became true. We say that the former only _seemed_ true, and that the
enthusiasm of its adherents was a mistaken enthusiasm.

It is well to remember that philosophies are brought forward because it
is believed or hoped that they are true. A fairy tale may be recited
and may be approved, although no one dreams of attaching faith to the
events narrated in it. But a philosophy attempts to give us some
account of the nature of the world in which we live. If the
philosopher frankly abandons the attempt to tell us what is true, and
with a Celtic generosity addresses himself to the task of saying what
will be agreeable to us, he loses his right to the title. It is not
enough that he stirs our emotions, and works up his unrealities into
something resembling a poem. It is not primarily his task to please,
as it is not the task of the serious worker in science to please those
whom he is called upon to instruct. Truth is truth, whether it be
scientific truth or philosophical truth. And error, no matter how
agreeable or how nicely adjusted to the temper of the times, is always
error. If it is error in a field in which the detection and exposure
of error is difficult, it is the more dangerous, and the more should we
be on our guard against it.

We may, then, accept the lesson of the history of philosophy, to wit,
that we have no right to regard any given doctrine as final in such a
sense that it need no longer be held tentatively and as subject to
possible revision; but we need not, on that account, deny that
philosophy is, what it has in the past been believed to be, an earnest
search for truth. A philosophy that did not even profess to be this
would not be listened to at all. It would be regarded as too trivial
to merit serious attention. If we take the word "science" in the broad
sense to indicate a knowledge of the truth more exact and satisfactory