the positivist; for this something can only be of power or value if the
prophecy it inevitably developes into be regarded as a true one. In the
consciousness of the ancient world it lay undeciphered like the dark
sentence of an oracle; and though it might be revered by some, it could
not be denied by any. But its meaning is now translated for us, and
there is a new factor in the case. We now can deny it; and if we do, its
whole power is paralysed.

This when once recognised must be evident enough. But a curious
confusion of thought has prevented the positive school from seeing it.
They have imagined that what religion adds to love is the hope of
prolongation only, not of development also; and thus we find Professor
Huxley curtly dismissing the question by saying that the quality of such
a pleasure '_is obviously in no way affected by the abbreviation or
prolongation of our conscious life_.' How utterly this is beside the
point may be shown instantly by a very simple example. A painter, we
will say, inspired with some great conception, sets to work at a
picture, and finds a week of the intensest happiness in preparing his
canvas and laying his first colours. Now the happiness of that week is,
of course, a fact for him. It would not have been greater had it lasted
a whole fortnight; and it would not have been less had he died at the
week's end. But though obviously, as Professor Huxley says, it in no way
depends on its prolongation, what it does depend on is the belief that
it will be prolonged, and that in being prolonged it will change its
character. It depends on the belief on the painter's part that he will
be able to continue his painting, and that as he continues it, his
picture will advance to completion. The positivists have confused the
true saying that the pleasure of painting one picture does not depend on
the fact that we shall paint many, with the false saying that the
pleasure of beginning that one does not depend on the belief that we