OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM.
Thus are the heavens of all religions explanations to materialise, as it
were, the vague instincts of men's hearts. The Mahommedan's absolutely
material garden of the houris, the Christian semi-material heaven, the
Buddhist absolutely immaterial Nirvana, are all outcomes of the people's
capability of separating soul from body. These heavens are just as the
dogmas of Godhead, or Law, or Atonement, but the theory to explain the
fact, which is in this case the desire for immortality. And in exactly
the same way as the theories of other matters are unsatisfying, so are
these theories of heaven. The desire for immortality is there, one of
the strongest of all the emotions; but the ideal which the theologian
offers to the believer to fulfil his desire has no attraction. The more
it is defined the less anyone wants it. Heaven we would all go to, but
not _that_ heaven. The instinct is true, but the theory which would
materialise the aim of that desire is false. No heaven that has been
pictured to any believer is desirable.
It is strange to see in this but another instance of the invincible
pessimism of the human reason. No matter to what it turns itself it is
always the same.
I have read all the Utopias, from Plato's New Republic to Bellamy's,
from the Anarchist's Paradise to that of the Socialists, and I confess
that I have always risen from them with one strong emotion. And that
was, the relief and delight that never in my time--never, I am sure, in
any time--can any one of them be realised. This world as it exists, as
it has existed, may have its drawbacks. There is crime, and misfortune,
and unhappiness, more than need be. There are tears far more than
enough. But there is sunshine too; and if there be hate there is love,
if there is sorrow there is joy. Here there is life. But in these drab
Utopias of the reason, what is there? That which is the worst of all to
bear--monotony tending towards death.
No one, I think, can study philosophy, that grey web of the reason,
without being oppressed by its utter pessimism. No matter what the
philosophy be, whether it be professedly a pessimism as Schopenhauer's
or not, there is no difference. It is all dull, weary barrenness, with
none of the light of hope there. Hope and beauty and happiness are
strangers to that twilight country. They could not live there. Like all
that is beautiful and worth having, they require light and shadow,
sunshine and the dark.
And the lives of philosophers, what do they gain from the reason alone?
Is there anyone who, after reading the life of any philosopher, would
not say, "God help me from such." What did his unaided reason give him?
Pessimism, and pessimism, and again pessimism. No matter who your
philosopher is--Horace or Omar Khayyam, or Carlyle or Nietsche:--where
is the difference? See how Huxley even could not stifle his desire for
immortality that no reason could justify. What has reason to offer me?
Only this, resignation to the worst in the world, and of it knows
nothing.
To which it would be replied:
And religion, what has that to offer either here or in the next world?
For in this world they declare--at least Christianity and Buddhism both
declare--that nothing is worth having. It is all vanity and vexation,
fraud and error and wickedness, to be quickly done with. The philosopher
has Utopias of sorts here, but these two religions have no Utopia, no
happiness at all here to offer. All this life is denounced as a
continued misery.
And you say that neither heaven nor Nirvana appeal to men, that men
shrink from them. If philosophy be pessimism, what then is religion? Do
you consider the Christian theory of the fall of man, the sacrifice of
God to God, the declaration that the vast majority of men are doomed to
everlasting fire, a cheerful theory?
Do you consider the Buddhist theory that life is itself an evil to be
done with, that no consciousness survives death, but only the effects of
a man's actions, an optimism?
Philosophies may not be very cheerful, but what are religions? Whatever
charge you may bring against philosophy, it can be ten times repeated of
any religion. Compared with any religious theory, even Schopenhauer's
philosophy is a glaring optimism.
To which I would answer, No!
I do not agree, because what you call religion I call only a reasoning
about religion. The dogmas and creeds are not religion. They are
summaries of the reasons that men give to explain those facts of life
which are religion, just as philosophies are summaries of the theories
men make to explain other facts of life. Both creeds and philosophies
come from the reason. They are speculations, not facts. They are
pessimistic twins of the brain. Religion is a different matter. It is a
series of facts. What facts these are I have tried to shew chapter by
chapter, and they are summarised in Chapter XXX., at the end. I will not
anticipate it. What I am concerned with is whether religion is
pessimistic or not. Never mind the dogmas and creeds; come to facts.
When you read books written by men who are really religious, what is
their tone? You may never agree with what is urged in them, but can you
assert that they are pessimistic? It seems to me, on the contrary, that
they are the reverse.
And when you know people who are religious--not fanatics, but those men
and women of sober minds who take their faith honestly and sincerely as
a part of life, but not the whole--are they pessimistic? I am not
speaking of any religion in particular, but of all religions. Can you
see religious people, and live with them and hear them talk, and watch
their lives, and not recognise that religion is to them a strength, a
comfort, and resource against the evils of life? Never mind what the
creeds say; watch what the believers _do_. Is life to them a sorry march
to be made with downcast eyes of thought, to be trod with weary steps,
to be regarded with contempt? The men who act thus are philosophers, not
religious people.
To those who are really religious, life is beautiful. It is a triumphal
march made to music that fills their ears, that brightens their eyes,
that lightens their steps, now quicker, now slower, now sad, now joyous,
always beautiful. Who are the happy men and women in this world? Let no
one ever doubt--no one who has observed the world will ever doubt; they
are the people who have religion. No matter what the religion is, no
matter what the theory or dogma or creed, no matter the colour or
climate, there is no difference. If you doubt, go and see. Never sit in
your closet and study creeds and declare "No man can be happy who
believes such," but go and see whether they are happy. Go to all the
peoples of the world, and having put aside your prejudices, having tuned
your heart-strings to theirs, listen and you will know. Watch and you
will see. What is the keynote of the life of him who truly believes? Is
it disgust, weariness, pessimism? Is it not courage and a strange
triumph that marks his way in life? And who are those who go through
life sadly, who find it terrible in its monotony, who have lost all
savour for beauty, whom the sunlight cannot gladden, who neither love
nor hate, neither fear nor rejoice, neither laugh nor cry? I will tell
you who they are. There are two kinds, who think they are different, but
are the same.
First, there are those who call themselves philosophers, men who have
abandoned all religion and accepted "barren reason." For reason cannot
make you love or hate, or laugh or weep. There is no beauty there, no
light and shadow, no colour, only the greyness of unliving outline.
And there are those who mistake what religion is. They think it consists
of creeds. They do not know it consists of emotions. And so they take
their creeds to their hearts, and see what they make of them! Or they,
abandoning their creeds, search all through the world to find new
creeds. They speculate on Nirvana, on Brahm, on the doctrine of
Averroes. They are for ever digging out some abstruse problem from the
sacred books of the world to make themselves miserable over.
They, too, are the victims of a barren reason.
But religion is not reason; it is fact. It is beyond and before all
reason. Religion is not what you say, but what you feel; not what you
think, but what you know. Religions are the great optimisms. Each is to
its believers "the light of the world."
I cannot think how this has not been evident long ago to everyone. Have
men no eyes, no ears, no understanding? Yes, perhaps they have all these
things. But what they have not got is sympathy, and without this of what
use are the rest? For what men see and hear in any matter are the
things they are in sympathy with. If your heart is out of tune, there is
never any echo of the melody that is about you.
To this chapter on optimism and pessimism I would add a small
postscript. I would fain have made it a chapter or many chapters, but I
have not the room. It is the strong connection between religion and
optimism as evinced in a high birth rate, between irreligion and
pessimism as shown in a falling off in the population. For that is the
great complaint in France to-day. It is noticeable especially amongst
the cultured classes, who are absolutely irreligious, and who are
absolutely pessimistic: the birth rate is falling so rapidly that France
ceases to increase. Only in Normandy, where religion yet retains power,
does the birth rate keep up. This is not a solitary instance. All
history repeats it. Do you remember Matthew Arnold's lines:
"On that hard Pagan world disgust and secret loathing fell,
Deep weariness, and sated lust made human life a hell.
In his cool hall with haggard eyes the Roman noble lay;
He drove abroad in furious guise along the Appian way.
* * * * * * *
No easier nor no quicker passed the impracticable hours."
The Roman Empire fell because there were no more Romans left. They had
died out and left no children to succeed them. Where is the highest
birth rate to-day in Europe? It is in "priest-ridden" Russia, where the
people are without doubt more deeply imbued with their faith than any
other people of the West now. In Burma, where religion has such a hold
on the people as the world has never known, the birth rate is very high
indeed. The Turks in the heyday of their religious enthusiasm increased
very rapidly, but now and for long they seem to be stationary, and in
the Boers we see again a high birth rate and very strong religious
convictions. Our birth rate, on the contrary, is falling with the
growing irreligion in certain classes. Not that I wish for a moment to
infer that religious feeling causes more children to be born. I have no
belief whatever in the usual theories that the fall in birth rates is
due to preventive measures, which religion disallows, or to debauchery,
which religion controls. The supporters of such a theory admit that they
cannot prove it. And there is very much against such an idea. When
religion in the early ages of Christianity discouraged marriage and did
all in its power to encourage celibacy, it never succeeded in the end.
Men and women might go into convents for certain reasons--not, I think,
mainly religious--the birth of children from those outside did not
alter. And during the priestly rule in Paraguay population disappeared
so rapidly the monks were alarmed, and took stringent and strange
methods to stop the decay, but in vain--the people had lost heart.
Why are the Maories and many other people disappearing? From disease?
That is not a reason. It is a fact that with a virile people a plague or
famine is followed by an increase in the birth rate. This is proved in
India. The Maories, too, have lost heart. They may have acquired
Christianity, but that is no help. No; the adoption of a religion does
not affect the question.
But still they go together, and the answer seems to be here: A nation
that is virile, that is full of vitality, finds an outlet for that
vitality in children, an expression of it in religion. A virile people
is optimistic always. Pessimism, whether in nations or individuals,
comes from a deficiency of nerve strength. But why peoples lose their
vitality no one yet knows. There is a tribe on the Shan frontier of
Burma that twenty years ago was a people of active hunters, always gun
or bow in hand, scouring the forests for game, fearing nothing. And now
they have lost their energy. Their nerve is gone. They are listless and
depressed. For a gun they substitute a hoe and do a little feeble
gardening. Their children are few, and shortly the tribe will be dead.
No one knows why.
Religion, deep and true, and strong faith is possible only to strong
natures; it is the outcome of strong feeling. It is a companion always
to that virility that is optimism, that does not fear the future; it
knows not what may come, but faces the future with confidence. It takes
each day as it comes. Such are the nations that replenish the earth. The
world is the heritage of the godly. The Old Testament is full of that
truth, and it is no less true now than then. But one does not proceed
from the other. They both come from that fount whence springs the life
of the world.