Chapter II: Part 2

Preliminary, I will venture to call "That which is is," a first principle of reason, and "Two and two make four," one of its derivatives, leaving this topic for future explanation, and then proceed thus:--When in my last letter I represented first principles as bounding the horizon of human knowledge, I left it to be inferred that both the kinds of "first principles" I had mentioned were thus describable in common. I find, however, that this metaphysical character belongs exclusively to first principles of sensuous experience, and no more belongs to first principles of reason than to first principles of grammar, or to first principles of rhetoric. That is, first principles of reason are merely the result of one of those analytical inquiries in which we arrive at something absolutely simple, and must there stop, just as in the science of numbers we may thus arrive at unity.

Having long ago defined First Principles of sensuous experience, I find there is a difficulty attached to the other kind of first principles derived from the various use of the word reason--which I will say betrayed me into a wrong inference in the concluding paragraph of my last letter.

Locke, in the 17th chapter of his fourth book, confesses that this word, in the proper use of the English language, is liable to bear several senses. Due discrimination in such a case, and a cautious avoidance of the dangers to which philosophy is exposed, and has so amply incurred, from this kind of source might, above all, have been, expected from Locke, since he was the first who inculcated it, and is generally remarkable for the observance of his own precepts in this matter. Hence the charge I have now got to bring against him is a little surprising.

Indeed, it might be asserted that his position and circumstances do not seem very readily to bear the entire responsibility of some of his proceedings. Perhaps he might be characterised as a writer of somewhat humorous idiosyncracy in respect to tendency to fixed ideas. His lapses, indeed, are not many, but they are highly significant, as I shall have occasion in more than one instance to show, and among these must evidently be reckoned that I am now going to notice, since it imports the wrong definition of a word of such cardinal meaning.

In defining the word reason, in its proper and specific sense wherein it is used to denote a certain well-known quality of the human mind--that is, as approvedly ascertained and appreciated under this name, as are certain weights and measures under those of pound, gallon, or mile, he assigns a meaning to it that comes short of the proportions thus justly prefigured as belonging to it. He confounds reason with reasoning--that is, he emerges the entire faculty or modus operandi, to which we give the name of reason, in that partial exercise of its function to which we give the name of reasoning. He says that, in matters of certainty, such as the proof of any of Euclid's theorems, the acts by which the mind ascertains the fit coherence of the several links in the chain of reasoning are acts of reason. Granted.

Also, that in weighing probabilities, a similar coherence is similarly verified by reason. Granted--with liberty of comment that these arts of reason, in either of the two cases have, by the approved practice of language, received the name of reasoning.

But he further signifies--that is, he does not expressly affirm, but, with equivalent certification, he implicitly asserts, and inferentially states that, in examining such a proposition as the following:--"What is, is" (an examination to which confessedly no reasoning is attached), the act by which the mind assents to the truth of this statement is not to be described as an act of reason. He adopts a different phraseology, and calls it intuition.

Observe, my objection is not that he invests the idea with this new name, but that he disparages its old one. I do not object to your calling a spade a shovel, under a certain view of its use, but it remains still necessary that you should admit that a spade is, in the full sense of the word, a spade.

Indeed, I will incidentally remark that I suspect the word "intuition" has been a very good addition to our vocabulary, and I suppose its proper import might be represented as follows:--Reason has two modes of his exercise, the one is called reasoning, and the other intuition. Intuition is the decision of reason on one single point; reasoning--a word proper to demonstrative truth--seems to be nothing more than intuition looking not merely at one point, but at several points successively. So that intuition and reasoning would constitute the self-same function of reason, and the difference in their meanings would be solely owing to the difference in the circumstances under which that function is exercised.

Observe, that I am here only venturing to speculate, and am now returning from that digression.

Whether or not Locke is herein psychologically consistent with himself; whether, indeed, his real theory is not that which I have just conjecturally intimated, is another question, which I shall defer to a future occasion; but whether or not he herein opposes the ordinary, prevailing, and inveterate use of language, which is what I am charging him with doing, and whether or not he has justifiable ground for this innovation which I am denying that he has, are points that must be tried by the ordeal of these three considerations. How are we accustomed to speak? How are we accustomed to write? and what sort of a call for changing our customs in either of these particulars is that which constitutes a genuine call to do so?

In regard to the first of these tests, the literature of all sects and parties has been accustomed to assert that, both in matters of science and of worldly business, reason is the judge of all truth whatever, without exception.

Locke, on the other hand, informs us that reason is the judge of demonstrative truth, of logical truth, of casuistical truth, and of lawyers' truth, and of these kinds of truth alone, but is not the judge of intuitive or self-evident truth. Our writers would tell us that to deny "what is, is" to be a true statement, would be an offence against reason; but we learn from Locke that reason has no cognisance in this matter, but intuition only has, and consequently that the wrong committed would not be against reason, but against intuition.

Our current speech accords with our literature in this view of the meaning of the word reason; whose efficiency, moreover, it endeavors to amplify, by surrounding it with satellites of adjectives formed from it, the principal of which are "reasonable" and "unreasonable." Provided with this vocabulary, we pronounce it to be unreasonable to deny any truth whatever that can be well and clearly ascertained; and so far are we from reserving these adjectives for the occasion of demonstrative truth, and holding them inapplicable where self-evident or intuitive truth comes on the carpet, that we account it, if possible, still more unreasonable to deny the latter than the former.

But if the nomenclature adopted by Locke be the right one, there ought to be a change in these current modes of speaking and writing. One who should reject the proofs of Euclid, would be unreasonable; one who should maintain that Thurtel or Greenacre were innocent of murder, would be unreasonable; but, one who should deny the truth of any self-evident proposition, would not be unreasonable; for to say this, would be to say that reason has cognisance of such propositions, whereas, according to him, it is expressly not reason, but intuition that takes this office. The words "intuitional" and "unintuitional," must be invented to supply the obvious need which the apparent gap discovers; there seems no other way of supplying it.

Lest I should be suspected of somewhat making up a case; of having, perhaps, represented not so much what Locke really means, as what he seems to mean, I will remind the reader that Locke is undertaking the formal definition of a word, and that on such a critical occasion, it is proper to give him credit for not meaning otherwise than he seems to mean.

The passage which is my text, will be found in the earlier part of the seventeenth chapter of the fourth book. Indeed, I could at once prove my indictment by citing a few words from it, accompanied by a comment of my own, had I any right to impose on the reader a belief in the discriminating fairness and matter-of-fact accuracy, both of my extracts and my comment.

I will, however, venture on such a step; I will suppose myself commenting on this passage, and proceed thus: Locke, it will be seen in this, his foremost and professed definition of the word reason, contrasts it with "sense and intuition."

Whether he holds these to be identical with what he calls "the outward and the inward sense," is not quite clear. That, however, is not the question.

He says, that these two faculties "reach but a very little way"; for that "the greatest part of our knowledge depends upon deductions and intermediate ideas." Now, reason, he says, may be defined to be that faculty, whose specific office it is "to find out and apply" those intermediate ideas and deductions by which we obtain knowledge that consists of two kinds, one that which exalts us into "certainty," the other that which, though less generous diet for the mind, we have constantly good ground for gladly acquiescing in, and which we call "probability." So that, says Locke, if you ask, "What room is there for the exercise of any other faculty but outward sense and inward perception?" I can abundantly reply, "Very much." I have shown you that without this "demonstrative" faculty, our knowledge would be but a skeleton; it would, indeed, not be properly speaking knowledge, but mere rudiments of knowledge.

Such is my interpretation of Locke's definition of reason, in the proper and specific sense of this word. If it is strictly correct, as I believe the intelligent reader will find by reference, then it is Locke confounds reason with reasoning, mistakes a part for the whole, and the whole for a part, and acts similarly--to borrow his own way of illustration--to the representing a gallon to be a quart, or a half-sovereign to be a sovereign.

It is to be observed, too, that it is entirely in behalf of the more showy kind of knowledge, that the mistake is made. The respected name of reason is given exclusively to logic and demonstrating. Good sense, good feeling, just instinct, if they stand alone, have no claim to it; they are put on an inferior footing; true, they are intuition; but what then? they are not reason.

Now, the century introduced by Locke is accused by the present, and it is generally admitted, with some degree of justice, of having "materialistic" tendencies. We may see, then, how Locke's doctrine, as just described, founded though it is only on nomenclature, hinging merely on definition, incurring whatever wrongness it implicates from no other lapse than that of confounding a word with its derivative, doing nothing, in short, but annul the difference of meaning between the two words, reason and reasoning; we may see how this apparently harmless experiment might tend to supplying these materialistic tendencies with a ground, a rationale, a principle, and thus to exalt their authority, and how, indeed! it just smacks of their spirit.

It may be seen, too, how, from a few slips, such as this on the part of the champion of the "new philosophy," competing schools of the present age might be able to make up a case, specious enough to gain the acquiescence of a portion of the public against both--with how great futility, I believe, would appear, if the accusations were weighed by a competent tribunal.

And, finally, it might be expected, that the undue exaltation of the demonstrative department of reason, should issue in a reaction into a contrary extreme, and that some Mr. Carlyle might be found to inveigh against "logic," to sneer at "analysis," to denounce "cause and effect philosophy" and to praise "mysticism."

I have already assumed that the third test that I promised, goes against Locke, and requires no examination, simply because he has not advanced it in his behalf. He has assigned no ground for changing the meaning of the word reason, and it is presumable that none is assignable.

The question, What is the Criterion of Truth?--that is, What are the proper means of distinguishing whether anything that is asserted to be true is so or not? claims immediate notice, because such a criterion exists, and the new philosophy necessarily appeals to it when it comes before the public, while it has shown with what effect it can do so, in the case of those of its branches--namely, the purely material and the mathematical, that flourish in society.

Premising that it is a way of certifying truth that has been immemorially used by mankind in their daily affairs, and which they have always, to some extent, instinctively transferred to their judgments in philosophy, and that it is the only possible general and summary criterion of truth, I may describe it as consisting in the unanimous assent to some idea or assertion of all who are thought competent to pronounce concerning it.

Viewed in connection with the thing it verifies, and the parties who use it, the criterion may be thus represented: Any idea, assertion, or opinion, must, by any inquirer, be found true, when he perceives it to be such as would be unanimously assented to by all presumably competent judges of the kind of truth to which it refers.

So that those who use this criterion, and are convinced of the truth of anything through its medium--a proceeding which I have represented as common and habitual to mankind--in thereby pronouncing certain supposed persons to be judges of truth in the said matter, claim themselves to be also judges of it in the matter of so pronouncing. The acts of judgment they thus tacitly challenge to themselves may be said to be to the following effect:--1. They assign the qualifications that constitute competency for a certain function. 2. They decide that there are persons in the community answering to this character. 3. They opine that the view such persons take or would take, imports an assertion of the truth of the idea in question. 4. They accredit that view with being strictly one, supposing that all qualified to arbitrate would acquiesce and agree in the same. 5. They attribute to themselves a similar unanimity. 6. They assume the sufficiency of their own judgment to make all the above conclusions.

These assumptions on their part, so complicated in description, are simple enough in performance. It is plain that mankind--more properly here to be called the public--simply attach themselves to some opinion which they find current in society; while, however, the assumptions I have just described are, in their full measure, but a necessary consequence of their so doing, doubtless their so doing must itself have been dictated by some kind of anticipation of them, but this may, to any degree, have been vague, undetermined, partial, and imperfect.

The rationale of this double bench of judges is thus explained. In reference to almost every kind of truth there is always a certain portion of the community better able to judge than the rest. Hence it becomes clearly the part of the latter, if they wish to be rightly informed, to defer to the opinion of those confessedly better judges--confessed to be such from the general opinion to that effect. Thus a second set of judges perforce, in addition to those that were originally conceived by choice, is implicated in this transaction.

For the primary sort I must seek a name from the French language, which calls them "experts," the English supplying, I believe, none, except a very vernacular one, the "knowing ones"; the others have already got a well-known name--the public.

The public, in deciding on the occasions in question, what are the qualifications that constitute "experts" may be said to choose them, thereby, however, choosing persons in idea, and not bodily. The relation of the public to these conceptions of theirs is the same as that of the constituencies to the members of Parliament, in the point of one being the choosers and the others the chosen, with a common object in view.

I suppose, to stop the current of my discourse, and adjourn its topic, for the sake of at once bringing the general principle discussed to the test of exemplification, would have its want of logical harmony excused by its being desiderated by the reader.

I had undertaken to prove that this principle--which, for distinction's sake, I will call the unanimity principle--is the proper and only criterion of scientific truth to the great non-scientific world, and consequently that modern philosophy necessarily appeals to it when it comes before the public. What I had thus taken upon myself to do, obviously was--first, to display and explicate the principle by definition, and this I had already done; and next--to describe it theoretically by showing its manner of existing, and this I was engaged in doing. Leaving this inquiry in the midst, I am now going to deviate into the practical phase of its description, by showing, not how it is, but how it acts. This seems necessary for the satisfaction of the reader, as being the only way of securing him from any, even were it but temporary, misapprehension as to the working value of the principle for which his attention is demanded. I therefore select the six following examples, the two first homely, and the four last philosophical, of its ordinary use by the public.

They will be at once seen to justify my assertion of its having for its main characteristics the two facts--first, that mankind habitually use it, and have always done so; and next, that propositions thus warranted are universally accepted as established truth, and that no one thinks of calling them in question.

1. Thus no one doubts, when coming to the intersection of two roads, he sees a sign-post, on one of whose pointers is written "To London," and on the other "To Windsor," no one hesitates to believe that the information thus conveyed to him is true; because he is aware that those who give it are competent to do so, and that none similarly competent will gainsay it.

2. Again, no one doubts that the sun rises and sets once in every twenty-four hours; no one doubts that he so rose and set yesterday. Every one is ready to affirm the certainty of these two facts, but very few can do so, in any great degree, from their own experience; but they help the lack of this by that of their neighbors. Neither is it necessary that they should have any near, nor even the most remote, idea of the personality of those on whose testimony they thus implicitly rely; it suffices they are sure, whoever they may be, they have the right qualifications for testifying in the way they do, and that no one so qualified can contradict their evidence, or dream of doing so.

The above are examples of the criterion of truth, applied to the ideas and proceedings of ordinary life. It will be seen therefrom, first that mankind have in all ages been educated in an acceptance of its principle, according to my definition of it, the principle, namely, of an indubitable certainty of truth, resulting from the unanimous assent to some idea of all who are thought by self and neighbors competent to pronounce thereon; possibly too they may be said to have been educated in some imperfect theoretical appreciation of this principle.

It will secondly be seen therefrom, that the two kinds of unanimity which I have predicated as essential to the proper use and results of this criterion, an unanimity, namely, on the part of the supposed good judges of certain descriptions of truth, who may be called the adepts or knowing ones imagined by the public; and again an unanimity on the part of the public itself in interpreting and adopting their opinion; it will be seen, I say, that this double unanimity is perfectly attainable, nay, perfectly attained, and that too so extensively, as to constitute a common and familiar occurrence on all manner of occasions of daily life.

I will now give instances of their similar use of it in directing their judgments on philosophical questions.

3. Very few of the public are able to examine the proof of any of the theorems of Euclid, yet there is none of them who would think of seriously doubting the truth of anything contained in that book, the ground of their confidence being solely their knowledge of the fact, that the learned in these matters have unanimously so decided.

Every one, again, believes in certain facts that are asserted by navigators, explorers, and geographers, respecting the existence, position, and products of various countries of the globe. Every one, further, believes in certain deductions derived from these facts by naturalists, geologists, astronomers, and so forth. The belief is owing to the unanimous testimony of all these confessedly competent authorities; but whenever they are seen to differ among themselves, the public withholds its entire belief, and either doubts or disbelieves the things asserted. Thus the public is at this day doubtful and divided whether there is such a creature as the sea-serpent. Similarly the public is dubious--for it must needs be so if any section of it is so--whether a certain explorer who was authoritatively sent out about a dozen years ago conjointly by the French Government and Institute, was, in any degree, justified in bringing home the account he did of there being a tribe of men in the interior of Africa having tails, whether this unexpected information is, in any important particular, true.

The two last examples have been furnished by material science. I will now draw one from the other department, with the view of indicating that in non-material science also, numerous propositions circulate among the public that are franked by the same principle to pass as undoubted truth. Such is the maxim of heathen philosophy, recorded by Cicero in his "Officiis": "Do not to another what you would not he should do to you"; or the same maxim, in its modified form, as given in the New Testament, with the characteristic omission of the negative. The truth of this moral maxim is universally admitted, because it is supposed that no person of presumable moral judgment has ever been known to call it in question.

It would seem, then, that this criterion of truth is--what confessedly, or from easy proof, it is predicable that no other criterion of truth is--a general criterion of truth. I will, however, restrict this pretension to the statement--to be hereafter more largely explained--that it is a general criterion of truth to the public as such, to the public considered as a public; for, indeed, it is not properly usable at all by anyone except in the character of a member of the public. This means that it is a general criterion of truth in the following way: it is applicable to the verification of all truth, so far as it admits of being verified before the public, and made the common property of the community.

6. For even where at first sight you might think it most out of place, I mean in relation to that kind of truth whose primary evidence is the consciousness of the individual, so that the competent witness of truth is necessarily but one person, there is oneness of opinion, there is unanimity, and the testimony of the one competent witness is not contradicted or doubted by that of any other presumably competent. When, for instance, I am conscious of the sensation of seeing an inkstand before me, no one seeing reason to doubt my assertion to that effect, all presumably competent testimony on the subject must needs be concentrated in myself; and the fact of my seeing an inkstand, though for my own conviction verified in a way independent of any such argument, is, for the conviction of others, only pronounceable as true, because all presumably competent authority is of one mind in alleging its truth.

In thus far exemplifying the use of this principle, I have exhibited it in the exercise of its primary office only, which, however, is not that which, on behalf of philosophy, I am here demanding from it. I have shown it, namely, as used by the public to establish truth positively, and not in the way wherein it may be used to distinguish truth comparatively.

But it is solely in this latter office that it becomes a criterion of truth, an arbiter between the true and the false, an indicator of both, and more especially of what has the character of ascertained truth, and what has not; and this, it will be remembered, was the office I sought from it, and constituted the ultimate purpose of my taking up the consideration of the subject.

Having with as much brevity as just suffices for that purpose, explained the nature of the principle in question, and its use by society at large, it now only remains that I should explain that purpose itself, by theory and example.

What I am doing in tracing the unanimity principle from its first instinctive use by the public to its secondary and meditated one by philosophy, is a purely critical act, comparable to that of the rhetorician who appreciates the character of certain modes of thinking which have long since been practised by mankind, and shows what therein is approvable--all the rest being liable to censure.

It was the universal conviction of European Christendom, during many centuries, that the Church, which was popularly supposed to be represented by the Pope, enjoyed peculiarly a divine guidance which made it an infallible judge of truth. This idea was thought to be warranted by the unanimous assent of all right-minded persons, and the denial of it to be the mark of a reprobate spirit, as well as contrary to common sense. We now know the entire futility of this assumption, and that the heretics were not inferior to the orthodox in the power of judging such subjects. Hence in discussing the unanimity principle the question presents itself, How came the public thus wrongly to apply it? What error did they commit in so doing? When the revival of learning and the consequent rise of Protestantism had exposed the error in that form of it, it was still continued under the new social regimes; so that even Locke, the boldest advocate of the rights of man that was tolerated even in his time, stigmatised the dissentients from certain Protestant tenets in the same unjust way that Popery had done to the dissentients from certain Popish ones; speaking of them in two or three places of his essay as persons at once notoriously disreputable in character and weak in intellect; consistently with which estimate he came to the conclusion that the reigning theology was established truth, as being accredited by all those whose opinion was worth taking account of.

Later times have again manifested the futility of the assumption against the new race of dissentients. No one will say that Goethe and Neibuhr (to mention only two) must count for nothing on questions wherein they were as likely to be well informed as their opponents. So that Locke's side, instead of being warranted by the decisive verdict he imagines, is but one of two suitors in an undetermined cause, neither having yet attracted the votes of the whole jury, and neither consequently yet occupying the position of ascertained truth. Giving everyone a fair hearing is that trial and test of competency which yields the only means of learning who said competent judges are.

A little consideration, even in Locke's time of less advanced thought, might have informed an intelligent mind, if free from prejudice, that mere prohibitory laws must be of themselves less adverse to the free expression of people's sentiments than that averted state of the public mind of which they are one of the symptoms. Both from theory and experience we may collect that very much the same laws of supply and demand obtain in matters of opinion as in those of food and raiment; the tongue and the pen, and the previous thought by which these are instructed, must evidently hold back from offering to the public, nay, in a great measure from suggesting to the agent himself, any such ideas as they know the public will not, and must confine themselves to putting forth such only as they suppose it will understand, appreciate, and regard.

THE RIGHTS OF REASON.

To the two queries you put to me, "What are first principles?" and "What is the criterion of truth?" I find it suitable to append some preliminary remarks on "The Rights of Reason."

The solution you expect is, I presume, a reasonable one. You do not wish me to take into account any opinions that cannot bear the test of reason.

Your queries derive their greatest pertinency from the state of non-material philosophy; and, possibly, might have been, in some measure, prompted by this consideration. That double-minded way of inquiring into truth, which only in part reasons, while it in part dogmatises, imagines, and assumes, is, it is obvious, in morals, metaphysics, and religion, one of our inheritances from former times. The battle has been won in the material department, but is still undecided on the other wing.

What, then, is Reason, and what are its Rights?

Every human inquiry that asks, What is right, proper, or correct? necessarily, in doing so, asks, What is it reasonable to think, believe, or do? in the points inquired into. The faculty--whatever may be its nature--whereby we find ourselves able, under certain circumstances, to answer this question, we call reason. The rights of reason may be said to consist in the concession to it of a certain absolute power in the decision of truth, divisible under two heads thus--a power of deciding what are the questions whereon it is able to decide, and a power of deciding those questions.

One of the many ways of disparaging the rights of reason is--openly or covertly to doubt or deny that morals, metaphysics, and religion, are--in the full sense of the word--sciences. This is to withdraw them from the empire of reason, and to hand them over to some rival pretender.

No science can flourish while it is understood that its discussion must be made palatable to the public. In any supposable code of the rights of reason, one primary article would limit and define the functions of the public in the investigation of truth--a topic which, together with the kindred inquiry, Who are the public? is suggested by your second query.

Mankind have naturally a degree of antipathy for reason. They have found Reason, in the work he affects, dull, in the help he furnishes, deficient, in the truth he unveils, ugly, in the rule he arrogates, imperious. Barbarism, in all its stages, may be said to be founded, not merely on ignorance, but on a state of the inclinations that revolts from reason.

Two competitors have always disputed the rights of reason; authority or precedent, and faith or conscience. Conscience, early or late, must receive almost all his light from authority; and, therefore, in respect to opinion, may generally be called the creature of authority. Yet, in a moral aspect, authority is confessedly of no account, and conscience has a sole jurisdiction. A large portion of mankind have, in our times, outgrown the error of resting their sense of duty on the mere dictate of other men. The only legitimate directors of human conduct are now generally admitted to be conscience and reason; the conscience must be exclusively one's own, but the reason need not entirely--and, indeed, cannot in any great proportion--be one's own, but may be partly that of one's neighbor.

The question of the division of power between these two potentates, though not yet understood by the public, does not seem to be more complicated than that analogous one just alluded to, and of which they evidently understand the gist.

For authority, as above intimated, though the venerable instructor of conscience, is yet morally subjected to him; and, not dissimilarly, have conscience and reason reciprocal claims of precedence on each other. Reason is the judge, but he is bound, under conscience, to give a sufficient and attentive hearing to any pleadings that conscience may have to offer, and conscience is the pleader, but he is bound, under reason, to conform to whatever verdicts reason declares himself competent to render.

If history in this particular can be considered as having disclosed a necessary sequence, civilisation progresses in the following order:--The general mind, in becoming acquainted with its own powers, first learns an evolution of conscience (and this can only take place through the medium of religion), and last learns to appreciate reason (and this can only happen through the medium of science). While the prerogatives of conscience were insufficiently known, authority usurped them, and while the prerogatives of reason are insufficiently known, authority and conscience conjointly usurp them.

The word conscience I here use in its proper sense, wherein it means either an individual conscience, or the united consciences of more than one supposed to be in accord together, so as to make the acts resulting from this accord constitute single acts of conscience. But the word has taken an improper enlargement of meaning in being often used to signify one conscience claiming something in contravention of another conscience. These two, so different meanings of the word conscience, are seldom duly discriminated by those who use them.

To the rights of reason belongs a certain degree of power, both in regulating the individual conscience, and in solving the differences between opposing ones. Under what conditions, and how far, reason can exercise this office, and what rule he is to follow in so doing, would be an inquiry suggested by my answer to your second query.

Having above mentioned religion and science as the two prime ministers respectively of conscience and reason, I will pursue the subject a little further.

Religion has aimed to have a moral animus by means of a free conscience. Religion has not yet immediately aimed at moral conduct; but, indeed, has been wont, by the mouth of her most strenuous ministers, to assume that the aim at this is already included in that other aim. But a moral animus is but one ingredient in moral conduct, involving the intent only to act morally, without having of itself the least power to realise that intent. Knowledge,--that is, science, exclusively keeps the keys of this power. Such knowledge religion has not yet made one of her aims and ends either directly, or by any coalition with those who have so aimed. Accordingly religion cannot be said hitherto to have been an advocate of the rights of reason. Whatever good things she may have achieved in this cause have been incidental to her advocacy of the Rights of Conscience. Here reason was her weapon (sharpened for this use, and so far valued and treasured), against authority. Her tendency meanwhile, is to impel conscience to infringe on the rights of reason.

Science alone has hitherto been the immediate champion of these rights. But it seems he cannot expect to make that advocacy complete and effectual till he allies himself with religion. This alliance, since it is persuaded by reason, and not by passion, can have science alone for its real mover.

The Rights of Reason may at present be said to be in such a germ of their acknowledgment as were the rights of conscience three centuries ago. Mankind have not hitherto come to acquiesce in the idea of that parsimony of guidance vouchsafed to man, which is found to be the result of claiming for reason the power of calling all human thoughts before his tribunal, and seeing whether he has anything to object to them. Their idea has been that not only suggesting inspiration--(which it does not seem necessary that the advocate of the rights of reason should deny)--but guiding inspiration is given, given too to some rather than to others, and given in such a quality, as to dispense with the supervision of reason. A generation successive to many among whom this doctrine has been taught and believed, will not be prone to any decided rejection of it. Pride of species inclining to exaggerated human pretensions above other earthly creatures, and party pride inclining to exalt self and an associated confraternity into a superiority over the rest of mankind, and supplied with a traditional store of modes of thought and practice adapted to such exclusive pretensions, and other native tendencies of the human mind, persuade in the same direction.

I have thought it suitable to premise this short sketch of the Rights of Reason, and the opponents of them, to an endeavor to answer your queries in a thoroughly reasonable way, a way which cannot be said to be the more fashionable one in the treatment of metaphysical questions.

NOTES

[1] Wilfrid Meynell, in his John Henry Newman, erroneously speaks of Charles Robert as the "youngest son."

[2] This is a mistake. Owen in 1817 renounced the religions of the world, and proclaimed that man's character was formed for him not by him. But he was not an Atheist.

End of Project Gutenberg's Essays in Rationalism, by Charles Robert Newman