{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13561/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13561","id":"gutenberg_13561","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13561","summary":null,"tags":["Browning, Robert, 1812-1889 -- Philosophy","Browning, Robert, 1812-1889 -- Religion","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian poetry, English -- 19th century -- History and criticism","Didactic poetry, English -- History and criticism","Philosophy in literature"],"text":"BROWNING AS A PHILOSOPHICAL AND RELIGIOUS TEACHER\n\nby\n\nHENRY JONES\n\nProfessor of Philosophy in the University of Glasgow\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ROBERT BROWNING.]\n\n\n\nTHIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO\nMY DEAR FRIENDS\n\nMISS HARRIET MACARTHUR\nAND\nMISS JANE MACARTHUR.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe purpose of this book is to deal with Browning, not simply as a poet,\nbut rather as the exponent of a system of ideas on moral and religious\nsubjects, which may fairly be called a philosophy. I am conscious that\nit is a wrong to a poet to neglect, or even to subordinate, the artistic\naspect of his work. At least, it would be a wrong, if our final judgment\non his poetry were to be determined on such a method. But there is a\nplace for everything; and, even in the case of a great poet, there is\nsometimes an advantage in attempting to estimate the value of what he\nhas said, apart from the form in which he has said it. And of all modern\npoets, Browning is the one who most obviously invites and justifies such\na method of treatment. For, in the first place, he is clearly one of\nthat class of poets who are also prophets. He was never merely \"the idle\nsinger of an empty day,\" but one for whom poetic enthusiasm was\nintimately bound up with religious faith, and who spoke \"in numbers,\"\nnot merely \"because the numbers came,\" but because they were for him the\nnecessary vehicle of an inspiring thought. If it is the business of\nphilosophy to analyze and interpret all the great intellectual forces\nthat mould the thought of an age, it cannot neglect the works of one who\nhas exercised, and is exercising so powerful an influence on the moral\nand religious life of the present generation.\n\nIn the second place, as will be seen in the sequel, Browning has himself\nled the way towards such a philosophical interpretation of his work.\nFor, even in his earlier poems, he not seldom crossed the line that\ndivides the poet from the philosopher, and all but broke through the\nstrict limits of art in the effort to express--and we might even say to\npreach--his own idealistic faith. In his later works he did this almost\nwithout any disguise, raising philosophical problems, and discussing all\nthe _pros_ and _cons_ of their solution, with no little subtlety and\ndialectical skill. In some of these poems we might even seem to be\nreceiving a philosophical lesson, in place of a poetic inspiration, if\nit were not for those powerful imaginative utterances, those winged\nwords, which Browning has always in reserve, to close the ranks of his\nargument. If the question is stated in a prosaic form, the final answer,\nas in the ancient oracle, is in the poetic language of the gods.\n\nFrom this point of view I have endeavoured to give a connected account\nof Browning's ideas, especially of his ideas on religion and morality,\nand to estimate their value. In order to do so, it was necessary to\ndiscuss the philosophical validity of the principles on which his\ndoctrine is more or less consciously based. The more immediately\nphilosophical chapters are the second, seventh, and ninth; but they will\nnot be found unintelligible by those who have reflected on the\ndifficulties of the moral and religious life, even although they may be\nunacquainted with the methods and language of the schools.\n\nI have received much valuable help in preparing this work for the press\nfrom my colleague, Professor G.B. Mathews, and still more from Professor\nEdward Caird. I owe them both a deep debt of gratitude.\n\nHENRY JONES.\n\n1891.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\nINTRODUCTION\n\nCHAPTER II.\nON THE NEED OF A PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE\n\nCHAPTER III.\nBROWNING'S PLACE IN ENGLISH POETRY\n\nCHAPTER IV.\nBROWNING'S OPTIMISM\n\nCHAPTER V.\nOPTIMISM AND ETHICS: THEIR CONTRADICTION\n\nCHAPTER VI.\nBROWNING'S TREATMENT OF THE PRINCIPLE\nOF LOVE\n\nCHAPTER VII.\nBROWNING'S IDEALISM, AND ITS PHILOSOPHICAL\nJUSTIFICATION\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\nBROWNING'S SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM\nOF EVIL\n\nCHAPTER IX.\nA CRITICISM OF BROWNING'S VIEW OF\nTHE FAILURE OF KNOWLEDGE\n\nCHAPTER X.\nTHE HEART AND THE HEAD.--LOVE AND\nREASON\n\nCHAPTER XI.\nCONCLUSION\n\n\n\n\nROBERT BROWNING.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\n  \"Grau, theurer Freund, ist alle Theorie,\n  Und gr\u00fcn des Lebens goldner Baum.\" (_Faust_.)\n\nThere is a saying of Hegel's, frequently quoted, that \"a great man\ncondemns the world to the task of explaining him.\" The condemnation is a\ndouble one, and it generally falls heaviest on the great man himself,\nwho has to submit to explanation; and, probably, the last refinement of\nthis species of cruelty is to expound a poet. I therefore begin with an\napology in both senses of the term. I acknowledge that no commentator on\nart has a right to be heard, if he is not aware of the subordinate and\ntemporary nature of his office. At the very best he is only a guide to\nthe beautiful object, and he must fall back in silence so soon as he has\nled his company into its presence. He may perhaps suggest \"the line of\nvision,\" or fix the point of view, from which we can best hope to do\njustice to the artist's work, by appropriating his intention and\ncomprehending his idea; but if he seeks to serve the ends of art, he\nwill not attempt to do anything more.\n\nIn order to do even this successfully, it is essential that every\njudgment passed should be exclusively ruled by the principles which\ngovern art. \"Fine art is not real art till it is free\"; that is, till\nits value is recognized as lying wholly within itself. And it is not,\nunfortunately, altogether unnecessary to insist that, so far from\nenhancing the value of an artist's work, we only degrade it into mere\nmeans, subordinate it to uses alien, and therefore antagonistic to its\nperfection, if we try to show that it gives pleasure, or refinement, or\nmoral culture. There is no doubt that great poetry has all these uses,\nbut the reader can enjoy them only on condition of forgetting them; for\nthey are effects that follow the sense of its beauty. Art, morality,\nreligion, is each supreme in its own sphere; the beautiful is not more\nbeautiful because it is also moral, nor is a painting great because its\nsubject is religious. It is true that their spheres overlap, and art is\nnever at its best except when it is a beautiful representation of the\ngood; nevertheless the points of view of the artist and of the ethical\nteacher are quite different, and consequently also the elements within\nwhich they work and the truth they reveal.\n\nIn attempting, therefore, to discover Robert Browning's philosophy of\nlife, I do not pretend that my treatment of him is adequate. Browning\nis, first of all, a poet; it is only as a poet that he can be finally\njudged; and the greatness of a poet is to be measured by the extent to\nwhich his writings are a revelation of what is beautiful.\n\nI undertake a different and a humbler task, conscious of its\nlimitations, and aware that I can hardly avoid doing some violence to\nthe artist. What I shall seek in the poet's writings is not beauty, but\ntruth; and although truth is beautiful, and beauty is truth, still the\npoetic and philosophic interpretation of life are not to be confused.\nPhilosophy must separate the matter from the form. Its synthesis comes\nthrough analysis, and analysis is destructive of beauty, as it is of all\nlife. Art, therefore, resists the violence of the critical methods of\nphilosophy, and the feud between them, of which Plato speaks, will last\nthrough all time. The beauty of form and the music of speech which\ncriticism destroys, and to which philosophy is, at the best,\nindifferent, are essential to poetry. When we leave them out of account\nwe miss the ultimate secret of poetry, for they cling to the meaning and\npenetrate it with their charm. Thought and its expression are\ninseparable in poetry, as they never are in philosophy; hence, in the\nformer, the loss of the expression is the loss of truth. The pure idea\nthat dwells in a poem is suffused in the poetic utterance, as sunshine\nbreaks into beauty in the mist, as life beats and blushes in the flesh,\nor as an impassioned thought breathes in a thinker's face.\n\nBut, although art and philosophy are supreme, each in its own realm, and\nneither can be subordinated to the uses of the other, they may help each\nother. They are independent, but not rival powers of the world of mind.\nNot only is the interchange of truth possible between them; but each may\nshow and give to the other all its treasures, and be none the poorer\nitself. \"It is in works of art that some nations have deposited the\nprofoundest intuitions and ideas of their hearts.\" Job and Isaiah,\n\u00c6schylus and Sophocles, Shakespeare and Goethe, were first of all poets.\nMankind is indebted to them in the first place for revealing beauty; but\nit also owes to them much insight into the facts and principles of the\nmoral world. It would be an unutterable loss to the ethical thinker and\nthe philosopher, if this region were closed against them, so that they\ncould no longer seek in the poets the inspiration and light that lead to\ngoodness and truth. In our own day, almost above all others, we need the\npoets for these ethical and religious purposes. For the utterances of\nthe dogmatic teacher of religion have been divested of much of their\nancient authority; and the moral philosopher is often regarded either as\na vendor of commonplaces or as the votary of a discredited science,\nwhose primary principles are matter of doubt and debate. There are not a\nfew educated Englishmen who find in the poets, and in the poets alone,\nthe expression of their deepest convictions concerning the profoundest\ninterests of life. They read the poets for fresh inspiration, partly, no\ndoubt, because the passion and rapture of poetry lull criticism and\nsoothe the questioning spirit into acquiescence.\n\n\nBut there are further reasons; for the poets of England are greater than\nits moral philosophers; and it is of the nature of the poetic art that,\nwhile eschewing system, it presents the strife between right and wrong\nin concrete character, and therefore with a fulness and truth impossible\nto the abstract thought of science.\n\n                \"A poet never dreams:\n  We prose folk do: we miss the proper duct\n  For thoughts on things unseen.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, lxxxviii.]\n\nIt is true that philosophy endeavours to correct this fragmentariness by\nstarting from the unity of the whole. But it can never quite get rid of\nan element of abstraction and reach down to the concrete individual.\n\nThe making of character is so complex a process that the poetic\nrepresentation of it, with its subtle suggestiveness, is always more\ncomplete and realistic than any possible philosophic analysis. Science\ncan deal only with aspects and abstractions, and its method becomes more\nand more inadequate as its matter grows more concrete, unless it\nproceeds from the unity in which all the aspects are held together. In\nthe case of life, and still more so in that of human conduct, the whole\nmust precede the part, and the moral science must, therefore, more than\nany other, partake of the nature of poetry; for it must start from\nliving spirit, go from the heart outwards, in order to detect the\nmeaning of the actions of man.\n\nOn this account, poetry is peculiarly helpful to the ethical\ninvestigator, because it always treats the particular thing as a\nmicrocosm. It is the great corrective of the onesidedness of science\nwith its harsh method of analysis and distinction. It is a witness to\nthe unity of man and the world. Every object which art touches into\nbeauty, becomes in the very act a whole. The thing that is beautiful is\nalways complete, the embodiment of something absolutely valuable, the\nproduct and the source of love; and the beloved object is all the world\nfor the lover--beyond all praise, because it is above all comparison.\n\n  \"Then why not witness, calmly gazing,\n  If earth holds aught--speak truth--above her?\n  Above this tress, and this, I touch\n  But cannot praise, I love so much!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Song_ (Dramatic Lyrics).]\n\nThis characteristic of the work of art brings with it an important\npractical consequence, because being complete, it appeals to the whole\nman.\n\n\"Poetry,\" it has been well said, is \"the idealized and monumental\nutterance of the deepest feelings.\" And poetic feelings, it must not be\nforgotten, _are_ deepest; that is, they are the afterglow of the\nfullest activity of a complete soul, and not shallow titillations, or\nsurface pleasures, such as the palate knows. Led by poetry, the\nintellect so sees truth that it glows with it, and the will is stirred\nto deeds of heroism. For there is hardly any fact so mean, but that when\nintensified by emotion, it grows poetic; as there is hardly any man so\nunimaginative, but that when struck with a great sorrow, or moved by a\ngreat passion, he is endowed for a moment with the poet's speech. A\npoetic fact, one may almost say, is just any fact at its best. Art, it\nis true, looks at its object through a medium, but it always seems its\ninmost meaning. In Lear, Othello, Hamlet, in Falstaff and Touchstone,\nthere is a revelation of the inner truth of human life beyond the power\nof moral science to bestow. We do well to seek philosophy in the poets,\nfor though they teach only by hints and parables, they nevertheless\nreflect the concrete truth of life, as it is half revealed and half\nconcealed in facts. On the other hand, the reflective process of\nphilosophy may help poetry; for, as we shall show, there is a near\nkinship between them. Even the critical analyst, while severing element\nfrom element, may help art and serve the poet's ends, provided he does\nnot in his analysis of parts forget the whole. His function, though\nhumble and merely preliminary to full poetic enjoyment, is not\nunimportant. To appreciate the grandeur of the unity of the work of art,\nthere must be knowledge of the parts combined. It is quite true that the\nguide in the gallery is prone to be too talkative, and there are many\nwho can afford to turn the commentator out of doors, especially if he\nmoralizes. But, after all, man is not pure sensibility, any more than he\nis pure reason. And the aesthete will not lose if he occasionally allows\nthose whom he may think less sensitive than himself to the charm of\nrhythmic phrase, to direct sober attention to the principles which lie\nembedded in all great poetry. At the worst, to seek for truth in poetry\nis a protest against the constant tendency to read it for the sake of\nthe emotions which it stirs, the tendency to make it a refined amusement\nand nothing more. That is a deeper wrong to art than any which the\ntheoretical moralist can inflict. Of the two, it is better to read\npoetry for ethical doctrines than for fine sensations; for poetry\npurifies the passions only when it lifts the reader into the sphere of\ntruths that are universal.\n\nThe task of interpreting a poet may be undertaken in different ways. One\nof these, with which we have been made familiar by critics of\nShakespeare and of Browning himself, is to analyze each poem by itself\nand regard it as the artistic embodiment of some central idea; the other\nis to attempt, without dealing separately with each poem, to reach the\npoet's own point of view, and to reveal the sovereign truths which rule\nhis mind. It is this latter way that I shall try to follow.\n\nSuch dominant or even despotic thoughts it is possible to discover in\nall our great poets, except perhaps Shakespeare, whose universality\nbaffles every classifier. As a rule, the English poets have been caught\nup, and inspired, by the exceeding grandeur of some single idea, in\nwhose service they spend themselves with that prodigal thrift which\nfinds life in giving it. Such an idea gives them a fresh way of looking\nat the world, so that the world grows young again with their new\ninterpretation. In the highest instances, poets may become makers of\nepochs; they reform as well as reveal; for ideas are never dead things,\n\"but grow in the hand that grasps them.\" In them lies the energy of a\nnation's life, and we comprehend that life only when we make clear to\nourselves the thoughts which inspire it. It is thus true, in the deepest\nsense, that those who make the songs of a people make its history. In\nall true poets there are hints for a larger philosophy of life. But, in\norder to discover it, we must know the truths which dominate them, and\nbreak into music in their poems.\n\nWhether it is always possible, and whether it is at any time fair to a\npoet to define the idea which inspires him, I shall not inquire at\npresent. No doubt, the interpretation of a poet from first principles\ncarries us beyond the limits of art; and by insisting on the unity of\nhis work, more may be attributed to him, or demanded from him, than he\nproperly owns. To make such a demand is to require that poetry should be\nphilosophy as well, which, owing to its method of intuition, it can\nnever be. Nevertheless, among English poets there is no one who lends\nhimself so easily, or so justly, to this way of treatment as Browning.\nMuch of his poetry trembles on the verge of the abyss which is supposed\nto separate art from philosophy; and, as I shall try to show, there was\nin the poet a growing tendency to turn the power of dialectic on the\npre-suppositions of his art. Yet, even Browning puts great difficulties\nin the way of a critic, who seeks to draw a philosophy of life from his\npoems. It is not by any means an easy task to lift the truths he utters\nunder the stress of poetic emotion into the region of placid\ncontemplation, or to connect them into a system, by means of the\nprinciple from which he makes his departure.\n\nThe first of these difficulties arises from the extent and variety of\nhis work. He was prodigal of poetic ideas, and wrote for fifty years on\nnature, art, and man, like a magnificent spendthrift of spiritual\ntreasures. So great a store of knowledge lay at his hand, so real and\ninformed with sympathy, that we can scarcely find any great literature\nwhich he has not ransacked, any phase of life which is not represented\nin his poems. All kinds of men and women, in every station in life, and\nat every stage of evil and goodness, crowd his pages. There are few\nforms of human character he has not studied, and each individual he has\nso caught at the supreme moment of his life, and in the hardest stress\nof circumstance, that the inmost working of his nature is revealed. The\nwealth is bewildering, and it is hard to follow the central thought,\n\"the imperial chord, which steadily underlies the accidental mists of\nmusic springing thence.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_.]\n\nA second and still graver difficulty lies in the fact that his poetry,\nas he repeatedly insisted, is \"always dramatic in principle, and so many\nutterances of so many imaginary persons, not mine.\"[B] In his earlier\nworks, especially, Browning is creative rather than reflective, a Maker\nrather than a Seer; and his creations stand aloof from him, working out\ntheir fate in an outer world. We often lose the poet in the imaginative\ncharacters, into whom he penetrates with his keen artistic intuition,\nand within whom he lies as a necessity revealing itself in their actions\nand words. It is not easy anywhere to separate the elements, so that we\ncan say with certainty, \"Here I catch the poet, there lies his\nmaterial.\" The identification of the work and worker is too intimate,\nand the realization of the imaginary personage is too complete.\n\n[Footnote B: Pref. to _Pauline_, 1888.]\n\nIn regard to the dramatic interpretation of his poetry, Browning has\nmanifested a peculiar sensitiveness. In his Preface to _Pauline_ and in\nseveral of his poems--notably _The Mermaid_, the _House_, and the\n_Shop_--he explicitly cuts himself free from his work. He knew that\ndirect self-revealment on the part of the poet violates the spirit of\nthe drama. \"With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart,\" said\nWordsworth; \"Did Shakespeare?\" characteristically answers Browning, \"If\nso, the less Shakespeare he!\" And of himself he asks:\n\n  \"Which of you did I enable\n    Once to slip inside my breast,\n  There to catalogue and label\n    What I like least, what love best,\n  Hope and fear, believe and doubt of,\n    Seek and shun, respect--deride?\n  Who has right to make a rout of\n    Rarities he found inside?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _At the Mermaid_.]\n\nHe repudiates all kinship with Byron and his subjective ways, and\nrefuses to be made king by the hands which anointed him. \"He will not\ngive his woes an airing, and has no plague that claims respect.\" Both as\nman and poet, in virtue of the native, sunny, outer-air healthiness of\nhis character, every kind of subjectivity is repulsive to him. He hands\nto his readers \"his work, his scroll, theirs to take or leave: his soul\nhe proffers not.\" For him \"shop was shop only\"; and though he dealt in\ngems, and throws\n\n  \"You choice of jewels, every one,\n  Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun,\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Shop_.]\n\nhe still _lived_ elsewhere, and had \"stray thoughts and fancies\nfugitive\" not meant for the open market. The poems in which Browning has\nspoken without the disguise of another character are very few. There are\nhardly more than two or three of much importance which can be considered\nas directly reflecting his own ideas, namely, _Christmas Eve_ and\n_Easter Day, La Saisiaz_, and _One Word More_--unless, spite of the\npoet's warning, we add _Pauline_.\n\nBut, although the dramatic element in Browning's poetry renders it\ndifficult to construct his character from his works, while this is\ncomparatively easy in the case of Wordsworth or Byron; and although it\nthrows a shade of uncertainty on every conclusion we might draw as to\nany specific doctrine held by him, still Browning lives in a certain\natmosphere, and looks at his characters through a medium, whose subtle\ninfluence makes all his work indisputably _his_. The light he throws on\nhis men and women is not the unobtrusive light of day, which reveals\nobjects, but not itself. Though a true dramatist, he is not objective\nlike Shakespeare and Scott, whose characters seem never to have had an\nauthor. The reader feels, rather, that Browning himself attends him\nthrough all the sights and wonders of the world of man; he never escapes\nthe sense of the presence of the poet's powerful personality, or of the\ngreat convictions on which he has based his life. Browning has, at\nbottom, only one way of looking at the world, and one way of treating\nhis objects; one point of view, and one artistic method. Nay, further,\nhe has one supreme interest, which he pursues everywhere with a\nconstancy shown by hardly any other poet; and, in consequence, his works\nhave a unity and a certain originality, which make them in many ways a\nunique contribution to English literature.\n\nThis characteristic, which no critic has missed, and which generally\ngoes by the name of \"the metaphysical element\" in his poetry, makes it\nthe more imperative to form a clear view of his ruling conceptions. No\npoet, least of all a dramatic poet, goes about seeking concrete vehicles\nfor ready-made ideas, or attempts to dress a philosophy in metaphors;\nand Browning, as an artist, is interested first of all in the object\nwhich he renders beautiful for its own sole sake, and not in any\nabstract idea it illustrates. Still, it is true in a peculiar sense in\nhis case, that the eye of the poet brings with it what it sees. He is,\nas a rule, conscious of no theory, and does not construct a poem for its\nexplication; he rather strikes his ideas out of his material, as the\nsculptor reveals the breathing life in the stone. Nevertheless, it may\nbe shown that a theory rules him from behind, and that profound\nconvictions arise in the heart and rush along the blood at the moment of\ncreation, using his soul as an instrument of expression to his age and\npeople.\n\nOf no English poet, except Shakespeare, can we say with approximate\ntruth that he is the poet of all times. The subjective breath of their\nown epoch dims the mirror which they hold up to nature. Missing by their\nlimitation the highest universality, they can only be understood in\ntheir setting. It adds but little to our knowledge of Shakespeare's work\nto regard him as the great Elizabethan; there is nothing temporary in\nhis dramas, except petty incidents and external trappings--so truly did\nhe dwell amidst the elements constituting man in every age and clime.\nBut this cannot be said of any other poet, not even of Chaucer or\nSpenser, far less of Milton, or Pope or Wordsworth. In their case, the\nartistic form and the material, the idea and its expression, the beauty\nand the truth, are to some extent separable. We can distinguish in\nMilton between the Puritanic theology which is perishable, and the art\nwhose beauty can never pass away. The former fixes his kinship with his\nown age, gives him a definite place in the evolution of English life;\nthe latter is independent of time, a thing which has supreme worth in\nitself.\n\nNor can it be doubted that the same holds good of Browning. He also is\nruled by the ideas of his own age. It may not be altogether possible for\nus, \"who are partners of his motion and mixed up with his career,\" to\nallow for the influence of these ideas, and to distinguish between that\nwhich is evanescent and that which is permanent in his work; still I\nmust try to do so; for it is the condition of comprehending him, and of\nappropriating the truth and beauty he came to reveal. And if his\nnearness to ourselves makes this more difficult, it also makes it more\nimperative. For there is no doubt that, with Carlyle, he is the\ninterpreter of our time, reflecting its confused strength and chaotic\nwealth. He is the high priest of our age, standing at the altar for us,\nand giving utterance to our needs and aspirations, our fears and faith.\nBy understanding him, we shall, to some degree, understand ourselves and\nthe power which is silently moulding us to its purposes.\n\nIt is because I thus regard Browning as not merely a poet but a prophet,\nthat I think I am entitled to seek in him, as in Isaiah or Aeschylus, a\nsolution, or a help to the solution, of the problems that press upon us\nwhen we reflect upon man, his place in the world and his destiny. He has\ngiven us indirectly, and as a poet gives, a philosophy of life; he has\ninterpreted the world anew in the light of a dominant idea; and it will\nbe no little gain if we can make clear to ourselves those constitutive\nprinciples on which his view of the world rests.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nON THE NEED OF A PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE.\n\n  \"Art,--which I may style the love of loving, rage\n  Of knowing, seeing, feeling the absolute truth of things\n  For truth's sake, whole and sole, not any good, truth brings\n  The knower, seer, feeler, beside,--instinctive Art\n  Must fumble for the whole, once fixing on a part\n  However poor, surpass the fragment, and aspire\n  To reconstruct thereby the ultimate entire.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, xliv.]\n\nNo English poet has spoken more impressively than Browning on the\nweightier matters of morality and religion, or sought with more\nearnestness to meet the difficulties which arise when we try to\npenetrate to their ultimate principles. His way of poetry is, I think,\nfundamentally different from that of any other of our great writers. He\noften seems to be roused into speech, rather by the intensity of his\nspiritual convictions than by the subtle incitements of poetic\nsensibility. His convictions caught fire, and truth became beauty for\nhim; not beauty, truth, as with Keats or Shelley. He is swayed by ideas,\nrather than by sublime moods. Beneath the endless variety of his poems,\nthere are permanent principles, or \"colligating conceptions,\" as science\ncalls them; and although these are expressed by the way of emotion, they\nare held by him with all the resources of his reason.\n\nHis work, though intuitive and perceptive as to form, \"gaining God by\nfirst leap\" as all true art must do, leaves the impression, when\nregarded as a whole, of an articulated system. It is a view of man's\nlife and destiny that can be maintained, not only during the impassioned\nmoods of poetry, but in the very presence of criticism and doubt. His\nfaith, like Pompilia's, is held fast \"despite the plucking fiend.\" He\nhas given to us something more than intuitive glimpses into, the\nmysteries of man's character. Throughout his life he held up the steady\nlight of an optimistic conception of the world, and by its means\ninjected new vigour into English ethical thought. In his case,\ntherefore, it is not an immaterial question, but one almost forced upon\nus, whether we are to take his ethical doctrine and inspiring optimism\nas valid truths, or to regard them merely as subjective opinions held by\na religious poet. Are they creations of a powerful imagination, and\nnothing more? Do they give to the hopes and aspirations that rise so\nirrepressibly in the heart of man anything better than an appearance of\nvalidity, which will prove illusory the moment the cold light of\ncritical inquiry is turned upon them?\n\nIt is to this unity of his work that I would attribute, in the main, the\nimpressiveness of his deliverances on morality and religion. And this\nunity justifies us, I think, in applying to Browning's view of life\nmethods of criticism that would be out of place with any other English\npoet. It is one of his unique characteristics, as already hinted, that\nhe has endeavoured to give us a complete and reasoned view of the\nethical nature of man, and of his relation to the world--has sought, in\nfact, to establish a philosophy of life. In his case, not without\ninjustice, it is true, but with less injustice than in the case of any\nother poet, we may disregard, _for our purposes_, the artistic method of\nhis thought, and lay stress on its content only. He has a right to a\nplace amongst philosophers, as Plato has to a place amongst poets. There\nis such deliberate earnestness and systematic consistency in his\nteaching, that Hegel can scarcely be said to have maintained that \"The\nRational is the Real\" with greater intellectual tenacity, than Browning\nheld to his view of life. He sought, in fact, to establish an Idealism;\nand that Idealism, like Kant's and Fichte's, has its last basis in the\nmoral consciousness.\n\nBut, even if it be considered that it is not altogether just to apply\nthese critical tests to the poet's teaching, and to make him pay the\npenalty for assuming a place amongst philosophers, it is certain that\nwhat he says of man's spiritual life cannot be rightly valued, till it\nis regarded in the light of his guiding principles. We shall miss much\nof what is best in him, even as a poet, if, for instance, we regard his\ntreatment of love merely as the expression of elevated passion, or his\noptimism as based upon mere hope. Love was to him rather an indwelling\nelement in the world, present, like power, in everything.\n\n  \"From the first, Power was--I knew.\n    Life has made clear to me\n  That, strive but for closer view,\n    Love were as plain to see.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote: A _Reverie--Asolando_.]\n\nLove yielded to him, as Reason did to Hegel, a fundamental exposition of\nthe nature of things. Or, to express the same thing in another way, it\nwas a deliberate hypothesis, which he sought to apply to facts and to\ntest by their means, almost in the same manner as that in which natural\nscience applies and tests its principles.\n\nThat Browning's ethical and religious ideas were for him something\ndifferent from, and perhaps more than, mere poetic sentiments, will, I\nbelieve, be scarcely denied. That he held a deliberate theory, and held\nit with greater and greater difficulty as he became older, and as his\ndialectical tendencies grew and threatened to wreck his artistic\nfreedom, is evident to any one who regards his work as a whole. But it\nwill not be admitted so readily that anything other than harm can issue\nfrom an attempt to deal with him as if he were a philosopher. Even if it\nbe allowed that he held and expressed a definite theory, will it retain\nany value if we take it out of the region of poetry and impassioned\nreligious faith, into the frigid zone of philosophical inquiry? Could\nany one maintain, apart from the intoxication of religious and poetic\nsentiment, that the essence of existence is love? As long as we remain\nwithin the realm of imagination, it may be argued, we may find in our\npoet's great sayings both solacement and strength, both rest and an\nimpulse towards higher moral endeavour; but if we seek to treat them as\ntheories of facts, and turn upon them the light of the understanding,\nwill they not inevitably prove to be hallucinations? Poetry, we think,\nhas its own proper place and function. It is an invaluable anodyne to\nthe cark and care of reflective thought; an opiate which, by steeping\nthe critical intellect in slumber, sets the soul free to rise on the\nwings of religious faith. But reason breaks the spell; and the world of\npoetry, and religion--a world which to them is always beautiful and good\nwith God's presence--becomes a system of inexorable laws, dead,\nmechanical, explicable in strict truth, as an equipoise of constantly\nchanging forms of energy.\n\nThere is, at the present time, a widespread belief that we had better\nkeep poetry and religion beyond the reach of critical investigation, if\nwe set any store by them. Faith and reason are thought to be finally\ndivorced. It is an article of the common creed that every attempt which\nthe world has made to bring them together has resulted in denial, or at\nthe best in doubt, regarding all supersensuous facts. The one condition\nof leading a full life, of maintaining a living relation between\nourselves and both the spiritual and material elements of our existence,\nis to make our lives an alternating rhythm of the head and heart, to\ndistinguish with absolute clearness between the realm of reason and that\nof faith.\n\nNow, such an assumption would be fatal to any attempt like the present,\nto find truth in poetry; and I must, therefore, try to meet it before\nentering upon a statement and criticism of Browning's view of life. I\ncannot admit that the difficulties of placing the facts of man's\nspiritual life on a rational basis are so great as to justify the\nassertion that there is no such basis, or that it is not discoverable by\nman. Surely, it is unreasonable to make intellectual death the condition\nof spiritual life. If such a condition were imposed on man, it must\ninevitably defeat its own purpose; for man cannot possibly continue to\nlive a divided life, and persist in believing that for which his reason\nknows no defence. We must, in the long run, either rationalize our faith\nin morality and religion, or abandon them as illusions. And we should at\nleast hesitate to deny that reason--in spite of its apparent failure in\nthe past to justify our faith in the principles of spiritual life--may\nyet, as it becomes aware of its own nature and the might which dwells in\nit, find beauty and goodness, nay, God himself, in the world. We should\nat least hesitate to condemn man to choose between irreflective\nignorance and irreligion, or to lock the intellect and the highest\nemotions of our nature and principles of our life, in a mortal struggle.\nPoetry and religion may, after all, be truer then prose, and have\nsomething to tell the world that science, which is often ignorant of its\nown limits, cannot teach.\n\nThe failure of philosophy in the past, even if it were as complete as is\nbelieved by persons ignorant of its history, is no argument against its\nsuccess in the future. Such persons have never known that the world of\nthought like that of action makes a stepping stone of its dead self. He\nwho presumes to decide what passes the power of man's thought, or to\nprescribe absolute limits to human knowledge, is rash, to say the least;\nand he has neither caught the most important of the lessons of modern\nscience, nor been lifted to the level of its inspiration. For science\nhas done one thing greater than to unlock the secrets of nature. It has\nrevealed something of the might of reason, and given new grounds for the\nfaith, which in all ages has inspired the effort to know,--the faith\nthat the world is an intelligible structure, meant to be penetrated by\nthe thought of man. Can it be that nature is an \"open secret,\" but that\nman, and he alone, must remain an enigma? Or does he not rather bear\nwithin himself the key to every problem which he solves, and is it not\n_his_ thought which penetrates the secrets of nature? The success of\nscience, in reducing to law the most varied and apparently unconnected\nfacts, should dispel any suspicion which attaches to the attempt to\ngather these laws under still wider ones, and to interpret the world in\nthe light of the highest principles. And this is precisely what poetry\nand religion and philosophy do, each in its own way. They carry the work\nof the sciences into wider regions, and that, as I shall try to show, by\nmethods which, in spite of many external differences, are fundamentally\nat one with those which the sciences employ.\n\nThere is only one way of giving the quietus to the metaphysics of poets\nand philosophers, and of showing the futility of a philosophy of life,\nor of any scientific explanation of religion and morals. It is to show\nthat there is some radical absurdity in the very attempt. Till this is\ndone, the human mind will not give up problems of weighty import,\nhowever hard it may be to solve them. The world refused to believe\nSocrates when he pronounced a science of nature impossible, and\ncenturies of failure did not break man's courage. Science, it is true,\nhas given up some problems as insoluble; it will not now try to\nconstruct a perpetually moving machine, or to square the circle. But it\nhas given them up, not because they are difficult, but because they are\nunreasonable tasks. The problems have a surd or irrational element in\nthem; and to solve them would be to bring reason into collision with\nitself.\n\nNow, whatever may be the difficulties of establishing a theory of life,\nor a philosophy, it has never been shown to be an unreasonable task to\nattempt it. One might, on the contrary, expect, _prima facie_, that in\na world progressively proved to be intelligible to man, man himself\nwould be no exception. It is impossible that the \"light in him should be\ndarkness,\" or that the thought which reveals the order of the world\nshould be itself chaotic.\n\nThe need for philosophy is just the ultimate form of the need for\nknowledge; and the truths which philosophy brings to light are implied\nin every rational explanation of things. The only choice we can have is\nbetween a conscious metaphysics and an unconscious one, between\nhypotheses which we have examined and whose limitations we know, and\nhypotheses which rule us from behind, as pure prejudices do. It is\nbecause of this that the empiric is so dogmatic, and the ignorant man so\ncertain of the truth of his opinion. They do not know their postulates,\nnor are they aware that there is no interpretation of an object which\ndoes not finally point to a theory of being. We understand no joint or\nligament, except in relation to the whole organism, and no fact, or\nevent, except by finding a place for it in the context of our\nexperience. The history of the pebble can be given, only in the light of\nthe story of the earth, as it is told by the whole of geology. We must\nbegin very far back, and bring our widest principles to bear upon the\nparticular thing, if we wish really to know what it is. It is a law that\nexplains, and laws are always universal. All our knowledge, even the\nmost broken and inconsistent, streams from some fundamental conception,\nin virtue of which all the variety of objects constitute one world, one\norderly kosmos, even to the meanest mind. It is true that the central\nthought, be it rich or poor, must, like the sun's light, be broken\nagainst particular facts. But there is no need of forgetting the real\nsource of knowledge, or of deeming that its progress is a synthesis\nwithout law, or an addition of fact to fact without any guiding\nprinciples.\n\nNow, it is the characteristic of poetry and philosophy that they keep\nalive our consciousness of these primary, uniting principles. They\nalways dwell in the presence of the idea which makes their object _one_.\nTo them the world is always, and necessarily, a harmonious whole, as it\nis also to the religious spirit. It is because of this that the universe\nis a thing of beauty for the poet, a revelation of God's goodness to the\ndevout soul, and a manifestation of absolute reason to the philosopher.\nArt, religion, and philosophy fail or flourish together. The age of\nprose and scepticism appears when the sense of the presence of the whole\nin the particular facts of the world and of life has been dulled. And\nthere is a necessity in this; for if the conception of the world as a\nwhole is held to be impossible, if philosophy is a futility, then\npoetry will be a vain sentiment and religion a delusion.\n\nNor will the failure of thought, when once demonstrated in these upper\nregions, be confined to them. On the contrary, it will spread downwards\nto science and ordinary knowledge, as mountain mists blot out the\nvalleys. For every synthesis of fact to fact, every attempt to know,\nhowever humble and limited, is inspired by a secret faith in the unity\nof the world. Each of the sciences works within its own region, and\ncolligates its details in the light of its own hypothesis; and all the\nsciences taken together presuppose the presence in the world of a\nprinciple that binds it into an orderly totality. Scientific explorers\nknow that they are all working towards the same centre. And, ever and\nanon, as the isolated thinker presses home his own hypothesis, he finds\nhis thought beating on the limits of his science, and suggesting some\nwider hypothesis. The walls that separate the sciences are wearing thin,\nand at times light penetrates from one to the other. So that to their\nvotaries, at least, the faith is progressively justified, that there is\na meeting point for the sciences, a central truth in which the dispersed\nrays will again be gathered together. In fact, all the sciences are\nworking together under the guidance of a principle common to them all,\nalthough it may not be consciously known and no attempt is made to\ndefine it. In science, as in philosophy and art and religion, there is a\nprinciple of unity, which, though latent, is really prior to all\nexplanation of particular matters of fact.\n\nIn truth, man has only one way of knowing. There is no fundamental\ndifference between scientific and philosophic procedure. We always light\nup facts by means of general laws. The fall of the stone was a perfect\nenigma, a universally unintelligible bit of experience, till the\nmajestic imagination of Newton conceived the idea of universal\ngravitation. Wherever mind successfully invades the realm of chaos,\npoetry, the sense of the whole, comes first. There is the intuitive\nflash, the penetrative glimpse, got no one knows exactly whence--though\nwe do know that it comes neither from the dead facts nor from the vacant\nregion of _a priori_ thought, but somehow from the interaction of both\nthese elements of knowledge. After the intuitive flash comes the slow\nlabour of proof, the application of the principle to details. And that\napplication transforms both the principle and the details, so that the\nformer is enriched with content and the latter are made intelligible--a\nveritable conquest and valid possession for mankind. And in this labour\nof proof, science and philosophy alike take their share.\n\nPhilosophy may be said to come midway between poetry and science, and to\npartake of the nature of both. On the one side it deals, like poetry,\nwith ideals of knowledge, and announces truths which it does not\ncompletely verify; on the other, it leaves to science the task of\narticulating its principles in facts, though it begins the articulation\nitself. It reveals subsidiary principles, and is, at the same time, a\nwitness for the unity of the categories of science. We may say, if we\nwish, that its principles are mere hypotheses. But so are the ideas\nwhich underlie the most practical of the sciences; so is every forecast\nof genius by virtue of which knowledge is extended; so is every\nprinciple of knowledge not completely worked out. To say that philosophy\nis hypothetical implies no charge, other than that which can be\nlevelled, in the same sense, against the most solid body of scientific\nknowledge in the world. The fruitful question in each case alike is, how\nfar, if at all, does the hypothesis enable us to understand particular\nfacts.\n\nThe more careful of our scientific thinkers are well aware of the limits\nunder which they work and of the hypothetical character of their\nresults. \"I take Euclidean space, and the existence of material\nparticles and elemental energy for granted,\" says the physicist; \"deny\nthem, and I am helpless; grant them, and I shall establish quantitative\nrelations between the different forms of this elemental energy, and make\nit tractable and tame to man's uses. All I teach depends upon my\nhypothesis. In it is the secret of all the power I wield. I do not\npretend to say what this elemental energy is. I make no declaration\nregarding the actual nature of things; and all questions as to the\nultimate origin or final destination of the world are beyond the scope\nof my inquiry. I am ruled by my hypothesis; I regard phenomena _from my\npoint of view_; and my right to do so I substantiate by the practical\nand theoretical results which follow.\" The language of geology,\nchemistry, zoology, and even mathematics is the same. They all start\nfrom a hypothesis; they are all based on an imaginative conception, and\nin this sense their votaries are poets, who see the unity of being throb\nin the particular fact.\n\nNow, so far as the particular sciences are concerned, I presume that no\none will deny the supreme power of these colligating ideas. The sciences\ndo not grow by a process of empiricism, which rambles tentatively and\nblindly from fact to fact, unguided of any hypothesis. But if they do\nnot, if, on the contrary, each science is ruled by its own hypothesis,\nand uses that hypothesis to bind its facts together, then the question\narises, are there no wider colligating principles amongst these\nhypotheses themselves? Are the sciences independent of each other, or\nis their independence only surface appearance? This is the question\nwhich philosophy asks, and the sciences themselves by their progress\nsuggest a positive answer to it.\n\nThe knowledge of the world which the sciences are building is not a\nchaotic structure. By their apparently independent efforts, the outer\nkosmos is gradually reproduced in the mind of man, and the temple of\ntruth is silently rising. We may not as yet be able to connect wing with\nwing, or to declare definitely the law of the whole. The logical order\nof the hypotheses of the various sciences, the true connection of these\ncategories of constructive thought, may yet be uncertain. But, still,\nthere _is_ such an order and connection: the whole building has its\nplan, which becomes more and more intelligible as it approaches to its\ncompletion. Beneath all the differences, there are fundamental\nprinciples which give to human thought a definite unity of movement and\ndirection. There are architectonic conceptions which are guiding, not\nonly the different sciences, but all the modes of thought of an age.\nThere are intellectual media, \"working hypotheses,\" by means of which\nsuccessive centuries observe all that they see; and these far-reaching\nconstructive principles divide the history of mankind into distinct\nstages. In a word, there are dynasties of great ideas, such as the idea\nof development in our own day; and these successively ascend the throne\nof mind, and hold a sway over human thought which is well-nigh absolute.\n\nNow, if this is so, is it certain that all _knowledge_ of these ruling\nconceptions is impossible? In other words, is the attempt to construct a\nphilosophy absurd? To say that it is, to deny the possibility of\ncatching any glimpse of those regulative ideas, which determine the main\ntendencies of human thought, is to place the supreme directorate of the\nhuman intelligence in the hands of a necessity which, _for us_, is\nblind. For, an order that is hidden is equivalent to chance, so far as\nknowledge is concerned; and if we believe it to exist, we do so in the\nface of the fact that all we see, and all we _can_ see, is the opposite\nof order, namely lawlessness. Human knowledge, on this view, would be\nsubjected to law in its details and compartments, but to disorder as a\nwhole. Thinking men would be organized into regiments; but the regiments\nwould not constitute an army, nor would there be any unity of movement\nin the attack on the realm of ignorance.\n\nBut, such is not the conclusion to which the study of human history\nleads, especially when we observe its movements on a large scale. On the\ncontrary, it is found that history falls into great epochs, each of\nwhich has its own peculiar characteristics. Ages, as well as nations and\nindividuals, have features of their own, special and definite modes of\nthinking and acting. The movement of thought in each age has its own\ndirection, which is determined by some characteristic and fundamental\nidea, that fulfils for it the part of a working hypothesis in a\nparticular science. It is the prerogative of the greatest leaders of\nthought in an age to catch a glimpse of this ruling idea when it first\nmakes its appearance; and it is their function, not only to discover it,\nbut also to reveal it to others. And, in this way, they are at once the\nexponents of their time, and its prophets. They reveal that which is\nalready a latent but active power--\"a tendency\"; but they reveal it to a\ngeneration which will see the truth for itself, only after the potency\nwhich lies in it has manifested itself in national institutions and\nhabits of thought and action. _After_ the prophets have left us, we\nbelieve what they have said; as long as they are with us, they are\nvoices crying in the wilderness.\n\nNow, these great ideas, these harmonies of the world of mind, first\nstrike upon the ear of the poet. They seem to break into the\nconsciousness of man by the way of emotion. They possess the seer; he is\ndivinely mad, and he utters words whose meaning passes his own calmer\ncomprehension. What we find in Goethe, we find also in a manner in\nBrowning: an insight which is also foresight, a dim and partial\nconsciousness of the truth about to be, sending its light before it, and\nanticipating all systematic reflection. It is an insight which appears\nto be independent of all method; but it is in nature, though not in\nsweep and expanse, akin to the intuitive leap by which the scientific\nexplorer lights upon his new hypothesis. We can find no other law for\nit, than that sensitiveness to the beauty and truth hidden in facts,\nwhich much reflection on them generates for genius. For these great\nminds the \"muddy vesture\" is worn thin by thought, and they hear the\nimmortal music.\n\nThe poet soon passes his glowing torch into the hands of the\nphilosopher. After Aeschylus and Sophocles, come Plato and Aristotle.\nThe intuitive flash grows into a fixed light, which rules the day. The\ngreat idea, when reflected upon, becomes a system. When the light of\nsuch an idea is steadily held on human affairs, it breaks into endless\nforms of beauty and truth. The content of the idea is gradually evolved;\nhypotheses spring out of it, which are accepted as principles, rule the\nmind of an age, and give it its work and its character. In this way,\nHobbes and Locke laid down, or at least defined, the boundaries within\nwhich moved the thought of the eighteenth century; and no one acquainted\nwith the poetic and philosophic thought of Germany, from Lessing to\nGoethe and from Kant to Hegel, can fail to find therein the source and\nspring of the constitutive principles of our own intellectual, social,\npolitical, and religious life. The virtues and the vices of the\naristocracy of the world of mind penetrate downwards. The works of the\npoets and philosophers, so far from being filled with impracticable\ndreams, are repositories of great suggestions which the world adopts for\nits guidance. The poets and philosophers lay no railroads and invent no\ntelephones; but they, nevertheless, bring about that attitude towards\nnature, man and God, and generate those moods of the general mind, from\nwhich issue, not only the scientific, but also the social, political and\nreligious forces of the age.\n\nIt is mainly on this account that I cannot treat the supreme utterances\nof Browning lightly, or think it an idle task to try to connect them\ninto a philosophy of life. In his optimism of love, in his supreme\nconfidence in man's destiny and sense of the infinite height of the\nmoral horizon of humanity, in his courageous faith in the good, and his\nprofound conviction of the evanescence of evil, there lies a vital\nenergy whose inspiring power we are yet destined to feel. Until a spirit\nkindred to his own arises, able to push the battle further into the same\nregion, much of the practical task of the age that is coming will\nconsist in living out in detail the ideas to which he has given\nexpression.\n\nI contend, then, not merely for a larger charity, but for a truer view\nof the facts of history than is evinced by those who set aside the poets\nand philosophers as mere dreamers, and conceive that the sciences alone\noccupy the region of valid thought in all its extent. There is a\nuniversal brotherhood of which all who think are members. Not only do\nthey all contribute to man's victory over his environment and himself,\nbut they contribute in a manner which is substantially the same. There\nare many points of superficial distinction between the processes of\nphilosophy and science, and between both and the method of poetry; but\nthe inner movement, if one may so express it, is identical in all. It is\ntime to have done with the notion that philosophers occupy a\ntranscendent region beyond experience, or spin spiritual cocoons by _a\npriori_ methods, and with the view that scientific men are mere\nempirics, building their structures from below by an _a posteriori_ way\nof thought, without the help of any ruling conceptions. All alike\nendeavour to interpret experience, but none of them get their principles\nfrom it.\n\n                           \"But, friends,\n  Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise\n  From outward things, whate'er you may believe.\"\n\nThere is room and need for the higher synthesis of philosophy and\npoetry, as well as for the more palpable and, at the same time, more\nnarrow colligating conceptions of the systematic sciences. The\nquantitative relations between material objects, which are investigated\nby mathematics and physics, do not exhaust the realm of the knowable, so\nas to leave no place for the poet's, or the philosopher's view of the\nworld. The scientific investigator who, like Mr. Tyndall, so far forgets\nthe limitations of his province as to use his natural data as premises\nfor religious or irreligious conclusions, is as illogical as the popular\npreacher, who attacks scientific conclusions because they are not\nconsistent with his theological presuppositions. Looking only at their\nprimary aspects, we cannot say that religious presuppositions and the\nscientific interpretation of facts are either consistent or\ninconsistent: they are simply different. Their harmony or discord can\ncome only when the higher principles of philosophy have been fully\ndeveloped, and when the departmental ideas of the various sciences are\norganized into a view of the world as a whole. And this is a task which\nhas not as yet been accomplished. The forces from above and below have\nnot met. When they do meet, they will assuredly find that they are\nfriends, and not foes. For philosophy can articulate its supreme\nconception only by interaction with the sciences; and, on the other\nhand, the progress of science, and the effectiveness of its division of\nlabour, are ultimately conditioned by its sensitiveness to the hints,\ngiven by poets and philosophers, of those wider principles in virtue of\nwhich the world is conceived as a unity. There are many, indeed, who\ncannot see the wood for the trees, as there are others who cannot see\nthe trees for the wood. Carlyle cared nothing though science were able\nto turn a sunbeam on its axis; Ruskin sees little in the advance of\ninvention except more slag-hills. And scientific men have not been slow\nto return with interest the scorn of the moralists. But a more\ncomprehensive view of the movement of human knowledge will show that\nnone labour in vain. For its movement is that of a thing which _grows_!\nand in growth there is always movement towards both unity and\ndifference. Science, in pursuing truth into greater and greater detail,\nis constrained by its growing consciousness of the unlimited wealth of\nits material, to divide and isolate its interests more and more; and\nthus, at the same time, the need for the poets and philosophers is\ngrowing deeper, their task is becoming more difficult of achievement,\nand a greater triumph in so far as it is achieved. Both science and\nphilosophy are working towards a more concrete view of the world as an\narticulated whole. If we cannot quite say with Browning that \"poets\nnever dream,\" we may yet admit with gratitude that their dreams are an\ninspiration.\n\n  \"Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear.\n    Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe:\n  But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear;\n    The rest may reason and welcome: 'tis we musicians know.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Abt Vogler_.]\n\nAnd side by side with the poetry that grasps the truth in immediate\nintuition, there is also the uniting activity of philosophy, which,\ncatching up its hints, carries \"back our scattered knowledge of the\nfacts and laws of nature to the principle upon which they rest; and, on\nthe other hand, develops that principle so as to fill all the details of\nknowledge with a significance which they cannot have in themselves, but\nonly as seen _sub specie aeternitatis_.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Problem of Philosophy at the Present Time_, by\nProfessor Caird.]\n\nSo far we have spoken of the function of philosophy in the\ninterpretation of the phenomena of the outer world. It bears witness to\nthe unity of knowledge, and strives by the constructive criticism of the\ncategories of science to render that unity explicit. Its function is, no\ndoubt, valid and important, for it is evident that man cannot rest\ncontent with fragmentary knowledge. But still, it might be objected that\nit is premature at present to endeavour to formulate that unity.\nPhysics, chemistry, biology, and the other sciences, while they\nnecessarily presuppose the unity of knowledge, and attempt in their own\nway and in their own sphere to discover it, are making very satisfactory\nheadway without raising any of the desperate questions of metaphysics as\nto its ultimate nature. For them it is not likely to matter for a long\ntime to come whether Optimism or Pessimism, Materialism or Idealism, or\nnone of them, be true. In any case the principles they establish are\nvalid. Physical relations always remain true; \"ginger will be hot i' the\nmouth, and there will be more cakes and ale.\" It is only when the\nsciences break down beneath the weight of knowledge and prove themselves\ninadequate, that it becomes necessary or advantageous to seek for more\ncomprehensive principles. At present is it not better to persevere in\nthe way of science, than to be seduced from it by the desire to solve\nultimate problems, which, however reasonable and pressing, seem to be\nbeyond our power to answer?\n\nSuch reasonings are not convincing; still, so far as natural science is\nconcerned, they seem to indicate that there might be no great harm in\nignoring, for a time, its dependence on the wider aspects of human\nthought. There is no department of nature so limited, but that it may\nmore than satisfy the largest ambition of the individual for knowledge.\nBut this attitude of indifference to ultimate questions is liable at any\nmoment to be disturbed.\n\n  \"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch,\n  A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death,\n  A chorus-ending from Euripides,--\n  And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears\n  As old and new at once as nature's self,\n  To rap and knock and enter in our soul,\n  Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring,\n  Round the ancient idol, on his base again,--\n  The grand Perhaps! We look on helplessly.\n  There the old misgivings, crooked questions are.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Bishop Blougram's Apology._]\n\nAmongst the facts of our experience which cry most loudly for some kind\nof solution, are those of our own inner life. We are in pressing need of\na \"working hypothesis\" wherewith to understand ourselves, as well as of\na theory which will explain the revolution of the planets, or the\nstructure of an oyster. And this self of ours intrudes everywhere. It is\nonly by resolutely shutting our eyes, that we can forget the part it\nplays even in the outer world of natural science. So active is it in the\nconstitution of things, so dependent is their nature on the nature of\nour knowing faculties, that scientific men themselves admit that their\nsurest results are only hypothetical. Their truth depends on laws of\nthought which natural science does not investigate.\n\nBut quite apart from this doctrine of the relativity of knowledge, which\nis generally first acknowledged and then ignored, every man, the worst\nand the best alike, is constrained to take some _practical_ attitude\ntowards his fellows. Man is never alone with nature, and the connections\nwith his fellows which sustain his intelligent life, are liable to bring\nhim into trouble, if they are not to some degree understood.\n\n  \"There's power in me,\" said Bishop Blougram, \"and will to dominate\n  Which I must exercise, they hurt me else.\"\n\nThe impulse to know is only a phase of the more general impulse to act\nand to be. The specialist's devotion to his science is his answer to a\ndemand, springing from his practical need, that he realize himself\nthrough action. He does not construct his edifice of knowledge, as the\nbird is supposed to build its nest, without any consciousness of an end\nto be attained thereby. Even if, like Lessing, he values the pursuit of\ntruth for its own sake, still what stings him into effort is the sense\nthat in truth only can he find the means of satisfying and realizing\nhimself. Beneath all man's activities, as their very spring and source,\nthere lies some dim conception of an end to be attained. This is his\nmoral consciousness, which no neglect will utterly suppress. All human\neffort, the effort to know like every other, conceals within it a\nreference to some good, conceived at the time as supreme and complete;\nand this, in turn, contains a theory both of man's self and of the\nuniverse on which he must impress his image. Every man must have his\nphilosophy of life, simply because he must act; though, in many cases,\nthat philosophy may be latent and unconscious, or, at least, not a\ndefinite object of reflection. The most elementary question directed at\nhis moral consciousness will at once elicit the universal element. We\ncannot ask whether an action be right or wrong without awakening all the\nechoes of metaphysics. As there is no object on the earth's surface\nwhose equilibrium is not fixed by its relation to the earth's centre, so\nthe most elementary moral judgment, the simplest choice, the most\nirrational vagaries of a will calling itself free and revelling in its\nsupposed lawlessness, are dominated by the conception of a universal\ngood. Everything that a man does is an attempt to articulate his view of\nthis good, with a particular content. Hence, man as a moral agent is\nalways the centre of his own horizon, and stands right beneath the\nzenith. Little as he may be aware of it, his relation between himself\nand his supreme good is direct. And he orders his whole world from his\npoint of view, just as he regards East and West as meeting at the spot\non which he stands. Whether he will or not, he cannot but regard the\nuniverse of men and objects as the instrument of his purposes. He\nextracts all its interest and meaning from himself. His own shadow falls\nupon it all. If he is selfish, that is, if he interprets the self that\nis in him as vulturous, then the whole outer world and his fellow-men\nfall for him into the category of carrion, or not-carrion. If he knows\nhimself as spirit, as the energy of love or reason, if the prime\nnecessity he recognizes within himself is the necessity to be good, then\nthe universe becomes for him an instrument wherewith moral character is\nevolved. In all cases alike, his life-work is an effort to rob the world\nof its alien character, and to translate it into terms of himself.\n\nWe are in the habit of fixing a chasm between a man's deeds and his\nmetaphysical, moral, and religious creed; and even of thinking that he\ncan get on \"in a sufficiently prosperous manner,\" without any such\ncreed. Can we not digest without a theory of peptics, or do justice\nwithout constructing an ideal state? The truest answer, though it is an\nanswer easily misunderstood, is that we cannot. In the sphere of\nmorality, at least, action, depends on knowledge: Socrates was right in\nsaying that virtuous conduct ignorant of its end is accidental. Man's\naction, so far as it is good or evil, is shot through and through with\nhis intelligence. And once we clearly distinguish between belief and\nprofession, between the motives which really impel our actions and the\npsychological account of them with which we may deceive ourselves and\nothers, we shall be obliged to confess that we always act our creed. A\nman's conduct, just because he is man, is generated by his view of\nhimself and his world. He who cheats his neighbour believes in\ntortuosity, and, as Carlyle says, has the Supreme Quack for his God. No\none ever acted without some dim, though perhaps foolish enough,\nhalf-belief that the world was at his back; whether he plots good or\nevil he always has God as an accomplice. And this is why character\ncannot be really bettered by any peddling process. Moralists and\npreachers are right in insisting on the need of a new life, that is, of\na new principle, as the basis of any real improvement; and such a\nprinciple necessarily carries in it a new attitude towards men, and a\nnew interpretation of the moral agent himself and of his world.\n\nThus, wherever we touch the practical life of man, we are at once\nreferred to a metaphysic. His creed is the heart of his character, and\nit beats as a pulse in every action. Hence, when we deal with moral\nlife, we _must_ start from the centre. In our intellectual life, it is\nnot obviously unreasonable to suppose that there is no need of\nendeavouring to reach upward to a constructive idea, which makes the\nuniverse one, but when we act, such self-deception is not possible. As a\nmoral agent, and a moral agent man always is, he not only may, but must\nhave his working hypothesis, and that hypothesis must be all-inclusive.\nAs there are natural laws which connect man's physical movements with\nthe whole system of nature, so there are spiritual relations which\nconnect him with the whole spiritual universe; and spiritual relations\nare always direct.\n\nNow it follows from this, that, whenever we consider man as a moral\nagent, that is, as an agent who converts ideas into actual things, the\nneed of a philosophy becomes evident. Instead of condemning ideal\ninterpretations of the universe as useless dreams, the foolish products\nof an ambition of thought which refuses to respect the limits of the\nhuman intellect, we shall understand that philosophers and poets are\nreally striving with greater clearness of vision, and in a more\nsustained manner, to perform the task which all men are obliged to\nperform in some way or other. Man subsists as a natural being only on\ncondition of comprehending, to some degree, the conditions of his\nnatural life, and the laws of his natural environment. From earliest\nyouth upwards, he is learning that fire will burn and water drown, and\nthat he can play with the elements with safety only within the sphere\nlit up by his intelligence. Nature will not pardon the blunders of\nignorance, nor tamely submit to every hasty construction. And this truth\nis still more obvious in relation to man's moral life. Here, too, and in\na pre-eminent degree, conduct waits on intelligence. Deep will only\nanswer unto deep; and great characters only come with much meditation on\nthe things that are highest. And, on the other hand, the misconstruction\nof life's meaning flings man back upon himself, and makes his action\nnugatory. Byronism was driven \"howling home again,\" says the poet. The\nuniverse will not be interpreted in terms of sense, nor be treated as\ncarrion, as Carlyle said. There is no rest in the \"Everlasting No,\"\nbecause it is a wrong view of man and of the world. Or rather, the\nnegative is not everlasting; and man is driven onwards by despair,\nthrough the \"Centre of Indifference,\" till he finds a \"Universal Yea\"--a\ntrue view of his relation to the universe.\n\nThere is given to men the largest choice to do or to let alone, at every\nstep in life. But there is one necessity which they cannot escape,\nbecause they carry it within them. They absolutely must try to make the\nworld their home, find some kind of reconciling idea between themselves\nand the forces amidst which they move, have some kind of working\nhypothesis of life. Nor is it possible to admit that they will find rest\ntill they discover a true hypothesis. If they do not seek it by\nreflection--if, in their ardour to penetrate into the secrets of nature,\nthey forget themselves; if they allow the supreme facts of their moral\nlife to remain in the confusion of tradition, and seek to compromise the\ndemands of their spirit by sacrificing to the idols of their childhood's\nfaith; if they fortify themselves in the indifference of\nagnosticism,--they must reap the harvest of their irreflection.\nIgnorance is not harmless in matters of character any more than in the\nconcerns of our outer life. There are in national and in individual\nhistory seasons of despair, and that despair, when it is deepest, is\never found to be the shadow of moral failure--the result of going out\ninto action with a false view of the purpose of human life, and a wrong\nconception of man's destiny. At such times, the people have not\nunderstood themselves or their environment, and, in consequence, they\ncome into collision with their own welfare. There is no experiment so\ndangerous to an age or people, as that of relegating to the common\nignorance of unreasoning faith the deep concerns of moral conduct; and\nthere is no attitude more pitiable than that which leads it to turn a\ndeaf ear and the lip of contempt towards those philosophers who carry\nthe spirit of scientific inquiry into these higher regions, and\nendeavour to establish for mankind, by the irrefragable processes of\nreason, those principles on which rest all the great elements of man's\ndestiny. We cannot act without a theory of life; and to whom shall we\nlook for such a theory, except to those who, undaunted by the\ndifficulties of the task, ask once more, and strive to answer, those\nproblems which man cannot entirely escape, as long as he continues to\nthink and act?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nBROWNING'S PLACE IN ENGLISH POETRY.\n\n\n    \"But there's a great contrast between him and me. He seems\n    very content with life, and takes much satisfaction in the\n    world. It's a very strange and curious spectacle to behold\n    a man in these days so confidently cheerful.\" (_Carlyle_.)\n\nIt has been said of Carlyle, who may for many reasons be considered as\nour poet's twin figure, that he laid the foundations of his world of\nthought in _Sartor Resartus_, and never enlarged them. His _Orientirung_\nwas over before he was forty years old--as is, indeed, the case with\nmost men. After that period there was no fundamental change in his view\nof the world; nothing which can be called a new idea disturbed his\noutline sketch of the universe. He lived afterwards only to fill it in,\nshowing with ever greater detail the relations of man to man in history,\nand emphasizing with greater grimness the war of good and evil in human\naction. There is evidence, it is true, that the formulae from which he\nmore or less consciously set forth, ultimately proved too narrow for\nhim, and we find him beating himself in vain against their limitations;\nstill, on the whole, Carlyle speculated within the range and influence\nof principles adopted early in life, and never abandoned for higher or\nricher ideas, or substantially changed.\n\nIn these respects, there is considerable resemblance between Carlyle and\nBrowning. Browning, indeed, fixed his point of view and chose his\nbattleground still earlier; and he held it resolutely to his life's\nclose. In his _Pauline_ and in his Epilogue to _Asolando_ we catch the\ntriumphant tone of a single idea, which, during all the long interval,\nhad never sunk into silence. Like\n\n  \"The wise thrush, he sings each song twice over,\n  Lest you should think he never could recapture\n  The first fine careless rapture!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Home Thoughts from Abroad_.]\n\nMoreover, these two poets, if I may be permitted to call Carlyle a poet,\ntaught the same truth. They were both witnesses to the presence of God\nin the spirit of man, and looked at this life in the light of another\nand a higher; or rather, they penetrated through the husk of time and\nsaw that eternity is even here, a tranquil element underlying the noisy\nantagonisms of man's earthly life. Both of them, like Plato's\nphilosopher, made their home in the sunlight of ideal truth: they were\nnot denizens of the cave taking the things of sense for those of\nthought, shadows for realities, echoes for the voices of men.\n\nBut, while Carlyle fought his way into this region, Browning found\nhimself in it from the first; while Carlyle bought his freedom with a\ngreat sum, the poet \"was free born.\" Carlyle saw the old world faith\nbreak up around him, and its fragments never ceased to embarrass his\npath. He was _at_ the point of transition, present at the collision of\nthe old and new, and in the midst of the confusion. He, more than any\nother English writer, was the instrument of the change from the Deism of\nthe eighteenth century and the despair which followed it, into the\nlarger faith of our own. But, for Browning, there was a new heaven and a\nnew earth, and old things had passed away. This notable contrast between\nthe two men, arising at once from their disposition and their moral\nenvironment, had far-reaching effects on their lives and their writings.\nBut their affinity was deeper than the difference, for they are\nessentially heirs and exponents of the same movement in English thought.\n\nThe main characteristic of that movement is that it is both moral and\nreligious, a devotion to God and the active service of man, a\nrecognition at once of the rights of nature and of spirit. It does not,\non the one hand, raise the individual as a natural being to the throne\nof the universe, and make all forces social, political, and spiritual\nstoop to his rights; nor does it, on the other hand, deny these rights,\nor make the individual a mere instrument of society. It at least\nattempts to reconcile the fundamental facts of human nature, without\ncompromising any of them. It cannot be called either individualistic or\nsocialistic; but it strives to be both at once, so that both man and\nsociety mean more to this age than they ever did before. The narrow\nformulae that cramped the thought of the period which preceded ours have\nbeen broken through. No one can pass from the hedonists and\nindividualists to Carlyle and Browning without feeling that these two\nmen are representatives of new forces in politics, in religion, and in\nliterature,--forces which will undoubtedly effect momentous changes\nbefore they are caught again and fixed in creeds.\n\nThat a new epoch in English thought was veritably opened by them is\nindicated by the surprise and bewilderment they occasioned at their\nfirst appearance. Carlyle had Emerson to break his loneliness and\nBrowning had Rossetti; but, to most other men at that day, _Sartor_ and\n_Pauline_ were all but unintelligible. The general English reader could\nmake little of the strange figures that had broken into the realm of\nliterature; and the value and significance of their work, as well as its\noriginality, will be recognized better by ourselves if we take a hurried\nglance at the times which lay behind them. Its main worth will be found\nto lie in the fact that they strove to bring together again certain\nfundamental elements, on which the moral life of man must always rest,\nand which had fallen asunder in the ages which preceded their own.\n\nThe whole-hearted, instinctive life of the Elizabethan age was narrowed\nand deepened into the severe one-sidedness of Puritanism, which cast on\nthe bright earth the sombre shadow of a life to come. England was given\nup for a time to a magnificent half-truth. It did not\n\n    \"Wait\n  The slow and sober uprise all around\n  O' the building,\"\n\nbut\n\n    \"Ran up right to roof\n  A sudden marvel, piece of perfectness.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A:_Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nAfter Puritanism came Charles the Second and the rights of the flesh,\nwhich rights were gradually clarified, till they contradicted themselves\nin the benevolent self-seeking of altruistic hedonism. David Hume led\nthe world out of the shadow of eternity, and showed that it was only an\nobject of the five senses; or of six, if we add that of \"hunger.\" The\ndivine element was explained away, and the proper study of mankind was,\nnot man, as that age thought, but man reduced to his beggarly\nelements--a being animated solely by the sensuous springs of pleasure\nand pain, which should properly, as Carlyle thought, go on all fours,\nand not lay claim to the dignity of being moral. All things were reduced\nto what they seemed, robbed of their suggestiveness, changed into\ndefinite, sharp-edged, mutually exclusive particulars. The world was an\naggregate of isolated facts, or, at the best, a mechanism into which\nparticulars were fitted by force; and society was a gathering of mere\nindividuals, repelling each other by their needs and greed, with a ring\nof natural necessity to bind them together. It was a fit time for\npolitical economy to supplant ethics. There was nowhere an ideal which\ncould lift man above his natural self, and teach him, by losing it, to\nfind a higher life. And, as a necessary consequence, religion gave way\nto naturalism and poetry to prose.\n\nAfter this age of prose came our own day. The new light first flushed\nthe modern world in the writings of the philosopher-poets of Germany:\nKant and Lessing, Fichte and Schiller, Goethe and Hegel. They brought\nabout the Copernican change. For them this world of the five senses, of\nspace and time and natural cause, instead of being the fixed centre\naround which all things revolved, was explicable only in its relation to\na system which was spiritual; and man found his meaning in his\nconnection with society, the life of which stretched endlessly far back\ninto the past and forward into the future. Psychology gave way to\nmetaphysics. The universal element in the thought of man was revealed.\nInstead of mechanism there was life. A new spirit of poetry and\nphilosophy brought God back into the world, revealed his incarnation in\nthe mind of man, and changed nature into a pellucid garment within which\nthrobbed the love divine. The antagonism of hard alternatives was at an\nend; the universe was spirit-woven and every smallest object was \"filled\nfull of magical music, as they freight a star with light.\" There were no\nlonger two worlds, but one; for \"the other\" world penetrated this, and\nwas revealed in it: thought and sense, spirit and nature, were\nreconciled. These thinkers made room for man, as against the Puritans,\nand for God, as against their successors. Instead of the hopeless\nstruggle of ascetic morality, which divides man against himself, they\nawakened him to that sense of his reconciliation with his ideal which\nreligion gives: \"Psyche drinks its stream and forgets her sorrows.\"\n\nNow, this is just the soil where art blooms. For what is beauty but the\nharmony of thought and sense, a universal meaning caught and tamed in\nthe particular? To the poet each little flower that blooms has endless\nworth, and is regarded as perfect and complete; for he sees that the\nspirit of the whole dwells in it. It whispers to him the mystery of the\ninfinite; it is a pulse in which beats the universal heart. The true\npoet finds God everywhere; for the ideal is actual wherever beauty\ndwells. And there is the closest affinity between art and religion, as\nits history proves, from Job and Isaiah, Homer and Aeschylus, to our own\npoet; for both art and religion lift us, each in its own way, above\none-sidedness and limitation, to the region of the universal. The one\ndraws God to man, brings perfection _here_, and reaches its highest form\nin the joyous life of Greece, where the natural world was clothed with\nalmost supernatural beauty; the other lifts man to God, and finds this\nlife good because it reflects and suggests the greater life that is to\nbe. Both poetry and religion are a reconciliation and a satisfaction;\nboth lift man above the contradictions of limited existence, and place\nhim in the region of peace--where,\n\n    \"with an eye made quiet by the power\n  Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,\n  He sees into the life of things.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Tintern Abbey._]\n\nIn this sense, it will be always true of the poet, as it is of the\nreligious man, that\n\n    \"the world,\n  The beauty and the wonder and the power,\n  The shapes of things, their colours, lights and shades,\n  Changes, surprises,\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fra Lippo Lippi_.]\n\nlead him back to God, who made it all.\n\nHe is essentially a witness to the divine element in the world.\n\nIt is the rediscovery of this divine element, after its expulsion by the\nage of Deism and doubt, that has given to this century its poetic\ngrandeur. Unless we regard Burke as the herald of the new era, we may\nsay that England first felt the breath of the returning spirit in the\npoems of Shelley and Wordsworth.\n\n  \"The One remains, the many change and pass;\n    Heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly;\n  Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,\n    Stains the white radiance of eternity,\n    Until death tramples it to fragments.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Adonais_.]\n\n\"And I have felt,\" says Wordsworth,\n\n  \"A presence that disturbs me with the joy\n  Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime\n  Of something far more deeply interfused,\n  Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,\n  And the round ocean and the living air,\n  And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:\n  A motion and a spirit, that impels\n  All thinking things, all objects of all thought,\n  And rolls through all things.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Tintern Abbey_.]\n\nSuch notes as these could not be struck by Pope, nor be understood by\nthe age of prose. Still they are only the prelude of the fuller song of\nBrowning. Whether he be a greater poet than these or not,--a question\nwhose answer can benefit nothing, for each poet has his own worth, and\nreflects by his own facet the universal truth--his poetry contains in it\nlarger elements, and the promise of a deeper harmony from the harsher\ndiscords of his more stubborn material. Even where their spheres touch,\nBrowning held by the artistic truth in a different manner. To Shelley,\nperhaps the most intensely spiritual of all our poets,\n\n  \"That light whose smile kindles the universe,\n  That beauty in which all things work and move,\"\n\nwas an impassioned sentiment, a glorious intoxication; to Browning it\nwas a conviction, reasoned and willed, possessing the whole man, and\nheld in the sober moments when the heart is silent. \"The heavy and the\nweary weight of all this unintelligible world\" was lightened for\nWordsworth, only when he was far from the haunts of men, and free from\nthe \"dreary intercourse of daily life\"; but Browning weaved his song of\nhope right amidst the wail and woe of man's sin and wretchedness. For\nWordsworth \"sensations sweet, felt in the blood and felt along the\nheart, passed into his purer mind with tranquil restoration,\" and issued\n\"in a serene and blessed mood\"; but Browning's poetry is not merely the\npoetry of the emotions however sublimated. He starts with the hard\nrepellent fact, crushes by sheer force of thought its stubborn rind,\npresses into it, and brings forth the truth at its heart. The greatness\nof Browning's poetry is in its perceptive grip: and in nothing is he\nmore original than in the manner in which he takes up his task, and\nassumes his artistic function. In his postponement of feeling to thought\nwe recognize a new poetic method, the significance of which we cannot\nestimate as yet. But, although we may fail to apprehend the meaning of\nthe new method he employs, we cannot fail to perceive the fact, which is\nnot less striking, that the region from which he quarries his material\nis new.\n\nAnd yet he does not break away abruptly from his predecessors. His\nkinship with them, in that he recognizes the presence of God in nature,\nis everywhere evident. We quote one passage, scarcely to be surpassed by\nany of our poets, as indicative of his power of dealing with the\nsupernaturalism of nature.\n\n  \"The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth,\n  And the earth changes like a human face;\n  The molten ore burst up among the rocks,\n  Winds into the stone's heart, outbranches bright\n  In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds,\n  Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask--\n  God joys therein. The wroth sea's waves are edged\n  With foam, white as the bitter lip of hate,\n  When, in the solitary waste, strange groups\n  Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like,\n  Staring together with their eyes on flame--\n  God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride.\n  Then all is still; earth is a wintry clod:\n  But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes\n  Over its breast to waken it, rare verdure\n  Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between\n  The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost,\n  Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark\n  Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;\n  Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing gulls\n  Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe\n  Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek\n  Their loves in wood and plain--and God renews\n  His ancient rapture. Thus He dwells in all,\n  From life's minute beginnings, up at last\n  To man--the consummation of this scheme\n  Of being, the completion of this sphere of life.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus._]\n\nSuch passages as these contain neither the rapt, reflective calm of\nWordsworth's solemn tones, nor the ethereal intoxication of Shelley's\nspirit-music; but there is in them the same consciousness of the\ninfinite meaning of natural facts. And beyond this, there is also, in\nthe closing lines, a hint of a new region for art. Shelley and\nWordsworth were the poets of Nature, as all truly say; Browning was the\npoet of the human soul. For Shelley, the beauty in which all things work\nand move was well-nigh \"quenched by the eclipsing curse of the birth of\nman\"; and Wordsworth lived beneath the habitual sway of fountains,\nmeadows, hills and groves, while he kept grave watch o'er man's\nmortality, and saw the shades of the prison-house gather round him. From\nthe life of man they garnered nought but mad indignation, or mellowed\nsadness. It was a foolish and furious strife with unknown powers fought\nin the dark, from which the poet kept aloof, for he could not see that\nGod dwelt amidst the chaos. But Browning found \"harmony in immortal\nsouls, spite of the muddy vesture of decay.\" He found nature crowned in\nman, though man was mean and miserable. At the heart of the most\nwretched abortion of wickedness there was the mark of the loving touch\nof God. Shelley turned away from man; Wordsworth paid him rare visits,\nlike those of a being from a strange world, made wise and sad with\nlooking at him from afar; Browning dwelt with him. He was a comrade in\nthe fight, and ever in the van of man's endeavour bidding him be of good\ncheer. He was a witness for God in the midmost dark, where meet in\ndeathless struggle the elemental powers of right and wrong. For God is\npresent for him, not only in the order and beauty of nature, but in the\nworld of will and thought. Beneath the caprice and wilful lawlessness of\nindividual action, he saw a beneficent purpose which cannot fail, but\n\"has its way with man, not he with it.\"\n\nNow this was a new world for poetry to enter into; a new depth to\npenetrate with hope; and Browning was the first of modern poets to\n\n                              \"Stoop\n  Into the vast and unexplored abyss,\n                 Strenuously beating\n  The silent boundless regions of the sky.\"\n\nIt is also a new world for religion and morality; and to understand it\ndemands a deeper insight into the fundamental elements of human life.\n\nTo show this in a proximately adequate manner, we should be obliged, as\nalready hinted, to connect the poet's work, not merely with that of his\nEnglish predecessors, but with the deeper and more comprehensive\nmovement of the thought of Germany since the time of Kant. It would be\nnecessary to indicate how, by breaking a way through the narrow creeds\nand equally narrow scepticism of the previous age, the new spirit\nextended the horizon of man's active and contemplative life, and made\nhim free of the universe, and the repository of the past conquests of\nhis race. It proposed to man the great task of solving the problem of\nhumanity, but it strengthened him with its past achievement, and\ninspired him with the conviction of its boundless progress. It is not\nthat the significance of the individual or the meaning of his endeavour\nis lost. Under this new view, man has still to fight for his own hand,\nand it is still recognized that spirit is always burdened with its own\nfate and cannot share its responsibility. Morality does not give way to\nreligion or pass into it, and there is a sense in which the individual\nis always alone in the sphere of duty.\n\nBut from this new point of view the individual is re-explained for us,\nand we begin to understand that he is the focus of a light which is\nuniversal, \"one more incarnation of the mind of God.\" His moral task is\nno longer to seek his own in the old sense, but to elevate humanity; for\nit is only by taking this circuit that he can come to his own. Such a\ntask as this is a sufficiently great one to occupy all time; but it is\nto humanity in him that the task belongs, and it will therefore be\nachieved. This is no new one-sidedness. It does not mean, to those who\ncomprehend it, the supplanting of the individual thought by the\ncollective thought, or the substitution of humanity for man. The\nuniversal is _in_ the particular, the fact _is_ the law. There is no\ncollision between the whole and the part, for the whole lives in the\npart. As each individual plant has its own life and beauty and worth,\nalthough the universe has conspired to bring it into being; so also, and\nin a far higher degree, man has his own duty and his own dignity,\nalthough he is but the embodiment of forces, natural and spiritual,\nwhich have come from the endless past. Like a letter in a word, or a\nword in a sentence, he gets his meaning from his context; _but the\nsentence is meaningless without him_. \"Rays from all round converge in\nhim,\" and he has no power except that which has been lent to him; but\nall the same, nay, all the more, he must\n\n  \"Think as if man never thought before!\n  Act as if all creation hung attent\n  On the acting of such faculty as his.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nHis responsibility, his individuality, is not less, but greater, in that\nhe can, in his thought and moral action, command the forces that the\nrace has stored for him. The great man speaks the thought of his people,\nand his invocations as their priest are just the expression of their\ndumb yearnings. And even the mean and insignificant man is what he is,\nin virtue of the humanity which is blurred and distorted within him; and\nhe can shed his insignificance and meanness, only by becoming a truer\nvehicle for that humanity.\n\nThus, when spirit is spiritually discerned, it is seen that man is bound\nto man in a union closer than any physical organism can show; while \"the\nindividual,\" in the old sense of a being _opposed_ to society and\n_opposed_ to the world, is found to be a fiction of abstract thought,\nnot discoverable anywhere, because not real. And, on the other hand,\nsociety is no longer \"collective,\" but so organic that the whole is\npotentially in every part--an organism _of_ organisms.\n\nThe influence of this organic idea in every department of thought which\nconcerns itself with man is not to be measured. It is already fast\nchanging all the practical sciences of man--economics, politics, ethics\nand religion. The material, being newly interpreted, is wrought into a\nnew purpose, and revelation is once more bringing about a reformation.\nBut human action in its ethical aspect is, above all, charged with a new\nsignificance. The idea of duty has received an expansion almost\nillimitable, and man himself has thereby attained new worth and\ndignity--for what is duty except a dignity and opportunity, man's chance\nof being good? When we contrast this view of the life of man as the life\nof humanity in him, with the old individualism, we may say that morality\nalso has at last, in Bacon's phrase, passed from the narrow seas into\nthe open ocean. And after all, the greatest achievement of our age may\nbe not that it has established the sciences of nature, but that it has\nmade possible the science of man. We have, at length, reached a point of\nview from which we may hope to understand ourselves. Law, order,\ncontinuity, in human action--the essential pre-conditions of a moral\nscience--were beyond the reach of an individualistic theory. It left to\nethical writers no choice but that of either sacrificing man to law, or\nlaw to man; of denying either the particular or the universal element in\nhis nature. Naturalism did the first. Intuitionism, the second. The\nformer made human action the _re_action of a natural agent on the\nincitement of natural forces. It made man a mere object, a _thing_\ncapable of being affected by other things through his faculty of being\npained or pleased; an object acting in obedience to motives that had an\nexternal origin, just like any other object. The latter theory cut man\nfree from the world and his fellows, endowed him with a will that had no\nlaw, and a conscience that was dogmatic; and thereby succeeded in\nstultifying both law and morality.\n\nBut this new consciousness of the relation of man to mankind and the\nworld takes him out of his isolation and still leaves him free. It\nrelates men to one another in a humanity, which is incarnated anew in\neach of them. It elevates the individual above the distinctions of time;\nit treasures up the past in him as the active energy of his knowledge\nand morality in the present, and also as the potency of the ideal life\nof the future. On this view, the individual and the race are possible\nonly through each other.\n\nThis fundamental change in our way of looking at the life of man is\nbound to abolish the ancient landmarks and bring confusion for a time.\nOut of the new conception, _i.e.,_ out of the idea of evolution, has\nsprung the tumult as well as the strength of our time. The present age\nis moved with thoughts beyond the reach of its powers: great aspirations\nfor the well-being of the people and high ideals of social welfare flash\nacross its mind, to be followed again by thicker darkness. There is\nhardly any limit to its despair or hope. It has a far larger faith in\nthe destiny of man than any of its predecessors, and yet it is _sure_ of\nhardly anything--except that the ancient rules of human life are false.\nIndividualism is now detected as scepticism and moral chaos in disguise.\nWe know that the old methods are no longer of use. We cannot now cut\nourselves free of the fate of others. The confused cries for help that\nare heard on every hand are recognized as the voices of our brethren;\nand we now know that our fate is involved in theirs, and that the\nproblem of their welfare is also ours. We grapple with social questions\nat last, and recognize that the issues of life and death lie in the\nsolution of these enigmas. Legislators and economists, teachers of\nreligion and socialists, are all alike social reformers. Philanthropy\nhas taken a deeper meaning; and all sects bear its banner. But their\nforces are beaten back by the social wretchedness, for they have not\nfound the sovereign remedy of a great idea; and the result is in many\nways sad enough. Our social remedies often work mischief; for we degrade\nthose whom we would elevate, and in our charity forget justice. We\ninsist on the rights of the people and the duties of the privileged\nclasses, and thereby tend to teach greed to those for whom we labour,\nand goodness to those whom we condemn. The task that lies before us is\nplain: we want the welfare of the people as a whole. But we fail to\ngrasp the complex social elements together, and our very remedies tend\nto sunder them. We know that the public good will not be obtained by\nseparating man from man, securing each unit in a charmed circle of\npersonal rights, and protecting it from others by isolation. We must\nfind a place for the individual within the social organism, and we know\nnow that this organism has not, as our fathers seemed to think, the\nsimple constitution of a wooden doll. Society is not put together\nmechanically, and the individual cannot be outwardly attached to it, if\nhe is to be helped, He must rather share its life, be the heir of the\nwealth it has garnered for him in the past, and participate in its\nonward movement. Between this new social ideal and our attainment,\nbetween the magnitude of our social duties and the resources of\nintellect and will at our command, there lies a chasm which we despair\nof bridging over.\n\nThe characteristics of this epoch faithfully reflect themselves in the\npages of Carlyle, with whose thoughts those of Browning are immediately\nconnected. It was Carlyle who first effectively revealed to England the\ncontinuity of human life, and the magnitude of the issues of individual\naction. Seeing the infinite in the finite, living under a continued\nsense of the mystery that surrounds man, he flung explosive negations\namidst the narrow formulae of the social and religious orthodoxy of his\nday, blew down the blinding walls of ethical individualism, and, amidst\nmuch smoke and din, showed his English readers something of the\ngreatness of the moral world. He gave us a philosophy of clothes,\npenetrated through symbols to the immortal ideas, condemned all\nshibboleths, and revealed the soul of humanity behind the external modes\nof man's activity. He showed us, in a word, that the world is spiritual,\nthat loyalty to duty is the foundation of all human good, and that\nnational welfare rests on character. After reading him, it is impossible\nfor any one who reflects on the nature of duty to ask, \"Am I my\nbrother's keeper?\" He not only imagined, but knew, how \"all things the\nminutest that man does, minutely influence all men, and the very look of\nhis face blesses or curses whom-so it lights on, and so generates ever\nnew blessing or new cursing. I say, there is not a Red Indian, hunting\nby Lake Winnipeg, can quarrel with his squaw, but the whole world must\nsmart for it: will not the price of beaver rise? It is a mathematical\nfact that the casting of this pebble from my hand alters the centre of\ngravity of the universe.\" Carlyle dealt the deathblow to the\n\"laissez-faire\" theory rampant in his day, and made each individual\nresponsible for the race. He has demonstrated that the sphere of duty\ndoes not terminate with ourselves and our next-door neighbours. There\nwill be no pure air for the correctest Levite to breathe, till the laws\nof sanitation have been applied to the moral slums. \"Ye are my\nbrethren,\" said he, and he adds, as if conscious of his too denunciatory\nway of dealing with them, \"hence my rage and sorrow.\"\n\nBut his consciousness of brotherhood with all men brought only despair\nfor him. He saw clearly the responsibility of man, but not the dignity\nwhich that implies; he felt the weight of the burden of humanity upon\nhis own soul, and it crushed him, for he forgot that all the good of the\nworld was there to help him bear it, and that \"One with God is a\nmajority.\" He taught only the half-truth, that all men are united on the\nside of duty, and that the spiritual life of each is conditional on\nstriving to save all. But he neglected the complement of this truth, and\nforgot the greatness of the beings on whom so great a duty could be\nlaid. He therefore dignifies humanity only to degrade it again. The\n\"twenty millions\" each must try to save \"are mostly fools.\" But how\nfools, when they can have such a task? Is it not true, on the contrary,\nthat no man ever saw a duty beyond his strength, and that \"man can\nbecause he ought\" and ought only because he can? The evils an individual\ncannot overcome are the moral opportunities of his fellows. The good are\nnot lone workers of God's purposes, and there is no need of despair.\nCarlyle, like the ancient prophet, was too conscious of his own mission,\nand too forgetful of that of others. \"I have been very jealous for the\nLord God of hosts; because the children of Israel have forgotten Thy\ncovenant, thrown down Thine alters, and slain Thy prophets, and I, even\nI only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.\" He needed,\nbeside the consciousness of his prophetic function, a consciousness of\nbrotherhood with humbler workers. \"Yet I have left Me seven thousand in\nIsrael, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth\nwhich hath not kissed him.\" It would have helped him had he remembered,\nthat there were on all sides other workers engaged on the temple not\nmade with hands, although he could not hear the sound of their hammers\nfor the din he made himself. It would have changed his despair into joy,\nand his pity into a higher moral quality, had he been able to believe\nthat, amidst all the millions against whom he hurled his anathemas,\nthere is no one who, let him do what he will, is not constrained to\nillustrate either the folly and wretchedness of sin, or the glory of\ngoodness. It is not given to any one, least of all to the wicked, to\nhold back the onward movement of the race, or to destroy the impulse for\ngood which is planted within it.\n\nBut Carlyle saw only one side of the truth about man's moral nature and\ndestiny. He knew, as the ancient prophets did, that evil is potential\nwreck; and he taxed the power of metaphor to the utmost to indicate, how\nwrong gradually takes root, and ripens into putrescence and\nself-combustion, in obedience to a necessity which is absolute. That\nmorality is the essence of things, that wrong _must_ prove its\nweakness, that right is the only might, is reiterated and illustrated on\nall his pages; they are now commonplaces of speculation on matters of\nhistory, if not conscious practical principles which guide its makers.\nBut Carlyle never inquired into the character of this moral necessity,\nand he overlooked the beneficence which places death at the heart of\nsin. He never saw wrong except on its way to execution, or in the death\nthroes; but he did not look in the face of the gentle power that led it\non to death. He saw the necessity which rules history, but not the\nbeneficent character of that necessity.\n\nThe same limitations marred his view of duty, which was his greatest\nrevelation to his age. He felt its categorical authority and its binding\nforce. But the power which imposed the duty was an alien power, awful in\nmajesty, infinite in might, a \"great task-master\"; and the duty itself\nwas an outer law, written in letters of flame across the high heavens,\nin comparison with which man's action at its best sank into failure. His\nonly virtue is obedience, and his last rendering even of himself is\n\"unprofitable servant.\" In this he has much of the combined strength and\nweakness of the old Scottish Calvinism. \"He stands between the\nindividual and the Infinite without hope or guide. He has a constant\ndisposition to crush the human being by comparing him with God,\" said\nMazzini, with marvellous penetration. \"From his lips, at times so\ndaring, we seem to hear every instant the cry of the Breton Mariner--'My\nGod protect me! My bark is so small, and Thy ocean so vast.'\" His\nreconciliation of God and man was incomplete: God seemed to him to have\nmanifested Himself _to_ man but not _in_ man. He did not see that \"the\nEternity which is before and behind us is also within us.\"\n\nBut the moral law which commands is just the reflection of the\naspirations of progressive man, who always creates his own horizon. The\nextension of duty is the objective counterpart of man's growth; a proof\nof victory and not of failure, a sign that man is mounting upwards. And,\nif so, it is irrational to infer the impossibility of success from the\nmagnitude of the demands of a moral law, which is itself the promise of\na better future. The hard problems set for us by our social environment\nare recognized as set by ourselves; for, in matters of morality, the eye\nsees only what the heart prompts. The very statement of the difficulty\ncontains the potency of its solution; for evil, when understood, is on\nthe way towards being overcome, and the good, when seen, contains the\npromise of its own fulfilment. It is ignorance which is ruinous, as when\nthe cries of humanity beat against a deaf ear; and we can take a\ncomfort, denied to Carlyle, from the fact that he has made us awake to\nour social duties. He has let loose the confusion upon us, and it is\nonly natural that we should at first be overcome by a sense of\nbewildered helplessness. But this very sense contains the germ of hope,\nand England is struggling to its feet to wrestle with its wrongs.\nCarlyle has brought us within sight of our future, and we are now taking\na step into it. He has been our guide in the wilderness; but he died\nthere, and was denied the view from Pisgah.\n\nNow, this view was given to Robert Browning, and he broke out into a\nsong of victory, whose strains will give strength and comfort to many in\nthe coming time. That his solution of the evils of life is not final,\nmay at once be admitted. There are elements in the problem of which he\nhas taken no account, and which will force those who seek light on the\ndeeper mysteries of man's moral nature, to go beyond anything that the\npoet has to say. Even the poet himself grows, at least in some\ndirections, less confident of the completeness of his triumph as he\ngrows older. His faith in the good does not fail, but it is the faith of\none who confesses to ignorance, and links himself to his finitude.\nStill, so thorough is his conviction of the moral purpose of life, of\nthe certainty of the good towards which man is moving, and of the\nbeneficence of the power which is at work everywhere in the world, that\nmany of his poems ring like the triumphant songs of Luther.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nBROWNING'S OPTIMISM.\n\n\n  \"Gladness be with thee, Helper of the World!\n  I think this is the authentic sign and seal\n  Of Godship, that it ever waxes glad,\n  And more glad, until gladness blossoms, bursts\n  Into a rage to suffer for mankind,\n  And recommence at sorrow.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Balaustion's Adventure_.]\n\nI have tried to show that one of the distinctive features of the present\nera is the stress it lays on the worth of the moral life of man, and the\nnew significance it has given to that life by its view of the continuity\nof history. This view finds expression, on its social and ethical side,\nin the pages of Carlyle and Browning: both of whom are interested\nexclusively, one may almost say, in the evolution of human character;\nand both of whom, too, regard that evolution as the realization by man\nof the purposes, greater than man's, which rule in the world. And,\nalthough neither of them developed the organic view of humanity, which\nis implied in their doctrines, into an explicit philosophy, still the\nmoral life of the individual is for each of them the infinite life in\nthe finite. The meaning of the universe is moral, its last might is\nrightness; and the task of man is to catch up that meaning, convert it\ninto his own motive, and thereby make it the source of his actions, the\ninmost principle of his life. This, fully grasped, will bring the finite\nand the infinite, morality and religion, together, and reconcile them.\n\nBut the reconciliation which Carlyle sought to effect was incomplete on\nevery side--even within the sphere of duty, with which alone, as\nmoralist, he specially concerned himself. The moral law was imposed upon\nman by a higher power, in the presence of whom man was awed and crushed;\nfor that power had stinted man's endowment, and set him to fight a\nhopeless battle against endless evil. God was everywhere around man, and\nthe universe was just the expression of His will--a will inexorably bent\non the good, so that evil could not prevail; but God was not _within_\nman, except as a voice of conscience issuing imperatives and threats. An\ninfinite duty was laid upon a finite being, and its weight made him\nbreak out into a cry of despair.\n\nBrowning, however, not only sought to bring about the reconciliation,\nbut succeeded, in so far as that is possible _in terms of mere feeling_.\nHis poetry contains suggestions that the moral will without is also a\nforce within man; that the power which makes for righteousness in the\nworld has penetrated into, or rather manifests itself _as_, man.\nIntelligence and will, the reason which apprehends the nature of things,\nand the original impulse of self-conscious life which issues in action,\nare God's power in man; so that God is realizing Himself in the deeds of\nman, and human history is just His return to Himself. Outer law and\ninner motive are, for the poet, manifestations of the same beneficent\npurpose; and instead of duty in the sense of an autocratic imperative,\nor beneficent tyranny, he finds, deep beneath man's foolishness and sin,\na constant tendency towards the good which is bound up with the very\nnature of man's reason and will. If man could only understand himself he\nwould find without him no limiting necessity, but the manifestation of a\nlaw which is one with his own essential being. A beneficent power has\nloaded the dice, according to the epigram, so that the chances of\nfailure and victory are not even; for man's nature is itself a divine\nendowment, one with the power that rules his life, and man must finally\nreach through error to truth, and through sin to holiness. In the\nlanguage of theology, it may be said that the moral process is the\nspiritual incarnation of God; it is God's goodness as love, effecting\nitself in human action. Hence Carlyle's cry of despair is turned by\nBrowning into a song of victory. While the former regards the struggle\nbetween good and evil as a fixed battle, in which the forces are\nimmovably interlocked, the latter has the consciousness of battling\nagainst a retreating foe; and the conviction of coming triumph gives\njoyous vigour to every stroke. Browning lifted morality into an\noptimism, and translated its battle into song. This was the distinctive\nmark and mission which give to him such power of moral inspiration.\n\nIn order, however, to estimate the value of this feature of the poet's\nwork, it is necessary to look more closely into the character of his\nfaith in the good. Merely to attribute to him an optimistic creed is to\nsay very little; for the worth, or worthlessness, of such a creed\ndepends upon its content--upon its fidelity to the facts of human life,\nthe clearness of its consciousness of the evils it confronts, and the\nintensity of its realism.\n\nThere is a sense, and that a true one, in which it may be said that all\nmen are optimists; for such a faith is implied in every conscious and\ndeliberate action of man. There is no deed which is not an attempt to\nrealize an ideal; whenever man acts he seeks a good, however ruinously\nhe may misunderstand its nature. Final and absolute disbelief in an\nultimate good in the sphere of morals, like absolute scepticism in the\nsphere of knowledge, is a disguised self-contradiction, and therefore an\nimpossibility in fact. The one stultifies action, and asserts an effect\nwithout any cause, or even contrary to the cause; the other stultifies\nintellectual activity: and both views imply that the critic has so\nescaped the conditions of human life, as to be able to pass a\ncondemnatory judgment upon them. The belief that a harmonious relation\nbetween the self-conscious agent and the supreme good is possible,\nunderlies the practical activity of man; just as the belief in the unity\nof thought and being underlies his intellectual activity. A moral\norder--that is, an order of rational ends--is postulated in all human\nactions, and we act at all only in virtue of it,--just as truly as we\nmove and work only in virtue of the forces which make the spheres\nrevolve, or think by help of the meaning which presses upon us from the\nthought-woven world, through all the pores of sense. A true ethics, like\na true psychology, or a true science of nature, must lean upon\nmetaphysics, and it cannot pretend to start _ab initio_. We live in the\nCopernican age, which puts the individual in a system, in obedience to\nwhose laws he finds his welfare. And this is simply the assertion of an\noptimistic creed, for it implies a harmonious world.\n\nBut, though this is true, it must be remembered that this faith is a\nprophetic anticipation, rather than acquired knowledge. We are only on\nthe way towards reconstructing in thought the fact which we are, or\ntowards bringing into clear knowledge the elemental power which\nmanifests itself within us as thought, desire, and deed. And, until this\nis achieved, we have no full right to an optimistic creed. The\nrevelation of the unity which pervades all things, even in the natural\nworld, will be the last attainment of science; and the reconciliation of\nnature and man and God is still further in the future, and will be the\nlast triumph of philosophy. During all the interval the world will be a\nscene of warring elements; and poetry, religion, and philosophy can only\nhold forth a promise, and give to man a foretaste of ultimate victory.\nAnd in this state of things even _their_ assurance often falters. Faith\nlapses into doubt, poetry becomes a wail for a lost god, and its votary\nexhibits, \"through Europe to the AEtolian shore, the pageant of his\nbleeding heart.\" The optimistic faith is, as a rule, only a hope and a\ndesire, a \"Grand Perhaps,\" which knows no defence against the critical\nunderstanding, and sinks dumb when questioned. If, in the form of a\nreligious conviction, its assurance is more confident, then, too often,\nit rests upon the treacherous foundations of authoritative ignorance,\nwhich crumble into dust beneath the blows of awakened and liberated\nreason. Nay, if by the aid of philosophy we turn our optimism into a\nfaith held by reason, a fact before which the intellect, as well as the\nheart, worships and grows glad, it still is for most of us only a\ngeneral hypothesis, a mere leap to God which spurns the intermediate\nsteps, a universal without content, a bare form that lacks reality.\n\nSuch an optimism, such a plunge into the pure blue and away from facts,\nwas Emerson's. Caroline Fox tells a story of him and Carlyle which\nreveals this very pointedly. It seems that Carlyle once led the serene\nphilosopher through the abominations of the streets of London at\nmidnight, asking him with grim humour at every few steps, \"Do you\nbelieve in the devil _now_?\" Emerson replied that the more he saw of the\nEnglish people the greater and better he thought them. This little\nincident lays bare the limits of both these great men. Where the one\nsaw, the other was blind. To the one there was the misery and the\nuniversal mirk; to the other, the pure white beam was scarcely broken.\nCarlyle believed in the good, beyond all doubt: he fought his great\nbattle in its strength and won, but \"he was sorely wounded.\" Emerson was\nSir Galahad, blind to all but the Holy Grail, his armour spotless-white,\nhis virtue cloistered and unbreathed, his race won without the dust and\nheat. But his optimism was too easy to be satisfactory. His victory was\nnot won in the enemy's citadel, where sin sits throned amidst the chaos,\nbut in the placid upper air of poetic imagination. And, in consequence,\nEmerson can only convince the converted; and his song is not heard in\nthe dark, nor does it cheer the wayfarer on the muddy highway, along\nwhich burthened humanity meanly toils.\n\nBut Browning's optimism is more earnest and real than any pious hope, or\ndogmatic belief, or benevolent theory held by a placid philosopher,\nprotected against contact with the sins and sorrows of man as by an\ninvisible garment of contemplative holiness. It is a conviction which\nhas sustained shocks of criticism and the test of facts; and it\ntherefore, both for the poet and his readers, fulfils a mission beyond\nthe reach of any easy trust in a mystic good. Its power will be felt and\nits value recognized by those who have themselves confronted the\ncontradictions of human life and known their depths.\n\nNo lover of Browning's poetry can miss the vigorous manliness of the\npoet's own bearing, or fail to recognize the strength that flows from\nhis joyous, fearless personality, and the might of his intellect and\nheart. \"When British literature,\" said Carlyle of Scott and Cobbett,\n\"lay all puking and sprawling in Wertherism, Byronism and other\nSentimentalisms, nature was kind enough to send us two healthy men.\" And\nhe breaks out into a eulogy of mere health, of \"the just balance of\nfaculties that radiates a glad light outwards, enlightening and\nembellishing all things.\" But he finds it easy to account for the health\nof these men: they had never faced the mystery of existence. Such\nhealthiness we find in Browning, although he wrote with Carlyle at his\nside, and within earshot of the infinite wail of this moral fatalist.\nAnd yet, the word health is inadequate to convey the depth of the joyous\nmeaning which the poet found in the world. His optimism was not a\nconstitutional and irreflective hopefulness, to be accounted for on the\nground that \"the great mystery of existence was not great to him: did\nnot drive him into rocky solitudes to wrestle with it for an answer, to\nbe answered or to perish.\" There are, indeed, certain rash and foolish\npersons who pretend to trace Browning's optimism to his mixed descent;\nbut there is a \"pause in the leading and the light\" of those wiseacres,\nwho pretend to trace moral and mental characteristics to physiological\nantecedents. They cannot quite catch a great man in the making, nor,\neven by the help of evolution, say anything wiser about genius than that\n\"the wind bloweth where it listeth.\" No doubt the poet's optimism\nindicates a native sturdiness of head and heart. He had the invaluable\nendowment of a pre-disposition to see the sunny side of life, and a\nnative tendency to revolt against that subjectivity, which is the root\nof our misery in all its forms. He had little respect for the\n_Welt-schmerz,_ and can scarcely be civil to the hero of the bleeding\nheart.\n\n  \"Sinning, sorrowing, despairing,\n    Body-ruined, spirit-wrecked--\n  Should I give my woes an airing,--\n    Where's one plague that claims respect?\n\n  \"Have you found your life distasteful?\n    My life did, and does, smack sweet.\n  Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?\n    Mine I saved and hold complete.\n  Do your joys with age diminish?\n    When mine fail me I'll complain.\n  Must in death your daylight finish?\n    My sun sets to rise again.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"I find earth not grey but rosy,\n    Heaven not grim but fair of hue.\n  Do I stoop? I pluck a posy.\n    Do I stand and stare? All's blue.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _At the Mermaid_.]\n\nBrowning was no doubt least of all men inclined to pout at his \"plain\nbun\"; on the contrary, he was awake to the grandeur of his inheritance,\nand valued most highly \"his life-rent of God's universe with the tasks\nit offered and the tools to do them with.\" But his optimism sent its\nroots deeper than any \"disposition\"; it penetrated beyond mere health\nof body and mind, as it did beyond a mere sentiment of God's goodness.\nOptimisms resting on these bases are always weak; for the former leaves\nman naked and sensitive to the evils that crowd round him when the\npowers of body and mind decay, and the latter is, at best, useful only\nfor the individual who possesses it, and it breaks down under the stress\nof criticism and doubt. Browning's optimism is a great element in\nEnglish literature, because it opposes with such strength the shocks\nthat come from both these quarters. His joyousness is the reflection _in\nfeeling_ of a conviction as to the nature of things, which he had\nverified in the darkest details of human life, and established for\nhimself in the face of the gravest objections that his intellect was\nable to call forth. In fact, its value lies, above all, in this,--that\nit comes after criticism, after the condemnation which Byron and Carlyle\nhad passed, each from his own point of view, on the world and on man.\n\nThe need of an optimism is one of the penalties which reflection brings.\nNatural life takes the goodness of things for granted; but reflection\ndisturbs the placid contentment and sets man at variance with his world.\nThe fruit of the tree of knowledge always reveals his nakedness to man;\nhe is turned out of the paradise of unconsciousness and doomed to force\nNature, now conceived as a step-dame, to satisfy needs which are now\nfirst felt. Optimism is the expression of man's new reconciliation with\nhis world; as the opposite doctrine of pessimism is the consciousness of\nan unresolved contradiction. Both are a judgment passed upon the world,\nfrom the point of view of its adequacy or inadequacy to meet demands,\narising from needs which the individual has discovered in himself.\n\nNow, as I have tried to show, one of the main characteristics of the\nopening years of the present era was its deeper intuition of the\nsignificance of human life, and, therefore, by implication, of its wants\nand claims. The spiritual nature of man, lost sight of during the\npreceding age, was re-discovered; and the first and immediate\nconsequence was that man, as man, attained infinite worth. \"Man was born\nfree,\" cried Rousseau, with a conviction which swept all before it; \"he\nhas original, inalienable, and supreme rights against all things which\ncan set themselves against him.\" And Rousseau's countrymen believed him.\nThere was not a _Sans-culotte_ amongst them all but held his head high,\nbeing creation's lord; and history can scarcely show a parallel to their\ngreat burst of joy and hope, as they ran riot in their new-found\ninheritance, from which they had so long been excluded. They flung\nthemselves upon the world, as if they would \"glut their sense\" upon it.\n\n                  \"Expend\n  Eternity upon its shows,\n  Flung them as freely as one rose\n  Out of a summer's opulence.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A:_Easter Day_.]\n\nBut the very discovery that man is spirit, which is the source of all\nhis rights, is also an implicit discovery that he has outgrown the\nresources of the natural world. The infinite hunger of a soul cannot be\nsatisfied with the things of sense. The natural world is too limited\neven for Carlyle's shoe-black; nor is it surprising that Byron should\nfind it a waste, and dolefully proclaim his disappointment to\nmuch-admiring mankind. Now, both Carlyle and Browning apprehended the\ncause of the discontent, and both endured the Byronic utterance of it\nwith considerable impatience. \"Art thou nothing other than a vulture,\nthen,\" asks the former, \"that fliest through the universe seeking after\nsomewhat _to eat,_ and shrieking dolefully because carrion enough is not\ngiven thee? Close thy Byron, open thy Goethe.\"\n\n                                 \"Huntsman Common Sense\n  Came to the rescue, bade prompt thwack of thong dispense\n  Quiet i' the kennel: taught that ocean might be blue,\n  And rolling and much more, and yet the soul have, too,\n  Its touch of God's own flame, which He may so expand\n  'Who measured the waters i' the hollow of His hand'\n  That ocean's self shall dry, turn dew-drop in respect\n  Of all-triumphant fire, matter with intellect\n  Once fairly matched.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A:_Fifine at the Fair_, lxvii.]\n\nBut Carlyle was always more able to detect the disease than to suggest\nthe remedy. He had, indeed, \"a glimpse of it.\" \"There is in man a Higher\nthan love of Happiness: he can do without Happiness, and instead thereof\nfind Blessedness.\" But the glimpse was misleading, for it penetrated no\nfurther than the first negative step. The \"Everlasting Yea\" was, after\nall, only a deeper \"No!\" only _Entsagung_, renunciation: \"the fraction\nof life can be increased in value not so much by increasing your\nnumerator as by lessening your denominator.\" Blessed alone is he that\nexpecteth nothing. The holy of holies, where man hears whispered the\nmystery of life, is \"the sanctuary of sorrow.\" \"What Act of Legislature\nwas there that _thou_ shouldst be Happy? A little while ago thou hadst\nno right to _be_ at all. What if thou wert born and predestined not to\nbe Happy, but to be Unhappy? Nay, is not 'life itself a disease,\nknowledge the symptom of derangement'? Have not the poets sung 'Hymns to\nthe Night' as if Night were nobler than Day; as if Day were but a small\nmotley-coloured veil spread transiently over the infinite bosom of\nNight, and did but deform and hide from us its pure transparent eternal\ndeeps.\" \"We, the whole species of Mankind, and our whole existence and\nhistory, are but a floating speck in the illimitable ocean of the All\n... borne this way and that way by its deep-swelling tides, and grand\nocean currents, of which what faintest chance is there that we should\never exhaust the significance, ascertain the goings and comings? A\nregion of Doubt, therefore, hovers for ever in the back-ground.... Only\non a canvas of Darkness, such is man's way of being, could the\nmany-coloured picture of our Life paint itself and shine.\"\n\nIn such passages as these, there is far deeper pessimism than in\nanything which Byron could experience or express. Scepticism is directed\nby Carlyle, not against the natural elements of life--the mere sensuous\noutworks, but against the citadel of thought itself. Self-consciousness,\nor the reflecting interpretation by man of himself and his world, the\nvery activity that lifts him above animal existence and makes him man,\ninstead of being a divine endowment, is declared to be a disease, a\npoisonous subjectivity destructive of all good. The discovery that man\nis spirit and no vulture, which was due to Carlyle himself more than to\nany other English writer of his age, seemed, after all, to be a great\ncalamity; for it led to the renunciation of happiness, and filled man\nwith yearnings after a better than happiness, but left him nothing\nwherewith they might be satisfied, except \"the duty next to hand.\" And\nthe duty next to hand, as interpreted by Carlyle, is a means of\nsuppressing by action, not idle speech only, but thought itself. But, if\nthis be true, the highest in man is set against itself. And what kind of\naction remains possible to a \"speck on the illimitable ocean, borne this\nway and that way by its deep-swelling tides\"? \"Here on earth we are\nsoldiers, fighting in a foreign land; that understand not the plan of\nthe campaign, and have no need to understand it, seeing what is at our\nhand to be done.\" But there is one element of still deeper gloom in this\nblind fighting; it is fought for a foreign cause. It is God's cause and\nnot ours, or ours only in so far as it has been despotically imposed\nupon us; and it is hard to discover from Carlyle what interest we can\nhave in the victory. Duty is to him a menace--like the duty of a slave,\nwere that possible. It lacks the element which alone can make it\nimperative to a free being, namely, that it be recognized as _his_ good,\nand that the outer law become his inner motive. The moral law is rarely\nlooked at by Carlyle as a beneficent revelation, and still more rarely\nas the condition which, if fulfilled, will reconcile man with nature and\nwith God. And consequently, he can draw little strength from religion;\nfor it is only love that can cast out fear.\n\nTo sum up all in a word, Carlyle regarded evil as having penetrated into\nthe inmost recesses of man's being. Thought was disease; morality was\nblind obedience to a foreign authority; religion was awe of an\nUnknowable, with whom man can claim no kinship. Man's nature was\ndiscovered to be spiritual, only on the side of its Wants. It was an\nendowment of a hunger which nothing could satisfy--not the infinite,\nbecause it is too great, not the finite, because it is too little; not\nGod, because He is too far above man, not nature, because it is too far\nbeneath him. We are unable to satisfy ourselves with the things of\nsense, and are also \"shut out of the heaven of spirit.\" What have been\ncalled, \"the three great terms of thought\"--the World, Self, and\nGod--have fallen asunder in his teaching. It is the difficulty of\nreconciling these which brings despair, while optimism is evidently the\nconsciousness of their harmony.\n\nNow, these evils which reflection has revealed, and which are so much\ndeeper than those of mere sensuous disappointment, can only be removed\nby deeper reflection. The harmony of the world of man's experience,\nwhich has been broken by \"the comprehensive curse of sceptical despair,\"\ncan, as Goethe teaches us, be restored only by thought--\n\n  \"In thine own soul, build it up again.\"\n\nThe complete refutation of Carlyle's pessimistic view can only come, by\nreinterpreting each of the contradicting terms in the light of a higher\nconception. We must have a deeper grasp and a new view of the Self, the\nWorld, and God. And such a view can be given adequately only by\nphilosophy. Reason alone can justify the faith that has been disturbed\nby reflection, and re-establish its authority.\n\nHow, then, it may be asked, can a poet be expected to turn back the\nforces of a scepticism, which have been thus armed with the weapons of\ndialectic? Can anything avail in this region except explicit\ndemonstration? A poet never demonstrates, but perceives; art is not a\nprocess, but a result; truth for it is immediate, and it neither admits\nnor demands any logical connection of ideas. The standard-bearers and\nthe trumpeters may be necessary to kindle the courage of the army and to\nlead it on to victory, but the fight must be won by the thrust of sword\nand pike. Man needs more than the intuitions of the great poets, if he\nis to maintain solid possession of the truth.\n\nNow, I am prepared to admit the force of this objection, and I shall\nendeavour in the sequel to prove that, in order to establish optimism,\nmore is needed than Browning can give, even when interpreted in the most\nsympathetic way. His doctrine is offered in terms of art, and it cannot\nhave any demonstrative force without violating the limits of art. In\nsome of his poems, however,--for instance, in _La Saisiaz, Ferishtatis\nFancies_ and the _Parleyings_, Browning sought to advance definite\nproofs of the theories which he held. He appears before us at times\narmed _cap-\u00e0-pie,_ like a philosopher. Still, it is not when he argues\nthat Browning proves: it is when he sees, as a poet sees. It is not by\nmeans of logical demonstrations that he helps us to meet the despair of\nCarlyle, or contributes to the establishment of a better faith.\nBrowning's proofs are least convincing when he was most aware of his\nphilosophical presuppositions; and a philosophical critic could well\nafford to agree with the critic of art, in relegating the demonstrating\nportions of his poems to the chaotic limbo lying between philosophy and\npoetry.\n\nWhen, however, he forgets his philosophy, and speaks as poet and\nreligious man, when he is dominated by that sovereign thought which gave\nunity to his life-work, and which, therefore, seemed to lie deeper in\nhim than the necessities of his art and to determine his poetic\nfunction, his utterances have a far higher significance. For he so lifts\nthe artistic object into the region of pure thought, and makes sense and\nreason so to interpenetrate, that the old metaphors of \"the noble lie\"\nand \"the truth beneath the veil\" seem no longer to help. He seems to\nshow us the truth so vividly and simply, that we are less willing to\nmake art and philosophy mutually exclusive, although their methods\ndiffer. Like some of the greatest philosophers, and notably Plato and\nHegel, he constrains us to doubt, whether the distinction penetrates low\nbeneath the surface; for philosophy, too, when at its best, is a\nthinking of things together. In their light we begin to ask, whether it\nis not possible that the interpretation of the world in terms of spirit,\nwhich is the common feature of both Hegel's philosophy and Browning's\npoetry, does not necessarily bring with it a settlement of the ancient\nfeud between these two modes of thought.\n\nBut, in any case, Browning's utterances, especially those which he makes\nwhen he is most poet and least philosopher, have something of the\nconvincing impressiveness of a reasoned system of optimism. And this\ncomes, as already suggested, from his loyalty to a single idea, which\ngives unity to all his work. That idea we may, in the end, be obliged to\ntreat not only as a hypothesis--for all principles of reconciliation,\neven those of the sciences, as long as knowledge is incomplete, must be\nregarded as hypotheses--but also as a hypothesis which he had no right\nto assume. It may be that in the end we shall be obliged to say of him,\nas of so many others--\n\n  \"See the sage, with the hunger for the truth,\n  And see his system that's all true, except\n  The one weak place, that's stanchioned by a lie!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nIt may be that the religious form, through which he generally reaches\nhis convictions, is not freed from a dogmatic element, which so\npenetrates his thought as to vitiate it as a philosophy. Nevertheless,\nit answered for the poet all the uses of a philosophy, and it may do the\nsame for many who are distrustful of the systems of the schools, and who\nare \"neither able to find a faith nor to do without one.\" It contains\nfar-reaching hints of a reconciliation of the elements of discord in our\nlives, and a suggestion of a way in which it may be demonstrated, that\nan optimistic theory is truer to facts than any scepticism or\nagnosticism, with the despair that they necessarily bring.\n\nFor Browning not only advanced a principle, whereby, as he conceived,\nman might again be reconciled to the world and God, and all things be\nviewed as the manifestation of a power that is benevolent; he also\nsought to apply his principle to the facts of life. He illustrates his\nfundamental hypothesis by means of these facts; and he tests its\nvalidity with the persistence and impressive candour of a scientific\ninvestigator. His optimism is not that of an eclectic, who can ignore\ninconvenient difficulties. It is not an attempt to justify the whole by\nneglecting details, or to make wrong seem right by reference to a\nfar-off result, in which the steps of the process are forgotten. He\nstakes the value of his view of life on its power to meet _all_ facts;\none fact, ultimately irreconcilable with his hypothesis, will, he knows,\ndestroy it.\n\n\n                     \"All the same,\n  Of absolute and irretrievable black,--black's soul of black\n  Beyond white's power to disintensify,--\n  Of that I saw no sample: such may wreck\n  My life and ruin my philosophy\n  Tomorrow, doubtless.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Bean Stripe_--_Ferishtah's Fancies_.]\n\nHe knew that, to justify God, he had to justify _all_ His ways to man;\nthat if the good rules at all, it rules absolutely; and that a single\nexception would confute his optimism.\n\n  \"So, gazing up, in my youth, at love\n  As seen through power, ever above\n  All modes which make it manifest,\n  My soul brought all to a single test--\n  That He, the Eternal First and Last,\n  Who, in His power, had so surpassed\n  All man conceives of what is might,--\n  Whose wisdom, too, showed infinite,\n  --Would prove as infinitely good;\n  Would never, (my soul understood,)\n  With power to work all love desires,\n  Bestow e'en less than man requires.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Christmas Eve_.]\n\n  \"No: love which, on earth, amid all the shows of it,\n  Has ever been seen the sole good of life in it,\n  The love, ever growing there, spite of the strife in it,\n  Shall arise, made perfect, from death's repose of it.\n  And I shall behold Thee, face to face,\n  O God, and in Thy light retrace\n  How in all I loved here, still wast Thou!\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nWe can scarcely miss the emphasis of the poet's own conviction in these\npassages, or in the assertion that,--\n\n      \"The acknowledgment of God in Christ\n  Accepted by thy reason, solves for thee\n  All questions in the earth and out of it,\n  And has so far advanced thee to be wise.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\nConsequently, there is a defiant and aggressive element in his attitude.\nStrengthened with an unfaltering faith in the supreme Good, this knight\nof the Holy Spirit goes forth over all the world seeking out wrongs. \"He\nhas,\" said Dr. Westcott, \"dared to look on the darkest and meanest forms\nof action and passion, from which we commonly and rightly turn our eyes,\nand he has brought back for us from this universal survey a conviction\nof hope.\" I believe, further, that it was in order to justify this\nconviction that he set out on his quest. His interest in vice--in\nmalice, cruelty, ignorance, brutishness, meanness, the irrational\nperversity of a corrupt disposition, and the subtleties of philosophic\nand aesthetic falsehood--was no morbid curiosity. Browning was no\n\"painter of dirt\"; no artist can portray filth for filth's sake, and\nremain an artist. He crowds his pages with criminals, because he sees\ndeeper than their crimes. He describes evil without \"palliation or\nreserve,\" and allows it to put forth all its might, in order that he\nmay, in the end, show it to be subjected to God's purposes. He confronts\nevil in order to force it to give up the good, which is all the reality\nthat is in it. He conceives it as his mission to prove that evil is\n\"stuff for transmuting,\" and that there is nought in the world.\n\n\n  \"But, touched aright, prompt yields each particle its tongue\n  Of elemental flame--no matter whence flame sprung,\n  From gums and spice, or else from straw and rottenness.\"\n\nAll we want is--\n\n        \"The power to make them burn, express\n  What lights and warms henceforth, leaves only ash behind,\n  Howe'er the chance.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_.]\n\nHe had Pompilia's faith.\n\n  \"And still, as the day wore, the trouble grew,\n  Whereby I guessed there would be born a star.\"\n\nHe goes forth in the might of his faith in the power of good, as if he\nwished once for all to try the resources of evil at their uttermost, and\npass upon it a complete and final condemnation. With this view, he seeks\nevil in its own haunts. He creates Guido, the subtlest and most powerful\ncompound of vice in our literature--except Iago, perhaps--merely in\norder that we may see evil at its worst; and he places him in an\nenvironment suited to his nature, as if he was carrying out an\n_experimentum crucis_. The\n\n        \"Midmost blotch of black\n  Discernible in the group of clustered crimes\n  Huddling together in the cave they call\n  Their palace.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 869-872.]\n\nBeside him are his brothers, each with his own \"tint of hell\"; his\nmistress, on whose face even Pompilia saw the glow of the nether pit\n\"flash and fade\"; and his mother--\n\n  \"The gaunt grey nightmare in the furthest smoke,\n  The hag that gave these three abortions birth,\n  Unmotherly mother and unwomanly\n  Woman, that near turns motherhood to shame,\n  Womanliness to loathing\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 911-915.]\n\nSuch \"denizens o' the cave now cluster round Pompilia and heat the\nfurnace sevenfold.\" While she\n\n              \"Sent prayer like incense up\n  To God the strong, God the beneficent,\n  God ever mindful in all strife and strait,\n  Who, for our own good, makes the need extreme,\n  Till at the last He puts forth might and saves.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book_--_Pompilia_, 1384-1388.]\n\nIn these lines we feel the poet's purpose, constant throughout the whole\npoem. We know all the while that with him at our side we can travel\nsafely through the depths of the Inferno--for the flames bend back from\nhim; and it is only what we expect as the result of it all, that there\nshould come\n\n  \"A bolt from heaven to cleave roof and clear place,\n                   . . . . then flood\n  And purify the scene with outside day--\n  Which yet, in the absolutest drench of dark,\n  Ne'er wants its witness, some stray beauty-beam\n  To the despair of hell.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 996-1003.]\n\nThe superabundant strength of Browning's conviction in the supremacy of\nthe good, which led him in _The Ring and the Book_ to depict criminals\nat their worst, forced him later on in his life to exhibit evil in\nanother form. The real meaning and value of such poems as _Fifine at the\nFair, Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Red Cotton Nightcap Country,\nFerishtah's Francies_, and others, can only be determined by a careful\nand complete analysis of each of them. But they have one characteristic\nso prominent, and so new in poetry, that the most careless reader cannot\nfail to detect it. Action and dramatic treatment give place to a\ndiscussion which is metaphysical; instead of the conflict of motives\nwithin a character, the stress and strain of passion and will in\ncollision with circumstances, there is reflection on action after it has\npassed, and the conflict of subtle arguments on the ethical value of\nmotives and ways of conduct, which the ordinary moral consciousness\ncondemns without hesitation. All agree that these poems represent a new\ndeparture in poetry, and some consider that in them the poet, in thus\ndealing with metaphysical abstractions, has overleapt the boundaries of\nthe poetic art. To such critics, this later period seems the period of\nhis decadence, in which the casuistical tendencies, which had already\nappeared in _Bishop Blougram's Apology, Mr. Sludge the Medium_, and\nother poems, have overwhelmed his art, and his intellect, in its pride\nof strength, has grown wanton. _Fifine at the Fair is_ said to be \"a\ndefence of inconstancy, or of the right of experiment in love.\" Its\nhero, who is \"a modern gentleman, a refined, cultured, musical, artistic\nand philosophic person, of high attainments, lofty aspirations, strong\nemotions, and capricious will,\" produces arguments \"wide in range, of\nprofound significance and infinite ingenuity,\" to defend and justify\nimmoral intercourse with a gipsy trull. The poem consists of the\nspeculations of a libertine, who coerces into his service truth and\nsophistry, and \"a superabounding wealth of thought and imagery,\" and\nwith no further purpose on the poet's part than the dramatic delineation\nof character. _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau_ is spoken of in a similar\nmanner as the justification, by reference to the deepest principles of\nmorality, of compromise, hypocrisy, lying, and a selfishness that\nbetrays every cause to the individual's meanest welfare. The object of\nthe poet is \"by no means to prove black white, or white black, or to\nmake the worse appear the better reason, but to bring a seeming monster\nand perplexing anomaly under the common laws of nature, by showing how\nit has grown to be what it is, and how it can with more or less\nself-delusion reconcile itself to itself.\"\n\nI am not able to accept this as a complete explanation of the intention\nof the poet, except with reference to _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._ The\n_Prince_ is a psychological study, like _Mr. Sludge the Medium,_ and\n_Bishop Blougram_. No doubt he had the interest of a dramatist in the\nhero of _Fifine at the Fair_ and in the hero of _Red Cotton Nightcap\nCountry;_ but, in these poems, his dramatic interest is itself\ndetermined by an ethical purpose, which is equally profound. His meeting\nwith the gipsy at Pornic, and the spectacle of her unscrupulous audacity\nin vice, not only \"sent his fancy roaming,\" but opened out before him\nthe fundamental problems of life. What I would find, therefore, in\n_Fifine at the Fair_ is not the casuistic defence of an artistic and\nspeculative libertine, but an earnest attempt on the part of the poet to\nprove,\n\n  \"That, through the outward sign, the inward grace allures,\n  And sparks from heaven transpierce earth's coarsest covertures,--\n  All by demonstrating the value of Fifine.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, xxviii.]\n\nWithin his scheme of the universal good he seeks to find a place even\nfor this gipsy creature, who traffics \"in just what we most pique us\nthat we keep.\" Having, in the _Ring and the Book_, challenged evil at\nits worst as it manifests itself practically in concrete characters and\nexternal action, and having wrung from it the victory of the good, in\n_Fifine_ and in his other later poems he meets it again in the region of\ndialectic. In this sphere of metaphysical ethics, evil has assumed a\nmore dangerous form, especially for an artist. His optimistic faith has\ndriven the poet into a realm into which poetry never ventured before.\nHis battle is now, not with flesh and blood, but with the subtler powers\nof darkness grown vocal and argumentative, and threatening to turn the\npoet's faith in good into a defence of immorality, and to justify the\nworst evil by what is highest of all. Having indicated in outward fact\n\"the need,\" as well as the \"transiency of sin and death,\" he seeks here\nto prove that need, and seems, thereby, to degrade the highest truth of\nreligion into a defence of the worst wickedness.\n\nNo doubt the result is sufficiently repulsive to the abstract moralist,\nwho is apt to find in _Fifine_ nothing but a casuistical and shameless\njustification of evil, which is blasphemy against goodness itself. We\nare made to \"discover,\" for instance, that\n\n                           \"There was just\n  Enough and not too much of hate, love, greed and lust,\n  Could one discerningly but hold the balance, shift\n  The weight from scale to scale, do justice to the drift\n  Of nature, and explain the glories by the shames\n  Mixed up in man, one stuff miscalled by different names.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, cviii.]\n\nWe are told that--\n\n  \"Force, guile were arms which earned\n  My praise, not blame at all.\"\n\nConfronted with such utterances as these, it is only natural that,\nrather than entangle the poet in them, we should regard them as the\nsophistries of a philosophical Don Juan, powerful enough, under the\nstress of self-defence, to confuse the distinctions of right and wrong.\nBut, as we shall try to show in the next chapter, such an apparent\njustification of evil cannot be avoided by a reflective optimist; and it\nis implicitly contained even in those religious utterances of _Rabbi Ben\nEzra, Christmas Eve_, and _A Death in the Desert_, with which we not\nonly identify the poet but ourselves, in so far as we share his faith\nthat\n\n  \"God's in His heaven,--\n  All's right with the world.\"\n\nThe poet had far too much speculative acumen to be ignorant of this, and\ntoo much boldness and strength of conviction in the might of the good,\nto refuse to confront the issues that sprang from it. In his later\npoems, as in his earlier ones, he is endeavouring to justify the ways of\nGod to man; and the difficulties which surround him are not those of a\ncasuist, but the stubborn questionings of a spirit, whose religious\nfaith is thoroughly earnest and fearless. To a spirit so loyal to the\ntruth, and so bold to follow its leading, the suppression of such\nproblems is impossible; and, consequently, it was inevitable that he\nshould use the whole strength of his dialectic to try those fundamental\nprinciples, on which the moral life of man is based. And it is this, I\nbelieve, which we find in _Fifine_, as in _Ferishtah's Fancies_ and the\n_Parleyings_; not an exhibition of the argumentative subtlety of a mind\nwhose strength has become lawless, and which spends itself in\nintellectual gymnastics, that have no place within the realm of either\nthe beautiful or the true.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nOPTIMISM AND ETHICS: THEIR CONTRADICTION.\n\n\n  \"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,\n  Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky\n  Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull\n  Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"But most it is presumption in us, when\n  The help of heaven we count the act of men.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _All's Well that Ends Well_.]\n\nI have tried to show that one of the ruling conceptions of Browning's\nview of life is that the Good is absolute, and that it reveals itself in\nall the events of human life. By means of this conception, he\nendeavoured to bring together the elements which had fallen asunder in\nthe sensational and moral pessimism of Byron and Carlyle. In other\nwords, through the re-interpreting power which lies in this fundamental\nthought when it is soberly held and fearlessly applied, he sought to\nreconcile man with the world and with God, and thereby with himself. And\nthe governing motive, whether the conscious motive or not, of Browning's\npoetry, the secret impulse which led him to dramatise the conflicts and\nantagonisms of human life, was the necessity of finding in them evidence\nof the presence of this absolute Good.\n\nBrowning's optimism was deep and comprehensive enough to reject all\ncompromise. His faith in the good seemed to rise with the demands that\nwere made upon it by the misery and wickedness of man, and the\napparently purposeless waste of life and its resources. There was in it\na deliberate earnestness which led him to grapple, not only with the\nconcrete difficulties of individual life, but with those also that\nspring from reflection and theory.\n\nThe test of a philosophic optimism, as of any optimism which is more\nthan a pious sentiment, must finally lie in its power to reveal the\npresence of the good in actual individual evils. But there are\ndifficulties still nearer than those presented by concrete facts,\ndifficulties arising out of the very suggestion that evil is a form of\ngood. Such speculative difficulties must be met by a reflective mind,\nbefore it can follow out the application of an optimistic theory to\nparticular facts. Now, Browning's creed, at least as he held it in his\nlater years, was not merely the allowable exaggeration of an ecstatic\nreligious sentiment, the impassioned conviction of a God-intoxicated\nman. It was deliberately presented as a solution of moral problems, and\nwas intended to serve as a theory of the spiritual nature of things. It\nis, therefore, justly open to the same kind of criticism as that to\nwhich a philosophic doctrine is exposed. The poet deprived himself of\nthe refuge, legitimate enough to the intuitive method of art, when, in\nhis later works, he not only offered a dramatic solution of the problem\nof life, but definitely attempted to meet the difficulties of\nspeculative ethics.\n\nIn this chapter I shall point out some of these difficulties, and then\nproceed to show how the poet proposed to solve them.\n\nA thorough-going optimism, in that it subdues all things to the idea of\nthe supreme Good, and denies to evil the right even to dispute the\nabsoluteness of its sway, naturally seems to imply a pantheistic theory\nof the world. And Browning's insistence on the presence of the highest\nin all things may easily be regarded as a mere revival of the oldest and\ncrudest attempts at finding their unity in God. For if _all_, as he\nsays, is for the best, there seems to be no room left for the\ndifferences apparent in the world, and the variety which gives it beauty\nand worth. Particular existences would seem to be illusory and\nevanescent phenomena, the creations of human imagination, itself a\ndelusive appearance. The infinite, on this view, stands over against the\nfinite, and it overpowers and consumes it; and the optimism, implied in\nthe phrase that \"God is all,\" turns at once into a pessimism. For, as\nsoon as we inquire into the meaning of this \"all,\" we find that it is\nonly a negation of everything we can know or be. Such a pantheism as\nthis is self-contradictory; for, while seeming to level all things\nupwards to a manifestation of the divine, it really levels all downwards\nto the level of mere unqualified being, a stagnant and empty unknowable.\nIt leaves only a choice between akosmism and atheism, and, at the same\ntime, it makes each of the alternatives impossible. For, in explaining\nthe world it abolishes it, and in abolishing the world it empties itself\nof all signification; so that the Godhood which it attempts to establish\nthroughout the whole realm of being, is found to mean nothing. \"It is\nthe night, in which all cows are black.\"\n\nThe optimistic creed, which the poet strove to teach, must, therefore,\nnot only establish the immanence of God, but show in some way how such\nimmanence is consistent with the existence of particular things. His\ndoctrine that there is no failure, or folly, or wickedness, or misery,\nbut conceals within it, at its heart, a divine element; that there is no\nincident in human history which is not a pulsation of the life of the\nhighest, and which has not its place in a scheme of universal good, must\nleave room for the moral life of man, and all the risks which morality\nbrings with it. Otherwise, optimism is impossible. For a God who, in\nfilling the universe with His presence, encroaches on the freedom and\nextinguishes the independence of man, precludes the possibility of all\nthat is best for man--namely, moral achievement. Life, deprived of its\nmoral purpose, is worthless to the poet, and so, in consequence, is all\nthat exists in order to maintain that life. Optimism and ethics seem\nthus to come into immediate collision. The former, finding the presence\nof God in all things, seems to leave no room for man; and the latter\nseems to set man to work out his own destiny in solitude, and to give\nhim supreme and absolute authority over his own life; so that any\ncharacter which he forms, be it good or bad, is entirely the product of\nhis own activity. So far as his life is culpable or praiseworthy, in\nother words, so far as we pass any moral judgment upon it, we\nnecessarily think of it as the revelation of a self, that is, of an\nindependent will, which cannot divide its responsibility. There may be,\nand indeed there always is for every individual, a hereditary\npredisposition and a soliciting environment, tendencies which are his\ninheritance from a remote past, and which rise to the surface in his own\nlife; in other words, the life of the individual is always led within\nthe larger sweep of the life of humanity. He is part of a whole, and has\nhis place fixed, and his function predetermined, by a power which is\ngreater than his own. But, if we are to call him good or evil, if he is\nto aspire and repent and strive, in a word, if he is to have any _moral_\ncharacter, he cannot be merely a part of a system; there must be\nsomething within him which is superior to circumstances, and which\nmakes him master of his own fate. His natural history may begin with the\ngrey dawn of primal being, but his moral history begins with himself,\nfrom the time when he first reacted upon the world in which he is\nplaced, and transformed his natural relations into will and character.\nFor who can be responsible for what he did not will? What could a moral\nimperative mean, what could an \"ought\" signify, to a being who was only\na temporary embodiment of forces, who are prior to, and independent of\nhimself? It would seem, therefore, as if morality were irreconcilable\nwith optimism. The moral life of man cannot be the manifestation of a\ndivine benevolence whose purpose is necessary; it is a trust laid upon\nhimself, which he may either violate or keep. It surpasses divine\ngoodness, \"tho' matched with equal power\" to _make_ man good, as it has\nmade the flowers beautiful. From this point of view, spiritual\nattainment, whether intellectual or moral, is man's own, a spontaneous\nproduct. Just as God is conceived as all in all in the universe, so man\nis all in all within the sphere of duty; for the kingdom of heaven is\nwithin. In both cases alike, there is absolute exclusion of external\ninterference.\n\nFor this reason, it has often seemed both to philosophers and\ntheologians, as if the world were too confined to hold within it both\nGod and man. In the East, the consciousness of the infinite seemed at\ntimes to leave no room for the finite; and in the West, where the\nconsciousness of the finite and interest therein is strongest, and man\nstrives and aspires, a Deism arose which set God at a distance, and\nallowed Him to interfere in the fate of man only by a benevolent\nmiracle. Nor is this collision of pantheism and freedom, nay of religion\nand morality, confined to the theoretical region. This difficulty is not\nmerely the punishment of an over-bold and over-ambitious philosophy,\nwhich pries too curiously into the mystery of being. It lies at the very\nthreshold of all reflection on the facts of the moral life. Even\nchildren feel the mystery of God's permitting sin, and embarrass their\nhelpless parents with the contradiction between absolute benevolence and\nthe miseries and cruelties of life. \"A vain interminable controversy,\"\nsays Teufels-dr\u00f6ckh, \"which arises in every soul since the beginning of\nthe world: and in every soul, that would pass from idle suffering into\nactual endeavouring, must be put an end to. The most, in our own time,\nhave to go content with a simple, incomplete enough Suppression of this\ncontroversy: to a few Solution of it is indispensable.\"\n\nSolution, and not Suppression, is what Browning sought; he did, in fact,\npropound a solution, which, whether finally satisfactory or not, at\nleast carries us beyond the easy compromises of ordinary religious and\nethical teaching. He does not deny the universality of God's beneficence\nor power, and divide the realm of being between Him and the adversary:\nnor, on the other hand, does he limit man's freedom, and stultify ethics\nby extracting the sting of reality from sin. To limit God, he knew, was\nto deny Him; and, whatever the difficulties he felt in regarding the\nabsolute Spirit as realising itself in man, he could not be content to\nreduce man into a temporary phantom, an evanescent embodiment of\n\"spiritual\" or natural forces, that take a fleeting form in him as they\npursue their onward way.\n\nBrowning held with equal tenacity to the idea of a universal benevolent\norder, and to the idea of the moral freedom of man within it. He was\ndriven in opposite directions by two beliefs, both of which he knew to\nbe essential to the life of man as spirit, and both of which he\nillustrates throughout his poems with an endless variety of poetic\nexpression. He endeavoured to find God in man and still to leave man\nfree. His optimistic faith sought reconciliation with morality. The\nvigour of his ethical doctrine is as pre-eminent, as the fulness of his\nconviction of the absolute sway of the Good. Side by side with his\ndoctrine that there is no failure, no wretchedness of corruption that\ndoes not conceal within it a germ of goodness, is his sense of the evil\nof sin, of the infinite earnestness of man's moral warfare, and of the\nsurpassing magnitude of the issues at stake for each individual soul. So\npowerful is his interest in man as a moral agent, that he sees nought\nelse in the world of any deep concern. \"My stress lay,\" he said in his\npreface to _Sordello_ (1863), \"on the incidents in the development of a\nsoul: little else is worth study. I, at least, always thought so--you,\nwith many known and unknown to me, think so--others may one day think\nso.\" And this development of a soul is not at any time regarded by the\npoet as a peaceful process, like the growth of a plant or animal.\nAlthough he thinks of the life of man as the gradual realization of a\ndivine purpose within him, he does not suppose it to take place in\nobedience to a tranquil necessity. Man advances morally by fighting his\nway inch by inch, and he gains nothing except through conflict. He does\nnot become good as the plant grows into maturity. \"The kingdom of heaven\nsuffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.\"\n\n  \"No, when the fight begins within himself,\n  A man's worth something. God stoops o'er his head,\n  Satan looks up between his feet,--both tug--\n  He's left, himself, i' the middle: the soul awakes\n  And grows. Prolong that battle through this life!\n  Never leave growing till the life to come.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Bishop Blougram_.]\n\nMan is no idle spectator of the conflict of the forces of right and\nwrong; Browning never loses the individual in the throng, or sinks him\ninto his age or race. And although the poet ever bears within him the\ncertainty of victory for the good, he calls his fellows to the fight as\nif the fate of all hung on the valour of each. The struggle is always\npersonal, individual like the duels of the Homeric heroes.\n\nIt is under the guise of warfare that morality always presents itself to\nBrowning. It is not a mere equilibrium of qualities--the measured,\nself-contained, statuesque ethics of the Greeks, nor the asceticism and\nself-restraint of Puritanism, nor the peaceful evolution of Goethe's\nartistic morality: it is valour in the battle of life. His code contains\nno negative commandments, and no limitations; but he bids each man let\nout all the power that is within him, and throw himself upon life with\nthe whole energy of his being. It is better even to seek evil with one's\nwhole mind, than to be lukewarm in goodness. Whether you seek good or\nevil, and play for the counter or the coin, stake it boldly!\n\n  \"Let a man contend to the uttermost\n  For his life's set prize, be it what it will!\n\n  \"The counter our lovers staked was lost\n  As surely as if it were lawful coin:\n  And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost\n\n  \"Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin\n  Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.\n  You, of the virtue (we issue join)\n  How strive you?--'_De te fabula!_'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Statue and the Bust_.]\n\nIndifference and spiritual lassitude are, to the poet, the worst of\nsins. \"Go!\" says the Pope to Pompilia's pseudo-parents,\n\n  \"Never again elude the choice of tints!\n  White shall not neutralize the black, nor good\n  Compensate bad in man, absolve him so:\n  Life's business being just the terrible choice.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1235-1238.]\n\nIn all the greater characters of _The Ring and the Book_, this intensity\nof vigour in good and evil flashes out upon us. Even Pompilia, the most\ngentle of all his creations, at the first prompting of the instinct of\nmotherhood, rises to the law demanding resistance, and casts off the old\npassivity.\n\n  \"Dutiful to the foolish parents first,\n  Submissive next to the bad husband,--nay,\n  Tolerant of those meaner miserable\n  That did his hests, eked out the dole of pain \";[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_., 1052-1055.]\n\nshe is found\n\n  \"Sublime in new impatience with the foe.\"\n\n  \"I did for once see right, do right, give tongue\n  The adequate protest: for a worm must turn\n  If it would have its wrong observed by God.\n  I did spring up, attempt to thrust aside\n  That ice-block 'twixt the sun and me, lay low\n  The neutralizer of all good and truth.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--Pompilia_, 1591-1596.]\n\n  \"Yet, shame thus rank and patent, I struck, bare,\n  At foe from head to foot in magic mail,\n  And off it withered, cobweb armoury\n  Against the lightning! 'Twas truth singed the lies\n  And saved me.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_., 1637-1641.]\n\nBeneath the mature wisdom of the Pope, amidst the ashes of old age,\nthere sleeps the same fire. He is as truly a warrior priest as\nCaponsacchi himself, and his matured experience only muffles his vigour.\nWearied with his life-long labour, we see him gather himself together\n\"in God's name,\" to do His will on earth once more with concentrated\nmight.\n\n                                    \"I smite\n  With my whole strength once more, ere end my part,\n  Ending, so far as man may, this offence.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1958-1960.]\n\nNor, spite of doubts, the promptings of mercy, the friends plucking his\nsleeve to stay his arm, does he fear \"to handle a lie roughly\"; or\nshrink from sending the criminal to his account, though it be but one\nday before he himself is called before the judgment seat. The same\nenergy, the same spirit of bold conflict, animates Guido's adoption of\nevil for his good. At all but the last moment of his life of monstrous\ncrime, just before he hears the echo of the feet of the priests, who\ndescend the stair to lead him to his death, \"he repeats his evil deed in\nwill.\"\n\n  \"Nor is it in me to unhate my hates,--\n  I use up my last strength to strike once more\n  Old Pietro in the wine-house-gossip-face,\n  To trample underfoot the whine and wile\n  Of beast Violante,--and I grow one gorge\n  To loathingly reject Pompilia's pale\n  Poison my hasty hunger took for food.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_Guido_, 2400-2406.]\n\nIf there be any concrete form of evil with which the poet's optimism is\nnot able to cope, any irretrievable black \"beyond white's power to\ndisintensify,\" it is the refusal to take a definite stand and resolute\nfor either virtue or vice; the hesitancy and compromise of a life that\nis loyal to nothing, not even to its own selfishness. The cool self-love\nof the old English moralists, which \"reduced the game of life to\nprinciples,\" and weighed good and evil in the scales of prudence, is to\nour poet the deepest damnation.\n\n  \"Saint Eldobert--I much approve his mode;\n  With sinner Vertgalant I sympathize;\n  But histrionic Sganarelle, who prompts\n  While pulling back, refuses yet concedes,--\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Surely, one should bid pack that mountebank!\"\n\nIn him, even\n\n               \"thickheads ought to recognize\n  The Devil, that old stager, at his trick\n  Of general utility, who leads\n  Downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Red Cotton Nightcap Country._]\n\nFor the bold sinner, who chooses and sustains his part to the end, the\npoet has hope. Indeed, the resolute choice is itself the beginning of\nhope; for, let a man only give _himself_ to anything, wreak _himself_ on\nthe world in the intensity of his hate, set all sail before the gusts of\npassion and \"range from Helen to Elvire, frenetic to be free,\" let him\nrise into a decisive self-assertion against the stable order of the\nmoral world, and he cannot fail to discover the nature of the task he\nhas undertaken, and the meaning of the power without, against which he\nhas set himself. If there be sufficient strength in a man to vent\nhimself in action, and \"try conclusions with the world,\" he will then\nlearn that it has another destiny than to be the instrument of evil.\nSelf-assertion taken by itself is good; indeed, it is the very law of\nevery life, human and other.\n\n                                      \"Each lie\n  Redounded to the praise of man, was victory\n  Man's nature had both right to get and might to gain.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Fifine at the Fair_, cxxviii.]\n\nBut it leads to the revelation of a higher law than that of selfishness.\nThe very assertion of the self which leads into evil, ultimately leaves\nthe self assertion futile. There is the disappointment of utter failure;\nthe sinner is thrown back upon himself empty-handed. He finds himself\nsubjected, even when sinning,\n\n                                         \"To the reign\n  Of other quite as real a nature, that saw fit\n  To have its way with man, not man his way with it.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, cxxviii.]\n\n  \"Poor pabulum for pride when the first love is found\n  Last also! and, so far from realizing gain,\n  Each step aside just proves divergency in vain.\n  The wanderer brings home no profit from his quest\n  Beyond the sad surmise that keeping house were best\n  Could life begin anew.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B:_Ibid_. cxxix.]\n\nThe impossibility of living a divided life, of enjoying at once the\nsweets of the flesh on the \"Turf,\" and the security of the \"Towers,\" is\nthe text of _Red Cotton Nightcap Country_. The sordid hero of the poem\nis gradually driven to choose between the alternatives. The best of his\nluck, the poet thinks, was the\n\n  \"Rough but wholesome shock,\n  An accident which comes to kill or cure,\n  A jerk which mends a dislocated joint!\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Red Cotton Nightcap Country_.]\n\nThe continuance of disguise and subterfuge, and the retention of \"the\nfirst falsehood,\" are ultimately made impossible to L\u00e9once Miranda:\n\n  \"Thus by a rude in seeming--rightlier judged\n  Beneficent surprise, publicity\n  Stopped further fear and trembling, and what tale\n  Cowardice thinks a covert: one bold splash\n  Into the mid-shame, and the shiver ends,\n  Though cramp and drowning may begin perhaps.\"[D]\n\n[Footnote D: _Ibid_.]\n\nIn the same spirit he finds Miranda's suicidal leap the best deed\npossible for _him_.\n\n                       \"'Mad!' 'No! sane, I say.\n  Such being the conditions of his life,\n  Such end of life was not irrational.\n  Hold a belief, you only half-believe,\n  With all-momentous issues either way,--\n  And I advise you imitate this leap,\n  Put faith to proof, be cured or killed at once!'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Red Cotton Nightcap Country_.]\n\nThus it is the decisive deed that gains the poet's approval. He finds\nthe universe a great plot against a pied morality. Even Guido claims\nsome kind of regard from him, since \"hate,\" as Pompilia said, \"was the\ntruth of him.\" In that very hate we find, beneath his endless\nsubterfuges, something real, at last. And since, through his hate, he is\nfrankly measuring his powers against the good at work in the world,\nthere cannot remain any doubt of the issue. To bring the rival forces\nface to face is just what is wanted.\n\n      \"I felt quite sure that God had set\n  Himself to Satan; who would spend\n  A minute's mistrust on the end?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B:_Count Gismond_.]\n\nIt is the same respect for strenuous action and dislike of compromise,\nthat inspired the pathetic lines in which he condemns the Lost Leader,\nwho broke \"From the van and the free-men, and sunk to the rear and the\nslaves.\" For the good pursues its work without him.\n\n  \"We shall march prospering,--not thro' his presence;\n    Songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre;\n  Deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence,\n    Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:\n  _Blot out his name_, then, record one lost soul more,\n    One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,\n  One more devil's triumph and sorrow for angels,\n    One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The List Leader_.]\n\nEverywhere Browning's ethical teaching has this characteristic feature\nof vigorous decisiveness. As Dr. Westcott has said, \"No room is left for\nindifference or neutrality. There is no surrender to an idle optimism. A\npart must be taken and maintained. The spirit in which Luther said\n'_Pecca fortiter_' finds in him powerful expression.\" Browning is\nemphatically the poet-militant, and the prophet of struggling manhood.\nHis words are like trumpet-calls sounded in the van of man's struggle,\nwafted back by the winds, and heard through all the din of conflict by\nhis meaner brethren, who are obscurely fighting for the good in the\nthrong and crush of life. We catch the tones of this heart-strengthening\nmusic in the earliest poems he sung: nor did his courage fail, or vigour\nwane, as the shades of night gathered round him. In the latest of all\nhis poems, he still speaks of\n\n  \"One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,\n    Never doubted clouds would break,\n  Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,\n    Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,\n      Sleep to wake.\"\n\n  \"No, at noon-day in the bustle of man's work-time\n    Greet the unseen with a cheer!\n  Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,\n    'Strive and thrive'! cry 'Speed!--fight on, fare ever\n      There as here.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: Epilogue to _Asolande_.]\n\nThese are fit words to close such a life. His last act is a kind of\nre-enlistment in the service of the good; the joyous venturing forth on\na new war under new conditions and in lands unknown, by a heroic man who\nis sure of himself and sure of his cause.\n\nBut now comes the great difficulty. How can the poet combine such\nearnestness in the moral struggle with so deep a conviction of the\nultimate nothingness of evil, and of the complete victory of the good?\nAgain and again we have found him pronounce such victory to be\nabsolutely necessary and inevitable. His belief in God, his trust in His\nlove and might, will brook no limit anywhere. His conviction is that the\npower of the good subjects evil itself to its authority.\n\n    \"My own hope is, a sun will pierce\n  The thickest cloud earth ever stretched;\n    That, after Last, returns the First,\n  Though a wide compass round be fetched;\n    That what began best, can't end worst.\n    Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Apparent Failure_.]\n\nIt is the poet himself and not merely the sophistic aesthete of _Fifine_\nthat speaks:--\n\n  \"Partake my confidence! No creature's made so mean\n  But that, some way, it boasts, could we investigate,\n  Its supreme worth: fulfils, by ordinance of fate,\n  Its momentary task, gets glory all its own,\n  Tastes triumph in the world, pre-eminent, alone.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"As firm is my belief, quick sense perceives the same\n  Self-vindicating flash illustrate every man\n  And woman of our mass, and prove, throughout the plan,\n  No detail but, in place allotted it, was prime\n  And perfect.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, xxix.]\n\nBut if so,--if Helen, Fifine, Guido, find themselves within the plan,\nfulfilling, after all, the task allotted to them in the universal\nscheme, how can we condemn them? Must we not plainly either modify our\noptimism and keep our faith in God within bounds, or, on the other hand,\nmake every failure \"apparent\" only, sin a phantom, and the distinction\nbetween right and wrong a helpful illusion that stings man to\neffort--but an illusion all the same?\n\n  \"What but the weakness in a Faith supplies\n  The incentive to humanity, no strength\n  Absolute, irresistible comforts.\n  How can man love but what he yearns to help?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1649-1652.]\n\nWhere is the need, nay, the possibility, of self-sacrifice, except where\nthere is misery? How can good, the good which is highest, find itself,\nand give utterance and actuality to the power that slumbers within it,\nexcept as resisting evil? Are not good and evil relative? Is not every\ncriminal, when really known, working out in his own way the salvation of\nhimself and the world? Why cannot he, then, take his stand on his right\nto move towards the good by any path that best pleases himself: since\nmove he must. It is easy for the religious conscience to admit with\nPippa that\n\n  \"All service ranks the same with God--\n  With God, whose puppets, best and worst,\n  Are we: there is no last or first.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Pippa Passes_.]\n\nBut, if so, why do we admire her sweet pre-eminence in moral beauty, and\nin what is she really better than Ottima? The doctrine that\n\n  \"God's in His heaven--\n  All's right with the world!\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nfinds its echo in every devout spirit from the beginning of the world:\nit is of the very essence of religion. But what of its moral\nconsequences? Religion, when thoroughly consistent, is the triumphant\nreconciliation of all contradictions. It is optimism, the justification\nof things as the process of evolving the good; and its peace and joy are\njust the outcome of the conviction, won by faith, that the ideal is\nactual, and that every detail of life is, in its own place, illumined\nwith divine goodness. But morality is the condemnation of things as they\nare, by reference to a conception of a good which ought to be. The\nabsolute identification of the actual and ideal extinguishes morality,\neither in something lower or something higher. But the moral ideal, when\nreached, turns at once into a stepping-stone, a dead self; and the good\nformulates itself anew as an ideal in the future. So that morality is\nthe sphere of discrepancy, and the moral life a progressive realization\nof a good that can never be complete. It would thus seem to be\nirreconcilably different from religion, which must, in some way or\nother, find the good to be present, actual, absolute, without shadow of\nchange, or hint of limit or imperfection.\n\nHow, then, does the poet deal with the apparently fundamental\ndiscrepancy between religion, which postulates the absolute and\nuniversal supremacy of God, and morality, which postulates the absolute\nsupremacy of man within the sphere of his own action, in so far as it is\ncalled right or wrong?\n\nThis difficulty, in one or other of its forms, is, perhaps, the most\npressing in modern philosophy. It is the problem of the possibility of\nrising above the \"Either, Or\" of discrepant conceptions, to a position\nwhich grasps the alternatives together in a higher idea. It is at bottom\nthe question, whether we can have a philosophy at all; or whether we\nmust fall back once more into compromise, and the scepticism and despair\nwhich it always brings with it.\n\nIt is just because Browning does not compromise between the contending\ntruths that he is instructive. The value of his solution of the problem\ncorresponds accurately to the degree in which he holds both the\nabsoluteness of God's presence in history, and the complete independence\nof the moral consciousness. He refused to degrade either God or man. In\nthe name of religion, he refuses to say that \"a purpose of reason is\nvisible in the social and legal structures of mankind\"--_only_ \"on the\nwhole \"; and in the name of morality, he refuses to \"assert the\nperfection of the actual world\" as it is, and by implication to stultify\nall human endeavour. He knew the vice of compromising, and strove to\nhold both the truths in their fulness.\n\nThat he did not compromise God's love or power, and make it dominant\nmerely \"on the whole,\" leaving within His realm, which is universal, a\nlimbo for the \"lost,\" is evident to the most casual reader.\n\n  \"This doctrine, which one healthy view of things,\n  One sane sight of the general ordinance--\n  Nature,--and its particular object,--man,--\n  Which one mere eyecast at the character\n  Of Who made these and gave man sense to boot,\n  Had dissipated once and evermore,--\n  This doctrine I have dosed our flock withal.\n  Why? Because none believed it.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Inn Album_.]\n\n\"O'er-punished wrong grows right,\" Browning says. Hell is, for him, the\nconsciousness of opportunities neglected, arrested growth; and even\nthat, in turn, is the beginning of a better life.\n\n  \"However near I stand in His regard,\n  So much the nearer had I stood by steps\n  Offered the feet which rashly spurned their help.\n  That I call Hell; why further punishment?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Camel-Driver._]\n\nAnother ordinary view, according to which evil is self-destructive, and\nends with the annihilation of its servant, he does not so decisively\nreject. At least, in a passage of wonderful poetic and philosophic\npower, which he puts into the mouth of Caponsacchi, he describes Guido\nas gradually lapsing towards the chaos, which is lower then created\nexistence. He observes him\n\n  \"Not to die so much as slide out of life,\n  Pushed by the general horror and common hate\n  Low, lower,--left o' the very ledge of things,\n  I seem to see him catch convulsively,\n  One by one at all honest forms of life,\n  At reason, order, decency and use,\n  To cramp him and get foothold by at least;\n  And still they disengage them from _his_ clutch.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"And thus I see him slowly and surely edged\n  Off all the table-land whence life upsprings\n  Aspiring to be immortality.\"\n\nThere he loses him in the loneliness, silence and dusk--\n\n  \"At the horizontal line, creation's verge.\n  From what just is to absolute nothingness.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--Giuseppe Caponsacchi_, 1911-1931.]\n\nBut the matchless moral insight of the Pope leads to a different\nconclusion, and the poet again retrieves his faith. The Pope puts his\nfirst trust \"in the suddenness of Guido's fate,\" and hopes that the\ntruth may \"be flashed out by the blow of death, and Guido see one\ninstant and be saved.\" Nor is his trust vain. \"The end comes,\" said Dr.\nWestcott. \"The ministers of death claim him. In his agony he summons\nevery helper whom he has known or heard of--\n\n  \"'Abate,--Cardinal,--Christ,--Maria,--God--'\n\n\"and then the light breaks through the blackest gloom:\n\n  \"'Pompilia! will you let them murder me?'\n\n\"In this supreme moment he has known what love is, and, knowing it, has\nbegun to feel it. The cry, like the intercession of the rich man in\nHades, is a promise of a far-off deliverance.\"\n\nBut even beyond this hope, which is the last for most men, the Pope had\nstill another.\n\n  \"Else I avert my face, nor follow him\n  Into that sad obscure sequestered state\n  Where God unmakes but to remake the soul\n  He else made first in vain: _which must not be_.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 2129-2132.]\n\nThis phrase, \"which must not be,\" seems to me to carry in it the\nirrefragable conviction of the poet himself. The same faith in the\nfuture appears in the words in which Pompilia addresses her priest.\n\n  \"O lover of my life, O soldier-saint,\n  No work begun shall ever pause for death!\n  Love will be helpful to me more and more\n  I' the coming course, the new path I must tread,\n  My weak hand in thy strong hand, strong for that!\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Seek--Pompilia_, 1786-1790.]\n\nFor the poet, the death of man brings no change in the purpose of God;\nnor does it, or aught else, fix a limit to His power, or stultify by\nfailure the end implied in all God's work, nature no less than man\nhimself--to wit, that every soul shall learn the lesson of goodness, and\nreflect the devine life in desire, intelligence, and will.\n\nEqually emphatic, on some sides at least, is Browning's rejection of\nthose compromises, with which the one-sided religious consciousness\nthreatens the existence of the moral life. At times, indeed, he seems to\nteach, as man's best and highest, a passive acquiescence in the divine\nbenevolence; and he uses the dangerous metaphor of the clay and potter's\nwheel. _Rabbi Ben Ezra_ bids us feel\n\n  \"Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay\";\n\nand his prayer is,\n\n  \"So, take and use Thy work:\n  Amend what flaws may lurk,\n  What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!\n  My times be in Thy hand!\n  Perfect the cup as planned!\n  Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Rabbi Ben Ezra_.]\n\nBut this attitude of quiescent trust, which is so characteristic of\nreligion, is known by the poet to be only a phase of man's best life. It\nis a temporary resting-place for the pilgrim: \"the country of Beulah,\nwhose air is very sweet and pleasant, where he may solace himself for a\nseason.\" But, \"the way lies directly through it,\" and the pilgrim,\n\"being a little strengthened and better able to bear his sickness,\" has\nto go forward on his journey. Browning's characteristic doctrine on this\nmatter is not acquiescence and resignation. \"Leave God the way\" has, in\nhis view, its counterpart and condition--\"Have you the will!\"\n\n               \"For a worm must turn\n  If it would have its wrong observed by God.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book--Pompilia,_ 1592-1593.]\n\nThe root of Browning's joy is in the need of progress towards an\ninfinitely high goal. He rejoices\n\n           \"that man is hurled\n  From change to change unceasingly,\n  His soul's wings never furled.\"\n\nThe bliss of endeavour, the infinite worth of the consciousness of\nfailure, with its evidence of coming triumph, \"the spark which disturbs\nour clod,\" these are the essence of his optimistic interpretation of\nhuman life, and also of his robust ethical doctrine.\n\n  \"Then, welcome each rebuff\n  That turns earth's smoothness rough,\n  Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!\n  Be our joys three-parts pain!\n  Strive, and hold cheap the strain;\n  Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Rabbi Ben Ezra._]\n\nAnd he prolongs the battle beyond time, for the battle is the moral life\nand man's best, and therefore God's best in man. The struggle upward\nfrom the brute, may, indeed end with death. But this only means that man\n\"has learned the uses of the flesh,\" and there are in him other\npotencies to evolve:\n\n  \"Other heights in other lives, God willing.\"\n\nDeath is the summing up of this life's meaning, stored strength for new\nadventure.\n\n\"The future I may face now I have proved the past;\" and, in view of it,\nBrowning is\n\n  \"Fearless and unperplexed\n  When I wage battle next,\n  What weapons to select, what armour to indue.\"\n\nHe is sure that it will be a battle, and a winning one. There is no\nlimiting here of man's possibility, or confining of man's endeavour\nafter goodness.\n\n  \"Strive and Thrive! cry 'Speed,' fight on, fare ever\n  There as here,\"\n\nare the last words which came from his pen.\n\nNow, it may fairly be argued that these allusions to what death may\nmean, and what may lie beyond death, valuable as they may be as poetry,\ncannot help in philosophy. They do not solve the problem of the relation\nbetween morality and religion, but merely continue the antagonism\nbetween them into a life beyond, of which we have no experience. If the\nproblem is to be solved, it must be solved as it is stated for us in the\npresent world.\n\nThis objection is valid, so far as it goes. But Browning's treatment is\nvaluable all the same, in so far as it indicates his unwillingness to\nlimit or compromise the conflicting truths. He, by implication, rejects\nthe view, ordinarily held without being examined, that the moral life is\npreliminary to the joy and rest of religion; a brief struggle, to be\nfollowed by a sudden lift out of it into some serene sphere, where man\nwill lead an angel's life, which knows no imperfection and therefore no\ngrowth. He refuses to make morality an accident in man's history and \"to\nput man in the place of God,\" by identifying the process with the ideal;\nhe also refuses to make man's struggle, and God's achievement within\nman, mutually exclusive alternatives. As I shall show in the sequel,\nmovement towards an ideal, actualizing but never actualized, is for the\npoet the very nature of man. And to speak about either God or man (or\neven the absolute philosopher) as \"the last term of a development\" has\nno meaning to him. We are not first moral and then religious, first\nstruggling with evil and then conscious of overcoming it. God is with us\nin the battle, and the victory is in every blow.\n\nBut there lies a deeper difficulty than this in the way of reconciling\nmorality and religion, or the presence of both God and man in human\naction. Morality, in so far as it is achievement, might conceivably be\nimmediately identified with the process of an absolute good; but\nmorality is always a consciousness of failure as well. Its very essence\nand verve is the conviction that the ideal is not actual. And the higher\na man's spiritual attainment, the more impressive is his view of the\nevil of the world, and of the greatness of the work pressing to be done.\n\"Say not ye, there are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? Behold\nI say unto you, 'Lift up your eyes and look on the fields; for they are\nwhite already to harvest.'\" It looks like blasphemy against morality to\nsay \"that God lives in eternity and has, therefore, plenty of time.\"\nMorality destroys one's contentment with the world; and its language\nseems to be, \"God is not here, but there; the kingdom is still to come.\"\n\nNor does it rest with condemning the world. It also finds flaws in its\nown highest achievement; so that we seem ever \"To mock ourselves in all\nthat's best of us.\" The beginning of the spiritual life seems just to\nconsist in a consciousness of complete failure, and that consciousness\never grows deeper.\n\nThis is well illustrated in Browning's account of Caponsacchi; from the\ntime when Pompilia's smile first \"glowed\" upon him, and set him--\n\n    \"Thinking how my life\n  Had shaken under me--broken short indeed\n  And showed the gap 'twixt what is, what should be--\n  And into what abysm the soul may slip\"--[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_Giuseppe Caponsacchi_, 485-488.]\n\nup to the time when his pure love for her revealed to him something of\nthe grandeur of goodness, and led him to define his ideal and also to\nexpress his despair.\n\n  \"To have to do with nothing but the true,\n  The good, the eternal--and these, not alone\n  In the main current of the general life,\n  But small experiences of every day,\n  Concerns of the particular hearth and home:\n  To learn not only by a comet's rush\n  But a rose's birth--not by the grandeur, God,\n  But the comfort, Christ. _All this_ how _far away_\n  Mere delectation, meet for a minute's dream!\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid._ 2089-2097.]\n\nSo illimitably beyond his strength is such a life, that he finds himself\nlike the drudging student who\n\n                           \"Trims his lamp,\n  Opens his Plutarch, puts him in the place\n  Of Roman, Grecian; draws the patched gown close,\n  Dreams, 'Thus should I fight, save or rule the world!'--\n  Then smilingly, contentedly, awakes\n  To the old solitary nothingness.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_Giuseppe Caponsacchi_, 2098-2103.]\n\nThe moral world with its illimitable horizon had Opened out around him,\nthe voice of the new commandment bidding him \"be perfect as his Father\nin heaven is perfect\" had destroyed his peace, and made imperative a\nwell nigh hopeless struggle; and, as he compares himself at his best\nwith the new ideal, he breaks out into the cry,\n\n  \"O great, just, good God! Miserable Me!\"\n\nThis humility and contrition, this discontent verging on hopelessness,\nconstituted, as we have seen, the characteristic attitude of Carlyle;\nand it represents a true and, in fact, an indispensable element of man's\nmoral life.\n\nBut this self-condemnation in the face of the moral law is nothing more\nthan an element, and must not be taken either for the whole truth or for\nthe most fundamental one. It is because it is taken as fundamental and\nfinal that the discrepancy between morality and religion is held to be\nabsolute, and the consciousness of evil is turned against faith in the\nGood. It is an abstract way of thinking that makes us deduce, from the\ntranscendent height of the moral ideal, the impossibility of attaining\ngoodness, and the failure of God's purpose in man. And this is what\nCarlyle did. He stopped short at the consciousness of imperfection, and\nhe made no attempt to account for it. He took it as a complete fact, and\ntherefore drew a sharp line of distinction between the human and the\ndivine. And, so far, he was right; for, if we look no further than this\nnegative side, it is emphatically absurd to identify man, be he\n\"philosopher\" or not, with the Absolute. \"Why callest thou Me good?\nthere is none good save One, that is God.\" The \"ought\" _must_ stand\nabove _all_ human attainment, and declare that \"whatever is, is wrong.\"\nBut whence comes the ought itself, the ideal which condemns us? Is it\nnot also immanent in the fact it condemns?\n\n\"Who is not acute enough,\" asks Hegel, \"to see a great deal in his\nsurroundings which is really far from being what it ought to be?\" And\nwho also, we may add, has not enough of the generalizing faculty, often\nmistaken for a philosophical one, to extend this condemnation over the\nwhole of \"this best of all possible worlds\"? But what is this\n\"ought-to-be,\" which has such potency in it that all things confronted\nwith it lose their worth?\n\nThe first answer is, that it is an idea which men, and particularly good\nmen, carry with them. But a little consideration will show that it\ncannot be a mere idea. It must be something more valid than a capricious\nproduct of the individual imagination. For we cannot wisely condemn\nthings because they do not happen to answer to any casual conception\nwhich we may choose to elevate into a criterion. A criterion must have\nobjective validity. It must be an idea _of_ something and not an empty\nnotion; and that something must, at the worst, be possible. Nay, when we\nconsider all that is involved in it, it becomes obvious that a true\nideal--an ideal which is a valid criterion--must be not only possible\nbut real, and, indeed, more real than that which is condemned by\nreference to it. Absolute pessimism has in it the same contradiction as\nabsolute scepticism has,--in fact, it is only its practical counterpart;\nfor both scepticism and pessimism involve the assumption that it is\npossible to reach a position outside the realm of being, from which it\nmay be condemned as a whole. But the rift between actual and ideal must\nfall within the real or intelligible world, do what the pessimists will;\nand a condemnation of man which is not based on a principle realized by\nhumanity, is a fiction of abstract thought, which lays stress on the\nactuality of the imperfect and treats the perfect as if it were as good\nas nothing, which it cannot be. In other words, this way of regarding\nhuman life isolates the passing phenomenon, and does not look to that\nwhich reveals itself in it and causes it to pass away. Confining\nourselves, however, for the present, to the ideal in morality, we can\neasily see that, in that sphere at least, the actual and ideal change\nplaces; and that the latter contrasts with the former as the real with\nthe phenomenal. For, in the first place, the moral ideal is something\nmore than a mere idea not yet realized. It is more even than a _true_\nidea; for no mere knowledge, however true, has such intimate relation to\nthe self-consciousness of man as his moral ideal. A mathematical axiom,\nand the statement of a physical law, express what is true; but they do\nnot occupy the same place in our mind as a moral principle. Such a\nprinciple is an ideal, as well as an idea. It is an idea which has\ncausative potency in it. It supplies motives, it is an incentive to\naction, and, though in one sense a thing of the future, it is also the\nactual spring and source of present activity. In so far as the agent\nacts, as Kant put it, not according to laws, but according to an _idea_\nof law (and a responsible agent always acts in this manner), the ideal\nis as truly actualized in him as the physical law is actualized in the\nphysical fact, or the vegetable life in the plant. In fact, the ideal of\na moral being is his life. All his actions are its manifestations. And,\njust as the physical fact is not seen as it really is, nor its reality\nproved, till science has penetrated through the husk of the sensuous\nphenomenon, and grasped it in thought as an instance of a law; so an\nindividual's actions are not understood, and can have no moral meaning\nwhatsoever, except in the light of the purpose which gave them being. We\nknow the man only when we know his creed. His reality is what he\nbelieves in; that is, it is his ideal.\n\nIt is the consciousness that the ideal is the real which explains the\nfact of contrition. To become morally awakened is to become conscious of\nthe vanity and nothingness of the past life, as confronted with the new\nideal implied in it. The past life is something to be cast aside as\nfalse show, just because the self that experienced it was not realized\nin it. It is for this reason that the moral agent sets himself against\nit, and desires to annihilate all its claims upon him by undergoing its\npunishment, and drinking to the dregs its cup of bitterness. Thus his\ntrue life lies in the realization of his ideal, and his advance towards\nit is his coming to himself. Only in attaining to it does he attain\nreality, and the only realization possible for him in the present is\njust the consciousness of the potency of the ideal. To him to live is to\nrealize his ideal. It is a power that irks, till it finds expression in\nmoral habits that accord with its nature, _i.e._, till the spirit has,\nout of its environment, created a body adequate to itself.\n\nThe condemnation of self which characterizes all moral life and is the\ncondition of moral progress, must not, therefore, be regarded as a\ncomplete truth. For the very condemnation implies the actual presence of\nsomething better. Both of the terms--both the criterion and the fact\nwhich is condemned by it--fall within the same individual life. Man\ncannot, therefore, without injustice, condemn himself in all that he is;\nfor the condemnation is itself a witness to the activity of that good of\nwhich he despairs. Hence, the threatening majesty of the moral\nimperative is nothing but the shadow of man's own dignity; and moral\ncontrition, and even the complete despair of the pessimistic theory,\nwhen rightly understood, are recognized as unwilling witnesses to the\nauthority and the actuality of the highest good. And, on the other hand,\nthe highest good cannot be regarded as a mere phantom, without\nnullifying all our condemnation of the self and the world.\n\nThe legitimate deduction from the height of man's moral ideal is thus\nfound to be, not, as Carlyle thought, the weakness and worthlessness of\nhuman nature, but its promise and native dignity: and in a healthy moral\nconsciousness it produces, not despair, but faith and joy. For, as has\nbeen already suggested in a previous chapter, the authority of the moral\nlaw over man is rooted in man's endowment. Its imperative is nothing but\nthe voice of the future self, bidding the present self aspire, while its\nreproof is only the expression of a moral aspiration which has\nmisunderstood itself. Contrition is not a bad moral state which should\nbring despair, but a good state, full of promise of one that is still\nbetter. It is, in fact, just the first step which the ideal takes in its\nprocess of self-realization: \"the sting that bids nor sit, nor stand,\nbut go!\"\n\nThe moral ideal thus, like every other ideal, even that which we regard\nas present in natural life, contains a certain guarantee of its own\nfulfilment. It is essentially an active thing, an energy, a movement\nupwards. It may, indeed, be urged that the guarantee is imperfect.\nIdeals tend to self-realization, but the tendency may remain\nunfulfilled. Men have some ideals which they never reach, and others\nwhich, at first sight at least, it were better for them not to reach.\nThe goal may never be attained, or it may prove \"a ruin like the rest.\"\nAnd, as long as man is moral, the ideal is not, and cannot be, fully\nreached, Morality necessarily implies a rift within human nature, a\ncontradiction between what is and what ought to be; although neither the\nrift nor the contradiction is absolute. There might seem for this reason\nto be no way of bringing optimism and ethics together, of reconciling\nwhat is and what ought to be.\n\nMy answer to these difficulties must at this stage be very brief and\nincomplete. That the moral good, if attained, should itself prove vain\nis a plain self-contradiction. For moral good has no meaning except in\nso far as it is conceived as the highest good. The question. \"Why should\nI be moral,\" has no answer, because it is self-contradictory. The moral\nideal contains its justification in itself, and requires to lean on\nnothing else.\n\nBut it is not easy to prove that it is attainable. In one sense it is\nnot attainable, at least under the conditions of human life which fall\nwithin our experience, from which alone we have a right to speak. For,\nas I shall strive to show in a succeeding chapter, the essence of man's\nlife as spiritual, that is as intelligent and moral, is its\nself-realizing activity. Intellectual and moral life is progress,\nalthough it is the progress of an ideal which is real and complete, the\nreturn of the infinite to itself through the finite. The cessation of\nthe progress of the ideal in man, whereby man interprets the world in\nterms of himself and makes it the instrument of his purposes, is\nintellectual and moral death. From one point of view, therefore, this\nspiritual life, or moral and intellectual activity, is inspired at every\nstep by the consciousness of a \"beyond\" not possessed, of an unsolved\ncontradiction between the self and the not-self, of a good that ought to\nbe and is not. The last word, or rather the last word _but one_,\nregarding man is \"failure.\"\n\nBut failure is the last word but one, as the poet well knew. \"What's\ncome to perfection perishes,\" he tells us. From this point of view the\nfact that perfection is not reached, merely means that the process is\nnot ended. \"It seethes with the morrow for us and more.\" The recognition\nof failure implies more effort and higher progress, and contains a\nsuggestion of an absolute good, and even a proof of its active presence.\n\"The beyond,\" for knowledge and morality, is the Land of Promise. And\nthe promise is not a false one; for the \"land\" is possessed. The\nrecognition of the fact to be known, the statement of the problem, is\nthe first step in its solution; and the consciousness of the moral ideal\nnot attained is the first step in its self-actualizing progress. Had man\nnot come so far, he would not have known the further difficulty, or\nrecognized the higher good. To say that the moral ideal is never\nattained, is thus only a half-truth. We must add to it the fact that it\nis always being attained; nay, that it is always present as an active\nreality, attaining itself, evolving its own content. Or, to return to\nthe previous metaphor, the land of promise is possessed, although the\npossession always reveals a still better beyond, which is again a land\nof promise.\n\nWhile, therefore, it must always remain true that knowledge does not\nreach absolute reality, nor morality absolute goodness, this cannot be\nused as an argument against optimism, except on the presupposition that\nmental and moral activity are a disease. And this is a contradiction in\nterms. If the ideal is in itself good, the process whereby it is\nattained is good; if the process in itself is evil, the ideal it seeks\nis evil, and therefore the condemnation of the actual by reference to it\nis absurd. And, on the other hand, to postulate as best the identity of\nideal and actual, so that no process is necessary, is to assume a point\nof view where both optimism and pessimism are meaningless, for there is\nno criterion. As Aristotle teaches us, we have no right either to praise\nor to blame the highest. A process, such as morality is, which is not\nthe self-manifestation of an actual idea, and an ideal which does not\nreveal its potencies in its passing forms, are both fictions of\none-sided thought. The process is not the ideal, but its manifestation;\nand the ideal is not the process, but the principle which is its source\nand guide.\n\nBut if the process cannot be thus immediately identified with the ideal,\nor \"man take the place of God,\" or \"human self-consciousness be confused\nwith the absolute self-consciousness,\" far less can they be separated.\nThe infinitely high ideal of perfect knowledge and perfect goodness,\nimplied in the Christian command, \"Be ye perfect as your Father in\nheaven is perfect,\" is an ideal, just because the unity of what is and\nwhat ought to be is deeper than their difference. The recognition of the\nlimit of our knowledge, or the imperfection of our moral character, is a\ndirect witness to the fact that there is more to be known and a better\nto be achieved. The negative implies the affirmative, and is its effect.\nMan's confession of the limitation of his knowledge is made on the\nsupposition that the universe of facts, in all its infinitely rich\ncomplexity, is meant to be known; and his confession of moral\nimperfection is made by reference to a good which is absolute, and which\nyet may be and ought to be his. The good in morality is necessarily\nsupreme and perfect. A good that is \"merely human,\" \"relative to man's\nnature,\" in the sense of not being true goodness, is a phantom of\nconfused thinking. Morality demands \"_the_ good,\" and not a simulacrum\nor make-shift. The distinction between right and wrong, and with it all\nmoral aspiration, contrition, and repentance, would otherwise become\nmeaningless. What can a seeming good avail to a moral agent? There is no\nbetter or worse among merely apparent excellencies, and of phantoms it\nmatters not which is chosen. And, in a similar way, the distinction\nbetween true and false in knowledge, and the common condemnation of\nhuman knowledge as merely of phenomena, implies the absolute unity of\nthought and being, and the knowledge of that unity as a fact. There is\nno true or false amongst merely apparent facts.\n\nBut, if the ideal of man as a spiritual being is conceived as perfect,\nthen it follows not only that its attainment is possible, but that it is\nnecessary. The guarantee of its own fulfilment which an ideal carries\nwith it as an ideal, that is, as a potency in process of fulfilment,\nbecomes complete when that ideal is absolute. \"If God be for us, who can\nbe against us?\" The absolute good, in the language of Emerson, is \"too\ngood not to be true.\" If such an ideal be latent in the nature of man,\nit brings the order of the universe over to his side. For it implies a\nkinship between him, as a spiritual being, and the whole of existence.\nThe stars in their courses fight for him. In other words, the moral\nideal means nothing, if it does not imply a law which is universal. It\nis a law which exists already, whether man recognizes it or not; it is\nthe might in things, a law of which \"no jot or tittle can in any wise\npass away.\" The individual does not institute the moral law; he finds it\nto be written both within and without him. His part is to recognize, not\nto create it; to make it valid in his own life and so to identify\nhimself with it, that his service of it may be perfect freedom.\n\nWe thus conclude that morality, and even the self-condemnation,\ncontrition, and consciousness of failure which it brings with it as\nphases of its growth, are witnesses of the presence, and the actual\nproduct of an absolute good in man. Morality, in other words, rests\nupon, and is the self-evolution of the religious principle in man.\n\nA similar line of proof would show that religion implies morality. An\nabsolute good is not conceivable, except in relation to the process\nwhereby it manifests itself. In the language of theology, we may say\nthat God must create and redeem the world in order to be God; or that\ncreation and redemption,--the outflow of the universe from God as its\nsource, and its return to Him through the salvation of mankind,--reveal\nto us the nature of God. Apart from this outgoing of the infinite to the\nfinite and its return to itself through it, the name God would be an\nempty word, signifying a something unintelligible dwelling in the void\nbeyond the realm of being. But religion, as we have seen, is the\nrecognition not of an unknown but of the absolute good as real; the\njoyous consciousness of the presence of God in all things. And morality,\nin that it is the realization of an ideal which is perfect, is the\nprocess whereby the absolute good actualizes itself in man. It is true\nthat the ideal cannot be identified with the process; for it is the\nprinciple of the process, and therefore more than it. Man does not reach\n\"the last term of development,\" for there is no last term to a being\nwhose essence is progressive activity. He does not therefore take the\nplace of God, and his self-consciousness is never the absolute\nself-consciousness. But still, in so far as his life is a progress\ntowards the true and good, it is the process of truth and goodness\nwithin him. It is the activity of the ideal. It is God lifting man up to\nHimself, or, in the language of philosophy, \"returning to Himself in\nhistory.\" And yet it is at the same time man's effort after goodness.\nMan is not a mere \"vessel of divine grace,\" or a passive recipient of\nthe highest bounty. All man's goodness is necessarily man's achievement.\nAnd the realization by the ideal of itself is man's achievement of it.\nFor it is his ideal. The law without is also the law within. It is the\nlaw within because it is recognized as the law without. Thus, the moral\nconsciousness passes into the religious consciousness. The performance\nof duty is the willing service of the absolute good; and, as such, it\ninvolves also the recognition of a purpose that cannot fail. It is both\nactivity and faith, both a struggle and a consciousness of victory, both\nmorality and religion. We cannot, therefore, treat these as alternative\nphases of man's life. There is not first the pain of the moral struggle,\nand then the joy and rest of religion. The meat and drink is \"to do the\nwill of Him that sent Me, to finish His work.\" Heaven is the service of\nthe good. \"There is nothing in the world or out of it that can be called\nunconditionally good, except the good will.\" The process of willing--the\nmoral activity--is its own reward; \"the only jewel that shines in its\nown light.\"\n\nIt may seem to some to be presumptuous thus to identify the divine and\nthe human; but to separate them makes both morality and religion\nimpossible. It robs morality of its ideal, and makes God a mere name for\nthe \"unknown.\" Those who think that this identification degrades the\ndivine, misapprehend the nature of spirit; and forget that it is of its\nessence to communicate itself. And goodness and truth do not become less\nwhen shared; they grow greater. Spiritual possessions imply community\nwherein there is no exclusion; and to the Christian the glory of God is\nHis communication of Himself. Hence the so-called religious humility,\nwhich makes God different in nature from His work, really degrades the\nobject of its worship. It puts mere power above the gifts of spirit, and\nit indicates that the worshipper has not been emancipated from the\nslavishness, which makes a fetish of its God. Such a religion is not\nfree, and the development of man destroys it.\n\n  \"I never realized God's birth before--\n  How He grew likest God in being born.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--Pompilia_, 1690-1691.]\n\nThe intense love of the young mother drew the divine and the human\ntogether, and set at nought the contrast which prose ever draws between\nthem. This thought of the unity of God and man is one which has frequent\nutterance from the poet when his religious spirit is most deeply moved;\nfor it is the characteristic of religious feeling that it abolishes all\nsense of separation. It removes all the limitations of finitude and\nlifts man into rapturous unity with the God he adores; and it gives such\ncompleteness to his life that it seems to him to be a joyous pulse of\nthe life that is absolute. The feeling of unity may be an illusion. This\nwe cannot discuss here; but, in any case, it is a feeling essential to\nreligion. And the philosophy which seeks to lift this feeling into clear\nconsciousness and to account for its existence, cannot but recognize\nthat it implies and presupposes the essential affinity of the divine\nnature with the nature of man.\n\nThus, both from the side of morality and from that of religion, we are\nbrought to recognize the unity of God with man as a spiritual being. The\nmoral ideal is man's idea of perfection, that is, his idea of God. While\ntheology and philosophy are often occupied with the vain task of\nbridging a chasm between the finite and the infinite, which they assume\nto be separated, the supreme facts of the life of man as a spirit spring\nfrom their unity. In other words, morality and religion are but\ndifferent manifestations of the same principle. The good that man\neffects is, at the same time, the working of God within him. The\nactivity that man is,\n\n                                \"tending up,\n  Holds, is upheld by, God, and ends the man\n  Upward in that dread point of intercourse\n  Nor needs a place, for it returns to Him.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\n                              \"God, perchance,\n  Grants each new man, by some as new a mode,\n  Inter-communication with Himself\n  Wreaking on finiteness infinitude.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nAnd while man's moral endeavour is thus recognized as the activity of\nGod within him, it is also implied that the divine being can be known\nonly as revealed, and incarnated, if one may so say, in a perfect human\ncharacter. It was a permanent conviction of Browning, that\n\n      \"the acknowledgment of God in Christ\n  Accepted by thy reason, solves for thee\n  All questions in the earth and out of it.\"\n\nSo far from regarding the Power in the world which makes for\nrighteousness, as \"not-ourselves,\" as Matthew Arnold did in his haste,\nthat Power is known to be the man's true self and more, and morality is\nthe gradual process whereby its content is evolved. And man's state of\nperfection, which is symbolized for the intelligent by the term Heaven,\nis, for Browning,\n\n  \"The equalizing, ever and anon,\n  In momentary rapture, great with small,\n  Omniscience with intelligency, God\n  With man--the thunder glow from pole to pole\n  Abolishing, a blissful moment-space,\n  Great cloud alike and small cloud, in one fire--\n  As sure to ebb as sure again to flow\n  When the new receptivity deserves\n  The new completion.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau_.]\n\nThus, therefore, does the poet wed the divine strength with human\nweakness; and the principle of unity, thus conceived, gives him at once\nhis moral strenuousness and that ever present foretaste of victory,\nwhich we may call his religious optimism.\n\nWhether this principle receives adequate expression from the poet, we\nshall inquire in the next chapter. For on this depends its worth as a\nsolution of the enigma of man's moral life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nBROWNING'S TREATMENT OF THE PRINCIPLE OF LOVE.\n\n\n  \"God! Thou art Love! I build my faith on that!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_]\n\nIt may be well before going further to gather together the results so\nfar reached.\n\nBrowning was aware of the conflict of the religious and moral\nconsciousness, but he did not hesitate to give to each of them its most\nuncompromising utterance. And it is on this account that he is\ninstructive; for, whatever may be the value of compromise in practical\naffairs, there is no doubt that it has never done anything to advance\nhuman thought. His religion is an optimistic faith, a peaceful\nconsciousness of the presence of the highest in man, and therefore in\nall other things. Yet he does not hesitate to represent the moral life\nas a struggle with evil, and a movement through error towards a highest\ngood which is never finally realized. He sees that the contradiction is\nnot an absolute one, but that a good man is always both moral and\nreligious, and, in every good act he does, transcends their difference.\nHe knew that the ideal apart from the process is nothing, and that \"a\nGod beyond the stars\" is simply the unknowable. But he knew, too, that\nthe ideal is not _merely_ the process, but also that which starts the\nprocess, guides it, and comes to itself through it. God, emptied of\nhuman elements, is a mere name; but, at the same time, the process of\nhuman evolution does not exhaust the idea of God. The process by itself,\n_i.e._, mere morality, is a conception of a fragment, a fiction of\nabstract thought; it is a movement which has no beginning or end; and in\nit neither the head nor the heart of man could find contentment. He is\ndriven by ethics into philosophy, and by morality into religion.\n\nIt was in this way that Browning found himself compelled to trace back\nthe moral process to its origin, and to identify the moral law with the\nnature of God. It is this that gives value to his view of moral\nprogress, as reaching beyond death to a higher stage of being, for which\nman's attainments in this life are only preliminary.\n\n  \"What's time? Leave Now for dogs and apes,\n  Man has Forever.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Grammarian's Funeral_.]\n\nThere are other \"adventures brave and new\" for man, \"more lives yet,\"\nother ways of warfare, other depths of goodness and heights of love. The\npoet lifts the moral ideal into infinitude, and removes all limits to\nthe possibility and necessity of being good. Nay, the process itself is\ngood. Moral activity is its own bountiful reward; for moral progress,\nwhich means struggle, is the best thing in the world or out of it. To\nend such a process, to stop that activity, were therefore evil. But it\ncannot end, for it is the self-manifestation of the divine life. There\nis plenty of way to make, for the ideal is absolute goodness. The\nprocess cannot exhaust the absolute, and it is impossible that man\nshould be God. And yet this process is the process of the absolute, the\nworking of the ideal, the presence of the highest in man as a living\npower realizing itself in his acts and in his thoughts. And the absolute\ncannot fail; not in man, for the process is the evolution of his\nessential nature; and not in the world, for that is but the necessary\ninstrument of the evolution. By lifting the moral ideal of man to\ninfinitude, the poet has identified it with the nature of God, and made\nit the absolute law of things.\n\nNow, this idea of the identity of the human and the divine is a\nperfectly familiar Christian idea.\n\n  \"Thence shall I, approved\n  A man, for aye removed\n  From the developed brute; a God though in the germ.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Rabbi Ben Ezra._]\n\nThis idea is involved in the ordinary expressions of religious thought.\nBut, nevertheless, both theology and philosophy shrink from giving to it\na clear and unembarrassed utterance. Instead of rising to the sublime\nboldness of the Nazarene Teacher, they set up prudential differences\nbetween God and man--differences not of degree only but of nature; and,\nin consequence, God is reduced into an unknowable absolute, and man is\nmade incapable not only of moral, but also of intellectual life. The\npoet himself has proved craven-hearted in this, as we shall see. He,\ntoo, sets up insurmountable barriers between the divine and the human,\nand thereby weakens both his religious and his moral convictions. His\nmoral inspiration is greatest just where his religious enthusiasm is\nmost intense. In _Rabbi Ben Ezra, The Death in the Desert_, and _The\nRing and the Book_, there prevails a constant sense of the community of\nGod and man within the realm of goodness; and the world itself, \"with\nits dread machinery of sin and sorrow,\" is made to join the great\nconspiracy, whose purpose is at once the evolution of man's character,\nand the realization of the will of God.\n\n  \"So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too--\n  So, through the thunder comes a human voice\n  Saying, 'O heart I made, a heart beats here!\n  Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself!\n  Thou hast no power nor may'st conceive of mine,\n  But love I gave thee, with myself to love,\n  And thou must love Me who have died for thee.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _An Epistle from Karshish_.]\n\nBut, if we follow Browning's thoughts in his later and more reflective\npoems, such as _Ferishtah's_ _Fancies_ for instance, it will not be\npossible to hold that the poet altogether realized the importance for\nboth morality and religion alike, of the idea of the actual immanence of\nGod in man. In these poems he seems to have abandoned it in favour of\nthe hypotheses of a more timid philosophy. But, if his religious faith\nhad not been embarrassed by certain dogmatic presuppositions of which he\ncould not free himself, he might have met more successfully some of the\ndifficulties which later reflection revealed to him, and might have been\nable to set a true value on that \"philosophy,\" which betrayed his faith\nwhile appearing to support it.\n\nBut, before trying to criticize the principle by means of which Browning\nsought to reconcile the moral and religious elements of human life, it\nmay be well to give it a more explicit and careful statement.\n\nWhat, then, is that principle of unity between the divine and the human?\nHow can we interpret the life of man as God's life in man, so that man,\nin attaining the moral ideal proper to his own nature, is at the same\ntime fulfilling ends which may justly be called divine?\n\nThe poet, in early life and in late life alike, has one answer to this\nquestion--an answer given with the confidence of complete conviction.\nThe meeting-point of God and man is love. Love, in other words, is, for\nthe poet, the supreme principle both of morality and religion. Love,\nonce for all, solves that contradiction between them which, both in\ntheory and in practice, has embarrassed the world for so many ages. Love\nis the sublimest conception attainable by man; a life inspired by it is\nthe most perfect form of goodness he can conceive; therefore, love is,\nat the same moment, man's moral ideal, and the very essence of Godhood.\nA life actuated by love is divine, whatever other limitations it may\nhave. Such is the perfection and glory of this emotion, when it has been\ntranslated into a self-conscious motive, and become the energy of an\nintelligent will, that it lifts him who owns it to the sublimest height\nof being.\n\n  \"For the loving worm within its clod,\n  Were diviner than a loveless God\n  Amid his worlds, I will dare to say.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Christmas Eve_.]\n\nSo excellent is this emotion that, if man, who has this power to love,\ndid not find the same power in God, then man would excel Him, and the\ncreature and Creator change parts.\n\n  \"Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift,\n  That I doubt His own love can compete with it? Here, the parts shift?\n  Here, the creature surpass the Creator,--the end what Began?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Saul_.]\n\nNot so, says David, and with him no doubt the poet himself. God is\nHimself the source and fulness of love.\n\n        \"Tis Thou, God, that givest, 'tis I who receive:\n  In the first is the last, in Thy will is my power to believe.\n  All's one gift.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Would I suffer for him that I love? So would'st Thou,--so wilt Thou!\n  So shall crown Thee, the topmost, ineffablest, uttermost crown--\n  And Thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down\n  One spot for the creature to stand in!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Saul_.]\n\nAnd this same love not only constitutes the nature of God and the moral\nideal of man, but it is also the purpose and essence of all created\nbeing, both animate and inanimate.\n\n                          \"This world's no blot for us,\n  Nor blank; it means intensely and means good.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Fra Lippo Lippi_.]\n\n  \"O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:\n  And knowing this is love, and love is duty,\n  What further may be sought for or declared?\"\n\nIn this world then \"all's love, yet all's law.\" God permits nothing to\nbreak through its universal sway, even the very wickedness and misery of\nlife are brought into the scheme of good, and, when rightly understood,\nreveal themselves as its means.\n\n  \"I can believe this dread machinery\n  Of sin and sorrow, would confound me else,\n  Devised--all pain, at most expenditure\n  Of pain by Who devised pain--to evolve,\n  By new machinery in counterpart,\n  The moral qualities of man--how else?--\n  To make him love in turn and be beloved,\n  Creative and self-sacrificing too,\n  And thus eventually Godlike.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1375-1383.]\n\nThe poet thus brings the natural world, the history of man, and the\nnature of God, within the limits of the same conception. The idea of\nlove solves for Browning all the enigmas of human life and thought.\n\n          \"The thing that seems\n  Mere misery, under human schemes,\n  Becomes, regarded by the light\n  Of love, as very near, or quite\n  As good a gift as joy before.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Easter Day_.]\n\nTaking Browning's work as a whole, it is scarcely possible to deny that\nthis is at once the supreme motive of his art, and the principle on\nwhich his moral and religious doctrine rests. He is always strong and\nconvincing when he is dealing with this theme. It was evidently his own\ndeepest conviction, and it gave him the courage to face the evils of the\nworld, and the power as an artist to \"contrive his music from its\nmoans.\" It plays, in his philosophy of life, the part that Reason fills\nfor Hegel, or the Blind Will for Schopenhauer; and he is as fearless as\nthey are in reducing all phenomena into forms of the activity of his\nfirst principle. Love not only gave him firm footing amid the wash and\nwelter of the present world, where time spins fast, life fleets, and all\nis change, but it made him look forward with joy to \"the immortal\ncourse\"; for, to him, all the universe is love-woven. All life is but\ntreading the \"love-way,\" and no wanderer can finally lose it. \"The\nway-faring men, though fools, shall not err therein.\"\n\nSince love has such an important place in Browning's theory of life, it\nis necessary to see what he means by it. For love has had for different\nindividuals, ages and nations, a very different significance; and almost\nevery great poet has given it a different interpretation. And this is\nnot unnatural. For love is a passion which, beginning with youth and the\nhey-day of the blood, expands with the expanding life, and takes new\nforms of beauty and goodness at every stage. And this is equally true,\nwhether we speak of the individual or of the human race.\n\nLove is no accident in man's history, nor a passing emotion. It is\nrather a constitutive element of man's nature, fundamental and necessary\nas his intelligence. And, like everything native and constitutive, it is\nobedient to the law of evolution, which is the law of man's being; and\nit passes, therefore, through ever varying forms. To it--if we may for\nthe moment make a distinction between the theoretical and practical\nlife, or between ideas and their causative potency--must be attributed\nthe constructive power which has built the world of morality, with its\nintangible but most real relations which bind man to man and age to age.\nIt is the author of the organic institutions which, standing between the\nindividual and the rudeness of nature, awaken in him the need, and give\nhim the desire and the faculty, of attaining higher things than physical\nsatisfaction. Man is meant to act as well as to think, to be virtuous as\nwell as to have knowledge. It is possible that reverence for the\nintellect may have led men, at times, to attribute the evolution of the\nrace too exclusively to the theoretic consciousness, forgetting that,\nalong with reason, there co-operates a twin power in all that is wisest\nand best in us, and that a heart which can love, is as essential a\npre-condition of all worthy attainment, as an intellect which can see.\nLove and reason[A] are equally primal powers in man, and they reflect\nmight into each other: for love increases knowledge, and knowledge love.\nIt is their combined power that gives interest and meaning to the facts\nof life, and transmutes them into a moral and intellectual order. They,\ntogether, are lifting man out of the isolation and chaos of subjectivity\ninto membership in a spiritual kingdom, where collision and exclusion\nare impossible, and all are at once kings and subjects.\n\n[Footnote A: It would be more correct to say the reason that is loving\nor the love that is rational; for, though there is distinction, there is\nno dualism.]\n\nAnd, just as reason is present as a transmuting power in the sensational\nlife of the infancy of the individual and race, so is love present\namidst the confused and chaotic activity of the life that knows no law\nother than its own changing emotions. Both make for order, and both grow\nwith it. Both love and reason have travelled a long way in the history\nof man. The patriot's passion for his country, the enthusiasm of pity\nand helpfulness towards all suffering which marks the man of God, are as\nfar removed from the physical attraction of sex for sex, and the mere\nliking of the eye and ear, as is the intellectual power of the sage from\nthe vulpine cunning of the savage. \"For,\" as Emerson well said, \"it is a\nfire that, kindling its first embers in the narrow nook of a private\nbosom, caught from a wandering spark out of another heart, glows and\nenlarges until it warms and beams upon multitudes of men and women, upon\nthe universal heart of all, and so lights up the world and all nature\nwith its generous flames.\" Both love and reason alike pass through stage\nafter stage, always away from the particularity of selfishness and\nignorance, into larger and larger cycles of common truth and goodness,\ntowards the full realization of knowledge and benevolence, which is the\ninheritance of emancipated man. In this transition, the sensuous play of\nfeeling within man, and the sensitive responses to external stimuli, are\nmade more and more organic to ends which are universal, that is, to\nspiritual ends. Love, which in its earliest form, seems to be the\nnatural yearning of brute for brute, appearing and disappearing at the\nsuggestion of physical needs, passes into an idealized sentiment, into\nan emotion of the soul, into a principle of moral activity which\nmanifests itself in a permanent outflow of helpful deeds for man. It\nrepresents, when thus sublimated, one side at least of the expansion of\nthe self, which culminates when the world beats in the pulse of the\nindividual, and the joys and sorrows, the defeats and victories of\nmankind are felt by him as his own. It is no longer dependent merely on\nthe incitement of youth, grace, beauty, whether of body or character; it\ntranscends all limitations of sex and age, and finds objects on which it\ncan spend itself in all that God has made, even in that which has\nviolated its own law of life and become mean and pitiful. It becomes a\nlove of fallen humanity, and an ardour to save it by becoming the\nconscious and permanent motive of all men. The history of this evolution\nof love has been written by the poets. Every phase through which this\never-deepening emotion has passed, every form which this primary power\nhas taken in its growth, has received from them its own proper\nexpression. They have made even the grosser instincts lyric with beauty;\nand, ascending with their theme, they have sung the pure passion of soul\nfor soul, its charm and its strength, its idealism and heroism, up to\nthe point at which, in Browning, it transcends the limits of finite\nexistence, sheds all its earthly vesture, and becomes a spiritual\nprinciple of religious aspiration and self-surrender to God.\n\nBrowning nowhere shows his native strength more clearly than in his\ntreatment of love. He has touched this world-old theme--which almost\nevery poet has handled, and handled in his highest manner--with that\nfreshness and insight, which is possible only to the inborn originality\nof genius. Other poets have, in some ways, given to love a more\nexquisite utterance, and rendered its sweetness, and tenderness, and\ncharm with a lighter grace. It may even be admitted that there are poets\nwhose verses have echoed more faithfully the fervour and intoxication of\npassion, and who have shown greater power of interpreting it in the\nlight of a mystic idealism. But, in one thing, Browning stands alone. He\nhas given to love a moral significance, a place and power amongst those\nsubstantial elements on which rest the dignity of man's being and the\ngreatness of his destiny, in a way which is, I believe, without example\nin any other poet. And he has done this by means of that moral and\nreligious earnestness, which pervades all his poetry. The one object of\nsupreme interest to him is the development of the soul, and his\npenetrative insight revealed to him the power to love as the paramount\nfact in that development. To love, he repeatedly tells us, is the sole\nand supreme object of man's life; it is the one lesson which he has to\nlearn on earth; and, love once learnt, in what way matters little, \"it\nleaves completion in the soul.\" Love we dare not, and, indeed, cannot\nabsolutely miss. No man can be absolutely selfish and be man.\n\n  \"Beneath the veriest ash, there hides a spark of soul\n  Which, quickened by love's breath, may yet pervade the whole\n  O' the grey, and, free again, be fire; of worth the same,\n  Howe'er produced, for, great or little, flame is flame.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, xliii.]\n\nLove, once evoked, once admitted into the soul,\n\n                          \"adds worth to worth,\n  As wine enriches blood, and straightway sends it forth,\n  Conquering and to conquer, through all eternity,\n  That's battle without end.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_. liv.]\n\nThis view of the significance of love grew on Browning as his knowledge\nof man's nature and destiny became fuller and deeper, while, at the same\ntime, his trust in the intellect became less. Even in _Paracelsus_ he\nreveals love, not as a sentiment or intoxicating passion, as one might\nexpect from a youthful poet, but as one of the great fundamental\n\"faculties\" of man. Love, \"blind, oft-failing, half-enlightened,\noften-chequered trust,\" though it be, still makes man\n\n  \"The heir of hopes too fair to turn out false.\"\n\nIn that poem, love is definitely lifted by the poet to the level of\nknowledge. Intellectual gain, apart from love, is folly and futility,\nworthless for the individual and worthless to the race. \"Mind is nothing\nbut disease,\" Paracelsus cries in the bitterness of his disappointment,\n\"and natural health is ignorance\"; and he asks of the mad poet who\n\"loved too rashly,\"\n\n  \"Are we not halves of one dissevered world,\n  Whom this strange chance unites once more? Part? Never!\n  Till thou the lover, know; and I, the knower,\n  Love--until both are saved.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nAnd, at the end of the poem, Paracelsus, coming to an understanding with\nhimself as to the gain and loss of life, proclaims with his last\nstrength the truth he had missed throughout his great career, namely,\nthe supreme worth of love.\n\n  \"I saw Aprile--my Aprile there!\n  And as the poor melodious wretch disburthened\n  His heart, and moaned his weakness in my ear,\n  I learned my own deep error; love's undoing\n  Taught me the worth of love in man's estate,\n  And what proportion love should hold with power\n  In his right constitution; love preceding\n  Power, and with much power, always much more love;\n  Love still too straitened in his present means,\n  And earnest for new power to set love free.\"\n\nAs long as he hated men, or, in his passionate pursuit of truth, was\nindifferent to their concerns, it was not strange that he saw no good in\nmen and failed to help them. Knowledge without love is not _true_\nknowledge, but folly and weakness.\n\nBut, great as is the place given to love in _Paracelsus_, it is far less\nthan that given to it in the poet's later works. In _Ferishtah's\nFancies_ and _La Saisiaz_ it is no longer rivalled by knowledge; nor\neven in _Easter Day_, where the voice beside the poet proclaiming that\n\n  \"Life is done,\n  Time ends, Eternity's begun,\"\n\ngives a final pronouncement upon the purposes of the life of man. The\nworld of sense--of beauty and art, of knowledge and truth, are given to\nman, but none of them satisfy his spirit; they merely sting with hunger\nfor something better. \"Deficiency gapes every side,\" till love is known\nas the essence and worth of all things.\n\n                  \"Is this thy final choice?\n  Love is the best? 'Tis somewhat late!\n  And all thou dost enumerate\n  Of power and beauty in the world,\n  The righteousness of love was curled\n  Inextricably round about.\n  Love lay within it and without,\n  To clasp thee,--but in vain! Thy soul\n  Still shrunk from Him who made the whole,\n  Still set deliberate aside\n  His love!--Now take love! Well betide\n  Thy tardy conscience!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Easter Day._]\n\nIn his later reflective poems, in which he deals with the problems of\nlife in the spirit of a metaphysician, seeking a definite answer to the\nquestions of the intelligence, he declares the reason for his preference\nof love to knowledge. In _La Saisiaz_ he states that man's love is God's\ntoo, a spark from His central fire; but man's knowledge is man's only.\nKnowledge is finite, limited and tinged with sense. The truth we reach\nat best is only truth _for us_, relative, distorted. We are for ever\nkept from the fact which is supposed to be given; our intellects play\nabout it; sense and even intellect itself are interposing media, which\nwe must use, and yet, in using them, we only fool ourselves with\nsemblances. The poet has now grown so cautious that he will not declare\nhis own knowledge to be valid for any other man. David Hume could\nscarcely be more suspicious of the human intellect; nor Berkeley more\nsurely persuaded of the purely subjective nature of its attainments. In\nfact, the latter relied on human knowledge in a way impossible to\nBrowning, for he regarded it as the language of spirit speaking to\nspirit. Out of his experience, Browning says,\n\n                            \"There crowds conjecture manifold.\n  But, as knowledge, this comes only,--things may be as I behold\n  Or may not be, but, without me and above me, things there are;\n  I myself am what I know not--ignorance which proves no bar\n  To the knowledge that I am, and, since I am, can recognize\n  What to me is pain and pleasure: this is sure, the rest--surmise.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nThought itself, for aught he knows, may be afflicted with a kind of\ncolour-blindness; and he knows no appeal when one affirms \"green as\ngrass,\" and another contradicts him with \"red as grass.\" Under such\ncircumstances, it is not strange that Browning should decline to speak\nexcept for himself, and that he will\n\n  \"Nowise dare to play the spokesman for my brothers strong or weak,\"\n\nor that he will far less presume to pronounce for God, and pretend that\nthe truth finds utterance from lips of clay--\n\n  \"Pass off human lisp as echo of the sphere-song out of reach.\"\n\n  \"Have I knowledge? Confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare!\n  Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite Care!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew\n  (With that stoop of the soul, which in bending upraises it too)\n  The submission of man's nothing-perfect to God's all-complete,\n  As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to His feet.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Saul_, III.]\n\nBut David finds in himself one faculty so supreme in worth that he keeps\nit in abeyance--\n\n  \"Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst\n  E'en the Giver in one gift.--Behold, I could love if I durst!\n  But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o'ertake\n  God's own speed in the one way of love: I abstain for love's sake.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Saul_, III.]\n\nThis faculty of love, so far from being tainted with finitude, like\nknowledge; so far from being mere man's, or a temporary and deceptive\npower given to man for temporary uses, by a Creator who has another\nineffably higher way of loving, as He has of truth, is itself divine. In\ncontrast with the activity of love, Omnipotence itself dwindles into\ninsignificance, and creation sinks into a puny exercise of power. Love,\nin a word, is the highest good; and, as such, it has all its worth in\nitself, and gives to all other things what worth they have. God Himself\ngains the \"ineffable crown\" by showing love and saving the weak. It is\nthe power divine, the central energy of God's being.\n\nBrowning never forgets this moral or religious quality of love. So pure\nis this emotion to the poet, \"so perfect in whiteness, that it will not\ntake pollution; but, ermine-like, is armed from dishonour by its own\nsoft snow.\" In the corruptest hearts, amidst the worst sensuality, love\nis still a power divine, making for all goodness. Even when it is\nkindled into flame by an illicit touch, and wars against the life of the\nfamily, which is its own product, its worth is supreme. He who has\nlearned to love in any way, has \"caught God's secret.\" How he has caught\nit, whom he loves, whether or not he is loved in return, all these\nthings matter little. The paramount question on which hangs man's fate\nis, has he learned to love another, any other, Fifine or Elvire. \"She\nhas lost me,\" said the unloved lover; \"I have gained her. Her soul's\nmine.\"\n\nThe supreme worth of love, the mere emotion itself, however called into\nactivity, secures it against all taint. No one who understands Browning\nin the least, can accuse him of touching with a rash hand the sanctity\nof the family; rather he places it on the basis of its own principle,\nand thereby makes for it the strongest defence. Such love as he speaks\nof, however irregular its manifestation or sensuous its setting, can\nnever be confounded with lust--\"hell's own blue tint.\" It is further\nremoved from lust even than asceticism. It has not even a negative\nattitude towards the flesh; but finds the flesh to be \"stuff for\ntransmuting,\" and reduces it to the uses of the spirit. The love which\nis sung by Browning is more pure and free, and is set in a higher\naltitude than anything that can be reached by the way of negation. It is\na consecration of the undivided self, so that \"soul helps not flesh\nmore, than flesh helps soul.\" It is not only a spiritual and divine\nemotion, but it also \"shows a heart within blood-tinctured with a veined\nhumanity.\"\n\n  \"Be a God and hold me\n    With a charm!\n  Be a man and hold me\n    With thine arm!\n\n  \"Teach me, only teach, Love!\n    As I ought\n  I will speak thy speech, Love!\n    Think thy thought--\n\n  \"Meet, if thou require it,\n    Both demands,\n  Laying flesh and spirit\n    In thy hands.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Woman's Last Word_.]\n\nTrue love is always an infinite giving, which holds nothing back. It is\na spendthrift, magnificent in its recklessness, squandering the very\nessence of the self upon its object, and by doing so, in the end\nenriching the self beyond all counting. For in loving, the individual\nbecomes re-impersonated in another; the distinction of Me and Thee is\nswept away, and there pulses in two individuals one warm life.\n\n  \"If two lives join, there is oft a scar\n    They are one and one with a shadowy third;\n  One near one is too far.\n\n  \"A moment after, and hands unseen\n    Were hanging the night around us fast;\n  But we knew that a bar was broken between\n    Life and life: we were mixed at last\n  In spite of the mortal screen.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _By the Fireside_.]\n\nThe throwing down of the limits that wall a man within himself, the\nmingling of his own deepest interests with those of others, always marks\nlove; be it love of man for maid, parent for child, or patriot for his\ncountry. It opens an outlet into the pure air of the world of objects,\nand enables man to escape from the stuffed and poisonous atmosphere of\nhis narrow self. It is a streaming outwards of the inmost treasures of\nthe spirit, a consecration of its best activities to the welfare of\nothers. And when this is known to be the native quality and quintessence\nof love, no one can regard it anywhere, or at any time, as out of place.\n\"Prize-lawful or prize-lawless\" it is ever a flower, even though it\ngrow, like the love of the hero of _Turf and Towers_, in slime. Lust,\nfleshly desire, which has been too often miscalled love, is its worst\nperversion. Love spends itself for another, and seeks satisfaction only\nin another's good. But last uses up others for its own worst purposes,\nwastes its object, and turns the current of life back inwards, into the\nslush and filth of selfish pleasure. The distinction between love and\nits perversion, which is impossible in the naive life of an animal,\nought to be clear enough to all, and probably is. Nor should the sexual\nimpulse in human beings be confused with fleshly desire, and treated as\nif it were merely natural, \"the mere lust of life\" common to all living\nthings,--\"that strive,\" as Spinoza put it, \"to persevere in existing.\"\nFor there is no purely natural impulse in man; all that he is, is\ntransfused with spirit, whether he will or no. He cannot act as a mere\nanimal, because he cannot leave his rational nature behind him.\n\nHe cannot desire as an innocent brute desires: his desire is always love\nor lust. We have as little right to say that the wisdom of the sage is\n_nothing but_ the purblind savagery of a Terra del Fuegian, as we have\nto assert that love is _nothing but_ a sexual impulse. That impulse\nrather, when its potency is set free, will show itself, at first\nconfusedly, but with more and more clearness as it expands, to be the\nyearning of soul for soul. It puts us \"in training for a love which\nknows not sex, nor person, nor partiality; but which seeks virtue and\nwisdom everywhere, to the end of increasing virtue and wisdom.\" The\nheight to which this passion lifts man, is just what makes possible the\nfall into a sensuality and excess of brutishness, in comparison with\nwhich animal life is a paradise of innocence.\n\nIf this is clearly recognized, many of the idle questions of casuistry\nthat are sometimes raised regarding sexual love and marriage will cease\nto trouble. For these questions generally presuppose the lowest possible\nview of this passion. Browning shows us how to follow with serene\nsecurity the pure light of the emotion of love, amidst all the confused\nlawlessness of lustful passion, and through all the intricacies of human\ncharacter. Love, he thinks, is never illicit, never unwise, except when\nit is disloyal to itself; it never ruins, but always strives to enrich\nits object. Bacon quotes with approval a saying \"That it is impossible\nto love, and to be wise.\" Browning asserts that it is impossible to love\nand _not_ be wise. It is a power that, according to the Christian idea\nwhich the poet adopts, has infinite goodness for its source, and that,\neven in its meanest expression, is always feeling its way back to its\norigin, flowing again into the ocean whence it came.\n\nSo sparklingly pure is this passion that it could exorcise the evil and\nturn old to new, even in the case of L\u00e9once Miranda. At least Browning,\nin this poem, strives to show that, being true love, though the love of\nan unclean man for an unclean woman, it was a power at war with the\nsordid elements of that sordid life. Love has always the same potency,\nflame is always flame,\n\n      \"no matter whence flame sprung,\n  From gums and spice, or else from straw and rottenness.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, lv.]\n\n      \"Let her but love you,\n  All else you disregard! what else can be?\n  You know how love is incompatible\n  With falsehood--purifies, assimilates\n  All other passions to itself.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Colombe's Birthday._]\n\n  \"Ne'er wrong yourself so far as quote the world\n  And say, love can go unrequited here!\n  You will have blessed him to his whole life's end--\n  Low passions hindered, baser cares kept back,\n  All goodness cherished where you dwelt--and dwell.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nBut, while love is always a power lifting a man upwards to the level of\nits own origin from whatever depths of degradation, its greatest potency\ncan reveal itself only in characters intrinsically pure, such as\nPompilia and Caponsacchi. Like mercy and every other spiritual gift, it\nis mightiest in the mighty. In the good and great of the earth love is\nveritably seen to be God's own energy;\n\n    \"Who never is dishonoured in the spark\n  He gave us from His fire of fires, and bade\n  Remember whence it sprang, nor be afraid\n      While that burns on, though all the rest grow dark.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Any Wife to Any Husband_, III.]\n\nIt were almost an endless task to recount the ways in which Browning\nexhibits the moralizing power of love: how it is for him the\nquintessence of all goodness; the motive, and inspiring cause, of every\nact in the world that is completely right; and how, on that account, it\nis the actual working in the man of the ideal of all perfection. This\ndoctrine of love is, in my opinion, the richest vein of pure ore in\nBrowning's poetry.\n\nBut it remains to follow briefly our poet's treatment of love in another\ndirection--as a principle present, not only in God as creative and\nredeeming Power, and in man as the highest motive and energy of the\nmoral life, but also in the outer world, in the \"material\" universe. In\nthe view of the poet, the whole creation is nothing but love incarnate,\na pulsation from the divine heart. Love is the source of all law and of\nall beauty. \"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night speaketh\nknowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not\nheard.\" And our poet speaks as if he had caught the meaning of the\nlanguage, and believes that all things speak of love--the love of God.\n\n\"I think,\" says the heroine of the _Inn Album_,\n\n  \"Womanliness means only motherhood;\n  All love begins and ends there,--roams enough,\n  But, having run the circle, rests at home.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Inn Album_.]\n\nAnd Browning detects something of this motherhood everywhere. He finds\nit as\n\n                          \"Some cause\n  Such as is put into a tree, which turns\n  Away from the north wind with what nest it holds.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book_--_Canon Caponsacchi_, 1374-1376.]\n\nThe Pope--who, if any one, speaks for Browning--declares that\n\n      \"Brute and bird, reptile and the fly,\n  Ay and, I nothing doubt, even tree, shrub, plant\n  And flower o' the field, are all in a common pact\n  To worthily defend the trust of trusts,\n  Life from the Ever Living.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1076-1081.]\n\n\"Because of motherhood,\" said the minor pope in _Iv\u00e0n Iv\u00e0novitch_,\n\n                                  \"each male\n  Yields to his partner place, sinks proudly in the scale:\n  His strength owned weakness, wit--folly, and courage--fear,\n  Beside the female proved males's mistress--only here\n  The fox-dam, hunger-pined, will slay the felon sire\n  Who dares assault her whelp.\"\n\nThe betrayal of the mother's trust is the \"unexampled sin,\" which scares\nthe world and shames God.\n\n  \"I hold that, failing human sense,\n  The very earth had oped, sky fallen, to efface\n  Humanity's new wrong, motherhood's first disgrace.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Iv\u00e0n Iv\u00e0novitch_.]\n\nThis instinct of love, which binds brute-parent to brute-offspring, is a\nkind of spiritual law in the natural world: it, like all law, guarantees\nthe continuity and unity of the world, and it is scarcely akin to merely\nphysical attraction. No doubt its basis is physical; it has an organism\nof flesh and blood for its vehicle and instrument: but mathematical\nphysics cannot explain it, nor can it be detected by chemical tests.\nRather, with the poet, we are to regard brute affection as a kind of\nrude outline of human love; as a law in nature, which, when understood\nby man and adopted as his rule of conduct, becomes the essence and\npotency of his moral life.\n\nThus Browning regards love as an omnipresent good. There is nothing, he\ntells us in _Fifine_, which cannot reflect it; even moral putridity\nbecomes phosphorescent, \"and sparks from heaven transpierce earth's\ncoarsest covertures.\"\n\n  \"There is no good of life but love--but love!\n  What else looks good, is some shade flung from love,\n  Love gilds it, gives it worth.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _In a balcony_.]\n\nThere is no fact which, if seen to the heart, will not prove itself to\nhave love for its purpose, and, therefore, for its substance. And it is\non this account that everything finds its place in a kosmos and that\nthere is\n\n  \"No detail but, in place allotted it, was prime\n  And perfect.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_. xxxi.]\n\nEvery event in the history of the world and of man is explicable, as the\nbursting into new form of this elemental, all-pervading power. The\npermanence in change of nature, the unity in variety, the strength which\nclothes itself in beauty, are all manifestations of love. Nature is not\nmerely natural; matter and life's minute beginnings, are more than they\nseem. Paracelsus said that he knew and felt\n\n                 \"What God is, what we are,\n  What life is--how God tastes an infinite joy\n  In finite ways--one everlasting bliss,\n  From whom all being emanates, all power\n  Proceeds: in whom is life for evermore,\n  Yet whom existence in its lowest form\n  Includes.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nThe scheme of love does not begin with man, he is rather its\nconsummation.\n\n  \"Whose attributes had here and there\n  Been scattered o'er the visible world before,\n  Asking to be combined, dim fragments meant\n  To be united in some wondrous whole,\n  Imperfect qualities throughout creation,\n  Suggesting some one creature yet to make,\n  Some point where all those scattered rays should meet\n  Convergent in the faculties of man.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Hints and previsions of which faculties,\n  Are strewn confusedly everywhere about\n  The inferior natures, and all lead up higher,\n  All shape out divinely the superior race,\n  The heir of hopes too fair to turn out false,\n  And man appears at last.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nPower, knowledge, love, all these are found in the world, in which\n\n            \"All tended to mankind,\n  And, man produced, all has its end thus far:\n  But, in completed man begins anew\n  A tendency to God.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nFor man, being intelligent, flings back his light on all that went\nbefore,\n\n  \"Illustrates all the inferior grades, explains\n  Each back step in the circle.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_. 189.]\n\nHe gives voice to the mute significance of Nature, and lets in the light\non its blind groping.\n\n    \"Man, once descried, imprints for ever\n  His presence on all lifeless things.\"\n\nAnd how is this interpretation achieved? By penetrating behind force,\npower, mechanism, and even intelligence, thinks the poet, to a purpose\nwhich is benevolent, a reason which is all embracing and rooted in love.\nThe magnificent failure of Paracelsus came from missing this last step.\nHis transcendent hunger for knowledge was not satisfied, not because\nhuman knowledge is essentially an illusion or mind disease, but because\nhis knowledge did not reach the final truth of things, which is love.\nFor love alone makes the heart wise, to know the secret of all being.\nThis is the ultimate hypothesis in the light of which alone man can\ncatch a glimpse of the general direction and intent of the universal\nmovement in the world and man. Dying, Paracelsus, taught by Aprile,\ncaught a glimpse of this elemental \"love-force,\" in which alone lies the\nclue to every problem, and the promise of the final satisfaction of the\nhuman spirit. Failing in this knowledge, man may know many things, but\nnothing truly; for all such knowledge stays with outward shows. It is\nlove alone that puts man in the right relation to his fellows and to the\nworld, and removes the distortion which fills life with sorrow, and\nmakes it\n\n            \"Only a scene\n  Of degradation, ugliness and tears,\n  The record of disgraces best forgotten,\n  A sullen page in human chronicles\n  Fit to erase.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nBut in the light of love, man \"sees a good in evil, and a hope in ill\nsuccess,\" and recognizes that mankind are\n\n  \"All with a touch of nobleness, despite\n  Their error, upward tending all though weak;\n  Like plants in mines which never saw the sun,\n  But dream of him, and guess where he may be,\n  And do their best to climb and get to him.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\n\"All this I knew not,\" adds Paracelsus, \"and I failed. Let men take the\nlesson and press this lamp of love, 'God's lamp, close to their\nbreasts'; its splendour, soon or late, will pierce the gloom,\" and show\nthat the universe is a transparent manifestation of His beneficence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nBROWNING'S IDEALISM, AND ITS PHILOSOPHICAL JUSTIFICATION.\n\n\n  \"Master, explain this incongruity!\n  When I dared question, 'It is beautiful,\n  But is it true?' thy answer was, 'In truth\n  Lives Beauty.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Shah Abbas_.]\n\nWe have now seen how Browning sought to explain all things as\nmanifestations of the principle of love; how he endeavoured to bring all\nthe variety of finite existence, and even the deep discrepancies of good\nand evil, under the sway of one idea. I have already tried to show that\nall human thought is occupied with the same task: science, art,\nphilosophy, and even the most ordinary common-sense, are all, in their\ndifferent ways, seeking for constant laws amongst changing facts. Nay,\nwe may even go so far as to say that all the activity of man, the\npractical as well as the theoretical, is an attempt to establish a\n_modus vivendi_ between his environment and himself. And such an attempt\nrests on the assumption that there is some ground common to both of the\nstruggling powers within and without, some principle that manifests\nitself both in man and in nature. So that all men are philosophers to\nthe extent of postulating a unity, which is deeper than all differences;\nand all are alike trying to discover, in however limited or ignorant a\nway, what that unity is. If this fact were more constantly kept in view,\nthe effort of philosophers to bring the ultimate colligating principles\nof thought into clear consciousness would not, at the outset at least,\nbe regarded with so much suspicion. For the philosopher differs from the\npractical man of the world, not so much in the nature of the task which\nhe is trying to accomplish, as in the distinct and conscious purpose\nwith which he enters upon it.\n\nNow, I think that those, who, like Browning, offer an explicitly\noptimistic idea of the relation between man and the world, have a\nspecial right to a respectful hearing; for it can scarcely be denied\nthat their optimistic explanation is invaluable, _if it is true_--\n\n  \"So might we safely mock at what unnerves\n  Faith now, be spared the sapping fear's increase\n  That haply evil's strife with good shall cease\n  Never on earth.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Bernard de Mandeville_.]\n\nDespair is a great clog to good work for the world, and pessimists, as a\nrule, have shown much more readiness than optimists to let evil have its\nunimpeded way. Having found, like Schopenhauer, that \"Life is an awkward\nbusiness,\" they \"determine to spend life in reflecting on it,\" or at\nleast in moaning about it. The world's helpers have been men of another\nmould; and the contrast between Fichte and Schopenhauer is suggestive of\na general truth:--\"Fichte, in the bright triumphant flight of his\nidealism, supported by faith in a moral order of the world which works\nfor righteousness, turning his back on the darker ethics of self-torture\nand mortification, and rushing into the political and social fray,\nproclaiming the duties of patriotism, idealizing the soldier,\ncalling to and exercising an active philanthrophy, living with\nhis nation, and continually urging it upwards to higher levels of\nself-realization--Schopenhauer recurring to the idea of asceticism,\npreaching the blessedness of the quiescence of all will, disparaging\nefforts to save the nation or elevate the masses, and holding that each\nhas enough to do in raising his own self from its dull engrossment in\nlower things to an absorption in that pure, passionless being which lies\nfar beyond all, even the so-called highest, pursuits of practical\nlife.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Schopenhauer_, by Prof. Wallace.]\n\nA pessimism, which is nothing more than flippant fault-finding,\nfrequently gains a cheap reputation for wisdom; and, on the other hand,\nan optimism, which is really the result of much reflection and\nexperience, may be regarded as the product of a superficial spirit that\nhas never known the deeper evils of life. But, if pessimism be true, it\ndiffers from other truths by its uselessness; for, even if it saves man\nfrom the bitterness of petty disappointments, it does so only by making\nthe misery universal. There is no need to specify, when \"_All_ is\nvanity.\" The drowning man does not feel the discomfort of being wet. But\nyet, if we reflect on the problem of evil, we shall find that there is\nno neutral ground, and shall ultimately be driven to choose between\npessimism and its opposite. Nor, on the other hand, is the suppression\nof the problem of evil possible, except at a great cost. It presents\nitself anew in the mind of every thinking man; and some kind of solution\nof it, or at least some definite way of meeting its difficulty, is\ninvolved in the attitude which every man assumes towards life and its\ntasks.\n\nIt is not impossible that there may be as much to be said for Browning's\njoy in life and his love of it, as there is for his predecessor's rage\nand sorrow. Browning certainly thought that there was; and he held his\nview consistently to the end. We cannot, therefore, do justice to the\npoet without dealing critically with the principle on which he has based\nhis faith, and observing how far it is applicable to the facts of human\nlife. As I have previously said, he strives hard to come into fair\ncontact with the misery of man in all its sadness; and, after doing so,\nhe claims, not as a matter of poetic sentiment, but as a matter of\nstrict truth, that good is the heart and reality of it all. It is true\nthat he cannot demonstrate the truth of his principle by reference to\nall the facts, any more than the scientific man can justify his\nhypothesis in every detail; but he holds it as a faith which reason can\njustify and experience establish, although not in every isolated\nphenomenon. The good may, he holds, be seen actually at work in the\nworld, and its process will be more fully known, as human life advances\ntowards its goal.\n\n                    \"Though Master keep aloof,\n  Signs of His presence multiply from roof\n  To basement of the building.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nThus Browning bases his view upon experience, and finds firm footing for\nhis faith in the present; although he acknowledges that the \"profound of\nignorance surges round his rockspit of self-knowledge.\"\n\n                              \"Enough that now,\n  Here where I stand, this moment's me and mine,\n  Shows me what is, permits me to divine\n  What shall be.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\n\"Since we know love we know enough\"; for in love, he confidently thinks\nwe have the key to all the mystery of being.\n\nNow, what is to be made of an optimism of this kind, which is based upon\nlove and which professes to start from experience, or to be legitimately\nand rationally derived from it?\n\nIf such a view be taken seriously, as I propose doing, we must be\nprepared to meet at the outset with some very grave difficulties. The\nfirst of these is that it is an interpretation of facts by a human\nemotion. To say that love blushes in the rose, or breaks into beauty in\nthe clouds, that it shows its strength in the storm, and sets the stars\nin the sky, and that it is in all things the source of order and law,\nmay imply a principle of supreme worth both to poetry and religion; but\nwhen we are asked to take it as a metaphysical explanation of facts, we\nare prone, like the judges of Caponsacchi, not to \"levity, or to\nanything indecorous\"--\n\n  \"Only--I think I apprehend the mood:\n  There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,\n  The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,\n  The titter stifled in the hollow palm\n  Which rubbed the eye-brow and caressed the nose,\n  When I first told my tale; they meant, you know--\n  'The sly one, all this we are bound believe!\n  Well, he can say no other than what he says.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--Canon Caponsacchi_, 14-20.]\n\nWe are sufficiently willing to let the doctrine be held as a pious\nopinion. The faith that \"all's love yet all's law,\" like many another\nillusion, if not hugged too closely, may comfort man's nakedness. But if\nwe are asked to substitute this view for that which the sciences\nsuggest,--if we are asked to put \"Love\" in the place of physical energy,\nand, by assuming it as a principle, to regard as unreal all the infinite\nmisery of humanity and the degradation of intellect and character from\nwhich it arises, common-sense seems at once to take the side of the\ndoleful sage of Chelsea. When the optimist postulates that the state of\nthe world, were it rightly understood, is completely satisfactory,\nreason seems to be brought to a stand; and if poetry and religion\ninvolve such a postulate, they are taken to be ministering to the\nemotions at the expense of the intellect.\n\nBrowning, however, was not a mere sentimentalist who could satisfy his\nheart without answering the questions of his intellect. Nor is his view\nwithout support--at least, as regards the substance of it. The presence\nof an idealistic element in things is recognized even by ordinary\nthought; and no man's world is so poor that it would not be poorer still\nfor him, if it were reduced by the abstract sciences of nature into a\nmere manifestation of physical force. Such a world Richter compares to\nan empty eye-socket.\n\nThe great result of speculation since the time of Kant is to teach us to\nrecognize that objects are essentially related to mind, and that the\nprinciples which rule our thought enter, so to speak, into the\nconstitution of the things we know. A very slight acquaintance with the\nhistory even of psychology, especially in modern times, shows that facts\nare more and more retracted into thought. This science, which began with\na sufficiently common-sense view, not only of the reality and solidity\nof the things of the outer world, but of their opposition to, or\nindependence of thought, is now thinning that world down into a mere\nshadow--a something which excites sensation. It shows that external\nthings as we know them, and we are not concerned in any others, are, to\na very great extent, the product of our thinking activities. No one will\nnow subscribe to the Lockian or Humean view, of images impressed by\nobjects on mind: the object which \"impresses\" has first to be made by\nmind, out of the results of nervous excitation. In a word, modern\npsychology as well as modern metaphysics, is demonstrating more and more\nfully the dependence of the world, as it is known, on the nature and\nactivity of man's mind. Every explanation of the world is found to be,\nin this sense, idealistic; and in this respect, there is no difference\nwhatsoever between the interpretation given by science and that of\npoetry, or religion, or philosophy. If we say that a thing is a\n\"substance,\" or has \"a cause\"; if, with the physicist, we assert the\nprinciple of the transmutation of energy, or make use of the idea of\nevolution with the biologist or geologist; nay, if we speak of time and\nspace with the mathematician, we use principles of unity derived from\nself-consciousness, and interpret nature in terms of ourselves, just as\ntruly as the poet or philosopher, who makes love, or reason, the\nconstitutive element in things. If the practical man of the world\ncharges the poet and philosopher with living amidst phantoms, he can be\nanswered with a \"_Tu quoque_.\" \"How easy,\" said Emerson, \"it is to show\nthe materialist that he also is a phantom walking and working amid\nphantoms, and that he need only ask a question or two beyond his daily\nquestions to find his solid universe proving dim and impalpable before\nhis sense.\"\n\n\"Sense,\" which seems to show directly that the world is a solid reality,\nnot dependent in any way on thought, is found not to be reliable. All\nscience is nothing but an appeal to thought from ordinary sensuous\nopinion. It is an attempt to find the reality of things by thinking\nabout them; and this reality, when it is found, turns out to be a law.\nBut laws are ideas; though, if they are true ideas, they represent not\nmerely thoughts in the mind, but also real principles, which manifest\nthemselves in the objects of the outer world, as well as in the\nthinker's mind.\n\nIt is not possible in such a work as this, to give a carefully reasoned\nproof of this view of the relation of thought and things, or to repeat\nthe argument of Kant. I must be content with merely referring to it, as\nshowing that the principles in virtue of which we think, are the\nprinciples in virtue of which objects as we know them exist; and we\ncannot be concerned with any other objects. The laws which scientific\ninvestigation discovers are not only ideas that can be written in books,\nbut also principles which explain the nature of things. In other words,\nthe hypotheses of the natural sciences, or their categories, are points\nof view in the light of which the external world can be regarded as\ngoverned by uniform laws. And these constructive principles, which lift\nthe otherwise disconnected world into an intelligible system, are\nrevelations of the nature of intelligence, and only on that account\nprinciples for explaining the world.\n\n                           \"To know,\n  Rather consists in opening out a way\n  Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,\n  Than in effecting entry for a light\n  Supposed to be without.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nIn this sense, it may be said that all knowledge is anthropomorphic; and\nin this respect there is no difference between the physics, which speaks\nof energy as the essence of things, and the poetry, which speaks of love\nas the ultimate principle of reality. Between such scientific and\nidealistic explanations there is not even the difference that the one\nbegins without and the other within, or that the one is objective and\nthe other subjective. The true distinction is that the principles upon\nwhich the latter proceed are less abstract than those of science.\n\"Reason\" and \"love\" are higher principles for the explanation of the\nnature of things than \"substance\" or \"cause\"; but both are forms of the\nunity of thought. And if the latter seem to have nothing to do with the\nself, it is only because they are inadequate to express its full\ncharacter. On the other hand, the higher categories, or ideas of reason,\nseem to be merely anthropomorphic, and, therefore, ill-suited to explain\nnature, because the relation of nature to intelligence is habitually\nneglected by ordinary thought, which has not pressed its problems far\nenough to know that such higher categories can alone satisfy the demand\nfor truth.\n\nBut natural science is gradually driven from the lower to the higher\ncategories, or, in other words, it is learning to take a more and more\nidealistic view of nature. It is moving very slowly, because it is a\nlong labour to exhaust the uses of an instrument of thought; and it is\nonly at great intervals in the history of the human intellect, that we\nfind the need of a change of categories. But, as already hinted, there\nis no doubt that science is becoming increasingly aware of the\nconditions, under which alone its results may be held as valid. At\nfirst, it drove \"mind\" out of the realm of nature, and offered to\nexplain both it and man in physical and mathematical terms. But, in our\nday, the man of science has become too cautious to make such rash\nextensions of the principles he uses. He is more inclined to limit\nhimself to his special field, and he refuses to make any declaration as\nto the ultimate nature of things. He holds himself apart from\nmaterialism, as he does from idealism. I think I may even go further,\nand say that the fatal flaw of materialism has been finally detected,\nand that the essential relativity of all objects to thought is all but\nuniversally acknowledged.\n\nThe common notion that science gives a complete view of truth, to which\nwe may appeal as refuting idealism, is untenable. Science itself will\nnot support the appeal, but will direct the appellant to another court.\nPerhaps, rather, it would be truer to say that its attitude is one of\ndoubt whether or not any court, philosophical or other, can give any\nvalid decision on the matter. Confining themselves to the region of\nmaterial phenomena, scientific men generally leave to common ignorance,\nor to moral and theological tradition, all the interests and activities\nof man, other than those which are physical or physiological. And some\nof them are even aware, that if they could find the physical equation of\nman, or, through their knowledge of physiology, actually produce in man\nthe sensations, thoughts, and notions now ascribed to the intelligent\nlife within him, the question of the spiritual or material nature of man\nand the world, would remain precisely where it was. The explanation\nwould still begin with mind and end there. The principles of the\nmaterialistic explanation of the world would still be derived from\nintelligence; mind would still underlie all it explained, and completed\nscience would still be, in this sense, anthropomorphic. The charge of\nanthropomorphism thus falls to the ground, because it would prove too\nmuch. It is a weapon which cuts the hand that wields it. And, as\ndirected against idealism, it only shows that he who uses it has\ninadequate notions both of the nature of the self and of the world, and\nis not aware that each gets meaning, only as an exponent of the other.\n\nOn the whole, we may say that it is not men of science who now assail\nphilosophy, because it gives an idealistic explanation of the world, so\nmuch as unsystematic dabblers in matters of thought. The best men of\nscience, rather, show a tendency to acquiesce in a kind of dualism of\nmatter and spirit, and to leave morality and religion, art and\nphilosophy to pursue their own ends undisturbed. Mr. Huxley, for\ninstance, and some others, offer two philosophical solutions, one\nproceeding from the material world and the other from the sensations and\nother \"facts of consciousness.\" They say that we may either explain man\nas a natural phenomenon, or the world as a mental one.\n\nBut it is a little difficult not to ask which of these explanations is\ntrue. Both of them cannot well be, seeing that they are different. And\nneither of them can be adopted without very serious consequences. It\nwould require considerable hardihood to suggest that natural science\nshould be swept away in favour of psychology, which would be done if the\none view held by Mr. Huxley were true. And, in my opinion, it requires\nquite as much hardihood to suggest the adoption of a theory that makes\nmorality and religion illusory, which would be done were the other view\nvalid.\n\nAs a matter of fact, however, such an attitude can scarcely be held by\nany one who is interested _both_ in the success of natural science and\nin the spiritual development of mankind. We are constrained rather to\nsay that, if these rival lines of thought lead us to deny either the\nouter world of things, or the world of thought and morality, then they\nmust both be wrong. They are not \"explanations\" but false theories, if\nthey lead to such conclusions as these. And, instead of holding them up\nto the world as the final triumph of human thought, we should sweep them\ninto the dust-bin, and seek for some better explanation from a new point\nof view.\n\nAnd, indeed, a better explanation is sought, and sought not only by\nidealists, but by scientific men themselves,--did they only comprehend\ntheir own main tendency and method. The impulse towards unity, which is\nthe very essence of thought, if it is baulked in one direction by a\nhopeless dualism, just breaks out in another. Subjective idealism, that\nis, the theory that things are nothing but phenomena of the individual's\nconsciousness, that the world is really all inside the philosopher, is\nnow known by most people to end in self-contradiction; and materialism\nis also known to begin with it. And there are not many people sanguine\nenough to believe with Mr. Huxley and Mr. Herbert Spencer, that, if we\nadd two self-contradictory theories together, or hold them alternately,\nwe shall find the truth. Modern science, that is, the science which does\nnot philosophize, and modern philosophy are with tolerable unanimity\ndenying this absolute dualism. They do not know of any thought that is\nnot of things, or of any things that are not for thought. It is\nnecessarily assumed that, in some way or other, the gap between things\nand thought is got over by knowledge. How the connection is brought\nabout may not be known; but, that there is the connection between real\nthings and true thoughts, no one can well deny. It is an ill-starred\nperversity which leads men to deny such a connection, merely because\nthey have not found out how it is established.\n\nA new category of thought has taken possession of the thought of our\ntime--a category which is fatal to dualism. The idea of development is\nbreaking down the division between mind and matter, as it is breaking\ndown all other absolute divisions. Geology, astronomy, and physics at\none extreme, biology, psychology, and philosophy at the other, combine\nin asserting the idea of the universe as a unity which is always\nevolving its content, and bringing its secret potencies to the light. It\nis true that these sciences have not linked hands as yet. We cannot get\nfrom chemistry to biology without a leap, or from physiology to\npsychology without another. But no one will postulate a rift right\nthrough being. The whole tendency of modern science implies the opposite\nof such a conception. History is striving to trace continuity between\nthe civilized man and the savage. Psychology is making towards a\njunction with physiology and general biology, biology with chemistry,\nand chemistry with physics. That there is an unbroken continuity in\nexistence is becoming a postulate of modern science, almost as truly as\nthe \"universality of law\" or \"the uniformity of nature.\" Nor is the\npostulate held less firmly because the evidence for the continuity of\nnature is not yet complete. Chemistry has not yet quite lapsed into\nphysics; biology at present shows no sign of giving up its\ncharacteristic conception of life, and the former science is as yet\nquite unable to deal with that peculiar phenomenon. The facts of\nconsciousness have not been resolved into nervous action, and, so far,\nmind has not been shown to be a secretion of brain. Nevertheless, all\nthese sciences are beating against the limits which separate them, and\nnew suggestions of connection between natural life and its inorganic\nenvironment are continually discovered. The sciences are boring towards\neach other, and the dividing strata are wearing thin; so that it seems\nreasonable to expect that, with the growth of knowledge, an unbroken way\nupwards may be discovered, from the lowest and simplest stages of\nexistence to the highest and most complex forms of self-conscious life.\n\nNow, to those persons who are primarily interested in the ethical and\nreligious phenomena of man's life, the idea of abolishing the chasm\nbetween spirit and nature is viewed with no little apprehension. It is\nsupposed that if evolution were established as a universal law, and the\nunity of being were proved, the mental and moral life of man would be\ndegraded into a complex manifestation of mere physical force. And we\neven find religious men rejoicing at the failure of science to bridge\nthe gap between the inorganic and the organic, and between natural and\nself-conscious life; as if the validity of religion depended upon the\nmaintenance of their separating boundaries. But no religion that is free\nfrom superstitious elements has anything to gain from the failure of\nknowledge to relate things to each other. It is difficult to see how\nbreaks in the continuity of being can be established, when every living\nplant confutes the absolute difference between the organic and\ninorganic, and, by the very fact of living, turns the latter into the\nformer; and it is difficult to deny the continuity of \"mind and matter,\"\nwhen every human being is relating himself to the outer world in all his\nthoughts and actions. And religion is the very last form of thought\nwhich could profit from such a proof of absolute distinctions, were it\npossible. In fact, as we have seen, religion, in so far as it demands a\nperfect and absolute being as the object of worship, is vitally\nconcerned in maintaining the unity of the world. It must assume that\nmatter, in its degree, reveals the same principle which, in a higher\nform, manifests itself in spirit.\n\nBut closer investigation will show that the real ground for such\napprehension does not lie in the continuity of existence, which\nevolution implies; for religion itself postulates the same thing. The\napprehension springs, rather, from the idea that the continuity asserted\nby evolution, is obtained by resolving the higher forms of existence\ninto the lower. It is believed that, if the application of development\nto facts were successfully carried out, the organic would be shown to be\nnothing but complex inorganic forces, mental life nothing but a\nphysiological process, and religion, morality, and art, nothing but\nproducts of the highly complex motion of highly complex aggregates of\nphysical atoms.\n\nIt seems to me quite natural that science should be regarded as tending\ntowards such a materialistic conclusion. This is the view which many\nscientific investigators have themselves taken of their work; and some\nof their philosophical exponents, notably Mr. Herbert Spencer, have,\nwith more or less inconsistency, interpreted the idea of evolution in\nthis manner. But, it may be well to bear in mind that science is\ngenerally far more successful in employing its constructive ideas, than\nit is in rendering an account of them. In fact, it is not its business\nto examine its categories: that task properly belongs to philosophy, and\nit is not a superfluous one. But, so long as the employment of the\ncategories in the special province of a particular science yields valid\nresults, scientific explorers and those who attach, and rightly attach,\nso much value to their discoveries, are very unwilling to believe that\nthese categories are not valid universally. The warning voice of\nphilosophy is not heeded, when it charges natural science with applying\nits conceptions to materials to which they are inadequate; and its\nexamination of the categories of thought is regarded as an innocent, but\nalso a useless, activity. For, it is argued, what good can arise from\nthe analysis of our working ideas? The world looked for causes, and\nfound them, when it was very young; but, up to the time of David Hume,\nno one had shown what causality meant, and the explanation which he\noffered is now rejected by modern science, as definitely as it is\nrejected by philosophy. Meantime, while philosophy is still engaged in\nexposing the fallacies of the theory of association as held by Hume,\nscience has gone beyond this category altogether; it is now establishing\na theory of the conservation of energy, which supplants the law of\ncausality by tracing it into a deeper law of nature.\n\nThere is some force in this argument, but it cuts both ways. For, even\nif it be admitted that the category was successfully applied in the\npast, it is also admitted that it was applied without being understood;\nand it cannot now be questioned that the philosophers were right in\nrejecting it as the final explanation of the relation of objects to each\nother, and in pointing to other and higher connecting ideas. And this\nconsideration should go some way towards convincing evolutionists that,\nthough they may be able successfully to apply the idea of development to\nparticular facts, this does not guarantee the soundness of their view of\nit as an instrument of thought, or of the nature of the final results\nwhich it is destined to achieve. Hence, without any disparagement to the\nnew extension which science has received by the use of this new idea, it\nmay be maintained that the ordinary view of its tendency and mission is\nerroneous.\n\n\"The prevailing method of explaining the world,\" says Professor Caird,\n\"may be described as an attempt to level 'downwards.' The doctrine of\ndevelopment, interpreted as that idea usually is interpreted, supports\nthis view, as making it necessary to trace back higher and more complex\nto lower or simpler forms of being; for the most obvious way of\naccomplishing this task is to show analytically that there is really\nnothing more in the former than in the latter.\"[A] \"Divorced from\nmatter,\" asks Professor Tyndall, \"where is life to be found? Whatever\nour _faith_ may say our _knowledge_ shows them to be indissolubly\njoined. Every meal we eat, and every cup we drink, illustrates the\nmysterious _control of Mind by Matter_. Trace the line of life backwards\nand see it approaching more and more to what we call the _purely\nphysical condition_.\"[B] And then, rising to the height of his subject,\nor even above it, he proclaims, \"By an intellectual necessity I cross\nthe boundary of the experimental evidence, and discern in that Matter\nwhich we, in our ignorance of its latent powers, and notwithstanding our\nprofessed reverence for its Creator, have hitherto covered with\nopprobrium, the promise and potency of all terrestrial life.\"[C] A\nlittle further on, speaking in the name of science, and on behalf of his\nscientific fellow-workers (with what right is a little doubtful), he\nadds--\"We claim, and we shall wrest, from theology, the entire domain of\ncosmological theory. All schemes and systems which thus infringe upon\nthe domain of science, must, _in so far as they do this,_ submit to its\ncontrol, and relinquish all thought of controlling it.\" But if science\nis to control the knowable world, he generously leaves the remainder for\nreligion. He will not deprive it of a faith in \"a Power absolutely\ninscrutable to the intellect of man. As little in our days as in the\ndays of Job can a man by searching find this Power out.\" And, now that\nhe has left this empty sphere of the unknown to religion, he feels\njustified in adding, \"There is, you will observe, no very rank\nmaterialism here.\"\n\n[Footnote A: _The Critical Philosophy of Kant_, Vol. I. p. 34]\n\n[Footnote B: _Address to the British Association_, 1874, p. 54.]\n\n[Footnote C: _Belfast Address_, 1874.]\n\n  \"Yet they did not abolish the gods, but they sent them well out\n  of the way,\n  With the rarest of nectar to drink, and blue fields of nothing\n  to sway.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: Clerk Maxwell: \"_Notes of the President's Address,_\"\nBritish Association, 1874.]\n\nNow these declarations of Mr. Tyndall are, to say the least, somewhat\nambiguous and shadowy. Yet, when he informs us that eating and drinking\n\"illustrate the control of mind by matter,\" and \"that the line of life\ntraced backwards leads towards a purely physical condition,\" it is a\nlittle difficult to avoid the conclusion that he regards science as\ndestined.\n\n  \"To tread the world\n  Into a paste, and thereof make a smooth\n  Uniform mound, whereon to plant its flag.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nFor the conclusion of the whole argument seems to be, that all _we know\nas facts_ are mere forms of matter; although the stubborn refusal of\nconsciousness to be resolved into natural force, and its power of\nconstructing for itself a world of symbols, gives science no little\ntrouble, and forces it to acknowledge complete ignorance of the nature\nof the power from which all comes.\n\n  \"So roll things to the level which you love,\n  That you could stand at ease there and survey\n  The universal Nothing undisgraced\n  By pert obtrusion of some old church-spire\n  I' the distance! \"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau_.]\n\nSome writers on ethics and religion have adopted the same view of the\ngoal of the idea of evolution. In consistency with this supposed\ntendency of science, to resolve all things into their simplest, and\nearliest forms, religion has been traced back to the superstition and\nghost-worship of savages; and then it has been contended that it is, in\nessence, nothing more than superstition and ghost-worship. And, in like\nmanner, morality, with its categorical imperative of duty, has been\ntraced back, without a break, to the ignorant fear of the vengeance of a\nsavage chief. A similar process in the same direction reduces the love\ndivine, of which our poet speaks, into brute lust; somewhat sublimated,\nit is true, in its highest forms, but not fundamentally changed.\n\n  \"Philosophers deduce you chastity\n  Or shame, from just the fact that at the first\n  Whoso embraced a woman in the field,\n  Threw club down and forewent his brains beside;\n  So, stood a ready victim in the reach\n  Of any brother-savage, club in hand.\n  Hence saw the use of going out of sight\n  In wood or cave to prosecute his loves.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Bishop Blouhram's Apology_.]\n\nAnd when the sacred things of life are treated in this manner--when\nmoral conduct is showed to be evolved by a continuous process from\n\"conduct in general,\" the conduct of an \"infusorium or a cephalopod,\" or\neven of wind-mills or water-wheels, it is not surprising if the\nauthority of the moral law seems to be undermined, and that \"devout\nsouls\" are apprehensive of the results of science. \"Does law so analyzed\ncoerce you much?\" asks Browning.\n\nThe derivation of spiritual from natural laws thus appears to be fatal\nto the former; and religious teachers naturally think that it is\nnecessary for their cause to snap the links of the chain of evolution,\nand, like Professor Drummond, to establish absolute gaps, not only\nbetween the inorganic and the organic worlds, but also between the\nself-conscious life of man and the mysterious, spiritual life of Christ,\nor God. But it seems to me that, in their antagonism to evolution,\nreligious teachers are showing the same incapacity to distinguish\nbetween their friends and their foes, which they previously manifested\nin their acceptance of the Kantian doctrine of \"things in\nthemselves,\"--a doctrine which placed God and the soul beyond the power\nof speculative reason either to prove or disprove. It is, however,\nalready recognized that the attempt of Mansel and Hamilton to degrade\nhuman reason for the behoof of faith was really a veiled agnosticism;\nand a little reflection must show that the idea of evolution, truly\ninterpreted, in no wise threatens the degradation of man, or the\noverthrow of his spiritual interests. On the contrary, this idea is, in\nall the history of thought, the first constructive hypothesis which is\nadequate to the uses of ethics and religion. By means of it, we may hope\nto solve many of the problems arising from the nature of knowledge and\nmoral conduct, which the lower category of cause turned into pure\nenigmas. It seems, indeed, to contain the promise of establishing the\nscience of man, as intelligent, on a firm basis; on which we may raise a\nsuperstructure, comparable in strength and superior in worth, to that of\nthe science of nature. And, even if the moral science must, like\nphilosophy, always return to the beginning--must, that is, from the\nnecessity of its nature, and not from any complete failure--it will\nstill begin again at a higher level now that the idea of evolution is in\nthe field.\n\nIt now remains to show in what way the idea of evolution leaves room for\nreligion and morality; or, in other words, to show how, so far from\ndegrading man to the level of the brute condition, and running life down\ninto \"purely physical conditions,\" it contains the promise of\nestablishing that idealistic view of the world, which is maintained by\nart and religion.\n\nIn order to show this, it is necessary that the idea of evolution should\nbe used fearlessly, and applied to all facts that can in any way come\nunder it. It must, in other words, be used as a category of thought,\nwhose application is universal; so that, if it is valid at all as a\ntheory, it is valid of all finite things. For the question we are\ndealing with is not the truth of the hypothesis of a particular science,\nbut the truth of a hypothesis as to the relation of all objects in the\nworld, including man himself. We must not be deterred from this\nuniversal application by the fact that we cannot, as yet, prove its\ntruth in every detail. No scientific hypothesis ever has exhausted its\ndetails. I consider, therefore, that Mr. Tyndall had a complete right to\n\"cross the boundary of the experimental evidence by an intellectual\nnecessity\"; for the necessity comes from the assumption of a possible\nexplanation by the aid of the hypothesis. It is no argument against such\na procedure to insist that, as yet, there is no proof of the absolute\ncontinuity of matter and physical life, or that the dead begets the\nliving. The hypothesis is not disproved by the absence of evidence; it\nis only not proved. The connection may be there, although we have not,\nas yet, been able to find it. In the face of such difficulties as these,\nthe scientific investigator has always a right to claim more time; and\nhis attitude is impregnable as long as he remembers, as Mr. Tyndall did\non the whole, that his hypothesis is a hypothesis.\n\nBut Mr. Tyndall has himself given up this right. He, like Mr. Huxley,\nhas placed the phenomena of self-consciousness outside of the developing\nprocess, and confined the sphere in which evolution is applicable, to\nnatural objects. Between objects and the subject, even when both subject\nand object are man himself, there lies \"an impassable gulf.\"\n\nEven to try \"to comprehend the connection between thought and thing is\nabsurd, like the effort of a man trying to lift himself by his own\nwaist-band.\" Our states of self-consciousness are symbols only--symbols\nof an outside entity, whose real nature we can never know. We know only\nthese states; we only _infer_ \"that anything answering to our\nimpressions exists outside of ourselves.\" And it is impossible to\njustify even that inference; for, if we can only know states of\nconsciousness, we cannot say that they are symbols of anything, or that\nthere is anything to be symbolized. The external world, on this theory,\nceases to exist even as an unknown entity. In triumphantly pointing out\nthat, in virtue of this psychological view, \"There is, you will observe,\nno very rank materialism here,\" Mr. Tyndall forgets that he has\ndestroyed the basis of all natural science, and reduced evolution into a\nlaw of \"an outside entity,\" of which we can never know anything, and any\ninference regarding which violates every law of thought.\n\nIt seems to me quite plain that either this psychological theory, which\nMr. Tyndall has mistaken for a philosophy, is invalid; or else it is\nuseless to endeavour to propound any view regarding a \"nature which is\nthe phantom of the individual's mind.\" I prefer the science of Mr.\nTyndall (and of Mr. Huxley, too) to his philosophy; and he would have\nescaped materialism more effectively, if he had remained faithful to his\ntheory of evolution. It is a disloyalty, not only to science, but to\nthought, to cast away our categories when they seem to imply\ninconvenient consequences. They must be valid universally, if they are\nvalid at all.\n\nMr. Tyndall contends that nature makes man, and he finds evidence in the\nfact that we eat and drink, \"of the control of mind by matter.\" Now, it\nseems to me, that _if_ nature makes man, then nature makes man's\nthoughts also. His sensations, feelings, ideas, notions, being those of\na naturally-evolved agent, are revelations of the potency of the primal\nmatter, just as truly as are the buds, flowers, and fruits of a tree. No\ndoubt, we cannot as yet \"comprehend the connection\" between nervous\naction and sensation, any more than we can comprehend the connection\nbetween inorganic and organic existence. But, if the absence of\n\"experimental evidence\" does not disprove the hypothesis in the one\ncase, it can not disprove it in the other. There are two crucial points\nin which the theory has not been established.\n\nBut, in both cases alike, there is the same kind of evidence that the\nconnection exists; although in neither case can we, as yet, discover\nwhat it is. Plants live by changing inorganic elements into organic\nstructure; and man is intelligent only in so far as he crosses over the\nboundary between subject and object, and knows the world without him.\nThere is no \"impassable gulf separating the subject and object\"; if\nthere were we could not know anything of either. There are not two\nworlds--the one of thoughts, the other of things--which are absolutely\nexclusive of each other, but one universe in which thought and reality\nmeet. Mr. Tyndall thinks that it is an inference (and an inference over\nan impassable gulf!) that anything answering to our impressions exists\noutside ourselves. \"The question of the external world is the great\nbattleground of metaphysics,\" he quotes approvingly from Mr. J.S. Mill.\nBut the question of the external world is not whether that world exists;\nit is, how are we to account for our knowledge that it does exist. The\ninference is not from thoughts to things, nor from things to thoughts,\nbut from a partially known world to a systematic theory of that world.\nPhilosophy is not engaged on the foolish enterprise of trying to\ndiscover whether the world exists, or whether we know that it exists;\nits problem is how to account for our knowledge. It asks what must the\nnature of things be, seeing that they are known; and what is the nature\nof thought, seeing that it knows facts?\n\nThere is no hope whatsoever for ethics, or religion, or philosophy--no\nhope even for science--in a theory which would apply evolution all the\nway up from inorganic matter to life, but which would postulate an\nabsolute break at consciousness. The connection between thought and\nthings is there to begin with, whether we can account for it or not; if\nit were not, then natural science would be impossible. It would be\npalpably irrational even to try to find out the nature of things by\nthinking. The only science would be psychology, and even that would be\nthe science of \"symbols of an unknown entity.\" What symbols of an\nunknown can signify, or how an unknown can produce symbols of itself\nacross an impassable gulf--Mr. Spencer, Mr. Huxley, and Mr. Tyndall have\nyet to inform us.\n\nIt is the more necessary to insist on this, because the division between\nthought and matter, which is admitted by these writers, is often grasped\nat by their opponents, as a means of warding off the results which they\ndraw from the theory of evolution. When science breaks its sword,\nreligion assails it, with the fragment. It is not at once evident that\nif this chasm were shown to exist, knowledge would be a chimera; for\nthere would be no outer world at all, not even a phenomenal one, to\nsupply an object for it. We _must_ postulate the ultimate unity of all\nbeings with each other and with the mind that knows them, just because\nwe are intellectual and moral beings; and to destroy this unity is to\n\"kill reason itself, as it were, in the eye,\" as Milton said.\n\nNow, evolution not only postulates unity, or the unbroken continuity of\nall existence, but it also negates all differences, except those which\nare expressions of that unity. It is not the mere assertion of a\nsubstratum under qualities; but it implies that the substratum\npenetrates into the qualities, and manifests itself in them. That which\ndevelops--be it plant, child, or biological kingdom--is, at every stage\nfrom lowest to highest, a concrete unity of all its differences; and in\nthe whole history of its process its actual content is always the same.\nThe environment of the plant evokes that content, but it adds nothing to\nit. No addition of anything absolutely new, no external aggregation, no\ninsertion of anything alien into a growing thing, is possible. What it\nis now, it was in the beginning; and what it will be, it is now.\nGranting the hypothesis of evolution, there can be no quarrel with the\nview that the crude beginnings of things, matter in its most nebulous\nstate, contains potentially all the rich variety of both natural and\nspiritual life.\n\nBut this continuity of all existence may be interpreted in two very\ndifferent ways. It may lead us either to radically change our notions of\nmind and its activities, or \"to radically change our notions of matter.\"\nWe may take as the principle of explanation, either the beginning, or\nthe end of the process of development. We may say of the simple and\ncrass, \"There is all that your rich universe really means\"; or we may\nsay of the spiritual activities of man, \"This is what your crude\nbeginning really was.\" We may explain the complex by the simple, or the\nsimple by the complex. We may analyze the highest back into the lowest,\nor we may follow the lowest, by a process of synthesis, up to the\nhighest.\n\nAnd one of the most important of all questions for morality and religion\nis the question, which of these two methods is valid. If out of crass\nmatter is evolved all animal and spiritual life, does that prove life to\nbe nothing but matter; or does it not rather show that what we, in our\nignorance, took to be mere matter was really something much greater? If\n\"crass matter\" contains all this promise and potency, by what right do\nwe still call it \"crass\"? It is manifestly impossible to treat the\npotencies, assumed to lie in a thing that grows, as if they were of no\nsignificance; first, to assert that such potencies exist, in saying that\nthe object develops; and then, to neglect them, and to regard the effect\nas constituted merely of its simplest elements. Either these potencies\nare not in the object, or else the object has in it, and is, at the\nfirst, more than it appears to be. Either the object does not grow, or\nthe lowest stage of its being is no explanation of its true nature.\n\nIf we wish to know what the forms of natural life mean, we look in vain\nto their primary state. We must watch the evolution and revelation of\nthe secret hid in natural life, as it moves through the ascending cycles\nof the biological kingdom. The idea of evolution, when it is not\nmuddled, is synthetic--not analytic; it explains the simplest in the\nlight of the complex, the beginning in the light of the end, and not\n_vice versa_. In a word, it follows the ways of nature, the footsteps of\nfact, instead of inventing a wilful backward path of its own. And nature\nexplains by gradually expanding. If we hearken to nature, and not to the\nvoice of illusory preconceptions, we shall hear her proclaim at the last\nstage, \"Here is the meaning of the seedling. Now it is clear what it\nreally was; for the power which lay dormant has pushed itself into\nlight, through bud and flower and leaf and fruit.\" The reality of a\ngrowing thing is its highest form of being. The last explains the first,\nbut not the first the last. The first is abstract, incomplete, not yet\nactual, but mere potency; and we could never know even the potency,\nexcept in the light of its own actualization.\n\nFrom this correction of the abstract view of development momentous\nconsequences follow. If the universe is, as science pronounces, an\norganic totality, which is ever converting its promise and potency into\nactuality, then we must add that the ultimate interpretation even of\nthe lowest existence in the world cannot be given except on principles\nwhich are adequate to explain the highest. We must \"level up and not\nlevel down\": we must not only deny that matter can explain spirit, but\nwe must say that even matter itself cannot be fully understood, except\nas an element in a spiritual world.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: Professor Caird, _The Critical Philosophy of Kant_, p. 35.]\n\nThat the idea of evolution, even when applied in this consistent way,\nhas difficulties of its own, it is scarcely necessary to say. But there\nis nothing in it which imperils the ethical and religious interests of\nhumanity, or tends to reduce man into a natural phenomenon. Instead of\ndegrading man, it lifts nature into a manifestation of spirit. If it\nwere established, if every link of the endless chain were discovered and\nthe continuity of existence were irrefragably proved, science would not\noverthrow idealism, but it would rather vindicate it. It would justify\n_in detail_ the attempt of poetry and religion and philosophy, to\ninterpret all being as the \"transparent vesture\" of reason, or love, or\nwhatever other power in the world is regarded as highest.\n\nI have now arrived at the conclusion that was sought. I have tried to\nshow, not only that the attempt to interpret nature in terms of man is\nnot a superstitious anthropomorphism, but that such an interpretation is\nimplied in all rational thought. In other words, self-consciousness is\nthe key to all the problems of nature. Science, in its progress, is\ngradually substituting one category for the other, and every one of\nthese categories is at once a law of thought and a law of things as\nknown. Each category, successively adopted, lifts nature more to the\nlevel of man; and the last category of modern thought, namely,\ndevelopment, constrains us so to modify our views of nature, as to\nregard it as finally explicable only in the terms of spirit. Thus, the\nmovement of science is towards idealism. Instead of lowering man, it\nelevates nature into a potency of that which is highest and best in man.\nIt represents the life of man, in the language of philosophy, as the\nreturn of the highest to itself; or in the language of our poet, and of\nreligion, as a manifestation of infinite love. The explanation of nature\nfrom the principle of love, if it errs, errs \"because it is not\nanthropomorphic enough,\" not because it is too anthropomorphic; it is\nnot too high and concrete a principle, but too low and abstract.\n\nIt now remains to show that the poet, in employing the idea of\nevolution, was aware of its upward direction. I have already quoted a\nfew passages which indicate that he had detected the false use of it. I\nshall now quote a few others in which he shows a consciousness of its\ntrue meaning:\n\n  \"'Will you have why and wherefore, and the fact\n  Made plain as pike-staff?' modern Science asks.\n  'That mass man sprung from was a jelly-lump\n  Once on a time; he kept an after course\n  Through fish and insect, reptile, bird and beast,\n  Till he attained to be an ape at last,\n  Or last but one. And if this doctrine shock\n  In aught the natural pride.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\n\"Not at all,\" the poet interrupts the man of science: \"Friend, banish\nfear!\"\n\n  \"I like the thought He should have lodged me once\n  I' the hole, the cave, the hut, the tenement,\n  The mansion and the palace; made me learn\n  The feel o' the first, before I found myself\n  Loftier i' the last.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nThis way upward from the lowest stage through every other to the\nhighest, that is, the way of development, so far from lowering us to the\nbrute level, is the only way for us to attain to the true highest,\nnamely, the all-complete.\n\n  \"But grant me time, give me the management\n  And manufacture of a model me,\n  Me fifty-fold, a prince without a flaw,--\n  Why, there's no social grade, the sordidest,\n  My embryo potentate should brink and scape.\n  King, all the better he was cobbler once,\n  He should know, sitting on the throne, how tastes\n  Life to who sweeps the doorway.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nBut then, unfortunately, we have no time to make our kings in this way,\n\n            \"You cut probation short,\n  And, being half-instructed, on the stage\n  You shuffle through your part as best you can.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nGod, however, \"takes time.\" He makes man pass his apprenticeship in all\nthe forms of being. Nor does the poet\n\n            \"Refuse to follow farther yet\n  I' the backwardness, repine if tree and flower,\n  Mountain or streamlet were my dwelling-place\n  Before I gained enlargement, grew mollusc.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nIt is, indeed, only on the supposition of having been thus evolved from\ninanimate being that he is able to account\n\n            \"For many a thrill\n  Of kinship, I confess to, with the powers\n  Called Nature: animate, inanimate,\n  In parts or in the whole, there's something there\n  Man-like that somehow meets the man in me.\"[D]\n\n[Footnote D: _Ibid_.]\n\nThese passages make it clear that the poet recognized that the idea of\ndevelopment \"levels up,\" and that he makes an intelligent, and not a\nperverted and abstract use of this instrument of thought. He sees each\nhigher stage carrying within it the lower, the present storing up the\npast; he recognizes that the process is a self-enriching one. He knows\nit to be no degradation of the higher that it has been in the lower; for\nhe distinguishes between that life, which is continuous amidst the\nfleeting forms, and the temporary tenements, which it makes use of\nduring the process of ascending.\n\n  \"From first to last of lodging, I was I,\n  And not at all the place that harboured me.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nWhen nature is thus looked upon from the point of view of its final\nattainment, in the light of the self-consciousness into which it\nultimately breaks, a new dignity is added to every preceding phase. The\nlowest ceases to be lowest, except in the sense that its promise is not\nfulfilled and its potency not actualized; for, throughout the whole\nprocess, the activity streams from the highest. It is that which is\nabout to be which guides the growing thing and gives it unity. The final\ncause is the efficient cause; the distant purpose is the ever-present\nenergy; the last is always first.\n\nNor does the poet shrink from calling this highest, this last which is\nalso first, by its highest name,--God.\n\n            \"He dwells in all,\n  From, life's minute beginnings, up at last\n  To man--the consummation of this scheme\n  Of being, the completion of this sphere\n  Of life.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\n\"All tended to mankind,\" he said, after reviewing the whole process of\nnature in _Paracelsus_,\n\n  \"And, man produced, all has its end thus far:\n  But in completed man begins anew\n  A tendency to God.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nThere is nowhere a break in the continuity. God is at the beginning, His\nrapturous presence is seen in all the processes of nature, His power and\nknowledge and love work in the mind of man, and all history is His\nrevelation of Himself.\n\nThe gap which yawns for ordinary thought between animate and inanimate,\nbetween nature and spirit, between man and God, does not baffle the\npoet. At the stage of human life, which is \"the grand result\" of\nnature's blind process,\n\n  \"A supplementary reflux of light,\n  Illustrates all the inferior grades, explains\n  Each back step in the circle.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nNature is retracted into thought, built again in mind.\n\n    \"Man, once descried, imprints for ever\n  His presence on all lifeless things.\"[D]\n\n[Footnote D: _Ibid_.]\n\nThe self-consciousness of man is the point where \"all the scattered rays\nmeet\"; and \"the dim fragments,\" the otherwise meaningless manifold, the\ndispersed activities of nature, are lifted into a kosmos by the activity\nof intelligence. In its light, the forces of nature are found to be, not\nblind nor purposeless, but \"hints and previsions\"\n\n  \"Strewn confusedly everywhere about\n  The inferior natures, and all lead up higher,\n  All shape out dimly the superior race,\n  The heir of hopes too fair to turn out false,\n  And man appears at last.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nIn this way, and in strict accordance with the principle of evolution,\nthe poet turns back at each higher stage to re-illumine in a broader\nlight what went before,--just as we know the seedling after it is grown;\njust as, with every advance in life, we interpret the past anew, and\nturn the mixed ore of action into pure metal by the reflection which\ndraws the false from the true.\n\n  \"Youth ended, I shall try\n  My gain or loss thereby;\n  Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold:\n  And I shall weigh the same,\n  Give life its praise or blame:\n  Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Rabbi Ben Ezra_.]\n\nAs youth attains its meaning in age, so does the unconscious process of\nnature come to its meaning in man And old age,\n\n    \"Still within this life\n  Though lifted o'er its strife,\"\n\nis able to\n\n  \"Discern, compare, pronounce at last,\n  This rage was right i' the main,\n  That acquiescence vain\";[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nso man is able to penetrate beneath the apparently chaotic play of\nphenomena, and find in them law, and beauty, and goodness. The laws\nwhich he finds by thought are not his inventions, but his discoveries.\nThe harmonies are in the organ, if the artist only knows how to elicit\nthem. Nay, the connection is still more intimate. It is in the thought\nof man that silent nature finds its voice; it blooms into \"meaning,\"\nsignificance, thought, in him, as the plant shows its beauty in the\nflower. Nature is making towards humanity, and in humanity it finds\n_itself_.\n\n  \"Striving to be man, the worm\n  Mounts through all the spires of form.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Emerson_.]\n\nThe geologist, physicist, chemist, by discovering the laws of nature, do\nnot bind unconnected phenomena; but they refute the hasty conclusion of\nsensuous thought, that the phenomena ever were unconnected. Men of\nscience do not introduce order into chance and chaos, but show that\nthere never was chance or chaos. The poet does not make the world\nbeautiful, but finds the beauty that is dwelling there. Without him,\nindeed, the beauty would not be, any more than the life of the tree is\nbeautiful until it has evolved its potencies into the outward form.\nNevertheless, he is the expression of what was before, and the beauty\nwas there in potency, awaiting its expression. \"Only let his thoughts be\nof equal scope, and the frame will suit the picture,\" said Emerson.\n\n            \"The winds\n  Are henceforth voices, wailing or a shout,\n  A querulous mutter, or a quick gay laugh,\n  Never a senseless gust now man is born.\n  The herded pines commune and have deep thoughts,\n  A secret they assemble to discuss\n  When the sun drops behind their trunks.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"The morn has enterprise, deep quiet droops\n  With evening, triumph takes the sunset hour,\n  Voluptuous transport ripens with the corn\n  Beneath a warm moon like a happy face.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nSuch is the transmuting power of imagination, that there is \"nothing but\ndoth suffer change into something rich and strange\"; and yet the\nimagination, when loyal to itself, only sees more deeply into the truth\nof things, and gets a closer and fuller hold of facts.\n\nBut, although the human mind thus heals the breach between nature and\nspirit, and discovers the latter in the former, still it is not in this\nway that Browning finally establishes his idealism. For him, the\nprinciple working in all things is not reason, but love. It is from love\nthat all being first flowed; into it all returns through man; and in all\n\"the wide compass which is fetched,\" through the infinite variety of\nforms of being, love is the permanent element and the true essence.\nNature is on its way back to God, gathering treasure as it goes. The\nstatic view is not true to facts; it is development that for the poet\nexplains the nature of things; and development is the evolution of love.\nLove is for Browning the highest, richest conception man can form. It is\nour idea of that which is perfect; we cannot even imagine anything\nbetter. And the idea of evolution necessarily explains the world as the\nreturn of the highest to itself. The universe is homeward bound.\n\nNow, whether love is the highest principle or not, I shall not inquire\nat present. My task in this chapter has been to try to show that the\nidea of evolution drives us onward towards some highest conception, and\nthen uses that conception as a principle to explain all things. If man\nis veritably higher as a physical organism than the bird or reptile,\nthen biology, if it proceeds according to the principles of evolution,\n_must_ seek the meaning of the latter in the former, and make the whole\nkingdom of life a process towards man. \"Man is no upstart in the\ncreation. His limbs are only a more exquisite organization--say rather\nthe finish--of the rudimental forms that have already been sweeping the\nsea and creeping in the mud.\" And the same way of thought applies to man\nas a spiritual agent. If spirit be higher than matter, and if love be\nspirit at its best, then the principle of evolution leaves no option to\nthe scientific thinker, but to regard all things as potentially spirit,\nand all the phenomena of the world as manifestations of love. Evolution\nnecessarily combines all the objects to which it is applied into a\nunity. It knits all the infinite forms of natural life into an organism\nof organisms, so that it is a universal life which really lives in all\nanimate beings. \"Each animal or vegetable form remembers the next\ninferior and predicts the next higher. There is one animal, one plant,\none matter, and one force.\" In its still wider application by poetry and\nphilosophy, the idea of evolution gathers all being into one\nself-centred totality, and makes all finite existence a movement within,\nand a movement of, that final perfection which, although last in order\nof time, is first in order of potency,--the _prius_ of all things, the\nactive energy _in_ all things, and the _reality_ of all things. It is\nthe doctrine of the immanence of God; and it reveals \"the effort of God,\nof the supreme intellect, in the extreme frontier of His universe.\"\n\nIn pronouncing, as Browning frequently does, that \"after last comes\nfirst\" and \"what God once blessed cannot prove accursed\"; in the\nboldness of the faith whereby he makes all the inferior grades of being\ninto embodiments of the supreme good; in resolving the evils of human\nlife, the sorrow, strife, and sin of man into means of man's promotion,\nhe is only applying, in a thorough manner, the principle on which all\nmodern speculation rests. His conclusions may shock common-sense; and\nthey may seem to stultify not only our observation of facts, but the\ntestimony of our moral consciousness. But I do not know of any principle\nof speculation which, when elevated into a universal principle of\nthought, will not do the same; and this is why the greatest poets and\nphilosophers seem to be touched with a divine madness. Still, if this be\nmadness, there is a method in it. We cannot escape from its logic,\nexcept by denying the idea of evolution--the hypothesis by means of\nwhich modern thought aims, and in the main successfully aims, at\nreducing the variety of existence, and the chaos of ordinary experience,\ninto an order-ruled world and a kosmos of articulated knowledge.\n\nThe new idea of evolution differs from that of universal causation, to\nwhich even the ignorance of our own day has learnt to submit, in this\nmainly--it does not leave things on the level on which it finds them.\nBoth cause and evolution assert the unity of being, which, indeed, every\none must assume--even sceptics and pessimists; but development\nrepresents that unity as self-enriching; so that its true nature is\nrevealed, only in the highest form of existence which man can conceive.\nThe attempt of poets and philosophers to establish a universal synthesis\nby means of evolution, differs from the work which is done by men of\nscience, only in the extent of its range and the breadth of its results.\nIt is not \"idealism,\" but the scepticism which, in our day, conceals its\nreal nature under the name of dualism or agnosticism, that is at war\nwith the inner spirit of science. \"Not only,\" we may say of Browning as\nit was said of Emerson by Professor Tyndall, \"is his religious sense\nentirely undaunted by the discoveries of science; but all such\ndiscoveries he comprehends and assimilates. By him scientific\nconceptions are continually transmuted into the finer forms and warmer\nhues of an ideal world.\" And this he does without any distortion of the\ntruth. For natural science, to one who understands its main tendency,\ndoes not militate against philosophy, art, and religion; nor threaten to\noverturn a metaphysic whose principle is truth, or beauty, or goodness.\nRather, it is gradually eliminating the discord of fragmentary\nexistence, and making the harmony of the world more and more audible to\nmankind. It is progressively proving that the unity, of which we are all\nobscurely conscious from the first, actually holds in the whole region\nof its survey. The idea of evolution is reconciling science with art and\nreligion, in an idealistic conception of the universe.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nBROWNING'S SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM OF EVIL.\n\n\n    \"Let him, therefore, who would arrive at knowledge of\n    nature, train his moral sense, let him act and conceive in\n    accordance with the noble essence of his soul; and, as if\n    of herself, nature will become open to him. Moral action\n    is that great and only experiment, in which all riddles of\n    the most manifold appearances explain themselves.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Novalis_.]\n\nIn the last chapter, I tried to set forth some considerations that\njustify the attempt to interpret the world by a spiritual principle. The\nconception of development, which modern science and philosophy assume as\na starting-point for their investigation, was shown to imply that the\nlowest forms of existence can be explained, only as stages in the\nself-realization of that which is highest. This idea \"levels upwards,\"\nand points to self-consciousness as the ultimate truth of all things. In\nother words, it involves that all interpretation of the world is\nanthropomorphic, in the sense that what constitutes thought constitutes\nthings, and, therefore, that the key to nature is man.\n\nIn propounding this theory of love, and establishing an idealism,\nBrowning is in agreement with the latest achievement of modern thought.\nFor, if the principle of evolution be granted, love is a far more\nadequate hypothesis for the explanation of the nature of things, than\nany purely physical principle. Nay, science itself, in so far as it\npresupposes evolution, tends towards an idealism of this type. Whether\nlove be the best expression for that highest principle, which is\nconceived as the truth of being, and whether Browning's treatment of it\nis consistent and valid, I do not as yet inquire. Before attempting that\ntask, it must be seen to what extent, and in what way, he applies the\nhypothesis of universal love to the particular facts of life. For the\npresent, I take it as admitted that the hypothesis is legitimate, as an\nhypothesis; it remains to ask, with what success, if any, we may hope,\nby its means, to solve the contradictions of life, and to gather its\nconflicting phenomena into the unity of an intelligible system. This\ntask cannot be accomplished within our limits, except in a very partial\nmanner. I can attempt to meet only a few of the more evident and\npressing difficulties that present themselves, and I can do that only in\na very general way.\n\nThe first of these difficulties, or, rather, the main difficulty from\nwhich all others spring, is that the hypothesis of universal love is\nincompatible with the existence of any kind of evil, whether natural or\nmoral. Of this, Browning was well aware. He knew that he had brought\nupon himself the hard task of showing that pain, weakness, ignorance,\nfailure, doubt, death, misery, and vice, in all their complex forms, can\nfind their legitimate place in a scheme of love. And there is nothing\nmore admirable in his attitude, or more inspiring in his teaching, than\nthe manly frankness with which he endeavours to confront the manifold\nmiseries of human life, and to constrain them to yield, as their\nultimate meaning and reality, some spark of good.\n\nBut, as we have seen, there is a portion of this task in the discharge\nof which Browning is drawn beyond the strict limits of art. Neither the\nmagnificent boldness of his religious faith, nor the penetration of his\nartistic insight, although they enabled him to deal successfully with\nthe worst samples of human evil, as in _The Ring and the Book_, could\ndissipate the gloom which reflection gathers around the general problem.\nArt cannot answer the questions of philosophy. The difficulties that\ncritical reason raises reason alone can lay. Nevertheless, the poet was\nforced by his reflective impulse, to meet that problem in the form in\nwhich it presents itself in the region of metaphysics. He was conscious\nof the presuppositions within which his art worked, and he sought to\njustify them. Into this region we must now follow him, so as to examine\nhis theory of life, not merely as it is implied in the concrete\ncreations of his art, but as it is expressed in those later poems, in\nwhich he attempts to deal directly with the speculative difficulties\nthat crowd around the conception of evil.\n\nTo the critic of a philosophy, there is hardly more than one task of\nsupreme importance. It is that of determining the precise point from\nwhich the theory he examines takes its departure; for, when the central\nconception is clearly grasped, it will be generally found that it rules\nall the rest. The superstructure of philosophic edifices is usually put\ntogether in a sufficiently solid manner--it is the foundation that gives\nway. Hence Hegel, who, whatever may be thought of his own theory, was\ncertainly the most profound critic of philosophy since Aristotle,\ngenerally concentrates his attack on the preliminary hypothesis. He\nbrings down the erroneous system by removing its foundation-stone. His\ncriticism of Spinoza, Kant, Fichte, and Schelling may almost be said to\nbe gathered into a single sentence.\n\nBrowning has made no secret of his central conception. It is the idea of\nan immanent or \"immundate\" love. And that love, we have shown, is\nconceived by him as the supreme moral motive, the ultimate essence and\nend of all self-conscious activity, the veritable nature of both man and\nGod.\n\n  \"Denn das Leben ist die Liebe,\n  Und des Lebens Leben Geist.\"\n\nHis philosophy of human life rests on the idea that it is the\nrealization of a moral purpose, which is a loving purpose. To him there\nis no supreme good, except good character; and the foundation of that\ncharacter by man and in man is the ultimate purpose, and, therefore, the\ntrue meaning of all existence.\n\n            \"I search but cannot see\n  What purpose serves the soul that strives, or world it tries\n  Conclusions with, unless the fruit of victories\n  Stay, one and all, stored up and guaranteed its own\n  For ever, by some mode whereby shall be made known\n  The gain of every life. Death reads the title clear--\n  What each soul for itself conquered from out things here:\n  Since, in the seeing soul, all worth lies, I assert.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Fifine at the Fair_, lv.]\n\nIn this passage, Browning gives expression to an idea which continually\nreappears in his pages--that human life, in its essence, is movement to\nmoral goodness through opposition. His fundamental conception of the\nhuman spirit is that it is a process, and not a fixed fact. \"Man,\" he\nsays, \"was made to grow not stop.\"\n\n  \"Getting increase of knowledge, since he learns\n  Because he lives, which is to be a man,\n  Set to instruct himself by his past self.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\n             \"By such confession straight he falls\n  Into man's place, a thing nor God nor beast,\n  Made to know that he can know and not more:\n  Lower than God who knows all and can all,\n  Higher than beasts which know and can so far\n  As each beast's limit, perfect to an end,\n  Nor conscious that they know, nor craving more;\n  While man knows partly but conceives beside,\n  Creeps ever on from fancies to the fact,\n  And in this striving, this converting air\n  Into a solid he may grasp and use,\n  Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone,\n  Not God's and not the beasts': God is, they are,\n  Man partly is and wholly hopes to be.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nIt were easy to multiply passages which show that his ultimate\ndeliverance regarding man is, not that he is, nor that he is not, but\nthat he is ever becoming. Man is ever at the point of contradiction\nbetween the actual and ideal, and moving from the latter to the former.\nStrife constitutes him. He is a war of elements; \"hurled from change to\nchange unceasingly.\" But rest is death; for it is the cessation of the\nspiritual activity, whose essence is acquirement, not mere possession,\nwhether in knowledge or in goodness.\n\n            \"Man must pass from old to new,\n  From vain to real, from mistake to fact,\n  From what once seemed good, to what now proves best.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\nWere the movement to stop, and the contradiction between the actual and\nideal reconciled, man would leave man's estate, and pass under \"angel's\nlaw.\"\n\n  \"Indulging every instinct of the soul\n  There, where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nBut as long as he is man, he has\n\n  \"Somewhat to cast off, somewhat to become.\"\n\nIn _Paracelsus_, _Fifine at the Fair_, _Red Cotton Nightcap Country_,\nand many of his other poems, Browning deals with the problem of human\nlife from the point of view of development. And it is this point of\nview, consistently held, which enables him to throw a new light on the\nwhole subject of ethics. For, if man be veritably a being in process of\nevolution, if he be a permanent that always changes from earliest\nchildhood to old age, if he be a living thing, a potency in process of\nactualization, then no fixed distinctions made with reference to him can\nbe true. If, for instance, it be asked whether man is rational or\nirrational, free or bound, good or evil, God or brute, the true answer,\nif he is veritably a being moving from ignorance to knowledge, from\nwickedness to virtue, from bondage to freedom, is, that he is at once\nneither of these alternatives and both. All hard terms of division, when\napplied to a subject which grows, are untrue. If the life of man is a\nself-enriching process, if he is _becoming_ good, and rational, and\nfree, then at no point in the movement is it possible to pass fixed and\ndefinite judgments upon him. He must be estimated by his direction and\nmomentum, by the whence and whither of his life. There is a sense in\nwhich man is from the first and always good, rational and free; for it\nis only by the exercise of reason and freedom that he exists as man. But\nthere is also a sense in which he is none of these; for he is at the\nfirst only a potency not yet actualized. He is not rational, but\nbecoming rational; not good, but becoming good; not free, but aspiring\ntowards freedom. It is his prayer that \"in His light, he may see light\ntruly, and in His service find perfect freedom.\"\n\nIn this frank assumption of the point of view of development. Browning\nsuggests the question whether the endless debate regarding freedom, and\nnecessity, and other moral terms, may not spring from the fact, that\nboth of the opposing schools of ethics are fundamentally unfaithful to\nthe subject of their inquiry. They are treating a developing reality\nfrom an abstract point of view, and taking for granted,--what cannot be\ntrue of man, if he grows in intellectual power and moral goodness--that\nhe is _either_ good or evil, _either_ rational or irrational, _either_\nfree or bond, at every moment in the process. They are treating man from\na static, instead of from a kinetic point of view, and forgetting that\nit is his business to acquire the moral and intellectual freedom, which\nhe has potentially from the first--\n\n            \"Some fitter way express\n  Heart's satisfaction that the Past indeed\n  Is past, gives way before Life's best and last,\n  The all-including Future!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Gerard de Lairesse_.]\n\nBut, whether or not the new point of view renders some of the old\ndisputations of ethics meaningless, it is certain that Browning viewed\nmoral life as a growth through conflict.\n\n            \"What were life\n  Did soul stand still therein, forego her strife\n  Through the ambiguous Present to the goal\n  Of some all-reconciling Future?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nTo become, to develop, to actualize by reaction against the natural and\nmoral environment, is the meaning both of the self and of the world it\nworks upon. \"We are here to learn the good of peace through strife, of\nlove through hate, and reach knowledge by ignorance.\"\n\nNow, since the conception of development is a self-contradictory one,\nor, in other words, since it necessarily implies the conflict of the\nideal and actual in all life, and in every instant of its history, it\nremains for us to determine more fully what are the warring elements in\nhuman nature. What is the nature of this life of man, which, like all\nlife, is self-evolving; and by conflict with what does the evolution\ntake place? What is the ideal which condemns the actual, and yet\nrealizes itself by means of it; and what is the actual which wars\nagainst the ideal, and yet contains it in potency, and reaches towards\nit? That human life is conceived by Browning as a moral life, and not a\nmore refined and complex form of the natural life of plants and\nanimals--a view which finds its exponents in Herbert Spencer, and other\nso-called evolutionists--it is scarcely necessary to assert. It is a\nlife which determines itself, and determines itself according to an idea\nof goodness. That idea, moreover, because it is a _moral ideal_, must be\nregarded as the conception of perfect and absolute goodness. Through the\nmoral end, man is ideally identified with God, who, indeed, is\nnecessarily conceived as man's moral ideal regarded as already and\neternally real. \"God\" and the \"moral ideal\" are, in truth, expressions\nof the same idea; they convey the conception of perfect goodness from\ndifferent standpoints. And perfect goodness is, to Browning, limitless\nlove. Pleasure, wisdom, power, and even the beauty which art discovers\nand reveals, together with every other inner quality and outer state of\nbeing, have only relative worth. \"There is nothing either in the world\nor out of it which is unconditionally good, except a good will,\" said\nKant; and a good will, according to Browning, is a will that wills\nlovingly. From love all other goodness is derived. There is earnest\nmeaning, and not mere sentiment, in the poet's assertion that\n\n  \"There is no good of life but love--but love!\n  What else looks good, is some shade flung from love.\n  Love gilds it, gives it worth. Be warned by me,\n  Never you cheat yourself one instant! Love,\n  Give love, ask only love, and leave the rest!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _In a Balcony_.]\n\n\"Let man's life be true,\" he adds, \"and love's the truth of mine.\" To\nattain this truth, that is, to constitute love into the inmost law of\nhis being, and permanent source of all his activities, is the task of\nman. And Browning defines that love as\n\n            \"Yearning to dispense,\n  Each one its own amount of gain thro' its own mode\n  Of practising with life.\"\n\nThere is no need of illustrating further the doctrine, so evident in\nBrowning, that \"love\" is the ideal which in man's life makes through\nconflict for its own fulfilment. From what has been already said, it is\nabundantly plain that love is to him a divine element, which is at war\nwith all that is lower in man and around him, and which by reaction\nagainst circumstance converts its own mere promise into fruition and\nfact. Through love man's nature reaches down to the permanent essence,\namid the fleeting phenomena of the world, and is at one with what is\nfirst and last. As loving he ranks with God. No words are too strong to\nrepresent the intimacy of the relation. For, however limited in range\nand tainted with alien qualities human love may be, it is still \"a\npin-point rock of His boundless continent.\" It is not a semblance of the\ndivine nature, an analogon, or verisimilitude, but the love of God\nhimself in man: so that man is in this sense an incarnation of the\ndivine. The Godhood in him constitutes him, so that he cannot become\nhimself, or attain his own ideal or true nature, except by becoming\nperfect as God is perfect.\n\nBut the emphasis thus laid on the divine worth and dignity of human love\nis balanced by the stress which the poet places on the frailty and\nfinitude of every other human attribute. Having elevated the ideal, he\ndegrades the actual. Knowledge and the intellectual energy which\nproduces it; art and the love of beauty from which it springs: every\npower and every gift, physical and spiritual, other than love, has in it\nthe fatal flaw of being merely human. All these are so tainted with\ncreatureship, so limited and conditioned, that it is hardly too much to\nsay that they are, at their best, deceptive endowments. Thus, the life\nof man regarded as a whole is, in its last essence, a combination of\nutterly disparate elements. The distinction of the old moralists between\ndivinity and dust; the absolute dualism of the old ascetics between\nflesh and spirit, sense and reason, find their accurate parallel in\nBrowning's teachings. But he is himself no ascetic, and the line of\ndistinction he draws does not, like theirs, pass between the flesh and\nthe spirit. It rather cleaves man's spiritual nature into two portions,\nwhich are absolutely different from each other. A chasm divides the head\nfrom the heart, the intellect from the emotions, the moral and practical\nfrom the perceptive and reflective faculties. And it is this absolute\ncleavage that gives to Browning's teaching, both on ethics and religion,\none of its most peculiar characteristics. By keeping it constantly in\nsight, we may hope to render intelligible to ourselves the solution he\noffers of the problem of evil, and of other fundamental difficulties of\nthe life of man. For, while Browning's optimism has its original source\nin his conception of the unity of God and man, through the Godlike\nquality of love--even \"the poorest love that was ever offered\"--he finds\nhimself unable to maintain it, except at the expense of degrading man's\nknowledge. Thus, his optimism and faith in God is finally based upon\nignorance. If, on the side of love, he insists, almost in the spirit of\na Spinozist, on God's communication of His own substance to man; on the\nside of knowledge he may be called an agnostic, in spite of stray\nexpressions which break through his deliberate theory. While \"love gains\nGod at first leap,\"\n\n            \"Knowledge means\n  Ever-renewed assurance by defeat\n  That victory is somehow still to reach.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Pillar at Sebzevar_.]\n\nA radical flaw runs through our knowing faculty. Human knowledge is not\nonly incomplete--no one can be so foolish as to deny that--but it is, as\nregarded by Browning, essentially inadequate to the nature of fact, and\nwe must \"distrust it, even when it seems demonstrable.\" No professed\nagnostic can condemn the human intellect more utterly than he does. He\npushes the limitedness of human knowledge into a disqualification of it\nto reach truth at all; and makes the conditions according to which we\nknow, or seem to know, into a deceiving necessity, which makes us know\nwrongly.\n\n            \"To know of, think about,--\n  Is all man's sum of faculty effects\n  When exercised on earth's least atom, Son!\n  What was, what is, what may such atom be?\n  No answer!\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Bean-Stripe_.]\n\nThought plays around facts, but never reaches them. Mind intervenes\nbetween itself and its objects, and throws its own shadow upon them; nor\ncan it penetrate through that shadow, but deals with it as if it were\nreality, though it knows all the time that it is not.\n\nThis theory of knowledge, or rather of nescience or no-knowledge, he\ngives in _La Saisiaz_, _Ferishtah's Fancies, The Parleyings_, and\n_Asolando_--in all his later and more reflective poems, in fact. It\nmust, I think, be held to be his deliberate and final view--and all the\nmore so, because, by a peculiar process, he gets from it his defence of\nhis ethical and religious faith.\n\nIn the first of these poems, Browning, while discussing the problem of\nimmortality in a purely speculative spirit, and without stipulating,\n\"Provided answer suits my hopes, not fears,\" gives a tolerably full\naccount of that which must be regarded as the principles of his theory\nof knowledge. Its importance to his ethical doctrine justifies a\nsomewhat exhaustive examination of it.\n\nHe finds himself to be \"a midway point, between a cause before and an\neffect behind--both blanks.\" Within that narrow space, of the self\nhemmed in by two unknowns, all experience is crammed. Out of that\nexperience crowds all that he knows, and all that he misknows. There\nissues from experience--\n\n            \"Conjecture manifold,\n  But, as knowledge, this comes only--things may be as I behold,\n  Or may not be, but, without me and above me, things there are;\n  I myself am what I know not--ignorance which proves no bar\n  To the knowledge that I am, and, since I am, can recognize\n  What to me is pain and pleasure: this is sure, the rest--surmise.\n  If my fellows are or are not, what may please them and what pain,--\n  Mere surmise: my own experience--that is knowledge once again.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nExperience, then, within which he (and every one else) acknowledges that\nall his knowledge is confined, yields him as certain facts--the\nconsciousness that he is, but not what he is: the consciousness that he\nis pleased or pained by things about him, whose real nature is entirely\nhidden from him: and, as he tells us just before, the assurance that God\nis the thing the self perceives outside itself,\n\n                  \"A force\n  Actual e'er its own beginning, operative thro' its course,\n  Unaffected by its end.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nBut, even this knowledge, limited as it is to the bare existence of\nunknown entities, has the further defect of being merely subjective. The\n\"experience\" from which he draws his conclusions, is his own in an\nexclusive sense. His \"thinking thing\" has, apparently, no elements in\ncommon with the \"thinking things\" of other selves. He ignores the fact\nthat there may be general laws of thought, according to which his mind\nmust act in order to be a mind. Intelligence seems to have no nature,\nand may be anything. All questions regarding \"those apparent other\nmortals\" are consequently unanswerable to the poet. \"Knowledge stands on\nmy experience\"; and this \"my\" is totally unrelated to all other Mes.\n\n            \"All outside its narrow hem,\n  Free surmise may sport and welcome! Pleasures, pains affect mankind\n  Just as they affect myself? Why, here's my neighbour colour-blind,\n  Eyes like mine to all appearance: 'green as grass' do I affirm?\n  'Red as grass' he contradicts me: which employs the proper term?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nIf there were only they two on earth as tenants, there would be no way\nof deciding between them; for, according to his argument, the truth is\napparently decided by majority of opinions. Each individual, equipped\nwith his own particular kind of senses and reason, gets his own\nparticular experience, and draws his own particular conclusions from it.\nIf it be asked whether these conclusions are true or not, the only\nanswer is that the question is absurd; for, under such conditions, there\ncannot be either truth or error. Every one's opinion is its own\ncriterion. Each man is the measure of all things; \"His own world for\nevery mortal,\" as the poet puts it.\n\n  \"To each mortal peradventure earth becomes a new machine,\n  Pain and pleasure no more tally in our sense than red and green.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nThe first result of this subjective view of knowledge is clearly enough\nseen by the poet. He is well aware that his convictions regarding the\nhigh matters of human destiny are valid only for himself.\n\n            \"Only for myself I speak,\n  Nowise dare to play the spokesman for my brothers strong and weak.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nExperience, as he interprets it, that is, present consciousness, \"this\nmoment's me and mine,\" is too narrow a basis for any universal or\nobjective conclusion. So far as his own inner experience of pain and\npleasure goes,\n\n  \"All--for myself--seems ordered wise and well\n  Inside it,--what reigns outside, who can tell?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nBut as to the actual world, he can have no opinion, nor, from the good\nand evil that apparently play around him, can he deduce either\n\n  \"Praise or blame of its contriver, shown a niggard or profuse\n  In each good or evil issue.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nThe moral government of the world is a subject, regarding which we are\ndoomed to absolute ignorance. A theory that it is ruled by the \"prince\nof the power of the air\" has just as much, and just as little, validity\nas the more ordinary view held by religious people. Who needs be told\n\n            \"The space\n  Which yields thee knowledge--do its bounds embrace\n  Well-willing and wise-working, each at height?\n  Enough: beyond thee lies the infinite--\n  Back to thy circumscription!\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nAnd our ignorance of God, and the world, and ourselves is matched by a\nsimilar ignorance regarding moral matters.\n\n  \"Ignorance overwraps his moral sense,\n  Winds him about, relaxing, as it wraps,\n  So much and no more than lets through perhaps\n  The murmured knowledge--' Ignorance exists.'\"[D]\n\n[Footnote D: _Ibid_.]\n\nWe cannot be certain even of the distinction and conflict of good and\nevil in the world. They, too, and the apparent choice between them to\nwhich man is continually constrained, may be mere illusions--phenomena\nof the individual consciousness. What remains, then? Nothing but to\n\"wait.\"\n\n  \"Take the joys and bear the sorrows--neither with extreme concern!\n  Living here means nescience simply: 'tis next life that helps to\n        learn.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nIt is hardly necessary to enter upon any detailed criticism of such a\ntheory of knowledge as this, which is proffered by the poet. It is well\nknown by all those who are in some degree acquainted with the history of\nphilosophy--and it will be easily seen by all who have any critical\nacumen--that it leads directly into absolute scepticism. And absolute\nscepticism is easily shown to be self-contradictory. For a theory of\nnescience, in condemning all knowledge and the faculty of knowledge,\ncondemns itself. If nothing is true, or if nothing is known, then this\ntheory itself is not true, or its truth cannot be known. And if this\ntheory is true, then nothing is true; for this theory, like all others,\nis the product of a defective intelligence. In whatsoever way the matter\nis put, there is left no standing-ground for the human critic who\ncondemns human thought. And he cannot well pretend to a footing in a\nsphere above man's, or below it. There is thus one presupposition which\nevery one must make, if he is to propound any doctrine whatsoever, even\nif that doctrine be that no doctrine can be valid; it is the\npresupposition that knowledge is possible, and that truth can be known.\nAnd this presupposition fills, for modern philosophy, the place of the\n_Cogito ergo sum_ of Descartes. It is the starting-point and criterion\nof all knowledge.\n\nIt is, at first sight, a somewhat difficult task to account for the\nfact, that so keen an intellect as the poet's did not perceive the\nconclusion to which his theory of knowledge so directly and necessarily\nleads. It is probable, however, that he never critically examined it,\nbut simply accepted it as equivalent to the common doctrine of the\nrelativity of knowledge, which, in some form or other, all the schools\nof philosophy adopt. But the main reason will be found to lie in the\nfact that knowledge was not, to Browning, its own criterion or end. The\nprimary fact of his philosophy is that human life is a moral process.\nHis interest in the evolution of character was his deepest interest, as\nhe informs us; he was an ethical teacher rather than a metaphysician. He\nis ever willing to asperse man's intelligence. But that man is a moral\nagent he will in no wise doubt. This is his\n\n            \"Solid standing-place amid\n  The wash and welter, whence all doubts are bid\n  Back to the ledge they break against in foam.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nHis practical maxim was\n\n  \"Wholly distrust thy knowledge, then, and trust\n  As wholly love allied to ignorance!\n  There lies thy truth and safety.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Pillar of Sebzevar_.]\n\nAll phenomena must, in some way or other, be reconciled by the poet with\nthe fundamental and indubitable fact of the progressive moral life of\nman. For the fundamental presupposition which a man makes, is\nnecessarily his criterion of knowledge, and it determines the truth or\nillusoriness of all other opinions whatsoever.\n\nNow, Browning held, not only that no certain knowledge is attainable by\nman, but also that such certainty is incompatible with moral life.\nAbsolute knowledge would, he contends, lift man above the need and the\npossibility of making the moral choice, which is our supreme business on\nearth. Man can be good or evil, only on condition of being in absolute\nuncertainty regarding the true meaning of the facts of nature and the\nphenomena of life.\n\nThis somewhat strange doctrine finds the most explicit and full\nexpression in _La Saisiaz_. \"Fancy,\" amongst the concessions it demands\nfrom \"Reason,\" claims that man should know--not merely surmise or\nfear--that every action done in this life awaits its proper and\nnecessary meed in the next.\n\n                \"I also will that man become aware\n  Life has worth incalculable, every moment that he spends\n  So much gain or loss for that next life which on this life depends.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nBut Reason refuses the concession, upon the ground that such sure\nknowledge would be destructive of the very distinction between right and\nwrong, which the demand implies. The \"promulgation of this decree,\" by\nFancy, \"makes both good and evil to cease.\" Prior to it \"earth was man's\nprobation-place\"; but under this decree man is no longer free; for\ncertain knowledge makes action necessary.\n\n  \"Once lay down the law, with Nature's simple 'Such effects succeed\n  Causes such, and heaven or hell depends upon man's earthly deed\n  Just as surely as depends the straight or else the crooked line\n  On his making point meet point or with or else without incline,'\n  Thenceforth neither good nor evil does man, doing what he must.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_, 195.]\n\nIf we presuppose that \"man, addressed this mode, be sound and sane\" (and\nwe must stipulate sanity, if his actions are to be morally judged at\nall)--then a law which binds punishment and reward to action in a\nnecessary manner, and is known so to bind them, would \"obtain prompt and\nabsolute obedience.\" There are some \"edicts, now styled God's own\nnature's,\" \"which to hear means to obey.\" All the laws relating to the\npreservation of life are of this character. And, if the law--\"Would'st\nthou live again, be just\"--were in all ways as stringent as the other\nlaw--\n\n  \"Would'st thou live now, regularly draw thy breath!\n  For, suspend the operation, straight law's breach results in death\"--[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nthen no one would disobey it, nor could. \"It is the liberty of doing\nevil that gives the doing good a grace.\" And that liberty would be taken\naway by complete assurance, that effects follow actions in the moral\nworld with the necessity seen in the natural sphere. Since, therefore,\nman is made to grow, and earth is the place wherein he is to pass\nprobation and prove his powers, there must remain a certain doubt as to\nthe issues of his actions; conviction must not be so strong as to carry\nwith it man's whole nature. \"The best I both see and praise, the worst I\nfollow,\" is the adage rife in man's mouth regarding his moral conduct.\nBut, spite of his seeing and praising,\n\n            \"he disbelieves\n  In the heart of him that edict which for truth his head receives.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nHe has a dim consciousness of ways whereby he may elude the consequences\nof his wickedness, and of the possibility of making amends to law.\n\n  \"And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin',\n  A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin',\n  Some luckless hour will send him linkin'\n    To your black pit;\n  But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinkin',\n    And cheat you yet.\"\n\nThe more orthodox and less generous individual is prone to agree, as\nregards himself, with Burns; but, he sees, most probably, that such an\nescape is impossible to others. He has secret solacement in a latent\nbelief that he himself is an exception. There will be a special method\nof dealing with him. He is a \"chosen sample\"; and \"God will think twice\nbefore He damns a man of his quality.\" It is just because there is such\ndoubt as to the universality and necessity of the law which connects\nactions and consequences in the moral sphere, that man's deeds have an\nethical character; while, to disperse doubt and ignorance by the\nassurance of complete knowledge, would take the good from goodness and\nthe ill from evil.\n\nIn this ingenious manner, the poet turns the imperfect intellect and\ndelusive knowledge of man to a moral use. Ordinarily, the intellectual\nimpotence of man is regarded as carrying with it moral incapacity as\nwell, and the delusiveness of knowledge is one of the strongest\narguments for pessimism. To persons pledged to the support of no theory,\nand to those who have the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_, so hard to maintain side by side\nwith strong doctrinal convictions, it seems amongst the worst of evils\nthat man should be endowed with fallacious faculties, and cursed with a\nfutile desire for true knowledge which is so strong, that it cannot be\nquenched even in those who believe that truth can never be attained. It\nis the very best men of the world who cry\n\n            \"Oh, this false for real,\n  This emptiness which feigns solidity,--\n  Ever some grey that's white, and dun that's black,--\n  When shall we rest upon the thing itself,\n  Not on its semblance? Soul--too weak, forsooth,\n  To cope with fact--wants fiction everywhere!\n  Mine tires of falsehood: truth at any cost!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Bean-Stripe_.]\n\nThe poet himself was burdened in no small degree with this vain desire\nfor knowing the truth; and he recognized, too, that he was placed in a\nworld which seems both real and beautiful, and so well worth knowing.\nYet, it is this very failure of knowledge--a failure which, be it\nremembered, is complete and absolute, because, as he thinks, all facts\nmust turn into phantoms by mere contact with our \"relative\nintelligences,\"--which he constitutes into the basis of his optimistic\nfaith.\n\nSo high is the dignity and worth of the moral life to Browning, that no\nsacrifice is too great to secure it. And, indeed, if it were once\nclearly recognized that there is no good thing but goodness, nothing of\nsupreme worth, except the realization of a loving will, then doubt,\nignorance, and every other form of apparent evil would be fully\njustified--provided they were conditions whereby this highest good is\nattained. And, to Browning, ignorance was one of the conditions. And\nconsequently, the dread pause in the music which agnosticism brings, is\nonly \"silence implying sound\"; and the vain cry for truth, arising from\nthe heart of the earth's best men, is only a discord moving towards\nresolution into a more rapturous harmony.\n\nI do not stay here to inquire whether sure knowledge would really have\nthis disastrous effect of destroying morality, or whether its failure\ndoes not rather imply the impossibility of a moral life. I return to the\nquestion asked at the beginning of this chapter, and which it is now\npossible to answer. That question was: How does Browning reconcile his\nhypothesis of universal love with the natural and moral evils existing\nin the world?\n\nHis answer is quite explicit. The poet solves the problem by casting\ndoubt upon the facts which threaten his hypothesis. He reduces them into\nphenomena, in the sense of phantoms begotten by the human intellect upon\nunknown and unknowable realities.\n\n  \"Thus much at least is clearly understood--\n  Of power does Man possess no particle:\n  Of knowledge--just so much as shows that still\n  It ends in ignorance on every side.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nHe is aware of the phenomena of his own consciousness,\n\n  \"My soul, and my soul's home,\n  This body \";\n\nbut he knows not whether \"things outside are fact or feigning.\" And he\nheeds little, for in either case they\n\n            \"Teach\n  What good is and what evil,--just the same,\n  Be feigning or be fact the teacher.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nIt is the mixture, or rather the apparent mixture, of shade and light in\nlife, the conflict of seeming good with seeming evil in the world, that\nconstitutes the world a probation-place. It is a kind of moral\ngymnasium, crowded with phantoms, wherein by exercise man makes moral\nmuscle. And the vigour of the athlete's struggle is not in the least\nabated by the consciousness that all he deals with are phantoms.\n\n \"I have lived, then, done and suffered, loved and hated, learnt and taught\n  This--there is no reconciling wisdom with a world distraught,\n  Goodness with triumphant evil, power with failure in the aim,\n  If--(to my own sense, remember! though none other feel the same!)--\n  If you bar me from assuming earth to be a pupil's place,\n  And life, time--with all their chances, changes,--just probation-space,\n  Mine, for me.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nAnd the world would not be such a probation-space did we once penetrate\ninto its inmost secret, and know its phenomena as veritably either good\nor evil. There is the need of playing something perilously like a trick\non the human intellect if man is to strive and grow.\n\n            \"Here and there a touch\n  Taught me, betimes, the artifice of things--\n  That all about, external to myself,\n  Was meant to be suspected,--not revealed\n  Demonstrably a cheat--but half seen through.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Bean-Stripe._]\n\nTo know objects as they veritably are, might reveal all things as locked\ntogether in a scheme of universal good, so that \"white would rule\nunchecked along the line.\" But this would be the greatest of disasters;\nfor, as moral agents, we cannot do without\n\n            \"the constant shade\n  Cast on life's shine,--the tremor that intrudes\n  When firmest seems my faith in white.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nThe intellectual insight that would penetrate through the vari-colour of\nevents into the actual presence of the incandescent white of love, which\nglows, as hope tells us, in all things, would stultify itself, and lose\nits knowledge even of the good.\n\n                                \"Think!\n  Could I see plain, be somehow certified\n  All was illusion--evil far and wide\n  Was good disguised,--why, out with one huge wipe\n  Goes knowledge from me. Type needs antitype:\n  As night needs day, as shine needs shade, so good\n  Needs evil: how were pity understood\n  Unless by pain? \"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nGood and evil are relative to each other, and each is known only through\nits contrary.\n\n                                    \"For me\n  (Patience, beseech you!) Knowledge can but be\n  Of good by knowledge of good's opposite--\n  Evil.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nThe extinction of one of the terms would be the extinction of the other.\nAnd, in a similar manner, clear knowledge that evil is illusion and that\nall things have their place in an infinite divine order would paralyze\nall moral effort, as well as stultify itself.\n\n            \"Make evident that pain\n  Permissibly masks pleasure--you abstain\n  From out-stretch of the finger-tip that saves\n  A drowning fly.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nCertainty on either side, either that evil is evil for evermore,\nirredeemable and absolute, a drench of utter dark not illuminable by\nwhite; or that it is but mere show and semblance, which the good takes\nupon itself, would alike be ruinous to man. For both alternatives would\nrender all striving folly. The right attitude for man is that of\nignorance, complete uncertainty, the equipoise of conflicting\nalternatives. He must take his stand on the contradiction. Hope he may\nhave that all things work together for good. It is right that he should\nnourish the faith that the antagonism of evil with good in the world is\nonly an illusion; but that faith must stop short of the complete\nconviction that knowledge would bring. When, therefore, the hypothesis\nof universal love is confronted with the evils of life, and we ask how\nit can be maintained in the face of the manifold miseries everywhere\napparent, the poet answers, \"You do not know, and cannot know, whether\nthey are evils or not. Your knowledge remains at the surface of things.\nYou cannot fit them into their true place, or pronounce upon their true\npurpose and character; for you see only a small arc of the complete\ncircle of being. Wait till you see more, and, in the meantime, hope!\"\n\n  \"Why faith--but to lift the load,\n    To leaven the lump, where lies\n  Mind prostrate through knowledge owed\n    To the loveless Power it tries\n  To withstand, how vain!\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Reverie_--_Asolando_.]\n\nAnd, if we reply in turn, that this necessary ignorance leaves as little\nroom for his scheme of love as it does for its opposite, he again\nanswers: \"Not so! I appeal from the intellect, which is detected as\nincompetent, to the higher court of the moral consciousness. And there I\nfind the ignorance to be justified: for it is the instrument of a higher\npurpose, a means whereby what is best is gained, namely, _Love_.\"\n\n    \"My curls were crowned\n  In youth with knowledge,--off, alas, crown slipped\n  Next moment, pushed by better knowledge still\n  Which nowise proved more constant; gain, to-day,\n  Was toppling loss to-morrow, lay at last\n  --Knowledge, the golden?--lacquered ignorance!\n  As gain--mistrust it! Not as means to gain:\n  Lacquer we learn by: ...\n  The prize is in the process: knowledge means\n  Ever-renewed assurance by defeat\n  That victory is somehow still to reach,\n  But love is victory, the prize itself:\n  Love--trust to! Be rewarded for the trust\n  In trust's mere act.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Pillar at Sebzevar_.]\n\nNow, in order to complete our examination of this theory, we must follow\nthe poet in his attempt to escape from the testimony of the intellect to\nthat of the heart. In order to make the most of the latter, we find that\nBrowning, especially in his last work, tends to withdraw his accusation\nof utter incompetence on the part of the intellect. He only tends to do\nso, it is true. He is tolerably consistent in asserting that we know our\nown emotions and the phenomena of our own consciousness; but he is not\nconsistent in his account of our knowledge, or ignorance, of external\nthings. On the whole, he asserts that we know nothing of them. But in\n_Asolando_ he seems to imply that the evidence of a loveless power in\nthe world, permitting evil, is irresistible.[A] To say the least, the\ntestimony of the intellect, such as it is, is more clear and convincing\nwith regard to evil than it is with regard to good. Within the sphere of\nphenomena, to which the intellect is confined, there seems to be,\ninstead of a benevolent purpose, a world ruled by a power indifferent to\nthe triumph of evil over good, and either \"loveless\" or unintelligent.\n\n[Footnote A: _See passage just quoted._]\n\n            \"Life, from birth to death,\n  Means--either looking back on harm escaped,\n  Or looking forward to that harm's return\n  With tenfold power of harming.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Bean-Stripe._]\n\nAnd it is not possible for man to contravene this evidence of faults and\nomissions: for, in doing so, he would remove the facts in reaction\nagainst which his moral nature becomes active. What proof is there,\nthen, that the universal love is no mere dream? None! from the side of\nthe intellect, answers the poet. Man, who has the will to remove the\nills of life,\n\n  \"Stop change, avert decay,\n  Fix life fast, banish death,\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Reverie_--_Asolando_.]\n\nhas not the power to effect his will; while the Power, whose\nlimitlessness he recognizes everywhere around him, merely maintains the\nworld in its remorseless course, and puts forth no helping hand when\ngood is prone and evil triumphant. \"God does nothing.\"\n\n              \"'No sign,'--groaned he,--\n  No stirring of God's finger to denote\n  He wills that right should have supremacy\n  On earth, not wrong! How helpful could we quote\n  But one poor instance when He interposed\n  Promptly and surely and beyond mistake\n  Between oppression and its victim, closed\n  Accounts with sin for once, and bade us wake\n  From our long dream that justice bears no sword,\n  Or else forgets whereto its sharpness serves.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Bernard de Mandeville._]\n\nBut he tells us in his later poems, that there is no answer vouchsafed\nto man's cry to the Power, that it should reveal\n\n       \"What heals all harm,\n  Nay, hinders the harm at first,\n  Saves earth.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Reverie--Asolando._]\n\nAnd yet, so far as man can see, there were no bar to the remedy, if\n\"God's all-mercy\" did really \"mate His all-potency.\"\n\n  \"How easy it seems,--to sense\n    Like man's--if somehow met\n  Power with its match--immense\n    Love, limitless, unbeset\n  By hindrance on every side!\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nBut that love nowhere makes itself evident. \"Power,\" we recognize,\n\n                 \"finds nought too hard,\n    Fulfilling itself all ways,\n  Unchecked, unchanged; while barred,\n    Baffled, what good began\n  Ends evil on every side.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Reverie--Asolando_.]\n\nThus, the conclusion to which knowledge inevitably leads us is that mere\npower rules.\n\n  \"No more than the passive clay\n    Disputes the potter's act,\n  Could the whelmed mind disobey\n    Knowledge, the cataract.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nBut if the intellect is thus overwhelmed, so as to be almost passive to\nthe pessimistic conclusion borne in upon it by \"resistless fact,\" the\nheart of man is made of another mould. It revolts against the conclusion\nof the intellect, and climbs\n\n  \"Through turbidity all between,\n    From the known to the unknown here,\n  Heaven's 'Shall be,' from earth's 'Has been.'\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nIt grasps a fact beyond the reach of knowledge, namely, the possibility,\nor even the certainty, that \"power is love.\" At present there is no\nsubstantiating by knowledge the testimony of the heart; and man has no\nbetter anchorage for his optimism than faith. But the closer view will\ncome, when even our life on earth will be seen to have within it the\nworking of love, no less manifest than that of power.\n\n  \"When see? When there dawns a day,\n    If not on the homely earth,\n  Then, yonder, worlds away,\n    Where the strange and new have birth,\n  And Power comes full in play.\"[D]\n\n[Footnote D: _Ibid_.]\n\nNow, what is this evidence of the heart, which is sufficiently cogent\nand valid to counterpoise that of the mind; and which gives to \"faith,\"\nor \"hope,\" a firm foothold in the very face of the opposing \"resistless\"\ntestimony of knowledge?\n\nWithin our experience, to which the poet knows we are entirely confined,\nthere is a fact, the significance of which we have not as yet examined.\nFor, plain and irresistible as is the evidence of evil, so plain and\nconstant is man's recognition of it as evil, and his desire to annul it.\nIf man's mind is made to acknowledge evil, his moral nature is made so\nas to revolt against it.\n\n    \"Man's heart is _made_ to judge\n  Pain deserved nowhere by the common flesh\n  Our birth-right--bad and good deserve alike\n  No pain, to human apprehension.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Mihrab Shah_--_Ferishtah's Fancies_.]\n\nOwing to the limitation of our intelligence, we cannot deny but that\n\n            \"In the eye of God\n  Pain may have purpose and be justified.\"\n\nBut whether it has its purpose for the supreme intelligence or not,\n\n  \"Man's sense avails to only see, in pain,\n  A hateful chance no man but would avert\n  Or, failing, needs must pity.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nMan must condemn evil, he cannot acquiesce in its permanence, but is,\nspite of his consciousness of ignorance and powerlessness, roused into\nconstant revolt against it.\n\n  \"True, he makes nothing, understands no whit:\n  Had the initiator-spasm seen fit\n  Thus doubly to endow him, none the worse\n  And much the better were the universe.\n  What does Man see or feel or apprehend\n  Here, there, and everywhere, but faults to mend,\n  Omissions to supply,--one wide disease\n  Of things that are, which Man at once would ease\n  Had will but power and knowledge?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nBut the moral worth of man does not suffer the least detraction from his\ninability to effect his benevolent purpose. \"Things must take will for\ndeed,\" as Browning tells us. David is not at all distressed by the\nconsciousness of his weakness.\n\n            \"Why is it I dare\n  Think but lightly of such impuissance? What stops my despair?\n  This;--'tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Saul_.]\n\nThe fact that \"his wishes fall through,\" that he cannot, although\nwilling, help Saul, \"grow poor to enrich him, fill up his life by\nstarving his own,\" does not prevent him from regarding his \"service as\nperfect.\" The will was there, although it lacked power to effect itself.\nThe moral worth of an action is complete, if it is willed; and it is\nnowise affected by its outer consequences, as both Browning and Kant\nteach. The loving will, the inner act of loving, though it can bear no\noutward fruit, being debarred by outward impediment, is still a complete\nand highest good.\n\n  \"But Love is victory, the prize itself:\n  Love--trust to! Be rewarded for the trust\n  In trust's mere act. In love success is sure,\n  Attainment--no delusion, whatso'er\n  The prize be: apprehended as a prize,\n  A prize it is.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Pillar at Sebzevar_.]\n\nWhatever the evil in the world and the impotence of man, his duty and\nhis dignity in willing to perform it, are ever the same. Though God\nneglect the world\n\n            \"Man's part\n  Is plain--to send love forth,--astray, perhaps:\n  No matter, he has done his part.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Sun_.]\n\nNow, this fact of inner experience, which the poet thinks\nincontrovertible--the fact that man, every man, necessarily regards\nevil, whether natural or moral, as something to be annulled, were it\nonly possible--is an immediate proof of the indwelling of that which is\nhighest in man. On this basis, Browning is able to re-establish the\noptimism which, from the side of knowledge, he had utterly abandoned.\n\nThe very fact that the world is condemned by man is proof that there\ndwells in man something better than the world, whose evidence the\npessimist himself cannot escape. All is not wrong, as long as wrong\n_seems_ wrong. The pessimist, in condemning the world, must except\nhimself. In his very charge against God of having made man in His anger,\nthere lies a contradiction; for he himself fronts and defies the\noutrage. There is no depth of despair which this good cannot illumine\nwith joyous light, for the despair is itself the reflex of the good.\n\n            \"Were earth and all it holds illusions mere,\n  Only a machine for teaching love and hate, and hope and fear,\n\n            \"If this life's conception new life fail to realize--\n  Though earth burst and proved a bubble glassing hues of hell, one huge\n  Reflex of the devil's doings--God's work by no subterfuge,\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nstill, good is good, and love is its own exceeding great reward. Alone,\nin a world abandoned to chaos and infinite night, man is still not\nwithout God, if he loves. In virtue of his love, he himself would be\ncrowned as God, as the poet often argues, were there no higher love\nelsewhere.\n\n            \"If he believes\n  Might can exist with neither will nor love,\n  In God's case--what he names now Nature's Law--\n  While in himself he recognizes love\n  No less than might and will,\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Death in the Desert_.]\n\nman takes, and rightly takes, the title of being \"First, last, and best\nof things.\"\n\n  \"Since if man prove the sole existent thing\n  Where these combine, whatever their degree,\n  However weak the might or will or love,\n  So they be found there, put in evidence--\n  He is as surely higher in the scale\n  Than any might with neither love nor will,\n  As life, apparent in the poorest midge,\n  Is marvellous beyond dead Atlas' self,\n  Given to the nobler midge for resting-place!\n  Thus, man proves best and highest--God, in fine.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\nTo any one capable of spiritually discerning things, there can be no\ndifficulty in regarding goodness, however limited and mated with\nweakness, as infinitely above all natural power. Divinity will be known\nto consist, not in any senseless might, however majestic and miraculous,\nbut in moral or spiritual perfection. If God were indifferent to the\nevil of the world, acquiesced in it without reason, and let it ripen\ninto all manner of wretchedness, then man, in condemning the world,\nthough without power to remove the least of its miseries, would be\nhigher than God. But we have still to account for the possibility of\nman's assuming an attitude implied in the consciousness that, while he\nis without power, God is without pity, and in the despair which springs\nfrom his hate of evil. How comes it that human nature rises above its\norigin, and is able--nay, obliged--to condemn the evil which God\npermits? Is man finite in power, a mere implement of a mocking will so\nfar as knowledge goes, the plaything of remorseless forces, and yet\nauthor and first source of something in himself which invests him with a\ndignity that God Himself cannot share? Is the moral consciousness which,\nby its very nature, must bear witness against the Power, although it\ncannot arrest its pitiless course, or remove the least evil,\n\n  \"Man's own work, his birth of heart and brain,\n  His native grace, no alien gift at all?\"\n\nWe are thus caught between the horns of a final dilemma. Either the pity\nand love, which make man revolt against all suffering, are man's own\ncreation; or else God, who made man's heart to love, has given to man\nsomething higher than He owns Himself. But both of these alternatives\nare impossible.\n\n  \"Here's the touch that breaks the bubble.\"\n\nThe first alternative is impossible, because man is by definition\npowerless, a mere link in the endless chain of causes, incapable of\nchanging the least part of the scheme of things which he condemns, and\ntherefore much more unable to initiate, or to bring into a loveless\nworld abandoned to blind power, the noble might of love.\n\n            \"Will of man create?\n  No more than this my hand, which strewed the beans\n  Produced them also from its finger-tips.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Bean-Stripe_.]\n\nAll that man is and has is a mere loan; his love no less than his finite\nintellect and limited power, has had its origin elsewhere.\n\n  \"Back goes creation to its source, source prime\n  And ultimate, the single and the sole.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nThe argument ends by bringing us back\n\n    \"To the starting-point,--\n  Man's impotency, God's omnipotence,\n  These stop my answer.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Bean-Stripe_.]\n\nI shall not pause at present to examine the value of this new form of\nthe old argument, \"_Ex contingentia mundi_.\" But I may point out in\npassing, that the reference of human love to a divine creative source is\naccomplished by means of the idea of cause, one of the categories of the\nthought which Browning has aspersed. And it is a little difficult to\nshow why, if we are constrained to doubt our thought, when by the aid of\ncausality it establishes a connection between finite and finite, we\nshould regard it as worthy of trust when it connects the finite and the\ninfinite. In fact, it is all too evident that the poet assumes or denies\nthe possibility of knowledge, according as it helps or hinders his\nethical doctrine.\n\nBut, if we grant the ascent from the finite to the infinite and regard\nman's love as a divine gift--which it may well be although the poet's\nargument is invalid--then a new light is thrown upon the being who gave\nman this power to love. The \"necessity,\" \"the mere power,\" which alone\ncould be discerned by observation of the irresistible movement of the\nworld's events, acquires a new character. Prior to this discovery of\nlove in man as the work of God--\n\n  \"Head praises, but heart refrains\n    From loving's acknowledgment.\n  Whole losses outweigh half-gains:\n    Earth's good is with evil blent:\n  Good struggles but evil reigns.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Reverie_--_Asolando_.]\n\nBut love in man is a suggestion of a love without; a proof, in fact,\nthat God is love, for man's love is God's love in man. The source of the\npity that man shows, and of the apparent evils in the world which excite\nit, is the same. The power which called man into being, itself rises up\nin man against the wrongs in the world. The voice of the moral\nconsciousness, approving the good, condemning evil, and striving to\nannul it, is the voice of God, and has, therefore, supreme authority. We\ndo wrong, therefore, in thinking that it is the weakness of man which is\nmatched against the might of evil in the world, and that we are fighting\na losing battle. It is an incomplete, abstract, untrue view of the facts\nof life which puts God as irresistible Power in the outer world, and\nforgets that the same irresistible Power works, under the higher form of\nlove, in the human heart.\n\n  \"Is not God now i' the world His power first made?\n  Is not His love at issue still with sin,\n  Visibly when a wrong is done on earth?\n  Love, wrong, and pain, what see I else around?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\nIn this way, therefore, the poet argues back from the moral\nconsciousness of man to the goodness of God. And he finds the ultimate\nproof of this goodness in the very pessimism and scepticism and despair,\nthat come with the view of the apparently infinite waste in the world\nand the endless miseries of humanity. The source of this despair,\nnamely, the recognition of evil and wrong, is just the Godhood in man.\nThere is no way of accounting for the fact that \"Man hates what is and\nloves what should be,\" except by \"blending the quality of man with the\nquality of God.\" And \"the quality of God\" is the fundamental fact in\nman's history. Love is the last reality the poet always reaches. Beneath\nthe pessimism is love: without love of the good there were no\nrecognition of evil, no condemnation of it, and no despair.\n\nBut the difficulty still remains as to the permission of evil, even\nthough it should prove in the end to be merely apparent.\n\n  \"Wherefore should any evil hap to man--\n  From ache of flesh to agony of soul--\n  Since God's All-mercy mates All-potency?\n  Nay, why permits He evil to Himself--\n  Man's sin, accounted such? Suppose a world\n  Purged of all pain, with fit inhabitant--\n  Man pure of evil in thought, word, and deed--\n  Were it not well? Then, wherefore otherwise?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Mihrab Shah_.]\n\nThe poet finds an answer to this difficulty in the very nature of moral\ngoodness, which, as we have seen, he regards as a progressive\nrealization of an infinitely high ideal. The demand for a world purged\nof all pain and sin is really, he teaches us, a demand for a sphere\nwhere\n\n            \"Time brings\n  No hope, no fear: as to-day, shall be\n  To-morrow: advance or retreat need we\n  At our stand-still through eternity?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Rephan_--_Asolando_.]\n\nWhat were there to \"bless or curse, in such a uniform universe,\"\n\n            \"Where weak and strong,\n  The wise and the foolish, right and wrong,\n  Are merged alike in a neutral Best.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nThere is a better way of life, thinks Browning, than such a state of\nstagnation.\n\n  \"Why should I speak? You divine the test.\n  When the trouble grew in my pregnant breast\n  A voice said, So would'st thou strive, not rest,\n\n  \"Burn and not smoulder, win by worth,\n  Not rest content with a wealth that's dearth,\n  Thou art past Rephan, thy place be Earth.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid_.]\n\nThe discontent of man, the consciousness of sin, evil, pain, is a symbol\nof promotion. The peace of the state of nature has been broken for him;\nand, although the first consequence be\n\n  \"Brow-furrowed old age, youth's hollow cheek,--\n  Diseased in the body, sick in soul,\n  Pinched poverty, satiate wealth,--your whole\n  Array of despairs,\"[D]\n\n[Footnote D: _Ibid_.]\n\nstill, without them, the best is impossible. They are the conditions of\nthe moral life, which is essentially progressive. They are the\nconsequences of the fact that man has been \"startled up\"\n\n            \"by an Infinite\n  Discovered above and below me--height\n  And depth alike to attract my flight,\n\n  \"Repel my descent: by hate taught love.\n  Oh, gain were indeed to see above\n  Supremacy ever--to move, remove,\n\n  \"Not reach--aspire yet never attain\n  To the object aimed at.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Rephan_--_Asolando_.]\n\nHe who places rest above effort, Rephan above the earth, places a\nnatural good above a moral good, stagnation above progress. The demand\nfor the absolute extinction of evil betrays ignorance of the nature of\nthe highest good. For right and wrong are relative. \"Type need\nantitype.\" The fact that goodness is best, and that goodness is not a\nstagnant state but a progress, a gradual realization, though never\ncomplete, of an infinite ideal, of the perfection of God by a finite\nbeing, necessarily implies the consciousness of sin and evil. As a moral\nagent man must set what should be above what is. If he is to aspire and\nattain, the actual present must seem to him inadequate, imperfect,\nwrong, a state to be abolished in favour of a better. And therefore it\nfollows that\n\n            \"Though wrong were right\n  Could we but know--still wrong must needs seem wrong\n  To do right's service, prove men weak or strong,\n  Choosers of evil or good.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nThe apparent existence of evil is the condition of goodness. And yet it\nmust only be apparent. For if evil be regarded as veritably evil, it\nmust remain so for all that man can do; he cannot annihilate any fact\nnor change its nature, and all effort would, therefore, be futile. And,\non the other hand, if evil were known as unreal, then there were no need\nof moral effort, no quarrel with the present and therefore no\naspiration, and no achievement. That which is man's highest and\nbest,--namely, a moral life which is a progress--would thus be\nimpossible, and his existence would be bereft of all meaning and\npurpose. And if the highest is impossible then all is wrong, \"the goal\nbeing a ruin, so is all the rest.\"\n\nThe hypothesis of the moral life as progressive is essential to\nBrowning.\n\nBut if this hypothesis be granted, then all difficulties disappear. The\nconception of the endless acquirement of goodness at once postulates the\nconsciousness of evil, and the consciousness of it as existing in order\nto be overcome. Hence the consciousness of it as illusion comes nearest\nto the truth. And such a conception is essentially implied by the idea\nof morality. To speculative reason, however, it is impossible, as the\npoet believes, that evil should thus be at the same time regarded as\nboth real and unreal. Knowledge leads to despair on every side; for,\nwhether it takes the evil in the world as seeming or actual, it\nstultifies effort, and proves that moral progress, which is best of all\nthings, is impossible. But the moral consciousness derives its vitality\nfrom this contradiction. It is the meeting-point and conflict of actual\nand ideal; and its testimony is indisputable, however inconsistent it\nmay be with that of knowledge. Acknowledging absolute ignorance of the\nouter world, the poet has still a retreat within himself, safe from all\ndoubt. He has in his own inner experience irrefragable proof\n\n    \"How things outside, fact or feigning, teach\n  What good is and what evil--just the same,\n  Be feigning or be fact the teacher.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Francis Furini_.]\n\nThe consciousness of being taught goodness by interaction with the\noutside unknown is sufficient; it is \"a point of vantage\" whence he will\nnot be moved by any contradictions that the intellect may conjure up\nagainst it. And this process of learning goodness, this gradual\nrealization by man of an ideal infinitely high and absolute in worth,\nthrows back a light which illumines all the pain and strife and despair,\nand shows them all to be steps in the endless \"love-way.\" The\nconsciousness of evil is thus at once the effect and the condition of\ngoodness. The unrealized, though ever-realizing good, which brings\ndespair, is the best fact in man's history; and it should rightly bring,\nnot despair, but endless joy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA CRITICISM OF BROWNING'S VIEW OF THE FAILURE OF KNOWLEDGE.\n\n\n    \"Der Mensch, da er Geist ist, darf und soll sich selbst\n    des h\u00f6chsten w\u00fcrdig achten, von der Gr\u00f6sse und Macht\n    seines Geistes kann er nicht gross genug denken; und mit\n    diesem Glauben wird nichts so spr\u00f6de und hart seyn, das\n    sich ihm nicht er\u00f6ffnete. Das zuerst verborgene und\n    verschlossene Wesen des Universums hat keine Kraft, die\n    dem Muthe des Erkennens Widerstand leisten k\u00f6nnte: es muss\n    sich vor ihm aufthun, und seinen Reichthum und seine\n    Tiefen ihm vor Augen legen und zum Genusse geben.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Hegel's Inaugural Address at Heidelberg_.]\n\nBefore entering upon a criticism of Browning's theory, as represented in\nthe last chapter, it may be well to give a brief summary of it.\n\nThe most interesting feature of Browning's proof of his optimistic faith\nis his appeal from the intelligence to the moral consciousness. To show\ntheoretically that evil is merely phenomenal is, in his view, both\nimpossible and undesirable. It is impossible, because the human\nintellect is incapable of knowing anything as it really is, or of\npronouncing upon the ultimate nature of any phenomenon. It is\nundesirable, because a theoretical proof of the evanescence of evil\nwould itself give rise to the greatest of all evils. The best thing in\nthe world is moral character. Man exists in order to grow better, and\nthe world exists in order to help him. But moral growth is possible only\nthrough conflict against evil, or what seems to be evil; hence, to\ndisprove the existence of evil would be to take away the possibility of\nlearning goodness, to stultify all human effort, and to deprive the\nworld of its meaning.\n\nBut, if an optimistic doctrine cannot be reached by way of speculative\nthought, if the intellect of man cannot see the good in things evil, his\nmoral consciousness guarantees that all is for the best, and that \"the\ngood is all in all.\" For, in distinguishing between good and evil, the\nmoral consciousness sets up an ideal over against the actual. It\nconceives of a scheme of goodness which is not realized in the world,\nand it condemns the world as it is. Man, as moral being, is so\nconstituted that he cannot but regard the evil in the world as something\nto be annulled. If he had only the power, there would be no pain, no\nsorrow, no weakness, no failure, no death. Is man, then, better than the\nPower which made the world and let woe gain entrance into it? No!\nanswers the poet; for man himself is part of that world and the product\nof that Power. The Power that made the world also made the moral\nconsciousness which condemns the world; if it is the source of the evil\nin the world, it is also the source of that love in man, which, by\nself-expenditure, seeks to remedy it. If the external world is merely an\nexpression of a remorseless Power, whence comes the love which is the\nprinciple of the moral life in man? The same Power brings the antidote\nas well as the bane. And, further, the bane exists for the sake of the\nantidote, the wrong for the sake of the remedy. The evil in the world is\nmeans to a higher good, and the only means possible; for it calls into\nactivity the divine element in man, and thereby contributes to its\nrealization in his character. It gives the necessary opportunity for the\nexercise of love.\n\nHence, evil cannot be regarded as ultimately real. It is real only as a\nstage in growth, as means to an end; and the means necessarily perishes,\nor is absorbed in, the attainment of the end. It has no significance\nexcept by reference to that end. From this point of view, evil is the\nresistance which makes progress possible, the negative which gives\nmeaning to the positive, the darkness that makes day beautiful. This\nmust not, however, be taken to mean that evil is nothing. It is\nresistance; it is negative; it does oppose the good; although its\nopposition is finally overcome. If it did not, if evil were unreal,\nthere would be no possibility of calling forth the moral potency of man,\nand the moral life would be a figment. But these two conditions of the\nmoral life--on the one hand, that the evil of the world must be capable\nof being overcome and is there for the purpose of being overcome, and\nthat it is unreal except as a means to the good; and, on the other hand,\nthat evil must be actually opposed to the good, if the good is to have\nany meaning,--cannot, Browning thinks, be reconciled with each other. It\nis manifest that the intellect of man cannot, at the same time, regard\nevil as both real and unreal. It must assert the one and deny the other;\nor else we must regard its testimony as altogether untrustworthy. But\nthe first alternative is destructive of the moral consciousness. Moral\nlife is alike impossible whether we deny or assert the real existence of\nevil. The latter alternative stultifies knowledge, and leaves all the\ndeeper concerns of life--the existence of good and evil, the reality of\nthe distinction between them, the existence of God, the moral governance\nof the world, the destiny of man--in a state of absolute uncertainty. We\nmust reject the testimony either of the heart or of the head.\n\nBrowning, as we have seen, unhesitatingly adopts the latter alternative.\nHe remains loyal to the deliverances of his moral consciousness and\naccepts as equally valid, beliefs which the intellect finds to be\nself-contradictory: holding that knowledge on such matters is\nimpossible. And he rejects this knowledge, not only because our thoughts\nare self-contradictory in themselves, but because the failure of a\nspeculative solution of these problems is necessary to morality. Clear,\nconvincing, demonstrative knowledge would destroy morality; and the fact\nthat the power to attain such knowledge has been withheld from us is to\nbe regarded rather as an indication of the beneficence of God, who has\nnot held even ignorance to be too great a price for man to pay for\ngoodness.\n\nKnowledge is not the fit atmosphere for morality. It is faith and not\nreason, hope and trust but not certainty, that lend vigour to the good\nlife. We may believe, and rejoice in the belief, that the absolute good\nis fulfilling itself in all things, and that even the miseries of life\nare really its refracted rays--the light that gains in splendour by\nbeing broken. But we must not, and, indeed, cannot ascend from faith to\nknowledge. The heart may trust, and must trust, if it faithfully listens\nto its own natural voice; but reason must not demonstrate. Ignorance on\nthe side of intellect, faith on the side of the emotions; distrust of\nknowledge, absolute confidence in love; such is the condition of man's\nhighest welfare: it is only thus that the purpose of his life, and of\nthe world which is his instrument, can be achieved.\n\nNo final estimate of the value of this theory of morals and religion can\nbe made, without examining its philosophical presuppositions. Nor is\nsuch an examination in any way unfair; for it is obvious that Browning\nexplicitly offers us a philosophical doctrine. He appeals to argument\nand not to artistic intuition; he offers a definite theory to which he\nclaims attention, not on account of any poetic beauty that may lie\nwithin it, but on the ground that it is a true exposition of the moral\nnature of man. Kant's _Metaphysic of Ethics_ is not more metaphysical in\nintention than the poet's later utterances on the problems of morality.\nIn _La Saisiaz_, in _Ferishtah's Fancies_, in the _Parleyings_, and,\nthough less explicitly, in _Asolando_, _Fifine at the Fair_, and _Red\nCotton Nightcap Country_, Browning definitely states, and endeavours to\ndemonstrate a theory of knowledge, a theory of the relation of knowledge\nto morality, and a theory of the nature of evil; and he discusses the\narguments for the immortality of the soul. In these poems his artistic\ninstinct avails him, not as in his earlier ones, for the discovery of\ntruth by way of intuition, but for the adornment of doctrines already\nderived from a metaphysical repository. His art is no longer free, no\nlonger its own end, but coerced into an alien service. It has become\nillustrative and argumentative, and in being made to subserve\nspeculative purposes, it has ceased to be creative. Browning has\nappealed to philosophy, and philosophy must try his cause.\n\nSuch, then, is Browning's theory; and I need make no further apology for\ndiscussing at some length the validity of the division which it involves\nbetween the intellectual and the moral life of man. Is it possible to\ncombine the weakness of man's intelligence with the strength of his\nmoral and religious life, and to find in the former the condition of the\nlatter? Does human knowledge fail, as the poet considers it to fail? Is\nthe intelligence of man absolutely incapable of arriving at knowledge of\nthings as they are? If it does, if man cannot know the truth, can he\nattain goodness? These are the questions that must now be answered.\n\nIt is one of the characteristics of recent thought that it distrusts its\nown activity: the ancient philosophical \"Scepticism\" has been revived\nand strengthened. Side by side with the sense of the triumphant progress\nof natural science, there is a conviction, shared even by scientific\ninvestigators themselves, as well as by religious teachers and by many\nstudents of philosophy, that our knowledge has only limited and relative\nvalue, and that it always stops short of the true nature of things. The\nreason of this general conviction lies in the fact that thought has\nbecome aware of its own activity; men realize more clearly than they did\nin former times that the apparent constitution of things depends\ndirectly on the character of the intelligence which apprehends them.\n\nThis relativity of things to thought has, not unnaturally, suggested the\nidea that the objects of our knowledge are different from objects as\nthey are. \"That the real nature of things is very different from what we\nmake of them, that thought and thing are divorced, that there is a\nfundamental antithesis between them,\" is, as Hegel said, \"the hinge on\nwhich modern philosophy turns.\" Educated opinion in our day has lost its\nnaive trust in itself. \"The natural belief of man, it is true, ever\ngives the lie\" to the doctrine that we do not know things. \"In common\nlife,\" adds Hegel, \"we reflect without particularly noting that this is\nthe process of arriving at the truth, and we think without hesitation\nand in the firm belief that thought coincides with things.\"[A] But, as\nsoon as attention is directed to the process of thinking, and to the way\nin which the process affects our consciousness of the object, it is at\nonce concluded that thought will never reach reality, that things are\nnot given to us as they are, but distorted by the medium of sense and\nour intelligence, through which they pass. The doctrine of the\nrelativity of knowledge is thus very generally regarded as equivalent to\nthe doctrine that there is no true knowledge whatsoever. We know only\nphenomena, or appearances; and it is these, and not veritable facts,\nthat we systematize into sciences. \"We can arrange the appearances--the\nshadows of our cave--and that, for the practical purposes of the cave,\nis all that we require.\"[B] Not even \"earth's least atom\" can ever be\nknown to us as it really is; it is for us, at the best,\n\n[Footnote A: Wallace's _Translation of Hegel's Logic_, p. 36.]\n\n[Footnote B: Caird's _Comte_.]\n\n  \"An atom with some certain properties\n  Known about, thought of as occasion needs.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _A Bean-Stripe_.]\n\nIn this general distrust of knowledge, however, there are, as might be\nexpected, many different degrees. Its origin in modern times was, no\ndoubt, the doctrine of Kant. \"This divorce of thing and thought,\" says\nHegel, \"is mainly the work of the critical philosophy and runs counter\nto the conviction of all previous ages.\" And the completeness of the\ndivorce corresponds, with tolerable accuracy, to the degree in which the\ncritical philosophy has been understood; for Kant's writings, like those\nof all great thinkers, are capable of many interpretations, varying in\ndepth with the intelligence of the interpreters.\n\nThe most common and general form of this view of the limitation of the\nhuman intelligence is that which places the objects of religious faith\nbeyond the reach of human knowledge. We find traces of it in much of the\npopular theology of our day. The great facts of religion are often\nspoken of as lying in an extra-natural sphere, beyond experience, into\nwhich men cannot enter by the native right of reason. It is asserted\nthat the finite cannot know the infinite, that the nature of God is\nunknowable--except by means of a supernatural interference, which gives\nto men a new power of spiritual discernment, and \"reveals\" to them\nthings which are \"above reason,\" although not contrary to it. The\ntheologian often shields certain of his doctrines from criticism, on the\nground, as he contends, that there are facts which we must believe, but\nwhich it would be presumptuous for us to pretend to understand or to\ndemonstrate. They are the proper objects of \"faith.\"\n\nBut this view of the weakness of the intelligence when applied to\nsupersensuous facts, is held along with an undisturbed conviction of the\nvalidity of our knowledge of ordinary objects. It is believed, in a\nword, that there are two kinds of realities,--natural and supernatural;\nand that the former is knowable and the latter not.\n\nIt requires, however, no great degree of intellectual acumen to discover\nthat this denial of the validity of our knowledge of these matters\ninvolves its denial in all its applications. The ordinary knowledge of\nnatural objects, which we begin by regarding as valid, or, rather, whose\nvalidity is taken for granted without being questioned, depends upon our\nideas of these supersensible objects. In other words, those fundamental\ndifficulties which pious opinion discovers in the region of theology,\nand which, as is thought, fling the human intellect back upon itself\ninto a consciousness of frailty and finitude, are found to lurk beneath\nour ordinary knowledge. Whenever, for instance, we endeavour to know any\nobject, we find that we are led back along the line of its conditions to\nthat which unconditionally determines it. For we cannot find the reason\nfor a particular object in a particular object. We are driven back\nendlessly from one to another along the chain of causes; and we can\nneither discover the first link nor do without it. The first link must\nbe a cause of itself, and experience yields none such. Such a cause\nwould be the unconditioned, and the unconditioned we cannot know. The\nfinal result of thinking is thus to lead us to an unknown; and, in\nconsequence, all our seeming knowledge is seen to have no intelligible\nbasis, and, therefore, to be merely hypothetical. If we cannot know God,\nwe cannot know anything.\n\nThis view is held by the Positivists, and the most popular English\nexponent of it is, perhaps, Mr. Herbert Spencer. Its characteristic is\nits repudition of both theology and metaphysics as pseudo-sciences, and\nits high esteem for science. That esteem is not disturbed by the\nconfession that \"noumenal causes,\"--that is, the actual reality of\nthings,--are unknown; for we can still lay claim to valid knowledge of\nthe laws of phenomena. Having acknowledged that natural things as known\nare merely phenomena, positivism treats them in all respects as if they\nwere realities; and it rejoices in the triumphant progress of the\nnatural sciences as if it were a veritable growth of knowledge. It does\nnot take to heart the phenomenal nature of known objects. But, having\npaid its formal compliments to the doctrine of the relativity of all\nknowledge, it neglects it altogether.\n\nThose who understand Kant better carry his scepticism further, and they\ncomplete the divorce between man's knowledge and reality. The process of\nknowing, they hold, instead of leading us towards facts, as it was so\nlong supposed to do, takes us away from them: _i.e._, if either\n\"towards\" or \"away from\" can have any meaning when applied to two realms\nwhich are absolutely severed from one another. Knowledge is always\nconcerned with the relations between things; with their likeness, or\nunlikeness, their laws, or connections; but these are universals, and\nthings are individuals. Science knows the laws of things, but not the\nthings; it reveals how one object affects another, how it is connected\nwith it; but what are the things themselves, which are connected, it\ndoes not know. The laws are mere forms of thought, \"bloodless\ncategories,\" and not facts. They may somehow be regarded as explaining\nfacts, but they must not be identified with the facts. Knowledge is the\nsphere of man's thoughts, and is made up of ideas; real things are in\nanother sphere, which man's thoughts cannot reach. We must distinguish\nmore clearly than has hitherto been done, between logic as the science\nof knowledge, and metaphysics as a science which pretends to reveal the\nreal nature of things. In a word, we can know thoughts or universals,\nbut not things or particular existences. \"When existence is in question\nit is the individual, not the universal, that is real; and the real\nindividual is not a composite of species and accidents, but is\nindividual to the inmost fibre of its being.\" Each object keeps its own\nreal being to itself. Its inmost secret, its reality, is something that\ncannot appear in knowledge. We can only know its manifestations; but\nthese manifestations are not its reality, nor connected with it. These\nbelong to the sphere of knowledge, they are parts in a system of\nabstract thoughts; they do not exist in that system, or no-system, of\nindividual realities, each of which, in its veritable being, is itself\nonly, and connected with nought beside.\n\nNow, this view of the absolute impossibility of knowing any reality, on\naccount of the fundamental difference between things and our thoughts\nabout things, contains a better promise of a true view both of reality\nand of knowledge, than any of the previously mentioned half-hearted\ntheories. It forces us explicitly either to regard every effort to know\nas futile, or else to regard it as futile _on this theory of it_. In\nother words, we must either give up knowledge or else give up the\naccount of knowledge advanced by these philosophers. Hitherto, however,\nevery philosophy that has set itself against the possibility of the\nknowledge of reality has had to give way. It has failed to shake the\nfaith of mankind in its own intellectual endowment, or to arrest, even\nfor a moment, the attempt by thinking to know things as they are. The\nview held by Berkeley, that knowledge is merely subjective, because the\nessence of things consists in their being perceived by the individual,\nand that they are nothing but his ideas, was refuted by Kant, when he\nshowed that the very illusion of seeming knowledge was impossible on\nthat theory. And this later view, which represents knowledge as merely\nsubjective, on the ground that it is the product of the activity of the\nthought of mankind, working according to universal laws, is capable of\nbeing refuted in the same manner. The only difference between the\nBerkeleian and this modern speculative theory is that, on the former\nview, each individual constructed his own subjective entities or\nillusions; while, on the latter, all men, by reason of the universality\nof the laws of thought governing their minds, create the same illusion,\nthe same subjective scheme of ideas. Instead of each having his own\nprivate unreality, as the product of his perceiving activity, they have\nall the same, or at least a similar, phantom-world of ideas, as the\nresult of their thinking. But, in both cases alike, the reality of the\nworld without is out of reach, and knowledge is a purely subjective\napprehension of a world within. Thoughts are quite different from\nthings, and no effort of human reason can reveal any community between\nthem.\n\nNow, there are certain difficulties which, so far as I know, those who\nhold this view have scarcely attempted to meet. The first of these lies\nin the obvious fact, that all men at all times consider that this very\nprocess of thinking, which the theory condemns as futile, is the only\nway we have of finding out what the reality of things is. Why do we\nreflect and think, except in order to pass beyond the illusions of\nsensuous appearances to the knowledge of things as they are? Nay, why do\nthese philosophers themselves reflect, when reflection, instead of\nleading to truth, which is knowledge of reality, leads only to ideas,\nwhich, being universal, cannot represent the realities that are said to\nbe \"individual.\"\n\nThe second is, that the knowledge of \"the laws\" of things gives to us\npractical command over them; although, according to this view, laws are\nnot things, nor any part of the reality of things, nor even true\nrepresentations of things. Our authority over things seems to grow _pari\npassu_ with our knowledge. The natural sciences seem to prove by their\npractical efficiency, that they are not building up a world of\napparitions, like the real world; but gradually getting inside nature,\nlearning more and more to wield her powers, and to make them the\ninstruments of the purposes of man, and the means of his welfare. To\ncommon-sense,--which frequently \"divines\" truths that it cannot prove,\nand, like ballast in a ship, has often given steadiness to human\nprogress although it is only a dead weight,--the assertion that man\nknows nothing is as incredible as that he knows all things. If it is\nreplied, that the \"things\" which we seem to dominate by the means of\nknowledge are themselves only phenomena, the question arises, what then\nare the real things to which they are opposed? What right has any\nphilosophy to say that there is any reality which no one can in any\nsense know? The knowledge that such reality is, is surely a relation\nbetween that reality and consciousness, and, if so, the assertion of an\nunknowable reality is self-contradictory. For the conception of it is\nthe conception of something that is, and at the same time is not, out of\nrelation to consciousness.\n\nTo say what kind of thing reality is, is a still more remarkable feat,\nif reality is unknowable. Reality, being beyond knowledge, why is it\ncalled particular or individual, rather than universal? How is it known\nthat the true being of things is different from ideas? Surely both of\nthe terms must be regarded as known to some extent, if they are called\nlike or unlike, contrasted or compared, opposed or identified.\n\nBut, lastly, this theory has to account for the fact that it constitutes\nwhat is not only unreal, but impossible, into the criterion of what is\nactual. If knowledge of reality is altogether different from human\nknowledge, how does it come to be its criterion? That knowledge is\ninadequate or imperfect can be known, only by contrasting it with its\nown proper ideal, whatever that may be. A criticism by reference to a\nforeign or irrelevant criterion, or the condemnation of a theory as\nimperfect because it does not realize an impossible end, is\nunreasonable. All true criticism of an object implies a reference to a\nmore perfect state of itself.\n\nWe must, then, regard the knowledge of objects as they are, which is\nopposed to human knowledge, as, only a completer and fuller form of that\nknowledge; or else we must cease to contrast it with our human\nknowledge, as valid with invalid, true with phenomenal. Either knowledge\nof reality is complete knowledge, or else it is a chimera. And, in\neither case, the sharp distinction between the real and the phenomenal\nvanishes; and what remains, is not a reality outside of consciousness,\nor different from ideas, but a reality related to consciousness, or, in\nother words, a knowable reality. \"The distinction of objects into\nphenomena and noumena, _i.e._, into things that for us exist, and things\nthat for us do not exist, is an Irish bull in philosophy,\" said Heine.\nTo speak of reality as unknowable, or to speak of anything as\nunknowable, is to utter a direct self-contradiction; it is to negate in\nthe predicate what is asserted in the subject. It is a still more\nstrange perversion to erect this knowable emptiness into a criterion of\nknowledge, and to call the latter phenomenal by reference to it.\n\nThese difficulties are so fundamental and so obvious, that the theory of\nthe phenomenal nature of human knowledge, which, being interpreted,\nmeans that we know nothing, could scarcely maintain its hold, were it\nnot confused with another fact of human experience, that is apparently\ninconsistent with the doctrine that man can know the truth. Side by side\nwith the faith of ordinary consciousness, that in order to know anything\nwe must think, or, in other words, that knowledge shows us what things\nreally are, there is a conviction, strengthened by constant experience,\nthat we never know things fully. Every investigation into the nature of\nan object soon brings us to an enigma, a something more we do not know.\nFailing to know this something more, we generally consider that we have\nfallen short of reaching the reality of the object. We recognize, as it\nhas been expressed, that we have been brought to a stand, and we\ntherefore conclude that we are also brought to the end. We arrive at\nwhat we do not know, and we pronounce that unknown to be unknowable;\nthat is, we regard it as something different in nature from what we do\nknow. So far as I can see, the attitude of ordinary thought in regard to\nthis matter might be fairly represented by saying, that it always begins\nby considering objects as capable of being known in their reality, or as\nthey are, and that experience always proves the attempt to know them as\nthey are to be a failure. The effort is continued although failure is\nthe result, and even although that failure be exaggerated and\nuniversalized into that despair of knowledge which we have described. We\nare thus confronted with what seems to be a contradiction; a trust and\ndistrust in knowledge. It can only be solved by doing full justice to\nboth of the conflicting elements; and then, if possible, by showing that\nthey are elements, and not the complete, concrete fact, except when held\ntogether.\n\nFrom one point of view, it is undeniable that in every object of\nperception, we come upon problems that we cannot solve. Science at its\nbest, and even when dealing with the simplest of things, is forced to\nstop short of its final secret. Even when it has discovered its law,\nthere is still apparently something over and above which science cannot\ngrasp, and which seems to give to the object its reality. All the\nnatural sciences concentrated on a bit of iron ore fail to exhaust the\ntruth in it: there is always a \"beyond\" in it, something still more\nfundamental which is not yet understood. And that something beyond, that\ninner essence, that point in which the laws meet and which the sciences\nfail to lift into knowledge, is regarded as just the reality of the\nthing. Thus the reality is supposed, at the close of every\ninvestigation, to lie outside of knowledge; and conversely, all that we\ndo know, seeing that it lacks this last element, seems to be only\napparent knowledge, or knowledge of phenomena.\n\nIn this way the process of knowing seems always to stop short at the\ncritical moment, when the truth is just about to be reached. And those\nwho dwell on this aspect alone are apt to conclude that man's intellect\nis touched with a kind of impotence, which makes it useless when it gets\nnear the reality. It is like a weapon that snaps at the hilt just when\nthe battle is hottest. For we seem to be able to know everything but the\nreality, and yet apart from the real essence all knowledge seems to be\nmerely apparent. Physical science penetrates through the outer\nappearances of things to their laws, analyzes them into forms of energy,\ncalculates their action and predicts their effects with certainty. Its\npractical power over the forces of nature is so great that it seems to\nhave got inside her secrets. And yet science will itself acknowledge\nthat in every simplest object there is an unknown. Its triumphant course\nof explaining seems to be always arrested at the threshold of reality.\nIt has no theory, scarcely an hypothesis, of the actual nature of\nthings, or of what that is in each object, which constitutes it a real\nexistence. Natural science, with a scarcely concealed sneer, hands over\nto the metaphysician all questions as to the real being of things; and\nitself makes the more modest pretension of showing how things behave,\nnot what they are; what effects follow the original noumenal causes, but\nnot the veritable nature of these causes. Nor can the metaphysician, in\nhis turn, do more than suggest a hypothesis as to the nature of the\nultimate reality in things. He cannot detect or demonstrate it in any\nparticular fact. In a word, every minutest object in the world baffles\nthe combined powers of all forms of human thought, and holds back its\nessence or true being from them. And as long as this true being, or\nreality is not known, the knowledge which we seem to have cannot be held\nas ultimately true, but is demonstrably a makeshift.\n\nHaving made this confession, there seems to be no alternative but to\npostulate an utter discrepancy between human thought and real existence,\nor between human knowledge and truth, which is the correspondence of\nthing and thought. For, at no point is knowledge found to be in touch\nwith real being; it is everywhere demonstrably conditioned and relative,\nand inadequate to express the true reality of its objects. What remains,\nthen, except to regard human knowledge as completely untrustworthy, as\nmerely of phenomena? If we cannot know _any_ reality, does not knowledge\ncompletely fail?\n\nNow, in dealing with the moral life of man, we saw that the method of\nhard alternatives is invalid. The moral life, being progressive, was\nshown to be the meeting--point of the ideal and the actual; and the\nideal of perfect goodness was regarded as manifesting itself in actions\nwhich, nevertheless, were never adequate to express it. The good when\nachieved was ever condemned as unworthy, and the ideal when attained\never pressed for more adequate expression in a better character. The\nideal was present as potency, as realizing itself, but it was never\ncompletely realized. The absolute good was never reached in the best\naction, and never completely missed in the worst.\n\nThe same conflict of real and unreal was shown to be essential to every\nnatural life. As long as anything grows it neither completely attains,\nnor completely falls away from its ideal. The growing acorn is not an\noak tree, and yet it is not a mere acorn. The child is not the man; and\nyet the man is in the child, and only needs to be evolved by interaction\nwith circumstances. The process of growth is one wherein the ideal is\nalways present, as a reconstructive power gradually changing its whole\nvehicle, or organism, into a more perfect expression of itself. The\nideal is reached in the end, just because it is present in the\nbeginning; and there is no end as long as growth continues.\n\nNow, it is evident that knowledge, whether it be that of the individual\nman or of the human race, is a thing that grows. The process by means of\nwhich natural science makes progress, or by which the consciousness of\nthe child expands and deepens into the consciousness of the man, is best\nmade intelligible from the point of view of evolution. It is like an\norganic process, in which each new acquirement finds its place in an old\norder, each new fact is brought under the permanent principles of\nexperience, and absorbed into an intellectual life, which itself, in\nturn, grows richer and fuller with every new acquisition. No knowledge\nworthy of the name is an aggregation of facts. Wisdom comes by growth.\n\nHence, the assertion that knowledge never attains reality, does not\nimply that it always misses it. In morals we do not say that a man is\nentirely evil, although he never, even in his best actions, attains the\ntrue good. And if the process of knowing is one that presses onward\ntowards an ideal, that ideal is never completely missed even in the\npoorest knowledge. If it grows, the method of fixed alternatives must be\ninapplicable to it. The ideal, whatever it may be, must be considered as\nactive in the present, guiding the whole movement, and gradually\nmanifesting itself in each of the passing forms, which are used up as\nthe raw material of new acquirement; and yet no passing form completely\nexpresses the ideal.\n\nNor is it difficult to say what that ideal of knowledge is, although we\ncannot define it in any adequate manner. We know that the end of\nmorality is the _summum bonum_, although we cannot, as long as we are\nprogressive, define its whole content, or find it fully realized in any\naction. Every failure brings new truth, every higher grade of moral\ncharacter reveals some new height of goodness to be scaled; the moral\nideal acquires definiteness and content as humanity moves upwards. And\nyet the ideal is not entirely unknown even at the first; even to the\nmost ignorant, it presents itself as a criterion which enables him to\ndistinguish between right and wrong, evil and goodness, and which guides\nhis practical life. The same truth holds with regard to knowledge. Its\ngrowth receives its impulse from, and is directed and determined by,\nwhat is conceived as the real world of facts. This truth, namely, that\nthe ideal knowledge is knowledge of reality, the most subjective\nphilosopher cannot but acknowledge. It is implied in his condemnation of\nknowledge as merely phenomenal, that there is possible a knowledge of\nreal being. That thought and reality can be brought together, or rather,\nthat they are always together, is presupposed in all knowledge and in\nall experience. The effort to know is the effort to _explain_ the\nrelation of thought and reality, not to create it. The ideal of perfect\nknowledge is present from the first; it generates the effort, directs\nit, distinguishes between truth and error. And that which man ever aims\nat, whether in the ordinary activities of daily thought, or through the\npatient labour of scientific investigation, or in the reflective\nself-torture of philosophic thought, is to know the world as it is. No\nfailure damps the ardour of this endeavour. Relativists, phenomenalists,\nagnostics, sceptics, Kantians or Neo-Kantians--all the crowd of thinkers\nwho cry down the human intellect, and draw a charmed circle around\nreality so as to make it unapproachable to the mind of man--ply this\nuseless labour. They are seeking to penetrate beneath the shows of sense\nand the outer husk of phenomena to the truth, which is the meeting-point\nof knowledge and reality; they are endeavouring to translate into an\nintellectual possession the powers that play within and around them; or,\nin other words, to make these powers express themselves in their\nthoughts, and supply the content of their spiritual life. The irony,\nlatent in their endeavour, gives them no pause; they are in some way\ncontent to pursue what they call phantoms, and to try to satisfy their\nthirst with the waters of a mirage. This comes from the presence of the\nideal within them, that is, of the implicit unity of reality and\nthought, which seeks for explicit and complete manifestation in\nknowledge. The reality is present in them as thinking activity, working\ntowards complete revelation of itself by means of knowledge. And its\npresence is real, although the process is never complete.\n\nIn knowledge, as in morals, it is necessary to remember both of the\ntruths implied in the pursuit of an ideal--that a growing thing not only\nalways fails to attain, but also always succeeds. The distinction\nbetween truth and error in knowledge is present at every stage in the\neffort to attain truth, as the distinction between right and wrong is\npresent in every phase of the moral life. It is the source of the\nintellectual effort. But that distinction cannot be drawn except by\nreference to a criterion of truth, which condemns our actual knowledge;\nas it is the absolute good, which condemns the present character. The\nideal may be indefinite, and its content confused and poor; but it is\nalways sufficient for its purpose, always better than the actual\nachievement. And, in this sense, reality, the truth, the veritable being\nof things, is always reached by the poorest knowledge. As there is no\nstarved and distorted sapling which is not the embodiment of the\nprinciple of natural life, so the meanest character is the product of an\nideal of goodness, and the most confused opinion of ignorant mankind is\nan expression of the reality of things. Without it there would not be\neven the semblance of knowledge, not even error and untruth.\n\nThose who, like Browning, make a division between man's thought and real\nthings, and regard the sphere of knowledge as touching at no point the\nsphere of actual existence, are attributing to the bare human intellect\nmuch more power than it has. They regard mind as creating its phenomenal\nknowledge, or the apparent world. For, having separated mind from\nreality, it is evident that they cannot avail themselves of any doctrine\nof sensations or impressions as a medium between them, or postulate any\nother form of connection or means of communication. Connection of any\nkind must, in the end, imply some community of nature, and must put the\nunity of thought and being--here denied--beneath their difference.\nHence, the world of phenomena which we know, and which as known, does\nnot seem to consist of realities, must be the product of the unaided\nhuman mind. The intellect, isolated from all real being, has\nmanufactured the apparent universe, in all its endless wealth. It is a\ncreative intellect, although it can only create illusions. It evolves\nall its products from itself.\n\nBut thought, set to revolve upon its own axis in an empty region, can\nproduce nothing, not even illusions. And, indeed, those who deny that it\nis possible for thought and reality to meet in a unity, have,\nnotwithstanding, to bring over \"something\" to the aid of thought. There\nmust be some effluence from the world of reality, some manifestations of\nthe thing (though they are not the reality of the thing, nor any part of\nthe reality, nor connected with the reality!) to assist the mind and\nsupply it with data. The \"phenomenal world\" is a hybrid, generated by\nthought and \"something\"--which yet is not reality; for the real world is\na world of things in themselves, altogether beyond thought. By bringing\nin these data, it is virtually admitted that the human mind reaches down\ninto itself in vain for a world, even for a phenomenal one.\n\nThought apart from things is quite empty, just as things apart from\nthought are blind. Such thought and such reality are mere abstractions,\nhypostasized by false metaphysics; they are elements of truth rent\nasunder, and destroyed in the rending. The dependence of the\nintelligence of man upon reality is direct and complete. The foolishest\ndream, that ever played out its panorama beneath a night-cap, came\nthrough the gates of the senses from the actual world. Man is limited to\nhis material in all that he knows, just as he is ruled by the laws of\nthought. He cannot go one step beyond it. To transcend \"experience\" is\nimpossible. We have no wings to sustain us in an empty region, and no\nneed of any. It is as impossible for man to create new ideas, as it is\nfor him to create new atoms. Our thought is essentially connected with\nreality. There is no _mauvais pas_ from thought to things. We do not\nneed to leap out of ourselves in order to get into the world. We are in\nit from the first, both as physical and moral agents, and as thinking\nbeings. Our thoughts are expressions of the real nature of things, so\nfar as they go. They may be and are imperfect; they may be and are\nconfused and inadequate, and express only the superficial aspects and\nnot \"the inmost fibres\"; still, they are what they are, in virtue of\n\"the reality,\" which finds itself interpreted in them. Severed from that\nreality, they would be nothing.\n\nThus, the distinction between thought and reality is a distinction\nwithin a deeper unity. And that unity must not be regarded as something\nadditional to both, or as a third something. It _is_ their unity. It is\nboth reality and thought: it is existing thought, or reality knowing\nitself and existing through its knowledge of self; it is\nself-consciousness. The distinguished elements have no existence or\nmeaning except in their unity. Like the actual and ideal, they have\nsignificance and being, only in their reference to each other.\n\nThere is one more difficulty connected with this matter which I must\ntouch upon, although the discussion may already be regarded as prolix.\nIt is acknowledged by every one that the knowledge of the individual,\nand his apparent world of realities, grow _pari passu_. Beyond his\nsphere of knowledge there is no reality _for him_, not even apparent\nreality. But, on the other hand, the real world of existing things\nexists all the same whether he knows it or not. It did not begin to be\nwith any knowledge he may have of it, it does not cease to be with his\nextinction, and it is not in any way affected by his valid, or invalid,\nreconstruction of it in thought. The world which depends on his thought\nis his world, and not the world of really existing things. And this is\ntrue alike of every individual. The world is independent of all human\nminds. It existed before them, and will, very possibly, exist after\nthem. Can we not, therefore, conclude that the real world is independent\nof thought, and that it exists without relation to it?\n\nA short reference to the moral consciousness may suggest the answer to\nthis difficulty. In morality (as also is the case in knowledge) the\nmoral ideal, or the objective law of goodness, grows in richness and\nfulness of content with the individual who apprehends it. _His_ moral\nworld is the counterpart of _his_ moral growth as a character. Goodness\n_for him_ directly depends upon his recognition of it. Animals,\npresumably, have no moral ideal, because they have not the power to\nconstitute it. In morals, as in knowledge, the mind of man constructs\nits own world. And yet, in both alike, the world of truth or of goodness\nexists all the same whether the individual knows it or not. He does not\ncall the moral law into being, but finds it without, and then realizes\nit in his own life. The moral law does not vanish and reappear with its\nrecognition by mankind. It is not subject to the chances and changes of\nits life, but a good in itself that is eternal.\n\nIs it therefore independent of all intelligence? Can goodness be\nanything but the law of a self-conscious being? Is it the quality or\nmotive or ideal of a mere thing? Manifestly not. Its relation to\nself-consciousness is essential. With the extinction of\nself-consciousness all moral goodness is extinguished.\n\nThe same holds true of reality. The question of the reality or unreality\nof things cannot arise except in an intelligence. Animals have neither\nillusions nor truths--unless they are self-conscious. The reality, which\nman sets over against his own inadequate knowledge, is posited by him;\nand it has no meaning whatsoever except in this contrast. And to\nendeavour to conceive a reality which no one knows, is to assert a\nrelative term without its correlative, which is absurd; it is to posit\nan ideal which is opposed to nothing actual.\n\nIn this view, so commonly held in our day, that knowledge is subjective\nand reality unknowable, we have another example of the falseness and\ninconsistency of abstract thinking. If this error be committed, there is\nno fundamental gain in saying with Kant, that things are relative to the\nthought of all, instead of asserting, with Berkeley or Browning, that\nthey are relative to the thought of each. The final result is the same.\nThings as known, are reduced into mere creations of thought; things as\nthey are, are regarded as not thoughts, and as partaking in no way of\nthe nature of thought. And yet \"reality\" is virtually assumed to be\ngiven at the beginning of knowledge; for the sensations are supposed to\nbe emanations from it, or roused in consciousness by it. These\nsensations, it is said, man does not make, but receives, and receives\nfrom the concealed reality. They flow from it, and are the\nmanifestations of its activity. Then, in the next moment, reality is\nregarded as not given in any way, but as something to be discovered by\nthe effort of thought; for we always strive to know things, and not\nphantoms. Lastly, the knowledge thus acquired being regarded as\nimperfect, and experience showing to us continually that every object\nhas more in it than we know, the reality is pronounced to be unknowable,\nand all knowledge is regarded as failure, as acquaintance with mere\nphantoms. Thus, in thought, as in morality, the ideal is present at the\nbeginning, it is an effort after explicit realization, and its process\nis never complete.\n\nNow, all these aspects of the ideal of knowledge, that is, of reality,\nare held by the unsophisticated intelligence of man; and abstract\nphilosophy is not capable of finally getting rid of any one of them. It,\ntoo, holds them _alternately_. Its denial of the possibility of knowing\nreality is refuted by its own starting-point; for it begins with a given\nsomething, regarded as real, and its very effort to know is an attempt\nto know that reality by thinking. But it forgets these facts, when it is\ndiscovered that knowledge at the best is incomplete. It is thus tossed\nfrom assertion to denial, and from denial to assertion; from one\nabstract or one-sided view of reality, to the other.\n\nWhen these different aspects of truth are grasped together from the\npoint of view of evolution, there seems to be a way of escaping the\ndifficulties to which they give rise. For the ideal must be present at\nthe beginning, and cannot be present in its fulness till the process is\ncomplete. What is here required is to lift our theory of man's knowledge\nto the level of our theory of his moral life, and to treat it frankly as\nthe process whereby reality manifests itself in the mind of man. In that\nway, we shall avoid the absurdities of both of the abstract schools of\nphilosophy, to both of which alike the native intelligence of man gives\nthe lie. We shall say neither that man knows nothing, nor that he knows\nall; we shall regard his knowledge, neither as purely phenomenal and out\nof all contact with reality, nor as an actual identification with the\nreal being of things in all their complex variety. For, in morality, we\ndo not say either that the individual is absolutely evil, because his\nactions never realize the supreme ideal of goodness; nor, that he is at\nthe last term of development, and \"taking the place of God,\" because he\nlives as \"ever in his great Taskmaster's eye.\" Just as every moral\naction, however good, leaves something still to be desiderated,\nsomething that may become a stepping-stone for new movement towards the\nideal which it has failed to actualize; so all our knowledge of an\nobject leaves something over that we have not apprehended, which is\ntruer and more real than anything we know, and which in all future\neffort we strive to master. And, just as the very effort, to be good\nderives its impulse and direction from the ideal of goodness which is\npresent, and striving for realization; so the effort to know derives its\nimpulse and direction from the reality which is present, and striving\nfor complete realization in the thought of man. We know reality\nconfusedly from the first; and it is because we have attained so much\nknowledge, that we strive for greater clearness and fulness. It is by\nplanting his foot on the world that man travels. It is by opposing his\npower to the given reality that his knowledge grows.\n\nWhen once we recognize that reality is the ideal of knowledge, we are\nable to acknowledge all the truth that is in the doctrine of the\nphenomenalists, without falling into their errors and contradictions. We\nmay go as far as the poet in confessing intellectual impotence, and\nroundly call the knowledge of man \"lacquered ignorance.\" \"Earth's least\natom\" does veritably remain an enigma. Man is actually flung back into\nhis circumscribed sphere by every fact; and he will continue to be so\nflung to the end of time. He will never know reality, nor be able to\nhold up in his hand the very heart of the simplest thing in the world.\nFor the world is an organic totality, and its simplest thing will not be\nseen, through and through, till everything is known, till every fact and\nevent is related to every other under principles which are universal:\njust as goodness cannot be fully achieved in any act, till the agent is\nin all ways lifted to the level of absolute goodness. Physics cannot\nreveal the forces which keep a stone in its place on the earth, till it\nhas traced the forces that maintain the starry systems in their course.\nNo fact can be thoroughly known, _i.e._, known in its reality, till the\nlight of the universe has been focussed upon it: and, on the other hand,\nto know any subject through and through would be to explain all being.\nThe highest law and the essence of the simple fact, the universal and\nthe particular, can only be known together, in and through one another.\n\"Reality\" in \"the least atom\" will be known, only when knowledge has\ncompleted its work, and the universe has become a transparent sphere,\npenetrated in every direction by the shafts of intelligence.\n\nBut this is only half the truth. If knowledge is never complete, it is\nalways _completing_; if reality is never known, it is ever _being\nknown_; if the ideal is never actual, it is always _being actualized_.\nThe complete failure of knowledge is as impossible as its complete\nsuccess. It is at no time severed from reality; it is never its mere\nadumbration, nor are its contents mere phenomena. On the contrary, it is\nreality partially revealed, the ideal incompletely actualized. Our very\nerrors are the working of reality within us, and apart from it they\nwould be impossible. The process towards truth by man is the process of\ntruth _in_ man; the movement of knowledge towards reality is the movement\nof reality into knowledge. A purely subjective consciousness which knows,\nsuch as the poet tried to describe, is a self-contradiction: it would be\na consciousness at once related, and not related, to the actual world.\nBut man has no need to relate himself to the world. He is already\nrelated, and his task is to understand that relation, or, in other words,\nto make both its terms intelligible. Man has no need to go out from\nhimself to facts; his relation to facts is prior to his distinction from\nthem. The truth is that he cannot entirely lift himself away from them,\nnor suspend his thoughts in the void. In his inmost being he is\ncreation's voice, and in his knowledge he confusedly murmurs its deep\nthoughts.\n\nBrowning was aware of this truth in its application to man's moral\nnature. In speaking of the principle of love, he was not tempted to\napply fixed alternatives. On the contrary, he detected in the \"poorest\nlove that was ever offered\" the veritable presence of that which is\nperfect and complete, though never completely actualized. His interest\nin the moral development of man, and his penetrative moral insight,\nacting upon, and guided by the truths of the Christian religion, warned\nhim, on this side, against the absolute separation of the ideal and\nactual, the divine and human. Human love, however poor in quality and\nlimited in range, was to him God's love in man. It was a wave breaking\nin the individual of that First Love, which is ever flowing back through\nthe life of humanity to its primal source. To him all moral endeavour is\nthe process of this Primal Love; and every man, as he consciously\nidentifies himself with it, may use the language of Scripture, and say,\n\"It is not I that live, but Christ lives in me.\"\n\nBut, on the side of knowledge, he was neither so deeply interested, nor\nhad he so good a guide to lean upon. Ignorant, according to all\nappearances, of the philosophy which has made the Christian maxim, \"Die\nto live,\"--which primarily is only a principle of morality--the basis of\nits theory of knowledge, he exaggerated the failure of science to reach\nthe whole truth as to any particular object, into a qualitative\ndiscrepancy between knowledge and truth. Because knowledge is never\ncomplete, it is always mere lacquered ignorance; and man's apparent\nintellectual victories are only conquests in a land of unrealities, or\nmere phenomena. He occupies in regard to knowledge, a position strictly\nanalogous to that of Carlyle, in regard to morality; his intellectual\npessimism is the counterpart of the moral pessimism of his predecessor,\nand it springs from the same error. He forgot that the ideal without is\nalso the power within, which makes for its own manifestation in the mind\nof man.\n\nHe opposed the intellect to the world, as Carlyle opposed the weakness\nof man to the law of duty; and he neglected the fact that the world was\nthere for him, only because he knew it, just as Carlyle neglected the\nfact that the duty was without, only because it was recognized within.\nHe strained the difference between the ideal and actual into an absolute\ndistinction; and, as Carlyle condemned man to strive for a goodness\nwhich he could never achieve, so Browning condemns him to pursue a truth\nwhich he can never attain. In both, the failure is regarded as absolute.\n\"There is no good in us,\" has for its counterpart \"There is no truth in\nus.\" Both the moralist and the poet dwell on the _negative_ relation of\nthe ideal and actual, and forget that the negative has no meaning,\nexcept as the expression of a deeper affirmative. Carlyle had to learn\nthat we know our moral imperfection, only because we are conscious of a\nbetter within us; and Browning had to learn that we are aware of our\nignorance, only because we have the consciousness of fuller truth with\nwhich we contrast our knowledge. Browning, indeed, knew that the\nconsciousness of evil was itself evidence of the presence of good, that\nperfection means death, and progress is life, on the side of morals; but\nhe has missed the corresponding truth on the side of knowledge. If he\nacknowledges that the highest revealed itself to man, on the practical\nside, as love; he does not see that it has also manifested itself to\nman, on the theoretical side, as reason. The self-communication of the\nInfinite is incomplete love is a quality of God, intelligence a quality\nof man; hence, on one side, there is no limit to achievement, but on the\nother there is impotence. Human nature is absolutely divided against\nitself; and the division, as we have already seen, is not between flesh\nand spirit, but between a love which is God's own and perfect, and an\nintelligence which is merely man's and altogether weak and deceptive.\n\nThis is what makes Browning think it impossible to re-establish faith in\nGod, except by turning his back on knowledge; but whether it is possible\nfor him to appeal to the moral consciousness, we shall inquire in the\nnext chapter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE HEART AND THE HEAD.--LOVE AND REASON.\n\n\n    \"And though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to\n    play upon the earth, so truth be in the field, we do\n    injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her\n    strength. Let her and falsehood grapple; who ever knew\n    truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: Milton's _Areopagitica_.]\n\nIt has been shown that Browning appeals, in defence of his optimistic\nfaith, from the intellect to the heart. His theory rests on three main\nassumptions:--namely (1) that knowledge of the true nature of things is\nimpossible to man, and that, therefore, it is necessary to find other\nand better evidence than the intellect can give for the victory of good\nover evil; (2) that the failure of knowledge is a necessary condition of\nthe moral life, inasmuch as certain knowledge would render all moral\neffort either futile or needless; (3) that after the failure of\nknowledge there still remains possible a faith of the heart, which can\nfurnish a sufficient objective basis to morality and religion. The first\nof these assumptions I endeavoured to deal with in the last chapter. I\nnow turn to the remaining two.\n\nDemonstrative, or certain, or absolute knowledge of the actual nature of\nthings would, Browning asserts, destroy the very possibility of a moral\nlife.[A] For such knowledge would show either that evil is evil, or that\nevil is good; and, in both cases alike, the benevolent activity of love\nwould be futile. In the first case, it would be thwarted and arrested by\ndespair; for, if evil be evil, it must remain evil for aught that man\ncan do. Man cannot effect a change in the nature of things, nor create a\ngood in a world dominated by evil. In the second case, the saving effect\nof moral love would be unnecessary; for, if evil be only seeming, then\nall things are perfect and complete, and there is no need of\ninterference. It is necessary, therefore, that man should be in a\npermanent state of doubt as to the real existence of evil; and, whether\nevil does exist or not, it must seem, and only seem to exist to man, in\norder that he may devote himself to the service of good.[B]\n\n[Footnote A: See Chapter VIII., p. 255.]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid_.]\n\nNow, if this view of the poet be taken in the strict sense in which he\nuses it in this argument, it admits of a very easy refutation. It takes\nus beyond the bounds of all possible human experience, into an imaginary\nregion, as to which all assertions are equally valueless. It is\nimpossible to conceive how the conduct of a being who is moral would be\naffected by absolute knowledge; or, indeed, to conceive the existence of\nsuch a being. For morality, as the poet insists, is a process in which\nan ideal is gradually realized through conflict with the actual--an\nactual which it both produces and transmutes at every stage of the\nprogress. But complete knowledge would be above all process. Hence we\nwould have, on Browning's hypothesis, to conceive of a being in whom\nperfect knowledge was combined with an undeveloped will. A being so\nconstituted would be an agglomerate of utterly disparate elements, the\ninteraction of which in a single character it would be impossible to\nmake intelligible.\n\nBut, setting aside this point, there is a curious flaw in Browning's\nargument, which indicates that he had not distinguished between two\nforms of optimism which are essentially different from each\nother,--namely, the pantheistic and the Christian.\n\nTo know that evil is only apparent, that pain is only pleasure's mask,\nthat all forms of wickedness and misery are only illusions of an\nincomplete intelligence, would, he argues, arrest all moral action and\nstultify love. For love--which necessarily implies need in its\nobject--is the principle of all right action. In this he argues justly,\nfor the moral life is essentially a conflict and progress; and, in a\nworld in which \"white ruled unchecked along the line,\" there would be\nneither the need of conflict nor the possibility of progress. And, on\nthe other hand, if the good were merely a phantom, and evil the reality,\nthe same destruction of moral activity would follow. \"White may not\ntriumph,\" in this absolute manner, nor may we \"clean abolish, once and\nevermore, white's faintest trace.\" There must be \"the constant shade\ncast on life's shine.\"\n\nAll this is true; but the admission of it in no way militates against\nthe conception of absolutely valid knowledge; nor is it any proof that\nwe need live in the twilight of perpetual doubt, in order to be moral.\nFor the knowledge, of which Browning speaks, would be knowledge of a\nstate of things in which morality would be really impossible; that is,\nit would be knowledge of a world in which all was evil or all was good.\nOn the other hand, valid knowledge of a world in which good and evil are\nin conflict, and in which the former is realized through victory over\nthe latter, would not destroy morality. What is inconsistent with the\nmoral life is the conception of a world where there is no movement from\nevil to good, no evolution of character, but merely the stand-still life\nof \"Rephan.\" But absolutely certain knowledge that the good is at issue\nwith sin in the world, that there is no way of attaining goodness except\nthrough conflict with evil, and that moral life, as the poet so\nfrequently insists, is a process which converts all actual attainment\ninto a dead self, from which we can rise to higher things--a self,\ntherefore, which is relatively evil--would, and does, inspire morality.\nIt is the deification of evil not negated or overcome, of evil as it is\nin itself and apart from all process, which destroys morality. And the\nsame is equally true of a pantheistic optimism, which asserts that all\nthings _are_ good. But it is not true of a Christian optimism, which\nasserts that all things are _working together for_ good. For such\noptimism implies that the process of negating or overcoming evil is\nessential to the attainment of goodness; it does not imply that evil, as\nevil, is ever good. Evil is unreal, only in the sense that it cannot\nwithstand the power which is set against it. It is not _mere_ semblance,\na mere negation or absence of being; it is opposed to the good, and its\nopposition can be overcome, only by the moral effort which it calls\nforth. An optimistic faith of this kind can find room for morality; and,\nindeed, it furnishes it with the religious basis it needs. Browning,\nhowever, has confused these two forms of optimism; and, therefore, he\nhas been driven to condemn knowledge, because he knew no alternative but\nthat of either making evil eternally real, or making it absolutely\nunreal. A third alternative, however, is supplied by the conception of\nmoral evolution. Knowledge of the conditions on which good can be\nattained--a knowledge that amounts to conviction--is the spring of all\nmoral effort; whereas an attitude of permanent doubt as to the\ndistinction between good and evil would paralyse it. Such a doubt must\nbe solved before man can act at all, or choose one end rather than\nanother. All action implies belief, and the ardour and vigour of moral\naction can only come from a belief which is whole-hearted.\n\nThe further assertion, which the poet makes in _La Saisiaz_, and repeats\nelsewhere, that sure knowledge of the consequences that follow good and\nevil actions would necessarily lead to the choice of good and the\navoidance of evil, and destroy morality by destroying liberty of choice,\nraises the whole question of the relation of knowledge and conduct, and\ncannot be adequately discussed here. It may be said, however, that it\nrests upon a confusion between two forms of necessity: namely, natural\nand spiritual necessity. In asserting that knowledge of the consequences\nof evil would determine human action in a necessary way, the poet\nvirtually treats man as if he were a natural being. But the assumption\nthat man is responsible and liable to punishment, involves that he is\ncapable of withstanding all such determination. And knowledge does not\nand cannot lead to such necessary determination. Reason brings freedom;\nfor reason constitutes the ends of action.\n\nIt is the constant desire of the good to attain to such a convincing\nknowledge of the worth and dignity of the moral law that they shall be\nable to make themselves its devoted instruments. Their desire is that\n\"the good\" shall supplant in them all motives that conflict against it,\nand be the inner principle, or necessity, of all their actions. Such\ncomplete devotion to the good is expressed, for instance, in the words\nof the Hebrew Psalmist: \"Thy testimonies have I taken as an heritage for\never; for they are the rejoicing of my heart. I have inclined mine heart\nto perform Thy statutes alway, even unto the end. I hate vain thoughts,\nbut Thy law do I love.\" \"Nevertheless I live,\" said the Christian\napostle, \"yet not I, but Christ liveth in me; and the life which I now\nlive in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God.\" In these words\nthere is expressed that highest form of the moral life, in which the\nindividual is so identified in desire with his ideal, that he lives only\nto actualize it in his character. The natural self is represented as\ndead, and the victory of the new principle is viewed as complete. This\nfull obedience to the ideal is the service of a necessity; but the\nnecessity is within, and the service is, therefore, perfect freedom. The\nauthority of the law is absolute, but the law is self-imposed. The whole\nman is convinced of its goodness. He has acquired something even fuller\nthan a mere intellectual demonstration of it; for his knowledge has\nripened into wisdom, possessed his sympathies, and become a disposition\nof his heart. And the fulness and certainty of his knowledge, so far\nfrom rendering morality impossible, is its very perfection. To bring\nabout such a knowledge of the good of goodness and the evil of evil, as\nwill engender love of the former and hatred of the latter, is the aim of\nall moral education. Thus, the history of human life, in so far as it is\nprogressive, may be concentrated in the saying that it is the ascent\nfrom the power of a necessity which is natural, to the power of a\nnecessity which is moral. And this latter necessity can come only\nthrough fuller and more convincing knowledge of the law that rules the\nworld, and is also the inner principle of man's nature.\n\nThere remains now the third element in Browning's view,--namely, that\nthe faith in the good, implied in morality and religion, can be firmly\nestablished, after knowledge has turned out deceptive, upon the\nindividual's consciousness of the power of love within himself. In other\nwords, I must now try to estimate the value of Browning's appeal from\nthe intellect to the heart.\n\nBefore doing so, however, it may be well to repeat once more that\nBrowning's condemnation of knowledge, in his philosophical poems, is not\npartial or hesitating. On the contrary, he confines it definitely to the\nindividual's consciousness of his own inner states.\n\n            \"Myself I solely recognize.\n  They, too, may recognize themselves, not me,\n  For aught I know or care.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Bean-Stripe_. See also _La Saisiaz_.]\n\nNor does Browning endeavour to correct this limited testimony of the\nintellect as to its own states, by bringing in the miraculous aid of\nrevelation, or by postulating an unerring moral faculty. He does not\nassume an intuitive power of knowing right from wrong; but he maintains\nthat ignorance enwraps man's moral sense.[B]\n\n[Footnote B: See Chapter VIII.]\n\nAnd, not only are we unable to know the rule of right and wrong in\ndetails, but we cannot know whether there _is_ right or wrong. At times\nthe poet seems inclined to say that evil is a phenomenon conjured up by\nthe frail intelligence of man.\n\n    \"Man's fancy makes the fault!\n  Man, with the narrow mind, must cram inside\n  His finite God's infinitude,--earth's vault\n  He bids comprise the heavenly far and wide,\n  Since Man may claim a right to understand\n  What passes understanding.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Bernard de Mandeville_.]\n\nGod's ways are past finding out. Nay, God Himself is unknown. At times,\nindeed, the power to love within man seems to the poet to be a clue to\nthe nature of the Power without, and God is all but revealed in this\nsurpassing emotion of the human heart. But, when philosophizing, he\nwithdraws even this amount of knowledge. He is\n\n  \"Assured that, whatsoe'er the quality\n  Of love's cause, save that love was caused thereby,\n  This--nigh upon revealment as it seemed\n  A minute since--defies thy longing looks,\n  Withdrawn into the unknowable once more.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _A Pillar at Sebzevar_.]\n\nThus--to sum up Browning's view of knowledge--we are ignorant of the\nworld; we do not know even whether it is good, or evil, or only their\nsemblance, that is presented to us in human life; and we know nothing of\nGod, except that He is the cause of love in man. What greater depth of\nagnosticism is possible?\n\nWhen the doctrine is put in this bald form, the moral and religious\nconsciousness of man, on behalf of which the theory was invented,\nrevolts against it.\n\nNevertheless, the distinction made by Browning between the intellectual\nand emotional elements of human life is very common in religious\nthought. It is not often, indeed, that either the worth of love, or the\nweakness of knowledge receives such emphatic expression as that which is\ngiven to them by the poet; but the same general idea of their relation\nis often expressed, and still more often implied. Browning differs from\nour ordinary teachers mainly in the boldness of his affirmatives and\nnegatives. They, too, regard the intellect as merely human, and the\nemotion of love as divine. They, too, shrink from identifying the reason\nof man with the reason of God; even though they may recognize that\nmorality and religion must postulate some kind of unity between God and\nman. They, too, conceive that human knowledge differs _in nature_ from\nthat of God, while they maintain that human goodness is the same in\nnature with that of God, though different in degree and fulness. There\nare two _kinds_ of knowledge, but there is only one kind of justice, or\nmercy, or loving-kindness. Man must be content with a semblance of a\nknowledge of truth; but a semblance of goodness, would be intolerable.\nGod really reveals Himself to man in morality and religion, and He\ncommunicates to man nothing less than \"the divine love.\" But there is no\nsuch close connection on the side of reason. The religious life of man\nis a divine principle, the indwelling of God in him; but there is a\nfinal and fatal defect in man's knowledge. The divine love's\nmanifestation of itself is ever incomplete, it is true, even in the best\nof men; but there is no defect in its nature.\n\nAs a consequence of this doctrine, few religious opinions are more\ncommon at the present day, than that it is necessary to appeal, on all\nthe high concerns of man's moral and religious life, from the intellect\nto the heart. Where we cannot know, we may still feel; and the religious\nman may have, in his own feeling of the divine, a more intimate\nconviction of the reality of that in which he trusts, than could be\nproduced by any intellectual process.\n\n              \"Enough to say, 'I feel\n  Love's sure effect, and, being loved, must love\n  The love its cause behind,--I can and do.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Piller at Sebzevar_.]\n\nReason, in trying to scale the heights of truth, falls-back, impotent\nand broken, into doubt and despair; not by that way can we come to that\nwhich is best and highest.\n\n  \"I found Him not in world or sun,\n    Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;\n    Nor thro' the questions men may try,\n  The petty cobwebs we have spun.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _In Memoriam_.]\n\nBut there is another way to find God and to conquer doubt.\n\n  \"If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep,\n    I heard a voice 'believe no more,'\n    And heard an ever-breaking-shore\n  That tumbled in the Godless deep;\n\n  \"A warmth within the breast would melt\n    The freezing reason's colder part,\n    And like a man in wrath the heart\n  Stood up and answer'd 'I have felt.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _In Memoriam_.]\n\nWhat, then, I have now to ask, is the meaning and value of this appeal\nto emotion? Can love, or emotion in any of its forms, reveal truths to\nman which his intellect cannot discover? If so, how? If not, how shall\nwe account for the general conviction of good men that it can? We have,\nin a word, either to justify the appeal to the heart, by explaining how\nthe heart may utter truths that are hidden from reason; or else to\naccount for the illusion, by which religious emotion seems to reveal\nsuch truths.\n\nThe first requirement is shown to be unreasonable by the very terms in\nwhich it is made. The intuitive insight of faith, the immediate\nconviction of the heart, cannot render, and must not try to render, any\naccount of itself. Proof is a process; but there is no process in this\ndirect conviction of truth. Its assertion is just the denial of process;\nit is a repudiation of all connections; in such a faith of feeling there\nare no cob-web lines relating fact to fact, which doubt could break.\nFeeling is the immediate unity of the subject and object. I am pained,\nbecause I cannot rid myself of an element which is already within me; I\nam lifted into the emotion of pleasure, or happiness, or bliss, by the\nconsciousness that I am already at one with an object that fulfils my\nlongings and satisfies my needs. Hence, there seems to be ground for\nsaying that, in this instance, the witness cannot lie; for it cannot go\nbefore the fact, as it is itself the effect of the fact. If the emotion\nis pleasurable it is the consciousness of the unity within; if it is\npainful, of the disunity. In feeling, I am absolutely with myself; and\nthere seems, therefore, to be no need of attempting to justify, by means\nof reason, a faith in God which manifests itself in emotion. The emotion\nitself is its own sufficient witness, a direct result of the intimate\nunion of man with the object of devotion. Nay, we may go further, and\nsay that the demand is an unjust one, which betrays ignorance of the\ntrue nature of moral intuition and religious feeling.\n\nI am not concerned to deny the truth that lies in the view here stated;\nand no advocate of the dignity of human reason, or of the worth of human\nknowledge, is called upon to deny it. There is a sense in which the\nconviction of \"faith\" or \"feeling\" is more intimate and strong than any\nprocess of proof. But this does not in any wise justify the contention\nof those who maintain that we can feel what we do not in any sense know,\nor that the heart can testify to that of which the intellect is\nabsolutely silent.\n\n  \"So let us say--not 'Since we know, we love,'\n  But rather, 'Since we love, we know enough.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Pillar at Sebzevar_.]\n\nIn these two lines there are combined the truth I would acknowledge, and\nthe error I would confute. Love is, in one way, sufficient knowledge;\nor, rather, it is the direct testimony of that completest knowledge, in\nwhich subject and object interpenetrate. For, where love is, all foreign\nelements have been eliminated. There is not \"one and one with a shadowy\nthird\"; but the object is brought within the self as constituting part\nof its very life. This is involved in all the great forms of human\nthought--in science and art, no less than in morality and religion. It\nis the truth that we love, and only that, which is altogether ours. By\nmeans of love the poet is\n\n  \"Made one with Nature. There is heard\n  His voice in all her music, from the moan\n  Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird \";\n\nand it is because he is made one with her that he is able to reveal her\ninmost secrets. \"Man,\" said Fichte, \"can will nothing but what he loves;\nhis love is the sole and at the same time the infallible spring of his\nvolition, and of all his life's striving and movement.\" It is only when\nwe have identified ourselves with an ideal, and made its realization our\nown interest, that we strive to attain it. Love is revelation in\nknowledge, inspiration in art, motive in morality, and the fulness of\nreligious joy.\n\nBut, although in this sense love is greater than knowledge, it is a\ngrave error to separate it from knowledge. In the life of man at least,\nthe separation of the emotional and intellectual elements extinguishes\nboth. We cannot know that in which we have no interest. The very effort\nto comprehend an object rests on interest, or the feeling of ourselves\nin it; so that knowledge, as well as morality, may be said to begin in\nlove. We cannot know except we love; but, on the other hand, we cannot\nlove that which we do not in some degree know. Wherever the frontiers of\nknowledge may be it is certain that there is nothing beyond them which\ncan either arouse feeling, or be a steadying centre for it. Emotion is\nlike a climbing plant. It clings to the tree of knowledge, adding beauty\nto its strength. But, without knowledge, it is impossible for man. There\nis no feeling which is not also incipient knowledge; for feeling is only\nthe subjective side of knowledge--that face of the known fact which is\nturned inwards.\n\nIf, therefore, the poet's agnosticism were taken literally, and, in his\nphilosophical poems he obviously means it to be taken literally, it\nwould lead to a denial of the very principles of religion and morality,\nwhich it was meant to support. His appeal to love would then, strictly\nspeaking, be an appeal to the love of nothing known, or knowable; and\nsuch love is impossible. For love, if it is to be distinguished from the\norganic, impulse of beast towards beast, must have an object. A mere\ninstinctive activity of benevolence in man, by means of which he\nlightened the sorrows of his brethren, if not informed with knowledge,\nwould have no more moral worth than the grateful warmth of the sun. Such\nlove as this there may be in the animal creation. If the bird is not\nrational, we may say that it builds its nest and lines it for its brood,\npines for its partner and loves it, at the bidding of the returning\nspring, in much the same way as the meadows burst into flower. Without\nknowledge, the whole process is merely a natural one; or, if it be more,\nit is so only in so far as the life of emotion can be regarded as a\nforetaste of the life of thought. But such a natural process is not\npossible to man. Every activity in him is relative to his\nself-consciousness, and takes a new character from that relation. His\nlove at the best and worst is the love of something that he knows, and\nin which he seeks to find himself made rich with new sufficiency. Thus\nlove can not \"ally\" itself with ignorance. It is, indeed, an impulse\npressing for the closer communion of the lover with the object of his\nlove.\n\n      \"Like two meteors of expanding flame,\n  Those spheres instinct with it become the same,\n  Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever still\n  Burning, yet ever inconsumable;\n  In one another's substance finding food.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: Shelley's _Epipsychidion_.]\n\nBut, for a being such as Browning describes, who is shut up within the\nblind walls of his own self, the self-transcending impulse of love would\nbe impossible. If man's inner consciousness is to be conceived as a dark\nroom shutting out the world, upon whose shadowy phenomena the candle of\nintrospection throws a dim and uncertain light, then he can have no\ninterest outside of himself; nor can he ever take that first step in\ngoodness, which carries him beyond his narrow individuality to seek and\nfind a larger self in others. Morality, even in its lowest form, implies\nknowledge, and knowledge of something better than \"those _apparent_\nother mortals.\" With the first dawn of the moral life comes the\nconsciousness of an ideal, which is not actual; and such a break with\nthe natural is not possible except to him who has known a better and\ndesired it. The ethical endeavour of man is the attempt to convert ideas\ninto actuality; and all his activity as moral agent takes place within\nthe sphere that is illumined by the light of knowledge. If knowledge\nbreaks down, there is no law of action which he can obey. The moral law\nthat must be apprehended, and whose authority must be recognized by man,\neither sinks out of being or becomes an illusive phantom, if man is\ndoomed to ignorance or false knowledge. To extinguish truth is to\nextinguish goodness.\n\nIn like manner, religion, which the poet would fain defend for man by\nmeans of agnosticism, becomes impossible, if knowledge be denied.\nReligion is not blind emotion; nor can mere feeling, however ecstatic,\nascend to God. Animals feel, but they are not, and cannot be,\nreligious--unless they can know. The love of God implies knowledge. \"I\nknow Him whom I have believed\" is the language of religion. For what is\nreligion but a conscious identification of the self with One who is\nknown to fulfil its needs and satisfy its aspirations? Agnosticism is\nthus directly destructive of it. We cannot, indeed, prove God as the\nconclusion of a syllogism, for He is the primary hypothesis of all\nproof. But, nevertheless, we cannot reach Him without knowledge. Emotion\nreveals no object, but is consequent upon the revelation of it; feeling\nyields no truth, but is the witness of the worth of a truth for the\nindividual. If man were shut up to mere feeling, even the awe of the\ndevout agnostic would be impossible. For the Unknowable cannot generate\nany emotion. It appears to do so, only because the Unknowable of the\nagnostic is not altogether unknown to him; but is a vast, abysmal\n\"Something,\" that has occupied with its shadowy presence the field of\nhis imagination. It is paganism stricken with the plague, and philosophy\nafflicted with blindness, that build altars to an unknown God. The\nhighest and the strongest faith, the deepest trust and the most loving,\ncome with the fullest knowledge. Indeed, the distinction between the awe\nof the agnostic, which is the lowest form of religion, and that highest\nform in which perfect love casteth out fear, springs from the fuller\nknowledge of the nature of the object of warship, which the latter\nimplies. Thus, religion and morality grow with the growth of knowledge;\nand neither has a worse enemy than ignorance. The human spirit cannot\ngrow in a one-sided manner. Devotion to great moral ends is possible,\nonly through the deepening and widening of man's knowledge of the nature\nof the world. Those who know God best, render unto Him the purest\nservice.\n\nSo evident is this, that it seems at first sight to be difficult to\naccount for that antagonism to the intellect and distrust of its\ndeliverances, which are so emphatically expressed in the writings of\nBrowning, and which are marked characteristics of the ordinary religious\nopinion of our day. On closer examination, however, we shall discover\nthat it is not pure emotion, or mere feeling, whose authority is set\nabove that of reason, but rather the emotion which is the result of\nknowledge. The appeal of the religious man from the doubts and\ndifficulties, which reason levels against \"the faith,\" is really an\nappeal to the character that lies behind the emotion. The conviction of\nthe heart, that refuses to yield to the arguments of the understanding,\nis not _mere_ feeling; but, rather, the complex experience of the past\nlife, that manifests itself in feeling. When an individual, clinging to\nhis moral or religious faith, says, \"I have felt it,\" he opposes to the\ndoubt, not his feeling as such, but his personality in all the wealth of\nits experience. The appeal to the heart is the appeal to the unproved,\nbut not, therefore, unauthorized, testimony of the best men at their\nbest moments, when their vision of truth is clearest. No one pretends\nthat \"the loud and empty voice of untrained passion and prejudice\" has\nany authority in matters of moral and religious faith; though, in such\ncases, \"feeling\" may lack neither depth nor intensity. If the \"feelings\"\nof the good man were dissociated from his character, and stripped bare\nof all the significance they obtain therefrom, their worthlessness would\nbecome apparent. The profound error of condemning knowledge in order to\nhonour feeling, is hidden only by the fact that the feeling is already\ninformed and inspired with knowledge. Religious agnosticism, like all\nother forms of the theory of nescience, derives its plausibility from\nthe adventitious help it purloins from the knowledge which it condemns.\n\nThat it is to such feeling that Browning really appeals against\nknowledge becomes abundantly evident, when we bear in mind that he\nalways calls it \"love.\" For love in man is never ignorant. It knows its\nobject, and is a conscious identification of the self with it. And to\nBrowning, the object of love, when love is at its best--of that love by\nmeans of which he refutes intellectual pessimism--is mankind. The revolt\nof the heart against all evil is a desire for the good of all men. In\nother words, his refuge against the assailing doubts which spring from\nthe intellect, is in the moral consciousness. But that consciousness is\nno mere emotion; it is a consciousness which knows the highest good, and\nmoves in sympathy with it. It is our maturest wisdom; for it is the\nmanifestation of the presence and activity of the ideal, the fullest\nknowledge and the surest. Compared with this, the emotion linked to\nignorance, of which the poet speaks in his philosophic theory, is a very\npoor thing. It is poorer than the lowest human love.\n\nNow, if this higher interpretation of the term \"heart\" be accepted, it\nis easily seen why its authority should seem higher than that of reason;\nand particularly, if it be remembered that, while the heart is thus\nwidened to take in all direct consciousness of the ideal, \"the reason\"\nis reduced to the power of reflection, or mental analysis. \"The heart,\"\nin this sense, is the intensest unity of the complex experiences of a\nwhole life, while \"the reason\" is taken merely as a faculty which\ninvents arguments, and provides grounds and evidences; it is what is\ncalled, in the language of German philosophy, the \"understanding.\" Now,\nin this sense, the understanding has, at best, only a borrowed\nauthority. It is the faculty of rules rather than of principles. It is\never dogmatic, assertive, repellent, hard; and it always advances its\nforces in single line. Its logic never convinced any one of truth or\nerror, unless, beneath the arguments which it advanced, there lay some\ndeeper principle of concord. Thus, the opposition between \"faith and\nreason,\" rightly interpreted, is that between a concrete experience,\ninstinct with life and conviction, and a mechanical arrangement of\nabstract arguments. The quarrel of the heart is not with reason, but\nwith reasons. \"Evidences of Christianity?\" said Coleridge; \"I am weary\nof the word.\" It is this weariness of evidence, of the endless arguments\n_pro_ and _con_, which has caused so many to distrust reason and\nknowledge, and which has sometimes driven believers to the dangerous\nexpedient of making their faith dogmatic and absolute. Nor have the\nopponents of \"the faith\" been slow to seize the opportunity thus offered\nthem. \"From the moment that a religion solicits the aid of philosophy,\nits ruin is inevitable,\" said Heine. \"In the attempt at defence, it\nprates itself into destruction. Religion, like every absolutism, must\nnot seek to justify itself. Prometheus is bound to the rock by a silent\nforce. Yea, Aeschylus permits not personified power to utter a single\nword. It must remain mute. The moment that a religion ventures to print\na catechism supported by arguments, the moment that a political\nabsolutism publishes an official newspaper, both are near their end. But\ntherein consists our triumph: we have brought our adversaries to speech,\nand they must reckon with us.\"[A] But, we may answer, religion is _not_\nan absolutism; and, therefore, it is _not_ near its end when it ventures\nto justify itself. On the contrary, no spiritual power, be it moral or\nreligious, can maintain its authority, if it assumes a despotic\nattitude; for the human spirit inevitably moves towards freedom, and\nthat movement is the deepest necessity of its nature, which it cannot\nescape. \"Religion, on the ground of its sanctity, and law, on the ground\nof its majesty, often resist the sifting of their claims. But in so\ndoing, they inevitably awake a not unjust suspicion that their claims\nare ill-founded. They can command the unfeigned homage of man, only when\nthey have shown themselves able to stand the test of free inquiry.\"\n\n[Footnote A: _Religion and Philosophy in Germany_.]\n\nAnd if it is an error to suppose, with Browning, that the primary truths\nof the moral and religious consciousness belong to a region which is\nhigher than knowledge, and can, from that side, be neither assailed nor\ndefended; it is also an error to suppose that reason is essentially\nantagonistic to them. The facts of morality and religion are precisely\nthe richest facts of knowledge; and that faith is the most secure which\nis most completely illumined by reason. Religion at its best is not a\ndogmatic despotism, nor is reason a merely critical and destructive\nfaculty. If reason is loyal to the truth of religion on which it is\nexercised, it will reach beneath all the conflict and clamour of\ndisputation, to the principle of unity, on which, as we have seen, both\nreason and religion rest.\n\nThe \"faith\" to which religious spirits appeal against all the attacks of\ndoubt, \"the love\" of Browning, is really implicit reason; it is\n\"abbreviated\" or concentrated knowledge; it is the manifold experiences\nof life focussed into an intense unity. And, on the other hand, the\n\"reason\" which they condemn is what Carlyle calls the logic-chopping\nfaculty. In taking the side of faith when troubled with difficulties\nwhich they cannot lay, they are really defending the cause of reason\nagainst that of the understanding. For it is quite true that the\nunderstanding, that is, the reason as reflective or critical, can never\nbring about either a moral or religious life. It cannot create a\nreligion, any more than physiology can produce men. The reflection which\nbrings doubt is always secondary; it can only exercise itself on a given\nmaterial. As Hegel frequently pointed out, it is not the function of\nmoral philosophy to create or to institute a morality or religion, but\nto understand them. The facts must first be given; they must be actual\nexperiences of the human spirit. Moral philosophy and theology differ\nfrom the moral or religious life, in the same way as geology differs\nfrom the earth, or astronomy from the heavenly bodies. The latter are\nfacts; the former are theories about the facts. Religion is an attitude\nof the human spirit towards the highest; morality is the realization of\ncharacter; and these are not to be confused with their reflective\ninterpretations. Much of the difficulty in these matters comes from the\nlack of a clear distinction between _beliefs_ and _creeds_.\n\nFurther, not only are the utterances of the heart prior to the\ndeliverances of the intellect in this sense, but it may also be admitted\nthat the latter can never do full justice to the contents of the former.\nSo rich is character in content and so complex is spiritual life, that\nwe can never, by means of reflection, lift into clear consciousness all\nthe elements that enter into it. Into the organism of our experience,\nwhich is our faith, there is continually absorbed the subtle influences\nof our complex natural and social environment. We grow by means of them,\nas the plant grows by feeding on the soil and the sunshine and dew. It\nis as impossible for us to set forth, one by one, the truths and errors\nwhich we have thus worked into our mental and moral life, as it is to\nkeep a reckoning of the physical atoms with which the natural life\nbuilds up the body. Hence, every attempt to justify these truths seems\ninadequate; and the defence which the understanding sets up for the\nfaith, always seems partial and cold. Who ever fully expressed his\ndeepest convictions? The consciousness of the dignity of the moral law\naffected Kant like the view of the starry firmament, and generated a\nfeeling of the sublime which words could not express; and the religious\necstasy of the saints cannot be confined within the channels of speech,\nbut floods the soul with overmastering power, possessing all its\nfaculties. In this respect, it will always remain true that the greatest\nfacts of human experience reach beyond all knowledge. Nay, we may add\nfurther, that in this respect the simplest of these facts passes all\nunderstanding. Still, as we have already seen, it is reason that\nconstitutes them; that which is presented to reason for explanation, in\nknowledge and morality and religion, is itself the product of reason.\nReason is the power which, by interaction with our environment, has\ngenerated the whole of our experience. And, just as natural science\ninterprets the phenomena given to it by ordinary opinion, _i.e._,\ninterprets and purifies a lower form of knowledge by converting it into\na higher; so the task of reason when it is exercised upon morality and\nreligion, is simply to evolve, and amplify the meaning of its own\nproducts. The movement from morality and religion to moral philosophy\nand the philosophy of religion, is thus a movement from reason to\nreason, from the implicit to the explicit, from the germ to the\ndeveloped fulness of life and structure. In this matter, as in all\nothers wherein the human spirit is concerned, that which is first by\nnature is last in genesis--[Greek: nika d' ho pr\u00f4tos kai teleutaios\ndram\u00f4n.] The whole history of the moral and religious experience of\nmankind is comprised in the statement, that the implicit reason which we\ncall \"faith\" is ever developing towards full consciousness of itself;\nand that, at its first beginning, and throughout the whole ascending\nprocess of this development, the highest is present in it as a\nself-manifesting power.\n\nBut this process from the almost instinctive intuitions of the heart\ntowards the morality and religion of freedom, being a process of\nevolution, necessarily involves conflict. There are men, it is true, the\nunity of whose moral and religious faith is never completely broken by\ndoubt; just as there are men who are not forced by the contradictions in\nthe first interpretation of the world by ordinary experience to attempt\nto re-interpret it by means of science and philosophy.\n\nThroughout their lives they may say like Pompilia--\n\n        \"I know the right place by foot's feel,\n  I took it and tread firm there; wherefore change?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1886-1887.]\n\nJean Paul Richter said that he knew another way of being happy, beside\nthat of soaring away so far above the clouds of life, that its miseries\nlooked small, and the whole external world shrunk into a little child's\ngarden. It was, \"Simply to sink down into this little garden; and there\nto nestle yourself so snugly, so homewise, in some furrow, that in\nlooking out from your warm lark-nest, you likewise can discern no\nwolf-dens, charnel-houses, or thunder-rods, but only blades and ears,\nevery one of which, for the nest-bird, is a tree, and a sun-screen, and\nrain-screen.\" There is a similar way of being good, with a goodness\nwhich, though limited, is pure and perfect in nature. Nay, we may even\nadmit that such lives are frequently the most complete and beautiful,\njust as the fairest flowers grow, not on the tallest trees, but on the\nfragile plants at their foot. Nevertheless, even in the case of those\npersons who have never broken from the traditional faith of the past, or\nfelt it to be inadequate, that faith has been silently reconstructed in\na new synthesis of knowledge. Spiritual life cannot come by inheritance;\nbut every individual must acquire a faith for himself, and turn his\nspiritual environment into personal experience. \"A man may be a heretic\nin the truth,\" said Milton, \"and if he believe things only because his\npastor says so, or the assembly so determines, without knowing other\nreason, though his belief be true, yet the very truth he holds becomes\nhis heresy.\" It is truth to another but tradition to him; it is a creed\nand not a conviction. Browning fully recognizes the need of this\nconflict--\n\n  \"Is it not this ignoble confidence,\n  Cowardly hardihood, that dulls and damps,\n  Makes the old heroism impossible?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1848-1850.]\n\nasks the Pope. The stream of truth when it ceases to flow onward,\nbecomes a malarious swamp. Movement is the law of life; and knowledge of\nthe principles of morality and religion, as of all other principles,\nmust, in order to grow, be felt from time to time as inadequate and\nuntrue. There are men and ages whose mission is--\n\n                  \"to shake\n  This torpor of assurance from our creed,\n  Re-introduce the doubt discarded, bring\n  That formidable danger back, we drove\n  Long ago to the distance and the dark.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid._, 1853-1856.]\n\nSuch a spirit of criticism seems to many to exercise a merely\ndestructive power, and those who have not felt the inadequacy of the\ninherited faith defend themselves against it, as the enemy of their\nlives. But no logic, or assailing doubt, could have power against the\ntestimony of \"the heart,\" unless it was rooted in deeper and truer\nprinciples than those which it attacked. Nothing can overpower truth\nexcept a larger truth; and, in such a conflict, the truth in the old\nview will ultimately take the side of the new, and find its subordinate\nposition within it. It has happened, not infrequently, as in the case of\nthe Encyclop\u00e6dists, that the explicit truths of reason were more\nabstract, that is, less true, than the implicit \"faith\" which they\nassailed. The central truths of religion have often proved themselves to\npossess some stubborn, though semi-articulate power, which could\nultimately overcome or subordinate the more partial and explicit truths\nof abstract science. It is this that gives plausibility to the idea,\nthat the testimony of the heart is more reliable than that of the\nintellect. But, in this case also, it was really reason that triumphed.\nIt was the truth which proved itself to be immortal, and not any mere\nemotion. The insurrection of the intellect against the heart is quelled,\nonly when the untruth, or abstract character, of the principle of the\nassailants has been made manifest, and when the old faith has yielded up\nits unjust gains, and proved its vitality and strength by absorbing the\ntruth that gave vigour to the attack. Just as in morality it is the\nideal, or the unity of the whole moral life, that breaks up into\ndifferences, so also here it is the implicit faith which, as it grows,\nbreaks forth into doubts. In both cases alike, the negative movement\nwhich induces despair, is only a phase of a positive process--the\nprocess of reason towards a fuller, a more articulate and complex,\nrealization of itself.\n\nHence it follows that the value and strength of a faith corresponds\naccurately to the doubts it has overcome. Those who never went forth to\nbattle cannot come home heroes. It is only when the earthquake has tried\nthe towers, and destroyed the sense of security, that\n\n  \"Man stands out again, pale, resolute,\n  Prepared to die,--that is, alive at last.\n  As we broke up that old faith of the world,\n  Have we, next age, to break up this the new--\n  Faith, in the thing, grown faith in the report--\n  Whence need to bravely disbelieve report\n  Through increased faith i' the thing reports belie?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1862-1868.]\n\n\"Well knows he who uses to consider, that our faith and knowledge thrive\nby exercise, as well as our limbs and complexion.\"\n\nIt was, thus, I conclude, a deep speculative error into which Browning\nfell, when, in order to substantiate his optimistic faith, he\nstigmatized human knowledge as merely apparent. Knowledge does not fail,\nexcept in the sense in which morality also fails; it does not at any\ntime attain to the ultimate truth, any more than the moral life is in\nany of its activities[B] a complete embodiment of the absolute good. It\nis not given to man, who is essentially progressive, to reach the\nultimate term of development. For there is no ultimate term: life never\nstands still. But, for the same reason, there is no ultimate failure.\nThe whole history of man is a history of growth. If, however, knowledge\ndid fail, then morality too must fail; and the appeal which the poet\nmakes from the intellect to the heart, would be an appeal to mere\nemotion. Finally, even if we take a generous view of the poet's meaning,\nand put out of consideration the theory he expresses when he is\ndeliberately philosophizing, there is still no appeal from the reason to\nan alien and higher authority. The appeal to \"the heart\" is, at best,\nonly an appeal from the understanding to the reason, from a conscious\nlogic to the more concrete fact constituted by reason, which reflection\nhas failed to comprehend in its completeness; at its worst, it is an\nappeal from truth to prejudice, from belief to dogma.\n\n[Footnote B: See Chapter IX., p. 291.]\n\nAnd in both cases alike, the appeal is futile; for, whether \"the heart\nbe wiser than the head,\" or not, whether the faith which is assailed be\nricher or poorer, truer or more false, than the logic which is directed\nagainst it, an appeal to the heart cannot any longer restore the unity\nof the broken life. Once reflection has set in, there is no way of\nturning away its destructive might, except by deeper reflection. The\nimplicit faith of the heart must become the explicit faith of reason.\n\"There is no final and satisfactory issue from such an endless internal\ndebate and conflict, until the 'heart' has learnt to speak the language\nof the head--_i.e._, until the permanent principles, which underlay and\ngave strength to faith, have been brought into the light of distinct\nconsciousness.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: Caird's _Comte_.]\n\nI conclude, therefore, that the poet was right in saying that, in order\nto comprehend human character,\n\n  \"I needs must blend the quality of man\n  With quality of God, and so assist\n  Mere human sight to understand my Life.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Bean-Stripe_--_Ferishtah's Fancies_.]\n\nBut it was a profound error, which contained in it the destruction of\nmorality and religion, as well as of knowledge, to make \"the quality of\nGod\" a love that excludes reason, and the quality of man an intellect\nincapable of knowing truth. Such in-congruous elements could never be\ncombined into the unity of a character. A love that was mere emotion\ncould not yield a motive for morality, or a principle of religion. A\nphilosophy of life which is based on agnosticism is an explicit\nself-contradiction, which can help no one. We must appeal from Browning\nthe philosopher to Browning the poet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\n  \"Well, I can fancy how he did it all,\n  Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see,\n  Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him,\n  Above and through his art--for it gives way;\n  That arm is wrongly put--and there again--\n  A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines,\n  Its body, so to speak: its soul is right,\n  He means right--that, a child may understand.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Andrea del Sarto_.]\n\nI have tried to show that Browning's theory of life, in so far as it is\nexpressed in his philosophical poems, rests on agnosticism; and that\nsuch a theory is inconsistent with the moral and religious interests of\nman. The idea that truth is unattainable was represented by Browning as\na bulwark of the faith, but it proved on examination to be treacherous.\nHis optimism was found to have no better foundation than personal\nconviction, which any one was free to deny, and which the poet could in\nno wise prove. The evidence of the heart, to which he appealed, was the\nevidence of an emotion severed from intelligence, and, therefore,\nwithout any content whatsoever. \"The faith,\" which he professed, was not\nthe faith that anticipates and invites proof, but a faith which is\nincapable of proof. In casting doubt upon the validity of knowledge, he\ndegraded the whole spiritual nature of man; for a love that is ignorant\nof its object is a blind impulse, and a moral consciousness that does\nnot know the law is an impossible phantom--a self-contradiction.\n\nBut, although Browning's explicitly philosophical theory of life fails,\nthere appears in his earlier poems, where his poetical freedom was not\nyet trammelled, nor his moral enthusiasm restrained by the stubborn\ndifficulties of reflective thought, a far truer and richer view. In this\nperiod of pure poetry, his conception of man was less abstract than in\nhis later works, and his inspiration was more direct and full. The\npoet's dialectical ingenuity increased with the growth of his reflective\ntendencies; but his relation to the great principles of spiritual life\nseemed to become less intimate, and his expression of them more halting.\nWhat we find in his earlier works are vigorous ethical convictions, a\nglowing optimistic faith, achieving their fitting expression in\nimpassioned poetry; what we find in his later works are arguments,\nwhich, however richly adorned with poetic metaphors, have lost the\ncompleteness and energy of life. His poetic fancies are like chaplets\nwhich crown the dead. Lovers of the poet, who seek in his poems for\ninspiring expressions of their hope and faith, will always do well in\nturning from his militant metaphysics to his art.\n\nIn his case, as in that of many others, spiritual experience was far\nricher than the theory which professed to explain it. The task of\nlifting his moral convictions into the clear light of conscious\nphilosophy was beyond his power. The theory of the failure of knowledge,\nwhich he seems to have adopted far too easily from the current doctrine\nof the schools, was fundamentally inconsistent with his generous belief\nin the moral progress of man; and it maimed the expression of that\nbelief. The result of his work as a philosopher is a confession of\ncomplete ignorance and the helpless asseveration of a purely dogmatic\nfaith.\n\nThe fundamental error of the poet's philosophy lies, I believe, in that\nseverance of feeling and intelligence, love and reason, which finds\nexpression in _La Saisiaz_, _Ferishtah's Fancies_, _The Parleyings_, and\n_Asolando_. Such an absolute division is not to be found in\n_Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_, _Rabbi Ben Ezra_, _A Death in the\nDesert_, or in _The Ring and the Book_; nor even in _Fifine at the\nFair_. In these works we are not perplexed by the strange combination of\na nature whose principle is love, and which is capable of infinite\nprogress, with an intelligence whose best efforts end in ignorance.\nRather, the spirit of man is regarded as one, in all its manifestations;\nand, therefore, as progressive on all sides of its activity. The\nwidening of his knowledge, which is brought about by increasing\nexperience, is parallel with the deepening and purifying of his moral\nlife. In all Browning's works, indeed, with the possible exception of\n_Paracelsus_, love is conceived as having a place and function of\nsupreme importance in the development of the soul. Its divine origin and\ndestiny are never obscured; but knowledge is regarded as merely human,\nand, therefore, as falling short of the truth. In _Easter-Day_ it is\ndefinitely contrasted with love, and shown to be incapable of satisfying\nthe deepest wants of man. It is, at the best, only a means to the higher\npurposes of moral activity, and, except in the _Grammarian's Funeral_,\nit is nowhere regarded as in itself a worthy end.\n\n  \"'Tis one thing to know, and another to practise.\n  And thence I conclude that the real God-function\n  Is to furnish a motive and injunction\n  For practising what we know already.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day_.]\n\nEven here, there is implied that the motive comes otherwise than by\nknowledge; still, taking these earlier poems as a whole, we may say that\nin them knowledge is regarded as means to morality and not as in any\nsense contrasted with or destructive of it. Man's motives are rational\nmotives; the ends he seeks are ends conceived and even constituted by\nhis intelligence, and not purposes blindly followed as by instinct and\nimpulse.\n\n                        \"Why live,\n  Except for love--how love, unless they know?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1327-1328.]\n\nasks the Pope. Moral progress is not secured apart from, or in spite of\nknowledge. We are not exhorted to reject the verdict of the latter as\nillusive, in order to confide in a faith which not only fails to receive\nsupport from the defective intelligence, but maintains its own integrity\nonly by repudiating the testimony of the reason. In the distinction\nbetween knowledge as means and love as end, it is easy, indeed, to\ndetect a tendency to degrade the former into a mere temporary expedient,\nwhereby moral ends may be served. The poet speaks of \"such knowledge as\nis possible to man.\" The attitude he assumes towards it is apologetic,\nand betrays a keen consciousness of its limitation, and particularly of\nits utter inadequacy to represent the infinite. In the speech of the\nPope---which can scarcely be regarded otherwise than as the poet's own\nmaturest utterance on the great moral and religious questions raised by\nthe tragedy of Pompilia's death--we find this view vividly expressed:--\n\n  \"O Thou--as represented here to me\n  In such conception as my soul allows,--\n  Under Thy measureless, my atom width!--\n  Man's mind, what is it but a convex glass\n  Wherein are gathered all the scattered points\n  Picked out of the immensity of sky,\n  To reunite there, be our heaven for earth,\n  Our known unknown, our God revealed to man?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1308-1315.]\n\nGod is \"appreciable in His absolute immensity solely by Himself,\" while,\n\"by the little mind of man, He is reduced to littleness that suits man's\nfaculty.\" In these words, and others that might be quoted, the poet\nshows that he is profoundly impressed with the distinction between human\nknowledge, and that knowledge which is adequate to the whole nature and\nextent of being. And in _Christmas-Eve_ he repudiates with a touch of\nscorn, the absolute idealism, which is supposed to identify altogether\nhuman reason with divine reason; and he commends the German critic for\nnot making\n\n           \"The important stumble\n  Of adding, he, the sage and humble,\n  Was also one with the Creator.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Christmas-Eve_.]\n\nNowhere in Browning, unless we except _Paracelsus_, is there any sign of\nan inclination to treat man's knowledge in the same spirit as he deals\nwith man's love--namely, as a direct emanation from the inmost nature of\nGod, a divine element that completes and crowns man's life on earth. On\nthe contrary, he shows a persistent tendency to treat love as a power\nhigher in nature than reason, and to give to it a supreme place in the\nformation of character; and, as he grows older, that tendency grows in\nstrength. The philosophical poems, in which love is made all in all, and\nknowledge is reduced to nescience follow by logical evolution from\nprinciples, the influence of which we can detect even in his earlier\nworks. Still, in the latter, these principles are only latent, and are\nfar from holding undisputed sway. Browning was, at first, restrained\nfrom exclusive devotion to abstract views, by the suggestions which the\nartistic spirit receives through its immediate contact with the facts of\nlife. That contact it is very difficult for philosophy to maintain as it\npursues its effort after universal truth. Philosophy is obliged to\nanalyze in order to define, and, in that process, it is apt to lose\nsomething of that completeness of representation, which belongs to art.\nFor art is always engaged in presenting the universal in the form of a\nparticular object of beauty. Its product is a \"known unknown,\" but the\nunknown is the unexhausted reality of a fact of intuition. Nor can\nanalysis ever exhaust it; theory can never catch up art, or explain all\nthat is in it. On similar grounds, it may be shown that it is impossible\nfor reason to lay bare all the elements that enter into its first\ncomplex product, which we call faith. In religion, as in art, man is\naware of more than he knows; his articulate logic cannot do justice to\nall the truths of the \"heart.\" \"The supplementary reflux of light\" of\nphilosophy cannot \"illustrate all the inferior grades\" of knowledge. Man\nwill never completely understand himself.\n\n  \"I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed,\n  Uncomprehended by our narrow thought,\n  But somehow felt and known in every shift\n  And change in the spirit,--nay, in every pore\n  Of the body, even,)--what God is, what we are,\n  What life is--how God tastes an infinite joy\n  In infinite ways--one everlasting bliss,\n  From whom all being emanates, all power\n  Proceeds.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Paracelsus_.]\n\nI believe that it is possible, by the help of the intuitions of\nBrowning's highest artistic period, to bring together again the elements\nof his broken faith, and to find in them suggestions of a truer\nphilosophy of life than anything which the poet himself achieved.\nPerhaps, indeed, it is not easy, nor altogether fair, to press the\npassionate utterances of his religious rapture into the service of\nmetaphysics, and to treat the unmeasured language of emotion as the\nexpression of a definite doctrine. Nevertheless, rather than set forth a\nnew defence of the faith, which his agnosticism left exposed to the\nassaults of doubt and denial, it is better to make Browning correct his\nown errors, and to appeal from the metaphysician to the poet, from the\nsobriety of the logical understanding to the inspiration of poetry.\n\nI have already indicated what seems to me to be the defective element in\nthe poet's philosophy of life. His theory of knowledge is in need of\nrevision; and what he asserts of human love, should be applied point by\npoint to human reason. As man is ideally united with the absolute on the\nside of moral emotion (if the phrase may be pardoned), so he is ideally\nunited with the absolute on the side of the intellect. As there is no\ndifference of _nature_ between God's goodness and man's goodness, so\nthere is no difference of nature between God's truth and man's truth.\nThere are not two kinds of righteousness or mercy; there are not two\nkinds of truth. Human nature is not \"cut in two with a hatchet,\" as the\npoet implies that it is. There is in man a lower and a higher element,\never at war with each other; still he is not a mixture, or agglomerate,\nof the finite and the infinite. A love perfect in nature cannot be\nlinked to an intelligence imperfect in nature; if it were, the love\nwould be either a blind impulse or an erring one. Both morality and\nreligion demand the presence in man of a perfect ideal, which is at war\nwith his imperfections; but an ideal is possible, only to a being\nendowed with a capacity for knowing the truth. In degrading human\nknowledge, the poet is disloyal to the fundamental principle of the\nChristian faith which he professed--that God can and does manifest\nhimself in man.\n\nOn the other hand, we are not to take the unity of man with God, of\nman's moral ideal with the All-perfect, as implying, on the moral side,\nan absolute identification of the finite with the infinite; nor can we\ndo so on the side of knowledge. Man's moral life and rational activity\nin knowledge are the process of the highest. But man is neither first,\nnor last; he is not the original author of his love, any more than of\nhis reason; he is not the divine principle of the whole to which he\nbelongs, although he is potentially in harmony with it. Both sides of\nhis being are equally touched with imperfection--his love, no less than\nhis reason. Perfect love would imply perfect wisdom, as perfect wisdom,\nperfect love. But absolute terms are not applicable to man, who is ever\n_on the way_ to goodness and truth, progressively manifesting the power\nof the ideal that dwells in him, and whose very life is conflict and\nacquirement.\n\n  \"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,\n  Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-grey\n  Placid and perfect with my art: the worse.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Andrea del Sarto_.]\n\nHardly any conception is more prominent in Browning's writings than\nthis, of endless progress towards an infinite ideal; although he\noccasionally manifests a desire to have done with effort.\n\n            \"When a soul has seen\n    By the means of Evil that Good is best,\n  And, through earth and its noise, what is heaven's serene,--\n    When our faith in the same has stood the test--\n  Why, the child grown man, you burn the rod,\n    The uses of labour are surely done,\n  There remaineth a rest for the people of God,\n    And I have had troubles enough, for one.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Old Pictures in Florence_.]\n\nIt is the sense of endless onward movement, the outlook towards an\nimmortal course, \"the life after life in unlimited series,\" which is so\ninspiring in his early poetry. He conceives that we are here, on this\nlower earth, just to learn one form, the elementary lesson and alphabet\nof goodness, namely, \"the uses of the flesh\": in other lives, other\nachievements. The separation of the soul from its instrument has very\nlittle significance to the poet; for it does not arrest the course of\nmoral development.\n\n  \"No work begun shall ever pause for death.\"\n\nThe spirit pursues its lone way, on other \"adventures brave and new,\"\nbut ever towards a good which is complete.\n\n  \"Delayed it may be for more lives yet,\n    Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few:\n  Much is to learn, much to forget\n    Ere the time be come for taking you.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Evelyn Hope_.]\n\nStill the time will come when the awakened need shall be satisfied; for\nthe need was created in order to be satisfied.\n\n  \"Wherefore did I contrive for thee that ear\n  Hungry for music, and direct thine eye\n  To where I hold a seven-stringed instrument,\n  Unless I meant thee to beseech me play?\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Two Camels_.]\n\nThe movement onward is thus a movement in knowledge, as well as in every\nother form of good. The lover of Evelyn Hope, looking back in\nimagination on the course he has travelled on earth and after,\nexclaims--\n\n  \"I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,\n    Given up myself so many times,\n  Gained me the gains of various men,\n    Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Evelyn Hope_.]\n\nIn these earlier poems, there is not, as in the later ones, a maimed, or\none-sided, evolution--a progress towards perfect love on the side of the\nheart, and towards an illusive ideal on the side of the intellect.\nKnowledge, too, has its value, and he who lived to settle \"_Hoti's_\nbusiness, properly based _Oun_,\" and who \"gave us the doctrine of the\nenclitic _De_,\" was, to the poet,\n\n  \"Still loftier than the world suspects,\n    Living and dying.\n\n  \"Here's the top-peak; the multitude below\n    Live, for they can, there:\n  This man decided not to Live but Know--\n    Bury this man there?\n  Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form,\n    Lightnings are loosened,\n  Stars come and go.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Grammarian's Funeral_.]\n\nNo human effort goes to waste, no gift is delusive; but every gift and\nevery effort has its proper place as a stage in the endless process. The\nsoul bears in it _all_ its conquests.\n\n  \"There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before;\n    The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound;\n  What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, _so_ much good more;\n    On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Abt Vogler_.]\n\nThe \"apparent failure\" of knowledge, like every apparent failure, is \"a\ntriumph's evidence for the fulness of the days.\" The doubts that\nknowledge brings, instead of implying a defective intelligence doomed to\nspend itself on phantom phenomena, sting to progress towards the truth.\nHe bids us \"Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe.\"\n\n  \"Rather I prize the doubt\n  Low kinds exist without,\n  Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Rabbi Ben Ezra_.]\n\nSimilarly, defects in art, like defects in character, contain the\npromise of further achievement.\n\n  \"Are they perfect of lineament, perfect of stature?\n    In both, of such lower types are we\n  Precisely because of our wider nature;\n    For time, their's--ours, for eternity.\n\n  \"To-day's brief passion limits their range;\n    It seethes with the morrow for us and more.\n  They are perfect--how else? They shall never change:\n    We are faulty--why not? We have time in store.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Old Pictures in Florence_.]\n\nPrior to the period when a sceptical philosophy came down like a blight,\nand destroyed the bloom of his art and faith, he thus recognized that\ngrowing knowledge was an essential condition of growing goodness.\nPompilia shone with a glory that mere knowledge could not give (if there\nwere such a thing as _mere_ knowledge).\n\n                \"Everywhere\n  I see in the world the intellect of man,\n  That sword, the energy his subtle spear,\n  The knowledge which defends him like a shield--\n  Everywhere; but they make not up, I think,\n  The marvel of a soul like thine, earth's flower\n  She holds up to the softened gaze of God.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1013-1019.]\n\nBut yet she recognized with patient pain the loss she had sustained for\nwant of knowledge.\n\n  \"The saints must bear with me, impute the fault\n  To a soul i' the bud, so starved by ignorance,\n  Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this year\n  Nor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers know.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book_--_Pompilia_, 1515-1518.]\n\nFurther on in the Pope's soliloquy, the poet shows that, at that time,\nhe fully recognized the risk of entrusting the spiritual interests of\nman to the enthusiasm of elevated feeling, or to the mere intuitions of\na noble heart. Such intuitions will sometimes guide a man happily, as in\nthe case of Caponsacchi:\n\n              \"Since ourselves allow\n  He has danced, in gaiety of heart, i' the main\n  The right step through the maze we bade him foot.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1915-1917.]\n\nBut, on the other hand, such impulses, not instructed by knowledge of\nthe truth, and made steadfast to the laws of the higher life by a\nreasoned conviction, lead man rightly only by accident. In such a career\nthere is no guarantee of constancy; other impulses might lead to other\nways of life.\n\n  \"But if his heart had prompted to break loose\n  And mar the measure? Why, we must submit,\n  And thank the chance that brought him safe so far.\n  Will he repeat the prodigy? Perhaps.\n  Can he teach others how to quit themselves,\n  Show why this step was right while that were wrong?\n  How should he? 'Ask your hearts as I asked mine,\n  And get discreetly through the morrice too;\n  If your hearts misdirect you,--quit the stage,\n  And make amends,--be there amends to make.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1916-1927.]\n\nIf the heart proved to Caponsacchi a guide to all that is good and\nglorious, \"the Abate, second in the suite,\" puts in the testimony of\nanother experience: \"His heart answered to another tune.\"\n\n  \"I have my taste too, and tread no such step!\n  You choose the glorious life, and may for me!\n  I like the lowest of life's appetites,--\n  So you judge--but the very truth of joy\n  To my own apprehension which decides.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid._, 1932-1936.]\n\nMere emotion is thus an insecure guide to conduct, for its authority can\nbe equally cited in support of every course of life. No one can say to\nhis neighbour, \"Thou art wrong.\" Every impulse is right to the\nindividual who has it, and so long as he has it. _De gustibus non\ndisputandum_. Without a universal criterion there is no praise or blame.\n\n  \"Call me knave and you get yourself called fool!\n  I live for greed, ambition, lust, revenge;\n  Attain these ends by force, guile: hypocrite,\n  To-day, perchance to-morrow recognized\n  The rational man, the type of common-sense.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Ibid._, 1937-1941.]\n\nThis poem which, both in its moral wisdom and artistic worth, marks the\nhigh tide of Browning's poetic insight, while he is not as yet concerned\nwith the defence of any theory or the discussion of any abstract\nquestion, contrasts strongly with the later poems, where knowledge is\ndissembling ignorance, faith is blind trust, and love is a mere impulse\nof the heart. Having failed to meet the difficulties of reflection, the\npoet turned upon the intellect. Knowledge becomes to him an offence, and\nto save his faith he plucked out his right eye and entered into the\nkingdom maimed. In _Rabbi Ben Ezra_ the ascent into another life is\ntriumphant, like that of a conqueror bearing with him the spoils of\nearth; but in the later poems he escapes with a bare belief, and the\nloss of all his rich possessions of knowledge, like a shipwrecked\nmariner whose goods have been thrown overboard. His philosophy was a\ntreacherous ally to his faith.\n\nBut there is another consideration which shows that the poet, as artist,\nrecognized the need of giving to reason a larger function than seems to\nbe possible according to the theory in his later works. In the early\npoems there is no hint of the doctrine that demonstrative knowledge of\nthe good, and of the necessity of its law, would destroy freedom. On the\ncontrary, there are suggestions which point to the opposite doctrine,\naccording to which knowledge is the condition of freedom.\n\nWhile in his later poems the poet speaks of love as an impulse--either\nblind or bound to erring knowledge--and of the heart as made to love, in\nhis earlier ones he seems to treat man as free to work out his own\npurposes, and act out his own ideals. Browning here finds himself able\nto maintain the dependence of man upon God without destroying morality.\nHe regards man's impulses not as blind instincts, but as falling\n_within_ his rational nature, and constituting the forms of its\nactivity. He recognizes the distinction between a mere impulse, in the\nsense of a tendency to act, which is directed by a foreign power, and an\nimpulse informed, that is, directed by reason. According to this view,\nit is reason which at once gives man the independence of foreign\nauthority, which is implied in morality, and constitutes that affinity\nbetween man and God, which is implied by religion. No doubt, the impulse\nto know, like the impulse to love, was put into man: his whole nature is\na gift, and he is therefore, in this sense, completely dependent upon\nGod--\"God's all, man's nought.\" But, on the other hand, it _is_ a\nrational nature which has been put into him, and not an irrational\nimpulse. Or, rather, the impulse that constitutes his life as man, is\nthe self-evolving activity of reason.\n\n  \"Who speaks of man, then, must not sever\n  Man's very elements from man.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Christmas-Eve_.]\n\nHowever the rational nature of man has come to be, whether by emanation\nor creation, it necessarily brings freedom with it, and all its risks\nand possibilities. It is of the very essence of reason that it should\nfind its law within itself.\n\n         \"God's all, man's nought:\n  But also, God, whose pleasure brought\n  Man into being, stands away\n  As it were a hand-breadth off, to give\n  Room for the newly-made to live,\n  And look at Him from a place apart,\n  And use his gifts of brain and heart,\n  Given, indeed, but to keep for ever.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Christmas-Eve_.]\n\nThus, while insisting on the absolute priority of God, and the original\nreceptivity of man; while recognizing that love, reason, and every inner\npower and outer opportunity are lent to man, Browning does not forget\nwhat these powers are. Man can only act as man; he must obey his nature,\nas the stock or stone or plant obeys its nature. But to act as man is to\nact freely, and man's nature is not that of a stock or stone. He is\nrational, and cannot but be rational. Hence he can neither be ruled, as\ndead matter is ruled, by natural law; nor live, like a bird, the life of\ninnocent impulse or instinct. He is placed, from the very first, on \"the\ntable land whence life upsprings aspiring to be immortality.\" He is a\nspirit,--responsible because he is free, and free because he is\nrational.\n\n  \"Man, therefore, stands on his own stock\n  Of love and power as a pin-point rock,\n  And, looks to God who ordained divorce\n  Of the rock from His boundless continent.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Ibid._]\n\nThe divorce is real, although ordained, but it is possible only in so\nfar as man, by means of reason, constitutes his own ends of action.\nImpulse cannot bring it about. It is reason that enables man to free\nhimself from the despotic authority of outer law, to relate himself to\nan inner law, and by reconciling inner and outer to attain to goodness.\nThus reason is the source of all morality. And it also is the principle\nof religion, for it implies the highest and fullest manifestation of the\nabsolute.\n\nAlthough the first aspect of self-consciousness is its independence,\nwhich is, in turn, the first condition of morality, still this is only\nthe first aspect. The rational being plants himself on his own\nindividuality, stands aloof and alone in the rights of his freedom, _in\norder that_ he may set out from thence to take possession, by means of\nknowledge and action, of the world in which he is placed. Reason is\npotentially absolute, capable of finding itself everywhere. So that in\nit man is \"honour-clothed and glory-crowned.\"\n\n  \"This is the honour,--that no thing I know,\n  Feel or conceive, but I can make my own\n  Somehow, by use of hand, or head, or heart.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau._]\n\nMan, by his knowledge, overcomes the resistance and hostility of the\nworld without him, or rather, discovers that there is not hostility, but\naffinity between it and himself.\n\n  \"This is the glory,--that in all conceived,\n  Or felt or known, I recognize a mind\n  Not mine but like mine,--for the double joy,--\n  Making all things for me and me for Him.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau_.]\n\nThat which is finite is hemmed in by other things, as well as determined\nby them; but the infinite is all-inclusive. There exists for it no other\nthing to limit or determine it. There is nothing finally alien or\nforeign to reason. Freedom and infinitude, self-determination and\nabsoluteness, imply each other. In so far as man is free, he is lifted\nabove the finite. It was God's plan to make man on His own image:--\n\n        \"To create man and then leave him\n  Able, His own word saith, to grieve Him,\n  But able to glorify Him too,\n  As a mere machine could never do,\n  That prayed or praised, all unaware\n  Of its fitness for aught but praise or prayer,\n  Made perfect as a thing of course.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _Christmas-Eve_.]\n\nMan must find his law within himself, be the source of his own activity,\nnot passive or receptive, but outgoing and effective.\n\n  \"Rejoice we are allied\n  To That which doth provide\n  And not partake, effect and not receive!\n  A spark disturbs our clod;\n  Nearer we hold of God\n  Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Rabbi Ben Ezra_.]\n\nThis near affinity between the divine and human is just what Browning\nseems to repudiate in his later poems, when he speaks as if the\nabsolute, in order to maintain its own supremacy over man, had to stint\nits gifts and endow him only with a defective reason. In the earlier\nperiod of the poet there is far less timidity. He then saw that the\ngreater the gift, the greater the Giver; that only spirit can reveal\nspirit; that \"God is glorified in man,\" and that love is at its fullest\nonly when it gives itself.\n\nIn insisting on such identity of the human spirit with the divine, our\npoet does not at any time run the risk of forgetting that the identity\nis not absolute. Absolute identity would be pantheism, which leaves God\nlonely and loveless, and extinguishes man, as well as his morality.\n\n  \"Man is not God, but hath God's end to serve,\n  A Master to obey, a course to take,\n  Somewhat to cast off, somewhat to become.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\nMan, at best, only moves _towards_ his ideal: God is conceived as the\never-existing ideal. God, in short, is the term which signifies for us\nthe Being who is eternally all in all, and who, therefore, is hidden\nfrom us who are only moving _towards_ perfection, in the excess of the\nbrightness of His own glory. Nevertheless, as Browning recognizes, the\ngrandeur of God's perfection is just His outflowing love. And that love\nis never complete in its manifestation, till it has given itself. Man's\nlife, as spirit, is thus one in nature with that of the absolute. But\nthe unity is not complete, because man is only potentially perfect. He\nis the process _of_ the ideal; his life is the divine activity within\nhim. Still, it is also man's activity. For the process, being the\nprocess of spirit, is a _free_ process--one in which man himself\nenergizes; so that, in doing God's will, he is doing his own highest\nwill, and, in obeying the law of his own deepest nature, he is obeying\nGod. The unity of divine and human within the spiritual life of man is a\nreal unity, just because man is free; the identity manifests itself\nthrough the difference, and the difference is possible through the\nunity.\n\nThus, in the light of an ideal which is moral, and therefore perfect--an\nideal gradually realizing itself in a process which is endless--the poet\nis able to maintain at once the community between man and God, which is\nnecessary to religion, and their independence, which is necessary to\nmorality. The conception of God as giving, which is the main doctrine of\nChristianity, and of man as akin with God, is applied by him to the\nwhole spiritual nature of man, and not merely to his emotion. The\nprocess of evolution is thus a process towards truth, as well as\ngoodness; in fact, goodness and truth are known as inseparable.\nKnowledge, too, is a Divine endowment. \"What gift of man is not from God\ndescended?\" What gift of God can be deceptive?\n\n  \"Take all in a word: the truth in God's breast\n  Lies trace for trace upon ours impressed:\n  Though He is so bright and we so dim,\n  We are made in His image to witness Him.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _Christmas-Eve_.]\n\nThe Pope recognizes clearly the inadequacy of human knowledge; but he\nalso recognizes that it has a Divine source.\n\n  \"Yet my poor spark had for its source, the sun;\n  Thither I sent the great looks which compel\n  Light from its fount: all that I do and am\n  Comes from the truth, or seen or else surmised,\n  Remembered or divined, as mere man may.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _The Ring and the Book_--_The Pope_, 1285-1289.]\n\nThe last words indicate a suspicion of a certain defect in knowledge,\nwhich is not recognized in human love; nevertheless, in these earlier\npoems, the poet does not analyze human nature into a finite and\ninfinite, or seek to dispose of his difficulties by the deceptive\nsolvent of a dualistic agnosticism. He treats spirit as a unity, and\nrefuses to set love and reason against each other. Man's _life_, for the\npoet, and not merely man's love, begins with God, and returns back to\nGod in the rapt recognition of God's perfect being by reason, and in the\nidentification of man's purposes with His by means of will and love.\n\n  \"What is left for us, save, in growth\n  Of soul, to rise up, far past both,\n  From the gift looking to the giver,\n  And from the cistern to the river,\n  And from the finite to infinity\n  And from man's dust to God's divinity?\"[C]\n\n[Footnote C: _Christmas-Eve_.]\n\nIt is this movement of the absolute in man, this aspiration towards the\nfull knowledge and perfect goodness which can never be completely\nattained, that constitutes man.\n\n  \"Man, therefore, thus conditioned, must expect\n  He could not, what he knows now, know at first:\n  What he considers that he knows to-day,\n  Come but to-morrow, he will find mis-known;\n  Getting increase of knowledge, since he learns\n  Because he lives, which is to be a man,\n  Set to instruct himself by his past self:\n  First, like the brute, obliged by facts to learn,\n  Next, as man may, obliged by his own mind,\n  Bent, habit, nature, knowledge turned to law.\n  God's gift was that man shall conceive of truth\n  And yearn to gain it, catching at mistake,\n  As midway help till he reach fact indeed?\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _A Death in the Desert_.]\n\n\"Progress,\" the poet says, is \"man's distinctive mark alone.\" The\nendlessness of the progress, the fact that every truth known to-day\nseems misknown to-morrow, that every ideal once achieved only points to\nanother and becomes itself a stepping stone, does not, as in his later\ndays, bring despair to him. For the consciousness of failure is possible\nin knowledge, as in morality, only because there has come a fuller\nlight. Browning does not, as yet, dwell exclusively on the negative\nelement in progress, or forget that it is possible only through a deeper\npositive. He does not think that, because we turn our backs on what we\nhave gained, we are therefore not going forward; nay, he asserts the\ncontrary. Failure, even the failure of knowledge, is triumph's evidence\nin these earlier days; and complete failure, the unchecked rule of evil\nin any form, is therefore impossible. We deny\n\n  \"Recognized truths, obedient to some truth\n  Unrecognized yet, but perceptible,--\n  Correct the portrait by the living face,\n  Man's God, by God's God in the mind of man.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1871-1874.]\n\nThus the poet ever returns to the conception of God in the mind of man.\nGod is the beginning and the end; and man is the self-conscious worker\nof God's will, the free process whereby the last which is first, returns\nto itself. The process, the growth, is man's life and being; and it\nfalls within the ideal, which is eternal and all in all. The spiritual\nlife of man, which is both intellectual and moral, is a dying into the\neternal, not to cease to be in it, but to live in it more fully; for\nspirits necessarily commune. He dies to the temporal interests and\nnarrow ends of the exclusive self, and lives an ever-expanding life in\nthe life of others, manifesting more and more that spiritual principle\nwhich is the life of God, who lives and loves in all things. \"God is a\nbeing in whom we exist; with whom we are in principle one; with whom the\nhuman spirit is identical, in the sense that He _is_ all which the human\nspirit is capable of becoming.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: Green's _Prolegomena to Ethics_, p. 198.]\n\nFrom this point of view, and in so far as Browning is loyal to the\nconception of the community of the divine and human, he is able to\nmaintain his faith in God, not in spite of knowledge, but through the\nvery movement of knowledge within him. He is not obliged, as in his\nlater works, to look for proofs, either in nature, or elsewhere; nor to\nargue from the emotion of love in man, to a cause of that emotion. He\nneeds no syllogistic process to arrive at God; for the very activity of\nhis own spirit as intelligence, as the reason which thinks and acts, is\nthe activity of God within him. Scepticism, is impossible, for the very\nact of doubting is the activity of reason, and a profession of the\nknowledge of the truth.\n\n                                \"I\n  Put no such dreadful question to myself,\n  Within whose circle of experience burns\n  The central truth, Power, Wisdom, Goodness,--God:\n  I must outlive a thing ere know it dead:\n  When I outlive the faith there is a sun,\n  When I lie, ashes to the very soul,--\n  Someone, not I, must wail above the heap,\n  'He died in dark whence never morn arose.'\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1631-1639.]\n\nAnd this view of God as immanent in man's experience also forecloses all\npossibility of failure. Beneath the failure, the possibility of which is\ninvolved in a moral life, lies the divine element, working through\ncontradiction to its own fulfilment. Failure is necessary for man,\nbecause he grows: but, for the same reason, the failure is not final.\nThus, the poet, instead of denying the evidence of his intellect as to\nthe existence of evil, or casting doubt on the distinction between right\nand wrong, or reducing the chequered course of human history into a\nphantasmagoria of mere mental appearances, can regard the conflict\nbetween good and evil as real and earnest. He can look evil in the face,\nrecognize its stubborn resistance to the good, and still regard the\nvictory of the latter as sure and complete. He has not to reduce it into\na phantom, or mere appearance, in order to give it a place within the\ndivine order. He sees the night, but he also sees the day succeed it.\nMan falls into sin, but he cannot rest in it. It is contradictory to his\nnature, he cannot content himself with it, and he is driven through it.\nMephistopheles promised more than he could perform, when he undertook to\nmake Faust declare himself satisfied. There is not within the kingdom of\nevil what will satisfy the spirit of man, whose last law is goodness,\nwhose nature, however obscured, is God's gift of Himself.\n\n  \"While I see day succeed the deepest night--\n  How can I speak but as I know?--my speech\n  Must be, throughout the darkness. It will end:\n  'The light that did burn, will burn!' Clouds obscure--\n  But for which obscuration all were bright?\n  Too hastily concluded! Sun--suffused,\n  A cloud may soothe the eye made blind by blaze,--\n  Better the very clarity of heaven:\n  The soft streaks are the beautiful and dear.\n  What but the weakness in a faith supplies\n  The incentive to humanity, no strength\n  Absolute, irresistible, comports?\n  How can man love but what he yearns to help?\n  And that which men think weakness within strength,\n  But angels know for strength and stronger yet--\n  What were it else but the first things made new,\n  But repetition of the miracle,\n  The divine instance of self-sacrifice\n  That never ends and aye begins for man?\n  So, never I miss footing in the maze,\n  No,--I have light nor fear the dark at all.\"[A]\n\n[Footnote A: _The Ring and the Book--The Pope_, 1640-1660.]\n\n[Illustration]","title":"Browning as a Philosophical and Religious Teacher","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":90815}