wish to feed the people, you may think that feeding them miraculously in the wilderness is impossible—­but you cannot think it illiberal.  If you really want poor children to go to the seaside, you cannot think it illiberal that they should go there on flying dragons; you can only think it unlikely.  A holiday, like Liberalism, only means the liberty of man.  A miracle only means the liberty of God.  You may conscientiously deny either of them, but you cannot call your denial a triumph of the liberal idea.  The Catholic Church believed that man and God both had a sort of spiritual freedom.  Calvinism took away the freedom from man, but left it to God.  Scientific materialism binds the Creator Himself; it chains up God as the Apocalypse chained the devil.  It leaves nothing free in the universe.  And those who assist this process are called the “liberal theologians.”

This, as I say, is the lightest and most evident case.  The assumption that there is something in the doubt of miracles akin to liberality or reform is literally the opposite of the truth.  If a man cannot believe in miracles there is an end of the matter; he is not particularly liberal, but he is perfectly honourable and logical, which are much better things.  But if he can believe in miracles, he is certainly the more liberal for doing so; because they mean first, the freedom of the soul, and secondly, its control over the tyranny of circumstance.  Sometimes this truth is ignored in a singularly naive way, even by the ablest men.  For instance, Mr. Bernard Shaw speaks with hearty old-fashioned contempt for the idea of miracles, as if they were a sort of breach of faith on the part of nature:  he seems strangely unconscious that miracles are only the final flowers of his own favourite tree, the doctrine of the omnipotence of will.  Just in the same way he calls the desire for immortality a paltry selfishness, forgetting that he has just called the desire for life a healthy and heroic selfishness.  How can it be noble to wish to make one’s life infinite and yet mean to wish to make it immortal?  No, if it is desirable that man should triumph over the cruelty of nature or custom, then miracles are certainly desirable; we will discuss afterwards whether they are possible.

But I must pass on to the larger cases of this curious error; the notion that the “liberalising” of religion in some way helps the liberation of the world.  The second example of it can be found in the question of pantheism—­or rather of a certain modern attitude which is often called immanentism, and which often is Buddhism.  But this is so much more difficult a matter that I must approach it with rather more preparation.