and in anticipation of, knowledge. But, once that condition is neglected, once we begin to say " I be[82] I FAITH lieve though truth testify against me," once we echo TertulHan's credo quia impossibile, or, with Luther, in our zeal for what we suppose to be reUgion, assail reason with all the resources of a German BiUingsgate — from that moment our attitude, instead of being legitimate and admirable, becomes one of the most disastrous and the most immoral which it is possible to assume. Faith, then, in the sense in which I am using the term, is distinguished from knowledge, but is not necessarily opposed to it, though it may easily be misled into opposition. And, being distinguished from knowledge, the kind of support it gives is not, or should not be, intellectual certainty. On the contrary, faith would seem to be an expression of the imagination and the will, rather than of the intellect, though it be from the intellect that it takes its form. It is closer to music and poetry than to science. It is the operation of our passion and our desire, shaping in anticipation the forms and features of the unknown land which we are about to explore. I know no better metaphor for it than that — the passion in the explorer's heart, dictating the vision by which he is led. Because there is an horizon, because there is space, because there is the unknown, therefore there is faith. Columbus had faith. But what he discovered was not the world of his dream. [83] RELIGION Only, the dream helped him to discover it; and, spiritually, we are all in his position. We are Coin mbuses setting forth on onr voyage. We need our dream, but we need also our compass. And the confirmation or dissipation of the dream hangs upon reality. But while, in this sense, faith must wait upon truth, it is also true, in another sense, that truth waits upon faith. For the impulse to pursue truth is itself a form of faith. We hope that truth is obtainable; we desire and will to attain it; we dream its attainment as we go in quest of it. And, but for that dream, and that hope, and that will, we should never start at all. Faith is the sense and the call of the open horizon. If we abstract it from the forms in which we clothe it, from the specific beliefs which are, as it were, its projection into the intelligence, it presents itself as the spring of our whole Ufe, including our intellectual life. It is the impulse to grow and expand; and, just because it is that, it has itself no form, but may assume any form. It is a taper burning, now bright, now dim, and changing color and substance with every change in the stuff it consumes. The frailest thing we know, it is also the least perishable, for it is a tongue of the central fire that bums at the heart of the world. THE END THE McCLCRE PRKSS, NEW TOHK This book is DUE ou the last date stamped below NOV 14 1^t34M MAY i 5 1963 FormL-9-15m-7,'32 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 099 410 1 ift. ■,f<.w,^.-r.^ UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA -.trm c. REESE LIBRARY OF THK UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Received .. Accessions No.4f4 * Shelf No. THE TESTS VARIOUS KINDS OF TRUTH BEING A TREATISE OF APPLIED LOGIC LECTURES DELIVERED BEFORE THE OHIO WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY ON THE MERRICK FOUNDATION BY JAMES MCCOSH, D.D., LL.D., D.L. Ex-President of Princeton College, N. J. NEW YORK': HUNT & EATON CINCINNA 77.CRANSTON &> STOIVE 18S9 Copyright, 1889, by HUNT* EATON, NEW YORK. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. distinguished author of the following lectures needs no introduction to American readers. His eminent services as an educator, and his still more eminent philosophical writings, have given him a worldwide reputation. These lectures were especially prepared for delivery before the faculty and students of the Ohio Wesleyan University on the foundation indicated on the title-page. This foundation contemplates an annual course of at least five lectures on Experimental and Practical Religion. A previous course, by the late Rev. Daniel Curry, treats especially of the importance of religion in the higher institutions of learning. The present course is deemed eminently appropriate as tending to establish the foundations of the belief on which the entire religious life must rest. That the lectures are able and happily adapted to meet some of the subtle forms of prevailing unbelief will be readily admitted by all intelligent readers. They are given to the public in the belief that they will be eagerly sought, and that their wide circulation cannot fail to accomplish great good. They are accompanied with the prayer that such may be the result. The next course will be delivered by an eminent divine upon some of the fundamental principles of Experimental Religion. OHIO WESLEYAN UNMVERSITY, March 28, /<$?. PREFACE. rpHE age may be characterized as one of unsettled opinion. Our ambitious youth are not satisfied with the past, its opinions, and practices. Authority is not worshiped by them ; they have no partiality for creeds and confessions. They do not accept, without first doubting, the truths supposed to be long established. In searching into the foundation of the old temples they have raised a cloud of dust and left lying a heap of rubbish. It is an age out of which good and evil, either or both, may come, according as it is guided. We may entertain fears, for it is dancing on the edge of a precipice down which it may fall. We may cherish hope, for it is an inquiring age. Every form and phase of opinion seeks to have a philosophy, in which it may embody and express itself and by which it maybe defended. Agnostics is the shape or figure which the doubting and hesitating spirit takes. It is not a new heresy. It has been held by a few in every age ; it is now espoused by many, provisionally, till something more solid or 6 Preface. showy is propounded. It used to be called nescience, which maintains that nothing can be known, and nihilism, which holds that there is nothing to be known. It is of little use trying to argue with it, for it allows us no premises as a ground on which to start, and has no body or substance that we can attack. It is easy to show that it is suicidal. It is an evident contradiction to affirm that we know that we can know nothing. But when we have demonstrated this we have not destroyed it any more than we have killed a specter by thrusting a spear into it ; for its defense is that all truth is contradictory. The best way of dealing with it is to allow it to dance as it may, like the shadows of the clouds, and, meanwhile, to found and build up truth and set it up before the mind, that it may be seen in its own light. It is well known that when we see a solid object through and beyond a specter the specter melts away and disappears. So it will be with agnosticism it will vanish when we fix our eyes upon the truth. But meanwhile an immense number and variety of crude views and opinions on the most momentous subjects, such as morality and religion, are set before the young and pressed upon their acceptance. In consequence they often feel a difficulty in knowing what to believe, and they may be led to Preface. 1 believe too little or too much. In these circumstances it is of vast importance to provide them with tests which may enable them to distinguish between truth and fiction and settle them in the truth. This is what is attempted in this work, which is meant for those who wish for their own satisfaction to know on what foundations the truths on which they are required to believe rest. It is hoped, being a treatise on what Kant calls applied logic, which may be quite as useful as primary or formal logic, it may be used as a text-book. CONTENTS. LECTURE FIRST. PAGE Truths to be Assumed. . n LECTURE SECOND. Discursive or Deductive Truth 27 LECTURE THIRD. Inductive Truths 43 LECTURE FOURTH. The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. The Joint Inductive and Deductive. Hypotheses and Verification. Chance. Induction Cannot Give Absolute Truth. We Know in Part 79 LECTURE FIFTH. Testimony. Is it Sufficient to Prove the Supernatural? 107 INTRODUCION. WE have truth when our ideas are conformed to things. The aim of this work is to show that there is truth, that truth can be found, and that there are tests by which we may determine when we have found it. We do not propose to guide inquirers in any particular department of investigation ; this can best be done in introductions to the books and lectures treating of the several branches of knowledge. Kant and the German metaphysicians have shown again and again that there is no one absolute criterion to settle all truth for us ; that will determine, for example, at one and the same time, whether there is a fourth dimension of space, whether the planet Jupiter is inhabited, where the soul goes at death, and what kind of crops we are to have next year. But it can be shown that there are truths which maybe ascertained and that there are criteria which prove when they are so ; and these clear, sure, and capable of being definitely expressed. But the test which settles one truth for us does not neces10 Introduction. sarily settle all others, or any others. It is necessary to distinguish between different sorts of truth, and we should be satisfied when we find a test of each kind. I am convinced that historical, scientific, and logical investigation has advanced so far that we can now enunciate criteria for every kind of truth. The aim of the criteria, it should be noticed, is not so much to help us to discover truth as to determine when we have found it. LECTURE FIRST. TRUTHS TO BE ASSUMED. I. r~PHE mind must start with something. There JL are things which it knows at once. I know pleasure and pain. I do more: I know myself as feeling pleasure and pain. I know that I am surrounded with material objects, extended and exercising properties. I know, by barely contemplating them, that these two straight lines cannot contain a space. These are called first truths. There must be first truths before there can be secondary ones ; original before there can be derivative ones. Can we discover and enunciate these ? I believe we can. We are not at liberty, indeed, to appeal to a first principle when we please, or because it suits our purpose. When we are left without evidence we are not therefore allowed to allege that we need no evidence. When we are defeated in argument we are not to be permitted to escape by falling back on what is unproved and unprovable. It is true that we cannot prove every thing, for this would 12 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. imply an infinite chain of proofs every link of which would hang on another, while the whole would hang on nothing that is, be incapable of proof. We cannot prove every thing by mediate evidence, but we can show that we are justified in assuming certain things. We cannot prove by any external circumstance that two straight lines cannot inclose a space, but we can show that we are justified in assuming it. We are to " prove all things." But there are some things which have their proof in themselves. We discover it by simply looking at the things. It is thus that we know that we exist ; that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line ; that hypocrisy is a sin. We need no external evidence. The evidence is in the thing; in the very nature of the thing. We do not require mediate, we have immediate proof. II. This kind of truth is to be distinguished from two others for which we require what is called mediate proof. First, there are cases in which we get this by simply thinking. A truth being allowed we infer something else from it. Thus, being assured that all men are responsible, we argue that heathens, being men, are responsible. Secondly, in other cases we need observation and a gathering of facts, Truths to be Assumed. 13 that is induction ; in order to the discovery of a general fact or law. It is thus that we have discovered that a year consists of so many days ; thus that Newton discovered the law of gravitation, and Daiton that of definite proportions in the composition of bodies. These two last kinds of cases, which may be called the logical and inductive, differ from the first, which may be called the metaphysical. In this lecture first truths are treated of; in those that follow, reasoned and observational truths. In all the three our aim is to discover the tests. III. The evidence of the first class of truths is discovered by what is called Intuition, which looks directly on the objects ; the truth is therefore called Intuitive. It is also called First, or Primary, as it is the first in the order of nature and things. It is designated as Fundamental in that it bears up other truths. It is described as Necessary inasmuch as, perceiving the objects directly, we cannot be made to believe otherwise. Since the publication of Kanfs Kritic of Pure Reason it is more frequently described as a priori in that it is known prior to a gathered experience, the truth discovered by which is called a posteriori. It maybe spoken of as Original, as opposed to what is Derived. These are not 14 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. the most prominent truths to the ordinary observer ; they lie deep down in the soul ; they are the foundation on which other truths are lajd. They are numerous and varied. Some of them, and these the first and original ones, are cognition of things. Thus we all know body, with its properties, and self or spirit, with its properties. Some of them are beliefs such as our belief in space and time and in their continuity. From these arise judgments, in which we compare two or more cognitions and beliefs and discover a relation between them. These judgments may be arranged under eight heads. ) In identity, we declare that it is impossible to be and not to be at the same time. 3 In comprehension, we declare that the whole is equal to the sum of its parts. In resemblance, we affirm that what is true of a class must be true of all the members of the class. We know that body is in space. AVe know that all events happen in time. In quantity we are sure that equals added to equals are equals. *t In contemplating things as acting we maintain that every property implies a substance. When we see an effect we are sure that it has had a cause. These are intellectual cognitions, beliefs, and judgments. But we have also primary moral convictions. We know at once the distinction between moral good and evil ; we declare love to our neighTruths to be Assumed. 15 bors to be a virtue binding upon us, and we need no one to argue with us to convince us that to tell a lie or cheat our neighbor is evil. IV. These primitive convictions run through our thoughts, ideas, and acts. Every man acts upon them. We are sure that we exist and that we have a body, extended, and acting on us and other objects. We know that we are the same persons to-day that we were yesterday. The creditor, when he receives only part of what is owing him, tells his debtor that this is less than the whole. When a man knows that spring, summer, autumn, and winter make up the seasons he expects when the three first are past that winter is coming. A farmer does not propose to inclose a field by two straight fences. When we awake from sleep we are confident that we have been alive all the time since we fell asleep. The clerk in his calculations acts on the principle that equals subtracted from equals are equals. When we see a body we are convinced that it has properties. When we see a house on fire we are sure it has been ignited. The circumstance that all men act upon these principles led the Scottish school of metaphysicians to call them principles of common sense. 16 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. V. We may assume all such truths. They do not need proof. A man who would seek it must be beside himself. He may be compared to one going out with a taper to see the sun. These truths shine in their own light* We may use them in all our thoughts and inquiries and in all our arguments with our fellow-men, provided we properly enunciate them. A man had better assume his own existence. He might find it difficult to establish it by argument. But if he is determined, by all means let him try it; he will only be impressed the more with the impossibility of his doing it. How will he do it? To what will he appeal ? How will he begin ? With the testimony of his neighbors ? He will find that he has clearer proof of his own existence than of that of his neighbor, and that he cannot prove the existence of his neighbors till he first proves his own. It is the same with all other self-evident truths. We cannot prove them by other truths, but we may use them to prove other truths. VI. Let us seek to determine precisely the nature of these truths. They may be viewed under three aspects aspects of one and the same thing. Truths to be Assumed. 17 1. They are Perceptions of Things. We perceive that body is extended, and that it exercises properties, such as resistance to our energy and to other bodies. We are conscious of self as thinking and feeling. We believe that space and time extend beyond what we observe of them. We decide at once that contradictions cannot both be true ; that the abstract implies the concrete; that universals imply singulars ; that we cannot be both here and in China at the same time ; that two halves make up the whole ; that properties imply a substance ; that a change is produced by an adequate power. We look on self-sacrifice, for a good cause, as good, and treachery as an evil. All these perceptions are direct, and are in consciousness. 2. They are Regulative Principles. \ do not believe that there is any such thing as innate ideas.Uocke exploded them forever. But the mind of the child is not altogether a nonentity or a blank. It has powers or capacities ready to be exercised on the appropriate objects being presented. These are in the mind as gravitation lies in matter, as life remains in the seed all winter, as seeds have remained, with life in them, in the tombs of Egypt for thousands of years. Mr. Mill has shown that all the powers in nature are tendencies. They tend to act according to 2 18 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. their nature. Thus oxygen tends to join in definite proportions with hydrogen to form water ; bodies attract other bodies to them inversely according to the square of the distance. Our ideas tend, unless interfered with by external objects, to follow each other in a certain order ; when two ideas have been in the mind together, the one tends to cull the other, and like suggests like. In much the same way the powers of intuition abiding in the mind ever tend to act, and are called forth by objects. In a sense, they so far direct and control the mind. Of the principle we are not conscious, but we are conscious of its exercises, which are the perceptions of which I have been speaking under last head. 3. They may become Axioms. All the perceptions of which I have been discoursing are in the first instance singular or individual, and not abstract or general. We do not say of every two straight lines that they cannot inclose space, but of these two straight lines before us that they cannot inclose a space. We do not at first announce that all men are responsible, but of ourselves or some other person that he is responsible. I do not formally proclaim the metaphysical principle, every effect has a cause, but of this particular effect, the burning of a rick of hay, that it has had a cause. But then we can generalize our individual perceptions. We see Truths to be Assumed. 19 that what is true of the object or case before us is true of the same object or cases every-where and in all places. We now reach general maxims true of the objects at all times and in all circumstances. Fraud cannot be good on the planet Earth, or the planet Jupiter, or the dog-star Sirius. Parallel lines, we see, will never meet in earth, or star, or the space beyond. We have now such axioms as those of Euclid. We have moral maxims such as the Ten Commandments, and the precepts in the Sermon on the Mount. VII. But what we have specially to do here is to enumerate the criteria by which such truths may be tried, and which will settle for us whether we are entitled to assume without any mediate proof what may be presented to us by ourselves or others for our acceptance. SELF-EVIDENCE is the primary test of that kind of truth which we are entitled to assume without mediate proof. We perceive the object to exist by simply looking at it. The truth shines in its own light, and, in order to see, we do not require light to shine upon it from any other quarter. We are conscious, directly, of self as understanding, as thinking, or as feeling, and we need no indirect evidence. 20 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Thus, too, we perceive by the eye a colored surface, and by the muscular touch a resisting object, and by the moral sense the evil of hypocrisy. The proof is seen by the contemplative mind in the things themselves. We are convinced that we need no other proof. A proffered probation from any other quarter would not add to the strength of our conviction. We do not seek any external proof, and if any were pressed upon us we would feel it to be unnecessary nay, to be an encumbrance, and almost an insult to our understanding. But let us properly understand the nature of this self-evidence. It has constantly been misunderstood and misrepresented. It is not a mere feeling or an emotion belonging to the sensitive part of our nature. It is not blind instinct, or a belief in what we cannot see. It is not above reason or below reason ; it is an exercise of primary reason prior, in the nature of things, to any derivative exercises. It is not, as Kant represents it, of the nature of a form in the mind imposed on objects contemplated and giving them a shape and color. It is a perception, it is an intuition of the object. We inspect these two straight lines, and perceive them to be such in their nature that they cannot inclose a space. If two straight lines go on for an inch without coming nearer each other, we are sure Truths to be Assumed. 21 they will be no nearer if lengthened millions of miles as straight lines. On contemplating deceit we perceive the act to be wrong in its very nature. It is not a mere sentiment such as we feel on the contemplation of pleasure and pain ; it is a knowledge of an object. It is not the mind imposing or superinducing on the thing what is not in the thing ; it is simply the mind perceiving what is in the thing. It is not merely subjective, it is also objective to use phrases very liable to be misunderstood ; or, to speak clearly, the perceiving mind (subject) perceives the thing (object). This is the most satisfactory of all evidence ; and this because in it we are immediately cognizant of the thing. There is no evidence so ready to carry conviction. We cannot so much as conceive or imagine any evidence stronger. NECESSITY is a secondary criterion. It has been represented by Leibnitz and many metaphysicians as the first and the essential test. This I regard as a mistake. Self-evidence comes first, and the other follows and is derived from it. We perceive an object before us and know so much of its nature ; and we cannot be made to believe that there is no such object, or that it is not what we know it to be. I demur to the idea so often pressed upon us that we are to believe a certain proposition because we 22 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. are necessitated to believe in it. This sounds too much like fatality to be agreeable to the free spirit of man. It is because we are conscious of self that we cannot be made to believe that we do not exist. The account given of the principle by Herbert Spencer is a perverted and a vague one : all propositions are to be accepted as unquestionable whose negative is inconceivable. This does not give us a direct criterion as self-evidence does, and the word inconceivable is very ambiguous. But necessity, while it is not the primary is a potent secondary test. The self-evidence convinces us ; the necessity prevents us from holding any different conviction. CATHOLICITY or Universality is the tertiary test. By this is meant that it is believed by all men. It is the argument from catholicity, or common consent the sensus communis. All men are found to assent to the particular truth when it is fairly laid before them, as, for instance, that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It would not be wise nor safe to make this the primary test, as some of the ancients did. For, in the complexity of thought, in the constant actual mixing up of experiential with immediate evidence, it is difficult to determine what all men believe. It is even conceivable that all men might be deceived Truths to be Assumed. 23 by reason of the deceitfulness of the faculties and the illusive nature of things. But this tertiary comes in to corroborate the primary test, or rather to show that the proposition can stand the primary test which proceeds on the observation of the very thing, in which it is satisfactory to find that all men are agreed. Combine these and we have a perfect means of determining what are first truths. The first gives us a personal assurance of which we can never be deprived ; the second secures that we cannot conquer it ; the third, that we can appeal to all men as having the same conviction. The first makes known realities ; the second restrains us from breaking off from them ; the third shows us that we are surrounded with a community of beings to whom we can address ourselves in the assurance of meeting with a response. The first is the most satisfactory, as it brings us closest to things. The second is the most definite and decisive, as it admits of no denial. The third brings us into closest relationship with our fellow men and gives us confidence in addressing them. The three constitute a treble cord which cannot be broken. It should be noticed that these tests apply not only to our primitive knowledge but to our primitive beliefs. We have such beliefs. We believe in the 24 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. existence of things which we cannot know by the senses, which we cannot see or hear, smell or taste or touch. We believe in space and time as stretching away beyond our ken. We believe in the infinite, though we may not be able fully to comprehend it. Our beliefs require to be tested fully and as much as our knowledge. A large number of men and women, even some who are shrewd and wise, are apt to cherish fancies which have no realities corresponding to them. There are classes of people who are particularly addicted to such visions. You hear them say, " I feel this to be true. I must believe it." A more cultivated set of people tell you this is so interesting that I must cleave to it. There are numbers thus led into great extravagances of credence which expose them to ridicule or land them in folly, or, it may be, in very serious errors or mistakes. Now there is a method of keeping people from being allured into bogs by these will-o'wisps. We are to try the spirits whether they are of God. We have a reliable means of trying them. We may, we should, inquire whether what we are invited to assume is self-evident truth and not a mere fancy ; whether we are necessitated to believe it as we look at the things, or whether we may not be led to adopt or reject it by the wishes of the heart ; Truths to be Assumed. 25 whether it is held by man as man, or merely by people with idiosyncrasies and prejudices. Our feelings were never meant to be the tests of truth, though they may prompt us to seek it, may irradiate it so as to make it more attractive, and instil life into the soul and thereby prompt to action. It is to be admitted that there is a mysticism which is very fascinating and at times elevating, as, for instance, in the pages of Thomas a Kempis. But it may be delusive, and the error may be accepted along with the truth. We may, by the criteria I have announced, get all the good without the accompanying evil ; we may root out the weeds, that the flower and fruit-bearing plants may flourish the better. The tests clear away the mists that we may have a full view of the beauties of the sky and landscape. It will be understood that what is offered in this lecture does not profess to be the whole of knowledge ; it is only primary knowledge. A far greater number and variety of truths are reached in other ways than by intuition, while, however, they always presuppose it. Yet only the foundation-stones have been laid I hope, as the Free Masons say, that " this foundation is well laid," that it is " a sure foundation." The mature tree is not yet before us ; only a few seeds have been sown and some 26 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. roots planted, which are well "rooted and grounded." These primitive truths, like the granite rocks, go down deepest into the earth and mount the highest toward heaven. They bind and guarantee all other truths. They give us what no other powers can, which sense cannot give nor understanding give eternal truths and eternal morality. They look as if they were the very footstool of God, before which we bow and put up our petitions for further instruction to him who sitteth upon the throne. Discursive or Deductive Truth. 27 LECTURE SECOND. DISCURSIVE OR DEDUCTIVE TRUTH. I. WE have seen what are the truths with which every mind starts. We are now to view it as adding to the stock. It may do so in two ways. It may by its own power, or by a gathered observation of facts. In this lecture I am to treat of the first of these methods. The process by which this end is accomplished is discursive or deductive ; that is, we proceed from a truth given or allowed to something else implied in or deduced from it. It being granted that all men are mortal, we at once conclude that this man and that man and that we ourselves must die. What is admitted is called the premise or premises. These may be got from one or other of two quarters : from intuition that is, immediate inspection of things or from induction, that is, from a gathered collection of facts. The first of these has been expounded in last lecture, the other will be unfolded in the lectures which follow. We pre-suppose, then, that the mind has got 28 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. certain facts allowed it as premises. These may be intuitive or inductive ; one or both. In looking at these we discover that certain truths are involved in them and may be legitimately drawn from them. In this lecture I am to unfold the process by which this end is accomplished, to determine the laws, their extent, and their limits. The discursive process is usually described as consisting of three elements the Notion, Judgment, and Reasoning. There is the notion, which, when expressed in language, is the term. There is judgment, which, when expressed, is the proposition. There is reasoning, which, when put in words, is the argument. By means of each of these we reach derivative truth, which may be rigidly tested. Logic is the science which treats of discursive thought. I am not, in this little work, to give a system of logic. I use logic simply as furnishing the criteria by which deductive truth may be tried. The grand regulating principle of all discursive thought is that what is drawn from the premise or premises must be in the premises. Being there, and being seen to be there, we draw it out. But we must take care that what we bring out is in what we have derived it from. This law, rigidly carried out, will preserve us from all inconclusive reasoning. We cannot draw light from cucumbers, beDiscursive or Deductive Truth. 29 cause there is no light in the cucumber. But, it being allowed us that all men have a conscience, we infer that this liar, though he has not obeyed it, has a conscience. This general rule may be applied to every kind of deduction or discursive thought, and, taken along with other and more minute rules founded on it, decides for us whether we are proceeding on the laws of thought, which, being planted or developed in our nature by God, are always truthful and authoritative. Each of the two great processes will be found to have its own laws. II. THE NOTION OR TERM. First under this head is the Singular notion, such as the earth, the heavens, Homer, Shakespeare, George Washington, " sky, mountains, rivers, winds, lake, lightnings, yea, with clouds and thunders, and a soul to make them felt and feeling." The singulars are always concrete; that is, they contain an aggregate of qualities which we call attributes ; thus, the earth has elementary bodies and is attracted to the sun. I call such notions Singular Concretes. Secondly, there is the Abstract notion ; that is, notion of part of a whole, more specially of an attribute of an object. As examples I may give, leg of table ; foot of a man ; foot of a mountain ; gravity, beauty, honesty, human30 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. ity. Thirdly, there is the General notion, the universal of the schoolmen, the concept of the German, such as stones, plants, animals, man, woman, angels. All these contain an indefinite number of objects ; namely, all that possess the common qualities of the class. Now we may derive truths from each of these classes. Thus from singular concrete truths we can draw abstracts; from this body before us we can get the abstraction gravity; from this man, manliness ; from this woman, beauty ; from Washington, patriotism. Again, from singulars we can form generals ; by help of abstraction all can unite things by common attributes in them, and form the class, rose, lily, dog, horse, man, American. Now it is of the utmost moment that we know the nature of the notions and terms we employ. In thinking, in reading, in speaking we should know what sorts of terms are used ; whether they are singular or common, concrete or abstract. In employing concretes we should ascertain, more or less definitely, the properties possessed by them. It is a great mistake to look upon an attribute as having an independent existence ; gravity, for instance, has an existence only in the bodies of which it is a quality. In thinking, in speaking of universal or classes we should have an idea, the clearer the Discursive or better, of the qualities which combine the objects. Of all fallacies that of confusion is the most common and the most misleading, and of all fallacies of confusion that of notions or terms is the most injurious, being more so than those of judgment or reasoning. When an object or a cause is placed fairly before us we can commonly judge of it and reason about it correctly. But when it is put in imperfectly understood terms our thinking is apt to be perplexed and mistaken. I believe that more than one half of the errors of thinking arise from confusion in our Notions. The prejudices of the heart work on these, " the wish is father of the thought/' and the issue is misapprehension and error, and, it may be, sin. There has been an immense amount of controversy about abstract and general terms. It was the grand topic of discussion among the scholastics in the Middle Ages, and I am convinced that it is of vast moment to clear up the subject. It is still in a confused state. I feel no difficulty in comprehending the nature of the abstract and general notion. The question is, What reality is there in these notions ? I think it can be answered clearly and satisfactorily. The abstract has no independent reality its reality is in the things from which it is ab32 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. stracted ; thus honesty has a reality in the honest man. The universal or class notion has a reality in the objects embraced in it and in the qualities combining them. The common notion, " vertebrate animal," has a reality in the animals and in the vertebrate column which they all possess. III. JUDGMENT; which, when expressed in language, is the Proposition. In this we compare two notions ; or, rather, the two things embraced in the notions declaring their agreement or disagreement. In making the comparison we have to look to the nature of the notions and observe what is embraced in them. The comparison we make may be viewed under two aspects. " The bird sings." Here we have two terms. " The bird " and " sings," or, " is singing." The one of these is singular " the bird ; " the other is common " is singing." In comprehension, that is, in regard to the qualities possessed by it, it means that it has " the attribute of singing;" in extension, that is, in regard to the objects in its class, it declares that the bird is " among singing, creatures." These two are involved in each other ; the one implies the other. In forming these judgments we should attend carefully to the nature of the two things compared, Discursive or Deductive Truth. 33 and, as we do so, we may draw a number of inferences. These have a place, and an important place, allotted to them in all advanced works on logic. They are called Immediate Inferences. I call them Implied Judgments. Thus by subalternation, that is, of things under classes, we infer that if all men be responsible the heathen are responsible. Under extension we say what is true of a class is true of each member of the class ; for example, what is true of all roses is true of the rose before us. Under conversion we turn the subject into the predicate, and the predicate into the subject ; thus, it being given that all poets are men of genius, it follows that some men of genius not necessarily all men of genius are poets. When we have contradictory propositions we are sure that when the one is true the other must be false. The following inferences have been drawn in Thomson's Outlines of tlie Laivs of Thought from the proposition men are responsible : IN EXTENSION. Every man is in the class responsible. This man is responsible. Some men are responsible. Some responsible beings are men. It is not true that no men are responsible. It is not true that some men are not responsible, etc. 3 34 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. IN COMPREHENSION. Man exists. Responsibility is a real attribute. Responsibility is an attribute of every man. Responsibility is an attribute of this man. Responsibility is an attribute of every tribe of men. Responsibility is an attribute of some men. Irresponsibility may be denied of all men. No man is irresponsible. Irresponsible beings are not men. Men of wealth are responsible with their wealth. To punish men is to punish responsible men, etc. IV. REASONING. This is the highest form of the discursive processes. Every human being is employing it. The infant, the child, is using it perpetually in drawing conclusions from what he observes ; in determining, for instance, the distances of objects, which it has been shown he does not know instinctively. The very fool uses it, only, however, about insignificant objects, say, his animal wants, as when he argues that food will satisfy his hunger. The madman, commonly starting from mistaken premises, from a wrong idea and belief impressed upon his mind, often bursts forth into wonderful displays of it. The intellectual ability of a man (I do not say his genius) is shown in the extent and agility with which he reasons. There is reasoning, Discursive or Deductive Truth. 35 in a lower or higher shape, in the every-day transactions of life, as when we avoid danger and seek to secure what will gratify us. It has a necessary place in all the sciences which combine in a system the objects which present themselves to us. Mathematics, beginning with definitions and axioms which are self-evident, consists in reasoning throughout, and this often of a very delicate and recondite nature, as in quaternions and functions. Now it is surely of vast moment, since so much of mental activity is thus exercised, that we should have decisive tests to determine when we are reasoning correctly. Now we have had this ever since the days of Aristotle, who analyzed the reasoning processes for us in the fourth century before Christ. Attempts have been made once and again to set aside his account, but all of these, after a brief apparent success, are admitted to have been failures. This analytic sets before us all the forms which reasoning takes, and thus enables us to try every sort of pretended argument. The whole of reasoning is founded on one simple law called the Dictum of Aristotle, which takes two forms. Put in the form of extension, that is, of the objects which the terms contain, it is, "Whatever is true of a class is true of all the members of a 36 The Tes.ts of The Various Kinds of Truth. class." It may also take the form of comprehension, that is, of the attributes of the class. " A part of a part of an attribute will be part of the whole attribute." Reasoning, when spread out, takes the form of a syllogism, in which we have two premises and a conclusion. First, we have two notions given us in the premises, and we cannot, on looking on them, say whether they do or do not agree. We are not told in Scripture whether John the Baptist was a priest, but we call in a third term, son, of a priest, and we compare each of the other two with this third term. We know that the sons of priests were also priests, and we have the syllogism : The sons of priests were priests ; The Baptist was the son of a priest ; Therefore he was a priest. This type determines for us whether reasoning is valid. If it cannot be put in this form it is invalid. This is the Categorical form. But, being guided by the same dictum, it may take a Hypothetical shape : If this man has consumption He will soon die. He has consumption. He will soon die. Discursive or Deductive Truth. 37 Or some cases may be put conveniently in the form of a Disjunctive : Lines are either straight or curved. The line A B is not straight ; It must be curved. Or it may be best exhibited in the form of a dilemma : If a man can help a thing he should not fret about it. If he cannot help a thing he should not fret about it. But he can either help a thing or not help it. In either case he should not fret about it. In some cases we have a seriate or chained reasoning by a series of arguments. I simply refer to these forms. I am not to spread out their details. This is done with care and accuracy in every Logical treatise of any value. They can all be reduced to the form of the syllogism which depends on the Dictum. These Logical forms supply us with tests clear and certain for every kind of reasoning, in science or in the business of life. Logic has at times been exposed to ridicule because of its multiplied technical rules, which, it is alleged, rather perplex and confuse the mind, and lead it into sophistry. Thus the great English satirist describes Hudibras : 38 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. He was in logic a great critic, Profoundedly skilled in analytic ; He could distinguish and divide A hair twixt south and south-west side; On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute. The pilot of a ship often needs to decide between narrower distinctions than that between west and north-west side, and if he neglects to do so his vessel may be wrecked. So every man, in his voyage through the troubled ocean of life, needs to make more delicate distinctions than the pilot or the geographer. Error will present itself in forms so like the truth that it is very apt to deceive us, and so we need rules which will accept the true and reject the false. This is the use of all those formulae which Logic has drawn out with such care. It is intended, not to produce and foster wrangling, but to discourage and arrest it, and to show us the way by which certainty may be reached. V. We have now before us the operations of discursive thought, embracing the Notion, Judgment, and Reasoning. The scientific expression of these constitutes Logic. The science can determine for us whether the deductions drawn out by ourselves or Discursive or Deductive Truth. 39 others are valid. Let us look for a little at the way in which Logic accomplishes this end by the laws which it lays down. The formation of notions is governed by laws. These can be ascertained and enunciated. Deductions can be drawn from them. From the singular concrete notions we can draw others. From an apple before us we can get the notion of its taste, its color, its weight, its odor. These are abstract notions. Again, from a number of apples we can collect them into a class and affirm of this object before us that it is an apple. Let us understand correctly what is the nature of these two notions, the abstract and the concrete. Take gravitation some scientific men all but worship it." Let me tell them that gravitation has no existence save in the bodies which it draws toward each other. Newton, when he discovered the law, looked to the bodies in which it acts: to the apple falling to the ground, to the moon drawn toward the earth. So much for an abstraction ; it exists as an attribute in the objects from which it is taken. There is a class notion ; there is not only this apple which we know by the senses, but there is the class apple; embracing all the apples which have ever existed, all the apples which ever shali exist, nay, all the apples which children have 40 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. longed for in their fancies, all the apples which poets or painters have drawn. The class has an existence, but not an independent one ; it has an existence simply in the objects and in the qualities which combine them. Now certain rules can be laid down as to these abstract and general notions. I. The abstract implies the concrete in which it exists. II. The general implies particular things of which, under the bond which connects them, it exists. It is asked, what sort of existence have abstract and general notions? You hear people say of certain notions that they are nonentities ; they are mere abstractions. But all abstractions are not nonentities; The love of a mother is not a nonentity it exists in the mother. Virtue, though an abstract term, is not a fiction, it exists in all virtuous men and women. You tell me that you know by the senses what an apple is, but as to the class apple it is a fiction. I ask, What makes you put all these apples into one class and to recognize an apple when you see it ? You must answer that all these apples have certain common properties. This, then, is the reality in the class. The class vertebrate has a reality in the vertebrate column which they all possess. III. When the object is real the abstract is also a reality in the thing ; when the Discursive or Deductive Truth. 41 things generalized are real the concept which binds them is also real. VI. In the proposition we must carefully consider how the two terms stand toward each other. We must particularly inquire what is their extension and what their comprehension. In subalternation we must see that the species are included in the genus. In conversion the rule is that the term be not more extensive in the conclusion than in the premise. VII. In Reasoning Logic teaches us to look to our terms. It insists that there be three and only three terms: two extremes and a middle which unites them. It shows us that they can be put in the form of a syllogism if the reasoning is valid. If they cannot it is a proof that the reasoning is not valid. In all these ways Logic gives us decisive tests to show us when our conclusions follow from the premises. It has so often been explained that it scarcely needs to be repeated, that Logic does not give us the capacity of reasoning. It proceeds on the idea that we reason naturally by the powers which God has given us. It shows us what are the exact proc42 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. esses involved and thence formulates rules to guide us to truth and save us from error. Logic has been called the Grammar of Thought. Logic is not the same as Grammar, but it is analogous to it. Grammar does not profess to teach us how to speak or write, but it explains the laws involved and teaches how to speak and write correctly. So Logic does not claim to give us the power of thinking, but it shows us how to think accurately, and to correct false reasoning. Grammar does not make any man an orator. Neither does Logic make man a powerful reasoner. But grammar will give every man of ordinary intelligence the power of speaking accurately. Logic will not enable every man to reason so consecutively as Aristotle or the Apostle Paul or Bishop Butler, but it will teach every man of common understanding to reason clearly and conclusively, and thus help him to convince his audience. It is not needful that the orator should construe his sentences as he utters them ; but it may be evident all the while that we have the result of a grammatical training in these well-constructed sentences. So it is not necessary that the pleader should put his argument in syllogistic form, but it may be seen at every step that he is giving us the result of a thorough logical training. Inductive Truths. 43 LECTURE THIRD. INDUCTIVE TRUTHS. I. SCATTERED FACTS. AN eminent man is reported as saying that there are more false facts than false theories. There is truth in this. Facts are apt to have adjuncts to them in the reports given by others, and even in our own apprehensions of them, or they are so mutilated that they take an entirely distorted form. We all know how, in story-telling, additions and subtractions are apt to be made even by honest narrators, so as to make it more attractive and picturesque. The individual facts are primarily made known by the senses. In these there may be very numerous and complicated details, and any of these if left out may so far distort our apprehensions and the account we give of them. Besides, sensations, feelings, fancies, inferences, attachments, and repugnances may mingle with our pure perception of sense and cast a glow or a gloom around them. In these sections I am showing that we have to guard 44 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. against these temptations, and that when we do so we can arrive at positive truth. Observation Proper and Experiment. These are the two ways in which we obtain facts. In the former we view objects simply as they present themselves ; in the latter we put them in new positions. The advantage of Experiment over Observation Proper (which may be so designated as Experiment is, after all, a kind of Observation) is that it enables us to perceive the proper action of the several agencies joined in nature. We wish to know whether bodies, whatever be their weight, fall to the ground in equal times. Common observation seems to show that they do not, as we see the gold nugget and the leaf falling at very different times. But we put the gold and the leaf into the exhausted receiver of an air-pump and find them fall the same instant. What we should do in all observation is to note precisely what has occurred, and to report it accurately without any additions, subtractions, or coloring; we must be especially on our guard against torturing the facts in order to make them give a certain kind of testimony. THE SENSES. The older Greek philosophers adopted the common opinion that the senses deceive. The skeptics took advantage of the doctrine and argued that if the senses deceive there is Inductive Truths. 45 nothing we can trust in. The sounder philosophers met them by calling in reason, which corrected the illusions of the senses and conducted to truth. Aristotle corrected both these forms of error, and showed that the supposed deception arises, not from the senses themselves, but from the use that is made of their intimations. To save the senses it is necessary to draw certain distinctions. In particular we should distinguish between our original and derived perceptions. The former are intuitive, without any process of inference, having the sanction of the author of our constitution, and never deceiving us. The latter imply inferences from the revelations of sense perception, and there may be errors in them. I believe we can approximately determine what are the original perceptions of the various senses. By several of the senses we seem to perceive merely the bodily organs as affected. This is the case with taste and with smell, in which we discern simply the palate and the nostrils with a certain sensitive expression of the palate and the nostrils. It is the same also, I believe, with hearing and with touch proper, or feeling, in which we know simply an affection of the ear and the periphery of the body. I rather think that by the muscular senses and the eye we discern more ; a body resisting our organ46 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. ism and a colored surface affecting us. In all these intuitive perceptions there is no ratiocination, and there are and can be no mistakes. But in all beyond there are inferences, and in these there may be less or more of error. A person tells us that he had mutton to dinner, whereas all he knew was that there was a certain taste in his mouth which he argued was that of mutton. He further lets us know that he felt the smell of roses in a certain garden, where he also heard a flute playing, whereas immediately he felt only an odor in his nostrils and a sound in his ear. He is sure that he was struck in the dark with a man's hand, whereas the blow was from a stick. He depones that he saw a man strike his wife, while all he saw was an action of one figure upon another, and it turns out that the woman was not the man's wife. Hence arise some of the mistakes in witness-bearing; they are not lies of the senses, but errors in the inferences we draw from them. In all such cases we form a general rule out of certain experiences, and in hasty thinking we illegitimately apply it. We regard sound as coming to our ear in a straight line from the sounding body, but the undulations have been reflected from a wall ; and we place the bell from which they have come in that wall, whereas the belfry is actually in a difInductive Truths. 4Y ferent direction. It is on this principle that the ventriloquist proceeds when he makes a human voice come from a post or an animal. Having laid down the rule that when there are few observable things between us and an object it must be near, we look on that island seen across the sea as much closer to us than it is. Some other distinctions must be attended to. Sensations and feelings of pleasure and pain, of beauty and ugliness, associate themselves with all our perceptions, and are apt to give a color and even a shape to the actual things. We remember more particulars about the objects that excite us, whether joyously or grievously, than those that are dull and commonplace, and we give these a large, often an undue, place in our narrative, and thus distort them and give them a different meaning. The rapid inferences from the intimations of the senses may at times serve a good purpose. They may prepare us to meet and avoid danger when cool and correct argument would not be quick enough. A fire-bell, the jolt of a carriage in which we are riding, a stumble in walking, the fog-whistle at sea may at times raise up an unnecessary alarm, but ,the calm reflection which succeeds will soon dissipate this, and at other times they save us from danger. 48 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. We have abundant means of correcting the hasty judgments. We have other senses at hand to correct the apparent deceptions of one sense. We imagine the figures raised optically by magicians to be real, but we can dissipate the illusion by thrusting our hand into the specter. We may mistake beef for mutton as we eat it, but it is easy to apply to the person who prepared the food to set us right. A diseased eye may present objects double, but the touch will correct the mistake. In all cases we can secure that what is told us by the senses is true by judiciously using the means of correction at our disposal. SELF -CONSCIOUSNESS. Metaphysicians commonly maintain that the revelations of consciousness are always to be trusted ; that they settle every thing in the last resort, and are, in fact, ultimate and infallible. But there are physiologists, and, of a later date, even metaphysicians, who assert that the acts of consciousness are variable and often deceitful. They show us that people often misapprehend what their real feelings are, and give a wrong account of them. It is alleged that there are persons who say that they believe certain tenets when they do not, only imagining that they do. There are cases of persons with a " double consciousness," as it is called ; remembering, in the one Inductive Truths. , 49 state, the experience of that state, but without any remembrance of it in the other. But in all such cases we attribute to consciousness what it is not responsible for. In regard to the inner, as in regard to external, sense, we have to draw distinctions if we would determine their precise testimony. It is acknowledged by all psychologists that, properly speaking, we are conscious of self only in its present state. In that state there are various affections: there are sensations and feelings and inferences along with the pure consciousness, and we are apt to mix them up with each other, and thereby breed confusion in our apprehensions and in the account we give of what is in our mind. When we review our consciousness we are dependent on our memory, and we may omit some aspects of our experience and add associated affections. Here, as in regard to the bodily senses, distance is apt to lend enchantment to the view. The hypochondriac magnifies his sorrows, and the gay youth his pleasures in the past. People are apt to think their youth was happier than it really was ; they remember their joys and forget their little disappointments, which were then felt to be so great and now appear so little. What is so called is not really " double consciousness." It arises from a diseased state of the brain 4 50 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. hindering physical action. The person is unable to recall what has been laid up in the past, and he lives in the present and lays up a new experience, which he uses in his new state, but which he may lose in a later condition of his brain. The man is not under a double consciousness, but in two states, in each of which the consciousness may be correct. It thus appears that man may trust in what his consciousness really reveals. It makes known to us self in its present state. It should be noticed that it does not know merely a quality of self, such as thinking or feeling ; it knows self as thinking or feeling. This is of the nature of a first truth or an intuition ; we perceive the very thing. This self constitutes what we call personality ; that is, we know ourselves as persons. On comparing the self as presently known with the past self as then known we declare ourselves to be the same. This is personal identity ; which is a self-evident, necessary, and universal truth. MEMORY. The vulgar opinion is that the memory may deceive. But it does so only as the senses deceive. The mistakes are not in the memory proper, but in the associated affections and the inferences drawn from them. We ask a man how long it is since he visited us. His recollection is dim, and he makes the time longer than it is six Inductive Truths. 51 years instead of five. It is not possible for him to remember his continued existence during these years, any more than it is possible for the eye to see every point in space between us and objects five or six miles off. In both cases he has to avail himself of intervening objects. The event, he remembers, took place after his marriage, seven years ago, for his wife was with him ; and before his mother's death, four years ago, for he remembers we made inquiries about her health. But he does not recollect at what precise date between these two occurrences the visit was paid. The reminiscence was dim, and he concludes that the event is more distant than it really is. Our memories in regard to time all need such mile-stones, or rather timemarks, to enable us to measure the distances. Now, in all these processes there may be mistakes. It is much the same with our recollections of the other circumstances connected with events, such as the shape and color of objects, their position in relation to other things, their surroundings, their antecedents and consequents. The vision is obscure and we have to fill it up, and we do so by fancies of our own, which so far modify the scene, perhaps pervert it. We are apt to join causes and consequences with the bare occurrences. This is especially apt to be the case with conversations, with the sentences 52 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. uttered by ourselves or by others. We recollect how we felt, what we meant to say, what effect was produced on us by what others said, and we confound these with what was actually uttered. Hence the misunderstandings, the perversions which are so apt to appear in the reports of conversations. In the complicated scenes through which we have to pass we remember those parts that have been most vivid these, I suppose, have impressed themselves most deeply on our organism, and the others are feebler. The consequence is that the record has faded in some places, and we make additions in order to complete it. In this way we clothe our bare memories with dresses which may make them look sadder or more joyful than the events really were at the time. But it is always possible to distinguish between our original and proper recollection and our superadded and fictitious ones. Those who are conscientious will be careful not to add out of their own stores to their memories. When the reminiscence is dim they will at once confess it, especially in witness-bearing, and when the character of a fellowman may be affected. In all scenes which we wish to remember accurately we will take care to note the exact incidents at the time they occur. There are events of which we are certain that they have Inductive Truths. 53 happened. I might have treated of testimony here as it gives us facts to be put under law, but as the subject is to be fully treated in Lecture Fifth I refer it to that place. II. INDUCTION. This consists essentially in gathering facts in order to ascertain the order that they follow, which will be found to consist in laws which they obey. It was known to Aristotle that the mind starts with the singular (TO tmdarov) before it rises to the universal (TO naBo^ov), which, as he expresses it, may be first in the order of nature, while the singulars are first in the order of time. He practiced the method in his natural history, very specially by the collections which were supplied by his pupil, Alexander the Great. But he cannot be said to have systematically expounded induction as a method of discovering truth. This was reserved for Francis Bacon, who enjoined that in observational science the mind should begin with particulars, which are to be collected and collated, and then rise to minor, middle, and major axioms, and thence finally to causes and forms. All this was to be done not fler sattum, but by gradual steps. The method has since been made more definite by Sir John Herschel, in his 54 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Natural Philosophy ; by Dr. Whewell, in his various works on The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences; specially by John S. Mill, in his Logic, and by others. The method will become more perfected as science advances with its observations and experiments, with its instruments and its critical examinations. That method has a Means and an End. The Means are observation with analysis. The End is the discovery of laws. III. Analysis and Synthesis. By the former we separate a concrete or complex object into its parts. In chemistry there is an actual separation of one element from another ; say the oxygen from the hydrogen with which it is combined in water. But in most investigations the separation is in thought. Thus in all bodies we find both extension and energy, which cannot be separated in fact. Thus logicians analyze discursive thought into simple apprehension, judgment, and reasoning, or in the expression of these into the term, the proposition and argument. The process is performed by abstraction, in which we contemplate in thought a part of a whole presenting itself, more particularly an attribute of an object, say gravitation. In analysis we separate the whole into its several parts. AbInductive Truths. 55 straction can be performed on every object, as every object has more than one quality, and we can fix on any one of these. Analysis can be performed only when we have such an acquaintance with an object as to know all its parts. The exercise of abstraction, and, when it is available, of analysis, is required in every kind of investigation. Bacon speaks of induction commencing with "the necessary rejections and exclusions," that is, the separating of the matter to be investigated from the extraneous objects with which it may be associated in nature. Whately says (Logic) that in teaching a science the analytical mode is the more interesting, easy, and natural kind of introduction, as being the form in which the first invention or discovery of any kind of system must originally have taken place. Whewell gives an apt name to the procedure, which he recommends as the " Decomposition of Facts." It serves not only to separate objects from others, but to break them down, so that we may obtain a better acquaintance with them with their internal structure and their several qualities. It is a process to be employed throughout in all investigations of nature, which in every department is full of complexities. Analysis can scarcely be described as discovering truth. It is rather a means or instrument toward 56 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. this end. At the same time it should be noticed that when we abstract a part, say a quality, from an object, the part, the quality, has a reality as well as the whole. If the concrete be real the abstract is also real. The abstract may not have an independent reality ; thus gravitation has no reality except in body, but it has a reality in body. The criterion here is that the part be really a part of the actual whole ; that the quality be a real attribute of a real thing. Analysis is a sharp, and may become a dangerous, instrument. It may be over subtle, and dissect and kill what should be kept alive and entire. It is fulfilling its end only when, to use an illustration of Plato's, it is dividing the carcass as the butcher does, according to the joints. Among the ancient Greek philosophers the analytic was the method commonly employed. Down to this last age the analytic and the synthetic were represented as methods of discovering truth, and had large fields allotted to them. Kant's great work, the Critique of Pure Reason, is divided into the analytic and synthetic parts. In synthesis the parts are put together to show that they make up the whole. Thus Whately decomposes discursive thought into the term proposition and argument, and then shows synthetically Inductive Truths. 57 that these make up the whole process. Sir John Herschel, in his Astronomy, begins with taking up the several departments of the heavens, and then expounds the whole science. The two, analysis and synthesis, must continue to be used as instruments, but they now do so in the methods of induction and deduction. IV. CRITERIA. OF LAWS. Hitherto we have had to do with individual facts, which tell us nothing beyond themselves. We have not as yet any means of anticipating the future from the past, or gathering wisdom from experience. In particular we have no science ; which consists, not of scattered and isolated facts, but of systematized knowledge. In the construction of science we must o co-ordinate the facts. In doing so we discover the laws, and find that all mundane affairs are regulated by laws. But the question arises, How do we, from individual facts, reach a law ? Or, more specifically for our present purpose, When are we entitled to conclude and be satisfied that we have found a law which may be regarded as general or universal ? The answer of those who have not thought specially on the subject would be, When we have observed 58 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. all the facts. But a moment's reflection shows that in most cases, I believe in all, we cannot find out all the facts. We assert that crows are black, but we cannot go the round of the world and ascertain that it is so. We may have examined millions of cases and found all crows black, but how do we know that a traveler may not report that he has found a white crow in some distant island? In science we say that all mammals are warm-blooded, or that all matter attracts other matter inversely according to the square of the distance ; but no one has searched the universe and noticed every mammal and every particle of matter so as to be able to say that no mammal is cold-blooded, and no particle of matter without the power of attraction. But from a limited number of observations we can rise to a law which seems to be universal. How is it so? Mr. Mill maintains that he who can answer this question is wiser than the ancients. Bacon describes the method of observation by " perfect innumeration " of cases as puerile, and incapable of yielding any fruitful results. In induction we have to rise from the unknown to the known. We argue from a limited number of cases in the past to a universal law which we hold to be true in the future ; not only so, but in all unknown cases, past and present. The father of inductive Inductive Truths. 59 philosophy was aware of the difficulty of the problem, and he sought to solve it by bringing in Prerogative Instances (Prerogatives Instantiarutn) which could determine what is true of all instances. To give only one example, that of Instantia Cruets, the metaphor being taken from the notice put up where two roads meet to tell which to take. It was disputed whether light consists of material particles or of vibrations in an ether. To settle this it was maintained by Fresnel that instances can be artificially produced which are inconsistent with the material, but not with the undulatory theory. But we have now better tests in the Canons of Induction. When man looks abroad on nature in a loose way he sees a number of scattered facts. At first sight it looks as if they have two characteristics ; they have both irregularity and they have regularity. He soon begins to seek for order in the midst of the seeming disorder. He is impelled to this by his intellectual powers, which prompt him to seek for the nature and relation of things. But he is specially led into this inquiry by finding that he cannot make good and profitable use of nature till he knows how it acts. He will not sow grain at one season unless he knows that he will reap for his sustenance at another season. In prosecuting such inquiries he discovers that order prevails in the midst of apparent 60 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. confusion. He calls the regular proceedings by the name of laws, believing that they are the expression of the will of a law-giver. " They continue this day according to thine ordinances, for all are thy servants." But it is not enough that he knows that there are laws. In order to take advantage of them he needs to ascertain their precise nature. He would determine the number of days in the year, the periods of the returns of the seasons and of the the moon. While he is seeking after these regularities he finds that there is a deeper and higher law in nature ; there is not only a law of order, there is a law of power. Prompted by an internal intuition, confirmed by a uniform and unvarying experience, he concludes, that every event in nature has a cause, not only in God, who works in all the agents in nature, but in some power in nature. The object of all science is to discover order, or, in other words, laws. But there is great confusion in the statement that all things are governed by laws. This will not be cleared up till we distinguish between two kinds of laws. The Laws of Uniformity and the Law of Causation. V. I. LAWS OF UNIFORMITY. There is an order in nature, in other words, laws in nature which we can observe and profit by withInductive Truths. 61 out at all looking to the causes, though we shall see that they have causes. They will best be understood by some examples. There is the succession of day and night. Day does not cause night nor night cause day. Yet they follow each other invariably. It is the same with the seasons spring, summer, autumn, and winter no one of which produces its successor, though it prepares for it. There is the life of the plant the seed, the blade, the flower, the fruit. There is the growth of the animal the germ, the birth, infancy, mature life, decay, old age. There are periodical occurrences the trade-winds, the gulf-strearn, the evening seabreezes. There are the epochs in geology the Azoic, the Eozoic, the Silurian, the Devonian, the Carboniferous, the Mezozoic, the Cenozoic, the Quaternary, the Human. There are the eras in history as, in Jewish history, the Antediluvian Period, the Patriarchal, the Exodus, Government by Judges, Government by Kings, the Captivity, the Coming of Christ, the Dispersion of the Jews. But there is a deeper principle involved. VI. II. THE LAW OF CAUSE AND EFFECT. I believe this to be an intuitive principle, standing the tests above enunciated. I believe that 62 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. when we discover any thing beginning to be we look for an antecedent producing it a substance with power. But without entering at this place on this disputed metaphysical subject, I may take it for granted that the principle of causation is sanctioned by a universal experience, and will not be denied by any one, Many, indeed, feel that the principle may require to be enunciated anew and put in a better form since the discovery of the law of the Conservation of Energy, or the Persistence of Force, as Herbert Spencer calls it. But whatever be the best shape in which to put it, we assume in all induction that causes produce their proper effect, and that every new product or change in an old thing has a cause. One of the aims of inductive science is to discover what has caused a given phenomenon; what has produced it in the past and will produce it again. The principle of causation might have reigned in all nature and yet there have been no uniformity. All action in nature might have as its sole cause the fiat of God. The connection of all things would, in this case, be with God, but not with one another. The spring, with its buds and blossoms, would be produced by God, but this would give no security that the fruits of autumn were to follow. Or, again, there might be constant interferences by God with the operation of Inductive Truths. 63 natural agents ; or causal agents might work, and yet there be no such thing as the general laws, such as the seasons, which we observe and trust in. We find, instead, that the agents of nature are so disposed or arranged that they produce uniformities, not the result of any one cause, but of a combination and harmony of causes ; such as the periodicity of the heavenly bodies, the flow of the tides, the regular return of the seasons, the plant rising from a seed and producing a seed, and the descent of the animal from a parent, its growth and its death. All these imply causation, but theyjequire more an adjusted causation. But it is necessary to settle more definitely what is implied in the uniformity of nature which lies at the basis of all induction. It implies, first, that there is a certain number of agents acting in nature ; it is not necessary for us to settle how many. Secondly, that these are so collocated or arranged I believe, adjusted as to produce general results, called laws, which we observe and act upon and can scientifically express. Thirdly, these agents constitute nature, and there is no introduction of new agents and no interference with them in ordinary circumstances. This statement does not preclude miracles on rare occasions ; these miracles not being contrary to the law of causation, for they have the 64 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. power of God as a cause, but they are simply an exception to the uniformities of nature. These two classes differ from each other, yet they are closely connected. The laws of uniformity proceed from the law of causality. It is the disposition of the sun and earth that produces day and night and the seasons. There are causes within and without the plant and animal which produce development. The sea and land breezes have been produced by meteorological agencies. CANONS OF INDUCTION. There seem to be three grand ends which men of science have in view in their investigations : One is to discover the composition of the objects around us; the second is to discover natural classes ; the third is to discover causes. Canons of Decomposition. Almost all the objects we meet with in the world, whether material or mental, are composite. It is the aim of many departments of science, in particular of chemistry and psychology, to analyze them. This can, so far, be effectively done. There are certain rules to guide us, and these may be made more and more specific as the analytic sciences advance. A. We must separate the object we wish to decompose from all other objects. If we wish to analyze water we must have pure water, separate from Inductive Truths. 65 all other ingredients. If we wish to analyze intuition or reasoning, we must separate it from all associated observations and fancies. B. When we have found the composition of any piece or portion of a substance we have determined the composition of every other part, and, indeed, of the whole. When we have ascertained that a pint of water is formed of hydrogen and oxygen we have settled that water every-where is composed of the same elements. This arises from the circumstance that every substance in nature has its properties, which it retains. Having detected these properties in one case, we have found what they are in all. C. The elements reached are to be regarded as being so only provisionally. We are not sure that in any cases we have found the ultimate elements of bodies. At present it is supposed that there are some seventy elements, but we are not sure of any one of these that it will never be resolved into simpler substances. Meanwhile the chemical analysis is correct so far as it goes. It will always hold true that water is composed of oxygen and hydrogen, though it is possible that oxygen or hydrogen, one or both, may be resolved into something simpler. Canons of Natural Classes. There are certain 66 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. sciences which are called by Whewell Classificatory. They are such as botany, zoology, and mineralogy. We may have two ends in view in classifying. One may be simply to aid the memory by having the innumerable objects of nature put into a convenient number of groups. For this purpose we fix on certain obvious and convenient characteristics and put all the objects possessing them into one class. It was thus that Linnaeus put under one head all plants possessing the same number of stamens and pistils. This arrangement, though it does not come up to the requisitions of a perfect classification, is found to be very convenient. Second, our object may be to increase our knowledge by so arranging objects that one characteristic may be a sign of others. In natural classification we should always aim at securing both these ends. There are canons which may assist us in determining when we have reached natural classes. A. We must have observed the resemblance in many and varied cases, say in different countries and at different times. B. We must be in a position to say that if there had been exceptions we must have met them. These two rules guard against forming a law from a limited class of facts. C. There are classes in nature called Kinds, in Inductive Truths. 67 which the possession of one quality is a mark of a number of others. All classes entitled to be called natural are more or less of this description. Thus mammals are so designated because they suckle their young ; but this characteristic is a mark of a number of others that the animals are warmblooded, and have four compartments in their hearts. Reptiles are recognized as producing their young by eggs, but they are also marked as having three compartments in their hearts and being coldblooded. Canons of Causes. The most lucid and, upon the whole, the clearest and most satisfactory exposition of these methods is by Mr. John Stuart Mill in his Logic. It should be noticed that his methods relate to causes, and we have not had from him an exposition of the canons of decomposition and classes as given above. He mentions four or five methods. A. The Method of Agreement. In the spring season we see innumerable buds, leaves, and blossoms appearing upon the plants, and we find the common cause to be the heat of the sun shining more directly upon the earth. The canon is, " If two or more effects have only one antecedent in common that antecedent is the cause, or, at least, part of the cause." That canon is too loose to 68 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. admit of a universal application, as we may not be sure that the point of agreement we have fixed on is the only one. Two people take the same disease at the same time ; we conclude that the cause is the same but it may have been different. B. The Method of Difference. In the very middle of the day I find the scene around me on the earth suddenly darkened. There must be a cause. I find that the moon has come between us and the sun, and this seems the only difference between the two states the one in which every thing was bright and the other in which it is in gloom. The canon is, " If in comparing one case in which the effect takes place and another in which it does not take place we find the latter to have every antecedent in common with the former except one, that one circumstance is the cause of the former, or, at least, part of the cause." This method is the one employed in cases in which experiment, with its separating power, is available. It is the most decisive of all tests when the circumstances admit of its application. This canon regulates many cases in common life. I am usually in good health, but I took rich food yesterday and was unwell, the cause being evidently the food. A man in health receives a gunshot wound and dies. We see at once that the wound was the cause of the death. There are cases Inductive Truths. 69 in which this method is not applicable when an intermediate one is available. C. The Indirect Method of Difference, or the Joint Met 'hod of Agreement and Difference. The canon is, " If two or more cases in which the phenomenon occurs have only one antecedent in common, while two or more instances in which it does not occur have nothing in common but the absence of that antecedent, the circumstance in which alone the two sets of cases differ is the cause, or part of the cause, of the phenomenon." The illustration given by Mr. Mill is : " All animals which have a well-developed respiratory system, and therefore aerate the blood, perfectly agree in being warm-blooded, while those whose respiratory system is imperfect do not maintain a temperature much exceeding that of the surrounding medium ; we may argue from the twofold experience that the change which takes place in the blood by respiration is the cause of animal heat." There are two countries in much the same condition physically, in the one of which there are Christian agencies, and in the other none ; in the former there is much higher refinement and civilization than in the latter, and the cause is evidently the Christian religion. D. The Method of Concomitant Variations. We want to know the cause of the rise of water in a 70 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. pump or of mercury in a barometer. The ancients accounted for this by nature's horror of a vacuum, which is inconsistent with the fact that water will not rise above a certain number of feet in the pump. Torricelli and Pascal gave a better explanation when they referred the rising of the water or mercury to the weight of the incumbent atmosphere, which Pascal proved by ascending a mountain with a barometer and finding that, as he rose higher and higher, the mercury fell lower and lower in the tube. Here we have the effect varying with its alleged cause, which is an evidence that the alleged cause is a true one. The canon is, " Whenever an effect varies according as its alleged cause varies, that alleged cause may be regarded as the true cause, or, at least, as proceeding from the true cause." In a certain town there is an increase of crime ; at the same time there has been an increase of drunkenness, and we at once refer the increase of crime to the increase of drunkenness. In the far West the manners of the first settlers, being commonly young men, are apt to be rough ; but they seek out refined ladies for their wives and their manners become refined. In the same region there are at first few churches and schools ; these are gradually introduced and there is an improvement in the morals of the people. Inductive Truths. *l\ E. The Method of Residues. A farmer knows how much grain a particular field has yielded in the past. He mixes fertilizers with the earth on the field and finds he has a larger crop, and he ascribes the increase to the fertilizers. He knows what the previously existing antecedents will produce, and, after subtracting this, he ascribes the residue to the new antecedent. The canon is, " Subtract from an effect whatever is known to proceed from certain antecedents, and the residue must be the effect of the remaining antecedents." We know what are the orbits in which the planets move, but the planet Uranus was found by Leverrier and Adams to depart so far from the laws. There was a residue which could not be accounted for, and so they looked out for and found a new planet. We may proceed on the same principle to argue the existence of a conscience. We have a sense of merit and demerit ; we find that this cannot be given by the senses or intellect, and to explain the phenomenon we call in a moral power. VIII. PSYCHOLOGY. Here, as well as in all the physical sciences, we have to begin with the observation of facts. There is, however, an .important difference between the 72 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. two departments. The facts in physical sciences are obtained by the senses ; whereas in mental science the observing agent is self-consciousness. It is only thus we can find out what any physical act is. An examination of the nerves and brain may show how a mental state arises, but can give no idea of the mental act itself, say of a sensation, a recollection, an imagination, of moral approbation, of emotion or wish. In making consciousness our witness we have to allot to it a large province. We must include in it not only immediate introspection, but also the observation of the mental acts of others, as disclosed in their words, their writings, and their deeds. We cannot, indeed, look directly into the bosoms of our fellowmen so as to ascertain what is passing within, but we can gather what this is by the expression of it, which, be it observed, we can understand because we are conscious of our own acts. History, biography, travels, plays, novels, newspapers, and especially conversation and familiar letters, may all show us human nature quite as much as they do external incidents. Without these supplements we should have a very contracted view of the mind by inspection of our own souls. The individual facts are made known in this way. The criterion of consciousness is in itself; it Inductive Truths. 73 is self-evidencing. As we observe the facts we distinguish between those that differ and co-ordinate them into laws. The criteria of the laws are much the same as those of physical science. Psychology proceeds on the same two fundamental principles as physics. It is seeking for causes. Without determining the question of the freedom of the will we may confidently affirm that causation, that the persistence of force, rules in the mind as it does in the body. Certain antecedents are sure to be followed by certain consequences. The orator urges the considerations which may persuade those whom he is addressing and lead them to action. The poet raises up images that please and elevate the mind. The father and the teacher inculcate principles which may guide the young in all their future lives. Investigators in this department have been seeking to discover faculties and the rule and mode of their operation. The early Greeks found sensation, the discursive power, and reason. Aristotle had in the soul the nutritive power, sensation, memory, phantasy, and, above these, the reason, active and passive. In all ages there has been a grand distinction drawn, in a loose form, between the intellect and the will, the cognitive and the motive powers. Every body talks of the memory, the judgment, of reasoning, and of H The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. sentiment and feeling, of the power of abstracting, generalizing, distinguishing, of loving, and of hating. There seem, also, to be laws of uniformity in human nature. It does not appear that in the association of ideas one idea is the cause of that which succeeds ; that when height suggests hollow and the dwarf suggests the giant, and prosperity adversity, and a portrait the original, that when we count up from one to one hundred, there is a causal connection between the ideas they are the joint effect of a number of causes. In the science of psychology we seek to discover these laws, such as the law of habit, the connection between the idea and the feeling raised by it, the kind of acts which conscience approves of. Now, there may be criteria of these laws, both of causation and uniformity. These have not been so carefully enunciated as those of physical science. I believe that, mutatis mutandis, they may be considered as very much the same. The Method of Agreement. Washington is named and we find the mind following a certain train. We think of his education, his training, the Revolution, his battles, his character, all of which have been previously in the mind together, and we reach the law of contiguity: that when ideas have been in the Inductive mind at the same time, when one comes up the others are apt to follow. The Method of Difference. We see a portrait of Washington lor the first time. The two, the portrait and Washington, were never before in the mind together, yet the portrait calls up Washington, and the law is, things that are related, especially things that are like, recall each other. The Joint Method of Agreement and Difference. There are days in which we find we can easily recall the things we would remember, other days in which they will not come up. The difference is in the time : that in the first few days our brain was in perfect health ; in the other it is distracted. Method of Concomitant Variations. When we are interested in an event known to us we are apt to think of it more frequently, and we conclude that feeling, as a secondary law, influences our associations, and, according to the feeling with which it is accompanied, so do ideas come up. Method of Residues. On contemplating kind actions we feel a pleasure which can be explained by our social feelings ; but we find that on contemplating some of these we have a feeling of moral approbation. This cannot be explained by the mere social feeling, and we have to call in a moral principle. 76 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. IX. REASONING IN INDUCTION. The question is started, Is there reasoning in induction ? I am sure that there is. From what has been ascertained by observation taken in a wide sense we infer something else that there is a law which enables us to predict results. How is it that the countryman is enabled to predict a coming storm? His father has told him, or he himself has observed, that when the wind is in the East, and the clouds are thick and black, there will probably be rain or wind. Here there is evidently inference which can be stated syllogistically by the logician, the general observation being the major premise, the particular state of the wind and sky the minor, and the conclusion that there will be a storm. Every class of men, in fact all men, do thus reason on premises implied, though possibly not expressed. The laborer argues, in his own way, that there should be a rise of wages ; the merchant purchases because he concludes there will be a demand for his goods. Before there were any precise rules laid down on the subject scientific men drew true and important conclusions from common-sense principles in their own mind. The canons of induction now expressed definitely enable Inductive Truths. T7 us to put the reasoning in a more systematic form, which is a great advantage. We can now use the canons of induction (which, I believe, will become more definite and better expressed) as our majors in the syllogism of induction. Major. When two or more effects have only one antecedent in common, that antecedent is the cause. Minor. But the budding of innumerable plants in spring has only one common antecedent the return of the sun to a higher altitude. Conclusion, this one antecedent is the cause. This is the method of agreement. Let us take a case from method of concomitant variations. Major. Where an effect varies with its supposed cause this is the true cause. Minor. But the rising and falling of the mercury in the thermometer varies with the less or greater weight of the superincumbent atmosphere. Conclusion, the weight of the atmosphere is therefore the cause of the rise or fall of the barometer. It should be observed that the canons, with their implied reasoning, do not guarantee to us absolute certainty, what is called apodictic truth or demonstration. None of these are certified, as first truths are, by the law of necessity ; we can easily conceive any one of the ordinary physical laws not to be true universally, and we might believe so, 78 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. provided we had evidence. The evidence, after all, is merely a probability of a lower or higher degree, but may rise to a certainty only a little short of being absolute, and quite sufficient to justify us to put trust in it and act upon it in ordinary, indeed in all, circumstances. Such, for instance, is the proof which we have in favor of the law of gravitation. It is not demonstrative, like a mathematical truth, but it satisfies the mind and is verified by constant observation. The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. 79 LECTURE FOURTH. THE JOINT DOGMATIC AND DEDUCTIVE METHOD. THE JOINT INDUCTIVE AND DEDUCTIVE. HYPOTHESES AND VERIFICATION. CHANCE. INDUCTION CANNOT GIVE ABSOLUTE TRUTH. WE KNOW IN PART. I HAVE explained the three ways by which we investigate truth ; the Intuitive, the Deductive, and the Inductive. I am now to join these three and explain the methods which ensue. I. THE JOINT DOGMATIC AND DEDUCTIVE METHOD. In this method we assume a principle and draw an inference from it. The principle may be a selfevident one, or it may be obtained from a gathered experience. The best example is found in geometry, where, at the opening, there are laid down definitions of such things as triangles, circles, squares, and also axioms or self-evident truths ; and from these, and as involved in them, we get further truths by deductive reasoning. We have also examples in Formal Logic, as when the dictum of Aristotle is assumed, that whatever is true of a class is true 80 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. of the members of the class, and from this get the modes and figures of reasoning and innumerable inferences. The truths thus drawn are called appodictic by Aristotle, and demonstrative by the moderns. Or the assumed principle may be obtained from a collected induction, such as the law of light that the angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence, from which may be drawn a large body of conclusions. This method has often been applied illegitimately, that is, to departments which have to deal with scattered facts. In the seventeenth century, when mathematics made such a start, there were attempts to carry the geometrical method into all branches of science. It was used by Descartes and his extensively ramified school in philosophy, and also in theology. Assuming the existence of thought, of cogito, as a truth which cannot be doubted, he thence proves his own existence, which it would have been wise in him to assume; and then, from the idea of the infinite and the perfect in the mind, he argued that there must be a perfect being existing, whose veracity guarantees our idea of matter. Samuel Clarke, finding that man could not get rid of the idea of space and time, argued that, since all things must either be substances or modes, and The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. 81 as space and time are not substances, they must be modes of a substance, which is God, whom, by other considerations, he clothes with benevolence. In these connected systems doubtful definitions were carried out, often by right reasoning, to very doubtful results. I may refer particularly to the wrong application which was made of this method by Spinoza, the Dutch Jew designated expressively by Dugald Stewart " the thought-bewildered man." In his Ethics, beginning with a formidable array of definitions, axioms, postulates, and corollaries, he draws out a philosophical religious system in which God is at once extension and thought, and being THE ALL is the moral evil in the world as well as the good ; is, in fact, the deceit, the hypocrisy, the adultery, as well as the true, the upright, the holy. A number of powerful German thinkers, metaphysicians, and theologians, toward the end of last century, became greatly enamored with the pantheism of Spinoza, and several of them drew out systems of much the same kind. All agreed in proceeding a priori in deducing results from favorite principles. They all drew much from, indeed, proceeded upon, favorite fundamental principles, and drew out imposing systems all more or less idealistic and pantheistic. The ablest of the speculators were 6 82 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. Fichte, Schelling, culminating, and, it is to be hoped, terminating, in Hegel. They have been followed by several dozen others, such as Herbart, Lotze, and, we may add, Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann, all of whom adopt some new principle and carry it out in the same way. The newest form is Neo-Kantism, which, however, can never reach the truth till it abandon certain fundamental principles of Kant, such as that we perceive mere phenomena in the sense of appearances, instead of things ; and that the mind adds forms to things when it perceives them. These systems have had their day, which, it is hoped, is now coming to a close. It is hoped that they will never become the prevailing philosophies in England, France, and America. In Germany they have buried beneath them some of the simple truths of Scripture and natural piety. The fundamental objection to the method is that it is not applicable to the sciences, which have to deal with facts. The method is a powerful one when we have the legitimate means of using it, that is, self-evident truth. But it is not available when we have to observe and co-ordinate the facts of nature within and without us. Our philosophic physicists are quite aware of this. Our metaphysicians should acknowledge the same truth. " A clever man," says Herschel, " shut up alone and allowed unlimited time, might The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. 83 reason out for himself all the truths of mathematics by proceeding from those simple notions of space and number of which he cannot divest himself without ceasing to think. But he could never tell, by any effort of reasoning, what would become of a lump of sugar if immersed in water, or what impression would be left on his eye by mixing the colors of yellow and blue." (Natural Philosophy, 67.) II. THE JOINT INDUCTIVE AND DEDUCTIVE METHOD. J. S. Mill argues that more progress will now be made, even in observational sciences, by deduction than by induction. This may be doubted. It seems to me that observation and experiment must always be the surest way of advancing research. But deduction may be joined to induction. When this is done the method may be called the Joint Inductive and Deductive. This is, in fact, the method represented by Mr. Mill as conducting to such fruitful results. In this method the inquirer begins in the inductive method ; that is, he observes facts with care and with the view of discovering a law. As he proceeds he will ever be asking \vhether the law is so and so ; that is, devising an hypothesis. In order to determine whether this is a true law of nature 84 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. he has to examine further facts ; it may be, facts of a different kind. As he acts thus he may find he can apply deduction. He inquires what effects follow from the law in his mind, and he then compares these with the facts. If he finds these to correspond he has a verification of his hypothesis. It is by combining the two in this way that the greater number of the established laws of nature have been discovered. In most cases there have been long processes, both of induction and deduction, before the law has been ascertained and adjusted. When the laws of nature are quantitative, as they commonly are, mathematics may be applied to them, and it becomes the instrument of the deduction ; and often a far-reaching one showing very distant consequences which can be compared with facts. In the sciences of observation sometimes the inductive element and sometimes the deductive method is the more prominent ; in all cases the inductive, as I reckon, is the essential. In Galileo's researches experiment was the main instrument, but he also used mathematics. Kepler's fertile mind was always devising hypotheses, but he accepted them only as they were confirmed by observations. It would be wrong to say that Newton's method was mere induction. He had before him The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. 85 the observations of Galileo and Kepler, and also a measurement of the distance of the earth's surface from the center, and he applied a powerful mathematics, created by himself, to these facts. It is a circumstance greatly to his credit that when, having a wrong measurement of the distance of the earth's circumference from its center, he found his theory, that the moon was held in her sphere by the same power as draws an apple to the ground, not to be in accordance with facts he gave it up for a time, and only resumed it when it was found, on the proper distance of the earth's surface being ascertained, that the facts corresponded. In all departments of physics or natural philosophy the deductive mingles with the inductive. In optics, in thermotics, in theoretical astronomy, in mechanics, the deductive or mathematical element has a conspicuous place ; but in all these sciences we have always to start with observed facts. In ethics we carry out indefinitely the laws of our moral nature; but these have been ascertained by a previous observation of that nature. In like manner, in logic we deduce consequences from the laws of discursive thought, which we have found by observing how they act in the mind. In all the social sciences there is a mixture of the two elements, sometimes one and sometimes the other being 86 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. predominant. Jurisprudence is forever appealing to fundamental principles, and inquiring how they apply to a given case. The science of national wealth must be constructed mainly by the observation and collection of facts in statistical and other forms; but there are universally operating principles ever called in. Thus it is supposed that men are usually swayed by a desire to promote their interest so far as they know it. This is certainly a powerful motive. But there are others, such as the desire for fame, for power, for society, for the beautiful, for promoting education and religion, all actuating individuals, and the influence may be traced in the progress of nations. In chemistry the laws have to be ascertained by observation, particularly by experiment; but when principles have been discovered, such as that of affinity, they may be carried out indefinitely. Psychology, as a science, is constructed mainly by the observations of consciousness ; but, having ascertained certain laws, such as those of the association of ideas, we can explain how they affect our beliefs and feelings. In pedagogics, or the science of teaching, we must carefully observe the ways of children ; but in doing so we discover their actuating motives, such as the love of knowledge, the love of play, the love of approbation, which have to be taken into account in The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. 87 constructing our methods of instruction and discipline. In aesthetics there are ascertained laws of taste which must be taken along with us in the construction of the science. In all departments of natural history observation must play the most important part, but there are laws of life and of form to guide biologists in all their investigations. The principles from which we deduce conclusions are of two kinds. Some are self-evident or demonstrative. Such are moral laws and maxims. These are assumed, and are applied extensively and constantly in history and in all the social sciences ; in all sciences which deal with motives and character. Of this description is the maxim that men are likely to be happy and comfortable when they are moral. To this same class belong all mathematical propositions founded on axioms. These self-evident truths are seldom formally enunciated ; they are simply assumed and applied. So far as science uses them it is very much employing the Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. But there is a second kind of principles used in deduction even more extensively ; these are acknowledged truths and wise laws established by a large induction. For example, any one may now assume the law of gravitation. In optics it is allowed that the angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence, and 88 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. from this a great many particular truths may be drawn. In chemistry it is taken for granted that the elements combine in certain proportions, and from this a multitude of consequences follow. In this joint method the induction is tested by the canons of induction and the deduction by the rules of reasoning. III. HYPOTHESES AND VERIFICATION. CONSILIENCE OF INDUCTIONS. " Hypotheses non fingo" said Newton, meaning, perhaps, that he introduced no fictitious agency, but merely vercz causa, such as existed in nature ; or, more probably, that he accepted no truth till it was established. Since Newton's time, especially within the last age, hypotheses have played a very important part in all departments in which the laws have not been settled, as, for example, in electricity and biology. The investigator is bent on knowing what laws certain phenomena follow. But in nature divers agents are mixed up with one another, and we cannot determine what they are by a loose inspection. As he observes tentatively, he makes a supposition suggested by the facts as to what the law should be. When he notices the descent of plants and animals he says to himself, Let us supHypotheses and Verification. 89 pose the law to be that of development or heredity. He has now a specific end to work for, and he observes and collects facts, and inquires whether they agree with the hypothesis he has formed. If he finds that many of them do so he has a probability, and is encouraged to proceed ; and if the hypothesis explains a large body of events it rises to the rank of a theory. When it takes in all the facts bearing on the particular case, and no exceptions can be discovered, it is regarded as a law of nature, which, however, may require to be modified and adjusted before it suits all the facts, and so becomes the true law. This process is called The Verification of Hypotheses. When first suggested the supposition may have little to support it, and there may seem to be facts opposed to it. But if it is the correct one there will come confirmations from a variety of quarters, difficulties will disappear, and the seeming exceptions may corroborate it. The hypothesis started is that light consists in vibrations, not a very probable supposition beforehand, but tken it is found to explain one set of phenomena after another, till at last it seems to account for every thing, and is counted as an established law. Or the hypotheses is that of the conservation of energy, or that the amount of energy in the world, real and potential, cannot 90 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. be increased or diminished. On the first consideration of this view obvious objections will present themselves. We strike with a hammer upon a piece of iron till our strength is exhausted, and it looks as if force had been expended and lost. But, on further inquiry, we detect the energy that had gone out of the body to be conserved in the molecular motion or heat of the metal. Hypotheses, I rather think, must be resorted to in the early stages of the investigation of every sort of phenomena. They are simply tentatives, and most of them may have to be abandoned. They may or they may not be announced ; they may in the first instance be simply guesses, and only a few or one of them prosecuted to any great extent. The law of gravitation was, for a time, only an hypothesis, taking the erroneous form that matter attracts other matter, not according to the square of the distance, which is the true law, but according to the distance. Hypotheses are necessary, but are to be carefully watched and limited. First. The hypothesis must be suggested by the facts and not be feigned by the mind ; this may be the meaning of Newton's statement. Second. It must be regarded as a mere hypothesis till it is established by the criteria applicable to the department. We are much troubled in the Hypotheses and Verification. 91 present day by hypotheses being represented as established laws. Third. The hypothesis is to be abandoned when it is found that there are facts inconsistent with it. It requires much courage to abandon an hypothesis which has long been cherished, and, perhaps, published to the \vorld. Fourth. It is established as a law when it explains all the phenomena bearing on the subject and is not contradicted by any known fact. It is a powerful confirmation of an hypothesis when it enables us to predict occurrences. If the alleged law be the true one the facts will correspond to it in the future as in the past, and as they fall out will tend to prove that the hypothesis is a sound one. Dr. Whewell has shown that the evidence in favor of our induction is of a much higher and more forcible character when it enables us to explain and determine cases of a kind different from those which were contemplated in the formation of our hypothesis. " Thus it was found by Newton that the doctrine of the attraction of the sun varying according to the inverse square of the distance, which explained Kepler's third law, of the proportionality of the cubes of the distances to the squares of the periodic times of the planets, explained, also, his first and second laws, of the ellip92 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. tical motion of each planet, although no connection of these laws had been visible before. Again, it appeared that the force of universal gravitation, which had been inferred from the perturbations of the moon and planets by the sun and by each other, also accounted for the fact, apparently altogether dissimilar and remote, of the precession of the equinoxes." He designates this process as the Consilience of Inductions. He declares: " No example can be pointed out in the whole history of science, so far as I am aware, in which this consilience of inductions has given testimony in favor of an hypothesis afterward discovered to be false." IV. CHANCE. In one sense there is and can be no such thing as chance ; that is, an event without a cause or without a purpose. Every occurrence has a cause in God. Not only so, but in the ordinary affairs of this world it has a mundane cause. Further, it falls out according to the uniformity of nature. But there are senses in which there is chance in our world. The oldest definition of chance (TV%Q) was by Anaxagoras, who makes it an event whose cause cannot be discerned by human reason This account needs only to be a little Chance. 93 expanded and made more definite. There are occurrences of which the cause or the law is unknown, and, in consequence, we cannot anticipate their occurrence. This may arise from the cause being utterly unknown to us. More frequently it arises from the complexity of nature, from there being a number of agents working, or from the nature of their operation. We may know all the agencies at work, but we cannot tell how they are working. In all cases the events do not recur with such regularity as to constitute a law. There wa's a time when eclipses were regarded as coming according to no law, and men, following the law of causality, referred them to a deity. When these causes were discovered they were found to have periods, and astronomers could predict their recurrence, and they were viewed in a different light. Till lately meteors were supposed to appear capriciously, but now showers of them are expected at certain seasons of the year, and nobody ascribes them to chance. When we shake a die in a dice-box we are acquainted with the mechanical law which it obeys in its movements, but we cannot say which side will cast up. We know, in a general way, what physiological agencies produce death, but we cannot predict at what precise time any man will die. 94 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Still, even in such cases, a certain kind and amount of truth may be had, and this from the circumstance that the event proceeds, after all, from causes which operate regularly, and from there being a limited number of causes. We find that, given a sufficient number of trials, each side of the die will come up the same number of times ; if any side comes up more frequently than another we argue that the dice have been loaded. We do not know when any one man will die, but we can ascertain what number of people will die in a given time in a community. In such cases we can strike an average, and we can foretell average results and estimate the probability of a given event. When we speak of the probability of an occurrence we are not to understand this as implying the uncertainty of the occurrence considered in itself. The event, say the death of a person on a certain day, may be absolutely sure, owing to causes operating. We can conceive that there are higher intelligences to whom it would not be uncertain. We are sure that it would not be so to the view of the Omniscient. It is so to us because of the limited nature of our faculties and of our knowledge of the causes operating. Were we cognizant of all the antecedent circumstances we might, in many cases, be able to Chance. 95 predict the result. It is because of our ignorance that the event is uncertain to us. The probability or improbability is not in the event, but in the grounds which we have for expecting it ; it is subjective and not objective. In all cases we must have certain data, gained by observation and yielding a general average. In some departments we can express numerically the probability or improbability of the particular occurrence. An event reckoned impossible may be represented by o; an event certain to happen, by I. All degrees of probability may be denoted by the fractions representing value from zero to one. The probability of an uncertain event is represented by the number of chances favorable and unfavorable. Thus the casting up of ahead or a tail being I, and the chances against it being 2, the proper chance is one half. The tables that have been prepared for life insurance companies have been very elaborate, but need not here be given. There is another sense in which it may be said that there is such a thing as chance. There cannot be an occurrence without a purpose on the part of God, who has ordered the causes producing it. But there may be a concurrence without a design. It is by chance that certain rocks take the form of the face of Napoleon or Wellington. I do not know 96 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. that there was any purpose designed or effected by so many men of genius being born in the year 1/69, or by Cervantes dying on the same day as Shakespeare died. There are certain minds that take the keenest interest in observing such coincidences, and discover a deep meaning in what is in itself meaningless ; for example, connecting a calamity with the spilling of salt at a table, or from thirteen persons meeting at that table. On the other hand, when there is an immense congregation of agents that are independent, to produce an evident benevolent end for instance, of vibrations of light, of coats and humors, of rods and cones, to enable us to see through the eye there is evidence of design, the chances being all against such a concurrence. V. NATURAL THEOLOGY. Attempts have been made to conduct this science on the joint dogmatic and deductive method, but, in my opinion, without much success. It has to deal with facts the existence of God, and the immortality of the individual soul and, therefore, must have an inductive or observational element. I have my doubts whether, from a mere idea or principle in the mind, we can argue the existence of the living God. It should proceed, I reckon, mainly in Natural Theology. 97 the joint inductive and deductive method. It looks at God's works within and without us, and, discovering wonderful mutual fittings, means and end, traces of love and just government, it rises to the belief in a being of power, wisdom, benevolence, and justice. The inductions are collected in such works as Ray's Wisdom of God, in Paley's Natural Tkeology, in the Rridgewater Treatises, and the ordinary works of natural religion. But there are deductive processes involved. The premises here are supplied mainly by a priori principles or by intuition, all to be justified by the criteria of First Truths. In the mind of man there are high and deep truths in the germ, all capable of being developed and actually working in the mature man, being called forth by the circumstances in which he is placed. There is the principle of causation, requiring us, on a new thing or a change appearing, to seek for a cause. This can stand the tests of intuition, being self-evident, necessary, universal, in our very nature and constitution ; and it leads us to believe that where there are traces of design there must be a designer. There is a moral power within us, with its law and its obligations, implying a law-giver. We have not an adequate idea of infinity, but we believe that there is something beyond our widest idea or concept, something 98 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. to which nothing can be added, and we are led to apply it to the powerful, the good and holy One. We are entitled, we are required, to trust and follow these principles. They are elements, and the highest elements^ of the reason with which we are endowed. We begin with trusting the senses, and find, as we do so, constant confirmations in our daily experience ; what appeared at first to be realities we discover to be more real as we bring one sense after another to bear upon them, and find that meat nourishes us and pure air refreshes us, and the due use of the good things of this world prolongs life. We should confide in the same way in our higher ideas and beliefs, and as we do so we find them expanding and elevating the mind, opening grand vistas which look beyond the seen and temporal into the unseen and eternal. If we do not follow our lower instincts, if we do not eat and drink, our bodies will become feeble and die ; and if we deny our higher reason our souls will lose their freshness, vigor, and aspirations. But when we would construct the argument, indeed, in all scientific investigations and in all true philosophy, we must be careful to ascertain the exact nature of the intuitions or intuitive reason we call in, and only use them accordingly. Those who neglect this are sure to present them in an extravNatural Theology. 99 agant form or make a perverted use of them. This has been done by the mystics of the East and of mediaeval times, indeed, of all ages. Almost always they have got a glimpse of a reality, but they have seen it only under partial aspects, and they have shown it to us through a cloud, or irradiated it with reflected light, and have represented it to us as vision, inspiration, and ecstasy, whereas it is only one of the higher elevations of our nature. All our profound thinkers have seen these truths, but have not always properly represented them. We may hold with Plato that there is a grand, indeed, a divine, Idea ; but I wish that idea, as in the mind, carefully examined and its forms or law exactly determined, and it is for inductive science, and not speculation, to tell us what are the types which represent it in nature. I hold with Aristotle that there are formal and final, as well as material and efficient, causes in nature ; but it is for a careful induction to determine the nature of these and to show how matter and force are made to work for order and for ends. I am as sure as Descartes, and as Augustine and Anselm were before him, that there is in the mind a germ of the idea of the infinite and perfect; but we must show what is the precise nature of the idea, so as to secure that we draw only legitimate inferences from it. I discover, 100 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. as Leibnitz did, a pre-established harmony in nature, but it consists mainly, not in things acting independently of each other, but in the harmony produced by things acting on each other. I attach as much importance to experience as Locke did, but I maintain that observation discovers that the intuition (which he acknowledged) looks at principles in the mind prior to all experience. I allow to Kant his forms, his categories, and his ideas, but their nature is to be discovered, not by criticism, but by induction, when they will be found not to superinduce qualities on things, but simply to enable us to perceive what is in things. I believe with Schelling in intuition (Anschauung), but it is an intuition viewing realities. I hold with Hegel that there is an Absolute ; but I believe that our knowledge, after all, is finite, implying an infinite, and that the doctrine can be enunciated so as not to issue in pantheism. I turn away with scornful aversion from the pessimism of Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann, but I believe they have done good by calling attention to the existence of evil, to remove which is an end worthy of the labors and suffering of the Son of God. I believe, with Herbert Spencer, in a vast unknown above, beneath, and around us ; but I rejoice in a light shining in the darkness and revealing the known. I believe in the gems so rich Limits to Human Knowledge. 101 and varied which the higher poets have left us as a rich inheritance ; but before they can enter into philosophy they must be cut and set, and it will require a skillful hand to adjust them, and when they are cut it must be as skillfully as diamonds are, and this only to show more fully their form and beauty. VI. LIMITS TO HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. The aim of this treatise has been to show that the human mind is capable of reaching knowledge, and that it has tests to determine when it has done so. I have faced the agnostic, but have not entered into a wrestling with him, which would be endless, because he refuses to take a form by which I may lay hold of him. I have pursued a more effectual method. I have shown objects where he assures us that there is nothing. It is in this way we can command assent and gain assurance. I have proceeded on the idea that there is a difference in the certitude of truths. Some I have shown are self-evident, necessary, and universally held, and therefore certain beyond doubt or dispute; others are only probable, some with only a slight balance in their favor, others rising to certainty. This is not so much a difference in the truths as a difference in the evidence to us. To God and to 102 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. higher beings, the one kind may be as certain as the other. We cannot tell whether there will or will not be a good harvest next year. But to Omniscience it may be as certain that there is to be a good harvest as that all the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles. It is of vast moment that we should know what kind of evidence we have, and what the validity of the evidence which we have in favor of any proposition we are required to believe, whether it is demonstrative or merely probable, and if only probable what the degree of probability. It is also of moment that we should note what kind of truth admits of apodictic and what of only probable proof. It is vain to seek for demonstration in every kind of investigation. We can have such, as I reckon, only when we have self-evident truth. But, then, it can be shown that inductive truth can rise to certainty. I doubt much whether we have immediate evidence of the existence of God as we have of the existence of ourselves, but we have quite as valid proof of the existence of God as we have of the existence of our fellow-men. In both we have a fact, the acts done, and we rise up by the principle of causation to a cause. The criteria of truth which I have been furnishing should assist us in all such investigations. Man's knowledge is increasing and must continue Limits to Human Knowledge. 103 to increase. His generalizations widen as his knowledge increases and take in more and more objects. He is constantly gaining more premises which lead to farther conclusions. One discovery leads on to another ; one chamber opened shows us the door which opens into a second. Davy proved the correlation of electric and magnetic forces ; Oersted of electric and magnetic, and at last the grand doctrine disclosed itself to a number of investigators, particularly to Mayer, that all the physical forces are correlated. But man's power of discovering truth is, and ever must be, limited. First, there are limits to his mental powers. He has only five original inlets of knowledge into the material world. Had he fifty senses instead of five he might know vastly more. Then, his power of working on the materials required by sense and consciousness, his memory and his understanding are also limited. Some men can discover more truth than others, and it is conceivable that there may be higher intelligences who see farther into the nature of things than the most farsighted of men. Secondly, every man's individual experience is limited, and the same may be said of the experience of the race it is confined within very stringent bounds. Man can discover a vast amount of truth, spec104 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. ulative and practical. We have enough revealed to exercise our faculties, to expand and elevate the mind, and to serve for all the purposes of the duty we owe to God, to ourselves, and our fellow-men. Every truth known leads however into the unknown. But this is to tempt us to penetrate into the unknown region that we may know it. As we do so we shall find that there are things beyond our ken in a region beyond, above, or beneath us, and we must be content to allow them to lie there. We know as much as to know that there are truths which we cannot know. We see the objects within our proper range of vision, but we also see the darkness that encompasses them. " We know in part." Yes, we know, but we know only in part. We who dwell in a world " where day and night alternate ;" we who go every-where accompanied by our own shadow a shadow produced by our dark body, but produced because there is light cannot expect to be absolutely delivered from the darkness. Man's faculties, exquisitely adapted to the sphere in which he moves, were never intended to enable him to comprehend all truth. The mind is in this respect like the eye. The eye is so constituted as to perceive things within a certain range, but as objects are removed farther and farther from us they become more indistinct, and at length are lost sight Limits to Human Knowledge. 105 of altogether. It is the same with the intellect of man. It can penetrate a certain distance and understand certain subjects, but as they stretch away farther they look more and more confused, and at length they disappear from the view. And if the human spirit attempts to mount higher than its limited range it will find all its flights fruitless. The dove, to use a well-known illustration of Kant's, may mount to a certain height in the heavens ; but as she rises the air becomes lighter, and at length she finds that she can no longer float upon its bosom, and should she attempt to soar higher her pinions flutter in emptiness and she falters and falls. So it is with the spirit of man : it can wing its way a very considerable distance into the expanse above it, but there is a boundary which if it attempts to pass it will find all its conceptions void and its ratiocinations unconnected. Placed as we are in the center of boundless space and in the middle of eternal ages, we can see only a few objects immediately around us, and all others fade in outline as they are removed from us by distance, till at length they lie altogether beyond our vision. And this remark holds true not only of the more ignorant, of those whose eye can penetrate the least distance, it is true also of the learned it is perhaps true of all created beings that there is a 106 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. bounding sphere of darkness surrounding the space rendered clear by the torch of science. Nay, it almost looks as if the wider the boundaries of science are pushed, and the greater the space illuminated by it, the greater in proportion the bounding sphere of darkness into which no rays penetrate ; just as (to use a very old comparison) when we strike up a light in the midst of darkness, in very proportion as the light becomes stronger so does also that surface dark and black which is rendered visible. Testimony. 107 LECTURE FIFTH. TESTIMONY. IS IT SUFFICIENT TO PROVE THE SUPERNATURAL ? I. IT is not necessary to suppose, with some of the Scottish metaphysicians in their answers to Hume's argument against miracles, that there is an original instinct or principle of common sense leading us to trust in testimony. I believe, indeed, that there is a social instinct in all of us inclining us to have an affection for, and trust in, those we meet with, especially in father and mother, brothers and sisters, and leading us to believe in what they say. But the belief in testimony is the result of experience, and is modified by experience ; we trust in certain testimonies, but not in others. There is a conscience in every man which disposes him, if he does not resist it, to speak truly ; even selfishness prompts him not to lose the confidence of his fellow men by deceiving them. Hence the great body of mankind speak the truth when they are not led to act otherwise by a desire to excuse themselves, or by malignity toward their neighbor, or 108 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. some other like motive. We can reach truth by means of testimony. It was in his haste that David said, "All men are liars."' The testimony of one man is often sufficient, because of his character, known otherwise, and because he has no motive to deceive. We lay down rules for our guidance in judging of testimony, as that it is a good sign if the statements are direct and unartificial. In most cases we seek to have the testimony of one man confirmed by another, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established, it being shown that there has been no collusion or conspiracy. There are commonly circumstances which corroborate or detract from the testimony, Circumstantial evidence is at times sufficient to prove that a prisoner has been guilty when there is no direct evidence of the act. In witness-bearing, books of law and judges on the bench lay down rules which may guide the jury in the verdict which they bring in, History* Here the evidence is mainly that of written testimony, which, however, may be confirmed by original historical documents, such as monuments, inscriptions, coins, and ancient charters. Laplace, misled by a false analogy derived from the diminution of light when reflected successively from a number of surfaces, declares that the value of Testimony. 109 testimony may be weakened by transmission, and at length altogether lost. (Essay on Prob.) This is true of tradition, that is, of oral testimony transmitted from mouth to mouth, or from age to age ; but Sir G. C. Lewis (Meth. of Obs. and Re as.) has shown that " when the testimony of the original witness has once been obtained, and recorded either by himself or others in an authentic form, it is perpetuated so long as the written memorial of it is preserved in the original, or in a faithful transcript, and may at any time be used for historical purposes." I am to show that testimony is fitted to establish the occurrence of supernatural as well as natural events. In opening the subject it is essential to determine what the natural is, and what the supernatural is, especially in their relation one to another. II. THERE is A NATURAL SYSTEM. In seeking to find its nature let us recall the distinction drawn in Lecture iii ; the Laws of Causationand the Laws of Uniformity. In the former there is power in the cause to produce the effect. I believe there is an intuitive conviction which perceives this, but it is not necessary to our present purpose to insist on this. It is enough that a long, a combined, an un110 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. contradicted experience testifies to the universality of causation. Let it be observed that this means that every event has a cause in some mundane agency, such as gravity, or electricity, or magnetism, or chemical affinity. I believe that every occurrence has a cause in God, but also that it proceeds immediately from a power imparted to created objects. God is the author of the seasons, but he produces them by the relation of the earth and the objects on it to the sun. Causes are so organized that they lead to general results; what I call laws of uniformity. The earth is so related to the moon that the tides are produced with their regular times. There is no causation implied in their succession ; the incoming wave does not produce the receding wave, nor, vice versa, does the retiring wave produce the next advancing wave. Many of these laws are simply co-existences, in which the agents exercise no influence on each other. Even in cases of succession the antecedent does not produce the consequent. Thus day does not produce night; both are the issue of causes beyond them. People often speak of a law necessarily producing an effect ; this is true only of the laws of causality. By the arrangement of these causes there is a natural system. Testimony. 1 1 1 1. Every substance in nature is endowed with certain properties, original or derived. Thus the soul is possessed of powers of consciousness, of sense-perception, and feeling. Bodies continue in the state in which they happen to be, whether this be motion or rest, unless they be influenced by powers ab extra ; all bodies attract each other inversely according to the square of the distance ; the elements combine according to definite proportions ; light is propagated by vibrations ; action is equal and opposite to reaction ; in polar forces like repels like, and attracts unlike ; these are samples of properties which may be simple or may be complex, but are, at all events, natural properties. These properties consist essentially in tendencies; not in acts, but tendencies to act on the needful conditions being supplied. Thus oxygen has the tendency to combine with hydrogen, and does combine with it, when the hydrogen is presented in the proper mode. Thus it is the tendency of fire to burn when fuel is presented, and the tendency of a dead animal body to decay. It will be shown, as we advance, that this tendency is never, properly speaking, interferred with in any of the miracles of Scripture. But our present aim is simply to bring out what is the cosmical system. 2. The substances and their properties are cor112 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. related and distributed so as to produce a general and an obvious order. This is effected by the arrangement of the substances with these properties so as to produce here a contemporaneous order, and there a regular succession of phenomena which can be observed for scientific and for practical purposes. Of this description are the apparent motions of the sun, moon, and stars in the heavens, the seasons for sowing and planting, for reaping and gathering in fruit, the stages in the life of the plant, and a hundred other periodical laws which human beings can observe, more or less easily, by science or without science, and to which they can accommodate themselves, and, as they do so, secure the blessings which nature has provided. All this order arises from arrangements among the substances with their powers. With other distributions and collocations of natural agents there might be no general laws or the general laws would be different. The actually existing laws are admirably adapted to the constitution of man ; to his intellectual powers, which delight to discover class and cause, and the relations of means and end, and also to his practical convenience, as enabling him to anticipate the future from his experience of the past. It is very conceivable that these laws may be in themselves an end contemplated by God, and Testimony. 113 pleasing to him as he surveys them. It is certain that they are a means toward a farther end, a means of making creation intelligible to the intelligent creature, and capable of being used for practical purposes. 3. There is a large yet limited body of objects and powers, constituting nature and performing its functions, I believe that the substances, with their properties, have all been created by God, and also that all their natural relations and dispositions have been instituted by him. No human power, no natural power, can add new substance to nature, or destroy any existing substance ; we may burn the hay or stubble, but it is not thereby annihilated ; one portion has gone up into the air as smoke, another has gone down to the earth as ashes. Not only so, it seems to be established by the latest science that power cannot be created or lost, and that the sum of force in the world cannot be increased or diminished by natural means. We may transform one natural force into another, or make "one natural force produce another ; but in all the mutual action of bodies the sum of the potential and actual energies is never altered. Not only is it beyond created power to create or annihilate new bodies or substances, it is beyond all natural power to create or annihilate force. Nature is a self-com8 114 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. prised system, globe, or sphere ; in se ipso tot us, fares, atque rotundus. In saying so, it is not meant to assert that this sphere has no points of contact or relationship with other compartments of creation, and, still less, that it has no dependence on a higher and a supernatural power. All that we maintain is, that it has a number of agencies which, in their totality, combination, and action, constitute the system of nature. A miracle, we shall see, does imply the interposition of a power beyond this mundane sphere. It serves its end because it is the effect of a supernatural cause. * But, meanwhile, let us understand precisely what is meant when it is said that nature is a self-contained system. Let us not suppose that it has been proven that it needs nothing to support it, and that it will go on forever if left to itself. The geologist, in his diggings, has gone a little beneath the surface, but has not reached the bottom in his explorations ; he has gone back many ages, but has not reached the beginning, which ever retreats from him. The astronomer has penetrated to great distances, but he has not reached the outside ; he is just impressed the more with the vast circumambient region into which his telescope cannot penetrate. Science in all its explorings knows not when the Testimony. 115 beginning was, nor when the end shall be ; knows not where the center is, nor where the circumference is if, indeed, there be a circumference. This knowable world, however large and complete, is not, after all, the universe, but only a part of it ; whether we follow it behind or before, above or beneath, on the right side or the left, it is seen to be broken off; beginning we know not when, ending we know not where, but certainly not when and where our vision fails : it looks hung from above, and resting below, on nothing discernible by physical science. There is clear evidence that things have not always been as they now are ; there was a time, for example, when man was not on the earth ; an earlier time when there were no animals on the globe. There is no evidence that there are physical agencies in the world which would keep it existing forever. The continental mathematicians of last century thought they had gone a step beyond Sir Isaac Newton, and demonstrated that, according to laws now in existence, the machine would go on through all eternity without requiring to be wound up or receiving any aid from without. All that they proved was that there is a beautiful self-adjusting or self-regulating arrangement in the solar system which secures that the obvious variations of the motions of the planetary bodies are periodical. 116 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. Later inquiry has shown that there are agencies now operating which must in the end dissipate the whole existing order of things ; and the most advanced science has discovered no natural means of counteracting the destructive tendency. The following are the conclusions drawn by Professor W. Thomson. " I. There is at present in the material world a universal tendency to the dissipation of mechanical energy. 2. Any restoration of mechanical energy, without more than equivalent dissipation, is impossible in inanimate material processes, and is probably never effected by means of organized matter either endowed with vegetable life or subjected to the will of an animated creature. 3. Within a finite period of time past the earth must have been, and within a finite period of time to come the earth must again be, unfit for the habitation of man as at present constituted, unless operations have been, or are . to be, performed which are impossible under the laws to which the known operations going on at present in the material world are subject. "* All events happening according to the uniformity of nature can easily be established by the mouth of two or three witnesses. * Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, 1852. Testimony. 117 III. THERE is A SUPERNATURAL SYSTEM. It is in the midst of the natural system, to which it is adapted, and the two go on in co-operation. It may be said to begin with the creation, which is supernatural, and necessarily before the natural, which is its product. Sin enters into the government of the holy God, and it is announced to the tempter, Gen. 3. 15, " And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed ; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel." This is an epitome of the history of the whole world. There is a deliverer, who is the seed of the woman, but with vast power to crush the head of the serpent, that is the evil ; in short, at once human and divine. Henceforth there is a struggle and a contest between the powers of evil and of good, with God in the midst of it to restrain the evil and secure in the end the victory of the good. This is the present state of our world, as we see it all around us and feel it in the depths of our hearts. In the midst of the natural the supernatural has its place. As types reign in the vegetable and mineral kingdom so they also run through the kingdom of grace. There is the tree of knowledge of good and evil, representing the contending powers 118 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. in the world, and also the tree of life for the healing of spiritual diseases. Enoch is translated to keep alive a belief in immortality. Some are saved by an ark in the overwhelming deluge. Abraham is called out of a world fast falling into idolatry to keep alive the knowledge of the truth. There is the establishment of a commonwealth under the immediate care of God ; there are prophets, speaking in the name of God, giving lessons for the present and opening glimpses of the future. There is a captivity in Babylon followed by a deliverance, and a scattering of the Jews with their Scriptures for the wide diffusion of the Gospel. In the fullness of times, in the middle of the ages, while Greece had furnished its learning and Rome its strong dominion so as to allow the messengers of the cross to spread the glad tidings, the long-expected One arrives ; he fulfills his office, goes about continually doing good, he is persecuted by the Jews, is in agony in the garden, he is forsaken by the Father, and dies an accursed death, but before he expires he is able to say, " It is finished." The death is followed by a resurrection. The work of the supernatural goes on but it is after a somewhat different manner. Miracles were multiplied while Jesus was upon the earth to testify that Jesus was above nature and had come from God. Testimony. There is no proof that there has been any outward miracle wrought since the aspostles died. The natural, being the ordinance of God, takes its course, and the supernatural helps it in the providential diffusion of the Gospel, but it is chiefly shown, or rather felt, in the hearts of men in converting and sanctifying them and in giving them peace. That is the old contest, but it is between the flesh and the spirit, in which the spirit finally prevails. " The Spirit of the Lord shall be poured on all flesh." All throughout the Scriptures God is presented to us under one and the same aspect, as extending mercy to sinners through the sufferings of his Son. In the first promise to fallen man, the seed of the woman, who was to put his heel on the head of the serpent, is described as having his heel bruised as he does so. In the first worship of fallen man there is the offering of the bleeding lamb. You might have discovered the wandering path of the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob by the altars which they built and the smoke of their sacrifices which they offered. Under the law almost all things were purified by blood. The grand object presented in the New Testament is a bleeding Saviour suspended upon the cross. It is thus the same view that is presented to us under the patriarchal, the Jewish, and the Christian dispensations. Ex120 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. cept in the degree of development, there is no difference between God as revealed in Eden, in Sinai, and on Calvary ; between God as described in the books of Moses and God as described so many centuries later in the writings of Paul and of John. In the garden we have the law given, and indications, too, of One coming to deliver from the penalty. On Mount Sinai there is a law delivered amid thunderings and lightnings, but also ordinances which tell of an atonement for sin. In the mysterious transactions on Calvary there is an awful forsaking and a fearful darkness, emblematic of the righteousness and indignation of God, as well as a melting tenderness in the words of our Lord breathing forgiveness and love, and telling of an open paradise : " To-day thou shalt be with me in paradise. '* The first book of Scripture discloses to us, near the commencement, a worshiper offering a lamb in sacrifice ; and the last shows a Lamb, as it had been slain, in the midst of the throne of God. IV. There aretwo systems. Let us look for a moment at each. The Natural. It is not an intuitive truth, it is not self-evident, it is not necessary, it is not universal. For a long period people did not believe in Testimony. 121 it. It has been established only within the last few ages. It is the result of a large experience and has at last been proven by science, which found law in every department. Thus natural points to the supernatural, that is, the existence of God. The order every-where and the adaptation of one thing to another are evidence of a designing mind. The invisible things of God are clearly seen from the things that are made, even his eternal power and godhead. We carry this truth with us as an important factor into the consideration of The Supernatural. It is of importance to determine precisely what this is. First, negatively, it is not a violation of the law of cause and effect or any intuitive principle in our nature, such as I have explained in the first lecture of this work. Were it so it could not be proved, could never have appeared. The supernatural has a cause, and an adequate cause, in God. This has been shown in two philosophical works written by men not prepossessed in favor of Christianity, by Thomas Brown in his work on Causation, and by J. S. Mill in his Logic. He who made the world, as his works show, continues to work in it, and may for wise and good reasons change his mode of procedure. A miracle is an interference with the law of cause 122 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. and effect only so far as that law requires a physical cause of a physical event. It does not call in the physical cause, because there is a cause in the divine power. A miracle is an interference with the law of uniformity, the nature which I have taken such pains to unfold in an earlier part of this lecture for the purpose of enabling me to explain what a miracle is. That law is simply the result of an arrangement of causes which may be changed. It is not guaranteed by any intuitive or necessary conviction. It is simply the result of experience, and the experience which has established the natural may also establish the supernatural. It is possible, then, for a miracle to take place, and it is possible to establish it by good and sufficient evidence. Let us look at that evidence. V. How is it, when an ordinary ghost-story is circulated, that scientific men and educated men generally turn away from it, and will scarcely be moved to inquire into it ? Because the story is contrary to the whole analogy of the system of nature, and is of a class which is believed in only by the weak and superstitious, little disposed or capacitated to investigate evidence. But why do we not turn away in the same manner from the stories recorded in the Testimony. 123 life of Jesus ? This is, in fact, the whole argument pressed upon the world an age ago in the Essays and Reviews, and propagated by the Arnold family, especially in their novel. The question can be answered. There is a vast difference between the two cases. The ghost-stories are totally unlike the narratives of our Lord's miracles. The ghost tales are seldom authenticated to us by clear-headed and competent witnesses. When they and the like fabulous stones are investigated by competent men on scientific principles the evidence is dissipated, as when Faraday sifted the cases of table-turning. It is entirely different from the evangelical history. We have the testimony of four witnesses who have all the characteristics of true though sinful men, and this confirmed by the testimony of an educated man of high intellectual gifts, and by the whole history of the period, and the successful propagation of the Gospel in the earlier ages. But it is said that in the early ages people were inclined to believe in the supernatural, and invented miracles, and that thus their testimony on this subject is not to be credited. I admit the premises but deny the conclusion. The people at the time of our Lord were ready to believe in miracles. But, I add, not in such miracles as are recorded in Scripture. They are commonly great 124 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. wonders, monsters on earth, dazzling lights in the sky. They are such as gratify the love of wonder and the superstitions of the heart. In inquiring of lawyers and of others what is a good book on testimony, they refer me to the works of Dr. Greenleaf. He gives from the start the following rules: "The credit due to the testimony of witnesses depends upon, firstly, their honesty; secondly, their ability ; thirdly, their number and the consistency of their testimony ; fourthly, the conformity of their testimony with experience, and fifthly, the coincidence of their testimony with collateral circumstances." Let me apply these rules, somewhat amended, to the testimony, to the life, and especially the resurrection, of Jesus: I. The four evangelists had means of knowing what they narrate, for they had been for several years in constant contact with him. 2. They were transparently honest, as every man sees, and had no motive to deceive, as by telling their story they only exposed themselves to persecution. 3. Their writings show that they had ability to understand what they narrated. 4. We have these four direct witnesses, besides others, whose testimony spread the Gospel over wide regions. 5* Their tale is consistent. There is enough of discrepancy to show that there could have been no previous concert among them, and, at Testimony. 125 the same time, such substantial agreement as to show that all were independent narrators of the same great transaction as the events actually occurred. 6. Their statements are all in accordance with what is told us of the state of Judea and the world as given us by trustworthy historians such as Josephus, the Jewish, and Tacitus, the Roman, historian. I admit the premises, but deny the conclusion. The people at the time of our Lord were ready to believe in the miracles. But, I add, not such as are recorded in Scripture. Historians and travelers tell us what kind of miracles were invented among the nations. As a specimen, take those mentioned by Livy, the historian, who lived in the age immediately before our Lord: ''During this winter, at Rome and in its vicinity, many prodigies either happened, or, as is not unusual when people's minds have once taken a turn toward superstition, many were reported and credulously admitted. Among others, it was said, that an infant of a reputable family, and only six months old, had, in the herb-market, called out, ' lo, Triumphe ; ' that, in the cattle-market, an ox had, of his own accord, mounted up to the third story of a house, whence, being affrighted by the noise and bustle of the inhabitants, he threw himself down ; 126 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. that a light had appeared in the sky in the form of ships ; that the temple of Hope, in the herb-market, was struck by lightning ; that at Lanuvium the spear of Juno had shaken of itself ; and that a crow had flown into the temple of Juno and pitched on the very couch; that in the district of Amiternum, in many places, apparitions of men in white garments had been seen at a distance, but had not come close to any body ; that in Picenum a shower of stones had fallen ; at Caere the divining tickets were diminished in size. In Gaul a wolf snatched the sword of a soldier on guard out of the scabbard, and ran away with it. It rained blood in the forum at Rome. The spear of a statue of Mars, at Praeneste, moved out of its place of its own accord. An ox spoke in Sicily. An altar surrounded by men in shining garments was seen in the sky. Armed legions of spirits appeared in Janiculum." In favor of no one of these have we the testimony of a single eye-witness. They have no worthy meaning. How different with the miracles of our Lord. We have the record by those who witnessed them. We have the testimony of the four evangelists, evidently truthful men, each giving his own account, and yet all substantially one. Christ's work, when on earth, was a work of salvation. They brought to him the sick, the maimed, Testimony. 127 and the blind, and he healed them all. If you had accompanied Christ on some of his pilgrimages when on earth what a glorious sight would you have seen ! Not, indeed, such a sight as this world admires when it applauds the warrior with strong and healthy men before him whom it is his pride and glory to cut down and destroy. You would, if you had followed Christ, have seen a far different but a far more glorious sight. You would have seen before him, on the way by which he was to pass, the road covered with couches with the sick laid out upon them ; and you would have seen the dumb, when they could not speak, striving to give expression to their woes by their earnest struggles ; and you would have heard the blind, when they could not see him, crying to be taken to him. This was the scene before him ; and behind him, after he * had passed, were the sick bearing their couches, and the lame leaping like the harts, and the dumb singing his praises, and the blind gazing earnestly upon him with joyful eyes, and the lunatics in their right minds, and those lately dead in the embraces of their friends. Yes, these were the fruits that followed Christ's visits wherever he went. And he is Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. His office, his prerogative, is still to seek and to save that which is lost. He is in this world now 128 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. by his Spirit, as he once was by his bodily presence. He is not to be discerned by any pomp or external splendor. The kingdom of God cometh not by observation ; but still we may discern him by the eye of faith. Before him are persons afflicted with all manner of soul maladies: some under the power of wild passion, by which they are. led captive at pleasure, some covered all over with the leprosy of vice, all of them blind to the perception of spiritual beauty and deaf to the voice of God addressed to them. Wherever Christ goes the way is strewn with such ; and wherever he goes he leaves behind him traces of his presence. Before him, as he marches through our world, are the blind, the deaf, the dying, and the dead ; and behind him are the seeing, the hearing, the living, the lovely, and the loving. "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound ; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord." The witnesses were plain, unsophisticated men. Then we have the declaration of one of the great men of the world, altogether independent of his inspiration a scholar, a writer, an actor of great Testimony. 129 practical wisdom. Paul, once so strongly prejudiced against the Crucified, assures us that he saw Christ in the flesh, and that he was overcome by him. The Arnolds evidently feel a sensitive shrinking from the honest, sturdy, outspoken apostle. The novelist tells us he was no reasoner. Those who can reason themselves know that in the Romans, and in all his epistles, he is one of the most powerful reasoners that ever put together premises and conclusions. At times he makes a digression, but it is as a man who steps back a few feet that he may gather force to clear the chasm. Every man who reads the gospels has a miracle set before him in the discourses of our Lord, which, for sublime doctrine and pure precept, for grace and elevation of sentiment, for faithfulness and for pathos and for tenderness, for indignation against sin and pity for the sinner, for knowledge of the human heart, and love to men, women, and children, transcend all the highest intellects have done in Greece and Rome, and, as spoken by a Galilean peasant, are themselves a miracle. The common Christian has not just to prove a miracle against an infidel. All that he has to do for his own conviction is to find that Christianity came from uneducated men in Galilee. This granted, the miracle follows ; and he is con9 130 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. strained to say, "Thou hast conquered me, O Galilean." VI. " What think you of Christ ? Whose Son is he ? " We are obliged to think of him, and we have to answer the question, "Whose Son is he? Whence does he come?" We may suppose that he, a mechanic in Galilee, uttered all these truths, the Sermon on the Mount, and the parables, and we have already a miracle. Or, if we may adopt a more refined theory, and suppose that there was a wonderful carpenter's son in Nazareth, and that a body of fishermen on the lake constructed the Life of Christ out of him, we have a still more astounding miracle, with nothing resembling it in the his-, tory of the world. Take one supernatural event the resurrection of Jesus. We have as full proof of it as of any event in ancient history say the death of Julius Caesar, which every one believes in. We have as clear evidence that these four evangelists wrote the gospels as that Xenophon wrote the memoirs of Socrates. But the grand proof of the truth of our religion lies in the combination of evidence. We have a treble cord, which cannot be broken. How have men of science established the doctrine of the uniformity of nature ? By an accumulation and Testimony. 131 combination of observations in all departments of nature. It is in the same way that we prove that there is a supernatural system in the midst of the natural, and fitting into it. Round the life and death and resurrection of Jesus we have a body of conspiring evidences. There were antecedents and there are consequents. We have the anticipation in the history, types, and prophecies of the Old Testament. Then we have the results flowing from the belief in the resurrection of Christ, the preaching of the Gospel, the spread of Christianity in all countries, the production and fostering of all that is good in art and history, in the elevation of morals, in the establishment of schools and colleges and hospitals, in raising the status of the working classes, in the comfort imparted to poor and afflicted ones, in the converting power of the grace of God, in the slaves of the wildest passions sitting at the feet of Jesus clothed and in their right mind. All these constitute, from first to last, a unity, a system ; he who would overthrow it will have to attack, not the mere outposts, but the consistent whole. It is a bounteous river system with its waters flowing over the waste places of the earth, but issuing from the throne of God in heaven. All these miracles are worthy of God and adapted to the state of man ; with a few exceptions 132 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. they are wrought to deliver from pressing evils in our world, from disease, from sorrow, from sin. The grand end of the whole is the redemption of the soul, for which the great men of the world have labored, but have failed of their end. Nor let it be urged that the Jewish and heathen worlds were so predisposed toward the miraculous that the early Christians had only to proclaim it to find all men believing it. For it is to be remembered that the Gentiles got it from the Jews whom they hated, and the Jews from the Galileans whom they despised. More persuasive, if not more convincing, we have what are called the internal evidences : the suitableness of Christianity to man's nature and wants, to his felt weakness, and his sinfulness, for which an atonement has been provided ; as bringing life and immortality to light, and as rolling away the great stone that closed the tomb, and opening the grave that the spirit may arise to heaven. HE PROBLEM OF -TRUTH I WILD ON GARR THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH BY H. WILDON CARR HONORARY D.Lnr., DURHAM LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK G7 LONG ACRE, W.C., AND EDINBURGH NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO. PREFACE A PROBLEM of philosophy is completely different from a problem of science. In science we accept our subjectmatter as it is presented in unanalysed experience ; in philosophy we examine the first principles and ultimate questions that concern conscious experience itself. The problem of truth is a problem of philosophy. It is not a problem of merely historical interest, but a present problem a living controversy, the issue of which is undecided. Its present interest may be said to centre round the doctrine of pragmatism, which some fifteen years ago began to challenge the generally accepted principles of philosophy. In expounding this problem of truth, my main purpose has been to make clear to the reader the nature of a problem of philosophy and to disclose the secret of its interest. My book presumes no previous study of philosophy nor special knowledge of its problems. The theories that I have shown in conflict on this question are, each of them, held by some of the leaders of philosophy. In presenting them, therefore, I have tried to let the full dialectical force of the argument appear. I have indicated my own view, that the direction in which the solution lies is in the new conception of life and the theory of knowledge given to us in the philosophy of Bergson. If I am right, the solution is not, like pragmatism, a doctrine of the nature of truth, but a theory of knowledge in which 2034524 vi PREFACE the dilemma in regard to truth does not arise. But, as always in philosophy, the solution of one problem is the emergence of another. There is no finality. My grateful acknowledgment is due to my friend Professor S. Alexander, who kindly read my manuscript and assisted me with most valuable suggestions, and also to my friend Dr. T. Percy Nunn for a similar service. H. WILDON CAER. CONTENTS CHAP. I. PHYSICS AND METAPHYSICS .... II. APPEARANCE AND REALITY . . . 15 III. THE LOGICAL THEORIES no IV. THE ABSOLUTE . V. PRAGMATISM 42 VI. UTILITY 55 VII. ILLUSION 6 ' VIII. THE PROBLEM OF ERROR .... 74 GO IX. CONCLUSION Ql BIBLIOGRAPHY Ql INDEX y * THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH CHAPTER I PHYSICS AND METAPHYSICS THE progress of physical science leads to the continual discovery of complexity in what is first apprehended as simple. The atom of hydrogen, so long accepted as the ideal limit of simplicity, is now suspected to be not the lowest unit in the scale of elements, and it is no longer conceived, as it used to be, as structureless, but as an individual system, comparable to a solar system, of electrical components preserving an equilibrium probably only temporary. The same tendency to discover complexity in what is first apprehended as simple is evident in the study of philosophy. The more our simple and ordinary notions are submitted to analysis, the more are profound problems brought to consciousness. It is impossible to think that we do not know what such an ordinary, simple notion as that of truth is ; yet the attempt to give a definition of its meaning brings quite unexpected difficulties to light, and the widest divergence at the present time between rival principles of philosophical interpretation is in regard to a theory of the nature of truth. It is not a problem that is pressed on us by any felt need, nor is anyone who does not feel its interest called upon to occupy himself with it. We speak our language before we know its 10 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH grammar, and we reason just as well whether we have learnt the science of logic or not. This science of Logic, or, as it is sometimes called, of Formal Logic, was, until modern times, regarded as a quite simple account of the principles that govern the exercise of our reasoning faculty, and of the rules founded on those principles by following which truth was attained and false opinion or error avoided. It was called formal because it was supposed to have no relation to the matter of the subject reasoned about, but only to the form which the reasoning must take. A complete account of this formal science, as it was recognised and accepted for many ages, might easily have been set forth within the limits of a small volume such as this. But the development of modern philosophy has wrought an extraordinary change. Anyone now who will set himself the task of mastering all the problems that have been raised round the question of the nature of logical process, will find himself confronted with a vast library of special treatises, and involved in discussions that embrace the whole of philosophy. The special problem of truth that it is the object of this little volume to explain is a quite modern question. It has been raised within the present generation of philosophical writers, and is to-day, perhaps, the chief controversy in which philosophers are engaged. But although it is only in the last few years that controversy has been aroused on this question, the problem is not new it is indeed as old as philosophy itself. In the fifth century before Christ, and in the generation that immediately preceded Socrates, a famous philosopher, Protagoras (481-411 B.C.) published a book with the title The Truth. He had the misfortune, common at that time, to offend the religious Athenians, PHYSICS AND METAPHYSICS 11 for he spoke slightingly of the gods, proposing to " banish their existence or non-existence from writing and speech." He was convicted of atheism, and his books were publicly burnt, and he himself, then seventy years of age, was either banished or at least was obliged to flee from Athens, and on his way to Sicily he lost his life in a shipwreck. Our knowledge of this book of Protagoras is due to the preservation of its argument by Plato in the dialogue " Thesetetus." Protagoras, we I are there told, taught that " man is the measure of all I things of the existence of things that are, and of the I non-existence of things that are not." " You have read him ? " asks Socrates, addressing Thesetetus. " Oh yes, again and again," is These tetus' reply. Plato was entirely opposed to the doctrine that Protagoras taught. It seemed to him to bring gods and men and tadpoles to one level as far as truth was concerned ; for he drew the deduction that if man is the measure of all things, then to each man his own opinion is right. Plato l opposed to it the theory that truth is the vision of a I pure objective reality. This same problem that exercised the ancient world is now again a chief centre of philosophical interest, and the aim of this little book is not to decide that question, but to serve as a guide and introduction to those who desire to know what the question is that divides philosophers to-day into the hostile camps of pragmatism and intellectualism. The subject is not likely to interest anyone who does not care for the study of the exact definitions and abstract principles that lie at the basis of science and philosophy. There are many who are engaged in the study of the physical and natural sciences, and also many who devote themselves to the social and political 12 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH sciences, who hold in profound contempt the fine distinctions and intellectual subtleties that seeni to them the whole content of logic and metaphysic. The attitude of the scientific mind is not difficult to understand. It has recently been rather graphically expressed by a distinguished and popular exponent of the principles of natural science. " One may regard the utmost possibilities of the results of human knowledge as the contents of a bracket, and place outside the bracket the factor x to represent those unknown and unknowable possibilities which the imagination of man is never wearied of suggesting. This factor x is the plaything of the metaphysician." x This mathematical symbol of the bracket, multiplied by x to represent the unknown and unknowable possibilities beyond it, will serve me to indicate with some exactness the problem with which I am going to deal. The symbol is an expression of the agnostic position. The popular caricature of the metaphysician and his " plaything " we may disregard as a pure fiction. The unknowable x of the agnostic is not the " meta " or " beyond " of physics which the metaphysician vainly seeks to know. The only " beyond " of physics is consciousness or experience itself, and this is the subject-matter of metaphysics. Our present problem is that of the bracket, not that of the factor outside, if there is any such factor, nor yet the particular nature of the contents within. There are, as we shall see, three views that are possible of the nature of the bracket. In one view, it is merely the conception of the extent which knowledge has attained or can attain ; it has no intimate relation to the knowledge, but marks externally its limit. This is the view of the realist. In another view, the whole of knowledge is intimately related 1 Sir Ray Lankester. PHYSICS AND METAPHYSICS 13 to its particular parts ; the things we know are not a mere collection or aggregate of independent facts that we have discovered ; the bracket which contains our knowledge gives form to it, and relates organically the dependent parts to the whole in one comprehensive individual system. This is the view of the idealist. There is yet another view : human knowledge is relative to human activity and its needs ; the bracket is the ever-changing limit of that activity within it is all that is relevant to human purpose and personality, without it is all that is irrelevant. This is the view of the pragmatist. It is not only the scientific mind, but also the ethical and religious mind, that is likely to be at least impatient, if not contemptuous, of this inquiry. The question, What is truth ? will probably bring to everyone's mind the words uttered by a Roman Procurator at the supreme moment of a great world -tragedy. Pilate's question is usually interpreted as the cynical jest of a judge indifferent to the significance of the great cause he was trying the expression of the belief that there is no revelation of spiritual truth of the highest importance for our human nature, or at least that there is no infallible test by which it can be known. It is not this problem of truth that we are now to discuss. There are, on the other hand, many minds that can never rest satisfied while they have accepted only, and not examined, the assumptions of science and the values of social and political and religious ideals. Their quest of first principles may appear to more practical natures a harmless amusement or a useless waste of intellectual energy ; but they are responding to a deep need of our human nature, a need that, it may be, is in its very nature insatiable the need of intellectual satisfaction. It is 14 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH the nature of this intellectual satisfaction itself that is our problem of truth. There are therefore two attitudes towards the problem of truth and reality that of the mind which brings a practical test to every question, and that of the mind restless to gain by insight or by speculation a clue to the mystery that enshrouds the meaning of existence. The first attitude seems peculiarly to characterise the man of science, who delights to think that the problem of reality is simple and open to the meanest understanding. Between the plain man's view and that of the man of high attainment in scientific research there is for him only a difference of degree, and science seems almost to require an apology if it does not directly enlarge our command over nature. It would explain life and consciousness as the result of chemical combination of material elements. Philosophy, on the other hand, is the instinctive feeling that the secret of the universe is not open and revealed to the plain man guided by common-sense experience alone, even if to this experience be added the highest attainments of scientific research. Either there is far more in matter than is * contained in the three-dimensional space it occupies, or else the universe must owe its development to something beyond matter. The universe must seem a poor thing indeed to a man who can think that physical i science does or can lay bare its meaning. It is the : intense desire to catch some glimpse of its meaning that leads the philosopher to strive to transcend the ; actual world by following the speculative bent of the ' reasoning power that his intellectual nature makes APPEARANCE AND REALITY 15 CHAPTER II APPEARANCE AND REALITY OUR conscious life is one unceasing change. From the first awakening of consciousness to the actual present, no one moment has been the mere repetition of another, and the moments which as we look back seem to have made up our life are not separable elements of it but our own divisions of a change that has been continuous. And as it has been, so we know it will be until consciousness ceases with death. Consciousness and life are in this respect one and the same, although when we speak of our consciousness we think chiefly of a passive receptivity, and when we speak of our life we think of an activity. Consciousness as the unity of knowing and / acting is a becoming. The past is not left behind, it is with us in the form of memory ; the future is not a predetermined order which only a natural disability prevents us from knowing, it is yet uncreated ; conscious life is the enduring present which grows with the past and makes the future. This reality of consciousness is our continually changing experience. But there is also another reality with which it seems to be in necessary relation and also in complete contrast this is the reality of the material or _ physical universe. The world of physical reality seems to be composed of a matter that cannot change in a space that is absolutely unchangeable. This physical world seems made up of solid things, formed out of matter. Change in physical science is only a rearrangement of matter or an alteration of position in space. This physical reality is not, as psychical reality is, 16 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH known to us directly ; it is an interpretation of our sense experience. Immediate experience has objects, generally called sense data. These objects are what we actually see in sensations of sight, what we actually hear in sensations of sound, and so on ; and they lead us to suppose or infer physical objects that is, objects that do not depend upon our experience for their existence, but whose existence is the cause of our having the experience. The process by which we infer the nature of the external world from our felt experience is logical. It includes perceiving, conceiving, thinking or reasoning. The object of the logical process, the aim or ideal to which it seeks to attain, is truth. Knowledge of reality is truth. There are therefore two realities, the reality of our felt experience from which all thinking sets out, and the reality which in thinking we seek to know. The one reality is immediate ; it is conscious experience itself. The other reality is that which we infer from the fact of experience, that by which we seek to explain our existence. The one we feel, the other we think. If the difference between immediate knowledge and mediate knowledge or inference lay in the feeling of certainty alone or in the nature of belief, the distinction would not be the difficult one that it is. The theories of idealism and realism show how widely philosophers are divided on the subject. We are quite as certain of some of the things that we can only infer as we are of the things of which we are immediately aware. We cannot doubt, for instance, that there are other persons besides ourselves, yet we can have no distinct knowledge of any consciousness but one our own. Our knowledge that there are other minds is an inference from our observation of the behaviour of some of the things we APPEARANCE AND REALITY 17 directly experience, and from the experience of our own consciousness. And even those things which seem in direct relation to us the things we see, or hear, or touch are immediately present in only a very small, perhaps an infinitesimal, part of what we know and think of as their full reality; all but this small part is inferred. From a momentary sensation of sight, or sound, or touch we infer reality that far exceeds anything actually given to us by the sensation. Thinking is questioning experience. When our attention is suddenly attracted by something a flash of light, or a sound, or a twinge of pain consciously or unconsciously we say to ourself , What is that ? The that a simple felt experience contains a meaning, brings a message, and we ask what ? We distinguish the existence as an appearance, and we seek to know the reality. \ The quest of the reality which is made known to us by ( the appearance is the logical process of thought. The i end or purpose of this logical process is to replace the immediate reality of the felt experience with a mediated reality that is, a reality made known to us. Directly, therefore, that we begin to think, the immediately present existence becomes an appearance, and throughout the development of our thought it is taken to be something that requires explanation. We seek to discover the reality which will explain it. It is hi this distinction of appearance and reality that the problem of truth arises. It does not depend upon any particular theory of knowledge. The same fact is recognised by idealists and by realists. Idealism may deny that the knowledge of independent reality is possible ; realism may insist that it is implied in the very fact of consciousness itself whichever is right, the reality which thinking brings before the mind is quite B 18 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH unlike and of a different order to that which we immediately experience in feeling. And even if we know nothing of philosophy, if we are ignorant of all theories of knowledge and think of the nature of knowledge simply from the standpoint of the natural man, the fact is essentially the same the true reality of things is something concealed from outward view, something to be found out by science or by practical wisdom. Our knowledge of this reality may be true, in this case only is it knowledge ; or it may be false, in which case it is not knowledge but opinion or error. The reality then, the knowledge of which is truth, is i not the immediate reality of feeling but the inferred reality of thought. To have any intelligible meaning, ' the affirmation that knowledge is true supposes that there already exists a distinction between knowledge and the reality known, between the being and the knowing of that which is known. In immediate knowledge, in actual conscious felt experience there is no such distinction, and therefore to affirm truth or error of such knowledge is unmeaning. I cannot have a toothache without knowing that I have it. In the actual felt toothache knowing and being are not only inseparable they are indistinguishable. If, however, I think of my toothache as part of an independent order of reality, my knowledge of it may be true or false. I am then thinking of it as the effect of an exposed nerve, or of an abscess or of an inflammation as something, that is to say, that is conditioned independently of my consciousness and that will cease to exist when the conditions are altered. In the same way, when I behold a landscape, the blue expanse of sky and variegated colour of the land which I actually experience are not either true or false, they are immediate experience in APPEARANCE AND REALITY 19 which knowing is being and being is knowing. Truth and error only apply to the interpretation of that experience, to the independent reality that I infer from it. We can, then, distinguish two kinds of knowledge which we may call immediate and mediate, or, better still, acquaintance and description. Accordingly, when \ we say that something is, or when we say of anything that it if real, wo may mean either of two things. We may mean that it is part of the changing existence that we actually feel and that we call consciousness or life, or we may mean that it is part of an independent order of things whose existence we think about in order to explain, not what our feeling is (there can be no explanation of this), but how it comes to exist. We know by description a vast number of things with which we never can be actually acquainted. Such, indeed, is the case with all the knowledge by which we rule our lives and conceive the reality which environs us. Yet we are absolutely dependent on the reality we know by f acquaintance for all our knowledge of these things. ; Not only is immediate sense experience and the knowledge it gives us by acquaintance the only evidence we have of the greater and wider reality, but we are dependent on it for the terms wherewith to describe it, for the form in which to present it, for the matter with which to compose it. And this is the real ground of the study of philosophy, the justification of its standpoint. It is this fact this ultimate undeniable fact that all reality of whatever kind and in whatever way known, whether by thought or by feeling, whether it is perceived or conceived, remembered or imagined, is in * the end composed of sense experience : it is this fact from which all the problems of philosophy arise. It is this fact that our utilitarian men of science find them20 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH selves forced to recognise, however scornful they may be of metaphysical methods and results. The special problem of the nature of truth is concerned, then, with the reality that we have distinguished as known by description, and conceived by us as independent in its existence of the consciousness by which we know it. What is the nature of the seal by which we stamp this knowledge true ? CHAPTER III THE LOGICAL THEOEIES WHOEVER cares to become acquainted with the difficulty of the problem of truth must not be impatient of dialectical subtleties. There is a well-known story in BoswelFs Life of Dr. Johnson which relates how the Doctor refuted Berkeley's philosophy which affirmed the non-existence of matter. " I observed," says Boswell, " that though we are satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impossible to refute it. I shall never forget the alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it ' I refute it thus? " Dr. Johnson is the representative of robust common sense. It has very often turned out in metaphysical disputes that the commonsense answer is the one that has been justified in the end. Those who are impatient of metaphysics are, therefore, not without reasonable ground ; and indeed the strong belief that the common-sense view will be justified in the end, however powerful the sceptical doubt that seems to contradict it, however startling the paradox that seems to be involved in it, is a possession of the human mind without which the ordinary THE LOGICAL THEORIES 21 practical conduct of life would be impossible. When, then, we ask ourselves, What is truth ? the answer seems to be simple and obvious. Truth, we reply, is a property of certain of our ideas ; it means their agreement, as falsity means their disagreement, with reality. If I say of anything that it is so, then, if it is so, what I say / is true ; if it is not so, then what I say is false. This simple definition of truth is one that is universally accepted. No one really can deny it, for if he did he would have nothing to appeal to to justify his own theory or condemn another. The problem of truth is ; only raised when we ask, What does the agreement of an idea with reality mean ? If the reader will ask himself that question, and carefully ponder it, he will , see that there is some difficulty in the answer to the simple question, What is truth ? The answer that will **l \probably first of all suggest itself is that the idea is a H f the reality. And at once many experiences seem to confirm this view. Thus when we look at a landscape we know that the lines of light which radiate from every point of it pass through the lens of each of our eyes to be focussed on the retina, forming there a small picture which is the exact counterpart of the realitjr. If we look into another person's eye we may see there a picture of the whole field of his vision reflected from his lens. It is true that what we see is not what he sees, for that is on his retina, but the analogy of this with a photographic camera, where we see the picture on the ground glass, seems obvious and natural; . and so we think of knowledge, so far as it depends on I the sense of vision, as consisting in more or less vivid, I more or less faded, copies of real things stored up by * the memory. But a very little reflection will convince us that the truth of our ideas cannot consist in the fact 22 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH that they are copies of realities, for clearly they are not copies in any possible meaning of the term. Take, for example, this very illustration of seeing a landscape : what we see is not a picture or copy of the landscape, but the real landscape itself. We feel quite sure of this, and with regard to the other sensations, those that come to us by hearing, taste, smell, touch, it would seem highly absurd to suppose that the ideas these ; sensations produce in us are copies of real things. The : pain of burning is not a copy of real fire, and the truth of the judgment, Fire burns, does not consist in the fact that the ideas denoted by the words " fire," " burns," faithfully copy certain real things which are not ideas. And the whole notion is seen to be absurd if we consider 1 that, were it a fact that real things produce copies of ! themselves in our mind, we could never know it was so ; all that we should have any knowledge of would be the I copies, and whether these were like or unlike the reality, or indeed whether there was any reality for them to be like would, in the nature of the case, be unknowable, and we could never ask the question. If, then, our ideas are not copies of things, and if there are things as well as ideas about things, it is quite j clear that the ideas must correspond to the things in some way that does not make them copies of the things. 5 The most familiar instance of correspondence is the i symbolism we use in mathematics. Are our ideas of this nature ? And is their truth their correspondence ? Is a perfectly true idea one in which there exists a point to point correspondence to the reality it represents ? At once there will occur to the mind a great number of instances where this seems to be the case. A map of England is not a copy of England such as, for example, a photograph might be if we were to imagine it taken THE LOGICAL THEORIES 23 from the moon. The correctness or the truth of a map consists in the correspondence between the reality and the diagram, which is an arbitrary sign of it. Throughout the whole of our ordinary lif e we find that we make use of symbols and signs that are not themselves either parts of or copies of the things for which they stand. Language itself is of this nature, and there may be symbols of symbols of symbols of real things. Written language is the arbitrary visual sign of spoken language, and spoken language is the arbitrary sign, it may be, of an experienced thing or of an abstract idea. Is, then, this property of our ideas which we call truth the correspondence of ideas with their objects, and is falsity the absence of this correspondence ? It cannot be so. To imagine that ideas can correspond with realities is I to forget that ideas simply are the knowledge of realities ; I it is to slip into the notion that we know two kinds of | different things, first realities and secondly ideas, and that we can compare together these two sorts of things. But it is at once evident that if we could know realities without ideas, we should never need to have recourse to ideas. It is simply ridiculous to suppose that the \ relation between consciousness and reality which we ' call knowing is the discovery of a correspondence bej tween mental ideas and real things. The two things I that are related together in knowledge are not the idea j and its object, but the mind and its object. The ideaf of the object is the knowledge of the object. There may be correspondence between ideas, but not between ideas and independent things, for that supposes that the j tf mind knows the ideas and also knows the things and I observes the correspondence between them. And even J if we suppose that ideas are an independent kind of^' entity distinguishable and separable from another kind ** *"*" 24 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH of entity that forms the real world, how could we know that the two corresponded, for the one would only be inferred from the other ? There is, however, a form of the correspondence theory of truth that is presented in a way which avoids this difficulty. Truth, it is said, is concerned not with the nature of things themselves but with our judgments about them. Judgment is not concerned with the terms that enter into relation these are immediately experienced and ultimate but with the relations in which they stand to one another. Thus, when we say John is the father of James, the truth of our judgment does not consist in the adequacy of our ideas of John and James, nor in the correspondence of our ideas with the realities, but is concerned only with the relation that is affirmed to exist between them. This relation is declared to be independent of or at least external to the terms, and, so far as it is expressed in a judgment, truth consists in its actual correspondence with fact. So if I say John is the father of James, then, if John is the father of James, the judgment is true, the affirmation is a truth ; if he is not, it is false, the affirmation is a falsehood. This view has the merit of simplicity, and is sufficiently obvious almost to disarm criticism. There is, indeed, little difficulty in accepting it if we are able to take the view of the nature of the real universe which it assumes. The theory is best described as pluralistic realism. It is the view that the universe consists of or is composed of an aggregate of an infinite number of entities. Some of these have a place in the space and time series, and these exist. Some, on the other hand, are possibilities which have not and may never have any actual existence. Entities that have their place in the perceptual order of experience exist, THE LOGICAL THEORIES 25 or have existed, or will exist; but entities that are concepts, such as goodness, beauty, truth, or that are abstract symbols like numbers, geometrical figures, pure forms, do not exist, but are none the less just as real as the entities that do exist. These entities are the subject-matter of our judgments, and knowing is discovering the relations in which they stand to one another. The whole significance of this view lies in / the doctrine that relations are external to the entities I that are related they do not enter into and form part \ of the nature of the entities. The difficulty of this view is just this externality of the relation. It seems difficult to conceive what nature is left in any entity deprived of all its relations. The relation of father and son in the judgment, John is the father of James, is so far part of the nature of the persons John and James, that if the judgment is false then to that extent John and James are not the actual persons John and James that they are thought to be. And this is the case even in so purely external a relation as is expressed, say, in the judgment, Edinburgh is East of Glasgow. It is difficult to discuss any relation which can be said to be entirely indifferent to the nature of its terms, and it is doubtful if anything whatever would be left of a term abstracted from all its relations. These difficulties have led to the formulation of an /*s altogether different theory, namely, the theory thai/"!*. > truth does not consist in correspondence between ideas r*-* ; and then* real counterparts, but in the consistence and [ \ internal harmony of the ideas themselves. It is named !. 'the coherence theory. It will be recognised at once that there is very much in common experience to support it. It is by the test of consistency and coherence that we invariably judge the truth of evidence. 26 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH Also it seems a very essential part of our intellectual nature to reject as untrue and false any statement or any idea that is self -contradictory or irreconcilable with the world of living experience. But then, on the other hand, we by no means allow that that must be true which does not exhibit logical contradiction and inconsistency. It is a common enough experience that ideas prove false though they have exhibited no inherent failure to harmonise with surrounding circumstances nor any self-contradiction. The theory, therefore, requires more than a cursory examination. Thinking is the activity of our mind which discovers the order, arrangement, and system in the reality that the senses reveal. Without thought, our felt experience would be a chaos and not a world. The philosopher Kant expressed this by saying that the understanding gives unity to the manifold of sense. The understanding, he said, makes nature. It does this by giving form to the matter which comes to it by the senses. Thejnincl is not a tabula rasa upon which the external world makes I and leaves impressions, it is a relating activity which \ arranges the matter it receives in forms. First of all there are space and time, which are forms in which we receive all perceptual experience, and then there are categories that are conceptual frames or moulds by which we think of everything we experience as having definite relations and belonging to a real order of existence. Substance, causality, quality, and quantity are categories ; they are universal forms in which the mind arranges sense experience, and which constitute the laws of nature, the order of the world. Space and time, and the categories of the understanding Kant declared to be transcendental that is to say, they are the elements necessary to experience which are not THE LOGICAL THEORIES 27 themselves derived from experience, as, for example, that every event has a cause. There are, he declared, synthetic a priori judgments that is, judgments about experience which are not themselves derived from experience, but, on the contrary, the conditions that make experience possible. It is from this doctrine of Kant that the whole of modern idealism takes its rise. Kant, indeed, held that there are things-in-themselves, and to this extent he was not himself an idealist, but he also held that things-in-themselves are unknowable, and this is essentially the idealist position. Clearly, if we hold the view that things-in-themselves are un1 knowable, truth cannot be a correspondence between Iour ideas and these things-in-themselves. Truth must be some quality of the ideas themselves, and this can only be their logical consistency. Consistency, because the ideas must be in agreement with one another ; and logical, because this consistency belongs to the thinking, and logic is the science of thinking. Truth, in effect, is the ideal of logical consistency. We experience in thinking an activity striving to attain the knowledge of reality, and the belief, the feeling of satisfaction that we experience when our thinking seems to attain the knowledge of reality, is the harmony, the absence of contradiction, the coherence, of our ideas themselves. This is the coherence theory. Let us see what it implies as to the ultimate nature of truth and reality. In both the theories we have now examined, truth is a logical character of ideas. In the correspondence theory there is indeed supposed a non-logical reality, but it is only in the ideas that there is the conformity or correspondence which constitutes their truth. In the coherence theory, reality is itself ideal, and the 28 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH ultimate ground of everything is logical. This is the theory of truth that accords with the idealist view, and this view finds its most perfect expression in the theory of the Absolute. The Absolute is the idea of an object / that realises perfect logical consistency. This object I logic itself creates ; if it be a necessary existence, then ' knowledge of it cannot be other than truth. This view, on account of the supreme position that it assigns to the intellect, and of the fundamental character with which it invests the logical categories, has been named by those who oppose it Intellectualism. It is important that it should be clearly understood, and the next chapter will be devoted to its exposition. CHAPTER IV THE ABSOLUTE A COMPARISON of the two theories of truth examined in the last chapter will show that, whereas both rest on a logical quality in ideas, the first depends on an external view taken by the mind of an independent nonmental reality, whereas the second depends on the discovery of an inner meaning in experience itself. It is this inner meaning of experience that we seek to know when asking any question concerning reality. It is the development of this view, and what it implies as to the ultimate nature of reality and truth, that we are now to examine. When we ask questions about reality, we assume in I the very inquiry that reality is of a nature that experi1 ence reveals. Reality in its ultimate nature may be * logical that is to say, of the nature of reason, or it may THE ABSOLUTE 29 be non-logical that is to say, of the nature of feeling or will ; but in either case it must be a nature of which conscious experience can give us knowledge. If indeed we hold the view which philosophers have often endeavoured to formulate, that reality is unknowable, then there is no more to be said ; for, whatever the picture or the blank for a picture by which the mind tries to present this unknowable reality, there can be no question in relation to it of the nature and meaning of truth. An unknowable reality, as we shall show later on, is to all intents and purposes non-existent reality. On the other hand, if thinking leads to the knowledge of reality that we call truth, it is because being and knowing are ultimately one, and this unity can only be in conscious experience. This is the axiom on which the idealist argument is based. The theory of the Absolute is a logical argument of great dialectical force. It is not an exaggeration to V say that it is the greatest dialectical triumph of modem I philosophy. It is the most successful expression of idealism. That this is not an extravagant estimate is shown, I think, by the fact that, widespread and determined as is the opposition it has had to encounter, criticism has been directed not so much against its logic as against the basis of intellectualism on which it rests. The very boldness of its claim and brilliance of its triumph lead to the suspicion that the intellect cannot * be the sole determining factor of the ultimate nature ? of reality. It will be easier to understand the theory of the Absolute if we first of all notice, for the sake of afterwards comparing it, another argument very famous in the history of philosophy the argument to prove the I existence of God named after St. Anselm of Canterbury, j 80 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH It runs thus : We have in God the idea of a perfect being ; the idea of a perfect being includes the existence of that being, for not to exist is to fall short of perfection ; therefore God exists. The theological form of this argument need raise no prejudice against it. It is of very great intrinsic importance, and if it is wrong it is not easy to point out wherein the fallacy lies. It may, of course, be denied that we have or can have the idea of a perfect being that is to say, that we can present that idea to the mind with a positive content or meaning as distinct from a merely negative or limiting idea. But this is practically to admit the driving force of the argument, namely, that there may be an idea of whose content or meaning existence forms part. With regard to everything else the idea of existing is not existence. There is absolutely no difference between the idea of a hundred dollars and the idea of a hundred dollars existing, but there is the whole difference between thought and reality in the idea of the hundred dollars existing and the existence of the hundred dollars. Their actual existence in no way depends on the perfection or imperfection of my idea, nor in the inclusion of their existence in my idea. This is sufficiently obvious in every case in which we are dealing with perceptual reality, and in which we can, in the words of the philosopher Hume, produce the impression which gives rise to the idea. But there are some objects which by their very nature will not submit to this test. No man hath seen God at any time, not because God is an object existing under conditions and circumstances of place and time impossible for us to realise by reason of the limitations of our finite existence, but because God is an object in a different sense from that which has a place in the perceptual order, and therefore it is affirmed of God that the THE ABSOLUTE 81 idea involves existence. God is not an object of perception, either actual or possible ; nor in the strict sense is God a concept that is to say, a universal of which there may be particulars. He is in a special sense the object of reason. If we believe that there is a God, it is because our reason tells us that there must be. God, in philosophy, is the idea of necessary existence, and the argument runs : God must be, therefore is. If, then, we exclude from the idea of God every mythological and theological element if we mean not Zeus nor Jehovah nor Brahma, but the first principle of existence then we may find in the St. Anselm argument the very ground of theism. I have explained this argument, which is of the class called ontological because it is concerned with the fundamental question of being, in order to give an instance of the kind of argument that has given us the theory of the Absolute. I will now try to set that theory before the reader, asking only that he will put himself into the position of a plain man with no special acquaintance with philosophy, but reflective and anxious to interpret the meaning of his ordinary experience. We have already seen that thinking is the questioning , of experience, and that the moment it begins it gives rise to a distinction between appearance and reality. It is the asking what ? of every that of felt experience ; to which the mind attends. The world in which we find ourselves is extended all around us in space and full of things which affect us in various ways : some give us pleasure, others give us pain, and we ourselves are things that affect other things as well as being ourselves affected by them. When we think about the things in the world in order to discover what they really are,^ we very soon find that we are liable to illusion and error. I 32 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH Things turn out on examination to be very different to what we first imagined them to be. Our ideas, by which we try to understand the reality of things are just so many attempts to correct and set right our illusions | and errors. And so the question arises, how far are our j ideas about things truths about reality ? It is very I soon evident that there are some qualities of things that give rise to illusion and error much more readily than others. The spatial qualities of things, solidity, shape, size, seem to be real in a way that does not admit of doubt. We seem able to apply to these qualities a test that is definite and absolute. On the other hand, there seem to be effects of these things in us such as their colour, taste, odour, sound, coldness, or heat, qualities that are incessantly changing and a fruitful source of illusion and error. We therefore distinguish the spatial qualities as primary, and consider that they are the real things and different from their effects, which we call their secondary qualities. And this is, perhaps, our most ordinary test of reality. If, for example, we should think that something we see is an unreal phantom, or a ghost, or some kind of hallucination, and on going up to it find that it does actually occupy space, we correct our opinion and say the thing is real. But the spatial or primary qualities of a thing, although they may seem more permanent and more essential to the reaKty of the thing than the secondary qualities, are ! nevertheless only qualities. They are not the thing itself, but ways in which it affects us. It seems to us that these qualities must inhere in or belong to the thing, and so we try to form the idea of the real thing as a substance or substratum which has the qualities. This was a generally accepted notion until Berkeley (1685-1753) showed how contradictory it is. So THE ABSOLUTE 83 simple and convincing was his criticism of the notion, that never since has material substance been put forward as an explanation of the reality of the things we perceive. All that he did was to show how impossible and contradictory it is to think that the reality of that | which we perceive is something in its nature impercep] tible, for such must material substance be apart from its \ sense qualities. How can that which we perceive be something imperceptible ? And if we reflect on it, we /. shall surely agree that it is so by the thing we mean its | j qualities, and apart from the qualities there is no thing. / v We must try, then, in some other way to reach the reality. What, we shall now ask, can it be that binds together these sense qualities so that we speak of them as a thing ? There are two elements that seem to enter into everything whatever that comes into our experience, and which it seems to us would remain if everything in the universe were annihilated. These are space and time. Are they reality ? Here we are met with a new kind of difficulty. It was possible to dismiss material substance as a false idea, an idea of something whose existence is impossible ; but space and time are certainly not false ideas. The difficulty about them is that we cannot make our thought of them consistent they are ideas that contain a self-contradiction, or at least that lead to a self-contradiction when we affirm them of reality. With the ideas of space and time are closely linked the ideas of change, of movement, of causation, of quality and quantity, and all of these exhibit this same puzzling characteristic, that they seem to make us affirm what we deny and deny what we affirm. I might fill this little book with illustrations of the paradoxes that are involved in these ordinary working ideas. Everyone is familiar with the difficulty involved in the 34 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH idea of time. We must think there was a beginning, and we cannot think that there was any moment to which there was no before. So also with space, it is an infinite extension which we can only think of as a beyond to every limit. This receding limit of the infinitely extensible space involves the character of infinite divisibility, for if there are an infinite number of points from which straight lines can be drawn without intersecting one another to any fixed point there is therefore no smallest space that cannot be further divided. The contradictions that follow from these demonstrable contents of the idea of space are endless. The relation of time to space is another source of contradictory ideas. I shall perhaps, however, best make the meaning of this self -contradictory character of our ordinary ideas clear by following out a definite illustration. What is known as the antinomy of motion is probably familiar to everyone from the well-known paradox of the Greek philosopher Zeno. The flying arrow, he said, does not move, because if it did it would be in two places at one and the same time, and that is impossible. I will now put this same paradox of movement in a form which, so far as I know, it has not been presented before. My illustration will involve the idea of causation as well as that of movement. If we sup[pose a space to be fully occupied, we shall agree that within that space can move without thereby >lacing whatever occupies the position into which it moves. That is to say, the movement of any occupant of one position must cause the displacement of the occupant of the new position into which he moves. But on the other hand it is equally clear that the displacement of the occupant of the new position is a prior condition of the possibility of the movement of THE ABSOLUTE 85 the mover, for nothing can move unless there is an unoccupied place for it to move into, and there is no unoccupied place unless it has been vacated by its occupant before the movement begins. We have therefore the clear contradiction that a thing can only move when something else which it causes to move has already moved. Now if we reflect on it we shall see that this is exactly the position we occupy in our three-dimensional space. The space which surrounds us is occupied, and therefore we cannot move until a way is made clear I for us, and nothing makes way for us unless we move./ We cannot move through stone walls because we cannot' displace solid matter, but we can move through air and water because we are able to displace these. The problem is the same. My movement displaces the air, but there is no movement until the air is displaced. Can we escape the contradiction by supposing the displacement is the cause and the movement the effect. Are we, like people in a theatre queue, only able to move from behind forward as the place is vacated for us in front ? In that case we should be driven to the incredible supposition that the original cause or condition of our movement is the previous movement of something at the outskirts of our occupied space, that this somewhat moving into the void made possible the movement of the occupant of the space next adjoining, ] and so on until after a lapse of time which may be ages, > which may indeed be infinite, the possibility of movej ment is opened to us. In fact we must believe that the effect of our movement namely, the displacement of the previous occupants from the positions we occupy f j in moving happened before it was caused. Now it is 4 f impossible for us to believe either of the only two alternatives either that we do not really move but only 86 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH appear to do so, or that the displacement our movement causes really precedes the movement. When we meet with a direct self-contradiction in our thoughts about anything, we can only suppose that that about which we are thinking is in its nature nonsensical, or else that our ideas about it are wrong. It may perhaps be thought that the whole difficulty arises simply because what we are trying to think consistently about is a reality that is external to us. Space and time, movement, cause and effect are ideas that apply to a world outside and independent of the mind that tries to think it. May not this be the reason of our failure and the whole explanation of the seeming contradiction ? If we turn our thoughts inward upon our own being and think of the self, the I, the real subject of experience, then surely where thought is at home and its object is mental not physical, we shall know reality. It is not so. The same self-contradiction characterises our ideas when we try to present the real object of inner perception as when we try to present the real object of external perception. Not, of course, that it is possible to doubt the reality of our own existence, but that we fail altogether to express the meaning of the self we so surely know to exist in any idea which does not fall into self-contradiction. As in the case of the thing and its qualities, we think that there is something distinct from the qualities in which they inhere and yet find ourselves unable to present to the mind any consistent idea of such thing, so we think that there must be some substance or basis of personal identity, some real self which has the successive changing conscious states, which has the character which distinguishes our actions as personal but which nevertheless is not itself these things. The self-contradiction THE ABSOLUTE 37 in the idea of self, or I, or subject, is that it both cannot I change and is always changing. As unchanging, we j distinguish it from our body, which is an external object among other objects and is different from other objects only in the more direct and intimate relation in which it stands to us. The body is always changing ; never for two successive moments is it exactly the same combination of chemical elements. We distinguish also ourself from that consciousness which is memory, the awareness of past experience, from present feelings, desires, thoughts, and strivings these, we say, belong to the self but are not it. The self must have qualities and dwell in the body, guiding, directing, and controlling it, yet this self we never perceive, nor can we conceive | it, for our idea of it is of a reality that changes and is [ yet unchangeable. There is, however, one idea an idea to which we have already alluded that seems to offer us an escape . from the whole of this logical difficulty, the idea that '_ reality is unknowable. May not the contradictoriness of our ideas be due to this fact, that our knowledge is entirely of phenomena, of appearances of things, and not of things as they are in themselves ? By a thingin-itself we do not mean a reality that dwells apart in a universe of its own, out of any relation whatever to our universe. There may or may not be such realities, and whether there are or not is purely irrelevant to * any question of the nature of reality in our universe. I The thing-in-itself is the unknowable reality of the ; thing we know. We conceive it as existing in complete abstraction from every aspect or relation of it that constitutes knowledge of it in another. The self-contradiction of such an idea is not difficult to show, quite apart from any consideration of its utter futility as an 38 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH explanation. The thing-in-itself either is or else it is not the reality of phenomena. If it is, then, inasmuch as the phenomena reveal it, it is neither in-itself nor unknowable. If, on the other hand, it is not, if it is unrelated in any way to phenomena, then it is not only unknowable it does not exist to be known. It is an idea without any content or meaning, and therefore indistinguishable from nothing. It is simply saying of one and the same thing that it must be and that there is nothing that it can be. While, then, there is no actual thing that we experience, whether it be an object outside of us or an object within us, of which we can say this is not a phenomenon or appearance of reality but the actual reality itself, we cannot also say that we do not know reality, because if we had no idea, no criterion, of reality we could never know that anything was only an appearance. It is this fact the fact that we undoubtedly possess, in the very process of thinking itself, a criterion of reality that the idealist argument lays hold of as the basis of its doctrine. The mere fact seems, at first sight, barren and unpromising enough, but the idealist does not find it so. Possessed of this principle, logic, which has seemed till now purely destructive, becomes in his hands creative, and gives form and meaning to an object of pure reason. The criterion of reality is self -consistency. We cannot think that anything is ultimately real which has its ground of existence in something else. A real thing is that which can be explained without reference to some other thing. Reality, therefore, is completely selfcontained existence, not merely dependent existence. Contradictions cannot be true. If we have to affirm a contradiction of anything, it must be due to an appearTHE ABSOLUTE 89 ance, and the reality must reconcile the contradiction. The idea of reality, therefore, is the idea of perfect harmony. Knowing, then, what reality is, can we say . that there is any actual object of thought that conforms to it ? And have we in our limited experience anything that will guide us to the attainment of this object ? The idealist is confident that we have. Some things seem to us to possess a far higher degree of reality than others, just because they conform in a greater degree to this ideal of harmonious existence. It is when we compare the reality of physical things with the reality of mental things that the contrast is most striking, and in it we have the clue to the nature of the higher reality. Physical reality may seem, and indeed in a certain sense is, the basis of existence, but when we try to think out the meaning of physical reality, it becomes increasingly abstract, and we seem unable to set any actual limit to prevent it dissipating into nothing. In \ physical science we never have before us an actual element, either matter or energy, in which we can recognise, however far below the limit of perceivability, the ultimate stuff of which the universe is composed. Science has simply to arrest the dissipation by boldly assuming a matter that is the substance and foundation of reality and an energy that is the ultimate cause of the evolution of the universe. On the other hand, when we consider mental existence, the pursuit of reality is in an exactly contrary direction. There, the more concrete, the more comprehensive, the more individual a thing is, the greater degree of reality it seems to have. In the spiritual realm, by which we mean, not some supposed supra-mundane sphere, but the world of values, the world in which ideas have reality, in which ; we live our rational life, reality is always sought in a 40 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH higher and higher individuality. The principle of individuality is that the whole is more real than the parts. An individual human being, for example, is a whole, an indivisible organic unity, not merely an aggregation of physiological organs with special functions, nor are these a mere collection of special cells, nor these a mere concourse of chemical elements. The State as a community is an individual organic unity with a reality that is more than the mere total of the reality of individual citizens who compose it. It is this principle of individuality that is the true criterion of reality. It is this principle that, while it leads us to seek the unity in an individuality ever higher and more complete than we have attained, at the same time explains the discrepancy of our partial view, explains contradictions as the necessary result of the effort to understand the parts in independence of the whole which gives to them their reality. Thus, while on the one hand the scientific search for reality is ever towards greater simplicity and abstractness, a simplicity whose ideal limit is zero, the philosophical search for reality is ever towards greater concreteness, towards full comprehensiveness, and its ideal limit is the whole universe as one perfect and completely harmonious individual. This idea of full reality is the Absolute. There are not two realities, one material and the other spiritual ; the material and the spiritual are two directions in which we may seek the one reality, but there is only one pathway by which we shall find it. The Absolute is the whole universe not in its aspect of an aggregate of infinitely diverse separate elements, whether these are material or spiritual, but in its aspect of an individual whole and in its nature as a whole. This nature of the whole is to be individual only in THE ABSOLUTE 41 the individual are contradictions reconciled. Is the Absolute more than an idea ? Does it actually exist ? Clearly we cannot claim to know it by direct experience, by acquaintance ; it is not a that of which we can ask what ? It is the object of reason itself, therefore we know that it must be. Also we know that it can be ; it is a possible object in the logical meaning that it is not a self-contradictory idea, like every other idea that we can have. It is not self-contradictory, for it is itself the idea of that which is consistent. Therefore, argues the idealist, it is, for that which must be, and can be, surely exists. The reader will now understand why I introduced this account of the Absolute with a description for comparison of the St. Anselm proof of the existence of God. There is one further question. Whether the Absolute does or does not exist, is it, either in idea or reality, of any use to us ? The reply is that its value lies in this, that it reveals to us the nature of reality and the meaning of truth. Logic is the creative power of thought which leads us to the discovery of higher and higher degrees of reality. The Satyr, in the fable, drove his guest from his shelter because the man blew into his hands to warm them, and into his porridge to cool it. The Satyr could not reconcile the contradiction that one could with the same breath blow hot and cold. Nor would he reconcile it ever, so long as he sought truth as correspondence. Truth would have shown the facts coherent by reconciling the contradiction in a higher reality. 42 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH CHAPTER V PRAGMATISM THE theory of the Absolute is only one form of Idealism, but it illustrates the nature and general direction of the development of philosophy along the line of speculation that began with Kant. There have been, of course, other directions. In particular many attempts have been made to make philosophy an adjunct of physical science, but the theory I have sketched is characteristic of the prevailing movement in philosophy during the last period of the Nineteenth Century, and until the movement known as Pragmatism directed criticism upon it. The form the pragmatical criticism of the theory of the Absolute took was to direct attention to the logical or intellectual principle on which it rests in fact to raise the problem of the nature of truth. Pragmatism is a theory of the meaning of truth. It is the denial of a purely logical criterion of truth, and the insistence that truth is always dependent on psychological conditions. Pragmatism therefore rejects both the views that we have examined the theory that truth is a correspondence of the idea with its object, and the theory that it is the logical coherence and consistency of the idea itself. It proposes instead the theory that truth is always founded on a practical postulate, and consists in the verification of that postulate ; the verification not being the discovery of something that was waiting to be discovered, but the discovery that the postulate that claims to be true is useful, in that it works. Truth is what works. The Absolute is reality and truth. The idealist argument which we have followed was an attempt to PRAGMATISM 48 determine the nature of reality, and not an attempt to explain what we mean when we say that an idea agrees with its object. What is true about reality ? was the starting point, and not, What is truth ? nor even, What is true about truth ? The search for reality failed to discover any object that agreed with its idea, but at last there was found an idea that must agree with its object, an idea whose object cannot not be. This idea, the Absolute, reveals the nature of reality. The pragI rnatist when he asks, What is truth ? seems to dig \ beneath the argument, seems indeed even to reach the $ bedrock, but it is only in appearance that this is so. How, indeed, could he hope to be able to answer the question he has himself asked, if there is no way of distinguishing the true answer from the false ? We j must already know what truth is even to be able to | ask what it is a point which many pragmatist writers J appear to me to have overlooked. In challenging the idea of truth, the pragmatist raises the no less important question of the nature of error. A theory of truth must not only show in what truth consists, but must distinguish false from true and show the nature of error. The pragmatist claims for his \ theory that it alone can give a consistent account of I illusion and error. Now, as we saw in our account of J the idealist argument, it is the fact of illusion and error that compels us to seek reality behind the appearances that are the sense data of our conscious experience. The whole force of the pragmatist movement in philosophy is directed to proving that truth is a prior consideration to reality. If we understand the nature of truth, we shall see reality .in the making. Reality can in fact be left to look after itself ; our business is with our conceptions alone, which are either true or false. The distinction of appearance and reality does I tvA* 44 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH | not explain illusion and error because it does not distinguish between true and false appearance. There ^is no principle in idealism by which the Absolute rejects ,the false appearance and reconciles the true. Before I examine the pragmatist argument, I ought first to explain the meaning and origin of the word. The term pragmatism, that has in the last few years entered so widely into all philosophical discussion, was used first by Mr. C. S. Peirce, an American philosopher, in a magazine article written as long ago as 1878, but it attracted no attention for nearly twenty years, when it was recalled by William James in the criticism of the current philosophy in his Will to Believe, a book which marks the beginning of the new movement. % Pragmatism was first put forward as the principle that = the whole meaning of any conception expresses itself in practical consequences. The conception of the '; practical effects of a conception is the whole conception of the object. The pragmatist maxim is would you (know what any idea or conception means, then consider what practical consequences are involved by its accept} ance or rejection. Dr. Schiller, the leading exponent of the principle in England, prefers to call the philosophy " Humanism " in order still more to emphasize the psychological and personal character of knowledge. The name is suggested by the maxim of Protagoras, " Man is the measure of all things." The term Intellectualism is used by pragmatist writers to include all theories of knowledge that do not agree with their own, very much as the Greeks called all who were not Greeks, ' Barbarians. It must not be taken to mean, as its etymology would imply, a philosophy like that of ^ /Plato, which held that only universals, the ideas, are i real, or like that of Hegel, who said that " the actual [ is the rational and the rational is the actual." The PRAGMATISM 45 pragmatists apply the term intellectualist to all philosophers who recognise an objective character in the logical ideal of truth, whether or not they also recognise non-logical elements in reality, and whether or not these non-logical elements are physical, such as matter and energy, or purely psychical, such as will, desire, emotion, pleasure, and pain. Pragmatism is a criticism and a theory. If reality in its full meaning is the Absolute, and if all seeming reality is only a degree of or approximation to this full \ reality, if the knowledge of this reality only is truth, \ must it not seem to us that truth is useless knowledge ? ( Useless, not in the sense that it is without value to the i mind that cares to contemplate it, but useless in so far as the hard everyday working world in which we have to spend our lives is concerned. We who have to win our existence in the struggle of life, need truth. We need truth in order to act. Truth that transcends our temporal needs, truth that is eternal, truth that reconciles illusion and error, that accepts them as a necessary . condition of appearance in time, is useless in practice, I however it may inspire the poet and philosopher. Truth 1 to serve us must reject error and not reconcile it, must be a working criterion and not only a rational one. Whatever truth is, it is not useless ; it is a necessity j of life, not a luxury of speculation. Pragmatism there| fore rejects the logical criterion of truth because it is purely formal and therefore useless. It demands for us a practical criterion, one that will serve our continual needs. Whether our working ideas cause, time, space, movement, things and their qualities, terms and their relations, and the like are consistent or inconsistent in themselves, they more or less work ; and in so far as i they work they are useful and serve us, and because I they work, and just in so far as they work, they are true. | 46 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH \ The pragmatist therefore declares that utility, not f logical consistency, is the criterion of truth. Ideas are 1 true in so far as they work. The discovery that they I serve us is their verification. If we discover ideas that | will serve us better, the old ideas that were true become 1 untrue, and the new ideas that we adopt become true } because they are found to work. This doctrine of the verification or making true of ideas leads to a theory of the origin of the ideas them' selves. Each idea has arisen or been called forth by a ,jf ' human need. It has been formed by human nature to meet a need of human nature. It is a practical postulate claiming truth. Even the axioms that now seem to us self-evident such, for example, as the very law of contradiction itself, from which, as we have seen, the logical criterion of consistency is deduced were in their origin practical postulates, called forth by a need, and, t because found to work, true. The inconsistencies and contradictions in our ideas do not condemn them as appearance, and compel us to construct a reality in which they disappear or are reconciled, but are evidence ( of their origin in practical need and of their provisional character. Truth is not eternal, it is changing. New -3 conditions are ever calling forth new ideas, and truths become untrue. Each new idea comes forward with a ""jj* claim to truth, and its claim is tested by its practica' bility. Truth is not something we discover, and which ' was there to be discovered. We verify ideas. To verify is not to find true but to make true. The pragmatist theory therefore is that truth is made. In all other theories truth is found. But if we make truth we must make reality, for it is clear that if reality is there already, the agreement with it of man-made truth would be nothing short of a miracle. The pragmatist, or at all events the pragmatist who is also a PRAGMATISM 47 humanist, finds no difficulty in accepting this consequence of the theory, although at the same time insisting that the whole problem of being as well as of knowing is concerned with truth. We shall see, however, that it offers a serious difficulty to the acceptance of the theory a theory which in very many respects f agrees with ordinary practice and with scientific method, j Take, for example, scientific method. Is not all proI gress in science made by suggesting a hypothesis, and testing it by experiment to see if it works ? Do we not judge its claim to truth by the practical consequences involved in accepting or rejecting it ? Is there any other verification ? This is the simple pragmatist test, does the laboratory worker add to it or find it in any respect insufficient ? If truth can be considered alone, then we must admit that it is the attribute of knowledge which is comprised under the term useful, the term 1 being used in its most comprehensive meaning to include \ every kind of practical consequence. It is the question j of reality that raises the difficulty for the scientific worker. We cannot believe, or perhaps we should say, the ordinary man and the scientific man would find it very difficult to believe, that reality changes correspondingly with our success or failure in the verification of our hypothesis. When the scientific worker verifies his hypothesis, he feels not that he has made something true which before was not true, but that he has discovered what always was true, although until the discovery he did not know it. To this the pragmatist reply is, that this very belief is a practical consequence involved in the verification of the hypothesis, involved in the discovery that it works. What he denies is that | truth reveals, or ever can reveal, a reality entirely irreleI vant to any human purpose. It is also very important to add that in declaring that truth is verification, the 48 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH pragmatist does not set up a purely practical or utili: tarian standard. The " working " of truth means ' theoretical as well as practical working. Much of the current criticism of pragmatism has failed to take notice of this intention or meaning of its principle, and hence the common misapprehension that the maxim " truth is what works " must mean that whatever a man believes is for him truth. The pragmatist doctrine and attitude will perhaps be easier to understand if we take it in regard to a particular instance of truth and error in regard to fundamental notions. In the last four or five years a new principle has been formulated in Physics, named the Principle of Relativity. It revolutionises the current conceptions of space and time. It is so recent that probably some of my readers now hear of it for the first time, and therefore before I refer to its formulation by mathematicians I will give a simple illustration to explain what it is. Suppose that you are walking up and down the deck of a steamer, and let us suppose that the steamer is proceeding at the speed of four miles an hour, the space that you cover and the interval of time that you occupy are exactly the same for you whether you are moving up the deck in the direction the steamer is going or down the deck in the direction which is the reverse of the steamer's movement. But suppose some one on the shore could observe you moving while the ship was invisible to him, your movement would appear to him entirely different to what it is to you. When you were walking up the deck you would seem to be going at twice the speed you would be going, and when you were going down the deck you would seem not to I be moving at all. The time measurement would also j seem different to the observer on the shore, for while \ to you each moment would be measured by an equal PRAGMATISM 49 space covered, to him one moment you would be | moving rapidly, the next at rest. This is simple and easy to understand. Now suppose that both you and c the observer were each observing a natural phenomenon, say a thunder-storm, it would seem that each of you ought to observe it with a difference a difference strictly calculable from the system of movement, the ship, in which you were placed in relation to him. The propagation of the sound and of the light would have to undergo a correction if each of you described your experience to the other. If you were moving in the direction of the light waves they would be slower for you than for him, and if against their direction they would be faster for you than for him. Of course the immense velocity of the light waves, about 200,000 miles a second, would make the difference in a movement of four miles an hour so infinitesimal as to be altogether inappreciable, but it would not be nothing, and you would feel quite confident that if it could be measured the infinitesimal quantity would appear hi the result. Now suppose that we could measure it with absolute accuracy, and that the result was the discovery that the supposed difference did not exist at all and of course, we suppose that there is no doubt whatever about the measurement what, then, should we be obliged to think ? We should be forced to believe that as the velocity of light was the same for the two observers, t one moving, one at rest, therefore the space and the\ time must be different for each. Now, however strange * it may seem, such a measurement has been made, and i with this surprising result. In consequence there has been formulated a new principle in Physics named the Principle of Relativity. I take this Principle of Relativity for my illustration because it is based on reason| ing that practically admits of no doubt, and because [ D 50 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH it requires us to form new conceptions of space and time which seem to alter fundamentally what we have hitherto considered as the evident and unmistakable nature of those realities. It has always seemed that the distance separating two points, and the interval of time separating two events, were each independent of the other and each absolute. However different the distance and the interval may appear to observers in movement or to observers in different systems of movement in relation to ourselves and to one another, in themselves they are the same distance and the same interval for all. They are the same for the man in the express train as for the man standing on the station platform. The Principle of Relativity requires us to think that this is not so, but that, contrary to all our settled notions, the actual space and time vary really undergo an alteration, a contraction or expansion with each different system of movement of translation to which the observer is bound. Events that for an observer belonging to one system of movement happen in the same place, for another observer in a different system of movement happen in different places. Events that for one observer happen simultaneously, for other observers are separated by a time interval according to the movement of translation of the system to which they belong. So that space, which Newton described as rigid, and time which he described as flowing at a constant rate, and which for him was absolute, are for ? the new theory relative, different for an observer in ! every different system of movement of translation. Or ' we may state it in the opposite way, and say that the Principle of Relativity shows us that the reason why natural phenomena, such as the rate of propagation of light, undergo no alteration when we pass from one system of movement of translation to another, as we PRAGMATISM 51 are constantly doing in the changing velocity of the earth's movement round the SUM, is that space and time alter with the velocity. I cannot here give the argument or describe the experiments which have given this result I am simply taking it as an illustration. 1 It seems to me admirably suited to compare the pragmatist method and the pragmatist attitude with that of scientific realism and of absolute idealism. Here, then, is a question in which the truth of our accepted notions is called in question, and new notions claim to be true. The sole question involved, prag| matism insists, is the truth of conceptions, not the 1 reality of things, and there is but one way of testing the * truth of conceptions and that is by comparing the rival conceptions in respect of the practical consequences that follow from them and adopting those that will work. If the old conceptions of space and time fail to conform to a new need, then what was true before the need was revealed is no longer true, the new conception has become true. By verifying the new conception, we make it true. But, objects the realist, an idea cannot become true ; what is now true always was true, and what is no longer true never was true, though we may have worked with the false notion ignorant that it was false. Behind truth there is reality. The earth was spherical even when all mankind believed it flat and found the belief work. To this the pragmatist | reply is that reality is only our objectification of truth ; J it possesses no meaning divorced from human purposes. \ Had anyone announced that the earth was a sphere 1 The Principle of Relativity is mainly the result of the recent mathematical work of H. A. Lorentz, Einstein, and the late Professor Minkowski. A very interesting and not excessively difficult account of it is contained in Dernteres Pensees, by the late Henri Poincare 1 ; Paris, Alcan. 52 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH when it was generally held to be flat, unless his announcement had some relevance to a defect in the flat earth notion, or a claim to revise that notion, his announcement would have been neither a truth nor a falsehood in any intelligible meaning of the term he would have been making an irrelevant remark. The notions of space and time that Newton held worked, and were therefore true ; if a new need requires us to replace them with other notions, and these other notions will work and are therefore true, they have become true and Newton's notions have become false. If it is still objected that the new notions were also true for Newton, although he was ignorant of them, the need for them not having arisen, the only reply is that truth, I or reality, in complete detachment from human purf poses, cannot be either affirmed or denied. With this view the idealist will be in agreement ; his objection is of a different kind. He rejects, as the pragmatist does, the notion of a reality independent of human nature that forces upon us the changes that our conceptions undergo. These changes, he holds, are | the inner working of the conceptions themselves, the I manifestation of our intellectual nature, ever striving [ for an ideal of logical consistency. Truth is this ideal. We do not make it ; we move towards it. If we compare, then, the idealist and the pragmatist doctrine, it will seem that, while for the idealist truth is growing with advancing knowledge into an ever larger because more comprehensive system of reality, for the pragmatist it is ever narrowing, discarding failures as useless and | irrelevant to present purpose. How indeed, the idealist will ask, if practical consequences be the meaning of | truth, is it possible to understand that knowledge has advanced or can advance ? Does not the history of science prove a continual expansion, an increasing PRAGMATISM 53 comprehension ? It is within the conception that the inconsistency is revealed, not in any mere outward use of the conceptions, and the intellectual effort is to reconcile the contradiction by relating the conception to a more comprehensive whole. How, then, does the idealist meet this case which we have specially instanced, the demand for new notions of space and time made by the Principle of Relativity ? He denies that the new conceptions are called forth by human needs in the narrow sense that is to say, in the sense that working hypotheses or practical postulates are required. The need is purely logical. The inconsistency revealed in \ the notions that have hitherto served us can only be l reconciled by apprehending a higher unity. If the older notions of space and time are inadequate to the more comprehensive view of the universe as a coordination of systems of movement, then this very negation of the older notions is the affirmation of the new, and from the negation by pure logic the content and meaning which are the truth of the new notions are derived. To this objection the pragmatist reply is that if this be the meaning of the truth there is no way shown by which it can be distinguished from error. There is in fact for idealism no error, no illusion, no falsehood ; as real facts, there are only degrees of truth. But a theory of truth which ignores such stubborn realities as illusion, falsehood, and error is, from whatever standpoint we view it, useless. On the other hand, pragmatism offers a test by which we can discriminate between true and false namely, the method of judging conceptions by their practical consequences. Can we or can we not make our conceptions work ? That is the whole meaning of asking, Are they true or false ? And now, lest the reader is alarmed at the prospect of having to revise his working ideas of space and 54, THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH time, I will, to reassure him, quote the words with which Henri Poincar6 concluded his account of the new conceptions, and which admirably express and illustrate the pragmatist's attitude : " What is to be our position in view of these new conceptions ? Are we about to be forced to modify our conclusions ? No, indeed : we had adopted a convention because it seemed to us convenient, and we declared that nothing could compel us to abandon it. To-day certain physicists wish to adopt a new convention. Ifc is not because they are compelled to ; they judge this new convention to be more convenient that is all ; and those who are not of this opinion can legitimately keep the old and so leave their old habits undisturbed. I think, between ourselves, that this is what they will do for a long time to come." I have so far considered pragmatism rather as a criticism than as a doctrine. I will now try and characterise it on its positive side. It declares that there is I no such thing as pure thought, but that all thinking is I personal and purposive ; that all knowing is directed, I controlled, and qualified by psychological conditions such as interest, attention, desire, emotion, and the like ; and that we cannot, as formal logic does, abstract from any of these, for logic itself is part of a psychical process. Truth therefore depends upon belief ; truths are matters of belief, and beliefs are rules of action. It is this doctrine that gives to pragmatism its paradoxical, some have even said its grotesque, character. It seems to say that the same proposition is both true and false true for the man who believes it, false for the man who cannot. It seems to say that we can make anything true by believing it, and we can believe anything so long as the consequences of acting on it are not absolutely disastrous. And the proposition, All truths work, seems to involve the conclusion that all that works is true; and the proposition, The true is the useful, seems to imply that UTILITY 55 whatever is useful is therefore true. No small part of the pragmatist controversy has been directed to the attempt to show that all and each of these corollaries are, or arise from, misconceptions of the doctrine. I think, and I shall endeavour to show, that there is a serious defect in the pragmatist statement, and that these misconceptions are in a great part due to it. Nevertheless, we must accept the pragmatist disavowal. And there is no difficulty in doing so, for the meaning of the theory is sufficiently clear. Truth, according to pragmatism, is a value and not a fact. Truth is thus connected with the conception of " good." In saying that truth is useful, we say that it is a means to an end, a good. It is not a moral end, but a cognitive end, just as " beauty " is an aesthetic end. Truth, beauty, and goodness thus stand together as judgments of value or worth. It is only by recognising that truth is a value that we can possess an actual criterion to distinguish it from error, for if truth is a judgment of fact, if it asserts existence, so also does error. The pragmatist principle has an important bearing on religion. It justifies the Faith attitude. It showa that the good aimed at by a " truth claim " is only attainable by the exercise of the will to believe. Thu& it replaces the intellectual maxim, Believe in nothing yoi* can possibly doubt, with the practical maxim, Resolve not to quench any impulse to believe because doubts of the truth are possible. Belief may even be a condition of the success of the truth claim. CHAPTER VI UTILITY WE have seen in the last chapter that pragmatism is both a criticism and a theory. It shows us that the 56 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH notion that truth is correspondence involves the conception of an " impossible " knowledge, and the notion ' that truth is coherence or consistency involves the conception of a " useless " knowledge. The explanation pragmatism itself offers is of the kind that is called in the technical language of philosophy teleological. This . means that to explain or to give a meaning to truth 1 all we can do is to point out the purpose on accoimt of I which it exists. This is not scientific explanation. I Physical science explains a fact or an event by showing the conditions which give rise to it or that determine / its character. Pragmatism recognises no conditions determining truth such as those which science embodies in the conception of a natural law that is, the idea of a connection of natural events with one another which is not dependent on human thoughts about them nor on human purposes in regard to them. Truth is in intimate association with human practical activity; its meaning lies wholly in its utility. We must therefore now examine somewhat closely this notion of utility. There appears to me to be a serious defect in the pragmatist conception and application of the principle of utility ; it is based on a conception altogether too narrow. A theory that condemns any purely logical process as resulting in " useless " knowledge can only justify itself by insisting on an application of the principle of utility that will be found to exclude not merely the Absolute of philosophy but most if not all f of the results of pure mathematics and physics, for these f sciences apply a method of pure logical deduction and * induction indistinguishable from that which pragmatism condemns. The intellectual nature of man is an endowment whicH sharply distinguishes him from other forms of living creatures. So supreme a position does our intellect assign to us, so wide is the gap that separates UTILITY 57 us from other creatures little different from ourselves in respect of perfection of material organisation and adaptation to environment, that it seems almost natural J to suppose that our intellect is that for which we exist, f and not merely a mode of controlling, directing, and advancing our life. Now it is possible to hold and this is the view that I shall endeavour in what follows to develop that the intellect is subservient to life, and that we can show the manner and method of its working and the purpose it serves. So far we may agree with the pragmatist, but it is not the same thing to say that the | intellect serves a useful purpose and to say that truth, 8 the ideal of the intellect, the end which it strives for, is I itself only a utility. Were there no meaning in truth I except that it is what works, were there no meaning independent of and altogether distinct from the practical consequences of belief, of what value to us would the I intellect be ? If the meaning the intellect assigns to ! truth is itself not true, how can the intellect serve us ? The very essence ofits service is reduced to nought ; for what else but the conception of an objective truth, a ; logical reality independent of any and every psycho, logical condition, is the utility that the intellect puts I us in possession of ? It is this conception alone that j constitutes it an effective mode of activity. Therefore, ! if we hold with the pragmatist that the intellect is subservient to life, truth is indeed a utility, but it is a utility just because it has a meaning distinct from usefulness. On the other hand, to condemn any knowledge as " useless " is to deny utility to the intellect. Before I try to show that the logical method of the idealist philosophy, which pragmatism condemns because it leads to " useless " knowledge, is identical in every respect with the method employed in pure mathematics and physics, I will give for comparison two illustrations 58 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH that seem to me instances of a narrow and of a wide use of the concept of utility. A short time ago an orang-utang escaped from its cage in the Zoological Gardens under somewhat singular and very interesting circumstances. The cage was secured with meshed wire of great strength, judged sufficient to resist the direct impact of the most powerful of the carnivora ; but the ape, by attention to the twisting of the plied wire, had by constant trying succeeded in loosening and finally in unwinding a large section. It escaped from its enclosure, and after doing considerable damage in the corridor, including the tearing out of a window frame, made its way into the grounds and took refuge in a tree, twisting the branches into a platform said to be similar to the constructions it makes in its native forests. In taking this action as an illustration, I am not concerned with the question of what may be the distinction between action that is intelligent and action that is instinctive. If we take intelligence in a wide and general meaning, we may compare the intelligence shown by this ape with the intelligence shown by man in the highest processes of the mind. Psychologists would, I think, be unanimous in holding that in the mind of the ape there was no conception of freedom, no kind of mental image of unrestricted life and of a distinct means of attaining it, no clearly purposed end, the means of attaining which was what prompted the undoing of the wire, such as we should certainly suppose in the case of a man in a similar situation. It was the kind of intelligent action that psychologists denote by the description " trial and error." It seems to me, however, that this exactly fulfils the conditions that the pragmatist doctrine of the meaning of truth require. We see the intellect of the ape making true by finding out what works. UTILITY 59 We can suppose an entire absence of the idea of objective truth to which reality must conform, of truth unaffected by purpose. Here, then, we seem to have the pure type of truth in its simplest conditions, a practical activity using intelligence to discover what works. Is the difference between this practical activity and the higher mental | activities as we employ them in the abstract sciences one I of degree of complexity only, or is it different in kind ? Let us consider now, as an illustration of the method of the abstract sciences, the well-known case of the discovery of the planet Neptune. This planet was discovered by calculation and deduction, and was only seen when its position had been so accurately determined that the astronomers who searched for it knew exactly the point of the heavens to which to direct their telescopes. The calculation was one of extraordinary intricacy, and was made independently by two mathematicians, Adams of Cambridge and Le vender of i^aris, between the years 1843 and 1846. Each communicated his result independently Adams to the astronomer Challis, the Director of the Cambridge Observatory, and Leverrier to Dr. Galle of the Berlin Observatory. Within six weeks of one another and entirely unknown to one another, in August and September 1846, each of these astronomers observed the planet where he had been told to look for it. This is one of the romances of modern science. It is not the discovery but the method that led to it which may throw light on our problem of the nature of truth. At first sight this seems exactly to accord with and even to illustrate the pragmatist theory, that truth is | what works. The investigation is prompted by the discrepancies between the actual and the calculated positions of Uranus, the outermost planet, as it was then supposed, of the system. This revealed a need, and this : 60 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH need was met by the practical postulate of the existence of another planet as yet unseen. The hypothesis was found to work even before the actual observation put the final seal of actuality on the discovery. What else but the practical consequences of the truth claim in the form of the hypothesis of an undiscovered planet were ever in question ? Yes, we reply, but the actual method adopted, and the knowledge sought for by the method, are precisely of the land that pragmatism rejects as " useless " knowledge. Why were not the observed movements of Uranus accepted as what they were ? Why was it felt that they must be other than they were seen to be unless there was another planet ? The need lay in the idea of system. It was inconsistent with the system then believed complete, and the need was to find the complete system in which it would harmonise. The truth that was sought for was a harmonious individual whole, and the method employed precisely that which the Absolutist theory of reality employs. There is observed a discrepancy, an incon-' sistency, a contradiction within the whole conceived as a system. This negation is treated as a defect, is calculated and accurately determined, and is then positively affirmed of the reality. Now, what is distinctive } in this method is that reality is conceived as a complete I system. If the felt defect in this system cannot be ' made good by direct discovery, its place is supplied by a fiction, using the term in its etymological meaning to express something made and not hi its derived meaning to express something found false. This intellectual process of construction is purely logical ; no psychological element in the sense of the will to believe enters into it or colours it in any way This is not an isolated instance, it illustrates the method of science in all theorising. An even more UTILITY 61 striking illustration than that we have just given is the case of the hypothesis of the luminiferous aether a supposed existence, a fiction, that has served a useful, even an indispensable service in the history of modern physics. To many physicists, even to Lord Kelvin, the hypothesis seemed so surely established that its nonexistence hardly seemed thinkable, yet all the experiments designed to detect its presence have been uniformly negative in result, and it now seems not even necessary as a hypothesis, and likely to disappear. The aether was not only not discovered, it was not even suspected to exist, as in the case of the unknown planet Neptune it was logically constructed. It was required to support the theory of the undulatory nature of light and to fulfil the possibility of light propagation in space. It was therefore a postulate, called forth by a need so far we may adopt the pragmatist account. But what was the nature of the need, and what was the method by which the postulate was called forth ? It is in answering this question that the pragmatist criterion fails. The need was intellectual in the purely logical meaning of the term, and it was met by a purely logical construction. The need was a practical human need only in so far as the intellect working by logical process is a human endowment but not in any personal sense such as is conveyed by the term psychological. Willingness or unwillingness to believe, desire, aversion, interest were all irrelevant. Given the intellect, the logical necessity was the only need that called forth by logical process the " truth-claiming " hypothesis of the tether. But even so, the pragmatist will urge, is its truth anything else but its usefulness as shown in the practical consequences of believing it ? Was it not true while it was useful, and is it not only now false, if it is false, if it is actually discovered not to be useful ? 62 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH The reply is that no mathematician or physicist would recognise the possibility of working with a conception of truth that simply identified truth with utility, and for this reason that he can only conceive reality as a system whose truth is symbolised in an equation. It is the system that determines and characterises the postulate, and not the postulate advanced at a venture, tried and verified, that constitutes the system. The mathematician begins by placing symbols to represent the unknown factors in his equation, and proceeds by means of his known factors to determine their value. The aether is at first a pure fiction constructed to supply an unknown existence recognised as a defect. Its truth cannot mean that it works for it cannot but work, having been constructed purely for that purpose. Its truth means that it corresponds to some actual existence at present unknown. To prove its truth the physicist does not appeal to its value as a hypothesis, but devises experiments by which, if it does exist, its existence will be demonstrated. In this actual case the experiments have had a uniformly negative result, and therefore the truth of the hypothesis is made doubtful or denied. The hypothesis continues to work as well as it ever did, and physicists will probably long continue to use it, but it has failed to establish its truth claim. The result is the modern Principle of Relativity, which, as we have already said, has produced a revolution in modern physics. The abolition of the aether would have been impossible if the physicist had been content with the utility of his hypothesis and had not experimented to prove its truth. The relation between truth and utility is thus proved to be that it is useful to know what is true. These two illustrations of scientific method namely, the discovery of Neptune and the negative discovery UTILITY 68 that the aether is non-existent make it evident that verification is the intellectual process not of making true, but of finding true. We can, indeed, distinguish quite clearly the two processes. The first process, that of making true, is the constructing of the fiction by which we complete an incomplete system, and the second is the testing of that fiction to see if it corresponds to anything actually existing. No kind of intellectual activity will make an idea true, and conversely we may say that were truth only a utility, then knowledge instead of being systematic would be chaotic. Existence has its roots in reality, not in knowledge. Reality does not depend on truth. Truth is the intellectual apprehension of reality. If the pragmatist objects that in this argument I have throughout supposed him to be urging the narrow meaning of utility, namely, that it is usefulness in the strictly practical sense, whereas he intends it in the widest possible meaning a meaning that includes theoretical usefulness then the trouble is a different one ; it is to know how and where the pragmatist stops short of the coherence theory of truth, and wherein his method differs from that of the idealist. This brings me to the consideration of another theory in which the concept of utility plays a large, indeed a predominant part. This is the theory of the relation of knowledge to life that is given to us in the philosophy of Bergson. I have in one of the volumes of this series given an account of this philosophy ; I am here only dealing with its relation to this special problem of the nature of truth. It has been claimed that this philosophy is only a form of pragmatism, but it is not a theory of truth, and it has this essential difference from pragmatism that it is the intellect and not truth that is a utility. Before we consider the question that it gives 64 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH rise to in regard to truth, let us first examine the theory of the intellect, and the nature of its utility. The intellect is a mode of activity, an endowment acquired in the course of evolution, and which has been retained and perfected because of its utility. This does not mean that the intellect directs us to what is useful and inhibits us from courses fatal to life, neither does it mean that it gives us any power to make true what is not already true, it means that the power to acquire knowledge is useful. There is a contrast in our own existence between our life and our intellect. To understand the way in which the intellect serves the living creature endowed with it, we need only regard it from the standpoint of ordinary experience. We know in ourselves that our life is wider than our intellect, Iand that our intellect serves the activity of our life. The common expressions we employ, such as using our wits, taking an intelligent interest, trying to think, all imply a utility distinct from the intellect. So viewed, our life appears as an active principle within us, mamtaming our organism in its relations, active and passive, and reactive to the reality outside and independent of it. Our intellect also seems both active and passive. It receives the influences that stream in upon us from the reality around us, it apprehends and interprets them, and works out the lines of our possible action in regard to them. The influences that flow in upon us f from the outside world are already selected before our i intellect apprehends them, for they flow in by the ; avenues of our senses, and the senses are natural instru\ ments of selection. If we picture these influences as vibrations, then we may say that a certain group of vibrations of a very rapid frequency are selected by the eye and give rise to vision, that another group of very much lower frequency are selected by the ear and ^ v UTILITY 65 give the sensation of sound, and other groups are selected by taste, smell, and touch. Many groups are known indirectly by means of artificial instruments, and all the infinite series that unite these groups of the actually experienced vibrations escape our apprehension altogether we have no means of selecting them, t But all these sense data, as we may call them, come to 1 us without exertion or activity on our part ; it is the j intellect which gives them meaning, which interprets them, which makes them the apprehension or awareness of objects or things. And the active part that the I intellect plays is also a process of selection. This is I evident if we reflect upon the universal form which our intellectual activity takes, namely, attention. It is in the act of attention that we are conscious of mental activity, and attention is essentially selection the selection of an interest. Besides the natural selection that is effected by our senses and the conscious selection that is manifest in attention, there is also a more or less arbitrary selection that our intellect performs in marking out the lines of our practical interest and possible V action. In this work of selection the intellect makes/ the world conform to the necessities of our action. So far we have looked at our intellectual endowment from the standpoint of ordinary common-sense experience. Let us now consider the philosophical theory based on this view, which explains the nature of knowledge by showing its purpose. The intellect not only selects, but in selecting transforms the reality. It presents us with knowledge that indeed corresponds with reality, for it is essentially a view of reality, but also in selecting it marks out divisions, and gives to reality a form that is determined by practical interest. The same reality is different to different individuals and to different species according to their practical interests. 66 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH The practical end which the human intellect serves is to present us with a field for our life activity. This is the real world for us, as we know it, real objects in a real space. Had we no other way of knowing but that of our intellect we should not know the life which is active within us as it is really lived, we should be as those who, standing outside, watch a movement, and not as those who are carried along in the movement and experience it from within. In life and intellect we have the counterpart of reality and appearance. Life is not something that changes ; it is the change of which the something is the appearance. Life is the reality of which all things, as we understand them, are the appearances, and on account of which, they appear. The solid things in space and time are not in reality what they appear; they are views of the reality. The intellect guided by our practical interest presents reality under this form of solid spatial things. Clearly, then, if this view be true, the whole world, as it is presented to us and thought of by us, is an illusion. Our science is not unreal, but it is a transformed reality. The illusions may be useful, may, indeed, be necessary and indispensable, but nevertheless it is illusion. But here there arises a new difficulty in regard to truth. If the usefulness of the intellect consists in the active production of an illusion, can we say that the intellect leads us to truth ? Is it not only if we can turn away from the intellect and obtain a non-intellectual intuition that we can know truth ? ILLUSION 67 CHAPTER VII ILLUSION THE doctrine that the world that appears is essentially unlike the world that is is neither new nor peculiar to any particular theory of philosophy. It has received a new interest and a new interpretation lately in the theory that we are now considering, that the clue to the appearj ance of the world to us is to be found in the conception I of the nature of the utility of the intellect and in the! mode of its activity. The idea that we are perhaps* disqualified by our very nature itself from beholding reality and knowing truth is illustrated in the wellknown allegory in the Republic of Plato : " And now let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened. Behold ! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den ; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way ; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets. And men are passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues, and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall. . . . " They are strange prisoners, like ourselves, and they see only their own shadows or the shadows of one another which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave. And so also of the objects carried and of the passers-by ; to the prisoners the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. 68 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH "And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains ; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows. And then conceive someone saying to him that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being, and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, and what will be his reply ? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him ? . . . " And suppose that he is forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated ? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities." The thought that Plato has expressed in this wonderful allegory has entered deeply into all philosophy. What we first take for reality is merely a shadow world. But in Plato's view it is the intellect which gives us the means of escape, the power to turn from the illusion to behold the reality. It is not until now that philosophy has sought the clue to the illusion in the nature of the } intellect itself. The very instrument of truth is unfitted i to reveal to us the reality as it is, because its nature and purpose is to transform reality, to make reality appear in a form which, though of paramount importance to us as active beings, is essentially an illusion. The intellectual bent of our mind leads us away from, and not towards a vision of reality in its purity. The more our intellect progresses, and the more and more clearly we ILLUSION 69 see into a greater and ever greater number of things, the farther are we from, and not the nearer to a grasp of reality as it is. To obtain this vision of reality we have to turn away from the intellect and find ourselves again in that wider life out of which the intellect is formed. Life, as it lives, is an intuition that is nonintellectual. " Human intelligence," writes Bergson, " is not at all what Plato taught hi the allegory of the cave. Its function is not to look at passing shadows, nor yet to turn itself round and contemplate the glaring sun. It has something else to do. Harnessed, like yoked oxen, to a heavy task, we feel the play of our muscles and joints, the weight of the plough, and the resistance of the soil. To act and to know that we are acting, to come into touch with reality and even to live it, but only in the measure hi which it concerns the work that is being accomplished and the furrow that is being ploughed, such is the function of human intelligence." The illusion to which our intellectual nature subjects us is the necessity we are under to regard the things of * 5 the universe as more ultimate, as more fundamental f < than the movement which actuates the universe. It I \ seems to us impossible that there could exist movement, or change, unless there already existed things to be moved or changed, things whose nature is not altered, but only their form and their external relations, when they are moved or changed. This necessity of thought seems to have received authoritative recognition in all attempts, religious and scientific, to conceive origins. Thus we read in the Book of Genesis : " In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void ; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." 70 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH The matter of the universe, it is felt, must be in existence before the movement which vivifies it. The dead inert stuff must be created before it can receive the breath of life. And if God the creator is conceived as living before the matter which He has created, it is as an external principle, the relation of which to the creation is by most religious minds thought to transcend the power of the finite understanding to conceive. The same fundamental conception of the primacy of matter over movement is evident in the scientific theories of the nature and origin of life. Life appears to science as a form of energy that requires things, matter occupying space, to support it. According to one view, life is the result of a certain combination or . synthesis of chemical or physical elements, previously 1 existing separately a combination of very great comf , i plexity, and one that may possibly have occurred once ? only in the long process of nature, but which nevertheless might be, and some think probably, or even certainly, will be brought about by a chemist working in his laboratory. This is the mechanistic or materialist view. On the other hand, there is the theory of vitalism. Life, it is contended, cannot be due to such a synthesis of material elements as the mechanistic view supposes, ; because it is of the nature of an " entelechy " that is, *j I an individual existence which functions, as a whole, in \ every minutest part of the organism it " vitalises. '* i Life has supervened upon, and not arisen out of the material organism which it guides and controls not by relating independent parts, but by making every part subserve the activity and unity of the whole. But the vitalist theory, as well as the mechanistic theory, con(eeives the movement and change which is life as dependent on the previous existence of a matter or stuff which is moved or changed. The philosophical conILLUSION 71 ception differs, therefore, from both these theories. It \ is that life is an original movement, and that this J movement is the whole reality of which things, inert I matter, even spatial extension, are appearances. True duration is change, not the permanence of something amidst change. There are no unchanging things. Everything changes. Reality is the flux ; things are J views of the flux, arrests or contractions of the flowing I that the intellect makes. The appearance of the world j to us is our intellectual grasp of a reality that flows. This original movement is the life of the universe. Briefly stated, the argument on which the theory is . based is that it is logically impossible to explain change ,by changelessness, movement by immobility. Realj change cannot be a succession of states themselves fixed and changeless; real movement cannot be the immobile positions in which some thing is successively at rest. On the other hand, if movement is original, the '? interruption of movement, in whatever way effected, 7 will appear as things. The experience which confirms ' this argument is the insight that everyone may obtain of the reality of his own life as continuous movement, unceasing change, wherein all that exists exists together in a present activity. To develop this argument would exceed the limits of this book, and would be outside its purpose. It is essential, however, that such a theory should be understood, for clearly it is possible to hold not only that we are subject to illusion, but that illusion is of the very nature of intellectual apprehension. If, then, the understanding works illusion for ! the sake of action, is it thereby disqualified as an instru\ ment for the attainment of truth ? We are brought, then, to the critical point of our inquiry. If illusion is the essential condition of human activity, if the intellect, the very instrument of truth, 72 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH is itself affected, what is to save us from universal scepticism ? If the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted ? The intellect with its frames and moulds shapes living change and movement into fixed immobile states ; the process of knowing alters profoundly the reality known. Must we not conclude that knowledge, however useful, is not true ? And to what shall we turn for truth ? There is, indeed, if this be so, a deeper irony in the question, What is truth ? than even Pilate could have imagined. We have absolutely no practical concern with truth we must leave it to the mystic, to the unpractical, the contemplative man who has turned aside from the stern task of busy life. It is not so. The problem that seems so fundamental admits a quite simple solution. Illusion is not error, nor is it falsehood ; it is the appearance of reality. It is the reality that appears, and when we grasp the principle of utility we understand the shape that the appearance must assume. This shape may seem to us a distortion, but in recognising appearance we are in f touch with reality, and practical interest is the key that { opens to us the interpretation of intellectual experience. And it is not only by the intellect that we interpret the nature of reality, for besides logic there is life, and in life we directly perceive the reality that in logic we think about. The intellect, then, does not make truth, neither does it make reality ; it makes reality take the form of spatial things, and it makes things seem to be the ground of reality. Were our nature not intellectual, if all consciousness was intuitive, the world would not then I appear as things there would be no things. But, notwithstanding that our world is an illusion, it is not the less on that account a true world, and our science is true knowledge, in the objective meaning of truth, for ILLUSION 73 once an illusion is interpreted, it becomes an integral part of the conception of reality. It would be easy to find abundant illustration of this fact within science itself. Thus in the familiar case of the straight stick which appears bent when partly immersed in water, as soon as the illusion is understood as due to the different refraction of light in media of different density, air and water, it ceases to be an illusion. We then recognise that if a partly immersed stick did not appear bent, it would really be bent. Again, the illusion that clings to us most persistently throughout our experience is that which is connected with movement and rest. The system of movement in which we are ourselves carried along appears to us stationary, while that which is outside it seems alone to move. In very simple cases, such as viewing the landscape from a railway-carriage window, habit has long caused the illusion to cease, but we all remember the child's feeling that the trees and fields were flying past us. The earth's motion never becomes to us a real experience of movement, we accept the fact and never doubt the scientific evidence on which it rests, yet we always speak and think of sunrise and sunset ; and this is not merely due to the accident that our language was fixed before the nature of the celestial movement was known, but to a natural illusion which it is far more convenient to retain than to abandon. The fact of illusion is not the tenet of any particular philosophy, nor even of philosophy itself ; it is a recognised factor in common life and in physical science, but in instancing the theory of Bergson's philosophy I am choosing an extreme case. Berkeley held that illusion is practically universal ; Kant taught that the apparent objectivity of phenomena is the form that the understanding imposes on things ; but Bergson teaches 74 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH not only that all material reality is illusion, but also that this very illusion is the work of the intellect, that the intellect is formed for this purpose, intellect and matter being correlative, evolving pari passu. To such a doctrine there is of necessity a positive side, for it is impossible that it can rest on universal scepticism scepticism both of knowledge and of the instrument of knowledge. If the intellectual view of reality as solid matter in absolute space is illusion, it must be possible to apprehend the reality from which the judgment that it is illusion is derived. If the intellect distorts, there must be an intuition which is pure, and the relation between these will be the relation between reality and appearance. Neither, then, is reality truth, nor appearance error. There is a truth of appearance, a truth that is a value in itself, a truth that is more than the mere negation that appearance is not reality. The appearance is our hold upon the reality, our actual contact with it, the mode and direction of our action upon it. What, then, is error ? It cannot consist in the fact that we know appearance only, not reality, for we can only know reality by its appearance. It cannot be an appearance behind which there is no reality, for nonbeing cannot appear. It cannot be nothing at all or pure non-being, for to think of absolute nothing is not to think. In error there is some object of thought which is denied real being. What this is is the problem of error. CHAPTER VIII THE PROBLEM OF ERROR IN the Theostetus of Plato, Socrates has been discussing with Theaetetus what knowledge is, and when at last agreement seems to be reached in the definition that THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 75 knowledge is true opinion, a new difficulty occurs to Socrates : " There is a point which often troubles me and is a great perplexity to me both in regard to myself and to others. I cannot make out the nature or origin of the mental experience to which I refer. How there can be false opinion that difficulty still troubles the eye of my mind. Do we not speak of false opinion, and say that one man holds a false and another a true opinion, as though there were some natural distinction between them ? All things and everything are either known or not known. He who knows, cannot but know ; and he who does not know, cannot know. . . . Where, then, is false opinion ? For if all things are either known or unknown, there can be no opinion which is not comprehended under this alternative, and so false opinion is excluded." This difficulty may appear at first sight purely verbal, and we shall perhaps be inclined to see the answer to it in the double use that we make of the word knowledge. We use the word in two senses, in one of which it includes all and everything that is or can be present to the mind in thinking, and in another and narrower .sense the word knowledge means truth. It was in the narrow sense of the word that whatever is not true is not knowledge that Socrates interpreted the meaning of the Delphic oracle that had declared him the wisest of men. His wisdom must be, he said, that whereas other men seemed to be wise and to know something, he knew that he knew nothing. All men have opinion, but opinion is not knowledge, though easily and generally mistaken for it. His perplexity was to understand I what actually this false opinion could be which passed for knowledge. It could not be nothing at all, for then it would simply mean ignorance ; but in false opinion 76 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH some object is present to the mind. Everything that the mind thinks of has being. A thing may have being that does not exist if by existence is meant the particular existence of an event in time, for most of the things we think about are timeless they are ideas, such as whiteness, goodness, numbers and the properties of numbers, faith, love, and such-like. All such ideas are called universals, because their reality does not mean that they exist at one particular moment and no other, but they are real, they have being. How, then, can there be anything intermediate between being and not being, anything that is and also is not, for this is what false opinion or error seems to be ? There is, then, a problem of error, and it is quite distinct , from the problem of truth. The problem of truth is to / know by what criterion we can test the agreement of i r our ideas with reality ; the problem of error is to know how there can be false opinion. There is false opinion, of this no one needs to be convinced ; but where its place is in the fundamental scheme of the mental process, in what precisely it consists, whether it is purely a negation or whether it has a positive nature of its own, this is the problem we have now to consider. There is an important distinction in logic between what is contradictory and what is contrary. Of two contradictory propositions one must be true, the other must be false ; but of two contrary propositions one must be false, but both may be false. Of contradictory propositions one is always a pure negation, one declares the non-existence of what the other affirms the existence ; but of contrary propositions each has a positive content, and both may be false. A true proposition may be based on a false opinion, and it is very important to have a clear idea of what we intend by false opinion. We do not mean by false opinion such plainly false THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 77 propositions as that two and two are five or that there may be no corners in a square such propositions are false, because they contradict propositions that are selfevident. If anyone should seriously affirm them, we should not, I think, say that such a one had a false opinion, but that he failed, perhaps through some illusion, to understand the meaning of the terms he was using. An example of what would now, I suppose, be unquestionably regarded by everyone as error is that whole body of opinion that found expression in the theory and practice of witchcraft. This was once almost universally accepted, and though probably at no period nor in any country was there not some one who doubted or disbelieved, still the reasons of such doubt or disbelief would probably be very different from those reasons which lead us to reject it to-day. For witchcraft was grounded on a general belief that spiritual agencies, beneficent and malign, were the cause of material well-being or evil. This conception has now given place to the mechanistic or naturalistic theory on which our modern physical science is based. We interpret all physical occurrences as caused by material agency. But this belief, quite as much as the belief in spiritual agencies, is opinion, not knowledge, and it may be false. It is conceivable that future generations will reject our scientific notions, self-evident though they seem to us, as completely as we reject the notions of the dark ages. It is even conceivable that the whole of our modern science may come to appear to mankind as not even an approximation to knowledge. Error, like illusion, may be universal. No one whose opinion counts as a rational belief now holds that sickness may be caused by the malign influence of the evil eye, and that this influence may be neutralised by making the sign of the cross ; some, but very few, believe that a 78 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH sick man may be healed by the prayers and anointing of righteous men ; many believe that material disease, however malignant, may be expelled from the body by faith ; while the majority of rational men, whatever independent religious views they hold, regard sickness and disease as material in the ordinary sense, and expect them to yield to drugs and treatment. Now, of these various opinions some must be false, while all may be false. Let us add some illustrations from philosophy. Some philosophers hold, in common with general opinion, that sense experience is caused by physical objects ; others hold that there are no physical objects, but that consciousness is the one and only reality ; and there are others who think that the reality that gives rise to our sense experience is neither physical in the sense of a material thing, nor mental in the sense of consciousness or thought, but is movement or change change that requires no support and is absolute. All these are opinions, and may be false, and our belief that any one of them is true does not depend on immediate experience, but on reasons. The best that can be said in favour of any belief is that there is no reason for supposing it false, and the worst that can be said against any belief is that there is no reason for supposing it true. Our problem, then, is to know what constitutes the nature of error in any one of these examples if it is, as each one may be, false ? The instances we have given are all of them propositions or judgments, or else conceptions formed out of propositions or judgments, the purpose of which is to interpret experience. The actual experience itself, in i so far as it consists of the actual presence of the object I to the mind aware of it, is, as we have seen, neither I truth nor error ; it simply is what it is. It is the conceptions by which we interpret this experience that are THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 79 true orjalse. And our problem is that the meaning or content of a conception, that which is present to the mind when we make a judgment, is precisely the same whether the conception is true or false, there is no ? distinctive mark or feature by which we can know that * in the one case the object of thought is a real or actual \ fact, in the other an opinion to which no reality corresponds. And, further, it seems exceedingly difficult to understand in what way a non-reality can be present to the mind at all. Let us now examine some attempts to solve this problem, and first of all let us take the pragmatist solution. Pragmatism claims that it has no difficulty in explaining error, because, as we have already seen, it acknowledges no other test or criterion of truth except a pragmatic one. Every proposition or judgment that we make must, in order to have any meaning whatever, I be relevant to some human purpose ; every such pro| position is a truth-claim ; and every truth-claim is I tested by its workability. Consequently, error is simply * the failure of a proposition to establish its claim by the practical test of working. Propositions marked by such failure are errors. As there is no truth independent of time, place, and circumstance, no irrelevant truth, no truth independent of the conditions under which its claim is put forward, there is no truth that may not become error. No judgment, according to pragmatism, is an error pure and simple that is to say, it cannot come into existence as error, for it comes claiming truth, and maintaining that claim until challenged; it becomes an error in retrospect only, and always in ret latioii to another judgment which corrects it. Error docs not characterise a class of judgments ; it is something that happens to a judgment, it is a judgment whose truth-claim is rejected in reference to another judgment 80 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH which succeeds. The essential thing in the pragmatist doctrine of error is that in claiming to be true a judg!ment is not challenging comparison with some independent reality, nor is it claiming to belong to a timeless ; order of existence to be eternal ; it is claiming to fulfil the particular purpose for which it has been called forth, whether that purpose be practical or theoretical. Let us now consider the explanation of error offered by the idealist philosophy. In this view only the whole truth is wholly true ; the Absolute, as a perfect, concrete, individual system, is the ideal, and all that falls short of it can only possess a degree of truth a degree which is greater or lees according as it approximates to the ideal. The degrees of truth are not quantitative, not a mixture of truth and error, but a nearer or more distant approach to the ideal. There can be no absolute error, because if truth is the whole, error, if it exists at all, must in some way be included in truth. Clearly error cannot as such be truth, and therefore it must follow that, in the whole, error loses its character of error, and finds reconciliation of its contradiction to truth. Error, then, if it is something, and not a pure negation, is partial or incomplete truth ; the perplexity and contradiction that it gives rise to are incidental to our partial view. Knowledge, it must seem to us, can exist only for omniscience. Unless we know everything, we know nothing. These two doctrines are in a sense the exact antithesis of one another. They agree together in this, that in each the explanation of error follows as a consequence of the conception of the nature of truth. The pragmatist theory implies that there is no truth in any real sense, but only more or less successful error. The idealist theory implies that there is no real error, but only a variety in the degree of truth. THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 81 Most people, however, are convinced that truth and error are not related to one another, nor to the circumstances that call forth belief or disbelief. Let us now examine a theory that recognises this. There are false judgments, and they need explanation ; error has a nature of its own. If a judgment is false, it is absolutely and unalterably false ; if it is true, it is unconditionally true and with no reserve. No logical process, no psychological disposition, can make what is false true. Error must lie in the nature of knowledge, and to discover that nature we must understand the theory of knowledge and determine the exact nature of the mental act in knowing. The first essential is to distinguish the kind of knowledge to which truth and error can apply. We pointed out in the second chapter that all knowledge rests ultimately on immediate experience. In immediate experience the relation between the mental act of knowing and the object that is known is so simple that any question as to truth or error in regard to it is unmeaning. To question the truth of immediate experience is to question its existence ; it is to ask if it is what it is, and this is plainly unmeaning. But thinking, we said, is questioning experience in order to know its content or meaning, and in thinking, the simplicity of the relation which unites the mind to its object in immediate experience is left behind, and a logical process of very great complexity takes its place. It is in this complexity that the possibility of error lies. Let us look at it a little more closely. Knowing is a relation which unites two things, one the mind that knows, the other the thing known. In every act of knowing, something is present to the mind ; if knowing is simply awareness of this actually present something, we call it immediate experience, we are acquainted with the object. But our knowledge is not only of objects 82 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH immediately present to the mind and with which we are therefore acquainted. Knowledge embraces the past and future and the distant realms of space. Indeed were knowledge only of what is actually present to the mind, it is difficult to imagine that we could, in the ordinary meaning of the word, know anything at all. I may be thinking, for example, of an absent friend ; all that is present to my mind is, it may be, a memory image, a faint recall of his appearance on some one occasion, or perhaps a recollection of the tone of his voice, or it may be the black marks on white paper which I recognise as his handwriting. This image is present to my mind, but the image is not the object, my friend, about whom I think and make endless judgjinents, true and false. So also, if what is present to the mind is affecting me through the external senses, if it is a sense impression, it is clear that what is actually present is not the whole object of which I am aware, but only a very small part of it, or, it may be, no part of it at all, but something, a sound, or an odour, that represents it. The immediate data of consciousness are named by some philosophers sense data, by others, presentations, by others images, and there is much controversy as to their nature and existence, but with this controversy we are not here concerned we are seeking to make clear an obvious distinction, namely, the distinction between knowledge by acquaintance and knowledge by description. What kind of knowledge is it that we acquire by description ? Knowledge about things with which we are not first acquainted. The most important knowledge that we possess or acquire is knowledge of objects which we know only by the knowledge we have about them objects that we know about without knowing; them. They are not direct impressions on our senses/ THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 83 nor are they ideas known in actual experience. We make judgments about them, and the subjects about which we make these judgments are really composed of these judgments that we make about them. To go back to our illustrations, we may know a great deal about the evil eye, a malignant influence, disease, faith, healing, causality, physical objects, without any acquaintance with them, without even knowing that they , exist. Such knowledge is descriptive, and the objects / are descriptions. Knowledge by description is never * quite simple, and is often very complex, for, besides the relation of the mental act to the object known, there are the terms and relations which are the elements in the judgment and the relations of the judgments themselves. If we analyse a judgment, every word in which it is expressed, whether it is a noun or a verb or a preposition or a conjunction, conveys a distinct meaning, indicates a term or a relation, each of which can be made a distinct object to the mind, and all of which are combined in the single meaning the judgment expresses. It is in this complexity that the possibility of error lies, and the possibility increases as the complexity increases. All the terms and the relations | which a judgment contains depend on the knowledge : we have by acquaintance that is to say, we are ulti\ . mately dependent on our actual experience for all[ knowledge whatever, whether it is acquaintance or * description, for we can only describe in terms with which we are acquainted ; but in the judgment these elements are combined into new objects, or a certain relation is declared to exist between objects, and it is this combination of the elements of the judgment that involves its truth or falsehood. If this view of the nature of the mental act of knowing is accepted, we are able to understand how false opinion 84 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH is consistent with the fact that all knowledge is truth. We escape both the alternatives that seemed to Socrates the only possible ones. " When a man has a false opinion, does he think that which he knows to be some other thing which he knows, and knowing both is he at the same time ignorant of both ? Or does he think of something which he does not know as some other thing which he does not know ? " No, neither ; in error he thinks that something that he knows is in a relation that he knows to some other thing that he knows, when in fact that relation is not relating the two things. The false proposition is not one in which the constituent terms and relations are unknown or non-existent, but one in which a combination of these terms and relations is thought to exist when in fact it does not exist ; and the true proposition is that in which the combination thought to exist does exist. We can, therefore, if this account be true, at least know what false opinion or error can be, whether or not we have any means of deciding in regard to any particular opinion that it is false. There is one other theory, the last we shall notice. It is in one respect the most important of all, namely, that it is the most direct attempt to grapple with the problem of error. It is founded on a theory of knowledge which we owe mainly to the profound and acute work of a German philosopher (Meinong), and which at the present time is being keenly discussed. It is an attempt to determine more exactly than has yet been done the fundamental scheme of the mental life and development. The brief account that I am now offering, I owe to a paper by Prof. G. F. Stout on " Some Fundamental Points in the Theory of Knowledge." We have seen that the problem of error is the difficulty there is in conceiving how there can be any real thing, any real THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 85 object of thought, intermediate between being and notbeing. Error seems to exist and yet to have a nature which is a negation of existence, and it seems therefore to be a downright contradiction when we affirm that error or false opinion can be that there is a real object of thought when we judge falsely. This theory meets the difficulty directly by distinguishing in the mental act of knowing a process that is neither perceiving nor thinking of things, and that involves neither believing nor disbelieving on the one hand nor desiring or willing on the other: this is the process of supposing. Corresponding to this mental act of supposing, there is a distinct kind of object intended or meant by the mind an object that is neither a sense datum nor an idea, nor a judgment, but a supposition. Also and again corresponding to this mental act of supposing and its intended object the supposition, there is a mode of being which is neither existence nor non-existence, but is named subsistence. A supposition, it is said, does not exist it subsists. This thesis, it will easily be understood, is based on an analysis, and deals with arguments that touch the most fundamental problems of theory of knowledge. Moreover, its presentment is excessively technical, and only those highly trained in the habit of psychological introspection and skilled in philosophical analysis are really competent to discuss it. It is not possible to offer here anything but a simple outline of the part of the theory that concerns the present problem. The actual experience of knowing is a relation between two things, one of which is a mental act, the act of perceiving or thinking or having ideas, and the other is an object, that which is perceived or thought of. The act is a particular mental existence, it is the act of a psychical individual. The object is not included within the actual experience which is the knowing of it, it is 86 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH that which is meant or intended by the experience. The act, then, is the mental process of meaning or intending, the object the thing meant or intended. The mental act differs according to the kind of object intended. The act of perceiving is the direction of the mind towards sense data and ideas ; the act of judging is the direction of the mind towards judgments or propositions about things, propositions that affirm or deny relations between things ; the act of supposing is different from both these it is the direction of the mind towards suppositions. Suppositions differ from ideas in this, that they may be either positive or negative, whereas ideas are never negative. This may seem to contradict experience. Can we not, for example, have an idea of not-red just as well as an idea of red ? No, the two ideas can easily be seen to be one and the same ; in each case it is red we are actually acquainted with, and the difference is in affirming or denying existence to the one idea. The difference is in our judgment, which may be affirmative or negative. A supposition is like a judgment in this respect ; it may be either affirmative or negative, but it differs from a judgment in another respect, that while a judgment always conveys a conviction, always expresses belief or disbelief, a supposition does not it is neither believed nor disbelieved. Before I show the application of this analysis of knowledge to the problem of error, let me try and clear up its obscurity, for undoubtedly it is difficult to comprehend. Its difficulty lies in this, that though all the ideas with which it deals are quite familiar suppositions, real and unreal possibilities, fulfilled and nonfulfilled beliefs yet it seems to run counter to all our notions of the extreme simplicity of the appeal to reality. It seems strange and paradoxical to our ordinary habit THE PROBLEM OF ERROR 87 of thinking to affirm that there are real things and real relations between things which though real yet do not exist, and also that non-existent realities are not things that once were real but now are nought they are things that subsist. Yet this is no new doctrine. The most familiar case of such realities is that of numbers. The Greeks discovered that numbers do not exist that is to say, that their reality is of another kind to that which we denote by existence. Numbers are realities, otherwise there would be no science of mathematics. Pythagoras (about 540-500 B.C.) taught that numbers are the reality from which all else is derived. And there are many other things of the mind that seem indeed to be more real than the things of sense. It is this very problem of error that brings into relief this most important doctrine. Now let us apply this theory of the supposition to the problem of error, and we shall then see how there can be an object present to the mind when we judge falsely, and also that the object is the same whether we judge truly or falsely. Suppositions are real possibilities ; they are alternatives that may be fulfilled or that may never be fulfilled. These real possibilities, or these possible alternatives, are objects of thought ; they do not belong to the mental act of thinking ; they are not in the mind, but realities present to the mind. In mere supposing they are present as alternatives ; in judging, we affirm of them or deny of them the relation to general reality that they are fulfilled. Judgments therefore are true or false accordingly as the fulfilment they affirm does or does not agree with reality. In this way, then, we may answer the perplexing question, How can there be an object of thought in a false judgment ? The answer is, that the objects of thought about which we make judgments are suppositions, and our judgments 88 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH concern their fulfilment, and their fulfilment is a relation external to them it is their agreement or disagreement with reality. CHAPTER IX CONCLUSION I WILL now briefly sum up the argument of this book. The problem of truth is to discover the nature of the agreement between the things of the mind, our ideas, and the reality of which ideas are the knowledge. We call the agreement truth. What is it ? We have seen that there are three different answers, namely (1) That it is a correspondence between the idea and the reality ; (2) That it is the coherence of the idea in a consistent and harmonious whole ; and (3) That it is a value that we ourselves give to our ideas. The theory that truth is correspondence we found to offer, this difficulty. To say of an idea that it corresponds with reality supposes a knowledge of reality in addition to and distinct from the knowledge that is the idea, and yet the knowledge of reality is the idea of it. And if it be said that not the idea but the judgment is what corresponds with reality in truth, this equally supposes a knowledge of reality that is not a judgment. If, as the common sense of mankind requires us to believe, the reality that is known by us exists in entire independence of our relation of knowing to it, how can we state this fact without falling into contradiction in the very statement of it ? This is the difficulty of a realist theory of knowledge. We next examined the theory that truth is coherence, and this seemed to present to us an unattainable ideal. CONCLUSION 89 Only the whole truth is wholly true. We followed the idealist argument on which it is based, and this seemed to lead us inevitably, in the doctrine of the Absolute, to the paradox that unless we know everything we know nothing. In pragmatism we met a new principle, the proposal to regard truth as a value. Truth, it is said, is something that happens to ideas ; they become true, or are made true. There is no criterion, no absolute standard, independent of ideas to which they must conform if they are judged to be true. The value of an idea is its practical usefulness as tested by its workability. Truth is Avhat works. This led us to criticise the concept of utility. We found that it is impossible to identify utility with truth even if we include theoretical utility in its widest meaning, because over and above the usefulness and workability of an idea there always remains the question of its relation to reality. But we recognised in the principle of truth-value an important advance towards a theory of knowledge. The solution of the problem of truth, it became clear, must be sought in a theory of knowledge. Have we, in the new theory of life and knowledge of Bergson's philosophy, an answer to the question, What is truth. ? Yes, but not in the form of a direct solution of the dilemma which confronts us in every theory that accepts the independence of knowledge and reality rather in a theory of knowledge in which the dilemma does not and cannot arise. The theory of Bergson is that in the intuition of life we know reality as it is, our knowledge is one with our knowing ; and in the intellect we possess a mode of knowing which is equally immediate but the essential quality of which is that it externalises or spatialises reality. We understand this mode of knowing in recog90 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH nising the purpose it serves, its practical advantage to us. The theory, therefore, resembles pragmatism in bringing the concept of utility to the aid of its theory of knowledge. But, we insisted, the resemblance is outward only, for the essential tenet of pragmatism, that truth itself is a value, is fatal to the theory. It would mean, in fact, that not the mode of knowing, that is the intellect, but the actual knowledge itself is a practical endowment. But the problem of truth arises in a new form, for the practical utility of the intellect consists in the illusion which it produces in us. It makes the flowing reality appear as fixed states. How, then, can universal illusion be consistent with the possession of truth ? To answer this question we examined the nature of illusion and its distinction from error. In the last chapter we have dealt with the problem of error. The fact of error presented a difficulty distinct from the question, What is truth ? for it implied a real object of thought, of which it seemed equally contradictory to say that it exists and that it does not exist. In the solutions that have been proposed we saw how the problem is forcing philosophers to examine again the fundamental processes of the mind and the nature of the universe they reveal. BIBLIOGRAPHY THE Thecetetus of Plato is an exposition of the problem of truth and error as it presented itself in ancient philosophy. The quotation I have made from it, and also the quotations from the Republic, are from Jowett's translation. The most clear exposition of what I have called the realistic doctrine is The Problems of Philosophy, by the Hon. Bertrand Russell, in the Home University Library (Williams and Norgate). I have adopted Mr. Russell's terms, "acquaintance " and " description " ; the distinction they denote seems to me of fundamental importance, and Mr. Russell's doctrine on this point a permanent addition to philosophy. Mr. Russell's theory, that in the judgment what is present to the mind is a relation which is external to the terms of the judgment, and that agreement or disagreement between this relation and reality makes the truth or falsehood of the judgment, can only be appreciated if studied in connection with his general scheme. The classical work on what I have called the modern idealist doctrine (I have avoided the word intellectiialist) is Mr. F. H. Bradley's Appearance and Reality. I have attempted to give the main lines of the theory in my chapter on " The Absolute." Although it is a book for advanced students, it is not a closed volume even to the uninstructed. The brilliant dialectical skill of the 91 92 BIBLIOGRAPHY author is acknowledged and may be enjoyed by those who reject or may fail to understand his conclusion. Mr. Harold H. Joachim's The Nature of Truth (Oxford, Clarendon Press) is a most able and scholarly argument for the coherence theory of truth. The principal expositions of Pragmatism are the works of William James and of Dr. F. C. S. Schiller. William James' The Will to Believe was the first distinct formulation of the principle. Pragmatism, a New Name for some Old Ways of Thinking, is the fullest and most systematic statement of the doctrine. The Meaning of Truth is a defence of the doctrine against the criticism that had been meted out to it unsparingly. All three books are published by Longmans. Dr. F. C. S. Schiller is uncompromising in his advocacy of a complete return to the doctrine taught in the ancient world by Protagoras. He has defended that philosopher against the arguments of Plato in a polemical pamphlet entitled Plato or Protagoras? (Oxford, Blackwell). An Essay on "Axioms as Postulates " in Personal Idealism (Macmillan & Co.), and two volumes of collected essays on Humanism (Macmillan & Co.), set forth the doctrine, which he prefers to call Humanism, with great force, abundant illustration, and the relief of no small amount of humour. For an account of the theories of Bergson, I may mention my own little book in this series, Henri Bergson : Th-e Philosophy of Change. M. Bergson's books are Time and Freewill, Matter and Memory, and Creative Evolution. To these has been recently added An Introduction to Metaphysics (Macmillan, 1912). It is the republication in English of an article written in 1903, which has been for a long time out of print. It is a short and clear statement of the doctrine of Intuition. BIBLIOGRAPHY 93 The important studies of Professor G. F. Stout are not easily accessible to the general reader, as they consist in contributions to philosophical journals and proceedings of learned societies. The essay referred to in the last chapter, " Some Fundamental Points in the Theory of Knowledge," is in the St. Andrews Quincentenary Publications, 1911 (Maclehose). I may mention also his essay on " Error " in Personal Idealism, noticed above, and " The Object of Thought and Real Being," in Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1911. INDEX BERGSON, Mons. Henri, 63, 69, 73,89 Berkeley, 20, 32, 73 COHERENCE Theory, 25, 27 Correspondence Theory, 24, 27 DISCOVERY of Planet Neptune, 59 FAITH -ATTITUDE of Pragmatism, 55 Formal Logic, 10 HEGEL, 44 Hume, 30 INTELLECTUALISM, 44 JAMES, William, 44 KANT, 26, 27, 42, 73 MEINONG, 84 PIERCE, C: S,, 44 Plato, 11, 44, 67, 68, 74 Pluralistic Realism, 24 Poincare", Henri, 54 Pragmatist Theory of Truth, 55 Primary Qualities, 32 Protagoras, His book The Truth, 10, 11 ; His maxim, 44 Pythagoras, 87 RELATIVITY, Principle of, 48, 53,62 Republic of Plato, 67 S. ANSELM'S Argument, 29, 31, 41 Schiller, Dr. F. C. S., 44 Belf , The Idea of, 36 Socrates, 11, 74 Space and Time, 33, 34, 36 Stout, Prof. G. F.,84 Theatetus of Plato, 11, 74 UNKNOWABLE, The, 29, 37 ZENO, 34 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. Edinburgh &> London 4/13 THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS THE FIRST HUNDRED VOLUMES The volumes issued (Spring 1913) are marked with an asterisk SCIENCE *i The Foundations of Science . . By W. C. D. Whetham, F.R.S. *2. Embryology-The Beginnings of Life By Prof. Gerald Leighton, M.D. 5. Biology The Science of Life . . By Prof. W. D. Henderson, M.A. *4. Zoology: The Study of Animal Life By Prof. E. W. MacBride, F.R.S. 5. Botany; The Modern Study of Plants By M. C. Slopes, D.Sc., Ph.D. 6. Bacteriology By W. E. Carnegie Dickson, M.D. 7. The Structure of the Earth . . By the Rev. T. G. Bonney, F.R.S. By E. S. Goodrich, M.A., F.R.S. 9. Darwin . By Prof. W. Garstang, M.A., D.Sc. 'lo. Heredity By J. A. S. Watson, B.Sc. ' 1 1. Inorganic Chemistry .... By Prof. E. C. C. Baly, F.R.S. 12. Organic Chemistry .... 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By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D 89. Balzac ....... By Frank Harris. 90. Rousseau ....... By H. Sacher. 91. Ibsen ........ By Hilary Hardinge. 93. Tennyson ...... By Aaron Watson. 107. R. L. Stevenson ..... By Rosaline Masson. *io8. Shelley ....... By Sydney Waterlo 109. William Morris . . . By A. Blyth Webste Ada , M.A. M.A. LONDON AND EDINBURGH: T. C. & E. C. JACK NEW YORK: DODGE PUBLISHING CO. A 000 029 690 5 j.^'iti* ^^ ■-?•.. :,^:^V-: •••■rv ' • • ' '%-^^%':^''^'--}r.:'C' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ^oin Shelf i.M^_. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. mm Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/testsofvariouskiOOmcco DR. MCCOSH'S WORKS. FIRST AND FUNDAMENTAL TRUTHS. Being a Treatise on Metaphysics, $2.00. PSYCHOLOGY. The Cognitive Powers. $1.50. PSYCHOLOGY, The Motive Powers. $1.50. THE EMOTIONS. $2.00. REALISTIC PHILOSOPHY. Defended in a Philosophic Series. 2 vols., 1 2mo. Vol. I., Expository. Vol. II., Historical and Critical. $1.50 each. THE NEV/ DEPARTURE IN COLLEGE EDUCATION. Net, paper, 1 5 cents. V/H'THER? O V/HITHER? Net, 50 cents. THE RELIGIOUS ASPECT OF EVOLUTION. $1.00. THE PREVAILING TYPES OF PHILOSOPHY: Dotheyroach Reality Logically? 75 cents, net. THE METHOD OF THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT. Physical and Moral. $2.00 A DEFENCE OF FUNDAMENTAL TRUTH. $2.00. SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY. Biographical, Expository, and Critical. $2.00. LAV/S OF DISCURSIVE THOUGHT, CHRISTIANITY AND POSITIVISM. $1.50. GOSPEL SERMONS. $1.50. THE TESTS OF THE VARIOUS KINDS OF TRUTH. $1.00. The Tests Various Kinds of Truth BEING A TREATISE OF APPLIED LOGIC JAMES McCOSH, D.D., LL.D., D.L. Ex-President of Princeton College^ N. J. NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1891 Copyright, 1S89, by HUNT AND EATON Copyright, 1891, by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS TRO* DIBECTOHY PRfNTlNG AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY NEW YORK PREFACE. THE age may be characterized as one of unsettled opinion. Our ambitious youths are not satisfied with the past, its opinions, and practices. Authority is not worshiped by them ; they have no partiality for creeds and confessions. They do not accept, without first doubting, the truths supposed to be long established. In searching into the foundation of the old temples they have raised a cloud of dust and left lying a heap of rubbish. It is an age out of which good and evil, either or both, may come, according as it is guided. We may entertain fears, for it is dancing on the edge of a precipice down which it may fall. We may cherish hope, for it is an inquiring age. Every form and phase of opinion seeks to have a philosophy, in which it may embody and express itself and by which it maybe defended. Agnostics is the shape or figure which the doubting and hesitating spirit takes. It is not a new heresy. It has been held by a few in every age ; it is now espoused by many, provisionally, till something more solid or 6 Preface. showy is propounded. It used to be called nescience, which maintains that nothing can be known, and nihilism, which holds that there is nothing to be known. It is of little use trying to argue with it, for it allows us no premises as a ground on which to start, and has no body or substance that we can attack. It is easy to show that it is suicidal. It is an evident contradiction to affirm that we know that we can know nothing. But when we have demonstrated this we have not destroyed it any more than we have killed a specter by thrusting a spear into it ; for its defense is that all truth is contradictory. The best way of dealing with it is to allow it to dance as it may, like the shadows of the clouds, and, meanwhile, to found and build up truth and set it up before the mind, that it may be seen in its own light. It is well known that when we see a solid object through and beyond a specter the specter melts away and disappears. So it will be with agnosticism — it will vanish when we fix our eyes upon the truth. But meanwhile an immense number and variety of crude views and opinions on the most momentous subjects, such as morality and religion, are set before the young and pressed upon their acceptance. In consequence they often feel a difficulty in knowing what to believe, and they may be led to Preface. 7 believe too little or too much. In these circumstances it is of vast importance to provide them with tests which may enable them to distinguish between reality and fiction and settle them in the truth. This is what is attempted in this work, which is meant for those who wish for their own satisfaction to know on what foundation the truths on which they are required to believe rest. It is hoped that, being a treatise on what Kant calls applied logic, which may be quite as useful as primary or formal logic, and announcing as it does, the laws of Inductive as well as Deductive thought, this work may be profitably used as a text-book in those colleges and upper schools where there is not time or taste to study metaphysics, or the technicalities of Formal Logic, or the full applications of Inductive Logic. These papers were first delivered and then published as Lectures in Ohio Wesleyan College, on the foundation established by my estimable friend. Dr. Merrick. CONTENTS, CHAPTER FIRST. PAGE Truths to be Assumed. Their Nature and Tests ii CHAPTER SECOND. Discursive or Deductive Truth. Reasoning 27 CHAPTER THIRD. Inductive Truths. Canons of 43 CHAPTER FOURTH. The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. The Joint Inductive and Deductive. Hypotheses and Verification. Chance. Induction Cannot Give Absolute Truth. We Know in Part 79 CHAPTER FIFTH. Testimony. Is it Sufficient to Prove the Supernatural ? . . . . 107 INTRODUCTION. WE have truth when our ideas are conformed to things. The aim of this work is to show that there is truth, that truth can be found, and that there are tests by which we may determine when we have found it. We do not propose to guide inquirers in any particular department of investigation ; this can best be done in introductions to the books and lectures treating of the several branches of knowledge. Kant and the German metaphysicians have shown again and again that there is no one absolute criterion to settle all truth for us ; that will determine, for example, at one and the same time, whether there is a fourth dimension of space, whether the planet Jupiter is inhabited, where the soul goes at death, and what kind of crops we are to have next year. But it can be shown that there are truths which may be ascertained and that there are criteria which prove when they are so ; and these clear, sure, and capable of being definitely expressed. But the test which settles one truth for us does not neces10 Introduction. sarily settle all others, or any others. It is necessary to distinguish between different sorts of truth, and we should be satisfied when we find a test of each kind. I am convinced that historical, scientific, and logical investigation has advanced so far that we can now enunciate criteria for every kind of truth. The aim of the criteria, it should be noticed, is not so much to help us to discover truth as to determine when we have found it. LECTURE FIRST. TRUTHS TO BE ASSUMED. I. THE mind must start with something. There are things which it knows at once. I know pleasure and pain. I do more: I know myself as feehng pleasure and pain. I know that I am surrounded with material objects, extended and exercising properties. I know, by barely contemplating them, that these two straight lines cannot contain a space. These are called first truths. There must be first truths before there can be secondary ones ; original before there can be derivative ones. Can we discover and enunciate these ? I believe we can. We are not at liberty, indeed, to appeal to a first principle when we please, or because it suits our purpose. When we are left without evidence we are not therefore allowed to allege that we need no evidence. When we are defeated in argument we are not to be permitted to escape by falling back on what is unproved and unprovable. It is true that we cannot prove every thing, for this would 12 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. imply an infinite chain of proofs every link of which would hang on another, while the whole would hang on nothing — that is, be incapable of proof. We cannot prove every thing by mediate evidence, but we can show that we are justified in assuming certain things. We cannot prove by any external circumstance that two straight lines cannot inclose a space, but we can show that we are justified in assuming it. We are to " prove all things." But there are some things which have their proof in themselves. We discover it by simply looking at the things. It is thus that we know that we exist ; that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line ; that hypocrisy is a sin. We need no external evidence. The evidence is in the thing; in the very nature of the thing. We do not require mediate, we have immediate proof. II. This kind of truth is to be distinguished from two others for which we require what is called mediate proof. First, there are cases in which we get this by simply thinking. A truth being allowed we infer something else from it. Thus, being assured that all men are responsible, we argue that heathens, being men, are responsible. Secondly, in other cases we need observation and a gathering of facts, Truths to be Assumed. 13 that is induction ; in order to the discovery of a general fact or law. It is thus that we have discovered that a year consists of so many days ; thus that Newton discovered the law of gravitation, and Dalton that of definite proportions in the composition of bodies. These two last kinds of cases, which may be called the logical and inductive, differ from the first, which may be called the metaphysical. In this chapter first truths are treated of; in those that follow, reasoned and observational truths. In all the three our aim is to discover the tests. III. The evidence of the first class of truths is discovered by what is called Intuition, which looks directly on the objects; the truth is therefore called Intuitive. It is also called First, or Primary, as it is the first in the order of nature and things. It is designated as Fundamental in that it bears up other truths. It is described as Necessary inasmuch as, perceiving the objects directly, we cannot be made to believe otherwise. Since the publication oi Kanfs Kritic of Pure Reason it is more frequently described as a priori in that it is known prior to a gathered experience, the truth discovered by which is called a posteriori. It maybe spoken of as Original, as opposed to what is Derived. These are not 14 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. the most prominent truths to the ordinary observer ; they lie deep down in the soul ; they are the foundation on which other truths are laid. They are numerous and varied. Some of them, and these the first and original ones, are cognition of things. Thus we all know body, with its properties, and self or spirit, with its properties. Some of them are beliefs — such as our belief in space and time and in their continuity. From these arise judgments, in which we compare two or more cognitions and beliefs and discover a relation between them. These judgments may be arranged under eight heads. In identity, we declare that it is impossible to be and not to be at the same time. In comprehension, we declare that the whole is equal to the sum of its parts. In resemblance, we affirm that what is true of a class must be true of all the members of the class. We know that body is in space. We know that all events happen in time. In quantity we are sure that equals added to equals are equals. In contemplating things as acting we maintain that every property implies a substance. When we see an effect we are sure that it has had a cause. These are intellectual cognitions, beliefs, and judgments. But we have also primary moral convictions. We know at once the distinction between moral good and evil ; we declare love to our neighTruths to be Assumed, 16 bors to be a virtue binding upon us, and we need no one to argue with us to convince us that to tell a lie or cheat our neighbor is evil. IV. These primitive convictions run through our thoughts, ideas, and acts. Every man acts upon them. We are sure that we exist and that we have a body, extended, and acting on us and other objects. We know that we are the same persons to-day that we were yesterday. The creditor, when he receives only part of what is owing him, tells his debtor that this is less than the whole. When a man knows that spring, summer, autumn, and winter make up the seasons he expects when the three first are past that winter is coming. A farmer does not propose to inclose a field by two straight fences. When we awake from sleep we are confident that we have been alive all the time since we fell asleep. The clerk in his calculations acts on the principle that equals subtracted from equals are equals. When we see a body we are convinced that it has properties. When we see a house on fire we are sure it has been ignited. The circumstance that all men act upon these principles led the Scottish school of metaphysicians to call them principles oi common sen.se. 16 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. V. We may assume all such truths. They do not need proof. A man who would seek it must be beside himself. He may be compared to one going out with a taper to see the sun. These truths shine in their own light. We may use them in all our thoughts and inquiries and in all our arguments with our fellow-men, provided we properly enunciate them. A man had better assume his own existence. He might find it difficult to establish it by argument. But if he is determined, by all means let him try it ; he will only be impressed the more with the impossibility of his doing it. How will he do it ? To what will he appeal ? How will he begin ? With the testimony of his neighbors ? He will find that he has clearer proof of his own existence than of that of his neighbor, and that he cannot prove the existence of his neighbors till he first assumes his own. It is the same with all other self-evident truths. We cannot prove them by other truths, but we may use them to prove other truths. VI. Let us seek to determine precisely the nature of these truths. They may be viewed under three aspects — aspects of one and the same thing. Truths to be Assumed. 17 1. They are Perceptions of Things. We perceive that body is extended, and that it exercises properties, such as resistance to our energy and to other bodies. We are conscious of self as thinking and feehng. We believe that space and time extend beyond what we observe of them. We decide at once that contradictions cannot both be true ; that the abstract implies the concrete ; that universals imply singulars ; that we cannot be both here and in China at the same time ; that two halves make up the whole ; that properties imply a substance ; that a change is produced by an adequate power. We look on self-sacrifice, for a good cause, as good, and treachery as an evil. All these perceptions are direct, and are in consciousness. 2. They are Regulative Principles. I do not believe that there is any such thing as innate ideas. Locke exploded them forever. But the mind of the child is not altogether a nonentity or a blank. It has powers or capacities ready to be exercised on the appropriate objects being presented. These are in the mind as gravitation lies in matter, as life remains in the seed all winter, as seeds have remained, with life in them, in the tombs of Egypt for thousands of years. Mr. Mill has shown that all the powers in nature are tendencies. They tend to act according to 2 18 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. their nature. Thus oxygen tends to join in definite proportions with hydrogen to form water ; bodies attract other bodies to them inversely according to the square of the distance. Our ideas tend, unless interfered with by external objects, to follow each other in a certain order ; when two ideas have been in the mind together, the one tends to cull the other, and like suggests like. In much the same way the powers of intuition abiding in the mind ever tend to act, and are called forth by objects. In a sense, they so far direct and control the mind. Of the principle we are not conscious, but we are conscious of its exercises, which are the perceptions of which I have been speaking under last head. 3. They may become Axioms. All the perceptions of which I have been discoursing are in the first instance singular or individual, and not abstract or general. We do not say of every two straight lines that they cannot inclose space, but of these two straight lines before us that they cannot inclose a space. We do not at first announce that all men are responsible, but of ourselves or some other person that he is responsible. I do not formally proclaim the metaphysical principle, every effect has a cause, but of this particular effect, the burning of a rick of hay, that it has had a cause. But then we can generalize our individual perceptions. We see Truths to be Assumed. 19 that what is true of the object or case before us is true of the same object or cases every-where and in all places. We now reach general maxims true of the objects at all times and in all circumstances. Fraud cannot be good on the planet Earth, or the planet Jupiter, or the dog-star Sirius. Parallel lines, we see, will never meet in earth, or star, or the space beyond. We have now such axioms as those of Euclid. We have moral maxims such as the Ten Commandments, and the precepts in the Sermon on the Mount. VII. But what we have specially to do here is to enumerate the criteria by which such truths may be tried, and which will settle for us whether we are entitled to assume without any mediate proof what may be presented to us by ourselves or others for our acceptance. Self-evidence is the primary test of that kind of truth which we are entitled to assume without mediate proof. We perceive the object to exist by simply looking at it. The truth shines in its own light, and, in order to see, we do not require light to shine upon it from any other quarter. We are conscious, directly, of self as understanding, as thinking, or as feeling, and we need no indirect evidence. 20 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Thus, too, we perceive by the eye a colored surface, and by the muscular touch a resisting object, and by the moral sense the evil of hypocrisy. The proof is seen by the contemplative mind in the things themselves. We are convinced that we need no other proof. A proffered probation from any other quarter would not add to the strength of our conviction. We do not seek any external proof, and if any were pressed upon us we would feel it to be unnecessary — nay, to be an encumbrance, and almost an insult to our understanding. But let us properly understand the nature of this self-evidence. It has constantly been misunderstood and misrepresented. It is not a mere feeling or an emotion belonging to the sensitive part of our nature. It is not blind instinct, or a belief in what we cannot see. It is not above reason or below reason ; it is an exercise of primary reason prior, in the nature of things, to any derivative exercises. It is not, as Kant represents it, of the nature of a form in the mind imposed on objects contemplated and giving them a shape and color. It is a perception, it is an intuition of the object. We inspect these two straight lines, and perceive them to be such in their nature that they cannot inclose a space. If two straight lines go on for an inch without coming nearer each other, we are sure Truths to be Assumed. 21 they will be no nearer if lengthened millions of miles as straight lines. On contemplating deceit we perceive the act to be wrong in its very nature. It is not a mere sentiment such as we feel on the contemplation of pleasure and pain ; it is a knowledge of an object. It is not the mind imposing or superinducing on the thing what is not in the thing ; it is simply the mind perceiving what is in the thing. It is not merely subjective, it is also objective — to use phrases very liable to be misunderstood ; or, to speak clearly, the perceiving mind (subject) perceives the thing (object). This is the most satisfactory of all evidence ; and this because in it we are immediately cognizant of the thing. There is no evidence so ready to carry conviction. We cannot so much as conceive or imagine any evidence stronger. Necessity is a secondary criterion. It has been represented by Leibnitz and many metaphysicians as the first and the essential test. This I regard as a mistake. Self-evidence comes first, and the other follows and is derived from it. We perceive an object before us and know so much of its nature ; and we cannot be made to believe that there is no such object, or that it is not what we know it to be. I demur to the idea so often pressed upon us that we are to believe a certain proposition because we 22 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. are necessitated to believe in it. This sounds too much Hke fatahty to be agreeable to the free spirit of man. It is because we are conscious of self that we cannot be made to believe that we do not exist. The account given of the principle by Herbert Spencer is a perverted and a vague one : all propositions are to be accepted as unquestionable whose negative is inconceivable. This does not give us a direct criterion as self-evidence does, and the word inconceivable is very ambiguous. But necessity, while it is not the primary is a potent secondary test. The self-evidence convinces us ; the necessity prevents us from holding any different conviction. Catholicity or Universality is the tertiary test. By this is meant that it is believed by all men. It is the argument from catholicity, or common consent — the sensus communis. All men are found to assent to the particular truth when it is fairly laid before them, as, for instance, that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It would not be wise nor safe to make this the primary test, as some of the ancients did. For, in the complexity of thought, in the constant actual mixing up of experiential with immediate evidence, it is difficult to determine what all men believe. It is even conceivable that all men might be deceived Truths to be Assumed. 23 by reason of the deceitfulness of the faculties and the illusive nature of things. But this tertiary comes in to corroborate the primary test, or rather to show that the proposition can stand the primary test which proceeds on the observation of the very thing, in which it is satisfactory to find that all men are agreed. Combine these and we have a perfect means of determining what are first truths. The first gives us a personal assurance of which we can never be deprived ; the second secures that we cannot conquer it ; the third, that we can appeal to all men as having the same conviction. The first makes known realities ; the second restrains us from breaking off from them ; the third shows us that we are surrounded with a community of beings to whom we can address ourselves in the assurance of meeting with a response. The first is the most satisfactory, as it brings us closest to things. The second is the most definite and decisive, as it admits of no denial. The third brings us into closest relationship with our fellow men and gives us confidence in addressing them. The three constitute a treble cord which cannot be broken. It should be noticed that these tests apply not only to our primitive knowledge but to our primitive beliefs. We have such beliefs. We believe in the 24 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. existence of things which we cannot know by the senses, which we cannot see or hear, smell or taste or touch. We believe in space and time as stretching away beyond our ken. We believe in the infinite, though we may not be able fully to comprehend it. Our beliefs require to be tested fully and as much as our knowledge. A large number of men and women, even some who are shrewd and wise, are apt to cherish fancies which have no realities corresponding to them. There are classes of people who are particularly addicted to such visions. You hear them say, " I feel this to be true. I must believe it." A more cultivated set of people tell you this is so interesting that I must cleave to it. There are numbers thus led into great extravagances of credence which expose them to ridicule or land them in folly, or, it may be, in very serious errors or mistakes. Now there is a method of keeping people from being allured into bogs by these will-o'-wisps. We are to try the spirits whether they are of God. We have a reliable means of trying them. We may, we should, inquire whether what we are invited to assume is self-evident truth and not a mere fancy ; whether we are necessitated to believe it as we look at the things, or whether we may not be led to adopt or reject it by the wishes of the heart ; Truths to be Assumed. 25 whether it is held by man as man, or merely by people with idiosyncrasies and prejudices. Our feelings were never meant to be the tests of truth, though they may prompt us to seek it, may irradiate it so as to make it more attractive, and instil life into the soul and thereby prompt to action. It is to be admitted that there is a mysticism which is very fascinating and at times elevating, as, for instance, in the pages of Thomas a Kempis. But it may be delusive, and the error may be accepted along with the truth. We may, by the criteria I have announced, get all the good without the accompanying evil ; we may root out the weeds, that the flower and fruit-bearing plants may flourish the better. The tests clear away the mists that we may have a full view of the beauties of the sky and landscape. It will be understood that what is offered in this lecture does not profess to be the whole of knowledge ; it is only primary knowledge. A far greater number and variety of truths are reached in other ways than by intuition, while, however, they always presuppose it. Yet only the foundation-stones have been laid — I hope, as the Free Masons say, that " this foundation is well laid," that it is " a sure foundation." The mature tree is not yet before us ; only a few seeds have been sown and some 26 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. roots planted, which are well "rooted and grounded." These primitive truths, like the granite rocks, go down deepest into the earth and mount the highest toward heaven. They bind and guarantee all other truths. They give us what no other powers can, which sense cannot give nor understanding give — eternal truths and eternal morality. They look as if they were the very footstool of God, before which we bow and put up our petitions for further instruction to him who sitteth upon the throne. Note. — The above is a compend of Metaphysics or the Science of First Truths. The science is expounded fully in my work on " First and Fundamental Truths." Discursive or Deductive Truth. 2V CHAPTER SECOND. DISCURSIVE OR DEDUCTIVE TRUTH. I. WE have seen what are the truths with which every mind starts. We are now to view it as adding to the stock. It may do so in two ways. It may by its own power, or by a gathered observation of facts. In this lecture I am to treat of the first of these methods. The process by which this end is accompHshed is discursive or deductive ; that is, we proceed from a truth given or allowed to something else implied in or deduced from it. It being granted that all men are mortal, we at once conclude that this man and that man and that we ourselves must die. What is admitted is called the premise or premises. These may be got from one or other of two quarters : from intuition — that is, immediate inspection of things — or from induction, that is, from a gathered collection of facts. The first of these has been expounded in last lecture, the other will be unfolded in the lectures which follow. We pre-suppose, then, that the mind has got 28 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. certain facts allowed it as premises. These may be intuitive or inductive ; one or both. In looking at these we discover that certain truths are involved in them and may be legitimately drawn from them. In this chapter I am to unfold the process by which this end is accomplished, to determine the laws, their extent, and their limits. The discursive process is usually described as consisting of three elements — the Notion, Judgment, and Reasoning. There is the notion, which, when expressed in language, is the term. There is judgment, which, when expressed, is the proposition. There is reasoning, which, when put in words, is the argument. By means of each of these we reach derivative truth, which may be rigidly tested. Logic is the science which treats of discursive thought. I am not, in this little work, to give a system of logic. I use logic simply as furnishing the criteria by which deductive truth may be tried. The grand regulating principle of all discursive thought is that what is drawn from the premise or premises must be in the premises. Being there, and being seen to be there, we draw it out. But we must take care that what we bring out is in what we have derived it from. This law, rigidly carried out, will preserve us from all inconclusive reasoning. We cannot draw light from cucumbers, beDiscursive or Deductive Truth. 29 cause there is no light in the cucumber. But, it being allowed us that all men have a conscience, we infer that this liar, though he has not obeyed it, has a conscience. This general rule may be applied to every kind of deduction or discursive thought, and, taken along with other and more minute rules founded on it, decides for us whether we are proceeding on the laws of thought, which, being planted or developed in our nature by God, are always truthful and authoritative. Each of the two great processes will be found to have its own laws. II. The Notion or Term. First under this head is the Singular notion, such as the earth, the heavens, Homer, Shakespeare, George Washington, " sky, mountains, rivers, winds, lake, lightnings, yea, with clouds and thunders, and a soul to make them felt and feeling." The singulars are always concrete; that is, they contain an aggregate of qualities which we call attributes ; thus, the earth has elementary bodies and is attracted to the sun. I call such notions Singular Concretes. Secondly, there is the Abstract notion ; that is, notion of part of a whole, more specially of an attribute of an object. As examples I may give, leg of table ; foot of a man ; foot of a mountain ; gravity, beauty, honesty, human30 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. ity. Thirdly, there is the General notion, the universal of the schoolmen, the concept of the German, such as stones, plants, animals, man, woman, angels. All these contain an indefinite number of objects; namely, all that possess the common qualities of the class. Now we may derive truths from each of these classes. Thus from singular concrete truths we can draw abstracts ; from this body before us we can get the abstraction gravity; from this man, manliness ; from this woman, beauty ; from Washington, patriotism. Again, from singulars we can form generals ; by help of abstraction all can unite things by common attributes in them, and form the class, rose, lily, dog, horse, man, American. Now it is of the utmost moment that we know the nature of the notions and terms we employ. In thinking, in reading, in speaking we should know what sorts of terms are used ; whether they are singular or common, concrete or abstract. In employing concretes we should ascertain, more or less definitely, the properties possessed by them. It is a great mistake to look upon an attribute as having an independent existence ; gravity, for instance, has an existence only in the bodies of which it is a quality. In thinking, in speaking of universals or classes we should have an idea, the clearer the Discursive or Deductive Truth. 31 better, of the qualities which combine the objects. Of all fallacies that of confusion is the most common and the most misleading, and of all fallacies of confusion that of notions or terms is the most injurious, being more so than those of judgment or reasoning. When an object or a cause is placed fairly before us we can commonly judge of it and reason about it correctly. But when it is put in imperfectly understood terms our thinking is apt to be perplexed and mistaken. I believe that more than one half of the errors of thinking arise from confusion in our Notions. The prejudices of the heart work on these, " the wish is father of the thought," and the issue is misapprehension and error, and, it may be, sin. There has been an immense amount of controversy about abstract and general terms. It was the grand topic of discussion among the scholastics in the Middle Ages, and I am convinced that it is of vast moment to clear up the subject. It is still in a confused state. I feel no difficulty in comprehending the nature of the abstract and general notion. The question is. What reality is there in these notions ? I think it can be answered clearly and satisfactorily. The abstract has no independent reality — its reality is in the things from which it is ab32 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. stracted ; thus honesty has a reality in the honest man. The universal or class notion has a reality in the objects embraced in it and in the qualities combining them. The common notion, " vertebrate animal," has a reality in the animals and in the vertebrate column which they all possess. III. Judgment ; which, when expressed in language, is the Proposition. In this we compare two notions ; or, rather, the two things embraced in the notions declaring their agreement or disagreement. In making the comparison we have to look to the nature of the notions and observe what is embraced in them. The comparison we make maybe viewed under two aspects. " The bird sings." Here we have two terms. " The bird " and " sings," or, " is singing." The one of these is singular — " the bird ; " the other is common — " is singing." In comprehension, that is, in regard to the qualities possessed by it, it means that it has " the attribute of singing ; " in extension, that is, in regard to the objects in its class, it declares that the bird is " among singing creatures." These two are involved in each other ; the one implies the other. In forming these judgments we should attend carefully to the nature of the two things compared, Discursive or Deductive Truth. 33 and, as we do so, we may draw a number of inferences. These have a place, and an important place, allotted to them in all advanced works on logic. They are called Immediate Inferences. I call them Implied Judgments. Thus by subalternation, that is, of things under classes, we infer that if all men be responsible the heathen are responsible. Under extension we say what is true of a class is true of each member of the class ; for example, what is true of all roses is true of the rose before us. Under conversion we turn the subject into the predicate, and the predicate into the subject ; thus, it being given that all poets are men of genius, it follows that some men of genius — not necessarily all men of genius — are poets. When we have contradictory propositions we are sure that when the one is true the other must be false. The following inferences have been drawn in Thomson's Outlines of the Lazvs of Thought from the proposition men are responsible : * In Extension. Every man is in the class responsible. Tliis man is responsible. Some men are responsible. Some responsible beings are men. It is not true that no men are responsible. It is not true that some men are not responsible, etc. 3 34 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. In Comprehension. Man exists. Responsibility is a real attribute. Responsibility is an attribute of every man. Responsibility is an attribute of this man. Responsibility is an attribute of every tribe of men. Responsibility is an attribute of some men. Irresponsibility may be denied of all men. No man is irresponsible. Irresponsible beings are not men. Men of wealth are responsible with their wealth. To punish men is to punish responsible men, etc. IV. Reasoning. This is the highest form of the discursive processes. Every human being is employing it. The infant, the child, is using it perpetually in drawing conclusions from what he observes ; in determining, for instance, the distances of objects, which it has been shown he does not know instinctively. The very fool uses it, only, however, about insignificant objects, say, his animal wants, as when he argues that food will satisfy his hunger. The madman, commonly starting from mistaken premises, from a wrong idea and belief impressed upon his mind, often bursts forth into wonderful displays of it. The intellectual ability of a man (I do not say his genius) is shown in the extent and. agility with which he reasons. There is reasoning, Discursive or Deductive Truth. 35 in a lower or higher shape, in the every-day transactions of Hfe, as when we avoid danger and seek to secure what will gratify us. It has a necessary place in all the sciences which combine in a system the objects which present themselves to us. Mathematics, beginning with definitions and axioms which are self-evident, consists in reasoning throughout, and this often of a very delicate and recondite nature, as in quaternions and functions. Now it is surely of vast moment, since so much of mental activity is thus exercised, that we should have decisive tests to determine when we are reasoning correctly. Now we have had this ever since the days of Aristotle, who analyzed the reasoning processes for us in the fourth century before Christ. Attempts have been made once and again to set aside his account, but all of these, after a brief apparent success, are admitted to have been failures. This analytic sets before us all the forms which reasoning takes, and thus enables us to try every sort of pretended argument. The whole of reasoning is founded on one simple law called the Dictum of Aristotle, which takes two forms. Put in the form of extension, that is, of the objects which the terms contain, it is, " Whatever is true of a class is true of all the members of a 36 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. class." It may also take the form of comprehension, that is, of the attributes of the class. " A part of a part of an attribute will be part of the whole attribute." Reasoning, when spread out, takes the form of a syllogism, in which we have two premises and a conclusion. First, we have two notions given us in the premises, and we cannot, on looking on them, say whether they do or do not agree. We are not told in Scripture whether John the Baptist was a priest, but we call in a third term, son of a priest, and we compare each of the other two with this third term. We know that the sons of priests were also priests, and we have the syllogism : The sons of priests were priests ; The Baptist was the son of a priest ; Therefore he was a priest. This type deterrnines for us whether reasoning is valid. If it cannot be put in this form it is invalid. This is the Categorical form. But, being guided by the same dictum, it may take a Hypothetical shape : If this man has consumption He will soon die. He has consumption. He will soon die. Discursive or Deductive Truth. 37 Or some cases may be put conveniently in the form of a Disjunctive : Lines are either straight or curved. The line A B is not straight ; It must be curved. Or it may be best exhibited in the form of a dilemma: If a man can help a thing he should not fret about it. If he cannot help a thing he should not fret about it. But he can either help a thing or not help it. In either case he should not fret about it. In some cases we have a seriate or chained reasoning by a series of arguments. I simply refer to these forms. I am not to spread out their details. This is done with care and accuracy in every Logical treatise of any value. They can all be reduced to the form of the syllogism which depends on the Dictum. These Logical forms supply us with tests clear and certain for every kind of reasoning, in science or in the business of life. Logic has at times been exposed to ridicule because of its multiplied technical rules, which, it is alleged, rather perplex and confuse the mind, and lead it into sophistry. Thus the great English satirist describes Hudibras : 38 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. He was in logic a great critic, Profoundedly skilled in analytic ; He could distinguish and divide A hair twixt south and south-west side ; On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute. The pilot of a ship often needs to decide between narrower distinctions than that between west and north-west side, and if he neglects to do so his vessel may be wrecked. So every man, in his voyage through the troubled ocean of life, needs to make more delicate distinctions than the pilot or the geographer. Error will present itself in forms so like the truth that it is very apt to deceive us, and so we need rules which will accept the true and reject the false. This is the use of all those formulae which Logic has drawn out with such care. It is intended, not to produce and foster wrangling, but to discourage and arrest it;* and to show us the way by which certainty may be reached, V. We have now before us the operations of discursive thought, embracing the Notion, Judgment, and Reasoning. The scientific expression of these constitutes Logic. The science can determine for us whether the deductions drawn out by ourselves or Discursive or Deductive Truth. 39 others are valid. Let us look for a little at the way in which Logic accomplishes this end by the laws which it lays down. The formation of notions is governed by laws. These can be ascertained and enunciated. Deductions can be drawn from them. From the singular concrete notions we can draw others. From an apple before us we can get the notion of its taste, its color, its weight, its odor. These are abstract notions. Again, from a number of apples we can collect them into a class and affirm of this object before us that it is an appl-e. Let us understand correctly what is the nature of these two notions, the abstract and the concrete. Take gravitation — some^ scientific men all but worship it. Let me tell them that gravitation has no existence save in the bodies which it draws toward each other. Newton, when he discovered the law, looked to the bodies in which it acts : to the apple falling to the ground, to the moon drawn toward the earth. So much for an abstraction ; it exists as an attribute in the objects from which it is taken. There is a class notion ; there is not only this apple which we know by the senses, but there is the class apple ; embracing all the apples which have ever existed, all the apples which ever shall exist, nay, all the apples which children have 40 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths, longed for in their fancies, all the apples which poets or painters have drawn. The class has an existence, but not an independent one ; it has an existence simply in the objects and in the qualities which combine them. Now certain rules can be laid down as to these abstract and general notions. I. The abstract implies the concrete in which it exists. II. The general implies particular things of which, under the bond which connects them, it exists. It is asked, what sort of existence have abstract and general notions? You hear people say of certain notions that they are nonentities ; they are mere abstractions. But all abstractions are not nonentities ; The love of a mother is not a nonentity — it exists in the mother. Virtue, though an abstract term, is not a fiction, it exists in all virtuous men and women. You tell me that you know by the senses what an apple is, but as to the class apple it is a fiction. I ask. What makes you put all these apples into one class and to recognize an apple when you see it ? You must answer that all these apples have certain common properties. This, then, is the reality in the class. The class vertebrate has a reality in the vertebrate column which they all possess. III. When the object is real the abstract is also a reality in the thing ; when the Disairsive or Deductive Truth. 41 things generalized are real the concept which binds them is also real. VI. In the proposition we must carefully consider how the two terms stand toward each other. We must particularly inquire what is their extension and what their comprehension. In subalternation we must see that the species are included in the genus. In conversion the rule is that the term be not more extensive in the conclusion than in the premise. VII. In Reasoning Logic teaches us to look to our terms. It insists that there be three and only three terms: two extremes and a middle which unites them. It shows us that they can be put in the form of a syllogism if the reasoning is valid. If they cannot it is a proof that the reasoning is not valid. In all these ways Logic gives us decisive tests to show us when our conclusions follow from the premises. It has so often been explained that it scarcely needs to be repeated, that Logic does not give us the capacity of reasoning. It proceeds on the idea that we reason naturally by the powers which God has given us. It shows us what are the exact proc42 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. esses involved and thence formulates rules to guide us to truth and save us from error. Logic has been called the Grammar of Thought. Logic is not the same as Grammar, but it is analogous to it. Grammar does not profess to teach us how to speak or wri'te, but it explains the laws involved and teaches how to speak and write correctly. So Logic does not claim to give us the power of thinking, but it shows us how to think accurately, and to correct false reasoning. Grammar does not make any man an orator. Neither does Logic make man a powerful reasoner. But grammar will give every man of ordinary intelligence the power of speaking accurately. Logic will not enable every man to reason so consecutively as Aristotle or the Apostle Paul or Bishop Butler, but it will teach every man of common understanding to reason clearly and conclusively, and thus help him to convince his audience. It is not needful that the orator should construe his sentences as he utters them ; but it may be evident all the while that we have the result of a grammatical training in these well-constructed sentences. So it is not necessary that the pleader should put his argument in syllogistic form, but it may be seen at every step that he is giving us the result of a thorough logical training. Note. — The above is a compend of Formal Logic which is expounded fully in my " Laws of Discursive Thought." Inductive Truths. 43 CHAPTER THIRD. INDUCTIVE TRUTHS. I. Scattered Facts. AN eminent man is reported as saying that there are more false facts than false theories. Tliere is truth in this. Facts are apt to have adjuncts to them in the reports given by others, and even in our own apprehensions of them, or they are so mutilated that they take an entirely distorted form. We all know how, in story-telling, additions and subtractions are apt to be made even by honest narrators, so as to make it more attractive and picturesque. The individual facts are primarily made known by the senses. In these there may be very numerous and complicated details, and any of these if left out may so far distort our apprehensions and the account we give of them. Besides, sensations, feelings, fancies, inferences, attachments, and repugnances may mingle with our pure perception of sense and cast a glow or a gloom around them. In these sections I am showing that we have to guard 44 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. against these temptations, and that when w« do so we can arrive at positive truth. Observation Proper and Experiment. — These are the two ways in which we obtain facts. In the former we view objects simply as they present themselves ; in the latter we put them in new positions. The advantage of Experiment over Observation Proper (which may be so designated as Experiment is, after all, a kind of Observation) is that it enables us to perceive the proper action of the several agencies joined in nature. We wish to know whether bodies, whatever be their weight, fall to the ground in equal times. Common observation seems to show that they do not, as we see the gold nugget and the leaf falling at very different times. But we put the gold and the leaf into the exhausted receiver of an air-pump and find them fall the same instant. What we should do in all observation is to note precisely what has occurred, and to report it accurately — without any additions,subtractions^ or coloring; we must be especially on our guard against torturing the facts in order to make them give a certain kind of testimony. The Senses. — The older Greek philosophers adopted the common opinion that the senses deceive. The skeptics took advantage of the doctrine and argued that if the senses deceive there is Inductive Truths. 45 nothing we can trust in. Tlie sounder philosophers met them by calHng in reason, which corrected the illusions of the senses and conducted to truth. Aristotle corrected both these forms of error, and showed that the supposed deception arises, not from the senses themselves, but from the use that is made of their intimations. To save the senses it is necessary to draw certain distinctions. In particular we should distinguish between our original and acquired perceptions. The former are intuitive, without any process of inference, having the sanction of the author of our constitution, and never deceiving us. The latter imply inferences from the revelations of sense perception, and there may be errors in them. I believe we can approximately determine what are the original perceptions of the various senses. By several of the senses we seem to perceive merely the bodily organs as affected. This is the case with taste and with smell, in which we discern simply the palate and the nostrils with a certain sensitive expression of the palate and the nostrils. It is the same also, I believe, with hearing and with touch proper, or feeling, in which we know simply an affection of the ear and the periphery of the body. I rather think that by the muscular senses and the eye we discern more ; a body resisting our organ46 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. ism and a colored surface affecting us. In all these intuitive perceptions there is no ratiocination, and there are and can be no mistakes. But in all beyond there are inferences, and in these there may be less or more of error. A person tells us that he had mutton to dinner, whereas all he knew was that there was a certain taste in his mouth which he argued was that of mutton. He further lets us know that he felt the smell of roses in a certain garden, where he also heard a flute playing, whereas immediately he felt only an odor in his nostrils and a sound in his ear. He is sure that he was struck in the dark with a man's hand, whereas the blow was from a stick. He depones that he saw a man strike his wife, while all he saw was an action of one figure upon another, and it turns out that the woman was not the man's wife. Hence arise some of the mistakes in witness-bearing; they are not lies of the senses, but errors in the inferences we draw from them. In all such cases we form a general rule out of certain experiences, and in hasty thinking we illegitimately apply it. We regard sound as coming to our ear in a straight line from the sounding body, but the undulations have been reflected from a wall ; and we place the bell from which they have come in that wall, whereas the belfry is actually in a difInductive Truths. 4V ferent direction. It is on this principle that the ventriloquist proceeds when he makes a human voice come from a post or an animal. Having laid down the rule that when there are few observable things between us and an object it must be near, we look on that island seen across the sea as much closer to us than it is. Some other distinctions must be attended to. Sensations and feelings of pleasure and pain, of beauty and ugliness, associate themselves with all our perceptions, and are apt to give a color and even a shape to the actual things. We remember more particulars about the objects that excite us, whether joyously or grievously, than those that are dull and commonplace; and we give these a large, often an undue, place in our narrative, and thus distort them and give them a different meaning. The rapid inferences from the intimations of the senses may at times serve a good purpose. They may prepare us to meet and avoid danger when cool and correct argument would not be quick enough. A fire-bell, the jolt of a carriage in which we are riding, a stumble in Avalking, the fog-whistle at sea may at times raise up an unnecessary alarm, but the calm reflection which succeeds will soon dissipate this, and at other times they save us from daneer. 48 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. We have abundant means of correcting the hasty judgments. We have other senses at hand to correct the apparent deceptions of one sense. We imagine the figures raised optically by magicians to be real, but we can dissipate the illusion by thrusting our hand into the specter. We may mistake beef for mutton as we eat it, but it is easy to apply to the person who prepared the food to set us right. A diseased eye may present objects double, but the touch will correct the mistake. In all cases we can secure that what is told us by the senses is true by judiciously using the means of correction at our disposal. Self Consciousness. — Metaphysicians commonly maintain that the revelations of consciousness are always to be trusted ; that they settle every thing in the last resort, and are, in fact, ultimate and infallible. But there are physiologists, and, of a later date, even metaphysicians, who assert that the acts of consciousness are variable and often deceitful. They show us that people often misapprehend what their real feelings are, and give a wrong account of them. It is alleged that there are persons who say that they believe certain tenets when they do not, only imagining that they do. There are cases of persons with a " double consciousness," as it is called ; remembering, in the one Inductive Truths. 49 state, the experience of that state, but without any remembrance of it in the other. But in all such cases we attribute to consciousness what it is not responsible for. In regard to the inner, as in regard to external, sense, we have to draw distinctions if we would determine their precise testimony. It is acknowledged by all psychologists that, properly speaking, we are conscious of self only in its present state. In that state there are various affections : there are sensations and feelings and inferences along with the pure consciousness, and we are apt to mix them up with each other, and thereby breed confusion in our apprehensions and in the account we give of what is in our mind. When we review our consciousness we are dependent on our memory, and we may omit some aspects of our experience and add associated affections. Here, as in regard to the bodily senses, distance is apt to lend enchantment to the view. The hypochondriac magnifies his sorrows, and the gay youth his pleasures in the past. People are apt to think their youth was happier than it really was ; they remember their joys and forget their little disappointments, which were then felt to be so great and now appear so little. What is so called is not really " double consciousness." It arises from a diseased state of the brain 4 60 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. hindering physical action. The person is unable to recall what has been laid up in the past, and he lives in the present and lays up a new experience, which he uses in his new state, but which he may lose in a later condition of his brain. The man is not under a double consciousness, but in two states, in each of which the consciousness may be correct. It thus appears that man may trust in what his consciousness really reveals. It makes known to us self in its present state. It should be noticed that it does not know merely a quality of self, such as thinking or feeling ; it knows self as thinking or feeling. This is of the nature of a first truth or an intuition ; we perceive the very thing. This self constitutes what we call personality ; that is, we know ourselves as persons. On comparing the self as presently known with the past self as then known we declare ourselves to be the same. This is personal identity ; which is a self-evident, necessary, and universal truth. Memory. — The vulgar opinion is that the memory may deceive. But it does so only as the senses deceive. The mistakes are not in the memory proper, but in the associated affections and the inferences drawn from them. We ask a man how long it is since he visited us. His recollection is dim, and he makes the time longer than it is — six Inductive Truths. 51 years instead of five. It is not possible for him to remember his continued existence during these years, any more than it is possible for the eye to see every point in space between us and objects five or six miles off. In both cases he has to avail himself of intervening objects. The event, he remembers, took place after his marriage, seven years ago, for his wife was with him ; and before his mother's death, four years ago, for he remembers we made inquiries about her health. But he does not recollect at what precise date between these two occurrences the visit was paid. The reminiscence was dim, and he concludes that the event is more distant than it really is. Our memories in regard to time all need such mile-stones, or rather timemarks, to enable us to measure the distances. Now, in all these processes there may be mistakes. It is much the same with our recollections of the other circumstances connected with events, such as the shape and color of objects, their position in relation to other things, their surroundings, their antecedents and consequents. The vision is obscure and we have to fill it up, and we do so by fancies of our own, which so far modify the scene, perhaps pervert it. We are apt to join causes and consequences with the bare occurrences. This is especially apt to be the case with conversations, with the sentences 52 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. uttered by ourselves or by others. We recollect how we felt, what we meant to say, what effect was produced on us by what others said, and we confound these with what was actually uttered. Hence the misunderstandings, the perversions which are so apt to appear in the reports of conversations. In the complicated scenes through which we have to pass we remember those parts that have been most vivid — these, I suppose, have impressed themselves most deeply on our organism, and the others are feebler. The consequence is that the record has faded in some places, and we make additions in order to complete it. In this way we clothe our bare memiories with dresses which may make them look sadder or more joyful than the events really were at the time. But it is always possible to distinguish between our original and proper recollection and our superadded and fictitious ones. Those who are conscientious will be careful not to add out of their own stores to their memories. When the reminiscence is dim they will at once confess it, especially in witness-bearing, and when the character of a fellowman may be affected. In all scenes which we wish to remember accurately we will take care to note the exact incidents at the time they occur. There are events of which we are certain that they have Inductive Truths. 63 happened. I might have treated of testimony here as it gives us facts to be put under law, but as the subject is to be fully treated in Chapter Fifth I refer it to that place. II. Induction. This consists essentially in gathering facts in order to ascertain the order that they follow, which will be found to consist in laws which they obey. It was known to Aristotle that the mind starts with the singular (to Udarov) before it rises to the universal {to kuOoXov), which, as he expresses it, may be first in the order of nature, while the singulars are first in the order of time. He practiced the method in his natural history, very specially by the collections which were supplied by his pupil, Alexander the Great. But he cannot be said to have systematically expounded induction as a method of discovering truth. This was reserved for Francis Bacon, who enjoined that in observational science the mind should begin with particulars, which are to be collected and collated, and then rise to minor, middle, and major axioms, and thence finally to causes and forms. All this was to be done not per saltum, but by gradual steps. The method has since been made more definite by Sir John Herschel, in his 54 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Natural Philosophy ; by Dr. Whewell, in his various works on The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences ; specially by John S. Mill, in his Logic, and by others. The method will become more perfected as science advances with its observations and experiments, with its instruments and its critical examinations. That method has a Means and an End. The Means are observation with analysis. The End is the discovery of laws. III. Analysis and Synthesis. — By the former we separate a concrete or complex object into its parts. In chemistry there is an actual separation of one element from another ; say the oxygen from the hydrogen with which it is combined in water. But in most investigations the separation is in thought. Thus in all bodies we find both extension and energy, which cannot be separated in fact. Thus logicians analyze discursive thought into simple apprehension, judgment, and reasoning, or in the expression of these into the term, the proposition and argument. The process is performed by abstraction, in which we contemplate in thought a part of a whole presenting itself, more particularly an attribute of an object, say gravitation. In analysis we separate the whole into its several parts. AbInductive Truths. 55 straction can be performed on every object, as every object has more than one quality, and we can fix on any one of these. Analysis can be performed only when we have such an acquaintance with an object as to know all its parts. The exercise of abstraction, and, when it is available, of analysis, is required in every kind of investigation. Bacon speaks of induction commencing with " the necessary rejections and exclusions," that is, the separating of the matter to be investigated from the extraneous objects with which it may be associated in nature. Whately says {Logic) that in teaching a science the analytical mode is the more interesting, easy, and natural kind of introduction, as being the form in which the first invention or discovery of any kind of system must originally have taken place. Whewell gives an apt name to the procedure, which he recommends as the " Decomposition of Facts." It serves not only to separate objects from others, but to break them down, so that we may obtain a better acquaintance with them — with their internal structure and their several qualities. It is a process to be employed throughout in all investigations of nature, which in every department is full of complexities. Analysis can scarcely be described as discovering truth. It is rather a means or instrument toward 66 The Tests of the Various Kmds of Truth. this end. At the same time it should be noticed that when we abstract a part, say a quality, from an object, the part, the quality, has a reality as well as the whole. If the concrete be real the abstract is also real. The abstract may not have an independent reality ; thus gravitation has no reality except in body, but it has a reality in body. The criterion here is that the part be really a part of the actual whole ; that the quality be a real attribute of a real thing. Analysis is a sharp, and may become a dangerous, instrument. It may be over subtle, and dissect and kill what should be kept alive and entire. It is fulfilling its end only when, to use an illustration of Plato's, it is dividing the carcass as the butcher does, according to the joints. Among the ancient Greek philosophers the analytic was the method commonly employed. Down to this last age the analytic and the synthetic were represented as methods of discovering truth, and had large fields allotted to them. Kant's great work, the Critique of Pure Reason, is divided into the analytic and synthetic parts. In synthesis the parts are put together to show that they make up the whole. Thus Whately decomposes discursive thought into the term proposition and argument, and then shows synthetically Inductive Truths. 57 that these make up the whole process. Sir John Herschel, in his Astronomy, begins with taking up the several departments of the heavens, and then expounds the whole science. The two, analysis and synthesis, must continue to be used as instruments, but they now do so in the methods of induction and deduction. IV. Criteria of Laws. Hitherto we have had to do with individual facts, which tell us nothing beyond themselves. We have not as yet any means of anticipating the future from the past, or gathering wisdom from experience. In particular we have no science ; which consists, not of scattered and isolated facts, but of systematized knowledge. In the construction of science we must co-ordinate the facts. In doing so we discover the laws, and find that all mundane affairs are regulated by laws. But the question arises, How do we, from indi.vidual facts, reach a law? Or, more specifically for our present purpose. When are we entitled to conclude and be satisfied that we have found a law which may be regarded as general or universal ? The answer of those who have not thought specially on the subject would be, When we have observed 58 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. all the facts. But a moment's reflection shows that in most cases, I believe in all, we cannot find out all the facts. We assert that crows are black, but we cannot go the round of the world and ascertain that it is so. We may have examined millions of cases and found all crows black, but how do we know that a traveler may not report that he has found a white crow in some distant island? In science we say that all mammals are warm-blooded, or that all matter attracts other matter inversely according to the square of the distance ; but no one has searched the universe and noticed every mammal and every particle of matter so as to be able to say that no mammal is cold-blooded, and no particle of matter without the power of attraction. But from a limited number of observations we can rise to a law which seems to be universal. How is it so? Mr. Mill maintains that he who can answer this question is wiser than the ancients. Bacon describes the method of observation by "perfect innumeration " of cases as puerile, and incapable of yielding any fruitful results. In induction we have to rise from the unknown to the known. We argue from a limited number of cases in the past to a universal law which we hold to be true in the future ; not only so, but in all unknown cases, past and present. The father of inductive Inductive Truths. 59 philosophy was aware of the diflfitulty of the problem, and he sought to solve it by bringing in Prerogative Instances {Prerogatives Instantiaruvi) which could determine what is true of all instances. To give only one example, that oi Inst ant ia Crneis, the metaphor being taken from the notice put up where two roads meet to tell which to take. It was disputed whether light consists of material particles or of vibrations in an ether. To settle this it was maintained by Fresnel that instances can be artificially produced which are inconsistent with the material, but not with the undulatory theory. But we have now better tests in the Canons of Induction. When man looks abroad on nature in a loose way he sees a number of scattered facts. At first sight it looks as if they have two characteristics ; they have both irregularity and they have regularity. He soon begins to seek for order in the midst of the seeming disorder. He is impelled to this by his intellectual powers, which prompt him to seek for the nature and relation of things. But he is specially led into this inquiry by finding that he cannot make good and profitable use of nature till he knows how it acts. He will not sow grain at one season unless he knows that he will reap for his sustenance at another season. In prosecuting such inquiries he discovers that order prevails in the midst of apparent 60 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. confusion. He (?alls the regular proceedings by the name of laws, believing that they are the expression of the will of a law-giver. " They continue this day according to thine ordinances, for all are thy servants." But it is not enough that he knows that there are laws. In order to take advantage of them he needs to ascertain their precise nature. He would determine the number of days in the year, the periods of the returns of the seasons and of the the moon. While he is seeking after these regularities he finds that there is a deeper and higher law in nature ; there is not only a law of order, there is a law of power. Prompted by an internal intuition, confirmed by a uniform and unvarying experience, he concludes, that every event in nature has a cause, not only in God, who woi-ks in all the agents in nature, but in some power in nature. The object of all science is to discover order, or, in other words, laws. But there is great confusion in the statement that all things are governed by laws. This will not be cleared up till we distinguish between two kinds of laws : — the Laws of Uniformity and the Law of Causation. V. L Laws of Uniformity. There is an order in nature, in other words, laws in nature which we can observe and profit by withInductive Truths. 61 out at all looking to the causes, though we shall see that they have causes. They will best be understood by some examples. There is the succession of day and night. Day does not cause night nor night cause day. Yet they follow each other invariably. It is the same with the seasons — spring, summer, autumn, and winter — no one of which produces its successor, though it prepares for it. There is the life of the plant — the seed, the blade, the flower, the fruit. There is the growth of the animal — the germ, the birth, infancy, mature life, decay, old age. There are periodical occurrences — the tradewinds, the gulf-stream, the evening seabreezes. There are the epochs in geology — the Azoic, the Eozoic, the Silurian, the Devonian, the Carboniferous, the Mezozoic, the Cenozoic, the Quaternary, the Human. There are the eras in history — as, in Jewish history: — the Antediluvian Period, the Patriarchal, the Exodus, Government by Judges, Government by Kings, the Captivity, the Coming of Christ, the Dispersion of the Jews. But there is a deeper principle involved. VI. II. The Law of Cause and Effect. I believe this to be an intuitive principle, standing the tests above enunciated. I believe that 62 The Tests of the Various Kitids of Truth. when we discover any thing beginning to be we look for an antecedent producing it — a substance with power. But without entering at this place on this disputed metaphysical subject, I may take it for granted that the principle of causation is sanctioned by a universal experience, and will not be denied by any one. Many, indeed, feel that the principle may require to be enunciated anew and put in a better form since the discovery of the law of the Conservation of Energy, or the Persistence of Force, as Herbert Spencer calls it. But whatever be the best shape in which to put it, we assume in all induction that causes produce their proper effect, and that every new product or change in an old thing has a cause. One of the aims of inductive science is to discover what has caused a given phenomenon; what has produced it in the past and will produce it again. The principle of causation might have reigned in all nature and yet there have been no uniformity. All action in nature might have as its sole cause the fiat of God. The connection of all things would, in this case, be with God, but not with one another. The spring, with its buds and blossoms, would be produced by God, but this would give no security that the fruits of autumn were to follow. Or, again, there might be constant interferences by God with the operation of Inductive Truths. 63 natural agents ; or causal agents might work, and yet there be no such thing as the general laws, such as the seasons, which we observe and trust in. We find, instead, that the agents of nature are so disposed or arranged that they produce uniformities, not the result of any one cause, but of a combination and harmony of causes ; such as the periodicity of the heavenly bodies, the flow of the tides, the regular return of the seasons, the plant rising from a seed and producing a seed, and the descent of the animal from a parent, its growth and its death. All these imply causation, but they require more — an adjusted causation. But it is necessary to settle more definitely what is implied in the uniformity of nature which lies at the basis of all induction. It implies, first, that there is a certain number of agents acting in nature ; it is not necessary for us to settle how many. Secondly, that these are so collocated or arranged — I believe, adjusted — as to produce general results, called laws, which we observe and act upon and can scientifically express. Thirdly, these agents constitute nature, and there is no introduction of new agents and no interference with them in ordinary circumstances. This statement does not preclude miracles on rare occasions ; these miracles not being contrary to the law of causation, for they have the 64 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths power of God as a cause, but they are simply an exception to the uniformities of nature. These two classes differ from each other, yet they are closely connected. The laws of uniformity proceed from the law of causality. It is the disposition of the sun and earth that produces day and night and the seasons. There are causes within and without the plant and animal which produce development. The sea and land breezes have been produced by meteorological agencies. Canons of Induction. — There seem to be three grand ends which men of science have in view in their investigations : One is to discover the composition of the objects around us ; the second is to discover natural classes ; the third is to discover causes. Canons of Decomposition. — Almost all the objects we meet with in the world, whether material or mental, are composite. It is the aim of many departments of science, in particular of chemistry and psychology, to analyze them. This can, so far, be effectively done. There are certain rules to guide us, and these may be made more and more specific as the analytic sciences advance. A. We must separate the object we wish to decompose from all other objects. If we wish to analyze water we must have pure water, separate from A Inductive Trttihs. 65 all other ingredients. If we wish to analyze intuition or reasoning, we must separate it from all associated observations and fancies. B. When we have found the composition of any piece or portion of a substance we have determined the composition of every other part, and, indeed, of the whole. When we have ascertained that a pint of water is formed of hydrogen and oxygen we have settled that water every-where is composed of the same elements. This arises from the circumstance that every substance in nature has its properties, which it retains. Having detected these properties in one case, we have found what they are in all. C. The elements reached are to be regarded as being so only provisionally. We are not sure that in any cases we have found the ultimate elements of bodies. At present it is supposed that there are some seventy elements, but we are not sure of any one of these that it will never be resolved into simpler substances. Meanwhile the chemical analysis is correct so far as it goes. It will always hold true that water is composed of oxygen and hydrogen, though it is possible that oxygen or hydrogen, one or both, may be resolved into something simpler. Canons of Natural Classes. — There are certain 66 The Tests of the Varioits Kinds of Truth. sciences which are called by Whewell Classificatory. They are such as botany, zoology, and mineralogy. We may have two ends in view in classifying. One may be simply to aid the memory by having the innumerable objects of nature put into a convenient number of groups. For this purpose we fix on certain obvious and convenient characteristics and put all the objects possessing them into one class. It was thus that Linnaeus put under one head all plants possessing the same number of stamens and pistils. This arrangement, though it does not come up to the requisitions of a perfect classification, is found to be very convenient. Second, our object may be to increase our knowledge by so arranging objects that one characteristic may be a sign of others. In natural classification we should always aim at securing both these ends. There are canons which may assist us in determining when we have reached natural classes. A. We must have observed the resemblance in many and varied cases, say in different countries and at different times. B. We must be in a position to say that if there had been exceptions we must have met them. These two rules guard against forming a law from a limited class of facts. C. There are classes in nature called Kinds, in Inductive Truths. 67 which the possession of one quality is a mark of a number of others. All classes entitled to be called natural are more or less of this description. Thus mammals are so designated because they suckle their young ; but this characteristic is a mark of a number of others — that the animals are warmblooded, and have four compartments in their hearts. Reptiles are recognized as producing their young by eggs, but they are also marked as having three compartments in their hearts and being coldblooded. Canons of Causes. — The most lucid and, upon the whole, the clearest and most satisfactory exposition of these methods is by Mr. John Stuart Mill in his Logic. It should be noticed that his methods relate to causes, and we have not had from him an exposition of the canons of decomposition and classes as given above. He mentions four or five methods. A. The Method of Agreement. — In the spring season we see innumerable buds, leaves, and blossoms appearing upon the plants, and we find the common cause to be the heat of the sun shining more directly upon the earth. The canon is, " If two or more effects have only one antecedent in common that antecedent is the cause, or, at least, part of the cause." That canon is too loose to 68 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. admit of a universal application, as we may not be sure that the point of agreement we have fixed on is the only one. Two people take the same disease at the same time ; we conclude that the cause is the same — but it may have been different. B. The Method of Difference. — In the very middle of the day I find the scene around me on the earth suddenly darkened. There must be a cause. I find that the moon has come between us and the sun, and this seems the only difference between the two states — the one in which every thing was bright and the other in which it is in gloom. The canon is, " If in comparing one case in which the effect takes place and another in which it does not take place we find the latter to have every antecedent in common with the former except one, that one circumstance is the cause of the former, or, at least, part of the cause." This method is the one employed in cases in which experiment, with its separating power, is available. It is the most decisive of all tests when the circumstances admit of its application. This canon regulates many cases in common life. I am usually in good health, but I took rich food yesterday and was unwell, the cause being evidently the food. A man in health receives a gunshot wound and dies. We see at once that the wound was the cause of the death. There are cases Inductive Truths. 69 in which this method is not applicable when an intermediate one is available. C. The Indirect Method of Difference, or the Joint Method of Agreement and Difference. — The canon is, " If two or more cases in which the phenomenon occurs have only one antecedent in common, while two or more instances in which it does not occur have nothing in common but the absence of that antecedent, the circumstance in which alone the two sets of cases differ is the cause, or part of the cause, of the phenomenon." The illustration given by Mr. Mill is : " All animals which have a well-developed respiratory system, and therefore aerate the blood, perfectly agree in being warm-blooded, while those whose respiratory system is imperfect do not maintain a temperature much exceeding that of the surrounding medium ; we may argue from the twofold experience that the change which takes place in the blood by respiration is the cause of animal heat." There are two countries in much the same condition physically, in the one of which there are Christian agencies, and in the other none ; in the former there is much higher refinement and civilization than in the latter, and the cause is evidently the Christian religion. D. The Method of Concomitant Variations. — We want to know the cause of the rise of water in a *I0 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. pump or of mercury in a barometer. The ancients accounted for this by nature's horror of a vacuum, which is inconsistent with the fact that water will not rise above a certain number of feet in the pump. TorricelH and Pascal gave a better explanation when they referred the rising of the water or mercury to the weight of the incumbent atmosphere, which Pascal proved by ascending a mountain with a barometer and finding that, as he rose higher and higher, the mercury fell lower and lower in the tube. Here we have the effect varying with its alleged cause, which is an evidence that the alleged cause is a true one. The canon is, " Whenever an effect varies according as its alleged cause varies, that alleged cause may be regarded as the true cause, or, at least, as proceeding from the true cause." In a certain town there is an increase of crime ; at the same time there has been an increase of drunkenness, and we at once refer the increase of crime to the increase of drunkenness. In the far West the manners of the first settlers, being commonly young men, are apt to be rough ; but they seek out refined ladies for their wives and their manners become refined. In the same region there are at first few churches and schools ; these are gradually introduced and there is an improvement in the morals of the people. Inductive Truths. 71 E. The Method of Residues. — A farmer knows how rr.uch grain a particular field has yielded in the past. He mixes fertilizers with the earth on the field and finds he has a larger crop, and he ascribes the increase to the fertilizers. He knows what the previously existing antecedents will produce, and, after subtracting this, he ascribes the residue to the new antecedent. The canon is, " Subtract from an effect whatever is known to proceed from certain antecedents, and the residue must be the effect of the remaining antecedents." We know what are the orbits in which the planets move, but the planet Uranus was found by Leverrier and Adams to depart so far from the laws. There was a residue which could not be accounted for, and so they looked out for and found a new planet. We may proceed on the same principle to argue the existence of a conscience. We have a sense of merit and demerit ; we find that this cannot be given by the senses or intellect, and to explain the phenomenon we call in a moral power. vni. Psychology. Here, as well as in all the physical sciences, we have to begin with the observation of facts. There is, however, an important difference between the '1 2 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. two departments. The facts in physical sciences are obtained by the senses ; whereas in mental science the observing agent is self-consciousness. It is only thus we can find out what any physical act is. An examination of the nerves and brain may show how a mental state arises, but can give no idea of the mental act itself, say of a sensation, a recollection, an imagination, of moral approbation, of emotion or wish. In making consciousness our witness we have to allot to it a large province. We must include in it not only immediate introspection, but also the observation of the mental acts of others, as disclosed in their words, their writings, and their deeds. We cannot, indeed, look directly into the bosoms of our fellowmen so as to ascertain what is passing within, but we can gather what this is by the expression of it, which, be it observed, we can understand because we are conscious of our own acts. History, biography, travels, plays, novels, newspapers, and especially conversation and familiar letters, may all show us human nature quite as much as they do external incidents. Without these supplements we should have a very contracted view of the mind by inspection of our own souls. The individual facts are made known in this way. The criterion of consciousness is in itself; it Inductive Truths. 13 is self-evidencing. As we observe the facts we distinguish between those that differ and co-ordinate them into laws. The criteria of the laws are much the same as those of physical science. Psychology proceeds on the same two fundamental principles as physics. It is seeking for causes. Without determining the question of the freedom of the will we may confidently affirm that causation, that the persistence of force, rules in the mind as it does in the body. Certain antecedents are sure to be followed by certain consequences. The orator urges the considerations which may persuade those whom he is addressing and lead them to action. The poet raises up images that please and elevate the mind. The father and the teacher inculcate principles which may guide the young in all their future lives. Investigators in this department have been seeking to discover faculties and the rule and mode of their operation. The early Greeks found sensation, the discursive power, and reason. Aristotle had in the soul the nutritive power, sensation, memory, phantasy, and, above these, the reason, active and passive. In all ages there has been a grand distinction drawn, in a loose form, between the intellect and the will, the cognitive and the motive powers. Every body talks of the memory, the judgment, of reasoning, and of 74 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. sentiment and feeling, of the power of abstracting, generalizing, distinguishing, of loving, and of hating. There seem, also, to be laws of uniformity in human nature. It does not appear that in the association of ideas one idea is the cause of that which succeeds ; that when height suggests hollow and the dwarf suggests the giant, and prosperity adversity, and a portrait the original, that when we count up from one to one hundred, there is a causal connection between the ideas — they are the joint effect of a number of causes. In the science of psychology we seek to discover these laws, such as the law of habit, the connection between the idea and the feeling raised by it, the kind of acts which conscience approves of. Now, there may be criteria of these laws, both of causation and uniformity. These have not been so carefully enunciated as those of physical science. I believe that, mutatis mutandis, they may be considered as very much the same. The Method of Agreement.— ^2ish.\r\gton is named and we find the mind following a certain train. We think of his education, his training, the Revolution, his battles, his character, all of which have been previously in the mind together, and we reach the law of contiguity: that when ideas have been in the Inductive Truths. V5 mind at the same time, when one comes up the others are apt to follow. The Method of Difference. — We see a portrait of Washington tor the first time. The two, the portrait and Washington, were never before in the mind together, yet the portrait calls up Washington, and the law is, things that are related, especially things that are like, recall each other. The Joint Metliod of Agreement and Difference. — There are days in which we find we can easily recall the things we would remember, other days in which they will not come up. The difference is in the time : that in the first few days our brain was in perfect health ; in the other it is distracted. Method of Concomitant Variations. — When we are interested in an event known to us we are apt to think of it more frequently, and we conclude that feeling, as a secondary law, influences our associations, and, according to the feeling with which it is accompanied, so do ideas come up. Method of Residues. — On contemplating kind actions we feel a pleasure which can be explained by our social feelings ; but we find that on contemplating some of these we have a feeling of moral approbation. This cannot be explained by the mere social feeling, and we have to call in a moral principle. 76 The Tests of the Vcorious Kinds of Truth. IX. Reasoning in Induction. The question is started, Is there reasoning in induction ? I am sure that there is. From what has been ascertained by observation taken in a wide sense we infer something else — that there is a law which enables us to predict results. How is it that the countryman is enabled to predict a coming storm ? His father has told him, or he himself has observed, that when the wind is in the East, and the clouds are thick and black, there will probably be rain or wind. Here there is evidently inference which can be stated syllogistically by the logician, the general observation being the major premise, the particular state of the wind and sky the minor, and the conclusion that there will be a storm. Every class of men, in fact all men, do thus reason on premises implied, though possibly not expressed. The laborer argues, in his own way, that there should be a rise of wages ; the merchant purchases because he concludes there will be a demand for his goods. Before there were any precise rules laid down on the subject scientific men drew true and important conclusions from common-sense principles in their own mind. The canons of induction now expressed definitely enable Inductive Truths. 'I'l us to put the reasoning in a more systematic form, which is a great advantage. We can now use the canons of induction (which, I beHeve, will become more definite and better expressed) as our majors in the syllogism of induction. Major. When two or more effects have only one antecedent in common, that antecedent is the cause. Minor. But the budding of innumerable plants in spring has only one common antecedent — the return of the sun to a higher altitude. Conclusion, this one antecedent is the cause. This is the method of agreement. Let us take a case from method of concomitant variations. Major. Where an effect varies with its supposed cause this is the true cause. Minor. But the rising and falling of the mercury in the thermometer varies with the less or greater weight of the superincumbent atmosphere. Conclusion, the weight of the atmosphere is therefore the cause of the rise or fall of the barometer. It should be observed that the canons, with their implied reasoning, do not guarantee to us absolute certainty, what is called apodictic truth or demonstration. None of these are certified, as first truths are, by the law of necessity ; we can easily conceive any one of the ordinary physical laws not to be true universally, and we might believe so, 78 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. provided we had evidence. The evidence, after all, is merely a probability of a lower or higher degree, but may rise to a certainty only a little short of being absolute, and quite sufficient to justify us to put trust in it and act upon it in ordinary, indeed in all, circumstances. Such, for instance, is the proof which we have in favor of the law of gravitation. It is not demonstrative, like a mathematical truth, but it satisfies the mind and is verified by constant observation. Note. — The above, with the chapter that follows, is a compend of Inductive Logic, which is well expounded in the Book on Induction in Mill's Logic. I believe I have done good service by drawing the distinction so definitely between the Law of Causation and the Law of the Uniformity of Nature (pp. 60-64). These two are commonly represented as one and the same. Though connected they are different in themselves and in their manifestations and ends. The first, causation, is simple, it is the law of force producing effects. The other is a complex product, the result of a co-ordination of forces and is an effect or result rather than a cause. A miracle is an exception to the uniformity of nature, but not to causation, for it has a cause in God. The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. 19 CHAPTER FOURTH. THE JOINT DOGMATIC AND DEDUCTIVE METHOD. THE JOINT INDUCTIVE AND DEDUCTIVE. HYPOTHESES AND VERIFICATION. CHANCE. INDUCTION CANNOT GIVE ABSOLUTE TRUTH. WE KNOW IN PART. I HAVE explained the three ways by which we investigate truth ; the Intuitive, the Deductive, and the Inductive. I am now to join these three and explain the methods which ensue. I. The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. In this method we assume a principle and draw an inference from it. The principle may be a selfevident one, or it may be obtained from a gathered experience. The best example is found in geometry, where, at the opening, there are laid down definitions of such things as triangles, circles, squares, and also axioms or self-evident truths ; and from these, and as involved in them, we get further truths by deductive reasoning. We have also examples in Formal Logic, as when the dictum of Aristotle is assumed, that whatever is true of a class is true 80 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. of the members of the class, and from this get the modes and figures of reasoning and innumerable inferences. The truths thus drawn are called appodictic by Aristotle, and demonstrative by the moderns. Or the assumed principle may be obtained from a collected induction, such as the law of light that the angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence, from which may be drawn a large body of conclusions. This method has often been applied illegitimately, that is, to departments which have to deal with scattered facts. In the seventeenth century, when mathematics made such a start, there were attempts to carry the geometrical method into all branches of science. It was used by Descartes and his extensively ramified school in philosophy, and also in theology. Assuming the existence of thought, of cogito, as a truth which cannot be doubted, he thence proves his own existence, which it would have been wise in him to assume ; and then, from the idea of the infinite and the perfect in the mind, he argued that there must be a perfect being existing, whose veracity guarantees our idea of matter. Samuel Clarke, finding that man could not get rid of the idea of space and time, argued that, since all things must either be substances or modes, and The Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. 81 as space and time are not substances, they must be modes of a substance, which is God, whom, by other considerations, he clothes with benevolence. In these connected systems doubtful definitions were carried out, often by right reasoning, to very doubtful results. I may refer particularly to the wrong application which was made of this method by Spinoza, the Dutch Jew designated expressively by Dugald Stewart *' the thought-bewildered man." In his Ethics, beginning with a formidable array of definitions, axioms, postulates, and corollaries, he draws out a philosophical religious system in which God is at once extension and thought, and being The All is the moral evil in the world as well as the good ; is, in fact, the deceit, the hypocrisy, the adultery, as well as the true, the upright, the holy. A number of powerful German thinkers, metaphysicians, and theologians, toward the end of last century, became greatly enamored with the pantheism of Spinoza, and several of them drew out systems of much the same kind. All agreed in proceeding d priori in deducing results from favorite principles. They all drew much from, indeed, proceeded upon, favorite fundamental principles, and drew out imposing systems all more or less idealistic and pantheistic. The ablest of the speculators were 82 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. Fichte, Schelling, culminating, and, it is to be hoped, terminating, in Hegel. They have been followed by several dozen others, such as Herbart, Lotze, and, we may add, Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann, all of whom adopt some new principle and carry it out in the same way. The newest form is Neo-Kantism, which, however, can never reach the truth till it abandon certain fundamental principles of Kant, such as that we perceive mere phenomena in the sense of appearances, instead of things ; and that the mind adds forms to things when it perceives them. These systems have had their day, which, it is hoped, is now coming to a close. It is hoped that they will never become the prevailing philosophies in England, France, and America. In Germany they have buried beneath them some of the simple truths of Scripture and natural piety. The fundamental objection to the method is that it is not applicable to the sciences, which have to deal with facts. The method is a powerful one when we have the legitimate means of using it, that is, self-evident truth. But it is not available when we have to observe and co-ordinate the facts of nature within and without us. Our philosophic physicists are quite aware of this. Our metaphysicians should acknowledge the same truth. " A clever man," says Herschel, *' shut up alone and allowed unlimited time, might The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. 83 reason out for himself all the truths of mathematics by proceeding from those simple notions of space and number of which he cannot divest himself without ceasing to think. But he could never tell, by any effort of reasoning, what would become of a lump of sugar if immersed in water, or what impression would be left on his eye by mixing the colors of yellow and blue." {Natural Philosophy, 6^.) II. The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. J. S. Mill argues that more progress will now be made, even in observational sciences, by deduction than by induction. This may be doubted. It seems to me that observation and experiment must always be the surest way of advancing research. But deduction may be joined to induction. When this is done the method may be called the Joint Inductive and Deductive. This is, in fact, the method represented by Mr. Mill as conducting to such fruitful results. In this method the inquirer begins in the inductive method ; that is, he observes facts with care and with the view of discovering a law. As he proceeds he will ever be asking whether the law is so and so ; that is, devising an hypothesis. In order to determine whether this is a true law of nature 84 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truths. he has to examine further facts ; it may be, facts of a different kind. As he acts thus he may find he can apply deduction. He inquires what effects follow from the law in his mind, and he then compares these with the facts. If he finds these to correspond he has a verification of his hypothesis. It is by combining the two in this way that the greater number of the established laws of nature have been discovered. In most cases there have been long processes, both of induction and deduction, before the law has been ascertained and adjusted. When the laws of nature are quantitative, as they commonly are, mathematics maybe applied to them, and it becomes the instrument of the deduction ; and often a far-reaching one — showing very distant consequences which can be compared with facts. In the sciences of observ^ation sometimes the inductive element and sometimes the deductive method is the more prominent ; in all cases the inductive, as I reckon, is the essential. In Galileo's researches experiment was the main instrument, but he also used mathematics. Kepler's fertile mind was always devising hypotheses, but he accepted them only as they were confirmed by observations. It would be wrong to say that Newton's method was mere induction. He had before him The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. 85 the observations of Galileo and Kepler, and also a measurement of the distance of the earth's surface from the center, and he applied a powerful mathematics, created by himself, to these facts. It is a circumstance greatly to his credit that when, havine a wronc: measurement of the distance of the earth's circumference from its center, he found his theory, that the moon was held in her sphere by the same power as draws an apple to the ground, not to be in accordance with facts he gave it up for a time, and only resumed it when it was found, on the proper distance of the earth's surface being ascertained, that the facts corresponded. In all departments of physics or natural philosophy the deductive mingles with the inductive. In optics, in thermotics, in theoretical astronomy, in mechanics, the deductive or mathematical element has a conspicuous place ; but in all these sciences we have always to start with observed facts. In ethics we carry out indefinitely the laws of our moral nature ; but these have been ascertained by a previous observation of that nature. In like manner, in logic we deduce consequences from the laws of discursive thought, which we have found by observing how they act in the mind. In all the social sciences there is a mixture of the two elements, sometimes one and sometimes the other being 86 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. predominant. Jurisprudence is forever appealing to fundamental principles, and inquiring how they apply to a given case. The science of national wealth must be constructed mainly by the observation and collection of facts in statistical and other forms; but there are universally operating principles ever called in. Thus it is supposed that men are usually swayed by a desire to promote their interest so far as they know it. This is certainly a powerful motive. But there are others, such as the desire for fame, for power, for society, for the beautiful, for promoting education and religion, all actuating individuals, and the influence may be traced in the progress of nations. In chemistry the laws have to be ascertained by observation, particularly by experiment ; but when principles have been discovered, such as that of affinity, they may be carried out indefinitely. Psychology, as a science, is constructed mainly by the observations of consciousness ; but, having ascertained certain laws, such as those of the association of ideas, we can explain how they affect our beliefs and feelings. In pedagogics, or the science of teaching, we must carefully observe the ways of children ; but in doing so we discover their actuating motives, such as the love of knowledge, the love of play, the love of approbation, which have to be taken into account in The Joint Inductive and Deductive Method. 81 constructing our methods of instruction and discipline. In aesthetics there are ascertained laws of taste which must be taken along with us in the construction of the science. In all departments of natural history observation must play the most important part, but there are laws of life and of form to guide biologists in all their investigations. The principles from which we deduce conclusions are of two kinds. Some are self-evident or demonstrative. Such are moral laws and maxims. These are assumed, and are applied extensively and constantly in history and in all the social sciences ; in all sciences which deal with motives and character. Of this description is the maxim that men are likely to be happy and comfortable when they are moral. To this same class belong all mathematical propositions founded on axioms. These self-evident truths are seldom formally enunciated ; they are simply assumed and applied. So far as science uses them it is very much employing the Joint Dogmatic and Deductive Method. But there is a second kind of principles used in deduction even more extensively ; these are acknowledged truths and wise laws established by a large induction. For example, any one may now assume the law of gravitation. In optics it is allowed that the angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence, and 88 The Tests of the Various Kmds of Truths. from this a great many particular truths may be drawn. In chemistry it is taken for granted that the elements combine in certain proportions, and from this a multitude of consequences follow. In this joint method the induction is tested by the canons of induction and the deduction by the rules of reasoning. III. Hypotheses and Verification. Consilience OF Inductions. '•''Hypotheses non fi}igo^' said Newton, meaning, perhaps, that he introduced no fictitious agency, but merely vercB causes, such as existed in nature ; or, more probably, that he accepted no truth till it was established. Since Newton's time, especially within the last age, hypotheses have played a very important part in all departments in which the laws have not been settled, as, for example, in electricity and biology. The investigator is bent on knowing what laws certain phenomena follow. But in nature divers agents are mixed up with one another, and he cannot determine what they are by a loose inspection. As he observes tentatively, he makes a supposition suggested by the facts as to what the law should be. When he notices the descent of plants and animals he says to himself. Let us supHypotheses and Verification. 89 pose the law to be that of development or heredity. He has now a specific end to work for, and he observes and collects facts, and inquires whether they agree with the hypothesis he has formed. If he finds that many of them do so he has a probability, and is encouraged to proceed ; and if the hypothesis explains a large body of events it rises to the rank of a theory. When it takes in all the facts bearing on the particular case, and no exceptions can be discovered, it is regarded as a law of nature, which, however, may require to be modified and adjusted before it suits all the facts, and so becomes the true law. This process is called TJie Verification of Hypotheses. — When first suggested the supposition may have little to support it, and there may seem to be facts opposed to it. But if it is the correct one there will come confirmations from a variety of quarters, difficulties will disappear, and the seeming exceptions may corroborate it. The hypothesis started is that light consists in vibrations, not a very probable supposition beforehand, but then it is found to explain one set of phenomena after another, till at last it seems to account for every thing, and is counted as an established law. Or the hypotheses is that of the conservation of energy, or that the amount of energy in the world, real and potential, cannot 90 The Tests of the Variozcs Kinds of Truths. be increased or diminished. On the first consideration of this view obvious objections will present themselves. We strike with a hammer upon a piece of iron till our strength is exhausted, and it looks as if force had been expended and lost. But, on further inquiry, we detect the energy that had gone out of the body to be conserved in the molecular motion or heat of the metal. Hypotheses, I rather think, must be resorted to in the early stages of the investigation of every sort of phenomena. They are simply tentatives, and most of them may have to be abandoned. They may or they may not be announced ; they may in the first instance be simply guesses, and only a few or one of them prosecuted to any great extent. The law of gravitation was, for a time, only an hypothesis, taking the erroneous form that matter attracts other matter, not according to the square of the distance, which is the true law, but according to the distance. Hypotheses are necessary, but are to be carefully watched and limited. First. — The hypothesis must be suggested by the facts and not be feigned by the mind ; this may be the meaning of Newton's statement. Second. — It must be regarded as a mere hypothesis till it is established by the criteria applicable to the department. We are much troubled in the Hypotheses and Verification. 91 present day by hypotheses being represented as established laws. Third. — The hypothesis is to be abandoned when it is found that there are facts inconsistent with it. It requires much courage to abandon an hypothesis which has long been cherished, and, perhaps, published to the world. Fourth. — It is established as a law when it explains all the phenomena bearing on the subject and is not contradicted by any known fact. It is a powerful confirmation of an hypothesis when it enables us to predict occurrences. If the alleged law be the true one the facts will correspond to it in the future as in the past, and as they fall out will tend to prove that the hypothesis is a sound one. Dr. Whewell has shown that the evidence in favor of our induction is of a much higher and more forcible character when it enables us to explain and determine cases of a kind different from those which were contemplated in the formation of our hypothesis. " Thus it was found by Newton that the doctrine of the attraction of the sun varying according to the inverse square of the distance, which explained Kepler's third law, of the proportionality of the cubes of the distances to the squares of the periodic times of the planets, explained, also, his first and second laws, of the ellip92 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. tical motion of each planet, although no connection of these laws had been visible before. Again, it appeared that the force of universal gravitation, which had been inferred from the perturbations of the moon and planets by the sun and by each other, also accounted for the fact, apparently altogether dissimilar and remote, of the precession of the equinoxes." He designates this process as the Consilience of Inductions. He declares : " No example can be pointed out in the whole history of science, so far as I am aware, in which this consilience of inductions has given testimony in favor of an hypothesis afterward discovered to be false." IV. Chance. In one sense there is and can be no such thing as chance ; that is, an event without a cause or without a purpose. Every occurrence has a cause in God. Not only so, but in the ordinary affairs of this world it has a mundane cause. Further, it falls out according to the uniformity of nature. But there are senses in which there is chance in our world. The oldest definition of chance (tv%^) was by Anaxagoras, who makes it an event whose cause cannot be discerned by human reason (Aoymjuw). This account needs only to be a little Chance. 93 expanded and made more definite. There are occurrences of which the cause or the law is unknown, and, in consequence, we cannot anticipate their occurrence. This may arise from the cause being utterly unknown to us. More frequently it arises from the complexity of nature, from there being a number of agents working, or from the nature of their operation. We may know all the agencies at work, but we cannot tell how they are working. In all cases the events do not recur with such regularity as to constitute a law. There was a time when eclipses were regarded as coming according to no law, and men, following the law of causality, referred them to a deity. When these causes were discovered they were found to have periods, and astronomers could predict their recurrence, and they were viewed in a different light. Till lately meteors were supposed to appear capriciously, but now showers of them are expected at certain seasons of the year, and nobody ascribes them to chance. When we shake a die in a dice-box we are acquainted with the mechanical law which it obeys in its movements, but we cannot say which side will cast up. We know, in a general way, what physiological agencies produce death, but we cannot predict at what precise time any man will die. 94 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Still, even in such cases, a certain kind and amount of truth may be had, and this from the circumstance that the event proceeds, after all, from causes which operate regularly, and from there being a limited number of causes. We find that, given a sufficient number of trials, each side of the die will come up the same number of times ; li any side comes up more frequently than another we argue that the dice have been loaded. We do not know when any one man will die, but we can ascertain what number of people will die in a given time in a community. In such cases we can strike an average, and we can foretell average results and estimate the probability of a given event. When we speak of the probability of an occurrence we are not to understand this as implying the uncertainty of the occurrence considered in itself. The event, say the death of a person on a certain day, may be absolutely sure, owing to causes operating. We can conceive that there are higher intelligences to whom it would not be uncertain. We are sure that it would not be so to the view of the Omniscient. It is so to us because of the limited nature of our faculties and of our knowledge of the causes operating. Were we cognizant of all the antecedent circumstances we might, in many cases, be able to Chance. 95 predict the result. It is because of our ignorance that the event is uncertain to us. The probabihty or improbabihty is not in the event, but in the grounds which we have for expecting it ; it is subjective and not objective. In all cases we must have certain data, gained by observation and yielding a general average. In some departments we can express numerically the probability or improbability of the particular occurrence. An event reckoned impossible may be represented by o; an event certain to happen, by i. All degrees of probability may be denoted by the fractions representing value from zero to one. The probability of an uncertain event is represented by the number of chances favorable and unfavorable. Thus the casting up of ahead or a tail being I, and the chances against it being 2, the proper chance is one half. The tables that have been prepared for life insurance companies have been very elaborate, but need not here be given. There is another sense in which it may be sp'*'^ that there is such a thing as chance. There cannot be an occurrence without a purpose on the part of God, who has ordered the causes producing it. But there may be a concurrence without a design. It is by chance that certain rocks take the form of the face of Napoleon or Wellington. I do not know 96 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. that there was any purpose designed or effected by so many men of genius being born in the year 1769, or by Cervantes dying on the same day as Shakespeare died. There are certain minds that take the keenest interest in observing such coincidences, and discover a deep meaning in what is in itself meaningless ; for example, connecting a calamity with the spilling of salt at a table, or from thirteen persons meeting at that table. On the other hand, when there is an immense congregation of agents that are independent, to produce an evident benevolent end — for instance, of vibrations of light, of coats and humors, of rods and cones, to enable us to see through the eye — there is evidence of design, the chances being all against such a concurrence. V. Natural Theology. Attempts have been made to conduct this science on the joint dogmatic and deductive method, but, in my opinion, without much success. It has to deal with facts — the existence of God, and the immortality of the individual soul — and, therefore, must have an inductive or observational element. I have my doubts whether, from a mere idea or principle in the mind, we can argue the existence of the living God. It should proceed, I reckon, mainly in Natural Theology. 97 the joint inductive and deductive method. It looks at God's works within and without us, and, discovering wonderful mutual fittings, means and end, traces of love and just government, it rises to the belief in a being of power, wisdom, benevolence, and justice. The inductions are collected in such works as Ray's Wisdom of God, in Paley's Natural Theology, in the Bridgcivatcr Treatises, and the ordinary works of natural religion. But there are deductive processes involved. The premises here are supplied mainly by a priori principles or by intuition, all to be justified by the criteria of First Truths. In the mind of man there are high and deep truths in the germ, all capable of being developed and actually working in the mature man, being called forth by the circumstances in which he is placed. There is the principle of causation, requiring us, on a new thing or a change appearing, to seek for a cause. This can stand the tests of intuition, being self-evident, necessary, universal, in our very nature and constitution ; and it leads us to believe that where there are traces of design there must be a designer. There is a moral power within us, with its law and its obligations, implying a law-giver. We have not an adequate idea of infinity, but we believe that there is something beyond our widest idea or concept, something 98 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. to which nothing can be added, and we are led to apply it to the powerful, the good and holy One. We are entitled, we are required, to trust and follow these principles. They are elements, and the highest elements, of the reason with which we are endowed. We begin with trusting the senses, and find, as we do so, constant confirmations in our daily experience ; what appeared at first to be realities we discover to be more real as we bring one sense after another to bear upon them, and find that meat nourishes us and pure air refreshes us, and the due use of the good things of this world prolongs life. We should confide in the same way in our higher ideas and beliefs, and as we do so we find them expanding and elevating the mind, opening grand vistas which look beyond the seen and temporal into the unseen and eternal. If we do not follow our lower instincts, if we do not eat and drink, our bodies will become feeble and die ; and if we deny our higher reason our souls will lose their freshness, vigor, and aspirations. But when we would construct the argument, indeed, in all scientific investigations and in all true philosophy, we must be careful to ascertain the exact nature of the intuitions or intuitive reason we call in, and only use them accordingly. Those who neglect this are sure to present them in an extravNatural Theology. 99 agant form or make a perverted use of them. This has been done by the mystics of the East and of mediaeval times, indeed, of all ages. Almost always they have got a glimpse of a reality, but they have seen it only under partial aspects, and they have shown it to us through a cloud, or irradiated it with reflected light, and have represented it to us as vision, inspiration, and ecstasy, whereas it is only one of the higher elevations of our nature. All our profound thinkers have seen these truths, but have not always properly represented them. We may hold with Plato that there is a grand, indeed, a divine, Idea ; but I wish that idea, as in the mind, carefully examined and its forms or law exactly determined, and it is for inductive science, and not speculation, to tell us what are the types which represent it in nature. I hold with Aristotle that there are formal and final, as well as material and efficient, causes in nature ; but it is for a careful induction to determine the nature of these and to show how matter and force are made to work for order and for ends. I am as sure as Descartes, and as Augustine and Anselm were before him, that there is in the mind a germ of the idea of the infinite and perfect ; but we must show what is the precise nature of the idea, so as to secure that we draw only legitimate inferences from it. I discover. 100 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. as Leibnitz did, a pre-established harmony in nature, but it consists mainly, not in things acting independently of each other, but in the harmony produced by things acting on each other. I attach as much importance to experience as Locke did, but I maintain that observation discovers that the intuition (which he acknowledged) looks at principles in the mind prior to all experience. I allow to Kant his forms, his categories, and his ideas, but their nature is to be discovered, not by criticism, but by induction, when they will be found not to superinduce qualities on things, but simply to enable us to perceive what is in things. I believe with Schelling in intuition {Anschauung), but it is an intuition viewing realities. I hold with Hegel that there is an Absolute ; but I believe that our knowledge, after all, is finite, implying an infinite, and that the doctrine can be enunciated so as not to issue in pantheism. I turn away with scornful aversion from the pessimism of Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann, but I believe they have done good by calling attention to the existence of evil, to remove which is an end worthy of the labors and suffering of the Son of God. I believe, with Herbert Spencer, in a vast unknown above, beneath, and around us ; but I rejoice in a light shining in the darkness and revealing the known. I believe in the gems so rich Limits to Hwnan Knowledge. 101 and varied which the higher poets have left us as a licli inheritance ; but before they can enter into philosophy they must be cut and set, and it will require a skillful hand to adjust them, and when they are cut it must be as skillfully as diamonds are, and this only to show more fully their form and beauty. VI. Limits to Human Knowledge. The aim of this treatise has been to show that the human mind is capable of reaching knowledge, and that it has tests to determine when it has done so. I have faced the agnostic, but have not entered into a wrestling with him, which would be endless, because he refuses to take a form by which I may lay hold of him. I have pursued a more effectual method. I have shown objects where he assures us that there is nothing. It is in this way we can command assent and gain assurance. I have proceeded on the idea that there is a difference in the certitude of truths. Some I have shown are self-evident, necessary, and universally held, and therefore certain beyond doubt or dispute, others are only probable, some with only a slight balance in their favor, others rising to certainty. This is not so much a difference in the truths as a difference in the evidence to us. To God and to 102 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. higher beings, the one kind may be as certain as the other. We cannot tell whether there will or will not be a good harvest next year. But to Omniscience it may be as certain that there is to be a good harvest as that all the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles. It is of vast moment that we should know what kind of evidence we have, and what the validity of the evidence which we have in favor of any proposition we are required to believe, whether it is demonstrative or merely probable, and if only probable what the degree of probability. It is also of moment that we should note what kind of truth admits of apodictic and what of only probable proof. It is vain to seek for demonstration in every kind of investigation. We can have such, as I reckon, only when we have self-evident truth. But, then, it can be shown that inductive truth can rise to certainty. I doubt much whether we have immediate evidence of the existence of God as we have of the existence of ourselves, but we have quite as valid proof of the existence of God as we have of the existence of our fellow-men. In both we have a fact, the acts done, and we rise up by the principle of causation to a cause. The criteria of truth which I have been furnishing should assist us in all such investigations. Man's knowledge is increasing and must continue Limits to Human Knowledge. 103 to increase. His generalizations widen as his knowledge increases and take in more and more objects. He is constantly gaining more premises which lead to farther conclusions. One discovery leads on to another ; one chamber opened shows us the door which opens into a second. Davy proved the correlation of electric and magnetic forces ; Oersted of electric and magnetic, and at last the grand doctrine disclosed itself to a number of investigators, particularly to Mayer, that all the physical forces are correlated. But man's power of discovering truth is, and ever must be, limited. First, there are limits to his mental powers. He has only five original inlets of knowledge into the material world. Had he fifty senses instead of five he might know vastly more. Then, his power of working on the materials required by sense and consciousness, his memory and his understanding are also limited. Some men can discover more truth than others, and it is conceivable that there may be higher intelligences who see farther into the nature of things than the most farsighted of men. Secondly, every man's individual experience is limited, and the same may be said of the experience of the race — it is confined within very stringent bounds. Man can discover a vast amount of truth, spec104 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. Illative and practical. We have enough revealed to exercise our faculties, to expand and elevate the mind, and to serve for all the purposes of the duty we owe to God, to ourselves, and our fellow-men. Every truth known leads however into the unknown. But this is to tempt us to penetrate into the unknown region that we may know it. As we do so we shall find that there are things beyond our ken in a region beyond, above, or beneath us, and we must be content to allow them to lie there. We know as much as to know that there are truths which we cannot know. We see the objects within our proper range of vision, but we also see the darkness that encompasses them. " We know in part." Yes, we know, but we know only in part. We who dwell in a world " where day and night alternate ;" we who go every-where accompanied by our own shadow — a shadow produced by our dark body, but produced because there is light — cannot expect to be absolutely delivered from the darkness. Man's faculties, exquisitely adapted to the sphere in Avhich he moves, were never intended to enable him to comprehend all truth. The mind is in this respect like the eye. The eye is so constituted as to perceive things within a certain range, but as objects are removed farther and farther from us they become more indistinct, and at length are lost sight Limits to Hitman Knotvledge. 105 of altogether. It is the same with the intellect of man. It can penetrate a certain distance and understand certain subjects, but as they stretch away farther they look more and more confused, and at length they disappear from the view. And if the human spirit attempts to mount higher than its limited range it will find all its flights fruitless. The dove, to use a well-known illustration of Kant's, may mount to a certain height in the heavens ; but as she rises the air becomes lighter, and at length she finds that she can no longer float upon its bosom, and should she attempt to soar higher her pinions flutter in emptiness and she falters and falls. So it is with the spirit of man : it can wing its way a very considerable distance into the expanse above it, but there is a boundary which if it attempts to pass it will find all its conceptions void and its ratiocinations unconnected. Placed as we are in the center of boundless space and in the middle of eternal ages, we can see only a few objects immediately around us, and all others fade in outline as they are removed from us by distance, till at length they lie altogether beyond our vision. And this remark holds true not only of the more ignorant, of those whose eye can penetrate the least distance, it is true also of the learned — it is perhaps true of all created beings — that there is a 106 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. bounding sphere of darkness surrounding the space rendered clear by the to. 'ch of science. Nay, it almost looks as if the wider the boundaries of science are pushed, and the greater the space illuminated by it, the greater in proportion the bounding sphere of darkness into which no rays penetrate ; just as (to use a very old comparison) when we strike up a light in the midst of darkness, in very proportion as the light becomes stronger so does also that surface dark and black which is rendered visible. Testimony. 107 CHAPTER FIFTH. TESTIMONY. IS IT SUFFICIENT TO PROVE THE SUPERNATURAL ? I. IT is not necessary to suppose, with some of the Scottish metaphysicians in their answers to Hume's argument against miracles, that there is an original instinct or principle of common sense leading us to trust in testimony. I believe, indeed, that there is a social instinct in all of us inclining us to have an affection for, and trust in, those we meet with, especially in father and mother, brothers and sisters, and leading us to believe in what they say. But the belief in testimony is the result of experience, and is modified by experience ; we trust in certain testimonies, but not in others. There is a conscience in every man which disposes him, if he does not resist it, to speak truly ; even selfishness prompts him not to lose the confidence of his fellow men by deceiving them. Hence the great body of mankind speak the truth when they are not led to act otherwise by a desire to excuse themselves, or by malignity toward their neighbor, or 108 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Tridh. some other like motive. We can reach truth by means of testimony. It was in his haste that David said, "All men are liars." The testimony of one man is often sufficient, because of his character, known otherwise, and because he has no motive to deceive. We lay down rules for our guidance in judging of testimony, as that it is a good sign if the statements are direct and unartificial. In most cases we seek to have the testimony of one man confirmed by another, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established, it being shown that there has been no collusion or conspiracy. There are commonly circumstances which corroborate or detract from the testimony. Circumstantial evidence is at times sufficient to prove that a prisoner has been guilty when there is no direct evidence of the act. In witness-bearing, books of law and judges on the bench lay down rules which may guide the jury in the verdict which they bring in. History. — Here the evidence is mainly that of written testimony, which, however, may be confirmed by original historical documents, such as monuments, inscriptions. Coins, and ancient charters. Laplace, misled by a false analogy derived from the diminution of light when reflected successively from a number of surfaces, declares that the value of Testimony. 109 testimony may be weakened by transmission, and at length altogether lost. {Essay on Prob.) This is true of tradition, that is, of oral testimony transmitted from mouth to mouth, or from age to age ; but Sir G. C. Lewis {Afeth. of Obs. and Reas.) has shown that " when the testimony of the original witness has once been obtained, and recorded either by himself or others in an authentic form, it is perpetuated so long as the written memorial of it is preserved in the original, or in a faithful transcript, and may at any time be used for historical purposes." I am to show that testimony is fitted to establish the occurrence of supernatural as well as natural events. In opening the subject it is essential to determine what the natural is, and what the supernatural is, especially in their relation one to another. II. There is a Natural System. In seeking to find its nature let us recall the distinction drawn in Lecture iii ; the Laws of Causation and the Laws of Uniformity. In the former there is power in the cause to produce the effect. I believe there is an intuitive conviction which perceives this, but it is not necessary to our present purpose to insist on this. It is enough that a long, a combined, an un110 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. contradicted experience testifies to the universality of causation. Let it be observed that this means that every event has a cause in some mundane agency, such as gravity, or electricity, or magnetism, or chemical affinity. I believe that every occurrence has a cause in God, but also that it proceeds immediately from a power imparted to created objects. God is the author of the seasons, but he produces them by the relation of the earth and the objects on it to the sun. Causes are so organized that they lead to general results ; what I call laws of uniformity. The earth is so related to the moon that the tides are produced with their regular times. There is no causation implied in their succession ; the incoming wave does not produce the receding wave, nor, vice versa, does the retiring wave produce the next advancing wave. Many of these laws are simply co-existences, in which the agents exercise no influence on each other. Even in cases of succession the antecedent does not produce the consequent. Thus day does not produce night ; both are the issue of causes beyond them. People often speak of a law necessarily producing an effect ; this is true only of the laws of causality. By the arrangement of these causes there is a natural system. Testimony. Ill I. Every substance in nature is endowed with certain properties, original or derived. Thus the soul is possessed of powers of consciousness, of sense-perception, and feeling. Bodies continue in the state in which they happen to be, whether this be motion or rest, unless they be influenced by powers ab extra ; all bodies attract each other inversely according to the square of the distance ; the elements combine according to definite proportions ; light is propagated by vibrations ; action is equal and opposite to reaction ; in polar forces like repels like, and attracts unlike ; these are samples of properties which may be simple or may be complex, but are, at all events, natural properties. These properties consist essentially in tendencies; not in acts, but tendencies to act on the needful conditions being supplied. Thus oxygen has the tendency to combine with hydrogen, and does combine with it, when the hydrogen is presented in the proper mode. Thus it is the tendency of fire to burn when fuel is presented, and the tendency of a dead animal body to decay. It will be shown, as we advance, that this tendency is never, properly speaking, interferred with in any of the miracles of Scripture. But our present aim is simply to bring out what is the cosmical system. 2. The substances and their properties are cor112 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. related and distributed so as to produce a general and an obvious order. This is effected by the arrangement of the substances with these properties so as to produce here a contemporaneous order, and there a regular succession of phenomena which can be observed for scientific and for practical purposes. Of this description are the apparent motions of the sun, moon, and stars in the heavens, the seasons for sowing and planting, for reaping and gathering in fruit, the stages in the life of the plant, and a hundred other periodical laws which human beings can observe, more or less easily, by science or without science, and to which they can accommodate themselves, and, as they do so, secure the blessings which nature has provided. All this order arises from arrangements among the substances with their powers. With other distributions and collocations of natural agents there might be no general laws or the general laws would be different. The actually existing laws are admirably adapted to the constitution of man ; to his intellectual powers, which delight to discover class and cause, and the relations of means and end, and also to his practical convenience, as enabling him to anticipate the future from his experience of the past. It is very conceivable that these laws may be in themselves an end contemplated by God, and Testimony. 113 pleasing to him as he surveys them. It is certain that they are a means toward a farther end, a means of making creation inteUigible to the intelligent creature, and capable of being used for practical purposes. 3. There is a large yet limited body of objects and powers, constituting nature and performing its functions. I believe that the substances, with their properties, have all been created by God, and also that all their natural relations and dispositions have been instituted by him. No human power, no natural power, can add a new substance to nature, or destroy any existing substance ; we may burn the hay or stubble, but it is not thereby annihilated ; one portion has gone up into the air as smoke, another has gone down to the earth as ashes. Not only so, it seems to be established by the latest science that power cannot be created or lost, and that the sum of force in the world cannot be increased or diminished by natural means. We may transform one natural force into another, or make one natural force produce another ; but in all the mutual action of bodies the sum of the potential and actual energies is never altered. Not only is it beyond created power to create or annihilate new bodies or substances, it is beyond all natural power to create or annihilate force. Nature is a self-com8 114 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. prised system, globe, or sphere ; in se ipso totus, teres, atque rotimdits. In saying so, it is not meant to assert that this sphere has no points of contact or relationship with other compartments of creation, and, still less, that it has no dependence on a higher and a supernatural power. All that we maintain is, that it has a number of agencies which, in their totahty, combination, and action, constitute the system of nature. A miracle, we shall see, does imply the interposition of a power beyond this mundane sphere. It serves its end because it is the effect of a supernatural cause. But, meanwhile, let us understand precisely what is meant when it is said that nature is a self-contained system. Let us not suppose that it has been proven that it needs nothing to support it, and that it will go on forever if left to itself. The geologist, in his diggings, has gone a little beneath the surface, but has not reached the bottom in his explorations ; he has gone back many ages, but has not reached the beginning, which ever retreats from him. The astronomer has penetrated to great distances, but he has not reached the outside ; he is just impressed the more with the vast circumambient region into which his telescope cannot penetrate. Science in all its explorings knows not when the Testimony. 115 beginning was, nor when the end shall be ; knows not where the center is, nor where the circumference is — if, indeed, there be a circumference. This knowable world, however large and complete, is not, after all, the universe, but only a part of it ; whether we follow it behind or before, above or beneath, on the right side or the left, it is seen to be broken off; beginning we know not when, ending we know not where, but certainly not when and where our vision fails : it looks hung from above, and resting below, on nothing discernible by physical science. There is clear evidence that things have not always been as they now are ; there was a time, for example, when man was not on the earth ; an earlier time when there were no animals on the globe. There is no evidence that there are physical agencies in the world which would keep it existing forever. The continental mathematicians of last century thought they had gone a step beyond Sir Isaac Newton, and demonstrated that, according to laws now in existence, the machine would go on through all eternity without requiring to be wound up or receiving any aid from without. All that they proved was that there is a beautiful self-adjusting or self-regulating arrangement in the solar system which secures that the obvious variations of the motions of the planetary bodies are periodical. 116 The Tests of The Various Kinds of Truth. Later inquiry has shown that there are agencies now operating which must in the end dissipate the whole existing order of things ; and the most advanced science has discovered no natural means of counteracting the destructive tendency. The following are the conclusions drawn by Professor W. Thomson. " i. There is at present in the material world a universal tendency to the dissipation of mechanical energy. 2. Any restoration of mechanical energy, without more than equivalent dissipation, is impossible in inanimate material processes, and is probably never effected by means of organized matter either endowed with vegetable life or subjected to the will of an animated creature. 3. Within a finite period of time past the earth must have been, and within a finite period of time to come the earth must again be, unfit for the habitation of man as at present constituted, unless operations have been, or are to be, performed which are impossible under the laws to which the known operations going on at present in the material world are subject. "* All events happening according to the uniformity of nature can easily be established by the mouth of two or three witnesses. * Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, 1852. Testimony. 117 III. There is a Supernatural System. It is in the midst of the natural system, to which it is adapted, and the two go on in co-operation. It may be said to begin with the creation, which is supernatural, and necessarily before the natural, which is its product. Sin enters into the government of the holy God, and it is announced to the tempter. Gen. 3. 15, "And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed ; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel." This is an epitome of the history of the whole world. There is a deliverer, who is the seed of the woman, but with vast power to crush the head of the serpent, that is the evil ; in short, at once human and divine. Henceforth there is a struggle and a contest between the powers of evil and of good, with God in the midst of it to restrain the evil and secure in the end the victory of the good. This is the present state of our world, as we see it all around us and feel it in the depths of our hearts. In the midst of the natural the supernatural has its place. As types reign in the vegetable and mineral kingdom so they also run through the kingdom of grace. There is the tree of knowledge of good and evil, representing the contending powers 118 The Tests of the Vayicms Kinds of Truths. in the world, and also the tree of life for the healing of spiritual diseases. Enoch is translated to keep alive a belief in immortality. Some are saved by an ark in the overwhelming deluge. Abraham is called out of a world fast falling into idolatry to keep alive the knowledge of the truth. There is the establishment of a commonwealth under the immediate care of God ; there are prophets, speaking in the name of God, giving lessons for the present and opening glimpses of the future. There is a captivity in Babylon followed by a deliverance, and a scattering of the Jews with their Scriptures for the wide diffusion of the Gospel. In the fullness of times, in the middle of the ages, while Greece had furnished its learning and Rome its strong dominion so as to allow the messengers of the cross to spread the glad tidings, the long-expected One arrives ; he fulfills his office, goes about continually doing good, he is persecuted by the Jews, is in agony in the garden, he is forsaken by the Father, and dies an accursed death, but before he expires he is able to say, " It is finished." The death is followed by a resurrection. The work of the supernatural goes on but it is after a somewhat different manner. Miracles were multiplied while Jesus was upon the earth to testify that Jesus was above nature and had come from God. Testimony. 119 There is no proof that there has been any outward miracle wrought since the aspostles died. The natural, being the ordinance of God, takes its course, and the supernatural helps it in the providential diffusion of the Gospel, but it is chiefly shown, or rather felt, in the hearts of men in converting and sanctifying them and in giving them peace. That is the old contest, but it is between the flesh and the spirit, in which the spirit finally prevails. " The Spirit of the Lord shall be poured on all flesh." All throughout the Scriptures God is presented to us under one and the same aspect, as extending mercy to sinners through the sufferings of his Son. In the first promise to fallen man, the seed of the woman, who was to put his heel on the head of the serpent, is described as having his heel bruised as he does so. In the first worship of fallen man there is the offering of the bleeding lamb. You might have discovered the wandering path of the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob by the altars which they built and the smoke of their sacrifices Vv'hich they offered. Under the law almost all things were purified by blood. The grand object presented in the New Testament is a bleeding Saviour suspended upon the cross. It is thus the same view that is presented to us under the patriarchal, the Jewish, and the Christian dispensations. Ex120 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. cept in the degree of development, there is no difference between God as revealed in Eden, in Sinai, and on Calvary ; between God as described in the books of Moses and God as described so many centuries later in the writings of Paul and of John. In the garden we have the law given, and indications, too, of One coming to deliver from the penalty. On Mount Sinai there is a law delivered amid thunderings and lightnings, but also ordinances which tell of an atonement for sin. In the mysterious transactions on Calvary there is an awful forsaking and a fearful darkness, emblematic of the righteousness and indignation of God, as well as a melting tenderness in the words of our Lord breathing forgiveness and love, and telling of an open paradise : " To-day thou shalt be with me in paradise." The first book of Scripture discloses to us, near the commencement, a worshiper offering a lamb in sacrifice ; and the last shows a Lamb, as it had been slain, in the midst of the throne of God. IV. There are thus two systems. Let us look for a moment at each. The Natural. It is not an intuitive truth, it is not self-evident, is is not necessary, it is not universal. For a long period people did not believe in Testimony. 121 it. It has been established only within the last few ages. It is the result of a large experience and has at last been proven by science, which has found law in every department. Thus natural points to the supernatural, that is, the existence of God. The order every-where and the adaptation of one thing to another are evidence of a designing mind. "The invisible things of God are clearly seen from the things that are made, even his eternal power and godhead." We carry this truth with us as an important factor into the consideration of The Supernatural. It is of importance to determine precisely what this is. First, negatively, it is not a violation of the law of cause and effect or any intuitive principle in our nature, such as I have explained in the first lecture of this work. Were it so it could not be proved, could nev«r have appeared. The supernatural has a cause, and an adequate cause, in God. This has been shown in two philosophical works written by men not prepossessed in favor of Christianity, by Thomas Brown in his work on Causation, and by J. S. Mill in his Logic. He who made the world, as his works show, continues to work in it, and may for wise and good reasons change his mode of procedure. A miracle is an interference with the law of cause 122 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. and effect only so far as that law requires a physical cause of a physical event. It does not call in the physical cause, because there is a cause in the divine power. A miracle is an interference with the law of uniformity, the nature which I have taken such pains to unfold in an earlier part of this chapter for the purpose of enabling me to explain what a miracle is. That law is simply the result of an arrangement of causes which may be changed. It is not guaranteed by any intuitive or necessary conviction. It is simply the result of experience, and the experience which has established the natural may also establish the supernatural. It is possible, then, for a miracle to take place, and it is possible to establish it by good and sufficient evidence. Let us look at that evidence. V. How is it, when an ordinary ghost-story is circulated, that scientific men and educated men generally turn away from it, and will scarcely be moved to inquire into it ? Because the story is contrary to the whole analogy of the system of nature, and is of a class which is believed in only by the weak and superstitious, little disposed or capacitated to investigate evidence. But why do we not turn away in the same manner from the stories recorded in the Testimony. 123 life of Jesus ? This is, in fact, the whole argument pressed upon the world an age ago in the Essays and Reviezvs, and propagated by the Arnold family, especially in their novel. The question can be answered. There is a vast difference between the two cases. The ghost-stories are totally unlike the narratives of our Lord's miracles. The ghost tales are seldom authenticated to us by clear-headed and competent witnesses. When they and the like fabulous stories are investigated by competent men on scientific principles the evidence is dissipated, as when Faraday sifted the cases of table-turning. It is entirely different from the evangelical history. We have the testimony of four witnesses who have all the characteristics of true though sinful men, and this confirmed by the testimony of an educated man of high intellectual gifts, and by the whole history of the period, and the successful propagation of the Gospel in the earlier ages. Rut it is said that in the early ages people were inclined to believe in the supernatural, and invented miracles, and that thus their testimony on this subject is not to be credited. I admit the premises but deny the conclusion. The people at the time of our Lord were ready to believe in miracles. But, I add, not in such miracles as are recorded in Scripture. They are commonly great 124 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. wonders, monsters on earth, dazzling lights in the sky. They are such as gratify the love of wonder and the superstitions of the heart. In inquiring of lawyers and of others what is a good book on testimony, they refer me to the works of Dr. Greenleaf. He gives from the start the following rules: "The credit due to the testimony of witnesses depends upon, firstly, their honesty; secondly, their ability ; thirdly, their number and the consistency of their testimony; fourthly, the conformity of their testimony with experience, and fifthly, the coincidence of their testimony with collateral circumstances." Let me apply these rules, somewhat amended, to the testimony, to the life, and especially the resurrection, of Jesus: i. The four evangelists had means of knowing what they narrate, for they had been for several years in constant contact with him. 2. They were transparently honest, as every man sees, and had no motive to deceive, as by telling their story they only exposed themselves to persecution. 3. Their writings show that they had ability to understand what they narrated. 4. We have these four direct witnesses, besides others, whose testimony spread the Gospel over wide regions. 5. Their tale is consistent. There is enough of discrepancy to show that there could have been no previous concert among them, and, at Testimony. 125 the same time, such substantial agreement as to show that all were independent narrators of the same great transaction as the events actually occurred. 6. Their statements are all in accordance with what is told us of the state of Judea and the world as given us by trustworthy historians such as Josephus, the Jewish, and Tacitus, the Roman, historian. I admit the premises, but deny the conclusion. The people at the time of our Lord were ready to believe in the miracles. But, I add, not such as are recorded in Scripture. Historians and travelers tell us what kind of miracles were invented among the nations. As a specimen, take those mentioned by Livy, the historian, who lived in the age immediately before our Lord: "During this winter, at Rome and in its vicinity, many prodigies either happened, or, as is not unusual when people's minds have once taken a turn toward superstition, many were reported and credulously admitted. Among others, it was said, that an infant of a reputable family, and only six months old, had, in the herb-market, called out, ' lo, Triumphe ; ' that, in the cattle-market, an ox had, of his own accord, mounted up to the third story of a house, whence, being affrighted by the noise and bustle of the inhabitants, he threw himself down ; 126 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. that a light had appeared in the sky in the form of ships ; that the temple of Hope, in the herb-market, was struck by lightning ; that at Lanuvium the spear of Juno had shaken of itself; and that a crow had flown into the temple of Juno and pitched on the very couch ; that in the district of Amiternum, in many places, apparitions of men in white garments had been seen at a distance, but had not come close to any body; that in Picenum a shower of stones had fallen ; at Caere the divining tickets were diminished in size. In Gaul a wolf snatched the sword of a soldier on guard out of the scabbard, and ran away with it. It rained blood in the forum at Rome. The spear of a statue of Mars, at Praeneste, moved out of its place of its own accord. An ox spoke in Sicily. An altar surrounded by men in shining garments was seen in the sky. Armed legions of spirits appeared in Janiculum." In favor of no one of these have we the testimony of a single eye-witness. They have no worthy meaning. How different with the miracles of our Lord. We have the record by those who witnessed them. We have the testimony of the four evangelists, evidently truthful men, each giving his own account, and yet all substantially one. Christ's work, when on earth, was a work of salvation. They brought to him the sick, the maimed, Testimony. 127 and the blind, and he healed them all. If you had accompanied Christ on some of his pilgrimages when on earth what a glorious sight would you have seen ! Not, indeed, such a scene as this world admires when it applauds the warrior with strong and healthy men before him whom it is his pride and glory to cut down and destroy. You would, if you had followed Christ, have seen a far different but a far more glorious sight. You would have seen before him, on the way by which he was to pass, the road covered with couches with the sick laid out upon them ; and you would have seen the dumb, when they could not speak, striving to give expression to their woes by their earnest struggles ; and you would have heard the blind, when they could not see him, crying to be taken to him. This was the scene before him ; and behind him, after he had passed, were the sick bearing their couches, and the lame leaping like the harts, and the dumb singing his praises, and the blind gazing earnestly upon him with joyful eyes, and the lunatics in their right minds, and those lately dead in the embraces of their friends. Yes, these were the fruits that followed Christ's visits wherever he went. And he is Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. His office, his prerogative, is still to seek and to save that which is lost. He is in this world now 128 The Tests of the Various Kmds of Truth. by his Spirit, as he once was by his bodily presence. He is not to be discerned by any pomp or external splendor. The kingdom of God cometh not by observation ; but still 'We may discern him by the eye of faith. Before him are persons afflicted with all manner of soul maladies: some under the power of wild passion, by which they are led captive at pleasure, some covered all over with the leprosy of vice, all of them blind to the perception of spiritual beauty and deaf to the voice of God addressed to them. Wherever Christ goes the way is strewn with such ; and wherever he goes he leaves behind him traces of his presence. Before him, as he marches through our world, are the blind, the deaf, the dying, and the dead ; and behind him are the seeing, the hearing, the living, the lovely, and the loving. "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound ; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord." The witnesses were plain, unsophisticated men. Then we have the declaration of one of the great men of the world, altogether independent of his inspiration — a scholar, a writer, an actor of great Testimony. 129 practical wisdom. Paul, once so strongly prejudiced against the Crucified, assures us that he saw Christ in the flesh, and that he was overcome by him. The Arnolds evidently feel a sensitive shrinking from the honest, sturdy, outspoken apostle. The novelist tells us he was no reasoner. Those who can reason themselves know that in the Romans, and in all his epistles, he is one of the most powerful reasoners that ever put together premises and conclusions. At times he makes a digression, but it is as a man who steps back a few feet that he may gather force to clear the chasm. Every man who reads the gospels has a miracle set before him in the discourses of our Lord, which, for sublime doctrine and pure precept, for grace and elevation of sentiment, for faithfulness and for pathos and for tenderness, for indignation against sin and pity for the sinner, for knowledge of the human heart, and love to men, women, and children, transcend all the highest intellects have done in Greece and Rome, and, as spoken by a Galilean peasant, are themselves a miracle. The common Christian has not just to prove a miracle against an infidel. All that he has to do for his own conviction is to find that Christianity came from uneducated men in Galilee. This granted, the miracle follows ; and he is con9 130 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. strained to say, *' Thou hast conquered me, O GaHlean." VI. " What think you of Christ ? Whose Son is he ? '* We are obliged to think of him, and we have to answer the question, ''Whose Son is he? Whence does he come?" We may suppose that he, a mechanic in Galilee, uttered all these truths, the Sermon on the Mount, and the parables, and we have already a miracle. Or, if we may adopt a more refined theory, and suppose that there was a wonderful carpenter's son in Nazareth, and that a body of fishermen on the lake constructed the Life of Christ out of him, we have a still more astounding miracle, with nothing resembling it in the history of the world. Take one supernatural event — the resurrection of Jesus. We have as full proof of it as of any event in ancient history — say the death of Julius Caesar, which every one believes in. We have as clear evidence that these four evangelists wrote the gospels as that Xenophon wrote the memoirs of Socrates. But the grand proof of the truth of our religion lies in the combination of evidence. We have a treble cord, which cannot be broken. How have men of science established the doctrine of the uniformity of nature ? By an accumulation and Testimonv. 131 combination of observations in ail departments of nature. It is in the same way that we prove that there is a supernatural system in the midst of the natural, and fitting into it. Round the life and death and resurrection of Jesus we have a body of conspiring evidences. There were antecedents and there are consequents. We have the anticipation in the history, types, and prophecies of the Old Testament. Then we have the results flowing from the belief in the resurrection of Christ, the preaching of the Gospel, the spread of Christianity in all countries, the production and fostering of all that is good in art and history, in the elevation of morals, in the establishment of schools and colleges and hospitals, in raising the status of the working classes, in the comfort imparted to poor and afflicted ones, in the converting power of the grace of God, in the slaves of the wildest passions sitting at the feet of Jesus clothed and in their right mind. All these constitute, from first to last, a unity, a system ; he who would overthrow it will have to attack, not the mere outposts, but the consistent whole. It is a bounteous river system — with its waters flowing over the waste places of the earth, but issuing from the throne of God in heaven. All these miracles are worthy of God and adapted to the state of man ; with a few exceptions 132 The Tests of the Various Kinds of Truth. they are wrought to deliver from pressing evils in our world, from disease, from sorrow, from sin. The grand end of the whole is the redemption of the soul, for which the great men of the world have labored, but have failed of their end. Nor let it be urged that the Jewish and heathen worlds were so predisposed toward the miraculous that the early Christians had only to proclaim it to find all men believing it. For it is to be remencPl bered that the Gentiles got it from the Jews whom j they hated, and the Jews from the Galileans whom they despised. .-More persuasive, if not more convincing, we have what are called the internal evidences : the suitableness of Christianity to man's nature and wants, to his felt weakness, and his sinfulness, for which an atonement has been provided ; as bringing life and immortality to light, and as rolling away the great stone that closed the tomb, and opening the grave that the spirit may arise to heaven. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2004 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 $fe m-^Mfi ■ ahv mm BYTME jQj'JHpR OF ohn Halifax^Gentlem. I m <*• I I H A PICTURE FROM LIFE, LITTLE STTNSHINE. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY: A PICTURE FROM LIFE. BY THE V ^AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." LITTLE SUNSHINE'S FRIENDS. {From a Photograph. ) NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. •187 i. BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX." HANNAH. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. A Story for Girls. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 90 9pnt3. FAIR FRANCE. Impressions of a Traveler. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. A BRAVE LADY. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, $1 00 ; Cloth, $1 50. THE UNKIND WORD, and Othee Stories. 1 2mo, Cloth, $1 50. THE WOMAN'S KINGDOM. A Love Story. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, $1 00 • Cloth, $150. THE TWO MARRIAGES. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. A NOBLE LIFE. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents; Library Edition, 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. A LIFE FOR A LD7E. 8vo, Paper. 50 cents ; Library Edition, 12rno, Cloth, $1 50. A HERO, and Othee Tales. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. AGATHA'S HUSBAND. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents ; 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. AVILLION, and Othee Tales. 8vo, Paper, $1 25. 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CONTENTS Page Chapter 1 15 Chapter II 32 Chapter III 49 Chapter IV 66 Chapter V 79 Chapter VI 98 Chapter VII 113 Chapter VIII 130 Chapter IX.... , 151 Chapter X 172 Chapter XI 191 ILLUSTRATIONS. Little Sunshine Frontispiece. Little Sunshine's Friends {from a ) p Title-page. Photograph) ) "That's Mamma's Pear!" said She .faces p. 25 Sunny's Mamma Telling Stories " 141 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. CHAPTEE I. WHILE writing this title, I paused, considering whether the little girl to whom it refers would not say of it, as she sometimes does of other things, " You make a mistake." For she is such a very accurate little person. She can not bear the slightest alteration of a fact. In herself, and in other people she must have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. For instance, one day, overhearing her mamma say, "I had my shawl with me," she whispered, " No, mamma, not your shawl ; it was your water-proof." Therefore, I am sure she would wish me to explain at once that " Little Sunshine " is not her real name, but a pet name, given because she is such a sunshiny child ; and that her " holiday " was not so much hers — seeing she 16 LITTLE SUNSHINE ' S HOLIDA T. was then not three years old, and every day was a holiday — as her papa's and mamma's, who are very busy people, and who took her with them on one of their rare absences from home. They felt they could not do without her merry laugh, her little pattering feet, and her pretty curls — even for a month. And so she got a "holiday" too; though it was quite unearned : as she has never been to school, and her education has gone no farther than a crooked S, a round (9, an M for mamma, and a D for — but this is telling. Of course Little Sunshine has a Christian name and surname, like other little girls, but I do not choose to give them. She has neither brother nor sister, and says " she doesn't want any — she had rather play with papa and mamma." She is not exactly a pretty child, but she has very pretty yellow curls, and is rather proud of " my curls." She has only lately begun to say "I" and "my," generally speaking of herself, baby -fashion, in the third person — as " Sunny likes that," " Sunny did so-and-so," etc. She always tells every thing she has done and every thing she is going to do. If she has come to any trouble — broken a tea-cup, for instance — and her mamma says, " Oh, I am so sorry ! Who did that ?" Little Sunshine will LITTLE SUNSHINE'S L^OLIL AT. 17 creep up, hanging her head and blushing, " Sunny did it ; she won't ever do it again." But the idea of denying it would never come into her little head. Every body has always told the exact truth to her, and so she tells the truth to every body, and has no notion of there being such a thing as falsehood in the world. Still, this little girl is not a perfect character. She sometimes flies into a passion, and says "I won't" in a very silly way — it is always so silly to be naughty. And sometimes she feels thoroughly naughty — as we all do occasionally — and then she says, of her own accord, " Mamma, Sunny had better go into the cupboard" (her mamma's dressing-closet). There she stays, with the door close shut, for a little while ; and then comes out again smiling, " Sunny is quite good now." She kisses mamma, and is all right. This is the only punishment she has ever had — or needed, for she never sulks, or does any thing underhand or mean or mischievous ; and her wildest storm of passion only lasts a few minutes. To see mamma looking sad and grave, or hear her say, "T am so sorry that my little girl is naughty," will make the child, good again immediately. So you have a faint idea o'f the little person who was to be taken on this "Ions: holidav ; first B 18 LITTLE SUNSHINE ' S HOLIDA Y. in a " puff-puff," then in a boat — which was to her a most remarkable thing, as she lives in a riverless county, and, except once crossing the Thames, had scarcely ever beheld water. Her mamma had told her, however, of all the wonderful things she was to see on her holiday, and for a week or two past she had been saying to every visitor that came to the house, " Sunny is going to Scotland. Sunny is going in a puff-puff to Scotland. And papa will take her in a boat, and she will catch a big salmon. Would you like.to see Sunny catch a big salmon?" For it is the little girl's firm conviction that to see Sunny doing any thing must be the greatest possible pleasure to those about her — as perhaps it is. Well, the important day arrived. Her mamma was very busy, Little Sunshine helping her — to "help mamma" being always her grand idea. The amount of work she did, in carrying her mamma's clothes from the drawers to the portmanteau, and carrying them back again ; watching her dresses being folded and laid in the trunk, then jumping in after them, smoothing and patting them down, and, lastly, sitting upon them, can not be told. Every now and then she looked up, " Mamma, isn't Sunny a busy girl ?" — which could not be denied. LITTLE S UNSHINE ' S HOLIDA Y. 19 The packing-up was such a great amusement — to herself, at least — that it was with difficulty she could be torn from it, even to get her dinner, and be dressed for her journey, part of which was to take place that day. At last she was got ready, a good while before any body else, and then she stood and looked at herself from head to foot in a large mirror, and was very much interested in the sight. Her travelling-dress was a gray water-proof cloak, with a hood and pockets, where she could carry all sorts of things — her gloves, a biscuit, the head of her dolly (its body had come off), and two or three pebbles, which she daily picked up in the garden, and kept to wash in her bath night and morning, " to make them clean," for she has an extraordinary delight in things being " quite clean." She had on a pair of new boots — buttoned boots, the first she ever had — and she was exceedingly proud of them, as well as of her gray felt hat, underneath which was the usual mass of curly yellow hair. She shook it from side to side like a little lion's mane, calling out, " Mamma, look at Sunny's curls ! Such a lot of curls !" When the carriage came to the door, she watched the luggage being put in very gravely. Then all the servants came to say good-bye to 20 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. her. They were very kind servants, and very fond of Little Sunshine. Even the gardener and his wife looked quite sorry to part with her, but in her excitement and delight the little lady of course did not mind it at all. "Good-bye! good-bye! I'm going to Scotland," she kept saying, and kissing her hand. "Sunny's going to Scotland in a puff-puff. But she'll come back again, she will." After which kind promise, meant to cheer them up a little, she insisted on jumping into the carriage " all by her own self," — she dearly likes doing anything "all my own self" — and, kissing her hand once more, was driven away with her mamma and her nurse (whose name is Lizzie) to meet her papa in London. Having been several times in a " puff-puff," and once in London, she was not a bit frightened at the streets or the crowd. Only in the confusion at Euston Square she held very tight to her mamma's hand, and at last whispered, " Mamma, take her ! up in you arms, up in you own arms !" — her phrase when she was almost a baby. And though she is now a big girl, who can walk, and even run, she clung tightly to her mamma's neck, and would not be set down again until transferred to her papa, and taken by him to look at the engine. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 21 Papa and his little girl are both very fond of engines. This was such a large one, newly painted, with its metalwork so clean and shiny, that it was quite a picture. Though sometimes it gave a snort, and a puff, like a live creature, Sunny was not afraid of it, but sat in he.r papa's arms watching it, and then walked gravely up and down with him, 'holding his hand, and making all sorts of remarks on the things she saw, which amused him exceedingly. She also informed him of what she was going to do — how she should jump into the puff-puff, and then jump out again, and sleep in a cottage, in a quite new bed, where Sunny had never slept before. She chattered so fast, and was so delighted at everything about her, that the time went rapidly by*; and her papa, who could not come to Scotland for a week yet, was obliged to leave her. When he kissed her, poor Little Sunshine set up a great cry. "I don't want you to go 'away. Papa! papa !" Then bursting in to one of her pathetic little furies, " I won't let papa go away ! I won't!" She clung to him so desperately that her little arms had fairly to be untied from round his neck, and it was at least two minutes and a half before she could be comforted. 22 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. But when the train began to move, and the carriageful of people to settle down for the journey, Sunny recovered herself, and grew interested in watching them. They were all gentlemen, and as each came in, mamma had suggested that if he objected to a child, he had better choose another carriage ; but nobody did. One — who 'looked like the father of a family — said: "Ma'am, he must be a very selfish kind of man who does object to children — that is, good children." So mamma earnestly hoped that hers would be a good child. So she was — for a long time. There were such interesting things to see out of the window: puff-puffs without end: some moving on the rails^-some standing still — some with a long train behind them — ; some without. What perplexed and troubled Little Sunshine most, was to see the men who kept running across the rails and ducking under the engines. She got quite excited about them. " That poor man must not go on the rails, else the puff-puff will run over him and hurt him. Then Sunny must pick him up, and take him to her nursery, and cuddle him." (She always wants to cuddle every body who is ill or hurt.) " Mamma, tell that poor man he mustn't go on the rails." LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 23 And even when mamma explained that the man knew what he was about, and was not likely, to let himself be run over by any puffpuff," the little girl still looked anxious and unhappy, until the train swept right away into the open country, with fields and trees, and cows and baa-lambs. These last delighted her much. She kept nodding her head and counting them. " There's papa baa-lambs, and mamma baa-lambs, and little baby baa-lambs, just like Little Sunny ; and they all run about together ; and they are so happy." Every thing, indeed, looked as happy as the lambs and the child. It was a bright September day, the trees just beginning to change color, and the rich midland counties of England — full of farms and pasture-lands, with low hills sloping up to the horizon — looked specially beautiful. But the people in the carriage did not seem to notice any thing. They were all gentlemen, as I said, and they had all got their afternoon papers, and were reading hard. Not much wonder, as the newspapers were terribly interesting that day — the day after the capitulation of Sedan, when the Emperor Louis Napoleon surrendered himself and his army to King William of Prussia. When Little Sunshine has grown a woman, she will understand 24 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. all about it. But now she only sat looking at the baa-lambs out of the window, and now and then pulling, rather crossly, at the newspaper in her mamma's hand. " I don't want you to read!" In her day, may there never be read such dreadful things as her mamma read in those newspapers! The gentlemen at last put down theirs, and began to talk together, loudly and fast. Sunshine's mamma listened, now to them, now to her little girl, who asked all sorts of questions, as usual. "What's that? you tell me about that," she is always saying, as she twists her fingers tight in those of her mamma, who answers at once, and exactly, so far as she knows. When she does not know — and even mammas can not be expected to understand every thing — she says plainly, "My little girl, I don't know." And her little girl always believes her, and is satisfied. Sunshine was growing rather tired now ; and the gentlemen kept on talking, and did not take any notice of her, or attempt to amuse her, as strangers generally do, she being such a lively and easily -amused child. Her mamma, fearful of her restlessness, struck out a brilliant idea. ^. Little Sunshine has a eousin Georgy, whom that's mamma's peak!" said she. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ^5 she is very fond of, and who a few days before had presented her with some pears. These pears had but one fault — they could not be eaten ; being as hard as bullets, and as sour as crabs. They tried the little girl's patience exceedingly, but she was very good. She went every morning to look at them as they stood ranged in a row along mamma's window-sill, and kissed them one by one to make them ripe. At last they did ripen, and were gradually eaten — except one, the biggest and most beautiful of all. "Suppose," mamma suggested, "that we keep it two days more, then it will be quite ripe ; mamma will put it in her pocket, and we will eat it in the train, half-way to Scotland." Little Sunshine looked disappointed, but she did not cry, nor worry mamma — who, she knows, never changes her mind when once she says No — and presently forgot all about it. Until, lo! just as the poor little girl was getting dull and tired, with nothing to do, and nobody to play with, mamma pulled out of her pocket — the identical pear ! Such a pear ! so large and so pretty — almost too pretty to eat. The child screamed with delight, and immediately began to make public her felicity. " That's mamma's pear !" said she, touching the coat-sleeve of the old gentleman next her 28 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. — a very grim old gentleman^an American, thin and gaunt, with a face not unlike the wolf in Little Red Ridinghood. " That's mamma's pear. Mamma 'membered (remembered) to bring. Sunny that pear!" "Eh ?" said the old gentleman, shaking the little fingers off, not exactly in unkindness, but as if it were a fly that had settled on him and fidgeted him. But Sunny, quite* unaccustomed to be shaken off, immediately drew back, shyly and half offended, and did not look at him again.' He went on talking, in a cross and "cantankerous" way, to another gentleman, with a gray beard — an Indian officer, j ust come from Cashmere, which he declared to be the finest country in the world ; while the American said angrily " that it was nothing like Virginia." But as neither had been in the other country, they were about as able to judge the matter as most people are when they dispute about a thing. Nevertheless, they discussed the question so violently, that Little Sunshine, who is not used to quarrelling, or seeing people quarrel, opened her blue eyes wide with astonishment. Fortunately, she was engrossed by her pear, which took a long time to eat. First, it had to be pared — in long parings, which twisted and LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 27 dangled like Sunshine's curls. Then these parings had to be thrown out of the window to the little birds, which were seen sitting here and there on the telegraph wires. Lastly, the pear had to be eaten slowly and deliberately. She fed mamma, herself, and Lizzie too, turn and turn about, in the most conscientious way ; uttering at each mouthful that ringing laugh which I wish I could put into paper and print ; but I can't. By the time all was done, Sunshine had grown sleepy. She cuddled down in her mamma's arms, with a whispered request for " Maymie's apron." Now here a confession must be made. The one consolation of .life to this little person is the flannel apron upon which her first nurse used to wash her when she was a baby. She takes the two corners of it to stroke her face with one hand, while she sucks the thumb of the other — and so she lies, meditating with open eyes, till at last she goes to sleep. She is never allowed to have the apron in public, so today her mamma was obliged to invent a little " Maymie's apron " — a small square of flannel — to comfort her on the long railway journey. This being produced, though she was a little ashamed, and blushed in her pretty childish way, she turned her back on the gentlemen in 28 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the carriage and settled down in deep content, her eyes fixed on mamma's face. Gradually they closed — and the lively little woman lay fast asleep, warm and heavy, in her mamma's arms. There she might have slept till the journey's end, but for those horrid gentlemen, who began to quarrel so fiercely about French and Prussians, and which had the right of it in this terrible war — (a question which you little folks even when you are great big folks fifty years hence may hardly be able to decide) — that they disturbed the poor child in her happy sleep, and at last she started up, looking round her with frightened eyes, and began to scream violently. She had been so good all/^he way, so little trouble to any body, that mamma could not help thinking it served the gentlemen right, and told them severely that "if gentlemen did differ, they need not do it so angrily as to waken a child." At which phey all looked rather ashamed, and were quiet for the rest of the journey. It did not last much longer ; and again the little girl had the fun of jumping out of a puffpuff and into a carriage. The bright day closed ; it was already dusk, and pouring rain, and they had to drive a long way, stop at sevLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 29 eral places, and see several new people whom Little Sunshine had never seen before. She was getting tired and hungry ; but still kept good and did not cry; and when at last she came to the cottage which her mamma had told her about, where lived an old gentleman and lady who had been very kind to mamma, and dear grandmamma too, for many years, and would be very kind to the little girl, Sunny ran in at once, as merry as possible. After a while mamma followed, and lo ! there was Little Sunshine, quite at home already, sitting in the middle of the white sheepskin hearth-rug, having taken half her "things" off, chattering in the most friendly manner, and asking to be lifted up to see " a dear little baby and a mamma," which was a portrait of the old lady's eldest sister as an infant in her mother's arms, about seventy years ago. And what do you think happened next? Sunny actually sat up to supper, which she had never done in all her life before — supper by candle-light: a mouthful of fowl, and a good many mouth fills of delicious cream, poured, with a tiny bit of jam in the middle of it, into her saucer. And she made a large piece of dry toast into "fishes," and swam themln her mamma's tea, and then fished them out with a tea30 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. spoon, and ate them up. Altogether it was a wonderful meal, and left her almost too wide awake to go to bed, if she had not had the delight of sleeping in her mamma's room instead of a nursery, and being bathed, instead of in her own proper bath, in a washing-tub ! This washing-tub was charming. She eyed it doubtfully, she walked round it, she peered over it ; at last she slowly got into it. " Come and see me in my bath; come and see Sunny in her bath," cried she, inviting all the family, half of whom accepted the invitation. Mamma heard such shouts of laughing, with her little girl's laugh clearer than all, that she was obliged to go up stairs to see what was the matter. There was Sunshine frolicking about and splashing like a large fish in the tub, the maids and mistresses standing round, exceedingly amused at their new plaything, the little " water-baby." But at last the day's excitement was^ over, and Sunny lay in her white night-gown, cuddled up like a round ball in her mamma's lap, sucking her Maymie's apron, and listening to the adventures of Tommy Tinker. Tommy Tinker is a young gentleman about whom a story, " a quite new story, which Sunny never heard before," has to be told every night. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 31 Mamma had done this for two months, till Tommy, his donkey, his father, John Tinker, who went about the country crying "Pots and kettles to mend," his school-fellow, Jack, and his playfellow, Mary, were familiar characters, and had gone through so much that mamma was often puzzled as to what should happen to them next; this night especially, when she herself was rather tired, but fortunately the little girl grew sleepy very soon. So she said her short prayers, ending with " God make Sunny a good little girl" (to which she sometimes deprecatingly adds, "but Sunny is a good girl"), curled down in the beautiful large strange bed — such a change from her little crib at home — and was fast asleep in no time. Thus ended the first day of Little Sunshine's Holiday. C 32 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY, CHAPTER II. NEXT morning Little Sunshine was awake very early, sitting upright in bed, and trying to poke open her mamma's eyes ; then she looked about her in the new room with the greatest curiosity. " There's my tub ! there's Sunny's tub ! I want to go into my tub again !" she suddenly cried with a shout of .delight, and insisted on pattering over to it on her bare feet, and swimming all sorts of things in it — a comb, a brush, biscuits, the soap-dish and soap, and a large penny, which she Jiad found. These kept her amused till she was ready to be dressed, after which she went independently down stairs, where her mamma found her, as before, sitting on the white rug, and conversing cheerfully with the old gentleman and lady, and the rest of the family. After breakfast she was taken into the garden. It was a very nice garden, with lots of apple-trees in it, and many apples had fallen to the ground. Sunshine picked them up and LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 33^ brought them in her pinafore, to ask mamma if she might eat them — for she never eats any thing without saying, "May I?" and when it is given to hershe always says, "Thank you." Then she went back into the garden again, and saw no end of curious things. Every body was so kind to her, and petted her as if there had never been a child in the house before, which certainly there had not for a great many years. She and her mamma would willingly have staid ever so much longer in the dear little cottage, but there was another house in Scotland, where were waiting Sunshine's two aunties ; not real aunties, for she has none, nor uncles neither ; but she is a child so well loved, that she has heaps of adopted aunts and uncles too. These — Auntie Weirie and Auntie Maggie — with other kind friends, expected her without fail that very night. So Sunny was obliged to say good-bye, and start again, which she did on her own two little feet, for the fly forgot to come ; and her mamma, and her Lizzie, and two more kind people, had to make a rush of more than a mile, or they would have missed the train. If papa, or any body at home, had seen them — half walking, and half running — and carrying the little girl by turns, or making her run between "34 LITTLE SUNSHINE' S HOLIDAY. them, till she said mournfully, " Sunny can't run— Sunny is so tired I" — how sorry they would have been ! And when at the station she lost her mamma, who was busy about luggage, poor Sunny's troubles seemed great indeed. She screamed till mamma heard her ever so far off, and when she caught sight of her again, she clung round her neck in the most frantic way. " I thought you was lost ; I thought you was lost." (Sunny's grammar is not perfect yet. She can not understand tenses ; she says " brang " instead of "brought," and once being told that this was not right, she altered it to " I brung," which, indeed, had some sense, for do we not say "I rang," and "I rung?" Perhaps Little Sunshine will yet write a book on grammar — who knows?) Well, she parted from her friends, quite cheerfully of course — she never cries after any body but her mamma and papa — and soon made acquaintance with her fellow-travellers, who this time were chiefly ladies. It being nearly one o'clock, two of them took a beautiful basket of lunch ; sandwiches, and cakes, and grapes. Little Sunshine watched it with grave composure until she saw the grapes, which were very fine. Then she could not help LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 35 whispering to her mamma very softly, " Sunny likes grapes." "Hush!" said mamma, also in a whisper, " They are not ours, so we can't have them" — an answer which always satisfies this little girl. She said no more. But perhaps the young lady who was eating the grapes saw the silent, wistful eyes, for she picked off the most beautiful half of the bunch and handed it over. " Thank you," said Sunny, in the politest way. "Look, mamma! grapes! — shall I give, you one?" And the delight of eating them, and feeding mamma with them, " like a little bird," altogether comforted her for the troubles with which she began her journey. Then she grew conversational, and informed every body that Sunny was going to Scotland, to a place where she had never been before, and that she was to row in a boat and catch big salmon; — which no doubt interested them much. She herself was so interested in every thing she saw, that it was impossible not to shareher enjoyment. She sat or stood at the carriage window and watched the view. It was quite different from any thing she had been used to. Sunny lives in a yqtj pretty but rather level country, full of woods and lanes, and hedges and fields ; but she had nev36 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. er seen a bill or a river, or indeed (except the Thames) any .-sort of water bigger than a horsepond. Mamma had sometimes shown her pictures of mountains and lakes, but doubted if the child had taken it in, and was therefore quite surprised when she called out, all of a sudden, " There's a mountain !" And a mountain it really was — one of those Westmoreland hills, bleak and bare, which gradually rise up before travellers' eyes on the North journey, a foretaste of all the beautiful things that are corning. Mamma, delighted, held, up her little girl to look at it — the first mountain Sunny ever saw — with its long, smooth slopes, and the sheep feeding on them, dotted here and there like white stones, or moving about like walking daisies. Little Sunshine was greatly charmed with the "baa-lambs." She had seen plepty this spring — white baa-lambs and black baa-lambs, and white baa-lambs with black faces — but never so many at a time. And they skipped about in' such a lively way, and stood so funnily in steep places, with their four little legs all screwed up together, looking at the train as it passed, that she grew quite excited, and wanted to jump out and play with him. To quiet her, mamma told her a story about LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 37 the mountains, how curious they looked in winter, all covered with snow ; and how the lambs were sometimes lost in the snow, and the shepherds went out to find them, and carried them home in their arms, and warmed them by the fireside and fed them, until they opened their eyes, and stretched their little frozen legs, and began to run about the floor. Little Sunshine listened, with her wide blue eyes fixed on the mountain, and then upon her mamma's /ace, never saying a word, till at length she burst out quite breathless, for she does not yet know words enough to get out her thoughts, with — "I want a little baa-lamb. No"— she stopped and corrected herself — "I want two little baa-lambs. I would go and fetch them in out of the snow, and carry them in my little arms, and lay them on Maymie's apron by my nursery fire, and warm them, and make them quite well again. And the. two dear little baalambs would play about together — so pretty." It was a long speech — the longest she had ever made all at once — and the little girl's eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew hot, with the difficulty she had in getting it out, so that mamma might understand. But mamma understands a good deal. Only it was less easy to explain 38 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. to Sunny that she could neither have a lamb to play with, nor go out on the mountain to fetch it. However, mamma promised that if ever a little lamb were lost in the snow near her own house, and her gardener were to find it, he should be allowed to bring it in, and Sunny should make it warm by the fire and be kind to it, until it was quite well again. But still the child went back now and then to the matter in a melancholy voice. " I don't like a dear little baa-lamb to be lost in the snow. I want a little baa-lamb in my nursery. I would cuddle it and take such care of it" (for the strongest instinct of this little woman is to II take care" of people). " Mamma, some day may Sunny have a little baa-lamb to take care of?" Mamma promised ; for she knew well that if Sunny grows up to be a woman, with the same instinct of protection that she has now, God may send her. many of His forlorn "lambs" to take care of. Presently the baa-lambs were forgotten in a new sight — a stream ; a real, flowing, tumbling stream — which ran alongside of the railway for ever so far. It jumped over rocks, and made itself into white foamy whirlpools, it looked so very much alive; and so unlike any water that LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 39 Sunny had ever seen before, that she was quite astonished. "What's that? — what's that?" she kept saying ; and at last, struck with a sudden idea : " Is it Scotland ?" What her notion of Scotland was — whether a place, or a person, or a thing — her mamma could not make out, but the name was firmly fixed in her mind, and she recurred to it constantly. All the long weary journey, lasting till long after her proper bed-time, she never cried or fretted, or worried any body, but amused herself without ceasing at what she saw. She ate her dinner .merrily — "such a funny dinner — no plates, no forks, no tableclo'th" — and her tea — milk drank out of -a horn cup, instead of "great-grandpapa's mug, which he had when he was a little boy" — which she used when at home. As the day closed in, she grew tired of looking out of the window, snuggled up in her mamma's arms, and, turning her back upon the people in the carriage, whispered, blushing very much*. "Maymie's apron — Sunny wants the little Maymie's apron ;" and lay sucking it meditatively, till she dropped asleep. She was asleep when the train reached Scotland. She did not see the stars coming out 40 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. • over the Grampian Hills, nor the beautiful fires near Grartsherrie — that ring of iron furnaces, blazing fiercely into the night — which are such a wonderful sight to behold. And she only woke up in time' to have her hat and cloak put on, and be told that she was really in Scotland, and would see her aunties in a minute more. And, sure enough, in the midst of the bustle and confusion, there was Auntie Weirie's bright face at the carriage-door, with her arms stretched out«to receive the sleepy little traveller. Four or five miles were yet to be accomplished, but it was in a comfortable carriage, dark and quiet. The little girl's tongue was altogether silent — but she was not asleep, for all of a sudden she burst out, as if she had been thinking over the matter for a long time: " Mamma, you forgot the tickets." Every body laughed ; and mamma explained to her most accurate little daughter that she had given up the tickets while Sunny was asleep. Auntie Weirie foreboded merrily how Sunny would "keep mamma in order" byand-by. Yery sleepy and tired the poor child was ; but, except one entreaty for " a little drop of milk" — which somehow was got at — she made LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 41 no complaint, and never once cried, till the carriage stopped at the house-door. Oh, such a door, and such a house! Quite a fairy palace! And there, standing waiting, was a pretty lady — not unlike a fairy lady — who took Little Sunshine in her arms and carried her off, unresisting, to a beautiful drawingroom, where, in the great tall mirrors, she could see herself everywhere at full length. What a funny figure she was, trotting about and examining every thing, as she always does on entering a strange room ! Her little waterproof cloak made her look as broad as she was long; and when she tossed off her hat, her curls tumbled about in disorder ; and her face and hands were so dirty, that mamma was quite ashamed. But nobody minded it, and every body welcomed her, and the pretty lady carried her off again up stairs into the most charming extempore nursery, next to her mamma's room, where she could run in and out, and be as happy as a queen. She was as happy as a queen, when she woke up next morning to all the wonders of the house. First there was a poll-parrot, who could say not only " Pretty Poll !" but a great many other words: could bark like a dog, grunt like a pig, and do all sorts of wonderful 42 LITTLE S UNSHIXE ' & HOLIDA Y. things. He lived chiefly in the butler's pantn r , but was brought out on occasion for the amusement of visitors. Sunny was taken to see him directly; and there she stood, watching him intently ; laughing sometimes in her sudden, ecstatic way, with her head thrown back, and her little nose all crumpled up ; till, being only a button of a nose at best, it nearly disappeared altogether. And then, in the breakfast-room, there were two dogs — Jack, a young rough Scotch terrier, and Bob, a smooth terrier, very ugly and old. Now Sunny's dog at home, Eose, who was a puppy when she was a baby, so that the two were brought up together, is the gentlest creature imaginable. She will let Sunny roll over her, and pull her paws and tail, and even put her little fat hand into her mouth, without growling or biting. But these strange dogs were not used to children. Sunny tried to make friends with them, as she tries to do with every live creature she sees ; even crying, one day, because she could not manage to kiss a spider, it ran away so fast. But Bob and Jack did not understand her affection at all. When she stroked and patted them, and vainly tried to carry them in her arms, by the legs, head, tail, or any where she could catch hold of, they LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 43 escaped away, scampering off as fast as they could. The little girl looked after them with mournful eyes ; it was hard to see them frolicking about, and hot taking the least notice of her. But very soon somebody much better than a little dog began to notice her — a kind boy named Franky, who, though he was a schoolboy, home for the holidays, did not think it in the least beneath 'his dignity to be good to a little girl. She sat beside him at prayers, during which time she watched him carefully, and evidently made up her mind that he was a nice person, and one to be played with. So when he began playing with her, she responded eagerly, and they were soon the best of friends. Presently Franky had to leave her and go with his big brother down to the bottom of a coal mine, about which he had told such wonderful stories, that Little Sunshine, had she been bigger, would certainly have liked to go too. "You jump into a basket, and are let down, down, several hundred feet, till you touch the bottom, and then you find a new world under-ground : long passages, so narrow that you can not stand upright, and loftier rooms between, and men working — as black as the coal themselves — with lights in their caps. Also horses, dragging trucks full of coal — horses .< 44 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. that have never seen the daylight since they were taken down the pit, perhaps seven or ten years ago, and will never see daylight again as long as they live. Yet they live happily, are kindly treated, and have comfortable stables, all in the dark of the coal mine — and no doubt are quite as content as the horses that work in the outside world, high above their heads." Sunshine heard all this. I can not say that she understood it, being such a very little girl, you know ; but whenever Franky opened his lips she watched him with intense admiration, and when he was gone she looked quite sad. However, she soon found another friend in the pretty lady, Franky's mamma. Her own mamma was obliged to go out directly after breakfast, so this other mamma took Sunny under her especial protection, and showed her all about the house. First, they visited the 'parrot, who went through all his performances over again. Then they proceeded up stairs to what used to be the nursery, only the little girls had grown into big girls, and were now far away at school. But their mamma showed Sunny their old toy-cupboard, where were arranged, in beautiful order, playthings so lovely that it was utterly impossible such very tiny fingers could safely be trusted with them. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 45 So Little Sunshine was obliged to practise the lesson she has learnt with her mamma's china cabinet at home — " Look and not touch." Ever since she was a baby, Wedgwood ware, Sevres and Dresden china, all sorts of delicate and precious things, have been left within her reach on open shelves; but she was taught fro:n the first that she must not touch them, and she never does. " The things that Sunny may play with," such as a small plaster hand, a bronze angel, and a large agate seal, she takes carefully out from among the rest, and is content with them — just as content as she was with one particular doll which the pretty lady chose out from among these countless treasures and gave to her to play with. Now Sunny has had a good many dolls — wooden dolls, gutta-percha dolls, dolls made of linen with faces of wax — but none of them had ever lasted, entire, for more than twenty-four hours. They always met with some misfortune or other — lost a leg or an arm ; their heads dropped off, and the sawdust ran out of their bodies, leaving them mere empty bits of calico, not dolls at all. The wrecks she had left behind her at home — bodies without heads, heads without bodies, arms and legs sewed upon bodies that did not belong to them, or 46 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. strewed about separately in all directions — would have been melancholy to think of, only that she loved them quite as well in that dismembered condition as when they were new. But this was a dolly — such a dolly as Sunny had never had before. Perfectly whole, with a pretty waxen face, a nose, and two eyes ; also hair, real hair that could be combed. This she at once proceeded to do with her mamma's comb, just as her Lizzie did her own hair every morning, until the comb became full of long flaxen hairs — certainly not mamma's — and there grew a large bald place on the top of dolly's head, which Sunny did not understand at all. Thereupon her Lizzie came to the rescue, and proposed tying up the poor remnant of curls witha blue ribbon, and dressing dolly, whose clothes took off and on beautifully, in her out-of-doors dress, so that Sunshine might take her a walk in the garden. Lizzie is a very ingenious person in mending and dressing dollies, and has also the gift of unlimited patience with her charge ; so the toilet went off very well, and soon both Sunshine and her doll were ready to go out with Franky's mamma and see the cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, and all the wonders of the outside establishment, which was a very .large one. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 47 Indeed the pretty lady showed her so many curious things, and played with her so much, that when, just before dark, her own mamma came back, and saw a little roly-poly figure, hugging a large doll, running as fast as ever it could along the gravel-walk to meet her — she felt convinced that the first day in Scotland had been a most delightful one, altogether perfect in its way. So much so that, when put to bed, Sunny again forgot Tommy Tinker. She was chattering so much of all she had seen, that it was not until the last minute that she remembered to ask for a "story." There was no story in mamma's head tonight. . Instead, she told something really true, which had happened in the street near the house where she had spent the day : — A poor little boy, just come out of school, was standing on the top of the school-door steps, with his books in his hand. Suddenly a horse that was passing took fright, rushed up the steps, and knocked the boy down. He fell several feet, and a huge stone fell after, just on the top of him — and — and — Mamma stopped. She could not tell any more of the pitiful story. Her child's eyes were fixed upon her face, which Little Sunny reads sometimes as plain as any book. D 48 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. " Mamma, was the poor little boy hurt?" " Yes, my darling." " Yery much hurt ?" " Yery much, indeed." Sunny sat upright, and began speaking loud and fast, in her impetuous, broken way. "I want to go and see that poor little boy. I will bring him to my nursery and put him in my little bed, and take care of him. Then he will get quite well." And she looked much disappointed when her mamma explained that this was not necessary; somebody having already carried the little boy home to his mamma, " Then his mamma will cuddle him, and kiss the sore place, and he will be quite well soon. Is he quite well ?" " Yes," answered Sunny's mam-ma, after a minute's thought — " yes, he is quite well now ; nothing will ever hurt him any more." Sunny was perfectly satisfied. But her mamma, when she kissed the little curly head, and laid it down on its safe pillow, thought of that other mother — mourning over a dead child — thoughts which Little Sunshine could not understand, nor was there any need she should. She may, some day, when she has a little girl of her own. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 49 CHAPTER III. LITTLE SUNSHINE had never yet beheld the sea. That wonderful delight, a sea-beach, with little waves -running in and running back again, playing at bo-peep among shingle and rocks, or a long smooth sandy shore, where you may pick up shells and seaweed and pebbles, and all sorts of curious things, and build castles and dig moats, filled with real water — all this was unknown to the little girl. So her mamma, going to spend a day with a dear old friend, who lived at a lovely sea-side house, thought she would take the child with her. Also " the big child ;" as her Sunny sometimes called Lizzie, who enjoyed going about and seeing new places as much as the little child. They started directly after breakfast one morning, leaving behind them the parrot, the dogs, and every thing except Franky, who escorted them inthe carriage through four or five miles of ugly town streets, where all the little children who ran about (and there seemed 50 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. no end of them) had very rough bare heads, and very dirty bare feet. Sunny was greatly struck by them. "Look, mamma, that little boy has got no shoes and stockings on ! Shall Sunny take off hers and give them to that poor little boy ?" And she was proceeding to unbutton her shoes, when her mamma explained that — the boy being quite a big boy — Sunny's shoes would certainly not fit him, and if they did, he would probably not put them on ; since in Scotland little boys and girls often go barefooted, and like it. Had not papa once taken off Sunny's shoes and stockings, and let her run about upon the soft warm grass of the lawn, calling her " his little Scotch girl?" Sunny accepted the reasoning, but still looked perplexed at the bare feet. They were " so dirty," and she can not bear to have the least speck of dirt on feet or hands or clothes, or anywhere about her. Her Auntie Weirie, on whose lap she sat, and of whom she had taken entire possession — children always do — was very much amused. She put them safely into the train, which soon started — on a journey which mamma knew well, but which seemed altogether fresh when seen through her child's eyes. Such LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 51 wonderful things for Sunshine to look at! Mountains — she thoroughly understood mountains now ; and a broad river, gradually growing broader still, until it was almost sea. Ships too — some with sails, and some with chimneys smoking; "a puff-puff on the water," Sunny called them. Every now and then there was a little "puff-puff" dragging a big ship after it, and going so fast, fast — the big ship looking as proud as if it were sailing along all by its own self, and the little one puffing and blowing as busily as possible. Sunny watched them with much curiosity, and then started a brilliant idea. " That's a papa-boat and that's a baby -boat, and the baby -boat pulls the papa-boat along! So funny !" And she crumpled up her little face, and, tossing up her head, laughed her quite' indescribable laugh, which makes every body else laugh too. There were various other curious things to be seen on the river, especially some things which mamma told her were called " buoys." These of course she took to mean little " boys," and looked puzzled, until mamma described them as " big red thimbles," which she understood, and noticed each one with great interest ever afterwards. 52 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. But it would be vain to tell all the things she saw, and all the delight she took in them. Occasionally her little face grew quite grave, such difficulty had she in understanding the wonders that increased more and more. And when at last the journey was ended and the train, stopped, the little girl was rather troubled, and would not let go of her mamma for a single minute. For the lovely autumn weather of }^esterday had changed into an equinoctial gale. Inland, one did not so much perceive it, but at the seaside it was terrible. People living on that coast will long remember this particular day as one of the wildest of the season, or for several seasons. The wind blew, and the sea roared, as even mamma, who knew the place well, had seldom heard. Instead of tiny wavelet's running after Sunny's little feet, as had been promised her, there were huge "white horses" rising and falling in the middle of the river; while along the shore the waves kept pouring in, and dashing themselves in and out of the rocks, with force enough to knock any poor little girl down. Sunny could not go* near them, and the wind was so high that her hat had to be tied on ; and her cloak, a cape of violet wool, which Auntie Weirie had rushed LITTLE SUNSHINE^ HOLIDAY. 53 to fetch at the last minute, in case of rain, was the greatest possible blessing. Still, fasten it as Lizzie would, the wind blew it loose again, and tossed her curls all over her face in a furious fashion, which the little girl could not understand at all. " Sunny don't like it," said she, pitifully ; and, forgetful of all the promised delights — shells, and pebbles, and castles of sand — took refuge gladly in-doors. However, this little girl is of such a happy nature in herself that she quickly grows happy anywhere. And the house she came to was such a beautiful house, with a conservatory full of flowers — she is so fond of flowers — and a large hall to play in besides. Her merry voice was soon heard in all directions, rather to her mamma's distress, as the dear mistress of the house was not well. But Sunny comprehends that she must always speak in a whisper when people are not well; so she was presently quieted down, and came into the dining-room and ate her dinner by mamma's side,. as good as gold. She has always dined with mamma ever since she could sit up in a chair, so she behaves quite properly — almost like a grown-up person. When she and mamma are alone, they converse all dinner54 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. time; but when there are other people present, she is told that " little girls must be seen and not heard" — a rule which she observes as far as she can. Not altogether, I am afraid, for she is very fond of talking. Still she was good, upon the whole, and enjoyed herself much, until she had her things put on again, ready to start once more, in a kind lady's carriage which was ordered to drive slowly along the shore, that Sunny might # see as much as possible, without being exposed to the wind and spray. She was much interested, and a little awed. She ceased to chatter, and sat looking out of the carriage window on the curve of shore, over which the tide came pouring in long rollers, and sweeping back again in wide sheets of water mixed with white foam. "Does Sunny like the waves?" asked the kind lady, who has a sweet way with children, and is very good to them, though she has none of her own. "Yes, Sunny likes them," said the little girl, after a pause, as if she were trying to make up her mind. 'Posing (supposing) Sunny were to go and swim upon them ? If — if mamma would come too ?" "But wouldn't Sunny be afraid ?" LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 55 " No " — very decidedly this time. " Sunny would be quite safe if mamma came too." The lady smiled at mamma ; who listened, scarcely smiling, and did not say a word. It was a terrible day. The boats, and even big ships, were tossing about like cockle-shells on the gray stormy sea ; and the mountains, hiding themselves in mist, at last altogether disappeared. Then the rain began to fall in sheets, as it often does fall hereabouts — soaking, blinding rain. At the station it was hardly possible to keep one's footing : the little girl, if she had not been in her Lizzie's arms, would certainly have been blown down before she got into the railway carriage. Once there — safely sheltered from the storm — she did not mind it in the least. She jumped about, and played endless tricks, to the great amusement of two ladies — evidently a mamma and a grandmamma — who compared her with their own little people, and were very kind to her — as indeed every body is when she travels. Still, even they might have got 'tired out, if Sunny had not fortunately grown tired herself, and began to yawn in the midst of her fun in a droll way. Then mamma slyly produced out of her pocket the child's best travelling companion — 56 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the little Maymie's apron. Sunny seized it with a scream of delight, cuddled down, sucking it, in her mamma's arms, and in three minutes was sound asleep. Nor did she once wake up till the train stopped, and Lizzie carried her, so muffled up that nobody could have told whether it was a little girl or a brown paper parcel, to the carriage, where faithful Franky waited for her, and had waited ever so long. Fun and Franky always came together. Sunny shook herself wide awake at once — fresh as a rose, and lively as a kitten. Oh the games that began, and lasted all the four miles that the carriage drove through the pelting rain ! Never was a big boy kinder to a little girl ; so patient, so considerate ; letting her do any thing she liked with him; never cross, and never rough — in short, a thorough gentleman, as all boys should be to all girls, and .all men to all women, whether old or young. And when home was reached, the fire, like the welcome, was so warm and bright that Sunny seemed to have lost all memory of her day at the sea-side — the stormy waves, the dreary shore, the wild wind, and pouring rain. She was such a contented little girl that she never heeded the weather outside. But her mamma LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ' 57 did a little, and thought of sailors at sea, and soldiers fighting abroad, and many other things. The happy visit was nowjlrawing to a close. Perhaps as well, lest, as some people foretold, Sunny might get "quite spoiled' 7 — if love spoils any body, which I do not believe. Certainly this child's felicities were endless. Every body played with her ; every body was kind to her. Franky and Franky's mamma, her two aunties, the parrot, the dogs Bob and Jack, were her companions by turns. There was another dog, Wallace by name : but she did not play with him, as he was an older and graver and bigger animal — much bigger than herself indeed. She once faintly suggested riding him, "as if he was a pony," but the idea was not caught at, and fell to the ground, as, doubtless, Sunny would have done immediately, had she carried out her wish. Wallace, though big, was the gentlest dog imaginable. He was a black retriever, belonging to Franky's elder brother, a grown-up young gentleman ; and his devotion to his master was entire. The rest of the family he just condescended to notice — but Mr. John he followed everywhere with a quiet persistency — the more touching because poor Wallace was nearly blind. He had lost the sight of one eye 58 LITTLE SUNSHINE' 'S HOLIDAY. by an accident, and could see out of the other very little. They knew how little, by the near chance he had oft^n had of being run over by other carriages in following theirs; so that now Franky's mamma never ventured to take him out with her at all. He was kept away from streets, but allowed to run up and down in the country, where his wonderful sense of smell preserved him from any great danger. This sense of smell, common to all retrievers, seemed to have been doubled by Wallace's blindness. He could track his master for miles and miles, and find any thing that his master had touched. Once, just to try him, Mr. John showed nim a halfpenny, and then hid it under a tuft of grass, and walked on across country for half a mile or more. Of course the dog could not see where he hid it, and had been galloping about in all directions ever since; 3^et when his master said, " Wallace, fetch that halfpenny," showing him another one, Wallace instantly turned back, smelling cautiously about for twenty yards or so; then, having caught the right scent, bounding on faster and faster, till out of sight. In half an hour more he came back, and ran direct to his master with the halfpenny in his mouth. Since, Mr. John had sent the dog for his LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 59 stick, his cap, or his handkerchief, often considerable distances; but Wallace always brought the thing safe back, whatever it was, and laid it at his master's feet. Mr. John was very proud of Wallace, and very fond of him. Sunny was not old enough to understand these clevernesses of the creature, but she fully appreciated one trick of his. He would hold a bit of biscuit or sugar on his nose, quite steady, for several minutes, while his master said "Trust," not attempting to eat it; but when Mr. John said " Paid for !" Wallace gobbled it up at once. This he did several times, to Sunshine's great delight, but always with a sort of hesitation, as if he considered it £ little below the dignity of such a very superior animal. And the minute they were gone he would march away with his slow blind step, following his beloved master. But all pleasures come to an end, and so did these of Little Sunshine's. First, Franky went off to school, and she missed him out of the house very much. Then one day, instead of the regular morning amusements, she had to be dressed quickly, to eat her breakfast twice as fast as usual, and have her " things " put on all in a hurry " # to go by the puff-puff." Her only consolation was that Dolly should have 60 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HO LID AT. her things put on too — poor Dolly ! who, from constant combing, was growing balder and balder every day, and whose clothes were slowly disappearing, so that it required all Lizzie's ingenuity to dress her decently for the journey. This done, Sunny took her in her arms, and became so absorbed in her as hardly to notice the affectionate adieux of her kind friends, some of whom went with her to the station : so she scarcely understood that it was good-bye. And besides, it is only elder folks who understand good-byes, not little people. All the better, too. Sunshine was delighted to be in a puff-puff again* and to see more mountains. She watched them till she was tired, and then went comfortably to sleep, having first made Dolly comfortable too, lying as snug in her arms as she did in her mamma's. But she and Dolly woke u'p at the journey's end ; when, indeed, Sunny became so energetic and lively, that seeing her mamma and her Lizzie carrying each a bag, she insisted on carrying something too. Seizing upon a large luncheon basket which the pretty lady had filled with no end of good things, she actually lifted it, and bore it, tottering under its weight, for several yards. " See, mamma, Sunny can carry it," said she LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. . 61 in triumph, and her mamma never hinders the little girl from doing every thing she can do ; wishing to make her a useful and helpful woman, who will never ask any body else to do for her what she can do for h'erself. The place they were going to was quite different from that they had left. It was only lodgings — in a house on the top of a hill — but they were nice lodgings, and it was a bright breezy hill, sloping down to a beautiful glen, through which ran an equally beautiful stream. Thence, the country sloped up again, through woods and pasture-lands, to a dim range of mountains, far in the horizon. A very pretty place outside, and not bad inside, only the little girl's " nursery " was not so large and cheerful as the one she was used to, and she missed the full house and the merry companions. However, being told that papa was coming to-morrow, she brightened up, and informed every body, whether interested or not in the fact, that " Sunny was going to see papa jump out of a pufT-puff, to-morrow." u To-morrow" being still to her a very indefinite thing ; but " papa jumping out of a puff-puff" has long been one of the great features of her existence. Still, to-day she would have been rather dull, if when she went out into the garden there had 62 . LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. not come timidly forward, to look at her, a little girl, whose name mamma inquired, and found that it was Kelly. Here a word or two ought to be said about Nelly, for she turned out the greatest comfort to . solitary little Sunny, in this strange place. Nelly was not exactly " a young lady ;" indeed at first she hung back in 'a sweet shy way, as doubtful whether Sunny's mamma wouldallow the child to play with her. But Nelly was such a good little girl, so well brought-up and sensible, though only ten years old, that a princess might have had her for a playfellow without any disadvantage. And as soon as mamma felt sure that Sunny would learn nothing bad from her — which is the only real objection to playfellows — she allowed the children to be together as much as ever they liked. Nelly called Sunshine " a bonnie wee lassie " — words which, not understanding what they meant, had already offended her several times since she came to Scotland. " I'm not a bonnie wee lassie — I'm Sunny ; mamma's little Sunny, I am !" cried she, almost in tears. But this was the only annoyance that Nellie ever gave her. Very soon the two children were sitting toLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 63 gether in a most charming play-place — some tumble-down, moss-grown stone steps leading down to the garden. From thence you could see the country for miles, and watch the railway trains winding along like big serpents, with long feathers of steam and smoke streaming from their heads in the daylight, and great red fiery eyes gleaming through the dark. Nelly had several stories to tell about them — how once a train caught fire, and blazed up — they saw the blaze from these steps— and very dreadful it was to look at; also, she wanted to know if Sunny had seen the river below ; such a beautiful little river, only sometimes people were drowned in it — two young ladies who were bathing, and also a schoolmaster, who had fallen into a deep hole, which was now called the Dominie's Hole. Nelly spoke broad Scotch, but her words were well chosen, and her manner very simple and gentle and sweet. She had evidently been carefully educated, as almost all Scotch children are. She went to school, she said, every morning, so that she could only play with Sunny of afternoons; but to-morrow afternoon, if the lady allowed — there was still that pretty polite hesitation at any thing that looked like intrusiveness — she would take SunE 64 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ny and her Lizzie a walk, and show them all that was to be seen. Sunny's mamma not only allowed this — but was glad of it. Little Nelly seemed a rather grave and lonely child. She had no brothers and sisters, she said, but lived with her aunts, who were evidently careful over her. She was a useful little body ; went many a message to the village, and did various things about the house, as a girl of ten can often do ; but she was always neatly dressed, her hands and face quite clean, and her pretty brown hair, the chief prettiness she had, well combed and brushed. And, above all, she never said a rude or ugly word. It was curious to see how Little Sunshine, who, though not shy or repellent, is never affectionate to strangers, and always declines caresses, sa} r ing "she only kisses papa and mamma," accepted Nelly's kiss almost immediately, and allowed her to make friends at once. Nay, when bed-time arrived, she even invited her to " come and see Sunny in her bath," a compliment she only pays occasionally to her chief favorites. Soon the two solitary children were frolicking together, and the gloomy little nursery — made up extempore out of a back bedroom — ringing with their laughter. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 65 At last, fairly tired with her day's doings, Sunny condescended to go to sleep. Her mamma sat up for an hour or two longer, writing letters, and listening to the child's soft breathing through the open door, to the equally soft sough of the wind outside, and the faint murmur of the stream, deep below in the glen. Then she also went to rest. 66 LITTLE S UNSHINE ' S HO LID A Y. CHAPTER IV. NELLY turned out more and more of an acquisition every day. Pretty as this new place was, Little Sunshine was not quite so happy as the week before. She had not so many things to amuse her out-of-doors; and in-doors she was kept more to her nursery than she approved of or was accustomed to, being in her own home mamma's little friend and companion all day long. Now mamma was often too busy to attend to her, and had to slip away and hide out of sight ; for whenever Sunny caught sight of her, the wail of "Mamma, mamma, I want you I" was really sad to hear. Besides, she had another tribulation. In the nearest house, a short distance down the lane, lived six children whom she knew and was fond of, and had come to Scotland on purpose to play with. But alas ! one of them caught the measles; and, Little Sunshine never having had measles, or any thing — in fact, never having had a day's illness or taken a LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 67 close of physic in her life — the elders decided that it was best to keep the little folks apart. Mamma tried hard not to let Sunny find out that her dear playfellows of old lived so near; but one day these sharp little ears caught their names, and from that time she 'was always wanting to go and play with them, and especially with their " little baby." "I want to see that little baby, mamma; may Sunny go and cuddle the dear little baby?" But it was the baby which had the measles, and some of the rest were not safe. So there was nothing for it but to give orders to each household that when they saw one another they were to run away at once ; which they most honorably did. Still it was hard for Sunny to see her little friends — whom she recognized at once, though they had not met for eight months — galloping about, as merry as possible, playing at " ponies," and all sorts of things, while she was kept close to her Lizzie's side and not allowed to go near them. Thus, but for kind little Nelly, the child would have been dull — at least, as dull as such a sunshiny child* could well be — which was not saying much. If she grows up with her present capacity for enjoying herself, little Sunny 68 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HO LID A Y. will be a blessing wherever she goes : since happy-minded people always make others happy. Still, Nelly was welcome company, especially of afternoons. The days passed on very much alike. Before breakfast, Sunny always went a walk with her mamma, holding hands, and talking like two grown-up persons — about the baa-lambs, and calves, and cows, which they met on their way along the hill-side. It was a beautiful hill-side, and every thing looked so peaceful in the early morning. They seldom met any body ; except once, when they were spoken to by a funnylooking man, who greatly offended Sunny by asking if she were a boy or girl, but added, " It's a fine bairn, anyhow !" "Then he went on to say how he had just come " frae putting John M'Ewen in his coffin, ye ken; I'm gaun to Glasgow, but I'll be back here o' Saturday. Ay, ay, I'll be Iback o' Saturday ;" as if the assurance must be the greatest satisfaction to Sunny and her mamma. Mamma thought he must have been drunk; but no, he was only foolish — a poor half-witted fellow, whom all the neighborhood knew, and were good to. He had some queer points. Among the rest, a most astonishing memory. He would go to church, and then repeat the sermon, or long bits LITTLE SUXSHLYE'S HOLIDAY. 69 of it, off by heart, to the first person he met. Though silly, he was quite capable of taking care of himself, and never harmed any body. Every body, Nelly said, was kind to "'daft John." Still, Sunny did not fancy him ; and when she came home she told her papa a long story about "that ugly man !" She had great games with her papa now and then, and was very happy whenever she could get hold of him. B.ut her great companion was Nelly. From the minute Nelly came out of school till seven o'clock — Sunny 's bedtime — they were inseparable ; and the way the big girl devoted herself to the little one, the patience with which she submitted to all her vagaries, and allowed herself to be tyrannized over — never once failing in good-temper and pleasantness — was quite pretty to see. They played in the garden together; they went walks; they gathered blackberries,made them into jam in a little saucer by the fire, and then ate them up. With a wooden spade, and a "luggie " to fill with earth, they used to go up the hill-side, or down to the glen, sometimes disappearing for so long that mamma was rather unhappy in her mind, only Nelly was such a cautious little person, that whenever she went she was sure to bring her two charges home in safety. 70 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. One day, Nelly not being attainable, mamma went with the "big child" and the little one to the Dominie's Hole. It was a real long walk, especially for such tiny feet, that eighteen months ago could barely toddle alone: all across the field of the baalambs, which always interested Sunny so much that it; wasdifficult to get her past them: she wanted to play with them and " cuddle " them ; and was much surprised when they invariably ran away. However, she was to-day a little consoled by mamma's holding her upon the top of the stone dike at the end of the field, to watch " the water running " between the trees of the glen. In Scotland water runs as I think it never does in England — so loudly and merrily, so fast and bright. Even when it is brown water — as when coming over peat it often is — there is a beauty about it beyond all quiet Southern streams. Here, however, it was not colored, but clear as crystal in every channel of the little river, and it was divided into tiny channels by big stones, and shallow, pebbly watercourses, and overhanging rocks covered with ferns, and heather, and mosses. Beneath these were generally round pools, where the river settled dark and still, though so clear that you LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 71 could easily see to the bottom, which looked only two or three feet deep, when perhaps it was twelve or fifteen. The Dominie's Hole was one of these. You descended to it by a winding path through the glen, and then came suddenly out upon a sheltered nook surrounded by rocks, over which the honeysuckles crept, and the birk or mountain ash grew out of every possible cranny. Down one of these rocks the pent-up stream poured in a noisy little waterfall, forming below a deep bathing-pool, cut in the granite — I think it was granite — like a basin x with smooth sides and edges. Into this pool, many years ago, the poor young "Dominie," or school-master, had dived, and striking his head against the bottom, had been stunned and drowned. He was found floating dead, in the lonely little pool, which ever after bore his name. A rather melancholy place, and the damp, sunless chill of it made it still more gloomy, pretty as it was. Little Sunshine, who can not bear living in shadow, shivered involuntarily, and whispered, a Mamma, take her I" as she always does in any doubtful or dangerous circumstances. So mamma was obliged to carry her across several yards of slippery stones, green with moss, that she might look up to the water.72 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. fall, and down to the Dominie's Hole. She did not quite like it, evidently, but was not actually frightened — she is such a very courageous person whenever she is in her mamma's arms. When set down on her own two feet, the case was different. She held by her mamma's gown, looked at the noisy tumbling water with anxious eyes, and seemed relieved to turn her back upon it, and watch the half dozen merry rivulets into which it soon divided, as they spread themselves in and out over the shallow channel of the stream. What charming little baby rivers they were! Sunny and hermamma could have played among them for hours, damming them up with pebbles, jumping over them, floating leaves down them, and listening to their ceaseless singing, and their dancing too, with bubbles and foam gliding on their surface like little fairy boats, till — pop !— all suddenly vanished, and were seen no more. It was such a thirsty place, too— until mamma made her hand into a cup for the little girl, and then the little girl insisted on doing the same for mamma, which did not answer quite the same purpose, being so small. At last mamma took out of her pocket a letter (it was a sad letter, with a black edge, but the child LITTLE SUN SHI WS H OLID A Y. 73 did not know that), and made .its envelope into a cup, from which Sunny drank in the greatest delight. Afterwards she administered it to her mamma and her Lizzie, till the saturated paper began to 'yield — its innocent little duty was done. However, Sunny insisted on filling it again herself, and was greatly startled when the bright fierce-running water took it right out of her hand, whirled it along for a yard or too, and then -sunk it, soaked through, in the first eddy which the stream reached. Poor child ! she looked after her frail treasure with eyes in which big tears — and Sunny's tears, when they do come, are so very big! — were just beginning to rise ; and her rosy mouth fell at the corners, with that pitiful look mamma knows well, though it is not often seen. "Never mind, my darling; mamma will make her another cup out of the next letter she has. Or, better still, she will find her own horn cup, that has been to Scotland so often, and gone about for weeks in mamma's pocket, years ago. Now Sunny shall have it to drink out of." "And to swim? May Sunny have it to swim?" " No, dear, because, though it would not go 74 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. down to the bottom like the other cup, it might swim right away arid be lost, and then mamma would be so sorry. No, Sunny can't have it to swim, but she may drink out of it as often as she likes. Shall we go home and look for it?" "Yes." The exact truth, told in an intelligible and reasonable way, always satisfies this reasonable child, who has been accustomed to have every prohibition explained to her, so far as was possible. Consequently, the sense of injustice, which even very young children have, when it is roused, never troubles her. She knows mamma will give her every thing she can, and when she does not, it is simply because she can't, and she tells Sunny why she can't, whenever Sunny can understand it. So they climbed contentedly up the steep brae, and went home. Nothing else happened here — at least to the child. If she had a rather dull life, it was a peaceful one. She was out-of-doors a great deal, with Lizzie and Nelly of afternoons, with her mamma of early mornings. Generally, each day, the latter contrived to get a quiet hour or two ; while her child played about the garden steps, and she sat reading the newspaLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 75 per — the terrible newspaper ! When Sunny has grown up a woman, she will know what a year this year 1870 has been, and understand how many a time, when her mamma was walking along with her, holding her little hand, and talking about all the pretty things they saw, she was thinking of other mothers and other children, who, instead of running merrily over sunshiny hill-sides, were weeping over dead fathers, or dying miserably in burnt villages, or starving day by day in besieged cities. This horrible war, brought about, as war almost always is, by a few wicked, ambitious men, made her feel half frantic. One day especially — the day the Prussians came and sat down before Paris, and began the siege — Little Sunshine was playing about, ' with her little wooden spade, and a "luggie" that her papa had lately bought for her; filling it with pebbles, and then digging in the gardenbeds, with all her small might. Her mamma sat on the garden steps, reading the newspaper. Sunny did not approve of this at all. "Come and build me a house. Put that down," pulling at the newspaper, " and build Sunny a house. Please, mamma," in a very gentle tone — she knows in a minute by mamma's look when she has spoken too roughly — 76 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 11 Please, mamma, come and build Sunny a. house." And getting no answer, she looked fixedly at her mamma — then hugged her tight round the neck, and began to sob for sympathy. Poor lamb ! She had evidently thought only little girls cried — not mammas at all. The days ran on fast, fast; and it was time for another move and another change in Little Sunshine's holiday. Of course she did not understand these changes; but she took them cheerfully — she was the very best of little travellers. The repeated packing had ceased to be an interest to her ; she never wanted now to jump upon mamma's gowns, and sit down on her bonnets, by way of being useful ; but still the prospect of going in a puff-puff was always felicitous. She told Nelly all about it ; and how she was afterwards to sail in a boat with Maurice and Maurice's papa (Maurice was a little playfellow, of whom more presently), how they were to go fishing and catch big salmon. "Wouldn't you like to catch a big salmon?" she asked Nelly, not recognizing in the least that she was parting with her, probably never to meet again in all their lives. But the elder child looked sad and grave during the whole LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 77 of that day. And when for the last time Nelly put her arms round Sunny, and kissed her over and over again, Sunny being of course just as merry as ever, and quite unconscious that they were bidding one another good-bye, it was rather hard for poor little Nelly. However, the child did not forget her kind companion. For weeks and even months afterwards, upon hearing the least allusion to this place, Sunshine would wake up into sudden remembrance. " Where's Nelly ? I want to see Nelly — I want Nelly to come and play with me;" and look quite disappointed when told that Nelly was far away, and couldn't come. Which was perhaps as much as could be expected of ttfree-years-old. Always happy in the present, and frightened at nothing so long as she was " close by mamma," Little Sunshine took her next journey. On the way she staid a night at the seaside place where she had been taken before, and this time the weather was kin'd. She wandered with her Lizzie on the beach, and watched the waves for a long time; then she went in-doors, to play with some other little children, and to pay a visit to the dear old lady who had been ill, when she was here last. Here I am afraid, she did not behave quite as 78 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. well as she ought to have done — being tired and sleepy; nor did she half enough value the kind little presents she got ; but she will some day,, and understand the difference between eighty years of age and three, and how precious to a little child is the blessing of an old woman. Sunny went to bed rather weary and forlorn, but she woke up next morning and ran in to papa and mamma, still in her nightgown, with her little bare feet pattering along the floor, looking as bright as the sunshine itself. Which was very bright that day — a great comfort, as there was a ten hours' seavoyage before the little woman, who had never been on board a steamboat, and never travelled so long at a time in all her life. She made a good breakfast to start with, sitting at table with a lot of grown-up people whose faces were as blithe as her own, and behaving very well, considering. Then came another good-bye, of course unheeded by Little Sunshine, and she was away on her travels once more. But what happened to her next must be put into a new chapter. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 79 CHAPTER V. THE pier Sunny started from was one near the mouth of a large estuary or firth, where a great many ships of all sorts are constantly coming and going. Sometimes the firth is very stormy, as on the first day when she was there, but to-day it was smooth as glass. The mountains round it looked half asleep in a sunshiny haze, and upon the river itself was not a single* ripple. The steamers glided up and down in the distance as quietly as swans upon a lake. You could just catch the faint click-clack of their paddle-wheels, and see the long trail of smoke following after them, till it melted into nothing. " Where's Sunny's steamboat? Sunny is going a sail in a steamboat," chattered the little girl ; who catches up every thing, sometimes even # the longest words and the queerest phrases, nobody knows how. Sunny's steamboat lay alongside the pier. Its engines were puffing and its funnel smoking; and when she came to the gangway she looked rather frightened, and whispered, "MamF . 80 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ma, take her," holding out those pathetic little arms. Mamma took her, and from that safe eminence she watched every thing : the men loosing the ropes from the pier, the engines moving, the sea-gulls flying about in little flocks, almost as tame as pigeons. She was much amused by these sea-gulls, which always follow the steamers, seeming to know quite well that after every meal on board they are sure to get something. She called her Lizzie to look at them — her Lizzie, who always sympathizes with her in every thing. Now it was not quite easy, as Lizzie. also had never been on board a steamer before, and did not altogether relish it. «* 'But she, too, soon grew content and happy, for it was a beautiful scene. There was no distant view, the mountains being all in a mist of heat, but the air was so bright and mild, with just enough saltness in it to be refreshing, that it must have been a very gloomy person who did not enjoy the da}^. Little Sunslrine did to the utmost. She could not talk, but became absorbed in looking about her, endless wonder at every thing she saw or heard shining in her blue eyes. Soon she heard something which brightened them still more. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 81 "Hark-, mamnyi! music ! Sunny hears music." It was a flute played on the lower deck, and played exceedingly well. Now this little girl has a keen sense of music. Before she could speak, singing always soothed her; and she has long been in the habit of commanding extempore* tunes — "a tune that Sunny never heard before," sometimes taking her turn to offer one. " Mamma, shall I sing you a song — a song you never heard before?" (Which certainly mamma never had.) She distinguishes tunes at once, and is very critical over them. " Sunny likes it," or " Sunny don't like it — it isn't pretty;" and at tko sound of any sort of music she pricks up her ears, and will begin to cry passionately if not taken to listen. This flute she went after at once. It was played by a blind man. who stood leaning against the stairs leading to the higher, deck, his calm sightless face turned up to the dazzling sunshine. It could not hurt him; he seemed even to enjoy it. There was nobody listening, but he played on quite unconsciously, one Scotch tune after another, the shrill, clear, pure notes floating far over the sea. Sunny crept closer and closer — her eyes grow82 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ing larger and larger with intense delight — till the man stopped playing. Then she whispered, " Mamma, look at that poor man ! Somekin wrong with his eyes." Sunny has been taught that whenever there is " somekin (something) wrong" with any body — whe*i they are blind, or lame, or ugly, or queer-looking, we are very sorry for them, but we never notice it; and so, though she has friends who can not run about after her, but walk slowly with a stick, or even two sticks — also other friends who only feel her little face, and pass their hands over her hair, saying how soft it is — mamma is never afraid of her making any remark that could wound their feelings. "Hush! the poor man can't see, but we must not say any thing about it. Come with mamma, and we will give him a penny." All sorts of money are "pennies" to Sunny — brown pennies, white pennies, yellow pennies ; only she much prefers the brown pennies, because they are largest, and spin the best. So she and mamma went up together to the poor blind man, Sunny looking hard at him ; and he was not pleasant .to look at, as his blindness seemed to have been caused by small-pox. But the little girl said not a word, LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 83 only put the "white " penny " into his hand, and went away. I wonder whether he felt the touch of those baby fingers, softer than most. Perhaps ne did, for he began to play again, the " Flowers of the Forest," with a pathos that even mamma in all her life had never heard excelled. The familiar mountains, the gleaming river, the "sunshiny" child, with her earnest face, and the blind man playing there, in notes thatalmost spoke the well-known words, " Thy frown canna fear me, thy smile canna cheer me, For the flowers o' the forest are a' wede away." It was a picture not easily to be forgotten. Soon the steamer stopped at another pier, where were waiting a number of people, ready to embark on a large excursion-boat which all summer long goes up and down the firth daily, taking hundreds of passengers, and giving them twelve pleasant Jiours of sea air and mountain breezes. She was called the "Iona," and such a big boat as she was ! She had two decks, with a saloon below. On the first deck, the passengers sat in the open air, high up, so as to see all the views ; the second was under cover, with glass sides, so that they could still see all about ; the third, lower yet, was the 8i LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. cabin, where they dined. There was a ladies' cabin, too, where a good many babies and children, with their nurses and mammas, generally staid all the voyage. Altogether, a most beautiful boat, with plenty of play-places for little folk, and comfortable nooks for elder ones ; and so big, too, that as she came steaming down the river, she looked as if she could carry a townful of people. Indeed, this summer, when nobody has travelled abroad, owing to the war, the "Iona" had carried regularly several hundreds a day. Sunny gazed with some amazement from the pier, where she had disembarked, in her mamma's arms. It is fortunate for Sunny that she has a rather tall mamma, so that she feels safely elevated above any crowd. This was a crowd such as she had never been in before ; it jostled and pushed her, and she had to hold very tight round her mamma's neck ; so great was the confusion, and sq difficult the passage across the gangway to the deck of the " Iona." Once there, however, she was as safe and happy as possible, playing all sorts of merry tricks, and wandering about the boat in all directions, with her papa, or her Lizzie, or two young ladies who came with her, and were very kind to her. But after a while these quitted the LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 85 * boat, and were watched climbing up a mountain-side as cleverly as if they had been young deer. Sunny would have liked to climb a mountain too, and mamma promised her she should some day. She was now in the very heart of the Highlands. There were mountains on all sides, re« fleeted everywhere in the narrow seas through which the boat glided, ISTow and then came houses and piers, funny little " baby " piers, at which the "Iona" stopped and took up or set down passengers, when "every body rushed to the side to look on. Sunny rushed likewise; she became so interested and excited in watching the long waves the boat left behind her when her paddles began to move again, that her mamma was sometimes frightened out of her life that the child should overbalance herself, and tumble in. Once or twice poor mamma spoke so sharply that Sunny, utterly unaccustomed to this, turned round in mute surprise. But little girls, not old enough to understand danger, do not know what terrors mammas go through sometimes for their sakes. It was rather a relief when Sunny became very hungry, and the bag of biscuits and the bottle of milk occupied her for a good while. Then she turned sleepy. The little Maymie's 86 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. apron being secretly produced, she, laughing a little, began to suck it, under cover of mamma's shawl. Soon she went to sleep, and lay for nearly an hour in perfect peace, her eyes shut upon mountains, sea, and sky ; and the sun shining softly upon her little face and her gold curls, that nestled close into mamma's shoulder. Such a happy child ! Almost cruel it seemed to wake her up, but necessary ; for there came another change. The "Iona's" voyage was done. The next stage of the journey was through a canal, where were sights to be seen so curious that papa and mamma were as much interested in them • as the little girl, who was growing quite an old traveller now. She woke up, rubbed her eyes, and, not crying at all, was carried ashore, and 'into the middle of another crowd. There was a deal of talking and scrambling, and rushing about with bags and cloaks, then all the heavier luggage was put into two gigantic wagons, which four great horses walked away with, and the passengers walked in a long string of twos and threes, each after the others, for about a quarter of a mile, till they came to the canal-side. There lay a boat so big, that it could only go forward and backward — I am sure if it had wanted to turn itself round it could not possiLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ' 87 bl y have done so ! On board of it all the people began to climb. Very funny people some of them were. There was one big tall gentleman in a dress Sunny had never seen before — a cap on his head with a feather in it, a bag with furry tails dangling from his waist, and a petticoat like a little girl. He had also rather queer .shoes and stockings, and when he took out from his ankle, as it seemed, a shiny-handled sort of knife, and slipped it back again, Sunny was very much surprised. "Mamma," she whispered, "what does that gentleman keep his knife in his stocking for?" A question to which mamma could only answer " that she really didn't know. Perhaps he hadn't got a pocket." "Sunny will give' him her pocket — her French pinafore with pockets in it, shall she ?" Mamma thought the big Highlander might not care for Sunny's pretty muslin pinafore, with embroidery and Valenciennes lace, sewn for her by loving, dainty hands ; and as the boat now moved away, and he was seen stalking majestically off along the road, there was no need to ask him the question. ] For a little while the boat glided along the smooth canal, so close to either side that you 88 ■ LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. felt as if you could almost pluck at the bushes, and ferns, and trailing brambles, with fastripening berries, that hung over the water. On the other side was a foot-road, where, a little way behind, a horse was dragging, with a long rope, a small, deeply-laden canal-boat, not pretty like this one, which went swiftly and merrily along by steam. But at last it came to a stand, in front of two huge wooden gates which shut the canal in, and through every crevice of which the pent-in water kept spouting in tiny cataracts. " That's the first of the locks," said papa, who had seen it all before, and took his little girl to the end of the boat to show her the wonderful sight. She was not old enough to have it explained or to understand what a fine piece of engineering work this canal is. It cuts across country from sea to sea, and the land not being level, but rising higher in the middle, and as you know water will not run up ahill-side and down again, these locks had to be made. They are, so to speak, boxes of water with double gates at either end. The boat is let into them, and shut in ; then the water upon which it floats is gradually raised or lowered according as may be necessary, until it reaches the level LITTLE S TJNSHINE ' 8 HOLIDA Y. 89 of the canal beyond the second gate, which is opened and the boat goes in. There are eight or nine of these locks within a single mile — a very long mile, which occupies fully an hour. So the captain told his passengers they might get out and walk, which many of them did. But Sunshine, her papa and mamma, were much more amused in watching the great gates opening and shutting, and the boat rising or falling through the deep sides of the locks. Besides, the little girl called it " a bath," and expressed a strong desire to jump in and "swim like a fish," with mamma swimming after her ! So mamma thought it as well to hold her fast by her clothes the whole time. Especially when another interest came — three or four little Highland girls running alongside, jabbering gayly, and holding out glasses of milk. Her own bottle being nearly drained, Sunny begged for some ; and the extraordinary difficulty papa had in stretching over to get the milk without spilling it, and return the empty glass without breaking it, was a piece of fun more delightful than even the refreshing draught. "Again!" she said, and wanted the performance all repeated for her private amusement. She had now resumed her old tyranny over 90 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. her papa, whom she pursued everywhere. He could not find a single cornjer of the boat in which to hide and read his newspaper quietly, without hearing the cry, "Where's my papa? Sunny must go after papa," and there was the little figure clutching at his. legs, "Take her up in your arms! up in your own arms I" To which the victim, not unwillingly, consented, and carried her everywhere. Little Sunshine's next great diversion was dinner. It did not happen till late in the afternoon, when she had gone through, cheerfully as ever, another change of boat, and was steaming away through the open sea, which, however, was fortunately calm as a duck-pond, or what would have become of this little person ? Papa questioned very much whether she was not far too little a person to dine at the cabin-table with all the other grown-up passengers, but mamma answered for her that she would behave properly — she always did whenever she promised. For Sunny has the strongest sense of keeping a promise. Her one argument when wanting a thing, an argument she knows never denied, is, " Mamma, you promised." And her shoe-maker, who once neglected to send home her boots, has been imLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 91 mortalized in her memory as " Mr. James Soand-So, who broke his promise." So, having promised to be good, she gravely took her papa's hand and walked with him down the long cabin to. her place at the table. There she sat, quite quiet, and very proud of her position. She ate little, being too deeply occupied in observing every thing around her. And she talked still less, only whispering mysteriously to her' mamma once or twice, " Sunny would like a potato, with butter on it." "Might Sunny have one little biscuit — just one?" But she troubled nobody, spilt nothing, not even her glass of water, though it was so big that with both her fat hands she could scarcely hold it; and said "Thank you" politely to a gentleman who handed her a piece of bread. In short, she did keep her promise, conducting herself throughout the meal with perfect decorum. But when it was over, I think she was rather glad. "Sunny may get down now?" she whispered ; adding, " Sunny was quite good, she was." For the little woman always likes to have her virtues acknowledged. And in re-mounting the companion-ladder, rather a trial for her small legs, she looked at 93 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the steward, who was taking his money, and observed to him in a confidential tone, " Sunny has had a good dinner; Sunny liked it" — at which the young man couldn't help laughing. But every body laughs at Sunny, or w 7 ith her — she has such an endless fund of enjoyment in every thing. The world to her is one perpetual kaleidoscope of ever-changing delights. Immediately after dinner she had a pleasure quite new. Playing about the deck, she suddenly stopped and listened. "Mamma, hark! there's music. May Sunny go after the music?" And her little feet began to dance rather than walk, as, pulling her mamma by the hand, she " went after" a German band that was plaj-ing at the other end of the vessel. Little Sunshine had never before heard a band, and this was of wind instruments, played very well, as most German musicians can play. The music seemed to quiver all through her, down to her very toes. And when the dancetune stopped, and her dancing feet likewise, and the band struck up the beautiful " Wacht am Rhein" — the Watch on the Rhine — (oh! if its singers had only stopped there, defending their fatherland, and not invaded the lands of LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 93 other people !) this little girl, who knew nothing about French and Prussians, stood absorbed • in solemn delight. Her hands were folded together (a trick she has), her face grew grave, and a soul far deeper than three years old looked out of her intent eyes. For when Sunny is earnest, she is very earnest ; and when she turns furious, half a dozen tragedies seem written in her firm-set mouth, knitted brow, and •flashing eyes. She was disposed to be furious for a minute, when her Lizzie tried' to get her away from the music. But her mamma let her stay, so she did stay close to the musicians, until the playing was all done. It was growiog late in the afternoon, near her usual bed-time, but no going to bed was possible. The steamboat kept ploughing on through lonely seas, dotted with many islands, larger or smaller, with high mountains on every side, some of them sloping down almost to the water's edge. Here and there was a solitary cottage or farm-house, but nothing like a town or village. The steamboat seemed to have the whole world to itself — sea, sky, mountains — a magnificent range of mountains ! behind which the sun set in such splendor that papa and mamma, watching it together, quite forgot for 94 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the time being the little person -who was not old enough to care for sunsets. When they looked up, catching the sound of her laughter, there she was, in a state of the highest enjoyment, having made friends, all of her own accord, with two gentlemen on board, who played with her and petted her extremely. One of them had just taken out of his pocket a wonderful bird, which jumped out of a box, shook itself, warbled a most beautiful' tune, and then popped down in the box again ; not exactly a toy for a* child, as only about half a dozen have ever been made, and they generally cost about a hundred guineas apiece. Of course Sunny was delighted. She listened intently to the warble, and whenever the bird popped down and hid itself again, she gave a scream of ecstasy. But she can not enjoy things alone. "May mamma come and see it? Mamma would like to see it, she would !" And, running back, Sunny drew her mamma, with al4 her little might, over to where the gentlemen were sitting. . They were very polite to the unknown lady, and went over the performance once again for her benefit. And they were exceedingly kind to her little girl, showing a patience quite wonLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 95 derful, unless, indeed, they had little girls of their own. They tried pertinaciously to find out Sunny's name, but she as persistently refused to disclose it — that is, any thing more than her Christian name, which is rather a peculiar one, and whith she alwa} 7 s gives with great dignity and accuracy, at full length. (Which, should they really have little girls of their own, and. should they buy this book for them and read it, those two gentlemen will probably remember; nor think the worse of themselves that their kindness helped to while away what might otherwise have been rather dreary, the last hour of the voyage — a very long voyage for such a small traveller.) It was ended at last. The appointed pier, a solitary place where only one other passenger was landed, stood out distinct in the last rays of sunset. Once again the child was carried across one of those shaky gangways — neither frightened nor cross, and quite cheerful and wide-awake still. Nay, she even stopped at the pier-head, her attention caught bvsome creatures more weary than herself. Half a dozen forlorn sheep, their legs tied together, and their heads rolling about, with the most piteous expression in their open eyes, lay together, waiting to be put on board. The G 96 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. child went up to them and stroked their faces. "Poor little baa-lambs, don't be so frightened ; you won't be frightened, now Sunny has patted you," said she, in her tenderest voice. And then, after having walked a few yards, "Sunny must go back. Please, mamma, may Sunny go back to say good-bye to those poor little baa-lambs." But the baa-lambs had already been tossed on board, and the steamer was away with them into the dark. * Into the dark^poor little Sunny had also to go ; a drive of nine miles across country, through dusky glens, and coming out by loch sides, and under the shadow of great mountains, above whose tops the stars were shining. Only the stars, for there was no moon, and no lamps to the carriage ; and the driver, when spoken to, explained — in slow Highland English, and in a mournful manner, evidently not understanding the half of what was said to him — that there were several miles farther to go, and several hills to climb yet ; and that the horse was lame, and the road not as safe as it might be. A prospect which made the elders of the party not perfectly happy, as may well be imagined. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 07 Bat the child was as merry as possible, though it was long past her tea-time and she had had no tea, and past bed-time, yet there was no bed to go to ; she kept on chattering till it was quite dark, and then cuddled down, making " a baby " of her mamma's hand — a favorite amusement. And so she lay, the picture of peace, until the carriage stopped at the welcome door, and there. stood a friendly group with two little boys in front of it. After eleven hours of travelling, Little Sunshine had reached a shelter at last ! LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. CHAPTEK VI. SUNRISE among the mountains. Who that has ever seen it can forget it? Sunny's mamma never could. ' Arriving here after dark, she knew no more of the place than the child did. But the first thing she did on waking next morning was to creep past the sofa where Sunny lay — oh, so fast asleep ! having had a good scream overnight, as was natural after all her fatigues — steal cautiously to the window, and look out. Such a sight ! At the foot of a green slope, or sort of rough lawn, lay the little loch so often spoken of, upon which Sunny was to go a-flshing and catch big salmon, with Maurice's papa. Eound it was a ring of mountains, so high that they seemed to shut out half the sk}^. These were reflected in the water, so solidly and with such a sharp clear outline, that one could hardly believe it was only a reflection. Above their summit was one mass of deep rosecolor, and this also was repeated in the loch, so that you could not tell which was reddest, the LITTLE SUXSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 99 water or the sky. Every thing was perfectly still ; not a ripple moved, not a leaf stirred, not a bird was awake. An altogether new and masric world. Sunny was too much of a baby yet to care for sunrise, or indeed for any thing just now, except a good long sleep, so her mamma let her sleep her fill ; and when she woke at last, she was as bright as a bird. Long before she was dressed, she heard down stairs the voices of the five little boys who were to be her companions. Their papa and mamma having no objection to their names being told, I give them, for they were five very pretty names : Maurice, Phil, Eddie, Franky, and Austin Thomas. The latter being the youngest, though by no means the smallest or thinnest, generally had his name in full, with variations, such as Austin Tummas, or Austin Tummacks. Maurice, too, was occasionally called Maurie — but not often, being the eldest, you see. He was seven, very small for his age, but with a face almost angelic in its delicate beauty. The first time Sunny saw him, a few months before, she had seemed quite fascinated by it, put her two hands on his shoulders, and finally held up her mouth to kiss him — 100 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. which she seldom does to any children, rather preferring "grown-ups," as she calls them, for playfellows. She had talked ever since of Maurice, Maurice's papa, Maurice's boat, and especially of Maurice's "little baby," the only sister of the five boys. Yet when he came to greet her this morning, she was quite shy, and would not play with him or Eddie, or even Frariky, who was nearer her own age; and when her mamma lifted up Austin Thomas, younger than herself, but much bigger in every wajr, and petted him a little, this poor little woman fell into great despair. •" Don't kiss him. I don't want you to kiss Austin Thomas !" she cried, and the passion which can rise at times in her merry blue eyes rose now. She clung to her mamma, almost sobbing. Of course this was not right, and, as I said before, the little girl is not a perfect little girl. She is naughty at times, like all of us. Still, mamma was rather sorry for her. It was difficult for an only child, accustomed to have her mamma all to herself, to tumble suddenly into such a crowd of boys, and see that mamma could be kind to and fond of other children besides her own, as all mothers ought to be, without taking away one atom from the speLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 101 cial mother's love, which, no little people need be jealous over. Sunny bore the trial pretty well, on the whole. She did not actually cry — but she kept fast hold of her mamma's gown, and watched her with anxious eyes whenever she spoke to any other child, and especially to Austin Thomas. The boys were very kind to her. Maurice went and took hold of her hand, trying to talk to her in his gentle way ; his manners were as sweet as his face. Eddie, who was stronger and rougher, and more boyish, wanted her to go down with him to the pier — a small erection of stones at the shallow edge of the loch, where two or tHree boats always lay moored. Consequently the boys kept tumbling in and out of them, and in and out of the water too, very often — all day long. But the worst they ever could get was a good wetting— ^except Austin Thomas, who one day toddled in and slipped down, and, being very fat, could not pull himself up again ; so that, shallow as the water was, he was very near being drowned. But Maurice and Eddie were almost "water babies" — so thoroughly at home in the loch — and Eddie, though under six years old, could already handle an oar. " I can low " (row — he could not speak plain 102 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. yet). " I once lowed grandpapa all across the loch. Shall I low you and the little girl ?" But mamma rather hesitated at accepting the kind offer, and compromised the matter by going down to the pier with Sunny in her arms, to watch Eddie "low" — about three yards out and back again-r— in a carefully-moored boat. Sunny immediately wanted to go too, and mamma promised her she should, after breakfast, when papa was there to take care of her. So the little party went back to the raised terrace in front of the house, where the sun was shining so bright, and where Phil, who was in delicate health, stood looking on with his pale, quiet face — sadly quiet and grave for such a child — and Franky, who was reserved and shy, stopped a moment in his solitary playing to notice the new-comer, but did not offer to go near her. Austin Thomas, however, kept pulling at her with his stout chubby arms, but whether he meant caressing or punching, it was difficult to say. Sunny opposed a dignified resistance, and would not look at Austin Thomas at all.. " Mamma, I want to stop with you. May Sunny stop with you?" implored she. " You said Sunny should go in the boat with you?" LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 103 Mamma always does what she says, if she possibly can, and besides, she felt a sympathy for her lonely child, who had not been much used to play with other children. So she kept Sunny beside her till they went down together — papa too — for their first row on the loch. Such a splendid day ! Warm but fresh — how could it help being fresh in that pure mountain air, which turned Sunny's cheeks the color of opening rose-buds, and made even papa and mamma feel almost as young as she ? Big people like holidays as well as little people, and it was long since they had had a holiday. This was the very perfection of one, when every body did exactly as they liked: which consisted chiefly in doing nothing from morning till night. Sunny was the only person who objected to idleness. She must always be doing something. " I want to catch fishes," said she, after having sat quiet by mamma's side in the stern of the boat for about three minutes and a half: certainly not longer, though it was the first time she had ever been in a boat in all her life, and the novelty of her position sufficed to sober her for just that length of time. " I want to catch big salmon all by my own self." 101 LITTLE SUNSHINE ' 8 HOLIDA Y. A fishing-rod bad, just as a matter of ceremony, been put into the boat ; but as papa held the two oars, and mamma the child, it was handed over to Lizzie, who sat in the bow. However, not a single trout offering to bite, it was laid aside, and papa's walking-stick used instead. This was shorter, more convenient, and had a beautiful hooked handle which could catch floating leaves. Leaves were much more easily caught than fishes, and did quite as well. The little girl had now her heart's desire. She was in a boat fishing. " Sunny has caught a fish ! Such a big fish !" cried she in her shrillest treble of delight, every time that event happened. And it happened so often that the bench was soon quite " soppy " with wet leaves. Then she gave up the rod, and fished with her hands, mamma holding her as tight as possible, lest she should overbalance, rand be turned into a fish herself. But water tuill wet ; and mamma could not save her from getting her poor little hands all blue and cold, and her sleeves soaked through. She did not like this ; but what will not we endure, even at two-and-three-quarters old, in pursuit of some great ambition ? It was not till her hands were numbed, and her pinafore dripping, LITTLE SUXSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. 105 that Sunny desisted from her fishing, and then only because her attention was caught by something else even more attractive. " What's that, mamma? What's that?" , " Water-lilies." Papa, busily engaged in watching his little girl, had let the boat drift upon a shoal of them, which covered one part of the loch like a floating island. They were so beautiful, with their leaves lying like green plates flat on the surface of the water, and their white flowers rising up here and there like ornamental cups. No wonder the child was delighted. "Sunny wants a water-lily," said she, catching the word, though she had never heard it before. " May Sunny have one, two water-lilies ? Two water-lilies ! Please, mamma ?" This was more easily promised than performed, for, in spite of papa's skill, the boat always managed to glide either too far off, or too close to, or right on the top of the prettiest flowers; and when snatched at, they always would dive down under water, causing the boat to lurch after them in a way particularly unpleasant. At last, out of about a dozen unsuccessful attempts, papa captured two expanded flowers, ^id one bud, all with long stalks. They were laid along the seat of the boat, 106 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. which had not capsized, nor had any body tumbled out of it — a thing that mamma considered rather lucky, upon the whole, and insisted on rowing away out of the region of water-lilies. " Let us go up the canal, then," said papa, whom his host had already taken there, to show him a very curious feature of the loch. Leading out of one end of it, and communicating between it and a stream that fed it from the neighboring glen, was a channel, called " the canal." Unlike most Highland streams, it was as still as a canal; only it was natural, not artificial. Its depth was so great, that a stick fifteen feet long failed to find the bottom, which, nevertheless, from the exceeding clearness of the water, could be seen quite plain, with the fishes swimming about, and the pebbles, stones, or roots of trees too heavy to float, lying as they had lain, undisturbed, year after year. The banks, instead of shallowing off, went sheer down, as deep as in the middle, so that you could paddle close under the trees that fringed them — gnarled old oaks, queerly twisted rowans or beeches, and nut-trees with trunks so thick and branches so wide-spreading, that the great-great-grandfathers qf the glen must have gone nutting there generations back.. LITTLE S UXSHIXE ' 8 HO LID A Y. 107 • Yet this year they were as fall as ever of nuts, the gathering of which frightened mamma nearly as much as the water-lilies. For papa, growing quite excited, would stand up in the boat and pluck at the branches, and would not. see that nutting on dry land, and nutting in a boat over fifteen or twenty feet of water, were two very different things. Even the little girl, imitating her elders, made wild snatches at the branches, and it was the greatest relief to mamma's mind when Sunny turned her attention to cracking her nuts, which her sharp little teeth did to perfection. " Shall I give you one, mamma ? Papa too?" And she administered them by turns out of her mouth, which if not the politest was the most 'convenient way. At last she began singing-a song to herself, " Three little nuts all together ! three little nuts all together ! " Looking into the little girl's shut hands, mamma found — what she in all her long life had never found but once before, and that was many, many years ago — a triple nut — a "lucky" nut; as great a rarity as a four-leaved shamrock. "Oh, what a prize! will Sunny give it to mamma?" (which she did immediately). "And mamma will put it carefully by, and keep it for Sunny till she is grown a big girl." 108 LITTLE S UN SHINE ' 8 H OLID A Y. " Sunny is a big girl now ; Sunny cracks nuts for papa and mamma." Nevertheless, mamma kept the triple nut, as she remembered her own mamma keeping the former one, when she herself was a little girl. When Sunny grows a woman, she will find both. Besides nuts, there were here and there along the canal-side long trailing brambles, with such huge blackberries on them — blackberries that seem to take a malicious pleasure in growing where nobody can get at them. Nobody could gather them except out of a boat, and then with difficulty. The best of them had after all to be left to the birds. Oh, what a place this canal must have been for birds in spring ! What safe nests might be built in these overhanging tree&! what ceaseless songs sung there from morning till night! Now, being September, there were almost none. Dead silence brooded over the sunshiny crags and the motionless loch. When, far up among the hills, there was heard the crack of a gun — Maurice's papa's gun, for it could of course be no other — the sound, echoed several times over, was quite startling. What had been shot — a grouse, a snipe, a wild duck ? Perhaps it was a roe deer ? Papa was LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 109 all curiosity ; but mamma, who dislikes shooting altogether, either of animals or men, and can not endure the sight of a gun, even unloaded, was satisfied with hearing it at a distance, and counting its harmless echoes from mountain to mountain. What mountains they were ! — standing in a circle, gray, bare, silent, with their peaks far up into the sky. Some had been climbed by the gentlemen in this shooting lodge, or by Donald, the keeper, but it was hard work, and some had never been climbed at all. The clouds and mists floated over them, arid sometimes, perhaps, a stray grouse, or capercailzie, or ptarmigan, paid them a visit, but that was all. They were too steep and bare even for the roe deer. Yet, oh ! how grand they looked, grand and calm, like great giants, whom nothing small and earthly could affect at all. The mountains were too big, as yet, for Little Sunshine. Her baby eyes did not take them in. She saw them, of course, but she was evidently much more interested in the nuts overhead, and the fishes under water. And when the boat reached "The Bower," she thought it more amusing.still. " The Bower," so called, was a curious place, where the canal grew so narrow, and the trees 110 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. so big, that the overarching boughs met in the middle, forming a natural arbor — only of water, not land — under which the boat swept for a good many yards. You had to stoop your head to . avoid being caught by the branches, and the ferns and moss on either bank grew so close to your hand, that you could snatch at them as you swept by — which Little Sunshine thought the greatest fun in the world. "Mamma, let me do it. Please, let Sunny do it her own self." To do a thing " all my own self" is always a great attraction to this independent little person, and her mamma allows it whenever possible. Still there are some things which mammas may do, and little* people may not, and this was one of them. It was obliged to be forbidden as dangerous, and Little Sunshine clouded over almost to tears. But she never worries her mamma for things, well aware that "No" means no, and "Yes," yes; and that neither are subject to alteration. And the boat being speedily rowed out of temptation's way into the open loch again, she soon found another amusement. • On the locb, besides waterfowl, such as wild ducks, teal, and the like, lived a colony of LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ill geese. They had once been tame geese belonging to the farm, but they had emigrated, and turned into wild geese, making their nests wherever they liked, and bringing up their families in freedom and seclusion. As to. catching them like ordinary geese, it was hopeless ; whenever wanted for the table they had to be shot like game. This catastrophe had not happened lately, and they swam merrily about — a flock of nine large white, lively, independent birds, which could be seen far off, sailing about like a fleet of ships on the quiet waters of the loch. They would allow you to row within a reasonable distance of them, just so close and no closer, then off they flew in a body, with a great screeching and flapping of wings— geese, even wild geese, being rather un wieldly birds. Their chief haunt was a tiny island just at the mouth of the canal, and there papa rowed, just to have a look at them, for one was to be shot for the Michaelmas dinner. (It never was, by-the-bye, and, for all I know,' still sails cheerfully upon its native loch.) "Oh, the ducks — the ducks!" (Sunny calls all water-birds ducks.) She clapped her hands, and away they flew, right over her head, at once frightening and delighting her; then H ' " 113 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. watched them longingly until they dropped down again, and settled in the farthest corner of the loch. " Might Sunny go after them ? Might Sunny •have a dear little duck to play with ?" The hopelessness of which desire might have made her turn melancholy again, only just then appeared, rowing with great energy, bristling with fishing-rods, and crowded with little people as well as "grown-ups," the big boat. It was so busy that it hardly condescended to notice the little pleasure-boat with only idle people sailing about in the sunshine, and doing nothing more useful than catching water-lilies and frightening geese. Still the little boat greeted the large one with an impertinent hail of " Ship ahoy ! what ship's that ?" and took in a cargo of small boys, who, as it was past one o'clock, were wanted home to the nursery dinner. And papa rowed the whole lot of them back to the pier, where every body was safely landed. Nobody tumbled in, and nobody was drowned — which mamma thought, on the whole, was a great deal to be thankful for. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 113 CHAPTER .VII. LIFE at the glen went on every day alike, in the simplest, happiest fashion, a sort of paradise of children, as in truth it was. Even the elders lived like children ; and big people and little people were together, more or less, all day long. A thing not at all objectionable when the children are good children, as these were. The boys were noisy, of course, and, after the first hour of the morning, clean faces, hands, and clothes became a difficulty quite insurmountable, in which their mother had to resign herself to fate ; as the mamma of five boys, running about wild in the Highlands, necessarily must. But these were good, obedient, gentlemanly little fellows, and, had it been possible to keep them clean and whole, which it wasn't, very pretty little fellows too. Of course they had a few boyish propensities, which increased the difficulty. Maurice, for instance, had an extraordinary love for all creeping things, and especially worms. On 114 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the slightest prepense of getting bait to fish with, "he would go digging for them, and stuff them into his pockets ; whence, if you met him, you were as likely as not to see one or two crawling out. If you remonstrated he looked unhappy, for Maurice really loved his worms. He cherished them carefully, and did not in the least mind their crawling oyer his' hands, his dress, or his plate. Only unfortunately other people did. When scolded, he put his pets meekly aside, but always returned to them with the same love as ever. Perhaps Maurice may turn out a great naturalist some day. The one idea of Eddie's life was boats. He was forever at the little pier waiting a chance of a row, and always wanting to "Jow " somebody, especially with " two oars," which he handled uncommonly well for so small a child. Fortunately for him, though not for his papa and the salmon-fishers, the weather was dead calm, so that it was like paddling on a duckpond; and the loch being siaallow just at the pier, except a few good wettings, which he seemed to mind as little as if he were a frog, bright, brave, adventurous Eddie came to no harm. Nor Eranky, who imitated him admiringly LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 115 whenever he could. But Franky, who was rather a reserved little man, and given to playing alone, had, besides the pier, another favorite play-place, a hollow cut out in the rock to receive the burn which leaped down from the hill-side just behind the house. Being close to the kitchen door, it was put to all sorts of domestic uses, being generally full of pots and pans, saucepans and kettles — not the most advisable playthings, but Franky found them charming. He also unluckily found out something else — that the hollow basin had an outlet, through which any substance, sent swimming down -the swift stream, swam away beautifully for several yards, and then disappeared underground. And the other end of this subterraneous channel being in the loch, of course it disappeared forever. .In. this way there vanished mysteriously all sorts of things — cups and saucers, -toy's, pinafores, hats; which fast Franky was discovered in the act of making away with, watching them floating off with extreme delight. It was no moral crime, and hardly punishable, but highly inconvenient. Sunny's beloved luggie, which had been carried about with her for weeks, was believed to have disappeared in this way, and, as it could not sink, is probably now drifting somewhere 116 LITTLE SUNSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. about on the loch, to the great perplexity of the fishes. Ltitle Phil, alas ! was too delicate to be mischievous. He crept about in the sunshine, not playing with any body, but just looking on at the rest, with his pale, sweet, pensive face. He was very patient and good, and he suffered very much. One day, hearing his uncle at family prayers pray that God would make him better, he said sadty, "If He does, I wish He would make haste about it." "Which was the only complaint gentle pathetic little Phil was ever heard to utter. Sunny regarded him with some awe, as "the poor little boy who was so ill." For herself, she has never yet known what illness is ; but she is very sympathetic over it in others. Any body's being " not well," will at once make her tender and gentle ; as she always was to Phtf. He in his turn was very kind to her; lending her his " music," which was the greatest favor he could bestow or she receive. This "music" was a box of infantile instruments, one for each boy — trumpet, drum, fife, etc., making a complete band, which a rashminded but affectionate aunt had sent them, and with which they marched about all day long, to their own great delight and the corLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 117 responding despair of their elders. Phil, who had an ear, would go away quietly* with his "music" — a trumpet, I think it was — and play it all by himself. But the others simply marched about in procession, each making the biggest noise he Qould, and watched by Sunny with admiration and envy. Now and then, out of great benevolence, one of the boys would lend her his instrument, and nobody did this so often as Phil, though of them all he liked playing his music the best. The picture of him sitting on the door-step, with his pale ringers wandering over' his instrument, and his sickly face looking almost contented as he listened to the sound, will long remain in every body's mind. Sunny never objected to her mamma's carrying him, as he often had to be carried ; though he was fully six years old. He was scarcely heavier than the little girl herself. Austin Thomas would have made two of him. • Austin's chief peculiarity was this amiable fatness. He tumbled about like a roly-poly pudding, amusing every body, and offending no one but Little Sunshine. But his persistent pursuit of her mamma, whom he insisted on calling "Danmamma" (grandmamma), and following whenever he saw her, was more than 118 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the little girl could bear, and she used to knit her brows and look displeased. However, mamma never took any notice, knowing what a misery to itself and all about it is a jealous child. Amidst these various amusements passed the day. It began at 8 A.M., when Sunshine and her mamma usually appeared on the terrace in front of the house. They two were " early birds," and so they got " the worm" — that is, a charming preliminary breakfast of milk, bread and butter, and an egg, which they usually ate on the door-step. Sometimes the rest, who had had their porridge, the usual breakfast of Scotch children — and very nice it is, too — gathered round for a share ; which it was pleasant to give them, for they waited so quietly, and were never rough or rude. Nevertheless, sometimes difficulties arose. The tray being placed on the gravel, Maurice often sat beside it, and his w r orms would crawl out of his pocket and on to the bread and butter. Then Eddie now and thenspilt the milk, and Austin Thomas would fill the saltcellar with sand out of the gravel-walk, and stir it all up together with the egg-spoon; a piece of untidiness which Little Sunshine resented extremely. LITTLE SUXSIIIXE'S HOLIDAY. 119 She had never grown reconciled to Austin Thomas. In spite of his burly good-nature, and his broad beaming countenance (which earned him the nickname of " Cheshire," from his supposed likeness to the Cheshire Cat in "Alice's Adventures"), she refused to play with him ; whenever he appeared, her eye followed him with distrust and suspicion, and when he said " Danmamma," she would contradict him indignantly. " It isn't grandmamma, it's my mamma, my own mamma. Go away„ naughty boy!" If he presumed to touch the said mamma, it was always, "Take me up in your arms, in your own arms " — -so as to prevent all possibility of Austin Thomas's getting there. But one unlucky day Austin tumbled down, and, though more frightened than* hurt, cried so much that, his own mamma being away, Sunny's mamma took him and comforted him, soothing him on her shoulder till he ceased sobbing. This was more than human nature could bear. Sunny did nothing at the time, except pull frantically at her mamma's gown, but shortly afterwards she and Austin Thomas Were found by themselves, engaged in single combat on the gravel walk. She had seized him by the collar of his frock, and was kicking 120 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. him with all her might, while he on his part was pommelling at her with both his little fat fists, like an infant prize-fighter. It was a pitched battle, pretty equal on both sides ; and conducted so silently, in such dead earnest, that it would have been quite funny — if it had not been so very wrong. Of course, such things could not be allowed, even in babies under three years old. Sunny's mamma ran to the spot and separated the combatants by carrying off her own child right away into the house. ( Sunny was so astonished that she did not say a word. And when she found that her mamma never said a word neither, but bore her along in total silence, she was still more surprised. Her bewilderment was at its height, when, shutting the bed-room door, her mamma set her down, and gave her — not a whipping: she objects to whipping under any circumstances — but the severest scolding the child had ever had in her life. When I say " scolding," I mean a grave sorrowful rebuke, showing how wicked it was to kick any body, and how it grieved mamma that her good little girl should be so exceedingly naughty. Mamma grieved is a reproach under which Little Sunny breaks down at LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 121 once. Her lips began to quiver ; she hung her head sorrowfully. " Sunny had better go into the cupboard," suo-srested she. DO "Yes, indeed," mamma replied. "I think the cupboard is the only place for such a naughty little girl; go in at once." So poor Sunshine crept solemnly into a large press with sliding doors, used for hanging up ■clothes, and there remained in silence and darkness all the while her mamma was dressing to go out. At last she put her head through the opening. " Sunny quite good now, mamma." " Yery well," said .mamma, keeping with difficulty a grave countenance. " But will Sunny promise never to kick Austin Thomas again ?" "Yes." "Then she may come out of the cupboard and kiss mamma." Which she did, with a beaming face, as if nothing at all had happened. But she did not forget her naughtiness. Some days after, she came up, and confidentially informed her mamma, as if it were an act of great virtue, " Mamma, Sunny 'membered her promise. Sunny hasn't kicked the little boy again." • 122 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. After the eight o'clock breakfast, Sunny, her mamma, and the five little boys, generally took a walk together, or sat telling stories in front of the house, till the ten o'clock breakfast of the elders. That over, the party dispersed their several ways, wandering about by land or water, and meeting occasionally, great folks and small, in boats, or by hill-sides, or in-doors at the children's one o'clock dinner — almost the only time, till night, that any body ever was in-doors. Besides most beautiful walks for the elders, there were, close by the house, endless playplaces for the children, each more attractive than the other. The pier, on the loch was the great delight ; but there was about a hundred yards from the house a burn (in fact, burns were always tumbling from the hill-side, wherever you went), with a tiny bridge across it, which was a charming spot for little people. There usually assembled a whole parliament of ducks, and hens, and chickens, quacking and clucking and gobbling together; to their own great content and that of the children, especially the younger ones. Thither came Austin Thomas with his nurse Grissel, a thorough Scotch lassie; and Sunny with her English Lizzie ; and there the baby, the pet of all, tiny LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 123 "Miss Mary," a soft dainty cuddling thing of six months old, used to be brought to lie and sleep in the sunshine, watched by Little Sunshine with never-ending interest. She would go anywhere with "the dear little baby." The very intonation of her voice, and the expression of her eyes, changed as she looked at it — for this little girl is passionately fond of babies. Farther down the mountain -road was another attractive corner, a stone dike, covered with innumerable blackberries. Though gathered daily, there were each morning more to gather, and they furnished an endless feast for both nurses and children. And really in this sharp mountain air, the hungriness of both big and little people must have been alarming. How the house-mother ever fed her household, with the only butcher's shop ten miles off, was miraculous. For very often the usual resort of shooting-lodges entirely failed : the game was scarce, and hardly worth shooting, and in this weather the salmon absolutely refused to be caught. Now and then a mournful-looking sheep was led up to the door, and offered for sale alive, to be consumed gradually as mutton. But when you have to eat an animal right through, you generally get a little tired of him at last. 124 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. The food that never failed, and nobody ever wearied of, was the trout ; large dishes of which appeared, and disappeared, every morning at breakfast. A patient guest, who could not go shooting, used to sit fishing for trout, hour by hour, in the cheerfullest manner; thankful for small blessings (of a pound or a pound and a half at most), and always hoping for the big salmon which he had travelled three hundred miles to fish for, but which never came. Each day, poor gentleman ! he watched the dazzlingly bright sky, and catching the merest shadow of a cloud, would say courageously, " It looks like rain ! Perhaps the salmon may bite to-morrow." Of afternoons, Sunny and her mamma generally got a little walk and talk alone together along the hill-side road, noticing every thing, and especially the Highland cattle, who went about in family parties — the big bull, a splendid animal, black or tawny, looking very fierce, but really offering no harm to any body ; half a dozen cows, and about twice that number of calves. Such funny little things' these were! not smooth, like English calves, but with quantities of shaggy hair hanging about them, and especially over their eyes. Papa used to say that his little girl, with her incessant activiLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 125 ty, and her yellow curls tossing wildly about on her forehead, was very like a Highland calf. At first, Sunny was rather afraid of these extraordinary beasts, so different from Southern cattle ; but she soon got used to them, and as even the big bull did nothing worse than look at her, and pass her by, she would stand and watch them feeding with great interest, and go as close to them as ever she was allowed. Once she even begged for a little calf to play with, but as it ran away up the mountain-side as active as a deer, this was not practicable. And on the whole she liked the ducks and chickens best. And for a change she liked to walk with mamma round the old-fashioned garden. What a beautiful garden it was ! — shut in with high walls, and sloping southward down to the loch. No doubt many a Highland dame, generations back, had taken great pleasure in it, for its fruit-trees were centuries old, and the box edging of its straight smooth gravel walks was a picture in itself. Also a fuchsia hedge, thick with crimson blossoms, which this little girl, who is passionately fond of flowers, could never pass without begging for "a posie, to stick in my little bosie," where it was kissed 126 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. and " loved " until, generally .soon enough ! it got broken and died. Equally difficult was it to pass the apples which lay strewn about under the long lines of espaliers, where Maurice and Eddie were often seen hovering about with an apple in each hand, and plenty more in each pocket. The Highland air seemed to give them unlimited digestion, but Sunny's mamma had occasionally to say to her little girl that quiet denial, which caused a minute's sobbing, and then, known to be inevitable, was submitted to. The child found it hard sometimes that little girls might not do all that little boys may. For instance, between the terrace and the pier was a wooden staircase with a hand-rail ; both rather old and rickety. About this hand-rail the boys were forever playing, climbing up it and sliding down it. Sunny wanted to do the same, and one v day her mamma caught her perched astride at the top, and preparing to . "slidder" down to the bottom, in imitation of .Eddie, who was urging her On with all his might. This most dangerous proceeding for little girls with frocks had to be stopped at once ; mamma explaining the reason, and insisting that Sunny must promise never to do LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 127 it again. Poor little woman, she was very sad; but she did promise, and moreover she kept her word. Several times mamma saw her stand watching the boys with a mournful countenance, but she never got astride on the hand-rail again. Only once — a sudden consolation occurred to her. " Mamma, 'posing Sunny were some day to grow into a little boy, then she might slide down the ladder?" "Certainly, yes!" answered mamma with great gravity, and equal sincerity. In the mean time she perfectly trusted her reliable child, who never does any thing behind her back any more than before her face. And she let her clamber about as much as was practicable, up and down rocks, and over stone dikes, and in and out of burns, since, within certain limitations, little girls should be as active as little boys. And by degrees, Sunny, a strong, healthy, energetic child, began to follow the boys about everywhere. There was a byre and a hay-house, where the children were very fond of playing, climbing up a ladder and crawling along the roof to the ridge-tiles, along which Eddie would drag himself astraddle from end to end, throwing Sunny into an ecstasy of admiration. To climb I 128 LITTLE S UNSHINE ' S H OLID A T. up to the top of a short ladder and be held there, whence she could watch Eddie crawllike a cat from end to end of the byre, and wait till he slided down the tiles again, was a felicity for which she would even sacrifice the company of " the dear little baby." But after all, the pier was the great resort. From early morning till dark, two or three of the children were always to be seen there, paddling in the shallows like ducks, with or without shoes and stockings, assisting at every embarkation or landing of the elders, and generally, by force of entreaties, getting — Eddie especially — " a low " on their own account several times a day. Even Sunny gradually came to find such fascination in the water, and in Eddie's company, that if her mamma had not kept a sharp look-out after her, and given strict orders that, without herself, Sunny was never under any pretext to go on the loch at all, the two children, both utterly fearless, would certainly have been discovered sailing away like the wise men of Gotham who " went to sea in a bowl." Probably with the same ending to their career ; that — "If the bowl had been' stronger, My song would have been longer!" After Little Sunshine's holiday was done, mamLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 129 ma, thinking over the countless risks run, by her own child and these other children, felt thankful that they had all left this beautiful glen alive. 130 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. CHAPTEE VIII. THE days sped so fast with these happypeople, children and "grown-ups," as Sunny calls them, that soon it was already Sunday, the first of the only -two Sundays they had to spend at the glen. Shall ,1 tell about them both ? These parents considered Sunday the, best day in all the week, and tried to make it so ; especially -to the children, whom, in order to give the servants rest, they then took principally into their own hands. They wished, that when the little folks grew up, Sunday should always be remembered as a bright day, a cheerful day, a day spent with papa and mamma; when nobody had any work to do, and every body was merry, and happy, and good. Also clean, which was a novelty here. Even the elders rather enjoyed putting on their best clothes with the certainty of not getting them wetted in fishing-boats, or torn with briers and brambles on hill-sides. Church was not till twelve at noon, so most of the party went a LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 131 leisurely morning stroll, and Sunny'spapa and mamma decided to have a quiet row on the loch, in a clean boat, all by their *two selves. But, as it happened, their little girl, taking a walk with her Lizzie, espied them afar off. Faintly across the water came the pitiful entreaty, "Papa! mamma! Take her. Take her with you." And the little figure, running as fast as her fat legs would carry her, was seen making its way, with Lizzie running after, to the very edge of the loch. What heart would not have relented ? Papa rowed back as fast as he could, and took her in, her face quivering with delight, though the big tears were still rolling down her cheeks. But April showers do not dry up faster than Sunny's tears. No fishing to-day, of course. Peacefully they floated down the loch, which seemed to know it was Sunday, and to lie, with the hills standing round it, more restful, mo.re sunshiny, more beautiful than ever. Not a creature was stirring ; even the cattle that always clustered on a little knoll above the canal, made motion? less pictures of themselves against the sky, as if they were sitting or standing for their portraits, and would not move upon any account. Now and. then, as the boat passed, a bird in 132 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the bushe's fluttered, but not very far off, and then sat on a bough and looked at it, too fearless of harm to fly away. Every thing was so intensely still, so unspeakably beautiful, that when mamma, sitting in the stern, with her arm fast round her child, began to sing "Jerusalem the Golden," and afterwards that other beautiful hymn, "There is a land of pure delight," the scene around appeared like an earthly picture of that Celestial Land. They rowed homeward just in time to dress for church, and start, leaving the little girl behind. She was to follow by-and-by with her Lizzie, and be taken charge of by mamma while Lizzie went to the English service in the afternoon. This was the morning service, and in Gaelic. With an English prayer-book it was just possible to follow it and guess at' it, though the words were unintelligible. But they sounded very sweet,. and so did the hymns; and the small congregation listened as gravely and reverently as if it had been the grandest church in the world, instead of a tiny room, no bigger than an ordinal sitting-room, with a communion-table of plain deal, and a few rows of deal benches, enough to seat about twenty people, there being about fifteen present to-day. Some LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 133 of them had walked several miles, as they did every Sunday, and often, their good clergyman said, when the glen was knee-deep in snow. He himself spent his quiet clays among them, winter and summer, living at a farm-house near, and scarcely ever quitting his charge. A lonelier life, especially in winter-time, it was hardly possible to imagine. Yet he looked quite contented, and so did the little congregation, as they listened to the short Gaelic sermon (which, of course, was incomprehensible to the strangers), then slowly went out of church and stood hanging about on the dike-side in the sunshine, till the second service should begin. Yery soon, a few more groups were seen advancing towards church. There was Maurice, prayer-book in hand, looking so good and gentle and sweet, almost like a cherub in a picture ; and Eddie, not at all cherubic, but entirely boyish, walking sedately beside his papa ; Eddie clean an.d tidy, as if he had never torn his clothes or dirtied his face in all his life. Then came the children's parents, papa and mamma and their guests, and the servants of the house following. While far behind, holding cautiously by her Lizzie's hand, and rather alarmed at her new position, was a certain little person, who, as soon as she saw her own papa and 134 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. mamma, rushed frantically forward to meet them with a crj of irrepressible joy. "Sunny wants to go to church! Sunny would like to go to church with the little boys, and Lizzie says she mustn't." Lizzie was quite right, mamma explained ; afraid that so small a child might only interrupt the worship, which she could not possibly understand. But she compromised the matter by promising that Sunny should go to church as soon as ever she was old enough, and to-day she should stay with mamma, out in the sunshiny road, and hear the singing from outside. Staying with mamma being always sufficient felicity, she consented to part with the little boys, and they passed on into church. By this time the post, which always came in between the services on Sundays, appeared, and the post-master, who was also school-master and beadle at the church — as the school, the church, and the post-office, were all one building — began arranging and distributing the contents of the bag. Every body sat down by the roadside and read their letters. Those who had no letters opened the newspapers — those cruel newspapers, full of the war. It was dreadful to read them, in this lovely spot, on this calm SeptemLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 135 ber Sunday, with the good pastor and his innocent flock preparing to begin the worship of Him who commanded " Love your enemies ; bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you." Oh, what a mockery " church " seemed ! You little children cannever understand the pain of it; but you will when you are grown up. May God grant that in your time you may never suffer as we have done, but. that His mercy may then have brought permanent peace; beating "swords into ploughshares, and spears into pruning-hooks," for ever and ever, throughout the world ! Sunny's mamma prayed so with all her heart, when, the newspaper laid down, she sat on a stone outside the church, with her child playing beside her ; far enough not to disturb the congregation, but near enough to catch a good deal of the service, which was the English Episcopal service ; there being few Presbyterians in this district of Scotland, and not a Presbyterian church within several miles. Presently a harmonium began to sound, and a small choir of voices, singing not badly, began the Magnificat. It was the first time in her life that the little girl had heard choral music — sev136 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. eral people singing all together. She pricked up her ears at once, with the expression of intense delight that all kinds of music bring into her little face. " Mamma, is that church ? Is that my papa singing?" Mamma did not think it was, but it might be Maurice's papa, and his mamma, and Lizzie, and several other people ; Sunny must listen and be quite quiet, so as not to disturb them. So she did, good little girl ! sitting as mute as a mouse all the while the music lasted, and when it ceased, playing about, still quietly ; building pebble mountains, and gathering a few withered leaves to stick on the top of them. For she and her mamma were sitting on the gravel walk of the school-master's garden ; beside a row of flower-pots, still radiant with geraniums and fuchsias. They were so close to the open window under which stood the pulpit, that mamma was able to hear almost every word of the sermon — and a very good sermon it was. When it ended, the friendly little congregation shook hands and talked a little ; then separated, half going up and the other half down the road. The minister came home to dinner, walking between Maurice and Eddie, of whom LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 137 he was a particular friend. They always looked forward to this weekly visit of his as one of the Sunday enjoyments, for he was an admirable hand at an oar, and Eddie, who tyrannized over him in the most affectionate way, was quite sure of " a low " when the minister was there. So, after dinner, all went out together, parents and children, pastor and flock, in two boats, and rowed peacefully up and down the loch, which had fallen into the cool gray shadow of evening, with the most gorgeous sunsetlight resting on the mountains opposite, and gradually fading away, higher and higher, till the topmost peaks alone kept the glow. But that they did to the very last; like a good man who, living continually in the smile of God, lives cheerfully on to the end. Sunny and her mamma watched the others, but did not go out, it being near the child's bedtime; and unless it is quite unavoidable, nobody ever puts Sunny to bed, or hears her say her little prayers, except her own mamma. She went to sleep quite happily, having now almost forgotten to ask for Tommy Tinker, or any other story. The continual excitement of her life here left her so sleepy that the minute she had her little night-gown on, she was ready 138 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. to shut her eyes and go off into what mamma calls "the land of Nod." A^d so ended, for her, the first Sunday in the glen, which, in its cheerful, holy peace, was a day long to be remembered. But the little boys, Maurice and Eddie, who did not go to bed so early > after the loch grew dark, and the rowing was all done, spent a good long evening in the drawing-room, climbing on the minister's knees, and talking to him about boats and salmon, and all sorts of curious things : he was so very kind to little children. And after the boys were gone to bed, he and the elder folk gathered round the not unwelcome fire, and talked too. This good minister, who spent his life in the lonely glen, with very little money — so little that rich Southern people would hardly believe an educated clergyman could live upon it at all — and almost no society, except that of the few cottagers and farmers scattered thinly up and down, yet kept his heart up, and was cheerful and kindly, ready to help old and young, rich and poor, and never complaining of his dull life, or any thing else — this gentleman, I say, was a pattern to both great folk and small. The one only subject of discontent in the house, if any body could feel discontent in such LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 139 a pleasant place and amid such happy circumstances, was the continued fine weather. While the sky remained unclouded, and the loch as smooth as glass, no salmon would bite. They kept jumping up in the liveliest and most provoking way; sometimes you could see their heads and shoulders clean out of water, and of course they looked bigger than any salmon ever seen before. Yainly did the master of the house and his guests go after them whenever there was the least cloud on the sky, and coax them to bite with the most fascinating flies and most alluring hooks : they refused to take the slightest notice of either. Only trout, and they not big ones, ever allowed themselves to be caught. The children and mammas, delighting in the warm sunshiny weather, did not grieve much, but the gentlemen became quite low in their spirits, and at last, for their sakes, and especially for the sake of that one who only cared for fishing, and had come so far to fish, the whole household began to watch the sky, and with great self-sacrifice to long for a day — a whole day — of good, settled, pelting rain. And on the Monday following this bright Sunday, it seemed likely. The morning was rather dull, the sunshiny haze which hung over 140 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the mountains melted away, and they stood out sharp and dark and clear. Towards noon, the sky clouded over a little — a very little ! Hopefully the elders sat down to their four o'clock dinner, and by the time it was over a joyful cry arose, . " It's raining ! it's raining !" Every body started up in the greatest delight. " Now we shall have a chance of a salmon !" cried the gentlemen, afraid to hope too much. Nevertheless, they hastily put on their great-coats, and rushed down to the pier, armed with a rod apiece, and with Donald the keeper to row them; because if they did hook a salmon, Eddie explained, they would want somebody to "low" the boat, and follow the fish wherever he went. Eddie looked very unhappy that he himself had not this duty, of which he evidently thought he was capable. But when his father told him he could not go, he obeyed, as he always did. He was very fond of his father. The three boys, Maurice, Eddie, and Franky — Phil, alas ! was too ill to be much excited, even over salmon-fishing — resigned themselves to fate, and made the best of things by climbing on the drawing-room table, which stood in front of the window, and thence watching the BUNNY'S MAMMA TELLING STORIES. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 141 boat as it moved slowly up and down the gray loch, with the four motionless figures sitting in it — sitting contentedly soaking. The little boys, Eddie especially, would willingly have sat and soaked* too, if allowed. At length, as some slight consolation, and to prevent Eddie's dangling his legs out at the open window, letting in the wind and the rain, and running imminent risk of tumbling out, twenty feet or so, down to the terrace below, Sunny's mamma brought a book of German pictures, and proposed telling stories out of them. They were very funny pictures, and have been Little Sunshine's delight 'for many months. So she, as the owner, displayed them proudly to the rest, and it having been arranged with some difficulty how six pairs of eyes could look over the same book, the party arranged themselves thus: Sunny's mamma sat on the hearth-rug, with her own child on her lap, Austin Thomas on one side, and Phil on the other ; while Maurice, Eddie, and Franky managed as well as they could to look over her shoulders. There was a general sense of smothering and huddling up, like a sparrow's nest when the young ones are growing a little too big : but every body appeared K 142 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. bappy. Now and then, Sunshine knitted her brows fiercely, as she can knit them on occasion, when Austin Thomas came crawling too close upon her mamma's lap, with his intrusively affectionate " Danmamma," but no open quarrel broke out. The room was so cosy and bright with fire-light, and every body was so comfortable, that they had almost forgotten the rain outside, also the salmon-fishing, when the door suddenly opened, and in burst. the cook. Mary was a kind, warm-hearted Highland woman, always ready to do any thing for any body, and particularly devoted to the children. Gaelic was 'easier to her than English always, but now she was so excited that she could hardly get out her words. " Master's hooked a salmon ! He's been crying" (calling) "on Neil to get out another boat and come to him. It must be' a very big salmon, for he is playing him up and down the loch. They've been at it these ten minutes and more. Mary's excitement affected the mistress, who laid down her baby. " Where are they ? Has any body seen them ?" " Any body, ma'am ? Why every body's down at the shore looking at them. The minLITTLE S UNSHINE • 8 HO LID A 7". 143 ister too ; he was 'passing, and stopped to see." As a matter of course, cook evidently thought. Even a minister could not pass by such an interesting sight. Nor did she seem in the least surprised when the mistress sent for her water-proof cloak, and, drawing the hood over her head, went deliberately out into the pelting rain, Maurice and Franky following. As for Eddie, at the first mention of salmon, he had been off like a shot, and was now seen standing on the very edge of the pier, gesticulating with all his might for somebody to take him into a boat. Alas ! in vain. Never was there such an all-absorbing salmon. As Mary had said, the whole household was out watching him and his proceedings. The baby, Austin Thomas, Sunny, and Sunny's mamma, were left alone, to take care of one another. These settled down again in front of the fire, and Sunny, who had been a little bewildered by the confusion, recovered herself, and, not at all alive to the importance of salmonfishing, resumed her entreating whisper. " 'Bout Grerman pictures, mamma ; tell me 'bout German pictures." And she seemed quite glad to go bacjc to 144 LITTLE SUNSHINE ' S HOLIDA Y. her old ways ; for this little girl likes nothing better than ^snuggling into her mamma's lap, on the hearth rug, and being told about German pictures. They came to her all the way from Germany as a present from a kind German friend, and some of them are very funny. They make regular stories, a story on each page. One is about a little greedy boy, so like a pig, that at last being caught with a sweetmeat byan old witch, she turns him into a pig in reality. He is put into a sty, and just about to be killed, when his sister comes in to save him with a fairy rose in her hand ; the witch falls back, stuck through with her own carving-knife, and poor piggy-wiggy, touched by the magic rose, turns into a little boy again. Then there is another page, '"bout effelants," as Sunny calls them — a papa elephant and a baby elephant taking a walk together. They come across the first Indian railway, and the papa elephant, who has never seen a telegraph wire before, is very angry at it and pulls it down with his trunk. Then there comes whizzing past a railway train, which makes him still more indignant, as he does not understand it at all. He talks very seriously on the subject to his little son, who listens with a respectful LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. , 145 air. Then, determined to put an end to such nuisances, this wise papa elephant marches right in front of the next train that passes. He does not stop it, of course, but it stops him, cutting him up into little pieces, and throwing him on either side the line. At which the little elephant is so frightened that you see him taking to his heels, very solid heels too, and running right away. Sunny heard this story* for the hundredth time, delighted as ever, and then tried to point out to Austin Thomas which was the papa "effelant" and which the baby "effelant." But Austin Thomas's more infantile capacity did not take it in ; he only "scrumpled" the pages with, his fat hands, and laughed. There might soon have been an open war if mamma had not soothed her little girl's wounded feelings by the great felicity of taking off her shoes and stockings, and letting her warm her little feet by the fire, while she lay back on her mamma's lap, sucking her Maymie's apron. The whole group were in this state of perfect peace : outside it had grown dark, and mamma had stirred the fire and promised to begin a quite new story, when the door again opened and Eddie rushed in. Maurice and Frankie followed, wet, of course, to the skin — ■ 146 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. for each left a little pool of water behind him wherever he stood — but speechless with excitement. Shortly after, up came the three gentlemen, likewise silent, but not from excitement at all "But where's the salmon?" asked Sunny's mamma. "Pray let us see the salmon." Maurice's papa looked as solemn as— what shall I say ? the renowned Buff, when he — ' ' Strokes his face with a sorrowful grace, And delivers his staff to the next place." He delivered his— no, it was not a stick but a " tommy " hat, all ornamented with fishingflies, and dripping with rain, to any body that would hang it up, and sank into a chair, saying mournfully, " You can't see the salmon." "Why not?" "Because he's at the bottom of the loch. He got away." "Got away!" " Yes, after giving us a run of a full hour." "An hour and five minutes by my watch," added Sunny's papa, who looked as dejected as the other two. Though no salmon-fisher, he had been so excited by the sport that he had sat drenched through and through, in the LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 147 stern of the boat, and afterwards declared " he didn't know it had rained." " Such a splendid fish he was — twenty-five pounds at least." 11 Twenty," suggested some one, who was put down at once with scorn. " Twenty-five, I am certain, for he rose several times, and I saw him plain. So did Donald. Oh, what a fish he was ! And he bit upon a trout-line ! To think that we should have had that one trout-line with us, and he chose it. It could hardly hold him, of course. He required the tenderest management. We gave him every charice" (of being killed, poor fish!) " The minute he was hooked, I threw the oars to Donald, who pulled beautifully, humoring him up and down, and you should have seen the dashes he made! He was so strong — such a big fish !" "Such a big fish!" echoed Eddie, who stood listening with open mouth and eyes that gradually become as melancholy as his father's. "And, as I said, we played him for an 'hour and five minutes. He was getting quite exhausted, and I had just called to Neil to row close and put the gaff under him, when he came up to the surface — I declare, just as if he wanted to have a stare at me — then made a 148 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. sudden dart, right under the boat. No line could stand that, a trout-line especially." "So he got away?" "Of course he did, with my hook in his mouth, the villain ! I dare say he has it there still." It did occur to Sunny's mamma that the fish was fully as uncomfortable as the fisherman, but she durst not suggest this for the world. Evidently, the salmon had conducted himself in a most unwarrantable manner, and was worthy of universal condemnation. Even after the confusion had a little abated, and the younger children were safely in bed, twenty times during tea he was referred to in the most dejected manner, and his present position angrily speculated upon — whether he would keep the hook in his mouth for the remainder of his natural life, or succeed in rubbing it off among the weeds at the bottom of the loch. " To be sure he will, and be just as cheerful as ever, the wretch ! Oh that I had him — hook and all ! For it was one of my very best flies." " Papa, if you would let me ' low ' you in the boat, while you fished, perhaps he might come and bite again to-morrow ?" This deep diplomatic suggestion of Eddie's LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 149 did not meet with half the success it deserved. Nobody noticed it except his mother, and she only smiled. "Well!" she said, trying to cheer up the mournful ^company. " Misfortunes can't be helped sometimes. It is sad. Twenty-five pounds of fish : boiled, fried into steaks, kippered. Oh dear ! what a help in the feeding of the household!" " Yes," said the patient gentleman, who, being unable to walk, could only sit and fish, and, having come all the way from London to catch a salmon, had never yet had a bite except this one. " Yes, twenty -five pounds at two shillings the pound — Billingsgate price now. That makes two-pound-ten of good English money gone to the bottom of the loch !" Every body laughed at this practical way of putting the matter, and the laugh a little raised the spirits of the gentlemen. Though still they mourned, and mourned, looking as wretched as if they had lost their whole families in the loch, instead of that unfortunate — or fortunate — salmon. "It isn't myself I care for," lamented Maurice's papa. " It's you others. For I know you will have no other chance. The rain will clear off — it's clearing off now, into a beautiful 150 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. starlight night. To-morrow will be another of those dreadfully sunshiny days. Not a fish will bite, and you will have to go home at the week's end — and there's that salmon lying snugly in his hole, with my hqpk in his mouth !" " Never mind," said the patient gentleman, who, though really the most to be pitied, bore his disappointment better than any body. " There's plenty of fish in the loch, for I've seen them every day jumping up ; and somebody will catch them, if I don't. After all, we had an hour's good sport with that fellow to-day — and it was all the better for him that he got away." With which noble sentiment the good man took one of the boys on his knee — his godson, for whom he was planning an alliance with his daughter, a young lady of four-and-a-half, and began discussing the settlements he expected — namely, a large cake on her side, and on the young gentleman's, at least ten salmon out of the loch, to be "sent in a basket to London. With this he entertained both children and parents, so that every body grew merry as usual, and the lost salmon fell into the category of misfortunes over which the best dirge is the shrewd Scotch proverb, " It's nae use greeting ower spilt milk." LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 151 CHAPTER IX. THE forebodings of the disappointed salmon-fishers turned out true. That wet Monday was the first and last day of rain, for weeks. Scarcely ever had such a dry season been known in the glen. Morning after morning the gentlemen rowed out in a hopeless manner, taking their rods with them, under a sky cloudless and hot as June : evening after evening, if the slightest ripple arose, they went out again, and floated about lazily in the gorgeous sunset, but not a salmon would bite. Fish after fish, each apparently bigger than the other, kept jumping up, sometimes quite close to the boat. Some must have swum under the line and looked at it, made an examination of the fly and laughed at it, but as for swallowing it, Oh dear, no ! Not upon any account. What was most tantalizing, the gardener, going outf one day, without orders, and with one of his' master's best lines, declared he had 152 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. booked a splendid salmon ! As it got away, and also carried off the fry, a valuable one, perhaps it was advisable to call it a salmon, but nobody quite believed this. It might have been only a large trout. By degrees, as salmon-fishing, never plentiful, became hopeless, and game scarcer than ever, the gentlemen waxed dull, and began to catch at the smallest amusements. They grew as excited as the little boys over nutting-parties, going in whole boat-loads to the other side of the loch, and promising to bring home large bags of nuts for winter consumption, but somehow the nuts all got eaten before the boats reached land. The clergyman was often one of the nuttingparty. He knew every nook and corner of the country round, was equally good at an oar or a fishing-rod, could walk miles upon miles across the mountains, and scramble over rocks as light as a deer. Besides, he was so kind to children, and took such pleasure in pleasing them, that he earned their deepest gratitude, as young things understand gratitude. But they are loving, any how, to those that love them, and to have those little boys climbing over him, and hanging about him, and teasing him on all occasions to give them " a low," LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 153 was, I dare say, sufficient reward for the good minister. Sunny liked him too, very much, and was delighted to go out with him. But there was such dangerous emulation between her and the boys in the matter of "fishing" for dead leaves, with a stick, which involved leaningover the boat's side, and snatching at them when caught, and mamma got so many frights, that she was not sorry when the minister announced thai; every nut-tree down the canal had been " harried " of its fruit, and henceforward people must content themselves with dry land and blackberries. This was not an exciting sport, and one day the gentlemen got so hard up for amusement that they spent half the morning in watching some gymnastics of Maurice and Eddie, which consisted in climbing up to their papa's shoulder and sitting on his head. . (A proceeding which Sunny admired so, that she never rested till she partly imitated it by " walking up mamma as if she was a tree," which she did at last like a little acrobat.) Children and parents became quite interested in their mutual performances; every body laughed a good deal, and forgot to grumble at the weather, when news arrived that a photog154 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. rapher, coming through the glen, had stopped at the house, wishing to know if the family would like their portraits taken. Now, any body, not an inhabitant, coming through the glen, was an object of interest in this lonely place. But a photographer ! Maurice's papa caught at the idea enthusiastically. " Have him in, by all means. Let us see his pictures. Let us have ourselves done in a general group." "And the children," begged their mamma. "Austin Thomas has never been properly taken, and baby not at all. I must have a portrait of baby." "Also," suggested somebody, "we might as well take a portrait of the mountains. They'll sit for it quiet enough ; which is more than can be said for the children, probably." It eertainly was. Never had a photographer a more hard-working morning. No blame to the weather, which (alas, for the salmon-fishers !) was perfect as ever ; but the difficulty of catching the sitters, and arranging them, and keeping them steady, was enormous. First, the servants all wished to be taken ; some separately, and then in a general group, which was arranged beside the kitchen door, the scullery being converted into a " dark LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 155 room " for the occasion. One after the other, the maids disappeared, and re-appeared fulldressed, in the most wonderful crinolines and chignons, but looking not half so picturesque as a Highland farm-girl, who, in her woollen striped petticoat and short gown, with her dark red hair knotted up behind, sat on the wall of the yard, contemplating the proceedings. The children ran hither and thither highly delighted, except Franky and Austin Thomas, who were made to suffer a good deal, the latter being put into a stiff white pique frock, braided with black braid, which looked exactly as if some one had mistaken him for a sheet of letter-paper and begun to write upon him ; while Franky, dressed in his Sunday's best, with his hair combed and face clean, was in an aggravating position for his ordinary week-day amusements. He consoled himself by running in and out among the servants, finally sticking himself in the centre of the group, and being depicted there, as natural as life. A very grand picture it was, the men-servants being in front — Highland men always seem to consider themselves superior beings, and are seen lounging about and talking, while the women are shearing, or digging, or hoeing potatoes. The maids stood in a row behind, 156 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. bolt upright, smiling as bard as they could, and little Franky occupied the foreground, placed between the gardener's knees. A very successful photograph, and worthy of going down to posterity, as doubtless it will. Now for the children. The baby, passive in an embroidered muslin frock, came out, of course, as a white mass with something resembling a face at the top ; but Austin Thomas was a difficult subject. He wouldn't sit still, no, not for a minute, but kept wriggling about on the kitchen chair that was brought for him, and looked so miserable in his stiff frock, that his expression was just as if he were going to be whipped, and didn't like it at all. In vain Franky, who always patronized and protected his next youngest brother in the tenderest way, began consoling him, "Never mind, sonnie" — that was Franky's pet name for Austin — " they shan't hurt you. I'll take care they don't hurt you." Still, the great black thing, with the round glass eye fixed upon him, was too much for Austin's feelings. He wriggled, and wriggled, and never would his likeness have been taken at all — at least, that morning — if somebody had not suggested "a piece." Off flew Mary the cook, and brought back the largest "piece" — LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 157 bread with lots of jam upon it — that ever little Scotchman revelled in. Austin took it, and, being with great difficulty made to understand that he must pause in eating now and then, the photographer seized the happy moment, and took him between his mouthfuls, with Franky keeping guard over him the while, lest any body did him any harm. And a very good picture it is, though neither boy is quite handsome enough, of course. No photographs ever are. Little Sunshine, meanwhile, had been deeply interested in the whole matter. She was quite an old hand at it, having herself sat for her photograph several times. " Would you like to see my likenesses?" she kept asking any body or every body; and brought down the whole string of them, describing them one by one : " Sunny in her mamma's arms, when she was a little baby, very cross;" "Sunny just going to cry;" " Sunny in a boat ;" " Sunny sitting on a chair;" "Sunny with her shoes and stockings off, kicking over a basket;" and lastly (the little show-woman always came to this with a scream of delight), "That's my papa and mamma, Sunny's own papa and mamma, both together !" 158 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. Though, then, she had not been in the least afraid of the camera, but, when the great glass eye looked at her, looked steadily at it back, still she did not seem to like it now. She crept beside her mamma and her Lizzie, looking on with curiosity, but keeping a long way off, till the groups were done. There were a few more taken, in one of which Sunny stood in the door-way in her Lizzie's arms. And her papa and mamma, who meanwhile had taken a good long walk up the hill-road, came back in time to figure in two rows of black dots on either side of a shady road, which were supposed to be portraits of the whole party. The mountains opposite also sat for their likenesses — which must have been a comfort to the photographer, as they at least could not "move." But, on the whole, the honest man made a good morning's work, and benefited considerably thereby. Which was more than the household did. For, as was natural, the cook being dressed so beautifully, the dinner was left pretty much to dress itself. Franky and Austin Thomas suffered so much from having on their best clothes that they did not get over it for ever so long. And Sunny, too, upset' by these irregular proceedings, when taking a long promLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 159 ised afternoon walk with, ber papa, was as cross as such a generally good little girl could be : insisting on being carried the whole way, and carried only by her mamma. And though, as mamma often says, " She wouldn't sell her for her weight in gold," she is a pretty considerable weight to carry on a warm afternoon. Still the day had passed pleasantly away, the photographs were alldone, to remain as memorials of the holiday, long after it was ended. In years to come, when the children are all men and women, they may discover them in some nook or other, and try to summon up faint recollections of the time. Oh ! if Little Sunshine might never cry except to be carried in mamma's arms ! and Austin Thomas find no sorer affliction in life than sitting to be photographed in stiff white clothes ! But that can not be. They must all bear their burdens, as their parents did. May God take care of them when we can do it no more ! The week had rolled by — weeks roll by so fast ! — and it was again Sunday, the last Sunday at the glen, and just such another as before ; calm, still, sunshiny : nothing but peace on earth and sky. Peace ! when far away beyond the circle of mountains within which parents and children were enjoying such inno160 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. cent pleasures, such deep repose, there was going on, for other parents and children, the terrible siege of Paris. Week bj week, and day by day, the Germans were closing in round the doomed city, making ready to destroy by fire, or sword, or famine — all sent by man's hand, not God's — hundreds, thousands of innocent enemies. Truly, heaven will have been well filled, and earth well emptied during the year 1870. What a glorious summer it was, as to weather, will long be remembered in Scotland. Even up to this Sunday, the 2d of October, the air was balmy and warm as June. Every body gathered outside on the terrace, including the forlorn salmon-fishers, whose last hope was now extinguished, for the patient gentleman, and Sunny's papa, too, were to leave next morning. And the fish jumped up in the glassy loch, livelier than ever, as if they were having a special jubilee in honor of their foe's departure. He sat resigned and cheerful, smoking his cigar, and protesting that, with all his piscatory disappointments, this was the loveliest place he had ever been in, and that he had spent the pleasantest of holidays ! There he was left to enjoy his last bit of the mountains and loch in LITTLE SUNSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. 1G1 quiet content, while every body else went to church. Even Little Sunshine. For her mamma and papa had taken counsel together whether it was not possible for her to be good there, so as at least to be no hindrance to other people's going, which was as much as could be expected for so small a child. Papa doubted this, but mamma pleaded for her little girl, and promised to keep her good if possible. She herself had a great desire that the first time ever Sunny went to church should be in this place. So they had a talk together,. mamma and Sunny, in which mamma explained that Sunny might go to church, as Maurice and Eddie did, if she would sit quite quiet, as she did at prayers, and promise not to speak one word, as nobody ever spoke in church excepting the minister. She promised, this little girl who has such a curious feeling about keeping a promise, and allowed herself to be dressed without murmuring — nay, with a sort of dignified pride — to "go to church." She even condescended to have her gloves put on, always a severe trial; and never was there a neater little figure, all in white from top to toe, with a white straw hat, as simple as possible, 162 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. and the yellowcurls tumbling down from under it. As she put. her little hand in her mamma's and they two started together, somewhat in advance of the rest, for it was a long halfmile for such baby-feet, her mamma involuntarily thought of a verse in a poem she learnt when she herself was a little girl : "Thy dress was like the lilies, And thy heart was pure as they; One of God's holy angels, Did walk with me that day." Only Sunny was not an angel, but an ordinary little girl. A good little girl generally, but capable of being naughty sometimes. She will have to try hard to be good every day of her life, as we all have. Still, with her sweet grave face, and her soft pretty ways, there was something of the angel about her this day. Her mamma tried to make her understand, in a dim way, what "church" meant— that it_ was saying " thank you!" to God, as mamma did continually ; especially for His giving her her little daughter. How He lived up in the sky, and nobody saw Him, but He saw every body; how He loved Little Sunshine, just as her papa and mamma loved her, and was glad when she was good, and grieved when she was LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 163 naughty. This was all the child could possibly take in, and even thus much was doubtful ; but she listened, seeming as if she comprehended a small fragment of the great mystery which even we parents understand so little. Except that when we look at our children, and feel how dearly we love them, how much we would both do and sacrifice for them, how if we have to punish them it is never in anger but in anguish and pain, suffering twice as much ourselves the while — then we can faintly understand how He who put such love into us, must Himself love infinitely more, and meant us to believe this, when He called Himself our Father. Therefore it was that through her papa's and mamma's love Sunny could best be taught her first dim idea of God. She walked along very sedately, conversing by the way, and not attempting to dart from side to side, after one object or another, as this butterfly child always does on a week-day. But Sunday, and Sunday clothes, conduced exceedingly to proper behavior. Besides, she felt that she was her mamma's companion, and was proud accordingly. Until, just before reaching the church, came a catastrophe which certainly could not have happened in any other church-going walk than this. 164 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. A huge, tawny-colored bull stood in the centre of the road, with half a dozen cows and calves behind him. They moved away, feeding leisurely on either side the road, but the bull held his ground, looking at mamma and Sunny from under his shaggy brows, as if he would like to eat them up, "Mamma, take her!" whispered the poor little girl, rather frightened, but neither crying nor screaming. Mamma popped her prayer-book in her pocket, dropped her parasol on the ground, and took up her child on her left arm, leaving the right arm free. A fortnight ago she would have been alarmed, but now she understood the ways of these Highland cattle, and that they were not half so dangerous as they looked. Besides, the fiercest animal will often turn before a steady, fearless human eye. So they stood still, and faced the bull, even Sunny meeting the creature with a gaze as firm and courageous as her mamma's. He stood it for a minute or so, then he deliberately turned tail, and walked up the hill-side. "The big bull didn't hurt Sunny! He wouldn't hurt little Sunny, would he, mamma !" said she, as they walked on together. She has the happiest conviction that no creaLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 1C5 fore in the world would ever be so unkind as to hurt Sunny. How 'should it — when she is never unkind to any living thing? When the only living thing that ever she saw hurt — a wasp that crept into the carriage, and stung Sunny on her poor little leg, and her nurse was so angry that she killed it on the spot — caused the child a troubled remembrance. She talked, months afterwards, with a grave countenance, of "the wasp that "was obliged to be killed, because it stung Sunny." She soon looked benignly at the big bull, now standing watching her from the hill-side, and wanted to play with the little calves, who still staid feeding near. She was also very anxious to know if they were going to church too ? But before the question — a rather puzzling one — could be answered, she was overtaken by the rest of the congregation, including Maurice and Eddie, with their parents. The two boys only smiled at her, and walked into church, so good and grave that Sunny was impressed into preternatural gravity too. When the rest were seated, she, holding her mamma's hand, walked quietly in as if accustomed to it all, and joined the congregation. The seat they chose was, for precaution, the one nearest the door, and next to u the pauper," 166 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. •an old man who alone of all the inhabitants of the glen did not work, but received parish relief. He was just able to come to church, but looked as if he had " one foot in the grave," as people say (whither, indeed, the other foot soon followed, for the poor old man died not many weeks after this Sunday). He had a wan, wearjr, but uncomplaining face ; and as the rosy child, with her bright curls, her fair fresh cheeks, and plump round limbs, sat down upon the bench beside him, the two were a strange and touching contrast. Never did any child behave better than Little Sunshine, on this her first going to church. Yes, even though she soon caught sight of her own papa, sitting a few benches off, but afraid to look at her lest she should misbehave. Also of Maurice's papa and mamma, and of Maurice and Eddie themselves, not noticing her at all, and behaving beautifully. She saw them, but, faithful to her promise, she did not speak one word, not even in a whisper to mamma. She allowed herself to be lifted up and down, to sit or stand as the rest did, and when the music began she listened with an ecstasy of pleasure on her little face ; but otherwise she conducted herself as well as if she had been thirteen, instead of not quite three years old. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 167 Once only, when the prayers were half through, and the church was getting warm, she gravely took off her hat and laid it on the bench before her — sitting the rest of the service with her pretty curls bare — but that was all. Daring the sermon she was severely tried. Not by its length, for it was fortunately short, and she sat on her mamma's lap, looking fixedly into the face of the minister, as pleased with him in his new position as when he was rowing her in the boat, or gathering nuts for her along the canal bank. All were listening, as attentive as possible, for every body loved him, Sundays and week-days ; and even Sunny herself gazed as earnestly as if she were taking in every word he said — when her quick little eyes were caught by a new interest — a small, shaggy Scotch terrier, who put his wise-looking head inquiringly in at the open door. Oh, why was the church door left open ? No doubt, so thought the luckless master of that doggie! He turned his face away; he kept as quiet as possible, hoping not to be discovered ; but the faithful animal was too much for him. In an ecstasy of joy, the creature rushed in and out and under several people's legs, till he got to the young man who owned him, and then jumped upon him in unmistak168 able recognition. Happily, he did not bark; indeed, bis master, turning red as a peony, beld bis band over tbe creature's mouth. "What was to be done? If he scolded the dog, or beat him, there would be a disturbance immediately ; if he encouraged or caressed him, the loving beast would have begun — in fact, he did slightly begin — a delighted whine. All the perplexed master could do was to keep him as quiet as circumstances allowed, which he managed somehow by setting his foot on the wildly-wagging tail, and twisting his fingers in one of the long ears, the dog resisting not at all. Quite content, if close to his master, the faithful beast snuggled down, amusing himself from time to time by gnawing first a hat, and then an umbrella, and giving one small growl as an accidental footstep passed down the road; but otherwise behaving as as well as any body in church. The master, too, tried to face out his difficulty, and listen as if nothing was the matter ; but I doubt he rather lost the thread of the sermon. So did Sunny's mamma for a few minutes. Sunny is so fond of little doggies, that she fully expected the child to jump from her lap, and run after this one ; or, at least, to make a loud remark concerning it, for the benefit of LITTLE SUXSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. 169 • the congregation generally. But Sunny evidently remembered that "nobody spoke in church ;" and possibly she regarded the dog's entrance as a portion of the service, for she maintained the most decorous gravity. She watched him, of course, with all her eyes ; and once she turned with a silent appeal to her mamma to look too, but said not a word. The little terrier himself did not behave better than she, to the very end of the service. It ended with a beautiful hymn — " Thou from whom all goodness flows." Every body knows it, and the tune too ; which I think was originally one of those sweet litanies to the Virgin which one hears in French churches, especially during the month of May. The little congregation knew it well, and sang it well too. When Sunny saw them all stand up, she of her own accord stood up likewise, mounting the bench beside the old pauper, who turned half round, ancl looked on the pleasant child with a faint, pathetic • sort of smile. Strange it was to stand and watch the different people who stood singing, or listening to, that hymn ; Maurice and Eddie, with their papa and mamma; other papas and mammas with their little ones ; farmers and farm-serv170 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ants who lived in the glen, with a chance tourist or two who happened to be passing through ; several old Highland women, grim and gaunt with long hard-working lives ; the poor old pauper, who did not know that his life was so nearly over ; and lastly, the little three-years-old child, with her blue eyes wide open and her rosy lips parted, not stirring a foot or a finger, perfectly motionless with delight. • Verse after verse rose the beautiful hymn, not the less beautiful because so familiar : "O Thou from whom all goodness flows, I lift my soul fo Thee; In all my sorrows, conflicts, woes, O Lord, remember me! "When on my aching burdened heart, My sins lie heavily, Thy pardon grant, Thy peace impart, In love, remember me! "When trials' sore obstruct my way, And ills I can not flee, Oil ! let my strength be as my day, For good, remember me ! "When worn with pain, disease, and grief, This feeble body see, Give patience, rest, and kind relief, Hear, and remember me ! LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 171 "When in the solemn hour of death I wait Thy just decree, Be this the prayer of my last breath, 'O Lord, remember me!'" As Little Sunshine stood there, unconsciously moving her baby lips to the pretty tune — ignorant of all the words and their meaning — her mother, not ignorant, took the tiny soft hand in hers and said for her in her heart, "Amen." When the hymn was done, the congregation passed slowly out of church, most of them stopping to' speak or shake hands, for of course all'knew one another, and several were neighbors and friends. Then at last Sunny's papa ventured to take up his little girl, and kiss her, telling her what a very good little girl she had been, and how pleased he was to see it. The minister, walking home between Maurice and Eddie, who seized upon him at once, turned round to say that he had never known a little girl, taken to church for the first time, behave so remarkably well. And though she was too young to understand any thing except that she had been a good girl, and every body loved her and was pleased with her, still Sunny also looked pleased, as if satisfied that church-going was a sweet and pleasant thing. 172 LITTLESUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. CHAPTER X. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S delicious holiday — equally delicious to her papa and mamma too — was now fast drawing to a close. This Sunday sunset, more gorgeous perhaps than ever, was the last that the assembled party of big and little people watched together from the terrace. By the next Sunday, they knew, all of them would be scattered far and wide, in all human probability never again to meet, as a collective party, in this world. For some of them had come from the " under world," the Antipodes, and were going back thither .in a few months, and all had* their homes and fortunes widely dispersed, so as to make their chances of future reunion small. They were sorry to part, I think — even those who were nearly strangers to one another — and those who were friends were very sorry indeed. The children, of course, were not sorry at all, for they understood nothing about the matter. For instance, it did not occur in the LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 173 least to Sunny or to Austin Thomas (still viewing one another with suspicious eyes, and always on the brink of war, though Sunny kept her promise, and did not attack again), that the next time they met might be as big boy and girl, learning lessons, and not at all disposed to fight; or else as grown young man and woman, obliged to be polite to one another whether they liked it or not. But the elders were rather grave, and watched the sun set — or rather not the sun, for he was always, invisible early in the afternoon, the • house being placed on the eastern slope of the hill — but the sunset glow on the range of mountains opposite. Which, as the light gradually receded upward, the shadow pursuing, had been evening after evening the loveliest sight imaginable. This night especially, the hills seemed to turn all colors, fading at last into a soft gray, but keeping their outlines distinct long after the loch and valley were left dark. So, good-bye, sun ! When he rose again, two of the party would be on board a steamboat — the steamboat, for there was but one — sailing away southward, where there were no hills, no lochs, no salmon-fishing, no idle sunshinydays — nothing but work, work, work. For M 174 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. " grown-ups," as Sunny calls them, do really work ; though, as a little girl once observed pathetically to Sunny's mamma, " Ob, I wish I was grown up, and then I might be idle ! We children have to work so hard ! while you and my mamma do nothing all day long." (Oh dear !) Well, work is good, and pleasant too; though perhaps Sunny's papa did not exactly think so, when he gave her her good-night kiss, which was also good-bye. For he was to start so early in the morning that it was almost the middle of the night, in order to catch the steamer which should touch at the pier ten miles off, between six and seven A.M. Consequently, there was breakfast by candle-light, and hasty adieux, and a dreary departure of the carriage under the misty morning starlight ; every body making an effort to be jolly, and not quite accomplishing it. Then every body or as many as had had courage to rise, went to bed again, and tried to sleep, with varied success, Sunny's mamma with none at all. It recurred to her, as a curious coincidence, that this very day, twenty-five years before, after sitting up all night, she had watched, solemnly as one never does it twice in a life-time", a glorious sunrise. She thought she would go LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 175 out and watch another, from the hill-side, over the mountains. My children, did you ever watch a sunrise? ISTo ? Then go and do it as soon as ever you can. Not lazily from your bed-room window, but out in the open air, where you seem to hear and see the earth gradually waking up, as she does morning after morning, each waking as wonderful and beautiful as if she had not done the same for thousands of years, and may do it for thousands more. When the carriage drove off, it was still starlight — morning starlight, pale, dreary, and excessively cold; but now a faint colored streak of dawn began to put the stars out, and creep up and up behind the curves of the eastern hills. Gradually, the daylight increased — it was clear enough to see things, though every thing looked cheerless and gray. The grass and heather were not merely damp, but soaking wet, and over the loch and its low-lying shores was spread a shroud of white mist. There was something almost painful in the intense stillness; it felt as if all the world were dead and buried, and when suddenly a cock crew from the farm, he startled one as if he had been a ghost. But the mountains — the mountains ! Turn176 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ing eastward, to look at them, all the dullness, solitude, and dreariness of the lower world vanished. They stood literally bathed in light, as the sun rose up behind them, higher and higher, brighter and brighter, every minute. Suddenly, an arrow of light shot across the valley; and touched the flat granite bowlder on which, after a rather heavy, climb,' Sunny's mamma had succeeded in perching herself like a large bird, tucking her feet under her, and wrapping herself up as tightly as possible in her plaid, as some slight protection against the damp cold. But when the sunshine came, chilliness and cheerlessness vanished. And as. the beam broadened, it seemed to light up the whole world. How she longed for her child, not merely for company, though that would have been welcome in the extreme solitude, but that she might show her,what even such baby eyes could not but have seen — the exceeding beauty of God's earth, and told her how it came out of the love of God, who loved the world and all that was in it. How He-loved Sunn}', •and would take care of her all her life, as He had taken care of her, and of her mamma, too. How, if she were good and loved Him back again, He would be sure to make for her, LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 177 through all afflictions, a happy life ; since, like the sunrise, " His mercies are new every morning, and His compassions fail not." Warmer and warmer the cold rock grew ; a few birds began to twitter, the cocks crowed from the farm-yard, and from one of the cottages a slender line of blue peat-smoke crept up, showing that somebody else was awake besides Sunny's mamma ; which was rather a comfort — she was getting tired of having the world all to herself. Presently an old woman came out of a cottage-door, and went to the burn for water, probably to make her morning porridge. A tame sheep followed her, walking leisurely to the burn and back again, perhaps with an eye to the porridge-pot afterwards. And a lazy pussy-cat also crept out, and climbed on the roof of the cottage, for a little bit of sunshine before breakfast. Sunny's mamma also began to feel that it was time to see about breakfast, for sunrise on the mountains makes one very hungry. Descending the hill was worse than ascending, there being no regular track, only some marks of where the sheep were in the habit of climbing. And the granite rocks presented a flat sloping surface, sometimes bare, sometimes 178 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. covered with slippery moss, which was not too agreeable. Elsewhere, the ground was generally boggy, with tufts of heather between, which one might step or jump. But as soon as one came to a level bit it was sure to be bog, with little streams running through it, which had to be crossed somehow, even without the small convenience of stepping-stones. Once, when her stout stick alone saved her from a sprained ankle, she amused herself with thinking how in such a case she might have shouted vainly for help, and how bewildered the old woman at the cottage would have been on finding out that the large creature, a sheep as she .probably supposed, sitting on the bowlder overhead, which she had looked up at once or twice, was actually a wandering lady! It was now half-past seven, and the usual breakfast party on the door-step was due at eight. Welcome was the sound of little voices, and the patter of small eager feet along the gravel walk. Sunny 's mamma had soon her own child in her arms, and the other children round her, all eating bread and butter and drinking milk with the greatest enjoyment. The sun was now quite warm, and the mist had furled off the loch, leaving it clear and smooth as ever. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 179 Suddenly Eddie's sharp eyes caught something there which quite interrupted his meal. It was a water-fowl, swimming in and out among the island of water-lilies, and even coming as close in shore as the pier. Not one of the nine geese, certainly ; this bird was dark-colored, and small, yet seemed larger than the water-hens, which also were familiar to the children. Some one suggested it might possibly be a wild duck. Eddie's eyes brightened, " Then might I 'low 'in a boat, with papa's gun, and go and shoot it?" This being a too irregular proceeding, Sunny's mamma proposed a medium course, namely, that Eddie should inform his papa that there was a bird supposed to be a wild duck, and then he might do as he thought best about shooting it. Maurice and Eddie were accordingly off like lightning; three of Maurice's worms, which had taken the opportunity of crawling out of his pocket and on to the tray, being soon afterwards found leisurely walking over the bread and butter plate. Franky and Austin Thomas took the excitement calmly, the one thinking it a good chance of eating up his brothers' rejected shares, and the other proceeding unno180 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ticed to his favorite occupation of filling the salt-cellar with sand from the walk. Soon, Donald, who had also seen the bird, appeared, with his master's gun all ready, and the master having got into his clothes in preternatu rally quick time, hurried down to the loch, his boys, accompanying him. Four persons, two big and two little, after one unfortunate bird ! which still kept swimming about, a tiny black dot on the clear w T ater, as happy and unconscious as possible. The ladies, too, soon came out and watched the sport from the terrace ; wondering whether the duck was within range of the gun, and whether it really was a wild duck, or not. A shot, heard from behind the trees, deepened the interest ; and when, a minute after, a boat containing Maurice, Eddie, their papa, and Donald, was seen to pull off from the pier, the excitement was so great that nobody thought about breakfast. " It must be a wild duck ; they have shot it : it will be floating on the water, and they are going after it in the boat." " I hope Eddie will not tumble into the water, in his eagerness to pull the bird out." . . " There — the gun is in the boat with them ! LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 181 Suppose Maurice stumbles over it, and it goes off and shoots somebody." Such were the maternal -forebodings, but nothing of the sort happened, and by-and-by, when breakfast was getting exceedingly cold, a little procession, all unharmed, was seen to wind up from the loch, Eddie and Maurice on either side of their papa. He walked between them, shouldering his gun, so that loaded or not, it could not possibly hurt his little boys. But he looked extremely dejected, and so did Donald, who followed, bearing " the body " — of a poor little dripping, forlorn-looking bird. . "Is that the wild duck?" asked every body at. once. " Pooh ! It wasn't a wild duck at all. It was only a large water-hen. Not worth the trouble of shooting, certainly not of cooking. f And then we had all the bother of getting out the gun, and tramping over the wet grass to get a fair shot, and, after we shot it, of rowing after it, to fish it up out of the loch. Wretched bird !" Donald, imitating his master, regarded the booty with the utmost contempt, even kicking it with his foot as it lay, poor -little thing! But no kicks could, harm it now. Sunny only went up and touched it timidly, strok183 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. ing its pretty wet feathers with her soft little hand. . " Mamma, can't it fly ? why doesn't it get up and fly away? And it is so cold. Might Sunny warm it?" as she had once tried to warm the only dead thing she ever saw — a little field-mouse lying on the garden-walk at home, which she put in her pinafore and cuddled up to her little " bosie," and carried about with her for half an hour or more. Quite puzzled, she watched Donald carrying off the bir,d, and only half accepted mamma's explanation that " there was no need to warm it — it was gone to its bye-bye, and would not wake up any more." Though she was living at a shooting-lodge, this was the only dead thing Sunny had yet chanced to see, for there was so little game, about that the gentlemen rarely shot any. But this morning one of them declared that if he walked his legs off over the mountains, he must go and have a try at something. So off he set, guided by Donald, while the rest of the party fished meekly for trout, or went along the hill-road on a still more humble hunt after blackberries. Sometimes they wondered about the stray sportsman, and listened for gun-shots from the hills — the sound of a LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 183 gun could be heard for so very far in this still bright weather. And when at the usual dinner-hour he did not appear, they waited a little while for him. They were going at length to begin the meal, when he was seen coming leisurely along the garden walk. Eager were the inquiries of the master. " Well — any grouse?" "No." ".Partridges?" " No." " I knew it. There has not been a partridge seen here for years. Snipes, perhaps ?" " Never saw one." 11 Then, what have you been about? Have you shot nothing at all ?" " Not quite nothing. A roe-deer. The first I ever killed in my life. Here, Donald." With all his brevity, the sportsman could not hide the sparkle of his eye. Donald, looking equally delighted, unloosed the creature, which he had been carrying round his neck in the most affectionate manner, its fore legs clasped over one shoulder, and its hind legs over the other, and laid it down on the gravel walk. What a pretty creature it was, with its round slender shapely limbs, its smooth satin skin, 184 LITTLE S UNSHLNE ! S HO LID A T. and its large eyes, that in life would have been so soft and bright ! They were dim and glazed now, though it was scarcely cold yet. Every body gathered round to look at it, and the sportsman told the whole story of his shot. " She is a hind, you see ; most likely has a fawn somewhere not far off. For I shot her close by the farm here. I .was coming home, not over-pleased at coming so empty-handed, when I saw her standing on the hill-top, just over that rock there ; a splendid shot she was, but so far off that I never thought I should touch her. However, I took aim, and down she dropped. Just feel her. She is an admirable creature, so fat ! Quite a picture !" So it was, but a rather sad one. The deer lajr, her graceful head hopelessly dangling, and bloody drops beginning to ooze from her open mouth. Otherwise she might have been asleep — as innocent. Sunny, who had run with the boys to see the sight, evidently thought she was. "Mamma, look at the little baa-lamb, the dear little baa-lamb. Won't it wake up ?" • Mamma explained that it was not a baalamb, but a deer, and there stopped, considerin sc how to make her child understand that LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. * 185 solemn thing, death ; which no child can be long kept in ignorance of, and yet which is so difficult to explain. Meantime, Sunny stood looking at the deer, but did not attempt to touch it as she had touched the water-hen. It was so large a creatureto lie there so helpless and motionless. At last she looked up, with trouble in her eyes. "Mamma, it won't wake up. Make it wake up, please !" "I can't, my darling!" And there came a choke in mamma's throat — this foolish mamma, who dislikes "sport" — who looks upon soldiers as man-slayers, "glory" as a great delusion, and war a heinous crime. " My little one, the pretty deer has gone to sleep, and nobody can wake it up again. But it does not suffer. Nothing hurts it now. Come away, and mamma will tell you more about this another day." The little fingers contentedly twined themselves in her mamma's, and Sunshine came away, turning back now and then a slightly regretful look on the poor hind that lay there, the admiration of every body, and especially' of the gentleman who had shot it. " The first I ever shot," he repeated, with great pride. " I only wish I could stay and 186 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. eat her. But the rest of you will." (Except Sunny's mamma, who was rather glad to be spared that satisfaction.) A single day was now all that remained of the visit — a day which dawned finer than ever, making it so hard to quit the hills, and the loch, and all the charms of this beautiful place. Not a cloud on the sky, not a ripple on the waters, blackberries saying " come gather me," by hundreds from every bramble, ferns of rare sort growing on dikes, and banks, and roots of trees. This whole morning must be spent on the hill-side by Sunny and her mamma, combining business with pleasure, if possible. So they took a kitchen-knife as an extempore spade; a basket, filled with provisions, but meant afterwards to carry roots, and the well-known horn cup, which was familiar with so many burns. Sunny used it for all sorts of purposes besides drinking ; filled it with pebbles, blackberries, and lastly with some doubtful vegetables, which she called "ferns," and dug up, and brought to her mamma to take home '" very carefully." Ere long she was left to mamma's charge entirety, for this was the last day, and Lizzie had never climbed a mountain, which she was most anxious to do, having the common deluLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 187 sion that to climb a mountain is the easiest thing in the world — as it looks, from the bottom. Off she started, saying she should be back again directly, leaving mamma and the child to watch her from the latest point where there was a direct path — the cottage where the old woman had come out and gone to the burn at sunrise. Behind it was a large bowlder, sunshiny and warm to sit on, sheltered by a hayrick, on the top of which was gambolling a pussy-cat. Sunny, with her usual love for animals, pursued it with relentless affection, and at last caught it in her lap, where it remained about one minute, and then darted away. Sunny wept bitterly, but was consoled by a glass of milk kindly brought by the old woman ; with which she tried to allure pussy back again, but in vain. So there was nothing for it but to sit on her mamma's lap and watch her Lizzie climbing up the mountain, in sight all the way, but gradually diminishing to the size of a calf, a sheep, a rabbit ; finally of a black speck, which a sharp eye could distinguish moving about on the green hill-side, creeping from bush to bush, and from bowlder to bowlder, till at last it came to the foot of a perpendicular rock. 188 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. "She'll no climb that," observed the old woman, who had watched the proceeding with much interest. "Naebody ever does it: she'd better come down. Cry on her to come down." "Will she hear?" "Oh, yes." And in the intense stillness, also from the law of sound ascending, it was curious how far one could hear. To mamma's great relief, the black dot stopped in its progress. " Lizzie, come down," she called again, slowly and distinctly, and in a higher key, aware that musical notes will reach far beyond the speaking voice. " You've lost the path. Come down !" " I'm coming," was the faint answer, and in course of time Lizzie came, very tired, and just a little frightened. She had begun to climb cheerfully and rapidly at first, for the hill-side looked in the distance nearly as smooth as an English field. When she got there, she found it was rather different — that heather-bushes, bowlders, mosses, and bogs, were not the pleasantest walking. Then she had to scramble on all -fours, afraid to look downward, lest her head should turn dizzy, and she might lose her hold, begin rolling and rolling, and never stop LITTLE SUNSHINE'' 8 HOLIDAY. 189 till she came to the bottom. Still, she went on resolutely, her stout English heart not liking to be beaten even by a Scotch mountain ; clinging from bush to bush — at this point a small wood had grown up — until she reached a spot where the rock was perpendicular, nay, overhanging, as it formed the shoulder of the hill. "I might as well have climbed up the side of 'a house," said poor Lizzie, forlornly; and looked up at it, vexed at being conquered, but evidently thankful that she had got down alive. "Another timer—or if I have somebody with me — I do believe I could do it." Bravo, Lizzie ! Half the doings in the world are done in this spirit. ISTever say die! Try again. Better luck next time. Meanwhile she drank the glass of milk offered by the sympathizing old Highland woman, who evidently approved Of the adventurous English girl, then sat down to rest beside Little Sunny. But Sunny had no idea of resting. She never has, unless in bed and asleep. Xow she was bent upon also climbing a mountain — a granite bowlder about three feet high. "Look, mamma, look at Sunny! Sunny's going to climb a mountain, like Lizzie." N 190 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. Up she scrambled with both arms and legs — catching at the edges of the bowlder, but tumbling back again and again. Still she was not daunted. " Don't help me ! — don't help me ! "she kept saying. "Sunny wants to climb a mountain all by her own self." Which feat she accomplished at last, and succeeded instanding upright on the top of the bowlder, very hot, very tired, but triumphant. " Look, mamma ! look at Sunny ! Here she is !" Mamma looked ; in fact, had been looking out of the corner of her eye the whole time ; though not assisting at all in the courageous effort. "Yes, I see. Sunny has climbed a mountain: Clever little girl ! Mamma is so pleased !" How many "mountains" will she climb in her life, that brave little soul ! Mamma wonders often, but knows not. Nobody knows. In the mean time success was won. She, her mamma, and her Lizzie, had each "climbed a mountain." But they all agreed that though pleasant enough in its way, such a performance was a thing not to be attempted every day. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 191 CHAPTEB XL THE last day came — the last hour. Sunn} r , her mamma, and her Lizzie, had to turn their ways homeward — -a long, long journey of several hundred miles. To begin it at four in the morning, with a child, too, was decided as impracticable ; so it was arranged that they should leave over-night, and sleep at the only available place, an inn which English superiority scornfully termed a " public-house," but which here in the Highlands was called the "hotel," where "gentlemen could be accommodated with excellent shooting quarters." Therefore, it was supposed to be able to accommodate a lady and a child — for one night at least. Fortunately, the shooting gentlemen did not avail themselves of it; for the hotel contained only two guest-rooms. These being engaged, and the exact time of the boat next morning learnt — which was not so easy,as every body in the neighborhood gave different advice, and a different opinion — the departure was settled. 192 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. Lovelier than ever looked the hills and the loch when the carriage came round to the door. All the little boys crowded round it with vociferous farewell — which they evidently thought great fun — Sunny likewise. "Good-bye! good-bye!" cried she, as cheerfully as if it had been " how d'ye do," and obstinately refused to be kissed by any body. Indeed, this little girl does not like kisses, unless she offers them of her own accord. One onlygrief she had, but that was a sharp one. Maurice's papa, who had her in his arms, suddenly proposed that they should " send mamma away, and keep Sunny ;" and the scream of agony she gave ; and the frantic way she clung to her mamma, and would not look at any body for fear of being kept prisoner, was quite pathetic. At last the good-byes were over. For Little Sunshine these are as yet meaningless ; life to her is a series of delight — the new ones coming as the old ones go. The felicity of kissing her hand and driving away, was soon followed by the amusement of standing on her mamma's lap, where she could see "every thing along the road, which she had passed a fortnight before in dark night. Now it was golden twilight — such a twiLITTLE SILYSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. 193 light ! A year or two hence Sunny would have been in ecstasy at the mountains, standing range behind range, literally transfigured in light, with the young moon floating like a "silver boat" (only turned the wrong way uppermost) over their tops. As it was, the large distant world interested her less than the small near one — the trees that swept her face as she drove along the narrow road, and the numerous cows and calves that fed on either side of it. There was also a salt-water loch, with fishing-boats drawn up on the beach, and long fishing-nets hanging on poles ; but not a living creature in sight, except a heron or two. These stood on one leg, solemnly, as herons do, and then flew off, flapping their large wings with a noise that made Little Sunshine, as she expressed it, " nearly jump." Several times, indeed, she "nearly jumped" out of the carriage at the curious things she saw : such funny houses, such little windows — "only one pane, mamma" — and above all, the girls and boys barefooted, shock-headed, that hung about staring at the carriage as it passed. " Have those little children got no Lizzie to comb their hair ?" she anxiously inquired ; and mamma was obliged to confess that probably 194 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. they had not, at which Sunny looked much surprised. It was a long, long drive, even with all these entertainments ; and before it ended, the twilight had faded, the moon crept higher over the hill, and Sunshine asked in a whisper for " Maymie's apron." The little " Maymie's apron," which had long lain in abeyance, was produced, and she soon snuggled down in her mamma's arms and fell fast asleep. When she woke up the " hotel" was reached. Such a queer hotel ! You entered by a low door-way, which opened into the kitchen below, and a narrow staircase leading to the guest-rooms above. From the kitchen Sunny heard a baby cry.. She suddenly stopped, and would not go a step till mamma had promised she should see the baby — a very little baby, only a week old. Then she mounted with dignity up the rickety stairs, and began to examine her new apartments. They were only two, and as homely as they well could be. Beside the sitting-room was a tiny bed-room, with a " hole in the wall," where Lizzie was to sleep. This " hole in the wall " immediately attracted Sunny; she jumped in it, and began crawling about it, and tried to stand upright under it, which, being such a LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 195 very little person, -she was just able to do. Finally, she wanted to go to sleep in it, till, hearing she was to sleep with mamma, a much grander thing, she went up to the bed, and investigated it with great interest likewise. Also the preparations for her bath, which was to be in a washing-tub in front of the parlor fire — a peat fire. It had a delicious, aromatic smell, and it brightened up the whole room, which was very clean and tidy, after all. So was the baby, which shortly appeared in its mother's arms. She was a pale, delicate woman, speaking English with the slow precision of a Highlander, and having the selfcomposed, courteous manner that all Highlanders have. She looked much pleased when her baby was admired— though not by Sunny, who, never having seen so young a baby before, did not much approve of it, and especially disapproved of seeing it taken into her own mamma's arms. So presently it and its mother disappeared, and Sunny and her mamma were left to eat their supper of milk, bread and butter, and eggs ; which they did with great content. Sunny was not quite so content to go to bed, but cried a little, till her mamma set the parlor-door half open, that the fire-light might shine in. Yery soon she also 196 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. crept in beside her little girl ; who was then not afraid of any thing. But when they woke, in the dim dawn, it was under rather V frightening " circumstances. There was a noise below, of a most extraordinary kind, shouting, singing, dancing — yes, evidently dancing, though at that early hour of the morning. It could not have been continued from overnight, mamm.a having distinctly heard all the family go to bed, the children tramping loudly up the stairs, at. nine o'clock, after which the inn was quite quiet. No, these must be new guests, and very noisy guests too. They stamped, they beat with their feet, they cried " whoop !" or " hech !" or some other perfectly unspellable word, at regular intervals. Going to sleep again was impossible ; especially as Sunny, unaccustomed to such a racket, began to cry, and would have fallen into a downright sobbing fit, but for the amusement of going to the "hole in the wall," to wake her Lizzie. Upon which every body rose, the peat fire was rekindled, and the new day began. "The good folk below stairs must have begun it rather early. They were a marriage party who hacl walked over the hills, several miles, to see the bride and bridegroom off by the boat. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 1D7 " Sunny wants to look at them," said the child, who listens to every thing, and wants to have a finger in every pie. So, as soon as dressed, she was taken down, and stood at the door in her mamma's arms to see the fan. Very curious "fun" it was. About a dozen young men and women, very respectable-looking, and wonderfully dressed, though the women had their muslin skirts pretty well draggled — not surprising, considering the miles they had trudged over mountain and bog, in the damp dawn of the morning — were dancing with all their might and* main, the lassies with their feet, the lads with feet, heads, hands, tongues, snapping their fingers and crying " hech !" or whatever it was, in the most exciting manner. It was only excitement of dancing, however; none of them seemed the least drunk. They stopped a minute, at sight of the lady and child, and then went on again, dancing most determinedly, and as solemnly as if it were to save their lives, for the next quarter of an hour. English Lizzie, who had never seen a Highland reel before, looked on with as much astonishment as Sunny herself. That small person, elevated in her mamma's arms, gazed on 198 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLLDA Y. the scene without a single smile; there being no music, the dance was to her merely a noise and a scuffle. Presently she said gravely, " Now Sunny will go away." They went away, and after drinking a glass of milk — oh, what delicious milk those Highland cows give ! — they soon heard the distant paddles of the boat, as she steamed in between the many islands of which this sea is full. Then mounting an extraordinary vehicle,which in the bill was called a " carridge," they headed a procession, consisting of the wedding party walking sedately two and two, a young man and young woman arm in arm, down to the pier. The married couple were put on board the boat (together with Sunny, her mamma, and her Lizzie, who all felt very small, and of no consequence whatever), then there was a great shouting and waving of handkerchiefs, and a spluttering and splattering of Gaelic good wishes, and the vessel sailed away. By this time it was broad daylight, though no sun was visible. Indeed, the glorious sunrises seemed ended now ; it was a gray, cheerless morning, and so misty that no mountains could be seen to take farewell of. The delicious Highland life was all gone by like a dream. LITTLE SUNSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. 199 This homeward journey was over the same route that Sunny had travelled a fortnight before, and she went through it in much the same fashion. She ran about the boat, and made friends with half a dozen people, for no kindly face is long a strange face to Little Sunshine. She was noticed even by the grim weather-beaten captain (he had a lot of little people of his own, he said), only when he told her she was u a bonnie wee lassie," she once more indignantly repelled the accusation. "I'm not a* bonnie wee lassie. I'm Sunny, mamma's little Sunny," repeated she, and would not look at him for at least two minutes. She bore the various changes from sea-boat to canal-boat, etc., with her usual equanimity. At one place there was a great crush, and they got so squeezed up in a crowd that her mamma did not like it at all, but Sunny was perfectly composed, mamma's arms being considered protection against any thing. And when the nine locks came, she cheerfully disembarked and walked along the towing-path for half a mile, in the bravest manner. Gradually, as amusement began to fail her, she .found several playfellows on board, a little dog tied by a string, and a pussy cat shut up in a hamper, which formed part of the luggage of an unfor200 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. tunate gentleman' travelling to London with five daughters, six servants, and about fifty boxes — for he was overheard counting them. In the long, weary transit between the canalboat and the sea, Sunny followed this imprisoned cat, which mewed piteously ; and in its sorrows she forgot her own. But she was growing very tired, poor child! and the sunshine, which alwaj T s has a curious effect upon her temper and spirits, had now altogether disappeared. A white, dull, chill mist hung over the water, fortunately not thick enough to stop traffic, as had happened two days before, but still enough to make the river ver}' dreary. Little Sunshine, too, went under a cloud ; she turned naughty, and insisted on doing whatever she was bid not to do ; climbing in the most dangerous places, leaning over the boat's side to look at the waves; misbehavior which required a strong hand and watchful eyes to prevent serious consequences. But mamma was more sorry than angry, for it was hard for the little woman ; and she was especially touched when, being obliged to forbid some stale unwholesome fruit and doubtful " sweeties," over which Sunny lingered and longed, by saying " they belonged to the captain," the child answered sweetly. LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 201 " Bat if the .kind captain were to give Sunny some, then she might have them ?" The kind captain not appearing, alas! she passed the basket with a sigh, and went down to the engines. To see the gigantic machinery turning and turning, never frightened but only delighted her. And mamma was so thankful to find any thing to break the tedium of the fourteen hours' journey, that though her little girl went down to the engine-room neat and clean in a white pelisse, and came up again looking just like a little sweep, she did not mind it at all ! Daylight faded ; the boat emptied gradually of its passengers, including the gentleman with the large family and the fifty boxes ; and on deck it began to grow very cold. Sunny had made excursions down below for breakfast, dinner, and tea, at all of which meals she conducted herself with the utmost propriety, but now she took up her quarters permanently in the comfortable saloon. Not to sleep, alack ! though her mamma settled down in a corner, and would have given any thing for "just one little minute," as Sunny says, of quiet • slumber, but the child was now preternaturally wide awake, and as lively as a cricket. So was a little boy, named Wil203 LITTLE SUNSHLYE'S HOLIDAY. lie, with whom she had made friends, and was on such terms of intimacy that they sat on the floor and shared their food together, and then jumped about, playing at all sorts of games, and screaming with laughter, so that even the few tired passengers who remained in the boat, as she steamed up the narrow, foggy river, could not help laughing too. This went on for the space of two hours more, and even then, Sunny, who was quite good now, was with difficulty caught and dressed, in preparation for the stoppingof the boat, when she was promised she should see papa. But she will endure any martyrdom of bonnet-tying or boot-buttoning if only she thinks she is* going to meet her papa. Unluckily there had been some mistake as to hours, and when she was carried on deck, in the sudden darkness, broken only by the glimmer of the line of lights along the wharf, and plunged into the midst of a dreadful confusion — porters leaping on board and screaming to passengers, and passengers searching wildly for their luggage — no papa was there. To double her grief, she also lost her mamma, who of course had to see to things at once herself. Through the noise and • whirl she heard the voice of the child, "Mammal mamma!" It LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 203 was a cry not merely of distress — but agony, with a " grown-up " tone in it of actual despair. No doubt the careless jest of Maurice's papa had rankled in Ker little mind, and she thought mamma was torn from her in real truth, and forever. When at last mamma came back, the grasp with which the poor little girl clung to her neck was absolutely frantic. " Mamma went away and left Sunny — Sunny lost mamma," and mamma could feel the little frame shaking with terror and anguish. Poor lamb ! there was nothing to be done but to take her and hold her tight, and stagger with her somehow across the gangway to the cab. But even there she never loosened her clasp for a minute till she got safe into a bright warm house, where she found her own papa. Then the little woman was content. She had still another journey before her, and without her papa too. A night journey, which promised to be easy and comfortable, but turned out quite the contrary. A journey in which Sunny's powers of endurance were taxed to the utmost, so that it will be years before she forgets the wind-up of her holiday. Her papa put his family safe in a carriage all to themselves, and under special charge of 20-1 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. the guard. Then he left them, just settling down to sleep ; Sunny being disposed of in a snug corner, with an air-cushion for a pillow, and furry shawls wrapped about her, almost as cozy as in her own little crib, in which, after her various changes and vicissitudes, she was soon to repose once more. She fell asleep in five minutes, and her mamma, who w T as very tired, soon dozed also, until roused by a sharp cry of fright. There was the poor little girl, lying at the bottom of the carriage, having been thrown there by its violent rocking. It rocked still, and rocked for many many miles, in the most dreadful* manner. When it stopped the guard was appealed to, who said it was " the coupling-chains too slack," and promised to put all right. So the travellers went to sleep again, this time Sunny in her mamma's arms, which she refused to quit. Again more jolting, and another catastrophe; mamma and the child finding themselves lying both together on the floor. This time Sunny was much frightened, and screamed violentlj-, repulsing even her mamma. "I thought you were not my own mamma ; I thought you were somebody else," said she afterwards, and it w T as a lon^ time before she LITTLE SUXSHIXE'S HOLIDAY. 20.} came to her right self and cuddled down ; the oscillation of the carriage continuing so bad that it was as much as her mamma could do, by wrapping her own arms round her, to protect the poor child from being hurt and bruised. The guard, again appealed to, declared there was no danger, and that he would find a more comfortable carriage at the next stoppingplace : but in vain. It was a full train, and the only two seats vacant were in a carriage full of gentlemen, who might object to a poor, sleepy, crying child. The little party went hopelessly back. "Perhaps those gentlemen might talk so loud they might waken Sunny," said the child sagely, evidently remembering her experiences of five weeks ago. At any rate, nobody wished to try the experiment. Since there was no actual danger, the only remedy was endurance. Mamma settled herself as firmly as she could, making a cradle of her arms. There, at length, the poor child, who had long ceased crying, and only gave an occasional weary moan, feU into a doze, which ended in quiet sleep. She was very heavj-, and the hours seemed very long, but still they slipped away somehow. Nothing is absoluteO 206 LITTLE S UNSHLXE ' S HO LID A 7. \j unbearable when one feels that, being inevitable, it must be borne. Of course nobody slept, except the child, until near day-break, -when a new and more benevolent guard came to the rescue, had the coupling-chains fastened (which, they found, had never been done at all till now), and lessened the shaking of the carriage. Then tired Lizzie dropped asleep too, and the gray morning dawned upon a silent carriage, sweeping rapidly across the level English country, so different from that left behind. No more lochs, no more mountains. No more sunshine neither, as it appeared; for there was no sign of sunrise, and the day broke amidst pelting rain, which kept drip, drip, upon the top of the # carriage, till it seemed as if a deluge would soon be added to the troubles of the journey. But these were not so bad now. Yery soon the little girl woke up, neither frightened nor cross, but the same sunshiny child as ever. "Mamma!" she said, and smiled her own •beaming smile, and sat up and looked about her. "It's daylight. Sunny wants to get up." That getting up was a most amusing affair. It lasted as long as mamma's ingenuity could possibly make it last, without any assistance from poor worn-out Lizzie, who was left to LITTLE SUNSHINE y 8 HOLIDA T. 207 sleep her fill. First, Sunny's face and hands had to be washed with a damp sponge, and wiped with mamma's pocket handkerchief. Then her hair was combed and brushed, with a brush that had a looking-glass on the back of it ; in which she contemplated herself from time to time, laughing with exceeding merriment. Lastly, there was breakfast to be got ready, and eaten. A most original breakfast ! Beginning with a large pear, out of a basketful which a kind old gentleman had made up as a special present to Sunny; then some ham sandwiches — from which the ham was carefully extracted ; then a good drink of milk. To uncork the bottle in which this milk had been carried, and pour it into the horn cup without spilling, required an amount of skill and care which occupied both mamma and Sunny for ever so long. In fact, they spent over their dressing and breakfasting nearly an hour ; and by this time they were both in the best of spirits, and benignly compassionate to Lizzie, who slept on, and wanted no breakfast. And when the sun at last came out, a watery and rather melancholy orb, not at all like the sun of the Highlands, the child was as bright and merry as if she had not travelled 208 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. at all, and played about in the railway-carriage just as if it were her own nursery. t This was well, for several weary hours had still to be passed ; the train was far behind its time; and what poor mamma would have done without the unfailing good temper of her " sunshiny child," she could not tell. When London was reached, and the benevolent guard once more put his head into the carriage, with " Here we are at last. I should think you'd had eribugh of it, ma'am," even he could not help giving a smile to the "little Missy " who was so merry and so go'od. In London was an hour or two more of weary delay ; but it was under a kindly roof, and Sunny had a second beautiful breakfast, all proper, with tea-cups and a table-cloth ; which she did not seem to find half so amusing # as the irregular one in the railway-carriage. But she was very happy, and continued happy, telling all her adventures in Scotland to a dear old Scotchwoman whom she loves exceedingly, and who loves her back again. And being happy, she remained perfectly good, until once more put into a "puff-puff," to be landed at her own safe home. Home. Even the child understood the joy of going home. She began talking of i{ SunLITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDAY. 209 ny's nursery ;" " Sunny's white pussy ;" " Sunny's little dog Eose;" and recalling all the servants by name, showing she forgot nothing and nobody, though she had been absent so long. She chattered all the way down, till some ladies who were in the carriage could hardly believe she had been travelling all night. And when the train stopped, she was the first to look out of the window and call out "There's godmamma!" So it was ! Sunny's own kind godmamma, come unexpectedly to meet her and her tired mamma at the station; and oh! they were both so glad ! M Glad " was a small word to express the perfect and entire felicity of getting home — of finding the house looked just as usual; that the servants' cheerful faces beamed welcome ; that even the doggie Rose barked, and white pussy purred, as if both were glad Little Sunshine was back again. She marched up stairs, lifting her short legs deliberately one after the other, and refusing to be carried ; then ran into her nursery, just as if she Jiad left it only yesterday. And she "allowed" her mamma to have dinner with her there, sitting at table, as grand as if she were giving a dinner-party; and chattering like a little magpie to the very end of the meal. 210 LITTLE SUNSHINE'S HOLIDA Y. But after that she collapsed. So did her mamma. So did her Lizzie. They were all so dreadfully tired that human nature could endure no more. Though it was still broad daylight, and with all the delights of home around them, they went to bed, and slept straight on — mamma " all round the clock," and the child and her Lizzie for fourteen hours ! Thus ended Little Sunshine's Holiday. It is told just as it happened, to amuse other little people, who no doubt are as fond as she is of hearing " stories." Only this is not a story, but the real truth. Not the whole truth, of course, for that would be breaking in upon what grown-up people term " the sanctities of private life." But there is no single word in it which is not true. I hope you will like it, little people, simple as it is. And so, goodbye! THE END. ABBOTTS' JUVENILE BOOKS. THE FRANCONIA STORIES. By Jacob Abbott. In Ten Volumes. Beautifully Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 90 cents per Vol. ; the set complete, in case, $9 00. Each volume is a distinct and independent work, having no necessary connection of incidents with those that precede or follow it, while yet the characters, and the scenes in which the stories are laid, are the same in all. They present pleasing pictures of happy domestic life, and are intended not" only to amuse and entertain the children who shall peruse them, but to furnish them with attractive lessons of moral and intellectual instruction, and to train their hearts to habits of ready and cheerful subordination to duty and law. 1. Malleville. 6. Stuyvesant. 2. Mary Bell. 7. Agnes. 3. Ellen Linn. 8. Mary Erskine. 4. Wallace. 9. Rodolphus. 5. Beechnut. 10. Caroline. YOUNG CHRISTIAN SERIES. By Jacob Abbott. In Four Volumes. Richly Illustrated with Engravings, and Beautifully Bound. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75 per Vol. The set complete, Cloth, $7 00; in Half Calf, $14 00. 1. The Young Christian. 2. The Corner Stone. 3. The Way to Do Good. 4. Hoaryhead and M'Donner. 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Square 4to, complete in 12 large Volumes, or 36 small ones. "Hakpeb'b Stoky Books" can be obtained complete in Twelve Volumes, bound in blue and gold, eacb one containing Three Stories, for $21 00, or in Thirty-six thin Volumes, bound in crimson and gold, each containing One Story, for $32 40. The volumes may be had separately — the large ones ft $1 T5 each, the others at 90 cents each. VOL. I. BRUNO ; or, Lessons of Fidelity, Patience, and Self-Denial Taught by a Dog. "WILLIE AND THE MORTGAGE : showing How Much may be Accomplished by a Boy. THE STRAIT GATE; or, The Rule of Exclusion from Heaven. VOL. II. THE LITTLE LOUVRE; or, The Boys' and Girls' Picture-Gallery. PRANK ; or, The Philosophy of Tricks and Mischief. EMMA ; or, The Three Misfortunes of a Belle. VOL. III. VIRGINIA ; or, A Little Light on a Very Dark Saying. TIMBOO AND JOL1BA ; or, The Art cf Being Useful. TIMBOO AND FANNY; or, The Art of Self-Instruction. VOL. IV. 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The successive volumes of the series, though they each contain the life of a single individual, and constitute thus a distinct and independent work, followeach other in the maiu, in regular historical order, and each one continues the general narrative of history dowu to the period at which the next volume takes up the story ; so that the whole series presents to the reader a connected narrative of the line of general history from the present age back to the remotest times. The narratives are intended to be succinct and comprehensive, and are written in a very plain and simple style. They are, however, not juvenile in their character, nor intended exclusively for the young. The volumes are sufficiently large to allow each history to comprise all the leading facts in the life of the personage who is the subject of it, and thus to communicate all the information in respect to him which is necessary for the purposes of the general reader. 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I have read them with the greatest interest. To them I am indebted fur about all the historical knowledge J have." Abbotts Juvenile Books. CYRUS THE GREAT. DARIUS THE GREAT. XERXES. ALEXANDER THE GREAT. ROMULUS. HANNIBAL. PYRRHUS. JULIUS C-ESAR. • CLEOPATRA. NERO. ALFRED THE GREAT. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR RICHARD I. RICHARD II. RICHARD III. MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. •QUEEN ELIZABETH. CHARLES I. CHARLES II. JOSEPHINE. MARIA ANTOINETTE. MADAME ROLAND. HENRY IV. PETER THE GREAT. GENGHIS KHAN. KING PHILIP. HERNANDO CORTEZ. MARGARET OF ANJOU. JOSEPH BONAPARTE. QUEEN HORTENSE. LOUIS XIV. 6 Abbotts' Juvenile Boohs. MARCO PAUL SERIES. Marco Paul's Voyages and Travels in the Pursuit of Knowledge. By Jacob Abbott. Beautifully Illustrated. Complete in 6 Volumes, 16mo, Cloth, 90 cents per Volume. Price of the set, in case, $5 40. In New York. On the Erie Canal. In the Forests of Maine. In Vermont. In Boston. At the Springfield Armory. The design of these volumes is not simply to present a narrative of juvenile adventures, but also to communicate, in connection with them, a knowledge of the geography, scenery, and customs of the sections of country over which the young traveler is conducted. Marco Paul makes his journeyings under the guidance of a well-informed tutor, who takes care to give him all the information which he needs. The narrative is rendered still farther attractive by the introduction of personal incidents which would naturally befall the actors of the story. No American child can read this series without delight and instruction. But it will not be confined to 'the juvenile library. Presenting a vivid commentary on American society, manners, scenery, and institutions, it has a powerful charm for readers of all ages. RAINBOW AND LUCKY SERIES. By Jacob Abbott. * Beautifully Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 90 cents each. Handie.. Rainbow's Journey. The Three Pines. Selling Lucky. Up the River. 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PUBLISHED ON THE FOUNDATION ESTABLISHED IN MEMORY OF JAMES WESLEY COOPER OF THE CLASS OF 1865, YALE COLLEGE Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/whatistruthessayOOroge LONDON WHAT IS TRUTH? AN ESSAY IN THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE BY n/ ARTHUR KENYON ROGERS NEW HAVEN YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS • HUMPHREY MILFORD • OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS MDCCCCXXIII COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS THE JAMES WESLEY COOPER MEMORIAL PUBLICATION FUND The present volume is the sixth work published by the Yale University Press on the James Wesley Cooper Memo¬ rial Publication Fund. This Foundation was established March 30, 1918, by a gift to Yale University from Mrs. Ellen H. Cooper in memory of her husband, Rev. James Wesley Cooper, D.D., who died in New York City, March 16, 1916. Dr. Cooper was a member of the Class of 1865, Yale College, and for twenty-five years pastor of the South Congregational Church of New Britain, Connecticut. For thirty years he was a corporate member of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions and from 1885 until the time of his death was a Fellow of Yale Uni¬ versity, serving on the Corporation as one of the Successors of the Original Trustees. CONTENTS Belief and the Criterion of T ruth l Ifhe Nature of Certainty 29 If he Definition of if ruth or “Tfrueness” 55 Knowledge of Other Selves and of the Past 87 Some Competing theories 100 Relations 128 Some Metaphysical Implications 159 PREFACE I N a volume published not long ago and entitled Essays in Critical Realism —a volume due to the collaboration of several writers—there was pre¬ sented to the philosophical world a somewhat new analysis of the cognitive experience, centering about a conception to which, following Mr. Santayana’s terminology, the name of “essence” was applied. Critics generally seem to have found the conception a difficult one, not wholly through their own fault. It was the intention of the writers to recommend primarily a certain empirical description of the knowing experience; and having called attention, in terms of what knowledge actually means to the knower, to one aspect in particular that had, as they thought, commonly been overlooked or misinter¬ preted, they preferred to leave the matter here, especially since they were by no means in agreement about the next step. Their critics for the most part have asked for something further, and in the absence of any explicit account of the more ultimate philo¬ sophical status of the essence they have, perhaps naturally, found the whole doctrine obscure. The main object of the present volume is to make an attempt to supply this lack. Unfortunately the writer has no reason to suppose that the particular interpretation here offered would find favor with his former colleagues. PREFACE • • Xll I have, though with numerous changes, made use in the following pages of several articles already published in the Philosophical Review and the Journal of Philosophy. BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH I SHOULD like to be able to start off the inquiry on which I am embarking with a preliminary statement so simple and self-evident that it could be accepted by everyone. But since this is not to be expected in philosophy, I shall do the next best thing; I shall take what is to me the simplest and most obvious proposition I can hit upon. My pre¬ liminary definition accordingly will be this: Truth for me is what I cannot help believing. To make clear what I understand by this will perhaps take a little explaining. I say that this proposition appears to me almost in the nature of a truism so far as it goes. Certainly that which I do not believe I cannot in any intel¬ ligible sense call true; this would be to empty terms of all accepted meaning. And indeed everything that I really do believe must for the moment come under the head of what I call the true. But the words “can¬ not help believing” are intended to limit the field somewhat; for we are engaged on a philosophical inquiry, and what we are after in the end is not any¬ thing that may seem true, but what approves itself as true to the persistent inquirer. If we simply be¬ lieved things, the problem of truth would not yet have arisen. It is because we discover that a number 2 WHAT IS TRUTH? of things we have believed do not retain our belief, but turn out false or doubtful, that we set out to hunt for some standard truth which is really true. My statement in the first place is intended to pre¬ suppose this situation, and to identify real as dis¬ tinct from mere temporary and apparent truth with what we persist in believing after doubt and in¬ quiry—that from which we find ourselves unable to get away no matter what the sceptical temptation. For now suppose I find myself genuinely able to doubt a pretended truth—not simply to think of myself in imagination as doubting it under different circumstances; can the thing still belong to the cate¬ gory of the true? Evidently not; it belongs to the doubtfully true, or that about which I am in doubt whether it is true. It might be claimed that I still can determine that it should be held true by me through an act of will. But either this supposes that the doubt still persists in my mind, in which case I do not really believe it true, but merely want it to be true, or choose to act as if I believed it true; or else by my act of will I succeed in forgetting the doubt, excluding it from my consciousness. Then real be¬ lief indeed returns; but only because I have aban¬ doned critical reflection, and have gone back volun¬ tarily to a naive and prephilosophic state. With this preamble, I may go on to point out certain implications in the thesis, and thereby begin to make it more specific. In the first place, it implies that belief is a more fundamental concept than / BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 3 truth. We need, in other words, to start with the psychological existence of a certain peculiar attitude of mind, not with a reasoned definition, or with an objectively valid standard. We experience the belief before the question of truth arises at all; and we have to go back to the fact of belief to determine whether any truth is left at the end of the inquiry. If it is not—supposing such an outcome humanly possible—then we are sceptics, and truth for us does not exist. And if, on the contrary, we still find ourselves believing, this does not mean that we have discovered standards of truth which independently produce the belief, but, rather, that the beliefs left in the field are what we have to examine in order to find in them the marks which we then erect into a standard. And even if we do not succeed in analvz* ing them sufficiently to elicit the standard, we should still have to hold that the beliefs represent truth. We should be in a hard case indeed if man¬ kind before believing in truth had to wait for the philosophers to define its nature and conditions. This leads to a second point. When I say that truth is what we cannot help believing, I do not mean of necessity what it is logically impossible not to believe, or what cannot be believed without selfcontradiction, but what it is naturally, or physically, or morally, or practically, impossible not to believe after critical inquiry. It has been a very general assumption with philosophers that we have no such thing as truth, or knowledge, until we get what 4 WHAT IS TRUTH? can meet this test of logical certainty; and the assumption has had unhappy consequences. By set¬ ting up a goal extremely difficult to attain, if not entirely out of reach, it has tended to widen the gap between theoretical and practical truth, and has left in philosophy a general impression of scepticism quite out of relation to the concrete history of the growth of human knowledge. When we find man¬ kind assured of the possession of a great deal of knowledge which the philosopher asserts is not knowledge at all, it would seem more modest, as well as more fruitful, if philosophy were to modify its definition in the direction of common usage, in¬ stead of setting up an a priori definition of its own, and then condemning actual human knowledge be¬ cause it does not measure up to this. What accord¬ ingly the thesis maintains is, that the feeling of confidence, of settledness and assuredness, when this is not dogmatic, but is ready to lay itself open to all the evidence at hand, ought to be taken in the first instance as the sign that we are in possession of truth. If we actually have this, and continue after open-minded criticism to have it, in cases where the logical test cannot be applied, that means that we have no right at the start to identify the logical test with knowledge, and to demand that it must be met before we as philosophers are satisfied. If as human beings we are satisfied with less, then philosophy must accept this as a part of its data. And that men are thus capable of being satisfied is shown among BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 5 other things by the standing fact, frequently a mat¬ ter of perplexity to the metaphysician, that the be¬ lief in an outer world, or in the independent exist¬ ence of our fellows, or in the obligatoriness of moral law, survives with hardly an effort the most over¬ whelming critical assaults. Another explanation is perhaps needed in connec¬ tion with the words “for me.” A certain difficulty, it may be admitted, is present here, which can hardly be disposed of briefly. But if we are willing to stick for the time being to words as they are commonly understood, it is not difficult to make all the distinc¬ tions that are immediately relevant. The most direct source of confusion is that between “truth for me” and actual or objective truth. That this may stand for a genuine distinction, I should be myself the first to claim. Purely on the ground of experience, it is obvious that at least I may have at one time a con¬ viction of truth which afterwards I may lose. And our common interpretation goes further; it makes a difference not only between the feeling of truth now and later, but between the feeling or persuasion of truth and the real truth now. It holds that whatever my belief in the matter, a thing is really true or not true all the time; there is an objective truth or standard to which the personal belief may or may not correspond. In saying, then, that truth for me is what I cannot help believing, I do not mean to imply that truth in the so-called objective sense is determined by my 6 WHAT IS TRUTH 4 ? psychological beliefs. On the contrary, in every be¬ lief there is present the assumption of a validity which does not depend on the belief itself, but on objective conditions. All that I mean is, that whether the belief is justified or is a mistaken one, every truth that we actually have up must first be believed to be true by some man in particular; and therefore, for human purposes, it is impossible to separate what is really true from what is believed to be really true, and to get at the former apart from the belief. The fact may be one way or the other, or it may be something quite different from what has ever entered into the mind of man; but it be¬ comes a matter of human inquiry and human dispute only as it is the object of a belief. Reality, as it pre¬ sents a definite content that we can talk about, is subject to all the vicissitudes of human thought about reality. “Truth for me” means, therefore, that man can attain to a knowledge of reality, not by becoming himself identified with this reality, but only through belief about it; and while belief always supposes that it has got at the actual facts, we know that this supposition is not always correct. From such a chance of error we, as human beings, cannot possibly escape. No man, not an absolutist philosopher even, is able to get round the fact that any statements which he makes are after all his beliefs about things; they enter the field of discussion as reality inter¬ preted by him, a private individual. Truth, in other BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 7 words, is a term that belongs primarily to the realm of human thought about reality, and had better be confined to this.. When accordingly we mean to refer to the object of a true belief, it will be preferable to speak, not of what I have somewhat loosely called objective truth, but of objective reality, or fact. Objective truth means only beliefs that are really true; and since every belief supposes itself to be really true—contains, that is, a reference to reality which it assumes that it is adequately describing— from the standpoint of its own inner intention at least the word “objective” is superfluous. That the belief sometimes is mistaken is due simply to the fact that it is man who talks about truth; and man is not infallible. The problem of the criterion of truth is, accord¬ ingly, this: What, on reflection, justifies us in con¬ tinuing to hold to our confidence in the things we be¬ lieve to be true 4 ? And the problem divides itself into two parts: First, what are the original sources of belief 4 ? And, second, what is the test which we apply to strengthen our confidence, and justify it ration¬ ally , when for any reason it shows signs of failing? There are two main forms of primitive or intui¬ tive belief—by which I mean belief that rests on its own bottom, and does not depend upon security borrowed from other beliefs. There is on the one hand intuition in the stricter sense, where confidence seems to depend on the immediate seeing that a thing is self-evidently so. This it is apparently which 8 WHAT IS TRUTH? gives the type of certainty in our thinking, and which creates, perhaps more or less unconsciously, the philosophic demand for an infallible standard. I shall reserve for another section the examination of intuition in this narrow meaning, and of the character of certainty which attaches to it; mean¬ while the range of its application is obviously so limited that it can almost be disregarded in the great majority of significant problems. I may have an immediate and, it would seem, an indubitable ap¬ prehension of mathematical and logical relation¬ ships, or of the nature of the content that enters into my experiences of sensation or of memory. But the confidence that my geometrical intuitions apply to a real spatial world, or that my logical demands are accepted by the reality with which I come in practical contact, or that events actually were as I remember them, or that sensation gives me informa¬ tion about actual things and forces, is a confidence that must rest on different grounds. None of these last assurances is capable of a certainty beyond the reach of sceptical doubt; and our belief must there¬ fore come from other sources. The source is, I judge, reducible in every instance to an implicit faith in our own nature and instincts. There are tendencies in various directions which con¬ stitute what we mean concretely by “ourselves,” and from whose influence therefore we cannot normally get away; and belief may be defined tentatively as just the coming to consciousness of that persistent BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 9 active direction of attention which no obstacles can effectively shunt off. In this work of influencing be¬ lief—it is to be remembered that I am for the mo¬ ment considering only the starting points of belief, which must be presupposed before confidence can be either strengthened or weakened by the subsequent application of criteria—three roughly distinguish¬ able forms may be enumerated which human nature takes; there is a confidence due to our intellectual nature, to our practical needs, and to our emotional preferences. To show that these all represent actual occasions of belief, it is only necessary to point to familiar facts. The most fundamental condition of belief is man’s intellectual and logical constitution. To think at all we have to accept our human ways of think¬ ing. And that men do accept them, and place con¬ fidence in their own intellectual make-up, is a simple matter of fact; the sceptical argument that for all we know our minds may have been constructed to falsify reality rather than to grasp it truly, while it is incapable of logical refutation, has ordinarily not the least effect as against a healthy tendency to believe. The second aspect of man’s nature, his practical needs, also is, I take it, self-evidently a source of belief. Man can satisfy the requirements of his or¬ ganism only by taking for granted, and utilizing, the physical world about him; and the strong prac¬ tical assurance he has of the existence of this en10 WHAT IS TRUTH? vironing world, and of its general laws, is plainly connected with his absolute need for accepting it if he is to continue alive. There has not been so general a philosophic justification of this belief. It is not difficult to throw doubt upon it if we elect to keep to purely speculative considerations. But the fact remains that such arguments as philosophy has re¬ sorted to have entirely failed to eradicate the be¬ lief, either in the non-philosophic mind, or, it is likely, in his better moments, in the philosopher himself. Accordingly as a real and persistent belief it has to be taken account of in our search for truth. The third source in human nature has a still poorer standing in the philosophic world; and here the philosopher gets some support also from the more cautious layman, who sees that beliefs due to emotion or desire are peculiarly liable to go astray. At present however I am merely pointing to the fact that desire and feeling do notoriously tend to carry belief in their train. And their influence is so far-reaching and insidious that even the philosopher on his guard against it does not escape. The very effort to escape has its dangers; a man will almost invariably be found leaning a little backward through his desire not to be influenced by desire. And if we really cannot escape the influence without superhuman powers, it would seem the sensible course to include this, too, in our theory of belief, and so of truth, since in so far as human nature is actually the source of belief, any ineradicable eleBELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 11 ment of human nature may be expected to play a part. It is on the basis of this general presupposition, then, that I shall go on to raise the further and more practically significant question: How, when belief wavers, are we to go to work to give it a reflective or rational justification? It is highly important to remember once more that belief must already exist before this question can be asked, and so that there must be a first and ultimate source of truth which is prerational. But equally it is clear that mere immediate or instinctive belief is not enough for human beings. Such belief needs to be emphasized in its proper place, in view of the strong metaphysi¬ cal temptation to overlook it, and to reduce every¬ thing to logic. But for our ordinary purposes it can be taken for granted. The main interest here lies in the further question: How can beliefs be justified, so as to separate out the sheep from the goats? The answer I should give to this last question is the familiar one of “coherence.” Coherence I think must be rejected as a sufficient definition of truth, or a sufficient reason for belief. That it is not the definition of truth I shall argue presently at length; and there is at least a prima facie objection to the claim that mere consistency of ideal content can safely be trusted even as a criterion, unless it is also backed by the compulsion of so-called “facts.” But with belief presupposed, it does seem to be the case that coherence is the only test by which we can 12 WHAT IS TRUTH ? justify belief to the intellect, outside the very in¬ significant field where intuitive certainty holds. This does not necessarily mean that we ought to abandon all beliefs that we cannot so justify. Nature will probably be too strong for us in any case. But never¬ theless we do find on the whole that rational belief is the better and more satisfying sort. And so long as we play the game of reason, and profess to have passed beyond the first naive and non-reflective stage of experience, “justification” may be taken as mean¬ ing “inclusion within a coherent system.” It is well to notice more precisely wherein this process consists, in opposition to the ideal of logical necessity. The essence of the coherence criterion is not certainty of logical deduction, but consistency of fact or experience. Mere logic never by any possi¬ bility can add more certainty to the conclusion than existed in the premises. Its ideal is, therefore, to carry back proof to more and more general premises, until at last it finds something in its own right on which it can rest, and from which then a derivative certainty passes to the consequences. The ideal of system , on the contrary, implies that certainty grows continually as new facts are added. The simple ele¬ ments most fundamental in our system are not selfevident truths, which, as will presently appear, stop with the analysis of mental content, but, rather, those intuitions, or immediate beliefs, which are ex¬ pressions of faith, since these alone lead us to reality in the more distinctive sense. But these, although BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 13 they are objects of natural belief, are not yet ra¬ tionalized or intellectually justified belief. When we are led to reflect upon them—which means that their mere instinctive operation is no longer sufficient— they are seen to need a further support through rea¬ son, as self-evident truths do not. The conclusions, that is, have to be more certain than the premises. And the possibility of this depends, not on logical deduction from what is self-evident, but on a coin¬ cidence of evidence. In other words, when we see that two independent beliefs corroborate one an¬ other, the confidence we have in both is increased; and this is what we mean by their intellectual justi¬ fication. For this to happen, logical processes are re¬ quired, because to reinforce one another the two must come in contact in a connected system. But the essence of the validation lies not in the passing on of an equal measure of certainty due to the proc¬ ess of inference, but to the increase of certainty due to the confluence of evidence. And this applies as well to the “laws” of the mind itself, or the methods which the process of verification involves, in the very general sense that, by working along the lines which these methods set, we find that we do succeed within limits in ordering the universe of experience. The probability that a special type of mind is fitted to reality, which to an outside observer might seem in the abstract highly dubious, is to us, as insiders, almost a certainty, since we approach the question already with an immense H WHAT IS TRUTH? amount of evidence at hand in the shape of success¬ ful experience. The material of experience, which in some interpretation comes to us palpably from in¬ dependent sources, nevertheless allows itself to be organized; our minds approve themselves by turn¬ ing out to be perfectly good tools for helping us to make our way in the world. This never gives theo¬ retical certainty. It is possible that we may just happen to have got along so far without disaster. But we have enough for practical certainty. And the ground for this, once more, is to be found in the combination of a naive tendency to accept what our nature impels us to accept, with the logical justifica¬ tion which this gets in proportion as experience proves amenable to our intellectual interpretations. The justification of our practical persuasion is represented most conspicuously in the experimental methods of science. The greater the number of facts, obtained independently through the senses, which fit into the more or less hypothetical schemes of the various sciences, the stronger the confidence in, and the sense of logical justification for, these schemes. The outcome of experiment is not simply to prove that the investigator was right in expecting some particular result to turn up, though this is all it proves with certainty. His real meaning was not that such a particular future event would happen, but that the fact of its happening verifies a certain con¬ stitution of reality held to be responsible for it. Here also, to have its logical value, there must be a BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 15 belief presupposed which is to receive verification; otherwise the new fact simply happens. Fulfilled expectation would have no logical force unless there were a presumption of law prior to the mere facts of experience in detail. This presumption in its general form is given in the law of causation as a practical postulate, or an intellectual principle hav¬ ing its basis in the necessities of our practical nature. The world being what it is, unless an organism had, ahead of actual experience, a tendency to look for repetitions of experience, and to act as if uniformity existed, it would stand little chance of surviving. The law of causation in its scientific sense seems to be the translation into terms of the intellect of this habit of expecting the familiar. But while as a pos¬ tulate, or implicit belief, it precedes experience, as a justified belief it gets its standing from the fact that nature is on the whole inclined to bear it out. The most controversial side of the matter is in connection with the postulates of emotion or desire. That these do actually influence our belief is plain. That they are as real a part of human nature as the elements commonly accepted as having a right to sway belief, most people would grant is also true. Why then should there be so much hesitation in al¬ lowing them equally a theoretical standing 4 ? The reasons are apparently of two sorts. First there is the familiar empirical fact—a part there¬ fore of the system of our world of facts—that beliefs influenced by feeling or strong desire have, where i6 WHAT IS TRUTH 4 ? it is possible to subject them to verification, so often been proved to be in the wrong. And, secondly, there is the tendency which emotion shows to attach itself to matters where proof and disproof alike are im¬ possible or very difficult, and so to evade the tests that elsewhere have been found useful in keeping belief within safe bounds. Both these facts have to be recognized; but they ought not to count for more than they are worth. The first objection implies that the case against feeling is not a priori , but empirical. There is noth¬ ing in it to make us reject outright the claim of any tendency to belief which actually is grounded in human nature; the objection applies only to beliefs in whose case there are positive grounds for doubt. If we are to begin doubting wherever there is a logi¬ cal chance for doubt, without regard to reasons for doubt in particular, we are inevitably on the way to a complete scepticism. We have to ask, then, why it is that emotional beliefs are so provocative of doubt; what is the positive case against them 4 ? An answer here is not difficult. Emotion is apt to be misleading, not because the thing in which we believe is also an object of desire, but because want¬ ing it is apt to affect our mental processes, and prevent us from looking at the facts just as they are. If emotion did not blind us and keep us from straight thinking, if it did not lead us to overlook and close our minds to uncongenial evidence, I see no special reason why the fact that the object of beBELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 17 lief is something we desire should constitute the slightest drawback. On the whole, in view of a number of considerations, it seems quite as easy to make out a case for the presumption that the uni¬ verse has some favorable relation to human desires and possibilities of development, as for the opposite assumption that between our human demands and the constitution of the world there is no relevant connection. The facts are not compelling; and a good deal depends upon the attitude in which one approaches them. But an unfavorable presumption is just as truly a bias here as a favorable one, espe¬ cially in view of the subtle temptation which leads the philosopher to adopt a non-humanistic prefer¬ ence because it is not quite the popular opinion, and so ministers a little to his spiritual pride. The real objection to the feelings is not that they are at work, but that they are at work surreptitiously , and so pro¬ duce effects that are incalculable. The source of the trouble is not that we reason in terms of emotional objects, but that we reason in emotional ways, and so cannot get these objects in their true perspective. If therefore it be possible for a man, as it surely is to a very considerable degree, to include his own desires within the field of objects that he can ex¬ amine critically without being bound thereby to adopt of necessity a blind and prejudiced attitude toward them, if he can estimate the claims of what he wants impartially and without ignoring con¬ siderations on the other side, the positive ground for i8 WHAT IS TRUTH? suspecting desire would have been removed without prejudging the entire case. The remaining difficulty would be that the be¬ liefs are capable of no further testing. Even if this were so, it is conceivable that they might still per¬ sist; however, in such a case their intellectual stand¬ ing would doubtless not be very satisfactory. But at the worst this very fact of their permanence would prevent them from being left wholly without intel¬ lectual justification. Thus a man, without being able in any other way to give reasons for an emo¬ tionally satisfying belief, might very well justify himself at least to this extent: The very strength of my unreasoning belief, he may argue, and the fact that it persists against discouragement, is proof to me that it may be justified, though I cannot see how in detail; for whenever I find such persistency in nature, I have reason to hold that it must be rooted somehow in reality. A man has a right to this atti¬ tude only in case, again, he has not allowed desire to blind his eyes, but has actually put his belief to the hazard of the unfavorable evidence, and shown by experiment that its persistence is not merely due to its being sheltered artificially from danger. But this granted, the conditions of the rational criterion have, though in a very general way, been met. It is not simply that the belief exists. Its existence has been justified, and justified by being brought into a larger system of facts. This may not be a convincing argument by itself in a particular case. But it is in BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 19 character nevertheless a rational, and not a merely emotional, justification. Whether we can go beyond this very general justification can hardly be answered except by con¬ sidering beliefs in detail. It will be sufficient here to note that the belief in question may take either of two different forms, whose status logically is not the same. One form, and the simplest one, is this, that the world is of a nature to render the achieve¬ ment of my ends or desires practically feasible. This sort of belief is clearly verifiable in the same sense that a physical hypothesis is verifiable; it is proved by actually achieving such ends. Even be¬ fore the issue it stands rationally justified in terms of our existing knowledge of the character of the world, and of what therefore can probably be done in and with it; and when the end has been gained, or definitely lost, it is attested or discredited by the fact. It is not this merely practical meaning, however, which has been seriously at issue in philosophy. What one side has claimed, and the other disputed, is not that the world is of a nature to permit the attainment in it of our human purposes, but that it has in its own character certain qualities that in¬ volve, not a mere tolerance of our preferences, but the same preferences as our own. This without ques¬ tion is our naive point of view under the influence of our feelings. We say naturally, not merely that the world affords us a chance to achieve our aspirations, 20 WHAT IS TRUTH? but that the world itself is good, and is working toward a good end. But even in this latter case, while the evidence may be less convincing, it does not appear to stand on an essentially different footing from that of any belief that professes to describe the nature of things, as distinct from empirical sequences of phenomena in particular. Even in terms of sequences, complete and final verification never attaches to the universal laws of sequence, which may be supposed to sum up the actual relational character of reality, but only to eventualities in the way of particular anticipated happenings. Just as, accordingly, a belief that the world is intelligible starts from a natural trust in the powers of intelligence, and is justified by the success with which progressively we bring the facts of the world into relation, or, more specifically, as a belief in the objectivity of scientific law starts from a bias toward orderly expectation, which more and more is rationally justified as events are found to correspond to the expectations aroused—other¬ wise our belief would not be in a universal law, but only in the particular fact expected,—so the belief that the world is good starts from our naive faith in our feelings of value, and may equally in some degree be considered as verified in so far as the uni¬ verse turns out to be favorable to the leading of the good life. And in the same way, though with extreme cau¬ tion, the possibility is open for a rational holding of BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 21 beliefs that assert more particular matters of fact, even where verification is humanly impossible. A case that naturally suggests itself is that of immor¬ tality. At the start a belief in immortality is almost on a par with the early glimpsing of ideal human possibilities in this present world—the first dim in¬ tuition, say, of a universal human brotherhood. This for a long time had to look so far ahead into the future for its verification that it could be held, like a belief in immortality, only on the ground of an inner assurance of its desirability. But the cases differ in that we should hardly hold as justified a belief about earthly possibilities which history did not show some tendency to realize, whereas immor¬ tality at the end is supposedly in the same case as at the beginning, so far as experimental verification goes. Nevertheless the other possibility remains open, and should be kept in mind in face of the popular tendency to refuse to be satisfied with any¬ thing short of verification in the scientific sense. If the belief can be shown to be logically connected with other beliefs for which ground does exist in the actual facts of experience, it shares in some degree their rational character. This is the case in science even, where a fact can be seen to follow from an accepted hypothesis. We do not feel too con¬ fident—for we know the uncertainties of our knowl¬ edge—until by experiment it has been verified. But it would be an over-wrought spirit of caution that would refuse to give it any credence. In proportion 22 WHAT IS TRUTH? to the certainty of the hypothesis, and the clearness of the logical connection, we do take many things for granted which we never have put actually to the test. This is notably the case with our belief in past events, which of course in strictness never can be verified. And the belief in immortality need make no claim different in kind. If we have reason to accept a par¬ ticular kind of world into which an inconsistency would be introduced through the failure of certain kinds of life to continue, the belief in immortality is in so far a rational belief, and ought not to be re¬ jected offhand as a mere product of unreasoning de¬ sire. Verification of course is exceedingly important if we can get it, and its absence is a drawback. But it is not essential to rationality. The logical value of verification lies, again, not in the mere experience of the new fact, but in the way in which it enters into the system of reality already present in the hypothe¬ sis, and so enlarges and strengthens this. Fundamen¬ tally, therefore, it plays the same part as any other fact in the system. It gets its peculiar significance simply because it was thought out and prophesied ahead of experience; not only does it counteract in consequence our natural disposition to be satisfied with the facts we have alreadv collected, but it is indefinitely improbable that an expectation based upon a complex reasoning process will simply hap¬ pen to hit the future event, as it would do were not BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 23 the hypothesis already on the right track in its un¬ derstanding of the world. The position I have been taking may be summed up as follows: We have to distinguish between the necessity of a belief, its self-evidence, and its practi¬ cal certainty; and it is the last about which we are really most concerned. This is a psychological state of mind, a persistent feeling of acquiescence or assent, which, if it goes along with an honest at¬ tempt to canvass the whole situation to the best of our ability, has the final word to say about what we shall regard as truth. And instead of attaching to the simplest truths, it belongs rather with the grow¬ ing fulness of belief and experience. It is due to the compounding of assurance that comes from the working together of numberless facts and satisfac¬ tions, and has in it an element both of faith and of intellectual justification, the blending of the two constituting reason. In the large, the faith is faith in ourselves—in the demands of our nature and the possibility of their satisfaction. This exists prior to the facts, because our life is organic before it is intel¬ lectual, and we cannot in thinking eliminate our¬ selves. But we find also these demands capable within limits of getting satisfaction; and so to the naive trust is added rational conviction. The greater the mass of experienced fact that comes within our system, and the greater the facility of successful anticipation of future fact, the more our confidence extends. 24 WHAT IS TRUTH? And equally it is greater the more widely it ap¬ peals to the various sides of our nature, in so far as these are approved as normal by the teachings of experience. This is why, other things being equal, a philosophy which finds a place for man’s emotional needs has a better chance of survival than one which merely orders the facts of sense experience. The former exercises no compulsion whatever over a mind which is not predisposed in favor of human¬ istic considerations; and if the human mind gen¬ erally could be counted on to take the same attitude as that of the occasional philosopher, the final success of naturalism could probably be predicted. As a matter of fact, however, naturalism leaves something out which human nature seems to want; and it is humanism which every time steps in and prevents its triumph. Meanwhile one aspect of this thesis needs perhaps some little qualification. What it recommends is that, in opposition to the tendency to look for our most settled convictions among the simple results of analysis, we should rather turn to the comprehensive beliefs of developed human experience as our stand¬ ard of assurance in the holding of truths. Roughly and in the large, I believe it to be so that “common sense” as constituted by the more massive convic¬ tions of the human race—of man in his natural habi¬ tat going about his regular business—supplies a standard of sanity which philosophy will reject at BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 25 its peril. But there are two points of interpretative caution here that deserve attention. In the first place, I am not intending to disparage analysis in the least. It is only through analysis that beliefs become amenable to reason at all. We cannot be content to accept things simply in the mass, for that leaves no way to choose when the voice of man¬ kind is uncertain in its utterance, or when, as con¬ stantly happens, the general belief needs modifica¬ tion and readjustment. But neither can we expect to get ahead by throwing over the concrete beliefs of everyday use, and confining our assent to their simpler ingredients. The path of knowledge is alto¬ gether too crooked and tangled to make this a safe procedure. It is of no avail to have, in reason, a compass, unless we know more or less concretely the goal we are setting out to reach; and there is nothing whatever to supply this goal apart from that somewhat vague and loosely articulated, but very real, w el t-an s chaining , which represents the net outcome of man’s experience up to date, which passes over to the individual in the first place as a biological and social inheritance, and which in its large features has already approved itself to him in practice before he is competent to bring criticism to bear upon it, although this or that aspect of it may call insistentlv for revisal when he is able to inter* pret his demands on the world more discriminat¬ ingly. Just as we commonly think that social reform is best accomplished by taking existing social in26 WHAT IS TRUTH? stitutions for granted as a starting point, and then correcting this or that feature as circumstances may dictate, rather than by setting out to abolish every¬ thing at once and to build up society from the bot¬ tom—the latter task is too big for human powers— so in our philosophizing the only practicable method is, not to doubt universally or where academic doubt is not precluded, but to examine our beliefs piece¬ meal, all the time holding fast as a background to that positive nature of things which appeals to our massive and unanalyzed intelligence through its sat¬ isfactoriness on the whole, and apart from which we have no way whatever of telling whether any aspect in particular is more or less probable, except in the relatively few and unimportant cases where it is strictly self-evident. For without a background, it is impossible we should think at all. Thinking is the bringing of our existing beliefs to bear upon the examination of a belief in particular; and the fuller the content of experience interlaced in this apperceptive mass, the more valuable the judgment, though the precise na¬ ture of the elements thus present may not in the judgment itself be subjected to analysis. For sound judgment, this background must have been there at the first step of philosophic analysis, unless we are to suppose that a man with positive convictions and a full experience is less qualified to perform the critical act than one whose mind approaches a jelly or a blank. Sound method therefore does not demand BELIEF AND THE CRITERION OF TRUTH 27 that we should clear our minds as nearly as we can of all content, and allow it to fill up again only as the dialectical process advances. What determines the worth of our results is precisely the wealth of experience, partly and at the start very largely un¬ analyzed, lying back of the rational process. Natu¬ rally this “assumed universe” cannot be held exempt from progressive analysis and criticism. We should understand as fully as possible what we are presup¬ posing, and why. But the criticism is rather to re¬ move internal inconsistencies than to put on trial the conception as a whole; if we cast aside the actual fruits of experience, racial and individual, nothing remains to take their place. A certain danger does no doubt exist here, in that the very wealth of experience may lead a man to trust his first impressions when a severer analysis is urgently demanded. And when on the other hand we once come to realize how easily unanalyzed judgments go astray, it may seem to our more so¬ phisticated sense impossible to avoid a lurking dis¬ trust of their pronouncements. But the situation is relieved in part by a distinction. It is not that the judgment should be unanalyzed. On the contrary, we should use our utmost effort to see our meaning in the judgment clearly and distinctly, with the finest discriminations we can manage. No good ever comes of confusion as to what we intend. It is in connection with the grounds for accepting the truth of this intention that the vague and more subcon28 WHAT IS TRUTH? scious “total experience” plays its role. And al¬ though this also should, as I have said, be cleared up as rapidly as may be, it never can be entirely ex¬ hausted, while nevertheless, and even at the start, it is rightly to be trusted cautiously, under penalty of our being left without sail or rudder in a welter¬ ing sea of “possibilities” or of “logical entities.” Meanwhile a second point against the rational¬ istic or Cartesian method is, that no philosopher ever does live up to it in point of fact. You will find him all along surreptitiously bringing in the commonsense philosophy of mankind to justify his conclu¬ sions, in the form of considerations which he would have no manner of right to appeal to if he really were allowing nothing to influence him save his rea¬ soned results up to date. And if he is to do this at all, it surely is much better that he should confess to his procedure and recognize it in his ideal of method, rather than keep it under cover. THE NATURE OF CERTAINTY I HAVE already called attention to the fact that the ideal of knowledge which I have been at¬ tempting in the preceding section briefly to justify falls considerably short of the demands that philoso¬ phy commonly has been understood as making. And it was recognized that, in connection with some of the simpler elements of experience, a kind of assur¬ ance is apparently sometimes possible which our more massive and complex beliefs are unable to attain, although the objects of this assurance, it was also assumed, seldom carry us very far in the direc¬ tion of a working philosophy suited to our practical needs. In view of its relation to historical problems, this position needs some further scrutiny. In the present section therefore I am setting out to inquire what we mean by certain knowledge, and under what conditions, if any, we may expect to secure it. But since the question has more frequently been put in a somewhat narrower form, I will first consider what we mean by “necessary” truth. This last is a term which plays so important a part in philosophy that many philosophers refuse to call anything knowledge which falls short of it. The most obvious meaning of necessity is that which attaches to it in formal logic. Certain proposi¬ tions, namely, are found to involve as part of their 30 WHAT IS TRUTH? meaning another proposition; and the last then is logically necessary, in that, so long as we hold the premises true, and keep our meaning unchanged, we cannot possibly deny it. Practically of course we are often able to deny things that logically we are bound to accept, because we can refuse to see the identity involved. We either forget all about the premises while we are denying the conclusion, or we hold our ideas so loosely and vaguely that we hardly know just what we do mean, or we slip inadvertently into a definite, but an altered, meaning. There is nothing to prevent a man from doing any of these things if he chooses, except the fact that he thereby sets up different rules of the argumentative game from his fellows, and thus loses the advantages of success in argument. But when he really takes the trouble to realize clearly his own meaning, he finds it impos¬ sible to refuse assent to the claims of logical neces¬ sity. If he sees that the meaning of his conclusion is identical with a meaning present in what he already has accepted, he would have, otherwise, to assert and deny the same thing at the same moment; which, since assertion and denial are incompatible attitudes, is a physical before it is a logical impossi¬ bility. So far however, to repeat, we have gone only a short way toward meeting the demands of our everyday notions of truth. For the necessity is one of inference only, of necessary connection . It is hy¬ pothetical necessity. And it tells us therefore nothTHE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 3i ing of the truth value of the situation as a whole. If the premises are true, then the conclusion necessarily follows; but the truth of the premises must be set¬ tled on independent grounds. Of course a way might be found of deducing them also from further prem¬ ises. But this process needs must have an end; somewhere we must get to original sources of belief. Granted that we have belief to begin with that goes back of logical implication, such belief may, it has appeared, be strengthened indefinitely by a logical connection with other beliefs; but without such a foundation to build upon, systematization gets us nowhere. We can add any number of zeros together without arriving at the number one. A man clever enough, and with sufficient time on his hands, might form conceivably out of the same data a great many complicated and ingenious systems, which might nevertheless all alike be totally “unreal.” Somehow the system has got to be tied down by the fact of be¬ lief if we are ever to call it “true.” For the act which gives us the elemental facts of belief, it has already been found convenient to use the name intuition. The word has had various senses in philosophy; here it is intended to refer to any process which involves the immediate acceptance, in the way of belief, of some datum of knowledge which does not get its credentials through its con¬ nection with other data. Many of these intuitions, it has appeared already, may be neglected for our present purpose, since they are not to be regarded as 32 WHAT IS TRUTH? giving us certain knowledge. Meanwhile when they are held to be certain, they are accepted, not because they are necessary, but because they are self-evident. And what I mean by self-evidence, in the sense in which certainty can be held to attach to it, is this: I find it impossible, even in imagination, to think of myself as conceivably in a state of mind where I should consider the proposition open to doubt, the ground of my assurance lying within the content of the proposition itself. I add the last clause, though it is scarcely necessary. Assurance due to strong emotion or desire, which is the form of “intuition” it is intended more particularly to ex¬ clude, could hardly be brought under the definition in any case, since it is always possible, and usually easy, to imagine myself not ruled by this desire. It may be noted that this accounts as well for the lack of finality that attaches to the coherence criterion; if my confidence is due to the backing which a belief has from other and related beliefs, I shall hardly find it impossible to imagine myself not believing it. I may be unable to imagine anybody’s belief refus¬ ing to be called forth provided he accepted as true all the evidence that is now before me. But since the assurance attaches to the belief not in its own right, but by virtue of something else, and since I can very well imagine these facts otherwise, or new facts added that would change their face, belief here cannot go beyond practical certainty. Now my thesis is, that the foregoing definition of THE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 33 self-evidence will be found to apply solely to judg¬ ments about present experience, or experience im¬ mediately past. This will include truths of two somewhat different orders—assertions of the psycho¬ logical existe?ice of states of consciousness or facts of immediate experiencing, and, for practical pur¬ poses more important, assertions that such and such is an accurate description of the intellectual con¬ tent or meaning which at the moment I have in mind. That some judgments in this field can attain self-evident certainty is Descartes 7 starting point in philosophic method; although Descartes, by fail¬ ing to distinguish sharply the two forms of judg¬ ment, and by adding to the second of them the as¬ sumption of existential import which belongs only to the first, obscured the nature of his own pro¬ cedure. To interpret this thesis a few words of explana¬ tion are called for, though these presuppose certain points whose fuller justification will need to be postponed to a subsequent section. Ordinarily we know things indirectly through the medium of ideas, or mental processes, which alone are present bodily. Physical objects spatially present to the organism are “known 77 only by means of their effects in sensa¬ tion; and all objects whatsoever that are spatially or temporally removed are represented in knowledge by “ideas , 77 in the narrower and more literal sense. And on such terms certainty seems out of the ques¬ tion, since we never are able to rule out the chance 34 WHAT IS TRUTH*? that things not existentially present in consciousness may be inadequately represented by our ideas of them. So long as we fail to recognize this element of possible error, we may uncritically accept a be¬ lief as self-evident; and even after it is recognized we may still remain practically assured. But theo¬ retically we are bound to admit that the assurance is subject to discount, and so the instance falls out¬ side the definition. In the nature of the case this definition can hold, it would appear, only of an object of belief that is literally and in its own per¬ son present in the experiencing process, since only thus do we eliminate the academic chance of error just noted. The possibility of such immediate acquaintance in a form to justify a claim to certainty, I find con¬ ceivable only on one showing. To begin with, if a present fact of conscious experience may not only be, but if also we can give immediate attention to it, and bring it into the focus of consciousness, it would seem possible for us to know directly both that it is, and what it is, without the intervention of ideas, and so theoretically to have the chance of being certain about it. There would be two limits to this. The first is the limit of the range of clear at¬ tention; what lies beyond this is subject to theoreti¬ cal doubt even as a present fact of experience. And for sense content, at least, this may be the only limit. When a sensation is held automatically con¬ stant, or almost constant, by the continued presence THE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 35 of its producing cause, we seem able to attend to it, or be immediately aware of it, at the very moment of its conscious existence. Thus if we simplify the sensational field sufficiently, and give heed, say, just to a patch of color, we have an immediate sense that while it lasts this is, and is just what it is, in a way to make any expression of doubt seem to us quite meaningless. In other instances the conditions which give rise to the experience are not so stable, and are interfered with by the act of attention itself; then there is a second limit. But if we can get the fact of experience on the wing in terms of primary memory, before it has had time to fade away, it still belongs essentially to the “present moment”; and certainty may be equally attainable. There is, however, an obscurity here which still needs to be cleared up; and while it will mean again anticipating in part conclusions that have not yet been justified, what I have to say will perhaps be sufficiently intelligible. Although I have said that I may be certain under the conditions described, these conditions hardly as yet are quite consistent with the definition of self-evidence. This last im¬ plicitly involves a conception of “truth”; and, as I shall argue more at length presently, the only way I am able to define truth for myself is in terms of a correspondence between idea and reality. If then the situation is such that the object of knowledge is present in person without the mediation of an idea, WHAT IS TRUTH? 36 how can we speak of a judgment that is self-evi¬ dently true? The point of such a criticism I should admit. Though any content of which I am aware is just that content of which I am aware, and is recognized as such, the “certainty” that may be a consequence of this immediate apprehension is not the bare recog¬ nition itself, but involves the truth of a judgment. And I should hesitate, in spite of having spoken of it as a “known”’ fact, to call the immediate attentive awareness of red a judgment, or a truth. It still seems to me that we can speak of a “true” judgment only where there is duality involved, and something is accepted as corresponding to an “idea” of it. And I should get rid of the apparent discrepancy by holding that the immediately apprehended fact becomes a “truth” only when we pass a secondary judgment about it. In strictness, the truth is not the immediate recognition of the content, but the asser¬ tion that it is as recognized. That a given intuitional apprehension is true, means that a given descrip¬ tion of the content is a correct one—that I was not mistaken or confused in my analysis, and so that the statement does really represent the fact; and the testing is dependent on our ability to repeat the analysis or inspection, and so scrutinize the (im¬ mediately known) fact to see if anything has been attributed to it which was not actually there. On this reexamination, accordingly, the possibility of rational certainty depends. An introspective judgTHE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 37 ment may plainly be inadequate. And therefore it should not set up too hasty a claim to self-evidence, since no untested belief, however strong, has any way of being assured that it may not be among those beliefs which seem to be true, but are mis¬ taken. And all intuitional truths capable of certainty appear to me to be of this sort. They are statements of what we actually discover to be the fact about our mental content at the moment; and they are self-evidently true statements in so far as they con¬ tinue to seem with entire clearness an accurate ac¬ count after repetition and the closest scrutiny we can give. Not every description of content by any means is self-evident in this sense; and there seems no way of ruling off a definite sphere within which selfevident truths lie. But in some cases the thing is so extremely clear that we refuse to admit the possi¬ bility of mistake. An element of content has usually to be relatively simple for this maximum of cer¬ tainty to exist—how simple depends both on the nature of the circumstances, and on the familiarity, expertness, and mental grasp of the person judging. Of course in any case it is theoretically open to con¬ ceive that I may be mistaken in my use of words. But the content whose identity I am really conscious of meaning is indubitable, because the thing that I am aware of is just what it is and nothing else. If I compare a red and a green patch of color, and make about them the judgment that they differ, I feel WHAT IS TRUTH? 38 absolutely sure that I cannot be wrong. The judg¬ ment simply identifies a relationship at the moment present to me. Of the two forms of self-evident intuition al¬ ready distinguished, it is the one concerned with the “what” rather than with the “that” of our conscious content which is the source of the only truths particularly important for philosophy. And among these meanings or descriptions, the more significant are cases not of qualities, but of “rela¬ tional” ideas. It is to this last category that, as I see it, all axioms belong, as the word has tradition¬ ally been most often understood. These represent primarily descriptive truths about our intellectual content or meaning. If I say that two straight lines cannot inclose a space, I see no ground for this except—and it is a quite sufficient ground—the im¬ mediate perception I have of the nature of my spa¬ tial experience, and the felt incompatibility be¬ tween the two sets of conditions. That things equal to the same thing are equal to each other depends, again, on a direct perception of the lack of difference under the conditions specified; I cannot doubt it when I once recognize the exact character of my meaning in the judgment. Here belongs also, it should be noted, the case of logical necessity. This rests on the immediate perception that a certain mat¬ ter of content is actually present as a part of my meaning in previous statements; and the “principle” THE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 39 of deduction is just a generalization of the situation thus directly perceived. If accordingly we continue to talk about the self¬ evidence of an axiomatic truth, it is of course essen¬ tial that we confine it to these narrow descriptive limits, and do not extend its application unduly. An extension might take either of two forms—that the perceived relationship always holds, or that it holds of a reality. The first claim, when it is legitimate, depends simply upon the will to keep our meanings fixed, and allow no conditions to enter except those under which we perceive the self-evident relation¬ ships. If I discover something true about the angles of a triangle, I believe that it will be true always, and not merely in the particular case where it was demonstrated, because, since a triangle is by defini¬ tion constructed in just one way, I can count always on the same circumstances as those that were essen¬ tial to the demonstration; the only need I have for additional examples is to verify my conviction that the necessary conditions are in reality no more and no less than triangularity. I could, if I chose, adopt the same attitude toward all propositions, and make them universal by the simple device of giving fixity of meaning to my words. This however is puerile, and represents no scientific practice. And it calls attention to the second point—that whenever truths profess to go beyond a description of the meaning implicit in our mental content, and to refer to things, an unavoidable element of uncer40 WHAT IS TRUTH*? tainty enters in. Any assurance I may have about an independently existing world may be intuitive in the sense that it is simple, immediate, and strongly self-confident; but it can never be self-evident , for the reason that, as such a world never is directly identified with its description as an idea in my mind, I can conceive myself mistaken in my reference. Thus geometry is certain only while it confines itself to the abstract world of space relationships. How¬ ever strong my conviction that it truly applies also to an existent world of things, this rests upon an assumption, and is not self-evident. Mill has been frequently reproved for his suggestion that two and two might possibly make five; but taken as appar¬ ently it was intended, I see nothing against the sup¬ position. It is quite conceivable that the world might be so constituted that whenever to two things an¬ other two were added, five things would at once appear; this is in principle the sort of thing that does happen regularly in the conjuror’s world. When it is a question about the way real things are going to work, then the theoretical possibility of a new and totally surprising result will always have to be allowed for. The only thing that may seem to complicate the foregoing account is the case of so-called logical truths which appear not to be directly present in the premises, but which come as an unforeseen dis¬ covery. In formal deduction nothing new can come out of the premises; whereas in mathematics, for THE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 4i example, we are constantly advancing to truths that are a surprise and revelation to the discoverer. But how could the truth be tucked away where no examination of the postulates could detect it? And if it was not there, how does it come about that I am able to make the discovery by a process that goes on simply “in the mind”? But the true source of novelty here has appeared already. The new truths are discovered by fresh intuitions , and not by logic at all, though the condi¬ tions governing the exercise of intuition may be set by rules that are logical in their nature. Suppose I set out to count all the red-headed people I meet on the street, or all of my acquaintances whose names begin with A. The result may be said after a fashion to depend upon a plan of action, or “proposition,” which “generates” it, while still representing a new bit of knowledge not actually contained in the “premises.” But it also is evident that the act of counting would be empty were it not on the one hand for a world of reality presupposed by, but not in any sense contained in, my formula of action, and, on the other, for the specific acts of perception through which it furnishes me the material for counting. Or better perhaps, consider the novelist who, starting out with a certain type of character in mind, finds himself watching it unfold “of itself” as it comes into contact with imaginary situations. We start, say, with the assumption of egotism. With just the abstract notion to go on, and no con42 WHAT IS TRUTH? crete knowledge of the world in detail, we should stop where we began. But assuming the requisite knowledge of life, and then setting a principle of action to work under definite surroundings, in the contact of motive and opportunity new relationships are revealed, and the mind finds itself perceiving them, and following them to a conclusion that may well have been unanticipated at the start, though when it emerges we recognize it as convincing and "necessary . 55 And just the same thing may also take place in a more abstract realm, where intuition means, not the imaginative perception of events or happenings, but the recognition of bare relational contents. Thus the mind can operate on space qualities apart from physical experience, and by spatial constructions put itself in a position to intuit new relations. But while in a sense these are dependent on the constructive process, in another sense this process is merely a road to the independent discovery, by an act not logical but immediate and intuitive, of facts about spatial reality. And now apart from such an assumed field of reality in the background which supplies material for new relations, have we any other source of "novel 55 truth? I do not know where we could pos¬ sibly look for it unless it were somewhere in con¬ nection with the "rules 55 themselves, as distinct from the results that follow from setting the rules to work upon a subject-matter. And here there is only THE NATURE OF CERTAINTY 43 one kind of “truth” that emerges, so far as I am able to get any clear notion about it. I am proposing, we will say, to build a house, and I want to get a specified number of rooms, meet certain requirements of taste and comfort, use reasonably good materials, and expend not more than ten thousand dollars. These constitute my original conditions, or “propo¬ sitions,” which are to “generate” the plans. And in so far as I succeed in meeting the specifications, I get a definite architectural result which is new. This however, as before, means only that I am manipu¬ lating certain material of knowledge—space de¬ mands, market conditions, and the like—in assigned ways, so as to render possible new discoveries about its relationships. But about the specifications also I discover something new—namely, their feasibility , or the possibility of their being actually carried through. The thing which I want to find out, and which I do not know at the start, is whether the different conditions can be combined in one concrete outcome. If they can, then I have learned that, given the nature of the world, the various proposi¬ tions are compatible; whereas if two requirements— say of size and cost—can by no possibility both be fulfilled, they are said to be in contradiction. But while these are truths about the conditions them¬ selves, they are, equally with other truths, dependent upon the nature of the material on which the condi¬ tions are imposed, and so upon intuition. And otherwise it looks as if the supposed novelty 44 WHAT IS TRUTH? must always be contained after all in the premises; if we overlook it, it is because we are deceived by the complexity of the facts. We can in a complex system turn certain perceived relationships into rules of procedure, which may appear to lead to new in¬ formation. Thus a library classification helps us find a book of whose location we might be unaware. But evidently here the rule is only a rule for putting one’s hands upon something without a previous knowledge of which, by someone, the rule would have no meaning; it works only because I can pre¬ suppose a system which already contains all the facts, though this may be too complicated for me to hold in mind all at once. THE NATURE OF BELIEF 1 HAVE so far been using the term belief without any attempt to define its nature very strictly; and while this may seem a dangerous method in phi¬ losophy, it is one that in the present instance can scarcely be avoided altogether. No one can advance a single step in inquiry of any sort without exer¬ cising the right to believe, and without presupposing therefore that he is well enough acquainted with the experience of believing to recognize its presence, whatever his success or failure in setting forth ex¬ plicitly his meaning. Even in case it were to prove impossible therefore to analyze the concept further, I should still claim the right to use it, especially since I find everyone about me using it without hesitation. As a matter of fact the term is one of which it is exceptionally hard to give a satisfactory account; but the task nevertheless is one that ought not to be entirely evaded. It is probably safe to assume, to begin with, that the content of belief can always be put in a certain form—I believe that something is so and so. This may prove misleading, however, unless we notice that such a form of statement covers two possibili¬ ties that do not on the surface seem identical. It suggests in the first instance that the object of belief is a relationship that holds between two terms—that WHAT IS TRUTH? 46 green is other than pink, or that the Romans con¬ quered Gaul. But we also may, if we choose, change the form of the assertion on occasion, and may say that we believe in something which is not a relation¬ ship or a “fact,” but a “thing.” I believe, for exam¬ ple, in this pen which I now hold in my hand. It is true that I am equally able to put the content of this last belief in the form of a relational proposi¬ tion, and to say that I believe the pen is real, or has existence. But unless we presuppose that “existence” is itself nothing but a logical term or concept on a par with any other, this still leaves in some degree “belief in” distinguishable from “belief that.” And it may first be asked, accordingly, whether it is a belief in “realities,” or a belief in relational con¬ nections, that throws most light on the essential nature of believing. The second alternative is the one that probably would receive the approval of most philosophers. There are two reasons however, of a general sort, which lead me to think that this is open to objection. In the first place, it proceeds on an assumption which, though it is very widely held, appears to be out of harmony with certain generally accepted facts. One would seldom suspect, from a reading of the major part of even recent philosophical litera¬ ture, that belief is concerned essentially with any¬ thing except an intellectual analysis of content. For the empiricists, this content is sensational. For the opponents of empiricism it is logical or dialectical. THE NATURE OF BELIEF 47 But in both cases alike belief has no intimate and necessary relation to the practical life, and the needs of the animal organism. It is the presumption of the objective sciences, however, that man is first of all an animal. And if this is so, the beginnings of belief will most naturally be looked for in connec¬ tion, not with a disinterested analysis of psychologi¬ cal or of logical data out of which objects are later and in a secondary way built up, but with the recog¬ nized presence of actual things and forces on the use or avoidance of which survival is dependent. The presumption is therefore in so far not in favor of the second thesis. There is another point against it also. It may seem an over-refinement of language to say that I perceive that two parallel lines never meet, instead of be lieving it. But in the field of ultimate analysis no distinction is too small to be safely overlooked. And, properly interpreted, the distinction appears to be a valid and useful one, as the discussion of cer¬ tainty has already shown. Most people would admit that in the case of certain knowledge it sounds, on close inspection, a little strange to say that we be¬ lieve it. We know it, or see that indubitably it is so; belief suggests an element of doubt which here is lacking. This carries a suggestion therefore, at any rate, that it is not to the perception of relationships that the term is most directly relevant. Meanwhile there is no doubt another sense in which the state¬ ment that parallel lines never meet does represent WHAT IS TRUTH? 48 a belief—when we are thinking, not of the immedi¬ ate perception of a relationship, but of the projec¬ tion of this relationship into the world as an ideal to which objects are going to live up. Here indeed we have the element of faith which makes the term belief appropriate. But also we have passed from the field of pure logical apprehension, to that refer¬ ence to existents which is involved in the alternative conception. It is this alternative, therefore, which I shall take as a more promising starting point; and I shall pro¬ ceed to inquire what account, if any, can be given of the act of believing regarded as an essential re¬ quirement of survival. Along the lines of the English tradition in philosophy, there are two chief sugges¬ tions that will furnish a possible line of attack. There is, to begin with, what tends to be the answer of the associationist philosophy—that belief is re¬ ducible to an expectation of the future appearance of some familiar mental content. Taken as it stands, however, this is an evasion of the issue. It might perhaps account for what we believe. But it is not obviously an answer to the question, In what does believing as an experience itself consist 4 ? At best it reduces belief to expectation; and only by ruling out arbitrarily a considerable portion of the commonly recognized content of belief can this identification be maintained. And even if we were to regard it as the only form that belief takes, the essential point that makes it a belief would still remain unacTHE NATURE OF BELIEF 49 counted for in the analysis. All that association by itself supplies is the fact that one content follows another into consciousness, plus the possible memory of this same connection in the past; and neither singly nor in combination do these amount to an expectant belief. Instead of finding an explanation of belief in expectation, expectation itself must wait upon a theory of belief for its understanding. The second suggestion toward a theory of belief is a more distinctive and promising one. Made in the first instance by Professor Bain, less as itself a suffi¬ cient account of the matter than as an element in a considerably more complicated theory, it attracted general attention, only to be repudiated later on by its author. It has however repeatedly been revived by subsequent thinkers, though usually without much attempt to meet the specific difficulties in¬ volved. Here the essence of belief is found in a “preparedness to act.” This has at least the very considerable merit that it abandons a purely intellectualistic explanation, and brings belief into con¬ nection with the active life process. On the other hand, in the form in which Bain left it, there is an apparent lack of identity between the theoretical analysis and the testimony of concrete experience. However close the connection with action may be— and it seems difficult to escape a feeling that some connection exists—the mere sense of active move¬ ment, or of a readiness to act, is not all we mean by having a belief; we have only to compare the two 50 WHAT IS TRUTH? things to see plainly that they are not the same. Be¬ lief unquestionably has an intellectual content which the mere feeling of movement does not supply. It is not however impossible, it might be urged, to remedy this lack, and to import an intellectual content also into the same general situation which a “preparedness to act” implies. The defect of the alternative to which Bain himself was led—the re¬ duction of belief to the expectation of an associated experience to come—has already been set forth. But if we were to substitute instead the recognition, not necessarily a very explicit recognition, of an end that is being served, or of an object felt to be related to a teleological process, we should be in some sense in connection again with the “activity” aspect which Bain tried to introduce. It might accordingly be sug¬ gested, as a possible hypothesis, that belief consists, not in movement itself, but in the intellectual rec¬ ognition of the teleological situation which organic movement implies—a recognition of the presence of objective conditions, namely, such as bear a causal relationship to the expression of impulse or desire. To “believe in” a perceived object would be, then, to realize this relation of the object to the active attitude which the body assumes with reference to it. I am disposed to regard such a thesis as to a cer¬ tain extent on the right track. But as it stands it suffers from a fatal defect. In saying that I recogTHE NATURE OF BELIEF nize an object as a condition of organic activity, I am already implying that this object is an object of belief. That is to say, the content to which belief has been reduced is still no more than intellectual content, unless it be recognized not only as figuring in the logical description of a purposive situation— if this were all, I could not even have the thought of such a situation without also believing in it—but as a reality , an actually existing circumstance which conduct has to take into account. The moment I begin talking of “reality,” however, I presuppose already the presence of belief. There must be some further account therefore of the difference between a condition of action which is merely possible or thinkable, and one that also is conceived as actual. But while bare action on the one side, and the in¬ tellectual recognition of objective conditions of ac¬ tion on the other, are neither of them sufficient to de¬ scribe belief, it is not impossible that if we take the two together they may prove more adequate. Action, overt or incipient, is not believing. The thought of a means to or a condition of action is not believing, since it may remain a mere thought. But it seems open to conjecture that the sense of difference which we feel between such a mere thought or fancy, and the belief in a real object, may have its source in the actual release of energy which marks the beginning of action. Here we are no longer attempting to re¬ duce belief to movement pure and simple. We do not have belief unless there is also the intellectual 52 WHAT IS TRUTH? recognition of something that stands in relation to the process of active life. And the final touch which converts this into belief is itself also a conscious feeling. But the source of such a feeling may never¬ theless be the presence of an incipient release in the direction of attainment, through the removal of organic checks to action. An examination of the belief situation gives, I think, some plausibility to this hypothesis. As we descend in the scale of life, the release of action in the presence of the object tends to be immediate and instinctive, and the intellectual content only of the vaguest sort; here it would generally be agreed that belief is hardly a proper name to apply. As a distinctive experience, belief arises only after a period of doubt and hesitation has given rise to some recognition of the conditions to be met, and has made us acquainted with the difference between action arrested and action released. Its emergence into consciousness is at least coincident, therefore, with the removal of checks upon freely moving action; and it seems the most natural thing to find a causal relation here as well. This would mean in the first place that the source of belief is subcon¬ scious and organic—a thesis which experience will verify. We do not choose to believe; we find our¬ selves believing. And it seems a fair description of the fact to say that we find ourselves feeling free to pass on now to the attainment of ends which have temporarily been held up. I say that we feel THE NATURE OF BELIEF 53 free to pass on, for, in the second place, it is in this sense of there being no hindrance in our path, rather than in the actual pursuit of active ends, that belief consists; it is a conscious and intellectual rather than a conative sort of experience, and belongs to the stage when we are contemplating rather than doing. I do not feel quite certain about the natural descrip¬ tion of our state of mind where conduct is actually moving forward. I imagine it would often be truer here to say that belief is implied, rather than that it actually is present. But since overt action may be accompanied also by a continued intellectual recog¬ nition of its conditions, the matter is not one of great theoretical importance, and we might expect to find the situation descriptively uncertain. In what has just been said, I am not intending to deny that there may be cases of belief which are not preceded by an actual period of initial doubt. The essential point is not that in every belief action must first be restrained by indecision, but that belief be¬ longs to an intellectual stage which is not itself overt action, but a state of readiness to act, with the at¬ tending sense of an open path ahead. And while genetically this implies experiences of doubt and hesitation which have taught us the advantages of going slow and looking before we leap, in the human animal as he now is constituted the intellectual life has to a considerable extent severed its original close connection with experimental action, and numerous beliefs come to us from our nurture and surround54 WHAT IS TRUTH? ings which we never stop to question. Closer inspec¬ tion however furnishes ground for thinking that facts of this sort are themselves favorable on the whole to the thesis that belief as a conscious expe¬ rience normally implies preceding doubt and in¬ hibition. For it is notorious that when a so-called belief comes too easily, we often are mistaken about its genuineness. It holds the mind only because we have had no occasion to put it into practice; and when we are really called to act upon it, its hollow¬ ness and insincerity are at once exposed. THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH OR “TRUENESS” I N the preceding pages I have constantly presup¬ posed a certain doctrine which at the present day is widely disputed. This is the notion of truth as a correspondence between idea and reality. I propose in the present section to make an attempt to justify this more fully. First it is desirable to be clear about what it is that the definition tries to tell us, since a misunder¬ standing here has sometimes, it is likely, prejudiced the doctrine. In such a definition we are not at all concerned with what concretely is the truth, nor with a working criterion to distinguish truths from falsehoods. Perhaps the special nature of the prob¬ lem can be suggested by saying that it is a question about the definition of “trueness.” Every belief, that is, makes a claim to being true; what does it mean abstractly by such a claim, irrespective of whether or not the claim is justified? Thus it does not for our present purpose make the slightest dif¬ ference whether sense qualities like sound or color really belong to the physical world or not; in our unsophisticated moods we believe they do, and the question is what such a belief implies or means. What are the conditions that must be met if the WHAT IS TRUTH? 56 belief is to have the “trueness” which belief always assumes itself to have? I shall begin by distinguishing four elements in the knowledge situation which an empirical analysis seems to reveal—distinctions which are perfectly easy to draw, and which all alike have enough ap¬ parent claim at least to stand for facts, to put the burden of proof upon the one who shall reject them. First, there is the object perceived, the real thing with its status in the world of reality independent of the knowledge relation. This various traditional theories of knowledge have persistently tended to ignore or to deny, but evidently only at the cost of a sharp break with normal human belief. Over against the object stands a second fact, which common sense also in the past has been ac¬ customed to accept, and to think of as an independ¬ ent and—in a specified sense of the term—subjec¬ tive entity, belonging to the realm of psychological experience—the “state of consciousness,” or the psychical state, as an existent. Here again we have a sort of fact that is nowadays not universally ad¬ mitted; and it will be a part of my task to defend it, incidentally, against the current disposition to extrude it from the universe. But meanwhile I find no excuse for anyone pretending that he does not know what the phrase is meant, at least hypotheti¬ cally, to stand for. It may be identified summarily as that which constituted the whole stock in trade of the traditional English introspective psycholoTHE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 57 gists—the bits of psychological stuff into which it was their business to analyze the conscious life. About the next point there is more excuse for mis¬ understanding; but recent philosophy in particular has made some sort of a distinction here a common¬ place. It concerns what in familiar language may be called our “meanings” or “ideas.” A real possibility of confusion lies in the fact that “meanings” have two different aspects, which it will be one main pur¬ pose of what follows to try to adjust. On the one hand, a meaning is distinctly “our” meaning; it be¬ longs, that is, in some sense to the realm of psycho¬ logical experience. We talk about our “ideas,” in the sense of the traditional psychology, as events in the stream of consciousness with a particular existential locus. But on the other hand a meaning, from a dif¬ ferent angle, does appear to have a non-psychological objectivity. It is always on the point of breaking loose from its local embodiment in the psychical series. When we subject it to ordinary psychological introspection it tends to elude us, leaving us simply with the “image”; and between the image, a plain psychological existent, and the meaning, there is, however close the connection, no identity. Indeed the meaning seems to belong rather to the object than to the image; it is the object’s nature, or “es¬ sence.” Or it may even claim a status as a timeless entity, inhabiting a logical world of its own inde¬ pendent of any attachments; thus we may speak of it as the “same” meaning no matter who thinks it, WHAT IS TRUTH? 58 and no matter to what particular object it is re¬ ferred, or whether it is referred at all. The fourth distinction is that of the “mental act.” This is a concept confessedly obscure. But whatever the interpretation, it seems tolerably clear that there is something for which the expression stands, worthy of entering into a complete analysis. Without an element of “activity,” we do not get the complete fact that experience seems to present; psychological states become a bare disjointed string of Humian bits of mind stuff, and “meanings” an unchanging skeleton world of logical abstractions, or Platonic ideas. There is not intended to be anything abstruse in the foregoing analysis, and if there has seemed to be, I can perhaps dispel the impression by translat¬ ing it into a concretion. I recall or think about my dinner of yesterday. Here there is, first, the dinner itself, an actual experience of eating which is now past and done with, and, therefore, not now to be discovered as an actual presence. The ideal content of this past experience however, its “character,” or “nature,” or “essence,” is present for me now in the focus of my attentive consciousness as an idea or meaning. Distinguishable from this, again, is the imagery which may be said somehow to “carry” the meaning—a species of psychological fact which dif¬ fers from the latter in that I am unaware of it at the moment of remembering, but which examination reveals as actually having been present, whether as THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 59 visual, gustatory, verbal or what not, being rela¬ tively unimportant to the significance of the memory itself. And, finally, over and above all these aspects, singly or collectively, is the fact that I a?n remem¬ bering , or the “act” of memory. There may be a reasonable doubt about the interpretation of some or all of these aspects. But that each of them stands for so?nething that the plain man can easily identify as a part of, or as directly involved in, the total fact he is familiar with as the thinking of a past event, I do not believe can fairly be disputed. I am now in a position to state in a preliminary way what I consider to be the nature of an act of belief on the side of its claim to truth. And as per¬ ception is the original form of that which takes it¬ self as knowledge, and is, besides, the storm center of the epistemological controversy, it will form the natural starting point for the inquiry. Perceptual experience, then, is a process of recognizing, im¬ plicitly, a certain character or essence as belonging to an object, or to a real existent. This existent is something not itself immediately apprehended; it does not enter literally in its bodily presence into the flow of direct psychological experience where knowing is located. The real chair which I see, no more than the real dinner which I remember, is identical with anything that at the moment is an “experienced,” as distinct from a “known,” fact. For one thing, if in knowledge the actual object were literally inclosed within the experience which 6o WHAT IS TRUTH? knows it, it would be bound in so far to exist pre¬ cisely as it is known, and error would be impossible. Consequently, as opposed to subjectivism, the “ex¬ istence 55 to which knowledge refers must be postu¬ lated as having a life of its own, untouched by, and existentially independent of, the knowledge process. On the other hand the specific dress—the complex of qualities and relations—in which for knowledge the object is clothed, must somehow be immediately grasped, or intuited, or apprehended, or given. The true object of knowledge cannot accordingly be understood except in terms of an intimate union of two aspects. In its construction we have to distin¬ guish two separate processes or phases—the appre¬ hension, or direct presence in psychological experi¬ ence, of the character or essence which describes it, and the outgoing reference which locates this as an attribute of an independently real world. The fun¬ damental defect of neo-realism—and, I believe also, of objective idealism—is that it stops with the char¬ acter apprehended, and so turns existence into logic —a complex of attributes or “data . 55 In point of fact what we do when we “see 55 an apple is not merely to have a complex awareness of redness, roundness and the like; this redness and roundness we feel as really existing out there as the qualities of an actual “thing , 55 where the thinghood or exist¬ ence is not itself reducible to apprehended charac¬ ters of which we are aware in the same way that we are aware of redness. On the other hand, the neoTHE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 61 realists are unquestionably right in holding that these “characters” are truly objective, in the sense that they are not sensations or mental states. An apple is not a collection of my sensations and images; nor do I attribute sensations to it as its qualities. At the moment of perceiving, no reference to the mental is present to my mind at all. The con¬ tent which specifies or describes the particular kind of reality I am in contact with is a complex of purely abstract, logical, and therefore non-existent entities; it is made up not of red and round sensations, but of redness and roundness. And yet from a different standpoint subjectivism also has something to say for itself. For while it is so that in the description of the known object there is no question of a red sensation, it does not follow that we should have it in our power to see redness in the object were it not that actually physical proc¬ esses have given rise to red-sensations in our personal experience, so that we can somehow utilize such “mental” facts to make the knowing process con¬ cretely possible. This, as I have said before, is what in appearance at least we find to be the case. And I propose to go on now to inquire just what such a claim will involve. More specifically, I wish to con¬ sider the exact status of a “meaning” or an “es¬ sence,” and what its relation is alike to the object, and to the mental state. I have said that an essence is not as such an existence. It is rather a description; and we do not 62 WHAT IS TRUTH? refer existences to the real world as its describable “character . 55 But then what does constitute its meta¬ physical standing? I see here only two roads open. On the one hand this status of “non-existence 55 may represent an ontological fact, in the sense of some¬ thing like a realm of Platonic ideas. To this, with its hypostasization of logic, neo-realism seems inevita¬ bly to swing. Or else non-existence is purely a mindmade fact, and depends upon our human power of abstraction. This last is the road which, in so far at least as the knowledge situation is concerned, I prefer to follow. The “character” of an object is not an exist¬ ent, simply because we have left its existence out of account in thinking of its bare descriptive nature. There seems no particular difficulty so far; all we need to postulate is the power to lend attention to partial aspects of experience, and ignore for our selective thought the rest. If we were asked how we arrive at the description of an apple, for example, assuming now the “apple” as a part of the already accepted world of real things to which we react, we should naturally say that we note by the abstracting eye the redness of the apple, the taste, the shape, and, ignoring the fact that these are embodied in a particular existential form, we hold them before the mind in their own right just as characters. They really do, for our naive belief, belong to the apple, exist there—that is why we can reassign them to it objectively as its very nature. But also we can think THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 63 them as qualities without at the same time intending to think of any particular instance in which they really inhere. But while the status of the essence in so far is not particularly abstruse, whether as embodied in the object, or as attended to in abstraction from it, its connection with the process of perception is more difficult. For a point of view at any rate which accepts a real difference between psychical and physical existence, the presence of the essence in the knowing experience cannot be accounted for merely in terms of its existence in the object, without aban¬ doning the whole distinction between the real world as existing and the world as it enters into the know¬ ing state—without leaving out, that is, the human fact of knowing altogether. We have to find, accord¬ ingly, an embodiment of essences not in things merely, but in connection with the human knowl¬ edge of things as well. And such a point of attach¬ ment has already been recognized in the preceding analysis; somehow they are “ideas of ours,” which we can hold before the mind and attribute on occa¬ sion to various “things.” I have however granted the impossibility of simply identifying this meaning with the psychical state; what then are we to take to be the relationship between the two more or less discrepant facts ^ The simplest answer seems to me to be the true one. The sensation is actually there as an existent psychical fact, though we are not aware of this at WHAT IS TRUTH 4 ? 64 the time, and it is not the sensation as such that we refer to the thing. But the sensation also, like the object, has a certain character, or an essence. And as, in viewing an object, we can ignore the object’s existence in favor of its qualities, so when we have a sensation it is possible that, without any reference whatever to the fact that we have it, or to its exist¬ ence, our attention may automatically be held by certain special characters attaching to it, which we use then for interpreting the extra-experiential ob¬ ject in which on other grounds we have reason to be¬ lieve. And this, I suggest, constitutes the experience of cognitive perception, and explains the ontological status of the essence in human belief. Of course the same explanation would equally apply, with modifi¬ cations to be noted later, to non-sensuous knowledge, where the “image” would take the place of the sensation. Before going on to justify this thesis more at length, it will be well to say something first about the other aspect of the knowing process that has been distinguished, for the sake of getting the entire situation before us. And for this it is only necessary to turn to certain facts about the human constitution which are a matter of general acceptance. The foundation of essences in the knowing process has been located in the variously qualified psychical experiences—color sensations, sound sensations, and the like—which arise in connection with the action of the outer world on the organism under specifiable THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 65 conditions. That undulations set up by a vibrating body, and impinging on the sense organ, condition thus the appearance of sound sensations not identi¬ cal in character with the physical changes in the nervous substance, is to be accepted because we find it to be so. These qualitative effects, however, may as such be called passive; and if they stood alone they would not constitute knowledge at all. They would be no more than transient pulses of psychic existence of which one could only say that they are. But the or¬ ganism has another and more aggressive side. It is constituted by outward-going impulses, which need for their expression the material of the outer world. And this relationship of active tension in which the organism stands to the world which it finds only in¬ directly amenable to its own purposes, is the im¬ mediate occasion for that which translates itself into the inner life as a reference to, or an acceptance of, a real extra-experiential universe of existents. It is not that we reason to, or infer, such a fact beyond experience. The belief is rather an assumption which we make by instinct, since it is only by taking for granted that we are in relation to realities on which the needs of life depend that we are able to maintain ourselves alive at all. But also we do not simply react to this world; we have an intellectual or con¬ scious recognition of its being there, as something to be taken into account. The nature of this situation has already been considered briefly in what I have 66 WHAT IS TRUTH? had to say about belief; and I shall return to it again a little later. Meanwhile that it is so?nehow in con¬ nection with the life of organic impulse that the reality reference arises seems to me, in the light of all we know about the world, hardly to be open to reasonable doubt; and an account of knowing which ignores this, and which tries to derive all that is essential in knowledge out of intellectual or nonpractical conditions, is necessarily doomed to failure. If however, to return now to the earlier point, we are to come in thus for some practical benefit, it is not enough that we should merely recognize reality in general; we must find reality clothed with certain specific features, in case our recognition is to help us in adopting the action appropriate to any situa¬ tion in particular. We must, that is, qualify reality by distinguishable predicates. And we have no mate¬ rial whatever for this purpose, except in the form of those characters which we directly experience, ulti¬ mately through the effects that outer objects exert upon the organism. We cannot characterize existence except in experienced terms, which means in terms of the essences of our experienced psychical feelings. And if on certain occasions we are led to react at the same moment that we find ourselves experienc¬ ing a sensation of redness, why should we not auto¬ matically characterize the existent to which the reaction points by redness, and so have a mental tool for future discriminations in conduct? This, again, distinctly does not mean that we first THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 67 recognize the psychical state as an existent. Rather what is presupposed is, that while the psychical state is there all along, all that comes to the sur¬ face, rises to our attentive consciousness, is one or more of its essences; for attention these are given apart fro?n the fact of their psychical embodiment, which last can only be noted by a second introspec¬ tive act of knowledge. Normally and originally— for until it happens we have no case of knowledge at all—these essences are present to our awareness, or are “given,” as descriptive not of sensation but of an independent object, the recognition of the object being due once more to the practical needs of life, which force us to take account of what we find affects us for weal or woe. An “object,” therefore, is constituted by a group of the characters with which psychological experience makes us familiar, plus the instinctive sense that there is something present of which we have to take account, the latter aspect being an outcome of that state of muscular tension which is conditioned by our nature as active beings dependent on an environing world, while the char¬ acters are used, also instinctively, to give to this a specific form. Meanwhile the essence as such is the product of our later moments of reflection when we abstract the nature of the object from its existence or thinghood—the two things being originally given in conjunction—and direct attention to this just as an essence, or abstract character, or universal. It is here, I may note in passing, that the ground 68 WHAT IS TRUTH ? exists for the conclusion that true knowledge is in terms of “correspondence.” This character of the psychical state which the mind “intends” in its ideas must really be identifiable with the character of the object to which it is referred, or else in so far our knowledge is in error; and if the essence in the two cases is identical, the things which have such an identical essence “correspond.” In this way we may answer the familiar objection that if by definition an object lies outside experience, there is no method of getting hold of it to compare it with the mental state, and so to discover the correspondence. Cor¬ respondence is discovered not in the original act of knowing, which is a unitary act of reference or identification, but through a subsequent reflective thought, to which both the terms alike are on the side of their existence external; but also both object and mental state alike are now present in idea, that is, in their essence, and so can be compared. This of course still leaves the claim to correspondence with¬ out any final testing; but the claim nevertheless re¬ mains as a verifiable part of any natural account of knowledge, with an origin which it is possible to trace. If accordingly we wish to say that our ideas “copy” the real world, we must be careful not to imagine that there is an original in knowledge which the idea then sets itself to reproduce; it is a copy if it is a true idea, but it does not do any conscious copying. Meanwhile the connection with reality which belief presupposes is not dependent on a recTHE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 69 ognition of this correspondence. It is direct and in¬ stinctive, and a consequence of the way in which, not reality merely, but reality localized and particu¬ larized, is forced upon us by specific practical needs under specific conditions of their satisfaction. In terms of specific qualities of sense, at least, I think that the foregoing account of the relationship between essence and mental state is sufficiently sim¬ ple not to need further laboring; and it seems a per¬ fectly natural and plausible conception. Evidently a “red sensation,” as a psychical existent, is neither identified with the red object, nor attributed to the red object as its quality; it is redness we find in the existing world. But how could we ever have the meaning “redness” before us unless we had some¬ how experienced redness as the quality of an actual psychical stated However, if we pass beyond this simplified situation the matter, I recognize, is not quite so plain; there are a number of explanations that seem called for. To introduce the first of these, I shall find it con¬ venient to call attention to begin with to certain distinctions involved in the term “meaning,” which I have been using as an alternative of “essence.” The first distinction is that between meaning in its active and in its passive sense—between a meaning in the mind, and having this meaning. Here the only ques¬ tion has to do with the descriptive nature of this act of holding a meaning before the mind. I have interpreted it as an attentive awareness of, or as 70 WHAT IS TRUTH ? attention focussed upon, a specific character present as a character of the momentary psychical state. There is however a second and quite distinguish¬ able active sense attaching to the word. The mean¬ ing which we have may also be actively referred to an external object; and then we may talk, in this new sense, of “meaning the object,” and not simply of “having a meaning” present in our minds. Both the meaning which we have, as a particularized con¬ tent, and the act of attributing this content to some¬ thing as a true description of it, are equally involved in the present theory in an indivisible unity, and they must, as was said before, be united to get the complete object of knowledge which we “mean.” It is a third ambiguity, however, that is chiefly important for my present purpose. It is illustrated when we speak of the meaning of a word. This with¬ out doubt is largely responsible for confusing the claim that for true knowledge, when this professes at all to be concerned with the nature of reality , an idea must be an adequate “copy” of the character of the thing. There is no such correspondence where a word is concerned. It is merely that we find it use¬ ful to simplify our thinking processes by substitut¬ ing for the various characters of reality arbitrary signs. And the sign system may, without corre¬ spondence, be “true,” in the sense that we can sub¬ stitute it in our calculations and still find the result coming out correctly. And this symbolic usage is not of course confined to verbal signs. Alike in terms THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 7 1 of thinking and of conduct, whenever it is some practical outcome alone that interests us, anything that will enable us to reach our goal may serve to carry our meaning, and so in a sense constitute valid knowledge. And even apart from the use of arbitrary signs, it is evident that between the meaning and the men¬ tal state or image there need be very little simi¬ larity; there may even be a sharp discrepancy. I see a round table as round—roundness is a part of its essence; my image meanwhile may have the essence “elliptical.” So perceived distance—belonging to the object’s essence—may be represented in the analysis of the mental state by characters far re¬ moved from its real nature. And, on the negative side, imagery is notoriously almost certain to be minus a large proportion of the characters belonging to the meaning which we think. In general, the explanation is that the presence of meaning in the active life—of thought or of con¬ duct—is largely a sense of definiteness in the direc¬ tion in which we feel ourselves moving, an assurance that we are on the right track, and will come out at a point where some specific experience will greet us as winding up happily and successfully the active process. This might possibly account for such a thing as “imageless thought”—as the irradiation from a moving equilibrium whereby felt relationships give rise to a tingling sense of terms which will complete them, even before these arrive in person on the scene. 72 WHAT IS TRUTH? But it is not necessary for me to present an adequate psychology of meaning—a thing which I am far from professing myself competent to do—since for my particular purpose the question is a relatively narrow one. Whatever the symbolic function of the mental state, falling short of correspondence, the moment we come back to the special aspect of knowledge in which alone I am now interested, and consider knowledge, not as a technique for attaining practical or theoretical ends, but as an attempt at a mental reconstruction of the true nature of any¬ thing, we find the notion of correspondence inevita¬ bly cropping up again. We can use words, when our meanings are sufficiently fixed and we are become sufficiently sure-footed, or we can use any other form of substitutory image, without stopping to realize to the imagination the concrete realities for which they stand. But when we do stop to realize the 7nean ing of our words, and think not of the practical end that thought for the moment is interested in reach¬ ing, but of the real character of the world with which our thinking deals, we are led to recognize that we have no proper imaginative realization of the meaning of the symbol unless we are capable of translating it back into the concrete fact of which it is the sign. And an idea is in this sense true, or enables us to think the character of the object truly, only in so far as it has itself the characteristics of the thing to which it professes to refer. In some cases this seems THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 73 to me so evident that I hardly know how to enforce it. Suppose I am trying to think truly the character of a previous sense experience of redness. Unless I can call up an image whose redness is equivalent to the previously experienced redness, or can get a new sensation of the same kind, to that extent I fail to have any realizing sense of its qualitative nature, in the state of mind in which I am just, as we say, “thinking about it,” though the defective image may still serve the purpose of directing me in the sort of conduct for which its object calls. Or if I try to “think” another man’s feeling of fear, I only succeed in knowing the qualitative “fear” essence in so far as I am able to use, directly or indirectly, in “knowing” it, a similar concrete experience of my own, which embodies in itself the same quality I need to have before my mind if I am to attribute it to another. And the same situation holds of beliefs about the nature of qualities attributed to an outer world. Whether or not redness really belongs as a character to things, the very intelligibility of the dispute itself is bound up with the thesis that I have had an experience characterized by the quality of redness, and that, alike when I assert and when I deny, the experience thus qualified, bodily or in a reproduc¬ tion, is implicated in my judgment, the identity or lack of identity of its quality with the character of the real thing being the only point at issue. When we turn from sensations to relationships, I grant in74 WHAT IS TRUTH ? deed that the situation is hardly so straightforward ; what I find to say about this very difficult matter will have to be postponed a little until I have a chance to deal with relationships more explicitly. Meanwhile on general grounds it is hard to avoid supposing that the essential thesis is true of every character attributed to the real world, relationships as well as qualities. Unless the relationship can be translated into some relational experience , the word is seemingly left devoid of meaning; and apart from the supposition that just the character thus repre¬ sented attaches somehow to the real world itself, we should have no ground for claiming that we know the relational structure of this world at all. That the total image is usually a long way re¬ moved descriptively from the essence of the object is, I repeat, undoubted, except perhaps for those whose type of imagery is notably concrete and real¬ istic. And if “copying” needed to mean a photo¬ graphic reproduction, here would be a point against the copy view of knowledge. As a matter of fact this apparently is presupposed in some of the common objections brought against such a theory. The total nature of the image is however usually irrelevant. On the practical side, as has been said, it makes little difference what the image is like so long as it carries us ahead; and even when we are bent on stopping to realize concretely within the mental life itself the true nature of the reality about which we are thinking, we shall most likely be compelled, THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 75 provided it is at all complex, to take up its various characters point by point instead of as a whole. All that correspondence signifies is that any particular feature whose true nature we are to realize con¬ cretely must be ‘'embodied” in a psychical state, whatever the total description of that state may be; we find ourselves balked unless, by reviving an image, or repeating an original experience, we can actually get in experience the quality we are want¬ ing to assign the object as its nature. When for example we begin to scrutinize perceptual qualities like distance, we are likely in the “mental state” to discover at first no element “corresponding” to distance. But if we really insist on realizing what we mean by distance, we shall nevertheless find this out of our power except as we are able to appeal to actual experiences—perhaps of movement—which in themselves possess characters that give intelligi¬ bility to the term. I may pass now to a second and more technically significant qualification of the statement that in true knowledge the essence of the object and the essence of the mental state are—potentially—identical. Both object and mental state have, as existences , certain characters which can be compared either not at all, or only in a carefully qualified sense. For since as existents the two are sharply distinct, what¬ ever belongs to one by virtue of its separate existen¬ tial identity it will be unsafe to transfer to the other. Thus the fleeting character of the image does WHAT IS TRUTH? 76 not belong to the—in most cases—more permanent character of the thing. And more particularly from the other side—that of the object—does this need to be recognized in order to evade certain plausible objections. Thus it might be asked, for example, whether a thought of the infinite is itself infinite, or whether the thought of an object independent of experience is itself thus independent. But this would be to forget the very distinction between existence and essence on which the theory rests. Of course the idea does not have the existence which belongs only to the object, nor is it able to perform the acts which the object by virtue of its reality is able to perform. We can consistently say that the thought of activity is not itself active; the idea of running does not run. But why? Simply because running is an occurrence in the existing physical world, whereas only the timeless essence of this world is taken up into the idea. But on the other hand, we could have no idea of “running” apart from some actual experience of running in the past, which now is utilized in imagi¬ nation, and its descriptive characters attended to. So if the complex character of “infinity” implies also an aspect of actuality, we should have ground for admitting that in so far the idea of infinity is not infinite, though this idea might still embody the “essence” infinity, and be impossible were it not that the essence had actually qualified experiences of my own which I can draw upon for purposes of think¬ ing. If we were to define infinite time, for example, THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 77 in the traditional way, as time which goes on with¬ out ever stopping, it would not be necessary for our thinking this that the thought also should go on without ever stopping. It is not required that the thought should do the things that its object does. But if I had not had experiences themselves charac¬ terized by continuance and by stopping, as well as the experience of finding one sort of event not the same as another, I should certainly be unable to think the possibility of a “continuance that does not stop.” The same distinction relieves a difficulty that might be felt about simple sensational qualities. If I say that a certain state of mind “is red,” this seems paradoxical only when we interpret “being red” to mean, “that which would appear red to an organ of vision,” or “that which has the power of producing a sensation of red in an observer.” This last phrase however would itself be meaningless if we had not had experiences themselves characterized both by redness and by “causality,” though I grant that what the nature of this causal experience is philosophers have not been very successful in de¬ scribing. There remains one final point of great importance for the theory. In order to be able to think meaning apart from existence, existence also must stand for some definite aspect of reality, as I have throughout had occasion to urge that it does. But a theory of existence offers very considerable difficulties. And one of these in particular the preceding account of WHAT IS TRUTH ? 78 essences makes it impossible for us to overlook. I have held that we can, and do, abstract the character of a thing from the existence of this character in the concrete thing. But in that case, it might be asked, is existence itself an essence, or is it not 4 ? If it is, then it is as abstract as any other essence, and exist¬ ence itself would not exist. If it is not, then how can we think or mean it, since everything we are able to think must be reducible to an essence before it can get into relation with the mind and knowledge, and take on the form of an “idea” 4 ? I may get round to a consideration of this by starting with the reasons that justify us in speaking of existence at all, in a sense that goes beyond the categories of logic. These reasons cannot themselves of course be primarily logical ones; and for the philosopher this fact has very often been sufficient to discredit them. But for the natural man in his normal moments they are quite compelling. Consider the physical world. It is almost to be sure a com¬ monplace nowadays with an influential group of thinkers, that force is no more than a formula, and a thing no more than a law. And it is hard to eradi¬ cate this opinion by argument, partly because, for the special purposes of the scientist, energy is a formula. His whole aim is to reduce it to a shape that can be set down in a book and used in calcula¬ tions. And he has accordingly a strong disposition to think that when this is questioned as an ultimate truth, the objector is simply trying to reintroduce THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 79 mystical and incalculable elements into science. But if one is to feel the real force of the issue, he would do better to take a point of view outside the special scientific interest, and closer to that of his everyday affairs. Let one imagine himself, for example, en¬ gaged in a life and death struggle with any of the great forces of nature—a tornado or a raging tor¬ rent; can he still genuinely confine his belief in na¬ ture to a set of equations, and resist the practical persuasion that there are real things and real forces that are existences beyond him, and that set active limits to his self-assertive will? I shall not deny that the thing can be done. But for myself I cannot manage it; and in this I am pretty well assured that I should have the general judgment of mankind with me. Apart from nature, the other sort of existence which we usually suppose ourselves to know is that of psychological or conscious stuff. And while this stands on a somewhat different basis, here also I know of no wav to meet the claim that consciousness * does not exist, but is just a relationship or a func¬ tion, except by putting oneself in a certain situation, and noting in what state of belief it leaves us. And the situation is, once more, not that of the scientific psychologist attempting to set forth the laws of his science, but that of the plain human being. Con¬ sider, then, the experience of having a vivid color sensation, or a painful toothache, or a compelling emotion. That there is existence here, stuff, brute 8 o WHAT IS TRUTH ? fact that cannot be resolved into relations, or activi¬ ties, or any of the philosophical devices for saving the ultimateness of dialectics, is to me a result from which I find it utterly impossible to get away. If now we attempt next to ask ourselves just what it is we thus recognize as existence, we shall discover that of the two sorts of reality—the physical and the psychical—one is less fitted to suggest a final answer than the other. It seems—to me at least— self-evident that the fundamental stuff of existence would have itself to become a part of immediate experience before we should have any chance of getting at its own ultimate being directly, though without this we might be able to think its abstract “characters.” If then there does exist an independent world, capable of being known by human beings, but not entering bodily into their inner life, it follows that we cannot possibly discover immediately, or apart from inference, the nature of its “isness,” but can only describe this in terms of some essence which it shows. Such an essence is embodied in a familiar human judgment as to what it is we mean by an “existent” thing; a thing really exists when it has consequences , and so has to be practically reckoned with in our conduct. And for ordinary purposes I think that such a definition is roughly adequate to our meaning. It is true, as I have said, that a statement about what existence does fails to tell us directly what existence is. And it is not even a full account psychologically THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 81 —as indeed no mere cognitive formula or “essence” could possibly be—of the actual sense of reality which we feel when in its presence. For this last we need to turn again to the organic mechanism of be¬ lief which has already been described. In believing, we do not have to do with essence merely, but with actual physical tension and release; and it is this apparently which lends to a situation that flavor of reality which “mere” ideas do not possess. But this still fails to meet our needs completely; it supplies no content to the notion of existence itself, though it may account for our immediate feeling of its presence. And whatever the conditions under which we recognize existence, and the nature of its relation to ourselves, we cannot readily ignore the further question, Must there not be some reason why certain entities are thus big with consequences, while others are ineffective? And it is difficult to find language to express the nature of this reason, that avoids speaking of the one instance as existentially more real than the other. There seems no chance of satisfying this ultimate demand, until we turn from the physical world to existence in another form. Nothing in the preceding account, to repeat, really tells us what existence as such is; it does no more than point out a character— in terms of the “causal” relationship to specific hu¬ man experiences—that will enable us to detect whether or not existents are present in the neighbor¬ hood. If we are to be able actually to catch exist82 WHAT IS TRUTH ? ence on the wing, it must be on condition that it is present bodily, and not merely revealed through its effects; and this is only conceivable of a sort of existence that comes within psychological experi¬ ence, and is not simply “known” indirectly through the medium of experience. I have already main¬ tained that we do actually find such an existent fact in what traditionally has been called psychical, or psychological, or conscious, or experienced being— feelings, sensations, and all the rest. And here ac¬ cordingly the particular logical difficulty which I started out by raising cannot be longer evaded. Granting, then, that in the psychical fact we are directly in contact with existence, and that we can somehow talk about and therefore think it, is this existence an essence, as red is an essence*? I do not find that it is. There is no distinguishable content, having form or quality of its own, that I seem able to hold before the mind as a meaning to indicate what the “existence” of a mental state is, as distinct from the “what” or character of its existence. This is why it is so easy for the philosopher to persuade himself that no “isness” remains over and above the intelligible characters of reality—its logical de¬ scription. The being of the psychical fact is not red¬ ness, or tonality, or spatial extensity, or any qualita¬ tive term that I can name; nor is it all of these together. But neither are we forced with the neo¬ realist to hold that therefore all these characters are reals in themselves, which have in experience no inTHE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 83 herent connection with the psychical; red as a sensa¬ tion may be, as it seems to be, just one particular form of psychical stuff. For I see no logical reason why existence may not need so?7ie character in order to exist, or why it may not have any number of different characters, all equally real. This “exist¬ ence” cannot be described; but I can point to it as an immediate revelation of experience, and say* Consider a painful feeling, or an emotion of fear, or a sweet taste, or a living memory, and see if you are not forced to recognize, over and above any terms in which you can describe the distinctive quale of these experiences, the sense of the actual living presence of the qualifying adjectives, not now as an abstract description, but as the very stuff of inner experience itself, a fact of life and not of logic. And if now I am asked again, How, if this has no specific content, can you think or mean it? the best I can do in way of reply is to say: I cannot indeed mean it in the sense of having it as a specific mean¬ ing before my mind, comparable with red as red is comparable with blue. But I can actively mean it, point to it, locate it, have an anticipatory sense that I shall land in its immediacy. And I can do this be¬ cause the mechanism of meaning, in this second and active sense, apart from all the differences of con¬ tent that constitute “meanings,” is itself also a real experience; and so the immediate sense of reality, though it never can be pictured or reduced to rela¬ tionships, is always with me to irradiate with a WHAT IS TRUTH ? 84 feeling of significance my knowledge references to the real. And if we wish to make this explicit, we have only to stop for a moment to give attention to the present psychical field to have what may intel¬ ligibly be called a direct knowledge of existence, apart from the need of ideas to mediate it. For in the act of attention through which we bring into the center of the conscious field a present fact of rela¬ tively stable immediate experience, knowledge and being merge; we are what we know (attentively realize), and we know what at the moment we are. And if we can find no features of this feeling back¬ ground which lend themselves to descriptive terms, and can only identify it by directing others to go and do likewise, and see what they will see, this only means that reality is deeper and thicker than logic—a conclusion which after all ought not to surprise the philosopher any more than it does the ordinary sensible man. Meanwhile we are now in a position to add one further point to the preceding account of outer or physical existence as well. For if we are all the while actually experiencing reality itself in the form of feeling stuff, we are in immediate possession of something which may very well be used, in the same instinctive way in which essences are projected, to color our attitude toward the objective situations which are brought home to us primarily through our biological reactions. I do not of course mean that there is any conscious recognition of outer realities THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH 85 as having the same sort of existence that feeling is experienced as having. Such an idea, if it ever comes to us at all, evidently can only be the outcome of a belated philosophical speculation; it has indeed no possibility of arising in primitive experience, since the intellectual recognition of feeling as such is it¬ self a relatively late product. But I see nothing against supposing, nevertheless, that the latent standard which feeling-existence supplies may enter as an element into the unanalyzed sense of existence which we undoubtedly project beyond ourselves; and that along with the blind sensational feeling that accompanies muscular adjustment, and the more or less obscure intellectual perception of a relevancy to needs or ends, there may be present also a still obscurer sense of “isness” itself, which reflection will show to be a shadow cast by our own personal acquaintance with existence in the inner life. There still remains one factor in the analysis with which this section opened which I have not defined —the “activity” aspect of knowledge. About this a good deal of controversy has centered, into which I do not think it necessary to go, since it hardly bears very directly on my present inquiry. It perhaps will be enough to say that by mental activity I mean, not an ultimate metaphysical category, but something that can be empirically described—a succession, namely, of concrete mental states attended by a sense of direction, of intent or purpose, such as is 86 WHAT IS TRUTH ? rendered possible through the presence of an “idea” of some future end or event to which the process is felt as leading up. There can scarcely be a ques¬ tion as to the reality of experiences of this sort, though difficulties may be raised about their basis and conditions; I doubt whether the same thing can be said of the “activity” of some of the neo-realists, as an entity “in itself” standing in an undefined re¬ lationship to objects. KNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES AND OF THE PAST I N what has been said about the nature of the knowing process, I have so far had in mind chiefly the world of nature, more particularly with reference to its perceptual basis. Meanwhile there remain two other very important sorts of fact which also plainly we are competent to know—the reality of other selves, and of those past occurrences for which we have to trust to memory. If the results of the preceding analysis are sound, we should ex¬ pect to And these too involving, as indeed they seem to do, the presence of an essence to mediate our acquaintance with them. But the details can hardly be quite the same as in the case of objects of per¬ ception; and something further is therefore needed for their understanding. The attributing to objects, or to certain of them, not only the qualities and relationships which sense experience supplies, but also those more intimate emotional and volitional and intellectual characters that in a peculiar fashion constitute what I call “myself, 5 ’ might perhaps be thought to follow readily enough from the results already reached. If these latter essences are actually present within the inner life, why should we not instinctively assign them also on occasion to the realities with which 88 WHAT IS TRUTH? we are in contact 4 ? In point of fact it has been very generally held in recent years that in our early com¬ merce with the world we probably do thus feel that we are in relationship, not with the “physical” in its modern scientific sense, but with living agencies akin to ourselves. And it is undoubtedly so that up to a point a tendency exists to personify our surround¬ ings, which might be accounted for in the way pro¬ posed. Such a theory has been set forth very persua¬ sively by Mr. Santayana in his Reason in Common Sense. On this showing, that which chiefly calls for explanation is not the belief in other selves, since these are the natural and ordinary objects of belief; what we have specially to explain is the manner in which such an instinctive tendency is checked, and the assignment of personal qualities limited to the instances where it really is justified. I have never been able to avoid the feeling that this animistic or anthropomorphic interpretation of the primitive nature experience goes somewhat fur¬ ther than the probabilities warrant. It seems to pre¬ suppose in early man an excess of imaginative over practical interests which is not justified by our actual knowledge either of human or of animal na¬ ture, and which would have complicated seriously the business of living, difficult enough at best. The trouble with the mythologizing tendency as a suffi¬ cient account of the origin of the social experience, is that in its indiscriminate bestowal of human at¬ tributes it gets away from the practical conditions KNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES 89 of human life, where all objects are not on an equality. And as a matter of fact it is not certain that such an indiscriminate tendency really exists. Recent investigations have made it rather probable that the earliest form of animism is not so much “personification ,’ 7 as the attributing to the outer world of a pervasive and indwelling “power” which animates all things; and this in some sense may be regarded not as mythology but as truth. Later on no doubt a widespread disposition does exist to mytholo¬ gize in the stricter sense. But here it seems likely that we have to do in large measure with a play of fancy dependent on the psychological law of sug¬ gestion. And not only does suggestion already imply the prior presence of social material, but long before leisure for the imaginative life can be presupposed, the social experience must have been already a secure possession. It would seem more plausible, then, to recognize limits to a primitive anthropomorphism. A special occasion will in consequence be needed to account for its appearance; and such an occasion is at hand in the exercise of those tendencies of human nature which we roughly name the social. Meanwhile however, unless we discriminate a little, this new suggestion also has to meet what may seem a difficulty. We are supposing that the recogni¬ tion of other selves is the immediate and instinctive reading of certain objects in the light of what goes on within ourselves when the social impulses are called into play. The advantage here is the same as 90 WHAT IS TRUTH? in the previous theory, in that we are undertaking to dispense with the more intellectual and sophisti¬ cated methods which an appeal to “analogy” seems to presuppose, but which there is slight reason to think within the powers of primitive man. The fact is however that often, and perhaps typically, the quality which, correctly or incorrectly, we assign to a socius is not the quality we ourselves are now ex¬ periencing, but a complementary one. After I have once accepted another self, I assume that he will have the same sense experiences that I have in a com¬ mon situation, and I am likely to assume too, until I am disillusioned, that his opinions and feelings will naturally be the same as mine. But in the primi¬ tive impulsive and emotional experiences to which it seems most natural to look for the origin of the recognition, such an identity will not necessarily be found to hold. The object of an emotional reaction I envisage in the first place, not as itself hating, but as wicked or hateful; not as loving, but as love-pro¬ voking; not as jealous, but as something to be jealous of; not as fearing, but as fearsome. The fact accordingly of this difference in the con¬ tent of the referring act suggests that the theory will need to be made a little more complex. We are not to look, it would seem, for the earliest form of the “social” object in a creature similarly minded with ourselves, but only in an object with a peculiar significance and interest for us, something which is not simply exploited in a utilitarian way, but which KNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES 9i evokes a direct emotional reaction of the sort we later come to associate with the social life. Here the “reality” of the object derives, like the reality of anything else, from the reaction of the organism in the presence of that which it has to take into ac¬ count; while the peculiar character of the object re¬ sults from the part it plays as the source or occasion of the social emotions. The full conception of a “self,” however, in¬ volves much more than this; it is incomplete with¬ out a considerable similarity of inner content also. And for explaining this last in its completeness, it is impossible to dispense with an appeal to some form of—often more or less unconscious—analogy. At the start, however, the process is supposedly still too immediate to deserve this title. Here we may conceive that the same social tendencies in man con¬ tinue to play a leading part, but in their more dis¬ tinctively cooperative aspect. Not only do there exist certain emotionally interesting objects, but some of these objects we find ourselves prepared to join in interesting common tasks—which we may take as including the task of fighting as well as that of cooperation in the stricter sense. And under these conditions, it does not appear unnatural that we should be led to feel in the object which shares in the common activity, and helps to make it possible, the presence of the same inner intentions and emo¬ tions and satisfactions which we are experiencing in ourselves. This process, when we come to see its 92 WHAT IS TRUTH? implications, will translate itself logically into an act of analogy; and we then extend its operation widely. Originally however it will not be necessary that we should recognize such facts of the inner life as ours, or indeed that we should recognize them as existences at all; their “essence” might be referred as directly as the essences we call physical. An analysis of the knowledge of past reality in¬ volves somewhat greater complications. This fact of memory has indeed often seemed to philosophers a peculiarly mysterious and baffling sort of thing. How can the mind reach out into the past and grasp the non-existent? Is there not something here more than ordinarily paradoxical ? And of course memory, like anything else in the last analysis, is mysterious. On the whole, however, I am inclined to question whether the distinctive mystery which is supposed to belong to it does not tend to disappear on exami¬ nation. It has been common for philosophers to look upon memory as more fundamental than perception, and, more or less explicitly, to build up the world of per¬ ceptual objects on the basis of its pronouncements; the philosophy of Shadworth Hodgson is a specially explicit instance of this typical attitude. And of course in one sense this is undeniable. The fact of persistence in consciousness, whereby the bare mo¬ ment of awareness is enabled to become a portion of a more or less enduring experience, is the necessary presupposition of any philosophy; without it, “exKNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES 93 perience” would not be at all. This fact of immediate memory, or of the sense of time distinctions within the specious present, I shall not attempt to account for; I see no alternative to regarding it as one of the ultimate data on which reason has to build. But even if we call such an aspect of experience by the name of memory, it is not to be identified with that recall of a lapsed and vanished past to which the term is commonly meant to apply; and it has so far proved impossible to deduce this last capacity from it directly. I propose to begin then from the other end, and instead of using memory to explain perception, to take perception as a starting point for the account of memory. Assuming accordingly that perceptual knowledge, when we look at it in a natural way, implies the recognition of a real world, independent of the knowing process, to which we in perception assign a “nature,” it follows that we still are in a world of objects when, in the absence of actual contact with the senses, the original experience is ideally reinstated. For memory to be possible, we do not have somehow to start from the remembering act, and out of this evolve a transition to a wider universe; to “remember” an object we must first be able to think or imagine it, and in thinking it we are already in an independent world. And the ad¬ vantage of connecting the recognition of such a world with perception rather than with thought or memory, lies in the fact that in the “idea” the stress 94 WHAT IS TRUTH? and pull that attend the contact of an organic pro¬ pensity with an actual present environment are no longer there to help us to an explanation, and we seem to be left in consequence to an unmediated, and therefore magical, leap beyond the thinking ex¬ perience by its own unaided powers. The next point to be noted is, that in this world of objects there holds, among other relations, the time relation also. Time, that is, is not in the first instance a function of memory, in the sense that it comes to light as a relation between the present ex¬ periencing or self and a remembered past; it at¬ taches to objects or events both of them alike in the objectively known world. This would not be so if we were first compelled to construct perceptual ob¬ jects from the memory experience before we were in possession of cognitively independent reals. But assuming that such reals have already been given in perception, there is no reason why they might not show a new relationship to one another in which no recognition of the remembering experience plays a part. It is not essential for the present purpose that we should have a theory as to the conditions under which this conscious recognition first comes about, though supposedly it is mediated through connection with human purposes and their progressive realiza¬ tion; it is enough that we do perceive the distinc¬ tions of before and after, and have in consequence the materials out of which to construct a temporal world. I am able, then, to think of things as ternKNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES 95 porally connected; and when I remember an event in the past there is always present, along with what¬ ever else may be implied, the reconstruction of a situation in which temporal relationships are in¬ volved, and which I now hold before my mind as a purely intellectual and non-temporal “idea” or es¬ sence. One essential of what is meant by localizing a thing in the past is the process of fitting it into a wider ideal context which takes the form of such a temporally related system. But even supposing the whole course of the world’s events to be taken up into such a system, we nevertheless have not yet arrived at the experience which we call memory. I can place a fact of Greek history in an historical context; but I cannot re¬ member it as past, though I can know its pastness. And a similar conclusion applies to one further important element in the situation, of which likewise we must say that, while it is a necessary element, it does not constitute memory as such. This is the feel¬ ing of familiarity. Apart from this sense of inti¬ macy and warmth which certain experiences possess, there would be no tendency to welcome them; but such a feeling offers in itself no guarantee. In true memory, a picture rises indeed before me which has the standing of an old acquaintance; but so equally is the picture of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers familiar. The sense of familiarity is just a dumb feeling, whose interpretation has still to follow. There remains one further essential to the memory WHAT IS TRUTH? 96 experience—that the event should be located also in our past. Even experiences that really have been ours we may recall, in reveries or day-dreams, and live over again with gusto or repugnance, without in the stricter sense being entitled to speak of this as memory, provided we are absorbed in the quality of the experience itself, regardless of its location in a particular series of experienced events. In such a case we are reliving the past rather than remember¬ ing it. The thing that is needed in addition is the more or less explicit sense of a connection between the past occurrence, and the living reality of the present self. And the most obvious point of identity to estab¬ lish this connection is, in the first instance, the pres¬ ence of a continuing disposition, or interest, or what¬ ever it may be called, which brings the past experience into the same active scheme or system that now is prepared to function anew, as a portion of its ideal teleological pattern. This, it should be re¬ marked, has no need to involve any explicit recog¬ nition of the “self,” or of the present moment of experience as an experience; as a matter of fact it cannot easily be supposed to do this, since both the self and the psychological present are concepts of a relatively late date, while memory must go back almost to the beginning of things. But so too must the immediate sense of present ends be equally origi¬ nal. And the tying up of a familiar image to the serving of such ends not only suggests a beginning KNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES 97 therefore for the remembering experience, but even yet it is involved in the most intimate and vital type of memory. Certainly, in spite of what may be our knowledge that an event belongs to our own past, it actually does seem strange and foreign to us so long as it lies outside of dispositions that are still alive and a part of our present nature. It is doubtful whether I can be said in any proper sense to “re¬ member ’ 5 an incident in remote childhood, as distinct from the habit I have formed of thinking of it as mine. It might perhaps be urged that the sudden recrudescence of an event in childhood is possible, with no intermediate repetitions to set up a habit. But granting the possibility, the fact may still easily be that the event only gets located in our personal past, either through an inference that what is revivable must once have been an experience of ours — a dubious inference in the light of false memory— or because the revived fact finds a natural place in a context already recognized as ours. Meanwhile this last point suggests the final re¬ mark that, in a great majority of our so-called memories, a connection with the actual present self is only latent, and we have little more than the in¬ tellectual recognition of a content which we have grown used to calling ours. Here it is necessary, in addition, that we should not only have made use of memory in the actual conduct of life, but should have arrived at a recognition of the “self” as a serial group of particular psychological experiences WHAT IS TRUTH? 98 more or less accurately dated, and attaching at its proximate end to what we have also learned to think of explicitly as the present moment. This, however, is a relatively sophisticated and even aca¬ demic conception of memory. It takes the form pri¬ marily of a logical or ideal system in which the present self enters as also only an intellectual or ideal content; and as such it serves as one of the in¬ tellectual tools of the practical act of remembering, rather than directly constitutes it. What I have been trying to maintain is, then, that we do not have, outside of primary memory, which is not in question here, what has sometimes been called an immediate and present sense of past ex¬ perience. The experience of memory is analyzable into three aspects—an organized habit or disposi¬ tion, a purely intellectual framework of ideal con¬ tent within which temporal relationships hold, and the feeling of familiarity, which last however neither constitutes memory as an intellectual fact, nor guarantees its reliability. Meanwhile the “tran¬ scendence” of what is remembered to the present mental state is due primarily to none of these, nor to all of them together, but is already involved in the fact that recall is an ideal repetition of that act of perception which gives us “objects” to begin with. The groundwork of memory is thus in terms of a world of objects between which a perceived relation of temporal succession exists, the piecing on of this to the present situation being also a purely intelKNOWLEDGE OF OTHER SELVES 99 lectual construction rather than any novel form of immediate experiencing. And its essential character is, normally, not the restoring of a flow of past ex¬ periences continuous with the present one, as James Mill for example thought, but the bringing of the past into connection with the significant meaning of our lives, as represented by existing interests and ends. It is only secondarily that, after our attention has once been turned to the psychological fact con¬ temporaneous with the objects of a present interest, we build up the picture of a single life history in which various events are more or less definitely dated. SOME COMPETING THEORIES I N the preceding pages I have given an account of the knowing experience which in my judgment is verifiable as an analysis, and open to fewer serious objections on the whole than competing theories. I propose next to add a few remarks of a somewhat desultory sort, with the purpose more especially of placing the conception in its relation to various cur¬ rent philosophies. That to which it has the closest relation is, of course, common-sense or “representative ’ 5 dualism. As a matter of fact I should have no objection per¬ sonally to accepting this title for it, were it not that I should be afraid of offering too inviting a target to critics inclined to be captious. It has for some time been a commonplace among philosophers of a great variety of brands, that to be a “dualist,” more particularly a representative dualist, is to reveal at the outset one’s entire incompetence for the philo¬ sophical game. This habit of giving a descriptive title a bad name, and then using it to condemn an uncongenial theory, is always an unfortunate one, and accounts for many of the easy victories which metaphysicians win; but it has to be taken into ac¬ count. It will therefore be safer to call attention once more to the precise nature of the resemblances and the differences between the present theory and the commoner form of dualism. SOME COMPETING THEORIES 101 What the representative theory of knowledge has usually been interpreted as saying, is to the effect that we first come to know sensations as facts in the inner life, and then project these outside our¬ selves, probably through the need of finding a cause for their occurrence. Up to this point dualism would be essentially in agreement with the ordinary forms also of a scientific or realistic agnosticism. But while agnosticism supposes that the only relation which sensations bear to their causes is the causal one it¬ self, and that no community of nature exists be¬ tween the two, representational ism would hold that there is, to some extent at least, a likeness also, and that the image in the mind “copies” the reality out¬ side. I have repudiated as explicitly as I know how the opinion that we first know something that can be called a mental state; and with this it will be found that most of the stock objections that philosophers feel under obligation to go on repeating fall away at once. On the other hand, the position I have adopted does continue to be a dualism, and knowl¬ edge may even, if the statement is not misinter¬ preted, be said to copy reality. The grounds for this dualism it may perhaps be useful to restate. While sensations or mental images are not the primary objects of knowledge, there is such a thing as a mental state distinct in point of existence from the object known, and serving as a necessary condi¬ tion of the knowing process. The inability to sepa¬ rate these two claims has been responsible for a very 102 WHAT IS TRUTH? large amount of rather artificial ingenuity devoted to the task of eliminating a datum which, it has been thought, renders genuine knowledge impossible. But whatever may be the temptation thus to get rid of mental states as a supposed screen between the mind and reality, the effort is bound to be a tour de force , which leaves the unsophisticated reader incredulous, and the theorist himself usually a little apologetic. He does indeed have his own appeal to make to com¬ mon sense. Is it so, he asks the dualist, that the plain man in perception recognizes any distinction between objects, as if the real thing were only the projection of an inner copy? But this question quite loses its point if we suppose that the mental state does not in perception recognize itself as such, but simply is there as the vehicle of the act of knowing. And to deny that subsequent inquiry will reveal the existence of “psychological” data is on the face of it a little arbitrary. Greek philosophy might excusably confine itself, with no need for apology, to a choice between a universe of material substance and a uni¬ verse of logical entities, because analysis had not as yet succeeded in making explicit that difference be¬ tween the physical or the logical, and the psychical, which Descartes erected into a philosophical postu¬ late. But for the modern thinker to do this, ignoring the most insistent of the problems which philosophy has agitated since Descartes’ time, and the long and honorable history of empirical psychology—for psy¬ chology did not come into existence with the appearSOME COMPETING THEORIES 103 ance of behaviorism in the last few years—is not equally excusable. Both the logical idealism im¬ ported from Germany, and the new materialism of the American neo-realists and the pragmatists, are so difficult to come to terms with controversially just for this reason, that they quietly set aside all the evidence pointing to the presence in the world of specific realities which are not identical either with logical terms and propositions, or with organic reactions to a physical environment, and so go back to the analytical naivete of Plato and Democritus. One attempt at a similar outcome has indeed been made which is not open to this charge; it does not ignore altogether the evidence for the psychical, but, starting from the empirical fact, it undertakes by carrying the analysis further to get rid in a legiti¬ mate manner of the mental state as a special entity. This is the neo-realistic doctrine of knowledge as an “act of awareness”—a doctrine which splits up the supposed conscious fact that intervenes between knowing and its object into an “act” and a “con¬ tent,” the qualitative content being then identified with the “object” of knowledge, while the “mental” no longer stands as a mediate image or sensation, but as an unmediated “operation” face to face with reality. On the whole I do not think it can be said that the difficulties which this ingenious theory raises have been appreciably diminished by the dis¬ cussions of the last few years. It still remains very hard to grasp the notion of a bare “act” which has 104 WHAT IS TRUTH*? no further nature; this seems to be the mere concept of activity, and in that case would represent only another attempt to reduce reality to logical defini¬ tion. So, again, the more one reflects upon the pe¬ culiar direction which this act is supposed to take in order to constitute knowledge, the more it seems ap¬ parent that we are getting away from any possibility of throwing real light upon the nature of knowing, and are leaving it a sheer mystery. To be related to an “activity” stands for nothing whatever that is distinctive; and if we add the term “awareness” to distinguish this activity from others in the world, this is, once more, merely identifying the peculiar phenomenon by a word, and leaving it without any concrete characterization. The only real reason for refusing to turn back to the traditional belief that, in connection with the processes of the biological life, certain new reali¬ ties make their appearance of a sensational or affectional order, is the supposed difficulty that it puts in the way of genuine possibilities of knowledge. Sensations appear to be there, as anyone who will make a serious attempt to follow the analyses of the older empirical psychology may convince himself. And I have endeavored already to show not only that they are consistent with the possibility of knowledge, but that they are urgently demanded if the knowing function is not to be left in the air with no ascertainable connection with reality. It is true great care will need to be taken verbally in order SOME COMPETING THEORIES 105 to avoid difficulties, and certain fundamental dis¬ tinctions will have to be kept constantly in mind. In particular, it is essential to hold fast to the difference between awareness as a cognitive term in the strict or mediate sense of knowledge, and awareness as the felt presence of reality in immediate experience, before it is attended to or reflected on. But this is a readily verifiable distinction if one will take the trouble; and a refusal to use it for avoiding verbal inconsistencies suggests a determination to get rid of the psychical rather than a candid weighing of its claims. But while the point of view I am representing agrees with the older dualism in insisting upon the reality of the mental state, it is also able, as I hope I have made plain, to sympathize up to a certain point with that “logical” emphasis which is much more typical of modern epistemology. For it has in¬ sisted that the ideal content of knowledge, while it has its existential basis in the sensation or image, is in truth a logical fact, in the sense that it is merely the characters embodied in the mental state which knowing refers automatically to the world in con¬ tact with the organism, and not the mental state it¬ self. It also insists, however, that the abstract con¬ tent is not the entire fact of knowledge, but stands rather for a tool which actual beings make use of in a world of actual things and persons; and here it comes sharply into conflict with certain rival theo¬ ries. I shall add in this connection a few words to io6 WHAT IS TRUTH? indicate somewhat more explicitly wherein the de¬ ficiencies of two of these in particular appear to me to lie. In the case of objective idealism, the fundamental vice of method may perhaps be traced to an am¬ biguity in the notion of the “concrete universal.” What this phrase ought plainly to stand for, as an attempted characterization of reality or the uni¬ verse, is a unity of system inclusive of the entire actual content of existence—things, persons, the processes of history, the evolution of physical na¬ ture—all related in terms of some luminous sort of inner unity. It is to express this realistic view that the term “experience” is drawn upon. Experience, as is particularly obvious in the philosophy of such a relatively concrete-minded idealist as Royce, is evidently intended to bring to the interpretation of the universe the analogy of a human experience—a concrete psychological process which is interpretable not as a conceptual unity merely, but as an existence also, or a whole of feeling. But experience is not the word that most ade¬ quately suggests the original emphasis in idealism, or the method on which it still continues mainly to rely. And accordingly in practice the concrete uni¬ versal has more frequently another meaning, which must be distinguished from the former one if we are not to overlook very real problems, and so render our philosophy over-facile. In this second meaning, the universal is itself a concept , though a concept which SOME COMPETING THEORIES 107 gathers up the conceptual nature of all other inter¬ pretative categories. To experience, this inclusive concept may indeed apply as a description of its logical nature; but experience in the Roycean or Bradleyan sense is something more than its concep¬ tual definition. And in this second sense, as an affair of definition or of dialectic, the concrete universal is no longer identical with the universe itself, unless we start by assuming that reality is nothing but a system of logical concepts. It is with the second or conceptual interpretation that, as I have said, most idealists are almost exclusively concerned. Actual things and actual processes for the most part they ignore. They are dealing not with men, but with mankind or society; not with minds, but with Mind; not with organisms, but with the organism. And their aim is to show how one idea implies another, or how a simpler sort of thing involves in its “defini¬ tion” something more complex. And the assumption back of this which the ideal¬ ist invariably makes—when, that is, he does not set aside the concrete altogether and so escape the prob¬ lem—is that, when we have once shown that con¬ ceptual definitions through their mutual implica¬ tion imply an intellectual unity of “mind” or “spirit,” we are justified forthwith in saying that the things defined form a unity of precisely the same sort and degree. But this is something we have no right to assume. If it is true, it must be shown to be true. And the more the case is examined, the less io 8 WHAT IS TRUTH? evident does the thesis become, unless once again we meet the difficulty by repudiating its source, and refuse to see any distinction between things and their conceptual definitions. There are two preliminary points which at least suggest an inadequacy in the idealistic method. In the first place, it notoriously fails to make even a step toward breaking down the empirical distinction between the rationally necessary and the contingent, and deducing the actual facts and occurrences that constitute the “real” world. Whatever light phi¬ losophy may succeed in throwing on the ideal mean¬ ing of history after the facts have been given to it, it has absolutely no way of saying what these facts must be; and it usually stultifies itself completely when it ventures upon prophecy. But if conceptual implications were in reality capable of being trans¬ ferred without reinterpretation to existence, this helplessness is difficult to explain. About this first difficulty idealists have, in com¬ parison with its importance, never had very much to say. The second point has received more frequent recognition, though here also a serious attempt at a solution has seldom been undertaken. Objective idealism is committed to the notion that reality is essentially a timeless whole. So long as it confines itself to the manipulation of concepts this is intel¬ ligible, and even inevitable. A logical fact is a time¬ less fact because, in giving our attention to the ab¬ stract character of things, we are explicitly taking SOME COMPETING THEORIES 109 it out of time. Time may indeed itself enter into a conceptual definition; history, for example, can hardly be defined except as undergoing succession. But it is not the actual process of time itself that persists in the logical world. Time here becomes just the idea of time, and the idea of time is of course itself timeless. The moment however we turn to the real world of things and actions, we find timelessness an extremely difficult notion. It is quite impossible to think this real world concretely, as it actually comes to us in experience, without thinking of it as undergoing progressive change; anything else would falsify its obvious character. The idealist has no solution of the difficulty. He is bound to hold to the claim that reality is timeless, for the sake of the con¬ ceptual universal in which his main interest always lies; and if by chance he does turn instead to the concrete whole of existence , his only recourse is to lay the blame on the inadequacy of our human ways of thinking. This at least raises a presumption against the identification of the two forms of the “universal.” And the doubt appears to be confirmed when we come to scrutinize the assumption itself. The thesis is, once more, that the unity of a conceptual system is convertible directly with the unity of a concrete universe. Let us consider first an instance where the object which a conceptual unity defines may also be safely taken as existing, and where the identity therefore is open to testing. A good example will be ] 10 WHAT IS TRUTH? found in the notion of “society.” Conceptually man and society are mutually implicated in a unity which is intimate and organic; it is impossible to define one without reference to the other. And this definition of society will of course “apply” to society as the true description of an existing fact. But the attempt to translate the conceptual unity of definition directly into a “real” unity of existence meets with serious obstacles. Such a real unity we have before us as a model in the experienced whole of feeling which constitutes an individual life; but it is only by an extreme of paradox that the philosopher can claim for society the same sort of existential wholeness that is found in the lives of its individual members. The concept of social experience is the description not of a personal experience, but, explicitly, of a society, or of a community of personal experiencecenters. The moment we turn from the concept man to men, these last reveal a form of being which is exclusive of other men, though at the same time the presence of ideal references to other similar beings makes society a part of their significance or meaning, and implicates it therefore in the definition of all that their nature involves. Even in the case, then, of realities to which we have empirical reason to believe that a systematic description applies, we cannot pass without further argument from this description to a similar unity of existence. It is quite conceivable that things exist in separation, connected by relationships that “subSOME COMPETING THEORIES 111 sist,” but that do not constitute an existential or experienced whole; and this seems to be actually the case at innumerable points in the existing world. If accordingly we recognize any difference at all be¬ tween speculative concepts and concrete experience —and the disposition of idealists to reduce reality itself to the conceptual must again constantly be al¬ lowed for—we are also bound to recognize that unity may have a different meaning in the two fields, which makes it hazardous to pass uncritically from one of them to the other. Meanwhile the method of idealism might have a second interpretation, in some respects less open to objection. Without pretending now to translate re¬ ality into a distinctive unity of “experience,” analo¬ gous to the wholeness of an individual life, it may mean to assert, simply, that a true description of the real world, whatever its existence may mean, can be attained by manipulating conceptual data, and ap¬ plying to reality the sort of inclusive concept which most completely harmonizes these data. Taken as a hypothetical method merely, this does no doubt represent an aspect of the process of in¬ tellectual inquiry. If we are trying to understand the nature of something where the empirical evi¬ dence stops short of being conclusive, it is natural that we should go to work by applying to it, tenta¬ tively, further categories with which we are familiar —categories whose chance of success is perhaps likely to increase as they become more complex and 112 WHAT IS TRUTH*? inclusive. Such a method has constantly been used by philosophers, in particular, as a source for their ultimate constructions of reality. Thus the concept of a social whole again—one of the most “organic” of the unities that experience offers us—may in this way, irrespective of the sort of question previously raised, be used to supply a hypothetical account of the world, which justifies our faith in so far as it appears to overcome the contradictions that develop in the process of thinking reality, and to throw light upon its dark places. But idealism contends for more than this. Its thesis is that pure thought has a definite logical or dialectical structure such that, from whatever point we start, we shall, if we care about avoiding contra¬ diction, find ourselves necessarily led to a compre¬ hensive concept into which each subordinate cate¬ gory enters as an aspect or moment, and which we are forced to acquiesce in as a true account of the actual universe. This Hegel undertook to show to the world once for all; and the undertaking has very commonly been assumed by his disciples to be a per¬ manent landmark in the history of human thinking. It is true that nobody now supposes that Hegel’s own dialectical results were final; that few idealists make any attempt to provide a substitute; and that many of them do not conceal a suspicion that the task is one beyond the powers of the philosopher to accomplish. Nevertheless the tradition still holds that the Hegelian dialectic represents the fundaSOME COMPETING THEORIES n 3 mental ideal of reason, and could be carried through were reason as competent in practice as it is in essence. It is not of course my purpose here to subject to any thorough criticism the Hegelian logic. But I may in passing make two remarks of a very general nature. It does not lack plausibility to claim that what we are unable to think without falling into self-contradiction cannot be true, or completely true, of reality. I shall indicate presently in what form I think such a claim can be accepted. But Hegel has notoriously a peculiar notion of contradiction. If one takes almost any stage in the dialectic, he will find Hegel arguing that because, when I make a cer¬ tain statement in terms of a given thought category, I can, from some different point of view , make with equal propriety a contrary statement, I have fallen into contradiction. But this is not what we ordinarily mean by the word. Jones is both a son and a father, but there is no contradiction here; the fact that he also is something that is not a son does not affect the truth of the statement that he really is a son, among other things. If indeed we wish to speak of that which fails to be completely intelligible or inclusive of the full totality of truth as contradictory, we have the right to do so. But it will be sure to lead to trouble and misunderstanding. Outside of the pe¬ culiar idealistic view of knowledge, it is universally recognized that a truth may in the strictest sense be true even though it is not all the truth; in the H4 WHAT IS TRUTH? larger system of truth it may still persist as an ele¬ ment, unchanged in its essential nature by the wider relationships into which it enters. And if this is pos¬ sible at all, it excludes any necessity that a true de¬ scription of the world must be in the form of a single comprehensive category into which the selfidentity of every lower category merges and disap¬ pears. And even if we were to allow that intelligibility can be secured only in terms of one comprehensive notion, the idealist still is going beyond his obvious and unquestioned rights. For while it may seem natural to say that we cannot accept as true what is inconsistent, it does not follow that because a system is consistent it therefore must be true. Supposing it possible to attain to some all-embracing category which rounds out and completes each lesser one, it still is no consequence of the law of contradiction that this must needs hold of the actual world which human thought tries to understand. And the ground for this judgment is evident if we translate the idealistic thesis into a simpler and more empirical form—a form which, though the idealist himself would not of course accept it, will, it is likely, carry a stronger appeal to some minds than his own interpretation does. Hegel’s supreme category finds its easiest interpretation if we turn it into psychology, and hold that the unity which throws light on the categories is the purposive or “or¬ ganic” unity of an individual life-process. If all the SOME COMPETING THEORIES 1 15 notions of which I make intellectual use are em¬ ployed in the interests of “life”—a statement that gets meaning only in so far as life is intelligent and purposive-—it would not be very surprising if we were to find that each of them can be shown to have a more or less organic place within this teleological whole, thereby becoming easier to understand. Some of the puzzles about the popular notion of causality, for example, might disappear if causation were to be conceived as borrowing a part of its apparent character from a larger teleological situation, wherein intelligible bonds of connection can be seen to hold. In point of fact it is often possible to interpret Hegel from such a standpoint. But if we once regard the unity of rational system as a function of the in¬ tellectual efforts of an individual mind to adjust life to its conditions, we have taken away the ground for any logical necessity that it should be adequate to this real conditioning world. A tool in the evolu¬ tionary process, we may plausibly believe that as a tool it wrnuld not work as successfully as it does were it not roughly adjusted to the facts. But this is an empirical, and not a logical argument. It is con¬ sistent with wide variations in the degree of accuracy that thought attains. At best it applies far more forcibly to the simpler than to the more comprehen¬ sive concepts. And it is open to the logical objection that it cannot be made to work at all unless we first beg a sufficient amount of unreasoned faith in our WHAT IS TRUTH? 116 intellectual machinery to have attained a belief in the evolutionary process on which the argument rests. I may amplify a little the contention here by turning to a somewhat simpler form of the idealistic claim, which comes much closer to our more familiar use of terms. In recent years Royce, in particular, has made continual use of this. The essence of the new claim is, that there are certain truths about the constitution of the world which we are forced to accept because they are implicated in the very nature of reason, and because they have therefore to be used in any rational argument whatsoever, even an argu¬ ment that attempts to controvert them. And since, if we were to abandon reason, we should be exclud¬ ing ourselves from the sphere in which truth and falsity have meaning, we are therefore justified in claiming them as “necessary” truths. In a way they depend on the self-evident truth that two contradic¬ tory propositions cannot both hold good; but not in the sense that they can be “deduced” from this. Rather, they offer an instance of contradiction, but an instance which is given a peculiar philosophical significance by the fact that, of the two contradic¬ tories, one gets decisively the upper hand through our inability to think the other consistently without presupposing it. In its general form the truth here reduces itself in the end to the proposition that re¬ ality is a rational and consistent whole; the attempt to treat it as irrational is self-contradictory, in view SOME COMPETING THEORIES 117 of the fact that such a judgment can be passed only as we already presuppose the rational principles that make judgment possible. As a preliminary to considering this claim, it is well to be clear about what concretely it commits us to. Since reason is an empty term unless it stands for the particular rational structure of our human ways of judging, or our human “minds,” what it asserts is, that I can be entirely certain that what my reason —qua human being—tells me is the na¬ ture of the world must actually be its nature; I can¬ not on a grand scale be mistaken. But this proposi¬ tion—that reality must, not does, conform to my mind—seems when it is examined on its merits not without its dubious features. The doubt is not purely academic, but is based upon positive reasons for holding that my mind may lead me into error; and I can readily imagine circumstances—in terms, say, of Descartes’ devil—which theoretically would make such error thoroughgoing. Even though while I am occupied with it I may find the idealistic argu¬ ment plausible and not easy to refute, it is difficult to view the outcome without a returning sense of the apparent presumptuousness of its claims, which appreciably weakens its appeal. At best my state of mind is apt to be not so much a whole-hearted ac¬ ceptance of the result, as it is an admission that I fail to find any flaw in the reasoning; and what is the good of a belief in certainty unless the belief it¬ self is certain? 118 WHAT IS TRUTH? There is one presupposition, it is true, under which the conclusion does appear to follow. If re¬ ality is identified once more,, after the common habit of idealists, with the content of knowledge taken as a logical or rational content, then it seems to be a necessary consequence that reality follows the laws of reason. The content of reality is just a content of reason, and of course cannot violate its own nature. But this only means that if one assumes to begin with the thing to be established—the validity of a certain conception of reality—the same conception will naturally emerge in the conclu¬ sion; and such a line of proof has commonly been frowned upon by the logic books. Meanwhile there is a way to evade the argument if we start with the alternative assumption which I have been adopting, and make truth consist in the reference of an intellectual content to a further and independent real. To say that reality is irrational would then have the meaning, that if I could— which I cannot—absorb the real world into my ex¬ perience, I should find that it does not meet any ex¬ pectations that my rational mind is competent to form. There is nothing unintelligible in such a state¬ ment. And I must as a matter of fact be able to think of the possibility of something that is non-rational, for I am at present talking about it, and my adversary is refuting me on the assumption that he knows what I mean. To turn about now and say that the thought of the non-rational is itself a thought of SOME COMPETING THEORIES H9 the rational, since it is a thought, seems very much like verbal juggling; we have an idea, and then sud¬ denly we find that we haven’t it at all, but a quite different idea instead. Either then we are mistaken in thinking that we ever had the idea of the nonrational, which makes nonsense of the whole dis¬ cussion, or the idea is possible, in which case no argument can prove it impossible. And if I can think of a non-rational reality, what becomes of the im¬ possibility that it should exist through the impos¬ sibility of thinking it? What really is evident here is, not that the thought of the non-rational is a thought of the ra¬ tional, but that the thought of the non-rational is a rational thought, which is an altogether different thing. In thinking of reality I must indeed follow the laws of thinking; but why should this mean that reality must follow the laws of thinking? I cannot, it is argued, say that it is true that reality is irrational, because in calling it true, I am imply¬ ing that reality is following the laws of truth. But in point of fact I am not applying the word “true” to reality, but only to the judgment; the reality is, and that is all. If I were to say that reality is irra¬ tional, and also at the same time that I can know concretely wherein its irrational character consists, I should no doubt be contradicting myself; but this is not what I am saying. And I fail entirely to see why there might not be a portion of reality so con¬ stituted with standards of its own that, by the use 120 WHAT IS TRUTH 4 ? of them, it should be able to think the possibility of other reality such as does not meet the same standards. To all this it may perhaps be replied that in draw¬ ing a distinction between reality and the knowing process, we are overlooking the fact that after all my reason works always upon the real world as its material, and refers to it. My thought is al¬ ways about the object, and not about itself; and this carries with it the impossibility that reality should be self-contradictory, and not merely the conclusion that I cannot logically contradict my¬ self. And I am perfectly ready to grant that this is so in a certain very abstract sense; indeed it follows from my whole position. I should agree that we find ourselves unable to doubt the ration¬ ality of the world, in so far as this means only that it is literally impossible for us to hold two contra¬ dictory beliefs about reality when we once see them to be contradictory—the belief, for example, both that an object is white and that it is not white, in the same sense; when I try to think both proposi¬ tions together, the attempt breaks down. And so to this extent the law of contradiction holds of things , and is not merely a “mental” law. While I do not feel sure a priori and in the abstract that nothing can be unless I am able to think it, yet concretely I cannot believe something to be what my knowing constitution makes it impossible for me to believe it to be. And since, for me, reality is accepted only as SOME COMPETING THEORIES 121 guaranteed by belief, I shall always count on reality being self-consistent in so far as I take the trouble to think about reality at all. But the results for philosophy of this conclusion fall far short of idealistic demands. So long as the possibility exists of withholding belief from both the contradictory assertions, and leaving the mind in complete suspense, we at least remain without any knowledge in particular about the world. It is true that while I do not have to make a choice, I am forced to the abstract conclusion that one or the other of them must be accepted. I cannot, in other words, believe the world to be strictly irrational, if this signifies the presence of some positive character attaching to it that would involve the exercise of my reason in the way of assertion and denial simul¬ taneously. But I can very well conceive that it may fail to fit into any concrete form of rational under¬ standing which my human way of viewing things can compass. And while, as I have said, a cautious scepticism would have to admit that it is one thing or the other, either as we think it or existing in some different way, this is a sort of truth which it is equally unimportant for agnosticism to avoid or for rationalism to defend. Strictly speaking, the law of contradiction be¬ comes concretely a decisive factor in our thinking only when it is a question, not of the nature of re¬ ality, but of the consistency of our beliefs and rea¬ soning processes. Its function is to tell us, not that 122 WHAT IS TRUTH*? any belief must be accepted as true, but that certain beliefs must be rejected, because they are not con¬ sistent with something else that, for independent reasons, we are unwilling to give up; or, more par¬ ticularly, that certain arguments are invalid be¬ cause they make use of the assumptions which it is their outcome to disprove. It is a weapon of critical attack, and not of construction. At best, therefore, all that it can do in the present case is to convict of inner inconsistency the argument of the man who sets out to prove by reason that the world must be irrational, since “must” is a rational term. But it cannot lead us to reject necessarily an hypothesis of non-rationality, because what this involves is, again, not the assumption that for thinking absence of con¬ tradiction is not essential, but the assertion that to existence the conditions which give rise to knowl¬ edge may fail to apply. In objective idealism, for the most part, the logi¬ cal emphasis is so entangled with the psychological and the existential—or at least with terminology which suggests these latter—that the theoretical bearings and consequences are not infrequently ob¬ scured. It is one special merit of neo-realism that it has made it possible to put the problems here very much more sharply, by its novel and to some extent its justified emphasis on the part which logical en¬ tities or essences play, not as immediately convert¬ ible with the universe, but as special objects of knowledge in the universe. That in this way it calls SOME COMPETING THEORIES 123 attention to a highly important aspect of the real world, I should regard as unquestionable. I have already indicated what on the other hand appears to me the primary source of the deficiencies of such a theory of knowledge. What the neo-realist calls the object of knowledge is indeed an essential factor in the knowledge situation; but it is not the “object.” And there is one difficulty in particular which results from this on which it may be worth while to dwell a little further—a difficulty which has received proportionally a large amount of notice from the neo-realists, but which has failed to yield readily to treatment. A theory which presupposes the direct presence of reality itself in order to ex¬ plain the experience of knowing and perceiving, finds it hard to account for the fact of error, since an object which is there in its own person must ap¬ parently be whatever it appears to be. The advan¬ tage which the doctrine of the present essay has in this connection should be obvious. The ideal content or the “what” of knowledge must indeed be present to the mind if any character is to be assigned to reality; and this “essence” is in every case just itself and nothing else. In terms of the essence there is a sense, too, in which we may be said always to be dealing with “reality,” since no character or nature, in its component elements at any rate, could possibly be thought by us had it not first been discovered as a character in the real world. But that a given content must needs be real in a 124 WHAT IS TRUTH? further and more important sense, does not to our natural thinking seem at all to be the case. Knowl¬ edge is supposed not merely to involve the aware¬ ness of a descriptive content, but to assert the actual existence of this beyond the knowing act; and our belief may and often will be wrong when we assign a given content to a special location or a particular combination in the real world. Neo-realism how¬ ever, since it does not recognize this distinction be¬ tween the presence of the character to the awareness of the knower and its presence in the object known, is prevented from admitting this; and in conse¬ quence the possibility of error becomes a problem. If we exclude a device, reminiscent alike of ideal¬ ism and of pragmatism, to which Professor Alexan¬ der at times resorts—the identification of error, namely, with the experience of recognizing error, and its consequent explanation in terms of a social judgment which clashes with a merely personal one —there is only one very plausible account of the matter that neo-realism has suggested. And since this is common to writers who differ rather widely on a number of other important points, it may perhaps be taken as semi-official. The explanation is that while all objects alike are, by the very fact of their being apprehended at all, necessarily elements of the real world, there may also be certain relation¬ ships induced upon them by the activity of the mind itself, such as do not correctly represent the actual facts. The mind may bring “objects” into connecSOME COMPETING THEORIES 125 tions where they do not really belong, or it may leave out relations essential to their proper under¬ standing; and in this way error may arise without compromising the reality of the objects themselves. That this thesis has an apparent plausibility there is no occasion to deny. And the reason will be evi¬ dent when we translate it into more familiar terms. If the mind is in possession of the essences of the world of things in the form of “ideas,” which are not however identically the things themselves, there is nothing whatever against its having the ability to manipulate these ideas in ways that depart more or less widely from the real facts. But the neo-realist, who repudiates ideas, has a much more difficult problem on his hands. It would not, so far as I can see, be very inconsistent to suppose that the mind can sin by way of omission on neo-realistic terms. It may have a blind spot that causes it to overlook elements of reality that actually are there, and so its apprehension of the world may be mutilated. But while this accounts for the incompleteness of our knowledge, and its varying complexion at different times and for different persons, it does not account for error on its positive side. We should indeed have error were this partial knowledge asserted by us to be complete; and accordingly neo-realism shares again with idealism a disposition to dally with the definition of error as a will to infallibility and om¬ niscience. But in any case no such definition will cover more than a very small proportion of the facts. 126 WHAT IS TRUTH? That I am open-minded, and aware of my limita¬ tions, still does not prevent my opinions from being in error in so far as they are in error; the essence of error lies in wrong belief, not in dogmatic belief. Meanwhile when we turn from incompleteness of belief to positive error, the neo-realistic explanation meets with serious objections. My “mind” brings, we will say, a human head into relation to a horse’s body, where it does not belong; and in consequence I think a centaur. But supposedly my theory of knowledge is meant to apply to relations as well as to qualities. And accordingly the question must again be asked: If an object of knowledge is known only through its immediate presence to awareness, how can I think a relation which is not, and so be in error about it? The relation also, if it is thought, would appear actually to be just what it is thought as being. To avoid the difficulty, it may perhaps be urged that though the particular instance of the re¬ lationship is not real, the relation as such is real—is an aspect, namely, of the real world; and this once more is doubtless true. No specific character of any sort can be thought which is not first found in reality itself. But in any case this still leaves very much to be accounted for. What is the connection between an abstract universal, and the world of existing par¬ ticulars with the specific relationships between them? and how does a solution which presupposes only a knowledge of the former help us with the latter also? Or do we perhaps know universals only, SOME COMPETING THEORIES 127 and is the universe itself nothing but a complex of universals? To such questions there are as yet no authoritative answers. And in the absence of a welldefined solution, we shall do best to turn from neo¬ realism therefore, to a more independent examina¬ tion of certain of the points involved. RELATIONS I T has been evident everywhere in what has gone before, that a consideration of the part that “es¬ sences” play in knowledge, whether these be inter¬ preted in an idealistic, or a neo-realistic, or a “dualistic” sense, comes up continually against the fact or being of relations, and cannot be finally settled apart from some theory about these elusive entities. To the nature of relationships I shall therefore now briefly revert, though I shall hardly expect to carry much conviction in the remarks I am going on to make. It will be convenient to begin the inquiry by ex¬ amining a term which has come to be used rather generally in this connection—the term “subsist¬ ence.” In its current usage, subsistence has, to begin with, one meaning to which no exception need be taken. It may refer, that is, to any possible term that stands for a logical aspect or content of human thinking. This is unexceptionable for the reason that in so far it is only a more or less useful matter of terminology, which involves of necessity no special metaphysical interpretation. It is nothing more than a name for any identifiable fact of essence or of human meaning -—any bit of descriptive content to which a term can be applied. This is perhaps to re¬ duce to unduly modest proportions that realm of logical entities which recently has played such an RELATIONS 129 impressive role in generating and explaining the cos¬ mos; but still, translated into a universe of discourse easier for me to find my way in, it enables me to follow after a fashion much of what the realist has to say. For me indeed, as I have sufficiently made clear, “description” calls up a much more concrete situation than for the realist, since a description is always somebody's description of something; and I can only envy the facility with which philosophers are able to simplify the problem by dropping out of their calculations this reference to existence—not the idea of existence but the real thing—implied in the words “somebody” and “something.” Still I can, by abstraction, get before me the field of descriptive terms or entities as such; and by confining myself to this field, I seem, as I say, able to give a sense to all but the more cryptic utterances of the newer school. In this interpretation therefore, being, or sub¬ sistence, would stand simply for the possibility of belonging to such a realm, and of becoming an iden¬ tical content of thought or meaning, a part of the universe of discourse. In closer connection with an ultimate metaphysics is a further interpretation of subsistence, which also conveys to me a meaning sufficiently precise. Among other contents of this descriptive world abstracted from the things which it describes, will be found re¬ lations; and these relations would appear to have a further status, to which equally the term in a differ¬ ent and more distinctive sense could be applied. Be130 WHAT IS TRUTH? sides being itself a term or a meaning, a relation is also something that is meant. It is a fact to be dis¬ covered and identified in connection with the world which knowledge grasps. It does not simply have being as a logical concept in human discourse, but is in some sense or other that of which a logical propo¬ sition can be true. And it belongs to the same world to which its terms belong. When I say that a relation of similarity between two men really was there even before any human being had occasion to notice it, I am saying more than that such a relation is an in¬ telligible concept, or that it holds between two logi¬ cal entities in the form of a proposition. It holds between the men . Nevertheless while the new rela¬ tionships which I discover are taken as belonging to the real world of which the connected terms are a description, they do not in appearance have reality in the same sense in which things do. We should hesitate to say that the relation of nearness between two objects “existed,” as we say that the objects exist. But nevertheless it is. Here accordingly is a second fact to which the term subsistence might refer, in a way in which it would not usually be re¬ garded as applying to purely logical entities or “universals.” In considering this status of relations, it may be noted first that, in spite of our hesitation in saying that they exist, they nevertheless seem always to presuppose existence. While relations are without being recognized, they apparently cannot exist, or RELATIONS 131 subsist, or have reality in any sense whatsoever, except as there are existences, actual or imagined, for them to hold between; and we cannot imagine anything except as we have a prior basis for it in actual experience. An ultimately independent realm of subsisting relationships has so far as I can see no meaning at all. Relations involve terms; and at least these terms originate in experience only by way of the concrete and the actual. Relations hold in¬ deed, not between “things,” but between specific distinguishable aspects of things. If I ask what is the relationship between an isosceles triangle and the north pole, or between the solar system and the last best seller, there is no meaning to the question until I go on to inquire, In what respect 4 ? But while it is only by abstracting thus some relevant aspect of character that I am able to discover a determinate relation, these aspects are in the first instance al¬ ways embedded in the existing world. Of course in being thus abstracted, a quality is on the way to being turned into a universal, and so brought within the realm within which logic moves. And it might be that such conceptualized products become themselves new terms of a different sort be¬ tween which further relationships hold, at one re¬ move or more from the concrete. This, if true, would not compromise my contention so far, since no uni¬ versal can be found which do not have their start¬ ing point in existents. But as nearly as I can make out it is not true. * 3 2 WHAT IS TRUTH? If relations in their primary intention are be¬ tween specific real aspects of the existing world, it is equally so that our first step at any rate away from existents is through the imagination, which still deals with the particular, and operates only by separating and recombining definite qualities that are taken over from experience. It is not between abstract redness and greenness that I discover a rela¬ tion of difference, but between a patch of red and a patch of green, sensed or imaged. Once found in the concrete, all the elements of the situation, including the relation, can be translated into conceptual terms; but the relation is put in the conceptual realm, not first discovered in it. Is now this to be taken as universally the case? Or is there a meaning in the comparison of two concepts as such? There certainly appears to be some sense in which our conceptions, or our meanings, develop implica¬ tions on a different level from those that hold in the world of things and agents. It is this that gives point to the claim that logic is an affair of human reason , or of the “laws of thought”—a claim not quite satisfactorily disposed of by the arguments of the neo-realists. We certainly do make some dis¬ tinction between the natural sciences and logic, and feel that the “objectivity” of the two is not on alto¬ gether the same footing; it is an apparently wellgrounded persuasion that “classes” are not to be found in nature, but are the outcome of human thinking. What exists is a number of individuals RELATIONS 133 with a great variety of relationships between them, among which is the eminently external and passive relationship involved in the possession of common traits; and it is necessary not only that there should be this similarity, but that the common traits should be thought together and their potential unity made explicit, before we get what is strictly a class term. Nature is not falsified by this procedure; classes embody something that is really so. But they em¬ body it in a different way. The common characters in the outer world are found in particular existents, and there only; and it is just by reason of being thus particularized that they are able to play their part in the seething life of nature itself. In the class term they are removed from all this active participation in events, and are held just as innocuous and blood¬ less characters before the mind. But also bv virtue of this removal from a divided existence they now can be brought into a form of unity new to them— a unity dependent upon conscious manipulation and recognition. To a certain extent this does not differentiate logic from science. Science also is concerned to gather up the universal aspects of the world of nature in a form that does not as such have existence, as in¬ dividuals exist. This is only to say, however, that science is not reality, but a description of reality, a form of thought or knowledge; and there is nothing against supposing the characteristics it transcribes to constitute the very laws of the existent and actively 134 WHAT IS TRUTH? functioning world. But when we turn to the par¬ ticular relationships that are characteristically logi¬ cal, it becomes more doubtful in what sense this statement remains true. Undoubtedly logic must be based on the discovery of objectively valid truths. But these truths are no longer supposed to reveal, as in the case of science, the actual machinery of the real world that makes the wheels go round. They provide, not for explaining events, but for explain¬ ing inference , which is a very different thing. The process whereby we attain to and validate by rea¬ son our scientific knowledge is quite other than the processes of nature herself, and exemplifies differ¬ ent laws, although our inferences must be based on truths about this very world of objective nature in order to have any relevancy to scientific fact. To remove any appearance of conflict here, it may naturally be supposed therefore that when the con¬ tent of the world becomes a conceptual construct on a new level of reality, it also becomes capable of showing a new set of relationships to other thought content; and that it is these new relationships that make it possible to reason, and so constitute the field of logic. Thus, it may be said, it is not enough for logic that we should have the mind dealing with particular characters of reality. If I take a blue color and compare it with a red, noting the dissimi¬ larity, the result has no logical significance. It is merely one thing more I have discovered about the objective world in which colors exist. Or if I note RELATIONS 135 the time succession of two events, this time relation¬ ship is equally a new objective fact. No dealing with particulars has any logical value; this was the logical defect in the association doctrine. One thought may as a matter of fact call up another. But in so far we are simply on the plane of natural his¬ tory and causality, and nothing in the way of logical compulsion can be got out of it; it gives no basis for inference. Inference is possible only as we deal, not with natural objects, but with artificial thought constructs or universals, that have no existence as such in the natural universe. But while this seems indeed to be the fact, it does not when interpreted essentially change the thesis with which I started out. A comparison of “mean¬ ings,” to be intelligible, has still to utilize, for the discovery of these new relationships, particular bits of concrete quality, though it uses them in new con¬ nections. The most obvious account of the matter here is to say that the relations within the world of meanings or of universals are reducible to the cate¬ gory of whole and part. “Mortal” is a part of my meaning when I think of “man,” and it is in view of this that I am justified in predicating mortality of anything I accept as a man. But here we are not dispensing with the concrete. It can be determined whether a given quality is among the list that make up the concept man only as we particularize the meaning attached to the words; and the process of doing this is one that deals with specific bits of conWHAT IS TRUTH*? 136 tent, and not with some vague new kind of entity called a universal. The character of universality it¬ self is not a source of peculiar relations, but is merely the will to extend these concrete connections beyond the case where they are intuited, and to infer that they are going to be found in other circumstances also; and accordingly the outcome is always a more or less probable “that,” and never a “why,” or an explanation. There is another statement that might be sug¬ gested to stand for the relation peculiarly involved in the logical field—that in terms of identity of meaning. But it seems questionable whether we are justified in calling identity a relation at all. A relation with only one term is an anomaly at best. Nor do we seem justified in trying to make identity more intelligible by reducing it to an identity for human purposes, or to the possibility of practical substitution; for to state this we have to talk about the same purpose, and so use the word to be defined. It is simpler to say that identity stands merely for the fact that we do not discover any relation of dif¬ ference when we look for it. This presupposes a complex situation; but the identity is not analyzable into this relational complexity. The identity of a thing is just itself; I really see no way of turning it into anything else. If indeed we reduce identity thus to quality or being, we also have to note that it is recognized as identical only under the condi¬ tions of repetition; and this is apparently the reason RELATIONS *37 why we tend to think of it as a relationship. But if we try to take it, again, as itself a relation between the two states of the identical object, or the two acts of recognition, we are stopped by the evident fact that these are not identical, but different. Supposing it however to be granted that the pre¬ ceding thesis is valid, and that relations have no being in any sense apart from particulars that pre¬ suppose an existing world, the original problem still remains. What is the being of relations in this world 4 ? It is to this that I propose now to turn briefly. It is very probable that there are philosophers to whom a difficulty here will appear more or less gratuitous. To one who is accustomed to do his speculative thinking exclusively in logical terms, it may come to seem a matter of course that a relation should be accepted as an ultimate sort of entity, which has to be taken simply at its face value. In practice indeed such an attitude cannot well be avoided. Relations are in some sense real, and any attempt to eliminate them from the content of the universe will necessarily fail. Nevertheless a more empirical type of mind, accustomed to take the concrete and the existing as its standard of the real, will find some trouble in stopping at this point. It cannot easily avoid the feeling that relationships are left hanging in the air, outside the sort of universe in which it is most at home. How is one to figure to himself this “being” which is even though it does not WHAT IS TRUTH ? 138 exist? At best the universe appears to have split up into two grades of reality, difficult to adjust men¬ tally. This particular duality other philosophers may avoid by abandoning the notion of existence as a brute fact of being, and by defining “reality” simply in logical terms. But the “dualist” is pre¬ vented by his presuppositions—or perhaps by his mental limitations—from this resource; and accord¬ ingly he is apt to find the situation puzzling and un¬ satisfactory. It would flatter his prejudices were he able to conceive the reality of relations without being forced to posit a special realm of subsistence; and I propose accordingly now to canvass very tentatively such a possibility. On the whole it would appear that categories roughly form a scale, at one end of which the par¬ ticular difficulty here exploited tends to disappear. If we take the complex relationship of purpose, there seems to be a sense in which this has its sole being within a conscious unity of experience as an existent fact of feeling. It is not that purpose does not imply many things which are external to the self and its experience. But in its distinctive charac¬ ter end, or significance, or meaning, is a conscious whole, a sense of internal harmony and apprecia¬ tion. Both end and means exist beyond this experi¬ enced whole. But they are purposive only in so far as they become cognitive elements bound together by their connection with an inner unity of feeling; apart from this, they would appear only as sequences RELATIONS 139 in an unmeaning universe. This position may need to be qualified presently. But meanwhile it seems to have a sufficient measure of truth, at least, to re¬ lieve in this case the difficulty about the independent being of relations—independent, that is, in the sense that they are not qualifications of a single unified experience that has the status of existence. It is when we pass to the other end of the scale, and consider the simplest and most ultimate rela¬ tions such as that of difference, that the point of the difficulty becomes most apparent. For that which we think in the case of difference seems to be some¬ thing that falls between many realities which do not, and some of which to all appearance cannot, belong together in a single experienced whole. Is it possible to interpret this without falling back on a status of subsistence that does not as such “exist”? In looking for an answer, we may start from what lies closest at hand. “Difference,” for the theory I have advocated, must somehow be present as a form of mental content, or there could be no basis for the apprehension of the essence by means of which we think it; what then is the relation of difference im¬ mediately experienced as? I can see no way of avoid¬ ing the conclusion that there is such a thing as a specific feeling of difference, just as there is a feeling of redness. There are present to my mind two con¬ tents, each what it is, with its own distinctive na¬ ture; and when I pass from the one of these to the other, I get a new and peculiar experience of shock 140 WHAT IS TRUTH? which is what experientially I mean by their dif¬ ference. There are real dialectical difficulties that such a statement suggests. But when I look to the inner experience itself, there is nothing more that I can personally discover. By this I do not mean, I should want to make perfectly clear, to reduce re¬ ality to separate bits of “pure” experience, or of mind stuff. Experience is actually the unified fact it seems to be, and difference is an element within its wholeness. It is not the addition of a third thing which, under pretence of bringing together what was there before, really adds a new entity to be related; it simply identifies a piece of the connective tissue of what comes to us in the first place as a onein-many. But as such it is, again, itself embodied in feeling existence, and not a new form of being. And now whatever other objections this may raise, it does at least suggest an answer to the immediate problem. On such a showing, there is no entity which “subsists” outside the realm of the existent. What is real is on the one hand the two objects of cognition, and on the other the feeling which they arouse when their “natures” are reviewed in succession by the mind. In the object these natures are concretely em¬ bodied, and each is what it happens to be. In experi¬ ence the same characters attach to feeling or sensa¬ tion. But also they here give rise to another feeling, which has its own specific character; and the judg¬ ment of difference is the automatic reference of this new character, along with the original contents, to RELATIONS 141 an objective situation. In this statement there is left no reality of a tenuous sort ‘'between” the two existents. And if it be said that this is to deny objectivity to the relation, I do not think that it really does so in any undesirable sense. The objective character of difference is precisely the fact, not that something mysteriously subsists which connects two reals, but that these reals do have each its own positive charac¬ ter, which characters, entering into experience in the form of cognitive marks, do actually and invariably have the result which we call the feeling of differ¬ ence. And if this is all there is to the matter, it is understandable why such a character as that of dif¬ ference seems so external to the differing entities, and leaves them unchanged when their difference is perceived. For from the standpoint of these entities themselves the sole reality is their separate charac¬ ters, and they enter into a unity only for a perceiving conscious “mind.” As a matter of fact there is a conceivable hypothe¬ sis on which more than this is true. Difference as a fact of feeling might actually be present in the outer world as well, if we were willing to interpret such a world as itself a larger experience similar to our own. But this would involve a metaphysical recon¬ struction which many philosophers would not ac¬ cept. And it is unnecessary to a defence of objec¬ tivity, in the sense in which anything that stands for the uniform outcome of definite conditions may be regarded as a revelation of the real constitution of 142 WHAT IS TRUTH? the world, something objectively grounded or valid, whether or not it “copies” the nature of the extra¬ human fact. The apparent “externality” of such relations as difference and similarity, in the sense that they do not seem to make a difference to the related terms, suggests meanwhile that some further explanation will be called for when we turn to still another sort of relation, which stands midway between the two cases hitherto considered. For there are relations which, while they hold between reals that seemingly do not belong to any existential unity, yet do appear to make a difference to the character of these reals. Causality is a relation which to all appearance may connect two objects that in point of existence are separate. But if we were to try to get rid of causality also as a real “subsisting” element in the world beyond us, we might be asked to explain how it hap¬ pens then that through the presence of a cause physi¬ cal things are actually altered in their internal character. What is itself nothing cannot be the medium for making real alterations. The easiest way to answer this would of course be to deny that a difference actually is made. Causa¬ tion is itself nothing but a relation of the sort that does not alter the related terms—a relation of in¬ variable succession, to take the simplest theory; the only reals are the separate items and their order. But while this would be accepted as a truism by perhaps the majority of philosophers, I am not myRELATIONS 143 self disposed to adopt it without qualification. It seems to me very plain that, whatever the obscurities of its meaning, there is a sense attaching to the term causality in its everyday usage which cannot be satisfied to drop the reference to a connecting bond, or to effective agency. “Cause” simply does not mean to the natural mind what it tends to mean for a scientific definition; and even the scientist is con¬ tinually lapsing in his unguarded moments into the more familiar notion. To leave out of consideration the less easily verifiable matter of causation in the physical world, in human concerns, at any rate, it is quite impossible to come within hailing distance of our ordinary human meanings without assuming that men’s ideas and plans and purposes are actually made different from what they would have been by the intrusion of outside realities. If arguments in the mouths of others do not sometimes “change my mind,” if the conduct of my neighbor does not set up reactions of friendship or hostility which furnish actual working motives, if the presence of appetizing food does not tempt me to eat, if these and a thou¬ sand other instances do not imply an active and ef¬ fective influence between realities that are not in any verifiable sense within a single felt unity of experi¬ ence, then we might as well give up trying to de¬ scribe the facts of human experience and history in a form that represents what they are “experienced as.” But an examination of this instance of human or 144 WHAT IS TRUTH ? interhuman causality will perhaps go to show that the case is not so different from the preceding ones as would appear. Let us suppose that, when my doctor orders rest and change, I decide to follow his advice. Here we have—assuming of course the legitimacy of our ordinary beliefs—an event, the doctor’s prescription, lying outside the range of my Own inner unity of feeling, which nevertheless is not merely the temporal predecessor of a change in my conduct, but which I can hardly avoid speaking of as an actual influence that in some sense helps to bring it about. But here also, on a closer scrutiny, the necessity for a subsistent relation hanging in mid-air between two forms of existence will tend to disappear. Within the experience there is a relation present—that of purpose. And it may be conjectured that the notion of influence, or effectiveness, has its source in this relationship of conscious means to con¬ scious end, or of the steps of a process to its active fulfilment, which purpose implies—a relationship that actually involves in an empirically verifiable form the sense of a connecting bond which is the essence of the common notion of causation. Mean¬ while in this inner experience of purpose, the part played by the outer fact as an existence offers no particular mystery. It enters into the situation only in the passive role of being known, or of having its nature and existence recognized. This nature exists in its own right outside of knowledge; its recogni¬ tion enters into the play of human purpose as a RELATIONS 145 motive; and beyond this no further relation between the outer fact and the inner unity appears to be re¬ quired. It is enough to recognize that the world is such that, for the life of mind, things may become causes by being translated into ideal terms of knowl¬ edge, and brought into contact with a developing desire or purpose; the sole factors involved are an inner—and existential—experience of active pur¬ pose, external reals each exactly what it is, and the possibility of knowing these reals on the terms set forth in a preceding section. Meanwhile for the physical processes themselves, out of connection with human motivation, we may if we choose fall back on the orthodox scientific formula which dis¬ penses with active agency altogether, unless, once more, we reinterpret metaphysically the material world after a fashion that makes attributable to it likewise the inner experience of purposive change. The same general method of approach may next be tried in connection with what stands usually as another very fundamental relation. Since we can “know” extension, the spatial character must also, on the basis of the present theory, enter as a quality of feeling experience itself. And accordingly the natural suggestion will be, that the spatial character which we perceive is the projection of that character of “extensity” which there are grounds for holding to be a property of certain sensory experiences. At this point, however, questions are bound to arise which did not appear in the same form in the WHAT IS TRUTH*? 146 case of causality. What is the relation of this spatial character of sensation to the real space which is an object of knowledge? Is the sensation itself in space? How are we to describe the nature of space itself on its objective side? Is it a quality, or a rela¬ tion, or is it, possibly, something different from both of these, and a unique sort of entity? We may turn to this last alternative as a starting point. If it be the true one, and if space is to be con¬ ceived as a container or envelope in which things exist, then, it will be noticed, we have on our hands still another sort of being analogous to, but dis¬ tinguishable from, the supposed “subsistence” of re¬ lations. Philosophy has found this a difficult concep¬ tion to defend, though to common sense it has usually seemed fairly obvious; is there any sugges¬ tion here that the present thesis seems to offer? Let us suppose that color sensation, for example, has, as it appears to have, a coincident quality which we may call extensity, and that extensity, like color, is instinctively used to qualify the reality with which in perception we find ourselves in contact. We see things originally, then, as possessing a vague extensity or spread-outness. This character I do not see how we can easily avoid calling in the first in¬ stance a quality, rather than a relation; it is some¬ thing which seems actually to be in the things. But it is not difficult to conjecture how the notion of space as a container—which again is commonly thought of as quasi-substantial rather than as relaRELATIONS H 7 tional—might come from this original form of ex¬ perience. Color attaches only to this or that piece of reality in particular, because color is not uniform, but differs qualitatively. But extensities do not so differ. Moreover they are perceptually continuous; it is not extensity which marks one object off from an¬ other, but the differentiating qualities of color or tan¬ gibility in which special limits of extensity have their source. Accordingly while, when we are actually limiting our attention to a single object, extension still seems to be a part of it, a wider view will tend to separate it from an exclusive connection with particulars, and attach it to the world at large; and it thus comes to be regarded as a medium for things rather than as belonging to the things themselves. Since the spatial continuity goes beyond all in¬ dividual objects and includes them, it is natural that these objects should be regarded as in a space which is detachable from them in their particularity. And this supplies a reason for the apparent dif¬ ference between sensations and percepts in their rela¬ tion to space. The former I think we must say are “spatial”; but we certainly hesitate to speak of them as “in space.” And this is a natural consequence of the dissimilarity of the two situations cognitively. When, at a very late date, we learn to recognize the “psychological” fact of sensation, it is only through a process of isolating the sensation as a separate bit of feeling—a process freed from direct subservience to those organic ends under whose influence is built WHAT IS TRUTH? 148 up a connected world of objects; and here accord¬ ingly extensity will find no place except inside the sensation as its quality. Before space can belong to the “world,” we must have such a world inclusive of lesser realities; and this is only given in perception, not in introspective analysis. The sensation there¬ fore, since it does not belong as such to the inclusive whole of the perceptual field, will not be “in space.” Meanwhile we mav note once more that even in the * case of percepts we have only to change our point of view to bring space back as a quality of objects. It is equally natural to say that an object is in space, and that it has a spatial character or extensity; it de¬ pends upon whether we are thinking of it alone or in a context. If the account just given of the notion of an allencompassing, featureless, and non-existent space be regarded as the true one, the justification of this no¬ tion will appear to be in so far doubtful. Space ought not to be expected to show properties markedly different from the extensity out of which it is built. But in its most verifiable form, at least, extensity belongs to existents, since within experi¬ ence it is always, like color, a character of concrete feelings. So also it is naturally regarded as a form of existence in so far as it is attributed to particular objects. And its visual continuity does not really contradict this, since even the seeing of extensity between things must have its existential basis. In terms merely of the concrete visual experience, RELATIONS 149 therefore, there appears no necessary reason to sup¬ pose that space remains in the absence of existences that possess extensity, especially since there is no compelling ground so far for holding that the ideal mark or essence which we call extensity must needs be a real replica of anything outside the mind at all. The more solid reasons that can be used to justify the notion of a universal space are chiefly two in number. One has to do with the supposed need for regarding space as infinite or endless; and a con¬ sideration of this will have to be postponed a little. But also in connection with a second main psycho¬ logical source of the spatial experience, which has not yet been referred to, a plausible turn can be given to the claim that space is an actual continuum distinguishable from the things that occupy it. I do not profess to know just how a spatial world would feel if it were lacking in the visual quality which it possesses for men who see. I cannot readily conceive of it as having that non-temporal spread-outness which is its distinctive visual character. But it would still possess a general character such as would lend itself to the notion of an all-container. This charac¬ ter may be described as the possibility of movement. So long as our knowledge is supposed to be objective and realistic at all, the continuity of space must be objectively grounded at least in this sense, that it represents a real opportunity of continuous motion; and the simplest way of conceiving this might be in terms of the traditional idea of space. 150 WHAT IS TRUTH? But on examination this conclusion would again seem not to follow; there is after all no real require¬ ment here that space as a whole should have a quasiexistential being. We doubtless under the influence of our prepossessions will be disposed to translate a possibility of movement into “room to move in.” But the bare experience of motion does not involve this. Apart from a possible “feeling” of movement which is certainly quite different from “space,” it is difficult to detect here anything present that is not reducible to a succession of experiences more or less differently qualified; and the possibility of suf¬ fering such a change of quality has no evident con¬ nection with the need for postulating an encom¬ passing entity called space. On the terms so far canvassed, therefore, it ap¬ pears not only that the notion of an independent space is of doubtful validity, but also that exten¬ sity, the basis of space, is itself not a relation, but a quality. Visually the space between two objects is not primarily their relation, but another stretch of spatial extension. If therefore we speak of spatial relations, as of course we may and do, it would seem that we must refer, not to space itself, but to rela¬ tions that have space as their source or fundamentum. Any quality may thus give rise to relations which are dependent on it; thus colors are related in terms of their relative likenesses and intensities. But spatial relations are of particular importance in human life, because of their exact quantitative charRELATIONS 151 acter. This seems a sufficient reason for the preva¬ lence of a relational theory of space; it is mainly in quantitative terms that space is a useful concept, for the scientist or the practical man. But while such a theory may be justified for cer¬ tain purposes, it ought not to be interpreted as mean¬ ing that space is nothing hut relations, unless we are prepared arbitrarily to ignore altogether that crude quality of extensity which the concept certainly in¬ volves. And it is relevant to notice, further, that these same quantitative relations are separable from spatial conditions, which is another reason for hold¬ ing that they apply to or grow out of extension, rather than constitute it. We accordingly are jus¬ tified for our special problem in turning here from the spatial field, to the more general fact of quan¬ tity or number, as that which supplies the major part at least of those properties that have led men to regard space as a relation. Here without any doubt we are dealing with relationships; and the question is to what extent, if any, they modify the conclusions previously reached. I shall make no pretensions here to examine the extraordinarily subtle new philosophies of mathe¬ matics—a task for which I have neither the space nor the ability. It may be that these have revolu¬ tionary metaphysical consequences which I am not able to appreciate. But after all they supposedly must rest in the end upon relatively plain and em¬ pirical insights, if they are to have more than a 152 WHAT IS TRUTH? merely technical value for the mathematician’s pro¬ fessional problems. Our more familiar judgments in the matter cannot be safely disregarded there¬ fore; and these seemingly can be expressed in terms of relations not essentially different in kind from those already considered. Thus it would seem pretty close to our ordinary notions if we were to say that the reality of quantitative relations turns on the perception of equalities or inequalities involved in an indefinite possibility of measurement or count¬ ing. I do not mean of course that number is itself reducible to the psychological act of counting, though in its abstracter form its material would seem to be supplied directly by such acts. I see however no decisive reason against supposing that the essence of number itself may not be reducible to a complex system of equalities of which the act of counting is the condition; and equality is evidently the same general type of relation as the relation of difference. Not quite so simple is the re¬ lationship of serial “order.” But at least there seems no reason to suppose that “nextness,” and “be¬ tween,” and whatever further elements the concep¬ tion may involve, violate the analogy of other sim¬ ple relations by refusing to be reduced in the end to distinctive “feelings” that give them their place in experience, and so in knowledge. Meanwhile the very tentative and imperfect char¬ acter of the above account is of the less importance, in that, for what is the most persuasive evidence for RELATIONS 153 a “subsistent” world, we have to turn to a further consideration, which has so far been left in the back¬ ground—a consideration that applies to all rela¬ tions alike, but that becomes particularly insistent in the case of number. This is the fact that in some sense relations plainly range far beyond the bounda¬ ries of any world that we can think of as now exist¬ ing; and what can this mean except that they are to be conceived as having “being” apart from what exists? Accordingly the present thesis demands, as its final and most difficult problem, that we have something to say about relational connections in so far as they are possible only, and not actual. What is the nature of that infinite host of relation¬ ships of all possible sorts which no one ever per¬ ceives, though they might be perceived under ap¬ propriate conditions? Before turning to this explicitly, there is a related question to which it is easier first to give an answer— the question of significance. The most general and colorless account of these truths of relationship which no one yet has thought, is to this effect, that the world is one in which there exist possibilities not yet realized. That such possibilities exist need not in its practical interpretation imply that they are somehow now existent, in an inclusive and fully developed consciousness, or as a timeless world of being; it means precisely that the world is yet un¬ finished, and that existence is capable of receiving additions. Possibilities, alike in terms of what can 154 WHAT IS TRUTH? be done and of what is capable of being thought of as a “truth,” are as a human concept absolutely limited to begin with by the present or “existent” facts. From these we have to start. They furnish the terms for relationships to hold between, without which these relations would be simply null; and they limit of course the possibilities of actual change and achievement. But along with its acquaintance with the relations that hold between existents up to date, psychical or physical, and that are discovered by direct resort to experience, the mind is capable of abstracting and manipulating the data of ex¬ perience, and of thinking them together in num¬ berless new ways, which represent not the actual, but the imaginable. For its data it again is limited to existents; but through the power of imagina¬ tive construction it can transcend the actual, and enter the realm of the possible or conceivable. And the practical significance of this is, that in doing so it opens the way for existence itself to change or grow. It does not simply offer possi¬ bilities in the way of novelties of thought; these can be used to extend the range of existence itself, and to guide us, if held in check by a proper sense both of the “real” and the “desirable,” in bringing about actual alterations in the world, such as again lead to fresh truths. And now this constitutes, I am disposed to hold, the final truth of the matter as well; the possibility of being discovered in the process of growing exRELATIONS 155 perience is all the status that the relations in ques¬ tion possess. If, after a relation has been discovered, some being were to be found attaching to it which is incapable of being reduced to existential terms, this position would indeed be impossible to main¬ tain. But I have attempted to suggest that such may not be the case. The relation of difference perceived between two objects is not a preexisting—or pre¬ subsisting—entity. It is nothing hut the possibility of the appearance of a feeling of difference under appropriate circumstances, or the fact that it will appear. For relations actually to be at all, there is needed the interposition of a perceiving mind, which therefore in a real sense actually creates them; though they still remain objective in the sense that the mind cannot create at will and out of nothing, and what relations it will add to the real universe is conditioned by the essences which in this universe are already found embodied. The sole reality is thus the existing world, plus the unlimited possibility of growth; and this last I take to be an ultimate con¬ cept reducible to nothing other than itself. We have, accordingly, no need to postulate an actual infinity of number, for example, existent or subsistent. The infinity of number stands simply for the indefinite possibility of counting. Beings who are capable of counting might disappear, in which case infinity would be meaningless. But abstractly there is nothing to prevent the act from being car¬ ried as far as we please, since in the mere concept of WHAT IS TRUTH? 156 activity as such no conditions are involved, in the shape of a subject-matter, to check or limit it. Simi¬ larly in the case of division. We might very con¬ ceivably reach a physical limit to the possibility of subdivision. But ideally the process of division can go on forever, since a definition of division cannot consistently find a place for its own negation. In both cases, a thing is “true ’ 5 of any stage in the proc¬ ess which we should actually find there if we arrived at that stage. But this again does not mean that it possesses a mystical sort of being prior to its dis¬ covery; it is merely that actual rules of operation may be so defined that, if carried out, the resulting facts would also be found to be of a specific sort through their dependence on the given data. And along with this, and with the same status, may also be certain logical consequences of the nature of the rules themselves, in terms of their refusal to accept a limit. Meanwhile, in general, any difference there may seem to be between mathematics and, for exam¬ ple, history, is simply due, apart from the greater facilities for short-cut methods, to the fact that in the former case the conditions are arbitrarily de¬ fined and limited in abstract or conceptual terms, and so are freed from the contingency that attends the process of development in the concrete world. In the notion of infinite space—to return briefly to an earlier point—there is an additional complica¬ tion. But it is due to the fact that we fail to keep separate the quality of extensity, and the logical RELATIONS 157 property of quantitative relationship; neither of them when taken by itself gives rise to insuperable difficulties of thought. Extensity as a concrete quality is not infinite. It belongs to whatever exist¬ ent it happens to belong to, and in the absence of existents it disappears entirely. It is the ideal process of imagination which is responsible for the thought of space as interminable. But here, since actual space has no content apart from existence, which may so far as we know be limited, we are merely concerned with the abstract notion of addition; and our in¬ ability therefore to think space as limited means, again, only that the process of addition is not limited by anything in its own nature. What has been said of space will apply in prin¬ ciple to time as well, where the experienced fact is the quality of duration which belongs to any psycho¬ logical process, and which, like extensity, is used to interpret the object of knowledge. Time also, there¬ fore, does not exist as an envelope of events; it attaches to such things as it actually is found be¬ longing to. Through its character as continuous, however, it readily lends itself, like space, to the notion of an all-container. And accordingly we come to think of different and experientially discontinu¬ ous realities as all having their place in a common flow of time; whereas the more accurate statement would seem to be that realities beyond my tem¬ porally unified experience, while they may them¬ selves also possess the temporal character, form WHAT IS TRUTH 4 ? 158 part of a single time process only in the sense that they come into teleological relationships with my life at some particular temporal point within it through being known, and thus become amenable to a unified conceptual treatment in terms of the quan¬ titative relationships which duration, like extensity, generates. Of course, since these relationships are ob¬ jectively grounded, it is still true that the conception of an inclusive time process may be phenomenally valid. But it is less adequate nevertheless to the ultimate nature of things than the conception of an intercausal or purposive unity of action, mediated through cognition, on the part of existences which individually have the form of duration. SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS T HE present essay professes to be concerned primarily with knowledge, and its analysis as an aspect of experience. There are some advantages in thus limiting the problem. Knowledge clearly does as an experience have certain definable charac¬ ters; and while it is true that most questions in philosophy cannot be finally settled without refer¬ ence to our total view of things, it also seems ap¬ parent that no subordinate aspect can safely, beyond a certain point, be falsified in the interests of har¬ mony with a speculative system. I venture to think that this is what has happened much too frequently in theories of knowledge. These, under the name of knowledge, offer for our acceptance something often very hard to recognize; and the reason for setting aside a more natural description is precisely the difficulties it is supposed to occasion for an ultimate metaphysical theory. If we are at liberty thus to alter apparent facts at will when they do not suit our speculative purposes, the way is open to almost anything in philosophy; it is safer to let the facts speak for themselves, without considering at first too nicely their bearing on other and remoter problems. Nevertheless I realize that it will be an obstacle to the acceptance of a theory in case it is not possible i6o WHAT IS TRUTH? to see, vaguely at any rate, the direction in which its implications point. And accordingly, as a work of supererogation, I shall in conclusion indicate what seems to me the general view of reality which an account of knowledge such as I have been defend¬ ing suggests. But before coming to this, it may be well to make two explanatory digressions. The first of these has to do with the sense in which I conceive that epistemology may be used as a source for ontological conclusions. This whole possibility has recently been subjected to a vigorous attack by the American neo-realists; and with much of the spirit of this attack, if I understand it rightly, I think I should agree. If, when we talk of the logical priority of epistemology, we intend to make the claim that before we have any possibility of know¬ ing we must know that we know, and use this some¬ how as a premise from which the knowledge is to be deduced, the claim I should say is manifestly absurd. We begin by knowing; and if we had to justify knowledge before we could know, we should never get a start. But it seems to me quite possible along with this to hold that, after knowing has in turn become an object of investigation and its conditions have been discovered, this new and empirical knowledge may conceivably lead us to important conclusions about the real world itself, and so justify to an extent the historical place that epistemology has had. I am led to think this, however, because I believe that the SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 161 known world is not, primarily, a neutral realm of propositions intuitively perceived to be true; these propositions are propositions about a reality not im¬ mediately embedded in the knowledge process. The knowledge with which we start as a presupposition is in the form of belief , such as implies a certain separation between the things affirmed and the be¬ lieving act; and it is for this reason that a possibility always exists that belief may be modified when we come to note the conditions under which alone we find knowledge taking place. Not of course that we ought to waive belief until we have deduced or justified its possibility. But if knowledge means the holding of opinions about a world in some real sense transcending the knower and his knowing experi¬ ence, the fact that empirically we do—not that we must —approach reality only by a certain discover¬ able method, does very strongly suggest the ad¬ visability of holding off from a final interpretation until this method of approach has been carefully examined. Such an examination will reveal, at least, that our knowledge of the outer world is probable knowledge only, and therefore subject to doubt and possible revision. This last introduces the second point of digres¬ sion; and I should like to emphasize it once more in view especially of what I am going on to say. “Dual¬ ism” does not lend itself to that ideal of logical or demonstrative certainty at which philosophy has so frequently aimed. I have already considered the 162 WHAT IS TRUTH*? nature and degree of assurance which is possible in human belief, and to me this seems sufficient for all our genuine needs. But it is not theoretical certainty; unquestionably it leaves the way open to sceptical doubt. There are various ways in which rival phi¬ losophies may seek to avoid such an admission. But a dualism which recognizes the distinction between knowledge as a process in the inner life of an in¬ dividual, and reality as mediately known, must needs admit that no ideas of fallible human beings can possibly avoid the chance of being mistaken. And to this I am compelled in candor to add a more personal confession. I find myself growing more and more alive to the difficulty of reaching conclusions about the ultimate nature of reality which stand much chance on purely reasoned grounds of carrying very strong conviction to other minds. When one considers all the queer obsessions and blind spots and ineffectualities of the human in¬ tellect even at its best—and the persuasion that such things are not important for the philosopher is one conspicuous example of their working—it seems a bit audacious to make very insistent claims to the possession of assured knowledge in a sphere where our beliefs are only in a vague way open to testing. What a given man will accept here will almost certainly be determined in considerable part by con¬ siderations other than strictly necessary ones. A par¬ ticular construction will appeal to his imaginative sense of beauty, to his religious or his social perSOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 163 suasions of significance, perhaps to no more than his possessive instincts and a pride in his own per¬ sonal originality as a thinker; and if his road is not barred by too great difficulties and inconsistencies, he will find the evidence enough for his own private conviction. But it ought not to be hard for him to understand how to others it may make a different appeal. Often a very slight shift of emphasis will be found to alter substantially a philosophy’s persua¬ siveness. I think it therefore not unlikely that the caution which the world has always shown in the presence of metaphysical conclusions, and which in¬ deed each philosopher has practiced toward the con¬ clusions of the rest, will come increasingly, with the growth of self-knowledge, to be felt by thinkers toward their own systems also, in so far as these go beyond a verifiable analysis of experienced facts and meanings. With this preamble, I may proceed to say a few words about what on the whole appear to me the most natural implications of the dualism which I have been defending, in terms of a theory of reality. Most of these go back to one point in particular. The theory has presupposed that every character which we can assign to the real world must first be found within experience—as a character, that is, of feel¬ ing stuff. We know accordingly that existence in this particular form is possible for them; and con¬ sequently, if nothing further needed to be con¬ sidered, the easiest hypothesis would be that, in so WHAT IS TRUTH ? 164 far as such characters can justify their claim to be¬ long to the object known, they will have there too the same sort of embodiment we can verify within experience, and that the world of nature is there¬ fore in its substance akin to the world of feeling. There appears to be no logical necessity for this conclusion. I feel indeed some hesitation in suppos¬ ing that an identical quality may characterize two entirely different sorts of stuff, feeling on the one hand, and something we call matter on the other. But I really cannot see that this hesitation is a suffi¬ cient reason for denying that the possibility exists. And it is undoubtedly so that the belief in matter is a belief which in the course of nature we actually find ourselves entertaining when we start out to philosophize. It therefore has a presumption in its favor, on the principles I have been professing; the suggestion on the other hand that the true reality of the outer world is one of mind or spirit, comes with a certain shock of paradox. But as a partial offset to this, it also should be noticed that from another and familiar standpoint the claim is not so strange in appearance after all. I refer of course to the religious consciousness. This is a part of normal human experience, as truly as are the beliefs of common sense; and it therefore cannot be treated as cavalierly as we perhaps are justified in treating the merely dialectical conclu¬ sions of philosophy. And in a way this second stand¬ point has even a certain right to priority here. Our SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 165 everyday belief in matter is after all primarily prac¬ tical rather than theoretical in its import. It is not in the first place an attempt to state what reality is, but a descriptive formula for the natural conditions which the life process has to presuppose. The other point of view, on the contrary, does profess to be to an extent an account of the true nature of things. It is on the whole the distinct tendency of religion, in its more intimate forms, not merely to believe that a being akin to the human spirit exists behind the realm of nature, but to hold that the natural world itself, instead of being the fully real and ultimate fact it seems to be, is, in comparison with the deeper realities of the spiritual life, a more or less unsub¬ stantial and phenomenal show. It is true that reli¬ gion seldom goes so far as to attempt a detailed re¬ construction of our natural belief; and probably it could not do this without compromising to an extent its own persuasiveness. It tends to supplant other attitudes rather than to make itself inclusive of them. Nevertheless the fact remains that the notion of the relative unreality of matter is one not un¬ familiar to certain normal human moods. There is of course a second alternative to the one I am considering, which in the abstract would be equally consistent with the theory of essences. It might be that the characters present in the conscious life which the mind refers to reality are only, as Spencer would say, “symbolic,” and that they do not as such exist at all in the outer world. And the 166 WHAT IS TRUTH? fact that modern science in its metaphysical moods has so frequently found itself pointed in this direc¬ tion, deserves consideration. I have nothing to add here to what I have already said about the justifica¬ tion of a more positive form of belief. The abstract possibility of agnosticism does indeed remain, and will probably never cease to offer an intellectual attraction to the man whose natural faith is small. But on the other hand no insuperable difficulties seem to lie in the way of a measure at least of gnos¬ ticism; and consequently there is no good reason why those in whom the tendency to believe is stronger— and they constitute the vast majority of the race— should not indulge it so long as due caution is shown. An over-insistent demand for a sort of evidence which human experience does not supply, is not to be taken as proof of a judicious mind. Accordingly we find that the working scientist almost univer¬ sally, in spite of a disposition on the part of theo¬ rists to play tentatively with a philosophical scep¬ ticism, in practice does not hesitate to accept so? ?ie cognitive characters of the world as real and ob¬ jective—relational if not qualitative ones. And at least the fact that scientific results pretty nearly always leave us with a universe very different from that in which the common man believes, is a reason for declining to reject too hastily any thesis because it does not fully square with our first interpreta¬ tion. I conceive, then, that the hypothesis to which the SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 167 analysis of knowledge points is one which, in spite of its initial strangeness from the standpoint of prac¬ tical beliefs, has some claim to the attention of the philosopher. When it comes to setting forth however in any detail the form of such a theory, I am afraid that the outcome is apt to seem more plausible to one who starts with a general bias in its favor, than to a different type of mind; certainly I should not expect it to be widely accepted purely under the compulsion of logical argument. I propose to do no more here than suggest a few of its very general features, as these seem to follow most naturally from the present point of view. Both religion and logical analogy coincide in pointing to the “self” as the more inclusive concept which the attributing of essences to nature will imply. All experience for us takes the form of a personal property; it is a unified whole of feeling, which in some interpretation or other we are bound to recognize as “ours.” It is most natural therefore, if we have started out by using the connection of cognitive essences with feeling experience to inter¬ pret the outer reality to which they are referred, to accept at the same time whatever additional char¬ acter “experience” may be found to bear, and to re¬ gard in consequence this feeling substance as con¬ stituting the life of a personal being more ultimate than the human self, and co-extensive with the unity of the world of nature. The efforts of philosophy to say precisely what we mean by a self, and to i68 WHAT IS TRUTH? free the concept from ambiguities, have indeed, it must be granted, been less successful than we should like to see them. But this is no sufficient reason for declining to admit its reality. We are perfectly well assured that the self is an actual fact in the world, however difficult it may be of definition; and for any significance at least that things may bear, it is an absolutely central and fundamental sort of fact. Up to a certain point, there is indeed no insuper¬ able difficulty in giving a description of the nature of the self. As an experienced fact, it is a unity of a fairly definite and verifiable sort, characterized by such things as a present felt unity of the conscious field, a sense of intimate connection with certain portions of the past, and, in particular, a range of purposes or ends which anticipate in a definable way the future. And empirical philosophy has sometimes been satisfied to stop here, as if the problem of the self had thus been met. To this however the objec¬ tion is, that the self most certainly appears to be something in addition to the actual processes that make up the stream of conscious experiencing. We are more than we feel, or say, or do. There lie poten¬ tialities in the background which are not fully real¬ ized at any given moment, and perhaps may never be realized completely; and these to all appearance supply the source from which in some sense the realized facts of experience in particular spring. It is only by ignoring these more fundamental facts in their relation to the hidden springs of conduct, that SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 169 we can be satisfied to define the self solely in terms of the surface phenomena of the conscious life. It is however one thing to recognize that some¬ thing here is present below the surface of conscious happenings, and another to give a rational and con¬ vincing account of what this more fundamental something is. I do not myself feel able to supply such an account in any form that will escape essen¬ tial obscurities. There are two main directions in which to turn. It may be that there is some substan¬ tial entity underlying the phenomenal life, such as common sense and—in the past—philosophy have agreed to call a “soul.” This has the advantage that it seems to be the mind’s natural answer to the prob¬ lem; its disadvantage is that the nature of such a soul substance, and its connection with the empirical self, is in the strictest sense unthinkable and un¬ imaginable. The other alternative is to follow the lead of the scientific experience, when this is reinterpreted, of course, in terms of the hypothesis we are presuppos¬ ing. There is an empirical basis for the soul life actually given us—the bodily organism namely— which does account in detail, up to a point, for many of its peculiarities. And if the reality of the physical world be the life of God himself, then we might be led to conjecture that the reality of the deeper self may lie directly in the depths of the divine. I am inclined to think that religion would 170 WHAT IS TRUTH? find itself sympathetic with such a view, if, again, we do not press too far for a detailed statement. And at least in this way one metaphysical diffi¬ culty is eliminated; it is no longer necessary to try to think the reality of a “substance” whose nature is by definition unthinkable. Back of our own life is a deeper-lying consciousness which serves as its foundation; but the reason for postulating a soul for God himself has disappeared. Man needs a soul only because empirically the unity of consciousness is not self-sufficient. But God, so religion certainly would maintain, is fully conscious of all the condi¬ tions of his life. For him there is no mysterious and subconscious background; and accordingly no reason here exists, as it does in the case of man, for refus¬ ing to define the nature of the self in terms of a unified conscious experience, whose “existence” is just the feeling stuff of experience itself. For it is not this existence in the form of feeling which seems to call for a further substance to serve as its founda¬ tion, but the positive reasons we have, where our own feelings are concerned, for looking further for their preconditions. It remains true however that the special relation ship that holds between God and the human life is still opaque, since in the nature of the case nothing in our experience can fully cover it. We should be led to say in general that a certain province of re¬ ality is put in some measure under the control of that conscious intelligence and will in which for its SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 171 own awareness a human self consists, so that thereby it achieves the possibility not only of coming into contact with and affecting other parts of the world, but of developing the resources that have been en¬ trusted to it; but this undoubtedly leaves many things obscure. But so, I feel very certain, does any other possible account of the matter which does not get rid of the difficulty artificially by the popular philosophical device of leaving out some of the factors involved. The relation of the physical or¬ ganism to the conscious life which evidently is de¬ pendent on it, and which to all appearance is con¬ cerned in its own physical fortunes, is still one of the unsettled problems of philosophy. If we turn from the self as a human concept to its use for the interpretation of the divine, other difficulties will of course appear. These last however do not seem to be insuperable, provided we have once convinced ourselves that the self concept is as such not unintelligible. In part they are due to the imaginative difficulty of grasping a reality so vast as on any showing God’s life must be. The concep¬ tion of an experience comprehensive enough to in¬ clude the multitudinous facts of the physical world, is bound naturally to over-awe our human attempts to realize it. But I see no way to escape the convic¬ tion that the world is on any interpretation much too big not to baffle the concrete imagination. Meanwhile I suspect that the difficulty is in¬ creased unnecessarily by our tendency to choose for 172 WHAT IS TRUTH? the understanding of God’s life a type of experience which is not best fitted for the purpose. We as human beings are compelled to learn progressively and piecemeal the conditions of existence. We naturally therefore think of experience first of all as an in¬ tellectual turning of attention in this or that par¬ ticular direction; and on such terms the task that is laid upon God may well seem prohibitive. But if we suppose these natural conditions, as a part of his own nature, to be open to him directly without the need for first discovering them, we may conceive of the facts as entering into his experience in a different and more unified form. Such an experience is pos¬ sible even to the human self in proportion to the completeness of his control over the conditions of his activity—in playing a game, for example, in which he is expert; here we do not find it so difficult to con¬ ceive a fairly wide complexity of content present in a genuine unity of appreciation. Or compare again the difference between the piecemeal and serial char¬ acter involved in the critical judgment of a work of art, and the wholeness and comprehensiveness of the aesthetic experience itself. A second source of difficulty in the conception of God as a self is dialectical rather than imaginative. Here I think it would be found that a great deal of the trouble is due to the desire to apply to God the traditional attributes of infinity or of absoluteness. So long as one subscribes to the philosophical prejudice against taking God as less than the whole, he will SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 173 undoubtedly find great difficulty in regarding him also as a self, though I do not say that the difficulty is insurmountable. But it will at least make his path smoother if he is willing to recognize the apparent implications of our natural view of knowledge and its object—that the world of nature is a reality dis¬ tinguishable, and in a real degree separable, from the inner life of the human beings who know it, and that it has a unity of a special sort into which, as the unsuccessful labor of science and philosophy has shown, it is not easy to incorporate directly, in scientific terms, these human lives as a portion of its component stuff. And in so far as God is regarded as the interpretation of nature, to him also the same judgment will apply. That the notion of a finite God, in this technical sense, is also not lacking in difficulties of its own, is of course undeniable; but it is not necessary to put the conception in a form to aggravate them. Thus the first objection likely to appeal to the religious consciousness does not seem inherent in the notion. If God be taken as existentially limited not only by other and human selves, but by a further and more fundamental background of brute being which ham¬ pers his activity, it will reasonably be urged that this tends to weaken that assured faith in the tri¬ umph of the good which is unquestionably one im¬ portant motive in the religious life. Factual argu¬ ments are not wanting for this limitation; but there is nothing in the abstract to require it. And if we 174 WHAT IS TRUTH? do suppose that the essential conditions of existence are identified with God’s own nature, there is noth¬ ing in the reality of other and dependent selves to jeopardize the outcome, even if we grant to such selves a measure of free initiative, and the power therefore to determine, within such narrow limits as the facts of experience warrant, the future course of affairs. It is perfectly conceivable, and not incon¬ sistent with our practical knowledge about the rela¬ tion between man and nature, that the fundamental lines of progress should be determined and made certain of success, while yet there should be within this general scheme a wide variety of alternative possibilities, dependent for their actualization upon the form that human cooperation takes, but all alike issuing in a result that approves itself to our sense of values. In the light of this general conception one per¬ haps can meet in part another and more metaphysi¬ cal difficulty. If we placate the fear lest values be impermanent, I think it may be regarded as the natural demand of human nature that the future should open up real accessions of good, and that a place should therefore be provided for novelty and growth in the ultimate universe. It is true that heaven has mostly been conceived in terms of rest. But in such a doctrine a note of weariness and re¬ laxation is evident which, though excusable as a re¬ action against the life of toil which men now are forced to undergo, ought plainly not to be allowed SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 175 to settle our final religious convictions; and I think that it does not in fact represent the best religious insight. As we know the good in human terms, it is bound up everywhere with activity and change; and it is difficult, and probably impossible, to conceive of it concretely when change has been eliminated. While therefore idealists have usually insisted that religion aims at the all-complete and the non-tem¬ poral, I think it likely that they are in reality at¬ tributing to the religious mind needs that are pri¬ marily speculative or metaphysical. That the mind may feel a certain natural reluc¬ tance when asked to think the appearance in the uni¬ verse of something not there before, I am not dis¬ posed to deny. And if the conception of an eternal and all-inclusive reality were itself free from diffi¬ culties, it might have a speculative advantage— which would however, I still think, be a practical disadvantage—over the competing notion of a grow¬ ing world. But as a matter of fact the effort by phi¬ losophy to rationalize the notion of the non-tem¬ poral has so far been a total failure. Meanwhile I think that the most serious drawback to the alter¬ native doctrine is in connection, not with novelty as such, but with novelty in kind or quality. I have myself to confess to a very strong intellectual re¬ pugnance to the idea of a world in which realities of an entirely new sort suddenly emerge, which in no sense were there before; though even here I see no strict impossibility in the notion, and am not WHAT IS TRUTH? 176 certain therefore that I may not be forcing a preju¬ dice of mine upon the universe. But the conception has no need to suppose such a thing as novelty in kind. All the sorts of being that reality presents may well be eternally present in God’s life and consciousness. The analogy most natural to the case is not in terms of the growing child who, starting from a vague and almost con¬ tentless experience, progressively discovers more and more about himself and the surrounding world, but rather of the full-grown man who in the life of social experience creates new values on the founda¬ tion of what may be a relative fixity of knowledge and character, through the changing conditions of his intercourse with his fellows. That, given the presence of value as an aspect of the world, the ex¬ panding life of conscious beings in relation to com¬ mon ends should be the possible source of a constant renewal of satisfaction in changing forms, is not only what experience tells us does actually take place, but it seems a very natural sort of thing, espe¬ cially since without it an overwhelming monotony would apparently invade the spiritual life. And I see no reason to deny to God the same pro¬ gressive enjoyment of changing values which is needed to constitute value itself in the long run. This no doubt involves with each new step a growth in knowledge also. But it is a knowledge not about new kinds of existents, but, primarily, about the possible relationships that present existences inSOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 177 volve. And there seems to be no necessity that all such possibilities should at any moment anywhere be actual even for God, or that God should be any less divine through his failure to include them in his conscious life. In fact the disadvantage is on the other side. Thus it has often been felt as a real ob¬ jection, from the ethical and aesthetic sides at least, to an absolutist philosophy, that it supposes all pos¬ sible relationships—the trivial and silly as well as the significant, the unpleasant and ignoble as well as the noble—eternally present in the divine mind; to say nothing of the intolerable sense of infinite complexity and confusion which this carries for human thinking. Granting, then, a community of selves already in existence, the interplay of their lives might supply, it would seem, a fund of novelty not especially hard for the mind to acquiesce in. Meanwhile the emer¬ gence of the members of this community themselves brings us back to an acuter form of the difficulty. But if we take the self in its empirical form at least, we have to offset the impossibility of understanding the rationale of its appearance by the undoubted fact that it does appear, and appear as something new. We can call it non-temporal; but this is a form of words only, and to it no more attaches in the way of a realizable meaning than to the notion of creation. Each new emergence of a conscious life has every appearance of being an actual accretion to the sum of things, which was not there before; and WHAT IS TRUTH? 178 in the absence of a competing explanation that really explains, I do not find it unreasonable to sup¬ pose that this represents the way the world is made. And furthermore, if we could safely trust a con¬ clusion already drawn in the preceding section, it might even be possible to add a logical justification of this attitude. The difficulty we feel here is due to the fact that we find ourselves asking how a human self is brought about, or “created”; and this supposes that a relation of causality is really pres¬ ent, though we cannot get an understanding of its nature. The only meaning I have been able to assign however to effective causality, is in terms of con¬ scious motive; and the particular aspect of the situa¬ tion now in question is apparently not such as to make applicable the explanation previously at¬ tempted. For here we have by hypothesis two sepa¬ rate existents, God and man, one of them supposed to be “caused” by the other; and this would involve just that notion of a subsistent being for the causal relation, falling somehow “between” existents, upon which the argument of the section was intended to throw doubt. On the showing of this argument, the question as to how selves can be created would be met, not by confessing our inability to frame an an¬ swer, but by a recognition that the question is one that ought not to be asked, since it makes use of a category which by definition is irrelevant to the par¬ ticular situation we are dealing with. What in other words this amounts to is, that there SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 179 are certain circumstances where the acceptance of the fact itself as its own explanation is our only re¬ course, without asking how or why. This attitude philosophers agree is in one case at least the only proper one; it is meaningless to ask how the universe itself is made. And I see no conclusive objection to supposing that, except for mental habits that inter¬ fere, there might be occasions where the attitude was justified in connection with particular portions of the world as well. What I should take to be a case in point is the fundamental fact of causality itself, in the humanistic sense in which I have attempted to define it. Purposive activity within experience, with its links of intelligible connection, we in a real measure understand; we know just what it is, be¬ cause we live through it many times a day. Yes, it may be rejoined; but we do not know how such a process works, in terms of its causal machinery, and so we do not really understand it after all. But why is not a “what” enough 4 ? Since we know also that it is, why should not its peculiar nature be accepted as in so far a final revelation of the nature of reality itself, without going on to ask another why, espe¬ cially since this “why” has been allowed by most philosophers to have no meaning except in terms of a further “that”? And just as we may be held to have no right to ask for the causal explanation of an experience which by definition stands for the very meaning of causality, so we would appear similarly to have no right to ask for a causal explanation in i8o WHAT IS TRUTH? the case of any actual collocations in the world of fact where the definition we have accepted cannot be made to apply; we must take these for what they are, as among the ultimate data through which we discover what the universe is like. Meanwhile I should not like to be understood as resting too heavily on such a dialectical consideration; for I cannot deny that our natural propensity to demand a causal “why” here is very strong. To the more general question involved in a theory of time, I have nothing to add to what has been al¬ ready said. The acceptance of the temporal charac¬ ter of reality seems to me necessary not only to save human values, but speculatively necessary also if we are to find for our words about the nature of the concrete world a definite and intelligible meaning. The moment I try to reduce time to a logical cate¬ gory in an eternal and unchanging universe, that moment I am forced to abandon outright my every¬ day descriptions; and since I am not recompensed for the loss by an increase of intelligibility, I hesi¬ tate to make the exchange. Meanwhile I may repeat that, when I speak of the infinity of time, I am not inclined to regard time as an entity or receptacle. I mean simply that there exist no limits to the possi¬ bility of new experience. I confess however that this as a reply to difficulties is much more relevant to the future than to the past. God’s consciousness of what is still to come may be, I think, as ours is, no consciousness of an actual eternity, but only of SOME METAPHYSICAL IMPLICATIONS 181 an absence of finality in any values at any time achieved. But I do not know how this could be ap¬ plied to God’s awareness of the past, since here human experience does not help us out. We are able to look back on a beginning. But God cannot think a time when he was not, and still be God; and how he could combine a present realization of his full nature with an endless past, I am unable to imagine any way of conceiving. One objection still remains to the hypothesis which I have been considering—perhaps on the whole the most serious of all. Even apart from the insistent facts of suffering and evil, the world of nature in the concrete presents to our natural mind a brute and non-moral character which we shall probably hesitate to connect too closely with the notion of God in its religious meaning. I think in¬ deed that the feeling of positive repugnance here may be exaggerated, and often is exaggerated; a part of the current indictment against the cruelty of nature reveals a bias of prejudice that is no more to be applauded than a similar prejudice on the other side. I shall however not attempt to meet the issue, partly because the problem of evil is too large to manage in this connection, and in part because I am distrustful of the amount of success I should attain. INDEX Absolutism, 173, 175, 177. Agnosticism, 101, 121, 165 f. Alexander, S., 124. Analysis, 25 If. Animism, 88 f. Awareness, 103 ff. Axioms, 38 ff. Bain, Alexander, 49 f. Belief, 2 f.; sources of, 7 ff. ; definition of, 45 ff. Causation, 15, 115, 142 ff., 178 ff. Certainty, 4, 8, 12, 14, 23, 29 ff., 47, 161 f. Coherence, 11 ff., 32. Common sense, 24 ff. Concrete universal, 106 ff. Consciousness, 56, 79 f., 82 f., 101 ff. Contradiction, 113, 116 ff. Correspondence theory, 68 f., 70 ff. Creation, 178 ff. Criterion of truth. See Truth. Descartes, 28, 33, 102. Difference, 139 ff., lyy. Dualism, 100 ff. Emotion and belief, 10, 15 ff., 24. Error, 60, 68, 123 ff. Essences, 57 f., 61 ff., 105. See Ideas and Meanings. Evil, 181. Existence, 46, 60, 77 ff. Experience, 106. Extensity, 145 ff. External world, belief in, 9 f., 59 ff., 65 f. Geometry, 40. God, argument from es¬ sences, 163 ff. ; relation to man, I70f., 177 ff. ; na¬ ture of, 171 ff. ; as finite, 172 ff. ; as temporal, 174 Hegel, 112 ff. Hodgson, S., 92. Idealism, 60, 103, 106 ff., 124, 125. Ideas, 57 f. See Essences and Meanings. Identity, 136 f. Images, 57 f., 71 ff. 184 INDEX Immortality, 21 f. Inference, 134 ff. Infinity, 155 ff. Intuition, 7 f., 31 f., 34 ff. Knowledge, 4, 124; descrip¬ tion of, 33, 56 ff. ; of other selves, 87 ff. ; of the past, 92 ff. Logic, 132 ff. Matter, 163 ff. Meanings, 69 ff., 128. See Essences and Ideas. Memory, 92 ff. Mental activity, 58, 85 f., 103 f. Mill, James, 99. Mill, J. S., 40. Naturalism, 24. Necessity, 12, 29 ff., 38. Neo-realism, 60 ff., 62, 82, 86, 103 f., 122 ff., 129, 132, 160. Non-existence, 62. Number, 151 ff., 155 f. Objects, 67, 80 f., 103. Perception, 59 ff. Pragmatism, 103, 124. Purpose, 138 f. Quantity, 151 ff. Reason, 23. Relations, 74, 128 ff. Representative theory of knowledge. See Dualism. Royce, 106, 116. Santayana, G., 88. Scepticism, 9, 16, 26, 162. Self, the, 97 f., 167 ff. Self-evidence, 12, 32 ff. Sensation, 61, 64 f., 77, I47 f; Similarity, 152. Soul, 169. Space, 145 ff., 156 f. Spencer, 165. Subsistence, 128 ff. Substance, 170. Time, 94, 108 f., 157 f., 180. Trueness, 55. Truth, definition of, 1 ff., 8, 1 1, 35, 55 ff. ; criterion of, 3, 7, 11 ff. Universals, 131 ff. 126 f., 130, PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA Date Due • "‘wwsarw*' l L M i m & "iriO jj WT lUUi 1 ■ < ay m r*t SEi Jp % PRINTED IN U. S. A. HHIBBi ' . . JJCSB LIBRARY , American Mature Group VI. The Philosophy of Nature. Edited by V. L. Kellogg THE STABILITY OF TRUTH A DISCUSSION OF REALITY AS RELATED TO THOUGHT AND ACTION President of Stanford University " Veritatis laus omnis in actione consistit." CICERO " Al frier de los huevos; se vera." CERVANTES COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY Published, January, 1911 THE CUINN BODEN CO. PRESS EDITOR'S PREFACE THE generalizations and principles of science, the significance of scientific facts, the consequences of recognizing and adopting in our daily life the knowledge of science: these are the subjects of this series of books, to be called the Philosophy of Nature Series. The science which will be most in evidence in these books is the science of living things, biology. And it is the application of the scientific knowledge of living things in general to the conduct of human life in particular which will be the subject most conspicuous in the list of titles of the books of the series. This first book, then, a robust treatment of science in life, by a robust exponent of the life scientific, should be a most excellent introduction to the Series. V. L. K. STANFORD UNIVERSITY April, 1911 PREFACE THIS little book represents the substance of a course of lectures delivered on the John Calvin McNair Foundation, in the University of North Carolina, at Chapel Hill, in January, 1910, at the invitation of President Francis P. Venable. By the provisions of the will of Mr. McNair, fifty years ago, the University authorities were directed, from time to time, to " employ some able scientific gentleman to deliver before the students then in attendance at the University a course of lectures, the object of which lectures shall be to show the mutual bearing of science and theology upon each other, and to prove the existence (so far as may be) of God from Nature." This book treats especially of the relation of realities to human experience and to human conduct. The writer is under special obligations to his colleague, Professor Henry Waldgrave Stuart, for trenchant criticisms, by which he has tried to profit. D. S. J. Stanford University, California, November 16, 1910. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. REALITY AND SCIENCE 3 II. REALITY AND THE CONDUCT OF LIFE 47 III. REALITY AND MONISM 65 IV. REALITY AND ILLUSION 95 V. REALITY AND EDUCATION 143 VI. REALITY AND TRADITION 161 INDEX 177 THE STABILITY OF TRUTH REALITY AND SCIENCE " Nous sommes des hommes et non pas des dieux ; nous ne savons le tout de rien, mais nous savons quelque chose. C'est peu, sans doute, mais ce peu suffit." GEORGE FONSEGRIVE. I ONCE walked in a garden with a little girl, to whom I told James Whitcomb Riley's story of the " goblins that get you if you don't watch out," an uncanny freak of the imagination supposed to be especially attractive to children. " But there isn't any such thing as a goblin," said the practical little girl, " and there isn't ever going to be any such thing." In a spirit of philosophic doubt I said to her, " Maybe there isn't any such a thing as anything." " Yes, there is," she said, as she looked about the garden for unquestioned reality. " Yes, there is such a thing as anything. There is such a thing as a squash." And in this conclusion of the little girl, the reality of the objective world, the integrity of science, the sanity of man are alike bound up. The distinction between objective and subjective, between reality of perception and illusion of nerve disorder, between 3 4 Reality and Science fact and dream, between presence and memory, is fundamental in human psychology is essential in human conduct. The purpose of this book is to set forth the doctrine that the final test of truth is found in trusting our lives to it. Truth is livable, while error is not, and the difference appears through the strain of the conduct of life. Science is human experience tested and set in order. The primal impulse as well as the final purpose of science is the conduct of life. It is held that science cannot grasp ultimate truths, that is, it cannot grasp any truth in final or absolute completeness. But science may grasp certain relations of truth and certain phases of reality and may state these in terms of previous human experience. Such versions or transcripts of reality are truth, and they represent actual verity so far as they go. Incidentally it is held that pure science cannot be separated from applied science, or knowledge in action, in which science finds its verification; that philosophy is an outgrowth of science the logic or mathematics of human experience, and, finally, that in all matters concerning human conduct science furnishes the final guide, or, at least, that any guide to thought and action which has proved to be safe becomes by that fact a part of science. Right action is the final purpose of science, and in like fashion and in the same degree the acquisition of truth is the crowning glory of human endeavor. It is claimed that there exists a parallelism or corReality and Science 5 relation between the actual character of objects in nature, and the impressions these objects make on the nervous system of man and of other animals. The impression is not the object, and it is the impression, not the thing itself, which man sees or feels, but object and impression run the same course. The one is the inevitable effect of the other, as impressed on human consciousness. The term reality is used in psychology to designate impressions made on the mind or on the nerve center by the impact of an external stimulus. A reality in the mind has its origin in an actual object or influence outside the nerve center or sensorium receiving it. It is an objective impression as distinguished from a subjective condition. Subjective impressions, that is, appearance of reality seen by the " mind's eye " only, may be illusions. An illusion is at bottom usually a fading memory. It is a continuance of a reality in the nerve center, after the source of the reality has passed away. An incorrect interpretation of an actual reality is known as a delusion. Illusions aside, the normal impression made by a normal stimulus on a normal mind is a reality. A reality within measures a truth outside. The degree of correspondence or of correlation between a reality of our minds and the actualities of the thing in itself (" das Ding an sich," whatever that may be) is our measure of truth. That our " realities " or impressions of external things have 6 Reality and Science a degree of objective truth is shown by their coincidence with impressions derived second-hand from scientific instruments of precision. Thus the camera, a chemico-mechanical eye, devised by man, reproduces forms as shown by reflection of light. From the photograph properly adjusted we can receive nerve impressions or new realities virtually identical with those we derive from the thing by itself. In the same fashion the phonograph, a mechanical ear, records sound vibrations just as the ear does. These vibrations given out second-hand are indistinguishable from the original, except through the imperfection of the materials used in recording, as compared with the ear-drum itself. These instruments show not only that the objects about us maintain a constancy of behavior in relation to us and to our mechanical devices, but that they influence our devices in some degree in the same fashion in which they influence us. The common element in these processes is an element of actual truth. When a truth is segregated as a proposition it must be stated in terms of human experience. It is often claimed that the real nature of the thing in itself is so distant from our experiences, so absolutely inscrutable, incomprehensible, and unknowable, that we can have no truth whatever in regard to it. All we have is our impression of certain effects on our consciousness. We assume, without real proof, it is said, that our various sensations are transcripts of any actuality whatever, and, Reality and Science 7 furthermore, that we do not know that our senseimpressions accord in any degree with impressions which may be made on other types of consciousness. It is further asserted that our own sense-impressions, whatever they may be, are in every case vitiated (or vitalized) by personal and individual habits of inference and reasoning. All these qualities of personality, it is claimed, lead us, if possible, still further from the actual character of the actual thing in itself. The answer to this is found in that fact that men and animals are guided by their realities. They live by truth. That they move safely implies safe guidance, the power to " size up the situation " about them with substantial accuracy, so far as it concerns themselves. Were it not for this power the race of men could never have maintained itself. ^ The sense-organs of every animal are so constructed that its realities are adequate to its needs. The need is not that of a " copy or transcript of nature, but accuracy as prompting fruitful attack or exploitation." For the truth in dealing with external things is not primarily knowledge of the things themselves, but rather of their relation to each other and to us. Effective action depends on ability to " size up a situation." It is the situation or correlation of objects which impresses us rather than the things in themselves. The nervous system arose, in the first place, as a necessity in relation to the power of locomotion. 8 Reality^ and Science To move from place to place makes direction of motion a vital need. This direction is given through the nervous system. The most distinctive trait of the animal kingdom is its power to move. Its most distinctive group of organs is the nerve-system. The functions of the nervous system collectively constitute the Mind, using that term in the large sense. If animals are to move about, they must move about safely and surely. Their senses give safety, for they give truth ; not absolute nor ultimate truth, nor truth of some unknown category, but such degree of reality as is necessary for the preservation and development of life. Humanly speaking, and there is no other way for us to try to speak, there is no absolute truth. That is, we have no truth that is true from all standpoints at once, nor from a general standpoint at large, a standpoint which is not that of any particular person, place, or time. That which I now hold to be true about any given thing does not pretend to be a full copy of reality, nor to be logically harmonizable with all truth, present or to come. It claims, or I may claim for it, that if, as I understand it, it be acted upon, it will be followed by the results which I expect. To say that a certain proposition is true to me does not affirm that it is true from an imaginary standpoint of absolute truth, nor does it involve an imaginary or absolute completeness of knowledge. In the human race more truth is demanded than Reality and Science 9 with the lower animals, because man's powers of motion and locomotion are far more diversified. Man needs truth better defined as well as truths of a higher order than those which suffice for the needs of other animals. These new truths must answer to the new interests expressed through his more varied powers of action. He must have more wide-reaching correspondence between his impressions of the environment and the environment itself as it exists in relation to him. These impressions and conjectures, the collective experience of many men tested and set in order, constitute science. With the advance of science man has invented an immense variety of devices, instruments of precision, by which impressions too subtle for the ordinary senses may, with relative accuracy, be also tested, measured, and set in order. It is by means of experience, personal and collective, that the human race maintains itself on the earth. The experience concerns itself chiefly with the relations of objects, rather than with their ultimate constitution or their intimate nature. It gives the truth actually needed in actual life, and it furnishes the means for the acquisition of more complete conceptions whenever in the intricacies of life such better knowledge is needed. That we do not know the chemical composition of a rock or a jewel in no wise prevents us from using the one as a weapon, the other as an ornament. If we are dealing with an object as such, a drug or an ore, for example, the chemical composition may be allio Reality and Science important. The experience of the race gives us the means of finding out this composition. But the fact that we may not know the chemical composition of a rock does not in any degree darken or impeach such knowledge of it as we already have. It does not challenge its fitness for the particular use for which we have chosen it. The fact that we have no absolutely complete knowledge of anything does not demonstrate the unreality of external things. It does not even throw doubt on any part of the actual knowledge we possess. We may see one side of a mountain peak. We may become familiar with its ridges and valleys and all the details of its surface without knowing what minerals may be concealed within, or what forms the other side of the peak may assume. We may not know whether it is really a peak or the end of a long ridge. And the acquisition of this additional knowledge would give us no clearer vision of the part we see. Conversely, the absence of further knowledge does not darken the actual outlook. We know what we know; it is truth so far as it goes. We may safely trust it so far as our knowledge reaches. The knowledge we possess is not knowledge of the object " at large," but of the object in its relations to us. Our view of the mountain may be wholly adequate if we mean merely to climb its side. If we wish to exploit its recesses for gold ore, we must seek further truth, and by the recognized processes of science. We must have had experience with the Reality and Science 11 indications of gold deposits, or we must seek the services of some one who has had or has collated the results of such experience. The power to sum up the truth arising from ordinary sense-impressions derived from realities we call common sense. Science involves common sense, but its operations are continued beyond the obvious into the hidden complexities of truth. By a knowledge of these complexities endeavors similarly complex may be carried out with success. Such success, other things being equal, is in proportion to the exactness of our knowledge, the degree in which our conceptions are transcripts of reality, and the courage with which we use our knowledge in our actual operations. The final test of truth is, then, its " livableness," the degree to which we may trust our lives to it. Just as we may trust our lives so can we trust that for which life is valuable, our aims, purposes, and hopes singly, one by one, or grouped together in systems. Livableness seems to represent our final test rather than " workableness," the word more often used in this connection. An idea may be " workable " because the people concerned are willing to try to use it in their work. That people are willing to accept it as a basis for action is not proof that the conception itself is true. That one man or ten thousand or ten million men find a dogma acceptable does not argue for its soundness unless these men have one and all successfully translated it into ac12 Reality and Science tion. If it cannot be tested by action in some fashion or other, it is not a truth. A truth, to be our truth, must have some relation to experiment, some relevance in human affairs. A vast proportion, probably a majority of the Aryan race, accepts the doctrine of Reincarnation. It is a doctrine which can in no way be tested by action or worked out in terms of endeavor. In so far as science or coordinated human experience can touch it, it can make no use of it. That you or I or a hundred millions of men in India find it satisfying or acceptable or apparently " workable " is no argument in its favor. It has no standing in the court of realities, as it rests on no phase of human experience. If a doctrine is livable we can trust our lives to it. This involves the idea of personal safety or of race security. It may not be at once applied to any given proposition. It may be applied to the process by which our knowledge is gained, as well as to the proposition itself. This is the final test, the test of the long run, for no doctrine can find its full test in the lifetime of an individual. If it is true, one man, or generation of men, can depend upon it, or upon the methods by which the doctrine is developed. We do not yet know what electricity really is. We have large experience in what it will do, and in the changing relations of objects produced by changes in electrical conditions. This knowledge tested and set in order constitutes electrical science. To this we trust our lives every day, those of us Reality and Science 13 who travel by rail at the mercy of the block system and the train despatches If this knowledge were not true so far as it goes, and so far as it concerns us, the error involved in it would prove fatal, not at once necessarily, nor to all of us, but in the long run to the race, to all who trust to the methods by which this knowledge was obtained. This error might not involve actual race extinction, at least not within an appreciable time. But it would involve destruction in proportion to the importance of the error. For the rest we might expect that life would be on a lower plane than would be possible with more exact knowledge and the courage and intellect to make use of it. In no field has science yet reached finality. It sees some things very clearly, but the unknown lies about on every side, a trackless wilderness yet to be cleared and fitted for human habitation. To some philosophers, this vastness of the unknown is a matter for despair rather than hope. There is so much unknown, so much outside of human experience, that our acquisition and endeavor count as next to nothing, while for ultimate truth of any sort we must appeal to some other source of knowledge. It is claimed that our senseimpressions, the realities of psychology, are ininfinitely removed from the actuality of the thing in itself. Being infinitely remote, they give us no conception of any real thing. At the most, and that is not much, we have only impression of rela14 Reality and Science tions, perception of changes, the flight of shadows in environment, and that therefore, from fact and nature, " we know not anything," " we only trust," and, so far as the external world is concerned, we must let it go at that. Only the seer can know the truth, and for this he must look within, and within only. To this we oppose our robust common sense, the everyday experience of any man who tries to do anything. He finds his efforts effective in proportion to his own trust in realities, and in proportion to his own efforts to make use of the experience of his race. Knowledge is power. That is, knowledge enables effort to become effectiveness. We may know but little, but that little may be exact. The safety and the success of our efforts attest the clearness of our knowledge, so far as it goes. An apple is a very familiar object. It is one of the things which we know with considerable accuracy and fullness of detail. That is what we mean by calling it familiar. Much effort has been expended to find out what constitutes the apple after we have, in our minds, removed all its attributes. What is left after the redness, sourness, size, weight, substance of the apple have one by one been taken away? Naturally only the apple is left. But what is the apple without these attributes? Only the attributes appeal to normal human experience. The apple in itself is nothing more than these experiences, with the addition of possible appeals to other Reality and Science 15 experiences less tangible than these. We can never know the complete truth about the apple, but what we do know may be just as real, just as true, as though we knew it all. It is the truth as far as it goes, and the truth, man-truth, in our possession, is just as true as though it were God's truth, which, indeed, it is as well. Our sense of vision shows us the moon. We recognize its form, the N outlines of its shadowed districts, its luster as illumined by the sun. All this is true so far as it goes, just as true as though we were able to touch it, to see its hidden further hemisphere, or to look down into the craters of its volcanoes. To do these things would add knowledge. It would not change its nature. What we have is truth ; the rest is merely the truth we do not have, and which, may be, we do not want. Too much truth, more than we can assimilate, may confuse action or render it abortive. We cannot use truth much before we are to ask for it. To utilize it we must assimilate it with the truth already held. We must conceive it in terms of our experience. With scientific methods, tested and verified by human experience, we may determine the size of the moon, knowing the length of two sides and the size of the included angle. Or, knowing two angles and the length of the included side, we may determine its distance from the earth. Or, with the instruments of science, we may gaze into its craters and calculate the height of its crests from the shadows thrown 16 Reality and Science by the sunlight which strikes them on the edge. All this and everything else which the astronomer can teach of moon and star, so long as it rests on human experience and is adequately tested and set in order, is truth. It is not the whole truth, for human experience works at long range, with the smallest as well as the greatest of objects, but it is truth so far as it goes. Each truth we attain suggests the existence of other truths, more or less susceptible of being tested. There are always groups of realities not perfectly defined. Such truths may belong to that fringe or penumbra of science in which science merges into philosophy. The men who do things have known what they are doing. Men must have sized up a complex situation pretty well to have laid the Atlantic cable, to have painted the " Last Supper," to have drawn up the Declaration of Independence, to have spoken the " Lord's Prayer." The chemist-biologist, with the infinitely little, or the astronomer, with the infinitely vast, the engineer, with his forces and resistances, the statesman, with his millions of individual units; all these are in a degree masters of their environment, else they could not be masterful in dealing with it. Science is power, because power depends on knowledge. But science is power to the degree that it is truth, to the extent that it represents an effective co-ordination of the results of genuine human experience. The present writer just now is dealing, or thinks Reality and Science 17 that he is dealing, with the statutes which govern fishing in the international boundary waters of the United States and Canada. He thinks that it is true that he exists ("I think, therefore I am"), and that he is the representative in this matter of eighty millions or more of similar individuals or mental and physical units, in a nation called the United States. He has never counted these units, but he thinks that he has met many of them, and he takes the work of some of them, as recorded by printed signs, for the rest. As to the nation called the United States, he thinks that he has seen much of it, and that he can imagine the rest. The parts of it as seen by his neighbors seem to impress them much as they do him. For all practical purposes he finds he can trust their statements. It is workable to do so. Or, at least, it seems to seem so to him. He thinks that he has traveled the long extent of this long boundary, and all the way he thinks he finds people whose impression of every detail coincides, so far as he can determine, substantially with his own. He can guide himself along the road by the maps they have published. He can time himself by the time-tables of their railways and steamships, and he veritably believes that his ideas of these railways and steamships, being substantially those of their builders, are fairly near the truth. He does not see how, for any practical purpose, any one could get from these machines any important truth which was unknown to the men who planned and built them. 1 8 Reality and Science In like fashion he thinks that he knows that the Great Lakes exist, that Lake Superior is the largest and Lake Erie the richest in life. He thinks that he knows something of why this is so. He deals with what he and most men regard as fishes, useful to man because men suppose that they can use them as food. These fishes have each individually an anatomical structure, with what seems to be complex physiological action. Of these fishes he thinks, and his associates agree with him, there are many kinds in these lakes, those of each kind varying somewhat, but substantially alike, and those of all the kinds having much in common also, but separated by differences of varying grade. With all this, he has to deal, or thinks he does, with corporations and fishermen, with canoes and steamtugs, with nets and hooks, with cities and forests, with seasons and temperatures and rocks and ice and mud and gravel, with swift current and slack water, with custom and statute, with law and prejudice, with warden and marshal, inspector and policeman, with human tendencies to honesty and fair play, and human tendencies to treachery and deceit. Furthermore, he has, or thinks he has, the temerity, with his British colleague, to reduce all this to order by means of sixty-six regulations or statutes, to be enforced by certain governmental methods, with a reasonable prospect that these statutes may satisfy fishes and fishermen and all else concerned. The point of all this is that if there were not Reality and Science 19 real truth involved in these matters, this work could not be done. Not necessarily the whole truth regarding any individual object, but the essential truth in regard to its reciprocal relations and its relations to me. I have to " size up the situation " correctly so far as the process goes, though I may not try to complete the truth as regards a man, a fish, or a nation, a gasolene-launch, or anything in itself. But if, after doing this work, one came no nearer to the thing in itself than the man who never heard of the Great Lakes, and could not tell a net from a sonnet, then we should be forced to admit that psychological realities do not parallel truth nor copy it, nor transcribe it, nor approximate it, nor have anything to do with it. The test in this case is for some one to try it. Similar experiments have been tried millions of times. There is always the one answer. Knowledge is power. Power is the evidence that our belief is knowledge. Efficiency in all things is the resultant of knowledge and training, with the addition of the motive attribute of courage. Knowledge is significant or livable truth. It is in working relations with reality. It has " an effective purchase upon reality," whatever that may be. In proportion as it is effective in endeavor, our impression of anything about us bears a definite relation to the real nature of the thing in itself. Knowledge in turn is verified by action. Using the Boundary fisheries again as an illustration we 2O Reality and Science may make this statement. To deny the effective coincidence of my mind-pictures with the facts concerned, would be to assert that as a dream-picture my mind had been able to frame the Great Lakes, the science of ichthyology, the art of fish culture, the idea of law, the geography of Canada and the United States, with the history of both and all other nations. Theodore Roosevelt and Edward VII figure in the accompanying warrants and documents, and if these are not real in this sense, they are equally unreal in any other, for I have only the same type of sense-evidence in either case. Besides, it is a well-attested fact of psychology that dream-pictures or subjective impressions are only memory duplications of past realities. Nothing originates de novo in the land of dreams. There is no initiative in subjective imaginations. Such originality as these seem to show, is due to their interconfusion or telescoping. The materials are never new. They are shadows from the past, not beginnings of the future. Another conceivable point of view would be that instead of having imagined the Great Lakes and the boundary problems from Grand Manan to Tatoosh Light, I had merely imagined that I imagined them. But on this assumption my existence as an Ego and my ability to know, to remember or imagine, would be at the same time impeached. The only tenable theory is to suppose that a reality in the mind matches a reality in the Universe. This reality may match the actuality as a photograph Reality and Science 21 matches a face, or else as a key matches a lock. The two may be identical, or they may be adjustable the one to the other. Perhaps we do not know which of these two illustrations comes nearest the truth, but some form of workable correspondence is certainly there. In either case, the degree of such matching is measured by livability. By such tests, the methods of science and the conclusions of science carry us progressively nearer to truth. We do not attain, by its tests, to absolute truth, whatever that may be, but the truth involved in clear perception of relations among its constituent elements. Incomplete truth, more or less faulty, is the beginning of new truth, and this again is a startingpoint for action. The final test of error must be found in its effect on human life. Falsehood must kill outright if we trust our life wholly to it. It will thwart and disappoint us in the degree in which we rest upon it our hope or endeavor. When a proposition is found to be " workable," it is not of necessity completely true, but only in so far as we find that it will work. The truth in any doctrine is not the whole of it, nor in general that part which is deemed essential by its upholders. In the methods of science lie our sole means of separating truth from error, and of identifying the relations of cause and effect on which actual livableness must depend. Ninety-nine per cent, of a doctrine or a dogma may be absolutely false, and yet the whole may be 22 Reality and Science for a time livable, and therefore to the same extent true. Many a great movement has lived through the single unnoticed germ of truth, enveloped in shining robes of error. In the body of doctrines recently brought together under the name of Christian Science, there is much that is workable, else it would not work ; much that is livable, else its followers would not live. Neurotic weakness finds a balm in turning from its own troubles and limitations. In a degree, it is our privilege to heal ourselves by changing our own mental attitude, the cause of our trouble remaining unchanged. But all this, admitting its accuracy, does not render valid the philosophic principle on which these doctrines are alleged to rest, namely, that external things which may cause, or seem to cause, illness, harm, or misery, have no real existence. It does not, for example, tend to prove the claim that " cutting the jugular vein will not cause death, because there is no jugular vein." It does not show that contagious diseases associated with the presence of micro-organisms have no real existence, but are mere phantasms of unwholesome " mortal mind." The scanty records of the words of Jesus recorded in the four Gospels have furnished the living inspiration of a hundred churches of a thousand creeds. And these have justified themselves by the truth that is in them, not by the forms and ceremonies, the pomp and circumstance, by which this truth has been obscured and confused. When the truth is Reality and Science 23 grasped and woven into action, the rest is valueless, however imposing in the eyes of the world. In the conduct of life, only truth survives. An error may be harmless if we do not act upon it. Our everyday judgments of immaterial things are constantly hazy with misconceptions. The real nature of an object concerns us very little if it does npt control our action. The things we see may be a squash or a goblin, a granite bowlder, or a whiff of vapor; it is all the same to us if we let it alone. The moment we enter into relations with it, its real nature becomes a vital matter. If it be a squash or a bowlder in one relation, then bowlder or squash it is in all its relations. If we view the squash as something essentially different from what it is, as, for example, the head of a phantom horseman, the error involved may extend to other relations in life. If we do not recognize the truth in things which are nearest, we shall be deceived in remoter things. We shall see portents in comets, and shall overlook the reasons for sanitation. Poisons will seem as foods, and foods as poisons. The whole accuracy and sanity of life becomes impaired. Security of action is always conditioned on the precision with which we size up our relation to external things, and on the correctness with which we reason from the evidence of our senses. Science is the gathered wisdom of the human race in regard to sense-perceptions. It is collective, not individual. Only a part of it can be grasped by 24 Reality and Science any one man. The individual can be imbued more or less with its spirit, and can add his own experience to the mass. At the most, this single addition can be but little, and in but few directions. Only a fraction of possible knowledge can come to all men. But the little that an individual man can really know is true as far as it goes. It is as true as the truest thing in the universe. The more this truth enters into the conduct of life, the greater the need for more truth. The same conduct of life demands greater and greater wisdom. Wisdom, as I have elsewhere said, is knowing what one ought to do next. Virtue is doing it. Wisdom and virtue react on each other, and each one creates a greater demand for the 'other, a greater demand for truth in knowledge and for truth in action. Religion is fundamentally the warrant for wisdom and for virtue. There must be some reason why the thing to be done next should be attempted rather than something else. Every form of religion the world has known has addressed itself in some fashion to this problem. As those lines of conduct which make for life and strength have in them the elements of survival, so the religions of the world have in the main cast their might on the side of righteousness. This much of truth they have had, that continued leadership implies a degree of wisdom, and wisdom rests on a workable knowledge of realities. As existence grows more complex, the more inReality and Science 25 sistent is the need of greater precision in our knowledge of ourselves and of the material world in which we move, as well as of invisible forces and tendencies by which the various elements in our universe are related. The greater our effort, the more insistent become the limiting conditions. One element of power is to know its limitations. The exercise of power demands constantly new accessions of truth as to our environment, and more exact definitions of the truth already partly gained. " True ideas," William James tells us, " are those that we can assimilate, validate, corroborate, and verify. False ideas are those that we cannot." " Truth lives, in fact, for the most part, on a credit system. Our thoughts and beliefs ' pass ' so long as nothing challenges them, just as banknotes pass so long as nobody refuses them. But this all points to direct, face-toface verifications somewhere, without which the fabric of truth collapses like a financial system with no cash basis whatever. You accept my verification of one thing, I yours of another. We trade on each other's truth. But beliefs, verified concretely by somebody, are the posts of the whole superstructure." Our expression of these laws is, as Professor James observes, not absolutely a transcript of reality, but a convenient summary of old facts which may lead us to new ones. Our theories are " only a man-made language, a conceptual shorthand, as some one calls them, in which we 26 Reality and Science write our reports of nature, and languages, as is well known, tolerate much choice of expression and many dialects." Truth gives safety. Whether it gives us rest or comfort or satisfaction depends on other matters. That an idea is agreeable, is no evidence as to its truth. Truth is under no obligation to be palatable. We may again refer to the claim that the methods of science do not and cannot give us absolute truth. This is, of course, true. Our record of truth is in human experience, and this record is again a response to something real and actual outside ourselves. The record is within us; the impact comes from without. Balfour tells us that the claim that we may " trust in the infallibility of scientific processes has no higher authority than the claim of infallibility made at times by certain religious organizations. As only the senses and the reason can be appealed to in support of the claim of senses and reason, the argument of science is of necessity reasoning in a circle." For these reasons, it is claimed that the conclusions of science should take a subordinate place, as against the absolute truth derived from the innate ideas which rise spontaneously in the human mind. But we have no certain knowledge of any " innate ideas," which are not themselves derived from any form of human experience. I am sure that I never possessed any. When a religious sentimentalist came to Martin Luther with the claim that he Reality and Science 27 was guided to the truth by an " Innern Geist " or spirit, Luther replied bluntly, " Ihren Geist haue Ich ueber die Schnautze " " I slap your spirit on the snout." More politely, perhaps, but quite as firmly, the modern psychologist refuses to consider any purely subjective experience as the source of valid truth. Innate impulses exist, numerous and complex, but an impulse or tendency to action is not an idea. These are not statements of fact, but formless calls for action. So far as we understand these matters, innate impulses are survivals of primitive tendencies, " inarticulate demands for fact " inherited from generation to generation, because they have proved serviceable as calls to the vital deeds of life. Such impulses spurred our ancestors to necessary acts. Self-defense, hunger, and reproduction, these furnish the source of the primitive motives. Like other forms of instinct, these impulses do not point forward to truth, but backward toward necessity. Their origin is in a past need. Their survival proves their utility. It is, of course, true that human experience is never actually and purely objective. It is colored by the medium through which it passes. This medium varies with the infinite variety of man. " My mind to me a kingdom is," and whatever enters that kingdom must take its hue from its surroundings. We may farther acknowledge that each of the senses is subject to illusions of its own, to failure to 28 Reality and Science represent phases of reality. The sensation must also run the gauntlet of delusion, the failure on the part of the brain or the mind or the consciousness to interpret truthfully what the sense-organs faithfully represent. When we pass beyond the usual range of experience, such failure is the general rule rather than the exception; while inside the range of experience, memory-pictures or traces of past impressions often mingle with present realities to the confusion of subjective truth. Thus, as Balfour observes, life is at best " in a dimly-lighted room." All the objects about us are in some respects quite different from what they seem. Their content as a final whole is unknown, and, perhaps, unknowable. We have no means of recognizing all possible phases of reality. The electric condition of an object may be as real as its color or its temperature, yet none of our senses respond to ordinary variations in electrical conditions. Our eyes give but an octave of the vibrations we call light, and our ears are dull to all but a narrow range in pitch of sound. But here again, what we have is truth so far as it goes. If in a dimly-lighted room we see a door, we know that it is a door as certainly as if it were illumined by a calcium light. As Professor Stuart observes, " My ignorance of the electric condition or the radio-active condition of an object beyond the scope of my eyes or the reach of my hands, does not darken the fact that it weighs three pounds or costs five dollars. It does not darken anything. It may Reality and Science 29 be itself dark whenever I need to know or wish to know anything about it." To say that the rose is red to us, is to state the actual and verifiable truth, if by the statement we mean that the rays of light which come to our senses reflected from the rose are those we call red rays. But it may be that in another sense the rose as a thing in itself " das Ding an sich " is not red. Perhaps it is really green, for it absorbs the blue and yellow rays of the spectrum, making them its own in an intimate sense. On the same premises, the gold-orange poppy of California may be in its actual nature royal purple, though it is not purple to us. The reflected rays which come from it to us form a chromatic opposite of purple. We do not, therefore, know the inherent color of any object, if it has any. We only know its color as it appears to us. And this appearance is our truth, not to be darkened or depreciated by our failure to obtain some other kind of truth. The scent which a dog follows is truth, not to be rated of less value because it is wholly inappreciable to human senses, even inconceivable to the human mind, because its nature cannot be expressed in terms of our previous experience. Just as we may discredit the evidence of the senses, so may we depreciate reason. Reason is our way of disentangling or straightening out our senseperceptions, and their relations to each other and to ourselves. 30 Reality and Science In animals " sore bestead by the environment " reason becomes a means of securing safety amid increasing dangers. It is primarily the power to choose among possible reflex responses to external stimulus. From this it rises to the power to trace relations of cause and effect. Complexity of the nervous structure must increase with complexity of environment. The process of adaptation through natural selection develops reason from reflex action. A choice among responses is safer than a single automatic line of action. Those creatures survive whose senses give adequate truth. But natural selection gives no impulse toward complete truth. It provides only ability to secure that truth an animal needs for its own safety, and the safety of its progeny. For animal or man there is no provision for complete knowledge, nor for infallible reasoning. All our knowledge is slightly mitigated ignorance. But to mitigate ignorance is to acquire truth. But to say that we have no complete knowledge of anything is very different from saying that we know absolutely nothing. That is quite another proposition. To say that, when viewed " in the critical light of philosophy," all our knowledge becomes futile and meaningless, is to talk nonsense in large ords. It is urged by Balfour that the simple affirmation, " The sun gives light," loses all its meaning and passes outside the range of possibility, when it is taken out of the category of human experience, and discussed in terms of non-anthropomorphic Reality and Science 31 philosophy. The sun is simply an unknown mass of matter, if, indeed, it be a mass, and if matter really exists. It can give nothing. It certainly cannot give light, for light is only a mode of motion, a vibration of an unknowable and impossible ether. At the best, we know light only by its apparent, but not its real, effects. But by using words in this way, any fact or happening can be made to appear as unreal as the most fantastic dream. A man may be led to doubt his own existence, and, if so, the existence of any object within his environment. We may take the discussion of " John's John " and " Thomas's John," as given by Dr. Holmes. If John actually exists, is he the real John ? Is the John that is, the John as he appears to John himself? Or is the John, as seen by Thomas, the real John? Or is he the composite of the different Johns as seen by Richard and Henry, each one with a varying individuality, and farther and farther away from the John that John thinks that he knows? Is the real John simply the John which constitutes the common element in all this? Or is the real John for the person speaking or thinking, only that John who will " substantiate the predictions made about him in the sense in which they are made " ? Have any of these Johns an objective existence to the exclusion of any of the others? All that we know of the external universe is drawn from impressions made directly on our 32 Reality and Science nervous system, and from recorded or expressed impressions made on the systems of others. These impressions again have been interpreted in terms of our own experience, and we ourselves are a part of this external universe to be impressed on ourselves. All that we know of ourselves is that which is external to our own consciousness. Thus each unit of human consciousness must form well or ill, broadly or narrowly, a universe of its own. If my mind is my kingdom, this kingdom in all its parts is somewhat different from any other mental universe. It is, moreover, constantly changing. It was made but once, and it will never be duplicated. When my vital processes cease, this kingdom will dissolve " like the baseless fabric of a dream, leaving not a wrack behind." Our minds are of " the stuff that dreams are made of," and our bodies are not more real if, indeed, even for purposes of philosophy, we may separate mind from body. Physically each man is an alliance of zooids, of energides, of centers of protoplasmic action; each so-called cell, or energide, a sort of quasi-individual organism; each member of this alliance having its own processes of life, growth, death, and reproduction; each one with its own cell-soul, which in some unknown fashion presides over all these processes. In the alliance of these cells forming tissues and organs, we have the phenomena of mutual help and mutual dependence. We have these also in the phenomena of Reality and Science 33 human society. In man these features of oTganic life are seen on a larger and more complex scale than in the lower forms, but an analysis of these phenomena in either case leaves little meaning to the word " self." " I think, therefore I am " gives place to " we think, therefore we are." But that again is not true ; for we think only as co-operating groups of centers of energy, not as individual units of life. The self or ego is an attribute of one changing alliance as set off against another. What is the vital force which holds this alliance together? What is vitalism as distinct from mechanism? Is either anything more than a name for the chemical attributes of complex changing organic molecules? Of what are these cells composed? Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, mineral salts. We know these by name. We can isolate them and test their properties. But how do they differ one from another? Are their differences real and permanent? They are forms of matter, and they are subject to modes of motion. But does matter really exist? Some mathematicians claim that all relations of ponderable matter and force might hold if the atoms of matter, or the ions which compose them, were not realities at all, but merely relations of part to part in a universal ether. Each of these units possessed of attraction or weight may be a vortex ring or eddy in the ether, of which the ultimate atoms have vibration, but not attraction. If, therefore, the body of man be an alliance of millions on millions of animal 34 Reality and Science zooids, each cell being composed of millions on millions of eddies in an inconceivable and impossible ether, if the nature and existence of all things around us be the same, and if, in detail, it be recognizable only by its effect on the most unstable part of this unstable structure, we stand appalled at the unreality of the whole thing; we must fall back again on the realities of common sense, from which we find another starting-point. Once more things become real and tangible. From speculations as to the nature of matter we turn with relief to this sentence of Professor William S. Franklin,* as quoted by Dr. James : " I think that the sickliest notion of physics, even if a student gets it, is that it is the science of masses, molecules, and the ether. And I think that the healthiest notion, even if a student does not wholly get it, is that physics is the science of the ways of taking hold of bodies and pushing them. These concepts of mass and molecule and ether are validated, if at all, and so far as they are at all, by the contribution they make to the effective taking hold of bodies and pushing them." In the process of taking hold of things and pushing them, we have found some guides in the conduct of life. We know that we have developed some propositions workable and livable. We have gained some truth which stands our severest tests. This truth holds its own, from whatever side we * Science, January 2, 1903. Reality and Science 35 may assault it. We can trust our lives to it, and to the methods by which we have worked it out. Every day, perhaps, as already indicated, we trust our lives to the methods of the chemist, and to those of the electrician. Each conclusion of science represents a continuous testimony of human experience. Observation and experiment form the basis of science. The two are one in essence. An observation is our record of an experiment which has gone on for ages, and in which the setting is beyond our powers. In an experiment, we arrange the minor details of the setting to fit our own limitations. The breaks in the testimony of experience but add to it strength, for each apparent break is but the appearance of a new principle, a new relation of truth. The " philosophic doubt " of the reality of external things is often simply the rhetorical trick of describing the known in terms of the unknown. Philosophic doubt, as set forth by Mr. Balfour, seems to be a process by which men question the only things they know to be true, in order to prove the reality of things they know are not true. To show that truth and falsehood are indistinguishable in the one case, is used as an argument to prove that falsehood is truth in another case, and that truth and falsehood are alike as a general thing. That subjective sensations often force their way among objective realities, is no evidence that the universe about us is, after ail, subjective. 36 Reality and Science We may use the same philosophic process in describing to the child the sound of a bell in terms of nerve-fiber irritations in the auditory capsules, due to the tintinnabulations of the tympanic drum, in response to the impact of atmospheric molecules set in motion by remote vibrations of a large metallic body. And the child's answer, " it is just a bell," is essentially scientific. For the child, this describes the sensation in terms of previous experience. Constructively, by the process of doubting the real to prove the unreal, we may build up out of the commonest material the dregs of teacups, or the waves of clouds, or the entrails of animals, an " occult science " or a new sciosophy. It is possible to speak of the unknown in terms of the known, of the infinite in terms of human experience. In this fashion, men have talked with God, and reported their conversations in diverse languages. In this fashion, Balfour gives to his positive foundations of belief an apparent reality as fallacious as the unreality he assigns to the foundations of science. To speak of the unknown in terms of the known, is the basis of the conception of the anthropomorphism of God. This fallacy gives point to Haeckel's sneer at the current conception of Deity as that of a " gaseous vertebrate." " The measure of a man " is the basis of human knowledge, and only that which can be brought to the measure is part of man's knowledge. But, however unattainable the conception of comReality and Science 37 plete and final truth, partial and workable truth surrounds us everywhere, and through this truth every man and every animal has its hold on existence. In this hold on existence Science has her origin. It is the business of science to discriminate between realities and illusions, between objective and subjective nerve conditions, between rationality and delusion. A reality is an impression made by a contemporaneous event. An illusion is an impression made by a past event, or by a derangement in the structure, or operation of the nerve structures themselves. It is easy for common sense to tell a reality from an illusion. To be able to do this, is the essence of sanity. Science is sanity. Sanity is livable. Insanity is not. Delusion and illusion are alike destructive in the conduct of life. The " borderland of spirit," of which we hear much of late the debatable territory where subjective creations and objective facts jostle each other at will is a dangerous region for the living man to traverse. In so far as one is leading a passive life, not concerned with earning his bread or with controlling the affairs of others, these dangers may seem of little importance, because they are never brought to the test of actuality. But the man who does things, must know exactly what he is doing. He cannot afford to confuse subjective and objective conditions. He cannot confuse his realities with the creations of dreams or of drugs. 38 Reality and Science Among men in a general way, " hearts insurgent," impulses uncontrolled, recklessness as to the results of conduct and to the teachings of human experience, mean short shrift in the world of actualities. It is true, as I have said, that every " reality " has a large subjective element. The impression made by an external object is modified by the nature of the object on which it is impressed, and by the number and character of previous records on which it is, as it were, superimposed. It is not the external fact, but our record of it, with which we must deal. The impression made by the shot of a gun becomes a reality when the pressure of the air-waves reaches our nerve centers, though the explosion may have preceded the " reality " by several seconds. Whatever else it may be, this explosion is not a noise as we hear noise. But the noise bears a definite relation to the explosion which is its source. It has a known and tested relation to powder and shot, and the pull on the trigger. It must give to the mind information by which the actual occurrence may be correctly interpreted, although in terms of previous occurrences. On the accuracy of this interpretation the fitness of our response through nerve control of the muscles must be conditioned. In every-day matters, as those relating to the squash in the garden, the dictates of common sense are obvious enough. The impression and response are alike simple. Our emotions are not moved by the squash, Reality and Science 39 nor is our recognition of its nature vitiated by an illusion. No delusion results from any defects in our reasoning in regard to it. But in very many relations of life, the truth is involved in difficult conditions and the problem of common sense is rendered most complex. To discriminate in a complex and bewildering environment, is the task of the higher common sense, which we call science. The degree of coincidence of our subjective impressions with objective truth, is graded by its livability, by its veracity in terms of life. Actuality and reality, object and impression, are not the same any more than the shadow is identical with the substance, but the shadow follows the substance with never an innovation on its own account. For a man to deceive himself in any large degree, to make of this world a fools' paradise or a fools' hell, which is another name for the same thing, is commonly to find a short way out of it. This fact in all its bearings is our final proof that man deals with a world outside of himself, not with one merely imagined by him. Wisdom is our knowledge of this outside world. Long life and large influence are derived from wisdom. Virtue is the working arm of wisdom, and wisdom and virtue, according to the testimony of all the ages, unite to make life effective. Folly and vice soon destroy our freedom, and hand us over to the crushing grasp of the giants. We lie prone " at the feet of the strong god Circumstance," unless we can find out for our40 Reality and Science selves the method by which this strong god may be made to work in our behalf. In our knowledge of ourselves and of our limiting relations, we find the truth that makes us free. Our experience with the objective universe and its effects on our subjective consciousness, seems to imply the existence of a still larger consciousness, in which objective and subjective should be united. The objective universe should be within the grasp of some intelligence. The final answer to the world problem cannot be disconnected, disjointed matter and force in unrelated fragments. The universe is too gigantic, too complex, too exact in its relation of cause and effect, too conscientious in its rewards and punishment, to exist in our consciousness alone. There seems to be outside ourselves, as well as within, a compelling " force that makes for righteousness." Outside ourselves is " the ceaseless flow of energy and the rational intelligence that pervades it." No part of this flow of force can we fully comprehend, but we can realize its persistence and the consistency of its methods. We find no chance movement in the universe, " no variableness, no shadow of turning." That there should exist a " law of Heaven and Earth whose way is solid, substantial, vast, and unchanging," seems to imply an intelligence adequate to have made it so, and to comprehend it as a whole, not merely as shown in casual and inexorable fragments. This intelligence should deal with terms of Reality and Science 41 absolute truth, freed from all figures of speech drawn from human experience, and of all anthropomorphism imposed by the limitations of human action. Only a " God of the things as they are " can " know things as they really are," and in our relations to these things, we become conscious of the condition of being, gracious and inexorable, the " Goodness and Severity of God." It is said that if any geologist were to make a cross-section of the Andes or the Sierra Nevada anywhere, he would in this section have a clue to the whole formation of the Cordilleras, the greatest mountain system on the globe. In like fashion, if any man of science or any philosopher could form a complete picture of any object or of any act whatever, he would hold the key to the Universe. To strive to gain this key has been the perennial ideal of philosophy. To attain such knowledge of the relations of things as to safeguard the conduct of life, is an ideal of science. From materials science has tested may be built up a philosophy. If we were to know anything, " all in all," " a flower in a crannied wall," or a bit of the wall itself, we should have the clue to everything, " we should know what God is and man is." In the various forms of applied science, or knowledge in action, the anthropomorphic element is everywhere evident. If man is to use his knowledge, it must be workable by him. Its truth must in some degree be brought to the measure of a 42 Reality and Science man. This man-adapted quality has been called the " dramatic tone " in science. " Activity is imputed to phenomena for the purpose of organizing them into a dramatically consistent system." On the basis of human relations, philosophy tries to look at the universe in some degree as through the eyes of God. This purpose is most exalted. Its efforts are justified by their effects on the conduct of life. The subject-matter of philosophy ranges from the puerile to the incomprehensible and only science that is, organized " common sense " can distinguish the two. Good and bad, not embodied in concrete cases, are alike abstractions. Human knowledge and human action have human limitations. One of these is that whatever cannot be stated in terms of human experience, cannot be comprehended by man. Whatever cannot be thought, cannot be lived. Whatever cannot be lived, is not yet true. To the category of philosophy belongs what we commonly call belief. Belief is a general faith in the final result of the varied elements which enter into the experience of life. From time to time one or another phase of belief has crystallized into a creed. A creed (credo) is my statement of what I think is true. It is my interpretation of my own grouping of my own realities. A creed is alive when it is livable, when it looks backward to human experience, forward to the conduct of life. " The essence of belief," says Dr. Charles SanReality and Science 43 ders Peirce, " is the establishment of a habit, and different beliefs are distinguished by the different modes of action to which they give rise. If beliefs do not differ in this respect, if they appease the same doubt by producing the same rule of action, then no mere differences in the manner of consciousness of them can make them different beliefs, any more than playing a tune in different keys is playing different tunes. Imaginary distinctions are often drawn between beliefs which differ only in their mode of expression; the wrangling which ensues is real enough, however." In clever paradox, Chesterton says : " Some people call a creed a dead thing. The truth is, a creed is not only a living thing, but it is the only thing that can live. It was exactly because revolutionists like Swinburne would not have a perpetual creed, that they did not have a perpetual revolution. It was because Swinburne would not fix his faith that he fell away afterwards into accidental and vulgar jingoism, and, indeed, narrowly escaped being made poet-laureate." Of course, not even so audacious an essayist as Chesterton would claim permanence for any actual creed in the actual world. The creeds of Christendom change with the changing years. It is not the formulation which endures, but the spirit which has led men to believe that there was indeed something to formulate. The creeds which express a veering philosophy, 44 Reality and Science the subtleties of theological dogma, have no permanence in human history. But the verities of human life, the common experience of love, sorrow, hope, faith, action, religion, these do not change. Like the truths of external nature, all these are forever renewed and verified by renewed human experience. Love makes for life. Action is life. To give life more abundantly, is the essence of religion. We can trust life, that life is worth living. We can trust action; for action is the primal purpose of feeling and thinking. We can trust love, for it has its justification in happy and wholesome life. These intangible forces, on which rests the development of religion, have been pre-eminently safe in the history of mankind. A certain dignity attaches itself to a creed, however crude or even absurd in the logic of its statement, because it is in some degree associated with religion, and then it deals in some degree with the noblest springs of human conduct. We can therefore believe, " believe and venture," even though some part of our belief is not at once reducible to terms of human experience. In his " L'Evolution Creatrice," Henri Bergson * thus expresses the function of the intellect in the face of realities : " The human intellect is not at all such a thing as Plato represents in the allegory of the cave. It is as little its function to gaze idly upon shadows * Translation of Professor Arthur O. Lovejoy. Reality and Science 45 as they pass, as it is, turning backward, to lose itself in the contemplation of the celestial splendor. It has other work to do. Yoked like oxen to a heavy task, we feel the play of our muscles, the weight of the plow, the resistance of the soil. To act, and to know that we act, to enter into contact with reality, indeed, to live reality . . . such is the function of man's intellect. Philosophy can be but an effort to immerse ourselves afresh in the universal life." II REALITY AND THE CONDUCT OF LIFE " The animal supports itself upon the plant ; man goes astride the animal, and all humanity, scattered through space and time, is one immense army, galloping beside and behind and before us, drawing each of us on in a sweeping charge that can beat down every resistance." HENRI BERGSON. EVOLUTION is orderly change. Organic evolution is the orderly change in the succession of living organisms. In the main it is a process of adaptation, by which the needs of the organism are brought into closer and closer correspondence with the demands of the environment. Every step in advance is a concession to the environment, and each concession demands still others in the direction of more perfect adaptation. The movement towards adaptation is conditioned on the destruction of the non-adapted and the non-adaptable. This process is known as Natural Selection. It is the only known cause of the forward movement in the process of evolution. Other factors, internal and external, enter into the processes of orderly change, but the survival of the fittest in the struggle for existence is apparently 47 48 Reality and the Conduct of Life the sole reason for the ultimate presence and persistence of fitness or adaptation of all sorts and kinds. The trend of organic evolution is, therefore, toward safer relation of activity to environment. In its higher phases it is demand for wisdom in action. Human development finds its culmination in the rational conduct of life. The most highly organized structures are those of the brain and nervous system. The finest material known to chemistry goes to form the human brain. The brain and its associated structures form what we may term a device for making action safe. The safety of action is the animal's test of realities. Conduct of life in the large sense means the rational choice among all possible responses to environmental stimulus. Intelligence in the higher animals and man involves the choice of responses as distinguished from the " tropism '' or mechanical responses of the lower animals and plants, and as distinguished from the instincts or automatic complex responses shown by all the higher animals and by men. All sensation is correlated with the power of action. If an organism is not to act it does not feel. The mind is at bottom and primarily the director of motion and of locomotion. With the increasing complexity of the functions of action, the nervous system and its functions become more complex. Wherever motion exists in organic nature, there is Reality and the Conduct of Life 49 some corresponding irritability or sensitiveness to external conditions. This irritability is of the nature of mind. In a complex organism, the structure and position of the sensorium or mind center depends on the work it has to do, or, rather, through heredity, it repeats the duties the organ has had to perform in the life of the creature's ancestors. A typical plant may be regarded as a sessile animal, an organism which does not move. It is a colony of organic cells with the power of motion within its parts, but without the power of moving as a whole. It draws its nourishment for the most part from inorganic nature, from air and water. Its life is not conditioned on a search for food, nor on the movement of the body as a whole. This search is conducted by means of the feeding parts alone. These feeding parts turn toward or from the sun, upward or downward under the impulse of gravitation, outward toward water or other food. Darwin has shown the circumnutation or spiral squirming of all the growing parts of a living plant. That the plant has no nerve centers is due to the fact that, being sessile, it cannot make use of such centers. Its mind, if we may use the expression, is diffused through the region of its growth. But when cells are co-ordinated to form an animal, or moving and feeding organism, some sort of central control becomes a necessity, to be developed in proportion to the demands laid upon it. Such control 50 Reality and the Conduct of Life in its degree is the conduct of life. The successful conduct of life is the verification of the " realities," impressed by the environment on the animal's nervous system. We may perhaps not improperly turn from the rudimentary and unillumined conduct of life possible to the lower animal, to consider the same matter in a much higher phase. The conduct of life is the noblest art possible to man. The essential function of religion is found in the control of the conduct of life in its loftiest aspects. The spread of any form of religion indicates that it rests on a degree of truth. This is proved by its workableness, though the fact that it meets conditions in human life does not tend to verify other assumptions which may be connected with it. That the Mormon religion may tend to make men sober and industrious, or that it gives consolation on the death-bed, speaks for its truth or at least for its utility, but it does not in any degree argue for polygamy, nor does it verify the visions of Joseph Smith. These must be judged by other and very different tests. The vitality of the religion of Jesus rests on its fitness to the needs of civilizing and civilized men. The founder of this religion was not interested in mysteries and superstitions, in creeds and arguments, in pomp and circumstance, in imperialism or ecclesiasticism. No ceremony was sacred to him, no emotion praiseworthy, unless it led to doing. Its test he found in its fruits. Let it " feed my Reality and the Conduct of Life 51 lambs." Life is justified by service, not by domination nor by happiness alone. To believe that life is worth living, to trust to the reality of external things as reproduced in the realities of the human mind, to have red blood in one's arteries, to throw oneself with courage and enthusiasm into the affairs of the day, to be satisfied with the universe as it is, and to be happy, to play a man's part in it, all this is justified by the tests of science. All this makes for the abundance of life. It is a sufficient answer to the philosophy of despair, that pessimism is not livable. A philosophy which impedes or confuses our conduct of life cannot be sound doctrine. Happiness in this world is the accompaniment of normal life, in normal action, in normal relationship to external things. It can be secured on no other terms. Happiness makes room for more happiness, while imaginary pleasures, the illusions of nervous disorder, hysteria, and drunkenness destroy the nervous system itself, and render rational enjoyment impossible. Doing, struggling, helping, loving, always something positive, something moving, is the condition of happiness. Each living being is a link in a continuous chain of life, going back in the past to the unknown beginnings of life. Into this chain of life, so far as we know, death has never entered, because only in life has the ancestor the power of producing and casting off the germ cells by which life is continued. 52 Reality and the Conduct of Life Each individual is in a sense the guardian of the life chain in which it forms a link. Each link is tested as to its fitness, by the conditions external to itself in which it carries on its functions. Those creatures unadapted to the environment, whatever it may be, are destroyed, as well as those not adaptable. And this environment by which each is tested is the objective universe. It is not the world as man knows it. It is the world as it is. Nature has no pardon for ignorance or illusions. She is no respecter of persons. Her laws and her penalties consider only what is, and have no dealings with semblances. By this experience we come to know that reality exists, that there is an external world to the demands of which our senses, our reason, our powers of action are all concessions. The safety of each chain of life is proportioned to the adaptation of its links to these conditions. This adaptation is, in its essence, obedience. The obedience of any creature is conditioned on its response in action to sensation or knowledge. Sense perception and intellect alike stand as advisers to its power of choice. The power of choice involves the need to choose right; for wrong choice leads to death. Death ends the chain of which the creature is a link, and the life of the world is continued by those whose line of choice has been safe. Death is not the punishment for folly, but it is folly's inevitable result, given time enough. Severity of condition and stress of competition are met in life by Reality and the Conduct of Life 53 the survival of those adequate to meet these conditions. Thus, in the struggle for existence in organic life, when instinct and impulse fail, reason rises to insure safety. At last with civilized man reason comes to be a chief element in the guidance of life. With greater power to know, and hence to choose safely, greater complexity of conditions becomes possible, and the multifarious demands of modern civilization find some at least who can meet them fairly well. To such the stores of human wisdom must be open. To others, safety in new conditions lies only in imitation. The multitudes of civilized men, like the multitudes of animals, are kept alive by the instinct of conventionality. The instinct to follow those who have passed over safely is one of the most useful of all impulses to action. In the same connection we must recognize authority .as a most important source of knowledge to the individual; but its value is proportioned to the ability of the individual to use the tests wisdom must apply to the credentials of authority. But instinct, appetite, impulse, conventionality, and respect for authority all point backward. They are the outcome of past conditions. " New occasions bring new duties," and new facts and laws must be learned if men prove adequate to the life their own institutions and their own development have brought upon them. To the wise and obedient the most complex life brings no special strain or discomfort. It is as easy to do great things as 54 Reality and the Conduct of Life small, if one only knows how. But to the ignorant, weak, and perverse, the extension of civilization becomes an engine of destruction. The freedom of self-realization involves the freedom of self-perdition. Hence appears the often-discussed relation of " progress and poverty " in social development. Hence it comes that civilization, of which the essence is mutual help or altruism, seems to become one vast instrument for the killing of fools. In the specialization of life, conditions are constantly changing. Every age is an age of transition, and transition brings unrest because it impairs the value of conventionality. With the lowest forms of life there is no safety save in absolute obedience to the laws of the world around them. This obedience becomes automatic and hereditary, because the disobedient leave no chain of descent. All instincts, appetites, impulses to action, even certain forms of illusions, point toward such obedience. Whether we regard these phenomena as variations selected because useful, or as inherited habits, their relation is the same. They survive as guarantees of future obedience because they have enforced obedience in the past. With the most enlightened man, the same necessity for obedience exists. The instincts, appetites, and impulses of the lower animals remain in him, or disappear only as reason is adequate to take their place. And, in any case, there is no alleviation for the woes of Reality and the Conduct of Life 55 life " save the absolute veracity of action, the resolute facing of the world as it is." The intense practicality of all this must be recognized. The truths of science are approximate, not absolute. They must be stated in terms of human consciousness. They look forward to possible human action. Knowledge which can only accumulate, without being woven into conduct, has been ever " a weariness to the flesh." As food must be formed into tissues, so must knowledge pass over into action. In the lower animals, sensation, automatically, in large part, passes over into motion. In like manner, in man sensation and thought find their natural result in action. In like fashion, science leads to art, knowledge to power. Power and effectiveness are conditioned on accuracy. Every failure in the sense-organs, every form of deterioration of the nerves, shows itself in reduction of effectiveness. Reduced effectiveness manifests itself through the processes of natural selection as lessened safety of life. Thus the degeneration of the nervous system through excesses, through precocious activity, or through the effect of drugs, shows itself in untrustworthy perceptions, in uncontrolled muscles, and in general insecurity. Incidentally, all these are recorded by fall in social standing. The sober mind is necessary to the security of life. In general all civilized men are well born. They come of good stock. For the lineage of perversity, 56 Reality and the Conduct of Life insanity, and even stupidity, is never a long one. The perverse, insane, and stupid survive through the tolerance of others. They cannot maintain themselves, and, in spite of charity and the sense of conventionality, the mortality caused by the " foolkiller " is something enormous. It is an essential element in race progress. It increases with the advance of civilization, because of increasing complexity of conditions. It is an offset for the systematic life-saving which science makes possible, and which virtue makes necessary. Men fail in life through lack of whole-hearted interest in the things around them which might be at their service, and in their " shuffling attitude " in the face of observed or observable cause and effect. The recent " recrudescence of superstition," a striking accompaniment of an age of science, is in a sense dependent on science. Science has made it possible. The traditions of science are so diffused in the community at large that fools find it safe to defy them. Those who take hallucinations for realities; those whose memory impressions and motor dreams a defective will fails to control; those who mistake subjective sensations produced by disease or disorder for objective conditions all these sooner or later lose their place in the line. In falling out, they take with them the whole line of their possible descendants. The condition of mind which is favorable to mysticism, superstition, and revery, is unfavorable to life, and the continuance Reality and the Conduct of Life 57 of such condition leads to misery. On the billboard across the street, as I write, I see the advertisement of a lecture on " The Ethical Value of Living in ^,wo Worlds at Once." Whoever thus lives in t\\o worlds is certain soon to prove inadequate for one of them, and this will be the one most charged with realities. If all men sought healing from the blessed handkerchief of the lunatic, or from contact with old bones or old clothes; if all physicians used "revealed remedies," or the remedies " Nature finds " for each disease; if all business were conducted by faith; if all supposed "natural rights" of man were recognized in legislation, the insecurity of these beliefs would speedily appear. Not only civilization, but civilized man himself, would vanish from the earth. The long and dreary road of progress through fool-killing would for centuries be traversed again. That is strong which endures. Might does not make right, but that which is right will justify itself as the basis of race stability. So closely is knowledge linked to action, that in general among animals and men sensation is absent or not trustworthy when it cannot result in action. Objects beyond our reach, as the stars or the clouds, are not truthfully pictured. Accuracy of perception grows less as the square of the distance increases. It is a recognized law of psychology that only medium variations and differences are correctly estimated. The senses deal correctly only 58 Reality and the Conduct of Life with the near, the mind only with the common. The unfamiliar lends itself readily to illusions. The familiar is recognized chiefly by breaks in continuity. The real forces of nature are hicjpen by their grandeur, by their duration. Men see the waves on the surface of the sea, but not the mighty tides beneath it. Again, the senses are less acute than the mechanism of sense organs would make possible. This is shown through occasional cases of hypersesthesia or ultra-sensitiveness. This occurs in abnormal individuals, or in diseased conditions. It occurs normally in creatures whose lives in some sense depend on it. Thus some of the most remarkable exhibitions of " mind reading " may be paralleled by retriever dogs, who have been purposely bred to sustain the hyperaesthesia of the sense of smell. Hyperaesthesia of more than one of the senses would be to most animals a source of confusion and danger rather than of safety. The high development of the brain in man in large degree takes the place of acuteness of special senses. It is part of the function of the will to regulate the senses and to suppress those impressions which should not lead to action. In his perception of external relations man is aided by the devices of science, which may be taken up or laid down at will. By means of instruments of precision any of the senses may be extended to an enormous degree, and at the same time the personal equation or individual source of error is Reality and the Conduct of Life 59 largely eliminated, or, rather, standardized and methodized. The camera may be focused to any desired degree of clearness of image. Once adjusted the instrument tells its story. There is no evading its report. The use of instruments of precision is the special characteristic of the advance of science. No instrument of precision can give us the ultimate essence of any part of the universe. No scientific experiment can do away with the measure of human experience as the basis of intelligibility. At the same time we can throw large illuminations into the " dimly lighted room " in which the phenomena of consciousness take place. By the simple process of photography, for example, we may reproduce the objects of environment. That such pictures do express phases of reality admits of no doubt ; for in the photographic camera all personal equation is eliminated. As to form of outline and reflection of light, " the sun paints true " under our direction as to method, and the paintings thus made by means of the action of non-living matter produce on our senses impressions coinciding with those of the outside world itself. How do we know that this is truth? Because confidence in it adds to the safety of life. We can trust our lives to it. If it were an illusion it would kill, because action based on illusion leads, in the long run, to destruction, though it may take more than the single generation to demonstrate this fact. One can trust his life, as elsewhere stated, to the 60 Reality and the Conduct of Life message sent on a telegraph wire. All who travel by rail do this daily. One can trust his life to the reading of a thermometer. The chemist's tests will select for us foods among poisons. We may trust these tests absolutely. We may safely and sometimes wisely take poisons into our bodies if we know what we are doing. By the advice of a physician, trusting in the weigher's instruments of precision, poisons may do no harm. One mite of strychnine may be an aid to vital processes ; a dozen may mean instant cessation of these processes by the unmeasured intensity of their action. The chemist's balance advises us as to all this. All these instruments of precision belong to science. They are examples taken from thousands of the methods of " organized common sense." By means of common sense, organized and unorganized, all creatures that can move are enabled to move safely. The security of human life in its relations to environment is a sufficient answer to the " philosophic doubt " as to the existence of or possibility of authentic knowledge of external nature; for if all phenomena were within the mind, no one of them could be more dangerous than another. A dream of murder is no more dangerous than a dream of a " pink tea," so long as its action is confined to the limits of the dream. But the relation of life to environment is inseparable and inexorable. Cause and effect are perfectly linked. This is a world of absolute verity, and its demand is absoReality and the Conduct of Life 61 lute obedience. Life without concessions or conditions is the philosopher's dream. By constant concession we control our environment, raising the human will to the rank of a cosmic force. What we know as pain is the necessary signal of physiological danger. Without pain, life, conditioned by the environment, would be impossible. Organic beings need such a stimulus to veracity. Those dangers which are painless are the hardest to avoid; the diseases which are painless are the most difficult to cure, because the patient has no faith in their existence. The ideal in the mind tends always to go over into action. The noble ideal discloses itself in a noble life. It is part of the wisdom of each generation, its science as well as its religion, to form the ideals of the next. History is foreshadowed in these ideals before it is enacted on the stage of life. If the strong man is to rise above conventionality, suggestion, and authority as guides to conduct, so must he rise above the domination of hereditary impulses. Conventionality and authority hold in check the bodily impulses, once necessities under wild and rude conditions. To escape from human control to be ruled by the animal passions is not liberty. No man becomes a genuine " superman " except through self-control, superior to that of other men. An old parable of the conduct of life shows man 62 Reality and the Conduct of Life in a light skiff in a tortuous channel beset with rocks, borne by a falling current to an unknown sea. He is kept alert by the dangers of his situation. As his boat bumps against the rocks he must bestir himself. If this contact were not painful he would not heed it; if it were not destructive he would not need to heed it. Had he no power to act, he could not heed it if he would. But with sensation, will, freedom to act, narrow though the limits of freedom be, his safety rests in some degree in his own hands. That he has thus far steered his course fairly well is shown by the fact that he is still aboveboard. He may choose his course for himself not an easy thing to do, unless he scan most carefully the nature of rocks and waves, and weigh carefully his control of the boat itself. He may follow the course of others with some degree of the safety they have attained. He may follow his own impulses, in man's case inherited from those who found them safe guides to action. But in new conditions neither conventionality nor impulse nor desire will suffice. He must know what is about him in order that he may know what he is doing. He must know what he is doing in order to do anything effectively. Ignorant action is more dangerous than no action at all. Man must realize the aim of his effort. He must know what he is striving to do in order so to question reality as to secure answers that shall further and shall refine his activity. The " sealed orders " which control the lower aniReality and the Conduct of Life 63 mals and our " brother organisms, the plants," are not adequate for the conduct of human life. With the power of movement and the " knowledge of good and evil," man has no choice but to accept the conditions. And thus it comes again that there is " no alleviation for the sufferings of man except through absolute veracity of thought and action, and the resolute facing of the world as it is." And for the same reason also it is well for man not to " pretend to know or to believe what he really does not know or believe." The appetites, impulses, passions, illusions, delusions even, which have proved safe in the past development of life, science would not destroy. But these must be subordinate to the will and the intellect. And this subordination of the lower to the higher motives in life is the certain trend of human evolution, as it has been the ideal of those who, in the name of religion, have striven worthily for man's spiritual advancement. Ill REALITY AND MONISM " The analysis which is necessary to let us master the phenomena of life furnishes us with a surer base than that which leads directly to explain such phenomena." ALFRED GIARD. ONE of the conspicuous features of modern philosophical discussion is a revival in the name of science of the doctrine of Monism. A phase of this doctrine is that of " a completely unified knowledge in which physical and mental world meet on equal terms." This, according to James, was " the original Greek ideal to which men must surely return." The doctrine of monism, in whatever form, proclaims the essential unity of things which, in their various contacts with human experience, appear to us different. The primal conception of monism is that there is one spirit or one essence in all that exists, whether ponderable or imponderable, whether visible or invisible, tangible or impalpable; that the whole cognizable world is constituted and has been developed in accordance with one common fundamental law. This one is defined as " the concrete 65 66 Reality and Monism unified whole of all that is." In this view we are to conceive that all categories at bottom are one, matter and force, sense and spirit, object and subject, Nature and God. This fundamental conception of monism has never been made really intelligible, because it can be 'stated in no terms of human experience. There is no way known to us by which we can expose it to scientific tests. Whether it be the noblest generalization of philosophy or a mere play on words, no one can say, for no one knows. No one yet knows how to find out. According to Professor Stuart, " There are two ways in which it may be sought to establish a monistic hypothesis : ( i ) We may try to synthesize all descriptive science to the end of showing how all phases of reality are expressions of a common principle. This is what Spencer, for one, attempted. (2) It may be argued from the fact that science and mathematics exist that knower and known must be of kindred nature. From the fact that we see no limit to the possibilities of scientific research we may infer that all reality is knowable, though not known. The first of these principles is Kantianism, although Kant was not a monist, by profession at least. Those who came after him, Hegel and other idealists, thought that they saw a way of establishing monism by combining these two general premises. This is, in a sense, an empirical proof of monism, though we may regard the logic as insecure." Man is able in a certain way to make his way in Reality and Monism 67 the world. Obviously, then, he is not an alien utterly. He is thus far in unity with the rest of the universe. So much of monism we may all accept. The amount and nature of this " unity " we cannot define. Whether we can accept such unity of nature once for all and wholesale, in face of the visible lack of unity about us, becomes a test of our faith in monism. The doctrine of monism can be brought to a final verdict of science, if its logical necessities come within the domain of action. To all the tests we can give, of course, force is not identical with matter, though the two have never been separated. To all the tests we can give, there are many different kinds of matter, and many different ways in which energy may show itself. At the most, those who hold to the unity of matter in its chemical forms may maintain that units of matter are subject to breaking up, to evolution, or to processes of recombination. Thus far our chemists have not found it so. " Rational unity of all things," as Professor James admits, " is an inspiring conception," but it seems to involve a condition of the universe in which " reality is ready-made and complete from all eternity," while, in apparent fact, reality " is still in the making, and awaits part of its completion from the future. On the one hand, the universe is absolutely secure, on the other it is still pursuing its adventures." 68 Reality and Monism On the one side, according to James, " we have only one edition of the universe, unfinished, growing in all sorts of places, especially in the places where thinking beings are at work. On the rationalist side, we have a universe in many editions, one real one, the infinite folio, or edition de luxe, eternally complete, and here the various finite editions, full of false readings, distorted and mutilated each in its own way." " It is impossible not to see a temperamental difference at work in the choice of sides. The rationalist mind, radically taken, is of a doctrinaire and authoritative complexion. The phrase, ' must be,' is ever on his lips. The bellyband of its universe must be tight. A radical pragmatist, on the other hand, is a happy-go-lucky, anarchistic sort of creature. If he had to live in a tub like Diogenes, he wouldn't mind at all, if the hoops were loose and the staves let in the sun." " Whoever claims absolute theological unity," I quote again from Professor James, " saying that there is one purpose that every detail of the universe observes, dogmatizes at his own risk. Theologians who dogmatize thus find it more and more impossible, as our acquaintance with the warring interests of the world's parts grows more concrete, to imagine what the one climacteric purpose may possibly be like. We see, indeed, that certain evils minister to ulterior goods, that the bitter makes the cocktail better, and that a bit of danger or hardship puts us to our trumps. We can vaguely Reality and Monism 69 generalize this into the doctrine that all the evil in the universe is but instrumental to its greater perfection. But the scale of evil actually in sight defies all human tolerance and transcendental idealism in the pages of a Bradley or a Royce brings us no farther than the book of Job did. God's ways are not as our ways, so let us put our hands upon our mouth. A god who can relish such superfluities of horror is no God for human beings to appeal to. His animal spirits are too high. In other words, the Absolute with His one purpose is not the manlike God of Common People." We may balance against this striking and half-humorous statement these words of Charles Ferguson : " The beginning of Science is in Congeniality with God. The larger word for science is conscience, and the final test of the authenticity and permanence of a physical fact is its moral reasonableness its congruity with right. Do you protest sometimes with vehemence that God is cruel and unjust? Justice must then be rooted very deep in the heart of things since it dares to confront omnipotence with a fist so feeble to back its claim! But you may well ! You must not submit to be bullied by earthquakes and tornadoes, or by the sun, moon, and stars. If royalties and usuries and monopolies are unjust, they must not be tolerated. And if gravitation and cohesion are unjust, they must be put down. Unless you believe in the reasonableness of the world it is idle to think about it yo Reality and Monism at all. . . . There is no use having brains without faith and courage." Still more impressive is the following passage, quoted by Professor James from Benjamin Paul Blood : " The highest thought is not a milk and water equation of so much reason and so much result, no school sum to be cast up. We have recognized the highest divine thought of itself, and there is in it as much of wonder as of certainty ; inevitable and solitary and safe in one sense, but queer and cactus-like in another. It appeals unutterably to experience alone. There are sadness and disenchantment for the novice in these inferences as if the keynote of the universe were low. Certainty is the root of despair. The inevitable stales while doubt and hope are sisters. Not unfortunately, the universe is wild, game-flavored as a hawk's wing. Nature is miracle all. She knows no laws. The same returns not, but to bring the different. The slow round of the engraver's lathe gains but the breadth of a hair, but the difference is distributed back over the whole curve, never an instance true ever not quite! " The universe is most certainly " a going concern," to use William Allen White's description of American democracy. No man, no day, no incident has ever been here before, almost, always, but never quite the same. Wherever we are, and in whatever environment, we are the first of our dynasty, " We are the first that ever burst into this Reality and Monism 71 silent sea ! " exclaims James, after Coleridge. The sea was silent to us, at least, and here we are in the midst of it. It is a " going concern," and so are we, and all this adds to our interest and lends spice to the experiences which follow our actions, for a good deal, to us, depends on our behavior, and we shall not come this way again. Fouillee is quoted as saying : " The world remains for Science a broken mirror, while Philosophy, by piecing together the fragments, strives to catch glimpses of the grand image." But the " grand image " was never more complete than now. It is becoming ever more complete, but it will never be finished, and science knows and philosophy may learn that the completed picture never was and never will be never quite ! " No one can know the future," says Voltaire, " because no one can know that which is not." We may conceive that in this universe of his, even the Supreme Being may feel his way through the intricacies of mutation, astronomical, geological, and biological, and through all the vicissitudes of individual free will and social clash. History is not altogether a matter of inevitable tendencies, but in part it is made up as it goes along. " History repeats itself " almost, but never quite, else it could not hold our perennial interest. Its operations cannot be foreseen unless they are foreordained, and foreordination is the most hopeless and helpless of dogmas. The leaf has its foreordained place on 72 Reality and Monism the stem because it could not possibly have grown anywhere else. If it could have grown elsewhere, it would certainly have done so. Such is the obstinate nature of leaves, for their insertion depends on the nature of their buds, and the buds depend on the inherited mode of growth of the species. But even with all this, every leaf has a bit of originality. Its place is almost fixed, never quite. But within the narrow range of what we call its law, it must confine its individuality. Almost foreordained, but never quite. When the leaf falls it has more latitude. Its affairs are not thus prearranged. The elements are just as insistent, but their coming together is temporary. The fall of the leaf depends on the coincidence of breeze and bacilli, and the loosening of the leaf from its stem. That the leaf should be devoured by bird or caterpillar is not a matter predetermined in the same sense as the form of the leaf is predestined, or the place it must assume on the stem. These matters rest on the long array of incidents which determine the nature of the species of tree producing the leaf. All these incidents, the results of the conflict or co-operation of different forces or impulses, the universe must encounter or complete as time goes on. They are not part of the " law before all time," whatever that phrase may prove to mean. Haeckel, the most conspicuous of the scientific apostles of monism, finds this doctrine adequate not only to meet the demands of philosophy, but to Reality and Monism 73 answer the questions of science. His confidence in monism gives him equal confidence in those scientific theories which he regards as derived from it, because they seem to accord with it. These conceptions Haeckel calls " Articles of Faith." These articles of faith concern matters of science which come sooner or later within the range of human experience, and to be stated in terms of human action. By these tests of science the articles of faith stand or fall. If monism belongs to science, and these " articles of faith " are among its real corollaries, the philosophic conception must stand or fall with them. If monism cannot be tested somewhere, somehow, the great generalization has its place somewhere outside of science. First among these postulates of monism, or " articles of faith " in Haeckel's scheme, comes the " essential unity of organic and inorganic nature, the former having been evolved from the latter only at a relatively recent period." We may admit that organic life is relatively recent, and that inorganic nature has existed longer. But we know nothing whatever of how life began. Whether life is a matter of organization and chemistry, or whether it has an element which transcends all material forces no one can really say. It is more easy to argue against any special theory of mechanism or vitalism, than to build up constructive arguments adequate to turn the scale in favor of either. As Professor Brooks has said, " We shall never know which of 74 Reality and Monism these hypotheses is true until we find out." Those who begin with the thesis that "life is nothing but chemism " often end, as Driesch has done, with the belief that vital force transcends chemism, and that life is itself one of the primal forces of creation. Those who reverse this thesis, claiming that chemism includes all we know as vital force, find themselves obliged to shift their theory under the pressure of facts. No view of the ultimate nature of life is yet a finality. Only as a corollary of monism does any hypothesis as to the essence of life find a permanent resting-place. That monism demands spontaneous generation in itself proves nothing. We believe without knowledge when we assert that life first arose through natural chemical action, the generation of living from inorganic matter. Haeckel further resolves life activity or the movement and change in protoplasm into properties shown by certain carbon compounds under certain conditions. Life in this sense is an " emanation of carbon," " the true maker of life," according to Haeckel, " being the tetrahedral carbon molecule." The "mystery of life" is, therefore, removed by placing it one degree further away from the known facts, with an area of pure speculation between. Across this area, untouched by human experience, science cannot extend itself. In science, a position which cannot be attacked on the basis of observation or experiment cannot be defended. Castles in cloudland are impregnable. Reality and Monism 75 Theories impregnable can be attacked only when they can be verified, when they are made sufficiently definite to be the basis of positive predictions as to the outcome of experiments. The long dispute as to mechanism and vitalism cannot end in a victory of one side or the other. If processes of life are included under " chemism," then " chemism " is not a perfectly simple and transparent idea. It must include all the complexities gathered together under the term vitalism. Life is so different from anything which would be inferred from a knowledge of the simpler phenomena of chemistry or physics, that it seems to call for special terms and special explanations. Hence the disposition to segregate the complex phenomena of life as vitalism. But chemical forces are adequate to produce whatever effects chemical forces can be shown to produce. " If the mystery of causal sequence is the same everywhere, nothing is gained for explanatory purposes by exaggerating it at one place and then giving it a name." Another " article of faith " in Haeckel's system is that of the identity of matter and force. Neither appears without the other. But we know likewise that the inside of a sphere never appears without the outside, or the peach without the skin, the melon without the rind. Therefore, in each case we might argue that the two are identical. In a large sense they are, but not in all senses. More directly subject to scientific tests is j6 Reality and Monism Haeckel's claim that all chemical substances are really one, all being derived from the supposed primitive substances, protyl. Monism further demands, according to Haeckel, the evolutionary unity of all life. Still more explicitly, it demands belief in the inheritance of acquired characters in the process of heredity. Now all these theories may be true, but until they have borne the test of action, they are not yet true. It is not clear that science is advanced by making them matters of " pious belief " or " articles of faith," before they are proved through observation and experiment. That all ponderable matter is of one primitive stuff may be the fact. Already the atom has been subdivided into minor units. Already some forms of matter change their nature under spontaneous activity, appearing as something very different. But gold remains gold and hydrogen remains hydrogen, and most forms of matter seem neither subject to radio-active change, nor to any other form of evolution. To all tests of science there is still an impassable gap between platinum and oxygen, between radium and iron, between potassium and carbon, or even between potassium and the very similar substance or neighbor, sodium. Affinities, resemblances, and parallelisms exist, but we have nowhere among these elements found identity of substance nor identity of origin. Science cannot bridge these chasms, until a bridge is made. If we Reality and Monism 77 cross over, without a bridge, it must be by some means outside of science. In a general way, men have found out that the processes of nature are more complex than men in earlier times had supposed, while the elements concerned in these processes are often more simple. But this generalization goes no further than the facts go. Science stops where the facts stop, and speculation cannot safely proceed any farther. To every test human experience has devised, chemical substances retain their nature, their ultimate particles being unchangeable as well as indestructible. Therefore, to speak of these as forms of one substance is to go beyond knowledge. Science does not teach this. But the idea may be plausible, or even logical, as a conception of philosophy, It is quite conceivable that by some combination of primitive units, the variant chemical atoms are formed. Recent investigation may even tend in this direction, however far it may be from reaching the supposed final goal. If this conception be really truth, it must, sooner or later, be carried out into action. Lead may then be resolved into its primitive elements, and these elements may be reunited in the form of gold. " The dream of one age " is said to be " the science of the next," and when lead is really transmuted, the dream of the alchemist will become fact. Yes, but not until then, and this is the most important phase of the matter. Such transmutation is as yet no part of 78 Reality and Monism knowledge. That it may seem probable or likely, or to have logical continuity with other generalizations, gives it no standing in science. The speculation on which it rests is a bold one, overbold and, therefore, at present useless. The essential unity of life has some claim to be called a fact of science, for it can be in part inductively verified. The derivation of existing forms from pre-existing species through processes of divergence and adaptation is as nearly established as truth as any generalization can be. By the operation of variation in heredity, and variation with heredity, with the sifting of the environment, life has been split up into countless strains. By the process of selection, those strains fitted to the environment have survived, and by means of geographical and other separation, countless variations have survived in parallel series. Again, Haeckel claims that, as an article of faith, monism demands belief in spontaneous generation. This theory has been the subject of numberless experiments, none of thern, perhaps, finally conclusive. They yield negative results, and a negation rarely puts a final end to any conception. On the face of things, spontaneous generation, like the transmutation of metals, seems reasonable enough. It seems less reasonable when we get close to the facts. The one idea has been the will-o'-the-wisp of biology, as the other has been of chemistry. We know of no case in which spontaneous generation can possibly Reality and Monism 79 have occurred. We know nothing of how if ever non-life becomes life. So far as our experience goes, so far as science can see or feel, generation from first to last is a continuous series all life from life. We can devise no conditions under which spontaneous generation takes place, or in which it seems likely to most of us that it can take place. If spontaneous generation should take place we should have no way of knowing it. All the organisms we know have had a long history. Even the simplest moneron shows traces of a long ancestry, of long-continued cell-subdivision, a long exposure to natural selection, of many concessions to environment. We know of no living organism that does not show abundant traces of such concessions. We know of no way by which adaptation or obedience to demands of environment has been produced save by the long-continued selection of the adaptable. We know of no organism that does not show large homologies with a multitude of other kinds or species of organisms. We know of no source of homology save blood-relationship. The analogies point toward the origin of all life from one common stock, a single generation or a single individual. All this would show, not that spontaneous generation is impossible, but that we have, as yet, no conception as to the conditions of any of its occurrence. If living organisms now appear otherwise than by a process of cleavage of unit of energy from some living organism, the castingoff of a germ80 Reality and Monism cell, if living structures fresh from the mint of creation are now developed from matter not living, we should have no possible means of recognizing them. They would be so simple that we could not detect their living nature. They would doubtless be so small that we could not find them. They would consist, we may suppose, each of but a small number of molecules, perhaps but two or three. If there is truth in the suggestion of Lord Kelvin that a molecule in a drop of water is as small as a marble in comparison with the earth, we should have no way of searching for such creatures. If we cannot find them, we cannot know that they exist. If we do not know that they exist, shall we believe that they do? Or is it better, as Emerson suggests, that men should not " pretend to know and believe what they do not really know and believe"? It may be that the fact that life now exists on the world and that geology seems to show that its condition was once such as to make life impossible, implies " spontaneous generation " as a logical necessity. If there was a beginning of life, some form of beginning was doubtless a " logical necessity." But this " logical necessity " lies in our statement of the case, not in nature. Logical necessity does not compel assent until we are able to compass all the possibilities in any given case. We know .too little of the conditions before life appeared on the globe to venture any guess as to how life began. Reality and Monism 81 Doubtless it began somehow, and it had a natural origin, that is, an origin with an adequate cause behind it. The heredity of inborn characters is a matter of daily observation. The heredity of acquired characters, the hypothesis of " progressive evolution," the inheritance from generation to generation of the results of use and devise and the impact of environment on the individual, is another of Haeckel's " articles of faith." But it is not one of the certainties of science. Observation and experiment have alike failed to give it verification. That it is an " article of faith " derived from a speculative hypothesis lends it no probability whatever. Our judgment must depend on the results of human experience, tested and set in order. The matter stands exactly where it did before. It is within the realm of human experience, and by such experience it must be tested. If the doctrine is vulnerable to philosophic weapons alone, its fate is no concern of science. The question of monism can have little actual relation to science or human life. If we cannot test the monism by observation or experiment of one sort or another, no conclusion we reach has any actual validity. If neither result nor method can be woven into the conduct of life, the question as to whether we are " monists " or " pluralists," or theorists of some other sort, becomes a matter of temperament or of individual preference, 82 Reality and Monism rather than a necessity of science. Pluralism has this advantage that it occupies the field as a working hypothesis in line with the facts of experience, while monism remains unproved and logically more or less unfruitful. Pluralism, on the surface, is true, and we deal with surfaces. " The systematic unity of reality " is another definition or phase of monism. It is fine to believe in such systematic unity, but it is just as satisfactory to believe the reverse, whatever that is, for we have no way of putting any part of its system to a test. In what way would our universe differ if its realities, theoretically in unity, were actually not so ? " All realities influence our practice," Professor James quotes from Ostwald, " and the influence is their meaning for us. I am accustomed to put questions to my classes in this way: In what respects would the world be different if this alternative or that were true? If I can find nothing that would become different, then the alternative has no sense." " That is," says James, " the rival views mean practically the same thing, and meaning other than practical, there is for us none. Ostwald gives this example of what he means. Chemists have long wrangled over the inner constitution of certain bodies called tautomerous. Their properties seemed equally consistent with the idea that an unstable hydrogen atom oscillates inside of them, or with the idea that they are unstable mixtures of two bodies. Controversy raged, but never was decided. Reality and Monism 83 ' It would never have begun,' said Ostwald, * if the combatants had asked themselves what particular experimental fact could have been made different by one or the other view being correct.' If it would then have appeared that no difference of fact could possibly ensue, and the quarrel was as unreal as if theorizing in primitive times about the raising of dough by yeast, one party should have invoked a brownie, while another insisted on an elf as the cause of the phenomenon." Professor James continues : " It is astonishing to see how many philosophical disputes (and we may add scientific disputes as well) collapse into insignificance the moment you subject them to this simple test of tracing a concrete consequence. There can be no difference anywhere that does not make a difference elsewhere; no difference in abstract truth that does not express itself in a difference in concrete fact; and in conduct consequent on that fact imposed on somebody, somehow, somewhere, and some when. The whole function of philosophy ought to be to find out what definite difference it will make to you and me, at definite instants in our life, if this world formula or that world formula be the right one." The spectroscope tells us of the compositions of the distant stars, stars we have never seen and can never see, stars whose light reaches us centuries after the spreading waves of ether diverged from the star itself. Of what practical use to us to know 84 Reality and Monism that Zeta Draconis has hydrogen in its atmosphere ? None, no doubt, except as a factor in the broadening of our minds, the clarifying of our conception of relative values in the universe. But the methods by which this knowledge is won are intensely practical. Not alone that we use the spectroscope as well in the manufacture of steel, but rather that we use its methods in the affairs of human life. The spectroscope is one of science's instruments of precision, and precision lies at the heart of the progress of human civilization. Men have struggled for ages over the symbolism of the Eucharist. Is it a matter of unity or of identity? Is it homoousion or, perchance, only homoiousion? Who can tell at the end of the controversy any more than at the beginning? In what way does a conclusion affect our view of the universe? In what way does it affect the conduct of man ? It is not necessary to follow this with further illustrations. If the motto, " nihil nemini nocet," " nothing hurts nobody," ascribed to a certain cult of faith-healing, is valid, then nobody need worry about nothing, and Science can turn her attention to realities. For, somehow, somewhere, or some when every reality will leave its mark on human conduct. Referring again to the conception of monism, science can have no quarrel with it, except that it can make nothing definite out of it. Monism does not appear as a proved or partly proved or even as a Reality and Monism 85 plausible fact, nor is it clear that it constitutes an hypothesis which, being put to the test, will conduct us to the things we want to know. If, when put to the test of experiment, it yields, as inductive truths, the scientific articles of faith associated with it, the philosophy would be justified by its results. Theories of organic evolution have justified themselves in this fashion. But thus far monism stands in a world apart. The same is true of the conception of pantheism, as related to the world of action. It is not easy to conceive of monism or pantheism as being true or false. We need feel no prejudice against either. They lend themselves to poetry. They appeal to our emotions. In Haeckel's own words, used in reference to conventional religious conceptions, " Such hereditary articles of faith take root all the more firmly the further they are removed from a rational knowledge of Nature and enveloped in the mysterious mantle of mythological poesy." It is to us as poets, rather than as men of science, that these doctrines appeal. By and by in the circuit of philosophic thought, the present resistance to these ideas may be turned again into devoted reverence for them. For none of all the philosophic doctrine, brought down as lightning from heaven for the guidance of plodding man, seems more uplifting than that of the unity of existence and the universal presence of deity. None is less likely to be trampled under foot in the rush of common life. 86 Reality and Monism But shall we give these doctrines belief? Not if we have to accept any of their corollaries or derivatives on any terms except on their own particular evidence. Haeckel recognizes clearly enough the difference between fact in hand and fact hoped for. He uses the term belief for " hypotheses or conjectures by which the gaps empirical investigation must leave in science are filled up." " These," he says, " we cannot, indeed, for a time establish on a secure basis, and yet we may make use of them in the way of explaining phenomena, in so far as they are not inconsistent with a rational knowledge of Nature." " Such rational hypotheses," he says, " are scientific Articles of Faith." Gladstone somewhere uses a parallel expression. He speaks of certain doctrines as not yet a part of knowledge, yet so well supported that they may " bear the weight of belief." Belief, then, is not what we know, but what we logically hope to know, in view of human experiences available to us. It would not seem necessary to take so large a term as faith or belief for working hypotheses confessedly unproved or transient. The phrase " make-believe," used by Huxley in similar connection, fits the case better. As men of science we cannot believe any hypothetic " articles of faith " not resting on scientific induction. Dealing with my own experience, and that of the race, I ought not to say, " I believe," when I cannot say " I know." I should not believe when I cannot trust. I should Reality and Monism 87 put off the livery of science when I enter the abode of the Delphian Oracles. That those " articles of faith " named by Haeckel are necessarily derived from monism is certainly open to doubt. Monism as a philosophic conception can have no practical corollaries. Its conclusions are all involved in its definition. If its definition involves nothing that can be tested by experiment or wrought into action, it is outside the field of knowledge. Doubtless monism would still flourish were all its " articles of faith " disproved. If so, it has no part in science, for science deals with classified realities in human life. It belongs to philosophy and to poetry, both legitimate activities of the human mind, although not primarily concerned with knowledge. If, however, monism rests actually on human experience it must be tested by scientific methods. Until it is so tested, however attractive or however plausible it may seem, it has no working value. There is no gain in giving it belief or in calling it truth. Still less should we stultify ourselves by pinning our faith to its postulates as to matters yet to be decided by experiment, and to be settled by human experiment only. Haeckel says, for example : " The inheritance of characters acquired during the life of the individual is an indispensable axiom of the monistic doctrine of evolution. Those who, with Weismann and Galton, deny this, entirely exclude thereby the possibility of any formative in88 Reality and Monism fluence of the outer world upon organic form." Here we may ask: Who knows that there is any such formative influence? What do we know of this or any other subject beyond what, in our investigations, we find to be true? When was monism a subject of special revelation, and with what credentials does it come, that one of the greatest controversies in modern science should be settled by its simple word ? We must beware of paths to knowledge as to matters of fact, which save us the labor of inductive verification. As Emerson observes, we should avoid " all short cuts to truth as we would shun the secrets of the undertaker." Nearly all of the arguments in favor of the heredity of acquired characters, as well as very many of those in favor of the opposed dogma of the unchanged continuity of the germ plasm, are based on some supposed logical necessity of philosophy. Logical necessities are valueless in the light of fact. Desmarest once suggested to the contending advocates of Neptunism and Plutonism to " Go and see." When they had seen the action of water and the action of heat, as he had seen them among the volcanoes of Auvergne, the contest was over. Argument and contention had vanished in the face of fact. To believe without foundation is to discredit knowledge. Scientific " confessions of faith " show a zeal to believe which cheapens the power to know. Greater than the courage of one's Reality and Monism 89 convictions may be the courage of patience where convictions are not yet attainable. " Science," says Richard T. Colburn, " does not concern itself with teleological suppositions. It is reluctant to resort to any of them to explain the observed cosmos. It prefers to listen in neutral attitude to the rival philosophies theism, manicheism, atheism, monism, spiritism, or materialism but it is at least equally well equipped to pass judgment on such speculations as their advocates." Again, if we are to allow the revision of the generalizations of science by the addition of acceptable but unverified doctrines, we must allow the right of similar revision by rejection. Mr. Wallace, for example, would be justified in adding to the certainties of organic evolution his idea of the special creation of the mind of man while the body was separately developed under natural law. The old notion of the separate existence of the ego, which plays on the nerve cells of the brain as a musician on the keys of the piano, would still linger in psychology. The astral body would hover on the verge of physiology and the disembodied soul still go on its pilgrimages to Devachan. I have a scientific friend who finds it necessary to exclude by force from his biological beliefs all that is unpleasant in the theories of evolution. And he has the same right to do this that Professor Haeckel has to insist that any scientific beliefs, for 90 Reality and Monism which science has yet no warrant, are a necessary part of the orthodoxy of science. For Haeckel, one of the greatest of teachers, a man of fine strong personality, is sometimes a bit dogmatic. In his treatment of monism, he is not content to speak for himself, asking tolerance by tolerance toward others. His belief is no idiosyncrasy of his own which he keeps to himself. He speaks for all. Every honest, intelligent, courageous scientific man, he tells us, so far as he is truthful, competent, and brave, shares the same belief. His confession of faith is nothing if not orthodox. He says : " This monistic confession has the greater claim to an unprejudiced consideration in that it is shared, I am firmly convinced, by at least nine-tenths of the men of science now living; indeed, I believe, by all men of science in whom the following four conditions are realized : ( i ) sufficient acquaintance with the various departments of natural science, and in particular with the modern doctrine of evolution ; (2) sufficient acuteness and clearness of judgment to draw, by induction and deduction, the necessary logical consequences that flow from such empirical knowledge: (3) sufficient moral courage to maintain the monistic knowledge so gained against the attacks of hostile dualistic and pluralistic systems; and (4) sufficient strength of mind to free himself, by sound, independent reasoning, from dominant religious prejudices, and especially from those irReality and Monism 91 rational dogmas which have been firmly lodged in our minds from earliest youth as indisputable revelations." 'Against such assumption science may protest. We have nothing against the doctrines save that they are not yet proved true. In themselves, as I have said, they are attractive. One may naturally feel a hopeful interest in wide-reaching theories which seem plausible, but are still unproved or unworkable. This is, however, not " belief." It is rather open-mindedness, open to negative evidence as well as to positive. As science goes wherever the facts lead, so science must stop where the facts stop. It cannot add to its methods the running high jump, nor place the divining rod with the microscope, crucible, and calculus among its instruments of precision. Beyond the range of scientific knowledge extend the working and the unworkable hypotheses. Beyond the confines of all these extend the universe of the mind, the boundless realm which is the abode of philosophy. We must ask of each hypothesis : Is it capable of being put to the test? Is it fruitful of results when tested? If tested and fruitful, such hypotheses belong to the category of science, and nothing is added to their dignity or respectability by making them into dogmas or " articles of faith." The primal motive of science is to regulate the conduct of life. This is in a sense its ultimate 92 Reality and Monism end, for it is the first and the last function of the senses and the intellect. " Still men and nations reap as they have strewn." The history of human thought is filled with the rise of doctrines, laws, and generalizations, not drawn from human experience and not sanctioned by science. The attempt to use these ideas as a basis of human action has been a fruitful source of human misery. " Consistent materialism," says Dr. William E. Ritter, " consistent idealism and occultism are one finally in their abandonment of experimental knowledge." " Better any fragment of cerebral philosophy," says William Lowe Bryan, " which is true, though by itself unable to tell what any one is to do, than a study of human character which tells every one what to do, but is not true." The advances of science are all made along indirect lines by the comparison and extension of experiences, rarely by striking out directly toward the final result. For no one can foretell in what direction the final result may lie. Science bids us follow the line in which our definable needs for knowledge, practical and theoretical, may urge us on. Conceptions thus obtained will of necessity be livable, either as guides or as warnings in the conduct of life. The truth is found in the tested induction from human experience. Other conceptions, deductions, or imaginations do not much matter. As science advances these noReality and Monism 93 tions are left along the road, impedimenta, to be later picked up and classified by history, in whose hands they acquire a fresh interest, as human documents in the intellectual progress of the race. IV REALITY AND ILLUSION " Whoever will contribute any touch of sharpness will help us to make sure of what's what and who's who." WILLIAM JAMES. " A few clear ideas are worth more than many confused ones. A young man will hardly be persuaded to sacrifice the greater part of his thoughts to save the rest, and the muddled head is the least apt to see the necessity of such sacrifice. " It is terrible to see how a single unclear idea, a single formula without meaning, lurking in a young man's head, will sometimes act like an obstruction of inert matter in an artery, hindering the nutrition of the brain, and condemning its victim to pine away in the fullness of his intellectual vigor and in the midst of intellectual plenty. Many a man has cherished for years as his hobby some vague shadow of an idea, too meaningless to be positively false. He has, nevertheless, passionately loved it, has made it his companion by day and by night, and has given to it his strength and his life, leaving all other occupations for its sake, and, in short, has lived with it and for it, until it has become, as it were, flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone ; and then he has waked up some bright morning to find it gone, clean vanished away like the beautiful Melusina of the fable, and the essence of his life gone with it. Who can say how many histories of circle-squarers, metaphysicians, astrologers, and what not, may not be told in the old German story ? " CHARLES SANDERS PEIRCE. " Better not to know so much than to know so much that is not true." JOSH BILLINGS. 95 96 Reality and Illusion THE word Truth is used with many different meanings. A description of an isolated fact is, in one sense of the word, a truth. A correct account of any sense-impression, stated in terms of common human experience, is a truth. Again, a truth may be a judgment of an ascertained relation between one object and another, or it may be more than this, an exact quantitative estimate of such relation. If the relation be one of cause and effect, the truth becomes a generalization. If the generalization be adequately verified, involving a multitude of facts or of truths of a lower rank, it becomes in the high sense a truth. A truth of the higher order is of necessity incomplete, and our statement of it must change with increase of knowledge. It is said that " Nature abhors a generalization " as once she used to " abhor a vacuum." This is because she must always add to it, showing that it is forever incomplete. It is of such lofty truth that Huxley observes : " New truths begin as heresies, and end as superstitions." Men doubt the new truth at first, because it is strange and incomplete. Later, the incompleteness becomes their most cherished quality. In the same vein, Ibsen remarks : " Truths are by no means the wiry Methuselahs some people think them. A normally constituted truth lives, let us say, seventeen or eighteen years, at the outside twenty years, seldom longer, and truths so stricken in years are always shockingly thin." Apart from these meanings of truth is the conReality and Illusion 97 ception of the ultimate completed actuality of the " Ding an Sich," the perfect truth of which we read sometimes, but to which we never attain, and to which no meaning can be attached. The test of objective truth is found in the conduct of life. By the verification of action we may separate truth from illusion. Every characterization or description of reality points the way to some line of conduct. Persistent action, based on error, is dangerous, because it leads into unforeseen conditions. An unforeseen condition in itself is an evidence of inadequacy of knowledge. Every unknown condition has its pitfalls which disappear in the daylight of knowledge. " Truth in science," says James, " is what gives us the maximum possible sum of satisfactions, taste included, but consistency both with previous truth and with novel fact is always the most imperious claimant. Truths emerge from facts, but they dip forward into facts again and add to them, which facts again create or reveal new truth. The facts themselves meanwhile are not true. They simply are. Truth is the function of the beliefs that start and terminate among them." If the supposed truth does not mean something in particular, action by bringing about results cannot afford any test of it. It evades the issue by remaining vague. To have a definite meaning, thus admitting of verification in action, our supposed truth should stand as an answer to some definite question, promoted by some definite interest of ours. 98 Reality and Illusion This interest may be purely theoretical, or it may have some definite purpose or utility. And the action which tests it should have some definite purpose. Activity, such as Taine imputes to the people of Paris, that of " ants on whom pepper has been sprinkled," will not bear " the name of action." With conditions familiar and simple, the mind draws conclusions, fairly correct as far as they go, from the details given in ordinary immediate senseperception. We ordinarily show common sense when dealing with the squash, and we take no risk in following the promptings which our commonplace everyday knowledge of the squash suggests to us. But objects more complex and of unfamiliar character often sorely vex our common sense. To find our way to clear comprehension and wise action, we must ask the tested and co-ordinated common sense of the race which we call science to come to our rescue. Our immediate misinterpretations of the superficial aspects which objects present to us we call illusions. False conclusions arising from defects of reasoning we may class as delusions. The way out from illusion or delusion alike is found in the test of action. When the truth in any theory is exhausted, it is no longer available in action. In ordinary life, we are everywhere beset by illusions and delusions of every grade and order. In this chapter, we may consider some types and instances of these, with, perhaps, a glance at the lesson each one may teach, and a final look at the Reality and Illusion 99 marks by which errors of perception, errors of judgment, and resultant misdirection of action may be detected and avoided. One of the simplest of errors is that arising from relative motion. You are in a railway train which is waiting on a side track. Another train comes in sight; its motion seems transferred to your own train, but in the opposite direction. This motion continues until the other train has passed. It ceases suddenly, when you can almost feel the jolt of its stopping. But from other observations which you trust, you know that your own train has been all the time at rest. A delusion of this sort is so simple that it is quickly corrected before it passes into action. But we may conceive of conditions under which even this would have its dangers. Let us look at some others. The story is told of a merchant who, smacking his lips over a glass of brandy, said to his clerk : " The world looks very different to t'he man who has taken a good drink of brandy and soda in the morning." " Yes," said the clerk, " and he looks different to the world, too." Now, which is right? Is the world different that it looks brighter? The test is found in action, perhaps in the muddled outcome of not taking the world as it really is. Ambrose Bierce tells the story of a man who visited a naturalist in San Francisco, and remained over night as a guest. The naturalist was a student ioo Reality and Illusion of living snakes. When the visitor retired at night he looked under his bed and saw a great coiled serpent, who watched him with glittering eyes. It is believed that a snake's eye has a wonderful power of fascination. Such it proved in this case. For in the morning the naturalist found his guest dead, kneeling on the floor, his open eyes staring in horror at the thing under the bed. This thing was the stuffed skin of a blacksnake with two shoebuttons for eyes. It was suggestion, not the serpent, which had charmed him to his death. A ship once landed on a little palm-belted island in the Pacific Ocean. Its passengers brought with them the materials for a house, which they set up, to the surprise of the natives, who had never seen a wooden house before. They put in it blankets and cooking utensils, and, after a day or two, they set up near the house on a solid foundation a long tube through which they gazed by turns at the sun. After watching the sun for a single day, they hastily returned to the ship, carrying the long tube and the blankets, but leaving the house and, apparently, everything else of value on the island. The delighted natives took possession of the house, and they hold it to this day. And they look in vain for the return of the foolish people who left it there. Some time after this, on the granite coast of Labrador, the same thing happened again, but with this variation, that the tube the men looked through seemed to dim the sun. When everything was in Reality and Illusion 101 place, the sun, little by little, grew dark, and was hidden, as if by a lid drawn over it, for the space of an hour. Then the cover was slowly drawn away. The sun came out as before. Thereupon the men went back into the ship, carrying the tube with them, but leaving their house and almost everything else they had brought. And the people took possession of the house. But nothing in particular happened afterwards, save that the air grew hazy with the smoke of burning forests. Along the coasts of Sinaloa in Mexico people are engaged in digging for buried treasures under the direction of a certain woman in San Francisco. She has never been in Mexico herself, but she is reputed to have the power of seeing clearly remote or hidden objects in any part of the earth. There is an old legend current which tells that a pirate ship, hard pressed by the Mexican soldiers, landed on the Cape of Camarron near Mazatlan, where the buccaneers hastily buried a vast treasure of silver, after which they all fled. A certain man is engaged to-day in boring a tunnel into solid lava to find the treasures thus laid away. This woman, in a shabby Sacramento Street boarding-house, claims to see the inner secrets of the mountains, and directs all these operations. For this, we may assume, she is duly, doubtless adequately, paid. But what will be the reward of the man who digs the tunnel? A man takes a forked rod of witch-hazel, and, going over a tract of land, feels the fork twist IO2 Reality and Illusion downward at a certain point. There he digs and finds a well of living water. If there is much water the rod will turn the more vigorously or even turn the other way. Another man uses the same rod and finds coal, iron, gas, or building stone whatever he may seek. To do this he has only to attach to the branch of the rod a small fragment of that which he would seek. Thus a dime, if one seeks for silver, a five-dollar gold piece if one looks for gold. In California, where there is no witchhazel, the mountain willow serves the purpose best, because there is " water in its make-up." But even the madrono or the azalea can be used in an emergency. A man once tried to bore for gas on a certain tract of land in southern Indiana. He engaged an operator with a witch-hazel rod. But the wizard, finding the territory too large to be gone over step by step, makes a little rod, parlor size, and, taking the map of Vanderburg County, in which the city of Evansville lies, goes over it with the instrument. The result is just as satisfactory. The rod indicates a point on the map, the well is bored in accordance with the rod's directions. Plenty of gas is found, and this is held to prove the accuracy of the method. As Lord Bacon once observed, " men mark when they hit, but never when they miss." Now that radium is discovered the witch-hazel rod becomes the chosen medium of radio-activity. By its influence buried cities are now discovered as Reality and Illusion 103 well as hidden streams of water. What of the man who tries to divine the material of which a star is made? Taking a tube of metal with lenses and prisms of glass, he turns it toward the star. Speedily, by means of lines and streaks on the prism, he gets his answer, and the composition of a vast sun, so far away that the light which left it in the days of Caesar has never yet reached us, he describes with confidence. Then, turning his tube on the Pole Star, he finds that it is made of two stars, one a great sun which we can see, and the other a smaller sun which we have never seen, and which we can never see. What of all this? If the spectroscope tells the truth where it speaks in such bold fashion, may we not trust the witch-hazel, too, with its more modest claims? An astronomer traces the course of a far-off planet and finds that its orbit bends a little from a perfect ellipse. From this he concludes that another planet must be coming near it and attracting it. He sets to work to determine the size of this other planet, and the place in which it ought to be. Having finished his calculation, he turns the telescope toward this place, and the expected planet is there. If the mathematician, through his instruments, be thus sensitive to far-off matter in infinite space, may not the clairvoyant, through her sensitileprojectile astral body, be equally sensitive to a mass of silver? Once in a trance a finely organized adept or IO4 Reality and Illusion " medium " wandered in her astral body through the open belt where the souls of the planets wander at will. While there, she heard the cometshriek, the cry of a lost planet soul, " the most terrible sound that rings through the heavenly spaces of the zenith." Is not her testimony to be received with that of the others who have traversed the mysteries of the abysses of space? From shore to shore across the Atlantic Ocean runs a metallic cable. By means of electric batteries, magnets, and sparks, a message is conveyed from one end of this cable to the other. Messages have been sent so many times that the most skeptical cannot doubt the fact. By such means a wanderer in any part of the world may be found and called home, or, if need be, sent still further on. Most of us have seen this done and all have heard of it. Because it has grown familiar it seems real to us, and its mystery is dissipated. But why use the metallic cable at all? What occult power lurks in metal ? Why must we work always on the material plane? Why not use the air? And, indeed, the air has been used, and with wonderful success. The air is full of marconigrams, and the " grams " or messages from Poulson's latest invention, the creatures of wireless telegraphy and wireless telephony. But why should we stop here? Why not use the invisible ether, along which so many forms of energy are propagated? Indeed, why not use the boundless sympathy of life? In southern EuReality and Illusion 105 rope there is a large species of snail which runs up and down the cabbages, feeding on their leaves. Like other snails, it is very fond of its mate. At least, it is so claimed by its promoters. It, too, has been used in telegraphy. Leave your sweetheart in Italy when you come back home, but leave her with a large piece of cardboard and take another like it for yourself. On each of these write a number of sentences of sentiment and affection quotations from the poets, the finest possible to your literary taste, Browning, Tennyson, Wordsworth, or the latest topical song any of these will do. Then take for yourself one of a devoted pair of snails, leaving the other with her. At an agreed moment (standard time, making allowance for differences of longitude) place your snail upon the card and she will do the same with hers. Your snail will creep to any sentiment you choose as you direct it. Hers, left free to move about at will, follows the same course its mate has chosen. Thus the fondest messages can be sent across the ocean. The last word of the snail in America, " All's well," or " Non ti scordar di me," can be made to echo sweetly on a far-off shore. Here we have the Parasilenic Telegraph, no invention of the present writer, but the actual work of an ingenious " psychic adept." But why use the snails? Surely their cold slimy bodies are not more forceful than the throbbing heart and eager brain of man. Surely they are io6 Reality and Illusion not more sensitive than his astral form. Let the snails go. They belong to the crude beginning of astral science. You have only to sit in your room alone in darkness, and by intense thought and irresistible volition you may set the whole ether of the world in palpitation with your dreams and desires. To your thought the " sensitive " you love will respond. Her astral brain will register your ether throbs. " It is my wish " : that is enough for her. But you can do more than that, if we may trust the records, already published. Your own astral body may be sent across the ocean on the tremulous ether and it will appear to her in her dreams or as part of her realities. While the absence of this body may be a slight inconvenience to you, for you must sleep or suffer while it is gone, it will be a source of joy to her. It may plead your cause for you in a way which protoplasmic bodies can never imitate. That this is not imagination or illusion we have abundant testimony, if the word of man unverified by instruments of precision is convincing to you. Thoughts and ideas, we are told, may be " impressed on consciousness in solid chunks without waiting for words or clicks or other means of expression, or for a lightning train to convey them," and there are hundreds of records to show how this is done. Stranger things than this are happening every day, and we think nothing of it. Messages fly through the air, to be recorded on sensitive instruments of Reality and Illusion 107 precision. Even the very words themselves can be caught and brought to life, the very sounds being reproduced. But you do not stop with the expression of your power over the ether and the astral messages it is the function of the ether to carry. You may exert control over matter itself. Mind is matter's king. Matter is the vassal of mind. Then under the force of mind, matter will change or vanish. Recent experimenters claim that by gazing at a photographic plate in the dark, an impression can be made on it. This is the mind flashing out through the human eye. Then whatever is in this " mind's eye " should appear on the sensitive plate of the camera. But greater deeds than these were done long ago, and to my mind they are told in records better authenticated. The sages relate that Odin wished to secure the golden mead of the giants that men might drink it and be strong as they. After great labors he came to where the mead was kept. He found that the giant Suttung had concealed it in a great stone house, to which he could get no key. So Odin and his friend the giant Bauge sat down before the house and gazed at its walls all day. Thus they made a small hole in the rock through which Odin entered by changing himself into an angleworm, and carried the golden mead away in triumph. There was once a California nurseryman who had a good business and was making money, as the io8 Reality and Illusion phrase is. So he put aside all the fruit trees which would sell and devoted himself to making others which would not. Each year he trimmed his plums and apricots and lilies and poppies, taking away the pollen which nature had provided, and putting it on flowers to which it did not belong. Each year he planted thousands of seeds of many kinds, and when the plants came up, he pulled up nearly all of them and burned them in a great bonfire. Meanwhile he made no money, and lost little by little all that he began with. Then men began to see that all fruits and nuts and flowers changed under his hands. The plums grew very large and very juicy, red, blue, and white, and more on the tree than men had ever seen before. The lilies and the poppies and all the other flowers grew larger, the cactus lost its thorns and the onion its odor, the chestnut bore its fruit with its second crop of leaves, and all things which he touched turned into something handsomer or with finer fruit. And every year he pulled up almost everything in his garden and cut down almost everything in his orchard, and laid all in windrows of which he made great bonfires. And foolish people, seeing his work, tasting his fruit, called him a wizard, and came from far and near to see him wave his magic wands. But there were some who saw in his operations merely science in action, the working out by man on a small scale of the operations which on a large scale the scientific men know as selection Reality and Illusion 109 and segregation of the products of variation and heredity. On an island in Alaska, known as Etolin, a good man established himself some fifteen years ago, to risk his fortune on a law of salmon life which he regarded as a conclusion of science. The facts are as follows : The red salmon of the Pacific are hatched in the streams above the lakes. Spending their first summer in the lakes, they run down to the sea, remaining there until they are mature at four years old. Then they ascend the streams again, and cast their spawn in the brooks above the original lake. After once spawning all of them die. These statements are all accepted matters of fact, the object of a thousand observations. But to these laws of salmon life, this man added one more: Each salmon returns to the actual stream where it was actually hatched. Fishermen believe this, and the return of thousands year by year to the same place seems to substantiate it. So this man on Etolin Island reasoned to himself in this way. The rivers of Etolin have no red salmon. They are barren streams. This is because no red salmon have been born there. I will gather salmon spawn to stock these rivers, and I shall be made wealthy by the return of the salmon. I cast my bread upon these waters, and after four years it will return. Four years he waited, each year stocking the Etolin streams anew. In four years no salmon came. He was sure of the story no Reality and Illusion of their homing, so he changed his theory as to their time of maturity. It must be five years, six years, seven years, ten years, instead of four. And the fish hatchery on Etolin remains, and the Etolin streams are barren still. There are no lakes on the Etolin streams, and we know that the red salmon never runs where it will find no lake. The homecoming of the salmon seemed to the good man on the island as sure a conclusion of science as their four-year period of maturation. Who shall now decide, since these conclusions have thus met at cross-purposes, which of them was the mistake? Who shall say that the time is ripe for a decision? There was once an old white-haired man who came to an assemblage of scholars in the city of Bloomington, in Indiana, bringing with him two bars of wood connected by bands of iron. Fiftythree years before he had left his home on the bay of Quinte, in Ontario, to show these bars to the world and to give to mankind what it never had before, control over " The Unconditioned Force of the Universe." This force through this little machine would " revolutionize human industry, economize human labor, and relieve human want." " Gentlemen," said the old man, " I gave up the free and easy life of the Canadian forests, I sought my home among the dwellers of cities, I have sacrificed fifty-three years of my life upon the altar of my desire to benefit mankind. In three weeks more my invention will be perfected, and through these Reality and Illusion in bars the unconditioned force of the universe will do its works for you and for me. The time has gone by," he said, " when the recognition of my principle would have pleased my ambition. I love my race, and I wish to do them good." Two years more went by, the unconditioned force lacked but a few days just one more week of accomplishment, and in that week the old man died in the poorhouse of Monroe County, Indiana, and in the dust and cobwebs in an attic of a neighboring college the model of the machine to be controlled by the unconditioned force of the universe still awaits the touch which for the first time shall make it run. There were some who called the old man a " wizard," and some a " philosopher," and because fame has forgotten his name, I speak it here Robert Havens. And in both these cases, and in all cases, what is our test of truth? Not long ago, on the plains of Texas, by order of the government of the United States, tons of gunpowder were exploded. A great noise was made, the smoke arose to the skies, and then all was as before. The purpose of this was to produce rain under conditions in which common sense said rain was impossible. While these conditions remained there was no rain, but the wisdom of the experiment has the official stamp of the United States. Who shall say that it was not wise that the experiment should not be tried again, and yet again? H2 Reality and Illusion A few years ago, as I remember, some enterprising men had bought the dry bed of a river in southern California. It is filled with winter floods in the rainy season, while in summer it is white with granite sand and barren stones. At best its bowlders can only produce a scant growth of chaparral and cactus. Yet when it was announced that a city was to be built on this land, men grew wild at the thought. All night they stood in the streets of Los Angeles, each to take his turn in buying its town lots. The sense of great wealth was in the air, and even the wisest were carried away by it. The " millionaire of a day " exerts a fascination on his brother millionaires, akin, perhaps, to the charming of a snake. An " obsession " comes from within, not from without. In Orange County, in California, there is a religious sect which finds the old Bible of our race, the Bible of Moses and Job and Jesus and Paul, an outworn book, no longer fitted for the aspirations of man. This Bible is still tinctured with the gospel of selfishness, for it recognizes private ownership of land, and goods, and men. " To honor thy father and mother " implies special ownership of them, and the higher life demands that there should be no respect of persons. There can be no< personal claims of any sort if all are to be as " angels in heaven." Its command " thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods " implies the neighbor's ownership of material things, a relation which must Reality and Illusion 113 degrade all who submit to it. " To render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's " is an outworn recognition of powers that be but which ought not to be. Clearly a new bible is needed, and one of the members of the sect sat down by a typewriter (presumably not his own property) and wrote a bible. It was not his own composition, but that of the Almighty, for the writer simply lent the hands with which divine power did the work. As his fingers played over the Remington keys, he thought of anything or everything except his writing. The result was the book of Oahspe, the Bible of this new dispensation, the story of the lords of Atmospheria and their struggles with the greater kings and fates, to which all men and lords are finally subject. And in the long run the Fates get the better even of the kings. And the name of the book arose naturally. One looks up to Heaven, and he says " Oh," then he looks down to earth and says, " Ah," and between Heaven and earth is Spirit, Oahspe! In the City Park of San Francisco is the wooden image of some monstrous creature carved by the Indians of Queen Charlotte Sound to express some phase of their mystic devotions. This image was stolen by a Norwegian sailor. Its makers resented its loss by a series of incantations so horrible that they took effect in the image itself. The idol came to San Francisco, bringing sickness, shipwreck, or failure to all who touched it. Even now, while it rests on a shelf in the Park Museum in apparent U4 Reality and Illusion quiet, its evil power is shown at night in the smashing of vases and the overturning of bottles. Something of this kind takes place whenever the image is left unguarded. A man who had charge of it for some time avers that one night the creature rose up in living form and seized him in its clutches, and only by the most violent efforts could he make his escape. The daily papers announce that Madame de Silva, a prophetess and seer of visions, seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, born with a caul, is prepared to diagnose all diseases from the examination of a lock of hair; Wong Chang, the Chinese doctor, is prepared to do the same without the hair and asking no questions. How does this differ from the power of Cuvier to draw a bird from a single claw, or that of Agassiz, who could restore a whole fish from one scale? There is said to be a great law of human society, called the " Law of Equal Access." Because man must live by the products of the soil, and because the earth is the sole source of wealth, all men should, in justice, have an equal access to this source of wealth. To this end, all private ownership of the soil should be abolished, must be abolished, and, with it, poverty and all its train of evils will be abolished also. The best way to do this is apparently to throw all burdens of taxation on the rent of landed property, for thus all privately accruing land values may be pressed out of existence. Reality and Illusion 115 Then any man could help himself to the earth in such measure as might please him, knowing that whether with much or little, he would, so long as he should pay his tax, be working his fellows no inequity by his private occupation. But there are immense differences among soils, as to productivity and availability, which make their rentals differ. In putting the theory to the test of action it also appears that there are like differences, and as great, among men. With some the earth smiles and puts forth a thousand fold. With others, not even a stalk of corn or a thicket of weeds can be made to grow. The trees which depend solely (as man does not) on immediate access to the soil, never yet have developed a law of equal access to it. The more favoring are the conditions for the law of equal access, the further seems the law from actual achievement. There are some who, thinking of these things, declare that there is in fact no such law of equal access, and that the earth belongs to him who can hold it and can coax it to its highest productiveness. And there are still others who say that any law is only an expression of what is, because if it could have been anything else it would have been so. And in the view of men of this sort all social institutions must change and pass away, for the social structure is but a complex of the individual men that make it up. By what test, then, shall we judge this law of equal access as a cure for poverty? It is claimed by many good men that " all men n6 Reality and Illusion are born free and equal." But this equality does not appear in society as we know it, except possibly in the cradle, and certainly in the grave. For this reason other good men struggle for equality more real and far-reaching, which shall exist in that period of life when it shall be most appreciated. To this end, men have grouped themselves into societies where there shall be equal voice, equal enjoyment, equal access to capital, equal exercise of power, where each man shall serve according to his power, and each man should receive according to his needs. But that in the struggle of life thus far these societies, one and all, have gone down this we must concede. Equal voice is found only among the dumb, equal enjoyment only among the joyless, equal power only among the powerless, equal access to capital only among the hopelessly impecunious. In human experience, to render to each man according to his needs demands a very rigid objective decision as to what these needs legitimately may be. To give all men an equal voice in this matter is to fill the air with unclassified vociferations. No man ever had his needs supplied without needing a little more. Even the hermit in the desert caring only for piety will yearn for more. On the other hand, such is human nature, some men will rather talk than work, and in all communities in which individual effort is merged in social responsibility, a few do all the work. The rest, according to their license, fall short of doing Reality and Illusion 117 according to their power. When drones and workers have equal access to the honey cells, the drones at last make way with most of the honey. Among men not bees under such conditions one by one the workers leave their work to swell the ranks of the drones. It is certain that the abolition of poverty means the happiness of the people. If all men should do two hours of productive work each day, poverty would be abolished. What, then, more natural than for a few hundred kindred spirits to stand together to work for this beneficent end? If in one community poverty could be abolished, why not in all others? If we say that human nature is the gate that shuts us out of heaven, is it not evident that human nature is itself the product of conditions? Is it not our poverty that makes our dispositions poor? When it is said that "poor folks have poor ways " must we not answer that these ways will be changed when poor folk cease to be poor? Admitting the failure of any particular venture in co-operative life, with all for all, and nothing for the individual which all do not share, we may ask what does this prove ? How many New Harmonys and Icarias and Altrurias, how many Kaweahs and Bellamys and Brook Farms are necessary to disprove the theory of human perfectibility through withdrawal from competition? How many years shall we wait at Etolin for the return of our salmon? How do we know that some unn8 Reality and Illusion known, unmeasured force may not be still in reserve to make a full success of our final venture? But human life will not let us wait too long. We must act, somehow, and do the best we can. The answer of the centuries comes too late for us. We must " believe and venture " and risk the chances. At Denver not long ago a man, with the beard of a saint, insisted that he had the gift of healing. A wild hermit from the plains, some called him crazy and some called him a prophet. But the gift he had, or seemed to have, and thousands of sick people and well crowded around him to be touched and healed. He could not touch them all, so he blessed their handkerchiefs, and his power passed over to them. Men and women whose ills gallons of patent medicines had failed to assuage were healed at once by these pieces of soiled cloth. And testimonials such as they had once written for these same medicines, they now freely wrote for him. And wherever he went, disease vanished before him. But, after all, is there such a thing as disease? Surely man " made in the image of God " is made in the image of perfection, and what is perfect cannot be marred or destroyed. May not disease be the greatest of illusions? May not all pain be a nightmare dream from which we should escape if we were once awakened? Many a school of healing has been based in one Reality and Illusion 119 way or another on these propositions. In a hundred different ways at a hundred different times men and women have found that they could heal pain by the suggestion that pain does not exist. If pain is disease, then shall we not heal all diseases in this way? But some say that pain is not a disease, only a warning that disease is present or coming. Pain is the signal that something is going wrong in the mechanism of the human body. The signal may be unnoticed, it is claimed. We then feel no pain, but the injury remains, for it is the cause of the pain and not the pain itself. By persistently turning the mind away from these signals of distress sent up by the bodily organs, we may come at last to be incapable of receiving them. We are then free from pain, and our minds may be filled with a sweet serenity satisfactory to ourselves, and edifying to others. Now, in all this what is true? Are we ill when we feel pain, well when we do not? Or do we feel pain because we are ill, and does the illness pass when our feeling is gone? May it not be true that this is a dangerous and selfish serenity? If it does not mean the checking of disease, but only the closing of our eyes to its ravages, then have we really gained anything ? To turn from pain is to turn from all outside impressions. It may be claimed that to close the mind to the information given by the senses is to destroy reality, to make activity impossible, to cease to do our duty in the world. This is to cease to I2O Reality and Illusion grow and to become a burden to our friends and a cumberer of society. There is nothing more noble than serenity amid trouble and distracting effort. There is nothing more selfish than the serenity which is bred by immunity from pain. But to many people, existence without pain, without sensation, and without action, represents an ideal of the soul. It is not alone faith in a theory of disease or a theory of non-existence which may produce this result. Faith in a celery-compound, an electric belt, or a mud idol may produce the same sweet serenity, the same maddening indifference to all that is real or moving in life. The walls of certain churches in Mexico are covered with the offerings and pictures of those who were saved by their vows or by appeals to some saint. " But where," said Lord Bacon, long ago, " are the pictures of those who were lost in spite of their vows?" It is true that to cultivate a cheerful temper, to look on the bright side of things, to laugh when we can, and be hopeful under all conditions, is good for the body. The food is better assimilated, the blood runs faster, one can do more and better things, and come in closer relations with the realities of life. But conversely, when one meets most manfully the needs of life, his pulse beats more quickly, his brain works better, his liver gives him less trouble, and he is naturally cheerful and hopeful. The cheerful man does not dodge pain, he overcomes it. He does not selfishly shrink. from reality Reality and Illusion 121 and turn to introspection and dreaming. He faces the world and makes it his own and takes manfully the pain his efforts cause or which in the progress of life he cannot avoid. It is possible to go much farther in the direction of the banishment of pain through the thought that pain does not exist. Then take more pain and it will become at last an intense pleasure; when the mind is in the grasp of absolute torture, it is possible for the brain to feel it as with spasms of absolute delight. It is not easy to do this, but can be produced by excessive belief in the unreality of common things. The brain half-maddened by pain is open to suggestions from other maddened brains till a fierce wild ecstasy is the final result. This fact explains the strange rites of those sects of selfdestroyers which rose in the Middle Ages, the Flagellantes, the Hermanos Penitentes, and the rest. Even yet, the last of the Penitent Brothers at San Mateo in New Mexico in the Passion Week torture themselves in the most revolting fashion by crucifixion, whipping, and the binding of huge cactuses on their backs. By hideous tortures they expiate in one week their many heinous sins of the whole year. Just as the suggestion that disease is an illusion may conceal pain, for those who give up everything else for healing, so does the suggestion of infinite pleasure conceal for a time the most exquisite pain. But as in the one case, the disease goes on unchecked, so in the others, the wounds of the whip and 122 Reality and Illusion the cactus stab remain as realities when the illusion of joy has passed away. Once men fell at the feet of saints or sprinkled themselves with holy water or vowed their fortunes to charity, to escape the ravages of yellow fever. Later they took quinine, scrubbed the floors, whitewashed the walls, and let sunshine into dark places. Now they hunt mosquitoes, suffocating them in their swamps by gallons of coal oil. Which of all these is the one right way? " The cell is an illusion," observes Mr. William Q. Judge. " It is merely a word. Thus it is with the body, so it is with the earth, and with the solar system." " Matter rests on mind. On mind it is dependent for the recognition which is its existence. Its laws are mental channels only, the grooves into which the thought sustaining it naturally falls. With your own mind you can cut such grooves, you can make such laws. Therefore do it! Would you change the law of gravitation? Then change it. You have but to assert yourself. If you have the courage to try, it is nothing to remove mountains." " When one is troubled by a horrible dream," says another noted sciosophist, " he has only to say: this is a dream. I will awaken. Then the stars shine through the window, and the vision disappears. Thus, as one moves nightmares, so may we remove mountains." Reality and Illusion 123 " For there is no Pain in Truth," continues the author last quoted. " Therefore there is no Truth in Pain. There is no Nerve in Mind, therefore no Mind in Nerve. No Matter in Mind, therefore no Mind in Matter. No Matter in Life, therefore no Life in Matter. No Matter in Good, therefore no Good in Matter. " God is the Principle " of true Science. As there is but one God, there can be but one principle in this Science. As there are many stars, there must be many fixed rules for the demonstration of this Divine Principle. . . . The Equipollence of the Stars above and the Mind below show the awful unreality of Evil ! " In the year 1858, an illiterate peasant girl in the lower Pyrenees, anaemic and neurotic, once saw in the mouth of a cave beside the river in the picturesque little city of Lourdes, a vision of the Virgin Mary, all in white save a blue sash. The vision directed that the cave be made a sanctuary, and that many people should come there to pray. Since this came into effect, the waters of the cave have healing powers, tested by hundreds every day, with results which have been variously estimated. The societies for promotion bring train-loads of pilgrims, well or ill, from all parts of the neighboring nations, even from places as distant as Lille and Valenciennes, more than 800,000 persons per year coming to the cave in a single summer. 124 Reality and Illusion The method pursued, as seen by the present writer, is thus described by an observer (G. Mares), whose account in French I here translate : " A priest is in the pulpit. . . . The songs alternate with the prayers, which are cut short by brusque supplications, uttered often with the tone of orders, ' Seigneur, sauvez nos malades ! ' or by tender invocations, ' Seigneur, ayez pitie de nous ! ' With a gesture, a word, a sign, the preacher enforces obedience on the immense company. ' Les bras en croix ! ' ' Agenouillez-vous/ ' Prosternezvous ! ' ' Baisez la terre ! ' And then the arms are raised, the knees are bent, the foreheads bowed, the lips touch the earth. In this time, the porters for the men, the sisters of charity for the women, undress the patients and plunge them into the icy waters of the bathing pools. During the bath the prayers continue, warmer, more eager, louder and higher in pitch, as though forcing Heaven to cast down a miracle. Then a man, a woman, a child, falls down crying : * Je suis gueri ! Je suis guerie.' Then the ' Magnificat ' rings out, sung by ten thousand voices. While helped forward by the assistants, the one thus healed goes to the ' bureau of constatation,' where the physicians question him, feel his pulse, hear his breathing, and decide whether this is a complete cure, an amelioration, or simply forgetfulness of pain under the excitement of a passing wave of feeling." The actual miracles, it is claimed by a resident Reality and Illusion 125 physician, amount to about one per week, and collections are made for the relief of the " incurables." Cesare Lombroso, writing of the operations of Madame Eusapia Paladino, claims that " in the psychological atmosphere of the medium in a trance and by the medium's own action, the conditions of matter are modified. Just as if the space in which the phenomenon takes place belonged not to three, but to four, dimensions in which . . . the law of gravity and the law of the impenetrability of matter should suddenly fail, and the laws that rule time and space should suddenly cease, so that a body from a far-off point may all at once find itself near by, and you may find a bunch of freshest flowers in your coat pocket without their showing any trace of being spoiled." " Let us not be deceived by appearances," says the occultist D'Assier. " Let us be on our guard that, in exploring the shades, we may not take a shade of reasoning for reasoning itself." It is said that " Logic as well as Magic has its Phantasmal Double, and when Truth dips wearily under oblique suns, the two are apt to range very far apart." When an electric current, whatever that may be, is passed through a glass tube from which most of the air has been exhausted, various peculiar phenomena are shown. There is an appearance of bluish light, and from certain parts of the apparatus peculiar rays are given off which do not 126 Reality and Illusion appear as rays at all. Ordinary light rays pass readily through water, glass or crystal, and we call these objects transparent. Through wood or cloth or stone they will not pass; hence these objects are said to be opaque. And the rays of light may be diverted from their course by passing at an angle from one transparent body to another. This property, known as refraction, is the cause of the formation of images by convex transparent bodies or lenses. But, strangely, the rays of light above mentioned do not act like ordinary light. All objects are transparent to them, though not in equal degree. Not being stopped by dense bodies they are not refracted. Not being affected by lenses, they do not produce vision in the eye. As we cannot see them, to the eye they are not light. But their effect on chemical decomposition is the same as that of light. Hence, while not available for vision, they can be used in photography. But not being refracted, they produce no definite image on the sensitive plate. But they may give rise to shadows. They do not pass through all opaque objects with equal readiness. Hence to place an opaque body between the rays and a sensitized plate would be to cast some kind of a shadow on that plate. The shadow means an arrest of the chemical changes which are the basis of photography. Then, if the opaque body be not in all parts of equal density, the shadow becomes deeper in some places than in others. This gives on the photoReality and Illusion 127 graphic plate some idea of the intimate nature of the object photographed. For the density is not merely a matter of the surface of bodies. It pertains to the interior, which in an opaque object cannot be seen, but which nevertheless may be photographed in this fashion by these peculiar rays. This line of investigation was lately developed in experiment by Professor Rontgen, and the strange character of the " X-rays " or " cathode rays " is now a matter known to every one. By means of these non-refracting rays, shadow photographs can be made, showing the bones of the skeleton, imbedded bullets, the contents of a pocket-book, or any similar hidden object which has a nature or a density unlike that of its containing surface. These experiments of Rontgen have been varied and verified in every conceivable way. A wonderful mythology is growing up around them, to the confusion of those who have not paid attention to the series of experiments which made Rontgen's discoveries simple and inevitable. For example, in a thousand places the Rontgen rays and the bacilli of disease are made to work together to fill the purse of the enterprising physician. The doctor examines the internal organs of the patient with the fluorescent tubes. He finds out how and where the germs of disease are working their devastation. Then he turns the mysterious X-rays upon these germs and they are checked in their career of ruin : shrivelled up, it may be, under 128 Reality and Illusion this marvelous light, as caterpillars shrivel on a hot shovel. Another physician distributes his remedies by electric wire, one end in the bottle and the other in the mouth of the patient, miles away. Still other physicians, wise in their generation, use the X-rays and the microbes and the electric currents with other mysterious agencies equally for their own profit or comfort. Now that the X-rays have become somewhat familiar and matter of course, the still more wonderful emanations of radium are made to do the same things and, in a fashion, equally regardless of the lessons of chemistry and of physiology. The medicine man of the Modocs by other incantations of his own calls up the microbe of disease, which he finally spits out, a trout perhaps, or a wood-boring grub, or a small lizard from his own mouth. There have been occult and esoteric methods in medicine since the first Old Man of the Mountains learned to look wise. The rabbit's foot for good luck, the cold potato for rheumatism, celery for the nerves, and sarsaparilla for the blood, are typical methods as old as humanity. But quackery and pretense do not diminish our debt to honest medicine and surgery, however much it may tend to obscure it. Some one asked Dr. Mesmer, the great apostle of animal magnetism, which was the form taken by " faith cure " in the last century, why he ordered his patient to bathe in river water rather than in well-water. His answer was that " the river water Reality and Illusion 129 was exposed to the sun's rays." When further asked what effect sunshine had other than to warm the water, he replied : " Dear doctor, the reason why all water exposed to the rays of the sun is superior to other water is because it is magnetized since twenty years ago I magnetized the sun ! " Benjamin Franklin, writing in praise of life in the open air, once said: " It is recorded of Methusalem, who, being the longest liver, may be supposed to have best preserved his health, that he slept always in the open air; for when he had lived five hundred years an angel said to him : ' Arise, Methusalem, and build thee an house, for thou shalt live five hundred years longer.' But Methusalem answered and said : ' If I am to live but five hundred years longer it is not worth while to build me a house; I will sleep in the air as I have been used to do.' ' A critic said that nowhere in the sacred records could this narration be found. An obvious rejoinder was that this did not matter, if the story was true. Was the story true? And does it matter? Through the Middle Ages experimenters of all grades were engaged in the task of finding the means by which base metals could be transmuted into gold. It was possible in the chemical laboratory to do many things which seemed equally difficult, and, to the common mind, far more mysterious. In the philosophy of the day, and, perhaps, in 130 Reality and Illusion our own time as well, there was every reason to believe that the transmutation of metals was possible. But it never was accomplished, and many a learned alchemist went to his grave, the work of his life a confessed failure. Yet this very day, the daily press gives the record of successful alchemy. One famous metallurgist of world-wide reputation (all these men have a " world-wide reputation " with one another) has subjected silver to great pressure till it becomes yellow, soft, and heavy, just like gold. All the difference is in the density 16 to I. Condensed silver is gold, so the newspaper maintains, and the problem of alchemy is solved at last. By these experiments six ounces of silver make but four ounces of gold, one-third of the substance being somehow lost in the process. But with improved appliances the third should be saved and the finances of the world may be reconstructed on a basis of genuine bimetallism, gold being made when wanted from the condensation of silver. Yet allimportant as this discovery should be, neither chemistry nor finance pays any attention to it. Wall Street is not disturbed by shadows; neither is science. Common sense demands that the experiments be verified and the steps which led to them be made known before considering for a moment the probability that there is any truth in a wandering rumor of the daily papers. A writer on the fruitful topic of Reincarnation Reality and Illusion 131 has traced the ego or soul of Alexander the Great, from its first incarnation in the wilds of Tartary, to the Jewish adept, called Jeusu, thence to Alexander, Alaric, Charlemagne, Edward the Black Prince, Henry VIII, a Cornish fisherman, an African King, a Staten Island carpenter, a Harvard Senior, and an explorer in the Pennine Alps. His soul, ripening in 1893, had reached to a hermit guide in the Adirondacks, thirty generations in all from crudity to relative perfection, with " but one necessary experience, that of womanhood, yet to undergo." " Up to a certain point," continues this investigator, " souls develop as wild vegetation does, by the action of laws, external and internal, and their own inherent instincts. Then, as a gardener takes a wild crab-tree, prunes, cultivates, trains, nourishes, plants its seeds in different soils, until he has a fine fruit, good for human use, so the gods take a soul and prune it until it is fit to nourish by example and precept the souls of other men, and to pass by our earth to other planets. The soul of Alexander, on leaving the body of Henry VIII, passed under the immediate care of the gods, and the fourth stage of its existence began the phase of purification. For as fruit may rot because of too much sunshine, so may soul. And all rot must be purged away." But a leaf rots, through the life and energy of its concealed bacteria. Nothing, as we now believe, can decay 132 Reality and Illusion of its own force. Can there be bacilli hidden in the tissues of reincarnated souls? Is the hypothesis of souls rotting too vague and too remote, therefore from verifiability to be considered as a serious hypothesis at all? Perhaps the above instance may remind us, that one of the most prolific sources of error lies in the confusion of analogy with homology, of fleeting or incidental resemblance with fundamental identity. Because a certain likeness in form or function may appear, it is inferred that like similarities may exist in those matters which do not appear. Such reasoning forms a large part of most discussions of politics and theology. It is likewise not unknown in science. For example, a well-known investigator writes from the University of Cambridge: " Inert matter has in truth more life than has been ascribed to it. It is by a process of sifting out, or, in other words, by Natural Selection, that life, as we know it, has been evolved. The evolution is in the assortment of monads. The tendency throughout nature is towards harmony, but there does not seem to have been pre-established harmony. Nay, rather, everything seems to have been higgledy-piggledy, and to be gradually settling down. When there is harmony among monads there is good; when there is discord there is evil." "If you will carry the left hind foot of a rabbit in your lower vest pocket, you will have luck all your days." When the Klondyke fever was at its Reality and Illusion 133 height, Dr. Fletcher B. Dresslar tells us, " a miner wrote back to his father in this wise: ' If you and the boys can kill any rabbits up in the hills send the feet to me, and I will dispose of the lot in round figures. I never saw men try to press their luck as they do here. A gambler arrived from St. Louis over the Dalton trail, and, knowing that he would find other gamblers, he brought along a dozen rabbits' feet, and sold out the lot for $50 each.' " The belief in the luck of a rabbit's foot goes with this ancient maxim : " When cold chills run down your back, it means that a rabbit is silently running over your grave." One Sunday a gambler at Monte Carlo found his way to the English Church in the vicinity, and upon hearing the number of the hymn announced, was " impressed with the feeling " that this was a " lucky number " to bet on, and immediately left the church for the gambling table. He staked heavily on this number and won. Following up the suggestion, he went to church the next Sunday and remained long enough to get the number of the hymn announced, staked on it, and won again. Upon confiding the secret of his success to his friends, they, too, went to church. The contagion spread, until the exodus after the hymn became so marked that the rector was painfully conscious of it, and, on learning of the cause, took occasion to protect himself, and the good name of his church, by announcing from his pulpit that in the 134 Reality and Illusion future no hymn whose number was less than 37 would be selected. This number was designated because on the roulette table the highest number is 36. But the strangest and most interesting thing about this story is the fact that it is a true story. " Superstitions," says Dr. Dresslar, " represent in part those conclusions men have adopted to free the mind from the strain of uncompleted thinking. Men are naturally driven to conclusions regarding the meaning and significance of those phenomena which appear in their minds. There is no physiological or psychological equilibrium unless the mind comes to rest in a conclusion. It is physically and mentally very tiring to hold in the mind a series of conditions, and at the same time to prevent them from shooting together into some sort of a denouement. The untrained and instinctive mind reaches conclusions quickly, for this is temporarily the line of least resistance. ... It may accept the generalizations passed down to it by tradition, for it is easier to accept an explanation authoritatively given, than to frame one. " Nothing will rid humanity of superstition but education. And this education must not stop short of the habit of scientific method and scientific feeling. A student at work in the laboratory learns soon that Nature tells no falsehood and that her laws are inexorable. The scientific worker nowhere has any use for the conception of luck, and so acquires the habit of disregarding all such superstitions." Reality and Illusion 135 Man must learn, as Emerson tells us, that * Every thing in nature, even motes and feathers, go by law and not by luck, and that what he sows, he reaps.' ' Dr. Dresslar closes a wholesome chapter on Superstition and Education with these words : " We sometimes flatter ourselves that we have attained almost unto freedom. But I think even a short study of the superstitious tendencies prevalent to-day will convince the most enthusiastic that we are in no little measure still slaves to the unreason of our uncivilized ancestry. And we shall never attain unto rational living until we are regenerated through the gospel of truthful learning; until we acquire the habit of fearless investigation, persistent thinking, and courageous belief." In a similar vein, Dr. Charles Sedgwick Minot assures us that " the only important difference between the practical doctor and the scientific doctor is that the patients of the practical doctor are more likely to die." In saving bodies, and even souls, the essential thing is to know how. But amid all the wonders of science, non-science, dreaming, fraud and insanity and pretense, how shall the common man find his way ? How shall he recognize the claims of truth among all the other voices and noises in this vociferous world? Is not this the answer of science, the answer of common sense? As to many things the common man may not know the whole truth; as to many he perhaps need not know anything whatever. Where he is not concerned in any way so that error and truth are 136 Reality and Illusion alike to him, because they cannot affect his action, he may be powerless to decide. It is not important that he should decide. " I do not know " is the affirmation characteristic of the wise man. " Never be afraid to say I do not know," was a favorite admonition of Professor Agassiz. It is safe to believe mildly in mahatmas and norns, in hoodoos and voudous, if one does not regulate his life according to this belief. The vague unverified faith in protoplasm, in natural selection, or in microbes which the average man possesses, will serve him no better so long as it remains vague and, therefore, unverifiable in distinct sense. The difference appears when one acts upon his belief. The nearer one's acquaintance with molecules or protoplasm, the more real and more natural do they appear. The soundness of our knowledge is tested by the results of our dealings with these things. The microbe is as authentic as the cabbage to one engaged in dealing with it. Protoplasm is as tangible as wheat or molasses. It is possible to make these hypotheses progressively more definite, and hence to verify them. But the astral body and the telepathic impulse become the more vague the nearer we approach them; as ideas or conceptions they import no definite and identifiable consequences to the promise of which they stand committed, and action in pursuance of them can consequently never test their truth. They are irresponsible figments of the fancy, and their names serve only as a cover for our ignorance of the facts. Reality and Illusion 137 The charm of such words as Karma, Kismet, and Avatar lies in the fact that most of those who use them have no idea of what they mean. This is the attraction of Nirvana and Devachan. If we know not what such words mean " in terms of life," then they have no meaning. Not being verifiable, they are mere words, and not ideas. Scientific induction, in its essence, is simply common sense. The homely maxims of human experience are the beginnings of science. To know enough " to come in when it rains " is to know something of the science of meteorology. By scanning the clouds we may know how to come in before it rains. By observing the winds we may tell what clouds are coming. By studying the barometer we may know from what quarter winds and clouds may be expected. The discoveries of science are made by steps which are perfectly simple to those trained to follow them. No discovery is made by chance in our day. None come to contradict existing laws or to discredit existing knowledge. The whole of no phenomenon is known to man. The whole of any truth can never be. We cannot reach truth regarding the framework of things, unless a part of this framework enters into our human experience. Science deals with human contact and interest. The unknown surrounds on all sides all knowledge in man's possession. The beginning, the end, and the ramifications are beyond his reach. He was not present 138 Reality and Illusion when the foundations of the universe were laid. He may not be present when they are dissolved. But scientific knowledge, though limited, is practical and positive so far as it goes. Its criterion is experiment and observation. Every step in observation, experiment, or induction, has been tested by thousands of bright minds, and this testing has been possible because at each step the effort was made to formulate clearly in advance just what the experiment or observation should look for. He is already a master in science who can suggest even one new experiment, because an experiment requires an antecedent, intelligent question by which the results of the experiment may be measured. There is nothing occult or uncanny in scientific methods. The " magic wand " which creates new species of horses or cattle lies in the hand of any stock-breeder. The magic key of the electrician, by which the foam of the cataract becomes the light of the city, may be held by any city council. To take the illustrations given above : " there is such a thing as a squash," because the assumption that the squash exists constitutes a safe basis for action. On that hypothesis you can plant squashes or raise squashes or make them into pies, and this is the sort of thing we mean when we say the squash exists. The brightness of the brandy-colored world we cannot trust. It requires no scientific instruments of precision to record the failure of the man who guides his life on a basis of impressions Reality and Illusion 139 made by drugs or stimulants. The transit of Venus is no product of fancy. To the astronomer the coming of the planet between the earth and the sun is as certain a thing as the coming of the earth into its own shadow at night. The one incident is less common than the other, but not more mysterious. And to go to that part of the earth which is turned toward the sun at the moment of transit is the simple common-sense thing to do if one wishes to see the transit ; to predict a transit is, for the scientist, to predict that at some certain time and place it will be visible. The island, the abandoned hut, and the cooking utensils were only incidents to the astronomer. To the natives these were the only realities, and the purposes of science were to them unknown and absurd. To the man of common sense the digging for treasure under the direction of clairvoyants seems ridiculous. The operation does not become more wise when we see it through the eye of science, for the clairvoyant cannot forecast his " probable error " from his knowledge of the function he professes to exercise; he promises " treasure," but he does not say how much or at what precise spot, and, accordingly, even if treasure is found, we are justified in our refusal to admit that he had any actual knowledge of it. The spectroscope, on the other hand, grows more real and more potent as we study its methods and results. The process of weighing planets is open to all who will continue their studies till they understand it. The test of knowing is doing doing 140 Reality and Illusion something definite and getting thereby results sensibly satisfactorily identical with those which our supposed knowledge clearly and unequivocally predicted at the outset. The oceanic cable is in the service of all who have concerns in another continent. The phenomena of telepathy have fled before every attempt at experiment. The study of X-rays is as far from occultism or spiritism as the manufacture of brass is from the incarnation of mahatmas. The mind healer, the faith healer, the cure of disease by pious negation, the sale of the patent medicine, the medical marvels of radium, the wonders of the electric belt, the power of animal magnetism (malicious or benign), are all witnesses of the potency of suggestion in the untrained mind. To the same class of phenomena the witch-hazel rod belongs. Experiment seems to show that its movements are due to involuntary muscular contractions, and that these follow simply the preconceived notions of the holder of the rod. * * Bennet H. Brough . (London, 1892) gives the following interesting quotations regarding the divining rod : Theophilus Albinus (Dresden, 1794) says: "I ween that no more confounded thing is to be found in the world than this divining rod business. . . . For evil and lying dealing is best hidden amid this confusion; and in the muddiest water, rascality likes best to fish." William Hooson (London, 1747) says : " The dignified author of this invention was a German, and at the last he was deservedly hanged for the Cheat." Says Dr. Rossiter Raymond (1883): "In itself" the divining rod "is nothing. Its claims to virtues derived from the Deity, from Satan, from affinities and sympathies, Reality and Illusion 141 Not long since a sciosophist proposed the theory that the chemical elements were each of them forms of " latent oxygen." That this theory is without meaning did not disturb its author. His argument was that the business of science was to propose all sorts of theories. As some apples on a tree will be sound so some theories will be true. To make every conceivable conjecture is the way to hit on the truth. His guess is that gold and hydrogen are alike latent oxygen. Some such notion as to scientific theories is common among cultured people of all countries. To accept it is to ignore the whole history of science. No advance in real knowledge has come from guessing, or dreaming, or speculating, unless guesses or speculations have been based on previous experience, and unless evidence in each case is amenable to the test of action, and have been submitted to it. If we want a picture taken we find a man who has a camera, and who knows how to use it. If we want the truth on any subject we must find a man who understands our questions, who has the instruments or methods of precision, and who knows how to use them. There is no other way. As well expect a man without a from corpuscular effluvia, from electric currents, from passive perturbatory qualities of organo-electric force are hopelessly collapsed and discarded. A whole library of learned rubbish which remains to us furnishes jargon for charlatans, marvelous tales for fools, and amusement for antiquarians." " The first divination," observes Voltaire, " took place when the first knave met the first fool ! " 142 Reality and Illusion camera and who knows not how to use it if he had one, to take a photograph, as to trust to a logically irresponsible speculator, guesser, or dreamer, to find out any truth. To work without tools in the world of objective reality, can yield only error and confusion. There is no way to a just conception of any part of the universe, except to gather the realities relevant to our needs and interests, to compare and consider these facts thus gathered, to set them in order, and to verify in action whatever theory may seem to arise from their relations. REALITY AND EDUCATION " Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity." SHELLEY. IF realities find their test and verification in action, if knowledge finds its function in the conduct of life, these principles should find large application in the field of Education. In youth, this need of direct contact with truth should be the justification for nature-study. In manhood, this should be the inspiration of scientific research. In the present chapter I wish to discuss the natural relation of nature-study to early education. By nature-study in this sense I do not mean the reading of clever tales of birds and beasts, still less sentimental essays on their beauty, their perfection, or the divine purpose they serve in the economy of nature. Nor yet do I mean premature efforts at classification, the learning of scientific names, or the names of their varied organs under dissection. My plea is for the large open-air contact of children with things as they are, the heritage of every well-nurtured farm-boy, of every child who has stood on his feet in the presence 143 144 Reality and Education of natural objects. To be as a " part and parcel of nature," to act as a natural person among natural objects, is the aim of nature-study as thus conceived. I shall try not to overstate the case, nor to claim for such study any occult or exclusive power. It is not for us to say so much nature-study in the schools, so much wisdom and so much virtue in the scholars. Moreover, the character of the teacher is the largest factor in the matter. But the best teacher is the one who comes nearest to nature the one most effective in promoting individual wisdom. To seek knowledge is better than to accept it ready-made. To do something with it is better than to hold it. Precepts of virtue are useless unless they can be built into life. With the dawn of prenatal life, " the gate of gifts is closed." We can get nothing more. We can only adjust, arrange, employ what we have. It is the art of life, out of variant and contradictory materials passed down to us from our ancestors, to build up coherent and effective individual character. The essence of character-building lies in action. The chief value of nature-study in character-building is that, like life itself, it deals with realities. The experience of living is itself a form of nature-study. One must in life make his own observations, frame his own inductions, and apply them in action as he goes along. The habit of finding out the best thing to do next, and then doing it, is the basis of character. A strong character is built up by doing, not by imiReality and Education 145 tation, nor by feeling, nor by suggestion. Naturestudy, if it be genuine, is essentially doing. This is the basis of its effectiveness as a moral agent. To deal with truth is necessary if we are to know truth when we see it in action. To know truth precedes all sound morality. There is a great impulse to virtue in knowing something well. To know it well is to come into direct contact with its facts or laws, to feel that its qualities and forces' are inevitable. To do this is the essence of nature-study in all its forms. The rocks and shells, the frogs and lilies, always tell the actual truth so far as it goes. They give clear and decisive answers to distinct and clear questions. Their relations to our lives are such that the child can be led to ask concerning them simple and definite questions which shall at the same time be of vital interest to him. Thus, through commerce with them, he can learn how rightly to know. Associations with these, under right direction, will build up a habit of truthfulness, for nature is always truthful. She teaches truth from original documents. Every leaf on the tree is an original document in botany. When a thousand are used, or used up, the archives of nature are just as full as ever. From their intimate affinity with the problems of life, the problems of nature-study derive especial value. Because life deals with realities, the visible agents of the overmastering fates, it is well that our children should study the real, rather than the con146 Reality and Education ventional. Let them come in contact with the inevitable, instead of the " made-up," with laws and forces which can be traced in objects and forms actually before them, rather than with those which seem arbitrary or which remain inscrutable. To use concrete illustrations : there is a greater moral value as well as a more easily available educative value in the study of magnets than in the distinction between shall and will, in the study of birds or rocks than in that of diacritical marks or postage stamps, in the development of a frog than in the longer or shorter catechism, in the study of things than in the study of abstractions. There is doubtless a law underlying abstractions and conventionalities, a law of catechisms, but it does not so readily appear to the student, nor so promptly lay hold upon his interest. Its consideration, therefore, does not so effectively strengthen his impression of inevitable truth. There is the greatest moral value, as well as intellectual value, in the independence that comes from knowing, and knowing that one knows and why he knows. Such knowledge gives backbone to character. Learning to know what is right and why it is right, through doing it, and for the sake of doing it, is the basis of character. The nervous system of the animal or the man is essentially a device to make action effective and to keep it safe. The animal is a machine in action. Toward the end of motion all other mental processes tend. All functions of the brain, all forms of nerve Reality and Education 147 impulse, are modifications of the simple reflex action, the automatic transfer of sensations gathered from external objects into movements of the body. The sensory nerves furnish the animal or man at his demand all knowledge of the external world. The brain, sitting in darkness, as it were, judges these sensations, and sends out corresponding impulses to action. The sensory nerves are the brain's sole teachers, but for them it would continue to sit in darkness. The motor nerves, and, through them, the muscles are the brain's only servants. The untrained brain, the brain that does not know how to ask questions, nor when it has received answers, learns its lessons poorly, and its commands are vacillating and ineffective. The brain which has been misused, shows its defects in ill-chosen actions. The great argument for temperance rests on this; all nerve-tampering causes the nerves to lie; a lying brain means unbalanced action. The senses are intensely practical in their relation to life. The processes of natural selection make and keep them so. Only those phases of reality which our ancestors could render into action are shown to us by our senses. These senses tell us superficial but essential truth about rocks and trees, food and shelter, friends and enemies. They answer no problem in chemistry. They say nothing about atom or molecule. They give us no ultimate facts. Whatever was so small that our ancestors could not handle it is too small for us now to see. 148 Reality and Education Whatever is too distant to be reached is not truthfully reported. The " X-rays "of light we cannot see, because our ancestors could not deal with them. The sun and stars, the clouds and the sky, are more extended than they appear to be. Our sensitiveness fails as the square of the distance increases. Were our nervous systems to become suddenly receptive to all forms of truth we should be smothered by the inrush of sensations. We should be overwhelmed by the multiplicity and the intensity of our own emotions. Truth-establishing response in action would become impossible. Our questionings of nature would be answered in a strange and sudden din of Babel, and no longer in a fitting and familiar tongue. Hyperesthesia, or abnormal susceptibility, in any or all of the senses is a source of confusion, not of strength. It is essentially a phase of nerve-disorder, and it shows itself in ineffectiveness, not in increased power. Besides immediate sense-perceptions, the so-called realities, the brain retains also traces of the perceptions which have been impressed upon it in the past, and which are not wholly lost. Memory-pictures crowd the mind, mingling with pictures which are brought in afresh by the senses. The force of suggestion causes the mental states or conditions of one person to repeat themselves in another. Abnormal conditions of the brain itself furnish another series of feelings with which the brain must deal. Moreover, the brain is charged with impulses to Reality and Education 149 action passed on from generation to generation, surviving because they are useful. With all these arises the vital necessity for wise choice as a function of the mind. The mind must neglect or suppress all sensations which it cannot weave into action. The dog sees nothing that does not belong to its little world. The man in search of mushrooms " tramples down oak-trees in his walks." To select the sensations that concern us, to keep ourselves aloof from those which do not, is the essence of the power of attention. This power, manifesting itself in the suppression of undesired actions, and in the enforcement of those desired, is called the will. To find data for choice among accessible objects of perception with the corresponding possible motor responses is a function of the intellect. Intellectual persistency based on persistency of interests is the foundation of individual character. As the conditions of life become more complex, it becomes necessary for action to be more carefully controlled. Wisdom is the parent of virtue. After the stage of verification, knowing what should be done logically precedes doing it. Good impulses and good intentions do not make acti m right or safe. In the long run, action is tested not by its motives, but by its results. The child, when he comes into the world, has everything to learn. His nervous system is charged with tendencies to reaction and impulses to motion, which have their origin in survivals from ancestral 150 Reality and Education demands. Exact knowledge, by which his own actions can be made exact, must come through his own experience. The experience of others must be expressed in terms of his own before it becomes wisdom. Wisdom, to repeat, is knowing what it is best to do next. Virtue is doing it. Doing right becomes a habit, if it is pursued long enough. It becomes a " second nature," or, we may say, a higher heredity. The formation of a higher heredity of wisdom and virtue, of knowing right and doing right, is the chief element of character-building. The moral character is based on knowing the best, choosing the best, and doing the best. It cannot be built up on imitation alone. By imitation, suggestion, and conventionality the masses are formed and controlled. To build up a man is a nobler process, demanding materials and methods of a higher order. The growth of man is the assertion of individuality. Only robust men can make history. Others may adorn it, disfigure it, or vulgarize it. The first relation of the child to external things is expressed in this : What can I do with it ? What is its relation to me? The perception goes over into thought, the thought into action. Thus the impression of the object is built into the little universe of his mind. The object and the action it implies are closely associated. As more objects are apprehended, more complex relations arise, but the primal condition remains What can I do with it ? PercepReality and Education 151 tion, thought, action this is the natural sequence of each completed mental process. As volition passes over into action, so does science into art, knowledge into power, wisdom into virtue. By the study of realities wisdom is built up. In the relations of objects he can touch and move, the child comes to find the limitations of his powers, the laws that govern phenomena, and to which his actions must be in obedience. So long as he deals with realities, these laws stand in their proper relation. " So simple, so natural, so true," says Agassiz. " This is the charm of dealing with Nature herself. She brings us back to absolute truth so often as we wander." So long as a child is led from one reality to another, never lost in words or in abstractions, so long this natural relation remains. What can I do with it? is the beginning of wisdom. What is It to me? is the basis of personal virtue. While a child remains about the home of his boyhood, he knows which way is north and which is east. He does not need to orientate himself, because in his short trips he never loses his sense of space direction. But let him take a rapid journey in the cars or in the night, and he may find himself in strange relations. The sun no longer rises in the east, the sense of reality in directions is gone, and it is a painful effort for him to join the new impressions to the old. The process of orientation is a difficult one, and if facing the sunrise in the morn152 Reality and Education ing were a deed of necessity in his religion, this deed would not be accurately performed. This homely illustration applies to the child. He is taken from his little world of realities, a world in which the sun rises in the east, the dogs bark, the grasshopper leaps, the water falls, and the relations of cause and effect appear plain and natural. In these simple relations moral laws become evident. " The burnt child dreads the fire," and this dread shows itself in action. The child learns what to do next, and to some extent does it. By practice in personal responsibility in little things, he can be led to wisdom in large ones. For the power to do great things in the moral world comes from doing the right in small things. It is not often that a man who really knows that there is a right does the wrong. Men who do wrong are either ignorant that there is a right, or else they have failed in their orientation and look upon right as wrong. It is the clinching of good purposes with good actions that makes the man. This is the higher heredity that is not the gift of father or mother, but is the man's own work on himself. The impression of realities is the basis of sound morals as well as of sound judgment. By adding near things to near, the child grows in knowledge. " Knowledge set in order " is science. Naturestudy is the beginning of science. It is the science of the child. To the child, training in methods of acquiring knowledge is more valuable than knowlReality and Education 153 edge itself. In general, throughout life sound methods are more valuable than sound information. Self-direction is more important than innocence. The fool may be innocent. Only the sane and the wise can be virtuous. It is the function of science to make our knowledge of the small, the distant, the invisible, the mysterious as accurate as our knowledge of the common things men have handled for ages. It seeks to make our knowledge of common things exact and precise, that exactness and precision may be translated into action. The ultimate end of science, as well as its initial impulse, is the regulation of human conduct. To make right action possible and prevalent is the function of science. The " world as it is " must be the ultimate inspiration of art, poetry, and religion. The world, as men have agreed to say it is, is quite another matter. The less our children hear of this, the less they will have to unlearn in their future development. When a child is taken from nature to the schools, he is usually brought into an atmosphere of conventionality. Here he is not to do, but to imitate; not to see, nor to handle, nor to create, but to remember. He is, moreover, to remember not his own realities, but the written or spoken ideas of others. He is dragged through a wilderness of grammar, with thickets of diacritical marks, into the desert of metaphysics. He is taught to do right, not because right action is in the nature of 154 Reality and Education things, the nature of himself, and the things about him, but because he will be punished somehow if he does not. He is given a medley of words without ideas. He is taught declensions and conjugations without number in his own and other tongues. He learns things easily by rote; so his teachers fill him with rote-learning. Hence grammar and language have become stereotyped as teaching without a thought as to whether undigested words may be intellectual poison. And as the good heart depends on the good brain, undigested ideas may become moral poison as well. No one can tell how much of the intellectual and moral discomfort of the schools has been due to intellectual dyspepsia from undigested words. In such manner the child is bound to lose his orientation as to the forces which surround him. If he does not recover it, he will spend his life in a world of unused fancies and realities. Nonsense will seem half truth, and his appreciation of truth will be vitiated by lack of clearness of definition by its close relation to nonsense. That this is no slight defect can be shown in every community. There is no intellectual craze so absurd as not to have a following among educated men and women. There is no scheme for the renovation of the social order so silly that educated men will not invest their money in it. There is no medical fraud so shameless that educated men will not give it their certificate. There is no nonsense so unscientific Reality and Education 155 that men called educated will not accept it as science. It should be a function of the schools to build up common sense. Folly should be crowded out of the schools. We have furnished costly asylums for its accommodation. That our schools are in a degree responsible for current follies, there can be no doubt. We have many teachers who have never seen truth in their lives. There are many who have never felt the impact of an idea. There are many who have lost their own orientation in their youth, and who have never since been able to point out the sunrise to others. " Three roots bear up Dominion Knowledge, Will, the third Obedience." This statement, which Lowell applies to nations, belongs to the individual man as well. It is written in the structure of his brain knowledge, volition, action and all three elements must be sound, if action is to be safe or effective. But obedience must be active, not passive. The obedience of the lower animals is automatic, and therefore in its limits measurably perfect. Lack of obedience means the extinction of the race. Only the obedient survive, and hence comes about obedience to " sealed orders," obedience by reflex action, in which the will takes little part. In the early stages of human development, the instincts of obedience were dominant. Great among these is the instinct of conventionality, by which each man follows the path others have found safe. The Church and the State, organizations of the strong, 156 Reality and Education have assumed the direction of the weak. It has often resulted that the wiser this direction, the greater the weakness it was called on to control. The " sealed orders " of human institutions took the place of the automatism of instinct. Against " sealed orders " the individual man has been in constant protest. The " warfare of science " was part of this struggle. The Reformation, the revival of learning, the growth of democracy, are all phases of this great conflict. The main function of democracy is not good government. If that were all, it w r ould not deserve the efforts spent on it. Better government than any king or congress or democracy has yet given could be had in simpler and cheaper ways. The automatic scheme of competitive examinations would give us better rulers at half the present cost. Even an ordinary intelligence office, or " statesman's employment bureau," would serve us better than conventions and elections. But a people which could be ruled in that way, content to be governed well by forces outside itself, would not be worth the saving. Government too good, as well as too bad, may have a baneful influence on men. Its excellence is a secondary matter. The purpose of selfgovernment is to intensify individual responsibility; to promote attempts at wisdom, through which true wisdom may come at last. Democracy is naturestudy on a grand scale. The republic is a huge laboratory of civics, a laboratory in which strange Reality and Education 157 experiments are performed; but by which, as in other laboratories, wisdom may arise from experience, and, having arisen, may work itself out into virtue. " The oldest and best-endowed university in the world," Dr. Parkhurst tells us, " is Life itself. Problems tumble easily apart in the field that refuse to give up their secret in the study or even in the closet. Reality is what educates us, and reality never comes so close to us, with all its powers of discipline, as when we encounter it in action. In books we find Truth in black and white; but in the rush of events we see Truth at work. It is only when Truth is busy and we are ourselves mixed up in its activities that we learn to know of how much we are capable, or even the power by which these capabilities can be made over into effect." Professor Wilbur F. Jackman has well said: " Children always start with imitation, and very few people ever get beyond it. The true moral act, however, is one performed in accordance with a known law that is just as natural as the law which determines which way a stone shall fall. The individual becomes a moral being in the highest sense when he chooses to obey this law by acting in accordance with it." Conventionality is not morality, and may co-exist with vice as well as with virtue. Obedience has little permanence unless it be intelligent obedience, an obedience that finds out, by working it out, its own justification." 158 Reality and Education It is, of course, true that wrong information may lead sometimes to right action, as falsehood may secure obedience to a natural law which would otherwise have been violated. But in the long run men and nations pay dearly for every illusion they cherish. For every sick man healed at Denver or Lourdes, ten well men may be made sick. The faith cure and the patent medicine feed on the same victim. For every Schlatter who is worshiped as a saint, some equally harmless lunatic will be stoned as a witch. This scientific age is beset by the nonscience which its altruism has made safe. The development of the common sense of the people has given security to a vast horde of follies, which would be destroyed in the unchecked competition of life. It is the soundness of our age which has made what we call its decadence possible. It is the undercurrent of science which has given security to human life, a security which obtains for fools as well as for sages. For protection against all these follies which so quickly fall into vices, or decay into insanity, we must look to the schools. A sound recognition of cause and effect in human affairs is our best safeguard. The old common sense of the " unhighschooled man," aided by instruments of precision, and directed by logic, must be carried over into the schools. Clear thinking and clean acting, we believe, are results of the study of nature. When men have made themselves wise, in the wisdom Reality and Education 159 which may be completed in action, they have never failed to make themselves good. When men have become wise with the lore of others, the learning which ends in self, a^id does not spend itself in action, they have been neither virtuous nor happy. " Much learning is a weariness of the flesh." Thought without action ends in intense fatigue of soul, the disgust with all the " sorry scheme of things entire," which is the mark of the unwholesome philosophy of Pessimism. This philosophy finds its condemnation in the fact that it has never yet been translated into pure and helpful life. With our children, the study of words and abstractions alone may, in its degree, produce the same results. Nature-studies have long been valued as a " means of grace," because they arouse the enthusiasm, the love of work, which belongs to open-eyed youth. The child bored with moral precepts and irregular conjugations turns with delight to the unrolling of ferns and the song of birds. There is a moral training in clearness and tangibility. An occult impulse to vice is hidden in all vagueness and in all teaching meant to be heard, but not to be understood. Carelessness in knowledge leads to carelessness in conduct. Nature is never obscure, never occult, never esoteric. She must be questioned in earnest, else she will not reply. But to every serious question she returns a serious answer. " Simple, natural, and true," should make the impression 160 Reality and Education of simplicity and truth. Truth and virtue are but opposite sides of the same shield. As leaves pass over into flowers and flowers into fruit, so are wisdom, virtue, and happiness inseparably related. VI REALITY AND TRADITION " In all modern history, interference with science in the supposed interest of religion, no matter how conscientious such interference may have been, has resulted in the direst evils to religion and to science, and invariably. And on the other hand, all untrammeled scientific investigation, no matter how dangerous to religion some of its stages may have seemed for the time, has invariably resulted in the highest good both of religion and of science." ANDREW DICKSON WHITE. EACH man is the center of his own world. In his secret heart he believes himself a child of luck. If his affairs go persistently to the bad, he is, in his own estimation at least, persecuted by fortune. He is always in his own foreground, the object of special favor or of special malice. As each individual thus feels himself the object of attention from mysterious unseen powers, so with human society. In all the ages, men have found a mystic or divine warrant for their collective actions, whatever these may be. On this warrant, institutions have been built up. Those institutions that survive gather to themselves an ever-increasing authority. This is a divine warrant so far as it goes. For all such authority must, in the main, 161 1 62 Reality and Tradition rest on man's needs. There must be reality in these needs, else the institutions would not have so long persisted. Thus, should every fragment of the historic churches of Christendom disappear, every memory, every ceremony, every trace of creed or form, the church would rise again, renewed as to all of its essentials. Around these essentials nonessentials would accumulate, like driftwood on a lee shore. With each variant race of man, there would be a corresponding variation in the external features of the church. Monarchy, in turn, exists by the same divine right. It is workable in a degree, and thus it persists. By the same divine right it is claimed that the wheelbarrow also persists. This is also workable in its degree and for its own purpose. When monarchy fails, the same divinity that hedged the king sustains the rights of the people. The king was God's anointed, so long as the people were content. But when " God said, * I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more,' " the self-rule of the people acquired the same divine right. The power belongs to whoever can use it. We know God's purposes only by what he permits. That which exists as if in the nature of things, that which proclaims itself as powerful, men have worshiped as divine. This is especially true if origin and relations have been dimly understood. The force felt in the darkness has been the fittest object of worship. To worship a god built visibly of a block of wood has never apReality and Tradition 163 pealed to strong men. It is the hidden force invisible, even in stone, before which men bow. It has been plain to man in all ages that he is surrounded by forces stronger than himself, invisible and intangible, inscrutable in their real nature, but terribly potent to produce results. As the human will seems capricious because the springs of volition are hidden from observation, so to the unknown will that limits our own we ascribe an infinite caprice. All races of men capable of abstract thought have believed in the existence of something outside themselves whose power is without human limitations. Through the imagination of poets the forces of nature become personified. In primitive logic the existence of power demands corresponding will. The power is infinitely greater than ours; the sources of its action inscrutable; hence man has conceived the unknown first cause as an infinite and unconditioned man. Anthropomorphism in some degree is inevitable, because each man must think in terms of his own experience. Into his own personal universe, all that he knows must come. Recognition of the hidden but gigantic forces in nature leads men to fear and to worship them. To think of them either in fear or in worship is to give them human forms. About the perceptions of things formed in his own brain, each man builds up his own subjective or self-centered universe. Each accretion of knowledge must be cast more or less directly in terms of previous experience. By proc164 Reality and Tradition esses of suggestion and conventionality the ideas of the individual become assimilated to those of the multitude. Men are gregarious creatures, and their speech gives them the power to add to their own individual experiences the concepts and experiences of others. Suggestion and conventionality play a large part in the mental equipment of the individual man. Thus myths arise to account for phenomena not clearly within the ordinary experiences of life. And in all mythology the unknown is ascribed not to natural forces, but to the quasi-personal action of powers that transcend nature, powers that lie outside the domain of the familiar and the real. Primitive man finds this interpretation satisfactory, and he holds it as true. Cause and effect for him are conceptions of vaguely personal influence and personal response. His interests, his undertakings, his imaginings, and hopes, slowly and uncertainly develop to a form and magnitude which these conceptions cannot manage. When man can no longer accept the answers which the use of these conceptions brings the age of science has set in. It is the mission of science so far as it goes to place man in more and more satisfactory working relations with the real nature of the universe. By methods of precision of thought and by instruments of precision of observation and experiment, science seeks to make our knowledge of the small, the distant, the invisible, the mysterious, the mighty, as accurate, as practical, as our knowledge of common Reality and Tradition 165 things. Moreover, it seeks to make our knowledge of common things also accurate and precise, that this accuracy and precision may be translated into more effective action. For the ultimate end of science as well as its initial impulse is the regulation of human conduct. Seeing true means thinking right. Right thinking means right action. Greater precision in action makes higher civilization possible. But the progress of science is slow. It must overcome powerful resistance. The social instincts of primitive man tend to crystallize in institutions even his common hopes and fears. An institution implies a division of labor. Hence, in each age and in each race men have set apart certain of their fellows as representatives of these hidden forces, devoted them to the propitiation of these forces. These men are thus commissioned to speak in the name of each god that the people worship, or of each demon the people dread. The existence of each cult of priests is bound up in the perpetuation of the mysteries and traditions assigned to its care. These traditions are linked with other traditions and with other mystic explanations of uncomprehended phenomena. While human theories of the sun, the stars, the clouds, of earthquakes, storms, comets, and disease, have no direct relation to the feeling of worship, they cannot be disentangled from it. The uncomprehended, the unfamiliar, and the supernatural are one and the same in the untrained 1 66 Reality and Tradition human mind; and one set of prejudices cannot be dissociated from the others. To the ideas acquired in youth we attach a sort of sacredness. For the course of action we follow we are prone to claim some kind of mystic sanction ; and this mystic sanction applies not only to acts of virtue and devotion, but to the most unimportant rites and ceremonies. In theje we resent changes with the full force of such conservatism as we possess. New ideas, without the sanction of tradition, whatever the nature of their source, must struggle for acceptance. To the scientific notions of our childhood we cling with special persistence, because they are associated with our conception of right doing and of the motives which control it. Both are part of the mental universe we built around us in our youth, and one in which we would not willingly make changes or extensions. Much that we have called religion is merely the debris of our grandfather's science. In history the struggle of knowledge drawn from present and significant realities, against tradition and prejudice drawn from past realities, has assumed the form of a war of science with religion. Not that religion is bound up in the preservation of error, but that men have bolstered up their traditional opinions with the consensus of society, and this fact has appeared as a religious sanction. Thus the history of the progress of knowledge has been a record of physical resistance of organized society Reality and Tradition 167 to new ideas drawn from the deeper experience and the bolder aspiration of men. " By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track." He who sees that the world does move is burned at the stake, that other men may be convinced of the earth's stability. He who is sure that granite rock was once melted finds social pressure against him when he would make known the results of his observations. He who would give the sacred books of our civilization the faithful scrutiny their vast importance deserves, finds the doors of libraries and universities closed to his research. He who has seen the relation of man to his brother animals, finds the air filled with the vain chatter of those to whom whatever is natural seems only profane. " Extinguished theologians," Huxley tells us, " lie about the cradle of every science as the strangled snakes beside that of the infant Hercules." But this, again, is not the whole story. All these are only incidents natural to human development. Not only theologians lie strangled about the cradle of the infant giant, but learned men of all classes and conditions. Learning and wisdom are not identical; they are not always on speaking terms. Learning looks backward to the past. The word " learn " involves the existence of some man as teacher. Wisdom looks forward to the future. In so far as science is genuine, it is of the nature of wisdom. " To come in when it rains " is the beginning of the science of meteorology. " The soul 1 68 Reality and Tradition that sinneth, it shall die," is the practical basis of the science of personal ethics. To be wise is to be ready to act ; but learning as such in all the ages has condemned wisdom and despised action. The development of all science has been a constant struggle, a struggle of reality against superstition, of instant impressions against traditional interpretations, of truth against " make-believe," of investigation against opinion. Investigation once enthroned as science must meet again insurgent opinion, and the recrudescence of ancient folly. For men are prone to trust a theory rather than a fact; a fact is a single point of contact; a theory or a tradition is a circle made of an infinite number of points, none of them, however, it may be, real or permanently significant. The warfare of science is, however, not primarily, as Draper has called it, a conflict with religion, nor even, as President White would have it, a struggle with " dogmatic theology." It is all of these, but it is more than these a conflict of tendencies in the human mind which has worked itself out into history. The great crises of history in general are rehearsed in the minds of men before they appear on the stage of the world. This issue is settled in psychology before it appears in history. In the affairs of life most of us, of necessity, perform deeds and recite sentences " written for us generations before we were born." " He hath his exits and his entrances." He is a rare man who can add a new Reality and Tradition 169 meaning to his lines or give a better one to him that follows. For it may take a lifetime of the severest labor to find out a new fact. No truth comes to man unless he asks for it. It needs years of patience and devotion to ask a genuinely and radically new question. He is already a master in science who can suggest a new experiment. The history of the progress of science is written in human psychology before it appears in human records. In the mind of the discoverer and in the minds of those who antagonize his discovery, the strife is on. It is the struggle of the few realities or present senseimpressions against the multitude of past impressions, with their suggestions and explanations. The struggle between science and theology has resulted only because theological misconceptions were entangled with crude notions of other sorts. In the experience of a single human life there is little to correct even the crudest of theological conceptions. From the supposed greater importance of religious opinions in determining the fate of men and nations, theological ideas have dominated all others throughout the ages. Therefore, in the nature of things, the great religious bodies have formed the stronghold of conservatism against which the separated bands of science have hurled themselves, long seemingly in vain. From some phase of the " warfare of science " no individual is exempt. In some one line, at least, every lofty mind throughout the ages has demanded 170 Reality and Tradition access to the freedom of objective reality, the right to question in his own way the empirical world of individual real things. More and more through the ages, men in our day have learned to trust a present fact, or group of facts, however contradictory its teachings, as opposed to tradition and opinion. From this increasing trust, keeping pace with the development of men's practical needs and theoretical interests, the great fabric of modern science has been built up. There is no better antidote to bigotry than the study of the growth of knowledge. There is no chapter in history more encouraging than that which treats of the growth of openmindedness. The study of this history leads religious men to shun intolerance in the present, through a knowledge of the evils intolerance has wrought in the past. Men of science are spurred to more earnest work by the record that through the ages objective truth has been the final test of all theories and conceptions. All men will work more sanely and more effectively as they realize that no good to religion or science comes from trying " to please God with a lie." The progress of science has been a struggle of thinkers, observers, and experimenters against the dominant forces of society. It has been a continuous battle, in which the side that seems weakest is, in the long run, winner, having the strength of the universe behind. It has been incidentally a conflict of earth-born knowledge with opinions of men Reality and Tradition 171 sanctioned by religion; of present fact with preestablished system; visibly a warfare between inductive thought and dogmatic theology. But the real struggle lies deeper than this. It is the effort of the human mind to relate itself to realities in the midst of traditions and superstitions, to realize that Nature never contradict? herself, is always complex, but never mysterious. As a final result all past systems of philosophy, if not all possible systems, have been thrown back into the realm of literature, of poetry. They can no longer dogmatically control the life of action, each forward step of which must take its departure from present aim and present fact. In the warfare of tradition against science the real and timely in act and motive has striven to replace the unreal and the obsolete. Men have very slowly learned that the true glory of life lies in its wise conduct, in the daily act of love and helpfulness, not in the vagaries fostered by the priest nor in the spasms of madness which are the pride of the spirit of war. To live here and now as a man should live constitutes the ethics of science. This ideal has been in constant antithesis to the ethics of ecclesiasticism, of asceticism, and of militarism, as well as to the fancies of the various groups of " intellectual malcontents to whom the progress of science seems slow and laborious." Science is human experience of contact with real things tested, set in order, and expressed in terms 172 Reality and Tradition of other human experience. Utilitarian science is that part of knowledge a man can use in the affairs of life. What is pure science to one may be applied science to another. The investigation of the laws of heredity may be strictly academic to us of the university, but they are rigidly utilitarian as related to the preservation of the nation or to the breeding of pigs. Pure science and utilitarian science merge into each other at every point. They are one and the same thing in logical framework and in basal conceptions. Every new truth can be used to enlarge human power or to alleviate human suffering. There is no fact so remote as to have no possible bearing on human utility. Applied science is pure science before it is applied. Pure science is pure not in an impossible transcendence of all application, but in its impartial availability for any desired application. To apply science to human needs is to utilize it as well as to lend it verification. Every new truth of science may fall into the grasp of that higher philanthropy which considers the highest as well as the lowest in the well-being of man. Science is the flower of human altruism. No worker in science can stand alone. None counts for much who tries to do so. He must enter into the work of others. He must fit his thought to theirs. He must stand on the shoulders of the past, if he is to look far into the future. The past has granted its assistance to the fullest degree of the most perfect altruism. The Reality and Tradition 173 future will not refuse its own co-operation, and, in return, whatever knowledge it can take for human uses, it will choose in untrammeled freedom. The sole line which sets off utilitarian science lies in the limitation of human strength and of human life. The single life must be given to a narrow field, to a single strand of truth, following it wherever it may lead. Some must teach, some must investigate, some must adapt to human uses. It is not often that these functions can be united in the same individual. It is not necessary that they should be united; for art is long, though life is short, and time is fleeting. I have said before that in matters not presently vital to action, the exactness and pertinence of knowledge loses its importance. Any tradition, as any other kind of belief, may be safe, if we do not place upon it the weight of action. It is perfectly safe, in the ordinary affairs of life, for one who does not propose to trust himself to his convictions to believe in witches and lucky stones, imps and elves, astral bodies and odic forces. Thus, also, one may believe in the right of the present heir of the Stuarts to the throne of England. He may believe in Feudalism, in the patristic miracles or in the apotheosis of Roman Emperors. It is quite as consistent with ordinary living to accept these as objective realities as it is to have the vague faith in microbes and molecules, mahatmas and protoplasm, protective tariffs and manifest destiny, which 174 Reality and Tradition forms part of the mental outfit of the average American citizen of to-day. Unless these conceptions are to be brought into terms of personal experience, unless in some degree we are to trust our lives to them, unless they are to be wrought into action, they are irrelevant to the conduct of life. Unless in some way we propose to act upon them, we are not really holding them as articles of faith. When they are tested by action, the truth in tradition, as in other conception, is separated from the falsehood, and the error involved in antiquated or vague or silly ideas becomes manifest. As one comes to handle microbes, they become as real as bullets or oranges, and as susceptible of being known or measured or photographed. Thus one may test and prove the truth of the lesson of the Book of Job, that of the Ten Commandments, that of the law of eminent domain. But the astral body touches no reality, and ghosts vanish before the electric light. " The world as it is," or, rather, the world as it is to us, is the province of science. " The God of the things as they are " is the God of the highest heaven. "Of the things as they are " to us, we mean, for we can know no other things, nor any things in any other way. And as, to the sane man, the world, as it is, is glorious, beautiful, harmonious, and divine, so will science more and more rise to be the inspiration of art, of poetry, and of religion. We stand on the threshold of a new century; a century of science; a century whose discoveries of reality Reality and Tradition 175 shall far outweigh those of all centuries which have preceded it; a century whose glories even the most conservative of scientific men dare not try to forecast. And this twentieth century is but one the least, most likely of the many centuries crowding to take their place in the development of human knowledge. Each century will behold a great increase of precision in each branch of human knowledge, a great widening of the horizon of human thought, a great improvement in the conditions of human life, as enlightened purpose, intelligence, and precision rise to be more and more controlling factors in human action. The truth we need is the truth we can use in our affairs. The life of action verifies and validates the world of realities. For " we are men " after all, says Fonsegrive, " and not gods. We know the whole of nothing, but we know something. 'Tis but little no doubt, but this little suffices for our purposes." INDEX Absolute truth, 8 Acceptability not an index of truth, u Acquired characters, 87; inheritance of, 81 Adaptation, 47 Agassiz, 114, 136 Albinus, on the divining rod, 140 Alchemy, 129 Anthropomorphism, 163 Applied science, 172 Articles of Monistic Faith, 73 Atmospheria, lords of, 113 Attention, 149 Authority, 161 Bacon, on votive offerings, 120 Balfour, on belief, 36; on claims of senses, 26; on doubt, 35 ; on life in a dimly lighted room, 28; on " the sun gives light," 30 Belief, 42, 43 ; and makebelieve, 86; in unverifiable hypotheses, 85 Bergson, on Creative Evolution, 47 ; on the Intellect, 44 Bierce, on snake charming, 99 Blood, on wildness of the universe, 70 Borderland of spirit, 37 Boundary Fisheries, 17 Bradley, on the universe, 69 Brooks, on Vitalism, 73 B rough, on the divining rod, 140 Bryan, on truth in cerebral psychology, 92 Burbank, and plant creation, 107 Carbon, maker of Life, 74 Cause and effect, 60 Cheerfulness, makes for health, 120 Chemism, 75 Chesterton, on Creeds, 43 Circumstance as a Strong God, 39 Colburn, on rival philosophies, 89 Comet shriek, 104 Common Sense, 60 Conduct of Life, 61 Cordilleras, section of, 41 Creeds, 42 Cures at Lourdes, 124 Cuvier, 114 Darwin, on circumnutation, 49 Death, result of disobedience, 52 Decadence made safe by science, 158 Delusion, 5, 98 Democracy, a laboratory of citizenship, 156 Denver, saint of, 118 Desmarest on volcanic action, 88 Ding an sich, 5, 29 Disease, meaning of, 118 Divine right, 162 Divining rods, 101, 141, 142 177 178 Index Dominion, roots of, 155 Dramatic tone in science, 42 Draper, on warfare of science, 168 Dream pictures, 20 Dresslar, on rabbit's foot, 133; on superstition, 134, 135 Driesch, on vital force, 74 Emerson, on law, 134; on pretense of belief, 80; on short cuts to truth, 88 Equal Access, law of, 114 Etolin and the red salmon, 109 Evolution, orderly change, 47 Evolutionary unity of chemical elements, 76 Evolutionary unity of Life, 76,78 Fall of Leaf, 72 Falsehood kills, 21 Ferguson, on justice of universe, 69 Flagellantes, 121 Flower in the crannied wall, 4i Fonsegrive, on limits of knowledge, 3 ; on men who are not gods, 175 Force unconditioned, in Foreordination, 71 Fouillee, on universe as a broken mirror, 71 Foundations of belief, 36 Franklin, on Methusalem, 129 Franklin, W. S., on meaning of Physics, 34 Galton, 87 Gaseous Vertebrate, belief in, 36 Germs of truth, 22 Giard, on indirect approaches to knowledge, 65 Gladstone, on belief, 86 Goblins, non-existence of, 3 God, goodness and severity of, 41 God of things as they are, 175 Haeckel, on articles of faith, 86; on carbon, 74; as dogmatist, 90; on the gaseous vertebrate, 36; on Monism, 72 Havens, on unconditioned force, no Hegel, on Monism, 66 Hermanos Penitentes, 121 History repeating itself, almost, never quite, 71 Homoousion or Homoiousion, 84 Hooson, on divining rod, 140 Huxley, 86; on the Infant Hercules, 167; on truth, 96 Hyperaesthesia, 57 Ibsen, on longevity of truth, 96 Idol, magic power of, 113 Illusion, 5, 98 Illusions of brandy, 99 Impulses point backward, 53 Innate Ideas, 27 Intelligence unlimited, 40 Irritability, 49 Jackman, on moral training, 157 James, on Greek Ideal in Philosophy, 65 ; on truth, 97; on the Purpose of the Absolute, 69; on Rational Unity, 67 ; on sharpness of ideas, 95 ; on True ideas, 25 ; on the unfinished Universe, 67; on unreal belief, 82, 83 Jesus, religion of, 50 John's John, 31 Josh Billings, on untrue knowledge, 95 Judge, on illusions of matter, 122 Index 179 Kant, on Monism, 66 Kelvin, on size of molecules, 80 Knowledge, as power, 19; as weariness, 55 Latent Oxygen, 141 Learning looks backward, 167 Life in inert matter, 132 Lineage relatively good, 55 Livableness, test of truth, 4, II, 12 Logical necessity, 88 Lombroso, on Paladino, 125 Lourdes, 123 Luther, on innate ideas, 27 Make-believe and belief, 86 Man, an alliance of zooids, 32; a shifting alliance of cells, 32 Mares, on Lourdes, 123 Matter and force identical, 75 Matter and mind, 122 Mechanism, 73 Medicine men, 128 Memory, 148 Mesmer, on magnetism, 128 Methusalem, his fondness for pure air, 129 Mind and matter, 122 Mind controlling matter, 107 Minot, on scientific medicine, 135 Monarchy, 162 Monism, 65, 66 Moral training, 150 Mormonism, 50 Motion of trains, 09 Mystic sanctions, 161, 166 Mythology, 163 Natural selection, 47 Nature study, 143, 159 Nervous system, 146; and locomotion, 7 Nihil nemini nocet, 84 Oahspe, 113 Obedience, as adaptation, 52 Objective impressions, 5 Objective truth, 97 Odin and the golden mead, 107 Organisms as links in chain of life, 52 Orientation, 151 Ostwald, on results of belief, 82, 83 Pain a signal, 61 Paladino, Eusapia, 125 Pantheism, 85 Parasilenic Telegraph, 105 Parkhurst, on the world as an university, 157 Partial knowledge true so far as it goes, 10 Peirce, on belief, 95 ; on elusive ideas, 95 Pessimism, 51 Philosophic doubt, 35, 60 Philosophy, purpose of, 42, 45 Planets, course of, 10, 103 Plants as sessile animals, 49 Pluralism, 82 Poverty, abolition of, 117 Practicality of senses, 57 Pretending to know, 62 Progressive evolution, 8l Pure science, 172 Rabbit's foot as a charm, 132 Rainmaking, in Rational unity of all things, 67 Raymond, on divining rod, 140 Realities adequate to needs, 7 Reality, and the Conduct of Life, 47; and education, 143 ; and illusion, 95 ; its meaning, 5 ; and Monism, 65; objective origin, 38; and science, 3; subjective element in, 38; to be overi8o Index come, not dodged, 120; and tradition, 161 Reason, a choice among responses, 30; its limits, 29 Recrudescence of superstition, 56 Red Salmon, run of, 109 Reincarnation, 12, 130 Religion holding to debris of science, 166 Riley, on goblins, 3 Ritter, on non-science, 92 Rontgen rays, 125 Roses and poppies; their color, 29 Royce, on the Universe, 69 Science, her cast-off impedimenta, 93 ; and non-science, 135 ; stops where facts stop, 91 ; tests of, 137 Scientific induction, 137 Scientific methods, 138 Sensation and action, 48 Senses, practicality of, 147 Shelley, on Life, 143 Silva, Madame de, magic powers of, 114 Sizing up situation, 16 Snake charming, 99 Spectroscope, 83 Spencer, on Monism, 66 Spontaneous Generation, 74, 78 Stuart, on hidden conditions, 28; on Monism, 66 Subjective dangers harmless, 61 Subjective impressions, 5 Suburban booms, 112 Sun, eclipse of, 100 Supreme Being feeling his way, 71 Swinburne, lack of belief, 43 Symbolism of Eucharist, 84 Taine, on Activity of Parisians, 98 Teacups, Sciosophy of, 36 Telepathy, 105 Tradition, 165 Transmutation of metals, 77 Treasures buried, 101 Tropism, 48 Truth, its final test, 4; its meaning, 96; shown by effective action, 17; statement of, 6; tested by safety, 59; and virtue related, 160 Undigested words, 154 Universe as a "going concern," 70; as unreturning, 71 Universe, its vastness, 13 Venus, transit of, 100 Veracity of thought and action, 54 Virtue, 24 Vital force, 33 Vitalism, 73 Voltaire, on Divination, 141 ; on divining the future, 71 Votive offerings, 120 Wallace, on evolution of mind, 89 Warfare of reality against tradition, 166 Warfare of science, 169 Weismann, 87 White, A. D., on interference with science, 161 ; on warfare of science, 168 White, W. A., 70 Wisdom, 24; looks forward, 167 Wong Chang, magic power of, 114 THE AMERICAN NATURE SERIES In the hope of doing something toward furnishing a series where the nature-lover can surely find a readable book of high authority, the publishers of the American Science Series have begun the publication of the American Nature Series. It is the intention that in its own way, the new series shall stand on a par with its famous predecessor. The primary object of the new series is to answer questions which the contemplation of Nature is constantly arousing in the mind of the unscientific intelligent person. But a collateral object will be to give some intelligent notion of the "causes of things." While the cooperation of foreign scholars will not be declined, the books will be under the guarantee of American experts, and generally from the American point of view; and where material crowds space, preference will be given to American facts over others of not more than equal interest. The series will be in six divisions : I. NATURAL HISTORY This division will consist of two sections. Section A. A large popular Natural History in several volumes, with the topics treated in due proportion, by authors of unquestioned authority. 8vo, 7^x10^ in. The books sofarpublisht in this section are: FISHES, by DAVID STARR JORDAN, President of the Leland Stanford Junior University. $6.00 net; carriage extra. AMERICAN INSECTS, by VERNON L. KELLOGG, Professor in the Leland Stanford Junior University. $5.00 net; carriage extra. BIRDS OF THE WORLD. A popular account by FRANK H. 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THE POETIC OLD-WORLD THE POETIC NEWWORLD Compiled by Miss L. H. HUMPHREY. i6mo. Cloth, $1.50 each ; leather, $2.50 each. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK. ^~W^A^ tCeLx^fej^ju-** *~*iir*~* . UCSB LIBRAR/ ..! .5?^. REGIONAL LIBRARY FA THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES PROFESSOR JOHN ELOF BOODIN MEMORIAL PHILOSOPHY COLLECTION DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY C. DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY TRUTH ON TRIAL AN EXPOSITION OF THE NATURE OF TRUTH PRECEDED BY A CRITIQUE OF PRAGMATISM AND AN APPRECIATION OF ITS LEADER BY PAUL CARUS Tlavruv fiirpov a aM? av6p&7rov ftirpov TO "Ev ncuflav. CHICAGO THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY LONDON AGENTS KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD. 1911 DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY COPYRIGHT BY THE OPEN COURT PUB. CO. 1911 B 83L2, CV TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE PROLOGUE. Truth I PRAGMATISM. The Meaning of the Word 4 The Pragmatist's Conception of Truth 5 The Useful Lie 7 Truth Compared to Cash Value 8 The Objective Significance of Truth n Truth Made or Found ? 12 Oneness and Reason 13 The Mind of the Universe 15 Time and Space 17 Love of Facts and Mysticism 19 Misunderstood 21 Temperamental Philosophy 25 The Plasticity of Truth 27 Ptolemy and Copernicus 28 Euclid and Aristotle 30 Materialism and Spiritualism 31 Religious Problems 33 Mr. Charles S. Peirce's Tychism 36 The Enemies of Pragmatism 37 The Philosophy of Tolerance 40 The Leader of the Pragmatist Movement 42 THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. The Importance of Personal Equation 46 Personal Equation at Fault 48 The Elimination of the Subjective Element 49 1821622 ; DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY 631 IV TRUTH ON TRIAL. PAOB The Objectivity of Science 51 The Supremacy of the Intellect 52 Inconsistency in Definition 53 Truth as an Idea that Works Satisfactorily 55 A Lie that Works Satisfactorily 56 Truth as Objects Believed In 57 The Fixation of Belief 58 Truth as a Feeling 60 How a Lie Develops Into a Truth 61 An Old Truth Carried Too Far 63 THE ROCK OF AGES. A Pluralistic View of Science 65 Method the Essential Feature of Science 66 Theories and Truths 68 The Law of Causation 70 Points of Reference 72 The Stability of Truth 73 System the Aim of Science 74 Stating a Truth and Telling the Truth 76 THE NATURE OF TRUTH. The Word "Truth" in European Languages 78 The Hebrew, the Egyptian and the Chinese Notions of Truth. . 81 A Description of the Nature of Truth 84 The Philosophers of Classical Antiquity 86 Christianity and the Doctrine of Two Truths 89 Modern Thinkers 92 Truth and Mind 96 Sense Perceptions and Hallucinations 98 Universals and Their Correlates 100 The Oneness of All Truths 104 CONCLUSION no AN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. A German Critic of Pragmatism 113 Pragmatism, a Teleological View 115 Utility as a Criterion of Truth 117 Protagoras Redivivus 1 18 The Supremacy of the Will 119 TABLE OF CONTENTS. V PAGl Kant's Opinion of Pragmatism 120 Contrasts Reconciled 121 Professor Stein on Pragmatism 123 Critics of Pragmatism Rebuked 126 Science Superseded 128 Often Wrong But Never Dull 129 TO THE MEMORY OF PROFESSOR WILLIAM JAMES WHO WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS PUT TRUTH ON TRIAL AND BY HIS VERY ERRORS ADVANCED THE CAUSE OF TRUTH THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED IN FRIENDLY REMEMBRANCE OF COURTESIES EXCHANGED IN SPITE OF RADICAL DIFFERENCE OF OPINION A PROLOGUE ON TRUTH. * Hdvrwv perpov d\X' avOpu-rrov p.irpov rt> "Ev Kal Hav. TRULY, the measure of all things is Man ; But Man is measured by the One and All. Man is a microcosm, and he grows Unto the stature of full manhood, only When to the One and All his soul responds. There is a gauge that measures man, a norm By which the truth that's in him must be tested. 'T is the Eternal in the change of time, It is the Law, the Uniformity, It is the One in this great All, 't is God I Mind you, 't is Man, not men, that measures things; Not I, nor you, nor any other being; Man only, Man alone. And what is Man ? Man is the type of Mankind, men's ideal; Yea, men's ideal! Are ideals sham? Deem ye that only things concrete are true ? O, learn to prize the power of ideals Which more efficient is than Nature's forces And stronger far than footpound-energy. * Reprinted from The Monist, Jan. 1910. TRUTH ON TRIAL. Ideals are the factors of man's life ; They are no vain illusions, they are real, Nay, super real. Yea, they are Man's guides ; And they, like guardian angels, help him find The pre-determined goal of cosmic life. Man, the ideal, is no transient thing : He is the cosmic law assuming flesh, The norm of being in a creature's garb, An incarnation of the Deity, Of that All-One which shapes and moulds the world, Which manifests itself in motes and stars, And thrills through all their uniformities. 'T is Man, not men, in whom the glory dwells Of the great One in All, the Man of Truth. "Truth changes," sayest thou, and thou art right, E'en man himself is changing with his truth. Both change! for nothing is at rest In this corporeal world of flux. And yet Things transient mirror the Etern which always Keeps faith unto itself and its own law. Truth changes as our knowledge broader grows, As science gains in depth and definition; But verily the new and broader Truth Will never call the older Truth a lie, For lo! it is the selfsame older Truth As from a higher standpoint it appears, And all the truths are ultimately one. Truth is beheld by mind, and not by sense. 'T is not a thing which merchants keep in store, 'T is no commodity which we possess. Truth is a superhuman power, and A PROLOGUE ON TRUTH. 3 From generation unto generation Truth marches on, unfolding and revealing The wondrous mysteries of cosmic life. Truth is too great that ever it be final. Knowledge expandeth, and the work of science Can never be completed, never finished. One goal attained entails still further tasks, And so before our raptured vision stretches The promised land of vistas infinite. Truth is no child of human superstition; It is no idol, nor an errant light, 'T is not an ignis fatuus, no comet. Truth is God's clearest, highest revelation. In life Truth serves us as our guiding star, And like the sailor's compass on high seas. It draws us gently onward, step by step, With duly well prescribed approximations, On its own path in definite direction. Truth is life's factor and determinant, And we are workers in Truth's noble cause. We yearn for Truth, we need its light ; and Truth Enters our Soul; it takes abode in us, And consecrates our lives to higher service. Not we own Truth, 't is Truth that owneth us. Search for the Truth ! Truth's problems are not vain. Love thou the Truth ! trust Truth, and live the Truth ! Walk on Truth's path and Truth will guide thee right. PRAGMATISM. * THE MEANING OF THE WORD. PRAGMATISM is a new philosophical movement, but the word "pragmatic" 1 from which the term is derived has been in existence for more than two thousand years. In ancient Greece it meant "businesslike, practical, or ready for action" ; it was applied to lawyers, statesmen and soldiers. In Rome the adjective practicus became a noun and denoted an attorney or legal adviser, and a man who gave points to orators ; we might translate it by "practitioner of law." An imperial edict was called pragmatica jussio, and a decree in state affairs that should be regarded as inviolate, pragmatica sanctio. The best known pragmatic sanction of history is the pact which Emperor Charles VI made with the European powers to recognize the succession of his daughter Maria Theresa to the throne of all the possessions of the house of Hapsburg, in the absence of male heirs. In philosophical language Kant used the word "pragmatic" in the sense of "prudent," meaning thereby a mode of action by which a purpose might be attained. In the middle of the nineteenth century it was customary in Germany to speak of pragmatic historiography* by which term was meant a description of historic events in their causal connection, and under Bismarck's regime * Republished from The Monist, July, 1908. 1 Pragmatische Geschichtschreibung. PRAGMATISM. 5 "pragmatic politics" denoted a policy which was bent on success without regard to principle. THE PRAGMATIST'S CONCEPTION OF TRUTH. Pragmatism in philosophy is of recent date and what it means is best stated in the words of the late Professor William James of Harvard, who says on page 46 of his work on Pragmatism: 3 "The term is derived from the same Greek word wpay/ua, meaning action, from which our words 'practice' and 'practical' come. It was first introduced into philosophy by Mr. Charles Peirce in 1878. In an article entitled 'How to Make Our Ideas Clear,' in the Popular Science Monthly for January of that year Mr. Peirce, after pointing out that our beliefs are really rules for action, said that, to develop a thought's meaning, we need only determine what conduct it is fitted to produce: that conduct is for us its sole significance. And the tangible fact at the root of all our thoughtdistinctions, however subtle, is that there is no one of them so fine as to consist in anything but a possible difference of practice. To attain perfect clearness in our thoughts of an object, then, we need only consider what conceivable effects of a practical kind the object may involve what sensations we are to expect from it, and what reactions we must prepare. Our conception of these effects, whether immediate or remote, is then for us the whole of our conception of the object, so far as that conception has positive significance at all." The statement of Mr. Charles S. Peirce, "that our beliefs are really rules for action," is an explanation, not a principle, and the explanation is made so that we may rightly understand the nature of belief. Beliefs are never held at random; they serve a purpose and the purpose of a belief is ultimately to insure a definite line of conduct. It is not probable that any one would take exception to this. Professor James, however, goes beyond the original meaning of the term by changing the statement of fact into a principle, and he applies it to his conception of truth. ' New York : Longmans, Green & Co., 19x17. 6 TRUTH ON TRIAL. Let us see what he makes of it. We read on page 76 an italicized definition of truth: "The true is the name of whatever proves itself to be good in the way of belief, and good, too, for definite, assignable reasons." Professor James seems to outdo Bentham's utilitarianism. He continues : "If there were no good for life in true ideas, or if the knowledge of them were positively disadvantageous and false ideas the only useful ones, then the current notion that truth is divine and precious, and its pursuit a duty, could never have grown up or become a dogma. In a world like that, our duty would be to shun truth, rather. But in this world, just as certain foods are not only agreeable to our taste, but good for our teeth, our stomach, and our tissues; so certain ideas are not only agreeable to think about, or agreeable as supporting other ideas that we are fond of, but they are also helpful in life's practical struggles." We grant that in the long run truth will always be the best, but for that reason we deem it rash to identify "the true" with "whatever proves itself to be good in the way of belief." Certain foods are agreeable to our taste and good for our teeth, but obnoxious to our health; can we then identify what is wholesome with what is palatable? So there may be certain ideas "good for definite, assignable reasons," but they need not on that account be true. Professor James's definition of truth is reiterated in various ways. On page 77 we are told: " 'What would be better for us to believe' ! This sounds very like a definition of truth. It comes very near to saying 'what we ought to believe' : and in that definition none of you would find any oddity. "Ought we ever not to believe what it is better for us to believe ? And can we then keep the notion of what is better for us, and what is true for us, permanently apart? Pragmatism says no, and I fully agree with her." In the chapter entitled "The Action of Truth" we read on p. 20 1 another italicized definition of the same kind: PRAGMATISM. "True ideas are those that we can assimilate, validate, corroborate and verify. False ideas are those that we can not. That is the practical difference it makes to us to have true ideas; that, therefore, is the meaning of truth, for it is all that truth is known-as." THE USEFUL LIE. Science rests upon the supposition that a statement once actually proved to be true remains true, while utility is subject to change. Professor James says of truth (p. 204) : "You can say of it then either that 'it is useful because it is true' or that 'it is true because it is useful/ Both these phrases mean exactly the same thing, namely that here is an idea that gets fulfilled and can be verified." What of a useful lie ? It accomplishes its purpose, for it will bring help in a dilemma. The Cynic's Calendar thus substitutes the word "lie" in the familiar proverb, saying, "A lie in time saves nine." Perhaps the liar knows that a lie goes only a little way, but it may go far enough to suit his purpose. And what of that villainous maxim to force a belief upon people who are unwilling to accept it? Has not the Inquisition succeeded in keeping Spain under the influence of Rome down to our own day ? Was not the night of Bartholomew a success ? The Huguenots have been swept out of France and are even to-day but a small minority. Was not the Reformation suppressed by foul means in Bohemia, when at the time of the Hussite movement it seemed to be lost to the Church ? Must we be reconciled to a pragmatic policy of this kind because it works within certain limits ? It certainly paid those who acted upon this pragmatic conception of truth. Would not Professor James himself demur at this? At least I hope he would be sufficiently inconsistent, not to accept the consequences of his definitions. Even as matters are, judging from his own statements, he goes very far in his practical admissions, and he claims 8 TRUTH ON TRIAL. that for the very plasticity of its view of truth, pragmatism is at a great advantage in the religious field. If one finds it profitable to believe in God, very well, to him the existence of God is a truth. If another finds a scientific satisfaction in the non-existence of God, to him atheism is true. TRUTH COMPARED TO CASH VALUE. Professor James speaks of his definitions of truth as "the truth's cash value in experiential terms" (p. 200) ; and years ago, in 1888, in an article entitled "Cognition, Knowledge and Truth," I used the very same expression : 4 "Abstract thoughts do not on the one hand represent absolute existences, nor on the other are they mere air castles ; they are built upon the solid ground of reality. The facts of nature are specie and our abstract thoughts are bills which serve to economize the process of an exchange of thought. We must know the exact value in specie of every bill which is in our possession. And if the values of our abstract ideas are not ultimately founded upon the reality of positive facts, they are like bills or drafts for the payment of which there is no money in the bank." This looks like an agreement between his views and my own, but there seems to be an important difference, for according to Professor James, ideas are not true or untrue, they become true. He says (p. 201): "The truth of an idea is not a stagnant property inherent in it. Truth happens to an idea. It becomes true, is made true by events. Its verity is in fact an event, a process : the process namely of its verifying itself, its veri-fication. Its validity is the process of its valid-ation." This will be a puzzle to the reader until he understands the statement in the light of another passage. Professor James means that an idea must be assimilated in order to * First published in The Open Court, Vol. II, p. 1458, and reprinted in Fundamental Problems, p. 17-18. PRAGMATISM. 9 become true to us. As a psychologist he studies the origin of a conviction and identifies conviction with truth. He says : "A new opinion counts as 'true' just in proportion as it gratifies the individual's desire to assimilate the novel in his experience to his beliefs in stock. It must both lean on old truth and grasp new fact; and its success (as I said a moment ago) in doing this, is a matter for the individual's appreciation. When old truth grows, then, by new truth's addition, it is for subjective reasons. We are in the process and obey the reasons. That new idea is truest which performs most felicitously its function of satisfying our double urgency. It makes itself true, gets itself classed as true, by the way it works; grafting itself then upon the ancient body of truth, which thus grows much as a tree grows by the activity of a new layer of cambium." Must we use truth to make truth true? "An opinion" that "counts as true" or a belief that is deemed to be true and is practically applied, need not be true. To Professor James truth is not the cash value of ideas, but their actual use when put into circulation. But truth remains truth even if not exploited. The cash value of a bank deposit remains the same even when we do not invest it in profitable enterprises, and it would certainly be a mistake to identify the nature of money with the interest it will bring if invested. What is commonly understood by "truth," Professor James calls "a static relation of 'correspondence' " and denounces it as "inert." In our opinion truth may indeed be inert, just as money may lie unutilized, but pragmatism shuts its eyes to the fact and denounces the old view as an inert conception of truth : "It converts the absolutely empty notion of a static relation of 'correspondence' between our minds and reality, into that of a rich and active commerce (that any one may follow in detail and understand) between particular thoughts of ours, and the great universe of other experiences in which they play their parts and have their uses." IO TRUTH ON TRIAL. My own conception of truth is neither "empty" nor "inert," for I believe that the truth is exceedingly practical, and (like many others before me) I have most vigorously insisted upon the maxim that truth must be sought and found, not to keep it in cold storage but that we may apply it in our own lives. The truth must be lived. I have gone further; I have emphatically insisted on the principle that science, knowledge, truth, do not exist for their own sake but must prove helpful to us. I would not endorse the maxim "science for science's sake," as I said in The Soul of Man, page 361 : "The purpose of thinking is adaptation to surrounding conditions. Thought, you may object, sometimes does not end in action, but in the suppression of action. Inhibition, however, is an action also. Thought should always end in the regulation or adjustment of our behavior toward our surroundings. If it does not, it is not the right kind of thought. Thought for its own sake is a disease. If muscles contract neither for a special purpose nor for the general purpose of exercise, we call the contraction 'a cramp.' Thought for its own sake is a spasm of the brain." While I regard a scientific inquiry into irrelevant truths as useless, and while scientists can gauge the importance of a truth by its practical significance, I deem it a very slipshod method of philosophizing to identify the utility of an idea with its truth. Yet this is actually the meaning of pragmatism according to Professor James (p. 75) who says: "An idea is 'true' so long as to believe it is profitable to our lives." If pragmatism means that our philosophy must be tested by its practical application, we are all pragmatists, and for myself I would claim to be a better pragmatist than Professor James. PRAGMATISM. II THE OBJECTIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF TRUTH. Professor James is right when he means to say that truth is not an object, not a thing outside of us, and that we must distinguish between facts and truths. Facts are real, they are in themselves neither untrue nor true. Truth resides in ideas only, viz., in representations or conceptions of facts. In this sense, therefore, I also say that truth originates in us, exactly because truth is a relation, which, strange to say, is denied by Professor James. Truth originates and exists through an agreement between the idea and the reality represented. I will quote what I said on the subject years ago in an article on "The Origin of Mind" 5 : "Truth exists in thinking subjects only. Truth affirms that certain subjective representations of the objective world can be relied upon, that they are deduced from facts and agree with facts. Based upon past experience, they can be used as guides for future experience. If there were no subjective beings, no feeling and comprehending minds, there would be no truth. Facts in themselves, whether they are or are not represented in the mind of a feeling and thinking subject, are real, yet representations alone, supposing they agree with facts, are true." While truth can exist in thinking beings only, while it is subjective in its nature, we must bear in mind that it has an objective significance. The several truths are not arbitrary statements, but their character is predetermined. If we are confronted with a scientific problem, we seek a solution, and if the problem is genuine and legitimate, there will be but one solution of it that is right, all others are either false or perhaps at best approximations. The solution that is predetermined, at which all inquirers that do not go astray must arrive, is the ideal of truth, * The Monist, I, 69 ; reprinted in The Soul of Man, p. 42. 12 TRUTH ON TRIAL. and this ideal must be discovered. Nor do I hesitate to say that although truth is an idea and not a concrete thing, not a material existence, not a fact, the ideal of truth, viz., its predetermination of the solution to be obtained, is the most significant presence in the world. The identification of truth with mere workable belief is positively injurious. In limiting truth to its pragmatic significance, Professor James obliterates the most significant feature of truth. Charles S. Peirce, in the article referred to, describes most clearly the origin of belief and how an idea becomes accepted as true in the proportion in which it gratifies the individual's desire to assimilate it; it is accepted for subjective reasons and it affects our conduct in life. But in the name of logic how can we call an idea true, simply when or because it is held to be true? We grant that it appears true to those who hold it ; let us even go so far as to say that it is true to them ; but it need not for that reason be as yet really true. With all due respect for psychology we do not see why logic must needs be sacrificed in order to leave the field solely to psychology. The test of truth is its agreement with experience, not with one isolated fact or set of facts, but with all the facts of experience, and the ultimate agreement of all truths is the ideal of science. 8 TRUTH MADE OR FOUND? In spite of Professor James we insist that truth is not made by man, but must be discovered, for as we said above, the nature of truth is predetermined. Truth must be found; it is rigid and not plastic, it is independent of our likes and dislikes, and there is a pre-established harmony of all truths. Professor James does not brook truth in the singular. His "account of truth is an account of truths "This idea has been developed in an editorial article entitled "The Criterion of Truth," published in The Monist, Vol. I, No. 2, p. 229. PRAGMATISM. 13 in the plural" (p. 218), and he denounces truth in any other sense except his limited use of it. He says (pp. 64-65) : "The trail of the human serpent is thus over everything. Truth independent; truth that we find merely; truth no longer malleable to human need; truth incorrigible, in a word; such truth exists indeed superabundantly or is supposed to exist by rationalistically minded thinkers; but then it means only the dead heart of the living tree, and its being there means only that truth also has its paleontology, and its 'prescription,' and may grow stiff with years of veteran service and petrified in men's regard by sheer antiquity." Do scientists, inventors, and generally all who recognize the objective significance of truth, follow an ignis fatuus? Is it true that the laws established by science "are only a man-made language" (p. 57) ? Professor James says: "As the sciences have developed farther, the notion has gained ground that most, perhaps all, of our laws are only approximations. The laws themselves, moreover, have grown so numerous that there is no counting them; and so many rival formulations are proposed in all the branches of science that investigators have become accustomed to the notion that no theory is absolutely a transcript of reality, but that any one of them may from some point of view be useful." In common parlance the word truth contains not only the idea of the correctness of our subjective notion but also the objective condition itself. We speak for instance of the eternality of truth, meaning thereby not the man-made formulas but the laws of nature, theorems of mathematics etc., and I have on former occasions proposed to call the latter "verities," so as to enable us to distinguish between the subjective and objective elements of truth. ONENESS AND REASON. In the chapter "The One and the Many" I had hoped to find a refutation of monism, and a justification of plural14 TRUTH ON TRIAL. ism, but Professor James remains on the surface in his discussion of this contrast. Nowhere does he discover the ultimate reason of the unity which is such a powerful demand in the human mind. He seems to think that it is a question of number, not (as it actually is) of unity or consistency, and suggests that the oneness of the universe would exclude variety and multiplicity. He says: "The world is One just so far as its parts hang together by any definite connection. It is many just so far as any definite connection fails to obtain." The human mind which naturally and necessarily views the world as one, is viewed by him psychologically in its complex elements as a plurality. He says: "Our minds thus grow in spots ; and like grease-spots, the spots spread." Apparently he has never become acquainted with a justification of the monistic tendency that pervades science. He overlooks the fact that reason is a unity, and that in its gradual evolution it has developed under the influence of the principle of oneness. An explanation of the nature of reason is no easy task and would take more space than can be justified here, but I will try to state it in as few words as possible. The problem of reason is the problem of formal thought. We distinguish between the sense element in our experience and the relational or formal. The pure form of actual succession in motion is time. The pure form of thought is logic. The general rules which we derive from pure forms can be formulated in general statements which we find to be reliable norms not only for the subjective sphere of reasoning, but also in the objective domain of existence. The norms of the purely formal are the same throughout, which appears first of all in the fact that for all of us there is but one space, one time, one reason. Though metaPRAGMATISM. 15 geometricians have tampered with the conception of space, the philosophers have not dared as yet to touch time or to doubt the sameness, oneness and harmonious unity and the uniqueness of reason. I have been hoping from year to year that some one would invent a two-dimensional time,'or some supra-, infraor extra-temporal chronometry, or that a metalogician would publish a book on curved reason, or propound a pluralistic logic that would stand in contradiction to the Aristotelian logic in which the categories would not hold good, and where the law of contradiction would have no application. Here is a task worthy the efforts of the pragmatist. Perhaps Mr. Charles S. Peirce can offer additional suggestions. What glorious vistas for the philosopher of the future ! In the meantime we venture to think that so long as the unity of reason stands unchallenged, the pragmatist has no right to doubt the ultimate unity of the world. THE MIND AND THE UNIVERSE. The best justification of monism is the constitution of the human mind. Professor James himself recognizes our craving for consistency, for unity, for a harmony of all truths; and is not the human mind a product of the universe? Is not its unity as well as its need of tracing the unity of things, an echo of the unity (i. e., the harmoniousness, or consistency) in the constitution of the world? Lotze said somewhere about the mind and its relation to reality, "May not previous reality itself be there (viz., in the mind) ? ", and the passage is quoted by Professor James with approval. I would indeed say that some feature of reality exists in the mind, and it is exactly that principle of oneness which appears in reason. It is founded upon our conception of form, and the conception of form arises from our becoming conscious of the uniformities which are inseparably connected with all reality, objective l6 TRUTH ON TRIAL. as well as subjective. We reproduce the oneness, or let us rather say the universal sameness, of all form in our formulations of the norms of form and of the natural laws, and this is the condition of the oneness of reason, and of the principle of consistency so important in science and philosophy. This principle of oneness otherwise called "reason" is a feature of reality which has been developed in the mind and is a reflection only of the oneness of the universe. Of it every being is a part and into the image of it the intellect of rational beings has been molded. Near the conclusion of his chapter on "Humanism," Professor James sums up the case as follows : "The import of the difference between pragmatism and rationalism is now in sight throughout its whole extent. The essential contrast is that for rationalism reality is ready-made and complete from all eternity, while for pragmatism it is still in the making, and awaits part of its complexion from the future. On the one side the universe is absolutely secure, on the other it is still pursuing its adventures." I do not mean to defend what Professor James attacks as rationalism, but will say that in my opinion reality is a constant flux and accordingly is never ready made or complete. It is always changing in a kaleidoscopic manner. What is really complete from all eternity is the constitution of the world, and it is this constitution which is reflected in man's reason. The constitution of the world is not an unintelligible enigma, but it is the systematic unit of norms of its formal relations, and human reason is the totality of the formal relations of thought reduced to logical rules. Professor James uses the term "reality" first in the sense of the world-constitution, and then in the sense of the unstable condition of nature. If rationalism means that reality is ready made, it can only mean that the constitution of the world, the sum total of natural laws, is imPRAGMATISM. 17 mutable. If pragmatism means that reality is still in the making, he can reasonably refer only to nature with all its bodily existences the very condition of which is always instability; but in thus using his words with no definite meaning Professor James succeeds in pointing out the advantages of his philosophy and representing the views of the rationalists, the intellectualists, and the monists as utterly untenable. Professor James recognizes uniformity of nature, but it is only a general and vague idea. He says: "The general 'uniformity of nature' is presupposed by every lesser law. But nature may be only approximately uniform." TIME AND SPACE. We ought to let pragmatism swallow its own medicine and request it to become pragmatic, which means to measure values according to the practical use of things. Would it then not learn to appreciate theory, abstraction, the principle of consistency, logic and in general intellectualism and rationalism even in preference to mood, temperament, sentiment and the gratification of other purely subjective dispositions? Has not the logical faculty developed solely for the pragmatic reason that the simian brute was thereby changed into rational man? Does not the whole apparatus of abstract thought serve very practical purposes, and is it really so desirable to live in facts only and ignore all these useful implements of theory, abstraction, and generalization? Does not even monism, or rather the systematic method of reducing the plurality of our sensations to unity, serve a very practical purpose? If we had to surrender all these methods simply because they are mental constructions and artifices invented for the simplification of knowledge, because they do not possess the same reality 1 8 TRUTH ON TRIAL. as do our sensations, our sense experience, and our sentiments, would we not sink back to the level of childhood? To characterize the situation we will quote the passage on time and space on pp. 177-178: "That one Time which we all believe in and in which each event has its definite date, that one Space in which each thing has its position, these abstract notions unify the world incomparably; but in their finished shape as concepts how different they are from the loose unordered time-and-space experiences of natural men! Everything that happens to us brings its own duration and extension, and both are vaguely surrounded by a marginal 'more' that runs into the duration and extension of the next thing that comes. But we soon lose all our definite bearings; and not only do our children make no distinction between yesterday and the day before yesterday, the whole past being churned up together, but we adults still do so whenever the times are large. It is the same with spaces. On a map I distinctly see the relation of London, Constantinople, and Pekin to the place where I am; in reality I utterly fail to feel the facts which the map symbolizes. The directions and distances are vague, confused and mixed. Cosmic space and cosmic time, so far from being the intuitions that Kant said they were, are constructions as patently artificial as any that science can show. The great majority of the human race never use these notions, but live in plural times and spaces, interpenetrant and durcheinander." This passage is characteristic. Time is one and space is one; no one doubts it. Yet "our time and space experiences" are "vague, confused and mixed." When using the map Professor James "can distinctly see the relation of London, Constantinople and Pekin to the place where he is"; but he "utterly fails to see the facts which the map symbolizes." Should we not conclude then that these artificial constructions are of paramount pragmatic importance? And that the intellectualists and rationalists have not labored in vain? My conclusion points that way, and I am convinced that Professor James has misinterpreted their philosophies as much as he fails PRAGMATISM. 19 to understand Kant. Kant says that time and space are Anschauungen, which means that they are data of immediate experience as much as are the objects of sight. The translation "intuition" carries with it a mysterious and mystical meaning which is utterly absent in the German text and was absolutely foreign to Kant. 7 Considering the fact that the illiterate and the uncultured can still be found in all the continents of the earth, we will not dispute the statement, that "the great majority of the human race. . . .live in plural times and spaces, interpenetrant and durcheinander." Still we do not see what renders the notion of the oneness of time and space objectionable, and fail to appreciate the advantage of pluralism. LOVE OF FACTS AND MYSTICISM. In his dread of abstractions Professor James forgets or loses sight of the fact that man has acquired his humanity through his reason and that reason is the faculty of thinking in abstractions. We grant that abstractions that have no reference to facts are either empty and useless or even positively erroneous, but because there are wrong abstractions we can not overlook the paramount importance of abstract thought. Professor James says: "Pragmatism is uncomfortable away from facts. Rationalism is comfortable only in the presence of abstractions. This pragmatist talk about truths in the plural, about their utility and satisfactoriness, about the success with which they 'work,' etc., suggests to the typical intellectualist mind a sort of coarse lame second-rate makeshift article of truth." The pragmatist seems to adopt the principle of positivism in that he clings to facts. Sometimes it will be difficult to distinguish between facts and our interpretation of facts, but pragmatism offers no objective criterion for a distinction between the two. We read on p. 68 : T Compare the author's article "What Does Anschauung Mean ?" in The Monist, II, 527, and in Kant and Spencer, p. 33 ff. 2O TRUTH ON TRIAL. "The pragmatist clings to facts and concreteness, observes truth at its work in particular cases, and generalizes. Truth, for him, becomes a class-name for all sorts of definite working-values in experience." This might be construed as discarding everything that is not particular and concrete sense-experience; but it would be wrong to think that Professor James does not cherish a belief in some reality above the facts of sense. Indeed, his great interest in mystical phenomena proves it, and he uses a very pretty allegory to justify his belief in some superreal world which interacts with the world of sense in which we live, and yet constitutes a sphere of its own and is the product of theory. The recognition of the reality of this abstract realm is so ingenuous and it stands in such a contrast, I might almost say in contradiction, to so many of Professor James's utterances that we will quote the passage in full in order to show how Professor James justifies his eccentric excursions into the realm of the abstruse. He says (pp. 127-128) : "I have sometimes thought of the phenomenon called 'total reflection' in Optics as a good symbol of the relation between abstract ideas and concrete realities, as pragmatism conceives it. Hold a tumbler of water a little above your eyes and look up through the water at its surface or better still look similarly through the flat wall of an aquarium. You will then see an extraordinarily brilliant reflected image say of a candle-flame, or any other clear object, situated on the opposite side of the vessel. No ray, under these circumstances gets beyond the water's surface: every ray is totally reflected back into the depths again. Now let the water represent the world of sensible facts, and let the air above it represent the world of abstract ideas. Both worlds are real, of course, and interact ; but they interact only at their boundary, and the locus of everything that lives, and happens to us, so far as full experience goes, is the water. We are like fishes swimming in the sea of sense, bounded above by the superior element, but unable to breathe it pure or penetrate it. We get our oxygen from it, however, we touch it incessantly, now in this part, now in that, and every time we touch PRAGMATISM. 21 it, we turn back into the water with our course re-determined and re-energized. The abstract ideas of which the air consists are indispensable for life, but irrespirable by themselves, as it were, and only active in their re-directing function. All similes are halting, but this one rather takes my fancy. It shows how something, not sufficient for life in itself, may nevertheless be an effective determinant of life elsewhere." Dreams are realities to the visionary, and the mystic does not hesitate to look upon the most abstruse theories of his imagination as facts. If we want to know the truth, we must learn to distinguish between the objective fact and our interpretation of it. MISUNDERSTOOD. Professor James emphasizes one aspect of the truth only and loses sight of another that is of greater importance. He himself feels that he speaks in paradoxes, and so he says of his definition of truth : "But is it not a strange misuse of the word 'truth/ you will say, to call ideas also 'true' for this reason?" When Professor James identifies that which is profitable, satisfactory, better to believe, etc., with truth, he says to his reader in anticipation of his misgivings: "Probably you also agree, so far as the abstract statement goes, but with a suspicion that if we practically did believe everything that made for good in our own personal lives, we should be found indulging all kinds of fancies about this world's affairs, and all kinds of sentimental superstitions about a world hereafter. Your suspicion here is undoubtedly well founded." Professor James grants that our suspicion is "wellfounded," but he does not trouble to remove the suspicion. He simply adds: "It is evident that something happens when you pass from the abstract to the concrete that complicates the situation." 22 TRUTH ON TRIAL. Man possesses a very inconvenient hankering for consistency, and when he adopts an idea as true because he finds that it is expedient to believe it, it sometimes happens that it clashes with other beliefs of vital benefit. Professor James refers to this problem, and if he had solved it he would have discovered that the old-fashioned ideal of the oneness of truth contains a lesson, but he feared to lose himself in the absolute, and he loved pluralism too much to make the attempt. On page 77 Professor James says : "I said just now that what is better for us to believe is true unless the belief incidentally clashes with some other vital benefit. Now in real life what vital benefits is any particular belief of ours most liable to clash with? What indeed except the vital benefits yielded by other beliefs when these prove incompatible with the first ones? In other words, the greatest enemy of any one of our truths may be the rest of our truths. Truths have once for all this desperate instinct of self-preservation and of desire to extinguish whatever contradicts them. My belief in the Absolute, based on the good it does me, must run the gauntlet of all my other beliefs." And how does Professor James escape the difficulty? His answer is made in a whisper: "Let me speak now confidentially, as it were, and merely in my own private person, it clashes with other truths of mine whose benefits I hate to give up on its account. It happens to be associated with a kind of logic of which I am the enemy, I find that it entangles me in metaphysical paradoxes that are inacceptable, etc., etc. But as I have enough trouble in life already without adding the trouble of carrying these intellectual inconsistencies, I personally just give up the Absolute. I just take my moral holidays; or else as a professional philosopher, I try to justify them by some other principle." This looks very much like a surrender of truth in order to let a belief that at the time is profitable, count as a truth. And yet woe to any one who would point this out to Professor James! He says on page 233: "These pragmatists destroy all objective standards, critics say, PRAGMATISM. 2$ and put foolishness and wisdom on one level. A favorite formula for describing Mr. Schiller's doctrines and mine is that we are persons who think that by saying whatever you find it pleasant to say and calling it truth you fulfil every pragmatistic requirement. I leave it to you to judge whether this be not an impudent slander." Professor James is very good-natured and can smile at criticism, but here he loses his temper. He adds: "The unwillingness of some of our critics to read any but the silliest of possible meanings into our statements is as discreditable to their imaginations as anything I know in recent philosophic history." Is it sheer modesty when Professor James speaks of his discourse as so far having been "crude in an unpardonable, nay, in an almost incredible degree"? (p. 33). He seems to be in the habit of sometimes saying what he does not mean and then blames the world for misunderstanding him. Here is his own statement: "I once wrote an essay on our right to believe, which I unluckily called the Will to Believe. All the critics, neglecting the essay, pounced upon the title. Psychologically it was impossible, morally it was iniquitous." Now it seems to me that the most important sentence written in an essay is its title. It is in the light of the title that the reader reads the whole essay, and if the title reads "The Will to Believe" it is likely that the author really means that which he puts in the most conspicuous place. Moreover I would add that although the essay may be wrongly entitled "The Will to Believe," it actually reflects the author's meaning. He has certainly no right to blame the readers for misunderstanding him. Nevertheless Professor James loses his temper and blames his critics as "iniquitous." Some of his critics, however, may not have missed his meaning when they attributed to him the proposition that it is the right of everybody to believe as he wills, and that the will (i. e., the idiosyncrasies) of every man is the main 24 TRUTH ON TRIAL. factor in the makeup of his belief and that arguments are of no avail. In the present volume, on page 296, Professor James says: "In the end it is our faith and not our logic 'that decides such questions, and I deny the right of any pretended logic to veto my own faith." Professor James is possessed of an exuberance of temperament, and in his philosophy temperament rules supreme. He claims for his faith the right to be impervious to logic ; and he denies the right of any pretended logic to veto his own faith. Of course that closes the case and all argument must cease. In the meantime I must confess that my temperament differs, for my convictions have been profoundly influenced by logical argument, and there are many other people in the same plight as I am. In fact I know that whole nations have changed their faith under the influence of purely intellectual considerations; yea, I have some slight suspicion that Professor James himself can not entirely withdraw himself from the influence of logic, and it may be a mistake to take his utterances too seriously. It may be that even the present book on pragmatism contains statements which, by some ill luck, Professor James did not mean, and that when we criticize him we stand in the same condemnation as the critics of his essay on "The Right to Believe." We do not wish to misrepresent Professor James and have therefore characterized his pragmatism in his own words. We grant that he believes in truth, but his several definitions and expositions of his conception of truth are either wrong or misleading, and though he may not actually deny the objective standard of truth, he elevates mere subjective belief to the dignity of the name truth which, if this were justifiable, would practically render the latter irrelevant. Indeed he glories in this looseness of PRAGMATISM. 25 truth which ignores the ideal of both the objectivity and the oneness of truth for the sake of its subjective conceptions, resulting in Protean truths in the plural. TEMPERAMENTAL PHILOSOPHY. It is very difficult to obtain objective statements of fact because a subjective element enters into every observation and consequently also into every presentation of a fact. It is the ambition of the scientist to reduce the personal element and, whenever possible, to eliminate it. Professor James says: "Of whatever temperament a professional philosopher is, he tries, when philosophizing, to sink the fact of his temperament. Temperament is no conventionally recognized reason, so he urges impersonal reasons only for his conclusions. Yet his temperament really gives him a stronger bias than any of his more strictly objective premises. It loads the evidence for him one way or the other, making for a more sentimental or a more hard-hearted view of the universe, just as this fact or that principle would. He trusts his temperament. Wanting a universe that suits it, he believes in any representation of the universe that does suit it." This passage contains the key to the philosophical doctrine of Professor James. He possessed a very temperamental personality, and he judged others by himself. Scientific inquiry demands that the scientist should sink his own personality before the cause of truth. His temperament has nothing to do with the facts he investigates; if permitted to interfere with his investigation it can only vitiate his arguments and lack of self-control is pathological. In Professor James, thought and sentiment are so intricately interwoven that his preferences enter into his conclusions ; his temperament is always one of his premises, and to pass it by in silence seems to him hypocritical. He says: "There arises thus a certain insincerity in our philosophic discussions: the potentest of all our premises is never mentioned." 26 TRUTH ON TRIAL. We do not deny that one's personal attitude is an important factor in life, nor would we object to an author who with ability and grace descants on any subject in his peculiar characteristic mood, but he must not claim that his effusions are philosophy. Let him announce his lectures as rhapsodies and publish his books under the name of poetry; we will gladly welcome him as the creator of a new department in literature. But it is not philosophy, and least of all, what is so strongly needed in our day, a philosophy of science, a philosophy that is worth while studying and which is a desideratum of scientists. Professor James is an empiricist. He "turns his back resolutely and once for all upon a lot of inveterate habits dear to professional philosophers. He turns away from abstractions. . . .from fixed principles, closed systems. . . . He turns towards concreteness and adequacy, towards facts, towards action and towards power." He adds p. 51 : "That means the empiricist temper regnant and the rationalist temper sincerely given up." But the facts of Professor James are not facts in the usual sense of the word. They are psychical states, attitudes, and interpretations of facts. An hallucination is most assuredly a fact too. The sensation experienced by a man who sees a ghost is a fact ; but his experience may be the expression of a wrong interpretation. Another man under the same conditions may see a shirt on a clothes line; that too is a fact and an interpretation. Necessarily both interpretations are contradictory, and men of a rationalist temper will not rest satisfied until the contradiction is removed. The pragmatism of Professor James is pluralistic, and different interpretations remain peacefully side by side. If we can not eliminate the personal equation and must accept moods as facts, all interpretations are equally true. This renders the conception of truth elusive, or as Professor James calls it, "plastic." PRAGMATISM. 27 THE PLASTICITY OF TRUTH. The plasticity of truth makes pragmatism elastic and this playing fast and loose with truth is deemed a great advantage. It makes "pragmatism a mediator and reconciler/' for "she 'unstiffens' our theories" (p. 79). Thus it is possible that pragmatism may be acceptable to all, the materialist and the spiritualist, the infidel and the unbeliever, the skeptic, the mystic, the visionary, and what not. We are told: "It has no dogmas, and no doctrines save its methods. As the young Italian pragmatist Papini has well said, it lies in the midst of our theories, like a corridor in a hotel. Innumerable chambers open out of it. In one you may find a man writing an atheistic volume; in the next some one on his knees praying for faith and strength; in a third a chemist investigating a body's properties. In a fourth a system of idealistic metaphysics is being excogitated ; in a fifth the impossibility of metaphysics is being shown. But they all own the corridor, and all must pass through it if they want a practicable way of getting into or out of their respective rooms." The excuse for ignoring the ideal of truth, so important in our conception of the world, is stated by Professor James as follows: "The 'absolutely' true, meaning what no farther experience will ever alter, is that ideal vanishing-point towards which we imagine that all our temporary truths will some day converge. It runs on all fours with the perfectly wise man, and with the absolutely complete experience; and, if these ideals are ever realized, they will all be realized together. Meanwhile we have to live to-day by what truth we can get to-day, and be ready to-morrow to call it falsehood." I would not characterize the ideal of truth by which I understand that solution of a problem which is predetermined, as "the 'absolutely' true." There is nothing "absolute" in it, and by using the word "absolute" (albeit not in its proper meaning, but in a loose way in the sense of 28 TRUTH ON TRIAL. "positive"), we introduce an idea which spreads vagueness. It makes a final truth appear as an "ideal vanishing point," i. e., an unrealizable quantity at an infinite distance. I grant Professor James that "we must live to-day by what truth we can get to-day," but I deny that we must "be ready to call it falsehood to-morrow." This view is based upon an utter misapprehension of the nature of truth. I beg leave to belong to the old-fashioned people who still believe that all truths must agree and that the truth of yesterday will be the truth of to-morrow. Here lies the rock of ages which is the basis of science. If this rock should prove an illusion, then indeed pluralism would be established for good, and pluralism would look very much like nihilism. But let us hear what Professor James has to say on the variability of truth : "Ptolemaic astronomy, Euclidean space, Aristotelian logic, scholastic metaphysics, were expedient for centuries, but human experience has boiled over those limits, and we now call these things only relatively true, or true within those borders of experience. 'Absolutely' they are false; for we know that those limits were casual, and might have been transcended by past theorists just as they are by present thinkers." We will take up each single statement by itself. PTOLEMY AND COPERNICUS. Ptolemaic astronomy was not true at the time of Ptolemy; it never was true, nor ever will be true. What from our standpoint Professor James can reasonably mean is this, that Ptolemaic astronomy satisfied certain demands of scientific inquiry in the time when Alexandria was flourishing. It summarizes certain facts in a better way than was done in the views that were held by Ptolemy's predecessors except Eudoxus who seems to have been nearer the truth than Ptolemy. Only in so far as it systematized some observations, can we say that the Ptolemaic system was PRAGMATISM. 2Q correctly formulated ; but it was not true even at the time, because it did not satisfy all observations, and the astronomy of that age had to slur over those observations which clashed with the theory. But Ptolemy and his followers "had enough trouble in life already without adding the trouble of carrying these intellectual inconsistencies." Their calculations were sufficiently complicated and so they took a holiday and thought that their system worked well enough for their own needs. In other words they turned pragmatists and ceased to trouble about consistency. We might enter here upon a discussion of the right to choose a point of reference. We have a right to use the earth as a point of reference as did the Ptolemaic astronomers; and we have a right to use the sun as our point of reference as did Copernicus. The former is as much justified as the latter, and the advantage of the latter consists solely in rendering the calculation more simple. That is true enough according to assumption, but to use this as an argument for the purpose of making Ptolemaic astronomy appear to be as true as the Copernican system would be mere quibbling. This inability to take the right point of reference which would render the calculation of the planetary movements simple, is exactly what constituted the fault of Ptolemaic astronomers, and veiled from them the fact that the earth is a planet among the other planets. We do not deny that the progress of science is by approximation, and the Ptolemaic system is indeed an approximation of the attempt to calculate and predict certain events in the starry heavens ; but one of its premises was wrong, and it prevented its supporters from solving the astronomical problem satisfactorily. This wrong premise which was their idea of the fixed position of the earth in the center of the solar system, was eliminated by Copernicus who recognized that the earth had to be classed together with the planets, and the problem was finally solved 3O TRUTH ON TRIAL. by Kepler through the formulation of the laws which bear his name. Kepler has definitely solved the problem. He has not solved all the problems of astronomy, but I would like to see the astronomer who would be ready to call the three laws of Kepler falsehoods to-morrow. The same may be said of the problem of the acceleration of gravity. Gravity itself taken as a fact, the Newtonian formula is final. It satisfies all instances of gravitating bodies. The question of fact "why does gravity act at all ?" remains, but that being granted as a matter of fact, the formula is valid. EUCLID AND ARISTOTLE. The last century has witnessed a remarkable progress in mathematics and logic in the invention of non-Euclidean geometries and the suggestion of new truths in logic, and this is used to advantage by Professor James to prove the plasticity of truth. He says: "How plastic even the oldest truths nevertheless really are has been vividly shown in our day by the transformation of logical and mathematical ideas, a transformation which seems even to be invading physics." Does Professor James mean to say that Euclidean geometry and Aristotelian logic have ceased to be true? Scarcely. Euclid's geometry holds good to-day as well as in Euclid's time, and the same is true of Aristotle's logic. Professor James himself knows it, for he adds: "The ancient formulas are reinterpreted as special expressions of much wider principles, principles that our ancestors never got a glimpse of in their present shape and formulation." A wider interpretation of an old truth does not make the old truth false, but widens and deepens our comprehension of it. That is a big difference, and the same is PRAGMATISM. 3! true of all truths. A truth once positively proved to be a truth is and will remain a truth forever. But what of the discovery of new facts such as the Rontgen rays, and radium ? Do they not upset science and render the most basic truth antiquated? We can hear this statement often enough, but we have not yet seen the day on which it was verified. The discovery of new facts may upset pet theories of ours, but it will never upset old truths, not even those which have become paleontological with age. If formulas describe certain features of facts without any admixture of theory, they will remain true forever. In case we should learn something about the ultimate constitution of matter which would reveal to us the secret of gravity, we would not have to discard the Newtonian formula of the mutual attraction of masses as a falsehood, but we would see its truth in a clearer light. In other words, we would not replace one truth that has become antiquated by another truth that is more up to date and happens to agree with the present fashion of our intellectual atmosphere, but we would add to the old truth a new truth, and the unity of all the truths we know would thereby only become the more apparent. MATERIALISM AND SPIRITUALISM. Professor James knows how to put his paints on thick, and so his pictures exhibit strong contrasts. He generally omits the softer tones between the opposites and so fails to find that the truth lies in the middle. Take for instance his ingenious description of materialism (on pp. 92-93) which is contrasted to theism and spiritualism. "Philosophical materialism is not necessarily knit up with belief in 'matter,' as a metaphysical principle. One may deny matter in that sense, as strongly as Berkeley did, one may be phenomenalist like Huxley, and yet one may still be a materialist in the wider sense, of explaining higher phenomena by lower ones, and leaving $2 TRUTH ON TRIAL. the destinies of the world at the mercy of its blinder parts and forces. It is in this wider sense of the word that materialism is opposed to spiritualism or theism. The laws of physical nature are what run things, materialism says. "The highest productions of human genius might be ciphered by one who had complete acquaintance with the facts, out of their physiological conditions, regardless whether nature be there only for our minds, as idealists contend, or not. Our minds in any case would have to record the kind of nature it is, and write it down as operating through blind laws of physics. This is the complexion of present-day materialism, which may better be called naturalism. Over against it stands 'theism/ or what in a wide sense may be termed 'spiritualism.' Spiritualism says that mind not only witnesses and records things, but also runs and operates them: the world being thus guided, not by its lower, but by its higher element." According to Professor James every naturalist would have to be classed with the materialists, and according to his division, which with all its faults and in spite of its being based upon a wrong generalization has the advantage of a drastic vividness, I would myself count as a materialist. And yet I protest against calling the laws of nature blind, and while I would attempt to explain higher phenomena from lower ones I would not have the higher degraded into the lower. Man does not become a brute even if his pedigree be traced back to brute animals and still further back to moners or amcebas. For all that, man's soul has been molded not by matter but by the formative factors of the world in which all things exist and move and have their being. The romantic temperament of Professor James appears not only in his spiritualism but also in his theology, for even here pluralism enters. He says: "Monotheism itself, so far as it was religious and not a scheme of classroom instruction for the metaphysicians, has always viewed God as but one helper, primus inter pares, in the midst of all the shapers of the great world's fate." PRAGMATISM. 33 RELIGIOUS PROBLEMS. Pragmatism applied to religion has great advantages. Says Professor James : "It follows that in the religious field she [pragmatism] is at a great advantage both over positivistic empiricism, with its antitheological bias, and over religious rationalism, with its exclusive interest in the remote, the noble, the simple, and the abstract in the way of conception. "In short, she widens the field of search for God. Rationalism sticks to logic and the empyrean. Empiricism sticks to the external senses. Pragmatism is willing to take anything, to follow either logic or the senses and to count the humblest and most personal experiences. She will count mystical experiences if they have practical consequences. She will take a God who lives in the very dirt of private fact if that should seem a likely place to find him. "Her only test of probable truth is what works best in the way of leading us, what fits every part of life best and combines with the collectivity of experience's demands, nothing being omitted. If theological ideas should do this, if the notion of God, in particular, should prove to do it, how could pragmatism possibly deny God's existence? She could see no meaning in treating as 'not true' a notion that was pragmatically so successful. What other kind of truth could there be, for her, than all this agreement with concrete reality?" The issue between atheism and theism, and materialism and spiritualism, before the tribunal of pragmatism becomes "little more than a conflict between esthetic preferences" (page 94). Professor James says: "What practical difference can it make now that the world should be run by matter or by spirit?. . . . "The pragmatist must consequently say that the two theories, in spite of their different-sounding names, mean exactly the same thing "And how, experience being what is once for all, would God's presence in it make it any more living or richer? Candidly, it is impossible to give any answer to this question "Thus if no future detail of experience or conduct is to be de34 TRUTH ON TRIAL. duced from our hypothesis, the debate between materialism and theism becomes quite idle and insignificant. Matter and God in that event mean exactly the same thing the power, namely, neither more nor less, that could make just this completed world and the wise man is he who in such a case would turn his back on such a supererogatory discussion." It would seem quite indifferent then whether God or law, or matter, or energy, or whatever other principle ruled the world. Professor James says in this connection : "Doing practically all that a God can do, it is equivalent to God, its function is a God's function, and in a world in which a God would be superfluous; from such a world a God could never lawfully be missed." Pragmatism recognizing the plurality of truths need not be consistent, and so Professor James sees nevertheless a difference between materialism and spiritualism, and he gives his preference to the latter, not because he can prove that it is truer but because spiritualism is a doctrine of promise, of hope, of consolation, and the same is true of some other metaphysical problems, such as free will, design in nature etc. Professor James says: "Materialism means simply the denial that the moral order is eternal, and the cutting off of ultimate hopes; spiritualism means the affirmation of an eternal moral order and the letting loose of hope "Spiritualistic faith in all its forms deals with a world of promise, while materialism's sun sets in a sea of disappointment "Free-will thus has no meaning unless it be a doctrine of relief "Other than this practical significance, the words God, free-will, design, etc., have none." Professor James appears to have an aversion to arguments. They smack of intellectualism which is an abomination in his eyes. His preference is based upon sentimental grounds. PRAGMATISM. 35 It stands to reason that those who have worked out doctrines and theories and dogmas, who have endeavored to have them promulgated, adopted and believed in, have done so because they were conscious of the practical significance of their propositions, but Professor James imputes to them the idea that they have lost sight of facts, and that their ultimate questions are "something august and exalted above facts." His pragmatism alone gives meaning to theories which otherwise would have been senseless. He says : "See then how all these ultimate questions turn, as it were, upon their hinges; and from looking backwards upon principles, upon an erkenntnisstheoretisches Ich, a God, a Kausalitdtsprinsip, a Design, a Free-will, taken in themselves, as something august and exalted above facts, see, I say, how pragmatism shifts the emphasis and looks forward into facts themselves." I cherish the opinion that every belief has been framed with a practical intent (or in adaptation to Professor James I may say, for a "pragmatic" purpose) and in order to find out the significance of a theory we ought to see how it works. The intellectual struggle concerning God, the soul, and immortality have not been mere quibbles in my opinion, and I trust that the problems of philosophy can be correctly formulated and solved. I believe that we can define God in terms of experience and say with exactness what is true of the idea of God and what is not true. I believe myself that the theist and the atheist may come to terms, but two contradictory ideas can not for that reason both be true. An idea ( such as the God idea) may be approximately true. It may contain an important truth dressed up in an allegorical garb. The atheist is right when he negates the allegorical formulation of it, he is wrong when he negates the spirit of the dogma ; and vice versa, the theist is wrong when he insists on the allegory as being literally true, but he is right when he 36 TRUTH ON TRIAL. recognizes the essential part of it that is backed up by facts, and insists upon it. 8 MR. CHARLES S. PEIRCE'S TYCHISM. Our readers may have noticed that since "pragmatism" has become the watchword of a new and popular movement with which Mr. Peirce, the inventor of the term, does not appear to be in full accord, he has introduced the word "pragmaticism" as if to point out the difference between his own philosophy and that of Professor James. I regret that I shall not be able to enter here into a discussion of the views of Mr. Charles S. Peirce whose conception of the instability of natural laws is one of the most original and most ingenious theories ever brought forth. I will only briefly refer our readers to the vigorous controversy with him which has appeared in The Monist, 9 where he defends the doctrine of tychism versus necessitarianism, while I take the opposite position. Mr. Peirce believes that natural laws are the product of evolution. In the beginning there was Chance (Tyche). Chance is not subject to law, it is free as we know spirit to be. Chance acts arbitrarily but gradually it took on habits and habits became more and more solidified and hardened into laws. Hence the order of the universe is not the cause of evolution but its product. It is not impossible that Professor James follows Mr. Peirce, for there is a passage which seems to justify this assumption. Professor James says on p. 249: "Between categories fulminated before nature began, and categories gradually forming themselves in nature's presence, the whole chasm between rationalism and empiricism yawns." In another passage (p. 158-9) we read: * For details see my discussions on the God problem, especially in The Monist, Vol. IX, p. 106. The articles have been collected in book form. * Compare The Monist, Vol. II, pp. 321 ff., 442 ff. ; and III, pp. 526 ff. and 57i ff. PRAGMATISM. 37 "With the whole of past eternity open for our conjectures to range in, it may be lawful to wonder whether the various kinds of union now realized in the universe that we inhabit may not possibly have been successively evolved after the fashion in which we now see human systems evolving in consequence of human needs. If such an hypothesis were legitimate, total oneness would appear at the end of things rather than at their origin. In other words the notion of the 'Absolute' would have to be replaced by that of the 'Ultimate.' " The language of Professor James is poetic, not exact. What he means is not that the rationalist (i. e., a man like Kant) believed that the categories fulminated before nature began, but that the categories, or better the entire cosmic order, are an eternal condition uncreated and indestructible, while the empiricist (or the pragmatist) believes that the categories are a product of evolution. We may incidentally call our readers' attentions to the first chapter in Prof. Benjamin Peirce's Analytic Mechanism, where the father of the founder of pragmatism utters a few brief suggestions which seem to have taken deep root in the soul of his son. Benjamin Peirce regarded "matter as inert" and thought that "force may be regarded as having a spiritual origin." THE ENEMIES OF PRAGMATISM. Pragmatism is a philosophy manufactured to suit all; it is pluralistic and tolerates any amount of diversity of opinion; it ought to have no enemies, for every one can be, and according to Professor James ought to be, a pragmatist; but his book on pragmatism is in parts extremely pugnacious, his enemies being the monist, the rationalist, the intellectualist, and their ilk. For reasons unknown to me Professor James complains most of the monists. He says: "The temper of monists has been so vehement, as almost at times to be convulsive." 38 TRUTH ON TRIAL. I am sure I am innocent. The present article is my first attack on pragmatism. It is strange that the pragmatist welcomes every one except men of theory, and to them he imputes all kinds of erroneous notions. The reader will ask why the pragmatist who welcomes every vagary of the human mind and whose tolerance is unbounded, should decry in pretty harsh terms monism, intellectualism and rationalism. Pragmatism, according to Professor James, is the philosophy of temperament, of mood, of personal attitude, and so he naturally resents whatever would put a check upon the liberty of his preferences. He imputes to the intellectualist the slogan: "Down with psychology, up with logic, in all this question!" Professor James himself wants the vagueness of psychological moods recognized as philosophy, and he scorns logic. He has no patience with a thinker who demands consistency or endeavors to systematize the plurality of facts. Scientific exactness appears to the pragmatist as mere pedantry. Professor James says: "The actual universe is a thing wide open, but rationalism makes systems, and systems must be closed." Professor James's philosophy can dispense with system. He says: "We measure the total character of the universe as we feel it, against the flavor of the philosophy proffered us, and one word is enough. " 'Statt der lebendigen Natur.' we say, 'da Gott die Menschen schuf hinein,' that nebulous concoction, that wooden, that straightlaced thing, that crabbed artificiality, that musty schoolroom product, that sick man's dream! Away with it. Away with all of them! Impossible ! Impossible !" The pragmatist says, "Gefiihl ist Alles we need neither intellect, nor reason, nor a systematization of facts, nor theories, nor abstractions. We live in facts." PRAGMATISM. 39 Professor James censures some views with regard to the importance of the intellect and the indispensableness of reason, which are commonly held by believers in monism, but these propositions are so strangely adulterated with notions which are scarcely held by any one, that we wonder who these sorry enemies of Professor James may be, and we are inclined to regard them as men of straw who do not possess a concrete existence. We are told that according to the intellectualist "truth means essentially an inert static relation" (p. 200), and in another passage that, "for the rationalist it remains a pure abstraction to the bare name of which we must defer" (p. 68). It is difficult to find out who is meant by intellectualists and rationalists, for we have yet to meet the man to whom truth remains "a pure abstraction" or who would insist that truth should be "inert." Clifford has already pointed out with great clearness that every scientific truth is a norm of conduct and can be expressed as such. Further it is a truism that scientists formulate truths in abstract terms, but they always bear in mind that their formulas are generalizations from actual facts, and that they describe certain features of reality. The truth or untruth of these formulas depends upon the correspondence of the ideas with the facts in question. Truth accordingly does not reside in the abstraction alone, but depends upon the relation of the abstraction to facts. Cancel the facts, and where is truth? Theories are attempts at explaining facts by the assumption of other facts. If these other facts are verified, the theory is regarded true and may then be justly called a law of nature. A law of nature is always (or at least should be) a systematic description of a certain group of facts. We often hear abstractions and generalizations denounced as empty, but that is merely the prattle of those 4O TRUTH ON TRIAL. who do not know that all abstractions signify definite features of facts. THE PHILOSOPHY OF TOLERANCE. In The Monist of April, 1908, Prof. John E. Boodin, of the philosophical department at the University of Kansas, contributed an article on "Philosophic Tolerance" which is very well written and shows the inclination of the writer to the pragmatic movement. The title is significant, and the essay might be called a pragmatic rhapsody. It is pleasant reading, and I am sure that no one can read it without enjoying both the style and the thoughts of the essay. Nevertheless it is not philosophy, and pretty though it is as a literary composition, it becomes warped by its philosophical claim, which is exactly the same fault which we find with Professor Boodin's master, Professor James. In this pragmatic interpretation philosophy has given up its ambition to become a science. It has no dogmas, no doctrines, no position either to defend or to attack, and so it is tolerant. Professor Boodin claims that "philosophy like poetry and art, when it is genuine, is only the expression of the mood of a soul." Mr. Boodin wants to procure for philosophy the same variety that is possessed by art. With reference to art and poetry Professor Boodin says, "We do not demand rigid consistency here," and he longs for plasticity in philosophy too, saying, "Why should not every sincere man express his philosophy that seems reasonable to him at the time?" We answer that he most assuredly may, but the expression of moods will be a poor contribution to philosophy as a science, in fact it would be no philosophy whatever. It would be a soi disant philosophy, a poetic expression of a transient Stimmung, a sentiment. Far be it from me to denounce or object to poetical expressions of our moods; they are quite legitimate in the PRAGMATISM. 41 domain of belles lettres. I would not even find fault with any one for calling them philosophy or philosophical effusions, but I do object to regarding them as the philosophy that has come to supersede all other philosophies, denying that there is a true philosophy, a philosophy as a science, or as we call it, the philosophy of science. Pragmatism claims to be tolerant. It is tolerant of all philosophies that are merely subjective expressions of personal idiosyncrasies. Mr. Boodin asks, "Why are they not all true, in so far as they are really genuine and really express human nature, then and there?" This tolerance means that whether true or untrue in a scientific sense, they are all on one level, and according to my old-fashioned conception of truth, this is practically a declaration that all philosophies are subjective, all are castles in the air. This attitude of pragmatism is about the same as if somebody were to declare that in the realm of science astronomy and all different astrological systems are of equal value. There are no real laws of nature ; all laws of nature are mere approximations. From this standpoint the astrologer might have something to say about "the materialism" of the astronomer who assumes that the stars run their courses according to "the blind laws of nature," but one ought to be as tolerant with the astronomer as with the different astrological interpretations of the planetary movements, viz., the Babylonian system which looks upon the stars as gods, the medieval method which believed in some mysterious influence of the several planets upon the lives of men, and the modern astrologer who tries to adapt the medieval traditions to the modern conception. If it were true, as Mr. Boodin says, that "Truth is at best experimental," there would indeed be no reason to turn our backs upon the old superstitions. It would be an indication of our intolerance. The magus of ancient 42 TRUTH ON TRIAL. Babylon, and the astrologer of the Middle Ages, and finally the occultist of to-day, each in his way proclaims that there is some pragmatic meaning in the positions of the planets, and we ought not to say that their efforts are futile, for, says Mr. Boodin, "nothing can be more fatal than stopping the experiment." THE LEADER OF THE PRAGMATIST MOVEMENT. There is no need of prolonging the discussion. With all my admiration for Professor James I can not take kindly to his pragmatism, and must openly confess that his loose way of philosophizing does not exercise a wholesome influence on the young generation. If Professor James were right philosophy as a science would not and should not exist, for all that were left of philosophy would be subjectivism, which means an expression of our attitude towards the world. There would be as many philosophies as there are personal idiosyncrasies, and even every individual would not always remain the same but have different moods. We would all be pragmatists, and we would all exercise the utmost mutual tolerance, for we would grant the privilege to every one to regard his thoughts as true, true to him and true at least at the time. We would draw the line only when we meet with people who have the impudence to believe in the objectivity, the permanence, the reliability of their truth, and demand consistency in all statements of truth. In other words, the sentimental and the subjective would be supreme, while an objective knowledge of truth would become a matter of indifference. Professor James was a fascinating personality, original and interesting in his very vagaries, genial and ingenious, versatile and learned. He was not scientific in his habits of thought, nor was he critical, and I have the impression that he cherished a dislike for science. Exactness of PRAGMATISM. 43 method seems to have hampered his mind and naturally appeared to him as pedantry. He loved to indulge in the chiaroscuro of vague possibilities, and so he showed a hankering for the mysteries of psychic phenomena, whether due to telepathy or spirit communication, as evidenced in the case of Mrs. Piper. He would resent to have his thoughts restrained by the balance wheel of critique. He seemed to enjoy being freely moved by the spirit. In a word, his temper was not scientific but that of a poet or prophet. He loved to be guided by inspiration. Being inspired, he was himself inspiring. Hence his unusual magnetism, and hence also the success of a philosophy which he had made his own. In the philosophy of a man like William James the personal equation is the most important item, and he judged science and the scientific labors of others after his own mode of thought. He did not try to eliminate the factor of his idiosyncrasies, and so he assumed that that is the normal condition of all thinkers. This is evidenced in his book entitled The Will to Believe. This attitude is desirable in a poet, but not in a philosopher; it is good in belles lettres but not in science; and no harm would be done if his pragmatism were received simply as an artistic movement that has a purely esthetical significance but should not be taken seriously. Pragmatism comes with the pretense of being taken seriously, and it sweeps over the country with the power of a fashionable fad. It claims that now at last we have a philosophy that reconciles all the contradictory religions and philosophies, that redeems the world from the tyranny of definite doctrines, and proclaims a new view of truth, which is no longer final, rigid and stable but plastic and may suit anybody in any emergency. Pragmatism insists upon an important truth a truth which is so obvious that it is almost a matter of course; 44 TRUTH ON TRIAL. but it emphasizes it so onesidedly that it overlooks a more important truth and thereby its very conception of truth becomes warped. However, in this way pragmatism acquires the semblance of originality, of something new and unheard of, while in fact it is only a modernized redaction of the ancient philosophy of the sophists and of their principle, TTdvTUV fJLtTpOV av0/3ft>7TOg, which also is true in a certain sense but becomes a fallacy if the onesidedness of the principle is lost sight of. Pragmatism has appeared cometlike on our intellectual horizon. It flashed up with a sudden fluorescence like a luminous fog which through the extent of its broad sweep threatens to outshine the old stars of a steadier light. The nucleus of the comet is Professor James, brilliant but erratic; and he is attended by a tail of many admirers and imitators, all aglow with the stir of their master's enthusiasm, and the world stands open-eyed at the unprecedented phenomenon. Professor James prophesies: "The center of gravity of philosophy must therefore alter its place "It will be an alteration in 'the seat of authority' that reminds one almost of the Protestant Reformation. And as, to Papal minds, Protestantism has often seemed a mere mess of anarchy and confusion, such, no doubt, will pragmatism often seem to ultra-rationalist minds in philosophy. It will seem so much sheer trash, philosophically." We answer with Professor James who continues, "But life wags on." Cometlike pragmatism has appeared, and we venture to predict that cometlike it will fade again after a while. Personally I have a decided liking for Professor James, and I am sure that in expressing it I voice the opinion of PRAGMATISM. 45 many. I met him occasionally and always felt the sympathetic charm of his personality. I do not begrudge him the brilliant success of his life and the honor of his merited renown. I rejoice that to the end of his life he remained buoyant of spirit and hope that in the history of philosophy his significance will not be underrated. But for all that I can not agree with or accept the philosophy of the great Harvard Professor, and I go so far as to look upon its wide acceptance as a symptom of the immaturity and naivete that obtains sometimes even in the professional circles of our universities. With all due respect for Professor James, for whose extraordinary and fine personality I cherish an unbounded admiration, I must confess that I would deem it a misfortune if his philosophy would ever exercise a determining and permanent influence upon the national life of our country. THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. * THE IMPORTANCE OF PERSONAL EQUATION. PRAGMATISM may be characterized as a philosophy which insists upon the significance of the personal equation in thinking. There is no doubt that the theory works well in explaining how certain thinkers arrive at definite results. It fails only but in this it fails most significantly in establishing a true philosophy ; yea we might say that pragmatism (if it is to be taken seriously) actually denies the possibility of philosophy as an objective science. It deems the personal equation to be the essential feature of all philosophies, whereby philosophy changes to a mere expression of temperament, of mood, subjective disposition or the like ; in this case philosophy ought to be classed with belles lettres and be judged as poetry. This is the opinion expressed in the preceding chapter, and we are glad to notice that Prof. Edwin Tausch at the end of his essay on "William James the Pragmatist" (Monist, XIX, i ff. ), expresses a similar verdict. It is true enough that the personal equation is an important element in all mental activity ; even the most mechanical transactions of observers exhibit a certain regularity of definite fluctuations due to the makeup of the observer's mental organism. When the astronomer makes his observations he discovers that they are vitiated by certain irregularities which in the same person keep within certain * Republished from The Monist, Jan., 1909. THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 47 boundaries. They are due to the limit of exactness within which the observer's nervous system, the eye, the ear and the hand, perform their functions. The personal equation is a factor which has to be taken into consideration. During the development of science it has been more and more reduced, but it appears that it can never be absolutely obliterated, because organisms as well as machines are never absolutely perfect but work with accuracy only according to the nicety of their adjustment. The factor of the personal equation is less important where the facts are plain and where the observations consist (as, e. g., in astronomy) of mere measuring or counting, but it grows with the complication of the problem. In the domain of philosophy, religion, ethics, sociology, political economy, and generally in the interpretation of all spiritual aspirations of man, more personal interests are at stake than in astronomy; and since a general belief in a certain doctrine is an important factor in actual life, man's judgment is much more easily influenced by his desires than in natural sciences. Hence a widened scope of the personal equation. In political economy the personal equation asserts itself so vigorously that it tries to overrule the facts and is usually in readiness to twist them to suit its own convenience. We know but too well that business interests, not scientific arguments, are the decisive factors that shape man's views concerning the tariff, and conditions are similar when our favorite ideals are under discussion, our notions of God, the soul, of immortality and ethics. Men who allow their views in politics to be shaped by private interests lack breadth of mind and fairness towards others, while sentimentalists who are incapable of logical reasoning whenever their feelings are engaged are pathological. It is true that very few people can boast of a perfect mental health, but we need not for that reason sur48 TRUTH ON TRIAL. render our aspiration for objectivity in thought and leave the decision as to what should be recognized as truth to the prejudices of subjective preferences. PERSONAL EQUATION A FAULT. The mistake of the pragmatist consists in regarding the part which the personal equation plays as the essential feature of cognition. What is a mere shortcoming of thought is raised to the dignity of the main principle. In the pre-scientific age almost all practical problems of life were settled more in accord with the dictates of the will than of the intellect. Nevertheless the intellect was not inactive. The intellect has gradually asserted itself more and more and from the domain of the will it has wrested the formulation of one doctrine after another. Sometimes it upset old cherished errors, and sometimes it modified the traditional view by adapting it to new conditions. During the present age the influence of science on religion has grown more and more and the will to believe has become less and less the ultimate determinant of religious convictions. We are fully convinced that there are not two domains of truth, one the noetic, the other the teleological or spiritual. The so-called spiritual sciences, psychology, the history of religion, philosophy, ethics, are based on a condition of objective facts just as much as is the knowledge of the purely mechanical processes of nature. There is only this difference, that men of a sentimental temperament are more easily influenced in their judgments in the so-called spiritual domain of the sciences, philosophy, psychology, ethics, etc., while the scope for difference in the domain of the intellectual truth, logic, physics, chemistry, astronomy, etc., is scarcely any longer possible. To the pre-scientific man conviction is truth, and the intensity of his conviction is naively accepted as the measTHE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 49 ure of the reliability of truth. The pragmatist is really naive enough to continue, or rather to fall back upon, this pre-scientific stage of thought. So he looks upon science as an assumption and has no use for the work of those philosophers who have laid a foundation for philosophy as an objective science. In this sense pragmatists declare Kant to be antiquated, ein iiberwundener Standpunkt. Think what would become of the reliability of astronomy if we had to look upon the theories of Copernicus, Kepler and Newton as the products of personal equations simply because an element of personal equation is to be taken into account in the astronomical calculations. Pragmatism has taken a strong hold upon the present generation, but it remains to be hoped that this is more due to the attractive personality of Professor James than to any intrinsic power in its leading ideas. If pragmatism were right the only scientific treatment of a philosophy would be the one which Professor Tausch administers to Professor James. He abstains from critically investigating the latter's views but analyzes his doctrines and explains them in terms of genetic psychology. It looks more like a physician's diagnosis than a philosophical inquiry, the more so when we notice that even in his methods Professor Tausch is inclined to imitate Dr. Morton Prince when he deals with disintegrated personalities. (Monist, XIX, i.) THE ELIMINATION OF THE SUBJECTIVE ELEMENT. I agree with Professor James in the recognition of the personal element that enters into the makeup of our philosophies, but while I propose to eliminate it and build upon the assured conclusions of our thought a philosophy of objective significance, he, being a man of strong sentiment, is so overwhelmed by the paramount part which the personal equation plays that he proclaims a doctrine called 5O TRUTH ON TRIAL. pragmatism which however would be more correctly described as a philosophy of personal equation. It is true that in philosophy, and in still higher degree in religion, it is very difficult for any man to discriminate between objectively assured arguments and his own personal equation, nevertheless it is not impossible to do so, and we take the progress of science, especially the obvious influence of science upon religion, as an evidence of our statement. We grant further that those philosophers in whom the personal equation is greatest, are most emphatic in the defence of their very errors, for when men of intense convictions are unable to prove their belief, they make up for the lack of logic by a display of the vigor of their faith. This is but natural and Professor James goes too far when he accuses philosophers of dishonesty declaring that they pass over in silence the most important arguments of their views. It is merely the character of a pre-scientific state of culture. When I consider my own case, I must grant that the power of sentiment should not be underrated. Having freqently been obliged to let very intense convictions based upon inherited and early acquired habits be overruled by a calm consideration of the truth, I know very w r ell that the personal equation exists, but I know also that it can be reduced to considerably lower terms, and I deem it the duty of every thinker to eliminate as much as possible in his search for truth the vitiating factor of his personal preferences. But is not perhaps the entire fabric of all philosophies made up of strands that can be resolved into the fibers of our personal equation? The thoughts of many people are indeed so interlaced with their sentimental natures that if we consider their cases individually it would seem hopeless to let them establish a conception of the universe that would THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 51 possess any objective reliability. Nevertheless there are scientific minds who can formulate statements with objective exactness. The multitudes of people are unscientific, but science is not for that reason impossible. THE OBJECTIVITY OF SCIENCE. Science stands and falls with the objectivity of truth. If truth were mere opinion, if my truth might be different from your truth, even though all errors due to a difference of terminology were excluded, if both our truths in spite of being contradictory might be truths, truth would be subjective. It would appear different in different minds, and even in the same mind truth would be subject to change. Objective truth would be impossible. If objective truth does not exist, science is a chimera, and all our scientific knowledge would have to be regarded as mere assumption. Inventions made through the application of a scientific insight into nature would in that case be mere happy coincidences. Is that probable? Science is not only possible, science is a fact. And if it be granted that science is a fact, we can make bold to say that scientific method must be reliable. Here is the basis of the philosophy of science. The philosophy of science is first the science of science, or methodology; thenthe synthesis of all the sciences in their unison, or ontology, including their systematized result, or a scientific world-conception ; and thirdly the appli cation of this world-conception to practical life; we may call it pragmatology which includes ethics, sociology, the crafts, inventions, art, etc. This domain of philosophy is as solid ground as any field of the natural sciences and the personal equation of the philosopher, far from being the dominant factor, is here as in astronomical calculations only a source of error. 52 TRUTH ON TRIAL. THE SUPREMACY OF THE INTELLECT. A philosopher's personal equation lies mostly in his sentiments and it would seem that a rigorously scientific thought would leave no room for sentiment, but such is not, or at any rate need not be, the case. Science does not antagonize sentiment ; it would only protest that sentiment should perform the function of thought. Let the mind think and the heart feel, but when the heart governs the head, the mentality of man is apt to lose its strength. I grant most emphatically that the noetic function of man's soul is not the only feature that needs cultivation; the domain of sentiment and will with all that they imply, enthusiasm, sympathy, emotional yearnings, devotion, religion, the love of art, music, etc., have their due place in our lives and should not be neglected. But the intellect should after all remain the supreme court of all final decisions. The intellect should not be degraded into an ancilla voluntatis, a handmaid of either the will or sentiment, but should be as independent as is the judiciary in a wellgoverned state. Sentiment, religion and artistic tastes are indispensable attainments, but even these need the guiding hand of intellectual comprehension. The intellect is the organ of reason, of logic, of inquiry, of grasping the truth, of comprehending the objective order of the world, of solving the problems of existence, and of a redemption from the many unnecessary evils of life. The intellect is truly the organ in which God, the authority of moral conduct, the standard of truth, the norm of the laws of nature, reveals himself. The intellect distinguishes humanity from the brute creation, for the beast is possessed of sentiment and joy of life (sometimes even of noble sentiments) just as much as man, and the intellect alone can pave the way of progress. Even in the field of sentiment and ethics, it is the guidance of the THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 53 intellect that can improve the will and ennoble man's feelings and purify his religion. Neglect to cultivate the intellect and man will return to the savage state. In the etymological meaning of the term the philosophy of science is the true pragmatism. It is pragmatic, if pragmatism means that the truth must be tested by practical experience. But pragmatism as propounded by Professor James antagonizes rationalism, monism and the philosophy of science. Being opposed to theory, to the principle of consistency, to monism and to any unity or systematization, pragmatism drifts into pluralism as surely as a disintegrated soul will develop a multiple personality. The result will be a realism, a clinging to the facts not objectively assured facts, but facts of an uncritical experience, facts, as mirrored in a purely subjective interpretation of sentiment. Such is pragmatism, the philosophy of personal equation ! INCONSISTENCY IN DEFINITION. Professor James in answer to his critics has selected M. Marcel Hebert 1 for his target. It seems impossible to answer all of them, they are too many, and Professor James takes his French antagonist as a typical instance of one who suffers from "the usual fatal misapprehension" of the critics of pragmatism. It is strange that all the critics of Professor James agree in misinterpreting his conception of truth. Professor James says: "How comes it, then, that our critics so uniformly accuse us of subjectivism, of denying the reality's existence? It comes, I think, from the necessary predominance of subjective language in our analysis." In the detailed critique given in the first essay, I *In comment on Professor James's review of Marcel Hebert' s book, Le pragmaiisme et ses diverses formes anglo-americaines. Reviewed in The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, Dec. 3, 1908. 54 TRUTH ON TRIAL. have anticipated Professor James's complaint and have therefore avoided recapitulating his views, but always quoted him in his ipsissima verba, and if words mean what they say, Professor James is decidedly to be blamed if he has been uniformly misunderstood. I request our readers to go over the definitions given by Professor James himself, and look them up either in my quotations or, better still, in his own book, Pragmatism. He says: "The true is the name of whatever proves itself to be gooa in the way of belief, and good, too, for definite, assignable reasons." Pragm. p. 76. " 'What would be better for us to believe' ! This sounds very like a definition of truth." Pragm., p. 77. "You can say of it then either that 'it is useful because it is true' or that 'it is true because it is useful.' " Pragm., p. 204. "A new opinion counts as 'true' just in proportion as it gratifies the individual's desire to assimilate the novel in his experience to his beliefs in stock." Pragm., p. 201. "An idea is 'true' so long as to believe it is profitable to our lives." Pragm., p. 75. I could continue quotations from all the chapters of Professor James to prove that the language he uses must actually induce his critics to believe that his conception of truth is subjective. But, in his reply to Professor Hebert he says: "This subjectivist interpretation of our position seems to follow from my having happened to write (without supposing it necessary to explain that I was treating of cognition solely on its subjective side) that in the long run the true is the expedient in the way of our thinking much as the good is the expedient in the way of our behaviour ! Having previously written that truth means 'agreement with reality,' and insisted that the chief part of the expediency of any one opinion is its agreement with the rest of acknowledged truth, I apprehended no exclusively snbjectivistic reading of my meaning." THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 55 Judging from this explanation of Professor James, pragmatism agrees after all with the time-worn definition of truth as an idea in agreement with reality. And yet Professor James has declared again and again that pragmatism proposes a new definition of truth. Yea he denies that there is any explanation of truth except in pragmatism. He says in the present review : "Ours is the only articulate attempt in the field to say positively what truth actually consists of." He italicizes "consists of" to distinguish it from his former definition of truth as "agreement with reality." If we trust him, no one before the appearance of pragmatism had ever a clear idea of what is meant by truth. TRUTH AS AN IDEA THAT WORKS SATISFACTORILY. Professor James rebukes his "denouncers" severely and censures their conception of truth as too rigid, too stable, too absolute. He says: "For them, when an idea is true, it is true, and there the matter terminates, the word 'true' being indefinable. The relation of the true idea to its object, being, as they think, unique, it can be expressed in terms of nothing else, and needs only to be named for any one to recognize and understand it. Moreover it is invariable and universal, the same in every single instance of truth, however diverse the ideas, the realities, and the other relations between them may be." The denouncers of Professor James must have strange ideas of truth, for to them, even if "the ideas, realities and other relations" are different, truth remains the same "invariable and universal." I am unfortunate enough never to have seen such use of the word truth, but let us hear what the truth "consists of" according to Professor James. He continues : 56 TRUTH ON TRIAL. "Our pragmatist view, on the contrary, is that the truth-relation is a definitely experienceable relation, and therefore describable as well as namable ; that it is not unique in kind, and neither invariable nor universal. The relation to its object that makes an idea true in any given instance, is, we say, embodied in intermediate details of reality which lead towards the object, which vary in every instance, and which in every instance can be concretely traced. The chain of workings which an opinion sets up is the opinion's truth, falsehood, or irrelevancy, as the case may be. Every idea that a man has works some consequences in him, in the shape either of bodily actions or of other ideas. Through these consequences the man's relations to surrounding realities are modified. He is carried nearer to some of them and farther from others, and gets now the feeling that the idea has worked satisfactorily, now that it has not. The idea has put him into touch with something that fulfils its intent, or it has not." I have quoted this passage in full lest there be any misunderstanding, and here Professor James says explicitly, "The chain of workings the opinion sets up is the opinion's truth, falsehood, or irrelevancy." And then the man "gets now the feeling that the idea has worked satisfactorily, now that it has not." Here we have two definitions of truth side by side, one is agreement with reality, the other, specifically called "what truth actually consists of," is "the chain of workings which an opinion sets up." It must be noticed that an opinion is not truth and that the application of an opinion to practical life is still less the truth, whether or not it works satisfactorily. In fact sometimes a positive lie works decidedly satisfactorily. A LIE THAT WORKS SATISFACTORILY. Ideas are potent factors. If certain errors are helpful to me it may be to my own profit to spread them and make people believe in them. When by special couriers Rothschild learned of Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo in 1815, THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 57 he spread the report through his agents that the French had gained a decisive victory over the allied troops. His own bank began ostentatiously to buy French and sell Prussian consols, but secretly was performing the reverse transactions to a much greater extent. He succeeded in spreading the untruth and it worked satisfactorily and yet we cannot say that thereby it became a truth. Undoubtedly "the idea had put them into touch with something that fulfilled its intent." There was a chain of workings set up, and to the man who pressed the button it worked as calculated. The idea and the action which it starts (at least so it appears to me) are two different things which in all circumstances have to be kept asunder. I know very well that Professor James has in mind other chains of workings, but any impartial reader will grant perhaps he himself will concede that he uses his words very indiscriminately and in his definition he follows the impulse of the moment. TRUTH AS OBJECTS BELIEVED IN. Some of Professor James's critics seem to have confused the ideas truth and reality, and when noticing the subjective trend in his definition of truth have thought that he had denied the existence of reality outside. He expressly states that he believes in realities and so there need be no quarrel about it, although to him realities are only "objects believed in." Professor James says: "Since the only realities we can talk about are such objectsbelieved-in, the pragmatist, whenever he says 'reality,' means in the first instance what may count for the man himself as a reality, what he believes at the moment to be such." According to this definition, the vision of a dreamer if it is only believed in, is a reality, of course we must add, "to him," and "at the moment." It may not be a reality to others or to him at another time. Under these 58 TRUTH ON TRIAL. circumstances had we not better avoid the phrase "reality to him" and offer in its stead a definition of reality without any qualification, and in contrast to such realities as are mere objects believed in? THE FIXATION OF BELIEF. Professor James is a pluralist, and everywhere he sees the many where scientific method requires us to single out those features which are typical and universal. He further demands the verification of truth by the senses, the reality must be "felt" to be verified. Mr. Charles S. Peirce showed in articles published about thirty years ago, that there is a certain stage in man's development in which he has not yet an adequate conception of truth, nor does he care to discover the truth. What he cares for is merely a settlement of doubt. Doubt is a state of disturbed equilibrium which causes uneasiness. Doubt must be removed in one way or another and Mr. Peirce calls the settlement of doubt very appropriately, "the fixation of belief." Professor James has confessed that this same article of Mr. Peirce has influenced him in the formation of his philosophy of pragmatism, and we cannot help thinking that Professor James calls truth what in Mr. Peirce's language is merely "the fixation of belief." Lest we are accused of misrepresenting Professor James's position we will without any further comments quote the following passage in which he answers his critics: "Sometimes the reality is a concrete sensible presence. The idea, for example, may be that a certain door opens into a room where a glass of beer may be bought. If opening the door leads to the actual sight and taste of the beer, the man calls the idea true. Or his idea may be that of an abstract relation, say of that between the sides and the hypothenuse of a triangle, such a relation being, of course, a reality quite as much as a glass of beer is. If the thought of such a relation leads him to draw auxiliary lines and to compare the figures they make, he may at last, perceiving one equality after THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 59 another, see the relation thought of, by a vision quite as particular and direct as was the taste of the beer. If he does so, he calls that idea, also, true. His idea has, in each case, brought him into closer touch with a reality felt at the moment to verify just that idea. Each reality verifies and validates its own idea exclusively ; and in each case the verification consists in the satisfactorily-ending consequences, mental or physical, which the idea was able to set up. These 'workings' differ in every single instance, they never transcend experience, they consist of particulars, mental or sensible, and they admit of concrete description in every individual case. Pragmatists are unable to see what you can possibly mean by calling an idea true, unless you mean that between it as a terminus a quo in some one's mind and some particular reality as a terminus ad quern, such concrete workings do or may intervene. Their direction constitutes the idea's reference to that reality, their satisfactoriness constitutes its adaptation thereto, and the two things together constitute the 'truth' of the idea for its possessor. Without such intermediating portions of concretely real experience the pragmatist sees no materials out of which the adaptive relation called truth can be built up." Professor James speaks also of Professor Schiller of Oxford endorsing his views. He says : "Schiller's doctrine and mine are identical, only our expositions follow different directions." Of Schiller's conception of truth, Professor James says: "To be true, it appears, means, for that individual, to work satisfactorily for him ; and the working and the satisfaction, since they vary from case to case, admit of no universal description. What works is true and represents a reality, for the individual for whom it works. If he is infallible, the reality is 'really' there; if mistaken it is not there, or not there as he thinks it. We all believe, when our ideas work satisfactorily; but we don't yet know who of us is infallible. Schiller, remaining with the fallible individual, and treating only of reality-for-him, seems to many of his readers to ignore reality-in-itself altogether. But that is because he seeks only to tell us how truths are attained, not what the content of those truths, when attained, shall be. It may be that the truest of all beliefs shall be that in transsubjective realities. It certainly seems the truest, for no rival belief is as voluminously satisfactory, and it is probably Dr. Schiller's own belief ; but he is not required, for his immediate pur6O TRUTH ON TRIAL. pose to profess it. Still less is he obliged to assume it in advance as the basis of his discussion." TRUTH AS A FEELING. It is astonishing how Professor James ignores the most obtrusive facts of the history of philosophy. To him the pragmatic "is the only articulate attempt in the field to say positively what truth actually consists of," and he assumes that the opponents of pragmatism never thought about truth. In his opinion they simply claim that "when an idea is true, it is true, and there the matter terminates." And with this blank in his information concerning all that has been done in the determination of the nature of truth, he starts the world over again and repeats the errors of the sophists which characterize the pre-Socratic period, the very beginning of the history of philosophy. Note at the same time in the pragmatism of Professor James the exaggerated significance of the part which the senses play in the determination of truth. In a passage just quoted, Professor James emphasizes the word "felt" as if a feeling of fitness were the essential element in the constitution of truth. He describes the process of discovering truth by saying that "his idea has in each case brought him into closer touch with a reality felt at the moment to verify just that idea." Note here how he clings to the particular, "in each case," and "felt at the moment," and it must be "just that idea." Nor is it enough to use the word "felt" ; he also speaks of "touch." So much is he afraid to trust the mental process which would lead him to the universal. Truth is not of the senses but of the mind. The senses never produce either truth or untruth ; it is our faculty of the purely formal (commonly called reason) that works out judgments that are either true or untrue, and we verify these judgments by exactness in the application of logic, arithmetic, geometry, etc. The senses only furnish the THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 6l data ; and if the senses are not sufficiently guided they yield very unreliable results, in evidence of which we refer to so-called sense illusions. To the pragmatist, truth is always particular, and in the statement endorsed by Professor James, Professor Schiller even goes so far as to say that truths "admit of no universal description." There are many indications that pragmatism cannot distinguish between facts and truths, and this is one of them. We must remember that a statement of fact may be true, but it is not a truth. A truth is always a formulation of the essential features of a set of facts. Truths are not concrete realities, but ideas that appropriately describe certain characteristics of realities, so as to make our anticipations tally with experience in the past and present and even in the future. While facts are always particular, truths are always general; facts are verified by the senses, truths by the mind; facts change, truths (if they were ever real truths and not errors) remain true forever. We grant that the way to truth is mostly by approximation, and frequently passes through errors. Yea, these errors are sometimes stoutly believed in with great tenacity and are even forced upon unbelievers by such drastic arguments as dungeon and fagots, but this vigor of conviction never changes them into real truths. HOW A LIE DEVELOPS INTO A TRUTH. The most humorous critique of pragmatism, which at the same time is a truly scathing one, comes from the pen of Mr. Peter Finley Dunne, the author of the famous Dooley Monologues. One of these, entitled "Mr. Dooley on Philosophy/' echoes the impressions which Professor James's book makes upon the minds of unsophisticated readers, and we will here quote the main passage. Mr. Dooley says 2 : 'American Magazine, March, 1908. 62 TRUTH ON TRIAL. "What's it all about? says ye. Faith, 'tis fine exercise f'r th' mind. It's like Turkish bath. It is good f'r th' Pro-fissor an' it don't hurt th' victim much. Hogan says this here philosopher has some fine idees about th' truth. I thought ivrybody knew what was th' truth an' what wasn't. It seemed aisy to me. Th' truth was something I believed an' divvle th' bit I cared whether anny wan else believed it or not. 'Twudden't take me wan minyit to tell ye all about it. But ye ask th' pro-fissor about it an' he says: "Th' truth is something that wurruks. If it don't wurruk it ain't th' truth. A truth that is lying off is not half as true as a good wurrukin' lie. Whin th' truth stops wurrukin' it's a lie, an' whin a lie starts goin', it's th' truth. It is onforchnit that human nature is such that it overwurruks th' truth to such an extint that truth knocks off an' says 'twud rather starve thin go on settin' up all night waitin' f'r people to come home an' thin be abused because it hasn't ivrything comfortable f'r ivrybody. Thin is th' time to call in a few lies as sthrike breakers. They'll do well enough f'r awhile. Th' rale test iv truth is can ye cash it in. F'r a gr-reat manny cinchries th' wurruld was flat. We have th' best iv contimpry ividince on that point. Foolish people say it was round all th' time. I say not, an' I have th' most acc'rate records in me lib'ry. Suddenly, some time ago, it become round. There ye have th' idee. But th' rale test iv a truth is its cash value. What can ye get on it? If it ain't anny good to ye, chuck it away. If it's something ye can't carry in ye'er head, so far as ye are concerned, don't thry to think about it. It is not th' truth onless ye can go down with it to th' exchange an' trade it f'r another truth, or if ye're good at tradin', f'r two or three. Don't be afraid to take a truth because it looks suspicyously new. Nearly all th' old truths are bein' discarded be us profissors as too large an' cumbersome to handle. Don't refuse to accept a truth because it looks like a Mexican truth or because it is made iv Babbit-metal an' glass. Ye may be able to pass it off on somebody else "If I had a son wud I advise him to take a coorse in philosophy ? Ye bet I wud. It won't help him much in getting a job as a motorman. It wudden't do him much good to presint a litter fr'm Profissor James to the trainboss sayin': 'I can safely recommind th' bearer f'r any position iv thrust or confidence. He was the brightest philosopher in my class an' he received hon'rable mention f'r his essay entitled : "Why Hegel Niver Cashed." ' But th' exercise THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERSONAL EQUATION. 63 wud be fine f'r his little head an' wan iv th' best things about a college is that ye're taught things there that ye don't have to take out into th' worruld with ye. At th' end iv th' coorse th' philosophy team can safely go out on th' campus an' burn their philosophy togs an' grajally acquire mental clothes more suitable to our rugged an' changeable intellekchool climate. It don't take him long to larn that f'r wan truth that cashes the've got to take a milyon on credit." AN OLD TRUTH CARRIED TOO FAR. Since Professor James endorses the old definition of truth, apparently forgetful of other utterances he has made, we might come to the conclusion that pragmatism (formerly vaunted as a novel theory of truth) is nothing new after all, and that its sole claim to originality consists in the emphasis laid on the practical application of truth, without which truth is not yet truth were it not for the fact that philosophers and educators from the time of Socrates to the present day have insisted on this point almost ad nauseam, so as to make the doctrine that truths must be verified by experience and applied to practical life, trite. It appears that pragmatism is still in a plastic state, its doctrines are not yet matured and cannot be expected to be consistent ; they are developing under our eyes. There is reason to hope that when it has attained years of discretion its conception of truth will look very much like that of the old philosophers, now so ostentatiously decried by our pragmatist friends. We oppose pragmatism as a philosophy and we criticize its conception of truth. But for all that, we find the movement very interesting and instructive. If pragmatism would not lay claim to being a new philosophy, but if it would merely be a psychological method of determining the establishment of truth in the several philosophies by evaluating the purposes and tendencies under which a philosophy has been formed and taking into consideration the 04 TRUTH ON TRIAL. personal equation of the several thinkers, we would recommend it as an extremely practical and useful method. The public at large is too apt to overlook that the purpose of science is its practical application. Man is not a purely intellectual animal. His intellect, including all the truths he can establish, serves the purpose of enhancing his life. Accordingly the most important part of every philosophy will always be its pragmatical aspect, and this is a truth which has been recognized since time immemorial, except that now and then it is forgotten. The easiest way to reconstruct the several philosophies of past ages will be to point out the needs of the generation, the duties with which it was confronted, the tasks which had to be performed, and if we bear these practical points in mind we are not likely to misunderstand if in one period emphasis is placed on one special aspect of the truth, while at another the very opposite may come to the fore-ground. And this is true mainly in those branches of philosophy which are of a practical nature, ethics, pedagogy, religion, the policy of the churches, political economy, etc. Pragmatism as a philosophy is an evidence of this. In emphasizing the practical significance of truth, it goes so far as even to deny the value of theory, of consistency, systematization, etc., and when taken to task, Professor James naively declares that the old definition of truth has to be taken for granted. THE ROCK OF AGES. * A PLURALISTIC VIEW OF SCIENCE. ' I "HE nature of science is much misunderstood even by J_ scientists of rank, and as a result theories such as agnosticism, pluralism, pragmatism, humanism, etc., make their appearance. The truth is that the conception of science as a method, as a systematic plan of investigation, as a consistent principle of arranging facts in order, has not as yet become common property among our main investigators, and there is a notion afloat of the haphazard character of scientific research. Mrs. Fiske Warren, whose article "A Philosophical Aspect of Science" appeared in The Monist of April, 1910, is an instance of this tendency. She studied four years at Oxford, taking the full philosophical course with teachers representing opposing schools of philosophical thought. She was introduced to The Monist by Professor William James who spoke of her in the highest terms. Mrs. Fiske Warren's conception of science is by no means isolated. In a lucid way she summarizes and ably represents the view common among many scientists, and from this standpoint it almost appears a kindness toward science, this inadequate mode of research, to look upon its future with indulgence and suppress the pessimism of despair. In spite of the many drawbacks of science, Mrs. Warren advocates a conditional optimism which is to comfort us for the loss of our illusion. * Republished from The Monist, April, 1910. 66 TRUTH ON TRIAL. Note that in her conception the progress of science "might be described in a series of successes and failures on an ascending curve; no failure means a total collapse of knowledge, no success is ever complete." Thus she places scientific solutions on a level with haphazard probabilities, but even in doing this she ignores the fact that the simile here used is based on the conception of a mathematical curve which would definitely predetermine the progress of science. The development of science is no less subject to law than the growth of animals and plants, the crystallizations of minerals, yea, the formation of whole solar systems. This does not prove as yet, but indicates, that science is not comparable to any haphazard mode of hitting the bull's eye and does not depend on incidental successes, harboring the failures also in its own nature as if they were part and parcel of science itself and did not belong to the struggles of poor mortal and fallible scientists who fail to attain an insight into its truths. When Mrs. Fiske Warren calls her position "a philosophical conception of science," I must demur, for I hold that her views are unphilosophical and even antiphilosophical; they are pluralistic. Philosophy has always endeavored to trace the unity of our conception of the world, and a pluralistic philosophy which, while clinging to particulars and to individual facts, denies unity and scorns system as pure theory is practically a surrender of the ideal of philosophical thought and implies, to say the least, a suggestion that science is impossible and that the light of science is a mere will-o'-the-wisp. METHOD THE ESSENTIAL FEATURE OF SCIENCE. Science is a method of inquiry and as such it means system. The results of science are systematically formulated universalities, i. e., groups of facts of the same charTHE ROCK OF AGES. 67 acter described in their essential nature, singling out the determinant features and omitting all the rest. Such a formula describing a definite set of facts is called a natural law, and I will say here incidentally that what Mrs. Warren says concerning the nature of abstraction is quite correct, although she might have better characterized the nature of abstraction if she had borne in mind the significance of the formal sciences, especially logic and mathematics, which play such an important part in abstraction, furnishing the backbone of what we call system in science. I feel prompted to make a few further comments on the importance of abstraction, for he who truly understands the nature of abstraction can no longer cling to a pluralistic conception either in science or philosophy. Abstraction singles out some definite features and drops all others. An abstraction is mind-made but it represents a real quality of objective things. People who speak of "empty abstractions" with a view of detracting from their significance know not what they say and only exhibit their own lack of judgment. Abstraction is the scepter with which man rules nature, for by the means of abstraction we recognize the common features of things, classify them as general concepts, and learn to formulate the uniformities of nature, commonly called "natural laws." The very existence of abstraction proves that generalization is possible and the mere possibility of generalization is an evidence that there are general types, and reason is justified in trusting to logic, arithmetic and mathematics when dealing with facts of the objective world. Man is the only living being on earth who can make abstractions, for the organ needed to think of whiteness and not of white snow or other white things, to conceive of numbers by counting things and omitting all qualities of the things counted except their presence as items, presupposes the use of words which serve as spoken symbols 68 TRUTH ON TRIAL. for things or their qualities and the faculty of making abstractions, of comprising many sense-impressions into general concepts, and of classifying them into a system of genera and species, is called reason. The speaking animal becomes a rational animal and the rational animal alone can form abstractions, while a methodical use of abstractions establishes science. A formula describing a definite set of facts is a scientific acquisition which (notwithstanding Mrs. Warren's statement to the contrary) is a success,' complete in its special field. The three Kepler laws, for instance, are a definite and complete solution of the problem of the movements of heavenly bodies. While it is true that the attempts to interpret these facts of nature were failures, of which many were by no means a "total collapse of knowledge," it would be a great mistake to imagine that Kepler had only succeeded in a limited way, and that we had to wait for further facts in order to verify his three laws, or even to expect them to be upset or at least modified by our increase of knowledge. Science is not a collection of more or less verified hypotheses. It is not an aggregate of mere probabilities. Science is a method of determining the truth, and in spite of the many gaps in our comprehension it offers us a well guaranteed fund of knowledge. It is characteristic of a conception of science such as underlies Mrs. Fiske Warren's presentation of the case that no distinction is made between theory and well ascertained knowledge of facts. Note the instances which our author adduces to prove her case. She selects for the purpose a brief review of the vicissitudes of the history of matter, a problem which even to-day is not yet ripe for solution. She presents to us a number of hypotheses, not to say vagaries, of prominent scientists. THE ROCK OF AGES. 69 THEORIES AND TRUTHS. Newton formulated the law of gravitation in his Principia, and this is Newton's immortal work, but otherwise his significance as a scientist is greatly overrated. Bear in mind Schopenhauer's strictures 1 that Newton's fame is based on the statement of a theory which was first pronounced by Hooke, whose claim in this case he ignored with persistent narrowness. 2 Note Newton's childish ideas concerning the meaning of the Revelation of St. John, his exaggerated high opinion of these his theological views, and you will understand that his notions concerning the ultimate constitution of matter cannot be treated seriously, as possessing any scientific value. They are theories based upon insufficient data, or we might almost say on pure imagination. Though Newton's Principia is of great importance as a definite formulation of the solution of a problem which had been matured in his time, to present his views of matter as a contribution to science" is quite misleading. When Lord Kelvin visited America he was interviewed by a sage newspaper reporter who wanted an authoritative statement concerning his view of the vortex theory, and Lord Kelvin who had probably been often bored by similar requests simply answered, "It is a mere theory," and so the reporter indulged in extravagant language as to the modesty of the English scientist who spoke of his most famous discovery as a mere hypothesis. The truth is that it was a mere hypothesis, for it is not yet a formula cover1 Welt a. d. V., I, 25: IT, 58, 86 (ad ed., 88). The dispute anent the priority of the invention of the integral in mathematics might find a true solution in the proposition that the first idea came from Leibnitz's fertile brain, to whom it was suggested by his monadology, the theory of infinitesimal particles, while Newton appears to have applied it to the computation of gravitating bodies and thus reduced it to exact mathematical concepts. Diihring in his Kritischc Geschichte der Philosophic, pp. 353, is inclined to side with Newton against Leibnitz. See Enc. Brit., s. v. "Newton." XVII, 440 ff. 7O TRUTH ON TRIAL. ing facts. It is the attempt to explain certain facts for which we have not yet enough data. That Lord Kelvin's theory is not only ingenious, but that it is very helpful, is conceded by all who utilize his suggestion as a working hypothesis and to speak of it as "moribund," creates the suspicion that Mrs. Warren has not grasped its real significance. There is a difference between theory and truth which is this: A theory is a tentative statement of a truth; it is a working hypothesis, temporarily made and awaiting verification, while a truth is a description of a certain set of features or of an interrelation of phenomena which covers the entire range of facts. THE LAW OF CAUSATION. As an important misconception we will mention Mrs. Fiske Warren's interpretation of causality. She speaks of "the law of causality" as "gradually being excluded from science, which more and more contents itself with description." She says, "it still has a respectable reputation. But is it an accurate law ? What it asserts is this : Reproduce all the conditions of a certain phenomenon, that phenomenon will reappear." It would lead too far to here renew the discussion of the law of causality. I will only refer to former expositions of mine, especially in discussions with Professor Ernst Mach. 3 The law of causation has not been replaced by description. It has always been description, except that the term "description" was not introduced until Kirchhoff defined mechanics as an exhaustive and concise description of motion. What Kirchhoff eliminates is the notion of metaphysical factors behind motion, which have sometimes been 1 The Surd of Metaphysics, pp. 119-130. Cf. "Mach's Philosophy," Monist, XVI, 350-352. See also Fundamental Problems, 79-109; and Primer of Philosophy, 137-172. For a treatment of the Hume-Kantian problem of causation, see Kant's Prolegomena, especially pp. 198 ff. THE ROCK OF AGES. 7 1 dignified with the name "cause," but the scholars who used this metaphysical name "cause" did not mean cause at all; they meant "reason," and their notion of reason was based on a distorted view of natural law which then was not conceived as a uniformity but as a metaphysical entity behind phenomena. In former discussions of the problem of causation I have pointed out that "a cause" is always a motion, an event, an occurrence, which in a system of conditions changes the arrangement, and results in a new state of things commonly called "the effect." Accordingly the law of cause and effect is the law of transformation. It describes a series of successive changes, the start of which in the system of our investigation we call "a cause," the end "an effect"; and it goes without saying that the effect in its turn may again be a cause, and we thus have a succession of changes which represent causes and effects in an interlinked concatenation. Without going into further details, I will only say that Hume's famous investigations of causation have missed the mark in so far as he defined cause and effect as "objects following each other," instead of treating them as two phases of one and the same process; thus he could not understand the necessary connection between strychnine and the dead mouse. After all, the law of causation is not being excluded from science. It is nothing more nor less than another aspect of the famous law of the conservation of matter and energy. Speaking of the law of the conservation of matter we must bear in mind that matter is to be used in the more general sense of substance, not in its limited definition of mass and volume; for certain facts, now well established, teach us to look upon ponderable matter as subject to origin and destruction. We have reasons to assume that new 72 TRUTH ON TRIAL. matter originates in some nebulas of the starry heavens, in due succession of the Mendeljeff series, according to their atomic weight, while the discovery of radium suggests a final dissolubility of chemical atoms. The new view does not upset the law of conservation of substance, for we assume that the elements thus formed in the celestial retorts of nebulas are due to a condensation of the ether, or whatever name we may give to the primordial worldstuff. POINTS OF REFERENCE. If the law of causation were really what Mrs. Fiske Warren says it is, viz., "Reproduce all conditions of a certain phenomenon, that phenomenon will reappear," it would be useless even as a working hypothesis; for, as Mrs. Warren truly explains, we can never reproduce the very same conditions the second time, and this she proclaims in the most exaggerated terms in spite of her former explanation of the significance of abstraction. Our method of science consists in eliminating all accidentals and confining the attention to essential features. In order to prove her case she, following the example of Poincare, points out some accidental features and thus shows that the repetition of the same event is impossible. Poincare here makes the same mistake into which Herbert Spencer falls in his First Principles, where he attempts to prove that the simplest phenomena of motion are unknowable. He succeeds only by a blunder. He omits the first essential condition of describing a motion, he leaves out a point of reference. If a captain walks on deck of his ship, from east to west and the ship is moving in the opposite direction at the same rate, is he moving or standing still? This conundrum is produced only by muddling up the issues and projecting our own confusion into the world of objective facts. If I promise to return to the THE ROCK OF AGES. 73 Pantheon in Paris on a certain day and hour, I mean that place with reference to our geography and not the very same spot in the solar system or even the stellar universe. The very definition of the hour and day implies incidentally a changed position of the earth with reference to the sun, and the identity of the spot is determined by the accepted meaning of language ; the introduction of astronomical relations would be mere quibbling. THE STABILITY OF TRUTH. In conclusion I will say: It is not true that "over and over again the fundamental 'truths' have been superseded and buried under fresh growth." The real truths of science, the uniformities of nature, are descriptions of the essential features of certain sets of facts, methodically systematized. They are never superseded, but each of them constitutes a KTJJPO. e's act, a possession that has come to stay, and which will be useful as a foundation for further inquiry. 4 The reason why there is a lack of appreciation of the systematic nature of science, is most likely due to a lack of philosophic training, which in its turn is due to the prevalence of metaphysical and other faulty philosophies such as are sometimes taught even in the foremost and most renowned universities. In order to understand the systematic character of science we must learn to appreciate the paramount significance of form and formal thought, for here lies the real problem of the foundation of science. The formal sciences give us a key to nature; they enable us to construct systems of reference which can be utilized for describing events under observation in terms of measuring and counting, or, generally speaking, by a * A summary of the author's view is stated very briefly in the introduction to the little book Philosophy as a Science, published by the Open Court Publishing Company. 74 TRUTH ON TRIAL. description of their formal relations. The formal element in thought as well as in objective reality is the connecting link that overbridges the chasm between subject and object and which furnishes us with the key by which we may scientifically comprehend nature. The view here presented appears to me as the only tenable interpretation of the nature of science. Neither the extreme empiricists nor the Kantian school have offered a satisfactory solution. The empiricists who are at present in the ascendancy fail to see the systematic nature of science, and the Kantian school had the misfortune of finding a wrong expounder to the English speaking world in the philosopher Hamilton. His misconstruction of the Kantian a priori changed the Kantian school in England into a metaphysical philosophy involving some inferences which were quite foreign to Kant himself. The empiricists on the other hand, having a wrong conception of Kant's a priori, lost the truth of his philosophy, and instead of understanding the nature of certitude, of consistency, of a systematic method, they produced a kind of evidence by accumulation of details, thereby missing the essential and characteristic point of science. The only foundation of science is to be sought in a philosophy of pure form. SYSTEM THE AIM OF SCIENCE. System is the backbone of science, and system is the result of the formal sciences. The latter have been gained through abstraction and constitute what is commonly called "reason." The purely formal aspect of things makes it possible to create purely formal systems of thought such as arithmetic, geometry, and logic. They are a priori in the Kantian sense. They are subjective or purely mental, but serve as models for any object of investigation, be it purely imaginary or actual, merely possible, potential or THE ROCK OF AGES. 75 real, and thus they can be used as means of reference for describing any existence, real or imaginary, which is dominated by consistency. Consistency in the realm of the purely formal sciences produces that wonderful harmony which we observe for instance in mathematics. Consistency in nature produces what in another place I have called lawdom, 5 a state of things known in German as Gesetzmassigkeit, which makes it possible for certain facts of the same class to be described as uniformities. Consistency in action renders possible the rationality of living creatures, enabling them to exercise choice, to make plans, and carry out purposes. Though many scientists look upon science, in the light of Hume's skepticism, as the result of good chances, of mere lucky haphazard successes, there is developing in the present age a deeply rooted confidence that science is more than the result of accidental guesses, and we believe that we have produced the evidence of the attainment of scientific certitude, the foundation of which is laid in the philosophy of form. But this confidence is of a broader nature and of a more ancient date than is commonly granted. This same confidence has accompanied man from the dawn of his rationality and has found expression in his religion. The world was never a chaos to man, but always the law-ordained cosmos, and this feature of cosmic order was pictured in man's religion as a belief in a divinity of some kind, mostly as a hierarchy of gods, and, in the theistic stage of religious development, simply as God. Religion accordingly appears in this conception as an instinctive formulation of a trust in the world-order, and this world-order, which the philosophy of form has been able to trace, constitutes the bed-rock of all our thoughts 8 See The Monist, XX, p. 36. 76 TRUTH ON TRIAL. and aspirations in religion as well as in science. In this sense we can truly say that here lies the Rock of Ages. STATING A TRUTH AND TELLING THE TRUTH. My statement on page 61 that "truths are not concrete realities, but ideas that appropriately describe certain characteristics of realities, so as to make our anticipations tally with experience in the past and present and even in the future," was criticized by Mr. E. H. Randle 6 who says that "we must be careful in definitions, for every prominent word has many secondary meanings." As to the meaning of truth he finds fault with my proposition that "while facts are always particular, truths are always general. Facts are verified by the senses, truths by the mind. Facts change, truths remain forever." Mr. Randle says: "Facts are always particular but I do not see how a fact can possibly change. 'It is a fact that John shot a bird': Can that fact ever be changed? A fact is something done. Neither can I see that truths are always general; but if Dr. Carus means laws he is correct. Many truths are laws. 'All bodies set free above the ground fall to the earth' : this is a truth and a law. I told the truth when I said, 'John shot a bird.' But the shooting of the bird was a fact and not a truth." I grant that Mr. Randle is right when he says that every prominent word has many secondary meanings. This becomes obvious in our use of the term "truth." I do not think that there is any disagreement between his conception of truth and mine, but truth like other words has many secondary meanings, and certain meanings are used with definite phrases and connections. I trust that every thoughtful reader will read the passage quoted and criticized by Mr. Randle in the correct sense. Truths are always mental and general, facts are * In a brief article on "Truth" in The Open Court, Oct., 1909, pp. 632-634. THE ROCK OF AGES. 77 always concrete and particular. Truths are identical with laws and if true are true forever. Facts are the fleeting phenomena in the flux of events that pass by and change, which means that there are always new facts filling the present moment and commanding our attention. I do not think that Mr. Randle would find fault with this statement rightly understood, but I grant that the word "truth" is used also with reference to single statements, and in this connection I will call attention to the fact that if the statement be true that "John shot a bird," we never would call it a truth, but we would say of the man who says so that he told the truth. To "tell the truth" means that the statement of a special case is true, but to tell, or better to state, a truth has a different meaning, which shows that the phrase "to tell the truth" is idiomatic, and we cannot make use of it for the purpose of formulating an exact definition of the term "truth." Accordingly I object to Mr. Randle's expression when he says, "The three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles ; this statement is true and it tells the truth." He ought not to say, "the statement tells the truth," but simply, "the statement is true." The opposite of "telling the truth" is "telling a lie," always implying the reproach of a moral deficiency, but the opposite of "truth" in the scientific sense of the word is not "lie" but "error" or "that which is not true." Mr. Randle unconsciously proves his own contention that "every prominent word has many secondary meanings" ; thus if an author now and then uses a word in more than one sense, we must be charitable and understand the use of it according to the context. THE NATURE OF TRUTH. * THE WORD "TRUTH" IN EUROPEAN LANGUAGES. THE words true, truth, troth, trust, truster, trustee, truce, etc., are derived from an old Teutonic root which appears also in the modern German words treu, "faithful," trauen, "to have confidence," and also Trost, which means originally "rest" or "assurance," then "reliance," and finally "comfort" or "solace." The noun truth is formed from true by the ending th in the same way as wealth from weal (prosperity), health from hale (sound), dearth from dear (scarce), and hearth from a word now lost corresponding to the Gothic hauri and Icelandic hyrr meaning "coal," a "cinder" or "ember." By "truth" we generally understand the trustworthiness or reliability of an idea. According to the etymology of the word, truth is that which endures, that which continues to remain the same, that which stands the test and is not subject to change. The German words wahr and Wahrheit are most probably derived from the root WAS, the infinitive of which in Old German is wesen, "to be," "to exist." Derivatives of this root are preserved in the English "was" and "were." The German word wahr must originally have denoted actual existence, and then acquired the meaning "true" in the sense that what we think is, actually exists. * Republished from The Monist, Oct., 1910. THE NATURE OF TRUTH. 79 The English word "worth" as well as its German equivalent Wert are probably connected with the same root from which wahr, "true," is derived. It means originally the quality of having substance or reality, that which is wahr or truly being; that which is reliable, because it endures. The German word wahr has no direct connection with the Latin verus \ at any rate it is not derived from it, for it existed among the Saxons as well as the Germans and other Germanic nations before Roman civilization began to influence northern Europe; but it is not impossible that verus is derived from the same root, WAS, which is common to all the Indo-Germanic nations. In Anglo-Saxon, the word war, "true," meant the same as the German wahr, but it was replaced in English by "true," the German treu, meaning faithful. Judging from the Gothic word tuzwers, "doubtful," the Goths must also have had the root of the German wahr ; it was presumably pronounced wers, but at the time of Ulfila the term sunjis ("true," the root of which is SA or AS, as it appears, for instance, in the German sein and in asmi, ct/u, sum and am) was used in its stead. If we attempt to reproduce the Gothic sunjis in modern German, we might render it seinig, analogous to an English formation, be-ish. The German affirmation ja, "yes," and its English equivalent yea mean "it is true" and are derived from a root which appears in the Old-High-German verb jehan, "to own, to confess, to profess." In Old-Saxon it reads ja and in Anglo-Saxon gea orge-swa, the latter being an amplification meaning "yea thus" or "yea so," and was contracted into gese, from which the modern word yes is derived. The root of jehan appears also in the German word 8O TRUTH ON TRIAL. Beichte, "confession," which is derived from the verb bejehan, or later be-ichten. How far ja is connected with je (Old-High-German ie) is doubtful. The word ie or iwe (English ever) is preserved in the German je and ewig, "eternal." The same root has produced the German Ehe, "marriage," denoting the alliance between husband and wife destined to last forever. In Greek the word cuwv, an unlimited long period, is etymologically the same as the German Eke. The h in Ehe corresponds to a digamma (pronounced v) in the old Greek aivon as well as the German ewig, but it disappears in the Attic pronunciation of the Greek a tow, as well as in its English derivative "eon." The German wahren, "to guard" and wdhren (the latter etymologically the same as the English "wear" in the sense "to last," "to endure") are also kin to wahr, but here the idea of existence has been changed to that of persistence. How far, and whether at all, the old Slovenian word vera, "faith," and the Irish fir, "truth," are etymologically related to the Teutonic word war, "true," or the root WAS, "real," is doubtful. In Greek the word dX^eta means that which is not hidden, that which can be beheld unconcealed, that which is not masked, or does not put on a false show. In the Slavic languages truth is called pravda (in Polish spelled prawda) and in Croatia it is called istina. The Hungarian word for truth is igaz, and from this same root are derived a number of other words, such as igazsag, literally "truthhood," denoting "justice," igeret, "promise," and igen, "yes" or "yea." In addition there exists a special word ige which means truth in a religious sense and denotes especially the scriptures, or the Bible, or the word of God. Since Hungarian THE NATURE OF TRUTH. 8 1 is a non-European language, the roots of which are different from any Aryan speech, it is difficult to trace the original meaning of these words, but the several derivatives prove that the original meaning can not be much different from their English equivalents, true, truth, troth, and yea or yes, "it is true," as an affirmation. THE HEBREW, THE EGYPTIAN AND THE CHINESE NOTIONS OF TRUTH. In Hebrew there are several words denoting truth, but all of them denote what will last or will stand inquiry. The words 'omen as well as emeth are derived from verbal stems which mean "to be firm." 1 The former verb aman has entered into the New Testament and thence into all modern languages in the shape of Amen, "verily," which literally means "it stands firm," or "it is true." Netsakh 2 means originally glory, brightness, then lastingness and truth, while the affirmation yetseb is used to denote that which will stand in court, being derived from yatzab. 3 The Chaldee word Qeshotf "truth," is derived from Qashat, "to divide evenly," "to make equal," "to measure off rightly," and is connected with words meaning a pair of balances and weights. The underlying idea of the conception is the determination of exact measure. * * * In Egyptian truth is called Ma'at, represented as a goddess with an ostrich feather, a figure which is different from all other gods in so far as she plays no part in mythology, except that she is called the daughter of Ra, the Sungod, and is commissioned with weighing the heart of the 1 The word ^'N is derived from pX, "to be firm," and n$.X from DttX, n to stable." 2 Two forms, ! "i^J and n^J, are in use, both being derived from n3Jj. 8 2? from DIP, "to stand in court." truth, and n^$j?, weight, are both derived from 82 TRUTH ON TRIAL. soul in the underworld before the throne of Osiris. Otherwise she is the personification of truth and right, but the abstract idea of the term has been and has always remained HORUS WEIGHING THE HEART IN THE UNDERWORLD* ANCIENT BREASTPLATE REFERRED TO IN TEXT. A GOVERNOR OF RAMESES IX. From Erman, Life in Ancient Egypt. THE GODDESS MAAT. From Budge's Mummy, p. 29. uppermost in the minds of the Egyptian people. She is also spoken of in the dual form ma'ati, "the two truths," * In the scale is the hieroglyphic for truth. THE NATURE OF TRUTH. 83 as the goddess who attends to both punishments and rewards. The goddess Ma'at is repeatedly mentioned in the oldest extant Egyptian inscription which praises King Unas because "he loved truth (maa) . . . and the double truth (maati) has heard him. . .the double truth has given command to let him pass through the realm of Seb, and to make him rise at his pleasure. . . .And Unas cometh forth on this day as the fruit of the truth (maa) of a living soul . . . Unas cometh forth according to the truth, which brings him his desire." The adjective maa means "straight" or "level," then "right" or "due," and also "genuine" or "real." The emblem of Ma'at is the ostrich feather. As a goddess Ma'at is the patron of justice, and it is reported that the chief judge wore her picture on a chain upon his breast. The breastplate here reproduced shows Ma'at and the hawkheaded Ra, seated on either side of an obelisk. The picture of a governor under Rameses IX shows him in his capacity as a judge, holding the ostrich feather of truth in his left hand. * * * The Chinese word for "truth" is M chan, which is a compound of the two characters A jan, "man," and ill chih, "upright." The character jan appears in the two strokes underneath the word chan. The word "upright" is a compound of three radicals, which are ~h shih, "ten," @ "eye," and L an abbreviation of H yin, which means "hidden." The whole compound character is explained in the Chinese dictionaries as "ten eyes see the hidden." The word "ten" also means "perfect" or "complete," and so it might as well mean, "a perfect vision of the hidden." 5 As the character chan, "truth," now reads, the radical "The character chan, "truth," is found in Chinese dictionaries under the radical No. 109, meaning "eye," as accompanied by five strokes. 54 TRUTH ON TRIAL. shih f "ten," on top of the old way of writing chan, is replaced by the radical No. 21, fc pi, "ladle," in the sense "to compare" or "to change," and in this form the word is explained according to the Taoist notion as referring to the changes which spiritual beings or fairies undergo. In explanation of this view we must state that under the influence of mysticism the "true man" has come to denote first a purely spiritual person, then a magician who can change his shape at will. The adjective "truthful" in Chinese is fit sin, and the character consists of A "man" (in compounds on the left side written thus 4 ) , and the word It yen, the latter being composed of P "mouth" and four strokes above it, meaning "what comes out of the mouth." The whole character "truthful" accordingly depicts "a man standing by his word," a pictorial description than which certainly no better could be invented. A DESCRIPTION OF THE NATURE OF TRUTH. Before we enter into further explanations of the significance of truth we will hear what philosophers have said about it, how they define it and what they think about it. But since many of their statements are vague and unclear, it will render a review of their definitions easier if we know the state of things which suggested the coinage of the word. It is advisable for this reason that we understand exactly why and how the word originated and what we ourselves mean by truth. If we are clear ourselves we shall the quicker see what our predecessors intended to say even when they missed the point or could not find the right expression. The need of communicating our intentions, our requests and our ideas concerning things has produced language; but incidentally while this purpose is fulfilled, language accomplishes a task which grows in importance; THE NATURE OF TRUTH. 85 it clarifies the mind, it begets abstract ideas and thereby produces that order in the methods of thought which is called reason. The speaking animal becomes a rational being. All speech is representative. Every word stands for something, and every sentence either is itself a declaration or implies one. Every statement refers to some object of thought which may be anything or of any kind and need not be a bodily and concrete object. It may be a mere relation and even, as in mathematics, a purely mental conception, or the product of a mental function. A declaration may describe its object of thought correctly or incorrectly, appropriately or inappropriately, with exactness or inadequately. In the former case it is called true; in the latter false, erroneous, untrue or incomplete. When we ask what truth means, we must first bear in mind that truth always refers to a statement made concerning some fact. If the statement describes the fact as it is, it is called "true." We do not speak of facts as being true; facts are either "real" or "unreal." The existence of the chair, the table, the pen is not called "true," but the statement that the chair on which I sit, or the table on which I write, has four legs, is either "true" or "untrue." A statement, as a rule, can be verified. We can count the legs of the table, and if we count to four we say, "It is true that the table has four legs." Truth accordingly consists in a relation. There is a subjective statement and an objective condition of things. Truth means that the former properly describes or represents the latter. If I investigate and find my expectations fulfilled, I call the statement true, and this correspondence, this congruence of thought and thing, is called truth. 86 TRUTH ON TRIAL. THE PHILOSOPHERS OF CLASSICAL ANTIQUITY. A review of philosophical definitions of truth must naturally be very incomplete, because not every philosopher has left a succinct exposition of the subject, and what can be offered here is practically a mere compilation of extracts made from the history of philosophy, having no other merit than that they furnish a brief synopsis of various views and explanations. We will introduce our collection with a quotation from the literature of the Old Testament Apocrypha, which is not a definition but an appreciation of truth. It is not philosophical but religious and reflects in general and emo tional language the reverence in which truth is held by mankind. We read in I Esdras, iv. 38-40: "As for the truth, it endureth, and is always strong; it liveth and conquereth for evermore. "With her there is no accepting of persons or rewards ; 6 but she doeth the things that are just, and refraineth from all unjust and wicked things ; and all men do well like of her works. "Neither in her judgment is any unrighteousness; and she is the strength, kingdom, power, and majesty of all ages. Blessed be the God of truth." By turning from the Jewish literature to Greek philosophy we must regret the absence of any definition of truth among the oldest thinkers, since, with the exception of a few extracts, quotations and general characterizations, their writings have been lost. The oldest Greek philosopher whose definition of truth has been preserved is Parmenides of Elea. He was born about 515 B. C, flourished in the beginning of the fifth century and must have been advanced in years in the time of Socrates. He was the philosopher of pure being to whom reality appeared as merely phenomenal, and ac* In the place of "rewards," the word "privileges" would perhaps better convey the meaning of the text. THE NATURE OF TRUTH. 87 cording to him truth consists in the knowledge that being is and not-being cannot be. The error accordingly arises through the belief that not-being exists. This view of Parmenides is preserved in a passage repeatedly quoted, which according to Proclus in his commentary on Plato's Timaeus (II, 105 b) reads thus: 7 "Listen and I will instruct thee and thou, when thou hearest, shalt ponder, One path is : That Being doth be, and Non-Being is not ; This is the way of conviction, for Truth follows hard in her footsteps. The other path is : That Being is not, and Non-Being must be ; This one, I tell thee in truth, is an all-incredible pathway. For thou never canst know what is not (for none can conceive it) Nor canst thou give it expression, for one thing are Thinking and Being." We must remember that Parmenides identified pure existence with the absolute conception of pure being, thus identifying existence with pure thought. Plotinus quotes from him, "For one thing are thinking and being," which is thought to belong at the end of the passage just quoted, and has therefore been included with it. Plato was greatly influenced by Parmenides and reconciled his views with the philosophy of Heraclitus, whose system is characterized by the phrase TTOLVTO, /oet, "Everything is in a flux." Plato's view of truth is condensed by Ueberweg as follows: 8 "Plato opens the exposition of his physics in the Tim. (p. 28 et seq.} with the affirmation that since the world bears the form of yc'veo-is (development, becoming) and not that of true being (ovsia) nothing absolutely certain can be laid down in this field of investigation, but only what is probable (ei/cores 11x601). Our knowledge of nature bears not the characters of science f$n*r%tf) or of the 1 The passage as quoted here is translated from Mullach's Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum by Thomas Davidson in the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, Vol. IV, No. I (January, 1870). 'History of Philosophy, New York, Scribners, 1903, I, 125. 88 TRUTH ON TRIAL. knowledge of truth (dAr^eia), but those of belief (TTIO-TIS). Plato says (Tim., p. 290) : "What being is to becoming, that is truth to faith" (o TI irep Trpos ylveaiv ovaLa, TOVTO Trpos TTIOTIV dA^eia). What Plato says in the Phaedo, p. 114 d, explains his idea of the probable: 'Firmly to assert that this is exactly as I have expressed it, befits not a man of intelligence ; yet that it is either so or something like it (on rf TOUT' 60-riv rj TOMVT' O.TTO.} must certainly be assumed.' ' Aristotle's definition of truth commends itself more than Plato's to the scientist, and has been summed up by Ueberweg thus (op. cit., I, 152) : "Truth in a logical judgment is the correspondence of the combination of mental representations with a combination of things, or (in the case of the negative judgment) the correspondence of a separation of representations in the mind with a separation of things ; falsity in judgments is the variation of the ideal combination or separation from the real relation of the things to which the judgments relate." Further down Ueberweg says concerning Aristotle: "Truth in knowledge is the agreement of knowledge with reality (Cdteg., C. 12: TO> yap etvat TO 7rpay/xa r) /u.rj a\if)ffi)<; o Adyos T; \f/ev8r)rks (quod agit}. In England and America this criterion of truth has been given the epithet 'instrumental' in contrast to 'normative.' ' : PROTAGORAS REDIVIVUS. The tendency is in the air, but Professor James has made himself the standard bearer of the movement. Stein says: "At first pragmatists sailed under various flags. Those who were of an especially logical turn, originally called themselves 'intentional' or 'instrumental.' James was called a 'radical empiricist' before he brought forward the word in the year 1898 in a lecture before Professor Howison's philosophical union at the University of California, and made a special application of it to religion. (Cf. Pragmatism, p. 47). F. C. S. Schiller was called 'humanist' before he joined James and adopted the designation 'pragmatism' for his world-conception. And so summing up we can well say that the same struggle which took place in the last decade in GerAN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. many between psychologists and logicians the polemical pamphlet of Melchior Palagyi gives the best account of the situation on the other side of the water takes the form of a skirmish between pragmatists and spiritualists or idealists, pur sang. Protagoras is the model of the one party (Schiller professes to follow Protagoras as perhaps also Laas and Mach), Plato that of the other. A new wine in old bottles. The sentimentalism of the pragmatism of James comes from Protagoras, but on the other hand he owes both method and expression to Aristotle." Whether Professor Stein is right in regarding pragmatism as opposed to "spiritualism or idealism pur sang" is rather doubtful, for we must remember that Professor James himself and many of his adherents have vigorously defended some of the most disputed facts of spiritualistic seances. It is well known that to the last Professor James believed in the genuineness of occult phenomena and communications from the dead to the living. THE SUPREMACY OF THE WILL. Pragmatism is a strange compound of many contradictory conceptions and it is probable that Professor Stein systematizes it more than the pragmatists themselves would approve. Pragmatism is in a word sentimentalism, that is to say, it places all reality in sentiment. This is done also by Mach in so far as Mach deems sensations to be the ultimate realities. Yet for all that, James draws other conclusions and incorporates in his conception of sentiment many things which Mach would cut out as illusions. There is an unmistakable kinship between Schopenhauer, Nietzsche and James as pointed out by Professor Stein. He says: "The kernel of the whole matter is the supremacy of the will, practical reason as Kant would say, over thought. Therefore James also is a much stricter voluntarist or activist than, say, Wundt; he approaches more nearly the theory of the supremacy of feeling over understanding as it was prevalent in the English sentimentalist philosophy of the eighteenth century, and is to-day in the psychological school of Th. Ribot in France and in the 'world-conception theory' of H. Gomperz in Vienna. The voluntarism of Schopenhauer receives in James as well as in Ribot the HamannJacobi tendency which Goethe once expressed in the terse formula 'sentiment is everything' (Gefuhl ist alles}. Quite without justification James leads a passionate polemic against Herbert Spencer in whom he sees his opposite pole with relation to the theory of I2O TRUTH ON TRIAL. cognition, while Spencer in his latest works teaches entirely and without reserve supremacy of feeling as much as James and Ribot. Whoever reads Spencer's treatise 'Feelings versus Intellect' in his last work Facts and Comments (1902) will find the following sentences which appear literally in Duns Scotus, but which are no less decisive than those of James: 'The chief component of mind is feeling' (p. 25) ... . 'emotions are the masters and intellect the servant' (p. 30). That is the James-Ribot form of the voluntarism of Schopenhauer. . . . "The voluntarist James should take one step farther and enlist himself in the ranks of the great voluntarists and energeticists from the Scotists to Fichte's 'being springs from doing,' and Nietzsche's 'will for power.' In reality the question in pragmatism is nothing else than a consistent development of the supremacy of practical reason not in a sense of a Kant-Platonizing concept-realism but in the style of that innate nominalism which has pervaded England since Duns Scotus, Roger Bacon and William Occam. For already with these English nominalists, as is the case to-day with James, an extreme voluntarism was combined with the supremacy of the practical reason, an epistemological nominalism with an ethical individualism." KANT'S OPINION OF PRAGMATISM. Professor James who often has his fling at Kant may be surprised to find that there is a great probability that the word pragmatism is directly derived from Kant. It is interesting to read what Professor Stein has to say: "Kant is perhaps the innocent cause that the name pragmatism has been taken up and has been made the small coin of daily philosophical intercourse. In this connection I am thinking less about the title of Kant's anthropology which Kant himself labeled 'pragmatically considered' (in pragmatischer Hinsicht), than of Kant's preface to this work in which the pragmatic is opposed to the physiological: 'The physiological knowledge of man rests upon the investigation of what nature makes of man ; the pragmatic, on that which as a free agent he makes of himself or can and should make of himself.' So according to Kant all rules of intelligence, for instance, are pragmatic (Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten, p. 42, Rosenkranz ed.). Everything practical which serves human welfare he calls pragmatic. 'The practical principle derived from the hankering after happiness I call pragmatic' (Kritik der reinen VerAN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. 121 nunft, p. 611). Hence according to Kant, pragmatism would be a rule of prudence or a utilitarian demand of merely accidental persuasive power. The distinctive mark of the useful and the universally valid is derived from pragmatic cognition. It is only a belief, not knowledge (Kritik der reinen Vernunft, p. 623). And indeed the question is not of a necessary but of an accidental belief. 'I call such accidental beliefs which however lie at the bottom of the actual employment of the means to certain actions, pragmatic beliefs' (Kritik der reinen Vernunft, p. 628). Thus we may see that according to Kant a pragmatic conception of truth such as James and Schiller have to-day established, represents pretty well the first step to the knowledge of truth "The utilitarian is the undertone of the pragmatic, and exactly this pragmatic utilitarian sous entendu is as great a discord to the ear of the German idealist of Konigsberg as it is sweet harmony flattering the ear of the 'smart' American. For Kant, utility is a counter-argument to absolute moral worth, hence the pragmatically useful method of observation or treatment is only of value in orientating, as a card catalogue or alphabetical arrangement is to the librarian, for these are always better as rules of wisdom than absolute disorder. But such a pragmatic arrangement is in the most favorable instance an artificial, even though ever so useful, classification of the schools, but not a classification made by nature. The distinction between pragmatic classification and the accuracy of the classification according to nature is according to Kant a fundamental one (Werke, VI, 315) ; the classification of the schools has only one purpose, namely to bring created things under their proper title, the classification according to nature endeavors instead to bring them under laws." CONTRASTS RECONCILED. Professor Stein's tendency to systematize appears in the following comment. He says: "Heinrich von Stein in his 'Seven Books on the History of Platonism' has produced the convincing proof that philosophical thought has vibrated back and forth in constant rhythm for two thousand years between Plato and Aristotle. This is true as well of the twentieth century as of its predecessors. Half a century ago Trendelenburg brought Aristotle again to our knowledge. The neo-Kantianism under the leadership of Cohen on the other hand helped Plato to victory. Just now Aristotle is again on top by the 122 TRUTH ON TRIAL. roundabout way via Leibnitz. Those thinkers who are interested in biological considerations are to-day grouping themselves again around Aristotle just as those who tend in a mathematically logical direction cluster around Plato. In Germany this dissension appears under the slogans, Psychologism against Logism, Vitalism against Mechanicalism, and Positivism against Idealism. In America and England it has coined the formula, Pragmatism against Transcendentalism. Tout comme chez nous. The French maxim: plus que qa change, plus c'est la meme chose is true of philosophical controversies, schools, party designations, and catch words." Professor Stein appears to go too far in characterizing the different philosophers as either Platonists or Aristotelians. It is true that there is a contrast between a recognition of the facts upon which our world-conception is based and the theories which furnish the system of its construction. But if he would carefully compare Plato and Aristotle he would find (as has been pointed out from time to time) that Aristotle is a Platonist and Plato is an Aristotelian. Though Aristotle has his fling at the Platonic ideas he practically adopts the theory that there are eternal types, and though Plato is an idealist who believes in the eternal ideas as the modes of things, he does not deny that the phenomenal world is the actual world of sense ; and the contrast in which these two systems have frequently been placed is a contrast merely produced by more or less of emphasis laid upon two opposed (not contradictory) principles, and the different systems in the history of philosophy are exactly characterized by the way in which they combine the contrast and recognize the truth of these principles. It is true, however, that Professor James carries the principle of pragmatism to such an extreme as to almost entirely obliterate the principle of systematic thought, theory, logic, rationality, etc. Professor James is a romanticizing philosopher in contrast to such stern and strict classical thinkers as Kant and his school. Says Stein : "The type of thought directly opposed to this logistic classicism is sentimental romanticism. As the former longs for the peace of the conclusive answer the latter seeks the eternal activity of restless questioning;" and further down on page 172: "Pragmatism gathers together all those tendencies of our age with its fevered philosophical excitement which carry on a common war against the thing-in-itself, against all metaphysics, against transcendentalism, idealism, in short against that Platonizing Kantism which is most conspicuously represented and most appreciatively supported by the Marburg school (Cohen AN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. 123 and Natorp), under the names Natural Philosophy, Energetics, Psychologism, Positivism, Phenomenalism, Friesian Empiricism, and Relativism." Here the onesidedness of Professor Stein's classification appears most pronounced. From the point of view of my own philosophy I would be at a loss in what manner to dispose of it. I am decidedly opposed to the subjectivism of Professor James, I most emphatically uphold the objective significance of truth, and yet I reject the idea of the thing-in-itself and all metaphysics based upon it. My solution of the problem 21 briefly stated runs thus : There are not things-in-themselves but there are forms-in-themselves. Professor Stein declares: "For many years together with certain ones of my pupils I have defended the thesis that Kant did not refute Hume. In my book "The Social Optimism" (Der soziale Optimismus, Jena, Costenoble, 1905) I demonstrate that Hume is not a skeptic but the leader of positivism and that Kant has not refuted him in any point. The case is not yet at an end." I have not seen Professor Stein's exposition of his views on Kant and Hume, but I am inclined to believe that I would agree with him. However, I trust that in the books referred to I have pointed out the weak point of Kant's position ; but on the basis of the Kantian conception of the contrast between matter and form, the a posteriori and the a priori, sensation and pure Anschauung with all that it involves, I hope to have answered Hume's question and thus laid a foundation for a system in which the old contrasts will find a just reconciliation. PROFESSOR STEIN ON PRAGMATISM. Here are some paragraphs of Professor Stein's critique of pragmatism : "A criticism of pragmatism must proceed from the inside outward ; that is, from its own hypotheses, and not from the standpoint of idealism, as Miinsterberg attempts. There are two different temperaments as James has rightly said, but temperaments are not to be opposed. The inscription, 'As I see it,' stands written upon every temple, not only the pantheon of art but also the severe cathedral of science. To see in one's own way can never be criticised. The question is only whether a man has seen rightly from his own standB For details see my criticism of Kant in my little book Kant's Prolegomena ; and also my exposition of the problem in my Surd of Metaphysics in the chapter "Are There Things-in-Themselves ?" 124 TRUTH ON TRIAL. point, and right here is the starting-point of our own objection to pragmatism .... "In place of the two criteria of truth represented by Plato (Aristotle too) and Kant, namely necessity and universal validity, we have here the hedonistic utilitarian criteria of truth, individual utility and general practicability. The true and the good agree with each other; this is the demand of the biologic-teleological foundation of logic as pragmatism states it. In addition, it is true, to earlier tendencies of thought, but still with a strongly emphasized personal note. "Against this biological logic a series of considerations arise in the meantime even under the foundation of the pragmatic point of departure wherefore I expressly affirm that I will not repeat the arguments which Husserl in his fundamental 'Logical Investigations' and Miinsterberg in his 'Philosophy of Values' (Philosophic der Werte, Leipsic, Barth, 1908) have arranged in imposing conclusiveness against all psychologism. I do not propose to refer here to even the purely polemical literature of the English, French and Italians against pragmatism. 22 It is much more important for me to consider the difficulties of thought which in spite of my sympathetic position towards the fundamental demands of pragmatism I can not suppress. If Messrs. James and Schiller will take the trouble to look through my 'The End of the Century' (Wende des Jahrhunderts, Tubingen, Mohr, 1899), 'The Sense of Existence' (Der Sinn des Daseins, ibid., 1904) and 'The Social Optimism' (Der soziale Optimismus, Jena, Costenoble, 1905), they will discover now and again almost verbal correspondences in that which I call evolutionary criticism and the optimism of energetics. In case James and Schiller would attempt to claim me as well as Wilhelm Jerusalem in the ranks of pragmatism, I shall have to point out my opinions against methods and results .... "Pragmatism with its genetic theory of truth is only new in that it discloses itself as logical evolution. Truth is placed in the stream of practical development. As once the followers of the Heraclitean Cratylos, the teacher of Plato to whom he had dedicated his dialogue of the same name, are jokingly called the 'flowing ones,' 23 pragmatists recognize only one developing truth which will gradually approach the absolute truth or its ideal heights." ** Among the last G. Vailati is of a special importance. See "De quelques caracteres du mouvement philosophique contemporain en Italic," Revue de mois, 1907. * of 'pfovTft, i. e., those that are in a constant flux. AN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. 125 Professor Stein takes the underlying principles of pragmatism and systematizes them in spite of Professor James. The latter may not take the consequences but Professor Stein seems to argue that if pragmatism were consistent Professor James ought to hold the views to be derived from its maxims. We doubt very much whether Professor James would be prepared to regard the ego as " a mere practical unit for a preliminary provisional consideration" (p. 182). Stein says : "Mach's definition of the ego as unity of purpose and James's theory of concepts or classes as teleological instruments, arise from the common fundamental conviction that all spiritual life is teleological. The teleological unity of the ego according to Mach rests upon an unanalysed constant. The ego is accordingly a practical unit for a preliminary provisional consideration. The same is the case with concepts of substance, being, doing, matter, spirit. They are abbreviated symbols for the purpose of an easier orientation in the surrounding world. All science thus shrinks into one impression as all deduction according to Mill is only an abbreviation and inverted induction, a memorandum for thought"Here we have the proton pseudos as well of pragmatism as of Hume's positivism and all related tendencies. Quite apart from the fact that the biological method which James and his school would apply to logic is already shattered on the fact that biology itself is still to-day in the condition of fermentation and insecurity and accordingly possesses no suitability for a foundation of the most certain of all sciences, formal logic, pragmatism takes the same course which Hume was not able to escape. Hume refers substance and causality to habits of thought and laws of association ; but how have laws of association found entrance into the human brain ? Why have all men and animals the same laws of association by contiguity or innate similarity? Hume concludes the validity of the laws of association by means of the laws of association already in effect .... "It is quite clear, however, that pragmatism too has it a priori, that is the telos, and if we jest about the logism of Kant, that in spite of us man comes into the world with a completed table of categories, so let us not forget to consider the beam in our own eye. We are all a priori sinners. Or, does it matter so much if man comes into the world according to Kant with a table of categories, according to Hume with completed laws of association, according to Avenarius and Mach with an automatically functioning economy 126 TRUTH ON TRIAL. of thought, and finally according to James and Schiller with an apparatus of utility and selection like an innate scale of values? Let us first of all be honest with ourselves. Pragmatism accomplishes nothing but to set up a teleology of consciousness in the place of a mechanics of consciousness such as Hobbes, Spinoza, Hartley, Priestley, Hume, the naturalists, materialists, and psychologists of association have offered us." CRITICS OF PRAGMATISM REBUKED. 1 Pragmatism is still agitating the philosophical world, and Prof. William James fought the good fight dealing blows right and left. There is a change only in so far as pragmatism does not seem to spread further, and its ingenious leader began more and more to assume the defensive. His main weapon consisted in the declaration that his antagonists had misunderstood him. They are accused of distorting his views into silly absurdities which he did not mean to say, and they are put down with such phrases as, "this is the usual slander" (p. 274). In my criticisms I have always been careful to quote the master's ipsissima verba, and so I feel that his complaint is not applicable in my case. The latest book of Professor James bears the title The Meaning of Truth, but the author does not betray the secret in its pages. He talks about truth but nowhere solves the problem of its meaning, and his statements are by no means always consistent. He resembles in this respect a dear old German friend of mine who always had the last word and was never at a loss to give an answer. When once his own authority was quoted against him and he seemed hopelessly vanquished he calmly said, Ich bin nicht immer meiner Meinung, "I am not always of my own opinion." But pragmatism is so subtile that no one appears to be able to appreciate it unless he enters into its spirit with enthusiasm. Professor James says (pp. 183-184) : "The pragmatist question is not only so subtile as to have escaped attention hitherto, but even so subtile, it would seem, that when openly broached now, dogmatists and sceptics alike fail to apprehend it, and deem the pragmatist to be treating of something wholly different." The difficulty of understanding pragmatism is greatly increased to outsiders, to intellectualists as they are called, to rationalists, to 1 A review of The Meaning of Truth, A Sequel to Pragmatism, by William James, New York: Longmans Green & Co. Price $1.25 net. Republished from The Monist, Jan., 1910. AN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. 127 monists, and to the whole crowd of anti-pragmatists, by the brilliant dicta of Professor James, who in his zeal sometimes makes statements which he does not mean and which he offers only as an olive branch to please antagonists or to gain their good will. Professor James says in the preface: "One of the accusations which I oftenest have had to meet is that of making the truth of our religious beliefs consist in their 'feeling good' to us, and in nothing else. I regret to have given some excuse for this charge, by the unguarded language in which, in the book Pragmatism, I spoke of the truth of the belief of certain philosophers in the absolute. Explaining why I do not believe in the absolute myself (page 78), yet finding that it may secure 'moral holidays' to those who need them, and is true in so far forth (if to gain moral holidays be a good), I offered this as a conciliatory olivebranch to my enemies. But they, as is only too common with such offerings, trampled the gift under foot and turned and rent the giver. I had counted too much on their good will oh for the rarity of Christian charity under the sun ! Oh for the rarity of ordinary secular intelligence also !" Professor James complains about "the rarity of Christian charity" and "the rarity of ordinary secular intelligence." But is he not guilty of the same fault when he misconstrues what other thinkers have said before him ; when he censures them in sweeping assertions for mistakes of which only some of them are guilty; when for instance he declares (p. 192) that "throughout the history of philosophy the subject and its object have been treated as absolutely discontinuous entities" (p. 136) ; while we know that almost every philosopher has considered the two as correlates? If our pragmatists were more familiar with the history of philosophy they would probably not boast so loudly of the originality of the movement, the leading ideas of which are old errors. We do not doubt that Professor James has been frequently misunderstood, and he confesses himself that he did not always mean what he said, but it appears that the main reason that he is so much misunderstood is his own carelessness. On page 272 Professor James says with reference to the criticism of Professor Bertrand Russell: "When, for instance, we say that a true proposition is one the consequences of believing which are good, he assumes us to mean that any one who believes a proposition to be true must first have made out clearly that its consequences are good, and that his belief must primarily be in that fact, an obvious absurdity, for that fact is the deliverance of a new proposition, quite different from the first one and is, moreover, a fact usually very hard to verify, it being 'far easier/ as Mr. Russell justly says, 'to settle the plain question of fact: "Have popes always been infallible?" than to settle the 128 TRUTH ON TRIAL. question whether the effects of thinking them infallible are on the whole good.' We affirm nothing as silly as Mr. Russell supposes." I am glad to know that Professor James does not mean to make the pragmatic result of a belief the test of its truth; but I can not help thinking that his explanations of the meaning of pragmatism go pretty far to justify Professor Russell in thinking so. SCIENCE SUPERSEDED. When I refuse to accept pragmatism I may be under a misapprehension ; but if words mean what they say, Professor James believes that science is not possible, or at least that what is called science is not reliable, that new fangled theories have replaced the old orthodox conceptions, that Euclid is antiquated because Bolyai and Lobatchevsky have excogitated other geometrical systems, and that truth and its exponent science have neither stability nor objective significance. We may misunderstand Professor James, but this is what he says on page 57: "As I understand the pragmatist way of seeing things, it owes its being to the break-down which the last fifty years have brought about in the older motions of scientific truth. 'God geometrizes/ it used to be said; and it was believed that Euclid's elements literally reproduced his geometrizing. There is an eternal and unchangeable 'reason' ; and its voice was supposed to reverberate in Barbara and Celarent. So also of the 'laws of nature,' physical and chemical, so of natural history classifications all were supposed to be exact and exclusive duplicates of pre-human archetypes buried in the structure of things, to which the spark of divinity hidden in our intellect enables us to penetrate. The anatomy of the world is logical, and its logic is that of a university professor, it was thought Up to about 1850 almost every one believed that sciences expressed truths that were exact copies of a definite code of non-human realities." Now we deny that geometricians ever believed that Euclid's Elements "literally reproduced God's geometrizing" ; or, what means the same, that geometry is a direct description of objective spaceconditions. All mathematical propositions are purely mental constructions by the aid of which we can calculate the relations that obtain in space, or other conditions, proportions, probabilities, etc., and mutatis mutandis the same is true of logical syllogisms and of the laws of nature. None of them are copies or duplicates, or archetypes, but they are formulas by which we comprehend reality and which serve us to adjust our conduct. Here Professor James is guilty of an obvious misunderstanding of the import of science, and he misconstrues the meaning of former thinkers. AN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. 129 While to some extent the pragmatist fights windmills which he takes for giant errors, he takes new fads seriously or exaggerates the importance of new theories, making out that they upset and antiquate all previous science. Professor James continues: 2 "The enormously rapid multiplication of theories in these latter days has well-nigh upset the notion of any one of them being a more literally objective kind of thing than another. There are so many geometries, so many logics, so many physical and chemical hypotheses, so many classifications, each one of them good for so much and yet not good for everything, that the notion that even the truest formula may be a human device and not a literal transcript has dawned upon us." The subjectivity of geometry is also insisted upon on pp. 83 ff. On page 85 we read a sentence which reminds us of Kant. Here Professor James says: "The whole fabric of the a priori sciences can thus be treated as a man-made product" ; though Kant would say that space is "ideal," which means belonging to the domain of ideas, and we would prefer to say, that the a priori is "mental or a mindmade product." How ideal or purely mental constructions can possess objective values I have set forth in my book on Kant's Prolegomena. But in the pragmatist conception everything dwindles down to "purely human habits" (p. 29). A genuine scientific truth is a formula which describes the essential features of a group of facts. A scientific theory is a tentative explanation of facts. Everybody knows that theories and hypotheses are preliminary and we must always be prepared to surrender them. No scientist will regard the change of a theory as a "breakdown" of the notions of scientific truth, be they old or new, but while theories change, truths remain forever. Those features of facts which remain, the "uniformities of nature" as Clifford called them, those eternalities of existence which make science possible, are not subject to change. They are the raison d'etre on the one hand of the cosmic order, and on the other hand of man's rationality. OFTEN WRONG BUT NEVER DULL. Professor James calls his new book "The Meaning of Truth," but the reader, with the exception of his most ardent admirers, will not know more about what truth in pragmatism means after having read these latest explanations. Professor James even admits that the very "name 'pragmatism' with its suggestions of action, has been I3O TRUTH ON TRIAL. an unfortunate choice" (p. 184), and I at any rate must confess that I am more bewildered than helped. Professor James himself says (p. 215) : "As I look back over what I have written, much of it gives me a queer impression, as if the obvious were set forth so condescendingly that readers might well laugh at my pomposity. It may be, however, that concreteness as radical as ours is not so obvious. The whole originality of pragmatism, the whole point in it, is its use of the concrete way of seeing. It begins with concreteness, and returns and ends with it." Other philosophers too have proposed to begin with concreteness and to end with concreteness, but the worth of a philosophy consists in the method of dealing with the concreteness of existence ; yet this portion is missing in pragmatism. Professor James overestimates the significance of sentiment and underrates the importance of the intellect. His world-conception might be characterized as a philosophy of mood, of temper, of feeling, of subjectivity, in rebellion against the rigid demands of intellect, of science, of consistency of system. He dislikes theory and system, prefers pluralism to monism, clings to the concrete, and abhors the abstract. Such is the poet's and artist's temperament, which is desirable in literature, in lyric effusions, in paintings, especially in Stimmungsbildern, but out of place in science and in a scientific philosophy. Such temperamental expressions are perfectly legitimate, and we enjoy the writings of Professor James as such, but we must demur when he parades his subjectivism as philosophy, indeed as the one philosophy to the exclusion of an objective or a scientific philosophy. Here is a sample of pragmatic epistemology : "A feeling feels as a gun shoots. If there be nothing to be felt or hit, they discharge themselves ins Blaue hinein. If, however, something starts up opposite them, they no longer simply shoot or feel, they hit and know. "But with this arises a worse objection than any yet made. We the critics look on and see a real q [quality] and a feeling of q ; and because the two resemble each other, we say the one knows the other. But what right have we to say this until we know that the feeling of q means to stand for or represent just that same other q? Suppose, instead of one q, a number of real q's in the field. If the gun shoots and hits, we can easily see which one of them it hits. But how can we distinguish which one the feeling knows? It knows the one it stands for. But which one does it stand for? It declares no intention in this respect. It merely resembles; it resembles all indifferently; and resembling, per se, is not necessarily representing or standing-for at all. Eggs resemble each other, but do not on that account represent, stand for, or know each other. And if you say this is because neither of them is a AN APPENDIX ON PRAGMATISM. feeling, then imagine the world to consist of nothing but toothaches, which are feelings, feelings resembling each other exactly, would they know each other the better for all that?" Rambling but witty, full of misconceptions but entertaining, and disposing of the problem with a joke, such is the style of the leader of the pragmatic movement. The book talks about truth, but never and nowhere does it clinch the problem. We grant that it combats many errors, although we must add that frequently what it combats are but straw men of the author's own making. But whatever errors pragmatism may be guilty of, Professor James was a man of great vigor and ingenuity. Though we would say that Professor James made serious blunders and was sometimes unfair to his antagonists, though he misconstrued the philosophies of the past, though he lacked clearness of thought, the first requisite for a philosopher, his writings possess a charm that is unrivaled. He may have been wrong in all his contentions, but he was never dull. INDEX. Absolute in truth, 27. Abstraction, Man rules nature through the power of, 67-68. Abstractions significant, 40. Actuality and reality, 103. Adaptation and right thinking, 10. Admirers of W. James, 129. After-images are true sensations, 99. Agreement, between atheist and theist, 35 ; of critics regarding James's pragmatism, 53, 114, 115; of opinion regarding the nature of truth, 96; of truths, the ideal of science, 12. Allegory and truth, 35. American, The "smart," 121. Anecdote of inconsistency, An, 126. Anschauungen, and sensation, 123; and truth, 92 ; of Kant, 19. Answer, Peace of the conclusive, 122. Apocrypha, Truth in O. T., 86. Approximation and the progress of science, 29. A priori, and truth, 125 ; in the Kantian sense, 74. Aquinas, Thomas, 90, 96. Archetypes, Mathematical formulas not, 128. Artist temperament of W. James, 130. Aristotle, and Euclid, 30; and the definition of truth, 88; contrasted with Plato, 122. Astronomy, and the personal equation, 49; Pragmatic attitude in, 41, 42. Atheist and theist, Ground for agreement between, 35. Augustine, St., Truth and existence according to, 89. Avenarius, 125. Averroes, 90. Bacon, Roger, 120. Bayle, Pierre, and the doctrine of twofold truth, 91. "Beliefs, as rules for action," an explanation but not a principle, 5; framed for a practical intent, 35. Bentham, 6. Birth of truth, 98. Bismarck's pragmatic politics, 5. Blondel, Maurice, 116. Boodin, John E., 40. Business interests and pragmatism, 47. Cash value of ideas, 8; of truth, 9. Categories fulminated and categories forming, 36. Causation, an aspect of conservation of matter and energy, 71 ; and the metaphysical entity behind phenomena, 70. Cause, a motion, 71. Chance (Tyche), Doctrine of, 36. Change, All things, 2. Charvakas, the materialist school of India, 89. Chinese character for truth, 83, 84. Christianity's doctrine of truth, 89. Clifford, 129. Cognition and the scientific method, 95 ; Stoic's emphasis of the theory of, 88. Comet, Pragmatism like a, 44. Conflict between scientific and religious truth, 90. Consciousness, 102 ; Teleology vs. the mechanics of, 126. Consequences, the viewpoints of pragmatists, 115. Conservation of energy and matter, Causation an aspect of, 71. Consistency, Man's hankering for, 22 ; not required in philosophy (Boodin), 40; produces harmony, i. e., lawdom, 75. Constitution of the world complete from all eternity, 16. Conviction, the truth of the pre-scientific man, 48. Coordination of facts and their representations, II. Copernicus, Ptolemy and, 28. Correlates, Subject and object as, 127. Correspondence between ideas and facts, 39. 134 TRUTH ON TRIAL. Corridor of theories, Pragmatism a, 27. Critics agree in misinterpreting Wm. James's pragmatism, 53; 114, 115. Curved reason and two-dimensional time, 15. Cynic's Calendar, 7. Cyrenaics or hedonists, 115. Data of truth furnished by the senses, 60-6 1. "Denouncers" of pragmatism rebuked, 55Description, Law of causation not replaced by, 70. Development of science, Failures incidental to, not part of science, 66 ; no less subject to law than the growth of nature, 66. Domain of truth, includes the noetic and the teleological, 48; Place of sense impressions in, 96. "Dooley on Philosophy," 61-62. Doubt and the "fixation of belief," 58. Dungeons and fagots, The drastic arguments of, 61. Ego as "a practical unit for preliminary consideration," 125. Enthusiasm a prerequisite for modern pragmatism, 126. Epicurus, 88, 89. Epistemology, i. e., kenlore, 88. Error, a failure to attain the truth, 99 ; and windmills, 129. Esoteric and exoteric truth, 90. Etymology of the word truth, 78 ff. Eucken, R., 118. Euclid and Aristotle, 30; not antiquated by modern science, 128. Eudoxus, 28. Evidence by accumulated details is not truth, 74. Exactness is not pedantry, 43. Expedient, Truth as an, 28. Experience protests against errors, 92. Facts, are real and their representations are true, 1 1 ; particular, and truths universal, 61 ; with ideas, Correspondence of, 39. "Fad" philosophy, 43. Failures incidental to the development of science are not part of science itself, 66. Faith often replaces logic, 50. "Feeling, The chief component of mind is," (Duns Scotus), 120. "Fixation of belief," 58. "Flowing ones," The, 124. Form, Philosophy of, 74 f. Formal science, Key to nature in, 73. Forms-in-themselves, 123. Fraud and error in awe of truth, 93. Fulminated categories, 36. Gefuhl ist A lies, 38. Germany and the conflict in philosophy, 122. General and special truths, 93. Genetic psychology and personality, 49. Geometry, Subjectivity of, 129. Gesetzmassigkeit, i. e., lawdom, 75. God and geometry, 128; as creator, 106; can be defined in terms of experience, 35; Gauge of man to be found in, I ; the oneness of all the verities of existence, 108. Good and evil, Stoic definition of, 114. Harmony of all truths predetermined. 12 ; produced by consistency, 75. Hebert, Marcel, 53. Hedonists, 115. Heraclitus, 87. Herrmann, Conrad, 116. Historiography, Pragmatic, 4. Horizon, Intellectual, 44. Humanity the product of reason, 19. Hume, 75, 92, 125. Ideal, of philosophy, to trace the unity of our world-conception, 66 ; of science, the ultimate agreement of all truths, 12. Ideals, Efficiency of, i ; guardian angels, 2. Ideas, and facts, Correspondence between, 39; in use compared to money in circulation, 9. Idiosyncrasies and the "will to believe," 23. Incarnation of the deity, The ideal man an, 2. Inconsistency, Anecdote of, 126; in definition, 53 ; not detrimental in philosophy (Boodin), 40. "Innate" ideas, 105. Inspiration and the personal equation, 43. Instability of natural law, Theory of the, 36. Intellect, a revelation of God, 52; and the personal equation, 48; Supremacy of, 52. Intellectual, horizon, 44; struggles not quibbles, 35. Inventions not happy coincidences, 51. James, William, 5, 42 ff . ; accepts the consequences of his own definition, 7; Admirers of, 129; an empiricist, 26; and mystical phenomena, 20, 119; apologizes for title of book, INDEX. 135 The Will to Believe, 23; artist temperament of, 130 ; as a pluralist, 58; Attractive personality and charm of, 44-45 ; averse to argument, 34-35 ; Brilliant dicta of, 127 ; Critics agree in misinterpreting pragmatism of, 53, 114, 115; his definitions of truth, 54, 68; his vagaries fascinating to the young generation, 42 ; Literary style of, 13 ; Naturalism and, 32; often wrong but never dull, 129; paints with a full brush, 31; Spiritualism of, 32; Tribute to, 130. Kant not antiquated by pragmatism, 37, 49, 92, 120. Kelvin's interview with a reporter, Lord, 69. Kenlore, new term for epistemology or theory of cognition, 88. Kepler, 30. Kernel of pragmatic method, 115, 117. Key to, nature in the formal sciences, 73 ; riddles of the world, 106. Kirchhoff's use of the word "description," 70. Language, Origin of, 84. Lateran Council and the twofold truth, 92. Lawdom, the condition which makes truth possible, 100; the harmony produced by consistency, 75. Laws of nature, not blind, 32; prototypes of our truths, 106; systematic descriptions of groups of facts, 39. Leibnitz, 105 ; concedes true existence only to that which works, 118; his use of the term "monad," 116. Lies, considered pragmatically, 56-57; Useful, 7. Logic, analogous to perception, 97; most certain of all sciences, 125 ; often replaced by faith, 50; Pluralistic, 15; vs. temperament, 24! Loose method of philosophizing, Dangers of a, 42. Ma'at, the goddess of truth and right, 81-83. Mach, Ernst, 70, 125. Maimonides, 90. Man an incarnation of the deity, The ideal, 2. Marburg School, The, 123. Materialism and spiritualism, 31. Materialist school of India, Charvakas, 89. Mathematical formulas not archetypes, 128. Matter, a problem not ripe for solution, 68, 70; and energy represent the "that" of existence, not the why and wherefore, 104; Man's soul not molded by, 32; now considered as subject to origin and destruction, Ponderable, 71 ; or God a supererogatory discussion, 34. Maywald, M. 90. Mechanical necessity the foundation of truth, 100. Mechanics of consciousness, Teleology vs. the, 126. Memory and truth, 97. Mendel jeff series, The, 72. Mental constructions have pragmatic value, 17, 18; mistakes, Sense illusions are, 99-100. Merz, John Theodor, 94. Metageometry, Space conception of, 15. See also "Non-Euclidean geometries." Metaphysical essence, 102. Metaphysics and causation, 70-71. Methodology, 51 ; Classical and modern, 95. Microcosm, Man a, i. Mill, J. S., 125. Mind, a proof of the cosmic system, loo ; and truth, 96 ; Consistency and the human, 15 ; embodiment of the world-order, 105; Origin of, II. Misconstructions and false criticism, 127-128. Monad, Leibnitz's use of the term, lid Monism, and the principle of oneness, 14; and the unity of all truths, 104105. Moods, Legitimate place of, 41. Moral holidays and the inconsistencies of pragmatism, 22. Motion, Cause a, 71 ; Point of reference the first essential condition for describing a, 72. Multiple personality, 53. Munsterberg, Hugo, 124. Mysticism and the purely formal, 103 ; Love of facts and, 19 ff. Naturalism, W. James and, 32. Nature's key in the formal sciences, 73 ; laws not blind, 32 ; laws prototypes of our truths, 106; laws systematic descriptions of groups of facts, 39. Necessity and universal validity, 124. New truth is pseudo truth, iio-m. Newton on the ultimate constitution of matter, 69. Nietzsche, R, 93-94. 136 TRUTH ON TRIAL. Noetic domain of truth, No separate 48. Non-Euclidean geometries, 30. See also "Metageometry." Objective significance of truth, II ff. Objectivity of science, 51. Occam, William, 120. Occult phenomena believed in by W. James, 119. Old truths and their wider interpretations, 30. One and the many, The, 13. Oneness of all truths, 104. Order not the cause but the product of evolution (Peirce), 36. Palagyi, Melchior, 119. Paradoxes of pragmatism, 21. Parmenides, Plato greatly influenced by, 87. Pathological reasoning, 47. Peace of the conclusive answer, 122. Peirce, Benjamin, 37. Peirce, Charles S., 5 ; A suggestion for, 15 ; the real founder of pragmatism, 114; Tychism of, 36. Personal equation, a vitiating factor in a consideration of truth, 50, 51 ; and astronomy, 49; and intellect, 48; and "plastic truth," 26-27; Inaccuracy of the, 46, 47. Personality, Disintegrated, 49, 53; Genetic psychology and, 49. Philosophy, as a science not determined by the personal equation, 26 ; Ideal of, to trace the unity of our world conception, 66; not the subjective expression of idiosyncrasies, 41 ; of tolerance, 40 ; tested by its practical application, 10. Piper, Mrs., 43. Plasticity in astronomy, 41 ; in philosophy, 40; of truth, 27. Plato, 87; and Aristotle, 122. Plotinus, 87. Pluralistic view of science, 65. Poetic not always the exact, The, 37. Poincare, Henri, 72. Politics, Pragmatic, 4-5. Polybius, 116. Pope's infallibility and pragmatism, The, 127. Pragmatic, All philosophies are, 10; aspect of philosophy its most important part, 64; epistemology, Sample of, 130; History of the word, 4; method, a card catalogue, 121, method, Kernel of, 115, 117. Pragmaticism and pragmatism, 36. Pragmatism, a psychological method rather than a new philosophy, 63; an artistic movement, 43 ; and the Inquisition, 7; and utilitarianism, 6; applied to time and space, 18; as a philosophical movement, 4; Critics of, 23; date when stamped as a philosophical term, 116; defined by W. James, 5 ; denies verities (objectivity of truth), 107; History of the word and the method, 113; in business interests, 47; in the religious field, 8 ; introduced into philosophy by C. S. Peirce in 1878, 5 ; its denouncers rebuked, 55 ; its test of truth and place in religion, 33; new wine in old bottles, 119; on the defensive, 126; Pathological element in, 25 ; Peirce the real founder of, 114; Pre-scientific, 48; Prophecies of , 44; pugnacious towards its critics, 37. Predetermined, Solutions of scientific problems are, n. Pre-scientific, age of culture, Characteristics of the, 50; man's idea of truth, 48. Prince, Dr. Morton, 49. Problems, Only one right solution of scientific, 11. Promise, Spiritualism the doctrine of, 34Prophecy of pragmatism, The, 44. Protagoras redivivus, 118. Psychic phenomena, The attractive vagueness of, 43 ; believed in by James, 119. Psychology, Genetic, 49. Ptolemy and truth, 28. Pugnacious pragmatism, 37. Purely formal, i.e., reason, 60; Norms of, the backbone of system in science, 14, 67; Mysticism and, 103. Quibbling and confusion of thought, 73; vs. argument, 29, 35. Radium and the final dissolubility of atoms, 72. Rationality first expressed in the idea of God, 75. Real and true, n. Reality, and actuality, 103; Readymade, 17. Reason, a unity, 14, 16 ; Humanity the product of, 19. Reference, Points of, 72 ff. Reformation and pragmatism, The, 7. Religion, an instinctive formulation of a trust in the world-order, 75; Place of pragmatism in, 33. Revelation of truth, Special, 90. Riddles of the world, Key to, 106. INDEX. 137 Rock of ages, 65 ff. ; in that the truth of yesterday will be truth to-morrow, 28 ; in world-order founded on philosophy of form, 75. Romantic temperament introduced into theology by W. James, 32. Rothschild and pragmatic methods in finance, 56-57. Russell, Bertrand, 127. Schiller, F. C. R., 59; as a humanist, 118. Schopenhauer, A., 92; Four kinds of truth according to, 93. Science, a consistent principle of arranging facts in related order, 65 ; Heroes of, 95 ; Ideal of, the agreement of truths, 12; not an aggregate of mere probabilities but a method of determining truth, 68; not impossible because the masses are unscientific, 51 ; objectivity of, 51; Pluralistic view of, 65; superseded, 128; Truth the basis of, 7. Scotus, Duns, 120. Sensation and pure Anschauung, 123. Sensations as ultimate realities (Mach), 119. Sense impressions, analogous to logical syllogisms, 97; Place of, in the domain of truth, 96. "Sentiment, is everything," 119; Significance of, 130. Simmel, Georg, 118. Sophists, Philosophy of the, 44. Spasms, Thought-, 10. Speech is representative, 85. Spencer, Herbert, 72. Spinoza, 92. Spiritual origin of force, B. Peirce's theory of the, 37. Spiritualism of W. James, 32. Spirituality impossible without truth, in. Stability of truth, 73. Stein, Ludwig, 113, 123-124. Stoics on truth and the theory of cognition, 88; their definition of good and evil, 114. "Straw men" in philosophy, 39. Subject and object as correlates, 127. Subjective, conception of truth, 54; element, Elimination of the, 49. Subjectivity develops from purely physical conditions into the thinking subject, 103; of geometry, 129. Syllogisms, and sensations as criteria of truth, 88; and sense perceptions, 97Symbols for orientation, 125. System is the backbone of science, 74. Tausch, Edwin, 49. Teleological, in truth, The, 48; unity of ego, 125; view of pragmatism, USTeleology vs. the mechanics of consciousness, 126. Temperament vs. logical argument, 24, 25. Terminology in philosophy, 51. Theology and truth, 90-91. Theory, Truth and fact in, 70. Things-in-themselves, 92, 109. Thucydides, 116. Time and space, 17 f. Tolerance in philosophy, 40. Transformation, Law of, 71. Trendelenburg, A., 121. Trinity, Verities, truths and ideals constitute an analogy to the theological, 106, 107. Truth, a formulation of the essential features of a set of facts, 61 ; and allegory, 35 ; and Anschauung, 92 ; and existence, Difference between, 96 ; and the a priori, 125 ; as an expedient, 28; Cash value of, not determined by activity, 8, 10; Christianity's doctrine of, 89; defined, 85 ; defined by James, 54 ; Doctrine of the twofold, 89, 91 ; Domain of, includes noetic and teleological, 48; Egyptian emblems of, 81 ff. ; Etymology of the word, 78; Evidence is not, 74; exists only in thought, 96 ; in the singular and in the plural, 13 ; its ideal the solution of every scientific problem, 1 1 ; its predetermined character in the agreement between idea and reality, n; man's guide and safeguard, 3 ; Mechanical necessity the foundation of, 100; Nature and function of, according to modern scientists, 94; never inert, 39 ; not affected by failures and breakdowns in theories, 66, 129 ; not of the senses but of the mind, 61 ; not tested by logic or psychology, 12 ; offspring of the One and All, in; Plasticity of, 27; Pragmatic conception of, 5 ; reality, 1 1 ; reflects and reveals the eternal, 112; Stability of, 73 ; the eternal and the transient, 2; the most significant presence in the world, 12; Utility as criterion of, 117; Variability of, 28; Verifiable, the basis of science, Truths, are objective correlates of subjective thoughts, 104; are universal, facts particular, 61 ; General and special, 93; may contrast but never contradict each other, 138 TRUTH ON TRIAL. 104; of to-day never the falsehoods of to-morrow, 30; Oneness of all, 104. Twins, Truth and mind, 98. Twofold truth, 89, 91. Tychism, Charles S. Peirce's, 36. Ueberweg, 97. "Uniformities of Nature," (Clifford), 129. Unity, is qualitatively different from its parts, 109 ; not a mere aggregate, 108; not a thing but a relation of parts, I ; of our world conception, Ideal of philosophy to trace, 66; of reason and of the world, 15. Universals, Truths are, 61 ; Two contradictory views of the nature of, IOI-IO2. Universe, Mind of the, 15 f. Utilitarianism, No true principle in, 6. Verities, as events (James), 8; as eternal truths, 13 ; correspond to first person of the Trinity, 106. Warren, Mrs. Fiske, 65. Waterloo, 56. Will, Supremacy of the, 119. Will to believe, Idiosyncrasies and the, 23 ; James apologizes for the title of his book, 23 ; less influential in determining religious conviction, 48. Windmills and giant errors, 129. Words, spoken symbols of things and of abstractions, 67-68. World-stuff, Primordial, 72. Your truth, vs. my truth, 51. A 000 341 043 8 DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY fora11 An Introduction to Formal Logic P.D. Magnus University at Albany, State University of New York fecundity.com/logic, version 1.26 [090109] This book is offered under a Creative Commons license. (Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0)  The author would like to thank the people who made this project possible. Notable among these are Cristyn Magnus, who read many early drafts; Aaron Schiller, who was an early adopter and provided considerable, helpful feedback; and Bin Kang, Craig Erb, Nathan Carter, Wes McMichael, and the students of Introduction to Logic, who detected various errors in previous versions of the book. @ 2005-2009 by P.D. Magnus. Some rights reserved. You are free to copy this book, to distribute it, to display it, and to make derivative works, under the following conditions: (a) Attribution. You must give the original author credit. (b) Share Alike. 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The most recent version is available on-line at htt p: //www . fecundity .com/logic  Contents 1 What is logic? 5 1.1 Arguments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.2 Sentences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.3 Two ways that arguments can go wrong . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 1.4 Deductive validity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 1.5 Other logical notions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 1.6 Formal languages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Practice Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 2 Sentential logic 17 2.1 Sentence letters . .. . ...... . . ... ... . . ... ... . . . . . 17 2.2 Connectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 2.3 Other symbolization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 2.4 Sentences of SL... . . . . ............................29 Practice Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 3 Truth tables 37 3.1 Truth-functional connnectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 3.2 Complete truth tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 3.3 Using truth tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 3.4 Partial truth tables. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 Practice Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 4 Quantified logic 48 4.1 From sentences to predicates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 4.2 Building blocks of QL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 4.3 Quantifiers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 4.4 Translating to QL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 4.5 Sentences of QL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 4.6 Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Practice Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 5 Formal semantics 83 5.1 Semantics for SL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 3  4 CONTENTS 5.2 Interpretations and models in QL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 5.3 Semantics for identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 5.4 Working with models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 5.5 Truth in QL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 Practice Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 6 Proofs 107 6.1 Basic rules for SL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108 6.2 Derived rules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 6.3 Rules of replacement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 6.4 Rules for quantifiers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 6.5 Rules for identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 6.6 Proof strategy...... ............................. 128 6.7 Proof-theoretic concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 6.8 Proofs and models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 6.9 Soundness and completeness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132 Practice Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 A Other symbolic notation 140 B Solutions to selected exercises 143 C Quick Reference 156  Chapter 1 What is logic? Logic is the business of evaluating arguments, sorting good ones from bad ones. In everyday language, we sometimes use the word 'argument' to refer to belligerent shouting matches. If you and a friend have an argument in this sense, things are not going well between the two of you. In logic, we are not interested in the teeth-gnashing, hair-pulling kind of argument. A logical argument is structured to give someone a reason to believe some conclusion. Here is one such argument: (1) It is raining heavily. (2) If you do not take an umbrella, you will get soaked. . You should take an umbrella. The three dots on the third line of the argument mean 'Therefore' and they indicate that the final sentence is the conclusion of the argument. The other sentences are premises of the argument. If you believe the premises, then the argument provides you with a reason to believe the conclusion. This chapter discusses some basic logical notions that apply to arguments in a natural language like English. It is important to begin with a clear understanding of what arguments are and of what it means for an argument to be valid. Later we will translate arguments from English into a formal language. We want formal validity, as defined in the formal language, to have at least some of the important features of natural-language validity. 5  6 forall{ 1.1 Arguments When people mean to give arguments, they typically often use words like 'therefore' and 'because.' When analyzing an argument, the first thing to do is to separate the premises from the conclusion. Words like these are a clue to what the argument is supposed to be, especially ifin the argument as giventhe conclusion comes at the beginning or in the middle of the argument. premise indicators: since, because, given that conclusion indicators: therefore, hence, thus, then, so To be perfectly general, we can define an ARGUMENT as a series of sentences. The sentences at the beginning of the series are premises. The final sentence in the series is the conclusion. If the premises are true and the argument is a good one, then you have a reason to accept the conclusion. Notice that this definition is quite general. Consider this example: There is coffee in the coffee pot. There is a dragon playing bassoon on the armoire. . . Salvador Dali was a poker player. It may seem odd to call this an argument, but that is because it would be a terrible argument. The two premises have nothing at all to do with the conclusion. Nevertheless, given our definition, it still counts as an argument albeit a bad one. 1.2 Sentences In logic, we are only interested in sentences that can figure as a premise or conclusion of an argument. So we will say that a SENTENCE is something that can be true or false. You should not confuse the idea of a sentence that can be true or false with the difference between fact and opinion. Often, sentences in logic will express things that would count as factssuch as 'Kierkegaard was a hunchback' or 'Kierkegaard liked almonds.' They can also express things that you might think of as matters of opinionsuch as, 'Almonds are yummy.' Also, there are things that would count as 'sentences' in a linguistics or grammar course that we will not count as sentences in logic.  ch. 1 what is logic? 7 Questions In a grammar class, 'Are you sleepy yet?' would count as an interrogative sentence. Although you might be sleepy or you might be alert, the question itself is neither true nor false. For this reason, questions will not count as sentences in logic. Suppose you answer the question: 'I am not sleepy.' This is either true or false, and so it is a sentence in the logical sense. Generally, questions will not count as sentences, but answers will. 'What is this course about?' is not a sentence. 'No one knows what this course is about' is a sentence. Imperatives Commands are often phrased as imperatives like 'Wake up! ', 'Sit up straight', and so on. In a grammar class, these would count as imperative sentences. Although it might be good for you to sit up straight or it might not, the command is neither true nor false. Note, however, that commands are not always phrased as imperatives. 'You will respect my authority' is either true or falseeither you will or you will notand so it counts as a sentence in the logical sense. Exclamations 'Ouch!' is sometimes called an exclamatory sentence, but it is neither true nor false. We will treat 'Ouch, I hurt my toe!' as meaning the same thing as 'I hurt my toe.' The 'ouch' does not add anything that could be true or false. 1.3 Two ways that arguments can go wrong Consider the argument that you should take an umbrella (on p. 5, above). If premise (1) is falseif it is sunny outsidethen the argument gives you no reason to carry an umbrella. Even if it is raining outside, you might not need an umbrella. You might wear a rain pancho or keep to covered walkways. In these cases, premise (2) would be false, since you could go out without an umbrella and still avoid getting soaked. Suppose for a moment that both the premises are true. You do not own a rain pancho. You need to go places where there are no covered walkways. Now does the argument show you that you should take an umbrella? Not necessarily. Perhaps you enjoy walking in the rain, and you would like to get soaked. In that case, even though the premises were true, the conclusion would be false. For any argument, there are two ways that it could be weak. First, one or more of the premises might be false. An argument gives you a reason to believe its conclusion only if you believe its premises. Second, the premises might fail to  8 forall{ support the conclusion. Even if the premises were true, the form of the argument might be weak. The example we just considered is weak in both ways. When an argument is weak in the second way, there is something wrong with the logical form of the argument: Premises of the kind given do not necessarily lead to a conclusion of the kind given. We will be interested primarily in the logical form of arguments. Consider another example: You are reading this book. This is a logic book. . . You are a logic student. This is not a terrible argument. Most people who read this book are logic students. Yet, it is possible for someone besides a logic student to read this book. If your roommate picked up the book and thumbed through it, they would not immediately become a logic student. So the premises of this argument, even though they are true, do not guarantee the truth of the conclusion. Its logical form is less than perfect. An argument that had no weakness of the second kind would have perfect logical form. If its premises were true, then its conclusion would necessarily be true. We call such an argument 'deductively valid' or just 'valid.' Even though we might count the argument above as a good argument in some sense, it is not valid; that is, it is 'invalid.' One important task of logic is to sort valid arguments from invalid arguments. 1.4 Deductive validity An argument is deductively VALID if and only if it is impossible for the premises to be true and the conclusion false. The crucial thing about a valid argument is that it is impossible for the premises to be true at the same time that the conclusion is false. Consider this example: Oranges are either fruits or musical instruments. Oranges are not fruits. . . Oranges are musical instruments. The conclusion of this argument is ridiculous. Nevertheless, it follows validly from the premises. This is a valid argument. If both premises were true, then the conclusion would necessarily be true.  ch. 1 what is logic? 9 This shows that a deductively valid argument does not need to have true premises or a true conclusion. Conversely, having true premises and a true conclusion is not enough to make an argument valid. Consider this example: London is in England. Beijing is in China. . '. Paris is in France. The premises and conclusion of this argument are, as a matter of fact, all true. This is a terrible argument, however, because the premises have nothing to do with the conclusion. Imagine what would happen if Paris declared independence from the rest of France. Then the conclusion would be false, even though the premises would both still be true. Thus, it is logically possible for the premises of this argument to be true and the conclusion false. The argument is invalid. The important thing to remember is that validity is not about the actual truth or falsity of the sentences in the argument. Instead, it is about the form of the argument: The truth of the premises is incompatible with the falsity of the conclusion. Inductive arguments There can be good arguments which nevertheless fail to be deductively valid. Consider this one: In January 1997, it rained in San Diego. In January 1998, it rained in San Diego. In January 1999, it rained in San Diego. . '. It rains every January in San Diego. This is an INDUCTIVE argument, because it generalizes from many cases to a conclusion about all cases. Certainly, the argument could be made stronger by adding additional premises: In January 2000, it rained in San Diego. In January 2001... and so on. Regardless of how many premises we add, however, the argument will still not be deductively valid. It is possible, although unlikely, that it will fail to rain next January in San Diego. Moreover, we know that the weather can be fickle. No amount of evidence should convince us that it rains there every January. Who is to say that some year will not be a freakish year in which there is no rain in January in San Diego; even a single counter-example is enough to make the conclusion of the argument false.  10 forall{ Inductive arguments, even good inductive arguments, are not deductively valid. We will not be interested in inductive arguments in this book. 1.5 Other logical notions In addition to deductive validity, we will be interested in some other logical concepts. Truth-values True or false is said to be the TRUTH-VALUE of sentence. We defined sentences as things that could be true or false; we could have said instead that sentences are things that can have truth-values. Logical truth In considering arguments formally, we care about what would be true if the premises were true. Generally, we are not concerned with the actual truth value of any particular sentenceswhether they are actually true or false. Yet there are some sentences that must be true, just as a matter of logic. Consider these sentences: 1. It is raining. 2. Either it is raining, or it is not. 3. It is both raining and not raining. In order to know if sentence 1 is true, you would need to look outside or check the weather channel. Logically speaking, it might be either true or false. Sentences like this are called contingent sentences. Sentence 2 is different. You do not need to look outside to know that it is true. Regardless of what the weather is like, it is either raining or not. This sentence is logically true; it is true merely as a matter of logic, regardless of what the world is actually like. A logically true sentence is called a TAUTOLOGY. You do not need to check the weather to know about sentence 3, either. It must be false, simply as a matter of logic. It might be raining here and not raining across town, it might be raining now but stop raining even as you read this, but it is impossible for it to be both raining and not raining here at this moment.  ch. 1 what is logic? 11 The third sentence is logically false; it is false regardless of what the world is like. A logically false sentence is called a CONTRADICTION. To be precise, we can define a CONTINGENT SENTENCE as a sentence that is neither a tautology nor a contradiction. A sentence might always be true and still be contingent. For instance, if there never were a time when the universe contained fewer than seven things, then the sentence 'At least seven things exist' would always be true. Yet the sentence is contingent; its truth is not a matter of logic. There is no contradiction in considering a possible world in which there are fewer than seven things. The important question is whether the sentence must be true, just on account of logic. Logical equivalence We can also ask about the logical relations between two sentences. For example: John went to the store after he washed the dishes. John washed the dishes before he went to the store. These two sentences are both contingent, since John might not have gone to the store or washed dishes at all. Yet they must have the same truth-value. If either of the sentences is true, then they both are; if either of the sentences is false, then they both are. When two sentences necessarily have the same truth value, we say that they are LOGICALLY EQUIVALENT. Consistency Consider these two sentences: BI My only brother is taller than I am. B2 My only brother is shorter than I am. Logic alone cannot tell us which, if either, of these sentences is true. Yet we can say that if the first sentence (Bi) is true, then the second sentence (B2) must be false. And if B2 is true, then BI must be false. It cannot be the case that both of these sentences are true. If a set of sentences could not all be true at the same time, like B1-B2, they are said to be INCONSISTENT. Otherwise, they are CONSISTENT.  12 forall{ We can ask about the consistency of any number of sentences. For example, consider the following list of sentences: GI There are at least four giraffes at the wild animal park. G2 There are exactly seven gorillas at the wild animal park. G3 There are not more than two martians at the wild animal park. G4 Every giraffe at the wild animal park is a martian. GI and G4 together imply that there are at least four martian giraffes at the park. This conflicts with G3, which implies that there are no more than two martian giraffes there. So the set of sentences G1-G4 is inconsistent. Notice that the inconsistency has nothing at all to do with G2. G2 just happens to be part of an inconsistent set. Sometimes, people will say that an inconsistent set of sentences 'contains a contradiction.' By this, they mean that it would be logically impossible for all of the sentences to be true at once. A set can be inconsistent even when all of the sentences in it are either contingent or tautologous. When a single sentence is a contradiction, then that sentence alone cannot be true. 1.6 Formal languages Here is a famous valid argument: Socrates is a man. All men are mortal. . . Socrates is mortal. This is an iron-clad argument. The only way you could challenge the conclusion is by denying one of the premisesthe logical form is impeccable. What about this next argument? Socrates is a man. All men are carrots. . . Socrates is a carrot. This argument might be less interesting than the first, because the second premise is obviously false. There is no clear sense in which all men are carrots. Yet the argument is valid. To see this, notice that both arguments have this form:  ch. 1 what is logic? 13 S is M. All Ms are Cs. . '. SisC. In both arguments S stands for Socrates and M stands for man. In the first argument, C stands for mortal; in the second, C stands for carrot. Both arguments have this form, and every argument of this form is valid. So both arguments are valid. What we did here was replace words like 'man' or 'carrot' with symbols like 'M' or 'C' so as to make the logical form explicit. This is the central idea behind formal logic. We want to remove irrelevant or distracting features of the argument to make the logical form more perspicuous. Starting with an argument in a natural language like English, we translate the argument into a formal language. Parts of the English sentences are replaced with letters and symbols. The goal is to reveal the formal structure of the argument, as we did with these two. There are formal languages that work like the symbolization we gave for these two arguments. A logic like this was developed by Aristotle, a philosopher who lived in Greece during the 4th century BC. Aristotle was a student of Plato and the tutor of Alexander the Great. Aristotle's logic, with some revisions, was the dominant logic in the western world for more than two millennia. In Aristotelean logic, categories are replaced with capital letters. Every sentence of an argument is then represented as having one of four forms, which medieval logicians labeled in this way: (A) All As are Bs. (E) No As are Bs. (I) Some A is B. (0) Some A is not B. It is then possible to describe valid syllogisms, three-line arguments like the two we considered above. Medieval logicians gave mnemonic names to all of the valid argument forms. The form of our two arguments, for instance, was called Barbara. The vowels in the name, all As, represent the fact that the two premises and the conclusion are all (A) form sentences. There are many limitations to Aristotelean logic. One is that it makes no distinction between kinds and individuals. So the first premise might just as well be written 'All Ss are Ms': All Socrateses are men. Despite its historical importance, Aristotelean logic has been superceded. The remainder of this book will develop two formal languages. The first is SL, which stands for sentential logic. In SL, the smallest units are sentences themselves. Simple sentences are represented as letters and connected with logical connectives like 'and' and 'not' to make more complex sentences.  14 forall{ The second is QL, which stands for quantified logic. In QL, the basic units are objects, properties of objects, and relations between objects. When we translate an argument into a formal language, we hope to make its logical structure clearer. We want to include enough of the structure of the English language argument so that we can judge whether the argument is valid or invalid. If we included every feature of the English language, all of the subtlety and nuance, then there would be no advantage in translating to a formal language. We might as well think about the argument in English. At the same time, we would like a formal language that allows us to represent many kinds of English language arguments. This is one reason to prefer QL to Aristotelean logic; QL can represent every valid argument of Aristotelean logic and more. So when deciding on a formal language, there is inevitably a tension between wanting to capture as much structure as possible and wanting a simple formal languagesimpler formal languages leave out more. This means that there is no perfect formal language. Some will do a better job than others in translating particular English-language arguments. In this book, we make the assumption that true and false are the only possible truth-values. Logical languages that make this assumption are called bivalent, which means two-valued. Aristotelean logic, SL, and QL are all bivalent, but there are limits to the power of bivalent logic. For instance, some philosophers have claimed that the future is not yet determined. If they are right, then sentences about what will be the case are not yet true or false. Some formal languages accommodate this by allowing for sentences that are neither true nor false, but something in between. Other formal languages, so-called paraconsistent logics, allow for sentences that are both true and false. The languages presented in this book are not the only possible formal languages. However, most nonstandard logics extend on the basic formal structure of the bivalent logics discussed in this book. So this is a good place to start. Summary of logical notions > An argument is (deductively) VALID if it is impossible for the premises to be true and the conclusion false; it is INVALID otherwise. > A TAUTOLOGY is a sentence that must be true, as a matter of logic. > A CONTRADICTION is a sentence that must be false, as a matter of logic. > A CONTINGENT SENTENCE is neither a tautology nor a contradiction.  ch. 1 what is logic? 15 > Two sentences are LOGICALLY EQUIVALENT if they necessarily have the same truth value. > A set of sentences is CONSISTENT if it is logically possible for all the members of the set to be true at the same time; it is INCONSISTENT otherwise. Practice Exercises At the end of each chapter, you will find a series of practice problems that review and explore the material covered in the chapter. There is no substitute for actually working through some problems, because logic is more about a way of thinking than it is about memorizing facts. The answers to some of the problems are provided at the end of the book in appendix B; the problems that are solved in the appendix are marked with a *. Part A Which of the following are 'sentences' in the logical sense? 1. England is smaller than China. 2. Greenland is south of Jerusalem. 3. Is New Jersey east of Wisconsin? 4. The atomic number of helium is 2. 5. The atomic number of helium is 7. 6. I hate overcooked noodles. 7. Blech! Overcooked noodles! 8. Overcooked noodles are disgusting. 9. Take your time. 10. This is the last question. Part B For each of the following: Is it a tautology, a contradiction, or a contingent sentence? 1. Caesar crossed the Rubicon. 2. Someone once crossed the Rubicon. 3. No one has ever crossed the Rubicon. 4. If Caesar crossed the Rubicon, then someone has. 5. Even though Caesar crossed the Rubicon, no one has ever crossed the Rubicon. 6. If anyone has ever crossed the Rubicon, it was Caesar. * Part C Look back at the sentences G1-G4 on p. 12, and consider each of the following sets of sentences. Which are consistent? Which are inconsistent?  16 forall{ 1. G2, G3, and G4 2. G1, G3, and G4 3. G1, G2, and G4 4. G1, G2, and G3 * Part D Which of the following is possible? If it is possible, give an example. If it is not possible, explain why. 1. A valid argument that has one false premise and one true premise 2. A valid argument that has a false conclusion 3. A valid argument, the conclusion of which is a contradiction 4. An invalid argument, the conclusion of which is a tautology 5. A tautology that is contingent 6. Two logically equivalent sentences, both of which are tautologies 7. Two logically equivalent sentences, one of which is a tautology and one of which is contingent 8. Two logically equivalent sentences that together are an inconsistent set 9. A consistent set of sentences that contains a contradiction 10. An inconsistent set of sentences that contains a tautology  Chapter 2 Sentential logic This chapter introduces a logical language called SL. It is a version of sentential logic, because the basic units of the language will represent entire sentences. 2.1 Sentence letters In SL, capital letters are used to represent basic sentences. Considered only as a symbol of SL, the letter A could mean any sentence. So when translating from English into SL, it is important to provide a symbolization key. The key provides an English language sentence for each sentence letter used in the symbolization. For example, consider this argument: There is an apple on the desk. If there is an apple on the desk, then Jenny made it to class. . Jenny made it to class. This is obviously a valid argument in English. In symbolizing it, we want to preserve the structure of the argument that makes it valid. What happens if we replace each sentence with a letter? Our symbolization key would look like this: A: There is an apple on the desk. B: If there is an apple on the desk, then Jenny made it to class. C: Jenny made it to class. We would then symbolize the argument in this way: 17  18 forall A B . '. C There is no necessary connection between some sentence A, which could be any sentence, and some other sentences B and C, which could be any sentences. The structure of the argument has been completely lost in this translation. The important thing about the argument is that the second premise is not merely any sentence, logically divorced from the other sentences in the argument. The second premise contains the first premise and the conclusion as parts. Our symbolization key for the argument only needs to include meanings for A and C, and we can build the second premise from those pieces. So we symbolize the argument this way: A If A, then C. . '. C This preserves the structure of the argument that makes it valid, but it still makes use of the English expression 'If... then....' Although we ultimately want to replace all of the English expressions with logical notation, this is a good start. The sentences that can be symbolized with sentence letters are called atomic sentences, because they are the basic building blocks out of which more complex sentences can be built. Whatever logical structure a sentence might have is lost when it is translated as an atomic sentence. From the point of view of SL, the sentence is just a letter. It can be used to build more complex sentences, but it cannot be taken apart. There are only twenty-six letters of the alphabet, but there is no logical limit to the number of atomic sentences. We can use the same letter to symbolize different atomic sentences by adding a subscript, a small number written after the letter. We could have a symbolization key that looks like this: A1: The apple is under the armoire. A2: Arguments in SL always contain atomic sentences. A3: Adam Ant is taking an airplane from Anchorage to Albany. A294: Alliteration angers otherwise affable astronauts. Keep in mind that each of these is a different sentence letter. When there are subscripts in the symbolization key, it is important to keep track of them.  ch. 2 sentential logic 19 2.2 Connectives Logical connectives are used to build complex sentences from atomic components. There are five logical connectives in SL. This table summarizes them, and they are explained below. symbol what it is called what it means negation 'It is not the case that...' & conjunction 'Both... and ...' V disjunction 'Either... or ...' conditional 'If ... then ...' <-+ biconditional '... if and only if ...' Negation Consider how we might symbolize these sentences: 1. Mary is in Barcelona. 2. Mary is not in Barcelona. 3. Mary is somewhere besides Barcelona. In order to symbolize sentence 1, we will need one sentence letter. We can provide a symbolization key: B: Mary is in Barcelona. Note that here we are giving B a different interpretation than we did in the previous section. The symbolization key only specifies what B means in a specific context. It is vital that we continue to use this meaning of B so long as we are talking about Mary and Barcelona. Later, when we are symbolizing different sentences, we can write a new symbolization key and use B to mean something else. Now, sentence 1 is simply B. Since sentence 2 is obviously related to the sentence 1, we do not want to introduce a different sentence letter. To put it partly in English, the sentence means 'Not B.' In order to symbolize this, we need a symbol for logical negation. We will use '-.' Now we can translate 'Not B' to -iB. Sentence 3 is about whether or not Mary is in Barcelona, but it does not contain the word 'not.' Nevertheless, it is obviously logically equivalent to sentence 2.  20 forall{ They both mean: It is not the case that Mary is in Barcelona. As such, we can translate both sentence 2 and sentence 3 as ,B. A sentence can be symbolized as if it can be paraphrased in English as 'It is not the case that A.' Consider these further examples: 4. The widget can be replaced if it breaks. 5. The widget is irreplaceable. 6. The widget is not irreplaceable. If we let R mean 'The widget is replaceable', then sentence 4 can be translated as R. What about sentence 5? Saying the widget is irreplaceable means that it is not the case that the widget is replaceable. So even though sentence 5 is not negative in English, we symoblize it using negation as -iR. Sentence 6 can be paraphrased as 'It is not the case that the widget is irreplaceable.' Using negation twice, we translate this as -i-iR. The two negations in a row each work as negations, so the sentence means 'It is not the case that... it is not the case that... R.' If you think about the sentence in English, it is logically equivalent to sentence 4. So when we define logical equivalence is SL, we will make sure that R and -i-iR are logically equivalent. More examples: 7. Elliott is happy. 8. Elliott is unhappy. If we let H mean 'Elliot is happy', then we can symbolize sentence 7 as H. However, it would be a mistake to symbolize sentence 8 as -iH. If Elliott is unhappy, then he is not happybut sentence 8 does not mean the same thing as 'It is not the case that Elliott is happy.' It could be that he is not happy but that he is not unhappy either. Perhaps he is somewhere between the two. In order to symbolize sentence 8, we would need a new sentence letter. For any sentence A: If A is true, then -1 is false. If -1 is true, then A is false. Using 'T' for true and 'F' for false, we can summarize this in a characteristic truth table for negation:  ch. 2 sentential logic 21 A-A-9 T F F T We will discuss truth tables at greater length in the next chapter. Conjunction Consider these sentences: 9. Adam is athletic. 10. Barbara is athletic. 11. Adam is athletic, and Barbara is also athletic. We will need separate sentence letters for 9 and 10, so we define this symbolization key: A: Adam is athletic. B: Barbara is athletic. Sentence 9 can be symbolized as A. Sentence 10 can be symbolized as B. Sentence 11 can be paraphrased as 'A and B.' In order to fully symbolize this sentence, we need another symbol. We will use '&.' We translate 'A and B' as A & B. The logical connective '& ' is called CONJUNCTION, and A and B are each called CONJUNCTS. Notice that we make no attempt to symbolize 'also' in sentence 11. Words like 'both' and 'also' function to draw our attention to the fact that two things are being conjoined. They are not doing any further logical work, so we do not need to represent them in SL. Some more examples: 12. Barbara is athletic and energetic. 13. Barbara and Adam are both athletic. 14. Although Barbara is energetic, she is not athletic. 15. Barbara is athletic, but Adam is more athletic than she is. Sentence 12 is obviously a conjunction. The sentence says two things about Barbara, so in English it is permissible to refer to Barbara only once. It might  22 forall{ be tempting to try this when translating the argument: Since B means 'Barbara is athletic', one might paraphrase the sentences as 'B and energetic.' This would be a mistake. Once we translate part of a sentence as B, any further structure is lost. B is an atomic sentence; it is nothing more than true or false. Conversely, 'energetic' is not a sentence; on its own it is neither true nor false. We should instead paraphrase the sentence as 'B and Barbara is energetic.' Now we need to add a sentence letter to the symbolization key. Let E mean 'Barbara is energetic.' Now the sentence can be translated as B & E. A sentence can be symbolized as A & B if it can be paraphrased in English as 'Both A, and B.' Each of the conjuncts must be a sentence. Sentence 13 says one thing about two different subjects. It says of both Barbara and Adam that they are athletic, and in English we use the word 'athletic' only once. In translating to SL, it is important to realize that the sentence can be paraphrased as, 'Barbara is athletic, and Adam is athletic.' This translates as B&A. Sentence 14 is a bit more complicated. The word 'although' sets up a contrast between the first part of the sentence and the second part. Nevertheless, the sentence says both that Barbara is energetic and that she is not athletic. In order to make each of the conjuncts an atomic sentence, we need to replace 'she' with 'Barbara.' So we can paraphrase sentence 14 as, 'Both Barbara is energetic, and Barbara is not athletic.' The second conjunct contains a negation, so we paraphrase further: 'Both Barbara is energetic and it is not the case that Barbara is athletic.' This translates as E & -iB. Sentence 15 contains a similar contrastive structure. It is irrelevant for the purpose of translating to SL, so we can paraphrase the sentence as 'Both Barbara is athletic, and Adam is more athletic than Barbara.' (Notice that we once again replace the pronoun 'she' with her name.) How should we translate the second conjunct? We already have the sentence letter A which is about Adam's being athletic and B which is about Barbara's being athletic, but neither is about one of them being more athletic than the other. We need a new sentence letter. Let R mean 'Adam is more athletic than Barbara.' Now the sentence translates as B&R. Sentences that can be paraphrased 'A, but B' or 'Although A, B' are best symbolized using conjunction: A & B It is important to keep in mind that the sentence letters A, B, and R are atomic sentences. Considered as symbols of SL, they have no meaning beyond being  ch. 2 sentential logic 23 true or false. We have used them to symbolize different English language sentences that are all about people being athletic, but this similarity is completely lost when we translate to SL. No formal language can capture all the structure of the English language, but as long as this structure is not important to the argument there is nothing lost by leaving it out. For any sentences A and B, A & B is true if and only if both A and B are true. We can summarize this in the characteristic truth table for conjunction: T T T T F F F T F F F F Conjunction is symmetrical because we can swap the conjuncts without changing the truth-value of the sentence. Regardless of what A and B are, A & B is logically equivalent to B& A. Disjunction Consider these sentences: 16. Either Denison will play golf with me, or he will watch movies. 17. Either Denison or Ellery will play golf with me. For these sentences we can use this symbolization key: D: Denison will play golf with me. E: Ellery will play golf with me. M: Denison will watch movies. Sentence 16 is 'Either D or M.' To fully symbolize this, we introduce a new symbol. The sentence becomes D V M. The 'V' connective is called DISJUNCTION, and D and M are called DISJUNCTS. Sentence 17 is only slightly more complicated. There are two subjects, but the English sentence only gives the verb once. In translating, we can paraphrase it as. 'Either Denison will play golf with me, or Ellery will play golf with me.' Now it obviously translates as D V E.  24 forall{ A sentence can be symbolized as A V B if it can be paraphrased in English as 'Either A, or B.' Each of the disjuncts must be a sentence. Sometimes in English, the word 'or' excludes the possibility that both disjuncts are true. This is called an EXCLUSIVE OR. An exclusive or is clearly intended when it says, on a restaurant menu, 'Entrees come with either soup or salad.' You may have soup; you may have salad; but, if you want both soup and salad, then you have to pay extra. At other times, the word 'or' allows for the possibility that both disjuncts might be true. This is probably the case with sentence 17, above. I might play with Denison, with Ellery, or with both Denison and Ellery. Sentence 17 merely says that I will play with at least one of them. This is called an INCLUSIVE OR. The symbol 'V' represents an inclusive or. So D V E is true if D is true, if E is true, or if both D and E are true. It is false only if both D and E are false. We can summarize this with the characteristic truth table for disjunction: T T T T F T F T T F F F Like conjunction, disjunction is symmetrical. AV B is logically equivalent to BvA. These sentences are somewhat more complicated: 18. Either you will not have soup, or you will not have salad. 19. You will have neither soup nor salad. 20. You get either soup or salad, but not both. We let Si mean that you get soup and S2 mean that you get salad. Sentence 18 can be paraphrased in this way: 'Either it is not the case that you get soup, or it is not the case that you get salad.' Translating this requires both disjunction and negation. It becomes -iS V ,S2. Sentence 19 also requires negation. It can be paraphrased as, 'It is not the case that either that you get soup or that you get salad.' We need some way of indicating that the negation does not just negate the right or left disjunct, but rather negates the entire disjunction. In order to do this, we put parentheses  ch. 2 sentential logic 25 around the disjunction: 'It is not the case that (S1 V S2).' This becomes simply -(Si V S2). Notice that the parentheses are doing important work here. The sentence -Si V S2 would mean 'Either you will not have soup, or you will have salad.' Sentence 20 is an exclusive or. We can break the sentence into two parts. The first part says that you get one or the other. We translate this as (Si V S2). The second part says that you do not get both. We can paraphrase this as, 'It is not the case both that you get soup and that you get salad.' Using both negation and conjunction, we translate this as -i(S1 & S2). Now we just need to put the two parts together. As we saw above, 'but' can usually be translated as a conjunction. Sentence 20 can thus be translated as (Si V S2) & ,(S1 & S2). Although 'V' is an inclusive or, we can symbolize an exclusive or in SL. We just need more than one connective to do it. Conditional For the following sentences, let R mean 'You will cut the red wire' and B mean 'The bomb will explode.' 21. If the you cut the red wire, then the bomb will explode. 22. The bomb will explode only if you cut the red wire. Sentence 21 can be translated partially as 'If R, then B.' We will use the symbol '--' to represent logical entailment. The sentence becomes R B. The connective is called a CONDITIONAL. The sentence on the left-hand side of the conditional (R in this example) is called the ANTECEDENT. The sentence on the right-hand side (B) is called the CONSEQUENT. Sentence 22 is also a conditional. Since the word 'if' appears in the second half of the sentence, it might be tempting to symbolize this in the same way as sentence 21. That would be a mistake. The conditional R B says that if R were true, then B would also be true. It does not say that your cutting the red wire is the only way that the bomb could explode. Someone else might cut the wire, or the bomb might be on a timer. The sentence R B does not say anything about what to expect if R is false. Sentence 22 is different. It says that the only conditions under which the bomb will explode involve your having cut the red wire; i.e., if the bomb explodes, then you must have cut the wire. As such, sentence 22 should be symbolized as B ->R.  26 forall{ It is important to remember that the connective '--' says only that, if the antecedent is true, then the consequent is true. It says nothing about the causal connection between the two events. Translating sentence 22 as B R does not mean that the bomb exploding would somehow have caused your cutting the wire. Both sentence 21 and 22 suggest that, if you cut the red wire, your cutting the red wire would be the cause of the bomb exploding. They differ on the logical connection. If sentence 22 were true, then an explosion would tell usthose of us safely away from the bombthat you had cut the red wire. Without an explosion, sentence 22 tells us nothing. The paraphrased sentence 'A only if B' is logically equivalent to 'If A, then B.' 'If A then B' means that if A is true then so is B. So we know that if the antecedent A is true but the consequent B is false, then the conditional 'If A then B' is false. What is the truth value of 'If A then B' under other circumstances? Suppose, for instance, that the antecedent A happened to be false. 'If A then B' would then not tell us anything about the actual truth value of the consequent B, and it is unclear what the truth value of 'If A then B' would be. In English, the truth of conditionals often depends on what would be the case if the antecedent were trueeven if, as a matter of fact, the antecedent is false. This poses a problem for translating conditionals into SL. Considered as sentences of SL, R and B in the above examples have nothing intrinsic to do with each other. In order to consider what the world would be like if R were true, we would need to analyze what R says about the world. Since R is an atomic symbol of SL, however, there is no further structure to be analyzed. When we replace a sentence with a sentence letter, we consider it merely as some atomic sentence that might be true or false. In order to translate conditionals into SL, we will not try to capture all the subtleties of the English language 'If... then....' Instead, the symbol '--' will be a material conditional. This means that when A is false, the conditional A->B is automatically true, regardless of the truth value of B. If both A and B are true, then the conditional A->B is true. In short, A->B is false if and only if A is true and B is false. We can summarize this with a characteristic truth table for the conditional. A|B |->B T F F F T T  ch. 2 sentential logic 27 The conditional is asymmetrical. You cannot swap the antecedent and consequent without changing the meaning of the sentence, because A-9B and B-A are not logically equivalent. Not all sentences of the form 'If... then...' are conditionals. Consider this sentence: 23. If anyone wants to see me, then I will be on the porch. If I say this, it means that I will be on the porch, regardless of whether anyone wants to see me or notbut if someone did want to see me, then they should look for me there. If we let P mean 'I will be on the porch,' then sentence 23 can be translated simply as P. Biconditional Consider these sentences: 24. The figure on the board is a triangle only if it has exactly three sides. 25. The figure on the board is a triangle if it has exactly three sides. 26. The figure on the board is a triangle if and only if it has exactly three sides. Let T mean 'The figure is a triangle' and S mean 'The figure has three sides.' Sentence 24, for reasons discussed above, can be translated as T S. Sentence 25 is importantly different. It can be paraphrased as, 'If the figure has three sides, then it is a triangle.' So it can be translated as S T. Sentence 26 says that T is true if and only if S is true; we can infer S from T, and we can infer T from S. This is called a BICONDITIONAL, because it entails the two conditionals S T and T S. We will use '-' to represent the biconditional; sentence 26 can be translated as S T. We could abide without a new symbol for the biconditional. Since sentence 26 means 'T S and S T,' we could translate it as (T S) & (S T). We would need parentheses to indicate that (T S) and (S T) are separate conjuncts; the expression T S & S T would be ambiguous. Because we could always write (A B) & (B A) instead of A B B, we do not strictly speaking need to introduce a new symbol for the biconditional. Nevertheless, logical languages usually have such a symbol. SL will have one, which makes it easier to translate phrases like 'if and only if.'  28 forall{ AB is true if and only if A and B have the same truth value. This is the characteristic truth table for the biconditional: T T T T F F F T F F F T 2.3 Other symbolization We have now introduced all of the connectives of SL. We can use them together to translate many kinds of sentences. Consider these examples of sentences that use the English-language connective 'unless': 27. Unless you wear a jacket, you will catch cold. 28. You will catch cold unless you wear a jacket. Let J mean 'You will wear a jacket' and let D mean 'You will catch a cold.' We can paraphrase sentence 27 as 'Unless J, D.' This means that if you do not wear a jacket, then you will catch cold; with this in mind, we might translate it as ,J D. It also means that if you do not catch a cold, then you must have worn a jacket; with this in mind, we might translate it as ,D J. Which of these is the correct translation of sentence 27? Both translations are correct, because the two translations are logically equivalent in SL. Sentence 28, in English, is logically equivalent to sentence 27. It can be translated as either -J D or ,D J. When symbolizing sentences like sentence 27 and sentence 28, it is easy to get turned around. Since the conditional is not symmetric, it would be wrong to translate either sentence as J -iD. Fortunately, there are other logically equivalent expressions. Both sentences mean that you will wear a jacket or if you do not wear a jacketthen you will catch a cold. So we can translate them as J V D. (You might worry that the 'or' here should be an exclusive or. However, the sentences do not exclude the possibility that you might both wear a jacket and catch a cold; jackets do not protect you from all the possible ways that you might catch a cold.) If a sentence can be paraphrased as 'Unless A, B,' then it can be symbolized as A v 9B.  ch. 2 sentential logic 29 Symbolization of standard sentence types is summarized on p. 156. 2.4 Sentences of SL The sentence 'Apples are red, or berries are blue' is a sentence of English, and the sentence '(A V B)' is a sentence of SL. Although we can identify sentences of English when we encounter them, we do not have a formal definition of 'sentence of English'. In SL, it is possible to formally define what counts as a sentence. This is one respect in which a formal language like SL is more precise than a natural language like English. It is important to distinguish between the logical language SL, which we are developing, and the language that we use to talk about SL. When we talk about a language, the language that we are talking about is called the OBJECT LANGUAGE. The language that we use to talk about the object language is called the METALANGUAGE. The object language in this chapter is SL. The metalanguage is Englishnot conversational English, but English supplemented with some logical and mathematical vocabulary. The sentence '(A V B)' is a sentence in the object language, because it uses only symbols of SL. The word 'sentence' is not itself part of SL, however, so the sentence 'This expression is a sentence of SL' is not a sentence of SL. It is a sentence in the metalanguage, a sentence that we use to talk about SL. In this section, we will give a formal definition for 'sentence of SL.' The definition itself will be given in mathematical English, the metalanguage. Expressions There are three kinds of symbols in SL: sentence letters A, B, C, ... , Z with subscripts, as needed A1, B1, Z1, A2, A25, J375, . . connectives & ,V,-,<-> parentheses ( ,) We define an EXPRESSION OF SL as any string of symbols of SL. Take any of the symbols of SL and write them down, in any order, and you have an expression.  30 forall{ Well-formed formulae Since any sequence of symbols is an expression, many expressions of SL will be gobbledegook. A meaningful expression is called a well-formed formula. It is common to use the acronym wff; the plural is wffs. Obviously, individual sentence letters like A and G13 will be wffs. We can form further wffs out of these by using the various connectives. Using negation, we can get -A and -iG13. Using conjunction, we can get A & G13, G13 & A, A & A, and G13 & G13. We could also apply negation repeatedly to get wffs like ,,A or apply negation along with conjunction to get wffs like -(A & G13) and -(G13 & -iG13). The possible combinations are endless, even starting with just these two sentence letters, and there are infinitely many sentence letters. So there is no point in trying to list all the wffs. Instead, we will describe the process by which wffs can be constructed. Consider negation: Given any wff A of SL, -A is a wff of SL. It is important here that A is not the sentence letter A. Rather, it is a variable that stands in for any wff at all. Notice that this variable A is not a symbol of SL, so -A is not an expression of SL. Instead, it is an expression of the metalanguage that allows us to talk about infinitely many expressions of SL: all of the expressions that start with the negation symbol. Because A is part of the metalanguage, it is called a metavariable. We can say similar things for each of the other connectives. For instance, if A and B are wffs of SL, then (A & B) is a wff of SL. Providing clauses like this for all of the connectives, we arrive at the following formal definition for a well-formed formula of SL: 1. Every atomic sentence is a wff. 2. If A is a wff, then -A is a wff of SL. 3. If A and B are wffs, then (A& B) is a wff. 4. If A and B are wffs, then (A V B) is a wff. 5. If A and B are wffs, then (A -> B) is a wff. 6. If A and B are wffs, then (A <-> B) is a wff. 7. All and only wffs of SL can be generated by applications of these rules. Notice that we cannot immediately apply this definition to see whether an arbitrary expression is a wff. Suppose we want to know whether or not -i-i-iD is a wff of SL. Looking at the second clause of the definition, we know that ,,,i-D is a wif if -i-D is a wif. So now we need to ask whether or not -i-D  ch. 2 sentential logic 31 is a wff. Again looking at the second clause of the definition, -i-iD is a wff if -iD is. Again, -iD is a wff if D is a wff. Now D is a sentence letter, an atomic sentence of SL, so we know that D is a wff by the first clause of the definition. So for a compound formula like -i-i-iD, we must apply the definition repeatedly. Eventually we arrive at the atomic sentences from which the wff is built up. Definitions like this are called recursive. Recursive definitions begin with some specifiable base elements and define ways to indefinitely compound the base elements. Just as the recursive definition allows complex sentences to be built up from simple parts, you can use it to decompose sentences into their simpler parts. To determine whether or not something meets the definition, you may have to refer back to the definition many times. The connective that you look to first in decomposing a sentence is called the MAIN LOGICAL OPERATOR of that sentence. For example: The main logical operator of -i(E V (F -> G)) is negation, ,. The main logical operator of (-iE V (F -> G)) is disjunction, V. Sentences Recall that a sentence is a meaningful expression that can be true or false. Since the meaningful expressions of SL are the wffs and since every wff of SL is either true or false, the definition for a sentence of SL is the same as the definition for a wff. Not every formal language will have this nice feature. In the language QL, which is developed later in the book, there are wffs which are not sentences. The recursive structure of sentences in SL will be important when we consider the circumstances under which a particular sentence would be true or false. The sentence -i-i-iD is true if and only if the sentence -i-iD is false, and so on through the structure of the sentence until we arrive at the atomic components: -i-i-iD is true if and only if the atomic sentence D is false. We will return to this point in the next chapter. Notational conventions A wff like (Q & R) must be surrounded by parentheses, because we might apply the definition again to use this as part of a more complicated sentence. If we negate (Q & R), we get -i(Q & R). If we just had Q & R without the parentheses and put a negation in front of it, we would have -iQ & R. It is most natural to read this as meaning the same thing as (-iQ & R), something very different than -i(Q & R). The sentence -i(Q & R) means that it is not the case that both Q and R are true; Q might be false or R might be false, but the sentence does not tell us which. The sentence (,iQ & R) means specifically that Q is false and  32 forall{ that R is true. As such, parentheses are crucial to the meaning of the sentence. So, strictly speaking, Q & R without parentheses is not a sentence of SL. When using SL, however, we will often be able to relax the precise definition so as to make things easier for ourselves. We will do this in several ways. First, we understand that Q & R means the same thing as (Q & R). As a matter of convention, we can leave off parentheses that occur around the entire sentence. Second, it can sometimes be confusing to look at long sentences with many, nested pairs of parentheses. We adopt the convention of using square brackets '[' and ']' in place of parenthesis. There is no logical difference between (P V Q) and [P V Q], for example. The unwieldy sentence (((H->I)v(I->H))&(JvK)) could be written in this way: [(H -> I) V (I -> H)] & (J V K) Third, we will sometimes want to translate the conjunction of three or more sentences. For the sentence 'Alice, Bob, and Candice all went to the party', suppose we let A mean 'Alice went', B mean 'Bob went', and C mean 'Candice went.' The definition only allows us to form a conjunction out of two sentences, so we can translate it as (A & B) & C or as A & (B & C). There is no reason to distinguish between these, since the two translations are logically equivalent. There is no logical difference between the first, in which (A & B) is conjoined with C, and the second, in which A is conjoined with (B& C). So we might as well just write A & B & C. As a matter of convention, we can leave out parentheses when we conjoin three or more sentences. Fourth, a similar situation arises with multiple disjunctions. 'Either Alice, Bob, or Candice went to the party' can be translated as (A V B) V C or as A V (BV C). Since these two translations are logically equivalent, we may write A V B V C. These latter two conventions only apply to multiple conjunctions or multiple disjunctions. If a series of connectives includes both disjunctions and conjunctions, then the parentheses are essential; as with (A & B) V C and A & (B V C). The parentheses are also required if there is a series of conditionals or biconditionals; as with(A->B)->CandA <-(B<->C). We have adopted these four rules as notational conventions, not as changes to the definition of a sentence. Strictly speaking, A V B V C is still not a sentence. Instead, it is a kind of shorthand. We write it for the sake of convenience, but we really mean the sentence (A V (B V C)). If we had given a different definition for a wff, then these could count as wffs. We might have written rule 3 in this way: "If .A, 'B, ... Z are wffs, then  ch. 2 sentential logic 33 (A& 'B& ... & Z), is a wff." This would make it easier to translate some English sentences, but would have the cost of making our formal language more complicated. We would have to keep the complex definition in mind when we develop truth tables and a proof system. We want a logical language that is expressively simple and allows us to translate easily from English, but we also want a formally simple language. Adopting notational conventions is a compromise between these two desires. Practice Exercises * Part A Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into SL. M: Those creatures are men in suits. C: Those creatures are chimpanzees. G: Those creatures are gorillas. 1. Those creatures are not men in suits. 2. Those creatures are men in suits, or they are not. 3. Those creatures are either gorillas or chimpanzees. 4. Those creatures are neither gorillas nor chimpanzees. 5. If those creatures are chimpanzees, then they are neither gorillas nor men in suits. 6. Unless those creatures are men in suits, they are either chimpanzees or they are gorillas. Part B Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into SL. A: Mister Ace was murdered. B: The butler did it. C: The cook did it. D: The Duchess is lying. E: Mister Edge was murdered. F: The murder weapon was a frying pan. 1. Either Mister Ace or Mister Edge was murdered. 2. If Mister Ace was murdered, then the cook did it. 3. If Mister Edge was murdered, then the cook did not do it. 4. Either the butler did it, or the Duchess is lying. 5. The cook did it only if the Duchess is lying.  34 forall{ 6. If the murder weapon was a frying pan, then the culprit must have been the cook. 7. If the murder weapon was not a frying pan, then the culprit was either the cook or the butler. 8. Mister Ace was murdered if and only if Mister Edge was not murdered. 9. The Duchess is lying, unless it was Mister Edge who was murdered. 10. If Mister Ace was murdered, he was done in with a frying pan. 11. The cook did it, so the butler did not. 12. Of course the Duchess is lying! * Part C Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into SL. E1: Ava is an electrician. E2: Harrison is an electrician. F1: Ava is a firefighter. F2: Harrison is a firefighter. S1: Ava is satisfied with her career. S2: Harrison is satisfied with his career. 1. Ava and Harrison are both electricians. 2. If Ava is a firefighter, then she is satisfied with her career. 3. Ava is a firefighter, unless she is an electrician. 4. Harrison is an unsatisfied electrician. 5. Neither Ava nor Harrison is an electrician. 6. Both Ava and Harrison are electricians, but neither of them find it satisfying. 7. Harrison is satisfied only if he is a firefighter. 8. If Ava is not an electrician, then neither is Harrison, but if she is, then he is too. 9. Ava is satisfied with her career if and only if Harrison is not satisfied with his. 10. If Harrison is both an electrician and a firefighter, then he must be satisfied with his work. 11. It cannot be that Harrison is both an electrician and a firefighter. 12. Harrison and Ava are both firefighters if and only if neither of them is an electrician. * Part D Give a symbolization key and symbolize the following sentences in SL. 1. Alice and Bob are both spies. 2. If either Alice or Bob is a spy, then the code has been broken. 3. If neither Alice nor Bob is a spy, then the code remains unbroken.  ch. 2 sentential logic 35 4. The German embassy will be in an uproar, unless someone has broken the code. 5. Either the code has been broken or it has not, but the German embassy will be in an uproar regardless. 6. Either Alice or Bob is a spy, but not both. Part E Give a symbolization key and symbolize the following sentences in SL. 1. If Gregor plays first base, then the team will lose. 2. The team will lose unless there is a miracle. 3. The team will either lose or it won't, but Gregor will play first base regardless. 4. Gregor's mom will bake cookies if and only if Gregor plays first base. 5. If there is a miracle, then Gregor's mom will not bake cookies. Part F For each argument, write a symbolization key and translate the argument as well as possible into SL. 1. If Dorothy plays the piano in the morning, then Roger wakes up cranky. Dorothy plays piano in the morning unless she is distracted. So if Roger does not wake up cranky, then Dorothy must be distracted. 2. It will either rain or snow on Tuesday. If it rains, Neville will be sad. If it snows, Neville will be cold. Therefore, Neville will either be sad or cold on Tuesday. 3. If Zoog remembered to do his chores, then things are clean but not neat. If he forgot, then things are neat but not clean. Therefore, things are either neat or cleanbut not both. * Part G For each of the following: (a) Is it a wff of SL? (b) Is it a sentence of SL, allowing for notational conventions? 1. (A) 2. J374 V -J374 3. ,-i F 4. -& S 5. (G&-iG) 6. A A 7. (A->(A&-F))V (D->E) 8. [(Z-S)--W]&[JvX] 9. (F<->,D-->J)V(C&D) Part H  36 forally 1. Are there any wffs of SL that contain no sentence letters? Why or why not? 2. In the chapter, we symbolized an exclusive or using V, &, and ,. How could you translate an exclusive or using only two connectives? Is there any way to translate an exclusive or using only one connective?  Chapter 3 Truth tables This chapter introduces a way of evaluating sentences and arguments of SL. Although it can be laborious, the truth table method is a purely mechanical procedure that requires no intuition or special insight. 3.1 Truth-functional connnectives Any non-atomic sentence of SL is composed of atomic sentences with sentential connectives. The truth-value of the compound sentence depends only on the truth-value of the atomic sentences that comprise it. In order to know the truth-value of (D <-4 E), for instance, you only need to know the truth-value of D and the truth-value of E. Connectives that work in this way are called TRUTH-FUNCTIONAL. In this chapter, we will make use of the fact that all of the logical operators in SL are truth-functional it makes it possible to construct truth tables to determine the logical features of sentences. You should realize, however, that this is not possible for all languages. In English, it is possible to form a new sentence from any simpler sentence X by saying 'It is possible that X.' The truth-value of this new sentence does not depend directly on the truth-value of X. Even if X is false, perhaps in some sense X could have been truethen the new sentence would be true. Some formal languages, called modal logics, have an operator for possibility. In a modal logic, we could translate 'It is possible that X' as OX. However, the ability to translate sentences like these come at a cost: The O operator is not truth-functional, and so modal logics are not amenable to truth tables. 37  38 forall{ A A& B Av~B A--R>B A+B A -,A T T T F T F F F T F T F T T F F F F F T T Table 3.1: The characteristic truth tables for the connectives of SL. 3.2 Complete truth tables The truth-value of sentences that contain only one connective is given by the characteristic truth table for that connective. To put them all in one place, the truth tables for the connectives of SL are repeated in table 3.1. The characteristic truth table for conjunction, for example, gives the truth conditions for any sentence of the form (A & B). Even if the conjuncts A and B are long, complicated sentences, the conjunction is true if and only if both A and B are true. Consider the sentence (H & I) H. We consider all the possible combinations of true and false for H and I, which gives us four rows. We then copy the truth-values for the sentence letters and write them underneath the letters in the sentence. H I (H&I)-H T T T T T T F T F T F T F T F F F F F F Now consider the subsentence H & I. This is a conjunction A & B with H as A and with I as B. H and I are both true on the first row. Since a conjunction is true when both conjuncts are true, we write a T underneath the conjunction symbol. We continue for the other three rows and get this: H I (H&I)-H T T TTT T T F T F F T F T F F T F F F F F F F The entire sentence is a conditional AB with (H & I) as A and with H as B. On the second row, for example, (H & I) is false and H is true. Since a conditional is true when the antecedent is false, we write a T in the second row  ch. 3 truth tables 39 underneath the conditional symbol. We continue for the other three rows and get this: H I (H&I)-H A 'B T T T TT T F F TT F T F TF F F F TF The column of Ts underneath the conditional tells us that the sentence (H & I) I is true regardless of the truth-values of H and I. They can be true or false in any combination, and the compound sentence still comes out true. It is crucial that we have considered all of the possible combinations. If we only had a twoline truth table, we could not be sure that the sentence was not false for some other combination of truth-values. In this example, we have not repeated all of the entries in every successive table. When actually writing truth tables on paper, however, it is impractical to erase whole columns or rewrite the whole table for every step. Although it is more crowded, the truth table can be written in this way: H I (H&I)-H T T T T T T T T F T F F T T F T F F T T F F F F F F T F Most of the columns underneath the sentence are only there for bookkeeping purposes. When you become more adept with truth tables, you will probably no longer need to copy over the columns for each of the sentence letters. In any case, the truth-value of the sentence on each row is just the column underneath the main logical operator of the sentence; in this case, the column underneath the conditional. A COMPLETE TRUTH TABLE has a row for all the possible combinations of T and F for all of the sentence letters. The size of the complete truth table depends on the number of different sentence letters in the table. A sentence that contains only one sentence letter requires only two rows, as in the characteristic truth table for negation. This is true even if the same letter is repeated many times, as in the sentence [(C <-+ C) C] & -i(C C). The complete truth table requires only two lines because there are only two possibilities: C can be true or it can be false. A single sentence letter can never be marked both T and F on the same row. The truth table for this sentence looks like this:  40 forall{ C [(C<-C)-C]&,(C-C) T F TTT TT FF TTT FTF FF FF FTF Looking at the column underneath the main connective, we see that the sentence is false on both rows of the table; i.e., it is false regardless of whether C is true or false. A sentence that contains two sentence letters requires four lines for a complete truth table, as in the characteristic truth tables and the table for (H & I) I. A sentence that contains three sentence letters requires eight lines. For example: M N P M & (NVP) 1_ ~ _ + _ T T T T F F F F T T F F T T F F T F T F T F T F T T T T F F F F T T T F F F F F T T F F T T F F TT T F TT F F TT T F TT F F From this table, we know that the sentence M & (N V P) might be true or false, depending on the truth-values of M, N, and P. A complete truth table for a sentence that contains four different sentence letters requires 16 lines. Five letters, 32 lines. Six letters, 64 lines. And so on. To be perfectly general: If a complete truth table has n different sentence letters, then it must have 2n rows. In order to fill in the columns of a complete truth table, begin with the rightmost sentence letter and alternate Ts and Fs. In the next column to the left, write two Ts, write two Fs, and repeat. For the third sentence letter, write four Ts followed by four Fs. This yields an eight line truth table like the one above. For a 16 line truth table, the next column of sentence letters should have eight Ts followed by eight Fs. For a 32 line table, the next column would have 16 Ts followed by 16 Fs. And so on.  ch. 3 truth tables 41 3.3 Using truth tables Tautologies, contradictions, and contingent sentences Recall that an English sentence is a tautology if it must be true as a matter of logic. With a complete truth table, we consider all of the ways that the world might be. If the sentence is true on every line of a complete truth table, then it is true as a matter of logic, regardless of what the world is like. So a sentence is a TAUTOLOGY IN SL if the column under its main connective is T on every row of a complete truth table. Conversely, a sentence is a CONTRADICTION IN SL if the column under its main connective is F on every row of a complete truth table. A sentence is CONTINGENT IN SL if it is neither a tautology nor a contradiction; i.e. if it is T on at least one row and F on at least one row. From the truth tables in the previous section, we know that (H & I) H is a tautology, that [(C <-+ C) C] & -i(C C) is a contradiction, and that M & (N V P) is contingent. Logical equivalence Two sentences are logically equivalent in English if they have the same truth value as a matter logic. Once again, truth tables allow us to define an analogous concept for SL: Two sentences are LOGICALLY EQUIVALENT IN SL if they have the same truth-value on every row of a complete truth table. Consider the sentences -(A V B) and -A & -iB. Are they logically equivalent? To find out, we construct a truth table. A B -, (AvB) -,A&-B T T FTTT FTFFT T F FTTF FTFTF F T FFTT TFFFT F F TFFF TFTTF Look at the columns for the main connectives; negation for the first sentence, conjunction for the second. On the first three rows, both are F. On the final row, both are T. Since they match on every row, the two sentences are logically equivalent.  42 forall{ Consistency A set of sentences in English is consistent if it is logically possible for them all to be true at once. A set of sentences is LOGICALLY CONSISTENT IN SL if there is at least one line of a complete truth table on which all of the sentences are true. It is INCONSISTENT otherwise. Validity An argument in English is valid if it is logically impossible for the premises to be true and for the conclusion to be false at the same time. An argument is VALID IN SL if there is no row of a complete truth table on which the premises are all T and the conclusion is F; an argument is INVALID IN SL if there is such a row. Consider this argument: -,L--> (JvL) ,iL ... J Is it valid? To find out, we construct a truth table. J L -L -(JVL)-, L J T T FTTTTT FT T T F TFTTTF TF T F T FTTFTT FT F F F TFFFFF T FF Yes, the argument is valid. The only row on which both the premises are T is the second row, and on that row the conclusion is also T. 3.4 Partial truth tables In order to show that a sentence is a tautology, we need to show that it is T on every row. So we need a complete truth table. To show that a sentence is not a tautology, however, we only need one line: a line on which the sentence is F. Therefore, in order to show that something is not a tautology, it is enough to provide a one-line partial truth table regardless of how many sentence letters the sentence might have in it.  ch. 3 truth tables 43 Consider, for example, the sentence (U & T) (S & W). We want to show that it is not a tautology by providing a partial truth table. We fill in F for the entire sentence. The main connective of the sentence is a conditional. In order for the conditional to be false, the antecedent must be true (T) and the consequent must be false (F). So we fill these in on the table: S T U W (U&T)->(S&W) T F F In order for the (U & T) to be true, both U and T must be true. S T U W (U&T)->(S&W) T T T T T F F Now we just need to make (S & W) false. To do this, we need to make at least one of S and W false. We can make both S and W false if we want. All that matters is that the whole sentence turns out false on this line. Making an arbitrary decision, we finish the table in this way: S T U W (U&T)->(S&W) F T T F T T T F F F F Showing that something is a contradiction requires a complete truth table. Showing that something is not a contradiction requires only a one-line partial truth table, where the sentence is true on that one line. A sentence is contingent if it is neither a tautology nor a contradiction. So showing that a sentence is contingent requires a two-line partial truth table: The sentence must be true on one line and false on the other. For example, we can show that the sentence above is contingent with this truth table: S T U W (U&T)->(S&W) F T T F T T T F F F F F T F F F F T T F F F Note that there are many combinations of truth values that would have made the sentence true, so there are many ways we could have written the second line. Showing that a sentence is not contingent requires providing a complete truth table, because it requires showing that the sentence is a tautology or that it is a contradiction. If you do not know whether a particular sentence is contingent, then you do not know whether you will need a complete or partial truth table.  44 forall{ YES NO tautology? complete truth table one-line partial truth table contradiction? complete truth table one-line partial truth table contingent? two-line partial truth table complete truth table equivalent? complete truth table one-line partial truth table consistent? one-line partial truth table complete truth table valid? complete truth table one-line partial truth table Table 3.2: Do you need a complete truth table or a partial truth table? It depends on what you are trying to show. You can always start working on a complete truth table. If you complete rows that show the sentence is contingent, then you can stop. If not, then complete the truth table. Even though two carefully selected rows will show that a contingent sentence is contingent, there is nothing wrong with filling in more rows. Showing that two sentences are logically equivalent requires providing a complete truth table. Showing that two sentences are not logically equivalent requires only a one-line partial truth table: Make the table so that one sentence is true and the other false. Showing that a set of sentences is consistent requires providing one row of a truth table on which all of the sentences are true. The rest of the table is irrelevant, so a one-line partial truth table will do. Showing that a set of sentences is inconsistent, on the other hand, requires a complete truth table: You must show that on every row of the table at least one of the sentences is false. Showing that an argument is valid requires a complete truth table. Showing that an argument is invalid only requires providing a one-line truth table: If you can produce a line on which the premises are all true and the conclusion is false, then the argument is invalid. Table 3.2 summarizes when a complete truth table is required and when a partial truth table will do. Practice Exercises If you want additional practice, you can construct truth tables for any of the sentences and arguments in the exercises for the previous chapter. * Part A Determine whether each sentence is a tautology, a contradiction, or a contingent sentence. Justify your answer with a complete or partial truth table  ch. 3 truth tables 45 where appropriate. 1. A->A 2. -B&B 3. C--C 4. -D V D 5. (A B) e (A e B) 6. (A&B)V(B&A) 7. (A->B)V(B->A) 8. -A-->(B-->A)] 9. (A&B)->(BVA) 10. A -[A --(B&-B)] 11. ,( AV B) e(,IA &,B) 12. -,(A&B) A 13. [(A&B)&-(A&B)]&C 14. A(BVC) 15. [(A&B)&C]->B 16. (A&-A)--(BVC) 17. -,[(cvA)vB] 18. (B&D)<>[A-(AVC)] * Part B Determine whether each pair of sentences is logically equivalent. Justify your answer with a complete or partial truth table where appropriate. 1. A,-A 2. A, AV A 3. A-AA,A->A 4. AV-B,A -B 5. A&-A,-B->B 6. -(A& B), -AV-B 7. ,1 A B),-A-,B 8. (A B), (,B ,A) 9. [(A V B) V C], [A V (B V C)] 10. [(AvB)&C], [Av(B&C)] * Part C Determine whether each set of sentences is consistent or inconsistent. Justify your answer with a complete or partial truth table where appropriate. 1. A ' A, ,iA ',A, A & A, A V A 2. A& B, C -B, C 3. AVB, A-C,B>C 4. A-B>B,B--C,A,-C 5. B&(CVA),A->B,-(BVC) 6. A vB, B VC, C--,A  46 forall{ 7. A e (BV C), C ,A, A , B 8. AlB, C,-D,-E,F * Part D Determine whether each argument is valid or invalid. Justify your answer with a complete or partial truth table where appropriate. 1. A BAA,. '.BA 2. AV ([A n( AAeA)], . '. A 3. A ( A & ,A), . '. ,A 4. A e ,(B e A), . '. A 5. AV (B -A), . '. ,A ,-B 6. A B, B,.'. A 7. AV B, BVC,,IA,.'. B&C 8.AVB,BVC,-B,. '.A&C 9. (B&A)->C,(C&A)--B,.. (C&B)->A 10. AFeB, BBeC, . '. ABeC * Part E Answer each of the questions below and justify your answer. 1. Suppose that A and B are logically equivalent. What can you say about 2. Suppose that (A & B) C is contingent. What can you say about the argument "A, B, . '. C"? 3. Suppose that {A, iB, C} is inconsistent. What can you say about (A & B & C)? 4. Suppose that A is a contradiction. What can you say about the argument "A, B,.'.C"? 5. Suppose that C is a tautology. What can you say about the argument "A, 6. Suppose that A and B are logically equivalent. What can you say about (Av'B)? 7. Suppose that A and B are not logically equivalent. What can you say about (.A V B)? Part F We could leave the biconditional (-) out of the language. If we did that, we could still write 'A B' so as to make sentences easier to read, but that would be shorthand for (A B) & (B A). The resulting language would be formally equivalent to SL, since A B and (A B) & (B A) are logically equivalent in SL. If we valued formal simplicity over expressive richness, we could replace more of the connectives with notational conventions and still have a language equivalent to SL. There are a number of equivalent languages with only two connectives. It would be enough to have only negation and the material conditional. Show this by writing sentences that are logically equivalent to each of the following using only parentheses, sentence letters, negation (,a), and the material conditional (-).  ch. 3 truth tables 47 *1. AVB * 2. A& B * 3. A<->B We could have a language that is equivalent to SL with only negation and disjunction as connectives. Show this: Using only parentheses, sentence letters, negation (-), and disjunction (v), write sentences that are logically equivalent to each of the following. 4. A & B 5. A B 6. A B The Sheffer stroke is a logical connective with the following characteristic truthtable: A 'BA|' T T F T F T F T T F F T 7. Write a sentence using the connectives of SL that is logically equivalent to (AIB). Every sentence written using a connective of SL can be rewritten as a logically equivalent sentence using one or more Sheffer strokes. Using only the Sheffer stroke, write sentences that are equivalent to each of the following. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. -,A (A & B) (A V B) (A B) (A < B)  Chapter 4 Quantified logic This chapter introduces a logical language called QL. It is a version of quantified logic, because it allows for quantifiers like all and some. Quantified logic is also sometimes called predicate logic, because the basic units of the language are predicates and terms. 4.1 From sentences to predicates Consider the following argument, which is obviously valid in English: If everyone knows logic, then either noone will be confused or everyone will. Everyone will be confused only if we try to believe a contradiction. This is a logic class, so everyone knows logic. . '. If we don't try to believe a contradiction, then noone will be confused. In order to symbolize this in SL, we will need a symbolization key. L: Everyone knows logic. N: Noone will be confused. E: Everyone will be confused. B: We try to believe a contradiction. Notice that N and E are both about people being confused, but they are two separate sentence letters. We could not replace E with -iN. Why not? -iN means 'It is not the case that noone will be confused.' This would be the case 48  ch. 4 quantified logic 49 if even one person were confused, so it is a long way from saying that everyone will be confused. Once we have separate sentence letters for N and E, however, we erase any connection between the two. They are just two atomic sentences which might be true or false independently. In English, it could never be the case that both noone and everyone was confused. As sentences of SL, however, there is a truth-value assignment for which N and E are both true. Expressions like 'noone', 'everyone', and 'anyone' are called quantifiers. By translating N and E as separate atomic sentences, we leave out the quantifier structure of the sentences. Fortunately, the quantifier structure is not what makes this argument valid. As such, we can safely ignore it. To see this, we translate the argument to SL: L (N V E) L . '. ,B-oN This is a valid argument in SL. (You can do a truth table to check this.) Now consider another argument. This one is also valid in English. Willard is a logician. All logicians wear funny hats. . '. Willard wears a funny hat. To symbolize it in SL, we define a symbolization key: L: Willard is a logician. A: All logicians wear funny hats. F: Willard wears a funny hat. Now we symbolize the argument: L A . '. F This is invalid in SL. (Again, you can confirm this with a truth table.) There is something very wrong here, because this is clearly a valid argument in English. The symbolization in SL leaves out all the important structure. Once again,  50 forall{ the translation to SL overlooks quantifier structure: The sentence 'All logicians wear funny hats' is about both logicians and hat-wearing. By not translating this structure, we lose the connection between Willard's being a logician and Willard's wearing a hat. Some arguments with quantifier structure can be captured in SL, like the first example, even though SL ignores the quantifier structure. Other arguments are completely botched in SL, like the second example. Notice that the problem is not that we have made a mistake while symbolizing the second argument. These are the best symbolizations we can give for these arguments in SL. Generally, if an argument containing quantifiers comes out valid in SL, then the English language argument is valid. If it comes out invalid in SL, then we cannot say the English language argument is invalid. The argument might be valid because of quantifier structure which the natural language argument has and which the argument in SL lacks. Similarly, if a sentence with quantifiers comes out as a tautology in SL, then the English sentence is logically true. If comes out as contingent in SL, then this might be because of the structure of the quantifiers that gets removed when we translate into the formal language. In order to symbolize arguments that rely on quantifier structure, we need to develop a different logical language. We will call this language quantified logic, QL. 4.2 Building blocks of QL Just as sentences were the basic unit of sentential logic, predicates will be the basic unit of quantified logic. A predicate is an expression like 'is a dog.' This is not a sentence on its own. It is neither true nor false. In order to be true or false, we need to specify something: Who or what is it that is a dog? The details of this will be explained in the rest of the chapter, but here is the basic idea: In QL, we will represent predicates with capital letters. For instance, we might let D stand for ' is a dog.' We will use lower-case letters as the names of specific things. For instance, we might let b stand for Bertie. The expression Db will be a sentence in QL. It is a translation of the sentence 'Bertie is a dog.' In order to represent quantifier structure, we will also have symbols that represent quantifiers. For instance, '' will mean 'There is some .' So to say that there is a dog, we can write ]xDx; that is: There is some x such that x is a dog.  ch. 4 quantified logic 51 That will come later. We start by defining singular terms and predicates. Singular Terms In English, a SINGULAR TERM is a word or phrase that refers to a specific person, place, or thing. The word 'dog' is not a singular term, because there are a great many dogs. The phrase 'Philip's dog Bertie' is a singular term, because it refers to a specific little terrier. A PROPER NAME is a singular term that picks out an individual without describing it. The name 'Emerson' is a proper name, and the name alone does not tell you anything about Emerson. Of course, some names are traditionally given to boys and other are traditionally given to girls. If 'Jack Hathaway' is used as a singular term, you might guess that it refers to a man. However, the name does not necessarily mean that the person referred to is a manor even that the creature referred to is a person. Jack might be a giraffe for all you could tell just from the name. There is a great deal of philosophical action surrounding this issue, but the important point here is that a name is a singular term because it picks out a single, specific individual. Other singular terms more obviously convey information about the thing to which they refer. For instance, you can tell without being told anything further that 'Philip's dog Bertie' is a singular term that refers to a dog. A DEFINITE DESCRIPTION picks out an individual by means of a unique description. In English, definite descriptions are often phrases of the form 'the such-and-so.' They refer to the specific thing that matches the given description. For example, 'the tallest member of Monty Python' and 'the first emperor of China' are definite descriptions. A description that does not pick out a specific individual is not a definite description. 'A member of Monty Python' and 'an emperor of China' are not definite descriptions. We can use proper names and definite descriptions to pick out the same thing. The proper name 'Mount Rainier' names the location picked out by the definite description 'the highest peak in Washington state.' The expressions refer to the same place in different ways. You learn nothing from my saying that I am going to Mount Rainier, unless you already know some geography. You could guess that it is a mountain, perhaps, but even this is not a sure thing; for all you know it might be a college, like Mount Holyoke. Yet if I were to say that I was going to the highest peak in Washington state, you would know immediately that I was going to a mountain in Washington state. In English, the specification of a singular term may depend on context; 'Willard' means a specific person and not just someone named Willard; 'P.D. Magnus' as a logical singular term means me and not the other P.D. Magnus. We live with this kind of ambiguity in English, but it is important to keep in mind that  52 forall{ singular terms in QL must refer to just one specific thing. In QL, we will symbolize singular terms with lower-case letters a through w. We can add subscripts if we want to use some letter more than once. So a, b, c,. . .w, a1, f32, j390, and m12 are all terms in QL. Singular terms are called CONSTANTS because they pick out specific individuals. Note that x, y, and z are not constants in QL. They will be VARIABLES, letters which do not stand for any specific thing. We will need them when we introduce quantifiers. Predicates The simplest predicates are properties of individuals. They are things you can say about an object. ' is a dog' and'_ _is a member of Monty Python' are both predicates. In translating English sentences, the term will not always come at the beginning of the sentence: 'A piano fell on ' is also a predicate. Predicates like these are called ONE-PLACE or MONADIC, because there is only one blank to fill in. A one-place predicate and a singular term combine to make a sentence. Other predicates are about the relation between two things. For instance, ' is bigger than ', ' is to the left of ', and ' owes money to .' These are TWO-PLACE or DYADIC predicates, because they need to be filled in with two terms in order to make a sentence. In general, you can think about predicates as schematic sentences that need to be filled out with some number of terms. Conversely, you can start with sentences and make predicates out of them by removing terms. Consider the sentence, 'Vinnie borrowed the family car from Nunzio.' By removing a singular term, we can recognize this sentence as using any of three different monadic predicates: borrowed the family car from Nunzio. Vinnie borrowed from Nunzio. Vinnie borrowed the family car from . By removing two singular terms, we can recognize three different dyadic predicates: Vinnie borrowed from . borrowed the family car from . borrowed from Nunzio. By removing all three singular terms, we can recognize one THREE-PLACE or  ch. 4 quantified logic 53 TRIADIC predicate: borrowed from . If we are translating this sentence into QL, should we translate it with a one-, two-, or three-place predicate? It depends on what we want to be able to say. If the only thing that we will discuss being borrowed is the family car, then the generality of the three-place predicate is unnecessary. If the only borrowing we need to symbolize is different people borrowing the family car from Nunzio, then a one-place predicate will be enough. In general, we can have predicates with as many places as we need. Predicates with more than one place are called POLYADIC. Predicates with n places, for some number n, are called N-PLACE or N-ADIC. In QL, we symbolize predicates with capital letters A through Z, with or without subscripts. When we give a symbolization key for predicates, we will not use blanks; instead, we will use variables. By convention, constants are listed at the end of the key. So we might write a key that looks like this: Ax: x is angry. Hx: x is happy. Tixy: x is as tall or taller than y. T2xy: x is as tough or tougher than y. Bxyz: y is between x and z. d: Donald g: Gregor m: Marybeth We can symbolize sentences that use any combination of these predicates and terms. For example: 1. Donald is angry. 2. If Donald is angry, then so are Gregor and Marybeth. 3. Marybeth is at least as tall and as tough as Gregor. 4. Donald is shorter than Gregor. 5. Gregor is between Donald and Marybeth. Sentence 1 is straightforward: Ad. The 'x' in the key entry 'Ax' is just a placeholder; we can replace it with other terms when translating. Sentence 2 can be paraphrased as, 'If Ad, then Ag and Am.' QL has all the truth-functional connectives of SL, so we translate this as Ad (Ag & Am). Sentence 3 can be translated as Timg & T2mg.  54 forall{ Sentence 4 might seem as if it requires a new predicate. If we only needed to symbolize this sentence, we could define a predicate like Sxy to mean 'x is shorter than y.' However, this would ignore the logical connection between 'shorter' and 'taller.' Considered only as symbols of QL, there is no connection between S and T1. They might mean anything at all. Instead of introducing a new predicate, we paraphrase sentence 4 using predicates already in our key: 'It is not the case that Donald is as taller or taller than Gregor.' We can translate it as -iT1dg. Sentence 5 requires that we pay careful attention to the order of terms in the key. It becomes Bdgm. 4.3 Quantifiers We are now ready to introduce quantifiers. Consider these sentences: 6. Everyone is happy. 7. Everyone is at least as tough as Donald. 8. Someone is angry. It might be tempting to translate sentence 6 as Hd & Hg & Hm. Yet this would only say that Donald, Gregor, and Marybeth are happy. We want to say that everyone is happy, even if we have not defined a constant to name them. In order to do this, we introduce the 'V' symbol. This is called the UNIVERSAL QUANTIFIER. A quantifier must always be followed by a variable and a formula that includes that variable. We can translate sentence 6 as VxHx. Paraphrased in English, this means 'For all x, x is happy.' We call Vx an x-quantifier. The formula that follows the quantifier is called the scope of the quantifier. We will give a formal definition of scope later, but intuitively it is the part of the sentence that the quantifier quantifies over. In VxHx, the scope of the universal quantifier is Hx. Sentence 7 can be paraphrased as, 'For all x, x is at least as tough as Donald.' This translates as VxT2xd. In these quantified sentences, the variable x is serving as a kind of placeholder. The expression Vx means that you can pick anyone and put them in as x. There is no special reason to use x rather than some other variable. The sentence VxHx means exactly the same thing as VyHy, VzHz, and Vx5Hx5. To translate sentence 8, we introduce another new symbol: the EXISTENTIAL QUANTIFIER,]. Like the universal quantifier, the existential quantifier requires a variable. Sentence 8 can be translated as ]xAx. This means that there is  ch. 4 quantified logic 55 some x which is angry. More precisely, it means that there is at least one angry person. Once again, the variable is a kind of placeholder; we could just as easily have translated sentence 8 as ]zAz. Consider these further sentences: 9. Noone is angry. 10. There is someone who is not happy. 11. Not everyone is happy. Sentence 9 can be paraphrased as, 'It is not the case that someone is angry.' This can be translated using negation and an existential quantifier: -IxAx. Yet sentence 9 could also be paraphrased as, 'Everyone is not angry.' With this in mind, it can be translated using negation and a universal quantifier: Vx-Ax. Both of these are acceptable translations, because they are logically equivalent. The critical thing is whether the negation comes before or after the quantifier. In general, VxA is logically equivalent to -x-A. This means that any sentence which can be symbolized with a universal quantifier can be symbolized with an existential quantifier, and vice versa. One translation might seem more natural than the other, but there is no logical different in translating with one quantifier rather than the other. For some sentences, it will simply be a matter of taste. Sentence 10 is most naturally paraphrased as, 'There is some x such that x is not happy.' This becomes x-Hx. Equivalently, we could write -VxHx. Sentence 11 is most naturally translated as -iVxHx. This is logically equivalent to sentence 10 and so could also be translated as IxHz. Although we have two quantifiers in QL, we could have an equivalent formal language with only one quantifier. We could proceed with only the universal quantifier, for instance, and treat the existential quantifier as a notational convention. We use square brackets [ ] to make some sentences more readable, but we know that these are really just parentheses ( ). In the same way, we could write ']x' knowing that this is just shorthand for '-iVx-i.' There is a choice between making logic formally simple and making it expressively simple. With QL, we opt for expressive simplicity. Both V and I will be symbols of QL. Universe of Discourse Given the symbolization key we have been using, VxHx means 'Everyone is happy.' Who is included in this everyone? When we use sentences like this in English, we usually do not mean everyone now alive on the Earth. We certainly do not mean everyone who was ever alive or who will ever live. We mean  56 forall{ something more modest: everyone in the building, everyone in the class, or everyone in the room. In order to eliminate this ambiguity, we will need to specify a UNIVERSE OF DISCOURSEabbreviated UD. The UD is the set of things that we are talking about. So if we want to talk about people in Chicago, we define the UD to be people in Chicago. We write this at the beginning of the symbolization key, like this: UD: people in Chicago The quantifiers range over the universe of discourse. Given this UD, Vx means 'Everyone in Chicago' and Ix means 'Someone in Chicago.' Each constant names some member of the UD, so we can only use this UD with the symbolization key above if Donald, Gregor, and Marybeth are all in Chicago. If we want to talk about people in places besides Chicago, then we need to include those people in the UD. In QL, the UD must be non-empty; that is, it must include at least one thing. It is possible to construct formal languages that allow for empty UDs, but this introduces complications. Even allowing for a UD with just one member can produce some strange results. Suppose we have this as a symbolization key: UD: the Eiffel Tower Px: x is in Paris. The sentence VxPx might be paraphrased in English as 'Everything is in Paris.' Yet that would be misleading. It means that everything in the UD is in Paris. This UD contains only the Eiffel Tower, so with this symbolization key VxPx just means that the Eiffel Tower is in Paris. Non-referring terms In QL, each constant must pick out exactly one member of the UD. A constant cannot refer to more than one thingit is a singular term. Each constant must still pick out something. This is connected to a classic philosophical problem: the so-called problem of non-referring terms. Medieval philosophers typically used sentences about the chimera to exemplify this problem. Chimera is a mythological creature; it does not really exist. Consider these two sentences:  ch. 4 quantified logic 57 12. Chimera is angry. 13. Chimera is not angry. It is tempting just to define a constant to mean 'chimera.' The symbolization key would look like this: UD: creatures on Earth Ax: x is angry. c: chimera We could then translate sentence 12 as Ac and sentence 13 as -iAc. Problems will arise when we ask whether these sentences are true or false. One option is to say that sentence 12 is not true, because there is no chimera. If sentence 12 is false because it talks about a non-existent thing, then sentence 13 is false for the same reason. Yet this would mean that Ac and -iAc would both be false. Given the truth conditions for negation, this cannot be the case. Since we cannot say that they are both false, what should we do? Another option is to say that sentence 12 is meaningless because it talks about a non-existent thing. So Ac would be a meaningful expression in QL for some interpretations but not for others. Yet this would make our formal language hostage to particular interpretations. Since we are interested in logical form, we want to consider the logical force of a sentence like Ac apart from any particular interpretation. If Ac were sometimes meaningful and sometimes meaningless, we could not do that. This is the problem of non-referring terms, and we will return to it later (see p. 74.) The important point for now is that each constant of QL must refer to something in the UD, although the UD can be any set of things that we like. If we want to symbolize arguments about mythological creatures, then we must define a UD that includes them. This option is important if we want to consider the logic of stories. We can translate a sentence like 'Sherlock Holmes lived at 221B Baker Street' by including fictional characters like Sherlock Holmes in our UD. 4.4 Translating to QL We now have all of the pieces of QL. Translating more complicated sentences will only be a matter of knowing the right way to combine predicates, constants, quantifiers, and connectives. Consider these sentences:  58 forall{ 14. Every coin in my pocket is a quarter. 15. Some coin on the table is a dime. 16. Not all the coins on the table are dimes. 17. None of the coins in my pocket are dimes. In providing a symbolization key, we need to specify a UD. Since we are talking about coins in my pocket and on the table, the UD must at least contain all of those coins. Since we are not talking about anything besides coins, we let the UD be all coins. Since we are not talking about any specific coins, we do not need to define any constants. So we define this key: UD: all coins Px: x is in my pocket. Tx: x is on the table. Qx: x is a quarter. Dx: x is a dime. Sentence 14 is most naturally translated with a universal quantifier. The universal quantifier says something about everything in the UD, not just about the coins in my pocket. Sentence 14 means that, for any coin, if that coin is in my pocket then it is a quarter. So we can translate it as Vx(Px Qx). Since sentence 14 is about coins that are both in my pocket and that are quarters, it might be tempting to translate it using a conjunction. However, the sentence Vx(Px& Qx) would mean that everything in the UD is both in my pocket and a quarter: All the coins that exist are quarters in my pocket. This is would be a crazy thing to say, and it means something very different than sentence 14. Sentence 15 is most naturally translated with an existential quantifier. It says that there is some coin which is both on the table and which is a dime. So we can translate it as Ix(Tx & Dx). Notice that we needed to use a conditional with the universal quantifier, but we used a conjunction with the existential quantifier. What would it mean to write lx(Tx -> Dx)? Probably not what you think. It means that there is some member of the UD which would satisfy the subformula; roughly speaking, there is some a such that (Ta Da) is true. In SL, A -> B is logically equivalent to -,A V B, and this will also hold in QL. So ]x(Tx Dx) is true if there is some a such that (-iTa V Da); i.e., it is true if some coin is either not on the table or is a dime. Of course there is a coin that is not the tablethere are coins lots of other places. So ]x(Tx Dx) is trivially true. A conditional will usually be the natural connective to use with a universal quantifier, but a conditional within the scope of an existential quantifier can do very strange things. As a general rule, do not put conditionals in the scope of existential quantifiers unless you are sure that you need one.  ch. 4 quantified logic 59 Sentence 16 can be paraphrased as, 'It is not the case that every coin on the table is a dime.' So we can translate it as -iVx(Tx Dx). You might look at sentence 16 and paraphrase it instead as, 'Some coin on the table is not a dime.' You would then translate it as ]x(Tx & -iDz). Although it is probably not obvious, these two translations are logically equivalent. (This is due to the logical equivalence between -VxA and lx-1, along with the equivalence between -(A B) and A & -B.) Sentence 17 can be paraphrased as, 'It is not the case that there is some dime in my pocket.' This can be translated as -x(Pz & Dx). It might also be paraphrased as, 'Everything in my pocket is a non-dime,' and then could be translated as Vx(Px -iDx). Again the two translations are logically equivalent. Both are correct translations of sentence 17. We can now translate the argument from p. 49, the one that motivated the need for quantifiers: Willard is a logician. All logicians wear funny hats. . '. Willard wears a funny hat. UD: people Lx: x is a logician. Fx: x wears a funny hat. w: Willard Translating, we get: Lw Vx(Lx Fx) . '. Fw This captures the structure that was left out of the SL translation of this argument, and this is a valid argument in QL. Empty predicates A predicate need not apply to anything in the UD. A predicate that applies to nothing in the UD is called an EMPTY predicate. Suppose we want to symbolize these two sentences: 18. Every monkey knows sign language.  60 forall{ 19. Some monkey knows sign language. It is possible to write the symbolization key for these sentences in this way: UD: animals Mx: x is a monkey. Sx: x knows sign language. Sentence 18 can now be translated as Vx(Mx Sx). Sentence 19 becomes Ix(Mx & Sx). It is tempting to say that sentence 18 entails sentence 19; that is: if every monkey knows sign language, then it must be that some monkey knows sign language. This is a valid inference in Aristotelean logic: All Ms are S, . '. some M is S. However, the entailment does not hold in QL. It is possible for the sentence Vx(Mx Sx) to be true even though the sentence ]x(Mx & Sx) is false. How can this be? The answer comes from considering whether these sentences would be true or false if there were no monkeys. We have defined V and I in such a way that VA is equivalent to -I-A. As such, the universal quantifier doesn't involve the existence of anythingonly non-existence. If sentence 18 is true, then there are no monkeys who don't know sign language. If there were no monkeys, then Vx(Mx Sx) would be true and Ix(Mx & Sx) would be false. We allow empty predicates because we want to be able to say things like, 'I do not know if there are any monkeys, but any monkeys that there are know sign language.' That is, we want to be able to have predicates that do not (or might not) refer to anything. What happens if we add an empty predicate R to the interpretation above? For example, we might define Rx to mean 'x is a refrigerator.' Now the sentence Vx(Rx Mx) will be true. This is counterintuitive, since we do not want to say that there are a whole bunch of refrigerator monkeys. It is important to remember, though, that Vx(Rx Mx) means that any member of the UD that is a refrigerator is a monkey. Since the UD is animals, there are no refrigerators in the UD and so the setence is trivially true. If you were actually translating the sentence 'All refrigerators are monkeys', then you would want to include appliances in the UD. Then the predicate R would not be empty and the sentence Vz(Rz Mx) would be false.  ch. 4 quantified logic 61 > A UD must have at least one member. > A predicate may apply to some, all, or no members of the UD. > A constant must pick out exactly one member of the UD. A member of the UD may be picked out by one constant, many constants, or none at all. Picking a Universe of Discourse The appropriate symbolization of an English language sentence in QL will depend on the symbolization key. In some ways, this is obvious: It matters whether Dx means 'x is dainty' or 'x is dangerous.' The meaning of sentences in QL also depends on the UD. Let Rx mean 'x is a rose,' let Tx mean 'x has a thorn,' and consider this sentence: 20. Every rose has a thorn. It is tempting to say that sentence 20 should be translated as Vx(Rx Tx). If the UD contains all roses, that would be correct. Yet if the UD is merely things on my kitchen table, then Vx(Rx Tx) would only mean that every rose on my kitchen table has a thorn. If there are no roses on my kitchen table, the sentence would be trivially true. The universal quantifier only ranges over members of the UD, so we need to include all roses in the UD in order to translate sentence 20. We have two options. First, we can restrict the UD to include all roses but only roses. Then sentence 20 becomes VxTx. This means that everything in the UD has a thorn; since the UD just is the set of roses, this means that every rose has a thorn. This option can save us trouble if every sentence that we want to translate using the symbolization key is about roses. Second, we can let the UD contain things besides roses: rhododendrons, rats, rifles, and whatall else. Then sentence 20 must be Vx(Rx Tx). If we wanted the universal quantifier to mean every thing, without restriction, then we might try to specify a UD that contains everything. This would lead to problems. Does 'everything' include things that have only been imagined, like fictional characters? On the one hand, we want to be able to symbolize arguments about Hamlet or Sherlock Holmes. So we need to have the option of including fictional characters in the UD. On the other hand, we never need to talk about every thing that does not exist. That might not even make sense.  62 forall{ There are philosophical issues here that we will not try to address. We can avoid these difficulties by always specifying the UD. For example, if we mean to talk about plants, people, and cities, then the UD might be 'living things and places.' Suppose that we want to translate sentence 20 and, with the same symbolization key, translate these sentences: 21. Esmerelda has a rose in her hair. 22. Everyone is cross with Esmerelda. We need a UD that includes roses (so that we can symbolize sentence 20) and a UD that includes people (so we can translate sentence 21-22.) Here is a suitable key: UD: people and plants Px: x is a person. Rx: x is a rose. Tx: x has a thorn. Cxy: x is cross with y. Hxy: x has y in their hair. e: Esmerelda Since we do not have a predicate that means '... has a rose in her hair', translating sentence 21 will require paraphrasing. The sentence says that there is a rose in Esmerelda's hair; that is, there is something which is both a rose and is in Esmerelda's hair. So we get: Ix(Rxz& Hex). It is tempting to translate sentence 22 as VxCxe. Unfortunately, this would mean that every member of the UD is cross with Esmereldaboth people and plants. It would mean, for instance, that the rose in Esmerelda's hair is cross with her. Of course, sentence 22 does not mean that. 'Everyone' means every person, not every member of the UD. So we can paraphrase sentence 22 as, 'Every person is cross with Esmerelda.' We know how to translate sentences like this: Vx(Px Cxe) In general, the universal quantifier can be used to mean 'everyone' if the UD contains only people. If there are people and other things in the UD, then 'everyone' must be treated as 'every person.' Translating pronouns When translating to QL, it is important to understand the structure of the sentences you want to translate. What matters is the final translation in QL,  ch. 4 quantified logic 63 and sometimes you will be able to move from an English language sentence directly to a sentence of QL. Other times, it helps to paraphrase the sentence one or more times. Each successive paraphrase should move from the original sentence closer to something that you can translate directly into QL. For the next several examples, we will use this symbolization key: UD: people Gx: x can play guitar. Rx: x is a rock star. 1: Lemmy Now consider these sentences: 23. If Lemmy can play guitar, then he is a rock star. 24. If a person can play guitar, then he is a rock star. Sentence 23 and sentence 24 have the same consequent ('... he is a rock star'), but they cannot be translated in the same way. It helps to paraphrase the original sentences, replacing pronouns with explicit references. Sentence 23 can be paraphrased as, 'If Lemmy can play guitar, then Lemmy is a rockstar.' This can obviously be translated as Gl -> Ri. Sentence 24 must be paraphrased differently: 'If a person can play guitar, then that person is a rock star.' This sentence is not about any particular person, so we need a variable. Translating halfway, we can paraphrase the sentence as, 'For any person x, if x can play guitar, then x is a rockstar.' Now this can be translated as Vx(Gx Rx). This is the same as, 'Everyone who can play guitar is a rock star.' Consider these further sentences: 25. If anyone can play guitar, then Lemmy can. 26. If anyone can play guitar, then he or she is a rock star. These two sentences have the same antecedent ('If anyone can play guitar...'), but they have different logical structures. Sentence 25 can be paraphrased, 'If someone can play guitar, then Lemmy can play guitar.' The antecedent and consequent are separate sentences, so it can be symbolized with a conditional as the main logical operator: ]xGx Gl.  64 forall{ Sentence 26 can be paraphrased, 'For anyone, if that one can play guitar, then that one is a rock star.' It would be a mistake to symbolize this with an existential quantifier, because it is talking about everybody. The sentence is equivalent to 'All guitar players are rock stars.' It is best translated as Vx(Gx Rx). The English words 'any' and 'anyone' should typically be translated using quantifiers. As these two examples show, they sometimes call for an existential quantifier (as in sentence 25) and sometimes for a universal quantifier (as in sentence 26). If you have a hard time determining which is required, paraphrase the sentence with an English language sentence that uses words besides 'any' or 'anyone.' Quantifiers and scope In the sentence ]xGx Gl, the scope of the existential quantifier is the expression Gx. Would it matter if the scope of the quantifier were the whole sentence? That is, does the sentence ]x(Gx Gl) mean something different? With the key given above, ]xGx Gl means that if there is some guitarist, then Lemmy is a guitarist. lx(Gx Gl) would mean that there is some person such that if that person were a guitarist, then Lemmy would be a guitarist. Recall that the conditional here is a material conditional; the conditional is true if the antecedent is false. Let the constant p denote the author of this book, someone who is certainly not a guitarist. The sentence Gp Gl is true because Gp is false. Since someone (namely p) satisfies the sentence, then ]x(Gx Gl) is true. The sentence is true because there is a non-guitarist, regardless of Lemmy's skill with the guitar. Something strange happened when we changed the scope of the quantifier, because the conditional in QL is a material conditional. In order to keep the meaning the same, we would have to change the quantifier: ]xGx Gl means the same thing as Vx(Gx Gl), and ]x(Gx Gl) means the same thing as VxGx Gl. This oddity does not arise with other connectives or if the variable is in the consequent of the conditional. For example, ]xGx & Gl means the same thing as Ix(Gxz& Cl), and Gl ]xGx means the same things as Ix(Gl Gx). Ambiguous predicates Suppose we just want to translate this sentence:  ch. 4 quantified logic 65 27. Adina is a skilled surgeon. Let the UD be people, let Kx mean 'x is a skilled surgeon', and let a mean Adina. Sentence 27 is simply Ka. Suppose instead that we want to translate this argument: The hospital will only hire a skilled surgeon. All surgeons are greedy. Billy is a surgeon, but is not skilled. Therefore, Billy is greedy, but the hospital will not hire him. We need to distinguish being a skilled surgeon from merely being a surgeon. So we define this symbolization key: UD: people Gx: x is greedy. Hx: The hospital will hire x. Rx: x is a surgeon. Kx: x is skilled. b: Billy Now the argument can be translated in this way: Vx[-(Rx & Kx) -Hx] Vx(Rx Gx) Rb&-Kb . '. Gb& -Hb Next suppose that we want to translate this argument: Carol is a skilled surgeon and a tennis player. Therefore, Carol is a surgeon and a skilled tennis player. If we start with the symbolization key we used for the previous argument, we could add a predicate (let Tx mean 'x is a tennis player') and a constant (let c mean Carol). Then the argument becomes: (Rc & Kc) & Tc . '. Tc&Kc This translation is a disaster! It takes what in English is a terrible argument and translates it as a valid argument in QL. The problem is that there is a difference  66 forall{ between being skilled as a surgeon and skilled as a tennis player. Translating this argument correctly requires two separate predicates, one for each type of skill. If we let K1x mean 'x is skilled as a surgeon' and K2x mean 'x is skilled as a tennis player,' then we can symbolized the argument in this way: (Rc& Kic) & Tc . '. Tc& K2c Like the English language argument it translates, this is invalid. The moral of these examples is that you need to be careful of symbolizing predicates in an ambiguous way. Similar problems can arise with predicates like good, bad, big, and small. Just as skilled surgeons and skilled tennis players have different skills, big dogs, big mice, and big problems are big in different ways. Is it enough to have a predicate that means 'x is a skilled surgeon', rather than two predicates 'x is skilled' and 'x is a surgeon'? Sometimes. As sentence 27 shows, sometimes we do not need to distinguish between skilled surgeons and other surgeons. Must we always distinguish between different ways of being skilled, good, bad, or big? No. As the argument about Billy shows, sometimes we only need to talk about one kind of skill. If you are translating an argument that is just about dogs, it is fine to define a predicate that means 'x is big.' If the UD includes dogs and mice, however, it is probably best to make the predicate mean 'x is big for a dog.' Multiple quantifiers Consider this following symbolization key and the sentences that follow it: UD: People and dogs Dx: x is a dog. Fxy: x is a friend of y. Oxy: x owns y. f: Fifi g: Gerald 28. Fifi is a dog. 29. Gerald is a dog owner. 30. Someone is a dog owner. 31. All of Gerald's friends are dog owners. 32. Every dog owner is the friend of a dog owner.  ch. 4 quantified logic 67 Sentence 28 is easy: Df. Sentence 29 can be paraphrased as, 'There is a dog that Gerald owns.' This can be translated as Ix(Dx& Ogx). Sentence 30 can be paraphrased as, 'There is some y such that y is a dog owner.' The subsentence 'y is a dog owner' is just like sentence 29, except that it is about y rather than being about Gerald. So we can translate sentence 30 as ]ylx(Dx & Oyx). Sentence 31 can be paraphrased as, 'Every friend of Gerald is a dog owner.' Translating part of this sentence, we get Vx(Fxg 'x is a dog owner'). Again, it is important to recognize that 'x is a dog owner' is structurally just like sentence 29. Since we already have an x-quantifier, we will need a different variable for the existential quantifier. Any other variable will do. Using z, sentence 31 can be translated as Vx [Fxg z(Dz & Oxz)]. Sentence 32 can be paraphrased as 'For any x that is a dog owner, there is a dog owner who is x's friend.' Partially translated, this becomes Vx [x is a dog owner ]y(y is a dog owner & Fxy]. Completing the translation, sentence 32 becomes Vx [z(Dz & Oxz) -l y(]z(Dz & Oyz) & Fxy]. Consider this symbolization key and these sentences: UD: people Lxy: x likes y. i: Imre. k: Karl. 33. Imre likes everyone that Karl likes. 34. There is someone who likes everyone who likes everyone that he likes. Sentence 33 can be partially translated as Vx(Karl likes x Imre likes x). This becomes Vx(Lkx Lix). Sentence 34 is almost a tongue-twister. There is little hope of writing down the whole translation immediately, but we can proceed by small steps. An initial, partial translation might look like this: Ix everyone who likes everyone that x likes is liked by x The part that remains in English is a universal sentence, so we translate further: ]xVy(y likes everyone that x likes x likes y).  68 forall{ The antecedent of the conditional is structurally just like sentence 33, with y and x in place of Imre and Karl. So sentence 34 can be completely translated in this way ]xVy [Vz(Lxz Lyz) Lxy] When symbolizing sentences with multiple quantifiers, it is best to proceed by small steps. Paraphrase the English sentence so that the logical structure is readily symbolized in QL. Then translate piecemeal, replacing the daunting task of translating a long sentence with the simpler task of translating shorter formulae. 4.5 Sentences of QL In this section, we provide a formal definition for a well-formed formula (wif) and sentence of QL. Expressions There are six kinds of symbols in QL: predicates A, B, C, ... , Z with subscripts, as needed A1, B1, Z1, A2, A25, J375, constants a, b,c,. . . , w with subscripts, as needed a1, w4, h7, m32, ... variables x, y, z with subscripts, as needed x1, y1, z1, x2, . . connectives , & ,V,-,<-> parentheses (, ) quantifiers _VI We define an EXPRESSION OF QL as any string of symbols of SL. Take any of the symbols of QL and write them down, in any order, and you have an expression. Well-formed formulae By definition, a TERM OF QL is either a constant or a variable. An ATOMIC FORMULA OF QL is an n-place predicate followed by n terms.  ch. 4 quantified logic 69 Just as we did for SL, we will give a recursive definition for a wff of QL. In fact, most of the definition will look like the definition of for a wff of SL: Every atomic formula is a wff, and you can build new wffs by applying the sentential connectives. We could just add a rule for each of the quantifiers and be done with it. For instance: If A is a wff, then VxA and ]xA are wffs. However, this would allow for bizarre sentences like Vx]xDx and VxDw. What could these possibly mean? We could adopt some interpretation of such sentences, but instead we will write the definition of a wff so that such abominations do not even count as well-formed. In order for VxA to be a wff, A must contain the variable x and must not already contain an x-quantifier. VxDw will not count as a wff because 'x' does not occur in Dw, and Vx]xDx will not count as a wff because ]xDx contains an x-quantifier 1. Every atomic formula is a wff. 2. If A is a wff, then -A is a wff. 3. If A and B are wffs, then (A& B), is a wff. 4. If A and B are wffs, (A V B) is a wff. 5. If A and B are wffs, then (A B) is a wff. 6. If A and B are wffs, then (A <-+ B) is a wff. 7. If A is a wff, x is a variable, A contains at least one occurrence of X, and A contains no x-quantifiers, then V{A is a wff. 8. If A is a wff, X is a variable, A contains at least one occurrence of x, and A contains no x-quantifiers, then ]{A is a wff. 9. All and only wffs of QL can be generated by applications of these rules. Notice that the 't' that appears in the definition above is not the variable x. It is a meta-variable that stands in for any variable of QL. So VxAx is a wff, but so are VyAy, VzAz, Vx4Ax4, and Vz9Az9. We can now give a formal definition for scope: The SCOPE of a quantifier is the subformula for which the quantifier is the main logical operator.  70 forall{ Sentences A sentence is something that can be either true or false. In SL, every wff was a sentence. This will not be the case in QL. Consider the following symbolization key: UD: people Lxy: x loves y b: Boris Consider the expression Lzz. It is an atomic forumula: a two-place predicate followed by two terms. All atomic formula are wffs, so Lzz is a wff. Does it mean anything? You might think that it means that z loves himself, in the same way that Lbb means that Boris loves himself. Yet z is a variable; it does not name some person the way a constant would. The wff Lzz does not tell us how to interpret z. Does it mean everyone? anyone? someone? If we had a z-quantifier, it would tell us how to interpret z. For instance, ]zLzz would mean that someone loves themself. Some formal languages treat a wff like Lzz as implicitly having a universal quantifier in front. We will not do this for QL. If you mean to say that everyone loves themself, then you need to write the quantifier: VzLzz In order to make sense of a variable, we need a quantifier to tell us how to interpret that variable. The scope of an x-quantifier, for instance, is the the part of the formula where quantifier tells how to interpret x. In order to be precise about this, we define a BOUND VARIABLE to be an occurrence of a variable x that is within the scope of an x-quantifier. A FREE VARIABLE is an occurance of a variable that is not bound. For example, consider the wff Vx(Ex V Dy) ]z(Ex Lzx). The scope of the universal quantifier Vx is (Ex V Dy), so the first x is bound by the universal quantifier but the second and third xs are free. There is not y-quantifier, so the y is free. The scope of the existential quantifier ]z is (Ex Lzx), so both occurrences of z are bound by it. We define a SENTENCE of QL as a wff of QL that contains no free variables. Notational conventions We will adopt the same notational conventions that we did for SL (p. 31.) First, we may leave off the outermost parenthees of a formula. Second, we will use square brackets '[' and ']' in place of parentheses to increase the readability of  ch. 4 quantified logic 71 formulae. Third, we will leave out parentheses between each pair of conjuncts when writing long series of conjunctions. Fourth, we will leave out parentheses between each pair of disjuncts when writing long series of disjunctions. Substitution instance If A is a wff, c a constant, and x a variable, then A[clx] is the wff made by replacing each occurance of x in A with c. This is called a SUBSTITUTION INSTANCE of VxA and ]xA; c is called the INSTANTIATING CONSTANT. For example: Aa Ba, Af Bf, and Ak Bk are all substitution instances of Vx(Ax Bx); the instantiating constants are a, f, and k, respectively. Raj, Rdj, and Rjj are substitution instances of ]zRzj; the instantiating constants are a, d, and j, respectively. This definition will be useful later, when we define truth and derivability in QL. If VxPx is true, then every substitution instance Pa, Pb, Pc... is true. To put the point informally, if everything is a P, then a is a P, b is a P, c is a P, and so on. Conversely, if some substitution instance of ]xPx such as Pa is true, then ]xPx must be true. Informally, if some specific a is a P, then there is some P. 4.6 Identity Consider this sentence: 35. Pavel owes money to everyone else. Let the UD be people; this will allow us to translate 'everyone' as a universal quantifier. Let Oxy mean 'x owes money to y', and let p mean Pavel. Now we can symbolize sentence 35 as VxOpx. Unfortunately, this translation has some odd consequences. It says that Pavel owes money to every member of the UD, including Pavel; it entails that Pavel owes money to himself. However, sentence 35 does not say that Pavel owes money to himself; he owes money to everyone else. This is a problem, because VxOpx is the best translation we can give of this sentence into QL. The solution is to add another symbol to QL. The symbol '= is a two-place predicate. Since it has a special logical meaning, we write it a bit differently: For two terms ti and t2, ti1= t2 is an atomic formula. The predicate x= y means 'x is identical to y.' This does not mean merely that x and y are indistinguishable or that all of the same predicates are true of  72 forall{ them. Rather, it means that x and y are the very same thing. When we write x # y, we mean that x and y are not identical. There is no reason to introduce this as an additional predicate. Instead, x # y is an abbreviation of -(x =y). Now suppose we want to symbolize this sentence: 36. Pavel is Mister Checkov. Let the constant c mean Mister Checkov. Sentence 36 can be symbolized as p = c. This means that the constants p and c both refer to the same guy. This is all well and good, but how does it help with sentence 35? That sentence can be paraphrased as, 'Everyone who is not Pavel is owed money by Pavel.' This is a sentence structure we already know how to symbolize: 'For all x, if x is not Pavel, then x is owed money by Pavel.' In QL with identity, this becomes Vx(x p --> Opx). In addition to sentences that use the word 'else', identity will be helpful when symbolizing some sentences that contain the words 'besides' and 'only.' Consider these examples: 37. No one besides Pavel owes money to Hikaru. 38. Only Pavel owes Hikaru money. We add the constant h, which means Hikaru. Sentence 37 can be paraphrased as, 'No one who is not Pavel owes money to Hikaru.' This can be translated as -x(x p & Oh). Sentence 38 can be paraphrased as, 'Pavel owes Hikaru and no one besides Pavel owes Hikaru money.' We have already translated one of the conjuncts, and the other is straightforward. Sentence 38 becomes Oph &-]x(x f p& Oh). Expressions of quantity We can also use identity to say how many things there are of a particular kind. For example, consider these sentences: 39. There is at least one apple on the table. 40. There are at least two apples on the table. 41. There are at least three apples on the table.  ch. 4 quantified logic 73 Let the UD be things on the table, and let Ax mean 'x is an apple.' Sentence 39 does not require identity. It can be translated adequately as ]xAx: There is some apple on the tableperhaps many, but at least one. It might be tempting to also translate sentence 40 without identity. Yet consider the sentence ]x y(Ax& Ay). It means that there is some apple x in the UD and some apple y in the UD. Since nothing precludes x and y from picking out the same member of the UD, this would be true even if there were only one apple. In order to make sure that there are two different apples, we need an identity predicate. Sentence 40 needs to say that the two apples that exist are not identical, so it can be translated as ]x y(Ax& Ay & x y). Sentence 41 requires talking about three different apples. It can be translated as ]x~y z(Ax&Ay&Az&x f y&y # z&x f z). Continuing in this way, we could translate 'There are at least n apples on the table.' There is a summary of how to symbolize sentences like these on p. 157. Now consider these sentences: 42. There is at most one apple on the table. 43. There are at most two apples on the table. Sentence 42 can be paraphrased as, 'It is not the case that there are at least two apples on the table.' This is just the negation of sentence 40: -xly(Ax&Ay&x # y) Sentence 42 can also be approached in another way. It means that any apples that there are on the table must be the selfsame apple, so it can be translated as VxVy [(Ax& Ay) x = y]. The two translations are logically equivalent, so both are correct. In a similar way, sentence 43 can be translated in two equivalent ways. It can be paraphrased as, 'It is not the case that there are three or more distinct apples', so it can be translated as the negation of sentence 41. Using universal quantifiers, it can also be translated as VxVyVz[(Ax&Ay &Az) (x = y V x= z V y = z)]. See p. 157 for the general case. The examples above are sentences about apples, but the logical structure of the sentences translates mathematical inequalities like a> 3, a < 2, and so on. We also want to be able to translate statements of equality which say exactly how many things there are. For example:  74 forall{ 44. There is exactly one apple on the table. 45. There are exactly two apples on the table. Sentence 44 can be paraphrased as, 'There is at least one apple on the table, and there is at most one apple on the table.' This is just the conjunction of sentence 39 and sentence 42: ]xAx & VxVy [(Ax & Ay) x = y]. This is a somewhat complicated way of going about it. It is perhaps more straightforward to paraphrase sentence 44 as, 'There is a thing which is the only apple on the table.' Thought of in this way, the sentence can be translated ]x[Ax&-]y(Ay&x f y)]. Similarly, sentence 45 may be paraphrased as, 'There are two different apples on the table, and these are the only apples on the table.' This can be translated as ]xly[Ax& Ay& x f y&-z(Az& x z& y z)]. Finally, consider this sentence: 46. There are at most two things on the table. It might be tempting to add a predicate so that Tx would mean 'x is a thing on the table.' However, this is unnecessary. Since the UD is the set of things on the table, all members of the UD are on the table. If we want to talk about a thing on the table, we need only use a quantifier. Sentence 46 can be symbolized like sentence 43 (which said that there were at most two apples), but leaving out the predicate entirely. That is, sentence 46 can be translated as VxVyVz(x y V x zV y z). Techniques for symbolizing expressions of quantity ('at most', 'at least', and 'exactly') are summarized on p. 157. Definite descriptions Recall that a constant of QL must refer to some member of the UD. This constraint allows us to avoid the problem of non-referring terms. Given a UD that included only actually existing creatures but a constant c that meant 'chimera' (a mythical creature), sentences containing c would become impossible to evaluate. The most widely influential solution to this problem was introduced by Bertrand Russell in 1905. Russell asked how we should understand this sentence: 47. The present king of France is bald.  ch. 4 quantified logic 75 The phrase 'the present king of France' is supposed to pick out an individual by means of a definite description. However, there was no king of France in 1905 and there is none now. Since the description is a non-referring term, we cannot just define a constant to mean 'the present king of France' and translate the sentence as Kf. Russell's idea was that sentences that contain definite descriptions have a different logical structure than sentences that contain proper names, even though they share the same grammatical form. What do we mean when we use an unproblematic, referring description, like 'the highest peak in Washington state'? We mean that there is such a peak, because we could not talk about it otherwise. We also mean that it is the only such peak. If there was another peak in Washington state of exactly the same height as Mount Rainier, then Mount Rainier would not be the highest peak. According to this analysis, sentence 47 is saying three things. First, it makes an existence claim: There is some present king of France. Second, it makes a uniqueness claim: This guy is the only present king of France. Third, it makes a claim of predication: This guy is bald. In order to symbolize definite descriptions in this way, we need the identity predicate. Without it, we could not translate the uniqueness claim which (according to Russell) is implicit in the definite description. Let the UD be people actually living, let Fx mean 'x is the present king of France', and let Bx mean 'x is bald.' Sentence 47 can then be translated as ]x [Fx & -y(Fy & x / y) & Bx]. This says that there is some guy who is the present king of France, he is the only present king of France, and he is bald. Understood in this way, sentence 47 is meaningful but false. It says that this guy exists, but he does not. The problem of non-referring terms is most vexing when we try to translate negations. So consider this sentence: 48. The present king of France is not bald. According to Russell, this sentence is ambiguous in English. It could mean either of two things: 48a. It is not the case that the present king of France is bald. 48b. The present king of France is non-bald. Both possible meanings negate sentence 47, but they put the negation in different places.  76 forall{ Sentence 48a is called a WIDE-SCOPE NEGATION, because it negates the entire sentence. It can be translated as -x [Fx & -y(Fy & x f y) & Bx]. This does not say anything about the present king of France, but rather says that some sentence about the present king of France is false. Since sentence 47 if false, sentence 48a is true. Sentence 48b says something about the present king of France. It says that he lacks the property of baldness. Like sentence 47, it makes an existence claim and a uniqueness claim; it just denies the claim of predication. This is called NARROW-SCOPE NEGATION. It can be translated as Ix [Fx & -y(Fy & x y) & -iBz]. Since there is no present king of France, this sentence is false. Russell's theory of definite descriptions resolves the problem of non-referring terms and also explains why it seemed so paradoxical. Before we distinguished between the wide-scope and narrow-scope negations, it seemed that sentences like 48 should be both true and false. By showing that such sentences are ambiguous, Russell showed that they are true understood one way but false understood another way. For a more detailed discussion of Russell's theory of definite descriptions, including objections to it, see the Peter Ludlow's entry 'descriptions' in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: Summer 2005 edition, edited by Edward N. Zalta, http : //plato . stanf ord . edu/archives/sum2005/entries/descriptions/ Practice Exercises Part A Identify which variables are bound and which are free. 1. ]xLxy&VyLyx 2. VxAx & Bx 3. Vx(Ax&Bx) &Vy(Cx& Dy) 4. Vxzy[Rxy (Jz & Kx)] V Ryx 5. Vx1(Mx2 <-4 Lx2x1) &]Ix2Lx3x2 * Part B 1. Identify which of the following are substitution instances of VxRcx: Rac, Rca, Raa, Rcb, Rbc, Rcc, Rcd, Rcx 2. Identify which of the following are substitution instances of ]xVyLxy: VyLby, VxLbx, Lab, ]xLxa * Part C Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL.  ch. 4 quantified logic 77 UD: all animals Ax: x is an alligator. Mx: x is a monkey. Rx: x is a reptile. Zx: x lives at the zoo. Lxy: x loves y. a: Amos b: Bouncer c: Cleo 1. Amos, Bouncer, and Cleo all live at the zoo. 2. Bouncer is a reptile, but not an alligator. 3. If Cleo loves Bouncer, then Bouncer is a monkey. 4. If both Bouncer and Cleo are alligators, then Amos loves them both. 5. Some reptile lives at the zoo. 6. Every alligator is a reptile. 7. Any animal that lives at the zoo is either a monkey or an alligator. 8. There are reptiles which are not alligators. 9. Cleo loves a reptile. 10. Bouncer loves all the monkeys that live at the zoo. 11. All the monkeys that Amos loves love him back. 12. If any animal is an reptile, then Amos is. 13. If any animal is an alligator, then it is a reptile. 14. Every monkey that Cleo loves is also loved by Amos. 15. There is a monkey that loves Bouncer, but sadly Bouncer does not reciprocate this love. Part D These are syllogistic figures identified by Aristotle and his successors, along with their medieval names. Translate each argument into QL. Barbara All Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. .. All As are Cs. Baroco All Cs are Bs. Some A is not B. . '. Some A is not C. Bocardo Some B is not C. All As are Bs. . '. Some A is not C. Celantes No Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. . '. No Cs are As. Celarent No Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. . '. No As are Cs. Cemestres No Cs are Bs. No As are Bs. .. No As are Cs. Cesare No Cs are Bs. All As are Bs. . '. No As are Cs. Dabitis All Bs are Cs. Some A is B. . '. Some C is A. Darii All Bs are Cs. Some A is B. . '. Some A is C.  78 forall{ Datisi All Bs are Cs. Some A is B. . '. Some A is C. Disamis Some B is C. All As are Bs. . '. Some A is C. Ferison No Bs are Cs. Some A is B. . '. Some A is not C. Ferio No Bs are Cs. Some A is B. .. Some A is not C. Festino No Cs are Bs. Some A is B. . '. Some A is not C. Baralipton All Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. . '. Some C is A. Frisesomorum Some B is C. No As are Bs. .. Some C is not A. Part E Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL. UD: all animals Dx: x is a dog. Sx: x likes samurai movies. Lxy: x is larger than y. b: Bertie e: Emerson f: Fergis 1. Bertie is a dog who likes samurai movies. 2. Bertie, Emerson, and Fergis are all dogs. 3. Emerson is larger than Bertie, and Fergis is larger than Emerson. 4. All dogs like samurai movies. 5. Only dogs like samurai movies. 6. There is a dog that is larger than Emerson. 7. If there is a dog larger than Fergis, then there is a dog larger than Emerson. 8. No animal that likes samurai movies is larger than Emerson. 9. No dog is larger than Fergis. 10. Any animal that dislikes samurai movies is larger than Bertie. 11. There is an animal that is between Bertie and Emerson in size. 12. There is no dog that is between Bertie and Emerson in size. 13. No dog is larger than itself. 14. Every dog is larger than some dog. 15. There is an animal that is smaller than every dog. 16. If there is an animal that is larger than any dog, then that animal does not like samurai movies. Part F For each argument, write a symbolization key and translate the argument into QL.  ch. 4 quantified logic 79 1. Nothing on my desk escapes my attention. There is a computer on my desk. As such, there is a computer that does not escape my attention. 2. All my dreams are black and white. Old TV shows are in black and white. Therefore, some of my dreams are old TV shows. 3. Neither Holmes nor Watson has been to Australia. A person could see a kangaroo only if they had been to Australia or to a zoo. Although Watson has not seen a kangaroo, Holmes has. Therefore, Holmes has been to a zoo. 4. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition. No one knows the troubles I've seen. Therefore, anyone who expects the Spanish Inquisition knows the troubles I've seen. 5. An antelope is bigger than a bread box. I am thinking of something that is no bigger than a bread box, and it is either an antelope or a cantaloupe. As such, I am thinking of a cantaloupe. 6. All babies are illogical. Nobody who is illogical can manage a crocodile. Berthold is a baby. Therefore, Berthold is unable to manage a crocodile. * Part G Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL. UD: candies Cx: x has chocolate in it. Mx: x has marzipan in it. Sx: x has sugar in it. Tx: Boris has tried x. Bxy: x is better than y. 1. Boris has never tried any candy. 2. Marzipan is always made with sugar. 3. Some candy is sugar-free. 4. The very best candy is chocolate. 5. No candy is better than itself. 6. Boris has never tried sugar-free chocolate. 7. Boris has tried marzipan and chocolate, but never together. 8. Any candy with chocolate is better than any candy without it. 9. Any candy with chocolate and marzipan is better than any candy that lacks both. Part H Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL. UD: people and dishes at a potluck Rx: x has run out. Tx: x is on the table.  80 forall{ Fx: x is food. Px: x is a person. Lxy: x likes y. e: Eli f: Francesca g: the guacamole 1. All the food is on the table. 2. If the guacamole has not run out, then it is on the table. 3. Everyone likes the guacamole. 4. If anyone likes the guacamole, then Eli does. 5. Francesca only likes the dishes that have run out. 6. Francesca likes no one, and no one likes Francesca. 7. Eli likes anyone who likes the guacamole. 8. Eli likes anyone who likes the people that he likes. 9. If there is a person on the table already, then all of the food must have run out. * Part I Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL. UD: people Dx: x dances ballet. Fx: x is female. Mx: x is male. Cxy: x is a child of y. Sxy: x is a sibling of y. e: Elmer j: Jane p: Patrick 1. All of Patrick's children are ballet dancers. 2. Jane is Patrick's daughter. 3. Patrick has a daughter. 4. Jane is an only child. 5. All of Patrick's daughters dance ballet. 6. Patrick has no sons. 7. Jane is Elmer's niece. 8. Patrick is Elmer's brother. 9. Patrick's brothers have no children. 10. Jane is an aunt. 11. Everyone who dances ballet has a sister who also dances ballet. 12. Every man who dances ballet is the child of someone who dances ballet.  ch. 4 quantified logic 81 Part J Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL with identity. The last sentence is ambiguous and can be translated two ways; you should provide both translations. (Hint: Identity is only required for the last four sentences.) UD: people Kx: x knows the combination to the safe. Sx: x is a spy. Vx: x is a vegetarian. Txy: x trusts y. h: Hofthor i: Ingmar 1. Hofthor is a spy, but no vegetarian is a spy. 2. No one knows the combination to the safe unless Ingmar does. 3. No spy knows the combination to the safe. 4. Neither Hofthor nor Ingmar is a vegetarian. 5. Hofthor trusts a vegetarian. 6. Everyone who trusts Ingmar trusts a vegetarian. 7. Everyone who trusts Ingmar trusts someone who trusts a vegetarian. 8. Only Ingmar knows the combination to the safe. 9. Ingmar trusts Hofthor, but no one else. 10. The person who knows the combination to the safe is a vegetarian. 11. The person who knows the combination to the safe is not a spy. * Part K Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL with identity. The last two sentences are ambiguous and can be translated two ways; you should provide both translations for each. UD: cards in a standard deck Bx: x is black. Cx: x is a club. Dx: x is a deuce. Jx: x is a jack. Mx: x is a man with an axe. Ox: x is one-eyed. Wx: x is wild. 1. All clubs are black cards. 2. There are no wild cards. 3. There are at least two clubs. 4. There is more than one one-eyed jack. 5. There are at most two one-eyed jacks. 6. There are two black jacks.  82 forall{ 7. There are four deuces. 8. The deuce of clubs is a black card. 9. One-eyed jacks and the man with the axe are wild. 10. If the deuce of clubs is wild, then there is exactly one wild card. 11. The man with the axe is not a jack. 12. The deuce of clubs is not the man with the axe. Part L Using the symbolization key given, translate each English-language sentence into QL with identity. The last two sentences are ambiguous and can be translated two ways; you should provide both translations for each. UD: animals in the world Bx: x is in Farmer Brown's field. Hx: x is a horse. Px: x is a Pegasus. Wx: x has wings. 1. There are at least three horses in the world. 2. There are at least three animals in the world. 3. There is more than one horse in Farmer Brown's field. 4. There are three horses in Farmer Brown's field. 5. There is a single winged creature in Farmer Brown's field; any other creatures in the field must be wingless. 6. The Pegasus is a winged horse. 7. The animal in Farmer Brown's field is not a horse. 8. The horse in Farmer Brown's field does not have wings.  Chapter 5 Formal semantics In this chapter, we describe a formal semantics for SL and for QL. The word 'semantics' comes from the greek word for 'mark' and means 'related to meaning.' So a formal semantics will be a mathematical account of meaning in the formal language. A formal, logical language is built from two kinds of elements: logical symbols and non-logical symbols. Connectives (like '&') and quantifiers (like 'V') are logical symbols, because their meaning is specified within the formal language. When writing a symbolization key, you are not allowed to change the meaning of the logical symbols. You cannot say, for instance, that the ',' symbol will mean 'not' in one argument and 'perhaps' in another. The ',' symbol always means logical negation. It is used to translate the English language word 'not', but it is a symbol of a formal language and is defined by its truth conditions. The sentences letters in SL are non-logical symbols, because their meaning is not defined by the logical structure of SL. When we translate an argument from English to SL, for example, the sentence letter M does not have its meaning fixed in advance; instead, we provide a symbolization key that says how M should be interpreted in that argument. In QL, the predicates and constants are non-logical symbols. In translating from English to a formal language, we provided symbolization keys which were interpretations of all the non-logical symbols we used in the translation. An INTERPRETATION gives a meaning to all the non-logical elements of the language. It is possible to provide different interpretations that make no formal difference. In SL, for example, we might say that D means 'Today is Tuesday'; we might say instead that D means 'Today is the day after Monday.' These are two different 83  84 forall{ interpretations, because they use different English sentences for the meaning of D. Yet, formally, there is no difference between them. All that matters once we have symbolized these sentences is whether they are true or false. In order to characterize what makes a difference in the formal language, we need to know what makes sentences true or false. For this, we need a formal characterization of truth. When we gave definitions for a sentence of SL and for a sentence of QL, we distinguished between the OBJECT LANGUAGE and the METALANGUAGE. The object language is the language that we are talking about: either SL or QL. The metalanguage is the language that we use to talk about the object language: English, supplemented with some mathematical jargon. It will be important to keep this distinction in mind. 5.1 Semantics for SL This section provides a rigorous, formal characterization of truth in SL which builds on what we already know from doing truth tables. We were able to use truth tables to reliably test whether a sentence was a tautology in SL, whether two sentences were equivalent, whether an argument was valid, and so on. For instance: A is a tautology in SL if it is T on every line of a complete truth table. This worked because each line of a truth table corresponds to a way the world might be. We considered all the possible combinations of T and F for the sentence letters that made a difference to the sentences we cared about. The truth table allowed us to determine what would happen given these different combinations. Once we construct a truth table, the symbols 'T' and 'F' are divorced from their metalinguistic meaning of 'true' and 'false'. We interpret 'T' as meaning 'true', but the formal properties of T are defined by the characteristic truth tables for the various connectives. The tables would be the same if we had used the symbols '1' and '0', and computers can be programmed to fill out truth tables without having any sense that 1 means true and 0 means false. Formally, what we want is a function that assigns a 1 or 0 to each of the sentences of SL. We can interpret this function as a definition of truth for SL if it assigns 1 to all of the true sentences of SL and 0 to all of the false sentences of SL. Call this function 'v' (for 'valuation'). We want v to a be a function such that for any sentence A, v(A) = 1 if A is true and v(A) = 0 if A is false. Recall that the recursive definition of a wff for SL had two stages: The first step said that atomic sentences (solitary sentence letters) are wffs. The second stage allowed for wffs to be constructed out of more basic wffs. There were clauses of  ch. 5 formal semantics 85 the definition for all of the sentential connectives. For example, if A is a wff, then is a wff. Our strategy for defining the truth function, v, will also be in two steps. The first step will handle truth for atomic sentences; the second step will handle truth for compound sentences. Truth in SL How can we define truth for an atomic sentence of SL? Consider, for example, the sentence M. Without an interpretation, we cannot say whether M is true or false. It might mean anything. If we use M to symbolize 'The moon orbits the Earth', then M is true. If use M to symbolize 'The moon is a giant turnip', then M is false. Moreover, the way you would discover whether or not M is true depends on what M means. If M means 'It is monday,' then you would need to check a calendar. If M means 'Jupiter's moon Jo has significant volcanic activity,' then you would need to check an astronomy textand astronomers know because they sent satellites to observe Io. When we give a symbolization key for SL, we provide an interpretation of the sentence letters that we use. The key gives an English language sentence for each sentence letter that we use. In this way, the interpretation specifies what each of the sentence letters means. However, this not enough to determine whether or not that sentence is true. The sentences about the moon, for instance, require that you know some rudimentary astronomy. Imagine a small child who became convinced that the moon is a giant turnip. She could understand what the sentence 'The moon is a giant turnip' means, but mistakenly think that it was true. Consider another example: If M means 'It is morning now', then whether it is true or not depends on when you are reading this. I know what the sentence means, butsince I do not know when you will be reading thisI do not know whether it is true or false. So an interpretation alone does not determine whether a sentence is true or false. Truth or falsity depends also on what the world is like. If M meant 'The moon is a giant turnip' and the real moon were a giant turnip, then M would be true. To put the point in a general way, truth or falsity is determined by an interpretation plus a way that the world is. INTERPRETATION + STATE OF THE WORLD -> TRUTH/FALSITY  86 forall{ In providing a logical definition of truth, we will not be able to give an account of how an atomic sentence is made true or false by the world. Instead, we will introduce a truth value assignment. Formally, this will be a function that tells us the truth value of all the atomic sentences. Call this function 'a' (for 'assignment'). We define a for all sentence letters P, such that a( )P =(1 if P is true 0 otherwise. This means that a takes any sentence of SL and assigns it either a one or a zero; one if the sentence is true, zero if the sentence is false. The details of the function a are determined by the meaning of the sentence letters together with the state of the world. If D means 'It is dark outside', then a(D) = 1 at night or during a heavy storm, while a(D) = 0 on a clear day. You can think of a as being like a row of a truth table. Whereas a truth table row assigns a truth value to a few atomic sentences, the truth value assignment assigns a value to every atomic sentence of SL. There are infinitely many sentence letters, and the truth value assignment gives a value to each of them. When constructing a truth table, we only care about sentence letters that affect the truth value of sentences that interest us. As such, we ignore the rest. Strictly speaking, every row of a truth table gives a partial truth value assignment. It is important to note that the truth value assignment, a, is not part of the language SL. Rather, it is part of the mathematical machinery that we are using to describe SL. It encodes which atomic sentences are true and which are false. We now define the truth function, v, using the same recursive structure that we used to define a wff of SL. 1. If A is a sentence letter, then v(A) = a(A). 2. If A is -B for some sentence B, then v { 1 if v(B)=0, 0 otherwise. 3. If A is (B& C) for some sentences B, C, then (1 ifv(B) =land v(C) =1, 0 otherwise. It might seem as if this definition is circular, because it uses the word 'and' in trying to define 'and.' Notice, however, that this is not a definition of the English word 'and'; it is a definition of truth for sentences of SL containing the logical symbol '&.' We define truth for object language sentences containing the symbol '&' using the metalanguage word 'and.' There is nothing circular about that.  ch. 5 formal semantics 87 4. If A is (B V C) for some sentences B, C, then { 0 if v(B) = 0 and v(C) = 0, 1 otherwise. 5. If A is (B C) for some sentences B, C, then { 0 if v(B) = 1and v(C) = 0, 1 otherwise. 6. If A is (B C) for some sentences B, C, then 1 if v(B) = v(C), 0 otherwise. Since the definition of v has the same structure as the definition of a wff, we know that v assigns a value to every wff of SL. Since the sentences of SL and the wffs of SL are the same, this means that v returns the truth value of every sentence of SL. Truth in SL is always truth relative to some truth value assignment, because the definition of truth for SL does not say whether a given sentence is true or false. Rather, it says how the truth of that sentence relates to a truth value assignment. Other concepts in SL Working with SL so far, we have done without a precise definition of 'tautology', 'contradiction', and so on. Truth tables provided a way to check if a sentence was a tautology in SL, but they did not define what it means to be a tautology in SL. We will give definitions of these concepts for SL in terms of entailment. The relation of semantic entailment, 'A entails B', means that there is no truth value assignment for which A is true and B is false. Put differently, it means that B is true for any and all truth value assignments for which A is true. We abbreviate this with a symbol called the double turnstile: A =B means 'A semantically entails B.' We can talk about entailment between more than two sentences: {R1, I 2, 3, -.-} |-means that there is no truth value assignment for which all of the sentences in the set {A1,AR2,A33,. are true and 9B is false.  88 forall{ We can also use the symbol with just one sentence:|= C means that C is true for all truth value assignments. This is equivalent to saying that that the sentence is entailed by anything. The double turnstile symbol allows us to give concise definitions for various concepts of SL: A TAUTOLOGY IN SL is a sentence A such that |=A. A CONTRADICTION IN SL is a sentence A such that |=-. A sentence is CONTINGENT IN SL if and only if it is neither a tautology nor a contradiction. An argument "6P1, 2, -, . '. C " is VALID IN SL if and only if {P1, 2, -.-.} |= C. Two sentences A and B are LOGICALLY EQUIVALENT IN SL if and only if both A |= B and B| =A. Logical consistency is somewhat harder to define in terms of semantic entailment. Instead, we will define it in this way: The set {A1, A2, A3, -*-} is CONSISTENT IN SL if and only if there is at least one truth value assignment for which all of the sentences are true. The set is INCONSISTENT IN SL if and if only there is no such assignment. 5.2 Interpretations and models in QL In SL, an interpretation or symbolization key specifies what each of the sentence letters means. The interpretation of a sentence letter along with the state of the world determines whether the sentence letter is true or false. Since the basic units are sentence letters, an interpretation only matters insofar as it makes sentence letters true or false. Formally, the semantics for SL is strictly in terms of truth value assignments. Two interpretations are the same, formally, if they make for the same truth value assignment. What is an interpretation in QL? Like a symbolization key for QL, an interpretation requires a UD, a schematic meaning for each of the predicates, and an object that is picked out by each constant. For example: UD: comic book characters Fx: x fights crime. b: the Batman  ch. 5 formal semantics 89 w: Bruce Wayne Consider the sentence Fb. The sentence is true on this interpretation, but just as in SLthe sentence is not true just because of the interpretation. Most people in our culture know that Batman fights crime, but this requires a modicum of knowledge about comic books. The sentence Fb is true because of the interpretation plus some facts about comic books. This is especially obvious when we consider Fw. Bruce Wayne is the secret identity of the Batman in the comic booksthe identity claim b = w is trueso Fw is true. Since it is a secret identity, however, other characters do not know that Fw is true even though they know that Fb is true. We could try to characterize this as a truth value assignment, as we did for SL. The truth value assignment would assign 0 or 1 to each atomic wff: Fb, Fw, and so on. If we were to do that, however, we might just as well translate the sentences from QL to SL by replacing Fb and Fw with sentence letters. We could then rely on the definition of truth for SL, but at the cost of ignoring all the logical structure of predicates and terms. In writing a symbolization key for QL, we do not give separate definitions for Fb and Fw. Instead, we give meanings to F, b, and w. This is essential because we want to be able to use quantifiers. There is no adequate way to translate VxFx into SL. So we want a formal counterpart to an interpretation for predicates and constants, not just for sentences. We cannot use a truth value assignment for this, because a predicate is neither true nor false. In the interpretation given above, F is true of the Batman (i.e., Fb is true), but it makes no sense at all to ask whether F on its own is true. It would be like asking whether the English language fragment '...fights crime' is true. What does an interpretation do for a predicate, if it does not make it true or false? An interpretation helps to pick out the objects to which the predicate applies. Interpreting Fx to mean 'x fights crime' picks out Batman, Superman, Spiderman, and other heroes as the things that are Fs. Formally, this is a set of members of the UD to which the predicate applies; this set is called the EXTENSION of the predicate. Many predicates have indefinitely large extensions. It would be impractical to try and write down all of the comic book crime fighters individually, so instead we use an English language expression to interpret the predicate. This is somewhat imprecise, because the interpretation alone does not tell you which members of the UD are in the extension of the predicate. In order to figure out whether a particular member of the UD is in the extension of the predicate (to figure out whether Black Lightning fights crime, for instance), you need to know about comic books. In general, the extension of a predicate is the result of an interpretation along with some facts.  90 forall{ Sometimes it is possible to list all of the things that are in the extension of a predicate. Instead of writing a schematic English sentence, we can write down the extension as a set of things. Suppose we wanted to add a one-place predicate M to the key above. We want Mx to mean 'x lives in Wayne Manor', so we write the extension as a set of characters: extension(M) = {Bruce Wayne, Alfred the butler, Dick Grayson} You do not need to know anything about comic books to be able to determine that, on this interpretation, Mw is true: Bruce Wayne is just specified to be one of the things that is M. Similarly, ]xMx is obviously true on this interpretation: There is at least one member of the UD that is an Min fact, there are three of them. What about the sentence VxMx? The sentence is false, because it is not true that all members of the UD are M. It requires the barest minimum of knowledge about comic books to know that there are other characters besides just these three. Although we specified the extension of M in a formally precise way, we still specified the UD with an English language description. Formally speaking, a UD is just a set of members. The formal significance of a predicate is determined by its extension, but what should we say about constants like b and w? The meaning of a constant determines which member of the UD is picked out by the constant. The individual that the constant picks out is called the REFERENT of the constant. Both b and w have the same referent, since they both refer to the same comic book character. You can think of a constant letter as a name and the referent as the thing named. In English, we can use the different names 'Batman' and 'Bruce Wayne' to refer to the same comic book character. In this interpretation, we can use the different constants 'b' and 'w' to refer to the same member of the UD. Sets We use curly brackets '{' and '}' to denote sets. The members of the set can be listed in any order, separated by commas. The fact that sets can be in any order is important, because it means that {foo, bar} and {bar, foo} are the same set. It is possible to have a set with no members in it. This is called the EMPTY SET. The empty set is sometimes written as {}, but usually it is written as the single symbol 0.  ch. 5 formal semantics 91 Models As we have seen, an interpretation in QL is only formally significant insofar as it determines a UD, an extension for each predicate, and a referent for each constant. We call this formal structure a MODEL for QL. To see how this works, consider this symbolization key: UD: People who played as part of the Three Stooges Hx: x had head hair. f: Mister Fine If you do not know anything about the Three Stooges, you will not be able to say which sentences of QL are true on this interpretation. Perhaps you just remember Larry, Curly, and Moe. Is the sentence Hf true or false? It depends on which of the stooges is Mister Fine. What is the model that corresponds to this interpretation? There were six people who played as part of the Three Stooges over the years, so the UD will have six members: Larry Fine, Moe Howard, and Curly Howard, Shemp Howard, Joe Besser, and Curly Joe DeRita. Curly, Joe, and Curly Joe were the only completely bald stooges. The result is this model: UD = {Larry, Curly, Moe, Shemp, Joe, Curly Joe} extension(H) = {Larry, Moe, Shemp} referent(f) = Larry You do not need to know anything about the Three Stooges in order to evaluate whether sentences are true or false in this model. Hf is true, since the referent of f (Larry) is in the extension of H. Both ]xHx and ]x-iHx are true, since there is at least one member of the UD that is in the extension of H and at least one member that is not in the extension of H. In this way, the model captures all of the formal significance of the interpretation. Now consider this interpretation: UD: whole numbers less than 10 Ex: x is even. Nx: x is negative. Lxy: x is less than y. Txyz: x times y equals z. What is the model that goes with this interpretation? The UD is the set {1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9}.  92 forall{ The extension of a one-place predicate like E or N is just the subset of the UD of which the predicate is true. Roughly speaking, the extension of the predicate E is the set of Es in the UD. The extension of E is the subset {2, 4, 6, 8}. There are many even numbers besides these four, but these are the only members of the UD that are even. There are no negative numbers in the UD, so N has an empty extension; i.e. extension(N) = 0. The extension of a two-place predicate like L is somewhat vexing. It seems as if the extension of L ought to contain 1, since 1 is less than all the other numbers; it ought to contain 2, since 2 is less than all of the other numbers besides 1; and so on. Every member of the UD besides 9 is less than some member of the UD. What would happen if we just wrote extension(L) = {1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8}? The problem is that sets can be written in any order, so this would be the same as writing extension(L) = {8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1}. This does not tell us which of the members of the set are less than which other members. We need some way of showing that 1 is less than 8 but that 8 is not less than 1. The solution is to have the extension of L consist of pairs of numbers. An ORDERED PAIR is like a set with two members, except that the order does matter. We write ordered pairs with angle brackets '<' and '>'. The ordered pair is different than the ordered pair . The extension of L is a collection of ordered pairs, all of the pairs of numbers in the UD such that the first number is less than the second. Writing this out completely: extension(L) = {<1,2>, <1,3>, <1,4>, <1,5>, <1,6>, <1,7>, <1,8>, <1,9>, <2,3>, <2,4>, <2,5>, <2,6>, <2,7>, <2,8>, <2,9>, <3,4>, <3,5>, <3,6>, <3,7>, <3,8>, <3,9>, <4,5>, <4,6>, <4,7>, <4,8>, <4,9>, <5,6>, <5,7>, <5,8>, <5,9>, <6,7>, <6,8>, <6,9>, <7,8>, <7,9>, <8,9>} Three-place predicates will work similarly; the extension of a three-place predicate is a set of ordered triples where the predicate is true of those three things in that order. So the extension of T in this model will contain ordered triples like <2,4,8>, because 2 x 4 = 8. Generally, the extension of an n-place predicate is a set of all ordered n-tuples such that a1-an are members of the UD and the predicate is true of a1-an in that order. 5.3 Semantics for identity Identity is a special predicate of QL. We write it a bit differently than other two-place predicates: x =y instead of Izy. We also do not need to include it  ch. 5 formal semantics 93 in a symbolization key. The sentence x= y always means 'xis identical to y,' and it cannot be interpreted to mean anything else. In the same way, when you construct a model, you do not get to pick and choose which ordered pairs go into the extension of the identity predicate. It always contains just the ordered pair of each object in the UD with itself. The sentence Vxlxx, which contains an ordinary two-place predicate, is contingent. Whether it is true for an interpretation depends on how you interpret I, and whether it is true in a model depends on the extension of I. The sentence Vx x= x is a tautology. The extension of identity will always make it true. Notice that although identity always has the same interpretation, it does not always have the same extension. The extension of identity depends on the UD. If the UD in a model is the set {Doug}, then extension(=) in that model is {}. If the UD is the set {Doug, Omar}, then extension(=) in that model is {, }. And so on. If the referent of two constants is the same, then anything which is true of one is true of the other. For example, if referent(a) = referent(b), then Aa Ab, Ba B Rb, Ca Cb, Rca Rcb, VxRxa VxRxb, and so on for any two sentences containing a and b. However, the reverse is not true. It is possible that anything which is true of a is also true of b, yet for a and b still to have different referents. This may seem puzzling, but it is easy to construct a model that shows this. Consider this model: UD = {Rosencrantz, Guildenstern} referent(a) = Rosencrantz referent(b) = Guildenstern for all predicates 61, extension(P) =_0 extension(=) =_{, } This specifies an extension for every predicate of QL: All the infinitely-many predicates are empty. This means that both Aa and Ab are false, and they are equivalent; both Ba and Bb are false; and so on for any two sentences that contain a and b. Yet a and b refer to different things. We have written out the extension of identity to make this clear: The ordered pair < referent(a), referent(b) > is not in it. In this model, a = b is false and a f b is true.  94 forall{ 5.4 Working with models We will use the double turnstile symbol for QL much as we did for SL. 'A|= B' means that 'A entails B': When A and B are two sentences of QL, A|= B means that there is no model in which A is true and B is false. A means that A is true in every model. This allows us to give definitions for various concepts in QL. Because we are using the same symbol, these definitions will look similar to the definitions in SL. Remember, however, that the definitions in QL are in terms of models rather than in terms of truth value assignments. A TAUTOLOGY IN QL is a sentence A that is true in every model; i.e., |=A. A CONTRADICTION IN QL is a sentence A that is false in every model; i.e., |=-,R. A sentence is CONTINGENT IN QL if and only if it is neither a tautology nor a contradiction. An argument " 1, P2, --, .. C " is VALID IN QL if and only if there is no model in which all of the premises are true and the conclusion is false; i.e., {6P1, P2, --}|= C. It is INVALID IN QL otherwise. Two sentences A and B are LOGICALLY EQUIVALENT IN SL if and only if both A |= B and B |=A. The set {A1, A2, A3, -*-} is CONSISTENT IN QL if and only if there is at least one model in which all of the sentences are true. The set is INCONSISTENT IN QL if and if only there is no such model. Constructing models Suppose we want to show that VxAxx Bd is not a tautology. This requires showing that the sentence is not true in every model; i.e., that it is false in some model. If we can provide just one model in which the sentence false, then we will have shown that the sentence is not a tautology. What would such a model look like? In order for VxAxx Bd to be false, the antecedent (VxAxx) must be true, and the consequent (Bd) must be false. To construct such a model, we start with a UD. It will be easier to specify extensions for predicates if we have a small UD, so start with a UD that has just one member. Formally, this single member might be anything. Let's say it is the city of Paris.  ch. 5 formal semantics 95 We want VxAxx to be true, so we want all members of the UD to be paired with themself in the extension of A; this means that the extension of A must be {}. We want Bd to be false, so the referent of d must not be in the extension of B. We give B an empty extension. Since Paris is the only member of the UD, it must be the referent of d. The model we have constructed looks like this: UD = {Paris} extension(A) =_{} extension(B) =_0 referent(d) = Paris Strictly speaking, a model specifies an extension for every predicate of QL and a referent for every constant. As such, it is generally impossible to write down a complete model. That would require writing down infinitely many extensions and infinitely many referents. However, we do not need to consider every predicate in order to show that there are models in which VxAxx -> Bd is false. Predicates like H and constants like f13 make no difference to the truth or falsity of this sentence. It is enough to specify extensions for A and B and a referent for d, as we have done. This provides a partial model in which the sentence is false. Perhaps you are wondering: What does the predicate A mean in English? The partial model could correspond to an interpretation like this one: UD: Paris Axy: x is in the same country as y. Bx: x was founded in the 20th century. d: the City of Lights However, all that the partial model tells us is that A is a predicate which is true of Paris and Paris. There are indefinitely many predicates in English that have this extension. Axy might instead translate 'x is the same size as y' or 'x and y are both cities.' Similarly, Bx is some predicate that does not apply to Paris; it might instead translate 'x is on an island' or 'x is a subcompact car.' When we specify the extensions of A and B, we do not specify what English predicates A and B should be used to translate. We are concerned with whether the VxAxx -> Bd comes out true or false, and all that matters for truth and falsity in QL is the information in the model: the UD, the extensions of predicates, and the referents of constants. We can just as easily show that VxAxx -> Bd is not a contradiction. We need only specify a model in which VxAxx -> Bd is true; i.e., a model in which either VxAzz is false or Rd is true. Here is one such partial model:  96 forall{ UD = {Paris} extension(A) =_{} extension(B) =_{Paris} referent(d) = Paris We have now shown that VxAxx Bd is neither a tautology nor a contradiction. By the definition of 'contingent in QL,' this means that VxAxx Bd is contingent. In general, showing that a sentence is contingent will require two models: one in which the sentence is true and another in which the sentence is false. Suppose we want to show that VxSx and ]xSx are not logically equivalent. We need to construct a model in which the two sentences have different truth values; we want one of them to be true and the other to be false. We start by specifying a UD. Again, we make the UD small so that we can specify extensions easily. We will need at least two members. Let the UD be {Duke, Miles}. (If we chose a UD with only one member, the two sentences would end up with the same truth value. In order to see why, try constructing some partial models with one-member UDs.) We can make ]xSx true by including something in the extension of S, and we can make VxSx false by leaving something out of the extension of S. It does not matter which one we include and which one we leave out. Making Duke the only S, we get a partial model that looks like this: UD = {Duke, Miles} extension(S) =_{Duke} This partial model shows that the two sentences are not logically equivalent. Back on p. 66, we said that this argument would be invalid in QL: (Rc& Kic) & Tc . '. Tc& K2c In order to show that it is invalid, we need to show that there is some model in which the premises are true and the conclusion is false. We can construct such a model deliberately. Here is one way to do it: UD = {Bj6rk} extension(T) =_{Bj6rk} extension(Ki) =_{Bj6rk} extension(K2) = 0 extension(R) =_{Bj6rk} referent(c) = Bj6rk Similarly, we can show that a set of sentences is consistent by constructing a  ch. 5 formal semantics 97 Table 5.1: It is relatively easy to answer a question if you can do it by constructing a model or two. It is much harder if you need to reason about all possible models. This table shows when constructing models is enough. YES NO Is A a tautology? Is A a contradiction? Is A contingent? show that A must be true in any model show that A must be false in any model construct a model in which A is false construct a model in which A is true AreA lent? and B equivaconstruct two models, either show that A is a one in which A is true tautology or show that and another in which A is a contradiction A is false show that A and B construct a model in must have the same which A and B have truth value in any different truth values model construct a model in show that the senwhich all the sentences tences could not all be in A are true true in any model Is the set A consistent? Is the argument ' , . '. C' valid? show that any model in which P is true must be a model in which C is true construct a model in which P is true and C is false model in which all of the sentences are true. Reasoning about all models We can show that a sentence is not a tautology just by providing one carefully specified model: a model in which the sentence is false. To show that something is a tautology, on the other hand, it would not be enough to construct ten, one hundred, or even a thousand models in which the sentence is true. It is only a tautology if it is true in every model, and there are infinitely many models. This cannot be avoided just by constructing partial models, because there are infinitely many partial models. Consider, for example, the sentence Raa <-+ Raa. There are two logically distinct partial models of this sentence that have a 1-member UD. There are 32 distinct partial models that have a 2-member UD. There are 1526 distinct partial models that have a 3-member UD. There are 262,144 distinct partial models that have  98 forall{ a 4-member UD. And so on to infinity. In order to show that this sentence is a tautology, we need to show something about all of these models. There is no hope of doing so by dealing with them one at a time. Nevertheless, Raa Raa is obviously a tautology. We can prove it with a simple argument: There are two kinds of models: those in which is in the extension of R and those in which it is not. In the first kind of model, Raa is true; by the truth table for the biconditional, Raa Raa is also true. In the second kind of model, Raa is false; this makes Raa Raa true. Since the sentence is true in both kinds of model, and since every model is one of the two kinds, Raa Raa is true in every model. Therefore, it is a tautology. This argument is valid, of course, and its conclusion is true. However, it is not an argument in QL. Rather, it is an argument in English about QL; it is an argument in the metalanguage. There is no formal procedure for evaluating or constructing natural language arguments like this one. The imprecision of natural language is the very reason we began thinking about formal languages. There are further difficulties with this approach. Consider the sentence Vx(Rxx -> Rxx), another obvious tautology. It might be tempting to reason in this way: 'Rxx -> Rxx is true in every model, so Vx(Rxx -> Rxx) must be true.' The problem is that Rxx -> Rxx is not true in every model. It is not a sentence, and so it is neither true nor false. We do not yet have the vocabulary to say that we want to say about Rxx -> Rxx. In the next section, we introduce the concept of satisfaction; after doing so, we will be better able to provide an argument that Vx(Rxx -> Rxx) is a tautology. It is necessary to reason about an infinity of models to show that a sentence is a tautology. Similarly, it is necessary to reason about an infinity of models to show that a sentence is a contradition, that two sentences are equivalent, that a set of sentences is inconsistent, or that an argument is valid. There are other things we can show by carefully constructing a model or two. Table 5.1 summarizes which things are which. 5.5 Truth in QL For SL, we split the definition of truth into two parts: a truth value assignment (a) for sentence letters and a truth function (v) for all sentences. The truth function covered the way that complex sentences could be built out of sentence letters and connectives.  ch. 5 formal semantics 99 In the same way that truth for SL is always truth given a truth value assignment, truth for QL is truth in a model. The simplest atomic sentence of QL consists of a one-place predicate followed by a constant, like Pj. It is true in a model M if and only if the referent of j is in the extension of P in M. We could go on in this way to define truth for all atomic sentences that contain only predicates and constants: Consider any sentence of the form fc1 ... cn where Q is an n-place predicate and the cs are constants. It is true in M if and only if is in extension(Q) in M. We could then define truth for sentences built up with sentential connectives in the same way we did for SL. For example, the sentence (Pj Mda) is true in M if either Pj is false in M or Mda is true in M. Unfortunately, this approach will fail when we consider sentences containing quantifiers. Consider VxPx. When is it true in a model M? The answer cannot depend on whether Px is true or false in M, because the x in Px is a free variable. Px is not a sentence. It is neither true nor false. We were able to give a recursive definition of truth for SL because every wellformed formula of SL has a truth value. This is not true in QL, so we cannot define truth by starting with the truth of atomic sentences and building up. We also need to consider the atomic formulae which are not sentences. In order to do this we will define satisfaction; every well-formed formula of QL will be satisfied or not satisfied, even if it does not have a truth value. We will then be able to define truth for sentences of QL in terms of satisfaction. Satisfaction The formula Px says, roughly, that x is one of the Ps. This cannot be quite right, however, because x is a variable and not a constant. It does not name any particular member of the UD. Instead, its meaning in a sentence is determined by the quantifier that binds it. The variable x must stand-in for every member of the UD in the sentence VxPx, but it only needs to stand-in for one member in ]xPx. Since we want the definition of satisfaction to cover Px without any quantifier whatsoever, we will start by saying how to interpret a free variable like the x in Px. We do this by introducing a variable assignment. Formally, this is a function that matches up each variable with a member of the UD. Call this function 'a.' (The 'a' is for 'assignment', but this is not the same as the truth value assignment that we used in defining truth for SL.) The formula Px is satisfied in a model M by a variable assignment a if and only if a(x), the object that a assigns to x, is in the the extension of P in M.  100 forall{ When is VxPx satisfied? It is not enough if Px is satisfied in M by a, because that just means that a(x) is in extension(P). VxPx requires that every other member of the UD be in extension(P) as well. So we need another bit of technical notation: For any member Q of the UD and any variable x, let a[Q {] be the variable assignment that assigns Q to x but agrees with a in all other respects. We have used Q, the Greek letter Omega, to underscore the fact that it is some member of the UD and not some symbol of QL. Suppose, for example, that the UD is presidents of the United States. The function a[Grover Cleveland x] assigns Grover Cleveland to the variable x, regardless of what a assigns to x; for any other variable, a[Grover Cleveland x] agrees with a. We can now say concisely that VxPx is satisfied in a model M by a variable assignment a if and only if, for every object Q in the UD of M, Px is satisfied in M by a[Q x]. You may worry that this is circular, because it gives the satisfaction conditions for the sentence VxPx using the phrase 'for every object.' However, it is important to remember the difference between a logical symbol like 'V' and an English language word like 'every.' The word is part of the metalanguage that we use in defining satisfaction conditions for object language sentences that contain the symbol. We can now give a general definition of satisfaction, extending from the cases we have already discussed. We define a function s (for 'satisfaction') in a model M such that for any wff A and variable assignment a, s(A, a) = 1 if A is satisfied in M by a; otherwise s(A, a) = 0. 1. If A is an atomic wff of the form Pt1 ... t and Q2 is the object picked out by t2, then s(, a)= 1 if is in extension(P) in III, { O)otherwise. For each term t2: If t2 is a constant, then Q2 = referent(t2). If t2 is a variable, then Q2 = a(t2). 2. If A is -B for some wf B, then s(., a) = {1 if s(B, a) = 0, 0 otherwise. 3. If A is (B& C) for some wffs B, C, then s(R, a)-=f 1 if s(B,a) = 1and s(C,a) = 1, s(A, a) 0 otherwise.  ch. 5 formal semantics 101 4. If A is (B V C) for some wffs B, C, then s(a)= 0 ifs(B,a)=0ands(C,a)=0, 1 otherwise. 5. If A is (B C) for some wffs B, C, then s(,a)= {0ifs(B,a)=1ands(C,a)=0, 1 otherwise. 6. If A is (B C) for some sentences B, C, then s(., a) ={ 1 if s(B, a) = s(C, a), (A 0a otherwise. 7. If A is VaB for some wif B and some variable x, then s(., a) = (1 if s(B, a[Q a]) =1 for every member Q of the UD, s(Aa 0 otherwise. 8. If A is I B for some wif B and some variable x, then s(A, a) = 1 if s(B, a[Q l]) = 1 for at least one member Q of the UD, { 0 otherwise. This definition follows the same structure as the definition of a wff for QL, so we know that every wff of QL will be covered by this definition. For a model M and a variable assignment a, any wff will either be satisfied or not. No wffs are left out or assigned conflicting values. Truth Consider a simple sentence like VxPx. By part 7 in the definition of satisfaction, this sentence is satisfied if a[Q x] satisfies Px in M for every Q in the UD. By part 1 of the definition, this will be the case if every Q is in the extension of P. Whether VxPx is satisfied does not depend on the particular variable assignment a. If this sentence is satisfied, then it is true. This is a formalization of what we have said all along: VxPx is true if everything in the UD is in the extension of P. The same thing holds for any sentence of QL. Because all of the variables are bound, a sentence is satisfied or not regardless of the details of the variable assignment. So we can define truth in this way: A sentence A is TRUE IN M if and only if some variable assignment satisfies A in M; A is FALSE IN M otherwise.  102 forall{ Truth in QL is truth in a model. Sentences of QL are not flat-footedly true or false as mere symbols, but only relative to a model. A model provides the meaning of the symbols, insofar as it makes any difference to truth and falsity. Reasoning about all models (reprise) At the end of section 5.4, we were stymied when we tried to show that Vx(Rxx Rxx) is a tautology. Having defined satisfaction, we can now reason in this way: Consider some arbitrary model M. Now consider an arbitrary member of the UD; for the sake of convenience, call it Q. It must be the case either that < Q, Q > is in the extension of R or that it is not. If < Q, Q > is in the extension of R, then Rxx is satisfied by a variable assignment that assigns Q to x (by part 1 of the definition of satisfaction); since the consequent of Rxx -> Rxx is satisfied, the conditional is satisfied (by part 5). If < Q, Q > is not in the extension of R, then Rxx is not satisfied by a variable assignment that assigns Q to x (by part 1); since antecedent of Rxx -> Rxx is not satisfied, the conditional is satisfied (by part 5). In either case, Rxx -> Rxx is satisfied. This is true for any member of the UD, so Vx(Rxx -> Rxx) is satisfied by any truth value assignment (by part 7). So Vx(Rxx -> Rxx) is true in M (by the definition of truth). This argument holds regardless of the exact UD and regardless of the exact extension of R, so Vx(Rxx -> Rxx) is true in any model. Therefore, it is a tautology. Giving arguments about all possible models typically requires clever combination of two strategies: 1. Divide cases between two possible kinds, such that every case must be one kind or the other. In the argument on p. 98, for example, we distinguished two kinds of models based on whether or not a specific ordered pair was in extension(R). In the argument above, we distinguished cases in which an ordered pair was in extension(R) and cases in which it was not. 2. Consider an arbitrary object as a way of showing something more general. In the argument above, it was crucial that Q was just some arbitrary member of the UD. We did not assume anything special about. As such, whatever we could show to hold of Q must hold of every member of the UDif we could show it for Q, we could show it for anything. In the same way, we did not assume anything special about M, and so whatever we could show about M must hold for all models.  ch. 5 formal semantics 103 Consider one more example. The argument Vx(Hx & Jx) . '.VxHx is obviously valid. We can only show that the argument is valid by considering what must be true in every model in which the premise is true. Consider an arbitrary model M in which the premise Vx(Hx & Jx) is true. The conjunction Hx & Jx is satisfied regardless of what is assigned to x, so Hx must be also (by part 3 of the definition of satisfaction). As such, (Vx)Hx is satisfied by any variable assignment (by part 7 of the definition of satisfaction) and true in M (by the definition of truth). Since we did not assume anything about M besides Vx(Hx& Jx) being true, (Vx)Hx must be true in any model in which Vx(Hx & Jx) is true. So Vx(Hx & Jx) = VxHx. Even for a simple argument like this one, the reasoning is somewhat complicated. For longer arguments, the reasoning can be insufferable. The problem arises because talking about an infinity of models requires reasoning things out in English. What are we to do? We might try to formalize our reasoning about models, codifying the divide-andconquer strategies that we used above. This approach, originally called semantic tableaux, was developed in the 1950s by Evert Beth and Jaakko Hintikka. Their tableaux are now more commonly called truth trees. A more traditional approach is to consider deductive arguments as proofs. A proof system consists of rules that formally distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate argumentswithout considering models or the meanings of the symbols. In the next chapter, we develop proof systems for SL and QL. Practice Exercises * Part A Determine whether each sentence is true or false in the model given. UD = {Corwin, Benedict} extension(A) = {Corwin, Benedict} extension(B) =_{Benedict} extension(N) = 0 referent(c) = Corwin 1. Bc 2. Ac<-Nc 3. Nc (Ac V Bc) 4. VzxAz 5. VznBz  104 forall{ 6. ]x(Ax&Bx) 7. ]x(Ax -> Nx) 8. Vx(Nx V-Nx) 9. ]xBx VxAx * Part B Determine whether each sentence is true or false in the model given. UD extension(H) extension(W) extension(R) referent(m) {Waylan, Willy, Johnny} {Waylan, Willy, Johnny} {Waylan, Willy} {,,} 1. ]x(Rxm & Rmx) 2. Vx(Rxm V Rmz) 3. Vx(Hx <-+ Wx) 4. Vx(Rxm Wx) 5. Vx[Wx->(Hx&Wx)] 6. ]xRxx 7. ]x]yRxy 8. VxVyRxy 9. VxVy(Rxy V Ryx) 10. VxVyVz [(Rxy & Ryz) Rxz] Part C Determine whether each sentence is true or false in the model given. UD extension (G) extension(H) extension(M) referent(c) referent (e) {Lemmy, Courtney, Eddy} {Lemmy, Courtney, Eddy} {Courtney} {Lemmy, Eddy} Courtney Eddy 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. Hc He Mc V Me Gc V -Gc Mc Gc ]xHx VxHx ]x-Mx ]x(Hz & Gx) ]x(Mx & Gx) Vx(Hx V Mx)  ch. 5 formal semantics 105 12. ]xHx&]HxMx 13. Vx(Hx -Mx) 14. ]xGx & ]x-,Gx 15. Vxzy(Gxz& Hy) Part D Write out the model that corresponds to the interpretation given. UD: natural numbers from 10 to 13 Ox: x is odd. Sx: x is less than 7. Tx: x is a two-digit number. Ux: x is thought to be unlucky. Nxy: x is the next number after y. Part E Show that each of the following is contingent. * 1. Da&Db * 2. ]xTxh * 3. Pm&-VxPx 4. VzJz ]yJy 5. Vx(Wzxmn V ]yLxy) 6. ]x(GxzVyMy) * Part F Show that the following pairs of sentences are not logically equivalent. 1. Ja, Ka 2. ]xJx, Jm 3. VxRxx, ]xRxx 4. ]xPx Qc, ]x(Px Qc) 5. Vx(Px -Qx), ]x(Px&-Qx) 6. ]x(Px&Qx), ]x(Px Qx) 7. Vx(Px Qx), Vx(Px& Qx) 8. VziyRxy, ]xVyRxy 9. VziyRxy, VziyRyx Part G Show that the following sets of sentences are consistent. 1. {Ma, -iNa, Pa, -iQa} 2. {Lee, Lef,-nLfe,-iLff} 3. {-(Ma &]IxAx), Ma V Fa, Vx(Fx Ax)} 4. {MaVMb, MaVx-Mx} 5. {VyGy, Vx(Gx Hz), ]y-,ly} 6. {]x(Bx V Ax), VzCz, Vz[(A & Bz) Cz]}  106 forall{ 7. {]xXx, ]xYx, Vx(Xx <-4 ,Yx)} 8. {Vx(PxzV Qx), Ix-(Qx & Px)} 9. {]z(Nz&Ozz), VxVy(Oxy Oyx)} 10. {-xVyRxy, Vx]yRxy} Part H Construct models to show that the following arguments are invalid. 1. Vx(Ax Bx), . '. ]xBx 2. Vx(Rx Dx), Vx(Rx Fx), . '. ]x(Dx & Fx) 3. ]x(Px Qx), . '.xPx 4. Na & Nb & Nc, .. VxNx 5. Rde, ]xRxd, .. Red 6. ]x(Ex & Fx), ]xFx ]xGx, . '. ]x(Ex & Gx) 7. VxOxc, VxOcx, . '. VxOxx 8. ]x(Jx & Kx), Ix-Kx, Ix-Jx, . '. ]x(-Jx&-Kx) 9. Lab VxLxb, ]xLxb, .. Lbb Part I * 1. Show that {-iRaa,Vx(x = a V Rxa)} is consistent. * 2. Show that {VxVyVz(x = y V y z V x= z), ]xly x # y} is consistent. * 3. Show that {VxVy x= y, Ix x f a} is inconsistent. 4. Show that ]x(x = h & x = i) is contingent. 5. Show that {]xy(Zxz& Zy & x = y), -iZd, d = s} is consistent. 6. Show that 'Vx(Dx ]yTyx) . '. ]y]z y # z' is invalid. Part J 1. Many logic books define consistency and inconsistency in this way: " A set {A1, A2, A3,. --} is inconsistent if and only if {A1, A2, A3, --.} |--(B & -B) for some sentence 'B. A set is consistent if it is not inconsistent." Does this definition lead to any different sets being consistent than the definition on p. 88? Explain your answer. * 2. Our definition of truth says that a sentence A is TRUE IN M if and only if some variable assignment satisfies A in M. Would it make any difference if we said instead that A is TRUE IN M if and only if every variable assignment satisfies A in M? Explain your answer.  Chapter 6 Proofs Consider two arguments in SL: Argument A Argument B PVQ P-Q ,iP P . '. Q . '. Q Clearly, these are valid arguments. You can confirm that they are valid by constructing four-line truth tables. Argument A makes use of an inference form that is always valid: Given a disjunction and the negation of one of the disjuncts, the other disjunct follows as a valid consequence. This rule is called disjunctive syllogism. Argument B makes use of a different valid form: Given a conditional and its antecedent, the consequent follows as a valid consequence. This is called modus ponens. When we construct truth tables, we do not need to give names to different inference forms. There is no reason to distinguish modus ponens from a disjunctive syllogism. For this same reason, however, the method of truth tables does not clearly show why an argument is valid. If you were to do a 1028-line truth table for an argument that contains ten sentence letters, then you could check to see if there were any lines on which the premises were all true and the conclusion were false. If you did not see such a line and provided you made no mistakes in constructing the table, then you would know that the argument was valid. Yet you would not be able to say anything further about why this particular argument was a valid argument form. 107  108 forall{ The aim of a proof system is to show that particular arguments are valid in a way that allows us to understand the reasoning involved in the argument. We begin with basic argument forms, like disjunctive syllogism and modus ponens. These forms can then be combined to make more complicated arguments, like this one: (1) -,L -(JV L) (2) -L . '. J By modus ponens, (1) and (2) entail J V L. This is an intermediate conclusion. It follows logically from the premises, but it is not the conclusion we want. Now J V L and (2) entail J, by disjunctive syllogism. We do not need a new rule for this argument. The proof of the argument shows that it is really just a combination of rules we have already introduced. Formally, a PROOF is a sequence of sentences. The first sentences of the sequence are assumptions; these are the premises of the argument. Every sentence later in the sequence follows from earlier sentences by one of the rules of proof. The final sentence of the sequence is the conclusion of the argument. This chapter begins with a proof system for SL, which is then extended to cover QL and QL plus identity. 6.1 Basic rules for SL In designing a proof system, we could just start with disjunctive syllogism and modus ponens. Whenever we discovered a valid argument which could not be proven with rules we already had, we could introduce new rules. Proceeding in this way, we would have an unsystematic grab bag of rules. We might accidently add some strange rules, and we would surely end up with more rules than we need. Instead, we will develop what is called a NATURAL DEDUCTION system. In a natural deduction system, there will be two rules for each logical operator: an INTRODUCTION rule that allows us to prove a sentence that has it as the main logical operator and an ELIMINATION rule that allows us to prove something given a sentence that has it as the main logical operator. In addition to the rules for each logical operator, we will also have a reiteration rule. If you already have shown something in the course of a proof, the reiteration rule allows you to repeat it on a new line. For instance:  ch. 6 proofs 109 1 A 2 A R1 When we add a line to a proof, we write the rule that justifies that line. We also write the numbers of the lines to which the rule was applied. The reiteration rule above is justified by one line, the line that you are reiterating. So the 'R 1' on line 2 of the proof means that the line is justified by the reiteration rule (R) applied to line 1. Obviously, the reiteration rule will not allow us to show anything new. For that, we will need more rules. The remainder of this section will give introduction and elimination rules for all of the sentential connectives. This will give us a complete proof system for SL. Later in the chapter, we introduce rules for quantifiers and identity. All of the rules introduced in this chapter are summarized starting on p. 158. Conjunction Think for a moment: What would you need to show in order to prove E & F? Of course, you could show E & F by proving E and separately proving F. This holds even if the two conjuncts are not atomic sentences. If you can prove [(A V J) V] and [(V L) (F V N)], then you have effectively proven [(A V J)-V] & [(V L) (F V N)]. So this will be our conjunction introduction rule, which we abbreviate & I: m A n B S&B & I m, n A line of proof must be justified by some rule, and here we have '& I m,n.' This means: Conjunction introduction applied to line m and line n. These are variables, not real line numbers; m is some line and n is some other line. In an actual proof, the lines are numbered 1,2,3,... and rules must be applied to specific line numbers. When we define the rule, however, we use variables to underscore the point that the rule may be applied to any two lines that are already in the proof. If you have K on line 8 and L on line 15, you can prove (K & L) at some later point in the proof with the justification '& I 8, 15.' Now, consider the elimination rule for conjunction. What are you entitled to conclude from a sentence like E & F? Surely, you are entitled to conclude E; if  110 forall{ E & F were true, then E would be true. Similarly, you are entitled to conclude F. This will be our conjunction elimination rule, which we abbreviate & E: m A& B A & E m B &E m When you have a conjunction on some line of a proof, you can use & E to derive either of the conjuncts. The & E rule requires only one sentence, so we write one line number as the justification for applying it. Even with just these two rules, we can provide some proofs. Consider this argument. [(A V B) (C V D)] & [(E V F) (G V H)] . [(E V F) -(G V H)]& [(A V B) -(C V D)] The main logical operator in both the premise and conclusion is conjunction. Since conjunction is symmetric, the argument is obviously valid. In order to provide a proof, we begin by writing down the premise. After the premises, we draw a horizontal lineeverything below this line must be justified by a rule of proof. So the beginning of the proof looks like this: 1 [(A V B)(C VD)]& [(E V F) -(G V H)] From the premise, we can get each of the conjuncts by & E. The proof now looks like this: 1 [(A V B) (C V D)] & [(E V F) -(G V H)] 2 [(A V B) (C V D)] & E 1 3 [(E V F) (G V H)] & E 1 The rule & I requires that we have each of the conjuncts available somewhere in the proof. They can be separated from one another, and they can appear in any order. So by applying the & I rule to lines 3 and 2, we arrive at the desired conclusion. The finished proof looks like this:  ch. 6 proofs 111 1 [(A V B) (C V D)] & [(E V F) -(G V H)] 2 [(A V B) (C V D)] & E 1 3 [(E V F) -(G V H)] & E 1 4 [(E V F) (G V H)] & [(A V B) -(C V D)] &13,2 This proof is trivial, but it shows how we can use rules of proof together to demonstrate the validity of an argument form. Also: Using a truth table to show that this argument is valid would have required a staggering 256 lines, since there are eight sentence letters in the argument. Disjunction If M were true, then M V N would also be true. So the disjunction introduction rule (VI) allows us to derive a disjunction if we have one of the two disjuncts: m A AV B VIm 9BVA VIm Notice that B can be any sentence whatsoever. So the following is a legitimate proof: 1 M 2 MV ([(A<-B) -(C&D)]<->[E &F]) VI1 It may seem odd that just by knowing M we can derive a conclusion that includes sentences like A, B, and the restsentences that have nothing to do with M. Yet the conclusion follows immediately by VI. This is as it should be: The truth conditions for the disjunction mean that, if A is true, then A V B is true regardless of what B is. So the conclusion could not be false if the premise were true; the argument is valid. Now consider the disjunction elimination rule. What can you conclude from M V N? You cannot conclude M. It might be M's truth that makes M V N true, as in the example above, but it might not. From M V N alone, you cannot conclude anything about either M or N specifically. If you also knew that N was false, however, then you would be able to conclude M. This is just disjunctive syllogism, it will be the disjunction elimination rule (yE).  112 forall{ m AV3B m V n , B n -, A VEm,n B VEm,rn Conditional Consider this argument: RVF . '. ,R -->F The argument is certainly a valid one. What should the conditional introduction rule be, such that we can draw this conclusion? We begin the proof by writing down the premise of the argument and drawing a horizontal line, like this: 1 RVF If we had -iR as a further premise, we could derive F by the VE rule. We do not have -iR as a premise of this argument, nor can we derive it directly from the premise we do haveso we cannot simply prove F. What we will do instead is start a subproof, a proof within the main proof. When we start a subproof, we draw another vertical line to indicate that we are no longer in the main proof. Then we write in an assumption for the subproof. This can be anything we want. Here, it will be helpful to assume -iR. Our proof now looks like this: 1 RVF 2 ,R It is important to notice that we are not claiming to have proven -IR. We do not need to write in any justification for the assumption line of a subproof. You can think of the subproof as posing the question: What could we show if -iR were true? For one thing, we can derive F. So we do: 1 RVF 2 ,R 3 F VE1,2  ch. 6 proofs 113 This has shown that if we had -iR as a premise, then we could prove F. In effect, we have proven -iR F. So the conditional introduction rule (->I) will allow us to close the subproof and derive -iR F in the main proof. Our final proof looks like this: 1 RVF 2 ,R 3 F VE1,2 4 -R-->F I->2-3 Notice that the justification for applying the ->I rule is the entire subproof. Usually that will be more than just two lines. It may seem as if the ability to assume anything at all in a subproof would lead to chaos: Does it allow you to prove any conclusion from any premises? The answer is no, it does not. Consider this proof: 1 A 2 B 3 B R2 It may seem as if this is a proof that you can derive any conclusions B from any premise A. When the vertical line for the subproof ends, the subproof is closed. In order to complete a proof, you must close all of the subproofs. And you cannot close the subproof and use the R rule again on line 4 to derive B in the main proof. Once you close a subproof, you cannot refer back to individual lines inside it. Closing a subproof is called discharging the assumptions of that subproof. So we can put the point this way: You cannot complete a proof until you have discharged all of the assumptions besides the original premises of the argument. Of course, it is legitimate to do this: 1 A 2 B 3 B R2 4 BB ->I2-3  114 f orall{ This should not seem so strange, though. Since B-B is a tautology, no particular premises should be required to validly derive it. (Indeed, as we will see, a tautology follows from any premises.) Put in a general form, the ->I rule looks like this: m . want B -J I->Jm-n When we introduce a subproof, we typically write what we want to derive in the column. This is just so that we do not forget why we started the subproof if it goes on for five or ten lines. There is no 'want' rule. It is a note to ourselves and not formally part of the proof. Although it is always permissible to open a subproof with any assumption you please, there is some strategy involved in picking a useful assumption. Starting a subproof with an arbitrary, wacky assumption would just waste lines of the proof. In order to derive a conditional by the ->I, for instance, you must assume the antecedent of the conditional in a subproof. The ->I rule also requires that the consequent of the conditional be the last line of the subproof. It is always permissible to close a subproof and discharge its assumptions, but it will not be helpful to do so until you get what you want. Now consider the conditional elimination rule. Nothing follows from M N alone, but if we have both M N and M, then we can conclude N. This rule, modus ponens, will be the conditional elimination rule (-E). mAB n A B -E m, n Now that we have rules for the conditional, consider this argument: P-Q? . '. P R We begin the proof by writing the two premises as assumptions. Since the main logical operator in the conclusion is a conditional, we can expect to use the -I rule. For that, we need a subproof so we write in the antecedent of the conditional as assumption of a subproof:  ch. 6 proofs 115 1 P-Q 2 Q->R 3 P We made P available by assuming it in a subproof, allowing us to use -E on the first premise. This gives us Q, which allows us to use -E on the second premise. Having derived R, we close the subproof. By assuming P we were able to prove R, so we apply the ->I rule and finish the proof. 1 2 3 4 5 6 P Q R P-*R want R -E 1, 3 -E 2, 4 ->I 3-5 Biconditional The rules for the biconditional will be like double-barreled versions of the rules for the conditional. In order to derive W X, for instance, you must be able to prove X by assuming W and prove W by assuming X. The biconditional introduction rule (-I) requires two subproofs. The subproofs can come in any order, and the second subproof does not need to come immediately after the first but schematically, the rule works like this: m A A want B want A p q A -B IJm-n,p-q The biconditional elimination rule (-E) lets you do a bit more than the conditional rule. If you have the left-hand subsentence of the biconditional, you can derive the right-hand subsentence. If you have the right-hand subsentence, you  116 forall{ can derive the left-hand subsentence. This is the rule: mn .A-B mn . n .A n B B->E m, n A <->E m, n Negation Here is a simple mathematical argument in English: Assume there is some greatest natural number. Call it A. That number plus one is also a natural number. Obviously, A + 1 > A. So there is a natural number greater than A. This is impossible, since A is assumed to be the greatest natural number. . . There is no greatest natural number. This argument form is traditionally called a reductio. Its full Latin name is reductio ad absurdum, which means 'reduction to absurdity.' In a reductio, we assume something for the sake of argumentfor example, that there is a greatest natural number. Then we show that the assumption leads to two contradictory sentencesfor example, that A is the greatest natural number and that it is not. In this way, we show that the original assumption must have been false. The basic rules for negation will allow for arguments like this. If we assume something and show that it leads to contradictory sentences, then we have proven the negation of the assumption. This is the negation introduction (-,I) rule: m A for reductio n +1 ,B rn+2 -Im-nr+1 For the rule to apply, the last two lines of the subproof must be an explicit contradiction: some sentence followed on the next line by its negation. We write 'for reductio' as a note to ourselves, a reminder of why we started the subproof. It is not formally part of the proof, and you can leave it out if you find it distracting.  ch. 6 proofs 117 To see how the rule works, suppose we want to prove the law of non-contradiction: (G & -iG). We can prove this without any premises by immediately starting a subproof. We want to apply -I to the subproof, so we assume (G & -G). We then get an explicit contradiction by & E. The proof looks like this: 1 G&,G 2 G 3 ,G 4 ,(G &-G) for reductio &E1 &E1 -I 1-3 The -iE rule will work in much the same way. If we assume and show that it leads to a contradiction, we have effectively proven 9. So the rule looks like this: m ,IA n+2 A for reductio E m-n + 1 6.2 Derived rules The rules of the natural deduction system are meant to be systematic. There is an introduction and an elimination rule for each logical operator, but why these basic rules rather than some others? Many natural deduction systems have a disjunction elimination rule that works like this: m .AV B n AC o BBC C V* m, n, 0 It might seem as if there will be some proofs that we cannot do with our proof system, because we do not have this rule. Yet this is not the case. If you can do a proof with this rule, you can do a proof with the basic rules of the natural deduction system. Consider this proof:  118 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 forall{ A-> C ,1C A C ,1C want C for reductio for reductio -1 2, 5 R4 -I 5-7 for reductio -1 3, 9 R4 VE 1, 8 -I9-11 -E 4-13 C ,1C C A, B, and C are meta-variables. They are not symbols of SL, but stand-ins for arbitrary sentences of SL. So this is not, strictly speaking, a proof in SL. It is more like a recipe. It provides a pattern that can prove anything that the V* rule can prove, using only the basic rules of SL. This means that the V* is not really necessary. Adding it to the list of basic rules would not allow us to derive anything that we could not derive without it. Nevertheless, the V* rule would be convenient. It would allow us to do in one line what requires eleven lines and several nested subproofs with the basic rules. So we will add V* to the proof system as a derived rule. A DERIVED RULE is a rule of proof that does not make any new proofs possible. Anything that can be proven with a derived rule can be proven without it. You can think of a short proof using a derived rule as shorthand for a longer proof that uses only the basic rules. Anytime you use the V* rule, you could always take ten extra lines and prove the same thing without it. For the sake of convenience, we will add several other derived rules. One is modus tollens (MT).  ch. 6 proofs 119 mAB rn -B ,MT m, n We leave the proof of this rule as an exercise. Note that if we had already proven the MT rule, then the proof of the V* rule could have been done in only five lines. We also add hypothetical syllogism (HS) as a derived rule. We have already given a proof of it on p. 115. mAB n BB C A -C HSm,rn 6.3 Rules of replacement Consider how you would prove this argument: F (G & H), . '. F G Perhaps it is tempting to write down the premise and apply the & E rule to the conjunction (G & H). This is impermissible, however, because the basic rules of proof can only be applied to whole sentences. We need to get (G & H) on a line by itself. We can prove the argument in this way: 1 F -(G&H) 2 F want G 3 G&H ->E1, 2 4 G &E3 5 F->G--I2-4 We will now introduce some derived rules that may be applied to part of a sentence. These are called RULES OF REPLACEMENT, because they can be used to replace part of a sentence with a logically equivalent expression. One simple rule of replacement is commutivity (abbreviated Comm), which says that we can swap the order of conjuncts in a conjunction or the order of disjuncts in a disjunction. We define the rule this way:  120 forall{ (A&uB) <-> ( B&A) (Av B) <-> ( BvA) (A<)<-( B<-+A) Comm The bold arrow means that you can take a subformula on one side of the arrow and replace it with the subformula on the other side. The arrow is double-headed because rules of replacement work in both directions. Consider this argument: (M V P) (P & M), . '. (P V M) (M & P) It is possible to give a proof of this using only the basic rules, but it will be long and inconvenient. With the Comm rule, we can provide a proof easily: 1 (MVP)->(P&M) 2 (PVM)->(P&M) Comm1 3 (P V M) (M& P) Comm 2 Another rule of replacement is double negation (DN). With the DN rule, you can remove or insert a pair of negations anywhere in a sentence. This is the rule: >A#A DN Two more replacement rules are called De Morgan's Laws, named for the 19thcentury British logician August De Morgan. (Although De Morgan did discover these laws, he was not the first to do so.) The rules capture useful relations between negation, conjunction, and disjunction. Here are the rules, which we abbreviate DeM: ,(R V B) <>AR& -, ) ,i(R & ) <>(, V -,B) DeM Because A B is a material conditional, it is equivalent to V B. A further replacement rule captures this equivalence. We abbreviate the rule MC, for 'material conditional.' It takes two forms: (Av ) <-A> V B) (A V B) <, B) MC Now consider this argument: -(P Q), . '. P & ,Q  ch. 6 proofs 121 As always, we could prove this argument using only the basic rules. With rules of replacement, though, the proof is much simpler: 1 -(P --Q) 2 -(-P V Q) MC1 3 --P&-Q DeM 2 4 P&-Q DN3 A final replacement rule captures the relation between conditionals and biconditionals. We will call this rule biconditional exchange and abbreviate it -ex. 6.4 Rules for quantifiers For proofs in QL, we use all of the basic rules of SL plus four new basic rules: both introduction and elimination rules for each of the quantifiers. Since all of the derived rules of SL are derived from the basic rules, they will also hold in QL. We will add another derived rule, a replacement rule called quantifier negation. Universal elimination If you have VxAx, it is legitimate to infer that anything is an A. You can infer Aa, Ab, Az, Adin short, you can infer Ac for any constant c. This is the general form of the universal elimination rule (VE): m V{A A[ca] VEim A[c {] is a substitution instance of V{A. The symbols for a substitution instance are not symbols of QL, so you cannot write them in a proof. Instead, you write the subsituted sentence with the constant c replacing all occurances of the variable { in 91. For example:  122 forall{ 1 Vx(Mx-Rxd) 2 Ma-Rad VE 1 3 Md-Rdd VE 1 Existential introduction When is it legitimate to infer ]xAx? If you know that something is an Afor instance, if you have Aa available in the proof. This is the existential introduction rule (RI): m A ]A[{||c] 1I m It is important to notice that [{||c] is not the same as a substitution instance. We write it with two bars to show that the variable x does not need to replace all occurrences of the constant c. You can decide which occurrences to replace and which to leave in place. For example: 1 Ma Rad 2 ]x(Ma Rax) ]I 1 3 ]x(Mx Rxd) ]I 1 4 ]x(Mx Rad) ]I 1 5 ]ylx(Mx Ryd) 1I 4 6 ]z]y]x(Mx Ryz) 1I 5 Universal introduction A universal claim like VxPx would be proven if every substitution instance of it had been proven, if every sentence Pa, Pb, ... were available in a proof. Alas, there is no hope of proving every substitution instance. That would require proving Pa, Pb, ..., Pj2, ..., Ps7, ..., and so on to infinity. There are infinitely many constants in QL, and so this process would never come to an end. Consider a simple argument: VxMx, . '. VyMy It makes no difference to the meaning of the sentence whether we use the variable  ch. 6 proofs 123 x or the variable y, so this argument is obviously valid. Suppose we begin in this way: 1 VxMx want VyMy 2 Ma VE1 We have derived Ma. Nothing stops us from using the same justification to derive Mb, ..., Mj2, ..., Ms7, ..., and so on until we run out of space or patience. We have effectively shown the way to prove Mc for any constant c. From this, VxMx follows. 1 VxMx 2 Ma VE1 3 VyMy VI2 It is important here that a was just some arbitrary constant. We had not made any special assumptions about it. If Ma were a premise of the argument, then this would not show anything about all y. For example: 1 VxRxa 2 Raa VE1 3 VyRyy not allowed! This is the schematic form of the universal introduction rule (VI): m A V{A[{c]* VIm * c must not occur in any undischarged assumptions. Note that we can do this for any constant that does not occur in an undischarged assumption and for any variable. Note also that the constant may not occur in any undischarged assumption, but it may occur as the assumption of a subproof that we have already closed. For example, we can prove Vz(Dz Dz) without any premises.  124 forall{ 1 Df want Df 2 Df R1 3 Df Df -I1-2 4 Vz(Dz Dz) VI 3 Existential elimination A sentence with an existential quantifier tells us that there is some member of the UD that satisfies a formula. For example, ]xSx tells us (roughly) that there is at least one S. It does not tell us which member of the UD satisfies S, however. We cannot immediately conclude Sa, Sf23, or any other substitution instance of the sentence. What can we do? Suppose that we knew both ]xSx and Vx(Sx Tx). We could reason in this way: Since ]xSx, there is something that is an S. We do not know which constants refer to this thing, if any do, so call this thing Q. From Vx(Sx Tx), it follows that if Q is an S, then it is a T. Therefore Q is a T. Because Q is a T, we know that ]xTx. In this paragraph, we introduced a name for the thing that is an S. We called it Q, so that we could reason about it and derive some consequences from there being an S. Since Q is just a bogus name introduced for the purpose of the proof and not a genuine constant, we could not mention it in the conclusion. Yet we could derive a sentence that does not mention Q; namely, ]xTx. This sentence does follow from the two premises. We want the existential elimination rule to work in a similar way. Yet since Greek letters like Q are not symbols of QL, we cannot use them in formal proofs. Instead, we will use constants of QL which do not otherwise appear in the proof. A constant that is used to stand in for whatever it is that satisfies an existential claim is called a PROXY. Reasoning with the proxy must all occur inside a subproof, and the proxy cannot be a constant that is doing work elsewhere in the proof. This is the schematic form of the existential elimination rule (]E):  ch. 6 proofs 125 m EE n A[c x]* p B B 1E m, n-p * The constant c must not appear in I]{A, in B, or in any undischarged assumption. With this rule, we can give a formal proof that ]xSx and Vx(Sx Tx) together entail ]xTx. The structure of the proof is effectively the same as the Englishlanguage argument with which we began, except that the subproof uses the constant 'a' rather than the bogus name Q. 1 ]xSx 2 Vx(Sx Tx) want ]xTx 3 Sa 4 Sa-Ta VE2 5 Ta -E3,4 6 ]xTx 15 7 ]xTx 1E 1, 3-6 Quantifier negation When translating from English to QL, we noted that -]x-, is logically equivalent to VxA. In QL, they are provably equivalent. We can prove one half of the equivalence with a rather gruesome proof:  126 forall{ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 VxAx -Ac VxAx Ac ,Ac -VxAx VxAx -VxAx ,Vz-Ax want -x-Ax for reductio for ]E for reductio VE 1 R3 -I 4-6 R1 E 3-7 2-9 In order to show that the two sentences are genuinely equivalent, we need a second proof that assumes -]x-,A and derives VxA. We leave that proof as an exercise for the reader. It will often be useful to translate between quantifiers by adding or subtracting negations in this way, so we add two derived rules for this purpose. These rules are called quantifier negation (QN): , {A #<>V-A QN Since QN is a replacement rule, it can be used on whole sentences or on subformulae. 6.5 Rules for identity The identity predicate is not part of QL, but we add it when we need to symbolize certain sentences. For proofs involving identity, we add two rules of proof. Suppose you know that many things that are true of a are also true of b. For example: Aa & Ab, Ba & Bb, -Ca & -Cb, Da & Db, -Ea & -Eb, and so on. This would not be enough to justify the conclusion a = b. (See p. 93.) In general, there are no sentences that do not already contain the identity predicate that could justify the conclusion a = b. This means that the identity introduction rule will not justify a = b or any other identity claim containing two different constants.  ch. 6 proofs 127 However, it is always true that a = a. In general, no premises are required in order to conclude that something is identical to itself. So this will be the identity introduction rule, abbreviated =I: c= c =I Notice that the =I rule does not require referring to any prior lines of the proof. For any constant c, you can write c = c on any point with only the =I rule as justification. If you have shown that a = b, then anything that is true of a must also be true of b. For any sentence with a in it, you can replace some or all of the occurrences of a with b and produce an equivalent sentence. For example, if you already know Raa, then you are justified in concluding Rab, Rba, Rbb. Recall that A[a|b] is the sentence produced by replacing a in A with b. This is not the same as a substitution instance, because b may replace some or all occurrences of a. The identity elimination rule (=E) justifies replacing terms with other terms that are identical to it: m a=b n A A[a|6] =Em, n b||a] =E m, n To see the rules in action, consider this proof:  128 forall{ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 VxVyx=y ]xBx Vx(Bx -Cx) Be Vy e=y e= f want -]xCx VE 1 VE 5 Bf =E 6, 4 Bf--Cf VE3 -Cf -E 8, 7 E 2, 4-9 -Cf Vx-Cx -xCx VI 10 QN 11 6.6 Proof strategy There is no simple recipe for proofs, and there is no substitute for practice. Here, though, are some rules of thumb and strategies to keep in mind. Work backwards from what you want. The ultimate goal is to derive the conclusion. Look at the conclusion and ask what the introduction rule is for its main logical operator. This gives you an idea of what should happen just before the last line of the proof. Then you can treat this line as if it were your goal. Ask what you could do to derive this new goal. For example: If your conclusion is a conditional A B, plan to use the ->I rule. This requires starting a subproof in which you assume A. In the subproof, you want to derive B. Work forwards from what you have. When you are starting a proof, look at the premises; later, look at the sentences that you have derived so far. Think about the elimination rules for the main operators of these sentences. These will tell you what your options are. For example: If you have Vzx, think about instantiating it for any constant that might be helpful. If you have ]x. and intend to use the 1E rule, then you  ch. 6 proofs 129 should assume A[clx] for some c that is not in use and then derive a conclusion that does not contain c. For a short proof, you might be able to eliminate the premises and introduce the conclusion. A long proof is formally just a number of short proofs linked together, so you can fill the gap by alternately working back from the conclusion and forward from the premises. Change what you are looking at. Replacement rules can often make your life easier. If a proof seems impossible, try out some different substitutions. For example: It is often difficult to prove a disjunction using the basic rules. If you want to show A V B, it is often easier to show -A B and use the MC rule. Showing -]xA can also be hard, and it is often easier to show Vxand use the QN rule. Some replacement rules should become second nature. If you see a negated disjunction, for instance, you should immediately think of DeMorgan's rule. Do not forget indirect proof. If you cannot find a way to show something directly, try assuming its negation. Remember that most proofs can be done either indirectly or directly. One way might be easieror perhaps one sparks your imagination more than the other but either one is formally legitimate. Repeat as necessary. Once you have decided how you might be able to get to the conclusion, ask what you might be able to do with the premises. Then consider the target sentences again and ask how you might reach them. Persist. Try different things. If one approach fails, then try something else. 6.7 Proof-theoretic concepts We will use the symbol 'F' to indicate that a proof is possible. This symbol is called the turnstile. Sometimes it is called a single turnstile, to underscore the fact that this is not the double turnstile symbol (l=) that we used to represent semantic entailment in ch. 5.  130 forall{ When we write {A1, A2,...} F B, this means that it is possible to give a proof of B with A1,A2,... as premises. With just one premise, we leave out the curly braces, so A F B means that there is a proof of B with A as a premise. Naturally, F C means that there is a proof of C that has no premises. Often, logical proofs are called derivations. So A F B can be read as 'B is derivable from A.' A THEOREM is a sentence that is derivable without any premises; i.e., T is a theorem if and only if F T. It is not too hard to show that something is a theoremyou just have to give a proof of it. How could you show that something is not a theorem? If its negation is a theorem, then you could provide a proof. For example, it is easy to prove ,(Pa & -iPa), which shows that (Pa & -iPa) cannot be a theorem. For a sentence that is neither a theorem nor the negation of a theorem, however, there is no easy way to show this. You would have to demonstrate not just that certain proof strategies fail, but that no proof is possible. Even if you fail in trying to prove a sentence in a thousand different ways, perhaps the proof is just too long and complex for you to make out. Two sentences A and B are PROVABLY EQUIVALENT if and only if each can be derived from the other; i.e., A F B and B F A It is relatively easy to show that two sentences are provably equivalentit just requires a pair of proofs. Showing that sentences are not provably equivalent would be much harder. It would be just as hard as showing that a sentence is not a theorem. (In fact, these problems are interchangeable. Can you think of a sentence that would be a theorem if and only if A and B were provably equivalent?) The set of sentences {A1, A2,.. .} is PROVABLY INCONSISTENT if and only if a contradiction is derivable from it; i.e., for some sentence B, {A1, A2,...} F B and {A1,A2,...} F-,B. It is easy to show that a set is provably inconsistent: You just need to assume the sentences in the set and prove a contradiction. Showing that a set is not provably inconsistent will be much harder. It would require more than just providing a proof or two; it would require showing that proofs of a certain kind are impossible.  ch. 6 proofs 131 6.8 Proofs and models As you might already suspect, there is a connection between theorems and tautologies. There is a formal way of showing that a sentence is a theorem: Prove it. For each line, we can check to see if that line follows by the cited rule. It may be hard to produce a twenty line proof, but it is not so hard to check each line of the proof and confirm that it is legitimateand if each line of the proof individually is legitimate, then the whole proof is legitimate. Showing that a sentence is a tautology, though, requires reasoning in English about all possible models. There is no formal way of checking to see if the reasoning is sound. Given a choice between showing that a sentence is a theorem and showing that it is a tautology, it would be easier to show that it is a theorem. Contrawise, there is no formal way of showing that a sentence is not a theorem. We would need to reason in English about all possible proofs. Yet there is a formal method for showing that a sentence is not a tautology. We need only construct a model in which the sentence is false. Given a choice between showing that a sentence is not a theorem and showing that it is not a tautology, it would be easier to show that it is not a tautology. Fortunately, a sentence is a theorem if and only if it is a tautology. If we provide a proof of F A and thus show that it is a theorem, it follows that A is a tautology; i.e., |=A. Similarly, if we construct a model in which A is false and thus show that it is not a tautology, if follows that A is not a theorem. In general, A F B if and only if A |=B. As such: > An argument is valid if and only if the conclusion is derivable from the premises. > Two sentences are logically equivalent if and only if they are provably equivalent. > A set of sentences is consistent if and only if it is not provably inconsistent. You can pick and choose when to think in terms of proofs and when to think in terms of models, doing whichever is easier for a given task. Table 6.1 summarizes when it is best to give proofs and when it is best to give models. In this way, proofs and models give us a versatile toolkit for working with arguments. If we can translate an argument into QL, then we can measure its logical weight in a purely formal way. If it is deductively valid, we can give a formal proof; if it is invalid, we can provide a formal counterexample.  132 forall{ Is A a tautology? Is A a contradiction? Is A contingent? YES NO prove FA give a model in which A is false prove F-A give a model in which A is true give a model in which prove FA or F-A A is true and another in which A is false prove A F B and give a model in which B F A A and B have different truth values give a model in which taking the sentences in all the sentences in A A, prove B and -B are true prove P F C give a model in which P is true and C is false Are A lent? and B equivaIs the set A consistent? Is the argument ' , . '. C' valid? Table 6.1: Sometimes it is easier to show something by providing proofs than it is by providing models. Sometimes it is the other way round. It depends on what you are trying to show. 6.9 Soundness and completeness This toolkit is incredibly convenient. It is also intuitive, because it seems natural that provability and semantic entailment should agree. Yet, do not be fooled by the similarity of the symbols 'l=' and 'F.' The fact that these two are really interchangeable is not a simple thing to prove. Why should we think that an argument that can be proven is necessarily a valid argument? That is, why think that A F B implies A |= B? This is the problem of SOUNDNESS. A proof system is SOUND if there are no proofs of invalid arguments. Demonstrating that the proof system is sound would require showing that any possible proof is the proof of a valid argument. It would not be enough simply to succeed when trying to prove many valid arguments and to fail when trying to prove invalid ones. Fortunately, there is a way of approaching this in a step-wise fashion. If using the & E rule on the last line of a proof could never change a valid argument into an invalid one, then using the rule many times could not make an argument invalid. Similarly, if using the & E and VE rules individually on the last line of a proof could never change a valid argument into an invalid one, then using them in combination could not either.  ch. 6 proofs 133 The strategy is to show for every rule of inference that it alone could not make a valid argument into an invalid one. It follows that the rules used in combination would not make a valid argument invalid. Since a proof is just a series of lines, each justified by a rule of inference, this would show that every provable argument is valid. Consider, for example, the & E rule. Suppose we use it to add A & B to a valid argument. In order for the rule to apply, A and B must already be available in the proof. Since the argument so far is valid, A and B are either premises of the argument or valid consequences of the premises. As such, any model in which the premises are true must be a model in which A and B are true. According to the definition of TRUTH IN QL, this means that A & B is also true in such a model. Therefore, A & B validly follows from the premises. This means that using the & E rule to extend a valid proof produces another valid proof. In order to show that the proof system is sound, we would need to show this for the other inference rules. Since the derived rules are consequences of the basic rules, it would suffice to provide similar arguments for the 16 other basic rules. This tedious exercise falls beyond the scope of this book. Given a proof that the proof system is sound, it follows that every theorem is a tautology. It is still possible to ask: Why think that every valid argument is an argument that can be proven? That is, why think that A |= B implies A F B? This is the problem of COMPLETENESS. A proof system is COMPLETE if there is a proof of every valid argument. Completeness for a language like QL was first proven by Kurt G6del in 1929. The proof is beyond the scope of this book. The important point is that, happily, the proof system for QL is both sound and complete. This is not the case for all proof systems and all formal languages. Because it is true of QL, we can choose to give proofs or construct models whichever is easier for the task at hand. Summary of definitions > A sentence A is a THEOREM if and only if F A. > Two sentences A and B are PROVABLY EQUIVALENT if and only if A B and B F A. > {A1, A2,.. .1 is PROVABLY INCONSISTENT if and only if, for some sentence  134 f orall{ Practice Exercises * Part A Provide a justification (rule and line numbers) for each line of proof that requires one. W ,B> A&W BV (J&K) W 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Z (C&-N) -iZ (N&,C) -(NVC) ,iN & ,iC Z C&,N C ,1C ,B J&K K L V -,O ,L ,1O L ,IL 9 10 11 12 13 N NVC 7 L * Part B Give a proof for each argument in SL. 1. K &L, . '.K e L 2. A (B C), . '. (A & B) -C 3. P&(QVR), P--JR, . '.QVE 4. (C&D)VE,..EVD 5. -F->G,F-H, . '.GVH 6. (X&Y)v(X&Z),,(X&D),DvM..M Part C Give a proof for each argument in SL. 1. Q (Q & ,IQ), . '." ,Q 2. J--J, . '.,J 3. E V F, F V G,-F,.,. E& G  ch. 6 proofs 135 4.AA B, B e C, . '. A e C 5. M V (N M), . '. -IM ,N 6. SS-T, . '. S->(TVS) 7. (M V N) & (O V P), N -P, ,P, . '. M & O 8. (Z&K)V(K&M),K-±D,..D Part D Show that each of the following sentences is a theorem in SL. 1. O-0 2. NV-N 3. -(P&-P) 4. ,(A ->C)-(A--C) 5. J [ JV (L&-L)] Part E Show that each of the following pairs of sentences are provably equivalent in SL. 1. ----G, G 2. T S, -iS IT 3. R E, E A R 4. ,1G e H , ,1(G eH ) 5. U I, ,1(U & ,iI) Part F Provide proofs to show each of the following. 1. M& (-iN--iM) F(N& M)V-iM 2. {C->(E&G),-C-G}KG 3. {(Z&K)<(Y&M), D& (D -M)}KH Y -Z 4. {(W V X) V (Y V Z), X -4Y,-iZ}H W V Y Part G For the following, provide proofs using only the basic rules. The proofs will be longer than proofs of the same claims would be using the derived rules. 1. Show that MT is a legitimate derived rule. Using only the basic rules, prove the following: A-> B, -i, .. -iA 2. Show that Comm is a legitimate rule for the biconditional. Using only the basic rules, prove that A B B and B A are equivalent. 3. Using only the basic rules, prove the following instance of DeMorgan's Laws: (-A&--iB), . '. -(A V B) 4. Without using the QN rule, prove -x-iA VxA 5. Show that -ex is a legitimate derived rule. Using only the basic rules, prove that D E and (D E) & (E D) are equivalent.  136 136 forall{ * Part H Provide a justification (rule and line numbers) for each line of proof that requires one. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Vxly(Rxy V Ryx) Vx-Rmx l]y(Rmy V Rym) Rma V Ram -iRma Ram ]xRxm ']xRxm Vx(]yLxy VzLzx) Lab I]yLay -> VzLza ]yLay VzLza 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Vx(Jx Kx) ]xVyLxy VxJx Ja Ja --> Ka Ka VyLay Laa Ka &Laa ]x(Kx & Lxx) ]x(Kx & Lxx) -(]xMx v Vx-iMx) -i]xMx & -iVx-iMx -]xMx Vx-iMx -Vx-nMx ]IxMx v Vx-Mx Lca ]'yLcy VzLzc ]'yLcy VzLzc 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 Lcc 11 VxLxx *Part I Provide a proof of each claim. 1. H-VxFx V -VxFx 2. {Vx(Mx <>Nx), Ma &]xRxa} F]xNx 3. {Vx(-nMx V Ljx), Vx(Bx Ljx), Vx(Mx V Bx)} H VxLjx 4. Vx(Cx &Dt) HKVxCx &Dt 5. ]x(Cx V Dt) F]xCx V Dt Part J Provide a proof of the argument about Billy on p. 65.  ch. 6 proofs 137 Part K Look back at Part D on p. 77. Provide proofs to show that each of the argument forms is valid in QL. Part L Aristotle and his successors identified other syllogistic forms. Symbolize each of the following argument forms in QL and add the additional assumptions 'There is an A' and 'There is a B.' Then prove that the supplemented arguments forms are valid in QL. Darapti: All As are Bs. All As are Cs. . '. Some B is C. 1. If every M is L and every M is S, then some S is L (Darapti). Felapton: No Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. . '. Some A is not C. Barbari: All Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. . '. Some A is C. Camestros: All Cs are Bs. No As are Bs. .. Some A is not C. Celaront: No Bs are Cs. All As are Bs. .. Some A is not C. Cesaro: No Cs are Bs. All As are Bs. .. Some A is not C. Fapesmo: All Bs are Cs. No As are Bs. .. Some C is not A. Part M Provide a proof of each claim. 1. VxVyGxy F ]xGxx 2. VxVy(Gxy Gyx) F VxVy(Gxy Gyx) 3. {Vx(Ax Bx), ]xAx} F ]xBx 4. {Na Vx(Mx Ma), Ma,-Mb} F -Na 5. FVz(Pz V-Pz) 6. F-VxRxxx]yRxy 7. F Vylx(Qy Qx) Part N Show that each pair of sentences is provably equivalent. 1. Vx(Ax -Bx), -x(Ax & Bx) 2. Vx(-Ax Bd), VxAx V Bd 3. ]xPx Qc, Vx(Px Qc) 4. Rca VxRxa, Vx(Rca Rxa) Part 0 Show that each of the following is provably inconsistent. 1. {Sa -Tm, Tm -Sa, Tm&-Sa} 2. {]xRxa, VxVyRyx} 3. {,2~x~yLoy, Laa}  138 forall{ 4. {Vx(Px Qx), Vz(Pz Rz), VyPy, -Qa &-Rb} * Part P Write a symbolization key for the following argument, translate it, and prove it: There is someone who likes everyone who likes everyone that he likes. Therefore, there is someone who likes himself. Part Q Provide a proof of each claim. 1. {PaVQb,Qb-b=c,-Pa} FQc 2. {m=nVr o,ArnF-Am VAo 3. {Vxx= m, Rma} F ]xRxx 4. -xx m F VxVy(Px Py) 5. VxVy(Rxy x y) F Rab Rba 6. {]xJx, ]x-Jx} F ]xyx f y 7. {Vx(x =n -Mx), Vx(Ox & V Mx)} H On 8. {]xDx,Vx(x= p Dx)} F Dp 9. {Ix[Kx& Vy(Ky x = y) & Bx], Kd} F Bd 10. F-Pa-> Vx(PxVxz# a) Part R Look back at Part F on p. 78. For each argument: If it is valid in QL, give a proof. If it is invalid, construct a model to show that it is invalid. * Part S For each of the following pairs of sentences: If they are logically equivalent in QL, give proofs to show this. If they are not, construct a model to show this. 1. VxPx Qc, Vx(Px Qc) 2. VxPx& Qc, Vx(Px& Qc) 3. Qc V ]xQx, ]x(Qc V Qx) 4. VxVyVzBxyz, VxBxxx 5. VxVyDxy, VyVxDxy 6. ]xVyDxy, Vy]xDxy * Part T For each of the following arguments: If it is valid in QL, give a proof. If it is invalid, construct a model to show that it is invalid. 1. Vx]yRxy, . '. ]yVxRxy 2. ]yVxRxy, . '. Vx]yRxy 3. x(Pz&-Qx), . '. V,(Pa -Qx) 4. Vz(Sz T a), Sd, . '. T a  ch. 6 proofs 139 5. Vx(Ax Bx), Vx(Bx Cx), . '.Vx(Ax Cx) 6. ]x(Dx V Ex), Vx(Dx Fx), . '. ]x(Dx & Fx) 7. VxVy(RxyV Ryx), . '. Rjj 8. ]x~y(Rxy V Ryx), . '. Rjj 9. VzPz VzQx, axiPz, . '. ]xQx 10. ]xMz IxNz, ,2xNz, . '. VziMz Part U 1. If you know that A F B, what can you say about (A& C) F B? Explain your answer. 2. If you know that A F B, what can you say about (A V C) F B? Explain your answer.  Appendix A Symbolic notation In the history of formal logic, different symbols have been used at different times and by different authors. Often, authors were forced to use notation that their printers could typeset. In one sense, the symbols used for various logical constants is arbitrary. There is nothing written in heaven that says that ',' must be the symbol for truthfunctional negation. We might have specified a different symbol to play that part. Once we have given definitions for well-formed formulae (wff) and for truth in our logic languages, however, using ',' is no longer arbitrary. That is the symbol for negation in this textbook, and so it is the symbol for negation when writing sentences in our languages SL or QL. This appendix presents some common symbols, so that you can recognize them if you encounter them in an article or in another book. Negation Two commonly used symbols are the hoe, '-i', and the swung dash, '~.' In some more advanced formal systems it is necessary to distinguish between two kinds of negation; the distinction is sometimes represented by using both ',' and '~.' Disjunction The symbol 'V' is typically used to symbolize inclusive disjunction. Conjunction Conjunction is often symbolized with the ampersand, '&.' The ampersand is actually a decorative form of the Latin word 'et' which means 'and'; it is commonly used in English writing. As a symbol in a formal syssummary of symbols negation ,r~conjunction &, A,. disjunction V conditional -, D biconditional <-+' 140  appendix: symbolic notation 141 tem, the ampersand is not the word 'and'; its meaning is given by the formal semantics for the language. Perhaps to avoid this confusion, some systems use a different symbol for conjunction. For example, 'A' is a counterpart to the symbol used for disjunction. Sometimes a single dot, '. ', is used. In some older texts, there is no symbol for conjunction at all; 'A and B' is simply written 'AB.' Material Conditional There are two common symbols for the material conditional: the arrow, '--', and the hook, 'D.' Material Biconditional The double-headed arrow, '-', is used in systems that use the arrow to represent the material conditional. Systems that use the hook for the conditional typically use the triple bar, '', for the biconditional. Quantifiers The universal quantifier is typically symbolized as an upsidedown A, 'V', and the existential quantifier as a backwards E, '1.' In some texts, there is no separate symbol for the universal quantifier. Instead, the variable is just written in parentheses in front of the formula that it binds. For example, 'all x are P' is written (x)Px. In some systems, the quantifiers are symbolized with larger versions of the symbols used for conjunction and disjunction. Although quantified expressions cannot be translated into expressions without quantifiers, there is a conceptual connection between the universal quantifier and conjunction and between the existential quantifier and disjunction. Consider the sentence ]xPx, for example. It means that either the first member of the UD is a P, or the second one is, or the third one is, .... Such a system uses the symbol '\/' instead of '.' Polish notation This section briefly discusses sentential logic in Polish notation, a system of notation introduced in the late 1920s by the Polish logician Jan Lukasiewicz. Lower case letters are used as sentence letters. The capital letter N is used notation Polish for negation. A is used for disjunction, K for conjunction, C for the condiof SL notation tional, E for the biconditional. ('A' is for alternation, another name for logical N disjunction. 'E' is for equivalence.) & K V A In Polish notation, a binary connective is written before the two sentences that C it connects. For example, the sentence A & B of SL would be written Kab in E Polish notation.  142 forally The sentences -A B and -(A B) are very different; the main logical operator of the first is the conditional, but the main connective of the second is negation. In SL, we show this by putting parentheses around the conditional in the second sentence. In Polish notation, parentheses are never required. The left-most connective is always the main connective. The first sentence would simply be written CNab and the second NCab. This feature of Polish notation means that it is possible to evaluate sentences simply by working through the symbols from right to left. If you were constructing a truth table for NKab, for example, you would first consider the truth-values assigned to b and a, then consider their conjunction, and then negate the result. The general rule for what to evaluate next in SL is not nearly so simple. In SL, the truth table for -(A & B) requires looking at A and B, then looking in the middle of the sentence at the conjunction, and then at the beginning of the sentence at the negation. Because the order of operations can be specified more mechanically in Polish notation, variants of Polish notation are used as the internal structure for many computer programming languages.  Appendix B Solutions to selected exercises Many of the exercises may be answered correctly in different ways. Where that is the case, the solution here represents one possible correct answer. Chapter 1 Part C 1. consistent 2. inconsistent 3. consistent 4. consistent Chapter 1 Part D 1, 2, 3, 6, 8, and 10 are possible. Chapter 2 Part A 1. -M 2. MV-M 3. GVC 4. -C&-G 5. C (,iG &,M ) 6. MV (CV G) Chapter 2 Part C 1. E1& E2 143  144 forall{ 2. F1 S1 3. F1 V E1 4. E2&-S2 5. -E1&-E2 6. E1 & E2 &-(S1 V S2) 7. S2 F2 8. (-E1 --E2)&(E1 -E2) 9. S1 -1S2 10. (E2&F2)->S2 11. -(E2&F2) 12. (F1 &F2) (,-E1&-,E2) Chapter 2 Part D A: Alice is a spy. B: Bob is a spy. C: The code has been broken. G: The German embassy will be in an uproar. 1. A & B 2. (AvB)->C 3. ,i(A V B) ,C 4. GVC 5. (CvC)&G 6. (AVB)&-(A&B) Chapter 2 Part G 1. (a) no (b) no 2. (a) no (b) yes 3. (a) yes (b) yes 4. (a) no (b) no 5. (a) yes (b) yes 6. (a) no (b) no 7. (a) no (b) yes 8. (a) no (b) yes 9. (a) no (b) no Chapter 3 Part A 1. tautology 2. contradiction 3. contingent  solutions for ch. 3 145 4. tautology 5. tautology 6. contingent 7. tautology 8. contradiction 9. tautology 10. contradiction 11. tautology 12. contingent 13. contradiction 14. contingent 15. tautology 16. tautology 17. contingent 18. contingent Chapter 3 Part B 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, and 9 are logically equivalent. Chapter 3 Part C 1, 3, 6, 7, and 8 are consistent. Chapter 3 Part D 3, 5, 8, and 10 are valid. Chapter 3 Part E 1. A and B have the same truth value on every line of a complete truth table, so A ,B)  146 forall{ 3. ,i[( A ' B) ' ,(B --->A)] Chapter 4 Part B 1. Rca, Rcb, Rcc, and Rcd are substitution instances of VxRcx. 2. Of the expressions listed, only VyLby is a substitution instance of ]xVyLxy. Chapter 4 Part C 1. Za & Zb& Zc 2. Rb&-Ab 3. Lcb Mb 4. (Ab & Ac) (Lab & Lac) 5. ]x(Rx& Zx) 6. Vx(Ax Rx) 7. Vx[Zx-J(Mx V Ax)] 8. ]x(Rx&-Ax) 9. ]x(Rx&Lcx) 10. Vx [(Mx & Zx) Lbx] 11. Vx[(Mx& Lax) Lxa] 12. ]xRx Ra 13. Vx(Ax Rx) 14. Vx[(Mx& Lcx) Lax] 15. ]x(Mx & Lxb & -Lbx) Chapter 4 Part G 1. -]xTx 2. Vx(Mx Sx) 3. x-Sx 4. ]x[Cx&-]yByx] 5. -]xBxx 6. -x(Cx&-Sx&Tx) 7. ]x(Cx & Tx) & ]x(Mx & Tx) & -x(Cx & Mx & Tx) 8. Vx[Cx Vy(-Cy Bxy)] 9. Vx((Cx & Mx) 'Vy[(,Cy &-,My) Bxy]) Chapter 4 Part I 1. Vx(Cxp Dx) 2. Cjp&Fj 3. ]x(Cxp&Fx)  solutions for ch. 414 147 4. -]xSxj 5. Vx [(Cxp &Fx) -> Dx] 6. x(Cxp & Mx) 7. ]x(Cjx &Sxe &Fj) 8. Spe &Mp 9. Vx [(Sxp & Mx) -IyCyx] 10. ]x (Sx j & ]yCyx & Fj) 11. Vx [Dx -> y(Sxy &Fy &Dy)] 12. Vx [(Mx & Dx) -> y(Cxy & Dy)] Chapter 4 Part K 1. Vx(Cx Bx) 2. -]xWx 3. ]xly(Cx &Cy &x Y) 4. ]xly(Jx&Ox&Jy&Oy&x y) 5. VxVyVz[(Jx&Ox&Jy&Oy&Jz&Oz) (x~yVx~zVyz)] 6. ]xly (Jx &Bx &Jy &By &Vz [(Jz &Bz) (x =zv y =z)]) 7. ]xi]x2]x3]x4 [Dx & Dx2 &Dx3 &Dx4 & xix2 &x x3 &x x4 &x2#: x3&x2 ~x4&x3 ~ x4&-1]y(Dy&y ~x1 &y ~x2&y ~x3&y ~x4)] 8. Ix (Dx &Cx &Vy[(Dy &Cy) x= y] &Bx) 9. Vx [(Ox &Jx) -> Wx] &Ix [Mx &Vy(My ->x = y) &Wx] 10. Ix (Dx &Cx &Vy [(Dy &Cy) x= y] &Wx) -> xVy(Wx x->= y) 11. wide scope: x [Mx &Vy(My x= y) &Jx] narrow scope: Ix [Mx & Vy(My -> x= y) & -I x] 12. wide scope: -lxlz (Dx &Cx &Mz &Vy[(Dy &Cy) x= y] &Vy[(My -> z~y)&x= z]) narrow scope: ]x]z (Dx &Cx &Mz &Vy[(Dy &Cy) x= y] & Vy[(My z~y)&x: z]) Chapter 5 Part A 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, and 9 are true in the model. Chapter 5 Part B 2, 4, 5, and 7 are true in the model. Chapter 5 Part D UD ={10,11,12,13} extension(O) _{11,13} extension(s) _0 extension (T) _{10,11,12,13} extension(U) _{13} extension(N) _{<11,10>,<12,11>,<13,12>} referent (m) =Johnny Chapter 5 Part E  148 forall{ 1. The sentence is true in this model: UD = {Stan} extension(D) =_{Stan} referent(a) = Stan referent(b) = Stan And it is false in this model: UD = {Stan} extension(D) = 0 referent(a) = Stan referent(b) = Stan 2. The sentence is true in this model: UD = {Stan} extension(T)= {} referent(h) = Stan And it is false in this model: UD = {Stan} extension(T) = 0 referent(h) = Stan 3. The sentence is true in this model: UD = {Stan, Ollie} extension(P) =_{Stan} referent(m) = Stan And it is false in this model: UD = {Stan} extension(P) = 0 referent(m) = Stan Chapter 5 Part F There are many possible correct answers. Here are some: 1. Making the first sentence true and the second false: UD = {alpha} extension(J) =_{alpha} extension(K) = 0 referent(a) = alpha 2. Making the first sentence true and the second false: UD = {alpha, omega} extension(J) =_{alpha} referent(m) = omega 3. Making the first sentence false and the second true: UD = {alpha, omega} extension(R) ={}  solutions for ch. 5 149 4. Making the first sentence false and the second true: UD = {alpha, omega} extension(P) =_{alpha} extension(Q) = 0 referent(c) = alpha 5. Making the first sentence true and the second false: UD = {iota} extension(P) = 0 extension(Q) = 0 6. Making the first sentence false and the second true: UD = {iota} extension(P) = 0 extension(Q) =_{iota} 7. Making the first sentence true and the second false: UD = {iota} extension(P) = 0 extension(Q) =_{iota} 8. Making the first sentence true and the second false: UD = {alpha, omega} extension(R)= {, } 9. Making the first sentence false and the second true: UD = {alpha, omega} extension(R) = {, } Chapter 5 Part I 1. There are many possible answers. Here is one: UD = {Harry, Sally} extension(R)= {} referent(a) = Harry 2. There are no predicates or constants, so we only need to give a UD. Any UD with 2 members will do. 3. We need to show that it is impossible to construct a model in which these are both true. Suppose Ix x a is true in a model. There is something in the universe of discourse that is not the referent of a. So there are at least two things in the universe of discourse: referent(a) and this other thing. Call this other thing #we know a /3. But if a /3, then VxVy x= y is false. So the first sentence must be false if the second sentence is true. As such, there is no model in which they are both true. Therefore, they are inconsistent. Chapter 5 Part J  150 f orall{ 2. No, it would not make any difference. The satisfaction of a sentence does not depend on the variable assignment. So a sentence that is satisfied by some variable assignment is satisfied by every other variable assignment as well. Chapter 6 Part A W ,B A&W B V (J& K) w ,iB J&K K L V -,O L L &E2 -E 1, 4 VE 3, 5 &E6 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Z (C&-N) -iZ (N&,C) -(NVC) ,iN & ,iC z Z C & ,N C ,iC ,iZ DeM 3 -E 1, 5 &E6 &E4 -I 5-8 -E 2, 9 &E 10 9 10 11 12 13 N VE 2, 3 -E 1, 4 R3 -E 3-6 &E4 NVC -E 3-12 Chapter 6 Part B 1 2 3 1. 4 5 6 K&L K L L K K e L want K L want L &E1 want K &E1 -I 2-3, 4-5  solutions for ch. 615 151 1 2 3 2. 4 5 6 7 1 2 3 3. 4 5 6 7 1 2 3 4. 4 5 6 1 2 3 4 5. 5 6 7 A&B A B C (A&B) 0 P&(QVR) P P QvR Q QvE (C&D)vE C&D D EVD want (A &B) 0 want C &E2 ->E 1, 3 &E2 ->E 4, 5 -4 2-6 want Q V E &E1 ->E 2, 3 &E1 VE5, 4 VI 6 want E V D want D VE1, 2 &E3 -4 2-4 MC 5 -G F H -,G -H GvH want C V H want H MT 1,13 DN 4 ->E 2, 5 -4 3-6 MC 7  152 152 forall{ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 6. 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 (X&Y) v(X&Z) ,(x& D) DVM -iX V -Y -(X &Y) X&Z x x D X&D -(X &D) M want M for reductio VI 4 DeM 5 VE1, 6 &E7 R4 -E 4-9 for reductio VE 3, 11 &JI 10, 12 R2 -iB 11-14 Chapter 6 Part H 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Vxly(Rxy V Ryx) Vx-Rmx l]y(Rmy V Rym) Rma V Ram -iRma Ram ]xRxm ']xRxm VE 1 VE 2 VE 4, 5 ]J 6 ]E 3, 4-7 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Vx(]yLxy -> VzLzx) Lab I]yLay VzLza ]'yLay VzLza Lca ]'yLcy V zLzc ]'yLcy V zLzc Lcc VxLxx VE 1 ]J 2 ->E 3, 4 VE 5 VE 1 ]J 5 ->E 7, 8 VE 9 VI 10  solutions for ch. 615 153 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Vx(Jx -> Kx) ]xbyLxy Vx Jx Ja Ja --> Ka Ka VyLay Laa Ka & Laa lx (Kx & Lxx) ]'x(Kx & Lxx) 1 2 3 4 5 6 Wx(IMx V Vx-Mx) -lxMx & -iVx-iMx -lxMx Vx-Mx -Vx-Mx ]IxMx v Vx-Mx VE 3 VE 1 ->E 5, 4 DeMi1 &E2 QN 3 &E2 -E 1-5 VE 7 &J16,8 ]J 9 ]E 2, 7-10 Chapter 6 Part I 1 2 1. 3 4 5 1 2 3 2. 4 5 6 -(VxFx V -VxFx) -VxFx & -i-nVxFx -nVxFx -nVxFx VxFx V -nVxFx for reductio DeMi1 &E2 &E2 -E 1-4 Vx(Mx <-> Nx) Ma &]xRxa Ma ->Na Ma Na ']xNx want ]xNx VE 1 &E2 -E 3, 4 ]J 5  154 154 forall{ 1 2 3 4 3. 5 6 7 8 9 1 2 3 4. 4 5 6 1 2 3 4 5 5. 6 7 8 9 10 Vx(-Mx V Ljx) Vx(Bx -> Ljx) Vx(Mx V Bx) -MaVLja Ma -Lja Ba ->Lja Ma V Ba Lja VxLjx Vx(Cx & Dt) Ca &Dt Ca VxCx Dt VxCx &Dt want VxLjx VE 1 V4 VE 2 VE 3 V* 7,5, 6 VI 8 want VxCx & Dt VE 1 &E2 VI 3 &E2 &J14,5 lx (Cx V Dt) Ca V Dt -4(]xCx V Dt) -i]xCx & -Dt -Dt Ca ]xCx -]lxCx ]xCx V Dt ']xCx V Dt want ]xCx V Dt for ]E for reductio DeM 3 &E4 VE2, 5 :J 6 &E4 -E 3-8 ]E 1, 2-9 Chapter 6 Part P Regarding the translation of this argument, see p. 67.  solutions for ch. 6 155 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 ]xVy[Vz(Lxz Lyz) Lxy] Vy[Vz(Laz Lyz) Lay] Vz(Laz Laz) Laa ,2xLzz Vx-Lxx -iLaa -iVz(Laz Laz) Lab Lab Lab Lab Vz(Laz Laz) -iVz(Laz Laz) ]xLxx ]xLxx VE 2 for reductio QN4 VE 5 MT 5, 6 R8 ->I8 9 VI 10 R7 -E 4-12 E 1, 2-13 Chapter 6 Part S 2, 3, and 5 are logically equivalent. Chapter 6 Part T 2, 4, 5, 7, and 10 are valid. Here are complete answers for some of them: 1. 2. UD = {mocha, freddo} extension(R)= {, } 1 ]yVxRxy want Vx]yRxy 2 VxRxa 3 Rba VE2 4 ]yRby ]I 3 5 VziyRxy VI4 6 Vx]yRxy ]E 1, 2-5  Quick Reference Characteristic Truth Tables A -,A T F F T T T F F ' T F T F A&~B T F F F AT B T T T F 't T F T T 't T F F T Symbolization SENTENTIAL CONNECTIVES (chapter 2) It is not the case that P. Either P, or Q. Neither P, nor Q. Both P, and Q. If P, then Q. P only if Q. P if and only if Q. Unless P, Q. P unless Q. ,1P (PvQ) -(P V Q) or (,P&,Q) (P& Q) (P->Q) (P->Q) (P<->Q) (PvQ) PREDICATES (chapter 4) All Fs are Gs. Some Fs are Gs. Not all Fs are Gs. No Fs are Gs. Vx(Fx Gx) ]x(Fx & Gx) -Vx(Fx Gx) or ]x(Fx&,Gx) Vx(Fx -Gx) or -x(Fx & Gx) IDENTITY (section 4.6) Only j is G. Vx(Gx-x=j) Everything besides j is G. Vx(x f j Gx) The F isG. ]x(Fxz& Vy(Fy x= 'The F is not G' can be translated two ways: It is not the case that the F is G. (wide) -ix(Fxz& Vy(Fy x The F is non-G. (narrow) ]x(Fxz& Vy(Fy x = Gx) = y) & Gz) y) & -Gx) 156  Using identity to symbolize quantities There are at least F__ s. one ]xFx two ]xlIx2(Fx & Fx2 & xi #x2) three ]xlIx2]x3(Fx & Fx2 &Fx3 & xi #x2 & xi#x3 &x2 #x3) four ]xlIx2]x3]x4(Fx & Fx2 &Fx3 &Fx4 & xi #x2 & x1 #x3 & x1# X4 & X2 7 X3 & X2 X4 & X3 X4) There are at most F__ s. One way to say 'at most n~ things are F' is to put a negation sign in front of one of the symbolizations above and say -i'at least n + 1 things are F.' Equivalently: one Vx1Vx2 [(Fxi & Fcc2) xc1 =X2] two Vx1Vx2Vx3 [(Fcci & Fcc2 & Fcc3) -> (x1i= x2 V x1 =cc3 V cc2 =c3)] three VcciVc2Vc3V4 [(Fcc&F2 &Fc3 &Fc4) (cc1 =c2Vcc1 =c3Vcc1= cc4 V cc2 cc3 V cc2 =c4 V cc3 cX4)] nVcc... Vcc+±i[(Fci & ..& Fccn±i) -(cc1 =cc2 V ..Vccn =ccn+1)] There are exactly F__ s. One way to say 'exactly n~ things are F' is to conjoin two of the symbolizations above and say 'at least n~ things are F' & 'at most n~ things are F.' The following equivalent formulae are shorter: zero Vcc-iFcc one ]cc[Fcc&-]y(Fy&xc # y)] two ]ccIxc2[Fcc&Fc2&1 x2&-m y(Fy&y: cci&ycc2)] three ]x1 xc2]3 [Fi & F2 & Fc3 &ccx1#c2 &ccx1#3 & x2 x3 & -]ly(Fy&y # cci&y # cc2&Y # cc3)] n cIxl... ]c [Fcci& ... & Fcc & x1 c2 & ... & cc-1 cc& -]ly(Fy &y x1i& ... &y :ccx)] Specifying the size of the UD Removing F from the symbolizations above produces sentences that talk about the size of the UD. For instance, 'there are at least 2 things (in the UD)' may be symbolized as ]ccly(cc y). 157  Basic Rules of Proof REITERATION m A A R m CONJUNCTION INTRODUCTION m A A & B &I m, n CONJUNCTION ELIMINATION m A&B A &Em B &Em DISJUNCTION INTRODUCTION m A AV9B VIm qVA VIm DISJUNCTION ELIMINATION m AV B n A VE m, n CONDITIONAL ELIMINATION m A B -E m, rn BICONDITIONAL INTRODUCT m A want B p B want A q A A-B +-I m-n, BICONDITIONAL ELIMINATIO m A B A -E m, n ION p-q N m A n A <->E m, rn NEGATION INTRODUCTION m A for reductio -1 B n ,B -A -I m-n NEGATION ELIMINATION m ,A for reductio 12-1 B n -1 Br A -,E m-n m Av B n ,.L CONDITIONAL m A 12 B VE m, n INTRODUCTION want B --->I m-n  Quantifier Rules EXISTENTIAL INTRODUCTION m A {A[{||c] ]IJm x may replace some or all occurrences of c in A. EXISTENTIAL ELIMINATION m R n A[ca] p B B 1Enm, n-p The constant c must not appear in ]{A, in B, or in any undischarged assumption. UNIVERSAL INTRODUCTION m A V{A[{c] VIm c must not occur in any undischarged assumptions. UNIVERSAL ELIMINATION M V{a A[c{x] VEim Identity Rules Derived Rules DILEMMA m AV B n AC p B->C C V*m, n,p MODUS TOLLENS m A ,MT m, n HYPOTHETICAL SYLLOGISM A -C HSm,Tn Replacement Rules COMMUTIVITY (Comm) (A&B) <-> (B&A) (Av'B) #~(~B VA) DEMORGAN (DeM) (R V B) <,A & , ) -(A & B) #~(-Av-) DOUBLE NEGATION (DN) ,,-A<---->A MATERIAL CONDITIONAL (MC) (A B) <-> (-vB) (RV B) <->(,9--) BICONDITIONAL EXCHANGE (-ex) [(A -J B) &(iB -->A)] ## (A <-> B) QUANTIFIER NEGATION (QN) -,VER <-> S,R , ## V , m ni c~d A[c d] A[dllc] =I E m, n E m, n One constant may replace some or all occurrences of the other.  In the Introduction to his volume Symbolic Logic, Charles Lutwidge Dodson advised: "When you come to any passage you don't understand, read it again: if you still don't understand it, read it again: if you fail, even after three readings, very likely your brain is getting a little tired. In that case, put the book away, and take to other occupations, and next day, when you come to it fresh, you will very likely find that it is quite easy." The same might be said for this volume, although readers are forgiven if they take a break for snacks after two readings. about the author: P.D. Magnus is an assistant professor of philosophy in Albany, New York. His primary research is in the philosophy of science, concerned especially with the underdetermination of theory by data. CORNELL . UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029067746 WILLIAM JAMES AND OTHER ESSAYS ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY ■ CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO WILLIAM JAMES AFD OTHER ESSAYS ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE BY JOSIAH ROYCE, LL.D., Litt.D. PROFESSOR OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY Wefa gorft THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1912 All rights reserved OOPTEIOHT, 1911, By THE MAOMILLASr C0MPA2TT. JMILLASr compa: Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1911. Reprinted June, igiz. ' J. 8. Cashing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. Horwood, Mass., U.S.A. PREFACE In previous works, and most systematically in the two volumes entitled " The World and the Individual," I have set forth and defended a form of philosophical Idealism. The essays collected in the present volume contain further illustrations and applications of this doctrine. They are all papers prepared for special occasions. The earliest in order of time was written in 1906. The latest, my address upon William James, was prepared in June of the present year. Each one of these essays can be understood independently. The justification for bringing them together in a single volume is expressed by the phrase "philosophy of life," used on my title-page. That is, each essay contains an interpretation of some problem that is, in my opinion, of vital interest for any one who PREFACE wants to form sound ideals for the conduct of life. The discourse upon William James deals with some of his ideals, and incidentally indicates my own. The address upon recent discussions of the problems of truth explains why I cannot accept some of the positions of recent pragmatism, and why the frequent identification of the idealistic theory of truth with " barren intellectualism " appears to me erroneous. Since, in my opinion, the intellect and the will, logic and life, reason in the formation of ideas and reason in the guidance of conduct, have extremely intimate relations, which some recent discussions have both richly illustrated and waywardly obscured, the review of the problem of truth, although the most technical of the papers in this volume, seems to me to concern an issue that is as practical and vital as any other. As to the defense of the concept of " absolute truth " which the paper contains, I may at once say that "the absolute" seems to me personally not something remote, unpractical. PREFACE inhuman, but the most pervasive and omnipresent and practical, as it is also the most inclusive of beings. "Absolute truth" has therefore a distinctly and intensely practical import. Of the other essays, the one on Christianity is a fragment of a study that I propose to carry out more fully at an early date. The essay on " Loyalty and Insight " summarizes the position that I have defended and illustrated in my " Philosophy of Loyalty," published in 1908, and brings the ethical doctrine there presented into touch with metaphysical idealism by means of a very summary indication of the thought which we owe to Kant's " Deduction of the Categories." How near that thought also is to the vital interests of daily life, I am never weary of trying to illustrate at a time when it is fashionable in this country to belittle the office of thought, and to make light of Kant. The final discourse on " Immortality " approaches the familiar problem in a fashion different from that chosen for the purposes of PREFACE my "Ingersoll lecture" on the same topic (published by the Riverside Press in 1900), and thus forms a sort of supplement to the Ingersoll lecture. The present way of dealing with the concept of immortality also gives me the opportunity to sketch anew some of my general idealistic theses, and incidentally to repudiate the frequent and groundless assertion that my own form of idealism regards time as " unreal," or the absolute as "timeless," or the universe as a " block." Since each of these papers is intended to be comprehensible by itself, I am obliged, in each, to state, more or less dogmatically, opinions which I have discussed and attempted to justify in former writings. Dogma, as such, has no place in philosophy. But the present book is no systematic treatise ; and is to be judged, I hope, in the light of its own decidedly practical purpose, and of its accompanying limitations. I have ventured to make the honored name of William James part of my title. The first PREFACE essay is a tribute to his memory. The others show, I hope, that, if I often oppose his views, I owe to him, as teacher, and as dear friend, an unfailing inspiration, far greater than he ever knew, or than I can well put into words. JOSIAH ROYCE. Cambridge, Mass. Oct. 5, 1911. IX CONTENTS ESSAY I PAOE William James and the Philosophy of Life 3 ESSAY II Loyalty and Insight 49 ESSAY III What is Vital in Christianity? ... 99 ESSAY IV The Problem of Truth in the Light of Recent Discussion 187 ESSAY V Immortality 257 xi ESSAY I Wn.T.TAM JAMES AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE ESSAY I WILLIAM JAMES AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFEi FIFTY years since, if competent judges were asked to name the American thinkers from whom there had come novel and notable and typical contributions to general philosophy, they could in reply mention only two men — Jonathan Edwards and Ralph Waldo Emerson. For the conditions that determine a fair answer to the question, "Who are your representative American philosophers ? " are obvious. The philosopher who can fitly represent the contribution of his nation to the world's treasury of philosophical ideas must first be one who thinks for himself, fruitfully, with true independence, and with successful inventiveness, about problems of philosophy. And, secondly, he must be a man who gives utterance to philosophical ideas 1 Phi Beta Kappa Oration delivered at Harvard University, June, 1911. WILLIAM JAMES which are characteristic of some stage and of some aspect of the spiritual life of his own people. In Edwards and in Emerson, and only in these men, had these two conditions found their fulfillment, so far as our American civilization had yet expressed itself in the years that had preceded our civil war. Edwards, in his day, made articulate some of the great interests that had molded our early religious life. The thoughts which he most discussed were indeed, in a sense, old, since they largely concerned a traditional theology. Yet both in theology and general philosophy, Edwards was an originator. For he actually rediscovered some of the world's profoundest ideas regarding God and humanity simply by reading for himself the meaning of his own religious experience. With a mysterious power of philosophical intuition, even in his early youth, he observed what, upon the basis of what we know to have been his range of philosophical reading, we could not possibly have expected him to observe. If the sectarian theological creed that he defended was to our minds nar4 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE row, what he himself saw was very far-reaching and profound. For he viewed rehgious problems with synoptic vision that enabled him to reconcile, in his own personal way, some of the greatest and most tragic conflicts of the spiritual world, and what he had to say consequently far transcended the interests of the special theological issues which he discussed. Meanwhile, he spoke not merely as a thinker, but as one who gave voice to some of the central motives and interests of our colonial religious life. Therefore he was, in order of time, the first of our nationally representative philosophers. Another stage of our civilization — a later phase of our national ideals — found its representative in Emerson. He too was in close touch with many of the world's deepest thoughts concerning ultimate problems. Some of the ideas that most influenced him have their far-off historical origins in oriental as well as in Greek thought, and also their nearer foreign sources in modern European philosophy. But he transformed whatever he assimilated. He invented upon the basis 5 WILLIAM JAMES of his personal experience, and so he was himself no disciple of the orient, or of Greece, still less of England and of Germany. He thought, felt, and spoke as an American. Fifty years ago, I say, our nation had so far found these two men to express each his own stage of the philosophy of our national civilization. The essence of a philosophy, in case you look at it solely from a historical point of view, always appears to you thus : A great philosophy expresses an interpretation of the life of man and a view of the universe, which is at once personal, and, if the thinker is representative of his people, national in its significance. Edwards and Emerson had given tongue to the meaning of two different stages of our American culture. And these were thus far our only philosophical voices. To-day, if we ask any competent foreign critic of our philosophy whether there is any other name to be added to these two classic American philosophers, we shall receive the unanimous answer: "There is today a third representative American philosAND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE oplier. His name is William James." For James meets the two conditions just mentioned. He has thought for himself, fruitfully, with true independence, and with successful inventiveness. And he has given utterance to ideas which are characteristic of a stage and of an aspect of the spiritual life of this people. He, too, has been widely and deeply aflfected by the history of thought. But he has reinterpreted all these historical influences in his own personal way. He has transformed whatever he has assimilated. He has rediscovered whatever he has received from without; because he never could teach what he had not himself experienced. And, in addition, he has indeed invented effectively and richly. Moreover, in him certain characteristic aspects of our national civilization have found their voice. He is thus the third in the order of time among our representative American philosophers. Already, within a year of his death, he has begun to acquire something of a classic rank and dignity. In future this rank and dignity will long increase. 7 WILLIAM JAMES In one of James's latest utterances he indeed expressed, with characteristic energy, a certain abhorrence of what he called classical tendencies in philosophical thought. But I must repeat the word : Fortune not unjustly replies, and will reply to James's vigorous protest against every form of classicism, by making him a classic. Thus, then, from the point of view of the competent foreign students of our philosophy, the representative American philosophers are now three and only three — Edwards, Emerson, James. And of these three there can be little question that, at the present time, the most widely known abroad is James. Emerson has indeed found a secure place in the minds of the English-speaking lovers of his type of thought everywhere; and has had an important part in the growth of some modern German tendencies. But James has already won, in the minds of French, of German, of Italian, and of still other groups of foreign readers, a position which gives him a much more extended 8 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE range of present influence than Emerson has ever possessed. It is my purpose, upon the present occasion, to make a few comments upon the significance of William James's philosophy. This is no place for the discussion of technical matters. Least of all have I any wish to undertake to decide, upon this occasion, any controversial issues. My intentions as I address you are determined by very simple and obvious considerations. William James was my friend from my youth to the end of his beneficent life. I was once for a brief time his pupil. I long loved to think of myself as his disciple ; although perhaps I was always a very bad disciple. But now he has just left us. And as I address you I remember that he was your friend also. Since the last annual meeting of this assembly he has been lost to us all. It is fitting that we should recall his memory to-day. Of personal reminiscences, of biographical sketches, and of discussions relating to many details of his philosophy, the literature that has gathered about his name during 9 WILLIAM JAMES the few months since we lost him has been very full. But just as this is no occasion for technical discussion of his philosophy, so too I think this is no place to add new items to the literature of purely personal reminiscence and estimate of James. What I shall try to do is this : I have said that James is an American philosopher of classic rank, because he stands for a stage in our national self-consciousness — for a stage with which historians of our national mind must always reckon. This statement, if you will permit, shall be my text. I shall devote myself to expounding this text as well as I can in my brief time, and to estimating the significance of the stage in question, and of James's thought in so far as it seems to me to express the ideas and the ideals characteristic of this phase of our national life. In defining the historical position which William James, as a thinker, occupies, we have of course to take account, not only of 10 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE national tendencies, but also of the general interests of the world's thought in his time. William James began his work as a philosopher, during the seventies of the last century, in years which were, for our present purpose, characterized by two notable movements of world-wide significance. These two movements were at once scientific in the more special sense of that term, and philosophical in the broad meaning of that word. The first of the movements was concerned with the elaboration — the widening and the deepening — of the newer doctrines about evolution. This movement had indeed been preceded by another. The recent forms of evolutionary doctrine, those associated with the names of Darwin and of Spencer, had begun rapidly to come into prominence about 1860. And the decade from 1860 to 1870, taken together with the opening years of the next decade, had constituted what you may call the stormand-stress period of Darwinism, and of its allied tendencies, such as those which Spencer represented. In those years the younger 11 WILLIAM JAMES defenders of the new doctrines, so far as tney appealed to the general public, fought their battles, declared their faith, out of weakness were made strong, and put to flight the armies of the theologians. You might name, as a closing event of that storm-and-stress period, Tyndall's famous Belfast address of 1874, and the warfare waged about that address. Haeckel's early works, some of Huxley's most noted polemic essays, Lange's "History of Materialism," the first eight or nine editions of Von Hartmann's "Philosophy of the Unconscious," are documents characteristic of the more general philosophical interests of that time. In our country, Fiske's "Cosmic Philosophy" reflected some of the notable features that belonged to these years of the early conquests of evolutionary opinion. Now in that storm-and-stress period, James had not yet been before the public. But his published philosophical work began with the outset of the second and more important period of evolutionary thought — the period of the widening and deepening of the new 12 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE ideas. The leaders of thought who are characteristic of this second period no longer spend their best efforts in polemic in favor of the main ideas of the newer forms of the doctrine of evolution. In certain of its main outlines — outlines now extremely familiar to the public — they simply accept the notion of the natural origin of organic forms and of the general continuity of the processes of development. But they are concerned, more and more, as time goes on, with the deeper meaning of evolution, with the study of its factors, with the application of the new ideas to more and more fields of inquiry, and, in case they are philosophers, with the reinterpretation of philosophical traditions in the light of what had resulted from that time of storm and stress. James belongs to this great second stage of the evolutionary movement, to the movement of the elaboration, of the widening and deepening of evolutionary thought, as opposed to that early period of the storm and stress. We still live in this second stage of evolu13 WILLIAM JAMES tionary movement. James is one of its most inventive philosophical representatives. He hardly ever took part in the polemic in favor of the general evolutionary ideas. Accepting them, he undertook to interpret and apply them. And now, secondly, the period of James's activity is the period of the rise of the new psychology. The new psychology has stood for many other interests besides those of a technical study of the special sciences of the human and of the animal mind. What is technical about psychology is indeed important enough. But the special scientific study of mind by the modern methods used in such study has been a phase and a symptom of a very much larger movement — a movement closely connected with all that is most vital in recent civilization, with all the modern forms of nationalism, of internationalism, of socialism, and of individualism. Human life has been complicated by so many new personal and social problems, that man has needed to aim, by whatever means are pos14 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE sible, towards a much more elaborate knowledge of his fellow man than was ever possible before. The results of this disposition appear in the most widely diverse sciences and arts. Archaeology and ethnology, history and the various social sciences, dramatic art, the novel, as well as what has been called psychical research — in a word, all means, good and bad, that have promised either a better knowledge of what man is or a better way of portraying what knowledge of man one may possess — have been tried and molded in recent times by the spirit of which recent technical psychology is also an expression. The psychological movement means then something that far transcends the interests of the group of sciences to which the name psychology now applies. And this movement assumed some of its most important recent forms during the decade in which James began to publish his work. His own contributions to psychology reflect something of the manifoldness and of the breadth of the general psychological movement itself. If he published the 15 WILLIAM JAMES two great volumes entitled "Psychology," lie also wrote "The Varieties of Religious Experience," and he played his part in what is called "psychical research." These then are James's two principal offices when you consider him merely in his most general relations to the thought of the world at large in his time. He helped in the work of elaborating and interpreting evolutionary thought. He took a commanding part in the psychological movement. II But now it is not of these aspects of James's work, significant as they are, that I have here especially to speak. I must indeed thus name and emphasize these wider relations of his thought, to the world's contemporary thought. But I do so in order to give the fitting frame to our picture. I now have to call attention to the features about James which make him with all his universality of interest, a representative American thinker. Viewed as an American, he belongs to the movement which 16 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE has been the consequence, first, of our civil war, and secondly, of the recent expansion, enrichment, and entanglement of our social life. He belongs to the age in which our nation, rapidly transformed by the occupation of new territory, by economic growth, by immigration, and by education, has been attempting to find itself anew, to redefine its ideals, to retain its moral integrity, and yet to become a world power. In this stage of our national consciousness we still live, and shaU plainly have to live for a long time in the future. The problems involved in such a civilization we none of us well understand; least of all do I myself understand them. And James, scholar, thinker, teacher, scientific and philosophical writer as he was, has of course only such relation to our national movement as is implied by the oflSce that he thus fulfills. Although he followed with keen interest a great variety of political and social controversies, he avoided public life. Hence, he was not absorbed by the world of afifairs, although he was always ready to engage genc 17 WILLIAM JAMES erously in the discussion of practical reforms. His main office with regard to such matters was therefore that of philosophical interpreter. He helped to enlighten his fellows as to the relations between the practical problems of our civilization and those two world-wide movements of thought of which I have just spoken. Let me call attention to some of the results of James's work as interpreter of the problems of the American people. I need not say that this work was, to his own mind, mainly incidental to his interest in those problems of evolutionary thought and of psychology to which I just directed your attention. I am sure that James himself was very little conscious that he was indeed an especially representative American philosopher. He certainly had no ambition to vaunt himself as such. He worked with a beautiful and hearty sincerity upon the problems that as a fact interested him. He knew that he loved these problems because of their intense human interest. He knew, then, that he was 18 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE indeed laboring in the service of mankind. But he so loved what he called the concrete, the particular, the individual, that he naturally made little attempt to define his office in terms of any social organism, or of any such object as our national life, viewed as an entity. And he especially disliked to talk of causes in the abstract, or of social movements as I am here characterizing them. His world seemed to him to be made up of individuals — men, events, experiences, and deeds. And he always very little knew how important he himself was, or what vast inarticulate social forces were finding in him their voice. But we are now viewing James from without, in a way that is of course as imperfect as it is inevitable. We therefore have a right at this point to attribute to him an office that, as I believe, he never attributed to himself. And here we have to speak first of James's treatment of religious problems, and then of his attitude towards ethics. Our nation since the civil war has largely lost touch with the older forms of its own religious 19 WILLIAM JAMES life. It has been seeking for new embodiments of the religious consciousness, for creeds that shall not be in conflict with the modern man's view of life. It was James's office, as psychologist and as philosopher, to give a novel expression to this our own national variety of the spirit of religious unrest. And his volume, "The Varieties of Eeligious Experience," is one that, indeed, with all its wealth of illustration, and in its courageous enterprise, has a certain classic beauty. Some men preach new ways of salvation. James simply portrayed the meaning that the old ways of salvation had possessed, or still do possess, in the inner and personal experience of those individuals whom he has called the religious geniuses. And then he imdertook to suggest an hypothesis as to what the whole religious process might mean. The hypothesis is on the one hand in touch with certain tendencies of recent psychology. And in so far it seems in harmony with the modern consciousness. On the other hand it expresses, in a way, James's whole philosophy 20 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE of life. And in this respect it comes into touch with all the central problems of humanity. The result of this portrayal was indeed magical. The psychologists were aided towards a new tolerance in their study of religion. The evolution of religion appeared in a new light. And meanwhile many of the faithful, who had long been disheartened by the later forms of evolutionary naturalism, took heart anew when they read James's vigorous appeal to the religious experience of the individual as to the most authoritative evidence for religion. "The most modern of thinkers, the evolutionist, the psychologist," they said, "the heir of all the ages, has thus vindicated anew the witness of the spirit in the heart — the very source of inspiration in which we ourselves have always believed." And such readers went away rejoicing, and some of them even began to write christologies based upon the doctrine of James as they understood it. The new gospel, the glad tidings of the subconscious, 21 WILLIAM JAMES began to be preached in many lands. It has even received the signal honor of an official papal condemnation. For my own part. I have ventured to say elsewhere that the new doctrine, viewed in one aspect, seems to leave religion in the comparatively trivial position of a play with whimsical powers — a prey to endless psychological caprices. But James's own robust faith was that the very caprices of the spirit are the opportunity for the building up of the highest forms of the spiritual life; that the unconventional and the individual in religious experience are the means whereby the truth of a superhuman world may become most manifest. And this robust faith of James, I say, whatever you may think of its merits, is as American in type as it has already proved eflFective in the expression which James gave to it. It is the spirit of the frontiersman, of the gold seeker, or the home builder, transferred to the metaphysical and to the religious realm. There is our far-off home our long-lost spiritual fortune. Experience 22 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE alone can guide us towards the place where these things are ; hence you indeed need experience. You can only win your way on the frontier in case you are willing to live there. Be, therefore, concrete, be fearless, be experimental. But, above all, let not your abstract conceptions, even if you call them scientific conceptions, pretend to set any limits to the richness of spiritual grace, to the glories of spiritual possession, that, in case you are duly favored, your personal experience may reveal to you. James reckons that the tribulations with which abstract scientific theories have beset our present age are not to be compared with the glory that perchance shall be, if only we open our eyes to what experience itself has to reveal to us. In the quest for the witness to whom James appeals when he tests his religious doctrine, he indeed searches the most varied literature ; and of course most of the records that he consults belong to foreign lands. But the book called "The Varieties of Religious Experience" is full of the spirit that, in our 23 WILLIAM JAMES country, has long been eflfective in the formation of new rehgious sects ; and this volume expresses, better than any sectarian could express, the recent efforts of this spirit to come to an understanding with modern naturalism, and with the new psychology. James's view of religious experience is meanwhile at once deliberately unconventional and intensely democratic. The old-world types of reverence for the external forms of the church find no place in his pages; but equally foreign to his mind is that barren hostility of the typical European freethinkers for the church with whose traditions they have broken. In jlanies!^ eyes, the forms, the external organizations of the religious world simply wither; it is the individual that is more and more. And James, with a democratic contempt for social appearances, seeks his religious geniuses everywhere. World-renowned saints of the historic church receive his hearty sympathy ; but they stand upon an equal footing, in his esteem, with many an obscure and ignorant revivalist 24 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE with faith healers, with poets, with sages, with heretics, with men that wander about in all sorts of sheepskins and goatskins, with chance correspondents of his own, with whomsoever you will of whom the world was not and is not worthy, but who, by inner experience, have obtained the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. You see, of course, that I do not believe James's resulting philosophy of religion to be adequate. For as it stands it is indeed chaotic. But I am sure that it can only be amended by taking it up into a larger view, and not by rejecting it. The spirit triumphs, not by destroying the chaos that James describes, but by brooding upon the face of the deep until the light comes, and with light, order. But I am sure also that we shall always have to reckon with James's view. And I am sure also that only an American thinker could have written this survey, with all its imconventional ardor of appreciation, with all its democratic catholicity of sympathy, with all its freedom both from 25 WILLIAM JAMES ecclesiastical formality and from barren freethinking. I am sure also that no book has better expressed the whole spirit of hopeful unrest, of eagerness to be just to the modern view of life, of longing for new experience, which characterizes the recent American religious movement. In James's book, then, the deeper spirit of our national religious life has found its most manifold and characteristic expression. Ill I must next turn to the other of the two aspects of James's work as a thinker that I mentioned above ; namely, to his ethical influence. Since the war, our transformed and restless people has been seeking not only for religious, but for moral guidance. What are the principles that can show us the course to follow in the often pathless wilderness of the new democracy ? It frequently seems as if, in every crisis of our greater social affairs, we needed somebody to tell us both our dream and the interpre26 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE tation thereof. We are eager to have life, and that abundantly. But what life? And by what test shall we know the way of life ? The ethical maxims that most readily meet the popular demand for guidance in such a country, and at such a time, are maxims that combine attractive vagueness with an equally winning pungency. They must seem obviously practical ; but must not appear excessively rigorous. They must arouse a large enthusiasm for action, without baffling us with the sense of restraint, or of wearisome self-control. They must not call for extended reflection. Despite their vagueness they must not appear abstract, nor yet hard to grasp. The wayfaring man, though a fool, must be sure that he at least will not err in applying our moral law. Moral blunders must be natural only to opponents, not to ourselves. We must be self-confident. Moreover, our moral law must have an athletic sound. Its first office is to make us "good sports." Only upon such a law can we meditate day and night, in case the "game" leaves us indeed any time 27 WILLIAM JAMES for meditation at all. Nevertheless, these popular maxims will of course not be meant as mere expressions of blind impulse. On the contrary, they will appeal to highly intelligent minds, but to minds anxious for relief from the responsibility of being too thoughtful. In order to be easily popular they must be maxims that stir the heart, not precisely indeed like the soimd of a trumpet, but more like the call of the horn of an automobile. You will have in mind the watchwords that express some of the popular ethical counsels thus suggested. One of these watchwords has of late enabled us to abbreviate a well-known and surely a highly intelligent maxim, to something that is to-day used almost as a mere interjection. It is the watchword, "EflBciency" ! Another expression of the same raotive takes shape in the equally familiar advice, "Play the game." Now I do not mean to make light of the real significance of just such moral maxims, for awakening and inspiring just our people in this day. The true value of these 28 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE maxims lies for us in three of their characteristic features. First, they give us counsel that is in any case opposed to sloth. And sloth on every level of our development remains one of the most treacherous and mortal enemies of the moral will. Secondly, they teach us to avoid the dangers to which the souls of Hamlet's type fall a prey. That is, they discourage the spirit that reflectively divides the inner self, and that leaves it divided. They warn us that the divided self is indeed, unless it can heal its deadly wound, by fitting action, a lost soul. And thirdly, they emphasize courage. And courage, — not, to be sure, so much the courage that faces one's rivals in the market place, or one's foes on the battlefield, as the courage that fits us to meet our true spiritual enemies, — the courage that arises anew from despair and that undertakes, despite all tribulations, to overcome the world — such courage is one of the central treasures of the moral life. Because of these three features, the maxims to which I refer are, in all their vagueness, 29 WILLIAM JAMES vehicles of wisdom. But they express themselves in their most popular forms with a willfulness that is often more or less comic, and that is sometimes tragic. For what they do not emphasize is the significance of selfpossession, of lifting up our eyes to the hills whence cometh our help, of testing the life that now is by the vision of the largest life that we can in ideal appreciate. These popular maxims also emphasize results rather than ideals, strength rather than cultivation, temporary success rather than wholeness of life, the greatness of "Him that taketh a city," rather than of "Him that ruleth his spirit." They are the maxims of unrest, of impatience, and of a certain humane and generous unscrupulousness, as fascinating as it is dangerous. They characterize a people that is indeed earnestly determined to find itself, but that so far has not found itself. Now one of the most momentous problems regarding the influence of James is presented by the question : How did he stand related to these recent ethical tendencies of our na30 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE tion ? I may say at once that, in my opinion, he has just here proved himself to be most of all and in the best sense our national philosopher. For the philosopher must not be an echo. He must interpret. He must know us better than we know ourselves, and this is what indeed James has done for our American moral consciousness. For, first, while he really made very little of the formal oflSce of an ethical teacher and seldom wrote upon technical ethical controversies, he was, as a fact, profoundly ethical in his whole influence. And next, he fully understood, yet shared in a rich measure, the motives to which the ethical maxims just summarized have given expression. Was not he himself restlessly active in his whole temperament.'' Did he not love individual enterprise and its free expression ? Did he not loathe what seemed to him abstractions ? Did he not insist that the moralist must be in close touch •with concrete life ? As psychologist did he not emphasize the fact that the very essence of conscious life lies in its active, yes, in its 31 WILLIAM JAMES creative relation to experience ? Did he not counsel the strenuous attitude towards our tasks? And are not all these features in harmony with the spirit from which the athletic type of morality just sketched seems to have sprung ? Not only is all this true of James, but, in the popular opinion of the moment, the doctrine called pragmatism, as he expounded it in his Lowell lectures, seems, to many of his foreign critics, and to some of those who think themselves his best followers here at home, a doctrine primarily ethical in its force, while, to some minds, pragmatism seems also to be a sort of philosophical generalization of the efficiency doctrine just mentioned. To be sure, any closer reader of James's "Pragmatism" ought to see that his true interests in the philosophy of life are far deeper than those which the maxims "Be efficient" and "Play the game" mostly emphasize. And, for the rest, the book on pragmatism is explicitly the portrayal of a method of philosophical inquiry, and is only incidentally 32 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE a discourse upon ethically interesting matters. James himself used to protest vigorously against the readers who ventured to require of the pragmatist, viewed simply as such, any one ethical doctrine whatever. In his book on "Pragmatism" he had expounded, as he often said, a method of philosophizing, a definition of truth, a criterion for interpreting and testing theories. He was not there concerned with' ethics. A pragmatist was free to decide moral issues as he chose, so long as he used the pragmatic method in doing so; that is, so long as he tested ethical doctrines by their concrete results, when they were applied to life. Inevitably, however, the pragmatic doctrine, that both the meaning and the truth of ideas shall be tested by the empirical consequences of these ideas and by the practical results of acting them out in life, has seemed both to many of James's original hearers, and to some of the foreign critics just mentioned, a doctrine that is simply a characteristic Americanism in philosophy — D 33 WILLIAM JAMES a tendency to judge all ideals by their practical efficiency, by their visible results, by their so-called "cash values." James, as I have said, earnestly protested against this cruder interpretation of his teaching. The author of "The Varieties of Religious Experience" and of "The Pluralistic Universe" was indeed an empiricist, a lover of the concrete, and a man who looked forward to the future rather than backward to the past; but despite his own use, in his "pragmatism" of the famous metaphor of the "cash values" of ideas, he was certainly not a thinker who had set his affections upon things below rather than upon things above. And the "consequences" upon which he laid stress when he talked of the pragmatic test for ideas were certainly not the merely worldly consequences of such ideas in the usual sense of the word "worldly." He appealed always to experience; but then for him experience might be, and sometimes was, religious experience — experience of the unseen and of the superhuman. And so James was right 34 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE in his protest against these critics of his later doctrine. His form of pragmatism was indeed a form of Americanism in philosophy. And he too had his fondness for what he regarded as eflSciency, and for those who "play the game," whenever the game was one that he honored. But he also loved too much those who are weak in the eyes of this present world — the religious geniuses, the unpopular inquirers, the noble outcasts. He loved them, I say, too much to be the dupe of the cruder forms of our now popular eflSciency doctrine. In order to win James's most enthusiastic support, ideas and men needed to express an intense inner experience along with a certain unpopularity which showed that they deserved sympathy. Too much worldly success, on the part of men or of ideas, easily alienated him. Unworldliness was one of the surest marks, in his eyes, of spiritual power, if only such unworldliness seemed to him to be joined with interests that, using his favorite words, he could call "concrete" and "important." 35 WILLIAM JAMES In the light of such facts, all that he said about judging ideas by thifir "consequences" must be interpreted, and therefore it is indeed unjust to confound pragnialism with the cruder worship of efficiency. IV Yet, I repeat, James's philosophy of life was indeed, in its ethical aspects, an expression of tlie better spirit of our people. He understood, he shared, and he also transcended the American spirit. And just that is what most marks him as our national philosopher. If ,>'ou want to estimate his philosophy of life in its best form, you must read or re-read, not tlie "Pragmatism," but the essays contained in the volume entitled "The Will to Believe." May I still venture, as I close, to mention a few features of the doctrine that is embodied in that volume ? The main question repeatedly considered in these essays of James is explicitly tlie question of an empiricist, of a man a\'erse to abstractions 36 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE and of an essentially democratic thinker, who does not believe that any final formulation of an ideal of human life is possible until the last man has had his experience of life, and has uttered his word. But this empiricism of the author is meanwhile the empiricism of one who especially emphasizes the central importance of the active life as the basis of our interpretation of experience. Herein James dififers from all traditional positivists. Experience is never yours merely as it comes to you. Facts are never mere data. They are data to which you respond. Your experience is constantly transformed by your deeds. That this should be the case is determined by the most essential characteristics of your consciousness. James asserts this latter thesis as psychologist, and has behind him, as he writes, the vast mass of evidence that his two psychological volumes present. The simplest perception, the most elaborate scientific theory, illustrate how man never merely finds, but also always cooperates in creating his world. 37 WILLIAM JAMES No doubt then life must be estimated and guided with constant reference to experience, to consequences, to actual accomplishments, to what we Americans now call eflBciency. But on the other hand efficiency itself is not to be estimated in terms of mere data. Our estimate of our world is not to be forced upon us by any mere inspection of consequences. (What makes life worth living is not what you (find in it, but what you are ready to put into it by your ideal interpretation of the meaning that, as you insist, it shall possess for you. This ideal meaning is always for you a matter of faith not to be imposed coercively upon another, but also never to be discovered by watching who it is that wins, or by merely feeling your present worldly strength as a player of the game. Your deeper ideals always depend upon viewing life in the light of larger unities than now appear, upon viewing yourself as a coworker with the universe for the attainment of what no present human / game of action can now reveal. For this /'radical empiricist" then present experience 38 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE always points beyond itself to a realm that no human eye has yet seen — an empirical realm of course, but one that you have a right to interpret in terms of a faith that is itself active, but that is not merely worldly and athletic. The philosophy of action thus so imperfectly suggested by the few phrases that I have time to use can best be interpreted, for the moment, by observing that the influence of Carlyle in many passages of this volume is as obvious as it is by our author independently reinterpreted and transformed. Imagine Carlyle transformed into a representative American thinker, trained as a naturalist, deeply versed in psychology, deprived of his disposition to hatred, openminded towards the interests of all sorts and conditions of men, still a hero worshiper, but one whose heroes could be found in the obscurest lovers of the ideal as easily as in the most renowned historical characters ; let this transformed Carlyle preach the doctrine of the resolute spirit triumphant through creative action, defiant of every degree of 39 WILLIAM JAMES mortal suffering. Let him proclaim "The Everlasting Yea" in the face of all the doubts of erring human opinion : and herewith you gain some general impression of the relations that exist between "Sartor Resartus" and "The Will to Beheve." The ethical maxims which are scattered through these pages volimtarily share much of the vagueness of our age of tentative ethical effort. But they certainly are not the maxims of an impressionist, of a romanticist, or of a partisan of merely worldly efficiency. They win their way through all such attitudes to something beyond — to a resolute interpretation of human hfe as an opportunity to cooperate with the superhuman and the divine. And they do this, in the author's opinion, not by destroying, but by 1 fulfilling the purposes and methods of the sciences of experience themselves. Is not every scientific theory a conceptual reinterpretation of our fragmentary perceptions, an active reconstruction, to be tried in the service of a larger life ? Is not our trust in 40 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE a scientific theory itself an actoffaith? Moreover, these ethical maxims are here governed, in James's exposition, by the repeated recognition of certain essentially absolute truths, truths that, despite his natural horror of absolutism, he here expounds with a finished dialectic skill that he himself, especially in his later polemic period, never seemed to prize at its full value. The need of active faith in the unseen and the superhuman he foimds upon these simple and yet absolutely true principles, principles of the true dialectics of life: First, every great decision of practical life requires faith, and has irrevocable consequences, consequences that belong to the whole great world, and that therefore have endless possible importance. Secondly, since action and belief are thus inseparably bound together, our right to believe depends upon our right, as active beings, to make decisions. Thirdly, our duty to decide hfe's greater issues is determined by the absolute truth that, in critical cases, the will to be doubtful and not to decide is itself a decision, and is 41 WILLIAM JAMES hence no escape from our responsible moral position. And this our responsible position is a position that gives us our place in and for all future life. The world needs our deeds. We need to interpret the world in order to act. We have a right to interpret the universe so as to enable us to act at once decisively, courageously, and with the sense of the inestimable preciousness and responsibility of the power to act. In consequence of all these features of his ethical doctrine a wonderful sense of the deep seriousness and of the possibly divine significance of every deed is felt in James's every ethical counsel. Thus it is that, while fully comprehending the American spirit which we have sketched, he at once expresses it and transforms it. He never loved Fichte; but there is much of the best of the ethical idealism of Fichte in "The Will to Believe." Many of you have enjoyed James's delightfully skillful polemic against Hegel, and against the external forms, phrases, and appearances of the later constructive idealists. I have no 42 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE wish here to attempt to comment upon that polemic; but I can assure you that I myself learned a great part of my own form of absolute idealism from the earliest expressions that James gave to the thoughts contained in "The Will to Believe." As one of his latest works, "The Pluralistic Universe," still further showed, he himself was in spirit an ethical_idealist_to the core. Nor was he nearly so far in spirit even from Hegel as he supposed, guiltless as he was of Hegel's categories. Let a careful reading of "The Plurahstic Universe" make this fact manifest. Meanwhile, what interests us is that, in "The Will to Believe," as well as in "The Pluralistic Universe," this beautifully manifold, appreciative, and humane mind, at once adequately expressed, and, with true moral idealism, transcended the caprices of recent American ethics. To this end he lavishly used the resources of the naturalist, of the humanist, and of the ethical dialectician. He saw the facts of human life as they are, 43 WILLIAM JAMES and he resolutely lived beyond them into the realm of the spirit. He loved the concrete, but he looked above towards the larger realm of universal life. He often made light of the abstract reason, but in his own plastic and active way he uttered some of the great words of the universal reason, and he has helped his people to understand and to put into practice these words. I ask you to remember him then, not only as the great psychologist, the radical empiricist, the pragmatist, but as the interpreter of the ethical spirit of his time and of his people — the interpreter who has pointed the way beyond the trivialities which he so well understood and transcended towards that "Eule of Reason" which the prophetic maxim of our supreme court has just brought afresh to the attention of our people. That "Rule of Reason," when it comes, will not be a mere collection of abstractions. It will be, as James demanded, something concrete and practical. And it will indeed appeal to our faith as well as to our discursive logi44 AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE cal processes. But it will express the transformed and enlightened American spirit as James already began to express it. Let him too be viewed as a prophet of the nation that is to be. 45 ESSAY II LOYALTY AND INSIGHT ESSAY II LOYALTY AND INSIGHT ^ UPON an occasion like this, when the children, the servants, and the friends of this institution meet for their annual festival, there is one word that best expresses the spirit of the occasion. It is the word "loyalty," — loyalty to your College, to its ideals, to its life, and to the unity and effectiveness of this life. And amongst the ideals that inspire the life of your College, and make that life effective and united, there is one which is prominent in all your minds, whatever your special studies, your practical aims, or your hopes. It is the ideal of furthering, in all your minds, what we may call insight, — the ideal of learning to see life as it is, to know the world as we men need to know it, and to guide our purposes as we ought to guide them. It is ' Commencement Addiess delivered at Simmons College, Boston, in June, 1910. ;E 49 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT also the ideal of teaching to others the art of just such insight. These two words, then, "loyalty" and "insight," name, one of them, the spirit in which, upon such occasions as this, we all meet ; the other, the ideal that determines the studies and the researches of any modern institution of learning. Upon each day of its year of work your College says to its children and to its servants and to its community : "Let us know, let us see, let us comprehend, let us guide life by wisdom, and in turn let us discover new wisdom for the sake of winning new life." But upon a day like the present one, the work of the year being laid aside, your College asks and receives your united expression of loyalty to its cause. Perhaps some of you may feel that for just this moment you have left behind, at least temporarily, the task of winning insight. You enjoy, for the hour, the fruits of toil. Study and research cease, you may say, for to-day, while the spirit of loyalty finds its own free expression and takes content in its holiday. I agree that the holidays and the working 50 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT days have a diflferent place in our lives. But it is my purpose in this address to say something about the connections between the spirit which rules this occasion — the spirit of loyalty — and the ideal by which ^the year's work has to be guided, — the ideal of furthering true insight. The loyalty that now fills your minds is merely one expression of a certain spirit which ought to pervade all our lives — not only in our studies, but in our homes, in our ofiices, in our political and civic life — not merely upon holidays, or upon other great occasions, but upon our working days; and most of all when our tasks seem commonplace and heavy. And, on the other hand, the insight which you seek to get whenever, in the academic world, you work in the laboratory or in the field, in the library or in the classroom or alone in your study, the insight that you try both to embody in your practical life and to enrich through your researches, — just this insight, I say, is best to be furthered by a right cultivation of the spirit of loyalty. 51 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT I suppose that when I utter these words, you will easily give to them a certain general assent. But I want to devote this address to making just such words mean more to you than at first sight they may appear to mean. First, then, let me tell you what I myself mean by the term "loyalty." Then let me deal with my principal thesis, which is that the true spirit of loyalty is not merely a proper accompaniment of all serious work, but is an especially important source of a very deep insight into the meaning of life, and, as I personally believe, into the nature of the whole universe. Three sorts of persons, I have noticed, are fond of using the term "loyalty." These are quite different types of persons; or, in any case, they use the word upon very different occasions. But these very diflferences are to my mind important. The first type of those who love to use the term "loyalty" consists of those who employ it to express a certain glow of enthusiastic devotion, the type of the lovers, of the students when the 52 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT athletic contests are near, of the partisans in the heat of a political contest, or of the friends of an institution upon a day like this. To such persons, or at least at such moments, loyalty is conceived as something brilliantly emotional, as a passion of devotion. The second class of those who are fond of the word "loyalty" are the warriors and their admirers. To such persons loyalty means a willingness to do dangerous service, to sacrifice life, to toil long and hard for the flag that one follows. But for a third type of those who employ the word, loyalty especially means steady, often unobtrusive, fidelity to more or less formal obligations, such as the business world and the workshop impose upon us. Such persons think of loyalty as, first of all, faithful\ ness in obeying the law of the land, or in I executing the plans of one's official superiors, ; or in serving one's employer or one's client or one's chief, or one's fraternity or other social union. In this sense the loyal servant may i be obscure and unemotional. But he is trustworthy. Now, a word which thus so forcibly 53 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT appeals to the lovers who want to express their passionate devotion, and also to the soldiers who want to name that obstinate following of the flag which makes victory possible ; a word which business men also sometimes use to characterize the quietly and industriously faithful employee who obeys orders, who betrays no secrets, and who regards the firm's interest as his own ; — well, such a word, I think, is not as much ambiguous as deep in its meaning. For, after all, loyal emotions, loyal sacrifice of life, loyal steadiness in obscure service, are but various symptoms of a certain spirit which lies beneath all its various expressions. This spirit is a well-known one. All the higher life of society depends upon it. It may manifest itself as enthusiasm upon an occasion like this, or as contempt for death upon the battle field, or as quiet service when the toil of life is grim, or as the cool fidelity that pursues the daily routine of office or of workshop or of kitchen with a steady persistence and with a simple acceptance of traditional duties or of the day's toil. But the 54 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT spirit thus manifested is not exhausted by any of its symptoms. The appearances of loyalty are manifold. Its meaning is one. And I myself venture to state what the true spirit of loyalty is by defining the term thus : By loyalty I mean the thoroughgoing, the voluntary, and the practical devotion of a self to a cause. And by a cause I mean something of the nature that the true lover has in mind when he is wisely devoted to his love; that the faithful member of a family serves when the family itself is the cause dear to him ; that the member of a fraternity, or the child of a college, or the devoted professional man, or the patriot, or the martyr, or the faithful workman conceives when he thinks of that to which he gives his life. As all these illustrations suggest, the cause to which one can be loyal is never a mere detached individual, and never a mere collection of individuals ; nor is it ever a mere abstract principle. This cause, whether in the church or the army or the workshop, in the home or in the friendship, is some sort of unity whereby I 55 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT many persons are joined in one common life. I The cause to which a loyal man is devoted is j of the nature of an institution, or of a home I life, or of a fraternity, wherein two or more I persons aim to become one ; or of a religion, wherein the unity of the spirit is sought : through the communion of the faithful. Loyalty respects individuals, but aims to bring j.them together into one common life. Its 1 command to the loyal is : "Be 'one undivided soul of many a soul.'" It recognizes that, when apart, individuals fail; but that when they try to unite their lives into one common higher selfhood, to live as if they were the expressions, the instruments, the organs of one ideally beautiful social group, they win '' the only possible fulfillment of the meaning of human existence. Through loyalty to such a cause, through devotion to an ideally united social group, and only through such loyalty, can the problems of human personality be solved. By nature, and apart from some cause to which we are loyal, each of us is but a mass of caprices, a chaos of distracting pas56 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT sions, a longing for happiness that is neve: fulfilled, a seeking for success which neve attains its goal. Meanwhile, no merely cus tomary morality ever adequately guides ou: lives. Mere social authority never meets ou: needs. But a cause, some unity of man;; lives in one, some call upon the individual t( give himself over to the service of an idealizec community, — this gives sense to life. This when we feel its presence, as we do upon thii occasion, we love, as the lovers love the com mon life of friendship that is to make then one, or as the mothers delight in the life tha is to unite themselves and their children in th< family, or as the devout feel that througl their communion in the life of their churcl they become one with the Divine Spirit. Foi such a cause we can make sacrifices, such ai the soldier makes in following the flag. Fo: what is the fortune of any detached self ai compared with the one cause of the wholi country? And just such a voluntary de votion to a cause can ennoble the routine o the humblest daily business, in the oflSce, ii 57 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT the household, in the school, at the desk, or in the market place, if one only finds the cause that can hold his devotion — be this cause his business firm or his profession or his household or his country or his church, or all these at once. For all these causes have their value in this : that through the business firm, or the household, or the profession, or the spiritual community, the lives of many human selves are woven into one, so that our fortunes and interests are no longer conceived as detached and private, but as a giving of ourselves in order that the social group to which we are devoted should live its own united life. With this bare indication of what I mean by loyalty, I may now say that of late years I have attempted to show in detail, in various discussions of our topic, that the spirit of loyalty, rightly understood, and practically applied, furnishes an adequate solution for all the problems of the moral life. The whole moral law can be summed up in the two commandments : first, Be loyal ; and secondly. So choose, so serve, and so unify the life causes 58 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT to which you yourself are loyal that, througl: your choice, through your service, througl your example, and through your dealings wit! all men, you may, as far as in you lies, helf other people to be loyal to their own causes may avoid cheating them of their opportunitie; for loyalty ; may inspire them with their owi best type of loyalty; and may so best serv( the one great cause of the spread of loyaltj amongst mankind. Or, if I may borrow ant adapt for a worthy end Lincoln's immorta words, the moral law is this : Let us so live so love, and so serve that loyalty "of th< people, by the people, for the people, shal not perish from the earth," but shall prospei and abound. The scheme of life thus suggested is, I believe, adequate. I next want to tell whai bearing the spirit of loyalty has upon insight The insight that all of us most need anc desire is an insight, first, into the business o: life itself, and next into the nature and mean ing of the real world in which we live. Oui forefathers used to center all their views o 59 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT life and of the world about their religion. Many of the leading minds of to-day center their modern insight about the results of science. In consequence, what I may call the general problems of insight, and the views of life and of the world which most of us get from our studies, have come of late to appear very different from the views and the problems which our own leading countrymen a century ago regarded as most important. The result is that the great problem of the philosophy of life to-day may be defined as the effort to see whether, and how, you can cling to a genuinely ideal and spiritual interpretation of your own nature and of your duty, while abandoning superstition, and while keeping in close touch with the results of modem knowledge about man and nature. Let me briefly indicate what I mean by this problem of a modern philosophy of life. From the modern point of view great stress has been laid upon the fact that man, as we know man, appears to be subject to the laws of the natural world. Modern knowledge 60 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT makes these laws appear very far-reaching, very rigid, and very much of the type that we call mechanical. We have, therefore, most of us, learned not to expect miraculous interferences with the course of nature as aids in our human conflict with destiny. We have been taught to regard ourselves as the products of a long process of natural evolution. We have come to think that man's control over nature has to take the general form which our industrial arts illustrate, and which our recent contests with disease, such as the wars with tuberculosis and with yellow fever, exemplify. Man, we have been led to say, wins his way only by studying nature and by applying his carefully won empirical knowledge to the guidance of his arts. The business of life — so we have been moved to assert — must therefore be guided simply by an union of plain common sense with the scientific study of nature. The real world, we have been disposed to say, is, on the whole, so far as we can know it, a mechanism. Therefore the best ideal of life involves simply the more or 61 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT less complete control of this mechanism for useful and humane ends. Such, I say, is one very commonly accepted result to which modern knowledge seems to have led men. The practical view of life and of its business which expresses this result has been, for many of us, twofold. First, we have been led to this well-known precept : If you want to live wisely, you must, at all events, avoid superstition. That is, you must not try to guide human life by dealing with such supernatural powers, good and evil, as the mythologies of the past used to view as the controlling forces of human destiny. You must take natural laws as you find them. You must believe about the real world simply what you can confirm by the verdict of human experience. You must put no false hopes either in magic arts or in useless appeals to the gods. You must, for instance, fight tuberculosis not by prayer, but by knowing the conditions that produce it and the natural processes that tend to destroy its germs. And so, in general, in order to live well and 62 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT wisely you must be a naturalist and not a supernaturalist. Or in any case you must conform your common sense not to the imagination that in the past peopled the dream world of humanity with good and evil spirits, but to the carefully won insight that has shown us that our world is one where natural law reigns unyielding, defying equally our magic arts and our prayerful desires for divine aid. But secondly, side by side with this decidedly positive advice, many of us have been brought to accept a practical attitude towards the world which has seemed to us negative and discouraging. This^ second attitude may be expressed in the sad precept : Hope not to find this world in any universal sense a world of ideal values. Nature is indifferent to values. Values are human, and merely human. Man can indeed give to his own life much of what he calls value, if he uses his natural knowledge for human ends. But when he sets out upon this task, he ought to know that, however sweet and ideal human companionship may be as it exists among 63 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT men, humanity as a whole must fight its battle with nature and with the universe substantially alone, comfortless except for the comforts that it wins precisely as it builds its houses ; namely, by using the mechanisms of nature for its own purposes. The world happens, indeed, to give man some power to control natural conditions. But even this power is due to the very fact that man also is one of nature's products, — a product possessing a certain stability, a certain natural plasticity and docility, a limited range of natural initiative. As a rock may deflect a stream, so man, himself a natural mechanism, may turn the stream of nature's energies into paths that are temporarily useful for human purposes. But from the modern point of view the ancient plaint of the Book of Job remains true, both for the rock and for the man : " The waters wear away stones, And the hope of frail man thou destroyest." In the end, our relations to the universe thus seem to remain relations to an essentially 64 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT foreign power, which cares for our ideals as the stormy sea cares for the boat, and as the bacteria care for the human organism upon which they prey. If we ourselves, as products of nature, are sufficiently strong mechanisms, we may be able to win, while life lasts, many ideal goods. But just so, if the boat is well enough built, it may weather one or another passing storm. If the body is well knit, it may long remain immune to disease. Yet in the end the boat and the human body fail. And in no case, so this view asserts, does the real world essentially care for or help or encourage our ideals. Our ideals are as foreign to the real natural world as the interests of the ship's company are to the ocean that may tolerate, but also may drown them. Be free from superstition, then; and next avoid false hopes. Such are the two theses that seem to embody for many minds the essentially modern view of things and the essential result for the philosophy of life of what we have now learned. But hereupon the question arises whether F 65 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT this is indeed the last word of insight ; whether this outcome of modern knowledge does indeed tell the whole story of our relations to the real world. That this modern view has its own share of deeper truth we all recognize. But is this the whole truth ? Have we no access whatever to any other aspect of reality than the one which this naturalistic view emphasizes ? And again, the question still arises : Is there any place left for a religion that can be free from superstition, that can accept just so much of the foregoing modern results as are indeed established, and that can yet supplement them by an insight which may show the universe to be, after all, something more than a mechanism ? In sum, are we merely stones that deflect the stream for a while, until the waters wear them away ? Or are there spiritual hopes of humanity which the mechanism of nature cannot destroy ? Is the philosophy of life capable of giving us something more than a naturalism — humanized merely by the thought that man, being, after all, a well-knit and plastic 66 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT mechanism, can for a time mold nature to his ends ? So much for the great problem of modern insight. Let us turn to consider the relation of the spirit of loyalty to this problem. What light can a study of the spirit of loyalty, as I just defined loyalty, — what light, I say, can such a study throw upon this problem ? Very little — so some of you may say; for any discussion of the spirit of loyalty can tell us nothing to make nature's mechanism more comprehensible. One who favors loyalty as a way of solving life's problems tells us about a certain ideal of human life, — an ideal which, as I have asserted, does tend to solve our personal moral problems precisely in so far as we are able to express this ideal in our practical lives. In order to be loyal you indeed have no need to believe in any of the well-known miracles of popular tradition. And equally, in order to be loyal, you have no need, first, to decide whether nature is or is not a mechanism; or whether the modern view of reality, as just summarized, is or is not adequate; or whether the gods 67 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT exist; or whether man is or is not one of nature's products and temporarily well-knit and plastic machines. Our doctrine of loyalty is founded not upon a decision about nature's supposed mechanism, but upon a study of man's own inner and deeper needs. It is a doctrine about the plan and the business of human life. It seems, therefore, to be neutral as to every so-called conflict between science and religion. But now, in answer to these remarks, I have to show that the doctrine of loyalty, once rightly understood, has yet a further application. It is a doctrine that, when more fully interpreted, helps us toward a genuine insight, not only into the plan of life, but into the nature of things. The philosophy of loyalty has nothing to say against precisely so much of naturalism as is indeed an established result of common sense and of the scientific study of nature. The theory of the loyal life involves nothing superstitious — no trust in magic, no leaning upon the intervention of such spiritual agencies as the old mytholo68 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT gies conceived. And yet, as I shall insist, nobody can understand and practice the loyal spirit without tending thereby to get a true view of the nature of things, a genuine touch with reality, which cannot be gained without seeing that, however much of a mechanism nature may appear to be, the real world is something much more than a mechanism, and much more significant than are the waters which wear away stones. Let me indicate what I mean by repeating in brief my doctrine of loyalty — with reference to the spirit which it involves, and with reference to the view of the realities of human life which it inevitably includes. Whoever is loyal has found some cause, I have said, — a cause to which, by his inner interests, he is indeed attracted, so that the cause is fascinating to his sentiments. But the cause is also one to which the loyal man is meanwhile practically and voluntarily devoted, so that his loyalty is no mere glow of enthusiasm, but is an affair of his deeds as well as of his emotions. Loyalty I therefore 69 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT defined as the thoroughgoing and practical devotion of a self to a cause. Why loyalty is a duty; how loyalty is possible for every normal human being; how it can appear early in youth, and then grow through life; how it can be at once faithful to its own, and yet can constantly enlarge its scope;; how it can become universally human in its interests without losing its concreteness, and without failing to keep in touch with the personal affections and the private concerns of the loyal person; how loyalty is a virtue for all men, however humble and however exalted they may be; how the loyal service of the tasks of a single possibly narrow life can be viewed as a service of the cause of universal loyalty, and so of the interests of all humanity ; how all special duties of life can be stated in terms of a duly generalized spirit of loyalty; and how moral conflicts can be solved, and moral divisions made, in the light of the principle of loyalty ; — all this I have asserted, although here is indeed no time for adequate discussion. But hereupon I want to concen70 LOYALTYiAND INSIGHT trate our whole attention, not upon the consequences and appHcations of the doctrine of loyalty, but upon the most central characteristic of the loyal spirit. This central characteristic of the loyal spirit consists in the fact that it conceives and values its cause as a reality, as an object that has a being of its own ; while the type of reality which belongs to a cause is different from the type of reality which we ascribe either to a thing in the physicalworldortoa law of nature. A cause is never I a mere mechanism. It is an essentially spiritj ual reality. If the loyal human being is right i in the account which he giv.es of his cause, then the real world contains beings which are not mere natural objects, and is subject to laws which, without in the least running counter to the laws of outer nature, are the laws of an essentially spiritual realm, whose type of being is superior to that possessed by i the order of nature which our physical sciences \ study and which our industrial arts use. '-, Either, then, loyalty is altogether a service | of myths, or else the causes which the loyal | 71 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT serve belong to a realm of real being which is above the level of mere natural fact and natural law. In the latter case the real world is not indifferent to our human search for values. The modern naturalistic and mechanical views of reality are not, indeed, false within their own proper range, but they are inadequate to tell us the whole truth. And reality contains, further, and is characterized by, an essentially spiritual order of being. I have been speaking to persons who, as I have trusted, well know, so far as they have yet had time to learn the lessons of life, something of what loyalty means. Come, then, let us consider what is the sort of object that you have present to your mind when you are loyal to a cause. If your cause is a reality, what kind of a being is it ? If causes are realities, then in what sort of a real world do you live ? I have already indicated that, while loyalty always includes personal affections, while you can never be loyal to what you take to be a merely abstract principle, nevertheless, 72 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT it is equally true that you can never be genuinely loyal merely to an individual human being, taken just as this detached creature. You can, indeed, love your friend, viewed just as this individual. But love for an individual is so far just a fondness for a fascinating human presence, and is essentially papricipus, whether it lasts or is transient. You can be, and should be, loyal to your friendship, to the union of yourself and your friend, to that ideal comradeship which is neither of you alone, and which is not the mere doubleness that consists of you and your friend taken as two detached beings who happen to find one another's presence agreeable. Loyalty to a friendship involves your willingness actively and practically to create and maintain a life which is to be the united life of yourself and your friend — not the life of your friend alone, nor the life of yourself and your friend as you exist apart, but the common life, the life above and inclusive of your distinctions, the one life that you are to live as friends. To the tie, to the unity, to the com73 I I LOYALTY AND INSIGHT mon life, to the union of friends, you can be loyal. Without such loyalty friendship consists only of its routine of more or less attractive private sentiments and mere meetings, each one of which is one more chance experience, heaped together with other chance experiences. But with such true loyalty your friendship becomes, at least in ideal, a new life, — a life that neither of you could have alone ; a life that is not the mere sum of your separate and more or less pleasant private lives ; a life that is not a mere round of separate private amusements, but that belongs to a new type of dual yet unified personality. Nor are you loyal to your friendship merely as to an abstraction. You are loyal to it as to the common better self of both of you, a self that lives its own real life. Either such a loyalty to your friendship is a belief in myths, or else such a type of higher and unified dual personality actually possesses a reality of its own, — a reality that you cannot adequately describe by reporting, as to the taker of a census, that you and your friend are two 74 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT creatures, with two distinct cases of a certain sort of fondness to be noted down, and with each a separate life into which, as an incident, some such fondness enters. No ; were a census of true friendship possible, the census taker should be required to report : Here are indeed two friends ; but here is also the ideal and yet, in some higher sense, real life of their united personaUty present, — a life which belongs to neither of them alone, and which also does not exist merely as a parcel of fragments, partly in one, partly in the other of them. It is the life of their common personality. It is a new spiritual person on a higher level. Or again, you are loyal to some such union as a family or a fraternity represents. Or you are loyal to your class, your college, your community, your country, your church. In all these cases, with endless variety in the details, your loyalty has for its object each time, not merely a group of detached personalities, but some ideally significant common life; an union of many in one; a community which also has the value of a person, and which, 75 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT nevertheless, cannot be found distributed about in a collection of fragments found inside the detached lives of the individual members of the family, the club, the class, the college, the country, the church. 'If this common life to which you are loyal is a reality, then the real human world does not consist of separate creatures alone, of the mere persons who flock in the streets and who live in the dififerent houses. The human world, if the loyal are right, contains personality that is not merely shut up within the skin, now of this, now of that, human creature. It contains personalities that no organism confines within its bounds ; that no single life, that no crowd of detached lives, comprises. Yet this higher sort of common personality, if the loyal are right, is as real as we separate creatures are real. It is no abstraction. It lives. It loves, and we love it. We enter into it. It is ours, and we belong to it. It works through us, the fellow servants of the common cause. Yet we get our worth through it, — the goal of our whole moral endeavor. 76 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT For those who are not merely loyal, but also enlightened, loyalty, never losing the definiteness and the concreteness of its devotion to some near and directly fascinating cause, sees itself to be in actual spiritual unity i with the common cause of all the loyal, whoever they are. The great cause for all the loyal is in reality the cause of the spread and the furtherance of the cause of the universal : loyalty of all mankind : a cause which nobody can serve except by choosing his own nearer and more immediately appreciated cause, — the private cause which is directly his own, — his family, his community, his friendship, his calling, and the calling of those who serve with him. Yet such personal service — your special life cause, your task, your vocation — is your way of furthering the ends of universal humanity. And if you are enlightened, you know this fact. Through your loyalty you, then, know yourself to be kin to all the loyal. You hereupon conceive the loyal as one brotherhood, one invisible church, for which and in which you live. The spirit 77 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT dwells in this invisible church, — the holy spirit that wills the unity of all in fidelity and in service. Hidden from you by all the natural estrangements of the present life, this common life of all the loyal, this cause which is the one cause of all the loyal, is that for which you live. In spirit you are really sundered from none of those who themselves live in the spirit. All this, I say, is what it is the faith of all the loyal to regard as the real life in which we live and move and have our being, precisely in so far as men come to understand what loyalty is. Thus, then, in general, to be loyal I is to believe that there are real causes. And to be universally loyal is to believe that the one cause of loyalty itself, the invisible church of all the loyal, is a reality ; something as real as we are. But causes are never detached human beings ; nor are causes ever mere crowds, heaps, collections, aggregations of , human beings. Causes are at once personal I (if by person you mean the ordinary human j individual in his natural character) and super78 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT personal. Persons they are, because only,' where persons are found can causes be defined. I Superpersonal they are, because no mere in\ dividual human creature, and no mere pairs or groups or throngs of human beings, can ever constitute unified causes. You cannot be loyal to a crowd as a crowd. A crowd can shout, as at a game or a political convention. But only some sort of organized unity of social life can either do the work of an unit or hold the effective loyalty of the enlightened worker who does not merely shout with the throng. And so when you are really loyal to your country, your coimtry does not mean to you merely the crowd, the mass of your separate fellow citizens. Still less does it mean the mere organs, or the separate servants of the country, — the customhouse, the War Department, the Speaker of the House, or any other office or official. When you sing "My country, 'tis ■ of thee," you do not mean, "My post office, 'tis of thee," nor yet, "My fellow citizens, 'tis of you, just as the creatures who crowd the street and who overfill the railway cars," that 79 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT I sing. If the poet continues in his own song to celebrate the land, the "rocks and rills," the "woods and templed hills," he is still speaking only of symbols. What he means is the country as an invisible but, in his opinion, perfectly real spiritual unity. General Nogi, in a recent Japanese publication about Bushido, expressed his own national ideal beautifully in the words : "Here the sovereign and the people are of one family and have together endured the joys and sorrows of thotf|ands of years." It is that sort of being wbgreof one speaks when one expresses true loyalty to the country. The country is the spiritual entity that is none of us and all of us, — none of us because it is our unity; all of us because in it we all find our patriotic unity. Such, then, is the idea that the loyal have of the real nature of the causes which they serve. I repeat. If the loyal are right, then the real world contains other beings than mechanisms and individual human and animal minds. It contains spiritual unities which are as real as we are, but which certainly do 80 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT not belong to the realm of a mere nature mechanism. Does not all this put the problems of our philosophy of life in a new light ? But I have no doubt that you may at once reply : All this speech about causes is after all merely more or less pleasing metaphor. As a fact, human beings are just individual natural creatures. They throng and struggle for existence, and love and hate and enjoy and sorrow and die. These causes are, after all, mere dreams, or at best entities by courtesy. There are, literally speaking, no such supernatural entities as we have just described. The friends like to talk of being one; but there are always two or more of them, and the unity is a pretty phrase. The country is, in the concrete, the collection of the countrymen, with names, formulas, songs, and so on, attached, by way of poetical license or of convenient abbreviation or of pretty fable. The poet really meant simply that he was fond of the landscape, and was not wholly averse to a good many of his countrymen, and was in any case fond of a good song. LoyG 81 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT alty, like the rest of human life, is an illusion. Nature is real. The unity of the spirit is a fancy. This, I say, may be your objection. But herewith we indeed stand in the presence of a certain very deep philosophical problem concerning the true definition of what we mean by reality. Into this problem I have neither time nor wish to enter just now. But upon one matter I must, nevertheless, stoutly insist. It is a matter so simple, so significant, so neglected, that I at once need and fear to mention it to you, — need to mention it, because it puts our philosophy into a position that quite transforms the significance of that whole modern view of nature upon which I have been dwelling since the outset of this lecture; fear to mention it, because the fact that it is so commonly neglected shows how hard to be understood it has proved. That disheartening view of the foreign and mechanical nature of the real world which our sciences and our industrial arts have impressed upon the minds of so many of us ; that 82 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT contempt for superstition ; that denial of the supernatural, which seems to the typical modern man the beginning of wisdom ; — to what is all this view of reality due ? To the results, and, as I believe, to the really important results, of the modern study of natural science. But what is the study of natural science ? Practically considered, viewed as one of the great moral activities of mankind, the study of science is a very beautiful and humane expression of a certain exalted form of loyalty. Science is, practically considered, the outcome of the absolutely devoted labors of countless seekers for natural truth. But how do we human beings get at what we call natural truth ? By observation, — so men say, — and by experience. But by whose experience ? By the united, by the synthesized, by the revised, corrected, rationally criticized, above all by the common, experience of many individuals. The possibility of science rests upon the fact that human experience may be progressively treated so as to become more and more an unity. The detached individual 83 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT records the transit of a star, observes a precipitate in a test tube, stains a preparation and examines it under a microscope, collects in the field, takes notes in a hospital — and loyally contributes his little fragment of a report to the ideally unified and constantly growing totality called scientific human experience. In doing this he employs his memory, and so conceives his own personal life as an unity. But equally he aims — and herein consists his scientific loyalty — to bring his personal experience into unity with the whole course of human experience in so far as it bears upon his own science. The collection of mere data is never enough. It is in the unity of their interpretation that the achievements of science lie. This unity is conceived in the form of scientific theories ; is verified by the comparative and critical conduct of experiments. But in all such work how manifold are the presuppositions which we make when we attempt such unification ! Here is no place to enumerate these presuppositions. Some of them you find discussed in the text84 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT books of the logic of science. Some of them are instinctive, and almost never get discussed at all. But it is here enough to say that we all presuppose that human experience has, or can by the loyal efforts of truth seekers be made to possess, a real unity, superior in its nature and significance to the nature and significance of any detached observer's experience, more genuinely real than is the mere collection of the experiences of any set of detached observers, however large. The student of natural science is loyal to the cause of the enlargement of this organized and criticized realm of the common human experience. Unless this unity of human experience is a genuine reality, unless all the workers are living a really common life, unless each man is, potentially at least, in a live spiritual unity with his fellows, science itself is a mere metaphor, its truth is an illusion, its results are myths. For science is conceived as true only by conceiving the experiences of countless observers as the sharing of a common realm of experience. If, as we all believe, the natural sciences do throw 85 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT a real, if indeed an inadequate, light upon the nature of things, then they do so because no one man's experience is disconnected from the real whole of human experience. They do so because the cause to which the loyal study of science is devoted, the cause of the enlargement of human experience, is a cause that has a supernatural, or, as Professor Miinsterberg loves to say, an over-individual, type of reality, j Mankind is not a mere collection of detached I individuals, or man could possess no knowlI edge of any unity of, scientific truth. If men are really only many, and if they have no such unity of conscious experience as loyalty everywhere presupposes, then the cause of science also is a vain illusion, and we have no unified knowledge of nature, only various private fancies about nature. If we know, however ill, nature's mechanism, we do so because human experience is not merely a collection of detached observations, but forms an actual spiritual unity, whose type is not that of a mechanism, whose connections are ideally significant, whose constitution is essentially 86 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT that which the ideal of unified truth requires. So, then, I insist, the dilemma is upon our hands. Either the sciences constitute a progressive, if imperfect, insight into real truth — and then the cause of the unity of human experience is a real cause that really can be served exactly as the lover means to be loyal to his friendship and the patriot to his country; and then also human life really possesses such unity as the loyal presuppose — or else none of this is so. But then loyalty and science alike deal with metaphors and with myths. In the first case the spiritual unity of the life that we lead is essentially vindicated. Causes such as the loyal serve are real. The cause of science also is real. But in that case an essentially spiritual realm, that of the rational unity of human experience, is real ; and possesses a grade both of reality and of worth which is superior to the grade of reality that the phenomena of nature's mechanism exhibit to us. In the other case the sciences whose results are supposed to be discouraging and unspiritual vanish, with all their facts, 87 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT into the realm of fable, together with the world that all the loyal, including the faithful followers of the sciences, believe to be real. I have here no time to discuss the paradoxes of a totally skeptical philosophy. It is enough to say that such a total skepticism is, indeed, self-refuting. The only rational view of life depends upon maintaining that what the loyal always regard as a reality, namely, their cause, is, indeed, despite all special illusions of this or of that form of imperfect loyalty, essentially a type of reality which rationally survives all criticisms and underlies all doubts. " They reckon ill who leave me out ; When me they fly, I am the wings." This is what the genuine object of loyalty, the unity of the spiritual life, always says to us when we examine it in the right spirit. But the one source of our deepest insight into this unity of the spirit which underlies all the varieties, and which leads us upward to itself past all the sunderings and doubts of existence, is the loyal spirit itself. Loyalty asserts : "My cause is real. I know that my cause liveth." 88 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT But the cause, however imperfectly interpreted, is always some sort of unity of the spiritual life in which we learn to share whenever we begin to be loyal. The more we grow in loyalty and in insight into the meaning of our loyalty, the more we learn to think of some vast range of the unity of spiritual life as the reality to which all the other realities accessible to us are in one way or another subordinate, so that they express this unity, and show more or less what it means. I believe that a sound critical philosophy justifies the view that the loyal, precisely in so far as they view their cause as real, as a personal, but also as an over-individual, realm of genuine spiritual life, are comprehending, as far as they go, the deepest nature of things. Religion, in its higher sense, always involves a practical relation to a spiritual world which, in its significance, in its inclusiveness, in its unity, and in its close and comforting touch with our most intense personal concerns, fulfills in a supreme degree the requirements which loyalty makes when it LOYALTY AND INSIGHT seeks for a worthy cause. One may have a true religion without knowing the reason why it is true. One may also have false religious beliefs. But in any case the affiliation of the spirit of the higher religion with the spirit of loyalty has been manifest, I hope, from the outset of this discussion of loyalty. By religious insight one may very properly mean any significant and true view of an object of religious devotion which can be obtained by any reasonable means. In speaking of loyalty and insight I have also given an indication of that source of religious insight which I believe to be, after all, the surest, the most accessible, the most universal, and, in its deepest essence, the most rational. The problem of the modern philosophy of life is, we have said, the problem of keeping the spirit of religion, without falling a prey to superstition. At the outset of this lecture I told briefly why, in the modern world, we aim to avoid superstition. The true reason for this aim you now see better than at first I could state that reason. We 90 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT have learned, and wisely learned, that the great cause of the study of nature by scientific methods is one of the principal special causes to which man can be devoted ; for nothing serves more than the pursuit of the sciences serves to bind into unity the actual work of human civilization. To this cause of scientific study we have all learned to be, according to our lights, loyal. But the study of science makes us averse to the belief in magic arts, in supernatural interferences, in special providences. The scientific spirit turns from the legends and the superstitions that in the past have sundered men, have inflamed the religious wars, have filled the realm of imagination with good and evil spirits. Turns from these — to what .'' To a belief in a merely mechanical reality ? To a doctrine that the real world is foreign to our ideals ? To an assurance that life is vain ? No ; so to view the mission of the study of science is to view that mission falsely. The one great lesson of the triumph of science is the lesson of the vast significance of loyalty 91 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT ,to the cause of science. And this loyalty depends upon acknowledging the reality of a common, a rational, a significant unity of human experience, a genuine cause which men can serve. When the sciences teach us to get rid of superstition, they do this by virtue of a loyalty to the pursuit of truth which is, as a fact, loyalty to the cause of the spiritual unity of mankind : an unity which the students of science conceive in terms of an unity of our human experience of nature, but which, after all, they more or less unconsciously interpret , just as all the other loyal souls interpret their causes; namely, as a genuine living reality, a life superior in type to the individual lives which we lead — worthy of devoted service, significant, and not merely an incidental play of a natural mechanism. This unity of human experience reveals to us nature's mechanisms, but is itself no part of the mechanism which it observes. If, now, we do as our general philosophy of loyalty would require : if we take all our loyalties, in whatever forms they may appear, 92 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT as more or less enlightened but always practical revelations that there is an unity of spiritual life which is above our present natural level, which is worthy of our devotion, which can give sense to life, and which consists of facts that are just as genuinely real as are the facts and the laws of outer nature, — well, can we not thus see our way towards a religious insight which is free from superstition, which is indifferent to magic and to miracle, which accepts all the laws of nature just in so far as they are indeed known, but which nevertheless stoutly insists : "This world is no mere mechanism ; it is full of a spiritual unity that transcends mere nature" ? I believe that we can do this. I believe that what I have merely hinted to you is capable of a much richer development than I have here given to these thoughts. I believe, in brief, that in our loyalties we find our best sources of a genuinely religious insight. Men have often said, "The true source of religious insight is revelation ; for these matters are above the powers of human reason." 93 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT Now, I am not here to discuss or to criticize anybody's type of revelation. But this I know, and this the behevers in various supposed revelations have often admitted, — that unless the aid of some interior spiritual insight comes to be added to the merely external revelation, one can be left in doubt by all possible signs and wonders whereby the revelation undertakes to give us convincing external evidence. Religious faith, indeed, relates to that which is above us, but it must arise from that which is within us. And any faith which has indeed a worthy religious object is either merely a mystic ecstasy, which must then be judged, if at all, only by its fruits, or else it is a loyalty, which never exists without seeking to bear fruit in works. Now my thesis is that loyalty is essentially adoration with service, and that there is no true adoration without practical loyalty. If I am right, all of the loyal are grasping in their own ways, and according to their lights, some form and degree of religious truth. They have won religious insight; for they view something, at least, 94 LOYALTY AND INSIGHT of the genuine spiritual world in its real unity, and they devote themselves to that unity, to its enlargement and enrichment. And therefore they approach more and more to the comprehension of that true spiritual life whereof, as I suppose, the real world essentially consists. Therefore I find in the growth of the spirit of loyalty which normally belongs to any loyal life the deepest source of a genuinely significant religious insight which belongs to just that individual in just his stage of development. In brief : Be loyal ; grow in loyalty. Therein lies the source of a religious insight free from superstition. Therein also lies the solution of the problems of the philosophy of life. 95 ESSAY III WHAT IS VITAL IN CfflSTIANITY? ESSAY III WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY?' T" DO not venture to meet this company as one -*^ qualified to preach, nor yet as an authority in matters which are technically theological. My contribution is intended to present some thoughts that have interested me as a student of philosophy. I hope that one or another of these thoughts may aid others in formulating their own opinions, and in defining their own religious interests, whether these interests and opinions are or are not in agreement with mine. My treatment of the question, What is vital in Christianity ? will involve a study of three different special questions, which I propose to discuss in order, as follows : 1. What sort of faith or of practice is it that can be called vital to any religion.? 'Prepared for a series of addresses to the Young Men's Christian Association of Harvard University in 1909. 99 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? That is, By what criteria, in the case of any religion, can that which is vital be distinguished from that which is not vital ? 2. In the light of the criteria established by answering this first question, what are to be distinguished as the vital elements of Christianity ? 3. What permanent value, and in particular what value for us to-day, have those ideas and practices and religious attitudes which we should hold to be vital for Christianity ? The term "vital," as here used, obviously involves a certain metaphor. That is vital for a living organism without which that organism cannot live. So breathing is a vital affair for us all. That is vital for an organic type which is so characteristic of that type that, were such vital features changed, the type in question, if not altogether destroyed, would be changed into what is essentially another type. Thus the contrast between 100 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? gill breathing and lung breathing appears to be vital for the organic types in question. When we treat the social and mental life which is characteristic of a religion as if it were the life of an organism, or of a type or group of organisms, we use the word "vital" in accordance with the analogies thus indicated. If, with such a meaning of the word "vital," we turn to the religions that exist among men, we find that any religion presents itself to an observer as a more or less connected group: (1) of religious practices, such as prayers, ceremonies, festivals, rituals, and other observances, and (2) of religious ideas, the ideas taking the form of traditions, legends, and beliefs about the gods or about spirits. On the higher levels, the religious ideas are embodied in sacred books, and some of them are emphasized in formal professions of faith. They also come, upon these higher levels, into a certain union with other factors of spiritual life which we are hereafter to discuss. Our first question is, naturally. What is the more vital about a religion: its religious 101 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? practices, or its religious ideas, beliefs, and spiritual attitudes ? As soon as we attempt to answer this question, our procedure is somewhat different, according as we dwell upon the simpler and more ^primitive, or on the other hand upon the higher and more reflective and differentiated forms or aspects of religion. In primitive religions, and in the religious lives of many of the more simple-minded and less reflective people of almost any faith, however civilized, the religious practices seem' in general to be more important, and more vital for the whole structure of the religious life, than are the conscious beliefs which accompany the practices. I say this is true of primitive religions in general. It is also true for many of the simple-minded followers, even of very lofty religions. This rule is well known to the students of the history of reUgion in our day, and can easily be illustrated from some of the most familiar aspects of religious life. But it is a rule which, as I frankly confess, has frequently been ignored 102 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? or misunderstood by philosophers, as well as by others who have been led to approach religions for the sake of studying the opinions of those who hold them. In various religious ideas people may be very far apart, at the same moment when their religious practices are in close harmony. In the world at large, including both the civilized and the uncivilized, we may say that the followers of a cult are, in general, people who accept as binding the practices of that cult. But the followers of the same cult may accompany the acceptance of the cult with decidedly different interpretations of the reason why these practices are required of them, and of the supernatiu-al world which is supposed to be interested in the practices. In primitive religions this rule is exemplified by facts which many anthropologists have expressed by saying that, on the whole, in the order of evolution, religious practices normally precede at least the more definite religious beliefs. Men come to believe as they do regarding the nature of some supernatural 103 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? being, largely in consequence of the fact that they have first come to follow some course of conduct, not for any conscious reason at all, but merely from some instinctive tendency which by accident has determined this or that special expression. When the men come to observe this custom of theirs, and to consider why they act thus, some special religious belief often arises as a sort of secondary explanation of their practice. And this belief may vary without essentially altering either the practice or the religion. The pigeons in our college yard cluster about the benevolent student or visitor who feeds them. This clustering is the result of instinct and of their training in seeking food. The pigeons presumably have no conscious ideas or theories about the true nature of the man who feeds them. Of course, they are somehow aware of his presence, and of what he does, but they surely have only the most rudimentary and indefinite germs of ideas about what he is. But if the pigeons were to come to consciousness somewhat after the fashion of primitive 104 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? men, very probably they would regard this way of getting food as a sort of religious function and would begin to worship the visitor as a kind of god. If they did so, what idea about this god would be to them vital? Would their beliefs show that they first reasoned abstractly from effect to cause, and said, "He must be a being both powerful and benevolent, for otherwise his feeding of us in this way could not be explained"? Of course, if the pigeons developed into theologians or philosophers, they might reason thus. But if they came to self-consciousness as primitive men generally do, they would more probably say at first : "Behold, do we not cluster about him and beg from him, and coo to him ; and do we not get our food by doing thus ? He is, then, a being whom it is essentially worth while to treat in this way. He responds to our cooing and our clustering. Thus we compel him to feed us. Therefore he is a worshipful being. And this is what we mean by a god; namely, some one whom it is practically useful to con105 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? ciliate and compel by such forms of worship as we practice." If one passes from this feigned instance to the facts of early religious life, one easily observes illustrations of a similar process, both in children and in the more primitive religions of men. A child may be taught to say his prayers. His early ideas of God as a giver of good things, or as a being to be propitiated, are then likely to be secondary to such behavior. The prayers he often says long before he sees why. His elders, at least when they follow the older traditions of religious instruction, begin by requiring of him the practice of saying prayers ; and then they gradually initiate the child into the ruling ideas of what the practice means. But for such a stage of religious consciousness the prayer is more vital than the interpretation. In primitive religions taboo and ritual alike precede, at least in many cases, those explanations of the taboos and of the ritual practices which inquirers get in answer to questions about the present beliefs of the people con106 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? cerned. As religion grows, practices easily pass over from one religion to another, and through every such transition seem to preserve, or even to increase, their sacredness; but they get in the end, in each new religion into which they enter, a new explanation in terms of opinions, themselves producing, so to speak, the new ideas required to fit them to each change of setting. In this process the practices taken over may come to seem vital to the people concerned, as the Mass does to Catholics. But the custom may have preceded the idea. The Christmas and Easter festivals are well-known and classic examples of this process. Christianity did not [initiate them. It assimilated them. But it then explained why it did so by saying that it was celebrating the birth and resurrection of Christ. It is no part of my task to develop at length a general theory about this frequent primacy of religious practice over the definite formulation of religious belief. The illustrations of the process are, however, numerous. Even 107 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? on the higher levels of religious development, where the inner life comes to be emphasized, the matter indeed becomes highly complicated; but still, wherever there is an established church, the term "dissenter" often means in popular use a person who will not attend this church, or who will not conform to its practices, much more consciously and decidedly than it means a person whose private ideas about religious topics diflFer from those of the people with whom he is willing to worship, or whose rules he is willing to obey. Nevertheless, upon these higher levels a part of the religious requirement very generally comes to be a demand for some sort of orthodoxy. And therefore, upon this level, conformity of practice is indeed no longer enough. However the simple-minded emphasize practice, the religious body itself requires not only the right practice, but also the acceptance of a profession of faith. And on this higher level, and in the opinion of those concerned with the higher aspect of their religion, this acceptance must now be not 108 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? only a formal act but a sincere one. Here, then, in the life of the higher religions, belief tends to come into a position of primacy which results in a very notable contrast between the higher and the simpler forms and aspects of religious life. When religions take these higher forms, belief is at least officially emphasized as quite equivalent in importance to practice. For those who view matters thus, "He that believeth not shall be damned," an unbeliever is, as such, a foe of the religion in question, and of its gods and of its worshipers. As an infidel he is a miscreant, an enemy not only of the true faith but perhaps of mankind. In consequence, religious persecution and religious wars may come to seem, at least for a time, inevitable means of defending the faith. And those who outgrow, or who never pass through, this stage of warlike propaganda and of persecution may still insist that for them it is faith rather than practice which is the vital element of their religion. To what heights such a view of the religious life may attain, the Pauline 109 WHAT IS ViITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? epistles bear witness, "Through grace are ye saved." And grace comes by faith, or in the form of faith. II So far, then, we have two great phases or stages of reUgious Ufe. On the one stage it is rehgious practice; as such, that is for the people concerned the more vital thing. Their belief is relatively secondary to their practice, and may considerably vary, while the practice remains the unvarying, and, for them, vital feature. On the other, and no doubt higher, because more self-conscious, stage it is faith that assumes the conscious primacy. And on this second stage, if you believe not rightly, you have no part in the religion in question. That these two stages or phases of the life of religion are in practice closely intermingled, everybody knows. The primitive and the lofty are, in the religious life of civilized men, very near . together. The resulting entanglements furnish endlessly numerous problems for the religious life. For in all 110 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? the higher faiths those who emphasize the inner life make much of faith as a personal disposition. And this emphasis, contending as it does with the more primitive and simpleminded tendency to lay stress upon the primacy of religious practice, has often led to revolt against existing formalism, against ritual requirements, and so to reforms, to heresies, to sects, or to new world religions. Christianity itself, viewed as a world religion, was the outgrowth of an emphasis upon a certain faith, to which its new practices were to be, and were, secondary. On the other hand, the appeal that every religion makes to the masses of mankind is most readily interpreted in terms of practice. Thus the baptism of a whole tribe or nation, at the command of their chief, has been sometimes accounted conversion. A formal profession of a creed in such cases has indeed become an essential part of the requirements of the religion in question. But this profession itself can be regarded, and often is regarded by whole masses of the people concerned, as a ceremony to be per111 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? formed obediently, and no doubt willingly, rather than as an expression of any highly conscious inner conviction. In consequence, an individual worshiper may come to repeat the creed as a more or less magic charm, to ward off the demons who are known not to like to hear it ; or, again, the individual may rise and say the creed simply because the whole congregation at a certain point of the service has to do so. In particular, since the creeds of the higher faiths relate to what are regarded as mysteries, while the creed must be repeated by all the faithful, the required belief in the creed is often not understood to imply any clear or wise or even intelligent ideas about what the creed really intends to teach. Even in emphasizing belief, then, one may thus interpret it mainly in terms of a willing obedience. The savage converted to the Roman Catholic Church is indeed taught not only to obey, but to profess belief, and as far as possible to get some sort of genuine inner belief. But he is regularly told that for his imperfect stage of 112 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? insight it is enough if he is fully ready to say, "I believe what the church believes, both as far as I understand what the church believes and also as far as I do not understand what the church believes." And it is in this spirit that he must repeat the creed of the church. But his ideas about God and the world may meanwhile be as crude as his ignorance determines. He is still viewed as a Christian, if he is minded to accept the God of the church of the Christians, even though he still thinks of God as sometimes a visible and "magnified and non-natural" man, a corporeal presence sitting in the heavens, while the scholastic theologian who has converted him thinks of God as wholly incorporeal, as not situated in loco at all, as not even existent in time, but only in eternity, and as spiritual substance, whose nature, whose perfection, whose omniscience, and so on, are the topics of most elaborate definition. Thus, even when faith in a creed becomes an essential part of the requirements of a religion, one often meets, upon a much higher I 113 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? level, that primacy of tlie practical over the theoretical side of religion which the child's prayers, and the transplanted festivals, and the conceivable religion of the pigeons illustrate. The faithful convert and his scholastic teacher agree much more in religious practices than in conscious religious ideas. Meanwhile this very situation itself is regarded by all concerned as by no means satisfactory. And those followers of the higher faiths who take the inner life more seriously are never content with this acceptance of what seems to them merely external formalism. For them faith, whether it is accompanied with a clear understanding or not, means something essentially interior and deep dnd soul-transforming. Hence they continually insist that no one can satisfy God who does not rightly view God. And thus the conflict between the primacy of the practical and of the right faith constantly tends to assume new forms in the life of all the higher religions. The conflict concerns the question whether right practice or right belief is the more vital 114 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? element in religion. Well-known formulas, constantly repeated in religious instruction, profess to solve the problem once for all. But it remains a problem whose solution, if any solution at all is reached, has to be worked out afresh in the religious experience of each individual. Ill Some of you, to whom one of the bestknown solutions of the problem is indeed familiar enough, will no doubt have listened to this statement of the conflict between the primacy of religious practice and the primacy of religious belief with a growing impatience. What right-minded and really pious person does not know, you will say, that there is only one way to overcome this opposition, and that is by remembering that true religion is never an affair either of mere practice, apart from inner sincerity, or of theoretically orthodox opinions, apart from other inner experiences and interests ? Who does not know, you will say, that true religion is an affair of the whole 115 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? man, not of deeds alone, nor of the intellect alone, but of the entire spiritual attitude, — of emotion and of trust, — of devotion and of motive, — of conduct guided by an inner hght, and of conviction due to a personal contact with religious truth ? Who does not know that about this all the best Christian teachers, whether Catholic or Protestant, are agreed ? Who does not know that the Roman Catholic theologian who converts the savage regards his own personal salvation as due, in case he wins it, not to the theoretical accuracy of his theological formulations, but to the direct working of divine grace, which alone can prepare the soul for that vision of God which can never be attained by mere reasonings, but can be won only through the miraculous gift of insight prepared for the blessed in heaven ? Who has not learned that in the opinion of enlightened Christians the divine grace can for this very reason be as truly present in the humble and ignorant soul of the savage convert as in that of his learned and priestly confessor? Who, then, need 116 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? confound true faith with the power to formulate the mysteries of the faith, except in so far, indeed, as one trustingly accepts whatever one can understand of the teachings of the church ? It is indeed, you will insist, grace that saves, and through faith. But the saving faith, you will continue, is, at least in the present life, nothing theoretical. It is itself a gift of God. And it is essentially a spiritual attitude, — at once practical and such as to involve whatever grade of true knowledge is suited to the present stage of the soul in question. Herein, as some of you will say, the most enlightened and the most pious teachers of various religions, and certainly of very various forms of Christianity, are agreed. What is vital in the highest religion is neither the mere practice as external, nor the mere opinion as an internal formulation. It is the union of the two. It is the reaction of the whole spirit in the presence of an experience of the highest realities of human life and of the universe. If any of you at this point assert this to be 117 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? the solution of the problem as to what is vital in religion, if you insist that such spiritual gifts as the Pauline charity, and such emotional experiences as those of conversion, and of the ascent of the soul to God in prayer, and such moral sincerity as is the soul of all good works, are regarded by our best teachers as the really vital elements in religion, — you are insisting upon a solution of our problem which indeed belongs to a third, and no doubt to a very lofty phase of. the religious consciousness. And it is just this third phase or level of the religious consciousness that I am to try to study in these conferences. But were such a statement in itself enough to show every one of us precisely what this vital feature of the higher religions is, and just how it can be secured by every man, and just how our modern world, with all its doubts and its problems, is related to the solution just proposed, I should indeed have no task in these lectures but to repeat the well-known formula, to apply it briefly to the case of Christianity, and to leave the rest to your own personal experience. 118 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? IV But as a fact, and as most of you know by personal experience, the well-known proposal of a solution thus stated is to most of us rather the formulation of a new problem than the end of the whole matter. If this higher unity of faith and practice, of grace and right-mindedness, of the right conduct and the clear insight, of the knowledge of what is real and the feeling for the deepest values of life, — if all this is indeed the goal of the highest religions, and if it constitutes what their best teachers regard as vital, how far are many of us at the present day from seeing our way towards adapting any such solution to our own cases ! For us, the modern world is full of suggestions of doubt regarding the articles of the traditional creeds. The moral problems of our time, full of new perplexities, confuse us with regard to what ought to be done. Our spiritual life is too complex to be any longer easily unified, or to be unified merely in the ways useful for earlier generations. Our 119 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? individualism is too highly conscious to be easily won over to a mood of absorption in any one universal ideal. Our sciences are too complicated to make it easy for us to conceive the world either as a unity or as spiritual. The church is, for most of us, no longer one visible institution with a single authoritative constitution, but a variety of social organizations, each with its own traditions and values. The spirit of Christianity, which even at the outset Paul found so hard to formulate and to reduce to unity, can no longer be formulated by us precisely in his terms. Hence, some of us seek for some still simpler, because more primitive, type of Christianity. But when we look behind Paul for the genuinely primitive Christianity, we meet with further problems, one or two of which we are soon to formulate more precisely in this discussion. In brief, however vital for a religion may be its power to unify the whole man, outer and inner, practical and intellectual, ignorant and wise, emotional and critical, the situation of our time is such that this uni120 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? fication is no longer so presented to us by any one body of religious teaching, that we can simply accept it from tradition (since in the modern world we must both act and think as individuals for ourselves), nor that we can easily learn it from our own experience, since in these days our experience is no longer as full of the religiously inspiring elements as was the experience of the times of Jonathan Edwards, or of the Reformation, or of the founders of the great mediaeval religious orders, or of the early Christian church. If this unity of the spiritual life is to be reconquered, we must indeed take account of the old solutions, but we must give to them new forms, and adopt new ways, suited to the ideas and to the whole spirit of the modern world. Hence the proposed 'solution that I just rehearsed is simply the statement of the common program of all the highest religions of humanity. But how to interpret this program in terms which will make it of live and permanent meaning for the modern world, — this is precisely the religious problem of to-day. 121 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY ? To sum up, then, our answer to the first of my three problems; namely. What form of faith or of practice can be called vital to any religion ? I reply : In the case of any one of the more primitive religions it is, in general, the religious practices that are the most vital features of that religion; and these practices, in general, are vital in proportion as they are necessary to the social life of the tribe or nation amongst which they flourish, so that, when these vital practices die out, the nation in question either dwindles, or is conquered, or passes over into some new form of social order. Secondly, in the higher religions, because of the emphasis that they lay upon the inner life, and especially in the world religions, such as Buddhism, Mohammedanism, and Christianity, belief tends to become a more and more vital feature of the religions in question, and the beliefs — such as monotheism, or the acceptance of a prophet, or of a longer or shorter formulated creed — are vital to such a religion in ways and to degrees which the preachers and the missionaries, the 122 WHWT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? religious wars and the sectarian conflicts of these faiths illustrate, — vital in proportion as the men concerned are ready to labor or to die for these beliefs, or to impose them upon other men, or to insist that no one shall be admitted to the religious community who does not accept them. But thirdly, as soon as religious beliefs are thus emphasized as over against religious practices, the religious practices are not, thereby, in general set aside or even discouraged. On the contrary, they generally grow more numerous, and often more imposing. And consequently, in the minds of the more ignorant, or of the less earnest, of the faithful there appears throughout the life of these higher religions a constant tendency to revert to the more primitive type of religion, or else never, in fact, to rise above that type. Hence, even in the religions wherein conformity is understood to imply a sincere orthodoxy, the primacy of ritual or of other practice over against faith and the inner life constantly tends to hold its own. There arises in such religions 123 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? the well-known conflict of inner and outer, of faith and merely external works. This conflict remains a constant source of transformations, of heresies, and of reforms, in all these higher religions, and is in fact an irrepressible conflict so long as human nature is what it is. For a great mass of the so-called faithful, it is the conformity of practice that thus remains vital. But the teachers of the religion assert that the faith is vital. And now, fourthly, the higher religions, especially as represented in their highest type of teachings, are deeply concerned in overcoming and in reducing to unity this conflict of formal observance with genuine faith, wherever the conflict arises. The proposed \ solution which is most familiar, most promising, if it can be won, and most difficult to be won, is the solution which consists in asserting and in showing, if possible, in life, that what is most vital to religion is not practice apart from faith, nor faith apart from practice, but a complete spiritual reaction of the entire man, — • a reaction which, if pos124 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? sible, shall unite a right belief in the unseen world of the faith with the inner perfection and blessedness that ought to result from the indwelling of the truth in the soul, and with that power to do good works and to conform to the external religious requirements which is to be expected from one whose soul is at peace and lives in the light. In a word, what this solution supposes to be most vital to the highest religion is the union of faith and works through a completed spirituality. Meanwhile, as we have also seen, just our age is especially beset with the problem : How can such a solution be any longer an object of reasonable hope, when the faiths have become uncertain, the practices largely antiquated, our life and our duty so problematic, and our environment so uninspiring to our religious interests ? So much, then, for the first of our three problems. V It is now our task to consider the second of our questions. How does this problem re125 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? garding what is vital to a religion appear when we turn to the special case of Christianity ? Our review of the sorts of elements which are found vital upon the various levels of the religious consciousness will have prepared you to look at once for what is most vital about Christianity upon the third and highest of the three levels that I have enumerated. It is true that in the minds of great masses of the less enlightened and less devoted population of the Christian world certain religious practices have always been regarded as constituting the most vital features of their religion. These practices are especially those which for the people in question imply the obedient acceptance of the sacraments of the church. Of course for such, faith is indeed a condition for the efficacy of the sacraments. But faith expresses itself especially through and in one's relation to these sacraments. Such emphasis upon religious practices is inevitable, so long as human nature is what it is. But Christianity is obviously, upon all of its higher levels, essentially a religion of the 126 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? inner life; and for all those in any body of Christians who are either more devout or more enlightened the problem of the church has always included, along with other things, the problem of finding and formulating the true faith ; and such faith is, to such people, vital to their religion. In consequence of its vast successes in conquering, after a fashion, its own regions of the world, Christianity has had to undertake upon a very large scale, and over a long series of centuries, the task of adapting itself to the needs of peoples who were in very various, and often in very primitive, conditions of culture. Hence, in formulating its faith and practice, it has had full experience of the conflict between those who in a relatively childlike and primitive way regard religious practice as the primal evidence and expression of the possession of the true religion, and those who, on the contrary, insist primarily upon right belief and a rightly guided inner life as a necessary condition for such conduct as can be pleasing to God. Where, as in the case of the Roman Catholic Church, the effort 1273 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? to reconcile these two motives has the longest traditional expression, that is, where the most elaborate ojEcial definition of the saving faith has been deliberately joined with the most precise requirements regarding religious practice, the conflict of motives here in question has been only the more notable as a factor in the history of the church, — however completely for an individual believer this very conflict may appear to have been solved. In the Catholic doctrine of the sacraments, in the theory of the conditions upon which their validity depends, and of their effects upon the process of salvation, the most primitive of religious tendencies stand side by side with the loftiest spiritual interests in glaring contrast. On the one hand the doctrine of the sacraments appeals to primitive tendencies, because certain purely magical influences and incantations are! in question. The repetition of certain formulas and deeds acts as an irresistible miraculous charm. On the other hand the life of the spirit is furthered through the administration of these same 128 WHAT IS VITAL IN QHRISTIANITY ? sacraments by some of the deepest and most spiritual of influences, and by some of the most elevated forms of inner life which the consciousness of man has ever conceived. That there is an actual conflict of motives involved in this union of primitive magic with spiritual cultivation, the church in question has repeatedly found, when the greater schisms relating to the validity or to the interpretation of her sacraments have rent the unity of her body, and when, sometimes within her own fold, the mystics have quarreled with the formalists, and both with the modernists, of any period in which the religious life of the church was at all intense. Most of you will agree, I suppose, as to the sort of solution of such conflicts between the higher and lower aspects of Christianity which is to be sought, in case there is to be any hope of a solution. You will probably be disposed to say : What is vital in Christianity, if Christianity is permanently to retain its vitality at all in our modern world, must be defined primarily neither in terms of mere religious pracK 129 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? tice nor yet in terms of merely intellectual formulation, but in terms of that unity of will and intellect that may be expressed in the spiritual disposition of the whole man. You will say, What is vital in Christianity must be, if anything, the Christian interpretation of human life, and the life lived in the light of this interpretation. Such a life, you will insist, can never be identified by its formal religious practices, however important, or even indispensable, some of you may believe this or that religious practice to be. Nor can one reduce what is vital in Christianity merely to a formulated set of opinions, since, as the wellknown word has it, the devils also believe, and tremble, and, as some of you may be disposed benevolently to add, the philosophers also believe, and lecture. No, you will say, the Christian life includes practices, which may need to be visible and formal ; it includes beliefs, which may have to be discussed and formulated; but Christianity is, first of all, an interpretation of life, — an interpretation that is nothing if not practical, and also noth130 WHAT IS VITAL IX CHRISTIANITY? ing if not guided from within by a deep spiritual interest and a genuine religious experience. So fax we shall find it easy to agree regarding the principles of our inquiry. Yet, as the foregoing review of the historical conflicts of rehgion has shown us, we thus merely formu.late our problem. We stand at the outset of what we want to do. \Miat is that interpretation of life which is vital to Christianity ? How must a Christian undertake to solve his problem of his own personal salvation ? How shall he view the problem of the salvation of mankind ? What is that spiritual attitude which is essential to the Christian religion ? Thus our second problem now formulates itself. VI Amongst the coimtless efforts to answer these questions there are two which in these discussions we especially need to face. The two answers thus proposed differ decidedly from each other. Each is capable of leading various further and more special formulations 131 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? of opinion about the contents of the Christian rehgion. The first answer may be stated as follows : What is vital about Christianity is simply the spiritual attitude and the doctrine of Christ, as he himself taught this doctrine and this attitude in the body of his authentic sayings and parables, and as he lived all this out in his own life. All in Christianity that goes beyond this — all that came to the consciousness of the church after Christ's own teaching had been uttered and fiinished — either is simply a paraphrase, an explanation, or an application of the original doctrine of Christ, or else is not vital, — is more or less unessential, mythical, or at the very least external. Grasp the spirit of Christ's own teaching, interpret life as he interpreted it, and live out this interpretation of life as completely as you can, imitating him — and then you are in essence a Christian. Fail to comprehend the spirit of Christ, or to live out his interpretation of life, and you in so far fail to possess what is vital about Christianity. This, I say, 132 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? is the first of the two answers that we must consider. It is an answer well known to most of you, and an emphasis upon this answer characterizes some of the most important religious movements of our own time. The second answer is as follows : What is vital about Christianity depends upon regarding the mission and the life of Christ as an organic part of a divine plan for the redemp-j tion and salvation of man. While the doctrine of Christ, as his sayings record this doctrine, is indeed an essential part of this mission, one cannot rightly understand, above all one cannot apply, the teachings of Christ, one cannot live out the Christian interpretation of life, unless one first learns to view the person of Christ in its true relation to God, and the work of Christ as an entirely unique revelation and expression of God's will. The work of Christ, however, culminated in his death. Hence, as the historic church has always maintained, it is the cross of Christ that is the symbol of whatever is most vital about Christianity. As for the person of Christ as his life 133 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? revealed it, — what is vital in Christianity depends upon conceiving this personality in essentially superhuman terms. The prologue to the Fourth Gospel deliberately undertakes to state what for the author of that Gospel is vital in Christianity. This prologue does so by means of the familiar doctrine of the eternal Word that was the beginning, that was with God and was God, and that in Christ was made flesh and dwelt amongst men. Abandon this doctrine, and you give up what is vital in Christianity. Moreover, the work of Christ was essential to the whole relation of his own teachings to the life of men. Human nature being what it is, the teaching that Christ's sayings record cannot enter into the genuine life of any one who has not first been transformed into a new man by means of an essentially superhuman and divine power of grace. It was the work of Christ to open the way whereby this divine grace became and still becomes efficacious. The needed transformation of human nature, the change of life which according to Christ's sayings is neces134 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? sary as a condition for entering the kingdom of heaven, this is made possible through the effects of the life and death of Christ. This life and death were events whereby man's redemption was made possible, whereby the atonement for sin was accomplished. In brief, what is vital to Christianity includes an acceptance of the two cardinal doctrines of the incarnation and the atonement. For only in case these doctrines are accepted is it possible to interpret life in the essentially Christian way, and to live out this interpretation. Here are two distinct and, on the whole, opposed answers to the question. What is vital in Christianity .'' I hope that you will see that each of these answers is an effort to rise above the levels wherein either religious practice or intellectual belief is overemphasized. It is useless for the partisan of the Christianity of the prologue to the Fourth Gospel to accuse his modern opponent of a willingness to degrade Christ to the level of a mere teacher of morals, and Christianity to a mere practice 135 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? of good works. It is equally useless for one who insists upon the sufficiency of the gospel of Christ simply as Christ's recorded sayings teach it to accuse his opponent of an intention to make true religion wholly dependent upon the acceptance of certain metaphysical opinions regarding the superhuman nature of Christ. No, the opposition between these two views regarding what is vital in Christianity is an opposition that appears on the highest levels of the religious consciousness. It is not that one view says: "Christ taught these and these moral doctrines, and the practice of these teachings constitutes all that is vital in Christianity." It is not that the opposing view says: "Christ was the eternal Word made flesh, and a mere belief in this fact and in the doctrine of the atoning death is the vital feature of Christianity." No, both of these two views attempt to be views upon the third level of the religious consciousness, — views about the whole interpretation of the higher life, and of its relation to God and to the salvation of man. So far, neither view, as its lead136 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? ing defenders now hold it, can accuse the other of lapsing into those more primitive views of religion which I have summarized in the earlier part of this paper. And I have dwelt so long upon a preliminary view of the relations between faith and practice in the history of religion, because I wanted to clear the way for a study of our problem on its genuinely highest level, so that we shall henceforth be clear of certain old and uninspiring devices of controversy. Both parties are really trying to express what is vital in the Christian conception of life. Both view Christianity as a faith which gives sense to life, and also as a mode of life which is centered about a faith. The true dispute arises upon the highest levels. The question is simply this : Is the Gospel which Christ preached, that is, the teaching recorded in the authentic sayings and parables, intelligible, acceptable, vital, in case you take it by itself ? Or, does Christianity lose its vitality in case you cannot give a true sense to those doctrines of the incarnation and the to atonement which the traditional Christian 137 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? world has so long held and so deeply loved ? And furthermore, can you, in the light of modern insight, give any longer a reasonable sense to the traditional doctrines of the atonement and the incarnation ? In other words : Is Christianity essentially a religion of redemption in the sense in which tradition defined redemption ? Or is Christianity simply that religion of the love of God and the love of man which the sayings and the parables so richly illustrate ? However much, upon its lower levels, Christianity may have used and included the motives of primitive religion, this our present question is not reducible to the terms of the relatively lower conflict between a religion of creed and a religion of practice. The issue now defined concerns the highest interests of religious life. In favor of the traditional view that the essence of Christianity consists, first, in the doctrine of the superhuman person and the redemptive work of Christ, and, secondly, in the interpretative life that rests upon this 138 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? doctrine, stands the whole authority, such as it is, of the needs and religious experience of the church of Christian history. The church early found, or at least felt, that it could not live at all without thus interpreting the person and work of Christ. Against such an account of what is vital in Christianity stands to-day for many of us the fact that the doctrine in question seems to be, at least in the main, unknown to the historic Christ, in so far as we can learn what he taught, while both the evidence for the traditional doctrine and the interpretation of it have rested during Christian history upon reports which our whole modern view of the universe disposes many of us to regard as legendary, and upon a theology which many of us can no longer accept as literally true. Whether such objections are finally valid, we must later consider. I mention the objections here because they are familiar, and because in our day they lead many to turn from the tangles of tradition with a thankful joy and relief to the hopeful task of trying to study, to apply, 139 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? and to live the pure Gospel of Christ as he taught it in that body of sayings which, as many insist, need no legends to make them intelligible, and no metaphysics to make them sacred. Yet, as a student of philosophy, coming in no partisan spirit, I must insist that this reduction of what is vital in Christianity to the so-called pure Gospel of Christ, as he preached it and as it is recorded in the body of the presumably authentic sayings and parables, is profoundly unsatisfactory. The main argument for doubting that this so-called pure Gospel of Christ contains the whole of what is vital in Christianity rests upon the same considerations that led the historical church to try in its own way to interpret, and hence to supplement, this gospel by reports that may have been indeed full of the legendary, by metaphysical ideas that may indeed have been deeply imperfect, but by a deep instinctive sense of genuine religious values which after all, was indispensable for later humanity, — a sense of religious values which was a true 140 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? sense. For one thing, Christ can hardly be supposed to have regarded his most authentically reported religious sayings as containing the whole of his message, or as embodying the whole of his mission. For, if he had so viewed the matter, the Messianic tragedy in which his life work culminated would have been needless and unintelligible. For the rest, the doctrine that he taught is, as it stands, essentially incomplete. It is not a rounded whole. It looks beyond itself for a completion, which the master himself unquestionably conceived in terms of the approaching end of the world, and which the church later conceived in terms of what has become indeed vital for Christianity. As modern men, then, we stand between opposed views. Each view has to meet hostile arguments. Each can make a case in favor of its value as a statement of the essence of Christianity. On the one hand the Christ of the historically authentic sayings, — whose gospel is, after all, not to be understood except as part of a much vaster religious process ; 141 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? on the other hand the Christ of legend, whom it is impossible for us modern men longer to conceive as the former ages of the church often conceived him. Can we choose between the two ? Which stands for what is vital in Christianity ? And, if we succeed in defining this vital element, what can it mean to us to-day, and in the light of our modern world ? Thus we have defined our problems. Our next task is to face them as openly, as truthfully, and as carefully as our opportunity permits. VII Let us, then, briefly consider the first of the two views which have been set over against one another. The teachings of Christ which are preserved to us do indeed form a body of doctrine that one can survey and study without forming any final opinion about the historical character of the narratives with which these teachings are accompanied iji the three Synoptic Gospels. The early church preserved the 142 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? sayings, recorded them, no doubt, in various forms, but learned to regard one or two of the bodies of recorded sayings as especially important and authentic. The documents in which these earliest records were contained are lost to us; but our gospels, especially those of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, preserve the earlier tradition in a way that can be tested by the agreements in the reported sayings as they appear in the different gospels. It is of course true that some of the authentic teachings of Christ concern matters in regard to which other teachers of his own people had already reached insights that tended towards his own. But nobody can doubt that the sayings, taken as a whole, embody a new and profoundly individual teaching, and are what they pretend to be ; namely, at least a partial presentation of an interpretation of life, — an interpretation that was deliberately intended by the teacher to revolutionize the hearts and lives of those to whom the sayings were addressed. Since a recorded doctrine, simply taken in itself, and apart from any narrative, 143 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? is an unquestionable fact, and since a new and individual doctrine is a fact that can be explained only as the work of a person, it is plain that, whatever you think of the narrative portions of the gospels, your estimate of Christ's reported teachings may be freed at once from any of the perplexities that perhaps beset you as to how much you can find out about his life. So much at least he was; namely, the teacher of this doctrine. As to his life, it is indeed important to know that he taught the doctrine as one who fully meant it; that while he taught it he so lived it out as to win the entire confidence of those who were nearest to him; that he was ready to die for it, and for whatever else he believed to be the cause that he served; and that when the time came he did die for his cause. So much of the gospel narrative is with all reasonable certainty to be regarded as historical. So far, then, one has to regard the teaching of Christ as a perfectly definite object for historical study and personal imitation, and as, in its main outlines, an accessible tradition. 144 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? It is impossible to be sure of our tradition as regards each individual saying. But the main body of the doctrine stands before us as a connected whole, and it is in its wholeness that we are interested in comprehending its meaning. Now there is also no doubt, I have said, that this doctrine is intended as at least a part of an interpretation of hfe. For the explicit purpose of the teacher is to transform the inner life of his hearers, and thus to bring about, through this transformation, a reform of their individual outer life. It is, furthermore, sure that, while the teaching in question includes a moral ideal, it is no merely moral teaching, but is full of a profoundly religious interest. For the transformation of the inner life which is in question has to do with the whole relation of the individual man to God. And there are especially two main theses of the teacher which do indeed explicitly relate to the realm of the superhuman and divine world, and which therefore do concern what we may call religious metaphysics. That L 145 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? is, these theses are assertions about a reality that does not belong to the physical realm, and that is not confined to the realities which we contemplate when we consider merely ethical truth as such. The first of these religious theses relates to the nature of God. It is usually summarized as the doctrine of the Fatherhood of God. In its fuller statement it involves that account of the divine love for the individual man which is so characteristic and repeated a feature of the authentic sayings. The other thesis is what we now call judgment of value. It is the assertion of the infinite worth of each individual person, — an assertion richly illustrated in the parables, and used as the basis of the ethical teaching of Christ, since the value that God sets upon your brother is the deepest reason assigned to show why your own life should be one of love towards your brother. VIII So much for the barest suggestion of a teaching which you all know, and which I have not 146 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? here further to expound. Our present question is simply this : Is this the whole of what is vital to Christianity ? Or is there something vital which is not contained in these recorded sayings, so far as they relate to the matters just summarily mentioned ? The answer to this question is suggested by certain very well-known facts. First, these sayings are, in the master's mind, only part of a program which, as the event showed, related not only to the individual soul and its salvation, but to the reform of the whole existing and visible social order. Or, expressed in our modern terms, the teacher contemplated a social revolution, as well as the before-mentioned universal religious reformation of each individual life. He was led, at least towards the end of his career, to interpret his mission as that of the Messiah of his people. That the coming social revolution was conceived by him in divine and miraculous terms, that it was to be completed by the final judgment of all men, that the coming kingdom was to be not of this world, 147 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? in the sense in which the Roman Empire was of this world, but was to rest upon the directly visible triumph of God's will through the miraculous appearance of the chosen messenger who should execute this will, — all this regarding the conception which was in Christ's mind seems clear. But, however the coming revolution was conceived, it was to be a violent and supernatural revolution of the external social order, and it was to appear openly to all men upon earth. The meek, the poor, were to inherit the earth ; the mighty were to be cast down ; the kingdoms of this world were to pass away ; and the divine sovereignty was to take its visible place as the controller of all things. Now it is no part of my present task to endeavor to state any theory as to why the master viewed his kingdom of heaven, in part at least, in this way. You may interpret the doctrine as the church has for ages done, as a doctrine relating to the far-off future end of all human -affairs and to the supernatural mission of Christ as both Savior and Judge 148 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? of the world ; or you may view the revolution•ary purposes of the master as I myself actually do, simply as his personal interpretation of the Messianic traditions of his people and of the social needs of his time and of the then common but mistaken expectation of the near end of the world. In any case, if this doctrine, however brought about or interpreted, was for the master a vital part of his teaching, then you have to view the resulting interpretation of life accordingly. I need not say, however, that whoever to-day can still find a place for the Messianic hopes and for the doctrine of the last judgment in his own interpretation of Christianity has once for all made up his mind to regard a doctrine, — and a deeply problematic doctrine, — a profoundly metaphysical doctrine about the person and work of Christ, and about the divine plan for the salvation of man, — as a vital part of his own Christianity. And now, in this same connection, we can point out that, if the whole doctrine of Christ had indeed consisted for him in regarding 149 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? the coming of the kingdom of heaven as identical with the inner transformation of each man by the spirit of divine love, then that direct and open opposition to the existing social authorities of his people which led to the Messianic tragedy would have been for the master simply needless. Christ chose this plan of open and social opposition for reasons of his own. We may interpret these reasons as the historical church has done, or we may view the matter otherwise, as I myself do. In any case, Christ's view of what was vital in Christianity certainly included, but also just as certainly went beyond, the mere preaching of the kingdom of heaven that is within you. But one may still say, as many say who want to return to a purely primitive Christianity : Can we not choose to regard the religious doctrine of the parables and of the sayings, apart from the Messianic hopes and the anticipated social revolution, as for us vital and sufficient.^ Can we not decline to attempt to solve the Messianic mystery ? Is it 150 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? not for us enough to know simply that the master did indeed die for his faith, leaving his doctrine concerning the spiritual kingdom, concerning God the Father, and concerning man the beloved brother, as his final legacy to future generations ? This legacy was of permanent value. Is it not enough for us ? I reply : To think thus is obviously to view Christ's doctrine as he himself did not view it. He certainly meant the kingdom of heaven to include the inner transformation of each soul by the divine love. But he also certainly conceived even this spiritual transformation in terms of some sort of Messianic mission, which was related to a miraculous coming transformation of human society. In the service of this Messianic social cause he died. And now even in Christ's interpretation of the inner and spiritual life of the individual man there are aspects which you cannot understand unless you view them in the light of the Messianic expectation. I refer to the master's doctrine upon that side of it which emphasizes the passive nonresistance of the indi151 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? vidual man, in waiting for God's judgment. This side of Christ's doctrine has been frequently interpreted as requiring an extreme form of self-abnegation. It is this aspect of the doctrine which glorifies poverty as in itself an important aid to piety. In this sense, too, the master sometimes counsels a certain indifference to ordinary human social relations. In this same spirit his sayings so frequently illustrate the spirit of love by the mention of acts that involve the merely immediate relief of suffering, rather than by dwelling upon those more difficult and often more laborious forms of love, which his own life indeed exemplified, and which take the form of the lifelong service of a superpersonal social cause. I would not for a moment wish to overemphasize the meaning of these negative and ascetic aspects of the sayings. Christ's ethical doctrine was unquestionably as much a positive individualism as it was a doctrine of love. It was also as genuinely a stern doctrine as it was a humane one. Nobody un152 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? derstands it who reduces it to mere self-abnegation, or to nonresistance, or to any form of merely sentimental amiability. Nevertheless, as it was taught, it included sayings and illustrations which have often been interpreted in the sense of pure asceticism, in the sense of simple nonresistance, in the sense of an unworldliness that seems opposed to the establishment and the prizing of definite humanities, — yes, even in the sense of an anarchical contempt for the forms of any present worldly social order. In brief, the doctrine contains a deep and paradoxical opposition between its central assertion of the infinite value of love and of every individual human soul, on the one hand, and those of its special teachings, on the other hand, which seem to express a negative attitude towards all our natural efforts to assert and to sustain the values of life by means of definite social cooperation, such as we men can by ourselves devise. Now the solution of this paradox seems plain when we remember the abnormal social conditions of those whom Christ was 153 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? teaching, and interpret his message in the hght of his Messianic social mission with its coming miraculous change of all human relations. But in that case an important part of the sayings must be viewed as possessing a meaning which is simply relative to the place, to the people, to the time, and to those Messianic hopes of an early end of the existing social order, — hopes which we know to have been mistakenly cherished by the early church. I conclude, then, so far, that a simple return to a purely primitive Christianity as a body of doctrine complete in itself, directly and fully expressed in the sayings of Christ, and applicable, without notable supplement, to all times, and to our own day, — is an incomplete and therefore inadequate religious ideal. The spiritual kingdom of heaven, the transformation of the inner life which the sayings teach, is indeed a genuine part, — yes, a vital part, — of Christianity. But it is by no means the whole of what is vital to Christianity. 154 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? IX I turn to the second of the answers to our main question. According to this answer, Christianity is a redemptive religion. What is most vital to Christianity is contained in whatever is essential and permanent about the doctrines of the incarnation and the atonement. Now this is the answer which, as you will by this time see, I myself regard as capable of an interpretation that will turn it into a correct answer to our question. In answering thus, I do not for a moment call in question the just-mentioned fact that the original teaching of the master regarding the kingdom of heaven is indeed a vital part of the whole of Christianity. But I do assert that this so-called purely primitive Christianity is not so vital, is not so central, is not so essential , to mature Christianity as are the doctrines of the incarnation and the atonement when these are rightly interpreted. In the light of these doctrines alone can the work of the master be seen in its most genuine significance. 155 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? Yet, as has been already pointed out, the hteral acceptance of this answer to our question, as many still interpret the answer, seems to be beset by serious difficulties. These difficulties are now easily summarized. The historical Christ of the sayings and the parables, little as we certainly know regarding his life, is still a definite and, in the main, an accessible object of study and of interpretation, just because, whatever else he was, he was the teacher of this recorded interpretation of life, — whether or not you regard that recorded interpretation as a fully complete and rounded whole. But the Christ whom the traditional doctrines of the atonement and of the incarnation present to us appears in the minds of most of us as the Christ of the legends of the early church, — a being whose nature and whose reported supernatural mission seem to be involved in doubtful mysteries — mysteries both theological and historical. Now I am not here to tell you in detail why the modern mind has come to be unwilling to accept, as literal reports of historical facts, certain well-known 156 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? legends. I am not here to discuss that unwillingness upon its merits. It is enough for my present purpose to say first that the unwillingness exists, and, secondly, that, as a fact, I myself believe it to be a perfectly reasonable unwillingness. But I say this not at all because I suppose that modern insight has driven out of the reasonable world the reality of spiritual truth. The world of history is indeed a world full of the doubtful. And the whole world of phenomena in which you and I daily move about is a realm of mysteries. Nature and man, as we daily know them, and also daily misunderstand them, are not what they seem to us to be. The world of our usual human experience is but a beggarly fragment of the truth, and, if we take too seriously the bits of wisdom that it enables us to collect by the observation of special facts and of natural laws, it becomes a sort of curtain to hide from us the genuine realm of spiritual realities in the midst of which we all the while live. Moreover, it is one office of all higher religion to supplement these our fragments of experi157 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? ence and ordinary notions of the natural order by a truer, if still imperfect, interpretation of the spiritual realities that are beyond our present vision. That is, it is the business of religion to lift, however little, the curtain, to inspire us, not by mere dreams of ideal life, but by enlightening glimpses of the genuine truth which, if we were perfect, we should indeed see, not, as now, through a glass darkly, but face to face. All this I hold to be true. And yet I fully share the modern unwillingness to accept legends as literally true. For it is not by first repeating the tale of mere marvels, of miracles, — by dwelling upon legends, and then by taking the accounts in question as literally true historical reports, — it is not thus that we at present, in our modern life, can best help ourselves to find our way to the higher world. These miraculous reports are best understood when we indeed first dwell upon them lovingly and meditatively, but thereupon learn to view them as symbols, as the products of the deep and endlessly in158 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY P structive religious imagination, — and thereby learn to interpret the actually definite, and to my mind unquestionably superhuman and eternal, truth that these legends express, but express by figures, — in the form of a parable, an image, a narrative, a tale of some special happening. The tale is not literally true. But its deeper meaning may be absolutely true. In brief, I accept the opinion that it is the oflBce of religion to interpret truths which are in themselves perfectly definite, eternal, and literal, but to interpret them to us by means of a symbolism which is the product of the constructive imagination of the great ages in which the religions which first voiced these truths grew up. There are some truths which our complicated natures best reach first through instinct and intuition, through parable and legend. Only when we have first reached them in this way, can most of us learn to introduce the practical and indeed saving application of these truths into our lives by living out the spirit of these parables. But then at last we may also hope, in the fullness 159 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? of our own time, to comprehend these truths by a clearer insight into the nature of that eternal world which is indeed about and above us all, and which is the true source of our common life and light. I am of course saying all this not as one having authority. I am simply indicating how students of philosophy who are of the type that I follow are accustomed to view these things. In this spirit I will now ask you to look for a moment at the doctrines of the incarnation and of the atonement in some of their deeper aspects. It is a gain thus to view the doctrines, whether or no you accept literally the well-known miraculous tale. There has always existed in the Christian church a tradition tending to emphasize the conception that the supernatural work of Christ, which the church conceived in the form of the doctrines of the incarnation and the atonement, was not a work accomplished once for all at a certain historical point of time, but remains somehow an abiding work; 160 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? or, perhaps, that it ought to be viewed as a timeless fact, which never merely happened, but which is such as to determine anew in every age the relation of the faithful to God. Of course, the church has often condemned as heretical one or another form of these opinions. Nevertheless, such opinions have in fact entered into the formation of the official dogmas. An instance is the influence that such an interpretation had upon the historic doctrine of the Mass and of the real presence, — a doctrine which, as I have suggested, combines in one some of the most primitive of religious motives with some of the deepest religious ideas that men have ever possessed. In other less official forms, in forms which frequently approached, or crossed, the boundaries of technical heresy, some of the medieval mystics, fully believing in their own view of their faith, and innocent of any modern doubts about miracles, were accustomed in their tracts and sermons always and directly to interpret every part of the gospel narrative, including the miracles, as the expression of a M 161 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? vast and timeless whole of spiritual facts, whereof the narratives are merely symbols. In the sermons of Meister Eckhart, the great early German mystic, this way of preaching Christian doctrine is a regular part of his appeal to the people. I am myself in my philosophy no mystic, but I often wish that in our own days there were more who preached what is indeed vital in Christianity in somewhat the fashion of Eckhart. Let me venture upon one or two examples. Eckhart begins as follows a sermon on the text, "Who is he that is born king of the Jews " (Matthew ii. 2) : "Mark you," he says, "mark you concerning this birth, where it takes place. I say, as I have often said : This eternal birth takes place in the soul, and takes place there precisely as it takes place in the eternal world, — no more, no less. This birth happens in the essence, in the very foundation, of the soul." "All other creatures," he continues, "are God's footstool. But the soul is his image. This image must be adorned and fulfilled through this birth of God in the 162 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? soul." The birth, the incarnation, of God occurs then, so Eckhart continues, in every soul, and eternally. But, as he hereupon asks : Is not this then also true of sinners, if this incarnation of God is thus everlasting and universal ? Wherein lies then the difference between saint and sinner ? What special advantage has the Christian from this doctrine of the incarnation ? Eckhart instantly answers : Sin is simply due to the blindness of the soul to the eternal presence of the incarnate God. And that is what is meant by the passage : "The light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not." Or again, Eckhart expounds in a sermon the statement that Christ came "in the fullness of time"; that is, as people usually and literally interpret the matter, Christ came when the human race was historically prepared for his coming. But Eckhart is careless concerning this historical and literal interpretation of the passage in question, although he doubtless also believes it. For him the 163 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? true meaning of the passage is wholly spiritual. When, he asks in substance, is the day fulfilled ? At the end of the day. When is a task fulfilled.? When the task is over. When, therefore, is the fullness of time reached ? Whenever a man is in his soul ready to be done with time ; that is, when in contemplation he dwells only upon and in the eternal. Then alone, when the soul forgets time, and dwells upon God who is above time, then, and then only, does Christ really come. For Christ's coming means simply our becoming aware of what Eckhart calls the eternal birth ; that is, the eternal relation of the real soul to the real God. It is hard, in our times, to get any sort of hearing for such really deeper interpretations of what is indeed vital in Christianity. A charming, but essentially trivial, religious psychology to-day invites some of us to view religious experience simply as a chance playat-hide-and-seek with certain so-called subliminal mental forces and processes, whose crudely capricious crises and catastrophes ]64 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? shall have expressed themselves in that feverish agitation that some take to be the essence of all. Meanwhile there are those who today try to keep religion alive mainly as a more or less medicinal influence, a sort of disinfectant or anodyne, that may perhaps still prove its value to a doubting world by curing dyspepsia, or by removing nervous worries. Over against such modern tendencies, — humane, but stUl, as interpretations of the true essence of religion, essentially trivial, — there are those who see no hope except in holding fast by a literal acceptance of tradition. There are, finally, those who undertake the task, lofty indeed, but still, as I think, hopeless, — the task of restoring what they call a purely primitive Christianity. Now I am no disciple of Eckhart ; but I am sure that whatever is vital in Christianity concerns in fact the relation of the real individual human person to the real God. To the minds of the people whose religious tradition we have inherited this relation first came through the symbolic interpretation that the early church gave to the 165 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? life of the master. It is this symboUc interpretation which is the historical legacy of the church. It is the genuine and eternal truth that lies behind this symbol which constitutes what is indeed vital to Christianity. I personally regard the supernatural narratives in which the church embodied its faith simply as symbols, — the product indeed of no man's effort to deceive, but of the religious imagination of the great constructive age of the early church. I also hold that the truth which lies behind these symbols is capable of a perfectly rational statement, that this statement lies in the direction which Eckhart, mistaken as he often was, has indicated to us. The truth in question is independent of the legends. It relates to eternal spiritual facts. I maintain also that those who, in various ages of the church, and in various ways, have tried to define and to insist upon what they have called the "Essential Christ," as distinguished from the historical Christ, have been nearing in various degrees the comprehension of what is vital in Christianity. 166 WHAT IS. VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? What is true must be capable of expression apart from legends. What is eternally true may indeed come to our human knowledge through any event that happens to bring the truth in question to our notice; but, once learned, this truth may be seen to be independent of the historical events, whatever they were, which brought about our own insight. And the truth about the incarnation and the atonement seems to me to be statable in terms which I must next briefly indicate. First, God, as our philosophy ought to conceive him, is indeed a spirit and a person ; but he is not a being who exists in separation from the world, simply as its external creator. He expresses himself in the world; and the world is simply his own life, as he consciously lives it out. To use an inadequate figure, God expresses himself in the world as an artist expresses himself in the poems and the characters, in the music or in the other artistic creations, that arise within the artist's con167 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? sciousness and that for him and in him consciously embody his will. Or again, God is this entire world, viewed, so to speak, from above and in its wholeness as an infinitely complex life which in an endless series of temporal processes embodies a single divine idea. You can indeed distinguish, and should distinguish, between the world as our common sense, properly but fragmentarily, has to view it, and as our sciences study it, — between this phenomenal world, I say, and God, who is infinitely more than any finite system of natural facts or of human lives can express. But this distinction between God and world means no separation. Our world is the fragmentary phenomenon that we see. God is the conscious meaning that expresses itself in and through the totality of all phenomena. The world, taken as a mass of happenings in time, of events, of natural processes, of single lives, is nowhere, and at no time, any complete expression of the divine will. But the entire world, of which our known world is a fragment, — the totality of what is, past, present, 168 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? and future, the totality of what is physical and of what is mental, of what is temporal and of what is enduring, — this entire world is present at once to the eternal divine consciousness as a single whole, and this whole is what the absolute chooses as his own expression, and is what he is conscious of choosing as his own life. In this entire world God sees himself lived out. This world, when taken in its wholeness, is at once the object of the divine knowledge and the deed wherein is embodied the divine will. Like the Logos of the Fourth Gospel, this entire world is not only with God, but is God. As you see, I state this doctrine, for the moment, quite summarily and dogmatically. Only an extensive and elaborate philosophical discussion could show you why I hold this doctrine to be true. Most of you, however, have heard of some such doctrine as the theory of the Divine Immanence. Some of you are aware that such an interpretation of the nature of God constitutes what is called philosophical Idealism. I am not here defending, nor even 169 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? expounding, this doctrine. I believe, however, that this is the view of the divine nature which the church has always more or less intuitively felt to be true, and has tried to express, despite the fact that my own formulation of this doctrine includes some features which in the course of the past history of dogma have been upon occasion formally condemned as heresy by various church authorities. But for my part I had rather be a heretic, and appreciate the vital meaning of what the church has always tried to teach, than accept this or that traditional formulation, but be unable to grasp its religiously significant spirit. Dogmatically, then, I state what, indeed, if there were time, I ought to expound and to defend on purely rational grounds. God and his world are one. And this unity is not a dead natural fact. It is the unity of a conscious life, in which, in the course of infinite time, a divine plan, an endlessly complex and yet perfectly definite spiritual idea, gets expressed in the lives of countless finite beings 170 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? and yet with the unity of a single universal life. Whoever hears this doctrine stated, asks, however, at once a question, — the deepest, and also the most tragic question of our present poor human existence : Why, then, if the world is the divine life embodied, is there so much evil in it, — so much darkness, ignorance, misery, disappointment, warfare, hatred, disease, death ? — in brief, why is the world as we know it full of the unreasonable? Are all these gloomy facts but illusions, bad dreams of our finite existence, — facts unknown to the very God who is, and who knows, all truth ? No, — that cannot be the answer ; for then the question would recur : Why are these our endlessly tragic illusions permitted ? Why are we allowed by the world-plan to be so unreasonable as to dream these bad dreams which fill our finite life, and which in a way constitute this finite life ? And that question would then be precisely equivalent to the former question, and just as hard to solve. In brief, the problem of evil is the great prob171 WHAT IS VIiTAL IN CHRISTIANITY? lem that stands between our ordinary finite view and experience of life on the one hand and our consciousness of the reasonableness and the unity of the divine life on the other hand. Has this problem of evil any solution? I believe that it has a solution, and that this solution has long since been in substance grasped and figured forth in symbolic forms by the higher religious consciousness of our race. This solution, not abstractly stated, but intuitively grasped, has also expressed itself in the lives of the wisest and best of the moral heroes of all races and nations of men. The value of suffering, the good that is at the heart of evil, lies in the spiritual triumphs that the endurance and the overcoming of evil can bring to those who learn the hard, the deep but glorious, lesson of life. And of all the spiritual triumphs that the presence of evil makes possible, the noblest is that which is won when a man is ready, not merely to bear the ills of fortune tranquilly if they come, as the Stoic moralists required their 172 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? followers to do, but when one is willing to suffer vicariously, freely, devotedly, ills that he might have avoided, but that the cause to which he is loyal, and the errors and sins that he himself did not commit, call upon him to suflEer in order that the world may be brought nearer to its destined union with the divine. In brief, as the mystics themselves often have said, sorrow — wisely encountered and freely borne — is one of the most precious privileges of the spiritual life. There is a certain lofty peace in triumphing over sorrow, which brings us to a consciousness of whatever is divine in life, in a way that mere joy, untroubled and unwon, can never make known to us. Perfect through suffering, — that is the universal, the absolutely necessary law of the higher spiritual life. It is a law that holds for God and for man, for those amongst men who have already become enlightened through learning the true lessons of their own sorrows, and for those who, full of hope, still look forward to a life from which they in the main anticipate joy and worldly success, and who 173 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? have yet to learn that the highest good of life is to come to them through whatever willing endurance of hardness they, as good soldiers of their chosen loyal service, shall learn to choose or to endure as their offering to their sacred cause. This doctrine that I now state to you is indeed no ascetic doctrine. It does not for a moment imply that joy is a sin, or an evil symptom. What it does assert is that as long as the joys and successes which you seek are expected and sought by you simply as good fortune, which you try to win through mere cleverness — through mere technical skill in the arts of controlling fortune, — so long, I say, as this is your view of life, you know neither God's purpose nor the truth about man's destiny. Our always poor and defective skill in controlling fortune is indeed a valuable part of our reasonableness, since it is the natural basis upon which a higher spiritual life may be built. Hence the word, "Young men, be strong," and the common-sense injunction, "Be skillful, be practical," are good counsel. And so health, and physical prowess, and 174 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? inner cheerfulness, are indeed wisely viewed as natural foundations for a higher life. But the higher life itself begins only when your health and your strength and your skill and your good cheer appear to you merely as talents, few or many, which you propose to devote, to surrender, to the divine order, to whatever ideal cause most inspires your loyalty, and gives sense and divine dignity to your life, — talents, I say, that you intend to return to your master with usury. And the work of the higher life consists, not in winning good fortune, but in transmuting all the transient values of fortune into eternal values. This you best do when you learn by experience how your worst fortune may be glorified, through wise resolve, and through the grace that comes from your conscious union with the divine, into something far better than any good fortune could give to you ; namely, into a knowledge of how God himself endures evil, and triumphs over it, and lifts it out of itself, and wins it over to the service of good. The true and highest values of the spiritual 175 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? world consist, I say, in the triumph over suffering, over sorrow, and over unreasonableness; and the triumph over these things may appear in our human lives in three forms : First, as mere personal fortitude, — as the stoical virtues in their simplest expression. The stoical virtues are the most elementary stage of the higher spiritual life. Fortitude is indeed required of every conscious agent who has control over himself at all. And fortitude, even in this simplest form as manly and strenuous endurance, teaches you eternal values that you can never learn unless you first meet with positive ills of fortune, and then force yourself to bear them in the loyal service of your cause. Willing endurance of suffering and grief is the price that you have to pay for conscious fidelity to any cause that is vast enough to be worthy of the loyalty of I a lifetime. And thus no moral agent can be I made perfect except through suffering borne I in the service of his cause. Secondly, the triumph over suffering appears in the higher form of that conscious union with the divine 176 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? plan which occurs when you learn that love, and loyalty, and the idealizing of life, and the most precious and sacred of all human relationships, are raised to their highest levels, are glorified, only when we not merely learn in our own personal case to suffer, to sorrow, to endure, and be spiritually strong, but when we learn to do these things together with our own brethren. For the comradeship of those who willingly practice fortitude not merely as a private virtue, but as brethren in sorrow, is a deeper, a sweeter, a more blessed comradeship than ever is that of the lovers who have not yet been tried so as by fire. Then the deepest trials of life come to you and your friend together; and when, after the poor human heart has indeed endured what for the time it is able to bear of anguish, it finds its little moment of rest, and when you are able once more to clasp the dear hand that would help if it could, and to look afresh into your friend's eyes and to see there the light of love as you could never see it before, — then, even in the darkness of this world, you catch some faint N 177 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? far-off glimpse of how the spirit may yet triumph despite all, and of why sorrow may reveal to us, as we sorrow and endure together, what we should never have known of life, and of love, and of each other, and of the high places of the spirit, if this cup had been permitted to pass from us. But thirdly, and best, the triumph of the spirit over suffering is revealed to us not merely when we endure, when we learn through sorrow to prize our brethren more, and when we learn to see new powers in them and even in our poor selves, powers such as only sorrow could bring to light, — but when we also turn back from such experiences to real life again, remembering that sorrow's greatest lesson is the duty of offering ourselves more than ever to the practical service of some divine cause in this world. When one is stung to the heart and seemingly wholly overcome by the wounds of fortune, it sometimes chances that he learns after a while to arise from his agony, with the word : "Well then, if, whether by my own fault or without it, I must descend into hell, 178 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHjRISTIANITY ? I will remember that in this place of sorrow there are the other souls in torment, seeking light; I will help them to awake and arise. As I enter I will open the gates of hell that they may go forth." Whatever happens to me, I say, this is a possible result of sorrow. I have known those men and women who could learn such a lesson from sorrow and who could practice it. These are the ones who, coming up through great tribulation, show us the highest glimpse that we have in this life of the triumph of the spirit over sorrow. But these are the ones who are willing to suffer vicariously, to give their lives as a ransom for many. These tell us what atonement means. Well, these are, after all, but glimpses of truth. But they show us why the same law holds for all the highest spiritual life. They show us that God too must sorrow in order that he may triumph. Now the true doctrine of the incarnation and of the atonement is, in its essence, simply the conception of God's nature which this solution of the problem of evil requires. First, 179 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? God expresses himself in this world of finitude, incarnates himself in this realm of human imperfection, but does so in order that through finitude and imperfection, and sorrow and temporal loss, he may win in the eternal world (that is, precisely, in the conscious unity of his whole life) his spiritual triumph over evil. In this triumph consists his highest good, and ours. It is God's true and eternal triumph that speaks to us through the well-known word: "In this world ye shall have tribulation. But fear not; I have overcome the world." Mark, I do not say that we, just as we naturally are, are already the true and complete incarnation of God. No, it is in overcoming evil, in rising above our natural unreasonableness, in looking towards the divine unity, that we seek what Eckhart so well expressed when he said, Let God be born in the soul. Hence the doctrine of the incarnation is no doctrine of the natural divinity of man. It is the doctrine which teaches that the world will desires our unity with the universal purpose, that God will be born in us 180 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? and through our consent, that the whole meaning of our life is that it shall transmute transient and temporal values into eternal meanings. Humanity becomes conscious God incarnate only in so far as humanity looks godwards ; that is, in the direction of the whole unity of the rational spiritual life. And now, secondly, the true doctrine of the atonement seems to me simply this : We, as we temporally and transiently are, are destined to win our union with the divine only through learning to triumph over our own evil, over the griefs of fortune, over the unreasonableness and the sin that now beset us. This conquest we never accomplish alone. As the mother that bore you suffered, so the world suffers for you and through and in you until you win your peace in union with the divine will. Upon such suffering you actually depend for your natural existence, for the toleration which your imperfect self constantly demands from the world, for the help that your helplessness so often needs. When you sorrow, then, remember that God sor181 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? rows, — sorrows in you, since in all your finitude you still are part of his life ; sorrows for you, since it is the intent of the divine spirit, in the plan of its reasonable world, that you should not remain what you now are; and sorrows, too, in waiting for higher fulfillment, since indeed the whole universe needs your spiritual triumph for the sake of its completion. On the other hand, this doctrine of the atonement means that there is never any completed spiritual triumph over sorrow which is not accompanied with the willingness to suffer vicariously ; that is, with the will not merely to endure bravely, but to force one's very sorrow to be an aid to the common cause of all mankind, to give one's life as a ransom for one's cause, to use one's bitterest and most crushing grief as a means towards the raising of all life to the divine level. It is not enough to endure. Your duty is to make your grief a source of blessing. Thus only can sorrow bring you into conscious touch with the universal life. Now all this teaching is old. The church 182 WHAT IS VITAL IN CHRISTIANITY? began to learn its own version of this solution of the problem of evil when first it sorrowed over its lost master; when first it began to say: "It was needful that Christ should suffer"; when first in vision and in legend it began to conceive its glorified Lord. When later it said, "In the God-man Christ God suffered, once for all and in the flesh, to save us ; in him alone the Word became flesh and dwelt among us," the forms of its religious imagination were transient, but the truth of which these forms were the symbol was everlasting. And we sum up this truth in two theses : First, God wins perfection through expressing himself in a finite life and triumphing over and through its very finitude. And secondly, Our sorrow is God's sorrow. God means to express himself by winning us through the very triumph over evil to unity with the perfect life ; and therefore our fulfillment, like our existence, is due to the sorrow and the triumph of God himself. These two theses express, I believe, what is vital in Christianity. 183 ESSAY IV THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH IN THE LIGHT OF RECENT DISCUSSION ESSAY IV THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH IN THE LIGHT OF RECENT DISCUSSION! r MHE question : What is Truth ? is a typical philosophical problem. But it has been by no means at all times equally prominent throughout the history of philosophy. The ages in which it has come to the front have been those wherein, as at present, a keenly critical spirit has been predominant. At such times metaphysical interests are more or less subordinated, for a while, to the problems about method, to logical researches, or to the investigations which constitute a Theory of Knowledge. Such periods, as we know, have recurred more than once since scholastic philosophy declined. And such a period was that which Kant dominated. But the sort of inquiry 1 An address delivered before the International Congress of Philosophy at Heidelberg, in September, 1908. 187 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH into the nature of truth which Kant's doctrine initiated quickly led, at the close of the eighteenth century, to a renewed passion for metaphysical construction. The problem regarding the nature of truth still occupied a very notable place in the doctrine of Fichte. It constituted one of the principal concerns, also, of Hegel's so much neglected and illunderstood "Phanomenologie des Geistes." And yet both in the minds of the contemporaries of Fichte and of Hegel, and still more in those of their later disciples and opponents, the problem of truth went again into the background when compared with the metaphysical, the ethical, and the theological interests which constructive idealism and its opponents, in those days, came to represent. Hence wherever one looks, in the history of philosophical opinion between 1830 and 1870, one sees how the problem of truth, although never wholly neglected, still remained, for some decades, out of the focus of philosophical interest. But the scene rapidly changed about and after the year 1870. Both the new psychol188 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION ogy and the new logic, which then began to flourish, seemed, erelong, almost equally to emphasize the importance of a reconsideration of the problem as to the nature of truth. These doctrines did this, especially because the question whether logic was henceforth to be viewed as a part of psychology became once more prominent, so soon as the psychological researches then undertaken had attracted the strong interest of the philosophical public. And meanwhile the revived interest in Kant, growing, as it did, side by side with the new psychology, called for a reinterpretation of the problems of the critical philosophy. The reawakening of Idealism, in England and in America, called attention, in its own way, to the same problem. The modern philosophical movement in France, — a movement which was, from the outset, almost equally made up of a devotion to the new psychology and of an interest in the philosophy of the sciences, has cooperated in insisting upon the need of a revision of the theory of truth. And to complete the story of the latest philosophy, recent 189 THE PROBLEM, OF TRUTH tendencies in ethics, emphasizing as they have done the problems of individuahsm, and demanding a far-reaching reconsideration of the whole nature of moral truth, have added the weight of their own, often passionate, interest to the requirements which are here in question. The total result is that we are just now in the storm and stress of a reexamination of the whole problem of truth. About this problem the philosophical interest of to-day centers. Consequently, whether you discuss the philosophy of Nietzsche or of mathematics, — whether the Umwertung aller Werte or the "class of all classes," — whether Mr. Russell's " Contradiction " or the Uebermensch is in question, — or whether none of these things attract you at all, so that your inquiries relate to psychology, or to evolution, or to the concepts of the historical sciences, or to whatever other region of philosophy you please, — always the same general issue has sooner or later to be faced. You are involved in some phase of the problem about the nature of truth. 190 IN THE LIGH.T OF DISCUSSION So much, then, as a bare indication of the historical process which has led us into our present position. I propose, in the present address, to offer an interpretation of some of the lessons that, as I think, we may learn from the recent discussions of the problem whose place in all our minds I have thus indicated. It seems natural to begin such a discussion by a classification of the main motives which are represented by the principal recent theories regarding the nature of truth. In enumerating these motives I need not dwell, in this company, upon those historical inferences and traditions whose presence in recent thought is most easily and universally recognized. That Empiricism, — due to the whole history of the English school, modified in its later expressions by the Positivism of a former generation, and by the types of Naturalism which have resulted from the recent progress of the special sciences, — that, I say, such empiricism has affected our modern discussion 191 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH of the nature of truth, — this we all recognize. I need not insist upon this fact. Moreover, the place which Kant occupies in the history of the theory of truth, — that again is something which it is needless here to emphasize. And that the teaching of Fichte and of Hegel, as well as still other idealistic traditions, are also variously represented by present phases of opinion regarding our problem, we shall not now have to rehearse. I presuppose, then, these historical commonplaces. It is not, however, in terms of these that I shall now try to classify the motives to which the latest theories of truth are due. These recent motives, viewed apart from those unquestionably real influences of the older traditions of the history of philosophy are, to my mind, three in number : First, there is the motive especially suggested to us modern men by the study of the history of institutions, by our whole interest in what are called evolutionary processes, and by a large part of our recent psychological investigation. This is the motive which leads 192 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION many of us to describe human life altogether as a more or less progressive adjustment to a natural environment. This motive incites us, therefore, to Judge all human products and all human activities as instruments for the preservation and enrichment of man's natural existence. Of late this motive, whose modern forms are extremely familiar, has directly affected the theory of truth. The result appears in a part, although not in the whole, of what the doctrines known as Instrumentalism. Humanism, and Pragmatism have been of late so vigorously teaching, in England, in America, in Italy, in France, and, in still other forms, in Germany. From the point of view which this motive suggests, human opinions, judgments, ideas, are part of the effort of a live creature to adapt himself to his natural world. Ideas and beliefs are, in a word, organic functions. And truth, in so far as we men can recognize truth at all, is a certain value belonging to such ideas. But this value itself is simply like the value which any natural organic function o 193 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH possesses. Ideas and opinions are instruments whose use lies in the fact that, if they are the right ones, they preserve life and render life stable. Their existence is due to the same natural causes that are represented in our whole organic evolution. Accordingly, assertions or ideas are true in proportion as they accomplish this their biological and psychological function. The value of truth ■As itself a biological and psychological value. The true ideas are the ones which adapt us for life as human beings. Truth, therefore, grows with our growth, changes with our needs, and is to be estimated in accordance with our success. The result is that all truth is as relative as it is instrumental, as human as it is useful. The motive which recent Instrumentalism or Pragmatism expresses, in so far as it takes this view of the nature of truth, is of course in one sense an ancient motive. Every cultivated nation, upon beginning to think, recognizes in some measure such a motive. The Greeks knew this motive, and deliberately 194 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION connected both the pursuit and the estimate of truth with the art of life in ways whose problematic aspects the Sophists already illustrated. Socrates and his followers, and later the Stoics as well as the Epicureans, also considered, in their various ways, this instrumental aspect of the nature of truth. And even in the Hindoo Upanishads one can find instances of such humanistic motives influencing the inquiry into the problem of truth. But it is true that the historical science of the nineteenth century, beginning, as it did, with its elaborate study of the history of institutions, and culminating in the general doctrines regarding evolution, has given to this motive an importance and a conscious definiteness such as makes its recent embodiment in Pragmatism a very modern and, in many ways, a novel doctrine about the nature of truth. II But closely bound up with this first motive in our recent thinking there is a second motive, which in several ways very strongly con195 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH trasts with the first. Yet in many minds these two motives are so interwoven that the writers in question are unaware which motive they are following when they utter their views about the nature of truth. No doubt one may indeed recognize the contrast between these motives, and may, nevertheless, urge good reasons for following in some measure both of them, each in its own way. Yet whoever blindly confuses them is inevitably led into hopeless contradictions. As a fact, a large number of our recent pragmatists have never learned consciously to distinguish them. Yet they are indeed easy to distinguish, however hard it may be to see how to bring them into a just synthesis. This second motive is the same as that which, in ethics, is responsible for so many sorts of recent Individualism. It is the motive which in the practical realm Nietzsche glorified. It is the longing to be self-possessed and inwardly free, the determination to submit to no merely external authority. I need not pause to dwell upon the fact that, 196 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION in its application to the theory of truth, precisely as in its well-known applications to ethics, this motive is Protean. Every one of us is, I suppose, more or less under its influence. Sometimes, this motive appears mainly as a skeptical motive. Then it criticizes, destructively, traditional truth and thereupon leaves us empty of all assurances. But sometimes it assumes the shape of a sovereign sort of rationalism, whereby the thinking subject, first rebelling against outer authority, creates his own laws, but then insists that all others shall obey these laws. In other cases, however, it takes the form of a purely subjective idealism, confident of its own but claiming no authority. Or again, with still diflFerent results, it consciously unites its ethical with its theoretical interests, calls itself "Personal Idealism," and regards as its main purpose, not only the freeing of the individual from all spiritual bondage, theoretical and practical, but also the winning for him of an inner harmony of life. In general, in its highest as in 197 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH some of its less successful embodiments, when it considers the sort of truth that we ought most to pursue, this motive dwells, as Professor Eucken has so effectively taught it to dwell, upon the importance of a Lebensanschauung as against the rigidity and the pretended finality of a mere Weltanschauung. But meanwhile, upon occasion, this same motive embodies itself in various tendencies of the sort known as Irrationalism. In this last case, it points out to us how the intelligence, after all, is but a single and a very narrow function of our nature, which must not be allowed to supersede or even too much to dominate the rest of our complex and essentially obscure, if fascinating, life. Perhaps, on the very highest levels of life, as it hereupon suggests to us : Gefiihl ist alles. If not, then at all events, we have the alternative formula : Im Anfang war die Tat. Or, once again, the solving word of the theory of truth is Voluntarism. Truth is won by willing, by creative activities. The doer, or perhaps the deed, not only finds, but is, the truth. Truth 198 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION is not to be copied, but to be created. It is living truth. And life is action. I have thus attempted to indicate, by wellknown phrases, the nature of this second motive, — one whose presence in our recent theories of truth I believe that you will all recognize. Despite the Protean character and (as you will all at once see) the mutually conflicting characters of its expressions, you will observe, I think, its deeper unity, and also its importance as an influence in our age. With us at present it acts as a sort of ferment, and also as an endless source of new enterprises. It awakens us to resist the most various kinds of doctrinal authority, — scientific, clerical, academic, popular. It inspires countless forms of Modernism, both within and without the boundaries of the various confessions of Christendom. As an effective motive, one finds it upon the lowest as also upon the highest levels of our intellectual and moral life. In some sense, as I have said, we all share it. It is the most characteristic and the most problematic of the motives of the 199 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH modern world. Anarchism often appeals to it; yet the most saintly form of devotion, the most serious efforts for the good of mankind, and our sternest and loftiest spiritual leaders, agree in employing it, and in regarding it as in some sense sacred. Our age shares this motive with the age of the French Revolution, of the older Idealistic movement, and of the Romantic School. All the more unfortunate, as I think, is the fact that many who glory in the originality of their own recent opinions about the nature of truth, know so little of the earlier history of this motive, read so seldom the lesson of the past, and are thus so ill-prepared to appreciate both the spiritual dignity and the pathetic paradox of this tendency to make the whole problem of truth identical with the problem of the rights and the freedom of the individual. Ill I turn herewith to the third of the motives that I have to enumerate. In its most general form it is a very ancient and familiar motive. 200 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION It is, indeed, very diflferent from both of the foregoing. Superficially regarded, it seems, at first sight, less an expression of interests that appear ethical. At heart, however, it is quite as deep a motive as either of the others, and it is in fact a profoundly ethical motive as well as a genuinely intellectual one. One may say that, in a sense and to some degree, it pervades the whole modern scientific movement, is present wherever two or three are gathered together for a serious exchange of scientific opinions, and is, in most cases, the one motive that, in scientific assemblies, is more or less consciously in mind whenever somebody present chances to refer to the love of truth, or to the scientific conscience of his hearers. I have called this third on our list of motives an ancient motive. It is so. Yet in modern times it has assumed very novel forms, and has led to scientific and, in the end, to philosophical enterprises which, until recently, nobody would have thought possible. It would be unwise at this point to attempt 201 J THE PROBLtEM OF TRUTH to define this motive in abstract terms. I must first exemplify it. When I say that it is the motive to which the very existence of the exact sciences is due, and when I add the remark that our scientific common sense knows this motive as the fondness for dispassionately weighing evidence, and often simply names it the love of objectivity, I raise more questions in your minds regarding the nature of this motive than at this point I can answer. If, however, anybody suggests, say from the side of some form of recent pragmatism, that I must be referring to the nowadays so deeply discredited motives of a pure "Intellectualism," I repudiate at once the suggestion. The motive to which I refer is intensely practical. Men have lived and died for it, and have found it inestimably precious. I know of no motive purer or sweeter in human life. Meanwhile, it indeed chances to be the motive which has partially embodied itself in Pure Mathematics. And neither the tribe of Nietzsche nor the kindred of the instrumentalists have been able justly to define it. 202 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION What I am just now interested to point out is that this motive has entered, in very novel ways, into the formulation of certain modern theories of truth. And when I speak of its most novel forms of expression, the historical process to which I refer is the development of the modern critical study of the foundations of mathematics. To philosophical students in general the existence of metageometrical researches, which began at the outset of the nineteenth century, has now been made fairly familiar. But the non-Euclidean geometry is but a small fragment of that investigation of the foundations of mathematical truth which went on so rapidly during the nineteenth century. Among the most important of the achievements of the century in this direction were the new definitions of continuity and the irrational numbers, the modern exact theory of limits, and the still infant theory of Assemblages. Most important of all, to my mind, were certain discoveries in the field of Logic of which I shall later say a word. I mention these mat203 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH ters here as examples of the influence of a motive whose highly technical applications may make it seem to one at a distance hopelessly intellectualistic, but whose relation to the theory of truth is close, just because, as I think, its relation to truly ethical motives is also extremely intimate. The motive in question showed itself at \ the outset of the nineteenth century, and later in the form of an increased conscientiousness regarding what should be henceforth accepted as a rigid proof in the exact sciences. The Greek geometers long ago invented the conception of rigid methods of proof and brought their own methods, in certain cases, very near to perfection. But the methods that they used proved to be inapplicable to many of the problems of modern mathematics. The result was that, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the mathematical sciences rapidly took possession of new realms of truth, but in doing so sacrificed much of the old classic rigidity. Nevertheless, regarded as the instrumentalists now desire us to regard 204 IN THE LIGHT OP DISCUSSION truth, the mathematical methods of the eighteenth century were indeed incomparably more successful in adjusting the work of the physical sciences to the demands of experience than the methods of the Greek geometers had ever been. If instrumentalism had been the whole story of man's interest in truth, the later developments would have been impossible. Nevertheless the modern scientific conscience somehow became increasingly dissatisfied with its new mathematical possessions. It regarded them as imperfectly won. It undertook to question, in a thousand ways, its own methods and its own presuppositions. It learned to reject altogether methods of proof which, for a time, had satisfied the greatest constructive geniuses of earlier modern mathematics. The result has been the development of profoundly novel methods, both of research and of instruction in the exact sciences. These methods have in many ways brought to a still higher perfection the Greek ideal of rigid proof. Yet the same methods have shown themselves to be no 205 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH ■mere expressions of a pedantic intellectualism. They have meant clearness, self-possession, and a raising of the scientific conscience to higher levels. Meanwhile, they proved potent both in conquering new realms and in discovering the wonderful connections that we now find linking together types of exact truth which at first sight appeared to be hopelessly diverse. In close union with the development of these new methods in the exact sciences, and, as I may say, in equally close union with this new scientific conscience, there has gradually come into being a reformed Logic, — a logic still very imperfectly expounded in even the best modern textbooks, and as yet hardly grasped, in its unity, by any one investigator, — but a logic which is rapidly progressing, which is full of beauty, and which is destined, I believe, profoundly to influence, in the near future, our whole philosophy of truth. This new logic appears to offer to us an endless realm for detailed researches. As a set of investigations it is as progressive as any instrumentalist 206 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION can desire. The best names for it, I think, are the names employed by several different thinkers who have contributed to its growth. Our American logician, Mr. Charles Peirce, named it, years ago, the Logic of Relatives. Mr. Russell has called it the Logic, or the Calculus, of Relations. Mr. Kempe has proposed to entitle it the Theory of Mathematical Form. One might also call it a new and general theory of the Categories. Seen from a distance, as I just said, it appears to be a collection of highly technical special researches, interesting only to a few. But when one comes into closer contact with any one of its serious researches, one sees that its main motive is such as to interest every truthful and reflective inquirer who really grasps that motive, while the conception of truth which it forces upon our attention is a conception which neither of the other motives just characterized can be said adequately to express. In so far as the new logic has up to this time given shape to philosophical theories of truth, it in part appears to tend towards what the 207 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH pragmatists nowadays denounce as Intellectualism. As a fact Mr. Bertrand Russell, the brilliant and productive leader of this movement in England, and his philosophical friend Mr. George Moore, seem to regard their own researches as founded upon a sort of new Realism, which views truth as a realm wholly independent of the constructive activities by which we ourselves find or pursue truth. But the fact that Mr. Charles Peirce, one of the most inventive of the creators of the new logic, is also viewed by the Pragmatists as the founder of their own method, shows how the relation of the new logic to the theory of truth is something that still needs to be made clear. As a fact, I believe that the outcome of the new logic will be a new synthesis of Voluntarism and Absolutism. What I just now emphasize is, that this modern revision of the concepts of the exact sciences, and this creation of a new logic, are in any case due to a motive which is at once theoretical and ethical. It is a motive which has defined standards of rigidity in proof such 208 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION as were, until recently, unknown. In this sense it has meant a deepening and quickening of the scientific conscience. It has also seemed, in so far, to involve a rejection of that love of expediency in thinking which is now a favorite watchword of pragmatists and instrumentalists. And when viewed from this side the new logic obviously tends to emphasize some form of absolutism, to reject relativism in thinking, to make sterner requirements upon our love of truth than can be expressed in terms of instrumentalism or of individualism. And yet the motive which lies beneath this whole movement has been, I insist, no barren intellectualism. The novelty of the constructions to which this motive has led, — the break with tradition which the new geometry (for instance) has involved, — such things have even attracted, from a distance, the attention of some of the least exactly trained of the pragmatist thinkers, and have aroused their hasty and uncomprehending sympathy. "This non-Euclidean geometry," they have said, "these novel postulates, these P 209 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH '/me Sehdpfungen des menschlichen Geistes' (as Dedekind, himself one of the great creative minds of the new logical movement, has called the numbers), — well, surely these must be instances in favor of our theory of truth. Thus, as we should have predicted, novelties appear in what was supposed to be an absolutely fixed region. Thus (as Professor James words the matter), human thought 'boils over,' and ancient truths alter, grow, or decay." Yet when modern pragmatists and relationists use such (expressions, they fail to comprehend the fact that the new discoveries in these logical and mathematical fields simply exemplify a more rigid concept of truth than ever, before the new movement began, had been defined in the minds of the mathematicians themselves. The non-Euclidean geometry, strange to say, is not a discovery that we are any freer than we were before to think as we like regarding the system of geometrical truth. It is one part only of what Hilbert has called the "logical analysis" of our concept of space. "When we take this analysis as a whole, it 210 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION involves a deeper insight than Eudid could possibly possess into the unchangeable necessities which bind together the system of logical relationships that the space of our experience merely exemplifies. Nothing could be more fixed than are these necessities. As for the numbers, which Dedekind called "freie Schopfungen," — well, his own masterpiece of logical theory is a discovery and a rigid demonstration of a very remarkable and thoroughly objective truth about the fundamei^tal relations in terms of which we all of us do our thinking. His proof that all of the endless wealth of the properties of the ordinal numbers follows from a certain synthesis of two of the simplest of our logical conceptions, neither one of which, when taken alone, seems to have anything to do with the conception of order or of number, — this proof, I say, is a direct contribution to a systematic theory of the categories, and, as such, is, to the logical inquirer, a dramatically surprising discovery of a realm of objective truth, which nobody is free to construct or to abandon at his pleas211 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH ure. If this be relativism, it is tlie relativism of an eternal system of relations. If this be freedom, it is the divine freedom of a selfdetermined, but, for that very reason, absolutely necessary fashion of thought and of activity. Well, — to sum up, — this third motive in modern inquiry has already led us to the discovery of what are, for us, novel truths regarding the fundamental relations upon which all of our thought and all of our activity rest. These newly discovered truths possess an absoluteness which simply sets at naught the empty trivialities of current relativism. Such truth has, in fact, the same sort of relation to the biologically "instrumental" value of our thinking processes as the Theory of Numbers (that "divine science," as Gauss called it) has to the account books of the shopkeeper. And yet, as I must insist, the motive that has led us to this type of absolutism is no pure intellectualism. And the truth in question is as much a truth about our modes of activity as the purest voluntarism could desire it to 212 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION be. In brief, there is, I believe, an absolute voluntarism, a theory of the way in which activities must go on if they go on at all. And, as I believe, just such a theory is that which in future is to solve for us the problem of the nature of truth. I have illustrated our third motive at length. Shall I now try to name it ? Well, I should say that it is at bottom the same motive that lay at the basis of Kant's Critical Philosophy ; but it is this motive altered by the influence of the modern spirit. It is the motive whichi leads us to seek for clear and exact self-con sciousness regarding the principles both of our belief and of our conduct. This motive leads us to be content only in case we can indeed find principles of knowledge and of action, — principles, not mere transient expediences, and not mere caprices. On the other hand, this motive bids us decline to accept mere authority regarding our principles. It requires of us freedom along with insight, exactness side by side with assurance, and self-criticism as well as search for the ultimate. 213 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH IV In tlius sketching for you these three motives, I have been obUged to suggest my estimate of their significance. But this estimate has so far been wholly fragmentary. Let me next indicate the sense in which I believe that each of these three motives tends, in a very important sense, to throw light upon the genuine theory of truth. I begin here with the first of the three motives, — namely, with the motive embodied in recent instrumentalism. Instrumentalism views truth as simply the value belonging to certain ideas in so far as these ideas are biological functions of our organisms, and psychological functions whereby we direct our choices and attain our successes. Wide and manifold are the inductive evidences which the partisans of such theories of truth adduce in support of their theory. There is the evidence of introspection and of the modern psychological theory of the understanding. Opinions, beliefs, ideas, — what 214 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION are they all but accompaniments of the motor processes whereby, as a fact, our organisms are adjusted to their environment ? To discover the truth of an idea, what is that for any one of us but to observe our success in our adjustment to our situation ? Knowledge is power. Common sense long ago noted this fact. Empiricism has also since taught us that we deal only with objects of experience. The new instrumentalism adds to the old empiricism simply the remark that we possess truth in so far as we learn how to control these objects of experience. And to this more direct evidence for the instrumental theory of truth is added the evidence derived from the whole work of the modern sciences. In what sense are scientific hypotheses and theories found to be true ? Only in this sense, says the instrumentalist, — only in this sense, that through these hypotheses we acquire constantly new sorts of control over the course of our experience. If we turn from scientific to moral truth, we find a similar result. The moral ideas of any social order are practical 215 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH plans and practical demands in terms of which this social order endeavors, by controlling the activities of its members, to win general peace and prosperity. The truth of moral ideas lies solely in this their empirical value in adjusting individual activities to social demands, and in thus winning general success for all concerned. Such are mere hints of the evidences that can be massed to illustrate the view that the truth of ideas is actually tested, and is to be tested, by their experienced workings, by their usefulness in enabling man to control his empirically given situation. If this be the case, then truth is always relative to the men concerned, to their experience, and to their situations. Truth grows, changes, and refuses to be tested by absolute standards. It hafpens to ideas, in so far as they work. It belongs to them when one views them as instruments to an end. The result of all this is a relativistic, an evolutionary, theory of [truth. For such a view logic is a part of ^psychology, — a series of comments upon 216 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION certain common characteristics of usefully working ideas and opinions. Ethical theory is a branch of evolutionary sociology. And in general, if you want to test the truth of ideas and opinions, you must look forward ! to their workings, not backward to the prinj ciples from which they might be supposed to i follow, nor yet upwards to any absolute stand\ ards which may be supposed to guide them, \ and least of all to any realm of fixed facts that j they are supposed to be required, willy hilly, j to copy. Truth is no barren repetition of a , dead reality, but belongs, as a quahty, to the j successful deeds by which we produce for our/ selves the empirical realities that we want. ] Such is the sort of evidence which my friends. Professor James and Professor Dewey, and their numerous followers, in recent discussion, have advanced in favor of this instrumental, practical, and evolutionary theory of truth. Such are the considerations which, in other forms, Mach has illustrated by means of his history and analyses of the work of modern science. 317 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH Our present comment upon this theory must be given in a word. It contains indeed a report of the truth about our actual human hfe, and about the sense in which we all seek and test and strive for truth, precisely in so far as truth-seeking is indeed a part of our present organic activities. But the sense in which this theory is thus indeed a true account of a vast range of the phenomena of human life is not reducible to the sense which the theory itself ascribes to the term "truth." For suppose I say, reporting the facts of the history of science: "Newton's theory of gravitation proved to be true, and its truth lay in this : The definition and the original testing of the theory consisted in a series of the organic and psychological functions of the live creature Newton. His theories were for him true in so far as, after hard work, to be sure, and long waiting, they enabled him to control and to predict certain of his own experiences of the facts of nature. The same theories are still true for us because they have successfully guided, and still guide, certain 218 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION observations and experiences of the men of to-day." This statement reduces the truth of Newton's theory to the type of truth which instrumentalism demands. But in what sense is my account of this matter itself a true account of the facts of human life .'' Newton is dead. As mortal man he succeeds no longer. His ideas, as psychological functions, died with him. His earthly experiences ceased when death shut his eyes. Wherein consists to-day, then, the historical truth that Newton ever existed at all, or that the countless other men whom his theories are said to have guided ever lived, or experienced, or succeeded .'' And if I speak of the men of to-day, in what sense is the statement true that they now live, or have experience, or use Newton's theory, or succeed with it as an instrument .'' No doubt all these historical and socially significant statements of mine are indeed substantially true. But does their truth consist in my success in using the ideal instruments that I use when I utter these assertions ? Evidently I mean, by calling these my own assertions true, 219 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH much more than I can interpret in terms of my experience of their success in guiding my act. In brief, the truth that historical events ever happened at all; the truth that there ever was a past time, or that there ever will be a future time ; the truth that anybody ever succeeds, except in so far as I myself, just now, in the use of these my present instruments for the transient control of my passing experience chance to succeed; the truth that there is any extended course of human experience at all, or any permanence, or any longlasting success, — well, all such truths, they are indeed true, but their truth cannot possibly consist in the instrumental value which any man ever experiences as belonging to any of his own personal ideas or acts. Nor can this truth consist in anything that even a thousand or a million men can separately experience, each as the success of his own ideal instruments. For no one man experiences the success of any man but himself, or of any instruments but his own ; and the truth, say, 220 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION of Newton's theory consists, by hypothesis, in the perfectly objective fact that generations of men have really succeeded in guiding their experience by this theory. But that this is the fact no man, as an individual man, ever has experienced or will experience under human conditions. When an instrumentalist, then, gives to us his account of the empirical truth that men obtain through using their ideas as instruments to guide and to control their own experience, his accoimt of human organic and psychological functions may be, — yes, is, — as far as it goes, true. But if it is true at all, then it is true as an account of the characters actually common to the experience of a vast number of men. It is true, if at all, as a report of the objective constitution of a certain totality of facts which we call human experience. It is, then, true in a sense which no man can ever test by the empirical success of his own ideas as his means of controlling his own experiences. Therefore the truth which we must ascribe to instrumentalism, if we regard 221 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH it as a true doctrine at all, is precisely a truth, not in so far as instrumentalism is itself an instrument for helping on this man's or that man's way of controlling his experience. If instrumentalism is true, it is true as a report of facts about the general course of history, of evolution, and of human experience, — facts which transcend every individual man's experience, verifications, and successes. To make its truth consist in the mere sum of the various individual successes is equally vain, unless indeed that sum is a fact. But no in dividual man ever experiences that fact. Instrumentalism, consequently, expresses no motive which by itself alone is adequate to constitute any theory of truth. And yet, as I have pointed out, I doubt not that instrumentalism gives such a substantially true account of man's natural functions as a truth seeker. Only the sense in which instrumentalism is a true account of human life is opposed to the adequacy of its own definition of truth. The first of our three motives is, therefore, useful only if we can bring it into synthesis with 222 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION other motives. In fact it is useless to talk of the success of the human spirit in its efforts to win control over experience, unless there is indeed a human spirit which is more than any man's transient consciousness of his own efforts, and unless there is an unity of experience, an unity objective, real, and supratemporal in its significance. V Our result so far is that man indeed uses his ideas as means of controlling his experience, and that truth involves such control, but that truth cannot be defined solely in terms of our personal experience of our own success in obtaining this control. Hereupon the second of the motives which we have found influencing the recent theories of truth comes to our aid. If instrumentalism needs a supplement, where are we, the individual thinkers, to look for that supplement, except in those inner personal grounds which incline each of us to make his own best interpretation of life precisely as he can, in accord223 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH ance with his own will to succeed, and in accordance with his individual needs ? To be sure, as one may still insist, we are always dealing with live human experience, and with its endless constraints and limitations. And when we accept or reject opinions, we do so because, at the time, these opinions seem to us to promise a future empirical "working," a successful "control" over experience, — in brief, a success such as appeals to live human beings. Instrumentalism in so far correctly defines the nature which truth possesses in so far as we ever actually verify truth. And of course we always believe as we do because we are subject to the constraint of our present experience. But since we are social beings, and beings with countless and varied intelligent needs, we constantly define and accept as valid very numerous ideas and opinions whose truth we do not hope personally to verify. Our act in accepting such unverified truths is (as Professor James states the case) essentially similar to the act of the banker in accepting credit 224 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION values instead of cash. A note or other evidence of value is good if it can be turned into cash at some agreed time, or under specified conditions. Just so, an idea is true, not merely at the moment when it enables somebody to control his own experience. It is true if, under definable conditions which, as a fact, you or I may never verify, it would enable some human being whose purposes agree with ours to control his own experience. If we personally do not verify a given idea, we can still accept it then upon its credit value. We can accept it precisely as paper, which cannot now be cashed, is accepted by one who regards that paper as, for a given purpose, or to a given extent, equivalent to cash. A bond, issued by a government, may promise payment after fifty years. The banker may today accept such a bond as good, and may pay cash for it, although he feels sure that he personally will never live to see the principal repaid by the borrower. Now, as Professor James would say, it is in this sense that our ideas about past time, and Q 225 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH about the content of other men's minds, and about the vast physical world, "with all its stars and milky ways," are accepted as true. Such ideas have for us credit values. We accept these ideas as true because we need to trade on credits. Borrowed truth is as valuable in the spiritual realm as borrowed money is in the commercial realm. To believe a now unverified truth is simply to say : "I accept that idea, upon credit, as equivalent to the cash payments in terms of live experience which, as I assert, I could get in case I had the opportunity." And so much it is indeed easy to make out about countless assertions which we all accept. They are assertions about experience, but not about our present experience. They are made under various constraints of convention, habit, desire, and private conviction, but they are opinions whose truth is for us dependent upon our personal assent and acquiescence. Herewith, however, we face what is, for more than one modern theory of truth, a very critical question. Apparently it is one thing 226 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSIOIS to say: "I accept this opinion upon credit," and quite another thing to say: "The truth of this opinion consists, solely and essentially, in the fact that it is credited by me." In seeming, at least, it is one thing to assert : "We trade upon credit; we deal in credits," and quite another thing to say: "There is no value behind this bond or behind this bit of irredeemable paper currency, except its credit value." But perhaps a modern theory of truth may decline to accept such a difference as ultimate. Perhaps this theory may say : The truth is the credit. As a fact, a vast number of our human opinions — those, for instance, which relate to the past, or to the contents of other men's minds — appear, within the range of our personal experience, as credits whose value we, who believe the opinions, cannot hope ever to convert into the cash of experience. The banker who holds the bond not maturing within his own lifetime can, after all, if the bond is good, sell it to-day for cash. And that truth which he can personally and empirically test whenever he 227 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH wants to test, is enough to warrant his act in accepting the credit. But I, who am confident of the truths of history, or of geology, or of physics, and who beheve in the minds of othet men, — I accept as valid countless opinions that are for me, in my private capacity and froni an empirical point of view, nothing but irredeemable currency. In vain do I say : "I could convert these ideas into the cash of experience if I were some other man, or if I were living centuries ago instead of to-day." For the question simply recurs : In what sense are these propositions about my own possible experience true when I do not test their truth, — yes, true although I, personally, cannot test their truth ? These credits, irredeemable in terms of the cash of my experience, — wherein consists their true credit value ? Here one apparently stands at the parting of the ways. One can answer this question by saying: "The truth of these assertions (or their falsity, if they are false) belongs to them whether I credit them or no, whether I verify them or not. Their truth or their 228 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION falsity is their own character and is independent of my credit and my verification." But to say this appears to be, after all, just the intellectualism which so many of our modern pragmatists condemn. There remains, however, one other way. One can say : " The truth of the unverified assertions consists simply in the fact that,toT our own private and individual ends, they are credited. Credit is relative to the creditor. If he finds that, on the whole, it meets his purpose to credit, he credits. And there is no truth, apart from present verifications, except this truth of credit." In other words, that is true for me which I find myself accepting as my way of reacting to my situation. This, I say, is a theory of truth which can be attempted. Consider what a magnificent freedom such a theory gives to all of us. Credit is relative to the creditor. To be sure, if ever the day of reckoning should come, one would be subject, at the moment of verification, to the constraints of experience. At such times, one would either get the cash or 229 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH would not get it. But after all very few of our ideas about this great and wonderful world of ours ever are submitted to any such sharp tests. History and the minds of other men, — well, our personal opinions about these remain credits that no individual amongst us can ever test for himself. As your world is mainly made up of such things, your view of your world remains, then, subject to your own needs. It ought to be thus subject. There is no absolute truth. There is only the truth that you need. Enter into the possession of your spiritual right. Borrow Nietzsche's phraseology. Call the truth of ordinary intellectualism mere Sklavenwahrheit. It pretends to be absolute ; but only the slaves believe in it. "Henceforth," so some Zarathustra of a new theory of truth may say, "I teach you Herrenwahrheit." Credit what you choose to credit. ^ Truth is made for man, not man for truth. Let your life "boil over" into new truth as much as you find such effervescence convenient. When, apart from the constraints of present 230 IN THE LIGHT. OF DISCUSSION verification, and apart from mere convention, I say : "This opinion of mine is true," I mean simply : "To my mind, lord over its own needs, this assertion now appears expedient." Whenever my expediency changes, my truth will change. But does anybody to-day hold just this theory of truth ? I hesitate to make accusations which some of my nearest and dearest friends may repudiate as personally injurious. But this I can say: I find a great many recent theorists about truth talking in just this spirit so long as they feel free to glorify their spiritual liberty, to amuse their readers with clever assaults upon absolutism, and to arouse sympathy by insistence upon the human and the democratic attractiveness of the novel views of truth that they have to advance. Such individualism, such capriciousness, is in the air. Our modem theorists of truth frequently speak in this way. When their expressions of such views are criticized, they usually modify and perhaps withdraw them. What, as individuals, such teachers really 231 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH mean, I have no right to say. Nobody but themselves can say; and some of them seem to say whatever they please. But this I know : Whoever identifies the truth of an assertion with his own individual interest in making that assertion may be left to bite the dust of his own confusion in his own way and time. The outcome of such essential waywardness is not something that you need try to determine through controversy. It is self-determined. For in case I say to you: "The sole ground for my assertions is this, that I please to make them," — well, at once I am defining exactly the attitude which we all alike regard as the attitude of one who chooses not to tell the truth. And if, hereupon, I found a theory of truth upon generalizing such an assertion, — well, I am defining as truth-telling precisely that well-known practical attitude which is the contradictory of the truth-telling attitude. The contrast is not one between intellectualism and pragmatism. It is the contrast between two well-known attitudes of will, — the will that is loyal to truth as an uni232 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION versal ideal, and the will that is concerned with its own passing caprices. If I talk of truth, I refer to what the truth-loving sort of will seeks. If hereupon I define the true as that which the individual personally views as expedient in opinion or in assertion, I contradict myself, and may be left to my own confutation. For the position in which I put myself, by this individualistic theory of truth, is closely analogous to the position in which Epimenides the Cretan, the hero of the fallacy of the liar, was placed by his own so famous thesis. VI And yet, despite all this, the modern assault upon mere intellectualism is well founded. The truth of our assertions is indeed definable only by taking account of the meaning of our own individual attitudes of will, and the truth, whatever else it is, is at least instrumental in helping us towards the goal of all human volition. The only question is whether the will really means to aim at doing something that has a final and eternal meaning. 233 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH Herewith I suggest a theory of truth which we can understand only in case we follow, the expressions of the third of the three modern motives to which I have referred. I have said that the new logic and the new methods of reasoning in the exact sciences are just now bringing us to a novel comprehension of our relation to absolute truth. I must attempt a very brief indication as to how this is indeed the case. I have myself long since maintained that there is indeed a logic of the will, just as truly as there is a logic of the intellect. Personally, I go further still. I assert : all logic is the logic of the will. There is no pure intellect. Thought is a mode of action, a mode of action distinguished from other modes mainly by its internal clearness of self-conscio;isness, by its relatively free control of its own procedure, and by the universality, the impersonal fairness and obviousness of its aims and of its motives. An idea in the consciousness of a thinker is simply a present consciousness of some expression of purpose, — a plan of action. 234 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION A judgment is an act of a reflective and selfconscious character, an act whereby one accepts or rejects an idea as a suflScient expression of the very purpose that is each time in question. Our whole objective world is meanwhile defined for each of us in terms of our ideas. General assertions about the meaning of our ideas are reflective acts whereby we acknowledge and accept certain ruling principles of action. And in respect of all these aspects of doctrine I find myself at one with recent voluntarism, whether the latter takes the form of instrumentalism, or insists upon some more individualistic theory of truth. But for my part, in spite, or in fact because of this my voluntarism, I cannot rest in any mere relativism. Individualism is right in saying, "I will to credit this or that opinion." But individualism is wrong in supposing that I can ever be content with my own will in as far as it. is merely an individual will. The will to my mind is to all of us nothing but a thirst for complete and conscious self-possession, for fullness of life. And in terms of this its cen235 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH tral motive, the will defines the truth that it endlessly seeks as a truth that possesses completeness, totality, self-possession, and therefore absoluteness. The fact that, in our human experience, we never meet with any truths such as completely satisfy our longing for insight, this fact we therefore inevitably interpret, not as any defect in the truth, but as a defect in our present state of knowledge, a limitation due to our present type of individuality. Hence we acknowledge a truth which transcends our individual life. Our concepts of the objectively real world, our ethical ideals of conduct, our estimates of what constitutes the genuine worth of life, — all these constructions of ours are therefore determined by the purpose to conform our selves to absolute standards. We will the eternal. We define the eternal. And this we do whenever we ;talk of what we call genuine facts or actualities, or of the historical content of human experience, or of the physical world that our sciences investigate. If we try to escape this inner necessity of our whole voluntary and 236 i;n the light of discussion self-conscious life, we simply contradict ourselves. We can define the truth even of relativism only by asserting that relativism is after all absolutely true. We can admit our ignorance of trutl^ only by acknowledging the absoluteness of that truth of which we are ignorant. And all this is no caprice of ours. All this results from a certain necessary nai ture of our will which we can test as often as j we please by means of the experiment of try-' ing to get rid of the postulate of an absolute truth. We shall find that, however often we try this experiment, the denial that there is any absolute truth simply leads to its own denial, and reinstates what it denies. The reference that I a little while since made to our assertions regarding the past, and regarding the minds of other men, has already suggested to us how stubbornly we all assert certain truths which, for every one of us, transcend empirical verification, but which we none the less regard as absolutely true. If I say: "There never was a past," I contradict myself, since I assume the past even in as237 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH serting that a past never was. As a fact our whole interpretation of our experience is determined, in a sense akin to that which Kant defined, by certain modes of our own activity, whose significance is transcendental, even while their whole application is empirical. These modes of our activity make all our empirical sciences logically possible. Meanwhile it need not surprise us to find that Kant's method of defining these modes of our activity was not adequate, and that a new logic is giving us, in this field, new light. The true nature of these necessary modes of our activity becomes most readily observable to us in case we rightly analyze the methods and concepts, not of our own empirical, but rather of our mathematical sciences. For in these sciences our will finds its freest expression. And yet for that very reason in these sciences the absoluteness of the truth which the will defines is most obvious. The new logic to which I refer is especially a study of the logic of mathematics. 238 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION VII That there are absolutely true propositions, the existence of the science of pure mathematics proves. It is indeed the case that, as Russell insists, the propositions of pure mathematics are (at least in general) hypothetical propositions. But the hypothetical character of the propositions of pure mathematics does not make the truth that a certain mathematically interesting consequent follows from a certain antecedent, in any way less than absolutely true. The assertion, "a implies &," where a and h are propositions, may be an absolutely true assertion; and, as a fact, the hypothetical assertions of pure mathematics possess this absolutely true character. Now it is precisely the nature and ground of this absoluteness of purely mathematical truth upon which recent research seems to me to have thrown a novel light. And the light which has appeared in this region seems to me to be destined to reflect itself anew upon all regions and types of truth, so that empiri239 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH cal and contingent, and historical and psychological and ethical truth, different as such other types of truth may be from mathematical truth, will nevertheless be better understood, in future, in the light of the newer researches into the logic of pure mathematics. I can only indicate, in the most general way, the considerations which I here have in mind. At the basis of every mathematical theory, — as, for instance, at the basis of pure geometry, or pure number theory, — one finds a set of fundamental concepts, the so-called "indefinables" of the theory in question, and a set of fundamental "propositions," the socalled "axioms" of this theory. Modern study of the logic of pure mathematics has set in a decidedly novel light the question : What is the rational source, and what is the logical basis of these primal concepts and of these primal propositions of mathematical theory ? I have no time here to deal with the complications of the recent discussion of this question. But so much I can at once point out : there are certain concepts and cer240 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION tain propositions which possess the character of constituting the doctrine which may be called, in the modern sense, Pure Logic. Some of these concepts and propositions were long ago noted by Aristotle. But the Aristotelian logic actually took account of only a portion of the concepts of pure logic, and was able to give, of these concepts, only a very insufficient analysis. There is a similar inadequacy about the much later analysis of the presuppositions of logic which Kant attempted. The theory of the categories is in fact undergoing, at present, a very important process of reconstruction. And this process is possible just because we have at present discovered wholly new means of analyzing the concepts and propositions in question. I refer (as I may in passing state) to the means supplied by modern Symbolic Logic. Well, the concepts of pure logic, when once defined, constitute an inexhaustible source for the constructions and theories of pure mathematics. A set of concepts and of propositions such as can be made the basis of a matheB 241 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH matical theory is a set possessing a genuine and unquestionable significance if, and only if, these concepts and these propositions can be brought into a certain definite relation with the concepts and propositions of pure logic. \ This relation may be expressed by saying that if the conditions of general logical theory are such as to imply the valid possibility of the mathematical definitions and constructions in question, then — but only then — are .the corresponding mathematical theories at once absolutely valid and significant. In brief, pure mathematics consists of constructions and theories based wholly upon the conceptions and propositions of pure logic. The question as to the absoluteness of mathematical truth hereupon reduces itself to the question as to the absoluteness of the truths of pure logic. Wherein, however, consists this truth of pure logic ? I answer, at once, in my own way. Pure logic is the theory of the mere form of thinking. But what is thinking? 242 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION Thinking, I repeat, is simply our activity of willing precisely in so far as we are clearly conscious of what we do and why we do it. And thinking is found by us to possess an absolute form precisely in so far as we find that there are certain aspects of our activity which sustain themselves even in and through the very effort to inhibit them. One who says : " I do not admit that for me there is any difference between saying yes and saying no," — says "no," and distinguishes negation from affirmation, even in the very act of denying this distinction. Well, affirmation and negation are such self-sustaining forms of our will activity and of our thought activity. And such self-sustaining forms of activity determine absolute truths. For instance, it is an absolute truth that there is a determinate difference between the assertion and the denial of a given proposition, and between the doing and the not doing of a given deed. Such absolute truths may appear trivial enough. Modern logical theory is for the first time making clear to us how endlessly wealthy in 243 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH consequences such seemingly trivial assertions are. The absoluteness of the truths of pure logic is shown through the fact that you can test these logical truths in this reflective way. They are truths such that to deny them is simply to reassert them under a new form. I fully agree, for my own part, that absolute truths are known to us only in such cases as those which can be tested in this way. I contend only that recent logical analysis has given to us a wholly new insight as to the fruitfulness of such truths. VIII An ancient example of a use of that way of testing the absoluteness of truth which is here in question is furnished by a famous proof which Euclid gave of the theorem, according to which there exists no last prime number in the ordinal sequence of the whole numbers. Euclid, namely, proved this theorem by what I suppose to be one device whereby individual instances of absolute truths are accessible to 244 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION US men. He proved the theorem by showing that the denial of the theorem implies the truth of the theorem. That is, if I suppose that there is a last prime number, I even thereby provide myself with the means of constructing a prime number, which comes later in the series of whole numbers than the supposed "last" prime, and which certainly exists just as truly as the whole numbers themselves exist. Here, then, is one classic instance of an absolute truth. To be sure Euclid's theorem about the prime numbers is a hypothetical proposition. It depends upon certain concepts and propositions about the whole numbers. But the equally absolute truth that the whole numbers themselves form an endless series, with no last term, has been subjected, in recent times, to wholly new forms of reexamination by Dedekind, by Frege, and by Russell. The various methods used by these different writers involve substantially the same sort of consideration as that which Euclid already applied to the prime numbers. There are certain 245 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH truths which you cannot deny without denying the truth of the first principles of pure logic. But to deny these latter principles is to reassert them under some other and equivalent form. Such is the common principle at the basis of the recent reexamination of the concept of the whole numbers. Dedekind, in showing that the existence of the dense ordinal series of the rational numbers implies the existence of the Dedekind Schnitte of this series, discovered still another absolute, although of course hypothetical, truth which itself implies the truth of the whole theory of the so-called real numbers. Now all such discoveries are indeed revelations of absolute truth in precisely this sense, that at the basis of all the concepts and propositions about number there are concepts and propositions belonging to pure logic ; while if you deny these propositions of pure logic, you imply, by this very denial, the reassertion of what you deny. To discover this fact, to see that the denial of a given , proposition implies the reassertion of that proposition, is not, as Kant supposed, 246 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION something that you can accomplish, if at all, then only by a process of mere "analysis." On the contrary, Euclid's proof as to the prime numbers, and the modern exact proofs of the fundamental theorems of mathematics, involve, in general, a very difficult synthetic process, — a construction which is by no means at first easy to follow. And the same highly synthetic constructions run through the whole of modern logic. Now once again what does one discover when he finds out such absolute truths ? I do not believe, as Russell believes, that one in such cases discovers truths which are simply and wholly independent of our constructive processes. On the contrary, what one discovers is distinctly what I must call a voluntaristic truth, — a truth about the creative will that thinks the truth. One discovers, namely, that our constructive processes, viewed just as activities, possess a certain absolute nature and conform to their own selfdetermined but, for that very reason, absolute laws. One finds out in such cases what 247 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH one must still, with absolute necessity, do under the presupposition that one is no longer bound by the constraints of ordinary experience, but is free, as one is in pure mathematics free, to construct whatever one can construct. The more, in such cases, one deals with what indeed appear to be, in one aspect, "freie Schopfungen des menschlichen Qeistes" the more one discovers that their laws, which are the fundamental and immanent laws of the will itself, are absolute. For one finds what it is that one must construct even if one denies that, in the ideal world of free construction which one is seeking to define, that construction has a place. In brief, all such researches illustrate the fact that while the truth which we acknowledge is indeed relative to the will which acknowledges that truth, still what one may call the pure form of willing is an absolute form, a form which sustains itself in the very effort to violate its own lawS. We thus find out absolute truth, but it is absolute truth about the nature of the creative will in terms of which we conceive all truths. 248 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION Now it is perfectly true that such absolute truth is not accessible to us in the empirical world, in so far as we deal with individual phenomena. But it is also true that we all of us conceive the unity of the world of experience — the meaning, the sense, the connection of its facts — in terms of those categories which express precisely this very form of our creative activity. Hence, although every empirical truth is relative, all relative truth is inevitably defined by us as subject to conditions which themselves are absolute. This, which Kant long ago maintained, gets a very new meaning in the light of recent logic, — a far deeper meaning, I think, than Kant could conceive. In any case, the new logic, and the new mathematics, are making us acquainted with absolute truth, and are giving to our knowledge of this truth a clearness never before accessible to human thinking. And yet the new logic is doing all this in a way that to my mind is in no wise a justification of the intellectualism which the modern instrumentalists con249 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH demn. For what we hereby learn is that all truth is indeed relative to the expression of our will, but that the will inevitably determines for itself forms of activity which are objectively valid and absolute, just because to attempt to inhibit these forms is once more to act, and is to act in accordance with them. These forms are the categories both of our thought and of our action. We recognize them equally whether we consider, as in ethics, the nature of reasonable conduct, or, as in logic, the forms of conceptual construction, or, as in mathematics, the ideal types of objects that we can define by constructing, as freely as possible, in conformity with these forms. When we turn back to the world of experience, we inevitably conceive the objects of experience in terms of our categories. Hence the unity and the transindividual character which rightly we assign to the objects of experience. What we know about these objects is always relative to our human needs and activities. But all of this relative knowledge is — however provisionally — defined in terms of ab250 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION solute principles. And that is why the scientific spirit and the scientific conscience are indeed the expression of motives, which you can never reduce to mere instrumentalism, and can never express in terms of any individualism. And that is why, wherever two or three are gathered together in any serious moral or scientific enterprise, they believe in a truth which is far more than the mere working of any man's ephemeral assertions. In sum, an absolute truth is one whose denial implies the reassertion of that same truth. To us men, such truths are accessible only in the realm of our knowledge of the forms that predetermine all of our concrete activities. Such knowledge we can obtain regarding the categories of pure logic and also regarding the constructions of pure mathematics. In dealing, on the other hand, with the concrete objects of experience, we are what the instrumentalists suppose us to be, namely, seekers for a successful control over this experience. And as the voluntarists also correctly emphasize, in all our empirical constructions, scien251 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH tific and practical, we express our own individual wills and seek such success as we can get. But there remains the fact that in all these constructions we are expressing a will which, as logic and pure mathematics teach us, has an universal absolute nature, — the same in all of us. And it is for the sake of winning some adequate expression of this our absolute nature, that we are constantly striving in our empirical world for a success which we never can obtain at any instant, and can never adequately define in any merely relative terms. The result appears in our ethical search for absolute standards, and in our metaphysical thirst for an absolute interpretation of the universe, — a thirst as unquenchable as the over-individual will that expresses itself I through all our individual activities is itself world-wide, active, and in its essence absolute. In recognizing that all truth is relative to the will, the three motives of the modern theories of truth are at one. To my mind they, therefore, need not remain opposed motives. Let us observe their deeper harmony, and 252 IN THE LIGHT OF DISCUSSION bring them into synthesis. And then what I have called the trivialities of mere instrumentalism will appear as what they are, — fragmentary hints, and transient expressions, of that will whose life is universal, whose form is absolute, and whose laws are at once those of logic, of ethics, of the unity of experience, and of whatever gives sense to life. Tennyson, in a well-known passage of his "In Memoriam," cries : " Oh living Will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock, Flow through our deeds and make them pure." That cry of the poet was an expression of moral and religious sentiment and aspiration; but he might have said essentially the same thing if he had chosen the form of praying : Make our deeds logical. Give our thoughts sense and unity. Give our Instrumentalism some serious unity of eternal purpose. Make our Pragmatism more than the mere passing froth of waves that break upon the beach of triviality. In any case, the poet's cry is an 253 THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH expression of that Absolute Pragmatism, of that Voluntarism, which recognizes all truth as the essentially eternal creation of the Will. What the poet utters is that form of Idealism which seems to me to be indicated as the common outcome of all the three motives that underlie the modern theory of truth. 254 ESSAY V IMMORTALITY ESSAY V IMMOETALITY ' ALL questions about Immortality relate to some form of the continuance of human life in time, beyond death. All such questions presuppose, then, the conception of time. But now, what is Time ? How is it related to Truth, to Reality, to God ? And if any answer to these questions can be suggested, what light do such answers throw on man's relation to time, and on the place of death in the order of time ? Secondly, all questions about Immortality relate to the survival of human personality. But, what is our human personality ? What aspect of a man do you want to have survive ? In considering these two sets of questions, I shall be led to mention in passing several others, all of which bear upon our topic. ' An address prepared for an Association of Clergymen in March, 1906. s 257 IMMORTALITY My honored colleague. Professor Miinsterberg, in his recent little book on " The Eternal Life," has raised in a somewhat novel form an old issue regarding the metaphysics of time, and has applied his resulting opinion to our problem of immortality. The real world, he has said, — the world of the absolute, — is an essentially timeless world — a world of meanings, of ideal values — a world where there is no question of how long things endure, but only a question as to what value they have in the whole of real life. In this genuinely real world of ideal values everything has eternal being in accordance with its absolute worth. A value cannot be lost, for it belongs to the timeless whole. But the ordinary point of view, which so emphasizes time, as most of us do, is merely a quantitative view — a falsification, or at least a narrowing, of the truth — a transformation of reality — a translation of its meaning into the abstract terms of a special set of concepts — concepts useful in our human science and in our daily business, but not valid for the student of real life. Matter, 258 IMMORTALITY indeed, endures in time ; but then matter is a conceptual entity, a phenomenon, a creation, of the scientific point of view. A man endures in time while his body lives ; but this is only the man as viewed in relation to the clocks and to the calendars — the phenomenal man — the man of the street and the market place, of the psychological laboratory and of the scientific record, of the insurance agents and of the newspapers. The real man whom you estimate and love is not this phenomenal man in time, but the man of will and of meaning, of ideals and of personal character, whose value you acknowledge. This real man is — what he is worth. His place in the world is determined not by the time during which he endures, but by the moral values which he expresses, and which the Absolute timelessly recognizes for what they eternally are. This real man does not come and go. He is. To say that he is immortal is merely to say that he has timeless value. And to say that is to express your love for him inits true meaning. Hence, as Professor Munsterberg holds, 259 IMMORTALITY the whole problem about immortality is falselystated in popular discussion. Revise your view of time. See how time is but an appearance belonging to the world of description; that is, the world of conceptual clocks and calendars; and then the real man is known to you, not as temporally outlasting death, but as, in his timeless ethical value, in the real world of appreciation, deathless. For he belongs to the realm of meanings; and the timeless Absolute of real life neither waits for him to come, nor misses him after his death as one passed away, but acknowledges him in his true value as what he is, the real person, whose eternal significance as little requires his endless endurance in the unreal conceptual time of the calendar and of the clock makers, as this same significance requires him to have a taller stature than he has in the equally unreal conceptual space of the metric system and of the tailor's measuring tape. So far my colleague, as I venture to restate his view. I do not agree with him in the way in which he has formulated and applied this 260 IMMORTALITY view. Yet I think that Professor Miinsterberg is at least in one respect justified in printing his essay. He is justified, namely, in calling our attention to the fact that, in order to discuss immortality exhaustively, we must include in our discussion some view of the sense in which time itself is a reality. And I also think that my colleague's view of time, although not mine, contains an important element of truth. Let me try to suggest what this element is. I need not say to theologically trained readers that you cannot well conceive of God without supposing the Divine Being to be otherwise related to time than we men just now are. To view the Deity as just now waiting, as we wait, for the vicissitudes of coming experience that are floating down the time stream towards him, to conceive the divine foreknowledge merely as a sort of clever computation of what will yet happen, a neat prediction of the fortunes that God has yet to expect — well, I cannot suppose any competent theologian to be satisfied thus to con261 IMMORTALITY ceive of the divine knowledge of time, or of what time contains. If God is merely the potent computer and predicter, whose expectations as to the future have never yet been disappointed, then he remains merely upon the level of a mighty fortune teller and fortune controller — a magician after all. And not thus can you be content to conceive of the divine omniscience. If the question arose: Why might not God's foreknowledge some day prove to have been fallible ? Why might not revolving time force upon him unexpected facts ? — then you would certainly reply : "If God, as God, absolutely foreknows, that means, properly viewed, not merely that he skillfully anticipates, or even that he mightily controls fortune, but that time, present, past, future, is somehow his own, is somehow at once for him, is an eternal present for which he has not to wait, a total expression of his will which he not merely remembers or anticipates, but views in one whole, totum simul, as St. Thomas well insisted." God's relation to time cannot, then, be 262 IMMORTALITY merely our own present human relation. We expect what is not yet. But if God is God, he views the future and the past as we do the present. And in so far Professor Munsterberg's view is indeed well founded. The lasting or the passing away of things as we view them does not express the whole divine view of them. What has, for us men, passed away, is, for the divine omniscience, not lost. What is future is, from the divine point of view, a presentation. Time is in God, rather than is God in time. Some such view you surely must take if God is to be conceived at all. But if God views facts as they are, this indeed implies that death, and the passing away of man, and the lapse of countless lives into what we call the forgotten past, cannot really be what we take these things to be — an absolutely real loss to reality of values which, but for death, would not become thus unreal. As a fact, I do not doubt that the least fact of transient experience has a meaning for the divine point of view — a meaning which we very ill express when we say of such a fact: 263 IMMORTALITY "It passes, it is done, it is no more." In reality — that is, from the divitfe point of view — there can be no absolute loss of what is once to be viewed as real at all. Now so far, using, to be sure, for the moment, theological rather than my colleague's metaphysical terms, I suggest a view about time which is obviously close to that which Professor Miinsterberg emphasizes. Nevertheless I do not agree with him that, by means of such considerations, we can completely define the sense in which man is immortal. I turn, then, from this first naturally vague effort to hint that our human view of time is inadequate, and that even our present brief lives have a divine meaning which no human view of their transiency exhausts, — I turn, I say, from this glance into general theology, back to the problem about time, as we men have to conceive time. We talk of to-morrow, of the time after death, of the future in general. In that future, we say, we are to live or not to live. Every such formula, every such hypothesis, presupposes some sense in which 264 IMMORTALITY our words about the future can have truth, even to-day — presupposes then some doctrine about what time is, and about how the past and future are related to the present. We must therefore ask again, but now in a more definite way. What reahty has time, whether for the universe or for us ? It requires but httle reflection to see that, in our ordinary speech about time, we are accustomed to use obscure, if not contradictory, language. We often ascribe true reality to the present only, and speak as if the past, as being over and done with, had no reality whatever; while the future, as yet unborn, we hereupon view as if it were also wholly imreal. The present, however, — this only real region of time, — we often speak of that as a mere point, having no duration whatever. Yet in this point we place all reality; and meanwhile, even as we name it, this sole reality vanishes and becomes past. Time, however, if thus defined, consists of two unreal regions, which contain together all duration — all that ever has been or will be ; and 265 IMMORTALITY time, in addition to these, its unreal halves, contains just one real instant, which itself has no duration, and which is thus no extended part of time at all, but only a vanishing presence. Thus, after all, there remains, when thus viewed, no real region in time at all. Nothing is; all crumbles. Such a view has only to be explicitly stated in order to be recognized as inadequate ; as a fact, such a view is a mere heap of false abstractions. Moreover, we ourselves not only frequently assert, but almost as constantly deny, this interpretation of time. For the past we view, after all, as a very stern and hard reality. What is done, is done. The past is irrevocable, unchangeable, adamantine, the safest of storehouses, the home of the eternal ages. Moreover, you can tell the truth about the past. Hence the past is surely not unreal in the sense in which fairyland is unreal. A man who practically treats the past as unreal, becomes ipso facto a liar; and you might in fact define a false witness as a man who tries to make the past over at will, not recognizing its stern and 266 IMMORTALITY unalterable truth. On the other hand, the future indeed is not thus irrevocable; but it has its own sort of very potent and recognizable being. You constantly live by adjusting yourself to the reality of the future. The coal strike threatens. You wish that your coal bins, if they are not full, were full. For next winter, after all, is a reality. Thus, then, the two regions of time, the past and future, are not wholly unreal. For the truthful witness the past is a reality. For the faithful maker of promises the future is a reality. As for the present, — after all, are many dreams less real than is the mere present ^ Fools live in the present, and dream there, taking it to be the real world. But whoever acts wisely, knows that the present is merely his chance for a deed ; and that the worth of a deed is determined by its intended relations to past and future. Not the present, then, of our flickering human consciousness, is the temporal reality, so much as are the past and the future. Life has its dignity through its bearing upon their contents and their meaning. 267 IMMORTALITY We see from these illustrations, I hope, that much of our common speech about time is behed by our practical attitudes towards time. Truthful reports and promises, serious deeds and ideals, prudence and conservatism and enterprise, all unite to show us that the reality of time is possessed especially by its past and its future, over against which the present is indeed but vanishing. And now what, after all, do such illustrations teach us regarding the true meaning of our conception of time ? I answer at once, dogmatically, — but, as I hope, not without some suggestion of the reason for my answer: Time, to my mind, is an essential practical aspect of reality, which derives its whole meaning from the nature and from the life of the will. Take away from your conception of the world the idea of a being who has a will, who has a practical relation to facts ; take away the idea of a being who looks before and after, who strives, seeks, hopes, pursues, records, reports, promises, accomplishes ; take away, I say, every idea of 268 IMMORTALITY such a being from your world, and whatever then remains in your conceived world gives you no right to a conception of time as any real aspect of things. The time of the timepieces and of mechanical science, the time of geology and of physics, is indeed, as Professor Miinsterberg maintains, but an abstraction. This abstraction is useful in the natural sciences. But it has no ultimate meaning except in relation to beings that have a will, that live a practical life, and that mean to do something. Given such beings, it can be shown that they need the conception of the time of mechanics or of geology in order to define their relation to nature. But apart from their needs, time is nothing. The time regions, already mentioned in this account, get their distinct types of reality solely from their diverse relations to a finite will, and, for us, to our own finite will. The past is that portion of reality where, to be sure, deeds also belong ; but these past deeds are presupposed by my present attitude of will as already, and irrevocably, accomplished facts. As such they 269 IMMORTALITY are the acknowledged basis upon which all present deeds rest. That is, then, what I mean by the past, viz. the presupposed and hence irrevocable basis on which my present deed rests. I say, "So much is done." The will, therefore, presupposing the past, asks, "What next.?" and is ready to decide by further action. The future is equally definable solely in terms of the will. The future is the region of the opportunity of the finite will. The future also, indeed, contains its aspect of destiny — as, for example, next winter's chill. But it likewise contains the chance of deeds yet undone, and so incites the will. As for the present, it is the scintillating flash of the instant's opportunity and accomplishment. It too is meaningless except for the deed, be this deed a mere act of attention or an outward expression. In terms, then, of my attitude of will, and only in such terms, can I define time, and its regions, distinctions, and reality. Time then is, I should say, a peculiarly obvious instance of the necessity for defining 270 IMMORTALITY the universe in idealistic terms — that is, in terms of life, of will, of conscious meaning. Burdened as we all are by the mere concept of the time of the clock makers and of the calendars, by the equally conceptual time of theoretical physics and of daily business, we are prone to forget that it is the human will itself which defines for us all such concepts, which abstracts them from life, and which then often bows to them as if they were indeed mere fate. If you look beneath the abstractions, you find that time is in essence the form of the finite will, and that when I acknowledge one vmiversal world time, I do so only by extending the conception of the will to the whole world. If I say: "There is to come a future," I mean merely : My will acknowledges deeds yet to be done, and defines as the future reality of the universe a will continuous with my will — a world will in whose expression my present deed has its place. The unity and continuity of the time of the universe are definable only through the practical relation of my will to this world will. My deed has its place 271 IMMORTALITY in the system of the world's deeds. The will that is yet to be expressed in the future is inseparable in its essence from the will which even now, and in my present deed, acknowledges this future as its own. As appears from these forms of expression, I am in philosophy an idealist. This is no place to set forth lengthy arguments for idealism. I have to sketch and to speak dogmatically. But the conception of time is peculiarly good as an illustration of the need of idealism. My result is, so far, that time is indeed indefinable and meaningless except as the form in which a conscious will process expresses its own coherent series of deeds and of meanings. And so, if all the finite world is subject to one time process, this assertion means merely that all our wills are together partial expressions of a single conscious volitional process — the process whereby the world will gets expressed in finite forms and deeds. A complete argument for idealism would, of course,' have to develop and to supplement this interpretation of time in many ways. But here is a hint of idealism. 272 IMMOHTALITY A result so stated is, I admit, not at first sight at all decisive as to any question of personal immortality. Yet I hope that the reader will already see how a doctrine of this sort, dogmatically as I have to state it, fragmentarily as I have to suggest my reasons for holding it, must have some bearing upon the problem as to how and whether a personal survival of death is a possibility. One is too much disposed to view the time process as an utterly foreign fate, physically forced upon unwilling mortals, who can only lament how youth flies, and how the good old times come again no more, and how the unknown future, vast and merciless, is impending and is yet to engulf us. What I now point out is that all such abstract conceptions of the fatal, external, physical, inhuman, unconscious reality of the world's time process are inadequate. As we have seen, in our sketch of a few such false conceptions, they appear in various, in paradoxically conflicting forms, which sometimes treat all time as unreal except the present, and sometimes view the past and future as T 273 IMMORTALITY an iron reality of blind fate. As a fact, so I insist, we concretely know time as the form of the will. We define the time relations practically, and in terms of deeds done and to be done. If we generalize our time experience, so as conceptually to view the whole world as expressing itself in a single temporal process, our generalization means this : that the entire world is the expression of a single will, which is in its totality continuous with our own, so that the past and future of our personal will is also the past and future of this world will, and conversely. The lesson, however, is already this : If, as is very obviously true, there was a time when I personally did not exist, then that was because the world will did not then yet need, and so did not yet involve, in its own expression, and as a part thereof, my personal deeds. If, on the other hand, the time is to come when I, in my private personality, shall have become extinct, that can be only because the world will as a whole, after my passing away, 274 IMMORTALITY is thenceforth to presuppose all of my personal deeds as irrevocably done, and is to have no longer any need to include my further choices. Assume, for the moment, that this is to be the case. This world will, however, is in any event not foreign in nature to my own will, but is continuous therewith ; just as continuous, namely, as the real time of my own consciousness is continuous with the real time of the universe. If I die, then, and finally cease, that will be because a will — a conscious will — a will essentially continuous with my own — a will now expressed in my consciousness, but sure to be forever expressed in some consciousness — a will that now includes all my hopes and my meanings — must some day come to look back upon my personal life as an expression no longer needed. My extinction, then, if it comes, will be at all events a teleological, not a merely fatal process — an inner and purposive checking of the very will which now throbs in me — a checking which will also be a significant attainment — not a blind passing away, due to the mere fate that, in 275 IMMORTALITY time, all becomes unreal. "Our life," said wondrous old Heraclitus, "is the death of gods; our death is the life of gods." And Heraclitus meant by these words that if indeed all passes away, and if we pass too, that can only be because that very divine life which now lives in us will, living in other divine forms, accomplish the very meaning which it now partially accomplishes in us, by expressing itself otherwise, and yet as the very life which is now ours. "For we are also his oflf spring." Considerations such as these are indeed but highly fragmentary. They certainly do not by themselves give any adequate notion of immortality. They have been emphasized by many thinkers who thereby meant merely to make light of personal permanence. Nevertheless, to conceive time as the form of the will, and universal time as the form of the world will, and our lives as linked to a conscious world will by precisely as close a link as binds the time of our consciousness — to conceive of all this, I say, is to be helped to a 276 IMMORTALITY sort of introduction to a more definite view of our problem. In time you are at any rate not lost as the snows are lost when they melt ; or engulfed as the mountains are engulfed when they are washed away and sink, as sediment, into the sea. For the world time is also the time of your consciousness; and, in precisely as genuine a sense, the world will is your will. If you ever become extinct, that will occur only as a single deed, or as a partial expression, becomes extinct for the doer who, presupposing that very deed, bases his own further expression upon the acknowledgment, the valuation, and the memory of the past deed itself. The question whether such extinction will occur at all thus gets its proper teleological formidation. You will die, not as blind fate determines, nor merely because time flies : you will die, if at aU, because the world will needs no more of your personal deeds, except in so far as they are henceforth merely presupposed, . So far, then, I suggest what might be called a voluntaristic theory of the time process. 277 IMMORTALITY I understand, I may say, that Professor Mtinsterberg would in large measure agree with even this account of the time relations as due to, as expressions of, the significant attitudes of a world will. The point where my colleague and I are at variance is now ready for a clearer statement than is the one so far given in this discussion. The difference relates to the way in which this entire will process, this whole expression of significant activities in the universe, appears when viewed, so to speak, sub specie eternitatis ; that is, in its wholeness, as God must be conceived to view it — or as any one ought to view it who does not confine himself to the abstract concepts of the clock makers and of the calendars, but who considers real life as it genuinely is, in its veritable meaning. The time process is the form of the will. Past and future differ as deeds yet to be done differ from presupposed and irrevocable deeds. The present is the vanishing opportunity for the single deed. The time distinctions, then, are relative to deeds and to meanings. Grant 278 IMMORTALITY all this for a moment. What follows ? Does it follow that whoever views the world life as it truly is, sees the whole world as a timeless totality, consisting simply of meanings, of acts, of will attitudes, whose relations are not temporal, but significant ? Does it follow that endurance in time is no test of the worth of a personality, any more than colossal stature is needed as an attribute of a great personality ? I cannot agree to such a conclusion, in the form in which Professor Miinsterberg states it. First, then, as to the supposed timelessness of the world of real meanings, let me use an aesthetic example. Music, which Schopenhauer called an image of the will, is in any case essentially an art that expresses beautifully significant musical meanings in temporal order. Abstract, however, from the time form of music, and what is left of any musical form whatever .'' If the gods listen to music at all, they must appreciate its sequences. Wherein consists, however, a true musical appreciation ? Whoever aimlessly half listens to the 279 IMMORTALITY musical accompaniments of a dance or of a public festival, may indeed be so absorbed in the passing instant's sound that he gets no sense of the whole. True listening to music grasps, in a certain sense as a totum simul, entire sequences — measures, phrases, movements, symphonies. But such wiser listening and appreciation is not timeless. It does not ignore sequence. It is time-inclusive. It grasps as an entirety a sequence which transcends any one temporal present. In this grasping of the whole of a time process one gets a consciousness of a present which is no longer merely a vanishing present, but a timeincluding, a relatively eternal present, in which various vanishing instants have their places as relatively present, past, and future one to another. Well, such a view, as I take it, comes nearer to getting the sense of what real life is than does any view which considers its world merely as timeless. If, then, I try to conceive how God views things, I can only suppose, not that the absolute view ignores time, but that the 280 IMMORTALITY absolute view sees at a glance all time, past, present, future, just as the true appreciator of the music knows the entirety of the sequence as a sort of higher or inclusive present — a present in which the earlier stages do not merely vanish into the later stages, and yet, on the other hand, are not at all devoid of time relations to the later stages. For this inclusive view, as I suppose, sees the totality of the significant deeds and will attitudes as a single life process — temporal because it is both significant and volitional, — and present, not in the vanishing, but in the inclusive and eternal sense — present not as a timeless whole, but as an infinite sequence — "one undivided soul of many a soul," one life in infinite variety of expression. For such a view, however, — a view which is not timeless, but time-inclusive — the duration of a given series of will acts, the wealth, the lasting, the variety of a distinguishable portion of the entire process, might have — yes, must have — a true relation to the degree of the significance which this portion of 281 IMMORTALITY the whole possesses. A truly great work of musical art must involve a considerable sequence. Its length has a definable relation to its greatness. What is true of a work of art might be true of so much of the world life as constitutes an individual finite being. There might be significant time processes — individual lives, so to speak — whose meaning would require them to be endless, and whose place in the whole might demand that, once having appeared, they could never in the later will activities of the temporal order be ignored, but must thenceforth cooperate — the temporal will process always including amongst its deeds activities which were not only its own, but also their own. If such individual lives, distinct in their meaning from other partial expressions of the world will, endless in their duration from some one point onwards, were actually factors in the world process, and were amongst the facts which the absolute view of real life had to include, in order to express and to find its own complete truth — how would such lives be 282 IMMORTALITY related to the world life in its entirety ? How would they be related to that absolute insight, to that divine view, which, in an eternal, that is, in a time-inclusive sense, would see at a glance the entirety of the world process ? If I try to suggest, however vaguely, an answer to these momentous questions, the reader will understand that I am merely sketching, and am not now trying to prove, what elsewhere I have discussed with tedious detail, and in a far more technical way. Here we have no time to weigh arguments pro and con. I can only outline, in a dogmatic way, my views. I merely suggest a few of their reasons. I have spoken of a world will. I have said that to recognize, as we all do, one time process as holding for all the world, is to recognize the world will as a single volitional process in which all our lives are bound up. We are simply different modes of willing, continuously related to one another and to the total world will which throbs and strives in all of us alike, but which, in endless variety, seeks 283 IMMORTALITY now this and now that special aim — accomplishes now this and now that special deed — presupposes an infinity of deeds as its own past — goes on to an infinity of deeds as its future — is content to be no one of us, but shows in our social life the community of our endlessly various aims, as in our individual lives it exhibits an endless variety of dififerentiations and of distinguishable trends of purpose. It is one will in us all; yet I have tried to show, elsewhere, that this does not deprive us of individuality. It needs our variety and our freedom. And we need its unity and its inexhaustible fertility of suggestion. We read the symbols of this inexhaustible fertility when we study nature, and when we commune with man. We acknowledge this unity whenever we view the time of the world as one time. Our own will to live is the will of the world, conscious in us, and demanding our individual variety as its own mode of expression. We conspire with the world will even when most we seem to rebel. We are one with it even when most we think of ourselves 284 IMMORTALITY as separate. Art, ethics, reason, science, service, all bear witness both to our unity with its purposes, and to its need that all unity of purpose should be expressed through an endless variety of individual activities. I have thus spoken of the world will as this infinitely complex unity in the variety of all finite wills. I have also spoken of an absolute point of view, which views this entire life of the world will as one whole. I have used theological speech, and have called this absolute point of view that of the divine being, the point of view of God. Now this is no opportunity to consider either the proofs for the divine existence or the problem regarding the nature of God. I have again to use dogmatic forms of speech. I mean by the term "God" the totality of the expressions and life of the world will, when considered in its conscious unity. God is a consciousness which knows and which intends the entire life of the world, a consciousness which views this life at one glance, as its own life and self, and which therefore not only wills but attains, not only 285 IMMORTALITY seeks but possesses, not only passes from expression to expression, but eternally is the entire temporal sequence of its own expressions. God has and is a will, and this will, if viewed as a temporal sequence of activities, is identical with what I have called the world will. Only, when viewed as the divine will this world will is taken not merely as an infinite sequence of will activities, but in its eternal unity as one whole of life. God is omniscient, because his insight comprehends and finds unified, in one eternal instant, the totality of the temporal process, with all of its contents and meanings. He is omnipotent, because all that is done is, when viewed in its unity, his deed, and that despite the endless varieties and strifes which freedom and which the variety of individual finite expressions involve. God is immanent in the finite, because nothing is which is not a part of his total self-expression. He is transcendent of all finitude, because the totality of finite processes is before him at once, while nothing finite possesses true totality. 286 IMMORTALITY If one hereupon asks, Why should there be finitude, variety, imperfection, temporal sequence at all ? — we can only answer : Not otherwise can true and concrete perfection be expressed than through the overcoming of imperfections. Not otherwise can absolute attainment be won than through an infinite sequence of temporal strivings. Not otherwise can absolute personality exist than as mediated through the unification of the lives of imperfect and finite personalities. Not otherwise can the infinite live than through incarnation in finite form, and a rewinning of its total meaning through a conquest of its own finitude of expression. Not otherwise can rational satisfaction find a place than through a triumph over irrational dissatisfactions. The highest good logically demands a conquering of evil. The eternal needs expression in a temporal sequence whereof the eternal is the unity. The divine will must, as world will, differentiate itself into individuals, sequences, forms of finitude, into strivings, into ignorant seekings after the light, into doubting, erring, 287 IMMORTALITY wandering beings, that even hereby the perfection of the spirit may be won. Perfect through suffering — this is the law of the divine perfection. All these assertions would need, were there time, their own defense. I do not assert them as merely my own. That they are substantially true is what the whole lesson of the moral and religious experience of our race seems to me to have led us to see. That they are necessarily true can, as I think, be demonstrated, So much, then, for some hint as to how the temporal is, to my mind, related to the eternal. But what, one may ask, has all this to do with deciding the problem regarding immortality ? Much, every way, I reply, if you only add, at this point, a little reflection as to the second of the two questions with which this paper opened. We have studied our relation to time, and also have considered the relation of time to the divine being. But what, so we asked at the outset, is a human personality ? Incidentally, as it were, we have now al288 IMMORTALITY most answered this question, so far as it here concerns us. A human personality has many aspects, psychological, physical, social, ethical. But a man is a significant being by virtue not of his body, or his feelings, or his fortunes, or his social status, but by virtue of his will. The concept of personality is an ethical concept. A man, as an ethical being, is what he purposes to be, so far as his purpose is as yet temporally expressed. So far as his will is not yet expressed, his life belongs to the future. All else about him besides his will, his purpose, his life plan, his ideal, his deed, his volitional expression, — all else than this, I say, is mere material for manhood, mere clothing, mere environment, or mere fortune. Ignorantly as he now expresses himself, his worth lies not in the extent of his knowledge, but in the seriousness of his intent to express himself. Is he a sinner, then he is not yet true to his own will; that is, he is not yet, in the temporal order, his own complete and genuinely ideal self. For my duty is only my own will brought Tj 289 IMMORTALITY to a reasonable self-consciousness, and is not an external restraint. Hence the sinner is not yet his own explicit self. His conflict with the world is also an internal conflict — an inner war with his own imperfection. But if one who appears in the outer form of man shows no sign as yet of having any personal ideal, or life plan, or purpose, or individual will at all, then one can only say, " Since here we find a seemingly blind expression of the world will, but not an expression that as yet gives an account of itself, we must indeed suppose that some form of personality is here, in this fragment of the time process, latent, but we simply cannot tell what form." In such a case we indeed call the being whom we know in our human relations a person; but he so far appears as a person by courtesy. An explicit personality is one which shows itself through deeds that embody a coherent ideal — an ideal — an ideal which need not be abstractly formulated, but which must be practically active, recognizably significant, consciously in need of further temporal expression. Such an 290 IMMORTALITY explicit personality may be that of a hero, of a saint, or of a rascal. The hero and the saint are simply personalities that are so far expressed in forms whose deeds and ideals have a truer internal harmony. A rascal is a finite personality who is, so far as his personality is yet expressed, essentially at war with himself, as he is with the world. For his deeds are opposed to his true meaning. In so far as he appears to us, as he often does, to be a contented rascal or a joyous sinner, who observes not this essential warfare with himself — in just so far, I say, he is a fool, and, accordingly, in just so far he lacks explicit personality; so that, when we judge him as such a joyous rascal, we know not with what personality we are dealing. But the awakened sinner, however obstinate in his wrong-doing, is a consciously tragic figure. He may also be much of a hero. We shall then admire his vigor. But he remains a warfare of ideals and deeds, and so is not yet come to himself. The true hero, the righteous man, the saint, — these are personalities on a higher level. But 291 IMMORTALITY at no one point in time have they attained their total expression. For the dutiful will, in a finite being, is insatiable. It views itself as a dutiful will in so far as it seeks something yet to be done ; and it views itself as an individual dutiful will in so far as it consciously says : "Since this is my duty, nobody else in the universe — no, not God, in so far as God is other than myself — can do this duty for me. My duty I must myself do. And wherever in time I stand, I am dissatisfied with what is so far done. I must pass on to the next." Saints and sinners, so far as they are indeed explicit personalities, that is, finite wills conscious of their own individual intent, agree in being, in the temporal world, practically dissatisfied. The righteous man is dissatisfied with his present opportunity to express his will. He needs yet further future opportunities to do his duty. The conscious sinner is dissatisfied with the very will which he is at the moment trying to express. Each, as a finite being, engaged in a temporal process, 292 IMMORTALITY is a person by virtue of his very " dissatisfactions." I refer now by the word "dissatisfaction," not to gloomy feehngs, so much as to eagerness for further deeds. How we feel is a matter of fortune. How active we need to be, that constitutes our very selves, as now we are. For a finite personality, I insist, is a will to do something. So far as I have something yet to do, I am, however, dissatisfied with the past as with the present. I demand, in just so far, a future — a future in which, since I am now a sinner, at war with myself, I shall come into unity with my own will, and shall discover what it is that I am seeking — a future in which, in so far as even now I know and intend my duty, I shall further express this will of mine in the countless deeds that my personal purpose requires me yet to do. So much, then, for a hint regarding what a finite personality is. But in view of all the foregoing, how shall we say that such a finite personality is related to the world and to God ? I reply : A finite personality, as a conscious expression of the world will, is, when viewed 293 IMMORTALITY in time, an expression of what is just now a dissatisfaction — and of a dissatisfaction of this very personality with itself. In so far as consciously sinful, this personality is dissatisfied with what it so far knows about its own will ; but in so far as it is a finite doer of deeds, this personality, whether just or unjust, is dissatisfied with what it has so far done to express its will. Hence it looks to the future. And our very conception of the temporal future is due to this our present active dissatisfaction. That such dissatisfactions should be at all in the world is due, however, as we have said, to that general need which demands that the eternal should be expressed through the temporal, that the divine and absolute should take on human and fallible form, and that the infinite should be incarnate in the finite. Not otherwise than through a divine immanence, however, can I conceive all these finite forms of temporal striving to arise. What then follows ? Does not this follow at once? The finite personality can say: 294 IMMORTALITY "In me, as now I am, God is dissatisfied with himself just in so far as now he is partially expressed in me. I am a form of that divine dissatisfaction which constitutes the entire temporal order. This is my link with God, that now I am discontent with the expression of my personality." In me, then, God is discontented with his own temporal expression. This very discontent I myself am. It constitutes me. This individual thirst for infinity, this personal warfare with my own temporal maladjustment to my own ideal — this is my personality. I am this hatred of my own imperfection, this search for the future deed, this intent to do more than has yet been done. All else about me, — fortune, feeling, hope, fear, joy, sorrow, — these are accidents. These are my clothing, my mere belongings ; these constitute the very wilderness of finitude in which I wander. But I — I am essentially the wanderer, whose home is in eternity. And in me God is discontent — discontent with my waywardness — discontent with the little so 295 IMMORTALITY far done. In me the temporal being, in me now, God is in need, is hungry, is thirsty, is in prison. In me, then, God is dissatisfied. But he is God. He is absolute. Eternity is his. He must be satisfied. In eternity, in the view of the whole temporal process, he is satisfied. In his totality he attains, and he attains what I seek. This then is, as I conceive, the situation of any finite personality. How is this divine satisfaction attained ? I answer, not by ignoring, either now or hereafter, the voluntary individual expression ; for it is of the very essence of personality to define its opportunity, its deed, and its meaning, as individual, as insatiable, and unique. And God, too, so defines them, if he knows what personality is. No; the divine satisfaction can be obtained solely through the deeds of the individual. No finite series of these deeds expresses the insatiable demand of the ethical individual for further expression. And this, I take it, is our rational warrant for insisting that every rational person has, in the endless temporal 296 IMMORTALITY order, an opportunity for an endless series of deeds. To sum up : Since the time order is the expression of a will continuous with my own, my life cannot ever become a wholly past fact unless my individual will is one that, after some point of time, becomes superfluous for the further temporal expression of the meaning of the whole world life. But as an ethical personality I have an insatiable need for an opportunity to find, to define, and to accomplish my individual and unique duty. This need of mine is God's need in me and of me. Seen, then, from the eternal point of view, my personal life must be an endless series of deeds. This is a sketch of what I take to be the doctrine of immortality. The reader will observe that I have spoken wholly of will, of deeds, and of opportunity for deeds. I have carefully avoided saying anything about fortune, about future rewards and punishments, about future compensations for present sorrows, about one's rights to meet again one's lost friends, about any of these better known 297 IMMORTALITY popular aspects of our topic. As a fact, I pretend to no knowledge about my future fortunes, and to no rights whatever to demand, as a finite personality, any particular sort of good fortune. The doctrine of immortality is to my mind a somewhat stern doctrine. God in eternity wins the conscious satisfaction of my essential personal need. So much I can assert. But my essential personal need is simply for a chance to find out my rational purpose and to do my unique duty. I have no right to demand anything but this. The rest I can leave to a world order which is divine and rational, but which is also plainly a grave and serious order. 298 INDEX Absolute Pragmatism, 254. Absolute Truth, 242 ff. Absolutism, 208 f. American civilization, 17 f. Americanism in philosophy, 33. Aristotle, 241. Athletic type of morality, 31 f . Atonement, 135, 138, 155 f., 160, 167, 179 flf. Baptism, 111. Bushido, 80. Calculus of relations, 207. Carlyle, 39 f . " Cash values," 34. Christ, 107, 132 ff., 150 ff., 156, 160, 163 f., 165, 183. Christianity, Essay III, passim. Christology, 21. Church, 24, 58, 75, 77, 108, 113, 120 f., 128 f., 160, 170, 182. Consequences, 34, 36. Courage, 29. Darwin and Darwinism, 11. Dedekind, 210 f., 245 f. Dewey, 217. " Dissenter," 108. Divided self, the, 29. Divine immanence, 169, 294. Edwards, Jonathan, 3 ff., 121. Efficiency, 28, 35, 38. Emerson, R. W., 3 ff., 8. Empiricism, 191, 215. Epimenides, 233. Euoken, 198. Euclid, 211, 244 f., 247. Evil, problem of, 171 ff. Evolution, doctrine of, 11, 13. Experience, 22, 34, 37 f., 83, 86, 92, 222 ff., 250. Faith, 108 ff., 113 f., 124, 126. Fichte, 42, 188, 192. Fiske, 12. Frege, 245. French Revolution, 200. Gauss, 212. God,105f.,113f.,116f.,134f., 145 f., 151, 167 ff., 179 flf., 261 flf., 278, 280, 285 f., 295 ff. Gospel, 135, 140, 142, 161, 169. Grace, 110, 116, 118. Greek geometers, 204 f . Haeckel, 12. Hegel, 42 f., 188, 192. Heraclitus, 276. Hilbert, 210. Huxley, 12. Idealism, 189, 197, 254, 272. Immortality, Essay V, passim, 257, 273, 276, 297 f. Incarnation, 135, 138, 155 f., 160, 163, 167, 179. Insight, 50, 59 f., 63, 66, 68, 88, 113. 299 INDEX Instrumentalism, 194, 209, 214, 221 ff., 235, 253. Intellectualism, 202, 208 f., 232 f. Irrationalism, 198. James, William, Essay I, passim; as representative American philosopher, 7 ; as friend and teacher, 9 ; as thinker, 10 £f. ; as interpreter of evolutionary ideas, 14, 16; his contributions to psychology, 14 ff. ; as interpreter of the problems of the American people, 18 ; his treatment of religious problems, 19 ff. ; his attitude toward ethics, 19, 26 ff. ; his pragmatism, 32 ff. ; his doctrines embodied in " the will to believe," 36 ff. ; his polemic against Hegel, 42 f., 210, 217, 224 f. Job, 64. Kant, 187, 189, 192, 213, 238, 241, 246, 249. Kempe, 207. Kingdom of heaven, 150, 164 f . Lange, 12. Logic, 203, 206 f., 208, 234, 238, 250, 252. Lowell lectures, 32. Loyalty, Essay II, passim; loyalty to college, 49, 75 ; loyalty and insight, 50, 59 f . ; meaning of the term " loyalty," 52 ff. ; cause of loyalty, 55 ff., 69 f.; moral law summed up in terms of loyalty, 58 f . ; loyalty and modern philosophy of life, 67 ff. ; loyalty and reality. 71 ff. ; the cause for all the loyal, 77 ff. ; loyalty and religion, 90 ff. Mach, 217. Mass, 107, 161. Mathematics, 190, 202, 204, 238 ff., 247, 251 f. Mechanism, 61 f., 64 f., 66 f., 69, 71,86 f., 92 f. Meister Eckhart, 162 f., 164 ff., 180. Messianic, 141, 147, 149ff.,154. Modernism, 199. Modern philosophy of life, 60 ff., 90. Monotheism, 122. Moore, George, 208. Miinsterberg, 86, 258 f., 261. 263, 269, 278 f. Natural science, 83, 85. New Realism, 208. Newton, 218 f., 221. Nietzsche, 190, 196, 202, 230. Nogi, General, 80. Non-Euclidean geometry, 203, 209 f. Orthodoxy, 108, 123. Papal condemnation, 22. Paul, 120. Pauline charity, 118. Pauline epistles, 109 f. Peirce, Charles, 207 f. " Phanomenologie des Geistes," 188. Philosophy of action, 39. Pragmatic method, 33. Pragmatism, 32 ff., 193, 194 f ., 232, 253. Primitive religion, 103, 106, 120, 122 f., 155. " Psychical research," 16. 300 INDEX Psychology, 14 ff., 189, 216. Pure Logic, 241 f., 244. Reality, 66, 69, 71 f., 82, 86, 92, 146. Redemption, 138. Reformation, 121. Relativism, 209, 212, 237. Religious beliefs, 101 ff., 110 ff., 122 f., 137 f. ; practices, 101 ff., 110, 122 f., 126, 137 f. ; values, 100, 140. Religious metaphysics, 145. Revelation, 93 f. Roman CathoUc Church, 112, 127. Roman Empire, 148. Romantic School, 200. " Rule of Reason," 44. Russell, 190, 207, 239, 245, 247. Sacraments, 128. Schopenhauer, 279. Skepticism, 88. Sloth, 29. Socrates, 195. Spencer, 11. Spirit of loyalty, the, 51, 54, 58. St. Thomas, 262. Superstition, 62, 65, 68, 83, 90, 92 f ., 95. Symbolic Logic, 241. Tennyson, 253. Theory of Assemblages, 203. Theory of the Categories, 207. Theory of Knowledge, 187. Theory of Mathematical Form, 207. Time, problem of, 257 ff. Truth, problem of, 33 ; Essay IV, passim. Tuberculosis, 62. Tyndall, 12. Un-worldliness, 35. Upanishads, 195. " Vital," 100 ff., 105. Vital elements in any religion, 99ff., 117ff., 122; in Christianity, 100 ff., 126 ff., 129 ff., 142 ff., 155, 164 ff., 183. Voluntarism, 198, 208, 235, 254. Voluntaristic theory of time, 277 ff. Von Hartmann, 12. Zarathustra, 230. 301 T HE following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the same author and on kindred subjects By JOSIAH ROYCE Professor of the History of Philosophy, Harvard University Race Questions, Provincialism, and Other American Problems Goth, i2mo, $1.2$ net; by mail, $1.35 This work will be of deep interest to all those thoughtfully considering the pressing problems of American society, problems which are of utmost importance to American readers generally. The book is made up of five essays, different in subject, but bound together by the unity of their interest as scholarly studies of our life and civilization and containing some of Professor Royce's most important utterances on our national life and character. The author handles in a scholarly and intensely interesting manner the subject of race questions and prejudices, with the psychology of racial antipathies ; American idealism in its popular and practical aspects ; the relations of climate and civilization ; and some relations of physical training to the present problems of moral education in America. The second and fourth essays of the book both relate to provincialism, — the one discussing, in general terms, the need and uses of that spirit in our American life ; the other sketching the bases upon which rests that particular form of provincialism to which the author personally owes most, and stating the services that it may accomplish in dealing with various types of evils in this country. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York By JOSIAH ROYCE The Philosophy of Loyalty Cloth, 4og pages, i2mo, index, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.60 An interesting book Even the man who knows nothing of philosophy will be charmed by the clearness of expression, the charity of the thought, and its close relation to the practical affairs of daily life. Few thinking men have failed to fear the dangers of a general lowering of the standards of morality, and will rejoice in a book which so felicitously summons us to that highest of all ideals — the being true to ourselves. 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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New Tork The Persistent Problems of Philosophy An Introduction to Metaphysics through the Study of Modem Systems By MARY WHITON CALKINS Professor of Philosophy and Psychology in Wellesley College Published in New York, 1907. Second edition, 1908 Cloth, 8vo, S7S pages, $2.50 net This book is intended for beginners in philosophy as well as for students and readers who are seriously concerned with the problems of the subject. It combines the essential features of an Introduction to Metaphysics with those of a History of Modern Philosophy. Expositions are supported by exact quotations from philosophical texts, and by this means it is hoped to impress upon students the necessity of a first-hand study of philosophical texts. The classification of philosophical systems has been simplified by the carefial distinction between " qualitative " and " numerical " forms of monism and pluralism. 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Palmer Cloth, 8vo, 3jg pag'.s, $2.jj net A study of memory as an example of the relation between matter and spirit, both of which assumptions the author makes in the beginning. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64-66 Fifth Avenue, Wew York Cornell University Library B945.R89 W7 William James and other essays on the ph olln 3 1924 029 067 746 Book^ii A DISCOUBSE THE PUBSUIT OF TEUTH, LONDON : PRINTED BY 6P0TTISW00DE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET ON THE PURSUIT OF TRUTH AS EXEMPLIFIED IN THE PRINCIPLES OF EVIDENCE, THEOLOGICAL, SCIENTIFIC, AND JUDICIAL. A DISCOUESE UDeUtjcrcti before tjjc £unbap Sccturc ^ocictp March 2, 1873, BY A. ELLEY FINCH. WITH NOTES AND AUTHORITIES. LONDON : LONGMANS, GEEEN, AND CO. 1873. All riaht." rtstrrecl. CM SYLLABUS. Man distinguished from the lower animals by his intellectual faculty for acquiring Knowledge through the medium of Testimony — Improvement of his social condition mainly dependent upon the right use of such faculty. Modern meaning of the Apophthegm of Archimedes — ' If the Educational Fulcrum were possessed by Science, it would move the World.' Extremes of Credulity and Scepticism alike irrational — Basis of sound Belief — Faith in the constancy and uniformity of the Order of Nature, and in the teaching and analogy of Human Experience. Harmony of Beligion and Science — Antagonism of Science and Theology. Principle of Theological Proof (anticipatio mentis) — Appeal to the intuitive consciousness, through Deductive inference from (assumed; inspired human assertion. Principle of Scientific Proof (interpretatio natures) — Appeal to the facts of external Nature, through Inductive experience, from Observation and Experiment. Illustrations — Evidence of the dogma of the Trinity (theological) — Evidence of the composition of Water (scientific). Principle of Judicial Proof {lex terrce" 1 ) — Correspondence of the rules of legal evidence with the intelligence of the community, and standard of belief of the age. Improvement of legal evidence parallel to the progress of Scientific Discovery and the decline of Theological Dogma. Illustrations — Belief in Witchcraft — Culminates under the theology 1 This barbarous latin phrase, coined by our unscholarly ancestors in their struggles to preserve the law of the land against the usurpations of ecclesiastics (striving to impose upon the national tribunals the slavish maxims of the civil and canon laws), is classical with the lover of English liberty ; and thetalisman ' lex terra,' enshrined in Magna Charta, remains a permanent memorial of their signal sitccess. VI SYLLABUS. of the Puritans — Extinguished by the scientific scepticism of the 18th century— Trial of Sir Walter Ealeigh, a.d. 1603— (Theology supreme, Science in its dawn) — Laxity of the Law of Evidence sacrifices the life of Sir Walter Ealeigh — Trial of William Hone, a.d. 1817 — (Science ascendant Theology on the wane) — Strictness of the Law of Evidence restores William Hone to liberty, and vindicates the freedom of the British Political Press. Primary purpose of Judicial Inquiry, the Discovery of Truth — English Criminal Law of Evidence, in silencing the accused, violates the fundamental axiom of Science — ' Interrogation of Nature.' Supreme importance of the Canons of Judicial Proof, as disposing of Property, Life, and Liberty — The Law of the land as the Moral Code of the Community. Connexion of the Physical and Moral Laws — Moral Beliefs sifted of superstitions, purified from prejudices, and placed paramount to theological dogmas, through diffused knowledge of the Truths and Methods of the Physical Sciences. NOTES. PAGE A. What is Truth ? 65 B. The Basis of Belief 69 C. Real Religion . . . . . . . .75 D. Mind and Matter 76 E. The Nature of Knowledge 79 F. The Bible 81 G. Astronomy and Geology and Genesis . . . .84 H. The Theologians and Human Happiness . . . .90 I. The Studies at the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge . 94 J. Sir Isaac Neivton and ' The Prophecies ' . . . .98 K. The Inductive and Deductive Philosophical Methods . 100 INDEX OF AUTHORITIES AND REFERENCES. Abercrombie, J., M.D., Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers and the Investigation of Truth, 10th ed. J. Murray, 1840 2 Amos, Sheldon, M.A. (Professor of Jurisprudence in University College, London), A Systematic Vieiv of the Science of Jurisprudence. Longmans, 1872 . . . . .26 Arnold, Matthew, D.C.L., Literature and Dogma: An Essay towards a letter Apprehension of the Bible. Smith, Elder & Co., 1873 52, 100 Arnott, Neil, M.D., F.R.S., Elements of Physics, or Natural Philosophy, 6th ed. Longmans, 1864 . . . 7,10,24.79 „ „ A Survey of Human Progress, 2nd ed. Longmans, 1862 . . 40 Austin, J., The Province of Jurisprudence determined. J. Murray, 1832 4 Bacon, Lord, Works, 2 vols. W. Ball, 1837 „ „ Essays (with annotations by Archbishop Whately). Parker & Son, 1838 65 ,, „ De Dignitate et Augmentis Scientiarum . . 39 „ ,, Novum Organum . . . . . .37 ,, ,, Parasceve ad Historiam Naturalem, fyc. . . 9 ,, ,, Epistolce 42 Bain, A., LL.D. (Professor of Logic at the University of Aberdeen), Mental and Moral Science. Longmans, 1872 . 64, 71 Barrington, Honble. Daines, Observations on the more Ancient Statutes, &c, 4th ed. Bowyer & Nichols, 1775 . . .59 Bentham, Jeremy, Works of, by J. Hill Burton. Edinburgh, 1843^ 26 „ „ Rationale of Judicial Evidence. Vol. 6 of above ,, X INDEX OF AUTHORITIES AND REFERENCES. PAGE Biographie Universelle, Ancienne et Moderne, nouvelle edn. Bruxelles, 1843-1847 2, 19 Blackstone, Sir W., Commentaries on the Laws of England 47, 61 „ „ The Great Charter, with Historical Introduction, Law Tracts, 2 vols. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1762 ... 60 Boswell, J., Life of Dr. Johnson (edited by J. W. Croker). Murray, 1848 98 Browne, Harold (Bishop of Ely), An Exposition of the Thirtynine Articles, 3rd ed. Parker & Son, 1856 . . .18 Brown, Joseph, Q.C., On the Bill to amend the Law of Evidence, fyc. Sess. Proceedings of the Society for Promoting the Amendment of the Law, vol. v., No. 14. April, 1872 . . . . . 58, 59 „ Sir Thomas, M.D., Religio Medici. London, Nath. Ekins, 1672 10, 31 Buckle, H. T., History of Civilization in England, 2nd ed. Parker & Son, 1858 7, 8, 16, 21, 25, 41, 42, 43, 55, 64, 72, 81, 94, 102-106 Burnet, G. (Bishop of Salisbury), History of his own Time. {Literature of the Church of England, vol. ii.) . . .76 Butler, J., D.C.L. (Bishop of Durham), Works by J. Hallifax, (Bishop of Gloucester), 2 vols. Oxford, University Press, 1850 „ „ Three Sermonson Human Nature,