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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 35

"Is it Reasonable to Worship God?

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"Is it Reasonable to Worship God?

The first of two nights' debate in the Co-operative Hall, Nottingham, between the Rev. R. A. Armstrong and Mr. Charles Bradlaugh; G. B. Rothera, Esq., in the chair.

The Chairman: Ladies and Gentlemen,—I have had the pleasure, during the last few weeks, of spending a very pleasant holiday on the heather-covered mountains of Scotland. On reaching Edinburgh on my way homeward, I received a letter from my friend, Mr. Armstrong, informing me of the arrangements for to-night's debate, and of the wish that was felt that I should preside. Though a private communication, yet as it contains the grounds upon which the request was made, and in part also those upon which I was induced to comply, I shall be glad if Mr. Armstrong will kindly give me permission to read that letter to you. It is as follows:—

"My Dear Sir,—I have obtained your address from your son, and you must blame him for enabling me to molest you with my importunities in the midst of your holiday.

"Circumstances have led to my receiving an invitation from the local branch of the National Secular Society, and from Mr. Bradlaugh, to debate with the latter on the reasonableness of religious worship. At first strongly disposed to decline, I have been led, together with the friends whom I have consulted, to believe that it was my duty to accept the task, and, however distasteful, I am now in for it.

"It is to take place at the Co-operative Hall, on two consecutive nights, Thursday and Friday, September 5 and 6, and we are most anxious to secure the services—which I hope will be chiefly formal—of a competent chairman who will possess the respect of both parties. My own friends and the Secularists independently suggested your name, and we all feel that we should be deeply indebted to you if you would preside over us on the two nights. My earnest desire is to throw such a tone into the meetings as shall make them really helpful to genuine page 8 truth-seekers, and I have good ground for believing that many such will be present.

"I sincerely hope you will do us all this favour. I do not know where else to turn for a chairman that will be so acceptable to all concerned. Your speedy and favourable reply will be very welcome to yours truly,

R. A. Armstrong.

"Burns Street, Nottingham,

"G. B. Rothera, Esq."

Now, ladies and gentlemen, on receiving that letter my first impulse was, I think naturally, to decline, and that for two reasons—first, I find that as one gets on in life there is a stronger and stronger disposition to avoid the excitement of public meetings, to seek more and more the ease of one's own arm-chair, and to enjoy that best of all society, our books (hear). Beyond this I had real misgivings as to my ability to fill, as I ought, the duties sought to be put upon me. Nevertheless, on slight reflection, these difficulties vanished. I felt that there were occasions, of which this, probably, was one, when it becomes us to lay aside considerations of personal ease and convenience in the hope to meet the wishes of, and to be useful to, one's neighbours and friends. Now, in occupying this position I must not be considered to identify myself with either the one party or the other (hear). I may agree with either, or with neither. I am here, as I believe you are here, interested in a question of the gravest concern to all of us, as an earnest inquirer, anxious to learn and not afraid to hear (applause). My position, I take it, is very much akin to that of the Speaker of the House of Commons. I have simply to regulate the order of debate, and to ask at your hands—what I am sure I shall receive—such orderly and consistent behaviour as will become an assembly of English gentlemen. Now, in those who have charged themselves with the responsibility of this debate we have men of acknowledged ability and high culture (applause)—men who, I am sure will know well how to reconcile the duties of courtesy with the earnestness of debate. In addressing themselves to the present question, it must, I think, be clearly understood that the question, as it appears upon the paper, is not to be narrowed to a simple inquiry whether it is reasonable that we should worship God. A much wider issue must be covered by the debate, if it is to satisfy the expectations, of this audience. The question is one, I take, it between page 9 Theism and Atheism. It is not enough to postulate a Deity, and then ask whether it is reasonable or not to worship him. What I think we have a right to ask is, that the gentleman charged with the affirmative of the proposition shall adduce such evidence as will establish satisfactorily the conclusion that there is a Deity to worship. The position of the Atheist, I take it, is not one of disbelief, but of simple unbelief. He does not say that God is not, but he affirms the lack of evidence for the position that God is (hear). He does not even say that there may not be a God. What he does say is that if there is a God he has failed to manifest himself, either by the utterance of his voice, in audible revelation, or by the impression of his hand upon visible nature. I take it, therefore, and think Mr. Armstrong will be prepared to accept the position, that it will be incumbent upon him, at the outset of the discussion, to address himself to a consideration of the proofs in favour of the position that there is a God to worship. If he succeed in this, then, I think, there will be a very difficult and trying ordeal before Mr. Bradlaugh to prove that, God, being existent, is not entitled to the reasonable worship of his creatures (applause). Pardon me these remarks by way of introduction. Before calling on Mr. Armstrong to open the debate, I may just say that, by arrangement between them, Mr. Armstrong, upon whom the affirmative rests, is to be allowed half-an-hour to open the discussion; Mr. Bradlaugh half-an-hour in reply; that then the next hour will be divided into quarters, each speaker having a quarter of an hour alternately (applause). The result of this arrangement will be that Mr. Armstrong will open the debate to-night, which will be closed by Mr. Bradlaugh, while to-morrow night Mr. Bradlaugh will open the debate and Mr. Armstrong will close it. This, I think, you will regard as a satisfactory arrangement, and a liberal one, inasmuch as Mr. Bradlaugh concedes to Mr. Armstrong the advantage of the last word (applause).

Mr. Armstrong, who was cordially received, said: Mr. Chairman and friends—I wish to say two or three words at the outset of this debate as to its origin. You are many of you aware that a short time ago Mr. Bradlaugh visited this town, and gave a lecture in defence of Atheism, from this platform, in answer to Professor Max Müller's Hibbert lectures. I was led to be present then, and I offered some remarks page 10 at the close. Mr. Bradlaugh rejoined, and in the course of his rejoinder threw out, in a courteous manner, a challenge for me to meet him and discuss these weighty matters at further length. I thought no more of it then, not conceiving it to be my duty to take up that challenge. A few days afterwards, however, I received a letter from the Secretary of the Nottingham branch of the National Secular Society stating that many persons had been much interested in the words that fell from me, and that they would consider it an obligation conferred upon them, and others earnestly in pursuit of truth, if I consented to meet Mr. Bradlaugh in this manner. I replied, that for my own part, I was but little sanguine of any good effects, or a balance of good effects, resulting from such a meeting; but that the invitation being couched in such courteous and earnest terms, I would consult with friends on whose judgment I placed reliance, before finally replying. I consulted these friends, and at the same time thought the matter over further; and I came to the conclusion that, though it has undoubtedly happened that on too many occasions theological debates have been the root of bitterness and strife, yet, nevertheless, two men really in earnest about what they have to say, and speaking to persons also in earnest, who have come neither for amusement nor excitement—I came to the conclusion that a debate, conducted with tact and temper on both sides, might (may I say by the blessing of God?) conduce rather to good than to evil (applause). Under these circumstances, I accepted the challenge. I did so, though, as I said in my letter to the chairman, it is distasteful to me, because if I make anything of this occasion it can only be by exhibiting to you my inmost heart. We are not going to talk in a superficial manner—we are not going to bandy compliments, nor, I hope, exchange rebukes; but, each of us is going to search his inner consciousness, and try to express to the audience that which he finds therein. It is, perhaps, more distasteful to me on this occasion than to Mr. Bradlaugh, since I find, or believe myself to find, in my inner consciousness certain facts which Mr. Bradlaugh will no doubt tell you he does not find in his inner consciousness. These facts are to me of the most solemn and sacred nature conceivable, and to expose them before a large and public audience is a thing very like a sort of martyrdom. If I were not confident that, however little you may sympathise with what I say, you will treat it with respect or consideration, I woul page 11 never consent to drag the sacred thoughts of my soul before you to hold them up as an exhibition (hear). I am to maintain to-night—not to demonstrate (as you will see if you look at the bills)—the proposition that it is reasonable to worship God. Mr. Bradlaugh has not necessarily to disprove, but to impugn, that proposition. Now, all I have any hope of doing to-night is this—to show that it is reasonable for me and for others conscious of mental phenomena in themselves more or less akin to those of which I am conscious, to worship God. Would that I could touch you with the beauty and the sweetness of this belief—would that I could hold up before you, in all its glory and sublimity, in all its strength and holiness, the beauty and the sweetness of the worship of God. Gould I succeed in doing so, I should take your imaginations captive. I think I should get the suffrage of your reason. It is as though, sir, to-night, I had been called upon to prove that my dearest friend is worthy to be loved—ay, even that my dearest friend exists; for, if God is aught to us, he is our dearest, nearest friend—present when all others are taken from us, a sure refuge in every moment of temptation and of woe; the very highest and most intimate reality of which the mind can conceive—the sum and substance of all existence. Well, now, how do I know this God? Who is this God of whom I speak? Let me try to tell you how it seems to me that I have made acquaintance with him. I find that at certain moments of my life there is that which I can best describe as a voice—though it is a metaphor—addressed to me, influencing largely my conduct. I find that there are in me, as in all men, strong instincts, strong desires, strong self-interests—some lower, some higher, some less worthy, some more worthy, than others. I find that but for this voice of which I speak I should be entirely swayed thereby, as, so far as I can see, the brutes of the field and the forest are swayed thereby. But I find that sometimes, at moments when these instincts are the very strongest within me, and when I am about to throw myself into their realisation and give them expression in fact—I find, sometimes, at these moments that there comes to me somewhat which, so far as my consciousness delivers, is not myself. There comes to me somewhat stopping me from indulging these instincts and bidding me to curb them. I find at other times that my instincts of self-preservation, of self-regard, of pleasure-loving, and so forth—my appetites— page 12 would lead me to hold back from a certain course of action. So far as I can judge, looking into my own mind, myself is against that course of action. It appears to my reasoning powers and inclinations that I had better keep out of it. But there comes now somewhat which comes from outside, and which is no part of myself, which says, "Go and do it." That was so when I received the invitation to this debate. Again, I find that on certain occasions—alas! that I should have to say it—I have defied this monitor, I have done that which it told me not to do, or not done that which it bade me to do. I find then that there enter into me from somewhere—I know not from whence—pangs of remorse keener than ever came from any personal sorrow, more biting than ever came from any physical pain. There have been times, however—let me thank God I can say so!—when I have obeyed this voice, followed its dictates in spite of all myself seeming to drag me from it; and my experience is that on these occasions there has entered my soul, from whence I cannot tell you, a peace surpassing that given us in any other circumstances—a peace in the light of which the sorrows that at other times might cut me to the heart seem light and small, a peace in the beauty and holiness of which these sorrows seem wonderfully diminished. I will tell you what I call the source of that voice which I fancy speaks to me in that fourfold manner. I call the source of that voice "God," and that is the first thing I mean by God. I call the source of all these monitions and admonitions, these exhortations and rebukes, this voice of reproval and of approval, the voice of God; because I must give it some name, and that seems to me the simplest and the truest name I can give it. I might, perhaps, be inclined to doubt whether all this was not fancy (though I hardly think I should) if, so far as I could gather, it were an unique experience of my own; but I find that it is not so. I find that this voice is recognised by every true man and woman I meet. They may obey it or not, but they recognise it, and allow that it is there. I behold the picture by Millais of the day before the awful massacre of St. Bartho-lomew. I see the maiden leaning on her lover's bosom whilst he looks down upon her with looks of love and tenderness, and she strives to tie around his arm a scarf. She knows of the impending massacre, that all Protestants are to be slaughtered, and she would fain put this badge upon his arm as a secret signal to preserve him from the page 13 sword. Does he accept this method of escape? Although his inclination is to remain with his beloved, the strength of his right hand is given to tear the badge from his arm, and he faces death, not with joy, but with an exceeding bitter sorrow for the moment—he faces death in simple loyalty and obedience to the voice which has spoken to his heart. That is an experience which you will all recognise—one which, in less or in greater force, we have all had. Whatever explanation may be given—and, doubtless, Mr. Brad laugh has an explanation of his own—this voice of conscience is to me one of the primary evidences of the existence of God. Nay, I will not call it. an evidence; it is God speaking to me (applause). This conscience has been described by Mr. Voysey, in his recently-published sermons in refutation of Atheism, as follows: "The collision is so complete between the higher voice and the impelling instinct, that one can only feel that the two are radically different in nature, and must have had a different source. . . . To have the power of doing intentionally what one shrinks from doing, and to deny one's self the pleasure which is so fascinating, and which one longs to do, is to prove the immense superiority of our inner selves over the visible universe." To have the power, as that man, that Huguenot, must have had it, to deny one's self the pleasure which is so fascinating, and for which one longs, is to prove the immense superiority of our inner selves when hearing the voice of God over the visible universe. Again, speaking of conscience, Voysey says: "The conscience which makes us mortify our flesh with its affections and lusts, and which often mars our happiness and embitters our pleasure, upbraids us with reproaches and stings us with remorse, that voice which hushes our cry for happiness, which will not endure a single selfish plea, but demands unquestioning obedience, and bids us fall down in the very dust before the Majesty of Duty—we all, in our secret hearts, revere this power, whether or not we obey it as we should. At least, we pay to it the homage of our inmost souls, and feel how great and grand it is to be its slave." Now, sir, I desire to pass on to another method, by which it seems to me that I apprehend this being. Having made the acquaintance with this awful voice—and the philosopher Kant said two things filled him with awe, the starry heavens and the moral nature in man—I pass on to another matter. Behold the starry heaven itself. I know not how page 14 it is with you, but I will tell you my experience—and we are told by scientific men that we must bring everything to the test of experience. Sometimes when I have been out of temper—as I am sometimes, like other people—sometimes, when I have been much distracted with cares, when troubles and pains have been thick upon me, it falls to my lot to go out beneath the starry heaven. What is it that I experience in my soul? I go through no process of metaphysical reasoning, I do not argue with myself, but I simply feel that there is a Divine presence there, in whose hand are all these stars and all these worlds—a great voice singing, "I am strong and I am good, and you are safe nestling in my hand." I know not if that corresponds with the experience of all here, but that it corresponds with the experience of many, I feel sure; and let me ask such not to drive away these holy feelings, but to trust them as the assurance which God gives of his presence. It may be that in those lakes and mountains which you, sir, have seen of late, you may have heard a message whispering to your soul of a peace beyond the peace of earth—of a presence before which all things are well. In others, not so sensitive perhaps to the beauties of natural scenery, such experience comes in the tones of music—in some grand symphony or some sweet song; and they feel lifted away from the things of earth, and they feel lifted into some presence in which it is a joy to be, and which fills their soul with peace. That presence I call, having no other name for it, the presence of God. Observe, that in this I am not philosophising about the cause—I am not saying that God is the cause and so on; I am only relating the experience of my consciousness, reported to you as faithfully and truly as I can read it. Let me read what Professor Blackie wrote the other day: "Many things can be known only by being felt, all vital forces are fundamentally unknowable." And, says Francis Newman, that arch-heretic: "The astronomer is ever aware of the presence of gravitation and the electrician sees all things pervaded by electricity—powers descried by the mind, unwitnessed by any sense, long unknown to the wise, still unknown or undiscerned by the vulgar; yet this perception of things hidden is not esteemed cloudy." Now, having made some acquaintance with this awful, inscrutable something, to which I venture to give the name of God, I venture to lift up to it the voice of my soul, and strive to throw myself towards that Being. And what is my page 15 experience? Let us go to experience again: I find when my mind is bewildered and in doubt, when it is all involved with difficulties, that somehow, when I address that Being, there comes to my soul "clear-shining," and I see things plainer and more beautiful than before. I appeal to him in pain and sorrow—not with the coward's prayer, but simply asking that I may feel his presence, to endure it; and the pain and sorrow have become light on the instant assurance that God is there to comfort and console. I pray to him in weakness, when my strength fails, and what is the result? That a new manhood comes to me, and I feel that wondrous power which over-arches all the worlds, and I feel that I have in me also somewhat of his strength. I appeal to him, last of all, in temptation, when the wrong deed presses closely on my inclinations, and what do I find? That strength is given me to stand up against temptation, and he answers according to the immemorial prayer of Christendom: deliver us from temptation. This is experience, or I fancy it is. It is not theory. Again, I am in gladness. When is my gladness greatest, and when is it richest? Why, when it flows up and out, in thankfulness and adoration, to the source to which I trace it. Then my gladness seems to receive an influence which lifts it up above. No gladness is the true gladness without that. Let me conclude this half-hour by reading a very short extract from Professor Newman. Speaking of the instincts of mankind, he says:—

And the instinct of Religion is the noblest of them all, The bravest, the most enduring, the most fruitful in mighty deeds,

The source of earliest grandeur, unitress of scattered tribes; Even in the crudeness of its infancy, when unpurified by science, Yet teeming with civilisation, with statesmanship, with letters. Mistress of all high art, and parent of glorious martyrs. And if from it have come wars, and bigotries, and cruelties, Through infantine hot-headedness and unripeness of mind, We take your aid, O Sceptics! to purge it from all such evils, And kindly honour we pay to you for your battles against superstition;

Yet the very evils ye deplore, prove Religion's mighty energy, And the grasp deeply seated which she has within human hearts."

(Loud applause.)

Mr. Bradlaugh: Thanking you, sir, for acceding to the request which I would have gladly joined in had I had any page 16 right of acquaintance to entitle me to make it; thanking you for undertaking what is always a troublesome duty, however well a debate may be conducted, of presiding over a discussion, permit me to say one word only as to the opening which fell from your lips. There is only one phrase in that which I desire to note, so as to save myself from the possibility of misapprehension. I quite agree with the view you put of the position the Atheist takes, except that if Dualism be affirmed, if more than Monism be affirmed, if more than one existence be affirmed, and if it be the beyond of that one existence which is called God, then the Atheist does not say there may be one, but says there cannot be one; and that is the only distinction I wish to put as against the very kind words with which you introduced the speakers this evening The question for our debate is: "Is it reasonable to worship God?" and to determine this question it is necessary to define the words "worship" and "God," and next to decide whether belief in God is reasonable or unreason able; and, secondly, whether worship is, under any, and if any, what, circumstances, reasonable or unreasonable. And I am afraid I must here except that, in the speech to which I have just listened, and which, from its tone and kindly style, is perfectly unexceptionable, there is not one word at present—it may possibly come later on—which may fairly be taken as approaching a definition either of the word "God" or the word "worship." By worship I mean act of reverence, respect, adoration, homage, offered to some person. According to this definition, worship cannot be offered to the impersonal, and according to this definition it would be unreasonable to advocate worship to be offered to the impersonal. Under the term "worship" I include prayer—which is, evidently, from the opening, also included in the term "worship" by the rev. gentleman who maintains the opposite position to myself—praise, sacrifice, offerings, solemn services, adoration, personal prostration. For the word "God," not having a definition of my own, I take—not having yet gathered, in what has fallen from Mr. Armstrong, enough to enable me to say that I understand what he means by it—I take the definition of "God" given in Professor Flint's Baird lectures; not meaning by that that Mr. Armstrong is bound by that definition, but asking him to be kind enough to note where he thinks that definition is incorrect, and to kindly tell me so, for my guidance in the latter portions of the debate. By "God," for the purpose of this debate, I shall mean a self- page 17 existent, eternal being, infinite in power and in wisdom, and perfect in holiness and goodness; the maker of heaven and earth. And by "self-existent" I mean, that, the conception of which does not require the conception of antecedent to it. For example, this glass is phenomenal, conceived, as all phenomena must be conceived, by the characteristics or qualities which enable you to think and identify it in your mind, but which cannot be conceived except as that of which there is possible antecedent and consequent, and which, therefore, cannot be considered as self-existent according to my definition. By "eternal" and by "infinite" I only mean illimitable, indefinite, to me—applying the term "eternal" to duration, and the word "infinite" to extension. I take Professor Flint, or whoever may hold the definition I have given of God, by "maker" to mean originator; and then I am in the difficulty that the word "creator," in the sense of origin, is, to me, a word without meaning. I only know creation as change; origin of phenomena, not of existence; origin of condition, not origin of substance. The words "creation" and "destruction" are both words which have no other meaning to my mind than the meaning of change. I will now try to address myself to some of the arguments that were put forward by Mr. Armstrong. He said that to him the notion of entering into this debate was distasteful to him, and he addressed somewhat of an inquiry as to my own feeling on the matter. No! the discussion of no one subject more than any other is distasteful to me, unless it be of a personal character, in which it might involve my having to say things upon which I should not like to mislead and upon which it would be painful to me to state the facts. Then a discussion would be distasteful to me; but such a discussion as this is not any more distasteful to me than the discussion of an astronomical or geological problem; and I will urge to those who go even further and say, that not only is such a matter distasteful, but that the discussion of Theism is really immoral, to such I would read from a recent volume entitled "A Candid Examination of Theism":—"If there is no God, where can be the harm in our examining the spurious evidence of his existence? If there is a God, surely our first duty towards him must be to exert to our utmost, in our attempts to find him, the most noble faculty with which he has endowed us—as carefully to investigate the evidence which he has seen fit to page 18 furnish of his own existence, as we investigate the evidence of inferior things in his dependent creation. To say that there is one rule or method for ascertaining truth in the latter case which it is not legitimate to apply in the former case, is merely a covert way of saying that the Deity—if he exists—has not supplied us with rational evidence of his existence." Now, that is the position I am going to put to you; and there ought to be nothing distasteful to anyone in proving most thoroughly the whole of the evidence upon which his supposed belief in God's existence rests. The grounds of his belief ought to be clear to himself, or they are no sufficient grounds for his belief, even to himself. If they are clear to himself they ought to be clearly stateable to others; because, if not, they lie under the suspicion of not being clear to himself. That which is sufficient to him to convince him, is either capable of being clearly stated—although it may not carry conviction to another—or it is not. If it is not capable of being clearly stated, I would suggest it is because it does not clearly exist in his own mind. Now Mr. Armstrong says that he feels as if called upon to prove that his dearest friend ought to be loved, as if called upon to prove that his dearest friend exists. He spoke of God as being to him his dearest friend, and he followed that with some words as to which I am not quite sure whether he intended to use them in the sense in which they fell upon my ears. He described God as "the sum and substance of all existence." I do not want to make any verbal trick, and if I am putting more on Mr. Armstrong than he meant to convey I should like to be put right when he rises again, and I will ask him if he considers God to be the sum and substance of all existing; and, if he does not, I will ask him in what respect he distinguishes between God, in his mind, and the sum and substance of all existence; because clearly, when he used those words he had some meaning in his mind, and I should like to know these two things: First, do you identify God in your mind with the sum and substance of all existence? If not, in what respects do you distinguish God in your mind from the sum and substance of all existence? If you say that you identify God with the sum and substance of all existence, then I ask, are we included in that sum and substance of all existence? And if we are included in that sum and substance of all existence, is it reasonable for one phenomenon or for a number of phenomena, to offer worship page 19 to any of, and to how much of, what remains? Then he addressed himself to the very old argument, which he put so beautifully, when he said: "How do I know God?" and launched into what is known as the argument from conscience, an argument very fully stated by Professor Flint in the Baird lectures to which I have referred. Mr. Armstrong said, and here I will take a little exception; he said: "In me, as in all men here, are strong instincts; in me, as in all men, there are strong desires; in me, as in all men, there is a voice." That is just the blunder; that is not true. I do not mean that in any sort of disrespectful sense. If you take a volume like Topinard's "Anthropology" you find that men's desires, men's emotions, and men's instincts all vary with race, all vary with locality, with type, all vary with what Buckle called "Food, climate, soil, and life surroundings;" and I ask, if there be this variance in individuals of different races, nay, more, if there be this variance in individuals of the same race at the same moment, and if the members of the same race vary in different places and ages, as to their instincts, desires, and emotions, I ask you whether there has been the same variation in the source of it? You say the source is God, and if so, how can a variable source be a reliable object of worship? Then let us see a little more. "I do not desire to do something, but my monitor says 'Do;'" or the reverse; and thus voice is the evidence of Deity. I should have been obliged if Mr. Armstrong had defined exactly what it was he meant by conscience, because here we are going terribly to disagree. I am going to deny the existence of conscience altogether, except as a result of development upon organisation, including in that, transmitted predisposition of ability to possible thought or action. But if that be so, what becomes of this "still small voice," of those desires and instincts? The mere fact that the mother may have worked in a cotton-mill while child bearing and have had bad food, or that the father may have beaten her—his brutality may result in the awakening of a desire and instinct exactly the opposite of that which Mr. Armstrong has, and the organisation fitted for repeating which may be handed down through generations. I stood this morning for other purposes at the doors of Coldbath-fields Prison. One man who came out gave a sort of shrill whistle and plunged into the crowd with a defiant and a mocking air, showing that his conscience, his monitor, said nothing to him except that he was glad he was outside, and page 20 ready to war with the world again (applause). I am not wishing to press this view in any fashion unkindly or unfairly; I am only wanting to put the thing as it appears to me. I want to know: "Does Mr. Armstrong contend that there is a faculty identical in every human being which he calls conscience, which does decide for each human being, and always decides, in the same manner, what is right and what is wrong? Or does he mean that this 'monitor,' as he calls it, decides differently in different men and in different countries? And if 'yes,' is the source different in each case where there is a different expression? And if 'yes,' is it justifiable and reasonable to offer worship to an uncertain source, or to a source which speaks with a different voice, or to a source which is only one of a number, and of which you do not know how far its limit extends, and where its jurisdiction begins or ends?" Let us follow this out a little more. We have not only to define conscience, but we have also to define right and wrong, and I did not hear Mr. Armstrong do that. I did hear him say that when he had done something in opposition to his monitor he felt remorse. I did hear him say there was struggling between himself and his monitor, and here I had another difficulty. What is the himself that struggles, as distinguished in his mind from the monitor that he struggles against? If the struggle is a mental one, what is mind struggling against? and if it is not, how does Mr. Armstrong explain it? Let us, if you please, go to right and wrong. By moral I mean useful. I mean that that is right which tends to the greatest happiness of the greatest number, with the least injury to any. I am only following Jeremy Bentham. That is my definition of right. Many matters which have been held to come within that definition in one age have been found in another age not to come within it, and the great march of civilisation is that from day to day it instructs us in what is useful. I submit that instead of adoring the source of contradictory verdicts it is more reasonable to find out for ourselves some rule we can apply. For example, here Mr. Armstrong's conscience would not raise any particular objection to his taking animal food, unless he happens to be a vegetarian, and then, I am sure, he would conscientiously carry it out; but the majority of people's consciences in England would raise no great objection to taking animal food. Yet in China and in Hindustan hundreds of thousands of human beings have died because vegetable food was not there for them, and page 21 their consciences made them prefer death to tasting animal food. I want to know whether the conscience is from the same source here as in Hindustan, and I want to know, if that is so, which people are justified in worshipping the source? Take the case of murder. Mr. Armstrong's conscience would clearly tell him that it was wrong to murder me. And yet there are many people in this country who would not go to that extent. But I am going to take a stronger illustration. There are a number of people who think it perfectly right to bless the flags of a regiment, and to pray to the God whom Mr. Armstrong asks me to worship, that a particular regiment, whose flags are blessed, may kill the people of some other particular regiment as rapidly as possible. This shows that there are confusions of mind as to what is meant by murder, and a like confusion exists on a number of other matters on which the monitor is misrepresenting. And then Mr. Armstrong has said, "I mean by God the source of admonition, rebukes, remorse, trouble," and he says: "It is a conscience-voice which is recognised by every true man and woman." I am sure he would not wish to put any position stronger than it should be put, and he put it, too, that this was the feature in which man differed from the brutes. I am inclined to tell him that not only there is not that recognition to-day amongst the physiological and psychological teachers, but that we have a number of men whose researches have been collected for us, who show us that what you call the "still small voice," this monitor, these desires, instincts, emotions, are to be found—varied, it is true—right through the whole scale of animal life. Whereever there is a nervous encephalic apparatus sufficient you have—except in the fact of language—wider distinction between the highest order of human race and the lowest, than you have between the lowest order of human beings and those whom you are pleased to call brutes. I will now only take the illustration of the eve of St. Bartholomew, which is fatal to the argument of Mr. Armstrong. He gave the Protestant lover—a very fine character—rejecting the symbolic bandage, and preferring to die for his faith; or, as Mr. Armstrong put it, "to face death in simple loyalty rather than play the hypocrite, and the source of that feeling was God." Was that the source of the feeling which led Bruno to be burnt at the stake as if for Atheism, or for Vanini, burnt for Atheism; or for Lescynski, burnt page 22 for Atheism; or for Mrs. Besant, robbed of her child because of her avowal of Atheism (hisses)? You are hissing; wait whilst I answer. Is the source of your hissing, God? Then what a cowardly and weak thing, and little fitted for worship must be that source (applause). I desire to deal with this subject in all gravity, in all sincerity, in all kindness, but I plead for a cause—weakly, it is true—for which great and brave men and women have died, and I will permit no insult to it in my presence—(cheers)—knowingly I will pass none. I believe my antagonist to meet me loyally, honourably, and honestly, and I believe him to meet me earnestly and sincerely. I believe he has no desire to wound my feelings, and I do not wish to wound his; and I ask you, the jury here, to try to follow the same example set by him in this debate (cheers).

Mr. Armstrong, being received with cheers, said: It is very difficult indeed to think on these deep problems under consideration with excitement amongst the audience present, therefore I hope that you will be as quiet as you can. I will begin at once with a confession—and this, at any rate, will be a testimony of my candour—by saying that the moment I had spoken certain words in my opening speech I thought: "Mr. Bradlaugh will have me there;" and he had me (laughter). The words were those in which I spoke of God as the sum and substance of all existence. Now, to me, God is a much simpler word than the phrase, "sum and substance of all existence." Whether God be the "sum and substance of all existence" I know not, for those words convey to me less clear meaning than the word "God" conveys to me. The source, moreover, of my immediate knowledge of God is such that it can make no asseverations whatever upon deep questions of metaphysics, as to what the "sum and substance of all existence" may consist. Mr. Bradlaugh has taken a definition of God from Professor Flint. He is a Scotchman, and Scotchmen are very fond of definitions (a laugh). Very often, too, their definitions obscure their subject-matter, and it is far harder to get any proper significance from them than in the thing which they intended to define. I am utterly incapable of saying whether that definition of Professor Flint's is an accurate definition of God or not. What I mean by "God," and perhaps Mr. Bradlaugh will take it as the best definition I can here give, is the source, whatever it be, of this metaphorical voice—of these intimations or monitions, page 23 that come to me in certain experiences which I have. Mr. Bradlaugh, of course, devoted much time to answering Professor Flint. He asked whether God was the source of that loyalty with which the Atheists he mentioned went to the stake, and I say from the bottom of my heart, that he was. God knows the Atheist though the Atheist knows not him. God is the source of loyalty of heart, in whomsoever it may be. If others are led to propound propositions which I believe to be false, and if they dispute other propositions which I believe to be true, do you think that God is going to judge them for that, so long as they have been true and faithful to their own reasoning powers (applause)? Mr. Bradlaugh noticed the phrase which fell from me, about a discussion like this being distasteful to me. I did not say that the matter under discussion was distasteful to me. I did not say that a discussion under other conditions would be distasteful to me. I did not say that it was at all distasteful to me to search the grounds of my own belief, for my own belief would be poor indeed were not such search my constant practice (hear, hear). Mr. Bradlaugh laid great stress, during the greater part of his speech, upon what appear to be, in different races and in different climes, the different and contradictory deliverances of conscience. That difficulty is one which has been felt by many persons, and dealt with, well and ill, by various writers. The difficulty is one of importance, and it arises, perhaps, from the word "conscience" being used in various different senses. My use of the word "conscience" is simply as being that voice of God (as I still call it) which says, "Do the right; don't do the wrong." It does not in anyway say what is right or what is wrong. That which I call the right, like so much of our manhood, is the gradual development, and evolution of history, and it is largely dependent, as Mr. Bradlaugh says, upon climate and other external surroundings. We have to reason about what is right and wrong. We must have gradual education of the individual and of the race to get a clearer and more worthy conception of the right and wrong; and all I claim for conscience is that the man, having resolved in his own mind what is right and what is wrong, this conscience says, "Do the right, and do not the wrong." Therefore, instates of barbarous society, where misled reason has induced persons to think certain things were right which we look upon as crimes, still the voice of conscience must necessarily tell them to do the right. The page 24 thing is right to the individual if he thinks it right. It may be a terrible mistake of his—it may be a terrible mistake to believe or teach certain things; nevertheless, the voice of conscience says, "Do the right;" it does not define what the right is. That is one of the things which God leaves to be developed in humanity by slow degrees. Thank God, we see that the idea of the right and the wrong is purifying—is clarifying in the course of history. The conception of what is right and what is wrong is better now than it was a hundred years ago; the conception of what is right and what is wrong is better still than it was a thousand years ago. Many of the things then considered laudable are now considered base; and many of the things then considered base are now considered laudable. This voice of which I speak, however, like all other voices, may not be equally perceived at all times. Supposing that you were at school, and a certain bell rang at six o'clock every morning. If you accustom yourself to rising when the bell rings, you will naturally enough go on hearing it; but if you get into the habit of disregarding it, and turning over on the other side for another nap, the bell may sound loudly but you will cease to hear it. So it is, I take it, with the voice of God, which ever speaks—which ever pleads—but against which man may deafen himself. He may make himself so dull of understanding that he may not hear it clearly. Not only the individual man's own obstinacy may make him dull of hearing, but it must be conceded that this dulness of hearing may descend to him from long generations of those from whom he proceeds. It may be a part of his inheritance. But it does not follow that this voice does not exist, and that it does not still plead with-him if he had the ear to hear it. No man is so lost but that if he strives to hear, that voice will become to him clearer and more clear. I ask you here whether you find any difficulty in deciding what, to you, is right or wrong? Mr. Bradlaugh is very fond of definitions. The words "right" and "wrong" are so simple that any definition of them would only obscure them. I know, and you know, what you mean by right and wrong. If I say of a thing, "That is not right, don't do it," you know what I mean. Can I speak in any plainer way than to say of a thing, "That is not right"? If there is no better way of explaining what you mean than this—if there is no plainer way—it is best not to attempt to define the word, because the definition would only tend to obscure it. Not being page 25 much accustomed to debates of this description, much of what I desired to say in the first half-hour was not said. I am told that all this experience which I have been trying to relate to you is fancy, and I am asked to prove that there is some being who can be imagined to be this God whom I believe I hear speaking to me. I might ask: "Is it not. enough that not only do I think I hear this voice, but that so many hundreds and thousands of the great and good have also thought so? Is it not enough that many of the great reformers, many of the great leaders in the paths of righteousness and mercy, in this England of ours, tell us that they hear this voice? You must, if you deny it, either think they lie or that they are deluded. When Newman, Voysey, Theodore Parker—the glorious abolitionist of America—say that it is their most intimate experience, it is somewhat shallow to assert that there is nothing in it. I am not one of those who think that the existence of a God can be proved to the understanding of every one in a large audience on à priori grounds. At the same time the balance of probability on à priori grounds seems to be, to me, strongly in favour of Theism. I find that there is, in my own mental constitution, a demand for cause of some kind for every phenomenon. I want to know what has led to the phenomenon, and I find a good many other people are apt to inquire in the like direction. Even very little children, before they are sophisticated by us teachers and parsons, want to be informed as to the causes of things. Another point—I cannot help believing that all cause must be intelligent. Yes, I knew that would go down in Mr. Brad-laugh's notes; but I say again, I cannot conceive of any cause which is not intelligent in some sort of way (applause).

Mr. Bradlaugh: There are two things which are evidently quite certain so far as my opponent is concerned; one is that we shall have a good-tempered debate, and the other that we shall have a candid debate. Mr. Armstrong has said frankly, with reference to the definition of God, that he is perfectly incapable of saying whether the definition of Professor Flint is correct or not, and he has, I think I may say, complained that I am too fond of definitions. Will he permit me on this to read him an extract from Professor Max Müller's recent lecture: "It was, I think, a very good old custom never to enter upon the discussion of any scientific problem without giving beforehand definitions of the principal terms that had to be employed. A book on logic or grammar generally opened page 26 with the question, What is logic? What is grammar? No one would write on minerals without first explaining what he meant by a mineral, or on art, without defining, as well as he might, his idea of art. No doubt it was often as troublesome for the author to give such preliminary definitions as it seemed useless to the reader, who was generally quite incapable in the beginning of appreciating their full value. Thus it happened that the rule of giving verbal definitions came to be looked upon after a time as useless and obsolete. Some authors actually took credit for no longer giving these definitions, and it soon became the fashion to say that the only true and complete definition of what was meant by logic or grammar, by law or religion, was contained in the books themselves which treated of these subjects. But what has been the result? Endless misunderstandings and controversies which might have been avoided in many cases if both sides had clearly defined what they did and what they did not understand by certain words." I will show you presently where this need of accurate definition comes so very strongly. Mr. Armstrong is quite clear that he knows what right means; he is also quite clear that you know what he means. That may be true, but it also may not, and I will show you the difficulty. Suppose there were a thorough disciple, say of some bishop or church, who thought it right to put to death a man holding my opinions. That man would think the capital punishment for heresy right, Mr. Armstrong would not. That man's conscience would decide that it was right, Mr. Armstrong's would decide that it was not. What is the use of saying you both know what is right? The word right is a word by which you label certain things, thoughts, and actions, the rightness of which you have decided on some grounds known only to yourselves. It may be they are pleasant to you or disagreeable to your antagonist. I, in defining morality, gave you my reason for labelling the thing with the name "right." Mr. Armstrong has given you no reason whatever. Mr. Armstrong says that conscience is the voice of God which says: "Do that which is right, don't do that which is wrong." Yet the divine voice does not tell you what is right and what is wrong. Hence that conscience talking to the cannibal: "It is right to eat that man, he's tender; it's wrong to eat that man, he's tough"—(laughter)—and the voice of God says: "eat the tender men because it is right; don't eat the tough men because it is wrong." I ask how that illustration is to be page 27 dealt with? If the voice does not in any way enable you to determine the character of the act, then it simply means that what you call the voice of God asks you to continue committing every error which has been bequeathed you from past times as right, and to avoid every good thing because in past times it has been condemned and is yet condemned as wrong. If that is to be the conclusion, then I say that the voice of God is not a voice to be worshipped, and that it is not reasonable to worship such a voice; and taking that to be the definition I submit that upon that a negative answer must be given in this debate. Mr. Armstrong very frankly and candidly says that the conception of what is right and wrong is being cleared and purified day by day. That is, the conception now is different to what it was one hundred years ago, and better still than it was a thousand years ago; but the voice of God, a thousand years ago, told the Armstrong and Bradlaugh then living, to do that which conscience said to them was right, and which the conscience to-day says is wrong. Was God governed by the mis-education, the mis-information, and the mis-apprehension of the time? If the God was outside the ignorance of the day, why did he not set the people right? Was he powerless to do it? In which case, how do you make out that he is God? Or had he never the willingness to do it? In which case how do you make out that he was God good? And if he preferred to leave them in blindness, how do you reconcile that? Then we are told the voice is not always clear, but that you may make it more clear by a habit of obedience. That is so I suppose. And you may transmit the predisposition to the habit of galloping to horses on this side the ocean, the predisposition to the habit of trotting to horses on the other side the ocean; to thinking Mahommedanism in Turkey, and to thinking another "ism" in England, and some other "ism" in Hindustan. You do not transmit the actual thought any more than you transmit the actual gallop or trot, but you transmit the predisposition, given the appropriate surroundings to reproduce any action physical or mental. And the source of this is God, is it? I vow I do not understand how the Theist is to meet the contradiction thus involved. Then, Mr. Armstrong says that when he uses the word "right," he defies anyone to make it plainer. Let us see what that means: I forge a cheque; Mr. Armstrong says that's wrong. Why? Oh! it is a dishonest and dishonourable thing, it tends to page 28 injure, and so on. But let us see whether you are always quite clear about these things? When you are annexing a country, for example; praying to your God that you may annex successfully, and that he will protect you when you have annexed, does not your conscience run away with you, or does not God mislead you in some of these things? Is it not true that the moment you get outside the definition of the word "right," and the moment you say: "I have a standard of right which I will not tell you, because nothing I tell you will make it clear" you are launched at once into a heap of absurdities and contradictions? You think it is right to have one wife, the Turk thinks it right to have two. How are you to determine between them? It only means, that one of you has labelled bigamy "right" and the other has labelled it "wrong." You must have some kind of explanation to justify what you are talking about it. We had an argument offered by Mr. Armstrong which, if it meant anything, meant that the voice of the majority should prevail. Mr. Armstrong said, that it was not only his experience but that of thousands of others. Does he mean to tell me that problems of this kind are to be determined by an untrained majority, or by the verdict of a skilled minority? If by a majority, I have something to say to him, and if by the skilled minority, how are you to select them? In his first speech, which I did not quite finish replying to, we were told that God's peace and beauty were apprehended in lakes and mountains. But I have seen one lake—Michigan—the reverse of peace and beauty; I have seen little vessels knocked about by the waves, and dashed to pieces; and I have seen Mount Vesuvius when it has been the very opposite of calm and beautiful, and I have heard of the houses at Torre del Grecco—though I have never seen it—being burned in the night by the fiery lava stream. Where is the peace and beauty of that scene? You can take peace. Given a lake, and I can show you a tornado. Given a mountain and I can give you Vesuvius with the fiery stream burning the huts of the fishers on the slope of Torre del Grecco. Did God do this? Did God run the two vessels into one another on the Thames and have those hundreds of people drowned? If you take credit for the beauty you must also take debit for the pain and misery (applause). Well, then, I am told that religion is the noblest of all instincts. Max Müller tells us—whether that be true or not, as Francis Newman puts it—that page 29 religion is a word about which people never have agreed in any age of the world; about which there have been more quarrels than about any other word, and about which people have done more mischief than about any other word; and I will ask our friend to explain, if it be the noblest of all instincts, how is it that people have racked each other, and beheaded each other, and tortured each other by, or in the name of, this religion? We are told, and I am thankful to hear it, that we sceptics have purged it of a great deal of mischief, and we hope to do more in that way as we go on (applause). And here—and I want to speak with as much reverence as I can on the subject of prayer, and it is extremely difficult to touch upon it without giving my opponent pain—so I will deal with it as a general, and not a personal question. Mr. Armstrong said, after speaking of how he prayed against temptation: "He answered me as he has answered the immemorial prayer of Christendom and delivered me from temptation." Why does he not deliver from the temptation that misery, poverty, and ignorance bring to the little one who did not choose that he should be born in a narrow lane, or a back street, in an atmosphere redolent of squalor and filth? This little one, whom God can lift out of temptation, but whom he lets still be cold and miserable, whom he sees famishing for food, him whom he sees go famishing to the baker's, watching to steal the loaf to relieve his hunger—why won't he deliver this little one? Does Mr. Armstrong say: "Oh, the little one must know how to pray before God will answer him"? Oh, but what a mockery to us that the source of all power places within the reach of the temptation—nay, puts as though surrounded by a mighty temptation trap, so that there should be no possible escape—that little one, and then gives way to the skilled entreaty, high tone, habit-cultured voice which Mr. Armstrong uses, while he is deaf to the rough pleading of the little one, and allows him to sink down, making no effort for his recovery! I have only one or two words more to say to you before I again finish, and I would use these to ask Mr. Armstrong to tell me what he meant by the word "cause," and what he meant by saying "cause must be intelligent"? By cause, I mean, all that without which an event cannot happen—the means towards an end, and by intelligence I mean the totality of mental ability—its activity and its results in each animal capable of it.

Mr. Armstrong: Mr. Bradlaugh has just been re- page 30 buking me for my laxness with respect to definitions, and has come down upon me with a great authority. Now, it is a habit of mine not to think much of authorities as authorities, but rather of the value of what they say. Mr. Bradlaugh came down upon me with Max Müller, and read a sentence in reference to the value of definitions, to the effect that they were wonderful things for preventing and avoiding controversies and disputes. Is it, I ask, Mr. Bradlaugh's experience that the number of definitions given from public platforms in his presence has tended to less controversy or to more? Has there been more or less talk with all these definitions, than there would have been without them? I fancied that Mr. Bradlaugh's career had been one very much connected with controversies, and that the definitions which he has been accustomed to give have not had the effect of leaving him in peace from controversy. I am perfectly amazed at Mr. Bradlaugh's memory, at the wonderful manner in which he manages to remember, with tolerable accuracy, what I have said, and to get down as he does the chief points of my speeches. I have, unfortunately, a miserable memory, although I have an excellent shorthand which I can write, and I cannot generally read it (laughter). Trusting, however, to those two guides, I must endeavour to reply. Mr. Bradlaugh unintentionally misrepresented me when he alleged that I had said that the voice of God, called conscience, was not always clear. I did not say that that voice was not always clear—what I said was that it was not always clearly heard. I illustrated this by the simile of the bell, the sound of which was perfectly clear of itself, but which was not heard by those who would not heed. Mr. Bradlaugh also accused me of going in for the authority of majorities, because I quoted a number of names and said that I might quote many more who concurred in the belief in Deity grounded upon the sort of experience which I said that I had myself enjoyed. Now, the opinions of the majority have no authority—at least they go for what they are worth, but are not a binding or an absolute authority. But the experience of a majority, or of a minority, or of a single individual, has authority. The experience of a single man is a fact, and all the rest of the world not having had that experience, or thinking that they have not had it, does not make it less the fact. Therefore, if you have half-a-dozen men upon whose words you can rely, who page 31 say that they have had a certain experience, because Mr. Bradlaugh says he has not had such experience, that makes it none the less the fact. Now I approach that awful question which stares in the face of the Theist—and which ioften seems to stare most cruelly—this question of the evil in the world. It is a question upon which the greatest intellects of mankind have broken themselves, one which has never been really explained or made clear, either by the Theist or the Atheist, but which is probably beyond the solution of the human faculties. All that we can do is to fringe the edge of the mystery, and to see whether the best feelings within us seem to guide us to anything approaching a solution. Do you think that these things of which Mr. Bradlaugh has spoken do not touch me as they touch him? Look, say, at the poor child born in misery, and living in suffering; it would absolutely break my heart if I thought that this could be the end of all. I believe that it would weigh me down so that I could not stand upon a public platform, or perform the ordinary business of life, if I believed that there were beings in the world of whom misery and sin were the beginning and the end. But I thank God that I am enabled to maintain my reason upon its seat, and my trust intact. I know, or I think I know, God as a friend. If he be a friend to me, shall he not be a friend to all? If I know by my own experience his wondrous loving kindness, can I not trust him for all the rest of the world, through all the ages of eternity? You may see a son who shall be familiar with his father's kindness, who shall always be kindly treated by his father; and there shall be a great warm love between them. But the child sees certain actions on the part of his father which he cannot explain. He beholds suffering apparently brought by his father upon others, and is, perhaps, inclined to rebel against his father's authority. But which is the truest child—the child who, having himself experienced his father's love, says: "Well, this is strange, it is a mystery; I would it were not so, but I know that my father is good, and will bring some good out of this which could not have been obtained otherwise;" or the child who says: "All my experience of my father's goodness shall go to the winds. I see a problem which I cannot explain, and I will, therefore, throw up my trust, rebel against the paternal goodness, and believe in my father's love no more!" It would be base in such of you as may be Atheisst to rest in such a trust, since you do not know the page 32 love of God; but were you touched with that love, this trust would come to you. It would come to you in your best and truest moments, the moments when you feel that you are most akin with all that is good and holy, and when you feel, as it were, lifted above what is base. This problem of the evil in the world, I have said, surpasses the faculties of humanity to solve, either from the platform of the Theist, the Atheist, or the Pantheist. I ask you what you conceive to be the highest good to humanity? Is not the highest good, virtue? You say, it may be, happiness is better. Take the Huguenot. One way, with him, led to happiness, the other to destruction. Was the choice he made the better or the worse? You say the better? Then you hold that virtue is better than happiness. With regard to virtue, imagine, if you can, a world free from every sort of suffering, from every sort of temptation, every sort of trial, what a very nice world to live in, but what very poor creatures we should all be! Where would be virtue, where valour, where greatness, where nobility, where would be all those high functions which call forth our reverence, and make us look up from men to the God of man? The world is not made of sugar-plums. I, for my own part, cannot conceive how virtue, the highest good which we can conceive, could possibly come about in human character unless human character had evil against which it had to contend (applause). If you can tell me how we could have a world in which men should be great, and good, and chivalrous, and possess all such qualities as raise feelings of reverence in our bosoms, where nevertheless all should be smooth and easy, you will have told me of something which, I think, has never been told to any human being (applause).

Mr. Bradlaugh: A large number of definitions lead to more controversy or to less. If the definitions are offered to the minds of people well educated, and thoroughly understanding them—to much less controversy and to more accuracy; and when they are offered to people who are yet ignorant, and have yet to understand them, then they lead to more controversy, but even there, also, to more accuracy. I am asked: Can you tell me how to make a world? I cannot. Do you intend to base your conclusions on my ignorance? If there be an onus, it lies on you, not on me. It is your business to show that the maker you say ought to be adored, has made the world as good as it can be. It is not my business at all to enter upon world-making. Then page 33 I am not sure—while I am quite ready to be set right upon a verbal inaccuracy—I am not sure there is very much distinction between the voice not being heard, and not being clearly heard. It is said to be the voice of God that speaks; but he made the deafness or otherwise of the person to whom he speaks, or he is not the creator, preserver, "the dearest friend in whom I trust, on whom I rely"—these are Mr. Armstrong's words. If God cannot prevent the deafness, then the reliance is misplaced; if he made the deafness, it is of no use that he is talking plainly; if he has made the person too deaf to hear his voice, then the voice is a mockery. Then I had it put to me, that the opinions of majorities were not binding as authority; they only had their value as expressions of opinion; but that the experiences of individuals are binding. What does that mean? Is there such a certitude in consciousness that there can be no mistake in experience? What do you mean? When you have a notion you have had an experience, and I have a notion you have not had it? Supposing, for example, a man says: "I have experience of a room which raced with the Great Northern train to London; it was an ordinary room, with chairs and tables in it, and none of them were upset, and it managed to run a dead heat with the Great Northern express." You would say: "My good man, if you are speaking seriously, you are a lunatic." "No," he would say, "that is my experience." Mr. Armstrong says that that experience deserves weight. I submit not unless you have this: that the experience must be of facts coming within the possible range of other people's experience; and must be experience which is testable by other people's experience, with an ability on the part of the person relating to clearly explain his experience, and that each phenomenon he vouches to you, to be the subject possible of criticism on examination by yourself, and that no experience which is perfectly abnormal, and which is against yours, has any weight whatever with you, or ought to have, except, perhaps, as deserving examination. When it possibly can be made part of your experience, yes; when it admittedly cannot be made part of your experience, no. A man with several glasses of whisky sees six chandeliers in this room; that is his experience—not mine. I do not refuse to see; I cannot see more than three. Mr. Armstrong says the problem of evil never has been made clear by Atheist or Theist. There is page 34 no burden on us to make it clear. The burden is upon the person who considers that he has an all-powerful friend of loving kindness, to show how that evil exists in connection with his statement that that friend could prevent it. If he will not prevent it, he is not of that loving kindness which is pretended. Mr. Armstrong says: "My dear friend is kind to me, shall I not believe that he is kind to the little lad who is starving?" What, kind to the lad whom he leaves unsheltered and illclad in winter, whose mother is drunken because the place is foul, whose father has been committed to gaol? Where is the evidence to that lad of God's loving kindness to him? God, who stands by whilst the little child steals something; God, who sets the policeman to catch him, knowing he will go amongst other criminals, where he will become daily the more corrupted; God, who tells him from the Bench through the mouth of the justice, that he has given way to the temptation of the devil, when it is the very God has been the almighty devil (applause). That may be a reason for Mr. Armstrong adoring his friend, but it is no reason for this poor boy to adore. "Ah," Mr. Armstrong says, "my reason for homage is this. I should be dissatisfied if this were going to last for ever, or if this were to be the whole of it; that is so bad I should be in anguish were there no recompense." You condemn it if it is to continue. How can you worship the being who allows that even temporarily which your reason condemns? Has he marked his right to be adored as God by the little girl who is born of a shame-marked mother in the shadow of the workhouse walls, who did not select the womb from which she should come, and whose career, consequent on her birth, is one of shame and perhaps crime too. Ah! that friend you love, how his love is evidenced to that little girl is yet to be made clear to me. Then comes another problem of thought which I am not sure I shall deal fairly with. Is the highest good virtue or happiness? But the highest happiness is virtue. That act is virtuous which tends to the greatest happiness of the greatest number, and which inflicts the least injury on any—that which does not so result in this is vice. When you put happiness and virtue as being utterly distinguished, in your mind they may be so, but not in my mind. You have confused the definition of morality which I gave on the first opening; you have, without explaining it, substituted another in lieu page 35 of it. You would be right to say my definition is wrong, and give another definition, but you have no right to ignore my definition and use my word in precisely the opposite sense to that in which I used it. A very few words now will determine this question for this evening, and I will ask you to remember the position in which we are here. I am Atheist, our friend is Theist. He has told you practically that the word "God" is incapable of exact definition, and if this is so, then it is incapable of exact belief. If it is incapable of exact definition, it is incapable of exact thought. If thought is confused you may have prostration of the intellect, and this is all you can have. Our friend says that he prays and that his prayer is answered daily, but he forgot the millions of prayers to whom God is deaf. In his peaceful mountains and lakes—Vesuvius and Lake Michigan escaped him. The fishers in Torre del Grecco, they on whom the lava stream came down in the night, had their lips framed no cry for mercy? Did not some of those hundreds who were carried to death on the tide of the muddy Thames, did not they call out in their despair? and yet he was deaf to them. He listened to you, but it is of those to whom he did not listen of whom I have to speak. If he listens to you and not to them he is a respecter of persons. He may be one for you to render homage to, but not for me. First, then, the question is: "Is it reasonable to worship God?" and the word "worship" has been left indistinctly defined. I defy anyone who has listened to Mr. Armstrong to understand how much or how little he would exclude or include in worship. I made it clear how much I would include. Our friend has said nothing whatever relating to the subject with which we have had to deal. His word "God" has been left utterly undefined; the words "virtue" and "happiness," and the words "right" and "wrong," are left equally unexplained; the questions I put to him of cause and intelligence have been left as though they were not spoken. I do not make this a reproach to him, because I know it is the difficulty of the subject with which he has to deal. The moment you tell people what you mean, that moment you shiver the Venetian glass which contains the liquor that is not to be touched. I plead under great difficulty. I plead for opinions that have been made unpopular; I appeal for persons who, in the mouths of their antagonists, often have associated with them all that is vicious. It is true that Mr. Armstrong has page 36 no such reproach. He says that God will only try me by that judgment of my own reason, and he makes my standard higher than God's on the judgment day. God made Bruno; do you mean that Bruno's heresy ranks as high as faith, and that Bruno at the judgment will stand amongst the saints? This may be high humanity, but it is no part of theology. Our friend can only put it that because in his own goodness he makes an altar where he can worship, and a church where he would make a God kind and loving as himself, and that as he is ready to bless his fellows, so must his God be; but he has shown no God for me to worship, and he has made out no reasonableness to wor-ship God except for himself, to whom, he says, God is kind. Alas! that so many know nothing of his kindness (applause). I beg to move the thanks of this meeting to Mr. Rothera for presiding this evening.

Mr. Armstrong: I wish to second that.

Carried unanimously.

The Chairman: Permit me just to express the obligations I feel under to you for having made my duty so simple and pleasant. My position as chairman necessarily and properly excludes me from making any judgment whatever upon the character and quality of what has been addressed to you. Notwithstanding that, I may say this: that it is, I believe, a healthy sign of the times when a number of men and women, such as have met together in this room, can listen to such addresses as have been made tonight, for it will help on our civilisation. And if you want a definition of what is right, I say that our business is to learn what is true, then we shall do what is right (applause).