"unknowable." It is perfectly true that thought can never be
comprehensive enough to exhaust the possibilities of existence, since it
is of the essence of thinking to limit and define. But it is a sheer
impossibility to think of what lies beyond the boundary of our knowledge
as unknowable, so far as we think of it at all, we must conceive it as
the unknown but possibly knowable. The unknown can only be thought of
thus because it is only as it is, by assumption, brought into line with
what is already known that it can be thought about at all. We are
compelled to think of what lies beyond the limits of our actual
knowledge in the same way as a traveller thinks of the fauna and flora
of an untravelled country. The new region may present many new features,
but until actual observation has taken place, these new features will
only be thought of as more or less unusual combinations of known animal
and vegetable life. They are substantially identical with what is
already known.
No stranger notion ever occurred to a great thinker than that religion
and science represent parallel and distinct lines of development, each
having its own sphere of operation. It is all the more remarkable when
we remember that with Spencer "religion" means all religion, past and
present, civilised and savage. And no one is more precise in pointing
out how all religious ideas find their beginnings in the conditions of
primitive life. And that being the case, one wonders whether we are to
picture primitive man as a profound metaphysical philosopher,
speculating on that which lies behind phenomena, contemplating an
"insoluble Mystery," and paying homage to an "Ultimate Reality"? Nothing
could be more absurd. Thinking begins in concrete images, not in
abstractions. We have only to note the development of intelligence in
children to realise this. And primitive man, not being a mystic nor a
metaphysician, bases his religion, not upon a reality that transcends
experience, but upon a presumed fact, and what is to him the best known
of all facts. And even with modern men it may safely be said that they
worship God for what they believe they know about him, not because they
believe him to be unknown and unknowable.
Spencer himself may be cited in support of this. In his "Principles of
Sociology," where the Unknowable plays no part whatever, he concludes
after an elaborate survey of the facts, that the imagination of
primitive man is reminiscent, not constructive; his power of thought is
feeble, he is without the quick curiosity of civilised man, there is an
absence of the conception of causation, he accepts things as they
appear, without any vivid desire to inquire into their real nature or
their connection with other events, and is without abstract ideas.
Clearly, here is not a very promising subject from which to derive even
the germ of the idea of a "Reality transcending experience." Spencer
also, and quite properly, insists that religious ideas are, under the
condition of their origin, national ideas; that we must accept the truth
that the laws of thought are everywhere the same, and that, given the
data as known to primitive man, the inference drawn by him is a
reasonable inference.
With this we agree, but it gives the death blow to the previous
statement as to the essential nature of religion, and its essential
differentiation from science. For given the constitution of the
primitive mind, its ignorance of causation and general lack of
knowledge, religion commences not in some search after an eternal
reality, but in a natural misunderstanding of observed facts. Primitive
religion is just a reasoned misunderstanding of phenomena that in later,
and better informed ages, are given an altogether different explanation.
That this is so, Spencer himself makes plain. For he shows, step by
step, how the experience of dreams, echoes, shadows, etc., combine to
produce the belief in unseen agencies differing in no essential from man
save that of possessing greater power and in being invisible. From
dreams and other subjective experiences he derives the idea of a double,
from death that of a ghost. Hence the ceremonies round the grave, and
the attention paid to the double of the dead man, which subsequently
developes into ancestor worship. The same train of thought gives a
double to objects other than human beings. Hence Animism, Totemism, and
their numerous subsidiary developments. Spencer insists, not only that
"all religions have a natural genesis," but also that "behind
supernatural beings of all orders" there has been in every case a human
personality--in other words, every god is developed from a ghost,
"ancestor worship is the root of every religion." To this he will admit
no exception, and referring to the Jewish religion, he asks
contemptuously:--
Must we recognise a single exception to the general truth thus far
verified everywhere? While among all races in all regions, from the
earliest times down to the present, the conceptions of deities have
been naturally evolved in the way shown, must we conclude that a
small clan of the Semitic race had given to it supernaturally a
conception which, though superficially like the rest, was in
substance absolutely unlike them.
And in about half a dozen pages he shows conclusively that the Biblical
God had exactly a similar origin to other gods.
Now if this account of religious origins means anything at all (and in
spite of differences between anthropologists it is in substance the
account of the origin of religion given by all) it means that instead of
religion and science moving along parallel lines, religion is simply
primitive science. Religion and science, as a very able theistic writer
says, "touch and oppose each other as rival methods of explaining, not
solely or mainly the life and nature of man, but the universe taken as a
whole, man forming a part of it." (W. H. Mallock, _Religion as a
Credible Doctrine_, p. ii.) Both are concerned with the same facts, and
their respective claims to consideration depend entirely on their
ability to explain the facts. For the reasons given by Spencer, man's
earliest interpretation of things is inevitably vitalistic. Ghosts--the
primitive protoplasm from which the gods are made--are assumed, and once
assumed dominate the savage intelligence. Fear combines with ignorance
to resist any conception that will wrest power from the hands of these
extra-natural agents, "Nature's haughty lords," rule all, and their
dynasty is the hardest of all to overthrow.
In spite, however, of all opposition the mechanical theory of things
develops, and in developing establishes a clear division between the two
conceptions of nature. But the line of demarcation is not that stated by
Spencer. Religion no more asserts the existence of an "Unknown Verity,"
than it asserts a fourth dimension of space. Nor is science concerned
with denying the existence of something of which we know nothing, and
can never know anything. The essential feature of religion is that it
offers a vitalistic explanation of the world as against the mechanical
explanation offered by science. And in this religion stands for the
earlier as against the later expression of human knowledge. It is the
eternal champion of savage thought against civilised intelligence. Its
whole significance lies in the persistence of animistic modes of
thinking under civilised conditions.
This conclusion, be it observed, is one that is quite borne out by
Spencer's own explanation of the nature of religion. Nor do we know of a
more remarkable instance of a front rank thinker propounding in one
part of his work a theory bearing no relation whatever to the remaining
portion, and in addition disproving his own theory at every point.
Spencer's reconciliation of science and religion, which in one form or
another is continually in evidence, is only one degree less remarkable
than the fact of its being accepted by so many religionists as
satisfactory. Following the line of his untenable theory that religion
and science pursue parallel lines, he points out that "the agent which
has effected the purification (of religion) has been science." That is,
the growth of the mechanical theory has driven back the vitalistic one.
This is purification only in the sense that a defaulting cashier
purifies the firm he robs. "As fact or experience proves that certain
familiar changes always happen in the same sequence, there begins to
fade from the mind the conception of a special personality to whose
variable will they were before ascribed." This process of annexation is,
says Spencer, science teaching religion its true function. As a matter
of fact, science has given religion no instruction, it has merely issued
prohibitions. It has warned religion that there are certain things it
must not meddle with, certain departments on which it must not encroach.
In this way religion has been forced farther and farther back, until it
is left with what? Not with anything that can be known, or is known; it
is left supreme in the kingdom of nowhere, ruling over an empire of
nothing at all. And so long as religion strives for a more tangible
possession so long must there be a conflict between science and
religion. But--"as the limits of possible cognition are established, the
causes of possible conflict will diminish. And a permanent peace will be
reached when science becomes fully convinced that its explanations are
proximate and relative; while religion becomes fully convinced that the
mystery it contemplates is ultimate and absolute." So, when science has
monopolised the entire field of human knowledge, actual and possible,
and when religion is satisfied that it knows nothing, and never can know
anything of the object of its worship, that it can offer nothing in the
shape of counsel or advice, but that its function is to sit in owl-like
solemnity, contemplating nothing, meanwhile offering man an eternal
conundrum that he must everlastingly give up, then, and not till then,
there will be peace between science and religion. And this is called a
reconciliation. Mr. Spencer finds two combatants engaged in deadly
conflict, he murders one and offers the other the corpse, with the hope
that now they will live peacefully together. The scientist is asked to
be content with all there is. The religious man is asked to find comfort
in the reflection that science must eventually monopolise the entire
field of knowledge, but that, in return, religion will be left free to
work in an unknowable region, to occupy itself with an unknowable
object, and to eternally cry "all is mystery" in an amended philosophic
version of the Athanasian Creed.
As a piece of humour this is superb. So also is the following: "Science
has been obliged to abandon the attempt to include within the boundaries
of knowledge that which cannot be known, and so has yielded up to
religion that which of right belonged to it." Capital! Science gives up
to religion that which cannot be known, and as it does not know what it
is, that cannot be known, it surrenders to religion absolute vacuity as
the proper sphere for its operations. And even this is accompanied with
the proviso that if it happens to have made a mistake, the ceded
territory will be at once reclaimed. Science would certainly be
vindictive if after having murdered religion it declined to live
peaceably with its corpse.
The distinction between science and religion is, in truth, neither
fundamental nor original. It is one that arises gradually in the history
of mental development. And, therefore, when a man such as Professor
Arthur Thomson describes religion as being concerned with the
recognition of the existence of an independent "spiritual reality," the
reply is that religion commences as just an explanation of nature in
terms of the then existing knowledge and culture. Religion is just a
crude form of science. The separation of the world into a religious and
a scientific sphere arises when the religious interpretation of natural
happenings gets discredited by advancing knowledge. If one takes such an
illustration as that of witchcraft the nature of the process is clear.
First we have the interpretation of certain forms of dementia and
delusion in terms of religion. Later we have the same facts interpreted
in terms of positive knowledge and the religious explanation is
rejected. And that, in a sentence is the whole history of religion, once
we have cleared away the verbiage with which the subject is surrounded.
The truth of what has just been said is often obscured by
unintelligible talk of growth in religion. It is claimed that we acquire
truer views of deity, and a process of growth is asserted analogous to
that which meets us in knowledge in general. Let us see what truth there
is in this.
In ordinary instances when we speak of growth we imply one of three
things. Either there is increase in size, or there is an enlargement of
function, or there is an increase in knowledge. So long as we keep to
these plain meanings of "growth" there can be no confusion. But none of
these meanings fit the case of religion. Certainly there has been no
increase in the size of religion--it does not, that is, cover a larger
area. On the contrary it is continually being warned off more and more
territory. It becomes more and more a negligible quantity. One need not
go back to primitive times to prove this, any country will supply
instances. The displacement of religious by other considerations is
observable on all sides.
There has certainly been no growth in the functions exercised by
religion. Its function as law-giver in the physical world is now
definitely abandoned, and all it asks is that science will let it alone.
In ethics and sociology it still maintains a precarious kind of an
existence, but it no longer claims supreme power. It is content to urge
its utility as a source of inspiration, to rank as one among a number of
other forces that are frankly secular in nature. Finally there has been
no growth in the shape of an extension of knowledge of the object of
religious belief. Of the nature of deity we know no more than did our
earliest ancestors. In earlier generations the nature of God, his aims
and intentions, were discussed with the same degree of confidence that
one now sees displayed in discussing schemes of sanitation. The modern
believer is now more anxious to impress upon the world how little he
knows about God, or how little it is possible for him to know. This is
not surprising except in the fact that it is called religious growth.
And if this be a sign of growth one wonders what would be considered
indications of decay. Historically religious life presents us, not with
a process of growth, but one of shrinkage. To reduce the gods from many
to few, and from a few to one is not growth. To limit the functions of
deity from those of a direct, particular, and universal character, to an
indirect, general form is not growth. To refine the idea of a personal
deity until it becomes that of a mere abstract force, is not growth. All
these are so many modifications of the religious idea under pressure of
advancing knowledge--so many attempts to state religion in such a way
that it can conflict with nothing we know to be true because it answers
to nothing of which we are certain.
The idea of God, the idea of religion, does not begin in a mystery or in
some abstract conception, but in an assumed knowledge of certain
concrete facts of experience. Man believes in the gods because of what
he thinks he knows about them, not because of what he does not know. The
talk of a mystery is the jargon of a priesthood which finds it
profitable to keep the lay mind at a distance. Increased emphasis is
placed on mystery because religious teachers are alive to the danger of
basing their beliefs upon matters that can be brought to the test of
experience. Mystery mongering is not the beginning of religion, but a
sign of its approaching demise. Mysticism, too, is no more than a cover
for a sanctuary that has been emptied of all worthy of respect. But if
religion is to really live, it must have some knowledge, no matter how
little or how imperfect, of the subject with which it professes to deal.
A religion that does not possess this, but is compelled to hand over the
whole of life to secular science, signs its own death warrant. It
commits suicide to save itself from execution. And as people realise
this they turn to clear-eyed science for guidance, leaving religion to
such representatives of primitive animism as still survive in a
civilised community.
CHAPTER XIII.
AGNOSTICISM.
The primary difficulty in dealing with Agnosticism is its elusive
character. It is a word of various and vague meanings, and many of those
who use it seem to have no great anxiety to fix its meaning with any
degree of precision. It is used now in a philosophic and now in a
religious sense, and its use in the one connection is justified by its
use in another. It has become, in the half century of its existence, as
indefinite as "religion," and about as enlightening. On the one side it
appears as a counsel of mental integrity with which everyone will agree,
and on the other, the religious side, it will vary from a form that is
identical, with that much-dreaded "Atheism," to a religious or
"reverent" Agnosticism that reminds one--mentally and morally--of
Methodism minus its creed. Indeed, to say that a man is an Agnostic
nowadays tells one no more than calling a man religious indicates to
which one of the world's sects he gives his adherence.
The only aspect of Agnosticism that we are here vitally concerned with
is its relation to religion, or specifically with the god-idea. But it
will be necessary to say a word, in passing, on at least one other
phase.
And first as to the origin of the term. The credit for the first use of
the term has always been given to the late Professor Huxley. Mr. R. H.
Hutton says that Huxley first suggested the word at a meeting of friends
in the house of Mr. James Knowles in 1869. Professor Huxley says that he
deliberately adopted it because, "When I reached intellectual maturity
and began to ask myself whether I was an atheist, a theist, or a
pantheist; a materialist, or an idealist, a Christian, or a freethinker,
I found that the more I learned and reflected the less ready was the
answer, until at last I came to the conclusion that I had neither art
nor part with any of these denominations except the last.... So I took
thought and invented what I conceived to be the appropriate title of
'agnostic.'" And he goes on to explain that the term was used as
antithetical to the "gnostic" of Church history who knew all about
things of which Huxley felt himself in ignorance. To all of which one
may say that Huxley appears to have given himself a lot of needless
trouble. In philosophy there was the term "Sceptic," and in relation to
religion the term "Atheist" was ready to hand. The latter term certainly
covered all that Huxley meant by Agnosticism as applied to the god-idea.
The plain, and perhaps brutal truth, is that Huxley was just
illustrating the fatal tendency of English public men to seek for a
label that will mark them off from an unfashionable heresy even more
clearly than it separates them from a crumbling orthodoxy. It is
certainly suggestive to find, in this connection, a French writer of
distinction, M. Emile Boutmy, pointing out that in France, Spencer,
Mill, and Huxley would all have been professed atheists. (_The English
People_, p. 44.) But France is France, and has always possessed the
courage to follow ideas to their logical conclusion.
When it comes to a definition of Agnosticism Professor Huxley's position
becomes still more difficult of understanding. Agnosticism, he says, is
a method the essence of which may be expressed in a single principle.
"Positively the principle may be expressed; in matters of the intellect
follow your reason so far as it will take you without regard to any
other consideration. And negatively; in matters of the intellect, do not
pretend that conclusions are certain which are not demonstrated or
demonstrable." So far as this goes we have here perfectly sound advice.
But why call it Agnosticism? It is no more than the perfectly sound
advice that we must be honest in our investigations, and make no claim
to certainty where the conditions of certainty do not exist. But we have
no more right to call this Agnosticism than we have to give the
multiplication table a sectarian or party label.
Nor do we believe for a moment that what Huxley had in view, or what
other agnostics have in view, is no more than a counsel of intellectual
perfection. What is really at issue here is one's attitude of mind in
relation to the belief in God. It is in pretending to know about God
that the theist finds himself at issue with the Agnostic, and it is to
mark himself off from the theist that the Agnostic gives himself a
special label. And the trouble of the Agnostic is that so soon as he
begins to justify his position, either he states the atheistic case or
he fails altogether to make his case good.
There is, perhaps, one other topic on which agnosticism may be
professed, and that is in connection with the question of what is known
as the problem of existence. We may profess our belief in the reality of
an external world, but deny that any _knowledge_ of it is possible. Here
we assert that what "substance," or "reality," or "thing in itself," is
we do not know and cannot know. But while many attempts are made under
the name of "the Absolute," etc., to identify this with "God," it is
really nothing of the kind. The belief or disbelief in an external
"reality" is a problem in philosophy, it has no genuine connection with
theology. To identify the two is a mere dialectical subterfuge. Mere
existence is an ultimate fact that must be accepted by all. It is only
on the question of its nature that controversy can arise.
Whatever may be claimed on behalf of Agnosticism, it certainly cannot be
claimed that it carries a clear and a definite meaning. As we have seen,
Professor Huxley used the word to indicate the fact that he was without
knowledge of certain things. But what things? To answer that we have to
go beyond the word itself--that is, we have to define the definition. As
it stands we may profess agnosticism in relation to anything from the
prospects of a general election within a given period to the question of
whether Mars is inhabited or not. If, then, it is said that what is
implied is that the Agnostic is without a knowledge of God, or without a
belief in God, the reply is that is exactly the position of the Atheist.
And there was no need whatever to coin a new word, if all that was
wanted was to express the atheistic position. Still less justifiable was
it to proceed to misinterpret Atheism in order to justify a departure
that need never have been made.
One cannot at this point forbear a word on Mr.--afterwards Sir--Leslie
Stephen's curious justification of his choice of the word Agnosticism.
After the enlightening remark that the word "Atheist" carries with it an
unpleasant connotation, he says:--
Dogmatic Atheism--the doctrine that there is no God, whatever may
be meant by God--is to say the least of it a rare phase of opinion.
The word Agnosticism, on the other hand, seems to imply a fairly
accurate appreciation of a form of creed already common and daily
spreading. The Agnostic is one who asserts--what no one
denies--that there are limits to human intelligence. (_An
Agnostic's Apology_; p. 1).
And he then goes on to assert that the subject matter of theology lies
beyond these limits.
Now putting on one side this perversion of the meaning of Atheism, was
it really worth while to coin a new word to affirm what no one denies?
Theists do not deny the limitations of knowledge, on the contrary, they
are always affirming it. Neither do all theists deny that "God" is
unknowable. That has been affirmed by them over and over again. What
they have claimed is that "God" is apprehended rather than known, and
they affirm his existence on much the same grounds that others assert
the real existence of an external world. Professor Flint's comments on
Stephen's performance are quite to the point, and the more noteworthy as
coming from a clergyman. He says:
The word Atheist is a thoroughly honest, unambiguous term. It means
one who does not believe in God, and it means neither more nor
less. It implies neither blame nor approval, neither desert of
punishment nor of reward. If a purely dogmatic Atheism be a rare
phase of opinion critical Atheism is a very common one, and there
is also a form of Atheism which is professedly sceptical or
agnostic, but often in reality dogmatic or gnostic. (_Agnosticism_;
p. 69).
The more carefully one examines the reasons given for the preference for
the word Agnosticism, the clearer it becomes that the real motive is not
the wish to obtain mental clarity, but the desire to avoid association
with a term that carries, religiously, disagreeable associations. The
care taken by so many who call themselves Agnostics to explain to the
religious world that they are not atheists, is almost enough to prove
this. Indeed, the position is well summed up by Mr. John M. Robertson:--
The best argument for the use of the name Agnostic is simply that
the word Atheist has been so long covered with all manner of
ignorant calumny that it is expedient to use a new term which
though in some respects faulty, has a fair start, and will in time
have a recognised meaning. The case, so stated, is reasonable; but
there is the _per contra_ that whatever the motive with which the
name is used, it is now tacked to half a dozen conflicting forms of
doctrine, varying loosely between Theism and Pantheism. The name of
Atheist escapes that drawback. Its unpopularity has saved it from
half-hearted and half-minded patronage.
So that, on the best showing, we are to take "Agnostic" on the professed
ground that it is more exact than "Atheism," but on the real ground that
it is less unpopular, waiting meanwhile for the time when it shall have
become more exact than it is by becoming accepted in the same sense as
the Atheism that has previously been rejected. Courage and
straightforwardness saves a lot of trouble.
Mr. Bailey Saunders (_Quest of Faith_, p. 7) calls agnosticism "a plea
on behalf of suspended judgment," and this is a favourite expression.
It gives one an air of impartiality, with the comforting reflection that
it will please the socially stronger side. But suspended judgment on
what? To hold one's judgment in suspense implies that we have at least a
workable comprehension of the subject in dispute, and that judgment is
suspended because the evidence produced is not adequate to command
decision. But is that the case here? Does the Agnostic claim that the
evidence produced by the theist is merely inadequate, or that it is
irrelevant? Surely he holds the latter position. And if that is the
case, then he does not suspend judgment, for the simple reason that
there is no case made out concerning which judgment is to be suspended.
There is simply no case before the court. For the Agnostic, no more than
the Atheist, can attach no intelligible meaning to "God." He must have
it defined to understand it, and when it is defined he rejects it
without ceremony. And it is quite obvious that when an Agnostic says, "I
know nothing about God," he means more than that; otherwise it would not
be worth the saying. He really means that no one else knows either. He
asserts that a knowledge of god is impossible to anyone, because it does
not present the possibility of being known. "God," standing alone is a
meaningless word, and how can one suspend judgment concerning the truth
of an unintelligible proposition?
For here are the plain facts of the situation. If we ask the Agnostic
whether he suspends judgment concerning the existence of the gods of any
savage peoples, the reply is in the negative. If we put the same
question concerning the god of the Bible, or of the Mohammedan, or of
any other of the world's theologies we receive the same answer. There is
nothing here to suspend judgment about, the characters and qualities of
the gods being such that there admits of no doubt as to their imaginary
character. Or if it is said that the Agnostic, while dismissing the gods
of the various theologies, savage and civilised, as being impossible,
suspends judgment as to the existence of a "supreme mind," or of a
"creative intelligence," the reply is that one cannot suspend judgment
as to the possible existence of an inconceivability. For "mind" must be
mind, as we know it. And it is a downright absurdity to speak of the
possible existence of a "mind" while divesting it of all the qualities
that characterise mind as we know it. Really between the statement that
A. does not exist, and the affirmation that A. does exist, but differs
in every conceivable particular from all known A.'s there is no
difference whatever. We are denying its existence in the very act of
affirming it.
Further, we quite agree with Mr. F. C. S. Schiller (_Riddles of the
Sphinx_, pp. 17-19) that in practice such suspense of judgment is
impossible. We suspend our judgment as to whether we shall die to-morrow
or at some indefinite future date, and for that reason we make our
arrangements in view of either contingency. We suspend judgment as to
the honesty of an employee, and our attitude towards him is governed by
that fact. And so with the question of a god. In one way or another we
are bound to indicate our judgment on the subject. We must act either as
though we believe in the possibility or in the impossibility of "divine"
interference. If the mental hesitancy of the respectable Agnostic were
accompanied by a corresponding timidity in action life would be
impossible.
A less common plea on behalf of Agnosticism, but one on which a word
must be said, is that the agnostic attitude is more "reverential" than
that of atheism. But why in the name of all that is reasonable should
one profess reverence towards something of which one knows nothing?
Reverence, to be intelligible, must be directed towards an intelligent
object, and we must have grounds for believing it to be worthy of
reverence. Reverence towards our fellow creatures is a reasonable enough
sentiment, but what is there reasonable in an expression of reverence
towards something that can only be thought of--and even this is
unwarranted--as a force? The truth is that this expression of reverence
is no more than the flickering survival of religion. Numbers have
reached the stage at which they can perceive the unreasonable nature of
religious beliefs, but they have not yet managed to achieve liberation
from the traditional emotional attitude towards these beliefs. In other
words, the development of the emotional and the intellectual sides of
their nature have been unequal, and for these the "Unknowable" has
simply served as a peg on which to hang religious feelings that have
been robbed of all intellectual support. The semi-religious Agnostic
thus represents a transition form, interesting enough to all who observe
how curiously decaying types strive to perpetuate themselves, but which
is bound to disappear in the process of intellectual evolution.
Finally, one would like from the Agnostic some authoritative
announcement as to his position in relation to what is known concerning
the origin of the god-idea. So far as professed theists are concerned
one expects this to be ignored. On the part of non-theists one expects a
more logical attitude. In this case it is common ground with the Atheist
and the Agnostic that the idea of god owes its beginnings to the
ignorance of primitive man. We know the facts on which this idea was
based, and we know that all these are now differently explained. The
belief that there is a god governing nature is just one of those
blunders made by primitive man, and is on all fours with the numerous
other blunders he makes concerning himself and the world around him.
Knowing this, and accepting this, believing that "god" springs from the
same set of conditions that gave rise to fairies and spirits of various
kinds, one would like to know on what ground the Agnostic definitely
rejects the grounds on which the idea of god is based, while professing
a state of suspended judgment about the existence of the object created
by this primitive blunder. It is certainly surprising to find those who
accept the natural origin of the god-idea, when they come to deal with
current religion talk as though it were merely a question of the
inconclusiveness of religious arguments. It is nothing of the kind. The
final reply to the arguments set forth on behalf of Theism is, not that
they are inconclusive, but that they are absolutely irrelevant to the
question at issue. We cannot remain undecided because there is nothing
to remain undecided about. We know that the idea of god is pure myth,
and was never anything but myth. A belief that began in error, and which
has no other basis than error, cannot by any possible argument be
converted into a truth. The old question was, "Can man by searching find
out God?" The modern answer is an emphatic affirmative. Substantially we
have by searching found out God. We know the origin and history of one
of the greatest delusions that ever possessed the human mind. God has
been found out. Analytically and synthetically we understand the
god-idea as previous generations could not understand it. It has been
explained; and the logical consequence of the explanation is--Atheism.
Ultimately, then, we come to this: (1) The Agnosticism that concerns
itself with a confession of ignorance concerning the nature of
"existence," has no necessary connection with religion, and is only made
to have such by a confusion of two distinct things. (2) The plea of a
suspended judgment is invalid, since there is nothing about which one
can suspend a decision. (3) The Agnosticism that professes a
semi-religious feeling of reverence towards the "Unknowable" is
fundamentally upon all fours with the religious feelings of the ordinary
believer. Worshipping the Unknowable is more ridiculous than worshipping
Huxley's "wilderness of apes." The apes _might_ take some intelligent
interest in the antics of their devotees; but to print our hypostatised
ignorance in capital letters and then profess a feeling of veneration
for it is as ridiculous a proceeding as the world has seen. After all,
an absurdity is never quite so grotesque as when it is tricked out in
scientific phrases and paraded as the outcome of profound philosophic
thinking. (4) The only Agnosticism that seems capable of justifying
itself is an Agnosticism that is indistinguishable from Atheism. To
again cite Professor Flint, Atheist "means one who does not believe in
God, and it means neither more nor less." The Agnostic is also one who
is without belief in a god, every argument he uses to justify his
position is and has been used as a justification of Atheism. Atheist is
really "a thoroughly honest, unambiguous term," it admits of no
paltering and of no evasion, and the need of the world, now as ever, is
for clear-cut issues and unambiguous speech.
CHAPTER XIV.
ATHEISM AND MORALS.
Looking at the world as it is one cannot forbear a mild wonder at the
fears expressed at the probable consequences to morals of a general
acceptance of Atheism. One would have thought that the world would not
run a very great danger of becoming worse on that account, and that,
seeing the way in which all forms of rascality have flourished, and
still maintain themselves, without in the least disturbing people's
religious convictions, one might even feel inclined to risk a change in
the hopes of improvement. Mainly, indeed, one might say that those who
are affected by religious belief are such as can very well do without
it, while those who stand in urgent need of moral improvement seldom
show that their religious belief has any very beneficial effect on their
conduct.
Yet nothing is more common than to find the theist, when driven off all
other grounds of defence, protesting against a deliberate propaganda of
Atheism on the ground of its probable harmful consequences to morals.
This, not because those who have publicly professed Atheism are open to
the charge of loose living, but on account of those who at present
believe in religion, and whose loss of belief would possibly upset their
moral equilibrium. It is a curious position for a theist to take up,
since it implies that while the Atheist as we know him shows no
deterioration of character in consequence of his loss of belief, we
cannot be so certain of the present believers in deity. They are formed
of poorer clay, and once convinced that there is no God with whom they
have to reckon, there is no telling what will happen. So we are urged to
let well alone, and leave believers with their illusions lest their loss
should present us with a very unpleasant reality.
This fear is expressed in various ways, but in one way or another it is
tolerably common. The following which reached me from a well known man
of letters probably puts the argument as fairly and as temperately as it
can be put, and therefore in dealing with that I cannot be accused of
taking the theist at an unfair advantage. His conclusions are summarised
in the following paragraphs. (The summary is the author's, not mine.)
(1) The decentish code of morals which prevails in this twentieth
century is the outcome of all the human ages. From the very first,
everywhere and all the time, it has, and continues to be, inextricably
intertwined and influenced by Theistic beliefs, even when and where such
beliefs have been the crudest and most debased form of polytheism.
(2) The ethical atmosphere in which we now live, after having had such
an origin and history, remains strongly and frankly pervaded by religion
of a Theistic type. Atheist, Agnostic, and Theist alike have to live in
this atmosphere, and consciously or unconsciously, are subject to its
influence.
(3) Even if we could set up a wholly secular code of morals, derived
entirely from the exigencies of, tribal, communal, and national life, I
take it that such a code would be inadequate to form the type of
individual character we most admire, and which acts under a sense of
"ought" rather than of "must." The latter is often the mere demand of
gregarious or individual comfort and convenience; the former may be
quite opposed to the inclinations of the individual, and yet bring into
play irksome but ennobling springs of action which a purely secular code
cannot touch.
Now these statements put the case for the theist as moderately and as
well as it can be put, and I think that they are worthy of a little
careful examination. It may be observed that there is no insinuation
that Atheists are actually worse than other people, only the fear that
in the absence of some form of theism the higher ethical motive cannot
be roused, and that therefore character will suffer. Well, we are none
of us free from the contagion of our environment, and the most powerful
influences are often enough those that it would be difficult to specify
in any given instance. It is not only that the influence of the higher
members of society affect the lower. The lower is not without its
influence on the higher. But the question here is not really whether we
are all exposed to the general influence of the group to which we
belong, that, I think, is undeniable, the real question at issue is
whether the determining influence on conduct is theistic or not. And I
think it will be found that while the one thing is asserted it is the
other that is proven.
So far as the first proposition is concerned it may be taken for granted
that our present state is the product of all past evolution, and that in
the course of that evolution theistic beliefs have been closely--not
inextricably--connected with morals. But this is not alone true of
morality, it is true of every branch of human thought and of every
aspect of human life. Art, science, literature, have all been closely
connected with religious beliefs. Necessarily so. Early human history is
spent under the shadow of superstition, and its dominating influence
affects the form of every aspect of life. But as the course of
development has been to separate the essential from the non-essential
and to place most of each department of life on a self-supporting basis,
it would not seem an unreasonable conclusion that ethics will follow the
same lines. In fact, it is following the same lines. There are few
educated people nowadays who would claim that morality cannot exist
apart from religion, they are content to say, as my correspondent does,
that in the absence of religion belief the higher aspects of morality
will suffer.
Our morality, we are told, is the outcome of all the human ages. I go
further than that and assert that it is the outcome of all the human and
of all the animal ages. There is no break in nature, and to the
evolutionist the development of the human from the animal is plain. And
it should scarcely need pointing out nowadays that nearly every one of
the fundamental qualities of man can be seen in germ in the animal
world. I only emphasise the point here because it is so often forgotten
that morality is fundamentally the expression of those conditions under
which associated life is found possible and profitable, and that so far
as any quality is declared to be moral its justification and meaning
must be found in that direction. The question of incentive we will come
to later; for the moment it is enough to insist upon the fact that
morality is fashioned, in its fundamentals, with reference to facts, not
with reference to speculative beliefs. Beliefs may influence morality
for awhile, but the persistent operation of social selection secures a
general conformity between conduct and the conditions upon which life
depends. That is the fundamental fact to be remembered in all
discussions of morality, although it is the fact that is most often
ignored. Ultimately life determines moral teaching, it is not moral
teaching that determines life.
Life not alone determines morality, but it determines religion as well.
What else is the meaning of all those discarded forms of religious
belief, those bodies of dead gods, that meet the student of history as
the remains of extinct animals meet the geologist in his unravelment of
the story of the earth's vicissitudes? They are the result of a lack of
adaptation to new conditions to which they could not accommodate
themselves. Once the gods lorded it over man as the gigantic dinosaur
lorded it in his day over lesser animals. And in the one case, as in the
other, a change in the environment brought about their doom. Natural
selection determines the survival of religions as of animal forms, and a
religion to survive must become increasingly utilitarian in character,
certainly there is a point beyond which the opposite tendency cannot be
carried.
Assume, for example, that a religion existed of a grossly anti-social
character, one that teaches doctrines that are subversive of the general
social well-being. One of two things must result. If the religion is
strong enough to enforce its teaching the society it dominates will
disappear, and the religion will die out with it. If, on the other hand,
it cannot enforce its teaching, or can get it accepted only in a
modified form, then either the religion disappears in its original form,
or it is modified to get itself established. To live, religion must
establish some sort of harmony between its teachings and the conditions
of life. It may retard the development of life, but it must not retard
to the point of destruction. This is all that is really involved in what
is called the purification of religious teaching. In reality there is no
such thing. The purification is a modification, and it is modified in
order that it may become acceptable to the society in which it is
existing. The ascetic epidemic, the various disgusting sects that have
sprung into existence from time to time during the course of Christian
history, have all died out from this cause. As with the individual, so
with society, the forces of which we are conscious generally move upon
the surface. Of the underlying ones we are mostly unaware.
The truth is, then, that behind all our consciously elaborated theories
of life there are operative the unconscious or sub-conscious forces of
evolution. There is, of course, a certain area of conduct in which
speculative opinions play their part, and where actions may be
arbitrarily classed as good or bad. But this area is, of necessity,
limited, and for the reasons that have been given above. Properly
understood morality is not something very abstract, but something that
is very concrete. The underlying reason for morality is always the same,
and we are compelled to hark back to it for justification. And no
rejection of religion can alter the basis upon which morality rests.
The proposition that Atheist, Agnostic, and Theist breathe the same
atmosphere and are affected by the same influences is, therefore, one
that is two-edged. If our intellectual atmosphere is saturated with
religious influences, it is also saturated with social influences of a
much more fundamental character, and which have been perpetually
correcting religious extravagances. And it is at least open to the
Atheist to retort that we have to thank this circumstance that religious
beliefs have not been more injurious than has been actually the case.
If, for example, the ascetic epidemic of the early Christian centuries
had increased in force and had continued operative, European society
would have disappeared. That this was not the case was due to the
strength of the sexual and social instincts, against which religion was
unable to maintain its hold. In the change of opinion over the better
way to spend Sunday, or in the decay of the doctrine of eternal
damnation, we have the same point illustrated. Right through history it
has been the social instincts that have acted as a corrective to
religious extravagance. And it is worth noting that with the exception
of a little gain from the practice of casuistry, religions have
contributed nothing towards the building up of a science of ethics. On
the contrary it has been a very potent cause of confusion and
obstruction. Fictitious vices and virtues have been created and the real
moral problem lost sight of. It gave the world the morality of the
prison cell, instead of the tonic of the rational life. And it was
indeed fortunate for the race that conduct was not ultimately dependent
upon a mass of teachings that had their origin in the brains of savages,
and were brought to maturity during the darkest period of European
civilisation.
In dealing with the two first propositions I have, by implication,
answered the third--namely, that a wholly secular authentic code of
morals would be inadequate to form the highest type of character; it
might supply a "must," but it could not supply an "ought."
The first and obvious reply to an objection of this kind is that our
working code of morals is secular already. In life, if we observe
without prejudice, it is not difficult to see that one's neighbours,
friends, social class, etc., have far more force in shaping conduct than
speculative theories. In its widest sense natural selection determines
what actions shall be declared to be moral. Of this we may take the
universal feeling against homicide. This is but an expression of the
truth that social life would be impossible were it otherwise. And when
we pass from the general to the special we meet with much the same
principle operating in society. The average burglar pursues his calling
with no special sense of its wrongness, although he may have a keen
sense of its dangers. But while burgling with a fairly easy conscience,
he does flinch at breaking the code of honour set up by his
fellow-burglars. And at the other extreme we have the "gentleman" with
his code of honour which forbids him not to pay a gambling debt, but
takes no count of keeping a poor tradesman out of his money. In each of
these cases the determining factor is not theory but fact, and the fact
here is association with our fellow countrymen or with a special social
class. Morality, in short, is social or nothing. Moral laws are
meaningless apart from social life. Every moral command implies the
existence of a social medium, and it is no more than a study in history
to see how this social medium has been continuously shaping and
reshaping human nature. The determination here is not conscious, but it
is real, however much disguised it may be by various forms or theories.
And when we realise this, it is no more than a truism to say that a
change in religious belief can no more destroy morality than a change in
government can destroy society.
But in saying that the essence of morality is unreasoning I do not mean
that it is unreasonable. All I mean is that it can receive a reasonable
justification, and that no matter how lofty the development it has its
basis in the fundamental conditions of associated animal and human life.
We may surround the subject with a vague and attractive idealistic
verbalism, but we come back to this as a starting point. The love of
family, with all its attendant values, rests upon the fact of crude
sexual desire, refined, of course, during the passing of many
generations, but dependent upon it all the same. Remove the sexual
desire and the family feelings are inexplicable. Thus, the _reason_ for
the existence of the sexual instinct is race preservation, but the end
has been achieved in a quite unreasoning manner. In the animal world at
large there is certainly no conscious desire for the production of
offspring, nor is there with the mass of human beings. There is the
desire to gratify an impulse, and very little more. And for the
strengthening of an instinct there need not be, nor is there, any
consciousness of its social value. All that is necessary is that it
shall be useful. Natural selection attends to the rest.
This will, I think, supply an answer to the contention that secular
ethics can supply a "must," but not an "ought"; that is, it may show
that an individual should act in accordance with his inclinations, but
in cases where these clash with the social well being, it can supply no
reason why the former should give way to the latter.
The argument rests upon a dual confusion. First, the moral "ought" is no
more than an organised and conscious form of "must," and not something
distinct from it. One may test the matter by taking a case. A man says,
I ought so to work as to promote the general welfare of society. If we
seek to find the source of this feeling we come ultimately upon the
feeling of tribal solidarity in virtue of which certain tribes survive
in the struggle for existence. It is gregariousness struggling into
consciousness. The moral "ought" is an idealised form of the primitive
tribal "must." And the "must" of primitive life is encouraged and
developed because it is one of the conditions of survival.
The second point of confusion is based upon a supposed opposition
between individual inclinations and an ideal conception of duty. That
the two are often, as a matter of fact, in conflict, must be admitted.
And the cause is that while our inclinations represent a heritage from
the past, our ideals are a projection into the future. But the
contention is based upon their supposed permanent hostility, and that
need not be taken for granted. For the whole course of social evolution
tends to bring about a substantial identification of personal and social
well-being. More and more as the race develops it is being recognised
that there is no real individual life apart from social life, of which
it is the creation and the expression. Such antagonism as exists is the
inevitable result of a conflict between an organism and its adaptation
to a changing environment. And from this point of view the whole growth
of man is in the nature of an expansion of his sympathies and sense of
duty over an ever-widening area. The primitive egoism of the tribal
individual is extended to the nation, that of the nation to the empire,
and thence to the whole of humanity. There is no destruction or denial
of self in such cases, it is a development of the sense of self over an
enlarging area.
Finally, if a secular code of morals will not suffice, it is sheer
rhetoric to say that religion is powerful enough to operate where
naturalism fails. On the contrary, in a civilised community religious
appeals tend to become secular appeals in disguise. On the admission of
Christian advocates the two most powerful appeals that can be made are
on the one hand, in the name of the fatherhood of god, and on the other,
the conception of the Mother and the Child. And what are these but
appeals to the secular and social feelings of man in the name of
religion? It may be granted that Atheism in its appeals to mankind often
fails, but in this respect is it any worse off than religion? Why, one
of the standing complaints of religious preachers in all ages is that
their message falls so frequently on deaf ears. There is no more
certainty that the religious appeal will meet with success, than there
is that any other appeal will be successful. And there is the
unquestionable fact that morality has become stronger as the power of
religion has weakened. The higher qualities have asserted themselves
during a period of religious disintegration, and the student of morals
sees in this a promise of a further development in the future.
And to all prophecies as to the effects of Atheism on the morality of
the future there is the apt reply that they are prophecies and nothing
else. And in this respect it is dangerous for the Christian theist to
appeal to history. For while the consequences of Atheism can be no more
than a forecast, which may or may not be justified, the record of
Christianity is before the world. And we know that the period during
which the influence of Christian theism was strongest, was the period
when the intellectual life of civilised man was at its lowest, morality
at its weakest, and the general outlook most hopeless. Religious control
gave us heresy hunts, and Jew hunts, burnings for witchcraft, and magic
in the place of medicine. It gave us the Inquisition and the _auto da
fe_, the fires of Smithfield and the night of St. Bartholomew. It gave
us the war of sects and it helped powerfully to establish the sect of
war. It gave us life without happiness, and death cloaked with terror.
The Christian record is before us, and it is such that every Church
blames the others for its existence. Quite as certainly we cannot point
to a society that has been dominated by Freethinking ideas, but we can
point to their existence in all ages, and can show that all progress is
due to their presence. We can show that progressive ideas have
originated with the least, and have been opposed by the most religious
sections of society. What religion has done for the world we know; what
freethought will do we can only guess. But we are confident that as
honesty is possible without the falsity of religion, as duty may be done
with no other incentive than its visible consequences on the people
around us, so life may be lived in honour and closed in peace with no
other inspiration than comes from the contemplation of the human stream
from which we emerge and into which we finally go.
CHAPTER XV.
ATHEISM INEVITABLE.
Between Theism and Atheism the logical mind may halt, but it cannot rest
for long, and in the end the logic of fact works its way. Compromise,
while it may delay the end without preventing its inevitability, is
quite out of place in matters of the intellect. In the world of practice
compromise is often unavoidable, but in that of ideas the sole concern
should be for truth. When Whately said that the man who commenced by
loving Christianity more than truth would continue by loving his own
sect more than any other, and end by loving himself more than all, he
placed his finger on the great moral danger of compromise where opinion
is concerned. It begins, ostensibly, by considering the respect due to
an opponent's case, it continues by sacrificing the respect that is due
one's own, and it ends by giving a new sense of value to the very
opinion it aims at destroying. "No quarter" is the only sound rule in
intellectual warfare, where to take prisoners is only one degree less
dishonouring than to be taken captive oneself. And the value of an
opinion is never wholly in the opinion itself. No small part of its
worth is derived from the way in which it is held, and the importance
which is placed upon it.
When Professor Tylor said that the deepest of all divisions in the
history of human thought was that which divided Animism from
Materialism, he was saying what I have been endeavouring to say, in
another manner, in the foregoing pages. Atheism and supernaturalism are
fundamental divisions in human thought, and divisions that connote an
irreconcilable antagonism. The terms not only mark a division, they are
the badges of a movement, the indication of a pilgrimage. Dr. Tylor's
own work and the work of his fellow labourers tell the story in detail,
and although no one is in a position to write "finis" to it, there is no
doubt as to what its end will be. And the manner of the pilgrimage is
quite plain. The starting point is the creation by the befogged
ignorance of primitive man of that welter of ghosts and gods which make
so much of early existence a veritable nightmare. The journey commences
in a world in which the "supernatural" is omnipresent, in which man's
chief endeavours is given to win the good will or avert the anger of the
ghosts and gods to whom he has himself given being. And the end, the
last stage of the pilgrimage, is a world in which mechanical operations
take the place of disembodied intelligences, or of supernatural powers.
From a world in which the gods are everything and do everything to a
world in which the gods are nothing and do nothing. The story of that
transition is the record of one of the greatest revolutions that has
happened in the history of mankind. Its real greatness and far-reaching
significance is not always adequately recognised, even by those who
welcome it gladly. Indeed, the narrower interests that suffer from this
revolution are more keenly alive to its importance than are those who
benefit from its consummation. That is, perhaps, what one ought to
expect from the known course of human history. For history would not be
what it is, nor would reforms be so difficult of accomplishment were it
not possible to persuade the slave that his servitude guards him from
the very evils it perpetuates.
Incidentally the nature of that revolution has been indicated in the
preceding pages. But a more connected view will form a fitting close to
this work. Nothing more than the barest of outlines can be attempted,
but such as it is it may serve to illustrate the truth that Atheism is
more than the speculative philosophy of a few, that it is in sober truth
the logical outcome of mental growth. So far as any phase of human life
can be called inevitable Atheism may lay claim to being inescapable. All
mental growth can be seen leading to it, just as we can see one stage of
social development giving a logical starting point for another stage,
and which could have been foretold had our knowledge of all the forces
in operation been precise enough. Atheism is, so to speak, implicit in
the growth of knowledge; its complete expression is the consummation of
a process that began with the first questionings of religion. And the
completion of the process means the death of supernaturalism in all its
forms.
Religion, it has already been said, is something that is acquired, and
although that sounds little better than a commonplace, yet reflection
proves it to contain an important truth. For it is in the nature of the
acquisition that its significance lies. Whatever be the earliest stages
of religion it is at all events clear that its earliest form is in the
nature of a hypothesis, even though only of the semi-conscious kind that
exists when man is brought into touch with some new and overpowering
experience. Religious ideas are put forth in explanation of something.
But all explanation whether by savage or civilised man, must be in terms
of existing knowledge. No other method is possible. We must explain the
unknown in terms of the known, and our explanation will be the more
elaborate and the nearer the truth as our knowledge of the nature of the
forces are the more exact and extensive. A knowledge of the laws of
condensation and evaporation enables a modern to give an explanation of
the meaning of a shower of rain that is simply impossible to man in an
earlier stage of culture. In every case the facts are the same, and in
each case the explanation given depends upon the knowledge acquired.
Now one radical distinction between an early and a modern explanation of
the world is that whereas the former moves from within outward, the
latter moves from without inward. Uncivilised man explains the world by
himself; civilised man explains himself by the world. The savage
describes the world in terms of his own feelings and passions, the
scientist regards human qualities as resulting from the relation which
man holds to the forces around him. The process, while presenting a
radical difference in form, is yet fundamentally one in essence.
Ignorant of all that we connote by such an expression as "natural
forces," whatever explanation is offered by the savage is necessarily in
terms of the only force with which he is acquainted. But it happens that
the only forces which he then fancies he understands are those
represented by his own organisation. What he is conscious of doing is
prompted by his own will and intelligence. He hurts when he is angry, he
rewards when he is pleased, and he makes the same assumption regarding
the things around him. So far as he explains nature he vitalises it.
Vital force becomes the symbol of all force. And this result expresses a
mental law that is universally operative. The civilised mind differs
from the savage mind not because the brain functions differently in the
two cases, but solely in consequence of the wider and truer knowledge of
the causes of natural phenomena which civilised man possesses. We arrive
at different conclusions because we start from different premises.
Inevitably, therefore, the first attempt of man to deal with nature
takes the form of assuming the operation of a number of personal
intelligences. Natural objects are alive, and everything that happens to
man, from the cradle to the grave, is thought of as being either alive
or controlled by living beings. The world is filled with a crowd of
ghostly beings exercising more or less discordant functions. Against
this riot of gods the conception of natural law developes but slowly.
Quite apart from the natural inertia of the human mind, the fact of
questioning the power of these assumed beings involves to the primitive
mind an element of grave danger. All sorts of things may happen if the
gods are offended, and in self-defence the tribe feels bound to suppress
the critic of religion and of religious ideas. But once the step is
taken, the area over which the gods rule is to that extent restricted,
and with that step Atheism may be said to be born.
What Lange said in the opening sentences of his classic "History of
Materialism," that "Materialism is as old as philosophy, but not older,"
may be said with equal truth of Atheism. That, too, is as old as
philosophy, since it begins with man's attempts to break away from that
primitive interpretation of nature which sees in all phenomena the
action of personal intelligences. It is of no importance in which branch
of knowledge the departure was made, whichever department one takes the
process can be seen at work. Astronomy appears to have been the branch
of knowledge in which the powers of the gods were earliest restricted,
although it was not until the discoveries of Copernicus, Galileo,
Newton, and Laplace were given to the world that "God" vanished
altogether from that region. Geology follows with the teaching that
chemical, thermal, and other known forces leave nothing for the gods to
accomplish. Biology and sociology, dealing with more complex forces, are
much later in the field, but they tread the same path. They provide a
refuge for "God" for awhile, but it is evident that their complete
dispossession is no more than a question of time. And even though the
very complex character of the forces working in these latter departments
should prevent us ever acquiring the same degree of prevision that
exists in other classes, no difference will be made to the general
result. The principle will be fairly established and our ignorance of
details will no longer be made the ground for assertions which, if made
at all, should rest upon the most exact knowledge. "God" will be left
with nothing to do, and man will not for ever go on worshipping a God
whose sole recommendation is that he exists, nor will the common sense
of civilised people hold on to a hypothesis when there is nothing left
for that hypothesis to explain.
The single and outstanding characteristic of the conception of god at
all times and under all conditions is that it is the equivalent of
ignorance. In primitive times it is ignorance of the character of
natural forces that leads to the assumption of the existence of gods,
and in this respect the god-idea has remained true to itself throughout.
Even to-day whenever the principle of "God" is invoked a very slight
examination is enough to show that the only reason for this being done
is our ignorance of the subject before us. Why does anyone assume that
we must believe in God in order to explain the beginnings of life? Why
is "God" assumed to be responsible for the order of nature? Why must we
assume "God" to explain mind? The answer to these and to all similar
questions is that we do not know, in the sense that we know the cause of
planetary motions, how these things came to be. It is not what we know
about them that leads to the assumption of god, but what we do not know.
And the converse of that is that so soon as knowledge replaces ignorance
"God" will be dispensed with. It is never a case of believing in God
because of the actual knowledge we possess, but always the appeal to
weakness and ignorance. From this point of view the colloquial "God only
knows!" expresses the appeal to ignorance even more clearly than the
elaborate argument of the sophisticated apologist.
This aspect of the matter was well put by Spinoza. Believers in the
argument from design, he says, have a method of argument that is a
reduction, not to the impossible, but to ignorance. Thus,
If a stone falls from a roof on to someone's head and kills him,
they will demonstrate by their new method that the stone fell to
kill the man; for if it had not by God's will fallen with that
object, how could so many circumstances (and there are often many
concurrent circumstances) have all happened together by chance.
Perhaps you will answer that the event is due to the facts that the
wind was blowing, and the man was walking that way. "But why," they
will insist, "was the wind blowing, and why was the wind at that
very time blowing that way?" If you again answer, that the wind had
then sprung up because the sea had begun to be agitated the day
before, the weather having been previously calm, and that the man
had been invited by a friend, they will again insist: "But why was
the sea agitated, and why was the man invited at that time?" So
they will pursue their question from cause to cause, till at last
you take refuge in the will of God--in other words, the sanctuary
of ignorance. (Appendix to _Ethics_; pt. 1)
The sanctuary of ignorance "God" has always been, and the sanctuary of
ignorance it will remain to the end. It has no other function in life. A
consciousness of this is shown by the upholders of Theism in the
eagerness with which they welcome every supposed demonstration of the
impotence of science, and of the resistance everywhere offered to the
development of scientific advance.
So far, then, as the progress of life makes for the growth of knowledge,
so far may we safely claim that the development of thought makes for
Atheism, as we have just said, and to do the religious world justice it
has always been quick to realise this, and every great scientific
generalisation--as well as many smaller ones, has been resisted on the
ground that they were atheistic in character and tended to take the
control of the world out of God's hands. Present-day theists are apt to
condemn this attitude of their predecessors, but it can hardly be denied
that the logic lies with the earlier representatives. A God who does
nothing might, for all practical purposes, as well be non-existent. And
a God who is merely in the background of things, who may be responsible
for their origin, but having originated them surrenders all control over
their operations, is hardly more serviceable. The modern theist saves
his God only by leaving him a negligible quantity in a universe he is
supposed to sustain and govern.
And it cannot be too often emphasised that the whole basis of exact or
positive science is atheistic--that is, it is compelled to ignore even
the possibility of the existence of God. Every scientific generalisation
rests upon the constancy of natural forces. On no other basis is it
possible to give a scientific interpretation to what has gone before or
to anticipate what is to happen in the future. Every scientific
calculation assumes that in the world with which it deals causation is
invariable and universal. But if we are to assume the operations of a
"God" at any time or point every scientific calculation would have to be
accompanied with the D.V. of a prayer meeting. To argue from the past to
the future would be futile. God might have operated then, no one could
be certain he will operate now. Or he might have operated in the far
past, but he might not in the future. In either case the assumption of a
God would be fatal to exact scientific calculations. Thus in sheer self
defence, in order to preserve its character as science, science is
compelled to discard even the possibility of the existence of a
controlling intelligence. As one eminent theistic advocate admits,
"Science has no need, and indeed, can make no use, in any particular
instance of the theistic hypothesis."[6] It is only when supernaturalism
is partly excluded from human thought that science can be said to really
commence its existence; and in proportion as our conception of the
universe becomes that of an aggregate of non-conscious forces--or of a
single force with many forms producing given results under given
conditions, only then does our view of the universe reach completion.
A study of the nature and tendency of human development does, therefore,
provide a very strong presumption in favour of atheism. All growth here
is in favour of atheism and away from theism. In the beginning we have
the gods everywhere and dominating everything. They do everything and
control everything. "God" is the one universal primitive hypothesis. And
all subsequent development is to its discrediting. There is no growth in
the idea of god, there is only an attenuation. The gods grow fewer as
the race approaches maturity. Their activities cease as man becomes
aware of the character of the forces around him. And it may be further
noted that this decline of the belief in deity is brought about as much
by sheer pressure of experience as by pure reason. The majority of
people do not reason themselves out of the belief in god, they outgrow
it. People cease to believe in the gods because they experience no
compulsion to believe in them. The logic of fact is ultimately more
powerful than the logic of theory, and as environmental forces brought
the gods into existence, so environmental forces carry them out again.
Now Atheism does but make explicit in words what has long been implicit
in practice. It takes the god-idea, examines it, and explains it out of
existence. It admits the reality of gods as it admits the reality of
ghosts and fairies and witches. They are subjective, not objective,
realities. Atheism takes the god-idea, explains its origin, describes
its subsequent development, and in so doing indicates its ultimate fate.
In this sense Atheism is, as I have said, no more than the final stage
of a long historical process. The theistic phase of thought is an
inevitable one in human evolution, but it is no more a permanent one
than is the belief in hobgoblins. One might here paraphrase Bacon and
say, "A little philosophy inclineth a man to belief in the gods, but
depth in philosophy leads to their rejection as a false and useless
hypothesis." It is true that thinking brought the gods into the world;
it is also true that adequate thinking carries them out again.
The cardinal truth is, of course, that the hypothesis of mind in nature
does not owe its existence to an exact knowledge of things but to its
absence. Its origin must be sought in a pre-scientific age and its
persistence in a number of extraneous circumstances which have
perpetuated a belief that would otherwise have inevitably disappeared.
And it would indeed be a matter for surprise if this belief--said by
theists to be of all beliefs the most profound--should be the one
speculation on which savage thought has justified itself. On no other
question did the primitive mind reach truth. Universally its
speculations concerning the world were discovered to be wrong. On this
one topic we are asked to believe that the savage was absolutely right.
From the age of fetichism--rightly called by Comte the creative age in
theology--the history of the god-idea has been a history of a series of
modifications and rejections. Scarce an invention that has not slain a
god, scarce a discovery has not marked the burying-place of a discarded
deity. Criticism reduced the gods in number and limited them in power.
Advancing knowledge pushed them back till nature, "rid of her haughty
lords," is conceived as a huge mechanism, self-acting, self-adjusting,
and self-repairing. Even in the mouths of religionists "God" to-day
stands for little more than a force. We must not describe him as
personal, as intelligent, or as conscious, and between this and the
existence assumed by atheistic science it is impossible to detect any
vital difference. Atheism, then, takes its stand upon the observed trend
of human history, upon a scrutiny of the facts of nature, and upon an
examination of the origin and contents of the god-idea. And upon these
grounds it may fairly claim to be irrefutable and inevitable.
Circumstances may obstruct its universal acceptance as a reasoned mental
attitude, but that merely delays, it does not destroy the certainty of
its final triumph.
With the supposed direful consequences that would follow the triumph of
Atheism I have not dealt with at length. These are the bugbears which
the designing normally employ in order to frighten the timid and
credulous. Mental uprightness and moral integrity are certainly not the
property of one religion, nor can it be said with truth that they belong
to any. And examining the histories of religion it is a fair assumption
that in whatever direction the world may suffer from the disappearance
of religion there will be no moral catastrophe. Looking at the whole
course of human history, and noting how the vilest and most ruinous
practices have been ever associated with religion, and have ever relied
upon religion for support, the cause for speculation is, not what will
happen to the world when religion dies out, but how human society has
managed to flourish while the belief in the gods ruled.
Fortunately for human society nature has not left the operation of the
fundamental virtues dependent upon the acceptance of this or that theory
of the world. The social and family instincts, which are inseparable
from our nature as men and women, and which operate in ways of which we
are largely unconscious, are the grounds of all the higher and finer
virtues, and while a change in opinion may affect their operation here
and there, it can never alter their fundamental character. Conduct, in
short, comes from life, it is not the creation of a theory to be
dismissed by resolution or refashioned by a vote.
What Atheism would mean in practice would be an enormous concentration
of energy upon purely human affairs, and a judgment of conduct in terms
of human happiness and prosperity. And that certainly furnishes no cause
for alarm. It is, indeed, our greatest need. We need an awakening to the
untapped power and possibilities of human nature. If the gods die, man
their creator still lives; and the creative energy which once covered
the face of nature with innumerable gods, which spent itself in the
attempt to win their favour, and which called forth a heaven in the
endeavour to redress the wrongs of earth, may, if properly applied, yet
cover the earth with homes in which men and women, rendered purer by
love and stronger by knowledge, will rise superior to the fabled gods
before whom they once bowed in blind adoration.
FOOTNOTE:
[6] Prof. Ward "Naturalism and Agnosticism" Vol. I., p. 23.