But we pass to the second feature of this world in which we are
journeying, namely, to the sympathy of the spiritual and the physical.
[p.204] As a matter of course the sceptic, by his peculiar attitude of
mind, must imply something with reference to the relation of the two
worlds, or the worlds commonly supposed to be two, the spiritual and the
material, and because for him the reality cannot be exclusively one
definite thing or any number, small or large, of definite things, all of
them independent and exclusive, he must imply in the world of things, be
these two or as many as you please, that they always work together for
whatever is real. Such an implication at first hearing may or may not
appear to be a pregnant one, but at least it suggests that in some
genuine way there must be sympathy between the two things, the two
worlds--spirit and matter, mind and body. These two must work together
for whatever is real.
But by this necessary sympathy between the spiritual and the material is
not meant a mere parallelism so called. Thinkers, present and past, have
tried to be satisfied with such a meaning. To be quite real, however,
sympathy must be substantial even to the point of unity, not formal.
Some friends, and even some married people, are parallel, life matching
life at each and every point, but not positively and vitally
sympathetic. Still, in parallelism, the very name for which is fairly
indicative of its import, there is a convenient approach to the meaning
here intended. Moreover, our Cartesian philosophers were much given to a
theory of parallelism in their views of the relation of the two spheres
of mind and matter; their specific doctrine of continuous creation,
already referred to, was parallelistic; and they found the human mind
and [p.205] the human body, though distinctly two, still "parallel."
Then, too, in more recent times, parallelism has been in evidence,
figuring conspicuously at least as a working standpoint in the
psychological laboratory, and figuring also, I venture to add, as an
important assumption in philanthropic work. Accordingly, although the
term itself does convey a good deal of its meaning, I shall try, in
words as simple as possible, to show exactly what the theory of
parallelism is. This done, we shall be able to see, or think through
parallelism to sympathy of a more genuine and a more vital sort.
As was said, the doctrine of continuous creation, holding as it does
that the mental and spiritual life of God and the constant changes in
the natural world, the world said to be of his creation, are always in
accord, God in his relation to the world being, so to speak, always up
to date and having his attention on every place and part, is distinctly
a parallelistic doctrine; but, quite apart from any theological
reference, parallelism asserts that all states, or events, in the two
spheres of body and mind, of spirit and matter, are (1) equally real and
substantial, and (2) perfectly harmonious and consistent, in just the
sense that always in connection with any condition or change in one
realm there is an accompanying condition or change in the other,
although (3) between the two there exists and can exist no causal
connection whatever. Obviously to make either, whether by what is known
as causation or in any other way, the producing and wholly determining
condition of the other, or of anything in the other, would be at once to
unsettle the equivalence or balance of their reality, and _equally real_
[p.206] _they must be_. Thus, in more detail, mind is denied any
independent part in the production or determination of anything in the
material realm, and matter is in no way the source of what transpires in
mind. Each is, so far as the other is concerned, quite its own master.
Each is absolutely without any arbitrary influence, any influence not
natural or sympathetic or co-operative, upon the other. So to speak,
neither imposes on the other a "must" that is not at the same time
already the other's "would." In other words, any state in one is always
the occasion, but, so far as an independent causation goes, the wholly
passive occasion of something quite pertinent occurring in the other. Is
there an idea, a state of consciousness; then, corresponding, there is
some real thing, some physical object adequate to the idea. Is there an
act of will; then, corresponding to it, some movement in the material
world. Were the relation different from this, were mind and matter ever
independent causes, not merely coincidents or perhaps co-operative
causes, of each other, then, as is worth adding, besides the disturbance
of the equivalence of reality, already referred to, there would be
implied a fixity of plan, or manner of action, and a definiteness of
possessed power in the nature of the supposed causes, and these
implications would also give offence.
Yet in the world of our journeying there must be causation--on some
plan--of some sort. Parallelism, though sometimes supposed to be more
sweeping, is really and consistently a denial only of isolated,
independent causes. It denies, not causation, but causation as ever
localized or with an exclusive residence. [p.207] In very much the same
way certain political ideas, growing to explicit expression
contemporaneously, have denied, not sovereignty or power, but an
exclusively localized sovereignty or power, as in the case of absolute
monarchy or of an absolute institution, whether church or state.
Parallelism, or at least the inner meaning of it, simply imposes certain
conditions on a still real causation. These conditions, too, necessarily
involve a significant, even a revolutionary change in the nature and
value of any cause, but beyond peradventure they are unavoidable
conditions. Thus, every active thing having any part in the causation of
the world must always be only one among other active things, each also
with some part. Then, secondly, all active things must co-operate, in,
if not actually through their differences working together and
harmoniously for what is real. In short, they must be "parallel." And,
lastly, as something not formally asserted by parallelism but still far
from incongruous with it and, as seems to me, even demanded by its inner
meaning, all active things must be always acted upon as well as acting.
To give a single illustration, though this may be quite superfluous,
parallelism would view the life of a skilled labourer at work in his
shop as a process in two parts. On the one hand, the environment,
comprising not merely all the tools and materials, but also the body of
the workman, moves as a mechanism, each part flying to its appointed
task consistently with the particular thing to be done; and then, on the
other hand, the mind and the will of the mechanic, not by any
independent _ab extra_ causation, but [p.208] nevertheless at every
thought or sensation coincidently and pertinently accompanies the
environment's mechanical movement. Each process is consistent within
itself, not following nor yet preceding, but accompanying the other in
perfect step. What makes the environment so tractable or the mind so
practical? The credit here has usually been given to a _tertium quid_,
to God, who is so made more a mediator than a creator. God is the Great
Paralleler. But the third condition that was to be met--how about that?
Are the workman's mind and his environment each at once acting and acted
upon? Are their two processes virtually one instead of two? and is the
mediation accordingly, just in the fact of such unity instead of in some
being acting as if from without? So far as the formal theory goes, as
was said, this third condition is not fulfilled, but the theory cannot
be understood as opposed to such unity; rather it is a first step and a
long step towards an appreciation of it. The formal theory, alike in its
assertion of the parallelism and in its view of God as mediator rather
than positive creator, is an effective attack, consistent, as we have
seen, with the demands of an honest, thorough-going scepticism, upon the
fixed, independent, arbitrarily creative cause in any form. It does not
openly assert causation in any other sense. Seeming quite oblivious, for
example, of causation as action with an accompanying reaction, or of
what I should style an organic or differential causation. But, besides
making and needing to make no denial of this, it all but opens the door
to recognition of such a view.
In such manner, then, as simply and as briefly as [p.209] I find myself
able to put the case, runs the theory of parallelism; with its equal
reality and its non-interference of two distinct but thoroughly
correspondent agencies or substances, certainly a theory of a formal,
rather than genuine and vital, sympathy. Metaphysically it is dualism
still persistent. But one needs only a little insight, and perhaps also
a slight leaning towards the gruesome, to see that it is dualism--at
least the dualism of the medieval type--already in a shroud. Even
dualism demands, and should always be allowed, its funeral service and a
decent burial. With the passing of dualism, however, the sympathy
becomes more than merely formal. Two things always equally real cannot
be really two, and a perfect parallelism, though satisfying to certain
cherished traditions in philosophy or theology, is so saturated with
unity as to be almost, if not quite, at the point of precipitation.
Without attempting, therefore, any further appraisal of parallelism
metaphysically, we may turn to what will seem more practical.
Looking or thinking through this metaphysical theory we can see that it
is equivalent to a declaration that the physical and the spiritual in
human life, or in life at large, are meant for each other. Perhaps in a
somewhat stilted fashion, but nevertheless beyond any chance of
question, it is a philosophy that makes man and nature always accordant
and adaptable, and coming as it did in the history of thought near the
beginning of the modern period, it can lay claim to this meaning on
historical as well as on logical grounds. Its value to philanthropy,
too, perhaps only another sign of its modernism, is easily [p.210]
detected, since it supplies just such tangible means as the material
conditions of life for the accomplishment of philanthropic ends, and its
service to scientific psychology, plainly an indispensable service, lies
in its making the physical nature a medium, not merely for the
expression, but also for the study of what is psychical. As for its
relation to the argument of this book, it is simply dualism meeting; or
trying to meet, the demand, in the first place, that reality itself
should be indeterminate--_always a tertium quid_--and, in the second
place, that the things that are definite, be they material or spiritual,
should work together for reality. Under the same demand, be it said,
atomism could stand only if supplemented by some doctrine of assumed
unity or co-operation among all the elements--as, for example, by
Leibnitz's doctrine of pre-established harmony.
But, furthermore, looking and thinking through the theory of
parallelism, we can see something of special significance for the
doubter's world. Men often forget that new relations of things mean new
things, or at least new characters for the old things. Thus, mind and
matter, or man and nature, if become, or found to be, parallel, are no
longer the mind and the matter, the spiritual man and the physical
world, that they were. The two things, just by their complete
correspondence, are changed in a most important way. That they must be
changed is quite evident, but how to state exactly what the change is is
not easy. That the change, too, must be in the direction of their more
vital union is evident to us, but again the precise description of it is
difficult. Still, I submit that the [p.211] effect of correspondence,
whether this be natural or imposed, is to make the things concerned, in
the present instance the spiritual and the material, at once dynamic and
teleologic in character and function. Moreover, they are dynamic with
the same reality and teleologic for the same end. To correspond to
something, as parallelism makes matter and mind correspond to each
other, is not, and cannot be, simply to have a certain character,
self-contained and generally static; it is, and apparently it must be,
to have a constant call to action, a constant motive to go beyond self,
and so to make one's nature mediative or instrumental. Wherefore, if
this be in truth the effect of correspondence, in our doubter's world
mind appears as a thinking, not a mere knowing, and matter as a moving,
not a mere being; and the thinking and the motion are instrumental, or
mediative, to the same end, to the same reality. All of which, moreover,
being translated, means, on the one hand, that in our doubter's world
man is free to think to some practical purpose, and, on the other hand,
that the material world will serve both his thinking and his purpose.
As to the first of these, the freedom of thought, mind by being relieved
from all danger of any _arbitrary_ interference from the physical world,
has at once the conscious right of independent procedure and the
positive assurance of its thinking, thus free and independent, being
quite practical or applicable; for plainly the freedom is in, not from,
the material world. Nothing possible to thought, no consistent chain of
reflections upon experience, however abstract, can possibly fail to be
exemplified in the [p.212] natural world, or--as Hegel said, giving more
direct expression to the same idea--the real is rational and the
rational is real. The applicability of thought to life, therefore, the
real utility of looking well before leaping, the ultimate service even
of the most technically scientific theory is what we see from our
present observation-tower, and the splendour of the view hardly calls
for remark. Man is free to think, to think in his world and about it;
and his thought is always incarnate; it is an unfailing mediator between
him and the life of the material world about him. "Well begun is half
done" is an old saw, and for human conduct a great truth, but "Well
thought is well done" is even greater, if not older. Think clearly, and
the fulfilling act, the overt expression of your thought, is already
ensured. A thoroughly developed plan finds its execution, as it were,
already provided for; such is the perfect sympathy between the mental
and the physical world.[1]
Now, however, that we have observed the complete freedom of the thinker
in the doubter's world, now that we see the thinker free, not only to
develop his thought abstractly, but also to expect that the conclusions
which he reaches will be exemplified in his [p.213] world and so to be
able to apply them there, we are in great danger of serious
misunderstanding. Thought is indeed free, but the truly free thinker is
no single individual developing some particular point of view, although
even such a one must always have some part in the freedom of thought.
Free thought is deeper than any of its formal expressions and broader
than the positive experience of any of its exponents; it belongs to the
life of mind as present throughout the whole sphere of all conscious
life; and the single individual has part in it only when his actual,
articulate thinking is supplemented by his conscious doubting of his own
peculiar standpoint, his treatment of this as only tentative and
mediative, and his consequent appeal to thought as always deeper and
broader than just what he sees, or--amounting really to the same
thing--only when his thought is mingled in social conflict and mutual
accommodation with that of others. In the doubter's world the thought
that is at once free and fully applicable is social--just as we know
doubt to be social; that perfect applicability, so essential to truly
free thought, simply cannot belong to all thinking, or to all thoughts,
distributively and indiscriminately, to all specific thoughts and ideas,
_though all must be capable of some application, more or less enduring_,
but only in the first place to the thinking that, like pure mathematics,
is exact and general simply because strictly formal and abstract,[2] and
in the second place to the thinking that when material and concrete,
when dealing, with actual affairs and definite practical relations,
makes up for its consequent [p.214] relativity and subjectivity by inner
paradox or contradiction, in so far as individual or personal, and by
open opposition and controversy, in so far as it is social, and assumes
accordingly only the value of a means to an end.
Much has been said in earlier chapters[3] of the paradoxical nature of
human experience. There was seen to be among men no knowledge without a
contradiction, and the ever-present paradoxes of experience were
recognized as causes of thorough-going doubt. But, although at first
sight seeming to blast man's ordinary experience, and his science also,
these paradoxes were eventually found also to give to experience
movement and poise, reality and practicality, and to involve the
individual in a life that was as social as it was real, and thereupon
they became as certainly reasons for faith as causes of doubt; they were
witnesses to a principle of integrity and validity, a spirit of veracity
moving through all experience. Accordingly, once more, our truly free
thinker, the thinker whose thought is thoroughly applicable to life, is
such a one as lives for and with this principle of validity or spirit of
veracity, having his every thought informed with it. He is not the
single individual, holding tenaciously to some specific standpoint, but
the doubter ever using what he sees and knows, and in using appealing
beyond what he sees and knows, or he is even the social life that only
more directly and explicitly embraces and uses the views of all
individuals, these views always working together for what is true and
real; or, lastly, he is the truth-spirit itself which is ever superior
to [p.215] anything that is either merely individual or merely social.
The free thinker is just the honest doubter; a believer in what he knows
or thinks, but only as a working view to something else; and,
consciously, a social being, through controversy sharing with others the
practical experience of what is real.
With regard to the peculiar case of mathematics, which is widely
applicable because formal and as exact as formal, it seems enough to say
that while mathematics has very properly become the ideal of all
knowledge, not excluding such sciences as psychology and sociology, the
final value, the peculiar applicability of mathematics, lies in its
character as a general attitude or method. It is not strictly a science,
but the ideal method of science. Doctrinally, that is, as to any
specific intellectual content, there can hardly be said to be any pure
mathematics, any final body of formula absolutely exact and fully
applicable. Has not doctrinal mathematics had a history? Has it now no
promise of future changes? But whatever has a history--can this be quite
"pure"? Have even those axioms, which once upon a time you and I learned
to respect for their self-evidence, been free from the criticism and
revision of the mathematical experts? Then, too, taking any particular
formula from so-called applied mathematics, such as that simple but
altogether typical one of the lever, what do we find? An equation is
said to exist between the product of the weight by its distance from the
fulcrum, and that of the power by its distance from the same point, but
in application this formula can never be fully exemplified. The fulcrum
never is a point. The perfectly homogeneous lever, so [p.216] necessary
to the equation, is unattainable, if not also unthinkable. There can
never be complete absence of friction, nor perfectly ideal suspension of
the weight or application of the power. And the necessary atmospheric
disturbances, even in a "vacuum," to say nothing of the difficulties of
absolute measurements, are not less fatal. Only as method, therefore,
which really means as procedure according to standards of strictest
accuracy and of highest logical consistency, or as closest, most
constant loyalty to a spirit of truth, not as doctrine, can mathematics
be said to be freely applicable. Mathematics seems to me to be at the
very heart of the working hypothesis. Its tests of accuracy are such as
forever save science from anything like doctrinal dogmatism.
Historically there is much significance in the fact that our doubter,
Descartes, was almost the inventor of the Analytic Geometry, and that
this and the Calculus, which came afterwards, and which we owe chiefly
to Leibnitz and Newton, comprise rather a methodological than a
doctrinal mathematics. With their invention and development the
application of mathematics to material facts, or it would be better to
say to the investigation of material facts, took tremendous strides. So
Descartes, who doubted mathematics only because it was not satisfying
doctrinally, regained in this case, as in that of his God or his
material world, not exactly what he had lost. Alike in mathematics and
theology he lost doctrine and creed; he won method and life. And, to
return, with reference to the relation of mathematics to the free
thinker, nothing can be clearer than that this science, at least
sometimes so called, as [p.217] a method or attitude exacting clearest
possible procedure and highest logical consistency, is the very
principle of veracity, upon loyalty to which the freedom of thought must
always depend. Like this principle, too, mathematics--so much more truly
than any other discipline--is superior to anything that is either merely
individual or abstractly social.
So, looking and thinking through the theory of parallelism, we see how
thought is Bet free. Man is free, as was said, to think always to some
practical purpose. Secondly, then, with regard to the material world,
said to serve his thinking and his purpose, this in its turn is
liberated also; it is liberated for a life of its own law and order.
Nature, the material world in general, is no longer the victim of
arbitrary changes. Such changes as spring from the occultly creative
acts of the spiritual world, or more exactly the spirit-world,
represented by God in the character of an extraneous being, by a
personal devil or by those minor spirits or powers of light or darkness,
often if not usually described as objects of superstition, no longer
interfere with nature's orderly course. She is left, unmolested, to be
just her natural self, consistent and persistent in the way prescribed
by her own inner being. And then, while subject to no arbitrary
interference, she is herself never given to interference, but is, on the
contrary, in her own right, essentially at one with that other world,
the world of the thinker. Poets have ever fondly sung of nature's
sympathy with man, and her sympathy deep and abiding is exactly what we
now observe, nor can any poem too loftily give expression to it.
[p.218] And what, in more detail, of this sympathetic nature--of this
ideal world, or perfect home, of thinking man? With much interest we
certainly might trace all the aspects of its character corresponding to
the different phases of the thinker's life, but discussion of them all
would take too much of our space and might seriously tax an already
tried patience. So we shall confine ourselves to one thing alone. The
truly free thinker was said to be one who believes in what he knows or
thinks, but only as a working view to something else. No thought of his
could ever compass the fulness of truth within him. What, then, of
nature?
Corresponding to the thinker's positive knowledge, to the specific law
or order, which at one time or another he finds manifest in his world,
there is the well-known, but often misunderstood, character of nature as
a great mechanism, moving of course under the law. But corresponding to
his only tentative acceptance, though always trustful use of what he
knows, there is the much neglected character of nature as not an idle,
unproductive mechanism, always doing exactly the same thing, but, if I
may so speak, a moving, developing, ever-productive one, serving some
end larger and deeper than the known law. Nature must indeed be a
machine if the thinker's knowledge demands uniformity or law, but an
instrument of something other than her mechanical self, in short, not a
merely revolving, but an evolving, always productive machine, if the
knowledge itself is never final.
The material, mechanical character of nature, as I have said, is often
misunderstood. The real meaning of it is lost, and with serious results.
In the first [p.219] place, it is taken as if it involved a wholly
external, physical nature, and in the second place it is taken as if it
represented this nature only as moving through its changes _according to
a certain law_ and as having in consequence nothing to do but keep up
the dead, strictly "mechanical" existence of its law-fixed character and
incidentally involve man in the tireless turning of its fatal wheels.
But nothing could be more superficial, or even more needlessly
superstitious, than this. Obvious facts are overlooked or, if seen,
forgotten. The simplest demands of a truly scientific mind are slighted
so inexcusably. Could any law of an alien, external nature ever be an
actual or possible object of knowledge? And could such law as is known
--of a nature not alien--ever have any but a relative value, a
provisional mediate character? Nature may be a machine, but the law of
her moving is never identical with any law in positive knowledge, though
what is known is always informed with the law of her moving; and this is
to make her more than a mere machine. Again, no known law is ever _the_
law, and under _the_ law nature must be qualitatively different from
what under the known law she appears to be. To neglect this difference,
then, is seriously to misunderstand the mechanical character of nature.
Yet some one promptly objects that I am not at all fair to the common
understanding of mechanicalism. I am told that no one ever thinks of
nature as revolving strictly in accord with any known law. All men who
give any thought to the matter concede that the really ultimate law must
be not anything that is known, but only what is yet to be known, and is
[p.220] merely like in kind to such laws as men have cognizance of. This
interesting concession, however, quite fails of its purpose, since it
does not meet the real difficulty here in question. It shows
mechanicalism, not indeed bound to any particular knowledge, but
nevertheless still conceiving the final lawfulness of nature _after the
analogy_ of a particular law, the merely known or unknown or unknowable
character of which matters not at all. The analogy is what misleads. The
analogy only serves to deaden what really lives.
When will men cease to think of the whole after the analogy of the part?
Of _the_, as if it were _a_? When will God cease to be only another
person? And the universe only another thing? And the lawfulness or unity
of all nature only another formula? This or that formula may show nature
a mechanism as smooth running and as blindly given to dead routine as
could be imagined, but nature is ever more and other than known formulæ
of men, and as more and other, or say as answering to the free spirit of
truth that moves in the thought of men, she is as free in her real
lawfulness as she is infinite. By reason of her infinity there is no law
that she may not break. _A_ law may make her a mechanism, dead and idle;
_the_ law makes her an organism living and productive. How a
positivistic science, making all knowledge wait on actual experience,
and accepting all knowledge only tentatively, can ever be
mechanicalistic or appeal to the ordinary understanding as an argument
for the mechanicalistic view of things is hard to conceive. If one
reasons from known forms to uniform activities, must one not also reason
from the always provisional [p.221] and developing knowledge to
productive activities? Must not the mechanism evolve into something
more, adding something to man's life, realizing something for all life,
enlarging even the nature of God himself?
Once more, therefore, corresponding to the law that men may know and
that they can know only as their working hypothesis, there is nature, a
mechanism moving and herself at work, while corresponding to the great
living fact of nature's final lawfulness, or to the thinker's sense of
truth as a spirit or principle, not a form or creed or programme, there
is the constantly, genuinely productive life of nature, the mechanism,
as has now been said several times, ever evolving beyond its form and
law. Her law is not a law, any more than the thinker's passion for truth
can be finally satisfied by a formula or than God's continuously
creative life can ever culminate in a single finishing act. The
doubter's world, in short, or so much of it as is said to be material,
is not law-bound, but law-free:[4] an organism, not a mechanism; and
upon the value of this vision of nature, upon the theoretical or the
practical value, whether to science or to philosophy, to morals or to
religion, to politics or to industry, it seems hardly necessary to
dwell. But, to add a word or two in very general appraisal of it, such a
nature, served as it is by every law, by every mechanical action, yet
bound to move, is active always from design; its life is essentially
purposive. Not that it serves the purpose of anything, or any being,
beyond itself, but in every part and movement it is itself always
maintaining an end, the end of its [p.222] its own untethered reality.
In words used before, and applied alike to the spiritual and the
material, it is at once dynamic and teleologic.
Such a nature, be it especially observed, is the basic condition, if not
also the very inspiration of our modern industrialism. This industrial
age, struggling against the old-time militarism, in its religion, in its
art and in its literature, in its leisure and in its labour, in city and
in country, is an age of machinery; of machinery in all the manifold
forms demanded by all the various departments of human life, not of
wheels and belts alone; an age of the conscious employment, for human
purposes, of the resources of all sorts, the materials and the forces
which the natural environment affords. Freedom, not slavery, is
recognized as man's ideal portion, and in order to ensure the freedom,
not human nature, but physical nature is mechanicalized; or, with the
same intent, all the formal means, or instruments, of life are taken as
incidents of environment, not as essential to man. So is industrialism
supplanting the old-time militarism that sought, in all the relations of
life, to identify the human with the instrumental. Witness the values
now put upon theories and creeds, upon rites and institutions, upon
personal habits and social laws. All of these, to begin with, are means,
not ends; and, further, they are means whose devising--so man is
insisting, as never before--must be, as near as possible, true to
nature. The sovereign conviction of this age of industrialism appears to
be that the only sure way to human freedom is the way of nature;
employment of such instruments as she can supply; obedience to such law
as she may disclose.
[p.223] But many have found this age of industrialism insufficient. It
seems to them so materialistic. It would view things so much from the
standpoint of cold naturalism. The attitude of _laissez faire_ as
meaning "Let nature do the work," has so widely possessed the minds of
men. If only we could get back some of our former idealism and regard
nature as once more subject to some supernatural will! Despair like
this, however, is blind and as needless as blind. Dependence on a
lawful, mechanical nature can bring to human life no loss of what is
truly ideal and personally worthy. Instead, it brings constant gain, for
the knowledge of law and the making of machinery do not rob men of
personal opportunity, but rather make the opportunity for personal
achievement only the more manifest. A mechanical nature is always for
man, not man for a mechanical nature; and its movement is always
productive for man. If, then, industrial life has tended, as it has been
supposed to tend, towards materialism and fatalism, the reason can lie
only in the blindness of such as refuse to see clearly this visible
fact. Not merely something always doing, but something always that man
is doing is the definite message of a nature that ever manifests herself
under the form of law. To the thinker, in no uncertain syllables, she
says: Go forth and do. And our age of industrialism, if hearing this
bidding, will lose its unnatural materialism, and find itself quick with
a moral and religious instead of a narrowly practical and commercial
motive.
So in the doubter's world are the spiritual and the material genuinely
sympathetic.
[p.224]