d the space is _very_ crowded. We're all cornered on our
mountain top, climbing up one another and standing on one another's
faces in our scream of Excelsior.

To your tents, O Israel! Brethren, let us go down. We will descend.
The way to our precious Canaan lies obviously downhill. An end of
uplift. Downhill to the land of milk and honey. The blood will soon be
flowing faster than either, but we can't help that. We can't help it
if Canaan has blood in its veins, instead of pure milk and honey.

If it is a question of origins, the origin is always the same,
whatever we say about it. So is the cause. Let that be a comfort to
us. If we want to talk about God, well, we can please ourselves. God
has been talked about quite a lot, and He doesn't seem to mind. Why we
should take it so personally is a problem. Likewise if we wish to have
a tea party with the atom, let us: or with the wriggling little unit
of energy, or the ether, or the Libido, or the Elan Vital, or any
other Cause. Only don't let us have sex for tea. We've all got too
much of it under the table; and really, for my part, I prefer to keep
mine there, no matter what the Freudians say about me.

But it is tiring to go to any more tea parties with the Origin, or the
Cause, or even the Lord. Let us pronounce the mystic Om, from the pit
of the stomach, and proceed.

There's not a shadow of doubt about it, the First Cause is just
unknowable to us, and we'd be sorry if it wasn't. Whether it's God or
the Atom. All I say is Om!

The first business of every faith is to declare its ignorance. I don't
know where I come from--nor where I exit to. I don't know the origins
of life nor the goal of death. I don't know how the two parent cells
which are my biological origin became the me which I am. I don't in
the least know what those two parent cells were. The chemical analysis
is just a farce, and my father and mother were just vehicles. And yet,
I must say, since I've got to know about the two cells, I'm glad I do
know.

The Moses of Science and the Aaron of Idealism have got the whole
bunch of us here on top of Pisgah. It's a tight squeeze, and we'll be
falling very, very foul of one another in five minutes, unless some of
us climb down. But before leaving our eminence let us have a look
round, and get our bearings.

They say that way lies the New Jerusalem of universal love: and over
there the happy valley of indulgent Pragmatism: and there, quite near, is
the chi