upon that little book or upon your own discussions of its arguments. But, as a fact, my time in your presence is very short. The great problems of philosophy are pressing. I can do you more service on this occasion, if I devote myself to a somewhat independent confession of how the problems of philosophical Theism look to me to-day, than I could do if I took up your time with an effort to expound or defend a text which, as I frankly confess, I have not read with any care or connectedness since I finished the proof-sheets of the book in question. A man may properly print a philosophical essay for several reasons, taken in combination; namely, because he believes in it, and because he wants to get himself expressed, and, finally, because he wants to get freed from the accidents of just this train of thought. But, on the other hand, no philosophical student is ever persuaded of his opinions merely because he has formerly learned to believe them, or because he has once come to express them. The question for the philosophical student always is: How does the truth appear to me now, with the best reflection that I can at present give? Past expression is therefore no substitute for present effort in philosophy. The very essence of philosophy is an unconcern for every kind of tradition, just in so far as it has become to the individual student mere tradition. For while the contents of any tradition may be as sacred as you please, the traditional form, as such, is the very opposite of the philosophical form. A tradition may be true; but only a present and living insight can be philosophical. If this is the case with any tradition, — even a sacred tradition, — it is
