CHAPTER III.

POSTULATES OF SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE.

THE discussion with the skeptic turned upon the question: Is knowledge possible? Assuming this to be answered in the affirmative, the question next arises: How is knowledge possible? This is the great question of philosophy.

To plain common sense, knowing is the simplest thing in the world. One has only to open his eyes, and the world stands before him just as it is. The process is so simple that no question can be raised about it, except by some mole of a thinker who delights to root in the dark. But, upon a little reflection, the matter is not so simple, and soon it becomes plain that a true knowledge of the world can be affirmed only as we make certain definite assumptions about the nature (1) of the world, (2) of the mind, and (3) of the relation between the

two.

Not every philosophy of mind and nature is consistent with the possibility of objective knowledge. For example, the theory of knowledge held by the materialistic evolutionists is fatal to objective science. That theory has for its foundation the notion of an unknowable force, which is known, however, to be subject to mechanical and necessary laws. In its manifold “differentiations and integrations" it produces various

minds. All these are produced by necessity, and all that takes place in them-all thinking, feeling, and willing is the necessary product of that only force which is the sole reality of the universe. All finite minds and persons are but its phenomenal and transitory products. There is but one actor and one thinker. But, plainly, it is irrational to speak of false and true thoughts in such a system; for one thought is just as necessary as another, and all alike are the product of the one unknowable. Now, when this unknowable says one thing in one mind, and takes it back or contradicts it in another, we are at a loss to know when to believe it. For example, the unknowable, as modified into the Spencerians, has written long accounts of itself, in which it declares the doctrine of mechanical evolution to be true; but then the same unknowable, as modified into other men, has criticised this doctrine, and emphatically rejected it. In the one place the unknowable gives out the doctrine as true; in another place it rejects it as the baldest absurdity and falsehood. Or take the feud between the scientists and theologians. It is the same unknowable which speaks on both sides, and with equal necessity in each case; and yet what a different report it gives! Or take the opinions of different generations: again, it is the same unknowable which has produced them all; but how fond it is of variety, and even of contradiction! All the absurdities now held, and that ever have been held, are its work. Even the antics of the fetich worshiper are the doings of this same unknowable. Are there evil and folly in the world? both have an unknowable parentage. And, seeing that the

unknowable has changed its mind so often, who knows what it may yet do, or that it will finally content itself with the evolution philosophy? Now, we cannot speak of true and false without the possession of some standard, for truth means the agreement with the standard, and error means the departure from it. But on this theory the standard cannot be the necessity of truth and the non-necessity of error, for we are expressly told that all opinions are alike produced by and from necessity. Truth, then, can be found only by taking a vote. If the unknowable says yes, oftener than it says no, we may conclude that on the whole it inclines to the affirmative. But, alas for truth in that case! Unfortunately, even this method is worthless; for as the unknowable is often in error, it might be in error in the vote. We hold opinions different from those of our ancestors; but they differ from us as much as we from them, and by the same necessity. Who shall decide between us? The unknowable has contradicted itself so often, that we can never know when it does speak the truth. Indeed, the doctrine is, that it never does; for not one of the opinions about itself which it has produced is found to have any likeness to reality. This seems an absurd and farcical result, but, if the theory be true, it must come to this. In short, the evolutionist of this type can give no account of error, and no valid test of truth. He can properly recognize no distinction between truth and error, for all opinions are fleeting. The unknowable is forever weaving and forever unweaving; and, sooner or later, all things and opinions pass. Laws and principles flow as well as

things. Of course, no science is possible on such a basis; but the evolutionist has a ready answer. Uncritical common sense has its own views, and among these are the reality of the finite mind, and the distinction of truth and error. When, then, the evolutionist is pressed with the skeptical consequences of his own theories, he has but to fall back on this unreflecting common sense; and when common sense promptly repudiates the consequences, the evolutionist mistakes the fact for a vindication of himself. Meanwhile, the philosophical critic hardly knows whether to be vexed or charmed at the innocence of the procedure. Innocent it certainly is, and denotes that the beginnings of philosophical criticism have yet to be mastered. Every theory of necessary development which is not based on a free creation leads to like skeptical results. The basal power of the universe is either rational and self-determining, or it is blind and necessitated. In whatever form the latter view may be held, it leads to the destruction of knowledge and science.

We reach the same skeptical conclusion from another point of view. Rational principles in application must be above all doubt, if we are to have faith in the conclusions. But the doctrine of the mental evolutionists is, that our primal beliefs, as well as all others, are generated in us. Apart from experience we know nothing. The mind is totally unable to know any thing on its own account. All beliefs, then, fundamental and derived alike, represent only the deposit of experience in us. In our anxiety to retain faith in objective knowledge, it occurs to us to ask whether this experience might not

have been otherwise, or whether it will always continue as it is. Do we know that the universal and abiding laws of the universe have so revealed themselves in our experience, that we are secure against the reversal of all our laws of thinking? Are we even sure that there are any fixed and universal laws in the system? The scanty experience of the whole race is far from proving so large a conclusion. Do we know that the cohesions among our ideas, which now determine our beliefs, will not shift in the future so as to determine us to contradictory beliefs? The writings of most mental evolutionists already reveal a strong tendency in this direction.

Unfortunately, we have no such knowledge. If derived from experience, all primary beliefs must be doubtful; and yet, as principles of investigation, they must be unquestionable. Here is the dilemma of the mental evolutionist: he cannot prove his theory without assuming the certainty of first principles; and as soon as the theory is proved, they become uncertain. The way in which this difficulty is escaped, is one of the most striking examples of that philosophical innocence which is so common in evolutionist circles. An outer world is first assumed in intelligible relations, and with constant and rational laws, and when we ask for a reason for the constancy of intellect, we are referred to the rational universe. But how do we know that there is a constant and rational universe? We assume that. These philosophers have even been known to bluster when charged with not providing for the constancy of the mental life. It would be a hard-hearted critic, indeed, who would not be disarmed by such childlike sim