Explanation, then, consists in nothing but the addition to one mysterious experience of Psyche certain other mysterious experiences which precede, accompany or follow it. And as they usually precede, accompany or follow in much the same order, we call them causes, controlling circumstances, and effects. But instead of explaining the mystery away, we have merely heaped Pelions and Ossas of mystery all about it. And so we often manage to hide it, and to fancy that there is no mystery at all. Would it not be wholesome exercise occasionally to admit openly that we do not know what we are talking about? Why not for once exclaim with Dr. Bertry, in “_L’évasion_,” by Brieux, “_On ’s imagine savoir des millions de choses!--on veut formuler les lois de la vie--et l’on assiste impuissant à sa propre agonie!--Nous ne comprenons rien à tout ce qui se passe autour de nous, rien à ce que se passe en nous_”? So far as the mind is concerned, this is undoubtedly true. The mind can know nothing of the proper essence of that which surrounds us. The mind, says Newman, cannot comprehend even its own activities to the full. So we “do but assist at our own agony.... Why is it that I die? The scelerose invades the arteries. Why? What is the scelerose?” And Dr. Bertry continues: “Do you wish me to tell you? We know nothing about it--nothing! We have found nothing about it--but words.” That is no reason, however, why we should use yet other words to create mysteries of our own--like the unconscious emotions of Dr. Watson, or the enslaved freedom of Dr. McDougall. And this is my answer to those who will object that my explanation, too, is incomprehensible. Its incomprehensibility comes from the facts, not from my contrivance. The metaphor of Psyche grants the natural mystery by making our inner self a human being, which, after all, is what it is. And with this for a start, the reason can work--at the only job for which it is fitted. It does not follow that Psyche discovers nothing which is of any use. Knowledge is relative, but Truth is not--Pragmatism or no Pragmatism. And she soon discovers, let William James have said what he may have said, that it makes a great difference whether her approximations are more or less wide of the mark. Which is to say that she profits by experience. Her original house does not suit her. She makes certain rearrangements. They suit her better, but not to perfection. She continues to rearrange and to build, with such material as life affords her. That, I fancy, is what she is here for--to learn how to keep house. For though the house be not Psyche, any more than your house or your body is you, do not think for a moment that it is useless. As well say that the parallel bars in the gymnasium are of no use to the athlete for whom they afford the opportunity of exercise.