PROFESSOR MACGREGOR'S LECTURE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 26, 22 July 1871, Page 6

PROFESSOR MACGREGOR'S LECTURE.

On the evening of July 15, the University Hall, Dunedin, was literally crammed with ladies and gentlemen who assembled to hear Professor MacGregor's firßt lecture on Mental and Moral Science. The lecturer was introduced by the Rev D. M. Stuart. After some observations on the nature ot the human mind and its emotions, he went on to say that the subjects included in mental science were most difficult, and ifc was nob be wondered at that its past history was such as he had described, and that the noblest of the human race, having no subjects for thought, but having only a maze of words to reason upon, which they mistook for things, should have instituted systems not calculated to unravel the mysteries of the conscience nor tend to truthful inferences. Thus it had been in past ages. There was nothing to satisfy the longing of the mind; and in the absence of scientific facts they built on sand. There were plentiful crops of systems of philosophy, but all at last found themselves in the beaten track of those who had gone before, none of whom could find their way to truth. They resembled mariners without a chart or compass. Was there, then, no hope of ultimate happiness ? Was there no spot of earth on which to find shelter ? No promised land in which to rest ? Must man perish ? If so, to what purpose was he endowed with such faculities as he possessed? Why were his faculties so highly disciplined by his continuance here, if the inevitable result of the'' exercise was to make him dissatisfied with his lot ? Instead of being benefited his Creator must have formed him solely to make him miserable. But not so. Man did not perish when the body rotted. This want of adaptation to our circumstances was designed to make us feel that this is not our rest —that there we have no continuing city—no fixed place of abode. There was a means of bridging the abyss, and this it was not the province of science to do. It became, then, a question how far science could legitimately go and at what point she must give place to religion. In youth's golden days of life its mental capacity was for enjoyment. Men were blindly confident in their consciousness, and judged of others by themselves. Theories were built on slender grounds ; but when the foundations of faith were weakened, then came the change. Reason asserted its prerogative, and doubt asked that proof might be given. Man made up for believing too much by believing too little. That was the critical time of a man's existence. No wonder that many made shipwreck of their faith and of a good conscience. As in the unreflecting times of youth, so it was in the young ages of the world. Religion was so surrounded by superstitition, that she could, not haTe floated had she not thrown the lumber overboard. It was still laden with much that would ultimately be found to be the traditions of men. All that was inevitable. Religious men had a dread of what science unravelled. In fact, religious- and scientific men lived in dread of each other, and fought because they were loyal, and because truth was supposed to be imperilled by each other. They had resolved facts into the natural and supernatural; but as knowledge and science advanced, it was found that that which formerly appeared mysterious and was closed with the supernatural, was really simple; and many facts which had appeared most simple had been discovered to be most mysterious. As knowledge accumulated facts hitherto counted natural were classed with the supernatural, while facts that science took away from religion were shewn to be capable of easy explanation. Ear from being a hindrance to religion, science was found to be a safe guide. Latterly she had brought classes of facts under general laws. But there was a danger of the leading men of science, abandoning faith. Each succeeding effort plunged them more deeply in unbelief. Hitherto the chronic antagonism had been fostered, but now to the wisest men in both camps, the millennium was becoming clearer —the time when men would beat their swords into ploughshares, and form their spears into pruning hooks, though having clear views of the boundaries between religion, and science. He asked their patience, while in the prosecution of his plan he went more deeply into the relations between science and religion. It was briefly that between the latter and the science of matapbysics. There were men who said unless metaphysics mended our manners, they were useless, for what had the science done to unravel the secrets of mind ? He was free to admit it had done nothing excepting impartial mental discipline. There were those who said, " We cannot abide men with Scotch philosophy and Scotch metaphysics." Let it suffice, there was no power of choice in the matter. Every son of man who thought at all must be a metaphysician. He held that to be a settled point. The vitality of the science was indestructable. It was founded upon impulses which could not be kept under. To suppose that metaphysics could ever cease to be studied, was to believe that men had ceased to think. Let people decry the science as they would, they knew it to be the strongest manifestation of mental power that could be adduced, as it furnished useful practical suggestions for cultivating to the utmost the mind's powers ; and if mental science was true, it must furnish the means of curing mental diseases. Clearly some change was necessary in dealing with the subject before the mind could successfully investigate it. Metaphysics was now included in the circle of the sciences, and it had come about in this wise: it had come to be thought that there was one central force from which all forces proceeded. Mental force must be one of the correlated forces. How far was that true ? What was mind ? It was a force, and force was indestructible and persistent. It was not force

of music that enabled him to grasp the table—that was plain : for as soon as the force of will was withdrawn, the muscles ceased their grasp. Eorce existed, so men could become conscious of it. All force was imperishable. Wherever it existed it could not be lost; it only appeared in a new shape. Take heat, for instance j it became molecular, originally moler. What was the process ? In consequence of the expansion of the particles on which it acted, they required more room, and motion took place—molecular expansion. What was the metaphysical and logical bearings of the subject? In the enquiry at the moment he must content himself to some extent with that idea of force, for it was not logical to compare together things that were unlike ; and muscular force and mental force could not be compared. But the moment the mind grasped the result of force, it referred the existence of sensible forces to a central force ? And what was known of that central force ? Was it personal or impersonal ? It must be clearly seen why scientific men were so impressed with this idea of force as connected with knowledge. It was ever present, and had impressed itself on matter. The lecturer closed with reading a quotation from a late writer, showing that there was an expenditure of carbon in all operations of mind as well as in motion. Among particles of matter he stated that if the combustion of carbon was employed to give motion to the brain it was at the expense of the muscular system. If. on the other hand, carbon was chiefly employed in setting the muscles in motion, the mind would be at rest, and probably robust health would result.