domain of philosophy. But, on account of the strong tendency to materialism and the skillful guidance of his leaders, there seems to be no such boundary; he does not distinguish between the inductions of science and the inferences of a shallow philosophy; the whole is accredited to science, and the final conclusion seems to carry with it all the certainty which belongs to scientific results. The fact that these materialistic conclusions are reached by some of the foremost scientists of the present day adds nothing to their probability. In a question of science, viz., the law of evolution, their authority is deservedly high, but in a question of philosophy, viz., materialism, it is far otherwise. If the pure scientists smile when theological philosophers, unacquainted with the methods of science, undertake to dogmatize on the subject of evolution, they must pardon the philosophers if they also smile when the pure scientists imagine that they can at once solve questions in philosophy which have agitated the human mind from the earliest times. I am anxious to show the absurdity of this materialistic conclusion, but I shall try to do so, not by any labored argument, but by a few simple illustrations:
1. It is curious to observe how, when the question is concerning Nature, we no sooner find out how a thing is made than we immediately exclaim, "It is not made at all—it became so of itself!" So long as we knew not how worlds were made, we of course concluded they must have been created; but, so soon as science showed how it was probably done, immediately we say we were mistaken—they were not made at all. So also, so long as we could not imagine how new organic forms originated, we were willing to believe they were created; but, so soon as we find that they originated by evolution, many at once say, "We were mistaken—no creator is necessary at all." Is this so when the question is concerning a work of man? Yes, of one kind—viz., the work of the magician. Here, indeed, we believe in him, and are delighted with his work, until we know how it is done, and then all our faith and wonder cease. But in any honest work it is not so; but, on the contrary, when we understand how it is done, stupid wonder is changed into intellectual delight. Does it not seem, then, that to most people God is a mere wonder worker, a chief magician? But the mission of science is to show us how things are done. Is it any wonder, then, that to such persons science is constantly destroying their superstitious illusions? But if God is an honest worker, according to reason—i. e., according to law—ought not science rather to change gaping wonder into intelligent delight—superstition into rational worship?
2. Again, it is curious to observe how an old truth, if it come
