mass and volume transcended other orbs." Yet surely there is no reason why it should appear to us fitting that the orb of the greatest physical importance should be chosen as the seat of the highest moral and intelligent life, the scene of the humiliation of God. The tallest and strongest man need not be the wisest and best. If the Creator ought to have been incarnate on the most glorious orb, He should, by the same rule, have appeared with all possible created glory; born not in a stable, but in a palace; clothed in rich garments, gold, and jewels, not swathed in rags; served by kings and courtiers, instead of serving a poor carpenter. If He had come thus, we might have justly said, "Why did He not choose some brighter world as the scene of his glory?" But He came in humiliation, and He chose, perhaps, the vilest and most degraded place for the scene of his life and labours, as He chose the lowest of intelligent natures to be eternally united to his own. Even in the material universe the centres of all the physical agencies are not coincident. The mag netic poles of the earth do not coincide with its mechanical poles, nor is the centre of gravity of our whole system identical with the centre of the sun. And it is the boast of an author* of our own days, and his admirers, that he was the first to discover the axiom, that the physical, organic, and moral laws operate independently of each other, though he does not seem to have thought of applying his axiom except to cases of reward and punishment." An individual who neglects, or carelessly observes, the corresponding physical law will be drowned, or burnt, or crushed, and that invariably, however strictly he may obey the moral laws. Again, if he obey the organic laws, he will reap bodily health, which is the specific reward of that obedience; nor will any degree of moral turpitude, if he avoids sensual excess, materially diminish his health. But his moral defects will bring their own punishment, and from this his health of body will not protect him." Now granting the truth of this axiom in the main, we cannot admit that it is applicable only to the system of rewards and punishments. If these laws are independent in their action, why not also in their essence and root? If they are thus independent, why complain because the moral centre is not also the physical centre of the universe? because the manifestation of moral perfection is not surrounded by the brightest halo of sensible magnificence? because moral changes are not also manifested in organic and physical changes? because, when a man has committed a crime, he bears no outward marks of guilt, and when a Church is hopelessly involved in * George Combe. schism and heresy, no voices are heard in her temples proclaiming, "Let us go hence?" It is because the very existence of religion is ignored, or if admitted at all, it is considered only as a curious branch of history or of mental philosophy, a mere separable limb of the whole body of knowledge, which may be cultivated or neglected, according to the taste and fancy of the student. It is thought also to be a branch of so small importance, and so little worthy of the attention of practical and scientific men, that although in matters of politics, trade, or science, they insist that all inquiries should be conducted with the greatest accuracy and caution, and that all care should be taken to avoid the illusion of the senses, and the idola tribus, specus, fori et theatri, which Bacon warns them against; yet in religion they content themselves with the vaguest guesses and the crudest theories; they acquiesce without examination in the opinion, that the sect of Protestantism in which they happen to have been educated is the true representative of Christianity; and immediately they find facts repugnant to their views, rather than use the same patience and caution in correcting them which they willingly use in scientific inquiries, they give up religion altogether as untenable and unphilosophical, or if they preserve some attachment to it, it is only as a matter of feeling, not of reason.* This seems to be the case with the otherwise profound author of the Cosmos. He is pre-eminently a lover of reason, and therefore he is always striving to perfect his scientific knowledge. Religion is only a matter of feeling to him, and therefore he has been contented with the crude ideas of the Mosaic cosmogony which an ignorant age had invented, and which he had probably been taught in his childhood. When science opened before him, his acute mind saw at once the inconsistency, and impatient to put off the trammels of the irrational form of Christianity which alone he knew, he exaggerated it into an "eternal contest between knowledge and faith."+ He chose his side. He determined to let no traditional dogmas stand in the way of the development of his theories and thus he "met unappalled the threatening impediments which even in modern times present themselves at the en ; * Professor Baden Powell complains that "there is no subject on which the generality even of educated and reasoning persons are less given to reason than on religion. The prevalent disposition is to avoid all examination of religious matters; to adopt nominally the established creed without question; to dismiss all particular distinctions from the thoughts, &c.; and all this grounded upon and vindicated by the favourite and fashionable idea, that religion is altogether a matter of feeling."-Tradition Unveiled, p. 62. † Cosmos, p. 616. trance of certain departments of science," and proclaimed the advent of the most glorious epoch of modern geognosy, when it was emancipated from the sway of scientific doctrines;+ by which he meant, not merely that the Genesis of Moses was never meant to supersede science, that science was by no means obliged to bow to arbitrary interpretations of that document, with whatever shew of authority they might present themselves, but he meant, as he elsewhere expresses him'self, that he only recognised the account of the creation as a "myth," and the Christian religion, in its historical form, as a "despondent mysticism,"§ and a "fanaticism."|| This being his opinion, it is not surprising that he can find no other motive but "party spirit" to account for the earnest strife of Catholics to preserve the traditionary faith; thus, he talks of "dogmatic dissensions awakened by party spirit—a dreary contest of knowledge and faith." He talks of the Nestorian school at Edessa being "dissolved by Christian fanaticism.”** Yet still, with many exceptions and drawbacks, he gives it a faint modicum of praise, as "having materially contributed to call forth the idea of the unity of the human race, and having thus tended to exercise a favourable influence on the humanisation of nations in their morals, manners, and institutions;" but in the next page he speaks of "the mild and long-enduring but slowly operating influence which it exercised," as if this influence was now only to be spoken of in the past tense, as if Christianity was a phase which humanity has passed through, and which has now given place to Socialism, or some new and more universal religion adapted to the spirit of the age. Of course, it will not surprise us, after this, to find him classing Christianity with Buddhism, or other phases in which the religious feeling of mankind has at different times exhibited itself, and even with merely civil events, as the predominance of certain languages. "The predominance of certain languages," he says, "has operated favourably, like Christianity and Buddhism, in bringing together and uniting mankind."‡‡ This comparison seems to be a favourite one with our author. He classes together Christian anchorites and "Buddhist monks,"§§ and calls their Lamas|||| archbishops. And then at last, lest any admirer might have room to say that all these apparently irreverent classifications are allowable to a philosopher, who, by his profession, is obliged to generalise and classify, he tells us what he thinks of Christian doctrine. "Christian views," he says, owe their *Cosmos, p. 616. Ib. p. 469. ‡‡ Ib. p. 471. † Ib. p. 272. ¶ lb. p. 552. §§ Ib. p. 608. Ib. p. 395. ** lb. p. 579. Ib. p. 572, note. § Ib. p. 418. †† Ib. p. 567. origin to "Platonic dogmas;" and now "survive only in the superstitions of the people and the prejudices of the ignorant, or are perpetuated in a few systems, which, conscious of their weakness, shroud themselves in a veil of mystery."+ Having thus, with perfect satisfaction to himself, completed that which Dr. Johnson somewhat problematically calls the most painful part of a philosopher's duty, namely, the demolition of the labours of all who have preceded him, our author proceeds to his work of edification. For although the plan of his work excludes any regular discussion of religious matters, yet he has found room for a few remarks, which are abundantly sufficient to indicate what religion it is that he would establish on the ruins of Christianity. And here it is both amusing and instructive to mark how, with all his sneers at tradition and the infancy of human knowledge, he nevertheless strives to found his opinions on a traditional base. By reflection, he says, "we become more and more convinced of the truth of the ancient doctrine, that the forces inherent in matter, and those which govern the moral world, exercise their action under the control of primordial necessity, and in accordance with movements occurring periodically after longer or shorter intervals. It is this necessity," he continues, "this occult but permanent connexion, this periodical recurrence in the progressive development of forms, phenomena, and events, which constitutes nature." And a few pages farther on we are told a little more about this nature. "Nature, as Schelling remarks, is not an inert mass; and to him who can comprehend her vast sublimity, she reveals herself as the creative force of the universe; before all time, eternal, ever active, she calls to life all things, whether perishable or imperishable."§ And of what kind are these material and moral forces? He only tells us what he believes them not to be-imponderable substances and vital forces are merely mythical ideas.|| And a person who makes so absurd a remark as to say that a soul although incorporeal yet is something, is only worthy to be answered by having attention called to his proposition; such seems to be the idea insinuated by the note of admiration intercalated in a passage quoted from Vossius: "Lux, sonus, anima (!), odor, vis magnetica, quamvis incorporea, sunt tamen aliquid."¶ That is, we suppose, the soul is either corporeal, or it is nothing. The idea of spirit has nothing to represent it in the world of reality. God, if He exists at all, is not to be distinguished from the material universe. As man, by his organ of wonder, has, in the infancy of his knowledge, been *Cosmos, p. 615. + Ib. p. 2. || Ib. p. 58. Ib. p. 30. impelled to people all the unexplored recesses of earth, sea, and air with imaginary beings, nymphs, satyrs, fairies, hobgoblins, and ghosts; and to attribute supernatural powers to natural agents, as witches and magicians; all which superstitions have been gradually but effectually cleared away by the purifying agency of ever-advancing science; so also has the same organ of wonder, the structural necessity of the brain, compelled man to people the shining orbs of the sky with angels and saints, and with a definitely located and humanised Providence, in a word, with a Christ. But these also, like their humbler companions, the fairies and goblins of the earth, are destined to fall before the ruthless march of intellect. Telescopes will be directed into all regions of space; every thing seen there, all substance therein, will be noted down and catalogued; but in these scientific catalogues there will never appear the name of God. No! as science advances, it will sweep away God from heaven, as it has swept away fairies and goblins from the earth. A hundred years hence all theologies will be held in the same estimation as witchcraft and astrology are held by the learned of the present day. From this we may see what our modern philosophers mean by religion. According to them, in the early ages of our race, religion was the activity of the organ of wonder, peopling with its own mysterious creations all the regions of space, and the whole world of matter, which were beyond the circle of experimental knowledge. It was a surrendering of the whole man to the feelings, at one time dark and terrible, at another light and glad, which the ideas of these imaginary beings awakened. Its worship was merely the expression of these feelings, of love and hatred, hope and fear; and its highest outpouring was a kind of dogmatic hymn of triumph, recounting the actions and nature of the deity to be honoured, and expressive, not only of faith, but also of stern defiance to all who might impugn the truth and reality of the dogmas. The feelings, without this base of faith and dogma, would have been inconstant and pulpy, like a jelly-fish, or any of those boneless animals which constitute the lowest class of vital beings. And the highest, most manly, and most triumphant expression of the feelings thus strengthened would be an Athanasian Creed, half hymn, half symbol. But in modern times science has extended itself over all space: at least, so much is known, that common sense revolts at the idea that what is unknown can break the unity and analogy of that which has been already discovered. Knowledge, moreover, has stretched itself out to such a distance in space, that imagination itself can scarcely transcend the boundaries, and form |