"In science!" exclaimed Leslie. "What has science to do with it?"
"What has not science to do with?" said a new voice from behind. It was Wilson who, in his turn, had joined us from the breakfast room (he always breakfasted late), and had overheard the last remark. He was a lecturer in Biology at Cambridge, rather distinguished in that field, and an enthusiastic believer in the capacity of the scientific method to solve all problems.
"I was saying," Leslie repeated in answer to his question, "that science has nothing to do with the Good."
"So much the worse for the Good," rejoined Wilson, "if indeed that be true."
"But you, I suppose, would never admit that it is," I interposed. I was anxious to hear what he had to say, though at the same time I was desirous to avoid a discussion between him and Leslie, for their types of mind and habits of thought were so radically opposed that it was as idle for them to engage in debate as for two bishops of opposite colour to attempt to capture one another upon a chessboard. He answered readily enough to my challenge.
"I think," he said, "that there is only one method of knowledge, and that is the method we call scientific."
"But do you think there is any knowledge of Good at all, even by that method? or that there is nothing but erroneous opinions?"
"I think," he replied, "that there is a possibility of knowledge, but only if we abjure dialectics. Here, as everywhere, the only safe guide is the actual concrete operation of Nature."
"How do you mean?" asked Leslie, his voice vibrating with latent hostility.
"I mean that the real significance of what we call Good is only to be ascertained by observing the course of Nature; Good being in fact identical with the condition towards which she tends, and morality the means to attaining it."