A body with a mass of 4 is moving with a velocity of 4 along the line from A to B. At C it meets another body with a mass of 4 at rest. From thence the two move on towards B with a velocity of 2. What has happened? In the body there was a certain amount of force, which set it in motion and kept it in motion. And just here let us make a point. No force is ever lost or destroyed. It is only transferred. When a bullet is fired from a gun, it possesses at one point a maximum of force. From that point this force is steadily transferred to the air and other substances, until all that it received from the powder is spent. But at any one point in its flight, the sum of the force which has been transferred since the maximum, and of the force yet to be transferred, will always equal the maximum. Now, how is it respecting the question raised by Mr. Spencer? The instant of contact is a point in time, not a period, and the transfer of force is instantaneous. C, then, is a point, not a period, and the velocity on the one side is 4 and the other side 2, while the momentum or force is exactly equal throughout the line. If it is said that this proves that a body can pass from one velocity to another without passing through the intermediate velocities, we cannot help it. The above are the facts, and they give the truth. The following sentence of Mr. Spencer is, at least, careless. "For when, of two such units, one moving at velocity 4 strikes another at rest, the striking unit must have its velocity 4 instantaneously reduced to velocity 2; must pass from velocity 4 to velocity 2 without any lapse of time, and without passing through intermediate velocities; must be moving with velocities 4 and 2 at the same instant, which is impossible." If there is any sense in the remark, "instantaneously" must mean a point of time without period. For, if any period is allowed, the sentence has no meaning, since during that period "the striking unit" passes through all "intermediate velocities." But if by instantaneously he means without period, then the last clause of the sentence is illogical, since instant there evidently means a period. For if it means point, then it contradicts the first clause. There, it is asserted that 4 was "reduced" to 2, i. e. that at one point the velocity was 4, and at the next point it was 2, and that there was no time between. If 4 was instantaneously reduced to 2, then the velocity 2 was next after the velocity 4, and not coeval with it. Thus it appears that these two clauses which were meant to be synonymous are contradictory.
Bearing in mind what we have heretofore learned respecting atoms, we shall not be troubled by the objections to the Newtonian theory which follow. In reply to the question, "What is the constitution of these units?" the answer, "We have no alternative but to regard each of them as a small piece of matter," would be true if the Sense was the only faculty which could examine them. But even upon this theory Mr. Spencer's remarks "respecting the parts of which each atom consists," are entirely out of place; for the hypothesis that it is an ultimate atom excludes the supposition of "parts," since that phrase has no meaning except it refers to a final, indivisible, material unit. All that the Sense could say, would be, "What this atom is I know not, but that it is, and is not divisible, I believe." But when we see by the Reason that the ultimate atom, when dissolved, becomes God's power, all difficulty in the question vanishes. Having thus answered the above objections, it is unnecessary to notice the similar ones raised against Boscovich's theory, which is a modification of that of Newton.
Mr. Spencer next examines certain phenomena of motion. The fact that he seeks for absolute motion by the physical sense, a faculty which was only given us to perceive relative—phenomenal—motion, and is, in its kind, incapable of finding the absolute motion, (for if it should see it, it could not know it,) is sufficient to condemn all that he has said on this subject. For the presentations which he has made of the phenomena given us by the Sense does not exhaust the subject. The perplexities therein developed are all resolvable, as will appear further on. The phenomena adduced on page 55 are, then, merely appearances in the physical sense; and the motion is merely relative. In the first instance, the captain walks East with reference to the ship and globe. In the second, he walks East with reference to the ship; the ship sails West with reference to the globe; while the resultant motion is, that he is stationary with reference to this larger object. What, then, can the Sense give us? Only resultant motion, at the most. So we see that "our ideas of Motion" are not "illusive," but deficient. The motion is just what it appears, measured from a given object. It is relative, and this is all the Sense can give. Our author acknowledges that "we tacitly assume that there are real motions"; that "we take for granted that there are fixed points in space, with respect to which all motions are absolute; and we find it impossible to rid ourselves of this idea." A question instantly arises, and it seems to be one which he is bound to entertain, viz: How comes this idea to be? We press this question upon Mr. Spencer, being persuaded that he will find it much more perplexing than those he has entertained. Undoubtedly, "absolute motion cannot even be imagined." No motion can be imagined, though the moving body may be. But by no means does it follow, "much less known." This involves that the knowing faculty is inferior to, and more circumscribed than, the imagining faculty, when the very opposite is the fact. Neither does it follow from what is said in the paragraph beginning with, "For motion is change of place," that "while we are obliged to think that there is absolute motion, we find absolute motion incomprehensible." The Universe is limited and bounded, and is a sphere. We may assume that the centre of the sphere is at rest. Instantly absolute motion becomes comprehensible, for it is motion measured from that point. Surely there can be no harm in the supposition. The Reason shows us that the supposition is the truth; and that that centre is the throne of the eternal God. In this view not only is motion, apart from the "limitations of space," totally unthinkable, but it is absolutely impossible. Motion cannot be, except as a formal body is. Hence, to speak of motion in "unlimited space" is simply absurd. Formal object cannot be, except as thereby a limit is established in Space. Hence it is evident that "absolute motion" is not motion with reference to "unlimited Space," which would be the same as motion without a moving; but is motion with reference to that point fixed in Space, around which all things revolve, but which is itself at perfect rest.
"Another insuperable difficulty presents itself, when we contemplate the transfer of Motion." Motion is simply the moving of a body, and cannot be transferred. The force which causes the motion is what is transferred. All that can be said of motion is, that it is, that it increases, that it diminishes, that it ceases. If the moving body impinges upon another moving body, and causes it to move, it is not motion that is transferred, but the force which causes the motion. The motion in the impinging body is diminished, and a new motion is begun in the body which was at rest. Again it is asked: "In what respect does a body after impact differ from itself before impact?" And further on: "The motion you say has been communicated. But how? What has been communicated? The striking body has not transferred a thing to the body struck; and it is equally out of the question to say that it has transferred an attribute." Observe now that a somewhat is unquestionably communicated; and the question is:—What is it? Query. Does Mr Spencer mean to comprehend the Universe in "thing" and "attribute"? He would seem to. If he does, he gives a decision by assertion without explanation or proof, which involves the very question at issue, which is, Is the somewhat transferred a "thing" or an "attribute"; and a decision directly contrary to the acknowledgment that a somewhat has been communicated? On the above-named hypothesis his statement should be as follows: A somewhat has been communicated. "Thing" and "attribute" comprise all the Universe. Neither a thing, nor an attribute has been communicated, i. e. no somewhat has been communicated; which contradicts the evidence and the acknowledgment. If on the other hand Mr. Spencer means that "thing" and "attribute" comprise only a part of the Universe, then the question is not fairly met. It may be more convenient for the moment to conclude the Universe in the two terms thing and attribute; and then, as attribute is essential to the object it qualifies, and so cannot be communicated, it will follow that a thing has been communicated. This thing we call force. It is not in hand now to inquire what force is. It is manifest to the Sense that the body is in a different state after impact, than it was before. Something has been put into the body, which, though not directly appreciable to the Sense, is indirectly appreciable by the results, and which is as real an addition as water is to a bowl, when poured in. Before the impact the body was destitute of that kind of force—motor force would be a convenient term—which tended to move it. After the impact a sufficiency of that force was present to produce the motion. It may be asked, where does this force go to when the motion diminishes till the body stops. It passes into the substances which cause the diminution until there is no surplus in the moving body, and at the point of equilibrium motion ceases. If it be now asked, where does this force ultimately go to, it is to be said that it comes from God, and goes to God, who is the Final. The Sense gives only subordinate answers, but the Reason leads us to the Supreme.
If the view adopted be true, Mr. Spencer's halving and halving again "the rate of movement forever," is irrelevant. It is not a mental operation but an actual fact which is to be accounted for. Take a striking illustration. A ball lying on smooth ice is struck with a hockey. Away it goes skimming over the glassy surface with a steadily diminishing velocity till it ceases. It starts, it proceeds, it stops. These are the facts; and the mental operation must accord with them. There is put into the ball, at the instant of contact, a certain amount of motor force. From that instant onward, that force flows out of the ball into the resisting substances by which it is surrounded, until none is left. And it is just as pertinent to ask how all the water can flow out of a pail, as how all the motor force can flow out of a moving substance. "The smallest movement is separated" by no more of "an impassable gap from no movement," than it is from a larger movement above it. That which will account for a movement four becoming two, will account for a movement two becoming zero. The "puzzle," then, may be explained thus. Time is the procession of events. Let it be represented by a line. Take a point in that line, which will then mark its division but represent no period. On one side of that point is rest; on the other motion. That point is the point of contact, and occupies no period. At this point the motion is maximum. The force instantly begins to flow off, and continues in a steady stream until none is left, and the body is again at rest. Here, also, we take a point. This is the point of zero. It again divides the line. Before the bisection is motion; after the bisection is rest. All this cannot be perceived by the Sense, nor conceived by the Understanding. It is seen by the Reason. Now observe the actual phenomenon. The ball starts, proceeds, stops. From maximum to zero there is a steady diminution, or nearly enough so for the experiment; at least the diminution can be averaged for the illustration. Then comparing motion with time, the same difficulty falls upon the one as the other. If the motion is halved, the time must be; and so, "mentally," it is impossible to imagine how a moment of time can pass. To the halving faculty—the Sense—this is true, and so we are compelled to correct our course of procedure. This it is. The Sense and Understanding being impotent to discover an absolute unit of any kind, the Sense assumes for itself what meets all practical want—a standard unit, by which it measures parts in Space and Time. So motion must be measured by some assumed standard; and as, like time,—duration,—it can be represented by a line, let them have a common standard. Suppose, then, that the ball's flight occupies ten minutes of time. The line from m to z will be divided into ten exactly equal spaces; and it will be no more difficult to account for the flow of force from 10 to 9, than from 1 to 0. Also let it be observed that the force, like time, is a unit, which the Sense, for its convenience, divides into parts; but that neither those parts, nor any parts, have any real existence. As Time is an indivisible whole, measured off for convenience, so any given force is such a whole, and is so measured off. All this appearing and measuring are phenomenal in the Sense. It is the Reason which sees that they can be only phenomenal, and that behind the appearance is pure Spirit—God, who is primarily out of all relation.
On page 58, near the close of his illustration of the chair, Mr. Spencer says: "It suffices to remark that since the force as known to us is an affection of consciousness, we cannot conceive the force as existing in the chair under the same form without endowing the chair with consciousness." This very strange assertion can only be true, provided a major premiss, No force can be conceived to exist without involving an affection of consciousness in the object in which it apparently inheres, is true. Such a premiss seems worse than absurd; it seems silly. We cannot learn that force exists, without our consciousness is affected thereby; but this is a very different thing from our being unable to conceive of a force as existing, without there is a consciousness in the object through which it appears. If Mr. Spencer had said that no force can be, without being exerted, and no force can be exerted, without an affection of the consciousness of the exertor, he would have uttered the truth. We would then have the following result. Primarily all force is exerted by the Deity; and he is conscious thereof. He draws the chair down just as really as though the hand were visible. Secondarily spiritual persons are endowed by their Creator with the ability to exert his force for their uses, and so I lift the chair. The great error, which appears on every page of Mr. Spencer's book and invalidates all his conclusions, shows itself fully here. He presents images from the Sense, and then tries to satisfy the Reason—the faculty which calls for an absolute account—by the analyses of that Sense. His attempt to "halve the rate," his remark that "the smallest movement is separated by an impassable gap from no movement," and many such, are only pertinent to the Sense, can never be explained by the Sense, and are found by the Reason to need, and be capable of, no such kind of explanation as the Sense attempts; but that the phenomena are appearances in wholes, whose partitions cannot be absolute, and that these wholes are accounted for by the being of an absolute and infinite Person—God, who is utterly impalpable to the Sense, and can be known only by the Reason.
The improper use of the Sense mentioned above, is, if possible, more emphatically exemplified in the remarks upon "the connection between Force and Matter." "Our ultimate test of Matter is the ability to resist." This is true to the Sense, but no farther. "Resist" what? Other matter, of course. Thus is the sensuousness made manifest. In the Sense, then, we have a material object. But Force is not object to the Sense directly, but only indirectly by its effects through Matter. The Sense, in its percept, deems the force other than the matter. Hence it is really no more difficult for the Sense to answer the question, How could the Sun send a force through 95,000,000 of miles of void to the Earth and hold it, than through solid rock that distance? All that the Sense can do is to present the phenomena. It is utterly impotent to account for the least of them.
In the following passage, on page 61, Mr. Spencer seems to have been unaccountably led astray. He says: "Let the atoms be twice as far apart, and their attractions and repulsions will both be reduced to one fourth of their present amounts. Let them be brought within half the distance, and then attractions and repulsions will both be quadrupled. Whence it follows that this matter will as readily as not assume any other density; and can offer no resistance to any external agents." Now if this be true, there can be no "external agents" to which to offer any "resistance." It is simply to assert that all force neutralizes itself; and that matter is impossible. But the conclusion does not "follow." It is evidently based on the supposition that the "attractions and repulsions" are contra-acting forces which exactly balance each other, and so the molecules are held in their position by no force. Instead of this, they are co-acting forces, which are wholly expended in holding the molecules in their places. The repulsions, then, are expended in resisting pressure from without which seeks to crowd the particles in upon themselves and thus disturb their equilibrium; while the attractions are expended in holding the particles down to their natural distance from each other when any disturbing force attempts to separate them. Hence, referring to the two cases mentioned, in the first instance the power of resistance is reduced to one fourth, and this corresponds with the fact; and in the second instance the power of resistance is increased fourfold, and this corresponds with the fact.
We thus arrive at the end of Mr. Spencer's remarks concerning the material Universe and of our strictures thereon. Perhaps the reader's mind cannot better be satisfied as to the validity of these strictures than by presenting an outline of the system furnished by the Reason, and upon which they are based.
The Reason gives, by a direct and immediate intuition, and as a necessary a priori idea, God. This is a spontaneous, synthetical act, precisely the same in kind with that which gives a simple a priori principle, as idea. In it the Reason intuits, not a single principle seen to be necessary simply, but the fact that all possible principles must be combined in a perfectly harmonious unity, in a single Being, who thereby possesses all possible endowments; and so is utterly independent, and is seen to be the absolute and infinite Person, the perfect Spirit. This act is no conclusion of the One from the many in a synthetical judgment, but is entirely different. It is the necessary seeing of the many in the One; and so is not a judgment but an intuition, not a guess but a certainty. God, then, is known, when known at all, not "by plurality, difference, and relation," but by an immediate insight into his unity, and so is directly known as he is. And the whole Universe is, that creatures might be, to whom this revelation was possible. Among the other necessary endowments which this intuition reveals, is that of immanent power commensurate with his dignity, and adequate to realize in actual creatures the necessary a priori ideas, which he also possesses as endowments. Power is, then, a simple idea, incapable of analysis; and which cannot therefore be defined, except by synonymous terms; and to which President Hopkins's remark upon moral obligation is equally pertinent; viz: "that we can only state the occasion on which it arises." From these data the a priori idea of the Universe may be developed as follows:—
God, the absolute and infinite Person, possesses, as inherent endowment forever immanent in himself, Universal Genius; which is at once capacity and faculty, in which he sees, and by which he sees, all possible ideas, and these in all possible combinations or ideals. Thus has he all possible knowledge. From the various ideal systems which thus are, he, having perfect wisdom, and according his choice to the behest of his own worth, selects that one which is thus seen to be best; and thereby determines the forms and laws under which the Universe shall become. He also possesses, as inherent endowment, all power; i. e. the ability to realize every one of his ideals; but not the ability to violate the natural laws of his being, as to make two and two five. The ideal system is only ideal: the power is simply power; and so long as the two remain isolated, no-thing will be. Therefore, in order to the realization of his ideal, it must be combined with the power; i. e., the power must be organized according to the ideal. How, then, can the power, having been sent forth from God, be organized? Thus. If the power goes forth in its simplicity, it will be expended uselessly, because there is no substance upon which it may be exercised. It follows, then, that, if exercised at all, it must be exercised upon itself. When, therefore, God would create the Universe, he sent forth two "pencils," or columns of power, of equal and sufficient volume, which, acting upon each other from opposite directions, just held each other in balance, and thus force was. These two "pencils," thus balancing each other, would result in a sphere of "space-filling force." The point of contact would determine the first place in Space, and the first point in Time; from which, if attainable, an absolute measure of each could be made. All we have now attained is the single duality "space-filling force," which is wholly homogeneous, is of sufficient volume to constitute the Universe, and yet by no means is the Universe. There is only Chaos, "without form and void, and darkness" is "upon the face of the deep." Now must "the Spirit of God move upon the face of the waters"; then through vast and to us immeasurable periods of time, through cycle and epicycle, the work of organization will go on. Ever moving under forms laid down in the a priori ideal, God's power turns upon itself, as out of the crush of elemental chaos the Universe is being evolved. During this process, whatever of the force is to act under the law of heat in the a priori ideal, assumes that form and the heat force becomes; whatever is to act under the law of magnetism, assumes that form, and magnetic force becomes; so of light, and the various forms of matter. At length, in the revolution of the cycles, the Universe attains that degree of preparation which fits it for living things to be, and the life force is organized; and by degrees all its various forms are brought forth. After another vast period that point is reached when an animal may be organized, which shall be the dwelling-place for a time of a being whose life is utterly different in kind from any animal life, and man appears. Now in all these vast processes, be it observed that God is personally present, that the first energy was his, and that every subsequent energizing act is his special and personal act. He organized the duality, force. He then organized this force into heat-force, light-force, magnetic-force, matter-force, life-force, and soul-force. And so it is that his personal supervision and energy is actually present in every atom of the Universe. When we turn from this process of thought to the sensible facts, and speak of granite, sandstone, schist, clay, herbage, animals, yes, of the thousand kinds of substance which appear to the eye, it is to be remembered that all these are but forms to the Sense of that "reason-conception," force,—that primal duality, which power acting upon itself becomes. Now as the machine can never carve any other image than those for which it is specially constructed, and must work just as it is made to work, so the Sense, which is purely mechanical, can never do any other than the work for which it was made, can never transcend the laws of its organization. It can only give forms—results, but is impotent to go behind them. It can only say that things are, but never say what or why they are.
Seen in the light of the theory which has thus been presented, Mr. Spencer's difficulties vanish. Matter is force. Motion is matter affected by another form of force. The "puzzle" of motion and rest is only phenomenal to the Sense; it is an appearance of force acting through another force. It may also be said that the Universe is solid force. There is no void in it. There is no nook, no crevice or cranny, that is not full of force. To seek, then, for some medium through which force may traverse vast distances, is the perfection of superfluity. From centre to circumference it is present, and controls all things, and is all things. So it is no more difficult to see how force reaches forth and holds worlds in their place, than how it draws down the pebble which a boy has thrown into the air. It is no substance which must travel over the distance, it is rather an inflexible rod which swings the worlds round in their orbits. Whether, then, we look at calcined crags or lilies of the valley, whether astronomy, or geology, or chemistry be our study, the objects grouped under those sciences will be found to be equally the results of this one force, acting under different laws, and taking upon itself different forms, and becoming different objects.
That faculty and that line of thought, which have given so readily the solution of the difficulties brought to view by Mr. Spencer's examination of the outer world, will afford us an easier solution, if possible, of the difficulties which he has raised respecting the inner world. That which is not of us, but is far from us, may perchance be imperfectly known; but ourselves, what we are, and the laws of our being, may be certainly and accurately known. And this is the highest knowledge. It may be important, as an element of culture, that we become acquainted with many facts respecting the outer world. It cannot but be of the utmost importance, that we know ourselves; for thus only can we fulfil the behest of that likeness to God, in which we were originally created. We seek for, we may obtain, we have obtained knowledge in the inner world,—a knowledge sure, steadfast, immutable.
It seems to be more than a mere verbal criticism, rather a fundamental one, that it is not "our states of consciousness" which "occur in succession"; but that the modifications in our consciousness so occur. Consciousness is one, and retains that oneness throughout all modifications. These occur in the unity, as items of experience affect it. Is this series of modifications "of consciousness infinite or finite"? To this question experience can give no answer. All experiments are irrelevant; because these can only be after the faculty of consciousness is. They can go no further back than the forms of the activity. These they may find, but they cannot account for. A law lies on all those powers by which an experiment may be made, which forever estops them from attaining to the substance of the power which lies back of the form. The eye cannot examine itself. The Sense, as mental capacity for the reception of impressions, cannot analyze its constituents. The Understanding, as connective faculty concluding in judgments, is impotent to discover why it must judge one way and not another. It is only when we ascend to the Reason that we reach the region of true knowledge. Here, overlooking, analyzing all the conduct of the lower powers, and holding the self right in the full blaze of the Eye of self, Man attains a true and fundamental self-knowledge. From this Mount of Vision we know that infinity and finiteness have no pertinence to modifications of consciousness, or in fact to any series. We attain to the further knowledge that this series is, must be, limited; because the constituted beings, in whom it in each case inheres, are limited, and had a beginning. It matters not now to inquire how a self-conscious person could be created. It is sufficient to know that one has been created. This fact involves the further fact that consciousness, as an actuality, began in the order of nature, after the being to whom it belongs as endowment, or, in other words, an organization must be, before the modifications which inhere in that organization can become. The attainment of this as necessary law is far more satisfactory than any experience could be, were it possible; for we can never know but that an experience may be modified; but a law given in the intuition is immutable. The fact, ascertained many pages back, that the subject and the object are identical under the final examination of the Reason, enables us to attain the present end of the chain. The question is one of fact, and is purely psychological. It cannot be passed upon, or in any way interfered with, by logical processes. It is only by examination, by seeing, that the truth can be known. Faraday ridiculed as preposterous the pretension that a vessel propelled by steam could cross the ocean, and demonstrated, to his entire satisfaction, the impossibility of the event. Yet the Savannah crossed, and laughed at him. Just so here, all arguing is folly. The question is one of fact in experience. And upon it the soul gives undoubted answer, as we have stated. Nor is it so difficult, as some would have us believe, to see how this may be. Consciousness is an indivisible unity, and, as we have before seen, may best be defined as the light in which the person intuits his own acts and activities. This unity is abiding, and is ground for the modifications. It is, then, now, and the person now knows what the present modification is. The person does not need to look to memory and learn what the former modification was. It immediately knows what the modification is now. Thus a simple attainment of the psychological truth through a careful examination dispels as a morning mist the whole cloud of Mr. Spencer's difficulties. Well might President Hopkins say, "The only question is, what is it that consciousness gives? If we say that it does thus give both the subject and the object, that simple affirmation sweeps away in a moment the whole basis of the ideal and skeptical philosophy. It becomes as the spear of Ithuriel, and its simple touch will change what seemed whole continents of solid speculation into mere banks of German fog." We have learned, then, that it is not possible, or necessary, either to "perceive" or "conceive" the terminations of consciousness, because this involves the discovery, by mechanical faculties, of their own being and state before they became activities on the one hand, which is a contradiction, and on the other an utter transcending of the sphere of their capability, the attempt to do which would be a greater folly than would be that of the hand to see Jupiter. But we have intuited the law, which declares the necessity of a beginning for us and all creatures; and we ever live in the light of the present end. When, then, Mr. Spencer says that "Consciousness implies perpetual change and the perpetual establishment of relations between its successive phases," we know that he has uttered a fundamental psychological error, in fact, that almost the opposite is the truth. Consciousness is the permanent, the abiding, the changeless. It is the light of the personal Eye. Into it all changes come; but they are only incidental. In the finite and partial person, they come, because such person must grow; and so, because of his partiality and incompleteness, they become necessary incidents; but let there be a Person having all knowledge, who therefore cannot learn, having all perfection, who therefore cannot change, and it is plain that these facts in no way interfere with his consciousness. All variety is immanent in its light, and no change can come into it because there is no change to come; but this Person sees all his endowments at once, in the unity of this his light, just as we see some of our endowments in the unity of this our light. The change is not in the consciousness, but in the objects which come into it. This view also disposes of the theory that "any mental affection must be known as like these foregoing ones or unlike those"; that, "if it is not thought of in connection with others—not distinguished or identified by comparison with others, it is not recognized—is not a state of consciousness at all." Such comparison we have found only incidental in consciousness, pertaining to things in the Sense and Understanding and not essential. Thus does a true psychology dissipate all these difficulties as a true cosmology explained the perplexities "of Motion and Rest."
Take another step and we can answer the question "What is this that thinks?" It is a spiritual person. What, then, is a spiritual person? A substance—a kind of force—the nature of which we need inquire about no further than to know that it is suitable to the use which is made of it, which is organized, according to a set of constituting laws, into such spiritual person. The substance without the laws would be simple substance, and nothing more. The laws without the substance would be only laws, and could give no being having no ground in which to inhere. But the substance as ground and the complete set of laws as inhering in the ground, and being its organization when combined, become a spiritual person who thinks. The ego, that is the sense of personality, is only one of the forms of activity of this being, and therefore cannot be said to think. The pages now before us are all vitiated by the theory that "successive impressions and ideas constitute consciousness." Once attain to the true psychology of the person, and learn that consciousness is as stated above,—an abiding light into which modifications come,—and there arises no difficulty in believing in the reality of self, and in entirely justifying that belief by Reason. Yea, more, from such a standpoint it is utter unreason, the height of folly, to doubt for an instant, for immanent and central in the light of Reason lies the solemn fact of man's selfhood. We arrive, then, directly at Mr. Spencer's conclusion, that "Clearly, a true cognition of self implies a state in which the knowing and the known are one—in which subject and object are identified," and we know that such a state is an actuality. Mr. Mansel may hold that such an assertion is the annihilation of both, but he is wholly wrong. The Savannah has crossed the Atlantic.
We attain, then, exactly the opposite result from Mr. Spencer. We have seen that "Ultimate Scientific Ideas are all" presentative "of realities" which can "be comprehended." We have, indeed, found it to be true, that, "after no matter how great a progress in the colligation of facts and the establishment of generalizations ever wider and wider,—after the merging of limited and derivative truths in truths that are larger and deeper, has been carried no matter how far,—the fundamental truth remains as much beyond reach as ever." But having learned this, we do not arrive at the conclusion that "the explanation of that which is explicable does but bring out into greater clearness the inexplicableness of that which remains behind." On the other hand we know that such a conclusion is erroneous, and that the method by which it is reached is a false method, and utterly irrelevant to the object sought. Could this lesson but be thoroughly learned, Mr. Spencer's work, and our work, would not have been in vain. Only by a method differing from this in kind—a method in which there is no "colligation of facts," and no "generalizations" concluded therefrom, but a simple, direct insight into Pure Truth—can "the fundamental truth" be known; and thus it may be known by every human soul. "God made man in his own image." In our scheme there is ample room for the man of Science, with the eye of Sense, to run through the Universe, and gather facts. With telescope and microscope, he may pursue them, and capture innumerable multitudes of them. But having done this, we count it folly to attempt to generalize truth therefrom. But holding up the facts in the clear light of Reason, and searching them through and through, we see in them the immutable principle, known by a spontaneous, immediate, intuitive knowledge to be immutable, and thus we "know the truth."
In the opening of this chapter, Mr. Spencer states the result, which, in his opinion, philosophy has attained as follows: "All possible conceptions have been one by one tried and found wanting; and so the entire field of speculation has been gradually exhausted without positive result; the only result arrived at being the negative one above stated—that the reality existing behind all appearances is, and must ever be, unknown." He then sets down a considerable list of names of philosophers, who are claimed by Sir William Hamilton as supporters of that position. Such a parade of names may be grateful to the feelings of the Limitists, but it is no support to their cause. The questions at issue are of such a nature that no array of dignities, of learning, of profound opinions, can have a feather's weight in the decision. For instance, take Problem XLVII, of the first book of Euclid. What weight have human opinion with reference to its validity? Though a thousand mathematicians should deny its truth, it would be just as convincing as now; and when a thousand mathematicians assert its truth, they add no item to the vividness of the conviction. The school-boy, who never heard of one of them, when he first reads it, knows it must be so, and that this is an inevitable necessity, beyond the possibility of any power or will to change. On principles simple, fixed, and final, just like those of mathematics, seen by the same Eye and known with the same intellectual certainty, and by logical processes just as pure, conclusive, demonstrative as those of geometry, and by such alone, can the questions now before us be settled. But though names and opinions have no weight in the final decision, though a demonstration is demanded and must be given, still it is interesting to note the absence of two names, representatives of a class, which must ever awaken, among the devout and pure-hearted, attention and love, and whose teachings, however unnoticed by Mr. Spencer, are a leaven working in the minds and hearts of men, which develop with continually increasing distinctness the solemn and sublime truth, that the human mind is capable of absolute knowledge. Plato, with serious, yea, sad countenance, the butt of jeer and scoff from the wits and comedians of his day, went about teaching those who hung upon his lips, that in every human soul were Ideas which God had implanted, and which were final truth. And Jesus Christ, with a countenance more beautifully serious, more sweetly sad, said to those Jews which believed on him, "If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." It may seem to men who grope about in the dismal cavern of the animal nature—the Sense and Understanding—wise to refuse the light, and reject the truths of the Pure Reason and the God-man, and to call the motley conglomeration of facts which they gather, but cannot explain, philosophy; but no soul which craves "the Higher Life" will, can be satisfied with such attainments. It yearns for, it cries after, yea, with ceaseless iteration it urges its supplication for the highest truth; and it shall attain to it, because God, in giving the tongue to cry, gave also the Eye to see. The Spiritual person in man, made in the very image of God, can never be satisfied till, stripped of the weight of the animal nature, it sees with its own Eye the Pure Reason, God as the Highest Truth. And to bring it by culture, by every possible manifestation of his wondrous nature, up to this high Mount of Vision, is one object of God in his system of the Universe.
The teaching of the Word—that august personage, "who came forth from God, and went to God," has been alluded to above. It deserves more than an allusion, more than any notice which can be given it here. It is astonishing, though perhaps not wholly unaccountable, that the writings of the apostles John and Paul have received so little attention from the metaphysicians of the world, as declarations of metaphysical truths. Even the most devout students of them do not seem to have appreciated their inestimable value in this regard. The reason for this undoubtedly is, that their transcendent importance as declarations of religious truth has shone with such dazzling effulgence upon the eyes of those who have loved them, that the lesser, but harmoniously combining beams of a true spiritual philosophy have been unnoticed in the glory of the nobler light. It will not, therefore, we trust, be deemed irreverent to say that, laying aside all questions of the Divinity of Christ, or of the inspiration of the Bible, and considering the writings of John and Paul merely as human productions, written at some time nobody knows when, and by some men nobody knows who, they are the most wonderful revelations, the profoundest metaphysical treatises the world has ever seen. In them the highest truths, those most difficult of attainment by processes of reflection, are stated in simple, clear language, and they answer exactly to the teachings of the Reason. Upon this, President Hopkins says: "The identity which we found in the last lecture between the teaching of the constitution of man and the law of God, was not sought. The result was reached because the analysis would go there. I was myself surprised at the exactness of the coincidence." Nor is this coincidence to be observed simply in the statement of the moral law. In all questions pertaining to man's nature and state, the two will be found in exact accord. No law is affirmed by either, but is accorded to by the other. In fine, whoever wrote the Book must have had an accurate and exhaustive knowledge of Man, about whom he wrote. Without any reference then to their religious bearings, but simply as expositions of metaphysical truths, the writings of the two authors named deserve our most careful attention. What we seek for are laws, final, fixed laws, which are seen by a direct intuition to be such; and these writings are of great value, because they cultivate and assist the Reason in its search for these highest Truths.
One need have no hesitation, then, in rejecting the authority of Mr. Spencer's names, aye, even if they were a thousand more. We seek for, and can obtain, that which he cannot give us—a demonstration; which he cannot give us because he denies the very existence of that faculty by which alone a demonstration is possible. As his empiricism is worthless, so is his rationality. No "deduction" from any "product of thought, or process of thought," is in any way applicable to the question in hand. Intuitions are the mental actions needed. Light is neither product nor process. We pass over, then, his whole illustration of the partridge. It proves nothing. He leads us through an interminable series of questions to no goal; and says there is none. He gives the soul a stone, when it cries for bread. One sentence of his is doubtless true. "Manifestly, as the most general cognition at which we arrive cannot be reduced to a more general one, it cannot be understood." Of course not. When the Understanding has attained to the last generalization by these very terms, it cannot go any farther. But by no means does his conclusion follow, that "Of necessity, therefore, explanation must eventually bring us down to the inexplicable. The deepest truth which we can get at must be unaccountable. Comprehension must become something other than comprehension, before the ultimate fact can be comprehended." How shall we account for the last generalization, and show this conclusion to be false? Thus. Hitherto there have been, properly speaking, no comprehensions, only perceptions in the Sense and connections in the Understanding. "The sense distinguishes quality and conjoins quantity; the understanding connects phenomena; the reason comprehends the whole operation of both." The Reason, then, overseeing the operations of the lower faculties, and possessing within itself the a priori laws in accordance with which they are, sees directly and immediately why they are, and thus comprehends and accounts for them. It sees that there is an end to every process of generalization; and it then sees, what the Understanding could never guess, that after—in the order of our procedure—the last generalization there is an eternal truth, in accordance with which process and conclusion were and must be. There remains, then, no inexplicable, for the final truth is seen and known in its very self.
The passages quoted at this point from Hamilton and Mansel have been heretofore examined, and need no further notice. We will pass on then to his subsequent reflections upon them. It is worthy of remark, as a general criticism upon these comments, that there is scarcely one, if there is a single expression in the remainder of this chapter, which does not refer to the animal nature and its functions. The illustrations are from the material world, and the terms and expressions are suited thereto. With reference to objects in the Sense, and connections in the Understanding, the "fundamental condition of thought," which Mr. Spencer supplies, is unquestionably valuable. There is "likeness" as well as "relation, plurality, and difference." But observe that both these laws alike are pertinent only to the Sense and Understanding, that they belong to things in nature, and consequently have no pertinence to the questions now before us. We are discussing ideas, not things; and those are simple, and can only be seen, while these are complex, and may be perceived, distinguished, and conceived. If any one shall doubt that Mr. Spencer is wholly occupied with things in nature, it would seem that after having read p. 80, he could doubt no longer. "Animals," "species or genus," "mammals, birds, reptiles, or fishes," are objects by which he illustrates his subject. And one is forced to exclaim, "How can he speak of such things when they have nothing to do with the matter in hand? What have God and infinity and absoluteness to do with 'mammals, birds, reptiles, or fishes'? If we can know only these, why speak of those?" It would seem that the instant they are thus set together and contrasted, the soul must cry out with an irrepressible cry, "It is by an utterly different faculty, and in entirely other modes, that I dwell upon God and the questions concerning him. These modes of the animal nature, by which I know 'mammals,' are different in kind from those of the spiritual person, by which I know God and the eternal truth." And when this distinction becomes clearly appreciated and fixed in one's mind, and the query arises, how could a man so confound the two, and make utter confusion of the subject, as the Limitists have done, he can hardly refrain from quoting Romans I. 20 et seq. against them.
Let us observe now Mr. Spencer's corollary. "A cognition of the Real as distinguished from the Phenomenal must, if it exists, conform to this law of cognition in general. The First Cause, the Infinite, the Absolute, to be known at all, must be classed. To be positively thought of, it must be thought of as such or such—as of this or that kind." To begin with the law which is here asserted, is not a "general" law, and so does not lie upon all cognition. It is only a special law, and lies only upon a particular kind of cognition. This has been already abundantly shown; yet we reproduce one line of proof. No mathematical law comes under his law of cognition; neither can he, nor any other Limitist, make it appear that it does so come. His law is law only for things in nature, and not for principles. Since then all ideas are known in themselves—are self-evident, and since God, infinity, and absoluteness are ideas, they are known in themselves, and need not be classed. So his corollary falls to the ground. Can we have any "sensible experience" of God? Most certainly not. Yet we can have just as much a sensible experience of him as of any other person—of parent, wife, or child. Did you ever see a person—a soul? No. Can you see—"have sensible experience of"—a soul? No. What is it, then, that we have such experience of? Plainly the body—that material frame through which the soul manifests itself. The Universe is that material system through which God manifests himself to those spiritual persons whom he has made; and that manifestation is the same in kind as that of a created soul through the body which is given it. It follows then,—and not only from this, but it may be shown by further illustration,—that every other person is just as really inscrutable to us as God is; and further, that, if we can study and comprehend the soul of our wife or child, we can with equal certainty study, and to some extent comprehend, the soul of God. Or, in other words, if man is only an animal nature, having a Sense and Understanding, all personality is an insoluble mystery; all spiritual persons are alike utterly inscrutable. And this is so, because, upon the hypothesis taken, man is destitute of any faculty which can catch a glimpse of such object. A Sense and Understanding can no more see, or in any possible manner take cognizance of, a spiritual person than a man born blind can see the sun. Again, we say he is destitute of the faculty. Will Mr. Spencer deny the fact of the idea of personality? Will he assert that man has no such notion? Let him once admit that he has, and in that admission is involved the admission of the reality of that faculty by which we know God, for the faculty which cognizes personality, and cognizes God, is one and the same.
Although we do not like certain of Mr. Spencer's terms, yet, to please him, we will use them. Some conclusions, then, may be expressed thus: God as the Deity cannot be "classed"; he is unique. This is involved in the very terms by which we designate him. Yet we cognize him, but this is by an immediate intuition, in which we know him as he is in himself. "We shall see him as he is," says the apostle; and some foretastes of that transcendent revelation are vouchsafed us here on earth. But the infinite Person, as person, must be "assimilated" with other persons. Yet his infinity and absoluteness, as such, cannot be "grouped." And yet again, as qualities, they can be "grouped" with other qualities. Unquestionably between the Creator, as such, and the created, as such, "there must be a distinction transcending any of the distinctions existing between different divisions of the created." God as self-existent differs in kind from man as dependent, and this difference continues irrevocable; while that same God and that same man are alike in kind as persons. This is true, because all spiritual persons are composite beings; and while the essential elements of a spiritual person are common to created persons and the uncreated Person, there are other characteristics, not essential to personality, which belong some to the created, and some to the uncreated, and differentiate them. Or, in other words, God as person, and man as person, are alike. Yet they are diverse in kind, and so diverse in kind that it is out of the range of possibility for that diversity to be removed. How can this be explained? Evidently thus. There are qualities transfusing the personality which cannot be interchangeable, and which constitute the diversity. Personality is form of being. Qualities transfuse the form. Absoluteness and infinity are qualities which belong to one Person, and are such that they thereby exclude the possibility of their belonging to any other person; and so they constitute that one to whom they belong, unique and supreme. Dependence and partiality are also qualities of a spiritual person, but are qualities of the created spiritual person, and are such as must always subordinate that person to the other. In each instance it is, "in the nature of things," impossible for either to pass over and become the other. Each is what he is by the terms of his being, and must stay so.
But from all this it by no means follows that the dependent spiritual person can have no knowledge of the independent spiritual Person. On the other hand, it is the high glory of the independent spiritual Person, that he can create another being "in his own image," to whom he can communicate a knowledge of himself. "Like as a father pitieth his children, so Jehovah pitieth them that fear him." Out of the fact of his Father-hood and our childhood, comes that solemn, and, to the loving soul, joyful fact, that he teaches us the highest knowledge just as really as our earthly parents teach us earthly knowledge. This he could not do if we had not the capacity to receive the knowledge; and we could not have had the capacity, except he had been able, in "the nature of things," and willing to bestow it upon us. While, then, God as "the Unconditioned cannot be classed," and so as unconditioned we do not know him "as of such or such kind," after the manner of the Understanding, yet we may, do, "see him as he is," do know that he is, and is unconditioned, through the insight of the Reason, the eye of the spiritual person, and what it is to be unconditioned.
We now reach a passage which has filled us with unqualified amazement. As much as we had familiarized ourselves with the materialistic teachings of the Limitists, we confess that we were utterly unprepared to meet, even in Mr. Spencer's writings, a theory of man so ineffably degrading, and uttered with so calm and naïve an unconsciousness of the degradation it involved, as the following. Although for want of room his illustrations are omitted, it is believed that the following extracts give a fair and ample presentation of his doctrine.
"All vital actions, considered not separately but in their ensemble, have for their final purpose the balancing of certain outer processes by certain inner processes.
"There are unceasing external forces, tending to bring the matter of which organic bodies consist, into that state of stable equilibrium displayed by inorganic bodies; there are internal forces by which this tendency is constantly antagonized; and the perpetual changes which constitute Life may be regarded as incidental to the maintenance of the antagonism....
"When we contemplate the lower kinds of life, we see that the correspondences thus maintained are direct and simple; as in a plant, the vitality of which mainly consists in osmotic and chemical actions responding to the coexistence of light, heat, water, and carbonic acid around it. But in animals, and especially in the higher orders of them, the correspondences become extremely complex. Materials for growth and repair not being, like those which plants require, everywhere present, but being widely dispersed and under special forms, have to be formed, to be secured, and to be reduced to a fit state for assimilation....
"What is that process by which food when swallowed is reduced to a fit form for assimilation, but a set of mechanical and chemical actions responding to the mechanical and chemical actions which distinguish the food? Whence it becomes manifest, that, while Life in its simplest form is the correspondence of certain inner physico-chemical actions with certain outer physico-chemical actions, each advance to a higher form of Life consists in a better preservation of this primary correspondence by the establishment of other correspondences. Divesting this conception of all superfluities, and reducing it to its most abstract shape, we see that Life is definable as the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations. And when we so define it, we discover that the physical and the psychial life are equally comprehended by the definition. We perceive that this, which we call intelligence, shows itself when the external relations to which the internal ones are adjusted begin to be numerous, complex, and remote in time and space; that every advance in Intelligence essentially consists in the establishment of more varied, more complete, and more involved adjustments; and that even the highest achievements of science are resolvable into mental relations of coexistence and sequence, so coördinated as exactly to tally with certain relations of coexistence and sequence that occur externally....
"And lastly let it be noted that what we call truth, guiding us to successful action and the consequent maintenance of life, is simply the accurate correspondence of subjective to objective relations; while error, leading to failure and therefore towards death, is the absence of such accurate correspondence.
"If, then, Life in all its manifestations, inclusive of Intelligence in its highest forms, consists in the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations, the necessarily relative character of our knowledge becomes obvious. The simplest cognition being the establishment of some connection between subjective states, answering to some connection between objective agencies; and each successively more complex cognition being the establishment of some more involved connection of such states, answering to some more involved connection of such agencies; it is clear that the process, no matter how far it be carried, can never bring within the reach of Intelligence either the states themselves or the agencies themselves."
Or, to condense Mr. Spencer's whole teaching into a few plain every-day words, Man is an animal, and only an animal, differing nowhat from the dog and chimpanzee, except in the fact that his life "consists in the establishment of more varied, more complete, and more involved adjustments," than the life of said dog and chimpanzee. Mark particularly the sententious diction of this newly arisen sage. Forget not one syllable of the profound and most important knowledge he would impart. "Life in all its manifestations, inclusive of Intelligence in its highest forms, consists in the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations." See, there is not a limit, not a qualification to the assertion! Now turn back a page or two, reader, if thou hast this wonderful philosophy by thee, and gazing, as into a cage in a menagerie, see the being its author would teach thee that thou art. From the highest to the lowest forms, life is one. In its lower forms, life is a set of "direct and simple" "correspondences." "But in animals, and especially in the higher orders of them," and, of course, most especially in the human animal as the highest order, "the correspondences become extremely complex." As much as to say, reader, you are not exactly a plant, nor are you yet of quite so low a type as the chimpanzee aforesaid; but the difference is no serious matter. You do not differ half as much from the chimpanzee as the chimpanzee does from the forest he roves in. All the difference there is between you and him is, that the machinery by which "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations" is carried on, is more "complex" in you than in the chimpanzee. He roams the forest, inhabits some cave or hollow tree, and lives on the food which nature spontaneously offers to his hairy hand. You cut down the forest, construct a house, and live on the food which some degree of skill has prepared. He constructs no clothing, nor any covering to shield him from the inclemency of the weather, but is satisfied with tawny, shaggy covering, which nature has provided. You on the contrary are destitute of such a covering, and rob the sheep, and kill the silk-worm, to supply the lack. But in all this there is no difference in kind. The mechanism by which life is sustained in you is more "complex," it is true, than that by which life is sustained in him; there arise, therefore, larger needs, and the corresponding "intelligence" to supply those needs. But sweet thought, cheering thought, oh how it supports the soul! Your life in its highest form is only this animal life,—is only the constructive force by which that "extremely complex" machinery carries on "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations." All other notions of life are "superfluities."
Reader, in view of the teaching of this new and widely heralded sage, how many "superfluities" must you and I strip off from our "conception" of life! And with what bitter disappointment and deep sadness should we take up our lamentation for man, and say: How art thou fallen, oh man! thou noblest denizen of earth; yea, how art thou cast down to the ground. But a little ago we believed thee a spiritual being; that thou hadst a nature too noble to rot with the beasts among the clods; that thou wast made fit to live with angels and thy Creator, God. But a little ago we believed thee possessed of a psychical life—a soul; that thou wouldst live forever beyond the stars; and that this soul's life was wholly occupied in the consideration of "heavenly and divine things." A little ago we believed in holiness, and that thou, consecrating thyself to pure and loving employments, shouldst become purer and more beautiful, nobler and more lovely, until perfect love should cast out all fear, and thou shouldst then see God face to face, and rejoice in the sunlight of his smiling countenance. But all this is changed now. Our belief has been found to be a cheat, a bitter mockery to the soul. We have sat at the feet of the English sage, and learned how dismally different is our destiny. Painful is it, oh reader, to listen; and the words of our teacher sweep like a sirocco over the heart; yet we cannot choose but hear.
"The pyschical life"—the life of the soul, "the immortal spark of fire,"—and the physical life "are equally definable as the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations." We had supposed that intelligence in its highest forms was wholly occupied with the contemplation of God and his laws, and the great end of being, and all those tremendous questions which we had thought fitted to occupy the activities of a spiritual person. We are undeceived now. We find we have shot towards the pole opposite to the truth. Now "we perceive that this which we call Intelligence shows itself when the external relations to which the internal ones are adjusted begin to be numerous, complex, and remote in time or space; that every advance in Intelligence essentially consists in the establishment of more varied, more complete, and more involved adjustments; and that even the highest achievements of science are resolvable into mental relations of coexistence and sequence, so coördinated as exactly to tally with certain relations of coexistence and sequence that occur externally." In such relations consists the life of the "caterpillar." In such relations, only a little "more complex," consists the life of "the sparrow." Such relations only does "the fowler" observe; such only does "the chemist" know. This is the path by which we are led to the last, the highest "truth" which man can attain. Thus do we learn "that what we call truth, guiding us to successful action, and the consequent maintenance of life, is simply the accurate correspondence of subjective to objective relations; while error, leading to failure and therefore towards death, is the absence of such accurate correspondence." What a noble life, oh, reader, what an exalted destiny thine is here declared to be! The largest effort of thine intelligence, "the highest achievement of science," yea, the total object of the life of thy soul,—thy "psychial" life,—is to attain such exceeding skill in the construction of a shelter, in the fitting of apparel, in the preparation of food, in a word, in securing "the accurate correspondence of subjective to objective relations," and thus in attaining the "truth" which shall guide "us to successful action and the consequent maintenance of life," that we shall secure forever our animal existence on earth. Study patiently thy lesson, oh human animal! Con it o'er and o'er. Who knows but thou mayest yet attain to this acme of the perfection of thy nature, though it be far below what thou hadst once fondly expected,—mayest attain a perfect knowledge of the "truth," and a perfect skill in the application of that truth, i. e. in "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations"; and so be guided "to successful action, and the consequent maintenance of life," whereby thou shalt elude forever that merciless hunter who pursues thee,—the grim man-stalker, the skeleton Death. But when bending all thy energies, yea, all the powers of thy soul, to this task, thou mayest recur at some unfortunate moment to the dreams and aspirations which have hitherto lain like golden sunlight on thy pathway. Let no vain regret for what seemed thy nobler destiny ever sadden thy day, or deepen the darkness of thy night. True, thou didst deem thyself capable of something higher than "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations"; didst often occupy thyself with contemplating those "things which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard"; didst deem thyself a son of God, and "a joint-heir with Jesus Christ," "of things incorruptible and undefiled, and which fade not away, eternal in the heavens"; didst sometimes seem to see, with faith's triumphant gaze, those glorious scenes which thou wouldst traverse when in the spirit-land thou shouldst lead a pure spiritual life with other spirits, where all earthliness had been stripped off, all tears had been wiped away, and perfect holiness was thine through all eternity. But all these visions were only dreams; they wholly deluded thee. We have learned from the lips of this latest English sage that thy god is thy belly, and that thou must mind earthly things, so as to keep up "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations." Such being thy lot, and to fulfil such a lot being "the highest achievement of science," permit not thyself to be disturbed by those old-fashioned and sometimes troublesome notions that "truth" and those "achievements" pertained to a spiritual person in spiritual relations to God as the moral Governor of the Universe; that man was bound to know the truth and obey it; that his "errors" were violations of perfect law,—the truth he knew,—were crimes against Him who is "of too pure eyes to behold iniquity, and cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance"; that for these crimes there impended a just penalty—an appalling punishment; and that the only real "failure" was the failure to repent of and forsake the crimes, and thus escape the penalty. Far other is the fact, as thou wilt learn from this wise man's book. As he teaches us, the only "error" we can make, is, to miss in maintaining perfectly "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations,"—is to eat too much roast beef and plum-pudding at dinner, or to wear too scanty or too thick clothing, or to expose one's self imprudently in a storm, or by some other carelessness which may produce "the absence of such accurate correspondence" as shall secure unending life, and so lead to his only "failure"—the advance "towards death." When, then, oh reader! by some unfortunate mischance, some "error" into which thine ignorance hath led thee, thou hast rendered thy "failure" inevitable, and art surely descending "towards death," hesitate not to sing with heedless hilarity the old Epicurean song, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."