Consciousness and conscience are only an extension of the cosmic creation into the higher evolutions of life. It is all simply a part of the relentless process that we have been describing from the beginning; force is working according to law, and determinism is the levelling ideal which reduces all cosmic creation to one fixed formula. This is naturalism, the modern form of philosophic scepticism which finds no place for affirming the independent worth and power and permanence of the spiritual and the moral. They are all but aspects of that relentless cosmic process. The pedigree of mind is matter; and the destiny of love and righteousness and heroism and character is the destiny of any dream,-and even dreams have their laws that bind them to the cosmic process as their cause! The modern scepticism that is saturating the life of today is more hopeless and enervating than the ancient scepticism, and it has none of its loveliness and dreaminess. It is likely to be positive and dogmatic. It is uncompromising and "scientific," and will not allow even a poetic burial for high human hopes!

And the strength of naturalism is the incontrovertible nature of the facts on which it is based. A man is bound up in the cosmic process as definitely as is any animal. His natural history is indistinguishable from that of any animal. Moreover, the biologist can trace in minutest steps the story of the evolution of mind, of consciousness, of conscience, of morality, or religion. The instincts and the impulses of the lower life are transmuted into the facts and powers of the higher life of men, and can be viewed in one unified process. The animal habit becomes the tribal custom and later the developed conscience. All of our highest powers and capacities are linked by processes to the earlier stages and the lower animal powers. Mind itself is inseparable from brain. It is all one process, parts of one fact. The cosmic fact is the one power

in the universe.

All else is illusion, a sugar-coating of the pill of life which we must perforce swallow. But a really scientific mind will resolutely dispel all illusion. He rejects the sugar-coat and rests his life and belief upon rigid cosmic determinism. It is not hard to see why naturalism is the intrinsic creed of the laboratories, why a multitude of the finest students and leaders of life are sceptical of spiritual values!

It is at this point that I ask you to fix your scrutiny once more upon the facts from which we must make an induction and reach conclusions out of which we can build social sciences and philosophies of life. All that the natural scientist says of the rigid determinism of human life by the cosmic power is true, AND ONE OTHER INCREDIBLE FACT IS TRUE! Wherever men of intelligence and conscience enter the cosmic stage, you have an actor and not a thing or a puppet. This fact, personality, which is geared into the cosmic process on the one hand, has on the other hand a new type of power to pit against the cosmos. The cosmic process goes on, but a man measureably controls it and directs it and makes it work his purposes. And a man thus initiates and directs and achieves new forms of power, literally a new world, with which the cosmic power must reckon.' That is not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural; afterward that which is spiritual. A developed man is a new, selfdirecting, spiritual force, and not merely an aspect of the cosmos. This is the fact with which naturalism does not reckon. Personalism is a competing philosophy with naturalism. Shall we construct our philosophies out of all the facts, or only from some of them?

To be continued.

'Cf. L. P. Jacks' stimulating volume of essays "The Alchemy of Thought"; especially chapters IX and X, entitled, respectively, "Is there a Science of Man?”, and “The Manipulation of Man."

BERTRAND RUSSELL AND SPECTACLES

WITHOUT EYES

WILBUR HARRY LONG

UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

During the great war the Allied intelligence officers discovered that a very strange and unaccountable scratching might be heard intermittently in the wireless receivers at the Eiffel tower station in Paris. Such sounds, unlike the customary "static" scratches, seemed to emanate from the great stations at Madrid and Noyen, and became known as the "Noyen-Madrid buzz." The intelligence department could make neither head nor tail of it; yet experience and good judgment told them that some kind of communication was taking place between enemy Germany and neutral Spain. By accident a phonographic reproduction of the sound ran down, and, as it did so, gave the clew to the mystery. Running very slowly, very rapid dots and dashes were distinctly discerned. By proper contrivance it was discovered that the German secret service was talking by wireless between Noyen and Madrid at the rate of four hundred words a minute. From this time the French knew what military information was getting into Germany, and saw to it that false rather than true, knowledge was sent to Madrid, to be innocently transmitted to the German headquarters behind the Entente lines.

Life is the great code message, the foreign language, the supreme cipher letter of mystery which we as philosophers are to translate and decipher into meaning. Experience is the conversation with the Infinite which we are to interpret into human symbols. Or you may liken

it, if you choose, to a poem, or a drama upon the stage of being, or a symphony, or a painting. And here it is, and for our interpretation. Philosophers differ in two fundamental matters, namely, as to what experiences of life they will interpret, and how, or by what means they will interpret them. Some see the mechanism only: they see the stage trappings and the machinery of the drama; they see the white paper and black ink of the poem; they find in the symphony perspiring "bandy-legged creatures" in dress-suits who scrape "horses hairs on cat's bowels, Dr. Cabot has said; the painting, to them, means so much paint daubed on so much canvas in such a manner. Nature and life and even man is so much machinery. Such men we might call spiritual inebriates,

"Deaf to the Vision calling,

And dead to the lash of the Dream."

They know nothing of

a moment when the music's rapture

Bade soul take what never thought could capture."

In philosophy these are the men who talk much about mathematics and "Analytic method" and "science." Theirs is the world of process, and not even process at its best, for they deny the power of appreciation of nature which comes only in the moment of synthesis. The world of value they do not claim to know, and, although, perhaps, admitting the possibility of the "mystic," or human or "emotional world, as they are wont to dub it, claim it has no significance for philosophy, that is, ultimate truth. In the world of human life we have men much akin to them, namely, the sensualists. A man once remarked to me, as we stood watching a wonderful sunrise behind Mt. Ranier, "Yes, it reminds me of a good bottle of Ranier beer!" We know such men. You cannot argue about

values; you can only experience them. Perhaps the scientist would have seen atom dust and a whirling sun, but I was hearing "a murmur of Eternity and Immensity, of Death and Life," I was catching something of the "glory of the sum of things." To me the awful majesty and beauty and grandeur of that crisp silent autumn dawn. mingled with the thought of

. . . the vast silence that covers

Broken nations and vanquished leaders."

Yes, and with Tennyson,

"To feel, although no tongue can prove,
That every cloud, that spreads above,
And veileth love, itself is love."

This first type of man and philosopher goes by various names, "analyst," "realist," "naturalist," "mechanist," "materialist"; but by nature the tribe are all of a kind. They see the ink and paper, the stage machinery, the catgut and horse hair, the picture frame, the telegraph dots and dashes, the paint and canvas-and that is all. They are the "prosaists" of the world, and their god is process and machinery, sensation and mathematics.

Theirs is

the impersonal method. Theirs is the grand Idol-worship of the ages.

The other class of man and philosopher sees something more in the universe than its stage-machinery, and the paint, and the paper and ink, and the catgut; they see more than the picture-frame, more than the process. To them there is value and meaning in the code letter of life, and in the cipher message of the Infinite Reality. To them the Universe contains hope and life and beauty and love and righteousness, and bears a meaning capable of expressing and responding to the deepest qualities of man's personality. They see