cases, that philosophy may be latent and unconscious, or, at least, not a definite object of reflection.  The most elementary question directed at his moral consciousness will at once elicit the universal element.  We cannot ask whether an action be right or wrong without awakening all the echoes of metaphysics.  As there is no object on the earth’s surface whose equilibrium is not fixed by its relation to the earth’s centre, so the most elementary moral judgment, the simplest choice, the most irrational vagaries of a will calling itself free and revelling in its supposed lawlessness, are dominated by the conception of a universal good.  Everything that a man does is an attempt to articulate his view of this good, with a particular content.  Hence, man as a moral agent is always the centre of his own horizon, and stands right beneath the zenith.  Little as he may be aware of it, his relation between himself and his supreme good is direct.  And he orders his whole world from his point of view, just as he regards East and West as meeting at the spot on which he stands.  Whether he will or not, he cannot but regard the universe of men and objects as the instrument of his purposes.  He extracts all its interest and meaning from himself.  His own shadow falls upon it all.  If he is selfish, that is, if he interprets the self that is in him as vulturous, then the whole outer world and his fellow-men fall for him into the category of carrion, or not-carrion.  If he knows himself as spirit, as the energy of love or reason, if the prime necessity he recognizes within himself is the necessity to be good, then the universe becomes for him an instrument wherewith moral character is evolved.  In all cases alike, his life-work is an effort to rob the world of its alien character, and to translate it into terms of himself.

We are in the habit of fixing a chasm between a man’s deeds and his metaphysical, moral, and religious creed; and even of thinking that he can get on “in a sufficiently prosperous manner,” without any such creed.  Can we not digest without a theory of peptics, or do justice without constructing an ideal state?  The truest answer, though it is an answer easily misunderstood, is that we cannot.  In the sphere of morality, at least, action, depends on knowledge:  Socrates was right in saying that virtuous conduct ignorant of its end is accidental.  Man’s action, so far as it is good or evil, is shot through and through with his intelligence.  And once we clearly distinguish between belief and profession, between the motives which really impel our actions and the psychological account of them with which we may deceive ourselves and others, we shall be obliged to confess that we always act our creed.  A man’s conduct, just because he is man, is generated by his view of himself and his world.  He who cheats his neighbour believes in tortuosity, and, as Carlyle says, has the Supreme Quack for his God.  No one ever acted without some dim,