and I
willingly believe is meant to be, observed.

In one of his nobler passages Mr. Martineau tells us how the pupils of
his college have been educated hitherto: 'They have been trained
under the assumptions (1) that the Universe which includes us and
folds us round is the life-dwelling of an Eternal Mind; (2) that the
world of our abode is the scene of a moral government, incipient but
not complete; and (3) that the upper zones of human affection, above
the clouds of self and passion, take us into the sphere of a Divine
Communion. Into this over-arching scene it is that growing thought
and enthusiasm have expanded to catch their light and fire.'

Alpine summits seem to kindle above us as we read these glowing words;
we see their beauty and feel their life. At the close of one of the
essays here printed, [Footnote: 'Scientific Use of the Imagination.']
I thus refer to the 'Communion' which Mr. Martineau calls 'Divine':
"Two things," said Immanuel Kant, "fill me with awe--the starry heavens,
and the sense of moral responsibility in man." And in his hours of
health and strength and sanity, when the stroke of action has ceased,
and the pause of reflection has set in, the scientific investigator
finds himself overshadowed by the same awe. Breaking contact with the
hampering details of earth, it associates him with a power which gives
fulness and tone to his existence, but which he can neither analyse
nor comprehend. Though 'knowledge' is here disavowed, the 'feelings',
of Mr. Martineau and myself are, I think, very much alike. He,
nevertheless, censures me--almost denounces me--for referring Religion
to the region of Emotion. Surely he is inconsistent here. The
foregoing words refer to an inward hue or temperature, rather than to
an external object of thought. When I attempt to give the Power which
I see manifested in the Universe an objective form, personal or
otherwise, it slips away from me, declining all intellectual
manipulation. I dare not, save poetically, use the pronoun 'He'
regarding it; I dare not call it a 'Mind;' I refuse to call it even a
'Cause.' Its mystery overshadows me; but it remains a mystery, while
the objective frames which some of my neighbours try to make it fit,
seem to me to distort and desecrate it.

It is otherwise with Mr. Martineau, and hence his discontent. He
professes to know where I only claim to feel. He could make his
contention good against me if, by a process of verific