ter, but nothing to do with space. He is
not of matter nor of space. He comes into them. Since the period when
all the great theologies that prevail to-day were developed, there have
been great changes in the ideas of men towards the dimensions of time
and space. We owe to Kant the release from the rule of these ideas as
essential ideas. Our modern psychology is alive to the possibility of
Being that has no extension in space at all, even as our speculative
geometry can entertain the possibility of dimensions--fourth, fifth, Nth
dimensions--outside the three-dimensional universe of our experience.
And God being non-spatial is not thereby banished to an infinite
remoteness, but brought nearer to us; he is everywhere immediately at
hand, even as a fourth dimension would be everywhere immediately at
hand. He is a Being of the minds and in the minds of men. He is in
immediate contact with all who apprehend him. . . .

But modern religion declares that though he does not exist in matter or
space, he exists in time just as a current of thought may do; that
he changes and becomes more even as a man's purpose gathers itself
together; that somewhere in the dawning of mankind he had a beginning,
an awakening, and that as mankind grows he grows. With our eyes he looks
out upon the universe he invades; with our hands, he lays hands upon
it. All our truth, all our intentions and achievements, he gathers to
himself. He is the undying human memory, the increasing human will.

But this, you may object, is no more than saying that God is the
collective mind and purpose of the human race. You may declare that this
is no God, but merely the sum of mankind. But those who believe in the
new ideas very steadfastly deny that. God is, they say, not an aggregate
but a synthesis. He is not merely the best of all of us, but a Being in
himself, composed of that but more than that, as a temple is more than a
gathering of stones, or a regiment is more than an accumulation of men.
They point out that a man is made up of a great multitude of cells, each
equivalent to a unicellular organism. Not one of those cells is he, nor
is he simply just the addition of all of them. He is more than all of
them. You can take away these and these and these, and he still remains.
And he can detach part of himself and treat it as if it were not
himself, just as a man may beat his breast or, as Cranmer the martyr
did, thrust his hand into the flames. A man is none the