cannot but own that the Power which set all this whirl of atoms agoing
is worthy of all admiration. And approbation? Ah, that is another
matter; for there the moral element comes in. It is possible (and here
lies the interest of the enigma) that the Veiled Being may one day
justify himself even morally. Perhaps he is all the time doing so
behind the veil. But on that it is absolutely useless to speculate.
Light may one day come to us, but it will come through patient
investigation, not through idle pondering and guessing. In the
meantime, poised between the macrocosm and the microcosm, ourselves
including both extremes, and being, perhaps, the most stupendous
miracle of all, we cannot deny to this amazing frame of things the
tribute of an unutterable awe. If that be religion, I profess myself
as religious as Mr. Wells. I am even willing to join him in some
outward, ceremonial expression of that sentiment, if he can suggest
one that shall not be ridiculously inadequate. What about kneeling
through the C Minor Symphony? That seems to me about as near as we can
get. Or I will go with him to Primrose Hill some fine morning (like
the Persian Ambassador fabled by Charles Lamb) and worship the Sun,
chanting to him William Watson's magnificent hymn:--

"To thee as our Father we bow,
Forbidden thy Father to see,
Who is older and greater than thou, as thou
Art greater and older than we."

The sun, at any rate, is not a figure of speech, and is a symbol which
runs no risk of being mistaken for a portrait. If Mr. Wells would be
content with some such "bright sciential idolatry," I would willingly
declare myself a co-idolater. But alas! he is the hierophant of the
Invisible King, and prayer to that impotent potentate is to me a moral
impossibility. I would rather face damnation, especially in the mild
form threatened by Mr. Wells, which consists (pp. 148-149) in not
knowing that you are damned.

And if Mr. Wells maintains that in the worship of the non-moral Veiled
Being there is no practical, pragmatic comfort, I reply that I am not
so sure of that. When all is said and done, is there not more hope,
more solace, in an enigma than in a _facon de parler_? I should be
quite willing to accept the test of the reeling aeroplane. The aviator
can say to his soul: "Here am I, one of the most amazing births of
time, the culmination of an endless series of miracles. Perhaps I am
on the verge of extinction--if so, what doe