than they even dreamed.  But what are they finding, more and more, below their facts, below all phenomena which the scalpel and the microscope can show?  A something nameless, invisible, imponderable, yet seemingly omnipresent and omnipotent, retreating before them deeper and deeper, the deeper they delve:  namely, the life which shapes and makes; that which the old schoolmen called “forma formativa,” which they call vital force and what not—­metaphors all, or rather counters to mark an unknown quantity, as if they should call it x or y.  One says—­It is all vibrations:  but his reason, unsatisfied, asks—­And what makes the vibrations vibrate?  Another—­It is all physiological units:  but his reason asks—­What is the “physis,” the nature and innate tendency of the units?  A third—­It may be all caused by infinitely numerous “gemmules:”  but his reason asks him—­What puts infinite order into these gemmules, instead of infinite anarchy?  I mention these theories not to laugh at them.  I have all due respect for those who have put them forth.  Nor would it interfere with my theological creed, if any or all of them were proven to be true to-morrow.  I mention them only to show that beneath all these theories, true or false, still lies that unknown x.  Scientific men are becoming more and more aware of it; I had almost said, ready to worship it.  More and more the noblest-minded of them are engrossed by the mystery of that unknown and truly miraculous element in Nature, which is always escaping them, though they cannot escape it.  How should they escape it?  Was it not written of old—­“Whither shall I go from Thy presence, or whither shall I flee from Thy Spirit?”

Ah that we clergymen would summon up courage to tell them that!  Courage to tell them, what need not hamper for a moment the freedom of their investigations, what will add to them a sanction—­I may say a sanctity—­that the unknown x which lies below all phenomena, which is for ever at work on all phenomena, on the whole and on every part of the whole, down to the colouring of every leaf and the curdling of every cell of protoplasm, is none other than that which the old Hebrews called—­by a metaphor, no doubt:  for how can man speak of the unseen, save in metaphors drawn from the seen?—­but by the only metaphor adequate to express the perpetual and omnipresent miracle; The Breath of God; The Spirit who is The Lord, and The Giver of Life.

In the rest, let us too think, and let us too observe.  For if we are ignorant, not merely of the results of experimental science, but of the methods thereof:  then we and the men of science shall have no common ground whereon to stretch out kindly hands to each other.

But let us have patience and faith; and not suppose in haste, that when those hands are stretched out it will be needful for us to leave our standing-ground, or to cast ourselves down from the pinnacle of the temple to earn popularity; above all, from earnest students who are too high-minded to care for popularity themselves.