confidence with which we hold that science is the power which transforms impressions of sense into conclusions of reason, which alone throws light on the constitution of the world in which we live, and which confers upon all human effort its highest possible efficiency. Knowing this, we know that the so-called "bankruptcy of science" is a contradiction in terms, the flippant invention of those with whom the wish is father to the thought. In a word, all is well; for whether the time be seed-time or harvest, whether the field, as we see it, be lying fallow or carrying a bounteous crop, science, the one abiding power and principle of fertility, is present with mankind, and its promise will not fail.
THE PROBLEM OF LIFE.
In the October number of the International Journal of Ethics Prof. William James, of Harvard, comes forward with his contribution to the much-discussed question, "Is Life Worth Living?" The conclusion, a sufficiently simple one, at which Prof. James arrives, is that life may be made worth living; but he only arrives at this very true conclusion after a considerable amount of laborious and, in our opinion, not wholly sound argumentation. It may be worth while, therefore, to go over the ground—so far as it can be done within our narrow limits—and see what view can reasonably be taken of the whole subject.
We are told by the writer mentioned that there are two recognizable sources of pessimism—or, in other words, of the feeling that life is not worth living—sensualism and overstudy, particularly of an abstract kind. It seems to us that a statement of this kind irresistibly suggests the corollary that pessimism, with its sickening dou.bts as to the value of life, may be avoided by avoiding its causes. Then, if so, why discuss it as if it were a substantive system of philosophy? It either is or is not a pathological condition: if it is, let us seek to remove it; if it is not, then it is all right. "It is a remarkable fact," says Prof. James at a later point in his article, "that sufferings and hardships do not, as a rule, abate the love of life; they seem, on the contrary, usually to give it a keener zest. The sovereign source of melancholy is repletion." Very true again; but what is the lesson? Simply that we should not abandon ourselves to repletion, and that in the interest of our children we should not satiate them with enjoyments. But elsewhere (page 7) the professor tells us that "pessimism is essentially a religious disease," consisting, in the form at least in which it attacks over-reflective minds, "in nothing but a religious demand to which there comes no normal religious reply." This, of course, sounds very philosophical; but it does not seem to be quite in agreement with the proposition so distinctly laid down, that pessimism may spring either from sensualism or from overstudy—"grubbing," as the writer expresses it, "in the abstract root of things." Supposing he who has been so "grubbing" stops doing it, or stops doing it in excess, and, by proper attention to hygiene, gets himself into capital physical and mental condition, what then becomes of the religious disease? Will it not vanish with its cause?
We fail to see, however, why pessimism should be considered as a religious disease in the case of the overstudious man and not i n that of the over-sensual? By different routes both have arrived at the same goal—exhaustion; and it is hard to see why the pessimism of the one should have a more religious character than that of the other. Each has been brought
