father happened to be an old-fashioned gentleman of a certain type, or
an artist, a poet, a musician, he might be moved by the same feeling--a
matter, not of honesty, but of honor.
Jones, however, being a typical business man of the present day, is not
conscious of any such feeling. If by chance, an idea of this kind did
creep into his head, he would dismiss it as quixotic, not practical. He
believes that "business is business." If you ask him whether Shylock was
right and justified in demanding his pound of flesh, he might hesitate a
moment, but after thinking it over, he would probably reply:
"If Shylock had a proper contract calling for such a penalty and had
lent his money on those conditions, he was entirely within his rights.
If the other parties weren't prepared to live up to the terms of the
agreement, they had no business to sign their names to it. That was
their lookout. Their only recourse is to show something irregular or
illegal in the way it was drawn up and quash it on that count, or else
settle up in accordance with its stipulations. Shylock had performed his
part of the agreement and he demanded that the other party should do the
same."
If you questioned Jones further about himself, you might learn that he
had always believed and practiced the principle that "Honesty is the
best policy," and nothing could swerve him from it. This has nothing to
do with that inner feeling called a sentiment of honor. It is of a
different essence entirely. When sifted down, it is found to consist of
reason, experience and a matter-of-fact calculation of self-interest. If
you don't cheat, or break the laws, and establish a reputation for
honest dealing, you will gain more by it in the long run than you lose.
Nothing very inspired or inspiring about that, or very different in kind
from the principle of the crook who says: "If I take care to avoid
detection, but pay no attention to right and wrong, I will gain more in
the long run than I lose."
The detail of the calculation is different, but the motive and object
are the same--self-interest and self-advantage. The soul, the
conscience, the sentiment of honor are not involved in either.
During the late war, tens of thousands of individuals and corporations
followed Jones's example and chuckled with glee as the undreamed-of
profits rolled in. They took advantage of the situation and became what
is known as profiteers. The brain and self-interest were acting over
time, but the spiritual nature was slumbering.
Suppose you are making a visit to a business friend and he leaves you
alone in his office for a few minutes, while he is called out by some
emergency--and suppose he has left on his desk an envelope containing
business secrets which you could profit by--and suppose you take
advantage of your opportunity, open the envelope, glance at the papers,
get the information and later on make good use of it?
An individual who is capable of doing that must be rather lacking in the
sense of honor.
If a business man happened to tell his wife something of a confidential
nature, as some husbands do, and the wife were indiscreet enough to
mention it to your wife, without realizing its full import, and your
wife repeated it to you, and you thereupon proceeded to communicate it
to the business man's competitor--you might not break any law, or do
anything dishonest, and your intellect might tell you there was profit
for yourself to be gained by it--and many another person in your place
might jump at the chance--but for all that, there ought to be a feeling
within you to prevent you doing it, because it would not be honorable.
In the world of politics, some people might feel that it is not
honorable to use a position of public trust for private ends.
Suppose you have it in your power to make an appointment which might
prove very lucrative to a certain type of individual who has no scruples
about graft. Among your political henchmen there is just such an
individual and he wants the appointment. There is another man whom you
might appoint, if you chose to, a high-minded, public-spirited man,
fitter and better for it in every way; but the political henchman was an
important factor in obtaining for you the office which you now occupy;
his good will and influence may be very helpful in your future
campaigns, whereas the other man has done nothing for you and is without
political influence. If you gave him the appointment, you would make an
enemy of your henchman and his followers. Your self-interest and your
intellect combine in showing you what a mistake that would be.
Usually a politician, by the time he has been selected by other
politicians as a candidate for office, has become amenable to reason and
may be counted on to avoid such a mistake. But occasionally a gentleman
of another sort finds himself in this position and he refuses to do the
usual thing, because it goes counter to an inner feeling--his sense of
honor.
So it is with countless other questions of conduct, which at various
times, in various communities, with various individuals, involve this
feeling. In some people it is highly developed and frequently determines
the motive of conduct, in a fine, noble, compelling way which is
directly opposed to material considerations of self-interest. In other
people, it is so feeble, and crude that its wee small voice is seldom
heeded or heard in the calculations and decisions of their practical
lives.
In addition to the sentiments of honor and conscience and right and
wrong, there are various other fine and noble feelings to which the soul
of man is susceptible, to a greater or less extent, according to the
individual nature. Self-respect, loyalty, gratitude, responsibility,
self-sacrifice may be cited, by way of suggestion.
Now, while there can be no doubt that human nature is capable of all
these feelings and that individuals have been found to possess them, in
different communities, at different times, it is equally obvious that
among vast numbers of other individuals they find little or no
expression.
There have been periods in the history of certain peoples when nearly
all the nobler sentiments seem to have shrivelled up. The Roman Empire,
when it was in its decay; the upper classes of England, after the
Restoration; France, during the period which preceded the
Revolution--are examples of such a condition. The leading citizens
appear to have thrown conscience to the winds and let themselves go,
without restraint, to a life of dissipation, corruption, and the
indulgence of the senses.
Also in our country, among certain classes, in certain communities, it
is quite apparent that the finer feelings, the moral standards, of the
average individual are at a lower ebb, than they seem to be in certain
other sections.
In view of these observations, it is fairly safe to conclude that the
spiritual feelings of man are subject to alteration, through an
influence or influences of some sort. The same sort of influence that
shows its general effect in a given class or community may be presumed
to be at work on the nature or character of the individuals who compose
that community.
If the sentiment of honor, for instance, is a vital compelling force in
one individual, and is so weak or deficient in another as to be a
negligible quantity, what is the explanation of this difference? What
influence has developed the sentiment in one, and retarded or
eliminated it in the other? On what does it depend? What causes it to
come to life in the human soul? What good is it, when it does come?
The same questions apply to conscience, loyalty, responsibility, right
and wrong. Whence do they come--and what are they good for?
These questions are simple to ask--but when one attempts to answer them
in a simple, convincing way, they are found to be full of hidden depths
and complexities.
Down below them, is another question which is included in them all and
which sooner or later must be faced by each and every one of us: "Why am
I here on earth? Has my life any purpose in the great, everlasting
scheme of things? What is that purpose?"
Until we have arrived at some sort of an answer to that question, we
cannot make much headway in answering the others.
If there were no purpose at all to an individual life, what difference
would it make whether he had a conscience or not?
If his purpose is to get as much satisfaction out of life as he can,
between his birth and his death, why shouldn't he go about it in any old
way that suits himself? What real difference does it make whether he
chooses to indulge in alcohol, opium, and other dissipations for a
short while, or prefers to prolong his span by sticking to wheat,
potatoes and sobriety? Purely a matter of personal taste, to be decided
by each individual for himself.
Suppose on account of his affections and sympathies for other
individuals, the idea occurs to him that he was meant to serve them,
also? What real difference would that make if their lives had no other
purpose, either? They will all be dead very soon, anyhow, whether you
join with them in a mutual serving society, or not. If there is no other
end in view for each and every one, but to live and die, what boots it?
But suppose it might be that after death their spirits could live on, in
an unknown world? Even so, any service you happened to do for them,
here, would hardly be counted in their favor, over there.
But mightn't it be counted in your favor--over there? Isn't it possible
that every kind and helpful thing you do for your fellow men in your
life on earth might be to the advantage of your spirit in the other
world?
Suppose it could be proved that this were the true purpose of life--to
win benefit and glory for your spirit in the world beyond?
"Well," you might reply, "--if that is the way things stand, it would be
putting a big premium on canny foresight. A cold-blooded, utterly
selfish individual could make his calculations accordingly and feather
his future nest at every opportunity, while the rest of us poor devils
who couldn't calculate so well would be piling up future trouble.
"Is that what is meant by soul and conscience and honor? Does the
'spiritual side of man's nature,' when stripped of its camouflage, mean
a shrewd calculation which seeks to gain a lasting reward for the
spirit, after the body is used up?"
In the face of such a question, of such a line of thought, there is
something within us which revolts. If we can find words to express the
cause and nature of this revolt, so much the better; but even if we
cannot, a vague but unshakable feeling persists within us that any views
of this sort are superficial, inadequate and uncomprehending.
Just as we found, in connection with human sympathy and affection, that
cold reason might make the mistake of trying to explain them in terms of
selfishness, so we find that when reason undertakes to penetrate into
the human soul, it is apt to emerge with a distortion which lacks the
essence of the whole thing.
In the first place, so far as reason goes, after countless generations
of man on earth, what evidence has yet been discovered to prove
conclusively that when a man dies, the spirit of him disengages itself
from the dead body and goes on to an unknown world to continue life
there?
When a dog dies, does the spirit of him do the same thing? A bird? A
spider? A germ? A flower? They all have the spirit of life within
them--a wonderful complex life--and a struggle for existence on
earth--of much the same sort as man's.
I was talking to a charming lady, the other day, who said she firmly
believes that the spirits of them all go on to a better world, along
with man's.
But whether they do, or whether they don't, what means has any intellect
been able to find in all these centuries to settle the question and
prove it scientifically, without fear of contradiction?
Even if the intellect were satisfied to take so much for granted, at a
guess, for the sake of having something to go by, there still remains
the same element of uncertainty surrounding the question: "Why am I
here? If my spirit is the only part of me that is destined to live on,
what was the need of chaining it for this short space of time to animal
instincts and a perishable body?"
All sorts of theories have been advanced, in the search for a plausible
explanation, but again, in all the ages of civilization, no conclusive
proof has been found that any one of them is the right one.
In ancient times the theory seemed to be that the purpose of life was to
develop the body to its highest state of prowess and beauty and to make
liberal sacrifices to the gods, in order to gain and retain their favor.
The idea seems to have been current for many centuries that when the
spirit mounted to another world, it somehow carried the shape and
characteristics of the earthly body along with it. Reason enough to make
the body strong and beautiful, if the spirit were to continue tied up to
it eternally.
Even in Shakespeare's time and all through the Middle Ages, whenever
departed spirits were supposed to come back to earth to communicate with
mortals, they always appeared in the same bodily form they had had on
earth.
On this assumption, if one individual happened to die when his body was
young and strong and handsome, his spirit would have an advantage over
another individual, who lasted on earth until his body was old, decrepit
and ugly.
It may be that the unfairness of this thought had something to do with
the eventual discarding of the belief. It may also be that in the course
of time and accumulated experience, the more advanced intellects arrived
at the conclusion that sacrifices made to the gods had little
perceptible effect on the course of events. In any case European
civilization appears to have arrived at a stage where it was ripe and
ready for another sort of conception.
This other conception was the unimportance and unworthiness of the body
and all material things. The spirit was the only thing that signified
and that was to be dedicated to the service of the Lord, as announced in
divine commandments. Sacrifices on the altar or gifts to the priests
would avail nothing, if the spirit were undutiful. The Lord was to be
worshipped and addressed in prayer--and He was at all times prepared to
mete out rewards and punishments in strict accordance to the deserts of
the spirit. Good and worshipful spirits would be blessed with
everlasting life in paradise, while those who disobeyed the
commandments, or neglected to be baptized and worship in the ordained
way would be consigned to eternal torture and damnation.
This theory was accepted by many millions of people and for a long time
held an awe-inspiring sway over their imaginations.
At the same time, in different parts of the world, India, China, Mexico,
Egypt and various countries, a number of other theories concerning the
spirit and the body were advanced as the basis of religious beliefs;
and these were accepted by countless other millions of people with the
same awe-inspiring credulity.
One feature of these various religions which appears to apply to them
all, is worth noting. Each professed the belief that their God or gods
ruled in supreme control of the entire universe, eternally, and that all
other so-called gods and so-called religions of other peoples which
interfered with this idea must necessarily be false and spurious.
In this respect, our own Christian view is like the others. In pursuance
of it, immense sums of money, untiring effort and many lives have been
spent by devout believers to convince remote peoples of the error of
their doctrines and the truth of ours.
But if an unbiased and impartial intellect were permitted to go about
among all the different religious sects on earth, and found each and
every one proclaiming with the same fervid conviction the unique and
everlasting truth of their doctrine and the error of all others, how far
could it get in the way of a reasonable conclusion?
There is a sort of conclusion, which appears fairly obvious.
If any one of the doctrines should in truth be all that is claimed for
it--the divine revelation, or the divine inspiration, of an Almighty
Providence--then all the other doctrines can be no more than theories,
more or less ingenious, more or less erroneous, mere products of man's
imagination. Then countless millions of people for countless generations
have been left to lead their lives without a right understanding of life
or death, the body or the soul, or the real purpose or design for which
they were created and by which they will be judged? Only the few lucky
ones who happened to be born and brought up in the one true belief can
have the advantage of grasping the situation. To an impartial intellect,
there would seem to be something about such an arrangement hardly fair
or just to all the other countless millions.
But even so, and admitting what is apparently obvious, how could any
amount of reasoning arrive at a decision in the matter?
There is nothing to prove that _all_ the theories and doctrines may be
any more than guesses, bolstered up with impressive formalities and
imagery, according to the needs and temperament, of the races for whom
they were made. Taken as a whole, they suggest a great confusion of
ideas and many curious contradictions concerning the purpose of man's
earthly life and the destiny of his soul.
Has man really a soul, at all? In what part of his body is it located?
What ground is there for imagining that it is any more immortal than his
heart or his eye? We can study the eye and dissect it and arrive at a
fairly accurate idea of how it works. We know that it can be
blinded--put out; also we know that if anything stops the heart from
beating, the eye, the brain and our other functions cease to operate and
become transfixed in death. Why should this not apply as well to the
soul, if there is a function in man which goes by that name?
Enough has been said to indicate a few of the difficulties which stand
in the way, when we approach the consideration of man's spiritual
nature. A study of the various religions and spiritualistic beliefs
which are current in the world to-day would be a tedious task for the
average mind and would probably be of little practical use or help to
any one.
The same may be said about the scientific theory of evolution. That is
essentially an effort of the intellect, focusing the attention on
details, processes and stages of development in living things and
arriving no nearer to a solution of the unexplainable than we were in
the beginning.
Suppose I happen to be impressed by the beauty and wonder of an orange
tree, with its golden, luscious fruit, its delicately tinted and
deliciously scented blossoms, its graceful leaves and branches, its
symmetrical trunk so firmly rooted in the ground? Merely as a piece of
machinery, as a little factory, designed to manufacture a certain kind
of edible product, it is far more ingenious, economical and generally
marvellous than anything the combined brains of mankind have been able
to design throughout the centuries. It is automatic, self-lubricating,
self-repairing and goes on, year after year, in fair weather or foul,
turning out its brand of juicy pulp, done up charmingly in little yellow
packages. How does it operate? How does it always manage to get the
necessary raw materials from the earth and the air? How do the roots and
the leaves and the sap ever contrive to convert these into perfume and
blossoms and pulp and pigment?
Now suppose a scientific intellect comes along and, after investigating,
dissecting, analyzing, eventually holds out before my eyes a tiny white
seed which it has located in the centre of the yellow package--and says:
"This is the explanation of the whole thing. That orange tree is merely
the result, by a process of natural development and evolution, of this
seed. We have studied it all out, step by step. If you will give us one
of these seeds to start with and some ground to put it in, there is no
mystery about it at all. We can show you how the whole thing happens. Of
course, it takes considerable time--but time is nothing to Nature. In
this case, only four or five years are required for the seed to become
transformed into a fruit-bearing orange tree."
"But," say I, "your investigations and explanations only add to my
amazement. The design and formation of that little seed is even more
wonderful and incomprehensible than the full-grown orange tree. Within
its tiny compass, it not only contains all the complicated miraculous
processes which convert earth and air and water into fragrant blossoms,
juicy pulp and golden oranges, but it contains in addition to that,
other miraculous powers which enable it to develop and transform itself
into a special kind of beautiful tree, with roots and branches and
leaves. As compared to this one little seed, all the greatest inventions
and achievements of man seem like the crudest bungling."
"Tut, tut," replies the scientific intellect, "this is only one sort of
seed. There are hundreds, thousands of others, some so small that they
look like grains of dust. Each one of these is a complete manufacturing
plant, perfect in every detail, each designed to turn out a special
kind of product, different from all the others. One of the most
remarkable points about them is that they require no special
materials--each and every one of them makes use of the same common
ingredients, earth, air, light, water. From those ingredients, this
little machine, for instance, working automatically, can turn out a
giant red-wood tree, which will last for centuries. This other little
one, next to it, working in the same way, will produce thousands upon
thousands of roses, of a certain beautiful shade of color and a certain
delicate fragrance. And so it is with all these other little machines,
which we call seeds,--however amazing the difference in the kind of
product, it is due entirely to certain subtle differences in their
design."
"But," say I, "what sublime intelligence conceived the plan of those
machines, and what kind of sublimely skilful craftsman was able to
fashion them?"
"They were made automatically by the various trees and plants."
"But who conceived the plan of the trees and plants?"
"The trees and plants were produced automatically by other little seeds,
like these."
"But the first one of these seeds, or the first one of these trees--who
conceived and executed that?"
"Oh, that," says the scientific intellect, "came about through a process
of evolution, which extends way back thousands of centuries. We have
studied it carefully and reasoned it all out to our entire satisfaction.
"These plant seeds are only one part of it. There are also all the
animals and animalculae, including man. There are thousands of different
kinds of living creatures and each kind has a distinct design from all
the rest, which appears to have been determined by the special purpose
for which it was intended.
"As a matter of fact, they are nothing more or less than the results of
evolution, natural selection and the survival of the fittest. All we
require for the demonstration of our theory, is a little bit of
protoplasm at the beginning of things and a mass of elemental matter in
an unformed state."
"But," say I, "are you sure you are not trying to befuddle me and
befuddle yourself by the use of obscure words? You use the word
"protoplasm"--but if you mean by that a kind of machine, like the orange
pit or the red-wood seed, your evolution theory and your scientific
chain of reasoning and all your big words merely bring us back to the
point where we started and really explain nothing at all. The orange
seed, if left to itself in the midst of elemental matter will produce a
certain kind of tree and countless oranges. A bit of protoplasm, if left
to itself in the midst of elemental matter, will not only produce an
orange tree and a red-wood tree, but an elephant, a spider, a human
being--all the countless species of living things to be found in the
universe. It may take the protoplasm a longer time to turn all this out,
but it is a bigger job and time is of small account in such a
consideration.