Believing utterly in one's self is a hysterical and superstitious belief like believing in Joanna Southcote: the man who has it has 'Hanwell' written on his face as plain as it is written on that omnibus." And to all this my friend the publisher made this very deep and effective reply, "Well, if a man is not to believe in himself, in what is he to believe ?" After a long pause I replied, "I will go home and write a book in answer to that question." This is the book that I have written in answer to it.
But I think this book may well start where our argument started--in the neighbourhood of the mad-house.

Modern masters of science are much impressed with the need of beginning all inquiry with a fact.

The ancient masters of religion were quite equally impressed with that necessity.

They began with the fact of sin--a fact as practical as potatoes.

Whether or no man could be washed in miraculous waters, there was no doubt at any rate that he wanted washing.