He can enlarge it and make you capable of more misery, as much as He will. If God hates anyone and sets Himself against him as His enemy, what cannot He do with him? How dreadful it must be to fall into the hands of such an enemy!' (VII. 201.) How dreadful, we add, is the conception of the universe which implies that God is such an enemy of the bulk of His creatures; and how strangely it combines with the mild Pantheism which traces and adores the hand of God in all natural objects! The doctrine, it is to be observed, which is expanded through many pages of the book on Original Sin, is not merely that men are legally guilty, as being devoid of true virtue,' though possessed of a certain factitious moral sense, but that they are actually for the most part detestably wicked. One illustration of his method may be sufficient. The vileness of man is proved by the remark (not peculiar to Edwards), that men who used to live 1,000 years, now live only 70; whilst throughout Christendom their life does not average more than 40 or 50 years; so that 'sensuality and debauchery' have shortened our days to a twentieth part of our former allowance.

Thus the Divine power which is in one sense the sole moving force of the universe, is limited, so far as its operation upon men's hearts is concerned, to that small minority who have gone through the process of conversion as recognised by Edwards' sect. All others, heathens, infants, and the great mass of professed Christians, are sentenced to irretrievable perdition. The simplicity with which he condemns all other forms even of his own religion is almost touching. He incidentally remarks, for example, that external exercises may not show true virtue, because they have frequently proceeded from false religion. Members of the Romish Church and many ancient hermits

and anchorites' have been most energetic in such exercises, and Edwards once lived next to a Jew who appeared to him' the devoutest person that he ever saw in his life' (IV.90); but, as he quietly assumes, all such appearances must of course be delusive.

Once more, then, we are brought back to the question, how could any man hold such doctrines without going mad? or, as it must now be asked, how could a man with so many elevated conceptions of the truth reconcile these ghastly conclusions to the nobler part of his creed? Edwards' own explanations of the difficulty-such as they aredo not help us very far. The argument by which he habitually defends the justice of the Almighty sounds very much like a poor quibble in his mouth, though it was not peculiar to him. Our obligation towards God, he says, must be in proportion to His merits; therefore it is infinite. Now there is no merit in paying a debt which we owe; and hence the fullest discharge of our duty deserves no reward. On the other hand, there is demerit in refusing to pay a debt; and therefore any shortcoming deserves an infinitc penalty. (VI. 155.) Without examining whether our duty is proportional to the perfection of its object, and is irrespective of our capacities, there is one vital objection to this doctrine, which Edwards had adopted from less coherent reasoners. His theory, as I have said, so far from destroying virtue, gives it the fullest possible meaning. There can be no more profound distinction than between the affections which harmonise with the Divine will and those which are discordant, though it might puzzle a more consistent Pantheist to account for the existence of the latter. That, however, is a primary doctrine with Edwards. But if virtue remains, it is certain that his theory seems to be destructive both of merit

and demerit as between man and God. If we are but clay in the hands of the potter, there is no intelligible meaning in our deserving from him either good or evil. We are as he has made us. Edwards explains, indeed, that the sense of desert implies a certain natural congruity between evil-doing and punishment. (II. 430.) But the question recurs, how in such a case the congruity arises? It is one of the illusions which should disappear when we rise to the sphere of the absolute and infinite. The metaphor about a debt and its payment, though common in vulgar Calvinism, is quite below Edwards' usual level of thought. And, if we try to restate the argument in a more congenial form, its force disappears. The love of God, even though imperfect, should surely imply some conformity to His nature; and the existence of a certain defect is no intelligible reason for confounding the sentiment with an absolute enmity to the Creator. Though the argument, which is several times repeated, appears to have satisfied Edwards, it would have been more in harmony with his principles to declare, that as between man and his God, there could be no question of justice. The absolute sovereignty of the Creator is the only, and to him it should be the conclusive, answer to such complaints. But, whatever may be the fate of this apology, the one irremovable difficulty remains behind. If God be the one universal cause of all things, is He not the cause of evil as well as good? Do you not make God, in short, the author of sin ?

He

creating a new kind of necessity, under the name of contingency; for God is, on this theory, like a mariner who has constantly to shape his course to meet unforeseen and uncontrollable gusts of wind (V. 298); and to make the best of it. insists upon the difference, not very congenial to his scheme, between ordering and permitting evil. The sun, he says (V. 293), causes light, but is only the occasion of darkness. If, however, the sun voluntarily retired from the world, it could scarcely evade the responsibility of its absence. And, finally, he makes the ordinary distinction, and that which is perhaps the best answer to be made to an unanswerable difficulty. Christ's crucifixion, he says, was so far bad as it was brought about by malignant murderers; but as considered by God, with a view to all its glorious consequences, it was not evil, but good. (V. 297.) And thus any action may have two aspects; and that which appears to us, whose view is necessarily limited, as simply evil, may, when considered by an infinite intelligence, as part of the general order of things, be absolutely good. God does not will sin as sin, but as a necessary part of a generally perfect system.

Here, however, in front of that ultimate mystery which occurs in all speculation, I must take leave of this singular thinker. In a frequently quoted passage, Mackintosh speaks of his power of subtle argument, perhaps unmatched, certainly unsurpassed amongst men.' The eulogy seems to be rather overstrained, unless we measure subtlety of thought rather by the complexity and elaboration of its embodiment, than by the keenness of the thought itself. But that Edwards possessed extraordinary acuteness, is as clear as it is singular that so acute a man should have suffered his intellectual activity to be restrained within such narrow fetters. Placed

in a different medium, under the same circumstances, for example, as Hume or Kant, he might have developed a system of metaphysics of not less importance in the history of thought than the doctrines of either of these thinkers. He was, one might fancy, formed by nature to be a German professor, and accidentally dropped into the American forests. Far away from the main currents of speculation, ignorant of the conclusions reached by his most cultivated contemporaries, and deriving his intellectual sustenance chiefly from an absolute theology, with some vague knowledge of the English followers of Locke, his mind never expanded itself freely. Yet, even after making allowance for his secluded life, we are astonished at the powerful grasp which Calvinism, in its expiring age, had laid upon so penetrating an intellect. The framework of dogma was so powerful, that the explosive force of Edwards' speculations, instead of destroying his early principles by its recoil, expended its whole energy along the Îine in which orthodox opinion was not injured. Most bold speculators, indeed, suffer from a kind of colour

blindness, which conceals from them a whole order of ideas, sufficiently familiar to very inferior minds. Edwards' utter unconsciousness of the aspect which his doctrines would present to anyone who should have passed beyond the charmed circle of orthodox sentiment is, however, more surprising than the similar defect in any thinker of nearly equal acuteness. In the middle of the eighteenth century, he is still in bondage to the dogmas of the Pilgrim Fathers; he is as indifferent to the audacious revolt of Hume and Collins as if the old theological dynasty were still in full vigour; and the fact, whatever else it may prove, proves something for the enduring vitality of the ideas which had found an imperfect expression in Calvinism. Clearing away the crust of ancient superstition, we may still find in Edwards' writings. a system of morality as ennobling and a theory of the universe as elevated as can be discovered in any theology. That the crust was thick and hard, and often revolting in its composition, is, indeed, undeniable; but the genuine metal is there, no less unmistakably than the refuse.

THE

averse

HE special feature in English thought seems to be its ness to any admission of the ideal, its rooted suspicion of all à priori methods. From this fact, very wide inferences have been made, and much obloquy has been cast upon us as a nation. The French, for instance, are intolerant of our want of vivacity and sensibility, instance and emphasise our alleged illogicalities in the social and political spheres, and dwell on the debasing and gloom-inspiring effects of our dull ness in art matters. The German

says that we suffer from the plethora of wealth; that for us the sensuous alone partakes of reality, and that with eyes fixed for ever on the till and counter we forget the eternal immensities that encompass us.

It is good to see ourselves as others see us. While we are not thereby bound to accept all their conclusions, it can rarely happen that the general criticism of our neighbours is wholly false, or its study wholly unprofitable.

Sincere reflection will probably lead us to acknowledge that our national tendencies in these days are too material. It is true that life unanimated by a high and lofty ideal is prone to degenerate. We hug ourselves on our modern discovery of the principle of nonintervention. Are we sure that our faith in comfort, affluence, ease, and our distrust of the value of abstract truths, have nothing to do with our recent policy? We need no preacher to warn us that the excessive taste for luxury, the boundless desire of wealth, are essentially selfish, and therefore debasing.

If the changes which seem impending in our history are to be safely consummated-if the ominous breach between Labour and Capital

is to be closed quietly and gradually -if the gloomy contrast between the intolerable suffering of the many and the extreme luxury of the few is to be peacefully effaced-we have much to learn, and the social horizon warns us that our time for learning grows short. Duty has never been an unmeaning or powerless word to any class of Englishmen, but the time has come when we-and especially we of the upper middle class-must recast the type of our idea of duty, and give it ampler and wider dimensions.

Nor can we afford to despise foreign strictures on our art shortcomings. Who that knows the squalor and ugliness of all the sur roundings of the poor, can doubt how much of their fierce discontent is due to the unloveliness and dis comfort of their lives? There has been decided improvement among all classes in this direction within the last twenty years, but all tha has yet been done can scarcely be

counted more than a commence. ment.

While, however, we have much to learn from the criticism and ex ample of our neighbours, there is another side to the question which equally demands notice.

Whatever the defects of English thought on the side of the ima gination, or even in philosophical breadth, and in logical consistency, it is certain that it is characterised by honesty of purpose, simplicity of expression, and adaptability to exist ing facts. Constitutions à l'Abbé Siéyès, Napoleonic ideas, experi mental republics, military Junker doms, stiff bureaucracies, each and all may or may not be logical and admirable in their way, but they arose and subsist owing to habits of thought in the sphere of politics to

which our own mental attitude is entirely opposed.

The development of our system of government in India is a most striking illustration of our characteristic mode of dealing with new problems. We invented no theories, though if ever there were a field for airing political hobby-horses, it was India in the end of last century. We found the greatness of empire thrust upon us. In accepting the trust we surveyed the facts, and determined as usual quieta non

movere.

We found that it was customary among Indian princes to carry on the fiction that they were viceregents of the Emperor of Delhi, so we at first did the same, and got his sanction to our assumption of sovereign power. So with our financial system. We found the Governments of India supported mainly by a most peculiar system of land tax. This system we incorporated bodily into our scheme of government. So with the judicial and police departments. Bad as these were, we wisely preferred to adopt them with all their faults, than to excogitate better but novel systems. As time went on, the various departments of Government were modified, improved, purified, but the old stocks were in every instance retained. We destroyed nothing that could be allowed to remain compatibly with our position as rulers. Religion, customs, laws, none of these were interfered with where interference could by any possibility be avoided. It is too commonly alleged that the hereditary dislike to strangers-interlopers as they were called-which marked the old East India Company was due solely to their petty jealousy of possible commercial rivals. In fact, however, it was quite as much dictated by well-founded apprehension of the probable derangement of their conciliatory and tolerant scheme of government by headstrong and independent persons

who might be careless of any other consideration than personal gain, or misguided though honest zeal.

It is beyond all question that to this wide and enlightened policy of toleration we owe the stability of our Eastern Empire at the present moment. How stable this Empire is in the opinion of shrewd and competent persons, may best be judged by the credit of the Indian Government in the money markets of Europe and of India itself.

It is proposed in the following pages to give some details in illustration of the system of government thus constituted, to sketch out briefly the fields occupied by the various civil departments, and the manner in which its duties are performed by the most important body of the civil functionaries in India-the Indian Civil Service.

One thing very needful in the governing of a country, as in the keeping of a house, is money to pay the bills. And so fully alive was the old East India Company to this fact, that it took good care to secure the Imperial purse strings some time before it began to trouble itself about the discharge of Imperial functions. We shall follow the spirit of its example, and direct the reader's attention in the first place to that important part of the Indian revenues, the realisation, custody, and management of which are exclusively in the hands of the Civil Service.

The total revenues of India may be approximately set down at fifty millions sterling annually. Of this, little less than one-half arises from the tax on land-ordinarily called in India the Land Revenue.

By the ancient and universally acknowledged law of the country the ruling power is entitled to a proportion of the annual produce of every acre of land, except in cases where such power may have made a temporary or permanent gift of