never one of that long lineage have learnt the wherefore of his being.  The prophets, the martyrs, their noble anguish vain and meaningless; the wise whose thought strove to eternity, and was but an idle dream; the pure in heart whose life was a vision of the living God, the suffering and the mourners whose solace was in a world to come, the victims of injustice who cried to the Judge Supreme—­all gone down into silence, and the globe that bare them circling dead and cold through soundless space.  The most tragic aspect of such a tragedy is that it is not unthinkable.  The soul revolts, but dare not see in this revolt the assurance of its higher destiny.  Viewing our life thus, is it not easier to believe that the tragedy is played with no spectator?  And of a truth, of a truth, what spectator can there be?  The day may come when, to all who live, the Name of Names will be but an empty symbol, rejected by reason and by faith.  Yet the tragedy will be played on.

It is not, I say, unthinkable; but that is not the same thing as to declare that life has no meaning beyond the sense it bears to human intelligence.  The intelligence itself rejects such a supposition; in my case, with impatience and scorn.  No theory of the world which ever came to my knowledge is to me for one moment acceptable; the possibility of an explanation which would set my mind at rest is to me inconceivable; no whit the less am I convinced that there is a Reason of the All; one which transcends my understanding, one no glimmer of which will ever touch my apprehension; a Reason which must imply a creative power, and therefore, even whilst a necessity of my thought, is by the same criticized into nothing.  A like antinomy with that which affects our conception of the infinite in time and space.  Whether the rational processes have reached their final development, who shall say?  Perhaps what seem to us the impassable limits of thought are but the conditions of a yet early stage in the history of man.  Those who make them a proof of a “future state” must necessarily suppose gradations in that futurity; does the savage, scarce risen above the brute, enter upon the same “new life” as the man of highest civilization?  Such gropings of the mind certify our ignorance; the strange thing is that they can be held by any one to demonstrate that our ignorance is final knowledge.

XI.

Yet that, perhaps, will be the mind of coming man; if not the final attainment of his intellectual progress, at all events a long period of self-satisfaction, assumed as finality.  We talk of the “ever aspiring soul”; we take for granted that if one religion passes away, another must arise.  But what if man presently find himself without spiritual needs?  Such modification of his being cannot be deemed impossible; many signs of our life to-day seem to point towards it.  If the habits of thought favoured by physical science do but sink deep enough,