TRUE belief is rare and difficult. There is no security that the
fictitious beliefs which have been obtained by no genuine mental process,
that is to say, are not vitally held, may not be discarded for those
which are exactly contrary. We flatter ourselves that we have secured a
method and freedom of thought which will not permit us to be the victims
of the absurdities of the Middle Ages, but, in fact, there is no solid
obstacle to our conversion to some new grotesque religion more miraculous
than Roman Catholicism. Modern scepticism, distinguishing it from
scholarly scepticism, is nothing but stupidity or weakness. Few people
like to confess outright that they do not believe in a God, although the
belief in a personal devil is considered to be a sign of imbecility.
Nevertheless, men, as a rule, have no ground for believing in God a whit
more respectable than for disbelief in a devil. The devil is not seen
nor is God seen. The work of the devil is as obvious as that of God.
Nay, as the devil is a limited personality, belief in him is not
encumbered with the perplexities which arise when we attempt to apprehend
the infinite Being. Belief may often be tested; that is to say, we may
be able to discover whether it is an active belief or not by inquiring
what disbelief it involves. So also the test of disbelief is its
correspondent belief.
Superstition is a name generally given to a few only of those beliefs for
which it is imagined that there is no sufficient support, such as the
belief in ghosts, witches, and, if we are Protestants, in miracles
performed after a certain date. Why these particular beliefs have been
selected as solely deserving to be called superstitious it is not easy to
discover. If the name is to be extended to all beliefs which we have not
attempted to verify, it must include the largest part of those we
possess. We vote at elections as we are told to vote by the newspaper
which we happen to read, and our opinions upon a particular policy are
based upon no surer foundation than those of the Papist on the
authenticity of the lives of the Saints.
Superstition is a matter of _relative_ evidence. A thousand years ago it
was not so easy as it is now to obtain rigid demonstration in any
department except mathematics. Much that was necessarily the basis of
action was as incapable of proof as the story of St. George and the
Dragon, and consequently it is hardly fair to say that the dark ages were
more superstitious than our own. Nor does every belief, even in
supernatural objects, deserve the name of superstition. Suppose that the
light which struck down St. Paul on his journey to Damascus was due to
his own imagination, the belief that it came from Jesus enthroned in the
heavens was a sign of strength and not of weakness. Beliefs of this
kind, in so far as they exalt man, prove greatness and generosity, and
may be truer than the scepticism which is formally justified in rejecting
them. If Christ never rose from the dead, the women who waited at the
sepulchre were nearer to reality than the Sadducees, who denied the
resurrection.
There is a half-belief, which we find in Virgil that is not superstition,
nor inconstancy, nor cowardice. A child-like faith in the old creed is
no longer possible, but it is equally impossible to surrender it. I
refer now not to those who select from it what they think to be in
accordance with their reason, and throw overboard the remainder with no
remorse, but rather to those who cannot endure to touch with sacrilegious
hands the ancient histories and doctrines which have been the
depositaries of so much that is eternal, and who dread lest with the
destruction of a story something precious should also be destroyed. The
so-called superstitious ages were not merely transitionary. Our regret
that they have departed is to be explained not by a mere idealisation of
the past, but by a conviction that truths have been lost, or at least
have been submerged. Perhaps some day they may be recovered, and in some
other form may again become our religion.