his faith where the shifting currents of theological opinion cannot
prevail against it. The being of God Mr. Spencer holds to be a truth
forever vindicated in the consciousness of man: His nature is to finite
beings inscrutable. The latter clause of this statement may be sustained
by a very curious syllogistic scaffolding, and it may be assailed by
reasoning which is to us wholly satisfactory. _Cui bono?_ Let the
philosopher dream out his logical ladder to the Infinite, and never fear
but the heart of humanity will supply the angels ascending and
descending thereupon. We certainly do not accept Mr. Spencer as an
exhaustive expounder of the physics or metaphysics of creation. But the
great body of his doctrines are not affected by our private fancies
about _a priori_ truths or the conditions of thought. He shows the
transcendent reality of the moral claim upon man. He emphasizes the
great truth, not always apparent in the prescriptions of soul-saving
orthodoxy, that disinterestedness is the primary condition of human
virtue. It is not pretended that a fervid religious organization can
find satisfaction in Mr. Spencer. It must work by other methods. It must
conquer problems which science is unable to solve. But, in these
doubting, inquiring days upon which we have fallen, no truly good man
can afford to contemn a scientist who shows how securely the foundations
of religion are laid, and reverently stops at secondary causes without
attempting to deify them. And at this present day such a work is clearly
demanded. It is, indeed, possible that the old Giants Pope and Pagan may
not have rallied since the Bedford tinker bore witness to their
depressed estate. Their successor, Giant Transcendentalist, whom
Hawthorne encountered in his railroad ride to the Celestial City, may
have been delivered over to Mr. Frothingham to be tormented according to
his deserts. But a lusty member of the terrible brotherhood is still at
large. His name is Giant Indifference. Excerpts (perhaps perverted) from
Bentham and Comte, chapters (perchance misinterpreted) from Thackeray's
novels, are his sacred canons. He reports himself to have been created
by subtle questions touching the historical evidence of the Scriptures,
by various intellectual perplexities which the philosophers have brought
to light, and by all the tares and brambles of society upon which the
cynic has directed his microscope. While muttering formularies in which
he has no vital b