XI.

THE TWO WORLDS.

(February 1861.)

IN my last letter I argued that we are endowed with certain faculties which give us untrue impressions; and I tried to show that this might be the case. I also just referred to a consideration which seems to me to indicate that it is a good and desirable thing for us to receive impressions that are not true; namely, that thus we are brought into larger relations than would else be possible, and are placed in a position to acquire a more extended and truer knowledge than could in any other way be given us :-knowledge, rightly so called, coming not first but last, and like true holiness being bestowed on man, not passively, but as the fruit of earnest labour, the reward of obedient toil. There is an illustration of this position, which is so simple and yet so suggestive, that though I can only present it very imperfectly, I think I may venture to submit it to the candour of the reader.

We gain our knowledge respecting all material objects chiefly through two senses-sight and touch. Now, these two senses give us very different impressions of the same object. Our apprehension of a solid by the eye may be utterly unlike our apprehension of it by the hand. This will be readily granted; and also that, speaking in general

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terms, the touch gives us an apprehension of the object as it is, the sight of an appearance merely. Apprehension by touch is in a certain sense true-substantial; that by the eye is modified and altered.

The same idea may be expressed in another way. That which we consciously and directly perceive by touch is the thing itself; that which we immediately perceive by sight is not the thing, but an appearance. And we

have to use the sight in a considerate and reflective way, and to refer the impressions received by it, to those conveyed by touch, as a standard, in order to interpret them, and make them the means of true information. If the reader will reflect, I think he will be conscious that he always judges by his eye with a latent reference to his tactile impressions; and that, whatever object he sees, he presents it, more or less distinctly, to his mind, as it would be if he touched it.

The eye requires educating; and when educated it is to be not immediately relied upon, but used; and used with reference to a faculty different from itself.

We are, in short, related to all objects of sensuous apprehension in two modes, or by two means, one of which is subordinate to the other, and only gives us true knowledge when it is made to speak another language than its own. Now, why should there not be a harmony between man's relation to the individual objects which surround him, and his relation to the great and mysterious universe of which he is a denizen? Is there one law for one part of our experience, and another law for another part of it? or, is not our condition in respect to the whole of things similar to our condition in respect to particulars? If God has given us two means of apprehending particular sensuous things, neither of which could suffice without the other, may He not have given

us also two means of apprehending existence as a whole? If this were the case, let us observe what would follow, namely, that one means by which we perceive existence, would present it to us, as it is not; one faculty, or class of faculties, would deal directly with appearances, and ought not to be immediately relied upon. And certain of our impressions respecting the whole of things would be not true, and would require to be interpreted, and made to speak a new language.

I believe that God has made us so; and that we do apprehend existence by two faculties, one of which answers to sight and the other to touch. These are respectively the intellectual and the spiritual faculties of man. Intellect (and sense with it) answers to sight; the conscience, the moral apprehension, the spiritual appreciation, answer to touch. The former faculty is subordinate to, and is to be interpreted by, the latter. Like sight, the intellect is to be not directly relied upon, but used, and made to teach us more than itself conveys.

If we adopt this view, a great consequence follows. Instead of thinking that we are in two worlds, a physical and a spiritual one (as all religious men affirm), we shall think that we are in one world apprehended by two faculties. The physical world will become to our regard, no more a distinct existence, opposed to the spiritual, but that spiritual itself, as apprehended by faculties which perceive but the appearances of things, and present them to us not as they are. These two worlds--that which intellect (using sense as its servant) sees on the one hand, and that which conscience and the other faculties which relate us to the spiritual, feel and touch, upon the other -will unite and coalesce into one; presented to us in a twofold way-as material objects are--that we may better, more truly, and more fully apprehend it.

But if this is the case, why do we not know it? Why do we not feel it so? Why have men always believed these worlds, of sense and of spirit, to be essentially different worlds, instead of being one the reality, the other the appearance? Why do we still feel them two, and find it strange to think otherwise?

It is on this point that my illustration bears. The question is: Why, supposing the worlds of sense and of spirit are one, do we feel them and think them two? And the answer that I give is: Because we have not yet learnt to use our sight-faculty-our sense and intellect― aright, and have not seen its true relation to the deeper faculties of our nature. The human race has been, in this respect, as a man is in his infancy.

May I not be pardoned the harmless eccentricity of thinking metaphysics an amusing study? I do not mean that ambitious metaphysics which soars in clouds of abstractions, and discusses in infinite detail the logical relations of the obscurest ideas; nor that modern science of psychology, which analyses into their elements all the processes” of the mind, and spreads out before us, as its ultimate result, the human soul neatly tied up in parcels, duly labelled, for convenient use. This may be highly necessary, but it is not exhilarating; let us hope its fruit will be found greater than its fascination. But that metaphysics which has its feet on the ground, though its head is erect to heaven; which seeks its food and sustenance among the facts of daily life, and the common experience of men, yet uses the strength thus given for purposes of lofty thought, which bring it through unforbidden paths into communion with creative wisdomthis metaphysics, I cannot but believe, has charms which need only to be known to be delighted in. Why need men have invented such hard words, and run through

such rounds of speculation (we cannot tell where we are when we have got through them, we are so giddy), to explain the laws of man's perception, and account for the mysterious contradictions of his experience, when a baby shows it all?

it.

A baby? Let the reader judge. Let him ask himself what a baby thinks, what it learns, in the first few months of life, before it begins to speak. Its mind is certainly active. Most important advances take, place in We may not only be sure that this must be the case; we may even see that it is so. Look at the infant. Note its gravity, its intent sedateness, its air and attitude of earnest thought. Do these things indicate a vacant mind? Are not mighty problems pondered in that little head, grave discussions carried on, and serious resolutions taken ? No one can doubt it. I know a most judicious grandmother, who always gives this caution to young heads of families: "My dear, never disturb the baby while it is thinking. You impede the development of its mind. Let it go through its little puzzles in its own time and way." (Thank God for grandmothers!)

But do we know what the problems are which it thus works out, or what preparation is made, during that great epoch when the world is yet new to it, for its future life?

I will venture a guess upon the subject:-it learns to interpret sight by touch, and to know that the objects it sees and those it feels are the same.

Every one is aware that when his eyes are not rightly directed to any object, he sees it (if he see it at all) double. If we hold a finger between our eyes and a book that we are reading, for example, we see more or less distinctly two fingers. Or if, while we are looking at any near object, we suffer our thoughts to wander, and