ON THE NATURE AND THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.

IT is impossible for those who study the deeper religious; problems of

our time to stave off much longer the question which lies at the root

of them all, "What do you believe in regard to God?" We may controvert

Christian doctrines, one after another; point by point we may be driven

from the various beliefs of our churches; reason may force us to see

contradictions where we had imagined harmony, and may open our eyes

to flaws where we had dreamed of perfection; we resign all idea of a

revelation; we seek for God in Nature only; we renounce for ever the

hope (which glorified our former creed into such alluring beauty) that

at some future time we should verily "see" God, that "our eyes should

behold the King in his beauty" in that fairy "land which is very far

off." But every step we take onwards towards a more reasonable faith

and a surer light of Truth leads us nearer and nearer to the problem of

problems, "What is That which men call God?" Not till theologians have

thoroughly grappled with this question have they any just claim to

be called religious guides; from each of those whom we honour as our

leading thinkers we have a right to a distinct answer to this question,

and the very object of the present paper is to provoke discussion on

this point.

Men are apt to turn aside somewhat impatiently from an argument about

the Nature and Existence of the Deity, because they consider that

the question is a metaphysical one which leads nowhere; a problem the

resolution of which is beyond our faculties, and the study of which

is at once useless and dangerous; they forget that action is ruled by

thought, and that our ideas about God are therefore of vast practical

importance. On our answer to the question propounded above depends our

whole conception of the nature and origin of evil, and of the sanctions

of morality; on our idea of God turns our opinion on the much-disputed

question of prayer, and, in fact, our whole attitude of mind towards

life, here and hereafter. Does morality consist in obedience to the will

of a perfectly moral Being, and are we to aim at righteousness of life

because in so doing we please God? Or are we to lead noble lives because

nobility of life is desirable for itself alone, and because it spreads

happiness around us and satisfies the desires of our own nature? Is our

mental attitude to be that of kneeling or standing? Are our eyes to

be fixed on heaven or on earth? Is prayer to God reasonable and helpful,

the natural cry of a child for help from a Father in Heaven? Or is it,

on the other hand, a useless appeal to an unknown and irresponsible

force? Is the mainspring of our actions to be the idea of duty to God,

or a sense of the necessity of bringing our being into harmony with the

laws of the universe? It appears to me that these questions are of such

grave and vital moment that no apology is needed for drawing attention

to them; and because of their importance to mankind I challenge the

leaders of the religious and non-religious world alike, the Christians,

Theists, Pantheists, and those who take no specific name, duly to test

the views they severally hold. In this battle the simple foot

soldier may touch with his lance the shield of the knight, and the

insignificance of the challenger does not exempt the general from the

duty of lifting the gauntlet flung down at his feet. Little care I

for personal defeat, if the issue of the conflict should enthrone more

firmly the radiant figure of Truth. One fault, however, I am anxious

to avoid, and that is the fault of ambiguity. The orthodox and the

free-thinking alike do a good deal of useless fighting from sheer

misunderstanding of each other's standpoint in the controversy. It

appears, then, to be indispensable in the prosecution of the following

inquiry that the meaning of the terms used should be unmistakably

distinct. I begin, therefore, by defining the technical forms of

expression to be employed in my argument; the definitions may be good or

bad, that is not material; all that is needed is that the sense in which

the various terms are used should be clearly understood. When men fight

only for the sake of discovering truth, definiteness of expression is

specially incumbent on them; and, as has been eloquently said, "the

strugglers being sincere, truth may give laurels to the victor and the

vanquished: laurels to the victor in that he hath upheld the truth,

laurels still welcome to the vanquished, whose defeat crowns him with a

truth he knew not of before."

The definitions that appear to me to be absolutely necessary are as

follows:--

_Matter_ is used to express that which is tangible. _Spirit (or

spiritual_) is used to express those intangible forces whose existence

we become aware of only through the effects they produce.

_Substance_ is used to express that which exists in itself and by

itself, and the conception of which does not imply the conception of

anything preceding it.

_God_ is used to represent exclusively that Being invested by the

orthodox with certain physical, intellectual, and moral attributes.

Particular attention must be paid to this last definition, because the

term "atheist" is often flung unjustly at any thinker who ventures

to criticise _the popular and traditional idea_ of God; and different

schools, Theistic and non-Theistic, with but too much facility, bandy

about this vague epithet in mutual reproach.

As an instance of this uncharitable and unfair use of ugly names, all

schools agree in calling the late Mr. Austin Holyoake an "atheist," and

he accepted the name himself, although he distinctly stated (as we find

in a printed report of a discussion held at the Victoria Institute) that

he did not deny the possibility of the existence of God, but only

denied the possibility of the existence of that God in whom the orthodox

exhorted him to believe. It is well thus to protest beforehand against

this name being bandied about, because it carries with it, at present,

so much popular prejudice, that it prevents all possibility of candid

and free discussion. It is simply a convenient stone to fling at the

head of an opponent whose arguments one cannot meet, a certain way of

raising a tumult which will drown his voice; and, if it have any serious

meaning at all, it might fairly be used, as I shall presently show,

against the most orthodox pillar of the orthodox faith.

It is manifest to all who will take the trouble to think steadily, that

there can be only one eternal and underived substance, and that matter

and spirit must therefore only be varying manifestations of this one

substance. The distinction made between matter and spirit is then

simply made for the sake of convenience and clearness, just as we may

distinguish perception from judgment, both of which, however, are alike

processes of thought. Matter is, in its constituent elements, the same

as spirit; existence is one, however manifold in its phenomena; life is

one, however multiform in its evolution. As the heat of the coal differs

from the coal itself, so do memory, perception, judgment, emotion, and

will, differ from the brain which is the instrument of thought. But

nevertheless they are all equally products of the one sole substance,

varying only in their conditions. It may be taken for granted that

against this preliminary point of the argument will be raised the

party-cry of "rank materialism," because "materialism" is a doctrine of

which the general public has an undefined horror. But I am bold to say

that if by matter is meant that which is above defined as substance,

then no reasoning person can help being a materialist. The orthodox are

very fond of arguing back to what they call the Great First Cause. "God

is a spirit," they say, "and from him is derived the spiritual part of

man." Well and good; they have traced back a part of the universe to

a point at which they conceive that only one universal essence is

possible, that which they call God, and which is spirit only. But I then

invite their consideration to the presence of something which they

do not regard as spirit, _i e._, matter. I follow their own plan of

argument step by step: I trace matter, as they traced spirit, back and

back, till I reach a point beyond which I cannot go, one only existence,

substance or essence; am I therefore to believe that God is matter only?

But we have already found it asserted by Theists that he is spirit only,

and we cannot believe two contradictories, however logical the road

which led us to them; so we must acknowledge two substances, eternally

existent side by side; if existence be dual, then, however absurd

the hypothesis, there must be two First Causes. It is not I who am

responsible for an idea so anomalous. The orthodox escape from this

dilemma by an assumption, thus: "God, to whom is to be traced back all

spirit, _created_ matter." Why, am I not equally justified in assuming,

if I please, that matter created spirit? Why should I be logical in one

argument and illogical in another? If we come to assumptions, have not

I as much right to my assumption as my neighbour has to his? Why may he

predicate creation of one half of the universe, and I not predicate it

of the other half? If the assumptions be taken into consideration at

all, then I contend that mine is the more reasonable of the two, since

it is possible to imagine matter as existing without mind, while it is

utterly impossible to conceive of mind existing without matter. We all

know how a stone looks, and we are in the habit of regarding that

as lifeless matter; but who has any distinct idea of a mind _pur et

simple?_ No clear conception of it is possible to human faculties;

we can only conceive of mind as it is found in an organisation;

intelligence has no appreciable existence except as-residing in the

brain and as manifested in results. The lines of spirit and matter are

not one, say the orthodox; they run backwards side by side; why then, in

following the course of these two parallel lines, should I suddenly bend

one into the other? and on what principle of selection shall I choose

the one I am to curve? I must really decline to use logic just as far as

it supports the orthodox idea of God, and arbitrarily throw it down

the moment it conflicts with that idea. I find myself then compelled

to believe that one only substance exists in all around me; that the

universe is eternal, or at least eternal so far as our faculties are

concerned, since we cannot, as some one has quaintly put it "get to

the outside of everywhere;" that a Deity cannot be conceived of as apart

from the universe, pre-existent to the universe, post-existent to the

universe; that the Worker and the Work are inextricably interwoven, and

in some sense eternally and indissolubly combined. Having got so far, we

will proceed to examine into the possibility of proving the existence

of that one essence popularly called by the name of _God_, under the

conditions strictly defined by the orthodox. Having demonstrated, as I

hope to do, that the orthodox idea of God is unreasonable and absurd,

we will endeavour to discover whether _any_ idea of God, worthy to be

called an idea, is attainable in the present state of our faculties.

The orthodox believers in God are divided into two camps, one of

which maintains that the existence of God is as demonstrable as any

mathematical proposition, while the other asserts that his existence

is not demonstrable to the intellect. I select Dr. McCann, a man of

considerable reputation, as the representative of the former of these

two opposing schools of thought, and give the Doctor's position in his

own words:--"The purpose of the following paper is to prove the

fallacy of all such assumptions" (i e., that the existence of God is an

insoluble problem), "by showing that we are no more at liberty to deny

His being, than we are to deny any demonstration of Euclid. He would be

thought unworthy of refutation who should assert that any two angles of

a triangle are together greater than two right angles. We would content

ourselves by saying, 'The man is mad'--mathematically, at least--and

pass on. If it can be shown that we affirm the existence of Deity

for the very same reasons as we affirm the truth of any geometric

proposition; if it can be shown that the former is as capable of

demonstration as the latter--then it necessarily follows that if we are

justified in calling the man a fool who denies the latter, we are

also justified in calling him a fool who says there is no God, and in

refusing to answer him according to his folly." Which course is a very

convenient one when you meet with an awkward opponent whom you cannot

silence by sentiment and declamation. Again: "In conclusion, we believe

it to be very important to be able to prove that if the mathematician be

justified in asserting that the three angles of a triangle are equal to

two right angles, the Christian is equally justified in asserting,

not only that he is compelled to believe in God, but that he knows Him

(sic). And that he who denies the existence of the Deity is as unworthy

of serious refutation as is he who denies a mathematical demonstration."

('A Demonstration of the Existence of God,' a lecture delivered at the

Victoria Institute, 1870, pp. I and II.) Dr. McCann proves his very

startling thesis by laying down as axioms six statements, which, however

luminous to the Christian traditionalist, are obscure to the sceptical

intellect. He seems to be conscious of this defect in his so-called

axioms, for he proceeds to prove each of them elaborately,

forgetting that the simple statement of an axiom should carry direct

conviction--that it needs only to be understood in order to be accepted.

However, let this pass: our teacher, having stated and "proved"

his axioms, proceeds to draw his conclusions from them; and as his

foundations are unsound, it is scarcely to be wondered at that his

superstructure should be insecure, I know of no way so effectual to

defeat an adversary as to beg all the questions raised, assume every

point in dispute, call assumptions axioms, and then proceed to reason

from them. It is really not worth while to criticise Dr. McCann in

detail, his lecture being nothing but a mass of fallacies and unproved

assertions. Christian courtesy allows him to call those who dissent from

his assumptions "fools;" and as these terms of abuse are not considered

admissible by those whom he assails as unbelievers, there is a slight

difficulty in "answering" Dr. McCann "according to his" deserts. I

content myself with suggesting that they who wish to learn how pretended

reasoning may pass for solid argument, how inconsequent statements

may pass for logic, had better study this lecture. For my own part, I

confess that my "folly" is not, as yet, of a sufficiently pronounced

type to enable me to accept Dr. McCann's conclusions.

The best representation I can select of the second orthodox party, those

who admit that the existence of God is not demonstrable, is the late

Dean Mansel. In his 'Limits of Religious Thought,' the Bampton Lectures

for 1867, he takes up a perfectly unassailable position. The peculiarity

of this position, however, is that he, the pillar of orthodoxy, the

famed defender of the faith against German infidelity and all forms

of rationalism, regards God from exactly the same point as does a

well-known modern "atheist." I have almost hesitated sometimes which

writer to quote from, so identical are they in thought. Probably neither

Dean Mansel nor Mr. Bradlaugh would thank me for bracketing their names;

but I am forced to confess that the arguments used by the one to prove

the endless absurdities into which we fall when we try to comprehend the

nature of God, are exactly the same arguments that are used by the

other to prove that God, as believed in by the orthodox, cannot exist.

I quote, however, exclusively from the Dean, because it is at once novel

and agreeable to find oneself sheltered by Mother Church at the exact

moment when one is questioning her very foundations; and also because

the Dean's name carries with it so orthodox an odour that his authority

will tell where the same words from any of those who are outside the

pale of orthodoxy would be regarded with suspicion. Nevertheless, I

wish to state plainly that a more "atheistical" book than these Bampton

Lectures--at least, in the earlier part of it--I have never read; and

had its title-page borne the name of any well-known Free-thinker,

it would have been received in the religious world with a storm of

indignation.

The first definition laid down by the orthodox as a characteristic of

God is that he is an Infinite Being. "There is but one living and true

God... of _infinite_ power, &c." (Article of Religion, 1.) It has been

said that _infinite_ only means _indefinite_, but I must protest against

this weakening of a well-defined theological term. The term _Infinite_

has always been understood to mean far more than indefinite; it means

literally _boundless_: the infinite has no limitations, no possible

restrictions, no "circumference." People who do not think about the

meaning of the words they use speak very freely and familiarly of the

"infinitude" of God, as though the term implied no inconsistency. Deny

that God is infinite and you are at once called an atheist, but press

your opponent into a definition of the term and you will generally find

that he does not know what he is talking about. Dean Mansel points out,

with his accurate habit of mind, all that this attribute of God implies,

and it would be well if those who "believe in an infinite God" would try

and realise what they express. Half the battle of freethought will be

won when people attach a definite meaning to the terms they use. The

Infinite has no bounds; then the finite cannot exist. Why? Because in

the very act of acknowledging any existence beside the Infinite One you

limit the Infinite. By saying, "This is not God" you at once make him

finite, because you set a bound to his nature; you distinguish between

him and something else, and by the very act you limit him; that _which

is not he_ is as a rock which checks the waves of the ocean; in that

spot a limit is found, and in finding a limit the Infinite is destroyed.

The orthodox may retort, "this is only a matter of terms;" but it is

well to force them into realising the dogmas which they thrust on our

acceptance under such awful penalties for rejection. I know what "an

infinite God" implies, and, as apart from the universe, I feel compelled

to deny the possibility of his existence; surely it is fair that the

orthodox should also know what the words they use mean on this head,

and give up the term if they cling to a "personal" God, distinct from

"creation."--Further--and here I quote Dean Mansel--the "Infinite"

must be conceived as containing within itself the sum, not only of all

actual, but of all possible modes of being.... If any possible mode can

be denied of it... it is capable of becoming more than it now is, and

such a capability is a limitation. (The hiatus refers to the "absolute"

being of God, which it is better to consider separately.) "An unrealised

possibility is necessarily (a relation and) a limit." Thus is orthodoxy

crushed by the powerful logic of its own champion. God is infinite;

then, in that case, everything that exists is God; all phenomena are

modes of the Divine Being; there is literally nothing which is not God.

Will the orthodox accept this position? It lands them, it is true,

in the most extreme Pantheism, but what of that? They believe in an

"infinite God" and they are therefore necessarily Pantheists. If they

object to this, they must give up the idea that their God is infinite

at all; there is no half-way position open to them; he is infinite or

finite, which?

Again, God is "before all things," he is the only Absolute Being,

dependent on nothing outside himself; all that is not God is relative;

that is to say, that God exists alone and is not necessarily related to

anything else. The orthodox even believe that God did, at some

former period (which is not a period, they say, because time then was

not--however, at that hazy "time" he did), exist alone, _i e._, as what

is called an _Absolute_ Being: this conception is necessary for all who,

in any sense, believe in a _Creator_.

"Thou, in Thy far eternity,

Didst live and love alone."

So sings a Christian minstrel; and one of the arguments put forward for

a Trinity is that a plurality of persons is necessary in order that God

may be able to love at the "time" when he was alone. Into this point,

however, I do not now enter. But what does this Absolute imply? A simple

impossibility of creation, just as does the Infinite; for creation

implies that the relative is brought into existence, and thus the

Absolute is destroyed. "Here again the Pantheistic hypothesis seems

forced upon us. We can think of creation only as a change in the

condition of that which already exists, and thus the creature is

conceivable only as a phenomenal mode of the being of the Creator."

Thus once more looms up the dreaded spectre of Pantheism, "the dreary

desolation of a Pantheistic wilderness;" and who is the Moses who has

led us into this desert? It is a leader of orthodoxy, a dignitary of the

Church; it is Dean Mansel who stretches out his hand to the universe and

says, "This is thy God, O Israel."

The two highest attributes of God land us, then, in the most thorough

Pantheism; further, before remarking on the other divine attributes, I

would challenge the reader to pause and try to realise this infinite and

absolute being. "That a man can be conscious of the infinite is, then,

a supposition which, in the very terms in which it is expressed,

annihilates itself.... The infinite, if it is to be conceived at all,

must be conceived as potentially everything-and actually nothing; for

if there is anything in general which it cannot become, it is thereby

limited; and if there is anything in particular which it actually is, it

is thereby excluded from being any other thing. But again, it must also

be conceived as actually everything and potentially nothing; for an

unrealised potentiality is likewise a limitation. If the infinite can

be" (in the future) "that which it is not" (in the present) "it is by

that very possibility marked out as incomplete and capable of a higher

perfection. If it is actually everything, it possesses no characteristic

feature by which it can be distinguished from anything else and

discerned as an object of consciousness." I think, then, that we must be

content, on the showing of Dr. Mansel, to allow that God is, in his

own nature--from this point of view--quite beyond the grasp of

our faculties; _as regards us he does not exist_, since he is

indistinguishable and undiscernable. Well might the Church exclaim

"Save me from my friends!" when a dean acknowledges that her God is a

self-contradictory phantom; oddly enough, however, the Church likes

it, and accepts this fatal championship. I might have put this argument

wholly in my own words, for the subject is familiar to every one who has

tried to gain a distinct idea of the Being who is called "God," but I

have preferred to back my own opinions with the authority of so orthodox

a man as Dean Mansel, trusting that by so doing the orthodox may be

forced to see where logic carries them. All who are interested in

this subject should study his lectures carefully; there is really no

difficulty in following them, if the student will take the trouble of

mastering once for all the terms he employs. The book was lent to me

years ago by a clergyman, and did more than any other book I know to

make me what is called an "infidel;" it proves to demonstration the

impossibility of our having any logical, reasonable, and definite idea

of God, and the utter hopelessness of trying to realise his existence.

It seems necessary here to make a short digression to explain, for

the benefit of those who have not read the book from which I have been

quoting, how Dean Mansel escaped becoming an "atheist." It is a

curious fact that the last part of this book is as remarkable for its

assumptions, as is the earlier portion its pitiless logic. When he ought

in all reason to say, "we can know nothing and therefore can believe

nothing," he says instead, "we can know nothing and therefore let us

take Revelation for granted." An atheistic reasoner suddenly startles

us by becoming a devout Christian; the apparent enemy of the faithful

is "transformed into an angel of light." The existence of God "is

inconceivable by the reason," and, therefore, "the only ground that can

be taken for accepting one representation of it rather than another

is, that one is revealed and the other not revealed." It is the

acknowledgment of a previously formed _determination_ to believe at any

cost; it is a wail of helplessness; the very apotheosis of despair. We

cannot have history, so let us believe a fairy-tale; we can discover

nothing, so let us assume anything; we cannot find truth, so let us take

the first myth that comes to hand. Here I feel compelled to part company

with the Dean, and to leave him to believe in, to adore, and to

love that which he has himself designated as indistinguishable and

undiscernable; it may be an act of faith but it is a crucifixion of

intellect; it may be a satisfaction to the yearnings of the heart, but

it dethrones reason and tramples it in the dust.

We proceed in our study of the attributes of God. He is represented as

the Supreme Will, the Supreme Intelligence, the Supreme Love.

_As the Supreme Will_. What do we mean by "will?" Surely, in the usual

sense of the word, a will implies the power and the act of choosing.

Two paths are open to us, and we will to walk in one rather than in the

other. But can we think of power of choice in connection with God? Of

two courses open to us one must needs be better than the other, else

they would be indistinguishable and be only one; perfection implies that

the higher course will always be taken; what then becomes of the power

of choice? We choose because we are imperfect; we do not know everything

which bears on the matter on which we are about to exercise our will; if

we knew everything we should inevitably be driven in one direction, that

which is the _best possible course_. The greater the knowledge, the more

circumscribed the will; the nobler the nature, the more impossible the

lower course. Spinoza points out most clearly that the Divinity _could

not_ have made things otherwise than they are made, because any change

in his action would imply a change in his nature; God, above all, must

be bound by necessity. If we believe in a God at all we must surely

ascribe to him perfection of wisdom and perfection of goodness; we are

then forced to conceive of him--however strange it may sound to those

who believe, not only without seeing but also without thinking--as

without will, because he must always necessarily pursue the course which

is wisest and best.

_As the Supreme Intelligence_. Again, the first question is, what do

we mean by intelligence? In the usual sense of the word intelligence

implies the exercise of the various intellectual faculties, and gathers

up into one word the ideas of perception, comparison, memory, judgment,

and so on. The very enumeration of these faculties is sufficient to show

how utterly inappropriate they are when thought of in connection with

God. Does God perceive what he did not know before? Does he compare one

fact with another? Does he draw conclusions from this correlation

of perceptions, and thus judge what is best? Does he remember, as we

remember, long past events? Perfect wisdom excludes from the idea of God

all that is called intelligence in man; it involves unchangeableness,

complete stillness; it implies a knowledge of all that is knowable;

it includes an acquaintance with every fact, an acquaintance which has

never been less in the past, and can never be more in the future. The

reception at any time of a new thought or a new idea is impossible

to perfection, for if it could ever be added to in the future it is

necessarily something less than perfect in the past.

_As the Supreme Love_. We come here to the darkest problem of existence.

Love, Ruler of the world permeated through and through with pain, and

sorrow, and sin? Love, mainspring of a nature whose cruelty is sometimes

appalling? Love? Think of the "martyrdom of man!" Love? Follow the

History of the Church! Love? Study the annals of the slave-trade! Love?

Walk the courts and alleys of our towns! It is of no use to try and

explain away these things, or cover them up with a veil of silence;

it is better to look them fairly in the face, and test our creeds by

inexorable facts. It is foolish to keep a tender spot which may not

be handled; for a spot which gives pain when it is touched implies the

presence of disease: wiser far is it to press firmly against it, and,

if danger lurk there, to use the probe or the knife. We have no right

to pick out all that is noblest and fairest in man, to project these

qualities into space, and to call them God. We only thus create an ideal

figure, a purified, ennobled, "magnified" Man. We have no right to

shut our eyes to the sad _revers de la medaille_, and leave out of our

conceptions of the Creator the larger half of his creation. If we are

to discover the Worker from his works we must not pick and choose amid

those works; we must take them as they are, "good" and "bad." If we only

want an ideal, let us by all means make one, and call it _God_, if thus

we can reach it better, but if we want a true induction we must take

_all_ facts into account. If God is to be considered as the author of

the universe, and we are to learn of him through his works, then we

must make room in our conceptions of him for the avalanche and the

earthquake, for the tiger's tooth and the serpent's fang, as well as for

the tenderness of woman and the strength of man, the radiant glory of

the sunshine on the golden harvest, and the gentle lapping of the summer

waves on the gleaming shingled beach.*

* "I know it is usual for the orthodox when vindicating the

moral character of their God to say:--'All the Evil that

exists is of man; All that God has done is only good.' But

granting (which facts do not substantiate) that man is the

only author of the sorrow and the wrong that abound in the

world, it is difficult to see how the Creator can be free

from imputation. Did not God, according to orthodoxy, plan

all things with an infallible perception that the events

foreseen must occur? Was not this accurate prescience based

upon the inflexibility of God's Eternal purposes? As, then,

the purposes, in the order of nature, at least preceded the

prescience and formed the groundwork of it, man has become

extensively the instrument of doing mischief in the world

simply because the God of the Christian Church did not

choose to prevent man from being bad. In other words, man is

as he is by the ordained design of God, and, therefore, God

is responsible for all the suffering, shame, and error,

spread by human agency.--So that the Christian apology for

God in connection with the spectacle of evil falls to

pieces."--Note by the Editor.

The Nature of God, what is it? Infinite and Absolute, he evades our

touch; without human will, without human intelligence, without human

love, where can his faculties--the very word is a misnomer--find a

meeting-place with ours? Is he everything or nothing? one or many? _We

know not. We know nothing._ Such is the conclusion into which we are

driven by orthodoxy, with its pretended faith, which is credulity, with

its pretended proofs, which are presumptions. It defines and maps out

the perfections of Deity, and they dissolve when we try to grasp them;

nowhere do these ideas hold water for a moment; nowhere is this position

defensible. Orthodoxy drives thinkers into atheism; weary of its

contradictions they cry, "there is _no_ God"; orthodoxy's leading

thinker lands us himself in atheism. No logical, impartial mind can

escape from unbelief through the trap-door opened by Dean Mansel: he

has taught us reason, and we cannot suppress reason. The "serpent

intellect"--as the Bishop of Peterborough calls it--has twined itself

firmly round the tree of knowledge, and in that type we do not see, with

the Hebrew, the face of death, but, with the older faiths, we reverence

it as the symbol of life.

There is another fact, an historical one, still on the destructive side,

which appears to me to be of the gravest importance, and that is the

gradual attenuation of the idea of God before the growing light of true

knowledge. To the savage everything is divine; he hears one God's voice

in the clap of the thunder, another's in the roar of the earthquake,

he sees a divinity in the trees, a deity smiles at him from the clear

depths of the river and the lake; every natural phenomenon is the abode

of a god; every event is controlled by a god; divine volition is at the

root of every incident. To him the rule of the gods is a stern reality;

if he offends them they turn the forces of nature against him; the

flood, the famine, the pestilence, are the ministers of the avenging

anger of the gods. As civilisation advances, the deities lessen in

number, the divine powers become concentrated more and more in one

Being, and God rules over the whole earth, maketh the clouds his

chariot, and reigns above the waterfloods as a king. Physical phenomena

are still his agents, working his will among the children of men; he

rains great hailstones out of heaven on his enemies, he slays their

flocks and desolates their lands, but his chosen ure safe under his

protection, even although danger hem them in on every side; "thou shalt

not be afraid for any terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by

day; for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the sickness

that destroyeth in the noon-day. A thousand shall fall besides thee, and

ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee....

He shall defend thee under his wings, and thou shalt be safe under his

feathers." (Ps. xci., Prayer-Book.) Experience contradicted this theory

rather roughly, and it gave way slowly before the logic of facts; it is,

however, still more or less prevalent among ourselves, as we see when

the siege of Paris is proclaimed as a judgment on Parisian irreligion,

and when the whole nation falls on its knees to acknowledge the

cattle-plague as the deserved punishment of its sins! The next step

forward was to separate the physical from the moral, and to allow that

physical suffering came independently of moral guilt or righteousness:

the men crushed under the fallen tower of Siloam were not thereby proved

to be more sinful than their countrymen. The birth of science rang the

death-knell of an arbitrary and constantly interposing Supreme Power-.

The theory of God as a miracle worker was dissipated; henceforth if God

ruled at all it must be as in nature and not from outside of nature; he

no longer imposed laws on something exterior to himself, the laws could

only be the necessary expression of his own being. Laws were, further,

found to be immutable in their working, changing not in accordance with

prayer, but ever true to a hair's breadth in their action. Slowly, but

surely, prayer to God for the alteration of physical phenomena is being

found to be simply a well-meant superstition; nature swerves not for our

pleading, nor falters in her path for our most passionate supplication.

The "reign of law" in physical matters is becoming acknowledged even by

theologians. As step by step the knowledge of _the natural_ advances,

so step by step does the belief in _the supernatural_ recede; as the

kingdom of science extends, so the kingdom of miraculous interference

gradually disappears. The effects which of old were thought to be caused

by the direct action of God are now seen to be caused by the uniform and

calculable working of certain laws--laws which, when discovered, it is

the part of wisdom implicitly to obey. Things which we used to pray for,

we now work and wait for, and if we fail we do not ask God to add his

strength to ours, but we sit down and lay our plans more carefully.

How is this to end? Is the future to be like the past, and is science

finally to obliterate the conception of a personal God? It is a question

which ought to be pondered in the light of history. Hitherto the

supernatural has always been the makeweight of human ignorance; is it,

in truth, this and nothing else?

I am forced, with some reluctance, to apply the whole of the above

reasoning to every school of thought, whether nominally Christian or

non-Christian, which regards God as a "magnified man." The same

stern logic cuts every way and destroys alike the Trinitarian and the

Unitarian hypothesis, wherever the idea of God is that of a Creator,

standing, as it were, outside his creation. The liberal thinker,

whatever his present position, seems driven infallibly to the above

conclusions, as soon as he sets himself to realise his idea of his God.

The Deity must of necessity be that one and only substance out of which

all things are evolved under the uncreated conditions and eternal laws

of the universe; he must be, as Theodore Parker somewhat oddly puts

it, "the materiality of matter, as well as the spirituality of spirit;"

_i e._, these must both be products of this one substance: a truth which

is readily accepted as soon as spirit and matter are seen to be but

different modes of one essence. Thus we identify substance with the

all-comprehending and vivifying force of nature, and in so doing we

simply reduce to a physical impossibility the existence of the Being

described by the orthodox as a God possessing the attributes of

personality. The Deity becomes identified with nature, co-extensive

with the universe; but the God of the orthodox no longer exists; we may

change the signification of God, and use the word to express a different

idea, but we can no longer mean by it a Personal Being in the orthodox

sense, possessing an individuality which divides him from the rest of

the universe. I say that I use these arguments "with some reluctance,"

because many who have fought and are fighting nobly and bravely in the

army of freethought, and to whom all free-thinkers owe much honour, seem

to cling to an idea of the Deity, which, however beautiful and poetical,

is not logically defensible, and in striking at the orthodox notion of

God, one necessarily strikes also at all idea of a "Personal" Deity.

There are some Theists who have only cut out the Son and the Holy Ghost

from the Triune Jehovah, and have concentrated the Deity in the Person

of the Father; they have returned to the old Hebrew idea of God, the

Creator, the Sustainer, only widening it into regarding God as the

Friend and Father of all his creatures, and not of the Jewish nation

only. There is much that is noble and attractive in this idea, and it

will possibly serve as a religion of transition to break the shock of

the change from the supernatural to the natural. It is reached entirely

by a process of giving up; Christian notions are dropped one after

another, and the God who is believed in is the residuum. This Theistic

school has not gained its idea of God from any general survey of nature

or from any philosophical induction from facts; it has gained it only

by stripping off from an idea already in the mind everything which is

degrading and revolting in the dogmas of Trinitarianism. It starts, as

I have noticed elsewhere, from a very noble axiom: "If there be a God at

all he must be at least as good as his highest creatures," and thus

is instantly swept away the Augustinian idea of a God,--that monster

invented by theological dialectics; but still the same axiom makes

God in the image of man, and never succeeds in getting outside a human

representation of the Divinity. It starts from this axiom, and the axiom

is prefaced by an "if." It assumes God, and then argues fairly enough

what his character must be. And this "if" is the very point on which the

argument of this paper turns.

"If there be a God" all the rest follows, but _is there a God at all_

in the sense in which the word is generally used? And thus I come to the

second part of my problem; having seen that the orthodox "idea of God is

unreasonable and absurd, is there any idea of God, worthy to be called

an idea, which is attainable in the present state of our faculties?"

The argument from design does not seem to me to be a satisfactory

one; it either goes too far or not far enough. Why in arguing from the

evidences of adaptation should we assume that they are planned by a

mind? It is quite as easy to conceive of matter as self-existent, with

inherent vital laws moulding it into varying phenomena, as to conceive

of any intelligent mind directly modelling matter, so that the

"heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his

handy-work." It is, I know, customary to sneer at the idea of beautiful

forms existing without a conscious designer, to parallel the adaptations

of this world to the adaptations in machinery, and then triumphantly to

inquire, "if skill be inferred from the one, why ascribe the other to

chance?" We do not believe in chance; the steady action of law is not

chance; the exquisite crystals which form themselves under certain

conditions are not a "fortuitous concourse of atoms:" the only question

is whether the laws which we all allow to govern nature are immanent in

nature, or the outcome of an intelligent mind. If there be a lawmaker,

is he self-existent, or does he, in turn, as has been asked again and

again by Positivist, Secularist, and Atheist, require a maker? If

we think for a moment of the vast mind implied in the existence of a

Creator of the universe, is it possible to believe that such a mind is

the result of chance? If man's mind imply a master-mind, how much more

that of God? Of course the question seems an absurd one, but it is quite

as pertinent as the question about a world-maker. We must come to a

stop somewhere, and it is quite as logical to stop at one point as at

another. The argument from design would be valuable if we could prove,

a priori, as Mr. Gillespie attempted to do,* the existence of a Deity;

this being proved we might then fairly argue deductively to the various

apparent signs of mind in the universe. Again, if we allow design we

must ask, "how far does design extend?" If some phenomena are designed,

why not all? And if not all, on what principle can we separate that

which is designed from that which is not? If intellect and love reveal

a design, what is revealed by brutality and hate? If the latter are not

the result of design, how did they become introduced into the universe?

I repeat that this argument implies either too much or too little.*

* "The Necessary Existence of Deity."

There is but one argument that appears to me to have any real weight,

and that is the argument from instinct. Man has faculties which appear,

at present, as though they were not born of the intellect, and it seems

to me to be unphilosophical to exclude this class of facts from our

survey of nature. The nature of man has in it certain sentiments and

emotions which, reasonably or unreasonably, sway him powerfully

and continually; they are, in fact, his strongest motive powers,

overwhelming the reasoning faculties with resistless strength; true,

they need discipline and controlling, but they do not need to be, and

they cannot be, destroyed. The sentiments of love, of reverence, of

worship, are not, as yet, reducible to logical processes; they are

intuitions, spontaneous emotions, incomprehensible to the keen and cold

intellect. They may be laughed at or denied, but they still exist in

spite of all; they avenge themselves, when they are not taken into

account, by ruining the best laid plans, and they are continually

bursting the cords with which reason strives to tie them down. I do

not for a moment pretend to deny that these intuitions will, as our

knowledge of psychology increases, be reducible to strict laws; we call

them instincts and intuitions simply because we are unable to trace them

to their source, and this vague expression covers the vagueness of

our ideas. Therefore, intuition is not to be accepted as a trustworthy

guide, but it may suggest an hypothesis, and this hypothesis must then

be submitted to the stern verification of observed facts. We are not as

yet able to say to what the instinct in man to worship points, or what

reality answers to his yearning. Increased knowledge will, we may hope,

reveal to us* where there lies the true satisfaction of this instinct:

so long as the yearning is only an "instinct" it cannot pretend to be

logically defensible, or claim to lay down any rule of faith. But still

I think it well to point out that this instinct exists in man, and

exists most strongly in some of the noblest souls.

* "Is there in man any such Instinct? May not the general

tendency to worship a Deity, everywhere be the result of the

influence gained by Priests over the mind by the play of the

mysterious Unknown and Hereafter upon susceptible

imaginations? Besides, what are we to say of the immense

number of philosophical Buddhists and Brahmins, for whose

comfort or moral guidance the idea of a God or a hereafter

is felt to be quite unnecessary? They cannot comprehend it,

and consequently acts of worship to God would be deemed by

them fanatical. It is traditionalists who either do not

think at all, or think only within a narrow, creed-bound

circle, that are most devoted to worshipping Deity; and if

so, may not the whole history of worship have its origin in

superstition and priestcraft! In that case, the theory of an

instinct of worship falls to the ground."--Note by the

Editor.

Of all the various sentiments which are thus at present "intuitional,"

none is so powerful, none so overmastering as this instinct to worship,

this sentiment of religion. It is as natural for man to worship as to

eat. He will do it, be it reasonable or unreasonable. Just as the baby

crams everything into his mouth, so does man persist in worshipping

something. It may be said that the baby's instinct does not prove that

he is right in trying to devour a matchbox; true, but it proves the

existence of something eatable; so fetish-worship, polytheism, theism,

do not prove that man has worshipped rightly, but do they not prove the

existence of something worshipable! The argument does not, of course,

pretend to amount to a demonstration; it is nothing more than the

suggestion of an analogy. Are we to find that the supply is correlated

to the demand throughout nature, and yet believe that this hitherto

invariable system is suddenly altered when we reach the spiritual part

of man? I do not deny that this instinct is hereditary, and that it is

fostered by habit. The idea of reverence for God is transmitted from

parent to child; it is educated into an abnormal development, and thus

almost indefinitely strengthened; but yet it does appear to me that the

bent to worship is an integral part of man's nature. This instinct has

also sometimes been considered to have its root in the feeling that

one's individual self is but a "part of a stupendous whole;" that the

so-called religious feeling which is evoked by a grand view or a bright

starlight night is only the realisation of personal insignificance,

and the reverence which rises in the soul in the presence of the mighty

universe of which we form a part. Whatever the root and the significance

of this instinct, there can be no doubt of its strength; there is

nothing rouses men's passions as does theology; for religion men rush

on death more readily and joyfully than* for any other cause; religious

fanaticism is the most fatal, the most terrible power in the world. In

studying history I also see the upward tendency of the race, and

note that current which Mr. Matthew Arnold has called "that stream of

tendency, not ourselves, which makes for righteousness." Of course,

if there be a conscious God, this tendency is a proof of his moral

character, since it would be the outcome of his laws; but here again

an argument which would be valuable were the existence of God already

proved, falls blunted from the iron wall of the unknown. The same

tendency upwards would naturally exist in any "realm of law," although

the law were an unconscious force. For righteousness is nothing more

than obedience to law, and where there is obedience to law, Nature's

mighty forces lend their strength to man, and progress is secured.

Only by obedience to law can advance be made, and this rule applies,

of course, to morality as well as to physics. Physical righteousness is

obedience to physical laws; moral righteousness is obedience to moral

laws: just as physical laws are discovered by the observation of natural

phenomena, so must moral laws be discovered by the observation of social

phenomena. That which increases the general happiness is right; that

which tends to destroy the general happiness is wrong. Utility is the

test of morality. But a law must not be drawn from a single fact or

phenomenon; facts must be carefully collated, and the general laws of

morality drawn from a generalisation of facts. But this subject is too

large to enter upon here, and it is only hinted at in order to note

that, although there is a moral tendency apparent in the course of

events, it is rather a rash assumption to take it for granted that the

power in question is a conscious one: it may be, and that, I think, is

all we can justly and reasonably say.

Again, as regards Love. I have protested above against the easiness

which talks glibly of the Supreme Love while shutting its eyes to the

supreme agony of the world. But here, in putting forward what may be

said on the other side of the question, I must remark that there is a

possible explanation for sorrow and sin which is consistent with

love given immortality of man and beast, and the future gain may then

outweigh the present loss. But we are bound to remember that we can only

have a _hope_ of immortality; we have no demonstration of it, and this

is, therefore, only an assumption by which we escape from a difficulty.

We ought to be ready to acknowledge, also, that there is love in nature,

although there is cruelty too; there is the sunshine as well as the

storm, and we must not fix our eyes on the darkness alone and deny the

light. In mother-love, in the love of friends, loyal through all doubt,

true in spite of danger and difficulty, strongest when most sorely

tried, we see gleams of so divine, so unearthly a beauty, that our

hearts whisper to us of an universal heart pulsating throughout nature,

which, at these rare moments, we cannot believe to be a dream. But there

seems, also, to be a vague idea that love and other virtues could not

exist unless derived from the Love, &c. It is true that we do conceive

certain ideals of virtue which we personify, and to which we apply

various terms implying affection; we speak of a love of Truth, devotion

to Freedom, and so on. These ideals have, however, a purely subjective

existence; they are not objective realities; there is nothing answering

to these conceptions in the outside world, nor do we pretend to believe

in their individuality. But when we gather up all our ideals, our

noblest longings, and bind them into one vast ideal figure, which we

call by the name of God, then we at once attribute to it an objective

existence, and complain of coldness and hardness if its reality is

questioned, and we demand to know if we can love an abstraction? The

noblest souls do love abstractions, and live in their beauty and die for

their sake.

There appears, also, to be a possibility of a mind in Nature, although

we have seen that intelligence is, strictly speaking, impossible. There

cannot be perception, memory, comparison, or judgment; but may there

not be a perfect mind, unchanging, calm, and still? Our faculties

fail us when we try to estimate the Deity, and we are betrayed into

contradictions and absurdities; but does it therefore follow that He

is not? It seems to me that to deny his existence is to overstep the

boundaries of our thought-power almost as much as to try and define it.

We pretend to know the Unknown if we declare Him to be the Unknowable.

Unknowable to us at present, yes! Unknowable for ever, in other possible

stages' of existence?--We have reached a region into which we cannot

penetrate; here all human faculties fail us; we bow our heads on "the

threshold of the unknown."

And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see;

But if we could see and hear, this Vision--were it not He?

Thus sings Alfred Tennyson, the poet of metaphysics: "if we could see

and hear"; alas! it is always an "if."

We come back to the opening of this essay: what is the practical result

of our ideas about the Divinity, and how do these ideas affect the daily

working life? What conclusions are we to draw from the undeniable fact

that, even if there be a "personal God," his nature and existence are

beyond our faculties, that "clouds and darkness are round about him,"

that he is veiled in eternal silence and reveals himself not to men?

Surely the obvious inference is that, if he does-really exist, he

desires to conceal himself from the inhabitants of our world. I repeat,

that if the Deity exist, he does-not wish us to know of his existence.

There may be, in the very nature of things, an impossibility of his

revealing himself to men; we may have no faculties with which to

apprehend him; can we reveal the stars and the rippling expanse of ocean

to the sightless limpet on the rock? Whether this be so or not, certain

is it that the Deity does not reveal himself; either he cannot or he

will not. And the reason--I am granting for the moment, for argument's

sake, his personal existence--is not far to seek; it is blazed upon

the face of history. For what has been the result of theology upon the

whole? It has turned men's eyes from earth, to fix them on heaven; it

has bid them be careless of the temporal, while luring them to grasp at

the eternal; it has induced multitudes to lavish fervent sentiment

upon a conception framed by Priests of an incomprehensible God, while

diverting their strength from the plain duties which Humanity has before

it; it has taught them to live for the world to come, when they should

live for the world around them; it has made earth's wrongs endurable

with the hope of the glory to be revealed. Wisely indeed would the

Deity hide himself, when even a phantom of him has wrought such fatal

mischief; and never will real and steady progress be secured until men

acquiesce in this beneficent law of their nature, which draws a stern

circle of the "limits of Religious Thought" and bids them concentrate

their attention on the work they have to do in this world, instead of

being "for ever peering into and brooding over the world beyond the

grave." "What is to be our conception of morality, is it to base itself

on obedience to God, or is it to be sought for itself and its effects?"

When we admit that God is beyond our knowing, morality becomes at once

necessarily grounded on utility, or the natural adaptation of certain

feelings and actions to promote the general welfare of society. As

no revelation is given to us as one "infallible standard of right and

wrong," we must form our morality for ourselves from thought and from

experience. For example, our moral nature, as educated under the highest

civilisation, tells us that lying is wrong;* with this hypothesis in our

minds we study facts, and discover that lying causes mistrust, anarchy,

and ruin; thence we lay down as a moral law, "Lie not at all." The

science of morality must be content to grow like other sciences; first

an hypothesis, round which to group our facts, then from the collected

and collated facts reasoning up to a solid law. Scientific morality has

this great advantage over revealed, that it stands on firm, unassailable

ground; new facts will alter its details, but can never touch its

method; like all other sciences, it is at once positive and progressive.

* All men do not think lying wrong, e g.. Thugs and old

Spartans. Therefore it is not our moral nature that

intuitively tells us thus, but our moral nature as

instructed by the moral ideas prevailing in the society in

which we happen to be living.--Note by the Editor.

"_Is our mental attitude to be kneeling or standing?_" When we admit

that the Deity is veiled from us, how can we pray? When we see that that

law is inexorable, of what use to protest against its absolute sway?

When we feel that all, including ourselves, are but modes of Being which

is one and universal, and in which we "live and move," how shall we pray

to that which is close to us as our own souls, part of our very selves,

inseparable from our thoughts, sharing our consciousness? As well talk

aloud to ourselves as pray to the universal Essence. Children _cry_ for

what they want; men and women _work_ for it. There are two points of

view from which we may regard prayer: from the one it is a piece of

childishness only, from the other it is sheer impertinence. Regarding

Nature's mighty order, her grand, silent, unvarying march,--the

importunity which frets against her changeless progress is a mark of the

most extreme childishness of mind; it shows that complete irreverence

of spirit which cannot conceive the idea of a greatness before which

the individual existence is as nothing, and that infantile conceit

which imagines that its own plans and playthings rival in importance

the struggles of nations and the interests of distant worlds. Regarding

Nature's laws as wiser than our own whims, the idea which finds its

outlet in prayer is a gross impertinence; who are we that we should

take it on ourselves to remind Nature of her work, God of his duty? Is

there any impertinence so extreme as the prayer which "pleads" with the

Deity? There is only one kind of "prayer" which is reasonable, and that

is the deep, silent, adoration of the greatness and beauty and order

around us, as revealed in the realms of non-rational life and in

Humanity; as we bow our heads before the laws of the universe and mould

our lives into obedience to their voice, we find a strong, calm peace

steal over our hearts, a perfect trust in the ultimate triumph of the

right, a quiet determination to "make our lives sublime." Before our

own high ideals, before those lives which show us "how high the tides of

divine life have risen in the human world," we stand with hushed voice

and veiled face; from them we draw strength to emulate, and even dare

struggle to excel. The contemplation of the ideal is true prayer; it

inspires, it strengthens, it ennobles. The other part of prayer is work:

from contemplation to labour, from the forest to the street. Study

Nature's laws, conform to them, work in harmony with them, and work

becomes a prayer and a thanksgiving, an adoration of the universal

wisdom, and a true obedience to the universal law.

"_Is the mainspring of our actions to be the idea of duty to God, or the

of loyalty to law and to man's well-being?_" We cannot serve God in any

real sense; we are awed before the Unknown, but we cannot _serve_ it.

For the Mighty, for the Incomprehensible, what can we do? But we can

serve man, ay, and he needs our service; service of brain and hand,

service untiring and unceasing, service through life and unto-death.

The race to which we belong (our own families and kinsfolk, and then the

community at large) has the first claim on our allegiance, a claim from

which nothing can release us until death drops a veil over our work.

Surely I may claim that my subject is not an unpractical one, and that

our ideas of the Nature and Existence of God influence our lives in a

very real way. If I have substituted a different basis of morality for

that on which it now stands, if I have suggested a different theory of

prayer, and offered a different motive for duty, surely these changes

affect the whole of human life And if one by one these theories ate

denied by the orthodox, and they reject them because they sever human

life from that which is called revealed religion, is not my position

justified, that the ideas we hold of God are the ruling forces of our

lives? that it is of primary importance to the welfare of mankind that

a false theory on this point should be destroyed and a more reasonable

faith accepted?

Will any one exclaim, "You are taking all beauty out of human life,

all hope, all warmth, all inspiration; you give us cold duty for filial

obedience, and inexorable law in the place of God?" All beauty from

life? Is there, then, no beauty in the idea of forming part of the great

life of the universe, no beauty in conscious harmony with Nature, no

beauty in faithful service, no beauty in ideals of every virtue? "All

hope?" Why, I give you more than hope, I give you certainty: if I bid

you labour for this world, it is with the knowledge that this world will

repay you a thousandfold, because society will grow purer, freedom more

settled, law more honoured, life more full and glad. What is your hope?

A heaven in the clouds. I point to a heaven attainable on earth. "All

warmth?" What! You serve warmly a God unknown and invisible, in a sense

the projected shadow of your own imaginings, and can only serve

coldly your brother whom you see at your side? There is no warmth in

brightening the lot of the sad, in reforming abuses, in establishing

equal justice for rich and poor? You find warmth in the church, but none

in the home? Warmth in imagining the cloud-glories of heaven, but none

in creating substantial glories on earth? "All inspiration?" If you want

inspiration to feeling, to sentiment, perhaps you had better keep to

your Bible and your creeds; if you want inspiration to work, go and walk

through the east of London, or the back streets of Manchester. You

are inspired to tenderness as you gaze at the wounds of Jesus, dead in

Judaea long ago, and find no inspiration in the wounds of men and women

dying in the England of to-day? You "have tears to shed for him,"

but none for the sufferer at your doors? His passion arouses your

sympathies, but you see no pathos in the passion of the poor? Duty is

colder than "filial obedience?" What do you mean by filial obedience?

Obedience to your ideal of goodness and love, is it not so? Then how is

duty cold? I offer you ideals for your homage: here is Truth for your

Mistress, to whose exaltation you shall devote your intellect; here is

Freedom for your General, for whose triumph you shall fight; here is

Love for your Inspirer, who shall influence your every thought; here is

Man for your Master--not in heaven but on earth--to whose service you

shall consecrate every faculty of your being. Inexorable law in the

place of God? Yes: a stern certainty that you shall not waste your life,

yet gather a rich reward at the close; that you shall not sow misery,

yet reap gladness; that you shall not be selfish, yet be crowned with

love, nor shall you sin, yet find safety in repentance. True, our creed

is a stern one, stern with the beautiful sternness of Nature. But if we

be in the right, look to yourselves: laws do not check their action

for your ignorance; fire will not cease to scorch, because "you did not

know."

We know nothing beyond Nature; we judge of the future by the present

and the past; we are content to work now, and let the work to come

wait until it appears as the work to do; we find that our faculties

are sufficient for fulfilling the tasks within our reach, and we cannot

waste time and strength in gazing into impenetrable darkness. We must

needs fight against superstitions, because they hinder the advancement

of the race, but we will not fall into the error of opponents and try to

define the Undefinable.