the spiritual life to come in only after centuries of refinement of thought. But the first reactions of men were of course purely qualitative, and it is only within the last few minutes of cosmic time that we have known of the quantitative relations of things. Is it hard, then, to believe that, since we and the world have grown up together, there must be some subtle correlation between it and the values and qualities that we feel, that our souls must reflect--not faithfully, perhaps, because warped by a thousand alien compelling physical forces, and yet somehow indomitably--a spiritual world that is perhaps even more real, because more immediate and constant, than the physical? We may partially create it, but we partially reflect it too. That cosmic quality we feel as personality. Not artificial or illusive is this deeply rooted anthropomorphic sense which has always been at the bottom of man’s religious consciousness. We are alive, and we have a right to interpret the world as living; we are persons, and we have a right to interpret the world in terms of personality. In all religions, through the encrustations of dogma and ritual, has been felt that vital sense of the divine personality, keeping clean and sweet the life of man. The definite appeal of the Church, in times like these, when the external props fall away, is to the incarnation of the divine personality, and the ideal of character deduced from it as a pattern for life. This is the religion of ordinary people to-day; it has been the heart of Christianity for nineteen hundred years. Our feeling of this cosmic quality may be vague or definite, diffused or crystallized, but to those of us who sense behind our pulsing life a mystery which perplexes, sobers, and elevates us, that quality forms a permanent scenic background for our life.