Very deliberately, and with unruffled equanimity, the other took the pebbles in his hand, turned them over and over, and finally placed them in a row on the edge of the balustrade near which he stood.
"There SEEM to be four, . ." he then observed placidly—"But I would not swear to it,—nor to anything else of which the actuality is only supported by the testimony of my own eyes and sense of touch."
"Good heavens, man!" cried Theos, in amazement,—"But a moment since, you were praising the excellence of Reason, and the progressive system of learning that was to educate human beings into a contempt for the Supernatural and Spiritual, and yet almost in the same breath you tell me you cannot rely on the evidence of your own senses! Was there ever anything more utterly incoherent and irrational!"
And he flung the pebbles into the redly flowing river with a gesture of irritation and impatience. The scientist,—if scientist he could be called,—gazed at him abstractedly, and stroked his well-shaven chin with a somewhat dejected air. Presently heaving a deep sigh, he said:
"Alas, I have again betrayed myself! … 'tis my fatal destiny! Always, by some unlooked-for mischance, I am compelled to avow what most I desire to conceal! Can you not understand, sir,"—and he laid his hand persuasively on Theos's arm,—"that a Theory may be one thing and one's own private opinion another? My Theory is my profession,—I live by it! Suppose I resigned it,—well, then I should also have to resign my present position in the Royal Institutional College,—my house, my servants, and my income. I advance the interests of pure Human Reason, because the Age has a tendency to place Reason as the first and highest attribute of Man,—and it would not pay me to pronounce my personal preference for the natural and vastly superior gift of Intellectual Instinct. I advise my scholars to become atheists, because I perceive they have a positive passion for Atheism, and it is not my business, nor would it be to my advantage to interfere with the declared predilections of my wealthiest patrons. Concerning my own ideas on these matters, they are absolutely NIL, … I have no fixed principles,—because"—and his brows contracted in a puzzled line—"it is entirely out of my ability to fix anything! The whole world of manners and morals is in a state of perpetual ferment and consequent change,—equally restless and mutable is the world of Nature, for at any moment mountains may become plains, and plains mountains,—the dry land may be converted into oceans, and oceans into dry land, and so on forever. In this incessant shifting of the various particles that make up the Universe, how can you expect a man to hold fast to so unstable a thing as an idea! And, respecting the testimony offered by sight and sense, can YOU rely upon such slippery evidence?"
Theos moved uneasily,—a slight shiver ran through his veins, and a momentary dizziness seized him, as of one who gazing down from some lofty mountain-peak sees naught below but the white, deceptive blankness of a mist that veils the deeper deathful chasms from his eyes. COULD he rely on sight and sense…DARED he take oath that these frail guides of his intelligence could never be deceived? … Doubtfully he mused on this, while his companion continued:
"For example, I look an arm's length into space, . . my eyes assure me that I behold nothing save empty air,—my touch corroborates the assertion of my eyes,—and yet, . . Science proves to me that every inch of that arm's length of supposed blank space is filled with thousands of minute living organisms that no human vision shall ever be able to note or examine! Wonder not, therefore, that I decline to express absolute confidence in any fact, however seemingly obvious, such as that two and two are four, and that I prefer to say the blood-red color of this river MAY be caused by an earth-tremor or a land-slip, rather than positively assert that it MUST be so; though I confess that, as far as my knowledge guides me, I incline to the belief that 'MUST be' is in this instance the correct term."
He sighed again, and rubbed his nose perplexedly. Theos glanced at him curiously, uncertain whether to laugh at or pity him.
"Then the upshot of all your learning, sir, . ." he said, . . "is that one can never be quite certain of anything?"
"Exactly so!"—replied the pensive sage with a grave shake of his head,—"Judged by the very finest lines of metaphysical argument, you cannot really be sure whether you behold in me a Person or a Phantasm! You THINK you see me,—I THINK I see you,—but after all it is only an IMPRESSION mutually shared,—an impression which like many another, less distinct, may be entirely erroneous! Ah, my dear young sir!—education is advancing at a very rapid rate, and the art of close analysis is reaching such a pitch of perfection that I believe we shall soon be able logically to prove, not only that we do not actually exist, but moreover that we never have existed! … And herein, as I consider, will be the final triumph of philosophy!"