Materialist how came this universe at first?

He

will answer, By chance. What chance? I will answer in the words of Spinoza: An infinite number of atoms had been floating from all eternity in space, till at last one of them fortuitously diverged from its track, which dragging with it another formed the principle of gravitation, and, in consequence, the universe! What cause produced this change, this chance? For where do we know that causes arise without their correspondent effects; at least we must here, on so abstract a subject, reason analogically. Was not this, then, a cause, was it not a first cause? Was not this first cause a Deity? Now, nothing remains but to prove that this Deity has a care, or rather that its only employment consists in regulating the present and future happiness of its creation. Our ideas of infinite space, etc., are scarcely to be called ideas, for we cannot either comprehend or explain them; therefore the Deity must be judged by us from attributes analogical to our situation.' Oh, that this Deity were the Soul of the universe, the spirit of universal, imperishable love! Indeed, it is." This is certainly language never held by an atheist; it was the expression of a man in doubt about the truths of Christianity, but not that of an unbeliever. Phrases occur in several poems by Shelley, which touch upon the same

thoughts as those developed in this prose extract. On one occasion, it is true, he said, "I had rather be damned with Plato and Lord Bacon than go to heaven with Paley and Malthus;" but this was only to indicate his abhorrence of creeds and formulated religions. Yet he held the view which is common to almost all Christians-viz. that evil was not originally inherent in the creation, but an alien element that might be expelled. Every student of Shelley must perceive that he had a deeply religious spirit, that spirit of reverence which invariably distinguishes the great poet; for would it not be impossible to conceive of a great poet who was at the same time an atheist? He would at once lose that spiritual elevation which refines and glorifies genius. The best description of the religious attitude of Shelley has been given by one who knew him most intimately, and as I greatly prefer his language to my own, in enforcing the point now at issue, his words shall be reproduced.

"The leading feature of Shelley's character," says Leigh Hunt, who may be credited with having understood more than others the thoughts of his later life, "may be said to have been a natural piety. He did himself injustice with the public, in using the popular name of the Supreme Being inconsiderately. He identified it solely with the

most vulgar and tyrannical notions of a God made after the worst human fashion; and did not sufficiently reflect that it was often used by a juster devotion to express a sense of the Great Mover of the universe. An impatience in contradicting worldly and pernicious notions of a supernatural power led his own aspirations to be misunderstood; for, though in the severity of his dialectics, and particularly in moments of despondency, he sometimes appeared to be hopeless of what he most desired—and though he justly thought that a Divine Being would prefer the increase of benevolence and good before any praise, or even recognition of himself (a reflection worth thinking of by the intolerant), yet, in reality, there was no belief to which he clung with more fondness than that of some great pervading 'Spirit of Intellectual Beauty;' as may be seen in his aspirations on that subject. He assented warmly to an opinion which I expressed in the Cathedral at Pisa, while the organ was playing, that a truly divine religion might yet be established, if charity were really made the principle of it instead of faith." But in discussing this subject it is necessary to take into account Shelley's Essay on Christianity, in which I find him distinctly asserting that "we are not the creators of our own origin and existence.

We are not the arbiters of every motion of our own complicated nature; we are not the masters of our own imaginations and moods of mental being. There is a Power by which we are surrounded, like the atmosphere in which some motionless lyre is suspended, which visits with its breath our silent chords at will." In this same essay there is a nobler tribute to Jesus Christ than many of the cold believers in Christianity, dead with an infidelity of heart, would be willing to pay. The whole spirit of the essay forbids for a moment the assumption that Shelley was an atheist, and most of the composition might be read with great profit from any orthodox pulpit. On other collateral religious questions, such as the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, much is not said by Shelley. Immortality is a topic rarely discussed with himself by any man, and when he becomes agitated therewith it is only to end in a condition. of vagueness. Yet the expectation of something after death was very strong in Shelley. Adonais, if it stood alone as regards the poet's utterances on immortality, might be conclusive of his belief in the doctrine in its fullest sense; in speaking of Keats, in one instance he says that "he hath awakened from the dream of life," and "is made. one with Nature." Further, that his spirit "beams

from the abode where the Eternal are." Other prose expressions of Shelley's would appear to contradict this, but never, I believe, does he hint for a moment at such a thing as annihilation. He could not conceive that his own spirit, after the experience of which he was conscious, could ever be thrown into the void, useless and dead, though he had no definite ideas as to what would become of himself after he "had shuffled off this mortal coil." By this time has he not discovered more fully that Divine love for which his spirit yearned? Had a few more years of human life been allotted to him, he would have emerged from that dark valley of doubt in which his noble spirit was searching for the Infinite. The light, however, came more suddenly; the veil of humanity was violently rent asunder, and Shelley was face to face with the solution of the Great Mystery.

The benefactor of humanity has invariably to sustain much comment respecting his motives, and Shelley was no exception to the rule in his exercise of the spirit of philanthropy. He gave both of his labour and substance with an unbounded generosity, and too frequently had the bitterness to perceive that his intentions were misunderstood, and he himself regarded with suspicion. Man is certainly a reasoning animal, but he is above all a