“I don’t.”
“Well, you ought to. It’s a most interesting system of philosophy quite worth your while to study. I’m sure you’d like it if you understand it. In fact, I expect you’re a pragmatist already without knowing it. Most of us practical men are.”
“I’m waiting for an explanation of the story you told Mr. Higginbotham.”
“Quite right. I’m coming to that in a minute. Don’t be impatient. If you’d been familiar with the pragmatist philosophy it would have saved time. As you’re not—though as Chief Secretary for Ireland I think you ought to be—I’ll have to explain. Pragmatism may be described as the secularising of the Ritschlian system of theological thought. You understand the Ritschlian theory of value judgments, of course?”
“No, I don’t.” Mr. Willoughby began to feel very helpless. It seemed easier to let the tide of this strange lecture sweep over him than to make any effort to assert himself.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he said. “I think I could listen to your explanation better if I smoked.”
He took from his pocket a silver cigar-case.
“Smoke away,” said Meldon. “I don’t mind in the least. In fact, I’ll take a cigar from you and smoke, too. I can’t afford cigars myself, but I enjoy them when they’re good. I suppose a Chief Secretary is pretty well bound to keep decent cigars on account of his position.”
Mr. Willoughby handed over the case. Meldon selected a cigar and lit it. Then he went on—
“The central position of the pragmatist philosophy and the Ritschlian theology is that truth and usefulness are identical.”