* * * * *
The arguments in the preceding pages cover only a small portion of the extensive field opened up by this subject. They relate, however, to some of the prominent and important points, and I trust are sufficient to show that, as applied to man, the theory of derivation merely trifles with the great question of his origin, without approaching to its solution. I may now, in conclusion, sketch the leading features of primitive man, as he appears to us through the mist of the intervening ages, and compare the picture with that presented by the oldest historical records of our race.
Two pictures of primeval man are in our time before the world. One represents him as the pure and happy inhabitant of an Eden, free from all the ills that have afflicted his descendants, and revelling in the bliss of a golden age. This is the representation of Holy Scripture, and it is also the dream of all the poetry and myth of the earlier ages of the world. It is a beautiful picture, whether we regard it as founded on historical fact, or derived from God Himself, or from the yearnings of the higher spiritual nature of man. The other picture is a joint productof modern philosophy and of antiquarian research. It presents to us a coarse and filthy savage, repulsive in feature, gross in habits, warring with his fellow-savages, and warring yet more remorselessly with every living thing he could destroy, tearing half-cooked flesh, and cracking marrow-bones with stone hammers, sheltering himself in damp and smoky caves, with no eye heavenward, and with only the first rude beginnings of the most important arts of life.
Both pictures may contain elements of truth, for man is a many-sided monster, made up of things apparently incongruous, and presenting here and there features out of which either picture may be composed. Evolutionists, and especially those who believe in the struggle for existence and natural selection, ignore altogether the evidence of the golden age of humanity, and refer us to the rudest of modern savages as the types of primitive man. Those who believe in a Divine origin for our race, perhaps dwell too much on the higher spiritual features of the Edenic state, to the exclusion of its more practical aspects, and its relations to the condition of the more barbarous races. Let us examine more closely both representations; and first, that of creation.
The Glacial period, with its snows and ice, had passed away, and the world rejoiced in a spring-time of renewed verdure and beauty. Many great and formidable beasts of the Tertiary time had disappeared in the revolutions which had occurred, andthe existing fauna of the northern hemisphere had been established on the land. Then it was that man was introduced by an act of creative power. In the preceding changes a region of Western Asia had been prepared for his residence. It was a table-land at the head waters of the rivers that flow into the Euxine, the Caspian, and the Persian Gulf. Its climate was healthy and bracing, with enough of variety to secure vigour, and not so inclement as to exact any artificial provision for clothing or shelter. Its flora afforded abundance of edible fruits, and was rich in all the more beautiful forms of plant life; while its clear streams, alluvial soil, and undulating surface, afforded every variety of station and all that is beautiful in scenery. It was not infested with the more powerful and predacious quadrupeds, and its geographical relations were such as to render this exemption permanent. In this paradise man found ample supplies of wholesome and nutritious food. His requirements as to shelter were met by the leafy bowers he could weave. The streams of Eden afforded gold which he could fashion for use and ornament, pearly shells for vessels, and agate for his few and simple cutting instruments. He required no clothing, and knew of no use for it. His body was the perfection and archetype of the vertebrate form, full of grace, vigour, and agility. His hands enabled him to avail himself of all the products of nature for use and pleasure, and to modify and adapt them according to his inclination. His intelligence,along with his manual powers, allowed him to ascertain the properties of things, to plan, invent, and apply in a manner impossible to any other creature. His gift of speech enabled him to imitate and reduce to systematic language the sounds of nature, and to connect them with the thoughts arising in his own mind, and thus to express their relations and significance. Above all, his Maker had breathed into him a spiritual nature akin to His own, whereby he became different from all other animals, and the very shadow and likeness of God; capable of rising to abstractions and general conceptions of truth and goodness, and of holding communion with his Creator. This was man Edenic, the man of the golden age, as sketched in the two short narratives of the earlier part of Genesis, which not only conform to the general traditions of our race on the subject, but bear to any naturalist who will read them in their original dress, internal evidence of being contemporary, or very nearly so, with the state of things to which they relate.
“And God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them rule over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the herbivora, and over all the land.’ And God blessed them, and said unto them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it.’“And the Lord God formed the man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden, eastward in Eden, and there He placed the man whom He had formed. And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good forfood. And a river went out of Eden to water the garden, and parted from thence, becoming four heads (of great rivers). The name of the first is Pison, compassing the whole land of Chavila, where there is gold, and the gold of that land is good; there is (also) pearl and agate.... And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden, to cultivate it and to take care of it.”
“And God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them rule over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the herbivora, and over all the land.’ And God blessed them, and said unto them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it.’
“And the Lord God formed the man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden, eastward in Eden, and there He placed the man whom He had formed. And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good forfood. And a river went out of Eden to water the garden, and parted from thence, becoming four heads (of great rivers). The name of the first is Pison, compassing the whole land of Chavila, where there is gold, and the gold of that land is good; there is (also) pearl and agate.... And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden, to cultivate it and to take care of it.”
Before leaving this most ancient and most beautiful history, we may say that it implies several things of much importance to our conceptions of primeval man. It implies a centre of creation for man, and a group of companion animals and plants, and an intention to dispense in his case with any struggle for existence. It implies, also, that man was not to be a lazy savage, but a care-taker and utiliser, by his mind and his bodily labour, of the things given to him; and it also implies an intelligent submission on his part to his Maker, and spiritual appreciation of His plans and intentions. It further implies that man was, in process of time, from Eden, to colonise the earth, and subdue its wildness, so as to extend the conditions of Eden widely over its surface. Lastly, a part of the record not quoted above, but necessary to the consistency of the story, implies that, in virtue of his spiritual nature, and on certain conditions, man, though in bodily frame of the earth earthy, like the other animals, was to be exempted from the common law of mortality which had all along prevailed, and which continued to prevail, even among the animals of Eden. Further, if man fell from this condition into that of the savage of the age of stone, it must have been by the obscuration of his spiritual nature under that which is merely animal; in other words, by his ceasing to be spiritual and in communion with God, and becoming practically a sensual materialist. That this actually happened is asserted by the Scriptural story, but its details would take us too far from our present subject. Let us now turn to the other picture—that presented by the theory of struggle for existence and derivation from lower animals.
It introduces us first to an ape, akin perhaps to the modern orang or gorilla, but unknown to us as yet by any actual remains. This creature, after living for an indefinite time in the rich forests of the Miocene and earlier Pliocene periods, was at length subjected to the gradually increasing rigours of the Glacial age. Its vegetable food and its leafy shelter failed it, and it learned to nestle among such litter as it could collect in dens and caves, and to seize and devour such weaker animals as it could overtake and master. At the same time, its lower extremities, no longer used for climbing trees, but for walking on the ground, gained in strength and size; its arms diminished; and its development to maturity being delayed by the intensity of the struggle for existence, its brain enlarged, it became more cunning and sagacious, and even learned to use weapons of wood or stone to destroy its victims. So it gradually grew into a fierce and terrible creature, “neither beast nor human,” combining the habits of a bear and the agility of a monkey with some glimmerings of the cunning and resources of a savage.
When the Glacial period passed away, our nameless simian man, or manlike ape, might naturally be supposed to revert to its original condition, and to establish itself as of old in the new forests of the Modern period. For some unknown reason, however, perhaps because it had gone too far in the path of improvement to be able to turn back, this reversion did not take place. On the contrary, the ameliorated circumstances and wider range of the new continents enabled it still further to improve. Ease and abundance perfected what struggle and privation had begun; it added to the rude arts of the Glacial time; it parted with the shaggy hair now unnecessary; its features became softer; and it returned in part to vegetable food. Language sprang up from the attempt to articulate natural sounds. Fire-making was invented and new arts arose. At length the spiritual nature, potentially present in the creature, was awakened by some access of fear, or some grand and terrible physical phenomenon; the idea of a higher intelligence was struck out, and the descendant of apes became a superstitious and idolatrous savage. How much trouble and discussion would have been saved, had he been aware of his humble origin, and never entertained the vain imagination that he was a child of God, rather than a mere product of physical evolution! It is, indeed, curious, that at this point evolutionism, like theism, has its “fall of man;” for surely the awakening of the religious sense, and of the knowledge of good and evil, must on that theory be sodesignated, since it subverted in the case of man the previous regular operation of natural selection, and introduced all that debasing superstition, priestly domination, and religious controversy which have been among the chief curses of our race, and which are doubly accursed if, as the evolutionist believes, they are not the ruins of something nobler and holier, but the mere gratuitous, vain, and useless imaginings of a creature who should have been content to eat and drink and die, without hope or fear, like the brutes from which he sprang.
These are at present our alternative sketches: the genesis of theism, and the genesis of evolution. After the argument in previous pages, it is unnecessary here to discuss their relative degrees of probability. If we believe in a personal spiritual Creator, the first becomes easy and natural, as it is also that which best accords with history and tradition. If, on the contrary, we reject all these, and accept as natural laws the postulates of the evolutionists which we have already discussed, we may become believers in the latter. The only remaining point is to inquire as to which explains best the actual facts of humanity as we find them. This is a view of which much has been made by evolutionists, and it therefore merits consideration. But it is too extensive to be fully treated of here, and I must content myself with a few illustrations of the failure of the theory of derivation to explain some of the most important features presented by even the ruder races of men.
One of these is the belief in a future state of existence beyond this life. This belongs purely to the spiritual nature of man. It is not taught by physical nature, yet its existence is probably universal, and it lies near the foundation of all religious beliefs. Lartet has described to us the sepulchral cave of Aurignac, in which human skeletons, believed to be of Post-glacial date, were associated with remains of funeral feasts, and with indications of careful burial, and with provisions laid up for the use of the dead. Lyell well remarks on this, “If we have here before us, at the northern base of the Pyrenees, a sepulchral vault with skeletons of human beings, consigned by friends and relatives to their last resting-place if we have also at the portal of the tomb the relics of funeral feasts, and within it indications of viands destined for the use of the departed on their way to a land of spirits; while among the funeral gifts are weapons wherewith in other fields to chase the gigantic deer, the cave-lion, the cave bear, and woolly rhinoceros—we have at last succeeded in tracing back the sacred rites of burial, and more interesting still, a belief in a future state, to times long anterior to those of history and tradition. Rude and superstitious as may have been the savage of that remote era, he still deserved, by cherishing hopes of a hereafter, the epithet of ‘noble,’ which Dryden gave to what he seems to have pictured to himself as the primitive condition of our race.”[BF]
[BF]“Antiquity of Man,” p. 192
[BF]“Antiquity of Man,” p. 192
In like manner, in the vast American continent, allits long isolated and widely separated tribes, many of them in a state of lowest barbarism, and without any external ritual of religious worship, believed in happy hunting-grounds in the spirit-land beyond the grave, and the dead warrior was buried with his most useful weapons and precious ornaments.
“Bring here the last gifts; and with themThe last lament be said.Let all that pleased and yet may please,Be buried with the dead”
was no unmeaning funeral song, but involved the sacrifice of the most precious and prized objects, that the loved one might enter the new and untried state provided for its needs. Even the babe, whose life is usually accounted of so small value by savage tribes, was buried by the careful mother with precious strings of wampum, that had cost more months of patient labour than the days of its short life, that it might purchase the fostering care of the inhabitants of that unknown yet surely believed-in region of immortality. This
“—wish that of the living wholeNo life may fail beyond the grave,Derives it not from what we haveThe likest God within the soul?”
Is it likely to have germinated in the brain of an ape? and if so, of what possible use would it be in the struggle of a merely physical existence? Is it not rather the remnant of a better spiritual life—a remembrance of the tree of life that grew in theparadise of God, a link of connection of the spiritual nature in man with, a higher Divine Spirit above? Life and immortality, it is true, were brought to light by Jesus Christ, but they existed as beliefs more or less obscure from the first, and formed the basis for good and evil of the religions of the world. Around this idea were gathered multitudes of collateral beliefs and religious observances; feasts and festivals for the dead; worship of dead heroes and ancestors; priestly intercessions and sacrifices for the dead; costly rites of sepulture. Vain and without foundation many of these have no doubt been, but they have formed a universal and costly testimony to an instinct of immortality, dimly glimmering even in the breast of the savage, and glowing with higher brightness in the soul of the Christian, but separated by an impassable gulf from anything derivable from a brute ancestry.
The theistic picture of primeval man is in harmony with the fact that men, as a whole, are, and always have been, believers in God. The evolutionist picture is not. If man had from the first not merely a physical and intellectual nature, but a spiritual nature as well, we can understand how he came into relation with God, and how through all his vagaries and corruptions he clings to this relation in one form or another; but evolution affords no link of connection of this kind. It holds God to be unknowable even to the cultivated intellect of philosophy, and perceives no use in ideas with relation to Himwhich, according to it must necessarily be fallacious, It leaves the theistic notions of mankind without explanation, and it will not serve its purpose to assert that some few and exceptional families of men have no notion of a God. Even admitting this, and it is at best very doubtful, it can form but a trifling exception to a general truth.
It appears to me that this view of the case is very clearly put in the Bible, and it is curiously illustrated by a recent critique of “Mr. Darwin’s Critics,” by Professor Huxley in theContemporary Review. Mr. Mivart, himself a derivationist, but differing in some points from Darwin, had affirmed, in the spirit rather of a Romish theologian than of a Biblical student or philosopher, that “acts unaccompanied by mental acts of conscious will” are “absolutely destitute of the most incipient degree of goodness.” Huxley well replies, “It is to my understanding extremely hard to reconcile Mr. Mivart’s dictum with that noble summary of the whole duty of man, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength; and thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ According to Mr. Mivart’s definition, the man who loves God and his neighbour, and, out of sheer love and affection for both, does all he can to please them, is nevertheless destitute of a particle of real goodness.” Huxley’s reply deserves to be pondered by certain moralists and theologians whose doctrine savours of the leaven of the Pharisees, but neither Huxley norhis opponent see the higher truth that in the love of God we have a principle far nobler and more God-like and less animal than that of mere duty. Man primeval, according to the doctrine of Genesis, was, by simple love and communion with his God, placed in the position of a spiritual being, a member of a higher family than that of the animal. The “knowledge of good and evil” which he acquired later, and on which is based the law of conscious duty, was a less happy attainment, which placed him on a lower level than that of the unconscious love and goodness of primal innocence. No doubt man’s sense of right and wrong is something above the attainment of animals, and which could never have sprung from them; but still more is this the case with his direct spiritual relation to God, which, whether it rises to the inspiration of the prophet or the piety of the Christian, or sinks to the rude superstition of the savage, can be no part of the Adam of the dust but only of the breath of life breathed into him from above.
That man should love his fellow-man may not seem strange. Certain social and gregarious and family instincts exist among the lower animals, and Darwin very ably adduces these as akin to the similar affections of man; yet even in the law of love of our neighbour, as enforced by Christ’s teaching, it is easy to see that we have something beyond animal nature. But this becomes still more distinct in the love of God. Man was the “shadow and likeness of God,” says the oldrecord in Genesis—the shadow that clings to the substance and is inseparable from it, the likeness that represents it visibly to the eyes of men, and of the animals that man rules over. Primeval man could “hear in the evening breeze the voice of God, walking to and fro in the garden.” What mere animal ever had or could attain to such an experience?
But if we turn from the Edenic picture of man in harmony with Heaven—“owning a father, when he owned a God”—to man as the slave of superstition; even in this terrible darkness of mistaken faith, of which it may be said,
“Fear mates her devils, and weak faith her gods,Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust,Whose attributes are rage, revenge, or lust,”
we see the ruins, at least, of that sublime love of God. The animal clings to its young with a natural affection, as great as that of a human mother for her child, but what animal ever thought of throwing its progeny into the Ganges, or into the fires of Moloch’s altar, for the saving of its soul, or to obtain the favour or avoid the wrath of God? No less in the vagaries of fetichism, ritualism, and idolatry, and in the horrors of asceticism and human sacrifice, than in the Edenic communion with and hearing of God, or in the joy of Christian love, do we see, in however ruined or degraded condition, the higher spiritual nature of man.
This point leads to another distinction which, when properly viewed, widens the gap between man andthe animals, or at least destroys one of the frail bridges of the evolutionists. Lubbock and others affect to believe that the lowest savages of the modern world must be nearest to the type of primeval man. I have already attempted to show the fallacy of this. I may add here that in so holding they overlook a fundamental distinction, well pointed out by the Duke of Argyll, between the capacity of acquiring knowledgeand knowledge actually acquired, and betweenthe possession of a higher rational nature and the exercise of that nature in the pursuit of mechanical arts. In other words, primeval man must not be held to have been “utterly barbarous” because he was ignorant of mining or navigation, or of sculpture and painting. He had in him the power to attain to these things, but so long as he was not under necessity to exercise it, his mind may have expended its powers in other and happier channels. As well might it be affirmed that a delicately nurtured lady is an “utter barbarian” because she cannot build her own house, or make her own shoes. No doubt in such work she would be far more helpless than the wife of the rudest savage, yet she is not on that account to be held as an inferior being, or nearer to the animals. Our conception of an angelic nature implies the absence of all our social institutions and mechanical arts; but does this necessitate our regarding an angel as an "utter barbarian"? In short, the whole notion of civilisation held by Lubbock and those who think with him, is not only low and degrading, but utterlyand absurdly wrong; and of course it vitiates all their conceptions of primeval man as well as of man’s future destiny. Further, the theistic idea implies that man was, without exhausting toil, to regulate and control nature, to rule over the animals, to cultivate the earth, to extend himself over it and subdue it; and all this as compatible with moral innocence, and at the same time with high intellectual and spiritual activity.
There is, however, a still nicer and more beautiful distinction involved in this, and included in the wonderful narrative in Genesis, so simple yet so much more profound than our philosophies; and which crops out in the same discussion of the critics of Darwin, to which I have already referred. A writer in theQuarterly Reviewhad attempted to distinguish human reason from the intelligence of animals, as involving self-consciousness and reflection in our sensations and perceptions. Huxley objects to this, instancing the mental action of a greyhound when it sees and pursues a hare, as similar to that of the gamekeeper when he lets slip the hound.[BG]
[BG]Contemporary Review, November, 1871, p. 461.
[BG]Contemporary Review, November, 1871, p. 461.
"As it is very necessary to keep up a clear distinction between these two processes, let the one be called neurosis and the other psychosis. When the gamekeeper was first trained to his work, every step in the process of neurosis was accompanied by a corresponding step in that of psychosis, or nearly so.He was conscious of seeing something, conscious of making sure it was a hare, conscious of desiring to catch it, and therefore to loose the greyhound at the right time, conscious of the acts by which he let the dog out of the leash. But with practice, though the various steps of the neurosis remain—for otherwise the impression on the retina would not result in the loosing of the dog—the great majority of the steps of the psychosis vanish, and the loosing of the dog follows unconsciously, or, as we say, without thinking about, upon the sight of the hare. No one will deny that the series of acts which originally intervened between the sensation and the letting go of the dog were, in the strictest sense, intellectual and rational operations. Do they cease to be so when the man ceases to be conscious of them? That depends upon what is the essence and what the accident of these operations, which taken together constitute ratiocination. Now, ratiocination is resolvable into predication, and predication consists in marking, in some way, the existence, the co-existence, the succession, the likeness and unlikeness, of things or their ideas. Whatever does this, reasons; and if a machine produces the effects of reason, I see no more ground for denying to it the reasoning power because it is unconscious, than I see for refusing to Mr. Babbage’s engine the title of a calculating machine on the same grounds."
Here we have in the first place, the fact that an action, in the first instance rational and complex, becomesby repetition simple and instinctive. Does the man then sink to the level of the hound, or, what is more to the purpose, does this in the least approach to showing that the hound can rise to the level of the man? Certainly not; for the man is the conscious planner and originator of a course of action in which the instincts of the brute are made to take part, and in which the readiness that he attains by habit only enables him to dispense with certain processes of thought which were absolutely necessary at first. The man and the beast co-operate, but they meet each other from entirely different planes; the former from that of the rational consideration of nature, the latter from that of the blind pursuit of a mere physical instinct. The one, to use Mr. Huxley’s simile, is the conscious inventor of the calculating machine, the other is the machine itself, and, though the machine can calculate, this fact is the farthest possible from giving it the power of growing into or producing its own inventor. But Moses, or the more ancient authority from whom he quotes in Genesis, knew this better than either of these modern combatants. His special distinctive mark of the superiority of man is that he was to have dominion over the earth and its animal inhabitants; and he represents this dominion as inaugurated by man’s examining and naming the animals of Eden, and finding among them no “help meet” for him.[BH]Man was to find in them helps, but helps under his control, and that not the controlof brute force, but of higher skill and of thought and even of love—a control still seen in some degree in the relation of man to his faithful companion, the dog. These old words of Genesis, simple though they are, place the rational superiority of man on a stable basis, and imply a distinction between him and the lower animals which cannot be shaken by the sophistries of the evolutionists.
[BH]Literally, “Corresponding,” or “Similar,” to him.
[BH]Literally, “Corresponding,” or “Similar,” to him.
The theistic picture further accords with the fact that the geological time immediately preceding man’s appearance was a time of decadence of many of the grander forms of animal life, especially in that area of the old continent where man was to appear. Whatever may be said of the imperfection of the geological record, there can be no question of the fact that the Miocene and earlier Pliocene were distinguished by the prevalence of grand and gigantic forms of mammalian life, some of which disappeared in or before the Glacial period, while others failed after that period in the subsidence of the Post-glacial, or in connection with its amelioration of climate. The Modern animals are also, as explained above, a selection from the grander fauna of the Post-glacial period. To speak for the moment in Darwinian language, there was for the time an evident tendency to promote the survival of the fittest, not in mere physical development, but in intelligence and sagacity. A similar tendency existed even in the vegetable world, replacing the flora of American aspect which had existed in the Pliocene, with the richer and moreuseful flora of Europe and Western Asia. This not obscurely indicates the preparing of a place for man, and the removal out of his way of obstacles and hindrances. That these changes had a relation to the advent of man, neither theist nor evolutionist can doubt, and it may be that we shall some day find that this relation implies the existence of a creative law intelligible by us; but while we fail to perceive any link of direct causation between the changes in the lower world, and the introduction of our race, we cannot help seeing that correlation which implies a far-reaching plan, and an intelligent design.
Finally, the evolutionist picture wants some of the fairest lineaments of humanity, and cheats us with a semblance of man without the reality. Shave and paint your ape as you may, clothe him and set him up upon his feet, still he fails greatly of the “human form divine;” and so it is with him morally and spiritually as well. We have seen that he wants the instinct of immortality, the love of God, the mental and spiritual power of exercising dominion over the earth. The very agency by which he is evolved is of itself subversive of all these higher properties. The struggle for existence is essentially selfish, and therefore degrading. Even in the lower animals, it is a false assumption that its tendency is to elevate; for animals when driven to the utmost verge of struggle for life, become depauperated and degraded. The dog which spends its life in snarling contention with its fellow-curs for insufficient food, will not be a noblespecimen of its race. God does not so treat His creatures. There is far more truth to nature in the doctrine which represents him as listening to the young ravens when they cry for food. But as applied to man, the theory of the struggle for existence and survival of the fittest, though the most popular phase of evolutionism at present, is nothing less than the basest and most horrible of superstitions. It makes man not merely carnal, but devilish. It takes his lowest appetites and propensities, and makes them his God and creator. His higher sentiments and aspirations, his self-denying philanthropy, his enthusiasm for the good and true, all the struggles and sufferings of heroes and martyrs, not to speak of that self-sacrifice which is the foundation of Christianity, are in the view of the evolutionist mere loss and waste, failure in the struggle of life. What does he give us in exchange? An endless pedigree of bestial ancestors, without one gleam of high or holy tradition to enliven the procession; and for the future, the prospect that the poor mass of protoplasm which constitutes the sum of our being, and which is the sole gain of an indefinite struggle in the past, must soon be resolved again into inferior animals or dead matter. That men of thought and culture should advocate such a philosophy, argues either a strange mental hallucination, or that the higher spiritual nature has been wholly quenched within them. It is one of the saddest of many sad spectacles that our age presents. Still these men deserve credit for theirbold pursuit of truth, or what seems to them to be truth; and they are, after all, nobler sinners than those who would practically lower us to the level of beasts by their negation even of intellectual life, or who would reduce us to apes, by making us the mere performers of rites and ceremonies, as a substitute for religion, or who would advise us to hand over reason and conscience to the despotic authority of fallible men dressed in strange garbs, and called by sacred names. The world needs a philosophy and a Christianity of more robust mould, which shall recognise, as the Bible does, at once body and soul and spirit, at once the sovereignty of God and the liberty of man; and which shall bring out into practical operation the great truth that God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth. Such a religion might walk in the sunlight of truth and free discussion, hand in hand with science, education, liberty, and material civilisation, and would speedily consign evolution to the tomb which has already received so many superstitions and false philosophies.
INDEX.
[A] [B] [C] [D] [E] [F] [G] [H] [I] [J] [K] [L][M] [N] [O] [P] [Q] [R] [S] [T] [U] [V] [W] [Z]