Perhaps the crowning fault of the agnostic scientist is his lack of humour. He takes himself too seriously. The lover, when his fair one has formally disagreed with him, rejecting his suit with her outspoken "No" and promising lasting friendship and good-will even to assurances of assistance in his next venture, takes hope, smiles grimly within himself, and feels sure still that she and he, however disparite, are meant to live together for better or worse. But the rejected scientist takes the unknowable's "No" as if it [p.113] were final, and then, retiring to his study or laboratory, proceeds, though in a morbid, abnormal way, to mingle the scientific and volitional standpoints every time he writes a line or makes an experiment. We watch him as he goes, and find his case not without its humour. If the true lover upon being rejected were satisfied thereafter with caressing the lady's photograph, then he and the agnostic scientist would be in the same class. But, as is needless to say, I am not writing a novel. So, romance aside, unquestionably the forms and doctrines of the scientific consciousness are peculiar, being, as has been shown, logically subtle, imaginary and innocent of direct practical realism, being, in short, the inhabitants of a world quite their own, and to impose them intact upon active life cannot fail to bring disaster, the usual disaster of a misfit. Yet, let us bring to mind, in the first place, that the scientific consciousness is not essentially different from consciousness in general, and that consciousness in general deals, and always must deal with artificial forms, with symbols, constructions, and transformations; and in the second place, that it always knows with some measure of sophistication that what it deals with is symbolic or constructed. Conscious creatures, from the moment they begin to draw breath, are trained to see one thing objectively and to understand or construe quite another thing for active expression. There is no visual sensation without muscular sensation, and most men, if not all men, have really learned in the long years of their own and their race's experience to get along without _seeing_ [p.114] and yet also without foregoing the sensations in their muscles! Man's long training, in a word, has taught him to use what he sees as not direct reality, but only a symbol of reality, and so in volition always to allow for the "practical" unreality of the objects before his consciousness. The mere words bread and butter, for example, or even the visible things in a restaurant window, have never brought satiety to a hungry child, nor do I myself fear that they ever will. Moreover, the long training that is the surety against danger, and that at the same time has made man keenly awake to the value as well as the humour of symbolism, is just what has rendered the high development of professional science possible, and is also what makes possible and