by Joseph Henry in his last letter to Mr. Patterson. There is no surer proof, he said, that we are in communication with a person than receiving intelligible replies to intelligent questions. But the libraries of science are filled with the record of intelligible replies received to intelligent questions put to the author of nature by students of science. All that science really knows about nature is its multiform rhythms and symmetries. But these are intelligible, flowing from intellect; and we are under the logical necessity of seeing that nature is the work of a Divine Mind, a Divine Person.

The physical necessity in the universe resolves itself, under the scrutiny of modern science, into three forms. One is the transformation of energy through what is apparently contact, as by impact, by pressure, and by undulation. A second is the transformation of energy, apparently without contact, by gravity. Both these forms are, in reality, but modes of transferring motion. The third form of physical necessity lies in the nature of the chemical atoms. Here is something which is not a mode of motion, but an adaptation to receive motion. The atoms of one element are all alike, and remain of necessity alike, capable only of certain motions peculiar to that element. The atoms of another substance, having a weight incommensurable with the weight of the other, are of necessity unable to take the same motion and to manifest the same properties.

Whence arise these three forms of physical necessity? This third form bears, in the adaptation of the chemical elements to each other and to the universe, such evident marks of intelligibility, and is so manifestly beyond the power of mere motion to effect, that we are under a logical necessity of ascribing it to the infinite and absolute person. The other two forms of physical necessity, consisting solely of the transference of motion, cannot contain in themselves any explanation of their own origin, since they are evidently tending rapidly toward perfectly motionless frost and darkness, and can have no tendency to start motion at the beginning. Indeed, the very first generalization in mechanics is that a body at rest has no power to move itself. Hence motion must have its origin in a being which is not material-in the Absolute Person.

All forms of physical necessity are thus subordinate to logical necessity, which demands an intellectual origin for intelligible results. But logical necessity is itself subject to moral necessity, which even more emphatically demands the postulate that the absolute is a person. No matter how clearly the reason may work out for itself a theory of moral indifference, and invite the passions to antinomian license, it can never wholly silence the voice of the categorical imperative. That moral sense within which says I ought, or I ought not, overrides all merely intellectual processes, and says, if they lead to immoral conclusions, there must be a flaw in the reasoning. It declares that the moral law is the highest law, and that the very stars in their courses will fight against the evil-doer. "There is no vice in the constitution of things," says Herbert Spencer. And this moral drift of the universe re-echoes the voice of the moral sense within, and declares that the ultimate cause of the universe is not only allpowerful and all-wise, but absolutely just and holy, “loving all being in proportion to its worth."

HISTORY: A DEMONSTRATION

MORAL LAW.

UNDER THE

[A Lecture delivered before the American Institute of Christian Philosophy, August 17, 1887]

BY REV. JAMES F. RIGGS, A.M.,

AL

Bergen Point, N. J.

LL history is sacred history. The acts of God are quite as sacred as His words. God is King, and the rulings expressed by the sword are not to be overlooked, any more than the rulings expressed by prophetic lips. Truth is always truth, whether it be "on the scaffold" or "on the throne." The position of Mr. Lowell, in "The Present Crisis," has been from the beginning the position of faith, and it has the support of revelation. But the claim made for it to-day is, that it may be brought to the proof in the experience of mankind, just as any other proposition may be so brought to proof.

It was a noteworthy step in advance when the facts of natural science were classified. Observation was the first essential, and on that ground the ancients might boast themselves. Classification was a step in advance; and now, with a vast mass of classified and systematized material, it remains for science to take the third step, marshaling, apprehending, interpreting, these groups, according to one harmonious law.

In the advance of historical investigation a like development may be noted. In the outset men were content with mere narration, true or false, noble or base, beneficent or ruinous. From the beginnings of literature we have these annals, varying greatly in value, and possessing a very different degree of power to stimulate. In the work of Thucydides we mark an evident progress, a new method. And passing down the centuries we see continued growth, increasing discernment, till in our own times we may assume that the art of historical writing, within certain limits, is a perfected art. What are those limits? They are two, the territorial and the temporal. He who is in earnest as a historiographer must be content to set territorial limits to

his task, he must not attempt too wide a field: and he must set temporal limits, he ought not to squander his force by going back too far into a dim past. If these two rules be observed, and if other circumstances be favorable for the enterprise, a masterpiece of workmanship may be the result. Thus a history of the State of New York, from the settlement of Manhattan Island, might be a perfect piece of work.

If we assume this as a statement of the present condition of the science, we are brought to the crucial question: Can these several works, each perfect in its way, be combined into one ideal perfected history of the world? Most persons, qualified to answer such a question, would reply without a moment's hesita tion, that such a combination of existing works would by no means give us a perfect result.

That may be perfect as an item, which is far from perfection as a working member in an organic whole. Far more is required of an organism than mere correctness of outline, and a statue, faultless as the Belvidere Apollo, is not a man. The separate castings which go to make up a locomotive, are not a locomotive, till they have been combined with a skill fully equal to that shown in the original separate designs. Mere addition, mere piling up of these portions in a heap, gives chaos, not organic character. If we set out to combine books by mere addition it is a foregone failure, because the supreme notion is wanting. It is like laying the castings in a row on the ground, and then exclaiming triumphantly, Here is your locomotive!

In the course of debate the concession has often been made, that theology, or some form of moral philosophy, must in due time give us the key, and that the veritable backbone of all history must in the nature of the case be ecclesiastical history. Yet, in spite of such admissions, there has been a marked timidity in the actual handling of the facts, and those who have written have not pushed to the final issue the dictum already confessed. It seems that they have been kept back by fear of the magnitude of the task. So vast is the bulk of historical literature, and so frightfully tangled is the testimony, that many have despaired in advance. But if we begin on the right principle, with a supreme notion that is infallible, a large part of this difficulty will soon be

eliminated. It will be seen some day that crooked history is like crooked book-keeping: the expert must correct it by assuming the infallibility of certain fixed rules.

It may be doubted whether Alexander Pope really apprehended in a lofty sense the force of what he wrote, but the truth stands, that in the government of God "Whatever is, is right." Milton stated in the opening lines of his great poem, that he proposed to "Justify the ways of God to man." This is a very different assumption from that so often met, that whatever man does is right.

In the preparation of books treating directly or indirectly of human events, too much has been sacrificed to various popular idols for these books to hold a fair balance of truth. Too much allowance has been made in the line of national vanity. Too much has been yielded to the arbitrary defense of specific propositions, the vindication of individuals, the credit of institutions, and the correction of errors in detail. All errors of detail can be readily set right after the one great law has been made manifest. In building a line of railway it is not enough that each rail should be perfect; they must be so laid that the rolling stock may pass from rail to rail without any jar or violent change in the level. Applying this figure of speech, we may state the case thus broadly. We are satisfied with the material that exists. We are not clamoring for further minute inquiries as to the infinitesimals of by-gone ages. But our proposition is that these rails must be relaid on a moral level. We call for the active umpirage of a lofty Christian philosophy. In Dr. Shields' book, entitled "The Final Philosophy," it is shown that such a high use of the combined mental and moral power of the soul must some day solve the problems raised by the rivalry of theology and physical science. But why limit the claim to physical science? If the biologist in his research contemptuously tosses aside moral science as worthless, and if we demur, putting in a vigorous protest, shall we not be morally bound to do the same thing when the annalist likewise contemns the light that is from above? We are bound to demur; we stand pledged to do so; the world of Christian thought is under bonds to rescue historical science from profane handling. Rightly viewed, the records of human life constitute