purely in the world of scientific ideas and transport him into the world of thought of revealed religion, we cannot wonder if he shows signs of surprise and of revolt. He has changed his "psychological climate." He has been living in a world of uniformities, of measured spaces and forces and times, a world of which the central principle seems to be its own consistent action; and the world into which Revelation would bring him seems to be ruled by radically different principles. For, from start to finish, there can really be no doubt as to the teaching of Revelation. In the clearest and most memorable fashion, it proclaims that God's providence controls in their own interest whatsoever happens to His children. If you try to take this faith out of the Old Testament, Hebrew religion becomes a mere ruin. Take the Psalmists: what can shake their conviction that the whole power of God is at the disposal of the solitary faithful Spirit, for protection, discipline and salvation; what can match their magnificent confidence in God as the Shepherd, the Fortress, and the Refuge of the soul? All the histories in like manner are based on this theory of human life, and the gigantic spiritual achievement of prophecy is undertaken and carried through in the strength of this faith, and when we come to the climax of Revelation we find this principle expressed with a clearness which cannot be increased. "Be not anxious for the morrow," said Jesus, "for your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of these things." Nor does any one of the apostles ever dream of moving from this ancient standpoint.

Further, this faith in the detailed and individual care of a Heavenly Father who adjusts the fortunes of His children to their true needs, is not expressed simply in isolated passages, which can be questioned as conceivably spurious, or, if accepted, can be dis

solved away into poetic metaphors. The whole conception of the Christian character is based upon faith in this principle-its courage, self-devotion, confidence and calm. If the Heavenly Father in truth cares for his children, these virtues are rational; but if this be a dream, then these virtues, losing their rational root, become mere fading flowers in a chill and sterile world. The house of glass is broken and the fading of the lovely hues and graceful forms of the tropical exotics is only a question of time. "Be not anxious for the morrow," said Jesus, "for your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of these things." That is a view that hangs together well. But if it reads: "Be not anxious for the morrow, for natural law will maintain its unvarying course," that is another matter. If my fortunes are to be determined simply by the laws of the struggle for existence, natural selection, and the survival of the fittest, why should I not be anxious? The more anxious I am the better.

Some years ago the present writer remembers reading a letter relating to the death of a friend who had perished in the wreck of an ocean liner which had gone ashore on the Spanish coast. The writer of the letter, in referring to his friend, rightly, from the Christian point of view, laid stress on the fact that her death was the Will of God, and was therefore best for her. A scientific writer, looking at the same event, might have viewed it as part of an immense context of phenomena. He would have taken the proximate causes the strong shoreward current in the Bay of Biscay, the mists that at that season envelop sea and land, the deflection of the compass, perhaps, caused by the geological composition of the Finisterre Rocks, and so on. He would have shown that these again had their antecedents, climatic, geological, chemical, and so on, and these

again their antecedents, reaching back through the ages. He would have shown further that these proximate causes must also have their consequents, and these again their consequents, and so forward throughout the future. He would have shown us, in short, a great system of things reaching onward from the primordial firemist to the ultimate crack of doom, and maintained that to alter any one part would be to alter the whole, and then would have turned on us triumphantly and asked us if we actually believed that all this vast process was set in motion to drown a particular person on a particular day for her own good. The difficulty certainly seems a serious one, and as long as we stand by the barely positivist view of science and the barely individualist view of religion, it would seem to be insoluble so far as the intellect is concerned.

But in stating these limitations we have already indicated the lines of a solution. It has become impossible for science to remain at the purely positive standpoint; and evangelical religion has, in like manner, outgrown the excessive individualism which for a time characterized it.

Take first the drift in science. The whole conception of evolution is teleological. There is an interesting passage in Mr. Darwin's "Life" where this point is very clearly brought out by him in a letter to Professor Asa Gray, thanking him for an article written in Nature, June 4, 1874. "What you say about Teleology," he writes, "pleases me especially, and I do not think any one else has ever noticed the point. I have always said you were the man to hit the nail on the head." The passage referred to in Professor Gray's paper is thus given:-"Let us recognize Darwin's great service to natural science in bringing back to it teleology, so that, instead of morphology versus teleology, we shall have morphology wedded to

teleology." In the same strain Professor Huxley wrote: "Perhaps the most remarkable service which Mr. Darwin has rendered to the philosophy of biology is the reconciliation of morphology and teleology, and the explanation of the facts of both which his views offer. The teleology which supposes that the eye, such as we see it in man or in one of the higher vertebrata, was made in the precise structure it exhibits, for the purpose of enabling the animal which possesses it to see, has undoubtedly received its death-blow. Nevertheless, it is necessary to remember that there is a wider teleology, which is not touched by the doctrine of evolution, but is actually based upon the fundamental proposition of evolution." ("Darwiniana," p. 110.)

Waiving, as outside our immediate purpose, the question as to whether the concession as to the wider teleology does not involve the narrower teleology, and noting also that Professor Huxley declares himself unable to say what the Télos is on which the hidden purpose is moving along all the myriad lines of natural process, we must emphasize the vital fact, which is that here the transition is made from the positive to the teleological standpoint, from one world view to another. The further transitions from Télos to purpose, and from purpose to mind, and from mind to personality, as the ground of nature, are not, I think, by any means so serious as the step thus already taken. But having thus granted that all evolutionary process converges upon some Τέλος, we cannot arbitrarily arrest the further inquiry as to the nature of this Téλos. It is clear that by thus granting that evolution has a Téos, we are committed to the further position that this Téλos, in its perfection, cannot lie in the earlier, but in the later, stages of that evolution. If we make a series of cross sections through the history of nature and hu

man life, we find first a time when there was nothing but the inorganic, then we find later the organic world arising within the inorganic. Using the Téλos as our criterion, we say that relatively to it the organic is higher than the inorganic realm. Later we make another cross-section, and we find that within the organic there has appeared the conscious, and, later still, the human. Henceforward we find the central interest of the story turning on the fortunes of human society, the evolution of the social organism, the last and highest result of time.

From the standpoint of evolution this associated human life is higher than the astronomical forces which regulated the cohering of the fire-mist, higher than the physical and chemical forces which regulated the shaping of our planet, higher than the life forces of the unconscious living world, higher than the forces which impelled the sentient but irrational world along its astonishing course of development until man appeared in the arena. The family, the tribe, the nation, mark ascending grades of the same immense process, and already the signs of a new and wider organization of human society may be discerned by the thoroughgoing evolutionist. It is, of course, a conceivable hypothesis that all this vast process of evolution is a mere bye-product of the play of the inorganic forces, and that, therefore, the last and highest result of time will be annihilated by some cosmic catastrophe, or will gradually wither away and die beneath the steady pressure of an alien environment, and the universe return once more to the point from which it began; but in so far as we accept such conclusions we cease to be evolutionists, and practically forsake the standpoint of teleology.

Rejecting such an anti-climax, we are left with some form of human soci

ety as the goal of evolution. If it be objected that this conclusion is wider than the facts and the method warrant us in assuming, that there may be something higher than any form of human society which we can picture, we can, at least, say this, that such a conception is the very highest and truest that from the human standpoint we can frame, and that whatever may be the ideal Téλos, it must include and conserve all that is highest in human society, as every existing human society includes and conserves the subordinate realms of the inorganic, organic and conscious worlds out of which it came. We must think of the goal of evolution, if we think of it at all, in such terms, for they are nearer the truth than any other that we can choose. We can say further that they are nearer the truth and will lead us less astray than would silence and the arrest of thought.

But, if this be so, if there is a real climax to the long history of nature, then it surely must needs be that no part of the long chain of process which leads to this consummation can be without meaning. Logical coherence compels us to suppose that the whole natural order is an immense system of final causes, converging at last upon one supreme Téλos, the "one far-off Divine event to which the whole creation moves." It is towards this end that law must be working, the ocean currents flowing, the mists rising and falling, the strata being piled mountains high, and human life being lavished by land and sea. All roads of nature at last converge upon some mother city of man.

But is this version of the scientific conception of the reign of law in radical antagonism with the Christian view of the world? If the argument hitherto has been a sound one, it is, on the contrary, in profound harmony with it. If it is true that science has advanced from the positive to the tele

ological standpoint, it is true also that the advance of Biblical theology has carried religious thought beyond the narrower individualism in which it was bound, and has given it a vaster horizon and a larger hope. The Gospels also teach us that all God's individual providences converge upon a universal end, which is nothing else than the most perfect form of society, a union of God and humanity in the "Kingdom of God."

It is true that the goal of the world process which science dimly forecasts, is a narrower synthesis than the great synthesis of God and humanity of the Christian faith; but, as we have seen, this is only what we might have expected; there is no real contradiction; the less runs out into the greater, the greater includes the less. Moreover, just as the Téλos of science will cast light on all the steps whereby it has been attained, just as the "wider" will include and explain the "narrower teleology," so in revealed religion the "one far-off divine event" casts light on all the ways of God's Providence with individual men. Scrip ture, with all its daring claim that the world is made for the believing soul, never suffers us for long to forget that the soul is made to find its true life only in something greater than itself. Throughout all its course, "we hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." We see behind Patriarch and Psalmist and Prophet the history of redemption sweeping onwards to its hidden goal. Then comes the time when the Téλos of all God's individual providences is made clear in Jesus Christ. "Now after that John was delivered up Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the Gospel of God, and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe in the Gospel.'" From that day, as before it, the rationale of all God's ways with His children is the Kingdom of God.

All privileges are given with a view to service. Daily bread is given that the Kingdom may come. The narrower runs out into the wider teleology.

It may be objected by some, from the religious side, that to bring in this ulterior aim is to mar the relation between the soul and God. If the Father, it may be said, love not the child for his own sake, how can He expect the child to love Him for His? If God, in all His dealings with me, is thinking of some service which he wishes to get out of me for humanity, does this not spoil the whole filial relation? Such an objection can have force only for one who does not adequately realize the solidarity of the Kingdom of God. As if I could have any true good apart from the Kingdom of God! As if anything that injured its true interests did not in the long run injure mine! As if anything that aided it did not, in the long run, minister to my highest good! Whatever touches that city touches the Christian man, for he shall live in it, he shall walk its strets. Even now he inhabits it and shares its fortunes militant, as he shall share them at the last triumphant. The converse is equally true and hardly less important. In caring for me God cares for His Kingdom. Cheapen the individual soul, make light of its wants, its value, its possibilities, and you cheapen the Kingdom of God. An aggregate of ciphers, no matter how huge, will never amount to more. The aggregate varies with the value of the units.

Returning, then, to the apparent antithesis between the religious and the scientific views of the world with which we began, we find that both, when rightly regarded, converge upon a great world-end of a social order. If the ends, then, of the two Weltanschauungen tend to identity, can there be any real contradiction between the means? Is it not more probable that the apparent

discords between the scientific and the religious explanations of any given fact arise from the very different point of view from which that fact is regarded, rather than from any vital contradiction of principle. It is not contended that the solution suggested here does not stand in need of supplement from other ways of dealing with the quesThe Contemporary Review.

tion, nor even that with these aids all difficulties are fully removed. But it is maintained that the introduction into the field of thought of the principle of the Kingdom of God removes many difficulties and takes us a long way towards the solution of the central problem.

David S. Cairns.

It was the birthday of Arun Raj (the Sun of the State), the Rajah's only son and heir. He was four years old, more or less; his birthday was never kept on the same day, or, indeed, in the same month, two years following. The propitious days announced by the Brahmins had to be considered in fixing the date of his birthday, and also the convenience of his father, the Rajah. This year it fell in the middle of January; the year before it had been in November. No one, probably, except the Ranee, his mother, remembered now in what season the first birthday of all had fallen, irrespective, for once, of the Brahmins' auspicious dates or His Highness the Rajah's pleasure.

He was to wear a voluminous turban to-day, like the men-folk, instead of the old and dirty, but comfortable, wadded nightcap that usually covered his little black head.

There was to be a durbar in the great hall in the afternoon, when all the Thakore gentlemen and the officials of the state would bring tribute, each according to his income. Their offerings could hardly be called gifts, as they were in no sense voluntary. amount of every man's tribute was fixed, and there were no means by which the offering of them could be avoided.

The

It was a year of famine in India, and, though men did not actually starve, in some of the Northern States there was great scarcity. The Rajah, too, had returned to his state only a few weeks before and had received the offerings of welcome customary on such occasions. He had also held a durbar on his own acount since his return, at which more offerings had been required. It was whispered about in the zenana, and openly discussed in the city, that His Highness the Rajah intended to pay a visit to England in the coming summer; and gold, as every one knew, melted away like wax before the sun in that far-off mythical country of the English sahibs. For what other reason had the salaries been all cut down this year in all the offices of the state, in spite of the scarcity? And was there not a notice on the great iron gate of the palace that appointments would be given to any clerks who should be willing to do the work of two men for the pay of one? At the public gardens, too, which His Highness the Rajah had made, there were great changes. In former years he had always paid the salaries there himself, and his money had supplied the trees and plants and seeds, and the bullocks for the drawing of water; this year he had made a contract with the