side leads (if it ever is to lead) to an agreement.  But, on the other hand, if a man merely makes the denial with his lips, because, perhaps, he conceives it impossible to prove the opposite, or because he sees that what is good cannot be defined beyond dispute, or whatever other plausible reason he may have; and if, while he persists in his denial, he continues to act as if the contrary were true, taking part with zest and enthusiasm in the common business of life, pushing causes, supporting institutions, subscribing to societies, and the like, and that without any pretence that in so doing he is seeking merely his own Good—­in that case I shall take leave to think that he does not really believe what he says (though no doubt he may genuinely think he does), and I shall take his life and his habits, the whole tissue of his instincts and desires, as a truer index to his real opinion than the propositions he enunciates with his lips.”

“But,” cried Leslie, “that is a mere appeal to prejudice!  Of course we all want to believe that there is a common Good; the question is, whether we have a right to.”

“Perhaps,” I replied, “but the question I wished to raise was the more modest one, whether we can help it?  Whether we have a right or no is another matter, more difficult and more profound than I care to approach at present.  If, indeed, it could be proved beyond dispute to the reason, either that certain things are good or that they are not, there would be no place for such discussions as this.  But, it appears, such proof has not yet been given,—­or do you think it has?”

“No!” he said, “but I think it might be and must be!”

“Possibly,” I said, “but meantime, perhaps, it is wiser to fall back on this kind of reasoning which you call an appeal to prejudice,—­and so no doubt in a sense it is; for it is an appeal to the passion men have to find worth in their lives, and their refusal to accept any view by which such worth is denied.  To anyone who refuses to accept any judgment about what is good, I prove, or endeavour to prove, that such refusal cuts away the whole basis of his life; and I ask him if he is prepared to accept that consequence.  If he affirms that he is, and affirms it not only with his lips but in his action, then I have no more to say; but if he cannot accept the consequences, then, I suppose, he will reconsider the premisses, and admit that he does really believe that judgments about what is good may be true, and, provisionally, that his own are true, or at least as true as he can make them, and that he does in fact accept and act upon them as true, and intends to do so until he is convinced that they are false.  And this attitude of his feelings, you may call, if you like, an attitude of faith; it is, I think, the attitude most men would adopt if they were pressed home upon the subject; and to my mind it is reasonable enough, and rather to be praised than to be condemned.”

“I don’t think so at all,” cried Leslie, “I consider it very unsatisfactory.”