In passing from this subject I may note that there is a queer fallacy to the effect that materialistic fatalism is in some way favourable to mercy, to the abolition of cruel punishments or punishments of any kind.  This is startlingly the reverse of the truth.  It is quite tenable that the doctrine of necessity makes no difference at all; that it leaves the flogger flogging and the kind friend exhorting as before.  But obviously if it stops either of them it stops the kind exhortation.  That the sins are inevitable does not prevent punishment; if it prevents anything it prevents persuasion.  Determinism is quite as likely to lead to cruelty as it is certain to lead to cowardice.  Determinism is not inconsistent with the cruel treatment of criminals.  What it is (perhaps) inconsistent with is the generous treatment of criminals; with any appeal to their better feelings or encouragement in their moral struggle.  The determinist does not believe in appealing to the will, but he does believe in changing the environment.  He must not say to the sinner, “Go and sin no more,” because the sinner cannot help it.  But he can put him in boiling oil; for boiling oil is an environment.  Considered as a figure, therefore, the materialist has the fantastic outline of the figure of the madman.  Both take up a position at once unanswerable and intolerable.

Of course it is not only of the materialist that all this is true.  The same would apply to the other extreme of speculative logic.  There is a sceptic far more terrible than he who believes that everything began in matter.  It is possible to meet the sceptic who believes that everything began in himself.  He doubts not the existence of angels or devils, but the existence of men and cows.  For him his own friends are a mythology made up by himself.  He created his own father and his own mother.  This horrible fancy has in it something decidedly attractive to the somewhat mystical egoism of our day.  That publisher who thought that men would get on if they believed in themselves, those seekers after the Superman who are always looking for him in the looking-glass, those writers who talk about impressing their personalities instead of creating life for the world, all these people have really only an inch between them and this awful emptiness.  Then when this kindly world all round the man has been blackened out like a lie; when friends fade into ghosts, and the foundations of the world fail; then when the man, believing in nothing and in no man, is alone in his own nightmare, then the great individualistic motto shall be written over him in avenging irony.  The stars will be only dots in the blackness of his own brain; his mother’s face will be only a sketch from his own insane pencil on the walls of his cell.  But over his cell shall be written, with dreadful truth, “He believes in himself.”