science and much of the modern world place in the reliability of the reason. Typical of this attitude is a statement from a recent author (1926): 'If reason cannot discover the truth for us, then most assuredly nothing else will.' This confidence is in many respects justified, yet the fact that reason, acting upon one set of data, may yield many different theories is apt to make us question its cocksureness and its impartiality as the instrument of scientific research. The reason which, in the performance of its scientific tasks, is free from the bias of 'hobbydom,' leanings, emotion, and will is indeed a rare phenomenon.

We cannot fail to recognize the marvels wrought by modern science in many fields, how deeply it has enmeshed itself in our modern civilization, the great obligation under which it has placed us; but neither can we be blind to its limitations: to the questionable blessing of more leisure which we are too stupid to use in constructive ways, or which we are compelled to employ in caring for its inventions; to setting up as human excellences the purely machine virtues, such as speed, quantity, and standardization; to absorption in things material, with the danger of a physical softening and a spiritual hardening. One generalization we may safely hazard without fear of contradiction. It is the generalization of particularity: a thing is good for what it is good for. Disregard of this principle is likely to lead us into trouble at any time, and is responsible for most of the false assumptions underlying the new dogmatism of science.

III

The second issue raised by Mr. Krutch's article has to do with the first alternative proposed in its closing sentence. Living in a world rapidly being

transformed by modern scientific conceptions, a world in which 'only the intellect can rejoice,' and apparently indifferent to spiritual values, does the human spirit find itself facing extinction? Has Nature 'betrayed the heart that loved her'?

The fact that this question has been asked is significant of a protest against the idea. It is decidedly uncomplimentary to human nature and distasteful to the evaluational consciousness. If the prestige of the reason, a prestige enhanced by its use in the sciences, has so gained the ascendency at the present time that it threatens to foreclose on the human spirit, it is but natural that the latter should demand some credentials as to its all-inclusive pretensions. And signs are not lacking that the spirit of protest against the usurpation of all of life by the critical intelligence is abroad, as we think of the Jugendbewegung, the various vitalistic philosophies, and the 'Crisis theology' of Karl Barth. Are we to regard such indications of unrest as harbingers of the dawn of a new Sturm und Drang? A youth which in our institutions of learning has been coming into contact with doctrines of scientific determinism seems determined to make such doctrines the basis of claims for more freedom. A strange and significant paradox!

There is no doubt that the prestige of the reason has penetrated deeply into modern life. We give ourselves up to the delusion that we are rational beings-a delusion which a detailed analysis of our thoughts, motives, and acts for even twenty-four hours will dispel. Rather do we show ourselves unbalanced in pretending to a complete rationality. And we impoverish ourselves by refusing to yield our loyalties to religion, to a philosophy of life, because forsooth it may contain elements of a type not open to verification by approved scientific methods.

We may even admit with due respect for the psychologist that 'out that 'out of the heart are the issues of life,' that the activities of the human spirit are really the more vital and the more distinctive of man; yet because the critical intelligence fails to support the presuppositions upon which it proceeds 'to found empires, conquer wildernesses, and create works of art,' we prophesy a possible extinction of the irrational human spirit!

But surely we are not shut up to one choice alone in the matter of a guide to life. No cosmic decree has forced us to accept the reason as the sole and infallible arbiter of our destinies. Certainly the critical intelligence has not shown itself friendly to the higher aspirations which have sustained man in his struggle for life, and which have received such strong pragmatic support - both Mr. Krutch and Mr. Unamuno find themselves in emphatic agreement here. In the face of this scientifically supported prestige of the reason, is it possible that we are exhibiting a 'failure of nerve'? This depends upon the view we take as to the place of the human spirit in this universe. If we deem it to be an excrescence of Nature, or unstable froth left in an eddy by the ongoing stream of evolution, then perhaps we have ground for Weltschmerz. But if we regard man in his entirety, and how else can we regard him? being rooted in Nature, with his distinctive restless spiritual discontent as the highest product of evolution that we know, giving significance to the whole process, and destined, on condition of his continuous struggle, to still higher developments, then we may have another outlook for the human spirit. And as for any moral or spiritual correspondences in Nature that would give cosmic support to human values, we may only propound this question in lieu of the inapplicability of

as

'scientific demonstration' in the matter. With what reason can we say that a world which has shown itself so morally trustworthy as not to fail the modern scientist in his faith in its dependability and responsiveness should suddenly and capriciously proclaim that it has heretofore merely been toying with the transcendental cravings of man in his age-long quest for Reality?

IV

The third issue raised by Mr. Krutch is the second alternative proposed in the last sentence of his article. Granting that the human spirit does not face extinction, then there impends for it a 'readjustment more stupendous than any made before.' With this most of us will agree. It is to be expected that Nature's huge experiment on the conscious human plane should be beset, as were doubtless her experiments aforetime on other planes of existence, with tremendous difficulties peculiar to it.

Spengler would tell us, indeed, that no readjustment is possible; that it is futile to try to deflect the course of the fate-impelled cycles of human culture; that each culture contains within itself, when it has actualized the full sum of its possibilities in the way of peoples, languages, dogmas, arts, states, and sciences, the instruments of its own ruin. In our present civilization, men have lost their touch with the soil, and the springs of inspiration in art, religion, and philosophy are already dried up. Especially is the critical, analytical intelligence deadly to the creative impulse. Science, with its more exact knowledge, has robbed us of the garb of poetry and romance attaching to our older conceptions and has left us Nature in the bare flesh and bone. With much of Spengler's philosophy we may find ourselves in sympathy. What concerns us now is the question as to the

hopelessness of the attempt at readjustment.

But here too a different reading of all the facts is possible, including again the scientific evidence for a progressive evolution with or without the specific Darwinian optimism for which Spengler has no place. For if in the arts, philosophy, and religion we seem to have reached 'the winter of our discontent,' yet science has given to us a world so changed from any which we have ever known, so charged with potentialities never before even dreamed of in all the previous history of the race, as practically to be a new one. It possesses new elements which will not readily permit of its being used to illustrate a so-called law of rhythmical development immanent in all cultures. In its scientifically creative aspects, ours is an age standing on the tiptoe of expectancy (witness even the suggestion of a scientific holiday), illustrative rather of a Wiederbelebung than of a Vollendung. True, this new world itself creates its own problems of readjustment, but it may also open up new creative possibilities for art, religion, and philosophy of types as yet unsuspected.

Nor, unless Spengler's presupposition, 'All is given,' finds support in our growing experience, need we be committed to his cyclical philosophy of history, which makes impossible any talk of readjustment. Analogies in history there undoubtedly are, and at least one important specification of the Spenglerian scheme is fulfilled if we conceive of these as occurring on an irregularly ascending spiral of conscious, human evolution whose curves for certain distances may trace similar arcs, but on different levels. It is always the new, unexplored area in the curve which at the same time begets despair and hope. And, as ever, it is toward the possibilities which the new element

science, in this case may hold out for the human spirit that we need to turn. Yet, the present growing protest against an arid, deadly intellectualism seems to suggest that the decisive factors in promoting readjustment will not be the intellect or science, whatever part they may play, but faith — a perfectly respectable thing and morale, for which Nature herself furnishes a basis. As in the past, the discovery of values that will yield support to the human spirit will be for those whose trust in the good faith of Nature has never faltered, for those who have prepared themselves to see values where others do not. New adjustments in religion and philosophy will be required, but truth is capable of withstanding many fierce indoctrinations along the way that leads to a formulation of Reality which will enable us to live truly.

A critical time it is for the human spirit, when the pursuit of an intellectualized science, of mechanical invention, the quest for commercial prestige, for power and wealth, seem to constitute for large numbers of people 'a life in which no lack can be perceived,' 'a finished animality,' and a type from which, if it is persistent enough, 'Nature may select the coming race.' We cannot blink away the difficulties involved in effecting a readjustment at the present time, nor neglect to give some attention to the conditions under which we may hope for the most successful realignment.

As for the difficulties, modern science, although so young, has the advantage of a running start upon those agencies which have as their task the readjustment of man to his environment namely, philosophy and religion. The phenomenally rapid development of the sciences has taken these, so to speak, unawares. The new world which they have given to us, together with

the World War, has left us confused in an era of transition. We have been charmed with the rapid pace set by science and with the conciseness of her utterance, and have expected from philosophy and religion an equal facility in assimilating the new material which she has given us, and an equal clarity of speech. Such expectations reveal an ignorance of the nature of the interpretative humanities. The speed with which science has caused us to move in our modern life has unconsciously come to be taken as an index of worth, as has her mass production.

But philosophy and religion move with deliberate tread. Where value judgments are concerned, there can be no talk of speed; and for religion, at least, verbal utterance is not always the most happy or the most adequate. In addition, we are loath to allow for mistaken hypotheses in the interpretative humanities as we do in the sciences. Yet, when scientific theories on any one subject are changing so rapidly and are not always unanimous, philosophy and religion have nothing left to do but to await a more general agreement among scientists. And lastly, this readiness with which Nature yields her secrets to the scientific method, the satisfaction attending discovery, and the immediate use to which invention can put the results obtained, have caused many to turn with impatience from the more laborious and apparently unrewarding task of seeking 'meanings.' To avoid doing this, they immerse themselves in 'more science,' where the returns are quicker and more tangible. Such are some of the difficulties which present themselves, and they suggest certain conditions whose fulfillment seems to underlie the most successful readjustment.

The first of the conditions has to do with the presuppositions and the attitude of mind with which we face the

problem. Obviously, if we hope for a readjustment, the thing to do is to believe that it is possible and worth the attempt. Our sense of values has indeed received a jolt, and we are seeking new foundations for it. One ounce of pessimism exhibited under more hopeful conditions has in the present critical transition era the weight of a pound. We might almost speak of the spiritual obligation to be optimistic in times like the present. 'If at the last, all the universe and all our striving should be revealed as having been blundering nonsense, write me down as one who was unwilling to admit it.' Such an attitude need not be mere empty braggadocio, and will certainly hasten readjustment.

But can we talk of hastening readjustment in view of the disparity in pace between science and the interpretative humanities and the present handicap under which the latter labor? We are overwhelmed by reason of too much knowledge and too many devices. Our present despair and spiritual inertia may be due to an intellectual, moral, and spiritual malassimilation and indigestion. If things remain as they are, the outlook seems serious enough to justify some drastic expedient for restoring our lost equilibrium, and 'for making the ends meet in the scale of human life.' There is point, therefore, to the proposal of a holiday in the field of applied science except in that of pathology and kindred branches. It is for us now to learn how to master rather than to be mastered by the powers and the tools already placed at our disposal by modern science, to develop the moral and the spiritual intelligence necessary to their salutary and not their destructive employment. So to do might make for more rapid 'progress' in the long run, and there need be no fear of 'lost arts.' We have developed sufficient speed

capacities, sufficient physical comforts and conveniences, to last us for some time to come and sufficient noise! It behooves us now, in any event, to consider bearings, meanings, interpretations, significances, universals, 'characters,' values, appreciations, and the like, whether in philosophy or in religion, whose work this is, and not that of science. To entrust to science alone the solution of our intellectual and spiritual difficulties or our problems of readjustment is to admit the validity of Mr. Krutch's despair. In fact it is unjust to science to assume its adequacy for all things to make of it a modern philosopher's stone. Mr. H. L. Mencken's prattle to the effect that philosophy cannot survive facts, and is the pursuit of infantile minds, reveals the need not of less, but of more and better philosophy; reveals also a common misconception of the function of the modern philosopher and prophet, men whose relation to facts is like that of the cartographer to the terrain with which he is so thoroughly familiar that he can chart for others the safest course to follow, the pitfalls to be avoided, and the like-whose function, in a word, is directive.

It seems clear that any interpretation of life which is to claim and to hold the respect of the 'serious mind searching for some terms upon which it may live' cannot ignore the new facts concerning the external universe which modern science has been giving to us. Neither can it ignore, as we have attempted to show, the 'findings' made by the human spirit. Both are data furnished by human experience and are equally deserving of consideration.

There can be little hope of readjustment unless a world dominated by an exaggerated estimate of the all-sufficiency of science is also willing to listen with respect to the voices of philosophy and religion; is willing to grant them

the time and the opportunity to invent new and more representative terms and categories, and also the right to speak in their own tongues. Whatever readjustment is made must be one which will be inclusive of the experience of man in his totality. If we conceive of man in his entirety as being rooted in Nature, then, if we may learn from Spengler, we cannot scorn 'the base degrees by which he did ascend,' his contact with the soil, his physical roots, out of which ultimately have sprung the unique blossoms of human culture, which Nature has taken such pains to produce. If his transcendental cravings be also recognized as a very vital part of his life, then they too can ill afford to be passed over in making up the final account. The roots and the blossoms again are not mutually exclusive, but belong together in this universe, as the sturdy earthly roots and the soaring blossoms belong together in the reprise of the Meistersinger Prelude. It is false to suppose, because the data here concerned are different in kind, that they are therefore necessarily, in conflict, although a mutual adjustment between the data given by science and those given by the human spirit may indeed be very difficult to effect.

Science, for example, would apparently require of any philosophy or religion entitled to respect the willingness to adopt new categories and conceptions, or at least those characterized by a certain fluidity, so that they might be readily adjusted to an ever-changing and an ever-developing science. It would demand of the interpretative humanities the recognition that a monistic basis is the only one possible in any interpretation of Reality; that whatever support man receives for his human values must come from within the universe and not from without.

However, the 'will to readjustment' is the important thing. Scientist,