b'Digitized by the Internet Archive \nin 2011 with funding from \nThe Library of Congress \n\n\n\nhttp://www.archive.org/details/sciencephilosoph01basc \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, \nPhilosophy and Religion, \n\nlectures \n\n\n\nDELIVERED BEFORE THE \n\n\n\nLOWELL INSTITUTE, BOSTON. \n\n\n\nBy \n\nJOHN BASCOM, \n\nProf, in Williams College, Author of the " Principles of Psychology ! \n" ^Esthetics," etc. \n\n\n\nNEW YORK: \n\nG. P. PUTNAM & SONS, PUBLISHERS, \n\nassociation buildings, twenty-third street. \n1871. \n\n\n\n856 \n\nS3 \n\n/87/ \n\n\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by \n\nJOHN BASCOM, \nIn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. \n\n\n\nstereotyped by \n\nDennis Bro\'s & Thorne, \n\nauburn, n. v. \n\n\n\nPREFACE, \n\n\n\nThese lectures, though in part an extension of \nprinciples already presented by us to the public, we \nhave thought it well to publish, both as developing \nthe central doctrines of our intellectual constitution in \nnew directions, and as more firmly establishing them \nin old ones. It may not be unserviceable to the hasty \ncritic, nor unwelcome to the patient reader, to indi- \ncate at once the points in this discussion most im- \nportant. We start with philosophy, seeking in the \nmind itself those ideas by means of which it groups \nand explains the facts of the physical and the spiritual \nworld. The close of the second lecture presents a \ntabular arrangement of primitive notions, which con- \ntains the key of the method adopted. This presenta- \ntion contains new features ; and, if at the same time it \nbe just, the fields of science, philosophy and religion \nare at once defined by it, and the grounds of contro- \nversy greatly narrowed. Science and philosophy, \nstarting with certain common ideas, take up each of \n\n\n\nIV PREFACE. \n\nthem distinguishing notions, and, moving along inde- \npendent lines of inquiry, meet again in religion. \n\nThe plan of the lectures and their merit, whatever \nthis may be, centre here, and are commended to un- \nsparing, yet fair and searching, criticism. If these \nlectures shall serve, even by a little, to deepen our \nimpression of our powers, and our sense of hope in \ntheir handling, a chief object will be reached. We \nbelieve in the unspeakable elevation of our spiritual \nnature, and are willing often to shift the view, if so be, \nthrough clouds and mists, we may catch some more \ndistinct prospect of those heights on which it is our \nearliest and latest effort to plant the feet of men. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\n\n\nLECTURE I. \n\nMIND, THE SEAT AND SOURCE OF KNOWLEDGE. \n\nThe mind first in value ; all power flows from it. \xe2\x80\x94 Some form of Philosophy \nand Religion inevitable ; Comte. \xe2\x80\x94 An unsound Faith can be excluded \nonly by a sound one ; Huxley ; Hume.\xe2\x80\x94 We are put by Philosophy in the \ntrue line of progress. \xe2\x80\x94 Dependence of the Present on the Past ; if we reject \nthe last we lose the first. \xe2\x80\x94 The exclusively scientific spirit restricts and \nthus debases Thought. \xe2\x80\x94 Mark out the directions of Inquiry. \xe2\x80\x94 The Mind \ncentral between the Physical and Spiritual realms ; study each from this \npoint ; thus reach Science, Philosophy, and Religion 5 \n\n\n\nLECTURE II. \n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS. \n\nConflicts of Philosophy concerning Intuitive Ideas.\xe2\x80\x94 Why? \xe2\x80\x94 What meant by \nthem. \xe2\x80\x94 An issue found in them with Materialism. \xe2\x80\x94 A supposition. \xe2\x80\x94 Offices \nperformed by these Ideas ; preliminary to Classification. \xe2\x80\x94 No antecedent \nimprobability against them. \xe2\x80\x94 Physical Inquirers use them. \xe2\x80\x94 Cause and \nEffect. \xe2\x80\x94 Force ; the part it plays in Science. \xe2\x80\x94 Suicidal for Materialism to \ndeny the notion of Cause; yet cannot reach it by Generalization. \xe2\x80\x94 Gener- \nalization must rest on direct Knowledge. \xe2\x80\x94 First, these ideas yielded by \ncareful Analysis ; Second, the Mind begins its action by means of them ; \nThird, proof found in the conclusions yielded by them ; Fourth, in the \nlight and order they bring. \xe2\x80\x94 Enumeration 27 \n\n\n\nLECTURE III. \n\nTHE FIELD OF PHYSICAL FACTS. \n\nSpace the field, Causation the law of Physical Facts ; Existence ; Number ; \nResemblance.\xe2\x80\x94 Space, the condition of Physical Events ; distinction be- \ntween these and Spiritual Events. \xe2\x80\x94 Space, its connection with Mathematics. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Primitive powers of the mind here shown. \xe2\x80\x94 Causation; Character; \nFundamental axiom. \xe2\x80\x94 Applicable to Physical Facts alone. \xe2\x80\x94 Knowledge \ndependent on it.\xe2\x80\x94 Of Existence. \xe2\x80\x94 Of Comprehension. \xe2\x80\x94 Of Perpetuity. \xe2\x80\x94 Its \nProof; Hume; Mill. \xe2\x80\x94 Philosophy errs how ; Dependence of Science on \nPhilosophy. \xe2\x80\x94 Materialism. \xe2\x80\x94 Powers of the Mind 55 \n\n\n\n2 CONTENTS. \n\nLECTURE IV. \n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE CONNECTION C" THOUGHT. \n\nResemblance substituted for Causation. \xe2\x80\x94 Antecedent difficulties : First, this \nnotion also Primitive ; Second, does not give Explanation. \xe2\x80\x94 This res- \nolution of all Judgments into Resemblance maintained by Hamilton ; by \nSpencer. \xe2\x80\x94 The significance of this view. \xe2\x80\x94 Ethics. \xe2\x80\x94 Religion. \xe2\x80\x94 How this \nresolution possible. \xe2\x80\x94 More exact Analysis. \xe2\x80\x94 Idea of time as an illustration. \nEach idea gives original Judgments. \xe2\x80\x94 Resemblance to displace Causation ; \nthis impossible. \xe2\x80\x94 Why ? \xe2\x80\x94 Botany. \xe2\x80\x94 Zoology. \xe2\x80\x94 Physics. \xe2\x80\x94 Chemistry. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe Mind takes no pleasure in Resemblances except as they point to Causes. \n\xe2\x80\x94 All knowledge of Physical Events implies Causes. \xe2\x80\x94 Nature, middle ground \nbetween us and God. \xe2\x80\x94 Gives conditions of action. \xe2\x80\x94 A middle term of \nThought. \xe2\x80\x94 Final Causes. \xe2\x80\x94 Miracles.\' \xe2\x80\x94 Liberty. \xe2\x80\x94 Causation must be granted \nby the Materialist as a ground of attack on Freedom. \xe2\x80\x94 Summation 79 \n\nLECTURE V. \n\nMATTER ; ITS EXISTENCE AND NATURE. \n\nMatter is the seat of forces. \xe2\x80\x94 Dependent for a belief in its existence on the Idea \nof Cause. \xe2\x80\x94 How reached in Perception. \xe2\x80\x94 Hamilton. \xe2\x80\x94 Examination of the \nseveral Senses. \xe2\x80\x94 Anomalies of Vision. \xe2\x80\x94 Movement in the organs of Sense. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Substitution of Senses. \xe2\x80\x94 Delirium. \xe2\x80\x94 The character of Consciousness. \xe2\x80\x94 \nIdealism the logical issue of the doctrine of direct perception. \xe2\x80\x94 What is \nMatter? \xe2\x80\x94 Force. \xe2\x80\x94 The imagination; its embarrassments. \xe2\x80\x94 What do we \nknow of Matter ? \xe2\x80\x94 Effects : these precisely express Causes ; are their final \ndefinition. \xe2\x80\x94 We must admit the being of those Forces or Causes. \xe2\x80\x94 Many \nForces, not one Force. \xe2\x80\x94 Correllation of Forces. \xe2\x80\x94 No absolute oneness of \nCauses. \xe2\x80\x94 Force of gravity. \xe2\x80\x94 Relation of this view of Matter to the being of \nGod. \xe2\x80\x94 Force suggests a personal Agent. \xe2\x80\x94 Two theories. \xe2\x80\x94 Second Causes. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Direct agency. \xe2\x80\x94 Advantages of the last 104 \n\nLECTURE VI. \n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. \n\nWhere are the facts of Mind to be found ? \xe2\x80\x94 Various answers ; Mill ; Maudsley ; \nTrue answer ; ends of inquiry. \xe2\x80\x94 Impossible to reach facts of Mind other- \nwise than through Consciousness. \xe2\x80\x94 Phrenologists. \xe2\x80\x94 These facts separate \nfrom all others. \xe2\x80\x94 Lewes, What is in Consciousness ? \xe2\x80\x94 Hamilton, What are \nMental Phenomena ? \xe2\x80\x94 No fact to be understood in its mental bearings save \nin the Mind.\xe2\x80\x94 The two kinds of facts perfectly distinct; Reason of this. \xe2\x80\x94 \nSpace and Consciousness, two ideas each with its own facts ; time covers \nboth. \xe2\x80\x94 What is Consciousness ? \xe2\x80\x94 Prof. Porter. \xe2\x80\x94 Consequences of regarding \nit as a regulative Idea. \xe2\x80\x94 What the test of the validity of mental facts? \xe2\x80\x94 \nSpencer. \xe2\x80\x94 A mental power shown by a fixed result. \xe2\x80\x94 Such powers of equal \nauthority. \xe2\x80\x94 Mind reposes on itself. 130 \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. 3 \n\nLECTURE VII. \n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. \n\nWhat the law of Mental Facts.\xe2\x80\x94 On the perceptive, on the executive side.\xe2\x80\x94 \nRight, Liberty.\xe2\x80\x94 The first, the Facts to be explained.\xe2\x80\x94 Central Fact of \nMoral Nature is perception of Right.\xe2\x80\x94 Two sides, perceptive, emotional, \nindissoluble.\xe2\x80\x94 Utilitarianism fails partially on the perceptive side, wholly \non the emotional side.\xe2\x80\x94 Vacillation by Utilitarians.\xe2\x80\x94 (i) Obligation due to \nHappiness ; (2) to Society ; (3) to Blessedness.\xe2\x80\x94 The intuitive view, (1) Ob- \njection, favors Dogmatism ; Bentham.\xe2\x80\x94 Grounds of Tightness in action.\xe2\x80\x94 (2) \nObjection, Hopeless variety of opinions, allows no growth ; Martineau. \n\xe2\x80\x94(3 ) Objection, An ultimate good not rational ; Dr. Hopkins; Bentham.\xe2\x80\x94 \nTo perform an act as right merely, not rational ; Answer.\xe2\x80\x94 The action is \nright because of its consequences ; Answer.\xe2\x80\x94 Relations of an intuitive right \n(1) ot Happiness.\xe2\x80\x94 Why reached by the right.\xe2\x80\x94 A test of the right,\xe2\x80\x94 (2) to \nDaily Conduct.\xe2\x80\x94 A Supreme good, is there any?\xe2\x80\x94 This view comes back to \na law.\xe2\x80\x94 Why not practically safe in pursuing highest happiness,\xe2\x80\x94 (3) to the \nIntellect,\xe2\x80\x94 (4) to God,\xe2\x80\x94 Dr. Hopkins,\xe2\x80\x94 (5) to Immortality I5J \n\nLECTURE VIII. \n\nLIBERTY. \n\nResume.\xe2\x80\x94 Notion of Cause contrasted with Liberty.\xe2\x80\x94 Mind spontaneous.\xe2\x80\x94 \nSensations, Thoughts ; dependence on each other of mental acts.\xe2\x80\x94 A force \nvariable within itself a spontaneous one.\xe2\x80\x94 Liberty more than spontaneity.\xe2\x80\x94 \nLiberty, what.\xe2\x80\x94 Proof, not in Consciousness.\xe2\x80\x94 Mind offers the Idea in \nexplanation of certain facts.\xe2\x80\x94 (1) General conviction.\xe2\x80\x94 (2) Responsibility; \nGuilt ; If the doctrine of the necessitarian were true it would prevail at once. \n(3) Nature of motives ; Connection between objects and the desires awa- \nkened ; Between these and volition ; Need of an alternative ; If none, \nthen no liberty ; Our moral nature furnishes it.\xe2\x80\x94 (4) Inadequacy of other \ntheories ; Bain, Mill, make responsibility equal punishability.\xe2\x80\x94 (1) Objection \nto the theory now presented, Liberty equals Fortuity; Answer.\xe2\x80\x94 The \nspontaneity denied to Mind granted to Matter.\xe2\x80\x94 (2) Objection, Liberty gives \nno weight to Motives.\xe2\x80\x94 In what sense true ; Mill.\xe2\x80\x94 (3) Objection, Interferes \nwith foreknowledge.\xe2\x80\x94 God equal to his work 1S5 \n\nLECTURE IX. \nlife; nature and origin. \xe2\x80\x94 the mind. \nThe True, the Beautiful and the Good, rest on spontaneity.\xe2\x80\x94 Nature and source \nof Mental Life.\xe2\x80\x94 Life; Spencer\'s definition; Its difficulties; Definition. \n\xe2\x80\x94Man ; Amceba.\xe2\x80\x94 Three questions, Why a life-power? Whence the life of \nthe globe ? If a life-power, its Nature ?\xe2\x80\x94 1 he first question, Spontaneous \ngeneration ; Huxley.\xe2\x80\x94 Protoplasm.\xe2\x80\x94 What the life-power introduced to ex- \nplain ; its use of molecular forces.\xe2\x80\x94 Life is the architect ; Odling ; Bush- \nnell.\xe2\x80\x94 Second question: Darwin\'s line of argument ; its difficulties; if \naccepted, how stands the question.\xe2\x80\x94 Natural selection.\xe2\x80\x94 Variation.\xe2\x80\x94 Vital \nforce conditioned to orderly change.\xe2\x80\x94 Small increments mark new forces \n\xe2\x80\x94Theory of development ; Spencer.\xe2\x80\x94 Third question : Life a super-phys- \nical power ; Reasons.\xe2\x80\x94 Mind super-added to life, belongs to man alone as a \nthinking power ; Proof.\xe2\x80\x94 Life and Mind in interaction 209 \n\n\n\n4 CONTENTS. \n\nLECTURE X. \n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES AND SPIRITUAL FORCES. \n\nResume. \xe2\x80\x94 Force easily referable to God. \xe2\x80\x94 Life more so. \xe2\x80\x94 (i) Two forms of \nPhenomena, each to be inquired into under its own Ideas ; Fortuity ; \nFatality; Conflict of tendencies. \xe2\x80\x94 Miracles; Antipathy to. \xe2\x80\x94 Science; \nEvasion of the point. \xe2\x80\x94 Their harmony with Mental Facts. \xe2\x80\x94 How find en- \ntrance. \xe2\x80\x94 Office; Dangers of. \xe2\x80\x94 Prayer; Unbelief in ; Evasion; How an- \nswered ; Rationality of; What may be asked for; Addressed to Faith; \nDerision of. \xe2\x80\x94 Influences of the Spirit. \xe2\x80\x94 The position taken decidedly right or \ndecidedly wrong ; Appeal whither ; Reason of. \xe2\x80\x94 The attitude of the Sciolist. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Metaphysics. \xe2\x80\x94 Here lies the last Appeal. \xe2\x80\x94 If not able to follow it here, \nwe are to wait on general conviction 238 \n\nLECTURE XI. \n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. \n\nGod at first thought to start with matter ; Later, the nature of matter better \nunderstood ; Seat of thought ; involves of all. \xe2\x80\x94 Old ground lost of belief; \nInfidelity. \xe2\x80\x94 Life, a point of new interest ; True defence ; the conditioned \ninvolves the Unconditioned. \xe2\x80\x94 First Cause; why faulty in language and in \nthought. \xe2\x80\x94 An Infinite Person demanded as source of all. \xe2\x80\x94 Notion of the In- \nfinite; Mansel; Spencer; Inconceivable. \xe2\x80\x94 Infinite in connection with space ; \nInfinite and indefinite ; Definiteness of the conception as regards space, \nas regards time ; Application to power, to knowledge. \xe2\x80\x94 Notion not illusory. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Two fields of knowledge. \xe2\x80\x94 Conceive God most correctly when. \xe2\x80\x94 Omni- \npresence. \xe2\x80\x94 Mind related to space by the body. \xe2\x80\x94 Space, what.\xe2\x80\x94 Time, what. \n\xe2\x80\x94 Worth of the conceptions offered ; Martineau ; Max Miiller 262 \n\nLECTURE XII. \n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE ; FORM OF DEVELOPMENT. \n\nPhilosophy central ; Gives the limits of science ; Defines its own limits. \xe2\x80\x94 Depart- \nment of pure ideas. \xe2\x80\x94 Science, what ; Tabular view of sciences. \xe2\x80\x94 Relation of \nPhilosophy to religion ; Religion rests on reason, on the moral sense. \xe2\x80\x94 \nOrder of intellectual growth, reason ; the individual, the nation, nations. \nEarly predominance of the personal element ; Later, influence of material \nforces. \xe2\x80\x94 The order enforced by Positive Philosophy ; Spencer, Buckle. \xe2\x80\x94 \nAll connections those of the mind. \xe2\x80\x94 Appeal always lies to Philosophy. \xe2\x80\x94 \nTwo protections against the error of a wrong theory. \xe2\x80\x94 Men illogical in \ndeduction, fail to understand what they believe ; Time develops the good \nand the evil of a system. \xe2\x80\x94 Spencer\'s Principles of Psychology. \xe2\x80\x94 Hume and \nmiracles. \xe2\x80\x94 Mind misled by familiarity, by concentration on particular topics ; \nits desire for unity ; the most rigid system least likely to be correct 28S \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY \n\n\n\nAND \n\n\n\nRELIGION. \n\n\n\nLECTURE I. \n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. \n\nThe theme which is to occupy us in the lectures \nbefore us, is \xe2\x80\x94 "Mental Philosophy; its Bearings on \nScience and Religion." We thus have occasion to \ndirect our attention to ourselves, the nature, form \nand validity of our knowledge ; what hold we have \non the invisible world within us ; what hold, through \nthis, we have on the visible world about us, and what, \nthrough these both, on the future, visible and invisi- \nble, which lies before us \xe2\x80\x94 that future without which \nthe present perishes, as the flower plucked from the \nstem, leaving no seed behind it. \n\nThis theme it is a pleasure to meditate upon, and a \npleasure to present, and, though I know how strongly \nthe current of intellectual life is setting elsewhere, \nhow rapidly and gayly the shallops that float on other \nstreams speed onward, I cannot but hope that it shall \nnot be barren to the attentive mind. \n\nWould we not do well to confess to a certain shame \nat the steadiness with which every one peers outward, \nas if the pageant of the exterior world had dazed us ; \nas if the long and gala procession of nature opened \n\n\n\n6 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nand occupied all our senses in dumb astonishment, \nand left us, like some country rustic, with parted \nlips and bewildered thought, to be knocked down and \nrun over by some cavalier in the ongoing throng ? \nSo has it happened to many. Philosophy, the self- \nrespect, composure and assurance of philosophy have \nforsaken them, and, venturing into the throng, some \nbullying law of development, some sanguine, sanguin- \nary theory of physics has tripped them, and quickly \nthey have found themselves regarded as little higher \nthan monkeys, and treated no better. We believe \nin the principle that life is more than meat, the mind \nmore, at least to itself, than all that the mind contem- \nplates, and offer it as a first reason why we should \npursue with patience the line of thought before us. \nStars and nebulae, atoms and molecules, are good \nthings not to be objected to, but they are so, chiefly \nbecause they interest the mind, provoke and reward \nits inquiries, and are thus to it means of strength. \nFood is nothing save through the palate which ap- \npreciates it ; knowledge is nothing save through the \nappetite of the mind that knows it, and the knowing \npower is thus the centre at which converge all lines \nof thought. It is worth our while to pursue butter- \nflies, entrap moths, pin beetles, but chiefly worth our \nwhile because each and all of them are fragments \nof the divine thought wherewith we feed our own \nthought, and ourselves grow in the divine image of \nknowledge and strength. Nor is this mental feeding \nlike the physical feeding of the brute, that, under a \nfew instincts, with a few feelers, goes on safely by \nday and by night, finding a perfect fulfillment of \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. J \n\nevery end in its own blind action. Mental life is \ncrystalline and transparent, not adhesive and opaque. \nThere is in it an interior plan known to itself, an \neye that ranges through its own products, not merely \nto discover their order, but to aid in its establishment. \nIf any deny this, they equally with us must take their \nappeal to the mind itself, and in the study we propose \ndecide the points of difference. Indeed, we are will- \ning, by the amplitude of what we claim, to provoke \ndenial, and thus initiate inquiry on the grounds of \nphilosophy. Better is it to do this than quietly to \nbuild the defences of thought on headlands deserted \nand without assailants, all the world beside voyaging \nto some polar sea in patient pursuit of another phys- \nical fact. Truly it is not to our credit, it cannot \nremain to our credit, that we should wish less to \nknow what we ourselves are, and what are the \nsources, conditions, issues of our lives, than to know \nhow the world was rolled up into an opaque ball out \nof the undefined nebulae, covering, in the dawn of \ntime, the unenclosed fields of space ; or how life ap- \npeared on, and spread over the world, how it strug- \ngled for possession, multiplied similar types, shot up \ninto higher types, and became like a forest, pursuing \nthe light with its growing summits, yet hiding, in \nevery inch of soil below, many living centres. Why \nthis interest in the way out of myth and chaos, if we \nhave no corresponding interest in man ; in every \nview of the subject, the end and goal of progress ? \nWhy not stand on the summit and look down from \nthe tower of our spiritual strength, as well as climb \nup to it ? It is thought^ mind, reason, is it not, that \n\n\n\n8 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlights us at every step of the ascent, and may it not \nbe possible that the mind itself may be, like the lan- \ntern of curious construction, manifold reflection and \nchangeable light, more worthy of study even than the \nstructure which lifts it \xe2\x80\x94 a sentinel of unsafe and dreary \nseas ? If it is a pleasure to know, is not that pleasure \nmost complete when we ourselves are the objects \nof knowledge ? If knowledge is power, is not that \npower greatest when it pertains to mind ? If truth \nfills the soul with its own satisfaction, is not that sat- \nisfaction most perfect when the truths that confer it \npertain to the highest subjects of thought ? What- \never the excellence of knowledge, that excellence \ncannot fail to be enhanced by being attached to that \ncentral, luminous and self-luminous, conscious and \nself-conscious thing \xe2\x80\x94 the human soul. \n\nBut from this first ground of interest \xe2\x80\x94 that all lines \nof thought converge in the mind, there follows a \nsecond \xe2\x80\x94 that power and control, flow forth from it. \nEven vvhen it suffers, it is not a passive recipient, and \nwhen it acts, it is the image and the sole image of all \nspontaneous and free movement. You are pleased \nto deny this spontaneity. We can only say, let us \ndiscuss it, and see. It is a poor thing to contemplate \nthe forces that flow in on the mind, bowing it to the \nphysical constitution of the world, to the influences \nthat find expression in soil, climate, race and civiliza- \ntion, unless we also consider that personal power \nwhich meets them, rises above them, shapes them, \nuses them, and, by slow digestion, incorporates them \ninto its own structure. Some dark paint may be \ndashed at once in quantity upon the color we are \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. 9 \n\nmingling ; all seems hopelessly blackened ; yet as \nwe proceed, the light strikes up from beneath, in the \nend gets the mastery, and puts its own cheerful face \nupon the whole affair. So physical facts rush in and \nspread over the face of society a deluge of barbarism. \nAnon, in the slow mingling of centuries, there come \nup from beneath the germs of past mental power, \nand a new civilization is the product. It is in this \nout-going power of mind that we find liberty, duty, \nand the mastery of the individual and the race. In \nthese we all practically believe, and many of us theo- \nretically. If the foundations of duty are here ; if \nwhat we may do and what we ought to do are found \nhere ; if the questions, what we are to require of \nothers, and the fitness of what we suffer in ourselves, \nare here tested ; if hence are the sources and laws \nof the practical power we are to exercise ; if the lines \nof rational action, which are momentarily initiated, \nand become momentarily more and more unmanage- \nable in the good and evil that flow from them, here \noriginate, then truly all the obligations to know, that \nlife can lay upon us rest primarily here. If duties \nthere are for me or another, then it becomes a duty \nto know these duties. If power there is for evil or \ngood, then should there be a knowledge of this power, \nthat it may be used. Since our activities, more to us \nthan all activities beside, go forth from ourselves, \ntheir limits and laws should be sought in ourselves. \nBut activity is not duty alone ; it is joy and hope \nas well. Among the preeminent characteristics of \nman is this \xe2\x80\x94 that the future is as much and even \nmore to him than the present. It is only the spend- \n\n\n\n10 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthrift and profligate, that mortgage the future to the \npresent ; the philosopher and Christian make the one \nthe seed-time of the other, and accept much hard \nlabor now, in view of a proportionate harvest here- \nafter. These hopes, this gathering up of the aims of \nlife, and casting them far ahead, as a gauntlet into \nthe midst of the enemy, are a further and urgent rea- \nson for the inquiry proposed. No mind, earnest and \nbroad, will abide in the momentary joy of the present. \nThe life that is in it must become to it a light where- \nwith to forecast the road to be travelled, and whether \nit shall be a faint, flickering flame, crowding back by \na little the heavy darkness, casting portentous shad- \nows, giving a weird, uncertain aspect to surrounding \nobjects, suggesting rather than revealing danger ; or \na searching head-light, gleaming far along the safe \nway, must depend upon the nature of that truth that \nis caught up in reflection by the soul, and thrown \nforward on its path to immortality. Who can be \nrobbed of his hopes, and who can define them and \nmake them certain, save in a mastery of the nature \nand conditions of his own life ? And who can find \nthe foundations of this knowledge, save in philosophy \nand religion \xe2\x80\x94 religion as it rests back on philosophy, \nphilosophy as it opens the way to religion ? If we \nare to enlarge our vision at all, if there is to be any \ndaylight, any inheritance for us in the years to come, \nthe grounds of our convictions are to be found in \nthe structure of the soul, and God\'s providential min- \nistration to it. In whatever field we glean knowl- \nedge, the best ministration of that knowledge must \nbe to ourselves, to that hidden life which is the dis- \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. I I \n\ntinctive feature of man, and increasingly so as he \nbecomes intelligent. Indeed, what is intelligence but \nthe enlargement of the life within us \xe2\x80\x94 an imparting \nof penetration to its thoughts, and power to its emo- \ntions. The character of this life, the home of the \nsoul, the domestic companionship to which it is ever \nretiring, the seat of true spiritual consumption, at \nwhich the crude material of good the external world \naffords is turned into food and pleasure, must depend \non our method of transmuting knowledge into emo- \ntion, wisdom into serene satisfaction and assured \nhope ; and in this transformation all knowledge be- \ncomes philosophy and religion. How slight a thing \nis it to know, unless we know also the transmutation \nof knowledge into peace and joy ; "unless truth is to \nus that light which suffuses the clouds, wooes them \nout of the region of night, and makes them the beauty \nand glory of the day. \n\nWe are here introduced to another class of reasons \nwhy we should have a sound philosophy \xe2\x80\x94 I use the \nword as equivalent to mental philosophy \xe2\x80\x94 and a \nsound religion. So certain are men ultimately to \ncome home \xe2\x80\x94 home to themselves, that it is impossi- \nble for them in any numbers or for any length of \ntime to be destitute of these estimates of the mind \nitself, and of its relations to seen and unseen things. \nI care not how vigorously men scoff at philosophy, it \nis only to make way for some form of philosophy. \nTo discard metaphysics is the child\'s sport of whip- \nping round the ring. What we pursue in front, pur- \nsues us in turn in the rear. Some notion of what \nliberty and thought are, drives the physicist on as he \n\n\n\n12 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nstrives to overthrow the general belief concerning \nthem. No intelligent man is ever without at least \nthe adumbration of a system of metaphysics and on- \ntology with their religious corollaries ; and the vigor \nwith which he rejects ordinary beliefs, held and en- \nforced under these names, only shows the nature of \nhis own convictions, and how much in earnest he is \nabout them. If not Trinitarian, then Unitarian ; if \nnot Unitarian, then Deist ; if not Deist, then Atheist \nor Pantheist ; or if not Christian, then Spiritualist or \nBuddhist, or one of the isms that come in to occupy \nthe soul, swept of its first faith. Such is the univer- \nsal law of thought \xe2\x80\x94 if not realism, then idealism ; if \nnot idealism, then materialism. No more striking \nillustration of this can be offered than that furnished \nby Comte, the founder of positive philosophy. He \nstarted with discarding theology and metaphysics as \nat once impracticable and effete. He put in their \nplace positive knowledge \xe2\x80\x94 the knowledge of observa- \ntion and induction. Could he, the leader of a school, \ndrawing many eyes, a bold pioneer in independent \nthought, pledged to consistency and tenacity, hold \nhimself firm on simple denial, stand poised on nega- \ntions, falling on neither hand into affirmative, dog- \nmatic belief ? When the momentum of pure thought \nhad expended itself, and the soul began to look around \nfor something to embrace, something to console itself \nwith, that great intellect was put to the strange, the \nsurprising task of the invention of a religion. Says \nMartineau : " Since the publication of the books of \nExodus and Leviticus, no more elaborate system of \n\' religion \' has appeared than M. Comte\'s. It has its \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. 13 \n\ncultus, private and public ; its organization of dogma ; \nits discipline, penetrating to the whole of life ; its \naltars, its temples, its symbolism, its prescribed ges- \ntures and times ; its ratios and length of the different \nparts and sorts of prayer ; its rules for opening or \nshutting the eyes ; its ecclesiastical courts and rules \nof canonization ; its orders of priesthood and scale of \nbenefices ; its adjustment of the temporal to the spir- \nitual power ; its novitiate and consecration ; its nine \nsacraments ; its angels, its last judgment, its para- \ndise : in short, all imaginable requisites of a religion \n\xe2\x80\x94 except a God." \n\nHaving banished the Omnipotent One from his phil- \nosophy, he proceeds to occupy the vacant place with \nan invention of his own. This new being, this Grand- \nEire, born of Comte in definite time and with specific \ncircumstances, receives from him this philosophical \ndescription, table of contents, schedule of value \xe2\x80\x94 " the \naggregate of co-operative beings endowed with ner- \nvous systems of three centres " \xe2\x80\x94 and is handed over \nto the world of art under the symbol of " a woman of \nthirty with a child in her arms." The worship has \nthe merit of being in harmony with its object. " At \nyour altar in the morning, for instance, you are to \nadore your mother, become subjective to you, and \nrequiring to be brought before your secret vision. \nTo help the effort and express the inwardness of the \nobject, you must shut your eyes. This done, you \nfirst set up the place on which the figure is to enter ; \nnext, fix her intended attitude ; thirdly, choose her \ndress ; and then, at length, permit herself to glide into \nview ; taking care to idealize by subtraction only, not \n\n\n\n14 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nby addition. In due order the prayer to her ensues, \nconsisting for the first half of the hour in \' commem- \noration \' of her goodness ; then for the rest, in \' effu- \nsion \' of the feelings thus awakened." This " effu- \nsion," in most cases, would probably take somewhat \nless than the remaining half hour. It was rather of \nan heroic worship, however, as this morning service \nwas to be followed by a mid-day devotion, a\'nd this by \nan evening prayer. Yet, as this last was to be said \nin bed, it would, doubtless, in practice, exhibit great \nelasticity, and fit in between sleeping and waking \nwith much snugness and comfort. " The public \nworship only applies the same principle to a wider \ncircle of relations, running through and celebrating \nall the great social ties, the several stages of human \nprogress, the natural classes of the body-politic : \nand forming an ecclesiastical calendar, with special \nservices all through the year. The temples are all to \nface towards the metropolis of humanity \xe2\x80\x94 Paris, of \ncourse ; but meanwhile the positivists will not object \nto use the churches and cathedrals as they are, and \noccupy them as they fall into disuse. Even the \nMadonnas may pass well enough, with altered name, \nfor the Goddess of Humanity. But instead of the \ncross (or of the crescent) must be substituted, as sign \nof the faith, the curve described by the hand in touch- \ning the three chief cerebral organs. There are no \nelements too incongruous to blend in this strange \n\' religion.\' The dissecting-room, the high altar, the \nlover\'s bower, all subscribe their proportion to its \nceremonial and sentiment ; not without an ever-recur- \nring preponderance of the last, significantly expressed \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. I 5 \n\nin the saying, that \' soon the knee of man will never \nbend except to woman.\' " \n\nIf anything is at once absurd, pitiful, strange, \ninstructive, it is this prince in the school of modern, \nmaterialistic thought, whose intellectual radiance is \nspread through a larger circle by Englishmen \xe2\x80\x94 men \nand women, first commanding attention, astonishment \nand admiration by the peremptory, positive way in \nwhich he turns his back on the Christian system, and \nthen providing for his bewildered disciples, the above \nprivate theatricals, in which the farce so outweighs \nthe tragedy as to make gravity impossible. Yet \nhere is instruction. Who will say what tricks and \nfooleries are not possible to man in the night-time. \nForsaking the sober light of day, a weird, fantastic, \nextravagant spirit takes possession of him, and the \nsense of liberty passes into the intoxication of revelry. \nA wonderful Nemesis overtakes the irreverent, pro- \nfane mind ; it plays loosely and wildly, and at length, \nlike one who, on the face of a precipice, has exhausted \nhis strength in climbing and failed of the top, it falls \nforever, overpowered and spent by its own activities. \nThe inquiry of Eliphaz becomes pertinent : " Should \na wise man utter vain knowledge, and fill his belly \nwith the east wind ? " Thus also Buddha, rejecting \nthe conception of God, was himself exalted to the \nvacant throne by his later disciples. \n\nA plain and pressing reason for a sound philosophy \nis found in the fact that we can only thus exclude an \nunsound one. Scepticism itself is a philosophy, and \nif not a religion, at least a solution of religious ques- \ntions, a prolific scource of belief and conduct. There \n\n\n\nl6 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nis no escape from opinions, inferences, actions, save \nin sterility. Deserts alone are free from vegetation. \nThe fertile field is occupied ; if not by this, then by \nthat ; if not by seemly, then by unseemly growth. \nWe can hide ourselves from the search of thought in \nbestiality alone ; nor here completely, for man has \nnever yet sunk so low but that religion has perco- \nlated clown to him, petrified upon him ; has never \nhidden himself so close in animalities but that some \npinching witchcraft, some biting superstition, some \nstinging fear has found him out, and robbed him of \nrepose. As, then, there is no alternative, and philos- \nophy we must have, let us have a sober and sound \none ; let us face questions we cannot escape, and \nstruggle at the solution of problems that inlock our \nown lives. The confession of Huxley, in his lecture, \n" On the Basis of Physical Life," that he escapes the \nmaterialism of his own views only through the scep- \nticism, the nihilism of Hume, is sad and pitiful. \nHaving built up with much pleasure, patience and \ningenuity his system, and retiring a little to look at \nit, it assumes, like some demoniac deity, such a dire \nand threatening aspect toward man and mankind \nthat the philosopher is compelled to say, and to find \nrelief in saying : " After all, what do we know of this \nterrible \' matter,\' except as a name for the unknown \nand hypothetical cause of states of our own conscious- \nness ? And what do we know of that \' spirit \' over \nwhose threatened extinction by matter a great lamen- \ntation is arising, like that which was heard at the \ndeath of Pan, except that it is also a name for an un- \nknown and hypothetical cause, or condition, of states \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 7 \n\nof consciousness ? In other words, matter and spirit \nare but names for the imaginary substrata of groups \nof natural phenomena. And what is the dire neces- \nsity and \' iron \' law under which men groan ? Truly, \nmost gratuitously invented bugbears." Thus he \nbuilds his image, trembles before it, and strikes it to \nthe dust again that he may fear it no longer. What \nwe seem to know has so bad a look that he makes \nhaste to remind us that after all we know nothing \ncertainly. Like his master in philosophy, he seems \nto care little what becomes of his own work, if he can \nescape by its demolition the entire truth that called \nit into existence. He gives echo to these words of \nHume : " If we take in hand any volume of Divinity, \nor school metaphysics, for instance, let us ask, Does \nit contain any abstract reasoning concerning quantity \nor number ? No. Does it contain any experimental \nreasoning concerning matter-of-fact and existence ? \nNo. Commit it then to the flames ; for it can con- \ntain nothing but sophistry and illusion." How large \na portion of Hume\'s own labors would be swept, under \nthis rule, into the flames ! Those certainly on which \nthe larger share of his fame rests. We have often \ntaken pleasure in acknowledging the great sharpness \nand logical force of Hume as a metaphysician, but in \nthis instance he seems to have felt the blind heat of \nthat second Erigena who, in his eagerness to strike \na toad with the snath of his scythe, forgot that the \nblade encircled his own neck, and, with one concen- \ntrate, irate, successful blow, made an end of his ad- \nversary, and sent his own head rolling in the dust. \nHow much of the liberty, the courage, the physical \n\n\n\n1 8 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ngood even, of the race has been due to this discarded \nline of thought, this philosophic and religious thought, \nwhich braces the mind to faith and heroism ! \n\nA second like reason for metaphysical inquiry is, \nthat we thus put ourselves in the true line of progress. \nWe unite the past to the present, and without retain- \ning all, or rejecting all of its inquiries, complement \nand complete them by our own. There is an assump- \ntion in the physicists of the present day truly as- \ntonishing ; or rather, in that portion of them who \nrepresent the extreme tendencies of physical inquiry. \nThey are disposed to set aside, in the most unhesita- \nting and contemptuous way, all methods not identical \nwith their own ; all conclusions whose premises and \nproofs lie out of their own field. Of this class, in dif- \nferent degrees, are Draper, Maudsley, Huxley, Buckle, \nSpencer, Biichner. The temper of this school of \nphysical investigation is not so much that wisdom is \nto die with them, as that wisdom has been born with \nthem ; that inquiry hitherto has come to nothing ; \nthat the roots of true knowledge strike into the past \nbut one, two, or at the most three centuries deep ; \nthat science is new \xe2\x80\x94 new in direction, new in method \nand in spirit ; antagonistic to the past, aggressive in \nthe present, and ready to clutch, with a conquering \nhand, the future. Now what are the antecedent \nprobabilities of the correctness of such an attitude ? \nif these so self-assured spirits will allow us even to \ninquire into the general bearings of their claims \nbefore we make an unconditional surrender. If the \nmind of man has been absolutely and totally wrong \nup to a given moment, mistaking the proper subjects, \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. IQ \n\nthe proper methods, the proper points of inquiry ; if \nit has congratulated itself on absurd conclusions, and \ndelighted itself with pure chimeras ; if it has been in \na dream, and seen things without substantial form or \ndependence ; if it has tickled its thoughts with con- \njectures, and built its faith on figments ; what is the \nprospect that this same mind, so surprisingly acute \nand subtle, yet so perfectly self-deceived, has now, at \nonce, as it were, waked up, hit on exactly the right \ntheory, and caught truth in a trice, before she had \ntime to say, With my permission ? If a man never \nhas told the truth, the fact is a narrow ground of \nfaith that he is now speaking it. If the world has \nbeen all wrong and everywhere wrong, it would seem \nat least very problematical whether, in its latest ten- \ndency, it is perfectly right. It is a poor preparation \nfor the growth of a tree to cut its roots just below the \nsoil. If the milleniums past have done nothing for \nthe world, it is probable that the years now passing \nare but another state and stage of dreaming, and that \nthe vision before us has no other, no superior ground \nof belief, but rests on the mere fact that it is the last \nimage on the screen of fancy. If it is not safe to \nsuppose the great minds of the past all right, it is \nnot more so to think them all wrong, hopelessly and \nextravagantly wrong. Such a supposition cuts the \nrational life of the race midway, and leaves each moi- \nety to wriggle in imbecility. We are, because they \nwere, and what we are we owe, no less in spiritual \nand intellectual than in physical descent, to them. \nThat view has, beyond all doubt, probability with it, \nwhich gathers the past into the present by sequence \n\n\n\n20 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nand growth, not by rejection simply ; that contem- \nplates with as much certainty and pleasure the \nstrengthening cords of truth, gathering fibre after \nfibre of thought, and incorporating into themselves \nall historic, vigorous movements, as those with which \nit beholds the life of the world and its physical events, \npouring down upon us from years beyond our human \nhorizon. This obliteration of the past in human \nhistory ; this beginning with 1900, or 1600 even, \nthis contemptuous arrogance begotten of new ideas, \nsimply shows that the mind is not yet familiar with \nits acquisitions, and that these, like new garments, \ncannot quietly subserve the purposes of service till \nthey have met those of display. Philosophy and re- \nligion are as old as the world, and we do not believe \nthat science, the last born and petted progeny of time, \nwill displace them. It is rather our problem to see \nhow these great forces, these distinct lines of convic- \ntion, are to include the later agency, accepting its \nposition under the elder agencies, and the three unite \nat once to restrict and enlarge each other \xe2\x80\x94 to define \nthe fields of spiritual and physical forces, and to dis- \ncover the conditions of their interaction. \n\nA last reason to be urged, not against the scientific, \nbut the exclusively scientific, spirit, is, that being a \nreactionary one, and that, too, against the knowledge \nmost native to man himself, it first restricts and then \ndebases thought, and, through it, character. This is \nno personal accusation against the materialist of to- \nday. A belief rarely reveals at once, in those who \nfirst present it, its mischievous relations to conduct. \nPhilosophers use doctrines primarily as fruits and \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. 21 \n\nconditions of intellectual activity, and find strength \nand elasticity in them as a gymnast in his bars and \nrings, without much reference to their exact form or \npractical value. Not thus those who stand removed, \nby one or two circles, from the real centre of intel- \nlectual activity. They are chiefly affected by doc- \ntrines in their relations to action, in the practical \nconclusions which flow from them. Much that is stim- \nulating in the first instance is very stale at second- \nhand. The feast, as it progresses, has its redemptive \nfeatures, but life has wholly passed from its next-day \nodors. The real value of a philosophy is best tested \nby the popular estimate of it, by the class that re- \nmotely clutch at it, and do not so much rally under it \nas unfurl it on the march they are already making. \n\nIn this more remote and broader view, we see, that \nthat physical bias of inquiry which rejects metaphys- \nics or wholly perverts them, cannot but be unfavor- \nable to character. Liberty and right, freedom and \nobligation, and hence the sense of power, opportunity, \nresponsibility, which springs from these, are wholly \noverlooked or greatly modified by the materialistic ten- \ndency ; and thus man falls away from himself not less \non the practical than the theoretical side. He accepts, \nas inevitable, the laws of physical evolution which \nare said to enfold him, and floats on \xe2\x80\x94 save as appetite, \ndesire and passion give the lie to his faith, and impel \nhim in the wrong direction. We shall never, on ac- \ncount of our philosophies, require much less of our \nfellows than we do now \xe2\x80\x94 no false theory is able to \nbaffle or turn aside the claims of self-interest ; but it \nmay furnish an apology to the mind for not doing \n\n\n\n22 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nitself what it is indisposed to do. We shall excuse \nourselves on grounds of philosophy which would not \navail for others. Deny liberty, and resolve obligation \ninto interest, and you have houghed the spiritual \nsteeds, and left us to make a lame and foot-sore jour- \nney in the paths of virtue. A man, in the growth \nof character, scarcely does more than he feels he can \ndo and ought to do, and the power and the obligation \nissue out of our spiritual, not our physical, life \xe2\x80\x94 out \nof that which is higher, downward ; not out of that \nwhich is lower, upward. If one feel creeping all over \nand through him the close-knit connections of causa- \ntion, he must submit, or strike at once for manhood ; \nand the liberating blow of thought must spring from \nthe thoughts themselves ; from the mind\'s belief in, \nand exercise of, its own strength. All in philoso- \nphy that removes, reduces, or disguises that in man \nwhich is most peculiar to him \xe2\x80\x94 all that submits him \nto the forces below him, necessarily lowers his esti- \nmate of himself, alters his entire relation to the world \nabout him, and thus humbles character, whose emin- \nence is found in freedom of conception and boldness \nof execution. If the sources and resources of our life \nare all below us, the sweep of our vision will be quite \ndifferent from that which belongs to us, if these are \nchiefly above us. One\'s absolute position may seem \nmuch the same if he stands on the last round of a \nladder that stretches below him, or the first round of \none that rises above him, but tendencies and incen- \ntives are every way different. On both, sides, then, \nare we urged to patient, sound philosophy ; by what \nit gives us, and by what we lose without it. \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. ,23 \n\nIt remains only in the present lecture to mark out \nthe direction of our inquiry. We are to speak of \nphilosophy in its relations to science and religion. \nThe point of departure is the mind ; but it is not our \nobject to give a systematic statement of its powers, \nbut only that limited presentation necessary to the \ngeneral apprehension of its own phenomena, and \ntheir bearing on science and religion. As the mind is \nthe instrument of all knowledge, and must, therefore, \nby the form and certainty of its own action, determine \nthe nature and validity of that which is known, it \nis especially fit to commence our inquiries with the \ninstrument itself of inquiry, and to be first sure of the \nfaculties at our disposal, the ground of our faith in \nthem, and the fields which they cover. Moreover, \nnothing can be more certainly known to the mind \nthan the mind itself, since whatever else is revealed \nby any perception, reflection, intuition, the act of \nknowledge is also disclosed by which this outside \nmatter finds admission. The knowing stands an \nomnipresent condition of the thing known, and it is \nwell, therefore, to start, if possible, with this perpetual \nground, these sources of knowledge, rather than lose \nourselves at once in the outside, objective inquiries \nwhich are offered to us. \n\nAgain, the mind lies central between the physical \nand the spiritual realms : it is allied to both, and is \nthe only common term between them. A knowl- \nedge of our powers, therefore, is a preparation for \nan outward movement toward the visible things of \nscience, and an inward movement toward the invis- \nible things of religion. Nor shall we find these so \n\n\n\n24 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nfar apart as many are willing to regard them. \nScience by no means deals with the visible, the tan- \ngible, alone ; it is rather constantly hovering over \nthese with conceptions as invisible, intangible, as \nmuch beyond the verification of the senses as any \nwhich belong to the realm of religious faith ; while, \non the other hand, those doctrines which pertain to \nthe soul, its constitution, immortality, and spiritual \ndependencies, are constantly descending into the \nworld of facts, with phenomena as coarse, palpable, \ncognizable, as any presented in the laboratory. Now \nthe rationalizing of facts, the taking of them up into \nthe region of abstract thought, into the systems of \nscience, is a process as purely intellectual, as strictly \ndependent, for its apprehension and validity, on the \nlaws of mind, as is the formation of any ethical doc- \ntrine whatever, and its application to the conduct of \ndaily life. We are, therefore, to inquire, first, into \nthe powers of mind so far as to see what it is capable \nof doing, of knowing. Then, with the fields made \naccessible to us by its own activities before us, we \nare to consider the form and validity of its action \nin the physical sciences ; also the certainty and limits \nof its knowledge in these directions. There will thus \narise those questions which pertain to the existence \nand nature of matter. \n\nThe chief force of our critical argument will through- \nout be directed against materialism, because this is \nthe fruit of the scientific tendency, and because it is \nespecially congenial to the English and American \nmind. Idealism has hardly found a footing in any \nnation except the German, and is rapidly loosing \n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF PHILOSOPHY. 25 \n\nhold there. English thought is far too gross, slug- \ngish, practical, to ascend into this thin region of pure \nspeculation so long as it can graze in the spiritually \nquiet and physically rich fields of materialism. It \nwould be contending with an almost imaginary evil \nfor us to throw up defences against idealism. Only \na few erratic, nimble dilletanti of the philosophic \nworld ever traverse these regions ; and these, like \nantlered deer, would readily overleap the barriers, no \nmatter how high we might raise them. Materialism, \non the other hand, marshals, in its rear, the unlet- \ntered masses, and is formidable as much by the \nblindness as by the sight that is in it. \n\nHaving contemplated the laws of the mind\'s action \nin the physical world, we shall do the same in the in- \ntellectual world in the study of its own phenomena \nand activities. We shall dwell on the new laws of \nthought here present, and new limits here disclosed. \nWe shall then consider the two fields in their rela- \ntions to each other \xe2\x80\x94 the nature of life and of mind, \nand the scope and character of our knowledge con- \ncerning them. We shall thus be prepared to con- \ntemplate the mind\'s activity in that central, religious \nconception \xe2\x80\x94 the conception of a God ; the forms of \nthis activity, their relations to us, and our knowledge \nof them ; and, in conclusion, to discover the connec- \ntions of science, philosophy and religion ; the nature \nof the mind\'s activity in each ; the order and the dan- \ngers incident to the growth of knowledge. If we \nshall thus do even a little to lessen the colliding of \nknowledge with knowledge ; of investigation with in- \nvestigation ; and, above all, if we shall save our faith \n\n\n\n26 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nfrom that jostle and strain which loosen its hold on so \nmany minds, we shall think our labors well bestowed. \nThe necessary breaking up and modification of belief \nin the progress of truth are often destructive when \nthey should be rather reconstructive. The resistance \nwhich makes of progress an earthquake, as notable \nfor the ruin it occasions as for the new conditions \nof life it furnishes, should be laid aside ; and free \ninquiry provoked, sought for, disarmed by the easy \nadmission of its truths. When every honest, earnest \nmind presents a point for the discharge of the electric \nfire of every new theory, it will no longer generate \nthunder-bolts, and will cease to shatter, with sudden \nshock, the belief of the unwary. The skill of an in- \ntellectual life is found in getting from the old to the \nnew without the loss of either: from the old to the \nnew in government without the waste and overthrow \nof revolution ; from the old to the new in social cus- \ntoms and order without the shock of aroused preju- \ndices, the bitterness of scarcasm, the irritation of \nunwelcome truth ; from the old to the new in faith, \nwithout schism, the falling back of this branch into \nrapid decay, the putting forward of that into precipi- \ntate progress ; from the old to the new in philoso- \nphy without the irreparable loss of complete rejection, \nor the irreparable loss of unlimited acceptance, with- \nout leaping wholly off from the sure foundations of \nthe past on to other foundations of merely fanciful \nstrength, that have not been tested by the storms of \nmany centuries. \n\n\n\nLECTURE II. \n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS J THEIR RELATION TO KNOWLEDGE. \n\nThe point about which the conflicts in philosophy, \nand more especially between the philosophical and \nscientific tendencies, the metaphysical and the physi- \ncal methods, are becoming increasingly warm, is that \nof intuitive ideas. Does the mind, as mind, inde- \npendently bring anything to the explanation of the \nworld about it ; or, are the initiations of thought and \nthe forms of thought alike from without ? This is the \npregnant question, which, put in a great variety of \nways, is seeking an answer. Spencer laboriously han- \ndles it through many pages. Mill returns to it again \nand again. It is the germinant point of the philosophy \nof the unconditioned, as urged by Hamilton and Man- \nsell. It reappears in every treatise on ethics, and a \nnegative answer is assumed by every disciple of Pos- \nitive Philosophy, and every physicist who fancies \nhimself solving problems of mind as well as of mat- \nter. Nor is this discussion unworthy of the attention \nthat is bestowed upon it. The bias of our philosophy, \nof our thinking, must be received at this point ; and \nthe answer given by us to this question will discover \nat once our lines and our methods of investigation, \nand settle the general character of the results to be \nattained by us. To broach this inquiry clearly, in the \noutset, therefore, and answer it squarely, is necessary \nto perspicuity and soundness of method ; since some \n\n\n\n25 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nanswer to it, explicit or implicit, will be lurking in \nour entire discussion. No man ever ridiculed meta- \nphysics, and then proceeded to handle any system of \nthought, to present any conceptions whatever with \nbreadth, who did not plainly involve in the treatment \nthis very point \xe2\x80\x94 the source and authority of our \ngeneral ideas. Those ideas have been variously \ndesignated, each name striving to seize upon some- \nthing in their connection with the mind, or with \nother ideas, peculiar to them and fitted to define \nthem. They have been called intuitive ideas \xe2\x80\x94 that \nis, ideas directly seen by the mind ; ideas furnished \nneither by the senses nor by reflection. They have \nbeen termed innate ideas, thereby expressing their \nindependence of experience and priority to it ; hav- \ning" the same end in view, they been spoken of as a \npriori ideas ; and, in reference to their power to bring \norder, cast light, into all our conceptions, they have \nbeen designated as formative, regulative, rational, gen- \neral ideas. We need merely to understand exactly \nwhat we are seeking for, under these various appel- \nlations, to wit : notions, which owe their origin \xe2\x80\x94 fit- \nting occasions being given in experience \xe2\x80\x94 exclusively \nto the mind, to its penetrative, explanatory, power ; \nits intuitive, rational, comprehensive grasp. The one \nphilosophy claims, that, in the last analysis, the mind \nfurnishes the notions in the light of which it sees \nand understands the external world ; brings with it its \nown intellectual solvents, reducing matter, otherwise \nopaque, to a transparent and penetrable form. The \nother philosophy asserts, that all thought, knowledge, \nare exclusively the product of matter in its action \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 29 \n\nupon mind \xe2\x80\x94 the ripple marks left by the restless \nwaves of physical forces ; that our settled convictions \nare but the worn path-ways in which repeated per- \nceptions and sensations have passed along, lining out \nfor us the roads of intellectual travel. Here we take \nissue, and affirm unhesitatingly, the mind does furnish \nideas, and those, too, the essential ones which give \norder, system, reason, to all its actions. \n\nBefore passing to the proof, let us see something \nof the\xc2\xab relations of this assertion. It raises a conclu- \nsive issue against materialism. If the mind originates \nany portion of its own ideas ; if it originates the \nmost necessary and characteristic portion of them, \nthere is in it an independent source of power. It is \nnot a harp cunningly played on by winds that know \nnot the skill that is in them. We do not say that \nthere are no other satisfactory proofs against materi- \nalism, but that these intuitions, if established, must \nafford a final and complete refutation. Thus all mate- \nrialists signal the character of their philosophy by \nfiring a gun at this citadel of thought ; or, if unable \nto see the exact locality of its bristling works, into \nthe mist supposed to contain it. All other activities \nof mind, aside from the intuitions, are so immedi- \nately consequent on perception as to give color to ma- \nterialism. Without the recognition of these notions, \nthe problem would stand somewhat thus : Certain \nphysical facts are invariably connected with certain \nmental facts ; the last have no known existence aside \nfrom the first, or otherwise than as shaped by them. \nHow the one springs from the other we know not, \nbut our universal experience teaches us that they are \n\n\n\n30 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ninseparable. An open eye, an aroused optic nerve, \nbring perception ; the play of nervous influence or \nenergy in the brain is an occasion or ground of \nthought. On these and like conditions exclusively \nare intellectual phenomena present to us. The as- \nsertion thus becomes easy, natural and plausible, that \nthe two are so far identical that they may be regarded \nas opposite sides of the same thing, and that we are \nat least justified, practically, in identifying the facts of \nmind with what all must admit to be their inseparable \nconditions, and with what may be their exact equiv- \nalents. Nor does the fact, that the inside look of \nthought is so distinct from its outside, physical, ac- \ncompaniments \xe2\x80\x94 the sensation so different from the \nnervous modifications in the organ which produce it, \npresent so formidable an obstacle to materialism as at \nfirst sight it seems to, since this is a difficulty which \npresses with more or less weight on all theories. \nThe idealist, to escape it, makes a stroke in the op- \nposite direction as bold and destructive as that of \nthe materialist, and affirms that exterior facts are il- \nlusory \xe2\x80\x94 mere facts of mind projected outward ; their \ntrue nature disguised by the ease and rapidity with \nwhich the mind evokes and unfolds them. Nor is \nthe realist, accepting both mind and matter, much \nbetter off, theoretically, in his handling of the two \nclasses of facts, physical and intellectual. He has \nsimply, in confessed ignorance of their real depend- \nence, to hold them apart, to cage them separately, lest \nthe one shall devour the other. Fancy two rooms, \nwholly unlike, apparently remote from each other, \nand whose relation in space to each other we cannot \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 3 I \n\ndiscover : the one dark, subterranean ; the other light, \naerial. The transpiring of certain events, known by- \ntouch alone in the one, keep exact pace and time \nwith striking\' appearances in the other, known by \nsight only. We transfer ourselves from one to the \nother, we know not how, and find this dependence \nfixed, uniform, unchangeable. What conjectures \nshould we bring to the solution of this relation of de- \npendence ? How should we be baffled and perplexed \nby the problem, each more strong to overthrow the \nconclusions of his neighbor than to maintain his own ! \nSuch distinct chambers are the body and the mind \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe opaque casement of the brain, and the wide, light, \nexpansive realm of consciousness ; such diverse facts \nare those that transpire unheeded under flesh and bone \nin the eye and ear and skull, and those which flash \nvividly and spontaneously out in the mind itself, alive \neither to truth or to the cheerful visions of fancy. \n\nSuppose the controversy thus standing between the \nidealist, who uncovers his high attic toward heaven \nand watches the meteors of thought ; the materialist, \nwho retreats to his earth-enclosed chamber, and makes \nwhat cheer he can with furnace-light, glowing cruci- \nble, and sulphurous fumes ; and the realist, who visits \nboth apartments and is not altogether at home in \neither : suppose it now to be discovered that what \ntranspires in the mind is not throughout in perfect \ndependence on matter, on sensations, single or reit- \nerated, but that the initiatory movement of knowl- \nedge is from above, while that given from beneath \nonly serves as raw material : suppose that actions \nthat were thought to be synchronous, and thus pro- \n\n\n\n32 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nnounced identical \xe2\x80\x94 identical as read from their phys- \nical side by the materialist, identical as read from \ntheir intellectual side by the idealist, are discovered \nto be reciprocal ; the initiative passing now to this \nextreme, now to that, according to the phenomena be- \nfore us ; in sensation, the line of force setting inward \ntoward the mind ; in comprehension, outward from the \nmind ; and do we not see, at once, that a new aspect \nis given to the whole problem ? Establish here, in \nthis line of action, the initiation of mind from above, \nand is not the materialist put to rout ? \xe2\x80\x94 establish there \nthe initiation of matter from below, and is not the \nidealist silenced ? In each field, still clinging to the \nfigure, in each compartment, must be discovered an \nalien force entering from the other, or the thinker will \ninevitably make those forces which are most familiar to \nhim, which are for him always initiative, the efficient, \nprimary, sole forces, first to the oversight, and, at \nlength, to the loss of all other. In the intuitions, \nthen, we trust to establish, as against materialism, a \nclear, undeniable commencement of action by the \nmind itself \xe2\x80\x94 of action which makes knowledge to be \nwhat it is. \n\nBut not only is the independence of the mind \nvindicated by these ideas, its nature and office are \ndisclosed. Mind alone is a rationalizing agent ; that \nis, one which discerns reasons, relations, inherent \ndependencies, in the facts before it, and which con- \nsciously constructs its own actions on like intellectual \nconnections. It is the very nature, the exclusive \nnature and office of reason, to see and employ the \nprinciples of law and order which bring phenomena \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 33 \n\nout of chaos, out of irrationality, unintelligibility, and \nmake of them things to be understood, thought about, \nexplained, logically, intellectually digested. Organic \nproducts are food to the physical man, come under \nits powers of separation and appropriation. Things \nviewed in the light of ideas, into which the order and \nrelations of ideas have been suffused, are food to the \nmind ; and these first conceptions, which are not \nthings, but the conditions of things \xe2\x80\x94 the conditions \nof their existence and intelligible form, it is the office \nof the mind to furnish. If the place, time, casual \nconnections of events could be assigned them by \nthemselves, could be directly found in them and \nlearned from them, then, indeed, would mind and \nmatter be identical, and this deepest distinction of \nthe universe be obliterated. If the physical world \nputs reason \xe2\x80\x94 for it is full of reason, a product of \nrationality \xe2\x80\x94 into itself, its events, then is it mind, for \nthis is the distinctive feature of mind ; and the first \nstep of our philosophy leads us to the obliteration of \nthe lines of division between agents and the things \nacted upon, between comprehension and the thing \ncomprehended, between mind and matter : that is, to \na confusion than which none could be greater to our \npresent modes of thought. If, then, such primitive \nnotions as we maintain are established, it will doubt- \nless, at once, be admitted by you, that they spring \nfrom that peculiar power of the mind by which it is \nmind, the power of using in a rational way, handling \nintelligently the facts before it ; the power of organ- \nizing the intellectual world, and making it distinct \nfrom every other. It will also be seen \xe2\x80\x94 and more \n\n\n\n34 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nquickly and easily seen by hastening on, than by \npausing at this stage of our inquiry fully to establish \nit \xe2\x80\x94 that these ideas define our knowledge, its general \ndirections and limits, and thus are preliminary to a \nseparation and classification of the provinces of \nthought, the several forms of inquiry. An initiatory \nidea or ideas afford the frame-work, the general lines \nand grounds of every investigation. Thus the char- \nacter and validity of our knowledge are seen in the \nnature and certainty of the notions which have guided \nus in its pursuit. It is, then, to our purpose, in map- \nping out knowledge, lining off its scientific, philoso- \nphic and religious territory, to start with those intui- \ntions which are respectively the land-marks of each. \nThe proof for the presence in the mind of these reg- \nulative conceptions we shall pass rapidly, striving \nrather to present, than impregnably to establish, our \npremises, believing that the later proof of their \nfruitful character, of the light they bring, the expla- \nnation they afford, is at once the most pleasing and \npowerful. Let the seed grow, and we shall see its \ncharacter without minute dissection ; radical and \nplumule will separate and disclose themselves as the \nliving impulse reaches them. \n\nIt would seem natural to enumerate, to exhaust- \nively state, these intuitions of time, space, existence, \ncause, before we urge, even briefly, the proof on which \nthey rest. As we shall have occasion to do this later, \npreparatory to indicating the leading divisions of \nthought, we will not anticipate the effort at this \npoint. Any of them, as those mentioned above, may \nbe brought to mind in giving distinctness to the ar- \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 55 \n\ngument on which all rest. First, we say, no antece- \ndent improbability attaches to the assertion of their \nexistence. It is a fundamental principle of the in- \nductive, the truly scientific method, that we are to \ncome to no department with anticipations, preposses- \nsions, disinclinations ; that we are simply to inquire \nwhat is, seeking for it where it is, and rejecting \nnothing which seems to be, on the ground of unlike- \nness to previous experience. In no direction are \nthis simplicity and fairness of observation and inter- \npretation more called for than in mental science. \nInvincible opinion, inveterate prejudice, I may say, \nis often brought to questions, which, as lying in to- \ntally new directions, should be opened and pursued \nwith a readiness to reach very unexpected results. \nOur antecedent power to decide what is to be expected \nin a department is so very small, that any use of it is \nmuch more likely to mislead and embarrass us than \nto furnish us valuable hints. We say, then, that \nthere are no antecedent grounds of conviction against \nthe presence of intuitive ideas worthy of a moment\'s \nconsideration. No field is more novel, more unlike \nall others, than this of Mental Philosophy ; and we \nshould wait till we are fairly in it before we conject- \nure what we are to find there. Is this the method of \nphysicists ? Quite the reverse. They insist on in- \nduction, yet often come to philosophy, with no inten- \ntion of starting their inquiries within its own field, \nand there slowly building up and establishing their \nconclusions. They are not philosophers, when they \nphilosophise, but physicists still : their entire think- \ning remains saturated with physical conceptions which \n\n\n\n36 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthey are, unconsciously to themselves, determined to \nfoist upon the new facts before them. Fixed, phys- \nical connections are all \'they are familiar with, and \nall they are disposed to allow of ; and with one of \nthe most settled a-priori looks that ever haunted a. \nscientific or philosophic visage, they confront the task \nthey have assigned themselves, of subduing under \nmaterial laws \xe2\x80\x94 conquering for physical science, the \nphenomena of mind. To this effort, the spontaneous, \noriginal powers of mind, finding chief expression in \nintuitive ideas, are the great obstacle, and hence to \nthese, there is an antecedent, deep-rooted repugnance. \nThe physicist, distinctively so, so by preeminence, \nattacks inevitably, by instinct and unconscious pre- \ndilection, every claim of original, spontaneous power \nin mind. Now, we say, that this whole crusade \nagainst a-priori ideas rests itself on an a-priori ground \nof the most untenable, possible kind. Honest induc- \ntion cannot recognize the fitness of those pre-judg- \nments ; it rather declares, that in passing such a \nborder as that which separates matter from mind, \nevery pre-judgment should be laid aside, and very \nnew and diverse facts anticipated. That is a perverse \na-priori use of thought, to say beforehand, that no \nintuitive ideas are to be found in the mind. One of \nthe surest ways of evincing a distorted a-priori bias \nis this of attacking, in an unqualified, general way, \na-priori conceptions and arguments. These assaults \nare themselves inevitably of an a-priori character, and \nthat, too, in an insufficient and false way. We say, \nthen, to the extreme physicist \xe2\x80\x94 and we are speaking \nof no others \xe2\x80\x94 give us induction, but give us real, \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. T,? \n\nhonest induction, that which is made on the ground \ngone over, and reaches its results from what is there \nfound. Slip the sandals from your feet as you enter \nphilosophy, for this is holy ground \xe2\x80\x94 that is, ground \nnot to be travelled over in exactly the same coarse \nway as that already traversed : the mind is not to be \nreduced in crucibles, nor snipped up with the nippers \nof the anatomist. Absolve your thoughts from old \nassociations, turn inward your vision, and, believe us, \nthere are other learners than those whose eyes feast \non rocks, and linger lovingly on skeletons. \n\nWe invoke a fair field, an open way for philosophy, \nand fling back the denial of a-priori ideas as itself \nhasty, unfounded, a-priori. But, it may be asked, if \nthese intuitions are so fundamental in mind, how does \nthe physicist himself proceed without them ? He \ndoes not proceed without them. Some of them he \ntheoretically rejects, and practically employs ; some \nsteal into his service unbeknown to him ; and some \nhe knowingly uses and fallaciously explains. This is \nour second consideration in making way for proof; \nthe untenable attitude of the materialist in his denial \nof original intuitions in the mind. As an example of \nthese regulative notions, momentarily employed, and, \nat long intervals, formally rejected, we instance cause \nand effect. Materialism can do nothing with this \nnotion, can make nothing of it ; and the physicist, \ntherefore, when he so far becomes the philosopher as \nto discuss the question at all, resolves cause and \neffect into simple antecedence. This is the conclu- \nsion of Mill, of Spencer, of all who break ground \nin philosophy in behalf of simple physics. Indeed, \n\n\n\n\n\n\n38 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwhat other position is possible to mere science ? The \ncauses that underlie phenomena are never seen, \nheard, felt : it is to account for what is seen, heard, \nfelt, that they are invoked \xe2\x80\x94 invoked by the mind \nalone. Causes are always and forever below the \nsurface, out of sight, beyond the touch, and are \nbrought forward to account for, to explain, to enable \nus to understand what is above the surface, in the \neye, or under the hand. I hear a sound : my thought \nexplains it, not by the mere fact that a steam-valve \nhas been opened in the distance, but by the further \nbelief that there has been a transfer of force by wave- \nmotion through the air to my ear. Now this force \nno man has ever heard, handled, in any way directly \nreached by the senses. It is of hypothetical, mental \norigin, brought in to explain what is seen, felt or \nheard. Materialism, therefore, denying that the mind \nfurnishes anything in the apprehending process, knows \nnot what to make of this notion of a force, of a cause \nactively present in phenomena, and momentarily giv- \ning rise to them. Its only resource is to deny the \nvalidity of the idea, and reduce causation to simple \nantecedence. The valve opens, the air moves, the \near hears ; but there is no common term of force \nwhich unites the three. \n\nNothing could be more at war with the practical \nattitude, the working conceptions of science, than \nthis, its theoretical conclusions. Science is full of \nthe notion of force, of causation, from top to bottom, \nand its investigations cannot proceed without it. \nMake of its connections, mere connections in time, \nand there is not more difference between the close- \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. \n\n\n\n39 \n\n\n\nwrought cable and its impression in the sand than \nbetween scientific results as they now are, and as \nthey would be under this view. Attraction, cohe- \nsion, what are they to the mind but forces that per- \nvade space and matter, and by instantaneous effi- \nciency handle the orbs of a solar system, or the motes \nin the summer air ? Are these figments ? Then is \nscience a figment, a cunning texture of conceits, a \nwaking dream. Force is nothing, unless the notion \nof causation is valid ; since this necessity of the mind \nto refer appearances to efficient agencies back of \nthem, gives rise to the conception of force \xe2\x80\x94 force \neverywhere at work to occasion, account for, and \norder phenomena. Science is full of this notion of \nforce, mechanical, crystalline force, electric force, \nchemical force, heat force, and, latest of all, thought \nforce, and the correlation and equivalence of forces. \nYet, if the intuitive notion of cause and effect cannot \nstand, neither can this ingenious scientific structure \nwhich rests upon it. If there are no causes, then \nthere are no forces. If there is no soundness in this \nfirst inference of the mind by which it puts force, \nsuper-sensual, intangible force under phenomena, \nthen there is no substance in those elaborate con- \nceptions by which it expounds the mechanical, chem- \nical, vital facts of the world. \n\nMoreover, this denial of the notion of causation is \nsuicidal to materialism. If phenomena have no other \nconnection than one in time, the facts of mind cannot \nbe otherwise dependent on those of matter than chron- \nologically. Hence, thought and feeling, diverse in \nform from brain action, and in no way the fruit of it, \n\n\n\n40 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ncannot be equivalent to it, however constantly they \nmay accompany each other. Materialism destroys \nitself, if it admits causation as an intuitive notion, \nsince the mind then becomes the seat of indepen- \ndent, authoritative interpretation. It destroys itself \nif it denies causation, since all things then fall apart. \nAll things have necessarily an independent, and an \nequally independent, existence ; mental and physical \nfacts in regard to each other, not less than physical \nfacts among themselves. \n\nWhile some regulative ideas, like this of cause and \neffect, are theoretically denied, and practically em- \nployed by materialism, others are tacitly assumed, \nquietly taken by physicists, and used unbeknown to \nthemselves and others. Of this class is the notion \nof resemblance. We do not open the discussion \nhere, whether this is or is not an intuitive notion. \nWe so claim it. It is by comparing one series of \nsensations with another, that Spencer, the latest and \nmost generally accepted philosopher of materialism, \nreaches the notions of space and time. He furtively \nseizes upon this notion, gives it no explanation, does \nnot even think that it needs an explanation, and by \nmeans of it arrives at other intuitions which he uses \nas further relays to bear him on his way. If, however, \nthe idea of resemblance is denied him, under which \nthese comparisons take place, and these alleged gen- \neralizations are reached, he is at least thrown back \nanother step, which must be first established before \nhis reasonings can be brought to bear. Surrepti- \ntiously availing himself of one notion, he is able to \ninitiate his intellectual activity \xe2\x80\x94 to get his thought- \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 4 I \n\nprocess in motion ; and, by a little confusion of analy- \nsis, to bring forth, as the boasted product of his mental \njugglery, those few notions whose presence he is wil- \nling to admit. This is the third method belonging \nto the physicist in his treatment of regulative ideas. \nSome he denies ; some he overlooks, and yet uses in \nreaching others ; and some, as those of space and \ntime, he feels the necessity of allowing, but presents \nthem as the fruit of generalizations. Now what is \ngeneralization ? It is an act of abstraction, by which \nwe consider a quality or relation belonging to many \nthings without considering any one of the things to \nwhich it attaches. Thus the flavor, known as sweet, \nfound to exist in many things, is at length designated \nunder a word which covers the quality with no refer- \nence to anything which possesses it. Spencer claims \nthat the notions of space and time only express certain \nrelations which are found to belong to many things in \ncommon. I can move my hand, backward and for- \nward, over the desk before me, and thus secure a \nseries of sensations which I can repeat and reverse \nat pleasure. I find the same true of many other \nseries of perceptions : as when I slide this index \nacross my finger, or when I slowly turn my eyes from \none part of the room to another, and then restore \nthem to their first position. This relation of indiffer- \nent, permanent succession, by which sensations can \nbe repeated at pleasure in a given order, or reversed \nin their order, attaching as it does to many things, \ngives rise, says Spencer, to the word space, by which \nwe designate this fact, common to much of our expe- \nrience. On the other hand, some sensations have a \n\n\n\n42 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nfixed order which cannot be retraced. The day ad- \nvances, and we may follow its various grades of light, \nits series of events, but cannot reverse them, or renew \nthem at pleasure. Our thoughts, in conversation and \nin speech, move onward, but do not remain to be gone \nover a second time, or to be followed back to their \ncommencement. Here is a second, fixed relation, \nwhich a share of our experiences have to each other, \nand this is designated as time. \n\nThis account, now compactly given, when fully \npresented, and skilfully enforced, seems very plaus- \nible. Indeed, it so closely approaches the truth as \nnot to be easily distinguished from it. Yet, the error \nis the old one of antecedence, so often expressed \nunder the image of the cart and the horse. Which \nof two ideas contains the other, draws after it the \nother, is, again and again, the grand question of \nphilosophy. In the case before us, does the notion \nof relation go before and give rise to that of time ? \xe2\x80\x94 \nor, does the notion of time give rise to that of rela- \ntion ? Says materialism, the first is true ; says intui- \ntive philosophy, the second is true. Which is most \nspecific ; time, space, or the idea of relation ? Evi- \ndently time and space, since both of these, together \nwith many other connections, are included under the \nidea of relation. Now which is, by generalization, \ntaken from the other : the more general from the \nless general \xe2\x80\x94 that is, relation from time ; or the less \ngeneral from the more general \xe2\x80\x94 that is, time from \nrelation ? Plainly, the first. We do not arrive at \nthe specific sweet of honey from the general notion \nof sweetness, but reach the general notion of sweet- \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 43 \n\nness from this and many other specific examples of \nit. Thus, we do not derive time, a specific relation, \nfrom the general idea of relation ; but relation in gen- \neral from time, space, casual connection, each and all \nspecific cases under it. We must, therefore, know \ntime, space, cause and effect, antecedently as kinds \nof relation, before we can reach the yet more general \nidea of relation ; that is to say, we must know time, \nas we know sweetness, in a direct, concrete way, before \nwe can make it the product of a generalization : that \nis to say again, all our knowledge must be specific, \nseparate, intuitive, before it can become generic, gen- \neral. Time and space must, therefore, be either sen- \nsations like hardness or softness, or mental intuitions, \npresent in each case, before a process of generaliza- \ntion, which is one merely of separation and distinc- \ntion, can reach them. We cannot analyze gold out \nof a mineral that does not contain gold. No more \ncan we generalize time out of a mental content that \nis not seen to involve it. \n\nThis brings us to the very pith of the discussion. \nIf the product we are to deal with is wholly one of \nsensation, if the mind is to add nothing to it, cast no \nnew light upon it from another source, then a process \nof generalization, that is, of analysis and separation, \ncan furnish nothing but distinct, sensational qualities, \nas hard, soft ; bright, dim ; sweet, sour ; since these \nalone are our coarse staple to be reflectively worked \nup. Time, then, is a sensation, or it cannot be \nevolved from sensations. Relations, conditions, one \nand all, imply some definite method of viewing the \nsubject ; and this definite method or form, this con- \n\n\n\n44 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ntrolling, regulative idea, is not a matter of sensation, \nbut something furnished by the mind in view of its \nown ends. Suppose, for instance, with Spencer, that \nwe could have gone through with the successive \nevents of an hour, and have had no idea of time, we \nshould then have taken no step towards such an idea ; \nwe should have been no better off at the close than \nat the commencement of our experience. A second, \na third, a fourth hour, used in exactly the same way, \nwould carry us no further. Either at the close of the \nfirst hour, we must have observed this relation of \nsuccession and grasped it, at least incipiently, con- \ncretely as one of time, or we would be no nearer to it \nthan at the outset. And who does not see that it is \nby rising out of the sensations as sensations, and tak- \ning a synthetic, intellectual attitude toward them, \nthat we get the conditions under which the mind \nflashes on them this conception of time. Moreover, \nthis conception, come when it may, comes instanta- \nneous and complete. It is not made up of parts, \ncompounded of ingredients, fabricated of odds and \nends of thought. It has a most specific, simple, pri- \nmary character, and thus, like all such ideas, must \ncome at once, come directly, find admission through \nsome open, spiritual sense, as color, or taste, or sound \nenter the precincts of the mind through a physical \nsense. A thing is ultimate, single, simple, on this \nground alone, that a direct, final faculty discloses it, \nand time and space, as primary relations, must be \nreferred to a specific cognition of reason, or of the \nsenses. As time and space, ultimate conceptions, \nare not sensations, they must be intuitions : as we do \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 45 \n\nnot sec them, or taste them, or touch them, we must, \nby the insight of a spiritual eye, discern them. We \nmust, with the subtlety of a rational sense, grasp their \nimponderable forms, and furnish them, the moulds of \nthought : time, under whose silent, eternal arches, \nmeasuring their progress, flow all events ; space, \nbeneath whose open concave all the creations of \ntime are poured out in palpable, visible form, as \nwaters, escaping their cavernous bed, glance for a \nlittle in the light, and are gone again. Thus by \ndenial and refutation do we prepare the way for the \npositive argument, establishing the mind\'s independ- \nent, penetrative action in handling the material of \nthought presented by the world about us. \n\nA first direct reason we offer for an acceptance of an \nintuitive element in our intellectual processes, is, that \nall careful and discriminating analysis yields it. So \nevidently is this true, that the notion of cause and \neffect, persistent and omnipresent as it is, is theoreti- \ncally rejected, simply because its presence cannot \notherwise be accounted for than by recognizing the \nexistence and validity of an intuitive faculty. To \nescape the product, physical philosophy rejects the \npower, not considering that the only proof we have of \nany mental faculty is the results it yields. Liberty, \nright, the infinite, are treated in a like way. That \nis to say, these ideas are confessedly present, the \nphenomena of mind evidently yield them, analysis \ndiscloses them, yet they are termed fallacious, sym- \nbolical, pseudo ideas. Now we know no other safe \nphilosophy than that which accepts the uniform as- \nsertions of the mind simply because it makes them. \n\n\n\n46 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nWe might as well reject color, though the eye sees \nit, as to reject causation, when the mind steadily, \ninevitably, affirms it. Many of those ideas called \nintuitive are even by the materialist allowed to be \npresent, and then characterized as fanciful and ficti- \ntious, for no other reason than because they do not \nenter by avenues whose existence he has recognized. \nOf course, if there cannot be an intuitive faculty, \nthen there cannot be intuitions. It would seem, \nhowever, to be novel proof, as directed against the \nexistence of such a faculty, to assert, that seeming \nintuitions are illusory ; and illusory, not because they \ndeceive us, but because we started our philosophy \nwith the conviction that the power to which they are \nreferred is no power. We are thus entitled to the \nfull force of the admission, that materialism so far \nrecognizes the correctness of that analysis which \nyields regulative ideas as to be ever striking at, and \nhunting down, these ghosts of thought, whose valid \nexistence is nevertheless denied. The man cannot \nsleep, a fever is on him, his flesh creeps, but he \nbelieves in no spirit ; no, not he. But, it will be said, \nthe physicist denies the correctness of this analysis, \neven when such notions as that of space, admitted by \nhim to be real, are concerned. Here is the chosen \nground of the physical school, and we are willing to \nmeet them on it ; to put the question distinctly. \nDoes the eye, for instance, yield extension as a sen- \nsation, or is there, in every special judgment, a rous- \ning of the mind to furnish and apply an element of \nits own, that of space ? Suppose a board, one foot \nsquare, to be placed before the eye two feet from it, \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 47 \n\nis its extension determined by the eye as a sense- \norgan simply ? We say, No. Yet, this is a case as \nfavorable to materialism as any that can be put. Sup- \npose a second board, two feet square, to be placed \ntwo feet behind the first, and in exact line with it : \nthe first will completely hide it. Withdraw the first, \nand the second will occupy precisely the same space \non the retina as that covered by the first. There are \nhere two extensions \xe2\x80\x94 the extension of the board for \nthe time being looked at, and the extension of its \nimage on the retina. Which of these is it that the \nmaterialist will affirm is directly known as a sensa- \ntion ? If he says the extension of the image on the \nretina, we make a double answer. In the first place, \nwe, by mere outward sight, by direct sensation, know \nnothing whatever about the retina, not even its ex- \nistence, much less the size of the image upon it. In \nthe second place, the two boards \xe2\x80\x94 and a thousand \nothers might be so arranged that the same would be \ntrue of them \xe2\x80\x94 occupy exactly the same area on the \nretina, and, therefore, should appear of the same size, \nyet they do not. If it now be said that the extension \ndirectly discerned is that of the board looked at, then \nwe say, that this should be exactly known, whereas, \nin many cases, it is not, and cannot be. Let a series \nof boards be arranged, as we have intimated, under \nthe open sky, in the space directly above the specta- \ntor, with long distances between them, and he will \nfind himself utterly at fault in deciding on their di- \nmensions. The reason is obvious : sensation, as \npure sensation, is thus separated from the conditions \nwhich ordinarily accompany it in forming a judg- \n\n\n\n48 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nment, and it finds itself embarrassed in deciding on \nthe dimensions of objects so located. Thus we ask \neach other, How large does the moon seem to you to \nbe ? \xe2\x80\x94 and receive every variety of answer. If dimen- \nsions were a direct, complete product of sensation, as \nis color, then, like a given color, they should remain \nconstant, distinct, uniform : their variable, indetermin- \nate character show the presence of another element \n\xe2\x80\x94 that of constructive judgments. Moreover, if the \nsize of an object is directly seen, how happens it \nthat a convex mirror magnifies or distorts to the eye \nan object without affecting that object ? \n\nThe true explanation is this : the mind, with the \nantecedent idea of space, is able to interpret varying \nsensations, which in themselves disclose nothing di- \nrectly of extension, so as to judge of the dimensions \nof bodies, and these judgments are all open to the \nerrors and deceptions of peculiar circumstances, not \nincluded in our previous experience. Thus, with its \nnotion of space, it can look at a painting as a perfectly \nplane surface, or, by a flash of insight as it were, open \nit up instantly into a landscape of great distances \nand innumerable objects. Everywhere will analysis \nyield something more than mere sensation. \n\nA second reason to be urged in behalf of these \noriginal strokes of power in the mind, is the fact, that \nit can thus begin to think in many directions. Sen- \nsations as sensations are complete ; reflection can \nadd nothing to them. Bitter is bitter, and if one \nwishes to increase his knowledge, he has only to \ntaste again : reflection will not help him. Thought \ncannot grapple these complete, spherical sensations \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 49 \n\nexcept by virtue of some relation to be established \nbetween them, such as one or many, here or there, \nnow or hereafter, like or unlike. But each of these \nrelations is specific under a distinct idea, and this idea \nmust be forthcoming. We cannot say that things are \nlike or unlike, till we have compared them ; and we \ncannot compare them, till we have the notion of resem- \nblance. The mind might as well be a mirror, holding \nnow one object, now another, as to be a mind, if it can \ndo nothing more than hold phenomena, if it cannot, \nasking itself whether things are like or unlike, pro- \nceed to see. Here, exactly, is our affirmation. The \neye does not see things to be like or unlike, but pro- \nceeds to see them ; that is, when the mind has sug- \ngested this direction to attention, the sight is so or- \ndered. We are asked, Were the two horses alike ? \nand make answer, We did not observe. We saw, but \ndid not see, because the antecedent idea of resem- \nblance was not then present to us. Now, as men are \nthinking in all directions\xe2\x80\x94 that is, combining sensa- \ntions, this fact shows the universal presence of spe- \ncific ideas or relations under which thought takes \nplace. No other union by virtue of thought merely \nis possible. \n\nA third proof of the nature of this intuitive action \nis found in the character of the conclusions which \nrest exclusively upon it, when compared with those \nwhich arise from sensation. Mathematical lines and \nsurfaces are secondary conceptions under the general \nidea of space. Hence the mind affirms some truths \nconcerning them by direct insight. Of this nature is \nthe following : Two straight lines parallel through \n3 \n\n\n\n50 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\na portion of their extent, are parallel through their \nentire extent That the two bars on a railroad track \ncan never meet if parallel and straight, is a fact \nwhich every rational mind sees to be necessarily \ntrue. Contrast it, for instance, with the strongest \npossible assertion resting on mere experience, and \nobserve the difference. All crows are black. Put \nyourself on an unknown continent, would you direct \na moment\'s attention to the question whether paral- \nlel lines should be found to meet ? Would you be \nany more than surprised at a flock of crows, a por- \ntion of which were brown, or gray, or white ? Yet \nMill is compelled to put both of these conclusions on \nthe same ground of authority, and therein signally \nrefutes his philosophy. Geometry and Botany do \nnot rest on the same basis of proof, and a theory that \naffirms that they do, is remarkable for audacity, if not \nfor penetration. There is in the one, instantaneous \ninsight ; in the other, slow perception : in the one, \ndemonstrative conclusions rest on a single example ; \nin the other, a probable conclusion follows many \nexamples. \n\nThese necessary convictions are scattered every- \nwhere, and can be accounted for only on the ground \nof an intuitive grasp of their unchangeable conditions. \nIt is easy to conceive of causes that might break in \non the order of nature in any direction. Immutable \nlaws, so called by physicists, are no further immuta- \nble than are the forces that give rise to them. Vary \nthese, and change in those must follow. But the \nlogical laws of thought, the geometric laws of space, \nare immutable in a far deeper sense. We can un- \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 5 I \n\nderstand no forces or causes that could modify them. \nThey are the very frame-work of thought : break \nthem up, and coherent thinking is gone ; while no \nchange in the order and character of mere events \ndisturbs our contemplation of them. The mind as- \nserts itself, its own line and order of movement, in \nthese necessary truths, and the blow which strikes \nthem away falls on the intellectual life as one of \nsyncope and dissolution. \n\nFurther, these regulative ideas maintain their \ngrounds, as do all theories, by the light and order \nthey bring into our thinking \xe2\x80\x94 by the harmony and \ncoalescence of facts under them. Nothing is lost. \nOne half of the world of knowledge is not sacrificed \nto the other. We have science, and we have philos- \nophy. On these, as joint foundations, religion is able \nto rest. But this best and most complete proof can \nonly appear in its full force as we proceed. \n\nWe close the lecture with a brief enumeration of \nthese regulative ideas, not being able to pause to \njustify each separately. The first of these is exist- \nence. Existence and the idea, the thought of it, are \nquite distinct. This is not a sensation, but the \nmind\'s simplest act of explanation in reference to a \nsensation. But things are finite, divisible, and a \nsecond act of thought resolves them, under the no- \ntion of number, into one or more, according to the \npurpose and method of contemplation. We have \ntwenty cattle, or one drove ; fifty sheep, or one flock ; \nas the mind chooses to regard them. Separate \nthings are compared under the notion of resem- \nblance, as like or unlike, and thus they coalesce \n\n\n\n52 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nagain in groups of the mind\'s own establishment \xe2\x80\x94 \ngroups which depend wholly on the phase of resem- \nblance present to the thoughts. Marbles, granites, \nores, may all be heaped together as minerals over \nagainst a pile of organic substances ; or may be \nparted in divisions among themselves as marbles, \ngranites, ores. Thus innumerable lines of order, of \nsynthetic thought, are shot through the chaos of \nmany and diverse things. So far, in these three \nintuitions, we have the common ground of all being. \nNow comes a deep division : the stream parts, and \nthe notion of space gives us one territory \xe2\x80\x94 that of \nphysical facts, swept through by the one current ; \nand consciousness a second territory, occupied by the \nsecond current \xe2\x80\x94 that of intellectual facts. These two \nproceed in diverse form and method. The first has \na second regulative idea \xe2\x80\x94 that of cause and effect. \nUnder efficient, measured, unchangeable forces, pre- \nsent in the material world, its events progress with \na strict, causal connection everywhere. In the sec- \nond field of activity \xe2\x80\x94 the spiritual \xe2\x80\x94 we have the no- \ntion of liberty, the counterpart of causation, and of \nright and of beauty, which furnish the conditions and \nground of liberty. Between these two forms of being, \nand common to them both, lies the intuitive idea of \ntime. The same time \xe2\x80\x94 identically the same time \xe2\x80\x94 \noverlies physical and spiritual events. Finally, these \nfinite events, flowing on in a double channel, lie over \nagainst the infinite, come from it, and are gathered \ninto it, under it \xe2\x80\x94 are poised with it ; the infinite, the \nsource and end of the finite, the finite the revelation \nof the infinite. \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE IDEAS, ETC. 53 \n\nThese ideas admit of the following presentation : \n\nExistence, \n\nNumber, \n\nResemblance, \n\nr Consciousness, \n\nJ Liberty, \nTime, < D . , , \n* Right, \n\n\n\n\nBeauty, \nThe Infinite. \nThus starting with existence in its feeblest, finite \nform, we return to existence in its fullest infinite \nform. As ocean currents are sundered on the head- \nland of a continent, and skirt its divergent coasts \xe2\x80\x94 \nor as they overlie and underlie each other in the \nsame seas, with diverse directions and diverse tem- \nperatures, yet all spring from the same great sources, \nand feel the same general momentum, so material \nfacts and spiritual facts part to the right and the left, \nor above and below, in the fulfillment of one end, \nunder the propulsion of one purpose, together ex- \npressing and fulfilling the plan of God. \n\nThe above division of regulative ideas goes far \nto answer the inquiry, Why these and no others ? \nThey cover, and completely cover, the entire field \nof phenomena, and, as broad as the knowledge of the \nmind, show themselves to be its frame-work. No \ndepartment of thought being omitted, these ideas, \nwith those secondary ones involved in them, are suf- \nficient for all the purposes of the mind, unless it can \nbe shown, that within these bounds some irresolvable \nlink of judgments has been overlooked. We have not \nthe ambition to try to establish, that there can be no \n\n\n\n54 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nother regulative notions, but only that these notions \nare actual and sufficient for all the objects of thought. \nGrant us these, and the map of the mind is before \nus. We see at once the themes which can occupy it, \nthe ideas under which all its judgments are con- \nstructed. It is something for reason to thus mark \nout its own bounds ; and it ought not to be urged \nagainst these results that they do not explain to us \nwhy these limits, and no others, are set to the mind. \n\n\n\nLECTURE III. \n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, OF PHYS- \nICAL FACTS. \n\nWe closed our last lecture with an enumeration of \nthe fixed or regulative ideas of the mind. As much \nthat we are yet to say will depend for its correctness \non the correctness and completeness of this list, it \nwould seem in order, to take up, one by one, these \nideas, and to establish their independent, primitive \ncharacter, that the mind brings them to its experi- \nence for its apprehension, and does not evolve them \nfrom that experience ; in other words, that they are \nnot to be regarded as products in the mind of outside \ninfluences, but as original perceptions of the mind, \nby which it becomes mind, a thinking, comprehend- \ning power. As, however, this separate consideration \nand defence of these ideas have been entered on by \nus elsewhere, and would now greatly delay us, we \nshall assume the correctness of the enumeration, and \nproceed to consider the field of human thought in \nScience, Philosophy and Religion, as mapped out by \nit. \n\nEvidently, if the mind brings to its thinking these \nprimary conditions, then the entire form of thought, \nthe relations of all the things considered by us, will \nbe fixed by them, determined in character by the \nparticular idea under which they arise. These laws, \nthese organizing forces of the mind, will be to the \n\n\n\n56 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nsubjects considered by it, what the cross-lines of a \ntelescope are to the objects that come within its field ; \ntheir position, motion, measurement, in an otherwise \nvague and indeterminate space, are thereby estab- \nlished. Observation thus assumes a precise form, \nand produces exact, mathematical results. As math- \nematics enter the instrument with the lines, project- \ning their rectitude into the outside world, so appre- \nhension, reason, enters the mind with regulative ideas, \nlining before it the universe of thought. No inquiry \ncan be put which does not involve one or more of \nthese notions, as the form of the judgment which it \ncalls up. Where a thing is ; when it is ; under what \nform \xe2\x80\x94 that is, resemblances \xe2\x80\x94 it appears ; by what \ncauses it is occasioned, are examples of leading aims \nof investigation. \n\nThe first of these intuitive ideas is existence. This \nnotion is tacitly present in all thinking, ready to be \nevoked as a direct object of thought at any moment. \nIndeed, so instantly does the mind yield this idea of \nexistence, of reality, that in reference to all the things \nactually present to its senses, or its consciousness, it \nrarely puts it in the form of a judgment. Does the \nlight exist ? is a question only made possible and \nintelligible by its very being, and the notion of being \nis inseparable from that which provokes the inquiry. \nWhen existence, however, is not purely phenomenal \nin the world of appearances, but is sub-phenomenal \nin the world of abiding realities, the question of being \nassumes a different and more difficult form, and we \nhave the science of ontology, which inquires into the \nreality of matter, of mind and of God ; into the proof \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 57 \n\nof their independent existence. Thus one of the \nlatest and most perplexing of questions springs up \nin connection with an idea, omnipresent, and, in its \nearlier forms, so simple as often to involve its ac- \nceptance in the mere direction of the attention to it. \n\nNext comes number, the root of mathematics. If \nthe notion of being is primary, that of number follows \ninstantly upon it. Indeed, only as we pass out of one \nsensation into a second, from a first attitude of mind \ninto a succeeding one, and are thus ready to separate \nthem as numerically different, do we get motion, \nthought, a play of mental powers. Moreover, the \nprimitive character of this idea of number is seen in \nthe fact that we so early handle it, abstractly from \nall objects, all concrete relations ; and that the cal- \nculations of the several branches of pure mathematics \nare of an exact character, which does not and cannot \nbelong to them in their practical or applied forms. \nThe units which I add, subtract, and divide, three \nand three of which make six, and six and six of which \nare equal to one another, are units of the mind, not \nthings. Six stones are not equal to six other stones \nin any sensible properties, nor are six bushels to six \nother bushels. Indeed, a bushel, meaning thereby a \nprecise amount, never actually did exist or will exist, \nand will only find an approximate existence according \nto the nature of the commodity and the means of \nmeasurement. No process in arithmetic or algebra \napplies exactly to any actual things or transaction. \nA given field does not contain precisely the acres \nand parts of an acre specified ; or the money paid for \nthem, precisely the value indicated. The problems of \n\n\n\n58 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\narithmetic may be shifted, again and again, in the com- \nmodities named, and yet the problem remain numer- \nically the same. It may be six cords of wood, or six \nyards of cloth, or six bushels of grain, that bring the \ntwo dollars and half per cord, or yard, or bushel, and \nthe calculation is unaltered. The players change, but \nthe play is the same : nay, no set of players exactly \nrepresent the play, meet everywhere its conditions ; \nand this because it comes to them from abroad \xe2\x80\x94 from \nthe creative realm of genius, and can only find par- \ntial reproduction in those in a measure ignorant of it. \nThus all numerical processes have an exact, ideal \nform \xe2\x80\x94 a pure thought-form, springing up precise and \ncomplete under the penetrative, mathematical eye, \nwhile the bushels and the barrels, the pounds and \nthe ounces, the dollars and the cents, actually current \nin the inexact, physical world, over-reach and fall \nshort of those perfect estimates of the mind. In- \ndeed, to suit the fact, by increasing exactness of \nmeasurement, to the garment of thought \xe2\x80\x94 the math- \nematical estimates under which the mind would pre- \nsent it\xe2\x80\x94 is the ever-returning labor of the arts. This \nabsolute identity between the mathematical units, \nwhose equality and relations are asserted \xe2\x80\x94 this ac- \ncepting as units things utterly unlike and unequiva- \nlent to each other, and by no means one to the senses, \nmarks the antecedent, constructive force of the mind, \nthe power by which it brings order, arrangement, \nrelation, to its material, as frost shoots bars of crys- \ntal through the congealing water, crosses, unites and \ncompacts them, till the whole assumes definite and \nbeautiful form. \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 59 \n\nThe third regulative idea, in our list, is resem- \nblance. First is being, then multiplicity of being, \nthen diversity of being. The single does not pass \ninto the plural, save through variety, agreement and \ndisagreement. We have more than one, and the \nunits part from each other in diverse positions and \nqualities. These three are the conditions of all forms \nof existence ; but at this point, there is a division in \nthe processes of mind ; its ideas lose their generality, \nand we have, on the one hand, those which group \nand arrange external, physical existence ; and on the \nother, those which give the conditions of being, and \nthe principles of arrangement, to internal, mental \nphenomena. \n\nSpace, a position in space, is the essential condi- \ntion and distinction of all physical things. Nothing \nis in space, occupying it, conditioned to it, and de- \nfined within it, which is not physical. A force which \nfinds locality and expression in space, is what is \nmeant by a physical force, as distinguished from a \nspiritual one. Intellectual force, thought-force, on \nthe other hand, appears in consciousness, and there \nonly in its strict, primary character. These two \nforms of being, apprehended each under its own idea, \nfall so utterly apart, are so foreign to each other, that \nwe can run no lines from one to the other, can place \nthe one neither above nor below the other, within or \nwithout it. Each is reached separately, each main- \ntains its integrity, each gives its own irresolvable \nphenomena. A thing is no more a thought than a \nthought is a thing. A physical process and an intel- \nlectual product remain forever distinct ; and to iden- \n\n\n\n60 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ntify one with the other is the loss of half of the facts \nof the world, an oversight of the deepest and most \nunchangeable of differences, a return to the unity of \nchaos and confusion, not an advance to that of clas- \nsification and resolution. \n\nStanding at this dividing point of knowledge, at \nwhich a true philosophy places us, we see how the \ninquiries of natural science and mental philosophy \nmust part, the one to the right and the other to the \nleft, and remain forever occupied in distinct realms, \nand, as we shall later see, with diverse and opposed \nconceptions. To clearly apprehend this diversity of \ndirections, objects and methods, is a first condition \nof entire success in either department, and in both \ndepartments. Men first sought to expound facts, \nfacts of the exterior world, from within, by a fanciful \napplication of the laws of thought, by theories alto- \ngether conjectural, and failed. Later, delighted with \nthe results of physical inquiry, they have striven, \nreversing the process, to carry the laws and forces of \nmatter into mind, and are as signally failing. The \nphilosopher and physicist must part company, each \nto his respective field, waiting to meet again and \ngather up their completed inquiries under that final \nand inclusive idea \xe2\x80\x94 the infinite, the Infinite One, from \nwhom both classes of facts proceed, and to whom \nthey return. To this assertion there is one most \nessential qualification. These two lines of investiga- \ntion are parallel ; these series of events transpire in \none time, and are in constant action and reaction. \nThough we know not how the contact takes place, \nhow the transition is effected, yet, like two opposed \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 6 1 \n\nelectricities, they do mutually reach and momentarily \nmodify each other. \n\nWe now turn first to those ideas which control the \nconceptions of science. The central one of these is \nspace. Its primitive character is disclosed in the \nway in which the mind furnishes it forth according \nto the circumstances and estimates present to it. It \nfills the recesses of the mirror with it as if it were a \nwindow opening into another world. It hangs in \nthe shallow stream a reversed concave with its in- \nverted trees, pendant mountains, and distinct clouds ; \nit enlarges the elastic painting into a landscape, and \npushes it back in remote vistas and dim perspective ; \nit furnishes airy stretches as the field of visions, and \nthe arena of dreams ; and in this actual world of ours, \nof fixed bounds and immutable measurements, will \nextinguish one conception, and flash in another, on \nsome change in the conditions of judgment, with as \nmuch ease and rapidity as additional gas is inflamed \nin the burners. Space, combined with number, opens \nup new branches of mathematics. Geometry is an \na-priori science. Though mathematics take their \nrise in number, which is an idea common to mental \nphenomena, it receives such enlargement in connec- \ntion with space as to turn its almost entire power, as \na means of inquiry and progress, in the direction of \nphysical science, rather than of philosophy. The \nunits of space are so perfect and so varied, and so \nimportant in their practical connections, that mathe- \nmatics at once lay hold of them with great power and \nscope. Not only have we the direct measurements \nof space, but many indirect applications. Thus the \n\n\n\n62 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nintensity of heat is shown by the vertical range of \nthe thermometer ; the weight of the air by that of \nthe barometer ; the presence of heat or electricity \nby the play of an index along a graded circle : in a \nmultitude of ways the nature of forces and their de- \ngrees are resolved for the eye into a movement in \nspace. \n\nThe primitive power of the mind, its action, inde- \npendent of experience, is abundantly shown in Geom- \netry. First, there are axioms, self-evident truths. \nNow no truth can be self-evident that is derived \nfrom experience through sensation. It is not self- \nevident that an ox-eyed daisy is white ; that a butter- \ncup is yellow ; or that a stone falls to the ground. \nAgain, the proofs of geometry are single, yet absolute. \nA proposition enunciated for the first time, and es- \ntablished by a single line of argument, is yet demon- \nstrative. No proof resting on one instance in expe- \nrience approaches demonstration. Plainly, the mind \nrelies on its own insight in the one case, as it does \nnot in the other. Again, the conceptions of geom- \netry are not those of the senses. Its lines have no \nbreadth ; its planes, no thickness ; its circles, no \ndefects ; its centres, nothing save position. These \nare all super-sensual conceptions, wholly alien to ex- \nperience. Once more, it makes assertions that no \nexperience can verify \xe2\x80\x94 as that an hyperbola will \nnever meet its asymptote, or a parallel line its fellow ; \nand it conceives and discusses curves with fulness \nand exactness wholly, or almost wholly, unknown \nto observation. This primitive, organic power of the \nmind \xe2\x80\x94 a fact to which we are willing often to return, \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 63 \n\nas it is so important in itself, and so constantly de- \nnied \xe2\x80\x94 is wonderfully disclosed in mathematics. The \ngreat geometrician is so almost wholly by the force \nof his own conceptions, unaided by external objects. \nMathematics might take their birth, and reach well \nnigh their completion, in the solitude and darkness \nof a cell, were it not that the mind will not accept \nexcessive development in one direction un sustained \nby kindred growth in others. In the fact, that math- \nematics are thus rooted in the intuitive ideas of the \nmind, we see an explanation of the fact, that this \nbranch is so frequently pursued to advantage early \nin life, and a justification in education of that scheme \nof studies which assigns them a prominent position. \nMathematics do easily, naturally, come before much \nobservation, much science ; and this fact reveals \ntheir independence of experience, and their necessity \nfor its interpretation. The conclusion we have now \ntheoretically i-eached from a study of the powers of \nthe mind, conforms to that disclosed by our familiar \nexperience in the growth of knowledge. \n\nBut space also furnishes the field in which physi- \ncal facts appear. We now pass to causation, which \nchiefly determines their character. The notion of \ncause and effect, or the conviction of the mind that \nevery effect has, must have, a cause, requires thorough \nand careful discussion, since on a right apprehension \nof its nature and validity will depend the correctness \nof much of our philosophy ; the strength and fitness \nof that net-work of connections wherewith the mind \nunites and explains the things about it. There is \nalways some spider-web of thought, spun from within, \n\n\n\n64 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthat beads together in beautiful array those dew- \ndrops, those separate facts, that the scientific inquiry \nof the time has condensed and ensphered in the \notherwise indeterminate realm of thought. We first \ninquire, What is this notion ? It is not one of ante- \ncedence. The visible antecedent is not the cause of \nthe effect which follows it, but one in a chain of \neffects. A strict cause is always cotemporaneous \nwith the effect. The effect is its immediate, mani- \nfest expression. That is to say, the mind puts back \nof every phenomena, everything that appears, every \nevent that transpires, something, some force, which \ncauses it to appear and transpire. Fragments of \nrock are flying in the air in consequence of the ex- \nplosion of a blast. The immediate cause of this \nmomentary effect is the propelling force conceived \nof as lodged in each of the pieces, and ready to be \ndelivered by it to any object which it may hit. \nWhen oxygen and hydrogen unite to form water, \nthe cause of the water is the constant and sustained \naction of the two gases in union. Each gas, so far \nas it presents itself to the senses, or responds to \nchemical tests, is an effect, an appearance, a phe- \nnomenon, whose cause is found in the very nature, \nthat is the invisible force or power, of the gas. The \nmind compels us to go back of these permanent man- \nifestations, to some permanent existence which is \ntheir occasion or cause ; and of transient appear- \nances to transient forces whose momentary action \nhas produced them. Popular language, while includ- \ning this exact notion of a cause, finds it convenient \nto extend very much the use of the word ; and hence \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 65 \n\narises some confusion, and the need of re-directing \nour attention to the precise, philosophical meaning \nof language. An antecedent effect is very frequently \nspoken of as a cause. Thus, the explosion of the \ngunpowder is said to be the cause of the shattered \nand scattered rocks, because this explosion was one \nof the striking antecedent effects, which serves cor- \nrectly to direct the mind to the entire nature of the \nprocess. With a little more liberty of speech, the \ndrilling of the stone and the tamping of the powder, \nare said to be the causes, since they also lie in the \nline of previous effects. Proceeding in the same \nloose way, the person who hired and directed the \nworkmen, is said to be the cause of the result. In- \ndeed, anything which immediately or more remotely \nconstituted a portion of the previous effects, may be \nsaid to be a cause of those effects. Even further, the \nmotive which one has in view in performing an ac- \ntion is sometimes mentioned as its cause. Thus the \ncause of removing or blasting the rocks, is said to be, \nthat the line of a railroad might be established. Yet \neven popular speech has here a preference for the \nword reason, and feels the strain put upon the notion \nof a cause. The last word ranges rather along the \nline of previous effects, and has there always a tacit \nreference to the forces which underlie them, and \nwhich they conveniently serve to designate. The \ntrue cause, then, is always unseen, unfelt, beyond the \nrange of the senses, and is uniformly evoked to ex- \nplain that within the senses. It stands to phenom- \nena as the interior of a globe to its superfices ; as \nthe river to the ice which conceals it. The inside is \n\n\n\n66 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nalways inferred from the outside ; the bed of the river \nfrom its upper layer ; the depths of the ocean from \nits surface ; and the consecutive flow of causes from \ntheir coherent, visible effects. Causes are thus solely \nreached through the mind, and not through the sen- \nses ; are the result of the mind\'s action in supplying \nan explanation of that which arises in the senses. \nIf it were said that solids are made up only of sur- \nfaces, the senses merely could not contradict the as- \nsertion, since it is only the outside that is ever seen, \nfelt, tasted. What is interior, while it remains in- \nterior, is forever beyond them, and is only a matter \nof inference, and that, too, as we shall readily see, \nunder this very notion of cause and effect. We \nbelieve the body to be solid, because its weight is \nthus explained. Again, the cause and effect mutually \nmeasure and define each other. The effect expresses \nthe cause, the whole of it, and no more ; and identity \nof effects, proves identity of causes, and identity of \ncauses necessitates identity of effects. All our rea- \nsonings in mechanics, chemistry, physics, imply this, \nrest upon it. If the same causes could issue in new \neffects, or the same effects be referred to different \ncauses, there would be an end to safe reasoning in \nthese provinces. The word cause, however, must \nnow be carefully used in its exact meaning, and not \nin its popular sense. This measurement of the one \nby the other is involved in the general axiom of this \nnotion, to wit : that every effect must have a cause. \nIf there is a change in the effect, that change is itself \nan effect, and must have a cause, that is, another, or \nnew, or modified cause : hence, with a changed effect, \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 6 1 / \n\nthe cause cannot remain unchanged. On the other \nhand, if the effect remains the same, the cause cannot \nbe increased, diminished or modified, since this change \ncan only be shown, proved in the effect, and this, by \nthe supposition, presents no change. Such is the \nnature of a cause. Its chief features are, that it co- \nexists with the effect, is invisible, insensible, and is \nexactly equivalent to it, expressed in it in kind and \ndegree. \n\nWe next inquire, Where is this notion of the mind \napplicable ? Does it cover all phenomena, or only \nphysical phenomena ? This is a most important \nquestion, and a wrong answer, practically, if not the- \noretically, given, has involved endless mischief, and \nled to the loss of fundamental truths in philosophy. \nIf it is universally applicable, a law of mind every- \nwhere, then it necessarily excludes liberty ; since \nthis involves a totally different principle. It equally \nexcludes the existence of an Omnipotent Being, since \nno amount of finite effects can otherwise than estab- \nlish a finite cause, and moreover a cause of the same \nnature with the effects, to wit : a physical and im- \npersonal one. The universe exactly expresses God, \nunder this notion or principle of the mind, and hence \nGod has no being beyond, or more than, that which \nis found as present force in the universe. We be- \nlieve more careful consideration will show that this \nlaw of the mind has sway only among physical things, \nin space, and is not a law of pure, spiritual phenom- \nena, of consciousness. Our conception of matter, \nmaterial force, as opposed to mind, spiritual force, \nis, that it has a fixed, determinate existence, without \n\n\n\n68 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nspontaneity or resources. Matter is an uttered force, \none realized, and in its very realization has been \ndefined and fixed forever. It has gone forth from \nthe region of spontaneity, and, like the weight, the \nhand of man has attached to a machine, presses with \na settled amount. It is between physical effects and \nphysical forces that the mind affirms this perfect co- \nexistence, and absolute equivalence, and not of its \nown acts ; except so far as they have touched the \nphysical world, appeared as force in it. The gauge \nof a steam-engine measures the exact pressure pres- \nent, and there is then and there no spontaneity, no \npotential pressure possible : the thoughts and voli- \ntion of the mind express a state or condition of it, \nbut do not wholly contain or exhaust the being of the \nsoul. Our practical judgments are in entire consist- \nency with this view. We trace physical forces from \none stage to another, and, when we stop, stop with a \nstill further inquiry on our lips. We feel that every \nstage of the force is only a stage, and not a start, and \nwe wait a convenient opportunity to pursue the \nthread of connection further. On the other hand, \nwhen a force has been referred to a free agent, we \nfeel that it has found arrest, and the most stubborn \nnecessitarian, even, practically suffers the inquiry \nthere to repose. If a building has been fired by \nphysical forces, we investigate these, pushing back- \nward, step by step ; if by an incendiary, we check \nthe inquiry with this discovery ; or throw it forward, \nnot backward, in a search for his motives. The \nprinciple of causation, then, as a fixed law, is as- \nsigned by the mind to the fixed realm of physical \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. 69 \n\nfacts, and not to what it itself recognizes as the \ncreative, spontaneous realm of spirit. No notion is \nof universal application, but each has its province. \nCausation attaches to forces, and force belongs \xe2\x80\x94 it \nis only by figure of speech that we speak of thought- \nforce \xe2\x80\x94 to space, the realm of physical events. \n\nWe next seek for that in the physical world which \nrests upon this notion of causation. All our knowl- \nedge of the world about us, as a visible, extended, out- \nside world, is to be referred to it. The world without \ndistances is like a wrapped up tent, comes collapsing \nin on our senses, yet distance is a matter of inference \nfrom observation. By experience, we learn that cer- \ntain impressions are due to near, and others to re- \nmote, objects, and from these effects we infer the \nnature of the causes which produces them, the \ndimensions and relations of the objects before us. \nFamiliarity and rapidity hide these judgments from \nus \xe2\x80\x94 this approach to facts, to causes, through their \nvariable effects, but perception does not thereby lose \nits character, as tacitly involving a large amount of \ninference ; all that inference by which the earth is \nspread out in a vast plain under our feet, and the \nheavens pitched in incredible and immeasurable \ndepths above us. Many things illustrate this com- \nplex, inferential action of the mind in sensation. A \nportrait does not present its object to us as large \nor small according to its own actual size. In a \nstereoscopic picture a slight deception is so prac- \ntised upon the eyes, that we seem to see massive, \npublic buildings, broad streets, and the dimensions \nof great cities. The spaces then of the visible uni- \n\n\n\nJO SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nverse arise under an instantaneous interpretation of \neffects, through a protracted and growing knowledge \nof causes. But not only are the scope and majesty \nof the visible world clue to this idea, our entire belief \nin the invisible world rests upon it. Phenomena, \nsights, sounds, sensations, are underlaid with real, \npermanent existences ; settled, established, consecu- \ntive forces, by this notion of causation. Without \nthis, our life would be a waking dream, distinguish- \nable only from other dreams by distinctness of im- \npression. All sense of reality, of valid being, per- \nmanent powers, and immutable conditions, all that in \nits extreme form passes over into the notion of fixed \nfate, an existence not to be escaped in itself or its \ncircumstances, springs from causation. Those events, \nwhich toss us constantly from one to another, those \nfickle, flexible waves, dallying with every wind, and \nsporting with the shallop of our life \xe2\x80\x94 perfect images \nof mutability, are nevertheless sustained in thought, \nby the deep, silent, unchangeable recesses of being, \nas fixed in their quiet repose and equipoise as the \nmountain centres. We are anchored and held firm \nin the universe of God by this notion of causation. \n\nAgain, all reasoning concerning nature, all rational \nknowledge of nature, rests on the idea of cause and \neffect. If there are no causes, no effects, then each \nthing and event is a grain of sand, unapproachable \nthrough any other, unaffected by any other. No \nexplanation can be offered of the existence and form \nof any facts, since these are perfectly independent of \neverything else. Nothing has affected them, they \naffect nothing, and the mind can branch out from no \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. J I \n\none of them in lines of connection or government \nThe universe becomes a mass of disconnected facts, \nmere thrums cut short in all directions, its dependen- \ncies, figments of the head. It is of no avail to say, \nthat stated antecedents can take the place of causes. \nThey cannot do so, and give the mind any reason or \nexplanation of their presence. The antecedent is \nunaffected by the consequent ; the consequent has \nno dependence on the antecedent, and the conjunc- \ntion, if apt, is a new ground of difficulty and surprise. \nNeither can the materialist, rejecting this idea of \ncausation, explain from fixed sequences merely, any \nanticipation he may have of the future. That things \nhave been together without ground and dependence, \nis no reason from which to infer that they will be \ntogether in like manner again ; but rather the reverse, \nsince accidental conjunctions are conceived of by us \nas changeable. Nor is the mere fact of a repeated \nconcurrence of phenomena, as heat and light, a \nground of expecting their continued occurrence be- \ncause of the effect of this repetition on the mind. \nWhat right has the materialist to talk of an effect \non the mind of ever-returning facts, if he admits no \neffects and no causes ? No, all the connections of \nevents, and hence reasoning concerning events, are \nsundered by the rejection of this idea ; and we might \nas well expect a man to walk with every muscle di- \nvided, as the mind to think about physical events, \nexplain and anticipate them, with the conviction that \nthere is no causal dependence between them. Not \nonly can nothing be understood which happens in \nnature on the materialistic view, no explanation can \n\n\n\n72 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nbe offered of any of the actions of men in connection \nwith it. Motives, ends in view, cannot be assigned \nas reasons for any undertaking : for an undertaking \nimplies a dependence of results on the means to be \nemployed, a pursuit of objects through appropriate \nefforts, and these involve causation. Reason, there- \nfore, falls away from human conduct, just in the de- \ngree in which causation disappears from nature, and \nthe rationality of our lives is lost, withers under this \none central stroke of severance and division of the \nuniverse of God from the root of force and purpose \nwhence it springs. When forces fail to execute pur- \nposes, purposes must fail of conception or be born to \nimbecility. \n\nOnce more ; our sense of the perpetuity of nature \nrests chiefly on causation. A certain quota, comple- \nment of forces, causes, combined in a definite method, \nare found in the world about us. These remaining, \nnature, in her present results and laws, will remain. \nWe have, therefore, an expectation of the permanence \nof these, so long as the plan which includes them \nshall require them. There is a fixed, expressed pur- \npose in nature, and we anticipate its accomplishment ; \na method, and we wait for its uniform development. \nWhat is this instant in the universe is fitted to carry \nit forward for an indefinite period, and those, there- \nfore, who predicate a change, have the burden of proof \nresting on them to show the grounds and reasons of \nit. These are to be found, if found at all, not in \ncauses themselves, not in the world itself, but in the \npurposes of God. \n\nSuch is the nature and application of the notion of \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. J J \n\ncausation, and such a portion of the purposes sub- \nserved by it. What, then, is its proof? How do we \nknow the action of the mind to be valid in affirming \ncauses, in habitually uniting events by underlying \nforces ? We answer, as this is a necessary and con- \nstant action of the mind, it is of the nature known as \nultimate, or axiomatic. It is as much an axiom, that \nthere is a reason or cause for the fall of a meteor to \nthe ground, as it is that a straight line is the shortest \npath between two points. Neither of these state- \nments call for any further proof, and for precisely the \nsame reason ; the mind is adequate to this knowl- \nedge, and this knowledge is ultimate with it. If a \nman requires proof that he sees, we can give him no \nother proof than to let him see again. If he denies \npain to be painful, we have only to repeat the pain \ntill he thinks differently of it. If equals added to \nequals do not make equals, there must be added till \nthey do, or nothing can be done for a mind so awry. \nAccepting axioms is like adjusting a field-glass to its \nfocus. Our labor cannot proceed till this is accom- \nplished. If events can be accepted without causes, \nthen the mind so regarding them is incapacitated to \nreason concerning them ; since, as already shown, \nreasoning, conclusions, rest on valid connections, \nefficient forces, determining events to be thus and \nnot otherwise. The ultimate, axiomatic action of the \nmind in assigning causes, is evinced by its constancy \nand universality. Neither Mill nor Spencer, nor any \nphilosopher, through mere philosophy, has ever been \nable to force his thinking into any other channel. \nTheir works are saturated with causation. Their \n4 \n\n\n\n74 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nexplanations everywhere involve it. They would not \nbe content to say, the night and the day, the light \nand the heat, are as they are, because of a stated \nantecedence. Indeed, what is this very word, be- \ncause, by a cause, in such a connection, but a sub- \norned witness. Says Hume \xe2\x80\x94 an early advocate of \nstated antecedence, one of the most penetrating \nminds that ever employed the materialistic doc- \ntrines, and who uniformly used them merely as the \nweapons of an iconoclast, striking down the beliefs \nof men, while confessing a philosophical inability to \nsupply their place \xe2\x80\x94 " Allow me to tell you, that I \nnever asserted so absurd a proposition as that any \nthing might arise without a cause." He then pro- \nceeds to say that his real difficulty lies with the proof \nof causation. Is there not here a plain missing of \nthe point, a falling off from true philosophy, when \none can regard the assertion as absurd, that anything \narises without a cause, and still call for the proof of \ncausation ? What is an absurdity but something \ncontrary to a primitive, necessary conviction ? And \nwhat constitutes our strongest and best proofs, but \nprimitive, necessary convictions ? Why are the con- \nclusions of mathematics demonstrative, save because \nthey rest wholly on these convictions ? Mill\'s defin- \nition of matter, carefully worded, so as to avoid the \nimplication of underlying forces, of causes, neverthe- \nless involves them. It is this \xe2\x80\x94 " A permanent pos- \nsibility of sensations." \n\nNow, what is a possibility, but something which \nwill happen on the meeting of certain conditions ? \nAnd how can we conceive conditions to be condi- \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. J $ \n\ntions, except as they determine the action of forces ? \nAs far as any apprehension or rational explanation \nof the mind is concerned, the hand might as well be \nstretched in one direction as in another, if in neither \ndirection there is any agent or force whose effects it \nis to feel. Say to a blind man, there is a permanent \npossibility of your being burnt if you put your hand \ndown, and he will ask you, why. If you cannot re- \nspond there is hot iron in this direction and not in \nthat, a fire here, there is not yonder, reason is con- \nfounded, and apprehension at an end. Men have \nwandered so far from the truth, because it is so \nsimple and so near them. They have only to see, \nonly to think, and they prefer to philosophise, till \nphilosophy swallows up simple sight and the primi- \ntive conditions of thought. Philosophy has more \noften swept away the facts it has been brought for- \nward to expound, than presented them in their first \nforce and authority. Yet philosophy, false and in- \nsufficient, is the road to philosophy, just and com- \nplete, and this philosophy it is that lays bare the \nfoundations of knowledge, and gives to the eye and \nthe mind what before was assured to the foot and \nhand. There is in the part, which this notion of \ncause and effect plays in knowledge, a signal illus- \ntration of the dependence of physical science on a \nsound philosophy. The fundamental link between \nall facts, the connection of thought which every sci- \nentific theory from least to greatest is employing, has \nbeen denied to physical inquiries, as invalid, fanciful \nand metaphysical ; yet physicists have adopted and \nurged forward that materialism, one of whose first \n\n\n\n?6 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nachievements is to dissolve into independent, unco- \nhesive points of vapor, this compacted and consoli- \ndated universe, woven and knit together from side \nto side, welded and riveted together from end to end \nwith cords and bars of force. To be sure, they have \nmatched their blindness on one side by a more for- \ntunate blindness on the other ; and having accepted \nmaterialism, they have forthwith forgotten their al- \nlegiance to it, in a fresh enthusiasm for physical pur- \nsuits, as earnestly tracing causes and delighting in \nthem, as if these had not just been pronounced, by \nthose who lay down for them the laws of thought, \nmere illusions, Will-o\'-the-wisps. Thus the physicist, \nagain and again, strikes the foundation from beneath \nhis own labors, yet goes on to build, employing any \nleisure moment that may fall to him in deriding \nmetaphysics, of whose most unfortunate and gro- \ntesque results he presents the most unfortunate and \ngrotesque example. \n\nAgain, we see in this notion one of the clearest \nillustrations of the weakness of materialism in deriv- \ning all knowledge from experience, in regarding the \npowers of mind as simply the reflex product of mate- \nrial forces. Are we to expect putty to become lucid, \npearly, opalescent, by the protracted shining of the \nsun upon it ? Brilliants catch the light in their first \nmaking up, or fail of it forever. Crystalline struct- \nure implies primitive, crystalline power. The mind, \nby its own native penetration, with powers that make \nit to be mind, threads the phenomenal universe to- \ngether by forces and agencies that never reveal them- \nselves in the senses ; but, waiting spirits of thought, \n\n\n\nSPACE THE FIELD, CAUSATION THE LAW, ETC. JJ \n\nstand ready, by explanation, revelation, illumination, \nto do service amid things otherwise dark, opaque, \nintractable, dead. The real majesty of the mind is \nonly apprehensible as we see it thus reach, build up, \nand expound this substantial world of existences \nabout us out of the slight suggestions of the senses, \nthat, like a torch in the night, cast a few gleams of \nflickering, ghostly light on the things nearest them. \nThe animal that lives in the centre of a circle of sen- \nsuous impressions \xe2\x80\x94 a circle, a few inches, or feet, or \nmiles, in diameter \xe2\x80\x94 stands in what contrast with man, \nto whom the visible is but the symbol and suggestion \nof that vast, invisible procession that hourly troops \nbefore his inner vision, and makes him the companion \nof unseen forces, dealing ever with unknown agents, \nlodged in the matter about him, as ideas are con- \ntained in words ! He puts his hand to the lever, \nthat he may impart force ; he draws near the fire, \nthat he may receive heat ; he opens his eyes, that \nhe may catch light from out-lying stars ; he lets go \nthe magnetic needle, that it may feel attractions that \nrun from pole to pole ; he touches the telegraph, that \nhe may send thought ; he administers a remedy, that \nhe may quicken life. Everywhere he is in fellowship \nwith the subtle spirits that do the bidding of his \nHeavenly Father. Such is man, because such is \nmind in its primitive powers, in the image wherein \nit was at the first fashioned ; because it pauses not a \nmoment on the film of being, but presses inward in \nbelief of its realities, and in fellowship with them, as \nsubstantial as they, as substantial as their common \nAuthor. The bit of mirrors that gives back the sky \n\n\n\ny8 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nto the sky were as marvellous as man, if man stood \nonly in passive, dumb reflection of the world about \nhim ; if thought and truth crept into him as light \ninto a crsytal. It is because light, comprehension, \nconstruction go forth from him ; because by the touch \nof his commanding thought he builds up this valid \nuniverse, not too large for his intellect, not too grand \nfor his emotions, from the ephemeral appearances \nthat come and go around him ; because he penetrates \nbeneath the transient states of his constantly flowing, \nhis infinitely flexible, experiences, and predicates of \nhimself permanent being, immortality, that he stands \nrevealed the heir of all truth, of the spaces and \nyears in which his thoughts so freely, with such \nprimitive ownership, rove ; because, reading the pur- \nposes of Heaven in their execution, rising on the \npresent hour, the bower of the senses, as a little \nisland in the great sea, he proceeds to overlook the \nundisclosed eternity, to declare where land is to be \nfound, where lie elysian fields, the wealth of new con- \ntinents ; to clothe himself with the faith and courage \nof a voyager, and, in obedience to the law and the \nhope within him, to launch forth, not to ground his \nkeel again, save on the shores of the now invisible \nworld. \n\n\n\nLECTURE IV. \n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. \n\nIn our last lecture, we spoke chiefly of causation. \nThe discussion is not yet complete. Materialism \nhas not brushed aside this notion without a vigorous \neffort to supply its place. It has been a great gain \nto sound philosophy, that the idea of cause and effect \nis so obviously beyond all observation that few mate- \nrialists have even attempted to derive it from experi- \nence, but have been compelled to reject it as plainly \nnot so to be reached. The great void in thought \nthus made has been left vacant, or filled up with \nstated antecedents, according as the parties who have \noccasioned it have been destructive or constructive \nin their tendencies \xe2\x80\x94 simply sceptical, or ambitious \nof a new philosophy. The constructive, creative \nspirit has decidedly predominated in the later phases \nof materialism, and such men as Mill, Spencer and \nBain, have striven to give a consistent substratum, a \nsufficient connection, to thought without the idea of \ncausation. This effort is deliberately, patiently, and \npowerfully made in Spencer\'s Principles of Psychol- \nogy. It rests on the notion of resemblance, which is \ncontained in, which necessarily underlies, that of \nstated antecedents. Like antecedents imply or give \npromise of like consequents, and hence the whole \nattention of science, of thought, is to be directed to \nlikeness, to resemblances, as the real thread of order \nand coherence in the universe. \n\n\n\nSO SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nNow, there are two sufficient reasons against this \nphase of materialism which may be urged before \nconsidering it in detail. The first of these is, that \nthe notion of resemblance has itself been pilfered, \nand is an original solvent furnished by the mind, not \ngiven to it. We do not see things to be like ; if so, \nevery eye must pronounce at once, and always, on all \nshades and forms of likeness and unlikeness, as upon \nall colors. We do not see things, we judge them ; we \nthink them to be like or unlike. The notion of like- \nness comes in, is brought in by the mind, to explain \nthe things to which we apply it. A great difference \nbetween brute perception and rational perception \nwill be found just here. Things are simply seen \nby the animal ; they are compared by the man, and \ntheir agreements as agreements observed. It is one \nthing to have a sensation twice, another thing to \nobserve the fact, and affirm the identity of the two \nstates. The first may occur many times before we \nmake this last assertion of agreement. If, there- \nfore, Spencer and others should succeed in resolv- \ning all judgments into one category, that of re- \nsemblance, they would still be called on to explain \nthe origin of this idea, and should not be allowed \nto assume it as an obvious product of mere expe- \nrience, of simple sensation. The mind cannot get \nto work, cannot begin to manipulate its sensations, \nand manufacture them into thought, without concep- \ntions, ideas, under which it proceeds. If it starts \nwith comparing its impressions, it must first be \naware that this is what it is to do, and open the \nlabor under the idea of resemblance. No mere \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 8 I \n\nphysical facts arrange themselves, unite themselves \nin classes. \n\nThe second objection, before inquiry, is, that stated \nantecedents constitute no explanation of facts, but are \nrather the statement of the facts without explanation. \nAn apple, unsupported, falls to the ground is a fixed \nsequence, but this is not the ultimate statement, the \nobserved and expounded fact to the true philosopher, \nbut that rather which calls for and suggests explanation. \nWhy, by what force, does the fall follow the detach- \nment of the apple ? How is the consequent locked in \nwith its antecedent ; directly as the expansion of iron \nunder heat, or indirectly as the increased current in \nthe galvanic battery on the addition of fresh acid ? \n\nThese are the questions which science is really \nputting, and it seeks to settle antecedents only that \nit may penetrate their nature and relations, and thus \nanswer these inquiries. So radical, however, would \nbe the effect on philosophy and science of this analy- \nsis of all judgments and resemblance, that it deserves \nfurther attention, especially as metaphysicians, so far \nremoved from materialism as Hamilton, seem ready, \nincautiously, to admit it. \n\n" In opposition to the views hitherto promulgated \nin regard to Comparison, I will show that this faculty \nis at work in every, the simplest, act of mind ; and that, \nfrom the primary affirmation of existence in an orig- \ninal act of consciousness to the judgment contained \nin the conclusion of an act of reasoning, every opera- \ntion is only an evolution of the same elementary pro- \ncess \xe2\x80\x94 that there is a difference in the complexity, \nnone in the nature of the act ; in short, that the \n\n\n\n82 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nvarious products of Analysis and Synthesis, of Ab- \nstraction and Generalization, are all merely the results \nof Comparison, and that the operations of Conception \nor simple Apprehension, of Judgment, and of Rea- \nsoning, are only acts of Comparison, in various appli- \ncations and degrees. What I have, therefore, to \nprove, is, in the first place, that Comparison is sup- \nposed in every, the simplest act of knowledge ; in \nthe second, that our factitiously simple, our factitiously \ncomplex, our abstract, and our generalized notions, \nare all merely so many products of Comparison ; in \nthe third, that Judgment, and, in the fourth, that \nReasoning, is identical with Comparison." \n\nNow, as comparison goes on under resemblance, it \nis evident that Hamilton looked upon this as the all- \ninclusive idea under which the mind\'s activity pro- \nceeds, and thus virtually leaves no room for coupling \nour thoughts by cause and effect, or, indeed, by any \nother intuitive idea. The reason of this is found in \nhis logic, and I need not pause to give it. Its plausi- \nbility will be more apparent later. We turn now to \nSpencer, with whom a kindred belief is the founda- \ntion of a more consistent philosophy. It is impossi- \nble to give anything more than the concise statement \nof the result at which Spencer arrives, as the discus- \nsion, with steadily growing and closely welded con- \nclusions, approaches the end, through hundreds of \ncompact pages. Says he, as he nears the goal ; " At \nlength, continued analysis has brought us down to \nthe relations underlying, not only all preceding rela- \ntions, but all processes of thought whatever. From \nthe most complex and abstract inferences of the de- \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 83 \n\nvcloped man, down to the most rudimentary intui- \ntions of the infant ; all intelligence proceeds by the \nestablishment of relations of likeness and unlikeness." \nThis conclusion has been reached by an examina- \ntion of mathematics, whose reasonings all proceed on \nperfect agreement, complete equality of units ; by a \nconsideration of the classifications of science, obviously \nresting on resemblance ; and of its laws, the expression \nof like results as the fruits of like conditions ; and by \nthe further and more difficult labor of resolving a por- \ntion of the intuitive ideas offered by us \xe2\x80\x94 that portion \nmore commonly accepted, such as space and time \n\xe2\x80\x94 into the results of a comparison of like series and \ncontrasted series of sensations. What, then, is the \nsignificance of this conclusion, for the red heat and \nforging of which, a fierce furnace of logic has been \nmaintained, and trip-hammer blows of thought have \nbeen bestowed, through a whole volume of philoso- \nphy. What matters it, if it be true as Spencer \naffirms, that all, "the most complex processes of \nreasoning are resolvable into intuitions \xe2\x80\x94 that is, ob- \nservations \xe2\x80\x94 of likeness and unlikeness between terms \nmore or less involved?" In it, Spencer is well \naware that there is found the germinant seed of ma- \nterialism. If the one assumption of resemblance, \nas a product of experience, can pass unchallenged, and \nall judgments can be resolved into it, as their very \nsubstance, the work is done. Evidently, if we have \nno other sources of the material of knowledge than \nsensation, the mind can alone busy itself in compar- \ning these sensations ; the likeness and unlikeness be- \ntween them will be its sole resource of thought. If, \n\n\n\n84 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthen, it can be shown by exhaustive analysis, that all \njudgments are of this character, as Spencer asserts, \nthe clearest color of probability is at once reflected \non the correlative doctrine, and it becomes certain \nthat the mind has no other inlet of knowledge than \nobservation, and no other office than the classification \nof the matter so obtained. The exhaustive and la- \nborious discussion of Spencer is an effort to establish \nthat which would admittedly be true on the ground \nof materialism, and thus, by an independent confir- \nmation of its conclusions, to shore up the premises on \nwhich they rest. Here, then, is the source of the \ninterest Spencer feels in the subject, and the reason \nof the labor he has expended upon it. The wedge \nof materialism finds entrance in this assertion of the \none unmistakable character of all judgments. The \nscope of our faculties is thereby defined. Thus much \nwe may do, and not more. So far our powers are re- \nliable, and not further. We can deal with sensations, \nbut we cannot transcend them. We can discover the \norder that is in them, but we can bring no order to \nthem. The action of the mind on the material world \nabout it is from beneath, upward, as wild vines climb \non to and over shrubs in a hedge-row ; not from above, \ndownward, as the hawk perches upon an oak. If we \nadd to this doctrine the sorting power of our physical \nconstitution as Bain presents it ; our nerves defining, \nconnecting, and perpetuating the several classes of \nimpressions that run along them, we see the alleged \nmechanical and physical features of the mind brought \ninto bold relief. What a fanning-mill is to mixed \ngrains, foul-seed and chaff, separating them and re- \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 85 \n\nturning each to its own drawer, or repository, our \nnervous organization is to the mingled impressions \nof the outside world, resolving them into feelings of \nvarious kinds, into ideas and memories according as \nthey enter along this or that channel, tarry longer, \nor are expelled quicker. The drift of a swollen stream \nis no more certainly divided, the fine sand yonder, \nthe gravel here beneath our feet, and the coarse cob- \nbles behind us, than, under this general view of the \nmind, do the several products of sensation, floating \nin the nervous system, at length gravitate each to its \nown place. So important are the conclusions as re- \ngards the origin and character of our powers contained \nin this simple assertion, that "the most complex \nprocesses of reasoning are resolvable into intuitions \nof likeness and unlikeness, between terms more or \nless involved." The scope of our powers is of course \ncorrespondingly restricted. We can make nothing \nmore out of morality than can be found in sensations; \nthese are the cucumbers from which we are to extract \nour spiritual sunshine, more or less, or go without it \nWe are limited to a comparison of pleasures, and,\' \ntherefore, our inquiries can issue in nothing but util- \nitarianism. If we attempt, in religion, to set up this \nladder of like and unlike, and climb into the heavens \nby it, we find it lamentably short. Indeed, how can \nGod, standing off in the separation of his infinite at- \ntributes, be reached by resemblances, whose limited \nrange is that of observation ? Hence, Spencer gives \nthis notion of the infinite a place among those pseudo \nideas that haunt the thoughts, but are never reached \nby them. Or how can any invisible world whatever, \n\n\n\n86 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nof forces, or powers, or spirits, be reached by a phil- \nosophy whose sole occupation is comparison, and \nwhose only material in hand, on which to base its \nresemblances, are earthly, visible, sensible appear- \nances ? The mind is thus imprisoned within the \nhorizon of the eye ; tethered down to the range of \nthe nostril, the touch of the finger ; and though sharp \nand cunning enough here, so far fails of immortality \nand another life that it knows not well what these \nmean. " Dust to. dust," becomes the one law of its \nbeing. \n\nHow, then, it is asked, is this resolution, so fatal \nin its consequences, of all thought into the tracing \nof resemblances, even apparently possible ? Because, \nwe answer, there is in it a very broad substratum of \ntruth, and when it is not true, it is closely allied to \nthe truth. Utility, a comparison of enjoyments, is \nintimately connected with morality, though it is not \nmorality : and the identity and likeness of causes are \ndetermined only by likeness and identity of effects, \nof visible things. If we refer for a moment to the \nscheme already given of regulative ideas, we shall see \nhow this one of resemblance casts its shadow over all \nothers, and thus, in constant contact with them all, \nmay, by adroit analysis, be furnished as their very \nsubstance. We start with- existence, but this notion \ncannot find bold relief till we affirm it of several \nthings ; till we have contrasted existence with non- \nexistence, the presence of an object with its absence ; \nand thus, by comparison, given clearness to the condi- \ntions of the conception. When we come to number, it \ninvolves at once unity and plurality, and a recognition \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 87 \n\nof the perfect identity or equality, or likeness of each \nunit, as a unit, in the numbers to be manipulated. \nTwo and two make four only on condition that two \nis equal to two, one to one. \n\nAgain, when we pass to space in its practical ap- \nplications, positions, locations, are utterly undefined, \ntill we have taken two or more positions and insti- \ntuted relations between them, compared them as on \nthis side, or that ; as above, or below. The words \nabove, below, simply mark the way in which we des- \nignate objects that stand in certain like relations to \nother objects. When we pass on to causation, this \nis only approachable through resemblances \xe2\x80\x94 resem- \nblances carefully, methodically traced among the \nthings with which we have to deal. That like \ncauses will produce like effects is the working axiom \nof this department : and the likeness of the causes \ncan only be established by the likeness of those visi- \nble marks or signs which accompany them. How \neasy is it, then, dropping the notion of cause, to sub- \nstitute for the more cumbersome expression, the \nsimpler one, like follows like ; and thus to resolve \nevery inquiry of science into one purely of resem- \nblances. This it already is in form, and therein seems \nto provoke this oversight of its secret nature. We \ncould thus, with Spencer, trace throughout the pro- \ncesses of thought, and, by skimming a little lightly a \nfew fields, reach the same conclusions with him. The \nerror of this analysis will be seen, however, when we \nscrutinize more carefully our judgments, and strive to \nrender all the elements they contain. Resemblance, \nas compared with our other intuitive ideas, has been \n\n\n\n88 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlike more gross, when connected with more volatile, \nelements in chemical composition. Inaccurate an- \nalysis always renders those, while, more frequently \nthan otherwise, these, their subtle companions escape, \nleaving them the field. Take, as an example, the no- \ntion of time. Let this be involved in a judgment, and \nthere will always be a residuum of thought which re- \nsemblance alone does not cover. Says Spencer, in \nsubstance, if we compare several distinct series of \nevents which follow in a fixed order, and cannot be \nrepeated, the mind is struck with this agreeing fact \nin them. This sequential relation under which they \ntranspire, in an irreversible way, we call time. In \nhis own words, " It is impossible to think of time, \nwithout thinking of some succession ; and it is equally \nimpossible to think of any succession without think- \ning of time. Time, as known to us, is relativity of \nposition among the states of consciousness." That is, the \nagreeing relation between two series of a fixed, irre- \nversiable order, is time. Is this analysis complete ? \nFar from it. Stop here, and we have resemblance \nalone, a likeness of relation. Push it one step fur- \nther, and we shall reach the missing ingredient. Let \nseveral things be given us to compare. We must be \ntold in what respect we are to compare them ; in size, \nin color, in form, or in flavor ? That is to say, the \ncomparison cannot be instituted or proceed, except \nunder a specific idea. The injunction, Compare, \nCompare, is vague and bewildering till we are told \nin what respect to compare the things before us. \nTake now a series of sensations which are to be \nmade the subject of our thoughts. We may be called \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 89 \n\non to classify them as agreeable or disagreeable ; or \nthe objects which occasioned them, as red or yellow, \nas hard or soft, for these impressions are all products \nof our sensitive organs, and may, therefore, guide the \ninquiry. In each case, however, the guiding point or \nconsideration in the comparison precedes the com- \nparison, has already been given in an organ of sense, \nand is the light under which the process goes on. \nNow suppose we are to institute a comparison be- \ntween sensations in reference to their sequence \xe2\x80\x94 a \nrelation, according to Spencer, involving that of time, \nequivalent to it. This notion also must first be given \nto the mind, be made present to it, before it can push \nforward a comparison under it. If the mind has not \nknown a sequence as a sequence, it cannot consider \nseparate series in this respect. The notion of time, \nthen, precedes the comparison, and does not follow it \nas its fruits. As it is not a sensation, like white and \nblack, it must be an intuition, an idea furnished by \nthe mind under which it itstitutes and maintains the \nthe comparison in the several series of events before \nit. Thus our judgment is found to involve another \nantecedent element beside that of resemblance, to \nwit, that of time ; and this element can itself be \nmade the predicate of an independent proposition. \nEvery event happens in time, is a judgment turning \non a distinct intuition, and is not analyzable into re- \nsemblance. The same could easily be shown to be \ntrue of the other intuitions, as space, consciousness, \nright. The fact, then, is, that every intuition is \npresent in the propositions to which it pertains as \nan irreducible element, and that every judgment so \n\n\n\n90 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nframed as to contain one of these as its predicate, \ndoes not suffer resolution. Other judgments, exceed- \ningly like these, may be made to render up the idea \nof resemblance ; but the simple, primitive judgments \nwhich apply our intuitions, have each a primitive \ncharacter of its own. This event has a cause, this \naction is right, are assertions of first truths, not of \na likeness between one event and another, one action \nand another. If we so strive to explain them, we shall \nbe obliged at length to go further, and account for this \nlikeness between the two events on the ground of the \nprimitive conceptions of causation and of right. \n\nBut the notion of resemblance has been especially \nbrought forward to displace that of causation, in con- \nnection with which it finds its chief significance. The \nrelation of the two, therefore, in physical inquiries, in \nscience, calls for a brief elucidation. The processes \nof science all proceed visibly, ostensibly, under the \nidea of resemblance. The classifying of objects in \nfamilies, in genera and species, as of plants in Botany, \nor animals in Zoology, is the first difficult and ever- \nreturning labor of the inquirer. Here a thorough \npenetration into agreements and disagreements, \npoints of resemblance and of difference, is a chief \nrequisite, and may seem to exhaust the mind\'s action. \nBut even in these sciences, which are chiefly sciences \nof classification, this search after the likeness and \nunlikeness of things has tacit reference to funda- \nmental qualities or properties which belong to them, \nwhich make them what they are ; or to their descent \nfrom common parentage, impressing upon them their \nagreements. \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. QI \n\nIn botany, plants were for a time united by one class \nof resemblances, and later, re-arranged under another. \nWhy this change ? Because the one set of agree- \nments were believed to be more closely united to in- \nterior nature and character than the other ; to better \nexpress the descent and general properties of plants, \nthe forces in the past which have made them what \nthey are, and the forces in the present which ex- \npress their innermost being and affinities. What \nis it that marks the superiority of one system of clas- \nsification over another but its more intimate relations \nto inherent, essential, efficient forces, and its greater \npower to express, therefore, the real position of a \nplant or an animal in the general plan of life, its kin- \nship of characteristics and descent ? And what is \nthis but getting a little closer to the causal relations \nat work ? No single outside agreements, however \nstriking, are of much interest, provided, on the whole, \nthey appear to have been accidental \xe2\x80\x94 not the indices \nof agreeing causes, not the marks of like relations in \nthe plan of properties and powers. The mints have \na certain kind of odors : this constitutes a strong fea- \nture of the class. But a like odor elsewhere, as in a \ngeranium, is not particularly significant. It is, then, \nagreements which go beyond the senses, which have \ninterpretation in them, which put us in connection \nwith the secrets of vital and physical forces, that \nhave interest for us, and make classification a scien- \ntific process, a means of knowing, of reaching and \nusing, causes. The child may classify his broken \nbits of crockery by their shape, or the coloring upon \nthem, and, as dealing with mere resemblances, the \n\n\n\n92 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nrelation is accidental, one of no interest. He may \nclassify them according to the material of which they \nrespectively have been made, and immediately they \nare attached to different portions of the earth, different \nnations, and very distinct stages of art. No depart- \nment can establish its claims to be a science till its \nclassifications begin to assume something of this \npregnant form, to contain the underlying history of \nforces, and to strike out, here and there, into flashes \nof causation. When we get hold of the secret of a \nforce, discover how to breed an animal, how to modify \na type, how to mingle colors in a new flower, or fla- \nvors in a new apple, we feel that observation is \npassing into science ; that we begin to know, since \nwe have penetrated appearances, resemblances, and \ntouched with authority the forces that underlie them. \nWhatever defects the Darwinian theory may have, \nits chief merit, that which has given it hold on so \nmany minds, has been this : that its classifications \nare thought to put us on the actual lines of develop- \nment, to mark the directions of embryonic and of \nprogressive growth. This theory, which is pressed \nby Spencer, and is chiefly used in the interest of \nmaterialism, nevertheless, owes its principal interest \nto the antagonistic principle involved in causation. \n\nAnother and stricter class of sciences direct their \nattention more undividedly to causes, forces. Of \nthis nature, are natural philosophy, chemistry, mete- \norology. In mechanics, we are tracing forces exclu- \nsively, and agreeing appearances are only thought of \nas the expression, the language of agreeing causes. \nNot able to penetrate to causes, we treat them wholly \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 93 \n\nthrough their effects, through the appearances that \naccompany them ; but the mind, the thought, is al- \nways truly dealing with the forces conceived by it to \nbe present. A set of pullies, under certain conditions, \nraises a weight ; a lever, under other conditions, per- \nforms the same labor. The mind has no explanation \nfor these results, except that of equal force in the two \ncases. The likeness of the effects has its significance \nin enabling us to attribute, to unlike antecedents, a \nlike secret efficiency or force. This word, force, fol- \nlowing us everywhere in physical inquiry, is a con- \nstant witness to the nature of mental processes ; a \nconstant reminder of the mind\'s interpretation of \nresemblances. In physics, chemistry, meteorology, \nphysiology, we are satisfied only as we seem to touch \nand define the forces at work ; and it is our greater \nsuccess in this respect, in one department than in \nanother, in dealing with physical and chemical forces \nthan with vital forces, that makes of the first a \nmore complete science than of the last. It is a mat- \nter of choice in geometry whether or not we formally \nstate our axioms. They just as certainly underlie \nthe proofs in the one case as the other. The mind \nrequires no reminder of axioms ; thus is it with this \nidea of causation. Phenomena run along on the sur- \nface, under the form of resemblance, and language \noften takes them up in this shape ; but the mind \ndoes not the less interpret them through the ever- \npresent axiom of causation. A boy shapes the clay \nin his hand into a marble, and the bullet comes forth \nfrom the mould, round. The two balls, as balls, have \nno interest to observers. They are like in form from \n\n\n\n94 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ntotally different causes. The dew-drop enspheres \nitself at the end of a grass blade ; the shot falls from \nthe tower, and reaches the water a solid sphere ; the \nearth, a mammoth globe, has felt its central force \nshaping it through every solid inch of its contents. \nHere, a resemblance opens a vista into forces, and the \nmind is all attention. The rounded pebbles of con- \nglomerate rock, the abraded stones of a mass of drift, \nhave meaning in their forms, because they indicate \nthe previous action of forces like those which now \nchafe the shale on the beach. Resemblances, then, \nare the visible signs of an invisible thought, and it \nwould be as possible and as philosophical to say, that \nin language we are dealing, not with ideas but with \nlike characters and sounds only, because these are \nalways present, and all that is present to the senses, \nas to say, that we are dealing in science only with \nthe likeness of phenomena, because this likeness is \nthe inseparable expression of the included causes. \nScientific inquiry progresses under one idea, and \nthrough and by it reaches another, as the eye fol- \nlows the printed page, while the imagination revels \nin the imagery of poetry, and the thought strikes \ndeep into its sentiments. Indeed, there could be no \ndepths in poetry, were there no hidden truths in \nphilosophy : were all phenomena a spectral surface \nplay, a filmy effervescence, an illusion of the senses, \nwithout source or issue, permanent being or efficient \nforce. \n\nThis axiom of causation, this regulative idea of \nforce, which we have now taken so much pains to \ndefine and establish, is the essential frame-work of \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 95 \n\nthe physical universe. It is the limit and law of all \nits connections. It excludes fortuity, shuts out the \nchaos of chance, and limits accident to un perceived, \nunanticipated causes. Creation is order, is the set- \ntling and defining of forces ; is the putting of given \nthings in given places ; is the shaping of results ac- \ncording to a fixed method : and this labor throughout \nis but the systematized action of causes. Creation \nis the wedding of defined action to a defined element \nfor a defined end, and this is the law of causes. But \nthat which conditions the presence of order in the \nuniverse, conditions the mind\'s apprehension of that \norder. All thought, all inquiry, all movement back- \nward or forward for the apprehension of that which \nhas been, or anticipation of that which is to be, must \nproceed along the connection of fixed causes. By as \nmuch as the effect should be found to differ from, or \ntranscend, the cause, by so much would there be a \nloss of all connection, all dependence, a cutting of \nthe thread of force and thought, which had entered \nthe fabric of events. The mind, when dealing with \nthings \xe2\x80\x94 observe the limitation \xe2\x80\x94 can only unite them \nby this notion, and, therefore, all forethought and \nafterthought, all passage of the perceptive faculties \ninto and through the objects about them, must rest \non this idea, must arise under this law of the phys- \nical universe. \n\nWhat is true of thought, is true of our active pow- \ners. There is one and the same condition of their \nexercise. We learn to control events, because we \nlearn the forces which are efficient in them ; can our- \nselves add to their efficiency or withdraw a portion \n\n\n\n0/6 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nof it from them. The physical universe is a middle \nterm between us and God. It is an express declar- \nation, on his part, of what he has clone, and what he \nwill do : what forces he will loan us, and on what con- \nditions. We, therefore, enter the field of exertion \nunder a settled contract. We can make no sudden \nappeal for favor ; we can find no extenuation for ig- \nnorance, nor oversight for indolence. We are put at \nonce to inquiry and faithfulness, and the least failure \nin either is liable to a severe punishment. Now, \nunder such conditions only, could we work with God, \nor find a motive even for exertion. If physical forces \nwere not fixed in measure and law ; if they were lia- \nble to be suddenly withdrawn and re-issued under \nnew conditions ; if they were occasionally comple- \nmented by supernatural intervention, so far forth ele- \nments of uncertainty would enter, inducing idleness, \nan ill-grounded faith in our own good fortune and \nGod\'s grace to us. Indeed, a belief in the power of \nprayer even, is sometimes so held as to lead to an \noversight of duties, of natural laws, whose injunctions \nare in the imperative form. Nothing is more natural \nand inevitable than for men, with many wayward \ndesires and indolent tendencies, to excuse them- \nselves from foresight and energy by some ungrounded \ntrust in God. With the present stern and unyielding \nadministration of natural law, there is yet much re- \nliance on good luck, good fortune, and providential in- \ntervention. The power and office of prayer we shall \ndiscuss later, we only now remark that this stern \nforce of causal connection^, this frown of law, are \nneeded to prevent prayer becoming the pack-horse \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 97 \n\nof the lazy and imbecile. The possibility of work, \nthe necessity of work, and the reward of work, are \nfound in the stated connection of cause and effect. \nThrough it, we know what we may do, under what \nconditions, and how far our doing will be effective. \nWe know what we must do, or suffer the punishment \nof vagabond powers. We know what rewards are \nready to crown our labor, and to unite the irksome \nentrance of toil to the glad exit of success. The \ncogency of this discipline cannot be abated one iota \nwithout immediate degeneracy ; without loss to that \nstrength of will, that keenness of thought, that sobri- \nety of feeling, which are now the means of success. \n\nNot only is the universe a middle ground of labor \nbetween man and God, it is a middle term of thought. \nRevelation does do nothing, and could do but little, \nto contradict the lessons of the divine character and \ngovernment given under the creative hand and seal \nof God. If there are unchangeable purposes in God ; \nif there are straight lines of law ; if his moral gov- \nernment involves grave responsibilities, and strange, \nmomentous liabilities ; if indolence and ignorance are \nnot to be screened from both rebuke and punishment, \na foreshadowing of these truths must be found in the \nphysical world. The fixedness and stability of cau- \nsation, therefore, undergird the material world as by \na divine foreordination, for a purpose wise in its con- \nception and faithful in its execution. If coherence, \nconsistency, progress have been thus secured in the \noutside world, coming up from the dawn of geologic \ntime to the present, varied development and comple- \ntion of his labor, a like coherence, consistency, pro- \n\n\n\n98 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ngress are reflected on the moral purposes of God, and \ntransferred from his lower to his higher Kingdom \nof Grace. If he was not stinted in time, or limited \nin resources under the one fixed law of causes, but \nbrought forth from the merest germ of nebulous, \nchaotic force, this present world, no more, we are \ntaught, will he be embarrassed and baffled by the \nlaw of liberty in man, in bringing forward his second, \nhis spiritual work of creation. If there were fluctu- \nation, change, uncertainty in the work already done, \nthen might we anticipate like fickleness and feeble- \nness in the future ; but now the outside world, in its \nunyielding laws and steady growth, is a purpose of \nadamant, an unchangeable truth between us and God, \na key of iron, working between guards of iron, open- \ning the door upon his foreordained purposes, his im- \nperishable undertakings. Moreover, only thus could \nany final causes, any ends enter into the conception \nof the universe. Motives, objects proposed, are de- \npendent on sufficient means for their execution, and \nare rendered rational, intelligible by the presence of \nsuch means. The plans of God give rise to a settled \nrelation of means to ends, and, in turn, are expressed, \nrevealed to us by this relation. What is done, stead- \nily done by natural law, thus expounds the divine \npurpose, and gives us the design of our Heavenly \nFather. \n\nIt is not strange, that a positive philosophy that \nstruggles against causes should still more resist final \ncauses, and stigmatize those inquiries by which we \nforecast the drift of things, discern the ends around \nwhich they seem to rally, as futile, abortive, fanci- \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. 99 \n\nful. The mind naturally pushes its questions of \nexplanation in two directions, backward and forward. \nIt asks, whence a thing comes, when, where and \nhow it was made ; and also whither it goes, for what \npurpose it was so made. These inquiries are mutu- \nally dependent. If the one is legitimate, then is the \nother. If we may ask how a thing is made, we may \nalso ask why it was made ; if we may inquire whence \nit comes, we may also seek whither it goes : if we \nmay search for causes, we may also for final causes. \nThe rationality in its conception, in the making of \na thing, implies a like rationality in its destination. \nIndeed, its purpose is locked up in its construction, \nand may be sought for there. The plans of God \ncome forth to us in their settled methods of execu- \ntion ; and in inquiring into causes we unconsciously \nsee their drift, that which they accomplish and were \nintended to accomplish. \n\nThis law of causation, now seen to be so funda- \nmental in the universe, so of the very essence of \nthings, has given rise easily to two errors. It has \nbeen thought to exclude miracles. It rather makes \nway for miracles. How can there be a miracle, ex- \ncept there is a law to set aside, a rule to overrule ? \nIf there is no firmness in the law, then there is no \nglory in the miracle. Indeed, coherence, cogency, \nare the conditions of the magnificent, sovereign ex- \nception ; just as critical laws and established tactics, \nin their general sufficiency and soundness, cast lustre \non the solitary exceptions which genius discovers to \nthem. Both the condition and the reason of miracles \nare found in the rigidity of the law. The natural law \n\n\n\nIOO SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nis rigid for the reasons dwelt upon, but being rigid, \nit is liable to disguise freedom, and strangle personal- \nity. Hence, there come at once an opportunity and \na reason for breaking through this web of law, when \nit threatens to become a veil between God and his \nchildren, for parting it, not rending it asunder, that \nit may be seen to be but a veil, on whose historic \nfolds the divine, creative achievements are slowly \nwrought by the hidden hand of God. \n\nAnother like and more inclusive danger to phil- \nosophy has appeared in connection with causation. \nThe mind, so constantly, so protractedly, so pleas- \nurably occupied in tracing forces, and in the expla- \nnations which these afford, has been liable to deem \nthis the true type of all thought, and to regard no \nsolutions as satisfactory which do not eventuate in \nthis connection. Hence, liberty, the freedom of the \nwill, has come to be looked on as a species of fortuity, \nhardly to be recognized in sound thought. Physicists \nhave established their methods and conceptions in \nthe region of physical facts, and have not been able \neven to understand anything which transcends them. \nHence philosophy, metaphysics, have been compelled \nto accept, in detraction, the appellative, transcend- \nental ; as if all that lies beyond physics were a region \nof moonshine. This view we hope later to do some- \nthing to correct, and, while we accept causation as a \ncorner-stone of the structure, to excuse ourselves \nfrom regarding it as the very temple itself, its pene- \ntralia and worship. \n\nWe will conclude this lecture by pointing out the \nnecessity of a correct, thoroughly causal notion of \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. IOI \n\ncausation itself, in order to the plausibility even of \nthis attack on liberty. Those who deny the validity \nof the idea of cause and effect, probably all of them, \nreject liberty, and unite the two classes of phenomena \nunder the explanation of fixed antecedents. Yet \nwhat is more obvious than that inductively, by ob- \nservation, no settled, unvarying sequences can be es- \ntablished as a clearly recognized fact between motives \nand actions ; between circumstances and the fruits \nof them in conduct. Every one sometimes disap- \npoints us, and few indeed expect men to respond to \nevery change of external conditions with the exact- \nitude of a steam-engine, or an electric battery. The \nargument against liberty has always tacitly proceeded \non an assumption of a certain force in motives, of \ntheir causal connection with the effects suitable to \nthem ; and been attended with the further assump- \ntion, that, on any unusual change of conduct, there \nhas been a corresponding change in the inner hold \nof the motives on the feelings. Now, if it turn out \nthat there is no such causal relation, no grapple of \nactions by persuasives, the opponent of liberty is \nthrown back upon the much more difficult proof of \nfixed antecedents, to wit : that given circumstances \nare always followed by given actions. As the com- \nplete presentation of all that makes up circumstances, \nwhen the word is used in connection with choice, is \nimpossible, and as the partial surveys of the condi- \ntions of human actions which are open to us, exhibit \ngreat variety and changeableness of results, very \ndiverse actions following from circumstances closely \nallied, a plausible proof even against human freedom, \n\n\n\n102 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\non this ground becomes impracticable ; while a cur- \nsory inquiry seems to indicate that the relation be- \ntween antecedents and consequents, when conduct is \nconcerned, is by no means so invariable as it is when \nwe are dealing with purely physical forces, and thus \nto show that the connections are not of the same, \nsettled nature in the two cases. It is the secret \nforce of the idea of causation, its tending to go be- \nyond its own field, and insinuate itself as the law of \nrelation, of dependence, everywhere, that has wrought \nagainst human liberty ; and while, therefore, we reject \nthe proofs of the necessitarian, we draw from his \nown doctrine this conclusion : that he at least should \nmaintain a firm hold on causes, since it is on this \nground that he accepts as certain a change in the \nforce of motives, when no visible occasion for it, or \ntrace of it, is seen. If the causal idea, by its own \nforce, is so to wed the motive to the action as to \nimply a change of the one on every change of the \nother, and to make us willing to believe in an altered \nefficiency in inducements which remain externally the \nsame, then must the notion be held in its integrity, \nnot refined away into simple antecedence. Thus \ndo we bear with us everywhere the secret laws of \nthought, seizing the explanations they offer. When \ncausation has been theoretically rejected for matter, \nit is often restored for mind, and rooted up in its true \nfield, is surreptitiously planted in another. We are \nconstantly reminded that it is the first labor of thought, \nthe true province of philosophy, to assign to their own \nfield and phenomena the regulative ideas of the mind, \nand to maintain their primitive authority there : to \n\n\n\nRESEMBLANCE NOT THE SOLE LAW OF THOUGHT. IO3 \n\nset up each faculty, an autocrat in its own realms ; \nthe nose for odors, the eye for sights, the memory for \nrecollections, the intuitive reason, in its diverse func- \ntions, for furnishing the just connections of thought. \nWe thus stand where the hand of God has put us, \nwhere it has lifted us, that we may overlook his \nworks, physical and spiritual ; that we may see the \nthings beneath our feet, about and above us, the ex- \ncellent things into which we have been born, the \nheavenly things into which we are to be born, as the \nsoul, breaking its chrysalis, shall come to the full in- \nheritance of its enlarged powers. There is nothing \nso damaging to God\'s grace and our immortality as \nnot to use the eyes he gives us, as not to climb, \nwith mingled faith and vision, the slant sunbeams \nof truth. \n\nWe have now directed attention to these points \nin connection with causation : first, its primitive \ncharacter ; second, its exclusive application to phys- \nical events ; third, its absolute necessity for their \napprehension ; fourth, the impossibility of substitu- \nting any other idea for it ; and fifth, that by means \nof it a common ground of activity between us and \nGod is secured. \n\n\n\nLECTURE V. \n\nmatter; its existence and nature. \n\nHaving finished the discussion of cause and effect \n\xe2\x80\x94 the law both of force and thought, which applies \nin the physical world \xe2\x80\x94 we wish, before passing to \nthe second correlative branch of knowledge, whose \nevents transpire under the light of other ideas, to use \nthis notion in the present lecture in an inquiry into \nthe existence and nature of matter. \n\nMatter is the seat and source of all forces. Forces, \nin it and through it, play on to each other, and the \npoint of departure and return in their causal inter- \naction, is ever some form of matter. The nature \nand certainty of our knowledge of the material world \nhave constituted one of the most protracted and per- \nplexed of philosophical discussions. Many have so \nfar missed the proof as to have lost hold of this ma- \nterial side of our being, and to have cast the concep- \ntions of the ear and the eye about the mind\'s own \nactivity, as clouds encompass the earth, springing \nfrom it and returning to it, hovering in airy spaces, \nabsorbed into invisible vapor, condensed again into \nvisible form as the forces from beneath and above \nplay upon them. The great difficulty in explaining \nthe perceptive processes of mind, as indeed every \nother process, has lain in an oversight of the mind\'s \noriginal activity ; its unobtrusive and constant con- \ntribution, to every act of comprehension, of the prin- \n\n\n\nMATTER ; ITS EXISTENCE AND NATURE. 105 \n\nciples, the laws of that act. Sensation, reflection, \nmemory, are prominent, salient forms of activity, \nbut that mental rendering of the rational conditions \nunder which they take place, which seem rather to be \npervasive qualities of each act than any direct addi- \ntion thereto \xe2\x80\x94 this has continually escaped attention, \nand presented the processes of mind in a confused, \ncrippled and insufficient way, through the loss of \nthat which is most peculiar to them. Thus, in the \nact of perception, the part which the notion of causa- \ntion plays being wholly overlooked, or inadequately \napprehended, has left the proof of the existence of \nmatter unsatisfactory, and has led to very untenable \nstatements of what the mind reaches in perception. \n\nThe first and spontaneous impression in reference \nto sensations and perceptions seems to have been, \nthat they lie, as purely mental phenomena, wholly \nwithin the mind itself, and therefore, do not directly, \nof their own sufficiency, put us in connection with \nmatter, as a physical existence forever outside con- \nsciousness. An oversight of the mind\'s necessary \naction under the notion of cause and effect, thus \nlater led to the conclusion, that if the mind does not \ndirectly transcend itself in sensation, does not break \nout of the charmed circle of its own states and acts, \ndoes not penetrate to a world beyond itself, it has all \nthe forms and the conditions of its activity within \nitself; and dealing with these, strictly its own phe- \nnomena, has the full complement of existence without \nany outside world whatsoever. Admittedly, all that \nthe mind directly knows, all that is permeated by \nits own consciousness, are its own states and acts. \n5* \n\n\n\n106 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nThese, therefore, granted to it, render, it is said, the \nbelief in an outside world unnecessary. Its sensations, \nin which, at first sight, the mind seems to reach some- \nthing other than itself, being nevertheless, on further \nthought, shown to be wholly within itself, give it the \nentire material of knowledge, aside from any agency \nof matter ; and matter, therefore, as superfluous, drops \naway. Hamilton, and many others with him, pushed \nby these and like considerations, have affirmed that \nmatter is directly reached in perception, and that \ntherein is found our proof of its existence. If by \nperception were meant the entire, complex act of the \nmind in connection therewith, both the effect in the \nmind which is due to an external object, and the \nmind\'s inferential grasp of this object, then we should \nheartily assent to the statement. We look upon per- \nception as a wonderfully complicated and rapid pro- \ncess, as adding to a first susceptibility much acquired \nskill, and compacting many impressions and judg- \nments into a penetrative and powerful act of mind, \nin which it especially displays its constructive and \nindependent strength. Under the notion of causa- \ntion, and by the teaching of protracted experience, \nimpressions, impotent in themselves, are transformed \ninto far-reaching and firm conclusions \xe2\x80\x94 conclusions \nso firm and far-reaching, that they seem to be lodged \nin the very organ of sense itself; and a landscape \nwhich we have constructed out of scarcely more ma- \nterial than Aladdin found requisite for his palaces, \nseems to be seen and known and felt by us through \nall its solid substance. We do not understand Ham- \nilton, however, in his doctrine of perception to refer \n\n\n\nMATTER J ITS EXISTENCE AND NATURE. I07 \n\nto this inferential, complex nature of the act ; but \nrather to conceive the pure perceptive process as a \ndirect and simple grasp of matter by mind, a sufficient \nand ultimate proof of its existence. To this, we de- \ncidedly object ; believing as we do, that the pregnant \nidea on which the existence as well as the nature of \nthe physical world rest, is that of cause and effect. \nThat Hamilton is to be understood as affirming this \ndirect knowledge of matter in the perceptive element \nalone of perception, is clear from the following pas- \nsage : " Suppose that the total object of consciousness \nin perception is equal to 12 ; and suppose that the ex- \nternal reality contributes 6, the material sense 3, and \nthe mind 3 : this may enable you to form some rude \nconjecture of the nature of the object of perception." \nPlainly, Hamilton supposes that to the extent of 6, \none half of the phenomenon in that state of mind \nwhich is the basis of perception, matter finds entrance \nto consciousness, and is intellectually permeated by \nit. This is not the doctrine, but quite opposed to it, \nthat the pure mental state and product present in \nperception is made the necessary condition of the \nmind\'s inferentially reaching the external world, is \nthe salient effect whence the mind strikes outward to \nthe cause, and, in its further explanation and expan- \nsion, constructs the visible universe. \n\nExamine sensation, perception, in each of the \nsenses, commencing with the feebler. What alliance \nis there between a given odor and a rose or a gera- \nnium ? How totally experimental is the reference of \nthe one to the other ! How completely we fail to \nreach any matter, even the slightest particle, through \n\n\n\n108 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthis sense, believing indeed in the presence of such \nfloating particles only through our idea of cause. \nAlmost as manifest is the same fact in the case of \ntaste. A flavor has no likeness to any form of mat- \nter ; no power directly to disclose matter. We learn \nto refer distinct flavors to their several material sour- \nces ; but we do this only by protracted trial, and \nthen may find a decided taste on the tongue induced \nby disease, or by an electric current, not referable \nto any object. So far does this sense fail to dis- \nclose real outside existence. On sound, we need not \npause. Obviously, the thing heard, the source of \nthe sound, is remote and inferred. In the case of \ntouch, the object lies wholly outside the organ, in \nno way penetrates it, and can constitute no part, \nmuch less one-half part, of the sensation, which con- \nsciousness permeates, and, by permeation, reveals. \nClose all other senses and deal with this alone, and \nthe inferential nature of the results are quite obvious. \nWe cannot certainly say in every tactile sensation, that \nanything has touched the organ. Some prickling \nof the finger-ends themselves may explain it ; or, the \nfact of contact being settled, how explorative and \nprotracted must be the touch to lead us to a tolerably \nsafe conclusion as to the real object which has occa- \nsioned the impression. How many things are smooth, \nhow many hard, how many tickle or burn the skin ! \nIf, now, we infer that the fabric in our hand is velvet, \nbecause of its softness, is it not equally obvious that \nit is to us a fabric, a something, because it responds \nto a sensation ? What is the particular inference but \na specific form of the general inference ? If we \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 109 \n\nreach the idea of velvet through softness, do we not \nthe general notion of matter, through the general \nfact of sensation ? Most obviously we do. \n\nPassing to sight, the most difficult to analyze, as it \nis the most complex of perceptive processes, we ask, \nWhat is it that we see ? As we commonly use lan- \nguage, undoubtedly, the remote objects, the moon \nand the stars, the fields and the trees, the walls and \nthe windows. Popular speech includes in the word, \nsee, all that amplifies and completes vision. We say, \nconfidently say, that we have seen a man, when the \neye has actually fallen on no part of his person, but \nhe has been recognized by his garments and walk \nsimply. That portion of the complete act of sight \nto which Hamilton wishes to draw attention, and to \naffirm in it a direct knowledge of matter, is the purely \norganic part occasioned by the light. " But in the \nsecond place, what is meant by the external object \nperceived ? Nothing can be conceived more ridiculous \nthan the opinion of philosophers in regard to this. \nFor example, it has been curiously held \xe2\x80\x94 and Reid is \nno exception \xe2\x80\x94 that, in looking at the sun, moon, or any \nother object of sight, we are, on the one doctrine, ac- \ntually conscious of these distant objects ; or, on the \nother, that these distant objects are those really rep- \nresented in the mind. Nothing can be more absurd : \nwe perceive, through no sense, aught external but \nwhat is in immediate relation and in immediate con- \ntact with its organ ; and that is true which Democ- \nritus of old asserted, that all our senses are only \nmodifications of touch. Through the eye we per- \nceive nothing but the rays of light in relation to, and \n\n\n\nIIO SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nin contact with, the retina ; what we add to this per- \nception must not be taken into account." \n\nDo we then directly know the retina, and the \nimage on it in vision ? Not at all. Our entire knowl- \nedge of the structure and relations of the eye is an \nafter-knowledge, picked up itself through independent \nperception, not disclosed primitively in those very \nperceptions of which this organ is, from the outset, a \nmeans. We know nothing of the ear, through hear- \ning ; of the eye, through seeing ; of the brain, through \nthinking. The brain must be seen to understand \nits structure, and the eye disclosed to a second eye \nbefore even the existence of the retina and the image \nit holds can be known. In all this discussion, the \nbody is just as much outside of the mind, its exist- \nence, form and functions to be learned by the mind, \nour senses in turn exploring each other, as any por- \ntion of matter whatever. We may say, that the \nlikeness between the picture on the retina and the \nexternal objects it presents, is philosophically unfor- \ntunate, as it leads us to think that the mind knows \nthis image in some way, for what it is in itself, and is \nthus easily united by it to the corresponding external \nfact. We suppose that the connection between the \nstate of the retina and what is sight to the mind, is \njust as inscrutable, and, so to speak, arbitrary, as be- \ntween odor and the contact of the floating effluvia \nwith the lining of the nostril. If it should be shown, \nas has been suggested, that the optic nerve is actually \naffected in vision by the different degrees of heat \nwhich belong to the different shades of color and \nlight on the retina, that the perceptive surface is \n\n\n\nMATTER J ITS EXISTENCE AND NATURE. I I I \n\nbelow the screen which receives the images, and not \nidentical with it, we do not imagine that the philoso- \nphical bearings of the question would be the least \naltered ; though this immediate knowledge of the \nimage on the retina would thereby become a palp- \nable absurdity. Even now it is scarcely less. Double \nand inverted images render to the mind a single and \ncorrect impression ; because these images are not \nthe direct objects, but the indirect means, of vision. \nPress aside the axis of one eye, and without altering \nthe image, sight becomes double. \n\nThe extent to which vision is made up of judg- \nments has become more and more evident. The \nform, distance, and size of an object are matters of \nimmediate and rapid inference from the data given \nby the eye. Hence it is, that the mind supplies, in \nthe recesses of a mirror, the exact position and rela- \ntions of objects which do not directly meet the eye ; \nand it sometimes fails, when the reflection is very \nperfect, to distinguish the image as an image, from \nthat which it represents. If, then, the size and forms \nof things are matters of judgment in this sense, how \nplain is it, that the objects themselves, known only un- \nder these essential features, are also a thing inferred. \nNor do we, any the more, know directly the light, \nthe intervening agent between us and visible objects. \nIndeed, that color is due to the light, and not inher- \nent in the flower, the cloud, the shell is a scientific \ndiscovery consequent upon the resolution of light \nin the prism. The method in which the mind em- \nploys the organs of vision is evident from many illus- \ntrations. Take, as an example, the following : A \n\n\n\n112 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nportion of the landscape, somewhat remote, is caught \nsight of through a seam or crevice, like that which \nseparates the inner edge of a half-open door from its \ncasement. The eyes, at the distance of a few feet \nfrom the opening, view each a distinct portion of the \nremote objects. The two parts of the view are thus \nseparated by an invisible interval. If one eye is \nnow closed, and the sight concentrated through the \nother, this portion will still remain distinct on the \nre-opening of the eye, while the part which this eye \nis ready to add, will scarcely, if at all, be discerned. \nBy reversing the process, a like prominence may be \ngiven to the objects seen through the eye, before \nclosed. If now we strive to look equally through \nboth eyes at once, we shall see two crevices separated \nby a narrow strip of wood, made up of the opposite \nedges of the door and of the casement, meeting in the \nmiddle. This and like examples show, first, that the \nmind uses the eyes, and is not mechanically subject \nto their impressions ; since it subordinates one to \nthe other, and unites visible objects as suits its con- \nvenience, around a centre of its own selection. It \nalso shows, that when it submits itself simply to the \nimpressions on the organs, these often distort the \nfacts, are emphatically fictions, and wait the correc- \ntion of varied conditions of judgment. Not even \nmere color can be shown to be exclusively of external \norigin. Before the closed eyes there is oftentimes a \nplay of distinct colors which have no connection with \noutside objects. The centre of the now obscure field \nof vision is occupied by colors which come and go in \ndistinct succession. \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 113 \n\nThis doctrine of direct perception seems also to be \nuntenable, when we contemplate the movement in \nthe organs of sense, which is the condition of the \nmind\'s action, which calls it forth. This movement is \ninward rather than outward, while the activity of the \nthoughts seems to be expended purely in inferences. \nThe sound \xe2\x80\x94 that is the motion which is its condition \n\xe2\x80\x94 enters the ear, passes through its various media of \ncommunication, affects the nerve, and by it, as a mod- \nified impression, reaches the brain, where it seems to \nfind arrest, and to wait that use and interpretation \nwhich the mind makes of it. Thus is it also with \nthe light. It creeps in with modified movement to \nthis centre of sensibility. Every portion of the chain \nis essential, and it finds attachment and completion \nin the cerebrum alone. Of any outer movement of \ncomprehension along the organs of sense consequent \non this in-going impression, we have no proof what- \never. The point of final solution and transition, \ntherefore, seems to be found in the brain, and the \nultimate thing apprehended and interpreted is a ner- \nvous affection, a modified state of a nerve centre. \n\nTwo things, then, are evident : first, from our own \nconsciousness, that the mind does not, in sight, in \nhearing, directly know those nerve conditions which \nare the final occasions of perception : and, moreover, \nthat if it did, it could not by them directly discern \nan external world. If we affirm the whole nervous \nsystem to be an organ of perception, the argument \nis not essentially altered, it is still dealing with its \nown subjective impressions. The motion is inward, \nbecoming as its latest form, the form in which it is a \n\n\n\n114 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ncondition of perception, a play of nerve matter. This \nlast step is the connecting link with mind, and is ut- \nterly unlike the object which occasions it. We reach \nthe same conclusion also from the surprising way in \nwhich the mind substitutes, under protracted trial, \none sense for another. Ordinarily, the eye is the \ngreat portal of knowledge. Its double leaves stand \nwide in all our waking hours, and the pomp of earth, \nand the glory of the heavens, find ample entrance \nthere. Indeed, compared with it, any other sense is \na bastion wicket, turning reluctlantly on rusty hinges \nto admit a single messenger on some odd occasion. \nLet, however, these front gates of the soul be swung \nshut forever, and the clamorous thoughts be forced \nto seek another exit, and, with strange skill, they ex- \nplore the forgotten, over-grown path of touch ; soon \nmake of it a highway, till half the facts that had \ntrooped daily up to the entrance of vision find easy \naccess here. Engineering, generalship, the most dif- \nficult and ranging of out-door employments, have \nbeen brought within the scope of those perfectly \nblind. Now, this sudden elevation of a sense into a \nnew position, shows at once how much our percep- \ntions are dependent on the mind\'s cultivation, and \nhow feeble and barren they are in themselves. How \nwe grope and sink into an attitude of helpless, almost \nhopeless, inquiry, when suddenly blinded, yet, how \nthis passes away under familiarity, till in rare instan- \nces the unfortunate one seems marvellously endowed \nagain, penetrating the outside world with an aston- \nishing keenness of perception ! \n\nForms of delirium and mental aberration show \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 115 \n\nalso in a striking way the method of the mind\'s \naction. A physical derangement of the nervous \nmedia of thought and perception is attended, in \nthese cases, with a firm belief in the immediate, vis- \nible existence of objects wholly unreal. This fact \nshows that the mind does not directly know the char- \nacter of the nervous states that condition its action, \nand that it projects and constructs the impressions \nconsequent thereon, into a world so real, that it does \nnot for a moment doubt its existence. If, then, the \nvisionary conceptions, evoked by abnormal nervous \nstates, are apparently valid to the perceptions, how \nplain is it that the normal, perceptive act turns equally \non physical conditions unknown to it as such, and \nmade the grounds of a construction purely mental ? \nSubjective states, every way unlike the material ob- \njects and media which occasion them, are used by \nthe mind as the conditions of its perceptions, and it \nis so governed by these that it cannot go back of \nthem, even when they contradict its healthy, daily \nexperience. \n\nMoreover, if we reflect on the relation of mental \nphenomena to consciousness, we shall come to the \nsame conclusion, that perception is an indirect, not a \ndirect, process. From this source has come the bur- \nden of that general conviction among philosophers, \nthat the mind cannot directly know matter. All the \nstates and activities of mind have one invariable con- \ndition, consciousness. We are alike conscious of an \ninference and of a sensation. Therefore, so far as \ndirect knowledge extends, consciousness must ex- \ntend, since nothing can be in the mind\'s states and \n\n\n\nIl6 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nactivities which is not permeated by consciousness ; \nand nothing which is not of its own states and acts \ncan be otherwise than indirectly, inferentially known. \nIndeed, this is precisely what is meant by indirect, \nas contrasted with direct, primitive knowledge ; that \nthe last lies wholly within the mind, while the former \ninferentially, in thought, transcends the mind by virtue \nof premises present to it. If it be said, that we are \nsimply begging the question, in saying that percep- \ntion is not direct knowledge, we answer, What other \ndefinition are you prepared to give of direct and in- \ndirect knowledge than that the one does not tran- \nscend the mind, and the other does ? And, if you \naffirm that in this sense, perception is still direct \nknowledge, we ask, How can it be unless the phenom- \nena of matter as perceived, are then and there, phe- \nnomena of mind, permeated by consciousness, taken \nwithin the precincts of the soul ? Thus the very de- \nsire to establish an outside world in direct percep- \ntion, identifies its phenomena with those of the mind, \nissues in idealism, and abolishes matter altogether. \nMatter only remains matter, with which to make an \noutside world, on condition of leaving it, in all its \nforms and forces beyond the mind, beyond conscious- \nness, there to be reached in a secondary, inferential \nway. When we speak of perception, in popular lan- \nguage, as direct knowledge, we do so on the ground \nof its ruling, initial, characteristic element, not as \nexcluding from it all inferences. \n\nHaving now established, as we believe, the proof \nof the existence of matter as resting on the causal \naction of the mind, leading it to distinguish its vari- \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 117 \n\nous states from one another, and to refer them to \ndistinct sources, we pass to the second question, \nWhat is matter? We answer, It is in its distinct \nelements, permanent forms of force ; it is force. \nHere we shall fortunately agree with many physicists, \nwhose society we seem scarcely to have cultivated. \nThe conclusion that matter is force, is pressed upon \nus, as the simplest one open to us, as the one that \nrests without redundance of supposition on the proof. \nAll that we know of matter, is its power to effect \nchanges ; are its phenomena, the appearances to \nwhich it gives rise. These, therefore, must be re- \nferred to a source or cause : and as to us, they only \nevince force, force becomes their sufficient explana- \ntion. We are to bear in mind that this force, the \nconstant source of phenomena, is, in itself, perfectly \nunphenomenal, and, therefore, cannot be handled by \nthe imagination. We cannot conceive it, and stri- \nving to conceive it, we immediately transcend it by \ninvesting it with some of those appearances to which \nit gives rise, as effects, but which are not of its very \nessence. When, therefore, the mind gives to each \nmolecule a material centre, it is only a trick of the \nimagination, striving to restore in minutiae what it \nhas lost in mass, likening the infinitesimal part to the \nwhole of which it is a portion, and presenting it under \nthe same phenomenal dress. The imagination is the \nfaculty that chiefly embarrasses us in accepting mat- \nter as pure force, and it is the eye that principally \nrules the imagination in its belief in a stubborn, ma- \nterial centre, as an ultimate product of analysis. \nThe words, green, brown, black, have a meaning for \n\n\n\nI 1 8 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe imagination : the words, pure force, that is, force \naside from any visible appearance, any motion it is \noccasioning, any work it is doing, have no meaning \nto the imagination ; that is, can be handled by it \nunder no image. Hence, it is uneasy and restless \nunder so thin, visionary a conception, and wishes \na world of more palpable imagery. This it gives \nto itself when it re-habilitates molecules in sensible \nproperties, and says that the centres of matter, that \nis visible, stubborn outside matter, are also material, \nthat is, visible, tangible, unconcessive, under the sen- \nses. This they, doubtless, would be under organs \nsufficiently acute to reach them, since, to such organs, \nthey would give rise to new phenomena, revealing, \nindeed, their existence, but not disclosing their na- \nture, as simple centres of force. Thus, exactly, the \nchild\'s ball is known to him by hardness and color, \nthough the very nature and force of its being are \nstill hidden and invisible. What we say, then, is, \nthat to the reason, which can alone deal with the ul- \ntimate nature of matter, and not to the senses, or to \ntheir echo in the second degree, the imagination, \nmatter is force \xe2\x80\x94 the permanent power to do what it \ndoes, to make the impressions which belong to it. \nNothing can be simpler, or more unavoidable, than \nthis conclusion. It is axiomatic under the notion of \ncausation. Any other conclusion gives to matter \nmore than the phenomena require. \n\nWhat, then, do we know of the nature of this force, \nwith which the mind sustains as a substance, a per- \nmanent existence, equally the changeable appearances, \nand the more abiding forms of matter ? Plainly, \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 119 \n\nnothing, save the naked fact that it gives rise in each \ncase to a given class of phenomena. Its effects pre- \ncisely measure and express it. They are the form of \nits being, and the whole of its phenomenal being, at \nleast so far as we are concerned. They are as essential \nto it as it is to them. To know all that a force can do, \nis to know the force, since this is what makes it to be \na force, and defines it as one. We may, indeed, assert \nthe possibility of other kinds of sensations in addi- \ntion to those known to us, and imagine new impres- \nsions made by the various forms of matter in other \norgans of perception, but we thereby get no new \nview of the nature of force, since, if we were pos- \nsessed of a half thousand, instead of a half dozen, \nsenses, they would all only render phenomena, and \nleave the essential nature and being of matter unap- \nproached. Indeed, it may be questioned whether \nthis asking after the quality and essence of matter is \nnot to us an essentially deceptive inquiry, since the \nonly possible answer we can conceive of, would be \nthe giving of further phenomena attendant upon it, \nand these, however multiplied, would still leave the \nvery force unknown. Every form of force is defined \nto us in the senses to which it appeals, and the effects \nwrought in them are necessarily its final definition. \nTo one who should have eyes only, color would be \nthe entire result which force could compass in making \nitself known, in declaring the nature of its being. \nIf one sense after another were added, hearing, taste, \ntouch, new circles of presentation would be present, \nand a given kind of matter or force would show itself \nas that capable of accomplishing a certain aggregate \n\n\n\n120 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nof results. That is to say, the force is in the effects, \nand the effects are so of, and over, the force ; that we \nknow all that is to be known of it, both in the mode \nand measure of its being, in knowing these. It is an \nimpractical, if not an absurd, inquiry, to ask for any- \nthing more. Our senses are present for the precise \npurpose of disclosing the material world ; that is, the \neffects of that world, not its intrinsic, unphenomenal \nnature. We may fancy as an illustration of the at- \ntitude of matter toward mind, the presence of a spirit \nseeking to make itself known. It strives to assail \nthe senses, affect the touch, make a noise, to startle \nthe eye. On no other condition can it disclose itself, \nand the phenomena it is thought to occasion become \nimmediately our notion of it \xe2\x80\x94 a sheeted ghost, usurp- \ning the midnight hour. \n\nIf now the mind seems ready to revert to the posi- \ntion of the materialist, and to inquire, Why have any \nforce at all, any cause, if we only know it in and by \nits effects, and these are its entire measure ? we can \nonly answer, Because the mind persists in assuming \nit, and if we check its reasoning, dissolve into noth- \ning its connections here, we loosen the bonds of all \nthought, and find ourselves afloat on liquid, facile, \nfickle appearances, with no harbor nor anchorage. \nIf we are to deny the chain of connection at its con- \nclusion, deny it at the outset, and ceasing at once to \nseek for causes, cease to either ask or to render the \nreasons dependent on them. Forego all discussion on \nphysical things ; as a mere repetition of consecutive \nfacts can be no ground on which to infer a future \nsequence, unless one cause is at least granted, to wit : \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and NATURE. 121 \n\nthat the often-renewed experiences of the mind incline \nit to the expectation of like relations. In brief, we must \naccept this intangible cause, or the locks of the head \nare shorn, and our rational strength departs from us. \nIf such be the only possible knowledge of forces, \nand yet such also the absolute necessity of admitting \nthem, it is further plain, that the physicist, in gen- \neralizing all things into force, has reached a verbal, \nrather than an actual, unity. Many forces, not one \nforce, is the just conception of matter. We have, so \nfar as now appears, at least as many distinct, per- \nmanently diverse forms of force as we have elements, \nor kinds of matter. Sixty-three irresolvable elements \n\xe2\x80\x94 elements that present specific and unchangeable \nproperties, necessitate the belief in as many forms \nof force, of which these are the ultimate expression. \nTo say that all matter is force, therefore, is not to \nsay that it is identical in being, nor in the least to \nwipe away those distinctions in kind, which stub- \nbornly linger in experience, no matter how trying \nthe processes of dissolution which mechanical force, \nheat, electricity and chemical affinity supply. More- \nover, force has other peculiar forms of existence more \ndetached, general and independent than those which \npertain to the very essence of matter, and give it a \nseparate, ultimate, uniform, molecular character in \neach of its elements. Mechanical force, the forces \nof cohesion, of attraction, of crystallization and of \nchemical affinity, electric, thermal and vital forces are \nof this nature. It has been shown, under what is \ncalled the correlation of forces, that some of these \nare intimately united ; a further correspondence and \n6 \n\n\n\n122 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nequivalence may be revealed, but their entire identity- \nis far from yet appearing. A portion of them at least \nreplace each other in definite quantities. A given \namount of chemical affinity or force, disappears on \nthe production of a given amount of galvanic force ; \nthis, in turn, replaces a fixed equivalent of mechan- \nical force, itself capable of a further exchange in heat. \nReversing the process, heat, as in the engine, may \nbe turned into power ; power by friction may be re- \nplaced with electricity, and electricity may break in \non chemical compounds, securing new adjustments \nof chemical force. Experiments in the correspond- \nence of forces, however interesting in themselves, by \nno means establish their identity of being. Differ- \nences still remain ; for instance, between mechanical \nand thermal and chemical forces in their manifesta- \ntions ; and till these are removed or explained, we \nmust recognize a corresponding difference in the \nforces themselves. If mechanical forces act on mas- \nses, thermal forces on molecules, and chemical forces \non atoms, this, nevertheless, is a difference, and the \nground of it must be referred in each case to the \nforce itself, till further knowledge gives us another \nexplanation. The fact that mechanical force calls \nforth heat and disappears in doing it, no more iden- \ntifies the two, than does the fact that volition issues, \nfirst in muscular motion and then in sound, establish \nthe oneness of the three. Indeed, the permanent \nfact of their constant, separable manifestation, even \nto the senses, still remains, and is a sufficient ground, \nboth in language and thought, for their distinction. \nEither in the very forces themselves, or in some other \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 123 \n\nforces that condition their action, there is a reason \nfor this difference of results, and therefore at some \npoint, somewhere, diversity of agencies must be ac- \ncepted so long as diversity of effects appears. We \nshall not reach identical, uniform force, till we reach \nidentical, uniform results. Disagreements demand \nexplanation as much as agreements, and an absolute \noneness of causes would preclude all variety in the \nproducts, would shut us off from creation. Take \nsuch a force as that of the attraction of gravitation, \nand how peculiar are its manifestations. It is omni- \npresent, yet varies in intensity everywhere according \nto a fixed rule. It needs no media apparently for \nits diffusion or action, but seizes its object with a \nspecified power everywhere. It is a vacuum to itself, \nsending cross-lines of force from planet to planet \nwhich do not in the least collide with each other. \nIt suffers no exhaustion by exercise. The weight \nthat has plunged down in headlong descent, leaves a \npath behind it unswept of power, capable instantly, \nalong its whole extent, of presenting like action on \nevery other body. The momentum, which it itself \nhas acquired, seems unsubtracted from the great \natmosphere of force which has closed up around it. \nThe motion of masses, mainly secured by the attrac- \ntion of gravitation, does not in the least modify or \nabate the force which gives rise to it, no matter how \nmuch is lost by friction or expended in collision. It \nis penetrable in all directions, yet puts its tariff, its \nadditions and subtractions, its variable scale of condi- \ntions, on every force expended in space. At least, \nthese are some of the properties of this attraction, if \n\n\n\n124 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwe conceive it as emanating equally at all times from \nthe body which is its centre. If we regard it as called \nforth only by the actual presence of another body, its \nfeatures are scarcely less striking. Its quantity, on \nthis supposition, is variable every instant, and is ca- \npable within itself of indefinite increase or diminution, \naccording as the objects which exert it are near to, \nor remote from, each other. The approach of the \nearth to the sun would rapidly increase the absolute \nquantity of this force ; its departure, correspondingly \nreduce it. On any supposition, it is sufficiently plain \n\xe2\x80\x94 the point we wish to make \xe2\x80\x94 that forces are far \nfrom identical, are the lodgments of diverse forms of \npower, and that the universe is no more a unit to the \nunderstanding than to the senses. \n\nWhat are the possibilities, the suggestions of this \ntheory of matter in its relations to God, to a Creative \nand Providential Agent ? The nature of these forces, \nand their relations to each other, by which they unite \nto make up a harmonious universe, would still remain \nas the first obvious proof of an All-wise and Efficient \nDisposer of them ; but the inquiry now urged is, \nwhether there is anything in the very idea of force as \nthe substratum of matter which effects the argument \nfor the being of a God. If there is anything in the \nnotion of force that favors the idea of self-existence, \nof the eternity of matter, so far forth, the proof of the \nexistence of God is weakened ; and the more so as \nthese material forces have their own law in them, and \nonce granted in kind and quantity, themselves con- \nstruct and maintain the world. The notion of force, \nphysical force, is not of passivity, but of activity ; not \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 125 \n\nof quiet endurance, but of permanent power. So far \nas forces are interchangeable, there is consumption \non the one side, and increase on the other. There is \nchange and transition between them, according to a \ndefinite law. This fact is not suggestive of ex- \ntended, immutable, indestructible, physical being, per- \nfectly finite and perfectly fixed ; tough and intracta- \nble in its own narrow, stubborn, independent powers ; \nbut rather of a free, facile agency, the force of a spir- \nitual, rational being, that is put forth, indeed, accord- \ning to a measure, but shifts and varies its applications \naccording to the exigency. In the fact that force is \naction, a constant expenditure, and not a silent endur- \nance, we have suggestion of a Personal Source ; in \nthe fact, that it is measured out in fixed proportions \nfor intelligible ends, we have a still more certain in- \ndication of its reference ; and in the shifting, flexible \nmethods of its applications, a further hint of its origin. \nIf constant, yet variable, exertion toward intelligible \nends does not give the mind a strong intimation of a \nPersonal Being as its source, it is difficult to say what \nwould do this ; yet, this is the nature of the forces \nwhich make up the material world about us. Fixed \nin elements, assuming new forms in every compound, \nexchangeable in part for each other, yet, accepting a \nnew shape at every transfer, they exhibit the precise, \npliant power of a rational spirit, seeking the ends \nprescribed to itself in settled, yet flexible, methods. \nMoreover, a further suggestion of a Personal Being \nis found in the relation which force, in our own \nexperience, sustains to us. We are constantly con- \ntrolling events, through force clue in its form and des- \n\n\n\n126 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ntination to our own will. Our relation to matter is, \nindeed, very different from that of the creative mind ; \nyet it is such, nevertheless, as to carry the thoughts \nstrongly over, in a reference of the activities about \nit, to God. Mechanical force alone is open to man. \nThis he constantly generates. To be sure, he does \nit by the consumption of other forces, but this does \nnot alter the significance of the fact, that he enters \nhimself the world of force, and learns to attribute it \nto mind. Mechanical force is conditioned on the \nexistence of the forces of gravitation and cohesion. \nWithout these there are no firm, stable bodies to \nreceive or impart force. Moreover, mechanical force \nis always the product of some other force. Some \nchemical, or thermal, or electric, changes, as in the \nhuman body, or the steam-engine, or the telegraph \nhave preceded it ; or the force of gravitation, as in \nfalling bodies, has called it forth. This secondary \nforce alone is directly reached by human volition ; \nbut in this fact, of the exertion by us of force, \nand in the familiar one, that the mechanical power \nso generated may be momentarily modified, and \nseems to come forth in a fresh, creative way, we re- \nceive from our daily experience a new impulse in \nascribing all force to God. When science discloses \nto us the fact, that the muscular force which we \nput forth, is attended with a consumption either in \nthe blood, or in the muscle of other more concealed \nforces, embraced in chemical affinities, the strictly \ncreative nature of the force-act disappears, and a \nwide chasm is thus revealed between our physical \nactivities and those of God. We, indeed, see that \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and NATURE. 12/ \n\nthe relation of forces to the finite spirit is quite differ- \nent from their relation to the Infinite Spirit ; that \nthe one only modifies what the other originates, yet \nthe affinity of the two, spirit and force, remains un- \nshaken ; and the more so, as the inscrutable touch \nof the human will, by which it does reach physical \nforces, and does work among them, by which they \nbecome to it a perennial spring of potency in the \nworld, is still ours, escaping the scrutiny of the vexed \nphysicist. \n\nForce, then, by its own active, well-ordered, pliant \nnature, and by its close connection with the human \nwill, bears with it an immediate suggestion of a Per- \nsonal Source. There have long been two theories on \nthe part of those who refer matter to God : one of \nsecond causes, another of immediate, direct causa- \ntion. The one gives a quasi independence to matter ; \nthe other refers it in momentary generation to God. \nThis notion of force, on which physicists are so hap- \npily and generally uniting, seems to us quite to favor \nthe second as contrasted with the first, and, if rightly \ninterpreted, to bring God much nearer to us, than some \nhave thought him to be ; I may almost say, nearer \nthan some have wished him to be. One of the most \nrecently uttered creeds of an atheistic faith contained \nthis doctrine of force, which, to us at least, would \nseem to be the very water-gate whereat God pours \nhis being into the universe ; the very method and act \nof the letting down of his power upon it. If the \nswing of faith, in the case referred to, had been over \nto pantheism, it would have had plausibility, but to- \nwards atheism, it lacks even the color of argument. \n\n\n\n128 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nWe have in the world, inexhaustible, variable, mar- \nvellously combined forces, that thread their way on- \nward with infinite wisdom and unerring adaptations. \nWhat is this but the very presence of a rational spirit \nwith us ? Matter as an indestructible, self-sufficient, \nstolid form of being, disappears, and a living power \ntakes its place, coming forth instantly from the source \nof life ; momentarily flexible to the thought of the \nGreat Being, from whose purposes it springs, the \nbreath of whose volition it is to us. This pulsation \nof the life of God through his entire creation, by \nwhich every force rests back instantly on his volition, \nand would vanish, as easily as thought when the \nmind ceases to think, did he but call in again his \npowers, is at once the most adequate and sublime \nconception of the universe, and of its Infinite Source. \nCertainly, the poet, science full in view, can as well \nsay to day as in the days that have preceded : \n\nSome say that in the origin of things, \n\nWhen all creation started into birth, \n\nThe infant elements received a law, \n\nFrom which they swerved not since. That under force \n\nOf that controlling ordinance they move, \n\nAnd need not his immediate hand, who first \n\nPrescribed their course, to regulate it now. \n\nThus dream they, and contrive to save a God \n\nTh\' encumbrance of his own concerns, and spare \n\nThe great Artificer of all that moves \n\nThe stress of a continual act, the pain \n\nOf unremitted vigilance and care, \n\nAs too laborious and severe a task. \n\nSo man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems, \n\nTo span omnipotence, and measure might, \n\nThat knows no measure, by the scanty rule \n\nAnd standard of his own, that is to-day, \n\nAnd is not ere to-morrow\'s sun go down. \n\nBut how should matter occupy a charge, \n\nDull as it is, and satisfy a law \n\nSo vast in its demands, unless impelled \n\n\n\nmatter; its existence and nature. 129 \n\n\n\nTo ceaseless service by a ceaseless force. \nAnd under pressure of some conscious cause? \nThe Lord of all, himself through all diffused, \nSustains, and is the life of all that lives. \nNature is but a name for an effect, \nWhose cause is God. He feeds the sacred fire, \nBy which the mighty process is maintained ; \nWho sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight \nSlow circling ages are as transient days ; \nWhose work is without labor ; whose designs \nNo flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts ; \nAnd whose beneficence no change exhausts. \n\n\n\nLECTURE .VI. \n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. \n\nHaving traced in outline the department of physi- \ncal inquiry \xe2\x80\x94 that is, the general ideas under which \nthe mind traverses it, we turn to the correlative and \nindependent branch of investigation, and the notions \nwhich control it, to wit : mental phenomena \xe2\x80\x94 con- \nsciousness, right, liberty. There are two preliminary \ninquiries concerning this field : Where is it located \n\xe2\x80\x94 where are its facts to be sought ? and, What is \nthe authority or validity of these facts \xe2\x80\x94 their test of \ncertainty ? Till comparatively recently there has been \nbut one answer to the first question. No one thought \nof looking elsewhere for the facts of mind than to \nthe mind itself, than to consciousness. Several causes \nhave concurred to give inquiry, in later years, in large \npart, a new direction. The dogma found entrance in \nmetaphysics themselves, that the senses furnish the \nentire, original material of thought, and thus the \nweight and importance of outside influences were \ngreatly enhanced. The general success of physical \ninquiries, and the striking discoveries in anatomy and \nphysiology, greatly aided this tendency ; till now there \nare many and able thinkers who would give a very \ndifferent answer to the above inquiry ; who would \nturn the attention, some to the brain and nervous \nsystem \xe2\x80\x94 some to these, and the physical organization \ngenerally ; some to the cranium \xe2\x80\x94 the outside look of \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I3I \n\nthe head and face ; some to the historical development \nof animal life, and, as included therein, the intellec- \ntual life of the world. This inclination to remove at- \ntention from the phenomena of mind as previously \nunderstood, and direct it to what had been either \noverlooked altogether, or regarded as a very second- \nary adjunct, is what may be called, in a general \nway, the materialistic tendency. We would not wish \nto use, or to seem to use, the words, materialism and \nmaterialistic, as blind, cant phraseology of reprobation \nand reproach. Indeed, they are applicable to the \nphilosophical products of many of the most able \nminds of the day, and range with greater or less fit- \nness, through various and diverse classes of thinkers, \nwho have little in common, either in method or men- \ntal power. From Mill on the one extreme, to Mauds- \nley on the other, we speak of the drift of the included \nphilosophy as being that of materialism ; though the \nmovement is hardly discernible at one point, and very \ndecisive at another. Every stream has its centre \nwhere the waters glide rapidly to their destination. \nWhen Mill, whose philosophy makes no provision \neven for the valid being of matter, and whose inquir- \nies are carried on almost exclusively within the rec- \nognized field of philosophy under its common and \nfamiliar methods, is spoken of as a materialist, it is \nbecause of the under flow of his belief, drawing those \nwho feel it, and who have less power than himself to \nresist it, at once into the vortex of material forces. \nThe cardinal step is taken by him, that step in phil- \nosophy which leaves N the mind, bereft of primitive \ndata of thought, to suffer the activities of matter, and \n\n\n\n132 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nreceive its shape from them. Sensations, percep- \ntions, are thus the seats of efficiency, and forestall \nevery intellectual product. This \xe2\x80\x94 though it tends to \nit \xe2\x80\x94 is indeed a very different attitude from that of \nMaudsley, who seems to diffuse the mind evenly \nthrough the body, to identify the action of the two, \nand to be as guiltless of philosophy proper as it is \npossible that any one should be. Indeed, his intelli- \ngence and ability are a great surprise to us, achieved \nunder such conditions. \n\nMaterialism, with a oneness of tendency, but with \nthis great range and incongruity of results, shows its \ncharacter, especially in its declared forms, by the \nanswer it gives to this inquiry after the field of phil- \nosophy. More frequently it totally misses it, and \nalways gives foremost position to much that is second- \nary. Let us not fail to say, however, that material- \nism, amid all the intellectual and moral mischief it is \nsure to work, has brought compensation in the second- \nary investigations it has carried on, and in the light \nthat these have sometimes cast on the chief points \nof discussion. Thus, a right apprehension of voli- \ntion, of the relation of voluntary and involuntary acts, \nand of the nature of the acquisition of skill by prac- \ntice, are greatly aided by a study of the nervous and \nmuscular systems. In our response to the first ques- \ntion, we adhere to the general conviction of philoso- \nphy, before it suffered the passing bias of the pres- \nent, intense form of physical pursuits, and say, that \nconsciousness is the exclusive field of the facts of \nmental science. We may, however, often be assisted, \nboth in our knowledge of these, and in our interpre- \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I 33 \n\ntation of them, by a study of the things directly as- \nsociated with them ; as history, laying open the \nhuman soul in the activities of daily life ; as language, \naccurately and exhaustively distinguishing and desig- \nnating its states and acts ; as physiology, exposing \nthe mechanism through which, and restricted by \nwhich, it reaches the physical world ; as animal life, \nwhich also includes a portion of our powers, and ad- \numbrates those which are higher than its own. This \nprimary and inapproachable nature of the facts of \nconsciousness, needs to be distinctly seen and ac- \ncepted. Only thus can we inititate successfully and \nsafely that independent movement of which true phil- \nosophy is the offspring. In the first place, we affirm, \nthat no physical fact, whatever its intellectual bear- \nings, can be understood in them without an explana- \ntion, an illumination derived from consciousness itself. \nThe real key of the connection, forever and exclu- \nsively, comes therefrom. The physicist who is un- \ndertaking to account for a mental fact on a physical \nbasis, and to identify the two states, never found the \nmental in the physical phenomena, but stole the first \nfrom consciousness, and then came and carefully \ncovered it up with the second. The physical in- \nquirer, with his group of admirers, is like one who \nis to show his skill in putting together a complex \nmachine. He has a key whose possession he is un- \nwilling to acknowledge, but which he is compelled to \nconsult from time to time. This he accomplishes in \nso furtive a way as not to mar his visible success, \nthough his independent skill is an entire delusion. \nThus Maudsley, when he identifies association with \n\n\n\n134 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe successive assimilations of like material by the \nnerve-cells, takes a knowledge of this fact of associa- \ntion out of consciousness, and in a fanciful way fastens \nit upon another fact, obtained from a very different \nsource, between which and it, he imagines there is a \nresemblance. Had he been shut out of conscious- \nness, that is, from consulting consciousness in the \nordinary routine of the metaphysical method ; if he \ncould not have glanced at the key in the crown of his \nhat, he would not have been able so neatly to unite \nthese two facts. Cells and the secretions of cells, \nmight be looked at a long while, and very intently, \nbefore there would be seen in them, as physical facts, \nthe fact of association. With another glance at the \nconveniently located hat, he begins to talk of " ide- \national" cells ; that is, cells whose secretions or \nchanges are ideas. Whence come these ideas ? Evi- \ndently, they are a second escape from the mind itself, \noccasioned by a furtive opening of the door of con- \nsciousness. An equally absurd and deceptive work \ndoes the phrenologist do in labeling the projections \nof the head, as if he read language, benevolence, ideal- \nity on them from the outside, and not from the inside ; \nas if he got his theories by neglecting consciousness, \nand looking at craniums. The follies and errors of \nthem he, doubtless, does thus obtain, but the founda- \ntions of them, not at all. We must know what the \npowers of the mind are, before we can enter on an \nintelligible discussion of their location. We cannot \nlocate powers we have not got, nor those whose ex- \nistence we have not recognized. The absurd divis- \nions of the phrenologists\xe2\x80\x94 as benevolence, combative- \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I 35 \n\nness, philoprogenitiveness arise from the haste with \nwhich this first work has been done, from the unan- \nalyzed and mixed way in which they have accepted \nthe phenomena of consciousness. Their method has \nbeen much as if one should take a dozen murder- \ners, search their heads for a projection, and label it, \nin happy assurance, the power of homicide, to be \ncomplemented later by the power of infanticide, the \npower of suicide, the power of regicide. Combative- \nness is the fruit of a variety of causes and tempera- \nments, as is murder of a variety of motives and \npassions. What these first elements of action are, \nmust be known, before we can assign them a position. \nIf we are to give every unanalyzed state or condition \nof the mind a locality, we must either overlook many, \nor soon find ourselves at fault for new spaces where- \non to map down our growing powers. If the love \nof children is one faculty, the love of parents, or \nold people, should be a second ; of one\'s wife, a \nthird ; of a friend, a fourth, and so on, through horse \nand dog and gun, till we have reached the mar- \ngin of our regards. We might much more hope- \nfully study the saintly devices of a cathedral win- \ndow from the outside, than search the human soul \nby means of any dim shadow it may cast of its \nspiritual substance on the external world. Nay, the \nthing is absolutely impossible, unless we bring to our \nlabor some quick, furtive glances upon the surface \nplay of our own minds. We cannot even call mur- \nder, murder, unless we believe in the malice of the \nagent, and it is a foolishly difficult and hopeless un- \ndertaking to locate our powers, unless we bring to it, \n\n\n\nI36 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nas its first condition, a complete and systematic \nsurvey of those powers whose external signs and \nforms of existence we are to trace. If, then, all \nknowledge of the mind by external, physical facts is \nconditioned on a previous knowledge of internal states \nor acts, and if all thorough knowledge, so aided in its \nacquisition, implies a complete, previous analysis of \nour faculties, then it is evident, that the field of phil- \nosophy is consciousness, and that all other inquiries \nare secondary ; that this, at least, is the source, the \ncentre, and origin of the facts under discussion. \n\nA second consideration, showing consciousness to \nbe the field, in a very important sense, the exclusive \nfield of mental science, is the absolute separation of \nits phenomena from all others. They do not, as in \nthe natural sciences, shade off, by insensible degrees, \ninto those of kindred departments, but are cut short \nwith an astonishingly abrupt and decided stroke, by \na clean and impassible boundary. No acts can be \nmore distinct, can be as distinct, as an act, or state \nof mind, and a physical act or state : for instance, the \nmovement of one\'s hand and the feeling which gives \nrise to it. There is no ground of likeness or unlike- \nness between them whatsoever. They are simply, \ntotally diverse, parted by the entire diameter of being. \nIt would be a hopeless task to explain the sensation \nfrom the motion, or to understand the motion through \nthe sensation simply. No points of observation, \ntherefore, are more perfectly distinct, than that from \nwhich we overlook, through the senses, the external \nworld, and that from which we command the facts, \nthe states of mind. To withdraw into consciousness. \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. 1 37 \n\nto let drop the curtains of the mind about us, puts us \nin a most peculiar and private attitude ; and we often \ninstinctively close the eyes as marking our seclusion \nand retreat from all sensible things. So absolutely \nsacred are these penetralia of the mind, that every \nman, of necessity, is his own high-priest, and enters \nthere alone for its ordinary and sacred duties alike. \nThe materialist who identifies any physical state or \naction whatsoever with any spiritual state or action \nwhatsoever \xe2\x80\x94 the one explained to the senses, the \nother found in consciousness \xe2\x80\x94 confounds things be- \ntween which he can show no agreement whatsoever ; \nand to a knowledge of both of which, he cannot pos- \nsibly arrive by the same form of inquiry. No iden- \ntification, therefore, can be more ungrounded than \nthis identification ; no confusion more complete than \nthis confusion. There would seem to be, according \nto such a view, no inherent impossibility of a man\'s \nseeing his own thinking, and making an act of mind, \nexist in the mind itself, whose it is in a double form. \nIf the brain were laid open, and its states made visi- \nble, these might be returned by reflection into the \neye of the still living agent, and he might enjoy the \nsatisfaction, at least for a brief interval, of catching \nhis own soul at work. So absurd is the conclusion \nwhich attaches to the idea, that the physicist at all \npenetrates the mind by a scrutiny of the cerebrum, \ncerebellum, and spinal cord. Let him be assured, \nthat even if it were true that a nervous state is iden- \ntical with an idea, such a state could not be known \nor seen as an idea from without. The transparency \nmust be interpreted, looking towards the light. This \n\n\n\nI38 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nis the soul\'s attitude, in catching thoughts and feel- \nings, as thoughts and feelings. An inequality of \nthickness may, in translucent material, occasion, \nwhen held to the sun, a beautiful image, but allowed \nto drop into the shadow, and regarded only as an \nopaque, uneven surface, it loses, at once, its signifi- \ncance. Believe what you will about the brain, you \nmust go in and look out through it, if you wish to \nsee " those nimble fiery, and delectable shapes " with \nwhich the mind amuses and engages itself. You may \nstudy a telescope, by taking apart its lenses, and \ninquiring into their focal distances, but if you wish to \nstudy astronomy, put them together again in the best \npossible order, and look through them at the heavens. \nIf you wish to study the brain, cut away at your sub- \nject ; if you wish to study the mind, catch the images \nof that spiritual light which filters through your own \nliving brain into the quiet seats of consciousness. \n\nIn two marked ways has this separation and se- \nclusion of mental phenomena been broken in upon. \nLewes, in his Physiology of Common Life, under- \ntakes to establish the assertion, that all action in the \nhuman body that is connected with gray, nervous \ncentres, whether of the spinal column, or nether or \nupper brain, enters consciousness, is known in con- \nsciousness. Thus the motion of the heart, the lungs, \nand the digestive channel, would all be facts of con- \nsciousness. With such boldness, does this physicist \nconfront consciousness, and tell it what is in it, as if \nthe very fact of being in consciousness were not the \nfact of being known to be in consciousness ; and as if \na thing could be in consciousness which is not there \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. 1 39 \n\nto the apprehension of the party under consideration. \nLike some over-eager tradesman who tells his cus- \ntomer what he wants, Lewes takes the mind under \nhis tutelage, and indicates to it what it is expected \nto report, and intimates, that if it fails to fill the \nschedule, it will only reflect discredit on its own \nveracity. Surely, here is a chance for any theory \nwhatsoever in philosophy, if we can infer facts into \nconsciousness, of which consciousness itself knows \nnothing. An opponent\'s ledger will, doubtless, report \nwhat we wish it to report, if we are left to make the \nentries. The grounds on which this strange asser- \ntion is made and protractedly enforced, are chiefly \na-priori. Likeness of structure, it is affirmed, implies \nlikeness of office. Gray, nervous centres are like in \nstructure, hence all, or no part, of that which enters \nthem, which affects them, should appear in conscious- \nness. I never read a physicist that had any disrelish \nfor a-priori arguments except when employed by met- \naphysicians : then, they are thought to be peculiarly \ntreacherous and dangerous. It may be possible that \nlike structure in unlike relations may be attended \nwith a modification of offices ; and that different por- \ntions, therefore, of the gray ganglia may render dif- \nferent services to the vital and the spiritual forces \nconcerned. The argument of Lewes proceeds on \nthe purely physical basis, that like nervous currents, \nor influences, terminating in nervous seats, struc- \nturally alike, must produce like results, and when \nconsciousness steps in to arrest this reasoning, he \ncomposedly gives it the lie. This view might be \njust were we dealing with simple, physical forces ; \n\n\n\n140 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nbut the way in which the vital and intellectual ele- \nments respectively touch these, and are touched by \nthem, is not so to be treated. It would be very diffi- \ncult, we apprehend, to distinguish between sound \nand sight, by a difference in the very structure of the \nnerves employed. Variety of relation, as well as \nvariety of structure, may give variety of office. \n\nBut the effort to break down the testimony of con- \nsciousness at this point, is not of more grave import \nthan a like effort, generally made by entirely other par- \nties, less aware of the results of their action, to intro- \nduce facts into mental science, which have not the tes- \ntimony of consciousness. Hamilton, in harmony with \nmany other metaphysicians, is full of what he terms \nsubconscious phenomena. Professor Porter, in his \nrecent book, speaks of " unconscious acts of the soul," \nin the most assured way, and seems to regard them as \nespecially present in our earlier and more instinctive \nactivities. Indeed, this scaffolding of latent states \nand subconscious acts has been so generally built \nup about all mental structures, that most accept them \nas a matter of course, and scarcely stop to challenge \nthe occasion or the proof of the most obtrusive of \nthem. This we now do, from beginning to end, and \nare not prepared to accept any phenomena as men- \ntal which are not witnessed to the mind in con- \nsciousness. We are to remember that intellectual \nfacts are closely associated with physical and vital \nones, and are, therefore, easily to be confounded with \nthem. We believe the exact line between the two, \nto be found here : that those, all of those, and only \nthose which appear in consciousness, are mental ; \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I4I \n\nand, that all others, if they are phenomena at all, are \nso in space, and are possessed, therefore, of a physical \ncharacter. In this belief of subconscious mental \nstates, we find proof of two things : of the ease with \nwhich pure assumptions for a long time find place \nunquestioned in science and philosophy ; and of the \ncertainty with which physical imagery creeps into \nspiritual facts. Matter undergoes both obvious and \nrecondite changes ; the former often follow, as effects, \nthe latter. Thus the mind is conceived as possessed \nof some sort of substantial being, wherein concealed \nphenomena can occur, strongly influencing those \nwhich come to light in consciousness. \n\nNow, the simplest, possible statement of facts, \nwith the fewest assumed causes, is the most philo- \nsophical. This, we believe to be, that all phenomena \n\xe2\x80\x94 mark the word, phenomena \xe2\x80\x94 of mind are in con- \nsciousness ; that any other phenomena of mind would, \nfrom the very nature of the case, be unknowable, un- \ndeterminable, and, therefore, not to be believed in, \nexcept on the best of proof; and, that if they were \nactually shown to exist as phenomena anywhere, it \nmust be in space, and thus they would sink to phys- \nical facts. Physical facts \xe2\x80\x94 facts in space, mental \nfacts \xe2\x80\x94 facts in consciousness, are all the facts of \nwhich we have any direct knowledge, and we excuse \nourselves from believing in any other, till the proof \nis forthcoming and unmistakable. This, we think it \nvery far from being. As we have examined it else- \nwhere, we shall not enter on the refutation. The \nburden of proof lies with those who affirm such phe- \nnomena : it is for them to establish them by the most \n\n\n\n142 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nundeniable arguments, since the very existence of so \nmany phenomena in an unlocated, unapproachable, \ninconceivable region, \xe2\x80\x94 mark again the word, phenom- \nena, things, that do in some way, or somewhere \ntranspire \xe2\x80\x94 is a most weighty presumption against \nthem. All is simplicity, verified, verifiable facts, if \nwe believe in physical facts, and mental facts, each in \ntheir own field, and knock away all supposititious \nfacts, transpiring on some midway ground. We in- \nsist on this, as a first and essential step, in making \nour defence against materialism. Plant the physicist \non the farther physical side of the gulf; maintain \nourselves on the nearer, spiritual shore ; strike off \nthose mongrel notions and conceptions by which he \nwould link the two, those bridges of the imagination \nwhich have enough lightness in them to lie in the \nair, and enough matter in them to give footing to a \nharpy throng from below \xe2\x80\x94 consign these to the limbo \nof dreams in which they belong, and our position is \nunassailable, unapproachable. In affirming that the \nmind has its complete, phenomenal existence in con- \nsciousness, we do not lose sight of, or deny the ulti- \nmate fact of the growth of mind, an increase in power. \nWe only say, that this is not to be imaged under a \nmaterial form, as a material change in the mind itself. \nThis growth appears, phenomenally, in the states of \nconsciousness, consequent upon it ; unphenomenally, \nit is as inapproachable as the nature of the mind it- \nself. \n\nHaving shown these two things : first, that no out- \nside physical fact can be understood in its philosoph- \nical bearings, except by means of a previous knowl- \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I 43 \n\nedge of a correlative, inside, mental fact ; and second, \nthat the two facts and classes of facts are perfectly \ndistinct from each other ; we are ready to give the \ndeep grounds and reasons of this in the mind itself. \nOur regulative ideas mark out the lines of thought ; \nthe chief impassable boundary between things. These \nconceptions are as incommunicable, in reference to \nthe points at which they apply, as are the several \nsenses in regard to the peculiar impressions they \nmake. The beauty of a landscape and the delight \nof music, the perfume of a rose and the flavor of a \npear, have nothing in common. They are as distinct \nas things can be, entering the mind by diverse ave- \nnues, and reported under different types of sensibility. \nThus the notion of time, and that of space have no \nreal resemblance to each other. There is nothing in \nthe one which is in the other, and though they apply \nto the same things, they pertain to them in entirely \ndistinct relations. They still remain, like the blush \non the cheek of a peach and the flavor of its dis- \nsolving pulp, adhering in one thing, indeed, yet alien \nin the conditions of knowledge. Consciousness is \nsuch a regulative idea, one that sets apart to a pecu- \nliar mode of being an entire class of facts ; moreover, \nfacts that nowhere overlap those that transpire in \nspace. The two together cover all phenomena, and \nunder this first central division, events fall to the \nright and to the left, as those of matter and those of \nmind, with an unmistakable and unchangeable boun- \ndary between them. \n\nLooking at the incommunicable nature of conscious- \nness and space, we should have no suggestion even of \n\n\n\n144 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe way in which these two phenomenal worlds touch \neach other. There is, however, a third idea, which in \none and the same application covers them both. It \nis that of time. A series of thoughts synchronize with \na series of physical transactions ; and the inner expe- \nrience runs on pari passu with the outer. We see \nthus how Leibnitz was led to look on the two worlds \nas independent, parallel lines, whose coincidences are \nsecured by a " pre-established harmony." Thus two \nclocks, each wound up by itself, travel with exact cor- \nrespondence through the hours and minutes of the \nday. It is our notion of causation which prevents our \naccepting this independent parallelism of the spiritual \nand physical worlds, and to believe in a perpetual, \nthough unexplained, reaction between them, of which \nthe body is the inscrutable instrument, as the sunken \ncable is the unsearchable tie of remote continents. \nThe assertions, then, that no physical fact can put us \nin connection with a mental fact, save through a pre- \nvious knowledge of this fact, as no word can give us \nan idea, till we have attached the idea to it ; and that \nthe two facts remain perfectly and forever separable, \nare explained and enforced in this further assertion, \nthat consciousness is to space a contrasted, regula- \ntive idea, dividing the facts of the world with it, and \nsetting them apart in a most radical, inerasable dis- \ntinction of nature. \n\nWe need further to explain and enforce this asser- \ntion, that consciousness is a regulative idea. What, \nthen, is a primitive notion, a regulative idea ? One \nthat gives some inseparable form, or mode of exist- \nence, yet cannot be found by the senses in the ob- \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. 1 45 \n\njects to which it pertains. Thus time is not seen, \nfelt, or heard by us, is no property of the distinct \nevents that transpire in it, yet is ready in the mind \nas the condition of understanding every transaction. \nSo, space is the regulative idea to the facts which it \nexplains ; is so in each of them, so permeative of their \nvery being, that it assumes a variety of most intimate \nrelations to them as we contemplate it. Space seems \nan antecedent condition to matter, that in which the \nphysical object is found, a very mode of existence to \nmatter, since the extended body grasps it in its own \nextension. Yet, after all, none of these primitive \nconceptions are given with the very getting in the \nsenses of the objects to which they belong. Space \nis no more seen than tasted, felt than smelt. Color \nis beheld, but the actual extension of that color we \nsaw was arrived at indirectly. Now, to these charac- \nteristics of a regulative idea, consciousness responds. \nFirst, it is not a part of the phenomena to which it \nbelongs, as the hardness of iron is a portion of its \nqualities. Some have striven so to regard it, and, \nlike Prof. Porter, have spoken of it as an act of mind ; \nthat is, itself a phenomenon, among mental phenom- \nena. This opinion is obviously untenable. There \ncan be no act of knowledge, which is not a conscious \nact of knowledge. For a knowing that is not know- \ning, would be an odd knowing indeed. But if an act \nof knowledge is made up of two acts, the first of \nknowing proper, and the second of consciousness \nproper, this first act of knowing comes to nothing, \nsince we know without being conscious of it, that is, \nwe do not know. If, then, we allow consciousness to \n7 \n\n\n\nI46 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ncome in as an act, it steals away the whole marrow \nand pith of every other act, and, to be conscious that \nwe know, is to know ; to be conscious that we feel, \nis to feel ; to be conscious that we will, is to will. \nHence, some, like Hamilton, have seemed to shift on \nto this ground, and to say that consciousness is the \ninclusive, generic act, of which each individual act of \nknowledge is an example. But this position is no \nmore tenable, since the genus is no other than the \ncollective species ; and if each specific act of know- \ning, and equally of feeling and volition, is one of con- \nsciousness, the distinction between them disappears, \nand all mental activities are resolved into a single ac- \ntivity called consciousness. We saw that if conscious- \nness does any of the knowing, it does the whole ; \nthus also, if it does any of the feeling it does the \nwhole, since every part is equally pervaded with it, \nand thus thought, feeling and volition in their differ- \nences are lost, swallowed up in this very centre and \nsubstratum of their being. On the other hand, re- \ngard an act of knowing as simple and complete in \nitself; one of feeling, or one of volition as equally so ; \nand that their common condition or characteristic is \nconsciousness, and all is clear, consistent. Now, \nhowever, consciousness has become a condition, a \nmode of being, something inseparable from mental \nacts, that by which and through which we understand \nthem, that which determines them to be what they \nare, and this is to be a regulative idea. All perplex- \nity, therefore, met with, in making consciousness any \ndistinct portion of mental phenomena, in regarding \nthat as phenomenal which accompanies every phe- \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. 1 47 \n\nnomenon, goes to show that the true key of the solu- \ntion is to be found in the antecedent and necessary \nrelation of the mind to its own states and activities, \nby which they are known to it, in and by the fact of \nbeing its activities. A state of knowing, or of feel- \ning, includes, as its condition or complement, this \nnotion of consciousness, thus revealing it as the regu- \nlative idea of the department. The above discussion \nmay seem to you remote and abstruse, but it is of \nthe last degree of importance. If its conclusions are \ncorrect, not only are all present identifications of \nmental and physical phenomena shown to be false, \nthe very effort to make them is disclosed as intrinsi- \ncally absurd, as much so as to resolve colors into \nodors. \n\nWe have now answered the question, Where are \nthe facts of philosophy to be found ? and come to our \nsecond inquiry, What is the test of their validity ? \nWhat is sufficient proof of the existence of a faculty, \nand, therefore, of the correctness, the certainty of the \nthings reported by it ? Before, we had to deal chiefly \nwith materialists as adversaries, now we have to deal \nwith idealists as well. The idealist magnifies mind ; \nindeed, he makes it the whole circle of being. Yet, \nhe nevertheless assigns an illusory and deceptive \ncharacter to some of its conclusions, a portion of its \npowers, to wit : those by which it reaches or fancies \nit reaches the exterior world. He overlooks, in its \nsufficient, solid character, all that reasoning from \ncausation by which we have shown the existence and \nnature of matter to be established. With these start- \nling inconsistencies, idealism may be a very brilliant, \n\n\n\nJ 48 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlogical, consistent system, tracing with astonishing \nsubtlety the interdependence of thought, the inherent \nlaws of its connections. The idealist uses the facts \nof the mind, much as the naturalist might use the \nimages cast, in a darkened room, on the screen of a \nsolar microscope. Let all the minute life of the outer \nworld find its way to the focus of the instrument, and \nthus to the screen, and he is prepared to point out \nresemblances, establish classes, and develop the crea- \ntive plan, and this without any reference to the real, \nout-door world. To the instrument of the idealist, our \nwonderfully organized bodies, every fact does come, \nand is cast upcpi the inner canvas as thoughts, sensa- \ntions, emotions, volitions. On these, the philosopher \ndoes work with marvellous manipulations, evolving \none from another, till the lofty universe of thought is \npiled up in proud, airy fashion, transparent and crys- \ntalline to the eye of the intellect in all directions. \n\nWe may be delighted with these products of spec- \nulation, but when we wish, in a modest, reliable way, \nto know, as against idealist or materialist, what is, \nwe come back to this inquiry, What are our faculties, \nwhat their proof ? Spencer starts his Psychology \nwith this discussion in another form, and with his \nusual power and perspicuity, reaches some conclu- \nsions valuable for us. He says, " The existence of \nbeliefs is the fundamental fact, and those beliefs, \nwhich invariably exist, are those which, both ration- \nally and of necessity, we must adopt. Its invariable \nexistence is the ultimate authority for any belief." I \nam glad to avail myself of this statement \xe2\x80\x94 the gist \nof a careful discussion, though the use to be made \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I49 \n\nof it is very different from that for which Spencer \nwas preparing it. There is no sword that does quite \nas agreeable a service as one captured from an en- \nemy. The mind can, evidently, do no otherwise, and \ndo no better, than to accept those conclusions, those \nsensations, those beliefs, which return perpetually \nupon it. Spencer may look upon this as an ultimate \nfact. We assign, as its ground and reason, that a \npersistent repetition of impressions indicates a power \nwhose normal product they are, and whose asser- \ntions are to be accepted. The proof in the human \nconstitution of a given power to do, is the doing of \nthe action ; of a power to know, is the actual pres- \nence in the mind of the specified knowledge. To \nthis, there is only one limitation, that the action of \nthe mind is general and uniform. Certain hallucina- \ntions may occupy fixedly one mind, or may be present \nwith us for a limited period. These, though neces- \nsarily carrying to the patient a firm conviction of \ntheir truth, though filling his whole horizon with the \nabsurd, the fantastic, or the terrible, are, to the con- \nsistent whole of human experience, trivial exceptions, \na breaking in at a single point of foreign, abnormal, \nunexplained forces. We believe that we see, simply \nbecause we see, see constantly, see consistently, on \neach new occasion the same things. These uniform, \nwell-ordered results, pertaining to ourselves and to all \nabout us, are undeniable proof to us, of the existence \nand validity of the sense of sight ; whose data are to \nbe accepted on the simple testimony of the eye. \nThus is it with our judgments, our reasonings. We \nconfirm them by simple repetition, by assuring our- \n\n\n\nI50 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nselves that they are the normal, corrected products \nof the mind. Though the grounds of opinion are so \nvarious, that there is no general agreement among \nmen as to many of their conclusions, yet we rarely \nlose faith in our own carefully-formed judgments, and \nif we do, do it with great loss and detriment to our- \nselves. The same principle evidently must cover the \nmind\'s entire action. If the ascription of a cause to \nevery effect is as general among men as the sense \nof touch, then it has, as a power of mind, exactly the \nsame authority. All the agreement and universality \nthat we require is, that fitting conditions shall be \nattended with certain, uniform results ; that when \nmen\'s eyes are open in the light, they shall see ; that \nwhen a complete, geometric proof is understood by \none, he shall not fail to accept its conclusions ; that \nwhen events are transpiring before any parties, they \nshall explain their sequence by the notion of time. \nWhen careful analysis has yielded all the uniformi- \nties of action, all the distinct grounds of convic- \ntion in our intellectual constitution, there is therein \ndisclosed the number of our faculties ; each of which, \nin its normal state, has equal authority with every \nother, and exclusive authority in its own field. That \none finds less frequent application than another, that \nwe see oftener than we taste, or taste oftener than we \nturn to Euclid, is immaterial, provided that the uni- \nformities are firm and established under given condi- \ntions. Probably, there are no more discrepancies in \nthe action of any faculty, than in that of judgment \xe2\x80\x94 \nso great is the variety of circumstances in which it is \nbrought into play \xe2\x80\x94 yet judgment holds undisputed \n\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS, THE FIELD OF MENTAL FACTS. I 5 I \n\nauthority with us. That the mind cannot rationally \nresist its own uniformities is most plain. If its action \nis to be trusted at all, evidently, that portion of it is \nto be believed which is most consistent and stable. \nIts desultory and distrustful action, intrinsically weak, \ncannot withstand its habitual and confirmed action, \nconstitutionally strong. If our convictions were the \nmere result of habit, these ordinary ones must be \ngood as against those extraordinary ones. In fact, \nunder the one set of conclusions, lies our entire faith \nin ourselves, in the soundness of our powers ; and \nunder the other, those fitful impulses of fear, of dis- \ntrust, which are, to our familiar thoughts, much what \na transient shock of an earthquake is to the abiding \nphenomena of land and water. Rationally, a distrust \nof faculties, established by these uniformities, finds \nno basis ; as the action of mind by which we are led \nto doubt all or any one of our powers can claim no \nfirmer ground than that disputed by it ; nay, must, \nin its rare occurrence and partial prevalence, rest on \nground every way weaker. The faculties are all \npeers ; they all have the same chart of nobility, and \nfor one to invalidate the claim of another, is to cast \ndown its own claim. \n\nSuch is the human mind, ultimate to itself, through \nall its faculties ; aiding, indeed, one power by another ; \nshifting the conditions under which a power acts ; \nholding faith for awhile in abeyance, but finally stand- \ning within itself, resting back on its own resolved \nand well-ordered action as the only rock of belief, the \nonly foothold of knowledge. Even when we attach \nourselves weakly to another, we must decide who \n\n\n\n152 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthat other shall be, and repose faith in those same \nfaculties in him, which we have discarded in our- \nselves. So firm and necessary is this poise of the \nmind on its own pivot, that the unfortunate maniac \nis bound fast by his conceptions, and is far less \nfrantic than would be one, who should cut wholly \nloose from these conceptions. Vigor and health of \nmind always show themselves in a wholesome con- \nfidence in one\'s faculties ; while distrust and fear in \nthought, are among the first signals of weakness and \noverthrow. Like genuine kings, we rule the world \nfrom within : masters of thought, we rule it, by a \ncentral faith in our own faculties, in overpowering con- \nvictions that go forth from us like a flood, expending \nthat momentum which they gathered from the soul \nitself in their very conception, on every external ob- \nstacle, till they have swallowed it up. The mind, \nthen, looks to itself, for the facts of philosophy ; \nlooks to itself for its belief in those facts ; knows its \nown powers so as to trust them, be satisfied with \nthem, to prefer them to all other powers. It finds \nitself complete, because it is complete within the \ncircle of its own being ; able to believe, because it \nwaits only on the signature of its own faculties, and \nnot on the testimony of another ; novel, unsearchable, \nand powerful, because the laws of its activity spring \nfrom itself, because it is sufficient unto itself. \n\n\n\nLECTURE VII. \n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. \n\nWe have spoken of the two fields of phenomena ; \nthe one in space, whose objects come under the idea \nof resemblance, and the law of whose events is that \nof cause and effect ; the other in consciousness. It \nis now our purpose to inquire into the law, the pecu- \nliar connections of these mental states and acts, whose \nlocation we have sought for and found. It does not \npresent itself, as in the case of causation, under a \nsimple form \xe2\x80\x94 one movement of force threading to- \ngether all facts \xe2\x80\x94 but under a double, or even more \ncomplex, aspect. The mind forecasts lines of effort, \nlaws of action, and then, from the resources of its own \nliberty, chooses between them. The primary law of \nrational life is, on the perceptive side, that of right ; \nand the primary principle, on the side of power, by \nwhich our faculties play into and under this law, is \nthat of liberty. Neither has significance without the \nother. Liberty is nothing, if it finds no occasion of \nchoice between evil and good. A law of obligation \nis absurd, monstrous, without the liberty which ren- \nders obedience possible. \n\nWe devote the present lecture to right, the per- \nceptive half of the complex law. This is a dusty, \nwell-travelled field, with many by-ways. It will \nneither be pleasant nor profitable to wander through \nthem all : and the indispensable condition of success \n\n\n\n154 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwith us will be to rise to a point, at which a clear, \nrapid, bird\'s-eye view can be taken of the entire \nground. The facts which seek explanation are very \npatent, very undeniable, and though occasionally per- \nverted in the statement, are, for the most part, well \nagreed upon. One cannot enter civilized society \nwithout at once observing, that men are momentar- \nily, in many forms, instituting, conceding and repel- \nling claims on each other ; claims which repose on \nwhat they call moral grounds, or grounds of right. \nThe family, the school, the community, the state, \nand states as between themselves, are organized by \nmeans of them ; and we have, in each of these rela- \ntions, those who do right, and those who do wrong ; \nthose to be praised, and those to be censured ; things \nto be claimed, and things to be refused ; parties to \nbe punished, and parties to be rewarded. No man \nis ever so vile, but that he will complain of personal \nwrong in another, nor so blind that he cannot see \nsin that militates against himself. No excuses are \nso perverse as not to take for granted a right some- \nwhere ; or so careless as not to strive, in part at least, \nto attach themselves to it. Now this virtue, whose \nvirtue every man concedes, in whose presence every \nman is abashed, or if he breaks out into scorn, by the \nintensity of his passion, betrays the greatness of the \npower he casts off; this virtue that walks everywhere \nwith authority among men, that gathers to itself hate \nand love, like a Christ ; this invisible spirit that springs \nfrom the depths of the human soul, to vex and rule \nsociety, and toss it, like a pervasive tide, on its angry \nand its peaceful waves, demands of philosophy its \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 55 \n\noccasion and ground. The facts are so palpable, \nthat no thoughtful mind can escape their perplexity, \nand must perforce cast about for a reason. \n\nThe central fact in our moral nature, using current \nlanguage, is the perception of right. This notion \nhas a double bearing, an emotional and an intellect- \nual side. The two are inseparable ; we perceive and \nwe feel at the same instant, the perception being the \nground and occasion of the feeling. The feeling is \none of obligation ; the perception is of that quality \nof action which we term its moral quality. The two \ntogether, the intuition and the emotion, constitute \nour notion of right. The indissoluble nature of the \ntwo is important in this discussion, since an effort \nhas been made to part them. Obligation has been \nspoken of as ultimate, while right has been derived \nfrom the ends pursued. They both must share the \nsame fortune. Our feelings all have some ground or \noccasion, some object, or some consideration that calls \nthem forth. They are all ultimate in this sense, that \nthey can only be known by being experienced, that \neach furnishes its own peculiar phase of emotion. \nSome of them, however, are called forth directly by \nan object, as pain by the thrust of a sword ; others \nare occasioned indirectly by the intellectual contem- \nplation of certain things, as anger by an unkind act. \nEvery feeling must have its attachment or occasion ; \nand to say that the feeling of obligation is ultimate, \ncan mean nothing of moment, unless it is thereby \nasserted, that the perception which calls it forth \nis primary or ultimate. The sense of obligation \nmust be a secondary feeling, if it rests on a calcula- \n\n\n\n156 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ntion of results, since all that can be meant by a pri- \nmary, as opposed to a secondary, feeling is one that \nsprings directly from an object ; not indirectly from \na presentation of the relations of actions. If right is \na primary perception, and the feeling of obligation \nfollows immediately upon it, then obligation is pri- \nmary ; if right is derived and secondary, so also is \nobligation. They are the two sides of the same act, \nlying at once athwart our intellectual and our emo- \ntional natures, striking into them both, like beauty \nand the pleasure of beauty ; like the odor and flavor \nof ripe fruit ; the light and the heat of a sunbeam. \n\nA sense of obligation not attached to some act, \nsome line of conduct, something in that act and line \nof conduct perceived by us to draw it forth, is as un- \nintelligible as would be acidity with no acid, hardness \nwith no solid body ; while the quality of action which \nwe designate as right, without the feeling of obliga- \ntion, would be emasculate and impotent, as fire with- \nout heat, light without its chemical power. The \nphilosopher, therefore, is called upon to account for \nthese two, the source of all moral phenomena, and \nthat, not separately, but jointly, as one double-headed \nact, or state of mind : an act that pushes forward in \nperception and backward in obligation ; as a trum- \npeter presses on, and sends ringing behind him the \nword of command. \n\nMaterialists, physicists, of course reject the primi- \ntive nature of the idea, and in looking about for a \nsource from which to derive it, find one, and only one \nopen to them \xe2\x80\x94 the obvious advantages which belong \nto some lines of action over others. We have various \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 57 \n\nappetites, desires, sensibilities. These cannot all be \ngratified by every line of effort. A choice must be \nmade between them, and that action becomes best \nwhich brings the most pleasure and the least suf- \nfering. The task which falls to wisdom is so to plan \nand arrange effort ; so to direct, check and quicken it, \nthat it shall secure the highest results in enjoyment ; \nand that line of action which does this is said to be \nright. This is utilitarianism ; a derivation of right \nfrom the notion of pleasure, of good found in the \nbest, the most balanced gratification of our sensibili- \nties. This view is often broadly and skilfully taken, \nand meets exceedingly well a portion of the difficul- \nties of the problem. It fails, however, partially in \nexplaining the perceptive side of the moral act, and \nalmost wholly in expounding its emotional side. It \nis not plain why a martyr should, on this view, lay \ndown his life for his faith ; since if you overlook the \nmoral nature as itself an independent source of pleas- \nure and pain \xe2\x80\x94 as of course you must, if it is only of \na derived, secondary character \xe2\x80\x94 you can give no suf- \nficient reason for sacrificing all happiness, yea, and \nits very possibility, simply for the sake of happiness. \nEvidently, the pursuit of good must stop somewhere \nshort of extinction, and the command even of God \nwhich should enjoin this, must be immoral ; that is, \nsubversive of the law of utility, which is completely \ncut short by death. If another life is to take up the \ntrain of enjoyments, it must do it on a different prin- \nciple from this, and not insist, under any circum- \nstances, on the extinction of pleasures in the pursuit \nof them. \n\n\n\nI58 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nOn the emotional side the failure is more signal. \nIndeed, there has been vacillation and division just \nhere among utilitarians as to the best way of ac- \ncounting for the feeling of obligation. Some have \nbeen willing to refer it to the very idea of good, of \npleasures ; and to say, that these when offered to us, \ncall forth this emotion ; while others have insisted \nthat society has, by a process of education, imposed \nthe feeling upon us ; has attached it as a sanction to \nthe things enjoined by it. The first view comes \nsquarely in collision with the fact, that we do not \nfeel under obligation to pursue pleasure ; indeed, that \nsuch an obligation would be very superfluous as \npleasure is in and of itself a very sufficient incentive, \nand more often requires the restraint than the incite- \nment of our moral nature. If pleasure, good, does \nexcite this feeling, it should of course do it most ob- \nviously in its strongest forms, and our own pleasures, \nour immediate pleasures, our appetitive pleasures, as \nopposed to the enjoyments of others, or those more \nremote and intellectual, would at once win the field, \nand that under the lead of conscience. The reverse \nof this is true. Conscience, with unsheathed sword, \nwalks up and down these mutinous lines, where im- \nportunate appetites, and impetuous passions, are \nready to break rank, overawes them, thrusts them \nback, buffets them flatly, and assents to no intrinsic \nclaim they may set up. Evidently, then, it does not \ndraw its authority from pleasure, since here is pleas- \nure, utterly put down by it, and that, too, in those \nwho know no other pleasure ; who are not shrewdly \nplaying off the present against the future, the worn \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 59 \n\nsixpence of to-day against the new-coined shilling of \nto-morrow. A magistrate, elected by the mob, rules \nthe mob feebly. A conscience which was but the \nvoice of our pleasures, could hold but a light rein \nover them. The stubborn fact is, the good, the pleas- \nurable good, does not enjoin its pursuit upon us. \n\nNor does the alternative explanation better prosper. \nThe most striking manifestations of our moral nature \nare those which arise in the very face of society, in \nflat contradiction of all it affirms. Of this nature is \nevery reform, thrown back for its support on the \nplucky conscience of the individual ; supporting itself \nand forcing support from others, against the solid, \nuniform, persistent opinion of the community. We \nshould look for the characteristic features of any \nphenomena, where these appear in their most de- \nclared, not in their weakest, form. The salient facts \nin the moral and religious history of the world, are \nthose in which the few have resisted the many, and \nthe moral victory has been won against majorities. \n\nOne other explanation, sufficiently answered, has \nbeen the affirmation, that the sense of obligation is \nultimate, while the right is derivable from the good. \nThe two, as we have shown, are inseparable, and \nshare the same fate. Moreover, this view almost \nalways tacitly includes in the highest end, the good, \nthe moral sensibilities themselves, which it cannot \nconsistently do. While we are discussing what is the \nsource of our moral nature, and are about to derive \nit from the general, emotional character of our consti- \ntution, we cannot inclose therein those very affections \nwhich are seeking explanation. If the moral nature \n\n\n\nl6o SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ncan be derived from itself, if we have gold out of \nwhich to make gold, the manufacture will doubtless \nbe easy. The question is, can lead, tin, platinum, be \nchanged into gold : can appetites, natural sensibilities, \nintellectual pleasures, be transmuted into moral affec- \ntions ? Can good, which is the product of these, be \nmade the ground and source of the right ? The \neffort to do this is that of utilitarianism, and it is \nthe only plausible, if not the only possible, line of ar- \ngument open to them, who reject the idea of right as \nultimate. No selfishness is charged on utilitarianism, \nno opposition of happiness to duty, but an effort to \nderive duty from happiness, from pleasure, good, bles- \nsedness \xe2\x80\x94 all synonymous in this connection, because \nthey, one and all, can only mean the emotional returns \nof native sensibilities other than moral \xe2\x80\x94 an effort \nwhich wholly fails to account for the sense of obliga- \ntion. Philosophers of this school, when asked, Why \nare we bound to do right ; must answer, Because it \nconfers good, and, then, commences that hopeless \nevocation of duties out of pleasures, philosophy strug- \ngling in vain to over-rule the self-indulgent and las- \ncivious crowd with its own notions of enjoyment ; to \nexorcise a ravenous appetite, an insatiate passion, to \nput down fierce revenge and stubborn will with a \npleasant song of the relations of pleasures one to \nanother ; and the method in which they rank and \nout-rank each other in the etiquette and court of \nphilosophy. The command, the strong sword-stroke \nof conscience are all gone, and we sit down to reason \nwith the debauchee. We bring before him our moral \ndiagram, and strive to convince him that this column, \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE l6l \n\nin which are his enjoyments, does not foot-up as he \nsupposes, and that this other column is greater than \nhe imagines. With one dash, he strikes out our \nfigures, puts down his own glowing estimates of the \npleasures of lust, and sneeringly asks us to add again, \nand cast anew our remainders. Utilitarianism would \ndo well for a moral man, but for an immoral one, it \nis of no service. Prizes answer with honest citizens ; \nbut with a mob, gunpowder is better. Says Martin- \neau, " To look first to its benefits, and then to its \nsanctity, is to invert the true order of our moral life, \nand set the pyramid of duty upon its point rather \nthan its base. ... It is the tendency of our times to \nplace as implicit a faith in the omnipotence of self- \ninterest in morals, as of steam in the arts ; forgetting \nthat between the grossest and the most refined form \nof this principle, there can only be the difference \nbetween the cannibal and the epicure." \n\nThe opposite view is concisely this : the mind it- \nself, by direct instinctive, intuitive action, furnishes \nfor itself a law of life, the right. This quality it sees, \nthis obligation it feels, as a final, inexplicable, inesca- \npable fact in certain lines of conduct, making it the \nlast and sufficient reason for all action, that it is right. \nThe right, however, is only seen in action possessed \nof certain qualities, and standing in certain relations. \nThe action must be one of a free, intelligent being, \nand must have reference to the well-being of all \nparties. Those facts do not constitute the very \nTightness of the action, but are its grounds, that \nwhich leads the moral nature to see and affirm this \nquality or relation of it. The act, however much hap- \n\n\n\nl62 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\npiness might flow from it, was not obligatory till the \nmoral nature pronounced it so ; and this is an addi- \ntional, ultimate fact in our constitution, making us \nmoral, responsible beings. A reason can be rendered \nfor the right in an action in this sense ; its motives \nand consequences can be given, the qualities which \nled the conscience, the mind in its intuitive, moral \neffort, to make the affirmation : not in this sense, \nthat those motives and consequences are the sufficient \nand sole source of the quality, right, that right is but \nanother name for them. The nature of this view will \nbe further developed in answering objections to it, \nand in stating its bearings. It is evident, at the out- \nset, that it accounts for the union of perception and \nemotion in one indivisible, moral act ; and for the \nriddle and puzzle this act has always been ; the stub- \nborn residuum it has always shown under intellectual \nanalysis. The necessity of a reference of right \xe2\x80\x94 the \ncentral idea of our moral nature \xe2\x80\x94 to a primitive, \nsimple act of the mind, is found in the failure of \nevery other effort to fully explain it. \n\nThe first objection we shall consider against this \nview of the right as a primary idea, is that so sharply \nurged by Bentham, an Englishman above English- \nmen, a race and nationality that have always inclined \nto make public morality a quick distillation, an easy \nextract of public advantage. Bentham fairly scorns \nduty. " A moralist," says he, " gets into an elbow- \nchair, and pours forth pompous dogmatisms about \nduty and duties. Why is he not listened to ? Because \nevery man is thinking about interests. It is a part of \nhis very nature to think first about interests, and \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 63 \n\nwith these, the well-judging moralist will find it for \nhis interest to begin." His objection to the intuitive \nview of morals is its arbitrary character : that it al- \nlows every dogmatist and self-constituted teacher to \nsay this is right, because it is right, and there is no \nappeal. Let us give his language : " He who on \nany other occasion should say, \' It is as I say because \nI say it is so,\' would not be thought to have said any \ngreat matter ; but on the question concerning the \nstandard of morality, men have written great books, \nwherein from beginning to end, they are employed \nin saying this and nothing else. What these books \nhave to depend on for their efficacy, and for their \nbeing thought to have proved anything, is the stock \nof self-sufficiency in the writer, and of implicit defer- \nence in the readers ; by the help of a proper dose of \nwhich, one thing may be made to go down as well as \nanother." Whatever may have been the assumption \nof his adversaries, this man also is evidently not suf- \nfering from timidity. But what foundation is there \nfor this accusation against intuitive morals, of an ar- \nbitrary, irrational character, urged again in these \nwords : " \' You ought, you ought not,\' cries the dog- \nmatist. \'Why?\' retorts the inquirer. \'Why ought \nI ? \' \' Because you ought,\' is the not unfrequent \nreply ; on which the Why ? comes back again with \nthe added advantage of a victory." \n\nDoubtless, some presentations of the theory of \nmorals are open to this objection ; not, we trust, the \none now given. The reason why we pronounce an \nact to be right is rendered before the affirmation that \nit is right, is furnished in the motives, relations, con- \n\n\n\n164 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nsequences of the act. These are the grounds and \nbasis of the intuition, and if they can be removed or \nmodified, then the assertion fails, and our estimate of \nthe act changes. If, however, these reasons remain- \ning the same, we are asked why an action is right, \nwe can only respond by re-alleging them ; and if this \nis not thought to close the question, we must answer \nagain by saying, Because it is right. That is, taking \na concrete case, my moral nature affirms kindness to \na suffering child to be right ; and if you ask me, \nWhy ? I can only say, Because it does. There is \nnothing singular or assumptive about this. If I am \nasked why I regard the apple as red, I must needs \nsay, My eyes so show it. If you regard it as green, \nvery well. I leave you with your affirmation, but \nmust needs myself adhere to my own. The intuitive \nview of morals is not dictatorial and arbitrary. First, \nbecause it gives grounds or reasons for its intuitions ; \nsecond, because it grants no right in one party to \noverbear the conclusions of another. Utility can do \nno more nor better than this \xe2\x80\x94 to give reasons and \nlet reasons have their way. \n\nA second objection following close on the above \nconclusion, is, that there is thus left with men a \nhopeless variety of opinions ; each urging his own \nview as right. Now, we do not believe variety to be \nsuch a radical evil as some think it, nor, that if it \nis, that it can in any way be escaped. The intuitive \nsystem does all that can be done. It shows the \ngrounds of the variety of moral judgments that now \nexist, and gives the methods in which alone any real \nunity can be secured. The right is affirmed, by the \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 65 \n\nmoral nature, of actions as having certain bearings \non human good, as productive of certain results. As, \ntherefore, the consequences, immediate and remote, \nof an action, present themselves very differently to \nus, there is necessarily a want of agreement in our \nestimate of its moral character. We might as well \ncomplain of sight for not, in every position, revealing \nthe same colors in a changeable silk, or a changeable \nleaf, as of our moral sense, for not disclosing acts, \nsubject to the most shifting of all lights, in the same \nprecise character. The possibility of increasing unity \nis found in a faithful effort to exhaust at least the \nleading features of conduct ; to view it from all sides, \nand to discover its full bearings. \n\nAn allied difficulty, that moral precepts, as dog- \nmatic and dictatorial, suffer no growth, finds full \nanswer. There is nothing so unites authority and \nreason as moral law. It gives a reason, an adequate \nreason, one that it will discuss with you at length. \nIf, in the end, however, you show yourself unreas- \nonable, and ask, Why should I do right, why love my \nneighbor ? it puts the ictus of authority on the word, \nand retorts, Because it is right. There is an oppor- \ntunity for unending progress in morals; the same \nopportunity that there is for an increasing knowledge \nof human nature, human society, and of those lines \nof relation by which we are linked to each other and \nto God. Reasoning may moil there, and mount here, \nas it is able ; may search foundations and climb to \ncap-stones, and our moral sentiments shall expand \nwith every step of the process ; shall cast a new and \nmore mellow light on things near and remote ; shall \n\n\n\n1 66 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlift and spread for us the harsh, hard, concentrate \ncommands of the two tablets, that strike down hot \nand heavy upon us, like beams direct from the sun, \nover the whole landscape of human contemplation, \nbreaking out in brilliant hues everywhere : yet, after \nall, there shall be an underlying tone of strength, \nthat shall put us as certainly on the track of authority \nin the moral law of God, as of personal power in the \nvoice of the musician, pouring his soul through the \nvaulted chambers of sound, and bringing his senti- \nments to the birth of harmony. Growth there is in \nmorals, but growth within the circuit of law, growth \nthat carries law higher and higher, and sheds it with \nincreasing benignity along the whole horizon of \nevents. Says Martineau : " And once at least there \nhas been a Christ ; not seeking to thrust up human \nnature from below, but to raise it from above ; know- \ning that its earth could produce nothing, except for \nits pure and spreading heaven ; and so, coming down \nupon it, as an angel-soul from the highest regions of \nthe spirit ; speaking seldom to it of its happiness, \nconstantly of its holiness ; dwelling little on the ar- \nrangements, and much upon the responsibilities, of \nlife ; pitying its woes, as it pities them itself in mo- \nments of truest aspirations, not with mere nervous \nsympathy, but with god-like and healing mercy ; as- \nsuming its place in the midst of God, and on the \nsurface of eternity, and from this sublime position as \na base computing its obligations, and uttering oracles \nof its destiny." \n\nA last objection of which we shall speak is that \nfrequently found in the writings of the distinguished \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 67 \n\nmoralist, who has more than once enforced his views \nfrom this place \xe2\x80\x94 Dr. Hopkins. It is this : the notion \nof an ultimate right is not rational. It makes an act, \nand not an end, the aim of effort. He says, " In all \nrational action, the central conception is that of an \n\nend, activity in itself cannot be a good. If it \n\nhad no results, it would be good for nothing \n\nNo man can adopt right as an ultimate end with no \nregard to good." With this, Bentham quite agrees. \nHe says, " Only in so far, then, as it produces happi- \nness or misery, can an act be properly called virtuous \nor vicious. Virtue and vice are but useless qualities, \nunless estimated by their influences on the creation \nof pleasure and pain." There is so much truth in \nthese assertions, and yet they involve such subtle \nerror, that we need to proceed with caution, lest we \nlose a portion of the one, or admit a part of the other. \nThe alleged objection is this : all rational effort \nmakes an end, makes some form of good, the object \nof its exertion. This system imposes an action, a \nline of conduct on man, without referring him to the \ngood to be obtained by it ; therein, it is not rational, \nit overlooks the open or disguised purpose which the \nhuman mind always has in view. To the premises \nwe assent. All rational acts, that is, all acts which \nspring from, and rest back upon, reasoning processes, \nthe independent, intellectual movements of the mind, \nfind their impulse in some good to be obtained, some \nsensibility to be gratified. We further accept the \nassertion, that a sensibility is the condition to all \ngood, and indirectly to all right action, since action \nbecomes right by its relation to human well-being. \n\n\n\n1 68 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nBut these premises do not involve the two conse- \nquences that are drawn from them. First, that to \nperform an action because it is right, is irrational ; \nsecond, that the action is simply right, because of \nthe good consequent upon it. They involve this con- \nclusion : that to do an act as right merely, is so far \nin oversight of the end of the act, and is obedience \nrather than reasoning. The word, irrational, prop- \nerly means absurd, opposed to reason. All that it \ncan justly mean in the syllogism : A rational act in- \nvolves an end ; to do right as right involves no end ; \ntherefore, to do right is irrational, is an act which is \nnot the product of, or guided by, reasoning. This \nconclusion is quite barren and harmless. So is an \nact of sight in this sense irrational ; that is, one that \ndoes not ground itself on reason. This, in reference \nto the right, is exactly what we claim ; that it is \nsomething more than mere reasoning, sending forth \nefforts towards pleasures, and assigning these pleas- \nures in turn as their ground or reason. There is \nauthority, command, in the right, and obedience to a \ncommand comes in by way of arrest and suspension \nof a purely, self-poised activity, an activity which Dr. \nHopkins would term a rational activity. Let us try \nto put apart, and keep apart in thought, these two \naspects or bearings of an act ; one of which he so \nclearly recognizes ; both of which we accept. The \nsame act in one view is wise, in another is right. As \nwise it rests upon reasons that can be given, ends \nthat are pursued by it. But as wise, and because it \nis wise, it is something more than wise, to wit, right ; \nthat is our moral nature comes in with additional and \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 69 \n\nself-poised action to make this affirmation. Now, to \nperform it as right is obedience, and is in oversight \nof the end ; to do it as wise is rational, and is in view \nof the end. Let me illustrate. A father lays a com- \nmand upon a son. The son sees the wisdom of the \ninjunction, he also knows it to be authoritative. The \nwisdom of the act does not cover or conceal its au- \nthority. He may perform it independently, because \nit is well that it should be clone, and so do a rational \nthing ; or he may perform it as enjoined, and thus \nshow obedience. The last act is not rational in the \nsense that it springs from the mind\'s normal, unaided \nimpulse ; it is rational in the sense that, to do the \nact as it was enjoined, and because it was enjoined, \nin ignorance or in oversight of its object, is yet well. \nWhat we object to exactly in the systems of Bentham, \nof Dr. Hopkins, and of many others is, that they lack \nauthority ; they miss the moral precept as law. \n\nNo more is the second conclusion found in the pre- \nmises, to wit : that the obligation of an action as right, \nsprings wholly from the good it proposes. Says Dr. \nHopkins, " No man is under obligation to do an act \nmorally right for which there is not a reason besides \nits being right, and on the ground of which it is \nright." If this passage is meant to affirm that there \nare certain grounds or conditions on account of \nwhich every right action is right, we assent to it ; \nbut if it is intended to affirm, as we suppose it is, \nthat these grounds or reasons are all that is meant \nby right, we object to it, as absolutely destructive of \nmorals in their independent, self-asserted authority. \nTo recur to our illustration, it is easy to conceive of \n\n\n\n170 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe command of a parent, that is not wise, and thus \nto divide the two elements of fitness and authority. \nConscience, on the other hand, the voice and author- \nity of God in the soul of man, grounds its commands \nexclusively on wisdom ; at least, on that which is \nthought to be wise, and there is no actual division \npossible between the wisdom and the moral authority \nof an act : yet this does not make the first the sole \nground and source of the last, since wisdom as wis- \ndom, as the sagacious search after good, has, as we \nhave carefully shown, no authority in our constitution, \nnor power of command over us. In other words, obli- \ngation, duty, will not hinge, cannot be made to hinge, \non pleasure. Bentham is far more logical in insisting \nthat interest, pleasure, good, are all with which we \nhave to do ; and in scorning duty, ought, obligation \nas the mists and chimeras of the mind, than is one \nin striving to evoke these mighty shades of author- \nity in the spiritual world, from the sensibilities which \nfind play in our purely physical and intellectual \nconstitution ; all that belong to us till we have rec- \nognized our independent, moral constitution, with its \nsupporting emotions. One is not to hold fast to the \nfruits of a system, while rejecting the grounds on \nwhich they rest. If morality has not an independent, \nperceptive basis in the constitution, it can have no \nindependent sensibilities with which to support and \nreward virtue. We beg leave to suggest, that Dr. \nHopkins overlooks this fact, and while laying com- \nmendable stress on the rational element in ethics, \ngoes further than he of right can, in supporting his \nview by the blessedness obedience confers. This he \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 171 \n\nis very willing to oppose to the happiness of the util- \nitarian, whereas it is of the same nature. Blessed- \nness as a preeminent, ethical sentiment can be the \nfruit alone of a preeminent, ethical intuition. The \ntheory of morals is so central in all questions of char- \nacter, of social and of civil import ; is so subtile in \nitself ; and has been so perplexed by deficient and \nfalse presentations, that we shall be excusable in \noccupying a little time with it. We shall be without \nexcuse if we fail to do all that we can to make it clear. \nWe wish further, therefore, to point out some of the \nrelations of this primitive, intuitive right which we \nhave insisted on. \n\nThe first of them is its connection with happiness. \nWe suppose that the highest happiness will always \nbe secured by obedience to the right ; and this for \ntwo reasons. The universe is under the government \nof God, and he has so constructed its natural and its \nmoral laws, that they run parallel with each other. \nOne of the surest ways, therefore, to reach good, \nphysical, intellectual and social good in a broad and \ncomplete form, is to render obedience to the moral law. \nThis law was inlaid in our constitution by our Heav- \nenly Father, and has received from him the guidance \nof many direct precepts in reference to this very end \nof putting us in the lines of natural law, and of \nreaping the good under them which comes from obe- \ndience. Moreover, the moral nature itself involves \npowerful sensibilities. Inseparable from right, is the \nsatisfaction of obedience, are our own approval and the \napproval of God. Hence the emotions immediately \nconsequent on the independent nature of the right \n\n\n\n172 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nso reward virtuous action, so augment the balance of \npleasure in purely ethical conduct, as to cause this \nalways to be the path of highest enjoyment, if not \nat once, yet finally. This last and highest form of \ngood, coming always in overwhelming amount to \nsettle the results as respects pleasure, can only flow \nfrom obedience to an independent law, since it is the \nsense of obedience that is the ground of it. The \nsatisfaction of wisdom, of sagacity in selecting and \npursuing enjoyments, is very different, and can itself \nconstitute no ground of deciding between two lines \nof conduct, since, whichever we choose in view of \ntheir consequences, we shall commend the choice to \nourselves as wise. A sense of sagacity accompanies \nthe rogue as readily as the honest man. \n\nFor these two reasons, then, the government of \nGod and the rewards of the moral nature itself, the \nhighest happiness does always flow from obedience \nto the moral law. The happiness conferred, the con- \nsequences of an action in the good it bestows, are \nalways a test, therefore, of its character as right or \nwrong. If we were sure of the entire results of an \naction, we should thereby be made sure of its moral \nquality. Yet this enjoyment conditioned on obedi- \nence is, much of it, not the ground of the law, nor \nthe motive in obedience, but the consequence of obe- \ndience. When a distressed and perplexed Cranmer \nis striving \'to nerve himself up to the final effort, \nhe does not anticipate the triumph and satisfaction \nwhich are to follow when the conflict is past, and the \nquestion finally and favorably settled. In an intense, \nmoral struggle, there is always a fulfillment of those \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 73 \n\nremarkable words of Christ : " He that findeth his \nlife shall lose it : and he that loseth his life for my \nsake shall find it." What Dr. Hopkins so well says in \ndefence of the existence of disinterested affection, is, \nin exact form and with higher import, applicable to \ndisinterested obedience to the moral precept. His \nlanguage is explicit and strong : " The desire is for \nthe happiness of others, and the moment it ceases to \nbe that \xe2\x80\x94 that disinterestedly \xe2\x80\x94 the affection itself is \ngone, and with it, the very source of our happiness. \nThe gold is become dim, or rather dross, and the \nmost fine gold is changed." Thus the profound \nquestions of obedience, the deep conflicts of our \nnature with sin, are usually settled in comparative \ndarkness ; are often won in deep discouragement, \nand the storm-clouds part only after the crisis has \nbeen passed, the moral victory gained. Then, for \nthe first time, it is both seen and felt, that we yielded \nlittle or nothing in real good, and gained all. \n\nThere is also another relation of right to happi- \nness, that portion of happiness which arises from our \nphysical and intellectual constitution, aside from the \nmoral element. It cannot be shown \xe2\x80\x94 nay, the re- \nverse is in many cases obvious \xe2\x80\x94 that this portion of \ngood, which alone the utilitarian is at liberty to con- \nsider, will always pronounce for virtue with an over- \nplus of pleasure. Indeed, if our moral constitution \ncould be gotten rid of, there would, at least, be a \ngrave doubt whether many of the tasteful and intel- \nlectual forms of self-indulgence ; or, indeed, some of \nthe grosser forms, considering the native proclivities \nof the persons whose pleasures are involved, would \n\n\n\n174 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nnot, so far as our visible horizon extends, result in a \nbalance of enjoyment, credited and paid to the par- \nties who have sought their own ends. At least the \nmoral problem, which this world is said to present, \nof disorder and maladjustment, and whose existence \ncalls for another world of correction and redistri- \nbution, plainly implies this : that good, omitting the \nmoral emotions themselves, does not seem uniformly \nto accompany virtue. Nevertheless, these secondary \nforms of good are admitted by us, as steadily entering \ninto the consequences of moral actions, and consti- \ntuting a portion \xe2\x80\x94 though only a portion \xe2\x80\x94 of those \nconditions or considerations, on the ground of which, \nthe conscience pronounces it right. A poor man \nasks of me aid. He needs it. I can readily bestow \nit. Now this relation of my gift to his good or pros- \nperity is what leads me to say, or at least my neigh- \nbors to say, that I should bestow it ; that I ought to \nbestow it. The difference between the intuitive and \nthe utilitarian philosopher lies in reference to such an \nact precisely here : both agree that the virtuous act \nfinds its spring or occasion in the physical good ; but \nthe last adds, this covers the entire problem. The \ngood given, and the good, under natural law, conse- \nquent thereon, are the entire motive and obligation \nof the act ; the act as right, accepts this as a final \nand complete explanation. Nay, says the intuitive \nphilosopher, had it not been for this physical good \nthat I confer, there would, indeed, have been no vir- \ntuous act to perform ; but on this opportunity or \noccasion, my moral nature steps in, lays the act on \nme as obligatory, and gives me the satisfaction in \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 75 \n\nperforming it of having reached a higher end than \nthat of pleasure in thus fulfilling the moral law of \nmy being. The relation, then, of happiness to right \nis concisely this : the highest happiness always fol- \nlows from obedience to it, because of God\'s govern- \nment and our own moral nature. Happiness is thus \na practical characteristic, and hence, often a test of \nright action. Again, good, under purely natural law, \nenters as that ground or condition in actions which \nleads us to call them right, but is not the measure or \nsource of that right. The parent commands the \nchild to share his playthings with his fellow. The \nact has now two reasons : the enjoyment of a brother, \nand the will of a father. Thus moral acts have two \ngrounds ; the good conferred, and the will of God, \nour Creator, expressed in the voice of conscience \nconcerning that good. \n\nThe next relation of this notion of right is to prac- \ntice, to daily conduct. Precepts, rules, laws, are the \nforms which the ethical element assumes, and must \nassume in practice. It is acts to be done that are \nenjoined upon us in the word of God. This is pro- \nhibited, and that is commanded, and through a series \nof separate considerations, the law finds its way slowly \ninto our lives. The philosophy of a supreme end is \nphilosophy, not practice. Who can wait to hunt up \nhis supreme end before he begins to live ! What \nwere the relations of life to morality before the phil- \nosophy of a supreme end sprang up, or still are where \nit remains an unknown speculation ? We live by \ndetails. Our duties and dangers are those of the \nhour, and require for the most part the solution of \n\n\n\n176 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nspecific precepts. Precepts do indeed rest back on \nprinciples, yet few grasp the principles ; most employ \nthe rule closest at hand. Our lives are shaped under \nlaws obeyed, acts performed, rather than under the \nabstract conception of a supreme end. Whatever \nmay be the theory of morals, "the real way-marks of \nlife stand at the entrance of this and that line of \nconduct, this and that form of action. \n\nIndeed, is there any such thing as a supreme good, \nto be pursued through light and darkness, in all the \naccidents and incidents of life ? We think not, unless \nwe are content to mean thereby obedience to a moral \nlaw, which Dr. Hopkins so carefully excludes from, \nand contrasts with, the supreme good. A good can- \nnot be a supreme good unless its pursuit is obliga- \ntory ; or unless, by its superiority of pleasures, it sur- \npasses all other good. What good does this, except \nthat good which arises from obedience to the moral \nlaw as a law ? Other forms of good than moral good \nare not supreme in either of these senses ; no one \nof them is obligatory over others ; no one of them \nuniformly surpasses every other. The life and the \nphilosophy alike, therefore, which refuse to accept the \nmoral law as ultimate, and start off in a pursuit of \ngood, have no right to talk about a supreme good, \nunless this supreme pleasure is to arise from an action \nof all the powers, each in its own province. Goods, \nmany goods, appetitive and intellectual, social and soli- \ntary, should be the watch-word of this philosophy, not \na supreme good, since there is no such single good. \nAdvantages of all sorts are to be sought for, sought \nwhere they are to be found, in any and every portion \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 77 \n\nof our constitution. The philosopher may make his \nlist of pleasures as exhaustive as he pleases ; may go \nas high as he can \xe2\x80\x94 provided he does not assume an \nindependent moral nature, whose existence he has \ndenied \xe2\x80\x94 may go as deep as he can, may sort and \nparcel out his enjoyments with utmost skill, may cau- \ntiously establish a rank among them with its " law of \nlimitations ; " and if others accept his conclusions, he \nand they will be guided as to what pleasures are to \nbe sought, and when and where they are to be sought, \nbut there must remain throughout divisibility and \nseparation, many distinct forms of good, not a su- \npreme good. How can such a one still say that \nblessedness is the supreme end, the blessedness of \nGod and of his rational universe, and give thereby \nany more than a nominal, verbal unity to action ? I \nmay say of a community, prosperity is its supreme \nend or aim ; but I do not thereby define any one ob- \nject which is to be pursued by it in seeking this pros- \nperity. These objects will remain many, and I can \nonly mean to say, that they are all to be sought only \nso far as they minister to prosperity. The unity, \ntherefore, so far as I have reached any, lies not in \nthe objects aimed at \xe2\x80\x94 these may be the products of \nten, twenty, an hundred branches of industry \xe2\x80\x94 but in \nthe law or precept under which these are severally to \nbe labored for, to wit: that they shall tend to the \nprosperity of all. Thus blessedness, as a compound \nof all pleasures, presents no single supreme end, and \nwhen so spoken of, looks vaguely towards some law \nor method by which a thousand separate pleasures \nor ends are to be gained. The practical test of the \n\n\n\n178 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwisdom of each action would be, Does it conform to \nthose rules of judgment by which pleasures replace \neach other, by which now one, now another, is pur- \nsued ? Thus, this philosophy of ends travels its en- \ntire circuit only to get back to a law, to escape which \nit first set out. \n\nIf, now, any choose to accept this result, and to \nsay with Bentham, that the office of the moral guide \nis that of a " scout ; " that it is his labor to scurry on \nand race around in pursuit of the results of action ; \nto contemplate consequences, immediate and remote, \nand frame precepts upon them ; these may ask, Since \nyou have admitted that happiness is a test of moral \naction, why are we not at least practically safe and \nwise in shaping action in reference to it ? The \nanswer is easy and decisive. There is very much \nbesides the consequences which flow from action, \nwhich helps us to decide on its character. These \nresults are often very obscure and uncertain ; and \nin their anticipation, suffer, above all other elements \nin the problem, perversion by our fears, our hopes, \nour desires. The moral judgment is quickened, \ncorrected and sustained by the moral sensibilities, \nthe affections which gather about it, and become the \nmeans of speedy and delicate analysis and inter- \npretation of action. The ethical, like the esthetical \nsense, gives rise in its cultivation to peculiar and \nvery sensitive states of emotion, and these respond \nwith decisive and immediate power to the moral \nqualities of an action. Its concealment, its circum- \nvention, its openness, its magnanimity are scented in \nthe air by these watchful attendants of conscience, \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 79 \n\nquickly snuffing the trail of duty. To decide on the \nbeauty of a painting, requires a sensitive heart, re- \nflecting in on the intellect a just appreciation of its \nsentiments : to decide on the moral bearings of con- \nduct requires a lively appreciation of its true, its \nintrinsic quality, and this is reached by the moral \nsensibilities quite as much as by a cold, logical \ndevelopment of its consequences. The prism, dis- \nsolving light into colors, discloses the beauty that \nis in it : the affections, the moral medium of the \nsoul, separate conduct into its secret, its sweet cur- \nrents of emotion, and thus lay open the good that \nis in it. \n\nAgain, moral principles are interdependent, are \nparts of a system, cast much light on each other, lend \neach other authority, and become, through the great \ninquiry that has been expended upon them, guides, \nfar better than our ability, in any given case, to trace \nthe results of action. They inspire a certain confi- \ndence, and lead us to feel, that they will, by their \nown moral power, bear down and defeat very prob- \nable, natural consequences, that are ready to confront \nthem and force them back. I may say universally, \nthose who ground their moral judgments on the re- \nsults which they anticipate, in each exigency, from \naction, are trimmers, time-servers ; and those who re- \npose on moral principles in the face of predicted evils, \nare reformers and progressionists. Take such a con- \ntroversy as that concerning slavery. How long was \nemancipation opposed by those who gave a weak \nassent, indeed, to purely ethical reasons, but always \nfound in their horoscope such contingencies and \n\n\n\n180 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ncombinations as to indicate that the time had not \ncome. Indeed, men usually fail of obedience in the \nhour of trial by a calculation of consequences, and by \nsubstituting the partial conclusions so arrived at for \nthe clear decisions of the moral reason. Once more, \nmost of the instructions of Revelation assume the \nform of precepts, while very little effort is made to \ntrace the natural consequences of particular actions. \nHence, it becomes an efficient guide only through \nobedience, an obedience which justifies itself as obe- \ndience without much foresight. The children of God \ngo very often, not knowing whither they go. Thus \npractical ethics are ever assuming the form of rules \nlaid down, rather than of reasons rendered under the \nnatural consequences of conduct : not that the first \nexcludes the last, but that those are more immediate, \npertinent and efficient than these. \n\nA third relation of an intrinsic right, is to the ra- \ntional, intellectual element in our constitution. We \nsuppose that conscience is meant to supplement this, \nnot to displace it. Our reasoning processes are \ncalled forth to the full in unfolding those relations of \nconduct on which conscience pronounces ; but the \nsupreme authority in action, the last appeal is not \nmade to the judgment. Inquiry, investigation, are \nthe order of the day in the ethical court, but that \nwhich goes forth from it is certified with an authori- \ntative seal. Conscience, in its stubborn command, is \nsomewhat of the nature of an instinct, and yet it \nleads us constantly out of blind obedience into a ra- \ntional comprehension of the consequences of virtuous \naction and satisfaction therein. The philosophy of \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE l8l \n\nends, when it comes, shows to us that that which we \nhave obeyed as right has been truly right, and we \nmay hence walk with open vision. The child who \nhas been fortunate enough to fall under a truly wise \ngovernment, grows up under, and thus into, the wis- \ndom of that discipline, and, at length, finds its own \nview of good wholly consonant with that laid upon \nit. Thus obedience passes constantly from its servile \nform into one of freedom, into one of comprehension \n\xe2\x80\x94 an intelligent rendering of that which the soul \ngives with indescribable pleasure. It is as if the \nbee, building by instinct, should come, at length, to \nan apprehension of its work, and marvel at the per- \nfect skill, the mathematical exactness of its labor. \nThus with man ; the instinctive, the authoritative \nelement, is more and more taken up into the rational \nand the .voluntary element, though these receive their \nbias and form from those. Our life becomes more \nspontaneous, without being less exact. \n\nAgain, we direct attention to the relation of the \nright to God. Dr. Hopkins writes, in his answer to \nDr. McCosh, " It was said to me recently, \' we are to \nlove God because we love virtue,\' as if the love of God \nwere not virtue. In the same way we are to love \nour fellow-men, not for their sakes, but for the sake \nof the right." And further on, " I have seen quite \nenough of this abstract, hard, godless, loveless love \nof right and virtue, instead of the love of God and of \nman." This passage is a good illustration of the \ndifficulty often met with in understanding an argu- \nment preparatory to answering it. If we mean by \nthe love of God, the love which flows from approval, \n\n\n\n152 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nas the person above referred to plainly intended, \nthen, I ask, On what is that satisfaction in God\'s \ncharacter which calls forth affection based, save his \nvirtue ? If he were not virtuous above others, evi- \ndently he could not be loved above others. Charac- \nter is the basis of love, and virtue is the basis of \ncharacter. If God were vicious, it would be vicious \nto love him in this sense of the word. The same is \nequally true of our fellow-men. The above language \nbecomes plausible when the word love is used in a \ndifferent sense, and one not intended by the person \nwho affirmed, " we love God because we love virtue." \nThis second meaning is the love of benevolence, or \ngood-will. Now we may have good-will toward a \ndevil, and that we do will doubtless be a proof of our \nvirtue. No man is beyond our commiseration, and \nthe depth of our compassion shows how far our moral \nconvictions have gone down into the soul. To love \nGod with the love of good-will is, doubtless, virtue, \nand not the fruit of his virtue : but the form of love \nmore frequently contemplated in speaking of God, \nis not this love, which may belong to a thief as \nwell, but the love of approbation, of admiration, and \nthis is based on virtue. It is this law of an infinitely \nglorious life, and his perfect obedience thereto, that \ncalls forth our adorative love of God ; and approxi- \nmations towards a like perfection, that attract us to- \nward our fellow-men. This does not put the right \nabove God, it puts it in God. It is the law of his \nown uncreated, perfect nature that he follows, and so \nfollowing is virtuous. The law is above us, because \nour natures are given us ; it is within and of him, be- \n\n\n\nRIGHT, THE LAW OF INTELLECTUAL LIFE. 1 83 \n\ncause he is from all eternity. The seat of the right \nis the moral health and hygiene of Heaven, a perfect \nnature, perfectly unfolded. This excellence we bow \nbefore ; this holiness we worship ; this love we love ; \nnot because we bear God good-will, but because the \natmosphere of the soul is luminous everywhere with \nhis glory. God is a law to himself, and, making us \nin his image, that law has become a law to us ; and, \nthrough it, we go back to the comprehension and \nadmiration and exaltation of his perfections. \n\nOne other relation we glance at, that of the law \nof an absolute right to the doctrine of immortality. \nWe find great encouragement in our belief of the last, \nfrom our acceptance of the first. A law of prudence, \nof wisdom, if you prefer it, is fitted to this life, is \nneeded even if this is the whole of life, is not too \nmuch for the state we are here in. \n\nNot thus is it with an absolute right. Here is a \nwheel that strikes into the mechanism of our lives, \nbut does not complete an entire revolution before us. \nIt has a sweep of consequences and compensations \nwhich are not rounded to their beginning in this \npresent existence. It is a law beyond what is re- \nquired for this state of being. \n\nMartyrdom is not a stroke of prudence. It sur- \nrenders all, either for nothing, or for immortality. \nNot for nothing says conscience, leading the soul to \nthe sacrifice ; hence for immortality. Every rack, \nevery stake, every cross, every eye that has caught \nthe inspiration of their heroism, every heart that has \nresponded to their faith, has given proof to immortal- \nity ; has disclosed its deep seats in the soul. In the \n\n\n\n184 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nmouth of these many witnesses shall every word be \nestablished. \n\nFall from this wisdom, and you sink into perfect \nfolly. Fail to establish this foot-hold on the invisible, \nand you go back to dust. Stumble on these heights \nof virtue, and you pass sheer down to the dead. \nLive by this law, and you have surrendered all, \ngained all ; have cast that which now is into the \nshadow of that which shall be. \n\n\n\nLECTURE VIII. \n\nLIBERTY. \n\nWe said in our last lecture, that the connections \nof the mental world are not of that simple, causative \ncharacter which belong to those of matter, but bear \na double aspect. A law runs before our rational acts, \nand these spring up in obedience to it. In matter, \nthe law is in the force, and the disclosure of it and \nits existence are identical. In mind, the law goes \nbefore the activity, and this arises under it, is not \nconditioned to it. This antecedent law, the right, \nwe have spoken of. We have glanced at its relations \nto reason, shown their increasing coalescence ; the \nsteady adoption and sanction under the authority of \nvirtue, of all the wise thoughts and plans of life ; the \nsending forth of thought by virtue, both to prepare \nher path and accomplish her labors. We should also \nadd, that we may not seem to omit it, the supplemen- \ntary, esthetical perception, by which all high effort \nbecomes one of beauty, and gathers, from this fact, \na peculiar exaltation and completeness. Let it be \nborne in mind, however, that these guides, of whom \nthe royal one is virtue, run before the activity, pro- \npound themselves to the soul for its acceptance, and \ndo not in any way accomplish their own counsels. \nWe come, therefore, to the second portion of the law \nof connections in the mind \xe2\x80\x94 that which defines the \nnature of the executive force. Here, we encounter \n\n\n\n1 86 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\nliberty, instead of necessity ; a free and spontaneous, \ninstead of a causal activity. This notion of a free-will \nhas suffered many perverted and inadequate state- \nments, and has encountered opposition from all classes \nof philosophers. The attack has been by no means \nconfined to materialism, in its complete form, or in- \ncipient stages. Indeed, we are not dealing historically \nwith our subject, and have made no effort to keep apart \nthose many phases of belief which slowly ripen into \nmaterialism, or striven to define the transition point be- \nyond which the word, materialist, ought to take effect. \nTo prosper in our inquiry, we must thoroughly un- \nderstand ourselves, and this we do the more easily in \nkeeping somewhat clear of others, and first running \nout our own lines of thought. Let us revert to our \nconception of a cause, as it is in contrast with this, \nthat spontaneity and liberty are to be understood. \nUnder all physical phenomena, the mind puts a force \nwhich is their occasion or cause. The cause coexists \nwith the effect ; the two are inseparable, the visible \nand invisible sides of the same thing ; the phenom- \nenon or outer form, the nomenon or inner essence, \nof the one being. These causes, strictly, are never \nin any way known to our senses, yet the mind con- \nceives them as determined, fixed, measured forces, \nwhich are capable of certain results, and no others ; \nforces from which the specified effects must follow, \nin an invariable amount and order. Other external \ncauses may be strong enough to reach and modify the \ncauses contemplated, and thus vary the results, but the \nforces in these are shaped for certain effects, and are \ncapable of no others. When we come to mind, we \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 187 \n\nsee this conception of fixed forces is not applicable. \nMind as mind is spontaneous in its action. By this \nwe mean, that its activities spring from itself, and do \nnot, as is the case with matter, exist in it, as definite \nrealized forces. This is shown best by the variable, \nunequal, independent way in which they spring up. \nA clock runs for a certain length of time. It is con- \nditioned from the outset to a fixed sequence, and a \nlimited extent of activity. The same is true of the \nmost complex, chemical and physical changes, is true \nof all events which do not come immediately under \nthe influence and government of those spontaneous \nagents which have their seat in the invisible world. \nNot thus is it with the activities of mind. Take the \nsame person, make external conditions as exactly \nalike as possible, and you do not secure at different \ntimes the same succession of internal states, nor any \nobvious approximation to it. A prisoner, within the \nnarrow walls of his cell, with differences of external \ncondition very trifling, differences that find and leave \nthe body in a state almost identical, day by day, may, \nin successive days, present very diverse states of \nmind, and show no two periods in which the round of \nthought and feeling is, for any considerable time, the \nsame. The mechanical precision, order and period \nof physical phenomena are all gone, and in place of \nthem there are fitfulness, irregularity, every species \nof inequality. We explain this by the notion of the \nspontaneity of mind. It is not a measured force, \ngauged to certain facts, but from itself, and of itself, \nwith fitful efficiency, evokes its thoughts and feel- \nings. \n\n\n\n1 88 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nAgain, this is seen in the contrast between sensa- \ntions and thoughts. The one are determinate, obey \nperfectly a law of sequence. We see and feel what \nare within the reach of the eye and hand, and can \nsee and feel nothing else. Iron is never soft to us, \nor velvet hard. The sensations are the same in form \nand order under like external conditions. The mind \nfrom within itself has no power of varying them. \nThis fact finds explanation in the entrance from with- \nout of true causation, and this causation stands, in the \nphenomena it occasions, distinguished from, and in \ncontrast with, the pure activity of the mind. We do \nhave the two classes of facts in our own intellectual \nexperience, and find them so diverse, that the mind, \nfor this reason, refers the one set \xe2\x80\x94 to wit, sensations \n\xe2\x80\x94 to outside, fixed forces ; and the other set \xe2\x80\x94 to \nwit, thoughts \xe2\x80\x94 to inside, native, spontaneous power. \nThe classification of mental phenomena turns on \nthis very distinction between fixed and variable facts ; \ncausal and spontaneous force. The first carries \nwith it all experiences physical in their origin ; the \nother, all purely mental. Break down this distinc- \ntion, and sensations and feelings are inseparable. \nAll do so divide them, and in the division recognize \nspontaneous forces and causal forces. \n\nOnce more, observe the connections of mental \nacts, and see how these disclose their spontaneous \ncharacter. Take thought ; for instance, the succes- \nsive steps of thinking involved in a theorem of \nGeometry. Is there any adhesion between one item \nof proof and the next ; any link of force, compelling \nthe mind to pass through the successive stages of \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 1 89 \n\nthe argument? If there is, how happens it that all \nminds do not run alike through the entire circuit of \nproof, as all sleds slide clown hill ? Is it not plain \nthat mind itself as mind, as rational power of a given \ngrade, sees, evokes spontaneously the serial conclu- \nsions, compacts them, and carries them on to the \ngoal of the reasoning. There is no external, no in- \ndependent force, in the first half of a proposition, to \ncall forth the last. The connection between the two \nhalves lies in the mind itself, and that, too, in its vari- \nable, spontaneous power, which it may or may not put \nforth. What is attention but a calling out, by the mind \nitself, of its activity, and thus a clear disclosure of the \nvariable force which is in it. So, too, the feelings are \na changeable response of the mind to certain percep- \ntions or intellectual states, and these states, though \nconditions of this emotional activity, are plainly not \ncauses of it, do not create it in kind and quantity. \n\nIf it now be granted that physical phenomena are \nfixed, and mental phenomena variable, showing slight \ndependence on external conditions ; that the se- \nquence, in the one instance, flows firmly on to its \ncompletion, and, in the other, suffers constant arrest \nand change ; then these become the accepted data \non which we predicate, in the one case a connection \nthrough a fixed cause, or causation ; in the other, a \nconnection through a variable power, or spontaneity. \nA power that is variable within itself, is shown by \nits variability to be self-originating ; since it so far \nassigns itself its own conditions, calls itself forth. \nA fixed force is a dependent, originated force, as the \nconditions, the limits that are assigned it, up to \n\n\n\nI9O SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwhich it is brought, within which it is compressed, \nare received from abroad. No one, indeed, can con- \ndition, can assign limits to a force, who cannot in- \ncrease and diminish that force ; who cannot put \nhimself into and under it. And in assigning it \nlimits, he actually does put himself into it and un- \nder it. Variability, then, the ability to increase and \ndiminish action \xe2\x80\x94 the constant characteristic of the \nmind \xe2\x80\x94 has its seat in spontaneity, power ; invaria- \nbility, the inability to increase or diminish action, \nhas its seat in causation, force : and these two con- \nceptions must be kept forever apart, and the more so, \nsince they are blended in us through our physical \nand spiritual constitutions, the interwoven parts of \none fabric, or being. \n\nWe have not yet reached liberty, though we have \ntaken a long stride toward it. If pure mental action \nis spontaneous, it is easy to believe that a portion of \nthat action is free ; that is, takes place in view of two \ndistinct lines of conduct, either of which is equally \nopen to it. Liberty is more than spontaneity in this, \nthat it is the power of spontaneity consciously em- \nployed in a choice between two actions. Spontaneity \nfinds exercise in thought, expends itself therein ; but \nin choice, the mind first arrests its action, observes \nthe ground before it, and then consciously, distinctly, \nredirects itself. This is liberty \xe2\x80\x94 a use of spontaneity \nunder definitely realized conditions, involving an al- \nternative. If the mind were not spontaneous in all \nof its action, it could not be free in any of it ; or at \nleast, if it had not spontaneous power to employ, it \ncould not make this exact use of it known as liberty. \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. IQI \n\nLiberty involves spontaneity, the ability to originate \npower, and is the exercise of it in view of an alterna- \ntive, both branches of which are perfectly open to it. \nThe necessitarian says, the mind, the will, is, under \nthese circumstances conditioned to a certain act, to \none only of the acts under consideration, by the con- \njoint effect of its own constitution, and the influences \nto which it is subject ; that is to say, the force to be \nexpended by it is a causal one, established and fixed \nin its measure and form of being. Says the liberta- \nrian, the force conceived is spontaneous power, neither \nconditioned in itself, nor out of itself to fixed results. \nWhat is the proof of liberty ? Many strive to de- \nrive it from consciousness. Herein, we think, they \nerr. All that can be truly referred to consciousness, \nwill hardly, under any circumstances, become a mat- \nter of discussion. We are, indeed, capable of great \nprevarication, and can surround almost any subject \nwith uncertainty, but scarcely of denying the very \nthing that is in the mind itself. If liberty were a \nfact of mind, it would, no more than thought, or feel- \ning, or volition, be open to doubt. Liberty is not a \nphenomenon, but the alleged nature of a certain \nclass of phenomena. It is the relations of the mind\'s \nacts to the mind\'s power, that is under discussion ; \nand this sub-phenomenal connection never appears \nin consciousness, but is decided on as to its existence \nand character by the mind alone. Now the mind \nbrings forward certain ideas to the explanation of a \ncertain class of facts, and these ideas have no other \nauthority than this persistent assertion of them by \nthe mind. Herein, they all rest finally on the same \n\n\n\n192 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nbasis with each other, and also on the same basis \nwith every belief. Knowledge being only referable \nto reiterated affirmations of mind. \n\nWhat are the facts, then, in view of which spon- \ntaneity, liberty are asserted, are proffered in elucida- \ntion ? They are, first, the variable, changeable actions \nof men. Human conduct presents no such sequence \nas to suggest to us the notion of the invariable law of \ncausation, but, in our language one to another, in our \nclaims one of another, in an assertion of our own \npower, in forecasting the results of conduct, we rec- \nognize the idea of liberty, and constantly imply or \ndirectly affirm its existence. So true is this, that no \ntheory of necessity ever prevents men, in cases of \npersonal interest, from treating others as if they were \nfree ; as if they had other lines of power in them \nthan those of barren, blind causation. All anger, \nindignation, contempt, are as ill-timed as passion \ntoward a brute, if this notion of liberty be invalid. \nWhatever may be said of the thoughts of men, their \nemotions are all based on liberty, are brutish and \nmaniacal without it. \n\nAgain, the great fact, the all-inclusive fact in hu- \nman society of responsibility, calls forth this notion \nof liberty as its only explanation. There is no axiom \nin morals, nor indeed anywhere, if this is not one ; \nresponsibility is proportioned to power. No one can \nclaim either of two forms of conduct from his fellows, \nunless they have the power to enter upon either at \ntheir option. Here, indeed, is the grand occasion of \nfreedom. The moral law as antecedent to action, laid \nupon it as an imperative, is irrational and unjust \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. !Q3 \n\nwithout the ability to obey it. If the mind, in each \ncase, is still conditioned to its own state and circum- \nstances, then guilt, responsibility, duty, are not per- \ntinent conceptions, since these all require sufficient \npower to do the obligatory act. I know very well \nthat the necessitarian has a meaning for these words, \nand a form of their application. What I affirm is, \nthat he does not reach and explain their full signifi- \ncance in the popular, the general, mind. It is ex- \nactly this more profound feeling which underlies the \nword, guilt, resting back on a belief in the complete \npower of the guilty party to have adopted an adverse \nline of action, that is always fighting against the phi- \nlosophy of necessity, and preventing its universal \nacceptance. If that philosophy were correct, it would \nnever have been offered but once to men. They \nwould have leaped to its conclusions. It is a secret \nsense of its insufficiency to account for obligation, to \ncover the deeper moral phenomena of our nature, \nthat holds men back from it, and, when they have \nnominally conceded its truth, allows them to make \nclaims and impose duties, in language and form, in- \nconsistent with it. Lay aside all the confusion of \nphilosophy, appeal directly to the moral judgments \nof men, their first spontaneous conviction, and the \nlibertarian carries the argument, men assent to, and \nassert, liberty as the ground ; and basis of morality. \nSo true is this, that every necessitarian steals his lan- \nguage, as far as possible, from the vocabulary of lib- \nerty ; warps the enunciation of his doctrine over \ntoward the popular sentiment, and strives to affirm \nand deny necessity in the same breath. Thus, we \n\n\n\n194 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nhear of a moral necessity, and a physical necessity, as \nif there were two kinds of necessity, and one at least a \ntrifle less necessary than the other. Liberty is turned \ninto pantomine, a mere show of powers ; yet the pan- \ntonine is patiently played out to delight and pacify \nthe populace. The deity has been stolen from her \nseat, but the worship -goes on, for no one dares to con- \nfess or proclaim the sacrilege. Thus tyrants maintain \nforms whose force and import they have abolished. \n\nA third proof, we find in the nature of motives. \nIf a thought, not yet before the mind, has no hold \nupon it, by which the intellect is constrained to think \nit ; if thought is rather the spontaneous power and \npursuit by the mind of its own ends, readily may we \naccept a like connection between its other states. \nIn which way ought we to conceive an object like \nwealth ? As possessed of an efficient force by which \nit acts on the mind and draws it to itself? or, as giv- \ning the direction in which the spontaneous power of \nthe soul goes forth ? Is a desire occasioned, caused \nin the soul by the coveted object, as heat awakens \nmolecular motion in matter ; or is a desire the self- \noriginated activity of the soul toward certain things ? \nPlainly, the latter. There is nothing whatever to \njustify the opposite conception of an efficient force \nin objects of desire, acting on the mind. Neither is \nthere any more proof of a force in the desire by \nwhich it occasions and necessitates a volition. The \nvolition follows, or fails to follow, according to the \nexternal possibilities of the case, and the present di- \nrection of the soul\'s spontaneity. The desire itself, \nas a portion of that spontaneity, is dependent upon \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. I95 \n\nit, and this portion evinces no power to control the \nremainder ; to involve and constrain by its own force \na certain amount of executive force, directed in a \ncompulsory pursuit of the object. All such concep- \ntions are alien to the mind, and will not bear exam- \nination. A cause, always the source, and exclusively \nthe source of necessity in events, precedes and im- \nmediately accompanies the effect, and pours into that \neffect a fixed amount of force : a motive, or at least \nthe gratification proposed in action, follows the action, \nand suffers the power the soul pours forth, rather \nthan is the source of it. No relations can be more \ndistinct than these two, that between a cause and \neffect, the one in and back of the other ; and that \nbetween an object of pursuit and the mind\'s activ- \nities, directed towards it. Now if the object does \nnot, by an efficiency of its own, cause the desire, nor \nyet the desire cause the volition, then there is no \nline of force from without, inward, but only one from \nwithin, outward. Yet, there is no liberty in the or- \ndinary gratification of a single desire, because the \nspontaneity of the soul has no alternative ; it is shut \nup to this single direction. When, however, it is \nconsciously placed between two forms of expenditure, \nthere is an opportunity for a choice, and in this \nchoice, to be finally explained by the spontaneity of \nthe soul, there is found freedom. \n\nThere is no proper choice between things of the \nsame kind. Two gratifications, if they are alike, \nleave the mind indifferent between them ; if one is in- \nferior to the other, it presents no alternative. There \nis the semblance of liberty, but not real liberty, in a \n\n\n\n196 science, philosophy and religion. \n\nchoice between two and four hours of pleasure, since \nthere is only an apparent, not a real alternative. \nThe mind is not irrational and absurd because it is \nspontaneous, and its liberty is present to open the \nway to wise action, not to preposterous action. Lib- \nerty, spontaneous power, is not exercised by the soul \nin flat contradiction of its reason, because it may be \nso exercised, and therefore, a fallacious, deceptive al- \nternative, is to it no real alternative. Coins, marked \nto the senses one and four dollars, give no play to \nliberty, any more than the possibility of walking on \none\'s hands, makes this, in contrast with walking on \none\'s feet, a matter of choice. Is there, then, in hu- \nman action any real alternative, or is liberty, after \nall, a dormant power through the want of an oppor- \ntunity for its exercise ? If all enjoyments can be \nbrought to one grade or standard, and measured \nthereon as greater or less, then liberty disappears, \nsince we have only in each case to bring forward our \nrule, to decide by it the question of degrees, and forth- \nwith all liberty becomes irrational, absurd. Indeed* \nsuch would be the results of utilitarianism, resolving- \nall actions into a pursuit of pleasure, and bringing \npleasures, for a test, to the sensibilities to be played \non by them. \n\nOur moral nature, however, gives a true alterna- \ntive to the mind. Conscience both renders liberty \nnecessary, that its law may be obeyed ; and possible, \nby giving a new, a diverse, a truly independent line \nof action to the soul. The spontaneity of the soul \nfinds the play known as choice, as freedom, through \nthe moral nature. The rewards of right action can \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 197 \n\nbe brought in comparison with the appetites and pas- \nsions to no common scale of pleasures, and graded \nthereon as greater or less. Duty frequently fails to \npresent itself as pleasurable, and yet remains in its \nfull force, and the pleasure which is to follow from \nobedience is not the very motive of obedience. Any \nweighing of obligation, with enjoyments, of moral sat- \nisfaction with appetitive indulgence, can only reveal \nthe disparity of, the unlikeness of, the two, and leave \nus still constrained to choose between them. Here, \nthen, in this essential diversity of motives, which \ncome in, on the one side from the physical, and on \nthe other from the spiritual, world, we find ground \nand occasion for liberty, for a spontaneity that may \ngo forth either way ; that may strike downward or \nupward in radical or plumule as it pleases. The \ngrounds, both for the direction and the degree of the \nactivity are found in itself. In these two facts, there- \nfore, that motives have no efficient force, and that \nthere is a real, not an apparent, diversity among \nthem, we find the conditions, first of spontaneity, \nsecond of liberty. \n\nAgain, we argue freedom from the inadequate state- \nment of the facts, to which the doctrine of necessity \nleads. There is no more decisive proof against a \ntheory, than that it tends to a disguisement and per- \nversion of the facts ; that it puts in circulation a clip- \nped and fradulent currency. Of this we can give but \na single illustration. Both Bain and Mill make the \nnotion of responsibility commensurate with, perfectly \nequivalent to, the notion of punishability. Says Mill, \n" Responsibility means punishment," and punishment \n\n\n\nI98 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nhe regards as just because it stands in the relation of \na means to an end ; exactly as whipping a horse is \nallowable, if it is really a condition of safety, and \nadvantage to those who drive him. To establish my \nassertion that the necessitarian perverts moral facts \nin their statement, two things are in this example \nnecessary : first, to show, that, with him, responsi- \nbility and punishability are equivalent ; second, that \nthey are not so equivalent. If the motive controls \nthe mind, reasons the necessitarian, then the mind \ncan, under given motives, do no otherwise than it \ndoes do. Yet it is right to punish the person who \ndoes wrong, because the punishment itself becomes \na motive, alters the relation of motives, restores the \nmoral equilibrium of action, and protects both the \nman and society from the wrong bias which had \nseized him. Hence, responsibility and punishability \nmean the same thing, since in saying that the man \nis responsible, we only mean to say, that it would \nbe right to punish him ; in no other sense is he re- \nsponsible. Is not the second point now also plain, \nthat this use of the words, responsible, responsibil- \nity, emasculates them, causes them to fall like light- \nning from heaven ? When we say that a man is \nresponsible, we mean to affirm a profound moral \ntruth, and may not have in the mind\'s eye any notion \nof punishment whatever. Moreover, the nature of \npunishment itself is greatly modified by this view. \nWe are willing to accept the theory, that punish- \nment is inflicted solely for the discipline of the per- \nson and the protection of the community, but this \ndoes not alter the fact, that it has a fitness, an emo- \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. I99 \n\ntional basis in the guilt of the party who has called \nit forth. We may confine a lunatic, but the trans- \naction has a moral character totally different from \nthat of the imprisonment of a murderer. With Mill, \npunishment and responsibility both sink down to \na purely animal basis. A beast is punishable and \nresponsible in the same sense that man is, since, like \nman, it can be restrained by judiciously inflicted pain, \nand may be dangerous without it. When logical \nthinkers, like Bain and Mill, exhaust the moral world \nof all significancy, so banish from it its own pecu- \nliar aroma, and leave it in the statement, the ex- \nhausted refuse of itself, waste matter whose essence \nhas all been distilled and pressed away, we may well \ndistrust the correctness of their initial idea. Ethical \nphenomena are often treated with the same wisdom \nof method as would belong to a chemist, if he should \nfirst drive off a volatile gas by* heat, and then deny \nits existence, because the residuum did not disclose \nit. The subtle substance of morals is made to effer- \nvesce in the heat of analysis, and the coarse remainder \nof action is then easily explained by ordinary motives. \nWe cannot leave this notion of liberty, resting on \nthe foundations now laid for it, without answering \nthe most urgent and pregnant of the objections which \nhave been brought against it. Physicists have, in \nturn, battered it and passed it by in scorn ; and the \nstones they now cast, they fling in the spirit of the \nIsraelites of old, who, in the same act, made a tomb \nand built a monument for their victim. The first of \nthese objections comes out of the very heart of science. \nIt is her bitter rejection of that which she can make \n\n\n\n200 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nnothing of. The objection is this : liberty is equiva- \nlent to fortuity ; a free action is one without a cause, \nand, therefore, without ground and government. \nScience eschews nothing so much as that which is \nnot amenable to causes, since the physical province \nis her kingdom, and causes are her subjects. All \nthat escapes a fixed law, emancipates itself from her \ncontrol, and sets up a rival, not to say a hostile and \ndisturbing, authority. The answer to this objection \nis simple : the mind is indeed not a cause, nor is \nthe motive a cause, nor is the choice an effect. All \nthe phenomena within the mental field are sponta- \nneous, and causation does not take part in the trans- \naction till a definite physical force is somewhere real- \nized through the intervention of our physical struct- \nure. It does not hence follow, that all is accident \nand chance, because it is not fixed and fastened by \nforce. The mind is, though a spontaneous power, a \nrational power ; and though the conclusion of a proof \ndoes not make the premises, nor the premises cause \nthe conclusion, they are nevertheless interlocked in \nan orderly, sufficient way. Motives are grounds and \noccasions of action without being its causes ; and the \nmind is not fortuitous in its pursuit, because that pur- \nsuit is an expenditure of its own power. It is not \nan accidental arrangement under which certain things \ncall forth desire, and others do not. Neither is it \nthe result of fortuity, that the volition is confined to \ntwo lines of action ; nor yet of chance, but of choice, \nthat the mind accepts one in preference to the other. \nIndeed, here is the gist of the matter. Can there be \naction which is not conditioned by that which is out of \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 201 \n\nitself, nor controlled by conditions previously placed \nwithin itself, that is not fortuitous action ? We an- \nswer, Yes. For if not, creation is impossible, since \ncreation is not a transfer and change of force, but a \nbringing of force, conditions and all into being. God \nis not conditioned from without, neither from within \nby any prior action other than his own, but he does \ngive an orderly, rational origin to force. The human \nmind, therefore, may do the same thing, so far as for- \ntuity is concerned, and its activity need not be causal \nin order to be consequential and rational. \n\nThere must be a limit to the conditioned somewhere,- \nbeyond which it passes into the free, the spontaneous, \nthe unconditioned. Either the universe as a whole \nis conditioned from within, self-conditioned, or con- \nditioned from without. If from without, then we do \nreach personal, spontaneous, power ; if from within, \nthen we assign to matter as a whole what we have \nrefused to concede to mind, and make it a self-condi- \ntioned existence. This is more than once, the spu- \nrious result of philosophy. What it has refused to \ngrant to mind as incredible, it, at length, allows to \nmatter ; in the face of experience, freely conceding to \nthe weaker what it could not find, and would not \nendure in the stronger. Thus it is deemed more \nrational that matter should condition itself from all \neternity, than that it should be conditioned by God ; \nthat order, thought, complex and complete relations \nshould flow forth from a material source, than that \nthey should be referred to a spiritual one. What is \nthis but denying spirituality to mind to restore it \nagain as a quality in matter ? \n\n\n\n202 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nA second allied objection is, that liberty gives no \nweight to motives. This we allow, if by weight is \nmeant an efficient force by which they act on the \nmind. The mind moves toward them, springs up in \npower in reference to them, but can, on grounds \ngiven, reasons rendered, increase or withhold that \npower, an unconditioned power as regards the circle \nof circumstances under which it arises. The entire \nvocabulary of the necessitarian is at fault. It is fig- \nurative language which he insists in employing in a \nliteral sense. He speaks of motives as greater or \nless, implying different degrees of efficiency in them ; \nwhereas, the whole idea of force, in connection with \ninducements to action, is a transferred one, comes \nfrom the physical world, and cannot be carried over \nto mind with definite estimates, with weights and \nmeasures, with a registration of intensities. All \nthat can be understood in this connection by the \nwords greater and less, is the varying power of the \nmind\'s spontaneous activity toward the motives ; and \nif there is no other way of measuring motives, as \ngreater and less, than this of the mind\'s response to \nthem, then we reason in a circuit, when we say, that \nthe mind always obeys the strongest motive, having \nno ground to call it the strongest except the mere \nfact that the mind does yield to it. The statement \nof the necessitarian would be, the motive, the ex- \nternal object, occasions, causes, a certain play of feel- \ning, this feeling, according to its degree, occasions, \ncauses a certain volition, and the volition is thus \nconditioned to the motive. Our first answer is, the \nmotive has no power over the feeling, but the feeling \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 203 \n\nis spontaneous under the motive, hence this is not \na connection of necessity ; and further, that the con- \nnection between the feeling and volition is also a \nspontaneous one, and, if there are two or more direc- \ntions of action, the mind is conditioned to no one of \nthem, and is free to a choice between them. A sec- \nond answer is, the necessitarian has no way of meas- \nuring motives unlike in kind except through the \nfeelings called forth, and as these feelings are also \nunlike, no method except the fact of a resultant vol- \nition. But to affirm, in one breath, that the will is \ngoverned by the strongest motive, and in the next \nthat that motive is the strongest which governs the \nwill, is to reason in a circle. " Nay," says Mr. Mill. \n" If there were no test of the strength of motives but \ntheir effect on the will, the proposition, that the will \nfollows the strongest motive, is not identical, and un- \nmeaning. We say, without absurdity, that if two \nweights are placed in opposite scales, the heavier \nwill lift the other up ; yet we mean nothing by the \nheavier, except the weight that will lift up the other." \nHold here. Mr. Mill has hit on the best possible \ncomparison for his purpose, and if it is applicable, we \nconcede him his ground. In the first place, we deny \nthe statement, that we have no other measure of \nweight than this one form of experiment affords. \nEach weight may be used in a system of pullies, or \nwith a coiled spring, and show in both the same \ngrade of force ; more satisfactorily, each exhibits the \ninertia and the momentum clue to their respective \nweights, and this is an independent measure of the \namount of matter in them. Fling into one pan of \n\n\n\n204 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe scales, the tack-hammer, and the sledge-hammer \ninto the other ; now take them out and strike with \nthem, and you have an independent confirmation of \nthe first conclusion. The one has more matter than \nthe other ; this it reveals in its momentum. \n\nIn the second place, we deny the existence of suffi- \ncient resemblance in the two cases. Each weight is \nknown beyond all doubt, and every material circum- \nstance concerning it is known ; our antecedents and \nconsequents are thus fixed, and the same movement \nalways follows the presence of the weights. In the \ncase of any volition, and still more in the majority of \nvolitions, we fail to know perfectly that which makes \nup motive ; and the action which follows often varies, \nand is not unfrequently entirely changed. Suppose \nour two weights, the same to the eye, should alter \nfrom day to day under comparison, and that this state \nof things, as regards the weight of all bodies, should \nrepeat itself with unending irregularity, and it should \nthen be affirmed and assumed that the heavier body \nalways did bring down the scale, and that the varia- \nbility was due to some subtle evaporations or absorp- \ntions of substances of which we seemed to get a \nglimpse, but had no sufficient measurement, how \nwould the proof for the assertion then stand ? Evi- \ndently, it would have disappeared. Now this is the \ncase with motives. Motives that seem to be the \nsame are inferred to be different, if the action varies ; \nand those that seem unlike, are regarded as like, if \nthe action is the same. That is, our motives are not, \nlike weights, distinct and undeniable : but we regard \nthem now in this light, now in that, according to the \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 205 \n\nconduct that follows them. Again, if we knew of two \nweights, only the single fact, that when placed in the \nscales one predominates, that is all that we should be \nat liberty to affirm, and could not add, there is more \nefficiency or force in this than in that, till by further \nand varied experiments, we had determined this re- \nsult to be due to efficiency or force. The less weight \nmay, in some situations, raise the greater; that a \nscale-pan is not one of them, is to be shown by varied \nas well as by repeated trials. Evidently, if liberty \ndid exist, the will must still follow some motive, and \nif this motive was shown by that mere fact to be the \nstronger motive, we should then reach the absurd \nconclusion, that liberty, in its exercise, proves itself, \nmust prove itself, to be necessity : that is, a manifes- \ntation, hence a proof, of liberty is impossible. This \nentire notion of the influence and force of motives \ncomes from causation, is impertinent to the depart- \nment of mind, and has no other ground or reason \nthan the obstinacy with which we transfer the facts \nof one field by analogy to another. Liberty has the \nsame independent basis in the mind as causation, \nand though the latter notion, now so assiduously de- \nveloped in science, is constantly finding its way into \nphilosophy, it is just as much an intrusion and mis- \ntake there, as was formerly the notion of spontaneity, \nwhen brought from mind to matter to the detriment \nand oversight of its fixed laws. This subtle intrusion \nof causation is the ever-returning occasion of diffi- \nculty. Says Hamilton, " It is of no consequence in \nthe argument, whether motives be said to determine \na man to act, or to influence (that is to determine) \n\n\n\n206 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nhim to determine himself to act." Mill, in admira- \ntion, exclaims, " This is one of the neatest specimens \nin our author\'s writings of a fallacy cut clean through \nby a single stroke." But the whole force of the \nthrust is dependent on the substitution of the word \ndetermine for the word influence. If to say a motive \ninfluences, and a motive determines, an act are not \nequivalent, the boasted blow is a mere flourish in the \nair. Now, to influence and to determine are equiva- \nlent only on the grounds of causation, of a like effi- \nciency of force covered by the two words. It was \nonly because of this physical meaning which adhered \nto the word influence in the minds of Hamilton and \nMill, that they were able, with such craft and glee, to \ncreep through it into that second word, determine, \nand, by thus evading the outworks of liberty, steal \ninto its citadel and strike down the flag. Do the \nmotives determine the mind\'s action ? remains, under \nthis double phraseology, as before, the entire ques- \ntion. \n\nA last objection to the doctrine of liberty comes \nfrom another quarter. It is that it interferes with \nthe foreknowledge of God. We suppose liberty does \ncontemplate more power in man than would necessity, \nand, therefore, that it calls for more skill in his Ruler. \nWhen a choice is given, a veritable choice between \ntwo actions, doubtless, both contingencies must be \ncontemplated and prepared for, and if God is not \nable to do this, it is certainly unsafe for him to allow \nliberty. But who is prepared to say that God is so \nimpotent, that he is compelled, while mocking man \nwith an appearance of freedom, to shove him along \n\n\n\nLIBERTY. 207 \n\na line of pre-determined action? Not we, certainly. \nWhatever the liabilities and demands of liberty, these \nwe believe God is able to meet. Liberty implies two \nlines of conduct honestly open to man. God can \nmeet him, and control him in either. It is by no \nmeans a matter of chance which he will pursue ; it is \nonly not a thing of necessity. The difference in \nresults which depend on freedom as compared with \nthose which spring from causation, is like that which \nexists between demonstrative and moral proof. The \none is fixed, absolute in its conclusions ; the other \nprobable. Yet we even deal with both equally well. \nMost of our actions, our calculations, depend on \nmoral evidence, evidence that admits a doubt, yet \nwe prosper. Much more, then, shall the Kingdom \nof God thrive in his hand. It is not necessary that \nhe should break in on liberty, nor that we should \nconceive it under the form of a conditional, physical \ncause, in order to make way for his counsels and his \ncontrol. He created it, he contemplates it, and gives \nit the margin its activities require. His " thus far \nand no farther," is as effective against spiritual power \nas against physical force. What is capable of being \nknown, he knows. What is not a matter of knowl* \nedge, omniscience does not suffice to make such, nor \nis it dishonored by the failure. The glory of God is \nfound in his giving and handling liberty ; not in his \npressing his own purpose through and over all, flood- \ning the spiritual universe, as he does the physical, \nwith his personal force. His honor is that he floats \nupon and above this ocean of forces, a spiritual king- \ndom, spirits innumerable; not that he submerges \n\n\n\n208 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthem all till they become mere fish of the sea, or \ndrowns them all in it, dead men, bringing to the \nsurface, for his sunlight, faces stark and ghastly. \nLet these spirits remain spirits, that God may foster \nthem and love them, and rule in them and surround \nhis throne with them, as the only adequate utterance \nof his own invisible life. \n\n\n\nLECTURE IX. \n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. \n\nWe have now considered those ideas which give \ncharacter to the intellectual field, and distinguish it \nfrom every other. The first of them is conscious- \nness, assigning the boundaries of the department ; \nthe second are right and liberty, giving its laws. \nWith these, beauty also is present, the central idea \nof the department of taste, and a product solely of \nemotional thought: There is yet another idea, which, \nfor the sake of completeness, we should mention, \nthough we do not propose to dwell upon it. Resem- \nblance, applicable to mental as to physical phenomena, \nperforms, in addition to the aid rendered by it in \nthe classification of our intellectual activities, a very \npeculiar and important part in the processes of \nthought. The agreement of our conceptions, our \njudgments with that to which they pertain, is what \nwe term truth, and the growth of our knowledge re- \nquires of us a careful and constant observance of this \nconnection of the fact as present to the mind, with the \nexterior fact of which it is the symbol. Every step, \ntherefore, of inquiry proceeds under the idea of re- \nsemblance in the phase of it known as truth ; and \nthus the trio which preside over thought are fre- \nquently given as the good, the beautiful, and the true. \nThe good is the very substance of rational action ; the \nbeautiful is the perfection of its form ; and the true \n\n\n\n2IO SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nis the exactness of its equivalence, of its correspond- \nence, to things as they are. The right still yields \nthe law ; through inquiry, through truth, that law is \ngrounded in facts ; and by taste, by beauty, action \nunder it is made symmetrical and complete. \n\nLiberty, as we have said, rests back on, includes \nas its central feature, spontaneity, and spontaneity is \nthe condition of all that is true, that is beautiful, and \nthat is good. Our intellectual conceptions cannot be \nshaped to facts, but must lie as they chance, parallel \nor athwart, unless the mind can at pleasure shape \nand re-shape them, till the exactness of agreement is \nsecured. Our aesthetical productions above all need \nto show the easy, free, cheerful, unconstrained way \nin which they have sprung up ; while virtue is chosen \nconformity to the law of our moral life, which, by the \nadoption of every other law, becomes the law of our \nentire life ; and perfect virtue is the instantaneous \nand spontaneous response of the mind to every holy \nimpulse. Spontaneity, then, is the seat of our spir- \nitual power, and virtue the form of its perfect mani- \nfestation ; while beauty remains the grace of that \nform, and truth its harmony in a universe of kin- \ndred being. \n\nWe now pass from the field and law of mental life \nto its nature and source. Mental life ; the words \nimply that the mind presents a form or phase of life ; \nand that life is the germinant, generic idea of the \nspiritual world. Spencer gives this definition of life : \n" The continuous adjustment of internal relations to \nexternal relations." It has much merit, but seems to \nus to share the general deficiency of his philosophy, \n\n\n\nlife; its nature and ORIGIN. THE MIND. 211 \n\nand to be rather a statement of a portion of that \nwhich life does than an exposition of the life-power \nitself, the source of all vital phenomena. A defini- \ntion should contain an inclusive statement of that \nwhich is to be attributed to life, and also a reference \nof these results to it as their source. We only know \nlife by what it does ; yet what it does is not life, but \nthe product of life. Life is measured by the sum of all \nthat it accomplishes, and this sum is the complete, \nphenomenal expression of that power. Such a state- \nment, however, is necessarily of the most general \ncharacter, since life is not so much life as " lives," is \nnot so much one force as a great class of forces, each \nworking results peculiar to itself. The lichen and \nman have little in common, and that definition of life \nwhich is not too broad for the one nor too narrow for \nthe other, can only include the most generic features. \nAppropriating the labors of Spencer, we would say, \nthat life is that power which establishes a circle of \ninternal relations, and maintains them in constant \nadjustment with external relations. The entire no- \ntion of power now present in the definition is there by \nour insertion, and it has two offices : first, the build- \ning up of an organic product ; and second, the main- \ntenance of it. The parts of an organic being are \nstrictly parts, play into each other, are dependent on \neach other, and together constitute a whole. The \nrank of life is shown by the complexity and complete- \nness of this dependence, by the entire separation of \nthe living being from every other, and by the varied \nministrations within itself to its own happiness and \npower. Thus man is looked upon as a microcosm in \n\n\n\n212 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe marvellous multiplicity of dependencies and deli- \ncacy of attachments in his complex, physical and spir- \nitual structure, in the innumerable things he is able \nto do, and able to suffer. To set up such a circle of \nrelations, to build .such an organic structure, and to \nmaintain it in instant, perfect adjustment to a thou- \nsand variable outer agencies, is the highest known \nlabor of life. From such a product as this, life sinks \ndownward, till, in the amoeba, composed chiefly of \nprotoplasm, and possessed of no permanent organs, \nit scarcely shows a trace of that power which in man \noverwhelms us with astonishment. Yet, even here, \nas life it works like life, and extemporizes organs \nwhich subserve their purpose, and disappear again in \nthe speck of jelly from which they spring. Having \nno limbs, it establishes a limb at any point ; having \nno stomach, it starts digestion wherever it can secure \ncontact ; and thus, without fixed relations, it renews \nfluctuating ones as suits the exigency. The word \nlife, therefore, presents an instance of one of those \nsweeping generalizations, by which a single point of \nagreement is made to cover great variety of details, \nand we conveniently speak of one power, where a \ngreat diversity of allied powers is under consideration. \n\nThere are three questions which are asked and \nvariously answered concerning life: Why postulate \na vital force, a life-power at all ? Whence is the \nsource of life, what has been the origin of vegetable \nand animal life in the globe, and of the various forms \nthey have assumed ? And, if a life-power be con- \nceded, what is its nature and its method of action ? \n\nThe first of these questions, Is there a distinct life- \n\n\n\nlife; its nature and origin. \xe2\x80\x94 the mind. 213 \n\npower ? has been recently answered by a few physi- \ncists in the negative. An obvious, preliminary objec- \ntion to this opinion is, that it has arisen, not under the \nimpressions of the most palpable manifestations of \nthis power, not in view of the highest animal life, nor \nindeed of the great mass of life, animal and vegetable, \nbut has been the result of an inquiry into life in its \nmost obscure and undeclared forms. It certainly \nweakens any argument, that it gathers its data from \ndark, marginal facts, and goes directly against those \nconclusions that spring naturally from plain, massive, \ncentral phenomena. A tendency to reduce facts to a \nminimum visibile, and to draw one\'s inferences from \nthe last point reached, is always unsafe. A class of \nexperiments which has been one scource of this con- \nviction are those which pertain to the .spontaneous \ngeneration of life. It has been doubted, whether life \nin all instances springs from a previous, living germ ; \nwhether it is not sometimes found where no germ \ncould have been present. This is a question of fact, \nwhich may, perhaps, be said to remain unsettled. As, \nhowever, the broadest of inductions has established \nthe law of the dependence of life on germs, only the \nmost undeniable proof can be allowed to overthrow \nit. All doubt and uncertainty accrue in favor of a \nlaw which has such various and unmistakable grounds \nof proof back of it. Yet, granting the spontaneous \norigin of life in one or more forms, the argument for \nits independent, original character is not thereby in- \nvalidated. This does not rest on the theory of germs, \nbut on the fact of peculiar phenomena, demanding for \ntheir interpretation a peculiar power. If such phe- \n\n\n\n214 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nnomena are present, the law of causation demands \nfor new effects new powers. If elephants were found \nsuddenly to appear after certain sand-storms on Afri- \ncan plains, this fact would not show the indentity of \nthe wind and dust elements with the life-power. It \nwould rather show the disguised way in which a \nsupernatural force had found admission among natural \nones. Infusoria, appearing in a given solution, are \nas much a new product as would be our elephants. \nPhysicists may explain their presence as they please ; \nwe trust, however, that they will not be so unphilo- \nsophical as to overlook that which is new in the results, \nbecause it is very small. The whole argument turns \non minutiae, is poised on microscopic points. If the \ndifference between an infusorium and a dead atom \nis too little to indicate a new power, then it is too lit- \ntle to establish the presence of life, too little to be \nmade the grounds of an argument against life. By \nas much as the infusion with the infusoria is more \nthan the infusion without them, by so much is there \nproof, and sufficient proof, of the presence of a new \npower. \n\nA second line of argument has been recently pre- \nsented by Huxley. It is this : " Protoplasm, a com- \nplex body, exhibits the phenomena of life. This \nprotoplasm is devoid of structure, that is to say of \nany structure except the molecular structure pos- \nsessed by all colloid matter. It contains neither cells \nnor nuclei." Protoplasm is the food both of plants \nand animals, with this difference, " that plants can \nmanufacture fresh protoplasm of mineral compounds, \nwhereas animals are obliged to procure it ready made, \n\n\n\nlife; its nature and origin. \xe2\x80\x94 the mind. 215 \n\nand hence, in the long run, depend upon plants." \nThis discovery of vital power in connection with \nprotoplasm, ranking with the highest inorganic rather \nthat with the lowest organic compounds, has been \nthought to have great significance, disconnecting life \nfrom the cell, hitherto its last refuge, and exhibiting \nit at work in matter not yet definitely arranged or \norganized by it. The conclusion of Prof. Huxley, and \nof others, in regard to protoplasm, is this : " Its ex- \nistence proves life to be a molecular property, and \nshows that organization is the product of life, not life \nthe product of organization." He regards the notion \nof vital force as a wholly gratuitous assumption, as \nmuch so as would be an explanation of the various \nproperties of water by the idea of " aquosity." " We \ndo not hesitate to believe," he says, " that the many \nstrange phenomena, the properties of water, result \nfrom the properties of the component elements of \nwater. What better philosophical status has \' vitality\' \nthan \' aquosity ? \' And why should \' vitality \' hope \nfor a better fate than other \' itys \' which have disap- \npeared since Martinus Scriblerns accounted for the \noperation of a meat-jack by its inherent, \' meat-roast- \ning qualities,\' and scorned the \' materialism \' of those \nwho explained the turning of the spit by a certain \nmechanism worked by the draught of the chimney?" \nWe should wish no better example than the above \nof the hasty generalizations with which physicists \nare ready to precipitate themselves into a half open \nopportunity to traverse the ordinary and more spirit- \nual view. Even the data for a specious conclusion \nagainst an independent, vital principle are wanting. \n\n\n\n2l6 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nThe professor should at least have shown that proto- \nplasm is a chemical compound that can be realized at \nwill, and that when secured it exhibits at once, neces- \nsarily, uniformly, the entire circle of vital appearances. \nThis is the case with water and its properties, and thus \na limited circle of definite powers calls for no other \nexplanation than the fixed nature of the elements con- \ncerned, their molecular structure. When, however, \nand we draw attention to the fact, we find water as- \nsuming in snowflakes, on the window-pane, and on the \nbars that begin to interlace the pool by the way-side, \nstriking, variable, peculiar forms, we explain them by \na new force \xe2\x80\x94 that of crystallization, as we do the \nspheres it forms in dropping from the finger-end by \nthe idea of attraction. Huxley, far from laying this \nfoundation for his argument, speaks of " dead pro- \ntoplasm," that is, protoplasm without these living \nproperties. The language is as unfortunate for his \nreasoning as if he had been compelled to admit the \nexistence of water without the qualities of water. \nThen, indeed, should we be forced to refer these \nqualities, on their manifestation, to some new force, \nwhich we might more fitly than euphoniously term \n" aquosity." If Huxley had been able to show, which \nhe has not shown, that all protoplasm exhibits a con- \nstant series of vital phenomena, how far off would he \nstill have been from accounting for the ten thousand \nseparate and fixed forms which life assumes ; how \nlittle would he have been at liberty to refer these, so \nnew, so diverse, so striking facts, to the molecular \naction of the elements of protoplasm ! All the bur- \nden which these data of proof could honestly bear \n\n\n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 2\\J \n\nwould be those facts which they strictly cover, to \nwit : the circulations, contractions, prolongations of \nprotoplasm. Till this wonderful protoplasm can, on \ncertain fixed, physical conditions, be shown to run \nthrough by rote all the phenomena which belong to \nall forms of life, as water stands ready to assume its \nProtean shapes, from ice to steam, with perfect regu- \nlarity on fitting suggestion, the proof of the equiva- \nlence of its molecular forces to the power of life is \nnot complete, and " vitality " still rests on different \nground from that of the " itys " which have gone \nbefore it. Even the first step in this proof has ad- \nmittedly failed, and protoplasm is sometimes living \nprotoplasm and sometimes dead protoplasm. Will \nMr. Huxley be so kind as to tell us the difference \nbetween the two ? \n\nWhat is it that vital power or the " lives " are in- \nvoked to explain? Those most varied, those most \nwonderful, combinations of parts and functions in the \norganic products of the vegetable and animal king- \ndom. We are content to accept the assertion, that \nno vital result is reached without the expenditure of \nchemical, thermal, mechanical forces, without the \nmediation of those molecular forces which inhere in \nthe several elements handled by life. The proof of \nthis is by no means complete, but it is sufficient to \nrender the conclusion exceedingly probable. Says \nWm. Odling, in his Lectures before the Royal College \nof Physicians : " Chemists and physicists are well \nassured that be life what it may, it is not a generator, \nbut only a transformer of external force." (p. 108.) \nCertain it is that every known, physical change \n\n\n\n2l8 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nassumes the form of a chemical, thermal, mechanical \none, is a change in molecules or in masses exactly \nallied to changes that take place elsewhere. No \nprocess, new in kind, new in its ultimate constituents \nis found within an organic body ; when this process \nis compared with those which take place without the \nbody. In this respect the organic product is like the \nlaboratory of the chemist. Much happens there \nwhich is not in form occuring elsewhere ; but it hap- \npens under molecular actions identical with those in \nthe world at large. Nor do we well see how it could \nbe otherwise. A living creature is not made, as a \nbuilding is erected, out of masses whose internal \nstructure remains intact. Their structure is broken \ndown, and new compounds are realized by a new al- \nlotment and union of elements. This is a chemical \nprocess ; these are exactly the results that we term \nchemical ; and either the vital principle must create \nsomething absolutely new, or the various organs and \nmembers of its respective structures must arise un- \nder the re-organized, molecular, that is chemical, action \nof their constituents. We do not expect an architect \nto make his stones, his brick, his timber. The vital \narchitect, working within a more interior circle, that \nof molecular forces, does not make these, but employs \nthem, and therefore all its processes have the appear- \nance and form of chemical facts. What life is evoked \nto explain is not these, taken separately, but collec- \ntively : not these in what they are in themselves, but \nin the relations which give rise to them, and in the \nresults to which they tend. We demand life for the \nsame reason that we demand a chemist in the laho- \n\n\n\nLIFE J ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 219 \n\nratory ; not because of what takes place in the retort, \nbut because of the retort itself ; not for the chemical \nactions and reactions of the experiment, but for the \nvery experiment, its existence as a present fact, and \nits presentation to us. We require an architect not \nto account for the stones and mortar, but for their \nrelations to each other. We may understand the \ntransfer of a telegram through the workings of a tele- \ngraph, the circuit of chemical, electric and mechanical \nchanges therein, but the message itself we understand \nonly through the existence of a distant friend, his \ncharacter and purposes. Now if the vital power \nwere a force lodged in these or those molecules, and \ncould by some possibility show itself as a distinct \nforce, and not in the discovery seem to be one of the \nrecognized forms of physical force, we see not how it \ncould do the work we have for it. We have enough \nphysical forces ; what is wanted in an organic product \nlike the human body is something to use them, to \nseparate them, compound them, and set them at ser- \nvices reciprocal and complete. There is material \nenough, and variety enough in it ; we are waiting to \nsee it combined, its forces included and harmonized \nin a system of ends. This supreme mystery in every \nliving thing, this variable and wonderful power, whose \nproducts are our perpetual astonishment, every pen- \netrative mind is more or less conscious of. Thus \nOdling proceeds to say : " I believe, however, that \nchemists appreciate to the fullest extent what may \nbe termed the mystery of life." Dr. Bushnel thus \ngathers up before the wheels of his ardent rhetoric \nthe chemical explanations of life as the small dust of \n\n\n\n220 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe street, and makes of them the clouds that signal- \nize without retarding his progress : " I hardly know- \nhow to speak with due respect of a theory that makes \na very little, almost tiny, amount of science go so far, \nand solve a problem of such wonderful complexity. \nTake a human body, fibered, vasculated, innerved, \narticulated, digesting, secreting, absorbing, breath- \ning, circulating, carrying on even thousands of dis- \ntinct operations, at hundreds of thousands of distinct \npoints, all necessary to each- other, so that when \nsome tiny process, never perceived by man, slips its \nduty, and the proportionate working is but a little \nchanged, the equilibrium called health is overset \xe2\x80\x94 \nconceive all this, then conceive that this multifarious \nworld of operative powers plays on, still on, asleep \nand awake, for sixty or a hundred years, mastering \nheat, and cold, and breakage, in a thousand forms ; \nwhereupon the chemist, who has gotten hold of a few \nsimple laws of inorganic matter, tells you that he can \nsolve it ; that we take in food, and the food put in \nthe structure, as a machine, makes force and carries \non the play, and replaces the waste, and so that the \nmachine keeps everything, even the machine itself, \nin order, proportion, and prolonged operation ! The \nbody is, in this view, nothing but a laboratory, gotten \nup with just so many parts as there are functions, \nand they all play together, making it a body. Carry \nout the figure, now, and see what is in it. The \nchemist has a laboratory full of vials, bottles, acids, \nalkalies, all manner of simples, and all manner of \nsalts, with combustibles, and fires, and galvanic bat- \nteries, and force-pumps, and gasometers, in short, a \n\n\n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 221 \n\nlittle universe of chemical substances and machineries. \nNow this doctrine of the body is just as if, connecting- \nall these vessels, and substances, into a chemical \ncircle, by pipes, and pumps, and sponges, and wire- \nconductors, and going to his digester, he were to put \nin three times a day a loaf of bread, which has in it \nsuch a wonderful wise-acting set of forces, that, pas- \nsing into the grand circuit of the laboratory, he im- \nagines it to keep all the parts in play and sound con- \ndition \xe2\x80\x94 the vials just as full as they were, and of the \nsame substance ; the galvanic batteries, eaten up by \nthe acids, still sound and good as before ; the combus- \ntible, going off in gases, replaced by new combustibles ; \nthe ices, dissolved, replaced by freezing, and the vapors \nthrown off, by condensing ; and even the iron digester \nitself renewed in the wear, by the nourishing force \nof the bread that is dissolved in it. What a magnifi- \ncently preposterous solution is this to be offered in \nthe name of science ! And yet the same kind of \nsolution, put upon the body with such easy compla- \ncency, is at least a hundred times more preposterous \nas the body-laboratory is at least a hundred times \nmore complex." A power, then, which does a work \nso wholly beyond purely physical forces, so directly \nopposed to what these, when left to themselves, can \naccomplish, death itself being nothing other than \ntheir unguided action, as the shattered vehicle is the \nsequence of the runaway horse, is not a physical \nforce, but something wholly transcending it. \n\nOur next inquiry pertains to the method of the in- \ntroduction of life. The forms of life are so distinct, \nand so manifestly of comparatively recent origin, \n\n\n\n222 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthat they have furnished a strong argument for those \nwho have wished to mark the exact historical periods \nat which creative power has appeared. A theory has \nbeen brought forward, which physicists have eagerly \nseized upon to rid themselves of these points of at- \ntachment of a supernatural agency. This theory is \nmore often known as that of Darwin. It is so famil- \niar, that I may pre-suppose a knowledge of it. It so \ndivides and subdivides the spaces that lie between \nthe several kinds of life as easily to pass them in \ndetail, and climb by a consecutive series from the \nlowest to the highest. It comes in to complement \nthe theory of protoplasm, and, though not believing \nin germs, to work up the merest germ of power into \na universe. Not only is this theory of Darwin not \nestablished, it is, by the admission of its friends, inca- \npable of present proof. Indeed, this is one of their \nstrong arguments, that as it is from the nature of the \ncase impossible to secure the data requisite for its con- \nfirmation, they should be excused from the labor ; \nwhile the presumption they are able to raise in its favor \nshould have full force. They not only ingeniously \nexcuse themselves from its establishment, they wish \ntheir inability to be accepted as a make-weight in \nplace of proof, to open the way for easy acceptance. \nThe impossibility and the argument run thus : A \nlarge part, by far the larger part, of the record of the \nlife of the globe is either obliterated or beyond our \nreach ; as therefore the annals of life show great rents, \nlarge omissions, so ought the forms of life, the inter- \nmediate links being swept into oblivion. This fact, so \nplain and inevitable, should not weaken the argument \n\n\n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 22J \n\nafforded by those positive and close relations of certain \nportions of life, suggesting, as they do, a like depen- \ndence everywhere. Treat the proof of this theory \nin the most considerate way, and still, in view of all \nthe difficulties, it remains weak. It rests by far too \nmuch on our ignorance ; this can give it no positive \nsupport. Moreover, though the geological record is \nvery incomplete, the facts it does give are scattered \nwidely up and down the entire field, and should serve \nas fair types of the remaining facts. Our actual \nknowledge is not, therefore, proportioned in its extent \nto the relation which the discovered facts bear to the \nundiscovered ones, but is much greater than this ratio \nwould indicate. A single known fact may stand as the \nrepresentative of innumerable unknown ones. We \nare not thus at liberty to insist to the full on the great \nloss of geological data. We know the history of our \nown race in its leading features through a knowledge of \na very few of the events that have actually transpired, \nand so may we that of the organic world. Looking \nupon our geological knowledge as a proximately fair \npresentation of the field, the spaces, the chasms be- \ntween the kinds of life are so many and so broad and \nso universal as greatly to weaken the force of the \nargument, resting on those instances in which they \nclosely approach ; and the more so, as, on any theory, \nwe are prepared to expect a frequent and intimate \ndependence of the forms of life, and even a genetic \nrelation of many varieties. This failure to close up \ngreat gaps in the chain also occurs at points at which \nthe material, if it existed, should be especially acces- \nsible, for instance, in the space between man and \n\n\n\n224 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe beings below him. The facts, therefore, seem to \nsuggest two methods rather than one in creation, \nan occasional close union of species, and a frequent \nbroad separation of families. \n\nAgain, the Darwinian theory requires to be supple- \nmented by many other suppositions favorable to it. \nThus when Geology indicates that great inroads have \nbeen made upon life, sweeping a large part of it from \nthe globe, some land of refuge must be provided, some \nark launched in which it can hide, where progress \nmay still be maintained, and where it may return, on \noccasion, to occupy the old region once more uplifted. \nNow this careful, prudent, shepherding of primitive \nlife, and maintenance for it of many unbroken threads \nof development, is cumbersome, improbable, and \npurely hypothetical. It seems to have been handled \nin a very rough and destructive way. Moreover, some \nforms of it have certainly remained for incredible \nperiods without material change. Life, then, must \nhave early divided itself into permanent and flexible \nforms, and no uniform law of variability can be estab- \nlished or assumed. Thus we get back to accidental, \nhap-hazard results, as to the conditions and directions \nof change. The argument from embryology, much \ninsisted on, seems to us peculiarly vague. If life has \nbeen introduced in this serial way, that fact does not \nrender an obvious reason why successive stages of \nlower life should be found in every embryo of higher \nlife. Must every portion of the history of its race be \nrepeated in pantomime by each embryo ? If any \npart is thus to be rehearsed, why not the whole \nexactly ? In passing from the general, the indefinite, \n\n\n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 225 \n\nto the specific, the definite, would there not naturally \nbe stages, faintly figuring the like stages which uni- \nversal life assumes in working out exactly the same \nproblem ? The proof at this point lacks definite force. \n\nOur purpose now, however, is to show that our \nnotion of the independent nature of life does not \ndepend on the rejection or acceptance of this theory, \nbut is equally sound on either supposition. The only \nquestion raised by it is, Whether life, as a fact, has been \nenlarged on the globe by slight increments in connec- \ntion with previous forms, or by decided, independent \nsteps ? In whatever way we answer this inquiry, we \nmay still believe in a super-physical, vital force. \nSuppose the growth of life, as a whole, to have been, \nas in each of its separate forms, by slight changes ; \nliving centres creeping, like the fern, from point to \npoint, taking up new positions in the plane of devel- \nopment, and, on the right and the left, establishing \nand maintaining distinct ground, different genera, \nclasses and families. These increments, by which \nthe life of to-day is more than that of yesterday, are \nstill to be accounted for. They may be referred to \noutward circumstances. They have been so attrib- \nuted, till the manifest inadequacy of the causes has \nmade the ascription ridiculous, and, as a general the- \nory, untenable. Physicists will hardly strive again \nto show that water produces web feet, or air wings. \n\nThese changes, this variability, may be said to be ac- \ncidental ; while the preservation of that which is most \napt in the several species may be referred to natural \nselection, to the very fact of higher adaptations, and \nthe possession of more powers in the struggle for life. \n\n\n\n226 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nThis feature of natural selection, Darwin has devel- \noped in a most thorough, ingenious and instructive \nway, leaving no room to doubt its presence as an effi- \ncient cause or condition in the world. The other \nhalf, however, of this second explanation is every way \nawkward. It is pitiful, starting out with the action \nof law, universal and complete ; having reared, with \nmuch hullabaloo and clapping of hands, the flag of \nindependent, self-sufficient, natural forces, to be com- \npelled, in so important a case as this of life, to admit \nthat its changes are subject to no order, are acci- \ndental. It might, perhaps, be as well to admit spirit- \nual powers as accidents and fortuity. Chance is an \nugly deity, and it is much like passing from Jehovah \nto Moloch to accept it. Further, if the life-forces are \nintrinsically variable, that is uncertain, that is acci- \ndental, through exactly how wide a circle are these \naccidents to run ? What sort of lapses and failures, \nwhat feats of agility and leaps of progress are they \ncapable of? Accident in the realm of order is like \ndisease in the body \xe2\x80\x94 one can hardly say how far it \nwill spread. Where, moreover, in the geological \nworld is the evidence of the innumerable slips and \nfalls which the life-force must have sustained in thus \nmounting to its present position ? Accident has no \nlaw, and traces of every shade and form of failure \nshould be met with. Even with natural selection at \nhand to save the good, it would take accidental vari- \nability a long while to construct the organic world. \nGeological aeons would certainly not be periods too \ngreat in which to run the entire circuit of possible \nmistakes, and gather out and up all the marvellous \n\n\n\nLIFE J ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 22/ \n\nbeauties, aptitudes, coincidences of the life of to- \nday. \n\nIf external circumstances cannot occasion serial \ndevelopment, if accidental, irregular modifications are \nnot sufficient for this end, a third explanation alone \nremains, that the vital forces are themselves condi- \ntioned to orderly changes. This, the only tenable \nground in connection with the theory of Darwin, \nmakes of vital force the same inscrutable, indefinitely \ndivisible and distinct, thing that we have spoken of as \nlife-power, as the lives. It matters not that life has \nbecome what it is by short steps. Its character is \ndecided, not by its length of stride, but by what at \neach point it is. The building is no less majestic \nbecause it has been in the hands of architects for \ngenerations. Lives to-day are no less numerous, \ndistinct and wonderful, because they may have been \nat some previous time fewer and more closely con- \nnected. These steps of growth and distinction are \nnot, because small, less observable, significant and \nsupernatural. Every increment in the effect de- \nmands a like increment in the cause, and these in- \ncrements collectively constitute the organic world \nunder discussion. We are not to powder down a \ngranite mountain, wait for the wind to blow away the \ndust, and then say, this is nothing; we are not to \ndivide and subdivide the spaces between the right \nand the left, the top and the bottom of this pyramid \nof life, and then say, These results are too small for \nconsideration. We cannot drop them from our \ntheory as unimportant factors, too insignificant to \neffect the result, and yet look to them as the sources \n\n\n\n228 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nand ground of the present organic creation. Give to \nus, gentlemen, all that belongs to us, do not overlook \nit because it is little, and we promise you, that, in- \ncreasing it at every step, enlarging it at every change, \nwe will, coming up through the long lines of life, make \nof it that handsome capital of astonishing and super- \nnatural power expressed in the manifold lives of to-day, \nthat hide in ocean, creep or walk on land, or fly under \nthe heavens. This tearing and teasing method, this \nplucking away the cable of truth fiber by fiber, not \nbreaking it by one manly effort ; this reducton of \nargument to impalpable powder, and then sending \none\'s breath through it as dust to be gotten rid of, is a \nform of ratiocination which calls for no great respect. \nThe slightest increment of force demands a full and \ncomplete recognition, and the miracle of life is subdi- \nvided, not weakened or removed, by the reduction of it \nto many stages. A thousand mills as surely make a \ndollar as ten dimes, and the theft of one of them, in \nthe exact realm of philosophy, is palpable dishonesty, \nis the vulture\'s bill once more struck into the Prome- \nthean heart of truth. Grant us, therefore, in any \ntheory of development, each step of progress in its \ntrue significance, as something beyond what we had \nbefore, as an additional force, either in existence or in \nmanifestation, and we still have that mighty life- \npower, which has mounted the throne of the world, \nrules its mechanics and enemies, and gathers its \nretinue from darkness and from light, fleet of foot, \nswift of wing, and sharper than the winds in the \nkeen insight of thought. \n\nThe theory of development, seen in its true bear- \n\n\n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 229 \n\nings, has powerful attractions for us. We are almost \nready to regret that it so lacks proof as to remain \nonly a guide to inquiry, to be used cautiously, and \nnot as a sufficient explanation of facts. We see, \nhowever, no ground for the ridicule which Spencer \nis ready to bestow on the special-creation-hypothesis. \nHaving amused his fancy with the image of wayward \natoms and dispersed elements rushing in to a centre \nto take part in the formation of man or beast, he \nsays of this, to him inconceivable, fact, a special and \ncomplete creation : " It is one of those cases where \nmen do not really believe, but rather believe they \nbelieve. For belief, properly so called, implies a \nmental representation of the thing believed ; and no \nSuch mental representation is here possible." Can \nSpencer conceive, that is, form a complete and satis- \nfactory image, of the explosion of ten pounds of gun- \npowder ? The black, palpable mass suddenly disap- \npears, leaving a scent, a sound, a sight, fire and cloud, \nbehind it. If he can, can he not as easily conceive \nof a like instantaneous return of the powder out of \nthe gases, its elements ? and, if this be possible, is it \nany the less possible to conceive of the like sudden \nappearance of an angel, a man, an animal ? The fact \nis, he can form no complete image of the process in \neither case, and the explosion of the gunpowder has \nno other advantage over the instant creation of Adam \nthan that of familiarity. One becomes weary of this \ntalk of the conceivable and inconceivable, when every \nprocess that transpires within us and about us is in- \nconceivable in its last analysis, in all that lies beyond \nthe eye. The development theory has no advantage \n\n\n\n23O SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nover that of special creations in conceivability, except \nthat it takes its food finer. It makes each new \nevent smaller, and hides it away more perfectly. \nHow a new variety is occasioned in fruits, in flowers, \nis inconceivable ; so is it, also, how an old one is \nmaintained. Familiar and not familiar is all that can \nbe meant by conceivable and inconceivable in this \nconnection, and the argument resolves itself into, \nWhat is, has been, and always shall be. \n\nWe come to our third inquiry, What is life ? We \nanswer, a super-physical, a spiritual power, as opposed \nto a defined force with a material centre. Our rea- \nsons for this belief are various. Life performs a spirit- \nual work, it constructs an organic being according to \na definite plan. The plan, the relations, the minis- \ntrations, are what this controlling efficiency is evoked \nto explain. Again, no physical, local, definite force \ncan do this work, since it is a pervasive and variable \none ; nor is any particular physical force called for, \nsince these in sufficient numbers are present, and \nknown as mechanical, chemical, nervous forces. F.ur- \nther, the life-power is one of maintenance and repair, \none of resources, shifting its methods and grounds of \naction and resistance. It meets exigencies with new \nresults, and thus shows itself flexible, variable, spon- \ntaneous. Again, it is capable of indefinite increase, \nand thus is not amenable to the law of cause and \neffect. It is difficult to believe, that the entire oak \nis potentially in the acorn, that the egg contains the \nforce of the completed bird. The life-power seems \nrather to expand with its growing work, and to come, \nlike the mind, to each new undertaking with new \n\n\n\nlife; its nature and origin.\xe2\x80\x94 the mind. 231 \n\nenergies. A complex organism, like that of the ani- \nmal, can hardly lie crowded in the minutest germ, \nwithout making of that germ an unnecessary mystery! \nOr, conceding this, how is an acorn to hold ten thou- \nsand acorns equal to itself, nay, the ten times ten \nthousand which these may produce ? The equality \nof cause and effect finds no application here, and the \nsmallest centre of life goes out to conquer, cover and \ndwell on a continent. \n\nThis diffused existence and spirituality of the vital \npower is further confirmed by the results reached by \nthose who refuse to accept it. Darwin and Spencer \nhave both been forced back into theories, the one of \ngemmules, the other of physiological units, as incon- \nceivable, as perplexing, as much beyond all possible \nphysical proof, as any notion of the life-power can be. \nThe gemmules of Darwin are most strangely endowed, \nmost wonderfully prolific, infinitely minute, wholly \nsupposititious, and left to perform an incredible work \nin an incredible way. This great materialist, turn- \ning his back on life-power, ends prodigious labors \nwith a conception as perplexing, obscure and super- \nphysical\xe2\x80\x94 if experience is to be allowed to tell us \nwhat is and what is not physical- as that which he \nleft in the outset, determined apparently never to \nreturn to it. While the physical side of a life-power \nis just as intelligible as are the facts under any \ntheory, in its philosophical aspect, it commands re- \nspect and belief ; it stands in sympathy with those \nother invisible forces which compose the spiritual \nworld. That the lives\xe2\x80\x94 meaning thereby those sep- \narate manifestations of a spiritual power that call \n\n\n\n232 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nforth and maintain distinct organic beings \xe2\x80\x94 stand in \nranks or grades is evident. The lowest grade of this \npower is seen in the vegetable. Passing to the animal \nkingdom, we find a new and much more perfect de- \npendence of parts secured in connection with a ner- \nvous system ; and, certainly in the higher animals, \nthe introduction of a fresh element in sensations, \nfeelings, recollections, the incipient phenomena of \nconsciousness. Thus, life strikes down into the dark \nworld of an unconscious, a purely physical, region, \nand later reaches up into consciousness, the first \nlight of a spiritual realm. Life lies as a mid-way \npower between the physical and the purely spiritual. \nIt acts only in connection with a physical organism, \nis conditioned to it, but nevertheless, it is able to \ntake into its service, sensations, emotions, the first \nelements of the upper world. \n\nWe would look upon the mind as something super- \nadded to life, and far less dependent than it on phys- \nical conditions. While life is restoring its powers by \nsleep, the mind remains active. Often in waking mo- \nments it performs its most severe labor with closed \nsenses, the busy shuttle of argument flying in the \nchambers of thought, while the submerged, forgotten, \nphysical processes slowly proceed, like some heavy \nwater-wheel plunging on in the darkness beneath. \nLife, in passing from the animal to man, carries its \nfull quota of powers, and adds to them new points \nof contact with the spiritual world. The nervous \nmechanism has now no longer exclusive relation to \nan automatic government of the body, part acting \nupon part, the outside playing upon the inside through \n\n\n\nlife; its nature and origin. \xe2\x80\x94 the mind. 233 \n\nsensations and perceptions, the past upon the present \nby recollections ; but in the cerebrum, the highest \nchamber of consciousness, of rational counsel, is \nnow found an adjustment that takes cognizance of \nthe facts of a purely spiritual realm, and transfers \nthoughts, volitions, affections to the physical world, \nlets them down, in their influence, on matter. An \nyEolian string is thus strung, that gathers harmony \nfrom the mute winds above, and pours it on the sen- \nsible ear below, filling the world with its music. \n\nA true, independent, spontaneous thought-power, \na soul, a mind, we believe to belong to man alone ; \nwhile the appearance of it merely is found in the \nanimals. Consciousness with them stands in strict \ndependence on the life -power, in simple ministration \nto it. The question, Whether animals think? we \nhave elsewhere broached, and shall only add a few \ngeneral considerations. Thought is not any mental \nactivity, but that particular activity by which we \nrationalize, explain, and expound sensations under \nsome notion, which the mind furnishes for this pur- \npose. Thus we may see a ball, but thought about it \nimplies that we bring to it the notion of existence, \nand think of it as real ; or the idea of space, and con- \ntemplate its size and position ; or that of causation, \nand inquire, Who placed it there ? These and like \nprocesses are thinking, and they imply the presence \nin the mind of regulative ideas which give form and \nshape to them. There is another and inferior form \nof mental activity ; in it, that which is seen acts \ndirectly as a sensation, and secures appropriate effort \nwithout reflection. Thus the horse snaps at the \n\n\n\n234 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\npendant fruit, the lamb leaps the ditch, the bird \nlights on the spray, without consideration. So also \nrecollections have the same direct, spontaneous hold \non the entire powers. The horse quickens his pace \nas he approaches the home of his owner, and the do- \ngreets with extravagant delight the return of his \nmaster. In these cases, nothing is required to ac- \ncount for all the facts beyond the direct connection \nof the feelings with their appropriate manifestations \nin some cases the steps are less simple, two or three \nmore remote elements come in, and these we are \nready to ascribe to the presence of thought. Thus \nwhen the dog has made a raid on a neighbor\'s flock\' \nhe may hide away in fear. We at once say he is con- \nscious of his guilt, is ashamed, and does not therefore \nventure near his master. Yet his whole experience \nhas been such as to fasten together these two expe- \nriences, an attack on sheep, and the fear of man It \nis not strange, then, that the one should strongly \nrevive the other. The animal has quick, alert senses \nand a retentive memory. It must happen again and \nagain in its experience that two, three, four states or \nactions should occur and recur in a fixed order ; these \nthe memory so binds into one bundle, that the first \nof them draws after it the remainder in an automatic \nway. A fly annoys the flank of a horse ; he is hitched \nshort, and makes an ineffectual effort to strike it \xe2\x96\xa0 in \nsheer restlessness he steps up and then snaps \'his \nteeth on the vexatious insect. This is done several \ntimes, and shortly, the connection established, he \nspontaneously steps forward before closing on\' his \nadversary, thus saving his jaws a superfluous and \n\n\n\nlife; its nature and origin. \xe2\x80\x94 the mind. 235 \n\npainful jerk. How inevitable is it, that man, with \nwhom almost all mental activity is one of thought, \nshould explain these, like, and more complicated \nactions, as the result of thinking ? Yet animal life \nis doubtless as homogeneous as our own, and either \nthe most of its activities are guided by thought, or \nnone of them are so directed. Thought, if possible, \ncan hardly play a wholly secondary and subordinate \npart. Now the great mass of activity, almost the \nentire mass of it in animal life, calls for no other ex- \nplanation, suggests no other, than this of spontaneous \nassociation. This being conceded, we see also that \npure associations must, in some cases, be adequate \nto results which, taken by themselves, we should \nvery naturally attribute to thought. Is it not, then, \nmore philosophical to suppose that these are the \nhighest attainments of association than indications \nof totally different powers, that nowhere appear in \nthe bulk of action ? The way in which the parrot, \nthe elephant, the horse are trained by repeated and \nfixed associations ; the speedy and decided limits \nwhich their education reaches ; the fact that that \nwhich has the appearance of thought often passes by \ndescent from parent to offspring, as the good qualities \nof a game-dog ; the almost instantaneous and certain \nway in which the young of animals suit all their ac- \ntions to objects and spaces, in a method far beyond \nwhat is possible to thought ;. the easy manner in \nwhich association can be made to explain instances \nof skill, at first sight difficult of solution ; together \nwith the fact, that we project our own forms of action \ndownward on the brute, interpreting his experience \n\n\n\n236 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nby ours ; and also that we multiply, highly color, and \nexaggerate stories of brute sagacity without careful \ninquiry into the form of the facts and the connections \nindicated by them, these and like considerations lead \nus to believe, that the proof that animals think is insuf- \nficient, and, as the burden of the argument lies with \nthose who attribute powers, that the philosophical \nconclusion remains, animals do not think, the ration- \nalizing, the intuitive, element is wanting in them. \n\nIf this be true, then man takes rank at once in a \nnew grade of beings ; to life-power is added thought- \npower, and the rational element is superinduced on \nthe vital element as wholly above and beyond it. \nSome strange, abnormal facts look toward this result, \nsuch as the well-established one of two distinct phases \nof character and of consciousness, apparently diverse \npersonalities, appearing successively in connection \nwith the same body. This independence and supe- \nriority of the soul prepare the way for a belief in its \nimmortality, and enter to confirm the argument from \nits moral nature and law. \n\nSuch, then, are the two variable, spontaneous, spir- \nitual powers which appear everywhere at work in the \nworld, those of life and of mind. The way in which \nthey touch the physical being is inscrutable. They \nalways arise under, and act through, its forms, yet \nreach results not only beyond these forms, but in the \nvery teeth of them, as shown in other connections. \nLife stands in most varied and immediate relations \nwith physical forces, while mind acts through it and \nby it in its highest forms. Life works matter up to \nthe conditions required by mind, and yields its own \n\n\n\nLIFE ; ITS NATURE AND ORIGIN. THE MIND. 237 \n\nbest products to its possession. So strangely, yet so \nundeniably, are the visible and the invisible interlaced ; \nso deeply, even in its finite forms, does spiritual \npower sink down into material forces ; so marvel- \nlously are material forces put in delicate balance, and \nplay under the intangible thoughts of our intangible \nintellectual life. Mystery can go no further ; yet \ndeny this mystery, so sustained by all that we know \nof ourselves and of the external world, and we do not \ndispel the darkness, we only diffuse it, till night set- \ntles upon all, and even the phenomenal world, the \nfacts of matter and the facts of mind, blend back again \ninto confusion and chaos. Wisdom lies in putting \nmystery at the right points ; in making the night \nthe forerunner of the day. \n\n\n\nLECTURE X. \n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES AND SPIRITUAL \nPOWERS. \n\nWe have now explored the two distinct fields of \ninquiry offered us by our regulative ideas, those of \nmatter and those of mind. We have discussed the \nlaws and the sources of the phenomena of each. \nMatter gives us fixed, conditioned, permanent forces, \nwhose law of interaction is causation, and whose \nabode is space. Mind gives us variable, spontaneous \npowers ; spontaneous in that there is not present \npermanent or transmitted force, but power in its very \nexercise springing into being ; variable in that it is \nnot conditioned to one degree or grade of expression, \nbut only restricted to a certain circle of results. The \nforeshadowing, the adumbration, of this power of the \nsoul is the power of life. This, in its simplest forms, \npresents its entire phenomena in the physical world, \nyet is itself nowhere to be found as a distinct phys- \nical force. In its superior forms, it is accompanied \nwith the rudimentary conditions of mental life, though \nwanting its central feature. The law of spiritual \nphenomena is, in the power implied, that of freedom ; \nis, in the direction enjoined, that of virtue. The \nspontaneous and the free in mind, the thoughts and \nthe volitions, so play into each other, that the whole \nstructure of our life comes at length to be that which \nthe soul, by its own choice, has shaped for itself. \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 239 \n\nThe spontaneous impulses are soon wholly expended \nin the directions and at the duties the voluntary pow- \ners lay upon them. The seat, the home, of these \nspiritual facts, is consciousness. \n\nIf, in matter, we found a steady, inscrutable force \nback of all phenomena, whose existence and main- \ntenance we can, without theoretical difficulty, refer \ndirectly to God, not less do we find in the lives vari- \nable and restricted powers, which suggest his imme- \ndiate presence. We reason here also from the results \nto their source, and we thus reach a flexible power, \nwith limits indeed assigned it, but not one expended \nin a fixed, physical, mechanical way, under forces \nfrom the very outset fully present. Here clearly \nappears something very like the yielding, change- \nable hand of personality. In the human mind, we \napproach a power of a still different character. True, \nprimary, responsible volition is only possible on the \nsupposition of independent and original strength. \nThe very act of choice, if it be what it purports to be, \nmust be our own, as God\'s acts are his, and we \nbecome, in the likeness of God, centres of power ; \nand, through the forces by which he surrounds us, \nand into which our powers play, able to give new \ndirections and efficiency to forces. In the present \nlecture, we desire to mark the interdependence of \nthese two distinct lines of activity, those which, in \nthe sequence of physical events, are fixed and causal, \nand those which, in the liberty of volition, are sponta- \nneous and changeable. They are interwoven by con- \nstant conversion, a fact of mind appearing as the \nproduct of a physical fact, and a physical fact arising \n\n\n\n24O SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nas the result of a mental one ; and thus they flow on \ntogether in distinct fields, yet in one time. \n\nIn the first place, we see that these two forms of \nphenomena, with both of which we seem equally fa- \nmiliar, being under the government of distinct laws, \ndiverse notions, require each to be steadily considered \nsubject to its own appropriate ideas, and that any \ntransfer of these can only breed inexplicable confu- \nsion. Knowledge, like the human body, must rest on \ntwo distinct limbs, correlatives yet diverse, and car- \nrying it forward by alternate rather than simultaneous \nmovement. Steadily to refer physical facts in their \nphysical relations, to causes, to forces ; and spiritual \nfacts to powers, is the first condition of maintaining \nthe completeness and integrity of our knowledge. \nIn other words, we must see how, under the diagram \nof our intellectual faculties, our original ideas, its two \nfields fall apart, and are to be searched out apart, if \nsearched out successfully. \n\nIn the earlier periods of knowledge, confusion pre- \nvails. Fortuity, the counterfeit of spontaneity, is \nthought to enter more or less extensively into the \nphysical world ; while fatality, the counterfeit of \ncausality, glides up into the connections of mind. \nNor is this, in the form in which we wish to put it, \nan overthrow of the very doctrine of regulative ideas, \ngrounded as these are on the necessary convictions \nof the mind. Physical effects as physical facts have \nnever been thought to be without causes, but have \nbeen incautiously referred to spiritual agents ; neither \nhave those practical claims and duties that hinge on \nliberty ever been surrendered, though their theoret- \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 24 1 \n\nical foundations have been obscured, and the laws \nand bounds of freedom left undefined. Two forms \nof the mind\'s action, have been blended, while each \nwith equal pertinacity has rejected rejection, and \nrefused annihilation. \n\nIn the growth of knowledge, as inquiry has set in \nthe one direction or in the other, has causation \nor liberty encroached respectively on the opposite \nground, philosophy bringing its conclusions to the \nmaterial world, or science forcing its laws upon mind. \nIn the present and previous century the scientific \ntendency has been too strong for philosophy, and \nmaterialism, the bowing of all events to necessity, \nthe reduction of all powers to the grade of forces, has \nbeen prevalent. Working in an opposite direction, \nidealism has more rarely evaporated the material \nworld into a majestic cloud-scene, sent it all buoyant, \nairy, flexible into the heavens of its own conceptions, \nand then sported with its facts, fraying them into \nfleecy thinness, or piling them up in heavy masses, \nas the playful winds of thought chanced to come and \ngo. But these victories of mind in its laws over \nmatter have been so rare and harmless, as to have \nbut little practical significance, at^ least for English- \nmen. The chief points of discussion which pertain \nto the interaction of mind and matter have arisen \nagainst materialism, in its effort to sweep over and \nsubmerge the entire province of the soul, to roll its \nown sullen waves in cheerless requiem from pole to \npole. Water and air are fit emblems of materialism \nand idealism, each struggling either to overwhelm \nor to vail the solid land with its own by-play of \n11 \n\n\n\n242 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nforces, the one taking it back into the darkness and \ndeath beneath it, the other hiding from it the light \nabove it. \n\nThe spirit of materialism early reveals itself in \nconnection with miracles. Why are all physicists so \nhostile to miracles ? Plainly because these are a \nrent in the seamless garment of universal law ; an \nappearance of the ghost of slaughtered liberty, of \nbanished personality ; a breaking in again of those \nvery conceptions and powers which it has been the \npainstaking and protracted labor of science to expel. \nThere is a certain instinctive antipathy, a nervous \nand morbid apprehension of all that looks toward the \nmiraculous, on the part of physicists. They scorn \nand hiss it ; they chafe at it, and are nettled by it, as \nthe unspeakable incredulity, the infatuated ignorance \nof men, refusing to be weaned from the past, ever \nready to slip into former faults and fooleries, gravi- \ntating with the momentum of protracted habit and \npertinacious associations, towards the blind fears and \nhopes, the irrational alarms and expectations, of \nbarbarism. Men will not cease to be children, and \nshake off the phantom beings, the fleshless spirits, of \nthe nursery. An antecedent conviction so strong \ntakes possession of the merely scientific mind against \nmiracles, that no proof is sufficient to overcome it, \nand very little proof sufficient even to call for an \nexamination. A certain indignation and scorn seizes \nat once on the mind at the very idea that men will \nbe at their old tricks, fools forever. The conflict is \nregarded not as one between theory and theory, but \nbetween keen-eyed science and dull-eyed ignorance, \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 243 \n\nstupid credulity ; as the withstanding of a washed sow \nbent again on the mire. \n\nSo many have felt the force of this new sentiment, \ncoming forward under the endorsement of science, of \ncareful, historical and critical inquiry, boasting the \nprogress of the past centuries as its own achievement, \nthe emancipation of mind as its own labor, that even \nthose who have maintained their belief in miracles \nhave sometimes done it with such qualifications and \nconcessions and apologies as to destroy the true char- \nacter of these more manifest works of God. A mir- \nacle purports to stand, and must, if a true miracle, \nstand in direct intervention of natural law. It is an \nextraordinary, not an ordinary, method of working ; \none that manifestly transcends those limits which \nGod has established between his own activity and \nthose of his creatures. \n\nTo say, therefore, that a miracle may be the result \nof another law of nature, striking in at remote peri- \nods, like the alarm of a clock, provided for in the \noriginal structure to meet certain exigencies at cer- \ntain intervals, is at once to destroy its intrinsic char- \nacter, and pervert its moral power. It is no longer a \nmiracle, as indicating the descent of Divine power on \nnature, but simply discloses a new and more intricate \nway in which his power is locked up in, and condi- \ntioned to, nature. Thus the miracle, stripped of the \nsignificance it purports at the time to have, becomes \ndishonest and deceptive, a reproach to the credulity \nof those who accept it, and a shame to the integrity \nof him who employs it. A miracle towers straight \nup into the heavens, cleaves through natural law, \n\n\n\n244 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nparts it on either hand, as the rod of Moses the Red \nSea, or it is nothing, nay, worse than nothing, a delu- \nsion and a superstition. We wish, at least in attitude, \nto confront squarely this scientific sentiment against \nmiracles, and to take what blows it can give. We \nwish to carry this controversy to the court of reason, \nand press a decision there. We are not fearful of the \nissue, we only desire to precipitate it. \n\nUnder the conjoint scheme of science and philoso- \nphy now laid down, we see that the miracle stands in \nperfect sympathy with one half of the constitution of \nthe world. In mind we have spontaneous, free, crea- \ntive power, a power of a strictly supernatural charac- \nter. If we define nature as covering those events \nwhich occur under fixed, invariable law, making it \ncoextensive with the physical world, then the mind \nof man is supernatural. Its activities are not condi- \ntioned to any specific results. If we define nature as \na term applicable to all events, whether of a material \nor spiritual character, which are familiar, which con- \nstitute a part of our ordinary experience, then the \nmind is not a supernatural agent ; but while found \nwithin nature, is yet perfectly allied to that supernat- \nural agency which the miracle discloses out of nature. \nOne half, then, of the kingdom of knowledge is in \nperfect accord with miraculous intervention, indeed \nexhibits a perpetual intrusion of mind upon matter \nof essentially the same nature. It is not till we have \ntaken the material world as the starting point of our \ninquiries, and resolved to rule out and overrule all \nlaws from other kingdoms of thought by the private \nstatutes and by-laws of this kingdom, that we have \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 245 \n\nany ground whatever for the feeling which leads to \nthe exclusion of miracles. Get back to mind, plant \none foot on philosophy and only one on science, and \nthen these prejudgments rise, disperse, hide them- \nselves in clear air, like morning mists, and we wonder \nthat conceptions, the merely transient product of the \nmoral temperature, could ever have so perverted and \nrestricted our vision. Let the damps of earth lift, let \nthem cease to linger just about us, passing upward \nthey shall conceal nothing, shall show deep rifts into \nthe blue beyond, cut off gratefully from us the too \nintense light, and disclose a diversified and cheerful \nlandscape. \n\nIf our conception of force as God\'s conditioned \nand established, yet direct and immediate, activity is \nadmissible, certainly a miracle can find easy way \ninto nature. Let his force strengthen itself or with- \ndraw itself, and the work is done. Some may feel \nthat there is a profounder objection to miracles in the \ncharacter of God ; that they imply variability, fickle- \nness, uncertainity in his methods. This also seems \nto us a shallow, inadequate presentation of the Divine \nnature. We object to it, as overlooking the fact that \nthere are two parties to the world \xe2\x80\x94 God and man. \nThis common ground of intercourse and labor does \nindeed require settled laws, unmistakable and inflex- \nible conditions ; but the weak faith of man also re- \nquires, lest God should be altogether hidden behind \nthese impersonal rules, manifest intervention, direct \npersonal revelation, and for this the miracle becomes \na necessary, natural, obvious condition. It is both \nwise and gracious, it is neither inconsiderate nor \n\n\n\n246 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nchangeable, for God to shape his actions to the va- \nriable conditions under which they are put forth. \nWe have little sympathy with that conception of \nGod which fears to set him about any one thing at \nany one time, lest it should limit and belittle his ac- \ntivity, and proceeds to withdraw him into the eternity \nand immutability of his purposes, to make of him a \nstill, deep ocean of potential being, that cannot ripple \nlest it break its own infinite repose, and shiver into \na million facets its now imperturbed, homogeneous \nreflection. An Infinite One that cannot accept his \nown acts lest he be broken up and lost in them, that \nlooks more to the statics than the dynamics of being, \nis not the Jehovah of our thoughts. A God that \nlives and feels in every act is more to our intellects, \nand every way more to our hearts, than this passion- \nless potentiality. \n\nThe secondary and transient office of miracles in \nthe economy of the world, however, may rightly be \nurged. They break ground for faith, but they are \nnot the condition of permanent faith. They are like \nthose slight shocks which precipitate crystalline ac- \ntion, or those initiatory changes which unlock chem- \nical affinities. Miracles help the mind to a momen- \ntary finding of God, but we learn otherwise how to \nabide in his presence. The miracle must always \nremand us to the natural law under which we are to \nremain on a permanent, hourly footing of intercourse \nwith Heaven. If miracles, ostensible miracles, lapse \ninto a series of wonders, into growing and multiplying \nprodigies, they soon intoxicate the mind, make of its \nfaith a wild delirium, destroy the health and repose \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 247 \n\nof the soul, and leave it bereft not only of strength, \nbut of its antecedent conditions. Nothing so shat- \nters and shakes into paralysis the spiritual constitu- \ntion as repeated and ever-returning shocks of the \nmarvellous. There must be, there always will be, a \ngrowth out of miracles and the need of them into the \ncalm possession of God, in his habitual and most \nexpressive forms of action. An electric current may \nperhaps quicken the sluggish wheels of life, it cannot \nremain the permanent condition of well-being. The \nintense light of the miracle is flashed into nature, \nonly that we may commence our study of it, and feel \nhenceforth and forever that it is God\'s wisdom and \nlove that are everywhere here. It is the single pres- \nsure of the clasping hand, the transient light of the \nearnest eye, that throws in upon us the love of an- \nother soul, ordinarily shown in a grave, diligent re- \ngard of our habitual wants. \n\nA second point in the interaction of material forces \nand spiritual powers is that of prayer. We have not \nyet discussed the being and nature of God. The \nreality of our faith in him being assumed, it is evident \nthat the method in which prayer is, or at least may \nbe, answered, involves again the relation of these two \nlines of events. From this question the physicist, \nhowever, excuses himself. It does not present that \nplain, bold, historical front which, in the case of mir- \nacles, precludes neglect. The answer of prayer is a \nmatter exclusively of individual faith ; and interests, \ntherefore, chiefly the religious mind. The purely \nscientific thinker looks upon it, at least as ordinarily \nheld, as an impossibility, and lightly dismisses the \n\n\n\n248 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nsubject. Here, again, the distinctive, physical senti- \nment has so found its way beyond halls of science into \nthe precincts and courts of religion, that some of her \nteachers are willing to say, that the answer of prayer \nis another constitutional trick of the machine, and \nthat natural laws, in their first adjustment, contem- \nplate and provide for it. This view is so forced as to \nbe essentially absurd. The very notion of a law is \nthat it is inflexible, that it pursues one course of \naction ; indeed it is nothing but the statement of \nsuch a fact. A law, therefore, is of the nature of a \nstraight line ; and no straight line, and no series of \nparallel straight lines, can be made to pass through \nall possible points, located at random. Yet the peti- \ntions of men, in reference to the provisions of nature, \nare such chance positions, such accidental, discon- \nnected points. No consistent, independent system \ncan cover them, any more than a definite curve can \nsweep through all spaces. Either, therefore, the \nnatural law must be conditioned to the prayers of \nmen, and suffer their irregularity, or the prayers of \nmen must be conditioned to the law, and thus for- \nfeit their own freedom. The two things, necessity \nand liberty, a fixed and a free sequence, cannot both \nrest on the same basis. They must maintain their \nindependent relation, or one be swallowed up of the \nother. \n\nThis view also gives a new and false coloring to \nthe act of prayer. The petition is for that which is \npredetermined and necessary, and the answer fol- \nlows in no sense from the prayer. Thus what comes \nto the surface for the eye and faith of the believer \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 249 \n\nis quite different from the real facts, quite opposite \nto them. Prayer seems to be a means of getting \nnear to God, but is not ; and our too credulous belief \nflings over it a deceitful light The answer of prayer, \nboth on moral and scientific grounds, both as a matter \nof honesty and of sagacity, must be upheld as a direct \nintervention of God in favor of the suppliant, or \nmust be abandoned. An answer to prayer which \npertains to physical events, so far as these are not in \nthe hand of man, must be of the nature of a miracle, \nwith this important difference, that the one openly \ntranscends the powers of nature, and the other does \nnot. The one is thus a matter of common and pub- \nlic significance, the other of individual faith only. \nIn our day it is thought to savor of weakness and su- \nperstition to believe in a direct, supernatural answer \nto prayer, and the individual convictions of a multi- \ntude of intelligent people, their settled, frequently \nverified, private faith, productive in them of none of \nthe fruits of superstition, but quite the reverse, pos- \nsess scarcely a feather\'s weight in the estimation of \nthose who propose to put this question on a truly sci- \nentific basis. Sad is it that these words, a scientific \nbasis, should have such a one-sided bearing ; that \nunbelief should have made of them the favorite cant \nfor the introduction of its own dogmas ; that a spirit \nof investigation, that is so skillful with the micro- \nscope, magnifying all things close at hand, should be \nso awkward with the telescope, bringing near that \nwhich is afar off. Sad is it that alleged spiritual facts \ndo not even claim consideration, have lost respecta- \nbility and repute, are, when they seek admission, su- \n\n\n\n25O SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nperciliously nodded into the street again, as of too \nerratic, flighty and decayed a cast to occupy time \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe time of these sagacious, practical men, this last \nnobility of knowledge, who have the world now in \nhand, its molecules and its masses, its ways above \nand below, past and to come, and are thus busy while \nthe day lasts ; as if truth were only the present at- \nmosphere in which intellectual ephemera float, to be \nfollowed by like ephemera, playing in a like way, in \nlike fickle sunshine. This assumption of all reason by \nshort-sighted science, that compensates the fine dis- \nclosure it gives of the passing hour, by the utterly \nblind way in which it stumbles on to the final event, \nand falls into the abyss beyond, is the folly, the nar- \nrowness, the bigotry of our time. \n\nWe need to be at no loss to see how prayer is an- \nswered. The forces of the world are not so weighed \nup and stamped, like mint-bags, that nothing can \nbe added to them or substracted from them. If \nthese, each and all, are united instantly, freshly, \nevery moment, morning by morning, evening by \nevening, to their tasks under the hand of God, may \nhe not grade them to the wants of his children ? and \ndo not these wants call for fixedness on this side, \nand flexibility on that ? Is it not as irrational to ask \nfor nothing as to ask for all things ? If indolence \nand thoughtlessness are the products of an ill- \ngrounded faith, that flings itself blindly on spiritual \npowers, are not love, strength, consolation the rich \nfruits of a sense of God\'s presence and aid ? What \nnobler lesson, striking upward to the intellect and \ndownward to the heart, outward to the actions and \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 25 I \n\ninward to the affections, imparting the power of \nthought and the repose of faith, than this inquiry, \nWhat in nature are we to do, and what aid under \nGod are we to have in the doing of it ; how are its \nordinary and its extraordinary liabilities to be met ? \nWhat better path can be thrown up for us, with \nmore bracing air and commanding out-look, than this \nwhich treads along the narrow ridge between the \npurely natural and the purely supernatural, between \nNature and God, Earth and Heaven, disclosing the \nforces to be met and worked with there, disclosing \nthe light, the promises, the powers that flow in upon \nus here, ready for a spiritual, a truly potent, minis- \ntration in our behalf? He who lifts and pries in the \nphysical world alone, whose fulcrums are all stone, \nand cordage all hemp, may not appreciate this, may \ncome from his own discipline a tough, sagacious, \nmuscular fellow, that one is reluctant to give at last \nas food to the worms ; but he who has philosophy in \nhim as well as science, who casts the light of his own \ndivinely free and illumined spirit on the things before \nhim, will understand, that it is often better to wait \nthan to., do, to trust than to know, to pray than to \nlabor, and that the power, the stroke of wing, that \nbears the whole man upward is now from the physical \nand now from the spiritual side, is now a using of \nwhat God gives us, is now a waiting on him for \nmore. It were a strange thing, indeed, if the minor \nvirtues and conditions of intellectual life were pro- \nvided for ; if foresight, patience, industry were called \nforth and rewarded, and no corresponding address to \nour higher affections, no provocation to our spiritual \n\n\n\n252 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nemotions were found. At no point is human life \nmore blended with the Divine life, more drawn up \ninto it, than at this point of prayer, a free approach \nof man in gratitude, inquiry, request to his Maker. \n\nWhat does this view of prayer allow us to ask for ? \nWe may ask, as the child asks, for anything that we \nthink that we need, which is not within the reach of \nour own exertion, and whose bestowment would not \nevidently contravene a natural law. In gratification \nof our own wants, we are not to expect miracles ; \nsince this would involve a constant, an habitual dis- \nregard of those very limits which God has for our \nwell-being assigned to his action. David might pray \nfor the life of his child, while the child lived, not for \nits restoration after death. Death was the distinct \nexpression of the Divine will. There is nothing com- \nplicated or obscure in this view. We stand in like \nconditions before God as before an earthly parent. \nWhat has been distinctly refused us, we may not \nagain ask for. Will, once expressed, is to be final \nwith us. Events that cannot be altered without a \nmanifest intervention are of this nature. It is nothing \nto us that what we ask may involve a modification of \nnatural forces ; these, till put forth, are the unexpres- \nsed thoughts of our Heavenly Father. That the thing \npetitioned is precluded by forces that have openly \ntaken effect does concern us, for therein is found the \nclearly expressed purpose of God. Whatever has \npassed the obvious limits of natural law discloses the \nwill of God, whatever remains within those limits is \nas yet unpronounced. \n\nThe answers we receive to prayer turn wholly on \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 253 \n\n\n\nfaith. They arise under the disguise of natural law, \nand may be ascribed, as the soul is inclined, to God\'s \nhand, or to an unusual coincidence of causes. We \nmay stand in them before nature or before God as \nwe please. Indeed the truly inspired spirit will make \nno difference between the two. To it nothing is \nordinary, nothing extraordinary, in God\'s love and \nintervention. Prayer springs from faith, and in its \nanswer is addressed to faith. It is unto us according \nto our faith. Prayer is capable of the highest use, of \nthe easiest abuse. It pertains to the secrets of the \nsoul, its living walk with God, and subserves a living \npurpose only as it finds God, feels his strength, and \nputs that strength to full and faithful service. The \nanswer of prayer lightens not the labor laid on us \nunder natural laws, nor gives us the presumption \nattendant on their easy arrest. The blessings of \nprayer must descend like dew on growing plants, \nmust come as refreshments to working men, before \nthey can play into the healthy, spiritual economy of \nthe soul, and build it up. \n\nThe sciolest will most assuredly be ready to deride \nthis view of prayer. What, does God play fast and \nloose ! Are forces which are fixed and unchangeable \nfor science, flexible and facile to faith ? Are we to \nbelieve that action which is immutable, perfectly so, \nto the most searching observation, becomes beyond \nobservation, mutable, bending by increase and by \ndiminution to the wants and wishes of men ? that \nfaith is thus called on to fly into the very face of \nscientific thought ? Even so, we answer, and we \nstand before the judgment of reason. How the scio- \n\n\n\n254 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlest is to overrule convictions shaped in the realm of \nmind, by the mere inertia of opposite convictions, \nshaped among physical forces, we do not see. The \nappeal must be to a full bench, to all the powers of \nmind. At that tribunal it may seem as probable that \nGod should give as that he should not give, that he \nshould be possessed of the pliancy of personality as \nof the rigidity of force. \n\nThere is another still more recondite interplay of \npowers in the world, the immediate action of the \nSpirit of God on the spirit of man. To this, no form \nof experience gives us a clue. So thoroughly do \nthese influences form an invisible world, in their de- \nscent upon us, respect the integrity of our own men- \ntal structure ; so entirely conform themselves to the \nappearances, buoyancy and upward lift of our own \nthoughts, that they are no more alien, abnormal to \nthe mind than is the food which the plant gathers \nfrom the air to its structure. Indeed, is it so much \nmore wonderful that the Spirit may come close to \nour spiritual life, may quicken and enliven it, than \nthat leaves, floating in the air, can be with it in such \nconstant, invisible interchange of material, drinking \nfreely deep draughts of life ? What pitiful, blinding \ntricks our senses play upon us, if we are to believe \nand conceive nothing which they have not confirmed ; \nand this, while they leave their own facts more than \nhalf hidden in inscrutable processes. That the Spirit \nof God comes near to man, that the spirit of man, \nwithout loss of freedom or the least sacrifice of its \nown integrity, comes under the quickening power of \nthis interchange of life, are truths of such scope and \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 255 \n\nquality that we pick them not up in the streets, \nbut they come to us direct from Heaven, are of so \nsubtile, vital and profound a character, that they lie \nnot out distinct, separate facts in our experience, but \nare the secret and substance of our spiritual life, its \ndaily atmosphere. \n\nThe perpetual descent of spiritual powers on phys- \nical forces as now indicated in miracles, in answers to \nprayer, and, indirectly, in the influence of the Divine \nSpirit on the human spirit, we are disposed neither to \nlimit nor disguise in statement ; nor pass lightly in \ndiscussion, as unable to endure scrutiny ; nor to \npresent in a shame-faced way, as if it were the weak- \nness and not the strength of our creed. We are not \ncareful to inquire who do, and who do not, regard this \nconstant, natural and supernatural presence of spirit- \nual powers in the world as a good joke ; or who, not \nwilling to deny it, are yet anxious to refine it away ; \nwe believe it to be the soundest of the conclusions \nof philosophy, and the holiest of truths. \n\nIn view of the ground gone over thus far, it is plain \nthat we are decidedly right or as decidedly wrong ; \nthat in cutting straight down between matter and \nmind, and between the conceptions that rule in the \ntwo directions, we show ground and reason for great \ndiversity in men\'s opinions, according as they allow \none or another class of ideas to overrule the mind. \nThe entire attitude of the physicist is made perfectly \nplain, nay, seen to be inevitable from the moiety of \nknowledge to which he confines himself. Start the \nprocesses of thought in material forces, let the causal \nconceptions there applicable grow daily in power ; \n\n\n\n256 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlet the perfect solutions these offer of all physical \nfacts be dwelt on, and increasingly admired ; let the \n-facts of philosophy remain strange, remote, unfamiliar, \nobscure to the thoughts, and how certain is it, that \nspiritual conceptions will become more and more \nattenuated, till they vanish altogether. Men occa- \nsionally modify the superstructure of thought, but do \nnot often meddle with its foundations. Let these \nfoundations, therefore, be laid in the material world \nalone, and the longer they think, the more they in- \nquire, revolving in one round of conceptions, the \nmore certainly do they depart from those initial \nideas, whose presence and explanatory power can \nalone make the phenomena of the spiritual world real \nand rational. For- this tendency, blindly taken up \nand blindly pursued, there is no remedy, but sound, \nmental science, and starting points taken in a new \nfield, and followed to new conclusions. That con- \ntempt for metaphysics should accompany an exclusive \ncultivation of physics is as natural as that the costume \nof a strange people should seem grotesque to us. He \nwho, living on one side of the globe, knows nothing \nof the other, must have restricted, inadequate and \ninflexible conceptions of it. Look straight forward \nat the landscape before you : invert the head and \nlook again. The scene is strangely softened, a fascin- \nation, a dreamy, celestial unreality has stolen over it. \nRaise the head, and back slide the fields and forests \nand valleys to their common-place appearance. It is \nas if you had caught on the face of a friend a sudden \nflash of inspiration. Such are the variable aspects of \nnature under slight changes, but much more subtile \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 257 \n\nand significant are those diverse phases of intellectual \nlight which steal over the fields of knowledge, and \nmake of them, now the safe grazing ground of the \nsenses, now the wild haunts of weird thoughts, and \nnow celestial plains, checkered far and wide with \nheavenly beauty. The exclusively scientific tendency \nof our day, we challenge, as it forces its way into the \ndepartments of philosophy and religion ; we remand \nit back to its labors, back to the tasks assigned it, \nassured that the conceit of its great successes there \nwill make it here only the more dangerous, dogmatic \nand intractable. \n\nOn the other hand, to one who starts the fruitful \nmovements of thought in contemplating the phenom- \nena of mind, who establishes the ideas that rule here, \nand makes them familiar to the understanding, there \nnot only appears no improbability in this interde- \npendence of spiritual powers and physical forces, but \nthat the last should escape from under the first, the \nless from the greater, seems to him a conception \nimpossible and absurd. That matter should set up \nas against mind to plan and make and rule a universe, \nto put form and force into it, is as if the dog should \ncommand his master, or as if the satire of Swift \nshould prove true, and the horse turn out to be the \nmam What, we pray to know, is mind, finite and \ninfinite to do, but rule over matter ? Or what else \nis it evidently doing day by day ? We can give no \nother interpretation to all that we see about us, but \nthis very interpretation, of the supremacy of the soul \nin the body, and through the body in the world. \nLiberty, spontaneous power, bound to no causal con- \n\n\n\n258 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nnections, but using these as occasion offers, these \nare the conceptions and this the experience with \nwhich we are familiar, and that God should work in \na like way in a universe, yet more immediately in his \nhand, is as much a matter of course as our own vari- \nable plans for the day and freedom in their execution. \nThe pregnant question, then, comes, Which of these \ntwo classes of thinkers have reason with them ? It \nis not difficult to decide to which the vast majority \nof men have belonged ; but the self-confident physi- \ncist, sure of his new ground, distinctly advances, like \nSpencer, this fact, that the masses of men have be- \nlieved otherwise, as a reason which makes for the \nminority. Old and antiquated are synonymous in \nthe vocabulary of the sciolist. Religion and super- \nstition are different sides of the same thing, while \nmetaphysics are the last retreat and hiding-place of \nall blind beliefs. \n\nIn this last conviction, the materialist is so far cor- \nrect, that out of philosophy has come, and will con- \ntinue to come, those conceptions which are to plague \nhim more and more. Reason lies with him, if the \nmind, in its own phenomena, as a distinct and pe- \nculiar fact, is to be overlooked ; and matter be made \nto furnish out the entire universe with its laws. \nReason lies with us, if the seat of reason is in the \nmind, if what it believes of itself is equally true with \nthat which it believes of matter, if it may be pre- \nsumed to know as much of its own principles as of \nthose which rule in the external world, and is as \ncompetent to recognize its own nature and activities \nas those of material objects. In short, metaphysics \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 259 \n\nmust be swept away, the inadequacy of the mind\'s \nown action, its interpretation of its own phenomena \nin its own field be shown, and that too by the mind \nitself, as a condition of the triumph of the physical \ntendency. Our thoughts must stultify themselves, \nconfess their own unsoundness, before they can be \nbound over to the external world. \n\nIt is, then, in the field of philosophy that the bat- \ntle is to be fought, and the first inquiry which an \nearnest searcher into these foundations of truth must \nput to himself is, What are the grounds of rational \nconviction ? This question carries him at once to \nthe mind for an answer, and if he accepts, as he \nmust and should accept, all of its persistent action, \nits fixed forms of assertion, as ultimate, as equally \nauthoritative, then his next question becomes, What \nare these ? If at length he makes answer, as we \nhave made answer, They are the senses, they are the \nintuitions, they are the understanding, each with a \nform of knowing, each supreme in that form, he at \nlength finds himself planted squarely on the physical \nand the spiritual worlds, and their junction and inter- \ncourse inevitable. The inquiry, then, With whom \nrests the balance of reason, the materialist or realist, \nin their diverse views of the facts of the world ? \nfinds an answer in the comparative breadth, scope \nand correctness of the philosophies that underlie the \ntwo systems. The arbitrament is here, here is the \nappeal, from this court must come forth the final ver- \ndict. No complaint is made of Mill, Spencer, Bain, \nthat they do not carry the case up to philosophy, that \nthey suppose, with their feeble and remote followers, \n\n\n\n26o SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthat this tribunal is abolished ; but that their phil- \nosophy is partial and unsound, that they use the \nmind to destroy the mind rather than to unfold in \null force its faculties, that they take sides against the \nmind, and make a point of its alleged weaknesses. \nThe very powers they so dexterously wield, the bold \nway in which they strike out against their own inde- \npendent, spiritual being, remain a proof for that being \nmore unanswerable than the proofs by them offered \nagainst it. \n\nIf it now be asked, since the point at which this \nbalance of reason rests is admittedly to be decided in \nthe court of philosophy, whether we are unwilling to \ntrace the controversy ; is to be fought out between \nmen of strength in this remote arena, how are we in \nthe meantime to be assured of the direction of the \nunder-current of truth, whose general course is of \nsuch moment to us ? we do not believe that a suf- \nficient answer to this question is very far off, or very \ndifficult. We act every day and hour as though we be- \nlieved in causes, though neither Spencer nor Mill nor \nBain find any foundations for the belief. We act as \nthough man were free and blame possible, though the \nphilosophy of these gentlemen discovers no grounds \nfor the conviction. May we not as easily and ra- \ntionally accept the soundness, in general direction, \nof that vast volume of belief in spiritual powers, a \nbelief from which none of us can escape, even mo- \nmentarily, except by spasmodic, gymnastic throes of \nthought ? In other words, it is unreason, it is \nagainst reason, to abandon the settled conclusions \nof reason through centuries otherwise than on the \n\n\n\nINTERACTION OF PHYSICAL FORCES, ETC. 26 1 \n\nclearest and most sufficient grounds. Rivers no more \ncertainly reveal the slopes of continents, as they \nplough their deep beds to the ocean, than do the \nlong-standing convictions of men \xe2\x80\x94 not as to one fact \nor another, one particular example or another, but as \nto the general drift and nature of facts \xe2\x80\x94 disclose the \nreal, the inherent, links of thought. Indeed, how can \nit be otherwise ? Either mind is in hopeless conflict \nwith itself, or the laws of mind, the laws of its safe \naction, must be found laid clown in that great sweep \nof history, wherein are traced its universal, general, \ngeneric movements. \n\nMost instructive is the present reaction against ma- \nterialism in the form of spiritualism, so called. Spread \nsmooth the crumpled bull\'s hide here, and it only \nwrinkles the more hopelessly there. For every absurd \nnegative here, there is a yet more absurd affirmation \nthere ; for every credulity banished on this side, two \nspring up on that. This storehouse of residuary \nphenomena, this limbo of inexplicable effects, only \nbecomes the more chocked and crowded as the phys- \nicist sweeps the material world of all obstructions. \nThe world, in moving onward, maintains, like an \nequilibrist, its narrow footing by thrusting out a hand, \na rod, or a weight \xe2\x80\x94 now on this side, now on that. \nThe wisdom of the sciolist we are called on to balance \njust now with the folly of the spiritualist, like with \nlike. May God give us more breadth of footing, and \nmore strength to walk, lest in some frantic out-thrust \nof thought, we lose our poise, and plunge sheer over \ninto the gulf of materialism, presenting, on a larger \nscale, the sad spectacle which sometimes occupies our \n\n\n\n262 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ncivilization, of a fool perishing by his own dexterity, \nwhile sight-seers return one by one with shame to \ntheir homes. \n\nThere is a Nemesis that waits on unbelief, on the \nrefusal of the faith that belongs to our faculties and \nto their Author, which shortly plunges us into some \nnew credulity, and laughs at the reason which over- \nleaps itself, and leaves the mind to flounder in fresh \ndifficulties of its own creation. The firm, steady \nmaintenance of the ground thus far gained in the \nhistory of thought, is the first condition of a safe \nadvance. \n\n\n\nLECTURE XI. \n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. \n\nReligion rests on a belief in the being of a God, \nand is determined in its character by the character \nof God, and of our relations to him. Men inevitably \nreason, in the first instance, from the form of their \nown actions, from the explanations they are accus- \ntomed to bring to them, to the nature and form of \nDivine action. In all that we do in the external \nworld, we start with matter, we change its forms and \npositions, and these changes reveal the purposes we \nare pursuing, and our resources in their execution. \nHence, the stone hatchet, the implements of war \nor of husbandry, become instantly to us a testimony \nof the presence and labors of men. It is thus natural \nfor man to think of Gcd as starting with matter. \nMatter itself he scarcely contemplates as requiring, in \nits presence, any explanation, and readily regards it \nas eternal, or overlooks the question altogether. It \nis the obvious arrangements of the world, its events, \nits organic beings, its order and completeness, that \nfirst send him forth in search of a Creator, a Ruler. \nThis early impulse toward a supernatural power is of \nso simple and inevitable a character, that it may, with \nsufficient, if not with absolute, truthfulness be said, \nthat all men feel it, and that an adequate and uni- \nversal basis is found therein for religion. \n\nMuch later, however, there comes another view of \n\n\n\n264 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthe case. Matter ceases to be regarded as so much \ndead, indifferent material, provided in inexhaustible \nquantities, and waiting to be shaped by mind into a \nuniverse. Matter, in its several forms, in its first \nelements, is found to be constituted of definite qual- \nities, distinct properties or forces ; and these, by \ntheir very nature, by their inevitable combinations \nand interactions, give rise to order, by slow stages \npassing into a complete, physical system. The seat \nof thought is now seen to be one step deeper than \nwas at first supposed. The Creative Mind is not so \nmuch at work on matter, as it is in and through mat- \nter. The forces which we call matter, in their intrin- \nsic nature, the quality and quantity of the elements \nin the world, their relations to each other in varied \nand complicated interactions, are found to contain \nthe secrets of structure and of order in the universe. \nThus, such elements as oxygen and carbon and nitro- \ngen and hydrogen, in their amounts, in their exact, \npeculiar and complementary qualities, are seen to \nhold the mysteries of earth and water, of air and the \nlife it feels, and that if the starting-point had been \nmaterially different, either in the nature of the several \nforms of matter, or in their amount, all must have \nbeen chaos and confusion, incapable of construction. \nThe elements as elements are either at peace with \neach other in material and organic structures, and \nare constructive under the plan prepared for them, \nor, as active forces, they are at war with each other, \nand destructive to every systematic purpose. In the \none case the physical universe grows out of its con- \nstituents, as the plant from the germ ; in the other \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 265 \n\ncase, it becomes impossible. Not only is not the \nworld made mechanically from the outside, it could \nnot be so made. There is no rest and repose in its \nforces, except as they obey their own affinities, and \nrevolve in the orbits of change congenital to them. \nMatter is its properties, is known only as its proper- \nties, and these properties being given, the material \nuniverse follows of course in due time. Matter in its \nown creation, goes to work at once to build up a \ncosmos. \n\nHere, then, the old ground on which the being of \na God was predicated is lost, and another ground \nmust be found, or the argument fails. If we can still \nlook upon matter as eternal, we have no occasion for \na Creator and Ruler, so far as the inorganic physical \nworld is concerned, since the nucleus of its strength, \nthe root of its perfections are hidden in itself. It is \nframed more cunningly than the building, and not \nmerely goes up, but grows up, without the sound of \nhammer. Evidently unbelief will now take encour- \nagement, will hold fast to the old dogma of the eter- \nnity of matter, and cast away, as ill founded and un- \nnecessary, the argument from design that went with \nit. Order, plan thus become necessary and native to \nthe world, the first, last, and only form of physical \nforces. It is plain that in this stage of the argument \nbetween faith and infidelity, the origin of life in the \nglobe becomes a question of great interest \xe2\x80\x94 the one \nside seeking to establish independent, creative points, \nthe other struggling to braid this force also into the \nphysical forces of the world. The geologic record, \nwhich was greatly instrumental in giving this new \n12 \n\n\n\n266 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nconception of matter, as holding in itself the slowly \ndeveloping germs of order, is diligently searched for \nthe sources of the lives whose remains are so abund- \nant in it. The Darwinian theory, inevitably adopted \nby those who would make Nature sufficient to herself, \nbecomes at once possessed of a religious as well as \nof a scientific interest. The proof of this theory \nremains very incomplete, yet, if it should prevail, it \ndoes not, as we have shown, submerge the successive, \ncreative steps indicated by the various forms of life ; \nit merely shortens and multiplies them. Hence the \nargument of the supernaturalist holds as strongly, if \nnot as obviously, by these many and smaller fibers, \nas by the fewer and larger ones under the old view. \nThe absolute size of the cable is not diminished, it is \nsimply modified in its form of construction. \n\nWe believe, however, that the true, the better, \ndefence lies deeper than this, that our notion of the \nnature of matter should be reconsidered, and that the \nmaterial universe, as a mere momentary existence, in \nany one stage of its being, clearly demands a Creator \nand Sustainer, and this because a precise, definite \ncompound of precise, definite forces expresses and \ndoes the work of mind, and of mind only. A condi- \ntioned force, that is a force shaped and fixed toward \na distinct, definite end, does of itself disclose thought. \nHydrogen in its properties, oxygen in its properties, \nthe two in their combined and related properties, \nplainly evince the presence and activity of mind. \nThus chemistry, which has done much to give rise to \nthe doubt, does still more to resolve it. The very \ninteresting and able lectures of Prof. Cook, delivered \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 267 \n\nhere as an earlier course, are instructive in this con- \nnection. We must reach the Unconditioned through \nthe conditioned, wherever we find it. Every fixed \nconstituent of a settled plan opens to the eye the \nauthor of that plan. Thus in our new apprehension \nof the nature of matter, the possibility of its eternity \nis swept away, our negligent thinking concerning \nthat point is rebuked, and, borne deeper into the \nnature of the world, we are brought by so much \nnearer to God, the seat of its strength. We find his \nthought and his life and his government as much in \nthe very first as in the very latest activity. The \nfoundations are laid in every element, and in every \nproperty of every element. Proportion, adaptation, \ndefinite quantities and qualities and relations appear \nfrom the outset, and show that matter, in its very \norigin, is of wisdom, is of God. \n\nReasoning from mere matter of such a fixed nature ; \nwe may almost say, as organic a compound as a ker- \nnel of wheat, or a chestnut, we demand for it an \nintelligent Creator ; the language more frequently \nemployed is, a First Cause. This expression we \nobject to as faulty, as frequently springing from \nobscurity of thought and leading to it. The word \ncause we would apply exclusively to fixed, conditioned, \nand hence physical, forces. In this more exact and \nsafe use of the word, the expression, a first cause, is \nnot applicable to an intelligent being ; does not reach \nthat to which in such a case it is intended to apply. \nA false coloring or direction is also given by it to the \nargument If we can arbitrarily stop with any cause, \nand call this a first cause, demanding no further \n\n\n\n268 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\nexplanation, then we should excuse ourselves entirely \nfrom pushing backward from one cause to another. \nIf we are impelled to reason from the cause before us \nto the one which preceded it, and has passed into it, \nand from this to one yet prior, we cannot check this \nmovement at any later point whatever, without inval- \nidating the entire chain of connections on which we \nhave so far proceeded. The dependence of the latest \ncause on the antecedent one is no more fixed and \nnecessary than that of the first cause, so called, on \nsomething prior to it. Causes are all conditioned, \nand we cannot get beyond this chain by taking any \none link in it, and giving it a new name. What, \ntherefore, the general idea of causation claims, in final \nsatisfaction of the mind and arrest of the argument, \nis a spontaneous, that is, a personal, source of causes. \nThe so-called First Cause cannot be a cause, but \nmust be a person, since only a person can lift the \nthoughts above the plane of conditioned activities. \nIt is these forces of the world as conditioned that \ndemand explanation, and this is not afforded by add- \ning to them another conditioned force, but by bring- \ning them forth from an unconditioned power or person. \nMoreover, a finite person, though possessed of \nspontaneous power, is restricted within a limited cir- \ncle, both as regards the time and degree of its exer- \ncise. There is in him a germ of spontaneity, but not \nan unlimited germ. He may grow up into a single \nstar, but cannot be likened to that nebulosity out \nof which come all stars. Hence these finite bounds \nmust be removed, or we only have a partial, sec- \nondary point of attachment for a few lines of force, \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 269 \n\nnot the final gathering of them all up into one hand. \nOur First Person, therefore, must be an uncreated \nand infinite one, the I Am of the universe. Thus, in \nthe completed conception, a new regulative idea is \nintroduced, that of the infinite ; is joined to those \npreviously contained in personality, and we have the \nAlmighty, the only independent and perfect Being. \n\nThis notion of the infinite, which gives form and \nsufficiency to the Christian idea of God, has, like \nother intuitive conceptions, suffered repeated and va- \nrious attacks. Hamilton and Mansel have regarded \nit as inconceivable, while Spencer, with the same \ngeneral drift of thought, has spoken of it as an ille- \ngitimate, symbolical, pseudo-idea. This notion must \nbe vindicated, or our conception of God fails us. We \nregard the objection made to it as inconceivable as \nof no moment whatever. By conceivable and incon- \nceivable in this connection can only be meant pre- \nsentable or not presentable in the imagination. Now \nthe imagination works only under the forms of the \nsenses, and to say, therefore, of an idea that it is \ninconceivable, is merely to say, that it is not one of \nphenomena, that it has no final, sensible manifesta- \ntion. Certainly none of those who believe in the \ninfinite suppose it ever to be of a phenomenal, that \nis of a definite, that is of a finite, nature. If the infi- \nnite were conceivable, it could not remain the infinite. \nIf the existence of this notion is to be denied, because \nthe infinite is inconceivable, the denial can have no \nforce except on the ground that there are no ideas \nand no knowledge but those ideas and that knowl- \nedge which can lie in the forms of the imagination, \n\n\n\n270 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwhich can come to us through the senses. But we \noffer the notion of the infinite as an intuitive idea, \nand it is no proof against it so urged, that it finds no \nentrance at the senses. This is exactly what we \nsuppose and affirm concerning it, and assign it to a \nnew faculty whose action is not covered by the word \nconceive. \n\nThe affirmation of Spencer is of the same nature, \nand rests on the same grounds. He, too, cannot im- \nagine, cannot conceive, the infinite ; and because it \nthus baffles him, he too labels it as an illegitimate, \nillusory notion. Here again is revealed the set and \ncurrent of the old predetermination ; what the senses \ncertify this shall find acceptance, what they reject \nthis shall be rejected ; to them we commit the keys ; \nwe plant them at the door, and they shall decide, and \nonly they, who are to find admittance. Any ideas \nthat seem actually to get in otherwise, are, in spite \nof all pretensions on their part, mere phantoms, vex- \natious and troublesome, but not dangerous. Now \nthe notion of the infinite, conceivable or inconceiv- \nable, substantial or illusory, is actually in the mind, \nand very busy there ; is present to the thoughts of \nHamilton, of Mansel, of Spencer, and is very mettle- \nsome there, otherwise why this continual war of \nbrooms to drive it out ? Evidently it is like the \nnature of Horace, pitchforks may seem to expel it, \nbut cannot hold the ground against it. These men \nhave all talked much about something which they \nhave called the infinite, and if now, according to their \nown confession, they do not know what it is, we are \nexcused from giving any weight to what they have \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 27 1 \n\nsaid ; and if they do know what it is that disturbs \nthem, that fact destroys their argument \xe2\x80\x94 that those \nwho reject the notion of the infinite should involve \nthemselves in so obvious a dilemma as this, reveals \nat once the confusion and perplexity of their position. \nThey confound the action of one faculty with another, \nand because the power to which they attributed a \nresult is obviously too weak to yield it, they reject the \nresult itself. They refuse to retrace their steps, and \nadmit the existence of an intuitive action of mind, \nthe source of the idea ; they prefer the bold, curt \npolicy of striking down the obtrusive notion. \n\nOne of the earlier directions in which the idea of \nthe infinite would find application, one of the first \nobjects of consideration by which it would be evoked, \nis that of space. Space is perfectly homogeneous. \nNo definite or peculiar relations attach to one point \nin pure space more than to any other. What is true \nhere, at this point, is true everywhere, and simple \nmovement secures no change of conditions, no near- \nness or remoteness, no approach to this side or de- \nparture from that. Now the thoughts dwelling for \na little on the conception of space, discovers this \nabsolute oneness, this perfect uniformity of conditions \nin it, this homogeneity in it everywhere, by which the \nwords expressive of relation as above, below ; here, \nthere ; to the right, to the left ; find no application. \nHence they recognize the utility of all change of \nplace as either penetrating or modifying space, and \nfor this reason, also, the mind supplies the notion of \nthe infinite as the ground or form of these facts. The \ninfinite is to be carefully distinguished from the in- \n\n\n\n272 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ndefinite. A mathematical series may be indefinitely \ngreat, it is never infinitely great. The indefinite is \nsimply that which transcends the mind\'s estimate, \nwhich wearies it out. Many so regard the infinite, \nas we think, very erroneously. The infinite is not \nbegotten by the exhaustion of the imagination, it \ndoes not spring from simple weakness, it is not a \nconception on which the mind pillows itself in sheer \nfatigue, having added space to space in a fruitless \neffort to stretch a line of measurement from shore to \nshore of the infinite void. These are mere pranks \nand sports of the fancy in connection with a trans- \ncendental idea, coming to the mind from an entirely \ndistinct quarter. We draw attention to the quickness \nand firmness of the thoughts in evoking and employ- \ning this conception, when rightly directed. The pro- \ncess is as definite as the grasp of a mathematical \ntruth. We know certainly and forever that two par- \nallel lines cannot enclose a space, we have but to \ndirect the mind to two facts : first, the portions im- \nmediately before us do not, cannot, by conception \napproach each other ; second, these portions are an \nexact type and representation of all other portions. \nFor a firm and final application of the notion of the \ninfinite to- space, we have a like occasion for two con- \nsiderations only : first, the point we now occupy in \nspace is central, equally remote from all bounds ; \nsecond, take any other point where we will, and its \nconditions are the precise equivalents of these ; hence \nthe conclusion, space is infinite. It may indeed be \ntruly said that the first step involves the entire result, \nyet the mind evolves it more distinctly by the two, \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. \n\n\n\n-V-5 \n\n\n\nand taking full hold of the two, settles the conclusion \nforever. \n\nObserve the great distinctness and firmness of the \nnotion when the mind is once made familiar with it, \nhas lost the strangeness of movement in a new field. \nNo truth in mathematics rests on a stronger intuitive \nbasis. It is strange that Hamilton or Mansel should \nlay any stress on the fact, that the mind cannot con- \nceive, that is imagine, the infinite, since this must be, \nshould be, the case. Moreover, how easily is this \nfaculty baffled or indefinitely bothered by well-known \nphenomenal truths, properly subject to it, such as our \nrelation to the earth\'s surface during its revolution on \nits axis. We seem now vertical on an upper, now \npendant on a lower, now projecting on a perpendicular, \nsurface. What a struggle with the imagination have \nsome had in accepting this simple truth. Spencer is \nscarcely more correct in affirming the notion of the \ninfinite to be utterly unthinkable, thrice unthinkable in \nrelation, in difference, in likeness. This it admittedly \nis, if by thinking it is meant an identification of it in \nclass and kind with other notions ; this it is not, if by \nthinkable is meant that which is capable of a clear \nand distinct service in thought, which can enter there \nas an original and final element. No thinking is \nmore complete to a thoroughly rational mind than \nthat which calls forth from its own depths a recogni- \ntion of the necessary fact, that space is without limits. \n\nThe infinite is also applicable in like manner to \ntime, each point in turn being the exact counterpart \nof every other, yet only on this condition, that we \nconsider time as one whole. It is not two infinites, \n\n\n\n274 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nbut one infinite. This notion finds a double applica- \ntion to God ; he is infinite in power, and he is infinite \nin knowledge. It is not fitting to say he is infinite \nin holiness, since perfect is the notion here pertinent. \nHoliness pertains to the agreement of action with a \nstandard, not to the extent of action. \n\nIn affirming God to be infinite in power and \nknowledge, we mean that there are neither external \nnor internal limits to his activities, other than those \nwhich belong to their very nature. All that is possi- \nble to physical power is within the scope of his \naction ; all that is possible to mental activity, to \nknowledge, attaches to him as original and native \nstrength. Knowledge, then, is meant to include the \nentire spiritual strength, and power the entire execu- \ntive force known to us as physical. Unlimited mas- \ntery in each direction is the prerogative of Deity. \nThe infinite as applied to power does not alter the \nnature of power, does not make it capable of new \nresults, but removes all limitations from it in quan- \ntity. Thus also is it in the several forms of mental \nactivity gathered up in the word knowledge ; whether \nof an emotional or intellectual character, they are \nabsolutely without the restriction of weakness or \nfeebleness ; there are no limitations in them as activ- \nities, though they may set limits to each other. The \nheart of God is not made weary by loving, nor the \nthought of God by devising. All degrees of the one \nand of the other are with him. \n\nHere again we are met, of course, by those who \nare wont to submit all intellectual products to the \nimagination, with the assertion, that we have an \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 2/5 \n\nutterly incoherent conception, that the moment we \nattempt to realize it, it disappears in thin air ; that no \npower can be grasped by us except in some distinct, \ndefinite putting forth, and that so put forth, it at once \nsinks to the finite ; that no knowledge can be con- \nceived by us, except as a restricted movement of \nmind in one direction, and that so conceived it is \npartial and limited. \n\nWe simply respond, drive back the imagination, it \nis the hound that hunts behind the senses, that fol- \nlows an earthly trail, or bays the placid moon in sheer \nimpotence. Why dog the stars with it ? What is it \nthat leads us to affirm infinite power in God ? Not \na precise, imaginative measurement of what he has \ndone ; not a compounding in gigantic additions of the \nforces actually expended, but the conviction of the \nmind that nothing but an infinite nature, an abso- \nlutely independent one, can be an independent source \nof force. But two positions are open to God, or to \nany being, that of the Creator or of the created, that \nof the conditioned or of the Unconditioned, and to be \nthe Unconditioned one, is to be without limits in the \nforces which spring from him. All this reasoning, \nthese concreations of the mind, which break ground \nfor a new application of the notion of the infinite, do \nnot spring from the imagination, do not come within \nits province, but leave it at labor in a field immeas- \nurably below, while the reason mounts up to the \nthrone of God. \n\nNor does this inconceivability of infinite power \nprevent our handling the idea in decisive and sat- \nisfactory forms, and including within it each manifes- \n\n\n\n276 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\ntation of finite force. Space, as infinite, is incapable \nof division. Nothing ,can be added to it, nothing can \nbe taken from it. Strictly speaking, there is no por- \ntion of space ; since this language would imply an \nentire or complete body of space, of which this re- \nstricted part was a portion. Yet this fact does not \nprevent our reaching most exact, mathematical results \nfrom considering the so-called portions of space, nor \nour empirically treating it in connection with matter \nunder every form of dimension, relation, and measure- \nment. Space holds snugly all extensions without \nmodifying them or being modified by them ; while \nthe one idea, in the furniture of thought, performs as \nimportant an office as the other, the infinite as the \nfinite. Thus the powers of God gather up all finite, \nphysical forces without being exhausted or defined by \nany one of them. We may as accurately, as safely, \nand with the same instruction, speak of the force of \nthe whirlwind as a portion of the infinite power of \nGod, and as a partial presentation of it, as we can of \nthe area of a circle, as a portion of space, a measure- \nment within it. The absolute homogeneity of space \nonly makes every part of it a more complete type of \nevery other ; the unity of all forces in God imparts \nsomething of the same representative power to each \nof them. \n\nThus also is it with knowledge. When we affirm \ninfinity of it, we do not mean to deny its character, \nor modify its actual form, but to remove outside re- \nstraint, and inside feebleness from it. God\'s power \nis potential ; his knowledge may be potential as well. \nWe are not to embarrass our thinking by striving to \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 277 \n\nmake this knowledge, in its manifestations, at once \ninfinite and finite, by supposing it to include a definite \nact of attention to each separate thing, and an inclu- \nsive, constant, fixed attention to all things ; so that \nthe eye cannot wink lest something be lost, nor the \nthought move lest something be left behind, but the \none must gaze fixedly on, and the other hold motion- \nless in unchangeable reflection. We are rather, in \nimagination, to adhere to the form of the finite, and, \nin the reason, cast the infinite as the canopy of heaven \nover it, giving range and liberty to all its movements. \nIndeed, all that is highest, most potential in knowl- \nedge is not of the character indicated by this de- \nstructive not constructive, this dead not living, con- \nception of the Infinite. The more power we have, \nthe more vigor of thought, the less is the mind bur- \ndened by its possessions, the less does it lapse into a \npainful holding on to things ready to elude it. Such \na mind abides in perfect liberty in one thought, in \none line of endeavor, with a quiet command of many \nothers, a potential hold on all its resources. Is it not \nbetter to conceive, is it not philosophically more exact \nto handle, the power and knowledge of God as we \nactually find them, under a finite form with the sug- \ngestion of infinite scope, than to strive after them as \nthey are nowhere presented under an infinite form ? \nAll about us are the forces and thoughts which God \nemploys, which come forth from his infinite resources, \nand why should we find any more difficulty in know- \ning these for what they are, than they in being what \nthey are ? If infinite power and knowledge do put \nforth limited products, cannot these products in turn \n\n\n\n278 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\nput us in connection with infinite power and knowl- \nedge ? If the argument against the infinite is good \nfor anything, it goes to the length of proving that all \nis finite, that rationality cannot recognize the infinite \nor the procession of the finite from it. What can be \nis certainly not beyond the scope of knowledge, and \nwhat cannot be known, actually or potentially, is so \nfar impossible to being. \n\nThe truth is, our knowledge strikes into two very \ndifferent realms \xe2\x80\x94 the phenomenal and the unphenom- \nenal, our wisdom is to deny or to waste neither branch, \nbut to allow the one more and more to interpret and \nexpound the other, knowing that we grow into the \ninvisible through the visible, the complete through \nthe incomplete, the commanding spiritual intuition \nthrough a studious inquiry into the actual conditions, \nthe physical or mental facts, which evoke it. Because \nthe one is not the other, because matter is not mind, \nnor the language the thought, nor the symbol the \nvery force of the sentiment, nor the marble statue \nthe soul whose seat it seems to be, nor the finite \nworld the Infinite Creator, it does not follow that \neach and all of them may not lift the mind truly, \nsafely into the invisible region, whence they come \ndown to us, and whose speech they proclaim to us. \nIndeed, in so many ways, by such slight connections, \nin each happy suggestion of look or sound or silence, \nthrough doors so often left ajar, we slip into the spir- \nitual world, that it becomes truly astonishing that the \nuniverse, with its deep vault of light, or its silent paths \namong the stars, is not a sufficiently royal way for us \nall to go up by to the throne of Infinite Power. \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 279 \n\nWe doubtless conceive God most exactly, when we \nconceive him most closely to the facts of our own \nexperience, when we find him in most intimate re- \nlation to the works of his hands. The holiness of \nGod, the chief of his characteristics, is known to us \nonly in the reflection of our own moral natures. The \nactions of God are not forced upon us as right, they \nare commended to us as right, and the response we \nfind to them in our ethical judgments, is, must be, \nthe measure of our approval, and of the adoration we \nrender to God. As a glass globe in the open air \ngathers in perfect and exquisite reflection the entire \ncircle of the heavens above it, and the earth about \nand beneath it, so the soul of man, by its moral ca- \npacities, stands in central, sympathetic connections \nwith all purity and virtue, knows them as purity and \nvirtue through a knowledge of itself, by the sphericity \nof its own nature. As a tinge of color in this reflect- \ning medium, aids rather than mars the beauty, so the \ndark experiences of man in transgression does not pre- \nvent his hiding in his soul an image of heaven, nor the \nentrance of the moral glory of God by the avenue of \nhis moral nature. What God does, is not good to us \nbecause he does it, but because within our own con- \nceptions it presents itself as an action well clone. \nThe interpretation is from the soul, and we know \nGod as God by the unity of our spirits with his. \nThe struggle of virtue in the heart of the transgres- \nsor is the response of life to life, is one more effort of \na prostrate, trampled plant to bend upward its grow- \ning points to the light. \n\nIf such are the conditions of likeness under which \n\n\n\n280 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nwe approach the moral attributes of God, do we not \nlook most wisely into his power, the nature and the \nrange of it, when we find it in the things and the forces \nnearest to us, not when, under a false idea of exalting \nit, and striking from it finite limitations, we lift it \ninto a region of abstractions, which are robbed of \nthe glory of being, and have no answering glory of \nconception. \n\nWhat is the relation of God to space ? It is at \nonce answered : He is omnipresent, and then steps \nin some philosopher to say, the notion of omnipres- \nence is an inconceivable and illusory one, wherewith \nyou beguile the thought, not instruct it. This seems \nto us true only on this condition, that setting our \nfaculties at cross- purposes, we strive to handle in the \nimagination what belongs to the reason, and sublim- \nate in the reason what is just nutriment and symbolic \nexpression to the imagination. This we do on one \nside, when we strive definitely, that is under a phe- \nnomenal form, to conceive an omnipresent being, \ngiving to the Almighty a shape that we may reach \nhim in fancy, and instantly striking it off again, that \nhe may not suffer its limitations, but still spread \nthrough and occupy all space ; this we do, on the \nother side, when, the senses and the imagination \nactually feasted on the glories of the visible world, \nwe call in the reason to drive God out of that world, \nby the suggestion, this is finite, he is infinite ; this is \nconditioned, he is unconditioned. We are rather, as \nin language, to let the ear be delighted with the \nmelody of the voice, and the soul to be fed on the \nthought. The finite is in the infinite, and of it. Let \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 28 1 \n\nthe imagination tarry here, as in the ante-chamber \nof Heaven ; there is an invisible fulness back of this, \non which the reason casts quick, intuitive glances, \nthough divested of all resemblance to things, of pre- \ncise and phenomenal form. The cloud is the gar- \nment of God\'s majesty as much by the light it keeps \nback, as by that which breaks through it. \n\nConsciousness, the condition of spiritual existence, \nhas no relation to space. Thought, as an act, is \nneither here nor there, and in its objects may move \ninstantly anywhere. The only relation which mind \nhas to locality is through the body. By means of it, \nthe mind has a double connection with space. There \nis a very limited material circle which it pervades, \nand in many portions of which it can exercise an \nimmediate, physical force. It has but to will to move \nthe head, the hand, the foot, in order to shoot force \nthrough them, or through other members of the body. \nSo far, it has a species of omnipresence within the \nbody. If, now, matter in all its forms be but the force \nof God, God\'s will is as omnipresent to the entire ma- \nterial universe as my will to the tense muscle of my \nright arm. There is a broader circle than this from \nwhich forces, by means of the senses, the eye, the ear, \nreach the body, and pass by their effects into con- \nsciousness, consciousness without position or locality. \nMay not every activity in the universe, God\'s own \nactivity, come into his consciousness, without position \nor locality, fittingly termed omnipresent and omni- \nscient as necessarily feeling and knowing all that is ? \n\nSpace has no independent being. It borrows its \nreality from the reality of that which it defines. It \n\n\n\n282 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\nexists in the mirror, but dash the mirror and it is \ngone. It is present in the dream ; but awake from \nthe dream, and it disappears. God\'s abiding activity \nin the external world gives abiding space, but sweep \naway all external objects, cancel the body, let thought \nalone remain, and where and what is space ? Con- \nsciousness, pure intellectual activity, finds no occasion \nfor it, no region in which to locate it. Do not the \nforces of God, momentarily exercised in space, take \nomnipresent possession of it, give it being to our \nthoughts, and leave it, if he should withdraw his \ncreations, ready to collapse like the times and places \nof a dream ? \n\nMay not a like conception be applicable to time ? \nTime seems much less fixed and settled to us than \nspace. Its dimensions contract and expand according \nto our varying experiences, till hours are transformed \ninto minutes, and minutes drawn out into hours and \ndays. We all know the effect of dreams, of intense \npain, or of great danger on our impressions of time. \nNow what is it that holds apart, that gives length and \nmeasurement, to the surging years of eternity, but \nthe events that are transpiring in them, the roll of \nsuns, the sweep of planets, the coming forth and \ndecay of life ? And how can we more worthily con- \nceive of this varied and immeasurable activity than as \nthe transient activity of God, as the form in which \nhis power is momentarily expressing itself ; the phase \nhis life is taking upon itself, putting phenomenally \nforth from itself? Is it not better to conceive of God\'s \nmovable, flexible, spontaneous life, as passing down \nthrough the eternities, taking successive possession \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 283 \n\nof them, making them what they are, than to strive, \nagainst all laws of thought, to lock it up, we know \nnot where or when, in some steadfast gaze of omni- \nscience ? Indeed, what is omniscience, but a know- \ning of all that has been, is, or may be ? and what are \nthe eternities but the stretch of time through which \nGod has rolled his activity, made in their length by \nthe slow, if you so regard it, or rapid, if you so regard \nit, evolution of his plans ? Where is the time of my \nvision, its events removed ? Where the time in \nwhich we enclose the eternal years of God, the dis- \ntending events of his universe, the thoughts of his \nmind, being swept away ? It has vanished like the \nbubble overblown, like the dream from which we have \nwaked. \n\nI may be asked, What is the worth of such con- \nceptions ? you cannot propose to urge them upon \nothers as final. Their worth is very great to any soul \nthat wishes them, who can use them in driving back \nthose dead conceptions of the universe, which make \nof it a machine, mere matter ; and those remote illu- \nsory notions of God, which hide him away totally \noutside of, and backside of, his creation, and finally \nforget him altogether. They are thrown out as ways \nof helping us to find God very near to us, as notions \nevery way more accurate and more inspiring than \nthose which they displace. Says Martineau \xe2\x80\x94 and we \ncannot again avail ourselves of his thoughts without \nexpressing our admiration of the penetration and \nscope of his powers \xe2\x80\x94 " Indeed this mechanical met- \naphor, so skilfully elaborated by Paley, appears to be \nof all representations of the divine nature, the least \n\n\n\n284 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\nreligious : its very clearness proclaiming its insuffi- \nciency for those affections which seek, not the finite, \nbut the infinite ; its coldness repelling all emotions, \nand reducing them to physiological admiration ; and \nits scientific procedure presenting the Creator to us \nin a relation quite too mean, as one of the causes in \ncreation, to whom a chapter might be devoted in any \ntreatise on dynamics ; and on evidence quite below \nthe real, as a highly probable God. The true natural \nlanguage of devotion speaks out rather in the poetry \nof the Psalmist and the prayers of Christ ; declares \nthe living contact of the Divine Spirit with the \nhuman, the mystic implication of his nature with ours, \nand ours with his ; his serenity amid our griefs, his \nsanctity amid our guilt, his wakefulness in our sleep, \nhis life through our death, his silence amid our stormy \nforce ; and refers to him as the Absolute basis of all \nrelative existence ; all else being in comparison but \nphantasm and shadow, and he alone the Real and \nEssential Life." \n\nHow plain is it, that a God so conceived, conceived \nevidently as he would have us conceive him, since, on \nthe one hand, he gives us the universe through which \nto approach him, and on the other, supplements it \nwith the assertion of his infinite, spiritual, and inap- \nproachable nature, thus keeping us in the path of \nlight by the nice equipoise of contradictions ; how \nplain is it that such a faith, and such a faith only, \nsubserves the purposes of a rational life. There is \ngiven us here, that which we may know, and will \nknow, and increasingly know ; and there, that which \nprovokes inquiry, keeps the edge of appetite good, \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. \n\n\n\n-\xc2\xb0:> \n\n\n\nand ever stretches beyond our thought. Every re- \nligion that has had any hold on the human mind, has \nhad its mysteries, its shekinahs, answering to these \ndeep things of God ; and has also had its rites, pre- \ncepts, and outer courts. Rob religion of that which \nis incomprehensible, which cannot be found out to \nperfection, which refuses to subject itself to the exact \nconditions of time, place and circumstances, and you \nstrip it of its transcendental truth, its infinite scope, \nits lifting power ; take from it its true, simple, sym- \nbolic knowledge, its near approach to God, its outer \ncourts wherein the masses may throng to his worship, \nand your whole religious faith passes, like a balloon, \ninto the cold upper air ; the eyes of men will soon \ncease to follow it, and return again to familiar things. \n" It is of such mental strife with the mysterious, \nwhich uses up our knowledge and lets us fall upon \nour conscious ignorance, that religion has its birth. \nThe perpetual renewal of this controversy maintains \nthe soul in that intermediate state between the known \nand the incomprehensible, the finite and the infinite, \nwhich excludes as well the dogmatism of certainty as \nthe apathy of nescience and chance, and calls up that \nwonder, reverence, and trust, which are the fitting \nattributes of our nature." \n\nObserve the deep foundations of rationality, on \nwhich the Christian faith, combining the known and \nthe unknown, the finite and the infinite, the incarnate \nand the invisible rests. How it lays hold of all emo- \ntions of the heart ! How it engages, quickens, ex- \npands the thoughts ! How it strengthens the soul ! \nHow it strikes deep down and far back into history \n\n\n\n286 \n\n\n\nSCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\n\n\nfor the reasons and grounds and forms of its pres- \nence ! How it draws to it remote races and distant \ntimes, and the deep-seated forces of our common \nlife ! Says Max Miiller, " The elements and sorts of \nreligion were then as far back as we can trace the \nhistory of man : and the history of religion, like the \nhistory of language, shows us throughout a succes- \nsion of new combinations of the same radical ele- \nments. An intuition of God, a sense of human \nweakness and dependence, a belief in a Divine gov- \nernment of the world, a distinction between good and \nevil, and a hope of a better life \xe2\x80\x94 these are some of \nthe radical elements of all religions. Though some- \ntimes hidden, they rise again and again to the sur- \nface. Though frequently distorted, they tend again \nand again to their perfect form. Unless they had \nformed a part of the original dowry of the human \nsoul, religion itself would have remained an impossi- \nbility, and the tongues of angels would have been to \nhuman ears but as sounding brass or a tinkling cym- \nbal." \n\nA faith so reposing, a conception of the Infinite \nand his government so grounded, are like the great \nmountains that hide their roots in darkness and \ntheir summits in light, but yield broad and fertile \nslopes on which many may live, up which they may \nascend, at each step gathering a broader view, and \npossessed by a deeper inspiration. At times indeed, \nto the over-speculative, the too little trusting mind, \nthe clouds that hover round their peaks may descend, \nand envelope the entire landscape, and the unbeliever \nmay ask, Where now are your heaven-ascending \n\n\n\nPRIMITIVE RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS. 287 \n\nsummits ? Born of the mist, they are swallowed up \nof the mist. But he that can abide a little in faith, \nshall see the birth of new and unusual glories, when \nclefts appear in the riven clouds, and they flee apace \nbefore the winds that strike through them, and the \nlight that drinks them up, till, their dim, despairing \naspect all gone, and made to share the victory of the \nday, they linger, of things ethereal themselves the \nmost ethereal. The difficulties of reason, left high \nand remote, are masses of effulgent clouds ; brought \ndown about us, and sensually scrutinized, they are \ncold fog-winds, that drearily extinguish our comforts, \nand one by one quench our hopes. \n\n\n\nLECTURE XII. \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE : FORM OF DEVEL- \nOPMENT. \n\nWe now approach the end of our labor, and should \nfind some new light to have been cast by it upon the \nrelations of science and religion to mental philosophy. \nIs it not plain, that the tendency increasingly shown \nto term mental science, philosophy, peculiarly and \npreeminently philosophy, is correct ; that an appre- \nhension of mind, its faculties and laws, stands central \nin knowledge, and determines its forms and limits in \nall directions ; that science on this side and religion \non that, must receive thence the form of their truths, \ntheir relations to other truths, and the final grounds \nof their validity ? \n\nAll darkness and confusion, therefore, which the \nprejudices of the present time shall allow to steal into \nthe department of philosophy, must be greatly disas- \ntrous, loosening the central connections of thought, \ndisintegrating knowledge, wasting portions, and allow- \ning other portions, like rebellious provinces, to cast \noff the organic laws of the kingdom of truth, and to \nissue their own limited edicts in their place. The \nmind must mount to a knowledge, a correct and com- \nplete knowledge, of its own faculties, their scope and \nauthority, and, from this central eminence, lay out the \nfields of exploration around it. \n\nIn the first place, it sets this limit to physical sci- \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 289 \n\nence ; that it belongs to physical things and events \nwhich appear in space, and arise under the notion of \ncausation. These inquiries have, therefore, perfectly \ndefinite, perfectly firm and invariable connections. \nHere, science may boast of its " immutable, unchange- \nable, eternal laws ; " may bind down all events to them, \nand delight to inquire into the kind, order and depend- \nencies of that class of facts which arise under them. \n\nPhilosophy reserves for itself an equally distinct \nfield, that of consciousness, in whose events the notion \nof space finds no application, and whose interior law \nis that of spontaneity and liberty. But besides these \ntwo departments of empirical knowledge, of actual \nthings, there is another of pure conceptions. It arises \nfrom the unfolding by the mind of its own intuitions, \nand lies in the region of abstract transcendental truth. \nThus the conceptions of space are expanded into \ngeometry, and judgments, under the notion of iden- \ntity, into logic. \n\nThese are the three primary directions of thought : \nspace i-n its physical facts ; consciousness in its men- \ntal facts ; abstract truths without actual, phenomenal \nbeing. We are thus ready for a classification of \nknowledge, and to indicate the ruling conception in \neach separate science. By science is meant a form \nof knowing which approaches completeness and ful- \nness ; and by a science, a given department of knowl- \nedge, so explored and explained. There is no fixed \nlimit between that degree of knowledge which consti- \ntutes a science, and that inferior degree which remains \nunworthy of the name. \n\nThe first division of knowledge is into the Intuitive \n\n\n\n29O SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nSciences and the Empirical Sciences : those which \ndo not pertain to real being, and those which do. \nThe Intuitive Sciences are again divisible into the \nPure and the Impure. The Pure Sciences rest wholly \non intuitions, give laws to facts, and receive no laws \nfrom them ; are discussed independently of them. \nOf this class, are Pure Mathematics and Deductive \nLogic. To the second class of Impure Intuitive \nSciences, belong Applied Mathematics, Ontology, \nEsthetics and Ethics. These, each of them, deal with \nfacts, but deal with them not as facts merely, but \nunder intuitive relations which the mind imposes \nupon them. Let the facts be fixed, hypothetically or \nactually, and demonstration enters here as in the \npure sciences ; that is, the reason sees the conclusion \nto be contained necessarily in the premises. \n\nThe Empirical Sciences fall into Intellectual and \nPhysical. The Intellectual Sciences are sub-divided \ninto Mental and Social Sciences. The Social Sci- \nences are further divisible into those of History, \nLanguage and Political Economy. \n\nThe Physical Sciences contain three classes ; those \nof elements ; those of compounds, inorganic and \norganic ; those of interactions. \n\nThe first of these treat of primary, elementary \nforces ; the second, of the separate products of these \nforces ; and the third, of the complex conditions of \naction and reaction in the different departments in \nwhich these exist together. To the first class, that \nof elements or elementary forces, belong Chemistry \nand Physics. To the second, of organic and inor- \nganic forces, belong Mineralogy, Botany and Zoology. \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. \n\n\n\n29I \n\n\n\nTo the third, of interaction, belong Geology, Meteor- \nology and Physical Geography. \n\nWe subjoin a table expressing these relations and \ncontaining the leading, regulative idea or ideas of \neach science. Of course, other ideas enter in con- \nstantly, but the ones indicated give character to the \nrespective branches. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMathematics. \n\n\n( Space and \nI Number. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nPure. \n\n\nLogic. \n\n\n( Resemblance \nI as \n( Identity. \n\n\n\n\nIntuitive \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nScience. \n\n\n\n\nMixed Mathematics. \n\n\n( Resemblance \nI as \n\' Identity. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nImpure. \n\n\nOntology. \n\n/Esthetics. \n\nEthics. \n\n\nCausation. \nBeauty. \nRight. \n\n\nw \nc \n\n\n\n\n\n\nMental. \n\n\nScience of Mind. \n\n\nResemblance. \n\n\nH \n\n\n\n\nIntellectual. \n\n\n\n\nLanguage. \n\n\nResemblance. \n\n\nH-; \n\n\n\n\n\n\nSocial. \n\n\nHistory. \n\n\n" \n\n\n5 \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPolitical Economy. \n\n\n\n\nA \n\n\n\n\n\n\nOf Elements \n\n\n\n\n\n\nX \n\n\n\n\n\n\nor \n\n\nPhysics. \n\n\nCausation. \n\n\n\n\nEmpirical \n\n\n\n\nElementary \n\n\nChemistry. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nScience. \n\n\n\n\nI 1 orces. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPhysical. \n\n\nOf Inorganic \n\nand \n\nOrganic \n\nForms. \n\nOf \n\nInteractions. \n\n\nMineralogy. \nBotany. \nZoology. \n\nGeology. \n\nPhysical Geography. \n\nMeteorology. \n\nPhysiology. \n\n\nResemblance. \nCausation. \n\n\n\nWe now pass to the relation of Philosophy to re- \nligion. It discloses the basis of religion in our con- \nstitution ; the source and soundness of those concep- \ntions on which it rests. These are, first, that of the \ninfinite in its personal form, and second, those of \nliberty and right. Without these ideas firmly es- \n\n\n\n292 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ntablished, and practically believed in, we can have no \nbelief in God, or in duties owed to him. Philosophy, \ntherefore, settles the foundations, not less of religion \nthan of science, and shows it incorporate in our first \nconstitution. So true is this, that in our scheme of \nknowledge, we need no distinct department as that of \ntheology. The being of a God pertains to Ontology. \nThe facts of Revelation have arisen historically, and \nthe precepts of religion are those of our moral nature. \nTheology, therefore, is simply gathering together, \ninto one presentation for practical ends, what per- \ntains to many departments of knowledge. The as- \nsertion, that religion rests wholly on our mental con- \nstitution for the nature and fitness of its claims, is \ndispleasing to some minds, but we think, chiefly, \nbecause its bearings are not fully understood. It \nseems to them to set human reason above Divine \nreason, Philosophy above Revelation. This, at first \nflash may appear to be the force of the statement, \nbut is not its real character. God has placed the \nseal of his authority on our very constitution, on our \nrational and moral faculties themselves, and not upon \nany external parchment or revelation as alien to these \nfaculties, or foreign, in its claims, to conscience. His \nlaw is written in the heart ; indeed, as a moral law, it \ncan be written no otherwise. Commands are of no \navail, except as they are, first, understood, and of no \nmoral avail except, second, as their force and fitness \nare felt, that is, responded to from within. No in- \njunctions can be laid upon any but an intelligent \nbeing, and no religious injunction upon any but a \nmoral being ; since otherwise laid, they find no echo \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 2Q3 \n\nin the soul, get no hold of it. We must have ears to \ntalk to, eyes to present colors to, consciences on \nwhich to lay claims. God\'s government goes far \ndeeper than the precept : it springs up in the rational, \nmoral sense which explains and justifies the precept. \nIt were vain that religion is both rational and right, if \nmen were not able to discern that which is rational and \nrecognize that which is right. God first establishes \nthe human reason, the ethical sense, and by these, \nestablishes his commands. His throne is set up \nin our nature, as to the conditions and reason of \nits authority, not elsewhere. This shows us why \nhis kingdom tarries. He is struggling to correct \nthat reason, and redirect that moral nature, that \nhave partially lost their hold on the truth, and thus \nallowed the foundations of his government to give \nway. It is not on irrationality but rationality ; it is \nnot on strength but righteousness that God builds ; \nand reason and right have no existence for any soul \nexcept as disclosed to it by its own action. \n\nGod has given us those powers which constitute \nus free, reasonable beings, and all his commands, all \nour relations to him, all his methods of dealing with \nus, depend for their fitness on the nature of those \npowers ; and thus a correct knowledge of them, a \ncorrect philosophy, is necessary to the construction of \na correct theology. If we are free, sin is one thing ; \nif we are not, it is a very different thing. If we are \nable to apprehend the law of right as a primitive in- \ntuition, the law of virtue is one thing ; if we are not, \nit is quite another. The language which God ad- \ndresses to us is as much to be explained by a knowl- \n\n\n\n294 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nedge of our nature, as the language I address to a \ndog is to be understood by a knowledge of its nature. \nIt does not set human reason above the divine reason, \nbecause by the first only do we understand and ex- \nplain the last. The pupil is not above the teacher, \nbecause he enters into, and explains by his own \nthoughts, the thoughts of the teacher. It is a very \nawkward and weak government which rests on \nstrength, compared with that which rules in the very \nmind and heart, and is able to divide the man against \nhimself in every act of disobedience, and make the \nlast appeal to the conscience of the criminal. \n\nWe see but one danger to be guarded against in \nthis statement, and that is this : Because the exist- \nence of God and the rightfulness of his government \nare disclosed to us in our own moral nature, and his \ncommands meet with their final enforcement there, \nit does not follow that each revealed truth and specific \nprecept will be at once and thoroughly apprehended \nby us, or that we shall be at liberty to set it uncere- \nmoniously aside when it fails to disclose its intrinsic \nlight. The reason and the conscience inquire into \nall things, not less scientific than revealed truths, \nunder this condition of partial ignorance, and a qual- \nified acceptance of what they do not comprehend. \nThe authority of reason is not thereby lost ; we are \nonly bidden by reason itself to wait for a final adjust- \nment on further inquiry. Conscience may sanction \na command of God, as a command of God, without \nseeing its precise grounds ; and in doing this, is as \nrational, and as dependent on reason, as is the travel- \nler in committing himself to a guide. The assertion \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 2Q5 \n\nremains true, fully true, we are built into the moral \ngovernment of God, and a knowledge of him, solely \nby our rational and moral nature. We are rational \nand moral first, and religious afterward ; that is, the \nfirst capabilities involve the second., and give law to \nthem. We are what we are, first by the creative \nwork of God ; second, by his redemptive work under, \nand in completion of, his first work. To decry the \nreason of man, is to decry God, its author, and to put \nout the very eyes, by which we wait on him, into \nwhich he pours the light of his truth, and the smile \nof his benignity. It is not philosophy, but philosophy \nfalsely so called, that we are to fear ; it is not the \nwise man but the fool, who says in his heart, " There \nis no God." \n\nBy the relation now pointed out between science, \nphilosophy and religion, by which the one stands \nmidway between the other two, and gives them the \nideas under which they proceed, we are able to see \na reason for the order which individual and social \ngrowth have assumed. That the progress of society \nas a whole should agree in its leading stages with that \nwhich more frequently falls to the individual in the \ndevelopment of his own intellectual life, is inevitable. \nThe earlier periods of a nation, or of nations \xe2\x80\x94 as they \nhave often so influenced each other intellectually as \nto make of their conjoint periods a continuous \nadvance in thought \xe2\x80\x94 is necessarily made up in the \ngreat bulk of its population of individuals in the first \nstages of progress, while its subsequent and its later \nperiods are respectively marked by a steady increase \nof those in an advanced development. Hence, the \n\n\n\n296 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nlife of the nation is a prolonged counterpart of that \nof the individual ; and the history of nations, as con- \njointly bearing on civilization, a second counterpart \nof the included units of growth. This is true, how- \never, with an important exception : the individual is \nmortal, and the nation as well hitherto, while nations \nare able to take up the march in endless succession. \nEach of these, which are truly historic, which are the \nfighting corps in the army of progress, and not mere \nhangers-on, cannot fail at once to participate in the \npast, and break new ground in the future. \n\nThe individual mind, the child, starts with un- \nbounded faith in personal powers, not so much in his \nown, as in those of his parents, in those of the men \nand the women above and about him. The boy in- \nterprets everything to himself on the side of sponta- \nneity, of individual strength. The heroes of fiction \nand of history are all in all to him. They handle and \nwield to his fancy all the forces about them. In con- \nnection with this delight in personal prowess, this pre- \ndominance of the free, individual element, the mind \nreadily accepts the presence of spiritual agencies, \ndivine and malign : indeed, gigantic human strength, \nsuper-human achievements and mythological beings \nall blend together as equally accepted parts of one \nunanalyzed picture. The religious element, there- \nfore, is favored in youth by this predominance of the \nintuitions on which it rests, by this sense of liberty, \nand the weight of purely personal powers. Later, \nthe control of the mind over its creations impresses \nitself on the enlarged apprehension. Pure mathe- \nmatics, a solid crystal of simple thought, and, like a \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 2Q7 \n\nfitly-shaped lens, bringing strange magnitudes and \nnovel presentations to many practical subjects, to \nastronomy, optics, mechanics, lay strong hold of the \nintellect, and present it as furnishing and shaping its \nown instruments, and using them most efficiently on \nthe materia] before it, waiting to be inquired into, \nand thus fashioned into knowledge. The personal \nelement, therefore, still retains possession of the \nmind, though in a somewhat less wayward and irre- \nsponsible form. \n\nIt is not till the natural sciences come to possess \nan absorbing interest, not till a sense of the independ- \nent force and order in the world about us is strongly \nimpressed on the mind, that it begins slowly, and \nsomewhat reluctantly perhaps to take up the impres- \nsion, that it is lapped by laws and powers hoary with \nyears beyond its conception, broad, deep, high, strong ; \nwith a force to which its own is insignificant, roll- \ning on, a resistless flood, along a channel whose \nbed is never dry, whose current knows no pause nor \nabatement. Now the mind is ready to swing wholly \nover from its former position ; to regard the liberty \nwith which it delighted itself as a mere delusion ; the \npower which it vaunted, as a child\'s infatuation. It \nnow becomes its chosen wisdom simply to see the \nforces about it, to go with them, and escape the ruin \nof resistance. Religion and religious ideas appear \nremote and shadowy, or disappear altogether. The \nmaterial universe, too strong, far too strong for the \nhuman soul, soon presents itself as strong, very \nstrong for the handling even of a divine agent, \nand spirits and spiritual powers of all forms and \n13* \n\n\n\n298 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ngrades are soon left, blind Sampsons, to grind in this \nmagnificent mill, which can, by all their strength, be \nrevolved in one way, and for one end only. \n\nFrom this final phase of the mind in its progress \nthrough partial and incomplete forms of knowledge, \nthere is no return to strength and the composure of \nbalanced powers and compensatory considerations, \nbut by true, sound philosophy. Or, rather, such a \nphilosophy should have anticipated this unseating of \nthe mind from its central pivot, and left it still free to \nvibrate under every attraction, returning steadily to \nthe polar point of personal strength. Let the mind \nrise a little above this stream of forces ; let it find in \nthem one more magnificent display of personal, of \ndivine power ; let it discern the truly spiritual influ- \nences that momentarily play down upon them, both \nfrom itself, and the great army, rank within rank, of \nlives that use them ; and its equipoise is restored to \nit. Religion comes back upon it with new signifi- \ncance, and it finds that it has climbed this exceedingly \nhigh mountain, not so much to see all the kingdoms \nof the earth and the glory of them, as to catch over \nand beyond them all, a more exalted view of the \nKingdom of Heaven. \n\nThe progress of the individual is more frequently \nby points, by separation, by analysis, than by synthe- \nsis ; and thus it is ever assuming a one-sided and \ndisproportionate appearance ; is ever looking towards \nsomething less complete than its own normal life. \nAs it is said of embryonic growth, that it takes on \nforms which belong to lower kinds of life, and through \nthese slowly approaches its own, its higher type, so \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 299 \n\nthe mind accepts successive and partial phases of \ntruth, and learns but slowly to unite them into a. t \nsymmetrical, a completely developed, whole. We \ncome to a knowledge of ourselves, as we study or- \nganic beings, destructively ; we separate the bones, \nwe pull apart the muscles, we dissect out the arteries, \nwe pursue the nerves to their lodgment. The mech- \nanism of the parts we at length understand, but \nthe whole as a whole, its unity, its mystery, its life, \nescape us, and are to be reached again only by a \npause : by regarding our dissection as all undone, \nand by standing silently in the silent presence of \nthat life which fled before our busy fingers com- \nmenced their labor, and which they have now ban- \nished even from our thoughts. \n\nThe general order of development as enforced by \nthe disciples of the positive philosophy, is that which \ncorresponds to the one we have presented in the \nindividual mind. They speak of a theological age, \nof a metaphysical age, and, last of all, of the age of \npositive knowledge. Of course, no age presents a \nphase of development, pure and distinct, but is what \nit is by predominant tendencies. The theological \nage is one in which personal elements have free, \nundisputed supremacy, and, therefore, in which the \nnatural has no advantage, in men\'s thoughts, over the \nsupernatural ; the two have not fallen apart, and do \nnot present different claims. Thought has not be- \ncome distinct and thoughtful, and it uses the regula- \ntive idea nearest to it somewhat at random. In \nthe metaphysical age, thought has become more \nsevere, more logical. Indeed, logic, strictly so called, \n\n\n\n300 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nhas become the study of the mind, and its chief \n. weapon. It still thoroughly believes in itself, and, by \nthe fixed laws of evolution, expects, in its own judg- \nments, from its own fruitful conceptions, to build up \na consecutive and universal frame-work of knowl- \nedge. In this period, much is accomplished, and \nmuch is failed of, while religious ideas have still \nuniversal hold on the mind. \n\nLater comes the millenium of science, in which \nman wakes up to find a world outside of himself, and \nto the fact that its laws are to be discovered, not in- \nvented ; its phenomena observed, not fancied. The \nmind now descends from its high pitch, and hunts \nbugs where bugs are to be found. At this point, \npositive philosophy steps in exultant ; claims this \nresult as its own ; fearlessly asserts that mind is but \na big maw for the digestion of this sort of facts ; \nthat hitherto it has only thriven on wind, and now, \nfor the first time, has found its true feeding fields. \nSome, with fatalistic folly, resign themselves to this \ninterpretation, and think it a magnificent thing to \nrummage the world over, to cast up its soil, pry into \nits secret places, and entertain those messengers that \ncome to us from the silent spaces above, and all for \na fact, which is to be used finally as mere food to the \nbelly. No inspirations are brought to the spirit, no \nconsolations are whispered into its heavy ears. This \nmight do, had we not come down from a throne, and \ncould we not easily climb back to it ; had we not \nruled in nature, and might not rule there again. It \nis something to hold knowledge as a mirror embra- \nces its objects in passive reflection, but it is far \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 301 \n\nmore to see for use, and to use for immortality ; to \nbring interpretation to what we behold, and to find, \nby this interpretation, our spirits knit in a kindred \nof thoughts and purposes to the great Architect of \nall. \n\nWe accept the three periods of positive philosophy, \neach partial phases of thought, all to be gathered up \nin their results as the mind advances to a higher \nplane of activity, and collects its gains for a new \noutlay. We merely refuse to accept the last and \nextreme position as final, as most truthful of all ; yea, \nthe only truthful one. The pendulum pauses but an \ninstant at the end of the arc, and impels the hours \nby a new vibration. Passing through science back \nagain to philosophy and religion, we shall still find \nthe world ready to strike off our march on the dial- \nplate of progress, as the race climbs the morning \nslope toward its zenith of strength. \n\nIf our view thus far is correct, it is plain that there \nare no fixed, established lines of development which \nsociety must follow, whether it will or no. Spencer \nmay trace, as he pleases, the passage of the homoge- \nneous into the heterogeneous ; the slow adjustment \nof life to its external conditions, he only engineers \nroads which the race may or may not travel. If it \ntravels at all in the direction he proposes, it must, it \nis true, accept the general route indicated, as there is \nno other : but as in man the ruling element of life is \na moral one, all other conditions of progress must be \ndetermined by it, and it is as possible for a nation to \ndegenerate as to advance. Indeed, the world has as \noften presented the one spectacle as the other. The \n\n\n\n302 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\ngreat mill-wheel cannot be clogged, and minor ones \nrevolve successfully. The ends for which man puts \nhis powers to work will always have a moral charac- \nter, will always set in operation moral laws, moral \nforces, for his encouragement or his overthrow ; for \nhis establishment or his retribution ; and thus the \nindividual and the nation will finally find the moral \ngovernment too strong for them ; that the very rap- \nidity of its immoral prosperity causes a people first \nto be proud, then tyrannical, then enervate \xe2\x80\x94 to part, \nlike an over-driven wheel, into a hundred fragments, \nand to pass into the chaos of a shipwrecked nation- \nality, to become like old iron, waiting at the furnace \ndoor, new moulds and new uses. \n\nHow wholly mistaken is the statement of Buckle, \nthat intellectual forces are the efficient forces in pro- \ngress : that the moral element is every way secondary. \nNot till intellectual elements have resolved themselves \ninto moral elements, do they effect progress at all. \nNot till they instruct men how to live and for what \nto live, do they influence life, and, teaching life in its \nform and substance, they become fully moral ; they \nprosper or retard it in the degree in which they throw \nit into harmony with a universe ruled under and for \nmoral ends. \n\nThe primary, the fundamental principles in the \ndiscussion of social and historical questions, of the \nhopes and possibilities of the race, must be found in \nphilosophy, which underlies them. Does mind rule \nin and over matter, then the natural and the super- \nnatural, the physical and the spiritual will harmoni- \nously unite in true, in real progress. Is matter the \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 303 \n\none seat, the sole seat of force ? then progress will \nbe either certain or impossible ; will either care for \nitself, or need not be cared for at all. The questions \nof human interest can be handled on no common \nground by a materialist and a realist : neither history \nnor society, things present, past, nor to come, can \nreceive from them a kindred interpretation. They \nread the cipher with a different key, and everywhere \nconflicting results follow. The foundations of philos- \nophy must be laid, or it is useless to lay any other \nfoundations, or institute any other inquiries, save into \nsimple, visible facts as facts. Begin in any direction \nto knit them together, and discrepancies and difficul- \nties at once appear. \n\nAll systems of thought of social and ethical bear- \nings, that are truly coherent and symmetrical, can be \ntested in their truth only by an examination of the \nfundamental principles on which they rest. Many \nminds are able with adroitness and logical skill to \nevolve a few first truths into an entire system, which \ncannot be treated successfully by an inquiry into the \ndetails of its structure, but only by a return once more \nto its initiatory and germinant ideas. Thus the phi- \nlosophy of Herbert Spencer, his First Principles, his \nPsychology, his Biology, are exerting a great influ- \nence ; and, while they carry with them many truths \nand much instruction, they are, in ethical and religious \ndepartments, most destructive and disastrous. Their \nevil influences are indeed restricted by two facts : \nmany of those who are ready to accept their conclu- \nsions, do not apprehend all of their bearings, and thus \neasily endorse premises, from whose ultimate liabilities \n\n\n\n304 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nthey would draw back in alarm. Men are too illogical \nto suffer all the evil of their opinions, as well as to re- \nalize all the good that they contain. Yet, what men \nfail to do at once and consistently, time is likely to \naccomplish slowly. The mere jolt of motion shows \na good deal of arranging power in loose material, and \nthus a slow separation takes place in opinions. The \nevil that is in them will not be still, and at length \nfalls into genial soil. There it germinates, and soon \na rank growth of mischief overshadows and rots \naway the remainder of sound thought. \n\nA second protection, of much the same nature, is, \nthat few really grasp and accept an unsound philoso- \nphy. Their native convictions are too strong for it. \nThey do not, they cannot discard the ordinary con- \nnections of thought, and they use philosophy as a \nmere flag to unfurl on convenient occasions, to afford \ncharacter and give nominal protection. It is gener-" \nally certain practical tendencies, certain corollaries, \nwhich bear on daily life, that incline the most of those \nminds, that are but semi-philosophical, to accept one \nsystem rather than another. They choose philoso- \nphies as one chooses climates, for the comforts they \nyield, and they inquire or care for little beyond this. \n\nFor this and like reasons, philosophy never does at \nonce anything like either as much good, or as much \nevil, as it is in it to do. It is not a contagion, but a \nconstitutional force, that must show itself in succes- \nsive generations before its real power and nature are \ndiscoverable. Yet, what it loses in time it makes up \nin strength and intensity, when it has once planted \nitself among the central forces of life, and commenced \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 305 \n\ntheir protracted government for good or for evil. \nSuch a philosophy as that of the First Principles \nmay find easy admission, with its brilliant and popu- \nlar intellectual power ; its last and fatal deductions \nmay be made but slowly. Yet, for these reasons, it \nis, by the reflective mind, only the more feared. \n\nThe sagacious reformer works for the next gener- \nation more than for his own, and is especially fearful \nof those forces, whose fruits of mischief are still hid- \nden in them. The rotten-ripe sins of the world are \nthose least dangerous. Yet it is an utterly inade- \nquate and unsatisfactory treatment of such works \nas those of Spencer, to blow against them a swarm \nof petty criticisms. They are too compactly con- \nstructed, too consistent with themselves, to be af- \nfected by minor measures. They are, in their lead- \ning drift either greatly right or greatly wrong, and \nwhich it is must be determined by the key of the posi- \ntion, the psychology. In a satisfactory attack, there- \nfore, there is at once sprung upon us a most difficult \nand recondite labor, and one in which very few can \nengage, or which they can observe. It is not easy \nto find another book, so coherent, so clear, so subtile, \nso abstruse, and, at the same time, so fatally erroneous \nand mischievous as Spencer\'s Principles of Psychol- \nogy. This fortress must be carried, this ground \nswept, or those many and far-reaching outposts which \nrest upon it cannot be captured. Philosophy must \nbe called to its own defence, and the defence of re- \nligion, or its best possessions will be lost, and the \nprotection which it now gives to ethical truth, be \nwholly sacrificed. \n\n\n\n306 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nNo fact in the progress of knowledge, more evinces \nthe relations of philosophy to religion than the results \nof Hume\'s criticism on miracles. This criticism is \nand was unanswerable on the basis of the Lockean \nphilosophy then prevalent. Hume was far too pow- \nerful for most of his assailants, and, even to our own \ntime, rejoinders have been made, which utterly failed \nto apprehend the discussion and were altogether \nworthless. They were mud balls flung at monu- \nmental granite. They might disguise its lettering \nfrom the careless passer-by, but could do nothing \ntoward effacing it. It was not till this destructive \ncriticism forced into existence a new philosophy, a \nGerman and a Scotch school, that it began to give \nground. Thus ever will philosophy show itself to be \nthe citadel of truth, of which every religious, social \nand scientific position even, are but out-posts. \n\nWe have, therefore, always, reluctantly or other- \nwise, before the final issue of any intellectual strug- \ngle, to gird ourselves up for philosophy. \n\nStarting with a defence of philosophy, and closing, \nin view of all its relations, with a further enforcement \nof its necessity, there are two other considerations \nwhich we wish to present in their bearings on this \ntopic. Every system gathers strength for the mind \nwhose it is, by the mere fact of familiarity. All beliefs, \ntrue and erroneous are open to the same liability. \nThe simple fact, that they have long been held by the \nmind, gives them great power over it. Thought \ntakes on itself habit, feels the ease of familiar pro- \ncesses, the strangeness of new conclusions, slides \nreadily on old ways, and accepts new principles with \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 307 \n\nhesitation and reluctance. The advanced theorist \nmay urge this fact as an objection against the staid \nbeliefs of the past, may intimate that their chief \nstrength lies in their prescriptive hold upon the mind, \nthat it is mere inertia that keeps them in their places ; \nyet every attack which he makes under his own faith, \nevery defence of it which he enters on, tend to exactly \nthe same result in his own belief, till much of his con- \nviction, his settled firmness of faith, is only another \nname for familiarity ; is the result of beating hard the \npath of thought by repeatedly travelling it. All par- \nties, therefore, who are really in search of the truth, \nrequire the same caution to avoid the unbelief of mere \nignorance, the credulity of constant credence. \n\nOur own customs are to us excellent, our own \nthoughts sound, our own feelings natural by familiar- \nity. Every mind, therefore, requires, from time to \ntime, a violent upheaval, an earnest effort to look \nafresh at truth, and to allow an unbiased judgment to \nreach anew its conclusions. The needle, too cohesive, \nmust be again poised, again set in light fluctuation \nunder every magnetic current. Doubtless, to those \nwho have tarried long in one field, the truths of every \nother seem vague, remote, often untenable. \n\nAnother like fact is, that every mind tends to exclu- \nsion, to concentration, to the evolution of favorite \nconceptions. This is inevitable from its mere finite- \nness, and grateful from the pleasing unity and the \napparent triumphs so given to its labors. It seems \nto be a fancy that now possesses the scientific mind, \nthat absolute identity, complete oneness, is to be more \nand more approached in the laws of the universe, \n\n\n\n308 SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nand in its forces. Harmony, symmetry, perfect inter- \naction of manifold things, are passing over into the \nmore barren conception of a diversified presentation \nof one or more central forces ; a necessary evolution, \naccording to one and the same law, of all forms of \nforce. The point of difference lies as to the depth of \nthe diversities, the disagreements, when compared \nwith agreements. Do we start with the absolutely \nhomogeneous, or with irreconcilable differences, crea- \ntion shooting out new lines from distinct points at \nthe very outsets. The one conception favors a me- \nchanical universe, referring all distinctions to posi- \ntion ; and the other a vital one, one of infinite \ndiversity and fulness. The very force of this desire \nafter an artificial unity which must at once escape \nagain into an inexplicable variety, we believe to rest \non the gravitation of the mind toward the familiar, \ntowards its own mechanical arrangement and hand- \nling of forces. Yet is not this tendency of the mind \ntoward the universal application of one conception, \nthe constant use of one nostrum, the unlocking of \nevery lock with one key, the meeting of every social \nevil with one remedy, shown by a great diversity of \nexperience to be practically pernicious and theoreti- \ncally false ? We are to approach truth from many \nquarters ; we are to travel each road in both direc- \ntions ; we are to plant ourselves in firm equipoise \non both feet ; we are to believe that those who have \nbeen pursuing favorite studies with equal diligence \nas ourselves, have, doubtless, for us, both instruction \nand correction ; that the earth is not made of so \nmany parts, the races of men are not so multiplied, \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KNOWLEDGE, ETC. 3O9 \n\nwith minds so diversified, that one or two or three \nshould explore the paths of sound thought, but that \neach from remote regions may bring his contribution. \n\nThe application of this caution is plain in connec- \ntion with all philosophy. That system which is most \nrigidly one, most inflexible to all outside thought, \nmost persistently developed from a central principle, \npresents least promise of complete truth ; has, doubt- \nless, sacrificed it most frequently, and overlaid the \nportion it possesses of it with the greatest burden of \nerror. Such a scientific spirit is of the exact nature \nof bigotry : it has in it neither historic nor philosophic \nscope. It grows by interior will ; by simple, dead \ncrystallization, not with the safety and certainty of \nexternal adaptations \xe2\x80\x94 of a vigorous tree, in a favor- \nable clime, under sufficient nourishment. \n\nThe simple fact then, that intuitive philosophy \ncovers both sides of human life instead of one, two \nseries of facts instead of a single series ; that it \ngathers and compacts in its own system truths from \nthe idealist and materialist alike ; that it roots itself \nin history, and accepts the present with no sacrifice \nof the past ; that it starts from independent points, \nand reaches harmony, not identity ; finds more mys- \nteries than one, yet every mystery a lighted torch for \nall about it ; this fact, this series of facts, makes \nstrongly for the general truth of those doctrines which \nmany minds, under many diverse impulses, have \nunited to shape, and which have discovered no set- \ntled affinity for any one class of thinkers. It is not \nmore strange that the mind should have many diverse \nideas ; that to each of them should belong its prov- \n\n\n\n3IO SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION. \n\nince ; that it should be laid on that mind to discover \nthis fact, and throw order and consistency into its \naction by confining each faculty to its own labor, \nthan that the external world should have its kingdoms \nwaiting classification, each involving distinct forces ; \nor that human conduct and character and destiny \nshould turn upon so many different ends, often in \nconflict with each other, and to be harmonized by \nwise selection, by careful inquiry and close restraint. \n\nIt is the excellency of the philosophy now urged ; \nthat it meets with response in so many directions ; \nthat it has a law for matter, and a law for mind ; that \nit looks earthward, but loses not thereby its power to \nlook heavenward ; that it has a solution for the super- \nstitions of religion, and the incredulities of science ; \nthat it can believe here and hold fast there ; that its \nfaith is not weakened by its speculations, nor its \nspeculations banished by its faith ; that it speaks to \nthe affections of the soul, and kindles its inspirations \nwithout wasting or diminishing its household goods \nof sagacity and prudence and forethought ; that it has \na place and lodgement for all that any man, or any \nprophet, or Christ, can bring it from below or above, \nfrom the visible or invisible. Such a philosophy, so \nsearching the soul with its voice, has on it the seal \nof truth \xe2\x80\x94 flexible, capacious, historic power. \n\nOne stands upon the shore of a lake imbedded in \nthe unbroken forest. His words come back to him \nwith strange distinctness from the farther banks. \nEvery tree and shrub in their deep recesses seem to \nhave united with every other in gathering up and \nreplicating the sound. Later, one stands again at \n\n\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF KONWLEDGE, ETC. 3 1 I \n\nthe familiar spot, but the woodman\'s axe has made \ngreat rents in the forest. The charm is gone, and \nthe spent echo has lost its fascination ; too little life \nis there to make answer to the life of the spirit. One \nmust win back the woods, the unbroken forest depths, \nif he would hear again those words returning to the \near in clear, distinct, startling utterance. Many \nstanding in the dusty ways of life, lift up their voices \nover its naked hills and cultivated fields, and the \nsounds pass forth blank and echoless from their lips. \nHe that speaks in the solitude of the soul, in the \npresence of its unwasted emotions, catches the ear \nof the spiritual world, and listens in turn to its dis- \ntinct answers. \n\nPhilosophy can wait ; the question is, whether men \ncan afford to wait for philosophy ? whether there will \nnot be a loss of vantage ground, a slipping from the \nheights of spiritual strength, by these unbalanced in- \nquiries into material things, by this uncompensated \npursuit of material ends ? Well it is to possess the \nworld ; but let us possess it, not be possessed by it, \npossess it for ourselves, for those high and holy ends \nwe find, and find only, in searching into the plan of \nour own being, its present and potential powers. \n\n\n\nTHE END. \n\n\n\nG. P. Putnam & Son. \n\n\n\nAVE. THE CAVE METHOD OF LEARNING \nTO DRAW FROM MEMORY. By Madame E. \nCave\\ From 4th Parisian edition. i2mo, cloth, $1. \n\n*** This is the only method of draining which realty teaches anything. In \npublishing tfv; remarkable treatise, in which she unfolds, with surpassing interest, \nthe results of her observations upon the teaching of drawing, and the ingenious \nmethods she applies, Madame Cave 1 .... renders invaluable service to all who have \nmarked out for themselves a career of Art." \xe2\x80\x94 Extract from a long revie7n in \nthe Revue des Deux Moudes, written by Delacroix. \n\n" It is interesting and valuable." \xe2\x80\x94 D. Huntington, Prest. Nat. Acad. \n\n" Should be used by ever)\' teacher of Drawing in America." \xe2\x80\x94 City Item, Phila. \n\n" We wish that Madame Cavd had published this work half a century ago, that \nwe might have been instructed in this enviable accomplishment." \xe2\x80\x94 Harper\'s Mag. \n\nCAVE. THE CAVE METHOD OF TEACHING CO- \nLOR. i2mo, cloth, $1. \n\n*n* This work was referred, by the French Minister of Public Instruction, to a \ncommission of ten eminent artists and officials, whose report, written by M. Dela- \ncroix, was unanimously adopted, endorsing and approving the work. The Minis- \nter, thereupon, by a decree, authorized the use of it in the French Normal schools. \n\nG. P. Putnam & Son have also just received from Paris \nspecimens of the materials used in this method, which they \ncan supply to order. I. The Gauzes (framed) are now ready. \nPrice $1 each. With discount to teachers. II. The Stand \nfor the gauze. Price $1.50. III. Methode Cave, pour \napprendre a dcssiuer juste et de memoire d\'apres les principes \nd\' Albert Durer et de Leonardo da Vinci. Approved by the \nMinister of Public Instruction, and by Messrs. Delacroix, H. \nVernet, etc. In 8 series, folio, paper covers. Price $2.25 each. \n\nN.B. \xe2\x80\x94 The Crayons, Paper, and other articles mentioned in \nthe Cavd Method may be obtained of any dealer in Art\'st\'s \nMaterials. Samples of the French Articles may be se^n at \nPutnam & Sons. \n\nHHADBOURNE. NATURAL THEOLOGY , or, \nNature and the Bible from the same Author. Lec- \ntures delivered before the Lowell Institute, Boston. \nBy P. A. Chadbourne, A.M., M.D., President of University \nof Wisconsin. i2mo, cloth, $2. Student\'s edition, $1.75. \n\n"This is a valuable contribution to current literature, and will be found adapted \nto the use of the class-room in college, and to the investigations of private students." \n\xe2\x80\x94 Richmond Christian Adv. \n\n" The warm, fresh breath of pure and fervent religion pervades these eloquent \npages." \xe2\x80\x94 Am. Baptist. \n\n" Prof. Chadboume\'s book is among the few metaphysical ones now published, \nwhich, once taken up, cannot be laid aside unread. It is written in a perspicuous, \nanimated style, combining depth of thought and gr-ce of diction, with a total ab- \nsence of ambitious display." \xe2\x80\x94 Washington National Republic. \n\n" In diction, method, and spirit, the volume is attractive and distinctive to 8 \nare decree." \xe2\x80\x94 Boston Traveller. \n\n\n\nPublications of \n\n\n\nHILD\'S BENEDICITE ; or, Illustration of the Pow- \ner, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in \nHis Works. By G. Chaplin Child, M.D. From tha \n\nLondon edition of John Murray. With an Introductory \n\nNote by Henry G. Weston, D.D., of New York. I vol. \n\ni2mo. Elegantly printed on tinted paper, cloth extra, \n\nbevelled, $2 ; mor. ext., $4.50. \n\nChief Contents. \n\n\n\nIntroduction. \nThe Heavens. \nThe Sun and Moon. \nThe Planets. \nThe Stars. \n\n\n\nWinter and Summer. \nNights and Days. \nLight and Darkness. \nLightning and Clouds. \nShowers and Dew. \n\n\n\nWells. \n\nSeas and Floods. \n\nThe Winds. \n\nFire and Heat. \n\nFrost and Snow, etc. \n\n\n\n" The most admirable popular treatise of natural theology. It is no extravagance \nto say that we have never read a more charming book, or one which we can recom- \nmend more confidently to our readers with the assurance that it will aid them, as \nnone that we know of can do, to \n\n\' Look through Nature up to Nature\'s God.\' \nEvery clergyman would do well particularly to study this book. For the rest, the \n-handsome volume is delightful in appearance, and is one of the most creditable spe- \ncimens of American book-making that has come from die Riverside Press." \xe2\x80\x94 Round \nTable, N. Y, June i. \n\nLARKE. PORTIA, and other Tales of Shakespeare\'s \nHeroines. By Mrs. Cowden Clarke, author of the \nConcordance to Shakespeare. With engravings. \ni2mo, cloth extra, $2.50 ; gilt edges, $3. \n\n*#* An attractive book, especially for girls. \n\n\n\nOOPER. RURAL HOURS. By a Lady. (Miss \nSusan Fenimore Cooper.) New Edition, with a new \nIntroductory Chapter. 1 vol. i2mo, $2.50. \n\n" One of the most interesting volumes of the day, displaying powers of mind o( \na higli order." \xe2\x80\x94 Mrs. Hale\'s Woman\'s Record. \n\n" An admirable portraiture of American out-door life, just as it is." \xe2\x80\x94 Prof. Hart. \n\n" A very pleasant book \xe2\x80\x94 the result of the combined effort of good sense and good \nfeeling, an observing mind, and a real, honest, unaffected appreciation of the count- \nless minor beauties that Nature exhibits to her assiduous lovers." \xe2\x80\x94 N. Y. Albion. \n\nRAVEN (Mme. Aug.). ANNE SEVERIN : A Story \ntranslated from the French. i6mo, $1.50. \n[Putnayn\'s European Library.] \n\n*#* " The Sister\'s Story," by the same author, has been warmly and generally \neulogized as a book of remarkably pure and elevated character. \n\n" By her great success, Mrs. Craven has larger power for good than perhaps an? \nither writer h France." \xe2\x80\x94 Pall Mall Gazette. \n\n\n\nG. P. Putnam & Son. \n\n\n\nj|AVIS. A STRANDED SHIP. A Story of Sea and \nShore. By L. Clarke Davis. 161110, cloth, 80 cts. ; \npaper, 50 cts. \n\n" It is told with exceeding; grace, and portrays the lives of two unhappy men \nwith remarkable skill and insight into human nature." \xe2\x80\x94 Phila City Item. \n\n\n\nENISON. ASTRONOMY WITHOUT MATHE- \nMATICS. By Edmund Beckett Denison, LL.D., \nQ.C., E.R.A.S. From the Jth London edition. \n\nEdited, with corrections and notes, by Pliny E. Chase, A.M. \n\n121110, cloth, $1.75. \n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\nE VERE. WONDERS OF THE DEEP. By M. \n\nScheie de Vere, Professor of Modern Languages in \n\nthe University of Virginia. i2mo, cloth, $1.75. \nChief Contents. \n\n\n\nPearls. \n\n\nOysters. \n\n\nCorals. \n\n\nLight-house Stories, etc. \n\n\nFacts and Tables. \n\n\nOdd Fish. \n\n\nMercury. \n\n\n&c, &c. \n\n\n\nINGELSTEDT (Franz). THE AMAZON. Transla- \nted from the German by J. M. Hart. i6mo, cloth \nextra, $1.50. \n\n[Putnani\'s European Library."] \n\n\n\nsparkles throughout with vivacity and fan \n\n"Unquestionably the most charming novel that has appeared for \n" Ueber Land und Meer" Stuttgart. \n\n\n\n" Full of scintillations of wit, \nciful humor." \xe2\x80\x94 Leipsic Blatter \n\n\n\nor some time. \n\n\n\nGLESTON (Geo. W.). THE SEARCH AFTER \nTRUTH. Addressed to Young Men. Dedicated \nto the Young Men\'s Christian Associations. i6mo, \n\n\n\ncloth, $1.25. \n\n\n\nARRAGUT\'S CRUISE IN EUROPE.- \ngomery \n\n\n\n-See Mont- \n\n\n\nPublications of \n\n\n\nAY. A NEW SYSTEM OF GEOGRAPHY. By \nHon. Theo. S. Fay. With finely executed Maps. \nFor Families and for Students. i2mo, with Atlas, \nquarto. Cloth extra, $3.50. School edition, $2.75. Text- \nBook separate. Cloth, $1.00 ; half bound, 75 cents. \n\n*:):* An introductory work for young classes is in preparation. \nThese volumes have been prepared with the greatest care, and have cost several \nyears of labor, under the suggestions and supervisions of Humboldt, Ritter, and \nthe most eminent Geographers and Astronomers of Europe. They are on a new \nplan, and the maps and illustrations are admirably executed at large expense. \n\nOffice of the Clerk op the Board of Education, \\ \nCor. of Gra .id and Elm Sts. i \n\nNew York, March 9th, 1869. \nGeorge P. Putnam, Esq. : \n\nDear Sir :\xe2\x80\x94" Fay\'s Geography for Schools " has been added to the list of books \nfurnished to the schools under the control of the Board of Education. \n\nYours, &c, \n\nThos. Boese, \nClerk of Board of Education. \n*** It is used in Vassar College by about one hundred pupils. \n"The Great Outline of Geography can neither be dispensed with nor super- \nseded." \xe2\x80\x94 Henry B. Tappan, late President of the Michigan University. \n" It makes Geography almost a new science." \xe2\x80\x94 Henry IV. Bellows, D.D. \n" Comprehensive and complete." \xe2\x80\x94 N. Y. Nation. \n" It gives life to what seemed before a dead science." \n\n" The book improves upon acquaintance. My classes are much interested, and \nteaching is a pleasure." \xe2\x80\x94 E. A. Gibbons, Harvard Rooms, N. Y. \n\nFAY. A new System of Astronomy. By Hon. Theo. S. \nFay. Richly illustrated. For Families and for Students. \ni2mo, with Atlas, quarto. (Ju press.) \n\nFAY. NORMAN LESLIE. A New York Story. By \nHon.. Theo. S. Fay. Price $1.75. \n\n" It affords a faithful picture of old New York, and it is a readable and meri- \ntorious work." \xe2\x80\x94 N. Y. Citizen. \n\n\n\nIELD. GREEN-HOUSES AND GREEN-HOUSE \nPLANTS. By M. Field. With Introduction by \nWilliam Cullen Bryant. With Illustrations. i2mo, \ncloth, 75 cents. \n\n\n\nG. P. Putnam & Sou. \n\n\n\nHflODWIN. The Cyclopaedia of BIOGRAPHY : A Reo \nord of the Lives of Eminent Persons. By Parke \nGodwin. New edition, with a Supplement brought \ndown to the present time. By George Sheppard. In one \nvolume, crown 8vo, cloth, $3.50 ; half calf, $5. \n\n"We can speak from long experience in the use of this book, as a well-thumbed \ncopy of the first edition has lain fir years on our library table for almost daily \nreference. A concise, compact biographical dictionary is one of the most necessary \nand convenient of manuals, and we seldom failed to find what we looked for in this \nexcellent compendium." \xe2\x80\x94 Heme Journal. \n\nflENERAL GREENE\'S LIFE. The Life of Nathaniel \nGreene, Major-General in the Army of the Revolu- \ntion. By George Washington Greene, author of \n\n" Historical View of the American Revolution." 3 vols. \n\n8vo. University press. The first volume is now ready. \n\nPrice to subscribers, $4 per volume. \n\nThe history of our life as a nation loses both its philosophical and its practical \nimportance if separated from the history of the Revolution. A careful study of \nthe War of Independence would have saved us thousands of lives and millions \nof money in the War of the Rebellion. Next to the life of Washington, it is in the \nlife of Greene that this history is to be sought : nor can it be fully understood with- \nout read.ng both. It is in the hope of contributing to the materials for this study, \nand in the conviction that to preserve the memory of great and good men is one \nof the highest offices of patriotism, that these volumes are offered to the student of \nAmerican history. \n\n" The book is most valuable and most interesting, and ought to be in every library \nin the Union." \xe2\x80\x94 Round Table. \n\n" Let every father give this book to his son, that the young generation, instead \nof receiving distorted impressions from the perusal of such trash as that of the \nHeadley, Spencer, and Abbott school, may see in their true light the glory and \nshortcomings, the success and the failures of that glorious period of American his- \ntory, and that they may learn to emulate the example set by Greene and his com- \npeers." \xe2\x80\x94 TV. Y. livening Post. \n\n\n\nRISCOM. THE USE OF TOBACCO ; its Physical, \nMoral, and Social Evils. By J. H. Griscom, M.D. \nNew edition, to which is added "The Chemistry of a \n\nCigar." By the Editor of the Boston Journal of Chemistry. \n\n321110. 25 cents ; cloth, 50 cents. \n\n*#* This "Counterblast" against "the weed," containing new and startling \nfacts, is well worth the serious attention of ah victims to this narcotic nuisance and \npernicious poison. \n\nATTON. CHRISTOPHER KENRICK. By Jos. \nHatton, Author of " Tallants of Barton," "Pipping \nand Cheese," etc. 121110, cloth, $1.75. \n\n\n\nPublications of \n\n\n\nImportant Book of Reference. \nAYDN\'S DICTIONARY OF DATES, relating to \nall Ages and Nations, for Universal Reference. The \nnew (13th) English edition by Benjamin Vincent. \nTo which is added an American Supplement, containing \nabout 200 additional pages, including American Topics and \na copious Biographical Index. By G. P. Putnam, A.M. \nIn one very large volume of more than 1000 pages. Price, \n$9 ; half russia, $11. \n\n%* This is the most comprehensive and reliable book of reference in this depart- \nment ever published. The last English edition of the original work is given entire, \ntogether with American additions which were essential to the completeness of a \nvolume which is marvellous for its fulness and accuracy. No good library can dis- \npense with this volume. \n\nAMERICAN SUPPLEMENT TO HAYDN\'S DIC- \nTIONARY OF DATES. Including a copious Biographi- \ncal Index. By G. P. Putnam. 8vo. $1.50. \n\nAWTHORNE. NOTES IN ENGLAND AND \nITALY. By Mrs. Nath\'l Hawthorne. i2mo, \n\ncloth, $2. \n\nOOD. The Complete Works of Thomas Hood. With \ntwelve Engravings on steel, and several hundred \nIllustrations on wood, from his own designs. In six \nvolumes, crown 8vo, cloth, $15 ; half calf, gilt or antique, \n\nS24. \n\n" Hood\'s verse, whether serious or comic, whether serene, like a cloudless autumn \nevening, or sparkling with puns, like a frosty January midnight with stars, was ever \npregnant with materials for thought." \xe2\x80\x94 D. M. Moir. \n\n" His name is destined to be a household word with all who speak the English \nlanguage." \xe2\x80\x94 Loudon Quarterly Review, Oct., 1863. \n\nHOOD\'S Poetical Works. 3 vols, crown 8vo, cloth, $7.50. \n\nHOOD\'S Prose Works. 3 vols, crown 8vo, cloth, $7.50. \n\nHOOD\'S Poetical Works. People\'s edition. 1 vol., $3.25. \n\nHOOD. Up the Rhine. By Thomas Hood. A new edition, \nwith two steel Engravings, and with the author\'s original \nIllustrations on wood. One volume, crown Svo, $2. \n\n\n\nG. P. Putnam & Son. \n\n\n\nHOOD. Whims and Oddities. By Thomas Hood. Anew \n\nedition, with one hundred and thirteen Illustrations on \nwood, by the Author, and two steel engravings, from de- \nsigns by Hoppin. One volume, crown 8vo, $2. \n\nHOOU. Tales and Extravaganzas. By Thomas Hood. \nA new edition, with Illustrations. In one volume, crown \nSvo, #2.25. \n\nThe longest is " Our Family ; " the funniest; " Mrs. Gardiner, a Horticultural \nRomance," which is the most laughable play on words probably in the Fnghsh \nlanguage. For mirth-compelling, without weakness of mere playfulness, or sinful- \nness of id:a and language, the melancholy Hood still stands above all rivals before \nor since. \xe2\x80\x94 Christian Advocate. \n\nOWELLS, W. D. NO LOVE LOST ; A Romance \nof Travel. With illustrations. i6mo, gilt extra, $1.50. \n\n*$* An elegant and delightful little volume by the editor of the A tlantic Monthly \nIt is just the thing for a tasteful gift to a lady friend. \n\n" Perfectly charming in its graceful rhythm, romantic interest, and complete \nness." \xe2\x80\x94 Phila, City Item. \n\n\n\n\xe2\x96\xa0;j \n\n\n\nran \n\n\n\nYACINTHI. LIFE, SPEECHES, AND DIS- \nCOURSES of Pere Hyacinthe. Edited by Rev. L. \nW. Bacon. 1 vol. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. \n\n"We are quite suro that these Discourses will increase Father Hyacinthe\'s repu- \ntation among us, as a man of rare intellectual power, genuine eloquence, ripe scholar- \nship and most generous sympathies." \xe2\x80\x94 National Baptist, Philadelphia. \n\n" The Discourses will be found fully up to the high expectation formed from the \ngreat priest\'s protests against the trammels of Romish dogmatism." \xe2\x80\x94 Rochester \nDemocrat. \n\nHYACINTHE. THE FAMILY. A Series of Discourses \nby Father Hyacinthe. To which are added, The Educa- \ntion of the Working Classes ; The Church \xe2\x80\x94 Six Confer- \nences ; Speeches and Addresses \xe2\x80\x94 including the Address \nat the Academy of Music, N. Y., Dec. 9, 1869. With an \nHistorical Introduction from Putnam\'s Magazine. [By Hon \nJohn Bigelow.] I vol. 121110, $1.50. \n\nN.B. \xe2\x80\x94 Both books are published under Father Hyacinthe\'s \nsanction, and he receives a copyright on the sales. \n\n\n\nIO Publications of \n\nWASHINGTON IRVING \'S WORKS. \n\nFOUR EDITIONS, VIZ. : \n\nRVING\'S WORKS. The Works of Washington \nIrving, including the Life of Irving, by his \nNephew, Pierre M. Irving. \n\nI. SUNNYSIDE EDITION. In twenty-eight vo- \nlumes tamo. Cloth, $63 (reduced from $70) ; half calf, gilt \nor antique, $112 ; full calf extra, $140; full morocco extra. \n$150- \n\nII. THE KNICKERBOCKER EDITION Large \n\ni2mo, on superfine laid paper, with Illustrations, elegantly \nprinted from new stereotype plates, and bound in extra cloth, \ngilt top. Per volume, cloth, $2.50 ; half calf, $4. In sets, \nincluding Life, 27 vols., cloth, $67.50; half calf, $108; \nwithout Life, 24 vols., $60 ; half calf, $96. \n\nIII. THE RIVERSIDE EDITION.\xe2\x80\x94 161110, on fine \n\nwhite paper ; from new stereotype plates ; green crape cloth, \n\ngilt top, bevelled edges, $1.75 per vol. ; half calf, $3.25 per vol. \nIn sets, 23 vols., cloth, $40 ; half calf, $69. With " Life of \nIrving," 26 vols., $45 ; half calf, $84.50. \n\nIV. THE PEOPLE\'S EDITION\xe2\x80\x94 From the same \n\n.stereotype plates as above, but printed on cheaper paper, \nneatly bound in cloth; price, $1.25 per vol. In sets, 23 \nvols., $29 ; with " Life," 26 vols., $32.50. \n\nIRVING\'S LIGHTER WORKS. Riverside Edition. \nElegantly printed on toned paper, and illustrated with ap- \npropriate vignettes. Eight volumes 161110, vellum cloth, \ngilt tops, $14; cloth, gilt edges, $16; half calf, $26. Sepa- \nrate vols., $1.75, $2, and $3.25. \n\nThe "Riverside Edition" of Irving\' s works comprises all the " Belles-Lettres \nWorks," complete in eight volumes. \n\nKnickerbocker, I Crayon Miscellany, I Oliver Goldsmith, \n\nTales of a Traveller, Bracebridge Hall, \' Sketch- Book. \n\nWolfert\'s Roost, | Alhambra, \n\n*** The publishers desire to call special attention to this edition, as presenting \nthese classics in the most enjoyable form. \n\nThe volume is just the convenient size to hold in the hand, and neatly bound in \nplain green muslin with gold top. Its typography is unexceptional \xe2\x80\x94 a beautiful let- \nter, perfectly impressed, and the printing done with care and elegance. \xe2\x80\x94 Hartfard \nPress. \n\n\n\n'