{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36772/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36772","id":"gutenberg_36772","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36772","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Novels","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Religion"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                          THE HEARTS OF MEN\n\n                           BY H. FIELDING\n\n               AUTHOR OF \"THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE,\" ETC.\n\n\n    NEW YORK\n    THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n    1901\n\n    PRINTED BY KELLY'S DIRECTORIES LIMITED,\n    LONDON AND KINGSTON.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION.\n\nTo F. W. FOSTER.\n\n\nAs my first book, \"The Soul of a People,\" would probably never have been\ncompleted or published without your encouragement and assistance, so the\nlatter part of this book would not have been written without your\nsuggestion. This dedication is a slight acknowledgment of my\nindebtedness to you, but I hope that you will accept it, not as any\nequivalent for your unvarying kindness, but as a token that I have not\nforgotten.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n\nDEFINITIONS OF RELIGION 1\n\nINTRODUCTION 4\n\n\nPART I.\n\nI. OF WHAT USE IS RELIGION? 13\n\nII. EARLY BELIEFS 21\n\nIII. IDEAL AND PRACTICE 28\n\nIV. SCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY--I 37\n\nV. SCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY--II 45\n\nVI. WHENCE FAITHS COME 55\n\nVII. THE WISDOM OF BOOKS 64\n\nVIII. GOD 72\n\nIX. LAW 84\n\nX. THE WAY OF LIFE 92\n\nXI. HEAVEN 101\n\n\nPART II.\n\nXII. THEORIES AND FACTS 113\n\nXIII. CREED AND INSTINCT 124\n\nXIV. RELIGIOUS PEOPLE 136\n\nXV. ENTHUSIASM 145\n\nXVI. STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS 155\n\nXVII. MIND AND BODY 165\n\nXVIII. PERSONALITY 173\n\nXIX. GOD THE SACRIFICE 185\n\nXX. GOD THE MOTHER 196\n\nXXI. CONDUCT 202\n\nXXII. MEN'S FAITH AND WOMEN'S FAITH 212\n\nXXIII. PRAYER AND CONFESSION 221\n\nXXIV. SUNDAY AND SABBATH 233\n\nXXV. MIRACLE 242\n\nXXVI. RELIGION AND ART 254\n\nXXVII. WHAT IS EVIDENCE? 266\n\nXXVIII. THE AFTER DEATH 277\n\nXXIX. OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM 287\n\nXXX. WAS IT REASON? 298\n\nXXXI. WHAT RELIGION IS 308\n\nXXXII. THE USE OF RELIGION 316\n\n\n\n\nTHE HEARTS OF MEN.\n\n\n\n\nRELIGION.\n\n\n\"The difficulty of framing a correct definition of religion is very\ngreat. Such a definition should apply to nothing but religion, and\nshould differentiate religion from anything else--as, for example,\nfrom imaginative idealisation, art, morality, philosophy. It should\napply to everything which is naturally and commonly called religion: to\nreligion as a subjective spiritual state, and to all religions, high or\nlow, true or false, which have obtained objective historical\nrealisation.\"--_Anon._\n\n\"The principle of morality is the root of religion.\"--_Peochal._\n\n\"It is the perception of the infinite.\"--_Max Mueller._\n\n\"A religious creed is definable as a theory of original\ncausation.\"--_Herbert Spencer._\n\n\"Virtue, as founded on a reverence for God and expectation of future\nrewards and punishment.\"--_Johnson._\n\n\"The worship of a Deity.\"--_Bailey._\n\n\"It has its origin in fear.\"--_Lucretius and others._\n\n\"A desire to secure life and its goods amidst the uncertainty and evils\nof earth.\"--_Retsche._\n\n\"A feeling of absolute dependence, of pure and entire\npassiveness.\"--_Schleiermacher._\n\n\"Religious feeling is either a distinct primary feeling or a peculiar\ncompound feeling.\"--_Neuman Smyth._\n\n\"A sanction for duty.\"--_Kant._\n\n\"A morality tinged by emotion.\"--_Matthew Arnold._\n\n\"By religion I mean that general habit of reverence towards the divine\nnature whereby we are enabled to worship and serve God.\"--_Wilkins._\n\n\"A propitiation or conciliation of powers superior to man, which are\nsupposed to control the course of nature and of human life.\"--_J. G.\nFrazer._\n\n\"The modes of divine worship proper to different tribes.\"--_Anon._\n\n\"The performance of duty to God and man.\"\n\nIt is to be noted that all the above are of Europeans acquainted\npractically with only Christianity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following are some that have been given me by Orientals:\n\n\"The worship of Allah.\"--_Mahommedan._\n\n\"A knowledge of the laws of life that lead to happiness.\"--_Buddhist._\n\n\"Doing right.\"\n\n\"Other-worldliness.\"\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nSome time ago I wrote \"The Soul of a People.\" It was an attempt to\nunderstand a people, the Burmese; to understand a religion, that of\nBuddha. It was not an attempt to find abstract truth, to discuss what\nmay be true or not in the tenets of that faith, to discover the secret\nof all religions. It was only intended to show what Buddhism in Burma is\nto the people who believe in it, and how it comes into their lives.\n\nYet it was impossible always to confine the view to one point. It is\nnatural--nay, it is inevitable--that when a man studies one faith,\ncomparison with other faiths should intrude themselves. The world, even\nthe East and West, is so bound together that you cannot treat of part\nand quite ignore the rest. And so thoughts arose and questions came\nforward that lay outside the scope of that book. I could not write of\nthem there fully. Whatever question arose I was content then to give\nonly the Buddhist answer, I had to leave on one side all the many\nanswers different faiths may have propounded. I could not discuss even\nwhere truth was likely to be found. I was bound by my subject. But in\nthis book I have gone further. This is a book, not of one religion nor\nof several religions, but of religion. Mainly, it is true, it treats of\nChristianity and Buddhism, because these are the two great\nrepresentative faiths, but it is not confined to them. Man asks, and has\nalways asked, certain questions. Religions have given many answers. Are\nthese answers true? Which is true? Are any of them true? It is in a way\na continuation of \"The Soul of a People,\" but wider. It is of \"The\nHearts of Men.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBefore beginning this book I have a word to say on the meanings that I\nattach to the word \"Christianity\" and a few other words, so that I may\nbe more clearly understood.\n\nThere was a man who wrote to me once explaining why he was a Christian,\nand wondering how anyone could fail to be so.\n\n\"I look about me,\" he said, \"at Christian nations, and I see that they\nare the leaders of the world. Pagan nations are far behind them in\nwealth, in happiness, in social order. I look at our Courts and I find\njustice administered to all alike, pure and without prejudice. Our\ncrime decreases, our education increases, and our wealth increases even\nfaster; the artisan now is where the middle class was a hundred years\nago, the middle class now lives better than the rich did. Our science\nadvances from marvel to marvel. Our country is a network of railroads,\nour ships cover the seas, our prosperity is unbounded, and in a greater\nor less degree all Christian nations share it. But when we turn to Pagan\nnations, what do we see? Anarchy and injustice, wars and rebellions,\nignorance and poverty. To me no greater proof of the truth of\nChristianity can be than this difference. In fact, it is Christianity.\"\n\nI am not concerned here to follow the writer into his arguments. He is\nprobably one of those who thinks that all our civilisation is due to a\npeculiar form of Christianity. There are others who hold that all our\nadvance has been made in spite of Christianity. I am only concerned now\nwith the meaning of the word. The way I use the word is to denote the\ncult of Christ. A Christian to me means a man who follows, or who\nprofesses to follow, the example of Christ and to accept all His\nteaching; to be a member of a Church that calls itself Christian. I use\nit irrespective of sects to apply to Catholic and Greek Church, Quaker\nand Skopek alike. I am aware that in Christianity, as in all religions,\nthere has been a strong tendency of the greater emotions to attract the\nlesser, and of the professors of any religion to assume to themselves\nall that is good and repudiate all that is evil in the national life. I\nhave no quarrel here with them on the subject. Nor do I wish to use the\nword in any unnecessarily narrow sense. Are there not also St. Paul and\nthe Apostles, the Early Fathers? So be it. But surely the essence of\nChristianity must be the teaching and example of Christ? I do not gather\nthat any subsequent teacher has had authority to abrogate or modify\neither that teaching or example. As to addition, is it maintained\nanywhere that the teaching and example are inadequate? I do not think\nso. And therefore I have defined my meaning as above. Let us be sure of\nour words, that we may know what we are talking about.\n\nIn the word \"religion\" I have more difficulty. It does not carry any\nmeaning on its face as Christianity does. It is an almost impossible\nword to define, or to discover the meaning of. It is so difficult that\npractically all the book is an attempt to discover what \"religion\" does\nmean. I nearly called the book, \"What is the Meaning of Religion?\"\n\nIn the beginning I have given a few of the numerous meanings that have\nbeen applied to the word. It will be seen how vague they are. And at\nthe end I have a definition of my own to give which differs from all.\nBut as I have frequently to use the word from the beginning of the book,\nI will try to define how I use it.\n\nBy \"religion,\" then, generally I mean a scheme of the world with some\ntheory of how man got into it and the influences, mostly supernatural,\nwhich affect him here. It usually, though not always, includes some code\nof morality for use here and some account of what happens after death.\n\nThis is, I think, more or less the accepted meaning.\n\nAnd there are the words Spirit and Soul.\n\nI note that in considering origins of religion the great first\ndifficulty has been how the savage evolved the idea of \"God\" or \"Spirit\"\nas opposed to man. Various theories have been proposed, such as that it\nevolved from reasoning on dreams. To me the question is whether such an\nidea exists at all. It may be possible that men trained in abstract\nthought without reference to fact, the successors of many generations of\nmen equally so trained, do consider themselves to have such a\nconception. I have met men who declared they had a clear idea of the\nfourth dimension in Mathematics and of unending space. There may be\npeople who can realise a Spirit which has other qualities than man. In\nsome creeds the idea is assumed as existing. But personally I have never\nfound it among those who make religion as distinguished from those who\ntheorise upon it. The gods of the simpler religious people I have met,\nwhether East or West, have been frankly only enlarged men, with the\nappetites and appearances and the powers of men. They differ from men\nonly in degree, never in kind. They require food and offerings, they\nhave passions, sometimes they have wives. The early gods are but men. If\nthey are invisible, so can man be; if they are powerful, so are kings.\nIt is only a question of degree, never of kind. I do not find that the\nGod that the Boers appeal to so passionately has any different qualities\nin their thoughts from a marvellous man. Truly they will say, \"No, God\nis a Spirit.\" Then if you reply, \"So be it; tell me how a Spirit differs\nfrom a man, what qualities a Spirit has that are inconceivable in man,\"\nthey cannot go on; and the qualities they appeal to in their God are\nalways very human qualities--partiality, forgiveness, help, and the\nlike.\n\nMany men will say they believe things which they do not understand. I\nenter into the subject so fully later I do not want to write more now. I\nonly wish to define that the word God, as I use it, in no wise means\nmore than \"the Personality who causes things.\"\n\nAnd again about soul. What is soul? The theologian gets up and answers\nat once that soul exists independent of the body. So be it. Then who has\nthe conception? And what is it like when you have got it? Have\nChristians it? Then why can they not understand resurrection of the soul\nwithout also the resurrection of the body? They cannot. Look at the\nfacts. It is such a fact it has actually forced itself into the creeds.\nAngels have bodies and also wings. Ghosts have bodies and also clothes.\nThey are recognisable. I know a ghost who likes pork for supper. They\nsometimes have horses and all sorts of additions. The body may be filmy,\nbut it is a body. Gas is filmy and quite as transparent as a ghost.\n\nPerhaps the people who have put the transmigration of souls as one of\ntheir religious tenets really have the conception of a soul apart from\nany body. I doubt it even here. But this also will come later.\n\nMeanwhile, when I use the word \"soul\" or \"spirit,\" I do not infer that\nit is separable from the body or inseparable. I mean simply the essence\nof that which is man; the identity, the ego existing in man as he _is_.\nI think, indeed, this is the correct meaning. We say that a city has\nfifty thousand souls. Have they no bodies? When I wrote \"The Soul of a\nPeople\" I certainly did not omit their bodies or ignore them. On the\ncontrary. And no one supposed I did. I do not either mean to postulate\nthe inseparability of body and soul. Soul means essence.\n\nFinally, there is the word reason. What is that? By reason I mean the\nfaculty of arranging and grouping facts. It is the power of perspective\nwhich sees facts in their proper relation to other facts. The facts\nthemselves are supplied as regards the outer world by the senses of\nsight and hearing and taste, of touch and sympathy; and as regards the\ninner world of sensations, such as hate, and love, and fear by the\nability to feel those sensations.\n\nReason itself cannot supply facts. It can but arrange them. By placing a\nseries of facts in due order the existence of other facts may be\nsuspected, as the existence of Neptune was deduced from certain known\naberrations. The observation of Neptune by the telescope followed.\n\nIn other words, reason may be called \"the science of facts.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI offer no apology for this introduction. Most of the confusion of\nthought, most of the mistiness of argument, is due to the fact that\npeople habitually use words without any clear idea of their meaning. A\nreviewer of \"The Soul of a People\" declared that Buddhism was a\nphilosophy, not a religion. I asked him to give me a list of what he\naccepted as religions, and then to furnish a definition of religion that\nwould include all these and exclude Buddhism. I am still waiting. No\ndoubt he had never tried to really define what he meant by his words.\nInstead of using words as counters of a fixed value he threw them about\nas blank cheques, meaning anything or nothing.\n\nWhen you find confusion of argument in a book, want of clearness of\nexpression, when you see men arguing and misunderstanding each other,\nthere is nearly always one reason. Either they are using words in\ndifferent senses or they have no clear idea themselves of what they mean\nby their words. Ask ten men what they mean when they say, Art, beauty,\ncivilisation, right, wrong, or any other abstract term, and see if _one_\ncan give a satisfactory explanation.\n\nThis is an error I am trying to avoid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nOF WHAT USE IS RELIGION?\n\n\nOf what use is religion?\n\nAll nations, almost all men, have a religion. From the savage in the\nwoods who has his traditions of how the world began, who has his ghosts\nand his devils to fear or to worship, to the Christian and the Buddhist\nwith their religion full of beautiful conceptions and ideas--all people\nhave a religion.\n\nAnd the religion of men is determined for them by their birth. They are\nborn into it, as they are into their complexions, their habits, their\nlanguage. The Continental and Irish Celt is a Roman Catholic, the Teuton\nis a follower of Luther, the Slav a member of the Greek Church. The\nAnglo-Saxon, who is a compromise of races, has a creed which is a\ncompromise also, and the Celt of England has his peculiar form of\ndissent, more akin perhaps in some ways to Romanism than to Lutheranism.\nA Jew is and has been a Jew, a Hindu is a Hindu, Arabs and Turks are\nMahommedans.\n\nIt is so with all races of men. A man's religion to-day is that into\nwhich he is born, and those of the higher and older races who change are\nfew, so very few they but serve strongly to emphasize the rule.\n\nThere have been, it is true, periods when this has not been so. There\nhave been times of change, of conversions, of rapid religious evolution\nwhen the greater faiths have gathered their harvests of men, when\nbeliefs have spread as a flood threatening to engulf a world. No one has\never done so. Each has found its own boundary and stayed there. Their\nspring tide once passed they have ceased to spread. They have become,\nindeed, many of them, but tideless oceans, dead seas of habit ceasing\neven to beat upon their shores. Many of them no longer even try to\nproselytise, having found their inability to stretch beyond their\nboundaries; others still labour, but their gains are few--how few only\nthose who have watched can know.\n\nSome savages are drawn away here or there, but that is all. The greater\nfaiths and forms of faith, Catholicism, Lutheranism, the Greek Church,\nMahommedanism, Buddhism, Hinduism, and many others, remain as they\nwere. Their believers are neither converted nor convert. Men born into\nthem remain as they were born. They do not change, they are satisfied\nwith what they have.\n\nThey are more than satisfied; they are often, almost always,\npassionately attached to their faith.\n\nThere is nothing men value more than their religion. There is nothing so\nunbearable to them as an attack upon it. No one will allow it. Even the\nsavage clings to his fetish in the mountain top and will not permit of\ninsult to it. Men will brave all kinds of disaster and death rather than\ndeny their faith, that which their fathers believed. It is to all their\nhighest possession. The Catholic, the Chinese ancestor worshipper, the\nHindu, the Calvinist, the Buddhist, the Jew--their names are too\nnumerous to mention--none yields to any other in this. It is true of all\nfaiths. No one faith has any monopoly of this enthusiasm. It is common\nto all.\n\nBut wherein lies the spell that religion has cast upon the souls of men?\nThe influence is the same. What is the secret of it?\n\nCan it be that there is some secret common to all religions, some\nbelief, some doctrine that is the cause of this? If so, what is it? If\nthere is such a common secret, why is it so hidden?\n\nFor hidden it certainly is.\n\nNothing can be more certain than that no one religion recognises any\nsuch secret in the others. It is the very reverse. The more a man clings\nto his own religion the more he scorns all others. Far from\nacknowledging any common truth, he denounces all other faiths as\nmistaken, as untrue; nay, more, they are to him false, deliberately\nfalse; the enthusiast believes them wicked, the fanatic in his own faith\ncalls all others devilish. The more a man loves his religion the more he\nabominates all others. A Christian would scorn the idea of the essence\nof his faith being common to all others, or any other. If there be any\ncommon truth it is a very secret truth.\n\nIs there any secret truth? If so, what is it?\n\nThere is a further question.\n\nThere is probably no one thing that we learn with more certainty than\nthis, that whatever exists, whatever persists, does so because it\nfulfils a want, because it's of use. It is immaterial where we look, the\nrule is absolute. In the material world Darwin and others have shewn it\nto us over and over again. When anything is useless it atrophies. So\nhave the snake and the whale lost their legs, and man his hairy skin and\nsense of scent. Males have lost their power of suckling their young;\nwith females this power has increased. Need developes any thing or any\nquality; when it becomes needless it dies. Where we find anything\nflourishing and persistent we are sure always that it is so because it\nis wanted, because it fills a need.\n\nReligion in some form or another has always existed, has increased and\ndeveloped, has grown and gained strength.\n\nTherefore religion, all religions that have existed have filled some\nneed, all religions that now exist do so because they fulfil some\npresent use. From the way their believers cherish them the need is a\ngreat and urgent one. These religions are of vital use to their\nbelievers.\n\nWhat is this great common need and yearning that all men have, and\nwhich, to men in sympathy with it, every religion fulfils?\n\nCan it be that all men have a like need and that all religions have a\ncommon quality which serves that need?\n\nCan it be possible that all races, the Englishman, the Negro, the\nItalian, the Russian, the Arab, the Chinaman, and the Pathan, have the\nsame urgent necessity, and that their urgent necessity is answered by so\nmany varying religions? If so, what is this necessity which religion\nalone can fill, what is this succour that religion alone can give? What\nis the use of religion?\n\nThese are some of the questions I ask, other men have asked the\nsame--not many. The majority of men never ask themselves anything of the\nsort. They are born into a religion, they live in it more or less, they\ndie in it. They may question its accuracy in one point or another, for\neach man to some extent makes his own faith; but nearly all men take\ntheir faith much as they find it and make the best of it. It does not\noccur to them to say, \"Why should I want a religion at all? Why not go\nwithout?\" They feel the necessity of it. Even the very few who reject\ntheir own faith almost always try for some other, something they hope\nwill meet their necessity. They will prefer one faith to another. But\nthey do not first consider why they want a faith at all. They do not\nask, \"Of what use is any religion?\"\n\nYet this is in the main the subject of this book, these questions are\nthe ones I ask, the questions to which I seek an answer. I will repeat\nthem.\n\nWhy are all peoples, all men religious? Is the necessity a common\nnecessity? If so, what is it?\n\nWhy does one form of religion appeal to one people and another to\nanother people, while remaining hateful to all the rest?\n\nNotwithstanding their common hate, have all religions a common secret?\nAnd if so, what is that?\n\nThis book of mine is in part the story of a boy who was born into a\nfaith and who lost it; it tries to explain why he lost it.\n\nIt is the story of a man who searched for a new faith and who did not\nfind it, because he knew not what he sought. He knew not what religion\nwas nor why he wanted it. He knew not his need. He sought in religion\nfor things no religion possesses. He was ill yet he knew not his\ndisease, and so he could find no remedy. And finally it is an attempt to\ndiscern what religion really means, what it is, what is the use of it,\nwhat men require of it.\n\nThere may be among my readers some who will read the early chapters and\nwill then stop. They will feel hurt perhaps, they will think that there\nis here an attack upon their religion, upon all they hold as the Truth\nof God. So they will close the book and read no more. I would beg of my\nreaders not to judge me thus. I would ask them if they read at all to\nread to the end. It may be that then they will understand. Even if it be\nnot so, that the early chapters still seem to be hard, is it not better\nto hear such things from a friend than from an enemy? Be sure there are\nvery many who say and who feel very much harder things than this boy\ndid. Is it not as well to know them?\n\nThese early chapters are of a boy's life; they may be, they should be if\ntruly written, full of the hardness of youth, its revolt from what it\nconceives to be untrue, its intense desire to know, its stern rejection\nof all that is not clear and cannot be known. Yet they must be written,\nfor only by knowing the thoughts of the boy can the later thoughts of\nthe man be understood?\n\nAnd I am sure that those who read me to the end, though they may\ndisagree with what I say, will admit this: that, thinking as I do of\nreligion, I would not unnecessarily throw a stone at any faith, I would\nnot thoughtlessly hurt the belief of any believer, no matter what his\nreligion; because I think I have learnt not only what his faith is to\nhim, but why it is so, because I have found the use of all religion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nEARLY BELIEFS.\n\n\nThe boy of whom I am about to write was brought up until he was twelve\nentirely by women. He had masters, it is true, who taught him the usual\nthings that are taught to boys, and he had playfellows, other boys; but\nthe masters were with him but an hour or two each day for lessons, and\nof the boys he was always the eldest.\n\nThose who have studied how it is that children form their ideas of the\nworld, of what it is, of what has to be done in it, of how to do it,\nwill recognise all that this means; for children obtain their ideas of\neverything, not from their lessons nor their books nor their teachers,\nbut from their associates. A teacher may teach, but a boy does not\nbelieve. He believes not what he is told, but what he sees. He forms to\nhimself rules of conduct modelled on the observed conduct of other\npeople. Their ideas penetrate his, and he absorbs and adapts them to\nhis own wants. In a school with other boys, or where a boy has as\nplayfellows boys older than himself, this works out right. The knowledge\nand ideas of the great world filter gradually down. Young men gain it\nfrom older men, the young men pass it to the elder boys, and the bigger\nto the smaller, each adapting it as he takes. Thus is wisdom made\ndigestible by the many processes it passes through, and the child can\ntake it and find it agree with him.\n\nBut with a child brought up with adults and children younger than\nhimself this is not so. From the latter he can learn nothing; he\ntherefore adapts himself to the former. He listens to them, he watches\nthem, unconsciously it is true, but with that terrible penetrative power\nchildren possess. He learns their ideas, and, tough as they may prove to\nhim, he has to absorb them, and he has not the digestive juice, the\nexperience that is required to assimilate them. They are unfit for his\ntender years, they do not yield the nourishment he requires. He suffers\nterribly. A man's ideas and knowledge are not fit for a boy.\n\nAnd if a man's, how much less a woman's? A boy will become a man; what\nhe has learnt of men is knowledge of the right kind, though of the wrong\ndegree. But what he learns from women is almost entirely unsuitable in\nkind and in degree. The ideas, the knowledge, the codes of conduct, the\noutlook on life that suit a woman are entirely unfitted for a boy.\nConsider and you must see how true it is.\n\nThis boy, too, was often ill and unable to play, to go out at all\nsometimes for weeks in the winter. He seemed always ailing. Thus he had\nto spend much of his time alone, and when he was tired of reading or of\nwood carving, or colouring plates in a book, he thought. He had often so\nmuch time to think that he grew sick of thought. He hated it. He would\nhave given very much to be able to get out and run about and play so as\nnot to think, to be enabled to forget that he had a brain which would\nkeep on passing phantoms before his inner eyes. There was nothing he\nhated so much, nothing he dreaded so deeply as having nothing to do but\nthink. In later years he took this terror to his heart and made it into\nan exceedingly great pleasure, but to the child it was not so.\n\nTherefore, when he was twelve and was sent at last to a large school, he\nwas different to most boys at that age; for his view of the world, his\nknowledge of it, his judgment of it, were all obtained from women. He\nsaw life much as they did, through the same glasses, though with\ndifferent sight. His ideas of conduct were a woman's ideas, his\nreligion was a woman's religion.\n\nAre not a woman's ideas of conduct the same as a man's? Is not a woman's\nChristianity the same as a man's Christianity, if both be Christianity?\nAnd I reply, No! A thousand times no! There is all the world between\nthem, all that world that is between woman and a man.\n\nAs to man's religion I will speak of it later. The woman's ideas of\nconduct and religion which this child had absorbed were these. He\nbelieved in the New Testament. I do not mean he disbelieved the Old\nTestament, but he did not think of it. Religion to him meant the\nteaching of Christ, that very simple teaching that is in the Gospel.\nConduct to him meant the imitation of Christ and the observance of the\nSermon on the Mount. He thought this was accepted by all the world--the\nChristian world at least--as true, that everyone, men as well as women,\naccepted this teaching not as a mere pious aspiration, not as an\naltruistic ideal, but as a real working theory. War was bad, all war.\nSoldiers apparently were not all bad--he had been told of Christian\nsoldiers, though he had no idea how such a contradiction could\noccur--but at least they were a dreadful necessity. Wealth and the\npursuit of wealth were bad, wicked even, though here again there were\nexceptions. Learning was apt to be a snare. The world was very wicked,\nconsciously wicked, which accounted for the present state of affairs,\nand most people would certainly go to hell. The ideal life was that of a\nvery poor curate in the East End of London, hard working and unhappy.\nThese are some of the ideas he learnt, for this is the religion of all\nthe religious women of England; of all those who are in their way the\nvery salt of the nation. Their belief is the teaching of Christ, and\nthat is what this boy learnt. This is what \"conduct\" and \"religion\"\nmeant to him.\n\nI must not be misunderstood. I do not intend to suggest that this boy\nwas any better than other boys, that his life was less marked by the\npeccadilloes of childhood. He was probably much as other boys are as far\nas badness or goodness is concerned. His acts, I doubt not, did not very\nmuch differ from theirs. After all, neither boys nor men are very much\nguided either by any theoretical \"Rule of Life,\" nor by any view of what\nis the true Religion. He acted according to his instincts, but having so\nacted the difference between him and other boys came in. Other boys'\ninstincts led them to poach a trout out of a stream, and rejoice in\ntheir success if they were not caught. This boy's instinct also led him\nto poach a trout if he could, but he did not rejoice over it. Poaching\nwas stealing, and that was a deadly sin. He was aware of that and was\nafraid.\n\nOther boys' instincts made them fight on occasions and be proud of it,\nwhether victor or vanquished, to boast of it publicly perhaps; anyhow,\nnot to keep it a secret or be ashamed of it. This boy's instincts also\nled him several times into fights; but whether victor or not--it was\nusually not--he could not appear to be proud of it. The Sermon on the\nMount told him he ought not to have fought that boy who struck him, but\nshould have turned the other cheek, and he knew very well that it would\nbe regarded as a sin. It must be kept secret and he must be ashamed of\nit, and so with many things. It never occurred to him then to doubt that\nthe Sermon on the Mount did really contain the correct rule of life for\nhim, and that any breach of it must be a deadly sin. Among other results\nthis friction between the natural boy and the rule of conduct he was\ntaught he ought to adopt, gave the boy a continual sensation of being\nwrong. He knew he was continually breaking the Sermon on the Mount and\nalso other rules of the New Testament. He was perfectly sure he did not\nlive at all like Christ, and he had a strong, but never then\nacknowledged certainty, that he didn't want to. All this, with the\ncontinual reproof of those around him, gave him an incessant feeling of\nbeing wicked. He could not live up to these rules, and he was a very\nwicked little boy bound for hell, so he thought of himself.\n\nIt is difficult to imagine anything worse for a boy than this. Tell a\nboy he is bad, lead him to believe he is bad, make much of his little\nsins, reprove him, mourn over him as one of wicked tendencies, and you\nwill make him wicked. Perpetual struggle to attain an impossible and\nunnatural ideal is destructive to any moral fibre. For the boy soon\nbegins to distrust himself, his own efforts, his own good intentions. He\nfails and fails, and he loses heart and begins to count on failure as\ncertain. Then later he abandons effort as useless. What is the good of\ntrying without any hope of success? It is useless and foolish. To save\nappearances he must pretend, and that is all. But at the time he went to\nschool he had not quite come to that, for the stress of the world had\nnot yet fallen upon him. He still believed in what he was taught was the\nideal of life, and tried, in a childish, uncertain way, to act up to\nit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nIDEAL AND PRACTICE.\n\n\nSuch was the boy who went to school, and such was the mental and moral\nequipment with which he started.\n\nHe found himself in a new world. He had stepped out of a woman's world\ninto a man's, out of the New Testament into the Old, out of dreams into\nreality. For the ideas and beliefs, the knowledge and understanding, the\ncode of morality and conduct, in a big school, are those of the world.\nThis filters down from the world of men to the world of little boys, and\nthe latter is the echo of the former. It is an echo of the great world\nsounded by childish hearts, but still a true echo. Then this boy began\nto learn new things, a new morality vastly different from the old. And\nthis is what he learnt: that it is not wrong to fight, but right.\nFighting is not evil but good, all kinds of fighting. The profession of\na soldier is a great and worthy one, perhaps the highest. To fight men,\nto kill them and subdue them, is not bad but good--provided, of course,\nit is in a good cause. A war is not a regrettable necessity, but a very\nglorious opportunity. Both men and boys rejoice to know of battles\ngreatly fought, of blood and wounds, of death and victory. It makes the\nheart bound to hear of such things. Everyone should wish to be able to\ndo them--in a good cause. Is not the cause of our country always a good\ncause? When this boy arrived at school he learnt suddenly that a war was\ngoing on. It was a small frontier war such as we often have. He had not\nheard of it at home. Now he heard of it all day. Masters announced\npublicly any victory, holidays were given for them, out of school hours\nthe boys talked of little else. The illustrated papers were full of\nsketches of the war, and the weekly papers of accounts of marches and\nbattles. Boys who had relations, fathers, or uncles, or elder brothers,\nat the front rose into sudden fame. Big boys who were hoping to pass\ninto Sandhurst or Woolwich were heroes; the school was full of the\nenthusiasm of the success of our armies. Parties were formed and\ngenerals were appointed; hillocks in the play green were defended and\nassaulted, and many grievous blows were given in these mimic fights. One\nboy nearly lost his eye. To the boy of which I am writing all this was\nnew, it was new and delightful, and extraordinarily wicked.\n\nThis was not his only awakening, this was not the only subject on which\nhe learnt new rules. Soldiers must fight, and so must boys, if\nnecessary, in a good cause. To a soldier all causes are good when his\ncountry bids; to a boy all causes are good when his school code tells\nhim. Turn the other cheek? Be called a funk and a coward, be derided and\nscorned by all the school, be told to be ashamed, and, worse than all,\nfeel that he ought to be and was ashamed? Not so. Not so. A boy must\nfight, too, when his schoolboy honour bids. He even learnt more still\nthan this. Battle was not always a disagreeable necessity, it was in\nitself often a pleasure. \"To drink delight of battle with his peers\" is\nno poet's rhetorical phrase; it is a truth. There is a sheer muscular\nphysical pleasure in fighting, as all boys know. True blows hurt, but\nthe blows that hurt most are not on the body, and there is, too, a moral\nstrength, a moral pleasure, that comes from battles. It is not\ndisgraceful to fight, it is not even disgraceful to be beaten, but it\nwould often be very disgraceful not to fight, to turn the other cheek.\nAll wars are not bad things. They are the storms of God stirring up the\nstagnant natures to new purity and life. The people that cannot fight\nshall die. He learnt this lesson, not as I have written it. He did not\nrealise it, he did not put it into words as I have done. It sank into\nhim unconsciously as the previous teaching had done--and sorely they\ndisagreed with each other. He learnt other lessons, many of them, in the\nsame way. He learnt that money is not an evil but a good. When he found\nhis pocket-money short this soon dawned upon him, and the lesson did not\nend there. He found that wealth was almost worshipped, that it had very\ngreat power. He found everyone engaged in the race for wealth, everyone.\nHis spiritual pastors and masters were no more exempt than anyone else.\nThey encouraged the race. A boy's schooling was looked upon as his\npreparation for the battle of life in which he was to struggle for money\nand honours. Men who had attained them were held up to his admiration.\nNot the pale-faced curates of the East End, but the great statesman and\nsoldier, the bishops, the lawyers, the writers, the successful merchants\nwho had once been at the school, were emblazoned on the wall. No meek,\nstruggling curate would find a niche there. The race was to the strong,\nnot the weak. He was learning the law of the survival of the fittest,\nand he was further learning that the Sermon on the Mount is not a guide\nto be the fittest, in this world at any rate.\n\nI must try again and guard against misconception. The school was a good\nschool, the tone was good, the masters were all men of high character,\nof considerable learning. No school could have been better taught; but\nthis was the teaching of the school, as it is and must be of all schools\nthat are worth anything: a boy must be brought up on truths, not\nimaginings; he must learn laws, not aspirations; he must be prepared for\nthe world as it is, not as a visionary might see it.\n\nTherefore this boy learnt at school the great code of conduct which\nobtains in the world. Shortly, it is this: not to be quarrelsome, but to\nbe ready always to fight for a good cause, be the fighting with sword or\nfist, with pen or tongue, by word or deed, and when fighting to hit hard\nand spare not. He learnt to desire and strive for wealth and honour,\nwhich are good things, not in immoderate excess, which injures other\nforms of happiness, but in due and proper amount. He learnt that he\nshould speak the truth in most things, but not in all. There are worse\nthings than some lies. There are some lies that are not a disgrace, but\nan honour. He learnt that learning was not a snare, but a very necessary\nand very admirable thing also, and of all learning that knowledge of the\nworld, the wicked world, the flesh and the devil, was the most\nnecessary. Such in broad lines were what he learnt from his\nschoolfellows, the code filtered down from above, the code of a public\nschool. A very admirable code, but how different from what he had first\nlearnt. There were worlds between them, the immensity that lies between\nfact and ideal.\n\nAnd yet all this time, while this public school code was being driven\ninto him by precept and example, by coercion and by blows, all this\nwhile, every morning at prayers and every Sunday thrice, he heard the\nother code taught in the school chapel. The masters taught it, and the\nboys were supposed to accept and believe it--during chapel hours. Once\nchapel was over, once Monday morning came, and the other code ruled. No\none remembered the theoretic code of Christ. Boys who brought it forward\nin daily life were disliked. They were not bullied, no! but they were\nleft alone. The tone of the school would never have allowed bullying for\nsuch a cause, but there was an instinctive repulsion to those boys who\ntalked religion. The others inwardly accused them of cant. Boys who\nalleged religious reasons for refusing to fight, to poach, to smoke\noccasionally, to commit other little breaches of discipline, were\nsuspected of bringing forth religion as a cloak to hide the fact that\nthey were afraid to fight and poach and that smoking made them sick.\nThat they were very often rightly suspected this boy had no doubt. It\nwas his first introduction to cant, and it surprised him. Was, then, the\nattempt to realise the precepts of Christ in daily life either a folly\nor an hypocrisy? As far as he could see it was both.\n\nIt must not, of course, be imagined that he thus faced the problem and\ngave this answer. He no more faced the problem than any other boy does,\nthan the great majority of men do. He simply grew up according to his\nsurroundings, agreeing with them, accepting the rule he found accepted,\ndeveloping as his environments made him. But although he did not\nmentally face and enumerate his difficulties, he was aware of them just\nthe same. He was clearly conscious of a conflict between fact and\ntheory, between teaching and example, between reality and dreams. He\nbecame year after year also more clearly aware of a repugnance rising\nwithin him to religion and to religious teaching. He shrank from it\nwithout realising why. He supposed it was just his natural sin. It was,\nof course, that he was proving its unreality as a guide to life. He\nbegan to shrink, too, from all religious topics, from religious services\nand religious books. They jarred on him. He found himself also losing\nhis reverence for his religious teachers--for all his teachers, in\nfact--for they all professed religion. Their words had grated on him\nfirst, the difference between what they professed to believe and what he\nknew they did believe. Unaware of the reason till much later, almost\nunconsciously there grew up in him a contempt towards all his teachers\nand masters, a sense that they must be and were hypocrites and\nimpostors. He found himself at eighteen far adrift from all guidance and\ncounsel, shunning religion because he saw that the teachings of Christ\nwere quite unadapted for the world he had to live in, scornful of and\ncontemning his teachers for what seemed to him hypocrisy.\n\nIt was not a satisfactory state for a boy, and the less so because it\nwas still almost unconscious. He felt all that I have said, the\navoidance, the dislike, but he had not yet faced it to himself and said,\n\"Why does Christianity jar upon me and seem unreal, what are its\ndifficulties?\" Nor, \"What is it that causes my dislike and contempt of\nmy teachers? They are better men in all ways than I am. They are good\nmen. I shall never be as good. I honour them in their lives. I admit\nthat. What is the difficulty?\" He was adrift without compass or pilot,\nand he did not know it. Yet he was already far from the safe harbour of\ntrust and belief. The storms and darkness of the sea of life were before\nhim, and there was no star by which he could steer. He made no effort,\nraised as yet no alarm, for he knew not that his anchor had dragged,\nthat he had lost hold, perhaps never to regain it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nSCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY--I.\n\n\nAbout this time he read the \"Origin of Species\" and \"The Descent of\nMan.\" This surprised him. It was not only that this was his first\nintroduction to the science of biology, his first peep behind the\ncurtain of modern forms into the coulisses of the world that interested\nhim, but there was here contained a complete refutation, a disastrous\noverthrow, of all that system of the Creation which he had been taught.\n\nIf Darwin was right, and he seemed to be right--nay, even his once\nadversaries now admitted he was right, if not in his details yet in his\nbroad outline--if he was right then was Genesis all wrong. There was\nnever any garden of Eden, never any seven days' creation, never any\nmaking of woman out of a rib; the world was not six thousand years old,\nbut millions. Man himself could count his pedigree back tens of\nthousands of years. It was a fable; and not only was it a fable, but\nthis fable contained as a kernel not a truth--then it would be\nunderstood--but a falsehood. The theory of the whole story was that man\nhad fallen, that he used to be perfect, that he walked with God, but\nthat he fell. Such was the idea. And the continuation was that Christ\nwas required to atone to God for man's disobedience, to lead man slowly\nback to the Paradise he had lost.\n\nAnd now it was clear that the garden of Eden was all a fable, that man\nhad never been perfect, that he had evolved slowly out of the beast. He\nhad risen, not fallen, and stood now higher than ever before. The first\npart was false, and if so, must not the sequence be false also? As a\nwhole the fable held together; destroy the foundation and the\nsuperstructure must come crashing into ruin. Oh! it was all false, the\nwhole of it, Old and New Testament together, an old woman's tale. And\nthen suddenly his eyes were opened. He saw many things. His instincts\nthat he had not understood were now clear. Yes, of course, the\nsupernatural part was all a fable, a mistake; nay, more, it taught the\nreverse of truth, and the moral part of it was all wrong too. The\nmorality of the Old Testament was that of a savage, the morality of the\nNew a remarkable ideal totally unfit for the world as it is now or ever\nhas been. The man who followed it would commit a terrible error. It was\ntherefore untrue also; more than merely untrue, it was dangerous, as a\nfalse teacher must be. For long he had instinctively seen that this was\nso, now he knew why. At the touch of science the whole fabric of\nreligion fell into dust. Christianity was a fraud, and there was an end\nof it.\n\nBut still the church bells rang and the people went there. Priests\npreached this belief and people held to it. Darwin had written more than\nten years before and his book had been accepted, but still religion had\nnot fallen. Men and women, as far as he could see nearly all men and\nwomen, still professed themselves Christians. How was all this possible?\nHow could it be that this disproved Jewish fable still held together? It\nwas wonderful. There must be a reason. What is it?\n\nCan it be possible, he thought, that there is an explanation, that\nreligion can justify itself, that it may still have reason? There are\npeople who call themselves scientific theologians. They write books and\nthey preach, and they can be asked questions. What have they to say? So\nthis boy collected some of his difficulties and tried to find out what\nscientific theology thought of them. Let me name briefly some of them:--\n\n_The Fall of Man._--Theology says he fell, science says he rose. What\ndoes Scientific Theology say?\n\n_The Character of God._--In the Old Testament God is represented\nfrequently as bloodthirsty, as partial to the Jews, as unjust, as given\nto anger, as changeable. How is this?\n\nAgain, God is represented as the only Almighty, the only All-present,\nAll-seeing, All-powerful; yet without a doubt the facts detailed show\nthe Devil to be certainly All-present, and, as far as man here is\nconcerned, has considerably more power and influence than God. God made\nthe world, but the Devil possesses it. Why?\n\n_Prayer._--How can this be necessary? If God knows best what is good for\nus, why pray to Him? Can He be influenced? The Bible says yes. Then is\nnot this a very extraordinary thing, that if God knows what is best for\nus, He should have to be asked to do it--that He won't do it unless\nasked?\n\nAbout Christ. He was God, yet He died to atone to Himself for the sin of\nman. What is the meaning of all this? Why did God allow man to crucify\nHimself in order to atone to Himself for a former sin of man, and what\nis the meaning of all this? Has it any?\n\nMost important of all, as to the example and teaching of Christ\nregarding conduct. What did it mean, and why did everyone profess it and\nno one believe it?\n\nThese, of course, were not all his difficulties. There were hundreds of\nthem. There is not a verse in the Old or New Testament, not a dogma, not\na belief of Christianity, that does not furnish ground for question.\nThese I have mentioned are but some of the most prominent. They will\nserve as examples of what he sought to learn.\n\nAnd these were the answers he received.\n\nThe History of the Creation is an allegory. It is not in conflict with\nscience, but in accordance with it. There is no difficulty. The seven\ndays of creation mean seven periods; we do not know how long these were.\nThe chronology of Archbishop Usher was, of course, in error. It is a\nwonderful testimony to the inspiration of the Bible, the accuracy with\nwhich the account of Creation therein fits in with the facts we have\nrecently learnt.\n\nThe story of Adam and Eve is an allegory of life. A child is born\ninnocent and pure, and he falls. The knowledge therein referred to, the\nfruit, means useless questions into the secrets of God, such questions\nas you are now engaged in. Had you accepted Christianity as a child does\nyou would never have fallen into the slough of infidelity in which you\nare now. You, like Eve, have been tempted by the Devil with the fruit of\nthe knowledge of good and evil, and have fallen. But the help of Christ,\nthe knowledge that he died for you, can now save you. That is the\nanswer.\n\nYou ask of the character of God in the Old Testament. You say that He is\nrepresented by His acts as revengeful, as unjust, as hasty, as very\npartial. Man cannot criticise the acts of God. He may seem to you so,\nbut are you sure you can judge rightly? God cannot be all these. His\ninjustice, His revengefulness, His partiality were merely effects\nproduced in your mind. They do not exist. He is all-merciful, and\nall-seeing, and all-powerful. If the Devil seems to have more power in\nthe world than God, it is simply because God allows him. If the Devil\nseems all-present it is because he has legions of demons to do his will.\nGod is all-merciful, all-powerful, all-just; believe this and you will\ndo well. The answers to your difficulties about prayer are also very\nsimple. God is not influenced by prayer. He is merciful and will always\ndo what He knows to be best for you, whether you pray or not; but He has\nordained prayer for you, not because of its effect on Him, but because\nof its effect upon yourself. Prayer, humiliation, softens the heart of\nthe suppliant. His cry to God will not change God, but will change him.\nThis is the explanation. It is very simple, is it not?\n\nThe doctrine of the Trinity can be best understood from an analogy of\nman. Consider how a man can be a father, a husband, and a son all at\nonce. There is no difficulty here. Where, then, is the difficulty with\nGod? God as the Father of man, the righteous Judge who punishes man for\nhis wickedness, He vindicated His law; but God the Son, the pitying\nnature of God, had compassion on man, and therefore gave Himself as a\nsacrifice for man; God the Holy Ghost, the Spirit of God, entered into\nman's heart and sanctified it. Cannot you thus understand the manifold\nnature of God?\n\nThe teaching of Christ? His example? You do not understand that? Was not\nHis life the perfect life, His teaching the perfect teaching? You say\nthat this teaching cannot be followed now in its entirety. Is it not the\nwickedness of man that prevents it? Did each man act up to this\nteaching, to this example, would it not be a perfect world? Let each man\ntry his best and the world will improve. Such as I have written were the\nanswers he found to his questions. I do not say that these are always\nthe answers that are given. It may be there are others. It may be that\nin the years that have passed since then new explanations have been\nevolved.\n\nAlthough I do not think that is so, as only a year ago I saw some of\nthese very replies written in a well-known Review as the authoritative\nanswer of scientific theology to these difficulties. However that may\nbe, these are the answers the boy received, such were the guides given\nto lead him out of the darkness of scepticism into the light of faith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nSCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY--II.\n\n\nWhat thought the boy of these explanations? Do you think they helped him\nat all? Do you think he was able to accept them as real? Did they throw\nany light into the darkness of his doubts?\n\nThe boy took them and considered them. He considered them fairly, I am\nsure; he would have accepted them if he could. For what he was looking\nfor was simply guidance and light. He had no desire for aught but this.\nIf he revolted now from the faith of his people it was because he found\nthere neither teaching he could accept nor help. If the scientific\ntheologian shewed him that the error was in him and not in the faith the\nboy would, I think, have been glad. So he took these explanations and\nconsidered them, and this is what he thought.\n\nThey tell me that the seven days of creation are seven epochs. I did\nnot ask that. To my question whether man has fallen, as the Bible says,\nor risen, as science declares, no reply has been given.\n\nThere is only a specious likening of a man's life, saying that man falls\nfrom the innocence of his childhood to sin through the knowledge of\nevil, and requires redemption. My question is avoided, and a new sophism\ngiven me which is also untrue. A child is not innocent. It is only\nignorant and weak. Its natural impulses are those of a savage. It\nrequires to learn the knowledge of good and evil to subdue these\ninstincts. This symbolism of the child is utterly false. A child is to\nus a very beautiful thing because its tenderness, its helplessness, its\nclinging affection awaken in us feelings of love, of protection, which\nwe feel are beautiful. All men should, all men I think do, love\nchildren, but the beauty is in the man's emotions that are awakened, not\nin those qualities of the children that awaken them.\n\nTo go beyond this and say that a child should be a model to man is to\ndisplay ignorance of what children are, to mistake effect for cause, to\nexalt childishness into a virtue. Theologians use this argument, which\nis merely a play upon our affection for children, to try and induce us\nto accept their theology with the same ignorant confidence that a child\naccepts all it is told by its parents. It would suit theologians for all\nmen to be babes in this sense, in their senselessness. But if theology\nwill bear the light of reason, why ask us to accept it blindly? Why? Is\nit because it will not bear scrutiny?\n\nAnd surely of all the answers, this answer about the character of God is\nthe most extraordinary. \"God is not really unjust or partial, or\nrevengeful. That is merely the impression His acts make on us.\" Truly\nhere is an argument. How can anyone, even God, be judged except in His\nacts? If His acts are revengeful, is not He revengeful? \"No!\" says the\ntheological scientist, \"that is merely your ignorance. Events make a\nwrong impression on you.\"\n\nHow, then, am I to judge which are wrong and which are right\nimpressions? God acts, as it seems to me, angrily; He is not angry. On\nother occasions He acts, as it seems, mercifully. How am I to know that\nthis impression of mercy is not an error? How, in fact, am I to know\nthat anything exists at all? If God's anger and partiality and\nchangeableness are merely impressions of my mind, are not all His\nattributes merely impressions also, and do not exist? In fact, is not\nGod Himself merely an impression and He does not exist? Where are you\ngoing to stop? The theologian will doubtless say, \"When I tell you.\"\nBut then he is unfortunately arrogating to himself an authority which\ndoes not exist, an authority to twist and turn the Bible to suit his own\nsophisms, an authority to bind your mind which no one has given him.\nImpressions forsooth. What impressions can any candid mind have of the\nscientific theologian? And when the boy read the explanation of the\ndifference between the all-presence of God and the all-presence of\nSatan, I am afraid he laughed.\n\nBut prayer is a serious matter. No one can feel anything but sorrow to\nsee the explanation of God and prayer. The theological scientist again\nrepeats the Bible words and has his own explanation. No, God is not\nmoved by prayer. This is merely another wrong impression of ours, an\nimpression taken from the Bible words. The action of prayer is not\nobjective, but subjective; its effect is not on God, but on you.\n\nNow mark what he has led himself into. Prayer will purify a man. To ask\nGod for what he wants won't make the slightest difference in God's acts,\nbut will in your own feelings. Nevertheless, as of course no one would\nor could pray unless he hoped to be answered, man must be told that God\ndoes listen. But this is not true. Therefore, according to theological\nscience, the Bible directly tells us a falsehood in order to lead us\ninto a good action. Is there any escape from this? There is none. The\nwhole meaning and reason of prayer is that God _does_ listen, that He\n_does_ forgive if asked, that He _does_ help us and save us. Unless a\nman held this belief firmly he would not pray. Try and you will see.\nImagine to yourself, as the theologian declares, that God is quite\nunmoved by prayer, and that the action of prayer is subjective, and see\nif you can get up any prayer at all. It is impossible. How much fervency\nwill there be in a request you know will not be granted or attended to?\nHow much subjective action will follow that prayer? The subjective\naction is absolutely dependent on your belief that God does listen and\nis influenced by your prayer. But the scientific theologian says your\npremise is false.\n\nCan you imagine this theologian's prayer? Can you see him kneeling and\nuttering supplications to a god whom he knows he cannot affect or\ninfluence, and pausing now and then to see how the subjective effect on\nhimself was getting on? But it is not even a subject to be bitter over,\nonly to be sad. Truly, if I wanted to make a man an atheist and a\nscoffer, a railer at all religion, at all religious emotions, at all\nthat is best in our natures, I would take him to a scientific\ntheologian and have him taught the scientific theological theory of\nprayer.\n\nAnd again, though the boy understood how a man could be the son of his\nfather, the husband of his wife, the father of his son, three different\nrelations to three people, it did not help him to understand how he\ncould be so to one person. A man cannot be his own son and his own\nfather, and have proceeding from him a third person different and yet\nthe same. The argument seemed to him childish.\n\nAs to the teaching of Christ, of what use is a teaching that is suitable\nonly to an ideal state of things? Is it any use to me to tell me that if\neveryone agreed at once to follow this teaching the world would be\nperfect? Even if this were true, what would be the use? The world never\nhas accepted it and does not do so now. No one does except a few people\nwho are called visionaries or fanatics. Even the Quakers only accept a\npart, and it is well for them that their fellow citizens do not accept\neven that part, or these Quakers would soon be robbed of their wealth. A\nnation of Quakers would be a nation of slaves. All this talk of what\nwould happen if at a given signal all the world became perfect is\nuseless dream talk. I want realities. This code of Christ is not a\nreality. No quicker way of destroying civilization and all that it\nmeans could be desired than by attempting to follow it. We must be ready\nand prepared to fight other nations, we must have armies and navies, and\nwe must honour them. We must have magistrates, and police, and prisons,\nand gallows.\n\n\"I went,\" thought the boy, \"to these theological scientists, for help in\nmy everyday life, for clear directions and explanations, and what do\nthey give me? A mass of words meaning nothing, words and words, and\ntangled thoughts; evasion and misrepresentation, misty dreams and\ncloud-hidden ideals. They cannot explain, and therefore the whole thing\nis false. There is no truth anywhere in it. The whole teaching of the\nBible, from the Creation down to the incarnation of Christ and His\nsecond coming, is one huge mistake. Why people keep on believing it I\ncannot say. But anyhow I have found out its falseness, and I will not.\nLet it all go. It will make no difference and be rather an advantage.\nWhat use have I ever had from this religion that has been dinned into\nme? It gave me false ideas of the world and nature which I have had to\nunlearn. It gave me an unworkable code of conduct which I never tried to\nfollow, but I got into trouble for it. To call oneself a Christian is\nmerely a way of talking. No one is so really, and the only difference\nbetween me and the others will be that while they are not Christians but\nthink they are, I am not a Christian and know I am not.\"\n\nWas the boy glad or sorry? I do not know. I think perhaps he was both.\nHe felt like a man who has shaken off a burden, a load that contained\nmere weight and no useful thing. He would step more lightly in future.\n\nBut he felt, too, like a man who has skirted a precipice, secure in that\na railing fenced him in from danger, when he suddenly discovers that the\nrailing is decayed to the core and will vanish at a touch. He felt dizzy\nand afraid, and the feeling grew upon him.\n\nMay be, he thought, it is a good thing to have a religion. People of all\nfaiths, of all nations, seem to cling to theirs very strongly. It is the\none thing they cannot bear to lose. Yet I do not know what they get from\nit. At least I do not know what people get from Christianity. What I\nlook for in a faith are these three things.\n\nI wish an explanation of my origin, of the origin of man and his\nrelation to this world, and to what there may be beyond this world. I\nwant an explanation I can accept, and that is not contradicted by the\nknowledge we acquire from other sources than religion.\n\nAnd I want a guide to life. I want a guide to life as it is. For I have\nto live in the world as it exists, and I would have help and direction\nto do so well. I want a teaching and an example I can refer to in my\neveryday troubles.\n\nFinally, I would know something of the Hereafter. I would desire to hear\nof the after death. I cannot believe that all non-Christians, including\nmyself and the majority of Christians, go to hell. That is repulsive.\nNor can I believe in the heavens they tell us of. If all be true that\nthey tell us, it has no attraction this Christian heaven. To be for ever\nsinging praises is not life but monotony. Did any man in health, and\nstrength, and sanity ever yearn to die in order to reach this Heaven\nthey tell us of? Did not Aucassin say long ago that if he were to\nbelieve the monks Heaven was a place for the poor and maimed, the\nfoolish, the childish and silly, the stupid, the cowards, the ugly, the\nundesirable, the failures of earth, and that he cared not for it?\nWhoever was unfit for earth was the more fit for heaven. No! If there is\nanother world it must be different from the conceptions of Heaven and\nHell as are taught. And I would know. These seem to me the essentials of\nreligion. They are the three things I want. I have not found them. It\nmay be that in the other greater faiths that hold the world I may find\nwhat I seek. I cannot say. But meanwhile I must do without. It is better\nto have no compass than a faulty one. It is better to watch for the\nstars, even if the night be thick and it be hard to see.\n\nSuch, I think, was what he thought. Whether he ever found what he\nsought, whether any faith can give what he asks, whether indeed these\nthree things are essentials of religion at all, will be found in the\nlatter part of the book. This part is but the introduction to explain\nwhy and by whom the search was made, and what was sought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nWHENCE FAITHS COME.\n\n\nFrom the East has come all our light. All world religions have begun\nthere, have grown there, have mostly spread there.\n\nBrahminism and Buddhism, Judaism and Christianity, Mahommedanism and\nParseeism, the cult of the Taoists and Confucians, every belief that has\nbeen a great belief, that has led man captive, has come from the East.\nEven the Mythologies of Greece and Rome were from Asiatic sources, from\nBabylon and Chaldea. In the North we have originated only Thor and Odin,\nBalder and the Valkyries.\n\nI do not think anyone who has lived in the East can doubt why this has\nbeen so. Where is it man's thoughts are deepest and strongest, where is\nit that his heart responds to the heart of the world until they beat\nthrob for throb?\n\nIt is never in the North; for the cold winds and dreary skies, the rain\nand cloud and gloom, do not draw a man out from himself, but drive him\nin. Every keen breeze that blows, every shower, every grey day, reminds\nhim not of his soul but of his body. It must be kept warm, it must be\nfed, it must be housed. He cannot forget that the outside world must be\nguarded against, is an enemy to be feared.\n\nAnd man must live in houses with other people. He cannot be alone, he\ncannot ever feel alone with just himself and the world. Yet it is only\nin solitude, when alone with Nature, that she will talk to you. For her\nvoice is very low, and there must be a great silence before she will\ntell her secrets.\n\nBut there in the East it is not so. For weeks and months, for half the\nyear may be, one perfect day is joined to another by more perfect\nnights.\n\nOnly there can man be alone. Only there, in the limitless silence of the\ndesert, in the unending forests, can you live and forget all other men,\nand yourself almost, and be alone with Him who is God.\n\nYou want but little, no house to shelter you, no fire, but very little\nfood and drink and clothes. You do not feel that restless desire to do\nsomething born of cold winds and skies. Your roof by day is the palm or\ntamarind, by night you watch the stars wheeling over your head. There\nis no one to commune with but Nature, and if you love her as she should\nbe loved; if you woo her as she would be wooed; if you can send out your\nsoul to lose itself with her in the wonders of the infinite, then shall\nyou hear the music of the stars.\n\nThus has all religion come from the land of the sun: light is the fount\nof faith.\n\nNever till you have been to the East can you know what faith is. Have we\nnot religion, nay religions, in the North? Yes, but not as they have\nthere. Do we not believe in the West? Yes, but not as they believe.\nFaith lies there in the great distances, in the dawn, the noon, the\nsunset, in the holiness of the dark. It has sunk into the heart of man.\nConsider, what do you see when you land anywhere in the East, what\nstrikes you most, what is most prominent, not in the landscape, but in\nthe people?\n\nIt is their religion.\n\nYou watch the people in the streets and you ask, Why has the merchant in\nthat shop trident marks on his forehead? Because he is a Hindu and\nfollows Vishnu. And that clerk who gave me money in the bank, why has he\nthose other marks? Because he is a Brahmin. And that money-lender seems\nto have rubbed his forehead with ashes? He is a Chetty.\n\nThey carry their religion about with them, they are proud of it, they\ndesire all men to know it. See that man's beard, he is a Mahommedan; and\nyonder man with a green turban, he is a Seyid. They would not desire you\nto doubt it.\n\nDid you ever see Englishmen praying in the streets? Perhaps never.\nCertainly if ever you have seen it you condemned it as unnatural. \"Let\nhim pray at home,\" you have thought. \"He is parading his piety.\" But\nhere in the East it is different.\n\nGo by the morning train, leave Rangoon Station when the sun is shining\non the great pagoda, and you will see men and women and children lean\nout of the carriage windows to salute it, to murmur a prayer. The\nMahommedan spreads his cloth and turns to Mecca, and prays no matter\nwhere he may be. He is not ashamed. It does not seem to him strange. He\ndoes it absolutely naturally, as all these people do all the things that\npertain to their faiths. Neither his fellow-believers nor the adherents\nof other faiths wonder.\n\nThe Hindu may hate the Mahommedan for social reasons, and the Buddhist\nmay hate both, but they do not despise each other for being religious.\n\nIt would never occur to a Hindu to despise or jeer at a Mahommedan for\nspreading his cloth at the street corner and praying. He thinks the\nfaith a mistaken faith, _he_ would not have it. But if a man is a\nMahommedan it is right of him to pray, of course.\n\nI have never heard, no one has ever heard, one Oriental jeer at another\nfor being religious, for obeying the commands of his faith. But I have\nheard Christians and teachers of Christianity do so very often. We will\njeer at a Mahommedan for praying, at a Hindu for observing his caste, at\na Buddhist for raising his hands in honour to his pagoda, at a Chinaman\nfor protecting the graves of his fathers. For in the West we have never\nknown what real religion is. We have it not ourselves, and so we cannot\nrecognise and honour it in others. No brave man will mock at another\nbrave man, though an enemy; no one who has loved mocks at another lover,\nthough he love strange things. Only those jeer who do not know, and the\nChristians of the West jeer at the faiths of the East, at the simple\nnatural religion of the people, because they know not what religion of\nthe heart can be.\n\nIn Europe, what difference does a man's faith make? None. He may live a\nlifetime with other men and no one know or care what his faith may be.\nUnless he is a poor man and in need of mission, it is considered\nimpertinence to ask. But here in the East a man's faith is everything.\nYou cannot get away from it even for a moment. It is an essential part\nof him.\n\nThere is another thing that strikes one very soon. These Oriental\nreligions have little or no organisation. Here in Europe there is\nnothing so organised as religion. Consider the Catholic faith and the\norganisation of Rome. It is a marvel of government, of very strict\ngovernment indeed. And the other forms of Western Christianity are not\nmuch behind. The Greek Church is organised as a branch of Government.\nSo, too, to a lesser extent is the Anglican Church, and if the\nDissenting bodies, as we call them, are not connected with the State,\nthey have nevertheless a strong system of government.\n\nThese organisations are not now, of course, so strong as they were. They\nused to drag the men into religion by force, by State aid, they used to\ninsist on conformity and punish laxity of observance. That is now gone,\nbut a strong and continuous pressure still exists, exerted by the\nChurches in many ways. All Churches in Europe are always having\n\"missions.\" Our great cities are full of them, and the country is not\nfree of them. There has to be a continual shepherding of the flock or\nthe Church might dwindle sadly. Men have to be preached at and caught\none way or another. All through Europe immense sums are spent yearly in\nChristianising the poor.\n\nIn the East nothing of this exists. There is no head of Hinduism; that\nof the Sultan in Mahommedanism is merely nominal; how slight the\norganisation is of Buddhism those who have read my former book will\nknow.\n\nHindus are guided by the race of Brahmins, who in turn are guided by no\none. They are a great community themselves, without any organisation or\nbinding authority. They need no Pope, no Acts of Uniformity. They are\nBrahmins because they are so. And so it may be said in general. Faiths\nin the East require no strong organisations to hold them together.\nReligion is innate in the believers. It seems wonderful. And they have\nno missions. If a man feels the need of faith he will seek it and obtain\nit. It is there for him if he will come. And all do come. How many\nmillions in Europe, even in England, have no religious usages? Can you\nin the East find one man?\n\nWhen you think of Europe and its faiths you seem to be in a garden where\nthe hedges are carefully clipped and the flowers are trained and pruned,\nand where you may not walk on the grass. It is all order, and method,\nand restriction, for the flowers are exotics and would die without the\ntending, they would vary if they were not kept true to type. But the\nEast is Nature's garden, where the flowers grow wild everywhere; no one\ntends them or cares for them, but each grows his own way, developes his\nown power and strength, from the lowest grasses to the gorgeous orchid\nor the poison lily.\n\nTherefore it may be that in this East, this country whence all religions\nhave come, where the whole air breathes of faiths and all life is full\nof them, the man who has lost his early beliefs may learn new ones.\nThere is so much to choose from, so many varieties of thought and\nemotion.\n\nIn this Empire of ours are all the great religions. It is the home of\nBrahminism, of the mystical forms of Hinduism, beyond which it has never\nspread. There are more Mahommedans here than under the Sultan of Roum.\nThere are the Parsees here, fugitives long ago from Persia on account of\ntheir faith, the only sun worshippers who are left. There are Jews who\ncame here no one can tell how long ago, there are Christians who date\nback may be eighteen centuries, there are Armenians and Arabs. Within\nthis Empire live the only race professing a Buddhism that is pure and\nwithout superstition; and beside these there are a hundred other cults,\nsuperstitions, or religions, call them what you will.\n\nFrom the spirit worship of the Shan plateau to the dignified philosophic\ntheories of the Brahmo Somaj is a space as wide as the world can show,\nyet may it be bridged with religions that differ but by small degrees\ntill the whole be passed.\n\nIf anyone want a faith here are enough and to spare. \"Therefore,\"\nthought the boy, who had now become a man, \"I will seek here for what I\nwant. I know what I want. I have it clearly before me. I have even\nwritten it down. It is not as if I was undertaking a blind search for\nsomething of which I was not sure. These are my three essentials: a\nreasonable theory of the universe, a workable and working code of\nconduct, a promise in the after life that gives me something to really\ndesire, to really hope for, to be a haven towards which I may steer. I\nwill take each subject, each section of a subject, separately and read\nit up. I will read up these faiths from books, I will study them as I\ncan from the people, and I will see what they are. Surely somewhere can\nbe found what I desire, what I desire so greatly to find.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE WISDOM OF BOOKS.\n\n\nTherefore the man got books and read them. He read books on Hinduism,\nmany of them; he read the Vedas and the sacred hymns. He learnt of\nVishnu and Siva, of Krishna and the milkmaids. He found books on caste\nand read them, of how these were originally four castes which\nsubdivided. He read of suttee and the car of Juggernauth. He then turned\nto Mahommedanism and the life of Mahommed. He read the Koran. He learned\nthe early history of the faith, of its rise, of the glory of its result,\nof the fall of its great Empire. He saw it had much to do with Judaism,\nthere were great similarities, there were also differences. He read of\nParseeism, that taught by Zoroaster which they call fire worship; he\nread of Jainism, of the cult of the Sikhs, of many another strange\nfaith; he learned of the spirit worship of the aboriginal tribes among\nthe mountains, of Phallic worship and its monstrosities.\n\nHe read of Confucius and his teachings, of Laotze and his doctrines, of\nancestor worship among the Chinese, of Shintoism in Japan.\n\nMost of all he read about Buddhism. There was something here that\nattracted him more than in all the rest. In the life of Gaudama the\nBuddha he found a beauty that came to him as a charm, in the teachings\nof the Great Teacher there seemed to him a light such as he had not\nseen. Mystery and miracle and the supernatural had always jarred on him,\nthey had an unpleasant savour, as of appeals to the lowest elements in\nthe minds of the credulous and ignorant. Truth he thought should not\nneed such meretricious attractions. Here was a faith that needed none of\nthese things. It could exist without them. It contained explanations,\nnot dogmas. It was reasonableness instead of hysteria, it denounced\nmysticism and the cult of the supernatural.\n\nIt took the man several years to read these books, and he lived those\nyears much alone. His house lay half up a mountain side. Below him lay\ntangled masses of hills clothed with dense forest, with here and there a\nclearing. Before him was a jagged mountain wall, behind a great bare\ndome of rock. It was always wonderful to sit and watch, to see the sun\nrise in gold and crimson behind the peaks, while all below lay in a\nwhite mist; to watch the sun rays fall and the mist grow thinner,\nshowing faint outlines of tree clump and hill contour, till all the mist\nwas gone and the world was full of golden light. Daily he saw the marvel\nof the dawn. He learnt to love it as the most beautiful of things, most\nbeautiful because full of the promise of untold glory. For the most part\nhis life was very lonely. There were the labourers who worked for him,\nthe black, half-nude people who came in gangs in May and left in\nFebruary of each year. They were not of his world. He directed their\nwork, he paid them, but he did not know them. He wondered at them, that\nwas all, and there were scattered here and there throughout the hills\nother Europeans, who lived much the same life as he did, and whom he met\noccasionally at their houses or his, or at the club ten miles away. He\nliked them, some of them were his best friends, a great part of his life\nwas theirs also.\n\nBut there was, aside from his friends, aside from the merry meetings,\nthe games, the chaff, the laughter, another life apart. There was a life\nhe lived to himself, in another world it seemed. His world was of the\nmountain and the fell, of the brooks that laughed down the precipice,\nof the giant trees, the tangled creepers, the delicate orchid far above.\nHis thoughts were with them and with his books, for they should be\nbrothers. He read and he watched, and he tried to understand; he asked\nof nature the meaning of these religions, to tell him the secret that he\nwould know. What is the truth of things--what do you mean? And I----What\ndo _I_ mean? What is the secret of it all?\n\nThe mountains and the trees answered him and told him secrets, the\nsecrets of their hearts, but not the secret he would know. They murmured\nto him of many things, of beauty, of love, of peace, of forgetfulness.\nThey sang the world's slumber song.\n\nBut of whence, of how, of whither they told him nothing, only they\nceased talking when he asked, they ceased their song and there was\nsilence. They could not tell.\n\nSo he lay upon the rocks and read, and the hills and trees wondered\nbecause they knew not of what he read. \"Take care,\" they whispered; \"why\ntrouble? Life is so short, surely it were wise to make the best of it;\nfor no one can answer what you ask. We die and fall and new trees grow\nagain, the hills are newly clad each year. The old return in new forms.\nWe can tell of ourselves, we are not afraid. Our lives are full of\ndelight. Death has no terror for us. But you? Of you we know nothing. We\nhave no echo to your words.\"\n\nYet the man read on. He dreamed and read and dreamed again.\n\n\"I have three wants,\" he said. \"I would know whence I came, I would have\nsome rule to live by, I would know whither I am going. Religions, many\nreligions profess to tell men these things, surely somewhere there will\nbe truth. Nearly all men are satisfied with their religion, cannot I\nfind one that satisfies me? It is so little that I ask, I have here so\nmany answers. Amongst them I will be able to find what I want.\"\nTherefore he read on. But in the thoughts of many teachers there is not\nclearness, but confusion. In a multitude of counsellors there is not\nwisdom, only mist, only the strange shadows made by many lights. He\nfound that he did not gain. \"Sometimes,\" he said, \"I agree with one,\nsometimes with another. No one seems to be altogether true. There is\nTruth, perhaps, but not the whole Truth. This will not do.\"\n\nAt last he said to himself that he would make a system. He would take\ncertain ideas from various faiths, he would put them together, he would\ncompare them one by one and see what he learnt.\n\nThere is, he said, the First Cause. What do religions say about this\nFirst Cause? There is Brahma, and Jehovah, and Ahriman, with Ormuz;\nthere is the Buddhist doctrine of Law, there is the Christian Trinity.\nThese are some of the chief ideas. What can be made of them? Have they a\ncommon truth? Are the great religions utterly at variance about this\nFirst Cause, or can they agree? I will take this point and consider it\nfirst. What is the First Cause? Then I will pass to another. What does\nlife mean? Why are we here? Is there any explanation of this? For what\nobject does man exist? To what end? He did not mean what is the end of\nman, but what is the object of man, of life? To whom is it a benefit\nthat man exists? To God--if there be a God? If not, to whom? It cannot\nbe that existence is an aimless freak, that it has no object. But what\ncan this object be? What was to be gained by creating man at all? That\nwas question number two. There is no answer to this question.\n\nThere were many other questions that he asked. And when he had framed a\nquestion he sat down to his books to find the answer. He worked at them\nas problems to be solved. He sought in the various faiths described in\nhis books the answers to these problems. What he found will be shown in\nthe next few chapters; but let it be understood again how and why he\nsought.\n\nHe had been born in a faith and brought up in it, and had abandoned it.\nHe left it because he sought in it certain helps to thought and to life\nthat it seemed to him religion ought to give. More, it seemed to him\nthat these answers were of the very essence of religion. His fathers'\nfaith gave him answers he could not accept, it gave him a rule of life\nhe could not follow, that seemed to him untrue. Yet would he not be\nsatisfied with ignorance, he would search further. He wanted a religion,\na belief, and he would find it.\n\nFor I want it to be understood very clearly that he was no scoffer, no\ndenier of religion. It was the very reverse. He so much wanted a faith,\nit seemed to him such an eminently necessary thing, that he would not be\ncontent till he had one that he could really accept and believe. He\nhated doubt and half acceptance. He wanted a truth that appealed to him\nas a whole truth, that held no room for doubt.\n\n\"All men,\" he said, \"have religion. They love their faiths, they find in\nthem help and consolation and guidance, at least they tell me so. Why\nam I to be left out? Men say that religion is a treasure beyond words.\nThen I, too, would share in the treasure. But I cannot take what has\nbeen offered me. It does not seem to me to be true. I _cannot_ believe\nit. This religion repels me. I cannot say how greatly it repels me. They\nsay it is beautiful. It must be so to some. It is not so to me. Its\nmusic to me is not music, but harshest discord. It is not surely that I\nhave no desire for religion, no eye for beauty, no ear for harmony, I\nknow it is not that. No man loves beauty more than I do. There are\nthings in this faith I have rejected that appeal to me. I see in other\nfaiths, too, ideas that are beautiful. But no one seems all true, and\nnone answers my three questions. Yet will I look till I find.\n\n\"And meanwhile there are the hills and the woods. These are my dreams.\n\n\"But surely in my scheme I shall discover something.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nGOD.\n\n\nSitting on the hillside when the hot season was coming near its end he\nsaw the thunderstorms come across the hills. From far away they came,\nblack shadows in the distance, and the thunder like far off surf upon\nthe shore. Nearer they would grow and nearer, passing from ridge to\nridge, their long white skirts trailing upon the mountain sides, until\nthey came right overhead and the lightning flashed blindingly, while the\nthunder roared in great trumpet tones that shuddered through the gorges.\nThe man watched them and he saw how gods were born. It was Thor come\nback again--Thor with his hammer, Thor with his giant voice. Thus were\nborn the gods, Thor and Odin, Balder God of the Summer Sun, Apollo and\nVulcan, Ahriman and Ormuz, night and day.\n\nSo were born all the gods. You can read of it in Indian, in Greek, in\nRoman, in Norwegian mythology, in any mythology you like. You can see\nthe belief living still among the Chins, the Shans, the Moopers; for\nthem the storm-wind and earthquake, the great rivers and the giant\nhills, all these have causes, and they who cause them are gods. From\nthese have grown all the ideas of God that the peoples hold now. They\nwere originally local, local to the place, local to the people, and as\nthe people progressed so did their ideas of God.\n\nIt seemed to the man lying on his hillside easy to follow how it all\narose; for, indeed, was it not going on about him? Did not the forest\npeople speak of a god in the great bare rock behind him? Were there not\ngods in the ravines, gods in the hidden places of the hills? It was so\neasy to realise as he watched the storm-cloud bursting before him, as\nthe lightning flashed and the thunder trumpet sounded in the hills, that\nmen should personify these. Nay, more, he saw the wild men about him\nactually personifying them. He could understand.\n\nGod was the answer to a question; as the question grew so did the\nreply.\n\nThe savage asks but little. He does not ask \"Who am I?\" \"Who made the\nworld, and why?\" Such questioning comes but in later years. He fears the\nthunder; it is to him a great and wonderful and overpowering thing. It\nforces itself upon his notice, and he explains it as the voice of a\ngreater man, a God. He lives in the heavens, for His voice comes from\nthence. The giant peaks that swathe themselves in clouds, the volcano\nand the earthquake, the great river flowing for ever to the sea, with\nits strange floods, its eddies, its deadly undertow, in these too must\nbe gods. These are the first things that force themselves upon his dim\nobservance. He wonders, and from his wonder is born a god. But as he\ngrows in mental stature, in power of seeing, in power of feeling, he\nobserves other forces. How is the heaven held up, the great heavy dome\nas he imagines it? It is Atlas who does so. There is a god of the Autumn\nand Spring, of the Summer and Winter. So he personifies all forces he\nperceives but does not understand. For he has no idea of force except as\nemanating from a Person, of life which is not embodied in some form like\nhis own or that of some animal. Whenever anything is done it must be\nSome One who does it, and that Some One is like himself, only greater\nand stronger.\n\nThere is not in the savage god any conception differing from that of\nman. There is not in any god any realisable conception different from\nthat of man. The savage god is hungry and thirsty, requires clothes and\nhouses, has in all things passions and wants like a man. That makes the\ngod near to the man. With later gods is it different? God can be\nrealised only by means of the qualities He shares with man. Deduct from\nyour idea of God all human passions, love and forgiveness, and mercy,\nand revenge, and punishment, and what is left? Only words and\nabstractions which appeal to no one, and are realisable by no one.\nDeclare that God requires neither ears to hear nor eyes to see, nor legs\nto walk with, nor a body, and what is left? Nothing is left. When\nanyone, savage or Christian, realises God he does so by qualities God\nshares with man. God is the Big Man who causes things. That is all. To\nsay that God is a spirit and then to declare that a spirit differs in\nessence from a man is playing with words. No realisable conception does\nor can differ.\n\nThe conception of force by itself is but a very late idea. As one by\none the phenomena of nature attract man's observation he personifies\nthem. It will be noticed that unless a force intrudes itself on him he\ndoes not personify it. What people ever personified gravity? And why\nnot? Surely gravity is evident enough. Every time a savage dropped a\nstone on his toes he would recognise gravity. But no. That a stone falls\nto the ground because a force draws it is an idea very late to enter\nman's brain. It seems to him, as he would say, the nature of a stone to\nfall. And then gravity acts always in the same way. It is not\nintermittent--like lightning, for instance. Therefore he never conceives\nof gravity as a force at all. When men had come to perceive that it was\na force, they had passed the personifying stage. But the savage\npersonified each force as he perceived it. First the sun and storm, till\nat last he came to himself and began to study his own life. He had good\nand bad luck; that was Fortune. Evil deeds are done, and good; he is\nbeginning to classify and generalise; there are gods of Good and Evil.\nHe has come to Ormuz and Ahriman little by little; as his power of\ngeneralising progresses, he drops the smaller gods. They disappear, they\nare but attributes of greater gods. And as he grows in mental grasp and\nmakes himself the centre of his world, so does the God of Man become the\nGod of Nature too. The greater absorbs the lesser.\n\nThe God who cared for man, the God of his past, of his present, of his\nfuture, is become the great God. He rules all the gods until he alone is\nGod.\n\nSo it seemed to the man that God arose, never out of reason, always out\nof instinct. There was no difference. It is all the same story. There is\ninnate in all men a tendency to personify the forces they cannot\nunderstand. Because they want an explanation, and personality is the\nonly one that offers at first. To attribute effects to persons is\naboriginal science. To attribute them to natural laws is later science.\nEach is the answer to the same question. Men personify forces in\ndifferent ways according to their mental and emotional stature, to their\ncapacity for generalising. They express their ideas in different ways\naccording to their race and their country. The Hindu began with a god in\neach force, to represent each idea, and so the lower people still\nremain, afraid of many gods. But those of mental stature gradually\ngeneralised, till at last they came to one God, Brahm, and the lesser\ngods as emanating from him. This was a hierarchy; and then finally the\ngreatest thinkers came to one God only, and the idea that the lesser\ngods are but representatives of His manifold nature. You can see all the\nstages before you now. It is simply a question of brain power, and the\nsequence remains the same. First the lesser, then the greater. It is\nnever the other way on.\n\nSo does Christian mythology personify three ideas of God, as a Trinity,\nas three Persons in One, and a Devil. The Hindu would express such a\nconception of God by a god with three heads. Christianity, rejecting\nsuch crude symbolism, does so by a mystical creed. The Devil is being\ndropped. But the Jew and the Mahommedan have only one God. All force\nemanates from Him. He is the Cause of all things. He is One.\n\nAnd yet it is not a reasoned answer, but an instinctive one. The savage,\nno more than the Christian, does not reason out his God. The feeling,\nthe understanding of God is innate, abiding--never the result of a\nmental process. The idea of God is a thing in itself; it grows with the\nbrain, but it is not the result of any process of the brain; just as a\nforest tree grows the greater in richer soil.\n\nAs the idea of gods increased in majesty, as the numbers decreased and\nbecame merged in three, in two, or in one, so did their power increase.\nThe gods were at first but local, local to the place, local to the\ntribe. So was the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who was jealous of\nthe other gods. And gradually their local god or gods grew into the God\nof the whole world. It was only a question of mental development, of the\npower of generalisation in conception. Man conceived a ruler of the\nworld in the Roman Emperor before he conceived an all-powerful God. The\nman as he meditated, as he watched, would see the stages before his\neyes. There was the savage, the Kurumba and Moopa with his many gods in\nthe hills all about; there were the Hindus, the traders whose temples\nshewed white in the groves beneath, many steps higher in civilisation\nwith their supreme Brahm and minor gods emanating from him; there was\nthe Moslem with his \"God is God.\" He had the stages before his eyes.\n\nTherefore when he came to consider this question of God he found in\nGod-worship in Hinduism, Parseeism, Mahommedanism, Judaism,\nChristianity, no differing conception. They held all the same idea in\ndifferent shapes. There was nothing new. God, one or multiple, made the\nworld according to His own good pleasure, ruled it according to His\nwill. The savage knew most of God, because his god was but a man\nenlarged and the nearer to him for that. With greater contemplation the\ncrudities have been removed, the manlike qualities disappear one by one,\nuntil with the few greatest thinkers they are all gone. God has become a\n\"Spirit,\" an abstraction, an unthinkable, incomprehensible God that is\nof no use to anyone; for He cannot be influenced by prayer, He has no\npassions to be roused, He has become lost in the heavens, an inscrutable\nforce. Such was the evolution of God.\n\nOnly when he came to Buddhism was there a new thing. He found no longer\nGod or gods, but Law. That was indeed new, that was indeed very\ndifferent from the other faiths. The world came into being under Law, it\nprogressed under Law, it would end, if it ever did end, under Law. And\nthis Law was unchanged, unchangeable for ever. Let me consider, he said,\nthese two conceptions, Personality and Law.\n\nWhat is this world to the Buddhist? It is a place that has evolved and\nis evolving under Law. He does not speak of God creating one thing or\nanother, but of a sequence of events. The Buddhist was Darwin two\nthousand years before Darwin. He saw the rule of Law long before our\nscientific men found it in the stars. I do not think it is so easy to\nfollow the origin of this idea as it is of the idea of God. With the\nlatter we have the stages before our eyes, but how the Buddhist idea of\nlaw arose we can only conjecture. It is not, I think, an instinct like\nthe knowledge of God. It is more of a mental process, like the reasoning\nof science. It is a negation as opposed to an assertion. It is the\nnegative pole. It must surely have arisen like modern science from the\nobservation of facts. I do not say that the idea of law is absent from\nother faiths. You see it in the Commandments. Certain sequences were\nrecognised, but with Judaism they were ascribed to the order of a\nPersonality. Buddhism, like science, knows of no Personality. The laws\nof a Theocracy were always liable to change and correction. The laws of\nthe Buddhist are inviolable. The Christian thinks laws can be violated,\nthe Buddhist knows they are inviolable.\n\nYou cannot break a law. It is true that many declare otherwise, that\nCharles Kingsley in a famous lecture declared you could break the law of\ngravity. \"The law is,\" says he, \"that a stone should fall to the earth;\nbut by stretching out your hand you can prevent the stone falling. Thus\nyou can break the law.\" So argued Charles Kingsley, so think mistily\nmany men because they have never troubled to define the words they use.\nThere is no law that a stone should fall to the earth. The law of\ngravity is that bodies attract each other directly as their mass, and\ninversely as the square of the distance. You do not break this law by\nholding a stone in your hand. Nay, you can feel it acting all the time\nyou do so. You cannot break this law. You cannot break any law. Law is\nanother word for the inevitable. Whom did the Greeks put above all the\ngods? It was [Greek: anachke], Necessity. Did, then, the Greeks see that\nbehind all their personification of forces Law ruled? It may be so. They\nhave the two ideas, God and Law. It is perhaps the old battle of free\nwill and destination. And which is true? To the Greek Necessity was\nbehind God, to the Theist God is behind Law. The laws are but His\norders. He can break them and change them and modify them. And yet, it\nis so hard to see clearly how Theists can avoid the difficulty. If God's\nlaws are perfect truths they cannot be alterable. Only the imperfect\nwould be changed. Yet if God's laws are perfect, is not He, too, bound\nby them? And if He be bound, is not His free will, His omnipotence\nlimited? Surely God cannot transgress His own laws of righteousness; is\nthere not \"necessity\" to Him too? But if this be so, then where is the\nneed of any knowledge beyond the knowledge of law? If it be indeed\neternal, as the Buddhists say, what need for more? In the science of\nnature we need not go beyond, we cannot. In the science of man, who is\nbut part of nature, why should we do so? Is it not better, truer, more\nbeautiful to believe in everlasting laws of righteousness that rule the\nworld than to believe that a Personality has to be always arranging and\ninterfering? Would we not in a state prefer perfect laws to a perfect\nking, who, however, was imperfect in this that his laws were imperfect\nand had to be checked in their working? Which is the more perfect\nconception? Surely that of law. If crime and ignorance, if mistake and\nwaywardness brought always inevitably their due punishment and\ncorrection, where is a ruler needed? It is imperfection that requires\nchanging.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nGOD AND LAW.\n\n\nThink what a difference, what an immense difference, it makes to a man\nwhich he believes, how utterly it alters all his attitude to the\nUnknown, to the Infinite, whether he believes in God or in Law. For\namong all religions, all faiths, all theories of the unknown there are\nonly these two ideas, Personality or Law, free will or inevitableness.\nAnd how different they are.\n\nIn the face of eternity there are two attitudes: that of the Theist,\nwhether Christian or Jew, Hindu or spirit worshipper; and that of the\nBuddhist, the believer in Law. To the believer in God or in gods, what\nis the world and what is man? They are playthings in the hands of the\nAlmighty. God is responsible to no one, He knows no right and wrong, no\nnecessity beyond Himself, all He does must be right. He is All-powerful.\nMan must crouch before Him in fear. If man suffer he must not cry out\nagainst God; he must say in due submissiveness, \"Thy will be done.\" A\nman must even be thankful that matters are not worse. If in a shipwreck\nmany are drowned and few, bereft of all but life, are hardly saved, what\nmust they do? They must render thanks to God that He didn't drown them\ntoo. Not because they are aware of being punished for any sin, that does\nnot come to man in calamity. You cannot imagine a common sin that\nengulphs men and women, children and babes, from all countries, of all\nprofessions, of many religions, in one common disaster. No! God can be\nbribed, not with presents perhaps now, but with reverence. It is the\ncringe that deprecates uncontrollable Power. It is the same feeling that\nmakes the savage lay a fruit or a flower before the Spirit of the Hills\nlest he too be killed by the falling rocks.\n\nFor what do men imagine God to be? Do you think that each man holds one\nwonderful conception of God? Not so. The civilised man's idea of God is\nas the savage idea. Each man builds to himself his own God, out of his\nideals, civilised or savage. Truly, if you ask a man to tell you his\nidea of God he will answer you vaguely out of his creeds or sacred\nbooks; but if you watch that man's actions towards God, you will soon\ndiscover that his God is but his ideal man glorified.\n\nTo a tender woman her God is but the extreme of the tenderness, the\nbeauty, the compassion which she feels, and the narrowness which she has\nbut does not realise. And cannot you see in your mind's eye the German\nEmperor's God clanking round the heavenly mansions wearing a German\npickelhaube and swearing German oaths? Man's God is but what he admires\nmost in himself. He can be propitiated, he can be bribed. The savage\ndoes it with a bowl of milk or a honey cake, the mediaeval man did it\nwith a chapel or a painted window. You say this idea has ceased. Have\nyou ever prayed to God and said, \"Spare me this time and I will be good\nin future. I will do this. I will do that.\" Or, more beautifully, \"Spare\nhim that I love and let the punishment fall on me. Let me bear his\nsins.\" Is not the very idea of atonement expressed by Christ's life? A\nprice has to be paid to God. He must be bought off. Man's attitude\nbefore God must be that of the child, submissive with downcast eyes,\nfull of praise, never daring to blame. \"Tell me and I will obey, do not\npunish me or I perish.\" Then there is the attitude of the believer in\neternal law. For him the world holds no caprice, no leaning to one side\nor another, no revenge, no mercy. Each act carries with it an inevitable\nresult: reward if the act be good, punishment if it be bad. You can\nbreak a command of God. He may tell you to do a thing and you may\nrefuse. You cannot break a law. It is the inevitable, the everlasting.\nYou cannot rebel against law. The sin is not rebellion, but ignorance.\nThe attitude is not submission, but inquiry, the thirst for truth. Adam\nlost Eden because he sought for the knowledge of good and evil. But the\nlaw-believer says that only in wisdom, only in truth, is there any hope.\nHe stands before the eternal verities with clear eyes to see them, with\na strong heart to bear what his ignorance may make him suffer. Out of\nhis pain he will learn the sequences of life. He has gained much.\n\nWhat has he lost? Are not mercy and fatherly care, forgiveness and love,\nbeautiful things? Yet they, too, are of God. If you know not of Him,\nonly of Law, have you not lost out of your life some of the greatest\nthoughts? How will you comfort your heart when it is sore if you have\nnot God? Is prayer nothing?\n\nTruly, said the man, these are beautiful things. If I could have them\nalone. But I cannot. I fear the other qualities more than I love these.\nI would have neither. I would be a man and live under Law. It seems to\nme enough. If Law be absolute I see no room for God.\n\nOver against him were the long ridges of the hills where the rain-clouds\ngathered from the south. He saw them come in great masses surging up the\nvalleys and hiding the contours of the hills. The lightning flashed\nacross the peaks and the thunder echoed in long-drawn trumpet blasts.\n\"The savage,\" he said, \"saw there only gods warring with one another.\nNow with wiser eyes we see the reign of Law. We do not know all the\nlaws; we cannot even yet tell how much rain will come, whether it will\nbe famine or plenty. We cannot see the Law, but we never doubt the Law\nis there. With man it is the same. Births and deaths, suicides and\nmurders, are they too not all under Law? Why should not man's soul be so\ntoo? Where is the need of God?\"\n\nAs he came down the mountain side the rain was falling heavily, as it\ncan only in the tropics. The dry hollows were already streams, the\nstreams were foaming torrents. \"They act under Law,\" he said. \"Their\nlife is bounded all by Law.\" And then of a sudden, watching the foaming\nwater, he saw more clearly.\n\n\"True, the stream runs within its banks, but banks do not make the\nstream. Gravity, that drags down these waters, acts in certain sequence,\nbut that sequence is not gravity. Gravity is a force. When we enumerate\nthe law we do not define, or know, or understand the force, only the way\nit acts. Force is force, and law is law. They are not the same. They do\nnot explain each other. What a dead thing would law be that had no force\nacting within it. Truly, I must see more clearly. Law does not deny\nforce; nay, but it predicates it--is, in fact, an outcome of it. Law is\na sequence along which force acts; neither can exist without the other.\nAll force is ruled by law. Yes, but what is force--what are any of the\nforces that exist: gravity, and electricity, and heat, and life? Forms\nof motion? May be; but whence the motion?\n\n\"Ah me!\" said the man, \"then am I back again at the beginning. Have I\nlearnt nothing? I thought law might suffice, but it will not. If law is\ninevitable, then are we but helpless atoms following the stream of\nnecessity. Then is freewill dead. Yet there is freewill. There is force,\nthere is life, whence come these forces? And if one say that force is\nGod, what then?\n\n\"Perhaps there is this: there are two truths--there is God and there is\nLaw. Both are true, as there is destiny and there is freewill. But how\ncan that be? I see it is so, that it must be so. But how? Is it that\nthere are facets of some great truth behind which we can never know?\"\n\nThe man was weary. \"What have I gained? Only that I have a truth, which\nI cannot understand, which gives me no help, or but little? Have I\ngained anything to help me in life? I have gained this, perhaps, that if\nLaw be not a full explanation, it is true, as far as it goes; if not a\nwhole truth, yet it is a truth. Why go further? The scientist cares for\nnothing more when he has learned the laws of gravity. He is content to\nbe ignorant of whence the force comes, because he can go no further. In\nthe battle of life is not this enough? Can we not, too, be as the\nscientist, denying nothing, but searching only for that which we can\nknow and which will be useful to us? If force be God, yet should His\nways not be mysterious. Let us not shut our eyes and comfort ourselves\nin ignorance by saying, 'There is no Law; God is inscrutable, God knows\nno Law. He is inexpressible, changeable and uncertain.' But truly there\nis Law. Behind the gods, behind God, there _is_ [Greek: anachke], there\nis Necessity, there is an unfailing sequence of events, which is\nrighteousness. Let us learn then what righteousness is. Let us learn\nwhat is true in order to do what is right.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut after all it is all speculation. There is no evidence. It is a\ntheory built on nothing. What is the value of it? Nothing at all. What\nis to be gained by all this? Only barren words, finely spun theories\nmade of air. Where is the proof of God or of Law? There is none.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE WAY OF LIFE.\n\n\nPerhaps it does not matter. It may be that all this speculation about\nthe First Cause, about the Ruling Power of the world, is unnecessary.\nWhat matter if God be inscrutable, if He has given us commands for our\nlives that are clear, if He has laid down for us His will that we should\nfollow. Even if Law be not a full explanation, even if a knowledge of\nall Law would not mean a knowledge of everything, what would this\nsignify if we can see enough of the laws that govern our lives so to\norder ourselves as to reach the goal? Whether the Theist be right or the\nBuddhist, in his theories of the world, the main question with which we\nare concerned is ourselves. Has any religion a working code of life that\nis true, that is adapted to us as we are, that is not in conflict with\nfacts and common sense? What matters its name or its supposed origin? Is\nthere such a thing? So thought the man, turning from abstract ideas to\nreal necessities. After all, what I and all men want is not abstract\nideas, whether of God or Law, but present help and guidance. Has any God\ntaught any believer a perfect code of life, has any Buddhist searcher\ndiscovered the natural Law of life? For if so I would know them. Never\nmind the whence or how, give me the facts.\n\nIt seemed to him, looking back in the beginning of faiths, that morals,\nthat rules of life had no part there. When the Northman saw Thor in the\nthunder there was no moral code there. The Greek gods were frankly not\nso much immoral, which predicates a code of morals, as unmoral. They\nknew of no such thing. It is the same with all the early gods, with the\nHindu gods and those of all other early beliefs. The Chin savage on the\nBurmese frontier sees gods in the great peaks, but these gods demand\nfrom him no moral observance, they impress upon him no moral standard.\nAll that the early gods demanded was fear, reverence, worship. Even the\nJehovah of the Jews asked at first only this. It is not till you get to\nthe third commandment that conduct comes in, and the moral code was\nscanty. The early gods of all kinds, of all faiths, had no moral code\neither for themselves or man. They demanded only obedience and fear and\nworship. The moral code came later.\n\nIt seems unnecessary now to consider whence they came, how they grew,\nwhy they became added to the worship of the gods, which was all that\nearly religion meant. Some of that will come elsewhere. It is immaterial\nhere which is only the man's search after a code, any code that would\nact. For it remains that all faiths when once they had left the\nelementary stage did add a code of conduct as part of their religion,\nsaying it came from God, or was an immutable law, and tried to induce\nmen to follow it by declaring that it alone would lead to happiness\nhereafter. All the greater faiths have these codes. \"And I,\" said the\nman to himself as he searched, \"I care nothing whence the code is\nsupposed to have come, truly or falsely, as long as I find it. I want a\nguide to life as it is. Has any faith such a guide? For each declare\nthat it alone has. Show me these rules to life.\"\n\nThe books showed him. They showed him codes of all degrees, from the\nsimplest to the most complex, from the plain cult of courage, the very\nfirst and most necessary of all virtues, to the immensely complicated\ncode of observances of the Brahmin; and outside religions there were the\nphilosophies of Greece and Rome, of India and China, of Persia and\nGermany, and Scotland.\n\nNow should man so order his life as to live righteously here, and to be\nof good repute before man and his own conscience? How shall a man so\nform himself here that if indeed there be a life hereafter he may enter\nit without fear? What are these codes?\n\nIt seemed to him that there ran in some ways a great sameness through\nthe creeds, that up to a certain stage they differed but little. Courage\nagainst the foe, courage to face suffering, truth and honesty, and later\nmercy and compassion, charity of act and thought, courtesy and beauty of\nmind; these were the additions the faiths made, little by little, to the\nground-work of reverence of the gods. And so they grew, adding bit by\nbit, as civilisation increased and necessity dictated. They added many\nof them sanitary rules, observances for washing, for cooking, for\nchoosing food, incorporating with religion whatever practice found\nuseful, and thereby giving a sanctity which it would otherwise have\nlacked. Sometimes rules were added to preserve the race pure, as with\nthe Jews or the Hindus, evolving in the latter religion into the vast\nsystem of caste that separates the different races, all of whom call\nthemselves Hindus. With the two faiths as just mentioned the tendency\nwas to narrowness and restriction, to the exclusion of other races; with\nothers, such as the Mahommedan and Buddhist, it was to expansion, to the\nacceptance of other peoples, until at last some great Prophet arose to\ngive coherence and form to the whole and include it in the sacred books.\nSo arose the codes, the man thought. But this hardly matters. What are\nthe codes?\n\nIt seemed to him that out of all the faiths only two held codes that\nrose much above the level of savage conduct. We cannot go back to the\ncodes of Moses or Mahommed; we cannot accept the narrow racial\nlimitations of Hinduism; we have outgrown the simple ethics of Zoroaster\nand the Egyptians. The teachings of Confucius and Laotze are strange to\nus, and the philosophies, if they seem clear, are so singularly\nunconvincing. They lack so greatly all that appeals to mankind; they are\nso much codes in the head and not for the heart; they are as\nmathematical drawings compared to a work of art; they do not ring true.\nAnd so there were quickly left for him only two, the codes of Christ and\nof Buddha, the examples of the two greatest prophets the world has\nknown.\n\nAnd between the teachings of the great Teacher who lived two thousand\nand five hundred years ago, and that of the man God of the Christians\nsix hundred years later, what difference is there? They start from\ndifferent beginnings, they work towards perhaps different ends; but in\nthe methods, in the rules of life, what difference is there? That which\nwas taught by the sea of Galilee is but the echo of the words spoken\nlong before below the Himalayan Hills. They are the same, read them. The\ntwo greatest faiths the world has known, the two greatest teachers that\never came to man to help him in his need, have brought him the same\nmessage. Believe not in the world, believe not in wealth, in power, in\ngreatness, in strength. These are not what man should seek. Nay, but\nleave the world behind you because it is all evil, all very evil.\nNothing of this world is of any value. In a man's heart is his greatest\ntreasure. Make therefore your heart pure from the world. Leave it all\nand turn to God, to righteousness. Cultivate your own soul apart from\nall the pleasures of life. The other world can be gained only by\nabjuring this. Wealth and honour and ambition, all the glories of the\nworld, are but traps to catch you. Even the loves we love are wrong. The\nBuddha left his wife and child. The Christ never married, and denied\neven his mother any love beyond that of a disciple. It is all the same.\nTheir lives, their teachings are the same.\n\nThe man sighed as he read. Surely, he said, these are hard things to\nbelieve, that the world is evil. No, but it is not evil. That a man can\nonly fit himself for heaven by being unfit for earth. I cannot believe\nthis. I have not changed since I thought this over as a boy. This is not\na true code, not a true rule, not a true faith, whether Christian or\nBuddhist. I did not believe then, a boy; I do not believe now, a man.\n\nThe world is not evil. There is evil there, but so much of good. There\nare stains there truly, but so much of beauty. Do you think I can watch\nthe sun rise, the daily marvel which is beyond words, and hate the\nworld? Can I see the man I love, the men who have helped me, who have\nbeen with me, the men who are my friends, and say that they are of a\nworld that is evil? And the women, the girls, the children, are their\nlives for us nothing? Are they of a world that we must abjure? It is\nnever so. Truly, there are in these teachings, whether of the Christ or\nof the Buddha, much that is of beauty, much, so much that touches our\nhearts, I had at times fain believe. But I find in the world beauty\nalso, beauty that comes as near, that comes nearer than they do. When a\nman is honest and honourable and true, and rises to great position, to\nbe spoken well of by all men, is that an evil thing? Is the wealth that\ncomes of the keen brain, the strong will, a calamity? Are our loves, our\nhopes, our fears but evil? Yet they are of the world. Beautiful as is\nthe teaching, there are in the world things far more beautiful. I will\nnever believe, never, that the world and flesh are partners to the\nDevil. I will never believe that.\n\n\"And more,\" said the man slowly. \"No one ever does believe it--none but\na very few. The world has rejected it always; not from wickedness, but\nbecause the teaching is never true. They do not acknowledge their\ndisbelief. No! The Christians and the Buddhists maintain their faith by\nwords. But in secret, in their own hearts, before the world, in the\naction of their own hands, have they ever acknowledged these beliefs?\"\n\nNeither the Christ nor the Buddha are the models men follow, because men\nare sure that, though there be truth in their teachings yet it is not\nall the truth, though there be beauty yet are there other beauties as\ngreat, nay greater than these. The world is never evil, and if it were,\nto follow these doctrines would not be the way to make it better.\n\nThen the man turned from his books again to the world beneath him, he\ncame to reality from dreams. I have learnt nothing? No, but I have\nlearnt something. I have learned what I have yet to learn. And I have\nlearned more. I know why I disbelieve, because I love the world as it\nis, and because I will never believe that what calls to my heart from\nthere is wrong. The beauty of things is the truth of things. And in\ntruth and beauty is the voice of God as surely, nay more surely than in\nthe voice of any prophet of two thousand years ago.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nHEAVEN.\n\n\n\"I am not getting on very well,\" he thought. \"I have looked for three\nthings, and two I am sure I have not found. I have found nowhere any\nexplanation of the Universe, of the First Cause; I have found nowhere\nany true rule of life. Yet these are two of the three 'truths' that the\nfaiths offer to me as inducements to believe. 'We will give you,' they\nsay, 'a theory of this world and of its origin which is true, which will\nhelp you in this life because it will show you what you are and the\nworld is, and whence you came. We will give you through this troublous\nlife a guide that will never fail you, a staff that will never break.\nAnd finally, if you believe, you shall attain after death the happiness\nthat is without end.'\"\n\nSo they promise, and of their promises I have tried two. Have I found\nthat they give what they declare? Is there anywhere any belief of the\nFirst Cause that is true, that is the whole truth? There is none. And is\nthere any guide to life that can be followed in sincerity and truth?\nThere is none. There remains only heaven. There remains only the bribe,\nthe promise of happiness, if we will believe as they declare, if we will\ndo as they say.\n\nIt may be that here is the secret, that I shall come now to the answer;\nit may be that this is the key to all. If there is in the heaven they\npromise us such a fulfilment of glory, such an appeal to our hearts that\nthey cannot but answer, what matter the rest? Happiness is our end in\nlife. For what do we strive all our days but for happiness, for truth,\nfor joy, for the beauty of life? What matter that in the theory of the\nFirst Cause we can see no truth, that in the rule of life I can find\nonly a contradiction of beauty, if in the end in heaven these are\nattained? The end, if the end be perfect, will reveal the truth and the\nbeauty in the ways that are now hid. What is this heaven?\n\nWhen we think of heaven, when with our eyes shut we try to recall all\nthey have taught us of the Christian heaven, what are the images that\ncome up? It seems as if we went back all those years to when we were\nlittle lads beside our mothers, and as the fire flickered across the\nunlit room, full of strange shadows, we said our childish prayers and\nleant our heads heavy with sleep upon her knee. It is our mothers that\ntell us of the heaven, whither they would that we should go, that urge\nus with imaginings of beauty to come to be \"good.\" It is a childish\nheaven of which we learn, a heaven full of girl angels with white wings\nand floating dresses, of golden harps, of pearly gates, of everlasting\nsong. There are, I think, no men there, only girls; no sheep, but fleecy\nlambs. It is a heaven that appeals only to them. And is it very\ndifferent when we grow up? Indeed I think not. It is the same heaven\nalways, the same conception full of childish things. Did you ever hear a\nsermon on the heaven, did you ever read a book, did you ever listen to a\ndiscourse that did not take you back again in memory to that far-off\nfire-lightened room of childhood? Surely there is nothing in all the\nworld so babyish as the general idea of the Christian heaven. Can you\nimagine a _man_ there, a man with great deep voice and passion-laden\neyes, a man with the storms of life still beating on his soul amid these\nbaby faces and white wings? \"Ah,\" said the man, \"they must make us into\ninfants that we may enter their heaven. When I revolted against it as a\nboy as but a kindergarten, without even the distraction of being put in\nthe corner, was I wrong?\"\n\nMay be, for there are things beyond this. \"In my Father's house are many\nmansions. I go to prepare a place for you.\" \"Eye hath not seen nor ear\nheard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.\" \"The\npeace of God which passeth all understanding.\" \"Where God shall wipe\naway all tears from their eyes.\" These are not childish things.\nHappiness that hath no sorrow, light that knows no shadow, glory that\nnever ends.\n\nI read a book long ago; I have forgotten the name of it, I have\nforgotten who wrote it, and I remember that at the time I did not\nunderstand it. The book was on the subject of perfect happiness, on\nheaven, which is postulated as the ideal peace. And what this book tried\nto show--what, indeed, it showed, I think--was that happiness if\n_perfect_ was near akin to annihilation. The argument ran something like\nthis. \"You are happy in some particular employment, say in singing a\nhymn, in some particular attitude, let us say in kneeling. If your\nhappiness in this act and attitude is perfect, they will endure for\never. You will pass eternity kneeling and singing the same hymn. For\nconsider, Why do you ever change your acts, your attitudes? Because a\nparticular act or a certain attitude has become wearisome. But if it be\nstated that your happiness is _perfect_ you can never feel satiety,\nnever feel any desire for change. The wish for change is born of the\nfeeling of wearisomeness. You have had enough of one thing, you want\nanother. But if you are perfectly happy this cannot be. Life would\nbecome a monotony, a satiety near akin to death. And if indeed peace be\nthe highest happiness, then would this perfect peace be so near\nannihilation that the difference would only lie in that your\nconsciousness of happiness still remained.\" Thus did this writer show\nthat if the Christian heaven be as declared, _perfect_ happiness, so it\nmust be almost indistinguishable from death.\n\nI do not think this writer had ever read of the Buddhist Nirvana, I do\nnot remember that he ever even alluded to it. He was thinking of the\nChristian heaven and trying to make out what it was like, and that was\nwhat he found. He, taking the Christian ideal and working it to its\ninevitable conclusion, arrived at the same result as Buddhist teachers\nstarting from such widely different premises have arrived at: the\nChristian heaven and the Buddhist peace are the same.\n\nReaders of my former work, \"The Soul of a People,\" will remember how the\nBuddhists arrive at Nirvana. It is the \"Great Peace.\" Life is the\nenemy. Life is change, and change is misery. The ideal is to have done\nwith life, to be steeped in the Great Peace. Thus do the purer ideas of\nthe Christian heaven and the Buddhist heaven agree. It is the \"Peace\nthat passeth all understanding\" for each.\n\nAnd yet perfect happiness, sleep without waking, light without shadow,\njoy without sorrow, gaiety without eclipse. Can this ever be heaven? Let\nus look back on our lives, we who have lived, and let us think. Let us\nclose our eyes that the past may come before us and we may remember.\nWhat are the most beautiful memories that come before us, that make our\nhearts beat again with the greatest music they have known, that bring\nagain to our eyes the tears that are the water of the well of God? What\nhave been the greatest emotions of our lives? There has been struggle\nand effort, unceasing effort, crowned maybe with success, but maybe not,\neffort that we know has brought out all that is best in us, that we\nrejoice to remember. There will be no effort in heaven, only rest; there\nis no defeat, and therefore no victory, only peace. Therefore also,\nbecause we can have no enemies there we shall have no friends. Our\nfriends! How we can remember them. We have loved them because we have\nhated others. But in heaven there is no hate, only an equality of\nindifference. Heaven is nothing but joy. But consider, has joy been the\nmost beautiful thing in your life, is it joy that sounded the deepest\nharmonies? Remember how you have stood upon that faraway hillside and\nlaid to rest your comrade beneath the forest shadows? Was it not\nbeautiful what your heart sang to you while you said \"Farewell,\" and\ntears came to your eyes? There are no farewells in heaven.\n\nThere are women you have loved, women whose eyes have grown large and\nsoft as you have spoken to them in the dusk of evenings long ago. You\nhave loved them because they were women. What will they be in heaven?\n\nAnd the children! Think of that childless heaven. Think of the children\nwho laugh and play, and come to you to laugh with them, who cry and come\nto you for comfort. They will require no comfort from you in heaven, and\nhow much will you lose? The child angels are never naughty. They can\nnever come to you and hide their heads upon your shoulder and say \"I was\nwrong. I am very sorry. Please forgive me.\" None of these notes shall\never sound in heaven. There are no tears there. But do you not know\nthat the greater beauties can only be seen through tears, which are\ntheir dew?\n\nWhat is it that sounds the deeper notes of our lives? Is it sunshine,\nhappiness, gaiety? Is it any attribute of the heavens of the religions?\nSurely it is never so. It is the troubles of life, the mistakes, the\nsorrows, the sin, the shadow mysteries of the world, that sound in our\nhearts the greater strings.\n\nAnd are these to be mute in your heavens? Are we to fall to lesser notes\nof eternal praise, of eternal thanksgiving? Prophets of the faiths, what\nare these heavens of yours? Is there in them anything to draw our\nhearts? Have you pointed to us what we really would have? Your sacred\nbooks are full of your descriptions, of your enticements; you have\nbeggared all the languages in words to describe what you would have us\nlong for. And what have you gained? Is there any one man, one woman, one\nchild, not steeped in the uttermost incurable disease, in feeble old\nage, who would change the chances of his life here for any of your\nheavens? There is no one. Or if you were to say to a man, \"Choose. You\nshall be young again, and strong, or you shall go to heaven.\" Which\nwould he choose? Therefore, ye teachers of the faiths, are your promises\nvain. I do not believe in nor do I fear your hells, those crude places\nof fire and pitch and little black devils. I care not for your heavens;\nI would not go there, not to any of them, neither to the happy hunting\nground, nor to heaven, nor to the garden of the Houris nor to Nirvana,\n_not if they be as you tell me they are_. Nor do I want to merge my\nidentity in the Infinite. This life is good enough for me, while I\nretain health and strength. I am not tempted. Nor is anyone tempted.\nWhom have you persuaded? You know that you have enticed no one. No one\nis deceived. Men will die for many things, they will leap to accept\ndeath--but not for your heavens. All men _fear_ death and what is\nbeyond, the righteous who you say have earned heaven no less than the\nunrighteous. All faiths have had their martyrs, but that is different.\nThey have died to preserve their souls, as soldiers die to preserve\ntheir honour, gladly. Even the godly do not believe. They will have\nnothing of your heavens. I cannot understand how either Christian or\nBuddhist came to imagine such unattractive, unreasonable heavens.\n\nAnd so they have all failed. No religion gives us an intelligible First\nCause, no religion gives us a code of conduct we can follow, no\nreligion offers us a heaven we would care to attain.\n\nThere are many definitions of religion. I have written some on my first\npage. It will be seen that they all hinge on one of these ideas, either\nthat religion is a theory of causation, or it is a code of conduct, or\nthat it is concerned with future rewards and punishments.\n\nBut if indeed religion have any or all of these meanings, then is\nreligion false, then are all religions false. And more, no one who\nthinks over the subject, no one who takes it seriously would believe any\none of them, could take any as a satisfactory explanation. No one\naccepts any code of religious conduct as absolutely workable, no one is\nattracted by their heavens. I am sure of these things.\n\nThen shall I sit down with Omar Khayyam and say:--\n\n    \"Myself when young did eagerly frequent\n    Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument\n    About it and about; but evermore\n    Came out by the same door where in I went.\"\n\nShall I say all religion is but windy theory and no one cares for it?\nNeither do I.\n\nThe man put down his books and laughed. No one believes? But every man\nbelieves, or would like to believe. Every man is at heart more or less\nreligious. I see that in daily life as I go. Why? Why? What is it he\nfinds? I will not give up. I will not come out at that same door. I will\ntry again in a new line. I must be on the wrong road. Let me try back\nand consider. What is it in religion that we see and love and feel is\ntrue? Who are the people that we would be like? Is it the scientific\ntheologian with his word-confusion about homoiousios? Is it the Hindu\nsophist making theories of Brahm? Is it the Buddhist word-refiner\nspeculating on Karma? Surely it is not any of these people. It is the\nstreet preacher crying to the crowd, \"Come and be saved\"; it is the\npeasant with bowed head in the sunset listening to the Angelus; it is\nthe priest in his livelong lonely exile. These _are_ Christians, and\ntheir thoughts are the religion worth knowing. It is they who are near\nGod. I care not for the intricate intellectual mazes a Hindu can make\nwith his brain, but I care for the coolie. I can see him now, putting\nhis little ghi before the god, giving out of his poverty to the\nmendicant. It is he who knows God, even if his God be but the God of the\nhill above him. And it is the woman crying at the pagoda foot for\nsuccour; it is the reverent crowds that look upon the pagoda while their\neyes fill with tears; it is the Buddhist monk, far away beneath the\nhills, living his life of purity and example that I reverence. They\n_have_ religion. I will go to them and ask them what it is. I am sure it\nis not what the theologians of all creeds have told me. What do these\npoor know of thought and speculation? They do not think, they _know_.\nWhat is it that they know? Not certainly what the professional divines\ntell me.\n\nI do not believe these thinkers or their thoughts. If I believed that\nwhat they say is religion--is, in fact, so--I would have done with it.\nThat is where most men end. They ask the divines what religion is. The\ndivines produce their theories and creeds. The enquirer looks and\nexamines and reflects. For he says, \"If the professional men don't know\nwhat their own faith is, who does?\" But I will not end so. I _will_ know\nwherein the truth of religion lies. I will now go to those who know,\nbecause they _know_, not because they think. My books shall be the\nhearts of men.\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nTHEORIES AND FACTS.\n\n\nThere is a festival to-day among the coolies. All night, from down in\nthe valley where their huts are, has come the sound of tom-toms beating.\nAnd this morning there has been no roll-call, no telling off the men to\nmaking pits and the women to weeding. The fields have been empty, and\nthe village which is usually so abandoned by day, is full of people.\nThey have roamed lazily to and fro or sat before their doorways in the\nsun talking and waiting, for the ceremony is not till noon.\n\nIt begins with a procession. It is a long procession, all of men or\nboys, for it seems that among these people women are not concerned in\nthe acting of the ceremonies. They are all men, mostly the elders and\nthe headsmen of gangs, and before them dances a man half naked, half\nmad, who cries and throws his arms about. He is possessed of the Spirit.\nI do not know what the procession means, and I ask. No one can tell me;\nonly it \"is the custom.\" And so they pass up the main road near my house\nwith tom-toms beating and flowers about their necks, and the \"possessed\"\npriest dancing ever before them. They go perhaps a mile about and then\nreturn, and by the entrance to the village, where are boys who carry\nrice and cocoanuts; and as the priest approaches they throw this rice\nbefore him and break the cocoanuts at his feet. So they enter the\nvillage. In the centre is an open space and they stop, the procession\nbreaks, for the priest goes to the centre still dancing, and the people\nform a great ring about him. He dances more and more wildly as the\ntom-toms quicken their beat, his eyes are bloodshot, his hands are\nclenched, there is foam upon his lips. \"He has the Spirit,\" the people\nmurmur with wonder. Then into the centre of this ring come two men\ndragging a goat. It is a black goat with a white star on his forehead.\nHis horns are painted and there are flowers about his neck. When the\npriest sees the goat he rushes forward. He grips the goat by the ears,\nthe men let go and depart, and the priest and goat are left alone. He\nis about to sacrifice the goat, I know that, but I do not know how, for\nhe has no knife. But I quickly understand. He has seized the goat by\nboth ears in a grip of steel. Then bending down he bares his teeth and\ncatches the lower lip of the goat between them. He tears and worries,\nand the goat struggles ineffectually, for with savage energy the priest\nhas torn at the lip till it peels off in a long strip down the throat,\nso that the veins and arteries are laid bare. And then with a sudden\njerk he lets go the torn skin and buries his teeth deep in the\npalpitating throat. You see his jaw work, you see the goat give a great\nconvulsive struggle, there is a sudden rush of blood from the torn\narteries pouring over the priest in a great red stream. For a minute\nthere is stillness, and then the goat's tense limbs relax. They droop,\nfor he is dead; and with a tremor in all his limbs the man stands for a\nsecond and then drops too senseless, his face falling on the goat that\nhe has slain. For two, three, five minutes, I know not how long, there\nis a dead silence. The sun is at its height and pours down upon the\nintense crowd, upon the victim lying in its pool of blood, upon the\npriest a huddled heap beside it. And then with a great sigh the people\nawake. There is a movement and a murmur. Some elders go and carry away\nthe goat, and the priest is supported to the little temple near by. The\nblood is covered up with fresh earth, the ceremony is over, and the\npeople break up.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the evening my writer Antonio tells me all he knows. What is the god\nwho entered into the priest? I ask, and he shakes his head. \"For sure,\"\nhe answers, \"I do not know. They only tell me 'Sawmy, Sawmy'; that is,\n'God, God.' They say he want sacrifice, he want people to give him\npresent. I do not know why he want present, except he big God and must\nbe worship. If he not get sacrifice he angry. If he get sacrifice he\npleased.\"\n\nSo Antonio explains to me the scene. He argues like my books do. Let me\nconsider. They would explain it some way like this. They would say that\nthe \"Sawmy\" was the Sun God, or some other idealisation; that first of\nall the Indians imagined this Sawmy out of ghosts or dreams; that having\ndone so they gave this God certain attributes and powers; that\nsubsequently they imagined the God angry and punishing the people, and\nso they would proceed to a priest suffering from hysteria, which they\nsupposed to be the possession of this Sawmy, and finally arrive at the\nprocession and sacrifice. They would point out how the flesh of the goat\nwas divided among the coolies, thus bringing them into communion with\ntheir God. And so they would come at last to the concrete fact, as\ncaused by a long process of imagination, an explanation quite incredible\nto me. I read the facts differently, much more simply. As to imagination\nthe people have hardly any; they are hopelessly incapable of such a\ntrain of thought. The priest himself admits that not one in fifty has\nthe least glimmering of any meaning in the ceremony. Nevertheless they\nlike it, they are awed by it, they would by no means allow it to be\nomitted. And as to this feast of communion with their divinity, what are\nthe facts?\n\nThe coolies are poor, they live almost entirely on rice and vegetables.\nMeat can very rarely be afforded. Yet they long for it, and a few times\nin the year they all subscribe and buy a goat for food as a very special\nluxury.\n\nThe goat being bought has to be killed. Now, to people in this stage of\ncivilisation, to people in _any_ stage of civilisation, the taking of\nlife is very attractive, it is an awe and wonder-inspiring act. These\npeople are so poor they can seldom afford such a sight, and therefore\nit must be made the most of. You may note exactly the same passion in\nbull fights, the execution of martyrs, in public executions of all\ncountries. What greater treat can you offer a boy than to see a pig\nkilled? So the death of the goat is compassed with much show and in a\npeculiarly impressive way. That done the meat is divided as already\narranged, and everyone is pleased. They have got their food and their\nsensation. The priest, too, is pleased, and makes his little scientific\ntheology to explain and apologise for this peculiar emotion. It has the\nfurther result of making him powerful and revered. For he alone can see\nand tell the coolies the inwardness of it all; and he can further claim\nthe tit-bits as representative of the Deity.\n\nSo arose sacrifice out of some inward hidden emotion of men's hearts. Do\nnot say this emotion is purely savage. It is allied often to the purest\npity, to awe, to strange searchings of the heart. To some it may be\nhardening, but to most it is not so.\n\nHow do I know? I know by two ways, because I have watched the faces of\nthis and many crowds to see how they felt, and that is what I saw. I\nhave seen death inflicted so often, on animals and on man, that I know\nand have felt what the emotion is. I cannot explain the emotion--who can\nexplain any emotion?--but I know it is there. And I know that, if not\nwitnessed too often or in wrong circumstances, the sight of suffering\nand death, rightfully inflicted, is not brutalising, but very much the\nreverse.\n\nWho are the most kind-hearted, even soft-hearted, of men? They are\nsoldiers and doctors. The sights they have seen, the suffering and even\ndeath they may themselves have inflicted of necessity, have never\nhardened them. They have but made their sympathies the deeper and\nstronger. Look at the contemporary history of any war, of that in Burma\nfifteen years ago, of that in the Transvaal to-day. Who are they who\ncall out for stringent measures, for much shooting, for plenty of\nhanging? Never the soldiers. Never those who know what these things are.\nIt is the civilians and journalists who know not what death is. Who\nwrote \"The Drums of the Fore and Aft,\" \"La Debacle,\" \"The Red Badge of\nCourage,\" with their delight in blood? Not men who had seen war. Nor is\nit they who read such books with pleasure. Men who have seen death and\nwatched it could never make the telling an hour's diversion. It is\nthose who have never seen the reality, who seek in art that stimulus\nwhich they know they require.\n\nThe sight and knowledge and understanding of unavoidable suffering and\ndeath is the greatest of all purifiers to the heart. The weak cannot\nbear it. Women may avoid it because they know they are unable to sustain\nit, because they know it does brutalise them. But with men it is never\nso.\n\nSuffering and death are facts; they are part of the world, and men must\nknow them. They are needed to strengthen and deepen the greatest\nemotions of men.\n\nAnd therefore there is in man this instinct, this attraction to the\nsight of suffering and death, an instinct that, rightly followed, has in\nit nothing but good.\n\nSo I read the ceremony I had witnessed. Such is, I am sure, the meaning\nof all such ceremonies. They never arise from mental theories, always\nfrom inner emotion. The scientific theologian of the tribe has explained\nthem in his way, and when enquirers have tried to understand these\nceremonies they have gone to the priest instead of the people. Hence the\nabsolute futility of all that has been written on the origins of\nfaiths.\n\nMen have begun at the wrong end: they have argued down instead of up;\nthey have begun their pyramid at the top. Yet surely if there is any\nfact that ought to be impressed on us since Darwin, it is to begin at\nthe bottom. Reason never produces facts or emotion. It can but theorise\non them.\n\nAnd meditating on what I had seen, I came to see at last all my\nmistakes.\n\nInstead of beginning with ideas of God, to find man I ought to have gone\nfirst to man, to see how arise the ideas of the First Cause. Instead of\nexamining codes of conduct as supernaturally given and impossible, I\nought to have gone to man and tried to discover how he came to frame and\nto uphold these codes. And so also with heaven and hell, man has but\nimagined them to suit his needs: and if so, what needs? I have tried all\nthe creeds to find an explanation of man, and there is none. I begin now\nwith man to find an explanation of the creeds. Man and his necessities\nare the eternal truth, and all his religions are but framed by himself\nto minister to his needs. This is the theory on which to work and try\nfor results.\n\nWe have an authority for such a method in science, for she proceeds not\nfrom the unknown to the known, but from the observed to the imagined.\nThus has she imagined the unimaginable ether to explain certain\nphenomena and to act as a working theory to proceed on. Scientific men\ndid not invent ether and the laws of ether first, and so descend to\nlight and electricity. They felt the light and heat, and gradually\nworked inwards and upwards.\n\nSo perhaps has man felt certain needs, certain emotions and certain\nimpulses, and has imagined his First Cause, his Law, his codes, his\nreligious theories, one and all, to explain his needs and help himself.\n\nThe whole series of questions becomes altered.\n\nIt is no longer which is true, the Christian Triune God, the Hindu\nmillion of Gods, the Mahommedan one God, the Buddhist Law? but from what\nfacts did these arise, and why do they persist to-day?\n\nOut of what necessity, to justify what feeling, does the Christian\nrequire a Triune God, the Hindu many Gods, and the Buddhist no God but\nLaw? Why does each reject the conception of the other? It is not what\ncode is the true code of life, the Jewish code, the Christian, the\nBuddhist, but why are these Codes at all?\n\nWhy had the Jews their ruthless code? Why have the Christians and\nBuddhists adopted codes they cannot act up to? Why have the Hindus in\n\"caste\" the most elaborate codes we know.\n\nWhy did the Jews have no hereafter at all, the Mahommedans a sensual\nparadise, the Greeks the Shades, the Brahmins and Buddhists a\ntransmigration of souls leading to Nirvana? These are very different\nideas. What necessities do they serve? And so with the many facets of\nreligions. Faiths do not explain man, perhaps man can explain his\nfaiths. That is my new standpoint from which I shall see.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nCREED AND INSTINCT.\n\n\nI had six years of that life in India. I passed six years living in a\nsolitary bungalow miles away from any other European, meeting them but\noccasionally, six years with practically no intercourse at all with the\nnatives. For the jungle people who lived in the hills were few, and\nsavage, and shy; and besides these, there were only a few Hindu or\nMahommedan shop-keepers in the main bazaar, and the great crowd of\ncoolie-folk who cultivate the estates. It was not a life in which it was\npossible to learn much of any people. Solitary planters living unnatural\nlives in isolated bungalows do not usually offer much of interest to an\nobserver. The wild tribes were mere savages. The coolies came in gangs\nand worked for a few months and went home. It was a life of almost\ncomplete solitude, a life where for days and weeks perhaps, except for\na few orders in the native tongues to headmen of gangs, or a short\ndiscussion about the work, no word was spoken. It was, may be, a time\nfor reflection and thought, for reading and meditation, for such a\nsearch as was made. But it was no life for observation, for collection\nof facts, for seeing and understanding. Even had one tried to know the\ncoolies or the jungle people, it had been impossible; for they too have\nthe inaccessability of the Indian, and are not to be approached too\nnear.\n\nBut after these six years there came a change. Of the reasons, the\nmethods of that change there is no necessity to write. It was a great\nchange. From a country of mountains to a great plain, from forests to\nvast open spaces, widely cultivated; from a life of stagnation to a life\nfull of the excitement of war and danger, from a life of books and\ndreams to a life of acts almost without books; from a people sulky and\nsavage and unapproachable to a nation of the widest hospitality, where\ncaste was unknown, where the women were free, a people with whom\nintimacy was not only easy but very pleasant; and, finally, from the\nlife of a private person pursuing private ends to the working life of an\nofficial, where responsibility was piled on responsibility, and the\nnecessity of knowing the language and the people was obvious if they\nwere to be discharged even decently. Yet still it was a life of\nsolitude. True, in the cold weather there were columns and expeditions\nmade with troops, when there was pleasant companionship of my own\npeople. But there were great stretches of solitude, months and months\ntogether, with no Englishman, and especially no Englishwoman, near. For\nfour years I saw never an English girl or woman. And there were no\nbooks. What few I had were burnt one night with all my possessions, and\nthereafter I had hardly any. They were years of hardship, of scanty\nlodging, little better than the natives, ill-cooked, unvaried food, a\nlife that had in it none of the delights of civilisation. And yet I can\nlook back to it with pleasure. For there were always the people to talk\nto, the people to study, to try and understand, their religion to\nobserve and try to understand.\n\nI have written in \"The Soul of a People\" about that religion, of the\nthings I learned about it, of what it taught me. I tried to understand\nit not from without but from within, to see it as they saw it, not to\ncriticise but to believe. If I am to credit my reviewers I have done\nthis, for the thoughts in the book are all considered to be my own also.\n\nThat may not be so, and yet I may have learnt much that I could only\nhave learnt by adopting the attitude I did. It is possible to understand\nif not always to accept, and out of understanding to reach something\nneedful. A critic can never understand; he destroys but does not create.\nSo I learnt many things. I learnt among others these.\n\nThat the religion of the Burman is a religion of his heart, never of his\nhead. It is spontaneous, as much as the forest on the hillside. He has\nin his heart many instincts, that have come there who knows how, and out\nof these he has made his faith. What that faith is I have told in my\nfirst book. It is not pure Buddhism. But because Buddhism has come\nnearest to what his heart tells him is true, because its tenets appeal\nto him as do none others, because they explain the facts he feels,\ntherefore he professes the faith of the Buddha and calls himself a\nBuddhist. That is what I learnt to be sure of. And what I heard from\nothers, what I read in many books I learned absolutely to disbelieve. I\nwas told, for instance, that a Burman villager far away in the hills\nthought he could remember his former lives _because_ the doctrine of\nthe transmigration of souls had been introduced by Buddhist monks. But\nI, looking into his heart, was sure that the villager was a Buddhist\nbecause the Buddhist doctrine of transmigration resembled the instinct\nand knowledge of his own soul. It is not the same. The Buddhist faith\nrecognises no ego. The Burman does. But in some sort or other he could\nfit the imported theory to his facts, and he therefore was a Buddhist.\n\nCommunities of Christians and Mahommedans, Jews and Hindus, have lived\namong the Burmans for hundreds of years; there have been no converts to\nany of these faiths. Burma now is full of Christian missions and there\nare converts--a few--but never, I believe, pure Burmans; they have\nalways some other blood in their veins, usually Mahommedan. And why?\nBecause Buddhism accords with the instincts of the Burman and no other\nfaiths do.\n\nYet pure Buddhism knows no prayer, and the Burman prays. Why? Ah! again\nit is the instinct of the heart. He wants to pray, and pray he will, let\nhis adopted faith say what it will.\n\nBut on the whole the beliefs of his heart are nearer akin to the\ntheories of Buddhism than the theories of any other faith, and therefore\nhe is a Buddhist. That was one thing I learnt, that religious systems\nare one thing and a man's religion another. The former proceeds from the\nlatter and never the reverse, and men profess creeds because the creeds\nagree more or less with their religious feelings; they do not have\nreligious feelings because they have adopted a creed, whatever that\ncreed may be.\n\nI had at last come down from creeds, which are theories, to religions,\nwhich are feelings and instincts; I had left books, which are of the\nintellect, and come to the hearts of men.\n\nFrom these facts was born a large distrust. I had learnt what the\nBurman's faith was. I learnt that his beliefs came from his heart, were\ninnate, that they agreed only partially with his creed. I found that so\nmuch stronger were they that where possible the observance of the faith\nhad been altered to suit him, that where the rigidity of the creed\nforbade, he simply put the creed aside--as with prayer. I found also\nthat to begin with the theory of Buddhism and reason down landed me\nnowhere, but to begin with the Burman and reason up explained everything\nthat at first I could not understand.\n\nClearly the way to arrive at things was to begin with facts. What were\nthe Burman's instincts, not only as referred to religion; but generally?\nWhat were his peculiarities?\n\nI found many of them. To take one as instance. The Burman has a very\nstrong objection to authority. There is nothing he dislikes so much, not\nonly as submitting to an interfering authority, but to exercising it.\nThus he has never developed any aristocracy, nor any feudal system. His\nGovernment was of the slightest, his villages were almost entirely\nself-directed. No other people in the same stage of civilisation can\nshow so much local freedom. He would never serve another if he could\nhelp it. He liked freedom even if accompanied by poverty. The ideas of\nobedience and of reverence for authority did not appeal to him as the\nhighest emotions. He dislikes interference. He will not give advice\noften even if sought.\n\nNow I said if this be one of his greatest instincts, and if my theory be\ntrue, this instinct will be exhibited in his religion. Either Buddhism\nmust accept it, or I shall find that the Burman in this case ignores his\ncreed. So I looked, and I found that Buddhism was the very thing to\nassist such a feeling. Buddhism knew no God, no one to be always\ndirecting and interfering, no one to demand obedience and reverence.\nThere was only Law. Buddhism was the very ideal faith for such a man.\nBut in other matters it was not so. The instinct of prayer is in the\nBurman as in all people, though perhaps less with him than others. The\nBuddhist theory allows of no prayer. Then does the Burman not follow his\ninstinct? My observation told me that here the Burman ignored his creed\nand satisfied his instinct despite of all. But his instinct of prayer is\nslight, of dislike to authority very great; therefore he remains a\nBuddhist. Had it been the other way he would probably have been a Hindu.\nAnd so with many other things. The Burman might fairly be called a\nBuddhist, not because he so dubbed himself, but because his religious\ninstincts were mainly in accordance more or less with the Buddhist\ntheory.\n\nFurther, I thought if this is true with the Burman, is it not likely to\nbe true of all people? I know that a creed, a religious theory, is no\nguide to the belief of a people. If it were, would not all Christian\nnations believe much the same, have the same ideals, the same outcome of\ntheir beliefs? But they do not. They vary in a most extraordinary way.\nEach people has its own beliefs, and no one agrees with another on more\nthan one or two points. And not one at all agrees with the theories they\nprofess. Now as every European nation has the same holy book, the same\nTeacher, the same Example, how is this? Can it be explained by arguing\nfrom the creed down? No. But may be it can by reasoning from the people\nup. It may be that I shall find elsewhere what I have found here, that\ncreeds do not influence people, but people their creeds, and that where\nthe creed will not give way the people simply ignore it. Each people may\nhave its own instinctive beliefs from within differing from all others.\nAnd because they require a theory to explain, and as it were codify,\nthese instincts, they adopt nominally some great creed, but with the\nreservation that in practice they will follow that creed only where it\nmeets or can be made to meet their necessities, and ignore it where it\ndoes not. That may work out. Let me study mankind to find what they\nbelieve.\n\nThis I have tried to do, and what I have found comes in the next\nchapters, but no one who has not tried knows how difficult it has been;\nfor I have found no one to help me, no facts hardly, except what I\nmyself might gather to go on. Books on religion and on folk-lore there\nare in plenty. They have been of little use to me. They all begin at the\nwrong end. They all assume as facts what I do not think exist at all.\nThey talk, for instance, of Christianity as if in practice there is now\nor ever has been any such clear or definite thing. There is Roman\nCatholicism of different forms, the ideas of the Latin races; there are\nthe many religions of the Slavs, of the Teutons, of the Anglo-Saxons, of\nthe Iberians, of the western Celts, all differing enormously, all\ncalling themselves Christian. There is the religion of the Boers, of the\nQuakers, of the Abyssinians, of the Unitarians. There used to be the\nPuritans, the Fifth Monarchy men, the Arians, and many another heresy.\nThey call themselves Christians. What are their real beliefs? Whence do\nthey come?\n\nIt is the same with Buddhism. There are the Burmese, Ceylon, Chinese,\nJapanese, Jain, Thibetan, and many another people that call themselves\nBuddhist. What are the real beliefs of these people? I have found the\nBurmese beliefs; who has found the others? The answer is, no one has\neven looked for them. They have started at the very end and reasoned\ndown; they have coloured the facts with their theories till they are\nworthless.\n\nAnd the religions of Greece and Rome, of Egypt, of Chaldea, of many an\nancient people, out of what instincts did these people form their\ncreeds?\n\nAs in tracing the Burmese religion, so in this further and wide attempt\nI have had practically only my own observation of facts to go on. How\nnarrow one man's observation must be can quickly be judged. Some\nknowledge of the Burmese, a very little of Mahommedans and Hindus, a\nlittle of the wild tribes, and in Europe some little knowledge of my own\npeople and their history, of Anglicanism and Puritanism and Lutheranism,\nsome observation of the Latin peoples and their beliefs. Yet still,\nnarrow as the range is, I think my theory works out. I think that even\nin my narrow circle, with my own limited knowledge and sympathies, I\nhave found enough to prove my case. The evidences in the next chapter\nare, it is true, few, and the discussion of the subject must be greatly\ncondensed. Still, wherever I have been able to investigate a point I\nhave always found that my theory does prove true and the old theory\nfalse. Out of my theory is explained at once the divergences of the\nLatins and Teutons, why one Christian people worship the Madonna and\nanother not, why one has confession and another not. I have never\napplied my key but the lock has turned. I have never tried to reason the\nother way without coming to a full stop, and I have never met anyone\nelse or read any book that did not do the same.\n\nFor my belief is that religion is not a creed and does not come from\ncreeds. There are in men certain religious instincts, existing always,\nmodified from time to time by circumstances and brain developments. Out\nof these instincts grows religion, and when a creed, which is a theory\nof religion, comes along and agrees with the main instincts of the\npeople they adopt the name of the creed, they use it to codify and\norganise their instincts, but they keep and develope their instincts\nnevertheless, regardless of the creed. It is a fundamental error to talk\nof Christianity or Buddhism. We ought to speak of Latinism, Teutonism,\nBurmanism, Tartarism, Quakerism. In all essentials the Quaker is\ninfinitely nearer the Burman than he is to the Puritan.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nRELIGIOUS PEOPLE.\n\n\nIt will not be denied, I think, that even in England, where we pride\nourselves so much upon our religiousness, where we have a hundred\nreligions and only one sauce, the only country except Russia where the\nhead of the State is also the head of the National Church, that even in\nEngland religion is unevenly divided. Men do not take to it so much as\nwomen, some men are attracted by it more than others, some women more\nthan the rest of women. We find it in all qualities, in all depths, from\nthe thin veil above the scepticism of many men of science to the deep\nemotional feeling of the enthusiast, and it is nowhere a question of\nclass, of education, or of occupation. It would be very difficult, I\nthink, to assert, and quite impossible to prove, that religion affects\nany one class more than another; for it must not be forgotten that,\nalthough more perhaps of certain classes go to religious services than\nof others, the explanation may not be any comparative excess of\nreligious feeling. In a class where the women greatly exceed the men in\nnumbers, there will be apparently comparatively more religion, and the\nrank of society also influences the result. For some it is easier and\npleasanter to attend church or chapel than for others, and a class which\nis not hardly worked during the week can more easily spare the leisure\nfor religious exercises than others to whom the need for air, for\nexercise, for change, appeals more strongly. There may also be other\nfactors at work. But indeed it is unnecessary to press the matter\nclosely, for it will hardly be asserted, I think, that religion is ever\na question of class. _One_ religion may be so, but not religion broadly\nspeaking, not the religious temperament as it is called. To whom, then,\ndoes religion appeal most, and to what side of their nature does it\nappeal?\n\nGenerally speaking, I think, to the more emotional and less\nintellectual.\n\nThat this is but a general rule, with many exceptions of which I will\nspeak later, I admit. But I think it will be admitted that it is a\ngeneral rule. Intellect, reason, whether cultivated or not, hard-headed\ncommon sense, whether in the great thinker or the artisan, is seldom\nstrongly religious. Faith of a kind they may retain, but they usually\nrestrain it to such a degree that it is not conspicuous. Hard-headed\nthinkers are rarely \"deeply religious.\" But as you leave the domain\nwhich is the more dominated by thought, and descend or ascend--I have no\nwish to infer inferiority or the reverse,--to the natures more\naccessible to sentiment, more governed by the emotions, religiosity\nincreases. Till finally you arrive at the fanatic, where reason has\ndisappeared and emotion is the sole guide.\n\nThey are easily recognised, these enthusiasts, by their lined faces, by\ntheir nervous speech, but above all by their eyes. You can see there the\nemotional strain, the too highly strung system which has abandoned\nitself to the excesses of religion. But there seems to be another rule;\nreligion varies according to the interests a person has in life. A man,\nor a woman, with many interests, with much work, living a full life in\nthe world, has but little time usually for religion; he can devote but a\nsmall part of his life to it. Its call is to him less imperative, less\nalluring; it is but one among many notes. But as the absorption in daily\nlife decreases, as the demands from without are less, so does the\ndevotion to religion increase. Until at last among these rural people,\nwho with strong feelings have but little to gratify them, whose lives\nare the dreary monotony of a daily routine into which excitement or\nnovelty never enters, we find often the greatest, the strongest, and\nnarrowest faith. So too among those many women of our middle classes\nwhose lives, from the want of mankind or of children, fall into narrow\nways, whose lives are dull, whose natural affections and desires are too\noften thwarted, there lives the purest and strongest, if often, too, the\nnarrowest religion. It comes to them as a help where there is none\nother, it brings to them emotions when the world holds for them none, it\ncontains in itself beauty and love and interest when the world has\nrefused them. How much, how very much of the deeper religious feeling is\ndue to the want of other pleasure in life, to the forced introspection\nof solitude, to the desire to feel emotion when there is nothing without\nto raise it.\n\nThe old and disappointed turn almost always to religion. Thus it seems\nas if the quality of religion in mankind were due to two causes; to\ntemperament, according to the emotional necessity, the desire for\nstimulation and the absence of mental restriction; and to environment,\naccording as the life led furnishes excitement and interest or is dull,\nleading to a search within for that which does not come from without. Of\nsuch are the ultra religious.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd the irreligious, those who say openly that they have no religion,\namongst whom are they to be found? They can, I think, be divided into\nthree classes.\n\nThere are first of all those who are very low down in the scale of\nhumanity, who are wanting in all the finer instincts of mankind. You\nwill find them usually in cities, amongst the dregs of the people; for\nin the country it is difficult to find any who are quite without the\nfiner emotions. The air and land and sky, the sunset and the sunrise,\nthe myriad beauties of the world, do not leave them quite unmoved. And\nthen solitude, which gives men time to think, not to reason but to\nthink; which gives their hearts peace to hear the echoes of nature, is a\ngreat refiner. Countrymen are often stupid, they are rarely brutalised.\n\nThen there are the sensualists of all classes in life. It is a strange\nthing to notice that of all the commands of religions, of all laws of\nconduct they have given forth, but one only is almost invariably kept.\nThere is but one crime that the religious rarely commit, and that is\nsensuality. It is true the rule is not absolute. There are the\nSwedenborgians, if theirs can be called a religion. I doubt myself if it\nbe so, if this one fact did not oust it from the family of faiths. But\nhowever that may be, sensuality in all history has been almost always\nallied to irreligion. Not as a consequence, but because I think both\nproceed from the same cause, a nerve weakness and irritability arising\nfrom deficient vitality, a want of the finer emotions, which are\nreligion.\n\nFinally, there are the philosophers. In all history, in all countries,\nin all faiths there have been the thinkers, the reasoners, the \"lovers\nof wisdom,\" and they have rejected the religion of their people.\n\nOf what sort are these philosophers? Are they, as they claim to be, the\ncream of mankind, those who have the pure reason? Are they such as the\nworld admires? I think not. For pure reason does not appeal to mankind.\nIt is too cold, too hard, too arid. It is barren and produces nothing.\nWhat has philosophy given the world but unending words? It is the denial\nof emotion, and emotion is life. It is the reduction of living to the\nformula of mathematics--a grey world. Those who, rejecting religion,\nrely on pure reason, are those who have lost the stronger emotions, who\nhave heads but no hearts, while the enthusiasts have hearts but no\nheads. And in between these lie the great mass of men who are religious\nbut not fanatics, who reason but who do not look to reason to prove\ntheir religion, the men and women who live large lives, and are lost\nneither in the tumult of unrestrained emotion, nor bound in the iron\nlimits of a mental syllogism.\n\n\"Do you infer,\" it will be asked, \"that religion is in inverse ratio to\nreason? But it is not so. Many men, most men of the highest intellectual\nattainments, have been deeply religious, great soldiers, sailors,\nstatesmen, discoverers; the great men are on our side, the thinkers have\nbeen with us.\" I am not sure of that. The great _doers_ have always been\nreligious, the great thinkers rarely so. No man has ever, I think, sat\ndown calmly unbiassed to reason out his religion and not ended by\nrejecting it. The great men who have also been religious do not\ninvalidate what I say. Newton was a great thinker, perhaps one of the\ngreatest thinkers of all time. He could follow natural laws and\noccurrences with the keenest eye for flaws, for mistakes, for rash\nassumption. He could never accept until he had proved. But did he ever\napply this acumen to religion? Not so; he accepted at once the\nchronology of the Old Testament unhesitatingly, blindly, and worked out\na chronology of the Fall much as did Archbishop Usher.\n\nIndeed, I think it is always so. There is no assumption more fallacious\nthan that because a man is a keen reasoner on one subject he is also on\nanother, that because one thing is fair ground for controversy other\nthings are so also. Men who are really religious, who believe in their\nfaith whatever that faith may be, consider it above proof, beyond\nargument. It is strange at first, it is to later thoughts one of the\nmost illuminating things, to hear a keen reasoner who is also a\nreligious man talk, to note the change of mental attitude as the subject\nchanges. In ordinary matters everything is subject to challenge, to\ndiscussion, to rules of logic. But when it is religion that comes up,\nnote the dropped voice, the softened face, the gentle light in the eye.\nIt is emotion now, not reason; feeling, not induction. It is a subject\nfew religious men care to discuss at all, because they know it is not a\nmatter of pure reason. True religion, therefore, that beautiful\nrestrained emotion which all who have it treasure, which those who have\nnot envy and hate, lives among the men who are between these extremes.\nThose who with strong emotions have but narrow outlets for it become\nunduly religious, narrow sectarians.\n\nThose with uncontrolled religious emotions become fanatics, those with\nnone but brute emotions remain brutes. Those whom the cult of sensual\ndesires has overcome follow Horace and Omar Khayyam. Those in whom\nreason has overpowered and killed the emotions become those most arid of\npeople, philosophers. True and beautiful faith is to be found only\namongst those who lie between all these extremes. They have many and\nkeen emotions, but they find many outlets for them all, so that the\nstream of feeling is not directed into one narrow channel. And they\nemploy reason not as a murdering dissecting power, but as an equaliser\nand balancer of the living. Reason is not concerned with what religion\nis, but only with the relative position religious emotions shall occupy\nin life. Too little lets it run wild, too much kills it.\n\nBut religion is never reason. It is a cult of certain of the emotions.\nWhat these emotions are I hope to explain further on.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nENTHUSIASM.\n\n\nSuch are the qualities and such the circumstances that increase and\nnourish religious feeling, of such are the more religious of all\npeoples. What is the result in their lives? Does their religion cause\nthem to live more worthy lives? Are the more deeply religious those whom\nthe world at large most deeply respects? What is the effect of their\nreligion in their lives?\n\nI am not speaking here of professors of religion, of priests or monks,\nof fakirs or yogis, of any whose lives are directly devoted to the\npractice of the teaching of religion. They are a class apart, and are\njudged by standards other than ordinary men. Their world is another than\nthat of ordinary folk. I speak now of the religion of those who still\nlive the lives of ordinary people. What effect has religion upon them,\nand how are they ordinarily regarded in the world?\n\nIt is strange that if indeed religion be the truth of truths it should\nbe regarded with such impatience, with such suspicion, if brought into\nordinary life. For so it is. Every class has its own rules, its own\nconventions; every profession, every teacher, every form of society has\nits own rules, which are not founded at all upon religion. In every walk\nof life it is assumed that, subject to the special etiquette of that\ntrade or profession and to the observance of what is considered\nhonourable conduct therein, every man's actions are governed by\nself-interest alone. If a man allege any reasons but this he is regarded\nwith doubt and suspicion. He is avoided. I will give an instance in\npoint. There was a doctor once whom I knew who practised a certain\n\"cure\" for disease--it is quite immaterial what the system was; it was\nespecially good for tropical diseases--and as some of us were conversing\nwith him on the subject, and recalling with gratitude and pleasure the\nbenefit we had derived, it was suggested to him that he might do well in\nIndia. \"If in a hill station,\" we said, \"you were to establish yourself\nand practise your treatment, you would have a large clientele. Many\nEnglishmen who could not afford the time to come home would come to you,\nand there would be natives also. Such treatment as yours would hurt no\none's caste. No doubt you would do well, you would make a name and be\nrich.\" This was his answer: \"I would not care about that if I could only\ndo those poor natives some good.\" It was sincerely uttered, I doubt not.\nThere was no conscious cant, but it fell upon his hearers as a chill.\nThe conversation dropped, it changed, and gradually we went away. The\nremark pained. Why? It is always so. Trade is trade and professions are\nprofessions, but religion is apart. It is not to be intruded into daily\nlife; it is to be kept sedulously away. Not because its introduction\nsuggests something higher and shames or discountenances the observances\nof life. The feeling is the very reverse. We suspect it. It does not\nsuggest a higher code of morality at all. No man of experience but would\ninstinctively avoid doing business with anyone who brought his religious\nmotives into daily intercourse. Let a man be as honourable, as\nscrupulous, as high-minded as he can. We honour him for it. But\nreligious! No. To say that we suspect the speaker of cant is not always\ncorrect. It may in cases be so, but not always, not generally. It is not\nthe reason of the instinctive withdrawal. To say that religious feeling\nis a handicap in the struggle for life is also incorrect. It is not a\nhandicap at all. Let a man be as religious as he likes provided he\ntempers it with common sense and keeps the expression of it for home\nconsumption. To say that a man is highly religious in his private life\nis praise, and creates confidence. To say that a man intrudes religious\nprinciples into his business or profession or daily intercourse is\nenough to make men shun him at once. He becomes an impossible person.\nThis is a strange commentary on the theory of religion, that what is\nsupposed to elevate life is, when introduced into everyday affairs,\nalmost always a sign of incompetence or fraud. Yet it may be so. Some\nyears ago all Britain was alarmed by a terrible bank failure. It was\ncolossal, the biggest perhaps that has ever occurred. There were no\nassets, and there were liabilities of over ten million pounds. The\nshares were unlimited, and the shareholders liable for all this great\nsum of money made away with by dishonesty and crime.\n\nIt brought ruin, absolutely blank ruin, to many thousands of people.\n\nThe directors of this bank were known in the city as religious men. They\nwere kirk elders, Sunday school teachers, preachers--I know not what.\nThey were steeped in religion and iniquity to the lips. They were tried,\nand some went to penal servitude.\n\nThere was again some years later another terrible failure. It was a\nbuilding society and its allied concerns. And again the chief managers\nwere known as intensely religious men. They too, were prominent members\nof the religious community to which they belonged; they gave freely to\ncharity; they held, it was stated, prayer meetings before each\nconsultation of the Board. They were steeped in lying and fraud also.\nAnd again quite recently a solicitor absconded with great sums of trust\nmoney. The same story. It has been the same story over and over and over\nagain.\n\nThe writer can remember being concerned in the trial of a similar case\nin the East.\n\nIt is useless to assert that all these men were hypocrites, that they\nshammed religion, that they used it as a bait to catch the unwary. It\nmay be true in one case or two, but not in the majority. It is useless\nto assert that their assumption of religion was false. Who discovered it\nto be false until the catastrophe? No one. They lived among religious\nmen, their lives were to a great extent open. Was there any doubt about\nthe truth of their religion then? No one has suggested such a thing.\nThese men were religious from boys, they lived among religious people\nall their lives. They were honoured and respected for that religion. No\nman could sham such a thing. It is easy to talk of deceit; but a life of\nsuch deceit, such sham is impossible. It is quite absolutely impossible.\nThat the religion of these men was and is as good and as real as that of\nother men it is impossible to doubt. Criminals are often very religious.\nWhat is the explanation of this?\n\nWell, Christians when presented with these facts have two answers. One\nis that these men are all shams--an impossible explanation. The other is\na mournful shake of the head, and the statement that such a connection\nought not to be; religion should always purify a man. \"Should\" and\n\"ought!\" What answers are these? Who can tell what \"should\" and what\n\"ought\" to happen? The question is what _does_ happen? And all history\ntells us that there is nothing so deplorable, nothing that results in\nsuch certain catastrophe, nothing that ends by so outraging all our\nbetter feelings, as the bringing of religion into affairs. Let us recall\nat random the greatest abominations we can remember. The Thirty Years'\nWar, the Dragonnades, St. Bartholomew, the Witch Trials, the fires of\nSmithfield, the persecution of the Catholic priests in Elizabeth's time,\nthe Irish Penal Laws. All these were done by religious people in the\nname of religion. No faith is free from the stain. Can anyone possibly\nsay that the men responsible for these were shams? Was Cortez a sham,\nwas Cromwell, were all the Catholics in France shams? Were the\nCrusaders, who celebrated the victory that gave back the city of the\nPrince of Peace to His believers by an indiscriminate massacre, shams?\nDid not the German Emperor in one breath tell his army that their model\nwas Christ, and then in the next to show no quarter in China? Who were\nthe most ruthless suppressers of the Mutiny? Did not blood-thirstiness\nand religion go together? Is the Boer religion sham? Yet they lie and\nrob as well as any other man, or better. Is it not a maxim that a\nfanatic in any religion is simply blind, not only to his own code, but\nto all morality? Does not the religious press of all countries furnish\nexamples of the deplorable lengths to which religion, unrestrained by\nworldly common sense and worldly decency and honour, will go? I do not\nwish to press the point; it is a very unpleasant one. No one who honours\nreligion can touch it without sorrow; no one who is trying clearly to\nsee what religions are can overlook it. Religion requires to be tempered\nwith common sense, with worldly moderation and restraint; taken by\nitself it is simply a calamity. But if religion has its failures, has\nit not its successes? Have not great and beautiful things been done in\nits name? Are not almost all the great heroisms outcomes of religion?\nYes, that is true, too. If religion has much to be ashamed of it has\nvery much to be proud of. In its name has been done much of which we are\nproud. No one will deny that. More than enough to set off the evil?\nWell, that is hardly what I am seeking. I am trying to find out what is\nthe effect of religion--or, rather, of an excess of religion--when\nimported into life. Is the influence all for good? I think in face of\nhistory we cannot say that. Has it been all for evil? That answer is\nalso impossible. Then what effect has it had? And I think the reply is\nthis.\n\nWhen religion (any religion, for it is as true of the East as the West)\nis brought out or into daily life and used as a guide or a weapon in the\nworld it has no effect either for good or evil. Its effect is simply in\nstrengthening the heart, in blinding the eyes, in deafening the ears. It\nis an intensive force, an intoxicant. It doubles or trebles a man's\npowers. It is an impulsive force sending him headlong down the path of\nemotion, whether that path lead to glory or to infamy. It is a\ntremendous stimulant, that is all. It overwhelms the reason in a wave\nof feeling; and therefore all men rightly distrust it, and the tendency\ngrows daily stronger to keep it away from \"affairs.\" For the people who\nare most apt to bring religious motives into daily use are not the\nclearest and the steadiest; they are the more emotional, the least\nself-controlled, those who are fondest of \"sensation.\" And the want of\nself-control, the thirst for emotion, when it passes a certain point is,\nwe know, always allied to immorality, is very frequently a form of\nincipient insanity, and not seldom results in crime.\n\nIt is not probable any believer will think the above true of his own\nfaith, but he will do so of every other. If you are an European, think\nof Mahommedanism, of some forms of Hinduism, of the Boxers, who are a\nreligious sect. You will admit it to be true of them certainly, as they\nwill of you. And to come nearer, if you are a Catholic, you will see how\ntrue it is of Protestantism; if you are a Protestant, of Catholicism.\nAnd that is enough. Each believer must and will defend his own faith;\nthat is the exception, the one absolute Truth. So we will suppose this\nchapter to refer only to others, the false faiths. Everyone will admit\nit to be true of them.\n\nIt must not be forgotten that this chapter is not of the general effect\nor the ordinary results of religion. It applies only to the excess when\nbrought into public or business life. Do not let us have any mistake. Of\nthe ordinary effect of religion in an ordinary person there is here no\nword at all. The general effect of religion on private natural life is\nquite another subject, a very different subject indeed. Therefore let us\nhave no misunderstanding.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nSTRENGTH AND WEAKNESS.\n\n\nHas, then, a force, or a teaching that is capable of excess, no use?\n\nIf you look back at the histories of peoples, at the histories of their\ngreat wars, their movements, their enthusiasms, you will find that on\none side or another, usually on both, religion has been invoked to their\naid. For one side or for both the enthusiasm has been declared to be a\nreligious enthusiasm, the war a religious war, the awakening of thought\na religious awakening. The gods fought for the Greeks before Troy as the\nsaints did for the Spaniards against the Huns, as the Boers expected the\nAlmighty to fight in South Africa to-day. The intellectual revolt of the\nTeuton against the mental leading-strings of the Latins became a\nconflict of religion, as did the political conflict of the Puritans\nagainst the Stuart Kings. It has been religion always, if possible,\nthat has been called on to lend strength and enthusiasm to the fighters\nto attempt forlorn hopes, to carry out far-reaching reforms, to dare\neverything for the end.\n\nThere is one great exception.\n\nIn the conflict that broke out in France at the end of the last century,\nthat storm which swept before it the breakwaters of a world and changed\nmediaeval Europe into that of to-day, religion was not the motive power.\nThose six hundred men of Marseilles \"who knew how to die\" were sustained\nby no religious belief. Those armies which affronted the world in arms\nhad no celestial champions in their ranks. Those iconoclasts, who broke\ndown the barriers that made the good things of the world a forbidden\ncity to all but a caste, had no religious doctrine to work by.\n\nIndeed, it may be said that it was quite the reverse, that the war of\nthe Revolution was against religion; but I doubt if that is quite the\ntruth. That the war was against the priests is in great measure true,\nbut it was because of their support to the nobles, because of their\nconnection with worldly abuses, because of their irreligion, that they\nwere attacked. Religion, too, suffered, it is true, but only\nincidentally and for a time. And anyhow, you cannot get force out of a\nnegation. But however this may be, the point as far as I am now\nconcerned is not material; for all I want here to assert is that the\nenthusiasm which acted as a breath of life to the half-dead millions of\nFrance was not a religious enthusiasm. It never even assumed at any time\na religious basis. It was not an enthusiasm of God, but of Humanity, and\nthe war cry was \"Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.\" It was a revolt of the\nbond against the gaoler, of the spoiled against the ravishers; it was\nthe assertion of the absolute equality and liberty of man.\n\nLooking back at that turmoil now from the security of a hundred years it\nis easy to scorn these enthusiasts. We can point to their excesses, to\nthe horrible crimes that were committed, and ask where was Liberty then;\nto their wars, and ask in vain for the Fraternity; to their proscription\nof whole classes made in the name of Equality. The excesses are so\nblack, so prominent, that it is even possible sometimes to forget the\ngreat vitalising and regenerating effect of that enthusiasm.\n\nIt is easy, too, now that all is past, to criticise the very war cry\nitself. Liberty, we say! Yes, liberty is good--in moderation and\naccording to circumstances. All liberty is not good. Children must be\nunder government, they cannot be quite free. They have to be directed in\nthe right way. And peoples, too, and classes who have fallen behind in\nthe race, who are unable to live up to the higher standards of greater\nnations, they cannot be free. Then the citizen of a great nation must in\nmany matters resign his liberty for better things. Liberty is good, in\nmoderation, and so are Equality and Fraternity, but they are not\nabsolute truths. To cry them aloud, as did the Revolutionists of France,\nto insist upon them in season and out of season, is to fall into an\nerror almost as great as their opponents'. We have little doubt now that\nin every well-ordered state there must be inequality, submission to\nmasters as well as freedom, and that there are many people it is quite\nundesirable to fraternise with. Truth lies in the mean.\n\nAnd yet consider, does truth always lie in the mean? There were the\npeasants of France ground into the very earth, denied any sort of\nequality with the nobles, any sort of liberty at all, hopelessly unable\nto fraternise with anyone. To breathe into them the breath of life, to\nrouse them from their deadly lethargy to a furious enthusiasm, to fill\ntheir hearts so full that they would go forward and never cease till\nthey had won, that was the eminent necessity. The difficulties were so\nimmense, the arms of the people so weak, the chains so rivetted into\ntheir souls that only from a furious and uncontrollable impulse could\nany help be obtained. If the philosopher had gone to these dry bones of\nmen, thrashing the ponds all night to prevent the frogs annoying their\nseigneur by croaking, sowing for others to reap, raising up sons to be\nslaves, and daughters to be worse than slaves--if he had gone to them\nand said, \"My friends, you are ground down too much; you want a little\nmore freedom--not too much, but some; you require more equality--not\ncomplete, for the perfect state requires certain inequalities, but more\nthan you have; you require also a modicum of fraternity,\" what would he\nhave effected? That level-headed philosopher would be saying the truth\ndoubtless, and Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, as the Revolutionists\nunderstood it, were impossibilities, therefore untruths; but what would\nhe have effected? Would his \"truth\" have freed the slaves, have burst\ntheir chains; have restored sunlight to a continent, as the exaggeration\ndid? Never imagine it. It may be that in the mean lies truth, but in\nexaggeration lies motive power. It was in the glorious dreams, the\nbeautiful imaginings, the surgings of the heart that arose from that war\ncry _Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite_, that the strength lay. There is no\nstrength in the mean. It is the enthusiasts that make the world move. If\nthey have been guilty of half the misery, they have achieved half the\njoy of the world. And therefore consider again, before you brand beliefs\nand the teachings and enthusiasms as untruths, because they are\nexaggerations, because they are unworkable as they stand. What _is_\nTruth and Untruth? Is not truth also to be judged by its results? May\nnot what is an untruth now have been a living truth then? Have we\nreduced truth to measure? If, therefore, this which is an exaggeration\nnow was then a necessary revivifying truth may there not be others like\nit? Consider the conditions of the world into which the Buddha preached\nfirst the teaching of peace, of purity, of calm, of holiness. It was a\nworld of unrest, of fierce striving, of savage passions, expressed to\ntheir full. It was a world wherein these were virtues worshipped to\nexaggeration. It was a world without balance, and to redress this\nbalance there came the Buddha with his teaching of the rejection of all\nthe glories of the world, the teaching of the cult of the soul, the\naspiration after peace, and beauty, and rest.\n\nAs was the world to whom the Buddha preached so was the world to whom\nthe Christ preached six hundred years later. Their codes of conduct\nwere the same. Against violence they taught resignation, against the\nsearch for glory they taught renunciation; they opposed pride with\nmeekness, struggle with calm, success in this world by happiness in the\nnext. They came to redress the balance of the world; they came to make\nmen hope. And therefore it is impossible to take their codes by\nthemselves and consider them, to reject them because they do not express\nthe exact truth. What is to be considered is not that code alone, but\nthe purpose it came to fulfil. The codes of Buddha and of Christ are\nexaggerations, that is true; they cannot be lived up to in their\nentirety, that is also true. Taken alone they are impossible; that is\ntrue. Are they then untrue, useless, valueless guides to conduct?\n\nNot quite so. For man is so built that he requires an exaggeration. If\nyou would persuade him to go with you a mile you must urge him to come\ntwo; if you would have him acquire a reasonable freedom you must create\nin him an enthusiasm for unreasonable freedom; if you would have him\nmoderate his passions he must be adjured to wholly suppress them.\n\nAnd therefore, it may be, do these codes of Buddha and Christ live. Not\nbecause they are absolutely true, not because they furnish an ideal\nmode of life, not in order to be fully accepted, but because they are\nexaggerations that balance exaggerations; and out of the mean has come\nwhat is worth having; because they have an effect which the exact truth\nwould not have in the masses of men.\n\nThey have been truth, because their results were true.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut the world is growing older, it is learning many things. Never again\ncan we hear that cry of _Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite_, the enthusiasms\nof a nation for its ideals. These ideals were true then, they were true\nbecause their work was true. But their work is done; men's eyes are open\nnow, we do not require such exaggerations to move us to our work. They\nwere in themselves but half truths. It required the violent assertions\nof inequality, of slavery, to make up a whole truth. With one has died\nthe necessity for the other.\n\nAnd so it may be with the codes of Buddhism and Christianity. They were\ntrue in their day, because they had their work to do. To have any effect\nat all they had to be enormous exaggerations; to earn any respect or\nattention they had to be proclaimed as perfect, as divine. But now, with\nthe dying of the old brutalities, with the growth of civilisation, of\nhumanity, and culture, the old savage exaggerations are dying out. The\nworld is more refined, more effeminate, more clear-sighted. It says to\nitself, \"These codes, if divine and perfect, must be capable of being\nimplicitly obeyed; but they cannot be obeyed, and therefore they are not\ndivine.\"\n\nAnd in the increased civilisation we feel less the need of a teaching of\ngentleness; our nature is no longer too coarse; it may be it is going\nthe other way, that the softening process is going too far, and that our\nneed is a new savagery. And above all we hate exaggeration. To minds\ncapable of thought, of reason, and of culture, exaggeration on one side\nis no excuse for exaggeration on the other. We are changing from the\nolder men who required enthusiasms to drive them and violent\nexaggerations to cause them to move. We like exactitude.\n\nThese codes were made for rougher days than ours. They were true then.\nThey are not true now--not true, at least, to the more thoughtful. But\nthat they were true once, that the world owes to them its rescue from\nthe exaggeration of the passions, we must never forget. They were truths\nwhile opposed. When opposed no longer they become false and fall. An\nexaggeration can only be useful as long as it is not perceived to be\nso. Set up two beams against each other, they are savagery and the\npurist codes. While one stands so does the other, and they make an\nequilibrium. But take away one and straightway the other must fall too.\nOne cannot stand alone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nMIND AND BODY.\n\n\n\"I have been lent your book 'The Soul of a People,'\" said a lady to me,\n\"but I have only had time so far to read the dedication. Do you know\nwhat I exclaimed?\"\n\n\"I cannot even guess,\" I replied.\n\n\"I said, 'How very scientific.' Do you know what I meant?\"\n\nAs my dedication is to the Burmese people, and only says I have tried\nalways to see their virtues and forget their faults, as a friend should,\nI was quite unable to see where the science came in, and I said so.\n\n\"It is Christian Science,\" she told me.\n\nThen she proceeded to tell me much about this Christian science, that it\nwas the science of looking at the best side of things, that it cured the\nbody by mind, despair by hope, darkness by light, solitude by a sense of\nthe companionship of God (good). She had proof in her own family of\nwhat a change it can bring to the unhappy. It was, she said, all new,\nand discovered by Mrs. Eddy.\n\nThis was not, of course, the first I had heard of this strange cult. It\nhas been in the air for some time past. Mostly it has been jeered at as\nan absurdity by those who have looked only at the extraordinary claims\nit makes, at the intellectual fog it offers as thought, at the\nchildishness and inconsequence of whatever conceptions could be picked\nout of the maze of words; and up till then it had seemed to me but\nanother of those misty foolishnesses that amuse people who have nothing\nelse to do.\n\nBut when a case of real benefit, of benefit I could see and understand,\nwas offered me in proof of its value, it seemed to me worth while to\nconsider what there was in this teaching, to see what sense lay in this\napparent senselessness, and to what want this new science appealed.\n\nI have mentioned elsewhere in this book--it is a fact that comes to one\nwho has been in the East many years very strongly--the aimless pessimism\nthat is so prevalent in England and Europe. I am not here concerned with\nits cause. Mainly, perhaps, it is due to the rise of a great class of\nmiddle and upper-middle people who have no object in life. They have by\ninheritance or acquirement enough money to live upon, and the struggle\nfor life passes them by. They have no necessity to work, and they are\nnot endowed with the brain or energy necessary to take to themselves\nsome object or pursuit. Their minds and sympathies have never been\ntrained by necessity. They have fallen out of the great world of life\nand passion into eddies and backwaters. They have become flabby, both\nbodily, mentally, and emotionally, and, conscious of their own\nuselessness, they have fallen into the saddest pessimism. They are not\nblase, because they have never tasted the realities of life; they have\nfew friends, because they have no common interest to bind them to\nothers. Their lives are monotonies, and their thoughts and speech are a\nprolonged whine. They are perpetually searching and never finding,\nbecause they know not what they seek. Most of them are women, but there\nare men also. I do not mean that all Christian Scientists are from the\nranks of the unemployed. It is recruited also from those who with larger\nneeds for emotion find the circumstances of ordinary life too narrow for\nthem, from the over nervous and weak of all classes. But the majority\nare, I think, of those who do nothing.\n\nThey turn to the established religions, vaguely hoping for the emotional\nstimulus they need, but they fail to find it.\n\nI am not quite sure why. One Christian Scientist assured me that Mrs.\nEddy had discovered, all out of her own mind, that God was Love, and\nthat was why Christian Science was so successful. This was a lady who\nhad gone to church regularly all her life. Yet she supposed this a new\ndiscovery! A strange but not at all solitary instance of what I have so\noften found, that the immense majority who call themselves Christians\nhave never tried to realize what their religion is. Many others have\ntold me that they are \"Christian Scientists\" for other allied reasons.\nBut no doubt the great attraction of Christian Science is in its\ndoctrine, that bodily ills can be cured by mental effort, the assertion\nthat evil exists only in the mind. This is, of course, nothing new.\nFaith healing has been common in all stages of the world, has allied\nitself to all religions. There is the standing example of Lourdes\nto-day, there was the relic worship of the middle ages, the pilgrimages\nand washings in sacred pools. It is common all over the world. The good\neffects attributed, and often truly, to charms and magic are but another\ninstance of it. A great deal of the sickness and unhappiness of the\nworld has always been purely the result of a diseased thought acting\nupon the body. The great antidote the world has always offered to this\nevil has been work. In daily work, in the necessity for daily effort, in\nthe forced detachment of mind it brings on, in the interest that a\nworker is obliged to take in his work lest he fail, or even starve, lies\nthe great tonic. And to this has been always added the belief in some\nreligious rite, or in charms.\n\nBut these resources are closed to the unhappy class that I am writing\nof. They need not work. They never have worked at anything, and know not\nhow to do it. Even from childhood their brains have been relaxed and\ntheir interests narrowed. Yet a great interest is a necessity for all\nmen and women. But consider the lives of these people, especially of the\nwomen, how terrible it is. There is nothing they care for, nothing. One\nday of monotony is added to another for ever. Marriage and children may\ndissipate it for a time, may give them the interest they require, but it\ndoes not last long. Love fades into indifference, the children grow up.\nThey no longer need care and thought, and there is nothing else. Dull,\nblank misery descends upon them as a garment never to be lifted.\n\nAnd if the love be a disappointment, a tragedy, then what help is there\nanywhere? \"Let me die,\" she cries, \"and be done with it. Life is not\nworth living.\" The world is horrible, because they see the world through\nglasses dimmed with their own misery.\n\nTo them comes Mrs. Eddy and says, \"All the evil you feel, the mental\nsickness, the bodily sickness, is imaginary. Face your evils in the\ncertainty that they are but bogies and they will flee before you. You\nshall again become well and strong, and life shall be worth living.\"\n\nIt is, of course, a wild exaggeration. Pain and sickness are real\nthings, and the empire of the mind over the body is very limited.\nStill, there is an empire and it must never be forgotten. The\nhealthy-minded--those who work, who live their lives, who love and hate,\nand fight, and win and lose, to whom the world is a great arena--will\nlaugh at Mrs. Eddy. They need not this teaching which is half a truth\nand half a lie. They see the false half only because they need not the\ntrue half. And the others, the mental invalids, they see the true half\nand not the false. It is _all_ true to them, and it _must_ be all true\nto be of use, for power lies in the exaggeration, never in the mean.\nThis is the secret of \"Christian Science.\" We have in our midst a\nterrible disease, growing daily worse, the disease of inutility, which\nbreeds pessimism, and Mrs. Eddy's doctrine of the imaginary nature of\nevil is good for this pessimism. The sick seize it with avidity because\nthey find it helps their symptoms, and in the relief it affords to their\nunhappiness they are willing to swallow all the rest of the formless\nmist that is offered to them as part of their religion.\n\nI do not know that \"Christian Scientists\" differ greatly from believers\nin other religions in this point. It is an excellent instance of how one\nuseful tenet will cause the acceptance of a whole mass of absurdities\nand even make them seem real and true. Christian Science has come as the\nquack medicine to cure a disease that is a terrible reality, and it is\nof use because it contains in all its melange one ingredient, morphia,\nthat dulls the pain. But the cure of this disease lies elsewhere than in\nChristian Science, than, indeed, in any religion.\n\nI have given a chapter to this \"Science,\" not because it appears to me\nthat it is ever likely to become a real force or of real importance, but\nbecause it illustrates, I think, the reason of the success or otherwise\nof all religions. It exhibits in exaggerated form what is the nature of\nall religions.\n\nThey come to fulfil an emotional want, or wants that are imperative and\nthat call for relief. And they succeed and persist exactly as they\nminister to these emotional wants. The emotion that requires religion\nis always a pessimism of some form or other, a weariness, a\nhopelessness. And the religion is accepted because it combats that\nhelplessness and gives a hope. All religions are optimisms to their\nbelievers.\n\nA great deal of foolishness may be included in a faith without injury to\nits success. Doctrine, theory, scientific theology, may be as empty and\nmeaningless as it is in Christian Science, and still the faith will\nlive. And the central idea must be exaggerated. It must be so\nexaggerated that to outsiders it appears only an immense falsehood. It\nis so in all the religions. Truth lies in the mean, power in the\nextreme. They are opposed as are freewill and destination, as are God\nand Law.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nPERSONALITY.\n\n\nThere is one complaint that all Europeans make of the Burmese. It\nmatters not what the European's duties may be, what his profession, or\nhis trade, or his calling--it is always the same, \"the Burmans will not\nstand discipline.\" It is, says the European, fatal to him in almost all\nwalks of life. For instance, the British Government tried at one time in\nBurma to raise Burmese regiments officered by Europeans, after the\npattern of the Indian troops. There seemed at first no reason why it\nshould not succeed. The Burmans are not cowards. Although not endowed\nwith the fury of the Pathan or the bloodthirsty valour of the Ghurka,\nthe Burman is brave. He will do many things none but brave men can do;\nkill panthers with sharpened sticks, for instance, and navigate the\nIrrawaddy in flood in canoes, with barely two inches free board. He is,\nin his natural state in the villages, unaccustomed to any strict\ndiscipline. But then, so are most people; and if the levies of the\nBurmese kings were but a mob, why, so are most native levies. There\nseemed _a priori_ no reason why Burmese troops should not be fairly\nuseful. And the attempt was made. It failed.\n\nAnd so, to a greater or less extent, all attempts to discipline the\nBurmans in any walk of life have always failed. Amongst the\npolice--which must, of course, be composed of natives of the\ncountry--discipline, even the light discipline sought to be enforced, is\nalways wanting. And good men will not join the force, mostly because\nthey dislike to be ruled. In the mills in Rangoon labour has been\nimported from India. Not that the Burman is not a good workman--he is\nphysically and mentally miles above the imported Telugu--but he will not\nstand discipline. It is the same on the railways and on the roads, and\nthe private servants of almost all Europeans are Indian. The Burman will\nnot stand control, daily control, daily order, the feeling of subjection\nand the infliction of punishment. Especially the infliction of\npunishment. He resents it, even when he knows and admits he deserves it.\n\nIs, then, the Burman impatient of suffering? He is the most patient, the\nmost cheerful of mortals. I who have seen districts ruined by famine,\nfamilies broken up and dissolved, farms abandoned, cattle dying by the\nthousand, I know this. And in the famine camps, where tens of thousands\nlived and worked hard for a bare subsistence, was there any inability to\nbear up, any despondency, any despair? There was never any. Such an\nexample of cheerfulness, of courage under great suffering, could not be\nsurpassed. Yet if you fine your servant a few annas out of his good pay\nfor a fault he will admit he made, he will bitterly resent it and\nprobably leave you. It is Authority, Personality, that the Burmans\nobject to. And the whole social life of the people, the whole of their\nreligion, shows how deeply this distaste to Personal Authority enters\ninto their lives.\n\nThere is no aristocracy in Burma. There has never been so. There has, it\nis true, always been a King--that was a necessity; and his authority,\nnominally absolute, was in fact very limited. But beside him there was\nno one. There were no lords of manors, no feudalism, no serfage of any\nkind. There was a kind of slavery, the idea of which probably came into\nBurma with the code of Manu, as a redemption of debt. At our conquest of\nUpper Burma it disappeared without a sign, but it was the lightest of\nits kind. The slave was a domestic servant at most, more usually a\nmember of the family; the authority exercised over him or her was of the\ngentlest, for with the dislike to submit to personal authority there was\nan equally great dislike to exercising it. The intense desire for power\nand authority over others which is so distinguishing a mark of western\npeople does not obtain among the Burmese. It is one of our difficulties\nto make our subordinate Burmese magistrates and officers exercise\nsufficient authority in their charges. This dislike, both to exercising\nand submitting to authority, is instinctive and very strong.\n\nIn western nations, more especially the Latin nations, who made\nChristianity, it is the very reverse. There is in us both the desire and\nability to govern and the power to submit readily to those who are above\nus. We rejoice in aristocracies, whether of the Government or of the\nChurch. We organise all our institutions upon that basis. We have a\nrigid Government, such as no Orientals have dreamt of, least of all the\nBurmese. We revere rank instinctively. We like to have masters. Personal\nsubmissiveness is in our eyes an excellent quality. We know that to\ndeclare a man to be a faithful servant is a great praise. In our lives\nas in our religions, lord and servant express a continued relationship.\nAnd from this quality, this instinct of discipline, this innate power\nboth of governing and submitting to governance, come the forms of\ngovernment and our success in trade and in many other matters.\n\nIt would, however, be quite outside the point of this chapter to discuss\nall the results of these differences and their effect for good and bad.\nTo the European the Burman, with his distaste for authority, appears to\nbe unfitted for the greater successes of life. To the Burman the\nEuropean's desire for authority appears to result in the slavery of the\nmany to the few, in the loss of individual liberty and the contraction\nof happiness. Either or both, or neither, may be true. It is here\nimmaterial, for all I wish to point out and to emphasise is that whereas\nthe Burman, who is a Buddhist, dislikes all personal authority\ninstinctively, the western Christians, more especially the Latin\npeoples, on the contrary crave after it. The Burman's ideal is to be\nindependent of everyone, even if poor, to have no one over him and no\none under him, to live among his equals. But in western countries the\ntendency is all to divide the world into two classes, master and man, to\norganise--which means, of course, authority and submission--and to make\nobedience one of the greatest of virtues.\n\nNow consider their faiths. The Christian has a personal God. He owes to\nthat God unquestioning obedience and submission. Man may praise God and\nthank Him, but not do the reverse. Man owes to God reverence, one of the\ngreatest of the virtues. And the Churches are all organised in the same\nway. The authority of God becomes the authority of the Pope, the Tsar,\nthe Bishops, the priests. The amount of submission and reverence due to\nthe priests of Christianity may vary in different countries, but it is\nalways there, and the reverence due to God never alters.\n\nDo you think such a system of religion would be bearable to a Burman? To\nhim neither reverence nor submission to Personality, whether God or\npriest or master, is an instinctive beauty. He acknowledges neither God\nnor priest, and he avoids masters as much as possible. His nature does\nnot lead him to it. He revolts against Personality. Courage under the\ninevitable he has to the greatest extent. If he suffer as the result of\na law he has nothing but cheerful acceptance, even if he do not\nunderstand it. If he can see his suffering to be the result of his own\nmistakes he will bear it with resignation, and note that in future he\nshould be more careful. But that he should be _punished_, that rouses in\nhim resentment, revolt. He would cry to God, Why do you hurt me? You\nneed not if you do not like; You are all-powerful. Cannot you manage\notherwise than by causing so much pain to me and all the world? There\nare other feelings caused by a Personality, many other feelings than\nthat of submission. There is defiance, bitterness. Did not Ajax defy the\nlightning? If a man or a boy looking at the world discovers in it more\nmisery than happiness, more injustice than justice, of what sort will be\nhis feelings to the Author of it all?\n\nI fear that if the Burman accepted a Personal All-powerful God and then\nlooked at the state of the world, his attitude towards that Personality\nwould not be all admiration and reverence. Indeed, they have often told\nme so.\n\nBut before Law, before Necessity. You cannot revolt against the\ninevitable. Passion is useless. The suffering which would be resented\nfrom a Personality is borne with courage as an inevitable result. You\nmay be of good courage and say, \"It is my fault, my ignorance; I will\nlearn not to put my hands in the fire and so not be burnt.\" But if you\nsuppose a God burnt you without telling you why, without giving you a\nchance, what then? Is this hard to understand? I do not know, but to me\nit is not so. For I can remember a boy, who was much as these Burmans\nare, who found authority hard to bear, punishment very difficult to\naccept; who remembered always that the punishment might have been\nomitted, who thought it was often mistaken and vindictive. For if you\nare almost always ill, and find for days and weeks and months that very\nlittle mental exertion is as much as you are capable of, how much do you\naccept the justice of being called \"idle,\" \"lazy,\" \"indolent,\" and being\nkept in to waste what little mental strength you have left in writing\nmeaningless impositions? There is more. It is a Christian teaching, a\nlesson that is frequently enforced in children, that all their acts are\nwatched by God. \"He sees me now.\" \"God is watching me.\" How often are\nnot these written in large words on nursery walls? And do you think that\nthere are not some natures who revolt from this? To be watched--always\nwatched. Cannot you imagine the intense oppression, the irritation and\nrevulsion, such a doctrine may occasion? \"Cannot I be left alone?\" And\nwhen he learns that there is another belief--that he is not being\nwatched, that he is not a child in a nursery, but a man acting under\nlaws he can learn--cannot you imagine the endless relief, the joy as of\nemancipation from a prison? That it is so to many people I know, the\nfeeling that law means freedom, but I also know that to others it is\nnot. \"Law, this rigid law,\" said the French missionary priest with a\nsigh when we were discussing the matter, \"it makes me shudder. It seems\nto me like an iron chain, like a terrible destiny binding us in. Ah, I\nnever could believe that. But a God who watches over us, who protects\nus, who is our Father, that is to me true and beautiful. Who will help\nyou if not God? Under Law you must face the world alone. No!\" and he\nshuddered, \"let us not think of it. I cannot abide the idea.\" And how\nmany are like him?\n\nDo you think that such feelings can be changed? Do you think that he who\nthinks Law to be freedom will ever be argued or converted into Theism?\nIt can never be. Such beliefs are innate, they are instincts far beyond\nreason or discussion, to be understood only by those who have felt them.\n\nThere is the instinct for God which rules almost all the West and India.\nThere is the instinct against God and for Law which rules the far East.\nYou cannot get away from either, you cannot prove either or disprove it.\nThey are instincts, and they influence not only the religious beliefs\nbut the whole lives of the peoples.\n\nIt is easy to see how in Europe the instinct for Personality has\ninfluenced all history. In moderation its effects have been all for\ngood; it binds people into nations, it enables the weaker and more\nignorant to accept willingly the leadership of the better. It has\nmanifested itself with us even to-day in the respect and reverence and\naffection we have all felt for our Queen, who has so lately left us. And\nin its excess it has been wholly evil. It has led us to irresponsible\nmonarchs, to the terrible tyranny of the French aristocracy, that\nrequired the whirlwind of a Revolution to efface. In the blind worship\nfor Napoleon in his later days it drove the nation to terrible\nsuffering. This desire for Personality has writ its effects large upon\nthe history of the West, more especially in Latin nations.\n\nAnd in Burma the want of this instinct is also written deeply in the\nhistory. There has been with them no enthusiasm for persons, no\nidealisation of individuals. There is no inborn desire for rulers and\nmasters, for obedience and submission.\n\nThe effect of the instinct is writ largely in their history. They have\nno aristocracy, they have no feudality, there are neither masters nor\nmen. They cannot organise or combine. The central Government was\nincredibly weak. There is nothing that strikes the Burman with such\nsurprise as the unvaried obedience of all officials to a faraway\ngovernment. But I am now concerned with effects, only causes. I have\nwished to show why a Burman believes in Law and not in God, that it\narises from an instinct against overpowering Personality, an innate\ndislike to the idea. It is never to him Truth. It makes him unhappy even\nto hear of it. He could never accept it as a truth, for truth is that\nwhich is in accord with our hearts.\n\nYet the Burman whose ideal is Law is not quite without the instinct of\nPersonality. He also prays sometimes, and you cannot pray to nothing.\nFar down in his heart there is also the same instinct that rules the\nWest, but it is weak. It finds its vent now and then despite his faith.\nAnd in the West the idea of Law is rising. It is new, but not less true\nfor that. It rises steadily hand in hand with science, and it, too, will\nfind its vent despite the faith.\n\nWhen the scientific theologian declares that God is not variable, that\nHe has no passions, no anger, no vengeance, that He is bound by\nimmovable righteousness and is not affected by prayer, cannot you see\nthe idea of Law? No one would have said this a hundred years ago. It is\ngrowing in him; it is there, even if he do not recognise it as such, and\nsore havoc it makes with the old theologies.\n\nThe instinct of generalisation made many gods into one God; the instinct\nof atonement obliged the sub-division of God; to be explained only by\nan incomprehensible formula. And now there is arising a third\ninstinct--that of Law. It is weak yet, but it is there. When it becomes\nstronger either Personality must disappear or else a still more\nincomprehensible creed must be formulated to reconcile the three ideas.\nBut what is truth? Are they all true?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nGOD THE SACRIFICE.\n\n\nIt is Sunday to-day in the little Italian town, and they have been\nholding a procession. I do not know quite what was the reason of the\nprocession; it is the feast day of the patron of the Church, and it is\nconnected in some way with him, but quite how no one could tell me. It\nwas the custom, and that sufficed. It was not a very grand procession,\nfor the town is small, but there was the town band playing at the head,\nand there were girls in twos singing and priests, also in pairs,\nsinging, and there were banners and a crucifix. This last was just like\nany other crucifix you may see; there was the pale body of Christ upon\nthe cross, with His wounds red with blood, there was the tinsel crown\nover the head, there was upon the face the look of suffering. It was\nlike any other crucifix in a Catholic country, not a work of art at all.\nIt was gruesome, and to the unbeliever repulsive and unpleasant. But all\nthe people uncovered as it passed, and many looked to it with reverence\nand worship.\n\nBut indeed Catholic countries are full of such crucifixes. They are upon\nthe hills, they are beside the roadsides, they are in all the churches,\nthey are in every Catholic household, there is very often one worn upon\nthe person.\n\nThroughout Italy, throughout all Catholic countries, there are only two\nrepresentations of Christ--as a babe with the Virgin Mary and crucified\nupon the cross. It was in Italy that Western Christianity arose and\ngrew, it was in Italy that it became a living power, it was in Italy\nthat it acquired consistency, that it was bound together by dogmas and\ncrystallised in creeds. And still, after nineteen hundred years, it is\nItaly that remains the centre of the Christian world. There is no\nChristian church so great, so venerable, so imposing as the Church of\nRome. It lasts unchanged amid the cataclasms of worlds. And this people\nwhose genius made Christianity, whose genius still rules the greater\npart of it, what are their conceptions of Christ? What part of His life\nis it that has caught their reverence and adoration, what side is it of\nHis character that appeals to them, what is the emotion that the name of\nChrist awakens in these believers?\n\nOf the Virgin Mary and the infant Christ I have written in another\nchapter. It is of the crucifix I wish to write here. Why is it that of\nthe life of Christ this end of His is considered the most worthy to be\nin continual remembrance?\n\nI confess that when I climb the hill and see the dead Christs upon their\ncrosses shining white against the olive gardens, when I see His agony\ndepicted in the churches, when I see the people gaze upon Him\nsacrificed, my memory is taken back to other scenes.\n\nThere is a scene that I can remember in a village far away against the\nfrontier in our farthest East. It was a little village that was once a\ncity, but decayed; it was walled with huge walls of brick, but they are\nfallen into mounds; it had gateways, but they are now but gaps; and a\nfew huts are huddled in a corner where once a palace stood.\n\nIt is the custom in this village that every year at a certain season\nwhite cocks are to be sacrificed at the gates. There is as may be some\nlegend to explain the custom, but it is forgotten. And yet are the cocks\nsacrificed each year.\n\nThere is the memory, too, of the goat I saw killed in India years ago as\nI have described. And there are other memories--memories of what I have\nseen, of what I have read. For this ceremony of sacrifice is the very\noldest of all the beginnings of religion. It is akin to prayer, it is at\nthe root of all faiths; we can go no further back than sacrifice. Where\nit began religion had commenced. Far older than any creed, arising from\nthe dumb instincts of human kind, it is one of the roots of faiths.\n\nTherefore, when I see this image of God, the Son sacrificed to God the\nFather, I seem to behold the highest development of this long story.\nSacrifice, it has always been sacrifice. It has been small\nanimals--goats and fowls and pigeons; it has been greater and more\nvaluable beasts--cattle and horses. It has been man. How often indeed\nhas it been man: Abraham leading Isaac to the sacrifice, the Aztecs\nsacrificing in Mexico, the Druids in Britain, the followers of Odin, the\nGreeks, the Egyptians, the early Hindus, can you find a faith that has\nnot sacrificed? Sometimes it has been single victims, sometimes\nhecatombs of slaughtered slaves. It has been sacrifice by priests, it\nhas been self-sacrifice, as Curtius or as those who threw themselves\nbefore the car of Juggernauth. Everywhere there has been sacrifice; it\nis one of the roots of faiths, it arouses the emotion that has helped to\nmake all religions. And in Christianity it has reached its zenith, for\nit is no longer an animal, no longer even a man--it is a God, the Son of\nGod who is self-sacrificed to God. In what manner this awakens the\nemotions of man the following extract will show. It is from \"The Gospel\nof the Atonement,\" by the Venerable J. Wilson.\n\n\"The law that suffering is divine, [Greek: to kalon pathein], is\nverified in the experience of the soul. Now Christ's death is the\nsupreme instance of that law. The power of Gethsemane and Calvary, in\nthe light of such a law, needs no explanation. They open the heart as\nnothing else ever did. We know that whatever reservations we make for\nourselves, whatever our own shrinking from utter self-sacrifice, Christ,\nliving in perfect accordance with the laws of spiritual health and\nperfection, could not do other than die. Thus without any thought of\npayment or expiation, with no vestige of separation of the Son from the\nFather, we see that the death on the Cross demonstrated that the human\nand divine know but one and the same law of life and being. Thus it is\nthat the death of Christ, the shedding of His blood, has been, and ever\nwill be, regarded by theologians, as well as by the simple believers, as\nthe way of the atonement. Via crucis via salutis.\"\n\nThe scientific theologians tell me when I ask that this parade of the\nsacrifice of Christ is to recall to men how much they should love\nChrist. That He so loved them that He gave Himself a victim for their\nsalvation. The crucifix, the incessant preaching of the death of Christ,\nthe sacrament of the Communion, is to cause us to love Him as to do what\nHe taught us. That it does have some such effect no one can doubt--on\nLatin people. But on others?\n\nTo some it seems that if you try to reason at all about it, the emotion\nawakened might be, nay should be, otherwise. In those not instinct with\none emotion the first impression awakened is disgust at the parade of\ndeath and blood; the second, horror at the God who could demand such a\nsacrifice, who could not be pacified but by the execution in\ncircumstances of shame of His own Son. They shrink from it. It is no\nmatter of reason. Do you think one who felt so could be argued out of\nhis horror or a Christian out of his devotion? They are instinctive\nfeelings which nothing will change. And yet in a very small way even the\nBuddhist has the instinct of sacrifice. For I remember that when the\nfowls were killed inside the city gate and their blood ran upon the\nground the people looked just as these Italian people looked. The\nemotion was the same in kind, and it was not either love for the fowls\nor wonder at the demand of the spirits that moved them. And so when the\nslaves were sacrificed beneath the oaks, was it gratitude to the slaves\nthat was evoked? And in the self-sacrifice at the car of Juggernauth?\nIt may be sometimes that gratitude may be added, but this is not\nthe root emotion. The instinct of sacrifice has its roots much\ndeeper than this, quite apart from this; and, with perhaps only one\nexception--Buddhism--all religions have practised it. Christianity\nperforms no more sacrifices now, but all its churches, in all their\nvarieties weekly at the great sacrament of the Communion,\ncommemorate--nay, it is claimed in a measure recreate--this sacrifice of\nthe Son to the Father. Sacrifice is of the very root of this religion.\nIt is far older than any creed. The Jews knew of sacrifice two thousand\nyears before the day of Christ, the Celts sacrificed slaves ages before\nthat.\n\nBut it may be said these crosses, these crucifixes, are peculiar to\nCatholic countries. You do not see them in North Germany, in England, in\nAmerica. Teutonic nations do not parade this sacrifice. No, they do not,\nfor it does not appeal to them so much as to the nations of Southern\nEurope. Sacrifice was not unknown to the Teutons and the Northern\npeople, but it never reached the height it did further South. It has\nbeen the Latin peoples who in this as in other matters went to extremes.\nIt was the Greeks who sacrificed Iphigenia, who had the festival of the\nThargalia; it was Rome which produced Curtius and others who sacrificed\nthemselves. It was the Romans who sacrificed thousands in the Coliseum.\nIt is in the tumuli of Celtic peoples where we find the cloven skulls of\nslaves.\n\nSacrifice has appealed always more to the Latin then and now; and\ntherefore you see the crucifix in Latin countries, but not with us.\nStill, we are not free from the emotion. We have the sacrament of\nCommunion; the Atonement appeals to us also. The passions that are\nstrong in the Latin peoples are weak with us, yet they exist. The\ninstincts are the same. When executions were public our people thronged\nto see them. Death has always a peculiar attraction, quite apart from\nany idea connected with it. It is such a wonderful thing the taking of\nlife, so awe-inspiring, that it has appealed always to men; especially\nin the west.\n\nIn the East that has accepted Buddhism, especially in Burma, it is much\nless so. They have, it is true, the usual pleasure and curiosity in\nseeing blood and death. And occasionally you come across some petty\nsacrifice like that of the fowls mentioned above; but the instinct is\ncomparatively weak. It has never, even before they were Buddhists, been\ngeneral, and never extended even to cattle. The sacrifice of a man\n(remember, I say sacrifice, not execution), would be absolutely\nabhorrent to them, how much more so that of a God? They have not the\ninstinctive recognition of any beauty in it. Therefore, for this amongst\nother reasons, the Burmese reject Christianity.\n\nBut to the Western instinct this sacrifice and this atonement is\nwonderful and beautiful. It appeals to us. The old instinct is\nsatisfied.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTherefore, amongst other reasons, Christians cling to the Atonement, and\nto make that sacrifice the greatest possible it must be the sacrifice of\nGod, and as God can only be sacrificed to God the Christian God must be\na multiple one. To postulate as the Mahommedan does, God is God, would\ndestroy the depth of the Atonement. Hence arises the creed, the attempt\nto reconcile two opposed instincts. There is one God--that is an\ninstinct, arising from our generalising power; there must be at least\ntwo Gods to explain the Atonement, and so we have the Father and the\nSon.\n\nFor of the three Godheads only these two are real to most people. There\nis God the Ruler, the Maker of the world, and there is Christ. These are\nboth very real to all Christians. They are prayed to individually, they\nare worshipped separately, they are clear conceptions. But is there any\nclear conception of the Holy Ghost as a distinct personality? Is He ever\ncited separately from the others? Has He any special characteristics?\nThere are, for instance, many pictures of God, and many more of\nChrist--are there any of the Holy Ghost? This Third Person of the\nTrinity appeals to no instinct, and is only an abstraction in popular\nthought. When the Creed was framed it was necessary to include the Holy\nGhost because He is mentioned in the New Testament. He has remained an\nabstraction only. But the other two Godheads are realities, because they\nappeal to feelings that are innate. They are the explanation of these\nfeelings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus do creeds arise out of instincts. It is never the reverse.\nPostulate God the Father as All-Powerful, All-Merciful, and see if by\nany possibility you can work out the Atonement or see any beauty in it.\nCan anyone see aught but horror in this Almighty demanding the sacrifice\nof His Son? You cannot. But granted that Atonement and sacrifice have\nto you an innate beauty of their own, and the dogma of a multiple\nGodhead easily follows. There are creeds built on ceremonies, and\nceremonies upon instincts: ceremonies are never deduced from creeds.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nGOD THE MOTHER.\n\n\nThe only other form in which the Christ is presented to popular\nadoration is as a baby in the Madonna's arms. Out of all the life of\nChrist, all the varied events of that career which has left such a great\nmark upon the Western world, only the beginning and the end are\npictured. Christ the teacher, Christ the preacher, the restorer of the\ndead to life, the feeder of the hungry, the newly arisen from the grave,\nwhere is He? The great masters have painted Him, but popular thought\nremembers nothing of all that. There is Christ the sacrificed and Christ\nthe infant with His mother. To the Latin people these two phases\nrepresent all that is worth daily remembrance. There are crucifixes and\nMadonnas in every hill side, by every road, at the street corners, in\nevery house, and of the rest of the story not a sign.\n\nWhat is the emotion to which the Madonna appeals? Why do she and her\nChild thus live in Latin thought?\n\nThere are historians who tell us that the worship of the Madonna was\nintroduced from Egypt. She is Astarte, Queen of Heaven, the Phoenician\ngoddess of married love or maternity, she is the Egyptian Isis with her\nson Horus. It is a cult that was introduced through Spain, and took root\namong the Latin people and grew. There is no question here of Christ,\nthey say; it is the goddess and her son.\n\nIt has also absorbed the worship of Venus and Aphrodite. Venus was the\ntutelary goddess of Rome, she was the goddess of maternity, of\nproduction. It was not till the Greek idea of beauty in Aphrodite came\nto Rome and became confounded with the goddess Venus that her status\nchanged. She was the goddess of married love, she became later the\nemblem of lust. But it was she who purified marriage to the old Roman\nfaith; she was the purifier, the justifier, the goddess of motherhood,\nwhich is the sanction of love and marriage.\n\nIt may be that all this is true. It may be possible to trace the worship\nback through the various changes to Astarte, Ashtoreth, to Isis, to\nolder gods, maybe, than these. All this may be true, and yet be no\nexplanation. The old gods are dead. Why does she alone survive? What is\nthe instinct that requires her, that pictures her on the street corners,\nthat makes her worship a living worship to-day?\n\nAnd why is it that she appeals not at all to the Teutonic people? Where\nare her pictures in Protestant Germany, in England, in Scotland, in\nAmerica? Do you ever hear of her there? Do the preachers tell of her,\nthe picture makers paint her, the people pray to her? Such a worship is\nimpossible. And why? What is the answer that to-day gives to that\nquestion? Is the answer difficult? I think not, for it is written in the\nhearts of the people, it is written in the laws they have made, in the\ncustoms they adhere to, in the oaths they take, in their daily lives.\n\nConsider the Roman laws of two thousand and more years ago, the French\nlaws of to-day. What is there most striking to us when we study them? It\nis, I think, the cult of the family.\n\nThe Roman son was his father's slave. He could not own property apart\nfrom the father, he could not marry without leave, his father could\nexecute him without any trial. Family life lay outside the law; not\nSenate, nor Consul nor Emperor could interfere there. The unit in Rome\nwas not the man, but the family.\n\nAs it was so it is. The laws are less stringent, but the idea remains. A\nman belongs not to himself but to his people, to his father and to his\nmother. In France even now he has to ask their leave to marry. The\nproperty is often family property, and his family may restrain a man\nfrom wasting it.\n\nThere is no bond anywhere stronger than the family bond of the Latin\npeoples. In mediaeval Rome, even often in Rome of to-day, all the sons\nlive with their father and mother even if married. It is the custom,\nand, like all customs that live, it lives because it is in accord with\nthe feelings of those who obey it.\n\nA man belongs to his family, he clings to it; he is not an individual,\nbut part of an organism.\n\nAnd although in law it is the father who is the head, it is the father\nwho is the lawgiver, the ruler, is it really he who is that centre, that\nlode-star, that holds the family together? I think it is not so. It is\nthe mother who is the centre of that affection which is stronger than\ngravity. We laugh when a Frenchman swears by his mother. But he is\nswearing by all that he holds most sacred. No Latin would laugh at such\na matter. Because he could understand, and we do not. To everyone of\nLatin race there comes next to God his mother, next to Christ the\nMadonna, who is the emblem of motherhood.\n\nThe Latins do not emigrate. They hate to leave their country. And if\nthey do, if necessity drive them forth, are they ever happy, ever at\nrest till they can see their way to return? The Americans tell us that\nItalians are the worst immigrants because they will not settle; because\nthey send their pay to their parents in the old country, and are never\nhappy till they themselves can return. We call it nostalgia, we say it\nis a longing for their country. It is that and more. It is a longing for\ntheir family, their blood. They cling together in a way we have no idea\nof.\n\nDoes an Englishman ever swear by his mother, does he yearn after her as\nthe Latins do from a far country? Does the fear of separation keep our\nyoung men at home? It is always the reverse. They want to get away. The\nhome nest tires them, and they would go; and once gone they care not to\nreturn, they can be happy far away. The ties of relationship are light\nand are easily shaken off, they are quickly forgotten.\n\nItalian labourers and servants give some of their pay always as a matter\nof course to their parents. It is a natural duty. And in Latin\ncountries there are no poorhouses. They could not abide such a theory\nany more than could the Indians. It would seem to a Latin an\nimpossibility that any child would leave his parents in a workhouse.\nPoor as they might be they would keep together. The great bond that\nholds a family together is the mother, always the mother. We can see\nthis in England too, even with our weaker instinct. The mother makes the\nhome and not the father.\n\nAnd now are we not finding that sanction we were searching for? If the\nMadonna, the type of motherhood, appeals to all the people, men and\nwomen, is there not a reason? It is an instinct. These images and\npictures of the Madonna sound on their heart-strings a chord that is\nperhaps the loudest and sweetest; if second to any, second only to that\nof God. God as father, God as mother, God as son and sacrifice, here is\nthe threefold real Godhead of the Latins.\n\nBut with us the family tie is slight, the mother worship is faint. Our\nTeutonic Trinity is God the Father, God the Son, and now later God the\nLaw. These are the realities.\n\nFor with us conduct is more and emotion is less than with the peoples of\nthe South.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nCONDUCT.\n\n\nOf all aspects of religion none is so difficult to understand as the\nrelation of religion and conduct. It is ever varying. There seems to be\nnothing fixed about it. What does conduct arise from? It takes its\norigin in an instinct, and this instinct is so strong, so imperious, so\nalmost personal, that of all the instincts it alone has a name. It is\nconscience.\n\nBy conscience our acts are directed.\n\nThere are scientific men who tell us that our consciences are the result\nof experience, partly our own, but principally inherited. That if\nconscience warns us against any course of action it is because that has\nbeen experienced to result in misfortune. It is an unconscious memory of\npast experiences. Conscience is instinctive, and not affected by\nteaching to any great extent; and that conscience is the main guide of\nlife no one will deny.\n\nBut do the voices of conscience and of God, as stated in the sacred\nbooks, agree?\n\nWhen the savage sees a god in the precipice and is afraid of him, there\nis no question of right or wrong. Not that the savage has no code of\nmorals. He has a very elaborate one. But it is usually distinct from his\nreligion. What virtue did Odin teach? None but courage in war. Yet the\nNorthmen had codes of conduct fitted to their stage of civilisation. The\nGreeks had many gods. They had also codes of morals and an extensive\nphilosophy, but practically there was no connection. In fact, the gods\nwere examples not of morality but of immorality. It was the same with\nthe Latins and with all the Celts. Their religions were emotional\nreligions, their codes of conduct were apart, although even here you see\nnow and then an attempt to connect them. And when the Latin people took\nChristianity and formed it, they put into their creeds no question of\nconduct. You believed, and therefore you were a Christian. The results\nof bad conduct would be annulled by confession, and the sinner would\nreceive absolution. To a Latin Christian a righteous unbeliever who had\nnever done anything but good would in the end be damned, whereas the\nmurderer who repented at the last would be saved. \"There is more joy in\nheaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just\npersons that need no repentance.\"\n\nIs the inference that the Latin peoples were wickeder than others? I\ndoubt it. They initiated all European civilisation, and trade and\ncommerce, and law and justice. Probably the highest examples of conduct\nthe world has known have been Latins. They had and have the instinct of\nconduct, they had and have consciences as good as other people, but only\nthey do not so much connect conduct and religion. You can be saved\nwithout conduct.\n\nThe Jews, on the contrary, had no instinct of conduct apart from\nreligion. In the Ten Commandments conduct, if it have the second place,\nhas yet the larger share. Righteousness was the keynote of their belief,\nand if the only righteousness they knew was little better than a noble\nsavagery, it was the best they could do. They included every form of\nconduct in their religion--sanitary matters, caste observances, and\nbusiness rules. The Hindu goes even further in the same line. Everything\nin life is included in his religion.\n\nWhen in the Reformation the Teutonic people threw off the yoke of Rome,\na yoke which was not only religious but political and social, one of\ntheir principal arguments against Roman Catholicism was the\nabominations that had crept in. I think it would be difficult to assert\nthat the people who revolted were in morals generally any better than\nthose they seceded from. Good men in the Latin Church saw equally the\nnecessity for reformation. But bad morals did not seem to them so\ndestructive to faith as it did to the Teutons. There was this\ndifference, that whereas the Latin could and did conceive of religion\napart from conduct, the Teuton, like the Jew, could not do so. With the\nLatin they were distinct emotions, with the Teuton they were connected.\nOne of the principal aspects of the Reformation is the restoration of\nmorality to religion, the abolition of indulgences, of confession and\nabsolution, the insistence on conduct in religious teachers.\n\nThe morality of Christ?\n\nThe remarkable fact is that it was not the morality of Christ at all.\nThe Reformation was never in any way a revival of the code of the Sermon\non the Mount or the imitation of Christ. To a certain extent it went\nfurther away from Christ than the Latins. For instance, the Latin\npriests imitate Christ in being unmarried, the Protestant pastors\nmarried. When Calvin burnt Servetus he was not returning to the tenets\nof the New Testament, and what thought had the Puritans or the French\nHuguenots, the most masterful of men, of turning the other cheek?\n\nProtestantism was a return of conduct to religion, but it was not\nChrist's conduct. It was rather the Old Testament code softened by\ncivilised influence that was revived. It was a revolt against excessive\nemotionalism, and was, in fact, a combination of two creeds tempered as\nto conduct by the conduct of the day.\n\nSo it continues to-day. The Latin's idea of religious conduct is the\nimitation of Christ, and when a Latin cultivates religious conduct that\nis what he does. He becomes a priest or monk, poor, celibate,\nself-denying and unworldly. But conduct to him is not the great part of\nreligion that it is to a Teuton. With us conduct is the greatest part;\nthe mystical and ceremonious part has decreased, in certain sects almost\ndisappeared. Confession disappeared, and with it absolution from\npriests. Conduct is part of religion, and the code of conduct to be\nfollowed is that which conscience bids, and the code of conscience is,\nscientific men tell us, the result of experience, personal and\ninherited. Practically, what conscience tells us to do is what suits the\ncircumstances of the day.\n\nTherefore we may say that the religion of the Latins is mainly\nemotional, that of the Teutons half emotional and half conduct; and then\nwe come to the Buddhist, which is nearly all conduct.\n\nThe Latin would say of an unbeliever, \"He cannot be saved; faith is the\nabsolute necessity, and faith even at the last moment by itself is\nsufficient.\" The Teuton would say, \"I do not know. To be a good man,\neven if an unbeliever, is very much; it may be that God will accept\nhim.\"\n\nAnd the Buddhist? He has no doubt at all. Conduct is everything. Believe\nwhat you like as long as you act well. To be a Buddhist is best because\nthere you have the way of life set clearly before you, and it is easy\nfor you to follow. But any man can be saved if he act aright. Conduct is\n_everything_. In fact, Buddhism in its inception was in one aspect a\nrevolt against excessive emotionalism, that of the ascetics, and it\nmaintains that attitude to-day.\n\nOr, to put it another way: Roman Catholicism is all emotion,\nProtestantism is half emotion, Buddhism is the suppression of emotion.\nThese are the theories. And the facts? What effect does this difference\nmake on the lives of the peoples?\n\nIt may have some effect. There is sometimes action and reaction. These\ndifferent views of the relation of religion and conduct come from the\ninstincts of the people, and being held and taught they in turn affect\nthe people. But how much? Personally, I believe very little.\n\nA man's daily conduct is regulated by quite other factors. If the effect\nwas great we should find Buddhists the least criminal of peoples, the\nTeutons a medium, and the Latins without any idea of conduct at all. But\nthis is certainly not true. The Burman is greatly given to certain\ncrimes, the outcome of his stage of civilisation.\n\nAnd I have great doubts whether the Protestants generally can show any\nsuperiority over the Latins when the circumstances are considered. Are\nthe English Roman Catholics less honest than Protestants in the same\nclass? Are sceptics more criminal than religious people? The inclusion\nof conduct in religion is astonishingly varied. Some peoples cannot be\nborn or come to maturity, or marry, or die without religion; others do\nnot allow religion to have any part in these matters. But the fact\nremains that, though conduct may be included more or less in every\nreligion, no religion has a code of conduct for daily life. Priests and\nmonks apart, the codes of conduct are not taken from religion.\n\nBut it must not be forgotten that neither Christianity nor Buddhism\nprofesses to provide a code of conduct for this life. Judaism knew no\nfuture life, and its aim was therefore to ensure success in this. That\nis the reward offered to the righteous--success for them and their\nchildren. There is no hint that this life is not good and worth living,\nthat love and wealth are not good things. On the contrary, they are held\nout as the reward of the godly. The Judaic code was a good and workable\none for its age. But Christianity and Buddhism declare that this life is\nnot good; that it is, in fact, absolutely wicked and unhappy, and that\ntherefore all worldly pleasures and successes are to be eschewed as\nsnares. The codes given are ways to reach heaven, they are by no means\ncodes for ordinary life. Followed to their meaning, every Christian\nought to be a monk or nun and every Buddhist the same.\n\nBut this teaching of the evil of life is one that no one but a few\nfanatics accept in its fulness, and heaven or Nirvana are ideas that do\nnot appeal to most men. In Latin and Buddhist countries a few with their\nhigher spiritual powers take their faiths very seriously, but the\nmajority try to make the best of both worlds. In Protestant countries no\none at all accepts the doctrine of the worthlessness of life. With the\nimmense majority of men of all nations life is held to be a great and\nbeautiful thing, to be used to its best advantage. The Latins with their\nkeener logic, seeing that the code of Christ is for the next world, not\nfor this, and therefore fit only for monks and nuns and not for men of\nthe world, divorce conduct from religion. Protestants, rejecting the\ncode of Christ for men of the world equally with the Latins, yet feeling\na need for a code of conduct, adopt the best current code of the day and\ncall that \"Christian conduct.\" Thus are working religions built up. One\nreligion is all conduct, another half, another hardly at all--in theory.\nBut in fact, for ordinary life, is there any difference between the code\nof a Latin, a Teuton, or a Buddhist? There is hardly any. Codes of life\nvary very little, and that variation is due never to religious\ninfluences, but always to the stage of civilisation and mental\ndevelopment and the environments. In Scotland and North Germany it is\ncommon for peasant girls to have a baby first and marry afterwards. A\nHindu or a Burman would be horrified at such a thing, just as a better\nclass Scotchman or German would be. But to the people who do it there\nis no immorality. How do you explain this from religion?\n\nConduct is an instinct. It evolves according to the civilisation and\nidiosyncrasy of the people. It is influenced by many causes. People, for\ninstance, who are not pleased by acting call theatres wrong, and so on.\nExperience is also a factor. And the connection of conduct with religion\nvaries. Some people make it a great part of their religion just as\nsanitary and social measures are included, other peoples make it less\nprominent. But conduct does not proceed from religious creeds any more\nthan prayer or confession does. It may be slowly influenced by religious\nteaching, but it has its own existence, and religious teaching is only\none of many influences.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nMEN'S FAITH AND WOMEN'S FAITH.\n\n\nThere is a faith--Judaism--which originated so far back that we have\nonly a legendary account of it. It was the cult of a warrior nation\nwhose ideal was bravery and whose glory was war, who considered the rest\nof the world as Philistines and treated them ruthlessly, who kept\nthemselves as a nation apart.\n\nNineteen hundred years ago there arose among them a prophet, said to be\nof the ancient kingly house. He preached a doctrine which prescribed as\nthe rule of life mildness and self-denial, renunciation of this world;\nwho denounced war and conquest, and held out as a goal for attainment\nheaven, which is the peace of God.\n\nThis Prophet, The Christ, was executed, but He left behind Him disciples\nwho spread His religion widely. Amongst His own people it never attained\ngreat strength, and in time it died away and disappeared. There are no\nChristians among the Jews. All Semitic nations have rejected this\nfaith. But it spread far to the west, and is now in one form or another\nthe accepted faith of the half world to the west of Palestine. It never\nspread east.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is a faith--Brahminism--which originated so far back that we have\nbut legendary accounts of it. It was the cult of a warrior nation whose\nideal was courage and whose glory was war, who considered the rest of\nthe world as outcasts and treated them ruthlessly, who kept themselves\nas a nation apart.\n\nTwo thousand five hundred years ago there arose among them a prophet,\nthe son of the Royal House. He preached a doctrine which prescribed as a\nrule of life meekness and self-denial, renunciation of the world. He\ndenounced war and conquest, and held out as a goal for attainment the\nGreat Peace.\n\nThis prophet, the Buddha, was rejected by all the higher castes and he\ndied, having made but little way. But his disciples spread his religion\nwidely. Amongst his own people it never attained great strength, and in\ntime it died away and disappeared. There are no Buddhists in Oude, and,\nwith perhaps a slight exception, there are no Buddhists at all in India.\nBut it has spread far to the east, and is now in one form or another\nthe accepted faith of nearly all people east of the Bay of Bengal, and\nalso of Ceylon. It never spread west.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI do not say that Christianity and Buddhism are the same, for although\nin some ways, especially in conduct, their teaching is almost identical,\nand in others--such as Heaven and Nirvana--though differently expressed,\nthe idea is almost the same, yet in certain theories they differ very\ngreatly. Yet, however they may differ, the above parallel cannot but\nstrike one as extraordinary. Indeed, the parallel might have been very\nlargely augmented, but it suffices for the purpose of this chapter; and\nthat is to enquire why each teacher's doctrine was rejected by his own\npeople and accepted by others.\n\nIt is no answer to say that no one is a prophet in his own country. All\nthe Jewish prophets, from Moses to Isaiah, _were_ prophets in their own\ncountry. Christ alone was not. Mahommed was a prophet to the Arabs,\nZoroaster to the Persians, Confucius and Laotze to the Chinese. All\nteachers of Hinduism have been native born Hindus. In Buddhist countries\nit is the same. Luther was a prophet to the Germans, Loyola to the\nSpaniards. The rule is otherwise. A prophet is never a prophet to any\n_but_ his own people, except the two greatest Prophets in the world,\nChrist and Buddha. They alone were rejected by their own and accepted\nelsewhere. They almost divide the world between them. Hinduism, from\nwhich Buddhism arose, still exists untouched by either; Judaism, from\nwhich Christianity arose, and its near kin Mahommedanism, exist\nuntouched by either; but most of the rest of the world is either\nChristian or Buddhist. These are very astonishing facts, and must have\nsome very strong reasons to cause them. The question is, What are the\nreasons, and are they the same in each case? Was it a similar cause that\noccasioned such similar effects? What quality was it in the Jews and\nHindus that led them to reject their prophets, and what are the\nqualities in the converted nations that led them to accept these\nprophets?\n\nIt might seem at first as if the clue was contained in the first\nsentence of each paragraph, that the reason was because both Jews and\nHindus, especially the higher caste Hindus, were warrior nations. The\nrule of life preached by each teacher was absolutely against all that\nthey had revered so far, hence that each rejected it. The fact, of\ncourse, is true. Each nation had up to the coming of the Teacher learned\na rule of life hopelessly in contrast to the new teaching. The ideals\nof Christ and Buddha were absolutely opposed to those a fierce, warlike,\nexclusive people could maintain. They could not accept them without\nthrowing to the winds all their past. This is true, but is it an\nexplanation? It is certainly not a full one. The Jews were warriors,\nbitter, terrible, ruthless fighters, and they rejected Christ. But they\nare no longer a nation of warriors, and they still reject Him.\n\nThe world has never seen keener soldiers than those of western Europe,\nbut these nations accept Him.\n\nThe Hindu warrior caste are warriors to the bitter end. They rejected\nBuddha, but so did many peoples of India; the Bengalees, for instance,\nwho are not fighters.\n\nWhere can you find stronger warrior spirit than has always existed in\nJapan? Yet Buddhism is the prevailing religion there. It is evident, I\nthink, that this explanation will not suffice. It may in addition be\nasserted that the men of Latin nations are usually frankly atheistic,\nand the Teutonic nations, though theoretically Christian, yet\npractically when they want to fight they forget Christ and fall back to\nthe Jehovah of the Jews. The Puritans and the Boers are cases in point.\nThey get their fighting faith out of the Old Testament, not the New. But\nstill they accept Christ, and though they may find it impossible, like\nall nations, to follow His teaching, they do not reject it, or deny it.\nWith Buddhism in the further East the parallel does not last, because\nBuddhism in ethical teaching stands alone. The Buddhist who wants to\nfight cannot fall back on the original faith. He has simply to go\nwithout a faith at all. He has not the advantage of a double set of\nconduct, one of which can always be trusted to fit anything he wants to\ndo He has to go without a faith when he fights. Still he does so.\n\nI confess that for a long time I seemed to find no answer, and at length\nit came not through studying out this question, but in observing other\nphenomena of religion altogether.\n\nTo one coming to Europe after years in the East and visiting the\nchurches nothing is more striking than the enormous preponderance of\nwomen there. It is immaterial whether the church be in England or in\nFrance, whether it be Anglican or Roman Catholic or Dissenter. The\nresult is always the same. Women outnumber the men as two to one, as\nthree to one, sometimes as ten to one. Even of the men that are there,\nhow many go there from other motives than personal desire to hear the\nservice? Men go because their wives take them, boys go with their\nmothers or sisters, old men with their daughters. Professional men are\nthere because it would injure them among their women clients to be\nabsent. Women go because they desire to do so; nine out of ten even of\nthese few men who do go are taken by their women folk. They admit it\nreadily. And more, when they are away from these women they do not enter\nthe churches. It is borne in upon an observer, especially an observer\nwho has been long enough away from Europe to become depolarised, to what\nan enormous extent the observance of religious duty in Europe among\nChristian nations is due to women. It is they only who care for, who are\nin full sympathy with the teaching of Christ; for men when they are\nreligious, and in certain cases they are so, take their religion of\nconduct much more from the Old Testament than the New.\n\nIn Burma it is not otherwise. The deeper the tenets of Buddhism are\nobserved, the more the women are concerned in it. Who lights the candles\nat the pagoda, who contribute the daily food to the monks, who attend\nthe Sunday meetings in the rest houses? Nearly all of them are women.\nEven in Burma, where the devotional instinct is so strong and so deeply\nheld, the immense influence of women is manifest. In Christian and\nBuddhist countries the women are free to attend the services; they are\nfree, to a greater or lesser extent, in all matters, and in religion\nthey are conspicuous--they rule it, they form it to suit themselves.\n\nBut in the races that rejected Christianity, that rejected Buddhism, it\nis otherwise. The Hindu women keep themselves in zenanas. They are not\nallowed in the temples, or only in special parts. They can take no part\nin the public services. They cannot combine to influence religious\nmatters. At the time the Buddha lived women were very much freer than\nthey are now, and this accounts for its initial partial success at home.\nBut as waves of conquest, the incessant rigorous struggle for existence\ndeepened and circumstances contracted that liberty, so as it contracted\ndid Buddhism die. Till at length the women remained immured, and\nBuddhism fled to countries where women had still some freedom.\n\nIt is the same with Christianity. The Jewish women, if not quite so\nsecluded as Hindu women, were yet never openly allowed to join in the\nsynagogues. They, too, as the Mahommedan even, had their \"grille\" apart.\nThe Jewish men and the Mahommedan men kept their religion for\nthemselves, a virile religion, where women had little place. It may be\nthe fact--I think in another chapter I have shewn that it is a\nfact--that women seek after religion far more than men But they must\nhave a religion to suit them. The tenets of Christ and of Buddha do\nappeal to them, do come nearer to them than they do to the generality of\nmen. And so where women have been free to make their influence felt, to\nimpress their views upon the faith of a country, the mild beliefs of\nnon-resistance, of peace, of meekness and submission have obtained.\nWhereas in the countries and nations where for one cause or another\nwomen are not free to make their combined influence felt, where they\nremain under the greater dominance of man in all matters, the faiths\nthat retain the stronger and more virile codes of conduct have remained.\n\nI am not sure that there have not been other influences also at work. I\ncan, I think, see another strong influence that has worked to the same\nend. There may be many reasons. But that would not alter the fact that\nthe influence of women has been a main force, that they have greatly\nbeen concerned in the change of faith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nPRAYER AND CONFESSION.\n\n\nWhat is the most general, the most conspicuous form in which religion\nexpresses itself? Is it not in prayer? Where is the religion that is\nwithout prayer? There is none. And perhaps, too, it is the very first\nexpression of religion, that when the savage fell and prayed the\nlightning to spare him, he was inaugurating the greatest religious form\nthe world has known.\n\nWhat a wonderful thing it is, wonderful in every form, beautiful\nwherever you see it--from the glorious masses sung in the cathedrals to\nthe Mussulman spreading his mat upon the sand and bowing towards Mecca.\nThere is nothing so beautiful, nothing that so touches the heart of man\nas prayer.\n\nI have said that it is common to all religions, and so it is. Religions\nlive not in creeds, but in the believers. Pure Buddhism knows not\nprayer, but does not the Buddhist know it? Go to any pagoda and see the\nwomen there praying to Someone--Someone, they know not whom--and ask if\nBuddhists know not prayer? I have written so fully of it in my other\nbook that I will not repeat it here.\n\nPrayer is common to all believers; it is the greatest, as perhaps it is\nthe only expression common to all religions. And whence comes this\ncustom of prayer? The Jew and the Mussulman and the Christian will\nanswer and say, \"It comes from our belief in God, it is an outcome of\nthat belief. Our God has bade us pray to Him.\"\n\nAnd the Hindu, how will he answer? He will say, \"Our gods have power\nover us, they deal with us as they will. They listen to us if we pray.\nAnd therefore it is right for us to beseech them in our trouble. It\ncomes from our belief in our gods.\" And the savage will answer, \"I fear\nthe Devil, so I pray to him.\" But what will the Buddhist answer?\n\nFor Buddhism knows no God. The world is ruled by Law, unchangeable,\neverlasting Law. No one can change that Law. If you suffer it is the\nmeet and proper consequence of your sins. The suffering is purifying you\nand teaching you how to live. It would not be well for you to be\nrelieved of it now if you could be. Therefore suffer and be silent.\n\nA very beautiful belief. And yet the people pray. Why? When a Buddhist\nprays it is not in consequence of his belief, but in spite of it. It\ncannot be traced as the result of any theory of causation.\n\nTherefore one doubts the Theist's explanation and one reflects. Was,\nindeed, prayer born of their beliefs? And then the doubt increases. Are\nthese creeds older than prayer, or maybe is it not that prayer is older\nthan the creeds? Did these creeds exist in men's minds first or did the\nnecessity for prayer exist first? Which is nearer to man?\n\nLet us consider what prayer is. It consists of three things mainly.\nPetition to be saved, to be helped from imminent danger; praise at being\nso saved; and last, probably last, but surely greatest of all,\nconfession.\n\nWhen men pray they are always doing one or other of these things. When\nthe savage was caught in the thunderstorm or shaken in the earthquake\nand fell on his knees in fear, babbling strange things, do you think he\nhad reasoned out a God behind the force first? Do you think his\ninarticulate cry for help was not involuntary? That if he had not first\nreasoned out the God he would not so cry? Have you ever seen people in\ndeadly fear, how they will babble for help, crying unto the unknown? If\nthere was ever anything that came forth absolutely spontaneously from\nthe heart of man, which needed no belief of any kind anterior to its\nbirth, it was prayer, the prayer that comes from fear, the prayer for\nhelp. It is the unconscious, unreasoned cry of the heart. If there is\nSomeone to whom to direct the cry, well and good; but if not, the cry\ncomes just the same.\n\nWhen troubles fall upon the man, what is his first impulse? To tell\nsomeone. If the confidant can help, so much the better; but if not,\nstill to tell. To ease the pent up heart by telling, that is what is\nwanted. And with joy, too. Have you not seen how, when good news comes\nto a man, he loves to rush forth and tell it? To whom? It does not\nmatter. Tell it, tell it. Cry it aloud, if but the trees and rocks can\nhear. To keep secret a great thing is very hard. Remember the courtier\nwho discovered that King Midas had asses' ears. He could not keep the\nterrible deadly truth to himself. He dared not tell it to man. And so,\ngoing softly to the river, he confessed the dreadful knowledge to the\nreeds: \"Midas hath asses' ears.\" Can you trace here any cause and\neffect? And there is confession, to tell someone of our sins, to\nconfess. Is that dependent upon any religious theory? Much has been\nwritten about confession, this necessity of the laden spirit, but never\nhas anything been written like that study by Dostoieffsky called \"Crime\nand Punishment.\" The \"Crime\" was murder, not an ordinary murder\ncommitted by a ruffian in passion or from sordid motives, but a murder\nby a student intended to result in good. The murderer is suspected--nay,\nis known by a police officer--and the motive of the first half of the\nstory is not to gain evidence, not to unravel the story, but it lies in\nthe efforts of the detective to induce Raskolnikoff to make a voluntary\nconfession. And why? There was evidence enough, the offender could have\nbeen arrested and convicted at any time. But that would not do.\nPunishment alone will not always, will indeed but seldom, benefit the\ncriminal. Punishment is for the protection of society. It is for the\nfuture, not the past. For the criminal to redeem himself he must\nconfess. In that lies the only medicine for a diseased soul. It is a\nmarvellous story, and it holds the truth of truths. Confess. There is no\nemotion of the human heart so strong as this, the eminent necessity to\ntell someone. No one who has had much to do with crime will doubt this.\nThere is in all natural men a burning desire, an absolute necessity, to\ntell of what has been done. It comes out sometimes in confessions to the\npolice or to the magistrate. All criminal annals are full of such\nstories. A crime is committed and there is no clue, till the man\nconfesses. I have myself seen a great deal of this. I have received many\nconfessions. But you will object that was amongst Burmese; and I reply,\nWherein is there any difference? Criminals of all countries frequently\nconfess. But as civilisation progresses the confession is not often to a\nmagistrate. The fear, the terrible fear of punishment outweighs the\nnatural impulse. But still the confession is made. If you read the cases\nin the papers you will see how often it is made. To a wife, to a\ncompanion, sometimes to a complete stranger. The men who can hold their\ntongues, who can stifle nature, are very few. With all but hardened\ncriminals the tendency is always to confession, and those whose work has\nlaid among them know that the denial, the defence, except with hardened\ncriminals, is seldom theirs. If there were no relations to urge them, no\nlawyers to assist them, five out of six first offenders would confess\nopenly.\n\nIs it otherwise with our children? What is it we teach them above all\nelse? Never to do wrong? No! For we know that is impossible. Children,\nlike men, will err. But, \"when you have done wrong confess, for only so\ncan you lift the weight from your heart.\" Confess, confess. Everywhere\nit is the same. If you have done wrong, only by confession can you\nremove the stain. But it must be voluntary. It must not be forced. Such\na confession is of no value. Even our courts reject it.\n\nIt is an instinct of the heart that comes who can tell whence, that\nmeans who can tell what? And from this have grown many things. It has\nbecome part of all the greater religions, and the forms it has taken are\nsignificant not so much of the faiths, but of the people.\n\nAmong the Jews and the Mahommedans we hear little of it. They were a\nhard people when their faiths were formed, a strong people, and little\nadvanced in the gentler feelings. They were warriors who lived greatly\nby the sword, and it was necessary for them to stifle all that might\nweaken or even polish them. For one man to humble himself to another is\nvery hard, for a proud man to confess to another is almost impossible.\nAnd so into these Theistic faiths the confession was to God. If a man\nsinned it was to God alone he could confess. But with Christianity it\nhas been different. There is in Christianity what exists in no other\nfaith in the same way, an intermediary between God and man.\n\nThere are the priests.\n\nThis desire of the soul for confession, the absolute necessity with\nstrong emotional people to tell someone their sins and their truths, has\nbeen one of the greatest cults of the Church of Rome. Man must confess,\nlet him confess to the priests. Their tongues are tied, they will never\nreveal what they are told; they are the ministers of God. Therefore let\nthe innate desire for confession be directed towards the priests. It is\nuniversal in Catholic countries. Whatever may be its abuses it is the\ngreat safety valve, the great help of the people, that as they must\nconfess they should have someone to confess to.\n\nWith the Northern Teutonic nations it has been different. They got their\nChristianity from Rome, a Christianity that was built on the needs of\nimpulsive Celtic natures. It suited not with the harder natures of the\nnorth. They could not confess to men, it galled them to be told to\nconfess. Their natures were different. Had they no need of confession?\nYes, but they were as the Jews and Mahommedans. They would not humble\nthemselves to men. And so, for this and other similar reasons, they\nrevolted from Rome and made their own church, where confession is only\nto God. But the necessity of confession still remains; our services are\nfull of it. It is strange how very often we find the Christianity of\nTeutonic people nearer in observed facts to the faiths of Semitic\npeoples than to the Christianity of the Celts. All these peoples, all\nthese Churches, recognise the need of confession. But, it may be said,\nall this is a difference of very slight detail. All confession is to\nGod. The Roman priests are only representatives of God. If you believe\nin God you must believe in confession, because God has always directed\nit. Confession is in all the Churches because God ordered it. The need\ncomes from God, who gives absolution.\n\nThen how about the Buddhists? They have no God, but yet they confess.\nThe Buddha himself many times pointed out how needful confession was,\nand how healing to the heart. There is no God to confess to, there is no\nrepresentative of God. But there is the head of the Monastery. Let the\nyounger monk who sins confess his sins to his superior. There is no\nabsolution. Man works out his future himself, always by himself. There\nis no absolution, no help to be gained by confession. But the Buddha\nknew the hearts of man. He knew that confession was good for the soul.\nHe knew that it needed no absolution from any priest to help the\nconfesser, no belief in any God to pardon because of the confession.\nConfession, if it be made honestly and truly, brings with it always its\nown reward. It may be objected, that this is not general, but only\napplies to those trying to live the holy life. The Buddha taught that\nall men should do so. He meant it to be general. It is true that it is\nnot, it cannot be general, or the world would cease. Only a few are\nmonks. Is, then, the help of confession denied to the multitude? Perhaps\nby the stringent Buddhist faith it may not be urgently inculcated, and\nmen and women in outside life cannot confess to monks. Do they then go\nwithout? Not so. Go to any pagoda at any time and you will see there\nkneeling many people, some men, but mostly women. They are there\nconfessing, audibly sometimes, their troubles, their sins, their joys\nalso. To whom? Ah! then I cannot tell you. \"Someone will hear,\" they\nsay, \"Someone will hear.\" Religions are for the necessity of man, and if\nthe narrow creed will not suffice it must be enlarged.\n\nIt is a strange subject this of confession, and its ally, prayer. It is\nstrange to follow it to its roots in the human heart, and to see that it\nis stronger, is older, is more persistent than creeds. Creeds come and\ngo, they change, and man changes with them; he may have any religion or\nhave none, but it makes no difference to this. Hindu and Christian,\nMahommedan and Buddhist, Atheist and Jew, the heart of man is ever the\nsame. Read that wonderful story of Balzac's, \"La Messe d'Athee,\" and you\nwill see.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf you postulate God or gods, and try from that to deduce prayer and\nconfession, you find yourself very soon as the boy found himself long\nago. You are at an impasse. If God be indeed as stated, then can prayer\nand confession never be necessary. You cannot get round it, you can only\nhide yourself in mists of words like the scientific theologian. If God\nbe as postulated, then can prayer and confession not be necessary, or\neven beautiful.\n\nBut you can see from daily life that they are so. Who can doubt it?\nThere is in life nothing so beautiful, nothing so true, nothing that\nacts as balm to the heart like prayer and confession, and they exist\nnaturally. They are there from the beginning; they need no religious\ntheory to bring them into life. What, then, is the inference? Not\nperhaps exactly what it at first sight would seem to be, that God does\nnot exist or has those qualities of prejudice, of favour, of partiality\nwhich religious books and religious people give to Him. It is, I think,\nthis: That the truth, the original truth, is the necessity of confession\nand prayer, and that to explain this the theory of the nature of God or\ngods have arisen. Prayer did not proceed from God, but God from\nprayer--_i.e._, the theories of God.\n\nNo strongly religious man can reason about his own faith. Christians\nwill say that the idea of the True God is inherent in man also, that if\nnot earlier than prayer, it is co-existent. So be it. But how about\nfalse gods--the savage praying to a mountain, the Hindu to an image or a\nstone, representing who knows what? the Buddhist woman praying by the\npagoda? Their prayer is beautiful. It is as beautiful as yours. Never\ndoubt it. Go and see them pray. You will learn that prayer is beautiful,\nis true in itself. And can such a thing proceed from a false theology?\nSee men pray and hear them confess and you will be sure of this, that\nprayer and confession, no matter by whom, no matter to whom, are always\ntrue, have always their effect upon the heart. Whatever is false, they\nare not. It is one absolute truth that all men will admit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nSUNDAY AND SABBATH.\n\n\nI am not sure that in such an enquiry as this history is of much avail.\nI do not find that those who search into the past to write the history\nof it ever discover much that is of use to-day. It seems to me that in\ntracing an idea, or a law, or a custom, historians are satisfied with\ngiving an account of its growth or decay as if it were the life of a\ntree. They do not enquire into the why of things. They will tell you\nthat an idea came, say, from the East and was accepted generally. They\ndo not say why it was accepted. And to have traced a modern belief back\ninto the far past is to them sufficient reason for its presence,\nforgetful that whatever persists, whether a law or an idea or a belief,\ndoes so because it is of use. Living things require a sanction as well\nas a history, and therein lies their interest. And what I am writing now\nis of the sanctions of religions.\n\nStill, there is sometimes an interest, if but a negative one, in the\nhistory of an observance or belief. It is useful sometimes to trace an\nobservance back, if only to show that the reason generally given for its\nretention is not and cannot be the real one. Of such is the history of\nthe observance of Sunday, or the Sabbath, in England and Scotland.\n\nWe have discovered from the inscriptions at Accad, upon the Euphrates,\nthat in the time of Sargon, 3,800 years B.C., the days were divided into\nweeks of seven days, named after the sun and moon and the five planets,\nas they are now in places. And there were, moreover, \"Sabbaths\" set\napart as days of \"rest for the soul,\" \"the completion of work.\" There\nwere five of these Sabbaths in Chaldea every lunar month, occurring on\nthe 7th, the 14th, the 19th, the 21st, and 28th of the month. That is to\nsay, the new moon, the full moon, and the days half way between were\nSabbaths, with the addition of a fifth Sabbath on the 19th day. On these\ndays it was not lawful to cook food, to change one's dress, to offer a\nsacrifice; the king may not speak in public or ride in a chariot, or\nperform any kind of military or civil duty; even to take medicine was\nforbidden. It was a day of rest. And this was 3,800 B.C., nearly 2,000\nyears before Abraham lived, 2,300 years before Moses and the Ten\nCommandments, almost contemporary, according to the Bible records, with\nCain and Abel. The day was already called the Sabbath. It had existed\nalready for no one knows how long, probably thousands of years; it was a\nday of rest, and it was observed much as was subsequently the Jewish\nSabbath. Without doubt the Jews only adopted a custom known to more\ncivilised nations ages before, and they gave to it the sanction of their\nreligion, as they and many other people have done to many matters. There\nis everywhere a strong tendency, if possible, to give religious sanction\nto every observance. The stronger emotions attract to themselves the\nlesser. So have the Jews and Mahommedans adopted sanitary precautions,\nthe Hindus sanitary and marriage laws, and Christianity marriage laws\nalso in their faiths. So did my friend mentioned in the preface include\nall civilisation in his religion.\n\nThe observance of the Sabbath arose not from a religious command\ntransmitted by Moses, but as the result of observation and custom\nthousands of years before, that a day of rest was needed for man.\n\nWhen they reached a certain standard of civilisation all peoples seem\nto have had such a day set apart. It was a want that arose out of the\nkeener struggle for existence, a mutual truce to the war of competition.\nBut the day itself varied. The Greeks divided their lunar month into\ndecades, having thus three festival days in a month. The Romans, we are\ntold, divided it into periods of eight days, though I do not know how\nthey managed their arithmetic or got eight into twenty-nine without some\nawkward remainder. And in the farther East it was usual to celebrate the\nfull moon and the new moon and the days half way between as days of\nrest. A lunar month consisting of sometimes twenty-nine and sometimes\nthirty days, the period between rest days was sometimes six days as in a\nweek, and sometimes seven days. Thus among the Burmese, although there\nare, as usual, seven days named after the sun, moon, and planets, the\nrest day goes by the day of the month, not by that of the week, just as\nit did with the Accadians. For in the East a month remains a month; it\nis the life of a moon. It begins with the new moon and ends with the\nfourth quarter, and is easily reckoned by any villager. With us in the\nNorth the age of the moon has ceased to be of any importance. Our life\nafter dark is indoors, where we have lights and the moon is of no use\nto us. Our houses are lit artificially, and very few Europeans could\ntell at a moment's notice how old the moon is.\n\nBut in the East it is not so. With them the night is the time for being\nout of doors, and when they go to their houses it is only to sleep. The\nnights are cool after the hot day, and on the full moon nights the world\nis full of light. The night of the full moon, when the scent of flowers\nis on the still air and all about is full of magic, is one of the great\nbeauties of this world. But of it we know nothing in Europe.\n\nTherefore in colder climates the month by the moon was abandoned, and\nreckoning the year by the sun took its place. And as civilisation\nprogressed it was inconvenient to be uncertain about which was the day\nof rest, so it became the custom to make it every seventh day,\nregardless of the moon. This seems to have obtained first in Egypt and\nto have spread over the civilised world, the seventh day being the\nSabbath. But it still remained a day of rest, unassociated, except by\nthe Jews, with religion.\n\nThe early Christians kept no Sabbath. They kept the first day of the\nweek as a day of rejoicing, to celebrate the rising of Christ. Indeed,\nthe Jewish Sabbath was considered as abrogated, and the first day of the\nweek was kept, much as it is now kept on the Continent, as a day of\nrest, of rejoicing, of relaxation after work.\n\nSo it was observed till the Reformation.\n\nThe Reformers, whatever they altered, did not alter this. They gave no\ncommand to return from Christian observance of the day to Jewish\nobservance, and all over the Continent, among those of reformed churches\nas among those of the Catholic church, Sunday is the day of rest, of\nworship, and of relaxation.\n\nIt was so, too, in England and Scotland.\n\nThe change back to the Jewish Sabbath seems to have come with the\nPuritans and to have been introduced by them to Scotland. And this is\nbut one example of how Puritanism was practically a rejection of\nChristianity and a return to the codes of Judaism, which suited those\niron warriors much better than Christian ethics.\n\nIn England the feeling has been tempered, but among the Scotch, who are\nin so many ways like the old Jews, it took root, it flourished, and it\nis the Jewish Sabbath both in name and observance that we see now\nthere.\n\nWhy was there this reversion? For what reason has the Jewish Sabbath\nappealed more nearly to the Scotch than the Christian Sunday? What\nfeelings were those that caused this?\n\nIf you turn to the people who have done this and look into their\ncharacters you will note one strong and marked instinct. It is the\ndislike to art of all kinds, to painting and music, to dancing and\nacting, their strong distrust of beauty and gaiety. They are a sober\npeople, hard and stubborn and dour, to whom art and amusement appeal, as\na rule, not at all; and when they do appeal it is too strongly. They\nwould not have organs in their churches and cards were to them the\ndevil's picture books. They had in them then, they have now, no single\nfibre that responds to the lighter and brighter things of this world.\nTheir very humour is grim. Have they, then, no idea of pleasure? Do they\nnever enjoy themselves? It would be a mistake of the greatest to suppose\nthat. They, too, as all other men, have their times for relaxation, for\nenjoyment, for mental rest and refreshment. Only that what gives\npleasure to them is different from what gives pleasure to other people.\nThey take their pleasures sadly; the chords of their hearts are tuned to\nother keys than that of gaiety and art. These latter they cannot\nunderstand, they awaken either no echo or far too strong an echo; and,\nlike all men when they cannot understand a thing, they hate it. There is\nno medium in these matters that appeal to the emotions. You must either\nlike or hate. You may see this always. Either you enjoy Wagner's music\nor you abominate it, either you appreciate old masters or they are to\nyou daubs, either you are in tune to laughter or it seems to you the\nveriest folly.\n\nThe Scotch take their amusement and their relaxation on the Sabbath as\nother people do on the Sunday. They rest from work, they attend divine\nservice, and for relaxation they awaken those gloomy and fanatical\nthoughts which give them pleasure. For these are to them pleasure, just\nas much as gaiety is to other people.\n\nDo not doubt that it is real pleasure to them. Men's hearts are tuned to\nmany keys, and there is a minor as well as a major. It is true that it\nis difficult for those who rejoice in light and sunshine, in gaiety and\nhumour, who revolt from grey skies and shaded days, from gloomy thoughts\nand dreams of hell, to realise that there are men to whom these are in\nharmony.\n\nMost of us would forget hell if we could, would banish the thought if it\narose, but some love to dwell upon it, to repeat it, to preach of it.\nThe idea thrills them as blood and massacre do others. Some men would go\nmiles to avoid seeing an execution, others would go as many miles to see\nit. Emotions are of all sorts, and what to some is horrible is to others\nattractive.\n\n\"Will the doctrine of eternal punishment be preached there?\" asked the\nowner of a large room suitable for meetings to one who would have hired\nit to preach there. And when the answer was that the subject would not\nbe touched on the room was refused. \"Ay, but I hold to that doctrine,\"\nhe repeated to every objection.\n\nWidely, therefore, as the Continental Sunday and the Scotch Sabbath\ndiffer in appearance, they arise from the same causes, they result in\nthe same effects.\n\nThey are caused by the desire for bodily rest, for soul nourishment, for\nmental relaxation, necessities of mankind, and each people so frames its\nconception of the proper way to keep the day as to attain those ends.\nFor \"the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath,\" and men\nadapt their religious teaching to suit their necessities.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nMIRACLE.\n\n\nIt is some years ago now--about twenty, I think--that we first heard of\nthe beginning of a new religion, the arrival of a new prophetess who was\nto unfold to us the mystery of the world and teach us the truths of\nlife. And this religion began as other religions have been said to\nbegin, this prophetess claimed belief as other teachers are said to have\ndone, by her miraculous powers. She could do things that no one else\ncould do: she could divide a cigarette paper in halves, and waft half\nthrough the air to great distances; she could piece together broken\nteacups in an extraordinary way. And because she could perform these\nfeats she claimed for herself an authority in speaking of the hearts of\nmen and of the before and after death, an authority which was accorded\nto her by many.\n\nI have expressly refrained from suggesting either the truth or the\nfalsehood of these miracles. I am aware that the whole process is said\nto have been fully exposed. The question is immaterial, for they were,\ntrue or false, believed by many, and it is this question of belief in\nmiracle which I wish to discuss, not the possibility of miracle or the\nreverse.\n\nThere is another point I wish to make clear. I have said that other\nreligions are said to have started in the same way, other teachers to\nhave claimed authority on the same ground. This may or may not be true.\nThe theory of Buddhism is so essentially anti-miraculous that the\nmiracles attributed to the Buddha seem almost certainly outside\nadditions, as they are in direct variance with his known acts and\nbeliefs. And the words and acts of Christ in His life seem all so at\nvariance with the miracles attributed to Him that they, too, may be\nlater additions or contemporary exaggerations. This has already been\nobvious to some, and had not the absolute inspiration of the Sacred\nBooks been insisted on, thus stifling criticism, it would have been\nobvious to more. All this is immaterial. True or false, all religions\nhave an embroidery, more or less deep, of miracle, and on these miracles\ntheir claim to truth was in the early days more or less pressed. If\nMadame Blavatsky performed miracles with teacups it was because she saw\nthat there was an attraction to many people in miracle that nothing else\ncould supply. Miracle to many is the proof of truth. Had Madame\nBlavatsky performed no miracles, had there been no teacups, were there\nnow no Mahatmas, who would have stopped to listen to her compote of\nBrahmanism, Buddhism, and truly western mysticism which she called\nTheosophy?\n\nHow can miracle be the proof of supernatural knowledge?\n\nSuppose there arose to-morrow in England a man who could make one loaf\ninto five, what should those of us who are without the instinct for\nmiracle say? Merely that he knew some way of increasing bread which we\ndid not know. The inference would end there. We should not suppose that\nhe therefore knew anything more about the next world than we do. Where\nis the connection, we would ask? The telephone or the Roentgen rays would\nhave been a miracle a hundred years ago. Two thousand years ago a\nphonograph would have been supposed to hold a devil, and the proprietor\nwould have been a prophet, no doubt. But we do not now go to Edison or\nMaxim for our religions. Still, Madame Blavatsky started with miracles,\nand was wise in her generation. Still, all religions retain more or less\nof the miraculous, because there are many to whom this appeals before\neverything, because they are sure that miracle is the proof of truth.\nAgain, Theosophy claims to be Esoteric Buddhism. The country _par\nexcellence_ of practical Buddhism is Burma. Yet the Burmans generally\nlaugh at Theosophy. How is this? The answer lies, I think, like the\nanswer to all these questions of religion, in the varying instincts of\nthe people. It is an idea with us in the West that the East is the land\nof enchantment, of mystery, of the unknown, of miracle and all that is\nakin to it. We are never tired of talking of the mysterious East; it\nseems to us one vast wonderland full of things we cannot understand,\nfull of marvels of the unknowable, the very home of superstition; while\nthe West is matter of fact, material and reasonable, and easily\nunderstood. And yet I think the very first thing a man learns when he\ngoes to the people of the East, certainly to the Burmese people, and\ntries to see with their eyes and understand with their hearts, that all\nthis is the very reverse of the facts. Will anyone who wishes to see how\nvery far they are from the cult of the mysterious, of dreams, of\nmiracles, of visions, how very _little_ such things appeal to them, turn\nto my chapters on the Buddhist monkhood in \"The Soul of a People,\" and\nread them? I do not wish to repeat what I said there, only that a monk\nwho saw visions or performed miracles would be ejected from his\nmonastery as unworthy of his faith.\n\nI do not say that there are no superstitions among the people. Their\nstage of civilisation is as yet low, as low perhaps as ours five hundred\nyears ago. They have their strange fancies here and there; I have heard\nmany of them. They are amusing sometimes and curious. I very much doubt,\nhowever, if the Burman of to-day is as superstitious as an ordinary\ncountryman in England. I have heard English soldiers tell tales of old\nwomen changing into hares, _that they themselves had seen_, quite as\nseriously as any Burman could. And if you compare the Burman of to-day\nwith the European peasant of even two hundred years ago, there is no\ncomparison at all. The West simply reeks with superstition and all that\nis allied to it compared to the East. (I exclude the belief in ghosts,\nwhich is, I think, a separate matter.)\n\nThe delusion has, I think, arisen in many ways. To begin with, we are\nalways looking out in the East for the mysterious. It is the East, and\ntherefore mysterious. We very seldom try to understand the people, to\nsee them from their standpoint. We prefer generally to assume that they\nhave no standpoint and to talk of the incomprehensible Oriental mind,\nbecause it is easier to do so and it sounds superior. And again, we are\napt to make absurd comparisons and reason without remembrance. An\nEnglish officer will come across a Burman from the back country of the\nhills who has a charm against bullet wounds, and he will sit down and\nindite a letter to the paper on the \"incredibly foolish superstition of\nthese people,\" oblivious of the fact that he will find even now amongst\nhis own countrymen quite as many people who believe in charms as among\nthe Burmese, that Dr. Johnson touched various articles as charms, and\nthat he himself throws salt over his shoulder. Yet he is of the better\nclass of a people five hundred years older in civilisation than the\nBurman.\n\nI confess that, personally, I have found even to-day infinitely more\nsuperstition and leaning to the miraculous among my own people than\namong Burmans. There are classes of English people who are almost free\nfrom it, there are other Englishmen, and especially Englishwomen, who\nare steeped in it to a degree that would astound any Oriental. And what\nwas it a few hundred years ago? Have there ever been witch trials in the\nEast, have there ever been ordeals, or casting lots \"for God to decide\"?\nMagicians have come to us from the East, truly; they were made for\nexport, the use for them at home being limited. Theosophy was started in\nthe East, truly, but not by Orientals. Madame Blavatsky is believed to\nhave been a Russian; her supporters were English and American. Palmistry\nand fortune-telling appeal as serious matters to many people in England\nand Europe generally. To the Burman they are matters of amusement. Do\nyou think \"Christian Science\" would gain any foothold in the East? or\nspiritualism or a hundred forms of superstition that cling to the\ncivilised people of the West?\n\nThe East is the home of religion, of emotion, of asceticism, of the\nvictory of the mind over the body. The West is the home of superstition,\nof second sight, of miracle, of conjuring tricks of all kinds exalted\ninto the supernatural. You may search all the records of the East and\nfind no superstition--like touching for the King's evil, for instance.\nCan anyone imagine Joanna Southcote in India or in the further East? I\nhave tried not to hear, I could never repeat, what the East says of the\nmiraculous in Christianity. Superstition there is, of course, legend and\nmiracle; they are the outcomes always of a certain stage of\npre-civilisation. But even in India how scarce and faint they are\ncompared to the West. For one thing must be carefully remembered.\nIgnorance of the power of natural causes must not be put down to\nattribution of miraculous causes. The peasant in the East will often\nattribute a property to a herb, a mineral, a ceremony that it has not\ngot. That is their ignorance of natural law, never their attribution of\nunnatural power. If a Burman peasant sometimes thinks a certain medicine\ncan render his body lighter than water, it is simply that he is unaware\nof the limited power of drugs, not that he supposes there is anything\nmiraculous in it. The power of phenacetin on a feverish patient seems to\nhim far more astonishing. Indeed, from miracle as miracle he shrinks. To\nmiracle as miracle the average European is greatly attracted. To the one\nit spells always charlatanism, to the latter supernatural power.\n\nAnd therefore, even in the religions of Hindustan--Hinduism in its\nmyriad forms, Mahommedanism, Sihkism, Jainism, and Parseeism--miracle\nplays a very minor part. I think there is no doubt that this repugnance\nto miracle is one reason why the Semites eventually rejected\nChristianity. How very few and unaffecting the essence are the miracles\nin Mahommedanism. But in Christianity it plays the major part. Christ\nwas born and lived and died and rose again in miracle. In Latin\ncountries miracles are of daily occurrence--as at Lourdes, for instance.\n\nAnd though in Teutonic Christianity it is less than in Latin countries,\nit plays a great part also. The miracles of Christ's life are retained.\nTruly they say that now the age of miracle is past. The Church believes\nno more in prophecy, in miraculous cures, in risings from the dead. The\nbulk of the people reject miracle. But what a large minority is still\nleft who absolutely crave for it, let the records of Theosophy and many\nanother miraculous religion show. Miracle satisfies a craving, an\ninstinct, that nothing else will meet. It is curious to note how the\ninclusion of miracle in religion varies inversely with the inclusion of\nconduct. With the Latins miracle is most, the Latin Christianity is the\nmost miraculous of all religions, and therein conduct is least. With the\nTeutons miracle and conduct are both accepted, the former\nauthoritatively of the past, privately also of the present. With the\nBurmans miracle and the supernatural are rejected absolutely as part of\nthe religion of to-day, and conduct is all in all. Thus again do the\ninstincts of the people find expression in their religion.\n\nAs to the growth of the instinct it is more difficult to reply.\nInstincts are very hard to account for. Indeed, in their origin all are\nquite beyond the scope of inquiry at all. We can only see that they\nexist. But with this instinct for miracle there is one cause that no\ndoubt contributes to its increase or decrease. It does not explain the\ninstinct, but it does show why in some cases it is greater than in\nothers.\n\nIt is greater in the West than in the East because many people in the\nWest, with greater emotional power, from better food and little work,\nlive narrower lives than any in the East. It is astonishing to see the\ndifference. In the East every peasant lives surrounded by his relatives,\nvery many of them; he is friends with all his village, he has always his\nwork, his interests in life. He is hardly ever alone among strangers,\nwith no work to occupy him. But in the West, how many there are who live\nalone, their relations elsewhere, with few friends, with no necessity\nfor work, with no interests in life? It is terrible to see how many\nthere are living lives empty of all emotion. These are they who seek the\nmiraculous as a relief from their daily monotony of stupidity. These are\nthey who run after new things. It is\n\n    \"The desire of the moth for the star,\n      Of the day for the morrow,\n    The longing for something afar\n      From the scene of our sorrow.\"\n\nIt is the result of high emotional power with no food to feed on. There\nare other factors, for instance--that people who live in mountains are\nmore superstitious than people of plains, due again to narrower, more\nisolated lives, I think; and as a rule country people are more\nsuperstitious than town people, due to the same reason. Nothing exists\nwithout its use, and this is some of the use of the miraculous instinct\nin man. It has played its part in the world, a great part no doubt.\nWhere it exists still it does so because it fills a necessity. Never\ndoubt it. Those who live full lives find it so easy to laugh at this\ncraving for the supernatural. Would you do away with it? Make, then,\ntheir lives such that they do not need it. Give to them the knowledge,\nthe sympathy, the love, the wider life that makes it unnecessary.\n\nNurtured in narrowness on the ground that should grow other instincts,\nit disappears in the sunshine of happiness, when the heart is furrowed\nand tilled by the experiences of life and planted with the fruit of\nhappiness.\n\nIf we cannot do that, at least we can recognise that it, as all\ninstincts, has its uses, and exists in and because of that use, never\nbecause of any abuse.\n\nAnd where the instinct exists it is attracted as are nearly all the\ninstincts into that great bundle of emotions called religion.\n\nBut if those who support Christian missions wonder why they are not more\nsuccessful, here is another reason. What satisfies your instinct revolts\ntheirs. They do not require it. Orientals, even peasants, live such wide\nlives compared with many in the West, that they need not the stimulus,\nand their hard lives lessen the emotional powers. And if Christians are\noften unable to understand the charm of Buddhism to its believers, it is\nbecause western people seek and require the stimulus of miracle which is\nhere wanting. It is as if you offered them water while they cared only\nfor wine. But Easterns care not for your strong emotions. They are\nsimpler and more easily pleased.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nRELIGION AND ART.\n\n     \"This is not the place, nor have I space left here, to explain\n     all I mean when I say that art is a mode of religion, and can\n     flourish only under the inspiration of living and practical\n     religion.\"--_Frederic Harrison._\n\n     \"No one indeed can successfully uphold the idea that the high\n     development of art in any shape is of necessity coincident with\n     a strong growth of religious or moral sentiment. Perugino made\n     no secret of being an atheist; Leonardo da Vinci was a\n     scientific sceptic; Raphael was an amiable rake, no better and\n     no worse than the majority of those gifted pupils to whom he\n     was at once a model of perfection and an example of free\n     living; and those who maintain that art is always the\n     expression of a people's religion have but an imperfect\n     acquaintance with the age of Praxiteles, Apelles, and Zeuxis.\n     Yet the idea itself has a foundation, lying in something which\n     is as hard to define as it is impossible to ignore; for if art\n     be not a growth out of faith, it is always the result of a\n     faith that has been.\"--_Marion Crawford._\n\nQuotation on both sides could be multiplied without end, but there seems\nno reason to do so. The question is the relation of religion to art, and\nit has but the two sides. Indeed, the subject seems difficult, for there\nis so much to be said on both sides.\n\nOn one side it may be said:--Art is the result of and the outcome of\nreligion. Look at the greatest works of art the world has to show. Are\nthey not all religious? There are the Parthenon, the temples of Karnac,\nthe cathedral at Milan, St. Peter's at Rome, and others too numerous to\nmention; the Mosque of St. Sophia and the Kutub Minar, the temples of\nHumpi, the Shwe Dagon pagoda, the temples of China and Japan. What has\nsecular art to show to compare with these? Are not the Venus de Milo,\nthe statue of Athena, and all the famous Greek sculptures those of gods?\nWhat is the most famous painting in the world? It is the Sistine Madonna\nof Raphael. Even in literature, is there anything secular to compare\nwith the sacred books of the world? The oratorios and masses are the\nfinest music. What can be more certain than that only religion gives the\nnecessary stimulus to art and furnishes the most inspiring subjects?\nGreat art is born of great faiths, great faiths produce great art.\n\nTo which there is the reply:--Many of the greatest Greek statues were of\ngods truly, but was it a religious age that produced them? Were Phidias\nand Zeuxis religious or moral men?\n\nWas the thirteenth century which saw the building of most of the best\ncathedrals, a religious age? Is it not the fact that for many cathedrals\nthe capital was borrowed from the Jews, enemies of Christ, and the\ninterest paid by the sweat of slaves; and when the interest was too\nheavy, religious bigotry was resorted to and the Jews persecuted,\nkilled, and banished. It is probable that of all ages the thirteenth\ncentury was the worst. Were the painters of great pictures religious or\nmoral? Raphael painted the most wonderful religious paintings the world\nhas seen--how much religion had Raphael? Leonardo da Vinci painted \"The\nLast Supper\"; he was a sceptic. Are not artistic people notoriously\nirreligious? The pyramids of Egypt and the Taj at Agra are not religious\nbuildings; they are tombs. The sentiment that raised them was the\nemotion of death. In music and literature secular art rivals religion.\nAnd even if great art be allied to religion, deep religious feeling does\nnot necessarily produce art. Indeed, it is the reverse. The most serious\nforms of belief have not done so. Where is the art of the Reformation?\nProtestants will be slow to admit that there was no deep religious\nfeeling there. Yet their great cathedrals were all built by Roman\nCatholics. Were not the Puritans religious? They hated all art. Is\nthere no religious feeling in the North of America? Where is its\nreligious art? In Europe there is no religious art out of Catholicism.\nIn that alone has it succeeded. And again, although some religious art\nis great, such is the exception. The bulk of religious art all over the\nworld is bad--very bad--the worst. What art is there in the crucifixes\nof the Catholic world, in the sacred pictures in their chapels, in the\neikons of Russia, in the gods of the Hindus, in the Buddhas of Buddhism,\nand the popular religious pictures of England? They are one and all as\nArt simply deplorable. There is grand religious literature, but what of\nthe bulk of it? Most of the hymns, the sermons, the tracts, the\nreligious literature of England and other countries cannot be matched\nfor badness in any secular work. It is the same everywhere. The\nSalvation Army had to borrow secular music to make its hymns attractive.\nStriking an average, which is best--secular or religious literature,\nart, music, and architecture? Without a doubt secular art is the best\nall round.\n\nArt may often be the representative of religion, it is never the outcome\nof religious people or a religious age. The very contrary is the fact.\n\nThese are strong arguments, and there are more. But these will suffice.\n\nWhat is the truth? What connection has art with religion?\n\nI do not think the answer is difficult. The connection depends upon what\nyou define religion and art respectively to be. With the old definitions\nno answer is forthcoming. But when you see religion as it really is,\nwhen you understand its genesis and its growth, the answer is clear.\n\nReligion, as I have tried to show, arises from instincts. The instincts\nof the savage are few, the emotions he is capable of feeling are\nlimited. As his civilisation progresses his instinctive desires\nincrease, his emotions are more numerous. And as the greater attracts\nthe less, the older and more established attract the newer, so religion\nattracts to itself and incorporates all it can. Religions have varied in\nthis matter; but of all, Catholicism has been the most wide-armed, it\nhas always justified its name. Where a new emotion arose and became\nstrong the Roman Church always if possible attracted it into the fold. I\nhave already shown how this was done. There is hardly an emotion of the\nhuman heart that Roman Catholicism has not made its own.\n\nNow what is Art?\n\nArt, as Tolstoi explains, is also an expression of the emotions, and\ntherefore the difference between religion and art lies in the emotions\nexpressed and the method of expression.\n\nDifferent peoples express in their religions different emotions. What\nsome of these emotions are I explain in Chapter XXX. Different people\nare also more or less susceptible to art, and express in their art\ndifferent emotions. Where a great religion has absorbed certain\nemotions, and a great art subsequently arises and wishes to express in\nart some of the same emotions, then the art becomes religious art. The\ntwo domains have overlapped. But there is no distinction between secular\nand religious art. Nor is there any necessary connection between Art and\nReligion. Neither is dependent on the other. They are quite distinct\ndomains, each existing to fulfil the necessities and desires of man.\n\nHow they came frequently to overlap is easily enough seen.\n\nConsider the religion of Rome. It came, as I have said, out of the\nnecessity for expressing and cultivating certain emotions. It is a very\ncatholic religion, the product of a highly emotional people who had many\nand strong feelings. As much as possible these were accepted into the\nreligion.\n\nTherefore, when there came the great outbreak of art in the fourteenth\ncentury, when there were great painters and sculptors desiring to paint\npictures that appealed to the heart, all the ground was occupied.\n\nDid they want to depict feminine beauty, there was the Madonna accepted\nas the ideal. Did they want to awaken the emotion of maternity, there\nwas the Madonna again; of pity, there were the martyrs; of sacrifice,\nthere was the Christ. Long before these emotions had been crystallised\nby the Church round religious ideals, and a change would not be\nunderstood.\n\nAnd with the Architects. There is but one emotion common to a whole\npeople--catholic, so to speak--namely, religion. A town hall, a palace,\na secular building would be provincial; a church only is catholic. In\npalaces only princes live, in municipal buildings only officials, in\nmarkets only the people, but in churches all are gathered together, and\nnot only occasionally but frequently. Therefore, given a great\narchitect, what could he design that would give him scope, and freedom,\nand fame like a cathedral? His feelings were immaterial, it was a\nprofessional necessity that drove artists then to religious matters.\nWhat was Raphael, the free-liver, thinking of when he drew his Madonnas?\nWas it the Jewess of Galilee over a thousand years before or the ripe\nwarm beauty of the Florentine girls he knew?\n\nThe Roman Catholic Church desired to attract to itself all that appealed\nto the emotions, and included art of all kinds in its scope. And all\nartists, painters, architects, even writers, found in the Church their\ngreatest opportunities and greatest fame. Deep and real feelings in art\nof all kinds sought the companionship of the other great feelings that\nare in religion. Shallower art often shrinks from being put beside the\ngreater emotions, and so some of the shams of the Renaissance.\n\nBut the deepest religious feeling is always averse to art. No age full\nof great religious emotion has produced any art at all in any people.\nThe early Christians, the monks of the Thebaid, hated art, as did the\nPuritans. They felt, I think, a competition. When an emotion is raised\nto such a height as theirs was, none other can live beside it. Such\nemotion becomes a flame that burns up all round. It cannot bear any\nrivalry. It puts aside not only art but love, reverence, fear, every\nother emotion. Religion is before everything, religion _is_ everything.\nThere are Christ's words refusing to recognise his mother and brethren.\nIt has been common to all forms of exalted religious fervour. No emotion\ncan live with it. Only when it has somewhat died away does art get a\nchance. Then only if an artistic wave arises can it be allied with\nreligion. But deep religious feeling is not always followed by an\nartistic wave. There has been no such sequence in most countries. This\nsequence in Italy was an exception. It was perchance. There has never\nbeen an art wave connected with Protestantism, and only very slightly\nwith Buddhism. I have shown in \"The Soul of a People,\" that art in Burma\nis only connected professionally with Buddhism. That is to say that\nwood-carving, one of Burma's two arts, is not religious in sentiment,\nand is applied to monasteries because they are the only large buildings\nneeded. There is no other demand. To depict the Buddha in any artistic\nway except that handed down by tradition would be considered profane.\nWould not the early Christians have considered Raphael's Madonna\nprofane, considering who he was, and what probably his models were? I\nthink so. I doubt if the deepest religious emotions would tolerate a\ncrucifix or any picture of Christ at all. Certainly not of the Almighty.\nThe heat of belief must have cooled down a great deal before such\nthings became possible. So, in fact, it is as history tells us. Religion\nis a cult of the emotions. Art, as Tolstoi shows, is also a cult of the\nemotions. Very deep religious feeling leaves no room for any other\nemotion, it brooks no rival in the hearts of men. A deeply religious age\nhas no art; its religion kills art. What were the feelings of the early\nChristians towards Greek art? They were those of abhorrence. What those\nof the Puritans towards any art? They were the same.\n\nBut when religious emotions have cooled, and room is left for other\nfeelings, then art may arise. And if it does so, and is a great art, it\nallies itself with religion, if the religion permits of it. Some forms\nof faith would never permit it. Which of the emotions of which\nPuritanism is composed could be expressed in art? Art is almost always\nthe cult of emotions that are beautiful, are happy, are joyous.\nPuritanism knew nothing of all these. Grand, stern, rigid, black, never\ngraceful or beautiful. Any art that followed Puritanism could but be\ngrotesque and terrible. There would be no Madonnas, but there might be\navenging angels; there would be no heaven, but certainly a hell. Indeed,\nin the literature of the religion we see that this is so.\n\nReligion and art are both cults of the emotions. They may be rivals,\nthey may be allies, in the way that art may depict religious subjects.\nBut great art, like great faith, brooks no rival. And therefore great\nartists are not necessarily religious. They may have scant emotion to\nspare outside their art.\n\nThis, I think, is the key to the relation between religion and art. It\nis impossible to treat such a great subject adequately in a chapter.\nMost of my chapters should, indeed, have been volumes. But the key once\nprovided the rest follows.\n\n\n[Illustration: CATHOLIC RELIGION: PRAYER, MUSIC, BEAUTY, LOVE,\nMOTHERHOOD, SACRIFICE, HEAVEN, GAIETY, COLLECTIVENESS, DEPENDANCE,\nLAWLESSNESS, HOPE, CATHOLICITY, MERCY]\n\n[Illustration: PURITANISM: EFFORT, HELL, JUSTIFICATION, JUSTICE,\nNARROWNESS, VENGEANCE, LAW, STRENGTH, RIGHTEOUSNESS, FEAR, INDIVIDUALITY]\n\n[Illustration: ART: MUSIC, BEAUTY, LOVE, MOTHERHOOD, GAIETY, PASSION,\nLICENSE]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nWHAT IS EVIDENCE?\n\n\nIf you go to any believer in any religion--in any of the greater\nreligions, I mean--and ask him why he believes in his religion, he has\nalways one answer: \"Because it is true.\" And if you continue and say to\nhim, \"How do you know it is true?\" he will reply, \"Because there is full\nevidence to prove it.\" He imagines that he is guided by his reason, that\nit is his logical faculty that is satisfied, and his religion can be\nproved irrefragably. And yet it is strange that if any religion is based\non ascertained fact, if any religion is demonstrably true, no one can be\nbrought to see this truth, to accept this proof, except believers who do\nnot require it. The Jew cannot be brought to admit the truth of\nChristianity, let the Christian argue ever so wisely; nor will the\nChristian accept Mahommedanism or Buddhism as containing any truth at\nall, no matter how the adherents of these faiths may argue.\n\nIt is not so with most other matters. If a problem in chemistry or\nphysics be true at all it is altogether true for every one. Nationality\nmakes no difference to your acknowledging the law of gravity, the\nscience of the stars, the dynamics of steam, or the secrets of\nmetallurgy. If an Englishman makes a discovery a Frenchman is able to\nfollow the argument. The Japanese are not Christians, but that does not\nin any way prevent them assimilating modern knowledge. Twice two are\nfour all over the world, except in matters of religion.\n\nThis is a somewhat remarkable phenomenon. What is the reason of it?\n\nI can remember not very long ago walking in a garden with a man and\ntalking intermittently on religious topics. He was a man of great\neducation, of wide knowledge of the world, a man of no narrow sympathies\nor thoughts. And as we went we came to a bed of roses in full bloom;\nthere were red and white and deep yellow roses in clusters of great\nbeauty, filling the air with their perfume. \"To see a sight like that,\"\nhe said, \"proves to me that there is a God.\"\n\nProves! There was the _proof_.\n\nI did not ask him how such roses would be proof of a God. I did not say\nthat if beauty was proof of a God, ugliness would be proof of a Devil,\nfor I know there is no reasoning in matters like that. The sight and\nscent awoke in his heart that echo that is called God. Not only God, nor\nwas it any God, nor any Gods that the echo answered to. It was _his_\nGod, it was the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, that came to him. He\nsaw the roses, and their beauty brought to his mind the idea of God.\nThat was enough for him. He had, as so many have, an absolute\ninstinctive understanding of God, as clear to him as if he saw Him at\nmidday--unreasoning because _known_.\n\n\"And for others,\" he said, \"is there not ample evidence? How do you\naccount for the world unless God made it? Have we not in the Scripture a\nfull account of how it was made out of chaos? And has not He manifested\nHimself in His prophets? The truth is proved over and over again, by the\nprophecies and fulfilment, by the birth and death of Christ, by the\nmiracles of Christ, by endless matters. It is so clear.\" And so it is to\nhim and those like him who have in themselves the idea of God. They\n_know_. It seems humorous to remember that scientific men have thought\nthey traced this to a savage's speculations on dreams. The speculation\nof a savage, forsooth, and this certainty of feeling. The Theist says:\n\"How can you answer the questions of who made the world other than by\nGod?\" It is a question that rises spontaneously. Do you remember\nNapoleon the Great and the idealogues on the voyage to Egypt? They were\nridiculing the idea of a Creator. And to them the Emperor, pointing to\nthe stars above him, replied, \"It is all very well, gentlemen, but who\nmade all those?\" But the Non-Theist replies that it would never occur to\nhim to put such a question. To ask \"Who made the world?\" is to beg the\nwhole question. That question which is always rising in your mind never\ndoes in ours. We would ask how and from what has the world evolved, and\nunder what cause? \"Your evidence is good only to you.\" The Hindu has\nperhaps the keenest mind in religious matters the world knows; does he\naccept it? Do the Buddhists accept it? Do keen thinkers in Europe accept\nany of this evidence? It is not so. If you have the instinct of God,\nthen is evidence unnecessary; and if you have not, of what use is the\nevidence brought forward? Was anyone ever converted by reasoning? I am\nsure no one ever was. Religions are not proved, they are not matters of\nlogic; they are either above logic or beneath it. To a man who\n_believes_, anything is proof. He will reason about religion in a way he\nwould never do about other matters. He will offer as evidence, as\nabsolute proof, what he who does not believe cannot accept as evidence\nat all. The religions are always the same. The believers _know_ them to\nbe true, and they cannot understand why others also do not know it.\nTheir truths seem to them absolutely clear, capable of the clearest\nproof. And as to this evidence, this proof, there is always plenty of\nit. Any faith can if pushed bring evidence on some points that not even\nunbelievers can disprove, that is clearly not intentionally false, that\nif the matter were a mundane concern would probably be accepted. It is\nso, I think, in all religions, but here is a case from Buddhism.\n\nIn my book upon the religion of the Burmese I have given a chapter to\nthe belief of the people in reincarnation, a belief that is to them not\na belief but a knowledge. And I have given there a few of these strange\nstories of remembrance of previous lives so common among them. For\nalmost all children will tell you that they can remember their former\nlives.\n\nThere is a story there of a child who remembered nothing until one day\nhe saw used as a curtain a man's loin-cloth, that of a man who had died\nand whose clothes had, as is the custom, been made into screens. And the\nsight of that pattern awoke in him suddenly the knowledge that he had\nlived before, and that in that former life he had worn that very cloth.\nHis former life was \"proved\" to him, and in consequence the fact that\nall men had former lives. There was proof.\n\nWhen I was writing \"The Soul of a People\" I went a great deal into this\nsubject of the former life, and I collected a great deal of evidence\nabout it. I not only saw a number of people who said they could\nrecollect these lives, but I came across a quantity of facts difficult\nof explanation on any other hypothesis. The evidence was honestly given,\nI know. But did I believe this former life, or has any European ever\nbeen convinced by that evidence? I never heard of one. Why? Because we\nhave not the instinct. The Burman has.\n\nThey have the idea as an instinct, just as my friend held the idea of\nGod as an instinct, and there were certain matters that awakened these\ninstincts. They needed no more; the facts were proved to them and to\nthose of like thought to them. But proof. What is proof? Proof, they\nwill tell you, is a matter of evidence, it is a matter of cold logic, it\narises from facts.\n\nIf that is so, why does not everyone believe in ghosts? Was there ever a\nsubject on which there was more evidence than in the existence of\nghosts? We find the belief as far back as we can go--the witch of Endor,\nfor instance. We find the belief to-day. Not a year passes but numerous\npeople assert that they have seen ghosts. Their evidence is honestly\ngiven; no one doubts that. The mass of evidence is overwhelming. The\nfact that certain people do not see them in no way invalidates the\ndirect evidence. Yet the belief in ghosts is a joke, and a mark, we say,\nof feeble-minded folk.\n\nI have myself lived in the midst of ghosts. One of my houses in Burma\nwas full of them. Every Burman who came in saw them. Not even my\nservants dared go upstairs after dark without me. My servants are\nhonest, truth-telling boys, and I would believe them in a matter of\ntheft or murder without hesitation. I would certainly hang a man if the\nevidence of his being a murderer was as clear as the evidence that my\nbedroom contained a ghost. No absolutely impartial lawyer, judging the\nevidence of former life and of the existence of ghosts as a pure matter\nof law, but would admit that they were conclusively proved. The Burmans\nfirmly believe both, considering them not only proved but beyond proof.\nNo European believes in the former life, and with regard to ghosts the\nbelief is relegated to those whom we stigmatise as the weak-minded and\nimaginative.\n\nIs the explanation difficult? It does not seem to me so. For it is\nsimply this. To believe and accept any matter it is not sufficient that\nthere be enough evidence, the subject itself must appeal to you, must\nring true, must be good to be believed. But with ghosts to most of us it\nis the reverse. That our friends and those we love should after death\nbehave as ghosts behave, should be silly, unreasonable, drivelling in\ntheir ways, imbecile in their performances, should in fact act as if the\nnext world was a ghostly lunatic asylum, is not attractive but the\nreverse. For a murdered man's spirit to go fooling about scaring\ninnocent people into fits, and unable to say right out that he wants his\nbody buried, strikes the ordinary man as sheer idiocy. And therefore men\nlaugh and jeer. People who see ghosts may believe them; no one else will\ndo so. Because they are not worthy of belief. If these be indeed ghosts,\nand they act as ghost-seers say, it is a deplorable, a most deplorable\nthing. And if it is a choice of imbecilities, we would prefer to believe\nin the lunacy of ghost-seers rather than in that of the dead, our dead.\n\nBut it is not only in matters relating to religion as the idea of God,\nor to the supernatural as in ghosts, that we reject evidence. We can do\nso also in matters that have no connection with each. For why do we\nrefuse to accept the sea serpent? Numbers of absolutely reliable men\ndeclare they have seen it. And yet we laugh, or at best we say, \"They\nwere mistaken, it was a trail of seaweed.\"\n\nAll men who have lived to a certain age have learnt that there are\ncertain facts, certain experiences not at all connected with the\nsupernatural, which they dare not tell of for fear of being put down as\ninventors. They are curious coincidences, narrow escapes, shooting\nadventures, and so on. They have happened to us all. Who has not heard\nthe tale of the general at a dinner party who related some such incident\nthat had occurred to himself, and was surprised to see amusement and\ndisbelief depicted on the faces of all around him. \"You do not believe\nme,\" he said stiffly, \"but my friend opposite was with me at the time\nand saw it too.\" But the friend refused with a laugh to bear witness,\nand the conversation changed. \"General,\" explained the friend\nsubsequently to his irate companion, \"I know, of course, all you said\nwas true. But what would you have? If fifty men swore to it no one would\nbelieve them. They would only have put me down as a liar too.\"\n\nJust as the old woman was ready to accept her travelled son's yarns of\nrivers of milk and islands of cheese; but when he deviated into the\ntruth she stopped. \"Na, Na!\" she said, \"that the anchor fetched up one\nof Pharaoh's chariot wheels out of the Red Sea, I can believe; but that\nfish fly! Na, Na! dinna come any o' your lies over yer mither.\"\n\nThey are old stories, but they illustrate my point. On some matters we\nare ready to believe at once, on others no amount of evidence will\nchange our opinions.\n\nIndeed, we are too apt to assume that reason is our great guide in life.\nTo think before you act may be wise--sometimes. But if in matters of\nemergency you had to stop and think first, you would not succeed very\nwell. The great men of action are those who act first and think\nafterwards, and sometimes they even do the latter badly. There is the\nstory of a man who was going abroad to be a Chief Justice, and who was\naddressed by the Lord Chancellor in this way: \"My friend, be careful\nwhere you are going. Your judgments will be nearly always right, but\nbeware of giving your reasons, for they will almost invariably be\nwrong.\" There are many such men.\n\nWhat, then, is religious proof? If it is not founded on evidence that\nall can accept, on what is it founded? Why do men believe their own\nreligion and accept the evidence of it as irrefragable, while scornfully\nrejecting that in favour of other religions?\n\nThe answer, I think, is this.\n\nIf you will take two violins and will tune them together, and if while\nsomeone plays ever so lightly on one you will bend your ear to the\nother, you will hear faintly but clearly repeated from its strings the\nmelody of the first. For they are in harmony. But if they are not, then\nthere will be no echo, play you never so loudly.\n\nAnd so it is in matters of religion. If you are in harmony with any\nthought there will come the echo in your heart's strings, and you will\nknow that it is true. But if you are not in harmony, then no matter how\nloudly the evidence be sounded there will be no echo there. All these\nideas on which religions are built are instincts. They are of the heart,\nnever of the head. Reason affects them not at all. These instincts are\nnot the same with all. They vary, and so the religions that are based on\nthem vary. They have nothing to do with reason, and therefore those of\none religion cannot understand another. And they are not fixed; for the\nbelief in the Unity of God only evolved, after many thousands of years,\nquite recently, and the belief in ghosts, universal among earlier people\nand now among the half-civilized, lingers with us only as a subject for\namusement. There is no \"evidence\" in religion; you either believe or you\ndon't.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nTHE AFTER DEATH.\n\n\nIt is two years and a half ago now that I passed through Westminster\nHall, one of a great multitude. They went in double file, thickly packed\nbetween barriers of rails on either side the hall, and between where\neveryone looked there lay--what? A plain oak coffin on a table.\n\nWithin this coffin there lay the body of Mr. Gladstone, he who in his\nday had filled the public eye in England more than any other man. His\nbody lay there in state, and the people came to see.\n\nEmerging into the street beyond and seeing the ceaseless stream of\npeople that flowed past, I wondered to myself. These people are\nChristians. If you ask them where Mr. Gladstone is now, they will, if\nthey reply hurriedly, answer, \"He is dead and in there\"; but if they\npause to reflect they will say, \"He is in heaven. His soul is with\nGod.\"\n\nIf, then, his soul, if _he_ be with God, what are you come to see?\nShortly there will be a funeral, and what will it be called? The funeral\nof Mr. Gladstone. But Mr. Gladstone is in heaven, not here. Surely this\nis strange.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"If there is anything I can do for you be sure you tell me, for your\nhusband was my great friend.\" So wrote the man. And to him came her\nreply: \"Sometimes when you are near go and see his grave where he sleeps\nin that far land, and put a flower upon it for your remembrance and for\nmine.\"\n\nBut if he, too, be in heaven and not there at all? If it be, as the\nBurmans say, but the empty shell that lies there? Why should we visit\ngraves if the soul be indeed separate from the body? If he be far away\nin happiness, why go to his grave? To remember but the corruption that\nlies beneath?\n\nMen use words and phrases remembering what they ought to believe. For\nvery few are sincere and know what really they do believe. You cannot\ntell from their professions, only from their unconscious words and their\nacts.\n\nWhat do these unconscious words, these acts, tell us of the belief\nabout the soul and body? That they are separable and separate? No, but\nthat they are inseparable. No one in the West, I am sure--no one\nanywhere, I think--has ever been able to conceive of the soul as apart\nfrom the body. We cannot do so. Try, try honestly, and remember your\ndead friends. What is it you recall and long for and miss so bitterly?\nIt was his voice that awoke echoes in you, it was the clasp of his hand\nin yours, it was his eyes looking back to you the love you felt for him.\nIt was his footfall on the stair, his laugh, the knowledge of his\npresence. And are not these all of the body?\n\nMen talk glibly of the soul as apart from the body. What do they mean?\nNothing but words, for the soul without a body is an incomprehensible\nthing, certainly to us.\n\nAnd it is always the same body, not another. It is the old hand, the\nface, that we want. Not the soul, if it could be possible, looking at us\nout of other eyes. No; we want him we lost, and not another. It is the\ncry of our hearts.\n\nAnd therefore, \"I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life\neverlasting.\" Have you wondered how that came into the creed? It came\ninto religion as came all that we believe in, never out of theory but\nout of instinct.\n\nWhat is your feeling towards the dead? Is it envy that they have reached\neverlasting happiness? Is it gladness to reflect that they are no longer\nwith us? Do we think of them as superior to us? Alas, no. The great and\noverpowering sentiment we have for them is pity. The tears come to our\neyes for them, because they are dead. They have left behind them light\nand life and gone into the everlasting forgetfulness. \"The night hath\ncome when no man can work.\" That is our real instinct towards the dead.\n\"Poor fellow.\" And you will hear people say, with tardy remembrance of\ntheir creeds, \"But for his sake we ought to rejoice, because he is at\npeace.\"\n\nWe ought? But _do_ we? Surely we never do. We are sorry for the dead.\nAll the compassion that is in us goes out to them, because they are\ndead.\n\nThe Catholic Church has prayers for the dead. There was never a Church\nyet that knew the hearts of men as that Church of Rome. Prayers for the\ndead. Masses for the dead.\n\nOur Protestant theories forbid such. But tell me, is there a woman who\nhas lost those she loves to whom such prayers would not come home? How\nnarrow sometimes are the Reformed Creeds in their refusal to help the\nsorrow of their people.\n\n\"In the sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection.\" What is to\narise? The disembodied soul? But you say it is already with God. What is\nto arise? It is the body. It is more. It is he who is dead--who sleeps;\nhe whom we have buried there. Whatever our creeds may say, we do not, we\ncannot ever understand the soul without the body. Not _a_ body, but\n_the_ body. We believe not in the life of a soul previous to the body.\nThey are born together, and they die together. If they live hereafter it\nmust be together. For they are one.\n\nNever be deceived by theories or professions. No one in the West has\never understood the soul without the body, no one can do so. The\nconception is wanting. We play with the theory in words as we do with\nthe fourth dimension. But who ever realised either?\n\nBut with the Oriental it is different. He believes in the migration of\nsouls. They pass from body to body. He can realise this--somehow, I know\nnot--but he can. Those who have read my \"Soul of a People\" will remember\nthat they not only believe it but _know_ it. They are sure of it\nbecause it has happened to each one, and he can remember his former\nlives. This comes not from Buddhism, because Buddhist theory denies the\nexistence of soul at all, nor from Brahminism. It is the Oriental's\ninstinct. He does not, I think, ever realise a soul apart from any body,\nbut he can and does realise a soul exhibited first in one body then in\nanother, as a lamp shining through different globes.\n\nTherefore, when a Christian tells him of the resurrection of the body he\ncannot understand. \"Which body,\" he asks, \"for I have had so many?\"\nNeither can he understand a Christian heaven of bodies risen from the\nearth. His heaven is immaterial. It is the Great Peace, where life has\npassed away. That he can understand. For neither can he conceive a life\nof the soul without some body. When perfection is reached and the last\nweary body done with, then life, too, is gone--life and all passion, all\nlove, all happiness, all fear, all the emotions that are life. They are\ngone, and there is left only the Great Peace.\n\nOur heaven grows out of our instincts as his does out of his instincts.\nOur dead without their bodies would not be those we love, and hence our\nheaven, where we shall recognise each other and love them as we did. I\ndid not understand heaven when I read books, but out of men have I\nlearned what I wished to know. Reason alone can tell you nothing, but\nsympathy will tell you all things.\n\nIt would be interesting, it is very interesting, to look back into our\npast histories and see these instincts grow and wane, to mark how they\nhave influenced not only our religious theories, but our lives; to trace\nin other people like or opposed instincts. The Mahommedans refuse\namputation because they will not appear maimed in the next world. For\nthey, too, cannot distinguish soul from one body. The Jews had no idea\nof soul at all as existing after death, whether with or without a body.\n\"As a man dies so will he be, all through the ages of eternity.\" They\nlearned the idea of immortality from Egypt, but it never took root\nbecause they had no instinctive feeling of soul. Their witches were\nforeigners. \"You shall not suffer a witch to live.\" The incantation of\nghosts was utterly forbidden by them as a foreign wickedness. It has so\nbeen forbidden by _all_ religions. Yet there are people who think\nreligions arise from ideas of ghosts.\n\nThe African negroes have no idea of life after death, as witness the\nstory of Dr. Livingstone and the negro king about the seed. It is a\nvery curious history this of the longing for immortality, the belief in\na life beyond the grave.\n\nBut I am not now concerned with the past only with the present. The\nhistory of instincts is never the explanation of them. If we could\nunravel clearly all the history of the instincts of all peoples as\nregards the after death, we should be no nearer an explanation of why\nthe instinct exists at all, why it grows or decays, why it takes one\nform or another. But we might, as so many do, blind ourselves to the\nfact that instincts exist now quite apart from reason, either now or\npreviously. No reasoning can explain the absolute clinging of the\nEuropean peoples to the resurrection of the body. No reasoning can\npossibly explain the Burman's remembrance of previous lives. Reasoning\nwould deny both. Observation and sympathy know that both exist.\n\nAnd which is true? No one can tell.\n\n    \"Not one returns to tell us of the Road\n    Which to discover we must travel too.\"\n\nFor some years now there has been a movement in England to introduce\ncremation as a method of disposing of the dead. There can be no doubt of\nits sanitary superiority to burial; there can be no doubt that, as far\nas reason and argument go, cremation should be preferred to the grave.\nThere seems to be absolutely no good reason to bring forward in favour\nof the latter. And yet cremation makes no way. Men die and they are\nburied, and if over their tombs we do not now write \"Hic jacet,\" but \"In\nmemory of,\" our ideas have suffered no change.\n\nWe cannot bear to burn the bodies of the dead because we cannot\ndisassociate the body from the soul. The body is to rise, and if we burn\nit, what then? What will there be to rise? Man has but one body and one\nsoul dwelling therein, and if you destroy the body the soul is dead too.\n\nOnly people who believe in the transmigration of souls burn their\ndead--the Hindus and, in Burma, the monks of Buddha. They see no\nobjection to the destruction of the body because the soul is migratory,\nand has passed into another. What is left after death is but the \"empty\nshell.\"\n\nTherefore do Hindus and Buddhists cremate, whereas Christians and\nMahommedans bury. Nor does rejection of creed alter this instinct.\nIntellectual France boasts of its freedom from religion. But _is_ it\nfree? Has it outgrown the instincts that are the root of religion? One\ncertainly it has not yet done, for secularists are buried just as\nbelievers are, usually with the same rites. And even if the funeral be\nsecular, the body is buried, not burnt. Why do they shrink from\ncremation if reason is to be the only guide? The creed is outworn but\nthe roots of faith are never dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nOPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM.\n\n\nThus are the heavens of all religions explanations to materialise, as it\nwere, the vague instincts of men's hearts. The Mahommedan's absolutely\nmaterial garden of the houris, the Christian semi-material heaven, the\nBuddhist absolutely immaterial Nirvana, are all outcomes of the people's\ncapability of separating soul from body. These heavens are just as the\ndogmas of Godhead, or Law, or Atonement, but the theory to explain the\nfact, which is in this case the desire for immortality. And in exactly\nthe same way as the theories of other matters are unsatisfying, so are\nthese theories of heaven. The desire for immortality is there, one of\nthe strongest of all the emotions; but the ideal which the theologian\noffers to the believer to fulfil his desire has no attraction. The more\nit is defined the less anyone wants it. Heaven we would all go to, but\nnot _that_ heaven. The instinct is true, but the theory which would\nmaterialise the aim of that desire is false. No heaven that has been\npictured to any believer is desirable.\n\nIt is strange to see in this but another instance of the invincible\npessimism of the human reason. No matter to what it turns itself it is\nalways the same.\n\nI have read all the Utopias, from Plato's New Republic to Bellamy's,\nfrom the Anarchist's Paradise to that of the Socialists, and I confess\nthat I have always risen from them with one strong emotion. And that\nwas, the relief and delight that never in my time--never, I am sure, in\nany time--can any one of them be realised. This world as it exists, as\nit has existed, may have its drawbacks. There is crime, and misfortune,\nand unhappiness, more than need be. There are tears far more than\nenough. But there is sunshine too; and if there be hate there is love,\nif there is sorrow there is joy. Here there is life. But in these drab\nUtopias of the reason, what is there? That which is the worst of all to\nbear--monotony tending towards death.\n\nNo one, I think, can study philosophy, that grey web of the reason,\nwithout being oppressed by its utter pessimism. No matter what the\nphilosophy be, whether it be professedly a pessimism as Schopenhauer's\nor not, there is no difference. It is all dull, weary barrenness, with\nnone of the light of hope there. Hope and beauty and happiness are\nstrangers to that twilight country. They could not live there. Like all\nthat is beautiful and worth having, they require light and shadow,\nsunshine and the dark.\n\nAnd the lives of philosophers, what do they gain from the reason alone?\nIs there anyone who, after reading the life of any philosopher, would\nnot say, \"God help me from such.\" What did his unaided reason give him?\nPessimism, and pessimism, and again pessimism. No matter who your\nphilosopher is--Horace or Omar Khayyam, or Carlyle or Nietsche:--where\nis the difference? See how Huxley even could not stifle his desire for\nimmortality that no reason could justify. What has reason to offer me?\nOnly this, resignation to the worst in the world, and of it knows\nnothing.\n\nTo which it would be replied:\n\nAnd religion, what has that to offer either here or in the next world?\nFor in this world they declare--at least Christianity and Buddhism both\ndeclare--that nothing is worth having. It is all vanity and vexation,\nfraud and error and wickedness, to be quickly done with. The philosopher\nhas Utopias of sorts here, but these two religions have no Utopia, no\nhappiness at all here to offer. All this life is denounced as a\ncontinued misery.\n\nAnd you say that neither heaven nor Nirvana appeal to men, that men\nshrink from them. If philosophy be pessimism, what then is religion? Do\nyou consider the Christian theory of the fall of man, the sacrifice of\nGod to God, the declaration that the vast majority of men are doomed to\neverlasting fire, a cheerful theory?\n\nDo you consider the Buddhist theory that life is itself an evil to be\ndone with, that no consciousness survives death, but only the effects of\na man's actions, an optimism?\n\nPhilosophies may not be very cheerful, but what are religions? Whatever\ncharge you may bring against philosophy, it can be ten times repeated of\nany religion. Compared with any religious theory, even Schopenhauer's\nphilosophy is a glaring optimism.\n\nTo which I would answer, No!\n\nI do not agree, because what you call religion I call only a reasoning\nabout religion. The dogmas and creeds are not religion. They are\nsummaries of the reasons that men give to explain those facts of life\nwhich are religion, just as philosophies are summaries of the theories\nmen make to explain other facts of life. Both creeds and philosophies\ncome from the reason. They are speculations, not facts. They are\npessimistic twins of the brain. Religion is a different matter. It is a\nseries of facts. What facts these are I have tried to shew chapter by\nchapter, and they are summarised in Chapter XXX., at the end. I will not\nanticipate it. What I am concerned with is whether religion is\npessimistic or not. Never mind the dogmas and creeds; come to facts.\nWhen you read books written by men who are really religious, what is\ntheir tone? You may never agree with what is urged in them, but can you\nassert that they are pessimistic? It seems to me, on the contrary, that\nthey are the reverse.\n\nAnd when you know people who are religious--not fanatics, but those men\nand women of sober minds who take their faith honestly and sincerely as\na part of life, but not the whole--are they pessimistic? I am not\nspeaking of any religion in particular, but of all religions. Can you\nsee religious people, and live with them and hear them talk, and watch\ntheir lives, and not recognise that religion is to them a strength, a\ncomfort, and resource against the evils of life? Never mind what the\ncreeds say; watch what the believers _do_. Is life to them a sorry march\nto be made with downcast eyes of thought, to be trod with weary steps,\nto be regarded with contempt? The men who act thus are philosophers, not\nreligious people.\n\nTo those who are really religious, life is beautiful. It is a triumphal\nmarch made to music that fills their ears, that brightens their eyes,\nthat lightens their steps, now quicker, now slower, now sad, now joyous,\nalways beautiful. Who are the happy men and women in this world? Let no\none ever doubt--no one who has observed the world will ever doubt; they\nare the people who have religion. No matter what the religion is, no\nmatter what the theory or dogma or creed, no matter the colour or\nclimate, there is no difference. If you doubt, go and see. Never sit in\nyour closet and study creeds and declare \"No man can be happy who\nbelieves such,\" but go and see whether they are happy. Go to all the\npeoples of the world, and having put aside your prejudices, having tuned\nyour heart-strings to theirs, listen and you will know. Watch and you\nwill see. What is the keynote of the life of him who truly believes? Is\nit disgust, weariness, pessimism? Is it not courage and a strange\ntriumph that marks his way in life? And who are those who go through\nlife sadly, who find it terrible in its monotony, who have lost all\nsavour for beauty, whom the sunlight cannot gladden, who neither love\nnor hate, neither fear nor rejoice, neither laugh nor cry? I will tell\nyou who they are. There are two kinds, who think they are different, but\nare the same.\n\nFirst, there are those who call themselves philosophers, men who have\nabandoned all religion and accepted \"barren reason.\" For reason cannot\nmake you love or hate, or laugh or weep. There is no beauty there, no\nlight and shadow, no colour, only the greyness of unliving outline.\n\nAnd there are those who mistake what religion is. They think it consists\nof creeds. They do not know it consists of emotions. And so they take\ntheir creeds to their hearts, and see what they make of them! Or they,\nabandoning their creeds, search all through the world to find new\ncreeds. They speculate on Nirvana, on Brahm, on the doctrine of\nAverroes. They are for ever digging out some abstruse problem from the\nsacred books of the world to make themselves miserable over.\n\nThey, too, are the victims of a barren reason.\n\nBut religion is not reason; it is fact. It is beyond and before all\nreason. Religion is not what you say, but what you feel; not what you\nthink, but what you know. Religions are the great optimisms. Each is to\nits believers \"the light of the world.\"\n\nI cannot think how this has not been evident long ago to everyone. Have\nmen no eyes, no ears, no understanding? Yes, perhaps they have all these\nthings. But what they have not got is sympathy, and without this of what\nuse are the rest? For what men see and hear in any matter are the\nthings they are in sympathy with. If your heart is out of tune, there is\nnever any echo of the melody that is about you.\n\nTo this chapter on optimism and pessimism I would add a small\npostscript. I would fain have made it a chapter or many chapters, but I\nhave not the room. It is the strong connection between religion and\noptimism as evinced in a high birth rate, between irreligion and\npessimism as shown in a falling off in the population. For that is the\ngreat complaint in France to-day. It is noticeable especially amongst\nthe cultured classes, who are absolutely irreligious, and who are\nabsolutely pessimistic: the birth rate is falling so rapidly that France\nceases to increase. Only in Normandy, where religion yet retains power,\ndoes the birth rate keep up. This is not a solitary instance. All\nhistory repeats it. Do you remember Matthew Arnold's lines:\n\n    \"On that hard Pagan world disgust and secret loathing fell,\n    Deep weariness, and sated lust made human life a hell.\n    In his cool hall with haggard eyes the Roman noble lay;\n    He drove abroad in furious guise along the Appian way.\n         *       *       *       *       *       *       *\n    No easier nor no quicker passed the impracticable hours.\"\n\nThe Roman Empire fell because there were no more Romans left. They had\ndied out and left no children to succeed them. Where is the highest\nbirth rate to-day in Europe? It is in \"priest-ridden\" Russia, where the\npeople are without doubt more deeply imbued with their faith than any\nother people of the West now. In Burma, where religion has such a hold\non the people as the world has never known, the birth rate is very high\nindeed. The Turks in the heyday of their religious enthusiasm increased\nvery rapidly, but now and for long they seem to be stationary, and in\nthe Boers we see again a high birth rate and very strong religious\nconvictions. Our birth rate, on the contrary, is falling with the\ngrowing irreligion in certain classes. Not that I wish for a moment to\ninfer that religious feeling causes more children to be born. I have no\nbelief whatever in the usual theories that the fall in birth rates is\ndue to preventive measures, which religion disallows, or to debauchery,\nwhich religion controls. The supporters of such a theory admit that they\ncannot prove it. And there is very much against such an idea. When\nreligion in the early ages of Christianity discouraged marriage and did\nall in its power to encourage celibacy, it never succeeded in the end.\nMen and women might go into convents for certain reasons--not, I think,\nmainly religious--the birth of children from those outside did not\nalter. And during the priestly rule in Paraguay population disappeared\nso rapidly the monks were alarmed, and took stringent and strange\nmethods to stop the decay, but in vain--the people had lost heart.\n\nWhy are the Maories and many other people disappearing? From disease?\nThat is not a reason. It is a fact that with a virile people a plague or\nfamine is followed by an increase in the birth rate. This is proved in\nIndia. The Maories, too, have lost heart. They may have acquired\nChristianity, but that is no help. No; the adoption of a religion does\nnot affect the question.\n\nBut still they go together, and the answer seems to be here: A nation\nthat is virile, that is full of vitality, finds an outlet for that\nvitality in children, an expression of it in religion. A virile people\nis optimistic always. Pessimism, whether in nations or individuals,\ncomes from a deficiency of nerve strength. But why peoples lose their\nvitality no one yet knows. There is a tribe on the Shan frontier of\nBurma that twenty years ago was a people of active hunters, always gun\nor bow in hand, scouring the forests for game, fearing nothing. And now\nthey have lost their energy. Their nerve is gone. They are listless and\ndepressed. For a gun they substitute a hoe and do a little feeble\ngardening. Their children are few, and shortly the tribe will be dead.\n\nNo one knows why.\n\nReligion, deep and true, and strong faith is possible only to strong\nnatures; it is the outcome of strong feeling. It is a companion always\nto that virility that is optimism, that does not fear the future; it\nknows not what may come, but faces the future with confidence. It takes\neach day as it comes. Such are the nations that replenish the earth. The\nworld is the heritage of the godly. The Old Testament is full of that\ntruth, and it is no less true now than then. But one does not proceed\nfrom the other. They both come from that fount whence springs the life\nof the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nWAS IT REASON?\n\n\nReason and religion have but little in common. They come from different\nsources, they pursue different ways. They are never related in this\norder as cause and effect. No one was ever reasoned into a religion, no\none was ever reasoned out of his religion. Faith exists or does not\nexist in man without any reference to his reason. Reason may follow\nfaith, does follow faith; never does faith follow reason.\n\nIs it indeed always so? Then how about the boy told of in the earlier\nchapters? He was born into a religion, he was educated in it, and he\nrejected it. Why? He himself tells why he did so, because his reason\ndrove him away from it. His reason, looking at the world as he found it,\ncould not accept the way of life inculcated by his faith. He found it\nimpossible, unworkable, and therefore not beautiful. His reason told him\nit was impracticable, not in accordance with facts, and therefore he\nwould have none of it.\n\nHis reason, too, following Darwin, told him that the earlier part of the\nOld Testament could not be correct. Man has risen, not fallen; he had\nhis origin not six thousand years ago, but perhaps sixty thousand,\nperhaps much more. In many ways his reason fought with his religion, and\nit prevailed. Was no one ever reasoned out of a faith? Surely this boy\nwas, surely many boys and men equally with him have so been deprived by\nreason of their faiths. Reason is the enemy of faith. Is not this so?\n\nWhen that boy was fighting his battle long ago I am sure he thought so.\nCertainly he said so to himself. Was he insincere or mistaken? Surely he\nshould know best of what was going on in his mind. He tells how reason\ndrove him from his faith. Was he not right?\n\nI think that he had not then learned to look at the roots of things. If\nthere is one truth which grows upon us in life as we go on, as we watch\nmen and what they say and do, as we watch ourselves and what we say or\ndo, it is this, that men do not do things nor feel things because they\nthink them, but the reverse. Men think things because they want to do\nthem; their reason follows their instincts. No man seeks to disprove\nwhat he likes and feels to be good, no man seeks to prove what he\ninstinctively dislikes and rejects. You cannot argue yourself into a\nliking or a distaste. If, then, you find a man seeking reasons to\ndisprove his faith, it is because his faith irks him, because he would\nfain shake it off and be done with it. If he were happy in it and it\nsuited him, reasons disproving any part of it would pass by him\nharmlessly. You cannot shake a man's conviction of what he _feels_ to be\nuseful and beautiful.\n\nTo the man, therefore, looking back it seems that all the boy's\nthoughts, his arguments, his reasoning, arise from this, that his\nreligion did not suit. It galled him somewhere, perhaps in many places;\nit was a burden, and instead of being beautiful it was the reverse. So\nto rid himself of what he could not abide he sought refuge in his\nreason. And his reason going, as reason has always done, to the theories\nof faith instead of to the facts, he found that the creeds and beliefs\nhad no foundation in fact, were but formulae thrown upon an ignorant\nworld, and should be rejected. So he left them. But it was never his\nreason that made him do so; reason came in but as the judge, openly\njustifying what had happened silently and unnoticed in his heart.\n\nWhat was it, then, that drove the boy from his faith? What were his\ninstincts that remained unfulfilled, roused against his religion till\nthey drove him to find reasons for leaving it? What was it that galled\nhim till he revolted? There were, I think, mainly two things--the rise\nof an intense revolt to the continual exercise of authority, and the\ngreater effect of the code of Christ upon him.\n\nWhen a boy is frequently ill, when his constitution is delicate and\neasily upset, it is necessary that he should be very careful what he\ndoes, how he exposes himself to damp or cold, how he over-exerts himself\nat work or play. But for a boy to exercise this care is very difficult.\nHe feels fairly well, and the other boys are going skating or boating,\nwhy should he not do so? The day is not very cold, and the other boys do\nnot wear comforters; they laugh at him if he does so. He will not admit\nthat he cannot do what other boys can do. So he has to be looked after\nand guarded, and cared for and watched, and made to do things he\ndislikes. If, too, the supervision becomes unnecessarily close, if there\nis a tendency to interfere not only where he is wrong and wants\ncorrection, but in many details where it is not required, is it not\nnatural? If in time it so comes, or the boy thinks it so comes, that he\ncannot move hand or foot, cannot go in or out, cannot think or read, or\neven rest, without perpetual correction, is it so very unnatural?\nMistake? Who shall say where the mistake lay? Who shall say if there was\nany mistake at all, unless great affection be a mistake? Maybe it was\nthe inevitable result of circumstances. But still there it was. And\nthough a small boy may accept such rule without question, yet as he\ngrows up it irks him more and more, until at last it may become a daily\nand hourly irritation growing steadily more unbearable, more\nexasperating, month by month.\n\nThere is, too, in many people--women, I think, mostly, and with women\nchiefly in reverse proportion to their knowledge--a tendency to give\nadvice. Few are without the desire, maybe a kindly desire in its\ninception, to advise others. The world at large does not take to it\nkindly, so the advice has to be bottled up, to be expended in its\nfulness where it can. This boy got it all. He received advice from\ninnumerable people, enough to have furnished a universe. Most of it he\nfelt to be worthless, almost all of it he was sure was impertinence. Yet\nhe could not resent it, because he was under authority.\n\nAnd now perhaps you may see how there grew up slowly in him an utter\nloathing of authority, a hatred to being checked and supervised, and\nadvised and lectured for ever. Sometimes he would revolt and say, \"Can't\nyou leave me alone?\" and this was insubordination. He would have given\nall he could, everything, for liberty. \"I would sooner,\" he said to\nhimself, \"catch cold and die than be worried daily not to forget my\ncomforter. I would sooner grow up a fool and earn my living by breaking\nstones in the road than be supervised into my lessons like this, that I\nmay be learned. But when I am grown up it must cease. It SHALL cease.\nThen I shall be free to go my own way, and do wrong and suffer for it.\"\n\nAnd now imagine a boy in a state of mind like this told that he would\n_never_ be free. A boy's authorities might pass, school and home might\nbe left behind, but God would remain. Masters can be avoided and\ndeceived, God cannot be deceived. His eye is always on you. He sees\neverything you do. His hand is always guiding and directing and checking\nyou. It seems to him that the exasperation was never to end, was to last\neven into the next life, if this be true. Then you may understand how\nhis instincts drove his reason to find good and sufficient cause for\nrejecting this God and for seeking freedom. \"Give me freedom,\" he cried,\n\"freedom even to do wrong and suffer for it. I will not complain. Only\nlet me alone. Do not interfere. I will not have a God who interferes.\"\nHis reason helped him and showed him the emptiness of the creeds, and he\nwent on his way without.\n\nThen there was the Sermon on the Mount. To most boys this does not\nappeal at all. They hear it read. It is to them part of \"religion\"--that\nis, for consumption on Sunday. It is not of any consequence, only words.\nThey do not think twice of it. But with this boy it was different. The\nSermon on the Mount did appeal to him. He thought it very beautiful as a\nlittle boy. It seemed worth remembering. He did remember it. It seemed\nworth acting up to as much as possible.\n\nBut as he grew older and learned life as it is, he became able to see\nthat it was not applicable at all to life, that life was much rougher\nand harder than he supposed, and required very different rules. He\nslowly grew disillusioned. And with the disillusion came bitterness. If\nyou have never believed in any certain thing, never taken it to\nyourself, you can go on theoretically admiring it, and, if that becomes\nimpossible, you can eventually let it go without trouble. But if you\nhave believed, if you have strongly believed and desired to accept, when\nyou find that your belief and acceptance have been misplaced, there\ncomes a revulsion. If it cannot be all, it must be none. Love turns to\nhate, never to indifference. Belief changes to absolute rejection, never\nto toleration.\n\nThis code of Christ could not be absolutely followed in daily life,\ntherefore it was absolutely untrue. And being untrue he could not bear\nto hear it preached every Sunday as a teaching from on High. He shrank\nfrom it unconsciously as from a theory he had loved and which had\ndeceived him: the love remained, the confidence was gone. He was\nbetrayed. But he never reasoned about it till he had rejected it. Then\nhe sought to justify by reason what he had already accomplished in fact.\n\nSo do men think things, because they have done or wish to do them; never\nthe reverse.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt seems trivial after the above to recall a minor point wherein\ninstinct has had much to say.\n\nI can remember as a boy how I disliked to hear the church bells ringing\nfor service. I hated them. They made me shudder. And I used to think to\nmyself that I must be naturally wicked and irreligious to be so\naffected. \"They ring for God's service and you shudder. You must be\nindeed the wicked boy they say.\" So I thought many a time.\n\nAnd now I know that I disliked the bells then, as I dislike them now,\nbecause of all sounds that of bells is to me the harshest and noisiest.\nI dislike not only church bells, but all bells. I have no prejudice\nagainst dinner, yet I would willingly wait in some houses half an hour,\nor even have it half-cold if it could be announced without a bell. And\nchurch bells! Very few are in tune, none are sweet toned, all are rung\nfar louder and faster than they should be, so that their notes, which\nmight be bearable, become a wrangling abomination.\n\nBut I love the monastery gongs in Burma because they are delicately\ntuned, and they are rung softly and with such proper intervals between\neach note that there is no jar, none of that hideous conflict of the\ndying vibrations with the new note that is maddening to the brain.\n\nIt is trivial, maybe, but it is real. And out of such trivialities is\nlife made. Out of such are our recollections built. I shall never\nremember the call to Christian prayer without a shudder of dislike, a\nputting of my fingers in my ears. I shall never recall the Buddhist\ngongs ringing down the evening air across the misty river without there\nrising within me some of that beauty, that gentleness and harmony, to\nwhich they seem such a perfect echo.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nWHAT RELIGION IS.\n\n\nWhat, then, is religion? Do any of the definitions given at the\nbeginning explain what it really is? Is it a theory of the universe, is\nit morality, is it future rewards and punishments? It may be all or none\nof these things. Is it creeds, dogmas, speculations, or theories of any\nkind? It is none of these things.\n\nReligion is the recognition and cultivation of our highest emotions, of\nour more beautiful instincts, of all that we know is best in us.\n\nWhat these emotions may be varies in each people according to their\nnatures, their circumstances, their stage of civilisation. In the Latins\nsome emotions predominate, in the Teutons others, in the Hindus yet\nothers. Each race of men has its own garden wherein grow flowers that\nare not found elsewhere, and of these they make their faiths.\n\nSome of these emotions I have tried to show in this book. For the Latins\nthey are the emotions of fatherhood, of prayer, and confession, of\nsacrifice and atonement, of motherhood, of art and beauty, of obedience,\nof rule, of mercy, of forgiveness, of the resurrection of the body, of\nprayer for the dead, of strong self-denial and asceticism, of many\nothers; but those, I think, are the chief.\n\nFor the Protestant, the more rigid Protestant, it is the cultivation of\nthe emotions of force, grandeur, prayer, justice, conduct, punishment of\nevil, austerity, and also many others.\n\nWith the Burman Buddhist it is the recognition and cultivation of the\nbeauties of freedom, peace, calm, rigid self-denial, charity in thought\nand deed to all the world, pity to animals, the existence of the soul\nbefore and after death, with no reference to any particular body. The\nMahommedan has for one of his principal emotions courage in battle, and\nthe Hindu cleanliness of body and purity of race.\n\nThese things are religions. Out of his strongest feelings has man built\nup his faiths.\n\nAnd the creeds are but the theories of the keener intellects of the race\nto explain, and codify, and organise the cultivation of these feelings.\n\nCreeds are not religions, nor are religions proved by miracle or by\nprophecy, by evidence, or any reasoning of any kind. The instincts are\ninnate or do not exist at all. Like all emotions and feelings, they\ncannot be created or destroyed by reason.\n\nWhy does a man fall in love? No one knows. And if he fall in love, can\nyou cure him of it by argument? Would it be any use to say to him? \"The\ngirl you love is not beautiful, is not clever; she would be of no use to\nyou, she does not return your love at all. You cannot really love her.\"\nHe would only laugh and say, \"All that may be true, and yet the fact\nremains unaltered. She is the woman I love. My reason may prevent my\nmarrying her, it cannot prevent my love. And you may be right that this\nother woman has all the virtues, but I have no love for her.\" So it is\nwith all the emotions. You either have them or have not. You do not\nreason about them. Reason is of things we doubt, not of things we know.\nTherefore are the beliefs of one religion incomprehensible to the\nbelievers in another. Nothing is so difficult to understand as an\nemotion you have not felt. What is perfect beauty to one man is stark\nugliness to another. So it is with religion. To understand well the\nfaith you must have in you all the chords that these faiths draw music\nfrom, and how many have that?\n\nReligion is of the heart, not of the reason. Theologians of all creeds\nwarn the believer against reason as a snare of the devil. A freethinker\nmust be an Atheist. History is one long conflict between religion and\nscience. But why is this, if they have no concern one with another? Why\nfight, why not exist together?\n\nBecause all men, freethinkers as well as theologians, have failed to see\nwhat religion really consists in. They think it is in the theories of\ncreation, of God, of salvation, of heaven and hell. They look one and\nall to the creeds and dogmas as religion.\n\nAnd none of these creeds and dogmas will, as a whole, stand criticism.\nThey fall before the thinker into irretrievable ruin, and therefore the\nfreethinker imagines he has destroyed religion. But religion lives on,\nand he wonders why. He puts it down to the blindness of men. The\ntheologian rejoices because the continued life of religion seems to him\nthe vindication of the creeds. Yet are they both wrong. Men are not\nfools, nor does religion live by the truth of its creeds. The whole\ninitial idea has been mistaken. The creeds are but theories to explain\nreligion. Scientific men have invented the ether and theories connected\nwith it to explain heat and light and electricity. These theories are\ngood now, and are universally accepted, but they are not proved.\nSupposing a hundred years hence wider perception and new facts should\nthrow great doubts on whether ether exists at all as supposed, or on the\npresent theories of heat and electricity? Suppose, too, that the old\nschool scientists are stubborn and refuse to meet these new thoughts?\nWhat will the sensible man do? Will he say, \"This theory of ether waves\nis untenable, exploded, foolish, and therefore I will believe it no\nlonger; and as the theory is wrong, so too the phenomena of the theory\nare all imaginations. There are no such things as heat and light, and I\nwill not warm myself in the sun.\" Would that be sense? I think reason\nwould reply, \"I am sorry the old theories are gone. They were true while\nthey lasted. But now they are dead, and we have not found new ones. Yet\nif the theory be dead, the facts are still there. The sun still shines,\nand we have heat and light. These things are true. No man shall frighten\nme and say, 'If you will not believe our science you shall not warm\nyourself at our sun. You shall not light your fire or your lamp unless\nyou admit ether waves.' Perhaps a new theory may arise. But anyhow I\nhave the sun yet, and my lamp is not broken. They are facts still.\"\n\nThat is exactly the present position as regards many faiths. The creeds\nare theories to explain facts. The theories are very old and we have\ngrown out of them. The theologians will not surrender them, clinging to\nthem in the imagination that they really are religion, and that without\nthem religion will fall, conjuring with words to try and support them.\n\nWhat should reason say in the face of this? \"I do not believe in your\ntheories of God and the future state, and the resurrection of the body,\nand so on, and therefore I won't have anything to do with any religion.\"\nWould that be reason? Yes, if you believe the creeds are religion; no,\nif you believe that religion lies far deeper than creeds. Or to use\nanother simile: the creeds are the grammar of religion, they are to\nreligion what grammar is to speech. Words are the expression of our\nwants; grammar is the theory formed afterwards. Speech never proceeded\nfrom grammar, but the reverse. As speech progresses and changes from\nunknown causes, grammar must follow. But if not? If grammarians are\nhide-bound, are we to refuse to talk? In this latter case, if the reason\nwere mine, I think reason would say, \"Bother these theologians, their\ndogmas and creeds, their theories and grammars, what do they matter? The\ninstinct of prayer remains, of confession, of sacrifice. They appeal to\nme still. They fill my heart with beauty. Shall I refuse to accept the\nglories of life, shall I refuse to cultivate my soul because some people\nwho claim authority have theories about these things with which I don't\nagree? Not all the creeds nor theologians in the world shall prevent my\nmaking the best of myself. The garden of the soul is no close preserve\nof theirs.\n\n\"Religion is the satisfaction of some of the wants of the souls of men.\nIt is a cult of some of the emotions, never of all. For the emotions are\nso varied, so contradictory, that all cannot live together. I do not\nquite know why one people includes one emotion in religion and another\nrejects it out of religion, while still maintaining its beauty and\ntruth. But no religion includes more than one side of life. There are\nothers. I, too, will cultivate these emotions which I need. But this I\nwill not forget, that life has many sides. Life has many emotions, and\nall are good, though all may not come into religion. There is ambition,\nthere is love of gaiety, of humour, of laughter, there is courage and\npride, the glory of success. To live life whole none must be neglected.\nThey are planted in our hearts for some good purpose. I will not weed\nthem out. My garden shall grow all the flowers it can, and reason shall\nbe the gardener to see that none grow rank and choke the others.\n\n\"Whatever things are beautiful, that make the heart to beat and the eye\ngrow dim, whatever I know to be good, that shall I have. 'For that which\ntoucheth the heart is beautiful to the eye.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nTHE USE OF RELIGION.\n\n\nBut granted, people may say, that religion is what you say, a cult of\nthe emotions, of what use is it? Why should these emotions be cultivated\nat all? You say that they are beautiful because they are true, and that\nthey are true because they are of use. Of what use are they? Some can be\nexplained perhaps, but not most--not the instinct of God, for instance,\nnor of Law, nor the instinct of prayer. It seems to me that unless you\ncan prove that they are true, essentially true conceptions, they cannot\nbe beautiful. And this you say you cannot prove. \"No one can prove God,\"\nyou say, and prayer, surely that is against reason, and demonstrably a\nweakness. Certainly not a good emotion to cultivate. \"You say it is\nbeautiful. How can you prove that?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTravelling on the Continent among those places where there are little\ncolonies of English people who for one reason or another have left their\nown country, there crops up occasionally a man of peculiar kind, hardly\never to be met elsewhere. He is a man who has left England, we will\nsuppose, for economy's sake, who has settled abroad, perhaps in one\nplace, perhaps roaming from place to place, who has no work, no interest\nin life. He has drifted away from the current of our national life, he\nhas entered no other, but he exists, he would say, as a student of man\nand a philosopher on motives.\n\nOne such, meeting me one day, turned his conversation upon wars and upon\npatriotism. The former horrified him, the latter revolted him.\n\"Patriotism,\" he said, \"can you defend such a feeling? Have you any\nreasoning to support it? Patriotism is a narrowness, a blindness. It is\nlittle better than a baseness founded on ignorance. How can it be\ndefended? You say it is beautiful. Prove to me that it is so. I deny\nit.\"\n\nTo whom, and to men like this, it seems that there is only one answer to\nbe made.\n\n\"My friend, the love of your own people and your own country, if it ever\nexisted within you, is long dead or you would never ask such a question.\nI cannot reason with you on the subject, because it would be like\nreasoning with a blind man on the beauty of being able to see. He who\nsees knows; but if a man be blind, how can it be explained to him?\nNeither I nor my fellows can talk to you about patriotism, because it is\na feeling we have, but of which you are ignorant. It is not a question\nof reason. But if you would know whether patriotism be beautiful or the\nignorant foolishness you suppose, I can show you the road to learn.\n\n\"Go back to that England you have forgotten, and in your forgetfulness\nbegun to despise. Go back there on the eve of a great victory, or a\ngreat deliverance, such a day as that on which Ladysmith was relieved.\nAnd go not into the streets if the loud rejoicings hurt your philosophic\near, but go into the homes of the people. Go to the rich, to the middle\nclass, to the artisan, to the labourer, and mark their glowing faces,\ntheir glad eyes, the look of glory, of thanksgiving that our people have\nbeen rescued, that our flag has escaped a disaster. Look at the faces of\nthese men and women and children, whose hearts are full at the news. And\nthen ask them, 'Is patriotism a mean and debasing passion?' They know.\nOr do better even than this, go yourself to Africa, to India, to the\nthousand league frontiers where men die daily for their flag, for their\nown honour, and that of their country. Take rifle yourself and beat\nback those who would destroy our peace, take up your pen and give some\nof your life to the people whom we rule. You will find it a better life,\nperhaps, than at a foreign spa. Give yourself freely for your country\nand those your country gives in charge to you. I think you will learn,\nmaybe, what patriotism means. But argument, reason? I think you\nexaggerate the power of reason. It can argue only from facts. It is\nnecessary to know the facts first. And you are ignorant of your facts,\nbecause you have never felt them. Only those who feel them know. Go and\ngive your life, and before it be gone you will have learnt what neither\nI nor any man who ever lived can _tell_ you. You will have learnt the\n_realities_ of life.\n\n\"For you and those like you mistake the power of reason, you have\nforgotten its limitations. Reason is but the power of arranging facts,\nit cannot provide them. Your eyes will give you the facts they can see,\nyour ears what they can hear, your sympathies will give you the\nrealities of men's lives. If you have no emotions, no sympathies, how\ncan you get on? You are like mariners afloat upon the sea vainly\nwaggling your rudders and boasting that you are at the mercy of no\nerratic winds, while the ships pass you under full sail. Where will\nreason alone take you? It cannot take you anywhere. A rudder is only\nuseful to a ship that has motive power. What motive power have you? So\nyou float and work your rudders and turn round and round, and are very\nbitter. Why are all philosophers so bitter, so hard to bear with, so\nuseless? Because you are conscious unconsciously of your futility, that\nthe world passes you by and laughs.\n\n\"The functions of reason are very narrow. You forget them. You exalt\nreason into the whole of life, committing the mistake for which you rail\non others. Unbridled emotion is, as you say, terrible. So is unbridled\nreason. Where has reason alone ever led anyone save into the dreariest,\ndriest pessimism? Was a philosopher ever a happy man? Even your Utopias,\nfrom Plato's to Bellamy's, who would desire them? Hell would be a\npleasant relaxation after any of them. The functions of the senses, of\nwhich sympathy is the greatest, are to give you facts, the function of\nreason is to arrange them. The emotions drive man forward, reason\ndirects and controls them. That is all.\n\n\"You say religions are founded on errors, on what are your reasonings\nfounded? They are founded on _nothings_.\"\n\nOf what use is patriotism? Is it beautiful or no? Of what use is\nreligion? Is it beautiful or no? Prove to me that it is necessary or\nbeautiful. Show me why it should be so.\n\nIs it not the same answer in each case? It is so easy to point out the\nevils of exaggeration in each. Anyone can do it. But the mean. Prove to\nme the use and beauty of the mean.\n\nThe answer is always the same. If you have religion in you, such a\nquestion would never occur to you, for you would feel its use, you would\n_know_ its beauty. And if you have not, who shall prove it to you? Who\nshall provide you with the facts on which to reason, who shall open your\neyes? But if anyone doubts that religion is useful and is beautiful to\nits believers, go and watch them.\n\nIt matters not where you go, East or West, it is always the same. In\nEngland, or France, or Russia, among the Hindus, the Chinese, the\nJapanese, the Parsees. It makes no matter if you will but look aright.\nFor you must know how to look and where. You must learn what to read. It\nis never books I would ask you to read, never creeds, never theologies,\nnever reasons, nor arguments. You will not find what you search in\nlibraries nor yet in places of worship, in ceremonies, in temples,\ngreat and beautiful as they may be. Not in even their inmost recesses is\nthe secret hid, the secret of all religions. I would have you listen to\nno preachers, to no theologians. They are the last to know. But I would\nhave you go to the temple of the heart of man and read what is written\nthere, written not in words, but in the inarticulate emotions of the\nheart. I would have you go and kneel beside the Mahommedan as he prays\nat the sunset hour, and put your heart to his and wait for the echo that\nwill surely come. Yes, surely, if you be as a man who would learn, who\ncan learn. I would have you go to the hillman smearing the stone with\nbutter that his god may be pleased, to the woman crying to the forest\ngod for her sick child, to the boy before his monks learning to be good.\nNo matter where you go, no matter what the faith is called, if you have\nthe hearing ear, if your heart is in unison with the heart of the world,\nyou will hear always the same song. Far down below the noises of the\nwarring creeds, the clash of words and forms, the differences of\npeoples, of climes, of civilisations, of ideals, far down below all this\nlies that which you would hear. I know not what you would call it. Maybe\nit is the Voice of God telling us for ever the secret of the world, but\nin unknown tongue. For me it is like the unceasing surge of a shoreless\nsea answering to the night, a melody beyond words.\n\nThe creeds and faiths are the words that men have set to that melody;\nthey are the interpretations of that wordless song. Each is true to him\nwhom it suits. Every nation has translated it into his own tongue. But\nnever forget that those are only your own interpretations. Whatever your\nfaith may be, you have no monopoly of religion. I confess that to me\nthere is nothing so repellent as the hate of faith for faith. To hear\ntheir professors malign and abuse each other, as if each had the\nmonopoly of truth, is terrible. It is as a strife in families where\nbrother is killing brother, and the younger trying to disinherit the\nelder. I doubt if in all this warfare they can listen for the voice that\nis for ever telling the secret of the world. Whence came all the faiths\nbut from that inexplicable feeling of the heart, that surge and swell\narising we know not whence? If you would malign another's faith remember\nyour own. If you cannot understand his belief stop and consider. Can you\nunderstand your own? Do you know whence came these emotions that have\nrisen and made your faith?\n\nThe faiths are all brothers, all born of the same mystery. There are\nolder and younger, stronger and weaker, some babble in strange tongues\nmaybe, different from your finer speech. But what of that? Are they the\nless children of the Great Father for that? Surely if there be the\nunforgivable offence, the sin against the Holy Ghost, it is this, to\ndeny the truth that lies in all the faiths.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nReligion is the music of the infinite echoed from the hearts of men.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"The Hearts of Men","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":68909}