wives. The traditional picture of the American Family in Europe has the foundation of truth usual in caricatures; so have the adventures of Mr. Jiggs. Woman is the culturally active member of American civilization, and she drags man, feebly protesting, in her wake.

But now, as to the value of pure science, art, and religion, that is, their value apart from their practical or social uses.

Scientific work is disinterested; it is concerned only with the discovery of truth and the increase of knowledge, not in any way with its effect upon society. The value of science lies in this disinterested quality, and in its insistence upon accuracy, so far as that can be attained. Pure science has no respect for old established traditions, beliefs, or superstitions, except in so far as they can stand the test of accurate investigation; it insists upon honest thought. Science is therefore cathartic; it cleanses our thought from sloppy, half-realized ideas and beliefs. The first essential of the scientific attitude is that our thoughts and our beliefs, whatever may be their nature, shall be perfectly clear and definite; the second is that they shall not be in conflict with facts, so far as we know them. As a consequence we must never fear a new truth because it appears to be in conflict with a former belief. We need more men who will insist upon truth though the heavens fall.

But what is truth? This is an important point upon which the practical mind attacks science.

No scientific man ever supposes that he will or can attain to ultimate truth. That is a question for metaphysics rather than for natural science. The most that the scientist can do is to attain to a slightly more accurate description of and a slightly closer ap

proximation to the structure of nature. He does not even know whether there is any such thing as ultimate truth or ultimate reality. As a scientist he works on 'verifiable hypotheses with an extending fringe of theory,' to be verified in its turn. So at any moment he may say, "This, which I have hitherto believed to be true, I now find is only partially so. Accordingly I change my belief.'

The whole idea of unchangeable truth and of pure dogma is, in fact, unscientific. Recently, for instance, our ideas upon the constitution of matter and the 'law of gravitation' have been subjected to severe revision. Popular protests were actually published against Professor Einstein on the ground that he was wrong (apparently morally wrong) to disturb the Newtonian law; but every scientific man knew that Newton's 'law' was as much subject to revision as any other socalled 'law' of nature. These 'laws' are only human approximations to an unknowable reality. Science can have no dogmas. But such a condition of flux in belief is very unpleasant to many men. They demand nice clear facts! "This is true, that is false; this is good, that is bad.' And these values are to be the same forever. One function of pure science is to destroy this simple attitude, and to substitute for it the divine curiosity, the endless desire to know, by which alone the mind can develop.

Science insists that there is no opinion which may not be subject to criticism; even more, that every opinion must be subjected to the severest criticism, provided only that the criticism is sincere. It is by continual criticism that our knowledge is increased. Yet how many men to-day are willing to submit their political opinions to radical criticism, or to consider radical opinions as worthy of rational

criticism. Most of us make efforts toward a more scientific attitude of mind, and we know how difficult is the scientific attitute toward a 'cherished opinion.' But we know also how great is the reward when we persist in such an attitude. It is firm ground beneath our feet.

The scientific attitude is more than the investigation of nature: it is the attitude of moral and intellectual honesty.

We value the artist to-day less than the scientist, because it is more difficult to find a practical use for him. We have already indicated some of the uses commonly assigned to art, and a little rationalizing will produce further practical virtues even in the fine arts. So long as department stores and banks find a commercial value in imposing buildings, so long will the architect be allowed to be, or to hire, an artist. So long as well-drawn advertisements are considered to be profitable, so long will commercial artists be supported; and so long as the possession of pictures is looked upon as a social asset, so long will 'art-lovers' who cannot afford old masters make a virtue of buying the products of to-day. There are and will always be a few to whom art is a part of life; but, in the main, art, literature, and music are to-day regarded as embellishments to be rated according to their commercial or social value.

But just as science frees the intellect, so art frees and cleanses the emotions. The artist is the emotional expert whose function is to expose false or outworn emotions, passions, and prejudices, to show what is noble and what is base in life without regard for the feelings of any man. All fine and noble art is as cathartic emotionally as science is intellectually.

This is a value of pure art, yet even with this value the artist is not concerned except in so far as it compels

him to sincerity. For the one social crime which the artist can commit is insincerity, and sentimental art is the only real immoral art. The artist is the man who feels deeply and sincerely, and who can convey these feelings to others; and if he is to do his best work he must be concerned with no other end than art. Art for art's sake does not mean art abstracted from life, but art valuable as itself, independent of utility, economy, or morality. And such art should pervade life, making for honest workmanship and honest design in everything we have or use. We can feel rightly about even the shape of a spoon or a chair, just as we can feel rightly about the destiny of a nation.

In this view 'old masters' cease to have any very great value. They were once the fresh vision of a prophet, they are still interesting and beautiful expressions of eternal humanity, but they are not of that intense and immediate importance to us which is possessed by the artistic vision of to-day.

The ordinary man, however, in so far as he thinks about the matter at all, prefers to rest content with those visions of beauty which satisfied his great-grandmother. So, when a painter or a writer produces work which has an immediate bearing upon present-day life, particularly if it exposes some comfortable emotion inherited from his great-grandmother, or if it considers life from some point of view unseen by that lady, the average man is flicked in the raw. A fresh vision in art is even more irritating than a fresh knowledge in science. Fresh views in anything are indeed usually branded as 'immoral.'

Art is the cleanser of emotion, science is that of intellect; what place is then left for religion?

The churches to-day are devoted to social endeavor, a most necessary and useful work, and they are full of

activity. They perform a very necessary part in our social organization; yet it is notorious that scientific men and artists do not attend their services very regularly. For this the churches naturally blame the scientists and artists regarding them as 'irreligious.' The scientists and artists say very little about it; they seem to find their lives complete without the aid of the churches. Yet they are probably a very highly religious body of men. For religion is not belief in any body of dogma, it is effort of man to bring himself into sympathy with the universe. It is therefore intensely personal.

It seems a pity that the beauty of our own religion should be obscured by quarrels regarding the historic truth of this or that narrative. Historic truth is a matter for scientific inquiry ending in a verdict of proved or not proved. It should be kept apart from religion.

"The kingdom of God is within you.' 'But rather seek ye the kingdom of God and all these things shall be added unto you.'

Whoever seeks sincerely and faithfully that which he believes to be true and right; whoever schools his intellect in the sharp discipline of science, and his emotions in the equally sharp discipline of art, is not far from the kingdom. Not only is there no opposition between science, art, and religion, but I would venture to assert that no man can be deeply religious who is not in sympathy with science and art. It cannot be contrary to religion to seek a further knowledge of nature or a further insight into human emotion. Science and art are deeply religious in themselves; for the better we know ourselves and the universe of which we are a part the nearer we shall be to God. This is perhaps mysticism, nowadays rather out of fashion, yet many have questioned whether religion can exist without mysticism.

To many of us the churches to-day appear to be chiefly instruments of moral compulsion. Every faddist who chooses to denounce woman's clothes, the way she cuts her hair, dancing, smoking, literature, sculpture, painting, evolution, any form of social or moral freedom, finds support in the churches. This view may be very unfair, but until some decisive body of church opinion speaks out boldly on behalf of freedom, of the right of the individual man to choose right or wrong, and to be responsible for his own choice, such a judgment will be made. The churches at present raise a chorus of denunciation, the ordinary man meekly accepts their expert opinion, and then pays no further attention to what he regards merely as a professional declamation.

Yet religion is a necessity for mankind not because it gives a supernatural sanction to some code of morals, but because it binds man and the universe in sympathy. Coercion and repression are police functions and no proper part of religion. Indeed these coercive moral measures are simply confessions of failure. The reformer must needs regard his fellow creatures as either too weak or too wicked to lead decent lives, so he must forbid every natural pleasure lest it might be turned to evil.

But there is no need to pursue the 'reformer' further, though he is one of the saddest results of our over-socialized society. He is one result of thinking only in terms of the community and ignoring the individual, and he is at present doing infinite harm, for, by his insistence on evil, he is breaking down the barriers between real evil and good. He is a negative creature.

III

Science is the cleanser of thought, art is the cleanser of emotion, and

religion is the effort of man to bring himself into unity with the universe. We cannot live without all three, and in all three there is a common feature. Their reward is not in the end accomplished, but in the effort. The scientist's work is unending-as he attains one step the next is before him. When the artist has completed a work it has to him no further value; he looks forward to a finer view. Religion is without end, and must deepen in harmony with a deeper appreciation of the Universe. To this deeper appreciation both science and art must contribute.

To all men the joy of work should be the joy of life, work without regard to economics or efficiency or organization; for, if we have the right attitude to our work, a sufficiency of these things will be added to it. At present our humanity is in danger of being choked by efficiency, and work is too often a thing to be endured for the sake of its end instead of loved for its own sake.

It is the business of the men to set these things right, and to bring back into our lives some measure of the abstract and disinterested virtues. I sincerely hope that women may in time be successful in business and in administration, and that they may in part drive out men from these occupations, compelling them at last to attend to those important matters which they are best able to undertake. Then perhaps we may have a revaluation.

Meanwhile of course the first reform required is that boys should be educated by men, not by underpaid girls. The Boy Scout movement is in the right direction in that it is at any rate an effort by men to influence boys. But the virtues inculcated in the Boy Scouts are the general human virtues such as bravery, endurance, kindness, and courtesy. Perhaps young boys are hardly capable of learning the manly virtues of abstract science and art, or the necessity of doing their own thinking. I am afraid, too, that boys are sometimes taught to be docile, and that is not a virtue at all. However, they rarely learn.

The next step is possibly to get a good deal of the prevailing utilitarianism out of our universities. At present these are mostly technical schools, very useful and necessary institutions, but of very little help to the active mind.

But the only reform which will ever do any permanent good is a change in public opinion. When the thinker, the scientist, the artist, and the mystic are respected regardless of their wealth or of their economic value then our civilization may hope to match even that of war-scarred Europe.

These reforms will not be brought about, if ever they come, by organizations or by campaigns or by slogans, but by a stirring in each man's mind impelling him to seek freedom. This is a man's business. But the men seem to be all asleep.