may have some such independent existence. We cannot allow the materialist even this crumb of consolation that, although he cannot prove that consciousness ceases with death, nevertheless the presumption is with him and the burden of proof upon his antagonists. Scientifically speaking, there is no presumption either way, and there is no burden. of proof on either side. The question is simply one which science cannot touch. In the future, as in the past, I have no doubt it will be provisionally answered in different ways by different minds, on an estimate of what is called "moral probability," just as we see it diversely answered in the "Modern Symposium.”

For my own part, I should be much better satisfied with an affirmative answer, as affording perhaps some unforeseen solution to the general mystery of life. But there is one thing which every true philosopher ought to dread even more than the prospect of annihilation ; and that is, the unpardonable sin of letting preference tamper with his judgment. I have no sympathy with those who stigmatise the hope of immortal life as selfish or degrading, and with Mr. Harrison's proffered substitute I confess I have no patience whatever. This travesty of Christianity by Positivism seems to me, as it does to Professor Huxley, a very sorry business. On the other hand, I cannot agree with

those who consider a dogmatic belief in another life essential to the proper discharge of our duty in this. Though we may not know what is to come hereafter, we have at any rate all the means of knowledge requisite for making our present lives pure and beautiful. It was Jehovah's cherished servant who declared in Holy Writ that his faith was stronger than death. There is something overwhelming in the thought that all our rich stores of spiritual acquisition may at any moment perish with us. But the wise man will cheerfully order his life, undaunted by the metaphysical snares that beset him; learning and learning afresh, as if all eternity lay before him -battling steadfastly for the right, as if this day were his last. "Disce ut semper victurus, vive ut cras

moriturus."

December 1877.

VI.

CHAUNCEY WRIGHT.1

THE sudden and untimely death of Mr. Chauncey Wright, in September 1875, was an irreparable loss not only to the friends whose privilege it had been to know so wise and amiable a man, but to the interests of sound philosophy in general. To some, perhaps, there may seem to be extravagance in speaking of any such loss to philosophy as irreparable; for in the great work of the world we are accustomed to see the ranks close up as heroes fall by the way, and when we come to reckon up the sum of actual achievement, in our thankfulness over the calculable results obtained we seldom take heed of those innumerable unrealised possibilities upon

1 Philosophical Discussions. By Chauncey Wright. With a Biographical Sketch of the Author by Charles Eliot Norton. New York: Henry Holt and Co. 1876.

which in the nature of things we can place no just estimate. Of course it is right, as it is inevitable,

that this should be so.

There is, however, a point

of view from which it the work which rare and original minds fall short of doing because of straitened circumstances or brevity of life does never really get done at all. Something like it gets performed, no doubt, but it gets performed in a different order of causation; and though there may be an appearance of equivalence, the fact remains that, from the sum of human striving, an indefinite amount of rich and fruitful life has been lost. True as this is in the case of exact science, it is still more obviously true in speculative science or philosophy. For the work of a philosopher, like the work of an artist, is the peculiar product of endless complexities of individual character. His mental tone, his shades of prejudice, his method of thought,-are often of as much interest and value to mankind as any of the theories which he may devise; and thus it not seldom happens that personal familiarity with the philosopher is itself a most instructive lesson in philosophy.

may be fairly urged that

In the case of Chauncey Wright, none save the friends who knew the rich treasures of his mind as shown in familiar conversation are likely to realise

how great is the loss which philosophy has sustained in his death. For not only was he somewhat deficient in the literary knack of expressing his thoughts in language generally intelligible and interesting, but he was also singularly devoid of the literary ambition which leads one to seek to influence the public by written exposition. Had he possessed more of this kind of ambition, perhaps the requisite knack would not have been wanting; for Mr. Wright was by no means deficient in clearness of thought or in command of language. The difficulty-or, if we prefer so to call it, the esoteric character-of his writings was due rather to the sheer extent of their richness and originality. His essays and review-articles were pregnant with valuable suggestions, which he was wont to emphasise so slightly that their significance might easily pass unheeded; and such subtle suggestions made so large a part of his philosophical style that, if any of them chanced to be overlooked by the reader, the point and bearing of the entire argument was liable to be misapprehended. His sentences often abounded in terse allusive clauses or epithets which were unintelligible for want of a sufficient clue to the subject-matter of the allusion: in the absence of an exhaustive acquaintance with the contents of the author's mind, the reader could only