Mark Twain quotes a schoolboy as saying: “Faith is believing what you
know ain’t so.” This definition is turned from humor into seriousness
by some modern thinkers when they charge immorality against all whose
beliefs are not scientifically established on sufficient evidence.
They look upon what they consider unwarranted beliefs as a species
of lying to one’s self, demoralizing to intellect and character. If
no element of faith may anywhere be tolerated, these same thinkers
should reëxamine their own foundations. The only thorough agnostic
in history or literature, agnostic even toward his own agnosticism,
is Charles Kingsley’s Raphael Aben-Ezra. Let us listen to him. “Here
am I, at last! fairly and safely landed at the very bottom of the
bottomless.... No man, angel or demon can this day cast it in my teeth
that I am weak enough to believe or disbelieve any phenomenon or theory
in or concerning heaven or earth; or even that any such heaven, earth,
phenomena or theories exist—or otherwise.”
In a last analysis our very foundation principles rest on a ground of
faith, and a clear knowledge of this fact may make us more humble in
the presence of other claims on our belief. Whenever the adventurous
philosophic mind gazes over the dizzy edge at the “bottomless,” it
draws back and gains a firm footing on the reality of conscious ideas.
To abandon this is annihilation.
Years ago an old friend of mine, very worthy, but somewhat
self-opinioned and truculent, in a discussion on religious thought
exclaimed: “What! believe in anything I can’t see, touch, hear, smell,
taste? No, sir!” He represented the uneducated instinctive belief in
the reality of the outer world as revealed through the senses; and he
would have violently affirmed the reliability of the senses and the
existence of material things. But philosophy shows these also to be of
faith.
Had he been asked whether he had a knowledge of space and time and of
certain indisputable facts concerning them, and whether he could see
or hear these entities and intuitive truths, he would have paused to
think. The axioms of mathematics would have been a veritable Socratic
poser to him, and he would have withdrawn from his position—would have
acknowledged some truths as more certain, by the nature and need of the
mind, than the existence of matter.
The modern scientist for practical purposes postulates the existence
of conscious ideas, of the outer material world, of space and time. He
accepts axiomatic truths. He goes farther; he postulates the uniformity
of nature, and the validity of his reasoning processes. He discovers
natural laws, and propounds theories concerning them. He investigates
the physical correlates of mental processes. He has his favorite
hypotheses concerning phenomena that defy his powers of analysis. He
shows the process of the world as a whole to be evolution.
So far we have no controversy and should have none, did not some
eminent investigators in the field of natural science claim to have
covered the entire realm of legitimate inquiry, and deny the right to
raise further questions or entertain beliefs, however strongly they
may be prompted by our very constitution, concerning the origin and
end of things, the meaning of the world, and man’s place in it. To the
well-rounded nature, faith is not necessarily limited to the physical
world, and the credulity implied in unwarranted denial is at least as
unscientific as positive faith.
Human nature rebels against conclusions wholly discordant with its best
instincts, and, in the light of the most recent data and speculation,
begins anew a discussion as old as philosophy. The subject is all the
more important, because the uneducated mind, misled by superficial
catch phrases of materialism, fails to know the reverent spirit of true
science.
Here is an illustration relating to the general theme. A prominent
biologist puts this statement before the reading public: “There is
no _ego_ except that which arises from the coördination of the nerve
cells.” I might take the contrary of the proposition and reply: “There
is an _ego_ not adequately described by your ‘colonial consciousness’
theory.” Regarding each position as dogmatic, perhaps mine is as good
as the biologist’s. As to evidence, he founds his belief on the general
fact of evolution and specifically upon the functions, partly known,
partly conjectured, of nerve cells in the brain. He has no knowledge
that a unit-being called the _ego_ does not exist. His is the faith of
denial of something which from his standpoint he can neither prove nor
disprove. I also accept the facts of evolution and of the mechanism
of the brain. I base my belief in the _ego_ on certain views of other
biologists, and on data of consciousness, morality, and religion, and
the insight of all subjective philosophy. My faith is one of assent to
something not admitting demonstrative proof. Have I sufficient reason
for my faith in passing beyond the inductions of material science?
* * * * *
We present some latest views of eminent biologists. While evolution
must be accepted as a fact, there is great uncertainty as to the
factors that produce changes in the organic world. To-day there is
small evidence that variations are produced by direct influence of
environment. In the germ is the “whole machinery and the mystery of
heredity.” Since the microscope fails to reveal the causes, either of
normal development or of variations, some are forced to accept, as
the simplest and most rational hypothesis, the existence of a psychic
principle in the germ. The facts appear to support the doctrine of
purpose in evolution. So earnest and able a thinker as Professor
LeConte frankly affirms: “With the appearance of Man another factor
was introduced, namely, _conscious coöperation in his own evolution,
striving to attain an ideal_.”
Professor Muensterberg is of high authority in experimental psychology
and besides has a keen philosophic mind. His paper entitled “Psychology
and the Real Life” is instructive and significant. He shows that it is
the business of psychology to analyze the ideas and emotions, the whole
content of consciousness, into sensations, to investigate the whole
psychological mechanism, but that the primary reality is not a possible
object of psychology and natural science. By his view it takes an act
of free will to declare the will unfree; there can be no science,
thought, or doubt that is not the child of duties; even skeptical
denial demands to be regarded as absolute truth; there is a truth, a
beauty, a morality independent of psychological conditions; psychology
is the last word of a materialistic century, it may become the
introductory word of an idealistic century. His views are maintained
with force and power of conviction.
But these references are only incidental to the purpose of this
discussion. They may serve to show (1) that science has no real proof
against the dictum, “Evolution is God’s way of doing things;” (2) that
on the contrary it may support the spiritual view of the world; (3)
that there are grounds of faith with which science properly has no
business.
* * * * *
Evolution is according to nature’s laws. Man is a product of evolution.
Man possesses poetry and sentiment, conceives the beauty of holiness,
and has speculative reason. None of these can properly be explained by
merely materialistic evolution; they are not necessary to preservation
of life. We have tried to wholly account for the ideals, emotions, and
aspirations of human nature by analyzing them into primitive sensations
and instincts. This is the fatal error of materialistic philosophy. The
process of evolution is not analysis; it is synthesis, development,
the appearance of new factors—a gradual revelation. It is our business
to analyze, but, also, to try to understand the higher complex, the
perfected product. The first stand of spiritual philosophy is faith
in the validity of our own evolved being, and to this we have as much
right as to faith in the reliability of our five senses.
The geologist might say: To me the grandeur of the mountain means
nothing; I know how it was made. The cooling and contraction of the
earth, the crushing and uplifting of strata, the action of air, wind,
and water, the sculpturing of time, the planting of vegetation by a
chance breeze—and you have your mountain, a thing of science. Yet
Coleridge, standing in the vale of Chamounix and gazing on Mont Blanc,
“Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty Vision passing—there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven,”
found it an emblem of sublimity, a voice from the throne of God.
We shall find it hard to believe that the poetry of science can be
explained on a merely physical basis. One may say: The religious
sentiment means nothing to me; I know its origin; it is the result of
bad dreams. A primitive ancestor, after a successful hunt, ate too
much raw meat and dreamed of his grandfather. Thus arose the belief
in disembodied spirits and a whole train of false conceptions. Yet we
shall hardly grant that the religious feeling of the martyrs, which
enabled the exalted spirit to lose the sense of unutterable physical
torture, is adequately explained by the dream hypothesis.
A Beethoven string orchestra, to the musical mind, discourses most
excellent music. It is a connected series of sublimated and elusive
metaphors, arousing the harmonies of the soul, touching its chords
of sweetness, purity, beauty, and nobility. Yet there are minds that
find in it nothing—pardon the quotation—but the friction of horsehair
on catgut. There are minds to which these grand mountains, this deep
sky, these groves of pine are nothing but rock and vapor and wood. The
elements make no sweet tones for them; they can not hear the music
of the spheres. To them honor, courage, morality, beauty, religion,
are but refined forms of crude animal instincts, by aid of which the
race has survived in its struggle for existence. There are no soul
harmonies—nothing but the beating of the primitive tom-tom. They
believe nothing which can not be verified by the methods of physical
science. They have no faith.
How many a man of science, on some slight hint pointing in a given
direction, with faith and courage has pursued his investigations,
adopting hypothesis after hypothesis, rejecting, adjusting, the
world meanwhile laughing at his folly and credulity, until he has
discovered and proclaimed a great truth. When in the world of mind
we find phenomena calling for explanation, needs that can be met in
only a certain way, higher impulses reaching out toward objects whose
existence they prove and whose nature they define, shall we show less
faith and courage because of some dogmatic view that there is no
reality beyond the world of material existence? In this universe of
mystery, anything may be supposed possible for which there is evidence,
and any theory is rational that will best explain the facts. If we have
not the sense to understand the deepest conceptions of philosophy, let
us at least have the sense to stick to that common sense with which
God has endowed us in order that we may know by faith the supreme
truths concerning man.
Somewhere and somehow in the nature of things is an ideal that made
us as we are—an ideal that is adequate to our nature, need, and
conception. God at the beginning and God at the end of the natural
world, and the world of consciousness seems a postulate that is
necessary and warranted. Professor James writes of an old lady who
believed that the world rests on a great rock, and that the first rock
rests on a rock; being urged further, she exclaimed that it was rocky
all up and down. Unless we postulate a spiritual foundation of things
that is self-active and rational, we are no better off than the old
lady. This appears to be a rational world, for it is a world that makes
science possible; we believe it has a rational Creator.
We commonly account for our ideals as constructed in a simple,
mechanical way; but the explanation will fail to satisfy the mind
of artist or saint in his exalted moments when he has visions of
perfection. He must conceive of a Being who possesses the attributes of
perfect beauty and goodness. Belief in God consecrates man’s endeavor
to attain the highest standards. Without God the world has not a
home-seeming for man. As in the dream in Vergil, always he seems to
be left alone, always to be going on a long journey in a desert land,
unattended.
Philosophy has spent much time and energy to discover the origin of
evil; a saner quest would be the origin of good in the world. We
know that in accounting for evil there is always an unexplained
remainder—the righteous suffering, and the weak crushed under burdens
too heavy. It may be that Spencer’s age of perfection, seen away down
the vista of evolution, will, when realized, not be inviting. Some
one suggests that then men will be perfect, but perfectly idiotic. It
is the great moral paradox that perfection must be obtained through
struggle with imperfection. Laurels worn but not won are but a fool’s
cap. Freedom is possible only in a world of good and evil, a world of
choice, and with freedom the humblest creature is infinitely above the
most perfect mechanism made and controlled by a blind necessity. Cease
to prate of a life of perennial ease under June skies; the divinity
within us rises in majesty and will not have it so. After all, those
who are overcome in the struggle may have their reward; at Thermopylæ
the Persians won the laurels, the Spartans the glory.
Does evolution transform the nature of duty into a mere calculation
of the sum of happiness? On the contrary, it adds to duty a practical
way of discovering duties. Evolution affirms the truth that knowledge
of right and wrong is a growth, and that new conditions bring new
problems. The laws of nature and the organization of society promptly
teach us applied ethics. True, we no longer search for eternally fixed
codes; but whatever conduces to happiness and genuine welfare, whatever
conduces to the beauty, dignity, and goodness of self and others is,
as ever, a stern duty. It is not in the nature of man to bridge over
the chasm between right, known as right, and wrong, known as wrong. The
moral imperative, Turn toward the light, seek to see your duty and
perform it, is “a presence which is not to be put by, which neither
listlessness nor mad endeavor can utterly abolish or destroy.”
“Faith means belief in something concerning which doubt is still
theoretically possible,” says a modern scientific writer. He continues:
“Faith is the readiness to act in a cause the prosperous issue of which
is not certified to us in advance. It is in fact the same moral quality
which we call courage in practical affairs.” We admire confidence
and courage in the world of affairs, even when disaster may possibly
follow. Have we not in our hearts the “substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen,” which constitute the faith of St.
Paul? And shall we not use the courage of faith to seek a supreme good,
when, though we do not find it, there is a reward even in the seeking?
If I were to define faith I would call it the X-ray of the soul.
There can be no absolute break between old thought and new. The history
of thought is a history of evolution. Modern science has not destroyed
the old grounds of faith; it enables us to correct the beliefs built
thereon. The next step of science will be a recognition and examination
of subjective problems as such. When discarding old things, separate
the treasure from the rubbish. If you have ceased to pray selfishly for
rain, you need not deny the efficacy of prayer for change of heart,
forgiveness of sins, and communion of spirit. If you cannot accept
certain views of the Trinity, you need not reject the sublime Christian
philosophy, or refuse to pay homage to the perfection of Christ. If
you have discarded some doctrine of inspiration of the Bible, you need
not deny or neglect the value of the divine ethical teachings of the
Hebrews, or their grand sacred poetry—
“Those Hebrew songs that triumph, trust or grieve,—
Verses that smite the soul as with a sword,
And open all the abysses with a word.”
There is a faith which is a personal and conscious relation of man
to God. It is said that in its true nature faith can be justified by
nothing but itself. Here we enter the temple of the human heart and
approach the holy of holies. This we do with reverent mien, even with
fear and trembling. We quote from Prof. T. H. Green: “That God is,
Reason entitles us to say with the same certainty as that the world
is or that we ourselves are. What He is, it does not, indeed, enable
us to say in the same way in which we make propositions about matters
of fact, but it moves us to seek to become as He is, to become like
Him, to become consciously one with Him, to have the fruition of
his Godhead. In this sense it is that Reason issues in the life of
Faith.... It is our very familiarity with God’s expression of Himself
in the institutions of society, in the moral law, in the language and
inner life of Christians, in our own consciences, that helps to blind
us to its divinity.”
There is a poem, from an author not widely known, entitled “The Hound
of Heaven.” It will affect you according to the education, experience,
and beliefs of each; but appeal to you it will, for in all is an
insistent something that makes for righteousness.
“I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’”
The poem recounts a life made tragic by many a human error, but ever
forced to listen to the following “Feet.” It closes thus:
“Halts by me that footfall:
Is my gloom, after all.
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’”
To me it requires greater faith to call the Christian experience an
illusion than to accept its reality and validity.
* * * * *
The true poet is the living embodiment of instinctive faith. His
mind and heart are keenly alive to God’s revelation of Himself in
man and nature. He is a seer. His themes are the truths that come to
him in visions from the realms of truth. He sees the principle of
beauty in things; and familiar scenes, commonplace experiences are
clothed in a spiritual glory. He accepts the world of facts and of
science, but gives them their real meaning. Poetic insight, a thing
so much contemned, because so little understood, is one of the best
illustrations and evidences of the nature of faith. Wordsworth calls
poetry “the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge.”
A few months ago I chanced to be looking from a railroad train near
Lake Erie in the very early dawn. I beheld, as I supposed, a beautiful
expanse of water, with islands and inlets, and, beyond, a range of blue
hills. I was lost in admiration of the view. As the light increased,
a suspicion, at last growing into certainty, arose that I was the
subject of an illusion, and that my beautiful landscape was but a
changing scene of cloud and open sky on the horizon. But the blue
hills still seemed real; soon they, too, were resolved into clouds,
and only a common wooded country remained to the vision. The analogy
to the dawn of civilization and the flight of superstition, and,
finally, of faith, forced itself upon me, and I was troubled, seeing
no escape from the application. Just then the sun arose, bringing the
glory of light to the eye, and with it came a thrilling mental flash.
There was the solution, the all-revealing light, the greater truth,
without which neither the appearance of the solid earth nor of its
seeming aërial counterpart would have been possible. Both evidenced the
greater existence. Are not our fancies and our facts, our errors in the
search of truth and our truths, our doubts and our faith, our life and
activity and being, proofs of a Universal Existence—the revealer of
truth, the source of truth, and the Truth?
* * * * *
This address has more than a formal purpose. Our beliefs in great
measure determine our practical life. Freedom, God, and Immortality are
conceptions that have ruled in the affairs of men and made the best
products of civilization; they must still rule in the individual, if
he would grow to his full stature. We are in a century of doubt, but I
firmly believe that in the ashes of the old faith the vital spark still
glows, and that from them, phœnix-like, will rise again the spiritual
life in new strength and beauty.
Show your faith by your works; faith without works is dead. A mere
philosophic belief in abstract ideals, not lived in some measure, may
be worse than useless. A mere intellectual faith that does not touch
the heart and brighten life and make work a blessing lacks the vital
element. Follow your ideals closely with effort. Give life breadth as
well as length; the totality will be the sum of your thought, feeling,
and action. When the active conflict is over and the heroes recount
their battles, may you be able to say: “I, too, was there.”
There is still a practical side. Many young men have powers of growth
and possibilities of success beyond their present belief; faith creates
results. Every one has rare insights and rare impulses, showing his
powers and urging him to action; it is fatal to ignore them. Faith
is needed in business; confidence begets confidence. It is needed
in social life; friendship demands to be met on equal terms. It is
a ground of happiness; suspicion creates gloom and pessimism. It is
needed for practical coöperation; suspicion is isolated. It is needed
by the educator; faith and love make zeal in the calling. It is due
even the criminal; in most men there is more of good than bad. Charity
for the sins and misfortunes of humanity, hope for the best, faith in
our endeavor must attend successful effort to aid men.
After all it is the essential spirit that one cultivates within him
that will determine his manifold deeds. We can invoke no greater
blessing than a character that in all ways will assert the highest
dignity that belongs to a human soul. Be brave in your faith. When
materialism, indifference, doubt, ease, and unseemly pleasure claim
you for theirs (the Devil’s own), let your answer be what is expressed
in Carlyle’s “Everlasting Yea”: “And then was it that my whole _Me_
stood up, in native God-created majesty, and with emphasis recorded its
Protest: _I_ am not thine, but Free!”
When I see some grand old man, full of faith, courage, optimism, and
cheerfulness, whose life has conformed to the moral law, who has
wielded the right arm of his freedom boldly for every good cause, come
to the end of life with love for man and trust in God, seeing the way
brighten before him, turning his sunset into morning, I must believe
that he represents the survival of the fittest, that his ideals are not
the mere fictions of a blind nature, serving for the preservation of
his physical being, but that the order of his life has been in accord
with realities.