elixir of life, for which so many Taoists are now searching in vain. From the absolute nothing which Lao-tzu called Tao, there have been evolved innumerable gods, and there has been constructed a "Pantheon, including genii, devils, inferior spirits, and numberless other objects of worship." What was once a philosophy has degenerated into a system of necromancy, and it is now the prerogative of the priests to reconcile the living and the dead. It appeals to the very lowest wants of the people, and does not hesitate to invent divinities to promote the physical well-being of the people.

Lao-tzu wrote but a single work that has come down to posterity, and the Tao-tě Ching is regarded as sacred by all Taoists, and edited, and even reverenced, by both Buddhists and Confucianists. Gautama himself wrote nothing, but his sayings were carefully treasured in the memories of those who heard him, and it was at least two centuries before they were written out, having been handed down by oral tradition. From time to time additions have been made to the teachings thus recorded until, in some parts of Asia, the sacred canon is specified, not by volumes but by camel loads.

With this brief survey of the lives and teachings of these two men we take leave of them. Much was done by them toward shaping the thought and religious sentiment of hundreds of millions of human beings, and, although over twentyfour centuries have elapsed since they taught, this influence to-day is waning in its power only because of the advance of a purer Gospel as committed to man by a perfect Saviourvery God and very man. In God's economy both have had their place. The condition of millions has been bettered because of them, but it has been despite their errors. We can only pray that every devout Buddhist may be "born again," but this time of the Holy Ghost; and that every disciple of the venerable sage of China may find the "elixir of life," but may find it in Him in knowledge of whom is life eternal.

ART. V.-THE COSMIC PHILOSOPHY.

Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy. By JOHN FISKE. Second Volume. Boston: Osgood & Co.

MR. FISKE has been before the public for some time as the disciple and interpreter of Mr. Spencer, and needs, therefore, no introduction. The work before us is, in brief, a popular exposition of the Spencerian philosophy. Nor could Mr. Spencer wish for a more sympathetic interpreter. Mr. Fiske has reproduced the evolution philosophy, and that, too, with all the freshness of originality. The style leaves nothing to be desired. The obscurity, if there be any, is in the thought, and not in the expression. Our plan is to give some general hints whereby the reader may judge of the Spencerian philosophy in general, and of Mr. Fiske's work in particular. This philosophy, as based upon sensational psychology, is open to all the objections against sensationalism. Hume proved, once for all, that a sensational philosophy must end in utter skepticism. The disciples have not disproved the master's conclusion; they have ignored it, a procedure which is creditable to neither their consistency nor their insight. We will not delay, however, upon these general considerations, but proceed at once to the more specific features of the doctrine.

The student of the Spencerian philosophy is met with a puzzle at the outset in the theory of the unknowable. This theory was originally intended to reconcile science and religion by forbidding both to speculate concerning the ultimate cause of things. It is commonly understood as meaning that we can make no positive affirmations whatever concerning the ground of the universe. "It is forever inscrutable," and all our affirmations concerning it land us in insoluble contradictions. This is the common conception of the doctrine, and the greater part of Mr. Spencer's and Mr. Fiske's language supports this view. The difficulty is, that both of these philosophers have written great works concerning this ultimate ground, and have made divers positive affirmations about it; in all of which, too, they seem to have unlimited faith. Throughout their systems this unknowable appears as a mechanical cause working according to mechanical laws, and having sundry attributes and not

having sundry others. Now, it is plain that if we are to take the word unknowable in its strict sense, we should forever hold our peace after having laid down this know-nothing theory; for if it be strictly unknowable, then all theories, scientific as well as religious, are without objective validity. To set them up is a waste of time; but to claim for one greater authority than the other is a wanton impertinence. Now, as these philosophers have written books in favor of their views of things, and inasmuch as these views include sundry theories concerning the ground of things and its modes of activity, we must conclude that by unknowable they do not mean unknowable. Mr. Fiske has a passage (vol. ii, p. 469) which seems to give up the literal meaning of the word. Our notions are not false, but symbolic. But here a new difficulty arises. If a symbol is not false, it must represent, at least approximately, the true nature of the thing. If this is the theory, the unknowable becomes a mere cominonplace, and the reconciliation between science and religion which it was intended to bring about vanishes. For, now that we admit that our religious and scientific symbols may approximate the truth, the question arises, Which of these symbols best represents the objective fact of the universe? That is, the old quarrel between science and religion breaks out as fiercely as ever. There is another theory, which we merely mention, namely, that when they say, We know nothing of the nature of things, the we is the we editorial, and means the opponents of the doctrine. Many passages could be brought in support of this view, as the unknowable is not unfrequently used as a sort of Medusa's head to petrify antagonists. We merely mention this theory, without pretending to support it. The real dilemma is this: if the ground of things be strictly unknowable, we must all keep still-scientist and theologian alike. If it is not unknowable, why, then, it is not unknowable, and every one must be allowed to bring forward his views and support them by evidence. So much for the unknowable in general. A word remains to be said concerning its value in a scientific system.

The problem of science is to find a comprehensive ground for a definite body of phenomena, and the unknowable is postulated as such a ground. But it needs no argument to show that an indefinite unknowability is worthless for this purpose. As long

as x in mathematics is brought into no definite relations to known quantities, it may stand for anything, and is nothing. But as soon as this indefinite is put into a determinate equation it acquires a fixed value. In the same way, when we attempt to solve the equation expressing the relation between the absolute and the known body of phenomena, we must either give that absolute a definite value, or throw away the equation. We must either postulate it as a definite cause with definite attributes and definite ways of working, or we must not postulate it at all. What these attributes are can be settled only by a careful study of the facts; but it is clear that there are certain conditions to be fulfilled, and a first cause which will not fulfill them must be dismissed without further ado; first, as a logical impostor, and, second, as philosophically and scientifically worthless. The Positivist doctrine, which refuses to admit anything behind phenomena, is intelligible and consistent. The opposite view, which insists upon a definite cause with assignable attributes or ways of working, is also intelligible and consistent. But the Spencerian theory, which is not content to stop with phenomena, but affirms a cause = x, is neither intelligible nor consistent; and neither Mr. Spencer nor Mr. Fiske have succeeded in being true to the theory. Here, again, our previous conclusion emerges that the term unknowable is not to be taken in a strict sense; that is, it degenerates into the philosophic commonplace that we do not know every thing.

But what is it to know? This question is vital to the whole discussion, and its answer describes the element of truth in the nescience doctrine. The problem of knowledge is not to tell how being is made, or to give a recipe for creation. It is rather to comprehend the manifold of existence under the various categories of thought. If any one demand how the essence of being is constituted, we cheerfully admit that we do not know. If creation were our business it might be an important question, but otherwise not. To know in the only sense possible to men is, first, to be sure that a thing exists; and, second, that it falls under certain categories, or has certain definite attributes or ways of working. Assuming, for example, that the soul exists, our knowledge thereof would consist, not in an insight into its substance, but in our certainty: first, that it exists; and, second, that it has certain definite modes of activity.

In this way we gain all our knowledge. Going out from the facts of experience, we are forced to assume, first, that a thing exists; and, second, that it has certain properties. This constitutes our knowledge of the thing. Plainly, a knowledge of the first cause in this sense must be possible, because phenomena force us to assume its existence, and to attribute to it definite properties. What these properties may be, must be determined from a study of the facts; but when the facts force us to assume such a first cause, and force us to attribute to it certain definite properties, then we know that first cause in precisely the same sense in which we know anything. This theory of knowledge leaves "the mystery of being" just where it was; and in so far the know-nothing is right, but no further. How being is made, or how action is possible, we do not know. The fact that things exist and that interaction is possible, is the great and omnipresent mystery. But to say we cannot tell how being is made is one thing; to say that we know nothing about it when it is made is quite another. Is knowledge in this sense possible? If so, we are content.

Mr. Fiske's main objection against such knowledge of the ground of phenomena is the contradictions into which reason. falls whenever it ascribes any attributes whatever to the absolute. He reaches this conclusion in the regular way, namely, by analyzing the idea of the absolute, of the infinite, and of first cause. It is somewhat disheartening to find this sophism reproduced with so much confidence, resting, as it does, purely upon the etymology of the words, and not upon an analysis of their psychological content. The etymological absolute cannot co-exist with the relative, for the word means cut off and separate. No more can the etymological infinite co-exist with the finite, for etymologically the infinite is the all; and it is absurd enough to suppose that there should be something outside of the all. Hence the first cause, which we must conceive of as absolute and infinite, cannot be conceived as co-existing with the finite and relative without insoluble contradiction. Mr. Fiske makes his task still easier by defining the absolute as that "which exists out of all relations," (vol. i, p. 9 ;) and, of course, an absolute which never comes into any relations with anything could never come into knowledge. How the absolute thus defined could be the cause and support of phenomena, as