University of Virginia Library

Chapter 2
Ultimate Religious Ideas

§9. When, on the sea-shore, we note how the hulls of distant vessels are hidden below the horizon, and how, of still remoter vessels, only the uppermost sails are visible, we may conceive with tolerable clearness the slight curvature of that portion of the sea's surface which lies before us. But when we try to follow out in imagination this curved surface as it actually exists, slowly bending round until all its meridians meet in a point eight thousand miles below our feet, we find ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot conceive in its real form and magnitude even that small segment of our globe which extends a hundred miles on every side of us, much less the globe as a whole. The piece of rock on which we stand can be mentally represented with something like completeness: we are able to think of its top, its sides, and its under surface at the same time, or so nearly at the same time that they seem present in consciousness together; and so we can form what we call a conception of the rock. But to do the like with the Earth is impossible. If even to imagine the antipodes as at that distant place in space which it actually occupies, is beyond our power much more beyond our power must it be at the same time to imagine all other remote points on the Earth's surface as in their actual places. Yet we commonly speak as though we had an idea of the Earth — as though we could think of it in the same way that we think of minor objects.

What conception, then, do we form of it? the reader may ask. That its name calls up in us some state of consciousness is unquestionable; and if this state of consciousness is not a conception, properly so called, what is it? The answer seems to be this: — We have learnt by indirect methods that the Earth is a sphere; we have formed models approximately representing its shape and the distribution of its parts; usually when the Earth is referred to, we either think of an indefinitely extended mass beneath our feet, or else, leaving out the actual Earth, we think of a body like a terrestrial globe; but when we seek to imagine the Earth as it really is, we join these two ideas as well as we can — such perception as our eyes give us of the Earth's surface we couple with the conception of a sphere. And thus we form of the Earth not a conception properly so called, but only a symbolic conception.*

A large proportion of our conceptions, including all those of much generality, are of this order. Great magnitudes, great durations, great numbers, are none of them actually conceived, but are all of them conceived more or less symbolically; and so, too, are all those classes of objects of which we predicate some common fact. When mention is made of any individual man, a tolerably complete idea of him is formed. If the family he belongs to be spoken of, probably but a part of it will be represented in thought: under the necessity of attending to that which is said about the family, we realize in imagination only its most important or familiar members, and pass over the rest with a nascent consciousness which we know could, if requisite, be made complete. Should something be remarked of the class, say farmers, to which this family belongs, we neither enumerate in thought all the individuals contained in the class, nor believe that we could do so if required; but we are content with taking some few samples of it, and remembering that these could be indefinitely multiplied. Supposing the subject of which something is predicated be Englishmen, the answering state of consciousness is a still more inadequate representative. Yet more remote is the likeness of the thought to the thing, if reference be made to Europeans or to human beings. And when we come to propositions concerning the mammalia, or conceding the whole of the vertebrata, or concerning all organic beings, the unlikenesses of our conceptions to the realities become extreme.

Throughout which series of instances we see that as the number of objects grouped together in thought increases, the concept, formed of a few typical samples joined with the notion of multiplicity, becomes more and more a mere symbol; not only because it gradually ceases to represent the size of the group, but also because, as the group grows more heterogeneous, the typical samples thought of are less like the average objects which the group contains.

This formation of symbolic conceptions, which inevitably arises as we pass from small and concrete objects to large and to discrete ones, is mostly a useful, and indeed necessary, process. When, instead of things whose attributes can be tolerably well united in a single state of consciousness, we have to deal with things whose attributes are too vast or numerous to be so united, we must either drop in thought part of their attributes, or else not think of them at all — either form a more or less symbolic conception, or no conception. We must predicate nothing of objects too great or too multitudinous to be mentally represented, or we must make our predications by the help of extremely inadequate representations of them.

But while by doing this we are enabled to form general propositions, and so to reach general conclusions, we are perpetually led into danger, and very often into error. We mistake our symbolic conceptions for real ones; and so are betrayed into countless false inferences. Not only is it that in proportion as the concept we form of any thing, or class of things, misrepresents the reality, we are apt to be wrong in any assertion we make respecting the reality; but it is that we are led to suppose we have truly conceived many things which we have conceived only in this fictitious way; and then to confound with these some things which cannot be conceived in any way. How we fall into this error almost unavoidably it will be needful here to observe.

From objects fully representable, to those of which we cannot form even approximate representations, there is an insensible transition. Between a pebble and the entire Earth a series of magnitudes might be introduced, severally differing from adjacent ones so slightly that it would be impossible to say at what point in the series our conceptions of them became inadequate. Similarly, there is a gradual progression from those groups of a few individuals which we can think of as groups with tolerable completeness, to those larger and larger groups of which we can form nothing like true ideas. Thus we pass from actual conceptions to symbolic ones by infinitesimal steps. Note next that we are led to deal with our symbolic conceptions as though they were actual ones, not only because we cannot clearly separate the two, but also because, in most cases, the first serve our purposes nearly or quite as well as the last — are simply the abbreviated signs we substitute for those more elaborate signs which are our equivalents for real objects. Those imperfect representations of ordinary things which we make in thinking, we know can be developed into adequate ones if needful. Those concepts of larger magnitudes and more extensive classes which we cannot make adequate, we still find can be verified by some indirect process of measurement or enumeration. And even in the case of such an utterly inconceivable object as the Solar System, we yet, through the fulfilment of predictions founded on our symbolic conception of it, gain the conviction that this stands for an actual existence, and, in a sense, truly expresses certain of its constituent relations. So that having learnt by long experience that our symbolic conceptions can, if needful, be verified, we are led to accept them without verification. Thus we open the door to some which profess to stand for known things, but which really stand for things that cannot be known in any way.

The implication is clear. When our symbolic conceptions are such that no cumulative or indirect processes of thought can enable us to ascertain that there are corresponding actualities, nor any fulfilled predictions be assigned in justification of them, then they are altogether vicious and illusive, and in no way distinguishable from pure fictions.

§10. And now to consider the bearings of this general truth on our immediate topic — Ultimate Religious Ideas.

To the primitive man sometimes happen things which are out of the ordinary course-diseases, storms, earth-quakes, echoes, eclipses. From dreams arises the idea of a wandering double; whence follows the belief that the double, departing permanently at death, is then a ghost. Ghosts thus become assignable causes for strange occurrences. The greater ghosts are presently supposed to have extended spheres of action. As men grow intelligent the conceptions of these minor invisible agencies merge into the conception of a universal invisible agency; and there result hypotheses concerning the origin, not of special incidents only, but of things in general.

A critical examination, however will prove not only that no current hypothesis is tenable, but also that no tenable hypothesis can be framed.

§11. Respecting the origin of the Universe three verbally intelligible suppositions may be made. We may assert that it is self-existent; or that it is self-created; or that it is created by an external agency. Which of these suppositions is most credible it is not needful here to inquire. The deeper question, into which this finally merges, is, whether any one of them is even conceivable in the true sense of the word. Let us successively test them.

When we speak of a man as self-supporting, of an apparatus as self-acting, or of a tree as self-developed, our expressions, however inexact, stand for things that can be figured in thought with tolerable completeness. Our conception of the self-development of a tree is doubtless symbolic. But though we cannot really represent in consciousness the. entire series of complex changes through which the tree passes, yet we can thus represent the leading traits of the series; and general experience teaches us that by long continued observation we could gain the power of more fully representing it. That is, we know that our symbolic conception of self-development can be expanded into something like a real conception; and that it expresses, however rudely, an actual process. But when we speak of self-existence and, helped by the above analogies, form some vague symbolic conception of it, we delude ourselves in supposing that this symbolic conception is of the same order as the others. On joining the word self to the word existence, the force of association makes us believe we have a thought like that suggested by the compound word self-acting. An endeavour to expand this symbolic conception, however, will undeceive us. In the first place, it is clear that by self-existence we especially mean an existence independent of any other — not produced by any other: the assertion of self-existence is an indirect denial of creation. In thus excluding the idea of any antecedent cause, we necessarily exclude the idea of a beginning. for to admit that there was a time when the existence had not commenced, is to admit that its commencement was determined by something, or was caused, which is a contradiction. Self-existence, therefore, necessarily means existence without a beginning; and to form a conception of self-existence is to form a conception of existence without a beginning. Now by no mental effort can we do this. To conceive existence through infinite past-time, implies the conception of infinite past-time, which is an impossibility. To this let us add that even were self-existence conceivable, it would not be an explanation of the Universe. No one will say that the existence of an object at the present moment is made easier to understand by the discovery that it existed an hour ago, or a day ago, or a year ago; and if its existence now is not made more comprehensible by knowledge of its existence during some previous finite period, then no knowledge of it during many such finite periods, even could we extend them to an infinite period, would make it more comprehensible. Thus the Atheistic theory is not only absolutely unthinkable, but, even were it thinkable, would not be a solution. The assertion that the Universe is self-existent does not really carry us a step beyond the cognition of its present existence; and so leaves us with a mere re-statement of the mystery.

The hypothesis of self-creation, which practically amounts to what is called Pantheism, is similarly incapable of being represented in thought. Certain phenomena, such as the precipitation of invisible vapour into cloud, aid us in forming a symbolic conception of a self-evolved Universe; and there are not wanting indications in the Heavens, and on the Earth, which help us in giving to this conception some distinctness. But while the succession of phases through which the visible Universe has passed in reaching its present form, may perhaps be comprehended as in a sense self-determined; yet the impossibility of expanding our symbolic conception of self-creation into a real conception, remains as complete as ever. Really to conceive self-creation, is to conceive potential existence passing into actual existence by some inherent necessity, which we cannot. We cannot form any idea of a potential existence of the Universe, as distinguished from its actual existence. If represented in thought at all, potential existence must be represented as something, that is, as an actual existence: to suppose that it can be represented as nothing involves two absurdities — that nothing is more than a negation, and can be positively represented in thought, and that one nothing is distinguished from all other nothings by its power to develop into something. Nor is this all. We have no state of consciousness answering to the words an inherent necessity by which potential existence became actual existence. To render them into thought, existence, having for an indefinite period remained in one form, must be conceived as passing without any external impulse into another form; and this involves the idea of a change without a cause — a thing of which no idea is possible. Thus the terms of this hypothesis do not stand for real thoughts, but merely suggest the vaguest symbols not admitting of any interpretation. Moreover, even were potential existence conceivable as a different thing from actual existence, and could the transition from the one to the other be mentally realized as self-determined, we should still be no forwarder: the problem would simply be removed a step back. For whence the potential existence? This would just as much require accounting for as actual existence, and just the same difficulties would meet us. The self-existence of a potential Universe is no more conceivable than the self-existence of the actual Universe. The self-creation of a potential Universe would involve over again the difficulties just stated — would imply behind this potential universe a more remote potentiality, and so on in an infinite series, leaving us at last no forwarder than at first. While to assign an externa1 agency as its origin, would be to introduce the notion of a potential Universe for no purpose whatever.

There remains the commonly — received or theistic hypothesis — creation by external agency. Alike in the rudest creeds and in the cosmogony long current among ourselves, it is assumed that the Heavens and the Earth were made somewhat after the manner in which a workman makes a piece of furniture. And this is the assumption not only of theologians but of most philosophers. Equally in the writings of Plato and in those of not a few living men of science, we find it assumed that there is an analogy between the process of creation and the process of manufacture. Now not only is this conception one which cannot by any cumulative process of thought, or the fulfilment of predictions based on it, be shown to answer to anything actual; but it cannot be mentally realized, even when all its assumptions are granted. Though the proceedings of a human artificer may vaguely symbolize a method after which the Universe might be shaped, yet imagination of this method does not help us to solve the ultimate problem; namely, the origin of the materials of which the Universe consists. The artizan does not make the iron, wood, or stone, he uses, but merely fashions and combines them. If we suppose suns, and planets, and satellites, and all they contain to have been similarly formed by a "Great Artificer," we suppose merely that certain pre-existing elements were thus put into their present arrangement. But whence the pre-existing elements? The production of matter out of nothing is the real mystery which neither this simile nor any other enables us to conceive; and a simile which does not enable us to conceive this may as well be dispensed with. Still more manifest becomes the insufficiency of this theory of things, when we turn from material objects to that which contains them — when instead of matter we contemplate space. Did there exist nothing but an immeasurable void, explanation would be needed as much as it is now. There would still arise the question — how came it so? If the theory of creation by external agency were an adequate one, it would supply an answer; and its answer would be — space was made in the same manner that matter was made. But the impossibility of conceiving this is so manifest that no one dares to assert it. For if space was created it must have been previously non-existent. The non-existence of space cannot, however, by any mental effort be imagined. And if the non-existence of space is absolutely inconceivable, then, necessarily, its creation is absolutely inconceivable. Lastly, even supposing that the genesis of the Universe could really be represented in thought as due to an external agency, the mystery would be as great as ever; for there would still arise the question — how came there to be an external agency? To account for this only the same three hypotheses are possible — self-existence, self-creation, and creation by external agency. Of these the last is useless: it commits us to an infinite series of such agencies, and even then leaves us where we were. By the second we are led into the same predicament; since, as already shown, self-creation implies an infinite series of potential existences. We are obliged, therefore, to fall back on the first, which is the one commonly accepted and commonly supposed to be satisfactory. Those who cannot conceive a self-existent Universe, and therefore assume a creator as the source of the Universe, take for granted that they can conceive a self-existent Creator. The mystery which they recognize in this great fact surrounding them on every side, they transfer to an alleged source of this great fact, and then suppose that they have solved the mystery. But they delude themselves. As was proved at the outset of the argument, self-existence is inconceivable; and this holds true whatever be the nature of the object of which it is predicated. Whoever agrees that the atheistic hypothesis is untenable because it involves the impossible idea of self-existence, must perforce admit that the theistic hypothesis is untenable if it contains the same impossible idea.

Thus these three different suppositions, verbally intelligible though they are, and severally seeming to their respective adherents quite rational, turn out, when critically examined, to be literally unthinkable. It is not a question of probability, or credibility, but of conceivability. Experiment proves that the elements of these hypotheses cannot even be put together in consciousness; and we can entertain them only as we entertain such pseud-ideas as a square fluid and a moral substance — only by abstaining from the endeavour to render them into actual thoughts. Or, reverting to our original mode of statement, we may say that they severally involve symbolic conceptions of the illegitimate and illusive kind. Differing so widely as they seem to do, the atheistic, the pantheistic, and the theistic hypotheses contain the same ultimate element. It is impossible to avoid making the assumption of self-existence somewhere; and whether that assumption be made nakedly or under complicated disguises, it is equally vicious, equally unthinkable. Be it a fragment of matter, or some fancied potential form of matter, or some more remote and still less imaginable mode of being, our conception of its self-existence can be framed only by joining with it the notion of unlimited duration through past time. And as unlimited duration is inconceivable, all those formal ideas into which it enters are inconceivable; and indeed, if such an expression is allowable, are the more inconceivable in proportion as the other elements of the ideas are indefinite. So that in fact, impossible as it is to think of the actual Universe as self-existing, we do but multiply impossibilities of thought by every attempt we make to explain its existence.

§12. If from the origin of the Universe we turn to its nature, the like insurmountable difficulties rise up before us on all sides — or rather, the same difficulties under new aspects. We find ourselves obliged to make certain assumptions; and yet we find these assumptions cannot be represented in thought.

When we inquire what is the meaning of the effects produced on our senses — when we ask how there come to be in our consciousness impressions of sounds, of colours, of tastes, and of those various attributes we ascribe to bodies, we are compelled to regard them as the effects of some cause. We may stop short in the belief that this cause is what we call matter. Or we may conclude, as some do, that matter is only a certain mode of manifestation of spirit, which is therefore the true cause. Or, regarding matter and spirit as proximate agencies, we may ascribe the changes wrought in our consciousness to immediate divine power. But be the cause we assign what it may, we are obliged to suppose some cause. And we are obliged not only to suppose some cause, but also a first cause. The matter, or spirit or other agent producing these impressions on us, must either be the first cause of them or not. If it is the first cause the conclusion is reached. If it is not the first cause, then by implication there must be a cause behind it, which thus becomes the real cause of the effect. Manifestly however complicated the assumptions, the same conclusion must be reached. We cannot ask how the changes in our consciousness are caused, without inevitably committing ourselves to the hypothesis of a First Cause.

But now if we ask what is the nature of this First Cause, we are driven by an inexorable logic to certain further conclusions. Is the First Cause finite or infinite? If we say finite we involve ourselves in a dilemma. To think of the First Cause as finite, is to think of it as limited. To think of it as limited implies a consciousness of something beyond its limits: it is impossible to conceive a thing as bounded without assuming a region surrounding its boundaries. What now must we say of this region? If the First Cause is limited, and there consequently lies something outside of it, this something must have no First Cause — must be uncaused. But if we admit that there can be something uncaused, there is no reason to assume a cause for anything. If beyond that finite region over which the First Cause extends, there lies a region, which we are compelled to regard as infinite, over which it does not extend — if we admit that there is an infinite uncaused surrounding the finite caused; we tacitly abandon the hypothesis of causation altogether. Thus it is impossible to consider the First Cause as finite. But if it cannot be finite it must be infinite.

Another inference conceding the First Cause is equally necessary. It must be independent. If it is dependent it cannot be the First Cause; for that must be the First Cause on which it depends. It is not enough to say that it is partially independent; since this implies some necessity which determines its partial dependence, and this necessity, be it what it may, must be a higher cause, or the true First Cause, which is a contradiction. But to think of the First Cause as totally independent, is to think of it as that which exists in the absence of all other existence; seeing that if the presence of any other existence is necessary, it must be partially dependent on that other existence, and so cannot be the First Cause. Not only however must the First Cause be a form of being which has no necessary relation to any other form of being, but it can have no necessary relation within itself. There can be nothing in it which determines change, and yet nothing which prevents change. For if it contains something which imposes such necessities or restraints, this something must be a cause higher than the First Cause, which is absurd. Thus the First Cause must be in every sense perfect, complete, total: including within itself all power and transcending all law. Or to use the established word, it must be Absolute.

Certain conclusions respecting the nature of the Universe, thus seem unavoidable. In our search after causes, we discover no resting place until we arrive at a First Cause; and we have no alternative but to regard this First Cause as Infinite and Absolute. These are inferences forced on us by arguments from which there appears no escape. Nevertheless neither arguments nor inferences have more than nominal values. It might easily be shown that the materials of which the arguments are built, equally with the conclusions based on them, are merely symbolic conceptions of the illegitimate order. Instead, however, of repeating the disproof used above, it will be well to pursue another method; showing the fallacy of these conclusions by disclosing their mutual contradictions.

Here I cannot do better than avail myself of the demonstration which Mr. Mansel, carrying out in detail the doctrine of Sir William Hamilton, has given in his Limits of Religious Thought. And I gladly do this, not only because his mode of presentation cannot be improved, but also because, writing as he does in defence of the current Theology, his reasonings will be the more acceptable to the majority of readers.

§13. Having given preliminary definitions of the First Cause, of the Infinite, and of the Absolute, Mr. Mansel says: —

"But these three conceptions, the Cause, the Absolute, the Infinite, all equally indispensable, do they not imply contradiction to each other, when viewed in conjunction, as attributes of one and the same Being? A Cause cannot, as such, be absolute: the Absolute cannot, as such, be a cause. The cause, as such, exists only in relation to its effect: the cause is a cause of the effect; the effect is an effect of the cause. On the other hand, the conception of the Absolute implies a possible existence out of all relation. We attempt to escape from this apparent contradiction, by introducing the idea of succession in time. The Absolute exists first by itself, and afterwards becomes a Cause. But here we are checked by the third conception, that of the Infinite. How can the Infinite become that which it was not from the first? If Causation is a possible mode of existence, that which exists without causing is not infinite; that which becomes a cause has passed beyond its former limits. * * *

"Supposing the Absolute to become a cause, it will follow that it operates by means of freewill and consciousness. For a necessary cause cannot be conceived as absolute and infinite. If necessitated by something beyond itself, it is thereby limited by a superior power; and if necessitated by itself, it has in its own nature a necessary relation to its effect. The act of causation must therefore be voluntary; and volition is only possible in a conscious being. But consciousness again is only conceivable as a relation. There must be a conscious subject, and an object of which he is conscious. The subject is a subject to the object; the object is an object to the subject; and neither can exist by itself as the absolute. This difficulty, again, may be for the moment evaded, by distinguishing between the absolute as related to another and the absolute as related to itself. The Absolute, it may be said, may possibly be conscious, provided it is only conscious of itself. But this alternative is, in ultimate analysis, no less self-destructive than the other. For the object of consciousness, whether a mode of the Subject's existence or not, is either created in and by the act of consciousness, or has an existence independent of it. In the former case, the object depends upon the subject, and the subject alone is the true absolute. In the latter case, the subject depends upon the object, and the object alone is the true absolute. Or if we attempt a third hypothesis, and maintain that each exists independently of the other, we have no absolute at all, but only a pair of relatives; for coexistence, whether in consciousness or not, is itself a relation.

"The corollary from this reasoning is obvious. Not only is the Absolute, as conceived, incapable of a necessary relation to anything else but it is also incapable of containing, by the constitution of its own nature, an essential relation within itself; as a whole, for instance, composed of parts, or as a substance consisting of attributes, or as a conscious subject in antithesis to an object. For if there is in the absolute any principle of unity, distinct from the mere accumulation of parts or attributes, this principle alone is the true absolute. If, on the other hand, there is no such principle, then there is no absolute at all, but only a plurality of relatives. The almost unanimous voice of philosophy, in pronouncing that the absolute is both one and simple, must be accepted as the voice of reason also, so far as reason has any voice in the matter. But this absolute unity, as indifferent and containing no attributes, can neither be distinguished from the multiplicity of finite beings by any characteristic feature, nor be identified with them in their multiplicity. Thus we are landed in an inextricable dilemma. The Absolute cannot be conceived as conscious, neither can it be conceived as unconscious; it cannot be conceived as complex, neither can it be conceived as simple: it cannot be conceived by difference, neither can it be conceived by the absence of difference: it cannot be identified with the universe, neither can it be distinguished from it. The One and the Many, regarded as the beginning of existence, are thus alike incomprehensible.

"The fundamental conceptions of Rational Theology being thus self-destructive, we may naturally expect to find the same antagonism manifested in their special applications. * * * How, for example. Can Infinite Power be able to do all things, and yet Infinite Goodness be unable to do evil? How can Infinite Justice exact the utmost penalty for every sin, and yet Infinite Mercy pardon the sinner? How can Infinite Wisdom know all that is to come, and yet Infinite Freedom be at liberty to do or to forbear? How is the existence of Evil compatible with that of an infinitely perfect Being; for if he wills it, he is not infinitely ngood; and if he will it not, his will is thwarted and his sphere of action limited? * * *

"Let us, however, suppose for an instant that these difficulties are surmounted, and the existence of the Absolute securely established on the testimony of reason. Still we have not succeeded in reconciling this idea with that of a Cause: we have done nothing towards explaining how the absolute can give rise to the relative, the infinite to the finite. If the condition of causal activity is a higher state than that of quiescence, the Absolute, whether acting voluntarily or involuntarily, has passed from a condition of comparative imperfection to one of comparative perfection; and therefore was not originally perfect. If the state of activity is an inferior state to that of quiescence, the Absolute, in becoming a cause, has lost its original perfection. There remains only the supposition that the two states are equal, and the act of creation one of complete indifference. But this supposition annihilates the unity of the absolute, or it annihilates itself. If the act of creation is real, and yet indifferent, we must admit the possibility of two conceptions of the absolute, the one as productive, the other as non-productive. If the act is not real, the supposition itself vanishes. * * *

"Again, how can the relative be conceived as coming into being? If it is a distinct reality from the absolute, it must be conceived as passing from non-existence into existence. But to conceive an object as non-existent, is again a self-contradiction; for that which is conceived exists, as an object of thought, in and by that conception. We may abstain from thinking of an object at all; but, if we think of it, we cannot but think of it as existing. It is possible at one time not to think of an object at all, and at another to think of it as already in being; but to think of it in the act of becoming, in the progress from not being into being, is to think that which, in the very thought, annihilates itself. * * *

"To sum up briefly this portion of my argument. The conception of the Absolute and Infinite, from whatever side we view it, appears encompassed with contradictions. There is a contradiction in supposing such an object to exist, whether alone or in conjunction with others; and there is a contradiction in supposing it not to exist. There is a contradiction in conceiving it as one; and there is a contradiction in conceiving it as many. There is a contradiction in conceiving it as personal; and there is a contradiction in conceiving it as impersonal. It cannot, without contradiction, be represented as active; nor, without equal contradiction, be represented as inactive. It cannot be conceived as the sum of all existence; nor yet can it be conceived as a part only of that sum."

§14. And now what is the bearing of these results on the question before us? Our examination of Ultimate Religious Ideas has been carried on with the view of making manifest some fundamental verity contained in them. Thus far, however, we have arrived at negative conclusions only. Passing over the consideration of credibility, and confining ourselves to that of conceivability we have seen that Atheism, Pantheism, and Theism, when rigorously analyzed, severally prove to be wholly unthinkable. Instead of disclosing a fundamental verity existing in each, our inquiry seems rather to have shown that there is no fundamental verity contained in any. To carry away this conclusion, however, would be a fatal error, as we shall shortly see.

Leaving out the accompanying code of conduct, which is a supplementary growth, a religious creed is definable as a theory of original causation. By the lowest savages the genesis of things is not inquired about: only strange appearances and actions raise the question of agency. But be it in the primitive Ghost-theory, which assumes a human personality behind each unusual phenomenon; be it in Polytheism, in which such personalities are partially generalized; be it in Monotheism, in which they are wholly generalized; or be it in Pantheism, in which the generalized personality becomes one with the phenomena; we equally find an hypothesis which is supposed to render the Universe comprehensible. Nay, even that which is regarded as the negation of all Religion — even positive Atheism — comes within the definition; for it, too, in asserting the self-existence of Space, Matter and Motion, propounds a theory from which it holds the facts to be deducible. Now every theory tacitly asserts two things: first, that there is something to be explained; second, that such and such is the explanation. Hence, however widely different speculators disagree in the solutions they give of the same problem, yet by implication they agree that there is a problem to be solved. Here then is an element which all creeds have in common. Religions diametrically opposed in their overt dogmas, are perfectly at one in the tacit conviction that the existence of the world with all it contains and all which surrounds it, is a mystery calling for interpretation.

Thus we come within sight of that which we seek. In the last chapter, reasons were given for inferring that human beliefs in general, and especially the perennial ones, contain, under whatever disguises of error, some soul of truth; and here we have arrived at a truth underlying even the rudest beliefs. We saw, further, that this soul of truth is most likely some constituent common to conflicting opinions of the same order; and here we have a constituent contained by all religions. It was pointed out that this soul of truth would almost certainly be more abstract than any of the creeds involving it; and the truth above reached is one exceeding in abstractness the most abstract religious doctrines. In every respect, therefore, our conclusion answers to the requirements.

That this is the vital element in all religions is further shown by the fact that it is the element which not only survives every change but grows more distinct the more highly the religion is developed. Aboriginal creeds, pervaded by thoughts of personal agencies which are usually unseen, conceive these agencies under perfectly concrete and ordinary forms-class them with the visible agencies of men and animals; and so hide a vague perception of mystery in disguises as unmysterious as possible. Polytheistic conceptions in their advanced phases, represent the presiding personalities in idealized shapes, working in subtle ways, and communicating with men by omens or through inspired persons; that is, the ultimate causes of things are regarded as less familiar and comprehensible. The growth of a Monotheistic faith, accompanied as it is by lapse of those beliefs in which the divine nature is assimilated to the human in all its lower propensities, shows us a further step in the same direction; and however imperfectly this higher faith is at first held, we yet see in altars "to the unknown and unknowable God," and in the worship of a God who cannot by any searching be found out, that there is a clearer recognition of the inscrutableness of creation. Further developments of theology, ending in such assertions as that "a God understood would be no God at all," and "to think that God is, as we can think him to be, is blasphemy," exhibit this recognition still more distinctly. It pervades all the cultivated theology of the present day. So that while other elements of religious creeds one by one drop away, this remains and grows ever more manifest, and thus is shown to be the essential element.

Here, then, is a truth in which religions in general agree with one another, and with a philosophy antagonistic to their special dogmas. If Religion and Science are to be reconciled, the basis of reconciliation must be this deepest, widest, and most certain of all facts-that the Power which the Universe manifests to us is inscrutable.

NOTE