The infidelity and the contempt for sacred and spiritual things which
pervade so much of our modern literature are largely attributable to
the prevalence of that form of philosophy which may be designated as
Agnostic Evolution, and this in its turn is popularly regarded as a
result of the pursuit of physical and natural science. The last
conclusion is obviously only in part, if at all, correct, since it is
well known that atheistic philosophical speculations were pursued,
quite as boldly and ably as now, long before the rise of modern
science. Still, it must be admitted that scientific discoveries and
principles have been largely employed in our time to give form and
consistency to ideas otherwise very dim and shadowy, and thus to
rehabilitate for our benefit the philosophical dreams of antiquity in
a more substantial shape. In this respect the natural sciences--or,
rather, the facts and laws with which they are conversant--merely
share the fate of other things. Nothing, however indifferent in
itself, can come into human hands without acquiring thereby an
ethical, social, political, or even religious, significance. An ounce
of lead or a dynamite cartridge may be in itself a thing altogether
destitute of any higher significance than that depending on physical
properties; but let it pass into the power of man, and at once
infinite possibilities of good and of evil cluster round it according
to the use to which it may be applied. This depends on essential
powers and attributes of man himself, of which he can no more be
deprived than matter can be denuded of its inherent properties; and if
the evils arising from misuse of these powers trouble us, we may at
least console ourselves with the reflection that the possibility of
such evils shows man to be a free agent, and not an automaton.
All this is eminently applicable to science in its relation to
agnostic speculations. The material of the physical and natural
sciences consists of facts ascertained by the evidence of our senses,
and for which we depend on the truthfulness of those senses and the
stability of external nature. Science proceeds, by comparison of
these facts and by inductive reasoning, to arrange them under certain
general expressions or laws. So far all is merely physical, and need
have no connection with our origin or destiny or relation to higher
powers. But we ourselves are a part of the nature which we study; and
we cannot study it without more or less thinking our own thoughts into
it. Thus we naturally begin to inquire as to origins and first causes,
and as to the source of the energy and order which we perceive; and to
these questions the human mind demands some answer, either actual or
speculative. But here we enter into the domain of religious thought,
or that which relates to a power or powers beyond and above nature.
Whatever forms our thoughts on such subjects may take, these depend,
not directly on the facts of science, but on the reaction of our minds
on these facts. They are truly anthropomorphic. It has been well said
that it is as idle to inquire as to the origin of such religious ideas
as to inquire as to the origin of hunger and thirst. Given the man,
they must necessarily exist. Now, whatever form these philosophical or
religious ideas may take--whether that of Agnosticism or Pantheism or
Theism--science, properly so called, has no right to be either praised
or blamed. Its material may be used, but the structure is the work of
the artificer himself.
It is well, however, to carry with us the truth that this border-land
between science and religion is one which men cannot be prevented from
entering; but what they may find therein depends very much on
themselves. Under wise guidance it may prove to us an Eden, the very
gate of heaven, and we may acquire in it larger and more harmonious
views of both the seen and the unseen, of science and of religion.
But, on the other hand, it may be found to be a battle-field or a
bedlam, a place of confused cries and incoherent ravings, and strewn
with the wrecks of human hopes and aspirations.
There can be no question that the more unpleasant aspect of the matter
is somewhat prevalent in our time, and that we should, if possible,
understand the causes of the conflict and the confusion that prevail,
and the way out of them. To do this it will be necessary first to
notice some of the incidental or extraneous causes of difficulty and
strife, and then to inquire more in detail as to the actual bearing
of the scientific knowledge of nature on Agnosticism.
One fruitful cause of difficulty in the relations of science and
religion is to be found in the narrowness and incapacity of
well-meaning Christians who unnecessarily bring the doctrines of
natural and revealed religion into conflict, by misunderstanding the
one or the other, or by attaching obsolete scientific ideas to Holy
Scripture, and identifying them with it in points where it is quite
non-committal. Much mischief is also done by a prevalent habit of
speaking of all, or nearly all, the votaries of science as if they
were irreligious.
A second cause is to be found in the extravagant speculations indulged
in by the adherents of certain philosophical systems. Such
speculations often far overpass the limits of actual scientific
knowledge, and are yet paraded before the ignorant as if they were
legitimate results of science, and so become irretrievably confounded
with it in the popular mind.
A third influence, more closely connected with science itself, arises
from the rapidity of the progress of discovery and of the practical
applications of scientific facts and principles. This has unsettled
the minds of men, and has given them the idea that nothing is beyond
their reach. There is thus a vague notion that science has overcome so
many difficulties, and explained so many mysteries, that it may
ultimately satisfy all the wants of man and leave no scope for
religious belief. Those who know the limitations of our knowledge of
material things may not share this delusion; but there is reason to
fear that many, even of scientific men, are carried away by it, and it
widely affects the minds of general readers.
Again, science has in the course of its growth become divided into a
great number of small specialties, each pursued ardently by its own
votaries. This is beneficial in one respect; for much more can be
gained by men digging downward, each on his own vein of valuable ore,
than by all merely scraping the surface. But the specialist, as he
descends fathom after fathom into his mine, however rich and rare the
gems and metals he may discover, becomes more and more removed from
the ordinary ways of men, and more and more regardless of the products
of other veins as valuable as his own. The specialist, however
profound he may become in the knowledge of his own limited subject, is
on that very account less fitted to guide his fellow-men in the
pursuit of general truth. When he ventures to the boundaries between
his own and other domains of truth, or when he conceives the idea that
his own little mine is the sole deposit of all that requires to be
known, he sometimes makes grave mistakes; and these pass current for a
time as the dicta of high scientific authority.
Lastly, the lowest influence of all is that which sometimes regulates
what may be termed the commercial side of science. Here the demand is
very apt to control the supply. New facts and legitimate conclusions
cannot be produced with sufficient rapidity to satisfy the popular
craving, or they are not sufficiently exciting to compete with other
attractions. Science has then to enter the domain of imagination, and
the last new generalization--showy and specious, but perhaps baseless
as the plot of the last new novel--brings grist to the mill of the
"scientist" and his publisher.
Only one permanent and final remedy is possible for these evils, and
that is a higher moral tone and more thorough scientific education on
the part of the general public. Until this can be secured, true
science is sure to be surrounded with a mental haze of vague
hypotheses clothed in ill-defined language, and which is mistaken by
the multitude for science itself. Yet true science should not be held
responsible for this, except in so far as its material is used to
constitute the substance of the pseudo-gnosis which surrounds it.
Science is in this relation the honest householder whose goods may be
taken by thieves and applied to bad uses, or the careful amasser of
wealth which may be dissipated by spendthrifts.
It may be said that if these statements are true, the ordinary reader
is helpless. How can he separate the true from the false? Must he
resign himself to the condition of one who either believes on mere
authority or refuses to believe anything? or must he adopt the
attitude of the Pyrrhonist who thinks that anything may be either true
or false? But it is true, nevertheless, that common sense may suffice
to deliver us from much of the pseudo-science of our time, and to
enable us to understand how little reason there is for the conflicts
promoted by mere speculation between science and other departments of
legitimate thought and inquiry.
In illustrating this, we may in the present lecture consider that form
of sceptical philosophy which in our time is the most prevalent, and
which has the most specious air of dependence on science. This is the
system of Agnosticism combined with evolution of which Mr. Herbert
Spencer is the most conspicuous advocate in the English-speaking
world. This philosophy deals with two subjects--the cause or origin of
the universe and of things therein, and the method of the progress of
all from the beginning until now. Spencer sees nothing in the first of
these but mere force or energy, nothing in the second but a
spontaneous evolution. All beyond these is not only unknown, but
unknowable. The theological and philosophical shortcomings of this
doctrine have been laid bare by a multitude of critics, and I do not
propose to consider it in these relations so much as in relation to
science, which has much to say with respect to both force and
evolution.
An agnostic is literally one who does not know; and, were the word
used in its true and literal sense, Agnosticism would of necessity be
opposed to science, since science is knowledge and quite incompatible
with the want of it. But the modern agnostic does not pretend to be
ignorant of the facts and principles of science. What he professes not
to know is the existence of any power above and beyond material
nature. He goes a little farther, however, than mere absence of
knowledge. He holds that of God nothing can be known; or he may put it
a little more strongly, in the phrase of his peculiar philosophy, by
saying that the existence of a God or of creation by divine power is
"unthinkable." It is in this that he differs from the old-fashioned
and now extinct atheist, who bluntly denied the existence of a God.
The modern agnostic assumes an attitude of greater humility and
disclaims the actual denial of God. Yet he practically goes farther,
in asserting the impossibility of knowing the existence of a Divine
Being; and in taking this farther step Agnosticism does more to
degrade the human reason and to cut it off from all communion with
anything beyond mere matter and force, than does any other form of
philosophy, ancient or modern.
Yet in this Agnosticism there is in one point an approximation to
truth. If there is a God, he cannot be known directly and fully, and
his plans and procedure must always be more or less incomprehensible.
The writer of the book of Job puts this as plainly as any modern
agnostic in the passage beginning "Canst thou by searching find out
God?"--literally, "Canst thou sound the depths of God?"--and a still
higher authority informs us that "no man hath seen God"--that is,
known him as we know material things. In short, absolutely and
essentially God is incomprehensible; but this is no new discovery, and
the mistake of the agnostic lies in failing to perceive that the same
difficulty stands in the way of our perfectly knowing anything
whatever. We say that we know things when we mean that we know them in
their properties, relations, or effects. In this sense the knowledge
of God is perfectly possible. It is impossible only in that other
sense of the word "know"--if it can have such a sense--in which we are
required to know things in their absolute essence and thoroughly. Thus
the term "agnostic" contains an initial fallacy in itself; and this
philosophy, like many others, rests, in the first instance, on a mere
jugglery of words. The real question is, "Is there a God who manifests
himself to us mediately and practically?" and this is a question which
we cannot afford to set aside by a mere play on the meanings of the
verb "to know."
If, however, any man takes this position and professes to be incapable
of knowing whether or not there is any power above and behind
material things, it will be necessary to begin with the very elements
of knowledge, and to inquire if there is anything whatever that he
really knows and believes.
Let us ask him if he can subscribe to the simple creed expressed in
the words "I am, I feel, I think." Should he deny these propositions,
then there is no basis left on which to argue. Should he admit this
much of belief, he has abandoned somewhat of his agnostic position;
for it would be easy to show that in even uttering the pronoun "I" he
has committed himself to the belief in the unknowable. What is the
_ego_ which he admits? Is it the material organism or any one of its
organs or parts? or is it something distinct, of which the organism is
merely the garment, or outward manifestation? or is the organism
itself anything more than a bundle of appearances partially known and
scarcely understood by that which calls itself "I"? Who knows? And if
our own personality is thus inscrutable, if we can conceive of it
neither as identical with the whole or any part of the organism nor as
existing independently of the organism, we should begin our
Agnosticism here, and decline to utter the pronoun "I" as implying
what we cannot know. Still, as a matter of faith, we must hold fast to
the proposition "I exist" as the only standpoint for science,
philosophy, or common life. If we are asked for evidence of this
faith, we can appeal only to our consciousness of effects which imply
the existence of the _ego_, which we thus have to admit or suppose
before we can begin to prove even its existence.
This fact of the mystery of our own existence is full of material for
thought. It is in itself startling--even appalling. We feel that it is
a solemn, a dreadful, thing to exist, and to exist in that limitless
space and that eternal time which we can no more understand than we
can our own constitution, though our belief in their existence is
inevitable. Nor can we divest ourselves of anxious thoughts as to the
source, tendencies, and end of our own being. Here, in short, we
already reach the threshold of that dread unknown future and its
possibilities, the realization of which by hope, fear, and imagination
constitutes, perhaps, our first introduction to the unseen world as
distinguished from the present world of sense. The agnostic may smile
if he pleases at religion as a puerile fancy, but he knows, like other
men, that the mere consciousness of existence necessarily links
itself with a future--nay, unending--existence, and that any being
with this consciousness of futurity must have at least a religion of
hope and fear. In this we find an intelligible reason for the
universality of religious ideas in relation to a future life. Even
where this leads to beliefs that may be called superstitious, it is
more reasonable than Agnosticism; for it is surely natural that a
being inscrutable by himself should be led to believe in the existence
of other things equally inscrutable, but apparently related to
himself.
But the thinking "I" dwells in the midst of what we term external
objects. In a certain sense it treats the parts of its own bodily
organism as if they were things external to it, speaking of "my hand,"
"my head," as if they were its property. But there are things
practically infinite beyond the organism itself. We call them objects
or things, but they are only appearances; and we know only their
relations to ourselves and to each other. Their essence, if they have
any, is inscrutable. We say that the appearances indicate matter and
energy, but what these are essentially we know not. We reduce matter
to atoms, but it is impossible for us to have any conception of an
atom or of the supposed ether, whether itself in some sense atomic or
not, including such atoms. Our attempts to form rational conceptions
of atoms resolve themselves into complex conjectures as to vortices of
ethers and the like, of which no one pretends to have any distinct
mental picture; yet on this basis of the incomprehensible rests all
our physical science, the first truths in which are really matters of
pure faith in the existence of that which we cannot understand. Yet
all men would scoff at the agnostic who on this account should express
unbelief in physical science.
Let us observe here, further, that since the mysterious and
inscrutable "I" is surrounded with an equally mysterious and
inscrutable universe, and since the _ego_ and the external world are
linked together by indissoluble relations, we are introduced to
certain alternatives as to origins. Either the universe or "nature" is
a mere phantom conjured up by the _ego_, or the _ego_ is a product of
the universe, or both are the result of some equally mysterious power
beyond us and the material world. Neither of these suppositions is
absurd or unthinkable; and, whichever of them we adopt, we are again
introduced to what may be termed a religion as well as a philosophy.
On one view, man becomes a god to himself; on another, nature becomes
his god; on the third, a Supreme Being, the Creator of both. All three
religions exist in the world in a vast variety of forms, and it is
questionable if any human being does not more or less give credence to
one or the other.
Scientific men, even when they think proper to call themselves
idealists, must reject the first of the above alternatives, since they
cannot doubt the objective existence of external nature, and they know
that its existence dates from a time anterior to our possible
existence as human beings. They may hold to either of the others; and,
practically, the minds of students of science are divided between the
idea of a spontaneous evolution of all things from self-existent
matter and force, and that of the creation of all by a self-existent,
omnipotent, and all-wise Creator. From certain points of view, it may
be of no consequence whether a scientific man holds one or other of
these views. Self-existent force or power, capable of spontaneous
inception of change, and of orderly and infallible development
according to laws of its own imposition or enactment, which is
demanded on the one hypothesis, scarcely differs from the conception
of an intelligent Creator demanded on the other, while it is, to say
the least, equally incomprehensible. It is, besides, objectionable to
science, on the ground that it requires us to assume properties in
matter and energy quite at variance with the results of experience.
The remarkable alternative presented by Tyndall in his Belfast Address
well expresses this: "Either let us open our doors freely to the
conception of creative acts, or, abandoning them, let us radically
change our notions of matter." The expression "creative acts" here is
a loose and not very accurate one for the operation of creative power.
The radical change in "our notions of matter" involves an entire
reversal of all that science knows of its essential properties. This
being understood, the sentence is a fair expression of the dilemma in
which the agnostic and the materialist find themselves.
Between the two hypotheses above stated there is, however, one
material and vital difference, depending on the nature of man himself.
The universe does not consist merely of insensate matter and force and
automatic vitality; there happens to be in it the rational and
consciously responsible being man. To attribute to him an origin from
mere matter and force is not merely to attach to them a fictitious
power and significance: it is also to reject the rational probability
that the original cause must be at least equal to the effects
produced, and to deprive ourselves of all communion and sympathy with
nature. Further, wherever the "presence and potency" of human reason
resides, there seems no reason to prevent our searching for and
finding it in the only way in which we can know anything, in its
properties and effects. The dogma of Agnosticism, it is true, refuses
to permit this search after God, but it does so with as little reason
as any of those self-constituted authorities that demand belief
without questioning. Nay, it has the offensive peculiarity that in the
very terms in which it issues its prohibition it contradicts itself.
The same oracle which asserts that "the power which the universe
manifests to us is wholly inscrutable" affirms also that "we must
inevitably commit ourselves to the hypothesis of a first cause." Thus
we are told that a power which is "manifest" is also "inscrutable,"
and that we must "commit ourselves" to a belief in a "first cause"
which on the hypothesis cannot be known to exist. This may be
philosophy of a certain sort, but it certainly should not claim
kinship with science.
Perhaps it may be well here to place in comparison with each other the
doctrine of the agnostic philosophy as expounded by Herbert Spencer,
and that of Paul of Tarsus--an older, but certainly a not less acute,
thinker--and we may refer to their utterances respecting the origin of
the universe.
Spencer says: "The verbally intelligent suppositions respecting the
origin of the universe are three: (1) It is self-existent; (2) It is
self-created; (3) It is created by an external agency." On these it
may be remarked that the second is scarcely even "verbally
intelligent;" it seems to be a contradiction in terms. The third
admits of an important modification, which was manifest to Spinosa if
not to Spencer--namely, that the Creator may--nay, must--be not merely
"external," but within the universe as well. If there is a God, he
must be _in_ the universe as a pervading power, and in every part of
it, and must not be shut out from his own work. This mistaken
conception of God as building himself out of his own universe and
acting on it by external force is both irrational and unscientific,
being, for example, quite at variance with the analogy of force and
life. Rightly understood, therefore, Spencer's alternatives resolve
themselves into two--either the universe is self-existent, or it is
the work of a self-existent Creator pervading all things with his
power. Of these, Spencer prefers the first. Paul, on the other hand,
referring to the mental condition of the civilized heathens of his
time, affirms that rationally they could believe only in the
hypothesis of creation. He says of God: "His invisible things, even
his eternal power and divinity, can be perceived (by the reason),
being understood by the things that are made." Let us look at these
rival propositions. Is the universe self-existent, or does it show
evidence of creative power and divinity?
The doctrine that the universe is self-existent may be understood in
different ways. It may mean either an endless succession of such
changes as we now see in progress, or an eternity of successive cycles
proceeding through the course of geological ages and ever returning
into themselves. The first is directly contrary to known facts in the
geological history of the earth, and cannot be maintained by any one.
The second would imply that the known geological history is merely a
part of one great cycle of an endless series, and of which an infinite
number have already passed away. It is evident that this infinite
succession of cycles is quite as incomprehensible as any other
infinite succession of things or events. But, waiving this objection,
we have the alternative either that all the successive cycles are
exactly alike--which could not be, in accordance with evolution, nor
with the analogy of other natural cycles--or there must have been a
progression in the successive cycles. But this last supposition would
involve an uncaused beginning somewhere, and this of such a character
as to determine all the successive cycles and their progress; which
would again be contrary to the hypothesis of self-existence. It is
useless, however, to follow such questions farther, since it is
evident that this hypothesis accounts for nothing and would involve us
in absolute confusion.
Let us turn now to Paul's statement. This has the merit, in the first
place, of expressing a known fact--namely, that men do infer power and
divinity from nature. But is this a mere superstition, or have they
reason for it? If the universe be considered as a vast machine
exceeding all our powers of calculation in its magnitude and
complexity, it seems in the last degree absurd to deny that it
presents evidence of "power." Dr. Carpenter, in a recent lecture,
illustrates the position of the agnostic in this respect by supposing
him to examine the machinery of a great mill, and, having found that
this is all set in motion by a huge iron shaft proceeding from a brick
wall, to suppose that this shaft is self-acting, and that there is no
cause of motion beyond. But when we consider the variety and the
intricacy of nature, the unity and the harmony of its parts, and the
adaptation of these to an incalculable number of uses, we find
something more than power. There is a fitting together of things in a
manner not only above our imitation, but above our comprehension. To
refer this to mere chance or to innate tendencies or potencies of
things we feel to be but an empty form of words; consequently, we are
forced to admit superhuman contrivance in nature, or what Paul terms
"divinity." Further, since the history of the universe goes back
farther than we can calculate, and as we can know nothing beyond the
First Cause, we infer that the Power and Divinity which we have
ascertained in nature must be "eternal." Again, since the creative
power must at some point in past time have spontaneously begun to act,
we regard it as a "living" power, which is the term elsewhere used by
Paul in expressing the idea of "personality" as held by theologians.
Lastly, if everything that we know thus testifies to an eternal power
and divinity, to maintain that we can know nothing of this First Cause
must be simply nonsense, unless we are content to fall back on
absolute nihilism, and hold that we know nothing whatever, either
relatively or absolutely; but in this case not only is science
dethroned, but reason herself is driven from her seat, and there is
nothing left for us to discuss. Paul's idea is thus perfectly clear
and consistent, and it is not difficult to see that common sense must
accept this doctrine of an Eternal Living Power and Divinity in
preference to the hypothesis of Spencer.
So far we have considered the general bearing of agnostic and theistic
theories on our relations to nature; but if we are to test these
theories fully by scientific considerations, we must look a little
more into details. The existences experimentally or inductively known
to science may be grouped under three heads--matter, energy, and law;
and each of these has an independent testimony to give with reference
to its origin and its connection with a higher creative power.
Matter, it is true, occupies a somewhat equivocal place in the
agnostic philosophy. According to Spencer, it is "built up or
extracted from experiences of force," and it is only by force that it
"demonstrates itself to us as existing." This is true; but that which
"demonstrates itself to us as existing" must exist, in whatever way
the demonstration is made, and Spencer does not, in consequence of the
lack of direct evidence, extend his Agnosticism to matter, though he
might quite consistently do so. In any case, science postulates the
existence of matter. Further, science is obliged to conceive of matter
as composed of atoms, and of atoms of different kinds; for atoms
differ in weight and in chemical properties, and these differences are
to us ultimate, for they cannot be changed. Thus science and practical
life are tied down to certain predetermined properties of matter. We
may, it is true, in future be able to reduce the number of kinds of
matter, by finding that some bodies believed to be simple are really
compound; but this does not affect the question in hand. As to the
origin of the diverse properties of atoms, only two suppositions seem
possible: either in some past period they agreed to differ and to
divide themselves into different kinds suitable in quantity and
properties to make up the universe, or else matter in its various
kinds has been skilfully manufactured by a creative power.
But there is a scientific way in which matter may be resolved into
force. An iron knife passed through a powerful magnetic current is
felt to be resisted, as if passing through a solid substance, and this
resistance is produced merely by magnetic attraction. Why may it not
be so with resistance in general? To give effect to such a
supposition, and to reconcile it with the facts of chemistry and of
physics, it is necessary to suppose that the atoms of matter are
merely minute vortices or whirlwinds set up in an ethereal medium,
which in itself, and when at rest, does not possess any of the
properties of matter. That such an ethereal medium exists we have
reason to believe from the propagation of light and heat through
space, though we know little, except negatively, of its properties.
Admitting, however, its existence, the setting up in it of the various
kinds of vortices constituting the atoms of different kinds of matter
is just as much in need of a creative power to initiate it as the
creation of matter out of nothing would be. Besides this, we now have
to account for the existence of the ether itself; and here we have the
disadvantage that this substance possesses none of the properties of
ordinary matter except mere extension; that, in so far as we know, it
is continuous, and not molecular; and that, while of the most
inconceivable tenuity, it transmits vibrations in a manner similar to
that of a body of the extremest solidity. It would seem, also, to be
indefinite in extent and beyond the control of the ordinary natural
forces. In short, ether is as incomprehensible as Deity; and if we
suppose it to have instituted spontaneously the different kinds of
matter, we have really constituted it a god, which is what, in a loose
way, some ancient mythologies actually did. We may, however, truly say
that this modern scientific conception of the practically infinite and
all-pervading ether, the primary seat of force, brings us nearer than
ever before to some realization of the Spiritual Creator.
But to ether both science and Agnosticism must superadd energy--the
entirely immaterial something which moves ether itself. The rather
crude scientific notion that certain forces are "modes of motion"
perhaps blinds us somewhat to the mystery of energy. Even if we knew
no other form of force than heat, which moves masses of matter or
atoms, it would be in many respects an inscrutable thing. But as
traversing the subtle ether in such forms as radiant heat, light,
chemical force, and electricity, energy becomes still more mysterious.
Perhaps it is even more so in what seems to be one of its primitive
forms--that of gravitation, where it connects distant bodies
apparently without any intervening medium. Facts of this kind appear
to bring us still nearer to the conception of an all-pervading
immaterial creative power.
But perhaps what may be termed the determinations of force exhibit
this still more clearly, as a very familiar instance may show. Our
sun--one of a countless number of similar suns--is to us the great
centre of light and heat, sustaining all processes, whether merely
physical or vital, on our planet. It was a grand conception of certain
old religions to make the sun the emblem of God, though sun-worship
was a substitution of the creature for the Creator, and would have
been dispelled by modern discovery. But our sun is not merely one of
countless suns, some of them of greater magnitude, but it is only a
temporary depository of a limited quantity of energy, ever dissipating
itself into space, calculable as to its amount and duration, and known
to depend for its existence on gravitative force. We may imagine the
beginning of such a luminary in the collision of great masses of
matter rushing together under the influence of gravitation, and
causing by their impact a conflagration capable of enduring for
millions of years. Yet our imagining such a rude process for the
kindling of the sun will go a very little way in accounting for all
the mechanism of the solar system and things therein. Further, it
raises new questions as to the original condition of matter. If it was
originally in one mass, whence came the incalculable power by which it
was rent into innumerable suns and systems? If it was once universally
diffused in boundless space, when and how was the force of gravity
turned on, and what determined its action in such a way as to
construct the existing universe? This is only one of the simplest and
baldest possible views of the intricate determinations of force
displayed in the universe, yet it may suffice to indicate the
necessity of a living and determining First Cause.
The fact that all the manifestations of force are regulated by law by
no means favors the agnostic view. The laws of nature are merely
mental generalizations of our own, and, so far as they go, show a
remarkable harmony between our mental nature and that manifested in
the universe. They are not themselves powers capable of producing
effects, but merely express what we can ascertain of uniformity of
action in nature. The law of gravitation, for example, gives no clew
to the origin of that force, but merely expresses its constant mode of
action, in whatever way that may have been determined at first. Nor
are natural laws decrees of necessity. They might have been
otherwise--nay, many of them may be otherwise in parts of the universe
inaccessible to us, or they may change in process of time; for the
period over which our knowledge extends may be to the plans of the
Creator like the lifetime of some minute insect which might imagine
human arrangements of no great permanence to be of eternal duration.
Unless the laws of nature were constant, in so far as our experience
extends, we could have no certain basis either for science or for
practical life. All would be capricious and uncertain, and we could
calculate on nothing. Law thus adapts the universe to be the residence
of rational beings, and nothing else could. Viewed in this way, we see
that natural laws must be, in their relation to a Creator, voluntary
limitations of his power in certain directions for the benefit of his
creatures. To secure this end, nature must be a perfect machine, all
the parts of which are adjusted for permanent and harmonious action.
It may perhaps rather be compared to a vast series of machines, each
running independently like the trains on a railway, but all connected
and regulated by an invisible guidance which determines the time and
the distance of each, and the manner in which the less urgent and less
important shall give place to others. Even this does not express the
whole truth; for the harmony of nature must be connected with constant
change and progress toward higher perfection. Does this conception of
natural law give us any warrant for the idea that the universe is a
product of chance? Is it not the highest realization of all that we
can conceive of the plans of superhuman intelligence?
The stupid notion--still lingering in certain quarters--that when
anything has been referred to a natural law or to a secondary cause
under law, God may be dispensed with in relation to that thing, is
merely a survival of the superstition that divine action must be of
the nature of a capricious interference. The true theistic conception
of law is that already stated, of a voluntary limitation of divine
power in the interest of a material cosmos and its intelligent
inhabitants. Nor is the permanence of law dependent on necessity or on
mere mechanical routine, but on the unchanging will of the Legislator;
while the countless varieties and vicissitudes of nature depend, not
on caprice or on accidental interference, but on the interactions and
adjustments of laws of different grades, and so numerous and varied in
their scope and application and in the combinations of which they are
capable that it is often impossible for finite minds to calculate
their results.
If, now, in conclusion, we are asked to sum up the hypotheses as to
the origin of natural laws and of the properties and determinations of
matter and force, we may do this under the following heads:
1. Absolute creation by the will of a Supreme Intelligence,
self-existent and omnipotent. This may be the ultimate fact lying
behind all materials, forces, and laws known to science.
2. Mediate creation, or the making of new complex products with
material already created and under laws previously existing. This is
applicable not so much to the primary origin of things as to their
subsequent determinations and modifications.
3. Both of the above may be included under the expression "creation by
law," implying the institution from the first of fixed laws or modes
of action not to be subsequently deviated from.
4. Theistic evolution, or the gradual development of the divine plans
by the apparently spontaneous interaction of things made. This is
universally admitted to occur in the minor modifications of created
things, though of course it can have no place as a mode of explaining
actual origins, and it must be limited within the laws of nature
established by the Creator. Practically, it might be difficult to make
any sharp distinctions between such evolution and mediate creation.
5. Agnostic and monistic evolution, which hold the spontaneous
origination and differentiation of things out of primitive matter and
force, self-existent or fortuitous. The monistic form of this
hypothesis assumes one primary substance or existence potentially
embracing all subsequent developments.
These theories are, of course, not all antagonistic to one another.
They resolve themselves into two groups, a theistic and an atheistic.
The former includes the first four; the latter, the fifth. Any one who
believes in God may suppose a primary creation of matter and energy, a
subsequent moulding and fashioning of them mediately and under natural
law, and also a gradual evolution of many new things by the
interaction of things previously made. This complex idea of the origin
of things seems, indeed, to be the rational outcome of Theism. It is
also the idea which underlies the old record in the book of Genesis,
where we have first an absolute creation, and then a series of
"makings" and "placings," and of things "bringing forth" other things,
in the course of the creative periods.
On the other hand, Agnosticism postulates primary force or forces
self-existent and including potentially all that is subsequently
evolved from them. The only way in which it approximates to theism is
in its extreme monistic form, where the one force or power supposed
to underlie all existence is a sort of God shorn of personality, will,
and reason.
The actual relations of these opposing theories to science cannot be
better explained than by a reference to the words of a leading monist,
whose views we shall have to notice in the next lecture. "If," says
Haeckel, "anybody feels the necessity of representing the origin of
matter as the work of a supernatural creative force independent of
matter itself, I would remind him that the idea of an immaterial force
creating matter in the first instance is an article of faith which has
nothing to do with science. Where faith begins, science ends."
Precisely so, if only we invert the last sentence and say, "Where
science ends, faith begins." It is only by faith that we know of any
force, or even of the atoms of matter themselves, and in like manner
it is "by faith we know that the creative ages have been constituted
by the word of God."[1] The only difference is that the monist has
faith in the potency of nothing to produce something, or of something
material to exist for ever and to acquire at some point of time the
power spontaneously to enter on the process of development; while the
theist has faith in a primary intelligent Will as the Author of all
things. The latter has this to confirm his faith--that it accords with
what we know of the inertia of matter, of the constancy of forces, and
of the permanence of natural law, and is in harmony with the powers of
the one free energy we know--that of the human will.