Knowledge like that is impossible, I grant; but between that scientific knowledge and utter unbelief there are shades, first of all of assent that shuts out doubt, and at last, at the other pole, of a doubt that almost shuts out assent.  Between the two there are activities of life, and if you are to say, “I cannot know the personal God with scientific knowledge,” I grant it; but you cannot know anything, not only in theology, but in politics, or social life, or moral conduct, or conduct that is not moral—­you can know nothing, you can never act at all, because all our action is not on knowledge, but on belief, and therefore when we turn to a personal life that is not perceived by the activity of the senses we only demand that you are to accept that which it is possible to accept in any sphere of activity, and which you do accept.  It is possible for you, according to the laws of your being, to accept a personal Christ.  “But,” you say—­and I must remind you of it as I close—­“a personal Christ, but still clothed in human lineaments, a personal Christ who is mysterious—­how can you accept that?” How can you not?  My friends, the human intellect is so framed that it acts habitually upon ideas that are true yet indistinct.  You act on space, you act on time, you have infinity, you have in your mouth the word “cause.”  What do you know exactly about infinity, or space, or time, or cause?  The human intellect, it is truly said, first by the greatest of the fathers, then repeated by modern thinkers—­the human intellect is so great, first, that it can take exact ideas, and then, because it is infinite, that it can act instantly upon ideas that are real but indistinct.  Christ—­yes, first He is indistinct yet most real—­real because He entered into history, real because He exprest the idea that is in the brain and heart of us all; indistinct because these little twenty centuries have separated us from His actual historic life; but a fact to those who seek Him, because His power is to make Himself an inward gift to the human soul, because His activity is such that He meets us on the altar of His sacred sacrament, that He meets us in the divine Word to express His thoughts, that He meets us in consolation, that He meets us in absolution, in moments of sorrow and of prayer.  Oh, you are not driven to a distant infinity!  Oh, you are not asked to rest upon a shadow I Oh, you are not besought to play the dreamer or the sentimentalist, when you think about God!  Oh, you are asked to remember that fair, sweet vision—­the vision of a Man so devoid of vulgarity, that whilst He loved the people He did not despise the great—­the vision of a Man so strong that He could face a multitude, so tender that He could raise the lost woman, so gentle that the little children gathered their arms about His neck; the vision of a Man at home with fishermen, and at home with the high-born, with thoughts so deep that they permeate modern Christendom, with thoughts so simple that they taught truth to ancient Galilee;