include the pre-human species. Anyhow it must be remembered that the
question is one of CONSCIOUSNESS--that is, of how far and to what degree
consciousness of self has been developed in the animal or the primitive
man or the civilized man, and therefore how far and to what degree the
animal or human creature has credited the outside world with a similar
consciousness. It is not a question of whether there IS an inner life
and SUB-consciousness common to all these creatures of the earth and
sky, because that, I take it, is a fact beyond question; they all emerge
or have emerged from the same matrix, and are rooted in identity; but
it is a question of how far they are AWARE of this, and how far by
separation (which is the genius of evolution) each individual creature
has become conscious of the interior nature both of itself and of the
other creatures AND of the great whole which includes them all.

Finally, and to avoid misunderstanding, let me say that
Anthropomorphism, in man's conception of the gods, is itself of course
only a stage and destined to pass away. In so far, that is, as the
term indicates a belief in divine beings corresponding to our PRESENT
conception of ourselves--that is as separate personalities having each
a separate and limited character and function, and animated by
the separatist motives of ambition, possession, power, vainglory,
superiority, patronage, self-greed, self-satisfaction, etc.--in so far
as anthropomorphism is the expression of that kind of belief it is of
course destined, with the illusion from which it springs, to pass away.
When man arrives at the final consciousness in which the idea of such a
self, superior or inferior or in any way antagonistic to others, ceases
to operate, then he will return to his first and primal condition, and
will cease to need ANY special religion or gods, knowing himself and all
his fellows to be divine and the origin and perfect fruition of all.

VII. RITES OF EXPIATION AND REDEMPTION

There is a passage in Richard Jefferies' imperishably beautiful book
The Story of my Heart--a passage well known to all lovers of that
prose-poet--in which he figures himself standing "in front of the Royal
Exchange where the wide pavement reaches out like a promontory," and
pondering on the vast crowd and the mystery of life. "Is there any
theory, philosophy, or creed," he says, "is there any system of culture,
any formulated method, able to meet and satisfy each s