that does not relieve pain or produce, or tend to produce, pleasure is a thing which I for one confess myself at a loss to understand. The term, in fact, seems meaningless. And similarly the expres sion "worthy actions" puzzles me. If there is no right outside human minds, and if the giving of pleasures and removal of pains are not the test of worth, what is the meaning of the expression at all? What is the standard of comparison by which all men alike will be content to measure "worth "? To me the only available standard seems utility and this consideration imports, of course, calculations touching the assessment of pleasures and pains.

Very serious in its bearing on morality is Dr. Carus's attitude touching the soul. He views soul and body as inseparable, as abstracts from the same reality. That is to say the activities which to other sentient beings appear as certain cerebral functions are for me my own conscious life; neurosis and psychosis are two sides of one and the same process. Well this view implies the extinction of my consciousness at death; for the neurosis is then at an end and there is no psychosis separable from a neurosis. Now, I hold with Renan that the loss of the belief in immortality must enervate the morality of, at any rate, the ordinary man. Unless we are to persist consciously after death and that too with a prospect of happiness, it really does seem absurd to worry ourselves with arduous moral efforts here and now. Unless the higher phases of self-culture and altruism are to bear rich fruit for ourselves AND OTHERS in another life or lives, I fail entirely to see why we should vex ourselves here with ceaseless strivings and strugglings, when the cozy nooks of degeneration lie open to us. I am aware that Dr. Carus holds that "true religion is based upon the immortality of the soul" (p. 189), but what is the immortality in which he believes? A mockery in all seriousness! It cannot be that he refers to our conscious existence after death, because the body is destined to perish, and body and soul, he asserts, are inseparable. "Christ is actually a living presence in [European] humanity," he urges, pp. 188-189. No, no, not so fast. The Nazarene's body has long ago mouldered into dust, assuming that he ever lived. His soul, therefore, on the lines of monistic positivism has been extinguished.

THE MONIST.

What is "present in humanity" is not Christ, but ideas about Christ, which is a very different matter. For myself, I would not give twopence for an immortality of this kind, and I have no doubt that the average man in the street will heartily echo my sentiments. What is wanted is not a metaphorical existence in somebody's mind, when that somebody happens to think of you, or somebody's character has to be moulded, but a real conscious perpetuity in one's own right. Anything less than this is of no account to its possessor.

To turn to the subject of Idealism, I note with interest that Dr. Carus views "all objective existence" as in itself subjective, "that which appears to us as a motion is in itself either a feeling or something analogous to feeling." Exactly; this is the point on which I have laid such stress in working out my theory of the Metaconscious and the new Monadism. The truth is that Subjectivity has many grades, of which what we term reflective self-consciousness and the ordinary direct consciousness are merely two—of special interest to us owing to our position in the universe. As observed by our author, "let us observe and study natural phenomena, and we shall learn something of the souls of other creatures and things" (p. 22). Yes, but it is just in observing these domains that I found my lower monads, the very "souls" of creatures and things, which Dr. Carus himself is here on the verge of admitting! Our author is, as I know, no friend to Monadology, but he has very nearly stumbled on it here.

I am quite in accord with the author in condemning the "sham" or Mâyâ theory of perception held by so many Hindu thinkers. Nature as we perceive it is a revelation, though the activities in our consciousness need not be viewed as more than symbols of the spiritual activities in that wider Nature which lies beyond our consciousness. In my Riddle of the Universe I have dealt with this and like points at length.

I think that Dr. Carus unduly narrows the meaning of Idealism when he regards it as the school that questions the "objectivity of our representations." Idealists are of many schools; agnostic, nihilistic, subjective, objective, absolute idealists, etc., are to be met with. The only idea common to these schools is the belief that in

consciousness or in activities akin in nature to consciousness must be sought the entire explanation of the universe. Theories of perception, termed idealistic, differ widely.

There is much in Dr. Carus's tersely written Primer on which I should like to dwell, but I must perforce at this point bring my already too lengthy remarks to a close.

EDWARD DOUGLAS FAWCETT.

TORQUAY, ENGLAND.

PANLOGISM.

IN REPLY TO E. DOUGLAS FAWCETT.

INTRODUCTORY.

DWARD DOUGLAS FAWCETT has earned a well-deserved

EDWA

reputation in two fields-belles lettres and philosophy. He is a novelist of great force, and at the same time a philosopher who has become widely known through his book, The Riddle of the Universe. In the latter he combines the elegance of a novelist with the keenness of a thinker, and shows himself excellently well versed in the history of philosophy. His results differ greatly from mine, but that does not prevent me from recognising his unusual abilities, which manifest themselves again in his present article, "From Berkeley to Hegel" (pp. 41-81 of this number), and I am specially indebted to him for honoring me at the close of his expositions with a critical consideration of my own views. A man of his compass deserves a hearing. I have, therefore, weighed his objections, and propose to make a few comments in reply.

Mr. Fawcett has read my Primer of Philosophy and various Monist articles of mine, but, interpreting them in the terms of his monadology, which is his scheme of thinking the world, he misconstrues the import of my propositions concerning the moral aim of life and the immortality of the soul. The main point of contact, it appears, lies in the principle, which we both recognise, that (as he expresses it) "in consciousness, or in activities akin in nature to consciousness, must be sought the explanation of the universe." But our roads separate at once, for, taking this premise, Mr. Fawcett jumps at the conclusion that the nature of soul-life indicates

the existence of soul-monads, who then are made responsible for the continuity of soul-evolution and the relative stability of the spiritual phenomena of life. I may misunderstand Mr. Fawcett's theory, but when I hear the word monad, I think of a unit-centre, either of matter or of force, and there seems no doubt about it that Mr. Fawcett means to convey some such idea, for he speaks of souls as "impervious self-contained centres." Of what use the idea of a monad, of an impervious, self-contained centre, can be in the explanation of soul or consciousness is more than I can say. What has imperviousness to do with thought? Imperviousness is a quality of material objects, but not of soul, or spirituality, or mind. Monads and minds, centres and souls, have as little in common as atoms and ideas.

In order to reply to Mr. Fawcett's criticism, we must go over a good deal of ground, for he touches the most important problems of philosophy. We must ask: (1) What is soul, or spirit, or mind? (2) What is reason? (3) Does the unity of consciousness and the identity of personality prove the existence of monads? (4) What does immortality mean? and (5) What is the purpose of life?

WHAT IS SOUL?

Mind, soul, and spirit, are synonyms; they are abstractions from the same reality with slight variations of meaning. We speak of soul when we think of the sentiments of a man; we speak of mind when we refer mainly to his rational powers and the interaction that takes place among his ideas; we speak of spirit when emphasising the significance and character of thoughts without reference to bodily conditions. We speak of the spirit of a book to denote its tendency and import, but we should not say that the book is ensouled, for it has no feelings. Should the expression be used, "there is soul in the book," we could only mean that it had been written by a man of sentiment, that the soul of the book is the enthusiasm which it is liable to rouse. While a book may

bear the stamp of intellectuality, we cannot speak of the mind of a book, because the book is not active. It may contain thoughts;