It is, however, immensely popular, this principle of the economy of hypotheses. The other ideal--that of submitting continually to the stern discipline of trial--never appealed to the man in the street. For ages he was prejudiced against science altogether. He left it to monks and such people. Then, finally--and not so very long ago--the idea, having proved a money-maker, was “sold” to him. He swallowed it hook, line and sinker, until today he will not admit that he has a pain in the stomach unless he finds in his basic theories something which will let him account for it. What we need now is to be reminded to be economical not with our hypotheses but with our credulity, our acceptance of hypotheses as final. For there are still many things in heaven and earth not dreamed of in our major syntheses. A major synthesis, of course, is that broadest, most shadowy, least dependable, but widely inclusive hypothesis by which it is sought to bind all minor theories into one more or less coherent system. It is the point where science most nearly approaches to philosophy, the point where, according to its own premises regarding the authority of experience, it should be most cautious and humble. The making of a major synthesis is an awesome business. The fall of a major synthesis marks the end of an epoch. We are now living at the end of such an epoch, though the pseudo-scientists do not appear to be yet aware of the fact. And the major synthesis which has fallen is that which sought to bind all phenomena together as manifestations of matter--the Mechanist Hypothesis. That the Mechanist Hypothesis should be the first generalization of modern science was inevitable. It began with astronomy, the first science to dare to call itself “exact.” In astronomy we cannot experiment. We cannot take planets and comets and suns, and subject them to laboratory conditions. But we can at least make observations; and what we observe appears to be matter, pure and simple. Then came physics and chemistry, throwing off the attempt to be magic and buckling down to practical jobs. Both experiment and observation were possible here--and still matter held the field. Matter, it was soon noted, had exceedingly regular habits. And when it failed to follow one habit, continued observation would discover that it was only following some other. These habits came to be called laws, and it was practically impossible not to confound laws with force. In the back of the scientific mind were those human laws--customs, behind which was Government, always ready to manifest itself as the force in a policeman’s club. And back of that was the idea of the laws of God--of a real God with all the force of the universe in His hand.