especially if, like the Christian God, he were outside time.  But if it means anything more, it means that there is no such thing as an ape to change, and no such thing as a man for him to change into.  It means that there is no such thing as a thing.  At best, there is only one thing, and that is a flux of everything and anything.  This is an attack not upon the faith, but upon the mind; you cannot think if there are no things to think about.  You cannot think if you are not separate from the subject of thought.  Descartes said, “I think; therefore I am.”  The philosophic evolutionist reverses and negatives the epigram.  He says, “I am not; therefore I cannot think.”

Then there is the opposite attack on thought:  that urged by Mr. H.G.  Wells when he insists that every separate thing is “unique,” and there are no categories at all.  This also is merely destructive.  Thinking means connecting things, and stops if they cannot be connected.  It need hardly be said that this scepticism forbidding thought necessarily forbids speech; a man cannot open his mouth without contradicting it.  Thus when Mr. Wells says (as he did somewhere), “All chairs are quite different,” he utters not merely a misstatement, but a contradiction in terms.  If all chairs were quite different, you could not call them “all chairs.”

Akin to these is the false theory of progress, which maintains that we alter the test instead of trying to pass the test.  We often hear it said, for instance, “What is right in one age is wrong in another.”  This is quite reasonable, if it means that there is a fixed aim, and that certain methods attain at certain times and not at other times.  If women, say, desire to be elegant, it may be that they are improved at one time by growing fatter and at another time by growing thinner.  But you cannot say that they are improved by ceasing to wish to be elegant and beginning to wish to be oblong.  If the standard changes, how can there be improvement, which implies a standard?  Nietzsche started a nonsensical idea that men had once sought as good what we now call evil; if it were so, we could not talk of surpassing or even falling short of them.  How can you overtake Jones if you walk in the other direction?  You cannot discuss whether one people has succeeded more in being miserable than another succeeded in being happy.  It would be like discussing whether Milton was more puritanical than a pig is fat.

It is true that a man (a silly man) might make change itself his object or ideal.  But as an ideal, change itself becomes unchangeable.  If the change-worshipper wishes to estimate his own progress, he must be sternly loyal to the ideal of change; he must not begin to flirt gaily with the ideal of monotony.  Progress itself cannot progress.  It is worth remark, in passing, that when Tennyson, in a wild and rather weak manner, welcomed the idea of infinite alteration in society, he instinctively took a metaphor which suggests an imprisoned tedium.  He wrote—­