which the unlucky Spencer, after a lifetime wherein all that was not claimed by hygiene had been consecrated to erudition, is considerably assisted in his natural evolution from a pundit of philosophy into a figure of fun, the argument proceeds along the same line of metaphysics already explored in the Defence of Philosophic Doubt. The effect of the conflict of evidence between the data furnished by sense-perception and the scientific conclusions derived from them is brilliantly resumed and effectively driven home:

'We must not only say that the experiences on which science is founded have been invariably misinterpreted by those who underwent them but that, if they had not been so misinterpreted, science as we know it would never have existed. We have not merely stumbled on the truth in spite of error and illusion which is odd, but because of error and illusion which is odder.'*

General experience-to go over the ground again— has to be proved from individual experience, and individual experience has to rely in the case of the allimportant law of causation, upon what? Upon the selection from a mass of apparently irregular and random phenomena of some few that can be bent by the mind, under the influence of a theory, into the semblance of causes and effects, and the attribution to our own error and ignorance of the fact that the vast residue remain unrelated. The certitude that we enjoy-if we do enjoy it-that the law of causation obtains in the world around us is clearly, therefore, not of a character to satisfy a rationalist. And Naturalism is accordingly stricken in a vital part.

It would be a fundamental misunderstanding to regard this insistence upon the metaphysical weakness of the scientific position as designed to discredit the use of scientific conclusions for practical purposes. Their acceptance is plainly essential to the common business of life and their neglect on sceptical or agnostic grounds would pretty certainly prove fatal to any people that attempted it. But the consequence of acceptance is an act of faith and not of knowledge-an act of faith that our memories, whatever tricks they sometimes seem to

play us, do, broadly speaking, register actual experience and that our intellects, even when they contradict our sense-perceptions, and even though they afford us nothing better than vision through a darkened glass, may yet be trusted-that, in a word, all the apparatus of thought is no product of blind matter, as heedless of truth and error as of right and wrong, but of Divine Intelligence raising little by little the veil of Reality.*

If we concede so much to smooth the path of Science, why, in all reason, should we refuse it to Religion? That with the mass of men the postulates of science are more easily received is no argument for their rational acceptance.

'If certitudes of science,' our author observes in answer to Spencer, 'lose themselves in depths of unfathomable mystery it may well be that out of those same depths there should emerge the certitudes of religion; ... if the dependence of the "knowable" upon the "unknowable" embarrasses us not in the one case, no reason can be assigned why it should embarrass us in the other.' †

In reference to the great debate between the protagonists of the one and the other we may start at least with even balances and a clean slate. Give Theism as fair a chance as Naturalism-here is the heart of the argument—and it will give a better account of itself. Not merely will it save us from the fear that Science itself may be an illusion, but it will meet and satisfy the claims of our rational, our ethical, and our aesthetic powers. And, by bringing to the study of the world the presuppositions that it was the work of a rational Being who made it intelligible and at the same time made us, in however feeble a manner, able to understand it,' it will deliver us from the singular presumption of relying upon faculties designed in the first instance to 'kill with success and marry in security' for the unravelling of the riddle of the Universe.

We reach in this manner the threshold of Theology;

* 'Foundations of Belief,' pp. 288-289. 'I do not believe that any escape from these perplexities is possible, unless we are prepared to bring to the study of the world the pre-supposition that it was the work of a rational Being, who made it intelligible and at the same time made us, in however feeble a fashion, able to understand it.'

† Foundations of Belief,' p. 276.

and once and again the philosopher allows his foot to cross it. There are digressions upon prayer, upon miracles and upon pain, and, just at the close of the work, the cold caverns of metaphysic are touched with sunlight as the doctrine of the Incarnation rises for an instant into view. It is not, however, these passages which will arrest the eye of the critic, so much as that where the writer accords to reverence for authority, rather than to reason, the character of the specifically 'humanising virtue. Here are his actual words, deliberate, considered, the last of their chapter:

Though it may seem to savour of paradox it is yet no exaggeration to say that, if we would find the quality in which we most notably excel the brute creation, we should look for it, not so much in our faculty of convincing and being convinced by the exercise of reasoning as in our capacity for influencing and being influenced through the action of authority.'*

For the source of such an opinion one might hazard the name of Joseph de Maistre, but which of us would ever think of advancing that of Lord Balfour? Just, however, as the argument seems about to emerge from its sceptical profundities and afford us in conclusion some constructive outline of dogmatic thought, the curtain falls with a few curiously destructive warnings. Language, we are assured, is not the penetrating instrument that Logic would make of it; the more valuable definitions of Church Councils are precisely those which have the least perspicuity; the best friends of Theology are kindly forgetfulness' and 'happy inconsistencies.'t Here, as in his criticism of theories of Beauty ‡—so ably examined by Mr John Bailey in 'A Question of Tastethere is apparent a curious disbelief in absolute standards. In the discussion of such issues, however, a disciple of More and Erasmus can scarcely hope to feel himself at ease in the company of those who dwell among the tents of Knox and Calvin. Not with the less satisfaction need he reflect that, though Huxley might affirm his continually falling estimate of Mr Balfour as a thinker

• Foundations of Belief,' p. 243.

† Ibid, pp. 365, 377-378, 360.

Romanes Lecture, 1909, and again in 'Theism and Humanism.'

and commend to the help of God those who took 'Foundations of Belief' for an important contribution to thought,* and though Leslie Stephen might make light of metaphysical difficulties that his own philosophy does not appear to resolve, yet the side of the angels had been handsomely sustained against its critics by the use of an argument which has by now withstood the slings and arrows of thirty years and more.

There are political as well as ecclesiastical consequences incidental to a belief that reverence for authority is the distinctive feature of man. The passage just quoted may be read as the confession of faith of a good Conservative and as such serve to recall us to the world of politics. It was in 1895 that Salisbury formed the most powerful administration that England had seen since the days of Peel, if not of Pitt. Effectively disproving the rash contention of Disraeli that England does not love coalitions, the Unionist Government of 1895 fought two wars and won them, raised British credit to a point that now seems fabulous, took the occasion of Victoria's second Jubilee to associate in a common splendour the idea of Empire and the dynasty of the Empress-Queen, and, having run its course, was returned a second time to power.

The constructive genius of the Administration was unquestionably imperial, and History will lay stress upon the fact that during its continuance Disraeli's grandiose but cloudy visions were brought to earth and shaped anew by the practical imagination of Joseph Chamberlain. Yet we do less than justice to the Empirebuilders of the time if we fail to notice that the driving energy of the Colonial Secretary was shielded on either side-abroad by the dextrous non-committal diplomacy of Salisbury, at home by the penetrating brilliancy of Mr Balfour in debate.

Sometimes a little hesitating both in treatment and manner when it fell to him to open the discussion, the First Lord of the Treasury was rarely if ever at a loss when he had to reply. A familiar, if fabulous, story crystallises the impression of his readiness. Political gossips declare that, required on a sudden to take part in a debate, he proved so ill-acquainted with his Party's

* Huxley's 'Life and Letters,' p. 400.

434

commitments as to begin arguing against their case. Somebody on the Treasury Bench eventually perceived what was the matter and whispered a warning. Immediately he turned to the House again and observed, These are the arguments which we shall doubtless hear from honourable members opposite.' Then without hesitation he proceeded to demolish them.

He was not, perhaps, a great Parliamentarian in the sense of Gladstone and Disraeli. He had a smaller capacity for enduring bores, a larger demand upon his leisure, perhaps a lesser interest in Parliament as such. Criticism was of course not silent. His new rules of procedure, wisely framed to raise the quality as well as to restrict the quantity of discussion upon Supply, involved some further use of the closure inacceptable to those who stood in the ancient paths; whilst one who had pushed his own way so little was not perhaps best equipped to understand the feelings of young Conservatives endowed with half his talents and ten times his ambition. Nor was he always happy in his relation with the country outside the pale of Parliament. An example of this which was much commented upon at the time, occurred during the darkest hours of the South African War. In the spirit of the old chivalry he seemed to take disaster lightly, and the new democracy did not understand it. Yet in point of fact, if his words seemed inadequate, his action was all promptitude and efficiency, and, when Salisbury retired at the close of hostilities, his claim to the Premiership was uncontested, though Devonshire's counsels lacked nothing in weight nor Chamberlain's in energy.

There is no surer key to the psychology of this part of his career than the fact that he depended upon a majority which Salisbury had secured. He felt himself the trustee rather than the master of his inheritance, and he inevitably tended to display the characteristics of a regent rather than of a ruler in his own right. At the date of his succession the ascendancy of the Conservatives had passed its meridian-hour. Momentous decisions were, indeed, taken in the years between 1901 and 1906. At home an Education Act which represents, perhaps, his own most considerable legislative achievement and which, whatever else may be said of it, has