disparage either element, to destroy the alternative moral possibility, is to cut the knot of life's great riddle rather than to unravel it.

An implicit acknowledgment of this necessity of feeling, if the ends of reason are to take body and shape, and to find their actual realisation, is made by Kant when, after excluding all 'pathological inclination,' that is, all empirical sensibility, he brings back sensibility itself in the form of pure or practical interest.'1 The moral law, he finds, demands for its realisation a spring or motive-force in sensibility; only, the feeling must be the offspring of reason. The psychological distinction of reason and sensibility is, however, clearly admitted, as well as the ethical consequence that both must enter as factors into the life of will. Plato and Aristotle may be said to make the same concession, in their description of ordinary 'moral' or 'practical' virtue as the excellence of the compound nature of man, mixed of reason and irrational sensibility. This life of feeling controlled by reason, they both seem to say, is the characteristic life of man, though the higher and divine life may be attained at intervals, and ought never to be lost sight of as the ideal.

(3) One phase of the problem seems to have been entirely ignored by the school whose views we are considering namely, that it is through sensibility that we are delivered from ourselves and find the way to that fellowship with mankind which the Stoics so impressively portray, and which Kant contemplates in his kingdom of ends.' Cool reason' is not a sufficient bond; we must feel our unity with our fellows. Though reason is universal, the ethics of pure reason are inevitably individualistic. The Stoic and the Kantian life, the ascetic life, is essentially self-contained; it is a life which withdraws into itself. Its dream of a kingdom of universal intelligence, of a city of God, of a com

1 Cf. Dewey, Outlines of Ethics, p. 86.

munion of saints, remains for it a dream which can never be realised on earth. The bands that unite us with our fellows are bands of love; reason, alone, is clear in its insight into the common nature and the common weal, but powerless to realise it. of the moral life is found in sensibility. sibility, and you not only impoverish your own life, but you separate yourself from your fellows no less thoroughly than does the egoistic Hedonist.

The dynamic Kill out sen

(4) Nor is self-sacrifice the last word of morality to any part of our nature, although it may be its first word to every part of that nature. It is only a moment in the ethical life,-one phase of its most subtle process, not its be-all and its end-all. The true life of man must be the life of the total, single self, rational and sentient; the sentient self is to be sacrificed, only as it opposes itself to the deeper and truer human self of reason. The sentient self is not, as such, evil or irrational, and it may be completely harmonised with the rational self. The ascetic ideal is thoroughly false and inadequate, and must always be corrected by the hedonistic. It is an ideal of death rather than of life, of inactivity rather than of activity. It is not right that the ruddy bloom of youth and health should be all 'sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,' that the thrill of quickened life should be stilled and deadened to the stately march of reason in the soul, and that apathy and insensibility should take the place of the eager pulsing life of nature in the human heart. The spectacle of the world is always fresh and fascinating, and we should keep our eyes bright to see it. The music of life need never grow monotonous, and our ears should be alert to catch its strains. Life is life, and we should not make it a meditatio mortis. Its banquet is richly spread, and we should enjoy it with a full heart, nor see the death's head ever at the feast. Aloofness of spirit from the world and all its eager crowding human interests

is not in the end the noblest attitude. The body is not to be thought of as the prison-house of the soul, from which it must escape if it would live in its own true element. Escape it cannot, if it would. The spirit and the flesh cannot cut adrift from one another; each has its own lesson for its fellow. The way to all human goodness lies in learning the value and significance of flesh.' The passionless life of reason strikes cold and hard on the human heart :

"But is a calm like this, in truth,

The crowning end of life and youth.
And when this boon rewards the dead,
Are all debts paid, has all been said ?

Ah no, the bliss youth dreams is one
For daylight, for the cheerful sun,
For feeling nerves and living breath-
Youth dreams a bliss on this side death.
It dreams a rest, if not more deep,
More grateful than this marble sleep;
It hears a voice within it tell :
Calm's not life's crown, though calm is well.
'Tis all perhaps which man requires,
But 'tis not what our youth desires." 1

(5) The Stoic and the Kantian view of life rests, as we have seen, upon a metaphysical idealism which finds no place for the reality of the sensible and phenomenal world: it is the expression of a metaphysical, as well as of a psychological, dualism. Such is the cleft between these two worlds that the one cannot enter into relation with the other, and withdrawal into the noumenal world of pure reason becomes the only path to the true or ideal life. The entire life of sensibility is disparaged and despised as shadowy and unreal, a dream from which we must awaken to moral reality. But such a transcendental idealism must always call forth the protest of a healthy moral realism. The world and life's 1 Matthew Arnold, Poems: "Youth and Calm."

too big to pass for a dream." Nay, the advocate of sensibility will not hesitate to say that your world of pure reason is all a mystic dream, that moral reality is to be found in the fleeting moments and the pleasures and pains they bring, that he who has dulled his sensibilities, and lived the Stoic life of apathy to these, has missed life's only treasure. The Cyrenaic argument for preoccupation with the present is the same as the Stoic argument for apathy to it-that the present is evanescent, and perishes with the using. If our idealism is to stand, it must contain realism within itself; if the spirit is to live its own proper life, it can only be by annexing the territory of the flesh, and establishing its own order there. The necessity of this acknowledgment of the rights of sensibility and of the relative truth of the hedonistic interpretation of life has led, both among the Greek and the modern moralists, to a more moderate statement of the ethics of reason.

We must say, therefore, that the ethic of pure reason is, no less than the ethic of pure sensibility, a premature unification of human life. The true unity is the unity of the manifold; the true universal is the universal that contains and explains all the particulars; the true a priori is the a priori which embraces the empirical. The simplification required is one which shall systematise and organise all the complex elements of our nature and our life, not one which is reached by the elimination of the complexity and detail. The rationalistic principle, like the hedonistic, is too simple. As well try to eliminate sensation from the intellectual life, as sensibility from the moral. In the one case as in the other, the form of reason, without the material of feeling, is empty; as the material of feeling, without the form of reason, is blind. The mere unity of reason is as inadequate to the concrete moral life as is the mere manifold of sensibility. The one provides a purely abstract ethical formula, as the other provides only the data of ethics.'

6. (B) Moderate Rationalism. (a) Its beginnings in Greek ethics.-Moderate rationalism is, one might say, the characteristic Greek view of the moral life; the Greek ideal is a life of rational sensibility. Such an ideal alone satisfies at once the intellectualism and the sensuousness of the national genius, its love of rational clearness and form, and of æsthetic satisfaction. The fact that the good is also for the Greeks the beautiful, and that the supreme category of their life is rather тò kaλóv than rò άyalóv, carries with it the necessity that a life of reason divorced from sensibility could never prove satisfying to them. Their keen appreciation of the things of the mind,' of the purely scientific and philosophical interests, made it equally impossible for them to rest content with a life of sensibility divorced from reason. It is not surprising, therefore, to find, in Greek philosophical literature, impressive and invaluable statements of the necessity of this ethical harmony. We need only here recall Heraclitus's suggestions of that order, uncreated by gods or men, which pervades all things, of that 'common wisdom' to which man ought to conform his life, of those fixed measures' which the sun himself must observe "else the Erinnyes will find him out," of the universal harmony of opposites' by which the process of things is made possible; the Socratic life and teaching, with its perfect moderation, its unŋdvèv åyav, its reduction of the conduct of life to the discovery of the true 'measure' of life's experience; Plato's 'harmony' of appetite and 'spirit' with reason, and his picture of the soul as a well-ordered State in which justice, the key to all the virtues, lies in the doing of its proper work by every element, and of the common weal that results from such a perfect division and co-operation; and the Aristotelian conception of virtue as the choice of 'the mean' between the two extremes of excess and defect, of happiness or welfare as consisting in rational activity accompanied by pleasure, of virtuous activity as essentially pleasant be