erybody
can understand; religion gives us no return for our investments but
flash notes on the bank of expectation, common sense gives us good
interest and full security for our capital. They are as opposite as
two things can possibly be, and they are always at strife. Religion
is always trying to fill the world with delusions, and common sense is
always trying to drive them away. Religion says Live for the next world,
and common sense says Live for this.

It is in the very nature of things that religion and common sense
should hate and oppose each other. They are rivals for the same
prize--aspirants to the same throne. In every age a conflict has been
going on between them; and although common sense is fast getting the
upper hand to-day, the war is far from ended, and we may see some fierce
struggles before the combat closes. There can, however, be no doubt as
to the issue; for science has appeared on the scene with the most deadly
weapons of destruction, and science is the sworn ally of common sense.
Nay, is not Science the mighty child of common sense--the fruit of
Reason from the lusty embrace of Nature?

Common sense is primitive logic. It does not depend on books, and it is
superior to culture. It is the perception of analogy--the instinct
of causation. It guides the savage through trackless forests, and the
astronomer through infinite space. It makes the burnt child dread the
fire, and a Darwin see in a few obvious facts the solution of a mystery.
It built the first hut and the last palace; the first canoe and the last
ocean steamer. It constructed docks, and laid down railways, applied
steam to machinery and locomotion, prompted every mechanical discovery,
instigated all material progress, and transformed an ape-like beast into
a civilised man.

Even the highest art is full of common sense. Sanity and simplicity are
the distinguishing marks of the loftiest genius, which may be described
as inspired common sense. The great artist never loses touch of fact; he
may let his imagination soar as high as the stars, but he keeps his feet
firm-planted on the ground. All the world recognises the sublimity of
Greek sculpture and Shakespeare's plays, because they are both true to
nature and fact and coincident with everlasting laws. The true sublime
is not fantastic; it is solid and satisfying, like a mighty Alp,
deep-rooted first of all in the steadfast earth, and then towering up
with its vineyards, its pastures, its p