How The Religious And The Naturalistic Outlooks Conflict


Religion comes into contact with naturalism and demands to be reconciled

with it, not merely at its periphery, but at its very core, namely, with

its characteristic ideal of a mathematical-mechanical interpretation of

the whole world. This ideal seems to be most nearly, if not indeed

completely, attained in reference to the inter-relations of the great

masses, in the realm of astronomy, with the calculable, inviolable, and
/> entirely comprehensible conditions which govern the purely mechanical

correlations of the heavenly bodies. To bring the same clearness and

intelligibility, the same inevitableness and calculability into the world

in general, and into the whole realm of nature down to the mysterious law

determining the development of the daintiest insect's wing, and the

stirrings of the grey matter in the cortex of the brain which reveal

themselves to us as sensation, desire, and thought, this has always been

the aim and secret faith of the naturalistic mode of thought. It is thus

aiming at a Cosmos of all Being and Becoming, which can be explained from

itself, and comprehended in itself alone, supported by its own complete

and all-sufficing causality and uniformity, resting in itself, shut up

within itself, complete in itself--a God sufficient unto himself and

resting in himself.



We do not need to probe very deeply to find out how strongly religion

resists this attempt, and we easily discover what is the disturbing

element which awakens hostile feeling. It is of three kinds, and depends

on three characteristic aims and requirements of religion, which are

closely associated with one another, yet distinct from one another, though

it is not always easy to represent them in their true proportions and

relative values. The first of these interests seems to be "teleology," the

search after guiding ideas and purposes, after plan and directive control

in the whole machinery, that sets itself in sharp opposition to a mere

inquiry into proximate causes. Little or nothing is gained by knowing how

everything came about or must have come about; all interest lies in the

fact that everything has come about in such a way that it reveals

intention, wisdom, providence, and eternal meaning, realising itself in

details and in the whole. This has always been rightly regarded as the

true concern and interest of every religious conception of the world. But

it has been sometimes forgotten that this is by no means the only, or even

the primary interest that religion has in world-lore. We call it its

highest and ultimate interest, but we find, on careful study, that two

others are associated with and precede it.



For before all belief in Providence and in the divine meaning of the

world, indeed before faith at all, religion is primarily feeling--a deep,

humble consciousness of the entire dependence and conditionality of our

existence, and of all things. The belief we have spoken of is, in relation

to this feeling, merely a form--as yet not in itself religious. It is not

only the question "Have the world and existence a meaning, and are

phenomena governed by ideas and purposes?" that brings religion and its

antagonists into contact; there is a prior and deeper question. Is there

scope for this true inwardness of all religion, the power to comprehend

itself and all the world in humility in the light of that which is not of

the world, but is above world and existence? But this is seriously

affected by that doctrine which attempts to regard the Cosmos as

self-governing and self-sufficing, needing nothing, and failing in

nothing. It is this and not Darwinism or the descent from a Simian stock

that primarily troubles the religious spirit. It is more specially

sensitive to the strange and antagonistic tendency of naturalism shown

even in that marvellous and terrifying mathematical-mechanical system of

the great heavenly bodies, in this clock of the universe which, in

obedience to clear and inviolable laws, carries on its soundless play from

everlasting to everlasting, needing no pendulum and no pedestal, without

any stoppage and without room for dependence on anything outside of

itself, apparently entirely godless, but absolutely reason and God enough

for itself. It shrinks in terror from the thought that the same autonomy

and self-regulation may be brought down from the stage of immensity into

the play of everyday life and events.



But we must penetrate still deeper. Schleiermacher has directed our

attention anew to the fact that the most profound element in religion is

that deep-lying consciousness of all creatures, "I that am dust and

ashes," that humble feeling of the absolute dependence of every being in

the world on One that is above all the world. But religion does not fully

express itself even in this; there is yet another note that sounds still

deeper and is the keynote of the triad. "Let a man examine himself." Is it

not the case that we ourselves, in as far as the delight in knowledge and

the enthusiasm for solving riddles have taken hold of us, rejoice in every

new piece of elucidation and interpretation that science succeeds in

making, that we are in the fullest sympathy with the impulse to understand

everything and bring reason and clearness into it, and that we give hearty

adherence to the leading ideas which guide the investigations of natural

science? Yet on the other hand, in as far as we are religious, do we not

sometimes feel a sudden inward recoil from this almost profane eagerness

to penetrate into the mystery of things, this desire to have everything

intelligible, clear, rational and transparent? This feeling which stirs in

us has always existed in all religious minds and will only die with them.

And we need not hesitate to say so plainly. For this is the most real

characteristic of religion; it seeks depth in things, reaches out towards

what is concealed, uncomprehended, and mysterious. It is more than

humility; it is piety. And piety is experience of mystery.



It is at this point that religion comes most violently into antagonism

with the meaning and mood of naturalism. Here they first conflict in

earnest. And it is here above all that scientific investigation and its

materialistic complement seem to take away freedom and truth, air and

light from religion. For science is seeking especially this: Deeper

penetration into and illumination of the world. It presses with macroscope

and microscope into its most outlying regions and most hidden corners,

into its abysses and fastnesses. It explains away the old idea of two

worlds, one on this side and one on that, and rejects heavenly things with

the notice "No Room" of which D. Fr. Strauss speaks. It aims at

discovering the mathematical world-formulae, if not indeed one great

general formula which embraces, defines unequivocally, and rationalises

all the processes of and in infinity, from the movements of Sirius to

those of the cilia of the infusorian in the drop of water, and which not

only crowds "heaven" out of the world, but strips away from things the

fringe of the mysterious and incommensurable which seemed to surround

them.



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