profligate and deformed. 'Who art thou?' he cried. To him she answered: 'I am thine own actions.'" These are the words of allegory. But do we not all constantly stumble on our own deeds, stalking abroad in this work-a-day world, and meeting us with reproaches or with smiles?

tional. lessons.

I am speaking to many whose life-work is, or is to be, educaRead the three great books; drink deep of their manifold Remember what Goethe says: "There is nothing more frightful than a teacher who knows only what his scholars are intended to know." In these latter days we might say that such a one is not a teacher but a text-booker. I think it behooves us, of all people, to realise the continuity of mankind-that which Pascal expressed when he said: "The entire succession of men, through the whole course of ages, must be regarded as one man, always living and incessantly learning." We, therefore, who are teachers, are educating not only boys and girls, not only young men and young women, but the mankind that is growing from age to age. As we ply the educational loom we are weaving the fabric of futurity. Every mistake we make, whether through ignorance or through carelessness, will leave a blemish in the final product. But on the other hand, as Ruskin says: "Every noble life leaves the fibre of it interwoven forever in the work of the world." To express the same thought through another metaphor, we are all partners in the firm which, when it originated long ago in the days of the monkeys, was styled, "Self, Sons, & Co.," but which, in our own days, has been incorporated as "The Society of Man-unlimited." "It is," as Burke says, "a partnership in all science; a partnership in all art; a partnership in every virtue and in all perfection. It is a partnership not only between those who are living, but between those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are to be born." If our reading of the book of life do not impress upon us, first, the fact that we are all of us partners in the society of man, and, secondly, that each of us, as a partner, is in honor bound to loyally serve the firm in his own particular corner of its operations;-if it have not taught us this, we have been careless readers and have failed to grasp its lessons. "It has been said," says Goethe, "and over

again said, 'Where I am well is my country!' But this consolatory saw were better worded: Where I am useful is my country! And now if I say," he continues, "Let each endeavor everywhere to be of use to himself and others, this is not a precept, or a counsel, but the utterance of life itself."

Lastly, remember that there are two stages in our life's education; first, an imitative stage, and, secondly, a stage of originality. The first is an essential preliminary to the second. "It is only the imitative mind," said Winwood Reade, "which can attain originality; the artist must learn to copy before he can create." But do not be content to remain in the first stage. As Emerson tells us : "There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried." Conceive an ideal of what you would be and bend to its attainment all the forces of your nature. Endeavor to become in vital fact the ideal of your conception. You are bound to fail; but only through failure can you deserve success. Therefore, do not be disheartened if, after all, the results of your efforts seem insignificant. Remember what Mrs. Browning says:

And now two more quotations, and I shall have fulfilled my task. The first is from the author of the Euphues. "Frame, therefore," says John Lyly, "your lives to such integrity, your studies to the attaining of such perfection, that neither the might of the strong, neither the mallice of the weak, neither the swift reports of the ignorant, be able to spotte you with dishonestie, or note you of ungodliness. The greatest harm that you can do unto the envious is to do well; the greatest corasive that you can give unto the ignorant is to prosper in knowledge; the greatest comfort you can be

stow on your parents is to live well and learn well; the greatest commodity that you can yield unto your country is with wisdom to bestow that talent that by grace was given unto you."

And my last quotation is that quatrain of Sir William Jones's, translated from an Arabian source, which will doubtless be familiar to some of you:

"On parent knees a naked new-born child

Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee smiled.

So live that, sinking in thy long last sleep

Thou calm may'st smile, while all around thee weep."

C. LLOYD MORGAN.

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, BRISTOL, ENGLAND.

THE

THE WELL-SPRINGS OF REALITY.

HE term "reality" here includes all phases of actual experience, "inner" or mental, "outer" or perceptual; in short, all modes whatever of what we call knowledge or consciousness. An inquiry into the well-springs of reality is, therefore, an inquiry into the grounds of the genesis and content of consciousness, and is, as all such attempts must be, metaphysical. It is, indeed, impracticable for any hater of metaphysics to moot such an inquiry without stultifying himself, for the solution of the riddle is itself metaphysics. Not without amusement do I note the number of agnostics, positivists, materialists, and others who have failed to realise this fact, and no doubt most of my readers must have been similarly regaled. It must suffice now merely to emphasise its importance.

In Part II of my Riddle of the Universe I have endeavored to show that any solution of this crux must be idealistic, that is to say, must find the ultimate ground of reality to be essentially the same as consciousness. I say "essentially" the same because, as I have shown at length, the ground, though illuminated in and as consciousness, is not as prius itself conscious, but meta or superconscious, potentiality, not actuality. I have farther shown-and as yet I have found no critic resolute or honest enough to face my argumentsthat this ground is no mere Hegelian idea, wherein numerical difference is lost, but rather a unity-plurality, demanding the formulation of a monistic monadology as the basic truth of philosophy. In no sense can this idealistic ground be regarded as reason, as so many modern echoers of Hegel declare. And in no sense, again, can reason be said to mediate the production of our own sensuous experience.

These are all positions of leading importance, and I propose here to offer some observations which bear upon them. But of necessity my allusions must be fragmentary. Those who desire a fuller survey of them will find this in my already published work and the forthcoming volume of essays which I am now preparing for the

press.

What, then, in the first place, is our warrant for accepting idealism at all? Assuredly this—that we must found our thinking on experience, and experience is no other than states of consciousness. Mind and world, mental facts, and object facts differ, it is true, in notable regards (and the differences have been frequently catalogued by thinkers), but they agree in the all-important point, which overrides all else, of being states or determinations of a subject. The idea I have of a tree is no more and no less a phase of my subject than is the original perception of which it is an echo. I see no possible way of escape from this position. Of course, we must not, like the so-called psychological idealists, make the world an appearance only within " mind"; "mind" is a general name for a fluctuating series of states historically later than the first sensations, and so no possible container or producer of these. In contrast to this view it will be necessary to maintain that "mind" and "world" subsist only in relation within the individual ego or monad, the spiritual ground of those two contrasted aspects. But here an objection may be entered. "By what right," it may be asked, "do you speak of an individual monad?" Echoers of Hegel and his like will be, of course, up in arms. In answer to these objectors I will point out that on their own showing philosophy should be only the rethinking and rereading of the "given" or experience, and that this experience itself decides the problem. Nothing is more certain than that this experience exhibits our "selves" as radically self-contained or impervious; A's consciousness never penetrating that of B, or vice versa. In "I am I❞—a feeling not a thought, and a feeling realised far more vividly in the presence of things than thoughts1

1 "Things," not being thoughts, but determinations of the contrasted object

consciousness.