FOOTNOTES:
[47] [Here it was intended to insert further explanation 'showing that mere observation of causality in external nature would not have yielded idea of anything further than time and space relations.'—Ed.]
[48] [This theory was suggested in the Burney Essay, p. 136, and ridiculed in the Candid Examination; see [here]. Romanes intended at this point to consider at greater length his old views 'on causation as due to being qua being.'—Ed.]
[49] See, however, Aubrey Moore in Lux Mundi, pp. 94-96, and Le Conte, Evolution in its Relation to Religious Thought, pp. 335, ff. [N.B. The references not enclosed in brackets are the author's, not mine.—Ed.]
[50] [Nothing more however was written than what follows immediately.—Ed.]
[51] [The author intended further to show the vacuity of this theory and point out how Mill himself appears to perceive it by his introduction after the term 'invariably' of the term 'unconditionally'; he refers also to Martineau, Study of Religion, i. pp. 152, 3.—Ed.]
[52] [Romanes' thoughts about Free Will are more lucidly expressed in an essay published subsequently to these Notes in Mind and Motion and Monism, pp. 129 ff.—Ed.]
[54] Contemporary Review, July 1886. [But the 'ultimate difficulty' referred to above would seem to be the relation of manifold dependent human wills to the One Ultimate and All-embracing Will.—Ed.]
§ 4. Faith.
Faith in its religious sense is distinguished not only from opinion (or belief founded on reason alone), in that it contains a spiritual element: it is further distinguished from belief founded on the affections, by needing an active co-operation of the will. Thus all parts of the human mind have to be involved in faith—intellect, emotions, will. We 'believe' in the theory of evolution on grounds of reason alone; we 'believe' in the affection of our parents, children, &c., almost (or it may be exclusively) on what I have called spiritual grounds—i.e. on grounds of spiritual experience; for this we need no exercise either of reason or of will. But no one can 'believe' in God, or a fortiori in Christ, without also a severe effort of will. This I hold to be a matter of fact, whether or not there be a God or a Christ.
Observe will is to be distinguished from desire. It matters not what psychologists may have to say upon this subject. Whether desire differs from will in kind or only in degree—whether will is desire in action, so to speak, and desire but incipient will—are questions with which we need not trouble ourselves. For it is certain that there are agnostics who would greatly prefer being theists, and theists who would give all they possess to be Christians, if they could thus secure promotion by purchase—i.e. by one single act of will. But yet the desire is not strong enough to sustain the will in perpetual action, so as to make the continual sacrifices which Christianity entails. Perhaps the hardest of these sacrifices to an intelligent man is that of his own intellect. At least I am certain that this is so in my own case. I have been so long accustomed to constitute my reason my sole judge of truth, that even while reason itself tells me it is not unreasonable to expect that the heart and the will should be required to join with reason in seeking God (for religion is for the whole man), I am too jealous of my reason to exercise my will in the direction of my most heart-felt desires. For assuredly the strongest desire of my nature is to find that that nature is not deceived in its highest aspirations. Yet I cannot bring myself so much as to make a venture in the direction of faith. For instance, regarded from one point of view it seems reasonable enough that Christianity should have enjoined the doing of the doctrine as a necessary condition to ascertaining (i.e. 'believing') its truth. But from another, and my more habitual point of view, it seems almost an affront to reason to make any such 'fool's experiment'—just as to some scientific men it seems absurd and childish to expect them to investigate the 'superstitious' follies of modern spiritualism. Even the simplest act of will in regard to religion—that of prayer—has not been performed by me for at least a quarter of a century, simply because it has seemed so impossible to pray, as it were, hypothetically, that much as I have always desired to be able to pray, I cannot will the attempt. To justify myself for what my better judgement has often seen to be essentially irrational, I have ever made sundry excuses. The chief of them has run thus. Even supposing Christianity true, and even supposing that after having so far sacrificed my reason to my desire as to have satisfied the supposed conditions to obtaining 'grace,' or direct illumination from God,—even then would not my reason turn round and revenge herself upon me? For surely even then my habitual scepticism would make me say to myself—'this is all very sublime and very comforting; but what evidence have you to give me that the whole business is anything more than self-delusion? The wish was probably father to the thought, and you might much better have performed your "act of will" by going in for a course of Indian hemp.' Of course a Christian would answer to this that the internal light would not admit of such doubt, any more than seeing the sun does—that God knows us well enough to prevent that, &c., and also that it is unreasonable not to try an experiment lest the result should prove too good to be credible, and so on. And I do not dispute that the Christian would be justified in so answering, but I only adduce the matter as an illustration of the difficulty which is experienced in conforming to all the conditions of attaining to Christian faith—even supposing it to be sound. Others have doubtless other difficulties, but mine is chiefly, I think, that of an undue regard to reason, as against heart and will—undue, I mean, if so it be that Christianity is true, and the conditions to faith in it have been of divine ordination.
This influence of will on belief, even in matters secular, is the more pronounced the further removed these matters may be from demonstration (as already remarked); but this is most of all the case where our personal interests are affected—whether these be material or intellectual, such as credit for consistency, &c. See, for example, how closely, in the respects we are considering, political beliefs resemble religious. Unless the points of difference are such that truth is virtually demonstrable on one side, so that adhesion to the opposite is due to conscious sacrifice of integrity to expediency, we always find that party-spectacles so colour the view as to leave reason at the mercy of will, custom, interest, and all the other circumstances which similarly operate on religious beliefs. It seems to make but little difference in either case what level of general education, mental power, special training, &c., is brought to bear upon the question under judgement. From the Premier to the peasant we find the same difference of opinion in politics as we do in religion. And in each case the explanation is the same. Beliefs are so little dependent on reason alone that in such regions of thought—i.e. where personal interests are affected and the evidences of truth are not in their nature demonstrable—it really seems as if reason ceases to be a judge of evidence or guide to truth, and becomes a mere advocate of opinion already formed on quite other grounds. Now these other grounds are, as we have seen, mainly the accidents of habit or custom, wish being father to the thought, &c.
Now this may be all deplorable enough in politics, and in all other beliefs secular; but who shall say it is not exactly as it ought to be in the matter of beliefs religious? For, unless we beg the question of a future life in the negative, we must entertain at least the possibility of our being in a state of probation in respect of an honest use not only of our reason, but probably still more of those other ingredients of human nature which go to determine our beliefs touching this most important of all matters.
It is remarkable how even in politics it is the moral and spiritual elements of character which lead to success in the long run, even more than intellectual ability—supposing, of course, that the latter is not below the somewhat high level of our Parliamentary assemblies.
As regards the part that is played by will in the determining of belief, one can show how unconsciously large this is even in matters of secular interest. Reason is very far indeed from being the sole guide of judgement that it is usually taken to be—so far, indeed, that, save in matters approaching down-right demonstration (where of course there is no room for any other ingredient) it is usually hampered by custom, prejudice, dislike, &c., to a degree that would astonish the most sober philosopher could he lay bare to himself all the mental processes whereby the complex act of assent or dissent is eventually determined[55].
As showing how little reason alone has to do with the determining of religious belief, let us take the case of mathematicians. This I think is the fairest case we can take, seeing that of all intellectual pursuits that of mathematical research is the most exact, as well as the most exclusive in its demand upon the powers of reason, and hence that, as a class, the men who have achieved highest eminence in that pursuit may be fairly taken as the fittest representatives of our species in respect of the faculty of pure reason. Yet whenever they have turned their exceptional powers in this respect upon the problems of religion, how suggestively well balanced are their opposite conclusions—so much so indeed that we can only conclude that reason counts for very little in the complex of mental processes which here determine judgement.
Thus, if we look to the greatest mathematicians in the world's history, we find Kepler and Newton as Christians; La Place, on the other hand, an infidel. Or, coming to our own times, and confining our attention to the principal seat of mathematical study:—when I was at Cambridge, there was a galaxy of genius in that department emanating from that place such as had never before been equalled. And the curious thing in our present connexion is that all the most illustrious names were ranged on the side of orthodoxy. Sir W. Thomson, Sir George Stokes, Professors Tait, Adams, Clerk-Maxwell, and Cayley—not to mention a number of lesser lights, such as Routh, Todhunter, Ferrers, &c.—were all avowed Christians. Clifford had only just moved at a bound from the extreme of asceticism to that of infidelity—an individual instance which I deem of particular interest in the present connexion, as showing the dominating influence of a forcedly emotional character even on so powerful an intellectual one, for the rationality of the whole structure of Christian belief cannot have so reversed its poles within a few months.
Now it would doubtless be easy to find elsewhere than in Cambridge mathematicians of the first order who in our own generation are, or have been, professedly anti-Christian in their beliefs,—although certainly not so great an array of such extraordinary powers. But, be this as it may, the case of Cambridge in my own time seems to me of itself enough to prove that Christian belief is neither made nor marred by the highest powers of reasoning, apart from other and still more potent factors.
Faith and Superstition.
Whether or not Christianity is true, there is a great distinction between these two things. For while the main ingredient of Christian faith is the moral element, this has no part in superstition. In point of fact, the only point of resemblance is that both present the mental state called belief. It is on this account they are so often confounded by anti-Christians, and even by non-Christians; the much more important point of difference is not noted, viz. that belief in the one case is purely intellectual, while in the other it is chiefly moral. Qua purely intellectual, belief may indicate nothing but sheer credulity in absence of evidence; but where a moral basis is added, the case is clearly different; for even if it appears to be sheer credulity to an outsider, that may be because he does not take into account the additional evidence supplied by the moral facts.
Faith and superstition are often confounded, or even identified. And, unquestionably, they are identical up to a certain point—viz. they both present the mental state of belief. All people can see this; but not all people can see further, or define the differentiae. These are as follows: First, supposing Christianity true, there is the spiritual verification. Second, supposing Christianity false, there is still the moral ingredient, which ex hypothesi is absent in superstition. In other words, both faith and superstition rest on an intellectual basis (which may be pure credulity); but faith rests also on a moral, even if not likewise on a spiritual. Even in human relations there is a wide difference between 'belief' in a scientific theory and 'faith' in a personal character. And the difference is in the latter comprising a moral element.
'Faith-healing,' therefore, has no real point of resemblance with 'thy faith hath saved thee' of the New Testament, unless we sink the personal differences between a modern faith-healer and Jesus Christ as objects of faith.
Belief is not exclusively founded on objective evidence appealing to reason (opinion), but mainly on subjective evidence appealing to some altogether different faculty (faith). Now, whether Christians are right or wrong in what they believe, I hold it as certain as anything can be that the distinction which I have just drawn, and which they all implicitly draw for themselves, is logically valid. For no one is entitled to deny the possibility of what may be termed an organ of spiritual discernment. In fact to do so would be to vacate the position of pure agnosticism in toto—and this even if there were no objective, or strictly scientific, evidences in favour of such an organ, such as we have in the lives of the saints, and, in a lower degree, in the universality of the religious sentiment. Now, if there be such an organ, it follows from preceding paragraphs, that not only will the main evidences for Christianity be subjective, but that they ought to be so: they ought to be so, I mean, on the Christian supposition of the object of Christianity being moral probation, and 'faith' both the test and the reward.
From this many practical considerations ensue. E.g. the duty of parents to educate their children in what they believe as distinguished from what they know. This would be unjustifiable if faith were the same as opinion. But it is fully justifiable if a man not only knows that he believes (opinion) but believes that he knows (faith). Whether or not the Christian differs from the 'natural man' in having a spiritual organ of cognition, provided he honestly believes such is the case, it would be immoral in him not to proceed in accordance with what he thus believes to be his knowledge. This obligation is recognized in education in every other case. He is morally right even if mentally deluded.
Huxley, in Lay Sermons, says that faith has been proved a 'cardinal sin' by science. Now, this is true enough of credulity, superstition, &c., and science has done no end of good in developing our ideas of method, evidence, &c. But this is all on the side of intellect. 'Faith' is not touched by such facts or considerations. And what a terrible hell science would have made of the world, if she had abolished the 'spirit of faith' even in human relations. The fact is, Huxley falls into the common error of identifying 'faith' with opinion.
Supposing Christianity true, it is very reasonable that faith in the sense already explained should be constituted the test of divine acceptance. If there be such a thing as Christ's winnowing fan, the quality of sterling weight for the discovery of which it is adapted cannot be conceived as anything other than this moral quality. No one could suppose a revelation appealing to the mere intellect of man, since acceptance would thus become a mere matter of prudence in subscribing to a demonstration made by higher intellects.
It is also a matter of fact that if Christianity is truthful in representing this world as a school of moral probation, we cannot conceive a system better adapted to this end than is the world, or a better schoolmaster than Christianity. This is proved not only by general reasoning, but also by the work of Christianity in the world, its adaptation to individual needs, &c. Consider also the extraordinary diversity of human characters in respect both of morality and spirituality though all are living in the same world. Out of the same external material or environment such astonishingly diverse products arise according to the use made of it. Even human suffering in its worst forms can be welcome if justified by faith in such an object. 'Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness,' but are rather to be 'gloried in[56].'
It is a further fact that only by means of this theory of probation is it possible to give any meaning to the world, i.e. any raison d'être of human existence.
Supposing Christianity true, every man must stand or fall by the results of his own conduct, as developed through his own moral character. (This could not be so if the test were intellectual ability.) Yet this does not hinder that the exercise of will in the direction of religion should need help in order to attain belief. Nor does it hinder that some men should need more help and others less. Indeed, it may well be that some men are intentionally precluded from receiving any help, so as not to increase their responsibility, or receive but little, so as to constitute intellectual difficulties a moral trial. But clearly, if such things are so, we are inadequate judges.
It is a fact that we all feel the intellectual part of man to be 'higher' than the animal, whatever our theory of his origin. It is a fact that we all feel the moral part of man to be 'higher' than the intellectual, whatever our theory of either may be. It is also a fact that we all similarly feel the spiritual to be 'higher' than the moral, whatever our theory of religion may be. It is what we understand by man's moral, and still more his spiritual, qualities that go to constitute 'character.' And it is astonishing how in all walks of life it is character that tells in the long run.
It is a fact that these distinctions are all well marked and universally recognized—viz.
{Animality.
{Intellectuality.
Human {Morality.
{Spirituality.
Morality and spirituality are to be distinguished as two very different things. A man may be highly moral in his conduct without being in any degree spiritual in his nature, and, though to a lesser extent, vice versa. And, objectively, we see the same distinction between morals and religion. By spirituality I mean the religious temperament, whether or not associated with any particular creed or dogma.
There is no doubt that intellectual pleasures are more satisfying and enduring than sensual—or even sensuous. And, to those who have experienced them, so it is with spiritual over intellectual, artistic, &c. This is an objective fact, abundantly testified to by every one who has had experience: and it seems to indicate that the spiritual nature of man is the highest part of man—the [culminating] point of his being.
It is probably true, as Renan says in his posthumous work, that there will always be materialists and spiritualists, inasmuch as it will always be observable on the one hand that there is no thought without brain, while, on the other hand, instincts of man will always aspire to higher beliefs. But this is just what ought to be if religion is true, and we are in a state of probation. And is it not probable that the materialistic position (discredited even by philosophy) is due simply to custom and want of imagination? Else why the inextinguishable instincts?
It is much more easy to disbelieve than to believe. This is obvious on the side of reason, but it is also true on that of spirit, for to disbelieve is in accordance with environment or custom, while to believe necessitates a spiritual use of the imagination. For both these reasons, very few unbelievers have any justification, either intellectual or spiritual, for their own unbelief.
Unbelief is usually due to indolence, often to prejudice, and never a thing to be proud of.
'Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you that God should raise the dead?' Clearly no answer can be given by the pure agnostic. But he will naturally say in reply, 'the question rather is, why should it be thought credible with you that there is a God, or, if there is, that he should raise the dead?' And I think the wise Christian will answer, 'I believe in the resurrection of the dead, partly on grounds of reason, partly on those of intuition, but chiefly on both combined; so to speak, it is my whole character which accepts the whole system of which the doctrine of personal immortality forms an essential part.' And to this it may be fairly added that the Christian doctrine of the resurrection of our bodily form cannot have been arrived at for the purpose of meeting modern materialistic objections to the doctrine of personal immortality; hence it is certainly a strange doctrine to have been propounded at that time, together with its companion, and scarcely less distinctive, doctrine of the vileness of the body. Why was it not said that the 'soul' alone should survive as a disembodied 'spirit'? Or if form were supposed necessary for man as distinguished from God, that he was to be an angel? But, be this as it may, the doctrine of the resurrection seems to have fully met beforehand the materialistic objection to a future life, and so to have raised the ulterior question with which this paragraph opens.
We have seen in the Introduction that all first principles even of scientific facts are known by intuition and not by reason. No one can deny this. Now, if there be a God, the fact is certainly of the nature of a first principle; for it must be the first of all first principles. No one can dispute this. No one can therefore dispute the necessary conclusion, that, if there be a God, He is knowable, (if knowable at all) by intuition and not by reason.
Indeed a little thought is enough to show that from its very nature as such, reason must be incapable of adjudicating on the subject, for it is a process of inferring from the known to the unknown.
Or thus. It would be against reason itself to suppose that God, even if He exists, can be known by reason; He must be known, if knowable at all, by intuition[57].
Observe, although God might give an objective revelation of Himself, e.g. as Christians believe He has, even this would not give knowledge of Him save to those who believe the revelations genuine; and I doubt whether it is logically possible for any form of objective revelation of itself to compel belief in it. Assuredly one rising from the dead to testify thereto would not, nor would letters of fire across the sky do so. But, even if it were logically possible, we need not consider the abstract possibility, seeing that, as a matter of fact, no such demonstrative revelation has been given.
Hence, the only legitimate attitude of pure reason is pure agnosticism. No one can deny this. But, it will be said, there is this vast difference between our intuitive knowledge of all other first principles and that alleged of the 'first of all first principles,' viz. that the latter is confessedly not known to all men. Now, assuredly, there is here a vast difference. But so there ought to be, if we are here in a state of probation, as before explained. And that we are in such a state is not only the hypothesis of religion, but the sole rational explanation as well as moral justification of our existence as rational beings and moral agents[58].
It is not necessarily true, as J.S. Mill and all other agnostics think, that even if internal intuition be of divine origin, the illumination thus furnished can only be of evidential value to the individual subject thereof. On the contrary, it may be studied objectively, even if not experienced subjectively; and ought to be so studied by a pure agnostic desirous of light from any quarter. Even if he does not know it as a noumenon he can investigate it as a phenomenon. And, supposing it to be of divine origin, as its subjects believe and he has no reason to doubt, he may gain much evidence against its being a mere psychological illusion from identical reports of it in all ages. Thus, if any large section of the race were to see flames issuing from magnets, there would be no doubt as to their objective reality.
The testimony given by Socrates to the occurrence in himself of an internal Voice, having all the definiteness of an auditory hallucination, has given rise to much speculation by subsequent philosophers.
Many explanations are suggested, but if we remember the critical nature of Socrates' own mind, the literal nature of his mode of teaching, and the high authority which attaches to Plato's opinion on the subject, the probability seems to incline towards the 'Demon' having been, in Socrates' own consciousness, an actual auditory sensation. Be this however as it may, I suppose there is no question that we may adopt this view of the matter at least to the extent of classifying Socrates with Luther, Pascal, &c., not to mention all the line of Hebrew and other prophets, who agree in speaking of a Divine Voice.
If so, the further question arises whether we are to classify all these with lunatics in whom the phenomena of auditory hallucination are habitual.
Without doubt this hypothesis is most in accordance with the temper of our age, partly because it obeys the law of parsimony, and partly because it [negatives] a priori the possibility of revelation.
But if we look at the matter from the point of view of pure agnosticism, we are not entitled to adopt so rough and ready an interpretation.
Suppose then that not only Socrates and all great religious reformers and founders of religious systems both before and after him were similarly stricken with mental disease, but that similar phenomena had occurred in the case of all scientific discoverers such as Galileo, Newton, Darwin, &c.—supposing all these men to have declared that their main ideas had been communicated by subjective sensations as of spoken language, so that all the progress of the world's scientific thought had resembled that of the world's religious thought, and had been attributed by the promoters thereof to direct inspirations of this kind—would it be possible to deny that the testimony thus afforded to the fact of subjective revelation would have been overwhelming? Or could it any longer have been maintained that supposing a revelation to be communicated subjectively the fact thereof could only be of any evidential value to the recipient himself? To this it will no doubt be answered, 'No, but in the case supposed the evidence arises not from the fact of their subjective intuition but from that of its objective verification in the results of science.' Quite so; but this is exactly the test appealed to by the Hebrew prophets—the test of true and lying prophets being in the fulfilment or non-fulfilment of their prophecies and 'By their fruits ye shall know them.'
Therefore it is as absurd to say that the religious consciousness of minds other than our own can be barred antecedently as evidence, as it is to say that testimony to the miraculous is similarly barred. The pure agnostic must always carefully avoid the 'high priori road.' But, on the other hand, he must be all the more assiduous in estimating fairly the character, both as to quantity and quality, of evidence a posteriori. Now this evidence in the present case is twofold, positive and negative. It will be convenient to consider the negative first.
The negative evidence is furnished by the nature of man without God. It is thoroughly miserable, as is well shown by Pascal, who has devoted the whole of the first part of his treatise to this subject. I need not go over the ground which he has already so well traversed.
Some men are not conscious of the cause of this misery: this, however, does not prevent the fact of their being miserable. For the most part they conceal the fact as well as possible from themselves, by occupying their minds with society, sport, frivolity of all kinds, or, if intellectually disposed, with science, art, literature, business, &c. This however is but to fill the starving belly with husks. I know from experience the intellectual distractions of scientific research, philosophical speculation, and artistic pleasures; but am also well aware that even when all are taken together and well sweetened to taste, in respect of consequent reputation, means, social position, &c., the whole concoction is but as high confectionery to a starving man. He may cheat himself for a time—especially if he be a strong man—into the belief that he is nourishing himself by denying his natural appetite; but soon finds he was made for some altogether different kind of food, even though of much less tastefulness as far as the palate is concerned.
Some men indeed never acknowledge this articulately or distinctly even to themselves, yet always show it plainly enough to others. Take, e.g., 'that last infirmity of noble minds.' I suppose the most exalted and least 'carnal' of worldly joys consists in the adequate recognition by the world of high achievement by ourselves. Yet it is notorious that—
"It is by God decreed
Fame shall not satisfy the highest need."
It has been my lot to know not a few of the famous men of our generation, and I have always observed that this is profoundly true. Like all other 'moral' satisfactions, this soon palls by custom, and as soon as one end of distinction is reached, another is pined for. There is no finality to rest in, while disease and death are always standing in the background. Custom may even blind men to their own misery, so far as not to make them realize what is wanting; yet the want is there.
I take it then as unquestionably true that this whole negative side of the subject proves a vacuum in the soul of man which nothing can fill save faith in God.
Now take the positive side. Consider the happiness of religious—and chiefly of the highest religious, i.e. Christian—belief. It is a matter of fact that besides being most intense, it is most enduring, growing, and never staled by custom. In short, according to the universal testimony of those who have it, it differs from all other happiness not only in degree but in kind. Those who have it can usually testify to what they used to be without it. It has no relation to intellectual status. It is a thing by itself and supreme.
So much for the individual. But positive evidence does not end here. Look at the effects of Christian belief as exercised on human society—1st, by individual Christians on the family, &c.; and, 2nd, by the Christian Church on the world.
All this may lead on to an argument from the adaptation of Christianity to human higher needs. All men must feel these needs more or less in proportion as their higher natures, moral and spiritual, are developed. Now Christianity is the only religion which is adapted to meet them, and, according to those who are alone able to testify, does so most abundantly. All these men, of every sect, nationality, &c., agree in their account of their subjective experience; so as to this there can be no question. The only question is as to whether they are all deceived.
PEU DE CHOSE.
'La vie est vaine:
Un peu d'amour,
Un peu de haine ...
Et puis—bon jour!
La vie est brève:
Un peu d'espoir,
Un peu de rêve ...
Et puis—bon soir!'
The above is a terse and true criticism of this life without hope of a future one. Is it satisfactory? But Christian faith, as a matter of fact, changes it entirely.
'The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of a whole world dies
With the setting sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.'
Love is known to be all this. How great, then, is Christianity, as being the religion of love, and causing men to believe both in the cause of love's supremacy and the infinity of God's love to man.