There is naturally and rightly a great deal of anxiety in the minds of
most thoughtful people as to the state of religion after the war. The
old order seems to have come down in chaos about our ears, and we are
wondering what shape the new building will take. Even our clergy, or
some of them, are honestly confessing that beliefs can never be just
the same again; to name only two things, they feel that the literal
acceptance of the non-resistance doctrine is no longer unqualifiedly
possible, as many were formerly inclined to maintain; for the aggression
of Germany has made clear the necessity of resisting evil; second,
that the old Protestant doctrine of immediate heaven or hell cannot
satisfactorily be applied to many of the millions of young fellows
who have gone over; some idea of more gradual progress through an
intermediate state seems more reasonable. But will this be sufficient?
Shall we jog on again, after this world-shaking cataclysm, with
such a very microscopical trimming--such an almost imperceptible
sail-reefing--as this? Will not rather the whole theological scheme have
to be remodelled? Can nations which have suffered as the belligerents
have suffered--even those at home, still more the brave lads who have
gone through experiences such as they never dreamed of in their worst
nightmares--can these people, even if they wish, accept the old scheme,
or anything like it?
I am not going to try to answer such a large question directly.
Mr Wells has attempted something of the sort in his book, _God the
Invisible King_, and he prophesies a religious revolution. It may come
as he thinks, but it is perhaps more probable that, in spite of the
most earth-shaking events, a certain continuity of thought will be
maintained. New religions are not manufactured complete while you wait,
like Pallas emerging full-armed from the head of Zeus; or, if they are,
by such brilliant Olympians as Mr Wells, they do not get themselves
accepted. But there probably will be enough of a change to be called a
very considerable thought-revolution, even allowing for some inevitable
continuity; and inasmuch as each expression of opinion counts as a datum
and as a directive agency, I venture to make my prophecy. And I avoid
the negative side, also any argument as to whether or why this or that
particular doctrine will become obsolete; I think it better to let
obsolescent beliefs drop quietly into their limbo, and to concern
ourselves with the living ones that will replace them.
First and most important, the idea of God. We have heard, over and over
again, the pathetic cry: "Why does God permit such things? Surely He
must be either not All-good or not Almighty?" And one hears of men, even
among the clergy, whose minds have been clouded by this difficulty.
Mr Wells solves the problem in the fashion of J. S. Mill and the late
William James, by postulating a finite god, a good being who is doing
his best but who is struggling with a refractory material. To many
people this seems a helpful notion, for it saves God's goodness and
gives a pleasurable sense of being co-workers with Him in His effort to
improve things. But to many of us it is unsatisfactory. Indeed, if one
could say such a thing of the author of _Bealby_ and of the most genial
of modern philosophers, we might say that the finite-god idea seems
impossible to anyone with a sense of humour. Is it not really rather
ridiculous of us to decide so solemnly that God is no doubt a good
fellow but that He is having a tough time of it in fighting Satan, and
that there does not seem to be any certainty of His winning? Perhaps
the idea appeals to adventurous spirits like Wells and James because it
has an air of being a sporting event, and promises excitement; but, I
repeat, is it not a rather ridiculous proposition for us small creatures
to make? "Finite" and "Infinite" are words; I am not sure that they have
any very clear meaning. As to "infinite" in particular, the idea is only
a negative one; we think of something finite, and then say "it is not
that". But even of "finite", can we say that it has any useful clear
meaning? The pen with which I write this may be said to be finite, for
I can give its dimensions, and in many ways can define the limits of
its powers. But inasmuch as every particle in it attracts every other
particle of matter in the universe, the little pen's finiteness or
infinity depends on whether the universe itself is finite or infinite;
and that is a bigger question than our small wits can settle. And if it
is so with a pen, will it not be more so with greater things?
We measure things against the foot-rule of our own selves. We can
imagine something much greater than those selves, both physical and
spiritual. But when it comes to conceiving the whole physical universe
of which we form an insignificant part, I do not feel that we can know
whether it is finite or not. It is too big for our foot-rule. Even when
dealing with the distances of the stars, we realise that the billions of
miles which we can talk about so glibly do not convey much to our minds.
We can think of a distance of a few miles fairly clearly, recalling how
long it takes us to walk so far; but greater distances soon become mere
figures, not representing anything that we can picture. And when we
reach the conception of the whole physical universe, we get quite out of
our depth. We do not know whether it is finite or infinite; we know only
that it is inconceivably greater than we are.
So with the spirit which energises through it. Beginning with what we
know best, we find ourselves acquainted with a world of mental phenomena
bound together in and by what we call our self. Whatever we think of
Hume's argument that a mass of experiences do not involve a soul that
has them, it is reasonable and useful to have a name for the active
thing which perceives and thinks and acts and feels, whether we call it
soul or spirit or mind or self or _x_. It is something which maintains
a sort of identity, in spite of growth and change; and it is marked off
from other selves. John Smith has John Smith's experiences, not William
Jones's. This individual spirit energises through each of our bodies. Of
our own spirit we have a very close knowledge, of other spirits we have
a rather more remote knowledge from inference; we infer their states of
mind from the states of body which we observe, or from the material
effects which they cause in speaking or writing. Passing from the
inferred human spirits (inferred because certain lumps of matter act in
a way similar to that of the lumps which we call our own bodies), we
come to other and larger and very different pieces of matter such as
planets. It may seem at the first glance an absurd idea, but I for one
cannot think of matter as dead, or of a whole planet without any soul
except what is in the human bodies which make up an infinitesimal
portion of its mass. It seems to me that there must be some sort of
mind energising through the planet-mass as my own mind energises
through my body-mass. And, carrying the idea further, we arrive at a
conception of the whole universe as ensouled by a Being who in the
material immanent manifestation is the Logos of the Christian doctrine,
but who also transcends the material part as indeed the Christian
doctrine teaches. This spirit, transcending the physical universe as
well as energising through it, is greater in comparison with our spirits
than the physical universe is in comparison with our bodies. Therefore,
once more, and to a greater degree, we are out of our depth. To throw
words like finite and infinite at such a Being is to make ourselves
ridiculous. It is like a microbe sticking its own adjective-labels--if
it has any--on a man, whom the microbe's vocabulary as a matter of fact
will not apply to. God is too great for our measure. He is high as
heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than Sheol; what canst thou know? The
measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea--yea,
than the whole universe itself.
This conclusion of Zophar the Naamathite, acquiesced in by Job at the
end of the argument, seems to some minds an evaporation of God into an
Absolute without any human attributes. We feel the necessity or at least
the desirability of regarding Him as good, loving, etc., and we shrink
from any de-personalisation. But there is a way out of the difficulty.
God is incomprehensible, as the Creed says; parts cannot comprehend
wholes. But there is something deep in us, call it what you will, which
tells us that our ideals of Good, Truth, and Beauty are divine; are God
in so far as we are able to cognise Him. Good, true, beautiful actions
and thoughts are God manifested through our personal limitations; they
are rainbow colours broken out of the pure white light of God. We do
right to worship them. They are the highest we can comprehend, though we
may reach lame hands of faith to the apprehension of the Unconditioned.
But this is a very great mystery, revealed only to the mystic. And it is
a dangerous path, for by reaching "beyond good and evil" we lose touch
with humanity and with the virtues we can exercise, risking the insanity
to which Nietzsche so logically succumbed. We may dimly apprehend the
Incomprehensible, but we must live and work among comprehensibilities.
That is what we are here for. God is conceived by us--and rightly so
conceived--as Good, Truth, Beauty, though we can see that as He really
is He must transcend them. Mr Wells's distinction between the Finite God
and the Veiled Being is not an ultimate. The two are one, seen as two
because of our limitations. They are the rainbow and its source. The sun
cannot be looked upon directly, but only when dimmed or reflected.
Then as to immortality. The deaths of so many of our best, and the
sorrow thus brought into almost every home, force this question into
prominence. If blank pessimism is to be avoided, many people feel that
they must have some assurance of the continued existence of those who
have made the supreme sacrifice--a sacrifice at the call of duty,
greater probably than any sacrifice ever made by us of the older
generation who have lived in the smooth times of peace. We feel that if
these magnificent young lives have come to nought, have been _wasted_,
there is no rational religious belief possible to us. Accordingly we
inquire about immortality. And, curiously enough, Science, which in the
last generation tended to deny or discredit individual survival of
bodily death, now gives a quite opposite verdict. Psychical research
brings forward scientific evidence for that welcome belief. It seems
too good to be true; but it is true. Public opinion has not yet fully
accepted it--nor is it well that opinion should change too rapidly--for
it was well drenched in materialism during the heyday of physical
science and its astonishing applications in the latter part of
the nineteenth century, but the leaders of thought in almost all
branches--scientific, legal, literary, and what not--are now admitting
that the evidence is at least surprising, and those who have studied it
most are one by one announcing that it is convincing. There are many
questions yet to solve, such as the nature and occupations of the future
life, concerning which there are different views, and the problems may
turn out to be insoluble; but the main problem seems on the way to
be settled. The survival of human personality is a fact. And the
indications, so far as we have got, suggest that the next stage is a
life of opportunity, work, progress, even more than the present one.
There is much to be thankful for in even this only incipient revelation.
It is salvation great and joyous, to those reared amid unacceptable
theories of a blank materialism or the much more dreadful hell-doctrines
of the theologians.
The religion of the coming time, then, seems likely to be mainly based
on these two articles, belief in God in the way indicated, and belief in
survival and progress on the other side. Both beliefs are empirical, and
are thus in harmony with the temper of our time. They begin with the
things which are most real to us, first the fact of conscious experience,
then the external world, and reason upward therefrom, instead of
beginning with metaphysical entities and attributes, and reasoning
down--and failing to establish contact with the material world. Religious
experience there still may be, and this may give rise to quite new and
unexpected forms of belief or worship; but on the whole the tendency of
thought for the last three hundred years has been increasingly empirical,
and the success of the method is likely to ensure its continuance. It may
be true that the ideal world is the more real--probably it is--that out
of thought's interior sphere these phenomenal wonders of the world rose
to upper air, as Emerson says; but for us in the present circumstances
the way back to universe-spiritualisation is _via_ experience (and
mainly sense-presentations) carefully observed and studied. If these
scientific methods, which are open to everybody, can lead to belief
in God and a spiritual world to which we pass at death, it seems
unnecessary to return to the bad old days when sporadic experiences of
this or that ecstatic, or logic-chopping by this or that theologian,
led to beliefs and cults of widely differing character according to the
idiosyncracy of the writer. A method which is open to all and the rules
of which are agreed on will be likely to yield something like unanimity.
The churches may yet form one fold, if they will; in which, with
variations to satisfy different aesthetic or symbolistic needs, all souls
may find the answer to their queries, healing for their sorrow, and
scope for their reverence and love; in a word, salvation.