tion of cause. Hence, the polytheist does not regard his gods as co-eternal, but arranges them in a theogony. Therefore they are not eternal, though they may be immortal. They are bounded in one direction. Apollo is born of Zeus, and Zeus is the son of Kronos. Ahuramazda and Agra-mainyus start into contrast out of the bosom of illimitable time (Zervána-akarana).

If we consider the idea of substance as it presents itself to the intelligence, we shall find that it also directs the mind towards monotheism.

In scholastic, and indeed in common parlance, every object is supposed to have substance, that is, "id quod substat, remotis accidentibus," something which constitutes the being, distinct from other beings, of the object, in contradistinction to the accidents which are the qualities and appearances. The substance is that which remains constant whilst the properties vary. The object may be indefinitely modified, its accidents may undergo a total revolution, but the substance is the nucleus of identity which is invariable and indestructible. Thus my individual consciousness is my substance, though the accidents of my body change, and are indeed in constant flux. The caterpillar, the chrysalis, and the butterfly are substantially identical, though perceptibly different. I take a block of Carrara marble; I carve out of it a statue of Venus; then with hammer and chisel I mutilate the figure and reduce it to an inform mass. I know perfectly that under all these modifications there lies substantial identity. I know that the block, the statue, and the inform mass are not three distinct substances, for I observe a link uniting a variety of impressions into one, and that unity I call substance. The continuity of the impressions does not form the substance. The whiteness of the marble does not constitute

the identity, for I may tint my Venus without losing the sense of the substantial unity of the marble. I do not regard the impressions as the substance; I feel the block to be rough and the sculpture to be smooth, and I do not suppose roughness or smoothness to be that which constitutes the being of marble. This is denied by certain modern philosophers. Mr. Mill takes a rose: a determinate mixture of red colour, of a certain fragrance, and of softness of touch and the like, he says, is popularly termed a rose. "But what is the rose beside the colour, the form, and so on?" he asks. "Not knowing what it is, but supposing it to be something, we invent a name to stand for it. We call it a substratum. This substratum, when closely examined, is not distinguishable from cause. It is the cause of the qualities; that is, the cause of the causes of our sensations." 1 Whether there be a substance or not matters nothing to our argument. As a fact, men, the world all over, do believe in substance. To them a rose is not a cluster of qualities, but the qualities are the attributes of the rose.

Popularly, substance is detached from accidents, and distinguished from them by the idea of permanence inhering in it under modification. Popularly, substance is supposed to have real being, and the accidents to be but the medium, the ever-varying and transitory forms it assumes to become sensible.

Now substance can be conceived to be corporeal or spiritual.

Let us take corporeal substance first.

Corporeal substance is the essence underlying matter. Now, if the substratum be, as has been shown, permanent in the midst of change, then qualities are not essentials of substance; or, at least, the only quality from which it can

1 James Mill: Anal. i. 262.

not free itself is extension. Anyhow, substance is conceivable disengaged from its clothing of accidents. Science teaches us that in nature nothing is lost. Burn a candle. The chemist assures you that every atom that was in the tallow and wick still exists under another form, and in a different combination. The being of each particle is still extant. The diamond and common soot are substantially identical in the eye of the analytical chemist, but they are sensibly distinct. Thus the qualities may be wholly altered without affecting the substance. Substance is therefore without properties. The accidents of tree and rock and stream are put on and cast off arbitrarily; the substance of tree is indistinguishable from the substance of rock, or from the substance of stream. But if substance be unfettered by qualities, then all substances are alike, or rather, all substance is one. Hence the world is but a phantasmagoria of ever-shifting appearances, which flit around a central core of being. This train of reasoning is the key to pantheism. From this arose the philosophy of the Ionic, Pythagorean, and Epicurean schools, the theories of Lao-tse in China, those of Sánkya and Gautama in India, of Leibnitz and the modern pantheists in Europe.

The idea of spiritual substance is the basis of theism.

The conception of corporeal substance is derived from the consideration of the material world, that of spiritual substance from introspection. Thus, the first is a physical idea; the latter is a psychological one.

As soon as man turns from the observation of nature, and directs his attention on himself—that is, on his mental structure he becomes aware that there is a spiritual substance within him analogous to the corporeal substance he supposes in nature. If the oneness of an object is unaltered, through however many changes it passes, so is it with

his mind. A stream of perceptions, notions, and volitions has flowed uninterruptedly over it from earliest childhood without disturbing its identity. He remembers, combines, compares, and reasons on impressions and thoughts which have been received at various periods of life, and under differing circumstances. The ideal world is in continual flux, yet the ideographic faculty remains permanent, otherwise how could it recall and reflect on presentations of the past? Unless the past and present be en rapport, the past would be a blank. Unless the man be identical with the child, he cannot recall the impressions of childhood. When five years old I saw a red rose; when fifteen I saw a white rose; when twenty-five I saw a yellow one: I then represent to my mind the red and the white ones. I can only do so because there is a continuity in the mind which received the three perceptions; otherwise it would be the same as though the three roses were seen by three distinct personages, and the presentations could not then be compared ideally. Unless there be a continuity of the substance of the mind, the phenomena presented to it by the senses would flash out of night, and leave night behind them as black as the night that preceded them.

And not only must there be continuity of spiritual substance, but also a perfect oneness of perceptive power at the moment of perception. For if, instead of having one mind reflecting the lights admitted by the senses, I had three insulated consciousnesses, A, B, and C, I should be unable to unite the perceptions. Say, A perceived colour, B perceived form, and C perceived weight; then my ideas of the objects of nature would have in them no unity; they would be partial and fragmentary. If their perceptions were focussed on one convergent point, then that point would be the conscious self, and A, B, and C would be but

channels of sensation. Hence man has a conviction of the existence in himself of a spiritual substance, and of the unity of that substance.

The pantheist conjectures an ultimate corporeal substance, conditioning itself in nature. The theist conjectures a primary spiritual substance, whence all spiritual substances are derived. For he observes that the minds of men are homogeneous, that the difference in minds is not a difference in essence, but in receptivity of impressions and in powers of ratiocination. He observes that, just as his bodily frame resembles in its nature that of his brother men, so does his spiritual organization exhibit a homoousia with that of his brother men. Relation implies community of origin. He therefore supposes all spirits to be derived from one spirit, not from many, or they would be diverse in kind, which they are not. That one spirit he supposes to be God. He argues thus. The members of my family derive their being from me. My brothers have large families, and the whole group of relations forms a clan. These brothers and I derive our being from our father, who had many brothers having families, and the whole group of these relations form the tribe. The father of the tribe was brother to the fathers of other tribes; these tribes together form the nation. The father of the nation was brother to the ancestors of other nations. All nations form the human stock, which thus derives from a primeval father.

This primeval parent was a compound of corporeal substance and spiritual substance, as are all his descendants. Whence did he draw his nature?

The earth is the palpable seat of matter, and that furnished him with his body. His spiritual substance he must have derived from God. Many religions have been