ormity to the personal
element in our environment but likeness to him? This is my only
possible mode of conformity to a person--to become like him in word,
action, thought, and purpose, and finally in all my being. Very far
from a close resemblance we still are. But we are more like him than
primitive man was; and our descendants will resemble him far more
closely than we. And thus man, conscious of his environment, and
that means capable of knowing something about God, knows at least
what God requires of him, namely, righteousness, love, and likeness
to himself; or, as the old heathen seer expressed it, "to do justly,
love mercy, and walk humbly before God." Man is and must be a
religious being. And he conforms consciously. Thus to be more like
God he must know more about him, and to know more about him he must
become more like him. The two go hand in hand, and by mutual
reaction strengthen each other. I will not enter into the most
important question of all, whether we can ever really know a person
unless we have some love for him. The facts of evolution seem to me
to admit of but one interpretation, that of Augustine: "Thou hast
formed me for thee, O Lord, and my restless spirit finds no rest but
in thee." Granted, therefore, a personal God in and behind
environment, however dimly perceived, and conformity to environment
means god-likeness; for conformity to a person can mean nothing less
than likeness to him.

Some of you must, all of you should, have read Professor Huxley's
"Address on Education." In it he says, "It is a very plain and
elementary truth that the life, the fortune, and the happiness of
every one of us, and, more or less, of those who are connected with
us, do depend upon our knowing something of the rules of a game
infinitely more difficult and complicated than chess. It is a game
which has been played for unknown ages, every man and woman of us
being one of the two players in a game of his or her own. The
chess-board is the world, the pieces are the phenomena of the
universe, the rules of the game are what we call the laws of Nature.
The player on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his
play is always fair, just, and patient. But also we know, to our
cost, that he never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest
allowance for ignorance. To the man who plays well the highest
stakes are paid with that sort of overflowing generosity with which
the strong shows delight in strength. And one