proved to be true. So far as logic is concerned there is little to choose between them; but the former principle has the advantage that it justifies our mental procedure; while the latter brings the mind to a stand-still and to utter paralysis. Still, this is somewhat compensated by the fact that the doubt generally exhausts itself in the religious realm, and leaves the cognitive interests full play. This ingenious distribution of faith and unfaith is both interesting and instructive.

What, then, is the function of logic with regard to these practical postulates? Plainly not to prove them, but to bring them and their implications out into clear consciousness. These postulates themselves are not primarily known as such, but exist rather as confused tendencies than as clearly defined principles. Thus the scientific consciousness is a comparatively recent development, and its implications are very imperfectly understood. What is implied in the assumed possibility of objectively valid knowledge is a question rarely asked, and still more rarely answered. Hence many have fancied that materialism, or atheism, or fatalism, might furnish a basis for science, whereas any one of them would engulf science in skepticism. The ethical consciousness, in like manner, is rarely in full possession of itself; and consequently many ethical theories acquire currency which, developed into their consequences, would prove fatal to all ethics. The religious consciousness, also, is developed into self-possession only by a long mental labor and experience extending over centuries. Left to itself it may fail utterly of comprehending its own implications, and even lose itself in irreligious assumptions. In all of these fields, therefore, there is need of a critical faculty which shall have the regulative function of securing consistency in the development of our postulates, and of adjusting their inter-relations. In this process of inner development and adjustment, logic is equally the servant of cognition, of ethics, and of religion, while all alike are outgrowths and expressions of our subjective needs and tendencies as evoked by our total experience. It is in this sense of having many implications which can be unfolded in systematic statement that the ethical and religious consciousness may be spoken of as an independent source of truth.

But this raises the question whether the assumed validity of the cognitive impulse and postulates might not lead to a con

tradiction of the religious impulse and postulates. In that case we should have a civil war of the faculties, and no logical standard of decision. The general assumption is, that in such a case the cognitive impulse must have the right of way; but this is only a prejudice of the speculative faculty. In the light of its history it might be claimed with much show of reason that the speculative faculty has only the practical function of serving the ethical and religious life, which alone has unconditional worth. But we need not resort to such heroid measures. Truth is one; and if the cognitive faculty were shut up to irreligious conclusions we should have to accept them. But this will never happen. For, first, such opposition must not be assumed until a final interpretation has been reached; and such an interpretation is rarely possible. Most of our theories are liable to be overturned at any time by the discovery of new facts which will not fit into the old formulas. This has happened times without number already, and may well happen again. In the next place, an analysis of the conditions of knowledge would show that they coincide with the conditions of ethics and religion; and on the other hand, a study of the conditions of religion would show that the religious ideal must include the cognitive and the ethical ideal. The three have a common root and parallel implications. They develop, therefore, in mutual support and complex interaction. Dry and irreligious interpretations are shattered by the floods of life and aspiration poured over them by the moral and religious. nature. Simple and compendious mechanical explanations are set aside by perverse and obdurate facts outside of the mechanism. On the other hand, the religious nature has always needed to be instructed by both the intellect and the conscience. The fact that the religious ideal must always include the cognitive and the ethical ideal, constitutes the barrier against superstition and immorality in religion, and also against a weak goodnaturedness in our thought of God.

This general nature of fundamental belief, as being an expression of the fundamental interests and tendencies of the soul, throws light on many peculiar problems in the psychology of belief. First of all, we can understand the barrenness of merely logical criticism. This rests on a misapprehension of the actual procedure of the mind, and the mind retaliates by

ignoring it. The apparent independence of logic of many of our beliefs becomes equally intelligible, as they are not born of reasoning, but of life. Again, we can understand the peculiar variations of belief to which all are subject. In a pessimistic state of mind, when the springs of life are low, the scientist despairs and becomes an agnostic. In a similar state of mind, the moralist cries out, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." The Christian, after a period of full assurance, falls into doubt even of the existence of God. All the arguments in each case remain what they were before; the trouble is with the inner spring of faith. Nor can faith be recovered by arguing; this will often rather deepen the unbelief. Cure can best be sought by leaving nature to reassert itself, or by seeking to strengthen the sentiment from which belief originally sprang. We can also see how belief can be a ground for praise, and unbelief for condemnation. Viewing them as logical deductions from formal premises, nothing could be more absurd than this; but in fact our beliefs represent, not our conclusions, but us. They reveal the drift of our sympathies and the tendencies of our nature. They reveal also the quality of our souls and the grade of our development. To confess satisfaction with a mechanical, or inmoral, or godless universe is only an act of self-revelation. The greatness of our demands measures the greatness of our nature. Only smallest souls can live without high faith and lofty hopes. We can further understand how the claim could arise that religion is based on feeling or on some special faculty. The moral and religious intensity which gives life to religious conviction is mistaken for a peculiar faculty. Last of all, we can see that any refinement, or purification, or elevation of human nature must lead to a corresponding change in our religious conceptions. Conversely, an era of low living will surely issue in a corresponding weakness of faith, and will spread its blight over the entire nature. The character of the mental soil determines the kind of crop.

This paper is written from a purely psychological stand-point. It does not affirm that the mind is able to develop a system of belief out of itself alone, independently of experience; it aims rather to call attention to the principles by which the mind works over its experience. The outcome is, that belief is a far

more complex thing than many are accustomed to think, and that any attempt to decide upon its validity by formal syllogistic processes is superficial and vain. It further follows, that the test of fundamental beliefs can never be any simple rule, but will rather be as complex as our nature itself. In determining what the mind demands, it is not enough to study individual psychology; for the individual is always a one-sided and incomplete specimen of the race. To eliminate these shortcomings the psychology of the race must be studied as revealed in institutions, in history, and in literature. On this broad field of the world beliefs meet and contend for the possession of the mind, not only nor mainly by argument, but by their manifold esthetic, ethical, and religious implications. More and more history itself becomes the argument, and the survival of the fittest the judge. What the mind demands in order to satisfy its own nature will be assumed so long as it is not disproved. But this principle is practical, not speculative. It does not assure us of the truth of the belief. Its falsehood involves no contradiction, but only an intolerable mental and moral confusion. And since it does not claim to be proved, it cannot be argued. It rests finally upon our faith that the universe has a meaning in it, and that the mind, with its aspirations and ideals, is at home. Allowing this faith, there is room for our highest devotion and most strenuous effort everywhere; denying it, the result is a deep and rayless pessimism in which intellect, will, conscience, and affection all lose their object, and are thrown back upon themselves to wither and perish.

ART. IV.-A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY OF HAMLET. A STUDENT of Shakespeare finds in Hamlet that his honored naster and himself have unexpectedly come into novel relations. Still are they teacher and learner, but in a way different from heretofore. Shakespeare did not live to be an old man. But to his pupil, accustomed to a reverential posture at his feet, and habituated to watch, year by year, the fuller luster of the eye and to mark the deepening cadence of the voice, every sign by which time reveals the maturing mind is very distinctly

given in the drama of Hamlet. And wherein lies the change, and in what form does it express itself? Not in the mere conduct of the external movement, although that is strictly processional as to the progress of the idea and its final vindication. Nor is it in the slow ordering of the scenes so as to detain attention and complete each single stroke of impression. Nor, again, does this higher art of the dramatist disclose itself in the simultaneous interaction of thought and feeling, by which a twofold intensity is maintained in the reason and imagination. These are all Shakespearean, but not the special qualities of the advanced Shakespeare so luminously displayed in Hamlet. The characteristic of this drama is the number, variety, and compass of the tragic forces which embody their extreme activity, and by fated strength shape all circumstances in entire obedience to themselves. By the organic law governing every event accidents are excluded. Here, indeed, as nowhere else in Shakespeare, the omnipotence of providential rule is side by side with omnipresence; and if, according to his creed of art no less than of religion, a sparrow falls not to the ground without divine notice, he has employed his capacity to its utmost compass in the unfolding and enforcement of this unheeded truth as basic to all individualism and society. So far, therefore, as the scope and propensity of this sentiment are concerned, the dramatist in Hamlet reaches his most exalted attitude, and the student. if open to the inspiration of his master, is lifted into the highest realm of consciousness.

Accordingly, one finds the peculiarity of this drama taking its rise and pursuing its development in the very nature of Hamlet as a man. Much interest gathers about him as a young and injured prince. First and last, however, the royal personage is secondary. Though outwardly kept in close connection with his surroundings of palace and court, he is in reality detached by the breadth of infinite distance from their associa tions as to any determinative influence. The air of Elsinore and its castle is breathed, but another atmosphere arterializes his blood. Most of the time, Hamlet himself seems forgetful of the throne of Denmark and its honors as attractive to his ambition. Questions of his manhood absorb his mind, and his mode of dealing with them and the issues flowing therefrom are the fascination that holds us captive. The man alone--the