Postscript

In writing my concluding lecture I had to aim so much at simplification that I fear that my general philosophic position received so scant a statement as hardly to be intelligible to some of my readers. I therefore add this epilogue, which must also be so brief as possibly to remedy but little the defect. In a later work I may be enabled to state my position more amply and consequently more clearly.

In writing my concluding lecture, I had to simplify so much that I fear I explained my general philosophical position too briefly. As a result, some readers may hardly have understood it. I therefore add this epilogue, though it too must be so brief that it may do little to remedy the problem. In a later work, I may be able to explain my position more fully and, as a result, more clearly.

Originality cannot be expected in a field like this, where all the attitudes and tempers that are possible have been exhibited in literature long ago, and where any new writer can immediately be classed under a familiar head. If one should make a division of all thinkers into naturalists and supernaturalists, I should undoubtedly have to go, along with most philosophers, into the supernaturalist branch. But there is a crasser and a more refined supernaturalism, and it is to the refined division that most philosophers at the present day belong. If not regular transcendental idealists, they at least obey the Kantian direction enough to bar out ideal entities from interfering causally in the course of phenomenal events. Refined supernaturalism is universalistic supernaturalism; for the “crasser” variety “piecemeal” supernaturalism would perhaps be the better name. It went with that older theology which to-day is supposed to reign only among uneducated people, or to be found among the few belated professors of the dualisms which Kant is thought to have displaced. It admits miracles and providential leadings, and finds no intellectual difficulty in mixing the ideal and the real worlds together by interpolating influences from the ideal region among the forces that causally determine the real world's details. In this the refined supernaturalists think that it muddles disparate dimensions of existence. For them the world of the ideal has no efficient causality, and never bursts into the world of phenomena at particular points. The ideal world, for them, is not a world of facts, but only of the meaning of facts; it is a point of view for judging facts. It appertains to a different “-ology,” and inhabits a different dimension of being altogether from that in which existential propositions obtain. It cannot get down upon the flat level of experience and interpolate itself piecemeal between distinct portions of nature, as those who believe, for example, in divine aid coming in response to prayer, are bound to think it must.

We cannot expect originality in a field like this. Literature has long since displayed every possible attitude and temperament. Any new writer can immediately be placed in a familiar category. If we divided all thinkers into naturalists and supernaturalists, I would undoubtedly belong with the supernaturalists, along with most philosophers. But there is a cruder and a more refined kind of supernaturalism. Most philosophers today belong to the refined group. Even if they are not full-fledged transcendental idealists, they follow Kant closely enough to rule out ideal entities as causes of events in the world of phenomena. Refined supernaturalism is universalistic supernaturalism. For the “crasser” variety, “piecemeal” supernaturalism might be a better name. Piecemeal supernaturalism went with the older theology. Today, that theology is supposed to prevail only among uneducated people. Or it is found among the few late adherents of the dualisms that Kant is thought to have displaced. It allows for miracles and providential guidance. It sees no intellectual difficulty in mixing the ideal and real worlds. It does so by placing influences from the ideal realm among the forces that causally determine the details of the real world. Refined supernaturalists think this confuses distinct dimensions of existence. For them, the ideal world has no power to cause events. It never breaks into the world of phenomena at particular points. It is not a world of facts, but only of the meaning of facts. It is a point of view from which to judge facts. It belongs to a different “-ology” and occupies a different dimension of being altogether from the dimension in which statements about what exists apply. It cannot come down to the ordinary level of experience and enter piece by piece between separate parts of nature. Yet those who believe, for example, that divine help comes in response to prayer must think that it does.

Notwithstanding my own inability to accept either popular Christianity or scholastic theism, I suppose that my belief that in communion with the Ideal new force comes into the world, and new departures are made here below, subjects me to being classed among the supernaturalists of the piecemeal or crasser type. Universalistic supernaturalism surrenders, it seems to me, too easily to naturalism. It takes the facts of physical science at their face-value, and leaves the laws of life just as naturalism finds them, with no hope of remedy, in case their fruits are bad. It confines itself to sentiments about life as a whole, sentiments which may be admiring and adoring, but which need not be so, as the existence of systematic pessimism proves. In this universalistic way of taking the ideal world, the essence of practical religion seems to me to evaporate. Both instinctively and for logical reasons, I find it hard to believe that principles can exist which make no difference in facts.³⁶⁰ But all facts are particular facts, and the whole interest of the question of God's existence seems to me to lie in the consequences for particulars which that existence may be expected to entail. That no concrete particular of experience should alter its complexion in consequence of a God being there seems to me an incredible proposition, and yet it is the thesis to which (implicitly at any rate) refined supernaturalism seems to cling. It is only with experience en bloc, it says, that the Absolute maintains relations. It condescends to no transactions of detail.

Although I cannot accept either popular Christianity or scholastic theism, I believe communion with the Ideal brings new force into the world. I also believe it leads to new developments here on earth. I suppose these beliefs make me a supernaturalist of the piecemeal or cruder type. Universalistic supernaturalism, it seems to me, gives in to naturalism too easily. It takes the findings of physical science at face value. It leaves the laws of life just as naturalism finds them, with no hope of remedy if their results are bad. It confines itself to feelings about life as a whole. These feelings may be admiring and worshipful, but they need not be, as the existence of systematic pessimism shows. In this universalistic view of the ideal world, the essence of practical religion seems to me to disappear. Both instinctively and for logical reasons, I find it hard to believe that principles can exist without making any difference to the facts.³⁶⁰ But all facts are particular facts. To me, the whole interest of the question of God’s existence lies in its expected consequences for particular facts. It seems unbelievable that God’s existence would make no difference to any specific part of experience. Yet this is the position that refined supernaturalism seems to hold, at least implicitly. It says that the Absolute relates only to experience as a whole. It does not lower itself to dealings with details.

I am ignorant of Buddhism and speak under correction, and merely in order the better to describe my general point of view; but as I apprehend the Buddhistic doctrine of Karma, I agree in principle with that. All supernaturalists admit that facts are under the judgment of higher law; but for Buddhism as I interpret it, and for religion generally so far as it remains unweakened by transcendentalistic metaphysics, the word “judgment” here means no such bare academic verdict or platonic appreciation as it means in Vedantic or modern absolutist systems; it carries, on the contrary, execution with it, is in rebus as well as post rem, and operates “causally” as partial factor in the total fact. The universe becomes a gnosticism³⁶¹ pure and simple on any other terms. But this view that judgment and execution go together is that of the crasser supernaturalist way of thinking, so the present volume must on the whole be classed with the other expressions of that creed.

I know little about Buddhism and may be corrected. I mention it only to explain my general point of view more clearly. But as I understand the Buddhist doctrine of Karma, I agree with it in principle. All supernaturalists accept that facts are subject to the judgment of a higher law. But as I interpret Buddhism, “judgment” means more than a bare academic verdict or a platonic appreciation. The same is true of religion generally, insofar as transcendentalist metaphysics has not weakened it. In Vedantic or modern absolutist systems, “judgment” does mean such a verdict or appreciation. In Buddhism and religion generally, by contrast, judgment carries execution with it. Judgment is in rebus as well as post rem, within events as well as after them. It operates “causally” as one factor in the whole event. On any other terms, the universe becomes a gnosticism³⁶¹ pure and simple. But the view that judgment and execution go together belongs to the cruder supernaturalist way of thinking. So this volume must, on the whole, be classed with other expressions of that creed.

I state the matter thus bluntly, because the current of thought in academic circles runs against me, and I feel like a man who must set his back against an open door quickly if he does not wish to see it closed and locked. In spite of its being so shocking to the reigning intellectual tastes, I believe that a candid consideration of piecemeal supernaturalism and a complete discussion of all its metaphysical bearings will show it to be the hypothesis by which the largest number of legitimate requirements are met. That of course would be a program for other books than this; what I now say sufficiently indicates to the philosophic reader the place where I belong.

I put the matter so bluntly because the prevailing academic view runs against me. I feel like a man who must quickly brace his back against an open door, or see it closed and locked. Piecemeal supernaturalism may shock those who follow current intellectual tastes. Even so, I believe an open-minded consideration of it, along with a full discussion of all its metaphysical implications, will show it to be the hypothesis that meets the greatest number of legitimate requirements. Of course, that task would call for books other than this one. What I have said here is enough to show readers of philosophy where I stand.

If asked just where the differences in fact which are due to God's existence come in, I should have to say that in general I have no hypothesis to offer beyond what the phenomenon of “prayerful communion,” especially when certain kinds of incursion from the subconscious region take part in it, immediately suggests. The appearance is that in this phenomenon something ideal, which in one sense is part of ourselves and in another sense is not ourselves, actually exerts an influence, raises our centre of personal energy, and produces regenerative effects unattainable in other ways. If, then, there be a wider world of being than that of our every-day consciousness, if in it there be forces whose effects on us are intermittent, if one facilitating condition of the effects be the openness of the “subliminal” door, we have the elements of a theory to which the phenomena of religious life lend plausibility. I am so impressed by the importance of these phenomena that I adopt the hypothesis which they so naturally suggest. At these places at least, I say, it would seem as though transmundane energies, God, if you will, produced immediate effects within the natural world to which the rest of our experience belongs.

If asked exactly what difference God's existence makes to the facts, I would have to say this. In general, I can offer no hypothesis beyond what “prayerful communion” itself suggests. This is especially true when certain things enter prayerful communion from the subconscious region. It appears that something ideal actually exerts an influence during prayerful communion. In one sense, this ideal something is part of us, and in another, it is not. It raises the level of our personal energy and renews us in ways nothing else can. Suppose, then, that there is a world of being wider than our everyday consciousness. Suppose it contains forces whose effects on us come and go. And suppose that opening the “subliminal” door is one condition that makes these effects possible. We would then have the elements of a theory that the phenomena of religious life make plausible. I am so impressed by the importance of these phenomena that I adopt the hypothesis they so naturally suggest. In these cases at least, it would seem that energies beyond the worldly realm, God, if you will, produce immediate effects within the natural world to which the rest of our experience belongs.

The difference in natural “fact” which most of us would assign as the first difference which the existence of a God ought to make would, I imagine, be personal immortality. Religion, in fact, for the great majority of our own race means immortality, and nothing else. God is the producer of immortality; and whoever has doubts of immortality is written down as an atheist without farther trial. I have said nothing in my lectures about immortality or the belief therein, for to me it seems a secondary point. If our ideals are only cared for in “eternity,” I do not see why we might not be willing to resign their care to other hands than ours. Yet I sympathize with the urgent impulse to be present ourselves, and in the conflict of impulses, both of them so vague yet both of them noble, I know not how to decide. It seems to me that it is eminently a case for facts to testify. Facts, I think, are yet lacking to prove “spirit-return,” though I have the highest respect for the patient labors of Messrs. Myers, Hodgson, and Hyslop, and am somewhat impressed by their favorable conclusions. I consequently leave the matter open, with this brief word to save the reader from a possible perplexity as to why immortality got no mention in the body of this book.

I imagine most of us would expect the existence of a God to make one difference above all others in natural “fact”: personal immortality. In fact, for the great majority of our own race, religion means immortality and nothing else. God is the source of immortality. Anyone who doubts immortality is declared an atheist without further consideration. I have said nothing in my lectures about immortality or belief in it because it seems to me a secondary point. If our ideals are cared for in “eternity,” I do not see why we could not be willing to leave their care to others. Yet I sympathize with the urgent desire to be there ourselves. Both impulses are vague, yet both are noble, and I do not know how to decide between them. It seems to me that this is very much a case for facts to settle. I think the facts needed to prove “spirit-return” are still lacking. Yet I have the highest respect for the patient work of Messrs. Myers, Hodgson, and Hyslop, and I am somewhat impressed by their favorable conclusions. So I leave the question open. I have added this brief explanation to spare the reader any puzzlement over why immortality went unmentioned in the main body of this book.

The ideal power with which we feel ourselves in connection, the “God” of ordinary men, is, both by ordinary men and by philosophers, endowed with certain of those metaphysical attributes which in the lecture on philosophy I treated with such disrespect. He is assumed as a matter of course to be “one and only” and to be “infinite”; and the notion of many finite gods is one which hardly any one thinks it worth while to consider, and still less to uphold. Nevertheless, in the interests of intellectual clearness, I feel bound to say that religious experience, as we have studied it, cannot be cited as unequivocally supporting the infinitist belief. The only thing that it unequivocally testifies to is that we can experience union with something larger than ourselves and in that union find our greatest peace. Philosophy, with its passion for unity, and mysticism with its monoideistic bent, both “pass to the limit” and identify the something with a unique God who is the all-inclusive soul of the world. Popular opinion, respectful to their authority, follows the example which they set.

The ideal power we feel connected to, the “God” of ordinary people, is given certain metaphysical qualities by both ordinary people and philosophers. I treated those qualities with such disrespect in the lecture on philosophy. Both groups take it for granted that God is “one and only” and “infinite.” Hardly anyone thinks the idea of many finite gods is worth considering, much less defending. Nevertheless, for the sake of intellectual clarity, I feel bound to say that religious experience, as we have studied it, cannot be said to support the belief in an infinite God unequivocally. The only thing religious experience unequivocally shows is that we can experience union with something larger than ourselves. In that union we can find our greatest peace. Philosophy, with its passion for unity, and mysticism, with its tendency to focus on a single idea, both “pass to the limit.” They identify that something with a unique God who is the all-inclusive soul of the world. Popular opinion respects their authority and follows their example.

Meanwhile the practical needs and experiences of religion seem to me sufficiently met by the belief that beyond each man and in a fashion continuous with him there exists a larger power which is friendly to him and to his ideals. All that the facts require is that the power should be both other and larger than our conscious selves. Anything larger will do, if only it be large enough to trust for the next step. It need not be infinite, it need not be solitary. It might conceivably even be only a larger and more godlike self, of which the present self would then be but the mutilated expression, and the universe might conceivably be a collection of such selves, of different degrees of inclusiveness, with no absolute unity realized in it at all.³⁶² Thus would a sort of polytheism return upon us—a polytheism which I do not on this occasion defend, for my only aim at present is to keep the testimony of religious experience clearly within its proper bounds. [Compare p. 132 above.]

Meanwhile, it seems to me that a belief in a larger power adequately meets the practical needs and experiences of religion. This power exists beyond each person, yet is in some way continuous with them. It is friendly to them and to their ideals. All the facts require is that the power be both distinct from and larger than our conscious selves. Any larger power will do, as long as it is large enough to trust for the next step. It need not be infinite, and it need not be the only such power. Conceivably, the power might even be just a larger, more godlike self. Our present self would then be only a diminished expression of that larger self. The universe might conceivably be a collection of such selves, encompassing more or less within themselves. The universe might have no absolute unity at all.³⁶² In this way, a kind of polytheism would return. I am not defending polytheism here. My only aim at present is to keep the testimony of religious experience clearly within its proper bounds. [Compare p. 132 above.]

Upholders of the monistic view will say to such a polytheism (which, by the way, has always been the real religion of common people, and is so still to-day) that unless there be one all-inclusive God, our guarantee of security is left imperfect. In the Absolute, and in the Absolute only, all is saved. If there be different gods, each caring for his part, some portion of some of us might not be covered with divine protection, and our religious consolation would thus fail to be complete. It goes back to what was said on pages 131-133, about the possibility of there being portions of the universe that may irretrievably be lost. Common sense is less sweeping in its demands than philosophy or mysticism have been wont to be, and can suffer the notion of this world being partly saved and partly lost. The ordinary moralistic state of mind makes the salvation of the world conditional upon the success with which each unit does its part. Partial and conditional salvation is in fact a most familiar notion when taken in the abstract, the only difficulty being to determine the details. Some men are even disinterested enough to be willing to be in the unsaved remnant as far as their persons go, if only they can be persuaded that their cause will prevail—all of us are willing, whenever our activity-excitement rises sufficiently high. I think, in fact, that a final philosophy of religion will have to consider the pluralistic hypothesis more seriously than it has hitherto been willing to consider it. For practical life at any rate, the chance of salvation is enough. No fact in human nature is more characteristic than its willingness to live on a chance. The existence of the chance makes the difference, as Edmund Gurney says, between a life of which the keynote is resignation and a life of which the keynote is hope.³⁶³ But all these statements are unsatisfactory from their brevity, and I can only say that I hope to return to the same questions in another book.

Supporters of the monistic view will object to such polytheism that our security cannot be fully guaranteed without one all-inclusive God. Incidentally, polytheism has always been the real religion of ordinary people, and it still is today. In the Absolute, and only in the Absolute, all is saved. If there are different gods, each caring for his own part, some part of some of us might lack divine protection. Our religious comfort would therefore be incomplete. This brings us back to the point made on pages 131-133. There may be parts of the universe that are lost beyond recovery. Common sense makes less sweeping demands than philosophy or mysticism have usually made. It can accept the idea that the world is partly saved and partly lost. Ordinary moral thinking makes the world's salvation depend on how successfully each unit does its part. In the abstract, partial and conditional salvation is a very familiar idea. The only difficulty is determining the details. Some people are even unselfish enough to accept being personally among those left unsaved, if they can be convinced that their cause will prevail. All of us are willing to accept this whenever we become sufficiently excited by our activity. In fact, I think a final philosophy of religion will have to consider the pluralistic hypothesis more seriously than it has so far been willing to do. For practical life, at least, the chance of salvation is enough. Nothing in human nature is more characteristic than our willingness to live on a chance. As Edmund Gurney says, the existence of a chance makes the difference between a life marked by resignation and one marked by hope.³⁶³ But all these statements are unsatisfactory because they are so brief. I can only say that I hope to return to the same questions in another book.