in human life.  It says that human life will degenerate if the creed of positivism be ever generally accepted; but it not only does not say that it ever will be accepted by everybody:  rather, it emphatically points out that as yet it has been accepted fully by nobody.  The positive school say that their view of life is the only sound one.  They boast that it is founded on the rock of fact, not on the sand-bank of sentiment; that it is the final philosophy, that will last as long as man lasts, and that very soon it will have seen the extinction of all the others.  It is the positivists who are the prophets, not I. My aim has been not to confirm the prophecy, but to explain its meaning; and my arguments will be all the more opportune at the present moment, the more reason we have to think the prophecy false.

It may be asked why, if we think it false, we should trouble our heads about it.  And the answer to this is to be found in the present age itself.  Whatever may be the future fate of positive thought, whatever confidence may be felt by any of us that it cannot in the long run gain a final hold upon the world, its present power and the present results of it cannot be overlooked.  That degradation of life that I have been describing as the result of positivism—­of what the age we live in calls the only rational view of things—­may indeed never be completed; but let us look carefully around us, and we shall see that it is already begun.  The process, it is true, is at present not very apparent; or if it is, its nature is altogether mistaken.  This, however, only makes it more momentous; and the great reason why it is desirable to deal so rudely with the optimist system of the positivists is that it lies like a misty veil over the real surface of facts, and conceals the very change that it professes to make impossible.  It is a kind of moral chloroform, which, instead of curing an illness, only makes us fatally unconscious of its most alarming symptoms.

But though an effort be thus required to realise our true condition, it is an effort which, before all things, we ought to make; and which, if we try, we can all make readily.  A little careful memory, a little careful observation, will open the eyes of most of us to the real truth of things; it will reveal to us a spectacle that is indeed appalling, and the more candidly we survey it, the more shall we feel aghast at it.  To begin, then, let us once more consider two notorious facts:  first, that over all the world at the present day a denial is spreading itself of all religions dogmas, more complete than has ever before been known; and, secondly, that in spite of this speculative denial, and in the places where it has done its work most thoroughly, a mass of moral earnestness seems to survive untouched.  I do not attempt to deny the fact; I desire, on the contrary, to draw all attention to it.  But the condition in which it survives is commonly not in the least realised.  The class of men concerned with