their perception of relations, and has denied to them the power of logical reason or inference. They may, in his view, inherit facilities for association, but no evidence is satisfactorily present of anything like hereditary experience, the associations being but individually acquired. Here in man, says Professor Calderwood, speaking of Evolution and Man's place in Nature, “in contrast with what is observed in lower types of life, both unintelligent and intelligent, reflection shapes the purpose which the agent afterwards makes an effort to fulfil. This is something entirely new in the activity of life; this presents the hardest problem in natural history" (Proceedings of Royal Society of Edinburgh,' 1890). Though it has more freely granted man's connection, on his animal side, with nature, by ties of derivation, structure, and function, yet theistic philosophy has never found the animal overstep the limits imposed by natural law in its destitution alike of the unifying power and the spiritual possibilities of man. For it the antiquity of man has meant, not "the antiquity of the manape, but of the man-Adam; not of the man-like monkey, but of the God-like man." Of course, we do not mean that it has any hesitation or concern about man's inclusion within the boundaries of animal life or the range of animal inheritance. Why should it? Even Professor Huxley, while contending for "no absolute structural line of demarcation" between the animal world and man,

and holding "the attempt to draw a psychical distinction" perfectly futile, asserts that "no one is more strongly convinced" than himself "of the vastness of the gulf between civilised man and the brutes," and no one "more certain that whether from them or not, he is assuredly not of them." Theistic philosophy finds, with Wallace, in his researches into Darwinism, that for the higher faculties found in man an adequate cause is only to be reached in the unseen universe of spirit. It finds, as we claim, such animal reasoning as exists to be quite lacking in the reflective ideality, and in the conceptual character, of reasoning or intelligence as it appears in man. It finds that not merely in virtue of our finely articulated psychic mechanism, but also in a qualitative manner through the capacity we possess of self-activity, are we differentiated from the animal world.

The rationalised character of man's physical life it finds properly emphasised by Professor Calderwood in his work on Evolution and Man's Place in Nature' a power of rational discrimination whose significance is not to be mistaken. It has indorsed, as touching this "enormous psychical divergence," the position of Fiske when he affirms that "it is not too much to say that the difference between man and all other living creatures, in respect of teachableness, progressiveness, and individuality of character, surpasses all other differences of kind that are known to exist in the universe."

That philosophy has been always more surely finding reason, which is grounded in will and forms the essence of personality, to be the highest power of spirit in man, with an imperative of its own which depends not on individual will but carries, as part of the natural order, the authority of objective truth. For, as Professor Laurie has well said in his 'Metaphysica Nova et Vetusta,' "it would be a strange thing indeed if the energy of Reason seizing the external found that the one did not answer the other that the datum of sense defeated the process of dialectic, that the plastic power of Reason encountered material which it failed to mould." As he says later in the same work, "the outer is not merely an x negating my self-consciousness," but, on the contrary, "it is Reason externalised "—" as universal reason, it is one with the moments of my finite reason." The theistic philosophy has been still discovering its own vested interest in reclaiming every territory lost to reason. Even faith is seen to be something that must no more remain-as Mansel made it, like so many others-only receptive, but also be constructive, in fact, must be a synthetising power that brings reason and will and conscience together, and out of their meeting finds ultimate and inexpressible ground for its convictions.

The march of theistic philosophy has been, and must still be, towards an absolutely fearless faith in reason, an unswerving confidence in the absolute

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harmony of true reason with faith, since reason is no more to be grounded in faith than is faith to be grounded in reason. These twain are no separable and independent-not to say antagonistic-organs or faculties. Hence reason, recovering itself from the intellectual impotence that settled on even Fichtean rationalism, now occupies a better defined relation to faith, which latter is always conditioned by prior and justifying assent of reason to its exercise. Yes; our faith is a thoroughly rational thing, for never do we allow it to rest in its reliance on the reason, wisdom, goodness, of any other without the sanction of reason to its confidence as based on adequate grounds and sufficient evidence. For all that faith receives on trust, a ground must instantly be found by reason. Differing as they do in their nature and scope, there is yet as little real antagonism between faith and reason—or faith and philosophy-as can be well imagined.

Simultaneously with what has just been advanced, reason, shunning the Nemesis that overtakes an all-inclusive reason in the Schellingian sense, has been more fully understood to involve an ultimate element of trust or faith, so that faith becomes what Pascal said, "the last step of reason." It still holds true that "faith is itself the highest reason, is simply obedience to the highest reason-the consummation and the crown of our intellectual activity. There is even more. Our primary beliefs, in the farthest analysis, are capable of being resolved into an inde

structible conclusion of the understanding. The deep, inward, ultimate ground, understood and felt by multitudes who cannot express it in definite words, is no other than this-our perceptions, our intuitions, our consciousnesses must be true, because otherwise our nature is a falsehood and our Creator a deceiver. This is the last, strong refuge of faith in the primary convictions." Surely the shallowness is past of men who deified knowledge and flouted faith, and knew not the scientific absurdity of what they did. Surely the day of faith-in its rationality and divining power-has slowly dawned, its light of knowledge born. Has not time been making always more manifest how, as one has said, "reason requires the nutriment and impulse furnished by faith," while "faith requires the discreet elaboration of reason"? But such faith is not the mere fruit of reason, as such: we must take account of the time-elements, the educative-elements, and the will-elements, which all go to build up rational belief in the soul. Can it be doubted that the appeal to this supreme faculty of faith-the faith of reasonis still-only more intelligently, perhaps, than ever before the final resort of philosophy? But in all this the ideal of reason as "the unification of all belief into an ordered whole" which is "compacted into one coherent structure under the stress of reason," has been nobly-as, for example, in Mr Balfour's Foundations of Belief'-pursued in our latest thinking, even if it remain, and must ever