ton is called a philosopher; and even Parliamentary proceedings get named philosophical;-so wide a range is given to this word. Such expressions may be criticised, but no criticism will root them out of our language; and it is futile to argue against whatever has become thus familiar and extensive. Nevertheless, when any one undertakes to write a History of Philosophy, he must define the limits of his undertaking; and as I have not the slightest intention of including either microscopic inquiries, or Parliamentary debates, within my narrative, but of rigorously limiting it to such topics as are comprised in other Histories of Philosophy, it is indispensable to define the word "Philosophy," by limiting it exclusively to Metaphysics, in direct antithesis to Science. This is the sense it bears in all other Histories; except that the demarcation from Science is not always rigorously made.

In the early days of speculation all Philosophy was essentially metaphysical, because Science had not distinctly emerged. The particular sciences then cultivated, no less than the higher generalities on Life, Destiny, and the Universe, were studied on one and the same Method; but in the course of human evolution a second Method grew up, at first timidly and unconsciously, gradually enlarging its bounds as it enlarged its powers, and at last separating itself into open antagonism with its parent and rival. The child then destroyed its parent; as the mythic Zeus, calling the Titans to his aid, destroyed Saturn and usurped his throne. Observation and Experiment were the Titans of the new Method.

There are many who deplore the encroachment of Science, fondly imagining that Philosophy would respond better to the wants of man. This regret is partly unreasoning sentiment, partly ignorance of the limitations of human faculty. Even among those who admit that Philosophy is an impossible attempt, there are many who think it should be persevered in, because of the lofty views it is supposed to open to us. This is as if a man desirous of going to America should insist on walking there, because journeys on foot are more poetical than journeys by rail and steam; in vain is he shown the impossibility of crossing the Atlantic on foot; he admits that grovelling fact, but his lofty soul has visions of some mysterious overland route by which he will pass. He dies without reaching America, but

to the last gasp he maintains that he has discovered the route on which others may reach it.

O Reader! let us hear no more of the lofty views claimed as the exclusive privilege of Philosophy. Ignorant indeed must the man be who nowadays is unacquainted with the grandeur and sweep of scientific speculation in Astronomy and Geology, or who has never been thrilled by the revelations of the Telescope and Microscope. The heights and depths of man's nature, the heights to which he aspires, the depths into which he searches, and the grander generalities on Life, Destiny, and the Universe, find as eminent a place in Science as in Philosophy, with the simple difference that they are less vague and are better founded. And even were we compelled to acknowledge that the lofty views of Philosophy were excluded from Science, the earnest mind would surely barter such loftiness for Truth. Our struggle, our passion, our hope, is for Truth, not for loftiness; for sincerity, not for pretence. If we cannot reach certain heights, let us acknowledge them to be inaccessible, and not deceive ourselves and others by phrases which pretend that these heights are accessible. Bentham warns us against "question-begging epithets;" and one of these is the epithet "lofty," with which Philosophy allures the unwary student. As a specimen of the sentiment so inappropriately dragged in to decide questions not of sentiment but of truth, consider the following passage delivered from the professorial chair to students whose opinions were to be formed:

"A spirit of most misjudging contempt has for many years. become fashionable towards the metaphysical contemplations of the elder sages. Alas! I cannot understand on what principles. Is it, then, a matter to be exulted in that we have at length discovered that our faculties are only formed for earth and earthly phenomena? Are we to rejoice at our own limitations, and delight that we can be cogently demonstrated to be prisoners of sense and the facts of sense? In those early struggles after a higher and more perfect knowledge, and in the forgetfulness of every inferior science through the very ardor of the pursuit, there is at least a glorious, an irresistible testimony to the loftier destinies of man; and it might almost be pronounced that in

such a view, their very errors evidence a truth higher than all our discoveries can disclose! When Lord Bacon, with his clear and powerful reasonings, led our thinkers from these ancient regions of thought (then newly opened to the modern world) to the humbler but more varied and extensive department of inductive inquiry, I represent to myself that angel-guide, all light and grace, who is pictured by our great poet as slowly conducting the first of our race from Paradise, to leave him in a world, vast, indeed, and varied, but where thorns and thistles abounded, and food-often uncertain and often perilous-was to be gained only by the sweat of the brow and in the downcast attitude of servile toil."*

It would be an insult to the reader's understanding to answer the several absurdities and "question-begging" positions of this passage, which however is a typical specimen of much that may be met in modern writers; all that I feel called upon to notice is the opening sentence. Contempt for the metaphysical speculations of the elder sages is the last feeling I should acknowledge, however erroneous I may believe them to be. They were the precursors of modern Science. Without them we should have been in darkness. The forlorn hope of Humanity can never be an object of contempt. We follow the struggles of the early thinkers with intense interest, because we trace in their defeats. the causes of future victory.

The historical connection of Science with Philosophy, and the essential differences between them, which led to their separation and the final neglect of Philosophy, will be understood better when the characteristics of the two are clearly set forth. The object of both is the same, namely, Explanation of all phenomena. Their characteristic differences, therefore, do not lie in the thing sought, so much as in the Method of search. I have met with no satisfactory statement of these characteristic differences; and the readiest way I can think of to make them intelligible, will be to exhibit the Metaphysical and Scientific Methods in

* Archer Butler, Lectures on the Hist. of Ancient Philosophy, ii. 109. The varied and accurate erudition of Mr. W. H. Thompson's notes to these lectures gives these volumes their chief value.

operation on the search after the causes of the same phenomenon; for instance, that of “Table-turning.'

A few persons stand round a table, gently resting their hands on it, but sedulously careful not to push in any direction. In a little while the table moves, at first slowly, afterwards with growing velocity. The persons are all of the highest respectability, above suspicion of wilful deceit. The phenomenon is so unexpected, so unprecedented, that an explanation is imperiously demanded. We have here an illustration of the origin of Philosophy. In presence of unusual phenomena, men are unable to remain without some explanation which shall render intelligible to them how the unusual event is produced. They are spectators merely; condemned to witness the event, unable to penetrate directly into its causes, unable to get behind the scenes and see the strings which move the puppets, they guess at what they cannot see. In this way Man is interpres Naturæ. Whether he be metaphysician or man of science, his starting-point is the same; and they are in error who say that the metaphysician differs from the man of science in drawing his explanation from the recesses of his own mind in lieu of drawing it from the observation of facts. Both observe facts, and both draw their interpretations from their own minds. Nay, strictly considered, there is necessarily, even in the most familiar fact, the annexation of mental inference-something added by the mind, suggested by, but not given in, the immediate observation. Facts are the registration of direct observation and indirect inference, congeries of particulars partly sensational, partly ideal. The scientific value of facts depends on the validity of the inferences bound up with them; and hence the profound truth of Cullen's paradox, that there are more false facts than false theories current.

The facts comprised in the phenomenon of "Table-turning"

* There is difficulty in selecting a suitable illustration, because if an undisputed scientific truth be chosen, the reader may not be able to place himself at the metaphysical point of view: whereas if a disputed point be chosen he may perhaps himself adopt the metaphysical explanation, and refuse to acknowledge the scientific explanation. "Table-turning" escapes both objections. The mania is sufficiently recent to permit our vividly realizing the mental condition of the theorists; and the error is sufficiently exploded to admit of being treated as an error.

are by no means so simple as they have been represented. Let us however reserve all criticism, and fix our attention solely on the phenomenon, which, expressed in rigorous terms, amounts to this:—the table turns; the cause of its turning unknown. To explain this, one class of metaphysical minds refers it to the agency of an unseen spirit: connecting this spiritual manifestation with others which have been familiar to him, the interpreter finds no difficulty in believing that a spirit moved the table; for the movement assuredly issued from no human agency; the respectable witnesses declare they did not push. Unless the table moved itself, therefore, the conclusion must be that it was moved by a spirit.

Minds of another class gave another explanation, one equally metaphysical, although its advocates scornfully rejected the spiritual hypothesis. These minds were indisposed to admit the existence of Spirits as agents in natural phenomena; but their interpretation, in spite of its employing the language of science, was as utterly removed from scientific induction as the spiritual interpretation they despised. They attributed the phenomenon to Electricity. Connecting this supposed electrical manifestation with some other facts which seemed to warrant the belief of nervous action being identical with electricity, they had no hesitation in affirming that electricity streamed from the tips of the fingers; and it was even suggested by one gentleman that "the nervous fluid had probably a rotatory action, and a power of throwing off some of its surplus force."

Each of these explanations was very widely accepted by the general public, although few persons of any reasoning power now accept them. The obvious defect in both lies in the utter absence of any guarantee. We ought to be satisfied with no explanation which is without its valid guarantee. Before we purchase silver spoons we demand to see the mark of Silversmiths' Hall, to be assured that the spoons are silver, and not plated only. The test of the assayer dispels our misgivings. In like manner when the motion of a table is explained by spiritual agency, instead of debating whether the spirit bring airs from heaven or blasts from hell, we suffer our skepticism to fall on the preliminary assumption of the spirit's presence. Prove the pres