forest, yielding
shade and fruit to wide neighbourhoods of men.[1]

[Footnote 1: Emerson: _Essay on Compensation_.]

On a larger scale, from the cosmic rather than from the
personal point of view, an individual, gifted with a large and
charitable interest in the future of mankind, is secured and
sustained by the feeling that he is a part of that procession
headed to the "one far-off divine event to which the whole
creation moves." The lugubrious picture of an utterly meaningless
world, blind, purposeless, and heartless, which materialistic
science reveals, is sufficient to wreck the equanimity
of a sensitive and thoughtful mind.

That is the sting of it, that in the vast drifting of the cosmic
weather, though many a jewelled shore appears, and many an enchanted
cloud-bank floats away, long lingering ere it be dissolved--even
as our world now lingers for our joy--yet when these transient
products are gone, nothing, absolutely _nothing_ remains. Dead and
gone are they, gone utterly from the very sphere and room of being.
Without an echo, without a memory; without an influence on aught
that may come after, to make it care for similar ideals. This utter
wreck and tragedy is of the essence of scientific materialism, as at
present understood.[1]

[Footnote 1: James: _Pragmatism_, p. 105.]

A belief that a divine power governs the universe, that all
these miscellaneous and inexplicable happenings will be
gathered up into a smooth and ultimate perfection, gives
faith, comfort, and solace. We are on the side of the angels, or
rather the angels are on our side. Human passion, purpose,
and endeavor are not wasted. They are small but not altogether
negligible contributions to eventual cosmic good. And
good is eventual. Perfection may be long delayed, but God's
presence assures it. "Weeping may endure for a night, but
joy cometh in the morning."

A world with a God in it to say the last word may indeed burn up
or freeze, but we then think of Him as still mindful of the old ideals,
and sure to bring them elsewhere to fruition; so that where He is,
tragedy is only provisional and partial, and shipwreck and dissolution
not the absolutely final things.[2]

[Footnote 2: _Ibid._, p. 106.]

Amid tragic errors and pitiful disillusions, men have yearned
for "a benediction perfect and complete where they might
cease to suffer and desire." This perfection religion has, as
we have seen, accorded them in various ways. Some have
fo