hinder each other, and that my life may have a unity, or at least a
centre round which my subordinate activities may be grouped. These are
the chief questions which a man would ask, who desired to plan his
life on rational principles, and whom circumstances allowed to choose
his occupation. He would desire to know himself, and to know the
world, in order to give and receive the best value for his sojourn in
it.

We English for the most part accept this view of education, and we add
that the experience of life, or what we call knowledge of the world,
is the best school of practical wisdom. We do not however identify
practical wisdom with the life of reason but with that empirical
substitute for it which we call common sense. There is in all classes
a deep distrust of ideas, often amounting to what Plato called
_misologia_, "hatred of reason." An Englishman, as Bishop Creighton
said, not only has no ideas; he hates an idea when he meets one. We
discount the opinion of one who bases his judgment on first
principles. We think that we have observed that in high politics, for
example, the only irreparable mistakes are those which are made by
logical intellectualists. We would rather trust our fortunes to an
honest opportunist, who sees by a kind of intuition what is the next
step to be taken, and cares for no logic except the logic of facts.
Reason, as Aristotle says, "moves nothing"; it can analyse and
synthesise given data, but only after isolating them from the living
stream of time and change. It turns a concrete situation into lifeless
abstractions, and juggles with counters when it should be observing
realities. Our prejudices against logic as a principle of conduct have
been fortified by our national experience. We are not a quick-witted
race; and we have succeeded where others have failed by dint of a kind
of instinct for improvising the right course of action, a gift which