collision between the extreme principles of Monarchy and Republicanism no doubt overthrew, for a short period, the constitution in Church and State; but the foundations of society remained unimpaired, and the nation, finding itself completely out of harmony with the order that had been imposed on it, restored the old Constitution in 1660, and defined it in 1688. It can scarcely be doubted that the continuity of tradition has been thus preserved, because our best minds have enlisted themselves in the cause of order, and have made it the object of their deepest study how to reconcile this with the claims of rational liberty. If, therefore, we can see how Butler, for instance, sought to advance the cause of Christianity in his age, how Burke interpreted the Constitution, and how Pope developed the traditions of English poetry, we shall have a fairly clear conception of the nature of English Conservatism, religious, political, and literary, in the eighteenth century. It may be objected that it is fantastic to look for a common principle running through so many different spheres of activity. But it

appears to me that in all of them the same Vintellectual tendency may be traced—namely, an instinctive acknowledgment of the truth that all spiritual, political, and artistic development must proceed in conformity with an ancestral law, the authority of which is not to be questioned, and which must be frankly obeyed by every individual who wishes to be completely free.

To begin with Butler, whose attitude in this respect often causes his reasoning to be misunderstood. The modern assailants of Christianity assume that ever since the Renaissance an intellectual movement has been going on which has little by little been undermining the cause of revealed religion. The Reformation, they argue, took away so much; the eighteenth century destroyed so much more; the fall of the fortress before the historical and scientific criticism of modern days is inevitable. Singularly enough they point to the attitude of the great divines of the eighteenth century as evidence in favour of their argument. Look at Butler, they say; it is plain that he has the depressed air of a beaten man; the low ground on which he

rests his arguments is a proof of what we say. Who would believe in a probable God? And, of course, it is undeniable that Butler's whole method of argument gives a handle to anyone who chooses to reason in this captious and superficial manner. Such an opportunity is obviously offered in the following typical passage:

The evidence of religion then being admitted real, those who object against it as not satisfactory, i.e. as not being what they wish it, plainly forget that this is the very condition of our being; for satisfaction, in this sense, does not belong to such a creature as man.

Only a man, urges the agnostic philosopher, who is conscious that he has very little to say for himself, would resort to a pessimistic argument in defence of such a high matter as revealed religion. But those who reason like this show a strange inability to recognise the relative strength of their own and their adversary's position. They seem to regard Christianity merely as a speculative system which must stand or fall on purely intellectual grounds. But as a matter of fact the vast power of Christianity is derived

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from a practical and moral source. possession of men's souls and spirits. centuries have established its dominion over the conscience of the greatest nations of the world. The members of those nations have had their moral ideas formed in infancy on the assumption of the truth of Revelation long before it was possible for them to examine the testimony by which the authority of Revelation is supported. The opponents of Christianity must therefore undermine the conscience of Christendom, before they can hope to weaken materially the belief in the divine authority of revealed religion. The burden of proof lies with them. And of this fact the defenders of Christianity have always shown themselves to be perfectly aware. As they have been, naturally, men of ardent piety and devotion, the real argument that has weighed with them has been the spiritual experience of mankind. They see the necessity, no doubt, of defending the credibility of the testimony by which the truth of Revelation is established. On the other hand, they know that it is not incumbent on them to persuade the Christian

world of the truth of Revelation, but rather on their adversaries to prove its falsehood, and that this is a physical impossibility. The moral obligations imposed by Christianity on the conscience can never, therefore, be disregarded. 'Religion,' says Butler, 'is a practical thing, and consists in such a determinate course of life, as being what, there is reason to think, is commanded by the Author of Nature.' Relying, then, on the strength of their moral and spiritual position, Christian writers have often made use of intellectual weapons calculated to give their adversaries wrong ideas as to their belief. Jeremy Taylor, in his 'Liberty of Prophesying,' employs a purely sceptical line of argument in order to establish the right of freely interpreting Scripture. Locke, in his 'Reasonableness of Christianity,' followed a course of reasoning which Toland afterwards developed into an argument for Deism. As for Butler, no one who reads the following passage can mistake, except designedly, the purpose of the Analogy':

I desire it may be considered with respect to the