Mr. Buckle gives it as the result of his investigations concerning the relative influence of these two agencies: That external or physical laws have been most powerful in the earlier ages of the world, and among the most ignorant nations; that in proportion as knowledge increases, the power of this class of agencies diminishes, and that of mental laws becomes more predominant; that these latter are therefore the great motor forces of civilization, consisting of two parts, the moral and the intellectual, of which the latter are vastly superior as instruments of social advancement, stationary in their effects; finally, as the formal statement of the laws of human development, he says:

'1st. That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused. 2d. That before such investigation can begin, a spirit of scepticism must arise, which, at first aiding the investigation, is afterward aided by it. 3d. That the discoveries thus made increase the influence of intellectual truths, and diminish, relatively, not absolutely, the influence of moral truths; moral truths being more stationary than intellectual truths, and receiving fewer additions. 4th. That the great enemy of this movement, and therefore the great enemy of civilization, is the protective spirit—the notion that society cannot prosper, unless the affairs of life are watched over and protected at nearly every turn by the state and the church; the state teaching men what they are to do, and the church teaching them what they are to believe.'

In all these points the recent work of Professor Draper coincides with that of the lamented English writer. The main object of the former is, however, to discuss a question more basic than those undertaken by the author of 'Civilization in England,' the consideration of which was by him formally declined: namely, the question of a predetermined order of development lying back of all physical and mental phenomena. The opening sentences of the American book will sufficiently indicate the purpose of its pages:

'I intend, in this work, to consider in what manner the advancement of Europe in civilization has taken place, to ascertain how far its progress has been fortuitous, and how far determined by primordial law.

'Does the procession of nations in time, like the erratic phantasm of a dream, go forward without reason or order? Or, is there a predetermined, a solemn march, in which all must join, ever moving, ever resistlessly advancing, encountering and enduring an inevitable succession of events?

'In a philosophical examination of the intellectual and political history of nations, an answer to these questions is to be found. * * * Man is the archetype of society. Individual development is the model of social progress.'

It will be sufficient for our present purpose to indicate the line of Dr. Draper's argument, in seeking for a solution to the problem of progress, and to sum up the conclusions to which he is ultimately led by his investigations.

In the intellectual infancy of a savage state, man regards all passing events as depending on the arbitrary volition of a superior but invisible power. The tendency is necessarily to superstition. After reason, aided by experience, has led him forth from these delusions as respects surrounding things, he still clings to his original ideas as respects objects far removed, believing the stars to be inhabited by mysterious powers, or to be such themselves. Gradually he emerges from star worship as he did from fetichism, still venerating and perhaps exalting into immortal gods the genii whom he once supposed to inhabit the stars, long after he has ascertained that the latter are without any perceptible influence on him.

He is exchanging, by ascending degrees, his primitive doctrine of arbitrary volition for the doctrine of law. As the fall of a stone, the flowing of a river, and the ordinary operations of nature familiar to him have been traced to physical causes, to like causes are at last traced the revolutions of the stars. In events and scenes continually increasing in greatness and grandeur, he is detecting the dominion of law. This perception is extended, until at last it embraces all natural events, until they are seen to be the consequences of physical conditions, and therefore the results of law.

'But if we admit that this is the case, from the mote that floats in the sunbeam to multiple stars revolving round each other, are we willing to carry our principles to their consequences, and recognize a like operation of law among living as among lifeless things, in the organic as well as the inorganic world? What testimony does physiology offer on this point?'

Physiology, in its progress, has passed through the same stages as physics. Living beings were once considered to be beyond the power of external influences, the various physiological functions being carried forward by a feigned immaterial principle, called the vital agent. But when it was discovered that the heart is constructed upon the recognized rules of hydraulics; the eye upon the most refined principles of optics; that the ear was furnished with the means of dealing with the three characteristics of sound—its tympanum for intensity, its cochlea for pitch, and its semicircular canals for quality; and that the air, brought into the great air passages, calling into play atmospheric pressure, was conveyed upon physical principles into the ultimate cells of the lungs, and thence to the blood; when these and very many other like facts were brought into prominence by modern research, it became necessary to admit that animated beings do not constitute the exception once supposed, and that organic operations are the result of physical agencies.

'If thus, in the recesses of the individual economy, these natural agents bear sway, must they not operate in the social economy too?

'Has the great, shadeless desert nothing to do with the habits of the nomade tribes who pitch their tents upon it—the fertile plain no connection with flocks and pastoral life—the mountain fastnesses with the courage that has so often defended them—the sea with habits of adventure? Indeed, do not all our expectations of the stability of social institutions rest upon our belief in the stability of surrounding physical conditions? From the time of Bodin, who nearly three hundred years ago published his work 'De Republica,' these principles have been well recognized: that the laws of nature cannot be subordinated to the will of man, and that government must be adapted to climate. It was these things which led to the conclusion that force is best resorted to for northern nations, reason for the middle, and superstition for the southern.'

The importance of physical agents and physical laws in the social as well as in the individual economy, is variously illustrated by Professor Draper, who points out the essential part they play in several departments of nature. To the merely mechanical inclination of the earth's axis of rotation toward the plane of her orbit of revolution around the sun, we owe the changing seasons and the method of life which is dependent on these. The alteration of that physical arrangement would involve a corresponding alteration in the whole life of the globe. So, again, the possibility of existence upon the earth, in any way, depends upon conditions altogether of a material kind. It is necessary that our planet should be at a definite mean distance from the source of light and heat, the sun; and that the form of her orbit should be almost a circle, since it is only within a narrow range of temperature, secured by these conditions, that life can be maintained.

It is through natural agents also that the means of regulation are secured in the present economy of the globe. Through heat, the distribution and arrangement of the vegetable tribes are accomplished; through their mutual relations with the atmospheric air, plants and animals are interbalanced, and neither permitted to obtain a superiority. The condensation of carbon from the air and its inclusion in the strata constitute the chief epoch in the organic life of the earth giving a possibility for the appearance of the hot-blooded and more intellectual animal tribes. That event was due to the influence of the rays of the sun.

Passing from inorganic to organic forms, our author remarks that their permanence is altogether dependent 'on the invariability of the material conditions under which they live. Any variation therein, no matter how insignificant it might be, would be forthwith followed by a corresponding variation in the form.' At this point we are brought to the far-famed 'development theory,' which, since the publication of the 'Vestiges of Creation,' has been the scientific battle field of the naturalists of the world. Professor Draper is, of course, a firm adherent of this theory. He continues:

'The present invariability of the world of organization is the direct consequence of the physical equilibrium, and so it will continue as long as the mean temperature, the annual supply of light, the composition of the air, the distribution of water, oceanic and atmospheric currents, and other such agencies, remain unaltered; but if any one of these, or of a hundred other incidents that might be mentioned, should suffer modification, in an instant the fanciful doctrine of the immutability of species would be brought to its true value. The organic world appears to be in repose, because natural influences have reached an equilibrium. A marble may remain forever motionless upon a level table; but let the surface be a little inclined, and the marble will quickly run off. What should we say of him who, contemplating it in its state of rest, asserted that it was impossible for it ever to move?

'When, therefore, we notice such orderly successions, we must not at once assign them to a direct intervention, the issue of wise predeterminations of a voluntary agent; we must first satisfy ourselves how far they are dependent upon mundane or material conditions, occurring in a definite and necessary series, ever bearing in mind the important principle that an orderly sequence of inorganic events necessarily involves an orderly and corresponding progression of organic life.

'To this doctrine of the control of physical agencies over organic forms I acknowledge no exceptions, not even in the case of man. The varied aspects he presents in different countries are the necessary consequences of those influences.'

Whether we advocate the doctrine of the origination of the human race from a single pair, or from different races at different centres, we are, in Dr. Draper's judgment, alike driven to the conclusion of the transitory nature of typical forms, to their transmutations and extinctions. In the former case, we can only account for diverse races, having different shades of complexion, different varieties of skull, etc., by the admission of the paramount control of physical agents, such as climate and other purely material circumstances; in the latter, we can only account for the varieties visible among the different races themselves on similar grounds.

Variations in the aspect of man are best seen when an examination is made of nations arranged in a northerly and southerly direction, the differences of climate being much greater in this direction than from east to west. These variations do not affect complexion, development of the brain, and, therefore, intellectual power, only. But differences of manners and customs, that is, differences in the modes of civilization, must coexist with diversities of climate. An ethnical element is therefore necessarily of a dependent nature; its durability arises from its perfect correspondence with the conditions by which it is surrounded. Whatever can affect that correspondence will touch its life.

With such considerations the author passes from individuals to groups of men or nations:

'There is a progress for races of men as well marked as the progress of one man. There are thoughts and actions appertaining to specific periods in the one case as in the other. Without difficulty we affirm of a given act that it appertains to a given period. We recognize the noisy sports of boyhood, the business application of maturity, the feeble garrulity of old age. We express our surprise when we witness actions unsuitable to the epoch of life. As it is in this respect in the individual, so it is in the nation. The march of individual existence shadows forth the march of race existence, being, indeed, its representative on a little scale. Groups of men, or nations, are distributed by the same accidents, or complete the same cycle as the individual. Some scarcely pass beyond infancy; some are destroyed on a sudden; some die of mere old age. In this confusion of events, it might seem altogether hopeless to disentangle the law which is guiding them all, and demonstrate it clearly. Of such groups each may exhibit, at the same moment, an advance to a different stage, just as we see in the same family the young, the middle aged, and the old. * * * In each nation, moreover, the contemporaneously different classes, the educated and illiterate, the idle and industrious, the rich and poor, the intelligent and superstitious, represent different contemporaneous stages of advancement. One may have made a great progress, another scarcely have advanced at all. How shall we ascertain the real state of the case? Which of these classes shall we regard as the truest and most perfect type?'

In order to deal with this problem, and to demonstrate the general nature of a movement having such diverse components, we must, continues Professor Draper, select, from a family or a nation, or a family of many nations, such members or classes or states as most closely represent respectively its type or have advanced most completely in their career. In a state the leading or intellectual class is always the true representative. It has passed gradually through the lower stages, and has made the greatest advance.

We are next called to notice that individual life is maintained only by the production and destruction of organic particles, death being necessarily the condition of life; and that a similar process occurs in the existence of a nation, in which the individual represents the organic molecule, whose production, continuance, and death in the person, answers to the production, continuance, and death of a person in the state. In the same manner that individuals change through the action of physical agencies and submit to impressions, so likewise do aggregates of men constituting nations. 'A national type pursues its way physically and intellectually through changes and developments answering to those of the individual, and being represented by infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, old age, and death, respectively.'

This orderly process may, however, be disturbed by emigration, by blood admixture, or by other exterior or interior occurrences, which would involve a corresponding change in the national characteristics and duration; perhaps result in the rapid and total disappearance of the community.

For—and this brings us to the last point of analogy which Professor Draper gives between individual and national life—nations, like individuals, die. Empires are only sandhills in the hourglass of Time; they crumble spontaneously away by the process of their own growth.

'A nation, like a man, hides from itself the contemplation of its final day. It occupies itself with expedients for prolonging its present state. It frames laws and constitutions under the delusion that they will last, forgetting that the condition of life is change. Very able modern statesmen consider it to be the grand object of their art to keep things as they are, or rather as they were. But the human race is not at rest; and bands with which, for a moment, it may be restrained, break all the more violently the longer they hold. No man can stop the march of destiny. * * * The origin, existence, and death of nations depend thus on physical influences, which are themselves the result of immutable laws. Nations are only transitional forms of humanity. They must undergo obliteration as do the transitional forms offered by the animal series. There is no more an immortality for an embryo in any one of the manifold forms passed through in its progress of development.

'We must, therefore, no longer regard nations or groups of men as offering a permanent picture. Human affairs must be looked upon as in continuous movement, not wandering in an arbitrary manner here and there, but proceeding in a perfectly definite course. Whatever may be the present state, it is altogether transient. All systems of civil life are therefore necessarily ephemeral. Time brings new conditions; the manner of thought is modified; with thought, action. Institutions of all kinds must hence participate in this fleeting nature; and, though they may have allied themselves to political power, and gathered therefrom the means of coercion, their permanency is but little improved thereby; for, sooner or later, the population on whom they have been imposed, following the external variations, spontaneously outgrows them, and their ruin, though it may have been delayed, is none the less certain. For the permanency of any such system it is essentially necessary that it should include with its own organization a law of change, and not of change only, but change in the right direction—the direction in which the society interested is about to pass. It is in an oversight of this last essential condition that we find an explanation of the failure of so many such institutions. Too commonly do we believe that the affairs of men are determined by a spontaneous action or free will; we keep that overpowering influence which really controls them in the background. In individual life we also accept a like deception, living in the belief that everything we do is determined by the volition of ourselves or of those around us; nor is it until the close of our days that we discern how great is the illusion, and that we have been swimming, playing, and struggling in a stream which, in spite of all our voluntary motions, has silently and resistlessly borne us to a predetermined shore.'

These lines were written before the commencement of our civil war. The following sentence, taken from the postscript to the preface, gives them, at this time, additional significance:

'When a nation has reached one of the epochs of its life, and is preparing itself for another period of progress under new conditions; it is well for every thoughtful man interested in its prosperity to turn his eyes from the contentions of the present to the accomplished facts of the past, and to seek for a solution of existing difficulties in the record of what other people in former times have done.'

Guided by this law of development, Professor Draper sets out on his task of investigating the course of European progress. For the purpose of facilitating this investigation, he divides the intellectual progress of the nations examined, into five periods: 1, The Age of Credulity; 2, The Age of Inquiry; 3, The Age of Faith; 4, The Age of Reason; 5, The Age of Decrepitude; corresponding with the five divisions of individual life, as previously stated, from infancy to old age. The general line of examination and its results may be stated by giving the opening paragraphs of his closing chapter:

'The object of this book is to impress upon its reader a conviction that civilization does not proceed in an arbitrary manner, or by chance, but that it passes through a determinate succession of stages, and is a development according to law.

'For this purpose we considered the relations between individual and social life, and showed that they are physiologically inseparable from one another, and that the course of communities bears an unmistakable resemblance to the progress of an individual, and that man is the archetype or exemplar of society.

'We then examined the intellectual history of Greece—a nation offering the best and most complete illustration of the life of humanity. From the beginning of its mythology in old Indian legends, and of its philosophy in Ionia, we saw that it passed through phases like those of the individual to its decrepitude and death in Alexandria.

'Then addressing ourselves to the history of Europe, we found that, if suitably divided into groups of ages, these groups, compared with each other in chronological succession, present a striking resemblance to the successive phases of Greek life, and therefore to that which Greek life resembles—that is to say, individual life.'

Looking at the successive phases of individual life, Professor Draper finds intellectual advancement to be their chief characteristic. The anatomist discovers that the human form advances to its highest perfection through provisions in its nervous structure for intellectual improvement. In like manner the physiologist ranks the vast series of animals now inhabiting the earth in the order of their intelligence. The geologist declares that there has been an orderly improvement in intellectual power of the beings that have successively inhabited the earth.

The sciences, therefore, join with history, infers Professor Draper, in affirming that the great aim of nature is intellectual improvement; intellectual improvement in the individual, and hence, man being the archetype of society, intellectual advancement in the race.

'What, then, is the conclusion inculcated by these doctrines as regards the social progress of great communities? It is that all political institutions—imperceptibly or visibly, spontaneously or purposely—should tend to the improvement and organization of national intellect. * * *

'A great community, aiming to govern itself by intellect rather than by coercion, is a spectacle worthy of admiration. * * * Brute force holds communities together as an iron nail binds pieces of wood by the compression it makes—a compression depending on the force with which it has been hammered in. It also holds more tenaciously if a little rusted with age. But intelligence binds like a screw. The things it has to unite must be carefully adjusted to its thread. It must be gently turned, not driven, and so it retains the consenting parts firmly together. * * *

'Forms of government, therefore, are of moment, though not in the manner commonly supposed. Their value increases in proportion as they permit or encourage the natural tendency for development to be satisfied.'

Intellectual freedom should be secured in free countries, adds Dr. Draper, as completely as the rights of property and personal liberty. Philosophical opinions and scientific discoveries are entitled to be judged of by their truth, not by their relation to existing interests.

'There is no literary crime greater than that of exciting a social, and especially a theological odium against ideas that are purely scientific, none against which the disapproval of every educated man ought to be more strongly expressed. The republic of letters owes it to its own dignity to tolerate no longer offences of that kind.

'To an organization of their national intellect, and to giving it a political control, the countries of Europe are rapidly advancing. They are hastening to satisfy their instinctive tendency. The special form in which they will embody their intentions must, of course, depend to a great degree on the political forms under which they have passed their lives, modified by that approach to homogeneousness, which arises from increased intercommunication.'

In an all-important particular, concludes Dr. Draper, the prospect of Europe is bright. It approaches the last stage of civil life through Christianity. Universal benevolence cannot fail to yield better fruit than has been secured in the past. There is a fairer hope for nations animated by a sincere religious sentiment, who, whatever their political history may have been, have always agreed in this, that they were devout, than for a people who, like the Chinese, now passing through the last stage of civil life in the cheerlessness of Buddhism dedicate themselves to a selfish pursuit of material advantages, who have lost all belief in a future, and are living without any God.

* * * * *

The large space given to the statement of the purpose and drift of 'The Intellectual Development of Europe,' will allow only a brief consideration, in this paper, of the two great points presented by its author. These are, the question of the relative value of moral and intellectual truths in the progress of the human race; and the nature of the law of individual and social development. Both Professor Draper and Mr. Buckle affirm, and endeavor to support the affirmation with array of proof, that intellectual truths are more important and more concerned in the march of society, in the advancement of mankind, than moral ones; and both conclude that the great object of life, its final achievement, is intellectual culture and mental unfoldment in the individual and in the race. To the consideration of these points we will, therefore, direct our attention.

The social, political, religious, and scientific development of the world proceeds under the operation of two grand antagonistic principles. One is the principle of Unity. The other that principle which is the opposite of unity, which we will call Individuality. The first tends to bring about cooeperation, consolidation, convergence, dependence; the second to produce separation, isolation, divergence, and independence. Unity is the principle which tends to order; Individuality to freedom. The desire of order is the animating sentiment of conservatism. The love of freedom is the vital essence of progress. Unity is the static, and Individuality the motic force of human society. Both are inherent in the nature of things, and equally important as elements of a true social organization. Unity is allied to the affections, which are synthetic in their character; Individuality, to the intellect, which is mainly analytical, critical, and disruptive in its tendency. Unity is predominant in religion, which is static in its nature; Individuality, in science, which is primarily disturbing. In the distribution of the mental faculties, Unity relates to the moral powers, and Individuality to the intellectual; the former being, as both Mr. Buckle and Professor Draper have shown, more stationary in their character than the latter.

Unity is represented in social affairs by the institutions of community which tend to bind the people into a composite whole; Individuality, by the personal independence which liberates from the conventionalities of association and creates social freedom. In the religious domain, Unity is represented by faith, which is allied to the emotional or affectional nature, and is predominantly concessive, unquestioning, and submissive; Individuality, by the spirit of inquiry and investigation, which will only believe after intellectual examination and satisfaction. In political affairs, Unity is represented by the principle of leadership, seen, in its one-sided and imperfect form, in despotic or monarchical rule; Individuality, by the democratic principle of political equality. In science, the two principles have various analogues in different departments. In rational mechanics, unity is analogous to statics, and individuality to dynamics. In astronomy, unity to the centripetal, and individuality to the centrifugal force. Unity is allied to synthetical, and individuality to analytical chemistry. It will not be necessary to specify further analogies. These two principles are everywhere present throughout the universe; and it is through the mutual play of their opposite drifts, when rightly adjusted and balanced, that harmony is secured, as in the revolutions of the planets; while disharmony is the result, wherever it exists, of an undue preponderance, either of the tendency to unity, on the one hand, or of that to disunity or individuality, on the other.

In virtue of this analysis, looking at the question solely from the stand point of abstract science, we should affirm that moral truth, as the analogue or representative of the principle of unity, and as the converging tendency, was exactly the equal and counterpart of intellectual truth, the analogue of the diverging tendency, represented by the principle of individuality. To assert the contrary, would be equivalent to averring that dynamics were more important agencies in mechanics than statics; that the centrifugal force was more essential to the harmonious movements of the heavenly bodies than the centripetal, because the functions of statics and centripetal force are more stationary in their nature; or that the head was more important than the heart, which two parts are, in the human organism, the respective representatives of intellect and affection, the basis of moral power.

The truth, in relation to all these particulars, will appear on closer examination, if not already shown, to be this: that the principle of Unity and the principle of Individuality must everywhere be represented in proximately equal proportions, in order to effect a just balance of conditions and to secure practical harmony. Centralization and freedom must everywhere coexist, and be equally operative. Conservatism is as important to society as progress. Conservatism overbalancing progress, destroys society by stagnation, blotting out the individuality of the person and moulding men into machine-like uniformity; progress preponderating over conservatism, destroys the community by disrupting bands of association before new methods are sufficiently understood, and giving reins to a liberty whose untutored use can end only in anarchy and unbridled license. Conservatism and progress, the centripetal and centrifugal forces of society, each being equally balanced, will result in a harmonization of social interests that will cause community to move on its career as evenly as the planet moves in its graceful orbit. So in every other department, wherever these opposite principles are equally adjusted by allowing each full play, there results perfect consonance and peace. Order and freedom in government; unity and liberty in church; individuality and mutuality in society; these are the elements, when alike operative, of security and success in their respective domains, in individual and social life.

To secure the highest state of civilization, it is therefore essential that there should be an equal activity of the intellectual and of the moral or (as they may be more appropriately called) the religious faculties: religion being, in its broadest sense, devotion—arising from a conscientious feeling of duty or obligation—to that which appears to the individual as the highest truth; and the faculties which are active in the exercise of this devotion being the moral or religious ones. Viewed as a question of abstract science merely, the investigation might be arrested at this point, with the conclusion that intellectual and moral agencies were both indispensible to the progress of humanity, and the right relations of society, and, therefore, equally important elements of social advancement. Additional proof will be given incidentally, however, of this general truth, in the consideration of the special case of the relative value of these agencies in the past progress of the nations.

It has been said that the development of the world proceeds under the operation of the antagonistic principles of unity and individuality. Unity, as a prior idea to individuality, which latter arises from the disintegration of that which was formerly one—had, historically, a prior development. The period of its paramount sway in the first grand division of time stretches from the dawn of history up to about the twelfth century, or to the beginning of the revival of learning. The principle of individuality then began to be active, and has guided the subsequent progress of civilization. At no time, nor in any nation, however, has either one of these principles been entirely inactive. One or the other has preponderated, and thus given distinct characteristics to its age. It is to these preponderating drifts that reference is made in the foregoing division, as specially marking periods.

The opposite tendencies of unity and individuality, and their successive development have been somewhat vaguely apprehended by Professor Draper,—who has not, however, perceived them as principles,—and have furnished him with the periods into which he arbitrarily divides the progressive epochs of social growth. If we change these divisions into their proper order—an order singularly disarranged by this author—we shall have substantially the representative periods in the historical domain, of unity and individuality. The order in which these eras are placed in 'The Intellectual Development of Europe' is, 1, Age of Credulity; 2, Age of Inquiry; 3, Age of Faith; 4, Age of Reason; 5, Age of Decrepitude. It is evident, however, as partially shown by Mr. Buckle, that the age of inquiry is uniformly subsequent to the age of faith, and immediately precedes the age of reason. Comparing this distribution, moreover, with the one given by Dr. Draper of the five stages of human existence to which he makes it correspond, we find childhood given as the age of inquiry, youth of faith, and manhood of reason. The ages of inquiry and faith should, however, change places, in order to be congruous. In applying these periods to the history of Greece, the age of inquiry is made to extend from the rise of philosophy to the time of Socrates; and the age of faith to comprise the epochs of Socrates, Plato, and the Skeptics, up to about the time of Aristotle. But in any such division as Dr. Draper attempts, the age of faith should precede the rise of philosophical speculation, and the age of inquiry should include the era of ethical as well as of physical investigation. In the application to European history a similar error is made. The age of inquiry is given as the epoch of the rise of Christianity and the establishment of the papal power; then follow the thousand years of the age of faith, the age of reason beginning a little before the time of Galileo. The time given to the age of inquiry should have been included in the age of faith, while the real European age of inquiry is the era of the restoration of learning, the development of modern languages, the invention of printing, and the Reformation, an era which Dr. Draper discusses in a chapter entitled: 'APPROACH TO THE AGE OF REASON IN EUROPE. It is preceded by the Rise of Criticism.' Certainly the epoch of the rise of criticism, of the Reformation, and of printing, is the age of inquiry, if any age is entitled to that name.

Changing then the places of the age of inquiry and that of faith, we shall have, so far as the grand or European division is concerned, the epochs of credulity and faith, both essentially stationary elements, included within the stage of the development of the principle of unity; and those of inquiry and reason, both mainly productive of change, within the period of the reign of the principle of individuality. Judging now solely from our knowledge of the nature of these opposite drifts, what should we expect to discover as the prevalent characteristics of their respective periods of supremacy? We should look, during the time in which the principle of unity was developing its powers, for the predominant manifestation of all those elements of progress which belong on the side of order, strength, stability, permanence, conservatism, community of interests, associative effort, uniformity in political and religious belief, moral activity; for all those elements, in fine, which tend toward the unification of social power and interest, and toward progress by cooeperation; and we should expect a corresponding lack of tendencies of an opposite kind. On the other hand, during the era in which the principle of individuality predominated, we should be prepared to see a preponderating manifestation of all those elements which tend to freedom, change, disintegration of interests, antagonistic or competitive effort, diversity in political and religious belief, intellectual activity; of all those drifts, in short, which relate to the individualizing of social power and interests, and to progress by antagonism; with corresponding absence of the elements active in the preceding epoch.

Turning now to Dr. Draper's storehouse of historical facts, do we find our expectations realized or disappointed?

We discover that during the age in which the principle of unity was dominant, vast, magnificent, opulent empires existed, consolidated, stable, powerful, orderly; but whose subjects possessed comparatively no freedom, which resisted all effort at progression, denied to men political equality, and sought to prevent all desire of change. We see a religious organization which bound the people in a single faith by a common creed; which fostered a spirit of brotherly sympathy; kept alive the fire of holy zeal by pious ministrations; taught the universal brotherhood of the human race; cultured the emotional nature of its worshippers; sought to eradicate pauperism, to abolish slavery, and to inculcate practical humility, treating peasant and king as equals before God; endeavored to provide for the spiritual and material wants of mankind; to become the guardian of the weak, the educator of the ignorant, the rescuer of the vicious, the comforter of the sorrowing, and the strong hand of protection between selfish or brutal power and the lowly; which, however, resisted all efforts at intellectual freedom, shut its ears to the voice of science, strove to repress the rising desires of the soul and keep it in perpetual bondage and darkness. We behold, next, a social organization in which, as a general rule, though with many exceptions, each individual held his fitting place, the station for which he was best adapted by natural character and training; in which each rank recognized its obligations of deference toward superiors, and of guardianship toward inferiors, and fulfilled, in the main, as they were then understood, the practical duties which these obligations created; in which the rich and powerful were the social fathers of the poor and humble, securing them from physical want and from the snares of designing men; but in which the spirit of independence was not alive, the dignity of labor was denied, the development which results from competitive struggles unknown, and education uncared for.

But the achievements of this stage of individual and social growth, those which stand out as the illustrious and characteristic features of the time, were its moral or religious accomplishments. The pages of history which detail the events of this epoch, are crowded with relations of heroic devotion to the individual's highest ideal of truth, not as occasional acts of life, but as the dominating purpose of existence; of loyalty to men and women of superior powers; of self-sacrifice for the welfare of others. The sentiments of Christianity, which appeal mainly to the heart, took fast hold on the emotional and affectional natures of a simple people not yet developed in their intellectual faculties. A sense of responsibility for his every action rested heavily on every person. Men shut themselves in dungeons, scourged their flesh, lacerated their bodies, inflicted all manner of torture on their frames, that they might purge away every evil desire, every wrong propensity, and conquer their material elements into submission to the spiritual. Deeds of lofty self-abnegation, rarely if ever known to modern days, were then common. Stern virtue, as virtue was then understood, was largely prevalent. The habits of life were devout, reverential, careful of sanctities, solemn and austere. Individuals and community lived in the constant remembrance of being strictly accountable for the manner and actions of their lives. A moral and religious atmosphere pervaded society, such as our modern levity can little understand. An atmosphere which impregnated every living being who came within its scope, and hallowed their lives, so that the guiding and animating spirit of the day, among high and low, rich and poor, ignorant and learned, was the conscientious desire of thinking, acting, and living as God wished and as their better natures approved; of being pure in their purposes and holy in their deeds, as purity and holiness were then conceived; of subduing and controlling their passions, and in all ways being devoutly scrupulous that everything they did was dictated, not by a desire to gratify a selfish impulse nor an ebullition of feeling, but by a conviction of duty under a sense of eternal responsibility to God.

The moral and religious grandeur of the age could not avail, however, for the highest purposes of civilization, in the absence of intellectual vigor and mental growth. Devotion itself made men bigots. Their love of God, unaccompanied by right views of human liberty, induced cruel persecutions. Humanity had no hope in such developments alone, grand as they were, and a new principle began its career, gradually supplanting the first. What does our historian give as the facts of civilization since the century preceding the Reformation, from which time the tendency to individuality has been predominant?

The great kingdoms and empires of the earlier days melted away under its influence. The divine right of kings, and the theory that power sprang from the ruler, gradually yielded to the democratic principle of political equality and the origination of power in the people. Civil liberty became the touchstone of good government, instead of centralization of power and consolidation. General eligibility to office grew into vogue in the place of the ancient mode, which practically limited the selection of statesmen and officials to a privileged class, comprising the largest and most cultured minds of the nation. Freedom, and consequent diversity, in thought, in speech, and in action, became paramount considerations to coercion and resulting uniformity in these respects. The functions of rule were step by step curtailed until they dwindled theoretically, and, to a large extent, in the most advanced countries, practically, into two only—the protection of person and of property. That government is best which governs least, came to be an axiom of political progress; and the paramount purpose of civil organization is beginning to be regarded, not, as under the monarchical sway, the preservation of order, but the liberty of the people.

In ecclesiastical affairs, we see the integrality of the church destroyed under the influence of the Protestant principle of private judgment, one of the first fruits of individuality. We perceive sects gradually subdividing into sects, until, instead of a unity of religious sentiment and a sympathy of religious action under the impulse of a common creed, an innumerable variety of religious denominations came into existence, each embodying different beliefs in diverse articles of faith, and refusing Christian fellowship with the others. In this transition the gain has been great, and the loss has been great. The human soul has been liberated to the light of intellectual truth, and emancipated from the bands of ancient superstition. The blessings of education, culture, mental development, and social expansion, have been accorded to the people. Gloomy asceticism has yielded to more hopeful views of life. Dark and depressing theological dogmas have received more cheerful interpretations; and the design of creation, the nature of man, and the destiny of humanity are seen in more alluring colors. The expectations of the future are no longer made terrible by visions of a dreadful God; but beneficence and goodness smile through all the purposes of a loving Father.

All this is gain, is strength, is progress. But what shall we say of that fierce spirit of religious antagonism, which resulted from the disruption of the unity of the church? Of that decline in power which can only exist by consolidation of effort in sympathy of spirit? Of the loss of that capacity through powerful organization to influence men, to perform vast deeds of benevolence, superintend the spiritual and material conditions of the indigent, provide for the comfort of the poor, check the encroachment of the strong on the weak, and hold community in respectful awe by the force of its moral and religious sentiments? The cultivation of the intellectual faculties released the nations from the domination of a narrow-minded spiritual power; but it caused men to forget, to a great extent, while in the hot pursuit of knowledge, that moral culture is equally as essential as mental. To the intellectual gain, during this period of development, we must add a corresponding moral or religious loss. We miss, in modern life, the ever-present, all-pervading, conscious sense of high individual accountability which directed the thoughts, controlled the feelings, and overshadowed the lives of the children of the former stage of progress. The activities of intellectual and material existence absorb the energy of our era, and leave little inclination and less strength for the cultivation and expansion of the deeper faculties of man's nature. In all that side of religious progress which comes from the inculcation of true ideas concerning God, man, human destiny, and human duty; in all which belongs to the intellectual side of religion, the side which enhances our knowledge of what should be done, we have far surpassed the nations and the people of the past. But in all that pertains to the emotional, the devotional, and especially to the moral side of religion, we are far behind them. The animating spirit of life, under the predominating influence of the religious sentiment, was, as we have seen, a conscientious endeavor to live, in all ways, a life of purity, of virtue, and of implicit obedience to the highest dictates of truth, according to the understanding of truth which then prevailed. To do that which they deemed right, no sacrifice was too great, no labor too arduous, no suffering too severe. The deep, abiding, earnest, controlling spirit of the time, shone bright and glorious through all its ignorance, degradation, and superstition, a warning to our later and more cultured age, that the triumphs of the intellect are not all that is requisite for the final achievements of civilization.

The influence of the individualizing tendency is no more perceptible on the page of history, in political and religious affairs, than in the relations of social life. The gradual advance in political ideas, as relating to the liberty of the people, modified the oppressive trade-caste systems of the older nations, and wholly abolished them in the more advanced. Competitive industry introduced intelligence and self-reliance among the people. The doctrine of the equality of men elevated the spirit of the laborer, and dispersed, to a greater or less extent, as the doctrine made itself felt, that servile veneration which the lower classes paid to the higher; the essential dignity of labor is becoming acknowledged. To all these benefits, there have been, nevertheless, corresponding losses. Competitive industry has developed the mental faculties of the people; but has also left the ignorant and the weak still under the feet of the intelligent and the rich, while the recognition of the doctrine of social and political equality has eliminated from the community those distinctive classes who formerly constituted themselves the supervisors and patrons of the indigent, and the providers for their material wants. It is for this reason that the lowest orders of modern society exhibit relatively a condition of physical misery unknown to the poor of former times. So, while the inherent and native dignity of manhood has cropped out, under the impulse of this same idea of the equality of man, reverence for things to which reverence is due, respect for sanctities of whatever kind, deference to superior worth in any sphere—these and other virtues which belong on that side of truth which consists of the recognition of the inherent inequality of man in mental, moral, and spiritual characteristics, are rapidly disappearing, giving place to that spirit of dead-levelism so peculiarly illustrative of the prevalent sentiment in this country, and so aptly denominated 'Young America.'

It is in the loss of this side of truth, this want of recognition of the inherent inequality in men, that one of the greatest elements of national power has disappeared. That individuals differ in their organization and capacities one from another, and are hence, in this respect, unequal, is a generally accepted truism. From this inequality it results that every man has some sphere in which he is superior to all others, and in regard to the concerns of which he should be the voluntarily recognized authority. But, except in the departments where men are entirely ignorant, and hence are forced to acknowledge the supremacy of others, there is, among the most advanced peoples, scarcely any recognition, of this great truth of voluntary deference to those who are entitled to superiority. Persons of only ordinary capacities, who read the newspaper, but who elsewise have had little time or inclination for study, boldly argue abstrusest questions concerning military methods, political economy, theology, or ethics, with students and thinkers, without the slightest suspicion that they have no moral right to enter into such a dispute, under such circumstances; their true position being that of learners. It is not wholly from a want of knowledge that such errors are committed. Men are mainly aware that political equality does not mean equality of faculties and of functions. This assumption of a parity which has no existence, arises in a large measure from a want of moral power; from a lack of that religious development, so prevalent in the first state of progress, which made it possible to conquer pride, subdue egotism, cultivate humility, defer to superiority, and enabled the individual in all ways to accept cheerfully his proper position in society, and cordially to recognize that of every other, so far as he understood them. Political and social equality emancipate mankind from civil slavery, from social oppression, from the forced domination of assumptive aristocracies, from the pride of rank; they prohibit any imposition of authority which the individual does not willingly accept; but they do not lift one iota of that responsibility which rests upon every human being to honor the truth wherever or whatever it may be. Truth demands that we recognize our superiors, in whatever sphere we may find them, and eagerly avail ourselves of their advantages; that we recognize our inferiors, and give them, if they will accept, of our store. That we in America are no longer coerced into the acknowledgement of an assumed superior class, only renders our obligation of voluntary deference more binding. The selfishness and recklessness which the principle of individuality has developed in its course; the disregard of moral duties which it has engendered, promise only disaster and defeat to our national career, unless speedily counteracted by a development of the opposite tendency.

Finally, it is in the sphere of intellectual growth, with its resulting scientific achievement and material prosperity, that we must look for the greatest results of the period in which the principle of individuality has preponderated. It is needless to undertake to detail these here. Every department of human concern has felt their influence, and advanced under it. Through science, the world in which we live has been unfolded to our vision; the organism we inhabit made known; the history of the past revealed; and the destiny of our future forecast. To science, the offspring of intellectual activity, we owe our increased facilities for travel; the gradually accumulating comforts of life; extended commercial advantages; national growth; social amelioration; increased power over the elements; and rapidly accumulating wealth. To mental development we owe civil freedom, social culture, and religious liberty; commerce, invention, arts, education, enterprise. The principle of individuality still guides the development of our day; science is discovering new resources; and practical applications are introducing new elements of prosperity. The stage of unity has done its work; it gave us great elements of civilization, but not enough. The stage of individuality, now swiftly advancing to its close, has furnished magnificent contributions to progress, but could not achieve the highest point. We are passing into a third era, which shall combine the good results of each, and ultimate a nobler form of individual and social life.

Here, then, we may pause in our investigation and ask the conclusion. Have intellectual truths been more important in the past progress of the world than moral ones? Let us sum up. We have seen that the early ages of the world were dominated by the principle of unity; that during its career the moral agencies preponderated, while the intellectual were subordinated; that society, under the influence of these agencies, developed to a higher degree than subsequently certain elements, such as political order, national stability, religious sympathy, moral responsibility, associative labor, deference, reverence, and others, absolutely essential to the highest well-being of a nation; that these elements, however, in the absence of those of an opposite or counteracting nature, had a morbid rather than a healthful action, and kept humanity in darkness and stagnation, being inadequate to all the requirements of social progress; that a new development then began, under the impulse of a new and opposite principle, which evolved precisely those tendencies the want of which had prevented the complete realization of the highest purposes of national life; such were intellectual culture, political liberty, social equality, religious freedom and others; that in the course of the development of these principles, likewise absolutely necessary to the complete organization of community, those which had been predominant under the operation of the drift toward unity, became dormant; so that the results of the second stage of progression were, practically, the same as those of the first, namely, the evolution of magnificent principles, which in the absence of their counterparts had not a healthful action, and were unavailable for the establishment of the highest civilization; and finally, we have seen, from the nature of the two principles, that neither is adequate, alone, to the inauguration of a true social order, neither to develop the indispensable requisites which belong to its opposite, but that in every harmonious organization both must be present, mutually functioning, interblending, and expanding.

This, then, is the answer: The moral agencies have tried to secure the highest social state without the aid of the intellectual, and have failed. The intellectual agencies have sought to secure the same object without the aid of the moral, and have likewise failed. There is no possibility of establishing the desideratum without the full and uninterrupted play of the moral faculties; no possibility of establishing it without the full and uninterrupted play of the intellectual faculties; both have been equal factors in the history of the past in an isolated way; both will be equal factors in a blended harmony in the history of the future. One is humanity's head, and the other humanity's heart. With the absence of either the nation is not yet come into its birth; it is still an embryo.

In this exhibition of the nature and tendency of the principles of unity and individuality, we have also the means of correcting the error into which Professor Draper has fallen respecting the law of human development. He, together with Mr. Buckle, has failed to perceive that the static forces are as important to human growth as the motic. He would reject the fruits of the stage of unity and be satisfied with the splendid achievements of the intellectual era. Dazzled by the brilliancy of this later age he is not conscious that in securing the finer results of our riper civilization, we have left in abeyance the deeper, sterner, and more religious elements of life. He would urge us onward in our merely intellectual career, unmindful of the lesson, which the pages of history logically teach, which the principles we have pointed out unerringly confirm, that intellectual development, religious liberty, civil freedom, social equality, unbalanced and unregulated by the centralization, consolidation, moral force, religious responsibility, and the tendencies which belong to the principle of unity, push irresistibly toward disintegration, and end inevitably in political revolution, national disruption, and social anarchy. Toward that goal the nations are now steadily setting under the operations of the tendency to individuality. In the direction which Dr. Draper points for success and prosperity are only disaster and despair: 'The organization of the national intellect' has been and will be fruitless, unless accompanied by the organization of the national moral power. China has the former in an inferior and stunted way, without the latter, and is fitly described by the historian as passing cheerlessly through the last stage of civil life. Had she been less selfish, had she felt deeply the moral and religious obligation she owed to humanity, China had liberated the intellectual faculties to a complete freedom under the sanctification of the moral agencies, and added to that permanence, which is one of the chief factors of national success, the freedom which is the other.

The 'predetermined order of development' has not destined the peoples of the earth to the melancholy fate of China. The climacteric of the present stage of progress is rapidly approaching, is even now touching with its finger the startled nations. When it shall have passed, the world will enter upon the third and final stage of civil progress, in which the organized power, social order, moral grandeur, religious unity, and cooeperative industry of the past epoch will be allied to the civil liberty, social equality, intellectual culture, and practical activity of the present. Under these combined influences humanity will start upon a new career, whose achievements in literature, in science, in art, in religion, in practical activities, will make even the vast accumulations of our modern day seem to the future historian insignificant accomplishments, 'a school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour.'

* * * * *

To the American student of history his own country presents, at the present time, a most mournful and convincing example of the inability of intellectual agencies to secure national stability or individual prosperity in the absence of moral strength. Here education has been general, mental activity great, and literary culture prevalent. Here, nevertheless, during half a century a giant wrong has held paramount sway; dominating the sentiment, dictating the policy, controlling the action of the Government, and, at the same time, bending commercial interests to its purpose, giving the law to public opinion, and directing the destiny of the republic. Not to any want of knowledge has the reign of this tyrant been due. The slaveholding institutions of the South are mainly sustained by men of high mental development and large intellectual culture. The statesmen who staked the freedom of a race against the chance of political honor, were renowned for mental vigor. The people who turned a deaf ear to the cry of the bondmen, are celebrated throughout the world for their intelligence.

The weakness of the nation was not intellectual, but moral. The 'selfish pursuit of material advantages' had conquered, in the slaveowner of the South, and in the mercantile community of the North, the love of equity and the desire of right. Political ambition was stronger among the statesmen of the North, than the instincts of mercy or the sense of religious responsibility. Love of gain weighed heavier with the people of the United States than the love of God or of their fellowmen. In vain the voice of warning has been sounded. In vain has the republic been urged to love mercy and to do justice. The country lay in a moral lethargy, from which no gentle means could rouse it, and the dread thunderbolt of war was launched to smite it into action. Through humiliation and suffering; amid widows' tears and orphans' grief; through struggle and privation; by the stern baptism of blood, the nation is being awakened to its deficiencies, is being called to the development of higher virtues.

This latest lesson of history is solemn and impressive. Fruitlessly shall communities teem with material advantages and wealth; in vain shall peoples increase their industrial resources; futile the universality of education and the liberalizing results of intellectual growth; these shall endure but for a season, as the glitter on the waves, unless the national life is grounded on religious devotion to the highest truth, and is practically active in securing the social welfare of the brotherhood of man.



TREASURE-TROVE.

A day in the heart of summer, A sky of that glorious hue That dazzles and melts like the ocean, In its fathomless, infinite blue!

The topmost leaves of the maple Are stirred by a wondrous song, That swells, and dies; then rising, Still clearer floats along.

Oh, where have I heard that music? Whence its familiar tone? The beauty that thrills it, trembles Not in the song alone:

It dwells in sunsets, that deepen In the glory and gloom of night; In waters that glance and sparkle, In the hush of the lingering light.

Like the waves of a springing river, That from silver fountains wells; Higher, and fuller, and sweeter That liquid melody swells.

Oh, the haunting, dim-shadowed expression, That sighs on the breathless air! If ever a soul were in music, A soul is thrilling there!

That song, with its burden immortal, I heard it long ago! I know its every cadence, That quivers and pulses so:

I claim it, bird of summer! That wondrous song of thine; Though thine its tuneful utterance, Its melody is mine.

Then sing till, tranced in rapture, The day forgets to wane; And the winds of heaven are silent, To hear that magic strain.

Sing till the pain of thy transport O'erpowers each dying tone! Thou canst not warble a measure That is not all mine own.



MATTER AND SPIRIT.

Mr. Editor: In the July number of THE CONTINENTAL, I notice some editorial remarks upon a portion of my article 'Touching the Soul,' which appeared in the June number. For these remarks I am under obligation to you, as pointing out the looseness of my phraseology, whereby I have failed to convey the idea I intended; for which looseness the only excuse must be that my mind was occupied more with the thought than with the expression, and the latter was so absorbed in the former as to have suffered in consequence. For it seems to me that the strictures are due to misapprehension of the position assumed.

To commence with the assumed operation of spirit on the material world, as seen in the action of nature: Does not the theory that the mysterious productive forces are in their own nature spiritual verge somewhat closely upon the dogmas of pantheism? What else than this was the belief of the ancients, which placed a Naiad in every stream and a Dryad in every tree? Does it not draw still nearer to Shelley's theory of a 'Spirit of Nature,' which was his God, creating, shaping, and pervading all things? In a word, does not such a theory, in effect, place a god in every object?

Spirit acts independently of God. And here I would not be misunderstood. For though God, as the Author of all spiritual being, may be said to be the indirect cause of all spiritual action, since, if he had not created it, the action could not have resulted, yet He has created the soul to act upon its own promptings, and entirely independent of Himself, holding it, at the same time, to a strict accountability for all the deeds done in the body. To deny this, is to deny the whole doctrine of freewill agency, and with it that of all human responsibility, unless we go to the other and blasphemous extreme of branding with cruelty and injustice the entire system of revealed religion. In consequence, then, of this independent action of spirit, we see the soul of man constantly departing from its normal state, effecting evil as well as good, and guilty of action for which its Creator can in no wise be held responsible. And upon this simple fact hangs the whole system of future rewards and punishments. If now we consider this force which we have been discussing to be spiritual in its nature, it is not for us to draw the line between it and the soul of man. Spirit, so far as it touches our knowledge or experience, is one and the same thing the world over, differing only in degree of its qualities. If we concede to this force the status of spirit, we must also concede to it that essential characteristic or faculty of spirit, independent action; and hence the Creator God could not be said to have any hand whatever in the works of this spiritual force—in other words, in the creation of any of the features of the physical world—further than in the original creation of the spirit which underlies and produces them. But this position is in direct variance with the teachings of Holy Writ, wherein we are told that He maketh every flower to bloom, every leaf to grow, and without Him not even a sparrow falls to the ground. In fact, upon almost every page of the sacred book is recognized and taught the fact of the direct intervention of God, not only in human affairs, but also in every work of nature, however minute and insignificant.

And as another result of this independent action, we should find this spiritual force, as in the case of the human soul, frequently departing from its normal state, deviating from the laws which now seem to control it, and multiplying so-called 'freaks of nature,' abnormal works in the physical world, calculated to derange the comfort of mankind and render all things uncertain and insecure. In a word, it would be in the power of such a force, or combination and opposition of forces, to turn the earth again to its original chaos. With such a belief, then, we must assume that God has delegated the care of the material world to other hands of His own creation, and left the comfort and well-being of humanity at the mercy of another spirit, no wiser and perhaps not even so far advanced in the scale of progress as itself.

But it seems to me that the mysterious productive forces of nature can in no wise be called spiritual. Certainly spirit 'animates, informs, and shapes the universe,' in the sense that all things are created and all agencies are kept in operation by an all-powerful God, who is himself pure Spirit, but in no other sense; for God makes use of certain principles or laws to accomplish all things in this world of ours. That unknown force which vivifies the seed and produces the stalk, the blade, and the ear, which clothes the earth with verdure, and which underlies and induces all the works of nature, is not a thinking, reasoning spirit, like that which renders humanity godlike; but a principle—a law—a mere agency whereby the Almighty effects his designs, which is wholly controlled by him, dependent upon him for its very existence, and which in each individual instance ceases to be with the accomplishment of its end; a principle which humanity cannot comprehend, and with which human spirit can have no sympathy or connection except as it excites wonder and admiration. Under this view all the objects of nature are the products, not of spirit, but of law, which is itself the product of the one great Creative Spirit whereby all things are. Even if we admit that so subtle is the connection between the spirit and the law, the law and the material object, that matter may, after all, be said to be the work of and acted upon by spirit, yet it will be seen that even in this instance, spirit does not act directly upon matter, but only through certain intermediate agencies, of which more anon; while, in the matter under discussion, the direct action of spirit upon matter is assumed by the so-called spiritualists.

Again, in regard to the connection of the soul with the organized frame, nothing is better established than the mutual action and reaction between the mind and body. A volume of truth is contained in the simple and hackneyed phrase, Mens sana in corpore sano. A diseased frame is almost invariably accompanied by depression of spirits and a disinclination, if not an absolute disability for profound thought; and, on the other hand, a diseased mind soon makes itself manifest to the outer world in an enfeebled and sickly frame. The merest tyro in medical science recognizes the fact that in sickness no medicine is so effective as cheerfulness, hope, and a determined will; while not unfrequently the direst evil against which the physician has to contend is despondency. And many other instances might be given of this mutual action, which are unnecessary in this connection, since the point is conceded.

Yet, as regards the outer world, it is nevertheless true that the soul cannot directly perceive material objects, but only through the agency of the physical senses. In the matter of sight and sound, the atoms of the elastic medium must first make a material and tangible impression upon the eye and ear, which impression is conveyed by the nerves to the brain, where all human knowledge of the mystic process ceases. We only know that there is an intimate connection between the nerves and the mind established in the brain—which is the fountain head of both—whereby the mind receives this subtile impression and thereby becomes cognizant of the object which is its original cause. The same thing is true of all the other senses. Destroy now any one of these bodily senses, and the soul at once becomes dead to all that class of impressions which before were conveyed through that medium. Destroy the sight, and the mind can have no cognizance whatever of material objects save through the sense of touch—for our knowledge of matter through the senses of hearing, taste, and smell, is one of experience alone, which, aided by sight and touch, has taught us in the past that where sound, taste, or odor exist, there must be matter to produce these impressions. Destroy, then, if it were possible, this sense of touch, and our absolute perception of objects is entirely lost—the connection between the outer world and the perceptive faculties of the mind is dissolved forever. The truth of this position is seen in the fact that in a swoon, when all the senses are benumbed, the mind is utterly unconscious of its surroundings.

Again, to go to the other end of the chain—admitting that the force which resides in the material points and produces the vibration in the elastic medium is spiritual in its nature, do we not find that this force never produces an impression upon the senses, and through them upon the mind, except through the intermediate agency of a material object? The object itself must exist before the force can act, and hence arises our confidence in the evidence of our senses. Were it otherwise, indeed, our whole life would be one of uncertainty, of innumerable deceptions, a mere wandering about in a mist of delusions worse than those of a maniac. And if this force could act upon our perceptions without a material point in which to reside, is it not reasonable to suppose that it would occasionally so do, and that we should sometimes perceive effects for which we could find no cause in the material world—no connection with matter? Yet in the whole range of human experience no such thing is known. Even the phenomena which we call optical illusions arise from certain derangements of the atomic particles of the medium through which the impression is conveyed.

From this course of reasoning two plain deductions arise, either of which is disastrous to the spiritualistic theory. For if we deny, as I have done, that this hidden, mysterious force is spiritual in its nature, we have in all our knowledge and experience no instance of the direct action of spirit upon matter. While, if we acknowledge that fact, we have still no instance of spirit so acting upon the medium through which we receive our physical perceptions as to produce an impression through the senses upon the mind, without the intervention of a material point.

Is it reasonable, then, to suppose that in this our age, for the first time, a single solitary manifestation of this supernatural power should occur, as claimed by the spiritualists, unaccompanied by any analogous contemporary or corroborative fact of the same or of a different nature? To admit this is to admit one of three things: 1st, that both the physical senses and spiritual constitution of humanity have undergone a sudden and wonderful change; 2dly, that the Almighty has entirely altered his mode of communication with mankind; or, 3dly, that the whole world of spirits has been let loose to wander at will over the universe and space!

But admitting, as all must do, that there is in each individual human organism an intimate and mysterious connection, through the nerves and brain, between the spirit and the senses, the fact that this is the only known connection, direct or indirect, between matter and spirit, seems to me to argue that there is no other perceptible one. For, if there were any such, designed in any way to affect our perceptions, mental, moral, or physical, would it not, in some one of its phases, have been made manifest through all the past ages of the world? That such a connection has never been discovered is proof sufficient that no such was ever intended by the Supreme Being to affect mankind in any way, unless we admit that the spiritual and religious necessities of mankind, and, in fact, the very constitution itself of human spirit, are entirely different from what they have been in the ages gone by, and require not only a different pabulum, but also a different mode of dealing at the hands of the Almighty: in a word, that the very essence of religion is progressive.

If these positions be correct, the discussion is narrowed down to the consideration of the relations of the spirit as connected with the organized frame. And this brings us to another very natural deduction.

Every schoolboy knows the story of the wonderful clock whose inventor was blinded by the order of his sovereign, that he might not be able to repeat his work for any rival power; and how, many years afterward, when the memory of his person had passed away from those who had known him in his younger days, he groped his way back to the scene of his former labors, and, guided by a lad to the tower which enclosed the already famous work of art, under pretence of listening once more to its chimes, he suddenly, with his scissors, severed a single small wire, and the wonderful performances were closed forever. No artist thereafter could be found to restore the work, for none other than the inventor was acquainted with its mechanism, or could discover the secret of its operation. And so it remained a silent monument to the ingratitude of a sovereign and the revenge of a victim of the most barbarous cruelty. And yet the principle was still there uninjured, and as capable of operation as ever before, yet forever dead to that complicated mechanism, since the single connecting rod was severed which bound the idea to its only means of action—the immaterial to the material—the soul to the body. The mechanism too was as perfect as ever, in all its constituent parts, but forever silent and inoperative from lack of connection with the idea upon which it depended. Side by side lay the principle and its means of manifestation, separated only by the infinitesimal portion of space which divided the parts of the broken wire, yet as effectually separated as if worlds had rolled between them. Unite again these slender fragments, and both would again spring to life, unimpaired in their workings, and as brilliant as ever; but without this restoration both must remain forever dead.

Even such is the connection between the soul and body. A system of slender wires—more slender by far than the most attenuated thread of human construction—connects the more than ethereal spirit with the wonderful mechanism of the human body. And so long as this intimate connection is maintained intact we have the living, breathing, reasoning being, the image of his Creator, the most wonderful manifestation of Almighty power. But once these slender wires are parted, and the soul separated from the body by death, the relation of that man's spirit with the material world is dissolved forever. The senses of the body are the only medium through which the soul can act upon or receive impressions from the world of matter, and between them and it, once so intimately associated, there is now a great gulf fixed—the gulf which separates time from eternity. Henceforth the body, deprived of the lifegiving principle, its end accomplished, which was only to serve as a temporary dwelling for the soul in its time of trial and probation, goes swiftly to decay, and returns to its original dust. But the soul lives on for another world and a different stage of existence, entirely free from the trials and sufferings and sorrows of this. Its mission here is fully accomplished, and it has nothing further to do with the material. Only that Almighty Power which created it can restore its association with a perception of matter, and that by reuniting the broken chord—the silver chord which bound it to its prison walls of clay. Henceforth it is to deal only with pure spirit and as pure spirit; it has a nobler destiny before it, and higher and more glorious objects to employ its powers and engross its emotions and affections than any that earth can afford; and to maintain that it can again return and mingle in the affairs of a sordid world is to degrade it from its new and more glorious eminence—to drag it down from the sublime, the eternal, and the godlike, to the insignificant, the ephemeral, and the human.

Yet it is not to be assumed that matter and spirit are opposed to each other in any other respect than that of constitution—of construction, if the term is allowable. As in color white and black are the opposite extremes of a long line of causes and effects, and as one is the synonyme for utter absence of the other, so, and so only, are matter and spirit opposite poles to each other; and we frequently use the terms ethereal, spiritual, to denote the strongest contrast to the substantial, the material. And so, in just the degree in which any object departs from the substantial and lacks the properties of the material, do we say that it approaches the spiritual. Yet, even as in nature we find not only objects, but even forces, of entirely different and even opposite origin and construction working in perfect harmony, so matter and spirit may exist together, and work in harmony, though acting independently of each other, and incapable of producing upon each other what, for lack of a better word, we may call physical effects.

It was not attempted, in the article referred to, to disprove the phenomena of spiritualism by the above mode of reasoning, but simply to deny and disprove the intervention of the supernatural in their origin—to show, in fact, that disembodied spirit can by no possibility have anything to do with their production. That the phenomena certainly exist is not to be denied, and the only question which puzzles the philosophical mind of the age is whence do they arise. If these manifestations are due to the tricks of legerdemain, it is certain that the jugglery is so cunningly devised and skilfully executed as hitherto to have baffled the detective ingenuity as well as the deep wisdom of the most profound minds of the age. Philosophy is no nearer the solution of the question than at the beginning; yet as the process of inquiry goes on, there is little doubt that the investigation will develop the little knowledge now possessed, and perhaps bring to light new facts in regard to the relation between matter and spirit as it exists in the body. Possibly it may some day, in the far future, be discovered that these phenomena are due to some at present undiscovered connection between the mind and will of the medium and the material objects of his immediate surroundings. At present man's knowledge of the properties and workings of the spirit within him is infinitesimal in quantity and degree, and, if this inquiry shall, by making humanity better acquainted with its immortal part, open new paths of research to human intellect, and add to the world's comparatively slender stock of knowledge of spiritual things, or of the natural forces which are constantly working around and within us, then will spiritualism, with all its errors and its dangerous tendencies, prove to have been one of the blessings of this age.

And, in passing, it may be well here to mention an incident, for the truth of which the writer can vouch, and which may, perhaps, throw some light upon this vexed question, or give a clue to some earnest searcher into the cause of this mystery.

A gentleman, being for the first time in his life in the city of Cincinnati, where he had not a single acquaintance, and having long been anxious to test this spiritualistic second sight, on the evening of his arrival muffled himself closely and attended a 'circle.' Summoning the spirit of a distant relation long deceased, he inquired first into his name, age, and residence; all of which were given correctly. Not a little startled with this result, he proceeded with his inquiries, and elicited the following information in regard to his family, viz.: that two of his brothers, named George and Henry, died before his own birth; that of these two George was the elder, but Henry died first. Astounded at the accuracy of these replies, he waited to hear no more, but at once left the circle, with his own faith quivering in the balance.

On returning to his home, he related these circumstances to an elder sister, within whose recollection the birth and death of these children had occurred. She listened attentively to the close, and then quietly informed him that both the spirits and himself were in error, for that Henry was the elder and George died first. As these questions of age and date were the strongest points made by him in his spiritual consultation, and the points most relied upon to test the accuracy of the replies, this revelation at once upset all his doubts and fears, and restored him again to the faith of his fathers. He himself had always believed the facts to be as he had heard them from the medium, they having, by some means, been reversed in his mind in the absence of any other knowledge in the premises than that derived from hearsay, and that too long gone by.

Now, in this instance, the mind of the medium was clearly en rapport with that of the inquirer, and hence all the errors of the latter had been closely followed. The facts were given not as they really were, but as they existed in the mind of the inquirer. In other words, his mind was read by the medium as an open book. And while, in this case, this close copying of error at once precluded the idea of supernatural agency, the facts are interesting as furnishing a new line of inquiry, by showing that, in this instance at least—and if in this, why not in others?—the phenomena of spiritualism were closely allied to those of clairvoyance and mesmerism, and that the path of investigation into all these mysteries may be pursued by one and the same course of reasoning.

But whether the cause of these mysteries is to be found in jugglery, in some subtile connection between mind and matter, in animal magnetism, or in any other of the thousand new branches of natural or mental science, it must in the end be found—if found at all—to depend upon purely natural laws—laws fixed and undeviating in the very constitution of things, and which would have worked as well a thousand years ago as to-day. The supernatural is entirely excluded from the investigation, for that is a world beyond humanity's ken, into which no mortal may peer. If the world of disembodied spirits have any connection whatever with these wonderful and mystical phenomena, the question must ever remain as perplexing and mysterious as it is to-day.

But human intellect is progressive. Age after age brings man nearer to the comprehension of the myriad wonders that surround him, though he must ever remain, while fettered to the earth and blinded by the body, unable to grasp and comprehend the Infinite. And the time will come, perhaps not in this age, nor even in its successor, when this perplexing problem shall be solved, and the hidden truths of to-day be as clear as the noonday sun.

And if not here, then hereafter. Ah! that hereafter! how much of spiritual knowledge it involves! how much of manifestation of eternal truth and clearing up of mysteries! Into what a sea of knowledge does the spirit glide when it departs from the body! Every wave in that illimitable ocean of space is freighted with wisdom, every sound is the tone of undying truth, every breath is redolent of divine wisdom. We wonder now at the wisdom of the sages of our own and of ages gone by—at the learning, the profundity, the astonishing acquirements of the Newtons, the Lockes, the Bacons, the Franklins, and the Humboldts. But when we shall stand, in all the nakedness of pure, unfettered spirit, within the confines of the spirit land, and gaze with all the clearness of unveiled spiritual vision upon the wonderful mechanism of the universe and of the spirit world; when we see—as we shall see—laws and principles, and even abstract truths, as plainly as we now look upon the material objects around us; when, indeed, nothing shall be hidden from our view, and questions which are now too intricate for the wisest minds to solve, and others which are now too profoundly mysterious for human intellect to comprehend or even conceive, shall seem as axioms which need no argument, and which a child can perceive; when, finally, the mysteries of God himself are revealed to our progressive souls, then how contemptibly insignificant will appear the learning of the wisest of earth's sages! how infinitesimal the wisdom of Solomon himself! For to such knowledge we must and shall attain; knowledge wisely barred from our attainment in this earthly existence, lest in our presumption we should rebel against God, and, like Lucifer of old, endeavor to make ourselves equal to Him who is the Author of our spiritual being. Yet in every soul is implanted a yearning for this forbidden knowledge, an undying thirst, which can never be satiated in this life, for but a single draught of that wisdom and truth which flows like a sea about the great white throne. And it is this which makes me comprehend how even an unregenerated soul—and how much more the Christian—can long for that which we call death, but which is but the initiation into the mysteries of the Beyond. It is this which, even aside from religious aspirations and fears, wraps our departure in an awful sublimity. To die that we may KNOW—to give up the transitory, the perishing, the earthly, that we may grasp the all-enduring, the imperishable, the divine; to pass from blindness to far-stretching, unimpeded sight! to be able at a single glance to count the very stars of heaven, and to see the network of laws which bind them in their places, and control, not only their motions, but the minutest particulars of their internal organism; and, above and greater than all, to comprehend the relation between the soul and its God. Here is an existence worthy of spirit which is the image of its God—an existence which will give full scope for the exercise of those faculties which can only act so feebly here—the only existence for which any soul should pine. Strange that humanity should so shudder at the thought of death! And stranger still, that the searcher for wisdom should not seek it in the preparation for that future life where alone true wisdom can be gained.

And as for questions such as this which we have been discussing, it is, after all, enough for us to know that all will some day be revealed; enough for us to know that there are other duties incumbent upon us, other interests more vital to our spiritual well-being, than that of peering into these hidden mysteries, which do not at all concern our present existence, which do not promote our present or future happiness, or help us forward on our eternal road.

EGBERT PHELPS.

REPLY TO THE ABOVE.

MATTER AND SPIRIT.—Our contributor, under this title, has entered upon a boundless field of speculation, in which we have no thought of following him to any considerable distance. A metaphysical discussion of this character would scarcely be appropriate to the pages of THE CONTINENTAL; and our readers would doubtless find the controversy uninteresting, if not altogether unprofitable. We, however, cheerfully insert the paper offered by Lieutenant Phelps, on account of the spirit of earnest piety and love of truth which seem to pervade it; and we shall confine ourselves here to the briefest possible comment which will enable us to make understood our grounds of dissent.

We demur to the suggestion that our ideas, as expressed in the July number, have necessarily any affinity to 'the dogmas of pantheism.' We then wrote thus: 'It is spirit only that animates, informs, and shapes the whole universe. Wherever law prevails (and where does it not?), there is intelligence, spirit, soul, acting to sustain it, during every moment of its operation.' Can anyone seriously question the correctness, and even the entire orthodoxy of this statement? In truth, we do not understand that our contributor himself denies it absolutely, but only in a qualified sense, as we shall presently show. Of course, it could be no other spirit than the Deity, to which our language would be applicable; and we do not see how it can in any way derogate from His attributes, to represent him as acting, by an exertion of spiritual power, to sustain and uphold his creation, during every moment of its existence.

Nor can we comprehend the pertinence of our contributor's disquisition on the great question of free will and necessity, as applicable to our ideas of the relations existing between mind and matter. 'Spirit acts independently of God,' says he. We might well question the truth of this assertion; but we may equally well admit it, so far as any inference may be drawn against the positions we have assumed. The question is not whether the soul of man is compelled to action according to the law of its creation, or is permitted by spontaneous choice to follow its own independent will. This is not point of disagreement; for we have expressed no opinion on this subject, nor upon any other which involves it. On the contrary, we took the question to be simply whether there can be, in the nature of things, any relations of reciprocal influence and mutual cooeperation between mind and matter. If this be not the question at issue, both our contributor and ourselves are engaged in a fruitless attempt to enlighten each other. We are well aware that his digression from the main argument to the disputed question of free will, is made for the purpose of attempting to show that all spiritual agency must be like that which he claims for the soul of man—that is to say, it must have a free will, 'constantly departing from its normal state,' acting irregularly and according to the freaks of its own spontaneity. And because there is no such caprice and irregularity in the operation of the laws of nature, the inference is drawn that they cannot be the evidences of spiritual power, in the forces which they govern.

Upon this point there seems to be a radical difference of understanding between our contributor and ourselves. Be it pantheism, or whatever any one else may choose to call it, we entertain the very simple belief that the ultimate laws of nature, impressed upon the material world, are nothing less than the direct power of the Almighty upholding the universe, and controlling all its operations throughout all time from the origin of the creation to its end, if it shall have one. We cannot look upon the system of nature as a piece of machinery, wound up and set a-going, and destined to run its appointed course, with only an occasional glance of its Author to interfere with its regular working. We do not suppose that this constant exercise of power imposes any burden upon the Author of the creation; nor are we conscious of any diminution of his glory, or any denial of his absolute personality, when we consider him as being ever present in all his works, 'animating, informing, and shaping them,' by the perpetual exertion of his omnipotent will.

We do not, by any means, understand our contributor as denying the agency of the Almighty in the establishment of general laws; but his view of the subject is totally different from ours. If we have not misconceived his meaning entirely, he considers the laws of nature as something independent of the operations which they control—a tertium quid interposed between the creator and his work. God is the author; law is the active agent; and material changes are the results. Law is not spirit; and therefore matter is not moved and controlled by spirit. We entirely disclaim any want of respect for our contributor and his thoughts; but we must express our surprise that he should resort to this clumsy and unphilosophical theory, in order to deny the direct agency of spirit in the operations of nature. Law is not separate and distinct from the phenomena which it regulates. It is only a rule or principle, as he himself admits, 'which ceases to be with the accomplishment of its end.' This rule or principle, which implies intelligence and will, must be in the mind of the Author, who operates in accordance with it, and not in the mere matter whose changes it controls. Yet our author strangely says, 'all the objects of nature are the products, not of spirit, but of law, which is itself the product of the one great Creative Spirit whereby all things are.'