PART I. THE UNKNOWABLE.
CHAPTER I.RELIGION AND SCIENCE.
CHAPTER II.ULTIMATE RELIGIOUS IDEAS.
CHAPTER III.ULTIMATE SCIENTIFIC IDEAS.
CHAPTER IV.THE RELATIVITY OF ALL KNOWLEDGE.
CHAPTER V.THE RECONCILIATION.
PART II. LAWS OF THE KNOWABLE.
CHAPTER I.LAWS IN GENERAL.
CHAPTER III.THE LAW OF EVOLUTION, CONTINUED.
CHAPTER IV.THE CAUSES OF EVOLUTION.
CHAPTER V.SPACE, TIME, MATTER, MOTION, AND FORCE.
CHAPTER VI.THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF MATTER.
CHAPTER VII.THE CONTINUITY OF MOTION.
CHAPTER IX.THE CORRELATION AND EQUIVALENCE OF FORCES.
CHAPTER X.THE DIRECTION OF MOTION.
CHAPTER XI.THE RHYTHM OF MOTION.
CHAPTER XII.THE CONDITIONS ESSENTIAL TO EVOLUTION.
CHAPTER XIV.THE MULTIPLICATION OF EFFECTS.
CHAPTER XV.DIFFERENTIATION AND INTEGRATION.
CHAPTER XVI.EQUILIBRATION.
CHAPTER XVII.SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION.
CHAPTER I.RELIGION AND SCIENCE.
§
1. We too often forget that not only is there “a soul of goodness
in things evil,” but very generally also, a soul of truth in things
erroneous. While many admit the abstract probability that a falsity
has usually a nucleus of reality, few bear this abstract
probability
in mind, when passing judgment on the opinions of others. A belief
that is finally proved to be grossly at variance with fact, is cast
aside with indignation or contempt; and in the heat of antagonism
scarcely any one inquires what there was in this belief which
commended it to men’s minds. Yet there must have been something.
And there is reason to suspect that this something was its
correspondence with certain of their experiences: an extremely
limited or vague correspondence perhaps; but still, a
correspondence.
Even the absurdest report may in nearly every instance be traced to
an actual occurrence; and had there been no such actual occurrence,
this preposterous misrepresentation of it would never have existed.
Though the distorted or magnified image transmitted to us through
the
refracting medium of rumour, is utterly unlike the reality; yet in
the absence of the reality there would have been no distorted or
magnified image. And thus it is with human beliefs in general.
Entirely wrong as they may appear, the implication is that they
germinated out of actual experiences—originally contained, and
perhaps still contain, some small amount of verity.More
especially may we safely assume this, in the case of beliefs that
have long existed and are widely diffused; and most of all so, in
the
case of beliefs that are perennial and nearly or quite universal.
The
presumption that any current opinion is not wholly false, gains in
strength according to the number of its adherents. Admitting, as we
must, that life is impossible unless through a certain agreement
between internal convictions and external circumstances; admitting
therefore that the probabilities are always in favour of the truth,
or at least the partial truth, of a conviction; we must admit that
the convictions entertained by many minds in common are the most
likely to have some foundation. The elimination of individual
errors
of thought, must give to the resulting judgment a certain
additional
value. It may indeed be urged that many widely-spread beliefs are
received on authority; that those entertaining them make no
attempts
at verification; and hence it may be inferred that the multitude of
adherents adds but little to the probability of a belief. But this
is
not true. For a belief which gains extensive reception without
critical examination, is thereby proved to have a general congruity
with the various other beliefs of those who receive it; and in so
far
as these various other beliefs are based upon personal observation
and judgment, they give an indirect warrant to one with which they
harmonize. It may be that this warrant is of small value; but still
it is of some value.Could
we reach definite views on this matter, they would be extremely
useful to us. It is important that we should, if possible, form
something like a general theory of current opinions; so that we may
neither over-estimate nor under-estimate their worth. Arriving at
correct judgments on disputed questions, much depends on the
attitude
of mind we preserve while listening to, or taking part in, the
controversy; and for the preservation of a right attitude, it is
needful that we should learn how true, and yet how untrue, are
average human beliefs. On the one hand, we must keep free from that
bias in favour of received ideas which expresses itself in such
dogmas as “What every one says must be true,” or “The voice of
the people is the voice of God.” On the other hand, the fact
disclosed by a survey of the past, that majorities have usually
been
wrong, must not blind us to the complementary fact, that majorities
have usually not been
entirely wrong. And
the avoidance of these extremes being a prerequisite to catholic
thinking, we shall do well to provide ourselves with a safe-guard
against them, by making a valuation of opinions in the abstract. To
this end we must contemplate the kind of relation that ordinarily
subsists between opinions and facts. Let us do so with one of those
beliefs which under various forms has prevailed among all nations
in
all times.§
2. The earliest traditions represent rulers as gods or demigods. By
their subjects, primitive kings were regarded as superhuman in
origin, and superhuman in power. They possessed divine titles;
received obeisances like those made before the altars of deities;
and
were in some cases actually worshipped. If there needs proof that
the
divine and half-divine characters originally ascribed to monarchs
were ascribed literally, we have it in the fact that there are
still
existing savage races, among whom it is held that the chiefs and
their kindred are of celestial origin, or, as elsewhere, that only
the chiefs have souls. And of course along with beliefs of this
kind,
there existed a belief in the unlimited power of the ruler over his
subjects—an absolute possession of them, extending even to the
taking of their lives at will: as even still in Fiji, where a
victim
stands unbound to be killed at the word of his chief; himself
declaring, “whatever the king says must be done.”In
times and among races somewhat less barbarous, we find these
beliefs
a little modified. The monarch, instead of being literally thought
god or demigod, is conceived to be a man having divine authority,
with perhaps more or less of divine nature. He retains however, as
in
the East to the present day, titles expressing his heavenly descent
or relationships; and is still saluted in forms and words as humble
as those addressed to the Deity. While the lives and properties of
his people, if not practically so completely at his mercy, are
still
in theory supposed to be his.Later
in the progress of civilization, as during the middle ages in
Europe,
the current opinions respecting the relationship of rulers and
ruled
are further changed. For the theory of divine origin, there is
substituted that of divine right. No longer god or demigod, or even
god-descended, the king is now regarded as simply God’s
vice-gerent. The obeisances made to him are not so extreme in their
humility; and his sacred titles lose much of their meaning.
Moreover
his authority ceases to be unlimited. Subjects deny his right to
dispose at will of their lives and properties; and yield allegiance
only in the shape of obedience to his commands.With
advancing political opinion has come still greater restriction of
imperial power. Belief in the supernatural character of the ruler,
long ago repudiated by ourselves for example, has left behind it
nothing more than the popular tendency to ascribe unusual goodness,
wisdom, and beauty to the monarch. Loyalty, which originally meant
implicit submission to the king’s will, now means a merely nominal
profession of subordination, and the fulfilment of certain forms of
respect. Our political practice, and our political theory, alike
utterly reject those regal prerogatives which once passed
unquestioned. By deposing some, and putting others in their places,
we have not only denied the divine rights of certain men to rule;
but
we have denied that they have any rights beyond those originating
in
the assent of the nation. Though our forms of speech and our
state-documents still assert the subjection of the citizens to the
ruler, our actual beliefs and our daily proceedings implicitly
assert
the contrary. We obey no laws save those of our own making. We have
entirely divested the monarch of legislative power; and should
immediately rebel against his or her exercise of such power, even
in
matters of the smallest concern. In brief, the aboriginal doctrine
is
all but extinct among us.Nor
has the rejection of primitive political beliefs, resulted only in
transferring the authority of an autocrat to a representative body.
The views entertained respecting governments in general, of
whatever
form, are now widely different from those once entertained. Whether
popular or despotic, governments were in ancient times supposed to
have unlimited authority over their subjects. Individuals existed
for
the benefit of the State; not the State for the benefit of
individuals. In our days, however, not only has the national will
been in many cases substituted for the will of the king; but the
exercise of this national will has been restricted to a much
smaller
sphere. In England, for instance, though there has been established
no definite theory setting bounds to governmental authority; yet,
in
practice, sundry bounds have been set to it which are tacitly
recognized by all. There is no organic law formally declaring that
the legislature may not freely dispose of the citizens’ lives, as
early kings did when they sacrificed hecatombs of victims; but were
it possible for our legislature to attempt such a thing, its own
destruction would be the consequence, rather than the destruction
of
citizens. How entirely we have established the personal liberties
of
the subject against the invasions of State-power, would be quickly
demonstrated, were it proposed by Act of Parliament forcibly to
take
possession of the nation, or of any class, and turn its services to
public ends; as the services of the people were turned by primitive
rulers. And should any statesman suggest a re-distribution of
property such as was sometimes made in ancient democratic
communities, he would be met by a thousand-tongued denial of
imperial
power over individual possessions. Not only in our day have these
fundamental claims of the citizen been thus made good against the
State, but sundry minor claims likewise. Ages ago, laws regulating
dress and mode of living fell into disuse; and any attempt to
revive
them would prove the current opinion to be, that such matters lie
beyond the sphere of legal control. For some centuries we have been
asserting in practice, and have now established in theory, the
right
of every man to choose his own religious beliefs, instead of
receiving such beliefs on State-authority. Within the last few
generations we have inaugurated complete liberty of speech, in
spite
of all legislative attempts to suppress or limit it. And still more
recently we have claimed and finally obtained under a few
exceptional
restrictions, freedom to trade with whomsoever we please. Thus our
political beliefs are widely different from ancient ones, not only
as
to the proper depositary of power to be exercised over a nation,
but
also as to the extent of that power.Not
even here has the change ended. Besides the average opinions which
we
have just described as current among ourselves, there exists a less
widely-diffused opinion going still further in the same direction.
There are to be found men who contend that the sphere of government
should be narrowed even more than it is in England. The modern
doctrine that the State exists for the benefit of citizens, which
has
now in a great measure supplanted the ancient doctrine that the
citizens exist for the benefit of the State, they would push to its
logical results. They hold that the freedom of the individual,
limited only by the like freedom of other individuals, is sacred;
and
that the legislature cannot equitably put further restrictions upon
it, either by forbidding any actions which the law of equal freedom
permits, or taking away any property save that required to pay the
cost of enforcing this law itself. They assert that the sole
function
of the State is the protection of persons against each other, and
against a foreign foe. They urge that as, throughout civilization,
the manifest tendency has been continually to extend the liberties
of
the subject, and restrict the functions of the State, there is
reason
to believe that the ultimate political condition must be one in
which
personal freedom is the greatest possible and governmental power
the
least possible: that, namely, in which the freedom of each has no
limit but the like freedom of all; while the sole governmental duty
is the maintenance of this limit.Here
then in different times and places we find concerning the origin,
authority, and functions of government, a great variety of
opinions—opinions of which the leading genera above indicated
subdivide into countless species. What now must be said about the
truth or falsity of these opinions? Save among a few barbarous
tribes
the notion that a monarch is a god or demigod is regarded
throughout
the world as an absurdity almost passing the bounds of human
credulity. In but few places does there survive a vague notion that
the ruler possesses any supernatural attributes. Most civilized
communities, which still admit the divine right of governments,
have
long since repudiated the divine right of kings. Elsewhere the
belief
that there is anything sacred in legislative regulations is dying
out: laws are coming to be considered as conventional only. While
the
extreme school holds that governments have neither intrinsic
authority, nor can have authority given to them by convention; but
can possess authority only as the administrators of those moral
principles deducible from the conditions essential to social life.
Of
these various beliefs, with their innumerable modifications, must
we
then say that some one alone is wholly right and all the rest
wholly
wrong; or must we say that each of them contains truth more or less
completely disguised by errors? The latter alternative is the one
which analysis will force upon us. Ridiculous as they may severally
appear to those not educated under them, every one of these
doctrines
has for its vital element the recognition of an unquestionable
fact.
Directly or by implication, each of them insists on a certain
subordination of individual actions to social requirements. There
are
wide differences as to the power to which this subordination is
due;
there are wide differences as to the motive for this subordination;
there are wide differences as to its extent; but that there must
be
some subordination
all are agreed. From the oldest and rudest idea of allegiance, down
to the most advanced political theory of our own day, there is on
this point complete unanimity. Though, between the savage who
conceives his life and property to be at the absolute disposal of
his
chief, and the anarchist who denies the right of any government,
autocratic or democratic, to trench upon his individual freedom,
there seems at first sight an entire and irreconcilable antagonism;
yet ultimate analysis discloses in them this fundamental community
of
opinion; that there are limits which individual actions may not
transgress—limits which the one regards as originating in the
king’s will, and which the other regards as deducible from the
equal claims of fellow-citizens.It
may perhaps at first sight seem that we here reach a very
unimportant
conclusion; namely, that a certain tacit assumption is equally
implied in all these conflicting political creeds—an assumption
which is indeed of self-evident validity. The question, however, is
not the value or novelty of the particular truth in this case
arrived
at. My aim has been to exhibit the more general truth, which we are
apt to overlook, that between the most opposite beliefs there is
usually something in common,—something taken for granted by each;
and that this something, if not to be set down as an unquestionable
verity, may yet be considered to have the highest degree of
probability. A postulate which, like the one above instanced, is
not
consciously asserted but unconsciously involved; and which is
unconsciously involved not by one man or body of men, but by
numerous
bodies of men who diverge in countless ways and degrees in the rest
of their beliefs; has a warrant far transcending any that can be
usually shown. And when, as in this case, the postulate is
abstract—is not based on some one concrete experience common to all
mankind, but implies an induction from a great variety of
experiences, we may say that it ranks next in certainty to the
postulates of exact science.Do
we not thus arrive at a generalization which may habitually guide
us
when seeking for the soul of truth in things erroneous? While the
foregoing illustration brings clearly home the fact, that in
opinions
seeming to be absolutely and supremely wrong something right is yet
to be found; it also indicates the method we should pursue in
seeking
the something right. This method is to compare all opinions of the
same genus; to set aside as more or less discrediting one another
those various special and concrete elements in which such opinions
disagree; to observe what remains after the discordant constituents
have been eliminated; and to find for this remaining constituent
that
abstract expression which holds true throughout its divergent
modifications.§3.
A candid acceptance of this general principle and an adoption of
the
course it indicates, will greatly aid us in dealing with those
chronic antagonisms by which men are divided. Applying it not only
to
current ideas with which we are personally unconcerned, but also to
our own ideas and those of our opponents, we shall be led to form
far
more correct judgments. We shall be ever ready to suspect that the
convictions we entertain are not wholly right, and that the adverse
convictions are not wholly wrong. On the one hand we shall not, in
common with the great mass of the unthinking, let our beliefs be
determined by the mere accident of birth in a particular age on a
particular part of the Earth’s surface; and, on the other hand, we
shall be saved from that error of entire and contemptuous negation,
which is fallen into by most who take up an attitude of independent
criticism.Of
all antagonisms of belief, the oldest, the widest, the most
profound
and the most important, is that between Religion and Science. It
commenced when the recognition of the simplest uniformities in
surrounding things, set a limit to the previously universal
fetishism. It shows itself everywhere throughout the domain of
human
knowledge: affecting men’s interpretations alike of the simplest
mechanical accidents and of the most complicated events in the
histories of nations. It has its roots deep down in the diverse
habits of thought of different orders of minds. And the conflicting
conceptions of nature and life which these diverse habits of
thought
severally generate, influence for good or ill the tone of feeling
and
the daily conduct.An
unceasing battle of opinion like this which has been carried on
throughout all ages under the banners of Religion and Science, has
of
course generated an animosity fatal to a just estimate of either
party by the other. On a larger scale, and more intensely than any
other controversy, has it illustrated that perennially significant
fable concerning the knights who fought about the colour of a
shield
of which neither looked at more than one face. Each combatant
seeing
clearly his own aspect of the question, has charged his opponent
with
stupidity or dishonesty in not seeing the same aspect of it; while
each has wanted the candour to go over to his opponent’s side and
find out how it was that he saw everything so differently.Happily
the times display an increasing catholicity of feeling, which we
shall do well in carrying as far as our natures permit. In
proportion
as we love truth more and victory less, we shall become anxious to
know what it is which leads our opponents to think as they do. We
shall begin to suspect that the pertinacity of belief exhibited by
them must result from a perception of something we have not
perceived. And we shall aim to supplement the portion of truth we
have found with the portion found by them. Making a more rational
estimate of human authority, we shall avoid alike the extremes of
undue submission and undue rebellion—shall not regard some men’s
judgments as wholly good and others as wholly bad; but shall rather
lean to the more defensible position that none are completely right
and none are completely wrong.Preserving,
as far as may be, this impartial attitude, let us then contemplate
the two sides of this great controversy. Keeping guard against the
bias of education and shutting out the whisperings of sectarian
feeling, let us consider what are the
à priori
probabilities in favour of each party.§4.
When duly realized, the general principle above illustrated must
lead
us to anticipate that the diverse forms of religious belief which
have existed and which still exist, have all a basis in some
ultimate
fact. Judging by analogy the implication is, not that any one of
them
is altogether right; but that in each there is something right more
or less disguised by other things wrong. It may be that the soul of
truth contained in erroneous creeds is very unlike most, if not
all,
of its several embodiments; and indeed, if, as we have good reason
to
expect, it is much more abstract than any of them, its unlikeness
necessarily follows. But however different from its concrete
expressions, some essential verity must be looked for. To suppose
that these multiform conceptions should be one and all
absolutely
groundless, discredits too profoundly that average human
intelligence
from which all our individual intelligences are inherited.This
most general reason we shall find enforced by other more special
ones. To the presumption that a number of diverse beliefs of the
same
class have some common foundation in fact, must in this case be
added
a further presumption derived from the omnipresence of the beliefs.
Religious ideas of one kind or other are almost if not quite
universal. Even should it be true, as alleged, that there exist
tribes of men who have nothing approaching to a theory of
creation—even should it be true that only when a certain phase of
intelligence is reached do the most rudimentary of such theories
make
their appearance; the implication is practically the same. Grant
that
among all races who have passed a certain stage of intellectual
development there are found vague notions concerning the origin and
hidden nature of surrounding things; and there arises the inference
that such notions are necessary products of progressing
intelligence.
Their endless variety serves but to strengthen this conclusion:
showing as it does a more or less independent genesis—showing how,
in different places and times, like conditions have led to similar
trains of thought, ending in analogous results. That these
countless
different, and yet allied, phenomena presented by all religions are
accidental or factitious, is an untenable supposition. A candid
examination of the evidence quite negatives the doctrine maintained
by some, that creeds are priestly inventions. Even as a mere
question
of probabilities it cannot rationally be concluded that in every
society, past and present, savage and civilized, certain members of
the community have combined to delude the rest, in ways so
analogous.
To any who may allege that some primitive fiction was devised by
some
primitive priesthood, before yet mankind had diverged from a common
centre, a reply is furnished by philology; for philology proves the
dispersion of mankind to have commenced before there existed a
language sufficiently organized to express religious ideas.
Moreover,
were it otherwise tenable, the hypothesis of artificial origin
fails
to account for the facts. It does not explain why, under all
changes
of form, certain elements of religious belief remain constant. It
does not show us how it happens that while adverse criticism has
from
age to age gone on destroying particular theological dogmas, it has
not destroyed the fundamental conception underlying these dogmas.
It
leaves us without any solution of the striking circumstance that
when, from the absurdities and corruptions accumulated around them,
national creeds have fallen into general discredit, ending in
indifferentism or positive denial, there has always by and by
arisen
a re-assertion of them: if not the same in form, still the same in
essence. Thus the universality of religious ideas, their
independent
evolution among different primitive races, and their great
vitality,
unite in showing that their source must be deep-seated instead of
superficial. In other words, we are obliged to admit that if not
supernaturally derived as the majority contend, they must be
derived
out of human experiences, slowly accumulated and organized.Should
it be asserted that religious ideas are products of the religious
sentiment, which, to satisfy itself, prompts imaginations that it
afterwards projects into the external world, and by and by mistakes
for realities; the problem is not solved, but only removed further
back. Whether the wish is father to the thought, or whether
sentiment
and idea have a common genesis, there equally arises the
question—Whence comes the sentiment? That it is a constituent in
man’s nature is implied by the hypothesis; and cannot indeed be
denied by those who prefer other hypotheses. And if the religious
sentiment, displayed habitually by the majority of mankind, and
occasionally aroused even in those seemingly devoid of it, must be
classed among human emotions, we cannot rationally ignore it. We
are
bound to ask its origin and its function. Here is an attribute
which,
to say the least, has had an enormous influence—which has played a
conspicuous part throughout the entire past as far back as history
records, and is at present the life of numerous institutions, the
stimulus to perpetual controversies, and the prompter of countless
daily actions. Any Theory of Things which takes no account of this
attribute, must, then, be extremely defective. If with no other
view,
still as a question in philosophy, we are called on to say what
this
attribute means; and we cannot decline the task without confessing
our philosophy to be incompetent.Two
suppositions only are open to us: the one that the feeling which
responds to religious ideas resulted, along with all other human
faculties, from an act of special creation; the other that it, in
common with the rest, arose by a process of evolution. If we adopt
the first of these alternatives, universally accepted by our
ancestors and by the immense majority of our contemporaries, the
matter is at once settled: man is directly endowed with the
religious
feeling by a creator; and to that creator it designedly responds.
If
we adopt the second alternative, then we are met by the
questions—What are the circumstances to which the genesis of the
religious feeling is due? and—What is its office? We are bound to
entertain these questions; and we are bound to find answers to
them.
Considering all faculties, as we must on this supposition, to
result
from accumulated modifications caused by the intercourse of the
organism with its environment, we are obliged to admit that there
exist in the environment certain phenomena or conditions which have
determined the growth of the feeling in question; and so are
obliged
to admit that it is as normal as any other faculty. Add to which
that
as, on the hypothesis of a development of lower forms into higher,
the end towards which the progressive changes directly or
indirectly
tend, must be adaptation to the requirements of existence; we are
also forced to infer that this feeling is in some way conducive to
human welfare. Thus both alternatives contain the same ultimate
implication. We must conclude that the religious sentiment is
either
directly created, or is created by the slow action of natural
causes;
and whichever of these conclusions we adopt, requires us to treat
the
religious sentiment with respect.One
other consideration should not be overlooked—a consideration which
students of Science more especially need to have pointed out.
Occupied as such are with established truths, and accustomed to
regard things not already known as things to be hereafter
discovered,
they are liable to forget that information, however extensive it
may
become, can never satisfy inquiry. Positive knowledge does not, and
never can, fill the whole region of possible thought. At the
uttermost reach of discovery there arises, and must ever arise, the
question—What lies beyond? As it is impossible to think of a limit
to space so as to exclude the idea of space lying outside that
limit;
so we cannot conceive of any explanation profound enough to exclude
the question—What is the explanation of that explanation? Regarding
Science as a gradually increasing sphere, we may say that every
addition to its surface does but bring it into wider contact with
surrounding nescience. There must ever remain therefore two
antithetical modes of mental action. Throughout all future time, as
now, the human mind may occupy itself, not only with ascertained
phenomena and their relations, but also with that unascertained
something which phenomena and their relations imply. Hence if
knowledge cannot monopolize consciousness—if it must always
continue possible for the mind to dwell upon that which transcends
knowledge; then there can never cease to be a place for something
of
the nature of Religion; since Religion under all its forms is
distinguished from everything else in this, that its subject matter
is that which passes the sphere of experience.Thus,
however untenable may be any or all the existing religious creeds,
however gross the absurdities associated with them, however
irrational the arguments set forth in their defence, we must not
ignore the verity which in all likelihood lies hidden within them.
The general probability that widely-spread beliefs are not
absolutely
baseless, is in this case enforced by a further probability due to
the omnipresence of the beliefs. In the existence of a religious
sentiment, whatever be its origin, we have a second evidence of
great
significance. And as in that nescience which must ever remain the
antithesis to science, there is a sphere for the exercise of this
sentiment, we find a third general fact of like implication. We may
be sure therefore that religions, though even none of them be
actually true, are yet all adumbrations of a truth.§
5. As, to the religious, it will seem absurd to set forth any
justification for Religion; so, to the scientific, will it seem
absurd to defend Science. Yet to do the last is certainly as
needful
as to do the first. If there exists a class who, in contempt of its
follies and disgust at its corruptions, have contracted towards
Religion a repugnance which makes them overlook the fundamental
verity contained in it; so, too, is there a class offended to such
a
degree by the destructive criticisms men of science make on the
religious tenets they regard as essential, that they have acquired
a
strong prejudice against Science in general. They are not prepared
with any avowed reasons for their dislike. They have simply a
remembrance of the rude shakes which Science has given to many of
their cherished convictions, and a suspicion that it may perhaps
eventually uproot all they regard as sacred; and hence it produces
in
them a certain inarticulate dread.What
is Science? To see the absurdity of the prejudice against it, we
need
only remark that Science is simply a higher development of common
knowledge; and that if Science is repudiated, all knowledge must be
repudiated along with it. The extremest bigot will not suspect any
harm in the observation that the sun rises earlier and sets later
in
the summer than in the winter; but will rather consider such an
observation as a useful aid in fulfilling the duties of life. Well,
Astronomy is an organized body of similar observations, made with
greater nicety, extended to a larger number of objects, and so
analyzed as to disclose the real arrangements of the heavens, and
to
dispel our false conceptions of them. That iron will rust in water,
that wood will burn, that long kept viands become putrid, the most
timid sectarian will teach without alarm, as things useful to be
known. But these are chemical truths: Chemistry is a systematized
collection of such facts, ascertained with precision, and so
classified and generalized as to enable us to say with certainty,
concerning each simple or compound substance, what change will
occur
in it under given conditions. And thus is it with all the sciences.
They severally germinate out of the experiences of daily life;
insensibly as they grow they draw in remoter, more numerous, and
more
complex experiences; and among these, they ascertain laws of
dependence like those which make up our knowledge of the most
familiar objects. Nowhere is it possible to draw a line and
say—here
Science begins. And as it is the function of common observation to
serve for the guidance of conduct; so, too, is the guidance of
conduct the office of the most recondite and abstract inquiries of
Science. Through the countless industrial processes and the various
modes of locomotion which it has given to us, Physics regulates
more
completely our social life than does his acquaintance with the
properties of surrounding bodies regulate the life of the savage.
Anatomy and Physiology, through their effects on the practice of
medicine and hygiene, modify our actions almost as much as does our
acquaintance with the evils and benefits which common environing
agencies may produce on our bodies. All Science is prevision; and
all
prevision ultimately aids us in greater or less degree to achieve
the
good and avoid the bad. As certainly as the perception of an object
lying in our path warns us against stumbling over it; so certainly
do
those more complicated and subtle perceptions which constitute
Science, warn us against stumbling over intervening obstacles in
the
pursuit of our distant ends. Thus being one in origin and function,
the simplest forms of cognition and the most complex must be dealt
with alike. We are bound in consistency to receive the widest
knowledge which our faculties can reach, or to reject along with it
that narrow knowledge possessed by all. There is no logical
alternative between accepting our intelligence in its entirety, or
repudiating even that lowest intelligence which we possess in
common
with brutes.To
ask the question which more immediately concerns our
argument—whether
Science is substantially true?—is much like asking whether the sun
gives light. And it is because they are conscious how undeniably
valid are most of its propositions, that the theological party
regard
Science with so much secret alarm. They know that during the two
thousand years of its growth, some of its larger
divisions—mathematics, physics, astronomy—have been subject to
the rigorous criticism of successive generations; and have
notwithstanding become ever more firmly established. They know
that,
unlike many of their own doctrines, which were once universally
received but have age by age been more frequently called in
question,
the doctrines of Science, at first confined to a few scattered
inquirers, have been slowly growing into general acceptance, and
are
now in great part admitted as beyond dispute. They know that men of
science throughout the world subject each other’s results to the
most searching examination; and that error is mercilessly exposed
and
rejected as soon as discovered. And, finally, they know that still
more conclusive testimony is to be found in the daily verification
of
scientific predictions, and in the never-ceasing triumphs of those
arts which Science guides.To
regard with alienation that which has such high credentials is a
folly. Though in the tone which many of the scientific adopt
towards
them, the defenders of Religion may find some excuse for this
alienation; yet the excuse is a very insufficient one. On the side
of
Science, as on their own side, they must admit that short-comings
in
the advocates do not tell essentially against that which is
advocated. Science must be judged by itself: and so judged, only
the
most perverted intellect can fail to see that it is worthy of all
reverence. Be there or be there not any other revelation, we have a
veritable revelation in Science—a continuous disclosure, through
the intelligence with which we are endowed, of the established
order
of the Universe. This disclosure it is the duty of every one to
verify as far as in him lies; and having verified, to receive with
all humility.§6.
On both sides of this great controversy, then, truth must exist. An
unbiassed consideration of its general aspects forces us to
conclude
that Religion, everywhere present as a weft running through the
warp
of human history, expresses some eternal fact; while it is almost a
truism to say of Science that it is an organised mass of facts,
ever
growing, and ever being more completely purified from errors. And
if
both have bases in the reality of things, then between them there
must be a fundamental harmony. It is an incredible hypothesis that
there are two orders of truth, in absolute and everlasting
opposition. Only on some Manichean theory, which among ourselves no
one dares openly avow however much his beliefs may be tainted by
it,
is such a supposition even conceivable. That Religion is divine and
Science diabolical, is a proposition which, though implied in many
a
clerical declamation, not the most vehement fanatic can bring
himself
distinctly to assert. And whoever does not assert this, must admit
that under their seeming antagonism lies hidden an entire
agreement.Each
side, therefore, has to recognize the claims of the other as
standing
for truths that are not to be ignored. He who contemplates the
Universe from the religious point of view, must learn to see that
this which we call Science is one constituent of the great whole;
and
as such ought to be regarded with a sentiment like that which the
remainder excites. While he who contemplates the universe from the
scientific point of view, must learn to see that this which we call
Religion is similarly a constituent of the great whole; and being
such, must be treated as a subject of science with no more
prejudice
than any other reality. It behoves each party to strive to
understand
the other, with the conviction that the other has something worthy
to
be understood; and with the conviction that when mutually
recognized
this something will be the basis of a complete
reconciliation.How
to find this something—how to reconcile them, thus becomes the
problem which we should perseveringly try to solve. Not to
reconcile
them in any makeshift way—not to find one of those compromises we
hear from time to time proposed, which their proposers must
secretly
feel are artificial and temporary; but to arrive at the terms of a
real and permanent peace between them. The thing we have to seek
out,
is that ultimate truth which both will avow with absolute
sincerity—with not the remotest mental reservation. There shall be
no concession—no yielding on either side of something that will by
and by be reasserted; but the common ground on which they meet
shall
be one which each will maintain for itself. We have to discover
some
fundamental verity which Religion will assert, with all possible
emphasis, in the absence of Science; and which Science, with all
possible emphasis, will assert in the absence of Religion—some
fundamental verity in the defence of which each will find the other
its ally.Or,
changing the point of view, our aim must be to co-ordinate the
seemingly opposed convictions which Religion and Science embody.
From
the coalescence of antagonist ideas, each containing its portion of
truth, there always arises a higher development. As in Geology when
the igneous and aqueous hypotheses were united, a rapid advance
took
place; as in Biology we are beginning to progress through the
fusion
of the doctrine of types with the doctrine of adaptations; as in
Psychology the arrested growth recommences now that the disciples
of
Kant and those of Locke have both their views recognized in the
theory that organized experiences produce forms of thought; as in
Sociology, now that it is beginning to assume a positive character,
we find a recognition of both the party of progress and the party
of
order, as each holding a truth which forms a needful complement to
that held by the other; so must it be on a grander scale with
Religion and Science. Here too we must look for a conception which
combines the conclusions of both; and here too we may expect
important results from their combination. To understand how Science
and Religion express opposite sides of the same fact—the one its
near or visible side, and the other its remote or invisible
side—this
it is which we must attempt; and to achieve this must profoundly
modify our general Theory of Things.Already
in the foregoing pages the method of seeking such a reconciliation
has been vaguely foreshadowed. Before proceeding further, however,
it
will be well to treat the question of method more definitely. To
find
that truth in which Religion and Science coalesce, we must know in
what direction to look for it, and what kind of truth it is likely
to
be.§
7. We have found à
priori reason for
believing that in all religions, even the rudest, there lies hidden
a
fundamental verity. We have inferred that this fundamental verity
is
that element common to all religions, which remains after their
discordant peculiarities have been mutually cancelled. And we have
further inferred that this element is almost certain to be more
abstract than any current religious doctrine. Now it is manifest
that
only in some highly abstract proposition, can Religion and Science
find a common ground. Neither such dogmas as those of the
trinitarian
and unitarian, nor any such idea as that of propitiation, common
though it may be to all religions, can serve as the desired basis
of
agreement; for Science cannot recognize beliefs like these: they
lie
beyond its sphere. Hence we see not only that, judging by analogy,
the essential truth contained in Religion is that most abstract
element pervading all its forms; but also that this most abstract
element is the only one in which Religion is likely to agree with
Science.Similarly
if we begin at the other end, and inquire what scientific truth can
unite Science and Religion. It is at once manifest that Religion
can
take no cognizance of special scientific doctrines; any more than
Science can take cognizance of special religious doctrines. The
truth
which Science asserts and Religion indorses cannot be one furnished
by mathematics; nor can it be a physical truth; nor can it be a
truth
in chemistry: it cannot be a truth belonging to any particular
science. No generalization of the phenomena of space, of time, of
matter, or of force, can become a Religious conception. Such a
conception, if it anywhere exists in Science, must be more general
than any of these—must be one underlying all of them. If there be a
fact which Science recognizes in common with Religion, it must be
that fact from which the several branches of Science diverge, as
from
their common root.Assuming
then, that since these two great realities are constituents of the
same mind, and respond to different aspects of the same Universe,
there must be a fundamental harmony between them; we see good
reason
to conclude that the most abstract truth contained in Religion and
the most abstract truth contained in Science must be the one in
which
the two coalesce. The largest fact to be found within our mental
range must be the one of which we are in search. Uniting these
positive and negative poles of human thought, it must be the
ultimate
fact in our intelligence.§
8. Before proceeding in the search for this common datum let me
bespeak a little patience. The next three chapters, setting out
from
different points and converging to the same conclusion, will be
comparatively unattractive. Students of philosophy will find in
them
much that is more or less familiar; and to most of those who are
unacquainted with the literature of modern metaphysics, they may
prove somewhat difficult to follow.Our
argument however cannot dispense with these chapters; and the
greatness of the question at issue justifies even a heavier tax on
the reader’s attention. The matter is one which concerns each and
all of us more than any other matter whatever. Though it affects us
little in a direct way, the view we arrive at must indirectly
affect
us in all our relations—must determine our conception of the
Universe, of Life, of Human Nature—must influence our ideas of
right and wrong, and so modify our conduct. To reach that point of
view from which the seeming discordance of Religion and Science
disappears, and the two merge into one, must cause a revolution of
thought fruitful in beneficial consequences, and must surely be
worth
an effort.Here
ending preliminaries, let us now address ourselves to this
all-important inquiry.
CHAPTER II.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 realize with tolerable
clearness
the slight curvature of that portion of the sea’s surface which
lies before us. But when we seek in imagination to follow out 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 find ourselves 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 all 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 we find 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 habitually 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; generally 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.[6]
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 of the reality. 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 concerning the whole of the vertebrata,
or concerning animals in general, or concerning all organic beings,
the unlikeness of our conceptions to the objects named reaches its
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 very 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
such objects—mere symbols of them.
But
while by this process alone we are enabled to form general
propositions, and so to reach general conclusions, we are by this
process perpetually led into danger, and very often into error. We
habitually 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 a great variety of things which we have
conceived only in this fictitious way; and further to confound with
these certain things which cannot be conceived in any way. How
almost
unavoidably we fall into this error it will be needful here to
observe.
From
objects readily representable in their totality, to those of which
we
cannot form even an approximate representation, there is an
insensible transition. Between a pebble and the entire Earth a
series
of magnitudes might be introduced, each of which differed from the
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. Whence it is manifest that 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 the great majority of 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 very imperfect
representations of ordinary things which we habitually 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 symbolic conception
stands for an actual existence, and, in a sense, truly expresses
certain of its constituent relations. Thus our symbolic conceptions
being in the majority of cases capable of development into complete
ones, and in most other cases serving as steps to conclusions which
are proved valid by their correspondence with observation, we
acquire
a confirmed habit of dealing with them as true conceptions—as real
representations of actualities. Learning by long experience that
they
can, if needful, be verified, we are led habitually to accept them
without verification. And 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.
To
sum up, we must say of conceptions in general, that they are
complete
only when the attributes of the object conceived are of such number
and kind that they can be represented in consciousness so nearly at
the same time as to seem all present together; that as the objects
conceived become larger and more complex, some of the attributes
first thought of fade from consciousness before the rest have been
represented, and the conception thus becomes imperfect; that when
the
size, complexity, or discreteness of the object conceived becomes
very great, only a small portion of its attributes can be thought
of
at once, and the conception formed of it thus becomes so inadequate
as to be a mere symbol; that nevertheless such symbolic
conceptions,
which are indispensable in general thinking, are legitimate,
provided
that by some cumulative or indirect process of thought, or by the
fulfilment of predictions based on them, we can assure ourselves
that
they stand for actualities; but that 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 predictions be made whose fulfilment can prove this, 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 aboriginal man and to every civilized child the problem of the
Universe suggests itself. What is it? and whence comes it? are
questions that press for solution, when, from time to time, the
imagination rises above daily trivialities. To fill the vacuum of
thought, any theory that is proposed seems better than none. And in
the absence of others, any theory that is proposed easily gains a
footing and afterwards maintains its ground: partly from the
readiness of mankind to accept proximate explanations; partly from
the authority which soon accumulates round such explanations when
given.
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 realized 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 features of the
series; and general experience teaches us that by long continued
observation we could gain the power to realize in thought a series
of
changes more fully representing the actual series: 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
inaccurately, an actual process in nature. 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 simply 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 the idea
of
a beginning—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 in any sense 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 in the
least
degree more comprehensible by its existence during some previous
finite period of time, then no accumulation of 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 if it were 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 to render this conception
tolerably definite. But while the succession of phases through
which
the 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 do. 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
develope 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 or
additional
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 incapable of any interpretation.
Moreover, even were it true that potential
existence is conceivable as a different thing from actual
existence;
and that the transition from the one to the other can be mentally
realized as a self-determined change; 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. Respecting the origin of such a latent power, no
other
suppositions could be made than those above named—self-existence,
self-creation, creation by external agency. The self-existence of a
potential universe is no more conceivable than we have found the
self-existence of the actual universe to be. The self-creation of
such a potential universe would involve over again the difficulties
here 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 as the source of
this potential universe an external agency, would be to introduce
the
notion of a potential universe for no purpose whatever.
There
remains to be examined 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 genesis of the Heavens and the Earth is effected somewhat after
the manner in which a workman shapes a piece of furniture. And this
assumption is made not by theologians only, but by the immense
majority of philosophers, past and present. Equally in the writings
of Plato, and in those of not a few living men of science, we find
it
taken for granted that there is an analogy between the process of
creation and the process of manufacture. Now in the
first place, not only is this conception one that cannot by any
cumulative process of thought, or the fulfilment of predictions
based
on it, be shown to answer to anything actual; and not only is it
that
in the absence of all evidence respecting the process of creation,
we
have no proof of correspondence even between this limited
conception
and some limited portion of the fact; but it is that the conception
is not even consistent with itself—cannot be realized in thought,
when all its assumptions are granted. Though it is true that the
proceedings of a human artificer may vaguely symbolize to us a
method
after which the Universe might be shaped, yet they do not help us
to
comprehend the real mystery; namely, the origin of the material 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
comparison helps us not in the least to understand that; and unless
it helps us to understand that, it is worthless. 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 just as well be dispensed with.
Still more manifest does the insufficiency of this
theory of creation become, 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 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. It is one of the most familiar truths
that
the idea of space as surrounding us on all sides, is not for a
moment
to be got rid of—not only are we compelled to think of space as now
everywhere present, but we are unable to conceive its absence
either
in the past or the future. 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 the result of 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 practically involved in the
same
predicament; since, as already shown, self-creation implies an
infinite series of potential existences. We are obliged therefore
to
fall back upon the first, which is the one commonly accepted and
commonly supposed to be satisfactory. Those who cannot conceive a
self-existent universe; and who 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 rigorously 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.
