entific specialists, they will be very numerous. Reality, "a fact," is not therefore sensation, but relation. An object of thoughtand all objects are objects of or for thought-is what it is by reason of its place in that system of relations which constitutes the world as it exists for us-as known by us. If we are asked to give an account of an object, we shall tell what we know about it; and this statement will be in terms of its relation to other objects that we know. Our account will be true if it fits into the body of knowledge; if it is not in harmonious relation, if it does not square with other facts, it is false. Error, illusion, unreality is false relation. This is Green's first dissent and his first affirmation. Knowledge is not of sensations, but it is of relations.

But what is implied in relation? Firstly, two terms, and the affirmation of a connection between them-subject and object; we have a subject which cognizes itself as knowing (i. e., is self-conscious), and a series or world of relations as known, from which it. distinguishes itself. But we can say more than this. To know these as related we must be able to hold them together; we must discern them on comparison as distinct and different; and this power of comparison is possible only by seeing things together and simultaneously before the mind. In other words, the mind. must be present at once to all the elements distinguished and compared. For instance, we are asked to pronounce as to which is the most brilliant of a number of colors arranged in a row. How do we decide? Only by carrying the recollection of each color with us as we pass from it to the next, and at the end of our survey holding the whole of them simultaneously in our mind for a decision. We are taken, let us suppose, to a color apart from these, and are asked whether we think it brighter than they. Our decision can be made only by holding our past experience of the many colors-which the mind has the power of recalling-and comparing it with the present experience of the one color. What does this signify? It signifies that the mind can grasp a past and a present at once; that it can comprehend more than one moment in time and more than one point of space. In fact, we see that we are obliged to postulate as a condition of experience or of judgment a mind that is fixed amidst the succession and change which we call experience. This is, I think, clear; but it is a very

important point in Green's philosophy, and we must be in no doubt about it. Let us put it in another way.

The mind is conscious of a succession of things in time, or, to make use of Spencer's phrase, a succession of states of consciousness. But it could not know succession unless it were not itself out of and apart from the succession. To use our former figure, we should not know a procession as such unless we were outside of it. One separate state of consciousness in a stream of such states could not know itself as a part of such stream without knowing itself as related to a before and an after in a process. Similarly with change. Change could not know itself as change unless it were something that remained unchanged amidst change. The conclusion is, then, that we must postulate as a condition of knowledge a mind or spirit out of time, therefore eternal; and out of space, therefore immovable, infinite or unbounded; and selfconscious—that is, distinguishing itself from a world of fact, which is, as we have seen, a world of relations.

Now we must ask, What is this world of relations present to consciousness, and what is the relation of consciousness to it? In the first place, let us note that consciousness does not make this world; it does not establish the relations, and it does not make them a system. The angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, fire burns, the sun warms, quite apart from any will or any individual preferences of ours. (Hence the absurdity of the assertion made against the idealist—that the individual makes the world.) In the next place, observe that we only discover the relations as they exist in a unity or "cosmos of experience." That there is a unity, a law of things, a cosmos, is an axiom of the mind; thought, and even doubt itself, are meaningless without such an axiom. What, we proceed to ask, must we understand as implied by such a system of relations? We must conceive it as a unity in difference-that is, a number of distinct things held together in a harmony, each individual thing being what it is because of its place in the whole. Take the case of a house. The house is a unity composed of a number of distinct stones, and each stone has a meaning and a function derived from its relation to the whole structure. Now, the only way in which we can comprehend such a cosmos of relationsthe only idea we can form of a differentiated unity or a unified differentiation-is in terms of mind. When we speak of a unity

we mean, first, a totality which has a unity for thought, and, secondly, that thought has gone to the making of this totality. That which requires thought for its comprehension implies thought in the constitution of it. It is only thought that can constitute a unity for thought. Wherever we come upon design we are obliged to postulate thought behind it. We assume a designer, or rather a designing mind. That is the very meaning of design— thought-relation. The relation is not in the separate things; it is in the idea or the thought that presides over the whole of which the things are constituent parts. This may be otherwise expressed by saying that the world as a related whole is essentially a rational world, or an embodiment of reason.

The conclusion to which we are brought by the foregoing argument is that man, as knowing a cosmos or rational world, is mind knowing and discovering mind. The human mind, defective in knowledge and power, confronts the universal mind expressed in the manifold of experience. This universal mind man only partially apprehends; and, because he only knows it in part and finds it difficult to piece the parts together, he labors under a sense of incompleteness. He forever seeks to widen his knowledge and harmonize its elements by exploring the heights and depths of the world of Nature and Man, which are equally the home of the Cosmic Mind. In other language, one Mind expresses itself in Man and, through Nature, to Man; and our mental growth is, in fact, our progressive assimilation of the Cosmic Mind, or the Cosmic Mind becoming more and more articulate in us. The self in us finds its enlargement and the possibility of its completion by its comprehension and assimilation of the not-self. We realize our imperfection because we dimly apprehend perfection; because the germ of the perfect is in us, and, in the longing for more knowledge and deeper life, stirs us to strive after the perfect. If we call the Universal Mind or Spirit, God, we shall, from Green's point of view, say that man has his being in and through God, and that God has his being-though not his whole being-in and through man. The selfhood of God is none other than the selfhood of man.

It will now be obvious enough wherein Green dissents from the evolution philosophy. The latter says that man is the product of Nature, in the sense that he is but the latest outcome of a process

of natural or material developinent-a child of matter and motion, He is merely a last link in a chain of cause and effect. But, as Green, in effect, would urge, to know himself as a link in a chain, man must know the chain. To know the chain, he must unlink himself, so to speak, and survey the long line of his fellow-links before and after-in short, he must cease to be a part of the chain. If, then, man were merely a product of Nature, he could not know himself as such, for he could not know Nature as a producing agency without standing apart from her. But he does know Nature, and, what is more to the point, he knows that he knows her. He knows himself as her spectator and interrogator. He stands firm amid her passing shows, noting her changes, remembering. her bistory, comparing her past and present.

Man, according to Green, is not a piece of material Nature, nor is Nature herself mere matter and motion. She is traversed with the currents of thought-is, indeed, only the symbolic language of thought; known and knowable by man only because she speaks to him in his own speech. Man, instead of being a transient being in a transient world, is an eternal, spiritual being in an eternal, spiritual world. That perfect world he sees only a part of at a time, and probably can never see it in its entirety. He knows it now under the limitations of his animal organism and under the forms of time and space. But he knows that it is entire; he knows that his imperfection implies its perfection.

So far I have given merely a rough sketch of the basic elements of Green's thought or those features of it which separate him fundamentally from the naturalists or evolutionists. These are, after all, the main and important features. If we accept these, we have turned our backs upon a universe which is blind and speechless, and upon a humanity which is its pitiful sport and victim. We have gained a universe which is, as it were, the eye and tongue of an infinite perfection. We have exchanged a perish able and meaningless chaos for an eternal and purposeful cosmos.

But here I am already leaving philosophy, which should be a calm statement of ultimate truths, for religion, which is the response of the mind, heart, and imagination, in the contemplation of these truths. Without this response philosophy is barren and unprofitable; it fails in the purpose of its quest. For that quest,

the aim of which is to discover our true relations to the world, is made in the interests of our whole nature. Now, our nature is tripartite: we are beings of thought, feeling, and will, and find the fullest satisfaction only in harmonious thinking and feeling and acting. Religion is, I take it, at once the bond and the inspiration of this harmonious life. Its object is to keep us whole, so that the central energy and fire of life may circulate through us fully, and fuse us into a singleness of being. Religion takes philosophy for granted-not, of course, a dogmatic, finally fixed philosophy, but a philosophy which holds itself subject to correction and enlargement. It is the result of the union of the truths of philosophy with the impulsions of the heart.

Philosophy, as Green conceived it, gave us an incomplete self in a complete world, from which it could gain completeness. It prescribed as the aim of life the harmony or the fullest and closest union of the microcosm with the macrocosm. We may state this, in other words, as the perfection of character, which is the highest realization of our own powers in and through a true life in the world. We have two things implied here—a harmony within us in accord with a harmony without us. The outer or objective world is composed of Nature and Humanity. Nature has to be subjected to our uses; it has to be explored by Science, and ordered to the ends of beauty by Art. In the case of Humanity we are in a world of wills and personalities like our own, and our task is to harmonize these wills so that they may not conflict, but may mutually assist one another in the pursuit of a common good. This is the work of Ethics, Politics, and Education, with their subordinate sciences.

With this glance at the view of the world given us by philosophy, let us return to the place and function of religion. Religion, Matthew Arnold has said, is morality touched with emotion; but it is surely a larger and more fruitful description if we say that it is philosophy touched with emotion-that is, an emotional apprehension not only of the moral law, but of the world as a whole. The mood of religion is the mood in which the heart seizes upon the truths of philosophy, sublimates them, and gives them impassioned utterance in symbol and allegory. The spiritual presence which philosophy has discovered in Nature and in Man religion calls God, and, to aid its grasp and assimilation of this presence,